The Killing Snows

by Charles Egan

  Danny had the Works running well. He had a Works office built at the site. He shared it only with Irene Miller, except when he was out on the Works. His landlady had been right – Irene was a fast and accurate worker. Good looking too! But what Danny liked most about her was that she did not always bend to his will. She could spot better and faster ways of working, and was prepared to fight her corner, even when Danny disagreed. After a while he came to understand that her suggestions were well thought out, and that there was little point in arguing with her. More and more, he left the administration to her.

  This resulted in something else he had not expected. She understood the methods he was using, and wanted to apply them even more rigorously than he would himself. One morning they argued about it all.

  ‘You’re paying these people too much,’ she said.

  ‘What!’

  ‘You’re paying them too much. No need for that when they start.’

  ‘What else can we do? They have to eat.’

  ‘They do. And isn’t that all they get in Mayo? They don’t pay them in the Soup Kitchens.’

  ‘Soup Kitchens!’ He wondered where she had heard about that.

  ‘Yes, Soup Kitchens. Isn’t that all we have to do here? Pay them less, but feed them better. It would cost far less. Harden them up faster, without any being wasted on drink.’

  ‘But they’d leave,’ Danny said.

  ‘And go where? They’re too hungry, they need the food. And no one else would take them. They’re too slow, they can’t make themselves understood in English. Who would have them?’

  He thought about that.

  ‘Go on. What would you do then?’

  ‘Raise their wages slowly. They’d stay long enough.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then it doesn’t matter. There’s thousands of them coming in to Liverpool every day. Just keep getting more as we need them.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘You. We. Does it matter?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘So stop interrupting, I’m trying to help you. Have you thought out these accounts yet?’

  ‘I have,’ Danny said, ‘but let’s hear your side of the story.’

  ‘Look – I reckon you’re making sixpence a day out of each of them. That’s gross after all the labour and materials. Three shillings a week is not enough. If you cut their wages and started a Soup Kitchen, you should be able to get five shillings a week, six even. Thirty workers – seven, eight, nine pounds a week. You should be able to keep five pounds, maybe six per week after feeding them. Say twenty or twenty five a month.’

  Danny whistled. ‘Not bad.’

  ‘No, not bad. At least for those who might be satisfied with it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Danny, startled.

  ‘Look, you’re employing thirty men. Why?’

  ‘To finish the contract, why else?’

  ‘If you employed sixty, you’d be clearing a forty or fifty pounds a month, and finish the contract in half the time.’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘Go back to Anderson, go for a bigger contract. Double the size, ten times the size. Why not? You’ve already shown you can do it cheaper than anyone else. And faster. If you show him you can do it faster again, he’s yours for as long as they’re building the line.’

  ‘God, you are ambitious,’ Danny said.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Brassey did it, why can’t we?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Ryan. We.’

  For the first time in his life Danny found that there was someone prepared to be tougher than him – and a woman too. Not that it was that straightforward.

  Murtybeg spent most of the time out on the Works. While the men were silent enough, he became aware of their unhappiness at the rates they were being paid. Stories of higher wages filtered through from the other gangs. In the evenings, when he came back to the office, arguments developed between the three of them.

  ‘You can’t go on like this, Danny,’ he said one night. ‘It’s cruel.’

  ‘Cruel to who?’ Irene responded, not even waiting for Danny to reply. ‘Isn’t it better than what they’re used to. They’ve got work and food and a roof over their heads. You tell me what they’ve got in Mayo.’

  ‘Not much,’ Murtybeg said, shaking his head. Danny said nothing.

  ‘What game is she playing at,’ Murtybeg asked as they walked back to their lodgings that night.

  ‘Damned if I know.’

  ‘She seems more concerned about you than anyone. I wonder why?’

  Yes, Danny thought. I wonder why? She might have her own reasons, that’s what Murteen is getting at. Maybe he’s right, and maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea. He decided to change the subject.

  ‘I want you to go to Liverpool, Murteen.’

  ‘Liverpool? Why?’

  ‘We’re going to need more workers, a lot more.’

  Danny opened his Soup Kitchen. On Irene’s advice, he had her aunt tender for the contract, though he checked the prices with other caterers. With few potatoes available even in Britain, he had corn and rice bought in, together with barley, turnips, carrots and cabbage. To build up the strength of starving men, it was essential to have meat as well, though he saw no point in over-paying for that. Instead they used the cheaper cuts of meat and offal – liver, kidneys, heart and tongue. Oxtails and sheep’s heads were thrown in for flavour.

  Danny found the stew revolting and never touched it. But he knew it was nutritious, and reckoned it was better than anything they could get in west Mayo. They could complain if they liked, but they would know the consequences.

  As he slashed their wages, they started to drift away. Some joined other gangs, and some took to the roads. He was no longer concerned about this. He had found another means of keeping men in place. When they first arrived on the Works, he offered to send money back to the families. The first payment was made on arrival on the Works, but afterwards it was done a month in arrears. This meant that the men were even more reliant on the Kitchens for survival since they had no money themselves – it had already gone to Mayo. Also, as soon as anyone left, Danny had the payment cut off, and kept it himself. He knew the men could not afford this. He knew too that as the famine tightened its grip through the summer of 1847 their families in Erris and Achill could not afford the loss of their only income.

  Every week too, he sent Murtybeg to Liverpool, and within a few weeks he had fifty men working on the line. On Murtybeg’s insistence, they never employed anyone from east Mayo. He had no wish that family or friends around Kilduff and Carrigard should hear of the means that they were using to run the business. Not that Danny was concerned though.

  This all resulted in a heavy increase in administration and supervision. As he himself was becoming more involved in financial and contractual negotiations, it was necessary to bring Murtybeg back into the office when he was not in Liverpool. He needed foremen on the line, and he needed them fast. One evening he wrote a letter to Leeds. A week later, he had Bernie Lavan, Jamesy McManus and John Roughneen working on the line as foremen, all at wages far higher than they had ever expected. He no longer even thought of asking Luke.

  As time went on, Murtybeg was becoming more morose. Liverpool depressed him. Every time he walked down the docks, he could see the results of starvation and the signs of fever in desperate people coming off the Irish boats. He told Danny about it all, but Danny was not worried. He could only see opportunity.

  One day, on the Liverpool Docks, Murtybeg saw something that surprised him. There was a group of people, a hundred or so, dressed in the uniform of the Liverpool Workhouse. He wondered what they were doing there, and his bafflement increased when he heard them speaking in Irish, but the idiom and accent were unfamiliar to him. When he spoke to them, he discovered they were from West Cork �
� the area around Skibbereen. But what he heard next astonished him. The Liverpool Union was chartering ships to send their inmates back to Ireland. They saw no reason that thousands of Irish beggars should be a charge on Liverpool ratepayers, and this group was being sent home to West Cork, where most of the Workhouses were already bankrupt.

  He found a bar along the docks, and went in, ordering sausage and a pint of ale. The bar was crowded with dockers and sailors, but he sat at the back, trying to concentrate. If the Union was sending people back to Ireland, they would be really desperate. Also, as in any Workhouse, such people would be used to working for nothing at all beyond board and lodgings. Faced with the alternative of starvation in Ireland they would be delighted with the prospect of working for food and a little cash. He gulped down the rest of his pint, walked up to the Union building, and asked for the administration block.

  When he returned to Gatley, he had fifteen men with him. They were still dressed in the uniform of the Workhouse. Danny looked at him in surprise.

  ‘What’s this, Murteen? Are they on contract from the Union?’

  ‘They’re on contract from no one,’ Murtybeg said. ‘They’re ours to keep. But I told them the first thing we’d do is to get them new rig-outs, they don’t want to be seen like this all the time.’

  That evening, after they had squeezed the men into the existing shacks, sleeping on the floor for the night, Murtybeg explained it all to Danny. He told him of the Union repatriating Irish inmates. He told him of the fear in people’s eyes along the docks, knowing that they were being sent home to hunger and fever. But best of all, the men he had brought – young single men from the West of Ireland – were no longer starving or weak. A few weeks in the Workhouse had fed them well, and strengthened them with hard work.

  ‘And even if they only stay a few weeks,’ he went on, ‘we’ll get the work out of them, and there are hundreds – thousands – more waiting where they came from.’

  Danny clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘By God, Murteen, I never knew you had it in you.’

  Neither did Murtybeg. He was finding ways now of salving his conscience, convincing himself that he was giving the men a better alternative than being sent back to die in Cork or Kerry or Mayo or Donegal; giving them an alternative which would give them a little money to feed their families in Ireland or Liverpool. The difference between life and death.

  But Danny did not need to salve his conscience. Murtybeg had provided the final piece of the jigsaw. He would have as many men as he wanted, paying them as little as he wanted. The future was open.

  He rode into Stockport. His first call was the Manchester & Salford Bank, where he asked for the Manager.

  ‘We are hoping to negotiate on new contracts very shortly,’ he explained. ‘We’re going to need a loan from you, and we may need it fast.’

  ‘A loan!’ the Manager exclaimed. ‘We don’t lend to labour contractors. It’s a matter of policy. Head Office won’t allow it.’

  ‘Then I will need your support in arranging the loan, and I am sure you will give me support once you understand the figures.’

  He laid out some sheets of accounts on the desk.

  ‘These are our accounts to date since we started the business.’

  For the next hour, the man examined the figures, as Danny explained them. Finally they sat down again. ‘These are impressive figures, Mr. Ryan.’

  ‘I know,’ Danny said. ‘Can I count on your support though?’

  ‘I don’t know. First I must have details of your lending requirements.’

  ‘As you will understand, that depends on the contracts I can negotiate. Once that’s complete, I will be able to come back to you with the projections, and we can take it from there.’

  ‘Very well. But I warn you – it’s against policy.’

  His second call was on Rob Anderson. He rose from behind his desk as Danny came in.

  ‘Well, well. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘I didn’t like burdening you,’ Danny said, ‘until I knew where we were with the Gatley contract.’

  ‘Well ahead of schedule, from what my surveyors tell me.’

  ‘We’re reckoning we’re two weeks ahead, and we might even be able to improve on that.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘We have our methods,’ Danny said. ‘But that’s not what I came here to talk about. I understand you’ve a new contract beyond Timperley.’

  ‘We have. I was intending to talk to you about that. Fifty thousand cubic yards, though you probably know that already. Perhaps you can give me a quotation, but the first question is – can you handle it?’

  ‘In principle, yes,’ Danny replied.

  ‘In principle?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you, Edwardes & Ryan will need financial assistance for a contract of that size. I’m talking to the Manchester & Salford Bank already, and I’m going to need your support for that.’

  ‘What sort of support?’

  ‘Just this. Once we have the contractual terms agreed, and before we sign off on it, I’ll have to organise the loan through the Head Office in Manchester. I’m sure if they understand Anderson & Son are our customers, there should be no problem there, but it might be better if I had you with me at the negotiations.’

  ‘By God, you are ambitious.’

  When Danny arrived back at the office that evening, Irene was hunched over the accounts by the light of a candle.

  ‘Where’s Murteen?’ Danny asked.

  ‘He’s just gone to Liverpool again. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes.’

  ‘So where have you been?’

  ‘Just in with Anderson.

  ‘You didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘We’re negotiating a new contract up beyond Timperley. If we get it, it’ll be for fifty thousand cubic yards. We’ll need a lot more men. We’ll need to get up to a hundred at least.’

  ‘A hundred!’

  ‘Maybe more. But there’s two other things I have to arrange before I go ahead. We’re going to need a loan from the Manchester & Salford Bank, though I have that under way.’

  ‘And what’s the second thing?’

  ‘I’m going to need a wife.’

  She turned from the accounts and looked him in the eyes.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she said. ‘And how long it’s taken you to work that out.’

  She moved closer to him, and began to unbutton his shirt.

  Murtybeg arrived back from Liverpool with more workers. That evening he went through the projections with Danny and Irene, checking the work to be done against the number of workers they had and the cost of it all. When they had finished, Irene left them.

  ‘I thought you should know,’ Murtybeg said, ‘Jimmy Corrigan is still in Liverpool.’

  ‘Well, that’s no surprise,’ Danny said. ‘Did you think he’d gone to America or what?’

  ‘No, but I think we’ll find him this time. He’s working on the docks.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Mrs. Buckley.’

  Danny whistled. ‘This could be very interesting.’

  ‘Couldn’t it just.’

  On the Sunday, they were both on a train to Liverpool. Danny had decided Sunday was best since a docker would be less likely to be working. If Jimmy was staying in Buckley’s, they would find him easy enough.

  Again, Murtybeg went into Buckley’s on his own. A few minutes later, he came out again.

  ‘We have him. He’s down at the Albert Dock. They’re offloading the Rachel. They say it’s an American ship, just in last night.’

  ‘Working on a Sunday, eh?’

  ‘Offering double time, it seems.’

  ‘And who told you? Mrs. Buckley?’

  ‘Not this time. I asked an ol
d fellow who was still at his breakfast. Thought it was safer.’

  ‘Did he recognise you?’

  ‘Hardly. He was English.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  They walked towards the docks.

  ‘We’re just about there,’ Danny said after a few minutes. ‘That’s the Albert Dock.’

  ‘And there’s the ship,’ Murtybeg said.

  ‘Yes. I see it.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Let’s just sit here a while and watch. Be patient.’

  A hundred yards away bales of cotton were being unloaded from the ship.

  ‘How many fellows are there?’ Murtybeg asked.

  ‘I’m not certain. Twenty, twenty-five maybe.’

  ‘We can’t risk that.’

  ‘No,’ Danny said. ‘We’ve got to get him on his own.’

  ‘So how do we do that?’

  ‘Wait till he needs a piss.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I’ve been watching. Every so often, one of them goes around the back of that wall. Now why do you think they’d do that?’

  Murtybeg whistled. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Come on.’

  They walked rapidly through the gang of dockers, not looking to left or right. They continued around to the back of the wall.

  ‘He didn’t see us,’ Murtybeg said.

  ‘No. But we saw him. Now this is what we’re going to do.’

  For an hour they waited, watching other men relieving themselves against the wall. Murtybeg was beginning to doubt that Corrigan would come at all. Then they saw him.

  He walked around to the back of the wall, faced it, and started undoing his buttons.

  Danny walked up beside him.

  ‘Well, Jimmy…’

  Corrigan turned around to face him. A look of horror spread across his face. He was in the most vulnerable position that a man could be. Murtybeg stepped forward on the other side, seized one of Corrigan’s arms, and twisted it high behind his back. Danny stepped forward, and hit Corrigan hard, below and into the ribs. Corrigan doubled forward, retching.