Part 22 (2/2)

”It's not at all impossible but Reilly may step into his shoes,” said the cavalryman.

”I have now neither money nor arms,” continued the sheriff; ”nothing the villain robbers could covet, and what, then, have I to fear?”

”You have a life, sir,” observed the man respectfully, ”and if you'll allow me to say it--the life of a man who is not very well liked in the country, in consequence of certain duties you are obliged to perform.

Come, then, sir, we shall see you home.”

It was so arranged, and the sheriff reached his own residence, under their escort, with perfect safety.

This indeed was a night of adventure to Reilly--hunted, as he was, like a beast of prey. After what had taken place already in the early portion of it, he apprehended no further pursuit, and in this respect he felt his mind comparatively at ease--for, in addition to any other conviction of his safety, he knew that the night was far advanced, and as the country was unsettled, he was not ignorant that the small military parties that were in the habit of scouring the country generally--unless when in the execution of some express duty--retired to their quarters at an early hour, in order to avoid the severe retaliations which were frequently made upon them by the infuriated peasantry whom they--or rather the government which employed them--had almost driven to madness, and--would have driven to insurrection had the people possessed the means of rising. As it was, however, he dreaded no further pursuit this night, for the reasons which we have stated.

In the meantime the sheriff, feeling obliged by the civility of the three dragoons, gave them refreshments on a very liberal scale, of which--rather exhausted as they were--they made a very liberal use.

Feeling themselves now considerably stimulated by liquor, they mounted their horses and proceeded towards their barracks--at a quick pace. In consequence of the locality in which the sheriff lived, it was necessary that they should travel in a direction opposite to that by which Reilly and the priest were going. At all events, after riding a couple of miles, they overtook three infantry soldiers who were also on their way to quarters. The blood, however, of the troopers was up--thanks to the sheriff; they mentioned the robbery, and requested the three infantry to precede them as an advanced guard, as quietly as possible, stating that there might still be a chance of coming across the villain who had plundered the sheriff, intimating their impression, at the same time, that Reilly was the man, and adding that if they could secure him their fortune was made. As has always been usual in executing cases, of the law attended with peculiar difficulty, these men--the infantry--like our present detectives, had gone out that night in colored clothes. On perceiving two individuals approaching them in the dim distance, they immediately threw their guns into the ditch, lest they should put our friends upon their guard and cause them to escape if they could. Reilly could have readily done so; but having, only a few minutes before heard from the poor old priest that he had, for some months past, been branded and pursued us a felon, he could not think of abandoning him now that he was feeble and jaded with fatigue as well as with age. Now it so happened that one of these fellows had been a Roman Catholic, and having committed some breach of the law, found it as safe as it was convenient to change his creed, and as he spoke the Irish language fluently--indeed there were scarcely any other then spoken by the peasantry--he commenced clipping his hands on seeing the two men, and expressing the deepest sorrow for the loss of his wife, from whose funeral, it appeared from his lamentations, he was then returning.

”We have nothing to apprehend, here,” said Reilly; ”this poor fellow is in sorrow, it seems--G.o.d help him! Let us proceed.”

”Oh!” exclaimed the treacherous villain, clapping his hands--[we translate his words]--”Oh, Yeeah. Yeeah! (G.o.d, G.o.d!) what a bitther loss you'll be, my darlin' Madge, to me and your orphan childher, now and for evermore! Oh, where was there sich a wife, neighbors? who ever heard her harsh word, or her loud voice? And from mornin' till night ever, ever busy in keepin' every thing tight and clane and regular! Let me alone, will yez? I'll go back and sleep upon her grave this night--so I will; and if all the blasted sogers in Ireland--may sweet bad luck to them!--were to come to prevent me, I'd not allow them. Oh, Madge, darlin', but I'm the lonely and heartbroken man widout you this night!”

”Come, come,” said the priest, ”have firmness, poor man; other people have these calamities to bear as well as yourself. Be a man.”

”Oh, are you a priest, sir? bekase if you are I want consolation if ever a sorrowful man did.”

”I am a priest,” replied the unsuspecting I man, ”and any thing I can do to calm your mind, I'll do it.”

He had scarcely uttered these words when! Reilly felt his two arms strongly pinioned, and as the men who had seized him were

powerful, the struggle between him and them was dreadful. The poor priest at the same moment found himself also a prisoner in the hands of the bereaved widower, to whom he proved an easy victim, as he was incapable of making resistance, which, indeed, he declined to attempt. If he did not possess bodily strength, however, he was not without presence of mind. For whilst Reilly and his captors were engaged in a fierce and powerful conflict, he placed his fore-finger and thumb in his mouth, from which proceeded a whistle so piercingly loud and shrill that it awoke the midnight echoes around them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 65--Dashed up to the scene of struggle]

This was considered by the dragoons as a signal from their friends in advance, and, without the loss of a moment, they set spurs to their horses, and dashed up to the scene of struggle, just as Reilly had got his right arm extricated, and knocked one of his captors down. In an instant, however, the three dragoons, aided by the other men, were upon him, and not less than three cavalry pistols were levelled at his head.

Unfortunately, at this moment the moon began to rise, and the dragoons, on looking at him more closely, observed that he was dressed precisely as the sheriff had described the person who robbed him--the brown coat, light-colored breeches, and silver buckles--for indeed this was his usual dress.

”You are w.i.l.l.y Reilly,” said the man who had been spokesman in their interview with the sheriff: ”you needn't deny it, sir--I know you!”

”If you know me, then,” replied Reilly, ”where is the necessity for asking my name?”

”I ask again, sir, what is your name? If you be the man I suspect you to be, you will deny it.”

”My name,” replied the other, ”is William Reilly, and as I am conscious of no crime against society--of no offence against the State--I shall not deny it.”

”I knew I was right,” said the dragoon. ”Mr. Reilly, you are our prisoner on many charges, not the least of which is your robbery of the sheriff this night. You must come with us to Sir Robert Whitecraft; so must this other person who seems your companion.”

”Not a foot I'll go to Sir Eobert Whitecraft's to-night,” replied the priest. ”I have made my mind up against such a stretch at such an hour as this; and, with the help of G.o.d, I'll stick to my resolution.”

”Why do you refuse to go?” asked the man, a good deal surprised at such language.

”Just for a reason I have: as for that fellow being w.i.l.l.y Reilly, he's no more w.i.l.l.y Reilly than I am; whatever he is, however, he's a good man and true, but must be guided by wiser heads than his own; and I now tell him--ay, and you too--that he won't see Sir Robert Whitecraft's treacherous face to-night, no more than myself.”

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