The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago

“You passed Terry on the mountain? He was at his post, I trust?” said Mark, anxiously.

“Yes, but for his directions I could never have discovered the path.”

“All’s well, then. Until I hear a certain signal from him, I fear nothing. The fellow seems neither to eat nor sleep. At least since I’ve been here, he has kept watch night and day in the mountains.”

“He always loved you, Mark.”

“He did so; but now it is not me he thinks of. His whole heart is in the cause – higher and nobler than a mere worthless life like mine.”;

“Poor fellow! he is but half-witted at best,” said Herbert.

“The more reason for his fidelity now,” said Mark, bitterly. “The men of sense are traitors to their oaths, and false to their friends. The enterprise cannot reckon, save on the fool or the madman. I know the taunt you hint at, as – ”

“My dearest brother,” cried Herbert, with streaming eyes.

“My own dear Herbert, forgive me,” said Mark, as he flung his arm round his neck. “These bursts of passion come over me after long and weary thoughts. I am tired to-day. Tell me, how are they all at Carrig-na-curra?”

“Well, and, I would say, happy, Mark, were it not for their anxieties about you. My uncle heard some news to-day so threatening in its nature, that he has set out for Dublin post haste, and merely wrote these few lines, which he gave me for you before he started.”

Mark read the paper twice over, and then tearing it, threw the fragments at his feet, while he muttered —

“I cannot, I must not leave this.”

“But your safety depends on it, Mark – so, my uncle pressed upon me. The danger is imminent, and, he said, fatal.”

“So would it be, were I to leave my post. I cannot tell you, Herbert – I dare not reveal to you what our oath forbids me: – but here I must remain.”

“And this dress, Mark – why increase the risk you run by a uniform which actually designates treason?”

“Who will dare to tell me so?” cried Mark, impetuously. “The uniform is that of a French grenadier – the service whose toil is glory, and whose cause is liberty. It is enough that I do not wear it without authority. You can satisfy yourself on that head soon. Read this,” and he unfolded a paper, which, bearing the arms and seal of the French Republic, purported to be a commission as Lieutenant in Hoche’s own regiment of grenadiers, conferred on Mark O’Donoghue in testimony of esteem for his fidelity to the cause of Irish independence. “You are surprised that I can read the language, Herbert,” said he, smiling; “but I have laboured hard this summer, and, with Kate’s good aid, have made some progress.”

“And is your dream of Irish independence brought so low as this, Mark – that the freedom you speak of must be won by an alien’s valour?”

“They are no aliens, whose hearts beat alike for liberty. Language, country, seas may divide us, but we are brothers in the glorious cause of humanity. Their swords are with us now, as would be ours for them, did the occasion demand them. Besides, we must teach the traitors, boy, that we can do without them – that if her own sons are false, Ireland has friends as true; and then, woe to them who have betrayed her. Oh, my brother, the brother of my heart, how would I kneel in thankfulness to heaven, if the same hopes that stirred within me were yours also. If the genius you possess were enlisted in the dear cause of your own country – if we could go forth together, hand in hand, and meet danger side by side, as now we stand.”

“My love for you would make the sacrifice, Mark,” said Herbert, as the tears rolled heavily along his cheek; “but my convictions, my reason, my religion, alike forbid it.”

“Your religion, Herbert? – did I hear you aright?”

“You did. I am a Protestant.”

Mark fell back as his brother spoke; a cold leaden tinge spread over his features, and he seemed like one labouring against the sickness of an ague.

“Oh, is it not time!” cried he, as he clasped his hands above his head, and shook them in an agony of emotion – “is it not time to strike the blow, ere every tie that bound us to the land should be rent asunder; rank, place, wealth, and power they have despoiled us of; our faith degraded, our lineage scoffed, and now the very links of blood divided – We have not brothers left us!”

Herbert bent down his head upon his knees, and wept bitterly.

“Who will tell me I have not been tried, now?” continued Mark, in a strain of impassioned sorrow – “deceived on every hand – robbed of my heritage – my friends all false – my father” – he stopped short, for at the moment Herbert looked up, and their eyes met.

“What of our father, Mark?”

“My brain was wandering then,” said Mark, in a broken voice. “Once more I ask forgiveness: we are brothers still; if we be but true of heart to Him who knows all hearts, He will not suffer us to be divided. Can you remain a while with me, Herbert? – I know you don’t mind a rough bivouac.”

“Yes, Mark, I’ll not leave you. All is well at home, and they will guess what cause detained me.” So saying, the two brothers sat down side by side, and with hands clasped firmly in each other, remained sunk in silent thought.

The whole night through they talked together. It was the first moment, for many a long year, since they had unburdened their hearts like brothers, and in the fulness of their affection the most secret thoughts were revealed, save one topic only, of which neither dared to speak, and while each incident of the past was recalled, and friends were mentioned, Mark never once alluded to Kate, nor did Herbert utter the name of Sybella Travers.

Of his plans for the future, Mark made no secret; he had accepted a commission in the French army, on the understanding that an invasion of Ireland was determined on, in the event of which, his services would be of some value. He hoped to reach France by the schooner, which, after landing her cargo near the mouth of the Shannon, was to return at once to Cherbourg; once there, he was to enter the service, and learn its discipline.

“I have made my bargain with them; my face is never to turn from England, till Ireland be free; after that I am theirs, to march on the Rhine or the Danube – where they will. Personal ambition I have none! – to serve as a simple grenadier in the ranks of that army, that shall first plant the standard of liberty here; such is my only compact. Speak to me of defeat or disaster, if you will; but do not endeavour to persuade me against an enterprise I have resolved to go through with, nor try to argue with me, where my impulses are stronger than my reason.”

In this strain Mark spoke, and while Herbert listened in sorrow, he knew too well his brother’s nature, to offer a word of remonstrance in opposition to his determination.

Mark, on his side, led his brother to talk of many of his own plans for the future, where another and a very different ambition was displayed.

Herbert had entered the lists where intellect and genius are the weapons, and in his early triumphs had conceived that passion for success, which once indulged, only dies with life itself. The day broke upon them, thus conversing, and already the sunlight was streaming over the western ocean, as they lay down side by side, and slept.

CHAPTER XLIII. THE CONFEDERATES

The paroxysm which Sir Archibald had witnessed, formed the crisis of Hemsworth’s malady; and on the evening of the same day, his disease had so far abated of its violence, that his delirium had left him, and excessive debility was now the only symptom of great danger remaining. With the return of his faculties, came back his memory, clear and unclouded, of every incident up to the very moment of his accident; and as he lay, weak and wasted on his bed, his mind reverted to the plans and projects of which his illness had interrupted the accomplishment. The excitement of the theme seemed rather to serve than be hurtful to him; and the consciousness of returning health gave a spring to his recovery; fatigue of thought induced deep sleep, and he awoke on the following day refreshed and recruited.

The lapse of time in illness is, probably, one of the most painful thoughts that await upon recovery. The lethargy in which we have been steeped simulates death; while the march of events around us show how insignificant our existence is, and how independently of us the work of life goes on.

When Wylie was summoned to his master’s bed-side, the first question put to him was, what day of the month it was? and his astonishment was, indeed, great, as he heard it was the 16th of December, and that he had been above two months on a sickbed.

“Two months here!” cried he; “and what has happened since?”

“Scarcely anything, sir,” said Wylie, well knowing the meaning of the question. “The country is quiet – the people tranquil. Too much so, perhaps, to last. The young O’Donoghue has not been seen up the glen for several weeks past; but his brother passes frequently from Carrig-na-curra to the coast, and back again, so that there is little doubt of his still being in his old hiding-place. Talbot – Barrington I mean – has been here again, too.”

“Barrington! – what brings him back? I thought he was in France.”

“The story goes that he landed at Bantry with a French agent. One thing is certain, the fellow had the impudence to call here and leave his card for you, one day I was at Macroom.”

“That piece of boldness bodes us no good,” said Hemsworth. “What of the others? Who has called here from Carrig-na-curra?”

“A messenger every day; sometimes twice in the same day.”

“A messenger! – not one of the family?”

“For several weeks they have had no one to come. Sir Archy and the younger brother are both from home.”

“Where, then, is Sir Archy?” said Hemsworth, anxiously.

“That would seem a secret to every one. He left this one morning at a moment’s notice, taking the chaise that brought the doctor here. The post-boy pretended he was discharged; but I say that the excuse was made up, and that the fellow was bribed. On reaching Macroom, the old man got fresh horses, and started for Cork.”

“And what’s the report in the country, Wylie?”

“There are two stories. One, that he heard some rumours of an accusation against himself, for intriguing with the United people, and thought best to get over to Scotland for a while.”