The Knockmeldown Mountains from Ardfinan
The place which, as far as we could form an opinion, presented the greatest facilities for escape, was the town and neighbourhood of Dungarvan. Thither we resolved to repair; and about three o'clock, on the 13th day of August, we set off across the nearest range of the Comeraghs—Stephens and myself, accompanied by my sister-in-law, whom we hoped to employ in negotiating for a passage to France. A farmer and two women of the place undertook to conduct us the shortest way across the mountains, and provide us an asylum for the night, which we reached after a forced journey of six hours. We there parted from our guides; and the people to whom they recommended us were exceedingly kind, and much more hospitable than their means would permit. On the following day our host became our guide for several miles across the declining Comeraghs, until we came in view of Dungarvan. We purchased some bread, eggs and tea at a village called Tubbernaheena; but while in the village we learned that the military and police were scouring the country far and wide, in search of arms, which compelled us to change our route and take an easterly direction. We crossed several miles of bog, and had to pass many a ravine; but the worst trial was before us. We applied in several houses for the means of preparing our dinner, having travelled at least twenty miles over moor and mountain. We applied in twenty places in vain. At last, half by force and half by entreaty, we prevailed on a woman, whose circumstances seemed comfortable. We were, of course, unknown; and though we met many a rebuff, we determined to endure them, rather than reveal our names and character. During the progress of our meal we established ourselves in the good graces of the housewife, but she obstinately refused to allow us to remain for the night. She directed us to a publichouse, where, on our arrival, we found a proclamation menacing any one who entertained, harboured or assisted us, with the direst punishment. In answer to our inquiry the owner, who was a woman, pointed to the proclamation, as an argument against which all remonstrance was vain. We made three or four other attempts equally fruitless; and when the night had closed around us, on a bleak, desolate road, I determined to call on the Roman Catholic priest, and state who we were; for while, if alone, we would infinitely prefer taking such rest as we could in the nearest brake, or under shelter of a wall, we could not think of submitting our delicate companion to the trials of a night in the open air, during an exceedingly inclement season. With some hesitation and great alarm, he procured a lodging for us at a farmer's house in the neighbourhood. We saw him next morning, and his most earnest injunction was that we should leave the locality, which, according to him, was altogether unsafe. To escape arrest there for twelve hours was, he said, impossible. Similar advice was pressed on us afterwards in many a safer asylum; but we learned to mock at others' fears, whereas, on this occasion, we yielded to an impression we felt to be sincere.
Before venturing nearer to Dungarvan, we determined to bespeak the services of another clergyman, who lived a distance of six or seven miles in the direction of Waterford. A ridge of the Comeraghs lay between us and his lonely dwelling. Along this ridge lay a winding bridle-road, skirted by patches of green sward, and occasionally crossed by a sparkling mountain rill. Above us, on the hill-side, was a considerable bog, where crowds of country people were collecting to their daily toil. A merry laugh or boisterous joke occasionally rang clear in the morning air. The mirth went heavily to our hearts. The snatch of song, the unrestrained laugh, the merry glee, broke upon the ear of the wayfarers like the mocking of demons. The consciousness that they then sped, without a beacon or a guide, over the flinty path of flight, to end perhaps at the gibbet, imparted to the voice of mirth the sound of ingratitude. However, the day was brilliant; above us the clear, blue, unfathomable sky; around us the bracing mountain air, laden with the breath of hare-bell and heather, and far below the calm sea, sleeping in the morning light; and weariness, hunger and apprehension yielded to the influence of the scene. Many a time, ere passed the sunny noon, did we sit down to enjoy the glad prospect, unconscious, for a moment, of the fate that tracked our footsteps. At length we descended the eastern slope of the hill; and after proceeding some distance, through cornfields and meadows, we reached the mansion of the clergyman, wayworn and half-famished. He, whom we sought, had won a character for truth, manliness and courage, and we calculated upon his unrestrained sympathies, if not generous hospitality. He was absent from his house, which is situate in a lonely gorge of the Comeraghs.
We waited his arrival for more than an hour, and, through delicacy for his position, we remained concealed in a grove some distance from the door. He at length appeared, and I proceeded alone to meet him and make known my name. He started involuntarily and retreated a few paces from me. After repeating my name for a few seconds, he said, "Surely you are not so unmanly as to compromise me?" I replied, that so sensible was I of the danger of committing him, that I refused to enter his house, though we all, and particularly my female companion, sadly needed rest and shelter. After some time, he began to pace up and down in front of his door, repeating at every turn that it was indiscreet and dishonourable to compromise him. Among the many trials to which fate had doomed me, through hours of gloom, of peril and disaster, and even during reveries of still darker chances, which fear or fancy often evoked, I never felt a pang so keen as that which those unfeeling words sent through my heart. For a while I was unable to articulate, but at length I said: "You are one of those who urged us to this fate. You gave us every assurance that, in any crisis, you would be at our side. We made the desperate trial which you recommended. We have failed, because we were abandoned by those who were foremost in urging us on; and even now—here, where God alone sees us—you meet with reproaches one who has sacrificed his all on earth in a cause you pretended to bless. Is not that fate worse than defeat—than flight—than death?" "Tis a sad fate, no doubt," said he. My object, I said, was to escape to France, and I called on him, believing he could assist me, as he must be acquainted with the boatmen around that part of the coast. He answered it was possible he could, but not then; asked how he could communicate with me; pointed to a shorter route across the mountains than that by which we had descended, and turned in to his dinner, which was just announced.
We faced towards the mountain, hungry and exhausted, without being asked to taste food or drink. It need not be detailed how sore at heart we felt as we recommenced our dreary journey. It was already evening. Censer masses of fog had gathered on the hill, and lurid streaks spreading far out on the sea, portended a night of storm and gloom. However, we had no resource but to regain the house where we had slept two nights before, which we supposed might be distant about seven miles; and by gaining the summit of the hill before dark, we hoped to make our way easily down the other side. To obtain some food, of whatever kind, was an indispensable preliminary. The house nearest to the mountain appeared to be that of a comfortable farmer. We entered it trembling, and found our expectations not disappointed. But the housewife peremptorily refused our first request, evidently suspecting there was something wrong, and unable to reconcile our appearance with the idea of hunger or distress. She bestowed a peculiarly sinister scrutiny on my poor sister. After some parley, we said we should have something to eat, either for love or money, and while saying so, we began to examine the locks of our pistols. Either admonished by these stern intercessors, or by a look of compassion from her beautiful daughter, who stood at some distance, she replied we should have what we asked for, but only for love. Her daughters, of whom there were two, busied themselves in producing new barley bread and skimmed milk, of which we partook immoderately. We parted on better terms, and my friend Stephens was greeted with a smile from each of the lovely girls, which so influenced him that he insisted upon revealing our character and asking their hospitality for the night. After a good deal of discussion it was agreed he should make the experiment alone. He returned and produced the military cap which he always wore inside his shirt. This at once produced the desired effect, and one of the young girls came bounding up the hill to invite us to return. It was arranged, however, that we should remain on a hay-loft until quite dusk, which we gladly agreed to. The host entered with us, and stayed until we were admitted to the dwelling-house. To me, at least, that hay-loft imparted a sense of unutterable enjoyment. I was there enabled to support the drooping head of my sister, as overcharged with weariness and pain of mind, she sank into unconscious sleep.
As night fell, we were introduced into a comfortable parlour. There we had tea and eggs, with some punch. The family felt the warmest interest in us; but at the same time they occasionally manifested evident alarm. The utmost precaution was observed so as to prevent our being noticed, and we only retired to bed when the hour of midnight had struck, and the house was sunk in silence and solitude. During all that night the storm roared pitilessly and the rain fell heavily. Had it surprised us on the bleak hill, our wandering had that night ended, and the ravens of Cumshinane had feasted on our flesh. Next day the storm did not cease to howl nor the rain to sweep on the angry winds. About five o'clock, during a brief pause of the rain, preparations were made which significantly intimated that we were expected to leave. Our host was well acquainted with the fishermen of Dungarvan and he solemnly warned us against treating with any of them. Betrayal, he said, would be certain. But he promised to accompany my sister next day to the town, where he would make every inquiry; and if he failed, as he anticipated, would see her away on the car; in which case we were to try another and a far remote sea-board. A certain newspaper of high Liberal character, affected to bestow upon us intense consideration and deep compassion. It had a guard of mobile reporters, some of whom contrived to be everywhere and hear everything—especially what did not occur. One of them, with a keener scent than his fellows, discovered my sister's track—made himself familiar with her person and apparel—and announced her movements with a mournful accuracy. He conjectured, not unjustly, that my haunts must be near the scene of her wanderings. Completely absorbed by the one idea of gratifying the curiosity of his readers, he seemed indifferent to the conclusion, which, to a mind less engaged, would appear palpable, and inevitable—namely, that what was information to our anxious friends would equally serve the purpose of our watchful pursuers.
It became, therefore, dangerous to have her continue any longer with or near us. A hasty dinner was prepared, and we arranged to meet our host next day within a mile of Dungarvan. Never did parting look more like a last one than mine with my sister, on that occasion. For some time I thought she would be the first victim of our hard destiny. She seemed incapable of withstanding the agony that shook her frame. While sharing in the hardships and the hazards of my struggle for life, her heart, sustained by its own deep enthusiasm, triumphed over every obstacle. But she was returning to a house of mourning and of woe, where life would be one blank of desolation and stupor, to be wakened to bitter consciousness by intelligence of our doom. The sense of my responsibility, the full appreciation of the living death which, through my agency, had fallen upon a home as hallowed as ever love and joy consecrated to happiness, had burned up my eyeballs and my brain. I went forth into the recommencing storm, utterly unconscious of its rage and equally indifferent to fate. My comrade, who had no life to lose but his own, and who of that was recklessly prodigal, provided he could dispose of it to good account, stepped blithely along and uttered no complaint, although he left behind him traces marked with blood. His terrible indifference soon restored my self-possession, and we found shelter for the night in a house near the spot designated for the next day's interview. Just as we arrived there, the chief magistrate and police had completed a search of the house. We entered as they retired, told who we were, and claimed hospitality, which we readily obtained. The night passed as many a similar one did afterwards. Let our hardships be what they might during the day, we invariably enjoyed ourselves at night, and went to bed without a fear. On the following morning we sent our hostess into the town for shoes and other matters which were indispensable to our further progress. She returned, evidently alarmed to death, having read on the walls the viceregal threats against all who harboured the "traitors." She scarcely allowed us to remain until the time appointed for the interview, which was of short duration. We were informed that there was no hope from that quarter, and that our safety for one hour was extremely precarious. This intelligence and a copy of the World newspaper, completed the information communicated by our former host.
Having laughed heartily over the World, and no less heartily at the alarm of our host and hostess, we set out on our long journey, about four o'clock in the evening, under very heavy rain. Our first effort was at the publichouse, already mentioned, where we again failed. We had some bread and punch, while drying our clothes at the fire. My comrade became very ill; but even this did not overcome the obstinate repugnance of the hostess to receive us. We were compelled to leave at about nine o'clock; and having travelled some miles, 'midst cold and rain, my comrade shivering from fever and suffering, we determined to sleep in freshly-saved hay. While making ourselves a resting-place in the hay, we were surprised by some countrymen, who recognised us as the persons who dined on a former evening, but were coldly received and rudely expelled. Upon consulting with the women, who had seen us, they conjectured we were some of the fugitives, and followed for the purpose of inviting us to the hospitalities of their home. We accepted the offer gladly, and were received by our friends of the former evening with the warmest welcome. The principal apartment contained two beds, one of which was usually occupied by the man and his wife, and the other by their grown daughters. They gave both up to us, treated us most kindly, and the whole family, men, women and children, watched over our sleep until morning. The eldest son displayed considerable information and still greater energy of character. He evinced the deepest interest in our fate, and accompanied us for several miles next morning. It was Sunday; the cold and wet of the previous evening had given way to calm and sunshine; and we made rapid way along the slopes of the Comeraghs—thence to the Knockmeldown mountains, having one main object in view—to place the greatest distance possible between where we were to rest that night and where we had last slept. The greatest difficulty we experienced was in passing deep ravines. The steep ascent and descent were usually wooded and covered with furze and briars. Far below gurgled a rapid and swollen mountain stream, which we crossed without undressing, and always experienced the greatest relief from the cold running water. But toiling our upward way, through trees and thorny shrubs, was excessively fatiguing. About three o'clock in the evening we reached the picturesque grounds of Mountmellary Abbey. We had then travelled thirty miles of mountain without any refreshments. The well-known hospitality of the good brothers was a great temptation to men in our situation, pressed by toil and hunger. But we felt that we possibly might compromise the Abbot and the brethren, and determined on not making ourselves known. We entered the beautiful chapel of the Abbey, and ascended the gallery while vespers were sung. We were alone on the gallery, and had an opportunity of changing our stockings and wiping the blood from our feet. We remained upwards of an hour, and then set out, but little refreshed. We hoped to find refreshments in a small publichouse, on the road leading from Clogheen to Lismore. I entered the house rather hurriedly, and the first object that met my view was a policeman. I turned quickly round and disappeared. The rapidity of my movement attracted his attention, and, calling to his comrades and some countrymen who were in the house, they commenced a pursuit. At first they appeared little concerned, but walked quickly. We accordingly quickened our pace, and they, in turn, began to run, when it became a regular chase, which continued four miles, until we disappeared in the blue mists of the Mitchelstown mountains, as night was falling around us. When we saw our pursuers retiring, we ventured to descend, and entered a cabin where we found a few cold half-formed new potatoes and some sour milk which we ravenously devoured. I do not remember ever enjoying a dinner as I did this. My comrade, who had suffered much from illness, was unable to eat with the same relish. It was night when we finished our repast, and we set off in search of some place to lay our heads. We met several refusals, and succeeded, with great difficulty at last, in a very poor cabin. We saw a lone hen on a cross-beam, which we proposed to purchase, and bought at last for two shillings. In less than an hour she was disposed of; and, as was invariably the case, we got the only bed in the house, where we slept a long and dreamless sleep. It rained incessantly the next day, and we were forced repeatedly to take shelter in cabins by the wayside. But, being excessively anxious to get as far as possible beyond the circle enclosed by our foes, we descended several miles along the Kilworth mountains. Towards the close of evening we crossed the River Funcheon, near Kilworth, by means of a fir-tree, the roots of which had been undermined by the rapid flood. We had spent the whole day in wet clothes. We mounted this tree, Indian-like, in the midst of rain, and dropped in the shallow part of the river from the branches. We were unable to procure lodgings afterwards until nearly eleven o'clock, and then not without difficulty. We succeeded, at length, within about a quarter of a mile of Kilworth, whence we were able to procure bread, tea and beefsteaks. We were very kindly treated, and next day accompanied to the Blackwater, at Castle Hyde, by the eldest brother of the family.