by Charles Egan
‘But why?’ Eleanor asked.
‘They reckoned they were taking their jobs from them, and I suppose they were right too. But worse than that, the Irish navvies were driving wages down all along the railways. Look at the wages that Danny was paying them. Ten pence, eleven pence a day.’
‘But Roughneen…?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Yes, I know. Four shillings a day. Good money. But the fellows from the west of Mayo, they never got that kind of wage. They were starving and desperate, having to send money back to their families, or bring them over when they could. And with only being able to speak Irish, what else could they do? I’ll say one thing though, Danny fed them well; well enough to build up their strength, though with the cheapest cuts of meat. Vile stuff, I wouldn’t touch it myself, but healthy. And the places they were living in along the railways, shacks only – sceilps we’d call them – and they were deadly places. The fever killed them at an awful rate.’
The candle flickered. Eleanor stood, and found another in the cupboard, a rough one, made of dirty tallow. She held the wick over the lighted candle until it flared. She licked her thumb and forefinger and extinguished the spent candle, then pressed the new one into the liquid tallow beneath.
‘But what had all this to do with Murty?’ Michael asked.
‘It was his conscience,’ Pat said. ‘Once he saw their conditions, he reckoned Danny was no better than the worst of the landlords back here in Mayo, and he himself was all part of the scheme. But he knew Gilligan and the lads were working over on the Leeds & Thirsk railway, and they were working under far better conditions. They have their own gang, as you well know, and they worked direct with the big contractors. Worked damned hard too, and earned damned good wages.’
‘But sure Murty wouldn’t be able for that kind of work.’
‘That’s not what they wanted him for. They wanted someone to look after the money side of things, and deal with the contractors’ bosses, so as to make sure everything was done right. It wasn’t a hard job. No, Murty was happy enough with it.’
‘And what about Aileen?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Well, the time I met her over in Leeds, she was the same as usual. Quiet as she always was.’
‘And what about now?’
‘Hard to say. I didn’t meet her for long, the time of the funeral. But you know what she thought about Danny. It was a desperate shock for her and my own guess is that she’d be worse now. Don’t take that as gospel though, I don’t know for sure.’
Eleanor’s lip was quivering. Pat looked away.
‘And Murteen?’ Michael asked. ‘What was he doing all this time?’
‘Like I say, going down to Liverpool Docks – Liverpool Workhouse too – and recruiting the poor beggars off the boats. Not that he liked it, I can tell you. He forced himself to do it though, and that’s a hard thing for any man. And it’s another reason why I don’t think Murteen will last the course.’
‘And what about Jamesy McManus?’ Eleanor asked.
‘You’d heard about that?’
‘Sure it was all around Mayo. They’re saying he got shot.’
‘I didn’t think you’d have heard about it. But yes, he got shot right enough. It was on one of Danny’s contracts where Jamesy was foreman. There were differences between his men and the English navvies on the next part of the line. Some English fellow got beaten on Jamesy’s site. He’d been running some class of shebeen, and when he died, Jamesy got shot in return. I’ve no idea who started it all. Something to do with the Molly Maguire gang, that’s what they’re saying.’
‘But sure they’re not in England,’ Michael said.
‘They are, and that’s for a certainty. Liverpool, perhaps even Manchester, I don’t know. But sure wherever there’s Irish, there’s Irish gangs. The Repealers too, though they’re not killers like the Molly Maguire gang are. And Liverpool – the government fears what might happen there. The army is crawling all over the place.’
‘Good God,’ Michael said, ‘I thought it bad us having rebellions over here. From all you’re saying, it’s as bad over there.’
‘I don’t know,’ Pat said. ‘It’s bad, that’s for sure. What happens next, I don’t know.’
Eleanor put a bowl of corn on the table in front of him.
‘Would you hold your whisht now, and just eat up.’
He took a spoonful of the corn. Hard perhaps, and a bit gritty. Imported corn from America. Who knew? There were other things on his mind.
‘So how about Winnie,’ he asked. ‘Gone to America? She’ll be near there now.’
‘She will,’ Michael answered. ‘She left back at the end of July. Luke wrote around that time. He had some kind of settled address in a place called Jersey City, right beside New York, I understand. So he sent the money, and there was a ship going from Westport to New York a few days later, so we booked the passage. A good class of ship. We saw it ourselves, when we brought Winnie over to Westport.’
‘You brought her over?’
‘Sure it’d be too far for her to go on her own with her bags and the little baby.’
‘That was kind of ye.’
‘There’s another thing,’ Eleanor said, interrupting. ‘We thought we’d go and visit Sarah, but they told us the workhouse was in a desperate way with the fever, and they wouldn’t let us in, and they said she wouldn’t come out neither. Whether she got our message or not, I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Not surprising,’ Pat said.
‘Was there some falling out between ye?’
‘Not a falling out. At least not with Sarah. More with her mother. I don’t know, she was never all in favour, and when I went off working with Danny, I think she was reckoning I’d only be some class of a navvy in England for the rest of my life. At least that’s the way I understand it. Sarah wrote me, and let me know, but sure what could she do about it?’
Yes. Eleanor thought. So that’s it. But now he’s back and a clerking with the County too. Will it last though? If it does, they’ll have a chance, but if it doesn’t…
*
That evening, Sabina arrived from Kilduff, and Pat had to repeat much of what he had said earlier. When he was finished, Eleanor turned to Sabina.
‘So tell me,’ she said, ‘you never told us any more about the revolution.’
‘Oh that,’ Sabina said. ‘All these armies they were raising; sure they weren’t there at all. Only a few hundred men when it came to it. Killed a few fellows, and then surrendered. They’re all to be transported. The Battle of the Widow McCormack’s Cabbage Patch – that’s what the dealers are calling it. They think it’s funny.’
After Sabina left, Pat retired early. Eleanor stayed up making the brown bread, hoping she wasn’t disturbing him. When she went to bed, Michael was sitting at the small table beside the wash-hand basin.
‘What are you doing, Michael?’
‘Just writing to Luke and Winnie. They’ll be wanting to know about the hunger and what happened to Danny.’
‘Well, you can tell them the better news too. Pat is home.’
‘Yes,’ Michael said, ‘I’ll tell them that too.’
*
Pat left for Castlebar. Eleanor gave him half a loaf of bread and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Now you make sure to mind yourself, and don’t be catching any of them fevers around Mayo.’
‘I won’t, mother.’
‘And let us know what this Gaffney fellow wants with you. It’s strange that he should have asked for you only.’
‘I don’t know the answer to that either, mother, but I think the fact that I was Luke’s brother had something to do with it.’
He left and walked through Kilduff, and out the Castlebar road. As he came closer to Castlebar, he saw the evidence of an eviction. A gaunt woman stood at the side of the road. Her blouse was ragged. One shrivelled breast drooped inside.
‘Cloonteebawnan’ she said in answer to his question. ‘They threw us out and levelled the houses. Lord
Lucan. The Exterminator.’
As he continued towards Castlebar, he walked past straggled lines of families with donkeys and carts, dead bodies in many of them. Starving children with protruding ribs, bald heads and hair on the face, sat on the carts and the donkeys. He heard more and more about the Lucan evictions and wrecked villages all around Castlebar.
Aughadrina, Ballure, Ballinabul, Ardvarny, Sarnaught, Aghaleska, Antagua, Curnamara, New Antrim, Stabal, Knockthomas, and Ballymacragh.
And Gallows Hill.
As he approached the centre of the town, he saw a thin straggling line of ragged people along the edge of the Mall. He walked over to see what was happening.
A group of mounted soldiers were riding in formation down the Mall. Fifty or so, Pat thought. Their magnificent appearance caught his eye at once. They wore red uniforms topped with high black bearskins. All the horses were grey. He remembered what the soldier in Liverpool had told him of the Scots Greys being sent to Castlebar.
The officer carried a large axe, glinting in the sunlight.
On an order the group turned, maintaining perfect formation. Then they stopped. The officer roared a command and the soldiers whipped out sabres, holding them level towards the front. Pat was alarmed now.
‘What’s happening,’ he whispered to an old woman standing beside him. She turned a thin face towards him.
‘Arra, pay them no mind’ she said, ‘They’re only playing at soldiers. They think they’re still at Waterloo.’
Another command was shouted, and the entire formation charged the length of the green, coming to a rapid halt just before the link chain at the end. A baby was crying.
‘Sure it’s only a game,’ the old woman said. ‘They do it every day. Trying to frighten us. Showing what great lads they are.’
‘Aye’ Pat said, ‘and I’ll tell you, they frightened me too.’
‘It’s easy frightened you are.’
‘Maybe I am.’
‘And wouldn’t you think they’d have enough starving people to frighten in their own country, not to be coming here to frighten the babies in Mayo.’
He went on to the workhouse. Hundreds of people were milling around the front gate, many standing, more sitting or lying. A group of soldiers looked threateningly at the starving mass, but there was little danger from these people. Closer in, a woman lay on the ground, but whether she was alive or dead, he could not tell.
He pushed his way through the crowd, who parted without a word. As he got through, a soldier pointed a bayonet at his stomach.
‘I’m here for George Gaffney’ he said. The man looked at him.
‘George Gaffney,’ Pat repeated. He held out Gaffney’s letter. The man snatched the letter from Pat, and held it as if to read it, though, as Pat noticed, he was holding it upside down.
‘Hold on here,’ he said to Pat. He went back and handed the letter through the gate to a bored looking corporal, who walked back towards the administration block with the letter. Pat stayed standing, the bayonet still pointing towards him.
A full ten minutes later, Gaffney appeared at the gate.
‘Pat. At last. All this time I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘I’m sure you have’ said Pat, ‘and you’ll be waiting a lot longer if this fellow doesn’t get out of my way.’
The corporal shouted at the soldier, and the bayonet was lowered. Pat went to the gate.
‘We can’t risk opening it,’ Gaffney said. ‘You’ll have to climb.’
‘I know. Amn’t I well used to that.’
He pulled himself up, balancing above the spiked bars at the top, and dropped down the other side.
Gaffney led him towards the administration block.
‘Over in England, eh?’
‘I had to. Wasn’t much point in staying here, once Knockanure let me go.’
‘So how’s England?’
‘Well, they’ve more food than here. But the way some of them are treating the Irish, you wouldn’t believe it. And not just the English gangers, the Welsh too. The Mayo fellows are worst of all, and leading the lot, was my own cousin.’
‘Your own cousin?’
‘Danny. Murtybeg’s brother.’
‘Ah yes. I remember Murtybeg. Daniel Ryan too. He has a savage reputation all along the west of Mayo.’
He opened the door to his office. They entered the room. Papers, files and crates were lined along the wall. One wall consisted of a bookcase, floor to ceiling. Every shelf was stuffed full of paper. There was a desk, a chair and a rough-cut table.
‘Like you say, he was a tough fellow, our Danny,’ Pat said. ‘He worked with Luke on the Railways before the hunger started. Too damned cute to come home with Luke though. Reckoned there were great chances in contracting on the Railways – what with giving work to all the Mayo fellows coming over at wages that were near starvation. They didn’t know any better, coming from Ireland. That’s why he wanted men from the Mayo Workhouses. But you know all that, I’m sure.’
‘And you were working with him this past while?’
‘Yes, to my eternal shame. I worked with Danny and Murtybeg and Danny’s wife-to-be. Herself and Danny, a more vicious pair you never met. They had me working on accounts. Being family, I was paid well, and I had enough money to send a good amount back over to Kilduff. But I knew I couldn’t keep working like that. It turned out then that the real reason they wanted me was to give out the sackings when contracts were being cancelled.’
‘Sackings?’
‘Yes,’ Pat said, ‘the number of contracts were down, so Danny didn’t want the men. It was either them or the business.’
‘And what happened after the sackings? What did the men do?’
‘Damned if I know. And damned if Danny would care. I guess the most of them would have gone to Manchester Workhouse, though how many’d get in, God only knows. The Workhouses are snowed under with Irish beggars.’
‘What about Liverpool?’ Gaffney asked.
‘Liverpool is worse. They say there’s tens of thousands of Irish coming through every month, and the workhouse doesn’t want them. They’re sending them back too.’
‘I know,’ Gaffney said. ‘We hear of shiploads of them coming back into Westport. Killala and Ballina too. But sure the workhouses there are all full, so there’s crowds of them end up back here in Castlebar, looking for admission.’
‘I can understand all that,’ Pat said. ‘It’s not just our fellows, there’s sackings right across the railways, thousands and tens of thousands of fellows on the tramp. They’re starving, up and down the length and breadth of England. The government is terrified of them. I’ve seen what it’s like in Liverpool. They’ve got the army all over the place, and everyone’s talking of revolution. All these sackings have England in a terrible way.’
Gaffney picked up his pen from the desk.
‘So that was why you came home, was it? Prefer to be working here with us than sacking men in England.’
‘That was part of it, right enough, but not the only thing. I’d decided to stay on for Danny’s wedding. And then, a few days before he was to be wed, Danny went and killed himself.’
‘He did what!’
‘Killed himself. Thought he was smarter than the rest of us but in the end, he wasn’t. The Railway Panic, he never saw that coming.’
‘Yes, I’d heard about that.’
‘Terrible time, it was, on the railways. Still is. Danny lost contracts, and the ones he kept, they had to drop their prices. In the end, he couldn’t take it, tough and all as he was. Stood in front of a train – it tore him to pieces.’
The expression on Gaffney’s face was one of disbelief.
‘Whatever Danny was; it must have been one hell of a kick in the teeth for you.’
‘It was,’ Pat said, ‘and it wasn’t the last one either. Once Danny was gone, that damned woman of his reckoned she could run Edwardes & Ryan on her own, and that was the day after the funeral. Not one for weeping, I’ll tell you. I w
orked out bloody fast that I couldn’t work for a woman like that. So when your letter arrived, by Christ, it was most welcome. I left Murtybeg behind though. God only knows how he’ll deal with that bitch. We’ll see.’
‘Poor fellow,’ Gaffney said. ‘But anyhow, this is my office. I’m sure you’re used to better offices in England. Better wages too.’
‘Arra, pay no mind to that,’ Pat said. ‘I’m happier back here doing the little I can, and God knows, it looks as if you’ll need it. But tell me this. What are the dragoons doing in Castlebar?’
‘Oh, the Greys. That’s nothing but foolishness. The Crown have got this idea that the starving men of Mayo are about to rise in rebellion.’
‘Rebellion? Are they serious?’
‘They are. It’s utterly daft, of course, but still they go on preparing for war. General Creagh arrived here and assumed the command of the military. There’s talk the Earl of Lucan is coming too.’
‘Lucan!’
‘Why not? He’s Lieutenant of Mayo and represents the civil power, as they put it. He’ll be advising Creagh. Can you imagine it, Pat, the Exterminator himself advising the army on war? He won’t even pay his poor rates to feed the people. Well versed in evictions he is, though, so you can guess the kind of war the dragoons will be waging against Mayo.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘It is, but there’s damned little you and I can do about it.’
‘So what can I do then?’
‘Plenty. But it’s not just sorting out paper I’ll be wanting you for,’ Gaffney said. ‘There’s a lot more than that in what I’m expecting from you. You can see from the papers around you, the County and the Unions are in a state of utter chaos. But no, there’s worse than that.’
He went over to the shelves and took down a folder of papers.