Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry

by Hughes, Amanda

  "Oh my God, oh my God!" moaned Darcy, putting her hands over her face.

  "Bran confessed before he ran off. He was an informant for the Crown, Darcy. He was last seen in front of Paid Lillis' cottage, his pockets bulging with notes."

  Darcy covered her ears rocking back and forth. "No! No! It's not true!"

  Teila grabbed Darcy's hands and pulled them down. "Listen to me, Darcy. I haven't much time. Don't let Father Etienne die in vain. He could not save the others, but you have a chance to live. Don't throw that away!"

  Teila reached quickly inside her cloak and put a small bundle into Darcy's hand and said, "Here is some bread and something of Father Etienne's. They destroyed everything else. I found it on the floor."

  Teila wrapped her arms around Darcy. She held her close and rocked her, reciting the Irish saying, "There's hope from the ocean, Darcy but none from the grave."

  She stood up, brushed the straw from her skirt and gave the door three smart knocks. Teila turned and looked at Darcy one last time then she was gone. The bar fell heavily across the door once more.

  Darcy opened the cloth and saw a small trinket. She recognized the charm that she had given Father Etienne from the pudding last Christmas. Darcy remembered telling him that the thimble was a sign of hope, and now when she needed it the most, he had delivered it to her. Closing her hand around the thimble, she reached deep within her soul and found a glimmer of hope to carry on.

  * * *

  Darcy finally slept but not for long. She felt a sharp kick in her side and heard someone tell her to get up. She pulled herself to her feet, trying to clear her mind. Her long hair was tangled and matted, falling around her face wildly, and her clothes were filthy. She resembled a woman from a madhouse, as she climbed aboard a cart, where she was bound to the base of the driver's seat.

  The sky was dark and heavy with rain clouds, and thunder rolled in the distance. As the cart bumped along, Darcy wanted to look up and take in the fresh air, but she did not have the strength to raise her head.

  Suddenly, the cart came to an abrupt halt, and she felt a large hand grip her hair and yank her head up. Darcy could see Major Russell at the end of the cart, and she believed that he was talking to her, but the words sounded far away. He shook his head in disgust, came around to the side of the cart and yelled, "I don't want to have to say this again, you stupid cunt so listen! You have been sentenced to death by hanging for your crime of treason, but you have been spared this punishment because you carry a brat inside you. Instead you will be transported to the American Colonies where you will be sold into servitude for a period of seven years. You will leave directly after the hanging."

  Darcy looked at him blankly not fully comprehending the meaning of his words. Everyone seemed so far away, and their voices seemed so muffled. When the guard let go of her hair, she rested her head on the back of the cart and through swollen eyes began to look around.

  In spite of the thunder, the village green was filled with people. Darcy could see the British regulars forcing villagers out of their homes at gunpoint. She strained to recognize their faces, but they melted into distorted figures laughing grotesquely.

  Slowly she rolled her head away from the crowd and over to the high stone cross where someone had constructed a wooden platform with a cross beam. Dangling from the beam were several looped ropes, and standing nearby was a soldier banging out a steady rhythm on a drum.

  The drum, along with the rolling thunder grew in intensity, but Darcy could hold her eyes open no longer. Her mind drifted back to peaceful times--days spent playing in the sunshine with her sister, Mary Kathleen, sharing secrets with Teila and reading lessons with Father Etienne. She remembered his words, "I have the feeling that I may never leave Ireland," and now it had been fulfilled. He lay at sea midway between his beloved home in America and his cherished land of Ireland.

  A peal of thunder roused her, and she opened her eyes in time to see a soldier place a noose around Liam's neck. She was lucid enough to know that he was weak and near death. It must have taken every ounce of his massive strength to hold himself up--with the assistance of a chair.

  All seven owlers were lined up, each with a noose around his neck. Some mumbled prayers, others wept; only Liam was expressionless. She could hear a voice reading a list of crimes against the Crown including resisting arrest, smuggling and treason.

  Darcy watched, but she could not comprehend what was happening. She drifted off until the drum stopped, and she heard a dull thud. Opening her eyes, she saw seven men gasping for their last breath. They all danced and twitched grotesquely on the ropes, except Liam. He did not move. It seemed that the first blow was enough.

  Darcy looked at her brother's face. She remembered he used to smile when they were children, but after the famine he never smiled again. The Hunger never ended for Liam. It had eaten him alive.

  The cart jerked abruptly, and she realized that she was leaving Kilkerry. It rumbled roughly through town, and she saw several men remove their hats as she passed. The town grew steadily smaller, as she moved out into the countryside until all that remained in her sight was the abbey on the bluff. Darcy stared at it as the cart jostled along. She knew that the abbey would remain standing long after she was gone from the earth. She would miss being under its protection but would carry its memory with her always.

  Suddenly, she had the strange notion that she could see the shadow of Father Etienne inside the walls. He was dressed in his long, black cassock. She told herself that it was fancy, but when she raised her hand in farewell, the shadowy figure did the same.

  Chapter 15

  The journey to Cork took several days, and Darcy began to feel her strength return. She was grateful for the indifferent attitude of the soldier that escorted her to the seaport town. He seemed to be enjoying his brief escape from Kilkerry. He did not bother with small talk and allowed Darcy enough food and lots of fresh water.

  They arrived at Cork late in the afternoon, and the town was bustling with activity. Cork was one of the largest ports in Ireland, and it was here that Major Russell booked passage for Darcy to the American Colonies. She drew the attention of the townspeople as she was escorted down the bumpy lanes to the British Port Authority. Many stopped to stare, some spat at her, either way she made no eye contact

  The soldier parked the cart in front of an old building which had at one time been a custom house but now served as the Port Authority. As he jumped off the cart and headed inside, Darcy noticed him pull some papers out of his breast pocket which she assumed to be orders regarding her transportation. After a brief time, he climbed back onto the cart. He pulled around to the stable in back and began to untie her

  "You're very lucky. Your ship for America embarks in the morning, and you will not have to go to that stinking jail built over the city gate. You'll sleep here tonight instead."

  He took her to an empty stall toward the back of the stable and tied her hands to a ring for tethering horses. He was considerate enough to allow her ample rope so she could lie down if she desired and left her with bread and cheese and some water.

  The horses rolled their eyes suspiciously at Darcy as she settled in for the night. Raucous laughter and bawdy shouts came from people passing on the street. She was glad to be tucked to the back of the stable, hidden from the sight of the city dwellers, and she slid back into the shadows.

  She had never gone beyond the limited boundaries of Kilkerry, and it was very overwhelming to be in a city of this size; it appeared so loud and dangerous, dizzying to the senses. After eating, she felt unbearably tired and lay down on the hay to sleep. The stable grew dark, and occasionally a visitor would rouse her, but they were oblivious to her.

  Darcy had been allowed to bring no possessions. She had only the clothes on her back, the pewter cross and thimble of hope close to her heart. Together they gave her the strength she needed to carry on.

  Darcy was awakened early by snorts from the horses, as several British officers cam
e in to saddle up. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and stretched. Today she would leave for America, and she was terrified. Darcy had longed for adventure and excitement, but being sold into indentured service was not what she had planned. They set off for the docks shortly after sunrise. The air smelled thick from stale fish and puke. As they passed an old townhouse, which had fallen into disrepair, an old woman in an upper story threw the contents of a chamber pot out a window, splashing all over the cart. The sights and the smells of this town sickened her. Many people were covered with pock marks and pustules, and the old men leered at her through yellow, watery eyes.

  They started down a wide street, and when Darcy turned around, she saw tall masts and ships riggings. The quay was a loud and busy place everyday, but this morning a ship was departing for the New World, so it was completely in chaos.

  Large, burley-looking men rolled barrels up ramps while others mended sails and carpenters swung hammers making last-minute repairs. Vendors called out to customers, enticing them with fresh fish or local produce, and seagulls circled, screeching and diving at food.

  The soldier stopped the cart at a large desk at the base of the ship's gangplank. He handed some papers to a prosperous-looking gentleman who had been scratching figures into a log. He had a shock of snow-white hair and a kind face. The two men briefly discussed the terms of transportation, and the guard came over and untied her. A large man with curly, dark hair and a long black mustache was summoned to take Darcy on board. He grabbed the rope tying her hands leading her up the plank. She felt her stomach lurch as her eyes ran along the coastline of cliffs and green hills rolling into the distance.

  The man said, "Better look good; you'll not see her again for a long time.”

  Darcy looked at the leathery face of her jailer. Something in his voice sounded familiar. After clearing her throat, she licked her lips and said hoarsely, "You are from the Colonies?"

  The jailer’s eyebrows shot up. He had not expected this dirty disheveled woman to have spoken in a manner so direct. When she looked at him, her eyes were as brilliant as the green hills behind her.

  "Yes, I am from the Colonies. It's been four years since I've been there to see my wife and six little poppets.” He studied Darcy a moment then said, "Come now, girl. I've got to get you to the hold."

  They crossed the deck and went down several sets of stairs between decks into the dark belly of the ship.

  As they descended the companion ladder, the stench of unwashed bodies sent Darcy into a fit of coughing. The jailer laughed and said, "Get used to it. None of you smell like primroses."

  It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and although she could not see the other prisoners, she could hear them.

  "Find a corner with some straw and call it your own but be prepared to fight for it," he said.

  "Crackstone! Get up here! There's a slave to bring down."

  Jonah Crackstone pulled his heavy body up the ladder, leaving Darcy standing alone in the middle of the hold. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, and she could make out the figures of several people sitting on straw. Two of them were in chains and eight or nine were unrestrained. Barrels were stacked everywhere, and there was straw scattered all over the floor. Darcy noticed necessary buckets in several corners and in the ceiling were two round tubes which let light in from above.

  Darcy took a seat in one corner. An old crone began to cough, and it became so violent that Darcy thought that poor woman would expire on the spot.

  Crackstone brought down the slave down into the hold, and Darcy was stunned when she saw the woman. She had the darkest skin Darcy had ever seen. Instantly she thought of Othello.

  Crackstone told the woman to find a spot to sleep and that they would be embarking soon. The slave chose a bed of straw directly across from Darcy and sat down cross-legged. She turned her catlike eyes on each prisoner in the hold, warning them without words to keep their distance.

  Not wishing to challenge her, Darcy looked away, but she could not help stealing glances in her direction. She was beautiful with long legs and a willowy body. Her coarse hair was long and full, and she had cool blue eyes. She wore a colorful skirt with a clean white blouse, and although she was a slave, she was cleaner than the rest of them. From the way she wrinkled her nose, Darcy knew she found their stench disgusting.

  Suddenly, the walls began to creak, and she heard shouts and footsteps above her head. The entire ship started to groan as if it was breaking apart. Darcy's heart jumped, and she looked frantically at the others to see if they too were frightened, but there was no reaction from any of them. As the vessel lurched out over the ocean waves, Darcy had the sensation of falling, but she hid her fear.

  For the first few days of the journey, Darcy was ill. Despair and seasickness flooded her, and she spent most of her time lying on the straw, staring at the narrow light in the ceiling. Her sleep was fitful, and on more than one occasion, she was awakened by a rat crawling over her leg. The hold was teeming with the creatures and the putrid smell of human feces. It was a hellish nightmare.

  The two men in chains appeared to be very weak, and Darcy doubted if they would survive the voyage. At first glance, they appeared to be along in years, but upon closer inspection she could see that their long hair and grizzly appearance aged them. The rest were women. Aside from the old lady who had consumption, the others looked to Darcy as if they may have been street whores from Cork.

  The prisoners were served two meals a day of salt herring and hardtack. The water was warm and had a foul taste to it, but Darcy forced herself to drink it, knowing that dehydration would kill her.

  The hours passed slowly, and the prisoners amused themselves playing dice or telling stories.

  Darcy never spoke to anyone, but occasionally she would watch the slave woman rock back and forth, mumbling. She never let go of an elegant oak traveling case in her lap. Sometimes in the morning, when she opened it, Darcy would catch a glimpse of the contents. It was lined with red velvet and filled with bottles of salts, elixirs and vials. The containers were made of beautifully cut crystal, and the woman clutched the case as if it were of great value. Darcy noticed when the slave appeared ill; she would drink from a bottle of green tonic kept in her case. The medicine appeared to cure her, but the following day she needed the medicine again.

  One morning, she saw Darcy watching her, and her eyes narrowed into slits as she hissed threats at her in French. The woman spent the rest of the day guarding her traveling chest and stealing suspicious glances at Darcy.

  The winds picked up that night. The groaning of the ship was deafening. Everyone in the hold was tossed about, and it concerned Darcy that one of the large barrels stacked near her bed would break free and crush her. She slept fitfully for a few hours and was awakened suddenly by moaning coming from the slave woman's corner. She looked up and saw two men climbing up the companion ladder, and they shut the hatch quietly behind them.

  The following day Darcy watched the slave woman but seeing nothing out of the ordinary dismissed the incident. The following night she was again awakened by the sound of struggling in the corner.

  Her heart pounding, she strained to see in the darkness and saw a man on top of the woman. Darcy remembered the rapes she had endured, and she jumped to her feet. With all her strength, she grabbed the man's hair, snapping his head back. Spewing oaths he rose to his knees. The slave saw her opportunity and lunged forward sinking her teeth into his neck. The man roared and jumped back, just as Darcy dragged her nails across his face. He elbowed Darcy, sending her sprawling across the floor. He scrambled up the ladder, slamming the hatch.

  Aside from a bloody lip, Darcy was unhurt. She pulled herself to her bed of straw and lay on her back, trying to catch her breath. Seeing movement again, Darcy jumped to defend herself, startling the woman. Holding a cloth and a bottle of medicine, she signaled for Darcy to clean her lip. Darcy soaked the rag with the tincture and dabbed it on her swollen mouth.

  "Oui, sur la
levre,"

  The woman asked Darcy something in French, and Darcy shook her head to say she didn’t understand. The woman leaned forward and examined Darcy's lip, then put the stopper back on the bottle. She touched her chest and said, "Je m'appelle, Dominique."

  This time, Darcy understood. "Je m'appelle, Darcy."

  Dominique looked up at the hatch, saying something about the incident. Darcy knew that she was thanking her. "Bon nuit, Madame," said Dominique and retired to her corner.

  * * *

  Another week passed and the boredom became unbearable. Darcy's muscles ached for exercise, and she thought that she would lose her mind for want of fresh air. The old woman’s cough turned to a steady wheeze until she was unable to sit up. The two men in chains fared no better. One had a fever, and his moans of delirium could be heard around the clock, while the other lay weak and listless.

  One morning, Darcy noticed that the hold was unusually quiet, and she wondered if the old woman had died. She went to her bedside, and as she had expected, her lifeless body lay on the hay. Darcy had seen death a thousand times during the famine, and she was indifferent to it. She climbed the companion ladder and with her fist struck the locked door of the hold above her head.