“Now, sergeant, the men may
as well fall in,” Ralph said cheerfully, “and
then we will set about finding this path. On which
side do you think it is most likely to lie, Mr. Fitzgibbon?”
“I really can’t give an
opinion, sir. You see there is not a breath of
wind to help us, and in this sort of light there is
no telling where the sun is, so I don’t know
at the present moment which way we are facing.”
“Well, we will try to the right
first, sergeant,” Ralph said. “I will
lead the way. Let the men follow at a distance
of about ten paces apart. I will keep on speaking.
Do you stand at the left of the file, and when the
last man has gone ten paces from you pass the word
along. By that time I shall be about two hundred
yards away. If I have not found the path then
we will come back to you and do the same thing on
the left. If we don’t light upon the path
itself we may come upon some rise or bog or something
that will enable Mr. Fitzgibbon to form an idea as
to where we are.”
This was done, but beyond finding
that the ground on the right was higher than that
on the left no index as to their position was discovered.
“You see, Mr. Fitzgibbon, we
are on sloping ground rising to the right. Now,
does that help you at all?”
“Not much sir. The country here is all
undulating.”
“Very well, then, we must try
a march forward. Now, sergeant, place the men
five paces apart. Do you put yourself in the center.
I will move on three yards ahead of you. I shall
go as straight forward as I can, but if you think
I am inclining either to the right or left you say
so. The fact that the ground is sloping ought
to be a help to us to keep straight. I wish it
sloped a little more, then one would be able to tell
directly whether one was keeping straight. Let
the men speak to each other every few paces so as
to keep the right distances apart.”
Mr. Fitzgibbon placed himself by Ralph’s
side, and they started. For half an hour they
kept on, then Ralph cried, “Halt. I am certain
I am going downhill, it may be because I have changed
my direction, or it may be because there is a change
in the lay of the ground. What do you think?”
“It’s impossible to say,”
Mr. Fitzgibbon replied. “It seems to me
that we have been going straight, but when one can’t
see a yard before one one may have turned any direction.”
“How long do you think that
this rascally fog is likely to last?”
“It may clear up as the sun
gets high, sir, but I must acknowledge that it may
last for days. There is never any saying among
these hills.”
“Well, at any rate you must
give up all idea of making a raid on this still, Mr.
Fitzgibbon. That has become a secondary object
altogether now. What we have to do is to find
our way out of this. Hitherto I have tried what
we could do in silence. Now I shall give that
up. Now, sergeant, get the men together again.
I will go ahead, and shall, if I can, keep on descending.
If one does that one must get out of these hills at
last. When I get about fifty yards I will shout.
Then you send a man on to me. When he reaches
me I will shout again and go on another fifty yards.
When I shout send another man forward. When he
gets to the first man the first man is to shout and
then come on to me, and you send off another.
In that way we shall make a regular line fifty yards
apart, and I don’t think any one can get lost.
Should any one get confused and stray, which he can’t
do if he keeps his head, he must shout till he hears
his shouts answered. After a time if he doesn’t
hear any answer he must fire his gun, and we must answer
till he rejoins us. But if my orders are observed
I do not see how any one can miss their way, as there
will be posts stationed every fifty yards. You
remain till the last and see them all before you.
You quite understand? When each man comes up
to the one in front of him he is to stop until the
next man joins him, and then move on to the man ahead.”
“I understand, sir.”
“They must not be in a hurry,
sergeant; because moving ahead as I shall, I shall
have to move to the right or left sometimes so as to
make as sure as I can that I am still going down.
Now, Mr. Fitzgibbon, if you keep with me, between
us we ought to find the road.”
The plan seemed a good one, but it
was difficult to follow. The fall of the ground
was so slight that Ralph and the officer often differed
as to whether they were going up or down, and it was
only by separating and taking short runs right and
left, forward or backward, that they arrived at any
conclusion, and even then often doubted whether they
were right. The shouting as the long line proceeded
was prodigious, and must have astonished any stray
animals that might have been grazing among the hills.
So bewildering was the fog that the men sometimes
went back to the men behind them instead of forward
to the men in front, and long pauses were necessitated
before they got right again. Ralph, finding the
cause of the delays, passed the word down for the
first man to keep on shouting “number one,”
the second “number two,” and so on, and
this facilitated matters. The line of shouting
men had at least the advantage that it enabled Ralph
to keep a fairly straight course, as the sound of
voices told him if he was deviating much to the right
or left.
“We may not be going right,”
he said to his companion, “but at least we have
the satisfaction of knowing that we are not moving
in a circle.”
After some hours’ marching Ralph,
to his great delight, came upon a hill rill of water.
“Thank goodness,” he said,
“we have got a guide at last. If we follow
this we must get somewhere. We need not go on
in this tedious way, but will halt here till all the
men come up.”
It was half an hour before the sergeant arrived.
“We have got a guide now, sergeant,
and can push on. I suppose you have no idea what
stream this is, Mr. Fitzgibbon?”
“Not at present,” the
officer admitted. “There are scores of these
little rills about. They make their way down from
the bogs at the top of the hills, and there is nothing
to distinguish one from the other.”
They now tramped on briskly, keeping
close to the little stream. Sometimes the ground
became soft and marshy, and it was difficult to follow
its course; but they went straight on and after three
more hours’ marching came upon a road that crossed
the stream over a little culvert. There was a
cheer from the tired men as they stood on hard ground
again.
“Now, the question is shall
we turn to the right or the left, for we have not
the faintest idea as to the points of the compass.
What do you say, Mr. Fitzgibbon?”
“I should say that it is an
even chance; but at any rate whichever way we go we
are sure to come in time upon a hut or village, and
be able to find out where we are.”
“Very well, then; we will take
the right,” Ralph said. “Form fours,
sergeant. We shall get on better by keeping in
step. Now, sergeant, if any of the men can sing
let him strike up a tune with a chorus. That
will help us along.”
There was a little hesitation, and
then one of the men struck up a song, and with renewed
life and energy they all marched along. It was
nearly an hour before they heard the welcome sound
of voices close by. Ralph halted his men and
proceeded toward this sound, and then discovered what
the fog had prevented them from seeing before, that
they were passing through a village, the voices being
those of some women who were brought to their doors
by the sound of music, and who were somewhat puzzled
at the, to them, mysterious sounds.”
“What place is this?” Ralph asked.
“It is Kilmaknocket.”
“Bless me!” Mr. Fitzgibbon
exclaimed, “we are twenty miles away from Ballyporrit
if we are an inch.”
“Then it’s evident we
can’t get there to-day,” Ralph said.
“We must have come more than that distance since
we halted in the night. Now, my good woman, I
have a party of twenty men here, and we have lost our
way in the hills, and must stop here for the night.
How many houses are there in the village?”
“There are ten or twelve, sir.”
“That is all right, then.
We must quarter two men on each. I will pay every
one for the trouble it will give, and for something
to eat, which we want badly enough, for we have come
at least twenty-five or twenty-six miles, and probably
ten more than that, and have had nothing but a bit
of bread since we started.”
“It’s heartily welcome
you will be, sir,” the woman said, “and
we will all do the best we can for you.”
The men were now ordered to fall out.
The sergeant proceeded with them through the village,
quartering two men on each house, while Ralph went
round to see what provisions were obtainable.
Potatoes and black bread were to be had everywhere,
and he also was able to buy a good-sized pig, which,
in a very few minutes, was killed and cut up.
“We have reason to consider
ourselves lucky indeed,” Ralph said, as he sat
down with the excise officer half an hour later to
a meal of boiled potatoes and pork chops roasted over
a peat fire. “It’s half-past four
now, and will be pitch dark in another half-hour.
If we had not struck upon that stream we should have
had another night out among the hills.”
Ralph’s first measure after
seeing his men quartered in the village was to inquire
for a boy who would carry a message to Ballyporrit,
and the offer of half a crown produced four or five
lads willing to undertake it. Ralph chose one
of them, an active-looking lad of about fifteen, tore
out a leaf from his pocketbook, and wrote an account
of what had happened, and said that the detachment
would be in by two o’clock on the following
day. Then directing it to Captain O’Connor
or Lieutenant Desmond, whichever might be in the village,
he gave it to the lad, who at once started at a trot
along the road in the direction from which they had
come.
“He will be there in four hours,”
Mr. Fitzgibbon said. “It’s a regular
road all the way, and he can’t miss it even in
the dark. It’s lucky we turned the way
we did, for although it was taking us further from
home it was but two miles along the road here, while,
if we had gone the right way, it would have been six
or seven before we arrived at the next village.”
“I think we are lucky all round,”
Ralph said. “An hour ago if any one told
us we were going to sit down at half-past four to a
hot dinner of pork and potatoes we should have slain
him as a scoffer. It would have seemed altogether
too good to be true.”
Ralph had no difficulty in purchasing
whisky, and be ordered the sergeant to serve out a
tot to each man with his dinner and another half an
hour later, and by seven o’clock there was scarcely
one of the tired men who was not already asleep.
The next morning they started at eight o’clock,
having had a breakfast of potatoes before they fell
in. Ralph rewarded the peasants generously for
their hospitality, and the men set off in high spirits
for their tramp, and reached Ballyporrit at half-past
two in the afternoon.
“You gave us a nice scare yesterday,
Conway,” was Captain O’Connor’s
greeting as they marched in. “When twelve
o’clock came and you didn’t come back
I began to think you must have lost yourselves; and
a nice time we had of it till your messenger arrived
at eight. It was no use sending out to look for
you on the hills. But I went out with a party,
with two or three men to guide us, to the end of a
valley, up which a path went; beyond that there was
no going, for one couldn’t see one’s hand.
I stayed there an hour, firing off guns once a minute,
and as there was no reply was sure that you must be
a good distance off, wherever you were; so there was
nothing to do but to come back and hope you had found
shelter somewhere. Come in, lad; I have got some
hot lunch waiting for you. Come in, Mr. Fitzgibbon.
It’s lucky I didn’t catch you yesterday,
or I should have considered it my duty to have hung
you forthwith for decoying his majesty’s troops
among the hills.”
“Well, Conway, you didn’t
bargain for all this when you offered to change places
with me,” Lieutenant Desmond said when they were
seated at table.
“No; but now it’s all
over I am glad I did change, in spite of the tramp
we had. It has been an adventure, and beside,
it was a good thing to learn how best to get out of
a fog.”
“How did you manage, Conway?”
Captain O’Connor asked; “for once lost
in such a fog as that on those hills there really does
not seem anything to be done.”
Ralph related the various steps he
had taken, and how, eventually, they had come upon
running water and followed it down to a road.
“Well, I really think you have
done remarkably well, youngster. I shouldn’t
be surprised if we have some more tramps before us,
for I had a letter this morning from the colonel saying
that the fellow known as the red Captain, a notorious
scoundrel who has been with his gang committing all
sorts of atrocities in Galway, has made the place
too hot for him at last, and is reported to have made
his way down to the south coast, somewhere in this
direction; and we are ordered to keep a sharp lookout
for him. He is an unmitigated ruffian, and a
desperate one. He has shot several constables
who have tried to capture him, and as he has three
or four men with him nearly as bad as himself I expect
we shall have some trouble with him. There has
been a reward of a hundred pounds for his capture
for a long time, but so far without success.
One man, whom he suspected rightly or wrongly of intending
to betray him, he killed by fastening the door of his
cottage and then setting the thatch alight; and the
man, his wife, and four children were burned to death.”
That evening, just as dinner was over,
the sergeant came in and said that a woman wished
to speak to the captain.
“What does she want, sergeant?”
“She won’t say what she
wants, sir; only that she wishes to speak to you privately.”
“Show her in then, sergeant.”
The sergeant brought in the woman
and then retired. As soon as the door closed
behind him the woman threw back the shawl which had
hitherto almost covered her face. She was about
twenty-five years old, and strikingly pretty.
“What can I do for you?”
Captain O’Connor asked. “The sergeant
says you wish to speak to me on some particular business.”
“Yes, sir; sure, and it is very particular business.”
“You don’t wish to speak
to me quite alone, I suppose?” O’Connor
asked, seeing that she hesitated.
“No, your honor; seeing that
these gentlemen are all officers there is no reason
in life why they should not hear what I have to say.
But, sure, sir, it’s little my life would be
worth if it were known outside these walls that I
had been here. My name is Bridget Moore, sir,
and I belong to County Galway. Well, your honor,
there was a desperate villain, they call the Red Captain,
there. He was hiding in the hills for some time
near the little farm my husband holds. We did
not know who he was how should we? but
thought he was hiding because the revenue officers
were after him on account of a bit of a still or something
of that kind; but we found out one day, when he had
been taking too much of the cratur and was talking
big like, that he was the Red Captain.
“My Denis was troubled in his
mind over it. Av coorse he was not one to
inform, but he had heard so much of the Red Captain
and his doings that he was onaisy at the thought of
having him as a neighbor. He wasn’t one
to pretind to be frindly when he wasn’t, and
the captain noticed it and took offince, and there
were mighty high words between them. One night,
your honor, he and his gang came down and broke in
the door, and tould Denis he was a black-hearted informer,
Denis said it was a lie, and they were nigh shooting
him, but at last they said he should have the choice
either of joining them or of being shot; and Denis,
being druv to it, and seeing no other way to save his
life, was forced to agree. Then the villains
made him kneel down and take a great oath to be faithful
and secret.
“I was away off; for I had caught
up the child and run out by the back door when they
came in, but I crept round to a broken window there
was, so that I could hear what was said. When
they took him away wid them and went off, I followed
at a distance, for I wasn’t sure whether after
all they didn’t mean to murther him. But
they went up to the hut where they lived at the edge
of the bog, and as they seemed more friendly like
I went back to see after the child, who was left all
alone. The next morning I took it over to a neighbor
and asked her to keep it till I came back. Then
I went up to the hut again and found it was empty.
“A day or two after that I found
out from a man who run a still, and knew the Red Captain
well, that he had made up his mind to lave Galway
and come down south, where he had some friends; so
I just shut up the house and walked down here.
Now you know, your honor, that I don’t come
here for the sake of the reward. Not a penny of
it would I touch if I were dying of hunger, and sooner
than be pointed at as an informer I would throw myself
over them big rocks. But they have got Denis,
and either they will make him as bad as themselves which
I don’t think or they will shoot
him; and if they don’t shoot him he will be
shot one of these days by the soldiers. What I
want you to promise, your honor, is, that if I point
out where you can lay your hands on the villains,
you won’t say who tould you, and that you will
tell your soldiers not to shoot Denis.
“You will know him aisy
enough, your honor, for he is a dacent-looking boy;
and when the time comes you will find he will do what
he can to help you. I found out who the people
were that the Red Captain had come down to, and I
watched and watched their place, till one day I saw
him come there. Then I followed him and found
out whereabout they were hiding. I kept about
till, that evening, I had a chance of spaking to Denis
for a minute. He is broken-hearted, your honor,
but he daren’t lave them. He said they
had sworn if he ever tried to run away they would
hunt him down; and the Red Captain said that he would
send information to the poliss that it was Denis who
helped him fire the hut when those poor cratures were
burned, and would say, he had been in the thick of
it all along; and how could he prove the differ?
So he daren’t for the life of him move, your
honor; and tould me to keep away and go home, for
I could do him no good, and if they caught me spaking
to him they would kill the two of us.”
“I promise you willingly,”
Captain O’Connor said, “I will not say
who pointed out their hiding-place, and if your husband
does not join in the resistance he certainly shall
receive no hurt. If he is caught with them I
am afraid that I shall be exceeding my duty in letting
him go; but surely he would have no difficulty in
proving that he had only accompanied them in consequence
of their threats.”
“That’s what he couldn’t
prove, sir. That’s just what they tould
him: if they were caught themselves they knew
there was no chance for them, and they would all swear
together that he had been with them all along; and
how could the boy prove that he wasn’t?”
“Well, Mrs. Moore, I will try
and strain a point,” Captain O’Connor
said. “You see, people sometimes escape
after they are taken, and I think we shall be able
to manage somehow that Denis shan’t appear at
the bar with the others; and if it should turn out
that cannot be managed I will engage to make such
representations to the authorities that your husband
shall get off free.”
“Very well, sir; then I will
tell you where they are to be found. I can’t
take you there, your honor, but I can tell you whereabout
it is. There is a footpath turns oft from the
road at the end of the village, and goes straight
down to the top of them big rocks that come out of
the sea. Well, sir, a few hundred yards to the
right of that there is a sort of break in the rocks,
and there is a track goes down there. You won’t
see it onless you look close for it, and it gets lost
a little way down, becase the rocks are all broken
about and heaped on each other. It’s down
there they go. There’s always a man on watch
not far from the top; and there is generally a gossoon
from their friends here somewhere at the edge of the
bog behind, who would run forward and tell the man
on watch if he saw any soldiers coming from here.
So you will have to be mighty careful; but they are
down there, sure enough, somewhere.
“Denis tould me there was no
chance of their being taken, for they have got a little
boat hid away down among the rocks by the water, and
if the alarm was given they would make off in that.
I can’t tell you any more than that, you honor;
but I should think that may be enough to help you
to find them.”
“I should think so too, Mrs.
Moore. And what do you propose doing yourself?”
“I shall go off, sir, at once.
Folk have been wondering at me, and asking where I
came from and what I was doing here, and I want to
get away. If it came to the Red Captain’s
ears there was a woman about he might guess it was
me, and if he did he would like enough shoot Denis
and make away. I can’t see as I can do any
good by stopping, and I may do harm; so I will go
over to Dunmanway and stop there till I hear what
your honor has done. If I find Denis has got hurted
I shall come back, if not I shall go home to the farm.
Maybe your honor will tell him I shall be expecting
him there.”
Captain O’Connor accompanied
her outside to see that no one spoke to her, and when
he saw her disappear in the darkness he returned to
the room.
“I think you have had a lucky
escape, Conway,” he said as he entered.
“The matter is explained now about your being
watched and questioned, and it is very lucky that
they did not quite make up their minds you were a
spy; for if they had you may be sure they would have
had no more hesitation in putting an ounce of lead
into you, and throwing you over the cliff, than they
would in shooting a sparrow. Well, this is an
important piece of news. The authorities have
for a long time been trying to lay their hands on
this scoundrel and his gang, and if we can catch him
it will be a feather in our caps, for he has defied
all their efforts for the last three years. Now,
we must arrange the line of battle, how it is to come
off, and when.
“In the first place we must
arrange with the coast-guard to have a well-manned
boat somewhere along the coast to cut the scoundrels
off if they try to escape by sea. The attack
must be made by daylight, that is evident, for half
the men would break either their legs or their necks
if they tried to get down in the dark. I think
it will be best to place half the company along the
top of the cliffs, posting two or three men at every
point where it looks possible that they may ascend,
then with the other half we will go down on this track
she speaks of and search the whole place thoroughly.
If they are there we must find them sooner or later;
and find them we will, if the search takes us a week.”
“Who is this Red Captain?”
“I believe his real name is
Dan Egan. He was mixed up in some brutal outrage
on an inoffensive farmer, had to leave the county,
went to Dublin, and enlisted. He went out to
Spain with his regiment, was flogged twice for thieving,
then he shot an officer who came upon him when he
was ill-treating a Portuguese peasant; he got away
at the time, and it was months before he was heard
of again. It was thought that he had deserted
to the French, but I suppose he got down to a port
somewhere in disguise and shipped on board a vessel
for England. The next thing heard of him was
that he was back again at his native place. The
police here were of course ignorant as to what had
become of him from the time he disappeared; but the
fellow made no secret of what he had been doing, and
boasted of having shot the officer.
“The regiment was communicated
with, and by a comparison of the date of enlistment
and the personal description there was no doubt that
the man who had enlisted as Mark Kelly was Dan Egan.
Of course every effort was made to capture him, but
in vain. I believe the peasants would have informed
against him, for he was hated for his violence and
overbearing way, but he soon established a sort of
terror in the district. He was joined by three
or four of the greatest ruffians in County Galway,
and unless the whole of these had been captured at
one swoop, vengeance would be sure to fall upon whoever
had betrayed him.
“He has killed four or five
police officers at various times, and I should say
twice as many peasants who have ventured to offend
him. He and his band levied a sort of blackmail
in the district, and woe betide the small farmer who
refused to send in a sheep or a bag of meal once a
month. Their cattle were killed and their ricks
set on fire; and so in a short time he had the whole
neighborhood under his thumb. Whenever a party
went in pursuit of him he was sure to obtain early
information. Not from love, but from fear; for
it was a well understood thing that any one seeing
a body of police and failing to send instant word
would suffer for it.
“Just as we left I heard that
a company of foot and a troop of cavalry were to be
sent from Galway to search every hut and hiding-place
in the district, and I suppose that it was this that
drove him down here. He has red hair and beard;
and it is this partly, and partly no doubt the fellow’s
murderous character, that has gained him the name of
the Red Captain. He is a prize worth taking,
and if we can lay hands on him and his band together
we shall have done better work than if we had unearthed
a hundred illicit stills. At any rate we will
lose no time. I will write a letter at once to
the revenue officer at the coast-guard station.
I shall mention no names, but say that we hope to
make an important capture to-morrow morning on the
cliffs here, and asking him to send a well-armed boat
at daylight, with instructions to stop and arrest
any boat that may put out from the shore. If the
revenue cutter happens to be lying off his station,
or within reach of a messenger, I will tell him to
have her off the shore if possible.”
Captain O’Connor at once wrote
the letter. “Sergeant Morris,” he
said, when the non-commissioned officer came in, “I
want you to take this letter yourself to Lieutenant
Adcock at the coast-guard station in the cove three
miles along to the east. It is of the highest
importance. I want you to see the officer yourself
and obtain an answer from him. Take a man with
you, and carry your side-arms. Don’t go
along the cliff, but keep to the road till you come
to the lane that leads direct to the village in the
cove. Just tell the landlord to come here, will
you?”
“Landlord,” he said, when
the host appeared, “I want you to lend a couple
of long greatcoats and two hats or caps of any kind.
I am sending two of my men off on a mission, and I
don’t want them to be noticed. It does
not matter how old the coats are so that they are
long.”
“I will get them your honor.
I have one that will do, and will borrow the other
for you in no time.”
“You see, sergeant, I don’t
want your presence in the village to be noticed.
You know how these fellows hang together. The
sight of two soldiers in uniform there would be sure
to attract attention. Choose a man you can rely
on to play his part cleverly. I tell you to take
your side-arms, because I happen to know that there
are men about who, if they suspected your mission,
would not have the least hesitation in knocking you
on the head. This is no question of finding a
still, sergeant, but of making the capture of one
of the most desperate bands in the country; and it
is well worth taking the utmost pains and precaution
to insure everything going well.”
“I understand, sir. I will
take Pat Hogan with me; he has plenty of the brogue,
and can talk the language too. So if any one should
speak to us as we go along he can do the talking,
and no one will suspect that we are not a couple of
countrymen.”
“That will do very well, sergeant.
It is just seven o’clock now. If Lieutenant
Adcock is in when you get there you ought to be back,
well, before ten. It’s about four miles
by road. I would borrow a couple of heavy sticks
if I were you. I don’t think it at all likely
there will be any occasion to use them, but it is
just as well to be prepared. If, when you get
near the village, or on your way back, you come across
any one who questions you inquisitively, and seems
to you to be a suspicious character, I authorize you
to make him prisoner and bring him over with you.
Knock him down if he attempt resistance. You may
as well take a pair of handcuffs with you and a short
coil of rope. The object of the rope is, that
if you capture any one on your way to the village
you had better handcuff him, gag him, and tie him up
securely to a tree or some other object at a distance
from the road, and pick him up as you come back.
I need hardly say that you are not to go into any
house in the village, not to speak to any one beyond
what is absolutely necessary.”
“I understand, sir, and you
can rely upon me to carry out your orders.”
“You had better fetch Hogan
in here, sergeant. Tell him what he has to do
before you bring him in, then we can see the disguises
on you both; and it’s better for you to start
from an inn, where people are going in and out, than
from one of the houses where you are quartered.”
The landlord returned with the disguises
almost immediately after the sergeant had gone out,
and in a few minutes the latter came in with Hogan.
The greatcoats were put on, the hats substituted for
military caps, and with the collars of the coats turned
up and the addition of two heavy sticks, the disguise
was complete, and the two smart soldiers would pass
anywhere as peasants.
“You had better take your gaiters
off, sergeant. You look too neat about the feet;
although that would not be noticed unless you went
into the light. Here is the letter, put it carefully
inside your jacket. There, now, I think you will
do.”
It was nearly ten when the two soldiers
returned. “Here’s a letter sir, from
the revenue officer. He quite understands what
is wanted, and will have a boat off the cliffs at
daybreak with a well-armed crew. He does not
know where the cutter is at present. She touched
there two days ago, sailing west.”
“You met no suspicious characters, sergeant?”
“No, sir. We spoke to no
one until we got to the village, beyond asking a woman
which was the turning from the main road. There
didn’t seem to be a soul about in the village,
and we had to wait about some time before I could
get hold of a boy to tell me which was the revenue
officer’s cottage. I left Hogan outside
when I went in; but he saw no one, nor did any one
speak to us on our return beyond one or two men we
met passing the time of night, which Hogan answered.”
“All the better, sergeant.
The great object is secrecy. Now, leave these
things here and put on your caps again. If you
go to the bar the landlord has orders to give you
a glass of grog each. Don’t say a word
as to where you have been, Hogan, but get back to your
quarters. When you have had your grog, sergeant,
look in again before you go.”
When the men had gone out Captain
O’Connor opened the letter, which merely confirmed
what the sergeant said. When Sergeant Morris returned
Captain O’Connor told him that the company were
to parade an hour before daylight.
“Don’t give the order
to-night, sergeant; but go round from house to house
yourself in the morning, rouse the men, and tell them
to fall in quietly without beat of drum.
“Everything is going on well,
boys,” he said when the sergeant had left, “and
I think we have a good chance of laying these scoundrels
by the heels to-morrow. However, we must insure
that word is not sent from the village, when the troops
begin to get up. A stir an hour before the usual
time is sure to excite remark, and as it is certain
these fellows will have arranged with some one in the
village for early news of any unusual movement, we
must take steps to prevent a messenger passing.
I propose that you two shall be astir half an hour
before the troops; and that you shall, before any one
else is moving, go along the path leading to the cliffs,
stop a couple of hundred yards beyond the village,
and arrest any one who may come along.”
“Yes, I think that will be a
very good plan,” Lieutenant Desmond said.
“No one shall pass us, I warrant.”
“Don’t forget to take
your pistols; it is likely enough you may have to
use them before the day is over. These scoundrels
know they fight with ropes round their necks, and
are almost sure to resist desperately. Now we
will have one glass more, and then be off to bed.
The day will begin to break about seven, and I will
impress upon the landlord the urgent necessity of
calling you both by five.”
“I suppose we are to stay where
we take up our station till you come along with the
company, O’Connor, whether we take any prisoners
or not?”
“Yes, that will be the best
way, Desmond. If you have caught any one I will
send them back with a guard to the village. No,
it would not do for you to move before we come up,
for there is no saying what time a messenger will
go along. They may not take the alarm until just
as we are starting, or even until they see which road
we are taking. By the way, you may as well take
that pair of handcuffs the sergeant has left on the
table with you, otherwise if you do get a prisoner
you would have to keep your hands on his collar, or
he might make a bolt any moment. There is nothing
like being on the safe side.
“You had better take up your
post at some place where your figures will not be
seen by any one coming along the road till he is close
to you, or instead of coming straight along he might
make a bolt round; and some of these fellows can run
like hares. We must not let the smallest chance
escape us. If we succeed in the affair we shall
get no end of credit, beside the satisfaction of freeing
the country of as desperate a band of ruffians as
any that infest it, and that’s saying a good
deal. Now, here’s success to our work to-morrow.”
O’Connor drained his glass and placed it on
the table, and then rising and taking up his sword
made his way to his room, his companions at once following
his example.