hem
displaying English colours.

The dreadful secret was out. There had been a tremendous sea-fight, and
the _Hoche_, of seventy-four guns, was the sad spectacle which, with
shattered sides and ragged rigging, I now beheld entering the bay. Oh,
the humiliation of that sight! I can never forget it. And although on
all the surrounding hills scarcely fifty country-people were assembled,
I felt as if the whole of Europe were spectators of our defeat. The
flag I had always believed triumphant now hung ignominiously beneath the
ensign of the enemy, and the decks of our noble ship were crowded with
the uniforms of English sailors and marines.

The blue water surged and spouted from the shot-holes as the great hull
loomed heavily from side to side, and broken spars and ropes still
hung over the side, as she went, a perfect picture of defeat. Never was
disaster more legibly written. I watched her till the anchor dropped,
and then, in a burst of emotion, I turned away, unable to endure more.
As I hastened homeward I met the elder of my two hosts coming to meet
me, in considerable anxiety. He had heard of the capture of the _Hoche_,
but his mind was far more intent on another and less important event.
Two men had just been at his cottage with a warrant for my arrest.
The document bore my name and rank, as well as a description of my
appearance, and significantly alleged that, although Irish by birth, I
affected a foreign accent for the sake of concealment.

'There is no chance of escape now,' said my friend; 'we are surrounded
with spies on every hand. My advice is, therefore, to hasten to Lord
Cavan's quarters--he is now at Letterkenny--and give yourself up as a
prisoner. There is at least the chance of your being treated like the
rest of your countrymen. I have already provided you with a horse and a
guide, for I must not accompany you myself. Go, then, Maurice. We shall
never see each other again; but we'll not forget you, nor do we fear
that you will forget us. My brother could not trust himself to take
leave of you, but his best wishes and prayers go with you.'

Such were the last words my kind-hearted friend spoke to me; nor do I
know what reply I made, as, overcome by emotion, my voice became
thick and broken. I wanted to tell all my gratitude, and yet could say
nothing. To this hour I know not with what impression of me he went
away. I can only assert, that in all the long career of vicissitudes of
a troubled and adven