Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry

by Hughes, Amanda

  Darcy inspected his food stores and assessed that he had enough for the winter, but she did not tell him that food was growing alarmingly low at the fort. She knew that Moses would insist on giving her meat, and he had just enough to keep himself alive.

  Darcy worried about Moses getting lonely during the wintertime. For many, many months he would have no company, and one day she suggested, "Why don't you take Shenanigan for the winter?"

  "Why? He's your dog. He should be with you."

  "When it gets cold, I couldn't bear to have him sleep outside, and Nathan won't allow him in the commanding officers' quarters."

  He reached out, and Shenanigan got up to meet his hand. "Well, I do like the old boy, and he would be company for me," Moses said, petting the dog affectionately.

  "Oh, thank you, Moses!" Darcy said feeling relieved.

  As Moses sat smoking his pipe in front of the fire, Darcy decided to ask a question which had been nagging her for some time. "Moses," she asked returning the Bible to the mantle and sitting down in a chair beside him, "What do you know of Jean Michel Lupe'?"

  He let out a puff of sweet-smelling smoke and said, "Hmm, very little, but I knew his father well. We trapped for years together up north. Everyone called him 'The Wolf"

  “Why?"

  "Well, I guess Lupe' means wolf. The Wolf married a pretty, little English girl and built her a fancy house just down south of here on the Piscataqua River. That's where she raised their two boys. He had a good-sized French trading post near Quebec so he wasn't around much."

  "Where is The Wolf now?"

  "Dead, his wife too," he said, tapping his pipe out.

  "What about Jean Michel's brother. Does he live at the family home?"

  "No, I think I heard once that he was studying in France. Jean Michel takes care of the place, but most of the time he's in the interior."

  "The interior? Is that the woods?"

  "Yep, the wild, the woods. He does land surveys."

  "So this Jean Michel, he is alone?" asked Darcy.

  "No, I didn't say that. He's been with some woman down there for years. She lives somewhere on the Piscataqua too."

  There was a long silence, as Darcy absorbed the news that Jean Michel had a woman. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach. So all of the affection he had showered on her had been self-serving--merely an attempt to lure her into a liaison.

  Darcy stood up and swung her cape over her shoulders, "Moses, I must go now. That sky looks full of snow. Just to be safe, may I leave Shenanigan now?"

  "Yes, we could be snowed in early this year," he said looking outside.

  She bent down and kissed his old leathered cheek, hugged Shenanigan tightly and set out into the cold wind. Several flakes of snow fell on her cloak, as she walked back to the fort. By the time Darcy reached the gate, she was practically blinded by white.

  It snowed all that evening and right through the following day. The flakes were large and heavily laden with moisture. The snow blanketed everything, and when Darcy looked out onto the parade ground, it was well up to the knees of the soldiers as they struggled to their posts. She had never experienced anything like it. The snow was infrequent in Ireland, even in the mountains, and it never accumulated in such huge amounts.

  She dined with Nathan that evening, something which she had not done in weeks. He was usually too busy to sit down to supper, and she was frequently out of the fort at that time. They sat alone in the candlelight of the dining room and were served supper by Nathan's cook, Molly.

  Darcy noticed that Nathan was quiet tonight, and she conducted most of the conversation while he ate his chop in silence. After giving her impressions of the snow, she asked, "How long before this melts?"

  "What?" Nathan asked, as if coming out of a dream.

  "Certainly this snow won't last. It's only mid-November," she said.

  "You don't realize do you?" he said looking at her, clearly astonished. "This is the northern part of Massachusetts Colony. We are snowed in here now until spring, my girl."

  Darcy sat staring at him in disbelief. It was too early; certainly, this snow was a fluke and would melt in a week. Then she remembered with a jolt that the supplies had not made it through yet.

  "But we can't be snowed in. The supplies are not here! There is not enough food to get us through the winter!"

  "We will get by," he said and took another bite of his chop, looking down sullenly.

  It was apparent now why Nathan had been so quiet through dinner. He was worried. If he hadn't been so smug about the arrival of the food, none of this would have happened, thought Darcy. Hot anger boiled up inside her, and she said, "If you would have just sent out a hunting party, we would have food enough for the winter. This is your fault, Nathan!"

  Immediately she wished that she could retract her words. He slammed his fist down on the table sending the dishes up into the air and down again with a crash, "I'll not have your insolent attitude!"

  Darcy stood up, throwing her napkin onto her plate and ran from the room.

  She could not breathe. She ran through the front room and out the door, gasping the cold night air. This could not be happening. She survived starvation once; she could not endure it again. It all passed before her eyes: the nagging pain, the grotesquely bloated bodies and the smell of burning flesh as a funeral pyre was lit. As horrible as these images were, Darcy feared the silence the most-- the silence which came from no energy to speak and the quiet resignation that life was no longer worth enduring.

  Darcy gasped for air, and then she felt someone pulling her skirt frantically. She looked down and saw Molly's five-year-old boy gazing up at her, terrified.

  "What's wrong? Are you sick? Should I get Mama?"

  Darcy realized where she was and shook her head. She tousled his hair and said, "I am just fine. I just needed some fresh air." She turned him around, giving him a playful spank on his bottom, sending him back to his mother.

  Feeling chilled and unsteady, she returned to the front room, shutting the door behind her and held her hands out to the fire. When she looked into the little boy’s terrified eyes, she realized that she must not scare these people with the horrors of hunger. They must not know what was ahead.

  Darcy reached up and took out her chain. That old pewter cross had pulled her through starvation once, and this time she had Father Etienne's charm to give her hope. In Ireland there had been no spring to live for, no end in sight. In the New World, there was rebirth and optimism. She would survive.

  * * *

  Initially, life changed little at Fort Lawrence. Food was rationed immediately and most people, although eating less, felt no nagging hunger.

  It was not until after Christmas when they were reduced to hard tack and salt pork a few times a week that everyone became alarmed.

  The first to sicken were the elderly. Although they were few in number; they all died within a month. Darcy knew that illness and disease always preceded starvation. It mercifully weeded out the weak but left the strong behind to battle the agony.

  The snow continued to fall, and the cold grew in intensity. North winds blew in the faces of the soldiers as they walked along the shoveled paths around the fort. They kept their faces down and their shoulders up, but nothing seemed to help them escape the bitter wind on their cheeks.

  Most days Darcy stayed inside by the front room fire, spinning or working on a quilt. There was plenty of dry wood to heat everyone's quarters, and she knew that they were all blessed that they did not have to struggle to stay warm too.

  During the day, Nathan would work in his office, but in the evening he would join her by the fire. They discussed the affairs of the day, and some nights they would sit side by side and read. They never mentioned the hunger.

  Nathan noticed how thin Darcy had become. She took less food than the others, and he wondered if once a body experienced starvation, it can exist thereafter on less. Although she never mentioned the Irish famine to him, Nathan was aware
that it had happened. The English had turned a blind eye to its existence, and some even saw it as divine retribution for being Catholic. He never thought he would experience hunger himself. He wondered what she was thinking or remembering during this time, he wondered if she hated him.

  Twelfth Night approached, and Darcy asked Nathan if she might go down and see Moses. "You are so naive. You cannot walk through this deep snow, my darling."

  "I thought that I might try using those wide Indian shoes. I just wanted to bring him a small gift for Twelfth Night."

  The fire crackled and snapped as Darcy waited for a reply from Nathan. He reached over from his chair and squeezed her hand, "My dear, do you have the strength?"

  "I may look thin, Nathan, but I am not weak."

  Nathan agreed, and with the weather cooperating, she strapped on a pair of snow-shoes and set out for Moses' cabin. She found it amazing how the shoes kept her on top of the snow, and although they were clumsy, they were efficient.

  The sun was out and the air was crisp, but not bitter. It felt glorious to be away from the fort, and it was a pleasant diversion from the hunger. As she passed through the woods, she spied a red cardinal feeding on some pine nuts in the snow. The scarlet red against the pristine snow was the first bit of beauty she had seen in months. She marveled at how the rugged frontier held beauty even in the depths of winter. As she approached Moses’ clearing, she heard a dog barking, and she shouted, "Shenanigan, come here, boy!" He burst through the trees and practically jumped into her arms. Darcy didn't realize how much she had missed her old friend, and with light hearts they walked toward the cabin.

  The door swung open and there stood Moses giving Darcy a large toothless grin. "Well, well look who's here. Come in and warm your bones. I see you are using snowshoes."

  Darcy stepped inside the cabin and practically fainted from the smell of dinner.

  The fire crackled under a big cast iron pot, and Moses swung open the oven door, pulling out a tray of biscuits.

  "Here sit down. You are just in time to eat. There's plenty here. I always make enough for a couple of days.

  Darcy removed her cloak and sat down by the fire. He poured her some cider and filled her plate then he filled his own. After giving thanks, Darcy put a spoonful of stew into her mouth. She must not look too anxious, Moses may grow suspicious. As she emptied her bowl and drank her cider, she felt the life-giving nourishment course through her body. Moses looked at her out of the corner of his eye and pushed the platter toward her. "Here, take some more. There's plenty."

  Powerless to refuse, Darcy ate until she was satisfied, and sank back into her chair exhausted. The long walk through the snow and good food relaxed her completely.

  "Why are you so thin, Darcy?" asked Moses, suspiciously.

  "I've been sick for some time, but I am on the mend," she lied. Darcy knew that he would question her appearance, so she had answers prepared ahead of time.

  Having another cider by the fire, they visited contentedly all afternoon, and when the shadows started to fall, Darcy said, "I've brought you a small gift in honor of Nollaig na mBan."

  "Oh!” he laughed. “I haven't heard Twelfth Night called that since me pappy died."

  She handed him a sampler she had been working on for the past two months. On the cloth was an Irish Blessing and sprinkled everywhere were tiny embroidered shamrocks. She had stretched it over a crude frame. "I know that you can't read it, Moses, but the spirit of the blessing will be upon your home."

  "Tell me what it says, Darcy," he asked.

  She picked up the sampler and read,

  "Wishing you always-

  Walls for the wind,

  And a roof for the rain,

  And tea beside the fire.

  Laughter to cheer you,

  And those you love near you,

  And all that your heart might desire!"

  Moses turned his head brushing a tear from his eye. He had missed Darcy this winter, and her kindness touched him. Admiring her workmanship, he thanked her and rested the sampler against the chimney in the center of the mantle. Then he reached into a box full of whittling tools and produced a small whistle for Darcy.

  "You made that for me? There are many folk in Ireland that play the whistle well, and now I can learn too." She put it to her lips and blew a shrill note.

  Moses jumped and Shenanigan slid under the bed. He laughed, "Please, don't learn here!"

  Giggling, Darcy hugged Moses and pulled her cloak closely around herself. She said goodbye and stepped outside. It was dark, but a full moon lit her way home.

  The winter moonlight cast long shadows across her path. When the wind picked up, it sent the trees into an eerie dance. Tales of the Banshee crept into her mind, and Darcy quickened her pace. The Irish told of a wailing woman who warned of death, and if it were true, the Banshee was indeed walking among those at Fort Lawrence tonight. When she arrived at the gate, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The month of February brought disease in earnest. Dysentery raged, and Darcy spent most of her time in the surgery, nursing the sick. On two occasions she was called in to act as midwife, and in both cases the babies were stillborn. Although the children at the fort were not yet starving, they were extremely thin, and their heads looked too big for their frail, little bodies.

  Nathan developed a nagging cough, and many nights Darcy was kept awake listening to it wrack his body. She had been too busy and ill herself to be concerned about him, but one morning, when she was headed out to the surgery, she noticed that the door to his room was still shut from the night before.

  She knocked, and when there was no response, she peeked inside. What she saw frightened her. Nathan was lying on his back with his eyes closed, not moving. Fearing that he was dead, she moved closer and listened for breathing. It was shallow, but he was breathing. Darcy touched his forehead and found it burning with fever.

  Quickly she ran to find the surgeon. When they returned, he examined Nathan and told Darcy that it was a severe congestion of the lungs.

  "Will he be all right?"

  The surgeon sighed and said, "It is unlikely, my girl. Given his age and the poor nourishment, he may live only one or two days."

  Darcy was stunned. This had all happened so quickly, and she couldn't believe that this was the end for Nathan. Tirelessly she worked to keep him alive. Although she had never loved Nathan, she was fond of him, and she never forgot certain freedoms he allowed her during her servitude.

  She abandoned her work in the surgery and moved a bed into his room. Darcy fed him broth and sponged him with cool towels endlessly. His sleep was fitful, and he tossed restlessly in bed, coughing and straining for air. He lingered into the month of March, and one night Darcy heard him call her name. She sat up quickly, lighting a candle.

  His eyes were open, and giving her a weak smile, he whispered, "My little colleen."

  It took several more weeks, but Darcy pulled Nathan through the most dangerous time of his illness. When she finally had time to leave his quarters, she realized that the air had warmed, and the snow was melting. Spring had come to Fort Lawrence.

  Chapter 25

  The steady drip, drip of maple sap into buckets was music to Darcy's ears. As she struggled through the mud, she realized that this would probably be the last time she would need to empty the containers. The sap had slowed now to almost a stop, and it had gradually become thin and tasteless, signaling the end of the sap flow.

  She learned that the settlers would boil the sap down until it was reduced to thick syrup and use it as a delectable substitute for refined sugar. There was technique involved here. Many gallons could be lost if it was taken off the fire too soon, producing a thin syrup, or even worse, let the substance over-boil and caramelize. This whole process would be accompanied by a celebration called a sugaring off. There would be dancing, food and plenty of libations served throughout the day.

  Much to everyone's relief and joy, the rations arrived and the resident
s of the fort were thriving again. It seemed the unit carrying the food had made it as far as Fort Pepperell on the Piscataqua River and been stopped by the November snowstorm. They wintered over at the fort, and the instant the roads became passable, resumed their journey.

  Nathan had made a full recovery and returned to his post as commanding officer. He immediately prepared the fort for another attack. The French and Abenaki would return from their winter camps and possibly resume their attack soon. There had been great loss of life at the fort, and morale was extremely low, so Nathan allowed the Sugaring Off to be held for one day inside the walls.