The detachment marched next morning.  Ralph enjoyed the novelty of the march, but was not sorry when at the end of the second day’s tramp they reached the village.  The men were quartered in the houses of the villagers, and the officers took rooms at the inn.  Except when engaged in expeditions to capture stills—­of which they succeeded in finding nearly a score—­there was not much to do at Ballyporrit.  All the gentry resident within a wide circle called upon them, and invitations to dinners and dances flowed in rapidly.  As one officer was obliged to remain always in the village with the detachment, Ralph seldom availed himself of these invitations.  O’Connor and Lieutenant Desmond were both fond of society; and, as Ralph very much preferred staying quietly in his quarters, he was always ready to volunteer to take duty upon these occasions.

Ballyporrit lay within a mile of the sea, and Ralph, when he had nothing else to do, frequently walked to the edge of the cliffs, and sat there hour after hour watching the sea breaking among the rocks three or four hundred feet below him, and the sea-birds flying here and there over the water, and occasionally dashing down to its surface.  A few fishing boats could be seen, but it was seldom that a distant sail was visible across the water; for not one vessel in those days sailed for the west to every fifty that now cross the Atlantic.  The rocks upon which he sat rose in most places almost sheer up from the edge of the sea; but occasionally they fell away, and a good climber could make his way over the rough rocks and bowlders down to the water’s edge.  As, however, there was nothing to be gained by it, Ralph never made the attempt.

Looking back over the land the view was a dreary one.  There was not a human habitation within sight, the hills were covered with brown heather, while in the bottoms lay bogs, deep and treacherous to those who knew not the way across.  It was rarely that a human figure was visible.  Once or twice a day a revenue man came along the edge of the cliff, and would generally stop for a talk with Ralph.

“There was,” he said, “a good deal of smuggling carried on along that part of the coast during the war; but there is not so much of it now, though no doubt a cargo is run now and then.  It does not pay as it did when the French ports were all closed, and there was not a drop of brandy to be had save that which was run by the smugglers.  Now that trade is open again there is only the duty to save, and I fancy a good many of the boats have gone out of the business.  You see, the revenue has got its agents in the French ports, and gets news from them what craft are over there loading, and what part of the coast they come from.  Along the English coast there is still a good deal of it.  There lace pays well; but there is not much sale for lace in Ireland, and not much sale for brandy either, excepting in the towns.  The peasants and farmers would not thank you for it when they can get home-made whisky for next to nothing.”