Why not? Why not now as well as any other time? I was a man, and feared ghosts no longer. Love had been warned away from Knockowen; duty should welcome me at Kilgorman. So I put down my helm, let out my sheet, commended myself to my Maker, and made for the black rocks.
I was determined to avoid the creek and make for the house by the narrow cave which, as I had discovered at my last visit, led up from the shore to the great hearth in the kitchen of the house, and which, as it then seemed, was a secret passage known only to his honour and the smugglers in his employ. It needed some groping about in the dark to find the ledge of rock behind which was the small crack in the cliff that marked the entrance; but I hit on it after a little, and, shoving through, found myself inside the cave. I moored my boat beside the rocky ledge, and then clambered up to the entrance of the narrow gallery. Once there my course was clear; only I wished I had a light, for I knocked first my head, then my knees, then my elbows, and finally had to complete the journey in humble fashion on my hands and knees.
It surprised me greatly, when after long groping I supposed myself close to my destination, to perceive the glimmer of a light at the end of the passage, still more to hear the sound of voices. Were they ghosts or smugglers, or what?
If ghosts, I was disposed to venture on. That they were smugglers I could hardly believe, for there had been no sight of a ship anywhere near, nor of a boat in the cave. Whoever they were, they must have entered the place by the ordinary way above ground, and if so were probably unaware of the secret passage. At any rate, I had come so far, and would not turn back till I saw good reason. I had a pistol in my pocket and a tolerably handy knife, with which, even if surprised, I could give a good account of myself. So I crawled on, and presently came to a place where I could stand upright, and crept close under the corner of the upright stones that flanked the great hearth.
The mystery of the light and voices was soon explained. About a dozen men were assembled in the kitchen, lit up by the glare of a common candle, engaged in earnest consultation. Among the few faces which the light revealed to me I recognised some of my old foes of the secret society, and in the voices of others whose faces were hidden I recognised more.
The subject under discussion was twofold, and as its meaning gradually dawned on me I felt no compunction in listening.
The first matter was a letter, which had evidently been read before I arrived, from the leaders of the United Irishmen in Dublin, calling for a return of the members and officers and arms in each district. From what I could gather, Donegal was not a hopeful region. It numbered, indeed, a few branches of the society scattered up and down the county like that now in session, and was supposed to possess a few arms, and to be able when called upon to put into the field a few drilled men; but compared with other districts it was ineffective, and more given over to smuggling and unorganised raids than to disciplined work for the cause of Irish liberty.
This, as far as I could gather, was the subject of the somewhat upbraiding letter which had arrived from headquarters.
“Arrah, thin, and it’s the truth they’re spakin’,” said one voice, “and we’ll need to be moving.”
“Move, is it? How’ll you move when only the half of yez—and that’s some of yez as are not here the night—come to the meetings? Sure we could move fast enough if all the boys that’s sworn would jine us.”