Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  A RAT-TRAP IN THE RUE D'AGNES.

  The worth of my credentials was very soon put to the test; for an hour'sride brought me to Morlaix, where, as I had learned from a hastilyscrawled list of places on the cover of the passport, I was to expect myfirst fresh horse.

  Here there was some grumbling at my lateness and wondering as to thecause of it. For the diligence guard had reported that I (or rather hewhom I represented) had started ahead of the coach from Brest, andshould have passed Morlaix three hours in front.

  Whereupon I explained that I had been attacked by a highwayman, andobliged to hide in the woods till daylight. At which they laughed, andsaid if I chose to travel to Paris alone on horseback, instead ofjourneying as most honest citizens did, I must expect to be shot at.Then I was ordered into the _conciergerie_ while my passport and paperswere examined.

  It was lucky for me I had put on the dead man's clothes, and that thedescription chiefly related to these. As regards personal appearance Iwas described as young, beardless, with blue eyes, brown hair, and"nothing remarkable," which equally well described me as it did poorJohn Cassidy.

  "Who is your master?" demanded the officer.

  "Citoyen Lestrange," said I boldly, "an Irishman resident in Paris."

  "Where have you been?"

  "To Dublin, to see my master's agent, Mr Patten."

  "Is this Monsieur Patten's letter?"

  "That to my master is his. That to the Citoyen Duport is from a Frenchgentleman in Dublin whose name I do not know."

  It hurt me to tell so many lies in one breath. But I must needs havesome story to tell, and prayed Heaven to forgive me for this.

  To my relief the officer seemed satisfied, and I gathered that theCitoyen Duport must be a man of consequence in Paris.

  "Pass, John Cassidy," said he, handing me back my papers.

  The same ceremony awaited me at each halting-place, and I realisedbefore I was half-way to Paris that it was no easy matter for a strangerto travel in France in those days. What would have become of me but forthe accident in the wood near Morlaix it were hard to say.

  But though I had much to congratulate myself on, I confess that as Idrew near to the capital I had much to perturb me. At every halting-place on the way there were some who shrugged their shoulders when theyheard I was going to Paris. Paris, I heard it whispered, was no safeplace just then even for a Frenchman, still less for a stranger. Thestreets were flowing with the blood of those whose only crime was thatthey were suspected of not being the friends of the people. As to mypassport, it would be of little use to me unless I could give a fitaccount of myself and my masters. As for Citoyen Duport, if I once putmy head in his jaws I need not expect to see it on again. And as for myletter to Citoyen Lestrange, I had better carry it in the sole of mystocking, and let no one know I bore a missive to any Englishman orIrishman in Paris. My wisest course, so one frank official at Alencontold me, was to know no French, to have no errand but my letter toCitoyen Duport; that delivered, he thought I should save trouble if Ishot myself through the head.

  All this was very alarming; and I began to doubt, when at last I caughtsight of the towers and domes of Paris in the distance, whether I shouldnot have been better off after all hiding in the caves under Fanad, ordangling on the gallows beside Brest harbour.

  At the barrier, however, things fell out easier for me than I hadfeared. For, just as I arrived, a common cart on the way out had beenstopped and searched, and in it, hidden in a wood packing-case, had beenunearthed some notorious enemy of the people, over whose detection therewas great rejoicing, and the promise of a famous execution in themorning. For all these reasons the soldiers and officials into whosehands I fell were in high good-humour, and after scanning my passportand the letter to the deputy let me go by.

  I had followed the advice of my late counsellor, and forgotten all thelittle French I knew, and had hidden the letter to Citoyen Lestrange inmy stocking. Whether I was to carry out the rest of his advice remainedto be seen.

  The officer at the barrier retained my passport, saying it was donewith, from which I concluded that now I was in Paris there was littlehope of getting out of it again. So, feeling like a mouse in a trap, Iparted company with my horse, my passport, and even my pistol (of whichI was also relieved), and walked forward into the noisy city, wishing Ionly knew where to go next.

  Presently I came into a long narrow street, where the houses overheadslanted towards one another and nearly shut out the light of heaven.Poles stuck out from the windows, on which hung clothes or signs orlegends; the sight of which, swaying in the wind, mingled with the foulodour and the noise and the jostling crowd, fairly dazed a country boylike me. How, in such a place as this, was I to find what I wanted--namely, a meal and a night's lodging?

  At last, in front of me, there swung a flaunting sign--"A l'Irlandois"--at which I cheered up. Here, at any rate, in the midst of this noisomebabel, seemed to come a whiff from the old country, and I felt like acastaway in sight of land.

  But before I had time to reach the place the whole street seemedsuddenly to go mad. First there was a yell and a roll of drums at theend by which I had entered. Then every window seemed alive with people,straining forward with howls and execrations and clenched fists. Fromevery door below poured forth a crowd, who fought with one another for aplace next the roadway, waved their red caps, and shouted in a wild sortof chant some French song. In the rush stalls and barrows wereoverturned, but there was no one to heed; children were trampled on, butno one heard their cries; pockets were picked, but there was no one tomiss their loss; windows were smashed, but there was no one to feel adraught. To my wondering fancy, all Paris had suddenly turned into thisnarrow Rue d'Agnes and there run mad.

  I noticed that the one thing all were agreed upon, was to keep a clearspace in the roadway, and strain their necks impatiently in thedirection of the drums; and soon enough the reason of all thisexcitement became clear. Drawn by a single horse, and escorted by atroop of National Guards, came a low open cart, in which sat twopersons, deadly white, gazing in a dazed vacant way at the scene aroundthem, and sometimes casting a reproachful glance at the slowly ploddinghorse. One of the two was an old man, of fine, aristocratic presence,which the coarse clothes he wore could not disguise. The other was alow ruffian, with swollen face and bleared eyes, in the dress of abutcher. Between the two, except that they were on their way to death,there was nothing in common. Till to-day they had never met, and afterto-day they would never meet again. The crime of one, so I heard, wasthat he was related to an aristocrat; that of the other, that he hadmurdered his own daughter. For both offences the law of France justthen had but one penalty. And of the two, he who was most execrated andhowled at and spat upon was the gentleman.

  In less time than it takes to write it the show had passed. A few ofthe crowd followed to see the end of the business. The rest, for themost part, returned to their callings, and before the drums were out ofhearing the Rue d'Agnes was once more a plain, dirty, ordinary Parisstreet.

  With a heart a good deal weighted by what I had seen, I turned into theCabaret "a l'Irlandois." If I had expected to find anything there toremind me of my own country, I was sorely disappointed. A few blouse-clad idlers sat at a table, smoking and drinking sugar and water, anddiscussing the news of the day with their host, a surly-looking fellow,who, whatever his inn might be, was himself a common type of Frenchman."Now?" demanded he as I approached. "Monsieur," said I in English, "Idesire a bed and some food."

  "Speak French," said he in English. "I speak no French," replied I inFrench. Whereupon one of the idlers was summoned as interpreter. Iknew French enough to hear in the words that passed between him and minehost the two expressions "spy" and "money," and I wished I had nevercome into the place. But it was not easy to get out now withoutconfirming the suspicion, and I deemed it wise to appear indifferent.

  "If monsieur can give me a bed, I will put up with him
," said I to theinterpreter; "if not--"

  "Citizen Picquot sees his money before he sells his wares," said theother.

  I laid a gold piece on the table. "Citizen Picquot is a wise man," saidI.

  Then followed a cross-examination of me, prompted by the cautiousPicquot and interpreted by his ally.

  "Who was I? Where did I come from? Why did I seek a lodging at hishouse of all others? How long was I going to stay? What was myoccupation in Paris? How much more money had I got?" and so on.

  To all of which I answered my best; and when I produced my letter to theDepute Duport they treated me more ceremoniously. I was shown to aroom, the like of which for filth I had never slept in before, and shallnever, I hope, sleep in again. It was a large chamber, the boards ofwhich were furred with mildew, and the valance on the bed was droppingoff with rottenness. Generations of cats had haunted it and slept onthe coverlet. The dungeon at Brest was fresh and sweet compared to it.Yet Citizen Picquot smilingly demanded two francs a night and the priceof my candle.

  "Monsieur is safe here," said he, forgetting, as did I, that I knew noFrench. "I had a guest, a week ago, who was found by the Guards andtaken before the Tribunal and guillotined. He would have been safe too,but we had a difference about money, and I denounced him. It was only aweek ago. They will not search my house again for a month to come.Monsieur will be quite safe; but if, alas, he perish (and who is quitesafe in these days?), I will myself protect his effects, and see hisletter to the depute duly forwarded."

  All this was vastly consoling.

  "Apropos," said I, "cannot I deliver my letter this evening?"

  "This evening," said my host with a shrug; "it is death to approach adepute a la Convention Nationale after the seance is closed. The lastwho did it was Mademoiselle Corday, and she-- In the morning, monsieur,when the Convention sits, you shall deliver your letter; till then,peace and sound repose." And he bowed himself out.

  I knew not much of the world, but I knew enough to wish myself out ofthis rat-trap. To try to escape just now would, I saw, be futile. Yetto spend the night there meant, if not murder, at least robbery andpestilence. A brave face was the only thing to put upon the business,and I followed Citizen Picquot downstairs and called for food and drink,in which I invited not him only but his gossips to join me.

  I noticed that the door was carefully locked when any one came in orwent out, and that any chance motion of mine in that direction wasquickly intercepted. So the evening wore on, and presently the lightsof the cabaret were extinguished, and my host passed me my candle andagain bade me good-night.

  I went up by no means gaily. Three other men, I observed, were still inthe house, and would in all probability join in the attack upon me. Ihad parted with my pistol. The door was without a lock. The window wasshuttered from the outside. My only arms were a small pocket-knife andmy belt.

  I took the precaution to secrete my letter to the deputy, along withthat to Mr Lestrange, in my boot, and the little money I had left Itied up in the tail of my shirt. Then I considered that the only safeplace for me that night was to sit on the floor with my back against thedoor and my heels against the foot of the bed, which chanced to stand atjust the required length. In this posture, even if I fell asleep, anyattempt to force the door would arouse me; and if the door wasreasonably sound I could reckon, with my back and feet, on keeping itfast against the four, at any rate for a while.

  I had a long time to wait. They evidently meant to give me time to fallasleep, and themselves, perhaps, time to consume some more of the cognacwhich my money had provided. I was indeed almost dozing when my earscaught the sound of an unsteady footstep on the stairs and a whisperingof voices below. Then the footstep stopped outside my door, and a handcautiously turned the handle.

  "The young dog smells a rat," muttered my landlord, with a hickup whichgave me some hope.

  "True for you, monsieur," replied I, in as good French as I couldmuster. "I can shoot rats as well as smell them." And I made the bladeof my knife give a click that sounded for all the world like the cockingof a pistol.

  "Armed!" ejaculated the tipsy scoundrel. "God have mercy! Pardon,monsieur, I came to see if you were comfortable."

  "Monsieur citoyen is too good. I am most comfortable, and beg to bewaked at cock-crow. _Bonsoir_."

  I knew of course that was not the end of him, but while he stumbleddownstairs to take counsel with his comrades I had at least time tobreathe. I peeped out of the door. All was dark, and there was nosound but the ticking of the great Dutch clock in the shop below.

  The clock! I had noticed it that evening--a great unwieldy structurelike a coffin on end, and a dial above. If I could but get down to it,while my assailants were up despatching me, I might yet have a chance ofeluding them. I could hear them discussing together at the foot of thestairs, and presently advance once more to the charge, not this timewith my host as an advance-guard, but all together. I slipped out intothe passage, and hid in a dark corner at the head of the stairs, soclose, indeed, that they all but brushed against me in passing.

  "_Alors, il dort_," said my host, listening for a moment. "No; hemoves. All together now."

  And with one accord they hurled themselves against the door, which ofcourse offered no resistance, and admitted them toppling one over theother into the room.

  I waited no longer, but slipped down the stairs and into the clock. Ihad to displace the pendulum to do it, but trusted to the muddledcondition of the enemy not to miss the ticking.

  After a while they came down in a towering rage, blaming one another forwhat had happened. They were just in the humour to be quarrelsome, andas I stood motionless in my narrow sentry-box I heard as pretty a battleof words as it has ever been my lot to listen to.

  Their one comfort was that I could not be far away. Either I had goneout by the window, in which case I had undoubtedly broken my neck; or Iwas down in the cellar, in which case I would keep till morning."Meanwhile, comrades, let us drink long life to the Republic, and downwith the Girondists."

  So to drink they fell, but were hardly settled when a loud summons cameat the outer door, and a shout of, "Open, in the name of the RepublicOne and Indivisible!"

  Then did mine host quake in his shoes, and his comrades turned pale.

  "To bed!" whispered my host with trembling voice. "Go up and sleep."

  They were not long in obeying, and that night the bed that was meant forme held three of the soundest sleepers in all France.

  The knocking continued, and mine host, feigning a great yawn, took downhis key and asked who was there.

  "Citoyen Picquot, open to the National Guard."

  The door opened, and half-a-dozen soldiers trooped into the shop.

  "Produce your lodgers," demanded the soldier in command.

  "I have but three, citizen soldier. Follow me, they shall be at yourservice."

  The officer followed my host upstairs; the others remained below.Presently I heard a loud outcry and scuffling of feet above, and ashouted word of command. The soldiers instantly rushed up the stairs.

  But no speed of theirs could equal that with which I darted from myhiding-place and out at the open door into the street, thanking Heaventhat whatever rats might be caught that night in the Rue d'Agnes I wasnot one of them.