Chapter 11
"I wonder. Darby," said I, "that you haven't more firmness than to change this way at every moment."
"Firmness, is it? Faix, it's firm enough I'd be, and Stiff, too, if I did n't. Sure it 's the only way now at all. Wait, my honey, till the time comes round for ourselves, and faix, you 'll never accuse me of coorting their favor; but now, at this moment, you perceive, we must do it to learn their plans. What do you think I got to-night? I learned all the signs the yeos have when they 're drinking together, and what they say at each sign. Thers 's a way they have of gripping the two little fingers together that I'll not forget soon."
For some time we walked on at a rapid pace, without exchanging more than an occasional word. At last we entered a narrow, ill-lighted street, which led from the ca.n.a.l harbor to one of the larger and wider thoroughfares.
"I almost forget the way here," said Darby, stopping and looking about him.
At last, unable to solve the difficulty, he leaned over the half-door of a shop, and called out to a man within, "Can you tell where is Kevin Street?"
"No. 39?" said the man, after looking at him steadily for a moment.
Darby stroked down one side of his face with his hand slowly; a gesture immediately imitated by the other man.
"What do you know?" said Darby.
"I know 'U,'" replied the man.
"And what more?"
"I know 'N'"
"That 'ill do," said Darby, shaking hands with him cordially. "Now, tell me the way, for I have no time to spare."
"Begorra! you 're in as great haste as if ye were Darby the Blast himself. Ye 'll come in and take a gla.s.s?"
Darby only laughed, and again excusing himself, he asked the way; which having learned, he wished his newly-made friend good-night, and we proceeded.
"They know you well hereabouts; by name, at least," said I, when we had walked on a little.
"That they do," said Darby, proudly. "From Wexford to Belfast there 's few does n't know me; and they 'll know more of me, av I 'm right, before I die."
This he spoke with more of determination than I ever heard him use previously.
"Here 's the street now; there 's the lamp,--that one with the two burners there. Faix, we 've made good track since morning, anyhow."
As he spoke we entered a narrow pa.s.sage, through which the street lamp threw a dubious half-light. This conducted us to a small paved court, crossing which we arrived at the door of a large house. Darby knocked in a peculiar manner, and the door was speedily opened by a man who whispered something, to which M'Keown made answer in the same low tone.
"I 'm glad to see you again," said the man, louder, as he made way for him to pa.s.s.
I pushed forward to follow, when suddenly a strong arm was stretched across my breast, and a gruff voice asked,--"Who are you?"
Darby stepped
At last, when the temper of both appeared nearly giving way. Darby turned to me, and said,--"Wait for me a moment, Tom, where you are, and I 'll come for you."
So saying, he disappeared, and the door closed at the same time, leaving me in darkness on the outside. My patience was not severely taxed; ere five minutes the door opened, and Darby, followed by another person, appeared.
"Mr. Burke," said this latter, with the tone of voice that at once bespoke a gentleman, "I am proud to know you." He grasped my hand warmly as he spoke, and shook it affectionately. "I esteem it an honor to be your sponsor here. Can you find your way after me? This place is never lighted; but I trust you 'll know it better ere long."
Muttering some words of acknowledgment, I followed my unseen acquaintance along the dark corridor.
"There's a step, here," cried he; "and now mind the stairs."
A long and winding flight conducted us to a landing, where a candle was burning in a tin sconce. Here my conductor turned round.
"Your Christian name is Thomas, I believe," said he. At the same moment, as the light fell on me, he started suddenly back, with an air of mingled astonishment and chagrin. "Why, M'Keown, you told me--" The rest of the sentence was lost in a whisper.
"It 's a disguise I made him wear," said Darby. "He 'd no chance of escaping the country without it."
"I 'm not speaking of that," retorted the other, angrily.
"It is his age, I mean; he's only a boy. How old are you, sir?" continued he, addressing me, but with far less courtesy than before.
"Old enough to live for my country; or die for it either, if need be,"
said I, haughtily.
"Bravo, my darling!" cried the piper, slapping me on the shoulder with enthusiasm.
"That's not exactly my question," said the stranger, smiling good-naturedly; "I want to know your age."
"I was fourteen in August," said I.
"I had rather you could say twenty," responded he, thoughtfully. "This is a sad mistake of yours, Darby. What dependence can be placed on a child like this? He's only a child, after all."
"He's a child I'll go bail for with my head," said Darby.
"Your head has fully as much on it as it is fit to carry," said the other, in a tone of rebuke. "Have you told him anything of the object and intentions of this Society? But of course you have revealed everything. Well, I 'll not be a party to this business. Young gentleman," continued he, in a voice of earnest and impressive accent, "all I know of you is the few particulars this man has stated respecting your unfriended position, and the cruelty to which you fear to expose yourself in trusting to the guardians.h.i.+p of Mr. Ba.s.set. If these reasons have induced you, from recklessness and indifference, to risk your life, by a.s.sociation with men who are actuated by high and n.o.ble principles, then, I say, you shall not enter here. If, however, aware of the object and intentions of our Union, you are desirous to aid us, young though you be, I shall not refuse you."
"That's it," interrupted Darby; "if you feel in your heart a friend to your country--"
"Silence!" said the other, harshly; "let him decide for himself."
"I neither know your intentions, nor even guess at them," said I, frankly. "My dest.i.tution, and the poor prospect before me, make me, as you suppose, indifferent to what I embark in, provided that it be not dishonorable.
"It is not danger that will deter me, that 's all I can promise you."
"I see," said the stranger, "this is but another of your pranks, Mr.
M'Keown; the young gentleman was to be kidnapped amongst us. One thing,"
said he, turning to me, "I feel a.s.sured of, that anything you have witnessed here is safe within your keeping; and now we'll not press the matter further. In a few days you can hear, and make up your mind on all these things; and as you are not otherwise provided, let us make you our guest in the mean while."
Without giving me time to reply, he led me downstairs again, and unlocking a room on the second floor, pa.s.sed through several rooms, until he reached one comfortably fitted up like a study.
"You must be satisfied with a sofa here for to-night but to-morrow I will make you more comfortable."
I threw my eyes over the well-filled bookshelf with delight, and was preparing to thank him for all his kindness to me, when he added,--
"I must leave you now, but we 'll meet to-morrow; so good-night. Come along, M'Keown; we shall want you presently."