West, in the Foggy Valley

by Tadhg O'Rabhartaigh

  “Christ protect me!” Seimin said under his breath. “The Black and Tans, and they are blind drunk; this is the end for me, if God hasn’t said it.”

  The first thought he had was to jump from the trap and run through the fields. But how could he leave the priest’s pony standing by itself, on the road and a lorry drawing up on it. He was as God sees him. He thought that all he could do was to give the whip to the beast and hope to be past the crossroads and away up the Gleann Ceo highway before the lorry passed him out. He made the pony gallop and his own little heart was pounding in his ribs with all the stress. The lorry was approaching like the wind. Seimin hurried the pony until he got afraid that he would not be able to rush any more. He was only about twenty yards from the crossroads at this time. He noticed that the lorry was dragging a little more slowly as it neared the crossroads.

  “With the help of God and His Blessed Mother,” he prayed, “I will be passed the crossroads before them yet.”

  He hit the pony a lash with the whip, which caused it to jump. He reached the crossroads, and he went across like the March wind through the rays of light coming from the lorry. The lorry was no farther than twenty- five yards away as he crossed. No sooner was he through the lights than the mob that he was trying to avoid began shouting again. They were ordering him to stand, and that was the only mannerly talk that came out of their mouths. But Seimin had no intention of stopping. They fired a shot at him and he heard the bullet whistling past his ears. One of them made smithereens of the glass in one of the lamps on the trap. The cold sweat was running down his back. His mouth and his neck were as dry as whistles. The pounding of his heart was taking his breath away. He did not know what minute a bullet would be put into his head. He was trying to say his Act of Contrition; but his mind was not able to give him the right version of the words.

  He looked behind and he saw the lorry coming up through Gleann Ceo. He gave his soul to God and His Mother, he stopped the pony and faced him in to the side of the road. The lorry came as far as him and it stood. The drunken mob jumped out on the highway. They were all Black and Tans, and most of them were drunk. Their language was far from civil. Poor Seimin was grabbed by the back of his neck, and pulled out of the trap. He was beaten and kicked until he fell on the highway.

  “What business have you going to Mac Alastair at this time of the night?” one of the men asked him.

  “I was only going for the doctor, sir,” poor Seimin said as he got to his feet on the highway.

  One lad who was only just able to stand as a result of the amount of drink he had consumed, approached him with a gun. He placed the gun against Seimin’s chest.

  “For whom were you getting the doctor at this hour of the night a --? he said, his speech slurring with drunkenness.

  “For a person who just had a stroke,” he said,

  The lad made an ugly grimace.

  “You liar” he said. “I believe it was one of the murderers who shot another one of them; or one of their miners who used explosives in the face of a few of them? Tell the truth before I put a dozen bullets in this spineless chest of yours.”

  “On my word before God, I am telling the truth, sir,” Seimin said. “The doctor is already gone up and he will tell you the same story on his way down. It won’t be long until he is returning, I’d say. I swear to God, sir! I swear to God, and don’t kill me.”

  One lad jumped out from the mob, which was forming a circle and grabbed Seimin by the ear. The same lad had the appearance of badness about him and he did not look as if he had much drink taken. He advised the drunken fellow to remove the gun.

  “What’s your name, sonny?” he said to Seimin, and he was shaking his ear between serious and playful.

  “Seimin Mac Giolla Chiarain/Kiarain, “ the poor fellow said.

  “Well, Seimin Mac Giolla Chiarain,” the less drunken lad said, “we have decided to kill you inside fifteen minutes.”

  He took out a watch and he looked at it. He kept the watch in his hand.

  “It is a quarter to one, now,” he said. “On the stroke of one you will be a corpse on the side of that ditch there. The doctor will revive you on his way down, if he can – but I am afraid that he will have a hard job.”

  Seimin began to shake from top to toe. He felt his skin as cold as death. He threw himself on his two knees; he was a pitiful sight. But the mob was only laughing at him.

  “Promise God, sir,” he said. “Promise God and don’t kill me.”

  “You still have ten minutes,” the same lad said, “and you can save yourself from death if you wish.”

  “In what way, sir,” Seimin asked. “Promise the Almighty Father, and tell me what to do.”

  “You will be set free on one condition,” the man with the watch said. “Not a feather will be taken from you, but you must tell us where is the hideout for Mac Alastair and his gun men.” This took the wind out of Seimin Ban. And to his own misfortune and the misfortune of other people he had the information that they were seeking from him. Bad Seimin. At that minute he cursed the night he heard Conn Mac Carty talking about the cave, himself and Wallace Woods. It so happened that he was awake in his bed one night when they came in late, and when they heard the snoring of Sile, they thought the couple was asleep, and their conversation at the fire was about the cave! Seimin heard so much about the cave that night that he knew where it was, and the way into it. He knew what they were using it for, and about the arms that were kept in it, and about twenty other little things. He knew far too much, the awful man for the predicament in which he found himself.

  “You only have five minutes,” the man with the watch said. “Over here with you to the ditch.”

  The awful man was put standing beside the ditch and a handkerchief was tied around his eyes. He was so traumatised that he though he was going crazy at that moment.

  “Firing squad here!” the man with the watch said.

  Seimin heard this man ordering a gang of them, and when he heard the bolts of the riffles being pulled he lost his heart.

  “A quarter of a minute, Mister Mac Ghiolla Chiarain” the man with the watch said.

  “I’ll tell, I’ll tell!” the awful man said.

  ”You are wise, sonny,” the man with the watch said.

  “They have a cave,” Seimin said, and his own voice sounded foreign to his ears.

  The handkerchief was taken from his eyes.

  “Where is this cave?” the man with the watch said.

  “Beside the river,” Seimin said.

  “What river?”

  “Abhann an Eas.”

  “Where exactly beside the river Eas?”

  “About halfway up the Gleann. on the right hand side.”

  The man with the watch continued to question him until he got all the information he wanted from him. He drew him on the Republican soldiers, who spent the nights in the cave, and about Marcus Mac Alastair’s house being up above them in the Gleann, and about sentries being about the roads night and day, and about machineguns being ready and hidden in the mine. He disclosed all the details. And when they were finished questioning him they really planned to kill him right away. But the man with the watch got another idea, and he ordered for him to be set free. He was afraid that the murder of Seimin Ban would alert the Republicans, they might suspect that Seimin had given some information to them.

  “Seimin Mac Ghiolla Chiarain,” the man with the watch said, “we will allow you to go home safely on one condition; and this is the condition that you keep your mouth closed about what happened between us here tonight. If you let as much as one word out about these things, we will kill you, be assured of that, the next time that we go up that way. We will hang you until your face turns black and blue, and your tongue hangs out of your mouth. Did you ever see a man being hanged yet?”

  “God protect us,” Seimin said, “where would I see the likes?”

  “Well don’t be afraid or you will see it.,” the man with the watch said.; “but I will
be afraid that you will not live to relate the story. But of course if you keep your mouth closed, there will be no hanging at all.”

  “Do not be afraid that I will let on to anyone about it,” Seimin said; and I beg of you not to mention it either. They would kill me; and I am afraid that is what they will do with me any way. God and His Mother look down on me tonight! It is I who am in the terrible fix.”

  “Jog off home with yourself and stop the plaintive swell.” said the lad who had the gun in Seimin’s ribs at the beginning. “Jog off and be very grateful that your life was spared. Jump into that trap before you are flung into it.”

  The lights from the doctor’s car were shining on the side of the mountain above him. The doctor was returning; and this destructive mob decided that it was better for them to be gone before he came as far as them. They started up the engine and the sudden noise that it made caused the priest’s pony to rise up on its two back legs. That was when the mob had a right laugh, looking at the work that Seimin had to do trying to chastise the pony again. But with a lot of effort, he succeeded in settling the pony, and he took off trotting up the Gleann. When he looked over his shoulder after a while he could see the lorry at the head of the Loch.

  The doctor stopped his car when he was beside Seimin.

  “Aren’t you a long time on the road, Seimin,” he said putting his head out of his window.

  “I had business as far as Martan’s house,” Seimin said, telling the lies he had composed for the occasion.

  “I see,” the doctor said. “Eoin is at peace. He died before I left him.”

  “That God may give him peace.” Seimin said.

  The car went away down the Gleann, and Seimin continued like a man that the sky had fallen on him. The night that his old master died was nothing compared to this night. His heart would not allow his mind to imagine all the harm that would result from what he had done. He would not have a minute’s peace ever again. From now on, he thought, he would be under suspicion, waiting for his misfortune, and he would be a lot worse off after death. Seimin Ban was as God saw him.

  THE HAVOC THAT WAS WROUGHT IN THE FOG

  When someone died in Gleann Ceo the tradition was to wake the body for two nights. And so it was with Eoin an Droighead. His sins were forgiven, big and small, and sincere prayers were offered to the Creator hoping that He would do the same. The body was laid out, carefully over a board, and the old people came during the day and the younger ones at night; they said a few prayers over him, while concentrating on death, and then they spent a while waking, him. They reminisced on the history of his life until they came to a point which did not merit credit, and they would recall little tricks he played that the doctor might remember. People who were afraid of their lives to come into his shop during his life, they were sitting around the table in his parlour now, drinking his tea and spirits, and smoking his tobacco.

  The second night of the wake, Marcus Mac Alastair stayed in Eoin’s house until two o clock in the morning. He did not intend to stay on after the Rosary/Prayers; but it happened that the Greasai Rua was there and he had all present transfixed with his stories; and the person who would leave while the Greasai Rua was talking, the same person would leave the Church in the middle of the sermon. Wallace Woods was also there and he left the wake house with Marcus.

  The fog in Gleann Ceo was so dense that night that visibility was reduced to a few feet. It gathered at the top of the mountain; and it crept down the slopes little by little, until the Gleann was hidden by it from mountain to mountain, and from top to bottom.

  The pair strode along down the highway, drawing towards Abhann an Eas, and they were taking their steps carefully. It took them a little while to reach the iron bridge that was across Abhann an Eas. A little way down from the bank of the Abhann/River, on the left hand side, was the cave where Wallace Woods was planning to spend the night until morning. The two stood, half way across the bridge and they leaned on the iron railings that were there for protection. The Abhann was singing its regular tune, moving along with herself non- stop across sand and little stones, on its way to Loch Eala.

  “It is a long time since I saw such fog,” Marcus said. “I your opinion will your ex-friends from Droim Dhilliuir attack us from above by stealth?”

  “You wouldn’t know,” Wallace said. “I would recommend to you that you should not sleep in your own house tonight, for fear of the worst. Having sentries out in this fog is not much use, you know.”

  “I am inclined to accept your advice,” Marcus said. “I will go up and tell Triona that I am going to spend the night in the cave. Walk up with me. We won’t be long.”

  There was a dim light in the kitchen when they went in, and the house was at peace. There was a great fire burning and the kettle was humming. Marcus made the tea and the two of them drank it sitting by the fire. When the tea was over and the fire raked, Marcus took the lamp with him and he stole quietly into the room where Triona was sleeping. Her nut-brown hair was spread on the pillow around her face. The quilt was rising and falling with her breathing. Marcus didn’t like to wake her out of her sleep; but she would be worried in the morning if he wasn’t there.

  He laid his hand on her shoulder and she awoke immediately.

  “I was dreaming about you,” she said. “It seemed to me that the two of us were on a boat on Loch Eala and we were listening to Conn Mac Carty, flute playing ashore here in Dun le Grein.”

  “I am sorry to wake you love,” he said; “but I think it is better to tell you that I won’t be sleeping in this den tonight. I am going to the cave so that I can get a wink of sleep in peace. We don’t know that the Droim Dhilliuir lads won’t attack by stealth in such dense fog.”

  “What time will we see you in the morning?” she said. “I know the way you sleep when I am not around to waken you.”

  “Well it is drawing close to cock-crow,” he said, “and it is likely that you will not see me before ten o clock; because I am exhausted.”

  “God protect you love,” she said, as she watched him drawing the door closed behind him.

  It was between six and seven o clock that morning when Marcus Mac Alastair first awoke from his heavy sleep. It was the noise of the young fellows in the cave that awakened him. They were all getting up to go home for their breakfasts before they went about their work in the mine. He advised them to load their guns and riffles and not to make noise for fear of the worst.

  “Tell Seimin Ban,” he said, “that I will not be up there until mid-day. I am in arrears for sleep.

  They went to awaken Wallace Woods; but he was in a sound sleep, and it was no use shaking him.

  “Leave him be,” Marcus said, “he didn’t sleep a wink the night before last, you know. I will awaken him myself out here when I am getting up myself.”

  The young men left the cave carefully with their riffles and guns in their hands. Marcus got up to look out through the tangled hawthorns that were outside the door. The fog was as heavy as it had been when he was going to bed, and it was even more quiet than usual. He locked the door and he lay down. He buried himself in the blankets and the snores of Wallace Woods were in his ears as he fell asleep.

  It was coming close to nine o clock and Triona was giving his breakfast to Marcaisin, before he went out to the school, when the knocker was knocked on the door. She went down and she opened it and she found the road black with soldiers and Black and Tans. She heard the back door opening, and when she looked over her shoulder she saw another gang of then running in that way.

  “Where is Mac Alastair? Where is the - ? What hole is the – hiding in?”

  Their language was very bad. The mouth of a gun was trust into Triona’s chest and her back was put to the wall. Marcaisin began to scream. Nansai Seimin Ban began to reason with him, and she herself shaking from top to toe. The squad scattered through the rooms and they began to search. Little Deirdre ran out of the room where they had found her sleeping, and she looked shocked. But the mother was not
allowed to lay a hand on her.

  Old Nabla stared crossly at them when she was awakened by the tramping noise they were making.

  “That the devil may take you, you unruly mob,” she said. “If you had a trace of manliness in you, it is not searching under an old woman’s bed that you would be. What badness are you looking for under this bed? Leave them blankets as they are, you pack of blackguards!”

  Although Triona was worried sick she couldn’t help laughing at the tongue lashing that old Nabla was after giving them. It was beyond reason the search that was done on that house. Mattresses and bed- clothes were thrown through the rooms. Papers and books were scattered everywhere. The paper was stripped from the walls, and laths were lifted from the ceilings and the floors. The chimneys, presses and wardrobes were searched. Flowers were dumped out of their pots, and not a drop of cream was left in a dish, or a drain of bottom milk in a corner that wasn’t spilled on the floor. And all this time, Triona was kept standing there with her back to the wall and the barrel of the gun hurting her chest. The questions they were asking her, and the manhandling they were giving her were far from moderate. The threats they were levelling at her would have frightened an average woman. Her initial fear disappeared by degrees, which caused her to be very proud of herself, and she stood there stately in composure, in front of her enemies, like a queen, standing in charge of her subjects. In the end some of them were a little nervous in the presence of this composed woman who had the confident look in her eyes. They failed to get any information whatever out of her except that Marcus ate his breakfast as usual, at eight o clock, and that he went out about his business. Maybe he was in the mine, she said, and maybe he wasn’t.

  They decided in the end that there was no use questioning her further, and the lad in charge ordered them to move off.

  “Let’s go men,” he said. “All that – is doing is delaying us until the gun tooters have time to get hidden in some hole. Move on men.”

  They went out and down the garden, until they went out of sight in the fog. When they should have been at the high way, Triona went to the back of the house, and she wasn’t long outside until the sound of shots caused an echo from the two sides of the Gleann, then two more shots in quick succession. She was trying to lure them to the mountain. She was firing from a riffle which she had hidden unknown to anyone for a very long time, and which she had planned to use if the enemy came suddenly on Marcus at home. She fired six shots one after the other, hid the riffle again, and returned to the kitchen. She took Deirdre in her arms and stood in the doorway. She didn’t want to hear any sound or noise. Nansai, Nabla, and Marcaisin gathered with her in the doorway. She wasn’t able to tell them that Marcus was in the cave. They didn’t know that such a place existed.