Information at length reached me that the party under O'Mahony were dispersed and himself fled. The difficulty of my position, with respect to my protectors, left me no alternative. Any chance that presented itself should be embraced. The Bristol boat was in the river, panting to escape her anchorage; and following the horse, which was to bear me to Tipperary, to the quay, I walked on board the _Juverna_, just as she was loosing her cables. My baggage, made up in a small box, was put on board as a parcel addressed to a young friend of mine in London. The few moments that intervened were fraught with most intense suspense. I stood on the fore deck among cattle, covered with rags and dirt, my eyes fixed on two detectives who stood at the cabin entrance, scrutinising narrowly the figure and features of every cabin passenger. The bell rang, the detectives stepped on shore, one of my friends who watched my movements from a distance, waved a kind adieu, the _Juverna_ slipped her cables, and by one bound was out in the river. The first motion of her paddles sounded to me like the assurance of fate, and I looked on the curling foam with measureless exultation. The _Juverna_ made a momentary halt at Passage, and then glanced gaily through Cove harbour out into the sea. As she cleared the road I turned back to look for the last time upon my fatherland. Her prospects, her promise, her strength, her hopes, her failure and her fall rushed in burning memory through my brain. I endeavoured to embody in the following verses the feelings that agitated and almost paralysed my every faculty of body and mind. I wrote them on a piece of paper that had been wrapped round some cheese:--
Away, away, the good ship swings; One heave, one bound, and off she's dashing, Expanding wide her snowy wings, The white foam round her paddles flashing. Away, away, the land recedes, Far into dim and dreary distance, As gallantly our packet speeds. Unconscious of the gale's resistance. Away, away, how oft before, With paling cheek and aching stomach, I've trembled at the billow's roar. And crouched me in my narrow hammock. But now, I bless the wildest waves That bear me from a land of slaves.
Away, away, yon crimson cloud, Which, mounting the blue vault of Heaven, Soars calmly o'er the murky shroud That palls the close of boisterous even, Is scarcely fairer than the form, The light, the grace, from stem to stern--a Fairy riding on the storm-- Of the fleet, trusty, dight _Juverna_, Away, away, one last look more: One blessing on the naked land-- Though the too glorious dream be o'er-- One blessing for her truthful hand, Her proud old faith, though darkly grown, Still lingering by each cold hearth-stone.