CHAPTER XIX
The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, andworked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blewnow from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Unasat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitementand delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal,dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, andhe had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terribleanxiety and fears. He had life before him--a glad, good thing, yet therewas more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour,he must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone backto the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her everyday. He would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather thanpart, for years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never knownthe fulness of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyesnever left her face. Now and then, when she could spare attention fromher steering, she answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrowat all, only merry delight and the anticipation of more joy. "I havebrought you a suit of my clothes, and some change of linen," saidMaurice. "I have them in a bundle here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo!there are two bundles. I didn't notice that you had brought a secondone, Brown-Eye. You'll not leave me a rag to my back if you give Nealtwo suits."
"It's all right, Maurice," said Una, "the second bundle has my clothesin it."
"Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?"
"I'm going with Neal, of course."
Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in hiseyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which sethis heart beating tumultuously.
"You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?"
"I've money to pay my passage," she said, "and if I hadn't I'd go justthe same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won't be turned out ofher."
"You can't," said Maurice.
"Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only twoin the family that have wills of your own. You'll take me, Neal, won'tyou? We'll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I'm like thegirl in the song--
"'I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red, And through the world I'll beg my bread,' but I won't leave you now, Neal."
She began to sing merrily, exultingly--
"Though father and brother and a' should go mad, Just whistle and I'll come to you, my lad."
"Well," said Maurice, "if you go I may as well take my passage, too. Idaren't go home and face my lord with the news that you've run off fromhim. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you're doing. We're close onthe brig now. We'll neither go to America nor back home if you upset usnow."
He took in the sprit of the sail as Una rounded the boat under thebrig's stern. A rope was flung to them and made fast. Another rope, astouter one, was lowered to Neal. Una seized it and climbed up. Willinghands caught her, lifted her over the bulwarks, and set her on the deck.
"Am I to ferry you across, too, young lady?" asked Captain Getty.
"Yes," said Una, "I am going with you."
Neal leaned across the thwarts of the boat to Maurice.
"Stay you here," he said, "leave this to me."
He gained the deck of the brig. Una met him with outstretched hands andsparkling eyes.
"Isn't this glorious?" she said. "You never guessed, Neal. Confess thatyou never guessed."
Then she shrank back from him, frightened by what she saw. His face wasashy grey, save for two flaming spots on his cheek bones. His lipswere trembling. His eyes told her of some desperate resolution, of somecounsel adopted with intense pain.
"What is the matter, Neal! Do you not want me after all? Will you nottake me?"
"No, I will not take you."
It was all he succeeded in saying before a sob choked him. Una stared athim in terrified surprise; but even then, even with his own words in herears, she did not doubt his love for her. She waited.
"Una," he said at last, "I cannot take you with me."
She gazed at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like the eyes of a littlechild struck suddenly and inexplicably by the hand of some trustedfriend. Neal trembled and turned away from her. He could not look at herwhile he spoke.
"Una, dearest, it is not that I do not love you. I love you. Oh, heartof my heart, I love you. I would give----"
He sobbed again. Then, with an effort, he mastered himself, and spokeslowly in low, tender tones.
"Una, your father has trusted me. He has helped me, saved me. He hasbeen my friend. I am bound in honour to him. I cannot take you from himlike this."
"Ah!" she said. "Honour! Is your honour more than love?"
"Una, Una, can't you understand? It's because I love you so well that Icannot do this. Wait, dearest, wait a little while. I shall come backto you. The world is not so wide that it can keep me from you. The timewill not be long."
He turned to her, and saw again the intolerable stricken sadness of hereyes.
"My darling," he said, "I cannot bear it. I will take you with me. Come.What does it matter about honour or disgrace? What have we to do withright or wrong? Will you come, Una?"
"Her eyes dropped before his gaze. Her hands clasped and unclasped, thefingers of them sliding close-pressed against each other. She trembled.
"If it is wrong----," she whispered. "Oh, Neal, I do not understand, butwhat you think wrong is wrong for me, too. I will not do what you say iswrong. But, oh! come back to me, come back to me soon. I cannot bear towait long for you."
All the joy was gone from her. Forgetful of the strangers who stoodround her, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.
Maurice's voice reached them from the boat.
"Be quick, Neal. I must cast off and let you get under way. They've gotthe old salmon cobble out, and they're coming after us. Captain Twinelymust have managed to tear himself away from the Comtesse. They arepulling six oars, and the cobble is full of men. Be quick."
Una stopped crying on the instant. She cast a terrified glance at theapproaching boat. Then she ran across the deck to Captain Getty. Sheseized his hand, and fell on her knees before him.
"Keep him safe, Captain Getty. Keep him safe. The soldiers, the yeomen,are after him. Do not give him up to them. They will hang him if theyget him. Keep him safe. Do not let them take him."
"Young lady, Miss," said Captain Getty, "stand up and dry your eyes.Your sweetheart's safe while he stands on my deck. Safe from them. Fortempests and fire and the perils of the deep, and the act of God"--helifted his cap from his head--"I can't swear, but as for darned Britishsoldiers of any kind--such scum set no foot on the deck of CaptainHercules Getty's brig--the _Saratoga_. You see that rag there, younglady, that rag flying from the gaff of the spanker, it's not much tolook at, maybe, not up to the high-toned level of the crosses and thelions that spread themselves and ramp about on other flags, but Iguess a man's free when that flies over him. You take my word for it,Miss--the word of Captain Hercules Getty--the Britisher will knuckleunder to that rag. He's seen the stars and stripes before now, and heknows he's just got to slip his tail in between his hind legs and scoot,scoot tarnation quick from the place where that rag flutters on thebreeze."
CHAPTER XX
In the summer of 1800 the Act of Union was passed. The IrishConstitution ceased to exist. The country lay torpid and apathetic underthe blow. Blood had been let in Antrim and Down, in Wexford and Wicklow.The society of United Irishmen was broken. The Protestant gentry werefrightened or bribed. They, or the greater part of them, surrenderedtheir birthright without even Esau's hunger for excuse. Roman Catholicecclesiastics, deluded by the promise of emancipation, which was notkept for many a long year afterwards, offered a dubious welcome to theEnglish power. The people, cowed, helpless, expectant of little any way,waited in numb indifference for what the new order was to bring. Therewas little joy and little cause for joy in
Ireland then.
From the gate of Dunseveric House, in the twilight of the short Octoberafternoon, came a young man who seemed to feel no sense of depression orsadness. He strode briskly along the muddy road, swinging his stick inhis hand, whistling a merry tune. After a while, for very exuberanceof spirits, he broke into song. His voice rang clear through the damp,misty air--
"Oh, my love's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: Oh, my love's like the melody That's sweetly played in tune."
A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller.He carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand.When the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and thenwaited for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young manwas too glad at heart to sing through one song. He began again, andhis voice was full of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to theinspiration of his words--
"Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee."
"Neal Ward," said the man who waited.
The singer paused.
"I'm Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. Iknow it. Let me see your face, man. You're Jemmy Hope. As I'm a livingman, you're Jemmy Hope. I couldn't have asked a better meeting."
He seized Hope's hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm.
"There's no man in the world I'd rather have met to-night. But I mighthave guessed I'd meet you. When a man's happy every wish of his heartcomes to him. It's only the poor devils who are sad that have to waitand sigh for what they want and never get it."
"So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too,for all that's come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a shareof your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. Whatmakes you happy?"
"I'm to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man.Isn't that enough to make me happy?"
He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as ifthere were music in his ears which made him want to dance.
"She's the best girl in all the world," he said, "the bravest and thetruest and the sweetest--
'Or were I a monarch o' the globe, With thee to reign, with thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.'
Haven't I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that."
"You have the best gift that God has got to give to man," said Hope,"and I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have foundthat the love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow ofheart into a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, madepoverty sweet to bear."
"But I'm not poor," said Neal, "I have a home to offer her, a home notunworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall takeher across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I havefitted out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enoughfor her--
"'Blair in Athol's mine lassie, Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, St. Johnston's bower and Hunting Tower, And a' that's mine is thine, lassie.'
Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world beforeme, good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a "perpetualsun-shine to make life fair to me."
Then suddenly his voice changed.
"Ah, but my happiness is not complete. There are two things I want yet.I want my father to come out with me, and I want you, too, my friend."
"And will your father not go? I heard that they had released him at lastfrom the prison in Scotland, whew they kept him since the year of thebreak at Antrim. He's home again."
"Ay, he's home, and it's little cause he has to stay here. They haveput a new minister in his place. The Synod, the conscienceless villains,declared it vacant. Castlereagh, through his satellite Black, hascorrupted them, too. He'll preach no more in the old meeting-house, norsit over his bodes in the old manse. He's at the Widow Maclure's now,the woman whose husband was hanged. He'll not want his bit while I'vemoney in my pocket. But I'd like to bring him with me, to give him abetter home."
"And will he not go?"
"He will not. He says he's too old to go to a new land now; but you'llhelp me to persuade him. I think, maybe, if you'd come with me that he'dcome, too. And you will come, won't you?"
Hope shook his head.
"Don't shake your head at me that way, James Hope. You don't know whatyou're refusing. I can give you work to do out there, and money to earn,and a fine house to live in. It's a good land, so it is; it's a land ofliberty. We've done with the tyrannies of this worn-out old world. A manmay speak his mind out there, and think his own thoughts and go his ownway. We doff our hats and make our bows to no man living, only to himwho shows himself by fine deeds to be our better. It's the land for youand the land for me, and the land for every man that loves freedom. Willyou not come?"
They reached the door of the Maclures' house and entered. A bright fineburned on the hearth. The Widow Maclure was busy spreading a white clothon the table. Her eldest girl, a child of twelve years old, stood nearat hand with a pile of wooden porridge bowls in her arms. The two otherchildren, holding by their mother's skirts, followed, smiled on andchidden as they impeded her work, and babbled questions about this orthat. Beside the fire, in the chair that had once belonged to the masterof the house, sat Micah Ward. He looked very old now and infirm. Themonths in a prison hulk in Belfast Lough and the long weariness of hisconfinement in bleak Fort George had set their mark upon him. On hisknees lay a Greek lexicon, but he was pursuing no word through itspages. It was open at the fly-leaf inside the cover. He was readinglovingly for the hundredth time an inscription written there--
"This book was given to Rev. Micah Ward by his fellow-prisoners inFort George, in witness of their gratitude to him for his ministrationsduring their captivity, and as a token of their admiration for hisfortitude, his patience, and his unfailing charity."
There followed a list of twenty names. Four of them belonged to men ofthe Roman Catholic faith, six of them were the names of Presbyterians,ten were of those who accepted the teaching of that other Church which,trammelled for centuries by connection with the State, hampered withriches secured to her by the bayonets of a foreign power, dragged downvery often by officials placed over her by Englishmen, has yet in spiteof all won glory. Out of her womb have come the men whose names shinebrightest on the melancholy roll of the Irish patriots of the last twocenturies. She has not cared to boast of them. She has hidden theirnames from her children as if they were a shame to her, but they arehers.
Thus far off in a desolate Scottish fortress, after the total failureof every plan, in the hour of Ireland's most hopeless degradation, thegreat dream which had fired the imagination of Tone and Neilson andthe others, the dream of all Irishmen uniting in a common love of theircountry, a love which should transcend the differences of rival creeds,found a realisation. The witness, written in crabbed characters onthe fly-leaf of a lexicon, lay on the knees of a broken old man in thecottage of a widow within earshot of the perpetual clamour of the bleaknorthern sea.
"Well, father," said Neal, "here I am back again. And here's JemmyHope, whom I picked up on the road. He's come to see you. He's going topersuade you to cross the sea with me. You and I and he together, andHannah Macaulay, who's coming, too. Una will make you all welcome on hersturdy ship. It's her ship now. All that I have is her's."
Micah Ward looked at his son with a gentle, sad smile on his face. Thenhe turned to welcome his visitor.
"So you have come to see me, James Hope. It was good of you. Ah, man,there's not so many of us left now. Orr, they hanged him; M'Cracken,they hanged him; Monro, they hanged him; Porter, they hanged him. Andmany another, many another. And the rest are gone across the sea. Youand I are left, with one here and there besides--a very small remnant,a cottage in a vineyard, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, a bes
iegedcity."
"It's hard to tell," said Hope, "why they did not hang me, too. Therewere times when, only for my wife, who would have grieved after me, Icould have found it in my heart to wish they would."
"Father," said Neal, "Hope is coming to America with me."
"Nay, lad, nay. I was born in Ireland, I've lived my life in Ireland,I'll die in Ireland when my time comes. Maybe before the end I'll find achance to strike another blow for her."
"Doubtless," said Micah Ward, "such a blow will be stricken, but not inour time, James Hope. The fighting spirit is gone from us. The men arelaid low or scattered or broken. The people speak about the 'break.'They call it well. 'Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?'Yea, but iron hath broken us. It hath entered into our souls. And if onelook unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow and the light is darkenedin the heavens thereof."
"But there is another land," said Neal, "where the sun shines, whereneither palaces of kings, nor haughty churches, nor the banners andcannon smoke of England's soldiers, nor yet the gallows, casting shadowsover the green fields, and overtopping every village, can come betweenthe people and the good light which the Lord God made for them. That'sthe land for you and me."
"For you, Neal," said Micah Ward, "and for the girl you love. But thereis no other land except only this lost land for me and him."
He took Hope's hand and held it. Then, with his other hand, he drew hisson down beside him. Neal knelt on the earthen floor of the cottage. Hefelt hands laid upon his head--his father's hands and James Hope's. Thebenediction came from both of them, though it was Micah Ward's voicewhich spoke the words--
"The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, Neal; The name of the God of Jacob defend thee; Send thee help from the sanctuary, And strengthen thee out of Zion; Remember all thy offerings, And accept thy burnt sacrifice; Grant thee according to thine own heart, And fulfil all thy counsel."
THE END
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends