“I did not, sir,” said I. “Have you any orders for me?”
“A despatch has come from the Admiralty,” said he, “cancelling all leave of absence. The Diana being still under repair, I am appointed to the Zebra, now off Dublin, and ordered to sail on Saturday to join the fleet watching the Dutch off the Texel.”
I hope he put down to zeal for the service the whole of the satisfaction with which I received this announcement. No work just then could fit in better with my humour than watching the Dutchmen.
“Be ready to start by to-night’s coach,” said he. “I shall follow to-morrow, with or without my doctor’s leave. Here is a letter I wish you to deliver at the Admiralty. Then report yourself on board. I hear she’s an ill-found craft, and no one knows what sort of crew they will rake up for us. I wish the Diana hands were within call,” he added to himself.
Next day I was in Dublin, and duly left my captain’s letter at the Admiralty. I was instructed to report myself on board the Zebra before sundown, as there was much work to be done getting crew and stores in order ready for our immediate departure.
Having an hour or two at my disposal, I took a walk through the streets. Dublin, to all outward appearance, was in an orderly and peaceable state, and gave few signs of being, what it actually was at that time, the hotbed of a dangerous rebellion. It was only when I dived into some of the lower streets near the river, and saw the mysterious and ominous groups which hung about at the corners, and noticed the menacing looks with which they greeted any chance passer-by who was known to be a servant of the government, that I realised that I walked, as it were, on the edge of a volcano. How soon I was to experience for myself the terrors of that coming explosion the reader will hear.
I had got beyond the streets and into the Park, attracted thither by strains of martial music, when, in a retired path, I encountered a gentleman dressed in a close-fitting, semi-military coat, with a green scarf round his neck, and switching a cane to and fro as he paced moodily along. I recognised him as Lord Edward.
He looked up as I approached and at once recognised me.
“Ah, Gallagher, what news from Donegal? How is the charming fair one?” said he.
“The charming fair one,” said I, with a bitterness that startled him, “is a victim in the hands of your lordship’s followers. She has been decoyed away and carried off to Holland as an act of reprisal against her father.”