Gothic fiction; Ireland -- History -- Rebellion of 1798 -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Romans à clef
From Kelly Cross to Allenwater, the road passes through mountains
which, rough and craggy, exhibit a terrific grandeur. The inhabitants
in this part of the country are uncivilized and ferocious. Their
appearance strongly betokens oppression, poverty, and neglect. A herd
of goats may be seen browzing upon the tops of the broken cliffs; but
no other cattle, nor green herbage. A desolate cabin here and there;
inactivity, silence, and despondency, every where prevail. The night
was sultry, and the tired horse of Lord Avondale hung back to the
village he had left, and slowly ascended the craggy steep. When he
had attained the summit of the mountain, he paused to rest, exhausted
by the burning pain of his wound.
Lord Avondale then looked back at the scenes he had left.
Before his eyes appeared in one extensive view the bright silver
surface of Glenarvon bay, breaking through the dark shades of distant
wood, under the heights of Inis Tara and Heremon, upon whose lofty
summits the light of the moonbeam fell. To the right, the Dartland
hills arose in majestic grandeur; and far onwards, stretching to the
clouds, his own native hills, the black mountains of Morne; while
the river Allan, winding its way through limestone rocks and woody
glens, rapidly approached towards the sea.
Whilst yet pausing to gaze upon these fair prospects, on a night so
clear and serene, that every star shone forth to light him on his
way, yells terrible and disorderly broke upon the sacred stillness,
and a party of the rebels rushed upon him. He drew his sword, and
called loudly to them to desist. Collingwood, an attendant who had
waited for him at the inn, and had since accompanied him, exclaimed:
“Will you murder your master, will you attack your lord, for that
he is returning amongst you?”—“He wears the English uniform,” cried
one. “Sure he’s one of the butchers sent to destroy us. We’ll have no
masters, no lords: he must give up his commission, and his titles,
or not expect to pass.”—“Never,” said Lord Avondale, indignantly:
“had I no commission, no title to defend, still as a man, free and
independent, I would protect the laws and rights of my insulted
country. Attempt not by force to oppose yourselves to my passage. I
will pass without asking or receiving your permission.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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