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Updated: June 26, 2025
He's a bit of a coward, and he's not much liked in the country because he tries to please both parties." "I thought you said last night," said Donald, "that he wouldn't betray us." "No more he would," said Moylin, "he'd be afraid of what might happen him after, but I never said he'd help us. It's my belief he's gone off out of this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day.
Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles, and high grass which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin fumbled with the lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and swung open the iron door. It was so low that he had to crawl through. Once inside, he lit the lantern which he carried, and set it on a projecting ledge of the rough masonry.
Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open space of ground, shot up. "Down," said Donald, "down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil have they got the fire?" "It's my house," said Moylin, quietly, "the roof is thatched. It burns well, but it won't burn for long."
"Let's be getting on," said Moylin, "my house is ashes now, the house I built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was born in. She's safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. I want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of dragoons in front of me." Under Moylin's guidance they travelled across country through the night.
Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard. He returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party. "I've been looking round," he said, "to see what chance we have of getting breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted." "I wouldn't wonder," said Moylin, "if the man that owns it has cleared out.
"Pitt," said Donald. "Oh, I see. That's true, no doubt. But I want some one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the writing on it?" "I can tell you that," said James Bigger. "I have a note in my pocket this minute from the man who wrote that. It's a summons to a meeting for important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of Donegore, next week."
"Silence," said Donald. "It is the man," said Aeneas Moylin, "I hear him putting his horse into the shed. It must be he, for no stranger would know the ways of the place." James Bigger drew a pistol from his pocket, looked carefully at the priming, cocked it, and laid it on the table before him. He sat at the end of the table opposite Donald Ward, and was nearest to the door.
He has done these things for the sake of gain, for money counted out to him as the priests counted money out to Judas." It was impossible to plead his cause any more. Moylin pushed open the iron door of the vault. Neal dragged his hands from Finlay's grasp, and crawled out.
The place must be swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every soldier within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next lot. Over into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to you. You know the country, or you ought to, and I don't." Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall at the lower end of it.
He could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without a word his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves. Donald crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the church, led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were no graves.
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