Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

  DUTCH JUSTICE.

  I should be no better than a hypocrite were I to deny that, as I rode myweary, borrowed nag back that morning along the Delft road, there shotin and out of the turmoil of my feelings a sharp pang of disappointment.

  It was no disloyalty to Tim; it was no greediness for name and wealth.It was but the dashing of a passing hope that I might find myself, afterall, a gentleman, and so prove worthy to be regarded by Miss Kit assomething more than a trusty servant. As a Gorman, and her cousin, Imight claim her with the best of her suitors. As the son of MikeGallagher, boatman and smuggler, myself but a plain boatswain, how durstI suppose, for all her kindness and gentleness, she could comprehend mein the ranks of her equals?

  Yet to serve her was something--to have snatched her from the scoundrelMartin, and set her in a safe place, was some little triumph to setagainst the disappointment of Biddy's news; and as I jogged Delft-wardthat morning, I fell to considering how best I could help her to herhome and Tim into his estate.

  More people were about now than when I rode last, and some opened theireyes to see a sailor on horseback. But I answered no questions andhalted for no parleys. At Delft I hoped to find a road round outsidethe town, fearing lest I might encounter the owners of the nag on thestreets. But I found no way except that straight through the midst ofthe town.

  As I crossed the market-place two soldiers accosted me and ordered me todismount and give an account of myself. As they spoke only Dutch, and Iknew none of the language, it was hard for us to understand one another.But the feel of their muzzles on my ears convinced me I had betterobey; and abandoning the luckless animal, I was conducted to the guard-house and there locked up until business hours.

  I demanded, in the best French I could muster, on what charge I was thuslaid by the heels.

  My captors grunted by way of answer, and searched my pockets, from whichthey drew my pistol and the little leather case containing my mother'sletter.

  I repeated my question in English, at which they pricked their ears,spoke something to one another in which the word "spy" occurred, andclapped irons on my ankles.

  Evidently then my crime was not horse-stealing, but that of being anEnglish spy, which meant, I supposed, a volley at ten paces before noon.So here was an end to the business of Miss Kit, my sweetheart, and Tim,my brother.

  I confess, as it all dawned on me, I found myself smiling over my bighopes and resolves of an hour ago. But I had long enough to wait tolose all sense of humour, and sink into the most woeful depths ofdespair. It always happened so. The cup was ever at my lips, and asoften rudely dashed aside. My little mistress had never before spokenso gently; my mother's dying charge had never been nearer fulfilment.And now, what could be further from my reach than either? How Iexecrated that ill-starred jade, and the Dutch skiver, but for whom Imight at this moment have been my own master.

  In due time I was marched into the burgomaster's presence, and deemed itwise to make no further mystery of myself. I demanded an Englishinterpreter, unless the magistrate would hear me in French, which latterhe graciously agreed to do.

  "Sir," said I, "my name is Gallagher; I am an Irishman, a servant ofKing George, and a sailor in Admiral Duncan's fleet. I am, as Ibelieve, the sole survivor of the wreck in mid-sea of his Majesty's ship_Zebra_, foully blown up by her mutinous crew. I was picked up by theDutch brig _Scheldt_, now lying at Rotterdam. I am no spy. I rode lastnight to visit an acquaintance--a countrywoman at the Hague--and am onmy way now to fulfil my promise to the skipper of the _Scheldt_ to givehim a day's labour in unlading his brig in return for his kindness tome. The sailor's coat and cap I wear were given me by him."

  The magistrate heard my story attentively, and not altogetherunfavourably.

  "Admiral Duncan's fleet," said he, "is in arms against the Dutchrepublic."

  "It is," said I.

  "How many sail does he muster?" demanded my judge.

  "I cannot tell you, mynheer," said I.

  "Where do his ships lie?"

  "Mynheer," said I, "would you expect a Dutch sailor to betray hiscountry to an English magistrate? I refuse to answer."

  He frowned, less at my refusal than at the terms in which it wascouched.

  "Give me the name of your acquaintance at the Hague," said he, changingthe subject.

  I gave him Biddy's name.

  "What was your business with her?"

  "I never expected to land on Dutch shores, and so had no specialbusiness; but finding myself here, I sought her out."

  This all seemed fair enough; and the burgomaster, who was an honest manand blessed with true Dutch stolidity, after consulting with his clerkand colleague, informed me that inquiries would be made, and thatmeanwhile I should remain in custody.

  To my request to be allowed to send a letter to Biddy he returned a flatand suspicious refusal. Nor, till my case stood clearer, would he orderthe removal of the irons. So for the next twenty-four hours I lay in adamp cell, with black bread and water to support my spirits, and thethought of my little mistress to carry me through the weary hours.

  About noon next day I was again summoned to the burgomaster's court,where, among the curious crowd assembled to see the supposed Englishspy, I recognised not only the Dutch skipper, but Martin. Biddy was notthere.

  The burgomaster wore an air of sternness and self-importance which bodedno good.

  "Captain Koop," said he to the skipper, "identify the prisoner."

  "Most worshipful," replied the sailor, "this is the man we picked up,who said he was a Frenchman, wrecked in the French ship _Zebre_."

  "Was that true?" said the judge to me.

  "Mynheer, I told you my tale yesterday. I am no Frenchman."

  Then Martin was called forward, and looked hard at me with his sinistereyes. An interpreter explained the burgomaster's questions.

  "Witness, you state you know the man Gallagher. Is this he?"

  "Now I look at him--yes; but I did not know him before with his beard."

  "Is he a sailor in the service of the English Government?"

  "He is; and no friend to the Irish people, for whom the Dutch republicis fighting. More, by tokens, your honour," added Martin through theinterpreter, "now I know him, I know who it was who last night carriedaway a certain Irish lady under my protection while on her way to theConvent of the Carmelite Nuns."

  "What do you say to that?" said the burgomaster to me, with a look ofhorror, for he was a stout Catholic.

  "I don't deny it," said I, curtly; "nor do I deny that this blackguard,instead of trying to defend the lady, tumbled all of a heap with frightoff the carriage-box on to the road when I accosted him."

  The interpreter smiled as he translated this, and Martin looked roundnot too well pleased.

  "Where is the lady?" demanded the burgomaster.

  "That is my affair," said I. "She was carried away from her home bythis man against her will. She was rescued from him by me with her owngood will, and is now safe."

  "With your friend at the Hague, doubtless?"

  I made no answer.

  "Inquiries have been made as to this friend. She is known, but hasdisappeared since yesterday."

  "What!" I exclaimed, "Biddy gone? And what of--"

  "In company with a young lady," said the burgomaster, eyeing me sternly."Prisoner, I demand to know where these persons have gone."

  "I do not know," said I, and my own bewilderment might have answered formy sincerity.

  "I do not believe that," said the burgomaster. "A messenger arrived ather inn with a letter early yesterday, and she and the lady left, it issaid by boat, soon after. Do you deny that you sent that message?"

  "I do."

  "Do you deny that you know who did?"

  "I do."

  "Do you deny that you know where they have gone?"

  "I do," retorted I; "and, if it please your worship, what has all thisto do with whether I am a spy or not?"


  "This, that a man who has lied in one particular is not to be believedin others. The same reason which induced you to pass yourself as aFrenchman may explain your refusal to say where the woman McQuilkin hasgone. Her house is known to be a resort of spies and foreigners ofdoubtful character, and your connection with her, and the abduction ofthe young lady, and your refusal to give any information, are stronglyagainst you."

  I am not learned in Dutch logic, and was not convinced now; butapparently my judges were, for I was ordered to be handed over to themilitary authorities of Amsterdam as a prisoner of war, suspected ofbeing a spy, for them to deal with me as they might consider best.

  Before I departed, the burgomaster handed me back my mother's pocket-book, the contents of which he had had translated, and which he was goodenough to say appeared not to be incriminating. My pistol he detainedfor the service of the Dutch republic.

  The military authorities at Amsterdam were far too busy to attend to myaffairs. They were in the midst of equipping an armament to land onIrish shores and strike at England with the cat's-paw of an Irishrebellion. The place was full of Irishmen, some of whom honestly enoughlooked to see their country redeemed by Dutch saviours; others, hungryhangers-on, seeking what profit to themselves they could secure from theventure. A few faces, even during the short time I was kept waiting inquarters, seemed familiar to me as of men I had seen in former days inthe secret conclaves at my father's cabin or under his honour's roof,and one or two I was certain I had seen that day in Dublin not longsince when I was present at a meeting of the United Irishmen.

  Little I knew then or for months after that among these very faces, hadI looked long enough, I might have seen that of Tim, my brother, or(must I say now?) my brother that was, before he became Tim Gorman ofKilgorman.

  But, as I said, the authorities were too busy to inquire into my case,and, taking the word of the Delft burgomaster, locked me up with a batchof other English prisoners to await the issue of the coming war.

  For three months I languished here in a dismal dungeon in dismal companyand fed on dismal fare. But I who had lodged in the Conciergerie atParis in "the terror" could afford to think my Dutch hosts lavish intheir comforts.

  Once and again some new captive brought us news from outside, thepurport of which was that the great Irish expedition, after lying forweeks and weeks at the Texel, held prisoner there by the unyielding westwind and by Admiral Duncan, had collapsed like a burst bubble. Thetroops had all been landed, the ships had returned to refit, and thepack of Irishmen, seeing the hunt up in this quarter, had gone off infull cry to Paris. If the Dutch ventured anything now, it would beagainst England, and on their own account.

  One day towards the end of September a great surprise broke the tediumof our captivity. Our jailer brought an announcement that an exchangeof prisoners was in contemplation, and that some twenty of us mightreasonably hope to see our native land again in a few days. Whether thefortunate score would be selected according to rank or to seniority ofcaptivity would depend on the prisoners handed over by Admiral Duncan.

  It was a pleasing subject of speculation with me, as you may guess. Forwere the selection to be by seniority, I was excluded; if by rank, as apetty officer in a company which largely consisted of common seamen, Imight count with tolerable certainty on my liberty.

  The few days that intervened were anxious and wearisome. Should I missmy chance, I had nothing to look for but a prolongation of this wretchedexistence, with perhaps an ounce of lead, when all was said and done, toend it. If, on the other hand, luck were to favour me, a week hence,who could say, I might be by my little mistress's side at home; for Imade no doubt that when I came to inquire at the "White Angel," as Icertainly would do, I should find that Biddy had taken her thither, or,if not there, at least to some safe place at which I could hear of her.

  In due time came the end to our suspense. The twenty were appointed byrank, and I marched one fine evening out of that wretched dungeon a freeman--stay, not quite free. There was no slipping away to the Hague andthe "White Angel;" no walking through the port of Amsterdam to inspectthe enemy's preparations. We were marched, under arrest, with anescort, in the dark of night, to some little fishing-station among thedunes, where we found an English lugger, attended by two armed Dutchboats, waiting to receive us. On this we embarked, bidding farewell toour captors; but not until the white cliffs of Margate appeared on thewestern horizon did our Dutch convoy sheer off and leave us in Englishwaters in undisturbed enjoyment of English liberty.

  Yet even so, did I still harbour a thought of returning home or seekingthe lost, I was destined to disappointment. For from Margate we weremarched direct to Sheerness, and there inspected by Lords of theAdmiralty, who, without ceremony, told us off to fill vacancies in shipsat that moment engaged in active service, promising us, when the presenttroubles were over, to recompense our hardships and services in somebetter way.

  I found myself under orders to sail forthwith to Yarmouth, there toreport myself on board the _Venerable_, the flag-ship of Admiral Duncanhimself.

  An Admiralty cutter was just then sailing with despatches for the fleet,and on it I embarked the same afternoon, and found myself in YarmouthRoads next morning.

  The admiral's fleet was all in a flutter; for news had only just comethat the Dutch admiral, taking advantage of the temporary withdrawal ofthe English ships from the mouth of the Texel (for Admiral Duncan, afterhis long cruise there, had been compelled to return to refit hissquadron), was setting sail at last, and determined to venture anengagement in the open. Our fleet was wild with joy at the news--aswild as the greyhound who for hours has been straining at his leash withthe hare in view is to feel his collar thrown off.

  Signals were flying from every mast-head. The last of the barges andbumboats were casting loose. The dull thunder of a salute came from theshore, the yards were manned, sails were unfurling, and the anchorchains were grinding apeak.

  At such a moment it was that the Admiralty cutter hove alongside of the_Venerable_, and I found myself a few minutes later lending a hand tohaul to the mast-head the blue flag of that most gallant of sea-dogs,Admiral Duncan.