The Killing Snows

by Charles Egan

  ‘I thought you said it was going to be easy, Mr. Gaffney.’

  ‘Easy in not having to face the people on the Works, that was all I said. But by God, it’s going to be hard work, and I know I can depend on you for that.’

  Luke thought back to closing the Works at Ardnagrena. Men and women, frightened and angry. The old man calming his people. ‘Your anger is not for them. These men will fight for food.’

  But would they see it like that in Carrigard? Or Kilduff? Would they believe that he was fighting for them, or that he was just another Government man?

  Gaffney was leaning across the table.

  ‘Well, Luke, what’s it to be – yes or no?’

  ‘Yes, damn it, yes.’

  Michael saw Gaffney to the door. He came back to the table and stood staring at Luke. ‘By God, aren’t you the hard man, talking to Gaffney like that.’

  ‘Talking to him,’ Eleanor exclaimed. ‘Sure, he hardly said a word.’

  ‘Isn’t that what I’m saying? I never thought I’d see Gaffney like that. Begging, he was. If he’d gone down on his knees, I wouldn’t have been surprised. You’re one tough fellow.’

  ‘Tough, bedamned,’ Luke said. ‘He got his way in the end, didn’t he. I was the one who gave in.’

  ‘And why wouldn’t you?’ Eleanor said. ‘Isn’t he right. We’ll still need the money. And the poor fellow needs your help, everyone does.’

  He thought back to Ardnagrena and Lisnadee. The pit beside the Workhouse. He said nothing. Winnie came over from the fire, and took his hand.

  ‘Remember what we agreed. Courage.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He gathered the papers, and put them into the satchel.

  Next morning, he spread the papers across the kitchen table. There were many requisitions and worksheets, none of them totalled.

  ‘Is there much work in it?’ Winnie asked him.

  ‘I reckon a few hours anyway.’

  When he had finished adding and cross-checking, he walked up to Kilduff.

  ‘I’ve gone as far as I can, Mr. Gaffney.’

  ‘George,’ Gaffney said

  ‘What?’

  ‘George is my name. There’s no need to be officious, we’re in this together now.’

  ‘Fine,’ Luke said, and placed the worksheets on the table. ‘I think you’ll find these are right, but you can check them if you like.’

  ‘If you’ve done them, there’s no need to check them. What about the rest?’

  ‘These I’m concerned about,’ Luke said, putting the requisition forms down. ‘You’re looking for an awful lot of corn. It’s much more than we got in Brockagh.’

  ‘Two reasons for that. One, we’re going to need it around here. Don’t forget, we have to feed the Mountain too. And two, no matter what we ask for, they’re going to cut us back. If we ask for twice what we want, we might at least get the half of it. I doubt that will last us more than a few weeks, but we should be able to get something from the Quakers too.’

  ‘Which Quakers?’

  ‘That Yardley fellow over in Brockagh. I sent a message across. They might bring in some more through Ballina, but we don’t know yet. Haven’t had a reply from him yet.’

  ‘Yardley is dead.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Got the fever up in Brockagh. Dead in two days.’

  Gaffney looked at him. ‘Damn it, he was our only Quaker contact. We don’t know anyone else.’

  ‘So it’s back to Castlebar, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. Perhaps it’s best if I can finish out these requisitions, I’ll show you how. Then you can go over to Castlebar tomorrow and see how much they’ll give you. The only problem is I don’t have a horse to spare. I’ll need my own.’

  ‘I’ll walk.’

  An hour later, he was leaving the office.

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Gaffney asked him.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Your wages.’

  ‘To be honest, I never even thought of them.’

  ‘Two shillings thruppence a day. That’s all Castlebar will allow.

  ‘It’ll be enough.’

  ‘I hope so. Though with the hours you’re going to be working, you’ll be earning it.’

  He set out well before dawn, walking towards Castlebar. The sun rose. Mayo was devastated. Few potato fields had been planted, most had only weeds growing. Sometimes he passed hungry people, but they ignored him. He saw a man’s body slumped at the side of the road. Moving closer, he knelt beside it. He picked up the familiar smells of gangrene and decomposition. He stood and walked on.

  What kind of country was this? Could he stay here, raise a family in such a place? If it was only for Winnie and himself, he would say ‘no, forget Mayo, let’s go to America,’ but what of his father and mother? And what about the farm?

  It was still morning when he arrived. Castlebar was no different to the countryside, except the hungry were gathered in clusters. The town was silent, and it had started to rain. The Soup Kitchen was already open, six giant pots, lines of hundreds extending from each. They stretched across the street and down the Green, blocking his way. He forced his way through each line. People shuffled back, but no one said anything.

  When he came to the administration block, he thought of calling in to see if either McKinnon or Davitt were there, but he decided against it. He asked his way to the requisitions office. There were already five men waiting outside. One was from the north west of the county. ‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ he said to Luke. ‘There’s been no rates paid, I doubt they’ll give much corn.’

  The man went in. A few minutes later, he pushed his way out past Luke, but said nothing. Luke entered. He handed the requisitions to the clerk. As Gaffney had expected, they were cut back, but not as much as Luke had feared.

  ‘When can we expect it?’ he asked the clerk.

  ‘As soon as ye get it. That’s up to you.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Look,’ the clerk said, ‘it’s in Westport, and we’ve no way of getting it to you.’

  He stamped the requisitions, and handed them back to him.

  ‘McMahon’s, they’re the corn factors, it’s all paid for. Second warehouse on the quays in Westport. All you have to do is bring your wagons and collect it.’

  ‘Wagons. We don’t have wagons.’

  ‘Neither do we.’

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Tyrawly Herald, May 1847:

  Even sudden deaths are now of almost momentary frequency so worn and exhausted are the physical energies of the people. On Tuesday last a wretched man dropped dead at Crosspatrick, near Killala, from mere destitution. This is a fearful state of things, and what renders it doubly so is its pervading generality.

  He walked back towards Kilduff. As he passed the cottage, he saw the body again. A dog was sniffing at it. He took a stick and drove the animal away, but when he looked back from the next corner, he could see the dog returning. He went on, but the distance was beginning to tell on him. He found a shed and slept, slumped sideways across the turf. It was dark when he woke, and he walked on through the night to Carrigard.

  Next morning, he went to Gaffney’s office.

  ‘How did it go?’ Gaffney asked him.

  ‘Good and bad. They only cut us back a quarter, but we have to collect it ourselves.’

  ‘Collect it!’

  ‘They’ve no wagons,’ Luke said.

  ‘No wagons! Do they think we have wagons?’

  ‘What they think doesn’t matter, they’re leaving it to us.’

  ‘But we don’t have any.’

  ‘I know. And damned few horses either. We’re going to have to use carts. Donkey-and-carts.’

  Gaffney stared at him unbelieving. ‘Donkey-and-carts! How many
do you think we’ll need of those?’

  ‘I don’t know. If we can’t get enough, we’ll just have to do the trip twice.’

  ‘Twice? To Castlebar?’

  ‘Westport, George.’

  ‘Westport! That’s twice the distance. Why in hell Westport?’

  ‘They’ve no supplies in Castlebar. It’s still in the warehouses in Westport.’

  ‘And how the devil are we going to get it all here on time?’ He threw a letter onto the table. ‘This came in from Castlebar this morning. They want the Works closed on Saturday.’

  Luke read through the letter. ‘They seem pretty definite about it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it yet. I’m intending to ride over to Castlebar, kick up hell about it. I might be able to get an extension, but not for long. But we’re going to have to get that corn, one way or the other.’

  ‘So what now?’

  Gaffney stood up and walked to the window. After a few moments, he turned back towards Luke. ‘There are three things we have to do, and every one of them is damned near impossible. First, we get an extension to the Works. Second, we find as many donkeys as we can, if they haven’t all been eaten. And third, we pay the men to drive the carts to Westport.’

  ‘Pay them!’ Luke exclaimed.

  ‘Pay them, and keep our mouths shut. Pretend it’s all part of the Works. Morton’s dead, the bastard, no one is going to be checking whether we’re paying them to swing a pick or drive a donkey. Except McKinnon, and he’ll keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘He will.’

  ‘Now here’s our plan. I’m going over to Castlebar in the morning to get an extension on the Works. I’ll have a word with McKinnon when I get back. And you,’ – he pointed at Luke – ‘you find those bloody donkeys.’

  Luke spent the next day walking the farms around Kilduff. Even though he knew some of the farms that had donkeys before the blight, it was a hard search now. He did not want to say what he was looking for. In some farms, he saw donkeys tethered or out in the fields. Many were emaciated. He ignored those. As he had expected, many farms had no donkeys at all. He walked to the Mountain and found almost none.

  What he found was starving people – and worse. In one cabin, there were three children sitting on the floor across from the dead body of a woman lying on a bed of heather and straw. In another, he found the corpse of a man, clearly dead for some time, the face and finger-tips gnawed away. He noted down the locations of both cabins to tell the priest later.

  Where he found any donkeys that were strong enough, he noted their owners on a scrap of paper. That evening he returned to Gaffney’s office. McKinnon was there.

  ‘Well, Luke?’ Gaffney asked.

  ‘I reckon we might get them. Twenty anyhow, maybe more.’

  ‘We might be able to work it so. We’ve got an extension on the Works, though it’s only a week. And Ian is willing to turn a blind eye.’

  ‘What about the piecework?’ Luke asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ McKinnon said. ‘They’ve no spare surveyors in Castlebar. If I say the work’s been done, it’s been done, and that’s all about it.’

  ‘And what happens if Castlebar finds out?’

  ‘Then I’ll go over and raise hell with them again,’ Gaffney answered. ‘They’re asking us to do the impossible, so what do they expect? Now stop worrying.’

  He took Luke’s list and glanced through it. ‘How many of these people are on the Works?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m reckoning the most of them.’

  He took out the worksheets. ‘Let’s work through them. See how many are on the list here, and we’ll have a word with them all tomorrow.’

  Two days later, the convoy left Kilduff. Sixteen carts, some with horses, most with donkeys. Michael led the way, driving their cart along, out the road towards Castlebar.

  An hour from Kilduff they fell in with a group of young men and women walking. Each had a pack slung over their shoulders, and they were clearly tired. One asked if they could sit on the carts. Michael was doubtful, but they were all taken on board, two or three on each cart. The couple sitting with Michael were carrying a baby. Luke followed behind, walking.

  ‘Where are you all heading?’ he asked.

  ‘Westport,’ the man replied ‘and after that, America, God willing. There’s no future for us here. We’re reckoning we might as well go while we’re still strong. Another blight, and we’ll have neither strength nor money.’

  They were passing a small mud cabin. A woman stood outside, holding a baby, two more in the doorway behind her.

  ‘Food…’ the woman asked, holding her hand out. Luke knew his father was carrying hard boiled corn in the cart, but he said nothing, and walked on.

  ‘Where would ye go in America,’ Luke asked the couple.

  ‘We don’t rightly know. There’s talk of work on the railways, they’re building any god’s amount of them.’

  When they reached Castlebar, the Kitchens were already open. Once again it was necessary to cross through the lines, but this time it was more difficult than it had been for Luke walking on his own. Michael was leading the first cart. He came up to the edge of the first line, and stopped. The line kept shuffling forward, but no one looked towards Michael. It was as if he did not exist.

  ‘Can you make way there?’ he asked.

  Still they dragged themselves forward, each following close behind the one in front.

  ‘Come on, come on, move back there. We’ve got to get through.’

  Luke could see his father was getting angry. Michael tried to force his way through the crowd, but his horse shied back.

  Luke walked back along the line of carts.

  ‘We’re going to need your help here,’ he said to the three young men in one of the carts. ‘We’re not going to get to Westport otherwise.’

  When a dozen of the younger men had joined him, they made their way to the top again. Pushing through, they forced a way through the first of the lines. Michael led the horse forward, the other carts following in close order. The crowd was no longer silent. There was much swearing and pushing as the convoy forced its way through each of the lines, and broke clear.

  ‘Damned bastards,’ a man shouted after them. ‘You just wait till you’re coming back.’

  Outside the town, they saw an over-turned wagon by the road. There were empty sacks strewn across the road. Many had burst, and a few women were picking the last grains from the mud.

  A few miles further, they met a convoy coming towards them – three corn carts, accompanied by militia. They each stopped.

  ‘Where are you headed?’ Luke asked one driver.

  ‘Castlebar. And I can tell you we’re going to need the soldiers. There’d be riots in the town otherwise.’

  ‘I’d say you’re right,’ he said, and they drove on.

  When they reached Westport, the convoy halted outside the docks, and Michael stayed with the carts. Luke walked down the quays towards the warehouses. He could see four ships unloading. Outside he could see the sails of more ships riding at anchor, waiting to unload. At the end of the docks though, he could see that one was being loaded, live cattle being driven in at one end, barrels rolled in at the other. Closer in there were three more ships tied up. The docks beside them were crowded with hundreds of people.

  The woman handed Luke a baby out of a cart. Her man jumped down, and helped her out.

  ‘Good luck in America,’ Luke said as he handed the baby back.

  He went into the warehouse, where he was directed upstairs to a young clerk in a rough office overlooking the corn. He presented the stamped requisition forms.

  ‘Ah yes, Mr. Ryan. We’ve been expecting you. We should have this consignment loaded up for you in an hour or so, all ready to roll.’

  ‘I believe I have to see it weighed,’ Luke sai
d.

  ‘That’s right. In case you’re concerned, the Weights & Measures fellow was around just two days ago.’

  ‘I’m happy to hear that.’

  ‘Not that we’d dare to do anything. They’d hang us out of the rafters here, if they even thought we were trying short-measure.’

  Luke looked down through the warehouse. Beneath him were mountains of loose corn. In the centre, sacks of corn were built high in stacks, men on the ground unloading them from the carts onto pallets to be hoisted to the men on top, still building them higher. Idly he counted down one of the stacks and along each side, multiplying it all out. He shook his head at his own answer. He looked back to the clerk.

  ‘Just one thing I’m puzzled about. I saw a ship down the end. It seems to be loading up.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s right,’ the clerk said. ‘Cattle and butter going over to England. Does it surprise you?’

  ‘Just a little. I didn’t think we’d be sending food out at a time like this.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is surprising. And there’ll be more to come after harvest. We send a lot of grain from here to Dublin. Including barley for Guinness – most important.’

  ‘But isn’t it a bit odd? Bringing corn all the way in from America, while we’re sending food out?’

  The clerk pressed his fingers together, looking out the barred window. ‘Yes, in ways you’re right. But you see, Indian corn is cheap food. Butter and beef, they’re far too expensive. It’s better to supply ten pounds of corn than one pound of beef, don’t you think?’

  ‘But why not just keep it all here in Mayo – corn and beef?’

  ‘How would you pay for the Soup Kitchens then?’

  ‘I thought the Government was paying for them?’

  ‘Not quite,’ the clerk said. ‘It’s not like with the Relief Works. It’s the ratepayers that are paying for the Soup Kitchens. Alright, the Government is lending them most of the money, but in the end, it’s out of their pockets. If there’s no money from beef, there’s no money to pay the rates, and no money for corn.’

  ‘I’m damned sure there’s many of them that could well afford to pay the rates. Lucan and Clanowen, for example.’