by Peter Carey
It don’t matter she must not talk to Steve like that.
I would of dealt with him as well but Mary laid her cool hand upon my wrist.
Are you Joe she asked him butter would not melt in her mouth.
Bullet Eyes sized her up. It aint your place said he at last.
You are wrong she said this place is mine and Ned’s.
Jesus eff me cried Joe Byrne.
Shutup I said there aint no one standing watch and there is horses all around the hut.
Though Joe were a mad b––––r he could turn sensible at the drop of a penny he come outside with me as did Steve & Dan. The horses was in night hobbles they could hardly move so we released them and walked them down to the King and there they finally watered. No one said a word about what had taken place inside we talked quietly about the police the black trackers the 2 boys saying nothing of the dresses they was wearing.
When the animals had drunk their fill I led man and horse alike to an old holding yard a mile further upriver. Me & Harry Power had built it 9 yr. previous. Then I dispatched young Dan to keep lookout on the slope below the hut and sent Steve back to watch over Mary. All were now peaceful or so it seemed but when Joe and me brung home the firewood I was most annoyed to discover no food upon the table and your mother once more backing Steve Hart against the wall.
If you are the Son of Sieve what is you the son of? Can you tell me? Or must the priest ring the bell for you to give the correct response?
Steve were a man ready to die in war but also a boy he didnt know how to fight against an older sister. Its Ireland he offered.
Ireland is it continued Mary. Had she been a male she would of known to let him off the hook but she didnt realise Steve were already cowed. Well says she I’m sure you is nothing worse than a colonial lyre bird copying anything it hears.
Now fair go Missus you must not talk to me like that.
O said Mary her shoulders was so straight & slender I am sure it is a fine brave boy you are. I am sure you aint one of them murdering cruel b–––––ds who make Ireland such a Hell on earth.
If she had been a man this was the moment at which Joe Byrne would up and hit her and even were she the size of a shire horse he would of dropped her and kicked her in the throat for good measure. But now all he could do were stare balefully at me until he could bear his own silence no more.
Well whats this bloody dress Joe cried at last or is it some effing secret?
Its what is done in Ireland Joe said Steve sitting down beside him.
Joe seemed to wish no more affiliation with the boy in the dress than with the harpy woman. God Jesus help me said he.
Its what is done by the rebels insisted Steve as I’m sure you heard your own da relate. Its what is done when they wish to scare the bejesus out of the squatters.
In all my life entire this were the 1st time I ever heard that secret revealed. Mary come to the table and sit opposite Steve.
There aint no squatters in Ireland Steven Hart.
The knights then its just the same.
Knights?
The knights cried Steve the adjectival Queen of England for your information.
Then do you see. She paused.
What should we see Joe asked her coolly.
Mary lit an extra candle & the light washed up her long white arms and across her scratched and lovely face. You are Joe Byrne? She wedged the candle into a knothole in the table and now were clearly revealed the other deep knot I mean the fury in Joe Byrne’s forehead.
Then you should know Joe this costume is worn by Irishmen when they is weak and ignorant.
Doubtless Joe could not believe his ears. We is all adjectival Irish here his voice went lower hers went higher in reply. I am ever so sorry to go against you Joe Byrne but you are colonials. I am the Irish one and it is the truth I am telling when I say I have seen many men in dresses before today.
No one commented.
Mary then took a cup of sugar & a spoon she rose from her seat to carry the service around the table. Steve hesitated to accept the gift then took 2 spoonfuls and stirred his pannikin in silence.
If wearing sheets & masks & dresses were such a powerful remedy said she well then Ireland would be a paradise on earth and all the Kings of England have burnt in Hell. Do you Steve Hart wish to turn the people against my Ned?
We is 4 men Joe interrupted 4 men what has the whole damn country trying to murder us theres £1,000 upon our heads there is 30 traps wandering the plains with authority to shoot us dead on sight. My guts is bad my marrow is hurting the last thing I need is to have lessons in this business from a tart.
If you steal from the poor selectors began Mary.
God save me cried Joe she’s worse than an effing solicitor I hope she don’t cost as much.
Mary handed me her sugar bag I returned it to the table then took her by the arm.
Come dear I said I took her by the arm.
I won’t shutup Ned I’m sorry but I will do you all the great favour of telling you what uniform these boys is wearing.
Dear God thought I even a murderer does sometimes deserve a holiday but as I thought it Mary begun the tale with Joe Byrne sitting in judgment on her his hostile yellow eyes examining her.
Your mother stood in the middle of the hut with her hands clasped in front of her a scratch on her cheek had begun to bleed.
My da she said he were a blacksmith in a village by name of Templecrone you never heard the name don’t worry Steven Hart you talked about them knights well in this part of Donegal there were a Lord and he would sometimes leave a horse with my da for shoeing and then neglect to collect it until he were good and ready the poor blacksmith bearing the cost of feeding & stabling.
There wasnt no knight but there were Lord Hill and one morning he left behind an uncommon horse he were a gelding very high and handsome jet black in colour. The white blaze upon its forehead were exactly in the shape of the map of Ireland everyone remarked on it.
When nighttime fell no one come down from the so called GREAT HALL to collect Lord Hill’s horse my da grumbled O it were an imposition O it were a liberty but I noticed he give the beast molasses with its oats so I knew he loved that horse he couldnt help himself.
It were winter so the light went early much earlier than it ever does in Benalla. In Templecrone it were pitch black by 4 o’clock of the afternoon and on this one day there were a great storm out in the Atlantic & a fisherman were drowned the winds terrible loud and bitter. It were me who heard the knocking on the door at 1st I thought it were the wind.
But here was men in dresses.
They was the Sons of Sieve said Steve Hart but your mother would not be distracted. I were 6 yr. old said she and they was big men all their faces was blacked and one of them were a great lanky galoot he had a mask. They was each man holding burning faggots and the high wind were making them flare up high and wild licking towards the fringes of the thatch.
Get your da said the leader his voice very stern but still I imagined it were some prank like is practised by the strawboys when they put on the dresses or the sheets going from house to house on Halloween or May Eve and you must do what they say or else will have some trick played on you. Behind the men in dresses were a larger mob though being only 6 yr. old I were not afraid not at all I fetched my da and I tried to stay close by him to hear what favour the men would demand or trick they would threaten but then the da pulled me back into the house shutting the door behind him when he stepped outside.
We was a big family 7 girls and me the middle one. It were bath night and since my ma were no more a housekeeper than me today I knew one child would not be missed so I put on my slippers and my mother’s shawl then crept outside to see what fun & games would now take place.
The whole crowd of men had pushed into the stables by the time I arrived and my da already persuaded them to put out their faggots for he had a mighty fear of fire he had lit his own lanterns at his personal expense. There was 5 hors
es stabled on that particular night but Molly’s Children and their friends was all gathered around the stall of one and of course it were that tall black gelding property of Lord Hill.
I can tell you very particular how the men was dressed though all was not dressed the same. 6 of them wore dresses these was for the most part garments their wives would of happily give away they were sewn and patched and torn our village was poor enough but no woman would have use for these dresses not even to tend the pigs. All the men had black ash or coal painted on their faces some had been most mindful to cover every skerrick of white skin the rest was pretty careless. There were one had a mask made out of the feathers of a wren or many wrens a fierce looking thing I would not have recognised its owner excepting he wore his wife’s dress so I knew it straight away. He were the tenant on a strip of land out on Thinglow Road in truth it were not so hard to name the others.
My da knew the men too but he did not speak to them familiar and though they was sober he talked to them like they were very drunk and might take offence at the smallest thing.
Now boys said he now I’ll be fair with you. If hat you have then hat he’ll wear I’ll not say no to that.
I wondered what hat this might be then one of the men got down in the stall to secure a top hat on the horse’s head it werent a proper hat it had been made particular for a horse. The poor beast didnt like it and went to shaking its head the effect so very comic I laughed myself.
There Lord Hill said the man. He called the horse LORD HILL although his name were MERCURY.
Then another chap produced a sack from which he took a kind of crimson blanket with a white cotton border in other words it were made up to look like the cloak of a Cardinal or Lord. My father permitted this raiment to be laid upon the beast.
Ah Lord Hill said the 1st man what a Lord you is to Lord it over us.
Ah Lord Hill said another this land is our land it is not yours to take and give. What say you to that Lord Hill?
Even if Mercury answered to the name Lord Hill he could not of course say nothing. One of the men jumped down into the stall he had what is called a twitch a loop of rope which is put round a horse’s lip and when its turned the animal cannot easily move its head so now he fitted this device and twisted it.
We know what an adjectival twitch is Joe Byrne says.
Answer me you b–––––d said the man you can say whatever you like. Of course the horse said nothing how could it?
Very well said the man then you is to be put on trial and we’ll see how well you like that.
The men in dresses now all jumped down into the stall like spiders dropping from a tree. Being farmers they was swift & skilful they soon got more ropes around the poor creature than around Gulliver if you ever heard the story. The horse found himself so tightly bound he could move no more than a fly in a web but his big dark eyes was full of fear I thought it a prank but I do believe poor Mercury had seen his fate he knew no good would come of it.
Then they took a knife and a long stick.
Mary stopped.
I do not like to say it.
No one encouraged her we all was horsemen staying v. quiet to think of this horse so cruelly tormented though still wondering what would happen.
They done to the horse what they dare not do to its master. The stick were sharpened to a point then hardened in the fire and the man with the wren mask thrust it in the horse’s belly.
O Jesus cried Dan he had just come in to be relieved from his watch.
O yes said Mary fiercely they stuck it in a good foot deep and when it come out there were a portion of its gut attached like to a crochet needle.
The b– – – – – ds said Joe Byrne.
My da then jumped into the stall.
Joe slammed his fist against the table all the metal pots jumped in the air.
My da seized the stick from the wren man and tried to break it over his knee but then all the men in ugly dresses leapt upon him they dragged him outside the stall and in the high alley of the bay they thrashed my da they struck him on the head and shoulders with the stick threatening they would do the same thing to him as they done to the horse.
My Mary were now crying trapped inside her horror like a bird inside a church I couldnt reach her no one could. Her da were left bleeding in the dirt she said she would of gone to him but she feared they would bring the dreadful stick to him so she stayed in hiding. She heard grown men blame the horse for taking their common land they said the proof were having Ireland on his head and they demanded of the poor beast why they should not take Ireland back from him. Much horror the girl saw and heard the horse were shrieking horribly.
In the midst of this cruelty her father saw his pretty dark haired daughter lying curled up in the shadows. Then he rose up with a great roar and swept her into the house and there barred the door and when it once were locked he gave the girl to her mother.
What more happened Mary didnt know only that for a long time that night the wind were not high enough to blunt the wailing of the horse.
In the morning when she woke there was soldiers all round the house and she seen the grand Lord Hill come dressed as for Parliament a powdered wig upon his head. The children wasnt permitted out of doors but nonetheless she observed the remains of the horse being loaded onto the cart it were sickening to see the butchery done to it.
The white blaze were later found in the house out on Thinglow Road the tenant were Michael Connor he were convicted of Swearing Oaths and Theft of Property then he and 5 other farmers were hanged in Donegal.
My da were a United Man said Mary but he give evidence against them all and I will tell you boys if you wish to ride around in this costume the people will not love you. You must ease their lives not bring them terror.
Joe Byrne set down the cup and walked out into the night.
That night inside the hut beside my Mary I were restless my beard hot & itching my limbs as agitated as a threshing machine what horrible visions assaulted me e.g. what were my father doing with that dress in the tin trunk and to what purpose. That is the agony of the Great Transportation that our parents would rather forget what come before so we currency lads is left alone ignorant as tadpoles spawned in puddles on the moon. Laying on the damp floor of the miner’s hut I smelt the smoke and ashes of your mother’s hair she were a sweet young girl she were a stranger from an ancient time.
Joe went to keep his watch & then Steve returned to stretch out upon his oilskin coat. As written he were a little fellow but he had a blacksmith’s snore and once his organ begun to play I pulled on my elastic sides and went out into the air. I were well accustomed to the bush at night but this one were like a nightmare all the black gum trees looked alien and monstrous. Joe Byrne were amongst them somewhere.
At night every river has a secret twin a ghost of air washing above the living water down towards the sea I arrived at a flat white gravel bed where our shallow creek joined the river and there I felt the cold air on my cheek and with it an unholy smell it were poor Joe Byrne he were afflicted by the diarrhoea. He were silent in his agony a contrast to old Harry Power who would moan & thrash & curse the heavens for his pain.
Are you crook old man I asked when he come down to the river. I couldnt see his eyes but his teeth grinned white.
I’d give my bawbles for a pipe said he A little oyouknow would fix me up. He were still smiling but his voice were hard as a spoon rattling in a metal cup.
I had no opium but I did have news to comfort him I told him the letter to Mr Cameron were posted.
This give him no relief the opposite it set him off on a furious bout of leg scratching. O we’ll all be pardoned now said he I’m sure they’ll set your mother free.
Well perhaps they will.
O Christ Ned do you know who this Cameron fellow is? Do you know what sort of house he lives in?
I read what he said in Parliament.
Yes he is an effing politician.
Yes thats what they have in
Parliament.
And you think a politician will defend the likes of us? We are weevils in their flour.
What is the matter with your legs Joe?
It aint my legs mate its my effing neck. You should of come to me about that letter I don’t mean no offence but when Cameron sees your writing he’ll think us even worse than what we are.
He would of said more except a spasm took him and for a moment all he could utter were eff and ess. If Cameron were a horse he said at last you’d see he were swaybacked and short necked you’d never effing look at him.
It were in the paper Joe you read it too.
You is a very clever bloke Ned save you don’t know a rat’s arse about politics.
And you aint read my adjectival letter mate.
O Jesus he cried bending over his guts were exceptionally bad O Christ you’re impossible. I got to go he said then stumbled through the ti tree scrub to find a private place.
When the last troubled smudge of Joe were swallowed in the bush I removed my boots I left them on the bank and picked my way through the water out to the larger boulders. Finally I found a flat white rock it were wide but narrow enough so I could lay down and drop my arms and let the river run briefly across my wrists. The story of the poor horse had laid a greasy pall upon me now the cold mountain stream were like a poultice drawing out all the ancient poisons I filled my hat with water pouring it across my head it smelt of earth & moss same as the flesh of a river trout. The clouds was light but queerly yellow on their edges as they moved across the ageless constellations.
I woke in bed next morning to discover Mary sitting over me the baby in her arms. It were still too early for any birds except a solitary robin in the scrub beside the hut. You must leave me here she whispered I replied there were no choice we all of us had to keep on moving.
His fever is too high he cannot travel.
I did not speak roughly but in the leaden light I firmly removed baby George from her arms carrying him out of the hut down under the twisted black ti tree past the wet dresses which Dan or Steve must of washed in the middle of the night the garments was spread like catfish skins upon the river bank.
