The Felon's Track Part 15

I share the wild dog's den, Eiblin a ruin, Oppressed with woe and care, As sleep comes o'er me there, Methinks I hear thy prayer, Eiblin a ruin.

Throughout that troubled rest, Eiblin a ruin Thy image fills my breast, Eiblin a ruin, And ere the vision's fled, My cold and flinty bed Seems down unto my head, Eiblin a ruin.

As night's dark shadow flies, Eiblin a ruin, Along the opening skies, Eiblin a ruin, In the soft purpling ray, That heralds early day, I see thy fond smile play, Eiblin a ruin.

When, dangers thick'ning fast, Eiblin a ruin, My fate seemed sealed at last, Eiblin a ruin.

A low voice ever near, Still whispers in mine ear-- "For her sake do not fear"-- Eiblin a ruin,

And oh, 'tis that lone hope, Eiblin a ruin, That nerves this heart to cope, Eiblin a ruin.

With peril and with pain, And surging of the brain, More boisterous than the main, Eiblin a ruin.

TO MY WIFE

And what was the world to me, love, Or why should its honours divide The feelings that centred in thee, love, As fondly you clung to my side; Or why should ambition or glory, E'er tempt me to wander so far, For sake of distinction in story, From thee, my heart's faithfulest star.

Or why should I call thee mine own, love, To sport with the life that was thine, Or risk for a land overthrown, love, A stake that no longer was mine; Or why should I pledge for the fallen What only belonged to the free; For had I not gauged life and all on The faith that was plighted to thee?

And here, while I wander alone, love, Beneath the cold shadows of night, Or lie with my head on a stone, love, Awaiting the dawning of light, My spirit unthralled is returning, Where far from the coward and slave, Her beacon of love is still burning, To light, to direct me and save.

And she, too, who watches beside thee, And loves as none other could love, To counsel, to cherish and guide thee.

To weep with, but never reprove-- Yes, she too, is lone and unguarded, The reed she had leant on in twain, And though her trust thus be rewarded, She'd love that love over again.

COOLMOUNTAIN WOOD.

At Cork two families were compromised by my prolonged stay, one of them irretrievably, if I were arrested. However, they placed themselves entirely and unconditionally at my disposal. I stated my objections to the proposed conveyance of a coal boat to Wales, where I would be equally exposed as in Ireland, and have infinitely less sympathy or a.s.sistance. I suggested one of the London steamers instead, which they agreed to. After some preliminary negotiations, a person connected with one of those vessels promised to secrete me and have me landed at Southampton, where I could easily procure a pa.s.sage to France. Just as this arrangement was concluded, news arrived that Tipperary was again in arms, under the command of my friend, O'Mahony. The report added that I was a.s.sociated with him in command. Hour after hour brought some story stranger than that which preceded it; but in each and all I found myself figuring in some character or other, all, of course, contrary to the truth. This fact led at once to a suspicion of the accuracy of the whole. But I was aware that caution was a leading characteristic of O'Mahony's genius, and I felt a.s.sured he would not attempt any open movement without strong probabilities of success. The fabrications about myself I reconciled to the belief that he wished it to appear he had my sanction and support. The vessel was to sail next day, and I should determine at once, or risk the safety of the family who protected me. I endeavoured to find a middle course, and suggested the impossibility of leaving the country while even a vague report confirmed the belief that some at least of its people were prepared to vindicate her liberty, or die n.o.bly in its a.s.sertion. They acquiesced, and the vessel was allowed to sail. I insisted, however, that after nightfall I should leave the house and take up my quarters in some obscure lodging house. Meantime it was arranged that if the next mail confirmed the accounts from Tipperary, I should be provided with a horse and car, and be able to leave Cork as I entered it. When night came, the lady of the house sternly and resolutely opposed my leaving it. She would not consent to free herself from a risk she took so much honest pleasure in encountering. Another day and night left us in the same uncertainty. The reports were still more unsatisfactory and contradictory. But that there should be reports at all, satisfied my mind, and I finally prepared to start for Tipperary on the morning of the 29th of September.

Information at length reached me that the party under O'Mahony were dispersed and himself fled. The difficulty of my position, with respect to my protectors, left me no alternative. Any chance that presented itself should be embraced. The Bristol boat was in the river, panting to escape her anchorage; and following the horse, which was to bear me to Tipperary, to the quay, I walked on board the _Juverna_, just as she was loosing her cables. My baggage, made up in a small box, was put on board as a parcel addressed to a young friend of mine in London. The few moments that intervened were fraught with most intense suspense. I stood on the fore deck among cattle, covered with rags and dirt, my eyes fixed on two detectives who stood at the cabin entrance, scrutinising narrowly the figure and features of every cabin pa.s.senger. The bell rang, the detectives stepped on sh.o.r.e, one of my friends who watched my movements from a distance, waved a kind adieu, the _Juverna_ slipped her cables, and by one bound was out in the river. The first motion of her paddles sounded to me like the a.s.surance of fate, and I looked on the curling foam with measureless exultation. The _Juverna_ made a momentary halt at Pa.s.sage, and then glanced gaily through Cove harbour out into the sea.

As she cleared the road I turned back to look for the last time upon my fatherland. Her prospects, her promise, her strength, her hopes, her failure and her fall rushed in burning memory through my brain. I endeavoured to embody in the following verses the feelings that agitated and almost paralysed my every faculty of body and mind. I wrote them on a piece of paper that had been wrapped round some cheese:--

Away, away, the good s.h.i.+p swings; One heave, one bound, and off she's das.h.i.+ng, Expanding wide her snowy wings, The white foam round her paddles flas.h.i.+ng.

Away, away, the land recedes, Far into dim and dreary distance, As gallantly our packet speeds.

Unconscious of the gale's resistance.

Away, away, how oft before, With paling cheek and aching stomach, I've trembled at the billow's roar.

And crouched me in my narrow hammock.

But now, I bless the wildest waves That bear me from a land of slaves.

Away, away, yon crimson cloud, Which, mounting the blue vault of Heaven, Soars calmly o'er the murky shroud That palls the close of boisterous even, Is scarcely fairer than the form, The light, the grace, from stem to stern--a Fairy riding on the storm-- Of the fleet, trusty, dight _Juverna_, Away, away, one last look more: One blessing on the naked land-- Though the too glorious dream be o'er-- One blessing for her truthful hand, Her proud old faith, though darkly grown, Still lingering by each cold hearth-stone.

Away, away; poor fool of fate, Couldst thou but dream this mournful end, This midnight of a hope so great, Where shame and sorrow darkly blend-- Couldst thou divine that thus bedecked, With rags and dirt, thine eyes downturned: Thou'dst flee, thy whole life's labour wrecked.

Thy very heart within thee burned.

--Away, away, in all the past, There's not an act I would recall, I bow me to the o'erwhelming blast, But 'tis the heart alone can fall, And mine may once again defy.

The fate that mocks it scoffingly.

Away, away, if o'er the sea, My voice could reach the prison grate.

Where daylight creeping gloomily, Comes to deride the captives' fate; Could I but prove by word or act, How firm my heart and purpose still, Their life's worst pang to counteract, Before their proud young hearts were still-- To live but that the land they loved Should yet a.s.sert its native right, That the immortal faith they proved, Should yet be robed in victory's light, And, oh, to feel such promise high, Were last to light their dying eye.

If apology were to be offered for the change of measure of the above, and its somewhat conflicting sentiments, it would be found in the tumult of pa.s.sions, excitement, fear, hope, rage, disappointment and regret with which, standing among cattle on the deck, and disguised in meanest rags, I looked upon my country's sh.o.r.es for, it may be the last time, and thought of her hopes, her misery and fall. Both faults may be amended here, but I cannot help regarding it as irreligious toward thoughts suggested by the circ.u.mstances then around me to remodel even the structure into which they spontaneously shaped themselves.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Aheny Hill, showing the Constabulary Barrack destroyed by the Insurgents. 1848]

Night soon fell drearily upon the water. I engaged a berth from one of the sailors, and before half an hour, lost all consciousness of country and friends, of wind and tide, and hope, and shame, and peril, in tranquil repose. On ascending next morning, the sh.o.r.es of England were in view, and we sailed up the channel to the mouth of the Avon under a calm and mellow sky. I had some breakfast with one of the cowherds. We were delayed several hours waiting for the tide, which were spent for the most part in making difficult evolutions; and exhibiting to the cabin pa.s.sengers the peculiar qualities of the _Juverna_. Night had fallen before we reached Bristol, and I slipped away from the boat, amid the confusion and bustle which checked the progress of the gay and rich, around whose footsteps avarice had gathered an eager and jostling crowd.

Rude contact with, and unsavoury odours from, the unclean mult.i.tude shocked their nervous sensibility, as they made their way to their hotels amidst obtrusive obsequiousness, while the lone outlaw's pathway lay free through the open street and uncontaminated air. But a wretched exterior has its disadvantages also. I dared not present myself at a hotel, and many of the humbler hostelries refused me admittance, believing, no doubt, either that the seeds of pestilence were in my rags, or not a copper in my pocket. Indeed, to no brain but that of a very imaginative genius would the possibility of such a superfluity as a pocket suggest itself. All the beds were "full." At last I thought me of an expedient. I called for a gla.s.s of ale, for which payment in advance was duly demanded. I handed a sovereign, which at once emptied a bed, provided I slept in a room with another person which I refused, feeling that I had acquired a footing. I had something to eat, and finally found that there was a vacant room.

The next day was Sunday. No trains travelled to London except third cla.s.s. This was rather unlucky, for I was aware that certain straitened gentlemen were often obliged, by stress of circ.u.mstances--the pressure of business which brooked not a moment's delay--reluctantly to avail themselves of this mode of conveyance. I felt, too, that the loyalty of these slender aristocrats, was on a par with the unhappy incidents which compelled them to consort with vulgar people, that is to say, so constrained, that however much against the impulses of their generous natures, they could not omit any opportunity of manifesting the sentiment in its full intensity, I selected my company on this occasion, being only anxious to exclude the "_arbiters elegantiarum_," Of my "_compagnons de voyage_," some were in gin, some in fumes and some in glee, and the journey pa.s.sed off without an incident.

On arriving at the Paddington terminus, an unlooked-for difficulty presented itself. My costume attracted universal attention. It was, in fact, _outre_ even in comparison with the most outlandish; for every article had been carefully selected for its singularity. My "caubeen"

especially excited the risibility of the merry boys who thronged the streets. I was soon followed by an uproarious crowd of most incorrigible young rascals, who made lunges at my unfortunate head-gear.

They peered at me round lamp-posts, and occasionally, "Teigue," and "Phelim," p.r.o.nounced in a broad English accent, grated on my ear.

Although not indisposed to be merry, I grasped one of my tormentors and handed him over to a policeman. The sentinel of city morals dismissed him with a harsh rebuke, and threatened to "haul up" whoever gave me further annoyance. We were then near Oxford street. I told him I wanted to go to Tottenham Court road; but after making several fruitless attempts to p.r.o.nounce the name, his own fertile genius had to supply my deficiency. He walked with me until the last unruly boy had disappeared, and then he sent me on my way rejoicing, after having spent some minutes in teaching me to articulate distinctly "Tottenham Court Road." It was already nightfall. I felt as if all danger were pa.s.sed. I could not antic.i.p.ate the check I was about to receive.

I knew a man named Parker, who resided in Museum Street. I thought his house that to which I could easiest find access without exciting notice.

I made my way to it un.o.bserved, rapped, and to my great relief the door was opened by the man himself. He did not recognise me for some time, but as soon as he did, he fell into a paroxysm half hysterical, half frantic. I had completed his ruin, he exclaimed, and his unhappy family would have to curse me as the cause of his destruction. He was ready to sink on the floor in sheer terror, and with difficulty could he utter a request that I should instantly leave his house. This was a command, however harsh and heartless, which I dared not resist, for I was forced to admit to myself that under his terrified exterior might lurk a sentiment baser than fear.

I left the place in utter dismay. I could not venture into a house such as I had lodged in at Bristol, the night before, because my person was well known in London, and because those places are frequented by characters of all sorts. I could not venture, in my then guise, to the house of my young friend to whom I had addressed the parcel, because my appearance there would inevitably attract the notice of the policeman. I dare not, of course, venture to a respectable hotel. Thus perplexed, I bethought of a woman with whom I used formerly to lodge, and I repaired to her rooms (she had herself become a lodger). I met her on the stairs, where she nearly fainted. She hurried me into the street, and there told me that a person who lived in the house was actually watching to betray me. She suggested the house of an Irishwoman who lived in a court hard by. I had no alternative. The poor woman received me with tears. Such was her emotion that I could not hesitate to trust her with my life: Her son and daughter-in-law, who spent the day with her, were about returning home. They lived in the suburbs, at the Surrey side. They proposed to take me to their cottage, and I readily consented. We got a coach and drove home. The kindliest attentions were lavished on me by these people. As soon as I arrived, I shaved and cleansed myself; no small task, considering that I had on a fortnight's beard, and had rubbed my face over with soot and grease.

I had a s.h.i.+rt and clothes from my host, with whom, in my new trim, I sat down to a comfortable supper. Early next morning he informed my friend of my arrival, and I was at once surrounded by several who would risk their lives for my safety. I had by this time begun to regard many singular escapes of mine as preordained by Providence, and I ceased to feel much concern in my fate. I cherished a presentiment of safety until it grew into a conviction, and acting on its a.s.surance, I gave way to an unconcern that was quite inexplicable to those around me. But one feeling of fear lingered with me: it was lest Parker should add treason to cowardice, which certain ominous expressions that were said to fall from him, confirmed. I otherwise felt so secure, and so thankful to my entertainers, that I would gratify their wishes to remain a day or two longer with them; but the tide answered so well--the whole journey to Boulogne being by night, that I determined to avail myself of the opportunity. I donned my clerical costume, got me a sleek wig, folded a stole round my breviary, and with Christian patience awaited the hour of departure. I was to be accompanied to Paris by my young friend, who spoke the French language perfectly, and was well acquainted with the etiquette of the journey. We entered the express train at London Bridge at half-past eight. When it was just starting, my host, who had accompanied us, clung to the panel of the door, and warned me, with provoking warmth, to "write, write, as soon as I was safe." As the train drove off and his boisterous adieus died on my ear, I lost the last feeling of anxiety on my own account. The carriage was full--a German with a toothache--two gossiping old bachelors--a jolly English resident of the sunny south--my friend and myself occupied the six seats. However fluttered may be the hearts of the pa.s.sengers, whatever may be the pressure of guilt, or fear, or remorse upon their souls, the heart of the mighty engine, on its fiery course, throbs only with one pa.s.sion, namely how to outspeed the flight of time. Our fellow-travellers conversed upon all subjects, and wished for my opinion upon each; but I was so reserved and pious, and my friend so ready and witty, and exuberant in his gaiety, that my obstinate silence was pardoned or forgotten. We were able to make our way on board Her Majesty's mail packet by the light of a clouded moon, then fast waning. I did not trouble myself to learn the name of the boat, but she appeared endued with more than the speed of fire. She flew over her allotted trip in one hour and three-quarters, and about two o'clock I set my foot on the free soil of the young Republic.

I had longed for such an event with an intensity of feeling not to be described; nay, I had often enjoyed antic.i.p.ated exultation from indulging in a vague dream of its bare possibility, which absorbed all the gloom and horror of my situation. Yet when I stepped securely on what, to me, was hallowed ground, an adequate appreciation of the circ.u.mstance was far from realised in my feelings. New sights and sounds began to share my thoughts and engross my comprehension. In a moment the past vanished, with all its disquietude and alarm; and I entered on the new scene with a taste akin to the appet.i.te of a convalescent. If I felt any deep emotion, it was only when my mind recurred to the fate of my comrades, or the feelings of joy with which my family would learn the tidings of my safety. We left our baggage at the Custom house--mine consisted of a pair of boots stowed away in a rather capacious valise--handed the keys, in due form, to the commissionaire of police, and directed them to be sent after us to our hotel. A commissionaire, so they call themselves, appeared in the morning with the keys, which he handed us bowing, adding that all was right.

There was a fete at Boulogne. Nothing was to be seen but glittering bayonets, and nothing to be heard but the harsh monotonous sound of the drum. Flags floated in the breeze, and cheers echoed from the distant hills, and everything proclaimed the festivity of liberty. It was a grand sight, and yet a sad one for me. I could not help contrasting with the scene before me the fate of my own unfortunate country. At ten o'clock we were on our way to Paris.

Such was the anxiety with which I gazed on the glad face of that sunny land during the entire of the journey that I could at this moment recognise every object that attracted my attention. But the scope of this narrative, now drawing rapidly to a close, does not embrace a description of France or Paris. Many pens have plied the task, and were mine more adequate than any, it were unfit to interweave so bright a theme with the gloomy details of this mournful history.

There remains to be told but one incident. On our arrival at the Paris terminus, we got into an English omnibus which brought us to an English hotel--the Hotel de Louvre in the Rue St. Thomas. There we dined together, some dozen or so of the pa.s.sengers. After dinner my friend and I had champagne. While discussing its merits the conversation turned on Ireland. Opinions, of course, varied. Mine, it need scarcely be added, to an Englishman's ear sounded bloodily, and I urged them with the vehemence of baffled hope. An old English gentleman of that quiet school which affects liberality and moderation, but entertains deepest animosity, deprecated the violence of my language and sentiments, and expressed his painful astonishment at hearing such opinions from the mouth of a clergyman; "They would not be unbecoming," added he, with great bitterness of tone, "in that sanguinary brigand, Doheny."

Involuntarily and simultaneously my friend and myself burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, The gentleman could not at all comprehend our mirth. He had, he thought, delivered himself of very sound and very gentlemanly philosophy, and he was really shocked to find it had made an impression so different from what he had expected. He had travelled much, he said, and met men of many lands, of whom Irishmen were ever the most polite and best bred gentlemen; a fact which rendered our laughing in his face rather inexplicable. The conversation was again resumed and again waxed warm. I expressed my opinion of English paupers in Ireland, and said they ought to be transported in a convict s.h.i.+p back to Liverpool, in the same fas.h.i.+on as Irish paupers of a different cla.s.s are transmitted to Dublin by the Liverpool guardians. To this he replied by saying that there would be no peace in Ireland until the Mitchels and Dohenys were hanged, a fate which the latter was hastening to with irresistible impetus. At this self-satisfied prophecy we laughed louder than before, whereupon he waxed wrathful, and repeating his experience of the world in general, and of Irishmen in particular, demanded an explanation of the laugh. I said, "That is a straightforward question, and demands a direct answer. It shall be given, although you have refused to answer, as all Englishmen of your cla.s.s invariably do, to several direct questions which I have put to you. I laughed because I am that same sanguinary Doheny": and pulling off my wig, I added, "Me _voila_ at your service." The sudden appearance of him who answered the incantations of the weird sisters could not produce a greater panic.

Chairs tumbled in every direction, and their occupiers fled the room, leaving myself and my friend ample s.p.a.ce to enjoy the joke and the champagne in undisturbed quiet.

I have nothing further to relate in connection with myself. Paris appeared to me clothed with a grandeur, a glory, and a beauty, infinitely surpa.s.sing every description of them I had ever read or heard. Standing in any commanding spot surrounded by the monuments of her splendour and magnificence, upon each of which the genius of the land shed its immortal l.u.s.tre, one feels coerced to the conviction that the high command and abiding destiny of France must be equally imperishable. But these considerations belong not to my story, and I renounce the idea of commemorating the sensations of gratified pride which that gorgeous capital awakened in my bosom. Her architecture and her art, her memorials of glory, and the triumphs of her progress, require to be scanned by the eye and portrayed by the ability of artistic genius. I must content myself with preserving a delighted recollection of the French metropolis which no scene or circ.u.mstance, possible in life can ever efface. The companion of all my hazards in Ireland, whom I again joined in Paris, more than shared my enthusiasm.

He spent all his days wandering among the galleries of the Louvre or the statues of Versailles, forgetting in the sublime presence of their unmatched _chefs d'ouvres_ all the shame and perils of the past. I hope he may be induced to give the result of his long examinations and fond reveries to the public.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 12: "Alice and Uua."]

[Footnote 13: This may be a harsh and unjust opinion; if so, no one could regret it more than myself. In any case I wish to disclaim the idea of making a charge against the body of the Roman Catholic clergy, to some of whose members it applies. I yet fully believe that the great majority of the priesthood would willingly die with the rest of their countrymen in struggling for the liberty of their common home. Even of those who acted against us with such deadly success, I am sure some were influenced by pure and honourable motives: there were others, however, whose conduct the n.o.blest motives would fail to justify, or even extenuate.]

[Footnote 14: I hope my friend "Desmond" (a true poet and genuine Irishman, whom G.o.d long preserve) will allow me to borrow his "graceful spirit people" to elevate to poetical dignity the otherwise unattractive and straggling waters of Lough Lua. It is near the lone and lovely pa.s.ses of Ceimeneagh, which his genius has invested with graceful immortality, and his

"Children of the earth and sea."

may be sometimes tempted to lave therein.

Lough Lua loses in the comparison suggested by the sublime scenery around it, of which the "green little island," and the pa.s.s are immeasurably the greatest. I saw it in no happy frame of mind, as I dragged my weary limbs along the rugged slopes of Shehigh. The only real feature of interest I could discover, was the solitary swan above alluded to, to which an intellect less fanciful than that of my friend could not refuse a claim to be recognised as the genius loci, or spirit of the spot.]

[Footnote 15: Mr. Daniel MacCarthy]