"By my soul, then," replied the unflinching servant, "if we go down you'll go up; and we have those belongin' to us that will see you kiss the hangman yet. Yerra, now, above all words in the alphabet what could put a gallows into your mouth? Faith, Randal, it's about your neck it'll go, and you'll put out your tongue at the daicent people that will attend your own funeral yet--that is, if you don't let us off."

"Put them both to their knees," said the Rapparee in a voice of thunder, "to their knees with them. I'll take the masther, and, Kineely, do you take the man."

The companions of the Rapparee could not avoid laughing at the comic courage displayed by c.u.mmiskey, and were about to intercede for him, when O'Donnel, which was his name, stamped with fury on the ground and asked them if they dared to disobey him. This sobered them at once, and in less than a minute Mr. Folliard and Andy were placed upon their knees, to await the terrific sentence which was about to be executed on them, in that wild and lonely moor, and under such appalling circ.u.mstances. When placed in the desired posture, to ask that mercy from G.o.d which they were not about to experience at the hands of man, Squire Folliard spoke:

"Red Rapparee," said he, "it is not that I am afraid of death as such, but I feel that I am not prepared to die. Suffer my servant and myself to go home without harm, and I shall engage not only to get you a pardon from the Government of the country, but I shall furnish you with money either to take you to some useful calling, or to emigrate to some foreign country, where n.o.body will know of your misdeeds, or the life you have led here."

"Randal, my man," added Andy, "listen to what the gentleman says, and you may escape what you know yet. As for my master, Randal, let him pa.s.s, and take me in his place. I may as well die now, maybe, as another time. I was an honest, faithful servant, at all times. I have neither chick nor child to cry for me. No wife, thank G.o.d, to break my heart afther. My conscience is light and airy, like a beggarmans blanket, as they say; and, barrin' that I once got drunk wid your uncle in Moll Flanagan's sheebeen house, I don't know that I have much to trouble me.

Spare _him_, then, and take _me_, if it must come to that. He has the _Cooleen Bawn_ to think for. Do you think of her, too; and remember that it was she who saved your uncle from the gallows."

This unlucky allusion only deepened the vengeance of the Red Rapparee, who looked to the priming of his gun, and was in the act of preparing to perpetrate this most in-human and awful murder, when all interruption took place for which neither party was prepared.

Now, it so happened that within about eight or ten yards of where they stood there existed the walls and a portion of the arched roof of one of those old ecclesiastical ruins, which our antiquarians denominate Cyclopean, like _lucus a non lucendo_, because scarcely a dozen men could kneel in them. Over this sad ruin was what sportsmen term "a pa.s.s"

for duck and widgeon, and, aided by the shelter of the building, any persons who stationed themselves there could certainly commit great havoc among the wild-fowl in question. The Red Rapparee then had his gun in his hand, and was in the very act of adjusting it to his shoulder, when a powerful young man sprung forward, and dashing it aside, exclaimed:

"What is this, Randal? Is it a double murder you are about to execute, you inhuman ruffian?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 11--Is it a double murder you are about to execute?]

The Rapparee glared at him, but with a quailing and subdued, yet sullen and vindictive, expression.

"Stand up, sir," proceeded this daring and animated young man, addressing Mr. Folliard; "and you, c.u.mmiskey, get to your legs.

No person shall dare to injure either of you while I am here.

O'Donnel--stain and disgrace to a n.o.ble name--begone, you and your ruffians. I know the cause of your enmity against this gentleman; and I tell you now, that if you were as ready to sustain your religion as you are to disgrace it by your conduct, you would not become a curse to it and the country, nor give promise of feeding a hungry gallows some day, as you and your accomplices will do."

Whilst the young stranger addressed these miscreants with such energy and determination, Mr. Folliard, who, as well as his servant, had now got to his legs, asked the latter in a whisper who he was.

"By all that's happy, sir," he replied, "it's himself, the only man living that the Red Rapparee is afraid of; it's 'w.i.l.l.y Reilly.'"

CHAPTER II. _The Cooleen Baum_.

The old man became very little wiser by the information of his servant, and said in reply, "I hope, Andy, he's not a Papist;" but checking the unworthy prejudice--and in him such prejudices were singularly strong in words, although often feeble in fact he added, "it matters not--we owe our lives to him--the deepest and most important obligation that one man can owe to another. I am, however, scarcely able to stand; I feel be-numbed and exhausted, and wish to get home as soon as possible."

"Mr. Reilly," said Andy, "this gentleman is very weak and ill; and as you have acted so much like a brave man and a gentleman, maybe you'd have no objection to see us safe home."

"It is my intention to do so," replied Reilly. "I could not for a moment think of leaving either him or you to the mercy of this treacherous man, who dishonors a n.o.ble name. Randal," he proceeded, addressing the Rapparee, "mark my words!--if but a single hair of this gentleman's head, or of any one belonging to him, is ever injured by you or your gang, I swear that you and they will swing, each of you, from as many gibbets, as soon as the course of the law can reach you. You know me, sir, and my influence over those who protect you. As for you, Fergus,"

he added, addressing one of the Rapparee's followers, "you are, thank G.o.d! the only one of my blood who has ever disgraced it by leading such a lawless and guilty life. Be advised by me--leave that man of treachery,rapine, and murder--abandon him and re-form your life--and if you are disposed to become a good and an industrious member of society, go to some other country, where the disgrace you have incurred in this may not follow you. Be advised by me, and you shall not want the means of emigrating. Now begone; and think, each of you, of what I have said."

The Rapparee glanced at the n.o.ble-looking young fellow with the vindictive ferocity of an enraged bull, who feels a disposition to injure you, but is restrained by terror; or, which is quite as appropriate, a cowardly but vindictive mastiff, who eyes you askance, growls, shows his teeth, but has not the courage to attack you.

"Do not look at me so, sir," said Reilly; "you know I fear you not."

"But the meantime," replied the Rapparee, "what's to prevent me from putting a bullet into you this moment, if I wish to do it?"

"There are ten thousand reasons against it," returned Reilly. "If you did so, in less than twenty-four hours you would find yourself in Sligo jail--or, to come nearer the truth, in less than five minutes you would find yourself in h.e.l.l."

"Well, now, suppose I should make the trial," said the Rapparee. "You don't know, Mr. Reilly, how you have crossed me to-night. Suppose now I should try--and suppose, too, that not one of you three should leave the spot you stand on only as corpses--wouldn't I have the advantage of you then?"

Reilly turned towards the ruined chapel, and simply raising his right hand, about eight or ten persons made their appearance; but, restrained by signal from him, they did not advance.

"That will do," said he. "Now, Randal, I hope you understand your position. Do not provoke me again; for if you do I will surround you with toils from which you could as soon change your fierce and brutal nature as escape. Yes, and I will take you in the midst of your ruffian guards, and in the deepest of your fastnesses, if ever you provoke me as you have done on other occasions, or if you ever injure this gentleman or any individual of his family. Come, sir," he proceeded, addressing the old man, "you are now mounted--my horse is in this old ruin--and in a moment I shall be ready to accompany you."

Reilly and his companions joined our travellers, one of the former having offered the old squire a large frieze great-coat, which he gladly accepted, and having thus formed a guard of safety for him and his faithful attendant, they regained the old road we I have described, and resumed their journey.

When they had gone, the Rapparee and his companions looked after them with blank faces for some minutes.

"Well," said their leader, "Reilly has knocked up our game for this night. Only for him I'd have had a full and sweet revenge. However, never mind: it'll go hard with me, or I'll have it yet. In the mane time it won't be often that such another opportunity will come in our way."

"Well, now that it is over, what was your intention, Randal?" asked the person to whom Reilly had addressed himself.

"Why," replied the miscreant, "after the deed was done, what was to prevent us from robbing the house to-night, and taking away his daughter to the mountains. I have long had my eye on her, I can tell you, and it'll cost me a fall, or I'll have her yet."

"You had better," replied Fergus Reilly, for such was his name, "neither make nor meddle with that family afther this night. If you do, that terrible relation of mine will hang you like a dog."

"How will he hang me like a dog?" asked the Rapparee, knitting his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows, and turning upon him a fierce and gloomy look.

"Why, now, Randal, you know as well as I do," replied the other, "that if he only raised his finger against you in the country, the very people that harbor both you and us would betray us, aye, seize us, and bind us hand and foot, like common thieves, and give us over to the authorities.

But as for himself, I believe you have sense enough to let him alone.

When you took away Mary Traynor, and nearly kilt her brother, the young priest--you know they were Reilly's tenants--I needn't tell you what happened: in four hours' time he had the country up, followed you and your party--I wasn't with you then, but you know it's truth I'm spakin'--and when he had five to one against you, didn't he make them stand aside until he and you should decide it between you? Aye, and you know he could a' brought home every man of you tied neck and heels, and would, too, only that there was a large reward offered for the takin'

of you livin' or dead, and he scorned to have any hand in it on that account."

"It was by a chance blow he hit me," said the Rapparee--"by a chance blow."

"By a couple dozen chance blows," replied the other; "you know he knocked you down as fast as ever you got up--I lave it to the boys here that wor present."

"There's no use in denyin' it, Randal," they replied; "you hadn't a chance wid him."

"Well, at all events," observed the Rapparee, "if he did beat me, he's the only man in the country able to do it; but it's not over, curse him--Ill have another trial with him yet."

"If you take my advice," replied Reilly, "you'll neither make nor meddle with him. He's the head o' the Catholics in this part of the country, and you know that; aye, and he's their friend, and uses the friendship that the Protestants have towards him for their advantage, wherever he can. The man that would injure w.i.l.l.y Reilly is an enemy to our religion, as well as to every thing that's good and generous; and mark me, Randal, if ever you cross him in what he warned you against this very night, I'll hang you myself, if there wasn't another livin' man to do it, and to the back o' that again I say you must shed no blood so long as I am with you."

"That won't be long, then," replied the Rapparee, pulling out a purse; "there's twenty guineas for you, and go about your business; but take care, no treachery."

"No," replied the other, "I'll have none of your money; there's blood in it. G.o.d forgive me for ever joinin' you. When I want money I can get it; as for treachery, there's none of it in my veins; good-night, and remember my words."

Having thus spoken, he took his way along the same road by which the old squire and his party went.

"That fellow will betray us," said the Rapparee.

"No," replied his companions firmly, "there never was treachery in his part of the family; he is not come from any of the Queen's O'Reillys.*

We wish you were as sure of every man you have as you may be of him."

* Catholic families who were faithful and loyal to Queen Elizabeth during her wars in Ireland were stigmatized by the nickname of the Queen's friends, to distinguish them from others of the same name who had opposed her, on behalf of their religion, in the wars which desolated Ireland during her reign; a portion of the family of which we write were on this account designated as the Queen's O'Reillys.

"Well, now," observed their leader, "a thought strikes me; this ould squire will be half dead all night. At any rate he'll sleep like a top.