The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 19 December 1912, Page 5

The Storyteller

A MAN OF HONOR A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF ENNISKILLEN When men write or speak of those old days, they are inclined to exaggerate on one side or the other. For my own part, I am inclined to think too much east is west, and that we get at the truth in other ways; and so it is that in homely terms, with no literary embellishment, I sit down to chronicle a singular enough event. There is the tower of the Old Castle of Enniskillen standing still as it stood in the days when Red Hugh O’Donnell sailed up the Erne from Ballyshannon, and laid siege to the town. There is the old square, now a military barracks, on which the exciting scene of my narrative was played out by a Cromwellian who was also a soldier ,and a native chieftain who, for a soldier’s idea of honor, put his life into the enemy’s hands. Arthur Cole, the Cromwellian, was a young man who in his twenty-nine years had played a daring part in the Williamite disturbances in Fermanagh. He had no fear, in which respect he differed from some of his friends, who, however (being Scotch), termed it caution. ‘ Aen live mon’s worth twa dead cans,’ was a proverb with them, which mayhap still runs as a general rule with their descendants. Cole loved a fight as well as any. If he won, it were well; if he lost, it were not otherwise. He had the soldier’s philosophy. This time they were piling up trenches on the height of the old Wind Mill Hill overlooking the town. 1 There’ll be some fun for the rabble of Shemus,’ he said jubilantly, ‘ when they com© so far.’ There was news that the people out by Derrygonnelly and the neighborhood of Kiltyclogher were rising, with The O’Flanagan, of Toura, at their head to join the King James’ forces. In consequence, the loyal inhabitants were making preparations for a defence of the island town—not much of a town either. In this undertaking the natural surroundings aided them, with Lough Erne all about it, a fine fortification. ••• Cole was often at the Castle, where the Governor —oftener, indeed, than his duties obliged hiqi. Mistress West, who had a waggish tongue, said that Cole cared more for a red head than a red uniform—a spiteful allusion to the rich auburn locks that graced the brows of Margaret Hume. For even here, when peril girt them close around, these ladies talked sweet slander by the hour. That night Sir Gustavus Hume had a good many of the gentry of the district at dinner. True to their traditions, the —whether Scoch or English never forgo to dine. Who was it who said, ‘lf London is ever reduced to flames, you will find the few remaining English somewhere dining calmly amid the smoking ruins.’ At the table of Sir Gustavus were wine and guests. I would describe the men’s uniforms the writers do in the historical stories—only I must confess they . had none. The Williamite men in Fermanagh wore whatever came handiest to them at that particular period. It was Archdale who gave the toast of his Majesty. Pie was in no wise eloquent. He spoke a few words of their duty at this critical time when rebels sought to ‘ Sell the pass to a Popish King.’ The military affairs were discussed at the dinner table, on which a plain menu was spread. Broke in Rebecca Irvine at length, laughingly. ‘ Don’t you think, gentlemen, the town is safe enough. Let’s talk —ourselves. Has anybody heard from Dublin ? Who dines at the Castle now?’ Scandal, I’ll wager/ put in Mabel West mischievously. Rome burning the while Nero fiddled is not in it with my Lady Mason and the Vicereine.’ ‘ They say she keeps a horse’ at the back door of the Castle, and a ship manned at Dunleary; even as the rebels come in by the front door she leaves by the

back, and with a few hours’ start, may be expected to win the race.’ There was one present who took little part in the discussion Margaret Hume. With her wealth of auburn hair divided in the centre of her forehead after the manner of the time, her skin white as alabaster, her eyes of a deep, deep blue, it was a pretty picture she made seated there under the light of tire many candles attired in. a soft frock of heliotrope. Mabel West, without any jealousy, called her the new Ceres, only Margaret did not carry the yellow corn in her hair —not even the poppies. Her mind was far from the subject of the conversation that evening. When an opportunity offered she quitted the company,' and made her way to the little room overlooking Dough Erne. It was a grey night, and she stood at the window lost in thought, her eyes resting unseeingly upon the path of some scattered stars across the water, her ears caught the familiar sound of water breaking against a boat’s side. There by the old grey wall a dark sail flapped. . She thought of another boat and another sail that had in the months gone by twined themselves ivy-like closely about her life. ‘What weakly things we are,’ she mused, ‘as straws on a stream.’ The Capulets and Montagues had their peculiar troubles ever. _ It was on a fair spring day by Inis-Saimer that she met him first. Staying with the L’Estranges of Monea, she had gone out in the early morning in a little skiff. She drifted too far before she realised that she could not get back to the landing-stage against the stream, oarless as she was, for the wind dropped, and the sail swayed idly by the mast. She was too far from the land to make her voice heard. She had some thought of waiting and allowing the boat to drift with the current to the north side of the Erne, but this would mean some hours, besides a long journey of ten miles round. Whilst in this predicament she saw a boat shoot out unexpectedly from one of the islands owned by his family, and in it was none other than The O’Flanagan himself. N ‘ I may be of some help,’ he said courteously, lifting his wide-brimmed hat. She noted in that instant his soft, cultured voice. ‘ You come out early boating,’ he went on again half questioningly. How easy it was for them to drop by stages into conversation. Tie talked about the lakes, the flowers, and other things in which he could see she felt an interest, and then at parting he told her whom he was. The O’Flanagan ! Truly in that hour she could have called, with Juliet, ‘Deny thy father and refuse thy name!’ Here indeed was the arch-rebel to English rule in that part of the country. Than his no name was so hated amongst the Planters; and none more feared. And here he was talking to her in that soft voice of his of — flowers 1 They met again, by accident at first, then by design, until the fire of love had seared both their lives, and they had grown to forget the deadly enmity, the prejudices, and all the social and political interests that served to keep their life apart. Margaret returned from her sojourn at Monea; O’Flanagan went out to prepare his clan to join King James’ men on their march from'Derry. The flapping of the brown sail close by the side of the Castle wall awoke afresh the memory of recent days that had better have been left to rest in oblivion. It is so easy being wise afterwards. The boat disappeared into the dusk of the night, and Margaret, waking up from her dream, made her way to the drawing-room. Some hours wore by when a servant came to acquaint Sir Gustavus that he was required outside. Something out of the ordinary had occurred. ‘ We have caught a spy,’ one came to say. ‘A spy!’ exclaimed several voices in unison. . Before they had had either the time or thought to inquire who the individual was, Hugh Montgomery, a lieutenant in the company of Enniskillen Defenders, strode in and announced that the person was none other than The O’Flanagan.

Margaret was horrified, yet no word escaped her she did not know for the moment what to do or say, everything was so bewilderingly strange. The place was in confusion in an instant, people running this way and that. She hurried from the room, and crossing the open square made her way to the tower building now used as a quarter for the soldiers, and where she judged O’Flanagan would most likely be brought. Nor was she wrong. Just as she reached the door, at which was posted an armed sentry, she espied her lover being escorted from the Governor’s office. He was handcuffed. As he stepped across the door (they were conveying him to the cells at the rear) their eyes met. She would have cried out in the excitement of the moment, but that he suddenly lowered his head at sight of her in token of silence, and passed on. The ladies had been ordered to their quarters, for it was feared that the Irish were in the vicinity waiting for a sign to storm the town. O’Flanagan was supposed to have had some such scheme in hand when he was caught. Margaret, however, left her room in a short while, and, meeting one of the soldiers whom she knew, inquired of him if she could see O’Flanagan. He was surprised at her request, but not comprehending her motives, he replied that she had better speak to her father, Sir Gustavus, about it. ‘ I do not like to trouble him now,’ she said. ‘ Could you not permit me to see The Flanagan for a few minutes?’ ‘ Naw, mistress/ he made answer; ‘a kennet, A man lies t’ do his duty.’ She turned away disappointed. That night it chanced that Cole was Captain of the Guard. If it had been anybody else Margaret thought her task had been easier. And yet, perhaps,it had not. Cole loved her, well knowing that she had no kindly feeling for him. To go to him and beg a favor for the man she loved was the most disagreeable task that could confront her in the circumstances. To so humiliate herself before him, to expose the secret which until now she had kept secure in her bosom, that were to drink gall and hemlock in sad truth. She could think of no other way out, however. As she was pondering the matter thus she saw Cole go by in the grey light, and called quickly after him. IT© turned quickly and came towards her. ‘ I Avant you to do me a favor,’ she began, her voice almost betraying her secret. ‘Favor; Name it?’ He spoke eagerly. ‘There is a prisoner in the Castle here now,’ she went on after a pause; he could see that it was very painful for her to speak. ‘ I would like speech with him, if you could permit it.’ ‘The O’Flanagan!’ he exclaimed. ‘lt is he. You see, he did me a great service one time. I was boating and might have been drowned but that he came to my aid.’ He saw through the flimsy gauze of this excuse in a moment. ‘lt is against all orders. Besides, it could do no good. . . . O’Flanagan is to be shot at 6 in the morning.’ She recoiled from him. ‘Shot!’ she repeated. ‘ Whose work is this?’ . ■. ‘lt is the decision of the courtmartial. He was a spy, and deserves to die.’ He spoke deliberately. ‘ O’Flanagan’s men are at Ceannaria waiting for the signal. O’Flanagan would have set fire to the Castle.’ A dead pause ensued. To save the life of the prisoner she would have gone gladly to death herself. To save him —to save herself, however, she could not go upon her knees to move this man. She could die, but she could not degrade herself so. Suddenly, in order to conceal her feelings, she turned from him, and before he had realised what had taken place she had gone. Cole went at once to the cell. The O’ Flanagan occupied the one most remote from the residential quarter, which once served the purpose of a lumberroom. High up in the wall was a grated window. O’Flanagan was seated upon a log by the sidewall ; his leg was secured by a chain. ‘ It was a daring scheme,’ said Cole, with an oath, ‘ only it miscarried.’

' — y * ‘ I do not understand,’ the other put in quietly. ‘ Then you will at six in the morning.’ • - ‘ Well ’ said the prisoner questioningly. Well,’ Cole repeated, it is your last blunder; the rest of us can’t say as much.’ ‘I was bent on no spying,’ O’Flanagan went on; * but I suppose that it is of little matter now.’ ‘ Then whom came you to visit?’ In a tense voice he asked the question, as if he suspected, for there had come to his ears s a vague rumor— a servant’s idle chatter—coupling the prisoner’s name with that of Miss Hume. And he, who loved Margaret himself, now felt that he had tenfold greater reason to hate O’Flanagan than before. He turned away, locking the door of the cell, outside which a yeoman was stationed, and was proceeding in the direction of . the Governor’s house when he met Margaret again. ‘ Come to the office,’ she said quietly. ‘ There is no one there. I want to speak with you.’ He followed her to the room which served her father for an office. Having shut the door, she turned to him. ‘Can I not see the prisoner, Captain Cole?’ ‘I am afraid not,’ he : replied slowly. ‘lt’s . strictly against orders; and he might escape.’ ‘I must see, him to-night—escape or no escape!’ Her attitude was defiant.’ , ‘I am the judge of that.’ Instantly she levelled a pistol at his face and began counting. ‘ Onethree.’ ‘ When I count “twenty” you die. There was a dangerous light in her eyes; her whole demeanor was that of desperation. ‘Fifteen— —seventeen.’ Her fingers were on the hammer eyes were fixed upon his. f I give in,’ he said. He handed over the key. ‘lt is of no avail,’ he added shortly; ‘the sentry won’t let you pass; if you shoot him you will alarm the whole place.’ He was cold as snow, his hands in his pockets. With the key in one hand and the pistol in the other she hesitated. She realised that she could never accomplish O’Flanagan’s escape, even if Cole stood on one side. Suddenly a sense of her helplessness overcame her, and she cried out, ‘ Oh, you coward, will you let an innocent man be murdered?’ ‘ I don’t know about his innocence,’ he said with a studied air of carelessness. He paused, watching her the while, then added, ‘ Supposing I were to do this thing for you— then ? What is to be my reward ?’ ‘Your reward!’ she repeated; then more kindly, ‘ Ah, you will help him ‘lt all depends upon you. . . If I do this thing run this riskwill you marry me— or no ‘ She began to plead with him. Would he see even an enemy murdered? No, he was no spy. Cole was as firm as adamant. Unless she promised to marry him there would be no way out for O’Flanagan. Would she agree or not ? She had some notion of shooting him down where he stood for the brutal alternative that he placed in front of her, but she realised that this act would have no good consequences either for herself or the man she loved. Besides, in reality, she dreaded wounding any one, ‘ I do not love you,’ she said ; ‘ I never could care for you.’ ‘ I don’t mind that.’ ‘ Then,’ she said haltingly, as if unwilling to pronounce the words, ‘then I agree.’ He took it more calmly than she had anticipated. If he had put a hand upon her —even a touchin her mood of reckless despair she might have killed him. Instead, he began to formulate a plan for O’Flanagan’s escape. He knew he ran a big risk if he were discovered, > but his passion for the girl outran his discretion. One wrote, ‘ I have lived to think that the will of a man counts for litle in he world—when there is a woman.’ Ferguson sang of Fergus Macßoy the king laying down his crown, and with it all he ‘knew of discontent,’ just because he looked once into the blue eyes of a woman. Young Cole was no stronger than the rest of them. The thought of possible danger to himself did not occur to him as he stood later on a still figure in the darkened square of the Old Castle, the yellow

glare of the wax candles in their lanterns glimmering faintly; greyly, here and there -like stars seen through a mist. ( He went to the soldier at the cell door and said. You are relieved from duty.’ The man looked up questioningly; he was a yeoman, and had a yeoman's ideas of independence. A hey only bin here an hour; the guard doesn't change till wan o'clock.' The regulation is altered,’ the other put in hurriedly; ‘go back to your rooms.' ' The man obeyed in surprise, but without saluting, an omission which was not lost upon - Cole. Now was the die cast, and he did not hesitate a moment. _■ Opening the cell door, he accosted the prisoner. The latter was seated under the barred window Set up high in the wall. ‘Do you know that you are to die at six in the morning ?’ They told me so already' as if it was something apart from him he spoke. ‘Suppose you were to get your liberty?’ The O’Flanagan looked up quickly. 4 I’m afraid there’s not much chance.’ ‘ There might be. It’s not pleasant to die when one is young. Oh, yes, I know— soldier’s fate; but does that make the pain any easier to bear ? I would be your friend.’ You!’ ‘ You look surprised. I come to give you freedom. Listen!’ he whispered. ‘I have sent away the guard; you have only to follow me across the yard. Your boat is at the steps pi shadow of the bridge; there is a door in the wall. Come!’ ‘ This may be a trap. Why should you ’ ‘ Plow can anything matter to a man who is to die at daylight ?If you would go free, come ;if not ’ ‘ I follow,’ Cole led the way by a back passage until they came to a parapeted wall overlooking the lake. He found the door; it was open. At the foot of the steps was the boat with the brown sail. The O'Flanagan hesitated for an instant. Why have you done this for me, my friend? hardly know you.’ He held out his hand. Don’t ask me now, but go.’ Of the nature of a dream it all was to the escaping man. He knew Cole merely by sight, but had not exchanged a word with him previous to that evening. That he should have had any sympathy with the Irish O’Flanagan could not believe, for than his father, the Viscount, no more loyal Planter dwelt in the Maguire County. . ® A stiff breeze blew over from the woods at Doiregore, and the brown boat drove her nose into the breakers and tacked in fine style towards Portora shore. He did not spare cloth, for he was still within the danger zone. In the grey darkness he could faintly discern the outlines of high banks devoid of timber rising like giants on either side of him. If a thought of the two blue eyes full of mingled surprise and pain, as he had caught sight of them for an instant, drifted across his mind, it was only by way. of thanksgiving that she had been spared the horror of seeing him die. But when the boat was drawn up at the little quay in Blayney Bay, he sat down in the grey dawn of the autumn morning and began to weave together the tangled threads of his adventure. Suddenly he was upon his feet. A thought rose in his fancy like a white ghost from the swaying reeds by the river. J In an instant he understood the reason for Cole’s generosity. The price was to be Margaret. A fierce rage stirred up within him. He would go back—to his death. That might not save Margaret, but it would at least cleanse him from the foul dishonor that had been placed upon him. Leaving the boat to her fate, for the wind had now dropped, he began his journey back on foot. Partly he ran the way to Enniskillen. His comrades were awaiting him in a wood half a mile off. With them he might, perhaps, have laid successful siege to the Castle imperfectly garrisoned as he knew it to be; but the instinct of honor was stronger in him than aught else.

He felt that his manhood had been degraded, than - which it was far better that he should have remained to be shot in the old Castle square at dawn. Andrea dal Castagna it was who by order of the Municipality painted the traitors hanged by the heels on the city walls of Florence Andrea who was a greater traitor than any of them. Cole knew instinctively that he had betrayed Cis trust. He was not in sympathy; with the rebels; he had been bribed, and it hurt him a little now to think of it. He- went back to the deserted cell. For half an hour or more he stood there like a sentinel at his post, as yet almost unconscious of the peril in which he had placed himself. He had forgotten the soldier whose guard he had interrupted, and who had already by his chatter caused inquiries to be set afoot. Lieutenant Hugh Montgomery came round to ascertain; he met Cole at the cell door, which stood wide opei . Where is the prisoner?’ he asked, somewhat excited.^ ‘ Escaped! ’ ' They stood facing each other for a minute or so in silence, Montgomery too stupified by the intelligence to say anything. At length he broke in, ‘This is serious. They say you allowed him to escape.’ Cole did not contradict the assertion; he would not tell a lie. Now he realised to the full the nature of his folly. It would mean ruin, might easily mean his death. These settlers were dour and pitiless; for them no ' Miserere ever rang. He was lost in thought when the voice of Montgomery woke him. ‘ You must come to the Governor at once; you are under arrest.’ Cole went quietly with him. It did not occur to him that he might have made his escape. It was a late hour, but late as it was Sir Gustavus Hume and Colonel Archdale were in the office-like room, into which Cole stepped. Already every soldier in the Castle knew of The O’Flanagan’s escape, and dim lights were showing at small grated windows here and there like dark lanterns. The guard was astir. Sir Gustavus did not waste words over the matter. ‘ls this true? Have you aided O’Flanagan to escape?’ ‘I have.’ His eyes were fixed upon the floor. ‘Why?’ Like a hammer upon a steel anvil his voice rang in the still room. * That I cannot tell.’ ‘Bribe?’ suggested the Governor after &n interval. Perhaps,’ said Cole. He was taken away. In the meantime an informal Council of War was called. They discussed the escape as if it meant a serious menace to their lives. O’Flanagan had seen the weakness of their fortification and the smallness of their garrison, and might even now be on his way to attack them. Of what tempted Cole to so treacherous an act they could form no idea. They had been betrayed, and by one of their own class, which only made the treachery the deeper. It was hard nevertheless to condemn to death the comrade who had feasted and laughed with them some hours before. Truth to tell, perhaps they were inclined to spare him if they could; but there were the sturdy burghers of Enniskillen to reckon with, and they, with true Puritan doggedness, would make no distinction in the case of an aristocrat; on the contrary, it was only a stronger reason why he should suffer. The Archdales and the rest of them were afraid of these burghers. Like Pilate they put the responsibility upon the people. Thus it fell out that of the five present, including Captain Gerard Irvine, Lieutenant Montgomery, with Jason Coalter, Provost of the town, no one raised a voice on behalf of their friend. J > ‘He was a loyal man up to two days ago—that * I’ll swear,’ Irvine said; ‘but he has sold the pass, and now we must do our duty.’ Said the Provost: ‘We must deal with him as if he were any one of the men stationed inside these walls. Sir Gustavus Hume said it was usual for the accused to be brought so that he might answer the * charge if he could. Shortly afterwards Cole was brought in.

v> ' Very weird the scene appeared : the dull glow of the two candles in their scones, making many shadows the set faces of the men the stillness,, in which one almost felt one’s heart beat. All eyes were fixed "upon the Governor, who, speaking with some emotion, asked Cole if he had anything to say in his defence. i ‘I have no wish to say anything.’ There was an awkward pause, as if he did not like to pronounce the sentence that was so inevitable. Wo have considered your case, Captain Cole. You know the desert of the man who proves a traitor in the day of battle ?’ ‘ldo,’ ‘ Our decision ’ speaking slowly and with some emotion ‘ is that you are to be shot at seven o’clock in the barrack square.’ Cole raised his head, and the room seemed to swim before his vision as if he had just awakened out of a dream. Nobody spoke; the tension was almost unbearable.- The faces in the dim fitful light seemed to him like the faces of dead men. Anyhow, he knew Margaret Hume would hold his memory in gracious regard for ever. When one thinks in a far land of June roses that clambered up by an old wall years and years agone, the vision is fresh and fair, as if it had passed but yesterday. In that - hour he could only save himself by disgracing her and, indirectly, her family. He could not bear to think of the aftertime and Margaret’s name trailed in the mire of slander. So he made his decision. All this time Margaret was suffering torture much keener than Cole. For him indeed the mental ordeal was over; for her it had only begun. Back and forth from her room to her father’s apartment she ran as event followed event in rapid succession. When Sir Gustavus came at length and announced in a husky whisper the decision that had been arrived at, the girl was as white as the marble Perseus that stood upon the staircase.. - ‘He is innocent,’ she began. ‘lt was I who opened the cell door.’ Then, in words that flowed in a torrent, half-incoherent, she put the blame on herself ,and finally sank down at his feet in a trance. He went immediately to see the accused and to inquire if indeed Margaret, and not he, were the guilty party? Not that he believed it were aught more than the raving of a girl driven delirious, by grief. Perhaps, he concluded, too, that Cole and she, unknown to all, may have been something more than acquaintances; Cole shook his head, denying the girl’s selfaccusation. Was she not in her room at that hour? Was the soldier not present whom he had relieved of his guard? The Governor left him, feeling greatly distressed at the new turn things had taken. That Cole should be so anxious to accuse himself seemed strange; his motive seemed stranger still. Yet there was the plain ugly fact: he had been a traitor, and the wage of the traitor was death. There was a grey and silvery flush on the dark sky a sign of dawn ; the Governor wished in his heart there was some break in the inky darkness that had so unexpectedly settled upon his own life. The hours wore on. The grey trailed off into amber, anon a deep orange, until the sky glowed with the glorious vivid colors of the new day. In the town scattered around the little island the loyal residents were early astir. It was rumored that the Irish would lead an attack, crossing the Erne at the Broad Meadow Ford. The garrison was awaiting the promised reinforcements from Crom, which seemed long in arriving. To add to their troubles, word had come to them of the apprehension of the O’Flanagan his escape, and the treachery of Captain Cole. ‘Let him die,’ they said one and all. They were not unmindful of his services in the months past, of his dare-devil deeds, and his utter lack of fear but above everything else rose one fact— had betrayed them, sold them to the enemy. ‘Let him die,’ they said again. ‘lf he were my own wean,’ added a woman, 1 would shut the door against him and he fleeing from his enemies, e

Margaret Hume did not regain consciousness. She tossed fitfully about upon her bed, feverishly raving, \ shouting at times in confused words that conveyed no meaning to her hearers. The red of the day was breaking in at the window, where waves of auburn lay along the pillow like beechen leaves creeping and rustling across a white road in autumn time. Seven o’clock came, A guard of seven men took up a position in the square, armed with muskets. A clock somewhere near struck the hours in the silence. The eyes of the men were fixed upon one door, which presently opened, and from which emerged Cole, handcuffed and blindfolded. . A yeoman led him into the centre of the group without a word. Nobody spoke. Indeed, there was no indication to the prisoner that there were soldiers to right and soldiers to left of him. There might have been none there but himself and the man whose hand had guided him along. It was the latter who, at a signal from Colonel Archdale, spoke: ‘Are you ready, sir?’ The men levelled their muskets. Before Cole could reply a man clambered over the parapet and jumped into the square close beside them. He was minus headgear and his clothes were dripping, he having just swam across Lough Erne. Colonel Archdale turned suddenly, the word which meant death to the prisoner, faltering upon his lips.’ ‘ Stop!’ In a tone that was half a command and half an entreaty the words rang out, and the newcomer, with his hands held high, approached. ‘ I have come to surrender,’ he began. Archdale could only order the prisoner to be led back, and, placing O’Flanagan (for it was he) under arrest, hurried him before the Governor. The latter was pacing restlessly in his office alone, awaiting the musket report. The entrance of The O’Flanagan broke in upon him with such startling suddenness that he would not have been more surprised if the latter had demanded the surrender of the garrison. The O’Flanagan explained his position ; he placed himself in their hands, but denied that he had come as a spy or for any unworthy, motive whatsoever. Here was a new trouble for Sir Gustavus. Not that he was sorry for the respite, for Cole’s death was none to his wish, but that an enemy of his who had regained his liberty should, for a whim, come back to surrender, was incomprehensible to him. Having first assured himself that it was no use covering an attack upon the Castle, he tried to unravel the tangled threads of the problem, but found it too much for his reasoning. He could not help admiring The O' Flanagan’s heroism. There was one near and dear to him who could have explained and set matters straight, but, unfortunately (perhaps, as matters turned out afterwards, fortunately), she was not in a position to do so. Meanwhile he took counsel with Archdale, Irvine, and the others. To take O’Flanagan’s life in the circumstances would be nothing short of callous murder, they agreed. ‘ D it,’ said Archdale, brusquely putting an end to the discussion, ‘he’s a soldier,’ which meant much. So it fell out that at an hour when the inhabitants of the loyal town were waiting for the signal shots recording the passing of a traitor, a very different scene was being enacted in the barrack square. Sir Gustavus sent for the Provost of Enniskillen in order that they might confer. The latter represented the townspeople in all matters, apart from the military. The O’Flanagan was telling them that Cole was innocent of aiding him to escape. In his mind he was resolved that nobody should say henceforth that he brought trouble upon another. ‘ Then,’ said the Provost, ‘ it is a mystery beyond my wits. Captain Cole was innocent, yet he confessed his guilt, and was ready to die.’ ‘ We were too ready to accuse him ; I see that now,’ put in the Governor,’ and he would not stoop to deny the lie. A great crime has been averted ’ He looked at The O’Flanagan. ‘ I would that you were on our side.’

It was left finally to the Governor and the Provost to decide The O’Flanagan’s fate. ' First they made certain that his men were miles off, and that he had no aim of storming the town. If, as he said, he merely feared that another might suffer for his escape, and came back to accept responsibility, it were a sorry job, they agreed, to reward such heroism with death. There was no divided opinion with them; he must go free. And so it fell out that Sir Gustavus and the Provost escorted The O’Flanagan to the boat slip and took a farewell of him. The boat drifted out from the shore in the early morning. On the steps stood the two Planters. Cole was absent he, stood apart in an angle of the square watching the scene, taking no part in it. Was he thinking of his own reward ? Now that he had time to think more calmly and leisurely, he knew that he could never be content with a divided love. If Margaret Hume had given her heart to O’Flanagan — was it not all in the fortunes of war ? . * * * * * History records that from that day out the. settlers and the native Irish kept each to their respective territories, and although it was little love they bore one another, they engaged no more in warfare. It has been said of The O’Flanagan that if he had pressed the Planters when they were weak in men at Enniskillen; he might have regained much of the old territory held by his family. Perhaps? It is easy enough to write history; it is a harder task to make history. O’Flanagan would have said, doubtless, if he were asked, that that kind of warfare was not much to his taste. They had fought and lost, and that was an end of it. At all events, he went abroad, and rose to some rank in the Spanish Army. Later on, when more peaceful days had dawned upon his native land, he returned and married the woman whose blue eyes and. ‘ hair of spun gold ’ once tempted him to walk unarmed and alone into a camp of death. —Weekly Freeman.