Land

by Liam O'Flaherty

  Elizabeth was sobbing aloud when her niece finished speaking.

  “Oh! My child!” she murmured. “My gentle child! If I could only take this sorrow from you! Oh! The cruelty and stupidity of men!”

  “Father Cornelius asked me to take Michael a message,” Lettice said. “I’m trying to decide whether I have enough courage to deliver it without again …”

  She was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps mounting the stairs. Her face brightened at once.

  “That’s Father Francis,” she cried, jumping to her feet. “He has come back at the right moment. Oh! How wonderful!”

  She ran to the door and threw it open. She saw Father Francis mopping his forehead as he came on to the landing. With a cry of joy, she went to the priest and threw her arms around him.

  “I’m so glad you came, Father Francis,” she cried. “I need you terribly just now.”

  “I heard that Elizabeth is sick,” Father Francis whispered.

  Still mopping the perspiration from his haggard face with a big red handkerchief, he hurried to Elizabeth’s bed. He wore a dark frieze overcoat that reached almost to the floor. Lettice walked with him, holding his left arm with both hands.

  “Dear Father Francis!” Elizabeth said, with tears rolling down her cheeks. “How good of you to come at this moment!”

  Father Francis took her outstretched hands and said:

  “Hearing you were sick, I thought you might need me, now that Raoul and Michael are both gone.”

  “We both need you terribly,” Lettice said with deep emotion. “Allow me to take your coat.”

  “It was last night I heard you were sick,” he said to Elizabeth, as Lettice removed his coat. “It was up in the mountains I heard it, at a village fifteen miles from here. I have been walking since before dawn.”

  “You poor man!” Elizabeth said. “Sit down on this chair here beside me. Lettice will get you food and drink.”

  “I’ll get some at once,” Lettice said, moving away with the coat.

  “I’m so excited,” Father Francis said, “by what I have seen and heard, that I feel neither hunger nor weariness nor thirst.”

  Lettice paused as she crossed the floor. She looked back at the priest over her shoulder. Elizabeth also looked at him intently. Since his appearance, they had been prattling like excited children. Now they became sombre again, as they had been during the tragic communion he interrupted.

  “A miracle has happened,” Father Francis said. “The people are standing fast again after their panic. I’ve tramped every inch of the whole district during the past three weeks, back and forth the whole time. Everywhere I found them again brave after their panic.”

  He paused and looked from one to the other of the two women. His face had become exalted.

  “I felt certain that all was lost,” he said, “on the terrible day Raoul got arrested. There didn’t seem to be any hope for people so degraded. Oh! They were base that day. They behaved terribly. Yet they are now standing fast. They remain loyal and obedient to the Fenians, in spite of all inducements. They share all they have with our brave fighting men. Nor is it through fear of punishment they do so. Not any more. There is a new light in their eyes now, the poor creastures. It’s a light that will never again be quenched until they are free men.”

  Neither Lettice nor Elizabeth spoke. They both now looked at the floor sombrely.

  “The fight against Butcher is nearing its end,” the priest continued, lowering his voice. “I heard things on my way here, strange news that convinces me of that wicked man’s approaching doom.”

  Both Lettice and Elizabeth raised their heads and looked at him eagerly.

  “It was at the village of Bothar Liath I heard the news,” Father Francis continued, “while I was resting there for a spell on my way here. A woman came to the house where I was and asked me, for the love of God, to comfort her nephew. ‘He’s Andrew Fitzgerald,’ she said, ‘the groom that was in service to Captain Butcher. He has run away from Manister House and he is in a terrible state. From the way he’s acting and talking, I’m afraid he’ll do himself harm.’ So I went with her to see the groom. I heard him shouting and using terrible language as I approached the house. On seeing me, though, he got quiet. He told me his story gently, just as if it were his confession. Indeed, part of his strange tale concerns only himself and God, so I’ll not mention it. The other part alone is our concern. He told me that Butcher’s wife eloped with District Inspector Fenton three nights ago. They took a large sum of money with them, several thousands sovereigns, belonging to Captain Butcher.”

  “Good gracious!” said Elizabeth. “How extraordinary!”

  “Butcher is overwhelmed, the groom said,” continued the priest. “When such things happen the end is near.”

  “Where are they gone?” said Elizabeth. “Does anybody know?”

  “To America,” said Father Francis. “She sent back her grey stallion from Galway by messenger. The man carried a note for her husband, telling all that had happened. There’s a callous woman for you. When Butcher read it, he fell down in a heap. The note dropped to the floor. The groom picked it up and read it. Then he ran out of the house like a madman, up the mountains to the place where I found him.”

  Lettice hurried back to him, clutched his arm and looked up into his face.

  “You really think the end is near?” she said anxiously. “Why do you think so?”

  The priest looked at her solemnly and said:

  “When the green of the forest is bent and the withered is torn, death marches past.”

  “Take me to Michael,” Lettice whispered urgently.

  Chapter XXXII

  The gave was shaped like a kite. It was thirty feet wide and twenty feet high at the entrance. Then it narrowed rapidly and the roof dropped as it penetrated the bowels of the cliff to a depth of one hundred and ten feet. Towards the far end, a man had to crawl on his hands and knees in order to advance. Both the floor and the roof were dry. A thick bed of heather, over which blankets were strewn, lay against the right wall. On the left there was a small forge, used for casting bullets and making repairs on firearms. A number of sacks, containing rifle ammunition and dynamite, were stacked against the front wall to the right of the entrance hole. A crude table of white pine stood to the left of the hole. The sea was visible in the far distance. The horizon was still red at the point where the sun had just disappeared. The sound of the waves, dashing against the base of the cliff, two hundred and fifty feet below, was deep and awe-inspiring. The air was very cold.

  Michael was sitting at the table, going over the plan of the night’s operation for the last time, when a sentry marched into the cave.

  “Your wife is up on top with Father Kelly,” the man said. “She wishes to see you.”

  Michael glanced at the man sharply. He showed no emotion.

  “Tell her to wait a little while,” he said. “I’ll send for her presently.”

  He watched the sentry leave the cave. Then he lowered his eyes once more to the rough map that was chalked on the surface of the table.

  “The important thing,” he said, “is to keep the enemy from interfering with our work. For that reason, Kilroy and Lynch have the chief tasks in the night’s work.”

  He began to mark points on the map with a piece of chalk.

  “Kilroy’s men will block the Clash road at this point,” he continued, “in order to keep the enemy forces bottled up in the town. Lynch’s men will encircle Manister House over here and keep it under fire, in order to pin down the enemy detachment stationed there. Flatley and his men will destroy all these buildings marked here, together with all fuel, fodder and other stores they may find, using dynamite for whatever won’t burn readily. Roche, Deering, Muldoon and Coyne will proceed with their detachments along these routes marked here and drive the cattle to this bridge, where I’ll be waiting. Has any man got a question to ask? Is everything absolutely clear?”

  The eight men had been lea
ning forward in a compact group about him, peering intently at the map. Now they all stood erect. They looked shapeless and huge, owing to the great number of thick frieze garments they wore. Even so, they blew on their palms, slapped their arm-pits and stamped their feet because of the intense cold. Nobody spoke.

  “Very well,” Michael said, as he drew a piece of sacking back and forth over the chalked map. “We must have gone over this plan a thousand times during the past three days. There is nothing further I can do for you. Just keep cool and obey orders to the letter. Be on your way, lads. Good luck to you. Be careful with those sacks going up the cliff.”

  As the men began to pick up the sacks of ammunition and throw them across their backs, Michael got to his feet and called Anthony Cooney. The young schoolmaster came over to him.

  “Wait here a little while, Anthony,” Michael said. “I want to have a last word with you.”

  The other men said good-bye casually to their commander as they went out, stooping under the weight of the sacks. They turned sharply to the right after going through the hole. A narrow ledge stretched along the cliff’s face to the path that led upwards to the summit.

  When they were alone, Michael put his hands on Cooney’s shoulders.

  “Are you certain now that you’re strong enough for the job you’ve undertaken?” he said.

  Cooney was a slightly built man of twenty-six, with coal black hair, rosy cheeks and merry blue eyes. His nose and mouth were most delicately shaped. Indeed, his whole face was endowed with great beauty. He looked gay, weak and irresponsible. He blushed with annoyance at Michael’s question.

  “Why do you keep at me, Michael?” he said in a musical voice. “Is it how you think I’m a coward?”

  “They are going to do terrible things to you, Anthony,” Michael said.

  “Let them do their best,” Cooney said arrogantly. “Maybe they’ll get the surprise of their lives.”

  “You have no idea of the terrible things they are going to do to you,” Michael said.

  Cooney got angry. His eyes blazed and his upper lip twitched.

  “Is it how you are trying to frighten me instead of giving me courage?” he said bitterly.

  Michael pressed his shoulders affectionately.

  “I want to harden you,” he said gently, “by making you suffer beforehand. That’s why I have kept talking to you for the past three days, about the awful things they are going to do to you and about the danger of your turning coward. I wanted you to suffer so much beforehand that the real trial would be easy to bear. You’ll be so prepared for it in your mind that it won’t feel half as bad as you thought it would.”

  Cooney’s handsome face became radiant. Tears of pride came into his eyes.

  “I won’t fail you, Michael,” he cried with passionate earnestness. “I swear before Almighty God that I won’t fail you.”

  Michael clasped the young man’s hand and said:

  “I have confidence in you, Anthony. Go now. Tell my wife to come down alone.”

  With a gay wave of his arm, Cooney ran out of the cave. He began to sing as he went along the ledge.

  “I knew she would come,” Michael said aloud as he stared at the sea through the entrance hole. “I wanted her to come, even though I had already said farewell.”

  A schooner was bearing towards the south, with all her white sails bellied full, across the spot where the sun had set. The red glow had now vanished. It was getting dusk.

  Michael started when he heard the sentry’s voice guiding her along the ledge. He began to tremble. Then she appeared at the entrance and the sentry went away. She came forward into the cave until she saw him. Then she halted, with her hands by her sides and her feet close together, like a timid little girl. She was dressed in a red frieze skirt and a black jacket of rough flannel. A grey woollen shawl cowled her head.

  “How are you, Michael?” she said in a low voice.

  Michael tried to speak and failed. Then he came forward and took her hand. They remained silent, standing close together with their hands clasped. Although they smiled with their lips, there was anguish in their eyes.

  “Father Costigan asked me to give you a message,” she said at length.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “He wants you to stop fighting and obey the Committee,” she said, speaking very rapidly. “He said the people want peace and that, if blood is spilt by you, it’s the innocent who will suffer. He said the Catholic clergy have now taken command of the Land League all over Ireland and that they have won the people of substance over to their side. A continuation of violence, by even a small group, would prejudice their chances of gaining land reforms from the English. He said that the Fenians, in every district except this, have obeyed Michael Davitt and renounced militant action of an illegal character. He said that you would be shortly outlawed by your own Fenian organization if you persisted in your present conduct. Finally, he offered to procure a safe passage out of the country for you and your men, if you …”

  Michael dropped her hand and said sharply:

  “That’s enough.”

  He moved back into the cave two paces and then stood with his back to her.

  “Forgive me, Michael,” Lettice said, “but I promised him that I would deliver the message.”

  “I’m glad you came,” Michael said. “I’m terribly glad.”

  “There is another thing I want to tell you,” Lettice whispered.

  “Tell me what it is,” Michael said.

  “I’m going to have a baby,” she said softly.

  He turned at once and rushed to her.

  “Oh! My darling!” Lettice said as he took her in his arms.

  After a transport of tenderness, he took her face between his hands and said:

  “There is no farewell to such a love as ours.”

  “No, Michael,” Lettice said.

  “I hope it is a son,” he said.

  “I’m certain of it,” she answered.

  “If it is,” Michael said, “I want him to be called Raoul Francis.”

  “That will be his name,” Lettice said.

  “Raoul and Francis must teach him,” Michael said.

  “That will be very beautiful,” Lettice said.

  “Then he will be well equipped,” Michael said, “when his time comes to travel my road.”

  Even though they were so close together, their faces had now become indistinct in the quickly falling gloom of night.

  “It’s time for you to go, Lettice,” he whispered.

  They embraced once more. Then he shouted to the sentry and walked with her out of the cave.

  “Be very careful with her now, Matt,” he said in a detached tone as the sentry came along the ledge towards them. “Go slowly up the path.”

  “Have no fear,” the sentry said. “I’ll be careful with her.”

  Lettice did not look at him again. When she had passed out of sight, he shuddered. Then he walked stiff-legged to the brink of the cliff and looked down into the sea. All was darkness there.

  He covered his face with his hands and stood motionless, listening to the never-ending lament that rose from the hidden water.

  Chapter XXXIII

  The wind blew fiercely through the broad arch of the stone bridge beneath which the old woman had taken shelter for the night. She had thrown up a wall of loose stones about herself. It made a semicircle against the side of the arch. There was only room for a fire and the wooden box on which she sat within the tiny enclosure. She had to crouch in order to keep her head out of the wind.

  Her milch goat and her ass were tethered to the lee of the wall. The ass had his snout to the ground and he leaned far over to the right, trying to get his scarred back under cover. The white goat chewed her cud. She had a cosy place to lie under the ass’s belly. A little cart stood on end, with its red spokes in the air, by the mouth of the arch.

  The old woman was telling her rosary beads as she crouched before the fire. A round black
cap was perched like a coronet on top of her snow-white hair, that hung down straight on either side of her gaunt face. The rest of her body was clothed in shapeless rags, held together at the waist by a piece of rope. While her lips moved in prayer, her eyes were fixed hungrily on a tiny skillet that stood on the smooth stone round which the fire was built. She was cooking porridge in the skillet.

  She put her beads hurriedly into the pocket of her outer skirt when the oatmeal began to simmer. Then she rummaged inside the box on which she sat. She brought out a short, thin stick.

  “Musha, it took you a long time to get warm,” she said in a scolding tone as she began to stir the porridge with energy. “Boil up now, you rogue. You have kept me waiting nearly half the night for my supper.”

  A deep and narrow stream flowed without sound beneath the centre of the bridge. The water there was pitch black. Some distance further down its course, however, it shimmered in the moonlight and made gay music as it tumbled over the uneven face of a steep ledge.

  The sound of many horses trotting came from the west. The old woman turned her head to one side and listened. The goat stopped chewing her cud, thrust her ears forward sharply and bleated on a low note.

  “Be quiet there, Sheila,” the old woman said.

  She half rose, put her hands on her knees and peered over the top of the wall towards the west. The road was flat and straight for nearly half a mile. It looked white in the moonlight. It was bound by a ragged stone fence that had completely fallen to the ground in many places. The land on either side was barren. An oak forest had once stood there. All the trees died owing to the earth getting washed away. Now the withered stumps and the matted roots lay naked above the bed rock. They were like an army of giant grey crabs squatting on the black earth in the ghostly light of the moon. Farther west, the land rose abruptly towards the sea. The road turned to the right past a rocky bluff.