by Charles Egan
‘It was an accident,’ Danny replied. ‘You know that.’
‘Perhaps. You seem most anxious to convince me it was an accident though. Did you think I’d have thought otherwise?’
Danny felt himself tensing.
‘Damn it, what else could it be?’ he said. ‘You don’t think it was deliberate? Do you?’
‘No,’ Crawford replied. ‘Though with the conditions those men work under, it was to be expected.’
‘Expected?’
‘At the very least, it shows a great lack of respect for human life.’
Irene interrupted.
‘Is this the only reason you have come here, Inspector?’ she asked. ‘Criticising us for accidents?’
‘No, no,’ Crawford responded. ‘In fact, it wasn’t the reason at all. I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Brady has been arrested.’
Danny was quick on this one.
‘Mr. Brady? Who is Mr. Brady?’
‘Oh, I forgot’ Crawford responded. ‘You wouldn’t know him, would you?’
‘It’s a common enough name in the west of Ireland,’ Danny responded. ‘I can’t say I know any over here, but it’s possible I’ve played with some as children.’
‘I see,’ Crawford said. ‘Well, just in case you might know any over here, I’m referring to Gene Brady, a resident of Vauxhall in Liverpool.’
‘Can’t say I know him,’ Danny said.
‘In that case, it’d be of no interest to you to know that we have arrested him. He’s definitely the leader of the Molly Maguire gang in Liverpool. We’re questioning him. Inspector Lloyd is very good at that. And I can assure you, Mr. Ryan, we will trace the leader of the Molly Maguire gang in Manchester.’
He stood, and made to the door.
‘But I forgot. None of that is of any interest to you. Is it?’
Chapter 30
Hereford Journal, May 1848:
State of Greater Manchester. Everything commercial and manufacturing is literally at a standstill here. Nothing is doing on ‘Change, and great numbers of the mills and workshops are either wholly closed or working only for a short time. About ten thousand operatives are at present working short time, and nearly the same number are wholly out of employment. The operative population are not the principal sufferers; the shopkeepers and tradesmen generally are deeply distressed, and hundreds know not how to turn for relief.
If Danny had been concerned about Crawford’s previous visits, he was now very badly shaken. Even Irene’s attempts to calm him had little effect. Crawford would certainly not stop until he had his man. The only minor comfort was that Danny was not the key man he was seeking. That was Sheridan – he was the bodymaster in Manchester. Danny could only pray that Crawford would find him, and be happy to terminate the investigation at that.
But then another thought struck him. Even if Crawford got Sheridan first, he would question him intensely too. He would want to know more about the murders of both Eckersley and McManus. If Sheridan was facing the rope, he might try to make some sort of settlement with the police, to tell them all they wanted to know, in return for a commutation from a death sentence to life imprisonment.
Then what? Could Sheridan lead them to Danny?
He was becoming suspicious of everything. One day, he noticed a man across the road, watching his window. He pointed him out to Irene.
‘Don’t be silly, Danny, he’s only waiting for the coach.’
As indeed he was.
But the following day, when Danny went into Manchester, he felt sure he was being followed. He could not say why he felt this, but could not shake off the sensation.
As he returned that evening, he saw a man standing outside his door. It was a face he had not seen before. As he made to enter his door, the man stopped him.
‘A message from Mr. Sheridan,’ he whispered. ‘Just keep your damned mouth shut. We all know the fate of informers.’
Danny said nothing, and the man left. He entered, but found he was sweating heavily. Again he thought – what if Crawford gets Sheridan? He had no doubt that the Molly Maguires had been watching the Ryan house for long enough to know that Crawford had visited him on a number of occasions. They could well assume that Danny was collaborating with Crawford on his investigations. Yes, if Sheridan was arrested, it would be a race between the Molly Maguire gang and the police to see who got him first.
He was more frightened than ever.
As the financial markets continued to collapse, the cash supply in both the banks and the large contractors tightened. Then the Newcastle Bank collapsed. Irene pointed out that the Royal Bank of Liverpool had re-opened its doors in December, but Danny knew this was only with government support. He found it impossible to convince himself that the Newcastle Bank would re-open, or that more banks would not collapse.
Also, he had not been able to hold pricing on the Anderson contracts, as Irene had been so confident of doing. What of his other contracts now?
At first he had hoped sackings would not be necessary. Further discussions with the Manchester & Salford Bank had convinced him they would. The banks would not lend further. As Winrow had explained to him, there were two problems. The first was that at present contract prices, it was impossible for Edwardes & Ryan to make a profit with so many men. The second was even simpler – the bank had no money.
The third, which Winrow did not know, was that Edwardes & Ryan was finishing the Brassey contract in May. Danny had agreed staged payments to the bank, month by month, until September, when the contract had originally been projected to finish. But the massive increase in labour that the early finish of the contract had forced upon him, meant that the loan had all been taken up, and there would be no means of repaying the rest of the loan after May. At least not from the Brassey contract, whatever about other contracts. But the Anderson contracts would barely be profitable, even after firing so many men.
Irene and Danny had requested Pat to come to Stockport in order to assist in sacking men, though they had not informed him of this.
Over dinner one evening, they discussed it with both Pat and Murtybeg.
‘It can’t have come as a surprise to you fellows,’ Danny said. ‘You’ve seen the figures yourself. Anyone with a bit of sense can see that the figures can’t add up, especially since we’re in danger of losing the Anderson contracts.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Murtybeg said.
‘Not all of them,’ he said. He handed Anderson’s letter over to Murtybeg.
‘All except Ancoats. We just got this a few weeks ago. Times are changing, Murteen. At Andersons’ new rates, we’re losing money on all of the other three contracts. It can’t go on like this.’
‘But…But if we don’t finish them out, that means they can’t complete the line.’
Irene snatched the letter angrily. ‘Maybe they can’t complete the line. Or maybe they can get someone cheaper to do it for them.’
‘Who in God’s name could be cheaper?’ Pat asked.
‘Anyone who employs less men,’ Danny said. ‘That’s who.’
There was silence around the room, then Murtybeg started to drum his fingers on the table.
‘So, we’re over-manned, that’s it. But by how many?’
‘Maybe Pat could answer that,’ Irene said.
Pat looked up in surprise. ‘I could?’
‘It’s very simple,’ Irene said, ‘you know how much we’re taking in per week on these contracts. You know how much is going out, and you certainly know the difference.’
Pat nodded, feeling rather gloomy. He took out a pencil and scribbled figures in a notebook. No-one spoke.
‘The difference,’ Pat said at length. ‘Twenty pounds. At least. Could be twenty five.’
‘And the wages?’
‘Varies.’
‘You can give us an average?’
‘A shilling a day. Six shillings a week,’ he said. ‘Average.’
‘So now, since you know the wages we pay, divide one in
to the other and what do we get?’
Pat thought for a few seconds.
‘Hard to be exact. Eighty perhaps. Seventy five to eighty certainly.’
‘So there’s your answer,’ Irene said. ‘We have to sack eighty men. Now.’
‘But we’d still be losing money.’
‘Not if we increase the hours they’re working.’
Pat cut into his beef. He dipped it in the gravy and started to eat.
‘So what next?’ he asked, speaking and eating at the same time.
‘We’ve got to tell them,’ Danny said.
‘And who will do that?’
Danny put down his knife and fork. ‘Look at it this way, Pat. We’ve all got hard jobs to do. I have to keep negotiating with the banks, I can’t stop that. Murtybeg has taken over from McManus…’
‘And the gangers?’
‘They’ve work to do too. There still has to be someone for the calculations and accounts out there. You know that as well as I do.’
‘So that leaves you, Irene,’ Pat said.
‘Yes, Pat, very funny you are too. You know what a rough lot they are. How many women have been abused out there already?’
Pat had not heard of any women being abused, but he did not say so.
‘So ye’ve obviously been doing all the thinking,’ he said. ‘Ye know all the answers. Ye know what comes next.’
‘Well, there’s one simple answer,’ Danny said. ‘Just stop paying them. They’d leave soon enough. But Irene has convinced me that that’s not the best way to do things. And in any case, we should have proper legal dismissals.’
Pat was observing the candle light refracting through the crystal chandeliers. He brought himself back to what Danny was saying.
‘And how would you do that?’
‘Give each of them a legal document – a few lines on a page would be enough. We can get some of the young clerks to assist you on that. All you’ve got to do is to decide the eighty names.’
‘But how would I know?’
‘Go out and ask the gangers to decide.’
‘And after that? Sack them? What do they do then? Where would they go?’
‘That’s not really our problem,’ Irene said, ‘but if you want us to be generous, we could organise wagons back to Liverpool for them. Most of them came from the Workhouse, and they can take them back. And if they don’t like it, they can send them back to Dublin. Or Mayo.’
No one mentioned the Brassey site. That was still running flat out. The sackings there were some weeks away yet.
Early next morning, Pat walked out to the cuttings. As he went through the streets of the town towards the line, it was raining. He pulled his hat down on his head, but the rain still dripped down along his nose.
He scrambled up onto the railway line, and started walking out along it. The rails glistened in the rain. The sleepers, which were all neatly cut and impregnated with creosote, glistened too, since no train had ever been over them except the work wagons. The crushed grey rock dripped.
He walked and walked. At last, he saw the lines of men working, picks rising and then shovelling the spoil away to the waiting wagons. They were all saturated. ‘No money if you stop for rain’, as Danny used to say, though Luke too told him the same whenever he spoke about his years on the railways.
Kearney looked up from where he had been measuring out the distance from the track to the rise in the side of the cutting. He glanced up.
‘Pat?’
‘Indeed.’
‘What brings you out these parts this time of the week?’
‘Danny thought I should have a word with you. A little bit of planning.’
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘I think so, Tim.’
Kearney ushered Pat into the tent. Rapidly, Pat explained the situation. He did not wish to give away too much about the overall financial situation of Edwardes & Ryan.
‘So there’s sackings,’ Kearney said, twisting his fingers around a pencil. ‘Isn’t that it, Pat?’
‘That’s it,’ Pat said. ‘But not necessarily everyone.’
‘How many are you looking for?’
‘Twenty five off this site.’
‘Twenty five!’
‘That’s the number. Can we do it? Or sorry, to put it another way, we have to do it.’
Kearney had been looking into space, counting on his fingers. ‘Well, we’ve about a hundred and twenty men here. If you take twenty five out, we’ll still have ninety five left. What do you propose to do with them?’
‘We’d have to work them twelve hours a day,’ Pat said. ‘That way, we might be able to finish faster, and get paid the sooner. I wish we could do that with all of them, but we can’t.
‘Well, I’ll say this,’ Kearney said. ‘It’s not your fault, you don’t control the banks. Nor the railway companies for that matter.’
‘I’m not too sure I’d wish to either,’ Pat said.
‘But one way or another, it’s pretty savage. But we have to do it, don’t we?’
‘That’s it,’ Pat said.
‘I’m just thinking though,’ Kearney said. ‘Perhaps we’d be able to get rid of the weaker ones, and the trouble-makers. Then we keep only the men we want to keep.’
‘Which ones though?’ Pat asked.
‘I thought you were going to ask me that,’ Kearney said. ‘And you know the answer as well as I do. The Madden huts, both of them. That’d do to start.’
He looked around at Pat, who was a little puzzled.
‘They’re the real trouble-makers,’ Kearney said. ‘And their women? They’re even worse.’
‘Worse?’ Pat asked.
‘Well, you should know. You’ve met them.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes, Pat, you have. I might even say you’re a trouble-maker yourself, but you’re too good a friend to say that to.’
‘Me? A trouble-maker?’
‘That time you visited their huts, and talked to the Madden woman. Síle Madden. It was all over the site on the Monday. We’d real problems getting them back to work after that. Once you start showing concern, they’re out of control. There’s only one way to keep these bastards working. Be tough. Never let up.’
Pat stayed on with Kearney, going through pages of names and wage rates. The two Madden families together came to eleven, including four working men. More were selected by Kearney as either trouble-makers, or too weak to work.
It was already dark. It was agreed that Kearney would meet Pat back at Head Office the following morning, where he and Pat could discuss their plans with Danny. Then the foremen from the other sites would have to be called in.
For three days, the planning continued. One by one, the gangers came in, and discussed who was to be released. All of this was conducted in the greatest secrecy.
On the Saturday morning, Pat walked back out to Kearney’s site. After another discussion, they started walking along the line of workers, distributing the notices of sacking. At first, there was little reaction. As Kearney had already pointed out, none of them could read, and certainly not in English. At last, he snatched one of the pages from one of the men and read it out in English. A few of the men understood.
Within seconds Kearney and Pat were surrounded by angry men, jostling them. Then Kearney jumped up onto a barrel, shouting.
‘And there’s fifty more where these came from,’ he said. ‘And if you want them all to be given out here, this is the way to do it. So I’m warning all the rest of ye, get back to work.’
A voice came from the back of the crowd.
‘And what are we supposed to do now?’
‘For those of ye leaving, get your things together,’ Kearney said. ‘We have places booked from Stockport to Liverpool.’
‘Why Liverpool?’
‘The Stockport Workhouse won’t take ye.’
‘The Liverpool Workhouse won’t take us either.’
‘Well, they’ll know what to do with ye,’ Kea
rney said.
Yes, Pat thought, send you all back to County Mayo. And God help you there.
The next day, he returned to the site, accompanied by the constables. The men were paid off for the week, including those who had been sacked.
One of them held his wages out for all to see. ‘Nine shillings. Not much to bring back to Mayo.’
‘If ye spent the rest, it’s not our concern,’ Kearney said.
On the Monday, Pat accompanied Murtybeg, Lavan and Kearney to Stockport Station.
As they walked through the streets, Pat noticed women begging.
‘Tá an ocras orainn,’ one woman said to him. The hunger is on us.
Pat gave her a farthing. She said nothing.
Before they reached the station, they had passed many such women.
‘Why are there so many women?’ Pat asked.
‘Because their men are abandoning them, that’s why,’ Murtybeg said.
When they got to the station, they walked across to the freight yards. There was a crowd of hundreds of men, women and children, most carrying packs or other possessions. The rain had eased, and as the day started to warm, steam was rising from the crowd.
At last the wagons were shunted in, and the men began to board, taking their packs and children from their wives and then pulling the women up last of all.
‘At least the rain is cleared,’ Pat said.
‘Indeed,’ Murtybeg said, ‘and they might even be dry by the time they get to Lime Street Station.’
Before the end of the loading, a woman broke away from the crowd and ran across to the two men. She spat in Pat’s face.
‘And that’s for you, you bastard. You were the one was going to talk to your damned cousin and do great things for us.
She screamed again, as Murtybeg and Lavan pulled her away.
‘You’re no better than the rest of them, you filthy son-of-a-bitch.’
Pat felt he was being ground to dust. The sackings had taken a toll on him. He was sickened by Danny’s methods, but now he was on Danny’s side, whether he liked it or not. His own work meant that people were being sent back to Ireland – County Mayo. If they got that far.
But Danny too was under stress.