were echoes along the walls as I walked about the court. I entered the keep by a low and frowning doorway: the lower floor consisted of a large dungeon-like room, with a vaulted roof; on the left hand was a winding staircase in the thickness of the wall; it looked anything but inviting; yet I stole softly up, my heart beating. On the top of the first flight of stairs was an arched doorway, to the left was a dark passage, to the right, stairs leading still higher. I stepped under the arch and found myself in an apartment somewhat similar to the one below, but higher. There was an object at the farther end.
An old woman, at least eighty, was seated on a stone, cowering over a few sticks burning feebly on what had once been a right noble and cheerful hearth; her side-glance was towards the doorway as I entered, for she had heard my footsteps. I stood suddenly still, and her haggard glance rested on my face.
“Is this your house, mother?” I at length demanded, in the language which I thought she would best understand.
“Yes, my house, my own house; the house of the broken-hearted.”
“Any other person’s house?” I demanded.
“My own house, the beggar’s house—the accursed house of Cromwell!”
CHAPTER XII.
A Visit—Figure of a Man—The Dog of Peace—The Raw Wound—The Guard-room—Boy Soldier—Person in Authority—Never Solitary—Clergyman and Family—Still-Hunting—Fairy Man—Near Sunset—Bagg—Left-Handed Hitter—Irish and Supernatural—At Swanton Morley.
One morning I set out, designing to pay a visit to my brother, at the place where he was detached; the distance was rather considerable, yet I hoped to be back by evening fall, for I was now a shrewd walker, thanks to constant practice. I set out early, and, directing my course towards the north, I had in less than two hours accomplished considerably more than half of the journey. The weather had been propitious; a slight frost had rendered the ground firm to the tread, and the skies were clear; but now a change came over the scene, the skies darkened and a heavy snow-storm came on; the road then lay straight through a bog, and was bounded by a deep trench on both sides; I was making the best of my way, keeping as nearly as I could in the middle of the road, lest, blinded by the snow which was frequently borne into my eyes by the wind, I might fall into the dyke, when all at once I heard a shout to windward, and turning my eyes I saw the figure of a man, and what appeared to be an animal of some kind, coming across the bog with great speed, in the direction of myself; the nature of the ground seemed to offer but little impediment to these beings, both clearing the holes and abysses which lay in their way with surprising agility; the animal was, however, some slight way in advance, and, bounding over the dyke, appeared on the road just before me. It was a dog, of what species I cannot tell, never having seen the like before or since; the head was large and round; the ears so tiny as scarcely to be discernible; the eyes of a fiery red: in size it was rather small than large; and the coat, which was remarkably smooth, as white as the falling flakes. It placed itself directly in my path, and showing its teeth, and bristling its coat, appeared determined to prevent my progress. I had an ashen stick in my hand, with which I threatened it; this, however, only served to increase its fury; it rushed upon me, and I had the utmost difficulty to preserve myself from its fangs.
“What are you doing with the dog, the fairy dog?” said a man, who at this time likewise cleared the dyke at a bound.
He was a very tall man, rather well dressed as it should seem; his garments, however, were like my own, so covered with snow that I could scarcely discern their quality.
“What are ye doing with the dog of peace?”
“I wish he would show himself one,” said I; “I said nothing to him, but he placed himself in my road, and would not let me pass.”
“Of course he would not be letting you till he knew where ye were going.”
“He’s not much of a fairy,” said I, “or he would know that without asking; tell him that I am going to see my brother.”
“And who is your brother, little Sas?”
“What my father is, a royal soldier.”
“Oh, ye are going then to the detachment at ---; by my shoul, I have a good mind to be spoiling your journey.”
“You are doing that already,” said I, “keeping me here talking about dogs and fairies; you had better go home and get some salve to cure that place over your eye; it’s catching cold you’ll be, in so much snow.”
On one side of the man’s forehead there was a raw and staring wound, as if from a recent and terrible blow.
“Faith, then I’ll be going, but it’s taking you wid me I will be.”
“And where will you take me?”
“Why, then, to Ryan’s Castle, little Sas.”
“You do not speak the language very correctly,” said I; “it is not Sas you should call me—’tis Sassanach,” and forthwith I accompanied the word with a speech full of flowers of Irish rhetoric.
The man looked upon me for a moment, fixedly, then, bending his head towards his breast, he appeared to be undergoing a kind of convulsion, which was accompanied by a sound something resembling laughter; presently he looked at me, and there was a broad grin on his features.
“By my shoul, it’s a thing of peace I’m thinking ye.”
But now with a whisking sound came running down the road a hare; it was nearly upon us before it perceived us; suddenly stopping short, however, it sprang into the bog on the right-hand side; after it amain bounded the dog of peace, followed by the man, but not until he had nodded to me a farewell salutation. In a few moments I lost sight of him amidst the snow-flakes.
The weather was again clear and fine before I reached the place of detachment. It was a little wooden barrack, surrounded by a wall of the same material; a sentinel stood at the gate, I passed by him, and, entering the building, found myself in a rude kind of guard-room; several soldiers were lying asleep on a wooden couch at one end, others lounged on benches by the side of a turf fire. The tall sergeant stood before the fire, holding a cooking utensil in his left hand; on seeing me, he made the military salutation.
“Is my brother here?” said I, rather timidly, dreading to hear that he was out, perhaps for the day.
“The ensign is in his room, sir,” said Bagg, “I am now preparing his meal, which will presently be ready; you will find the ensign above stairs,” and he pointed to a broken ladder which led to some place above.
And there I found him—the boy soldier—in a kind of upper loft, so low that I could touch with my hands the sooty rafters; the floor was of rough boards, through the joints of which you could see the gleam of the soldiers’ fire, and occasionally discern their figures as they moved about; in one corner was a camp bedstead, by the side of which hung the child’s sword, gorget, and sash; a deal table stood in the proximity of the rusty grate, where smoked and smouldered a pile of black turf from the bog—a deal table without a piece of baize to cover it, yet fraught with things not devoid of interest: a Bible, given by a mother; the Odyssey, the Greek Odyssey; a flute, with broad silver keys; crayons, moreover, and water colours; and
