The Land of Bondage

But, at present, there was no such boat going, the cattle being sent over to Park Gate (where all freight for Chester was landed) only about once every two weeks, and thus, as I say, I lay close in Quin's room until such time as he should advise me to be ready for my departure.

During this time of idleness and waiting, there occurred, however, many other things in connection with me, of which I heard from Oliver whenever he came home at night. To wit, my uncle had arrived by the packet and had at once proceeded to notify to the whole city, both by his own and Considine's voice-whom he sent round to all the coffee-houses and ordinaries, as well as to the wine clubs and usquebaugh clubs-an errand I doubt not highly agreeable to that creature! – as well as by advertisement in the new newsletter entitled "Faulkner's Journal," which was just appearing, that my father had died childless and that he had consequently assumed the rank and style of Viscount St. Amande in the peerage of Ireland.

"Yet," said Oliver to me as I strolled by his side, for it was his custom to take me out a-walking for my health's sake at night after he returned home from his work; he holding me ever by the hand, while in the other he carried a heavy Kerry blackthorn stick, and had a pair of pistols in his pocket, "yet he succeeded not altogether to his satisfaction, nor will he succeed as well as he hopes. The people hiss and hoot at him and insult him as he passes by-Mike Finnigan flung a dead dog, which he had dragged out of the gutter, into his coach but yesterday-and they yell and howl at him to know where the real lord-that's you-is?"

Then again, on another day, he told me that Mr. Kinchella had come to his stall to tell him a brave piece of news, it being indeed no less than the fact that the King-at-Arms had refused to enrol the certificate of his brother having died without issue, while saying also that, from what he gathered, he was by no means sure that such was the case. This, Oliver said Mr. Kinchella told him, had led to a great scene, in which my uncle had insulted the King-at-Arms, who had had him removed from his presence in consequence, while he said even more strongly than before that, from what was told him, he did firmly believe that Mr. Robert St. Amande was endeavouring to bring about a great fraud and to attempt a villainous usurpation of another's rights to which he, at least, would be no party. Now, therefore, was my time, we all agreed, for me to present myself and to claim my rights, and Quin and Mr. Kinchella had even gone so far as to furbish me up in some fitting apparel wherewith to make a more respectable appearance in public, when everything was again thrown into disorder and my hopes blighted by the arrival in Dublin of the new Lord Lieutenant and of the Lord Chancellor Wyndham, than whom no one could have been worse for my cause. He was then an utter stranger to Ireland (though afterwards created Baron Wyndham of Finglass) in spite of having been sent from England to be, at first, the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas; he knew nothing of the descents of our ancient Irish families, nor, indeed, the names of many of them, and what was worse than all, he had known my uncle in England and was his friend.

"So, poor lad," said Oliver to me a few days later, "thy uncle has now the first trick o' the game. The Lord Chancellor has taken counsel at Mr. St. Amande's suggestion with several of the nobility of Wexford, who have told him they never heard of thy father having had a son, as well they may not, seeing he would associate with none of them but only with the poorer sort. He has also questioned many of the attorneys of this city, who find it to their interest, since they have bought thy estates, to say that either you never lived or are dead now, or else that you were born out of wedlock. And thus-"

"And thus?" I repeated, looking up wistfully at his kindly face.

"And thus-and thus-poor child! thy uncle is now enrolled as the Viscount St. Amande. But courage, courage, my dear, thou shalt yet succeed and prosper. Thy mother's family will surely see to thy rights, and, if not, then will not the Lord raise up a champion for thee?"

Long afterwards I remembered this pious aspiration of dear Oliver, who was himself a most sincere Protestant, and when that champion had appeared, though in how different a guise from what I should have ever dreamed, I came to think that, for the time at least, my good, simple friend had been granted the gift of prophecy.

So the days went on until at last the time drew near for the next cattle-boat to pass over to Chester, and Quin was busily engaged in making arrangements for me to go in it when there befel so strange a thing that I must write it down in full.

Quin came home one night-and, ah! what a bitter December night it was! I remember it now many, many years afterwards, and how the frost stood upon the window panes of the garret and the cold air stole in through those panes so that I was forced to throw on all the fuel he could afford to keep myself from freezing. Well, I say, Quin came home on this night in a different humour from any I had ever seen him in before, laughing, chattering to himself, chuckling as he removed the heavy frieze surtout he wore, and even snapping his fingers as again and again he would burst out into his laughs. And he produced from that surtout a bottle of nantz but three parts full, and, seizing the kettle, filled it with water and placed it on the fire, saying that ere we went to bed we would drink confusion to all the rascals harbouring in Dublin that night. After which he again laughed and grimaced.

"What ails thee, Oliver?" I asked, "or rather, what has given thee such satisfaction to-night?"

He went on laughing for some time longer until I thought that I was to be debarred from hearing what it was that amused him so much, but at last he said: "I am rejoicing at the chance that has arisen of playing a knave, or rather two knaves, ay, or even three, a trick. And such a grand trick, too; a trick that shall make thy uncle curse the day he ever heard the name of Oliver Quin."

"My uncle!" I exclaimed. "My uncle! Why, what have he and you to do together, Oliver?"

"Listen," he said, and by this time the kettle was boiling and he was making the hypsy, "listen. I have seen O'Rourke to-night and-and I have promised, for the sum of one hundred guineas, to deliver thee into his hands for transportation to the colonies, to Virginia. To Virginia, my lad, thou art bound, so that thou shalt plague thy uncle no more. To Virginia. Ha, ha, ha!" and he burst into so loud a laugh that the rafters of the garret shook with it.

To be sure I understood that Oliver was but joking me-if I had not known his honest nature, his equally honest laugh would have told me so-yet I wondered what this strange discourse should mean! He had, I think, been drinking ere he entered, though not more than enough to excite him and make him merry, but still it was evident to see that, over and above any potations he might have had, something had happened. So I said:

"Go on, Oliver, and tell me about O'Rourke and the plantations, and when I am to be sold into slavery."

"I met O'Rourke this evening," he said, "as I happened into a hipping-hawd1 on my way home. There the villain was, seated on a cask and dressed as fine as fivepence. On his pate was a great ramilie wig, so please you! clapped a-top of it, and with an evil cock to one side of it, a gold laced hat. He wore a red plush coat-though I doubt me if the fashioner ever made it for him! with, underneath, a blue satin waistcoat embroidered; he had a solitaire stuck into his shirt, gold garters to the knees of his breeches, and, in fine, looked for all the world as if he had come into a fortune and had been spending part of it in buying the cast-off wardrobe of a nobleman."

"But the Virginia plantations, Oliver!" I said; "the plantations!"

"I am coming to them-or, at least, thou art going to them! But first let me tell thee of thy old friend and janitor, O'Rourke. When I entered he was bawling for some sherris, but, on seeing me, he turned away from his boon companions and exclaimed, 'What, my jolly butcher, what my cock o' the walk, oh, oh! What, my gay protector of injured youth and my palmer-off of boys for noble lords! How stands it with thee? Art cold? – 'tis a cold night-tho' thou wilt be in a colder place if my Lord St. Amande catches holt on thee. But 'tis cold, I say; you must drink, my noble slaughterer. What will you? A thimbleful of sherris, maybe, or a glass of Rosa Solis? Here, Madge,' to the waitress, 'give the gentleman to drink,' and he lugged out of his pocket a great silk purse full of golden guineas and clinked it before us.

"'You seem rich and merry, Mr. O'Rourke,' I said. 'Plenty of money now, and brave apparel. Whence comes it all? Hast thou been smuggling off more boys or dragging out some more dead bodies from the river? It seems a thriving trade, at least!' This upset him, Gerald, so he said, 'Hark ye, Mr. Quin, this is no joking matter. When it comes to smuggling boys, it seems to me you are the smuggler more than I. Yet,' he went on, 'let me have a word with thee,' whereon he got off his cask and came over to me. But as he did so he paused and turned round on the men drinking with him, and said, 'Will you stay drinking all night, you dogs? Get home, get home, I say. I will pay for no more liquor to-night; be off, I say. Finish your drink and go,' which the men did as obediently as though they were really dogs, touching their caps and wishing the ruffian and myself and Madge-who was half asleep beside her bottles-good-night.

"'Now, Quin,' said O'Rourke, drawing a chair up to where I was sitting, and resting his hands on the handle of his sword, which he stuck between his legs, 'listen to me, for I have matter of importance to say to thee, which thy opportune appearance has put into my head!'

"'If 'tis any villainy,' I said, 'which, coming from you, is like enough-'

"But he interrupted me with, 'Tush, tush! What you call villainy we gentlemen call business. But interrupt no more; listen. Quin, you know well enough that the lad you harbour is no more the Lord St. Amande than I am. I say you know it,' and here he winked at me a devilish wink, and put out his finger and touched me on the chest, while I, waiting to see what was coming, nodded gravely. 'The young lord, I tell you, is dead, drowned in the Liffey-have I not the certificate? Therefore, Quin-drink, man, drink and warm thyself-his uncle is now most undoubtedly, both by inheritance and the Lord Chancellor's enrolment, the rightful lord. But,' and here he paused and looked at me and, when he thought I was not observing, filled my glass again, 'his lordship wishes for peaceable possession of his rights and to harm none, not even thee who hast so grievously slandered him and his. Therefore, if you will do that which is right there is money for you, Quin; money enough to set you up as a flesher on your own account, and a trader in beasts; and, for the evil you have done, there shall be no more thought of it.'

"'And what is it I am wanted to do?' I asked, while I made a pretence of faltering, and said, 'If I were sure that the lad I have in keeping were not truthfully the young lord-'

"'The young lord is dead, I tell thee-take some more drink, 'tis parlous cold-the young lord is dead. I know it.'

"' And therefore you want me to-?'

"'Do this. My lord, by whom I mean his uncle, can now, by warrant of the Lord Chancellor, assume his proper station, and hath done so. Only, since he is a man of peace, he wisheth not to fall foul of the young impostor, and would-be usurper, as you know he is, Quin,' and again his evil eye drooped at me, 'nor to proceed either to punish him for his cheat nor to have to defend himself from any attempts your lad might make against him in the manner of impugning his title. And, therefore-to use thy thoughts-what would be best is that he should be got out of the way.'

"'By murder?' I asked him.

"'Nay, nay, never! The Lord forfend. We are gentlemen, not assassins, and so that all should be done peaceably and quietly it would be best to proceed as follows.'

"Here I again interrupted him, Gerald, by saying, 'If I were only sure, if I could be but sure-'

"'Sure!' he exclaimed, rapping the table so loudly that the maid started from her nodding to stare at us. 'Sure! Sure! Man, I tell you the boy is dead.' Then, glancing suspiciously at the girl and lowering his voice, he went on again, 'We will proceed as follows. There is a friend of mine who maketh it his business to consign the ne'er-do-wells and prison scourings of this city to Virginia, where he sells them to the tobacco planters for what they will fetch over and above what he has given for them. Now for a boy such as young Gerald-pish! I mean him whom you call young Gerald-he would give as much as twenty guineas, especially on my description of him. But,' he said, again touching me with his finger on the breast so that I felt disposed to fell him to the floor, 'but that is not all. For so that his lordship, who is a noble-minded gentleman if ever there was one, may peaceably enter upon and enjoy his own, subject to no disturbance nor thwarting, he will give two hundred guineas to me for having him safely put aboard my friend's brig, the Dove, and shipped to Newcastle, on the Delaware, where he trades.'

"'Two hundred guineas,' I said, appearing to dwell upon it; ''tis a goodly sum, and the boy might do well in Virginia. He is a lad of parts.'

"'Ay,' he replied, forgetting himself and that he pretended not to know you, 'he is. Smart and brisk, and looking a good two years older than his age. But of the two hundred guineas, all is not for you. I must have my share.'

"'That being?' I asked.

"'One half,' he replied. 'And think on it, Quin. One hundred golden guineas for thee and more, much more than that; for if you do this service for my lord he will absolve thee from thy contumacy and thine insults, both to his name and to the face of his wife-for his wife she is-and also to Mr. Considine, who is a gay and lightsome blade as ever strutted.'

"'That is something,' I said, giving now what appeared my adhesion to his scheme. 'Perhaps I spoke too roughly to them, and I would not lie in the clink for it. Yet to kidnap a boy-for such 'twill be at best, and he, too, sheltering with me and trusting me-is a grave and serious thing, which, if discovered, might send me to the plantations also, if not the gibbet.'

"'Have no fear,' he said; 'my lord shall give you a quittance to hold you harmless.'

"'He must,' I made answer, 'and more; I must have an earnest of my payment. I will attempt nothing until I receive an earnest.'

"He looked round at the sleeping serving-maid as I spoke, and then he drew forth his silk purse again and shook some guineas out into the palm of his hand, and whispered to me, 'How much will serve, Quin? Eh? Five guineas. Eh? What! More!'

"'Ay, more!' I said. 'Many more. That purse contains forty pieces if one. Give me twenty-five as an earnest and twenty-five to-morrow when we meet again and then, provided that I have the remainder an hour before your friend's brig sails, the boy shall be hoisted on board insensible, and the Dove may take him to Virginia or the devil either for aught I care.'

"And so," Oliver concluded, "he did it. He paid the guineas down-there they are; look at them, lad! And thou art, therefore, bound for Virginia, there to spend thy life, or at least a portion of it, in slavery on the plantations. Ho, ho, ho!" and again he laughed until the rafters rung once more.

CHAPTER V

THE SPRINGE IS SET

Thus Oliver concluded his narrative of his meeting with O'Rourke.

What came of that meeting you are now to see.

But first I must tell you what his own scheme was, and how he intended to work out upon the head of Robert St. Amande the result of his own villainy. My uncle had been married in early life to a young lady of good family and some means-upon which latter he had more or less managed to exist for several years-belonging to the South of Scotland. She had, however, died in giving birth to a son ere they had been married a twelvemonth, and it was as guardian of this son and custodian of his late wife's property, which that son was to inherit when he attained his twenty-first year, that he had, as I say, principally existed. At least he had done so until he devised the scheme of assisting my father to ease himself of the family property, when, naturally, he found more money coming his way than he had heretofore done, and so, perhaps, ceased his inroads on what remained of that which was due to my cousin on reaching his majority.

Whether, however, Roderick St. Amande-who was named after his grandfather, known as Rich Roderick of Dumfries-would ever live to come into his patrimony, or what remained of it, was a very much questioned subject. For the youth, who was some two years older than I, though not a wit bigger, if so big, had already taken to the most dreadful courses and, young as he was, might sometimes be seen reeling tipsy about the streets of Dublin (in which city his father thought fit to generally keep him); sometimes squabbling and rioting with the watch at nights, and sometimes leering over the blinds of the coffee-houses and wine clubs at any comely girl who happened to be passing up or down the streets. Moreover, I suppose, because since my birth he had always regarded me as an interloper who had come in between him and the future peerages of St. Amande and Amesbury, as, had I never been born, he must have eventually succeeded to them, he had always treated me with great cruelty so long as it was in his power to do so. When I was little better than a baby and he an urchin he saw fit to purloin or destroy the toys given me by my mother and my reckless and unhappy father; because I loved a terrier which a tenant had given me as a pup, that unfortunate creature was found drowned in a pool shortly after Roderick had been seen in the neighbourhood, and there were countless other ill treatments which he pleased to practise towards me. And at the time when I was consigned to O'Rourke by my father, who, in his then bemused state, probably did think that he was only secreting me for a while without dreaming of the harm to be attempted on me, this young villain, as I afterwards knew, was one of the prime instigators of that ruffian to make away with me. And, to conclude, when it was known that I had escaped from O'Rourke's hands he it was who, either on his own behalf or on that of his father, raised the hue and cry upon me until, when my own father lay a-dying in his garret, they saw fit to shift their tactics and give out that I was dead, which both father and son would have been consumedly rejoiced to have me.

Now, Oliver Quin knew all this and accordingly hated him as much as he loved me, and he knew also of the young man's habits, of his love for the bottle and for bottle-songs, of his revellings and reelings in the streets by nights and in the early mornings, sometimes in the company of Considine and sometimes in that of worse almost than he; and he formed his plans accordingly when approached by O'Rourke. Those plans were no less, as doubtless you have ere now perceived or guessed, than to take a great revenge on this youth for all his and his father's transgressions towards me, and, in fact, to ship him off to Virginia in the Dove instead of me and in my place.

Such a scheme was easier to be accomplished than might at first be supposed, for more reasons than one. To begin with, when O'Rourke met Oliver on the second night to unfold his plans and concert measures with him, one of the first things the vagabond told my friend was that he must by no means appear to be concerned in my sending away. "It will not do for me to be seen in the matter, Quin," he said on that occasion, on which, because of its importance, they were now closeted in a private room of the house where they had encountered each other overnight; "it will not do. Fortune has caused me to be mixed up before in one or two unpleasant jobs with the Lord Mayor's myrmidons-the devil shoot them! – and I must keep quiet awhile. But that matters not, if you are to be trusted. For see, now, see! The Dove saileth the instant the wind shifts into the east, which it seems like enough to do at any moment. Therefore must you be ready with the freight which we would have. The captain, a right honest man, will send you word overnight at change of wind that he will up-anchor at dawn, and that, as dawn breaks, you must be alongside of him. He will see that the boy answers to my description-though I have said he is a year or so older than he actually is, so as to make him appear more worth the money-and, when he is aboard, you will receive the payment. Thus, Quin, you will have pouched one hundred and twenty guineas, and my lord will stand thy friend."

"Since the wind shifts, or seems like to shift ere long," Oliver replied, fooling him to the end, "let us conclude. Pay me the remaining seventy five pieces and I will have him ready at any moment."

"Nay, nay, softly," the other answered. "Thou wouldst not trust me too far, I guess, therefore neither must I be too confident. Yet listen! I shall not be on the quay when you put off to the Dove, but one who has served me before will be. An honest gentleman he is, too, just back from England where he hath been employed nosing out a Jacobite plot in the north, and to him you will show the lad, whereon he will pay you the guerdon and give you also a letter from my lord which will hold you harmless."

"Is he known to any of us, or to-to, well! to the law and its officers?"

"To none. He hath but just arrived and knows not a soul in Dublin except me and one or two of my friends."

"So be it," said Oliver, well enough pleased to think that this "honest gentleman" would not know the difference between me and my cousin. "So be it. Now, it will be best that the boy should be drugged ere I set out with him-is it not so? – and wrapped in some long cloak so that-"

"Ay, ay," replied the ruffian, "you are brisk. It shall be so. Get a long frieze cloak such as that you wear-the guineas will indemnify you for its cost and buy many another-and for the stupefying him, why, either a dram well seasoned or a crack on the mazard will do his business for him. Only, be sure not to kill him outright. For if you do, you will be twenty guineas short of your count, since he will be no use to the captain then, and you will be forced to fling him into the Liffey for the prawns to make a meal of."

Thus the wretch, who had no more compunction for my life than that it would be twenty guineas lost to him whom he now considered his accomplice, arranged everything, and after a few more instructions to Oliver as well as a further payment of twenty-five guineas as Oliver insisted (two of which afterwards turned out to be Jacks, or bad ones) they parted-the thing being, as O'Rourke remarked gleefully, now well arranged and in train.

"But," he said for his last word, "keep thy eye on the weathercock and be ready for the captain's hint, which he will send to this house. Let not the Dove sail without her best passenger."

"She shall not," answered Oliver. "Be sure of that."

"And now, Gerald, for so I shall call thee, lord though thou art," Oliver said to me that night, "we must think for the means for seizing on thy cousin. I know enough of the weather and the many signs it gives to feel sure that it is changing. It gets colder, which presages a north easterly wind, and this will carry the Dove out of the river and to sea. Therefore, it behoves us to be busy. To-night is Monday, by Wednesday at daybreak, if I mistake not, the brig will be away. Therefore, to-morrow night we must have the young princock in our hands. Now, how shall we proceed?"

"He is almost nightly at Macarthy's tavern-I have seen him in passing, when I was hiding with the beggars. Yet," I said, breaking off, "oh, think, Oliver, of what you are about! If you are made accountable for this, you may be sent to prison or worse even."

"Tush, tush! lad!" he answered. "Have no fear for me. Yet it is kind of thee to think of it. Still, there is nought to fear. He goes not on board until I have thy uncle's quittance, though he may say little enough, fearing to commit himself overmuch; and for the rest, when he is gone, why we go, too-only another gait."