Celtic Mist Ch. 08

"Short hair, sir," the officer said.

The commander nodded pointedly. "Where are you lads from?" he said in a crisp English accent.

"Enniscorthy, sir," Jamie said.

"Your names?"

Declan panicked. Michael's and Jamie's concordance on their story was all well and good, but he realized they shouldn't give their proper names lest it direct the Militia to the cluster of United Irish farms east of Enniscorthy. Shite! Jamie had already bloody well told the lasses their Christian names! He hastened to speak. "I'm Declan Fitzsimmons. Me neighbor James Cullen and his brother Michael."

The commander studied them for a silent moment, then looked towards the maids, arching an eyebrow.

Betsy met his eyes squarely. "Betsy Cox and me sister Hannah."

The man's gaze returned to the lads. "Whither are you bound?"

"To the market in Wexford to sell our wool."

"Is that a task that usually necessitates so large a party?"

Jamie shrugged. "Well, sir, the unloading is quicker with two, and me brother came along to see the harbor."

"Why then are you loitering near Balfour Manor?"

"Loitering? Nay...we're just after offering these two ladies transport to the market."

The commander directed his attention back upon the lasses. "You are in service at the manor?"

"Aye, sir," Betsy said.

The Redcoat turned back to Declan and Jamie with a triumphant expression. "Why transport your wool all the way to Wexford? Is there not a wool merchant in Enniscorthy?"

Jamie scratched his chin. "There is, but they fetch more in Wexford town."

"Where do you sell them?"

"Well, there are a few merchants round the market and on John Street. We sell them to whichever pays the most."

The commander's eyes narrowed as he looked from Jamie to Declan. "Sympathizers with the French republicans, are you? Liberte, egalite, fraternite, oui?"

Jamie and Declan exchanged puzzled looks.

"Are you loyal to the Crown, or do you hold with the rebels' tenets --- with your hair cropped so?"

Declan cleared his throat. "We're merely trying to earn a living, sir. 'Tis hard enough working a farm without having to wrestle long hair." For several seconds, he held the commander's piercing gaze, then thinking the better of further antagonizing the man, averted his own eyes.

The two officers looked at each other, then the leader said, "Climb down, if you will."

Declan and Jamie climbed out and helped the lasses down, whilst Michael jumped to the ground.

"Stand aside." The commander signaled to his soldiers. "Search the wagon."

Their party stood solemnly in the sheugh as the soldiers dismounted and addressed themselves to the wagon --- searching under the seat, under the wagon, and tossing the fleeces to the road. They poured out the flask of whiskey and even took Hannah's basket to examine it.

Even as he stood calmly, Declan's heart was thumping in his chest. What if they discovered the hidden compartment? Aye, there was naught in it, but would not its very existence mark them as guilty? His mind scrambled to find a blameless explanation for the secret space.

Whilst the soldiers unloaded the wagon bed, the commander reined his horse to draw alongside the waiting group.

From his elevated position in the saddle, he stared down at the lasses, openly ogling their bosoms. "You girls, why take up with these dirty croppies? Two such fine ladies as yourselves are certainly deserving of the attention of more worthy gentlemen."

"Know ye where we could find some?" Betsy asked, her face all innocence as she held his gaze.

A couple of soldiers snickered, and Hannah grabbed her sister's sleeve in alarm. The younger sister looked up at the scowling commander and stammered, "W-w-we just accepted their offer for a ride, sir. 'Tis a fair p-piece to walk to town."

The commander fixed the lasses with his cold regard. "Were we not otherwise engaged, rest assured that we would give you two girls a ride you would not soon forget."

"Captain, the wagon is empty, sir," called the other officer.

"As is his soul," Michael muttered under his breath as the commander steered his horse to the back of the wagon. After staring at it for a moment he issued a curt order that prompted the soldiers to head back to their horses. Pausing before the group again, the man said. "You may proceed on your way. Good day to you."

As they stepped back onto the road, Jamie said, "Michael, go load the wagon."

Michael sputtered, "Ye said if I did it this time, 'twould be yer turn next time! Now 'tis yer turn!"

"'Tis still the same time. Now go load it afore I give ye a cuff alongside yer head!"

Stalking to the rear of the wagon, Michael grumbled, "If I joined the Militia then ye couldna order me about anymore!"

The soldiers laughed. Swinging into the saddle, one said wryly, "Aye, but the officers will!"

The troops set off, and as the sound of the hooves receded, Declan and Jamie hastened to join Michael reloading the wagon. Once reassembled and underway, there were several minutes of tense silence. Declan felt the nervous twisting in his belly gradually subside.

Betsy spoke first: "Oh, I was so afeared! I dinna ken what came over me...I was trying to be brave. What if ye lads hadn't been with us...what if they had come upon Hannah and me walking alone?! Oh, thank God!"

Whatever his irritation had been previously, Declan was now glad they had stopped to pick up the lasses...Betsy was indeed correct...'twas an additional threat with which females must ever contend.

Jamie put his arm about Betsy's shoulders and gave her a squeeze, saying soothingly, "Yer safe with us, 'tis all fine now...why yer trembling, so ye are!"

"Aye, I canna stop thinking..."

"Here then, love, sit upon me lap. Declan, take the reins for a piece." No other coaxing was needed --- Betsy gratefully climbed onto his lap, sitting sideways, her back towards Hannah and Declan.

As Declan took the reins, his eyes met Hannah's...her expression was wistful. He cleared his throat. "Are ye well, then?"

"Just scared too," she whispered.

He glanced aside to see Jamie's arm round Betsy's back, rubbing her comfortingly, speaking close to her ear. Not wishing hurt Hannah's feelings, he chivalrously put his arm round her shoulders, switching the reins to his other hand. He squeezed her gently. His mind was in tumult over the encounter with the Militia and the job yet awaiting them. Although he felt her press her leg against his, he was too engrossed in his thoughts to ponder it further.

Paradoxically, the recent events appeared to have had an aphrodisiacal effect upon Jamie and Betsy. Despite his preoccupation, Declan was presently unable to ignore what was transpiring on the seat next to Hannah. The comforting embrace had evolved with scarce any discretion into something more amorous. With Betsy's back towards him, he could not tell what exactly what was passing, but 'twas soon evident that Jamie's other hand was under her skirts. Their heads were close together and intermittent murmurings were audible:

"Oh, ye bold lad!"

"Sweet Betsy!"

"Oh...pray..."

"...how wet it is!"

"Jamie..."

"...rock hard for ye!"

Declan felt his face grow warm...and then noticed Hannah's thigh was pressing more urgently against his. Glancing up over his shoulder, he beheld the muddy soles of Michael's shoes. Evidently sharing Declan's discomfiture, he had turned to lie upon his belly with his head towards the rear of the wagon. Declan debated admonishing the randy pair lest they draw someone else's attention.

"Declan, pull over," Jamie said suddenly. He and Betsy climbed down and hastened towards a copse of trees.

"I need to piddle," she announced.

"I'll go with ye and keep ye safe," Jamie said. There was a rustling of leaves and branches as they disappeared into the foliage, then silence fell.

Hannah looked up at him, blue eyes beseeching...thigh against his. Her cheeks were as red as his felt, and he sensed she was signaling that she was similarly affected as her sister. Awkwardly he patted her shoulder.

After several moments of weighty silence, there was an abrupt motion behind them. Michael clambered down from the wagon and headed out into the field on the side of the road opposite the wooded area into which Jamie and Betsy had decamped.

Declan and Hannah regarded each other. He cleared his throat. "Shall we walk for a bit?" She nodded and he helped her down. Side by side they walked on the road, she clearly scanning the surrounding green pastures for a private spot.

Declan, however, was not feeling a like sentiment. True, he was ruminating upon the mission, but it came to him that even if he were not thus occupied...even if he were merely on a careless jaunt in the country...he still might not feel such an inclination. Aye, she was bonnie and apparently most willing, but unlike the alluring an lucht siúil girl Phoebe two months ago, he felt no inclination towards Hannah, lustful or otherwise. Hannah and he had exchanged but ten words...who was he to her, or she to him, to join their private parts so?

It had been over a year since he'd enjoyed some full proper horizontal refreshment with a lass --- not since Marianne Burke. But even given his lengthy state of abstinence, the present situation was not inducement enough to divert his attention to bawdy pursuits. Perhaps a year and a half ago --- before his revelatory encounter with Mr. and Mrs. Burke --- he would have eagerly led her out to yonder shrubbery and tossed up her skirts...but no longer.

Since arriving in Enniscorthy, Declan's penchant for erotic musings had to some degree been checked by his new circumstances. The turmoil of patriotic fervor in his mind coupled with the lack of a private bedchamber had prompted an adjustment of his frigging to a hasty release much like other bodily necessities such as eating, sleeping, and emptying his bowels and bladder. Once the family had retired for the night and he lay upon his pallet in the doorless storeroom, he had not the luxury to invoke lingering amorous scenes as was his wont --- but despite the precipitance of his stroking hand, 'twas yet Aoife's image that flooded his mind in the ascent to Nature's crisis.

Now walking on the road with Hannah, Declan impatiently assessed the passage of time. When he judged that they had given the swiving pair sufficient time to finish their business, he turned them round and headed back to the wagon, glumly noting Hannah's crestfallen countenance.

Michael had already returned and was back on top of the fleeces, and within a few minutes, Jamie and Betsy ducked out from under the trees and remounted the wagon seat, happily flushed and easeful. Without speaking, Declan set the horse in motion, hoping that Byrne could now lend his full attention to their task.

Within a half hour they arrived in town and pulled up in the square next to the Market House. As Jamie and Betsy made their farewells, Declan took in the layout of the surrounding streets. His heart began to thump --- just up that lane and to the right was their destination, McBride's warehouse.

Despite the incident upon the road, the venture went as smoothly as they could have hoped.

They steered the wagon into the loading dock, whereupon McBride closed the doors behind them. As planned, they had arrived whilst McBride's employees were off taking their midday meal. McBride, a lean man in his thirties with light red hair, helped them unload the fleeces. Lifting the wagon's floorboards, they covered the bottom of the compartment with two fleeces to cushion the precious cargo, then loaded in the muskets, pistols, and ammunition. A bounty --- twenty muskets and fifteen pistols! And McBride had already distributed a portion of the shipment to the Wexford United Irish company.

Declan hammered shut the boards and they soon were on their way again. Michael rode in the empty wagon, leaning against the side wall, whittling a stick with a knife. As they left the city, they passed another group of Militia men --- four on horseback --- who eyed them and looked down into the wagon bed --- Michael having hidden his knife --- but did not otherwise detain them.

The journey back was uneventful, and, by and by, Declan's tension began to abate. Night had fallen by the time they arrived back at Fleetwood's farm --- the mission a success.

* * * * *

The muskets and pistols were quickly distributed and hidden, most at Fleetwood's farm, and others at the homes of various members.

At the farm, Declan immediately began training the men with the firearms --- cleaning, loading, and shooting for those unfamiliar with guns, and tactical skills for the entire company. He lamented the limited supply of ammunition that constrained target practice to a few shots for each man. As they still had not firearms for everyone, he and Fleetwood continued to plot further gambits to acquire more, whilst they strategized how the weapons would be assigned come the night of the rising.

During the drills in the hidden glen at the farm, Declan frequently noticed Michael McArdle at the edge of the group of men, intently observing the proceedings and mimicking the maneuvers being trained --- lunging and blocking with a pike, thrusting with a knife, running in a crouch, rolling to evade oncoming blades. Declan began to include him in the demonstration of techniques. 'Twas evident from his undersized frame that hardship had taken its toll, but he was nimble enough. Once he gained some muscle, he would no doubt prove to be an excellent soldier.

In the days immediately following the lads' excursion to McBride's in Wexford town, the Crown's ten-day ultimatums to surrender weapons in the neighboring counties began to expire. Some pikes and muskets had been turned in during the grace period, but the authorities were not appeased.

As Fleetwood's regiment awaited tidings with bated breath, there was yet another momentous development.

General Abercromby, the commander-in-chief of the Crown's forces in Ireland, had been compelled to resign both due to impolitic statements he had made concerning the licentious state of his own army, as well as due to pressure from high-ranking officers and Irish gentry who were unhappy with what they considered his excessively lenient approach to suppressing the subversive elements among the populace.

'Twas the identity of Abercromby's successor that was cause for grim consternation: General Gerard Lake, the author of the ruthless dragooning of Ulster last year!

Even as reports began to circulate of free quarters being imposed with consequent plundering of citizens' homes for food and valuables, the United Irishmen knew that worse was yet to come once General Lake formally instituted his preferred tactics of terror.

The one consolatory piece of news was that Thomas Reynolds --- the United Irishman turncoat who had betrayed the Society's Dublin leadership the previous month --- after having successfully evaded reprisals against his life by the Society, had now fallen victim to an unbridled exercise of free quarters. The Crown's troops in the field, unaware that he was a government spy, and acting upon old intelligence of his connection to the rebel organization, had taken up residence on Reynold's estate, sacking the newly renovated castle in search of weapons, collecting trophies, and nightly feasting off the bounty of the larder and wine cellar.

On Sunday, April 29th, Fleetwood called an emergency officers' meeting. Declan ran from the training field to the stone circle in the pasture, leaping over his stone to take a seat. "Sorry to be late. There was mishap with a pike." To the inquiring looks, he added hastily, "Just a scratch, it is, no calamity."

"Well, lads, let's get right to it," Fleetwood said. "We've just had tidings of a new Yeomanry corps that took up quarters outside Enniscorthy."

Ominous looks were exchanged round the circle. Another unit of the Crown's forces with which to contend, this on their very doorstep! Had the authorities at last caught wind of the rebel presence in County Wexford?

"Where is the garrison?" Bolger asked.

"They've taken up quarters at Rossnalough Manor, about two miles west of town."

"At the manor house itself?"

"Aye, so it seems. The owner of the estate is one Daniel Fitzgerald, so I expect they've commandeered it." The men nodded slowly. United Irish leader Lord Edward Fitzgerald was still at large and being hunted by the authorities. Any suspected kin were liable to be harassed by the military.

"What do we know about the unit?" Foley asked.

"Two hundred men, infantry."

"Any cannons?" Declan asked.

"Aye, but we don't have the numbers yet. We do have the names of the commander, Colonel Blaylock, and at least one officer, Captain Drury."

Declan froze. His limbs went cold, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. "Did you say 'Blaylock'?" he croaked.

"Aye," Fleetwood replied. "Do ye know the man?"

"I think I might," Declan said slowly, his voice all but drowned by the rushing blood in his ears. "From whence came this intelligence?"

"Michael McArdle overheard something at the Militia's garrison and went to Rossnalough himself to investigate. 'Tis from him that we learnt what we have so far."

For the remainder of the meeting, Declan could scarce attend the conversation as they discussed the implications of the new Yeomanry unit for their preparations. Restraining his excitement, his palms rode on his restlessly joggling knees. As soon as the meeting was concluded, he sprinted back to the training field --- no Michael in sight. To his inquiry, one man thought he had seen him up by the barn. Thither then did Declan race.

Clattering through the door into the barn, he found the lad seated at the grindstone, sharpening a pike head. Two other men were busy at the workbench. Declan took a deep breath and forced himself into a calmer mien. "Hey, Michael," he said, crossing to the grindstone. "I heard the news of the new Yeomanry corps."

Michael's dirty face lifted briefly, and he regarded Declan through his smudged spectacles. "Aye," he said in a tight voice. The rhythm of his foot on the pedal grew more forceful. "We'll kill them all, no matter how many they muster against us!"

"'Twas good intelligence you gave the Captain...how came ye by it?"

Expertly adjusting the pike head against the spinning stone, Michael said, "I heard the Militia officers mention it when I was shining their boots, so I walked out to the estate Friday. They were busy setting up camp, so they were." He shrugged. "I just strolled down the road by the place...acted surprised-like to see them...told them I polished boots at the garrison, and did they need such a service?" He turned the pike head to the other face. "One of the officers told me to come back on Monday, they were too busy for boot-polishing now."

"And ye heard the names of the officers?"

"Heard, aye, and saw them."

Declan's belly knotted in excitement. "You saw Colonel Blaylock?"

"So I did."

"What did he look like?"

Michael lifted the metal from the stone and tested the edge with a fingertip. "Well, I didn't see him close-like...he was probably as far away as that plough." He nodded towards the yard. "He was tall...maybe even taller than you. Early thirties. Black hair." He resumed sharpening the pike head. "Why d'ye ask? Know ye the man?"

Declan's heart thumped. His body felt numb, then hot in a rush. "I think so," he muttered. Noticing Michael eyeing him with curiosity, he cleared his throat. "Did he speak to you?"

The lad shook his head. "I dinna think he even saw me. But I'll go back tomorrow and see if I can find some officers with scuffed boots." He grimaced wryly.

* * * * *

Blaylock was returned to Ireland!

Could it not be someone else with the same name? But...another man with the same name and so like in appearance? Nay, it must be him! He was HERE! Here in Enniscorthy...the commander of a Yeomanry corps!