The Watchman's Grace

by Craig Johnson

  “My small village has been trying to make a go of it on plots no bigger than your thumb. To date, we lost so many in the prime of life there is little room left to bury them! As you know, the unfed are easy fodder for consumption, dropsy and the like. Damn it all! Over ten years since The Great Famine and still its misery has not left our homes.

  “I’ve been a good man my whole life, making my way through it all. Whenever the appeal was made, I gave alms, regardless of my own hardships. Yet pride is a difficult master Peter Harvey. I am certain the rest of my fellow tenants will not survive another winter. There are no funds to emigrate, and the landlord posted our evictions one month ago. We may remain in our beloved country only because our bodies have turned to dust!

  “There is my story. Now I stand humbled before you to ask for any assistance you may give, however it may be, to save us.”

  Peter’s anger for Dublin Castle’s willful neglect drove his charge for reform. Meantime, he and his colleagues would stem present difficulties with whatever resources they could avail. He now reached within his undercoat.

  “It takes courage to sacrifice one’s personal pride for good of the whole. I also believe that charity, when granted, must be paid in kind with good favor. Here are funds to help your village. In turn, I expect you to retell all of what you heard today, supporting our cause in Ballina.” Peter handed over a decent sum to the astonished man.

  Immediately he took the small bundle of notes into his feeble hands. The stranger was flush with joy at Peter’s magnanimity. He wiped a solitary tear of appreciation from his reddish eye before composing himself.

  “Peter Harvey, your reputation and that of Duncan Malloy was told before this presentation in these parts. Perhaps it will be fresh to your ears, though I see the high reputation is deserved; men of action indeed!

  “Our locals banded together to fend for ourselves, though we had next to none. Let me say there is no trust out there Mr. Harvey! There is no right, but plenty of scorn. You have my word these monies will be put to good use.

  “In fact, there are two tenants that have been offered a chance to buy out their lease. If we can buy those plots, perhaps there will be enough food to sustain ourselves. Anyways, we will have a stake back in our land, and can pool what we have to help the rest of us in kind.

  “No one has helped us like you have Mr. Harvey. They talk of their sympathies and the like. But you and Duncan Malloy are giving when you can and truly helping, while the wretched administrators hole up in Dublin Castle. Your deeds will not be forgotten.”

  Peter continued further with this positive exchange. “Can you imagine then when five, ten, twenty or more have the means to pursue an education, live in decent lodgings and participate in electing a government based in Ireland? We can change the very nature of what this country can achieve!

  “There’s a good fight ahead, and we cannot possibly do it on our own. The Common Man Movement needs every citizen to support our aims. The very future of Ireland depends upon it.”

  The man nodded in complete agreement. “We all know it, but for now they’ve got us Mr. Harvey. Look at the absentee landlord who raised rent for our land four times these last two years!

  “In the past, each time we struggled greatly but came through hardship. Not this time. So let me ask you, for the love of mercy, how is this lawful?

  “Two towns over landlords were kicking families off the land. Now they graze beef to sell in England. Don’t we have enough starving here at home? Why do they drive us to emigration? This cannot be right.”

  The stranger fought back weary tears. These life or death struggles exacted too high a toll on the hundreds of thousands affected. It was an unyielding hardship to gather even the basic necessities of life. Peter heard too many similar stories to doubt the validity of this man’s words.

  “Take comfort in knowing our work has just begun. Already we are encouraged by the pace with which people have come out to volunteer assistance. By the way, what is your name? Where do you hail from?”

  “Padraig Kelly is my name. When word came to Galway County you men were to speak in Ballina I traveled for miles. In my mind, nowhere was too far for a desperate man to come. I had one last hope you’d hear my appeal. Otherwise, our fate was sealed.

  “Do you recognize the name Aberthshire Estate? It is the lord owner of that land who made life so miserable for all his tenants. There is not one redeeming quality in that cunning, heartless man!”

  “Yes I’m familiar with the name,” replied Peter. “My word, you've come such a long way to hear us speak! For that I am both grateful and honored.”

  The troubled man managed a thin smile before speaking. “Peter Harvey, people would come from the ends of earth to hear you and Duncan Malloy! Do you realize how long we’ve waited to hear a voice like yours in this land? To hear people that care about how we live, our hopes and simple ambitions?”

  Suddenly the man’s face turned to worry. “Now mark my words very carefully. Please be cautious Peter Harvey. Those in power have no time for the likes of you. I do not want to hear of this country mourning at your wake! Your admirers grow by the day, and this makes them fear their grip on Ireland’s bloody plunder.”

  Peter was struck by the sincerity of Mr. Kelly. If he did not recognize it before, he now knew the latent power of what he and Duncan were trying to accomplish. This chance encounter renewed his devotion to their movement with a fire of complete dedication.

  “You have my word Padraig that I will heed your advice.”

  Padraig smiled and extended his hand. “No matter what they put in your way, I’m sure you have the mettle to overcome all. It’s been my pleasure to meet you in person. I was not disappointed.”

  Peter took his hand in a firm shake. “It was my pleasure to be of some assistance to you Padraig. Keep strong. Never lose hope.”

  As Mr. Kelly walked towards his horse, Peter felt a rush of positive energy throughout his body. In everyone’s life one hopes at some point to work in a profession where they hold passion. He was fortunate to have found such a match.

  Today in Ballina marked a significant milestone. It now appeared word had spread beyond the village of Greenhill, signaling the desperation of many citizens for any hope. Hope the Common Man Movement stood poised to provide.

  Chapter Eleven

  BACKDROP ON A WONDERFUL SCENE

  To live a full life, one must participate fully

  In the following weeks, Peter and Duncan nurtured those fledgling shoots of their burgeoning grassroots organization. Continually assisted by the quiet hand of Aidan Malloy, they were able to attract even more support, building upon successes in Greenhill, Ballina and other towns on Ireland’s west coast.

  Centrally organized, these fellow groups networked to coordinate resources and objectives. Such an arrangement fostered an allied front for the guiding principles of their Common Man Movement. All involved were proud of the outreach they fostered to practice the words of their appeals.

  For instance, Greenhill’s community banded together to raise funds that were distributed to tenants facing imminent eviction. Ballina held Saturday fiddling matches to raise monies for buying title to sale lands outright. Citizens were emboldened by the ideals of the cause, becoming participants in their future, rather than spectators. Still, these actions were too sparse for any substantial impact.

  Duncan and Peter were encouraged by this progress, though could not shake the feeling their activities were being watched by those less enthused. The risk of a mass appeal effort was that it offered little means to safeguard against negative infiltration. Therefore, hostile opposition could readily observe their actions and plot against them. The status quo, which benefited from this contorted state of current affairs, viewed their Common Man Movement as nothing short of open sedition.

  That being said, Duncan Malloy and Peter Harvey became well known
within the self-governance movement and beyond. Their impassioned calls for an administration which provided access to fair opportunity in jobs, social assistance and education garnered growing support throughout. Many came, some at great personal sacrifice, for a chance to hear their empowering oratory.

  Town after town was swept up in succession by this inspiring duo. Truly the need to post coming events became superfluous, as word of mouth swiftly preceded their every arrival. Increasingly, people were acknowledging this cause arrived at a most fortunate time.

  Weeks later, at the conclusion of one particular rally held in the county town of Tralee, Peter was approached by a very young man. He looked a most unfortunate fellow indeed. Malnourished and gaunt, his eyes reflected with a cool gray glint of inner strength. Peter waited for the young man to come within speaking distance.

  “You are him, the man called Peter Harvey?” he voiced hesitantly.

  “Yes I am young man. What is it you wish to ask of me?”

  “I came from very far to hear you. With my dad passed on and my family hanging on…I wanted to know what you would do for people who’ve lost everything. After hearing you both, I want with all my heart to join the cause.

  “But the bite of it is ma and the youngest are depending on me. To tell you the truth, I cannot see how we can pull through. I came to get some belief, and thank goodness I heard it today! For that Peter Harvey I thank you.

  “Oh, I also wanted to give you this, since I cannot volunteer my body or funds. It’s not much, but it’s all I can give. Please take it.”

  The lad took a large piece of folded brown paper from a tattered trouser pocket. Peter thanked him for this gesture and opened the paper to read its contents. Initially he was astounded at the neat penmanship and eagerly read the crisp writing.

  On top of the page, in large form letters, was titled “OF ALL GOOD THINGS IN IRELAND.” It read as follows.

  To tell a tale so bold

  Of men and might built with fight

  That tamed a land so old

  We toiled dear earth and labored birth

  To bring good soil to life

  As time wore on down the line

  We fell into a slow decline

  Our crop did fail to no avail

  While a wicked state held our fate

  To bring good foods to eat

  My family wasting all about

  There’s not a penny more around

  Our landlord waits to seal the door

  For time gives hope to me no more

  To bring good shelter to sleep

  And now pain fever wrecks my soul

  I join my children, took ill long ago

  A pauper’s grave awaits today

  Ending a life once full of praise

  To bring good tidings to prosper

  Sing for the day I tell no more

  About the men who leave our shore

  For by the crypt or tossing sea

  Each one I fear no more to see

  Of all good things in Ireland

  When Peter finished reading, he felt a solitary tear streak his left cheek. He looked up to see if the boy was waiting, though he had disappeared to an unknown destination. Peter was deeply moved by these words, wishing to thank the lad for his heartfelt prose.

  Here, in one solitary moment, was the reason Peter Harvey was wholly committed to their cause. He truly believed such talent, betrayed by the brutality of depravation, would not be wasted under a home government. Peter wanted a land which would nurture its inhabitants, not cast them away to far flung reaches.

  Later that day Peter told Duncan about the special encounter. When he finished, Duncan patted Peter’s shoulder and spoke his thoughts.

  “Since we began our rallies months ago, I knew our presence in the public domain would invoke all manner of emotions. In the greatest light, people were mesmerized by the logic of our words and passion of our conviction. On the other hand, there are those who despise us as interlopers who should be silenced. We threaten a prosperous, entrenched hierarchy when we acknowledge the rights of an average man to basic liberty.

  “I should say something which hopefully does not put you in a contrary frame of mind. There was another purpose to my invitation to have supper with us all those months ago. Believe me; your company was enjoyed by everyone, especially Maggie. And you most certainly can attest to their affections.

  “There are certain qualities in you which I noticed from our first encounter at Queen’s College. Rare is the individual who can engender trust on all levels, from all walks of society. I knew that a partnership between us would be crucial to any future success of our cause. In essence, the dinner was also a quiet vetting by my father to see if you possessed all of which I spoke so highly.”

  Peter was not surprised by the news, though appreciated Duncan’s sincerity. “So is it safe to say he was fine with my character?”

  Duncan let out a relieved laugh. “Fine you say? You were made an insider at one of the most powerful societies in this country! He made you a Man of Goodhope that very evening.”

  On the next day, a sparkling early morning dawn greeted the invigorated orators. But for a rare period they had a few days to themselves. They would need this respite before facing their biggest engagement to date. Nothing less than their level best would suffice in an ancient city on River Lee.

  After a hearty breakfast, they prepared their itinerary. It was during this period they learned some surprising news. Samuel McGee sent word he would be meeting them in Cork on the day of their expected arrival.

  McGee’s message was full of guarded optimism. He felt success in Cork would launch the movement onto a national stage. With it, fundraising and volunteer support would only grow. Most importantly, they would be forming the basis for their ultimate objective; establishing a party whose platform of self-government would vie for political power.

  When scheduled tasks were completed, Duncan and Peter set about for some well-deserved relaxation. Stepping outside into breezy air, they aimed to explore these intriguing open stretches. Many sights were visited, including the hinterland of Tralee Bay with its places of historical relevance.

  Overall, their time in Tralee was thoroughly enjoyable. Each mind became rested while vigor was restored to a healthy pitch. Now they departed for Cork, two days before the appointed rally time. Arriving at the end of a good journey, they continued strategizing inside comfortable accommodations.

  When the duo went out to dine later that evening, muffled whispers greeted them along the way. Such was the price of publicity, and they learned long ago to take it all in stride. Yet there were benefits, like good seating and complimentary desserts this evening. So a steady hand was required to deal with both good and bad situations in even temperament.

  Later, as they were leaving the establishment, a well-dressed stranger approached the two gentlemen. “Are you Duncan Malloy?” he asked.

  “I am him,” Duncan replied. “With what business may I help you?”

  The stranger looked at Peter Harvey for a brief instant before responding. “May we have a moment in private then?”

  “I will wait by the shop over there,” Peter responded before walking away.

  As soon as Peter moved away the stranger continued speaking. “You have no idea who I am, though I know enough about you to realize your family has considerable interests and are well renowned. It is out of respect therefore I mention the following to you.

  “For your own good Duncan it should be said there are those high up in both London and Dublin Castle who strongly disapprove of your ways. They grow fouler by the minute! I daresay they are quite vocal, garnering the attention of very powerful, sympathetic ears.

  “These are volatile times Duncan Malloy. Be careful and trust no one. Stay well.”

  Before Duncan could p
ursue any line of questioning, the man disappeared down a laneway. It was a most unexpected encounter. Shrugging him off, he walked over to where Peter stood patiently waiting. Duncan dismissed this cryptic encounter without a further thought.

  Less than forty hours later a sturdy brown carriage pulled up to Queen’s College in Cork. Both men reveled in the significance of this moment.

  “I am overcome with remembrances past,” commented a moved Duncan. “Even though we attended school in Galway, it’s still a sister university established in the same vein. It would appear we are coming full circle from idealistic college students to growing reformists. Someone pulled mighty strings indeed to allow our engagement on these grounds this afternoon.”

  Peter nodded in absolute agreement. “They’ve acknowledged the pursuit of continuous improvement knows no boundaries in enlightened individuals. And petty fears have no place in the halls of esteemed education. If people desire truth, there are few areas more equipped than the hallowed grounds of higher learning.

  “I also learned recently we are deemed to be “lecturers of good reputation”. Queen’s College is very keen to attract keynote speakers. So it is, so it must be.”

  “Though the irony of speaking at a college established by endowment of the Queen no less!” wondered Duncan aloud. “The more we endeavor, the more we witness what a tangled web of intricacies this whole business really is.

  “On another topic, there was something which bothered me at dinner last night. But I do not want to sound alarmist.”

  Peter encouraged Duncan to continue. “Go on then. Out with it.”

  “Well, if you recall last evening, I left the table just before dinner arrived. On my way to the restroom I noticed someone whose face registered in my mind’s vaguest recollections. If it was him, let us say it was not a fellow well met. But I am not in complete confidence with his identity.

  “Oddly enough, when I returned to our delicious meal, he had disappeared into thin air. Oh well, perhaps it was nothing after all.”