Finding that it was a false alarm (for the soldiers were on guard half a mile away, about the Senate-house), those who a moment since were crouching behind their wives, surged out again as if to protest by deeds against involuntary panic, and ran with yells after the youth in scarlet. To the Old Bridge was a few paces. They gave a prolonged howl as they came in sight of it, which echoed and re-echoed along the Liffey banks, and penetrated even to the Castle, where Lord Cornwallis, his mind relieved in that the work was done, was congratulating the smirking chancellor on the final success of the grand measure. Both started and looked at one another. What a strange uproar! Could it be thunder? Lord Clare opened the casement and peered out. A rocket rose into the air and burst; another howl--louder, more prolonged than the first one. Lord Clare closed the window quietly and shrugged his shoulders, muttering, as he secured the hasp:
'Sirr was right, then. I really could scarce credit that they should be such idiots. Yet are they silly enough for anything.' Then turning with a sour smile to the Viceroy, he said: 'Thank goodness, it's well over. This ferment is not worth considering. How can I do otherwise than blush at being an Irishman? My Lord Castlereagh thinks, as I do, that the work we have this day finished is a subject for universal thanksgiving.'
Singularly enough, the sympathy of the Viceroy was not with his colleagues my Lords Clare and Castlereagh, but with those who were by this time brandishing their pikes in Thomas Street, for he pitied the deluded people sorely whose flame of rebellion against the inevitable was making this last melancholy flicker.
The Union was a fact now. It was done; and would ultimately, so soon as sores were healed, be productive of much good, for the people would be protected by a distant but temperate master against the turbulent raging of their own factions. But for all that, this desperate handful who preferred death to slavery, were more worthy of respect than the polished gentleman before him who had sold his own brethren into bondage. So thought the Viceroy; but Lord Cornwallis, bluff soldier though he was, had learned to school his features. He therefore contented himself with observing that nocturnal rioting must be put down, and that the chancellor had better accept a bed in the Castle, considering that if he ventured out among the rioters he would certainly be torn to pieces. Then glancing down into Castle-yard, which was full of soldiers, he bade his guest good-night, and retired to the solitude of his own chamber.
Arrived at the Old Bridge, Robert let off his rocket, while the ever-increasing crowd gibbered and hallooed. The night was very dark. In the transient flare the expectant mob beheld a martial figure that glittered with gold braid, waving a big sword. A grand figure entirely--who was he? no matter. With him they would fall or conquer, they declared, though the majority of the mob were hazy as to the work which there was to do. The word was given and rippled along the ranks: 'To the Castle, to slay the tyrant!' 'To the Castle, to the Castle!' they all yelled and bellowed helter-skelter up Thomas Street, for the object was plain and praiseworthy--to storm the palace of the Viceroy. Robert led the way, brandishing his immense blade; the bellicose baker looked after the rear. Both exhorted as many as were within hearing to steadiness and calm. But those behind pushed those who were in front. It was as much as Robert could do to keep his feet. Vainly he bawled. Nobody heard him any more, for all were chattering like excited monkeys; nobody in the dense blackness could distinguish his uniform. He had let a torrent loose, but could not guide it. Half-way up Thomas Street he became conscious of a diversion--the pressure to the front became weaker--something unexpected was happening at the farther extremity of the thoroughfare. The mob were gesticulating--heaving to and fro. Was it a surprise? Were the military come in from Chapelizod? Had they beaten down the little watch-house garrison, or had they--forewarned--approached the scene of action by another route? The bellicose lieutenant would need assistance and counsel--pray Heaven he was staunch! Their leader buffeted with the mob, but they heeded him not. It was essential that he should see what was passing, that he should fly to the succour of his second in command, who was battling with this human maelstrom. How dark the night was! The moon, which was at the full, was clouded over. Raising himself on the steps of a house, he strained his eyes over the sea of faces and detected little lights--flambeaux apparently, which tossed and floundered, then went out. This could be no military attack. The men must be committing some outrage upon persons who had fallen into their hands--innocent persons possibly, who, according to the tenets of the baker, were to suffer for the transgressions of the guilty. Robert was in an agony, for the monster he had conjured into life refused to hearken to his chiding. He cried that the cause must not be sullied, that pure-souled patriots must not play the night-assassin; but his voice was as the buzzing of an insect. 'Forward!' he shouted till he was hoarse; 'forward to the Castle!' He might as well have shouted to the ocean. Those about him pushed and elbowed, screaming wild oaths and execrations; for, unable to see what was going on, they were half-fearful of treachery, half-anxious to bear their part. Despite his gay accoutrement Robert found himself crushed against a railing, till his ribs threatened to collapse under the pressure. With a supreme effort he shook himself free, and fell backwards through a doorway. He recognised it--how lucky! It led by a narrow alley into the adjoining road, which ran parallel with Thomas Street. Sure, this was another mark of Heaven's approbation; for by following it he could skirt the mob, and, running round, discover the cause of the diversion. The adjoining road was empty; the terrified householders had closed their doors and shutters and, trembling, were peeping through the chinks. Painful experience had taught them caution. As he sped along, his feet pattering strangely in the solitude, Robert could catch the murmur, as of water dashing upon rocks, over the roofs, a house-thickness off. Running with all his speed, he turned the corner and flung himself against the rolling swell; beheld with despair a coach--one whose liveries he knew of old--rocking and swaying in danger of being upset, while the horses plunged wildly and the coachman sat paralysed, with a pistol at his ear. The door had been rent from its hinges; the silken curtains hung in tatters. One of the occupants, a man of fine presence and middle age, had been dragged out, and lay upon the stones surrounded by a crew of savages. The other, a woman, leaned out of the carriage, imploring help in dumb show for the man upon the ground. Convulsed with horror, Robert forced a passage with the flat of his sabre. One light--the single flambeau which had escaped extinguishing--threw a ghastly glare on the surge of scowling ruffians. Blood trickled from the forehead of the man upon the ground; upon his black satin vest and smallclothes, upon his cambric shirt, as he strove to rise. He staggered up, clutching at a wheel, and waved his hand to obtain a hearing. 'Good people,' he panted, but his words reached those only who stood close by, 'I have never done you harm. I am Kilwarden, chief justice of the King's Bench.'
'Justice!' gibed the baker. 'She's gone long since where you shall follow her!'
The mob, which had ebbed in a momentary recoil, flowed forward again with a rush. A dozen pikes were poised and fell. Doreen, who could see what passed within the circle, tossed her helpless arms and filled the night air with shrieks; while Robert, distracted, beat his breast and tore his hair.
A sharp ring of hoofs clattered on the road--nearer--nearer--nearer still. A band of horsemen were approaching at a gallop from the quay; behind--in the distance--a host of cavalry; from the opposite direction the tramp of many feet. The Castle-gates had been opened; the infantry were pouring forth; the mob, finding itself hemmed in, smote right and left in a frantic effort to escape.
The smaller band of horsemen, headed by Shane and Cassidy, were the first to reach the coach. They drew their couteaux-de-chasse, and, beating aside the unwieldy pikes, which were too long for such close quarters, trampled the insurgents down.
'The lady, Lord Glandore!' Cassidy shouted. 'Now's your time!'