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His talk was very different from the flamboyant exultation of Felix Matier; very different also from Donald Ward's cool delight in the prospect of battle. James Hope seemed to realise the awful gravity of taking up arms against established government. He alone understood the very small chance there was of victory for the United Irishmen. Yet Neal never for an instant doubted Hope's courage.
His fingers pushed back the lock of dark hair which hung over his forehead. His face grew stern, and there was a look of determination in his dark eyes. A frown gathered in deep wrinkles on his forehead. At last he spoke. "You are on your way to Belfast. I shall give you a letter to Felix Matier, who keeps the inn with the sign of Dumouriez in North Street. You will find him easily.
"Perhaps by this time," he said to himself, "she will have forgotten my funk!" But although he frequently loitered in the roads about the "loanie," he never met her, and it was not until he said some casual things to William Henry Matier that he discovered that she was not at the farm. "I heerd tell she was visitin' friends in Bilfast!" Matier said, and with that he had to be content.
It was seven o'clock when Neal reached Aeneas Moylin's house, after climbing the steep lane that led to Donegore Hill. He found six men seated in the kitchen Donald Ward, Felix Matier, James Bigger, Moylin, and two others whom he did not know. "It's Neal Ward," said Donald. "It's my nephew. Sit you down, Neal."
Felix Matier had somehow laid hands on Phelim, the blind piper, and set him playing. A hundred voices, voices of marching men, caught the tune, whistled, and sang it. Matier's own voice rang out clearest and loudest of all. It was, the "Marseillaise" they sang a not inappropriate anthem for soldiers about to fight for the liberty of man.
I don't know under God what I keep you for!" "Now, you don't mean the half you say, sir!..." "You're not worth ninepence a week!" "Aw, now," said Matier, who knew his master, "I'm worth more'n that, sir!" "How much are you worth? Tell me that, William Henry Matier!" William Henry rooted up the daisy, and then said that he wouldn't like to put too high a price on himself....
That, on the whole, was a just and adequate description of Mr. Quinn, and certainly no one had better qualifications for forming an estimate of his employer's character than William Henry Matier; for he had spent many years of his life in Mr. Quinn's service and had, on an average, been discharged from it about ten times per annum. Mr.
The long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and an occasional drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him. Donald Ward and Matier followed her. "Let's have a look at him," said Donald. "Ah! here's a scalp wound and a cut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg, get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot did this.
Neal was aware that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was somewhere behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the fight. Suddenly Felix Matier shouted "We're blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to aim. Follow me who dare!" He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there than in the churchyard.
"'Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago. "Who set the dragoons on you?" said Donald. "That's the question." "By God, then, it's easily answered," said Matier. "I'll give it to you in the words of the poet "'Letters four do form his name. He let them loose and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due. "P.I.T.T. Does that content you?"
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