Denis O'Neil

Chapter I

" Men at some time are masters of their fate." Julius Cæsar, I. ii. 139. Gray hills and a gray sky. The sun had been struggling with the light sea-mist all day, but now as evening drew on he seemed to be fairly tired of the conflict, and was going down to his bed in the dark waters of the Atlantic behind an impenetrable bank of clouds. No living creatures were in sight except the wild sea-birds, which flew hither and thither with shrill cries, and flapped their wings over the darkening waves like unquiet spirits. The shore was covered with rocks, among which the sea crept in and out, leaving behind it little creeks like miniature oceans, vol. i. where the limpets grew to the stones and the crabs scrambled up and down with their side way motion, and the bigger fish devoured the little ones as though it were the great ocean of human life itself.

There was not a house or any sign of human habitation to be seen in any direction far or near ; to all appearance those dark waves might have ebbed and flowed since time began, unwatched by any mortal eye. The mountains kept their silent guard all round the bay like giant sentinels, unw-earied by their protracted watch over the wild Atlantic. Behind them lay Ireland — Ireland with all her turmoils and her sorrows, her w-rongs and her rev-enge ; but the beating of her passionate heart could not be heard through that impregnable barrier ; whatever might lie beyond, the sea and sky alone held dominion here. But what place is there where man does not penetrate ? The sea-gulls were not to hold untroubled sw-ay even in this solitary region. The sharp crack of a gun suddenly resounded through the air, repeated again and again as the sentinel hills caught up the echo and passed it from one ridge to another.

The wild cries of the birds added to the tumult, as, screaming with terror, they took wing across the waste of dark waters. One only remained behind, one only, whose wing was broken, and who lay watching the flight of his comrades with wild, despairing eyes. Unheeding the sudden commotion that he had created, a young man came leisurely round the corner of the cliff, his gun in his hand and his game-bag slung across his shoulder. He was tall and strongly built, but his figure w-as not yet filled out to its full proportions, and his cheek was as smooth as a woman's. He stood still for a moment as he entered the little bay and looked around him, then, catching sight of his fallen prize, a white speck in the gathering twilight, he hurried forward to secure it. The bird was dead now-, the broken wing had ceased to quiver, the terror-stricken heart to beat, and stooping down he lifted it from the ground.

He was unsportsmanlike enough to feel a thrill of something very like remorse as he touched the wings that would never flash through the crisp salt air again. Denis O'Neil was foolish and brave enough to pity all who were sorrowful or oppressed ; foolish because it made his own life sorrowful instead of careless and glad, and brave because it needs the highest courage to take the side of the weak against the strong. This was the first bird he had shot to-day, and he made up his mind that it should be the last. It was a cruel sport that could find a momentary pleasure in putting an end for ever to a bright and innocent existence, and he laid the dead gull softly down on the sand again, with an odd smile as he thought of the remarks with which some of his acquaintances would greet such a proceeding.

The evening w-as fast drawing on now-, and it was quite time that he should turn his steps homeward, for he had a long and weary tramp before him ; but this wild, dark scene suited his mood so well that he lingered a moment, unable to tear himself away. Though he was young in years he had a mind far in advance of his age, and already the problems of existence had begun to press in upon him. How could it be otherwise with any thoughtful Irishman, however young % How could any one possessed of ardent sympathies and inbred patriotism but suffer and bleed in the wounds of his country ? Since Denis was a mere child he had heard the tale of Ireland's wrongs from a hundred tongues. His mother was an Englishwoman, and at his father's death she had taken him to an English home ; but she did not long sur vive her husband, and the little orphan was taken back to his uncle's house to be brought up as one of the " ould breed."

It was a typical Irish family — warm-hearted, high spirited, careless, and generous to a fault, extravagant, sweet-tempered, and disorderly. Here Denis passed the years of his child hood, and the love for his land that he im bibed, only deepened when by the wish of his mother's relations he was sent to an English school. Most boys would have retaliated on the teasing of their fellows with ready Irish wit ; but Denis inherited a deep fund of reserve from his mother, which contrasted strangely with the keenly impulsive heart with which Nature had endowed him. Instead of defendinohimself he withdrew into his shell and longed for the day when he might return to the country of his love. But this was not yet to be. Though the boy was left to his uncle's guardianship, his mother had expressed a strong wish that he should finish his education in England, and this wish, Mr. O'Neil, in spite of his nephew's entreaties, did not see fit to disobey.

And so, much against his own will, when his school-days came to an end, Denis, having announced his intention of 3 O becoming a doctor, was despatched to a London hospital. Sorely as he rebelled against it at first he became reconciled sooner than he had expected. At school he had felt himself a stranger, but in the larger community he soon met with kindred spirits among countrymen of his own. Thirty years ago Ireland was, as now, one of the burning questions of the day ; and here, in the Saxon's land, he found hearts as warm and sympathies as ardent as his own. Young and hot-headed, his fellowstudents were not of an age to reason or argue. The old blood ran in their veins, and that was enough to keep alive in their memories the accumulated wrongs of seven hundred years. " National independence, and down with the oppressor !

" this was their motto, and if need be they were ready to use it as a war-cry. Denis' English mother had died too soon to leave any impression upon her son's mind ; he heard vague rumours among the family servants that she had made his warm-hearted father unhappy, and the only effect that she had had upon his own life was to separate him from all that he loved best on earth. He looked upon his Saxon strain, therefore, as the one blot on his 'scutcheon, and sought to atone for it by a fiercer enthusiasm than that of his fellows. " Erin, to die for thee — ■ That would be liberty ! " were the words that expressed the inmost feeling of his soul. It was little wonder then that as he stood in the silence and solitude of the rock-girt bay his thoughts were turned to the inspir ation of his life. If he loved Ireland when he dwelt in the land of the stranger, he loved her a thousand times more when her breath was on his cheek, and the wild loveliness of her shores filled his heart with exhilarating delight.

And above all he loved her when he knew, as he knew to-day, that a few hours would tear him from her, and waft him back ao-ain to the smoke and glare and din of his hated London. He stood quite still by the water's edge, drinking in deep draughts of the sweet sea air, and feeling it sweep across his forehead with a caressing touch ; quite still, except for the ever-changing expressions that passed over his face, now darkening it with the deepest melancholy and now kindling it w-ith a light of glorious hope. To die for Ireland, that would be sweet ; but to save her ! that would be sweeter still. Who needed a deliverer as she did, down-trodden, bleeding, oppressed, at the foot of the conqueror ? What should hinder him from seizing the champion's sword and avenging her pure cause in the sight of the world ?

So sadness and triumph chased each other through his heart. He roused himself at last, and looking cautiously round him in the gloom, drew something from his inner breast-pocket, and held it carefully in both his hands as though it were some sacred treasure. It was nothing but a small book, coarsely printed, poorly bound, but he gazed upon it with a strange expression of awe and devotion. It was only to-day that he had had it put into his hands, and though it was too dark to read it he could not resist taking advantage of the lone liness of the place to look again at his cherished possession. Many a time had he questioned old Peter Murphy, his favourite confidant among his uncle's servants, about the mysterious " prophecies " which he had heard darkly hinted at, but never been allowed to see.

Strange records of the past, dim portents of the future, they have never failed to appear in Ireland's hour of need, to feed the flame that burns in the hearts of her children! Like the wind they come, whence no man knoweth, and spread over the country with silent, secret rapidity, sold by men who understand the nature of their commission, and exhibit their wares to none but " thrue Milesians." To doubt St. Columba's prophecies did not for a moment enter Denis' mind ; he believed in them as implicitly as the most ignorant peasant in the country. His patriotic ardour and his glowing imagination alike aided his faith. It was quite credible to him that a divine guide should be granted to his country in her distress, and Peter's narrative had been listened to with awe-struck attention. Hidden in a sacred spot, he believed that the holy book had lain for centuries, ready to go forth on its mission whenever need should arise.

He believed in the three guardians of its existence, bound by terrible oaths never to reveal its hiding-place except to their succes sors; and renewed by heavenly appointment as in turn they passed away. He believed in the divine warning, w-hich ordered the re appearance of the book in each hour of national peril, and which prompted the additions which from time to time greeted the fresh wrongs which the Saxon added to Ireland's tale of woe. It was not wonderful therefore that he felt a strange thrill of fear and rapture, when old Peter had called him aside that morning, and in mysterious tones informed him that a day was at hand which called upon all who hated the stranger to bind themselves together in closer bonds of unity, and that the " Three " had once more sent forth the sacred book in answer to divine command.

So saying he had pressed a sealed packet into Denis' hand, which Denis as instantly concealed. A day's shooting had given him a convenient excuse for examining his new treasure in solitude, and now that it was too dark to read any more, and he had discharged his gun in readi ness to start homewards, he still stood think ing on the mystic words that had enchained his attention. DENIS 0NEIL. 11 It was true that they were vague ; the wild hope that here at last he should find the remedy for his country's wrong had drifted back into the old futile rage against the oppressors. He found prophecies of struggle, of battle, of fierce revenges and fiercer despair ; of defeats and bloodshed, and many martyrs, to be followed at last by success and triumph and the victor's crown. Yes — but when 1 His im patient blood coursed through his veins as he thought of the centuries of struggle that had brought them no nearer to the end.

Why should he not be the destined hero who should fulfil the prophecy and lead his fellow-country men to a glorious deliverance ? He might have stood there for hours absorbed in the visions of his heart, but suddenly he was roused from his reverie by a shrill whistle, which pierced the misty air and startled him by its unexpectedness. He listened for a moment but heard nothing except the lapping of the water round the rocks and the distant moan of the waves. It was no doubt only the scream of a curlew, and putting his precious book in his pocket he shouldered his gun and prepared to start. He had taken but a step, however, when another whistle, shriller and nearer than the last, made him pause; and this time it was answered by a low piping note which his quick ear told him in a moment was made by a human voice.

The light mist had nearly cleared away, and there was a faint gleam of stars ; it was too dark to see distinctly, but as he strained his eyes through the gloom he could see dim figures moving to and fro in the distance. His heart stood still for a minute, more with excitement than fear, but the mystery and wildness of the scene were not without their effect upon his nerves. The strange words that he had been reading still rang in his ears, and he could almost fancy that the shadowy hosts of the departed followers of " the cause " were meeting in the darkness of that lonely shore. They came nearer, and yielding to a sudden impulse he lay clown upon the sand, half-hidden behind one of the projecting rocks. His eyes w-ere more accustomed now to the uncertain light, and he could see that there were several companies of men passing and repassing each other in silence.

He could not estimate their numbers, but he guessed that there must be some hundreds of them, and he watched with ever-increasing curiosity. The wind had freshened while he lingered, and now it began to rise in little gusts, blowing the clouds across the sky and chasing the mist from the cliffs and shore. Again the whistle greeted his ears, and a gleam of moonlight that broke suddenly through the gloom fell on glistening weapons. The hot blood rushed to Denis' cheek, he knew now what this ghostly assemblage meant ; it was a Secret Society practising their manœuvres under the cover of night. He crouched lower instinctively as he recog nized the fact. It was true that he was one of the " ould breed," that all his sympathies lay with Ireland, and not with her oppressors ; but for all that he knew that his life was not safe if he was discovered.

His uncle was an Irishman, but he was one of the hated laud lords, and recent proceedings of his with regard to some of his farms had made the CD family unpopular in the district. Nor was this all. Even among the members of a secret society its existence was ignored in every-day life, and for one of the uninitiated to intrude upon its meetings was a crime that must be avenged with heavy penalties. Denis wondered how he had escaped the vigilance of the sentries while he stood so long at the water's-edge. He could only conclude that they had been posted on the landward side alone, believing that the solitary little bay was their sole possession. Even as the thought crossed his mind he heard a sound on the. beach behind him, and looking cautiously round he saw a dark figure approaching. He drew nearer to the rock, and scarcely daring to breathe lay crouching under its shelter.

He could see that the bands of men were beginning to disperse, and he hoped that the sentry would pass the dark mass by without noticing it and rejoin his companions. It might have happened according to his calculations but for one unlucky circumstance. Denis' clothes were dark in colour, and as he lay grasping the seawreed-covered rock he was hardly to be distinguished from it ; but the gull that he had shot w-as still beside him, and the white wings that would fly no more had yet power to avenge their wrong. The man drew nearer, nearer, and as he came up to the place where Denis was lying, the wild moon shone out through the murkyconfusion of the clouds and lit up the dead bird till it looked like molten silver. The sentry's eye was attracted by the gleam ; he turned, picked up the bird and looked at it critically.

Even now Denis hoped that he would lay it clown and move on ; why should a dead gull rouse alarm ? But the man was well trained to his work. He turned it over and saw the blood-stains beneath its wing. "Shot!" he said to himself, "an where's the boy as done it ? " He looked quietly round, but almost started back with a cry of terror as he saw the prostrate form of a man at his very feet. Denis sprang up in a moment, and throwing himself upon his adversary, tried to seize him so that he could not cry out. If only he could overpower him and hold him till the others had disappeared, or tie him so that he could not move, there was yet a chance of escape ! The man was too quick for him however ; he cauo-ht Denis' arm in an iron grip, and whistled lonoand loudly. In an instant there was a faint sound of hurrying feet coming nearer and nearer over the sand.

Denis ceased to struggle ; he stood quite still in the sentry's orasp, and made no attempt at escape ; all hope of that was over; he must try another plan now. " An' what is it, bad luck to ye ? " said the nearest man in a breathless whisper as he came up to them. " A spy ! " said the sentry. "I am no spy," said Denis quietly, for he had little doubt of being able to prove his words. " I was here shooting wild birds ; you need not be afraid of me, I am as true to the country as the best boy among you." There was silence for a moment. His asser tion bore the stamp of truth, but the stakes were too tremendous to be risked for any man's bare word. " There's them at hand as '11 listen to that," said the sentry grimly, and picking up Denis' gun he gave it to another man to carry, keep ing a firm hold on his captive's arm as he walked.

Denis could not help a slight thrill of some thing very like fear. He would not have believed it if any one had told him that he would tremble in the grasp of a fellow-patriot ; but he could not mistake the feeling. The party walked on in dead silence. He wished they would speak, if only to relieve the tension of his nerves ; but not a sound escaped them except the dull tread of their feet in the heavy sand. The moon shone out, lighting up for a moment the glistening pools of water and the dark rocks among which they threaded their way, then hid herself again among the driving masses of cloud. They were going towards the land, and as they approached the cliffs Denis could see a little knot of men standing under the shelter of an overhanging rock. They were the leaders, waiting for the report of the sentries.

" Who have ye there ? " said a voice as they came up. " A spy, yer honour," said Denis' captor. There was a visible tremor of excitement, and the men stepped a little further back in the cave, for the cliff was hollowed out by the waves, and there was standing room for some twenty men. " A spy ! " said the leader. " Bring him here, Mick, and be smart wid ye." Denis was led to the front, and one of the men struck a light and held it close to the prisoner. He did not shrink from the scrutiny, but looked round hastily for a familiar face. vol. i. There was not one that he knew; all were strangers ! He felt disheartened for a moment, but quickly recovering himself he reflected that if he could keep his name and family in the background it would be all the better for his chance of safety. He expected to receive a severe examination, and was collecting his mind that he might answer truly and discreetly at the same time, when his ideas were suddenly put to flight by the cool inquiry — " Have ye anything to say before we shoot ye?"

He could not repress a start of alarm ; but the cold smile that passed like lightning over the grim faces around him filled him with a sudden scornful courage. " Yes ; shoot me ! " he exclaimed, drawing himself up to his full height. " And just like your blundering ways it wrould be to do it ! Why has Ireland never rid herself from her enemies ? Because she does not know who are her friends ! " His words created a marked effect. The men hesitated and looked at their leader, who frowned darkly and thrust out his lower lip without speaking. " And who are you who speak so bold 1 " he said at last. An inspiration seized upon Denis. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out his book. " Did any friend of the Saxon ever see that ? " he said. " And who gave it to you ? " asked the leader. Denis noticed his change of tone, and his heart beat more freely.

" One that knows where my life's love lies ! " he said. The leader considered for a moment ; then, looking Denis full in the face, he said, " Show your love then, and join them that'll give freedom to Ireland." Denis drew back a step. He was willing to save Ireland, ready to spill his blood for her if need be ; but this was not the way in which he had thought to do it. He knew what a Secret Society meant — midnight depredations, the maiming of innocent beasts, and murders of men and women ! He had meant to save Ireland with a sword in his hand and a daring call to arms that would ring through her shores from sea to sea. The leader saw his hesitation ; he drew a pistol from his pocket and raised it till it covered his head. " Will you join ? " he said quietly ; " I'll give you tw-o minutes to decide."

Denis had heard before that Time was a relative term, but he had never understood it until now. Two minutes is a short time as marked by the clock, but it was long enough for every reason for and against this act to flash through his mind. If he consented, he knew well enough what it would involve ; he would be a free man no longer ; his first duty would be, not to his God or his own conscience, but to his leaders. Whatever crime they might command, he must obey ! — and if he refused ? Death ! It was a stern decision. He did not stop to think w-hether any other course was open to him. Argument, persua sion, bribes — the thought of these never entered his mind. The moon looked down, her face shining white and ghostly amid the strange dark clouds ; a little boat with wide-spread sails wras gliding like a fairy bark through the silver pathway she cast upon the sea.

Denis' face was as white as her own ; but the leader never relaxed his gaze for a moment. One minute passed. "I will not join," he said to himself. " Death rather than crime." Two minutes ! The leader lifted his finger. " I will join ! " cried Denis. " For the sake of Ireland even crime is holy." There was a moan in the wind, and the moon hid her face among the driving clouds again ; the little boat tossed helplessly on the wild black waves.

Chapter II

" Seek Love in the pity of others' woe, In the gentle relief of another's care, In the darkness of night and the winter's snow, With the naked and outcast — seek Love there ! " "William Blake. The sun was blazing dow-n upon London in all its summer strength, and the bare walls of the hospital wards dazzled the eyes with their glaring whiteness. Even the w-ide un carpeted stairs and corridors seemed stifling in that hot atmosphere, and a nurse who was coming down to one of the low-er w-ards stopped for a moment by an open window to get a breath of air as she passed. She was very pale, and sweet though her expression was, there was a look in her eyes that told of some hidden disquietude. Olive Barrington had a nature that was made for sympathy and affection, and yet there were hardly any she knew whom she could call by the name of friend.

She only paused a moment by the window. Time was precious in the hospital, and there was little leisure for thought in the constant round of work. Bousing herself again, she hastened down to the female accident ward, and went in to deliver a message to one of the nurses. She was carrying in her hand a bunch of flow-ers that had just been given to her by the parents of one of her patients. It was a lovely bunch of roses, such roses as are rarely seen in London, fresh and dewy and sweet, peeping out from a wealth of their own dark glossy leaves. She was waiting for a moment till the nurse was disengaged, and stood wuth her face buried among the fragrant blossoms, when chancing to look up she saw a heavy, sullen face looking out from a background of pillows, and a pair of wild glittering eyes fixed on her flowers with a hungry gaze.

Olive's mind had been wandering far away among the fragrant lanes of the country, with its golden cornfields and cool dark woods ; but at the look of those sorrow stricken eyes she was back again in the sad scenes that surrounded her. Yielding to a sudden impulse she went up to the girl's bed, and bending over her she said in a low voice, " Do you like my roses 1 are they not sweet ? " The girl did not answer, and a still more sullen expression settled down on her face. " Smell them," Olive said kindly, holding them out as she spoke. The girl still made no answer, and slightly turned away her head. Olive stood looking at her for a few moments without speaking ; then she quietly placed the flowers on the bed in front of her, and passed on. It was an act of pure unselfishness, and none but she herself knew what it cost her.

AY hen she had given her message, and reached the ward door, she looked back and saw that the girl had raised herself on her elbow. She held the roses carefully in her hand, but the wistful gaze was turned this time not on the gift, but the giver. Olive carried that look aw-ay with her, and it helped to nerve her for a somewhat trying ordeal. She had to-day completed her first six months at the hospital, and sorely though she dreaded doing it, she had made up her mind to tell her mother that she intended to continue her work. Her home was not a happy one ; her mother and sister w-ere entirely absorbed in the frivolities and pleasures that seemed to them the sole business of existence, and it w7as with the utmost difficulty that Olive had been able to gain consent to leave a life in wdiich she felt that she had no place.

Her mother treated her desire as a silly craze that would pass away with time ; while her sister Jessie, who cared for nothing but appearances, was only anxious to avoid the scandal of letting their friends guess at Olive's peculiarities. Twenty-five years ago the wave of fashion had not set in towards work and independence for women, and it wras far more difficult for a lady to engage in hospital nursing then than it is now. But at last she pre vailed so far as to obtain her mother's leave to try the work for six months ; Mrs. Bar rington was quite tired of the sight of the girl's dejected face, and she felt sure that the best way to cure her was to let her taste the hardships of the life that she desired. But having w-on her vantage-ground, Olive had no intention of losing it ; and now that the last day of her probation had come, she felt like a martyr braced up for the rack, as she set out to tell her mother that she was resolved not to return home except for a brief visit.