The Music Makers

by E. V. Thompson

  ‘We will continue as we are, meeting when we can and hoping for a miracle to happen – for us and for Ireland.’

  Liam ran a hand wearily through his unruly hair. ‘I sometimes think I might as well be sitting in a fairy ring, asking the little folk for their help, as sitting in Parliament.’

  ‘Poor Liam – but you must not take everything to heart so or it will break you completely.’

  She pushed herself up on one elbow, allowing the bedclothes to slide unchecked from her body. ‘But now let me give you some good news. My friend in London has found a small house for you. It is owned by one of Lord Palmerston’s relatives and he has been appointed to a post in the Cape Colonies. You will love it, Liam. If you wish, I will pay the first year’s rent for you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  The statement sounded more abrupt than Liam intended, but he still found it difficult to accept that Caroline was so wealthy that she could make such an offer unhesitatingly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Caroline. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but the County Kerry All-Ireland Association has guaranteed to pay for any accommodation I decide to take in London.’

  ‘Good.’ She was aware of his sensitive pride and did not pursue the matter. ‘When will you next be in London?’

  ‘In January. The next parliamentary session begins on the nineteenth of the month. I will arrange to be there a few days early.’

  ‘Then I will come to London and be with you for at least a week – longer, if you wish.’

  Liam did not reply immediately; he was thinking ahead, to ways of allaying Eugene Brennan’s suspicions.

  Caroline knew the reason for his delay in replying and said crossly, ‘Oh, Liam! Damn your parliamentary reputation!’

  She was immediately sorry for her outburst of temper. ‘I did not mean that. I will be so discreet that not even my closest friend will know where I am – but please show some enthusiasm for the idea.’

  He smiled and kissed her.

  ‘I will more than match your enthusiasm when we are together in London. We will damn my parliamentary reputation together. But now I must leave you, or there will be no reputation to lose.

  ‘Will I see you again before you leave for London?’

  ‘Yes.’ He thought of the cottiers he would meet before their next meeting. ‘Fever and the state of Her Majesty’s roads permitting.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The three free men of Dermot’s band of outlaws arrived in Kilmar on the first day of December. On their way back to the camp in the mountains with half a dozen chickens, they had heard the sound of their companions expending the last of the musket-balls. They hid in some bushes well off the track while the soldiers and Eoin Feehan passed by with their prisoners. Then they followed them to Rathconard where they saw Dermot and the others bundled into the lock-up.

  With their numbers depleted so dramatically, and without a leader, they could not face a return to the mountain wastes. They were cold, poorly clad and totally dispirited. They decided to leave the mountains behind them and return to the almost forgotten comforts of a real home in less hostile surroundings.

  They were in poor shape when they reached their own village, and the older men who were not of their families viewed them with tight-lipped disapproval. They had gone against the policies of the All-Ireland Association and were now paying the price of rebellion.

  Those of the old men who had witnessed the revolutionary bloodshed fifty years before hoped fervently that the young outlaws would soon go away again. They would bring trouble in the form of soldiers back to the village once more, and the punishment for harbouring the fugitives would be harsh.

  The young men would tell the worried Norah McCabe nothing more than that her youngest son had been captured by the soldiers. They had come to the house seeking Liam, but when they were told he was somewhere on the long road between Kilmar and County Kerry they said they would go and find Father Clery instead.

  ‘You’d best be keeping him out of this,’ said Norah McCabe. ‘He has more than enough troubles for an old man, priest or no priest. Besides, he’s out of the village somewhere, attending to the needs of the cottiers. Away to your homes, the lot of you. Be your mothers’ sons again for a few hours. I’ll go to the big house at Inch and fetch Nathan Brock. He’ll know what to do.’

  Nathan Brock agreed to come immediately. ‘Just wait here a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I’ll get out the gig to take you back to Kilmar.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Norah McCabe indignantly. ‘My legs were good enough to carry me here. They’ll take me back again.’

  ‘I’m sure they would,’ said Nathan Brock. ‘But, although Lady Caroline is in Dublin, she would never forgive me if I allowed you to walk back to Kilmar – and here comes Kathie. She’ll want to come, to learn more about Dermot. She is in no condition to walk.’

  Almost eight months with child, Kathie was having an uncomfortable pregnancy and now she hurried heavily toward them, concern on her face.

  ‘What is the matter?’ she asked Norah McCabe. ‘Is something wrong with Liam – or Dermot?’

  ‘Dermot has been taken by the soldiers. Three of the lads who went off with him are back in the village, but they will tell me nothing more.’

  ‘They will tell me.’

  ‘That’s what I thought you would say,’ said Nathan Brock. ‘I’ll get out the gig.’

  The young men from the Wicklow mountains gathered in the McCabe house in front of Nathan Brock. At first they were reluctant to tell their story with Norah McCabe and Kathie present, but eventually it came out and, as the speaker ended, Kathie erupted in a characteristic manner.

  ‘You saw Dermot being taken to Rathconard lock-up and all you did was to put your tails between your legs and scamper back to Kilmar? I would have been too ashamed of myself to show my face had it been me.’

  ‘There was nothing we could do,’ said one of the men, stung to anger by Kathie’s remark. ‘Things have changed since you left us – and not for the better. Not one of us had a gun; we had left ours with Dermot and the others. Would you expect us to go against more than two hundred soldiers with nothing but our fists?’

  ‘I would expect you to think of something to do other than run away,’ retorted Kathie scathingly. ‘As it is, we’ve already wasted more than enough time talking here.’

  She looked at Nathan Brock. ‘Will you come to Rathconard with us, Nathan?

  ‘You can’t go to Rathconard in your condition,’ cried Norah McCabe before Nathan Brock could answer. ‘What on earth are you thinking of?’

  ‘I am thinking of getting Dermot and the others from that lock-up – and my condition is not going to stop me. There are cottier women on the roads who are farther on in their time than me, and they have a lot less flesh on their bones.’

  Kathie looked at the men who had brought the news of Dermot’s capture. ‘Do we all go to Rathconard, or are you going to leave things to Nathan and me?’

  ‘We’ll come with you, but we’ll need to rest first. We’ve been on the move since yesterday.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Nathan Brock before Kathie could argue. ‘And we can’t enter Rathconard in daylight. We’ll leave here at first light tomorrow. I’ll bring the gig for Kathie. Now, you men go and get some rest. We’ve a busy time ahead of us.’

  Norah McCabe began to protest once more about Kathie’s condition. ‘It’s not right … it’s downright dangerous. What do you think you can do to help Dermot? I’m sure he would rather you stayed here where you will be safe—’

  Nathan Brock interrupted before Norah McCabe could say more. ‘We’ll have need of Kathie, Mrs McCabe. We haven’t a weapon between us – and, if we had, we couldn’t hope to shoot it out with two hundred soldiers. We’ll need to use trickery if we are to rescue Dermot and the others. I have an idea how it might be done – but we need Kathie.’

  It was an uneventful journey to Rathconard. The weather remained cloudy
and blustery, but the snow had cleared from all but the most sheltered hollows.

  Outside Rathconard they drew off the road and waited for darkness, the Kilmar men shivering in anticipation of what was to come.

  Nathan Brock would not allow them to move until the lingering dusk had become black night, and then they separated to enter the small town, with Nathan Brock and Kathie in the gig.

  They had chosen a good night to make their rescue attempt. Brevet-Major Gordon and his company of Scots infantrymen had that day left on a forced march to put down a riot by the hungry people of Wicklow Town. Responsibility for the prisoners was now in the hands of the less-experienced Armagh Militia.

  The gig passed the inn where young Jeremy had been apprehended by the constable and through the windows Nathan Brock could see the bright red uniforms of the militia officers. They were in good voice and with a few of their NCOs they had the inn to themselves. Local men did not care to listen to the songs of the Orange Lodges and had wisely transferred their custom elsewhere. To the men of Rathconard the Armagh Militia were not fellow-Irishmen. They had more of the ways of an occupying army.

  Nathan Brock stopped the gig short of the lock-up and, after a few whispered words to Kathie, handed the reins of the horse to one of the Kilmar men, waiting in the shadows.

  He slipped away into the darkness and when he returned Kathie saw the white of his smile.

  ‘It couldn’t be better. The lock-up is only large enough to hold four guards, and I have just seen two of them go off to the camp for a meal. Now, you know what you have to do?’

  Kathie nodded.

  ‘Good girl! Get them to open the door then move out of the way quickly. We will do the rest.’

  They approached the lock-up together, but as Kathie walked boldly to the stout door Nathan Brock stepped aside into the shadows.

  Kathie banged on the door, waited a few seconds and banged again. A small panel, no more than a few inches square, opened in the door at eye-level and a militiaman looked out.

  ‘Who is it? What do you want?’

  ‘I’m from the tavern. One of your officers has sent me to deliver a jug of ale to you – and heavy it is, too. He should have sent the potman.’

  ‘You won’t have to carry it for very much longer, my love,’ chuckled the militiaman. ‘I’ll relieve you of it right away – and I’m telling you, the jug will be a lot lighter before you set foot in the tavern again.’

  There was the sound of heavy bolts being drawn as, still chattering, the militiaman swung open the door. Kathie stepped back quickly, and in an instant Nathan Brock had his shoulder to the door. It crashed open, bowling over the militiaman and sending him sprawling to the ground in the small guard-space. Leaping over him while he lay dazed, the big man reached the second militiaman before he had time to reach for one of the muskets leaning against the wall.

  Nathan Brock’s fist hit him on the side of the jaw, and the militiaman dropped senseless to the floor. Behind him, the other part-time soldier was being beaten into insensibility with less skill but equal enthusiasm by two of the Kilmar men.

  In the steel-barred cell, the prisoners raised a cheer, only to be quickly silenced by Nathan Brock.

  ‘Time enough for cheering when you are free. Where is the key to the cell kept?’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Dermot said, ‘The constable carries it with him. He’s on patrol in the town.’

  ‘Damn!’ This was wasting more time than Nathan Brock would have wished. Turning to one of the men with him, he said, ‘There is a rope under the seat of the gig. Get it tied to the window bars at the back and let the pony pull them out.’

  Turning back to the prisoners, he said, ‘When the window bars go I want you to climb through as quickly as you can and make your way to the road south of the town. We will all meet up there and head back to Kilmar.’

  At that moment Dermot saw Kathie standing in the lock-up doorway.

  ‘Kathie! What are you doing here?’ His eyes went from her face to her distended stomach and filled with tears. ‘Why did you come …?’

  His arms came out between the bars as she moved across the lock-up to him.

  ‘Hush now, everything is going to be all right. You’ll be out of here in no time at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kathie. I’m sorry. God! But I’ve missed you. I’ll make it all up to you – I swear I will.’

  ‘There’s a whole lifetime ahead of us to talk about whatever we will.’

  Behind Dermot there was a creaking as the rope about the bars took the strain. Then, with a tumbling of cob and stone, the barred window, complete with frame, crashed to the ground outside the lock-up, leaving a ragged-edged hole.

  This time Nathan Brock could not stifle the cheer raised by the Kilmar men as they dived for the window to be the first one through to freedom.

  Dermot had looked round at the window when the bars had gone but now he swung back to Kathie and his gaze went past her and filled with fear.

  The two missing militiamen had returned from their meal.

  Nathan Brock was quick enough to take a grip on the first militiaman’s musket and twist it from his grip before he could pull the trigger, but there was nobody close enough to tackle his companion. The second Armagh militiaman threw his musket to his shoulder, then he hesitated momentarily, uncertain of his target.

  It was now that Kathie acted. She was barely a yard from the muzzle of the wavering musket and, reaching out, she grasped the gun, trying to force it up toward the ceiling.

  Dermot saw the danger she was in and shouted for one of the free Kilmar men to go to her aid, but before help could arrive the gun went off with the muzzle only inches from Kathie’s face. She staggered back, crashed against the corner of a small table and fell heavily to the floor.

  Too late one of the Kilmar fishermen came through the door and felled the militiaman with a heavy piece of timber. By this time Nathan Brock had disposed of his opponent and he dragged Kathie clear as Dermot scrambled through the window of the cell and reappeared seconds later at the doorway.

  ‘The musket-ball seems to have missed her,’ said Nathan Brock. ‘But she has bad powder burns on her face and must have hit her head on something when she went down. Help me to get her out to the gig. We have to get away from here quickly. That shot won’t have passed unnoticed.’

  They carried Kathie between them to the gig, Nathan Brock calling for the other Kilmar men to run away quickly. Lifting Kathie up on to the seat, he climbed up beside her. With Dermot supporting her on the other side he flicked the reins and soon had the pony moving off, away from the partly demolished lock-up.

  They were turning from a side-street on to the long main road that split Rathconard from north to south when a voice called upon them to stop. Moments later they were surrounded by militiamen.

  Nathan Brock knew that if they once caught a glimpse of Dermot’s face the game would be up with three of them.

  ‘Out of the way!’ he roared. ‘I’ve a woman here about to give birth to a child. If me and her husband don’t get her to a doctor quickly, she’ll have the baby right here on the street.’

  A door opened nearby as a man came out to find out what was happening. Just enough light was released from the house for the soldiers nearest to the gig to see that Kathie was indeed very pregnant. She lay back on Dermot’s shoulder, her head effectively hiding his face, seemingly fainting with pain.

  ‘Let them through,’ called a corporal of the militia. ‘It’s a woman in labour. Let them through.’

  ‘Bless you, sir,’ called Nathan Brock, cracking the reins over the back of the pony as he drove the gig past the obliging soldiers and along the street to the edge of town.

  But Nathan Brock’s lie turned out to be prophetic. When the gig and the accompanying men were little more than a mile from Rathconard, and the Kilmar men were already congratulating each other on the success of their escape, Kathie began to regain consciousness.

  At firs
t, Dermot thought her groans were caused by the pain from the blow she had received. Holding her to him, he stroked her powder-burned forehead and reassured her that they would soon be home in Kilmar.

  Kathie’s groans ceased for a few minutes as she clung to her husband, but then she pulled away from him, her body writhed in agony and she screamed for him to help her.

  Nathan Brock pulled the gig to a halt, thoroughly alarmed.

  ‘The baby … it’s coming!’ Kathie hissed between closed teeth. ‘It’s hurting like the Devil…. Aah! It’s hurting me….’

  ‘What can we do? She can’t have it here.’ Dermot looked up at Nathan Brock as though he could provide some miraculous answer.

  ‘Then pray that we make it to Kilmar in time,’ said Nathan Brock grimly. ‘We’ll take the gig on ahead of the others and make the best time we can, but I wish there was less cloud about. I can hardly see the road.’

  Nathan Brock whipped the pony to a trot and strained his eyes into the darkness. When the moon put in an appearance he urged the pony to a near-gallop. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the moon slid behind a cloud, plunging the countryside into darkness. Before Nathan Brock could haul the pony to a halt, the gig left the road, skidded – and overturned.

  Fortunately, the ground beside the road was covered with wiry heather and no one was hurt. But it took them some minutes to right the gig and set off again.

  By far the worst part of the journey was listening to Kathie’s screams and not being able to do anything to help her. Dermot did his best to comfort her as she clung to him between spasms, but once the pain caught her there was nothing to be done.

  After one such agonising bout, she said, ‘I’m frightened, Dermot. Not for myself, but for your son. He is much too early.’

  Then the pain attacked her again, and for some minutes Dermot fought to hold her in the seat of the frail carriage.

  When the spasm passed, Kathie whispered, ‘If only it wasn’t so dark, Dermot. If I could see, it wouldn’t seem so bad.’