Castle Richmond

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE RELIEF COMMITTEE.

  At this time the famine was beginning to be systematised. Thesternest among landlords and masters were driven to acknowledge thatthe people had not got food or the means of earning it. The peoplethemselves were learning that a great national calamity had happened,and that the work was God's work; and the Government had fullyrecognized the necessity of taking the whole matter into its ownhands. They were responsible for the preservation of the people, andthey acknowledged their responsibility.

  And then two great rules seemed to get themselves laid down--not bygeneral consent, for there were many who greatly contested theirwisdom--but by some force strong enough to make itself dominant.The first was, that the food to be provided should be earned andnot given away. And the second was, that the providing of thatfood should be left to private competition, and not in any way beundertaken by the Government. I make bold to say that both theserules were wise and good.

  But how should the people work? That Government should supplythe wages was of course an understood necessity; and it was alsonecessary that on all such work the amount of wages should beregulated by the price at which provisions might fix themselves.These points produced questions which were hotly debated by theRelief Committees of the different districts; but at last it gotitself decided, again by the hands of Government, that all hillsalong the country roads should be cut away, and that the peopleshould be employed on this work. They were so employed,--very littleto the advantage of the roads for that or some following years.

  "So you have begun, my men," said Herbert to a gang of labourers whomhe found collected at a certain point on Ballydahan Hill, which layon his road from Castle Richmond to Gortnaclough. In saying thishe had certainly paid them an unmerited compliment, for they hadhitherto begun nothing. Some thirty or forty wretched-looking menwere clustered together in the dirt and slop and mud, on the browof the hill, armed with such various tools as each was able tofind--with tools, for the most part, which would go but a littleway in making Ballydahan Hill level or accessible. This question oftools also came to a sort of understood settlement before long; andwithin three months of the time of which I am writing legions ofwheelbarrows were to be seen lying near every hill; wheelbarrows inhundreds and thousands. The fate of those myriads of wheelbarrows hasalways been a mystery to me.

  "So you have begun, my men," said Herbert, addressing them in akindly voice. There was a couple of gangsmen with them, men alittle above the others in appearance, but apparently incapableof commencing the work in hand, for they also were standing idle,leaning against a bit of wooden paling. It had, however, been decidedthat the works at Ballydahan Hill should begin on this day, and therewere the men assembled. One fact admitted of no doubt, namely, this,that the wages would begin from this day.

  And then the men came and clustered round Herbert's horse. They werewretched-looking creatures, half-clad, discontented, with hungryeyes, each having at his heart's core a deep sense of injustice donepersonally upon him. They hated this work of cutting hills from thecommencement to the end,--hated it, though it was to bring them wagesand save them and theirs from actual famine and death. They had notbeen accustomed to the discomfort of being taken far from their homesto their daily work. Very many of them had never worked regularlyfor wages, day after day, and week after week. Up to this time suchwas not the habit of Irish cottiers. They held their own land, andlaboured there for a spell; and then they would work for a spell, asmen do in England, taking wages; and then they would be idle for aspell. It was not exactly a profitable mode of life, but it had itscomforts; and now these unfortunates who felt themselves to be drivenforth like cattle in droves for the first time, suffered the fullwretchedness of their position. They were not rough and unruly, orinclined to be troublesome and perhaps violent, as men similarlycircumstanced so often are in England;--as Irishmen are whencollected in gangs out of Ireland. They had no aptitudes forsuch roughness, and no spirits for such violence. But they weremelancholy, given to complaint, apathetic, and utterly withoutinterest in that they were doing.

  "Yz, yer honer," said one man who was standing, shaking himself, withhis hands enveloped in the rags of his pockets. He had on no coat,and the keen north wind seemed to be blowing through his bones; cold,however, as he was, he would do nothing towards warming himself,unless that occasional shake can be considered as a doing ofsomething. "Yz, yer honer; we've begun thin since before daylightthis blessed morning."

  It was now eleven o'clock, and a pick-axe had not been put into theground, nor the work marked.

  "Been here before daylight!" said Herbert. "And has there been nobodyto set you to work?"

  "Divil a sowl, yer honer," said another, who was sitting on ahedge-bank leaning with both his hands on a hoe, which he heldbetween his legs, "barring Thady Molloy and Shawn Brady; they two dobe over us, but they knows nothin' o' such jobs as this."

  Thady Molloy and Shawn Brady had with the others moved up so asto be close to Herbert's horse, but they said not a word towardsvindicating their own fitness for command.

  "And it's mortial cowld standing here thin," said another, "withouta bit to ate or a sup to dhrink since last night, and then only alump of the yally mail." And the speaker moved about on his toes andheels, desirous of keeping his blood in circulation with the smallestpossible amount of trouble.

  "I'm telling the boys it's home we'd betther be going," said afourth.

  "And lose the tizzy they've promised us," said he of the hoe.

  "Sorrow a tizzy they'll pay any of yez for standing here all day,"said an ill-looking little wretch of a fellow, with a black muzzleand a squinting eye; "ye may all die in the road first." And the manturned away among the crowd, as an Irishman does who has made hisspeech and does not want to be answered.

  "You need have no fear about that, my men," said Herbert. "Whetheryou be put to work or no you'll receive your wages; you may take myword for that."

  "I've been telling 'em that for the last half-hour," said the manwith the hoe, now rising to his feet. "'Shure an' didn't Mr. Somersbe telling us that we'd have saxpence each day as long we war hereafore daylight?' said I, yer honer; 'an' shure an' wasn't it blacknight when we war here this blessed morning, and devil a fear of thetizzy?' said I. But it's mortial cowld, an' it'd be asier for uz tobe doing a spell of work than crouching about on our hunkers down onthe wet ground."

  All this was true. It had been specially enjoined upon them to beearly at their work. An Irishman as a rule will not come regularly tohis task. It is a very difficult thing to secure his services everymorning at six o'clock; but make a special point,--tell him that youwant him very early, and he will come to you in the middle of thenight. Breakfast every morning punctually at eight o'clock is almostimpossible in Ireland; but if you want one special breakfast, so thatyou may start by a train at 4 A.M., you are sure to be served. Noirregular effort is distasteful to an Irishman of the lower classes,not if it entails on him the loss of a day's food and the loss of anight's rest; the actual pleasure of the irregularity repays him forall this, and he never tells you that this or that is not his work.He prefers work that is not his own. Your coachman will have noobjection to turn the mangle, but heaven and earth put together won'tpersuade him to take the horses out to exercise every morning at thesame hour. These men had been told to come early, and they had beenthere on the road-side since five o'clock. It was not surprising thatthey were cold and hungry, listless and unhappy.

  And then, as young Fitzgerald was questioning the so-named gangmenas to the instructions they had received, a jaunting car came up tothe foot of the hill. "We war to wait for the ongineer," Shawn Bradyhad said, "an' shure an' we have waited." "An' here's one of MistherCarroll's cars from Mallow," said Thady Molloy, "and that's theongineer hisself." Thady Molloy was right; this was the engineerhimself, who had now arrived from Mallow. From this time forth, andfor the next twelve months, the country was full of engineers, or ofmen who were so called. I do not say this in
disparagement; but theengineers were like the yellow meal. When there is an immense demand,and that a suddenly immense demand, for any article, it is seldomeasy to get it very good. In those days men became engineers with ashort amount of apprenticeship, but, as a rule, they did not do theirwork badly. In such days as those, men, if they be men at all, willput their shoulders to the wheel.

  The engineer was driven up to where they were standing, and hejumped off the car among the men who were to work under him withrather a pretentious air. He had not observed, or probably had notknown, Herbert Fitzgerald. He was a very young fellow, still underone-and-twenty, beardless, light-haired, blue-eyed, and fresh fromEngland. "And what hill is this?" said he to the driver.

  "Ballydahan, shure, yer honer. That last war Connick-a-coppul, andthat other, the big un intirely, where the crass road takes away toButtevant, that was Glounthauneroughtymore. Faix and that's been themurthering hill for cattle since first I knew it. Bedad yer honer 'llmake it smooth as a bowling-green."

  "Ballydahan," said the young man, taking a paper out of his pocketand looking up the names in his list, "I've got it. There should bethirty-seven of them here."

  "Shure an' here we are these siven hours," said our friend of thehoe, "and mighty cowld we are."

  "Thady Molloy and Shawn Brady," called out the engineer, managingthoroughly to Anglicise the pronunciation of the names, though theywere not Celtically composite to any great degree.

  "Yez, we's here," said Thady, coming forward. And then Herbert cameup and introduced himself, and the young engineer took off his hat."I came away from Mallow before eight," said he apologetically; "butI have four of these places to look after, and when one gets to oneof them it is impossible to get away again. There was one place whereI was kept two hours before I could get one of the men to understandwhat they were to do. What is it you call that big hill?"

  "Glounthauneroughtymore, yer honer," said the driver, to whom thename was as easy and familiar as his own.

  "And you are going to set these men to work now?" said Herbert.

  "Well, I don't suppose they'll do much to-day, Mr. Fitzgerald. ButI must try and explain to the head men how they are to begin. Theyhave none of them any tools, you see." And then he called out again."Thady Molloy and Shawn Brady."

  "We's here," said Thady again; "we did not exactly know whether yerhoner'd be afther beginning at the top or the botthom. That's allthat war staying us."

  "Never fear," said Shawn, "but we'll have ould Ballydahan level inless than no time. We're the boys that can do it, fair and aisy."

  It appeared to Herbert that the young engineer seemed to be ratherbewildered by the job of work before him, and therefore he rode on,not stopping to embarrass him by any inspection of his work. Inprocess of time no doubt so much of the top of Ballydahan Hill wascarried to the bottom as made the whole road altogether impassablefor many months. But the great object was gained; the men were fed,and were not fed by charity. What did it matter, that the springs ofevery conveyance in the county Cork were shattered by the process,and that the works resulted in myriads of wheelbarrows?

  And then, as he rode on towards Gortnaclough, Herbert was overtakenby his friend the parson, who was also going to the meeting of therelief committee. "You have not seen the men at Ballydahan Hill, haveyou?" said Herbert.

  Mr. Townsend explained that he had not seen them. His road had struckon to that on which they now were not far from the top of the hill."But I knew they were to be there this morning," said Mr. Townsend.

  "They have sent quite a lad of a fellow to show them how to work,"said Herbert. "I fear we shall all come to grief with theseroad-cuttings."

  "For heaven's sake don't say that at the meeting," said Mr. Townsend,"or you'll be playing the priests' game out and out. Father Barneyhas done all in his power to prevent the works."

  "But what if Father Barney be right?" said Herbert.

  "But he's not right," said the parson, energetically. "He'saltogether wrong. I never knew one of them right in my life yet inanything. How can they be right?"

  "But I think you are mixing up road-making and Church doctrine, Mr.Townsend."

  "I hope I may never be in danger of mixing up God and the devil.You cannot touch pitch and not be defiled. Remember that, HerbertFitzgerald."

  "I will remember nothing of the kind," said Herbert. "Am I to setmyself up as a judge and say that this is pitch and that is pitch? Doyou remember St. Peter on the housetop? Was not he afraid of what wasunclean?"

  "The meaning of that was that he was to convert the Gentiles, andnot give way to their errors. He was to contend with them and notgive way an inch till he had driven them from their idolatry." Mr.Townsend had been specially primed by his wife that morning withvigorous hostility against Father Barney, and was grieved to hisheart at finding that his young friend was prepared to take thepriest's part in anything. In this matter of the roads Mr. Townsendwas doubtless right, but hardly on the score of the argumentsassigned by him.

  "I don't mean to say that there should be no road-making," saidHerbert, after a pause. "The general opinion seems to be that wecan't do better. I only say that we shall come to grief about it.Those poor fellows there have as much idea of cutting down a hill asI have; and it seems to me that the young lad whom I left with themhas not much more."

  "They'll learn all in good time."

  "Let us hope it will be in good time."

  "If we once let them have the idea that we are to feed them inidleness," said Mr. Townsend, "they will want to go on for ever inthe same way. And then, when they receive such immense sums in moneywages, the priests will be sure to get their share. If the matter hadbeen left to me, I would have paid the men in meal. I would neverhave given them money. They should have worked and got their food.The priest will get a penny out of every shilling; you'll see else."And so the matter was discussed between them as they went along toGortnaclough.

  When they reached the room in which the committee was held they foundMr. Somers already in the chair. Priest McCarthy was there also,with his coadjutor, the Rev. Columb Creagh--Father Columb as he wasalways called; and there was a Mr. O'Leary from Boherbuy, one of themiddlemen as they were formerly named,--though by the way I neverknew that word to be current in Ireland; it is familiar to all, andwas I suppose common some few years since, but I never heard thepeasants calling such persons by that title. He was one of those withwhom the present times were likely to go very hard. He was not a badman, unless in so far as this, that he had no idea of owing any dutyto others beyond himself and his family. His doctrine at presentamounted to this, that if you left the people alone and gave them nofalse hopes, they would contrive to live somehow. He believed in agood deal, but he had no belief whatever in starvation,--none as yet.It was probable enough that some belief in this might come to himnow before long. There were also one or two others; men who had somestake in the country, but men who hadn't a tithe of the interestpossessed by Sir Thomas Fitzgerald.

  Mr. Townsend again went through the ceremony of shaking hands withhis reverend brethren, and, on this occasion, did not seem to bemuch the worse for it. Indeed, in looking at the two men cursorily astranger might have said that the condescension was all on the otherside. Mr. M'Carthy was dressed quite smartly. His black clothes werespruce and glossy; his gloves, of which he still kept on one andshowed the other, were quite new; he was clean shaven, and altogetherhe had a shiny, bright, ebon appearance about him that quite dida credit to his side of the church. But our friend the parson wasdiscreditably shabby. His clothes were all brown, his white neck-tiecould hardly have been clean during the last forty-eight hours, andwas tied in a knot, which had worked itself nearly round to his earas he had sat sideways on the car; his boots were ugly and badlybrushed, and his hat was very little better than some of those wornby the workmen--so called--at Ballydahan Hill. But, nevertheless,on looking accurately into the faces of both, one might see whichman was the better nurtured and the better born. That operationwith the sow's ear is, one
may say, seldom successful with the firstgeneration.

  "A beautiful morning, this," said the coadjutor, addressing HerbertFitzgerald, with a very mild voice and an unutterable look offriendship; as though he might have said, "Here we are in a boattogether, and of course we are all very fond of each other." Totell the truth, Father Columb was not a nice-looking young man. Hewas red-haired, slightly marked with the small-pox, and had a lowforehead and cunning eyes.

  "Yes, it is, a nice morning," said Herbert. "We don't expect anybodyelse here, do we, Somers?"

  "At any rate we won't wait," said Somers. So he sat down in thearm-chair, and they all went to work.

  "I am afraid, Mr. Somers," said Mr. M'Carthy from the other endof the table, where he had constituted himself a sort of deputychairman, "I am afraid we are going on a wrong tack." The priest hadshuffled away his chair as he began to speak, and was now standingwith his hands upon the table. It is singular how strong a propensitysome men have to get upon their legs in this way.

  "How so, Mr. M'Carthy?" said Somers. "But shan't we be all morecomfortable if we keep our chairs? There'll be less ceremony, won'tthere, Mr. Townsend?"

  "Oh! certainly," said Townsend.

  "Less liable to interruption, perhaps, on our legs," said FatherColumb, smiling blandly.

  But Mr. M'Carthy was far too wise to fight the question, so he satdown. "Just as you like," said he; "I can talk any way, sitting orstanding, walking or riding; it's all one to me. But I'll tell youhow we are on the wrong tack. We shall never get these men to work ingangs on the road. Never. They have not been accustomed to be drivenlike droves of sheep."

  "But droves of sheep don't work on the road," said Mr. Townsend.

  "I know that, Mr. Townsend," continued Mr. M'Carthy. "I am quite wellaware of that. But droves of sheep are driven, and these men won'tbear it."

  "'Deed an' they won't," said Father Columb, having altogether laidaside his bland smile now that the time had come, as he thought, tospeak up for the people. "They may bear it in England, but they won'there." And the sternness of his eye was almost invincible.

  "If they are so foolish, they must be taught better manners," saidMr. Townsend. "But you'll find they'll work just as other mendo--look at the navvies."

  "And look at the navvies' wages," said Father Columb.

  "Besides the navvies only go if they like it," said the parishpriest.

  "And these men need not go unless they like it," said Mr. Somers."Only with this proviso, that if they cannot manage for themselvesthey must fall into our way of managing for them."

  "What I say, is this," said Mr. O'Leary. "Let 'em manage for'emselves. God bless my sowl! Why we shall be skinned alive if wehave to pay all this money back to Government. If Government choosesto squander thousands in this way, Government should bear the brunt.That's what I say." Eventually, Government, that is the whole nation,did bear the brunt. But it would not have been very wise to promisethis at the time.

  "But we need hardly debate all that at the present moment," said Mr.Somers. "That matter of the roads has already been decided for us,and we can't alter it if we would."

  "Then we may as well shut up shop," said Mr. O'Leary.

  "It's all very aisy to talk in that way," said Father Columb; "butthe Government, as you call it, can't make men work. It can't forceeight millions of the finest pisantry on God's earth--," and FatherColumb was, by degrees, pushing away the seat from under him, when hewas cruelly and ruthlessly stopped by his own parish priest.

  "I beg your pardon for a moment, Creagh," said he; "but perhaps weare getting a little out of the track. What Mr. Somers says is verytrue. If these men won't work on the road--and I don't think theywill--the responsibility is not on us. That matter has been decidedfor us."

  "Men will sooner work anywhere than starve," said Mr. Townsend.

  "Some men will," said Father Columb, with a great deal of meaning inhis tone. What he intended to convey was this--that Protestants, nodoubt, would do so, under the dominion of the flesh; but that RomanCatholics, being under the dominion of the Spirit, would perishfirst.

  "At any rate we must try," said Father M'Carthy.

  "Exactly," said Mr. Somers; "and what we have now to do is to seehow we may best enable these workers to live on their wages, and howthose others are to live, who, when all is done, will get no wages."

  "I think we had better turn shopkeepers ourselves, and open storesfor them everywhere," said Herbert. "That is what we are doingalready at Berryhill."

  "And import our own corn," said the parson.

  "And where are we to get the money?" said the priest.

  "And why are we to ruin the merchants?" said O'Leary, whose brotherwas in the flour-trade, in Cork.

  "And shut up all the small shopkeepers," said Father Columb,whose mother was established in that line in the neighbourhood ofCastleisland.

  "We could not do it," said Somers. "The demand upon us would be sogreat, that we should certainly break down. And then where would webe?"

  "But for a time, Somers," pleaded Herbert.

  "For a time we may do something in that way, till other means presentthemselves. But we must refuse all out-door relief. They who cannotor do not bring money must go into the workhouses."

  "You will not get houses in county Cork sufficient to hold them,"said Father Bernard. And so the debate went on, not altogetherwithout some sparks of wisdom, with many sparks also of eagerbenevolence, and some few passing clouds of fuliginous self-interest.And then lists were produced, with the names on them of all whowere supposed to be in want--which were about to become, beforelong, lists of the whole population of the country. And at lastit was decided among them, that in their district nothing shouldbe absolutely given away, except to old women and widows,--whichkindhearted clause was speedily neutralised by women becoming widowswhile their husbands were still living; and it was decided also, thatas long as their money lasted, the soup-kitchen at Berryhill shouldbe kept open, and mill kept going, and the little shop maintained, sothat to some extent a check might be maintained on the prices of thehucksters. And in this way they got through their work, not perhapswith the sagacity of Solomon, but as I have said, with an averageamount of wisdom, as will always be the case when men set about theirtasks with true hearts and honest minds.

  And then, when they parted, the two clergymen of the parish shookhands with each other again, having perhaps less animosity againsteach other than they had ever felt before. There had been a joke ortwo over the table, at which both had laughed. The priest had wiselyshown some deference to the parson, and the parson had immediatelyreturned it, by referring some question to the priest. How often doesit not happen that when we come across those whom we have hated andavoided all our lives, we find that they are not quite so bad as wehad thought? That old gentleman of whom we wot is never so black ashe has been painted.

  The work of the committee took them nearly the whole day, so thatthey did not separate till it was nearly dark. When they did so,Somers and Herbert Fitzgerald rode home together.

  "I always live in mortal fear," said Herbert, "that Townsend and thepriests will break out into warfare."

  "As they haven't done it yet, they won't do it now," said Somers."M'Carthy is not without sense, and Townsend, queer and intolerant ashe is, has good feeling. If he and Father Columb were left together,I don't know what might happen. Mr. Prendergast is to be with you theday after to-morrow, is he not?"

  "So I understood my father to say."

  "Will you let me give you a bit of advice, Herbert?"

  "Certainly."

  "Then don't be in the house much on the day after he comes. He'llarrive, probably, to dinner."

  "I suppose he will."

  "If so, leave Castle Richmond after breakfast the next morning, anddo not return till near dinner-time. It may be that your father willnot wish you to be near him. Whatever this matter may be, you may besure that you will know it before Mr. Prendergast leaves the country.I am very glad that he is coming."<
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  Herbert promised that he would take this advice, and he thoughthimself that among other things he might go over to inspect thatClady boiler, and of course call at Desmond Court on his way. Andthen, when they got near to Castle Richmond they parted company, Mr.Somers stopping at his own place, and Herbert riding home alone.