The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago

“I saw them coming round the head of the lake this evening, and I thought it was after me they were coming; but they never turned off the road, but went on to the gap of the glen, and there they are now, waiting, I suppose, for the French to go.”

“The French are not going, fool! – they are landing! Don’t you hear the guns – there! and there again! There is but one way now, but a bold heart needs no more. Let go the bridle, Terry.”

“I can’t, I won’t let go. ‘Tis cut to pieces you’ll be. I seen them looking at their swords a while ago. Och, don’t twist my hand that way!”

“Leave me free! There is no such armour of proof as recklessness!”

As he spake, he reined in his horse, and, dashing the spurs into his flanks, sprang beyond Terry, and the next moment was out of sight. A very few minutes showed that Terry was but too accurate. Around a blazing fire, beneath the rock, a party of dragoons were dismounted, vainly seeking to dry their soaked clothes, while in front two mounted men could be seen with their carbines unslung, ready for action.

A bold dash to force his way through was the only chance remaining. To depend on his horse’s speed, and his own dexterous hand to guide him, was all his hope. He resolved, therefore, neither to draw sword nor pistol, but attempt to pass by sheer horsemanship. Few men were either better suited for a venture so daring, or better equipped at the moment. The animal he rode was a powerful thoroughbred, trained and managed to perfection.

Without the slightest noise Mark dismounted, and, ungirthing his saddle, re-adjusted and fastened it further back. He then looked carefully to his bridle, to see all was safe there, and loosened the curb, to give the horse free play of his head. This done, and with his cap pressed firmly down upon his brow, he sprang into his saddle once more.

The bright blaze enabled him to see the party in front, and, while he himself escaped all observation, to devise his plans at leisure. He advanced, therefore, at a slow walk, keeping the horse’s feet in the deep ground, where no noise was made. He counted seven figures around the fire, and two as sentinels, and suspected at once that the whole party was not there. Still there was no other chance. To attempt the mountain would delay him a day at least, and a day now was a life-time. Creeping noiselessly forward, he came within a few yards of the outposts, and could distinctly hear the voices as they talked together. He halted for a second or two, and looked back down the glen. It was an involuntary action, for even had all not been dark around him, his home, to which he wished to bid a last adieu, was out of sight.

A cannon-shot rung out at the instant, and, taking it for a signal, Mark reined in his horse sharply, and then, dashing the spurs to his sides, made him plunge madly forward, and, with the bound, shot through the space between the two sentinels, each of whom presented, but feared to fire, lest he should injure his comrade.

“Come on – follow me!” cried Mark, waving his hand as if encouraging others on, and the action turned every look down the glen, in the direction from whence he came, and whence now came a wild, shrill yell, the most savage and appalling.

“Fire! – down with him! – fire!” shouted the soldiers to one another, as Mark, leaning fiat on his horse’s main, rode on; and the balls whistled quick, above and around, but not one struck him. “After him, Jack – after him!” cried one of the sentinels, who, perceiving that Mark was not followed, turned his horse to the pursuit; but another yell, wilder than the first, arrested him, and he heard a voice screaming, “This way, boys, this way – we have them here!” and Terry, waving his cap, bounded forward, and called out unceasingly for others to come on. In an instant the whole attention was turned to the front, while with the stroke of a sabre poor Terry was stretched upon the ground, bleeding and senseless.

“It is only that cursed fool we used to see at Macroom, about the barrack gates,” said one of the dragoons, as he held a piece of lighted wood beside his face, “and the other fellow cannot have had much more sense, or he would never have tried to ride through a squadron of horse. But there! – he’s down now! Did you hear that crash? – that was a horse that fell!”

So it was; Mark had but passed the first party to fall on a much more formidable body further on, and his horse, twice wounded, was at last struck in the shoulder, and fell headlong to the ground pinioning the rider beneath him. With a dexterity that seemed magical, Mark disengaged himself from the wounded animal, and drawing his pistols, prepared to sell his life dearly.

“You are a prisoner, sir,” called out the sergeant, as with fearless step he marched towards him.

“Another pace nearer, and I’ll send a bullet through you,” said Mark; “you may have my corpse for your booty, but you’ll never lay hands on me living.”

“Don’t fire, don’t fire, men,” cried a voice, as the officer rode up at the speed of his horse, and then throwing himself from the saddle, commanded the men to fall back. With looks of astonishment and even of anger, the dragoons retired, while the captain sheathing his sword, approached Mark.

“Thank heaven, Mr. O’Donoghue, you have not fired at my men.”

“Am I your prisoner, Captain Travers?” said Mark, replacing his weapon.

“No, far from it; it was to serve you I accepted the command of this party. I knew of the plot by which you were threatened – Hemsworth – ”

“He is gone to his reckoning now,” said Mark, who never gave credit to Kerry’s story.

“Not dead – you do not mean that?”

“Even so, sir, but not as I see you suspect.”

“No matter now,” cried Travers, wildly, for a thousand dreadful fears came crowding on his mind; “you must escape at once; this will be worse than the charge of treason itself. Was there any witness to his death?”

“None,” said Mark, for he remembered that Kate was still fainting during the struggle he believed fatal.

“You must escape at once,” repeated Travers, for without directly attributing guilt to Mark, he feared the consequence of this dreadful event. “Keep in the mountain for some little time, and when this mad enterprise has blown over – ”

“The country then will be in other hands,” interrupted Mark; – “aye, sir, you may look and feel incredulous, but the time is perhaps not distant when I may be able to return your present courtesy. The French are landing – ”

“They are putting out to sea – flying – not advancing,” said Travers, proudly.

“No, no, you mistake them,” said Mark, with a smile of incredulity. “I heard the guns not a quarter of an hour since – would I had never left them.”

“There, take my horse, mount quickly, and make for the Bay, and turn him loose on the shore – reach the fleet if you can – in any case, escape; there is no time to lose.”

“And you – how are you to account for this?” said Mark. “Will your loyalty stand so severe a trial as that of having assisted a rebel’s escape?”

“Leave me to meet my difficulties my own way; turn your thoughts to your own – heaven knows, they are enough.”

The tone he spoke in appealed to Mark’s feelings more strongly than all he said before, and grasping Travers’ hand, he said —

“Oh, if I had but had your friendship once, how different I might be this day; and my father too – what is to become of him?”

“Spare him at least the sorrow of seeing his son arraigned on a charge of treason, if not of worse.”

Fortunately Mark heard not the last few words, which rather fell from Travers inadvertently, and were uttered in a low voice.

“There,” cried Mark, as the loud report of several guns pealed forth – “they have landed – they will soon be here.”

As he spoke, a mounted dragoon rode up to Travers, and whispered a few words in his ear. Frederick motioned the man to fall back, and then approaching Mark, said —

“I was correct, sir – the French fleet is under weigh – the expedition is abandoned; away then before your chance is lost – down to the Bay and get on board; you will at least find a path where there is glory as well as peril; there – away.”

“They cannot have done this,” cried Mark, in an agony of passion; “they would not desert the cause they have fostered, and leave us to our fate here.”

Mark vaulted on Travers’ horse as he said this, all feeling for his own safety merged in his anxiety for the issue of the plot.

“Treachery we have had enough of – we may be well spared the curse of cowardice. Good-bye, farewell – few, either friends or foes, have done me the services that you have. If we are to meet again, Travers – ”

“Farewell, farewell,” cried Travers; “we shall never meet as enemies,” and he hastened from the spot, while Mark bending forward in the saddle, pressed the spurs to his horse, and started.

With the speed of one who cared for nothing less than his own safety, Mark urged his horse onward, and deserting the ordinary road, he directed his course to the shore along the base of the mountain – a rough and dangerous path beset with obstacles, and frequently on the very edge of the cliff; at last he reached the Bay, over which the dark storm was raging in all its violence; the wind blowing with short and sudden gusts sent the great waves thundering against the rocks, and with fearful roar through the caves and crevices of the coast. Riding madly on till the white foam dashed over him, he turned on every side, expecting to see the boats of the fleet making for the land, but all was dreary and desolate; he shouted aloud, but his voice was drowned in the uproar of the elements; and then, but not till then, came over him the afflicting dread of desertion. The vivid lightning shot to and fro over the bleak expanse of sea, but not a sail was there – all, all were gone.

There was a projecting promontory of rock which, running out to a considerable distance in the Bay, shut out all view beyond it; the last hope he cherished was, that they might have sought shelter in the bay beneath this, and plunging into the boiling surf, he urged his horse forward – now madly rearing as the strong sea struck him – now buffeting the white waves with vigorous chest – the noble beast braved the storm-lashed water, and bore him alternately bounding and swimming, as the tide advanced or receded.

The struggle, with all its peril to life, brought back the failing courage to Mark’s heart, and he cheered his horse with a cry of triumphant delight, as each great wave passed over them, and still they went on undaunted. It was a short but desperate achievement to round the point of the promontory, where the sea beat with redoubled fury; but the same daring intrepidity seemed to animate both horse and rider, and after a moment of extreme danger, both gained the beach in safety. At the very same instant that the animal touched the strand, a quick flash broke over the sea, and then came the thundering report of a cannon. This was answered by another further out to sea, and then a blue light burst forth on high, and threw its lurid glare over the spars and canvas of a large ship – every rope and block, every man and every gun were displayed in the spectral light. It was a grand, but still an appalling sight, to see the huge mass labouring in the sea, and then the next moment to strain the eyes through the black canopy of cloud that closed around her; for so it was, as the light went out, no trace of the vessel remained, nor was there aught to mark the spot she had occupied.

From time to time the flash and the report of a gun would show where some ship struggled with the raging sea; but to Mark all was mystery. He knew not what it might portend, and hesitated between hope and despair, whether these might prove the preparations for disembarking, or the last signal before sailing.

In the low hut of a fisherman, not far from where he was, a light still twinkled, and thither he hastened: it belonged to the man who had rowed him on board of the frigate, and with whom Kate had spoken in the kitchen. As Mark reached the door, he heard the sound of several voices talking in a low, half-suppressed tone; pushing open the door, he entered, and found about a dozen fishermen standing over the lifeless body of a man in a French uniform.

“Who is this? What has happened?” said Mark, hurriedly. “It’s one of the French officers, sir,” said Tom McCarthy; “he came ashore with us this morning, and to-night, when it came on to blow, and he saw the signals to sail, he insisted on going on board again, and we did our best for him; we twice put out, and twice were sent back again; but the last time we tried, the craft was upset, and the poor fellow could not swim, and we never saw him more, till we found his body on the strand about an hour ago.”

Mark held the light beside the pale features, and saw that he was a youth of not more than eighteen years; there was no distortion whatever, and the features were calm and tranquil, as if in sleep.

“Let us lay him in the earth, boys,” said Mark, as his voice trembled with emotion; “it is the least we can do to let him sleep in the land he came to save.”