Save he could not; but Cæsar Blake avenged him. One ruffian, more remarkable than the rest for his size and ferocity, after giving the fallen officer a mortal stab, shortened his weapon to repeat the thrust. His hat had been struck off in the fray, and he was stooping under my father's swordWith one sweeping cut, the sabre fell upon the ruffian's naked skull, and he fell a dead man on the lifeless body of his victim. Instantly reining round, the major forced his passage through the crowd, and galloped down the street, leaving the hard-contested bridge in possession of the arm. enemy. The town was filling fast from every side with rebels, and my father's escape was indeed miraculous, as several stragglers fired at him from the houses as he rode off. And yet this disgraceful day was not without its examples of individual heroism. When Cæsar Blake looked back, the whole suburb was filled with blue uniform and frieze coats. The street before him was tolerably clear, excepting that part immediately in front of the jail, where a score or two of rebels were endeavouring to break in; and where, to judge from a spattering fire, they had met with some effective opposition. My father, galloping up, alarmed the mob, who retired into an adjoining lane; and he then ascertained that the unequal contest had lain between the rebels and a solitary Frazer fencible. The latter had been sentinel at the prison-gate, and, favoured by the high steps and iron palisades, had defended his post most gallantly, and, as a couple of dead rebels told, not without effect. "Come away, my brave fellow-resistance is madnessthe town is all their own. Jump up behind me!" exclaimed the royalist. 66 Na, sir," coolly returned the Highlander, “I munna leave my_post." There was no time allowed for farther parley. Short as the delay was, it nearly proved fatal to my father, as the rebels, in increased force, rushed from the lane, and again assailed the prison. One drunken scoundrel, seizing the major's bridle, clung to his horse with such desperate tenacity, as nearly to bring him to his knees, and in another moment he would have been surrounded. Fortunately, the rider had reserved a loaded pistol quickly, but coolly, he pressed the muzzle against the ruffian's head; the discharge blew it almost to atoms; and the horse, liberated from the dead man's grasp, sprang across the body, and bore the royalist away at speed. : My father looked behind him; the mob were now within the palisades next moment the sentry-box was hurled down the steps, and a score of sanguinary insurgents appeared pushing with pikes and muskets at some prostrate object. Cæsar Blake easily conjectured that the victim of the rabble, was the gallant and devoted Highlander. CHAPTER X. A SKIRMISH.-THE RETURN. Juan, by some strange chance, which oft divides WHEN my father cleared the town, he found himself upon the same road by which the great mass of the fugitive soldiery had retired. Certain indications of a recent defeat were everywhere visible; broken carriages, scattered arms, disabled horses, and deserted baggage, proclaimed a routed, and not a retreating army. Amid all this abandoned matériel, not a wounded man was to be seen. In fact, little loss had been sustained by any but the defenders of the bridge, as scarcely a man had fallen, when a disgraceful flight from an unfought field commenced. Cæsar Blake felt a momentary indecision whither to direct his course. No military obligation bound him, a free agent, to follow the fortunes of a routed army. Any useless display of loyalty was unnecessary-he had done his duty, and the breath of calumny dared not to attach to his name the imputation of disaffection. There were also private, but powerful calls for his exertions. He had a wife to protect, a household to watch over. His mountain-home, now doubly dear, would, were he absent, be exposed to spoliation by countless vagabonds, whom the insurgent success would encourage to break loose upon the world. His resolution was promptly taken, and he determined to return to the highlands, and await coming events there. Well acquainted with the vicinage, he left the high road, and striking into a by-path, directed his route toward the mountains. To cross the country, and avoid the open roads, was desirable, both for safety and expedition. The bogs, generally impassable, even to footmen, from the long continuance of dry weather had become firm and safe; his horse, notwithstanding the morning's fatigue, was still untired; and conjecturing that the victorious rebels would speedily throw themselves on the line of the royalist retreat, in quest of plunder and prisoners, the horseman pushed briskly on to gain a rising ground, where, removed from all pursuit, he might refresh his horse, and observe what passed for miles around. No rider but one intimately acquainted with the localities of the country, would venture to cross the morass that lay between the town and the hillock where Cæsar Blake established his temporary bivouac. Though within sight of Castlebar, yet was he in perfect security. A field of corn in stacks covered the crest of the rising ground-here he alighted, and unbridling his horse, supplied him plentifully with provender; then, having reloaded his pistols, he stretched himself upon some loose sheaves, and proceeded to refresh himself with a few biscuits, and a well-filled canteen. The unusual sultriness of the day rendered repose as necessary for the rider as the steed. A breathing space after the excitement and fatigue, mental and bodily, which my father had endured, was now inexpressibly luxurious; and while thus reclining on the hillock, he was fated to witness the closing scene of the disgraceful affair of Castlebar. The great road, for many miles, was within his view, and he observed a body of dragoons halted on a height, to watch and report the ulterior movements of the enemy. Presently some straggling rebels issued from the town-larger bodies of these irregulars followed-lastly, a small party of French hussars appeared, who, when they perceived the rival cavalry, rode briskly forward, while the dragoons as slowly retired on their approach. The unexpected success of the morning had stimulated the national audacity of the French to a pitch of daring that no military esprit could warrant. Notwithstanding the great disparity in force, at sight of the red-jackets, they spurred forward to attack them. The royalist observed their careless advance, their scanty force, and that they were wholly unsupported. Falling back behind the crest of the hill, they formed, and unseen by the hussars, coolly awaited their coming up; while the French, never supposing the royalists were halted, pressed their jaded horses on. Nor were they undeceived until they found themselves on the summit of the height, charged and overthrown by a fresh and superior force. Their resistance was short and gallant; they were sabred, and the victors rode off without losing a man. The bodies of the unlucky chasseurs were interred by the peasantry on the spot; and the height on which they perished, bears the appellation of French Hill, in memory of this fatal skirmish. It appeared strange to my father afterward, when he remembered with what indifference he viewed the encounter. He looked on with the coldness of an amateur, without being interested as to which should prove the conquerors. In fact, the pusillanimous behaviour of the carbineers had disgusted their late companion-in-arms, and Cæsar Blake hardly cared whether they repelled the attack, or were defeated; while the reckless gallantry of the fallen Frenchmen excited his admiration, and obtained for them a soldier's sympathy. He watched the brief, but bloody contest to its close, and then mounting his horse directed his course homeward. He met no interruption; but as he passed through the inhabited country, he was frequently interrogated by the peasantry concerning the result of the engagement, which flying rumours, and a distant cannonade, informed them had been fought. They appeared restless, excited, and irresolute; but this state my father suspected would be of short duration; a general insurrection was inevitable, and he pushed on to reach his home, and prepare for defence or flight, as circumstances might require. Although impatient to end his journey, the traveller could not effect it before night-fall. Evening found him in the highland valley, and the sun's last light fell upon the eagle's aerie, and sank behind the rocky summit of the mountain, when the rider bathed the limbs of his weary steed in the cool waters of the dark lake. His heart throbbed with delight as he entered the pass, from which his beloved home would soon be visible. His route through the mountains had been most solitary, and for hours he saw no human face. The moon had not yet risen above the heights which overhung the rocky opening in the hill, and in the gloom he perceived two men directly in the road before him. 66 Who goes there?" exclaimed the horseman. 1 "Holy Saint Patrick! it's himself," responded a well-known voice; and next moment Denis O'Brien and an armed attendant rushed forward, seized his hand with that familiarity, which, after perilous events, is held permissible, and both poured forth a thundering jubilation. 66 "And is it yourself, after all? and are ye safe and sound?” exclaimed the delighted valet. Och, murder! if I knew what to do, since I heard the first whisper of the battle-partly be cause I had'nt the luck of bein' there, and partly on account of her ladyship. Och! but the joy will kill her! Here have I mounted guard, for fear some renagade would slip past, and scare her honour's life out. Arrah, what news, avourneein? Is yourself safe, and which side won ?" 66 Safe I am," replied the horseman, "except a trifling bonebruising; and we have been as well beaten as ever a pack of cowardly scoundrels deserved. But how is your lady?" "Frightened to death, the crature!" replied Mr. O'Brien. "She says she saw something alarming in my face-though, God knows! whiniver I came in her sight, I strove to laugh, when my heart was brakin'; and ye would hear me a mile off, whistling like a blackbird, while the tune stuck like a bone in my throat, and nearly choked me. Och! what a comfort it was to get away, and curse until I felt myself in christian timper. And have the troops retrated, major? Maybe they'll have another shy to-morrow, and yer honour might spare me for a day or two!" "I'll not belie them, friend Denis," replied the horseman, "by saying they retreated. They ran for it like men; and if the French can catch the slowest, then are they the smartest fellows that ever bore a firelock." 66 66 Run!" exclaimed the astonished valet; may the foul fiend lame them for life, the thieves of the world! But, Sir, you must not go in, until I make her honour sensible that you are on the march. She's so narvous, the joy would be her her death!" and off went Denis O'Brien, the harbinger of wel come news. It was Poor Ellen had been a silent but a sincere mourner. impossible that she should not perceive that some unfortunate occurrence either impended or had occurred. Denis was a poor actor; his outward manifestations of gaiety were forced and unnatural, and ludicrously contrasted with anxieties that, in spite of all his efforts, were too evident to escape remark. The sudden departure and prolonged absence of her husband; the untimely arrival of the disabled man; the servants going |