Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1

“So it is,” said Bodkin; “but it might be troublesome to carry the young gentleman down that way, – here all is fair and easy.”

The next instant we were placed; and I well remember the first thought that struck me was, that there could be no chance of either of us escaping.

“Now then,” said the count, “I’ll walk twelve paces, turn and drop this glove; at which signal you fire, and together mind. The man who reserves his shot falls by my hand.” This very summary denunciation seemed to meet general approbation, and the count strutted forth. Notwithstanding the advice of my friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch the retiring figure of the count. At length he stopped; a second or two elapsed; he wheeled rapidly round, and let fall the glove. My eye glanced towards my opponent; I raised my pistol and fired. My hat turned half round upon my head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I saw the people around me rush forward; I caught two or three glances thrown at me with an expression of revengeful passion; I felt some one grasp me round the waist, and hurry me from the spot; and it was at least ten minutes after, as we were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, before I could well collect my scattered faculties to remember all that was passing, as Considine, pointing to the two bullet-holes in my hat, remarked, “Sharp practice, Charley; it was the overcharge saved you.”

“Is he killed, sir?” I asked.

“Not quite, I believe, but as good. You took him just above the hip.”

“Can he recover?” said I, with a voice tremulous from agitation, which I vainly endeavored to conceal from my companion.

“Not if the doctor can help it,” said Considine; “for the fool keeps poking about for the ball. But now let’s think of the next step, – you’ll have to leave this, and at once, too.”

Little more passed between us. As we rowed towards the shore, Considine was following up his reflections, and I had mine, – alas! too many and too bitter to escape from.

As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye. For a considerable distance along the coast crowds of country people were assembled, who, forming in groups and breaking into parties of two and three, were evidently watching with great anxiety what was taking place at the opposite side. Now, the distance was at least a mile, and therefore any part of the transaction which had been enacting there must have been quite beyond their view. While I was wondering at this, Considine cried out suddenly, “Too infamous, by Jove! We’re murdered men!”

“What do you mean?” said I.

“Don’t you see that?” said he, pointing to something black which floated from a pole at the opposite side of the river.

“Yes; what is it?”

“It’s his coat they’ve put upon an oar to show the people he’s killed, – that’s all. Every man here’s his tenant; and look – there! They’re not giving us much doubt as to their intention.”

Here a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass of people along the shore, which rising to a terrific cry sunk gradually down to a low wailing, then rose and fell again several times as the Irish death-cry filled the air and rose to Heaven, as if imploring vengeance on a murderer.

The appalling influence of the keen, as it is called, had been familiar to me from my infancy; but it needed the awful situation I was placed in to consummate its horrors. It was at once my accusation and my doom. I knew well – none better – the vengeful character of the Irish peasant of the west, and that my death was certain I had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon my heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As the boatmen looked from us towards the shore and again at our faces, they, as if instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision as to what course to pursue.

“Rig the spritsail, my boys,” said Considine, “and let her head lie up the river; and be alive, for I see they’re bailing a boat below the little reef there, and will be after us in no time.”

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathizing in what they perceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the light spar which acted as mast, and shook out their scanty rag of canvas in a minute. Considine meanwhile went aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the small craft up to the wind till she lay completely over, and as she rushed through the water, ran dipping her gun-wale through the white foam.

“Where can we make without tacking, boys?” inquired the count.

“If it blows on as fresh, sir, we’ll run you ashore within half a mile of the Castle.”

“Put an oar to leeward,” said Considine, “and keep her up more to the wind, and I promise you, my lads, you will not go home fresh and fasting if you land us where you say.”

“Here they come,” said the other boatman, as he pointed back with his finger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the shore, with six sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or four others were endeavoring to get up their rigging, which appeared tangled and confused at the bottom of the boat; the white splash of water which fell each moment beside her showing that the process of bailing was still continued.

“Ah, then, may I never – av it isn’t the ould ‘Dolphin’ they have launched for the cruise,” said one of our fellows.

“What’s the ‘Dolphin,’ then?”

“An ould boat of the Lord’s [Lord Clanricarde’s] that didn’t see water, except when it rained, these four years, and is sun-cracked from stem to stern.”

“She can sail, however,” said Considine, who watched with a painful anxiety the rapidity of her course through the water.

“Nabocklish, she was a smuggler’s jolly-boat, and well used to it. Look how they’re pulling. God pardon them, but they’re in no blessed humor this morning.”

“Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind’s failing us,” cried the count, as the sail flapped lazily against the mast.

“It’s no use, yer honor,” said the elder. “We’ll be only breaking our hearts to no purpose. They’re sure to catch us.”

“Do as I bade you, at all events. What’s that ahead of us there?”

“The Oat Rock, sir. A vessel with grain struck there and went down with all aboard, four years last winter. There’s no channel between it and the shore, – all sunk rocks, every inch of it. There’s the breeze.”

The canvas fell over as he spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow.

“Keep her head up, sir; higher – higher still.”

But Considine little heeded the direction, steering straight for the narrow channel the man alluded to.

“Tear and ages, but you’re going right for the cloch na quirka!”

“Arrah, an’ the devil a taste I’ll be drowned for your devarsion!” said the other, springing up.

“Sit down there, and be still,” roared Considine, as he drew a pistol from the case at his feet, “if you don’t want some leaden ballast to keep you so! Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot – you understand me.”

The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually flying through the water. Considine’s object was a clear one. He saw that in sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay in reaching the narrow and dangerous channel between Oat Rock and the shore, by which we should distance the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ran out beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the danger behind us could warrant so rash a daring. The whole channel was dotted with patches of white and breaking foam, – the sure evidence of the mischief beneath, – while here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood. Escape seemed impossible; but who would not have preferred even so slender a chance with so frightful an alternative behind him? As if to add terror to the scene, Considine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channel when a tremendous blackness spread over all around, the thunder pealed forth, and amidst the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of lightning a squall struck us and laid us nearly keel uppermost for several minutes. I well remember we rushed through the dark and blackened water, our little craft more than half filled, the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves kneeling on the bottom planks for safety. Roll after roll of loud thunder broke, as it were, just above our heads; while in the swift dashing rain that seemed to hiss around us every object was hidden, and even the other boat was lost to our view. The two poor fellows – I shall never forget their expression. One, a devout Catholic, had placed a little leaden image of a saint before him in the bow, and implored its intercession with a torturing agony of suspense that wrung my very heart. The other, apparently less alive to such consolations as his Church afforded, remained with his hands clasped, his mouth compressed, his brows knitted, and his dark eyes bent upon me with the fierce hatred of a deadly enemy; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of some dreadful conflict within. The wild ferocity of his look fascinated my gaze, and amidst all the terrors of the scene I could not look from him. As I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck the boat; the mast went over, and with a loud report like a pistol-shot smashed at the thwart and fell over, trailing the sail along the milky sea behind us. Meanwhile the water rushed clean over us, and the boat seemed settling. At this dreadful moment the sailor’s eye was bent upon me, his lips parted, and he muttered, as if to himself, “This it is to go to sea with a murderer.” Oh, God! the agony of that moment! the heartfelt and accusing conscience that I was judged and doomed! that the brand of Cain was upon my brow! that my fellow-men had ceased forever to regard me as a brother! that I was an outcast and a wanderer forever! I bent forward till my forehead fell upon my knees, and I wept. Meanwhile the boat flew through the water, and Considine, who alone among us seemed not to lose his presence of mind, cut away the mast and sent it overboard. The storm began now to abate; and as the black mass of cloud broke from around us we beheld the other boat, also dismasted, far behind us, while all on board of her were employed in bailing out the water with which she seemed almost sinking. The curtain of mist that had hidden us from each other no sooner broke than they ceased their labors for a moment, and looking towards us, burst forth into a yell so wild, so savage, so dreadful, my very heart quailed as its cadence fell upon my ear.

“Safe, my boy,” said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, as he steered the boat forth from its narrow path of danger, and once more reached the broad Shannon, – “safe, Charley; though we’ve had a brush for it.” In a minute more we reached the land, and drawing our gallant little craft on shore, set out for O’Malley Castle.

CHAPTER IX

THE RETURN

O’Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed at, and thither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. We had not, however, proceeded far, when, before us on the road, we perceived a mixed assemblage of horse and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. The mob, which consisted of some hundred country people, were armed with sticks, scythes, and pitchforks, and although not preserving any very military aspect in their order of march, were still a force quite formidable enough to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were to do.

“They’ve outflanked us, Charley,” said Considine; “however, all is not yet lost. But see, they’ve got sight of us; here they come.”

At these words, the vast mass before us came pouring along, splashing the mud on every side, and huzzaing like so many Indians. In the front ran a bare-legged boy, waving his cap to encourage the rest, who followed him at about fifty yards behind.

“Leave that fellow for me,” said the count, coolly examining the lock of his pistol; “I’ll pick him out, and load again in time for his friends’ arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far back in the crowd? Yes, to be sure it is? He’s on a large horse – now he’s pressing forward; so let – no – oh – ay, it’s Godfrey O’Malley himself, and these are our own people.” Scarcely were the words out when a tremendous cheer arose from the multitude, who, recognizing us at the same instant, sprang from their horses and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost was the scarecrow leader, whom I at once perceived as poor Patsey, who, escaping in the morning, had returned at full speed to O’Malley Castle, and raised the whole country to my rescue. Before I could address one word to my faithful followers I was in my uncle’s arms.

“Safe, my boy, quite safe?”

“Quite safe, sir.”

“No scratch anywhere?”

“Nothing but a hat the worse, sir,” said I, showing the two bullet-holes in my headpiece.

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into Considine’s ear, which I heard not; but the count’s reply was, “Devil a bit, as cool as you see him this minute.”

“And Bodkin, what of him?”