Cold Is the Dawn

by Charles Egan

  ‘Just what you’ve said. He’d seen blight in England, and thought we might be needing the money.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not much. Just that he’s working well with Danny.’

  ‘Does he say anything about that Irene woman?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  The next morning a letter arrived from Castlebar, addressed to Pat. Eleanor gave it to Michael.

  ‘Should we open it?’ she asked.

  ‘Better not,’ Michael said. He re-addressed the envelope to Pat in England and Eleanor took it to Kilduff to post. There was the usual line of ragged people outside Dillon’s, but she did not join them. There was no line outside the post office.

  *

  That night, she took her turn in guarding the cornfield. There was a half moon, and a slow breeze whispered through the trees.

  She was startled by a figure moving towards her.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she shouted.

  ‘’Tis only me.’

  ‘Winnie! You gave me a fright.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just how I couldn’t sleep.’ She sat on the flagstone beside Eleanor. ‘I keep thinking about this America business. We’ve written to Luke last month, like he asked us.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We never said anything of blight. He’ll be thinking there’s no reason to send money, or very little if he does. Maybe we should write him another letter?’

  ‘Arra, will you stop being silly. He’ll have news of the blight far faster than any letter of ours. It’d only be a waste of money on a stamp to be telling him what he’d already know, and your last letter he’ll have soon enough, so he’ll know when to be awaiting you.’

  Sometime later, Michael arrived to take his turn, and Eleanor and Winnie walked down to the house. The moon had set, and vague streaks of green and red flickered above the Mountain.

  *

  ‘So how are you planning on getting to Westport?’ Michael asked the next day.

  ‘Walking,’ Winnie answered. ‘How else?’

  ‘We can’t let you do that. It’s too far with a baby, and unsafe with the times that are in it.’

  ‘I’ll take her across,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘How?’ Michael asked. ‘With the donkey and cart, is it?’

  ‘Well, why not?’

  ‘Why not! The donkey wouldn’t get out of Kilduff. They’d have him for meat.’

  ‘What then? What the devil can we do?’

  ‘I’ll take her over.’

  ‘You could be attacked too, you know,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I know, but at least a man would have better chances.’

  ‘Well, let’s the three of us go.’

  ‘And leave the farm unguarded, is it? No-one to feed the hens, neither.’

  ‘We could ask Kitty down. She’s great enough grá for little Brigid. Ever since Nessa died, she’s almost been like a mother to her. She’d move in here if she could.’

  ‘Maybe, but would that drunken husband of hers allow it?’

  ‘I doubt he’d much care,’ Eleanor said.

  *

  Eleanor went to visit Kitty. She left early, preferring to meet as few people as possible. As she walked, she saw the villages strung out along the Mountain. Most were half abandoned; ruined cottages where families had died or emigrated. At Gort na Móna, she saw the tumbled ruins from Lord Clanowen’s evictions the year before, a day that would live in her memory.

  She reached a cluster of houses on the edge of the Mountain. Eleanor herself came from the Mountain, and she had a vague memory of this area from twenty years before. There were two ruined houses, brambles and weeds growing alongside and through them. Three houses were left standing. A ragged woman was standing outside one of them.

  ‘I’m looking for Kitty Brennan,’ Eleanor said.

  Wordlessly, the woman pointed her to the next house. Eleanor knocked.

  When Kitty answered, Eleanor saw at once the gash on one side of her nose, but said nothing. She explained Winnie’s plans.

  ‘Winnie leaving?’ Kitty gasped.

  ‘But sure you knew that,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Maybe I did, but I didn’t want the knowing of it. When do ye want me?’

  ‘She’s leaving in two days’ time. The night before would be a good time to come.’

  ‘I’ll be there. Ye can rely on it.’

  Eleanor walked back down the Mountain. The sun was well up by now, and she noticed that not all the fields were blighted. It was a patchwork – some tracts, larger or smaller, totally blighted, with many fields and farms between with no blight at all.

  She mentioned this to Michael and Winnie that night.

  ‘It won’t last,’ Michael said. ‘Sure the potatoes we took in the other day, they’re gone. No, the blight is here and it’s going to have a clear run at the potato fields, every damned one of them.’

  When Kitty arrived, the gash had healed a little, but her cheeks were bruised.

  Michael was furious. ‘That’s one right bastard of a husband you have.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Kitty said. ‘Sure what choice do I have?’ She pointed to the bruising. ‘And this was when he heard I was spending a few days with ye.’

  ‘But he let you go,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘He did. But only after I had boiled a pot of porridge for him. He had a sack of potatoes too, though I’d say there’ll be few enough for the eating.’

  *

  Michael and Eleanor drove with Winnie to Westport.

  As they left, Kitty’s eyes were brimming. Eleanor remembered the impossible love she and Luke once held for one another. But it was all too late. Kitty had already married Fergus. Still, she reflected, Luke had married an able woman, and an agreeable one at that. Kitty knew that too, and the strong friendship between her and Winnie was something Eleanor had never expected.

  Kitty stood out on the road, waving to them. A cart full of cadavers followed them towards Kilduff. Three emaciated women followed. Eleanor did not recognise them, but their sunken faces would have changed the look of them.

  Kilduff itself was quiet. As they left the town they passed two corpses on the roadside. Many times, they saw feral dogs.

  There was little said on the journey. Winnie had Liam in her arms, and tried to rock him to sleep. Eleanor did not want him to see the ghastly sights on the road. She tried to cover his eyes with her shawl, but he kept tearing it away. In the end, she told herself that he was too young to understand. Perhaps.

  Still, the blight was incomplete. In the few green fields, wan, wasted families dug desperately. But most fields were blackened, the pungent aroma of blight coming from them, and the unnerving sound of keening.

  Close to Castlebar, they overtook gaunt people walking towards the town, some carrying children on their backs, or in turf panniers on their donkeys. Once they passed a donkey carrying a child on either side. One was dead.

  Eleanor thought perhaps they should have offered at least one family a place in the cart, but realised as soon as she had thought it that they could have fever.

  Castlebar was as filthy as ever, open sewers running brown and green. The town was crowded with donkeys and carts drawn up along the streets. Most carried families with many, many more children.

  ‘So many donkeys,’ Winnie exclaimed. ‘I’d have thought they’d all be gone for eating by now.’

  Michael steered the cart away from the workhouse, avoiding the desperate crowds.

  As they left Castlebar, Winnie lay down.

  ‘I’m tired, mother,’ she said. ‘I slept little last night.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Arra, I don’t know. Was it fear? Or maybe the thought of leaving ye all.’

  ‘Would you stop being silly,’ Eleanor replied. ‘You’ve got Luke waiting for you on the other side.’

  Within minutes, Winnie was asleep. Eleanor lay back on the sacks alongside her. She closed her eyes, but she did not sleep.

  She listen
ed to the crunching of the wheels on the gravel, as Michael drove the donkey. He was a strong man, no doubt about it. Still, what could he do now? What could either of them do? Luke had gone to America, Winnie was following with little Liam, and Eleanor was certain that none of them would return.

  Then there was Pat. For many years, she had thought that he would be the one to take over the farm and the quarry, when Michael was no longer able for either. Now he was in England, working with Danny, and she was certain that he would never return. Then she and Michael would have no sons on the farm.

  She dozed for an hour. When she awoke, Winnie was leaning on her elbows, looking at her.

  ‘What were you thinking,’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eleanor said. ‘I was half asleep. I was just thinking of all the family, most all of Luke and yourself. It won’t be long now. Time for Liam to meet his father.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  The cart swayed as one wheel dropped into a hole in the loose gravel. The baby awoke.

  ‘And look at him,’ Eleanor said. ‘The nose of his father, that’s for sure.’

  ‘I think you’re joking,’ Winnie said, as she gave Liam her breast.

  Eleanor laughed.

  ‘Who knows? But there’s one other thing on my mind. What about Pat? And what about this Sarah Cronin? I’ve always thought they were very close.’

  ‘They are,’ Winnie said. ‘I’ve little doubt of that.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll marry though? That’s the question, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Winnie said. ‘It all depends on Pat now. What will his station in life be? That’s what her mother will be thinking.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Eleanor said. ‘But will he stay in England working with Danny, or can he get a good opening here in Mayo? Or Dublin even?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ Winnie responded. ‘If he comes home, they could marry, but why would he come home? If he gets a place clerking with the County like he was before, then he’ll come home and they’ll marry for certain. Otherwise he’ll stay in England.’

  ‘But if he stays working with Danny, would Sarah go to England?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Winnie said. ‘And that’s the real question, isn’t it?’

  The cart had stopped.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Eleanor asked.

  ‘Would you have a look at this?’ Michael replied.

  Eleanor and Winnie sat up. Around them was a scene of devastation. There were houses, some fully flattened, most with broken walls, the roofs either collapsed or burnt. Listless creatures were picking through the ruins. A few soldiers stood by, looking quite bored. There were more sitting alongside a ruined rafter, playing cards; their guns stacked beside them.

  ‘Oh, Mother of God!’ Eleanor exclaimed. ‘What have they done? What in God’s name have they done?’

  ‘Maybe someone can tell us,’ Winnie said.

  ‘No,’ Eleanor answered, shaking her head in horror. ‘Let’s just get you to Westport.’

  Michael flicked the reins. They drove on in silence. Along the side of the road there was the debris of the eviction – broken furniture, abandoned carts, farm implements too heavy to carry. All the shattered wreckage of an undeclared war.

  But Eleanor was already thinking of other things. Sarah was still on her mind. Sarah lived in Westport Workhouse, where her mother worked as Matron.

  As they neared Westport, the traffic on the road became heavier, as hundreds trudged the side of the road. Even in the ditches, the evictions went on, as policemen woke sleeping families and forced them to keep walking.

  Some had donkeys. As before, many of them carried panniers containing young children, ribs protruding.

  They passed one older boy riding a donkey, travelling on his own. His hands and arms were shrunken, his feet blue and horribly swollen. It was clear to Eleanor that he could not control the donkey.

  ‘He’ll have no chance of getting inside the workhouse,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Not a hope in hell,’ Michael said.

  A man stood by a wall, staring hopelessly at the pathetic scene. Eleanor asked him what had happened.

  ‘Lord Lucan’s evictions,’ he answered. ‘Kilmaclasser and up by Kilmeena and down towards Islandeady. Dozens of evictions, hundreds, thousands, the Lord knows how many. Lucan has crucified us.’

  They drove towards Westport. Now the line of trudging people had become continuous. They slowed to a walking pace. At Westport, Michael led the donkey, forcing their way through the throngs of animals and humanity, and across to the docks.

  When they arrived, Winnie and Eleanor shoved their way through the crowd outside the shipping office, leaving Michael to guard the cart.

  The clerk brought his finger down the names.

  ‘A hundred and thirty from Mayo, you know.’

  ‘A good number,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Ah yes, here it is. Winifred Ryan from Kilduff, that’s it.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘It’s leaving tomorrow on the tide, about noon time.’

  They left.

  ‘So where now?’ Michael asked.

  ‘The Workhouse,’ Eleanor said. ‘Let’s visit Sarah.’

  ‘The Workhouse! Are you mad?’

  ‘We can try it at least.’

  ‘We won’t get near it.’

  He tapped the donkey. As they drew closer, the crowds got denser and denser. Soldiers were keeping order, lined along the outside of the workhouse. Michael stopped and tied the donkey to a rail.

  ‘Here, I’ll go,’ he said.

  ‘Be careful,’ Eleanor said. Already she was feeling doubtful about her idea. The soldiers disturbed her. What was this? A war? Did it take a whole army to control Mayo?

  It took a long time for Michael to return.

  ‘Well, what happened?’ Winnie asked.

  ‘I got all the way to the gate. Had to ask this soldier fellow – an officer, he was – to let me forward, and even then, there were inmates inside the gate keeping the people out. Anyone trying to climb the gate, they just pushed them back with sticks. But I got close enough to shout a message to one of the guards – told him I was looking for Sarah Cronin, and he heard that right enough. So he went off, returned in a minute and said no one was allowed near the infirmary. I told him Sarah wasn’t working in the infirmary, but he wouldn’t have any of it.’

  ‘I didn’t think Sarah was working in the infirmary, right enough,’ Winnie said.

  ‘Neither did I,’ Eleanor answered. ‘I’d understood she was in some class of clerking, but maybe she’s not. I know with her mother being Matron and that, she’d be in the infirmary often enough. Maybe Sarah was working there too.’

  ‘That would be dangerous,’ Winnie said.

  ‘It would. I hope she hasn’t got fever.’

  ‘We can only pray.’

  Michael untied the donkey, and backed the cart into the road.

  ‘So where now,’ he asked.

  ‘We’ll have to find somewhere to stay the night.’ Eleanor said. ‘Not back the way we came though.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Michael said. He flicked the reins and followed around the side of the docks until he picked up a road heading west, with Clew Bay on their right. Half way between the coast and a small island, a three masted ship was under sail, a long bowsprit extending from the prow, seagulls wheeling behind it.

  ‘It might well be yours,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘It might, mother.’

  ‘What does it say there along the front?’

  Winnie squinted, holding her hand to shield her eyes against the setting sun.

  ‘Vega. It’s the Vega.’

  ‘And below?’

  ‘Philadelphia. That’s where it’s owned, I’d say.’

  ‘A good-looking ship, in any case,’ Michael said.

  They looked for somewhere to bed down. It was clear that no one wanted to take them in.

  ‘Disease,’ Michael said. ‘They’re terrified we’d
have fever.

  ‘I wouldn’t blame them,’ Eleanor said.

  At length, one farmer brought them to an outside shed where there were no beggars sleeping.

  ‘There’s enough hay, so ye may rest easy,’ he said.

  ‘We will,’ Michael replied.

  *

  Next morning, they drove back to the quays. The Vega had berthed.

  The crowd of people at the quayside were very different to those outside the workhouse. These people were not starving, though many were weeping.

  Michael unloaded Winnie’s packs. A group of three girls were waiting on the quayside. They were better dressed than most. One broke away and came over to Winnie.

  ‘Oh, would you look at the little baby,’ she said. ‘Is it a he or a she?’

  ‘A he.’

  ‘Is he coming too?’

  ‘He is,’ Winnie said. ‘Just the two of us.’

  ‘Why don’t ye travel with us then, yourself and the baby?’

  ‘What are you on about,’ one of the other girls said. ‘That little scamp would keep us awake all night.’

  ‘Arra, would you stop that kind of nonsense,’ the first girl said. ‘He’ll be well looked after between the lot of us. How old is he?’

  ‘Nine months,’ Winnie said.

  Already there were whistles blowing. Eleanor was surprised when Michael took Liam and kissed his forehead. She was even more surprised when Michael handed the baby to her, and hugged Winnie tightly.

  ‘Make sure to come back and visit us,’ he said, ‘and make sure to bring that husband of yours with you.’

  ‘I will,’ Winnie said, ‘I promise.’

  She boarded the ship with the three girls. Eleanor bit her lip. How long would the ship really take to reach New York? And when would they return? Winnie had promised, but what of that? They would never return, Luke neither.

  Her eyes were wet. Go cold. It can’t be helped.

  They stood on the dock with the crowd, waving, as Winnie waved Liam’s tiny hand from the deck. Then the ship was moving. It sailed out through the islands of Clew Bay and into the Atlantic Ocean.

  Chapter 2

  The Pilot, Dublin. August 1848:

  Shrule, Co. Mayo. Blight in 1848! 450 houses levelled. From Michael Phew, Parish Priest. It is awful to know, as I do, that within the circumference of four miles in this district, that there are no less than 450 houses levelled within the last three months, and the families residing in these houses were tossed out of them, and are now to be seen by the ditches and roadsides without any shelter in the shape of a cabin to keep them warm by day or by night, and without even half enough to eat, looking like spectres, moving skeletons, crawling along the highways. May the great and merciful God commiserate with them in their wants!