Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798Reed, Talbot Baines
History
Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798
Reed, Talbot Baines
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Juvenile fiction; Ireland -- Juvenile fiction
As good luck would have it, the cave was empty. The _Arrow_ must have
come in after I had crossed the lough that evening. And the French
skipper and his mate had evidently left their crew to anchor and clear
the vessel in the roads while they reconnoitred the house.
I could see very little of the ship through the darkness, and, indeed,
was too busy making myself scarce to heed her.
Nor had I much time to spare. For almost before I had got round the
ledge and clambered partly up the cliff at the top of the cave mouth, I
heard a boat putting off and voices making for the little harbour.
After that, fatigue and hunger did their work with me, and despite the
peril of my position I fell asleep, and never woke till the sun was high
and hot in the heavens.
Then, when I looked out, I saw as pretty a little schooner as I had ever
set eyes on lying in the roads. I used to think it hard to beat the
_Cigale_ for looks, but the _Arrow_ was her superior in every way. She
was a bigger vessel, and armed at every port. Her lines were both light
and strong, and by the cut of her rigging I could fancy she had the
speed of a greyhound.
The sight of her set all my old sea-longing aflame. Pirate as she was,
it would be good, I thought, to be on her and face the open sea, far
away from my persecutors and enemies--away from Knockowen, and
Kilgorman, and--
Here I stopped short. Knockowen, next to the _Cigale_ where Tim was,
held what counted most to me of this world's good. Kilgorman held the
spirit of my dead mother, waiting to be relieved of its trouble. How
could I desert the one or the other and call myself a brave man?
What I could not decide, fate decided for me. The cave below me was
guarded by the pirate's men, who clattered their muskets on the stones
and kept a keen look-out on all sides for any chance intruder. To quit
my present perch would be certain death. So I lay and watched the boat
as she plied backwards and forwards with the guns, and wondered how soon
the task of loading would be done.
It went on all the day, and every hour I felt myself grow fainter and
more sick with hunger. For nearly two days, except last night's crust,
I had tasted nothing; and before that, sea-weed had been the chief
article of my diet. The scene presently seemed to swim before me, and
at last, what with the heat and famine, I fairly swooned away.
When I came to, two curious faces were bent over me, and my bed was no
longer the rocky cliff side, but the hard floor of a boat as it danced
over the waves.
"He looks a likely lad," said one voice.
"He's safer with us than ashore," said another. "I warrant he was put
there to spy on us."
"Come, lad," said the first speaker, shaking me not altogether roughly;
"we have you safe this time."
"'Deed, sir," said I, "as long as you give me some food you may do what
you like with me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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