The sound came nearer and nearer.

"Who goes there?" Walter said in a quiet voice.

"'Wicklow!' and it's mighty glad I am to hear your voice, for it's so dark I began to think I had lost myself entirely."

"Is all well, Larry?" Walter asked, as the light boat touched the bank.

"All is well, your honour," Larry said, stepping ashore, and lifting the light boat on to his head.

"You had better stow it away close here, Larry, till the morning. It's so dark that you will be sure to pitch over something, if you go further.

"Now, tell me all about it," he went on, as Larry stowed away the boat among some bushes.

"There is little enough to tell, yer honour. I just rowed across and landed, and made straight for the house. Everything was quiet and still. I went round to the stables, and up into the loft where Pat sleeps.

"'Are you there, Pat Ryan,' says I?

"'Who is it calls Pat Ryan?' says he.

"'It's myself, Larry, Mr. Davenant's boy.'

"'Why, I thought you had gone,' says he. 'Are you sure it's yourself?' says he.

"'And who else should it be, Pat Ryan? Don't yer know my voice?'

"By this time I had got into the corner where he slept, and touched him.

"'I am glad to feel you, Larry,' says he, 'for I wasn't sure that you hadn't fallen in with the troopers, and it wasn't your ghost that come to visit me.'

"'Whist,' says I, 'I have no time to waste upon ye. The master and the troops are stationed just across the river, at Ballygan. Mr. Davenant has given me a letter for Miss Conyers, telling her all about it. I don't exactly know what he said, and maybe she would like it given privately, so do you hand it to Bridget in the morning, and ask her to give it to her mistress, and to hand over to you any answer there may be. I will come across for it tomorrow night. But that's not all, Pat. You know the devil's work that William's men have been carrying on, on the march.'

"'Av course, everyone has heard the tales of the villains' doings, Larry.'

"'Well, the young master is mighty anxious about it, as you may guess. Has Mr. Conyers come?'

"'Yes. He rode in at four this afternoon.'

"'Well, Mr. Davenant says you will all be safe as long as he's here, but maybe that at some time, when he's away, you may have a troop of these villains of the world ride in here, and little they care whether it's Protestants or Catholics that they plunder. So, if they come here and begin their devilries, you run for your life down to the river, opposite Ballygan, with a white cloth or a shirt, if it's daytime, and wave it. You are to have a pile of sticks and straw ready, and, if it's night, ye will just set it in a blaze, and there will be help over before many minutes. You stop there till they come, to tell them how strong the enemy are.

"'The master says you are to tell Bridget about it, so that, if they misbehave themselves inside the house, she can slip out and let you know. You understand that?'

"'I do,' says he; 'and its a comfort to me, for it's fretting I have been over what might happen, if a troop of those murderin' villains were to come here, and not a sowl save me and the other boys to take the part of the mistress and Miss Claire.'

"'Well, you know now, Pat, what's to be done, and see you do it; and now I must go, for the master is waiting for me. I will be with you tomorrow night for the answer.'

"And so I came back, and I lost ten minutes looking about for the boat, for it was so mighty dark that I could not see a fut. I kicked against it and very near fell over it. It's well I didn't, for I should have knocked it into smithereens, entirely!"

"Capital, Larry! you couldn't have done better. Now I shall feel comfortable."

After breakfast, Walter told his father of the mission on which he had sent Larry, and the arrangement he had made with Pat Ryan.

"You ought to have told me at first, Walter. I do not blame you, but you should not do things on your own responsibility."

"But so far, father, it has not been a regimental affair. I simply sent my own boy with a note to Miss Conyers, just to say where we were; but, as it may be an affair in which some of the troop may have to act, I have told you about it, so that you can make what arrangements you like."

"It's rather a fine distinction, Walter," his father said, smiling. "It seems to me that you have engaged us to send a detachment across the river, in case of trouble at Mrs. Conyers'. However, I heartily agree with you that our kind friends should be protected from injury and insult.

"How many will the boats hold?"

"Thirteen or fourteen men each."

"Very well, then. I authorize you, at any time, if I am away with a portion of the troop, to take twenty-five men across if the signal is made. If I am here I shall, of course, go over myself. You can take any measures of preparation you may think necessary."

Walter availed himself of the permission, and at once gave orders to the sentry posted on the river, in front of the village, that if a white flag was waved by day, or a fire lit by night on the opposite bank, he was to shout loudly and fire his pistol, and that these orders were to be passed on to the sentry who succeeded him at the post. Then he picked out twenty-five men, and told them that, at any time in the night or day, if they heard a shot fired by the sentry they were to seize their arms, rush down to the boats, launch them and take their places, and wait for orders. He told them to sleep without removing any of their clothes, so as to be ready for instant action.

The next night, Larry again crossed and brought back a little note from Claire Conyers, thanking Walter for letting her know they were so close, telling him of her father's return, and saying that there was no fear of her mother or herself forgetting their late visitors. It was a prettily written little note, and Walter was delighted at receiving it.

"Well, my boy," Captain Davenant said with a little smile, when Walter told him next morning that he had heard from Miss Conyers, "as you seem specially interested in this affair, I will let you have the honour and glory of being the first to come to the rescue of Miss Conyers and her mother, if they should need it; and therefore, whether I am here or not, I give you permission to cross at once, in the two boats, if you get the signal. But on reaching the other side you are to send the two boats back at once, with two men in each, and I will bring the rest of the troop across as fast as possible. There is no saying what force you may find there. I shall leave it to your discretion to attack at once, or to wait until I come up with reinforcements. You will, of course, be guided partly by the strength of the enemy, partly by the urgency for instant interference for the protection of the ladies."

Four days passed quietly. There was but little for the cavalry to do. Small parties were posted at various spots, for some miles down the river, to give notice should the enemy appear on the opposite bank and show any intention of making a crossing; and, beyond furnishing these guards, the troop had little to do.

Walter spent much of his time watching the opposite bank. He hardly knew whether he wished the signal to be displayed or not—he certainly desired no trouble to befall the ladies; but, on the other hand, the thought of rushing to their rescue was undoubtedly a pleasant one. Larry spent much of his time at the water's edge, fishing—a pursuit in which many of the troopers joined; and they were able to augment the daily rations by a good supply of salmon.

On the fifth day, the officers had just finished supper, when the sound of a pistol shot was heard. Walter leaped from his seat, snatched up his sword and pistols, and ran down to the river. The men were already clustering round the boats. A minute later these were in the water, and the men jumped on board. They too were eager for the work, for Larry had whispered among them that, if the signal was made, it would signify that a band of the enemy's marauders were at Mrs. Conyers'; and all had been so kindly treated there that they were eager to repay the treatment they had received. Besides, there was not a man in the Irish army whose heart had not been fired at the recitals of the brutality of the enemy, and filled with deep longings for vengeance upon the perpetrators of the deeds.

Walter counted the men as they rowed across, and was pleased to find that not one of them was missing. He ordered the two men who were at the oars in each boat to return, the instant the rest had landed, to fetch another detachment across.

As they reached the land, the men sprang out. Pat Ryan was standing at the landing place.

"Well, Pat, what is it?"

"A troop of Hessian horse, your honour. Half an hour ago they rode up to the doors. Mrs. Conyers came out to meet them, and told them that she was a loyal Protestant, and wife of a gentleman high in the king's councils, who was in the camp. The blackguards only laughed. The officers, with some of the men, dismounted and pushed their way past her into the house, and the rest of the troop tied their horses up to the trees on the lawn, and shouted to me, and some of the other boys who were looking on, to bring forage. I suppose we weren't quick enough for them, for one of them drew his pistol and fired at me. Fortunately, he only hit the truss of straw I was carrying. Then I went round to the back door, where I had agreed that Bridget was to come to me, if things were going wrong in the house. A few minutes afterwards she came out, with a white face, and said: 'For the sake of the Holy Virgin, run for your life, Pat, and warn the soldiers!' So I slipped away and ran my hardest."

All this was told as the party were running at full speed towards the house.

"How strong was the troop?" Walter asked.

"About eighty men, yer honour."

"We must trust to a surprise," Walter said. "We can get round to the back of the house without being seen. If we burst in there suddenly, we can clear the house and hold it till my father comes up with the whole troop."

Five minutes after they had left the boat, the party approached the house. Walter halted his men for a moment in the shrubbery behind it.

"Steady, lads, and take breath. You will follow me into the house, and keep together. Give no quarter to the scoundrels."

Scarcely had he spoken than a piercing scream, accompanied by a pistol shot, was heard within.

"Come on, lads!" Walter exclaimed, as he rushed at full speed at the door, the men following close at his heels.

The door was open. In the passage lay one of the maidservants, shot through the head by one of the Hessian troopers, who still held the pistol in his hand. Walter's pistol cracked before the man had time to draw his sword, and he fell dead.

Then he rushed on into the hall, in which were a score of troopers, gathered round a barrel of wine which had just been broached. In an instant, the Irish were upon them. Many were cut down or shot, before they had time to stand on the defensive. The rest were slain after a short and desperate fight.

"Bar the front door!" Walter shouted. "Sergeant Mullins, take six men and hold it against those outside. The rest follow me."

Short as the fight had been, it had given time to the rest of the Hessians, scattered about the house in the act of plundering, to gather on the stair, headed by their officers. Without a moment's hesitation Walter dashed at them. In point of numbers the party were well matched; but the fury of the Irishmen more than counterbalanced the advantage of position on the part of the Hessians.

For five minutes a desperate fight raged. Those in front grappled each other, and fought with clubbed pistols and shortened swords. Those behind struck a blow as they could with sword or musket.

But the Hessians, ignorant of the strength of the force which had suddenly thus attacked them, thought more of securing their safety than of defending the stairs, so several of those behind slipped away and jumped from the windows to the ground. Their desertion disheartened those in front, and, with a shout, Walter and his troopers bore back the Hessians on to the landing, and the latter then broke and fled. Most of them were overtaken and cut down at once. Two or three only gained the windows and leaped out.

The instant resistance had ceased, Walter rushed into the drawing room, bidding the men run down and hold the lower windows. Mrs. Conyers lay in a dead faint on the sofa. Claire, with a face as pale as death, was standing beside her.

"Walter!" she gasped out; "then we are safe!"

She tottered, and would have fallen, had not Walter rushed forward in time to catch her, and place her in a chair:

"Don't faint, my dear Claire," he said urgently. "There is your mother to be looked after, and I must run downstairs, for they are attacking the house."

"I won't faint," Claire said, laughing and crying in a manner which frightened Walter more than her fainting would have done. "I shall be better directly, but it seems almost like a miracle. Oh, those dreadful men!"

"They have all gone now, Claire. We hold the house, and have cleared them out. Pray, calm yourself and attend to your mother. I must go. Don't be frightened at the firing. My father will be here in a few minutes, with aid."

"Oh! I am not frightened, now," Claire said; "and oh! Walter, you are bleeding dreadfully."

"Never mind that now," Walter said; "I will see to it, when it is all over."

Then, leaving her to look after Mrs. Conyers, he ran downstairs. His right arm was disabled, he having received a sweeping blow on the shoulder from one of the Hessians, as he won his way on to the landing; but he had no time to think of this now, for his men were hardly pressed. For a moment, a panic had reigned among the troopers outside, at the outburst of firing, and at the sight of their comrades leaping panic-stricken from the windows; but inquiry soon showed them that they were still greatly superior in numbers to the party who had obtained possession of the hall; and, furious at the loss of all their officers, and of many of their comrades, they attacked on all sides, and tried to force their way in at the doors and lower windows, in spite of the vigorous resistance from within. Walter hurried from point to point, cheering on his men by assurance that help was at hand, and seeing that no point had been left undefended.



Chapter 10: A Cavalry Raid.

Staunchly as Walter's troopers maintained the defence, they were sorely pressed, for the enemy still outnumbered them by three to one. Several times the Hessians almost forced their way in, at one or other of the windows, but each time Walter, who kept four men with him as a reserve, rushed to the assistance of the defenders of the windows and drove them back; but this could not last. The defenders were hard pressed at several points, and Walter, feeling sure that his father would be up in a very few minutes, called the men off from their posts and stationed them on the staircase.

With shouts of triumph, the Hessians burst in. The hall was filled with a crowd of furious soldiers, who hurled themselves like a wave at the defenders of the staircase. All the pistols had long since been emptied, and they fought sword to sword. Walter had detached five of his little party to hold the top of the other staircase, should the assailants try to force a passage there; and he had but ten men now, and several of these severely wounded, to hold the staircase.

Great as the advantage that the position gave the defenders, they were forced up step by step, and Walter began to fear that he would be driven to the landing before succour came, when a crowd of figures suddenly burst in at the hall door, and above the cracking of pistols, which at once arose, he heard his father's voice:

"Down with the murdering dogs! No quarter!"

Taken wholly by surprise, ignorant of the force by which they were attacked, and taken between two bodies of enemies, the Hessians turned to fly. Walter and his men at once pressed down upon them, while the newcomers fell upon them with fury.

There was but little resistance, for the Hessians thought only of flight. Some burst through their assailants and gained the door; more fled down the passages, and escaped by the windows through which they had entered; but more than thirty of them fell in the hall.

The instant resistance was over, Captain Davenant ran out with his men to secure the horses. A few of the Hessians, who had escaped from the front door, had jumped on the backs of the nearest animals and ridden off. The rest had fled on foot, and the exulting troopers counted seventy-two horses remaining in their hands. Captain Davenant at once returned to the house.

"Where are you, Walter?" he shouted; but there was no answer. Getting more light, Captain Davenant searched hastily among the numerous bodies scattered in the hall, and soon came upon Walter, who was lying, insensible, just at the foot of the stairs. The excitement had supported him so long as the defence had to be continued; but, as soon as succour appeared, and the assailants retreated, he had stumbled forward with his men, and had fallen insensible from loss of blood at the foot of the stairs. Captain Davenant hastily examined him.

"Thank God," he said to Larry, who had smuggled himself over with the second detachment, "he has no other wound but this on the shoulder, and has only fainted from loss of blood! Run upstairs, and snatch a sheet from one of the beds. We will soon make some bandages."

Larry did as he was ordered. Slips were torn off the sheets, and, after cutting Walter's coat and shirt from his shoulder, Captain Davenant bound and bandaged up the wound. In the meantime, Larry had got some spirits from the buffet in the dining room, and a spoonful or two were poured down Walter's throat, and in a few minutes he opened his eyes. For a moment he looked confused, then he smiled at his father.

"You were just in time," he said. "We couldn't have held out much longer."

"Yes, we were just in time, thank God!" his father said; "but where are the ladies?"

"In the drawing room. Mrs. Conyers has fainted."

Captain Davenant ran upstairs. Claire had succeeded in restoring her mother, who had just sat up when Captain Davenant entered.

"My daughter tells me that you have rescued us, you and your son," she said faintly. "How can I thank you enough?"

"Never mind that now, my dear lady," Captain Davenant said hastily. "Just at present, we have no time to lose. The fellows who have escaped will carry the news to William's camp, and in half an hour we shall have a regiment of cavalry here. I must retreat at once, and carry my wounded with me. What will you do? Will you stay here, or will you and your daughter come with us?"

"Oh, I will go with you, please. If I was sure my husband would come with them, I would not fear; but he may not hear of it, and there is no saying what they might do."

"How is Walter, Captain Davenant?" Claire—who had been waiting impatiently for her mother to finish—burst in. "He was wounded, and there was such terrible fighting afterwards, and he has not come back with you."

"He fainted from loss of blood," Captain Davenant said; "but I do not think his wounds are serious.

"Mrs. Conyers, I can only give you five minutes. Take with you any jewels or valuables you prize most. If they should arrive without your husband, they will be sure to sack and burn the house."

Captain Davenant now hurried downstairs. The wounded had already been collected. There were but four so seriously wounded as to be unable to walk. Six had been killed. The wounded, including Walter, lay on blankets. Men took each a corner, and at once started to the spot where the boats had been left.

Captain Davenant told four men to wait at the foot of the stairs, while he went up to the drawing room. Mrs. Conyers and her daughter were already prepared. Each had thrown a shawl over her head, and had in their hands the dressing cases containing Mrs. Conyers's jewellery.

"Now, madam," Captain Davenant said, "if you will point out your plate chest, I have four men below in readiness to carry it to the boat. It is no use leaving that to be divided between the marauders."

Mrs. Conyers pointed out two chests, in one of which deeds and other valuable documents were kept, and in the other the plate, of which Mrs. Conyers had a considerable quantity. Two men seized each of them.

"Now, Mrs. Conyers, please accompany them as quick as you can to the river. We will follow and cover the retreat. I think we have a few minutes yet, before cavalry can arrive from the camp."

When Captain Davenant and the rearguard reached the bank, they found that the boats had already returned, after taking over the wounded and a portion of the detachment. The rest, with the two ladies and the female servants, at once took their places, and were taken across before any sound betokened the arrival of the enemy at the Hall.

"I sincerely hope, Mrs. Conyers," Captain Davenant said, as they landed, "that Mr. Conyers may accompany the first body of troops who arrive, for if not, I fear they will set fire to the Hall. They must have lost considerably over fifty men, and in their rage at finding no one on whom to wreak their vengeance, they will make no inquiry as to whom the house belongs. Indeed, they will find no one there to ask. The servants of the house had already fled, and I sent my boy's servant, Larry, round to the stables to tell the men there to ride away with the horses. They will accompany fifteen of my men, who mounted as many of the horses we captured, and are driving the rest to a ford some miles away. They are a valuable capture, and altogether, as far as we are concerned, we have made a good night's work of it."

"But I do not understand now," Mrs. Conyers said, "how it was that you came across just in time. How did you know that we were in such trouble? Because I am sure you would not have come across to attack the soldiers in our house, without some special reason?"

"No, indeed, madam, I certainly should not have made your house a battlefield. The fact is, our fortunate arrival is due entirely to my son. He made all the arrangements, without my knowing anything about it. He sent over his boy to one of your lads in the stable, and arranged that, if there should be any trouble in the house in the absence of Mr. Conyers, he should run down and signal across the river. Your daughter's maid was to let the boy know what was going on within. It was not till he had the whole business in train, that Walter told me anything about it. As it was his plan and not mine, and I could see he was extremely anxious about it, I left the matter in his hands, and authorized him to lead the first party across whenever the signal was made, night or day. Our boats would only carry twenty-five men, and four of these had to return with them. As Walter would have but a quarter of our force with him, I ordered him, in case the signal was made and he crossed, not to attack until I joined him, unless the necessity seemed very urgent. I suppose he considered it was so, for he would hardly have fallen upon some eighty or ninety troopers, unless he had deemed it most urgent."

"Thank God he did so!" Mrs. Conyers said, "for we owe him our lives, and more. I cannot tell you all now. It is too horrible to think of. But I shall never forget the thankfulness and joy I felt, when suddenly I heard the noise of shouts and firing, and the men who were trying to tear my child from my arms suddenly desisted and, rushing out of the room, left us alone. I fainted then, and knew nothing more till I heard, in a confused way, the sound of shouting and conflict, and Claire was bending over me, telling me that your son was holding the stairs against the Germans, and that he was expecting help to arrive every moment.

"Where is he? I long to see him, and give him my thanks and blessing."

"He is in that cottage yonder, which is at present our quarters," Captain Davenant said. "I told them to send off a trooper to Limerick, for a doctor, as soon as they got across."

"But you assured me his wound was not dangerous," Mrs. Conyers said anxiously.

"No, I am sure it is not. It is a severe wound, but not likely to have serious consequences. But I fear that some of the men are in a far worse condition."

"I shall install myself as head nurse," Mrs. Conyers said, decidedly. "We owe so much to you all, that that is the least I can do."

"Very well, Mrs. Conyers. Then I appoint you head of the hospital. I will have the four seriously wounded men moved into the cottage next to mine. You will be able to obtain plenty of assistance among the women of the village. O'Moore and I will move into other quarters, and leave the cottage to you and your daughter. Your servants can have the cottage on the other side."

They had now reached the door.

"I will just go in and see him first," Captain Davenant said.

Larry was sitting by Walter's couch.

"Well, Walter, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I am all right now," Walter said, "since Larry brought me word that the boats have brought everyone across safely. I was anxious before, you know."

"How does your shoulder feel?"

"It throbs a bit, father; but that is no odds."

"Mrs. Conyers is coming in to see you. She is going to establish herself here, and O'Moore and I are moving out. She is going, for the present, to be head nurse."

"That will be nice," Walter said; "but I sha'n't want much nursing."

"I don't know, Walter. A downright cut with a heavy cavalry sword is not a light matter, even when it falls on the shoulder instead of the head. But you had better not talk much now, but, when you have seen Mrs. Conyers, try and get off to sleep.

"Larry, do you see to moving our things out, at once."

So saying, Captain Davenant left the room, and a minute later Mrs. Conyers came in. She took the left hand that Walter held out to her.

"God bless you, my boy!" she said, softly. "I shall never forget what Claire and I owe to you. All my life I shall be your grateful debtor, and some day I hope that my husband will be able to thank you for what you did for us.

"And now," she went on, in a lighter tone, "I am going to be your nurse, and my first order is that you lie quite quiet, and try to get to sleep. I will make you some barley water, and put it by your bedside. That is all I can do for you, till the surgeon comes to examine your wound. Claire wanted to come in to thank you herself, but the child has gone through enough for one night, so I have sent her straight to bed. I do not want her on my hands, too."

A few minutes later Larry, having established the two officers in another cottage, returned and took his place by Walter's bedside, while Mrs. Conyers went out to see to the comfort of the other wounded. Half an hour later, a surgeon arrived from Limerick. Two of the cases were pronounced at once to be hopeless, the other two he thought might recover. Walter's wound he said was a severe one, but in no way dangerous. The sword had probably glanced off something as it descended, so that the edge had not fallen straight on the shoulder bone. It had, however, nearly taken off the arm. Had it fallen truly, it would probably have been fatal.

After he had attended to the more serious cases, he dressed the wounds of the other men, several of which were quite as severe as that of Walter, although they had not incapacitated the men from making their way down to the boats.

Captain Davenant had kept a watch towards the Hall. And as, in an hour after they had crossed, no sheet of flame was seen arising thence, he was able to tell Mrs. Conyers that he thought that it was safe, and that either Mr. Conyers himself must have accompanied the troops, who would by this time have unquestionably arrived there, or that some officer, aware that the owner of the house was a friend, and with sufficient authority over the men to prevent its destruction, must be in command.

In the morning, he had a long talk with her. He suggested that she and her daughter should accompany him into Limerick, and be sent, with a flag of truce, across the bridge to join her husband in William's camp. This, however, she positively declined to accede to.

"In the first place," she said, "I consider that it is my duty to nurse the men who suffered for our sake. In the next place, after what we went through last night, I refuse absolutely to place myself and my daughter in the hands of the ruffians who disgrace the cause of William. Hitherto, as a Protestant, I have been an adherent of that cause, as has my husband. Henceforth, I am an Irishwoman, and as such abhor a cause which can employ such instruments, and inflict such atrocities upon Ireland. I will write a letter to my husband, telling him exactly what has happened, and how we have been preserved, and say that nothing will induce me to trust myself and Claire among William's troops, but that I shall remain on this side of the Shannon. If, as I trust will not be the case, the English force their way across the river, I shall make for Galway, and thence take ship to England, where we can join him. I intend to remain here as long as I can be useful as a nurse, and I shall then retire, with Claire, to Galway, where I have some relations, with whom I can stay until matters are decided."

Mrs. Conyers at once wrote the letter, which Captain Davenant carried himself into Limerick, as he was going in to report the occurrences of the preceding night. The governor immediately sent the letter across, with a flag of truce. General Sarsfield, who was in command of the cavalry, expressed himself highly pleased with the result of the raid across the Shannon, and appointed three officers to raise another troop of horse with the captured animals, which had arrived before morning at Ballygan, and to place themselves under Captain Davenant's command.

"Your son must be a lad after your own heart," he said to Captain Davenant. "It was indeed a most gallant action, thus, with twenty-five dismounted men only, to attack a strong troop of Hessians. I hope that, as soon as he is well enough to mount a horse again, you will introduce him to me. Keep your troop in readiness for a move, for I mean to beat them up before long."

"Can't I see Walter today, mamma?" Claire asked, after Captain Davenant had ridden off. "It seems so unkind, my being in the house with him, and not going in to tell him how sorry I am that he was wounded."

"Not today, Claire. He is very flushed and feverish this morning, and I must not have him excited at all."

"But I would not excite him, mother. I would only go in and speak to him quietly."

"Even that would excite him, my dear. I will tell him that you want to come in and see him; but that I think you had better not do so, for a day or two."

But even without the excitement of Claire's presence, Walter became more feverish, and by evening was talking wildly. The excitement and anxiety he had gone through were as much responsible for this as the wound, and by midnight he knew no one. The surgeon, who came over in the evening, ordered cloths constantly soaked with fresh water to be placed round his head, and that he should be given, whenever he desired it, barley water sharpened by apples boiled in it.

Mrs. Conyers and Larry sat, one on each side of his couch, and once or twice, when he was lying quiet, Claire was allowed to steal in and look at him; but at other times Mrs. Conyers kept her out of the room, for, in his feverish talk, Walter was constantly mentioning her name, and telling her he would come to her.

Mrs. Conyers was troubled and perplexed in her mind. Regarding Claire as a child, and Walter as a lad of eighteen, the thought that any serious consequence would arise from their intercourse at the Hall had not occurred to her; but now she could not doubt that, on Walter's part, at least, a serious attachment for her daughter had sprung up, and Claire's face and manner told her a similar story. She was but sixteen, but, having been her mother's companion and friend, she was older than many girls of the same age. Mrs. Conyers would rather that it had not been so, for she foresaw much sorrow for Claire. She had thought that her daughter, as a wealthy heiress, would some day make a good match, and Walter, whose fortune, in any case, would be but a small one—for she knew that his father's estates had passed from the family—was a soldier on the side she believed would be the losing one. Still, she felt that he had earned a right to Claire, and resolved that, come what would, if it turned out that Claire's affections were really given to the lad, she should have her support and championship with her father.

For two days the fever continued, and then the care of his watchers prevailed, and Walter sank into a quiet sleep, from which he awoke sensible and refreshed.

An answer had been received from Mr. Conyers, on the same afternoon that his wife's letter was sent to him. He had been in council with the king, when an officer came in with the news that some Hessians had ridden in, saying that the troop to which they belonged had ridden out to a large house, two miles beyond the spot at which the regiment was quartered, and had there been attacked by a body of Irish troops, who had killed all their officers, and three-quarters of the troop.

"Knowing where the regiment was quartered, it at once struck me that the house might be our own, and, on the trooper being brought in, I found that it was so, and obtained permission from the king to accompany the regiment of Danish horse, who were at once sent out. The king gave stringent orders to the officer in command that the house was to be respected, and a guard was to be placed there to protect it from marauders. You can imagine my anxiety, as I rode out, and how it was increased when I found the place absolutely deserted. From the trooper whom we took with us, we learned something of what had taken place. He had been in the garden, but the officers and nearly half the troopers were in the house. Suddenly, the sounds of a conflict were heard within. Then many of his comrades jumped from the windows, and, as they reported the number of the assailants was not large, an attack was made upon the house. After considerable loss, an entrance was effected, and they were gradually overcoming the defenders, when they were attacked in the rear by a fresh body of the enemy, and only a few of them managed to make their escape.

"The appearance of the house fully corroborated his story. The inside was piled with dead, who were found scattered all over the house. Among them were a few men in the uniform of one of the Irish cavalry regiments. This was some alleviation to my terrible anxiety. Had the assailants been a body of peasants, I should have feared that they had wreaked on you and Claire the hatred which they feel, I own not unjustly, towards the king's foreign troops. As they were regular soldiers, I had hopes that they had only carried you off as hostages.

"One of the female servants was found below, killed. No pursuit was possible, as we could find no one of whom to inquire by which way the enemy retreated; but, in the morning, we found that the horses of the Hessians had been ridden to a spot some miles up the river, where they had swam or forded the stream. There was a strong party of the enemy on the opposite side. My anxiety was terrible, till I received your letter, and you may imagine how great a shock it was to me to learn the frightful scene through which you had passed, and how my sentiments changed towards those whom I had regarded as your abductors, but whom I now learn were your saviours.

"I have read that portion of your letter to the king, who is furious at the evil conduct of his troops. He has, all along, done everything in his power to repress it; but when not under his immediate eye, it seems as if all discipline was lost, and the troops behaved rather as a horde of savages than as soldiers. After what had happened, I cannot blame you for the opinion you express in your letter, or for your determination not to trust yourself and Claire in this camp, although I am sure that the king would send a detachment of his own Dutch guards with you to Dublin. I trust that you will, as soon as the work you have undertaken is over, go to our cousins at Galway, and take ship without delay to England, where I will at once join you, when I hear of your arrival there.

"Please express to Captain Davenant and his son the extreme obligation under which I feel towards them, and assure them that I look forward to the time when this unfortunate struggle shall be at an end, and I can meet them and thank them personally. It will be a satisfaction to you to be able to inform them that I have, this morning, obtained from the king a peremptory order on the commission in Dublin, to stay all proceedings in the matter of Captain Davenant's estate near Bray, which was on the list of confiscated properties. I am forwarding this by one of the royal messengers, who leaves with despatches today, and, when I visit Dublin, I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on Mrs. Davenant, and of setting her mind at ease."

While Walter had been at his worst, his father had been away for only a few hours. After his interview with Sarsfield in Limerick, a messenger arrived from that general, ordering Captain Davenant to bring his troop into the city at once. It was four in the afternoon when he arrived, and he at once went to General Sarsfield's quarters.

"Let the men dismount, Captain Davenant, and let them and the horses feed. We have a long ride before us tonight. I have just heard that William's siege artillery is coming up, under a weak escort, and I mean to get round in the Dutchman's rear and destroy it. He shall find that Limerick is not to be taken as easily as he expects.

"He has had a disagreeable sample of our quality today. A deserter brought in news of the exact position of his tent, and our artillery have been giving him such a peppering that, from the church tower, we see that he has been obliged to move his camp."

As soon as it was night, four hundred cavalry were in the saddle. Sarsfield placed himself at their head, and rode twelve miles up the Shannon to Killaloe. Crossing the river there, he made a wide sweep with his cavalry, until he was in the heart of the Tipperary mountains, in rear of William's camp.

Quietly as the expedition had been carried out, it was impossible that so large a body of horse should ride through the country unperceived, and a gentleman of county Clare, named O'Brian, thinking that he would gain honour and advantage by reporting their passage to William, set out for the British camp. Being unknown there, he was a long time before he could get access to the king. The officers to whom he spoke paid little attention to his story about a body of Irish horse passing through the country, and were much more interested in gaining information from him as to the state of the stock of cattle, sheep, and pigs in his part of the county; for, owing to the terror excited by the conduct of William's soldiers, the people for many miles round had driven off their stock and left the villages, and provisions were already becoming scarce in the camp.

At length, however, one of those to whom he had spoken mentioned his story to the king, who at once sent for him, and saw the importance of the news he brought. O'Brian himself had no idea of the object of Sarsfield's expedition, but the king instantly guessed that it was the siege train. He therefore ordered a large body of cavalry to be immediately despatched to meet the artillery on its way, and protect it into camp.

All day, Sarsfield remained in concealment among the mountains, until, towards evening, the train came in sight, moving slowly with its escort of two troops of dragoons along the high road. He watched it until it halted, and encamped for the night, in a field beside the highway. He waited until the horses were picketed, and the men engaged in making their encampment for the night. Then the Irish cavalry burst down from the glen in which they had been hiding. The officer in command sounded to horse, but it was too late; before the men were in the saddle, the Irish were upon them, and in a moment the two troops of dragoons were dispersed or killed.

Sarsfield's men at once set to, to collect the powder waggons, pontoons, and baggage of every description. The great guns were filled with powder to the muzzle, and then buried two-thirds of their length in the earth. The whole mass of siege equipage was piled above them, and a train of gunpowder was laid to the store in the centre. The men then drew off to a distance. A match was applied to the train, and the whole blew up with a tremendous explosion.

The shock was heard in the faraway camp of William, and he knew that his cavalry had arrived too late to avert the catastrophe he feared. They had, indeed, just arrived within sight of the spot when the explosion took place. They rode on at full speed, only to find the vast pile of ruined woodwork blazing furiously. The Irish cavalry was seen in the distance, leisurely retiring; but, although the English pursued for a short time, the Irish easily evaded them in the darkness among the hills. The whole of William's cavalry in camp were sent out, when the explosion was felt, to endeavour to cut off the Irish horse; but Sarsfield was well acquainted with the ground, and retired with his troops safely across the Shannon, having struck a terrible blow against the designs of William.

The king, however, found that, in spite of the measures Sarsfield had taken, two of the guns remained uninjured by the explosion. These were brought to the camp, and another heavy gun was fetched from Waterford, together with a small quantity of ammunition. The regiments were at once set to manufacture fascines for the siege, and this work proceeded quickly, the orchards and plantations furnishing an abundance of wood. The fascines were used for filling up ditches, and the advances against the town were pushed forward with vigour.

But the besiegers were not allowed to carry on their work unmolested, for a constant fire was kept up by the guns on the walls, and the besieged made several sorties, driving back the working parties, destroying their work, and retiring before any considerable bodies of troops could be brought up to attack them. The three heavy guns were, however, brought into position at a short distance from the wall, and began to play upon it.

The dissensions between the Irish commanders still continued, and, beyond Sarsfield's raid against the battering train, nothing was done to annoy the enemy in the rear, although, had any vigour been shown, the Irish army lying idle west of the Shannon could have moved across, and speedily starved out William's army by cutting off all supplies. Even as it was, provisions could only be collected by sending out strong bodies of troops to plunder the country; for the peasantry had been goaded into fury by the evil conduct of the troops, and were now in a state of insurrection, cutting off and murdering all stragglers, and driving in small parties.

William had good reason to regret that he had brought with him so small a contingent of British troops, owing to his doubts whether they could be depended upon, and his poor opinion of their bravery; for, since the days of Agincourt, English troops had been seldom seen on the Continent, and were consequently held but in small esteem there. He had with him now a regiment of English grenadiers, and a few line regiments, but the bulk of the army was composed of his Dutch troops and foreign mercenaries. The latter had shown, at the battle of the Boyne, that their courage was not of a high order, while their excesses had not only produced a bitter feeling of hatred against them throughout the country, but had done immense harm to the cause, by rendering it next to impossible to obtain provisions.

Walter's progress towards recovery, from the day when he recovered consciousness, was very rapid. The fever, though severe, had been short, and he gained strength almost as rapidly as he had lost it. The morning after he had come to himself, Mrs. Conyers brought Claire in to see him.

"Here is a young lady who is very anxious to see how you are getting on, Walter," she said cheerfully; "and, now you are going on so well, I shall hand you over a good deal to her care, as some of the others want my attention badly. You must not talk much, you know, else we shall be having you getting feverish again."

So saying, she left the room.

Claire had stopped timidly near the door. The change which four days had made in Walter's appearance shocked her, and she scarcely recognized, in the pale drawn face, the youth who had burst in, sword in hand, to her rescue on that terrible evening. The tears were running fast down her cheeks, as she approached the couch.

"Why, what is the matter, Claire?" he asked. "You must not cry. I am all right again now, and in a week shall be on horseback, I hope."

"Oh, Walter, what can I say?" she said. "To think that you should have suffered so, for us!"

"There is nothing dreadful about it," he said, smiling. "A soldier must expect to get wounded, sometimes, and a slash from a German sword is not a serious matter. I am only too glad that I got it in your cause, Claire—only too glad that I was able to be of service to you—and your mother," he added in afterthought. "It makes me very happy, to think I have been useful to you, only I would rather that you didn't say anything more about it. I am quite content and happy, as it is, and, if it had been my life, I would have gladly given it."

"I won't say any more, if you don't wish it," Claire said quietly, "but I shall think of it, always.

"And now," she said, with an effort, "mamma said you were not to talk much, and you look quite flushed already, so you must lie quiet, and I will read to you, or work, if you like that better."

"I don't care which it is," Walter said, "so that I can look at you;" and this time Claire's cheeks were a good deal redder than Walter's.

Mrs. Conyers returned in half an hour, and found Claire sitting working, while Walter lay looking at her.

"I think, Claire, you had better take your work in the next room again," she said. "Walter looks flushed, and I don't think your visit has done him any good. You have been talking too much."

"It has done me an immense deal of good, Mrs. Conyers," Walter protested; while Claire exclaimed that they had hardly spoken a word, which indeed was the truth, for Walter had been feeling too dreamily happy to want to talk, and Claire had felt so shy and embarrassed, with Walter watching her, that she had been unable to hit on a single subject for remark.

Another two days, and Walter was well enough to get up and lie on a couch of heather, covered with the blanket, which Larry had prepared for him in the next room. His voice had recovered its natural ring, and Claire had got over her unaccustomed shyness; and Mrs. Conyers, as she moved in and out, heard them laughing and chatting together, as they had done ten days before at the Hall.



Chapter 11: The First Siege Of Limerick.

The three heavy guns thundered against the walls without intermission, night and day, until at length a breach was made. The garrison in vain attempted to repair it, and every hour it grew larger, until there was a yawning gap, twelve yards wide. This William considered sufficient for the purpose, and made his preparations for the assault. The English regiment of grenadiers, six hundred strong, was ordered to take its place in the advanced trenches, and to lead the assault. It was supported on the right by the Dutch Guards, with some British and Brandenburg regiments in reserve.

On the left, the grenadiers were supported by the Danish regiments, and a large body of cavalry were held in readiness, to pour in behind the infantry. The storming parties were under command of Lieutenant General Douglas.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the signal for the assault was given by a discharge of three pieces of cannon. As the last gun was fired, the grenadiers leaped from the trenches and dashed forward towards the breach. As they approached the wall, they discharged their muskets at the enemy upon the walls, and, before assaulting the breach, they hurled a shower of hand grenades at its defenders.

The preparations for the assault had been observed by the Irish, and they were in readiness to receive it. The news had spread through the town, and the excitement among the whole population was intense. The guns on the walls ceased firing, in order that all might be ready to pour in their shower of balls, when the assault commenced. The fire from the batteries of the besiegers had also died away, and a silence, which seemed strange after the constant din of the preceding days, hung over the camp and city.

No sooner had the grenadiers leaped from the trenches, than the guns on the walls, and the musketry of the defenders, poured their fire upon them; while all the batteries of the besiegers opened, at the same moment, to cover the assault. Through the hail of fire the grenadiers kept on without faltering, and, as they neared the breach, the Irish rushed out through the opening to meet them. There was a desperate struggle, half hidden from the eyes of those on the walls by the cloud of smoke and dust, which arose from the combatants; but the grenadiers, fighting with the greatest gallantry, won their way to the counter-scarp, and half the regiment forced its way through the breach and entered the town. But the Irish troops, clustered behind the wall, then closed in again, and barred the breach to those following.

The Dutch and English regiments were marched up, to aid the rest of the grenadiers to cut their way in after their comrades; but these troops were unable to imitate the valour of the grenadiers. They got as far as the counter-scarp; but the fire from the walls was so deadly, that they could not be prevailed upon to advance. The rain of fire mowed them down. Their officers urged them on, and, unwilling to retreat and incapable of advancing, they were shot down in scores.

Presently there was a sudden movement among the Irish defenders on the breach, and a few of the grenadiers who had entered the city burst their way through them, and rejoined their comrades. No sooner had they entered the city, than they found themselves assailed on all sides. The Irish troops and the citizens attacked them with fury, and even the women, animated by the deadly hate which the deeds of William's soldiers had excited, hurled missiles upon them from the windows, and even joined in the attacks upon them in the streets.

The grenadiers resisted obstinately, but they were gradually overpowered by numbers, until at last a few survivors, gathering together, burst through their assailants, and succeeded in making their retreat. For nearly three hours this furious conflict had raged within the city. Regiment after regiment had been marched up to the assault, but none had proved brave enough to fight their way up the counter-scarp to the aid of the hard-pressed grenadiers in the town.

When the little remnant of the grenadiers rejoined them, they continued, for a time, to keep up a constant fire upon the defenders on the walls, but at last slowly and sullenly fell back to their camp.

In the meantime, a regiment of Brandenburghers had attacked the wall of the battery known as the Black Battery, whose fire was doing great execution upon the assailants. They had brought scaling ladders with them, and with these they succeeded, fighting with great bravery and determination, in gaining the walls. The whole regiment poured in; but, just as they did so, the Irish fired the powder magazine that supplied the battery, and the whole battalion was destroyed.

William, from his position on a fort known as Cromwell's Fort, watched the struggle. Had he acted as Cromwell did, at the siege of Drogheda, when, after his troops had been twice repulsed at the breach, he placed himself at their head and led them to the assault, the result might not have been the same; for the regiments, which refused to follow their officers up the counter-scarp, might have followed the king; but William, although he had often proved the possession of no ordinary courage, and coolness in danger, had not that species of courage which prompts a man to throw himself forward to lead a forlorn hope. Moreover, both as a general-in-chief and king, his place was not at the head of an assault.

The assailants lost more than two thousand men, and these the flower of William's army. The surprise of the troops, at their defeat by an enemy they had been taught to despise, was extreme, and so ashamed were they of their failure, that the following day they were ready to renew the assault. The king, however, would not risk another such defeat. The bravest of his force had perished, his stores of ammunition were nearly exhausted, and the rains had set in with great violence.

On the day following the assault, the king called a council of war, and it was resolved to raise the siege. There was a great scarcity of waggons and horses, in consequence of the loss sustained by Sarsfield's attack on the train. The few waggons which remained were not enough to convey the wounded men, many of whom were obliged to walk. The stores had, therefore, to be abandoned for want of transport. Some were thrown into the river, others blown up and destroyed, and, on Saturday the 30th of August, the army commenced its retreat.

It was accompanied by a great host of fugitives, for with the army went the whole of the Protestant inhabitants of the county of Limerick and the surrounding country, with their wives, children, servants, and such household goods as they could bring with them. In addition to these were the Protestant fugitives from the neighbourhood of Athlone, who had come down with the division of General Douglas, after he had raised the siege of that city.

The Protestants round Limerick had not doubted the success of the besiegers, never questioning the ability of an army, commanded by a king, to capture a place like Limerick. The misery of this body of fugitives was terrible. They had abandoned their homes to pillage and destruction, and knew not whether they should ever be able to return to them again. They had, on the arrival of William, torn up the letters of protection, which the Irish generals had given to all who applied to them, and, having thrown in their fortunes with him, dared not remain among the country people, who had suffered so terribly from the exactions and brutality of William's army. Not only had they to endure wet, hunger, and fatigue in the retreat, but they were robbed and plundered, by the army which should have protected them, as if they had been enemies instead of friends.

William himself left his army, as soon as he broke up the siege, and pushed straight on to Waterford, and the troops, relieved from the only authority they feared, and rendered furious by the ill success which had attended their operations, broke out into acts of plunder and insubordination which surpassed anything that they had before perpetrated.

The siege of Limerick brought the campaign to a close, and, so far, the Irish had no reason to be disheartened. They had besieged and nearly annihilated the army of Schomberg at Dundalk. They had fought a sturdy battle on the Boyne, and had proved themselves a match for William's best troops. They had decisively repulsed the attacks upon Athlone and Limerick. Half the troops William had sent to conquer the country had fallen, while their own losses had been comparatively small.

The sole fruit, of all the efforts of William, had been the occupation of the capital—a great advantage, as it gave him a point at which he could pour fresh troops into Ireland, and recommence the war in the spring with new chances of success. When the British army reached Callan, some of the arrears of pay were distributed among the troops, and the army was then broken up, and the troops went into winter quarters.

William had returned at once to England, and sent over some new lords justices to Dublin. These were received with delight by the townspeople, who had suffered terribly from the exactions and depredations of the foreign troops quartered there, and were, indeed, almost in a state of starvation, for the country people were afraid to bring in provisions for sale, as they were either plundered of the goods as they approached the city, or robbed of their money as they returned after disposing of them. As the only possible check to these disorders, the justices raised a body of militia in the town, to cope with the soldiery, and the result was a series of frays which kept the city in a state of alarm.

By the time that Limerick beat off the assault upon its breach, Walter Davenant was quite convalescent. Rumours of the ill treatment of the Protestants who accompanied the retreating army circulated in Limerick, and Mrs. Conyers congratulated herself warmly that she and her daughter were safe under the protection of the Irish troops, instead of being in the sad column of fugitives.

As soon as the English army had left, Captain Davenant obtained for her an order of protection from General Sarsfield, and she returned for a while with her daughter to their house, to which the invalids were carried, Captain Davenant's troop being again quartered around it.

"I hardly know what is best to do," she said to Captain Davenant, a few days after her return. "I am, of course, anxious to rejoin my husband, but at the same time, I feel that my staying here is of benefit to him. With the order of protection I have received, I am perfectly safe here, and I have no fear whatever of any trouble, either with the troops or peasantry; but, on the other hand, if we abandon this place, I fear that it will be pillaged, and perhaps burned, like the other houses belonging to Protestants which have been deserted by their owners. What do you say, Captain Davenant?"

"I should be sorry to give any advice, Mrs. Conyers. For the troops I can answer. The protection you have received from General Sarsfield will be sufficient to ensure you against any trouble whatever from them, but, as to the peasantry, I cannot say. Every village within reach of William's army, in its advance or retreat, has been destroyed, and the vilest atrocities have been committed upon the people. The greater part of the men have, in despair, taken up arms, and, when they get the chance, will avenge their wrongs upon inoffensive Protestants who have ventured to remain in their dwellings. Savagery has begot savagery, and even such a protection order as you have received would go for little with these half-maddened wretches. I should say, therefore, that so long as there are a considerable body of troops at Limerick, so long you may safely remain here, but no longer."

"At any rate, I will stay for a time," Mrs. Conyers said. "The winter may bring peace; and I am very loath to abandon the house, to which my husband is greatly attached, if it is possible to save it."

The party now fell back to the mode of life which had been interrupted by the advance of William's army. Captain Davenant drilled his men, and spent his evenings pleasantly in the house. Walter had so far recovered that he was able to stroll through the grounds, or drive with Claire. The troopers enjoyed their rest and abundance of rations. Captain Davenant's mind had been set at ease by the receipt of a letter, which Mrs. Davenant had sent him by one of the men of the village. It told him that she had seen Mr. Conyers, who had obtained a stay of all proceedings against the property, and that she was well, and in as good spirits as she could be in his absence.

A month after they had moved across the river, their quiet life was interrupted by a trooper riding up, just as the party was sitting down to dinner, with an order from General Sarsfield for the troops to be in readiness to march, at daybreak, to form part of a force which was about to undertake an enterprise against the English stationed at Birr. There was silence at the table, after Captain Davenant had read the order.

"Then you must leave us?" Mrs. Conyers said at last.

"I am afraid so, Mrs. Conyers. Yes, sorry as I am that our pleasant time here must come to an end, there is no questioning the order. I have been, in fact, expecting it for the last day or two."

"Then I shall move," Mrs. Conyers said, decidedly. "It will take us a day or two to pack up such valuables as I should like to take away and leave at Limerick, till the return of happier days. When that is accomplished, I shall carry out my intention of making for Galway, and leave the house to take care of itself."

"In the meantime, madam," Captain Davenant said, "I will leave my son and four of the men, who are now convalescent, as a protection. I fancy they are all fit to take the saddle, but I can strain a point a little, and leave them still on the sick list."

"Thank you very much, indeed," Mrs. Conyers said, while a glance of satisfaction passed between Walter and Claire. "That will be a satisfaction. Indeed, I shall feel quite safe, so long as your son is here. I wish now I had moved the things before; but I had hoped that you would have been allowed to remain in quarters here all the winter. Had it not been for that, I should never have decided as I did."

The next morning the troop started.

"The place seems strangely quiet," Walter said, as he strolled out into the garden with Claire, after breakfast. "It seems terrible to think that, in three or four days, it will be deserted altogether, and that you will have gone."

"It is horrid," the girl said, with tears gathering in her eyes. "I hate King William and King James both," she went on petulantly. "Why can't they fight their quarrel out alone, instead of troubling everyone else? I don't know which of them I hate the most."

"But there is a compensation," Walter said with a smile.

"I am sure I don't see any compensation," the girl said. "What do you mean, Walter?"

"I mean," Walter said, "that if they had not quarrelled, we might never have met."

"There is something in that," Claire said softly. "No; I don't know that I ought quite to hate them, after all."

By which it will be seen that Walter Davenant and Claire Conyers had already arrived at a thorough understanding, as to their feelings towards each other. After this, as was natural between young persons so situated, their talk wandered away into the future, and the present was already forgotten.

In the house, everyone was at work. Mrs. Conyers' servants had all returned, when she came back to the house, and these were now busy, with the assistance of Larry and the four troopers left behind, in taking down and packing pictures, taking up carpets, and getting furniture ready for removal. In the afternoon, Walter assisted in the work of packing. As he was dressing for dinner, Larry, as usual, came into his room.

"I suppose, your honour," he said, after putting out Walter's clothes, "you will be setting a watch tonight?"

"Yes, Larry, I was intending to do so. You don't think there is any special occasion for it, do you?"

"I don't know, your honour. We hear tales of the rapparees burning every Protestant house in the district. As long as the troop was here, av coorse the boys kept away; but there is a powerful lot of plunder in the house, and the news that the troop have gone will go through the country quick enough. The boys have had enough to turn them into devils, with what they have gone through, and small blame to them if they take their chances when they find them. We know, yer honour, that Mrs. Conyers and Miss Claire are well-nigh angels, and there is small fear that the people around will lift a finger agin them, in spite of having had their own homes burnt over their heads; but folks from a distance don't know that, and the news that there is a rich Protestant house, all ready for sacking, will travel quick. I hope your honour will get the ladies to move out of the place tomorrow, whether the ould pictures and things are all ready or not."

"Do you think it is as serious as that, Larry?"

"Faith and I do, yer honour. You don't know how bitter the folks are!"

"But there cannot be any danger, Larry, as long as we are here. The rapparees would never attack a house which has the general's protection, and with an officer and some troopers of the king to guard it."

"It's meself would not answer for them," Larry said, shaking his head. "The boys are just disperate, and would care nothing for the protection, unless there were force to back it. They think that, as all the Catholics have been robbed by the Protestants, it's only fair that they should get their turn now; and, if I were your honour, I would lay all my plans out tonight, how to get away and the rest of it, just as if you were assured they would come before the morning."

"Why, you have heard nothing certain, Larry?"

"I have not, or I would tell your honour at once; but I know what the people think and feel, and I know that the rapparees have been plundering and destroying every Protestant house around, and they will guess that the ladies will be moving, now that the troop is gone. Besides, won't they have heard that the news has gone round, for waggons to come to take away the things?"

The earnestness with which Larry spoke convinced Walter that the danger was serious. Larry was not given to magnify danger, and usually treated all risks with carelessness and indifference. Walter knew that he would gather, from the stablemen and the people who brought in provisions, much more as to the state of popular feeling in the country than he was likely to know, and he accordingly went down to dinner grave and preoccupied.

Mrs. Conyers soon noticed the change in his manner, and, as soon as the servants had retired, asked him if he had received any bad news.

"No," he said, trying to speak lightly. "My boy Larry has been trying to scare me about the rapparees, and, although I do not think that there is any danger to be apprehended from them, I do think that it would be just as well to hurry on your preparations, as much as possible, and for you and Claire to go in to Limerick tomorrow afternoon. We can finish the packing up of the goods you wish to take, and any we cannot get off tomorrow can be sent in the next day."

Mrs. Conyers looked grave.

"But we have heard of no rapparees in this neighbourhood, Walter," she said. "We have heard of sad excesses in some parts of the country, but nothing in this neighbourhood."

"There has been small temptation for them about here," Walter said, "for every house within miles was stripped by the Williamites. Catholic or Protestant was all the same to them. Besides, they knew well that Sarsfield's horse would soon have put a stop to that sort of thing. Now, I do not wish to alarm you in the slightest, and I do not think that there is any real cause for anxiety. Even if they are in the neighbourhood, the rapparees will hardly venture an attack upon a house occupied by even a few of our troops. Still, it is always wisest to be prepared, and therefore, I should like for us to arrange exactly what had best be done in the event of an attack. Of course, I shall see that all the doors and the lower windows are securely fastened, and I shall have the men from the stables into the house, so we shall be nine or ten men in all; enough, I hope, for all circumstances. Still, merely as a matter of discussion, let us suppose the worst. Let us imagine the house surrounded, the doors burst in, and the resistance on the point of being overpowered. What would be our best plan for making our escape?

"Do not be frightened, Claire," he went on, seeing how pale the girl had become. "Every general, when he is going to fight a battle, however sure he may be of success, decides upon the route by which his army shall retreat, in case of a defeat, and I am only taking the same precaution."

"If there is to be a retreat made at all," Mrs. Conyers said, "I prefer that it should be made now. Do you really think that there is any real danger of attack?"

"I think that there is danger of attack, Mrs. Conyers; but I have no reason for supposing that there is any particular danger this night."

"Then Claire and I will at once start for the town, under the escort of two of your men. It would be folly, indeed, to run the risk of another attack here. If the house is to be burned, it must be burned. For, if they were beaten off once, they would come again when the house was undefended. As for the things, should all be quiet tonight, they can be sent in tomorrow as arranged. The things that are to go are all got together."

"I do think that the best way," Walter said. "Of course, I shall ride in with you, and hand you over to the friends you are going to, in the town, and shall then come back here again with a light heart. But I own that I am nervous at the thought of you and Claire being here, should the rapparees attack the house."

"But mind, Walter, there is to be no fighting. If they come tonight, I had rather that they took everything, than that you should risk your life in its defence. The silver and valuables we took across before are all safe in Limerick. As for the other things, they can go. Now, mind, we shall not leave unless we have your promise that, if a band of these men come tonight to sack the place, you and your men will offer no resistance."

"If they come in numbers which render successful resistance out of the question, I promise you that we will not draw a trigger, Mrs. Conyers."

"In that case I am satisfied, Walter. Against you and your men these peasants have no quarrel."

Walter at once called Larry.

"Larry, get my horse saddled, and tell Browning to saddle his. Place two pillions behind the saddles. Mrs. Conyers and her daughter are going to ride into Limerick at once."

"The Lord be praised!" Larry said piously. "That's the best news I have heard this many a day."

"And, Larry," Mrs. Conyers said, "tell the three boys in the stable to saddle the three best horses, and ride with us. If we lose everything else, we may as well retain them, for it would not be easy to buy others now."

In ten minutes, all was ready for a start. Walter and the trooper took their places in the saddles, chairs were brought out, and Mrs. Conyers and Claire mounted behind them. Walter had asked Mrs. Conyers to take her seat on the pillion on his horse, but she did not answer, and when Walter turned to see that she was comfortably placed behind him, he found that it was Claire who was seated there.

"Mamma told me to," the girl said. "I suppose she thought this was, perhaps, the last ride we should take together."

"For the present, Claire—you should say, for the present. I hope it will not be long before we are together again.

"And for good," he added, in a low voice.

Mrs. Conyers made no comment, when they dismounted and entered the house of a friend at Limerick, upon Claire's swollen eyes and flushed cheeks, but said "goodbye" lightly to Walter, thanked him for his escort, and said that she hoped to see him, with her household goods, on the following afternoon.

On leaving them, Walter went straight to the house where an officer of his acquaintance was quartered.

"Hullo, Davenant! I didn't expect to see you here at this time of the evening. I heard you were still laid up with your wound."

"That is an old affair now," Walter said. "I am not quite strong again, but there is little the matter now. I have come in to ask you if you will let me have five-and-twenty of your men. I have strong reason to believe that it is likely one of the bands of rapparees will make an attack on Mrs. Conyers' house tonight. The tenants have been asked to send in their waggons, tomorrow, to remove some of the furniture in here, and I think it probable they will try to take what they fancy, before it starts. I have brought Mrs. Conyers and her daughter into the town, but, as I have only four men, I cannot defend the house if it is attacked in any force. I wish you would let me have five-and-twenty men, and a sergeant, just for tonight. I will march them in with the baggage in the afternoon."

"Certainly I will," Captain Donovan said. "I need not disturb the colonel, at this time of the evening, but will take it on myself. There are just that number quartered in the storehouse, close to the gate. I will go down with you, at once, and turn them out and give them orders. It will be a good thing for the rapparees to have a lesson. They bring disgrace upon our cause by their doings."

In a few minutes the men, who had not retired to bed, were turned out.

"You have got a four-mile march before you, boys," Walter said, when they were drawn up; "but there will be a pint of good wine, and some supper for you, when you get there. So step out as briskly as you can."

After a cordial goodnight to Captain Donovan, Walter placed himself at the head of the infantry, and, in little over an hour, arrived at the house. He knocked loudly at the door. A minute later, Larry put his head out of the window above.

"Who is there? What do you want knocking at a peaceful house at this time of night? You had best go away, boys, for the house is chock full of soldiers. We are only waiting for orders to blow you to smithereens."

Walter burst into a laugh.

"Very well done, Larry. It is I, with some soldiers. So you needn't give orders to the men to fire."

Larry gave a cry of satisfaction, and ran down to open the door.

"It's glad I am to see you, Master Walter, entirely. I have been listening ever since you went, and, when I heard the tramp of feet, I made sure it was the boys."

"But I gave orders that there was to be no resistance, Larry."

"And I wasn't going to resist, your honour; but I thought I might just frighten them away."

"Now, Larry, get up a pint of wine for each of these good fellows, and what victuals you can find in the house. We need have no fear of an attack tonight."

When the soldiers had finished their supper, they lay down in the hall. Walter placed a sentry at a window, at each side of the house, and he then lay down on a sofa, for the ride to Limerick and back had greatly fatigued him, much to his surprise, for he had no idea how far his strength had been pulled down.

He was aroused, just as day was breaking, by a loud knocking at the door, and at the same moment a shot was fired from a window above. The soldiers had started to their feet, and seized their arms as he ran out and bade them follow him upstairs. He threw up a window.

"Who are you? And what do you want?"

"Never mind who we are," a voice replied. "We want the door opened, and you had best do it quick."

"Look here, my man," Walter said in a loud, steady voice, "there are thirty soldiers in this house, and, if I give the word, you will get such a volley among you, that half of you will never go home to tell about it, so I warn you to depart quietly."

"It's a lie," the man said. "If you are the officer, you have got only four men, and you know it. We want to do you no harm, and we don't want to harm the ladies; but what's in the house is ours—that's the law of William's troops, and we mean to act up to it."

A chorus of approbation rose from a throng of peasants gathered round the door. A few of them carried muskets, but the greater part were armed with rude pikes.

"Show yourselves at the windows, boys," Walter said to his men. "Level your muskets, but don't fire until I give the word."

It was light enough for those without to make out the threatening figures, which showed themselves at every window, and, with a cry of alarm, they ran back among the shrubs for shelter.

"Now you see," Walter said, "that I have spoken the truth. I have thirty soldiers here, and you know as well as I do what will come of it, if you attempt to break into this house.

"For shame, men! Your deeds bring disgrace on the king's cause, and on our religion. It is not because the scum who march with the Dutchman behave like brutal savages, that we should do the same. There's plenty of work for you, in fighting against the enemies of your country, instead of frightening women and pillaging houses. Return to your homes, or, better still, go and join the king's army, and fight like men for your homes and your religion."

He listened, but there was no answer. The rapparees knew they had no chance of breaking into the house, so defended, and, when Walter ceased, each man slunk away in the darkness.

The next morning, a number of waggons arrived, and Walter, with the aid of the soldiers, had the satisfaction of loading them with everything of any value in the house, and of escorting them without interruption to Limerick. Mrs. Conyers was filled with gratitude, when she heard the events of the night, and how narrowly she and her daughter had escaped another attack. One of the principal tenants had come in with his waggon, and he agreed to move into the house, with his wife and family, until she should return. Seeing that now everything worth taking had been removed, he thought there was little chance of any attempt to destroy the house.



Chapter 12: Winter Quarters.

Two or three days later, Captain Davenant returned to Limerick with his troop. He had stopped at the house on his way, and learned there of the move which had been made.

"Well, Walter, so you nearly had to defend Mrs. Conyers against odds, again," he said, as Walter joined him in the marketplace, where the troop was dismounting. "I have come here for a day, only, for we are on our way south. It is thought likely that the enemy's next move may be against Cork, so some of us are detached in that direction.

"To my mind," he went on, after he had seen the troop quartered, in some houses which formerly belonged to the Protestants, but were now used as barracks—"in my opinion, we are wasting precious time. We ought not to allow the enemy to go into winter quarters. Our best season is just coming on. We can stand the wet far better than they can, and we ought not to give them a moment's rest, but should keep our army together, and beat up one garrison after another; threaten the strongest places; compel them to keep constantly on the move; and, before the spring, completely wear out and exhaust those whom we cannot conquer. If England found that she had the whole work to begin over again, she would think twice before she went further.

"These petty German princes would not find their men so ready to embark in a quarrel, with which they have no concern, when they learned that all who had done so had laid their bones in the swamps of Ireland, and, without his mercenaries, William would find it hard to gather an army, for the English themselves have no heart whatever in the war. If we remain inactive all the winter, and enable them to retain their foothold everywhere, fresh reinforcements will arrive in the spring, and so, bit by bit, all Ireland will be won.

"It is disheartening in the extreme, after seeing the enemy retire, repulsed and utterly disheartened, from Athlone and Limerick, to allow them unmolested to rest and gather strength again. If we could but get rid of the French, there would be some hope for us. They have scarce fired a shot, since the war began, and yet they assume superiority over our generals. They thwart us at every turn. They not only refuse to combine in any action, but they prevent our doing so.

"Since the Boyne, our army has lain inactive and has done nothing, although they might have done everything. All Ireland was open to them, on the day when William, with all his forces, sat down here before Limerick. Why, they could have marched straight for Dublin and captured it, before William heard that they had crossed the Shannon. They might have cut off his supplies from Waterford. They might have starved him out in his camp here. They have had the game in their hands, and they have allowed it to slip altogether through their fingers. The only hope I have, now, is that before the spring the French will go. It is but too clear that Louis has no intention, whatever, of helping us in earnest. Had he chosen he could, any time during the last six months, have landed an army here, which would have decided the struggle. Instead of that, he has sent five thousand men, and had in return as many of our best soldiers; and the officers he sent seem to have been furnished with secret instructions, not only to do nothing themselves, but to prevent us from doing anything."

"Whom would you like to see in command, father?"

"I should not care much, Walter, so that it was one man. I had rather have any soldier you might take at random from our army, so that he possessed a fair share of common sense, than the chaos which now prevails; but, of course, the man whom we would rather have is Sarsfield. Whether he is a great general or not, we have no means of knowing, for he has never yet had the slightest opportunity of showing it; but I do not think, myself, that he has made the most of what chances he has had, save that one dash against the artillery convoy. He has done nothing; and, as the cavalry are under his command, and he could, if he chose, snap his fingers at the pretensions of the French and act independently, I think he might have done far more than he has done. Still, he is our most prominent leader, and he possesses the confidence of the Irish of all classes. If he were in supreme command there would, I am sure, be a complete change in our tactics. Instead of waiting everywhere to be attacked, we should take the offensive, and, even if we were unable to meet William's forces in pitched battles, and I believe that we are perfectly capable of doing so, we should be able to harass and exhaust them, to such a point that William would be only too glad to grant us any terms we might demand, to bring the war to an end."

After having dined, Captain Davenant went with Walter to call upon Mrs. Conyers. Hearing that he was about to march with his troop to Cork, Mrs. Conyers said:

"Oh, Captain Davenant, will you not take us under your protection there? I am afraid of travelling with Claire to Galway, in the present disturbed state of the country, and I should find it easier to take a passage to England from Cork than from Galway."

"You certainly would, Mrs. Conyers. There is no formal war between England and Ireland, and trading vessels still ply between Cork and Bristol. I agree with you that it would not be safe for two Protestant ladies to travel, without protection, from here to Galway, and I shall be only too glad for you to journey with us. Your daughter, I know, can ride any of the country ponies; and for yourself—"

"I can ride, too, if there is an occasion. One of our horses is perfectly quiet, and I have often ridden him by the side of Mr. Conyers, so there will be no difficulty on that score."

"In that case," Captain Davenant said, "consider the matter as arranged. Will you be ready to start tomorrow, early?"

"Certainly, Captain Davenant; I have no preparations to make. All our furniture—which, thanks to Walter, was saved—has been stowed away in the cellars of a warehouse here, and is safe unless William returns and batters the whole town to pieces. The silver and other valuables our friends here will take care of, till better times, so we have only to pack two valises and mount. The servants will all find situations here. My daughter's maid, Bridget, and two or three others have offered to accompany us to England, but we have decided to take no one. Directly we get to Bristol, I shall write to my husband, who has given me an address both in London and Dublin, so that he will doubtless join us in a very short time."

The party started the next morning, and reached Cork without adventure, as there were no English troops in that part of the country. Three days after their arrival, Mrs. Conyers took a passage for herself and Claire in a trader about to sail for Bristol. The evening before they sailed, Mrs. Conyers had a long talk with Captain Davenant, while the two young people had slipped off for a last walk together.