The Watchman's Grace

by Craig Johnson

  In a rare moment of releasing frustration, Peter responded with strong words. “These corrupted fools! Can they not see the hypocrisy of their ways?

  “They can murder us, peaceful protestors, in the name of upholding the law. They can take away our basic rights, our dignity, to uphold the regime of an occupying power. Though mark my words; they invite future bloodshed by stomping on our palm of peace. A cornered animal always fights back!”

  Shawn understood the immense pressure Peter was under, and recalled choice words to help diffuse his anger. “Thinking back to Kilmarnie, your grandfather used to tell me a lot about the hate which dwells inside many a man. Like a scourge ruining their thoughts of higher ideals. “Dead ends and folly” he used to say. “Both will lead you on the same path to nowhere.”

  “You are making many a person proud to be good Irish again. For that we are indebted to you in no small way. So take my help as nothing more than thanks and hearty farewell from a newfound friend.”

  McGowan extended his right hand towards Peter, who tentatively took it in turn and shook earnestly. “We all have our roles to play, so I aim to do mine well. For the sake of a promising future, do not get caught out. This chase may be theirs while the truth is hidden. But at some point justice must appear to give this thing some natural balance! So fare you well Peter Harvey.”

  Both men walked outside into a late afternoon sky. Peter figured to have a five hour trek before arriving at Salmon Weir Bridge. Without aid of a horse again, he knew time would be at a premium.

  Upon exchanging parting words, he steeled his mind for travel. Shawn gave him solid directions for back routes to limit his public visibility. When he reached Galway proper, pitch of night would shroud his goings.

  Shawn waived goodbye as Peter made way towards the entrance of Greenstone Cottage. Peter had left his last safe house before North America. Alternatively, it may have been his final night’s good rest before capture by a relentless Major Thurston.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  RACE TO THE FUTURE

  When we run from the past, we forever hide a piece of ourselves

  Nightfall provided easier cover though made visibility a tad more challenging. Fortunately Peter found good progress, courtesy of Shawn’s exacting directions. Quickly he glanced at his trusted pocket watch. Salmon Weir Bridge was in sight with thirty minutes to spare. On gaining their appointed meeting spot, Peter stayed in cover until ten o’clock came close.

  Then, five minutes before the hour had struck, Peter heard footfall approaching where he hid. Peering from his position, he could scarcely make out the approaching figure. Deciding to make it easier for Fay to spot him, Peter rose to greet her.

  At that precise moment, his pocket watch fell from the knee where he had perched it. Cursing himself for not placing it into his jacket pocket, he knelt down and picked it up.

  When Peter came upright, his heart froze. In one glint of moonlight a constabulary patrol walked within twenty feet of where he stood. Immediately crouching back, he waited anxiously to see if his cover had been compromised.

  Waiting for what seemed like hours, Peter did not dare look out. He was truly convinced the constable had noticed something amiss. Finally, after twenty minutes, he could not bear to wait a second longer. Peering from cover, he spotted not a sole. On one hand he was fortunate, though now Fay was over fifteen minutes late. A new bit of bother had presented itself.

  Resigned to no choice but waiting, Peter’s worries began to gain the better part of his conscious. Perhaps the constable, having been alerted concerning tonight’s plans, had taken Fay into custody? It would not be the first time he tasted bitter betrayal. As Peter fretted in silence, an unseen hand clamped hard over his mouth.

  “Don’t speak a word when I move my hand or it may be the death of us!” whispered a female voice into his ear. Peter remained quiet as the hand came free.

  “Sorry for the delay, but I had to make sure nobody was watching,” she continued. “After all, we only have one chance.

  “By the way, did you see the constable wandering about here? They don’t usually come this far in, though they are stepping up efforts to grab poachers. But no matter how they try to stop it, starving people will risk everything to have some food.”

  Peter recovered from his initial surprise. “You’re Fay I presume? Yes, he was so close to me I feared he was onto us. Feels better knowing they were preoccupied with something else. So is everything in order for me tomorrow?”

  “Who else were you expecting Peter? Yes, everything appears to be in order. These documents will establish your next identity in a new homeland. It is vital for your safety to commit these details to memory. As of this moment Peter Harvey is dead!

  “Here is your passenger ticket. Know full well the steamer Chieftain will be the first and only opportunity to make good on your escape. Miss it and everyone’s hard work will have been for nothing! It would be very difficult to make new arrangements with the Security Force closing in so fast. Living would be least of your worries if they exacted bloodlust revenge upon you.”

  At that point Peter reflected on a past memory. “You know how funny life becomes? I remember my mother Mary speaking about guardian angels on more than one occasion growing up. She truly believed there was always the constant presence of a loved one watching out for us. She told me it was my guardian angel that brought me safely to shore near Kilmarnie.

  “If she’s right, which I have no reason to doubt so far, I hope that angel appears one more time. So if you can hear me now guardian angel, please let me carry on tomorrow! Thank you for hearing the desperate words of a wanted man.”

  Fay looked cautiously at Peter. She felt he would do much better to act decisively in this most pressing of situations. Nevertheless, with so many things aligned against him, he needed to grasp at anything which put him in a positive state of mind.

  “Now that you have everything, our business here is over,” Fay stated firmly. “Was there anything else you wanted to know or have?”

  Peter could not think of anything else other than boarding the steamer Chieftain tomorrow morning. “No, I seem to have all I need. Thank you and good evening Fay.”

  She turned to leave, walking a few steps before coming to a stop and returning to him. “Oh yes, I was handed this letter with all due importance. I gave my solemn word you would get it before you departed. Fare you well Peter.”

  He waved goodbye to Fay as she disappeared into evening yonder. After all the hardships along this harrowing escape, his final destination in Ireland would be Galway Harbor. From there he would sail to Nova Scotia, and a city called Halifax.

  Peter had met his final contact on the escape network. He was well aware if caught from heron in there would be no one to assist him. In other words, his future options were limited to freedom or a hangman’s noose. Every agonizing step since his painful departure from Dublin came down to next morning’s events.

  In an attempt to clear darker thoughts he eyed the sealed envelope. Having hours to spare before morning, Peter opened its contents. To his delightful surprise he noted the loving flourish of his dear mother Mary’s handwriting.

  As he read the contents, a flood of deep longing pulsed through his stirring heart. Only now did he fully acknowledge an exile’s farewell to everything he cherished. Slowly he read each caring word, which went as follows.

  “These precious words are for my beloved Peter. I want you to live each day as if it were a new beginning. Realize a future full of hope and splendor. Take in all around you with the same enthusiasm you held every waking day in Kilmarnie. Listen to the best intentions of your heart and common sense of your good mind. Seek the truth regardless of hate. Love like it is the very air with which we all take freely. And always make your life a testament to the best of a well-intended heart.

  “Grandfather Eamon so wishes to see you again but know
s the limitations of your situation. He sends his love as always; you occupy many moments of his waking thoughts. He is very proud of you Peter. Unfortunately, he is now in decline with an unfavorable prognosis. Regardless, Eamon wants his gentle light to always accompany your journey ahead.

  “Oh Peter, let me confess to be at a complete loss why these trying times befell a sterling young man like you! I thought fate would reward my son a prosperous life; one who was so willing to help others and give so much. In the end, I have to believe there is greater purpose behind this whole tragedy.

  “How we miss your presence in this house Peter! We feel your loss deeply. Though do not worry about our resolve. We Harveys will go on best we can, just as generations before. And when they take the last of us from our beloved homestead, may posterity treat us well.

  “I too feel the cold force of violent change will soon sweep across this unjust land. We have yet to see the great extent of what our struggles for self-government will cost. Opposing ideals of what freedom means will surely pit friend against friend, relation against relation, town against town. Since we thirsted so long for positive change our reactions will be that much keener! I see this coming as surely as our eventual sovereignty.

  “I wish you could write back to me often. Due to the nature of wretched circumstances I understand you cannot. So always keep close to mind and heart that you are both the love of my life and your grandfather’s. Go forward knowing you will make us proud whatever your achievements. Keep your passion to aim high while achieving even higher.

  “Oh I do wish to see how the young adult that left for Dublin became a handsome man of strong disposition! Though excusing all the idle wishes of your doting mother, you will always be my beloved son Peter. So travel far in that knowledge, always keeping it close to your heart. No words can express my devotion, so let me leave you with a mother’s love.”

  Peter wiped away welling tears after reading her sincere thoughts. Then he continued weeping for his stricken grandfather who thought of him so dearly. For the first time on his escape, he knelt to pray. Peter sought for their protection as they provided him all his waking days. Eventually he laid rough in the bushes to catch some rest.

  While dreaming for a spell Peter felt the sharp pain of an animal bite. Again the creature took a nasty jab at him, causing him to awake with a start. When his eyes gained focus in the pre-dawn light, he couldn’t have imagined a more frightening sight. Pointing straight at him was a long rifle. At the other end was a member of the Irish Constabulary, ready to fire.

  “Do not move or face the consequences!” snapped the young officer. “I cannot believe what lay before me. We’re patrolling for poachers yet I come across someone much more important.

  “You’re Peter Harvey, wanted for killing a man in Dublin at Wheatstone Fields! I was transferred from Dublin Metropolitan Police days ago. That’s how I reckon your identity. Though I know within days all the constabulary in Ireland will have your description. Now stand up slowly for me, arms raised.”

  Peter’s life flashed before his weary eyes in a colorful whirl. All future ambitions were now ripped away for all time. This capture meant any days as a free man were over. In horrid acknowledgement, he knew the hangman’s noose was now a formality.

  Peter was a broken man, though he yielded no such feelings to his capturer. What hurt most was the fact he was mere hours away from boarding the steamer Chieftain. Nevertheless, he summoned his trademark conviction of character to face down the officer.

  “I am raising my arms exactly as you instructed. I am not a violent man, regardless of what propaganda you’ve heard about me. Do as you must to legally bring me into custody.

  “I have no guilt about my actions that day. There was an innocent man about to be murdered. I prevented that in the slim instant I was given. Now I have no choice but to leave it to the courts to decide the merits of my pleas. One can only hope they are capable of passing impartial judgment!”

  As Peter poised his arms above himself, the officer continued to train his rifle. “Wouldn’t you know my first assignment in Galway is as an armed watchman for this area? Haven’t come across a poacher for days, but here before me is the fugitive Peter Harvey.

  “You certainly are a legend to many! But I also know those who do not appreciate what your words well up in folks’ minds. They want things to remain the way they are because it works best for them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Peter was still in shock at the sudden turn of events. Yet in the recess of many memories he vaguely recognized the officer’s face.

  “Haven’t I seen you before?” Peter probed cautiously. “Were you not at Wheatstone Fields that same day? My memory recalls faces quite well.”

  His captor became quiet, as if weighing an important issue very carefully. All the while he stared unblinking into Peter’s eyes. When he appeared to resolve his thoughts the officer began speaking.

  “It may interest you to know I too have felt a lifetime of hardship on this Island. My father wanted nothing but the best for our future, though lacked any resources to improve our lot. Come to think about it, there was barely enough to feed the five mouths of our family. And so I thought my life was doomed to abject servitude for lack of opportunity, like so many others before me.

  “Then one day in my early teen’s father came home with a particular glow on his weathered face. Said there was a benefactor unknown to me that heard of my potential talents in scholarship. Incredibly, he offered to pay for furthering my education, since so many of our young men lacked means.

  “You see Peter Harvey, my father moonlighted evenings at an estate on top of his regular day job. That was how he made the household whole. The place was called Rushford House in County Mayo.”

  To see the shock of recognition in Peter’s face would make heaven sigh. His solid memory immediately recalled this place from work at his first position in Dublin. Peter was rendered speechless. This officer had already anticipated his surprised response. His tone now began to soften, though the rifle was still poised to fire.

  “I was later to learn that Aidan Malloy was my silent benefactor. Although I had no means to repay his gratitude, I made a personal pledge to repay his generosity in some certain way. Years later, with employment so scarce in the land, I joined on with the Dublin Metropolitan for steady wages. Then one day, while patrolling near Wheatstone Fields one Saturday I heard his son’s speech.

  “Hearing the passion of those words was something new to me. Your Common Man Movement struck a chord; that I am not afraid to admit. In my truest self I know what you and Duncan Malloy preach is the genuine article.

  “So figure me a lucky man that I can finally repay my gratitude to Aidan Malloy! I’m alone for a few hours still. That shall give you time to get far enough from here. Though take my advice Peter Harvey. Within days nowhere in Ireland will be safe. Get off the Island if it’s the last thing you do!”

  Peter was once again thrown into a mind bending turn of facts. Here was a tale that could be no more astonishing if it was made in fiction. He struggled to regain his thoughts after this latest twist of events.

  “Is there something the matter?” the officer inquired. “You can go free with my good grace. But never mention this to a soul. Here is a onetime opportunity. If I run into you again I will make an arrest. Now put your hands down and be on your way!”

  Peter had now regained his composure. “Nothing lately is as it seems. I thank you for your charity, and will never forget this kind action. I can only hope in our country’s future it can avail itself of many men with strong character like yours. For I fear it will take multitudes of daring sacrifice to guide our country to independence. Godspeed, and shall good fortune be with you!”

  Without further hesitation Peter slipped away. Little did Peter know his captor was more moved by the encounter than he could ever imagine.

  “Can
you believe all that?” he muttered softly to himself. “I just met Peter Harvey!”

  *****

  Liam O’Carroll and his family had just finished a ten hour journey from Sligo to arrive at Galway Harbor. It was not the happiest of occasions, though a journey borne of sheer necessity. Three months had passed since he managed to pay tenant’s rent on their small landholding. As of yesterday the family of four was forced off the land.

  Destitute with no decent prospects, Liam thought the O’Carrolls had no options. He was severely depressed, feeling utter hopelessness. The family appeared doomed to utter failure.

  Fortunately, his wife Margaret had kept a small stash of currency hidden even from him. Feeling much better, Liam suggested they escape all these memories of misery for a fresh start. They decided to purchase steerage passage on a coffin ship bound for New York.

  Liam was not a simple man in his ambitions. But there was no way to make a living between increasing rents and crop yields that could not provide sustenance or commerce. Now leaving that situation behind, Liam found it within himself to pray for some good fortune. He was not particularly religious, though difficult times bent the knees of more than one desperate man.

  Amongst the early morning bustle of Galway Port, Liam waited with his family for their ship Lady Welcome to begin boarding. All manner of mixed emotions fought for space in his thoughts. He knew in this place old lives were lost while new ones were sought in lands abroad. Every experience of the last few decades in Ireland was represented within this teeming locale.

  Looking up at sky above he reckoned it to be a fine day for sea. The Atlantic looked calm and beckoning, unlike this land from which they fled. Liam turned to give his wife and children a hopeful smile which was paid in kind.