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THE WORKS OF STANLEY J. WEYMAN
VOL. XX
THE WILD GEESE
Thin Paper Edition of
Stanley J. Weyman's Novels
(Author's Complete Edition)
In 20 VolumesArranged ChronologicallyWith an Introduction in the FirstVolume by Mr. Weyman
In clear type and handy sizeTo range with Henry Seton Merriman's Novels
Fcap. 8vo, Gilt Top, in Cloth and Leather
Vol. 1. The House of the Wolf. " 2. The New Rector. " 3. The Story of Francis Cludde. " 4. A Gentleman of France. " 5. The Man in Black. " 6. Under the Red Robe. " 7. My Lady Rotha. " 8. Memoirs of a Minister of France. " 9. The Red Cockade. " 10. Shrewsbury.Vol. 11. The Castle Inn. " 12. Sophia. " 13. Count Hannibal. " 14. In Kings' Byways. " 15. The Long Night. " 16. The Abbess of Vlaye. " 17. Starvecrow Farm. " 18. Chippinge. " 19. Laid up in Lavender. " 20. The Wild Geese.
LONDON:SMITH, ELDER & CO. andLONGMANS GREEN & CO.
THE WILD GEESE
BY
STANLEY J. WEYMAN
LONDON:SMITH, ELDER & CO.(_For the United Kingdom_)IN CONJUNCTION WITH CASSELL AND CO., LTD.; HODDER ANDSTOUGHTON; METHUEN AND CO., WARD, LOCK AND CO., ANDLONGMANS GREEN & CO.(_For the British Possessions and Foreign Countries_)1911
1908 July 1st Edition " Aug. 2nd Impression " Oct. 3rd Impression1910 July 4th Impression " Nov. 5th Impression1911 Mar. 6d. Edition " Oct. 6th (Author's Complete Edition)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON BOARD THE "CORMORANT" SLOOP 1
II. MORRISTOWN 15
III. A SCION OF KINGS 27
IV. "STOP THIEF!" 42
V. THE MESS-ROOM AT TRALEE 57
VI. THE MAITRE D'ARMES 72
VII. BARGAINING 90
VIII. AN AFTER-DINNER GAME 103
IX. EARLY RISERS 119
X. A COUNCIL OF WAR 136
XI. A MESSAGE FOR THE YOUNG MASTER 154
XII. THE SEA MIST 171
XIII. A SLIP 187
XIV. THE COLONEL'S TERMS 202
XV. FEMINA FURENS 218
XVI. THE MARPLOT 235
XVII. THE LIMIT 251
XVIII. A COUNTERPLOT 268
XIX. PEINE FORTE ET DURE 285
XX. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 301
XXI. THE KEY 320
XXII. THE SCENE IN THE PASSAGE 336
XXIII. BEHIND THE YEWS 350
XXIV. THE PITCHER AT THE WELL 368
XXV. PEACE 378
CHAPTER I
ON BOARD THE "CORMORANT" SLOOP
Midway in that period of Ireland's history during which, according tohistorians, the distressful country had none--to be more precise, on aspring morning early in the eighteenth century, and the reign of Georgethe First, a sloop of about seventy tons burthen was beating up DingleBay, in the teeth of a stiff easterly breeze. The sun was two hourshigh, and the grey expanse of the bay was flecked with white horseshurrying seaward in haste to leap upon the Blasquets, or to disportthemselves in the field of ocean. From the heaving deck of the vesselthe mountains that shall not be removed were visible--on the northerlytack Brandon, on the southerly Carntual; the former sunlit, withpatches of moss gleaming like emeralds on its breast, the latter darkand melancholy, clothed in the midst of tradition and fancy that inthose days garbed so much of Ireland's bog and hill.
The sloop had missed the tide, and, close hauled to the wind, rode deepin the ebb, making little way with each tack. The breeze hummed throughthe rigging. The man at the helm humped a shoulder to the sting of thespray, and the rest of the crew, seven or eight in number--tarry,pigtailed, outlandish sailor men--crouched under the windward rail. Theskipper sat with a companion on a coil of rope on the dry side of theskylight, and at the moment at which our story opens was obliviousalike of the weather and his difficulties. He sat with his eyes fixedon his neighbour, and in those eyes a wondering, fatuous admiration. Somight a mortal look if some strange hap brought him face to face with acentaur.
"Never?" he murmured respectfully.
"Never," his companion answered.
"My faith!" Captain Augustin rejoined. He was a cross between aFrenchman and an Irishman. For twenty years he had carried wine toIreland, and returned laden with wool to Bordeaux or Cadiz. He knewevery inlet between Achill Sound and the Head of Kinsale, and was sofar a Jacobite that he scorned to pay duty to King George. "Never? Myfaith!" he repeated, staring, if possible, harder than ever.
"No," said the Colonel. "Under no provocation, thank God!"
"But it's _drole_," Captain Augustin rejoined. "It would bother mesorely to know what you do."
"What we all should do," his passenger answered gently. "Our duty,Captain Augustin. Our duty! Doing which we are men indeed. Doing which,we have no more to do, no more to fear, no more to question." AndColonel John Sullivan threw out both his hands, as if to illustrate thefreedom from care which followed. "See! it is done!"
"But west of Shannon, where there is no law?" Augustin answered. "Eh,Colonel? And in Kerry, where we'll be, the saints helping, beforenoon--which is all one with Connaught? No, in Kerry, what withSullivans, and Mahonies, and O'Beirnes, that wear coats only for agentleman to tread upon, and would sooner shoot a friend beforebreakfast than spend the day idle, _par ma foi_, I'm not seeing whatyou'll be doing there, Colonel."
"A man may protect himself from violence," the Colonel answeredsoberly, "and yet do his duty. What he may not do--is this. He may notgo out to kill another in cold blood, for a point of honour, or forrevenge, or to sustain what he has already done amiss! No, nor forvanity, or for the hundred trifles for which men risk their lives andseek the lives of others. I hope I make myself clear, CaptainAugustin?" he added courteously.
He asked because the skipper's face of wonderment was not to bemisread. And the skipper answered, "Quite clear!" meaning the reverse.Clear, indeed? Yonder were the hills and bogs of Kerry--lawless,impenetrable, abominable--a realm of Tories and rapparees. On the sloopitself was scarce a man whose hands were free from blood. He, Augustin,mild-mannered as any smuggler on the coast, had spent his life betweenfleeing and fighting, with his four carronades ever crammed to themuzzle, and his cargo ready to be jettisoned at sight of a cruiser. Andthis man talked as if he were in church! Talked--talked--the skipperfairly gasped. "Oh, quite clear!" he mumbled. "Quite clear!" hereplied. "But it's an odd creed."
"Not a creed, my friend," Colonel Sullivan replied precisely. "But theresult of a creed. The result, thank God, of more creeds than one."
Captain Augustin cast a wild eye at the straining, shrieking rigging;the sloop was lurching heavily. But whether he would or no, his eyefluttered back and rested, fascinated, on the Colonel's face. Indeed,from the hour, ten days earlier, which had seen him mount the side inthe Bordeaux river, Colonel John Sullivan had been a subject of growingastonishment to the skipper. Captain Augustin knew his world tolera
bly.In his time he had conveyed many a strange passenger from strand tostrand: haggard men who ground their shoulders against the bulkhead,and saw things in corners; dark, down-looking adventurers, whose handsflew to hilts if a gentleman addressed them suddenly; gay young sparksbound on foreign service and with the point of honour on their lips, ortheir like, returning old and broken to beg or cut throats on thehighway--these, and men who carried their lives in their hands, and menwho went, cloaked, on mysterious missions, and men who wept as theIrish coast faded behind them, and men, more numerous, who wept whenthey saw it again--he knew them all! All, he had carried them, talkedwith them, learned their secrets, and more often their hopes.
But such a man as this he had never carried. A man who indeed woreoutlandish fur-trimmed clothes, and had seen, if his servant's sparsewords went for aught, outlandish service; but who neither swore, nordrank above measure, nor swaggered, nor threatened. Who would not dice,nor game--save for trifles. Who, on the contrary, talked of duty, andhad a peaceful word for all, and openly condemned the duello, and wasmild as milk and as gentle as an owl. Such a one seemed, indeed, thefabled "phaynix," or a bat with six wings, or any other prodigy whichthe fancy, Irish or foreign, could conceive.
Then, to double the marvel, the Colonel had a servant, a close-tonguedfellow, William Bale by name, and reputed an Englishman, who, if he wasnot like his master, was as unlike other folk. He was as quiet-spokenas the Colonel, and as precise, and as peaceable. He had even beenheard to talk of his duty. But while the Colonel was tall and spare,with a gentle eye and a long, kindly face, and was altogether of apensive cast, Bale was short and stout, of a black pallor, and veryforbidding. His mouth, when he opened it--which was seldom--droppedhoney. But his brow scowled, his lip sneered, and his silence invitedno confidence.
Such being the skipper's passenger, and such his man, the wonder wasthat Captain Augustin's astonishment had not long ago melted intocontempt. But it had not. For one thing, a seaman had been hurt, andthe Colonel had exhibited a skill in the treatment of wounds whichwould not have disgraced an experienced chirurgeon. Then in the Bay thesloop had met with half a gale, and the passenger, in circumstanceswhich the skipper knew to be more trying to landsmen than to himself,had maintained a serenity beyond applause. He had even, clinging to thesame ring-bolt with the skipper, while the south-wester tore overheadand the gallant little vessel lay over wellnigh to her beam-ends,praised with a queer condescension the conduct of the crew.
"This is the finest thing in the world," he had shouted, amid the roarof things, "to see men doing their duty! I would not have missed thisfor a hundred crowns!"
"I'd give as much to be safe in Cherbourg," had been the skipper's grimreply as he watched his mast.
But Augustin had not forgotten the Colonel's coolness. A landsman, forwhom the trough of the wave had no terrors, and the leeward breakers,falling mountain high on Ushant, no message, was not a man to bedespised.
Indeed, from that time the skipper had begun to find a charm in theColonel's gentleness and courtesy. He had fought against the feeling,but it had grown upon him. Something that was almost affection began tomingle with and augment his wonder. Hence the patience with which, withKerry on the beam, he listened while the Colonel sang his siren song.
"He will be one of the people called Quakers," the skipper thought,after a while. "I've heard of them, but never seen one. Yes, he will bea Quaker."
Unfortunately, as he arrived at this conclusion a cry from thesteersman roused him. He sprang to his feet. Alas! the sloop had runtoo far on the northerly tack, and simultaneously the wind had shifteda point to the southward. In the open water this had advantaged her;but she had been allowed to run into a bight of the north shore and aline of foam cut her off to the eastward, leaving small room to tack.She might still clear the westerly rocks and run out to sea, but theskipper saw--with an oath--that this was doubtful, and with a seaman'squickness he made up his mind.
"Keep her on!--keep her on!" he roared, "you son of a _maudite mere_!Child of the accursed! We must run into Skull haven! And if the men ofSkull take so much as an iron bolt from us, and I misdoubt them, I'llkeel-haul you, son of the _Diable_! I'll not leave an inch of skin uponyou!"
The man, cowering over the wheel, obeyed, and the little vessel ran upthe narrowing water--in which she had become involved--on an even keel.The crew were already on their feet, they had loosened the sheet, andsquared the boom; they stood by to lower the yard. All--the skipperwith a grim face--stood looking forward, as the inlet narrowed, thegreen banks closed in, the rocks that fringed them approached. Silentlyand gracefully the sloop glided on, more smoothly with every moment,until a turn in the passage opened a small land-locked haven. At thehead of the haven, barely a hundred yards above high-water mark, stooda ruined tower--the Tower of Skull--and below this a long house ofstone with a thatched roof.
It was clear that the sloop's movements had been watched from theshore, for although the melancholy waste of moor and mountain disclosedno other habitation, a score of half-naked barefoot figures weregathered on the jetty; while others could be seen hurrying down thehillside. These cried to one another in an unknown tongue, and withshrill eldritch voices, which vied with the screams of the gullsswinging overhead.
"Stand by to let go the kedge," Augustin cried, eyeing them gloomily."We are too far in now! Let go!--let go!"
But the order and the ensuing action at once redoubled the clamour onshore. A dozen of the foremost natives flung themselves into crazyboats, that seemed as if they could not float long enough to reach thevessel. But the men handled them with consummate skill and with equaldaring. In a twinkling they were within hail, and a man, wearing a longfrieze coat, a fisherman's red cap, and little besides, stood up in thebow of the nearest.
"You will be coming to the jetty, Captain?" he cried in imperfectEnglish.
The skipper scowled at him, but did not answer.
"You will come to the jetty, Captain," the man repeated in his high,sing-song voice. "Sure, and you've come convenient, for there's no onehere barring yourselves."
"And you're wanting brandy!" Augustin muttered bitterly under hisbreath. He glanced at his men, as if he meditated resistance.
But, "Kerry law! Kerry law!" the man cried. "You know it well, Captain!It's not I'll be answerable if you don't come to the jetty."
The skipper, who had fallen ill at Skull once before, and got away withsome loss, hoping that he might never see the place again, knew that hewas in the men's power. True, a single discharge of his carronadeswould blow the boats to pieces; but he could not in a moment warp hisship out through the narrow passage. And if he could, he knew that theact would be bloodily avenged if he ever landed again in that part ofIreland. He swore under his breath, and the steersman who had wroughtthe harm by holding on too long wilted under his eye. The crew lookedother ways.
At length he yielded, and sulkily gave the order, the windlass wasmanned, and the kedge drawn up. Fenders were lowered, and the sloopslid gently to the jetty side.
In a twinkling a score of natives swarmed aboard. The man in the friezecoat followed more leisurely, and with such dignity as became the ownerof a stone-walled house. He sauntered up to the skipper, a leer in hiseye. "You will have lost something the last time you were here,Captain?" he said. "It is not I that will be responsible this timeunless the stuff is landed."
Augustin laughed scornfully. "The cargo is for Crosby of Castlemaine,"he said. And he added various things which he hoped would happen tohimself if he landed so much as a single tub.
"It's little we know of Crosby here," the other replied; and he spat onthe deck. "And less we'll be caring, my dear. I say it shall be landed.Here, you, Darby Sullivan, off with the hatch!"
Augustin stepped forward impulsively, as if he had a mind to throw thegentleman in the frieze coat into the sea. But he had not armed himselfbefore he came on deck, the men of Skull outnumbered his crew two toone, and, savage and half-naked as they were, were furnished to a manwith
long sharp skenes and the skill to use them. If resistance hadbeen possible at any time, he had let the moment pass. The nearestJustice lived twelve Irish miles away, and had he been on the spot hewould, since he was of necessity a Protestant, have been ashelpless--unless he brought the garrison of Tralee at his back--as achurchwarden in a Synod of Cardinals. The skipper hesitated, and whilehe hesitated the hatches were off, and the Sullivans swarmed down likemonkeys. Before the sloop could be made fast, the smaller kegs werebeing tossed up, and passed over the side, a line was formed on land,and the cargo, which had last seen the sun on the banks of the Garonne,was swiftly vanishing in the maw of the stone house on the shore.
The skipper's rage was great, but he could only swear, and O'SullivanOg, the man in the frieze coat, who bore him an old grudge, grinned inmockery. "For better custody, Captain!" he said. "For better custody!Under my roof, _bien_! And when you will to go again there will be thedues to be paid, the little dues over which we quarrelled last time!And all will be rendered to a stave!"
"You villain!" the Captain muttered under his breath. "I understand!"Turning--for the sight was more than he could bear--he found hispassenger at his elbow.
The Colonel, if his face went for anything, liked the proceedingsalmost as little as the skipper. His lips were tightly closed, and hefrowned.
"Ay," Augustin cried bitterly--for the first instinct of the man who ishurt is to hurt another--"now you see what it is you've come back to!It's rob, or be robbed, this side of Tralee, and as far as the devilcould kick you beyond it! I wish you well out of it! But I suppose itwould take more than this to make you draw that long hanger of yours?"
The Colonel cast a troubled eye on him. "Beyond doubt," he said, "it isthe duty of a man to assist in defending the house of his host. And ina sense and measure, the goods of his host"--with an uneasy look at thefast-vanishing cargo, which was leaping from hand to hand so swiftlythat the progress of a tub from the hold to the house was as the flightof a swallow--"are the house of his host. I do not deny that," hecontinued precisely, "but----"
"But in this instance," the sea-captain struck in with a sneer,contempt for the first time mastering wonder, "in this instance?"
"In this instance," the Colonel repeated with an unmistakable blush, "Iam not very free to act. The truth is, Captain Augustin, these folk areof my kin. I was born not many miles from here"--his eye measured thelonely landscape as if he compared it with more recent scenes--"and,wrong or right, blood is thicker than wine. So that frankly, I am notclear that for the sake of your Bordeaux, I'm tied to shed blood thatmight be my forbears'!"
"Or your grandmother's," Augustin cried, with an open sneer.
"Or my grandmother's. Very true. But if a word to them in season----"
"Oh, d--n your words," the skipper retorted disdainfully.
He would have said more, but at that moment it became clear thatsomething was happening on shore. On the green brow beside the tower agirl mounted on horseback had appeared; at a cry from her the men hadstopped work. The next moment her horse came cantering down the slope,and with uplifted whip she rode in among the men. The whip fell twice,and down went all the tubs within reach. Her voice, speaking, now Erse,now Kerry English, could be heard upbraiding the nearest, commanding,threatening, denouncing. Then on the brow behind her appeared in turn aman--a man who looked gigantic against the sky, and who sat a horse tomatch. He descended more slowly, and reached the girl's side asO'Sullivan Og, in his frieze coat, came to the front in support of hismen.
For a full minute the girl vented her anger on Og, while he stood sulkybut patient, waiting for an opening to defend himself. When he obtainedthis, he seemed to the two on the deck of the sloop to appeal to thebig man, who said a word or two, but was cut short by the girl. Hervoice, passionate and indignant, reached the deck; but not her words.
"That should be Flavia McMurrough!" the Colonel murmured thoughtfully,"And Uncle Ulick. He's little changed, whoever's changed! She has awill, it seems, and good impulses!"
The big man had begun by frowning on O'Sullivan Og. But presently hesmiled at something the latter said, then he laughed; at last he made ajoke himself. At that the girl turned on him; but he argued with her. Aman held up a tub for inspection, and though she struck it pettishlywith her whip, it was plain that she was shaken. O'Sullivan Og pointedto the sloop, pointed to his house, grinned. The listeners on the deckcaught the word "Dues!" and the peal of laughter that followed.
Captain Augustin understood naught of what was going forward. But theman beside him, who did, touched his sleeve. "It were well to speak toher," he said.
"Who is she?" the skipper asked impatiently. "What has she to do withit?"
"They are her people," the Colonel answered simply--"or they should be.If she says yea, it is yea; and if she says nay, it is nay. Or, so itshould be--as far as a league beyond Morristown."
Augustin waited for no more. He was still in a fog, but he saw a ray ofhope; this was the Chatelaine, it seemed. He bundled over the side.
Alas! he ventured too late. As his feet touched the slippery stones ofthe jetty, the girl wheeled her horse about with an angry exclamation,shook her whip at O'Sullivan Og--who winked the moment her back wasturned--and cantered away up the hill. On the instant the men picked upthe kegs they had dropped, a shrill cry passed down the line, and thework was resumed.
But the big man remained; and the skipper, with the Colonel at hiselbow, made for him through the half-naked kernes. He saw them coming,however, guessed their errand, and, with the plain intention ofavoiding them, he turned his horse's head.
But the skipper, springing forward, was in time to seize his stirrup."Sir," he cried, "this is robbery! _Nom de Dieu_, it is thievery!"
The big man looked down at him with temper. "Oh, by G--d, you must payyour dues!" he said. "Oh yes, you must pay your dues!"
"But this is robbery."
"Sure it's not that you must be saying!"
The Colonel put the skipper on one side. "By your leave," he cried,"one word! You don't know, sir, who I am, but----"
"I know you must pay your dues!" Uncle Ulick answered, parrot-like. "Ohyes, you must pay your dues!" He was clearly ashamed of his _role_,however; for as he spoke he shook off the Colonel's hold with a pettishgesture, struck his horse with his stick, and cantered away over thehill. In a twinkling he was lost to sight.
"_Vaurien!_" cried Captain Augustin, shaking his fist after him. But hemight as well have sworn at the moon.