Читать книгу The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'Toole - W. H. Maxwell - Страница 10

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“Alas! that those who lov’d the most,

Forget they ever lov’d at all.”—Byron.

As the chimes died away, my father took a pistol from the table, placed another in his breast, and beckoned the soldier whom he had previously selected to attend him.

“Honest Philip,” said he, addressing the non-commissioned officer, “keep the lads cool, and wait till you hear my signal. You may expect a rush in front—don’t let that alarm you, the door will defy every effort to break it down. Aim steadily—one well-directed shot is worth a dozen random ones. I shall have the honour of receiving Mr. Hackett’s friends at the pantry-window, and leave them, I trust, no reason to complain that their reception was not warm enough. Should that scoundrel move,” and he pointed to the prostrate menial.

“It will be his last movement in this world,” returned Sergeant Brady. “I’ll pin him with a bayonet to the floor.”

“Has the pantry-window been secured?” inquired the divine. “If it has,” replied my father, “bolt and bar shall be withdrawn, and the aperture stand invitingly open.”

“What!” said Doctor Hamilton, “to give entrance to a band of murderers?”

“No!” returned my father with stern composure, “to stop it with the carcase of their leader. And now, my lads, be steady—a golden guinea for every white-shirt on the lawn at sun-rise!”

So saying, the Colonel quitted the apartment, and, accompanied by the attendant, proceeded to the post of danger.

Leaving the soldier in the passage as a support, my father entered the pantry, unclosed the shutters, and placed himself beside the open casement. For a determined man, the post was excellently adapted. Himself concealed in darkness, all without was visible—for the moon had risen, and although the lofty tower flung its deep shadow across the lower buildings over which it domineered, there was still a narrow alley of light spanning the court-yard, on which each passing object could not fail to be revealed clearly to him who watched within. The time, the circumstances, all, to “coming events” gave an imposing effect. Violence was abroad—and all within prepared for desperate resistance.

Five minutes—long, long, minutes—passed. Another interval,—and another followed; not a light twinkled in the castle—not a sound fell upon the ear. Suddenly, a key grated in the lock—a door opened in the court-yard; a man appeared—he stopped—listened—advanced—hesitated—retired again—and then spoke in soft whispers to some others. There was a pause. Once more the stranger issued from the doorway, crossed the moonlit vista, and stopped before the pantry-window. He passed his arm through the aperture—drew back again, and muttered with evident satisfaction,—“All is right! the window’s open!”

Four—six—eight—ten—twelve!—all issued into moonlight, and grouped themselves around the casement. The leader spoke in smothered tones:

“Hackett! Pat!—hush! no reply. All’s right; he’s at the Colonel’s door. Hackett!”—another pause—“‘Tis safe, and Mary has succeeded. I told you I would show you in; and now for vengeance!” Ay! and vengeance that was to be so easily obtained; for Knockloftie appeared buried in the deep repose which ever attends a false security. The leader turned, “No quarter, boys,” jumped into the open casement, and added, “Mercy to none!”

The words and action were simultaneous. Halligan had passed his head already through the aperture, when a voice, like an echo, responded in deeper tones “Mercy to none!”—A pistol exploded—and the robber chief dropped heavily from the window, a dead man!

To all, the assailants and the assailed, that fatal shot proved the signal. The expected assault was made upon the front, the more daring of the party rushing on with sledge-hammers to try and force an entrance—but not a stroke fell upon the door. From every aperture a withering cross-fire was opened. It was returned by a random volley, which splintered the windows, but inflicted no loss upon those within, who were already carefully protected. In the rear of the building, a still bloodier repulse attended the night attack while their leader reconnoitred, the ruffian group behind had been covered by a dozen muskets, and within a few moments after the robber’s fall, half his companions formed a lifeless heap upon the pavement.