’Twas a strange, a wondrous sight; yet, as I looked, the midnight fire itself was not so strange as the sight of Ludar standing there, noble, huge and motionless, illumined by the strong light, gazing out with shaded eyes into the far distance. To me it seemed like a scene in some weird play of which I forgot that I was myself an actor.
But as soon as the flame, bursting forth with a great roar, reddened the sky overhead, Ludar drew me to a little distance, and pointed seaward. Then I perceived, suddenly, on our right a twinkle of light which presently increased to a lurid flame. At the same instant on the left appeared a like fire, which in turn was taken up one by one from headland to headland, till the whole coast from Cushindun to Ramore was ablaze; even on the far distant Donegal headlands there glimmered a responsive signal. A wondrous sight indeed, with the Atlantic almost at our feet, reflecting angrily back the glare of the fire, and traversed by paths of light each seeming less fierce as the distance increased, until from the remotest there travelled but a tiny streak. Above, the sky still more fiercely carried the red signal; while from their rocks swooped up the great army of sea-birds and flew crying out to sea.
Thither my two comrades still eagerly gazed. Though scarce five minutes had passed since the first flame shot aloft, the impatience of the herdsman became extreme, and he muttered angrily through his clenched teeth as he strained his eyes into the irresponsive darkness.
“Altacarry!” exclaimed he at length, when presently, on the point of Raughlin, a light shot up.
“And Cantire!” he added, when, later, the eagerly looked for light on the Scottish mainland broke aloft and mingled its glare with that of the Antrim fires.
Then, at last, Ludar relaxed his motionless posture, and taking my arm, plunged hastily from the summit, with the herdsman before us for a guide.
Half-way down, the guide halted and pointed out two new signals inland. One to our right, the other straight before us.
“Yonder,” said he, pointing to the right, “comes from the O’Cahan’s country beyond the Bann, above Castleroe, where be English troops; that in front shows that Sorley Boy is afoot already. ’Tis a wily fox,” added the man (talking as they all did in their Irish tongue), “among these score of lights, who shall say which is his, or whither he foregathers? But we know!”
Presently we dropped into the marshland at the base of the hill, and lost all save the red glare in the sky above us. By many a cunning path the man led us, between bogs, through woods, and over piled-up rocks, till we stood on a new hill-side, and caught sight again of the distant beacons. That on Knocklayd, behind us, was already burning low; but it had done its work. For, as we mounted higher, a dozen new fires inland met our view; and, standing for a moment to look, our ears caught a distant sound of shouting, and the clattering of horses’ feet.
We were now, our guide told us, looking down into the deep vale of Glenshesk, at the head of which the chieftain lay. A wild impassable valley it looked, crowded with forest, and flanked with rugged mountain. I could scarcely wonder, as I looked down, at the tales the man had told us, of how, in time of war, the country people would drive their cattle, together with the women and children, far into the depths of these glens for safety, while they went out to meet the enemy on the seaboard; or of how, tempting him to follow the booty up one of these, they had caught him many a time in a trap between two fires, and cut him to pieces.