The Exile Breed

by Charles Egan

  ‘And how!’ McManus said. ‘We’ve men laid up, some won’t work for weeks. Four shacks to rebuild. And it’s not just that. I’ve now got navvies on guard duty at night. Can’t work them all day, without sleep.’

  ‘So whose fault was it?’ Murty asked.

  ‘Everyone says it was the Welsh started it,’ McManus answered, ‘but that’s only from the men I ask. I’m sure if you ask the Welsh, you’d get a different story. But I’ll tell you right enough what started it. Drink. And not just among our fellows, I’d say the other gangs – English and Welsh, all have the same problem.’

  Irene looked to Danny. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Drink is a curse when you’re got so many men together. I’d been thinking we’ll have to put a stop to it, but, as Jamesy already knows, the fellow is legal, and we have confirmation of that now. We had an Inspector around yesterday. Like us, he’d love to get rid of the shebeen, but he says it’s legal too. He’s been checking shebeens all over, not just on our sites. Every one of them, they’re too smart to be selling poitín or any other kind of moonshine. Whiskey and gin only. ‘Duty paid’ – that’s what they tell us every time. The Excise people are happy, and Inspector Crawford says he just cannot touch them.

  ‘So what else can we do?’ Lavan asked. ‘Fire fellows for drinking.’

  ‘What would you do then?’ Murtybeg asked with a laugh. ‘Fire the whole damn lot, ourselves included.’

  ‘But we don’t go brawling, do we?’ Murty commented. ‘But there is one other thing we can do. Let it be well known that anyone involved in a riot will be fired at once.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Danny said. ‘Take note of that, every one of you. No questions, no excuses, fire them.’

  ‘And what if we’re attacked?’ McManus asked. ‘We have to defend ourselves.’

  ‘It will be up to you fellows on the sites to decide whether a defence is needed or not. Not easy, I know, but it’s the only way we can do it.’

  ‘And what about the shebeens?’ Murty asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Danny said, ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  That evening he discussed it all with Irene.

  ‘What about that Brady fellow?’ Irene asked. ‘Would he be able to sort it out?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ Danny replied. ‘Liverpool is a bit far. Still, he might have contacts nearer at hand.’

  ‘If he knows the police in Liverpool, he’d surely be able to find out who to talk to in Manchester. Grease a few palms over here.’

  You’re right,’ Danny said. ‘A few pounds in the right place, and the police will move them on.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Irene said. ‘Or maybe not. It’s worth trying though.’

  After Irene had retired, Danny wrote a letter to Brady.

  Brady replied, suggesting another meeting.

  Two days later, Danny was in Liverpool again, supposedly to visit the Workhouse. After a desultory discussion with Solan, he walked to McCabe’s in Vauxhall. He was ushered into the back room.

  ‘Another shipment, is it?’ Brady asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Danny answered. ‘It’s not as easy getting workers from Ireland as it had been. Also, the crash in the markets. I want to wait a little before looking for more men.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a different matter I wanted to talk to you about. We had a riot on one of our Works. Irish and Welsh, the usual sort of thing. A lot of skulls cracked, and there were shacks burnt out that night. I had Inspector Crawford around the following day.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Brady said. ‘Crawford.’

  Danny thought of what Irene had said.

  ‘Came across as a nice enough fellow, but I had my suspicions.’

  ‘You might be right. But we’re on your side, remember that. We can help you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’ve done it already. There’s other things we can do. Make sure you never have another riot, for example.’

  ‘How on earth do we do that?’

  ‘Pass the message back to your sites. I can do it through the bodymaster in Manchester. Aidan Sheridan is his name. A good man.’

  ‘And how will he do it?’

  ‘A few words in one or two ears. They’ll make damned sure all the fellows understand.’

  ‘Fine,’ Danny said. ‘But one thing that might help is to stop the drunkenness on site. It’s the main cause of violence. And it’s not that the men want to drink, but having a shebeen on site is a great temptation for any man.’

  ‘A shebeen?’

  ‘Yes,’ Danny said. ‘There’s one on each of our sites. And the most vexing thing is that they’re all legal. They pay their excise, so the police aren’t interested. The exception is Oxford Road, but that’s in Ancoats, and all the shebeens there are illegal. There’s nothing we can do about drinking in a place like that, and I wouldn’t even suggest that we try.’

  ‘I see,’ Brady said. He took out a pencil, and made some notes. ‘And where are your other sites?’

  Danny gave him details of each of the other sites.

  ‘One would be enough, I imagine,’ Brady said. ‘One single example, and you’ll find the others will scarper damned quick.’

  ‘What sort of example?’

  ‘A little encouragement, perhaps. That’s all.’

  ‘That would be excellent,’ Danny said, not wishing to know more.

  ‘All part of the service.’

  ‘So how much would this all cost?’

  ‘Hard to say how much would be involved, but I can understand that a man like you would want a definite answer. Ten pounds. Would that be satisfactory?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  *

  For a week, nothing happened. Then, Danny had a visitor. He went to meet him at the door.

  ‘Mr. Ryan.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr. Brady sent me.’

  ‘Come in,’ Danny said, still suspicious.

  Irene and Murtybeg were in the office. The man looked doubtfully at Irene. Danny followed his gaze.

  ‘You may rest easy. She’s my wife-to-be. And this is my brother here. No word leaves this room.’

  The man still looked doubtful, but went on.

  ‘Our friend in Liverpool just wants you to know that he’s sorting out the shebeen problem. First though, it will be necessary for you to talk to our local contact. He’ll want full information from you. And payment, of course.’

  ‘And how will I find this contact.’

  ‘You know Forkan’s Bar? Not too far from Piccadilly Station. You’ll be expected there. Just ask for Forkan. He knows Sheridan.’

  There was a silence after the man had left.

  ‘So Brady has his contacts in Manchester after all,’ Irene said. ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’

  ‘It’ll be interesting to see what we get for our ten pounds,’ Murtybeg said.

  ‘Might quieten the men down a little anyhow,’ Danny said.

  Murtybeg laughed. ‘It isn’t the men you should be worrying about,’ he said. ‘It’s them shebeen fellows. So long as they’re selling liquor, there’ll be men to buy it. You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘They’ll get a word from Sheridan too,’ Danny said. ‘They’ll sure as hell know who he is. Either that, or the police will sort them. Now just trust me and stop worrying.’

  Irene shook her head.

  ‘We’ll have to be very careful though, Danny.’

  ‘I know.’

  As Danny travelled into Manchester, he thought about Brady, and now, Sheridan. Did Brady and his associates hold all meetings behind bars? McCabe’s and now Forkan’s. He wondered what they had in common.

  When he entered the bar, he found Forkan, who immediately brought him into a back room. He left Danny there, but this time it was only a few moments until the door opened again.

  The man who entered the room was tall, and well built. Even in the poor light Danny could see a long weal across his right cheek. He wondered where that came from.
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  ‘Mr. Ryan, I believe.’

  Danny held out his hand. ‘The same.’ His hand was not taken. Both men sat.

  ‘Mr. Brady told me you’ve been having problems.’

  Straight to the point, Danny thought. No small talk here.

  ‘That would be putting it mildly. These damned navvy riots – they’re hurting men and they’re costing money.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘And it’s not just that. It’s the cause of them. While fights can happen at any time, one of the main causes is drinking. Even decent men get violent when they’ve too much.’

  ‘I can understand that too.’

  Forkan entered, placed two glasses of whiskey on the table, and left.

  ‘You’re not a temperance man, are you Mr. Ryan?’ Sheridan asked.

  ‘Not to the extreme. A glass or two never hurt anyone.’

  He sipped the whiskey slowly. Irish, no doubt about it. It had the rough edge which Scotch never had. West of Ireland too. He wondered what distillery had produced this. Legal or not? Excise paid or not? To hell with that.

  ‘So you want us to clear out the shebeens?’ Sheridan asked him.

  ‘We do. Whatever the cause of these riots, we must stop them. The question is how?’

  Sheridan leant back in his seat. Danny could see the scar more clearly now.

  ‘Gentle persuasion, we call it, Mr. Ryan. A few words in the right ears. A few shillings in the right palms. More than that, you don’t need to know.’

  ‘I see,’ said Danny. He looked deep into Sheridan’s eyes. A tough man. He had the eyes of a man well used to getting his way, and not caring how he got it. He wondered what ‘gentle persuasion’ would mean with a man like this. Paying off the police perhaps.

  ‘So what next?’

  ‘You’ll see in time. And as you can imagine, there are costs to all this.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Danny said.

  ‘Ten pounds. I believe that is what you agreed with Mr. Brady.’

  ‘That would be perfectly satisfactory,’ Danny said. ‘I’ll have the money sent to you.’

  ‘You can drop it in here to Forkan if you prefer. He’s reliable. He’ll give you a receipt. We must make all this business-like.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Sheridan took notes of the sites and shebeens. Then he rose to shake Danny’s hand. ‘And don’t worry about the next few weeks. It may take some time to get everything organised. But I can assure you, it will be.’

  Danny left, and walked back the corridor. He made his way through the crowded bar, looking neither left nor right.

  He walked across Peter’s Square, and down to Mosley Street. At the Manchester & Salford Bank, he took out ten pounds in cash and returned to Forkan’s bar. Forkan was waiting.

  ‘You’re most welcome, Mr. Ryan,’ he said, placing a whiskey on the counter.

  Danny handed him the envelope. Forkan checked it and placed it carefully behind the bar. Then he took out a piece of paper, wrote across it ‘for the receipt of ten pounds’ and signed it with an illegible signature. He passed it across to Danny.

  Danny threw back the whiskey in a single gulp.

  ‘A thousand times, thanks,’ he said, and left the bar.

  One day, Danny travelled to McManus’ site. He could see the Works were proceeding well.

  ‘Enough navvies now?’ he asked McManus.

  ‘We surely have. I’m catching up for all the delays we’ve had. We should make it on time.’

  ‘Any fighting?’

  ‘They’re brawling all the time. No real riot since though. But there will be.’

  They walked past the shebeen.

  ‘Excise paid,’ the man said.

  ‘I didn’t say a word,’ Danny said.

  ‘Damned bastard,’ McManus whispered.

  They went back between the lines of working men.

  ‘We’ll have to do something about him, McManus said. ‘There’s trouble brewing. I can smell it.’

  ‘I think we’ll have him sorted out soon enough.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Brady, have you?’

  ‘I have. There’s one of their fellows in Manchester. He’ll sort it, don’t you worry. But before they do, I think we should give them fair warning.’

  ‘I’d leave that to Brady, Danny. He’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Fair enough so. In the meantime, I’d like you to let it be known that no whiskey is allowed on site. Nor nothing else neither. No intoxicating liquor. Anyone found drinking or drunk will be fired. The men have got to understand, this has to stop.’

  Some days later again, Danny went to Kearney’s site. He could see that these Works too were continuing satisfactorily. Kearney met him.

  ‘Everything proceeding well?’

  ‘Better than well,’ Kearney replied. He pointed to the road above the site. ‘See that?’

  Danny looked. He could see nothing strange. ‘See what?’ he asked. ‘I don’t see anything.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Kearney replied. ‘The shebeen. It’s empty.’

  ‘But what…?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I just came in this morning, and he was packing. He took all his stock, thank God.’

  After the inspection, Danny walked back down the line. He had not expected this so rapidly. Brady surely had his ways of helping. Gentle persuasion was certainly working. Totally painless, with no problems whatsoever.

  It would not be long until he discovered how wrong he was.

  He was startled when Inspector Crawford appeared that evening. Danny and Irene met with him.

  ‘And you can guess why I’m here,’ he said to Danny.

  ‘I can,’ Danny said. ‘The violence we’ve been having. We’ll have to stop this kind of thing.’

  ‘Indeed we will. And not just the rioting. You know about the attack on Eckersley?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The fellow in the shebeen.’

  ‘But…what attack? Which shebeen?’

  ‘At Mr. McManus’ Works. You know those shebeens are legal.’

  ‘I know,’ said Danny. ‘Excise paid.’

  ‘A savage attack it was too. Five masked men, with hammers. They shattered both of his knees. He’ll never walk again, that’s for certain. No. Eckersley’s for the Workhouse. It’s all he’s fit for.’

  Danny grimaced. ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘I questioned him myself in the Workhouse infirmary earlier. How any man could have lived through that beating, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘But…but…I don’t understand.’

  ‘What’s not to understand?’

  ‘I was out there myself just last week. The fellow was still there. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘That was then. Last night was when Eckersley was attacked. They burnt out the shebeen too. Did you not know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Strange. I’d have thought Mr. McManus would have told you by now.’

  ‘I’ve been travelling all day.’

  ‘I see.’ He took out his notebook, and scribbled in it.

  Danny leaned back in his chair, thinking rapidly.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear all this, Inspector. But the question is, who did it?’

  ‘I was hoping you might know the answer.’

  Danny was surprised at Crawford’s insinuation, but quickly recovered his composure.

  ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I’d been concerned about the shebeens myself, as you know.’

  ‘Certainly. And it’s not that we’d think that you did it, but the question remains – who did?’

  The same insinuation again. Again Danny stayed calm.

  ‘Other distillers fighting for territory?’ he said. ‘Or it might have been organised through the Welsh foremen. They’re well into temperance with their chapel ways.’

  ‘Indeed they are,’ Crawford said. ‘I’d have thought it myself, except for a few things. There were three more attacks on your shebeens during the night…’

  ‘Th
ree more!’ Danny gasped.

  ‘Not as vicious as the first attack. No burnings. They beat them with sticks – that was all. More in the line of a warning, I’d say. And each of them was given one of these. The same as Eckersley got.’

  He handed Danny a sheet of paper. On it was scrawled a rough outline of a coffin with a cross on it. Beneath the cross were the words – ‘Simon Worsley. RIP’.

  ‘Yes,’ Crawford said. ‘All four got one. They’re all gone now, and I doubt any will return. Eckersley can’t, and the others won’t when they hear what happened to Eckersley. And I can assure you, Mr. Ryan, this has nothing to do with Welsh temperance preachers. It has all the hallmarks of the Molly Maguire gang.’

  Chapter 18

  Manchester Courier, England, December 1847:

  According to the Nation, there are 168 estates in Ireland for sale. No wonder. Of the 265,509 navvies who are at work in this country in May last, it is believed that 128,000 are now unemployed.

  Crawford left. Through the entire meeting, Irene had said nothing. Now, she spoke.

  ‘This is getting dangerous, Danny.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You heard what he said? ‘It’s not that we think you did it.’ Why would he say something like that?’

  ‘I’d been thinking that myself.’

  She pulled over a chair and sat in front of him.

  ‘He clearly does think that you organised the attack. Otherwise he wouldn’t have said it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Danny said, ‘and he’d be right, except I didn’t know I was organising something like this. For God’s sake, Irene, we were talking about ‘gentle persuasion’. A little bribery perhaps. And a few words in the right ears.’

  ‘Yes. A few words. But no one’s going to stop anything for that, are they? A few words are only effective with the threat of force behind it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Danny said. ‘I should have thought of that.’

  ‘We should all have thought of it. Brady and Sheridan fooled you and fooled all of us. We should always remember – if something is too good to be true, it isn’t true. We’re going to have to be more careful from here on.’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘But tell me one thing, Danny. I’ve heard of this Molly Maguire gang, but I know very little about them.’

  ‘And I’d never have thought you’d have to either,’ Danny said. ‘I never knew they were over here, either in Liverpool or Manchester. They’re a gang of bandits in the west of Ireland. They say they’re standing up for poor people, but most of what they do is shooting landlords’ agents, stealing cattle and the like. I would never have thought that Brady was the type. Sheridan neither.’