The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago

For many a year long the O’Donoghue had not been so free from troubles. The loan he had contracted on Kate’s fortune had relieved him from his most pressing embarrassments, and left him money enough to keep other creditors at bay. Sir Archy felt already he had received the earnest of that success he so ardently desired for Herbert, and in the calm of political life, hoped that the rash scheme in which Mark had em-. barked was even now becoming forgotten; and that the time was not far remote when no memory of it would be treasured against him. His own experience taught him, that sage lessons may be gathered from the failures and checks of youthful ambition, and in the changed features of Mark’s character he augured most favourably for the future. But of all those on whom happier prospects shone, none revelled in the enjoyment so much as Herbert. The fascinations of that new world, of which he had only caught a glimpse, hung over him like a dream. Life opened for him at a moment when he himself had won distinction, while a new passion stirred his heart, and stimulated hope to the utmost. Kate, his companion throughout every day, was not slow to perceive the lurking secret of his thoughts, and soon led him to confide them to her. Herbert had never heard of Frederick Travers’s attachment to his cousin, still less, suspected he had made a proposal of marriage to her. The studied avoidance of their names among his own family was a mystery he could not solve, and he referred to Kate for the explanation.

“How strange, Kate,” said he, one day, as they wandered along the glen somewhat further than usual, “how singular is this silence respecting the Travers’s! I can make nothing of it. If I speak of them, no one speaks again – if I allude to them, the conversation suddenly stops. Tell me, if you know it, the secret of all this.”

Kate blushed deeply, and muttered something about old and half-remembered grudges, but he interrupted her quickly, saying —

“This can scarcely be the reason; – at least their feelings show nothing of the kind towards us. Sybella talks of you as a sister nearest to her heart. Sir Marmaduke never spoke of you, but with the warmest terms of affection, and if the gay Guardsman did not express himself on the subject, perhaps it was because he felt the more deeply.”

Kate’s cheek grew deeper scarlet, and her breathing more hurried, but she made no reply.

“My explanation,” continued Herbert, more occupied with his own thoughts than attentive to his companion, “is this; – and, to be sure, it is a very sorry explanation which elucidates nothing; – that Hemsworth is somehow at the bottom of it all. Sybella told me what persuasions he employed to prevent her father returning to Glenflesk; and when every thing like argument failed, that he actually, under pretence of enlarging the house, rendered the existing part uninhabitable.”

“But what object could he have in this?” said Kate, who felt that Herbert was merely nourishing the old prejudices of his family against Hemsworth. “He is anxious for the peace and welfare of this country – he grieves for the poverty and privations of the people, and whether he be correct or not, deems the remedy, the residence amongst them of a cultivated and wealthy proprietary, with intelligence to perceive, and ability to redress their grievances.”

“Very true, Kate,” replied Herbert; “but don’t you see that in these very requisites of a resident gentry, he does not point at the Travers family, whose ignorance of Ireland he often exposed when affecting to eulogise their knowledge. The qualities he recommends he believes to be his own.”

“No, Herbert, you wrong him there,” said she, warmly; “he told me himself the unceasing regret he suffered, that, in his humble sphere, all efforts for the people’s good were ineffectual – that, wanting the influence which property confers, benefits from his hands became suspected, and measures of mere justice were regarded as acts of cruelty and oppression.”

“Well, I only know that such is Frederick Travers’s opinion of him,” said Herbert, not a little piqued at Kate’s unexpected defence of their ancient enemy. “Frederick told me himself that he would never cease until his father promised to withdraw the agency from him. Indeed, he is only prevented from pressing the point, because Hemsworth has got a long lease of part of the estate, which they desire to have back again on any terms. The land was let at a nominal rent, as being almost valueless. The best part of the valley it turns out to be! – the very approach to ‘the Lodge’ passes through it – so that, as Frederick says, they could not reach their hall-door without a trespass, if Hemsworth pleased to turn sulky.”

Kate felt there might be another and more correct explanation of Frederick’s dislike, but she did not dare to hint at it.

“You are too favourable in your opinion of Hemsworth, Kate. Sy-bella said as much to me herself.”

“Sybella said so?” said Kate, as a flush, half of shame, half of displeasure, mantled her cheek.

“Yes,” cried Herbert, for he felt that he was in a difficulty, and there was no way out save the bold one, of right through it; “yes, she saw what you did not, that Hemsworth had dared to lift his eyes to you – that all his displays of patriotic sentiment were got up to attract your favourable notice, and that in his arguments with Frederick about Ireland, his whole aim was to expose the Guardsman’s ignorance, and throw ridicule upon it, neither seeking to convey sound notions, nor combat erroneous impressions.”

“Captain Travers was but too easy a mark for such weapons,” said Kate, angrily, “It was his pleasure to make Ireland the object of his sarcasm.”

“So Hemsworth contrived it!” cried Herbert, eagerly, for it was a subject of which he had long been anxious to speak, and one he had heard much of from Sybella. “I know well the game he played, and how successfully too.”

Kate blushed deeply; for a moment she believed that her own secret was known to Herbert, but the next instant she was reassured that all was safe.

“Sybella told me how he actually lay in wait for opportunities to entice Frederick into discussion before you, well knowing the themes that would irritate him, and calculating how far petty refutations, and half-suppressed sneers would embarrass and annoy him – the more, because Frederick saw how much more favourably you regarded Hemsworth’s sentiments than his own; and, indeed, sometimes I fancied, Kate, it was a point the Guardsman was very tender about; – nay, sweet cousin, I would not say a word to offend you.”

“Then, do not speak of this again, Herbert,” said she, in a low voice.

“It is a luckless land,” said Herbert, sighing. “They who know it well are satisfied with the cheap patriotism of declaiming on its wrongs. They who feel most acutely for its sorrows, are, for the most part, too ignorant to alleviate them. I begin to think my uncle is quite right – that the best thing we could do would be to make a truce – to draw the game – for some twenty or thirty years, and try if the new generation might not prove wiser in expedients than their fathers.”

“A luckless land, indeed!” said Mark, who, coming up at the moment, had overheard the last words. “You were right to call it so – where the son of an O’Donoghue sees no more glorious path to follow than that of a hollow compromise!”

Kate and Herbert started as he spoke, and while her face flashed with an emotion of mingled pride and shame, Herbert looked abashed, and almost angry at the reproach.

“Forgive me, Herbert,” said Mark, in a voice of deep melancholy. “Not even this theme should sow a difference between us. I came to bid you good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Mark?” cried Kate, starting with terrified surprise.

“Going to leave us, Mark!” exclaimed Herbert, in an accent of true sorrow.

“It is but for a few days – at least I hope that it will be no more,” said Mark. “But I have received intelligence that makes it necessary for me to remain in concealment for a short time. You see, Herbert,” said he, laughing, “that your theory has the advantage on the score of prudence. Had I followed it, the chances are, I should not have occupied the attention of his Majesty’s Privy Council.”

“The Privy Council! I don’t understand this, Mark.”

“Perhaps this is the easiest mode of explaining it,” said Mark, as he unfolded a printed paper, headed “Treason – Reward for the apprehension of Mark O’Donoghue, Esq., or such information as may lead to his capture.” “Is that enough? Come, come – I have no time for long stories just now. If you want to hear mine about the matter, you must visit me at my retreat – the low shealing at the west of Hungry Mountain. At least, for the present I shall remain there.”

“But is this necessary, Mark? Are you certain that any thing more is meant than to threaten?” said Kate.

“I believe that Carrig-na-curra will be searched by a military force to-night, or to-morrow at farthest – that the bribe has tempted three or four – none of our people – don’t mistake me – to set on my track. If my remaining would spare my father’s house the indignity of a search – or if the country had any better cause at heart than that of one so valueless as I am, I would stay, Kate – ”

“No, no, Mark. This were but madness, unworthy of you, unjust to all who love you.”

The last few words were uttered so faintly, as only to be heard by him alone; and as she spoke them a heavy tear rolled down her cheek, now pale as marble.

“But surely, Mark,” said Herbert, who never suspected any thing of his brother’s intrigues, “this must proceed on mere falsehood. There is no charge against you – you, whose life of quiet retirement here can defy any calumny.”

“But not deny the truth,” said Mark, with a sorrowful smile. “Once for all, I cannot speak of these things now. My time is running fast; and already my guide, yonder, looks impatient at my delay. Remember the shealing at the foot of the mountain. If there be any mist about, you have but to whistle.”

“Is poor Terry your guide, then?” said Kate, affecting to smile with some semblance of tranquillity.

“My guide and my host both,” said Mark, gaily, “It’s the only invitation I have received for Christmas, and I accept it most willingly, I assure you.”

An impatient gesture of Terry’s hand, as he stood on a small pinnacle of rock, about fifty feet above the road, attracted Mark’s attention, and he called out —

“Well! – what is it?”

“The dragoons!” shouted Terry, in a terrified voice. “They’re crossing the ford at Caher-mohill, two miles off – eight, nine, ten – ay, there’s twelve now, over; and the fellow in the dark coat, he’s another. Wait! they’re asking the way: that’s it, I’m sure. Well done! – my blessing be an ye this day, whoever ye are. May I never! if he’s not sending them wrong! They’re down the glen towards Killarney;” and as he finished speaking he sprang from the height, and hastened down the precipice at a rate that seemed to threaten destruction at every step.

“Even so, Terry. We have not more time than we need. It’s a long journey to the west of the mountain; and so, good-bye, my dear cousin. Good-bye, Herbert. A short absence it will be, I trust;” and, tearing himself away hurriedly, lest any evidence of emotion might be seen, the young man ascended the steep pathway after Terry; nor did he turn his head round, until distance enabled him to look down unnoticed, when again he cried out “Farewell! Remember the west side of Hungry!” and waving his cap, disappeared, while Herbert and his cousin wended their sorrowful way homeward.

CHAPTER XLI. A DISCOVERY

When Kate arrived at home, she found a note awaiting her, in Hemsworth’s hand-writing, and marked “haste.” Guessing at once to what it must refer, she broke the seal, with an anxious heart, and read: —

“My dear Madam,

“I have been unable to retard any longer the course of proceedings against your cousin. It would seem that the charges against him are far more grave and menacing than either of us anticipated, at least so far as I can collect from the information before me. The Privy Council has determined on arresting him at once. Orders to support the warrant by a military force have been transmitted to officers commanding parties in different towns of the south, and there is no longer a question of the intentions of the crown regarding him. But one, of two, chances is now open to him – to surrender and take his trial – or, should he, as he may, without any imputation on his courage, dread this, to make his escape to the coast, near Kenmare, where a lugger will lie off, on Wednesday night. By this means he will be able to reach some port in France or Flanders; or, probably, should the wind change, obtain protection from some of the American vessels, which are reported as cruising to the westward.

“In making this communication to you, I need scarcely observe the implicit faith I repose in the use you make of it. It is intended to be the means of providing for your cousin’s safety – but should it, by any accident, fall under other eyes than yours, it would prove the inevitable ruin of your very devoted servant,

“Wm. Hemsworth.”

“And they will not believe this man’s integrity?” exclaimed Kate, as she finished reading the note. “He who jeopardies his own station and character for the sake of one actually his enemy! Well, their injustice shall not involve my honor.” “Was it you brought this letter?” said she to Wylie, who stood, hat in hand, at the door.

“Yes, my lady, and I was told there might, perhaps, be an answer.”

“No – there is none; say ‘very well’ – that I have read it. Where is Mr. Hemsworth?”

“At Macroom. There was a meeting of magistrates there, which delayed him, and he wrote this note, and sent me on, instead of coming himself.”

“Say, that I shall be happy to see him – that’s enough,” said Kate, hurriedly, and turned back again into the house.

Through all the difficulties that beset her path hitherto, she had found Sir Archy an able and a willing adviser; but now, the time was come, when not only must she act independently of his aid, but, perhaps, in actual opposition to his views – taking for her guidance one distrusted by almost every member of her family. Yet what alternative remained – how betray Hemsworth’s conduct in a case which, if known, must exhibit him as false to the Government, and acting secretly against the very orders that were given to him? This, she could not think of, and thus by the force of circumstances, was constrained to accept of Hemsworth as an ally. Her anxious deliberations on this score were suddenly interrupted by the sound of horses galloping on the road, and as she looked out, the individual in question rode up the causeway, followed by his groom.

The O’Donoghue was alone in the drawing-room, musing over the sad events which necessitated Mark’s concealment, when Hemsworth entered, heated by a long and fast ride.

“Is your son at home, sir – your eldest son?” said he, as soon as a very brief greeting was over.

“If you’ll kindly ring that bell, which my gout won’t permit me to reach, we’ll inquire,” said the old man, with a well-affected indifference.

“I must not create any suspicion among the servants,” said Hemsworth, cautiously, “I have reason to believe that some danger is impending over him, and that he had better leave this house for a day or two.”

The apparent frankness of the tone in which he spoke, threw the O’Donoghue completely off his guard, and taking Hemsworth’s hand, he said —

“Thank you sincerely for this, the poor boy got wind of it this morning, and I trust before now, has reached some place of safety for the present – but what steps can we take? is there anything you can advise us to do? – I’m really so bewildered by all I hear, and so doubtful of what is true and what false, that I’m incapable of an opinion. Here comes the only clear head amongst us. Kate, my sweet child, Mr. Hemsworth, like a kind friend, has come over about this affair of Mark’s – will you and Sir Archy talk it over with him?”

“I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir, but I must recall to your memory that I am a magistrate, charged with your son’s arrest, and if by an unguarded expression,” here he smiled significantly, “I have betrayed my instructions – I rely on your honour not to expose me to the consequences.”

The O’Donoghue listened, without thoroughly comprehending the distinction the other aimed at, and then, as if disliking the trouble of a thought that puzzled him – he shook his head and muttered, “Aye, very well – be it so – my niece knows these matters better than I do.”

“I agree with that opinion, perfectly,” said Hemsworth, in an undertone, “and if Miss O’Donoghue will favor me with her company for a few minutes in the garden, I may be able to assist her to a clear understanding of the case.” Kate smiled assentingly, and Hemsworth moved towards the door and opened it; and then, as if after a momentary struggle with his own diffidence, he offered her his arm; this Kate declined, and they walked along, side by side.

They had nearly reached the middle of the garden before Hemsworth broke silence. At last he said, with a deep sigh – “I fear we are too late Miss O’Donoghue. The zeal, real or affected, of the country magistrates, has stimulated them to the utmost. There are spies over the whole country – he will inevitably be taken.”

Rate re-echoed the last words in an accent of deep anguish, and was silent.

“Yes,” resumed he, “escape is all but impossible – for even if he should get to sea, there are two cruisers on the look-out for any suspicious sail.

“And what if he were to surrender and stand his trial,” said Kate, boldly.

Hemsworth shook his head sorrowfully, but never spoke. “What object can it be with any Government to hunt down a rash, inexperienced youth, whose unguarded boldness has led him to ruin? On whom would such an example tell, or where would the lesson spread terror, save beneath that old roof yonder, where sorrows are rife enough already?”

“The correspondence with France – that’s his danger. The intercourse with the disturbed party at home might be palliated by his youth – the foreign conspiracy admits of little apology.” “And what evidence have they of this?”

“Alas! but too much – the table of the Privy Council was actually covered with copies of letters and documents – some, written by himself – almost all, referring to him as a confidential and trusty agent of the cause. This cannot be forgiven him! When I heard a member of the Council say, ‘Jackson’s blood is dried up already,’ I guessed the dreadful result of this young man’s capture.”

Kate shuddered at these words, which were uttered in a faint tone, tremulous through emotion. “Oh, God,” she cried, “do not let this calamity fall upon us. Poverty, destitution, banishment, anything, save the death of a felon!”

Hemsworth pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, and looked away, as the young girl, with upturned face, muttered a brief but fervent prayer to heaven.

“But you, so gifted and experienced in the world’s ways,” cried she, turning on him a glance of imploring meaning – “can you not think of anything? Is there no means, however difficult and dangerous, by which he might be saved? Could not the honor of an ancient house plead for him? Is there no pledge for the future could avail him.”

“There is but one such pledge – and that” – here he stopped and blushed deeply, and then, as if by an effort, resumed – “Do not, I beseech you, tempt me to utter what, if once spoken, decides the destiny of my life?”

He ceased, and she bent on him a look of wondering astonishment. She thought she had not heard him aright, and amid her fears of some vague kind, a faint hope struggled, that a chance of saving Mark yet remained. Perhaps, the mere expression of doubt her features assumed, was more chilling than even a look of displeasure, for Hemsworth’s self possession, for several minutes, seemed to have deserted him; when, at last recovering himself, he said —

“Pray, think no more of my words, I spoke them rashly. I know of no means of befriending this young man. He rejected my counsels when they might have served him. I find how impossible it is to win confidence from those whose prejudices have been fostered in adverse circumstances. Now, I am too late – my humble task is merely to offer you some advice, which the day of calamity may recall to your memory. The Government intends to make a severe example of his case. I heard so much, by accident, from the Under Secretary. They will proceed, in the event of his conviction – of which there cannot be a doubt – to measures of confiscation regarding his property – timely intervention might be of service here.”

This additional threat of misfortune did not seem to present so many terrors to Kate’s mind as he calculated on its producing. She stood silent and motionless, and appeared scarcely to notice his words.

“I feel how barbarous such cruelty is to an old and inoffensive parent,” said Hemsworth, “whose heart is rent by the recent loss of a son.”

“He must not die,” said Kate, with a hollow voice, and her pale cheek trembled with a convulsive motion. “Mark must be saved. What was the pledge you hinted at?”

Hemsworth’s eyes flashed, and his lip curled with an expression of triumph. The moment, long sought, long hoped for, had at length arrived, which should gratify both his vengeance and his ambition. The emotion passed rapidly away, and his features assumed a look of subdued sorrow.

“I fear, Miss O’Donoghue,” said he, “that my hope was but like the straw which the drowning hand will grasp at; but, tortured as my mind has been by expedients, which more mature thought has ever discovered to be impracticable, I suffered myself to believe that possible, which my own heart forbids me to hope for.”

He waited a few seconds to give her an opportunity of speaking, but she was silent, and he went on —

“The guarantee I alluded to would be the pledge of one, whose loyalty to the Government stands above suspicion; one, whose services have met no requital, but whose reward only awaits the moment of demanding it; such a one as this might make his own character and fortune the recognizance for this young man’s conduct, and truck the payment of his own services for a free pardon.”

“And who is there thus highly placed, and willing to befriend us.”

Hemsworth laid his hand upon his heart, and bowing with deep humility, uttered, in a low, faint voice —

“He who now stands before you!”

“You,” cried Kate, as clasping her hands in an ecstacy, she fixed her tearful eyes upon him. “You would do this?” Then growing suddenly pale, as a sick shudder came over her, she said, in a deep and broken voice, “At what price, sir?”

The steady gaze she fixed upon him seemed to awe and abash him, and it was with unfeigned agitation that he now spoke.

“A price which the devotion of a life long could not repay. Alas! a price I dare no more aspire to, than hope for.”

“Speak plainly, sir,” said Kate, in a firm, collected tone, “this is not a moment for misconception. What part have I to play in this compact, for by your manner I suppose you include me in it?”

“Forgive me, young lady, I have not courage to place the whole fortunes of my life upon one cast; already I feel the heaviness of heart that heralds in misfortune. I would rather live on with even this faint glimmer of hope than with the darkness of despair for ever.” His hands dropped powerless at his side, his head fell forward on his bosom, and as if without an effort of his will, almost unconsciously his lips muttered the words, “I love you.”

Had the accents been the sting of an adder they could not have called up an expression of more painful meaning than flashed over Kate’s features.

“And this, then, is the price you hinted at – this was to be the compact.”

The proud look of scorn she threw upon him evoked no angry feeling in his breast, he seemed overwhelmed by sorrow, and did not dare even to look up.

“You judge me hardly, unfairly too; I never meant my intercession should be purchased – humble as I am, I should he still more unworthy, had I harhoured such a thought; my hope was this, to make my intervention available, I should show myself linked with the fortunes of that house I tried to save – it should be a case, where, personally, my own interest was at stake, and where my fortune, all I possessed in the world was in the scale, if you consented” – here he hesitated, faltered, and finally became silent, then passing his hands across his eyes, resumed more rapidly – “but I must not speak of this; alas! that my tongue should have ever betrayed it; you have forced my secret from me, and with it my happiness for ever – forget this, I beseech you forget that, even in a moment so unguarded, I dared to lift my eyes to the shrine my heart has worshipped. I ask no pledge, no compact, I will do my utmost to save this youth; I will spare no exertion or influence I possess with the Government; I will make his pardon the recompense due to myself, but if that be impossible, I will endeavour to obtain connivance at his escape, and all the price I ask for this is, your forgiveness of my presumption.”