Kate McCarthy, after having heard the disclosure of Martha, regarding the character of her uncle, and the dangerous and nefarious practices in which he and Smith, or the Kid, were engaged, arrived, by degrees, at the conclusion, that she was the victim of some horrible and mysterious plot, in which Nicholas, too, was involved unconsciously. This idea having taken full possession of her, she immediately communicated it to her friend, who also seemed to share her apprehension. Of course, she had no means of accounting for the existence of the talisman upon which, at the time she received it, she could have staked her life; but, now, it was too plain, that even about this there was something strange and unsatisfactory; because, from her frequent inspection of it, although it had evidently come from the hand of Nicholas, it appeared to have not been so clearly intended for her, as she could have desired. Yet for whom else could it have been designed? This was the question; and it necessarily remained unanswered, while the conviction still obtained, that, notwithstanding there was enough in the mysterious token to justify the course she had taken, she was nevertheless in most dangerous toils, with the existence of which her lover was totally unacquainted.
This once settled in her mind, her first impulse was to flee the house immediately; but, on second consideration, she felt it were better to await results, as she was certain that Martha was her true friend, and believed that no actual violence would be offered to her while under Wilson’s roof. Were she to effect her escape she had neither acquaintance nor guide to direct her steps, and was totally uninformed as to the character and people of the locality in which she found herself. Again, Wilson had no doubt, placed eyes upon her that would arrest her footsteps, or so embarrass her that she should again fall into the hands from which she sought to escape. The region around her, as she now learned, was addicted to smuggling, and so marked was this truth, that a house of entertainment in the neighborhood was called the Smuggler’s Home; where, it was said, bold and reckless men were to be found constantly. There was one thing, however, she was determined upon, and that was to procure, if possible, some weapon of defence in case any attempt were made to further jeopardize her person or liberty; and in this she was promptly aided by her young friend.
She had now been nearly a week from home, and yet not an additional word or line had arrived from her lover. It was fortunate, however, that in her present perilous condition she had one in whom she could confide, and whom she knew sympathised with her. This was a solace to her, as it enabled her from time to time, to ease her burdened heart of the heavy load that pressed upon it, and converse upon the probable designs of those into whose toils she hod been betrayed. Smith, she was well aware, knew all the circumstances of her case; but he was in the employment of her persecutor or persecutors, and nothing, she was certain, was to be gleaned from him. However, as he had some design on the hand of Martha, the thought struck her that if opportunity served, her young friend might be able to extract from him even a hint as to the real state of her case; and this idea she at once communicated to her. Martha, on her part, expressed herself willing to befriend her to the utmost of her power; but still evinced a repugnance to be under any obligation to Smith, or enter into relations with him that could aim at anything like confidence between them. Yet she confessed herself ready to sacrifice her feelings as far as she could properly do so, for the purpose of fathoming the plot that surrounded her companion; but, then, where was Smith to begin with; and when was it probable that he should again make his appearance in that locality? These were points more easily entertained than disposed of; and thus matters stood when circumstances threw in their way the very individual they both desired to see.
When the Kid, Jack and Wilson were liberated on the evening of the day on which they had been captured with others, and sent into the headquarters of Gen. O’Neill, it was decided that the first named of these worthies should proceed at once to Wilson’s, and apprise the family of the presence of a hostile army, and the necessity of keeping close and barricading the house in case the tide of war should roll in that direction. The habitation, as already mentioned, stood in an isolated spot surrounded with woods, and the proprietor was of the impression, that it would escape notice or molestation; from the fact that the Fenians seemed to eschew everything that savored, in even the slightest degree, of the destruction of private property or of gratuitous pillage. Besides, he perceived that for the purpose of meeting some of the necessities of the invaders, a few horses had been already impressed into their service, and felt, consequently, that were his discovered on the road leading to his home, they could not fail to share the same fate. He therefore, as just intimated, begged the Kid to make the best of his way to Limestone Ridge, beside which his domicile stood. To this request the Kid willingly acceded, as it would afford him another opportunity of seeing Martha; so, when evening was about to set in, he commenced his journey.
Earlier in the day, the brave Captain O’Donohue, of the 18th, white out on a foraging party towards Chippewa, came up with some outposts of the enemy, who, noticing his dauntless bearing, and the steady, onward tramp of his handful of men, fled at his approach without firing a single shot.
When passing out of the camp to the main road, the Kid learned that the whole force was to move off at about ten o’clock in the direction of Chippewa; it being the intention of the commander, as previously observed, to get between the body of regulars about proceeding from that point, and that of the volunteers, to move forward, and form a junction with them, from Port Colborne; intending to attack and defeat the one before the other came up. At this time O’Neill’s troops did not, as is confidently asserted, number as many as five hundred men; while the force of the enemy surrounding him on every side, was estimated at an aggregate of some thousands. This he well knew, but he had invaded the territories of the ancient and implacable antagonist of his country and his name, and he was determined to make another Thermopylae of any pass in which he happened to meet the foe, no matter how overwhelming their numbers.
This intelligence impressed the Kid with the idea that a battle might possibly take place somewhere in the vicinity of Stevensville or Ridgeway; as he knew that the leader of the Irish Republican Army, or forlorn hope, as so small a body of men might be termed, would attempt to intercept a junction of the enemy somewhere near one or the other of these points, as both lay on the line between Chippewa and Port Colborne, taking the Sodom Road and the Grand Trunk Railway as the surest and speediest route between both these latter places. So pushing forward, with speed that never slackened, just at the period that O’Neill was about to break camp, under the pretence of attacking Chippewa, Mr. Stephen Smith arrived at Wilson’s door, and after a polite double knock was admitted by the mistress of that suspicious dwelling.
Martha was soon apprised of his arrival, and while her companion trembled throughout every limb with anxiety for the fate of the important enquiries which she had kindly consented to make, she hastily left the apartment where both had been long seated, conversing upon their future and the chances of escape from such a den. On perceiving the Kid, although her very soul revolted against the touch of his cold, clammy hand, she seemed to welcome him with more than ordinary cordiality. She was, of course, both surprised and alarmed at the intelligence of the invasion, and the proximity of the two armies; for, as yet, not a whisper of it had reached her, so secluded the place. He spoke of the necessity of putting the house in a state of defence, so as to be ready to meet any contingency; although, as he himself averred, he did not apprehend the slightest danger so long as the inmates remained within their doors, in case the din of battle was heard in the vicinity. As it was, however, the windows were well secured, and the heavy, oaken front-door was capable of being rendered all but invulnerable by a huge iron bar that could be speedily thrown across it into two deep grooves in the posts.
All this having been seen to, some trifling inquiry was made as to their lodger, when Mrs. Wilson, understanding previously the intention of Martha, and sympathizing with the case of poor Kate, left the apartment, as if on some ordinary household affair. Martha now set about gaining the information she sought; but with all her art, could only ascertain from her suitor, that Kate was in the power of an individual who, for some reason unknown to him, had betrayed her into Canada, and consigned her, for a time at least, to the place where she was now domiciled.
“And were you a party to the abduction of this innocent creature?” exclaimed Martha, the blood mounting to her cheeks in real anger and disgust.
“Oh! it was all in the way of business,” replied the other, “and perceiving that it would result in the most pleasant companionship for one I so admire, I had the less scruples in furthering the design of a good employer.”
Let it be understood that this villain had not even the most remote idea of the pure nature and true character of Martha. Having seen her but a few times, he subjected her moral worth to the standard of that of her uncle, and thought, consequently, that the disclosure he now made would enhance him in her estimation. In this he was mistaken; for, no sooner had he made her thoroughly cognizant of the fact that he was not an innocent, but a willing, instrument in the abduction of poor Kate, than she sprang to her feet, and with a glance the most withering, and full of unconquerable hate and aversion, without a single other word, left the apartment and ascended to that of her friend.
No sooner had she disappeared than an expression the most demoniacal stole over the countenance of Smith. The very devil sat on his brow, while his eyes turned absolutely green in their sockets. His thin, pale lips glistened again, as he drew them across his sharp, white teeth, in an attempt to smile. Looking stealthily about him, while a curious expression, still more horrible, replaced the one already described, he hastily drew a long knife from a sheath concealed beneath his vest, and regarded it for a moment in the light of the lamp before him. He knew that every hope of obtaining the hand of Martha was lost, and forever; and now for a terrible revenge.
“They are helpless and alone,” he muttered, slowly rising to his feet. “There is wealth, too, somewhere here; and should I silence them all, it will be mine, and their death will be laid at the door of the invaders. Besides,” he growled, “no suspicion can rest upon me, as I am the known friend of Wilson and the family. Nobody saw me come—no person shall see me leave. I shall fire the house after having rifled it; and conceal whatever I may obtain, in some convenient spot until the affair has blown over. Jack and Wilson know too much of me: I am tired of them. If needs be, I shall silence them also. I have rare work before me. Barry must die; but what shall I profit by killing him if I kill this woman also? Who cares! The devil is working with me; and now for it! To the foot of the stairs, then; where, as they descend, they shall fall one by one without a groan until the rare bird of a prisoner is left alone in her room. Then for some wild sport and the final blow!”
Having muttered all this to himself, the demon in human shape, extinguishing the lamp, sprang forward in the direction of the stairs, to await the first who happened to descend: but scarcely had he assumed his post of death, before the large oaken door was thrust rudely open and two strapping young fellows, armed with a revolver and a dirk each, rushed into the apartment, and alarmed all the party up stairs by calling aloud for a light, the gleam from the hearth being feeble and uncertain.
Instantly the knife of Smith was returned to its sheath, while he stepped forward, saying that he had just accidently extinguished the lamp in the absence of Mrs. Wilson and Martha, who had run up stairs to acquaint a lady friend with the intelligence that he had but that moment brought her from Mr. Wilson, regarding the invasion of the Province and the proximity, as he had no doubt, of the Fenian and Canadian forces.
“That is just the mission we have come on ourselves,” returned one of the new comers, “as we were apprised that Mr. Wilson was from home, and thought that his family would like to know of the dangers that possibly surrounded them.”
The manly voice of the speaker soon brought Martha and her aunt down stairs; and the lamp being speedily relighted, the former advanced towards the speaker and taking his extended hand, with a bright eye and a flushed cheek, heard all he had to say on the subject which occasioned his unceremonious visit.
“One of us will stay with you,” he continued, while she thanked him for his goodness, “until Mr. Wilson arrives; and although he is not over social in his habits, I am sure he will not misconstrue the anxiety we feel for the safety of his family.”
“Thank you! thank you, Mr. Evans,” returned Martha; “we shall feel so grateful for your protection; and as to my uncle, I am satisfied he cannot be otherwise than obliged to you for this great kindness.”
“You stay then, Harry,” observed the other stranger, “for I shall move on to Ridgeway, as I want to hear what’s afloat there. There are troops, I know, at Port Colborne, and they ought to be apprised of the whereabouts of the enemy, and so should the inhabitants of this neighborhood. Mr. Graham, the Collector of Fort Erie, has, I am informed, proceeded with information of the enemy to Port Colborne; but still there is not yet anything known of their precise location, so contradictory are the rumors, not only as to where they are encamped, but in relation to their numbers.”
“I can satisfy you as to both these circumstances,” broke in the Kid, with a voice as bland as if murder had not visited his heart for an age, “for I heard this evening that they were encamped about four hundred strong at Newbiggin’s farm, four or five miles down the river from Fort Erie; and that they intended to move on towards Chippewa about ten o’clock; branching off in the direction of Ridgeway, in the hope of meeting the troops coming from Port Colborne, and defeating them before they formed a junction with those expected from Chippewa.”
“As my cousin Harry will sit up with the family for the remainder of the night, then, perhaps you would not mind walking as far as Ridgeway,” replied the young fellow who had last spoken, “as we are sure to have news there; from the fact of the village being on the line of the Grand Trunk.”
Seeing that his murderous plot was for the time defeated, the Kid made no objection to this request; feeling that the darkness and the night, as well as any whirl of excitement or debauch, were more in accordance with the infernal tone of his spirit, than the conversation of two beings, Martha and Evans, whom his keen eye at once discovered to be lovers. So bidding the family good night, and not waiting to partake of the refreshments offered him after his journey from the Fenian camp, he sallied forth with his new acquaintance on the road leading to the village.
“Henry,” said Martha, when the sound of their receding footsteps had died in the distance, “do you know anything of the man Smith who has just left us, for you seemed to eye him very intently from the moment the lamp was relighted until the door closed behind him this moment? We know now, and have often suspected, him to be a villain; but circumstances over which we had no control—that is, my aunt and myself—have thrown us occasionally into the society of the wretch, whom we both loathe and detest.”
This interrogatory was put in the absence of Mrs. Wilson, who had again sought the apartment of Kate to tell her all that had just transpired. It seemed to embarrass the young man for a moment; but recovering himself, he frankly replied—
“I have seen that man frequently in Buffalo. Not long since, he was pointed out to me as a most dangerous character who was under the surveillance of the police; and, as you may be well assured, I was astounded to find him here and at such an hour.”
“Oh!” returned Martha, “he has been here often, Henry, and what I now fear is, that my uncle is leagued with him, not only in the most frightfully dishonest practices, but in the abduction, at the instance of some other villain, of a good and pure young creature who, a few nights ago, was brought here by them under the pretense that it was the wish of her lover that she should accompany them where this wretch would—a pretense that disguised itself under a veritable token procured in some way from her betrothed, and evidently used without his sanction or knowledge.”
“I believe your uncle to be a bad man, Martha,” returned Evans, “but the fault is not yours; and besides, there is not a single drop of his blood in your veins. I am convinced, also, that your aunt knows it, and that it is that which so wastes her away and destroys the whole sunshine of her life. I have long felt it; and were it not for the dread of paining you through exposure, I should ere this have directed the attention of the authorities to some circumstances affecting his character and honesty, that came under my own notice; for, Martha, dear, but a few hours since, as I may say, I was an accidental witness of an incident which more than confirms all the suspicions that have so long rested on him.”
“I know! I know?” interrupted Martha, while she hid her face in her hands and wept in bitter agony, “but go on!”
“When,” resumed Evans, “two or three nights ago, believing Wilson to be from home—for I shall no longer call him your uncle, he being, in truth, no relation whatever of yours,—I stole up from our place to say a few words to you and urge you to quit this house and become my wife. I was astonished to see a light in the stable as I crept by it; and looking into one of the windows. I perceived this man leaning over a large case filled with valuables that had evidently been stolen by him, or by some of his accomplices, who had entrusted them to his safe keeping until the noise of the robbery had blown over. I saw this, I saw with my own eyes; and now that you are aware of it, can you longer remain beneath this roof?”
“It is true! alas! too true,” sobbed Martha, “for I myself saw the very same case; and then it was, that for the first time, a full sense of his horrible vocation fell upon me and the poor woman that he calls his wife. Of course, Henry, I shall quit this place, and forever; but until this horrible din is over, and the poor creature up stairs placed in some safe hands, I shall bear my terrible lot as best I can.”
“Rightly spoken, dear Martha,” returned Henry, kissing off her tears, “and I trust that this lady of whom you speak, will prove herself worthy your kindness and esteem.”
“No fear of that, dear Henry,” returned the maiden, “my heart tells me that she is as good as she is beautiful, and I know, not only from her own lips, but from what has transpired this very night, that she is the victim of some foul plot yet to be punished and explained.”
“And where has she come from, and what is her name?” rejoined Henry, evidently becoming interested in the fate of our heroine.
“Her home is in Buffalo,” replied Martha, “and her name is Kate M’Carthy.”
falling, “where is she? where is she? Lead me to her at once!”
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