In Sarsfield's days. A tale of the siege of Limerick

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IN SARSFIFJjys DAYS

Chapter III

" My God ! " he said suddenly, " when this war is over I will marry Ethne 6g> return to my forefathers' lands in Carlow, and hunt the wolf and the deer with Bran, my prince of hounds.' '

I leaned back against the rock and felt for tobacco in my belt. The tone showed me that O'Kavanagh had revealed a long cherished dream. " Has Ethne 6g agreed ? " I drawled.

" Not yet, but she shall. I shall sweep every rival from my path."

"If you fall in this expedition, may I become your heir ? " I asked jestingly.

"I shall not fall. But if I fall I shall return and woo her in the mist and the wind and bring her to my white home. No ! you shall not have Ethne, Iveagh; you would not drink to her health."

A step crushed the ferns above us, and Fitzgerald slid down over the bank. " No man is to smoke ! " he cried, as I struck a spark from my flint. " Sarsfleld fears that the men may set fire to the heather. There will be light enough soon for dice; the stars are waning."

" Where is the General ? " I asked.

" He is on the hillside, questioning a peasant about the supplies for to-morrow, and dismissed me on hearing me yawn. By my faith! a considerate commander." Fitzgerald seated himself on the rock and began to sing a lullaby.

" That is how my foster mother closed my eyes in the days of my infancy. Ah, happy days ! " he added in a mock serious tone. " O'Kavanagh, your brute is howling ! What the devil does the dog mean by chorusing my lullaby ? "

The hound had raised its head suddenly and had sent a long dismal cry into the night. It faced Fitzgerald. I looked up at him as he sat swinging his legs on the rock and saw in the gloom his laughing eyes fixed upon the dog. O'Kavanagh laid his hand on the animal's neck, and after another deep howl it crouched at his feet, with its head resting on its paws.

" The men would have been on their knees in another minute," continued Fitzgerald. " Each howl came straight from the churchyard. Iveagh, I heard some news before I left the city, but I muat

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bind you and O'Kavanagh to keep it secret if you would hear it."

" Is it of importance ? " I asked.

" Decidedly, mon ami, but it is not to be talked of."

We gave our word and the aid-de-camp lowered his voice. " O'Donnell's cross has gone," he said impressively, "and it has been stolen."

O'Kavanagh sat up suddenly, but the loss of the cross being already known to me, I felt and showed no surprise.

" Great God ! " said O'Kavanagh, " does Lady Honoria know ? I thought the cross was in her charge."

" It is that fact that makes the theft so serious," replied Fitzgerald. " I do not think she knows yet of the loss. O'Donnell's anger will be great. Can you guess the thief, Iveagh ? "

I did not answer at once. I wondered whether I might tell the two men of my adventure, since they now knew so much. But I remembered my promise to Lady Honoria and kept silent.

" Is he known ? " I asked with some eagerness.

" Not the name, but it is said to be one of the gentlemen who were present when the wager was made."

I fell silent, my thoughts leaped back to that *csne. An incident had happened then that, viewed with the report now afloat, looked as if a plot had been laid for my dishonor. The infamy of it made me hot.

" You may be sure," I exclaimed, " that Purcell is the source of this report. I know him to be a coward, and ready to strike a foe in the back."

Fitzgerald's handsome he^td nodded. " A true estimate of the man," he said. " But both Berwick and Boisseleau think well of him. You do not believe the cross has been stolen ? "

" No ! Eemember the house in which the wager was made has been burned ; remember how sudden was the advance of the enemy's van."

" I agree with Iveagh," said O'Kavanagh suddenly. " I do so for two reasons. First, Iveagh studied logic when I was learning from Maitre Othon to fence ; secondly, I hate Purcell, who has sneered at my Ethne."

" Your Ethne ! " exclaimed Fitzgerald, a note of mock surprise in his tone. " A shroud upon you ! but your conceit is great ! Sweet Ethne belongs to no man ! "

" She belongs to me," said O'Kavanagh doggedly, " as every rival shall learn."

Fitzgerald laughed. * You are moonstruck ! " he exclaimed. " Look, a star falls ! " He pointed to the sky where a meteor shot across the dark blue of the night. " Behold thyself ! Lucifer, son of the morning ! Such shall be your fate 1 "

"Another star follows ! " O'Kavanagh cried.

"And another," I added. "They are baleful omens."

Our vocies brought some of the officers who were higher up the slope down to us. They broke upon the scene with laughter and jokes. We felt gay and confident of success. In the midst of our mirth Sarsfield drew near, as he followed the bank of the stream. We all sprang to our feet, our hands raised in salute.

"Gentlemen," his voice had a brave ringing note. "The Keeper watches us to-night," he pointed to the dark outline of the mountain cone. "Best, gentlemen, for wo shall not sleep to-morrow night."

" Unless, General, some of us sleep in death," laughed Fitzgerald.

"A brave sleep," said Sarsfield, "if it follows duty well done."

We would have cheered, but he repressed us. "It is not well to raise the echoes of the mountain," he remarked, laughing, and went on towards where the men were encamped.

Some of us flung ourselves on our backs after he was gone. But I could not sleep. I lay looking up into the infinite deep over my head, thinking of the incidents of the night, and watched the stars pale in the creeping dawn. Day climbed the sky and the mountain cone brightened to a vivid green against the gleaming east. Then from the slopes and the ravine came the voices of the sergeants waking the men. No bugle rang ; our lads sprang to their feet, eager for the work before them.

We were kept in the valley till noon, petted, fed, admired by the crowd of country people who came and laid their gifts of food and drink at our feet. Old men blessed us, their sons asked that they might be given arms, the mothers and daughters prayed for our success. All knew the peril of our position, cut off from the city, with the wide Shannon between us and our friends. Scouts came in every hour, bringing news of the approach of the convoy, and at midday Sarsfield, accompanied by Fitzgerald, several staff officers, O'Kavanagh and myself, climbed to a ridge that commanded a view of the plain. We younger men flung ourselves on the grass and watched, using our field-glasses, while the General and the officer next in command ascended to a higher crest.

A soft wind carried gray clouds that hid the sun now and then and changed the emerald green of the fields to a darker hue. The bubble of a spring came in merry notes to our ears as we waited with eyes and souls on the plain. O'Kavanagh lay by my side, his elbows on the ground, his face framed in his hands. By his arm Bran crouched, holding his fine head erect. Fitzgerald moved restlessly, dropping oaths in French and Irish as some shadows played him false. The constant tingling of the spurs on his restive feet made a note with the skylark's song as every now and again a bird spared from the heather. Then suddenly, as if at a command, the head of the convoy crept out between the southern ranges, and in a moment we were spellbound, our glasses on the plain.

The black line lengthened out like slowly spun yarn. Points of light flashed off the procession from the guards' arms as the sun's rays struck the weapons. It stretched, it grew under our staringeyes till the whole convoy lay trailed along the plain. A troop of dragoons rode first, followed by a party of musketeers, who marched by the wagons. Next to these came the guns, six twenty-four pounders, two eighteen-pounders, and five mortars. Five hundred draught horses were led behind, a second troop of dragoons bringing up the rear. The wragons we knew contained ammunition, casks of biscuits for the army, and the tin boats to bridge the Shannon. But for us the principal point of interest was the battering train.

We breathed hard. " I'd sell my soul for their watchword!" Fitzgerald gasped. "Ah, by God and Mary! the guard fears no ambush! Look how those dragoons ride without scouts or flankers! Oh, if Sarsfield would let us on them now ! "

The wolf-hound sprang to his feet with a howl. O'Kavanagh dropped his glass and seized the dog by the collar. "What, Bran ! what is it? That caileach (hag) yonder ? " he asked.

I looked round and saw Mor approaching. Her red hood hung on her shoulders; her bleached hair was uncovered; the eyes looked no longer bright and piercing. The sight of the woman recalled my thoughts to Ethne, and I wondered if, engaged in some mad prank, she were near. Then I glanced at Hogan, who lay further down the slope gazing like a vulture on the plain, and forgot the girl.

" Old Mor has come to bless us," said O'Kavanagh gayly, but Fitzgerald and the others were too absorbed in Avatching the progress of the convoy to look back. A minute later the death caoine rang out in the bright light of the early day, and our heads swung round. Mor was on her knees midway between our group and the trickling rill. She rocked to and fro like the singers who mourn the dead. We broke into laughter.

" Not yet, Mor ; not yet ! " Fitzgerald cried. " Our souls are still in the flesh."

But the sobbing, poignant wail went on; the song of Death, the devourer, a song of wild protest and mourning. We were Gaels, for even Fitzgerald might claim Irish blood in the 500 years that had passed since his Norman forefathers had entered the land, and we might have been sobered at another moment. But the careless guard kept on the convoy had raised the hearts of men who were soldiers and saw their rev at their feet. My comrades joked at the

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cavine, which an order from Sarsfield presently stopped. Mor was told that she would be driven from the mountain should she utter a lament again.

She rose and came towards us. A spur of the range had hidden the convoy, and a stream of bright light broke between the pale clouds, making a wide path up the green mountain cone. Her gray face wTas lit up in the hard glare.

" Men of Erin ! " she said in a loud voice. " A power sent me up the slope. Mo bron! mo bron! Against my will I came. "Would you learn your fate, gallant lads; would you learn what God will give you ? "

" Yes ! Yes ! " we cried, our spirits gay, ready to give her a moment's attention. "Our lands restored, our faith respected; nothing less will suit us, Mor ! "

" You ask much, my sons. My grief ! my grief ! " She drew near O'Kavanagh and looked in his face.

" Here," said Fitzgerald, " I want to know my fate! A bright eye, a good glass, and a quick run home at the last, such is my wish, woman of the fates ! "

She made no answer, still looking at O'Kavanagh. " There will be blood on your hands," she said in a low voice, but we all heard her.

"A rival's!" exclaimed Fitzgerald. "Comrades, we are warned ! O'Kavanagh claims Ethne 6g! and has vowed to sweep me from his path!"

O'Kavanagh looked at him with cool, smiling eyes; the rest of us laughed. "Tell me, Mor, shall I win through this siege?" he asked. "Shall I keep my life?"

"The grave is beneath you," she said, "but not yet the black narrow house. Ochone, mo chroide ! Ochone ! "

Our mocking laughter greeted her words. We turned again to look on the plain. The gleam of steel showed at the end of the spur; the keen, alert look sprang back to our eyes. There was a tense pause, broken suddenly by the woman.

" The grave, the grave, did I say ! " she wailed. "Mhuire astruagh!* happy and at rest would his body be deep in the cold lap of the grave. Ochone ! there is no grave for him. The comely body molders on the wide plain of slaughter where the dogs feed."

None of us answered ; our eyes were devouring the long line of wagons and horses. The convoy

* Mary ! it ii a pity !

was riding due west, and we knew it was ours. Suddenly the dog moaned and O'Kavanagh turned. " My hound does not like you, Mor," he said. " And as for plains of slaughter, I have seen many this year." He spoke as if he had but just heard her words.

She moved her bared head from side to side, as if in pain. " They were little fields to the great slopes," she muttered. "My grief! but little fields ! "

Fitzgerald looked round with a swift gesture. " If this mother of misfortune does not stop her dismal prophecy, I'll pitch her into the valley," he remarked, " where she can curse the convoy."

Mor turned to him, her eyes widened with a look of grief. " For you, son of the Geraldines, for you," she answered mournfully, " I hear the singing of the wings of death."

Fitzgerald laughed. "Take the Cassandra away," he exclaimed. "By my faith, this is a cheerful soul. Hogan," he called to the scout, ci does the sean-mhatair dwell in a churchyard ? w

The man shifted, his feet and looked back with a grin. " Oh, duine-uasal ! I do not be listening to her seeings ! But," he added with pride, " she has the gift, my soul to the devil ! She has ! What is it that you have seen for me, mother of my mother ? "

" The gallows ! and ochone ! ochone ! I shall see it," came the answer, and the old woman moaned. At this moment Sarsfield approached ; he stood still and gazed on the plain, and we rose and clustered round him, our eyes on his face.

" They suspect nothing," he said. " Gentlemen, I have seldom seen a more careless march. The Prince of Orange must, indeed, think that we dare not pass the Shannon when he brings up a battering train so ill- guarded. We shall learn before night where they encamp."

" And then, mon General ? " I saluted as I

spoke.

"And then— well, comrades, we will blow up those fine guns," he looked with an assured bright glance at our faces. We all caught in an instant the same spirit of confidence. His charm of manner, his known skill and valor, made him our idol, and we were ready to follow him to hell's gate had he asked. A minute later his eyes fell on Mor, who was crooning to herself.

" This woman must leave the mountain," he said. " She must not approach the men. Sean-bhean (old woman), why do you wail ? You should sing us a brave battle song. Fitzgerald, take her

away."

Fitzgerald turned to obey, but Mor, with a sudden air of command, waved him off. "Keep back, my son, keep back, you who are summoned ! " she said in a stern, mournful voice. " Padraig Sarsfield must hear my words."

For answer Fitzgerald laid a hand on her shoulder, but Sarsfield bade him desist. "Let her speak," he said, good-humoredly. " But you must be quick, Mor Mi Cohane."

She pointed one arm towards the Keeper peak and fixed her eyes on his face. " Son of the heroes ! " she said, a cadence in her voice which held our attention. " To the place of heroes you shall go ! Ah ! there shall be shouting and joy when you ride in from battle. And they who have gone before shall come about your saddle, showing their death thrusts, crying in the voice of high pride : Show us yours, brave Sarsfield ! Then he, Conall, the victorious, he of the terrible eyes, shall ask in the loud tone of heroes in battle: You of my race! Have you fought for Erin? Have you died for Erin ? And you shall answer in your joy and your pride and your sorrow : I have fought for Ireland, long dead hero of my blood ; but oh and oh it is my bitter grief I have not died for Ireland."

The smile left Sarsfield's face, a shadow crossed it for an instant. The woman's words, the wild note in her voice, held us for the minute silent.

" Mor, do you commune with my ancestors, with Conall the Victorious ? " he said presently, smiling again. " One would think, gentlemen, she had entered the land where the dead lie. However, God grant I dia for Ireland."

" God grant we all die for Ireland ! " I answered, and felt time held some gallant deed yet for us to do.

" Sir," said Fitzgerald in that mock-serious tone of his. " This ancient female is in my belief but a re-birth of one of our war-goddesses. There were three, if I remember aright old Felim O'Hagan's mythology. Dana, Babh, Morrigu. Sometimes they come as scarecrows in red hoods. Can anything be more evident ! "

"Give her this money," said Sarsfield, "and take her away. Sean-bhean, go with this officer, he will lead you as kindly as a son down the mountain."

" Oh, my general," said Fitzgerald, speaking in French, " I am aware I am an orphan, but would not lose the pathos of my position. Come, woman," he spoke in Irish, " we will jog together down the mountain slope."

But Mor bent and laid the coin at Sarsfield's feet. "Look!" she cried, standing upright, "I have news. Ora ! I climbed hither to speak it. One has gone to the Sassenagh with news of this ride ! "

We all started and stared from the woman to Sarsfield. A keen light leaped to -his eyes, but he showed no alarm.

" Who told you this ? " he demanded.

Mor shook her head. "The name I will not tell. One went to the Sassenagh as I came up the Keeper," she answered, the wild note gone from her voice.

Sarsfield looked at Fitzgerald. "Go to Colonel MacMahon and tell him to send scouts towards Limerick," he said coolly. " If there is any movement in the Dutch camp let them report at once."

Fitzgerald hastened to obey, and those of us who had field-glasses swept the country with a keen gaze, but saw no sign of a hostile force in the west. A minute later I was ordered to take Mor from the mountain.

She came with me readilv, and w* crossed the ridge, then, plunging tlirough the purple heather, we went over wet moorlands where black rills of water trickled into dark pools. Gray rocks shot up here and there, and grouse rose at our approach. Now and again a hare fled before us, and high over our heads an eagle soared. As the slope became more steep the heather disappeared and a short grass covered the ground. Mor walked with a rapid step2 her wild mood gone. As she knew every glen and crest, every track and road, I let her take her own way, my duty going no further than to see she left the mountain. The country was practically unknown to me. My regiment, Sarsfield's Horse, had been with part of the cavalry that had guarded King James on his flight to Kinsale, where, having seen His Majesty embark for France, we had crossed the country from the south to Limerick. I therefore followed Mor into hollows and up the sides of ridges in our undulating descent, till at last we climbed down to a deep gorge, where a stream leapt over great brown rocks, while on each side the steep banks were clothed with oak and larch, holly and laurel and mountain ash ablaze with berries. At intervals the face of the rock showed among the trees, festooned with ivy or half hidden by bright green fernlike lichen. A track ran by the edge of the stream, sometimes diverging from the water when huge boulders barred further progress by the bank. After following it for half an hour we reached the mouth of the glen, where a bridge spanned the stream at the point where it issued from the ravine. Beyond the arches I could see the open country, with its rich fields and hedgerows.

" We can part here, my son," said Mor, cheerfully. " You have done your duty and the black spirit has left me."

"One word before we part," I said. "Was it Ethne Ni Brien who tricked me last night? Was it her uncle who rode to the Sassenagh ? "

Old Mor shook her head. " I will give you no answer, Niall MacGuinness," she replied. " I am your friend, for my father, Donnead, rode out with the hostings of your grandfather. But speed up the glen! I hear the trampling of hoofs."

I caught the sound as she spoke and ran to the bridge. The road on each side lay up a hill. The unshod hurrying hoofs told me that cattle approached, and a glance to the right revealed the red heads and white horns oyer the top of th§ ridge. Presently the bodies of the leaders appeared and the animals came on with smoking sides and lolling tongues, pushing and shouldering each other. A party of soldiers followed — about a score in number — and the red lining of their green coats told me that they belonged to Kirke's Foot.

"Hide under the arch," cried Mor, clutching my sleeve. " May blindness strike their eyes ! I know those black-souled boys ! "

But I had caught sight of a woman on horseback who had halted on the opposite height. " There is a colleen yonder, Mor," I exclaimed, " who may want my help."

" She is safe," said Mor. " Look ! " The girl had pulled sharply round and cantered out of sight, followed by a loud shout from the guard.

In an instant Mor fled, and, aware that the soldiers would see me if I lingered, I slipped over the parapet, and sprang into the water. The stream did not rise above my knees, and I waded to the arch. Before long the ground shook overdead and there was a rush, a lowing, a trampling of hoofs. Then followed the measured tramp of feet, and a young voice, a gentleman's voice, cried in English, "Halt!"

So

There was a sudden cessation in the march. The young voice went on, " The brutes are parched. Sergeant, take ten men and head the cattle. Drive them into the stream."

"The water is deep just below the bridge, your honor," returned a hoarse voice. "And the beeves will break their legs on the rocks on the glen side. I will send a man to search for the shallows."

The movement of feet over my head followed, and I looked round my retreat, cursing the owner of the young voice for his humanity. The river deepened to some eight or nine feet outside the arch, but shoaled again twenty yards further down. The bank on each side was flat, and the man detailed to find the shallows as he followed the left had but to turn his head to see me. I remembered that the next arch was draped in ivy, and, creeping out by the glenside, I waded towards it, expecting each instant to hear a shout from the parapet. The noise of the tumbling water deadened the sound of my advance, and I reached the arch undiscovered. It was sheltered on the deep side of the river by branches of ivy, clump-headed and thick. A log ran near the top from wall to wall, upon which I climbed, lying flat upon the wood. 1 was comparatively safe, but was enraged at being detained. I thought of the long ascent of the mountain before me, of my comrades waiting for the night, and feared that I should miss the ride and the capture of the guns.

Presently the thunderous hoofs drew near again, and with shouts and oaths that rose above the bellowing of the steers the cattle were driven to the bank. Through chinks in the ivy I caught glimpses of red shoulders and flanks and white horns bright in the sunlight. Then, as the tumult moved further off, the clattering of galloping hoofs reached my ears, hoofs of a horse and* a rider dashed upon the bridge. The pace was suddenly checked, and the horse halted just above my arch. There was a pause, then the officer's voice, apparently close to the rider, was heard above the keystone. His tone carried both surprise and deference— reproof, too, I thought. "Pardon me, madam,'' I heard him say, " but you should not ride without an escort."

The girl had returned, and as I wondered why her reply was given without hesitation. "I am looking for my guardian, sir/' she said in a very sweet treble, speaking English with a brogue.

"He was to meet me a mile from O'Brien's Bridge."

Her voice seemed familiar, but Ethne of the hearts had but spoken to me in Irish and French, and I could not be certain that it was she who had halted over my head.

" Then, madam," said the imperious young voice, "he should have provided you with an escort. These are not days for any of your sex, and, pardon me, madam, especially one of your face and bearing, to ride alone."

" Oh, sir, my face and bearing would have carried me safe through all the land in ancient days. My face would have been better than a thousand swords. Such was the chivalry in the land."

" I do not think your countrymen pay less homage to beauty than we do," said the man's voice, softened.

"Not less, sir, but far more. They have put round our womanhood a halo, till we seem divine."

" Then, madam, I could join with them there, were all of your countrywomen as fair as yourself."

I stirred on my log. I had no desire to listen to this pretty fooling. I wished the fellow would

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let the girl go on. I pictured him standing bareheaded, fixing half insolent eyes upon her face.

" You are civil, sir," the treble voice answered, " and since my guardian may be waiting for me, I will ride towards the Shannon."

"You live in Clare, madam? I had hoped, since I do not doubt you are loyal, that you dwelt on our side of the river, when I should have done myself the honor of escorting you home."

There was a pretty silvery laugh. "A thousand thanks, sir, I am indeed loyal. My guardian has friends in your regiment."

"If by some happy fate I might be one."

" There is a gentleman of whom he has spoken much," the treble voice took a childish note of innocence. "An officer of courage, and one who even in my guardian's dull eyes is possessed of handsome looks."

The man's reply came at once ; there was evident interest in his tone.

"And the name of this favored gentleman?" he asked.

" His name " — there was a pause as if the girl were trying to recall it. " His name — ah, sure, it comes back to me now. His name was Lieutenant Cole of Kirke's regiment of foot."

In a moment I knew she was playing with the man. It was Ethne, I felt certain, whose horse's fore hoof was pawing the stones above my head.

" My luck is great," he replied. " Lieutenant Cole is my dearest friend."

"Is it true, then, sir," piped the canary-bird voice of the maid ; " is it true that he is the bravest and handsomest young man in his regiment ? "

Would the fool leap to the bait, I thought. It was clear that she had some plan in her head. For a moment I wondered if I might with honor listen further ; then, recalling the suspicions our party entertained of her uncle's loyalty, and her own acquaintance with Lady Honoria, and the importance of keeping our raid a secret, I knew I should fail to do my duty if I did not.