Part 17 (1/2)
THE SIEGE OF DROGHEDA.
Under the influence of the warm, close air of the hut, and the spirits he had taken, Harry soon felt drowsiness stealing over him, and the leader, perceiving this, pointed to a heap of dried fern lying in the corner of the hut. Harry at once threw himself on it, and in a very few minutes was sound asleep. When he awoke daylight was streaming in through the door of the hut. Its inmates were for the most part sitting as when he had last seen them, and Harry supposed that they had talked all night. The atmosphere of the hut was close and stifling, and Harry was glad to go to the door and breathe the fresh air outside.
The weather had changed, and the sun, which had just risen, was s.h.i.+ning brightly. The hut stood at the foot of a long range of stony hills, while in front stretched, as far as the eye could see, an expanse of brown bog. A bridle path ran along at the foot of the hills. An hour later two figures were seen approaching along this. The one was a mounted horseman, the other running in front of him, at a long, easy trot, was Harry's guide of the preceding evening.
On reaching the cottage the gentleman on horseback alighted, and, advancing to Harry, said:
”Captain Furness, I am heartily sorry to hear that you have had what must have been a disagreeable adventure. The lad here who brought your letter told me that you were regarded as a prisoner, and considered to be a Protestant emissary. I am Tom Blake, and I live nearly twenty miles from here. That is the reason why I was not here sooner. I was keeping it up with some friends last night, and had just gone to bed when the messenger arrived, and my foolish servants pretended I was too drunk to be woke. However, when they did rouse me, I started at once.”
”And has that boy gone forty miles on foot since last night?” Harry asked, in surprise.
”Oh, that's nothing,” Mr. Blake said. ”Give him half an hour's rest, and he'd keep up with us back to Killicuddery. But where is your horse, and how did you get into this mess? The boy tells me he found you in the bog.”
Harry related his adventures.
”You have had a lucky escape indeed,” Mr. Blake said. ”There are places in that bog thirty feet deep. I would not try to cross it for a thousand pounds on a bright day, and how you managed to do so through the mist yesterday is more than I can imagine. Now, the first thing is to get your horse. I must apologize for not having brought one, but the fact is, my head was not exactly clear when I started, and I had not taken in the fact that you'd arrived on foot. My servant was more thoughtful. He had heard from the boy that an English gentleman was here, and judging that the larder was not likely to be stocked, he put a couple of bottles of claret, a cold chicken, and some bread into my wallet, so we can have breakfast while they are looking for your horse. The ride has sharpened my appet.i.te.”
Mr. Blake now addressed a few words in Irish to the men cl.u.s.tered round the door of the hut. One of them climbed to the top of the hill, and presently shouted down some instructions, and another at once started across the bog.
”They see your horse,” Mr. Blake said, ”but we shall have to wait for two or three hours. It is some four miles off, and they will have to make a long detour to bring it back.”
Mr. Blake now distributed some silver among the men, and these, with the exception of the master of the house, soon afterward left. Harry heartily enjoyed his breakfast, and in cheery chat with his host the time pa.s.sed pleasantly until the peasant returned with the horse and saddle. The horse was rubbed down with dry fern, and a lump of black bread given him to eat.
”What can I do for the boy?” Harry asked. ”I owe him my life, for I was so thoroughly drenched and cold that I question whether I should have lived till morning out in that bog.”
”The boy thinks nothing of it,” Mr. Blake said. ”A few hundred yards across the bog night or day is nothing to him.”
Harry gave the lad a gold piece, which he looked at in wonder.
”He has never seen such a thing before,” Mr. Blake laughed. ”There, Mickey,” he said in Irish, ”that's enough to buy you a cow, and you've only got to build a cabin and take a wife to start life as a man.”
The boy said something in Irish.
”I thought so,” Mr. Blake laughed. ”You haven't got rid of him yet. He wants to go as your servant.”
Harry laughed too. The appearance of the lad in his tattered garments was in contrast indeed to the usual aspect of a gentleman's retainer.
”You'll find him useful,” Mr. Blake said. ”He will run errands for you and look after your horse. These lads can be faithful to death. You cannot do better than take him.”
Mickey's joy when he was told that he might accompany the English gentleman was extreme. He handed the money he had received to his father, said a few words of adieu to him, and then started on ahead of the horses.
”He had better wait and come on later,” Harry said. ”He must be utterly tired now.”
Mr. Blake shouted after the boy, who turned round, laughed, and shook his head, and again proceeded on his way.
”He can keep up with us,” Mr. Blake said. ”That horse of yours is more f.a.gged than he is.”
Harry soon found that this was the case, and it took them nearly four hours' riding before they reached Killicuddery. Here a dozen barefooted men and boys ran out at their approach, and took the horses. It was a large, straggling house, as good as that inhabited by the majority of English gentlemen, but Harry missed the well-kept lawn, the trim shrubberies, and the general air of neatness and order to which he was accustomed.
”Welcome to Killicuddery,” Mr. Blake said, as he alighted. ”Believe me, Captain Furness, you won't find the wild Irish, now you are fairly among them, such dreadful creatures as they have been described to you. Well, Norah,” he continued, as a girl some sixteen years of age bounded down the steps to meet him, ”how goes it with you this morning?”
”As well as could be expected, father, considering that you kept us awake half the night with your songs and choruses. None of the others are down yet, and it's past twelve o'clock. It's downright shameful.”