Land

by Liam O'Flaherty

  She raised the lid of the settle bed, exposing a sordid mattress and torn woollen blankets, from which an unpleasant odour of stale sweat issued. Butcher made a movement as if he were going to bend down and examine the interior. Instead, he made a grimace of disgust and turned away with an angry shrug of his shoulders.

  “Why did you lock the door?” he said.

  Annie closed the lid with an expression of relief on her face. Then she turned towards Butcher in quite a belligerent attitude.

  “Arrah! Why wouldn’t I lock it?” she cried savagely. “Wasn’t your dog frightening the life out of me? Have the poor no rights at all? Lord save us, did you want me to stand here unprotected, with the door wide open, so that he could rush in and tear the immortal soul out of my body? Pruth! Is it coming to that? Must the poor let themselves be torn by wild animals, without turning a key in a lock to defend themselves?”

  Butcher stared at her in silence for nearly a minute. He quite obviously did not believe a word of what she had said. Yet he took no further action. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen. His face now looked terribly drawn and pale, as if he were on the point of collapse.

  “Get on with your work, Annie,” Raoul said.

  Annie dropped on to the settle bed, opened her mouth wide and let her arms hang limply by her sides.

  “You’re not going, are you?” Raoul said cheerfully as he followed Butcher along the hall towards the door. “Why not search the whole house? It’s not very large. It wouldn’t take long. I rather enjoy hunting for an assassin in my own house.”

  Butcher halted by the door and glared savagely at Raoul. He now had his hands pressed against his sides and he was breathing irregularly.

  “Mr. St. George,” he said, “allow me to warn you that I am a very vindictive person. I have an idea that you may shortly regret your insolence.”

  “I wonder!” said Raoul. “You don’t impress me as being a very dangerous enemy. On the other hand, your boorish manners make me inclined to …”

  “You’ll rue the day you left France,” Butcher interrupted, gasping for breath.

  “Frankly,” said Raoul, “I did regret leaving France until this moment. Now I think I’m going to enjoy living in County Mayo very much.”

  Butcher strode out of the house, leaving the door open behind him.

  “Murphy,” he called to his groom as he strode down the drive, “fetch my horse.”

  “Coming, sir,” cried the groom from a distance. “Twous! Gee up there, Blazer.”

  There was a sudden clatter of hooves and then the irregular rhythm of two horses trotting side by side. Butcher disappeared round a corner of the drive. His great boots, striking the gravel with their metal-tipped heels, made almost as much noise as the horses.

  Raoul walked out on to the drive for a few yards and then halted. He rubbed his palms together and smiled.

  “I intensely dislike that man,” he said in a passionate undertone. “He has grossly insulted me. Very well! I am going to destroy him.”

  He sighed, turned around and re-entered the house. Having closed the door, he found himself face to face with Elizabeth in the hall.

  “Oh! Raoul,” she cried, “what have you done?”

  She stood wringing her hands. Lettice was standing behind her.

  “Damnation!” Raoul said.

  “You have quarrelled with that man,” Elizabeth continued, “in spite of my imploring you not to do so. You have seized the very first opportunity to insult him.”

  “Surely, my dear Lizzie,” said Raoul, “you couldn’t expect me to let that common knave’s insolence go unchallenged.”

  “I know he is difficult and unpleasant,” Elizabeth said, “but you should have ignored his rudeness for your daughter’s sake. Now every house in the county is going to be closed against her. Captain Butcher is all-powerful these days. His word is law. We are going to be outcasts, just at a moment when Lettice …”

  “Silence!” cried Raoul in a fury. “Do you think I could allow my daughter’s happiness to depend on that bounder’s favour?”

  At that moment, they heard a cry of dismay come from the direction of the kitchen. They all looked and saw Annie Fitzpatrick running towards them. She was in a state of extreme agitation. She was still wearing the man’s cap that had aroused Raoul’s interest. On reaching the little group, she halted abruptly and put her palms against her large bosom.

  “God forgive me,” she gasped, “I’m afraid I’ve smothered him.”

  She threw out her arms and made a mumbling sound, like a person about to fall in a fit. Elizabeth and Lettice took hold of her, one on either side. That did not seem to help. On the contrary, she began to tremble violently on being touched. Then Raoul struck her a sharp blow on the cheek with the back of his hand.

  “Control yourself,” he said harshly, “and tell me what has happened.”

  “Raoul,” said Elizabeth, “you are disgusting. How could you be so cruel as to …?”

  “Quiet, all of you,” said Raoul. “Don’t you see the woman has hysterics? You’ll drive me insane with your babbling. Speak up, Annie. What is the matter?”

  The blow gradually brought the servant to her proper senses. She grew calm enough to speak coherently after another few seconds.

  “I hid him in the settle-bed,” she said, “when I heard the Captain coming with his men. I put the clothes over him, for fear he’d be seen by anyone that opened up the settle. The clothes must have smothered him. He’s there now without a word or a move out of him, although I called him by name and shook him. He’s as dead as a door nail, God forgive me.”

  “Good Lord!” said Elizabeth.

  “How stupid of me!” said Raoul, hurrying towards the kitchen door. “I thought he had escaped when I saw you wearing his cap.”

  Entering the kitchen, he saw that the lid of the settle-bed was again raised. The mattress and the blankets were scattered on the floor. On approaching the chest, he saw a man lying face upwards in its deep interior. There was a bloody cloth bound across the skull. One cheek was matted with blood. The rest of the face was deadly pale.

  “Looks dead,” Raoul muttered. “What a ridiculous situation!”

  He took the man’s wrist and felt the pulse. It was still beating faintly.

  “Give me a hand,” he called out excitedly. “The fellow is not dead yet. He is merely unconscious. Fetch the brandy. Throw open the window and door. It’s stifling in here.”

  He got his hands under the man’s armpits and managed to raise the limp body to a sitting posture by the time Annie and Elizabeth had reached him. Lettice had already run to fetch the brandy.

  “Take his legs, Annie,” Raoul said. “Don’t be afraid. It’s not a corpse. Lucky thing for us all that it’s not a corpse. Nice kettle of fish it would be trying to explain the presence of a corpse under these circumstances. I loathe corpses. Heave now, Annie. Come on, woman. Don’t blubber. You got him in here. Now help to get him out.”

  It was quite difficult getting the man out of the chest, owing to its narrow depth. Both Raoul and Annie were panting loudly by the time they had laid him on the table, which Elizabeth had cleared in the meantime.

  “Phew!” said Raoul, drawing the back of his hand across his forehead. “I thought I asked somebody to open the window. It’s stifling here. Open that wretched window, Annie.”

  “What’s the good of trying to open it, your honour?” Annie said. “Sure you know well it’s only an ornament. It’s built into the wall and it doesn’t open at all.”

  “What’s that?” said Raoul. “You mean to say the window doesn’t open?”

  Annie unbolted the door, threw it open and let a draught of fresh air into the smoky room. Then they set to work, trying to revive the unconscious man. At this point, it was the frail and nervous Elizabeth that proved to be the most efficient. She took charge of the operation.

  “If you keep silent for a few seconds,” she said to Raoul, “we may succeed in
getting something done.”

  Raoul shrugged his shoulders, walked over to the fire and put his hands to the heat.

  “Very well!” he said. “How I hate confusion or disorder of any sort!”

  Lettice came with the brandy. Elizabeth poured some of it into the man’s mouth. Then she removed the bloody cloth. There was a long gash across the right side of the skull above the temple. She peered at it closely, bending down over the table.

  “It’s just a scratch, really,” she said, “in spite of all the blood. No skull fracture, obviously. Probably a fall. That’s nothing serious.”

  “He was like a man walking in his sleep when he came into the kitchen, Miss Elizabeth,” Annie said. “He didn’t know where he was. He frightened the life out of me, but sure worse was to happen.”

  Elizabeth glared at Annie and said:

  “It was most disloyal of you to conceal his presence.”

  “Arrah! What else could I do?” Annie cried arrogantly.

  “Come now,” said Raoul. “No silly bickering, please. Get this fellow on his feet as quickly as possible. Ha! He’s coming back to life. That’s most fortunate. I have a horror of corpses, even under the most convenient circumstances.”

  The man had moved both his hands and his feet. Then he turned his head to one side and shuddered gently.

  “Get some warm water, Annie,” Elizabeth said. “We must wash this cut thoroughly. I’m going to fetch ointment and bandages. It needs a proper dressing.”

  “You needn’t bother, Miss Elizabeth,” Annie said gruffly. “I put a scraped potato on it and it’s well known that a scraped potato is the best cure for a cut. Sure, the bleeding is stopped already and it will cure itself now with the help of God.”

  Elizabeth glanced with disapproval at the particles of mashed potato that clung to the outer edges of the cut. Then she glared once more at the servant.

  “Get some warm water,” she said as she walked out of the room, “and wash the cut thoroughly. Be quick about it.”

  Annie wagged her head from side to side quickly, like a boxer dodging repeated jabs of an opponent’s fists, as she watched Elizabeth go out of the kitchen. Then she took a small dish and poured hot water into it from one of the kettles. She took a clean cloth and approached the table with obvious reluctance, muttering under her breath. Finally, she put the dish on the table, put her hands on her hips and turned to Raoul angrily.

  “Everybody knows that a scraped potato is best for a cut,” she cried in an arrogant tone.

  “I refuse to take sides in your dispute with my sister,” Raoul said quietly. “Attend to the injured man, like a good woman.”

  “Let me do it, Annie,” Lettice said.

  She went to the table and moistened the cloth in the warm water.

  “That’s much better,” Raoul said. “You carry on with your cooking, Annie. I have a horrible feeling that the stew is going to be ruined as a result of all this.”

  “Arrah! How could I cook with a man lying there and he waiting for the gates of Heaven to open?” Annie cried indignantly.

  Lettice began to wash the cut delicately. The man shuddered as he felt the warm water on his head. Then he opened his eyes slowly and looked at Lettice. She dropped the cloth at once into the dish and drew back a little. They stared at one another for a few moments. They both looked startled. Then Lettice made a move to pick up the cloth once more. The man got frightened by her movement. He rose to a sitting position and swung his legs off the table.

  “Lie down there, in God’s name,” Annie said, rushing towards him.

  She caught him by the arms and tried to force him back to a reclining position. He brushed her aside.

  “Don’t interfere with him,” Raoul said to the servant.

  The man got to his feet and looked around the room. He stood with his legs far apart, his arms limp by his sides, swaying slowly back and forth.

  “Where am I?” he muttered.

  His name was Michael O’Dwyer. He was twenty-seven years old, six feet in height, with a rugged and deeply bronzed face, jet-black hair and blue eyes of great intensity. There was a suggestion of extraordinary power in his lean and muscular body, even now that he was dazed. He was dressed like a seaman in black top boots, oilskin trousers and a heavy blue woollen jersey.

  “Sit down quietly,” Raoul said to him in a casual tone, “and allow us to wash that cut on your head. You are among friends. You needn’t be at all nervous. Do you understand?”

  O’Dwyer stared at Raoul in silence for a little while. His face rapidly lost its dazed expression. He suddenly smiled.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said to Raoul.

  Raoul directed him to a chair that stood by the wall. He had just sat down when Elizabeth returned to the room with the bandages and ointment.

  “Good gracious!” she said on catching sight of O’Dwyer.

  Seeing that she was hostile to him, O’Dwyer jumped to his feet.

  “Please don’t be disturbed,” Raoul said, touching the young man on the arm. “My sister is not going to hurt you in any way. She is just going to put some bandages and dressing on your cut. I assure you that you are among friends. Don’t be nervous.”

  O’Dwyer looked at Raoul and smiled again. Then he nodded his head and resumed his seat. Even so, he glanced suspiciously at Elizabeth several times while she was dressing the cut.

  “There now,” Elizabeth said, taking a pace to her rear briskly after she had finished. “That should suffice.”

  She looked at O’Dwyer with an expression of disgust on her face.

  “I have done my duty as a Catholic,” she said in a shrill tone, “but don’t get the idea that I approve of your conduct. On the contrary, I have the most profound loathing for your behaviour.”

  Then she marched stiffly towards the door.

  “Come along, Lettice,” she said before passing out of the room.

  Lettice obeyed her aunt at once, but she halted before reaching the door. She looked towards O’Dwyer, flushed and then curtsied.

  “I hope you recover soon,” she said gently. “Good day.”

  O’Dwyer stared after her with his lips parted. He started when Raoul spoke to him, so deep was his concentration on the girl who had just left.

  “Have some brandy?” Raoul said, coming over to the chair with the bottle. “Another nip will just about do the trick.”

  O’Dwyer drank a good deal of the brandy. Then he jumped to his feet briskly.

  “I feel fine now,” he said to Raoul as he returned the bottle. “I’m very grateful to you.”

  Raoul made a grimace of disgust.

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word,” he said. “I find gratitude the most repulsive of human emotions.”

  O’Dwyer looked at Raoul in amazement. Then he laughed.

  “I must go,” he said. “Where is my cap?”

  “I’ll find it for you,” Annie said.

  She began to fuss around the room, looking for the cap. Raoul laughed. Annie looked at him and grumbled under her breath.

  “This is a queer time to be making fun of people,” she said.

  “But you’re wearing the cap, you fool,” Raoul said.

  “Mother of God!” Annie said, putting her hand to her head. “What brought it there?”

  “Lucky thing for us all,” Raoul said, “that Butcher was in a vile temper. Otherwise he would have smelt a rat.”

  “Bloody woe!” Annie said. “If he had seen the cap on my head, I’d be hung.”

  O’Dwyer fixed the cap carefully over his bandaged skull and then pulled a revolver from his pocket.

  “Goodbye now, sir,” he said, stretching out his hand towards Raoul. “I won’t thank you, since you …”

  “Excellent!” said Raoul, clasping the outstretched hand. “It has been a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’d like to see more of you, if I may. There are many things I could tell you, many useful things. Come and visit me when you get an opportunity.”


  “I’ll do that, sir,” said O’Dwyer. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  Then he shook hands with Annie and said with deep feeling:

  “May God reward you for your kindness.”

  Annie made the sign of the Cross in front of his face and said:

  “May God go with you, treasure.”

  O’Dwyer darted out of the house with the revolver in his hand. He had disappeared into the mist within a few seconds. Annie locked the door and put her back to it. She let her head loll to one side.

  “What an extraordinary man!” Raoul said, staring at the ceiling and fingering the tip of his beard. “Really unusual!”

  “Lord save us!” Annie said. “’Twill take me years to recover from this ferocious day.”

  Raoul folded his arms on his chest and looked at the floor.

  “Could it be destiny?” he said.

  “What’s that, sir?” Annie said.

  Raoul looked vaguely at the servant, put his hands in the pockets of his velvet jacket and walked out of the room.

  “Could I have a word with you, Raoul?” Elizabeth said to him as he was going along the hall.

  She was standing in the doorway of the living-room. Raoul looked at her vaguely as he passed, but he did not reply to her question. He went to the hall stand and took a black cloak from a peg.

  “Did you hear me, Raoul?” Elizabeth said, coming over to him.

  Raoul threw the cloak about his shoulders, posed before the little mirror that surmounted the stand and began to make foppish bow at his throat with the cloak ribbons.

  “I heard you, Lizzie,” he said at length in a casual tone.

  “Then why don’t you have the politeness to answer me?” Elizabeth said.

  “First of all,” said Raoul, “I’m not at all polite. Secondly, I know very well what you are going to say and I want to avoid the necessity of scolding you. I’ve got excited. Excitement of any sort plays havoc with my digestion. I beg of you, Lizzie, not to argue with me at this moment. I’m going for a little walk, in order to compose myself before sitting down to table.”

  Elizabeth came close to him and said in a tense whisper: