She was in tears and laughing delightedly. He put her down lightly and turned to Aunt Jane and kissed her fondly on both cheeks then stepped back and looked at them both. They were a picture of happiness and health. He was proud that they were successfully weathering these dark times with determination.
His father looked on, smiling and nodding his approval of their joy at seeing Michael again.
Michael had not been home for nearly a year. He had meant to visit them but had grown fond of life in Kilrush with his friends and did not wish to be committed to farm life. He felt guilty whenever he thought about his attitude to the farm.
Aunt Jane filled a can with water and suspended it from a hook on a bar over the fire in the hearth. She placed the turnips and corn in the boiling water together with a small cut of meat. She took down her willow pattern plates made by Minton. Some had small chips around their rims but they were still precious to her. They had been a present from her husband in better days.
Michael preferred them to the metal dishes at his father’s home. They showed a female touch to the home, something that was missing in his father’s house.
It was a basic but pleasant dinner and all enjoyed the comfort of companionship with each other in her cottage. The cottage had three rooms and her woman’s presence was evident everywhere. It had Burren geraniums in a rockery outside her front door and small curtains on the windows.
Aunt Jane had some of Michael’s handmade furniture and wall cupboards. She had polished the wood with tallow until they had a deep brown colour with a flat polished look. This look, together with curtains on the windows, made for a very pleasant and homely interior.
At sundown Michael and his father bid goodnight and walked back to their home, enjoying the silence and solitude of their little piece of Ireland; thanking God for what little freedom they had, which others could never attain.
Michael’s father’s home was similar to Aunt Jane’s, only smaller. It consisted of two separate rooms with a loft on a side wall. The walls and floor were made of a collection of stone, limestone slabs, sandstone and black shale pieces, sealed with a mixture of mud and ground sandstone. It had a roof of bog oak timbers, bracken and reeds supported by wooden support bearers. Regardless of how well the reeds were packed the roof leaked during heavy weather. There were two multi-paned windows on the eastern side of the house looking towards the road and a two-panelled stable type door situated between the windows.
Inside, stone seats were placed around the fireplace. The loft had an assortment of wooden home-made beds with sheepskins sewn together to serve as a base. Scattered around the main room were two small tables, several stools, some cupboards on the walls and a food box. A long, well-made box was kept hidden under his father’s bed and his deceased mother’s spinning wheel stood silent in the corner. Metal cups and plates with other cooking utensils hung from wall hooks over the hearth. A hip bath tub was pushed almost out of sight under a table.
Inside the door were a row of hooks holding a variety of farm utensils — sections of rope, a bridle, several hare snares, a whip, wooden buckets, an oilskin coat and hood, shears and a bag of general tools. Outside the cottage and on the south wall, was a wooden lean-to shelter which held various farm tools, like shovels and rakes, safe from the elements.
Michael and his brother had slept in the open loft across from the hearth and enjoyed the warmth from below — if they had sufficient wood.
The Keogh’s were humble but they felt secure.
On this visit home, Michael had walked past the remains of a home and recalled an incident he saw there several years ago. At the time he had been travelling with his uncle who had stopped at a crowd of people two miles out of Kilrush to see an eviction. It was brutal and efficient. The tenant family was dragged out of their hovel by the constables with the army standing by observing the incident. The police had used a tall wooden tripod with a large rock suspended on a rope and swung the rock to strike the building. It was flattened within a few minutes. The constables let the family free and then marched off, leaving them shocked and bewildered at losing everything. Michael had been only seventeen years old but the memory had stayed with him. Only last year, he had heard stories of dead being buried by the dozen in the same area. He dreaded walking through there now.
The house was quiet when Michael and his father arrived home. He looked around the main room, comparing it to his aunt’s house. His eyes found his father’s bed. He could just see the box almost hidden underneath.
When Michael came home last year, his father became quite secretive one evening and asked him to sit down and listen carefully as he had to tell him something which no other living soul knew.
He started their conversation by saying, “Our forefathers were not always farmers. Several centuries ago, one of our antecedents, Captain Daniel Keogh, was an Irish aristocrat, appointed as an aide to General Owen Roe O’Neill and served with him in the Irish Army. In 1646 they fought a battle against Scottish marauders.”
He continued, “The battle was at Benburb in County Tyrone. It was a major battle; the Irish Army had five thousand infantry and four hundred cavalry, and the Scottish Army had six thousand infantry and eight hundred cavalry. The Irish moved faster than the Scottish Army under Colonel Monroe and General O’Neill routed the enemy. The Scottish Army lost three thousand while the Irish lost only seventy-two. Colonel Monroe fled the scene, leaving his coat, cape and sword. General O’Neil gave Captain Keogh Monroe’s sword, coat and cape.
“The General told Keogh to retire from the field, to return home with these trophies and ensure they were kept safe and secure, as he had no intention of handing them over to British officials. Keogh returned to Clare and hid them in a cave in the Burren where they remained until Captain Daniel Keogh revealed their hiding place on his death bed. Since then they have been handed down to the eldest son of the Keogh family.”
His father stopped and looked at his son and could no doubt see the excitement in his features. He rose from his chair and pulled the box out from under the bed. It was dusty but still one could see that it had been well made. It was about four feet long and two feet by two feet. Two thick metal bands were hinged and shaped around the box with a large bulky lock through a hasp and staple. His father unlocked the box, gently lifted out the purple cape and opened it to reveal a magnificent distinctively engraved sword and an ornate senior officer’s cap. They were still in very good condition after two hundred years. The oilskin multiple wrappings had sealed its contents and together with the tightly sealed box, they had done a very good job of protecting the treasures. They had effectively sealed them; there was no corrosion and the material was not faded, and surprisingly, had no smell of mildew.
Michael stared in admiration at them.
After a few minutes his father replaced them in the box, locked it and then pushed the box back under the bed. He walked to the window and looked out. “You are the next in the family line to be the keeper of the box when I go to God. Guard it well.” The he lay down on the bed and soon started to snore.
Michael went to bed and lay there thinking of the exciting life Captain Daniel Keogh must have had. Little did he know that he had been badly injured in the next battle and then lived out the rest of his life as a cripple in this very area.
O’Neill. Where had he heard that name before? His brain kept thinking over and over again. Yes, he remembered. His mother used to sing a song to him as a boy:
“Owen Roe, our own O’Neill
He treads once more our land!
The sword in his hand is of Spanish steel,
But the hand is an Irish hand.”
How could he have forgotten those stirring words?
Michael shook his head, pushing the past away. But try as he might the words kept echoing in his mind.
¶
Sunrise signalled the start of his daily jobs, the same jobs he had done during his boyhood. First he lit the fire in the hearth, if it had gone out during the
night. Fire wood was generally collected the previous day and stacked inside near the fire to help dry it out. Then he filled the water can and boiled the water over the fire. Next was a trip to the goat pen for some fresh milk. His hands would sometimes sting with the coldness of the dew-filled air in winter. Today was fortunately mild. They normally only had two meals a day. Today the first meal would be a corn and turnip broth with a cup of milk. His father shared the milk with Aunt Jane and Maeve. Maeve would walk down later to collect their milk.
His father had woken up and had gone outside, probably to the privy, which was a small wooden shed that they moved from time to time whenever a new hole needed to be dug.
When his father returned, Michael poured out two ladles of broth and two mugs of milk. They sat there in silence staring into the fire. His father had bought the goat which supplied their milk and he also had two ewes from which he bred a few lambs each year. They shared the cuts with other farmers and vice versa to ensure the meat was eaten before it spoilt. They also had a few chickens which supplied them with eggs. Their small section of land had a pocket of good soil and they managed to grow corn, wheat and turnips. His aunt still managed to grow some potatoes and some wheat and she also had two ewes.
Other farmers further down the road, sometimes net fish and would share them if the catch was good.
They were surviving much better than some of their neighbours. The dog sometimes caught a hare or a bird and this would be immediately stripped and cooked. He remembered his mother cooking over the open fire with a large pot on a rod sitting in two metal forks, turning it by hand.
Fortunately water was plentiful. There were large ponds of good clean water throughout the district and Aunt Jane had a small creek in the corner of her property. They were sometimes lucky and caught eels in its clear waters, too. Good quality watercress grew plentifully and often enhanced a meal.
¶
Michael had been home for two weeks and had finished clearing and planting the turnips and corn. He had also helped Aunt Jane sow the wheat and potatoes. The sheep and the goat had been shorn, and now there was little to keep him occupied. He pottered around doing small repairs to the roofs of both cottages. He moved the privy and repaired the pen fences.
He was looking forward to having a visit to the local town market at Kilrush, about fifteen miles away, where every month a large market was held. The Keogh family would carry shawls and bonnets, corn or meat to trade for salt, tea and food spices. In the past sometimes their aunt had lent them her donkey and cart. It was a diversion that they enjoyed. Their life was a life of poverty but others were much worse off than they were.
Kilrush was a seaport and market town. It was situated on the north shore of the Shannon River estuary fifteen miles from the mouth of the river and on a creek to which it gave its name, making it convenient for trade and export. The principal streets were well paved and flagged, and centred by the market square. There were factories producing nails, soap, tanning of hides, meat slaughtering and salt. Fishing and oyster dredging was a prime source of income for many families. The fleet consisted of about twenty Hookers boats.
Michael was familiar with the town. He had often walked down the main street past its two banks, its constabulary and courthouse, across the stone bridge down to the Cappa Pier and the customs house to the sea wall.
Michael spoke to his father about a trip to the market for both of them, but his father declined. He then decided to speak with Aunt Jane and perhaps take Maeve with him in the cart. Aunt Jane agreed for her to travel with him, to the delight of Maeve who rarely went to town.
At daybreak the following day they were ready to depart with all their goods on the cart. Maeve was dressed in her auntie’s best dress and wore her leather shoes. Both items of clothing were for special occasions only. Michael wore a new shirt given to him for Christmas by his uncle’s family, clean serge trousers and polished boots. They looked a smart couple. They started off with Michael leading the donkey and Maeve riding in the cart.
This didn’t last long as they soon reached the bottom of a steep ascent, Maeve walked also to ease the load on the donkey. It was a pleasant day and they sang a few ballads to each other’s enjoyment. His sister had a pleasant personality and he mused she may marry before Michael! After an hour or so they stopped for a short time for a drink of water and a corn cob to eat. They passed some suffering families but it was not as bad as it had been a year or so ago. Some husbands stayed on at their tenant farms rather than leave and had sent their families to the workhouse to declare themselves widows or orphans rather than have them starve at the farm.
It was nearly midday when Kilrush appeared below them. Michael and Maeve became just another farming family looking for a buyer for their goods.
Michael had been warned to avoid the constabulary and the local Dutch Vandeleur family flunkeys. Both were prone to baiting the Irish and subsequently were not only hated but shunned as much as possible.
They went to the town square which Michael knew well and started shouting their wares. All the shawls and bonnets sold quickly, then a sheep skin, then the dozen eggs and by the late afternoon the turnips were sold.
They now had several shillings to do their buying. First they purchased salt, soap and, finally, some cooking utensils and nails. They decided to see the Cappa Pier Harbour and visit his uncle’s ship yard to allow Maeve to see him as they hadn’t met for a few years. Several war ships were unloading, so they left the cart and donkey tied up at the start of the pier. They walked down it to stand and watch the soldiers coming ashore with their equipment and horses.
Local drays were being loaded with ammunition boxes. Together with several field guns, which had been dismantled, they were now swung ashore on the ship’s davits. It was orderly and precise; obviously these soldiers had been well trained. The horses were fine specimens and, after being washed and curried by their riders, they were then saddled and bridled with highly polished leather gear. Several Special constables were on hand lounging against a warehouse wall, watching in a detached manner. Michael and Maeve could hear the sergeant giving orders.
A young British officer stepped ashore. The sergeant approached him and advised the progress of the unloading and asked for further orders.
The officer could see that they would be at least a half hour before they would be ready to proceed to their barracks.
“Ensure that the quartermaster has removed all the equipment from the ship’s holds and check that the equipment is securely tied onto the drays. That is all.” The officer then went aboard the ship and spoke to the captain who was standing watching the unloading.
“I wish all the cargo was unloaded as quickly and as efficiently as is being done now. Good job!” said the captain.
The officer thanked him for the compliment he had extended to his men. “Sergeant, assemble the platoon,” he called out.
The horses were being led forward to be mounted when one reared for no apparent reason. A constable came forward, and ordered Michael and his sister to move quickly out of the way of the platoon. He pushed Maeve on the shoulder, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
Michael turned, saw what happened and challenged the constable not to mistreat his sister.
The constable sneered, “The likes of you should not even be here.”
Michael angrily retorted, “The likes of what?”
Other constables started to come forward, contemptuous looks upon their faces.
The British officer saw what had happened and stepped forward to help Maeve to her feet.
“Are you hurt, miss?
She shook her head, suddenly embarrassed.
The officer turned and faced the constables; his face showed his anger. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked.
The constables stepped back as one and looked decidedly uncomfortable under the glare of the British officer. He said further, “You owe this young lady an apology.” He looked at the senior constable.
The constable hesitated until he realised that the Platoon Sergeant and two other ranks had moved forward. He replied without feeling, “My apologies, young lady, for my constable’s action.”
The officer replied, “Rubbish, the act was deliberate! Get your men out of here!” The constable turned and ordered his men into line, then marched them off.
Michael could see by the stiffness in the constable’s shoulders that he was angry — very angry.
The officer turned and said to Maeve, “Lieutenant Hall at your service, miss. I trust that you are unharmed.”
Maeve blushed. She had met few men in her young years and this officer was most dashing, tall and gallant. “Thank you, sir, I am unharmed.”
Michael stepped forward and offered his hand to Hall. “Allow me to introduce myself — Michael Keogh and my sister — Maeve Keogh.”
Lieutenant John Hall took his hand, noting the strength of the man and his strong chin and deep gaze. This is one determined man, he noted. He then turned to Maeve and offered his hand to her. This time he noted her blue eyes and dark red hair, similar to many County Clare women. She spoke with a delightful, shy Irish brogue. This young lady is beautiful!
Michael broke into his thoughts. He was thanking him for his intervention. John Hall now had no doubt that, but for his intervention, Michael Keogh would have taken on the constable, regardless of the consequences.
A voice called out Michael’s name. Turning he saw his Uncle Jack approaching, rather aggressively asking, “What’s the problem, Michael?”
The Convict and the Soldier Page 2
