CHAPTER XIII
General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope'smusketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating andcolours flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. LordDunseveric stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him.
"Accept my congratulations," he said, "on your timely arrival. Youhave released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant anduncomfortable captivity."
"I am glad," said the general, "to have been of any service to yourlordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels.If you did-----, well, we have an opportunity of settling our scoreswith them now."
He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see.
"I received no ill-usage at all," said Lord Dunseveric. "On thecontrary, I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under thecircumstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners youmay take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them inthe churchyard."
"You may be sure that your lordship's recommendation shall have dueweight with me."
The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voicewhich uttered them. He was not well pleased.
"I trust, sir," he said coldly, "that I am to take your words literallyand not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they arespoken."
"If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric," said the general, "Ishall deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I meanto make these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I've done withthem."
He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a fewminutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out ofthe town.
"It is a good job," said General Clavering, "that the rebels succeededin getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had somehard fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner.It is a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troopsstraggle and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simplymelt away after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in haystacks, and pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways,and, by God, I'll track them. I'll ferret them out."
General Clavering's estimate of the conduct of irregular troops hadsomething in it. Even James Hope's influence failed to keep his men fromstraggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory,but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitterdisappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressedthem. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were thefamiliar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children witheager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he mightescape unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One andanother dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought toget home again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay hismarch in order to reason with his men--to hearten and steady them. Heknew that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on ifhe were to meet M'Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He wentto and fro through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward,cool and determined as ever, talked of the American war.
"You're young at the work, yet," he said to the disheartened men. "Waittill you've been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten,and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember whenI was with General Greene in the Carolinas----"
The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began toreturn to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, butthe straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thoughtof rest after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marchednear the rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beatenside, of trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on forvery long, and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whomhe supported leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him.The strain became more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comradeto carry for him. He lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on.
After nearly an hour's march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind themon the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his menup across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front,the musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a wordof command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hopewaited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses andmen fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against thepikes. Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope's men. Withoutwaiting for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The miseryof defeat was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victoryagain. But the horsemen rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rodethrough them, cutting with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on theroadside after firing his musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, sawDonald Ward far down the road gather a few pikemen round him and standat bay. The dragoons, who had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted,unslung their carbines, and fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hopereformed his men and bade them load again, but the dragoons had no tastefor another charge. Their officer was wounded. They turned and rode backtowards Antrim.
Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more.
"I can't do it," he said. "We must stay here and take our chance."
"Go on," said the boy, "go you on. I've been a sore trouble to you theday, have done with me now."
"I will not leave you," said Neal, "we'll take our chance together."
He watched Hope's little force disappear up the road. Then he draggedthe boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in thedeep grass.
"Is your leg very bad?" said Neal.
"It's no that bad, only I canna walk. It's bled a power, my stocking'ssoaked with the blood. Maybe if we could tie it up better we might stopit and I'd get strength to go again."
Neal dragged the lining from his coat, and tore it into strips. He cutthe stocking from the boy's leg with his pocket-knife, and bandaged along flesh wound as best he could.
"Rest now," he said, "and after a while we'll try and get on a bit."
They lay in the deep, cool grass. There was pure air round them, andthey drew deep breaths of it into throats and lungs parched by the fumesof sulphurous smoke. A delicious silence wrapped them, folded them as ifin a tender, kind embrace. A faint breeze stirred the grass, waved thewhite plumes of the meadow sweet, shook the blue vetch flowers and thepurple spears of lusmor. In the hedge the reddening blooms of fadedhawthorn still lingered. The honeysuckle fragrance filled the air.Groups of merry-faced dog-daisies nodded in the ditch, and roundtheir stalks were buttercups, and beyond them the rich yellow of marshmarigolds. Neal fancied himself awaking from some hideous nightmare. Itbecame impossible to believe in the reality of the battle, the fiercepassion of it, the smoke, the sweat, the wounds, the cries. He waslulled into delicious ease. Rest was for the time the supreme good oflife. His eyes closed drowsily. He was back in Dunseveric again, and inhis ears the noise of a gentle summer sea.
He was roused by a touch of his companion's hand.
"I'm afraid there's a wheen o' sogers coming up the road."
Neal rose to his hands and knees and peered cautiously through thehedge. He saw mounted men riding slowly along the road from thedirection of Antrim. They were still about half a mile off. Every nowand then they halted and peered about them. They rode as if they fearedan ambush, or as if they sought something or some one in the fields ateach side of the road.
"They're yeomen," said Neal, "and they're coming towards us. We must lieas still as we can. Perhaps they may pass without seeing us."
"They willna," said the boy, "they'll see us. We'll be kilt at last."
Neal peered again. The yeomen had reached the spot where Donald and hispikemen had made their stand. They halted and dismounted to examine,perhaps to plunder, the b
odies. Neal could see their uniforms plainly.He shivered. They were men of the Kilulta yeomenry, of Captain Twinely'scompany.
"Neal Ward, there's something I want to say to you before they catchus."
"Well, what is it? Speak at once. They'll be coming on soon, and then itwon't do to be talking."
"Ay, but you mustn't look at me while I tell you."
Neal turned away and waited. He was impatient of this making ofmysteries in a moment of extreme peril.
"I would I were in Ballinderry, I would I were in Aghalee, I would I were in bonny Ram's Island Trysting under an ivy tree-- Ochone, Ochone!"
The words were sung very softly, but Neal recognised the voice at once.He turned at the second line and gazed in open-eyed astonishment at thesinger.
"Ay, it's just me, just Peg MacIlrea." She smiled up at him as shespoke.
"But, Peg, how could you do it? Peg, if I'd only known. Why did youcome?"
"It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that's what you want to be sayingto me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. Buta' the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, andwhat was to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, fromgoing, too? Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, inAntrim town?"
Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen's horses on the road. He heard theirvoices, their laughter, their oaths.
"Neal," said Peg, "you're a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of yefrom thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D'youmind how I bit him?"
The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now.
"Neal," whispered Peg, "will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassiewouldna begrudge it to me now, I'm thinking."
He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, andkissed her lips.
"Hush, Peg, hush," he whispered.
"There's a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant." Nealrecognised Captain Twinely's voice. "There might be some damned croppylurking in the meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we'llhave some sport hunting him across country if he runs. The earths areall stopped. We'll have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end."
Neal stood upright.
"I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war."
It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was justpossible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner.
"By God," said the captain, "if it isn't that damned young Ward again.Come, croppy, come, croppy, I'll give you a run for your life. I'll giveyou two minutes start by my watch, and I'll hunt you like a fox. It's abetter offer than you deserve."
Neal stood still, and made no answer.
"To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running."
The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward tomeet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caughtsight of her.
"There's another of them, Captain, lying in the grass."
"Rout him out, rout him out," said Captain Twinely, "we'll run the two.We'll have sport."
The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man andknocked him down.
"Ho, ho," laughed Captain Twinely, "he's a game cub. Get through thehedge, men, and take a hold of him. We'll hunt the other fellow first."
"The other seems to be wounded, sir," said one of the men. "He has hisleg bandaged."
"Then slit his throat," said the captain, "he can't run, and I've no usefor wounded men."
Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal.
"It's a girl," he said, "would you murder a girl?"
Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth.
"A vixen," he cried. "Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you're a sly one.To think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister's son, God rotyou, lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her,sergeant, till we see if he's telling the truth."
Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp ofhis guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely.He gripped the horse's mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatchat the throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the facefrom the hilt of Twinely's sword threw him to the ground. He fell halfstunned. He heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of whatwas happening.
He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. Hishands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron ofone of the trooper's horses.
"We're going to take you back into Antrim," said Captain Twinely. "Idon't deny that I'd rather deal with you here myself, but you're afifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won't hear of losing their share ofthe reward. It'll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Claveringisn't the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men andmarch."
"Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her.Her face is a bonny one for kissing now."
Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass,among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror.He shut his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but thesuggestion was too brutal even for Captain Twinely.
"Shut your devil's mouth," he said to the sergeant, "isn't what you'vedone enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore hadbroken your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid thecountry of the biggest blackguard in it."
"Thon's fine talk," growled the sergeant, "but who bid us strip thewench? Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?"
Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant's words, or thegrumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trottedoff towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly wearyand dejected, was dragged with them.
General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the MassereeneArms. He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers whohad commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious andfrightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he couldget on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready forhis guests. In the public room a larger party was gathered--yeomanryofficers, captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few ofthe country squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting wasover. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had sleptthe night before. Lord O'Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in himstill, but he was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him,holding his hand, and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at thewindow. The laughter of the party in the room below reached them, andthe noisy talk of the troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses,snatches of song, and calls for wine mingled with the groans which hisextreme pain wrung from the wounded man and the solemn, quiet wordsabout strength and courage which Lord Dunseveric spoke.
A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inndoor. They had a prisoner with them--a wretched-looking man, with tornclothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime.But Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father.
"A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward withthem. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has askedfor General Clavering, and entered the inn."
"Very well, Maurice." Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. "I mustleave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shallbe back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything youwant."
"Where are you going, Eustace?"
"I'm going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner nowwhom I want to help if I can--the young man I told you about, who savedme from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could havesaved you, too."
"That's past praying for now," said Lord O'Neill, "but you're right,Eustace, you're right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There'sbeen blood enough shed to-day--I
rish blood, Irish blood. There should beno more of it."
Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and hisofficers sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table,and Lord Dunseveric heard the orders he received.
"Put him into the market-house to-night. I'll hang that fellow in themorning, whatever I do with the rest."
"The market-house is full, sir," said Captain Twinely, "the officer incommand says he can receive no more prisoners."
"Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don't stand theretalking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you anempty cellar?"
"Your worship, my lord general, there's only the wine cellar; but it'svery nigh on empty now."
A shout of laughter greeted the remark.
"Fetch out the rest of the wine that's in it," said the general, "we'llmake a clean sweep of it. Or, stay, leave the poor devil one bottle ofdecent claret. He's to be hanged tomorrow morning. He may have a sup ofcomfort to-night."
Captain Twinely saluted and withdrew.
"General Clavering," said Lord Dunseveric, "I ask you to spare thisyoung man's life. I will make myself personally responsible for hissafe keeping, and undertake to send him out of the country at the firstopportunity."
"It can't be done, Lord Dunseveric. I am sorry to disoblige in a smallmatter, but it can't be done."
"I ask it as a matter of justice," said Lord Dunseveric. "The man savedmy life and my son's life to-day in the street at the risk of his own.He deserves to be spared."
"I've given my answer."
Lord Dunseveric hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he were about toturn and leave the room. Then, with an evident effort, he spoke again.
"I ask this man's life as a personal favour. I am not one who begs oftenfrom the Government, or who asks favours easily, but I ask this."
"Anything else, my lord, anything in reason, but this I will not grant.This young man has a bad record--a damned bad record. He was mixed upwith the hanging of a yeoman in the north------"
"He was not," said Lord Dunseveric. "I hanged that man."
"You hanged him," said General Clavering, Angrily, "and yet you comehere asking favours of me. But there's more, plenty more, against thisNeal Ward. He tried to choke a dragoon in the street of Belfast, hetook part in a daring capture of some ammunition for the rebels' use,he helped to murder a loyal man at Donegore last night, he was in armsto-day. There's not half a dozen deserve hanging more richly than hedoes, and hanged he'll be. Never you fret yourself about him, LordDunseveric; sit down here and drink a glass with us. We're going to makea night of it."
"I beg leave to decline your invitation," said Lord Dunseveric, stiffly."I have asked for mercy and been refused. I have asked for justice andbeen refused. I have begged a personal favour and been refused. I bidyou good night. If I thought you and your companions were capable of anyfeeling of common decency I should request you to restrain your mirth alittle out of respect to Lord O'Neill, who lies dying within two doorsof you. But I should probably only provide you with fresh food for yourlaughter if I did."
He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minuteor two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric's lastwords had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunsevericwas a man of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far theinfluence of a great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion issometimes stopped mysteriously by influences which are not very easilybaffled. There were colonels at the table who wanted to be generals,and generals who wanted commands. There was a feeling that it might havebeen wiser to speak more civilly to Lord Dunseveric.
General Clavering himself broke the silence.
"These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart," he said. "The gentrywant their combs cut as much as the croppies. I'm not going to beinsulted at my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lordbefore his name. I'll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I'llmake him smart with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boastbefore a company of men holding His Majesty's commission, that he hangeda soldier in discharge of his duty."
"A yeoman," said Colonel Durham, "and some of the yeomen deservehanging."
"God Almighty!" said Clavering, "are you turning rebel, too? I don'tcare whether a man deserves it or not, I'll not have the king's troopshanged by filthy Irishmen."
He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Claveringhad boasted too loudly--had gone too far. It was well known that in theexisting state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers wouldprobably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man likeLord Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irishlandowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of allclasses in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carryingout of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted tolaugh the matter off.
"But this," he said, "is over wine. Men say more than they mean whenthey are engaged in emptying mine host's cellar. Come, gentlemen,another bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we'll do himthis much grace--we'll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle atthe end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate."
Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside LordO'Neill. He said nothing to Maurice.
"Well," said Lord O'Neill, "will they spare him?"
"No."
"More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in eviltimes. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I couldmanage to write."
"None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear withouttaking my troubles and my friend's troubles on your shoulders."
For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by anoccasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured lowby Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. Heunderstood that his father's intercession for Neal had failed, but hewas not hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, buthe waited confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turnedback from anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if hewanted Neal Ward's release the release would be accomplished whateverGeneral Clavering might think or say.
The evening darkened slowly. Lord O'Neill dropped into an uneasy dose.Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice.
"You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow."
Maurice nodded.
"I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest."
Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect everhaving heard before of his being tired or wanting rest.
"I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if LordO'Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or tothe tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if youlike. You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by thefire till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. Jameswill keep you company, There will be sound sleep for many in this innto-night, but none for poor Neal, who's down in some cellar, nor thesentry they post over him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybeafter all Neal won't be hanged in the morning. That's all I have tosay to you, my son. A man in my position can't say more or do more. Youunderstand?"
"I understand," said Maurice, "and, by God, they'll not hang----"
"Hush! hush! I don't want to listen to you. I'm tired. I want to go tosleep. Good night to you, Maurice."
With a curious half smile on his face Lord Dun-severic shook his son'shand. It appeared that he had the same kind of confidence in Mauricethat Maurice had in him. Like father, like son. When these St. Clairs ofDunseveric wanted anything they generally got it in the end. And noneof the race of them had ever been over-scrupulous in dealing with suchobstacles as stood in their way, or particularly careful about whatthose glorified conventions that men call law might have to say aboutthe methods by which they achieved their ends.
&n
bsp;