CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS.
I have seen a great swell of the sea, a mountain of a wave—caused by some violent storm which has spent its worst fury many leagues away—roll in from the ocean, lift a ship from her moorings, and dash her to pieces on the rocks.
As I rose in the morning and stepped out of the tent into the dewy freshness of the day, I thought we were not unlike that ship. For I could not disguise from myself that our affairs had suffered shipwreck.
Grace O’Malley was a prisoner, and I was unable to deliver her. I, her servant, was bound before anything else to try to free her from her captivity, and I did not even know where she was; and when I had sought to find it out, it had been with the result that a furious quarrel had sprung up between Fitzmaurice, the leader of the Irish, and myself.
He had not only refused to help me to obtain her liberty, but he had slandered and contemned her to my face. Not under such a man could I or the O’Malleys fight. Nay, there now could be nothing between us but the deadliest feud.
And yet we had all come to Kerry to stand by the side of this man and his Spaniards in the rising against the Queen! That, at least, was now impossible. How could we support one who had spoken of our mistress and chief as he had done? And the Burkes were in the same position as we ourselves.
As I paced along the ground, Richard Burke, gaunt and hollow-eyed, joined me. Burning with resentment and indignation, he was eager for instant action, and made the wild proposal that I should immediately bring all the men from the galleys, and, having made a junction with him and his forces, march against Fitzmaurice.
At the first blush of the thing I had almost said yes; but a little cool reflection showed me that not only were the odds against us overwhelming, but that, even if we were successful, I should be no nearer my main object, which was the release of Grace O’Malley. So far as I was concerned, all the considerations had to bow to that.