Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy)

by William Patterson

  ‘We’ll be dere in anudder hour ‘r so,’ Ned assured him. ‘R’member now, let me do d’ talkin’ an’ no madder what Oy say, you jus’ keep yer trap shut … sar.’

  The two riders arrived at the mud cabin in the time Ned had predicted. ‘Keep yer hand on yer pistol,’ Ned told Robert. ‘Me cousin ain’t d mos’ trustin’ fella, an’ Oy’d trust im more if ya kept ‘im covered.’

  Robert took out the little pistol, put the hammer at half cock, blew the powder from the pan and re-primed the piece. Ned approached the door and announced himself.

  ‘Who’s dere?’ growled a decidedly hostile voice from behind the locked door.

  ‘It’s me, yer cousin Ned, let me in.’

  ‘Ned’s dead.’

  ‘Feck you, Jawsef, I ain’t dead, it’s me … an’ Oy got some money fer ya.’

  The door opened a crack and a hearty laugh came from inside. ‘Sure Oy knew ‘twas yerself when ya called me Jawsef, ev’rybuddy round here calls me Joe. Who’s dat on d’ harse out dere? Show yerself!’ he shouted. Robert walked his horse a few paces forward. ‘Poot dat gun away man, an’ c’mon in, yer both welcome here.’

  *

  CHAPTER 20

  It was as Roisin had predicted. A few days without beer was enough to smooth Robbie’s ruffled feathers, and although he didn’t come back repentant, he came back having forgotten the entire altercation.

  ‘I haven’t seen ya fer a couple o’ days, Mam.’ He grinned at his mother, who just grunted and carried on with cleaning the bar. ‘I had this thought, Mammy.’ Roisin knew only too well that, when he called her Mammy, he was trying to get past her defenses.

  ‘And what thought did you have, Robbie?’ she asked. She still hadn’t looked at him.

  ‘I was thinkin’ that all this work is too much for a woman of your age.’ Robbie had lit a fuse and it was burning rapidly.

  ‘Really? Well, I’m not sure a woman of my advanced years is capable of understanding the workings of a man’s mind but tell me, I’m curious, was is it that you propose?’

  ‘I was thinking that I could take over managing this place for you and you and Jamie could watch over the farms.’ This was vaguely similar to Roisin’s own plan but putting Robbie in charge of the store, where the beer was kept, was a little like putting a fox to guard a henhouse.

  ‘Well now, Robbie, if … and I said if … I was agreeable to your plan, when I come back in a month’s time to check the books, will I find the inventory tallies with the income?’

  Robbie put his arms around his mother and hugged her. ‘You will, Mammy. I swear I’ll be able to account for every drop.’ Roisin had no doubt that her son could account for the beer, as most of it would be running through his own bladder, but she wasn’t in the mood to argue, even if he had implied she was getting old. She agreed to give his ‘amazing and original’ idea a try. It wouldn’t work, of course, but it would buy her another month by which time, hopefully, Michael would be back.

  *

  ‘Jayzus, Merry an’ Jawsef, Ned, when Oy saw youse comin’ t’ d’ door, sure I t’ought ya was a ghost! I ain’t seen ya since dat night when we was all in our cups fr’m d’ poteen we stole fr’m d’ travllin’ man. Ya jus’ stood oop an’ said, ‘Oy’ve had enoof’, an’ Oy t’ought ya meant ya had enoof whiskey, an’ Oy was glad cuz dat meant dere was more fer us, boot ya never came back. I figgered d’ law got ya, or ya stairved, now here ya aire wit’ yer own band o’ scalawags.’

  ‘What happ’ned t’ d’ rest o’ d’ orphans, Joe?’

  ‘Agh! Sure after ya lef’ we got careless. You was alw’ys d’ brains o’ d’ crew. ‘About a month later, we went an’ mobbed a travellin’ salesm’n’s wagon, an’ sure ‘s shite, it had four redcoat troopers inside. We all scattered an’ Oy was old’st an’ had d’ longes’ legs, so Oy got away. Dem troopers caught d’ kids an’ dat miserable fecker Pussy Grey hanged ‘em all, includin’ Gallagher, an’ he wasn’ ev’n twelve years old yet.’

  ‘How did ya get by, Jawsef.’

  ‘Oy jined oop wit’ a crew fr’m down east. We had a leader, an’ aul’ fella fr’m Cark City, an’ we plied ‘r trade on d’ roads fer a coupla months ‘til d’ ol’ boy said it was gettin’ too hot here an’ he took d’ crew down t’ d’ Beara. Oy made me livin’ borryin’ d’ odd sheep dat gets lost in d’ hills an’ here I am. What’ve you been about Ned?’

  ‘Me partner here an’ Oy been ridin’ d’ rawds in Narth Tipp, boot we decided dere might be bedder huntin’ down here.’

  ‘Narth Tipp, is it? Oy haird dere’s a sheriff oop dere dat’s ev’n more bloodtharsty den Pussy. I haird dat he killed a hun’red men in Wicklow, an’ more ‘n Tipp. Ya must be as smairt as ever t’ be avoidin’ dat bastard.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s is a rough coostomer, a’right.’ Ned gave an almost imperceptible wink towards Robert, who rolled his eyes.

  ‘It’s getting haird fer a man t’ make ‘n honest livin’ deese days,’ lamented Joe. ‘Let’s have a swalley. Ya got any?’ Ned pulled a small flask from a pocket of his trews and Joe looked disconsolate. ‘Sure dat ain’t enoof t’ wet d’ back o’me t’roat. Ya ain’t taken d’ pledge have ye?’

  ‘Not on yer nelly, Joe. We jus’ don’ drink when we’re warkin’.’

  Joe laughed, ‘Dat’s where we differ cousin. Da mar I wark, d’ mar mooney Oy have, an’ d’ mar mooney Oy have, d’ mar Oy drink.’ He tipped the little flask up and sucked it dry in one swallow. He looked at Robert, who promptly produced his own flask, opened it and took a sip. ‘Waw! Don’t be drinkin’ it all, ya pig, save some fer d’ landlord.’ Robert passed the flask and, as before, Joe turned it on its head and drained it.

  The horses needed to be seen to and Robert whispered something to Ned, who conveyed the message to Joe.

  ‘We need a bucket fer d’ harses, Joe.’

  ‘Oy got two buckets,’ replied Joe. ‘One’s fer me water, an’ one’s fer me t’ take a piss in. Oy don’ want harses slobberin’ in me water bucket, so yu’ll have t’ em’ty d’ piss bucket, ‘cause Oy ain’t done it ‘n a coupla days.’

  Robert conferred with Ned again, who passed the message on. ‘Me friend’ll give ya a penny fer d’ water bucket.’

  Joe looked at both pails, then at the penny Robert was holding out to him.

  ‘Ah sure take d’ water bucket. A liddle harse spit ain’t gonna do me no hairm.’ Robert picked up the wooden tub and left.

  ‘Yer friend don’ say mooch, does he?’

  Ned chuckled and touched his head. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s an eejit.’

  Joe laughed back. ‘Well, dat explains what he’s doin’ wit’ you den, don’ it?’

  The two men talked, as young men do, remembering stories about their misspent youth and all the close calls they’d had, and Joe became nostalgic for a time when adrenalin and alcohol had fueled their escapades.

  ‘If yer t’inkin’ ‘bout puttin’ t’gedder a crew,’ said Joe, ‘count me in. Dis runnin’ down t’ Beara fer a sheep ‘r two ain’t very profitable, an’ Oy might be a bit more useful den dat auld man yer travellin’ wit’.’

  Ned Flood felt his hackles rise. ‘Oy seen dat auld man kill a fella d’ udder day,’ he said, ‘an’ not ev’n blink. Besoides, we’re partners, we travell’d a long way togedder.’

  Joe understood. Men who engaged in a dangerous occupation such as banditry formed bonds like brothers. ‘Well, yous two give ‘t a t’ink, an’ r’member, Oy’m available.’

  Robert had been out with the horses too long for Ned’s liking and he told his cousin he’d have to check on his ‘eejit’ companion. As he walked outside the dark cabin, the light of the moon illuminated Robert, who had been studying a hand-drawn map. Ned walked over to where the old man was seated on the upturned bucket.

  Robert looked up. ‘Can we trust him?’

  Ned shrugged his shoulders. ‘If dere’s some easy money t’ be made, we c’n trust ‘im.’ That was good enough for Robert. He folded the map and, whe
n he and Ned returned to the unlit cabin, Robert spoke to Joe for the first time.

  ‘We need you to watch after our belongings for a day or so.’

  ‘What koind o’ feckin’ accent is dat?’ said Joe, wrinkling his nose as if someone had passed wind under it.

  ‘It’s a Tipp accent.’

  ‘Jayzus, someb’dy oughtta teach youse lads t’ talk oop dere.’

  Robert held out two shillings and Joe’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah now, dat’s a language Oy unnershtand.’

  'Tell us what we’re up against.’

  ‘Pussy Grey is an aul’ fox,’ Joe explained. ‘E’s got troops on d’ road, mos’ly at night. Dey’re tryin’ t’ catch some priest ‘r udder somewhere b’tween here an’ Macroom. ‘E t’inks d’ priest’ll have t’ go out t’ say Mass on Sundays so, on Frid’ys, he sets men out at all d’ crossroads.’

  ‘What about the troops?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Dey’s mos’ly English, Germans, an’ a few Frenchies, boot d’ mos’ dangerous ones is d’ Prussians. He got a half dozen o’ dose fellers dat ‘r hunters. Dey don’ carry muskits, dey carry a diff’rint kind o’ gun an’ dey c’n hunt a man an’ shoot ’im almos’ as far as dey c’n see ‘im.’

  Jaegers, thought Robert, professional Prussian hunters, he had seen them in action in Europe. They were excellent trackers and marksmen, raised in the forests and mountains in Bavaria. They used rifled muskets and instead of relying on massed fire, like the common troops, they could pick a man off at two hundred paces. It was considered ungentlemanly to target officers in times of battle, but the unwritten code of conduct was oft times ignored.

  ‘Dey’re like Pussy’s pack o’ hounds,’ continued Joe, ‘an’ dey sit in d’ Boar’s Head bar in town, an’ dey wait ‘til Pussy calls dem out. Oy wouldn’ wan’ dose lads huntin’ me.’

  The Boar’s Head, thought Robert. If that’s where the captain’s troops loitered, then that would be an excellent place to gather intelligence. He and Ned would go and have a couple of beers there tomorrow, and listen.

  The next afternoon, having walked around the town of Glengarrif, the two beggarly-looking men wandered into the Boar’s Head tavern. There was a scattering of red-coated men in there along with a few civilians. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Robert scanned the place. All eyes were on the two Irishmen and the conversation inside ceased for a moment, until they sat themselves down at a table and ordered a beer. The table next to them was occupied by four smartly-dressed young men conversing in low German.

  ‘What d’ feck aire we doin’ in dis place?’ Ned whispered.

  ‘Whisht, Ned, I can’t hear what’s going on.’ Robert spoke fluent French from his years in exile as a mercenary, but his German was poor. He relaxed nonchalantly in his chair and casually tipped it backwards, onto its back legs, to get closer to the conversation behind him. He sipped his beer and concentrated. Ned just sipped his beer. As best the sheriff could make out, they were talking about a tinker. It seemed Percival Gray had bribed a tinker to locate a priest. Grey was indeed a crafty fox, thought Robert. If brute force and fear didn’t produce results, then guile was called for, and a tinker would have free access to the communities without arousing suspicion. Very clever … Robert thought he’d garnered enough information for now and he drained his beer tankard, signalling to Ned to do the same. Robert was just about to stand when his chair was kicked out from beneath him and he fell backwards onto the floor. Ned stood to defend his companion and was immediately shoved to the table on his chest and his arms were pinned down. Robert lay motionless on the floor with the tip of an English trooper’s bayonet just inches from his throat.

  ‘Don’t fight, Ned, they’ve got us.’

  *

  CHAPTER 21

  Michael and his new bride arrived back in the village of Ballyshee just after dark. They went directly to the cottage which Morna had shared with her parents all her life, in order to retrieve her meagre belongings. From now on, they would share the little room which adjoined the forge where Mikey worked. While the girl told her mother about their encounter with the priest, Jimmy called Michael outside.

  ‘Have ya given any t’ought t’ how ye are goin’ t’ get all d’ way t’ yer home?’

  Mikey nodded. ‘We’ll stay in the mountains.’

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘Yu’ll get yerself lost, an’ dat ain’t no account t’ me, but we’re talkin’ about me dotter here.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Mikey replied. ‘I’ve worked out a way that we can head in the right direction, even in the dark, or if it’s raining.’

  ‘If it’s got anyt’ing t’ do wit’ witchcraft, Oy’ll have nutt’n t’ do wit it.’

  ‘Not witchcraft, Jimmy, I’ll show you how when I make the thing.’

  O’Malley still looked doubtful. ‘Dem mountains is barren an’ yu’ll have t’ carry provisions. I don’ t’ink yous c’n carry more ‘n a week’s warth.’

  ‘I worked out we’ll be three weeks in the mountains, Jimmy. I have a little money to restock ourselves when we start to run low.’

  ‘What way aire ye takin, boyo?’

  ‘We’ll go straight north to the Derrynasaggart Mountains, then northeast through the Boggeragh. When they wither, we’ll go north, cross the Galtees, then on to the Silvermines after that and we’re nearly home.’

  ‘Ya make it soun’ easy, boyo, but cher takin’ d’ toughest way dere is.’

  ‘If you have a better way, Jimmy, I’ll be glad to hear it.’

  ‘Agh, Oy don’ know sure… When are ye t’inkin’ o’ leavin?’

  ‘I’ll wait until I can buy a small copper pot from the tinker. Probably within the week.’

  Jimmy wasn’t at all satisfied with the plan but, since he had never travelled further than Macroom or Bantry in his whole life, he wasn’t able to offer an alternative.

  ‘Alroight, boyo, Oy’m trustin’ ya wit’ me mos’ valu’ble possession, so Oy’ll say a prayer an’ hope ye change yer moind.’

  The two men went back inside the cottage just in time to catch the remains of a heated discussion between Morna and her mother, Caroline.

  ‘C’mon Michael,’ said Morna, sulkily. ‘We have t’ be goin’ home … t’ OUR house!’

  Mikey complied as directed, bidding the O’Malleys good night and following Morna out. He knew from the set of her chin and the pace she was walking, that something had gone on while he and Jimmy were outside. Discretion dictated that he wait awhile before he spoke, lest he be the target of the girl’s wrath. Mikey had learned, from watching his da’s dealings with his mam, that Irish women are like a bear trap. Sometimes, you can jump up and down on the trigger and nothing happens. Other times, the draught from a butterfly’s wings can set it off and there’s the divil to pay. He didn’t have to wait long to find out the reason for her indignation.

  ‘Da brass o’ dat woman! Suggestin’ you go t’ Tipp an’ leave me behoind an’ send fer me later. Would ya believe it?’

  Mikey ventured a response. ‘She’s just worried about your welfare.’ The trap was sprung! The delicate girl grew two sizes larger and, even in the moonlight, Michael could see her face flushing red as she faced him, her green eyes blazing. She put her hands on her hips and he braced himself for a broadside. For what we are about to receive Lord, he said to himself, we thank You. She began with a phrase he would hear many times in the years to come.

  ‘Michael Hogan!’ That’s my name, he thought, so whatever comes next is mine forever.

  ‘Michael Hogan! Oy’ll be thankin’ ya, not t’ be takin’ soides wit’ me mudder ‘r anyone else dat Oy’m havin’ a discooshun wit in d’ future. Ever! D’ya hear me?’ There are many hundreds of words in the Irish language, and thousands in the English, but the only word that might possibly save a tongue-lashing is ‘sorry’ and, even then, it can be taken in one of two ways. It can mean ‘I’m sorry for being stupid and opening my big fat mouth’, which might possibly get you off the hook, or it can mean ‘I’m
sorry I took sides against you’, which throws another log onto the fire. There’s another potentially more dangerous alternative, you can grab the woman and kiss her on the mouth. If she kisses you back, all is forgiven. If she kicks you in the groin, then you can be sure you won’t be sleeping in her bed tonight. Morna kissed Michael back … it was a newlywed’s advantage.

  When the young couple were back in the small room on the side of the forge, which served as living quarters, and now as the honeymoon suite, Michael tentatively broached the subject of the discussion he’d had with Morna’s father. Morna sensed a conspiracy and began to fume again.

  ‘Dem auld sods musta bin talkin’ about me future, an’ me not able to get a ward in.’

  Michael spoke to her as if he was trying to soothe a spirited horse. ‘Easy woman. I told him I had everything worked out and that he had no choice but to accept it. We’re married now and that means we’re together forever. From now on, wherever I go, you come with me.’ It seemed he’d got it right this time because Morna smiled up at her new husband, put her arms around his neck, then shoved him backwards onto the straw-filled mattress.

  *

  Robert and Ned were dragged, pushed, pulled and prodded at the tip of bayonets to a small room in a cellar, which was occupied only by a frail old man huddled in a corner, trying to keep out the damp and cold. The only light came from a tiny barred window above their heads and the stench of bodily waste hung heavy in the air, mingling with the smell of death which permeated the cell.

  ‘Oy never t’ought Oy’d end me days loike dis,’ lamented Ned, as the heavy door was slammed shut behind them. ‘Oy alw’ys t’ought Oy’d be dead on some road, like dem highwaymen we run intuh. Ya shoulda let me put oop a fight. At least Oy’da tak’n one o’ d’ blaggarts wit’ me.’