Liam found it difficult to believe the All-Ireland Association had thrown its weight behind such an uprising. It had always been against the use of violence. Even the dissidents who had broken away must know this was not the time to meet the English head-on. Brought to their knees by successive years of famine, the Irish were physically incapable of sustaining the warfare necessary to drive out the English. Nevertheless, Liam knew Lord John Russell would not commit his troops without good cause.
As it happened, Liam’s assessment of the situation was correct. There had been an attempted rising and for a while it had generated a wild enthusiasm among a handful of would-be revolutionaries who were even now touring the country calling upon their fellows to take up arms and join them. Hailed as heroes, their words were greeted with scenes of wild patriotism. But after a few days the only rumblings to be heard came from empty bellies and the hopeful generals of Ireland’s great new army of the people had gained six recruits.
There was never any need for Lord John Russell’s troops. Disease and despair had won the war for them.
But this was not yet known to anyone in England. The fear of an Irish rising had been with them for years, fuelled in recent years by the exaggerated reports of an over-fanciful Lord-Lieutenant, who saw revolution in every street-corner meeting.
‘What is the news of County Wexford? Has there been any fighting about Kilmar?’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Nathan Brock. ‘The situation is confused. Even Lord Palmerston was unable to tell me anything.’
‘Then I had better return home to find out what is happening, Caroline will be all right here for a while longer.’
‘No, Caroline will not be all right here for a while longer.’ Caroline bristled with indignation. ‘I will return to Ireland with you.’
‘You will be safer here. You barely escaped with your life from one revolution. It would be stupid to walk straight into another. Besides, the doctor said you must rest.’
‘I have rested. Now I am well. I will be coming to Ireland with you.’
They came very close to a quarrel, but both were adamant. Caroline that she would go to Ireland, Liam that she would not. Eventually, Nathan Brock moved to break the deadlock.
‘I think this should be settled by an expert decision. If the doctor is called in, will you both abide by his decision?’
Liam agreed readily. He felt sure the doctor would refuse permission for Caroline to travel to Ireland. Nathan Brock believed the same – but Caroline had other ideas.
When the doctor visited the house he spent a long time in Caroline’s room with her and came out wiping perspiration from his brow. Behind him was Caroline, a look of serene triumph upon her face.
‘Er … yes. Lady Dudley has my permission to travel to Ireland,’ said the doctor in answer to Liam’s question.
Liam’s jaw dropped and the doctor added hurriedly, ‘It had been my firm intention to insist that her ladyship remain here…. However, I feel that, if she did, her anxiety would far outweigh all other considerations. I … er … of course, depend upon you to see she does not over-exert herself.’
The doctor dabbed his damp face once again. ‘Now, if you will excuse me. I wish you a safe journey. My Lady. Gentlemen.’
Bobbing his head to each of them in turn, the doctor retreated gratefully from the house.
Liam turned to Caroline, but before he could say anything she reminded him, ‘You agreed to accept the doctor’s decision, remember? Now, we must not waste any time arguing. We both have packing to do. If we hurry, we can take a train this afternoon and be in Ireland tomorrow.’
She smiled at Liam, aware that his concern was entirely for her health. ‘I will be all right, Liam. The doctor would not have allowed me to travel had he really believed I was unfit.’
In a sudden burst of enthusiasm, she threw her arms about Liam’s neck and kissed him happily. ‘Oh, Liam, don’t be so solemn. You don’t know how I have longed for this day to come. The day when I return to Ireland. It will have none of the dangers of France. They are our people who are fighting, Liam. Yours and mine. We are part of them and we should be there.’
Her arms slipped from about his neck and she took him by the hand.
‘We will go and make ready now, Liam. We are going home.’
Chapter Fifty-Five
If Liam and Caroline had expected to find the streets of Dublin barricaded against Irish patriots, they would have been sadly disappointed.
British soldiers there were, in great numbers, but they walked the streets much as they had during Liam’s last visit to the city. Moreover, they laughed and joked together as though an Irish uprising was a myth thought up in London.
Liam was both puzzled and relieved by the lack of military activity. As the carriage carrying him and Caroline trundled through the city he looked for guards on public buildings, or discreet signs that all was not as quiet as it appeared to be. He saw nothing.
Outside the city the countryside appeared equally quiet. On the only occasion when the carriage passed soldiers, they were blue-uniformed hussars riding in a relaxed manner, their officer even waving a white-gloved hand at the inquisitive occupants of the carriage.
‘They do not look like soldiers who are fighting a war,’ exclaimed Caroline as she settled back in her seat.
‘Nor soldiers who have won a war,’ added Liam. ‘But surely the reports reaching London could not have been so wrong?’
Had they only known it, the relaxed attitude of the hussars was due in no small measure to relief. They were the Queen’s Royal Irish Hussars, a regiment notorious for their reluctance to fight fellow-Irishmen. Sent out from Dublin to break up a planned meeting called by dissidents at Wicklow, they had learned the meeting had been cancelled. They immediately turned about and rode back to Dublin. Had they taken the trouble to make any enquiries, they would have discovered that the meeting had been moved to Arklow, close to the County Wexford border and less than ten miles from Kilmar. But they did not want to know.
It turned out to be the best-attended meeting held in the area for many years. Cottiers flocked to the hillside site from miles around under the mistaken impression that there was to be a distribution of free food. There were so many of them that their numbers spilled on to the road, a hundred yards from the platform.
By the time the speakers arrived, to urge revolution upon the listeners, they had an audience of at least ten thousand people. The cottiers waited patiently as speaker after speaker urged them to join the fight for the freedom of Ireland. Then, as the hungry crowd was becoming restive, word began to spread amongst them that there would be no food. Confirmation came when a speaker who knew little of the situation in the rural areas called for all volunteers to bring with them a weapon and four days’ supply of food.
The crowd erupted into noisy anger – and it was at this unfortunate moment that the carriage carrying Liam and Caroline rounded a bend in the road and careered to a stop at the very edge of the frustrated mob.
The howl set up by the cheated cottiers pounded against the side of the vehicle like a storm-driven sea, and the coachman had to fight for control of his terrified animals.
A quick glance out of the carriage window told Liam all he needed to know. ‘Turn the carriage and go back – hurry!’ he shouted to the coachman. He was no stranger to meetings and he needed no second look at this one to recognise that it was totally out of control.
The coachman brought his plunging horses around in a tight circle, but it was not quick enough for Liam’s liking. ‘Faster, man! Get them moving.’
The mob saw the carriage turning away from them, and it suddenly became an object on which to vent their ill-humour. They swarmed down the hillside toward it, howling threats and abuse.
Had the road been wider, or the verges more firm, the horses would have pulled the carriage clear of the leading cottiers. Instead, the two rear wheels sank deep into the soft peat earth as the horses slipped and slid, the coachman’s whip crac
king like pistol shots about their ears.
Finally, the sweating horses pulled the carriage back to the hard road, but not until they were surrounded by shouting, triumphant cottiers.
Hands took hold of the sides of the carriage, rocking it dangerously, and Liam beat in vain against the fingers curling about the open window-frames. Meanwhile, on his high driving-seat, the coachman struck about him with his whip until it was tugged away from him and he was dragged down into the crowd and beaten unconscious.
Now the carriage was being rocked with a frightening rhythm, the wheels on either side leaving the ground as it swayed to and fro.
Liam knew it was no use calling upon the cottiers to stop; they were beyond reason. All Liam could do was to take Caroline in his arms and support her as best he could as the carriage lurched crazily from side to side.
‘If it goes over hold tightly to me,’ gasped Liam. ‘I’ll try to break your fall.’
But they had a few more uncomfortable minutes of the violent motion before someone cut the traces of the terrified horses and set them free. Not until then did the wildly cheering cottiers succeed in upsetting the carriage.
It tilted quite slowly at first, allowing Liam to prepare himself for the final crash. Then it fell on to its side to the sound of splintering wood and, with Caroline held firmly in his arms, Liam was upended and fell heavily on his back.
‘Caroline, are you all right?’
She stirred in his arms, and without waiting for a reply Liam struggled to free himself from her.
‘Stay here. Don’t try to move.’
Reaching up with both hands, Liam pushed up the door, and as it fell open he scrambled out on to the side of the carriage. A well-greased wheel spun lazily beside him, and he looked out over a sea of faces.
‘Are you satisfied now?’ he cried, his County Wexford accent the same as most of those gathered about him. ‘Or are you out to murder all your fellow Irishmen and women?’
‘We don’t ride the countryside in carriages, wearing fancy clothes,’ called one of the cottier men, standing well back in the crowd.
‘No – and you don’t pay for soup kitchens out of your own pocket and look after hundreds of cottiers sick with fever,’ retorted Liam. ‘But Lady Caroline Dudley does – and that’s who is lying inside the carriage you have just overturned.’
Liam’s words had an immediate effect upon the crowd. Caroline’s generosity was well known to every cottier, and there were many in this very crowd who owed her their lives. There was a sudden upsurge of talk among them.
‘Well, are you going to spend all day talking, or will someone step forward and do something?’
‘We’re sorry, sir.’ A black-bearded ruffian pushed his way to the carriage, ‘My own child owes her life to her Ladyship.’
‘Then get this carriage back on its wheels.’ Liam’s exasperated words hid the relief he felt that the mood of the mob had swung his way.
Shamefaced men shuffled into position about the overturned carriage, and as they prepared to set it on its wheels Liam dropped inside the carriage to Caroline.
The inside of the carriage was in deep shadow, yet there was sufficient light to show Liam that Caroline was still lying exactly where he had left her.
Alarmed, he crouched beside her, and as he lifted her clear of the frame of the carriage her breast rose and fell rapidly as she fought for breath.
‘Caroline …? Everything is all right now. There will be no more trouble. Just relax. Everything is going to be all right now.’
The carriage rose an inch or two, sliding for a way along the ground. Then, accompanied by much shouting from outside, it rose slowly to topple back on to its wheels.
Inside, Liam had managed to retain his balance and he now lay Caroline full length along a padded seat. She still fought desperately for breath, leaving Liam with a feeling of total helplessness.
The shattered door that had been resting against the road swung open on broken hinges and an anxious bearded face peered inside.
‘Is her Ladyship all right, sir?’
‘No, she’s far from right. Send someone for a doctor – and hurry!’
The door swung back to hang half-open at a crazy angle, and Liam pulled it shut and secured it against the curiosity of the cottiers. When he turned back to Caroline her eyes were open and she was looking at him.
‘I am sorry, Liam,’ she whispered.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for. Don’t try to speak. Just lie there and rest. A doctor will be here soon.’
‘It is too late … this time.’ Tears suddenly welled up into her eyes. ‘Liam … I don’t want to die. I have so much to live for.’
Liam had not even realised he had taken her hand, but now he felt her fingers tighten in his.
‘We’ll have no more talk of dying. We’ve a whole lifetime ahead of us – you told me so yourself. Just rest and don’t tire yourself.’
Her eyes closed and she whispered, ‘Yes, Liam. I will rest. Tell me … tell me what we are going to do in America.’
Taking Caroline in his arms, Liam told her of the voyage they would be making. That they would have the best cabin in the finest ship on the Atlantic run; of their landing in New York and the sights she would see there; the journey across the vast land of America and the house he would build at their journey’s end. He described the boat he would have and told her of the happiness they would find together.
He spoke in desperation, frightened to stop, ignoring the cottiers staring in at the windows and doors. It was as though he believed that by talking to her of the future he could make it come true.
He was still talking when the carriage door opened and a red-faced perspiring doctor clambered inside the battered carriage. Pushing Liam roughly to one side, he took Caroline’s wrist, then laid his head against her breast.
Straightening up, he said cruelly, ‘You’ve wasted my time bringing me all this way. She’s as dead as we will all be, one day.’
Chapter Fifty-Six
The cold northerly wind tugged at Father Clery’s flat round hat, threatening to snatch it from his head and pitch it into the brown and evil-smelling waters of the Liverpool dock. Beside him, Nathan Brock talked earnestly to Liam, and all three men had their hands pushed deep into the pockets of their overcoats.
They were standing on the timber-planked deck of Leviathan, a giant paddle-steamer that was about to make one of her regular transatlantic crossings to New York.
The decks were crowded with emigrant family groups, many of them saying their goodbyes to relatives, the women tearful, the men serious and filled with importance. For the children it was a time of excitement as they embarked on a half-understood adventure.
‘It is not too late to change your mind, Liam. Kilmar’s welcome home would be just as warm and honest as its farewell.’
‘No, Father. I am going to America. But you’ll keep an eye on my mother and write to me with all the news.’
‘Of course, Liam. Of course. But I wish you would stay. There is so much to be done here. With yet another disastrous potato harvest I don’t know what we are going to do. If there is a single cottier left alive this time next year, it will be a miracle, sure enough.’
Liam’s tired face took on a set expression. ‘I don’t want to hear of the cottiers’ troubles, Father – not just yet. I know you and Nathan will work yourselves into the ground for them, yet I wonder whether it will make any difference at all. Some of them will live, many more will die. I doubt if anyone will care – not even the cottiers themselves. Perhaps Trevelyan was right; this is meant to be. If we had not interfered with the way of things, Caroline would still be here.’
Despite his harsh words, Liam felt no anger toward the cottiers now. It had somehow drained away during the long sleepless nights since Caroline’s death. He had come to realise that the cottiers themselves were suffering for all that was wrong in Ireland. In an overpopulated little country they were at the end of the long food chain. When tim
es were hard, land-owners, landlords and other tenants used the cottier as a buffer against personal hardship, taking everything he had to give before casting him out to starve. To the Irish politician, the cottier was dying proof of English misrule. To the English politician, no more than an example of Irish improvidence.
The truth was that the cottier was largely responsible for his tragic situation by his own ignorance and fear of change. He was a serf, in a society that had cast off its medieval responsibility toward those who were born to serve. The cottier had become an anachronism, doomed in the rapidly changing world of the nineteenth century.
Yet, although Liam realised all these things, he could not forgive the cottiers for causing the death of Caroline. It would take a new land and a new way of life to bring that to pass.
‘All ashore who’s going ashore. All ashore who’s going ashore.’
A sailor moved about the deck shouting the words in a sing-song voice,
‘All visitors leave the ship now, please.’ To add emphasis to his words, the first mate of Leviathan tugged at the cord of the ship’s steam-whistle and produced a bass note that might have come from a cathedral organ.
‘Goodbye, Liam. Take care of yourself and return to Ireland a rich man.’
The moment of departure had arrived. Liam said goodbye with a lump rising in his throat as he shook hands with the men who were his last links with the tiny village of Kilmar.
He picked them out in the crowd on the jetty as the huge paddles churned the sluggish waters of the Mersey. The gap between ship and shore widened, but Liam did not lose sight of them until distance took them from him.
He stayed on deck until the wind began to chill him and the approach of darkness hid the lights of land from view. Then he went below to his cabin. The cabin he should have been sharing with his wife … with Caroline.
The Music Makers Page 48