by Charles Egan
It was late that evening before Murtybeg arrived back.
‘Jamesy was sure delighted to see me,’ he said.
‘I’m sure he was,’ Danny said. ‘He’s getting behind on the contract. He’s the one who needs the men the most.’
‘But this Brassey contract! Hundreds more men! What on earth are we going to do about that?’
‘Send you back to Liverpool, Murteen.’
‘That won’t work anymore, Danny,’ Murtybeg said. ‘Liverpool is getting tougher for finding workers. There’s fever in the City. They’re terrified of the Irish now. They say we’re the cause of the fever. Already the Workhouse is starting to send people back to Ireland. Dublin, Cork, Westport or wherever they came from.’
‘They can’t do that,’ Irene said.
‘Oh, but they can,’ Murtybeg responded. ‘And there’s worse. The port is stopping any ships coming in with fever. Already they’re using hospital ships on the Mersey. Any ship with fever has to run up a yellow flag and discharge straight into the hospital ships. Quarantine they call it, but the locals call them Death Ships. And it’s worse for the Irish ships.’
‘Worse,’ Danny exclaimed.
‘They started by stopping people right off the gangway, checking for fever. Now, if they’ve got Irish passengers, they often just turn them straight around, send them back to Ireland. Not all of them, mind, but there’s very few get through. And any with fever don’t stand a chance. No quarantine, they just take the cattle off, and send the passengers straight back to Ireland.’
‘And what of the rest of the town?’ Irene asked. ‘The slums and the like.’
‘They’d be a poorer class of person,’ Murtybeg answered. ‘If they can’t get work after months or years in Liverpool, they’re not the men we’d want. They’re either the sort don’t want to work, or they’re heading to America.’
‘But the Americans won’t let them in.’
‘Quebec will.’
‘And women?’ Irene asked. ‘Why not use women.
‘Women!’ Danny exclaimed. ‘They wouldn’t have the strength.’
Irene laughed. ‘And what of the coal mines. The pitbrow girls over at Gatley Pit. They’re as tough as any man. Shows the women can do it.’
‘Well, we’re not doing it,’ Danny said.
Danny and Murtybeg discussed it all at length over the next few days. Then Danny wrote a note to each of his gangers. Two days later, they convened in the Stockport office.
‘You all know,’ Danny said, ‘we’ve a problem with finding navvies. And it’s getting worse because of the Brassey contract. Murtybeg. Explain the situation.’
For the next ten minutes, Murtybeg explained the state of affairs in Liverpool. When he finished, there was a silence around the room.
‘So what do we do now?’ Roughneen asked.
‘I think my cousin has the answer,’ Danny said. Something Murtybeg heard from him back in Mayo.’
‘Luke? He’s gone to America.’
‘No, not Luke,’ Murtybeg said. ‘His brother Pat. He’s clerking now, Knockanure Workhouse…’
‘But that’s by Kilduff,’ Lavan said. ‘A few miles only. You said you wouldn’t take men from there.’
‘True enough,’ said Murtybeg, ‘but hear me out. Knockanure is chartering ships to send their inmates to America. Some they’re sending from the Mayo ports, mainly Westport or Killala, and straight to America. But it’s cheaper sending them over by Liverpool first.’
‘Liverpool!’ Roughneen exclaimed.
‘Yes, Liverpool,’ Murtybeg continued. ‘The Liverpool passenger trade is only a quarter the price of the Mayo ships. That’s because the Mayo ships are passenger ships. The ships leaving Liverpool are all coming from Canada, carrying lumber, with empty holds going back. They pack passengers in, cheap as they like. So the plan is this. Like you say, we don’t take inmates from Knockanure. We must contact the west Mayo Workhouses. First, Westport. It covers the sea coast all the way to Louisburgh, and from what we hear, the villages there are in a desperate state, and putting terrible pressure on the Workhouse. Second, Ballinrobe, which covers Partry, and God knows, a more forsaken place you never saw. My reckoning is Ballinrobe and Westport might be able to supply us with enough. If not, we could consider Newport, which stretches all the way out to Achill, which is in a desperate way too. Last of all, Ballina, which goes all the way out to Erris. Erris itself is in a frightful condition. There’s talk they might be building a Workhouse in Erris itself, but it might not be ready for some time. So Ballina could certainly supply us with many inmates.
‘But are those Workhouses sending their inmates to America?’ Roughneen asked. ‘I’d heard some of them were.’
‘I don’t know,’ Murtybeg said. ‘Pat might have the answer. If they are, we can try stopping them at Liverpool, but if they have tickets for America, they wouldn’t want to work with us.’
‘Then that doesn’t help,’ Lavan said.
‘No,’ Danny said. ‘So we make sure they don’t have tickets for America.’
‘And how would we do that?’ McManus asked.
‘Bring them straight in from Mayo,’ Danny said. ‘Direct from the Workhouse. It would save the Workhouse a fortune, and from all we hear, they’re half bankrupt already. So we take half their male inmates, and ship them through Westport ourselves.’
‘Ship them?’ Lavan asked. ‘On what?’
‘A cattle boat,’ Danny said. ‘Or a corn ship. Whichever.’
‘That would cost money.’
‘Not as much as you might think,’ Murtybeg said. ‘The cattle boats, they’d be cheap enough. The cattlemen pay for the boat, the passengers are the profit on top for the boatmen. And there’d be volunteers enough. The hunger is desperate around the west of the county, and from all we hear the Workhouses are over-crowded. No, I don’t think we’ll have a problem in getting navvies, nor much cost in getting them over here neither. They’re charging a shilling a man on the cattle boats from Dublin. My guess is two shillings a man out of Westport, though we might keep it lower.’
‘Little enough, as you say,’ Roughneen said. ‘But what if they send the boats back without unloading?’
‘They might not if there’s no fever,’ Murtybeg answered. ‘So we check them first at Westport. Any showing the slightest signs of fever, we send home. Check them again at Liverpool. Hide the fever cases down the back, behind the cattle or the corn, and send them back to Mayo after we’ve let the rest off. Sure, it’s a risk. They might send the boat home without unloading. Or they might not. A pound or two in the right place could sort it all out.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Roughneen. ‘It’s all one hell of a gamble.’
‘One we must take, though,’ Danny said. ‘Just look at it this way. If they turn the boat around, what have we lost? The cost of bringing them over, that’s all. But we lose an awful lot more if we don’t get those contracts. We must at least try it.’
‘And who should we send over to arrange all this?’ Lavan asked.
‘Murtybeg,’ Irene answered. ‘No choice.’
‘So back to Mayo again,’ Murtybeg said, wearily.
‘Needs must,’ Danny said. ‘We need workers. And fast. We need hundreds already. And if we get contracts from anyone else, we’ll be looking for hundreds more again.’
McManus stayed back as the others left the room.
‘A word with you, Danny.’
‘I know, I know,’ Danny said. ‘You want workers.’
‘I do,’ McManus replied. ‘But it’s not just that. We might have an answer to the Liverpool problem.’
‘You might?’ Danny said. ‘What kind of answer is ‘might’?’
‘Better than that,’ McManus said. ‘I’m pretty well sure.’
‘Go on, go on.’
‘I don’t know if I ever told you, but I’ve got cousins over in County Cavan. Second cousins more like. A tougher lot you never saw. But one of them, Gene Brady, moved to Liverpool twenty y
ears back. And he’s a man you’d want to know. He controls the Irish in Liverpool.’
‘Controls who?’
‘The gangs.’
‘The gangs? Railway gangs?’
‘The other sort. The Irish mobs.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I couldn’t be more serious.’
‘So where does that get us?’
‘Just think it through, will you? Liverpool is as Irish a city as you can get. How many Irish are there now? Damned near half the city. Might be more. And some of the most violent gangs are Irish.’
‘But the police? What are they doing?’
‘Nothing much,’ McManus said, ‘nor do they want to. They know Brady is their one trump card in controlling any Irish gangs that might start up in Liverpool. There’s an understanding – nothing stated, nothing written – between the police and Brady.’
‘But the Orangemen. They control the police.’
‘Not as much as they’d like to think. The police need Brady, more than he needs them.’
Danny shook his head. ‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘This problem of getting the workers off the boats. If there’s one man who can make sure you can do it, it’s Gene Brady. His word is law among the Irish in Liverpool. And if we want to make sure our workers get off the boats, he’s the one man can make sure of it.’
Danny’s mind was in a whirl. He had to be certain that he could get workers, but he was not convinced that this approach would work.
He lit his pipe slowly. ‘So what now?’
‘I’ll write to my cousin. I don’t need to tell him what we’re thinking. Brady is the one who’ll know who needs to be paid. Just as important, who needs a warning? Carrot or stick, it’ll work either way. And if I write to Brady, I’d be doing it in my own name. After that, you can decide.’
‘My God, Jamesy, it’s a hell of a chance.’
‘The alternative is worse.’
Danny puffed slowly at his pipe.
‘Fine,’ he said, ‘write to your cousin, and let’s see what he says.’
Afterwards, Danny poured himself a whiskey.
He still had concerns about a crash in the market for railway building, but the massive Brassey contract seemed to weigh the balance the other way. Even if there was a downturn in the market, it should not affect Edwardes & Ryan.
Provided, of course, he could get the workers. For a long time, he sat in his office, not noticing that it was getting dark.
McManus’s suggestion had unsettled him. He had no idea who Gene Brady was, nor how he might control the Liverpool Irish. He had never thought of working with criminal gangs before, though there was nothing to say that Brady ran a gang. But if not, how did he control them. Best not to know perhaps.
Irene entered. ‘What on earth are you doing there?’ she asked.
‘Just thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘Getting workers. What else?’
‘What did McManus have to say?’
‘Something about a cousin of his. It seems he has strong pull with the police in Liverpool. Jamesy reckons he can sort out any problems in getting navvies through Liverpool Port.’
‘How could he do that?’
‘Damned if I know, Irene. And maybe I don’t want to know. But any man who has friends in the Liverpool police is well worth knowing. That’s for certain.’
*
After Irene had gone to bed, Danny wrote a letter to Pat.
Edwardes & Ryan
c/o Hailey House
Edgeley
Stockport
Lancashire
Mr. Patrick Ryan
Knockanure Workhouse
Knockanure
Co. Mayo
My Dear Pat,
I hope you are keeping well through these terrible times. I had heard that Luke had gone to America so he at least will no longer be in the middle of a Famine, though I am sure he will still have concerns about his new wife until she joins him.
You will know that my mother and father have joined us here in Stockport. Father’s school would have been closed when the new schools are set up around Kilduff. He is presently working on my accounts, and we hope mother may soon have some work of her own. I had explained to father that the only Kilduff men working with me are the gangers – Bernie Lavan, Jamesy McManus and Johnny Roughneen. All the rest at present come from the western part of Mayo.
The market for railway building continues to grow, and we have a growing need for labour, which will increase over the next few months. We are looking for at least four hundred men. Murtybeg will soon be travelling to Mayo again to assess how many workers we might find, and that is why I am writing to you.
I had heard some of the Mayo Workhouses are paying people to go to America. It was then that the question struck me as to why they should be sent so far, especially when there is so much work with Edwardes & Ryan over here.
Surely the Atlantic crossing is expensive. If a few hundred men were to be shipped directly to us instead, it would be much cheaper than sending them to America. We would pay for the shipping, thus saving the Workhouses any expense, and also reducing the cost of running the Workhouse. This is something that might be of interest to the Workhouses in the western part of Mayo, especially those in Ballinrobe, Westport and perhaps Newport and Ballina.
If you think this is all possible, I should certainly be delighted to hear it. If so, perhaps you could drop me a line and we can put the arrangements in train. But let me know either way.
I remain, your affectionate cousin,
Daniel Ryan
Chapter 7
Quebec Gazette, August 1847:
From information recently given to us, the quarantine at Liverpool is not only worse than useless as regards this country, but absolutely murders the emigrants intending to embark hitherward. We are told that from 15 to 16 hulks are stationed off the port for the reception of the refugees from Ireland, who, when sick or doubtful looking, are transferred to them from the Irish steamers and from whence, after a short probation, shipped on board vessels destined for Canada; and that, too, as may be naturally conceived, in a worse state than if allowed to proceed on their voyage at once. The passengers in the Triton were of this class, among whom disease appeared the day they left the docks. Her deaths before reaching Grosse Île numbered 83, including all the officers of the ship and several of the crew; the master, also, being very sick.
The Atlantic was still running wild, as the sun rose higher and reflected from the waves and the ice. Luke blinked in the early morning light. Tyler was beside him.
‘Don't often see them so far south this time of the season.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Luke said.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t. Them ‘bergs should be all gone by now though. That bastard's a long way from home. Either that, or we’re a long way north. We've been running north with the storm. The question is, how far?’
Another wave smashed into the white cliffs, and fell back.
‘So where could we be?’ Luke asked.
‘Hard to say,’ Tyler replied. ‘Could be that we're running close to Greenland by now, or half way up the Davis Strait. Baffin even, if we’re running with the Greenland Current. God knows it’s possible.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I’ll take a sighting on the sun at noon, then at least we’ll know how far north we are.’
Still Luke could not take his eyes off the iceberg. It was so unyielding with the savagery of the waves, unlike the ship which was still running before the dying storm. He still felt an unreasoning fear. The crew were not worried though. Neither was Tyler. They had missed the ‘berg.
‘How long will it take then?’ Luke asked ‘How long ’till we make Quebec?’
‘Who knows? Could be three weeks? A lot longer if we’re too far north, or the wind is against us. And if we take much longer than that, and the St. Lawrence freezes early, we won’t make it at all.’
‘What’s that you say?’
‘Stands to reason. The Centaurus don’t sail over ice. Never heard of any ship could.’
‘So then what?’
‘St. Johns,’ Tyler said. ‘We might put in at St. Johns. We’ll be running out of supplies anyhow. Sailors too. Three of them are down with fever. And there’ll be more. Just pray we make Quebec.’
He left Luke and climbed back up the rigging. Luke fetched his bucket, knelt down, and started to scrub the deck.
And if we don’t make Quebec, he thought. What then?
An hour passed. Then the hatch opened, and more skeletal corpses were manhandled up the ladder and onto the deck. Luke could tell which had died of hunger, and which of fever. He knew the stink of fever, and the sight of decaying flesh. He knew too the hairy faces of starving children.
The corpses were laid out side by side, women and children wailing alongside.
The priest made the form of a cross on the forehead of a man’s corpse.
‘Per istam sanctam Unctionem…’
Luke went down on one knee. The corpse was passed over the side of the ship. Then the same prayer was repeated.
When the blessings were finished, he walked over to the priest.
‘More dead,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ the priest replied. ‘And many more to come before we make land.’
Another woman’s naked corpse was brought up. Another blessing, another dead body thrown to the insatiable sea.
‘So what are you thinking of doing when you get to Quebec?’ the priest asked him.
‘I might work on the forestry a while,’ Luke replied. ‘Somewhere around Quebec, if I can. But then I’m hoping to travel down to the United States, if I can get across the border, that is. I’ve heard they’re stopping us on the border.’
‘Yes, I’d heard that. But what if you get across? What then?’
‘I’ve friends working the railways in Pennsylvania. We worked together in England, and they tell me there’s any amount of work on the railways in America. So I’ll head down to New York, then Philadelphia, then on out to Harrisburg. That’s where the railway building is now.’
‘It’s a long journey,’ the priest said