CHAPTER VII
At breakfast the next morning James Hope spoke again about Finlay.
"The man went home last night with Aeneas Moylin. I think that I oughtto go to Donegore to-day and tell Aeneas of our suspicions. I hadintended to go straight to Templepatrick, and I might have had yourcompany so far, but it will certainly be better for me to go round byDonegore."
Donald Ward nodded.
"I shall not see Finlay himself," said Hope. "He was to leave early thismorning for Belfast. You must ride fast to be there before him."
He paused. Then, after a moment's thought, he said:
"I should like to have Neal with me, if you can spare him, Donald Ward,if you do not object to riding alone."
"I am sure," said Donald, "that Neal will benefit much more by yourcompany than mine. He can join me in Belfast this evening."
This was Donald's apology, his confession of contrition for the roughlanguage of the night before; his confession that in James Hope he hadmet a man who was his superior.
"So be it," said Hope. "I shall not propose to you, Neal, that we rideand tie as the custom of the country is for travellers who have only onehorse between them. You shall lead the horse, and so we shall be able totalk to each other."
Neal agreed to the plan gladly. He was greatly attracted by James Hope,and glad to spend some hours with him.
The girl came running into the room, her face flushed with excitement.
"Come, come," she cried, "the soldiers are riding down the street intheir braw red coats. Oh, the bonny men and the bonny horses!"
The three travellers went to the door of the inn. Four companies ofdragoons were passing through the town at a trot. It was Neal's firstview of any considerable body of troops. He stared at them, fascinatedby the jingling and clattering of their accoutrements. These were verydifferent from the yeomen he had seen at Dunseveric. Everything aboutthem, the uniformity of their appearance, the condition of their armsand horses, the regularity of their march, expressed the fact that theywere highly disciplined men. Donald Ward smiled grimly as he watchedthem.
"There are the men we've got to beat," he said. "Fine fellows, eh, Neal?They look as if they could sweep you and me and Jemmy Hope here, and acrowd like us, out of their way; but I've seen men in those same prettyclothes glad enough to turn their backs on troops no better organisednor drilled than ours will be."
"Poor fellows!" said Hope "poor fellows! Paid to fight and die inquarrels which are not their own. To fight for their masters, that theirmasters may grow rich and great. And yet they are of the people, too. Itis just starvation, or the fear of it, that led them to enlist."
"Where are they going now?" asked Neal.
"To Belfast," said Hope. "I heard that the garrison there was deemedinsufficient and that a fresh regiment of dragoons had been ordered infrom Derry."
"Look at them well, Neal," said Donald. "Look at them so that you'llknow them when you next see them. You'll meet them again before long."
James Hope and Neal started on their walk soon after the dragoons hadpassed. Just outside the town they turned aside to view the round tower,the most famous of the buildings of its kind in the north.
"None knows," said Hope, "who built these towers, or why, but it seemscertain to me that they were built by men with lofty thoughts, by menwho looked upward rather than to the earth. Some say that it was toother gods they looked up and not to the true God. What does it matter?Their hearts, like their towers, rose clear of earthly hamperings andreached towards heaven."
He asked Neal many questions about his way of life and education, aboutthe books he had read, and the periods of history he found speciallyinteresting.
"I had no such opportunities when a boy," said Hope, "as you have had.I am a self-educated man. I never had but fifteen months of schooling inmy life. What little knowledge I have I gained with great difficulty."
This surprised Neal, for it seemed to him that he had never talked toanyone who possessed more of that sweetness and wide reasonableness ofoutlook upon life which ought to be the end of education. He tried toexpress something of what he felt, but Hope stopped him and turned thetalk into other channels.
At Farranshane Hope bade him stand still and look at a farmhouse whichstood a little back from the road.
"It was there," he said, "that William Orr lived. His widow and weansare there now. You know the story, Neal?"
"I know it; yes, I know the outlines of it. Do you tell it to me again."
Hope repeated the story, which in those days hardly needed telling amongthe Antrim peasants, of the man whose name had become a watchword; sothat men, seeking to revive failing enthusiasms, said to eachother--"Remember Orr." It was a pitiful tale; a man marked down asodious by a powerful faction, spied upon, informed against, tried byprejudiced judges, condemned on the word of false witnesses, hanged. Thesame tale might have been told of many another then, but William Orrcame first on the list of such martyrs, and even now his name is notwholly forgotten.
They reached Donegore. Moylin's house--a comfortable, two-storeyedbuilding, built of large blocks of stone--stood on the side of the steephill, near the old church and the graveyard. Hope, bidding Neal wait forhim on the roadside, entered the house. In about a quarter of an hour hereturned.
"It is as I thought," he said. "Finlay left early this morning afterarranging for a meeting of the United Irishmen here next week. Well,there is no more to be done for the present. I have warned Moylin to becareful. Come and let me show you the ancient fort from which the parishtakes its name and the view from it."
"This," said Hope, when they stood at last on the top of the great rath,"is my Pisgah. From this I have looked many a time over the land. See,west, south, east of you, how it spreads, rich, beautiful, from theshores of Lough Neagh to the shores of Belfast Lough and the sea ofMoyle. Here great men, warriors of the past, had their hill-top burial,and it may be fixed their fortress home. From this they looked over thecountry which they took and held by strength of arm and courage of soul.Are we a meaner race, men of a poorer spirit? Shall we not enter in andpossess the land in our turn? All over the world the voice of libertyis heard now, clear and strong, bidding the people assert themselves andclaim right and justice. Are our ears alone deaf to the high call? Hasthe pursuit of riches dulled our souls? Is the clink of gold and silverso loud in our ears that we can hear nothing else?"
They descended the grassy sides of the old fort, walked down the steeplane from Moylin's house, and joined the road again. Turning to theright, they went under the shade of fine trees which reached theirbranches over the road from the demesne in which they grew.
"The big house in there," said Hope, "belongs to one of the landlordfamilies of this county. It has been their's for generations. On thelawn in front of that house a company of Volunteers used to meet fordrill. The owner of the house, the lord of the soil, was their captain.In those days we had all Ireland united--the landlords, the merchants,and the farming people. Now it is not so. Our landlords won then whatthey wanted--freedom and power. They have ruled Ireland since 1782.The merchants and manufacturers also won what they chiefly wanted--theopportunity of fair and free trade. They have grown rich, and are everyyear growing richer. They bid fair to make Ireland a great commercialnation--what she ought to be, the link between the Old World and theNew. But both the landlords and the traders have been selfish. Havinggained the object of their desires, they are unwilling to shareeither power or riches with the people. They have refused to considerreasonable measures of reform. They have goaded and harried usuntil----"
He ceased speaking and sighed.
"But," he went on, "they will not be able to keep either their power ortheir riches. In refusing to trust the people they are ensuring theirown doom. They forget that there is a power greater than theirs--thatEngland is continually on the watch to win back again her sovereigntyover Ireland. Our upper class and our middle class are too jealous oftheir privileges to share them with us. They will give England
theopportunity she wants. Then Ireland will be brought into the oldsubjection, and her advance towards prosperity will be checked again asit was checked before. She will become a country of haughtysquireens--the most contemptible class of all, men of blackened honourand broken faith, men proud, but with nothing to be proud of--and ofruined traders; a land of ill-cultivated fields and ruined mills; anation crushed by her conqueror."
Neal listened attentively. It was curious that the fear to which JamesHope gave expression was the very same which he had heard from LordDun-severic. Each dreaded England. Each saw that out of the turmoil ofcontemporary politics would come the restoration of the English powerover Ireland. But Lord Dunseveric blamed the schemes of the UnitedIrishmen. James Hope blamed the selfishness of the upper classes.Neal tried to explain to his companion what he understood of LordDunseveric's opinions.
James Hope broke in on him, interrupting him.
"But the people are slaves, actually slaves, not a whit better. Arenine-tenths of the people to be slaves to one-tenth? The thingis unendurable. Look at the Catholics in the south, men withoutrepresentation, without power, without direct influence; men marked witha brand of inferiority because of their religion. Look at the men of ourown faith here in the north. Our case is not wholly so bad, but it isbad enough. We have asked, petitioned, begged, implored, for the removalof our grievances. If we are men we must do more--we must strike forthem. Else we confess ourselves unworthy of the freedom which we claim.They alone are fit for liberty who dare to fight for liberty. Thinkof it, Neal Ward, think. It is we, the people, digging in the fields,toiling at the looms, it is we who make the riches, who win the goodfruit from the hard ground, who weave the thread into the preciousfabric. And we are denied a share in what we create. It is from us inthe last resort that the power of the governing classes comes. If wehad not taken arms in our hands at their bidding, if we had not stood bythem, no English Minister would ever have yielded to their demands, andgiven them the power which they enjoy. And they will not give us thesmallest part of what we won for them. 'What inheritance have we inJudah? Now see to thine own house, David. To your tents, O Israel!'"
James Hope's voice rose. His eyes flashed. His whole face wasenlightened with enthusiasm as he spoke. Neal listened, awed. Here wasthe devotion to the cause of suffering and oppressed men, the spiritwhich had produced revolution, which had begotten from the wombof humanity pure and noble men, which had, in the violence of itsself-assertion, deluged cities with blood and defiled a great causewith dreadful deeds. He had no answer to make, and for a long while theywalked in silence.
Reaching Templepatrick, Hope took Neal to the house of John Birnie, ahand-loom weaver, a cousin of his own. They were welcomed by the womanof the house and given a share of a meal which even to Neal, broughtup as he had been without luxury in his father's manse, seemed poor andmeagre. But no thought of the hardness of their fare seemed to troublethe mind of the weaver and his wife. Theirs was the kind of hospitalitywhich disdains apology or pretence. They gave of their best. There wasno more that they could do. Also, it was evident that the tickling ofthe palate with food, or the filling of the belly with delicate thingswas not a matter of much importance to these people. Living hard andtoilsome lives, they had the constant companionship of lofty thoughts.They felt as James Hope did, and spoke like him.
Neal lingered so long in the company of these new friends that it wasfar on in the afternoon when he started on his ride, and late in theevening when he arrived in the outskirts of Belfast. It was his firstvisit to the town, and he approached it with feelings of interestand curiosity. Riding down the long hill by which the road fromTemplepatrick approaches Greencastle on the way to the town, he was ableto gaze over the waters of the lough which lay stretched beneath him onhis left. In the Carrickfergus roads several ships lay at anchor, amongthem a frigate of the English navy. Pinnaces and small craft pliedbetween them and the shore, or headed for the entrance of BelfastHarbour by the tortuous channel worn through mud and sand by the Lagan.Below him, by the sea, were the handsome houses which the richer classof merchants were already beginning to build for themselves on theshores of the lough. Between Carnmoney and Belfast he passed the bleachgreens of the linen weavers, where the long webs of the cloth, for whichBelfast was afterwards to become famous, lay white or yellow on thegrass. On his right rose the rugged sides of the Cave Hill. High aboveits rocks towered MacArt's fort, where Wolfe Tone, M'Cracken, SamuelNeilson, and his new friend, James Hope, with others, had sworn the oathof the United Irishmen. They had separated far from each other since theday of their swearing, but each in his own way--Tone among the intriguesof Continental politics, M'Cracken in Belfast, Neilson and Hope amongthe Antrim peasantry--had kept the oath and would keep it until the end.
Entering the town, he passed the recently-erected poorhouse andinfirmary, a building designed with a curious spacious generosity, aswere the buildings in Dublin and elsewhere which Irishmen erected duringthe short day of their national independence. In Donegall Street he sawthe new church--Ann's Church, as the people called it---thinking ratherof the lady of Lord Donegall, who interested herself in its building,than the Mother of the Virgin in whose honour good Protestants werelittle likely to build a church. But the classic portico and tall towerdid not hold his attention long. He could not but notice that there wasan air of anxious excitement in the demeanour of the citizens who passedhim in the street. They were all hurrying one way, making from onedirection or another for the side street whose entrance faced thechurch. Neal accosted one or two, but received either no answer or wordsuttered so hurriedly that he could not catch their import. Determinedat length to get some intelligible reply to his questions, he pulled hishorse across the path of an elderly gentleman of respectable appearance.
"Will you tell me," he said, "the way to North Street? I am a strangerin your town."
"And if you are a stranger you will do well to keep out of North Streetthe night."
"But I seek a house of entertainment to which I have beendirected--Felix Matier's inn at the sign of Dumouriez."
"Who are you, young man, who seek that house? They say----. But let mepass, let me pass. I am the secretary of William Bristow, the sovereignof Belfast, and I must see for myself, I must see for myself what theseincarnate devils of dragoons are doing in our streets."
"I will not let you pass," said Neal, "till you give me a civil answerto my question. I think you citizens of Belfast are as uncivil as mensay you are, and are all gone mad to-night that you will not direct astranger on his way."
"A wilful man, a wilful man. Follow me. Or, let me lay my hand on yourbridle. The crowd gathers fast. It may be that your horse, if I keep byit, will enable me to push my way through. But blame me not if you comeby a broken head through your wilfulness."
Neal's guide, the sovereign's pursy and excited secretary, led the horsedown the side street, along which the people were hurrying. Suddenly thecrowd hesitated, stopped, began to surge back again. Neal, standing upin his stirrups, saw that the end of the narrow street along which herode was blocked by another crowd, which fled into it from a largerthoroughfare beyond. There was much trampling and pushing and shouting.Neal's guide, clinging desperately to the horse's bridle, was borneback. The horse began to plunge. This was too much for the oldgentleman. He loosed his grip.
"Go on," he said, "go on if you can, young man. That's the North Streetin front of you."
The reason for the crowd's flight became obvious. A number of dragoons,dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, camerushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the sidestreet Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd. In amoment they had passed out of sight again, but the moment was enough.Running with the soldiers, his arm gripped by a dragoon, but runningwith his own free will, was James Finlay. Neal was stung to fury by thesight of this man. He had no doubt at all now that he had to do witha traitor. He drove his heels against his horse's side, lashed at thecreature's fl
anks with his rod, and fairly forced his way through thecursing, shouting crowd into North Street.
At the far end of the street he saw the dragoons raging and riotinground a house which stood a storey higher than any other near it. Thewhole length of the street lay almost empty before him. The soldiers hadeffectually cleared a way for themselves. He rode towards the sceneof the riot. He saw that two civilians were defending the front of thehouse against the soldiers. They fought with sticks, and Neal recognisedone of them as his uncle, Donald Ward. Before he could reach themthey were forced into the house, and followed indoors by some of thedragoons. James Finlay had disappeared. Neal hesitated and stopped,uncertain what to do. Some of the soldiers placed a ladder againstthe wall. One of them mounted, with a sledge hammer in his hand, andbattered at the iron supports which held a signboard to the wall. Theiron bars bent under his blows, the holdfasts were torn from the wall,and the painted board fell into the street. A yell of triumph greetedthe fall. The soldiers stamped on the board with their heavy boots andhacked at it with their swords. Then another man mounted the ladder witha splintered fragment in his hand. He whirled it round his head, andflung it far down the street.
"There's for the rebelly sign," he shouted. "There's for Dumouriez!There's the way we treat damned French and Irish croppies."
The crowd, which had gathered courage and followed Neal down the street,answered him with a groan and a volley of stones. The man sprang fromthe ladder, called to his comrades, and in a moment the dragoons drewtogether and, their swords in their hands, charged the crowd. Neal'shorse, terrified by the shouting, became unmanageable. Neal flunghimself to the ground, staggered, was knocked down and trampled on,first by the flying people, then by the soldiers who pursued them. Herose when the rush was over. The street around him was empty again. Thefragments of the shattered signboard lay around. The windows of thehouse that had been attacked were all broken, either by the stones ofthe people or the blows of the soldiers. There was a sound of fightingwithin the house. Neal ran towards the door. A woman's shriek reachedhim, and a moment later a soldier came out of the door dragging a girlwith him. He had a wisp of her hair gathered in his hand, and he pulledat it savagely. The girl stumbled on the doorstep, fell, was dragged apace or two, staggered to her feet, clutched at the soldier's hand andfastened her teeth in his wrist. Neal sprang forward at the man'sthroat, grasped it, and, by the sheer impetus of his spring, bore thedragoon to the ground. He was conscious of being uppermost in the fall,of the fierce struggling of the man he held, of the girl tearing withher hands and writhing in the effort to free her hair, of shouting nearat hand, of a rush of men from the house. Then he received a blow on thehead which stunned him. He awoke to consciousness a few minutes later,and heard his uncle's voice.
"Is the girl inside and the man? Have you got him? Then for the door.They'll hardly venture into the house again after the reception we gavethem. It was a mighty nice fight while it lasted. Now a light, a light.Let us see if anyone's hurt."
Someone brought a light. Neal tried to rise, but was too giddy. Thegirl whom the soldier had dragged into the street stood beside him.Her hair--bright red hair--hung about her shoulders. Her dress was intatters, she was spitting blood, and wiping it off her mouth with theback of her hand.
"Hullo, Meg, Peg, whatever your name is," said Donald Ward, "you'rebleeding. Where are you cut? Let me see to it?"
"Thon's no my blood," said the girl. "It's his. I got my teeth intilhim. Ay, faith, it's his blood that I'm spitting out of my mouth. I didhear tell that it was black blood was in the likes of him, but I see nowit's red enough. I'm glad of it, for I've swallowed a gill of it since Igripped his wrist, and I wouldna' like to swallow poison."
"Well, then, Peg, my wench, since you're not hurt, let's take a lookat the man that helped you. He's lying there mighty quiet. I'm afraidthere's some harm done to him."
Donald Ward took the light and bent over Neal.
"By God," he said, "it's Neal, and he's hurt or killed."
"It's all right," said Neal, feebly, "I'm only dizzy. I got a bang onthe head. I'll be all right in a minute."
"Matier," said Donald, "come and help me with the boy. I must get him tobed. Where can I put him?"
"There's not a room in the house with a whole pane of glass in thewindow," said Felix Matier, "except my own. It looks out on the back,and the villains never came at it. We'll take him there. I'll lift hisshoulders, and go first."
He approached Neal and was about to lift him when the girl pushed himaside and stooped over Neal herself.
"Come now, what's the meaning of this, Peg Macllrea? Are you so daftwith your fighting that you hustle your master aside?"
"Master or no master," said Peg, "you'll not carry him. It was for methat he got hurted, and it's me that'll carry him."
She put her arms under Neal and lifted him. He was a big man, but shecarried him up a flight of stairs and laid him on her master's bed.The long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and anoccasional drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him.Donald Ward and Matier followed her.
"Let's have a look at him," said Donald. "Ah! here's a scalp wound and acut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg,get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot didthis. A kick from one of the rascally dragoons as they passed over himwhen we chased them. Now, Neal, are you hurt anywhere else?"
"I'm bruises from head to foot. Half the people in Belfast have trampledover me this night, and when they wear boots they wear mighty heavyones."
Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal' clothes off him, put onhim a night shirt of Felix Matier's, and laid him between cool sheets.
"Sit you here, Peg," he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, "withthe jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruisesare nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don't youtalk."
Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the tablewhich stood near the window.
"We'll have to sit here," he said, "if we don't disturb your nephew.Every other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have setthe girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they'll have beds for usto sleep in. It's a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to saywhen things went wrong with him--
'Tis but in vain For soldiers to complain.'"
"What started the riot?" asked Donald. "The Lord knows. Those dragoonsonly marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil enteredinto them, if the devil's ever out of them at all."
"I guess," said Donald, "those were the lads that marched through Antrimthis morning."
"The very same."
"They're strangers to the town, then?"
"Ay; I don't suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before."
"Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They camestraight here."
"It was my sign angered them. They couldn't abide the sight ofDumouriez' honest face in a Belfast street.
"Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; Then let us fight about, Till freedom's spark is out, Then we'll be damned no doubt--Dumouriez."
"You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know aboutyour sign or you either, unless someone told them?"
There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at thestreet door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host.
"It's all right," said Matlier, "I know that knock. It's James Bigger, asafe man."
He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced toDonald Ward.
"We were just talking about the riot," said Donald. "What's your opinionabout it, Mr. Bigger?"
"There are five houses wrecked," said Bigger, "and every one of them thehouse of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union."
Donald and Matier exchanged glances.
"They were well informed," said Donald. "They knew what they we
re at,and where to go."
"They say," said Bigger, "that the leaders of the different parties hadpapers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking atthem in the streets."
"I'd like to put my hand on one of those papers," said Donald.
"Zipperty, zipperty, zand,"
quoted Matier,
"I wish I'd a bit of that in my hand."
"You know the old rhyme."
Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him toomuch to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time PegMacllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet,put her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himselfin spite of her.
"I saw James Finlay," he said, "along with a party of the soldiers goingup this street."
The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about tocross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke.
"Is it a bit of the soger's paper you're wantin'? Here's for you."
She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap ofpaper.
"I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing itthat he catched me by the hair o' the head. I saw him glowerin' at it assoon as ever he came intil the light."
Donald Ward took it from her hand and read--
"The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to beknown easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. FelixMatier is + + +."
He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed.
"They have me marked with three crosses," he said. "I'm dangerous. Butwhat do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me?
"'Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.'
"Who set the dragoons on you?" said Donald. "That's the question."
"By God, then, it's easily answered," said Matier. "I'll give it to youin the words of the poet--
"'Letters four do form his name. He let them loose and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due.'
"P.I.T.T. Does that content you?"
"Pitt," said Donald. "Oh, I see. That's true, no doubt. But I wantsome one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is thewriting on it?"
"I can tell you that," said James Bigger. "I have a note in my pocketthis minute from the man who wrote that. It's a summons to a meetingfor important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill ofDonegore, next week."
"Have you?" said Donald.
"Ay, and the man's name is James Finlay."
A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it.
"I reckon, friend Bigger, that I'll go with you to that meeting. We'lltake Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There'll be some importantbusiness done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what JamesFinlay has planned."