Part 19 (1/2)
Both involuntarily stood to contemplate the strange phenomenon which presented itself to their observation; and, as it was certainly both novel and startling in its appearance, we shall pause a little to describe it more minutely.
The night, as we have already said, was remarkably dark, and warm to an unusual degree. To the astonishment, however, of our two travellers, a gleam of light, extremely faint, and somewhat resembling that which precedes the rising of a summer sun, broke upon their path, and pa.s.sed on in undulating sweeps for a considerable s.p.a.ce before them. Connor had scarcely time to utter the exclamation just alluded to, and Flanagan to reply to him, when the light around them shot farther into the distance and deepened from its first pale hue into a rich and gorgeous purple.
Its effect, however, was limited within a circle of about a mile, for they could observe that it got faint gradually, from the centre to the extreme verge, where it melted into utter darkness.
”They must mean something extraordinary,” said Connor; ”whatever it is, it appears to be behind the hill that divides us from Bodagh's Buie's house. Blessed earth! it looks as if the sky was on fire!”
The sky, indeed, presented a fearful but sublime spectacle. One spot appeared to glow with the red-white heat of a furnace, and to form the centre of a fiery cupola, from which the flame was flung in redder and grosser ma.s.ses, that darkened away into wild and dusky indistinctness, in a manner that corresponded with the same light, as it danced in red and frightful mirth upon the earth. As they looked, the cause of this awful phenomenon soon became visible. From behind the hill was seen a thick shower of burning particles rus.h.i.+ng up into the mid air, and presently the broad point of a huge pyramid of fire, wavering in terrible and capricious power, seemed to disport itself far up in the very depths of the glowing sky. On looking again upon the earth they perceived that this terrible circle was extending itself over a wider circ.u.mference of country, marking every prominent object around them with a dark blood--red tinge, and throwing those that were more remote into a visionary but appalling relief.
”_Dhar Chriestha_,” exclaimed Flanagan, ”I have it; thim I spoke about has paid Bodagh Buie the visit they promised him.”
”Come round the hip o' the hill,” said Connor, ”till we see where it really is; but I'll tell you what, Bartle, if you be right, woe betide you! all the water in Europe wouldn't wash you free in my mind, of being connected in this same Ribbon business that's spreading through the country. As sure as that sky--that fearful sky's above us, you must prove to me and other's how you came to know that this h.e.l.lish business was to take place. G.o.d of heaven! let us run--surely it couldn't be the dwelling-house!”
His speed was so great that Bartle could find neither breath nor leisure to make any reply.
”Thank G.o.d!” he exclaimed; ”oh, thank G.o.d it's not the house, and there lives are safe! but blessed Father, there's the man's whole haggard in flames!”
”Oh, the netarnal villains!” was the simple exclamation of Flanagan.
”Bartle,” said his companion, ”you heard what I said this minute?”
Their eyes met as he spoke, and for the first time O'Donovan was struck by the pallid malignity of his features. The servant gazed steadily upon him, his lips slightly but firmly drawn back, and his eye, in which was neither sympathy nor alarm, charged with the spirit of a cool and devilish triumph.
Connor's blazed at the bare idea of his villainy, and, in a fit of manly and indignant rage, he seized Flanagan and hurled him headlong to the earth at his feet. ”You have h.e.l.l in your face, you villain!” he exclaimed; ”and if I thought that--if I did--I'd drag you down like a dog, an' pitch you head--foremost into the flames!”
Bartle rose, and, in a voice wonderfully calm, simply observed, ”G.o.d knows, Connor, if I know either your heart or mine, you'll be sorry for this treatment you've given me for no rason. You know yourself that, as soon as I heard anything of the ill-will against the Bodagh, I tould it to you, in ordher--mark that--in ordher that you might let him know it the best way you thought proper; an' for that you've knocked me down!”
”Why, I believe you may be right, Bartle--there's truth in that--but I can't forgive you the look you gave me.”
”That red light was in my face, maybe; I'm sure if that wasn't it, I can't tell--I was myself wonderin' at your own looks, the same way; but then it was that quare light that was in your face.”
”Well, well, maybe I'm wrong--I hope I am. Do you think we could be of any use there?”
”Of use! an' how would we account for being there at all, Connor?
how would you do it, at any rate, widout maybe bringin' the girl into blame?”
”You're right agin, Bartle; I'm not half so cool as you are; our best plan is to go home--”
”And go to bed; it is; an' the sooner we're there the better; sowl, Connor, you gev me a murdherin' crash.”
”Think no more of it--think no more of it--I'm not often hasty, so you must overlook it.”
It was, however, with an anxious and distressed heart that Connor O'Donovan reached his father's barn, where, in the same bed with Flanagan, he enjoyed, towards morning, a brief and broken slumber that brought back to his fancy images of blood and fire, all so confusedly mingled with Una, himself, and their parents, that the voice of his father calling upon them to rise, came to him as a welcome and manifest relief.
At the time laid in this story, neither burnings nor murders were so familiar nor patriotic, as the fancied necessity of working out political progress has recently made them. Such atrocities, in these bad and unreformed days, were certainly looked upon as criminal, rather than meritorious, however unpatriotic it may have been to form so erroneous an estimate of human villainy. The consequence of all this was, that the destruction of Bodagh Buie's property created a sensation in the country, of which, familiarized as we are to such crimes, we can entertain but a very faint notion. In three days a reward of five hundred pounds, exclusive of two hundred from government, was offered for such information as might bring the incendiary, or incendiaries, to justice. The Bodagh and his family were stunned as much with amazement at the occurrence of a calamity so incomprehensible to them, as with the loss they had sustained, for that indeed was heavy. The man was extremely popular, and by many acts of kindness had won the attachment and goodwill of all who knew him, either personally or by character.
How, then, account for an act so wanton and vindictive? They could not understand it; it was not only a--crime, but a crime connected with some mysterious motive, beyond their power to detect.
But of all who became acquainted with the outrage, not one sympathized more sincerely and deeply with O'Brien's family than did Connor O'Donovan; although, of course, that sympathy was unknown to those for whom it was felt. The fact was, that his own happiness became, in some degree, involved in their calamity; and, as he came in to breakfast on the fourth morning of its occurrence, he could not help observing as much to his mother. His suspicions of Flanagan, as to possessing some clue to the melancholy business, were by no means removed. On the contrary, he felt that he ought to have him brought before the bench of magistrates who were conducting the investigation from day to day, and, with this determination, he himself resolved to state fully and candidly to the bench, all the hints which had transpired from Flanagan respecting the denunciations said to be held out against O'Brien and the causes a.s.signed for them. Breakfast was now ready, and Fardorougha himself entered, uttering petulant charges of neglect and idleness against his servant.
”He desarves no breakfast,” said he; ”not a morsel; it's robbin' me by his idleness and schaming he is. What is he doin', Connor? or what has become of him? He's not in the field nor about the place.”