The Exile Breed

by Charles Egan

  ‘There’s other news too,’ Pat said. ‘Sarah and her mother are leaving Knockanure.’

  ‘Leaving,’ Eleanor exclaimed.

  ‘Mrs. Cronin is going across to Westport as a matron in the Workhouse.’

  ‘And you, Sarah?’

  ‘I’ll be travelling with her,’ Sarah said. ‘I can’t be staying on at Knockanure with no pay at all, so I wrote to them in Westport. I think they’re near bankrupt themselves, but I guessed they might have problems with their accounts, and sure enough they offered me a post. Only a shilling a day, but that’s a shilling more than I was earning at Knockanure. I’ll be working with the Clerk of Union, so I’ll have a good understanding of the Workhouse and the Union. Not that I really want to, given the state of the county.’

  ‘I know what you mean, girl,’ Michael said. ‘But it won’t be like this always. It’ll get better, it must get better.’

  Eleanor had put out the plates, and was ladling the potatoes.

  ‘It’s a long way though, Westport,’ she said. ‘I’d hoped we see more of you, but it won’t be too easy now.’

  ‘It’ll be difficult, right enough,’ Sarah said,

  ‘It’s quite a move for you, too. Westport from Knockanure. A much larger Workhouse, I understand.’

  ‘It is,’ Sarah said, ‘but what of it? It’s work.’

  ‘And what do you hear of the condition of Westport?’ Winnie asked. ‘How would it compare to Knockanure?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ Sarah said. ‘We haven’t heard so much, and a lot of what we hear is rumour. Militia men, surveyors and the like passing through, they tell us what they’ve seen, but I reckon some of it is only stories. It seems better in some ways now though. There’s more food coming into Westport – no need for carts to bring it inland, and little need for militia men. With the militias being so stretched around the county, Knockanure is harder to supply. No, it’s much easier for the Westport Workhouse with them being beside the biggest port in Mayo.’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, ‘I can see that.’

  ‘From what I hear though, the overcrowding is worse than Knockanure. And it’s not just the Westport Workhouse. Erris is in a terrible way and their nearest Workhouse is Ballina. There’s talk of them building a new Workhouse, but God knows when that’ll come.’

  ‘So, what do they do?’

  ‘The poor souls come down to Westport, looking for ships to America, but they have no money at all to get there.’

  But Eleanor was more concerned about Knockanure.

  ‘What of you,’ she asked Pat. ‘How long…?’

  ‘A while yet,’ Sarah answered, before Pat could speak. ‘I don’t know what they would have done without Pat. He’s very quick with numbers.’

  ‘Arra, go on,’ Pat said. ‘There’s others around would be faster than me.’

  ‘No, no, it’s no little thing. They must have someone for the accounts, especially now.’

  ‘But they can’t afford to pay much,’ Pat said. ‘They’re reducing my wages. Ten pounds a year for as long as the hunger lasts.’

  ‘What’s that you say?’ Michael exclaimed.

  ‘The Union is hoping they’ll be able to pay more next year,’ he said. ‘But as long as Knockanure Workhouse is in the condition it is, there’s little they can do. I’ve been through the accounts myself, I do it every day. The land rates are far less, and every penny there is to spare goes on food.’

  ‘I’m sure Clanowen could well afford to pay his rates, whatever about the others,’ Michael said.

  But Eleanor was not thinking of landlords. What would Pat’s salary bring in now – it must only be shillings a week? So it all came back to Luke. How long would it be until the letter arrived? Would there be money with it? Was he still alive? Of course he’s alive. And the potatoes are good, they’ll be better next year. We’ll all be able to eat, God willing. Enough of that.

  Sarah was talking. ‘So tell me about Luke. Have you heard back from him yet?’

  ‘Not a word yet,’ Winnie said. ‘We’re still waiting…’

  ‘What do you expect?’ Eleanor interrupted. ‘He’s not been gone long enough. It takes time to get to Quebec, and time for a letter to get back.’

  She noticed that Sarah had winced at the word ‘Quebec’.

  ‘It does,’ Sarah said. ‘It all takes time. But Luke is tough. Running four Relief Works in the mountains – not many could have done that? It was bad enough in the Workhouse, but from all he told us, it was worse in the mountains.’

  ‘Let’s not talk of what happened in the mountains,’ Pat said.

  ‘You’re too easy upset, Pat,’ Sarah said. ‘What happened in the mountains is part of the story of this county. Someday the story will be told. And believe me, the story of Knockanure Workhouse will be told too. All the people who died for no reason, my own father included. They wanted us all to do the impossible, gave us no money, and expected us to save lives with nothing at all. And you know what the terrible thing is – that the people blame us. Who else is there for them to blame? They don’t get to meet the government men back in Dublin or London. So the only ones they can blame are us – the ones who are working day and night, without help or thanks.’

  ‘I know,’ Eleanor interrupted. ‘I know just what you’re talking about. Luke told us everything. In the end, he was the very same. And wasn’t that the real reason he went to America? It wasn’t just building the roads in the mountains. He had to do that in Carrigard too. And running the Soup Kitchens – then having to close them. What could he do? He could only carry out the orders he was given, he had no money for anything else. But no one would see it that way. That’s why he’s gone to America now.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Winnie, ‘and that’s the reason I’ll be following him. The ganger’s wife. God, how they hate me for it. Carrigard and Brockagh. I’ve no home here anymore.’

  ‘You’d always have a home with us, child,’ Eleanor said, ‘no matter what anyone else thinks.’

  But what of Pat, she was thinking. How long would that last? And then there was the other question – how long could Michael run the farm? And two quarries? Luke was gone to America, and Eleanor at least did not believe he was going to return. Was he dead already? She thought of all the stories of the coffin ships, and the rumours that were circulating Mayo. And then there was Sarah. If Pat returned to farm Carrigard, what then? Could Sarah adapt to that kind of life?

  Soon afterwards Sarah and Pat left Carrigard. Eleanor hugged Sarah. Then they mounted the cart, and Pat whisked the reins.

  As soon as they reached Knockanure Workhouse, Pat wrote a letter to Danny telling of his meeting with Gaffney, and advising him to wait until he got more information. Within days he had his answer from Gaffney. He had full agreement for all of Danny’s requirements. No one in Castlebar had dissented.

  Pat wrote to Danny a second time. Within three days, a response arrived from Stockport.

  Pat passed the letter over to Sarah. ‘Here, you can read it.’

  Sarah scanned it. ‘What’s this about Murtybeg?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Pat said. ‘Danny’s sending him over. Make sure the job is done right. I didn’t expect that.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I’ll take him down to Ballinrobe. Let him see a bit of Mayo, for a change.’

  Two weeks later, Sarah and her mother left Knockanure. Pat watched from his window as one of the inmates drove the cart carrying the two women and all their possessions out through the gates. No one tried to force their way in.

  He went back across to the office and kicked the logs in the fire until the flames soared.

  Chapter 10

  Freemans Journal, Dublin, October 1847:

  How can I calmly contemplate the number who died of starvation and disease? Alas! There was neither fabrication nor exaggeration – for, since the 5th October 1846 up to the 15th October 1847, thirteen hundred and sixty one deaths have been registered, besides many that occurred in
the distant glens and remote shore creeks, of which God and his recording angels alone were cognisant. 1361 of my peaceable, moral and hitherto hospitable and charitable parishioners swept into eternity – and in a few months, too, by famine and its manifold accompaniments.

  Patrick MacManus, Parish Priest of Kilgeevor, Louisburgh, County Mayo

  The following night, Pat left Knockanure and walked back to Carrigard. He spent the weekend helping his father around the farm. The potatoes no longer had to be guarded, since Michael had ensured that they were all taken inside the house. On the Sunday, he attended Mass with Eleanor and Michael, while Winnie looked after Brigid. That afternoon it was back to hard work, re-building dry-stone walls where they had collapsed.

  He stayed overnight in Carrigard again. He left early, and walked out the road to Knockanure.

  After a mile, he came across soldiers resting on the side of the road. There must have been hundreds, he thought. All along the other side, horses were tethered to blackthorn bushes and ash trees. From the soldiers’ cylindrical tall helmets, he recognised them as dragoons. The helmets were black with bright yellow cords. They wore grey trousers and black jackets, each crossed by white straps. The men were sweating, though it was not warm.

  He stopped by a group of three, sitting on the bank

  ‘Where are ye all going to?’ he asked.

  One of the soldiers stood up. He was tall and young, but even so, had a weather-beaten face.

  ‘Castlebar,’ he answered with a half sneer. ‘The middle of Mayo.’ He waved at the fields around. ‘Is it like this all over?’

  ‘Pretty much, if it’s the hunger you’re speaking of,’ Pat replied.

  ‘And worse than that, we hear. Fever?’

  ‘Aye, you’ll see enough of that in Castlebar. But what are ye going over there for?’

  ‘Replacing the Inniskillings, that’s what we’re doing. They’re being sent back to Newbridge Barracks.’

  ‘A long way for them,’ Pat said.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And ye?’

  ‘Thirteenth Light Dragoons. Down from Longford.’

  By now, a group of soldiers were standing.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ one asked.

  ‘Telling us of Castlebar, he was.’

  ‘Not that I know much about it now,’ Pat said. ‘There’s stories of fever there now though, and God knows, that’s bad enough. But there’s one thing you’ll like about it – the barracks. Plenty of room for the lot of ye if the others have left. Ye’ll have no problem with that anyhow. And from what I hear, the depot has enough corn, at least for the army.’

  ‘But not for the horses,’ one of the other soldiers said. ‘That may be why they sent the Inniskillings away.’

  ‘Ye’ve enough horses I’d say,’ Pat said.

  A lieutenant had joined them. ‘Come on you lads, back in line.’

  Pat watched as they lined up.

  ‘What have you been telling them?’ the lieutenant asked.

  ‘Just about Castlebar,’ Pat said. ‘Isn’t that where you’re going.’

  ‘It is,’ the lieutenant said, ‘but after that who knows? Tell me, what’s Belmullet like?’

  ‘Ye’re not going there,’ Pat said.

  ‘Some of us might. Us or the Forty Ninth. What’s it like?’

  Pat thought of Belmullet.

  ‘Damned if I know,’ he said. ‘It’s out the far end of Erris, almost. From all we hear it’s a forsaken place. And near wiped out by fever, Belmullet was, back in the summer. I don’t know what it’s like now, but no one would go near the place if they wanted to live. And God knows why they’d want to send the army there. I’ll tell you this, you’ll have no fighting the locals there, there’s few enough of them left, and those that are, sure they’re scarce able to stand.’

  When Pat arrived in Knockanure he saw another company of the Light Dragoons marching past. He stood by the gates of the Workhouse to watch. On either side of the gate there were families sitting on the ground, leaning up against the Workhouse wall. An old woman was sitting beside where Pat was standing. She was desperately thin.

  ‘Isn’t it well fed they are?’ she said to him.

  ‘They are,’ Pat answered. ‘Damned well fed.’

  ‘Sure wouldn’t they want to be strong brawny lads to be fighting us,’ she said. ‘They must have great fear of us to be sending us the likes of them.’

  A Workhouse inmate walked across the yard, saw Pat, and opened the gate. ‘There’s some fellow here waiting for you,’ he told Pat. ‘Looks like Quality.’

  Pat looked at him in astonishment, wondering who the stranger might be. He went to his office.

  ‘Murteen! Where the devil did you come from?’

  ‘Over from England. Where else would I be coming from?’

  ‘Arra, I know. It’s just I wasn’t expecting you today. Have you been long waiting?’

  ‘Only since last night. The decent people here, they fed me, and gave me a bed. I was a little surprised, mind you, what with the starving outside, but I guess they thought I was on official business.’

  ‘And aren’t you?’

  ‘Now what do you think? Danny sent me over, and that wasn’t for the good of my health. He’s looking for more workers, reckons the country isn’t sending enough of the fellows he wants.’

  Pat sat down at the desk and waved Murtybeg to a seat.

  ‘I know all that. But I thought you were getting the fellows out of Liverpool Workhouse. Wouldn’t there be enough for ye there?’

  ‘Not of the right kind,’ Murtybeg answered. ‘Sure, they can give us plenty, but the most of them are from the wrong parts of Ireland. We’re looking for West Mayo, nowhere else.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That, or places like it. Danny wants men who are desperate, men who’ll have no way back to Ireland because of the hunger, men who have to earn money to send back to their families if they’re to have any chance of bringing them over. He doesn’t want any fellows from Dublin or the Midlands, not even the Plains of Mayo.’

  ‘So, what are ye suggesting?’

  ‘Well, that’s up to you. Maybe we should head over to Castlebar, and meet this Gaffney fellow you wrote about. Then go on to the other Workhouses along the coast. What do you think?’

  ‘God, Murteen, I always knew Danny was a tough bruiser, but I think you’re getting the same. You’ve changed a lot since I last knew you.’

  ‘Sure I had to. How else would I live?’

  Pat had an idea.

  ‘Have you seen much of the Workhouse?’

  ‘I haven’t been over there yet. They fed me and put me up here beside the Administration.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Pat. ‘Let’s give you an idea of this place.’ He walked out, followed by Murtybeg. They walked across the yard to the Workhouse building. First they went through the refectory, but Pat did not stop. Murtybeg gasped at the scene around him, and held Pat by his shoulder.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Arra, don’t mind this,’ Pat said. ‘There’s more to see than this.’

  He led Murtybeg up a flight of stairs where they could see into the women’s dormitory, women and girls getting dressed.

  ‘Don’t mind that either,’ Pat said. ‘Come on.’

  Up past the men’s dormitory. Then up to the top of the Workhouse. Another dormitory.

  ‘This’ll interest you,’ Pat said. ‘We call this the Overflow Ward.’

  ‘The what?’

  Pat opened the door and walked in. He saw Murtybeg whip his hand across his nose, his eyes staring. ‘Oh, Christ Almighty.’

  On one wall, beds were crushed side to side, two men in each. A line of poles with ropes ran down the centre of the ward, blankets and curtains draped over them. On the other side, the women and children. Two bodies lay on the floor just beside the door. Half way down was a chamber pot whose contents has been strewn across the floor, seeping under the hanging curtains. The stench was overpowering.
r />   ‘It’s like I say, it’s only the Overflow Ward,’ Pat said. ‘The fever sheds are full, and we can’t leave them out in the rain, now can we?’

  ‘But – how long does it take to cure them?’

  Pat looked at him in derision.

  ‘Cure them? Have you any idea what’s going on here, Murteen? The most of them will never come out of here alive. They’re dying like flies – damned near a hundred a month.’

  ‘A hundred!’

  ‘Arra hell, sure that’s nothing. Earlier in the year it was nearer two hundred. But sure I wouldn’t worry about it, the faster they die, the faster we can take in more, and kill them too.’

  ‘Now, don’t be like that,’ Murtybeg said. ‘You’re not like that. You wouldn’t mean that.’

  ‘I don’t know what I mean or what I don’t mean any longer,’ Pat said. ‘One way or the other, we’ve no room here for any more. Come on.’

  Murtybeg followed him down the three flights of stone stairs. They went out into the yard again. Pat pointed to the line of fever sheds along one wall.

  ‘They’re the murder sheds.’

  ‘Stop that,’ Murtybeg said, angry now.

  ‘Isn’t that all they’re doing? The landlords want rid of them, and this is the fastest way. They don’t even have to send them out of the country. Liverpool, Manchester, nor America even. No cost to anyone.’

  Pat went over to one of the fever sheds. Murtybeg followed, and caught Pat’s elbow.

  ‘I don’t want to see this.’

  ‘What sort of man are you?’ Pat said. ‘Fine, fine. I won’t show you that. Come on over here.’

  He led Murtybeg to the death pit.

  Two inmates took a naked corpse off a stretcher by the arms and legs, carried it to the pit and threw it in. Pat pointed down at the heap of bodies. Most were putrescent and many partly eaten. The only sound was the squeaking of the rats.

  ‘There you are, Murteen,’ Pat said. ‘There’s County Mayo, Year of Our Lord 1847.’

  Murtybeg said nothing. Pat turned around. Murtybeg was on his knees.

  ‘Are you praying or what?’ Pat asked.