Lord Edward Fitzgerald. An historical romance ... With illustrations by L. Linsdell

Front matter

LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD Bn Ibistortcal IRomance BV M. MCD. BODKIN, Q.C. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY LEONART) LINS'DSLL LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ld. ©ebfcatefc BY PERMISSION TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE THE BEST ENGLISH FRIEND IRELAND EVER HAD. "What a noble fellow was Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and what a romantic and singular history his was ! If it were not too near our own time, it would make the finest subject in the world for an historical novel." — Lord Byron.

Preface

s I STORY supplies the most romantic -■- ■*■ part of this Historical Romance. The main incidents of Lord Edward Fitzgerald's marvellous career, as herein set down, his stirring adventures in the American War of Independence, even his adoption into the Indian tribe of the "Great Bear," are abso lutely true. For the rest, though some liberties have been taken with dates, the pictures of Ireland's condition under the "Penal Laws" are painted from life. I r t <r i< ■ t CONTENTS

Chapter XXIII

'That Ends this Strange, Eventful History" (As You Like It) . . . ... LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Lord Edward Fitzgerald . . . Frontispiece CHAP. PAGE I. " He slung up his heavy sword high over his shoulder" 15 III. "A black man, with his back to him, reading at a small table, on which were bottles and bandages " . . 34 IV. "We cannot set our hearts to what tune pleases the story-tellers" . . ... 52 V. " Jerked it roughly away " . . . . 66 VI. " They passed out into the garden, and paced together down the moonlit walk " . . 91 VIII. " Better the noble sorrow than the low delight" . .118 IX. "The black quivering shadow of a deer's head was projected flat on the white ground " . . .132 X. "'Lord Edward,' said Pitt, 'an expedition is in preparation against Cadiz ; will you accept the command?'" . . . . . 150 XI.

"The lights shone full on the pale faces of the two men that stood waiting there so quietly to kill or be killed" . . ... 175 XII. "One end of the rope was drawn tight over his shoulder ; from the other end his victim dangled" 197 XIV. Christy Culkin . . . . . 216 XIV. "The pail of milk tottered and fell right on the head of the falling man " . ... 229 XVI. "The prone and pitiful figure, with ghastly face and dishevelled white hair " . . . 276 XIX. " With a supreme effort, Sir Valentine hurled him down into the swift, full current of the river " . . 332 XX. " It was his own face that smiled back on him from the picture on the floor " . ... 353 XXI. " One hand, thrown wildly out and up, caught the projecting edge of the window-sill " . . . 374 XXII. " ' I demand your lordship's direction for the plaintiff,' repeated Curran, sternly" . ... 398 XXIII. " They rolled over and over in the long grass " . . 409 XXIII. Pamela . . . ...

Chapter I

"A VERY VALIANT REBEL OF THE NAME." Henry IV. Part I. " Swords out and tilting one at other's breasts In opposition bloody." — Othello. THROUGH the long aisles of the great wood he came, riding slowly and cautiously. His chestnut thorough-bred, reined tightly in, and stepping short and high, danced lightly along the smooth sward. The trees stood well apart, and the sod beneath was close and short ; but the great pillars of the wood stretched so high that their closing branches made a green sky overhead, through which the wearied eye strove in vain to pierce. The young horseman rode warily. He had caught up the scabbard close to his side lest its clatter should betray him. But concealment was im possible. A gay parrot might as well try to hide itself behind the wires of its cage. Every bird that fluttered through that high roof of translucent green, every beast that fled through the long arches, or u slipped round the great pillars of the wood, saw him as he passed.

The sunbeams that here and there broke through the high roof lay in wait for him and caught him and brightened his scarlet uniform into a blaze, and struck flashes of light from his steel accoutrements. Let us have a good look at him while we may, for he is worth looking at. He has scarcely crossed the line that parts the boy from the man. The figure, though slight, is agile, and graceful as a leopard's. The brown hair and long silken lashes are like a girl's. But the quick, glancing grey eyes and resolute lips speak the alert courage of a man. It is a face to turn and gaze at. He seems rather a knight of the old days in quest of adventure, than the modern officer whose trade it is to kill or be killed for hire. A circle of sunshine at the end of the long vista warns the young horseman of an opening in the wood.

As a river widens into a lake, the green tunnel through which he rode opened into a clear oval space walled round with high trees. Just as the bright scarlet uniform flashed into the open sunshine two scouts, who plainly had watched his movements, rode sharply out from the edge of the wood and barred his path in front and rear. They were a strange contrast to the brilliant young officer. They were clad in coarse grey uniform, and armed to the teeth ; men meant for use, not show. They drew their swords as they halted. The man behind spoke. "A VERY VALIANT REBEL" 13 " Surrender ! " he shouted. " Resistance is useless, flight impossible. We are two to one, fully armed, and our comrades are close at hand." The young officer cast one scornful glance behind him. He saw a man a little older than himself, but taller and broader, with an honest, kindly face, fair haired and blue eyed.

Then his sword flashed out of its scabbard, he put spurs to the chest nut, and rode straight at the horseman in front. He made a quick, fierce cut at his head as he swept past. But the man ducked as the diver ducks at the gun flash, and the sword swept into empty space, nearly drawing the striker from the saddle by the force of his own blow. So he escaped the sharp, downright stroke dealt in return. It fell short a couple of inches of his head, and the heavy steel bit deep into the leather and wood of the saddle. With a wrench of the reins the chestnut was wheeled right round on its hind legs as on a pivot, and the fight renewed. His second blow was parried, the third evaded. The return stroke almost broke through his guard. The foe was plainly not to be despised — a gaunt, grey man, with a hard face and a keen eye, and muscles as pliant as whalebone.

Skilfully and boldly the deadly game was played, of which life was the stake. The blows came thick and fast, and the quiet wood rang with the angry clash of steel. The young soldier was a brilliant swordsman — his blade played like sheet-lightning around the head of his opponent. He assailed him now on the right, now on the left ; but the other still turned resolutely to meet him. His quick eye seemed to anticipate each movement, and ever the young soldier's sword cut into empty space or clashed upon opposing steel. The fiery youth grew reckless at last, and almost paid with his life for his audacity. A sudden cut, that would have shorn his head in two, was parried so closely that the sword's edge sliced his forage cap into the air. He reined the chestnut back in time to escape a second stroke, threw aside the long hair that fell across his eyes half blinding him ; then, with up lifted sword, he dashed again at his foe.

Just as they met, however, he dropped the point, and with a quick, straight thrust ran his enemy through the un guarded sword arm. The older man made no sign or sound of pain. His close, set lips never so much as quivered. His great sword dropped from his disabled right hand, but with his left he drew a huge horse pistol from the broad belt he wore, and levelled it steadily at the young officer, who, carried ten paces past him by the impetus of his last charge, was now completely at his mercy. But just as his finger pressed the trigger, a sword blade struck the barrel down, and the bullet ploughed up the green sod at the horse's feet. "For shame, Christy!" cried the voice of his " He slung up his heavy sword high over his shoulder." "A VERY VALIANT REBEL" 15 comrade close beside ; " for shame !

It was a fair match, sword against sword, and he beat you. The lad must get fair play. Stand aside. It is my turn now." Without a word, Christy gave place. The young officer, flushed with his first victory, was nothing loth to engage a second foe. But this time he met his match, and more than his match, with the sword. Strike where he would, high or low, to right or left, his quick blows seemed to fall on a wall of steel, so true and steady was the defence. The new-comer made scarce an effort to return the blows that were showered so fiercely on his ready sword. Once, indeed, he pierced the right sleeve of the scarlet uniform, and just raised the skin by a lunge so quick it was impossible to parry. Twice he almost strained his foe's wrist with a dexterous effort to disarm him. But his patience gave way at last, or, it may be, his quick ear caught some sound in the wood that counselled haste.

He now suddenly changed his tactics. For the first time he slung up his heavy sword high over his shoulder, to give full impetus to the downward stroke. The guard was quick and true. But the great sword flashed down, sheer on the opposing steel, shivering it like an icicle. Never did blacksmith's sledge strike starker blow on anvil. The young soldier's right arm was jarred to the elbow by the shock. The broken sword hilt dropped from his numbed fingers on the grass. He was at the mercy of his enemy. The "rebels," he had been told, showed no mercy. He bowed his head and murmured a prayer as he waited for the second stroke that was to end him : but no stroke fell. "Yield!" cried! the conqueror, in a kindly voice, in which there was a touch of frank admiration. " Yield to Maurice Blake, Captain in the Army of the United States.

You have made a good fight — it is no shame to yield to such odds. Be sure you will be honourably treated." The young soldier in his first skirmish would have thought it deadly disgrace to have been beaten by a regiment. Anger made him dumb. He could only bow his head in shame-faced submission. The sudden tramp of horses' feet made him look up, and the blood went surging back to his heart, leaving his face quite pale. "A rescue! a rescue!" he cried, gleefully. "Just in the nick of time." From the wood's edge all round there broke a troop of horsemen in the scarlet uniform of England. Rapidly forming, they caught the conqueror and con quered in a narrow circle. The disarmed officer seemed half ashamed of the shout of joy into which he was betrayed at the first sight of his comrades. It looked so like an un generous triumph over a gallant foe.

There was a tone almost of apology in his voice as, turning to the American captain, he said — "A VERY VALIANT REBEL" 17 " It is your turn to yield now. It is fortune of war — a hard fortune for you, I must confess, to lose the stake when you had won the game. Your sword, and I will pledge my life for your honourable treatment." Not a word the other answered, while the troops closed in slowly to make sure of their prisoners. Not a motion he made, either of surrender or resistance. The nearest soldier was not twenty yards off. " Now ! " cried the American captain suddenly to his attendant, who watched him closely, "follow me ;" and he rode straight at the circle where the line was thinnest. Before a pistol could be plucked from a holster he was upon them. Two sweeping sword strokes to right and left sent two dragoons sprawling down under the horses' feet.

Straight through the gap in their line he galloped, followed by Christy, like his shadow, into the thick cover of the woods, where pursuit was useless, and might prove dangerous to strangers. The troopers were so taken by surprise that he was gone before the quickest-witted amongst them thought of firing. Then there was a harmless splutter of pistol bullets in the direction in which the enemy vanished. But this silly performance was promptly checked by the elderly officer in command. " Cease firing ! " he cried, angrily. " Do you want to signal our position to the whole E rebel army ? " he added, as he rode past a young ensign, who sat like a statue of astonishment, with a smoking pistol in his hand. " There is no sense left in the service." He was still angry ; yet there was a touch of admiration mingled with his anger as he turned to our first acquaintance, who sat quite still where the American captain had left him, ruefully con templating the fragments of his broken sword on the grass.

" Lord Edward Fitzgerald," the senior officer said, sternly, when he had come so close that he could address him without others hearing, "you must con sider yourself under arrest. I should have your sword, but the enemy has been beforehand with me. But I am bound to send you with a file of soldiers back to the camp to report yourself to Lord Moira. " I admire your pluck," he added more gently, softened in spite of himself by the shamefaced peni tence of the young fellow, who sat silent before him, blushing like a schoolgirl caught in some frolic. " I admire your pluck, but pluck is not everything in an officer. Discipline would be impossible if every young fellow with a taste for adventure were allowed to go patrolling on his own account. We waited a good hour for you before we started. Now you have warned the enemy of our coming."

"Lucky for me you did not wait longer," replied Lord Edward. " One minute more would have done for me. The rebel captain had me at his mercy as "A VERY VALIANT REBEL" ■9 you arrived. I have to thank you for my life, Major Doyle — for my liberty at least " " And for your arrest," replied the Major. " You will forgive me," pleaded the other earnestly. " Even if you cannot forgive me, do not send me back to the camp like a schoolboy in disgrace. I was bluemoulded with idleness. I could not resist the temptation of a ride through the woods, and I hoped to be forgiven if I brought in a prisoner. As I was to have come with you let me stay with you. I will myself report to Lord Moira when we return." It was not in human nature to resist the pleading voice and eyes. Major Doyle's stern face melted like ice in the sunshine.

There was a twinkle in his grey eye and a smile under his heavy moustache as he replied — "There is no limit to your audacity. I suppose you will next ask me for a sword, and leave to ride at the head of the column." "The very two favours I had in my mind," returned Lord Edward, emboldened by the other's smile. " But I had not the courage to mention them." "Then have them without asking, as a reward for your cowardice," retorted the Major. " It is a virtue I am most anxious to encourage in you." " Tomkins," he called, to a burly non-commissioned officer, " give your sword to Lord Edward Fitzgerald. Your pistols must serve you for this bout." The sword was surrendered with a smiling alacrity, which showed that the high-spirited young lord was a prime favourite with the men. "Keep a sharp look out in front, Lord Edward," said Major Doyle, assuming the commanding officer as the men approached.

" Instantly report to me the first trace of the rebels. Do not charge them," he added, in a lower tone, "as a bulldog charges a bull. Let your caution atone for your rashness, and Lord Moira shall know of it." But Lord Edward had exhausted his adventures for that day. The scarlet uniform of the troopers flamed like fire in the darkening woods, and was as a beacon seen afar off to warn the enemy. Now and again the young officer at their head thought that he caught sight of moving figures in the distance. But they vanished in an instant, and in the darkening twilight he could not even be sure if they were men or deer. With an uneasy feeling in his mind that he was not the watcher but the watched, Major Doyle, as the night fell, marched his men back to the camp from their bootless expedition, as ignorant of the enemy's whereabouts as they had marched out in the morning.

Chapter II

"THIS MOST WISE REBELLION." Coriolanus. "The dangers of the days but newly gone Have put us in those ill beseeming arms Not to break peace or any branch of it, But to establish here a peace indeed Concurring both in name and quality." King Henry IV. Part II. LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD slept late into the following morning, overcome at once by fatigue and by the reaction that follows excite ment. It was the first time he had stricken a blow in anger, and the events of the previous day mingled incoherently in his dreams. He found himself charging the British troops with the American captain by his side. He was struck from his horse amid the trampling hoofs. He lay helpless on the ground. His comrade leaped down and strove to save him, for a dozen weapons were aimed at his life. He saw a man, whose face he did not know, point a pistol straight at his head.

He tried to shift himself out of the line of fire, but he seemed glued to the ground. The turmoil of the conflict ceased suddenly. All eyes were turned on the man with the pistol. He waited in an agony of suspense for the flash and the bullet The strain grew too great to be borne, and he awoke. He was lying half out of his camp bed, and the morning sun was streaming through an opening in the canvas. Yesterday's adventures came trooping back at once to his memory, and with them the unpleasant thought that he had got to report his breach of duty to Lord Moira, and take his chance of reprimand or punishment. It was his nature to face trouble and get it over. Lord Moira received him with a kindliness that was only in a very slight degree due to the fact that he was son of a duke, for the gallant young officer was a favourite for his own sake with everyone, from the drummer boy to commanding officer.

Though there was a good-humoured twinkle in the General's eye, as he listened to Lord Edward's penitent recital, he managed to speak seriously. " My lad," he said, " if you cannot cure yourself of this longing to get killed at any cost you will never be a credit to your profession — the noblest in the world. Rashness is not courage. Is it not quite sufficient that you should be ready to die whenever His Most Gracious Majesty requires the sacrifice? You must not anticipate." Lord Moira spoke of " His Most Gracious Majesty " in a voice only one tone less reverent than he spoke of the Creator. It was amusing to note how the reverence was reflected on the face of the young soldier who heard him. "It is impossible I can let you off scot free for your frolic," he added. "It would be a bad example to every young scapegrace in the camp who has got more courage than common sense.

We engage the rebels, I trust, within a week. They are encamped under General Steward at Eutaw Springs, and must be driven out. Your punishment shall be that you shall take up your position " He spoke slowly, and made a long pause. His listener's countenance fell, for his fears supplied the words " in the rear." But as Lord Moira repeated, " You shall take up your position in the van," his whole face brightened with delight. He looked up quickly, and for the first time caught the good-humoured, amused smile on the veteran's face. With voice and eyes and every motion of his body he thanked him. " Why, this is wages," he cried, " and not punishment. I thank you a thousand times, my lord. Indeed, indeed, you may rely on my zeal." " And discretion," put in Lord Moira. " And my discretion, too," he replied, laughing and blushing.

" No maiden aunt was ever more discreet than I will be for the future." " Then," said the General, clapping him kindly on the shoulder, " I will scold you no more. Your worst punishment shall be that you will breakfast with me this morning. I hear you have a keen eye for a map or the lie of a country. There is some nasty ground for ambushes between this and the Springs, and I want your help. Lord Edward," he went on, more kindly than ever, but more seriously, "you will be a great general yet, if you will only lock enthusiasm up in the guard-room and put a sentry at the door. A perfect soldier is a bit of military mechanism that nothing can put out of order." But a nobler fame than his commander promised was in store for him, though he knew it not — to live in the loving remembrance of a suffering nation as one who died to serve her — to be the one Irish noble man who proved himself truly noble, who, for wealth, rank, and what the world calls renown, took suffering and glorious shame in the service of a sorely oppressed people.

The Americans held a strong position at Eutaw Springs, but the English troops, who slightly out numbered them, advanced to the attack with absolute confidence of victory. There was not a man amongst them, from the commanding officer to the full private, that had the slightest doubt of the result. It is, indeed, strange how completely experience seemed to have lost her authority during the war of American Independence. No matter how often the British troops were beaten by the " rebels," they always felt quite sure of victory — next time. Their defeat was always the result of some unlucky accident, which could not be repeated. They believed firmly as an article of faith that it was impossible that British troops— the bravest, the best disciplined, and the best-accoutred in the world — could be beaten by the rebel riff-raff — except by accident.

It did not matter in the least that the accident was always happening. They forgot the deadly aim of the long brown rifle, and the fierce stab of the heavy hunting knife the instant the rifle was silent and blade unsheathed. Least of all had Lord Edward Fitzgerald, as he proudly marched before his men in the front of the battle, the faintest shadow of misgiving of the result. He looked forward eagerly to a gallant fight and a glorious victory. His whole soul was aflame with the fierce war fever, and he longed only to be within striking distance of the foe. The American leader, — General Steward — had chosen his position with consummate skill. His forces were ranged on a promontory of open prairie jutting back into the great ocean of forest, and so guarded at the rear and side by a line of high close wood.

A stream, rapid but shallow, crossed the open ground in front, well within musket shot of his advance guard, and lost itself in the wood to the left. The English forces, as they advanced, were under a galling flank fire from the woods, which dropped man after man in their lines with a bullet through his head or heart. To reply would be to waste ammunition on the tree trunks, and, what was worse still, to waste time. " Double quick ! " was the word all along the British line, and they advanced at a run into the stream in front. The deadly patter of the musket bullets grew thicker and thicker as they came on within the closing arms of the wood. The main body of Americans in front stood steadily to their weapons and made no sign. The attacking party reached the bank and plunged waist deep into the stream ; still not a movement in the American line.

In wild confusion the British scrambled out on to the near bank, which was higher and steeper than the far. All order was lost. Their guns cumbered them in wading and climbing. For a moment they were a mob, not an army. But discipline quickly reasserted itself. They were rapidly forming for a bayonet charge when the word " Fire ! " rang out at last like a rifle crack from the American line. The withering volley at close quarters made lanes through the confused mass of men huddled on the river's bank. The dead and wounded tumbled into the water over their comrades, who were scrambling out. The confusion was changing to panic. Lord Edward Fitzgerald saw the danger. He was in com mand of the front column, and was amongst the first across the stream. He heard the storm of bullets hiss about his ears.

He saw men struck down to his right and left. Yet the thought of danger never touched him for a moment. He was as cool as when breakfasting with Lord Moira — eye and mind equally on the alert. His quick glance caught a slight hollow on the ground to the left. " Down, men, and follow me," he cried, and, falling on his hands and knees, he crept rapidly towards the shelter. His men trailed after him. In a moment they were under cover from the rifles of the Americans in front. Pushing their guns over the ridge that sheltered them, the English were in turn enabled to pour a deliberate and effective fire upon the enemy. Under cover of this well-directed discharge, the main body of the English crossed the stream, and formed, though not without loss, on the near bank. Mean while, however, the riflemen in the wood to the left, had got the range of Lord Edward's little band, whose flank was completely unguarded, and now played upon them with terrible effect.

The crouching English soldiers were shot through the side or head by these terrible marksmen. So deadly was the aim, the victims never moved after they were hit, but lay dead, with their muskets at their shoulders pointing at the enemy in front. The young officer saw that his whole party would be quietly killed off in a few minutes more. There was but one desperate chance left — a bolt for the woods. The main bodies on both sides were by this time hotly engaged, and an unintermittent fire flashed from their ranks. The rattle of musket shots never ceased for a moment. "Steady, my lads," cried Lord Fitzgerald, in a voice that was heard through the din. " Steady and ready ! Watch and follow me. We must drive those skulking rebels out of the shelter of the woods." He rose to his knees as he spoke.

His men's eyes were on him. He leaped suddenly to his feet. " Now ! " he shouted, waving his sword over his head, and raced across the belt of land for the wood from which the deadly fire came. In an instant his men were up and after him. It was a race for life or death. Every muscle was strained to the utmost point of tension. Lord Edward kept his lead. The distance was not a hundred yards in all. A dozen seconds would cover it at the pace they went. The Americans seemed to be taken off their guard by the sudden rush. More than half the ground was passed and not a shot came. Lord Edward and his men were scarce thirty yards from the edge of the wood — only a few seconds off — when suddenly fifty tongues of fire, with fifty spitting puffs of smoke, darted out from among the tree trunks, followed by a roar of rifle shots, and a hurricane of bullets broke right into the thick of them.

Full half the advancing party were swept off their feet by this terrible fusilade. The men in the rear tripped over the falling corpses of their comrades in front, but the headlong fury of the charge was not checked even for a moment. The smoke had not cleared when the survivors, with Lord Edward still unhurt, at their head, broke furiously into the wood. The parties were pretty equally matched. The struggle was desperate and to the death. The passion for blood absorbed them. To strike and kill was all they thought of. They fought like wild beasts — the same fierce instinct of slaughter, the same insensibility to wound or danger. The Americans had clubbed their guns after their last deadly discharge. It was rifle butt against bayonet point. Cruel stab and crushing blow were interchanged with terrible rapidity.