On the second day after Grace's departure, a young Irish officer, who had been in the service of the Pretender, and who was well acquainted with both Mr Cameron and M'Gregor—with the latter intimately, as they had served together—arrived at Duntruskin House. He, too, was a fugitive, and was now endeavouring to find his way back to Ireland, and to avoid the numerous military parties that were scouring the country.
This gentleman, whose name was Terence Sullivan, was a genuine Milesian. He was frank, open, generous, warmhearted, and brave to a fault; for he was rash and impetuous, and never stopped an instant to reckon on the odds that might be against him in any case, either of love or war. On he went, reckless of consequences and fearless of results. Terence was thus, in truth, rather a dangerous ally in cases where either caution, deliberation, or forbearance, was necessary, and where their opposites were attended with peril. Such as he was, however, he now appeared at Duntruskin, on his way to the coast for the purpose already mentioned. But Mr Sullivan brought a piece of intelligence with him which it was rather singular he should have fallen in with; and it was intelligence that greatly surprised and alarmed both Cameron and M'Gregor. This was, that the place of concealment of the latter was known, and that he might every moment expect to be apprehended; and, to show that his information was well founded, he described the place of M'Gregor's retreat with such accuracy that it was instantly recognised, and left no doubt that a special information on the subject had been laid by some person or other. Sullivan said that the way in which he came by the intelligence was this:—He had slept on the preceding night in a small public-house, and having been much fatigued, had retired early to bed. This bed was in a recess in the wall, with a sliding-door on its front, which he drew close. Soon after he had lain down, a party of military came to the house in quest of refreshments; and, being shown into the apartment where he lay, he overheard all that passed amongst them; and part of this conversation, he said, was what he had just communicated.
On receiving this startling intelligence, Mr Cameron hastened to inform M'Gregor of his danger, when an earnest conversation ensued between them as to what steps the latter ought now to take to secure his safety.
Leaving them for an instant thus employed, we will return to Terence, who, having been left alone by Mr Cameron while he went to speak with his protegé, had taken his station at a window which overlooked the approach to the house, and was there humming away, with great spirit, one of his lively national airs, when his eye was suddenly caught by the red coats of a party of dragoons advancing towards the house. Terence's eye instantly brightened up with an almost joyous expression when he saw them; for he anticipated some amusement in the way of fighting, as he took it for granted that the house was to be defended to the last extremity. Having at once settled this point, he hurriedly looked about the apartment, to see whether he could not find any eligible weapon wherewith to resist the approaching foe; and in this particular his luck was singularly great indeed. Over the fireplace there hung a rifle gun and a flask of powder, and on the mantelpiece were several bullets that fitted to a hair—the very things wanted. Never was man so fortunate. Delighted beyond measure with his good luck, Terence seized the rifle, loaded it in a twinkling, and again took his place at the window, which he now banged up to its utmost height, and stood ready for mischief; never dreaming that it was at all necessary to consult the master of the house as to the manner in which he meant to receive his visiters, or conceiving that anything else could be thought of in the case but fighting.
"Blessings on them, the darlings! There they are," said Terence to himself, as he stood at the window in the way already described, "as large as life, and as lively as two-year olds." Muttering this, he raised his rifle, and, putting it on full cock, "You'll see now, my jewels," he added, "how beautifully I'll turn over that fellow on the white charger."
He fired, and almost in the same instant the unfortunate man whom he had selected fell lifeless from his horse.
Terence gave a shout of joy and triumph at the success of his shot, and was proceeding with the utmost expedition to reload, when his arm was suddenly seized from behind by Mr Cameron, who, in amazement at his proceedings, and in great distress for their very serious result, which he had seen from another part of the house, had hastened to the apartment where he was.
"Good heavens, Mr Sullivan! what is the meaning of this?—what are you doing?—what have you done?" he exclaimed, in great agitation. "We shall be all put to the sword—by the laws of war, our lives are forfeited. It was foolish—it was madness, Mr Sullivan!"
"Faith, my dear fellow," replied Terence, not a little astonished that his proceedings should have been found fault with, "you may call it what you please; but no man shall ever convince Terence Sullivan that it's either folly or madness to kill an enemy when you can."
At this moment they were joined by M'Gregor; and in the next instant the commanding officer of the troop—a very different man from Stubbs—entered the apartment, with his drawn sword in one hand, and a pistol in the other, and followed by about a dozen of his men; the remainder being drawn up in front of the house.