The O'Donoghue Part 65

"Here, then, taste this--I had determined to give you nothing until we reached the summit."

Herbert drained the little measure of whiskey, and resumed his way more cheerily.

"There is a bay down here beneath where we stand--a lovely little nook in summer, with a sh.o.r.e like gold, and waves bright as the greenest emerald. It is a wild and stormy spot to-day--no boat could live a moment there; and so steep is the cliff, this stone will find its way to the bottom within a minute."

And as Mark spoke he detached a fragment of rock from the mountain, and sent it bounding over the edge of the precipice, while Herbert, awe-struck at the nearness of the peril, recoiled instinctively from the brink of the cliff.

"There was a s.h.i.+p of the Spanish Armada wrecked in that little bay--they show you still some mounds of earth upon the sh.o.r.e they call the Spaniards' graves," said Mark, as he stood peering through the misty darkness into the depth below. "The peasantry had lighted a fire on this rock, and the vessel, a three-decker, decoyed by the signal, held on her course, in sh.o.r.e, and was lost. Good heavens!" cried he, after a brief pause, "why has this fatality ever been our lot? Why have we welcomed our foes with smiles, and our friends with hatred and destruction? These same Spaniards were our brethren and our kindred, and the bitter enemies of our enslavers; and even yet we can perpetuate the memory of their ruin, as a thing of pride and triumph. Are we for ever to be thus, or is a better day to dawn upon us?"

Herbert, who by experience knew how much more excited Mark became by even the slightest opposition, forbore to speak, and again they pursued their way.

They had continued for some time thus, when Mark, taking Herbert's arm, pointed to a dark ma.s.s which seemed to loom straight above their heads, where, towering to a considerable height, it terminated in a sharp pinnacle.

"Yonder is the summit, Herbert--courage for a quarter of an hour more, and the breach is won."

The youth heaved a heavy sigh, and muttered--

"Would it were so."

If Herbert became dispirited and worn out by the dark and dreary way, where no sight nor sound relieved the dull monotony of fatigue, Mark's spirit seemed to grow lighter with every step he went. As if he had left his load of care with the nether world, his light and bounding movement, and his joyous voice, spoke of a heart which, throwing off its weight of sorrow, revelled once more in youthful ecstasy.

"You who are a poet, Herbert, tell me if you have faith in those instinctive fancies which seem to shadow forth events."

"If you mean to ask me whether, from my present sensations, I antic.i.p.ate a heavy cold, or a fit of rheumatism, I say, most certainly," replied Herbert, half doggedly.

Mark smiled, and continued--

"No, those are among the common course of events. What I asked for was an explanation of my own feelings at this moment. Why, here upon this lone and gloomy mountain, a secret whispering at my heart tells me to hope--that my days and nights of disaster are nigh oyer--and that the turning point of my life is at hand, eyen as that bold peak above us."

"I must confess, Mark, this is a strange time and place for such rose-coloured visions," said Herbert, as he shook the rain from his soaked garments; "_my_ imagination cannot carry me to such a lofty flight."

Mark was too intent upon his own thoughts to bestow much attention on the tone and spirit of Herbert's remark, and he pressed forward towards the summit with every effort of his strength. After a brief but toilsome exertion he reached the top, and seated himself on a little pile of stones that marked the point of the mountain. The darkness was still great; faint outlines of the lesser mountains beneath could only be traced through the ma.s.ses of heavy cloud that hung, as it were, suspended above the earth; while over the sea an unusual blackness was spread. The wind blew with terrific force around the lofty peak where Mark sat, and in the distant valleys he could hear the sound of cras.h.i.+ng branches as the storm swept through the wood; from the sea itself, too, alow booming noise arose, as the caves along the sh.o.r.e re-echoed to the swelling clangour of the waves.

Herbert at last reached the spot, but so exhausted by the unaccustomed fatigue, that he threw himself down at Mark's feet, and with a wearied sigh exclaimed--

"Thank heaven, there is no more of it."

"Day will not break for half an hour yet," said Mark, pointing westward; "the grey dawn always shows over the sea. I have seen the whole surface like gold, before the dull mountains had one touch of light."

The heavy breathing of the youth, as he lay with his head on Mark's knees, attracted him; he looked down, and perceived that Herbert had fallen into a calm and tranquil sleep.

"Poor fellow," cried Mark, as he smoothed the hair upon his brow, "this toil has been too much for him."

Placing himself in such a position as best to shelter his brother from the storm, Mark sat awaiting the breaking dawn. The hopes that in the active ascent of the mountain were high in his heart, already began to fail; exertion had called them forth, and now, at he sat silently amid the dreary waste of darkness, his spirit fell with every moment. One by one the bright visions he had conjured up faded away, his head fell heavily on his bosom, and thoughts gloomy and dark as the dreary morning crowded on his brain.

As he remained thus deep sunk in sad musings, the grey dawn broke over the sea, and gradually a pinkish hue stained the sky eastward. The rain, which up to this time drifted in heavy ma.s.ses, ceased to fall; and instead of the gusty storm, blowing in fitful blasts, a gentle breese rolled the mists along the valleys, as if taking away the drapery of Night at the call of Morning. At first the mountain peaks appeared through the dense clouds; and then, by degrees, their steep sides, begirt with rock, and fissured with many a torrent. At length the deep valleys and glens began to open to the eye, and the rude cabins of the peasants, marked out by the thin blue wreath of smoke that rose into the air, ere it was scattered by the fresh breeze of morning. Over the sea the sunlight glittered, tipping the glad waves that danced and sported towards the sh.o.r.e, and making the white foam upon the breakers look fairer than snow itself. Mark looked upon the scene thus suddenly changed, and shaking his brother's arm, he called out--

"Awake, Herbert! see what a glorious day is breaking. Look, that is Sugarloaf, piercing the white cloud; and yonder is Castletown. See how the sh.o.r.e is marked out in every jutting point and cliff. I can see the Kenmare river as it opens to the sea."

"It is indeed beautiful," exclaimed Herbert, all fatigue forgotten in the ecstasy of the moment. "Is not that Garran Thual, Mark, that rears its head above the others?"

But Mark's eyes were turned in a different direction, and he paid no attention to the question.

"Yes," cried Herbert, still gazing intently towards, the land, "and that must be Mangerton. Am I right, Mark?"

"What can that mean?" said Mark, seizing Herbert's arm, and pointing to a distant point across Bantry Bay. "There, you saw it then."

"Yes, a bright flash of flame. See, it burns steadily now." "Ay, and there's another below Beerhaven, and another yonder at the Smuggler's Rock."

And while he was yet speaking, the three fires blazed out, and continued to burn brilliantly in the grey light of the morning. The dark mist that moved over the sea gave way before the strong breeze, and the tall spars of a large s.h.i.+p were seen as a vessel rounded the point, and held on her course up Bantry Bay. Even at the distance Mark's experienced eye could detect that she was a s.h.i.+p of war--her ports, on which the sun threw a pa.s.sing gleam, bristled with guns, and her whole trim and bearing bespoke a frigate.

"She's a King's s.h.i.+p, Mark, in pursuit of some smuggler," said Herbert; "and the fires we have seen were signals to the other. How beautifully she sails along; and see, is not that another?"

Mark made no reply, but pointed straight out to sea, where now seven sail could be distinctly reckoned, standing towards the Bay with all their canvas set. The report of a cannon turned their eyes towards the frigate, and they perceived that already she was abreast of Whitty Island, where she was about to anchor.

"That gun was fired by her: and see, there goes her ensign. What does that mean, Mark?"

"It means Liberty, my boy!" screamed Mark, with a yell that sounded like madness. "France has come to the rescue! See, there they are--eight--nine of them!--and the glorious tricolor floating at every mast! Oh, great heaven! in whose keeping the destinies of men and kingdoms lie, look favourably upon our struggle now. Yes, my brother, I was right--a brighter hour is about to s.h.i.+ne upon our country! Look there--think of those gallant fellows that have left home and country to bring freedom across the seas, and say, if you will be less warm in the cause than the alien and the stranger. How n.o.bly they come along!

Herbert, be with us--be of us, now!"

"Whatever be our ills, here," said Herbert sternly, "I know of no sympathy to bind us to France; nor would I accept a boon at such hands, infidel and blood-stained as she is."

"Stop, Herbert; let us not here, where we may meet for the last time, interchange aught that should darken memory hereafter. My course is yonder."

"Farewell, then, Mark; I will not vainly endeavour to turn you from your rash project. The reasons that seemed cold and valueless in the hour of tranquil thought, have few chances of success in the moment of your seeming triumph."

"Seeming triumph!" exclaimed Mark, as a slight change coloured his cheek. "And will you not credit what your eyes reveal before you?

Are these visions? Was that loud shot a trick of the imagination? Oh!

Herbert, if the loyalty you boast of, have no better foundation than these fancies, be with your country--stand by her in the day of her peril."

"I will do so, Mark, and with no failing spirit either," said Herbert, as he turned away, sad and sorrow-struck.

"You would not betray us," cried Mark, as he saw his brother preparing to descend the mountain.

"Oh, Mark, you should not have said this."

And in a torrent of tears he threw himself upon his brother's bosom. For some minutes they remained close locked in each other's arms, and then Herbert, tearing himself away, clasped Mark's hand in both of his, and kissed it. The last "Good-bye" broke from each lip together, and they parted.

Mark remained on the spot where his brother had left him, his eyes fixedly directed towards the Bay, where already a second s.h.i.+p had arrived--a large three-decker, with an admiral's pennon flying from the mast-head. The first burst of wild enthusiasm over, he began to reflect on what was next to be done. Of course he should lose no time in presenting himself to the officers in command of the expedition, and making known to them his name, and the place he occupied in the confidence of his countrymen. His great doubt was, whether he should not precede this act by measures for a.s.sembling and rallying the people, who evidently would be as much taken by surprise as himself at the sudden arrival of the French.

The embarra.s.sment of the position was great; for although deeply implicated in the danger of the plot, he never had enjoyed either intimacy or intercourse with its leaders. How then should he satisfy the French that his position was such as ent.i.tled him to their confidence?

The only possible escape to this difficulty was by marshalling around him a considerable body of the peasantry, ready and willing to join the arms and follow the fortunes of the invaders.

"They cannot long distrust me with a force of three hundred men at my back," exclaimed Mark aloud, as he descended the mountain with rapid strides. "I know every road through these valleys--every place where a stand could be made, or an escape effected. We will surprise the party of soldiers at Mary M'Kelly's, and there, there are arms enough for all the peasantry of the country."

Thus saying, and repeating to himself the names of the different farmers whom he remembered as true to the cause, and on whose courage and readiness he depended at this moment, he hastened on.

"Holt at the cross-roads promised eighteen, all armed with fire-locks.

M'Sweeny has six sons, and stout fellows they are, every man of them ready. Then, there are the O'Learys, but there's a split amongst them--confound their petty feuds, this is no time to indulge them. They shall come out, and they must--ah! hand in hand, too, though they have been enemies this twelvemonth. Black O'Sullivan numbers nigh eighty--pike-men every one of them. Our French friends may smile at their ragged garments, but our enemies will scarce join in the laugh.