The Killing Snows

by Charles Egan

  Kitty was another factor in his thoughts. Perhaps she had been right. Perhaps they should leave Mayo, and both of them go to Leeds. No, that would not work. He had promised to return. And anyhow the men on the gangs would never accept him if he brought another man’s wife with him. France so? No, that was only a dream. Perhaps he could stay in Mayo and live with her. No, that was impossible, and he knew it. No one would ever accept that.

  And then there was the question of his own family. Could he make more money in Leeds, help more that way? He was sure he could, but it would upset Eleanor. With the new quarry and road contracts, she would see that he no longer had an excuse. He could earn money in Carrigard, and while it might not be as much as in Leeds, it would be sufficient. She would be thinking – if he went to Leeds now, why would he not go to Leeds again later? Why would he not stay in Leeds?

  He was torn both ways. He lay awake at night, trying to think it all out. Staying in Carrigard – that would just be giving in. Or would it be the sensible thing to do? Would Danny see him as a fool? More important, would his own father have less respect for him, see that he had lost the argument even as he seemed to have won it. He could not decide.

  He worked in the bog and in the quarry, trying to forget what was happening around him, but always there were hungry people passing along the road towards Knockanure and Dublin. In the end, he started working in a part of the quarry where he could not see the road, and continued smashing rock.

  A week later, White came again, this time accompanied by a stranger. He introduced him as George Gaffney, who would have responsibility for the new line of road. The three men sat around the table, and Eleanor listened while pretending not to.

  ‘I understand from Mr. White here that your sons can read and write,’ Gaffney remarked.

  ‘Of course,’ Michael answered. ‘All of our family have done that for generations past.’

  ‘Can they add and subtract as well?’

  This time White answered. ‘I should explain that Mr. Ryan’s brother has been running a small school here for over twenty years. I understand they teach Latin and Greek too.’

  ‘Excellent. As you can appreciate, we are very short of skilled men here, and much administration will be necessary for a contract of this size. Would they be prepared to work as clerks on a project like this, Mr. Ryan?’

  ‘That depends on your conditions,’ Michael replied,

  ‘A shilling and ninepence a day is the rate.’

  ‘I would be very happy so. My eldest son, Luke, has spent the past six years working in England. Pat has been working the harvests as well. Nothing would delight us more than to have them work here beside us.’

  ‘I would like to meet them,’ Gaffney said.

  Eleanor walked across to the cow shed to bring in Pat and Luke. She was thinking. There was work in Carrigard. Leeds might not be necessary at all.

  Luke and Pat sat at the table.

  ‘I’m told you can both read and write,’ Gaffney enquired.

  ‘Yes,’ Luke answered.

  ‘You can add and subtract? Multiply and divide?’

  ‘We can.’

  ‘Let me test your ability. If I employ eight men for six days at one-and-sixpence a day, what is the total wage?’

  ‘Three pounds and twelve shillings,’ Luke answered without hesitation.

  Gaffney stared at him. ‘No one on earth could calculate that fast.’

  When White and Gaffney had left, the family discussed the offer. It was clear now that the situation had changed again. Yes, the wages offered were still lower than what could be earned on the railways, but now Michael would also be earning money as well as hiring out the horse and cart. All told, they could be bringing in as much money as a man would working in England. There was no need for anyone to leave Carrigard.

  Luke went outside and leaned on the fence of the haggard, trying to think. He was trapped again. Trapped by his own pride in showing how he could calculate. Perhaps he should have taken a few minutes, and given the wrong answer. No. There were footsteps behind him. Michael leant on the fence alongside him.

  ‘It’s the right thing, Luke, and you know it. And I want you to know this, I still respect you. I know you want to go to Leeds, but this is for the best.’

  ‘Respect me, is it? You won the argument, Father.’

  ‘No,’ Michael said, ‘you won the argument. I agreed with what you wanted. Not that I liked it, but like you said, respect goes both ways. But now everything has changed, and this is the right decision, and I respect you the more for it.’

  He spent all the next day in the bog on his own. When he had finished, he walked towards the rath. It was still bright, the sun just descending by the shoulder of the Mountain.

  He was weary and confused. Going to Leeds, it had been the obvious thing to do. But Michael was right too. The Relief Works had changed everything. McKinnon had already been surveying the Works on the other side of the river, but that was different. This was closer to home. The way Gaffney had put it had trapped him. They needed men like him to run the Works, and the Works were the only way that many of his neighbours could earn money now. The potatoes were gone. Day by day, famine was tightening its grip, and very soon the only alternative to the Relief Works would be death.

  High up on the Mountain there was a fire. He wondered if it was a house burning. It seemed to be at Gort na Móna, but it was not close to the main settlement. He watched it for a few minutes more, then he saw a second one. This was higher up the Mountain, near Baile a’ Cnoic. Then he saw another at Árd na gCaiseal. By now there were three around Gort na Móna, but none of them were near houses. He wondered at first whether the heather was burning, but some at least seemed to be in open fields. As the dusk advanced, more fires were lit across the Mountain. Soon there were twenty or more.

  It was dark now. He heard his father’s voice in the distance.

  ‘I’m here,’ Luke shouted.

  His father ran up. ‘What’s wrong with you? Your mother was worried.’

  ‘I was just watching the fires.’

  ‘I know. And by God, they’ll pay for that,’ he said.

  ‘Why? What’s happening?’

  ‘Coogan. He’s been shot. ‘

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Coogan. Clanowen’s agent. Someone got him at the bridge. Stood out right in front of his horse, and shot him dead.’

  ‘But who shot him?’

  ‘The Molly Maguires. That’s what people are saying. Who knows?’

  They walked on down to the house. Eleanor and Pat were standing with McKinnon, staring at the Mountain, fires burning from end to end.

  ‘You’ve heard the news?’ Pat asked.

  ‘I have,’ Luke said.

  ‘The fools,’ McKinnon said. ‘The bloody, bloody fools.’

  ‘At a time like this,’ Michael said. ‘He was a right bastard, Coogan, but they could at least have pretended they were sorry. All those fires – you’d think it was a feast day. They’ll pay the price for this on the Mountain.’

  ‘They will,’ Eleanor said, ‘but what price? That’s the question?’

  ‘Eviction,’ Michael said. ‘What else?’

  Chapter Ten

  Mayo Constitution, August 1846:

  On last Tuesday night the dead body of a man named Anthony Donnelly who lived near Massbrook in the Parish of Adrigoole was found on the mountains about a mile distance from his residence. It appeared from the evidence of some members of his family at the inquest that their food for the previous week was nothing better than rotten potatoes, and that he went on the day before his body was found to Castlebar to purchase some trifling articles for a few pennies, the only money in his possession. It is stated that Donnelly was employed for 8 or 10 days on the Public Works, but was stopped a week before his death, and he had not since received any payment. The C
oroner’s Jury found a verdict that the deceased came by his death in consequence of want of a sufficient supply of food.

  Luke and Pat found the next few weeks to be as tough as any they had worked in England. In terms of sheer physical effort, it was not as demanding, but there was an endless struggle with growing chaos against a background of mounting horror. Within days, Luke thought Gaffney to be the toughest supervisor he had ever worked under, even more than Farrelly. At times he feared him, at times he almost hated him. As he began to know him better, he found out more about him, and the kind of man he was.

  Gaffney had been a ganger on the railways in England, and he had gotten ahead on merit and hard work, managing hundreds of men. He had worked for Brassey in England, Scotland and France. He had a reputation for toughness, but if he drove men hard, he drove himself harder. He was scrupulous, fair and honest, and he expected others to be the same. Now, in the midst of the devastating crisis, he demanded total commitment and responsibility from the supervisors, gangers and clerks working under him, never ceasing to remind them that desperate measures were called for in desperate times.

  As the days grew shorter, Pat and Luke were up before dawn, doing the farm work before going off to meet the surveyors; spending hours measuring out the route, driving metal spikes into the ground to find the bedrock, marking off the edge of the quarry, estimating rock requirements by the cubic yard and ton, estimating hours required for breaking rock and laying gravel. Evenings were spent by candlelight over the kitchen table, bringing all the plans together, estimating men and wages required, tools and materials required, overall costs and time-scale. Luke would start to put together the orders and requisitions for materials, writing them out longhand, multiplying and adding endless rows and columns of figures and then checking them again and again, because Gaffney would not accept mistakes.

  One day, a convoy of carts arrived carrying hundreds of picks, shovels and hammers. Since there was nowhere else to store them, they were piled up in the cowshed. It didn’t leave much room for the milking, but it was more secure. That evening, Luke saw a figure beside the shed. He ran over, but the figure had disappeared. He made up an improvised bed of straw, brought a blanket from the house, and for the rest of the week he slept in the shed.

  Both Luke and Pat had accepted their positions on the basis of a shilling and ninepence a day. It was little compared to England, but there were no costs for transport or for digs to be paid. For the wage estimates though, they were using a daily rate of eight pence for the men and seven pence for the women. Pat doubted that anyone would work on these wages, but Luke felt otherwise. ‘We won’t have a shortage of workers,’ he told Pat. ‘A hungry man will work for any wage.’

  As soon as news of the Relief Works had become known, men and women had started to approach Gaffney for employment, and when he would not see them, they approached Luke or Pat. Then Gaffney instituted the rule – canvassing will disqualify.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Pat asked Luke.

  ‘It means that if you ask for work, you won’t get it.’

  ‘That’s daft. You have to ask.’

  ‘Sure, you do, but only through official channels. Otherwise it’s canvassing.’

  Gaffney would not be moved on this point. One night he said to Luke – ‘You are either fair to all or fair to none. If it becomes known that we have our favourites, our task will be impossible. Remember – people are starving. You have a job to do, and I expect you to do it right.’

  Later Luke explained it to Pat. ‘Gaffney is right. We have to help those who need it most. If we only help our family and friends, then we’re being unfair, and the weakest die.’

  Gaffney had let it be known that the Works would be opened ten days later, early on a Monday morning. He had requisitioned a derelict cottage about a hundred yards from the quarry, and this had been patched up as a rough office. He asked Luke and Pat to be over early on that morning so that all the wage sheets and the work tickets could be prepared.

  *

  It was still dark as they left the house. There were many other figures shuffling along the road in total silence. As they walked the few hundred yards to the old cottage, they realised that there was already an enormous crowd in front of it and around it. There was no need to push. As they approached, the crowd parted to let them through. Even in the dark Luke could see faces he knew, but no one looked at him. It was as if neither he nor Pat were there.

  When they entered, Gaffney and three of his supervisors were already there. Gaffney looked up as they came in. ‘How many do you think are outside, Luke?’

  ‘I don’t know – hundreds surely.’

  ‘When it’s light, I want you to go outside and try to make some sort of estimate.’

  Later, Luke slipped out the back door, scrambled up the small lean-to at the end and pulled his way over the decaying thatch to the top. The crowd was vast now, and it was with a shock he realised how many people he knew. Relatives, friends and many other people he knew were looking at him, their faces etched deep from a year of hunger. They were staring at him with a mixture of hope and something more. A respect for authority perhaps, or a contempt for it. If he caught their eyes, they looked away from him. He felt puzzled and hurt, but tried to ignore his own feelings. He forced himself to concentrate on the task in hand, counting across and counting down and multiplying in order to estimate numbers in any particular section of road or field. He knew it was very rough, but he had to get some kind of figure. There were many family groups, fathers with sons, a few with their wives and daughters as well. There were also many women he knew to be widows, mostly there on their own, though he knew some to be supporting young families.

  When he was satisfied with his estimate, he scrambled down and went back in. ‘Two thousand three hundred I estimate,’ he told Gaffney. ‘Between two thousand and two and a half for sure.’

  ‘Would you say there were many families? Wives? Sons? Brothers?’

  ‘Yes, there were. I wouldn’t know them all, but there must be hundreds.’

  ‘Well, we only have four hundred work tickets. The first rule we apply is this – only one ticket per family. After that we must decide by need, and that will be almost impossible to assess. We’ll need assistance on that.’

  He signalled to Pat. ‘I want you to run into Kilduff and tell Father Reilly, Sergeant Kavanagh and Doctor Stone that we need them here within the hour. And tell the Sergeant to bring some men along.’

  Over the next hour Luke, together with the other clerks and supervisors, made their way through the crowd, explaining the one ticket per family rule and asking each group to select who it should be. Again and again it was stressed that the fittest within the family should be selected, though the decision was left up to each family. All this time Luke kept wondering where the enormous crowd had come from. Most were from the immediate vicinity of Kilduff, but there were families from further up the Mountain, where he knew only a few.

  What struck him most forcibly though was how invisible hunger and fever had been. The hungry and the sick lived and died at home, it was not talked about. But the Relief Works had brought all the suffering together, and it could not be ignored.

  By the time he arrived back at the cottage, many of the crowd had left, but more had arrived. Again he scrambled on to the roof and made a quick count. When he went in, Pat was working on wage sheets in the corner, and the only other men were Gaffney and Father Reilly.

  ‘How many now, Luke?’

  ‘About fifteen hundred, Mr. Gaffney.’

  Gaffney looked back at the young priest, who seemed to be trembling.

  ‘Decisions will have to be made shortly, Father.’

  ‘There must be some better way, Mr. Gaffney.’

  ‘The only better way is another thousand tickets, and those I do not have. It is four hundred tickets, Father. Or none.’

  In the next
few minutes, the doctor arrived, followed by the Sergeant with three other constables. Gaffney asked the Sergeant to have his men form the crowd into four lines, and maintain order. To the doctor, he explained the necessity for Selection, and requested his assistance. They would have to decide which families required assistance the most, and reject the rest. He explained that on the basis of Luke’s count, three-quarters of those outside would have to be rejected.

  ‘There’s another problem,’ the doctor said. ‘While we must select on the basis of need, many of the most needy are incapable of work.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Gaffney said, ‘but we will only expect each man to work according to his capacity. Yes, we must have the road built, but we must all remember that our first objective is the relief of distress.’

  ‘Many of these people are far too weak, they’ll die in these conditions.’

  ‘That’s what we must decide over the next few hours. Do we employ a man, knowing that he isn’t capable of it, or do we take a man who can do the work and send the others home?’

  A few minutes later, the Selection began. Four rough tables had been erected outside the cottage. They were occupied by the three supervisors, with Luke on the fourth table at Gaffney’s specific request. Gaffney himself, together with the priest and the doctor were behind the four men, being called on for advice or for verification of facts. Pat flitted from place to place, bringing work tickets to the desks and doing anything else he was requested.

  It had now been agreed that no more than one in four should be accepted, but at first it seemed impossible to keep it to this level. Then a rough and ready system developed. In spite of Stone’s fears, it was decided to accept the weakest unless it was clearly impossible. Widows with families were accepted almost at once, and those with very young children. Preference was given to those with large families over small. With Pat’s assistance, Gaffney kept a rough running total of the numbers accepted against those rejected, and the criteria for acceptance were adjusted until he was happy that they had it right. A minimum of four young children per family was set, except for widows, where the minimum was two. This time though, no children were allowed on the works.