by Charles Egan
‘You’re trying to kill us all.’
‘Murderers, murderers.’
‘You don’t care.’
‘Hang them.’
There was a shout from the rear of the crowd, this time in Irish. ‘Leave them be!’
The crowd separated as a tall, gaunt man came up to Gallagher. Luke had noticed him before, both because of his great height and his advanced age. He had never heard him speak though, not even when he had been given his wages.
‘Explain this to us, Seán,’ the man said, addressing Gallagher only. ‘Is this stranger to be trusted?’
‘He is, Cairbre-Mór. He is of Kilduff. His people are respected. He is a man to trust.’
‘Yet he started the new way of working. The piecework.’ The last word was in English, spat out with contempt.
‘He did, but it was not of his doing. The Government men in Castlebar, they would have no other way.’
‘He says we will work until Saturday.’
‘Until Saturday is all the time the Government men will give us.’
‘Then they will feed us?’
‘After that, yes.’
‘But on what day?’
‘That is not known to us. We wait to be told.’
‘The Black Fever is killing us. The hunger kills our young.’
‘That I know. We do what we can, but it is never enough.’
The man said nothing for a few seconds. Then he addressed the crowd around him. ‘These men we can trust. Seán Gallachóir I have known for many years. If Seán says the outsider is also to be trusted, then he is right. Your anger is not for them. These men will fight for food.’
‘But will they, Cairbre-Mór? Is this certain?’
‘It is certain. Go back to your work now. We work until the Saturday ahead of us.’
The crowd dispersed.
‘That’s the first time I’ve had anyone threaten to hang me,’ Luke said.
‘They wouldn’t have done it.’
‘I know, but they were damned angry.’
‘Worse than that, they were terrified.’
He left Gallagher at Ardnagrena and rode to Lisnadee on his own. Durcan gathered the workers together. When he spoke, he was answered with complete silence. Luke rode back to Brockagh.
The three men met again in the priest-house that evening. Father Nugent was looking a little shaken, though he had not been threatened. They spent hours bringing all the calculations up to date, and assessing which workers were unlikely to return.
It was decided that Luke would accompany the priest towards Burrenabawn and Teenashilla the next day, paying out wages where due. The day after, he would do the same with Gallagher’s assistance at Ardnagrena and Lisnadee, though he knew he had not enough money to finish the payments.
As they worked on, they heard a murmur of voices outside. They went out. There were hundreds of people there. It seemed as if they were praying, but these were no prayers, only begging. Most was in Irish, repeated quietly again and again.
‘Tá an gealar againn.’ The fever is with us.
‘Tá an ocras orainn.’ The hunger is on us.
‘Tabhair bia duinn.’ Give us food.
The priest held out his hands.
‘I have no food to give you,’ he said.
No one answered.
He raised his hand in blessing. No one knelt.
The murmuring went on.
‘Give us food.’
Later, when the work was finished, Luke walked through the crowd back to the old cottage. There was a group of about fifty women outside, the same murmuring. They wore black shawls against the cold drizzle, pulled down halfway over their eyes, giving them a sinister and threatening look. But they parted to let him pass. He opened the door. Winnie was huddled by the fire. She was crying. He put his arms around her. ‘I’m sorry, a ghrá. I didn’t know.’
She grasped his hand, saying nothing.
‘I didn’t even know you were here,’ he said.
‘I came down to prepare dinner,’ she whispered. ‘There was no one else here then.’
‘Why didn’t you go back up to your mother?’
‘I couldn’t. Every time I tried, the women were all around me. They wouldn’t let me through. Eileen Dunne, she had a dead baby. She kept holding it up to me.’
‘Oh God.’
That night, they both tried to sleep, but the low murmuring outside made it impossible.
‘Tá an bás againn.’ Death is with us.
‘Give us food.’
Early the next morning, Luke took his bride of two days back to her mother with her mother’s blankets. Then he and Gallagher hitched up a cart, and drove to the cottage. They manhandled the old bed into the cart, and took it back. An hour later, the old cottage was in flames.
Every evening, the wage sheets were updated, and plans made. Luke checked and re-checked figures, Gallagher and the priest helping as best they could.
Every night the murmuring voices went on, now outside Gallagher’s.
‘Food…food…food…’
‘Give us food.’
Pat had left Brockagh after the wedding, walking rapidly. He reached Ardnagrena where a tall, gaunt man, stood in front of him, transfixing him with his eyes. Then he shook his head, and walked away. Pat went on. He reached the main road and turned towards Knockanure.
From time to time he passed other gangs, still working too. Along the side roads he could see more, but he knew most would be closing in the next few days.
As he walked, he saw something else that he had not noticed before. The potato fields along the side of the road were no different to what they had been in December. Many of them had not even been dug the previous autumn, and the lazy-bed ridges were still there, some with long pools of rainwater lying between them. What was most disturbing was the absence of an early planting. The crop had been destroyed twice. The people no longer believed in it.
Where anything was planted, it was corn. He wondered about that. Corn to pay the rent. Corn to stop them being evicted. Or corn to eat? But he knew they could never grow enough corn in Mayo to feed everyone. He wondered when the Kitchens would open? He wondered too where the Kitchens would get the food to feed thousands of starving men and women.
He slept soundly that night, a deep, deep sleep with no dreams. He rose early, dressed himself and walked back to his office. Sarah was there before him.
‘What are you doing here so early?’ he asked.
‘Just working.’ She threw a sheet across to him. ‘Here, check this.’
He scanned the long column of pounds, shillings and pence.
‘Correct to the farthing,’ he said. ‘As always.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you know it would be. Try another.’ She waited as he checked it.
‘Correct again,’ he said.
She grasped his pen. ‘Enough of that,’ she said. ‘Did it go ahead this time? Was everything alright?’
‘What?’
‘The wedding, you fool.’
‘Oh, the wedding,’ he replied. ‘Yes, it went ahead alright. There’s many a girl in Mayo will have cause to regret that.’ He winked at her. She blushed.
‘And tell me, how do you find his new wife?’ she asked, trying to hide her confusion.
‘She’s a good woman. Gentle, very gentle, but do you know, beneath it all, I think she’s even tougher than Luke.’
*
Winnie recovered. Being back among the familiar surroundings of her father’s house helped. Mrs. Gallagher understood all too well what had happened and was able to console her daughter while Luke and Gallagher were out.
But it was a strange situation for them. Now they were married, but it was as if their marriage was delayed again. There was no privacy in the Gallagher h
ouse, nor any chance of it. Luke took to sleeping in the back room with the boys once more. In the early morning, he would dress and go to where Winnie was sleeping. He would lie down on top of the blanket beside her, kissing her on the forehead. When she woke, she put her arms around him, drawing him close, the blanket still separating them. It was at times like this that they talked; whispering, wondering about the future.
They could not stay in Brockagh, that was clear. Once the Works were over, he and Gallagher would be dismissed, and he could not expect to stay with the Gallaghers.
‘So what do we do now?’ she asked him one morning, as they lay shivering in the early cold. ‘When do we go to America? Or do we go at all?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. We can’t go at once, that’s for sure. Father wouldn’t be able for the farm and the quarry on his own.’
‘But what about Pat?’
‘Pat? Yes, he’ll be the one will take the farm. But when? He’s always wanted it but right now he has a good job with the Union, and we’ll be needing his money to buy corn.’
‘But for how long?’ she asked.
‘I don’t rightly know the answer to that, my love. There’s been no question of him being given the sack yet, and as long as he’s not, he’ll have to stay working in Knockanure. God knows, they need him there, and they’ll need him for a while yet.’
‘So what are you saying? How long should we stay?’
‘I don’t know for sure. We’ll have to talk it through with Father and Mother, and it depends on the harvest too. If it’s a good one, they’ll have less to worry about, Pat’ll have less work in the Union, and we’d have less need for his money anyhow.’
‘But if he stays at the Union?’ she asked.
‘He won’t.’
‘But supposing he did. From all I’m hearing, it sounds as if they’ll need him.’
‘We might still go to America, though we’d have to be sending some money home. With that and what Pat might earn in the Union, they’d have plenty enough to live, and Father wouldn’t have any call to be working in the quarry. And in any case, there mightn’t be too much work in the quarry if they’re ending the road building around Carrigard.’
‘But if Pat wasn’t there, ye’d lose the quarry. And if ye lost it, ye’d lose it forever.’
‘You’re right though. And what’s worse, we might lose the whole farm.’
‘Well then?’
‘They might get him to sign the lease instead of me.’
‘And if they don’t.’
‘We’d be trapped. And one more thing – we haven’t enough money to get to America either. We’ll have to think about that too.’
‘But how could we go then?’
‘England, that might be the only way. Go back and work on the railways until we’d have enough to buy the tickets out of Liverpool.’
‘And work with your cousin?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But no matter which way, I think it’s best to wait until the harvest. We’ll decide then. By then, we’ll know whether to stay or leave, and where we might have to go.’
They continued winding down the Works. The Ardnagrena road was left with a rough finish. There were protests about being transferred to the more distant Lisnadee Works, and Luke noticed the next day that not all the Ardnagrena workers had turned up at Lisnadee.
The same happened at Burrenabawn and Teenashilla. What now, he thought. If they were too weak to walk and earning no wages, how long could they live?
But the Works at Lisnadee went on. In the end, they finished it as planned, all the way to the Sligo county boundary, but as McKinnon later commented, ‘it was a damned close run thing.’
As the Works were coming to an end, Luke was working from early morning to late at night, going through the worksheets, checking figures again and again.
The situation was becoming urgent now. When Davitt arrived, it would be the last time. Not only would it be essential to have all the piecework calculations complete by Friday night, but it would also be necessary to know what was owed to workers who had not returned to the Works. There would be no further chance of payment.
Luke had already written to the Pay Office in Castlebar and given the letter to Pat to post in Knockanure. He had heard from Voisey that they had almost no money at the Union in Knockanure. It was seen as far too dangerous to keep large amounts of cash in outlying areas without the militia. And having militia all over the county cost money.
In his letter, he had guaranteed that he would be in Castlebar at dawn on the Saturday morning, so that the total amount due could be collected before Davitt left. He also requested a fresh horse to be available so as to accompany Davitt back.
On the Friday, he finished all the calculations with no time to spare.
It was near midnight, when he left. He kissed Winnie, holding her close. Then he mounted his horse and started towards Castlebar.
He rode through the night, meeting no one. The weather had cleared. It was a bright night with stars. He wondered why he had never seen them so brilliant before.
The stars faded. The country was still and silent, no one moving. He saw a body lying by the side of the road. He knocked on the door of a cabin. Silence. At the next cabin, he was met with a scream, but the door remained shut. He rode on.
As dawn broke, he passed other people on the road, but no one said anything. He helped an older woman carry two pails of water from the well, and left them at her door. She said nothing.
At Castlebar, the sun was rising behind him. Davitt met him at the door of the Pay Office.
‘We got your message. Just tell me the amount, and we should be ready to leave in a few minutes.’
‘That’s fine,’ Luke replied, ‘but aren’t I supposed to report to Morton first.’
‘I don’t think he’s here just now, I haven’t seen him for a few days. He must be out and about.’
Davitt went in to collect the money, while Luke went to the stables to saddle a fresh mount. Twenty minutes later, they were riding back to Brockagh, accompanied by six militia.
‘When are they going to open the Kitchens, Martin?’
‘Might be another week or two. It’s you fellows in Brockagh are going to have it hardest though.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘They’re only closing the Works slowly. Brockagh is one of the first – seems Morton doesn’t like you. Some of the others will run a few weeks longer. Like Castlebar.’
‘Damn it, if he doesn’t like me, that’s between him and me. Why punish everyone else?’
‘That’s Morton. Ours is not to reason why.’
Luke shook his head.
‘Heard anything about the Works around Kilduff?’ he asked.
‘Nothing about closing them yet, that’s for sure.’
*
Now they had no difficulty at the Works. The workers were paid off in total silence. Luke signed off on all the payments and took a further advance from Davitt to cover the remaining amounts due to those who had not turned up.
For the next week, he continued making payments in the outlying areas of Brockagh parish, sometimes accompanied by Father Nugent, sometimes by Gallagher or Durcan. It had been a wet winter, and the mountain tracks were deep in mire. As always, the most difficult area was the high ground around Lisnadee – through the mud clocháns of Benstreeva and Croghancoe overlooking the lake, where the boreens and tracks were almost impassable.
Tillage had been pushed high up the mountain, the lazy beds with their withered stalks stretching into areas which had been bog. Much of it was still bog with no roads. Yet potatoes had been grown here, and mud cabins had been built on land with almost no foundation.
Still, the people were dying, many were already dead. Sometimes they buried corpses, since their families were too weak to dig. There was no question of bringing
the bodies back to Knocklenagh now. In any case, he now knew for certain that the bodies of fever victims spread fever. Often they found a corpses in abandoned cabins with no family at all. No wages were paid; there was no one alive to take them. Sometimes they buried the bodies. Sometimes they didn’t.
One day, McKinnon arrived. The Works having been finished, a final report had to be made to Knockanure. He and Luke spent the next two days riding around the Works measuring out the work done. At each, McKinnon signed off Luke’s worksheets. He checked all the payments required, but they were correct, all the calculations done, so there was nothing owing either way.
McKinnon also confirmed that Luke was to stay on and administer the Soup Kitchens. Luke asked when these would be opened, and McKinnon told him he would be informed by letter in the next few days.
As McKinnon left, Luke gave him three pounds.
‘If you’re going over near Kilduff, would you drop this into Father and Mother.’
When he arrived back in Brockagh, he discussed everything with Winnie. Now there was no decision to be made about their future, at least for a few weeks or months.
All week he waited for the letter from Knockanure, but it did not arrive. Before the end of the week, all the Works payments were finished.
The Relief Works were over.
It was snowing again.
*
A week later, he had still not received any notification from Knockanure. He had been anxious, now he was becoming alarmed.
‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ he told Winnie one morning. ‘I’ll just have to go over to Knockanure and find out.’
He left Brockagh and rode down towards Ardnagrena. The snow had been well trampled into the road, and it was bitterly cold. Heaps of rock and stone lay on the side of the roads, abandoned as the Works had come to an end. As he came closer to Knockanure, he saw Relief Works still in operation. On the hills to the side, he could see many more. Davitt had been right. The Brockagh Works had been the first to close.
When he arrived in Knockanure, a group of women surrounded him in a sea of leering faces. He urged his horse on, but one grasped the bridle. He lashed at her with his reins, harder and harder, until red welts showed on her sunken cheeks. She dropped to the ground screaming, and he rode through, and on to the back-gate of the Union. He went to Voisey’s office in the administration building. Yardley was there too.
