The Exile Breed

by Charles Egan

  ‘So what happened?’ Pat asked again. ‘What did they take?’

  ‘One of the cattle, the bastards. They tried to take the second, but I stopped them. Then one of them ran at me with a knife.’

  Pat examined the scar closely, passing his finger along the length of it. ‘You’re a damned fool, father. They could have taken your eye out. Or killed you.’

  ‘Arra, what.’

  ‘No, it’s no little thing. What would we have done then, and you dead?’

  ‘What would we have done without both cattle? Aren’t we close enough to hunger as it is?’

  ‘And you thought you could take on three men? You’re not a young fellow now, father.’

  ‘Don’t you be worrying about me, young lad. I’m tough enough yet.’

  Pat fingered the scar again, wondering how much blood Michael might have lost.

  ‘So they didn’t come into the house?’ he asked.

  ‘I think they wanted to. Check out for sovereigns perhaps. Gold rings either. But between the shouting and the cattle kicking up hell, they were scared that others might hear it, so they skedaddled off with just the one cow.’

  The drizzle had eased. Nephin stood out in sunshine, but grey mists still clung to the Mountain.

  Winnie was always in Eleanor’s thoughts. The baby was coming in March, if only the fever didn’t come first. Stop thinking like that. But what of the baby? What of the birth? She thought back on the times she had given birth herself. Painful, but not over-much. One born dead, but that was normal. No, Winnie was strong. She would not, could not, die in childbirth.

  But what of Nessa? She had died. Remember that nightmare day? Now, stop this, she told herself. But still, there were other odd things. Danny’s reaction. She had never expected that. Yes, he was Nessa’s brother, but even so. What had it been then? Love of his sister? Or the savage desire for revenge against the man who had fathered the baby, and tried to disappear. With Danny, it was hard to know. Perhaps a bit of both.

  One afternoon Sabina and Kitty arrived.

  ‘Well how are ye now, acushla?’ Kitty said, taking Brigid on her lap.

  ‘She’s well fed, at least,’ Sabina said.

  ‘Isn’t it what we have to do,’ Eleanor said. ‘We’re fine, we can be a thin as we like. But little Brigid, we wouldn’t want to stunt her growth.’

  ‘Nor her brains neither,’ Winnie said from the fireside.

  But the baby was already asleep on her lap.

  ‘What age is she now?’ Kitty asked. ‘Must be near two.’

  ‘Near enough,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘So, when does she start school?’

  ‘It will be more than a year to that,’ Sabina answered. ‘They won’t take her under three years of age. After the summer of 1849, that’ll be the time.’

  ‘And what then?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Seven years of schooling, then the secondary school in Castlebar. But she’ll only be ten. Would they take her so young?’

  ‘Sure we won’t tell them her age,’ Kitty answered.

  ‘And fifteen years old for teacher training in Galway or wherever?’ Eleanor said. ‘Are we expecting too much of the child?’

  ‘Maybe we are, and maybe we’re not,’ Kitty answered, ‘but sure we can only try.’

  Yes, Eleanor thought, we can only try. She knew she would always miss Brigid, even if she was not her own daughter. Perhaps she will become a teacher, perhaps she’ll come back to Kilduff. Do I believe that? Who knows?

  Kitty was talking about money.

  ‘Isn’t it the right cheek we all have,’ she said. ‘We’ve not enough money to feed ourselves, and here we are making grand plans as to how we’d spend it.’

  ‘True for you,’ Winnie answered, ‘but Luke is sending money already. Not enough yet, but there’ll be more when he settles. And then, maybe I’ll be earning too, who knows.’

  ‘With a baby?’ Sabina asked.

  ‘He’ll be going to school soon enough too,’ Winnie answered. ‘And anyhow, there’s Danny…’

  ‘Danny!’ Sabina exclaimed. ‘You’re expecting Danny to send money? I’ll tell you, I’ll give the little I can, but I wouldn’t expect much from Danny.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Eleanor said, ‘we haven’t asked him yet. And there’s one thing about Danny you shouldn’t forget. He’s a pride in himself, and there’s Nessa too. His own sister, dying in childbirth like that. That shook him. No, I reckon Danny will do anything for Nessa’s daughter, anything we ask him.’

  After Sabina and Kitty had left, Eleanor and Winnie started cleaning the table and the floor.

  ‘I wonder which of us had the right of it.’ Eleanor asked.

  For a moment, Winnie was puzzled, then slowly it dawned on her.

  ‘You mean about Brigid? And Danny?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘You seem to be expecting a lot of him.’

  Eleanor stopped rubbing down the table. ‘Maybe we are, Winnie girl, but there again, maybe we’re not. He’s a strange fellow, Danny is, there’s no doubting that. A tough man, you’ve heard all about that. He’ll be marrying a tough woman too, and they’re both doing well in a very tough business. There’s not many men with his ability, nor his cruelty, but still, there’s something about Danny I don’t understand. You heard about him beating Corrigan?’

  ‘I did,’ Winnie said. ‘Savage too from all accounts.’

  ‘Indeed. But just think of this. Why did he do it? He did it because he held Corrigan responsible for killing Nessa. He held that if Corrigan had not put her in the way of a child, she would have lived. It was a matter that upset him greatly. There’s more love in Danny than many people can see.’

  ‘’Tis hard for me to say,’ Winnie said. ‘I know all you say is true, but there is another way of looking at it. Danny might consider that Corrigan caused the baby, but it was the baby that killed Nessa in the birthing.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Eleanor said. ‘Another way though is that Danny might have a deep fondness for Nessa’s child. Deeper than any might think.’

  ‘He might,’ Winnie admitted. ‘The question is – how can we find out?’

  ‘Write to him.’

  ‘Write!’

  ‘There’s no other way. You and me, we’ll write him a letter, and not breathe a word to anyone else.’

  They waited until the next morning when Michael was working in the quarry. Eleanor took the pen, ink and a single sheet of paper from atop the dresser.

  ‘Now, I’m not too good at writing,’ she said to Winnie, ‘so it’s best if you do that. But perhaps we should both sign it. Do you agree?’

  ‘I do,’ Winnie said. ‘You know we’ll have to tell Sabina, though’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Secrecy. We’ll have to use her bar as the address. If Danny refuses, I wouldn’t like anyone here to know what we’ve done.’

  The two women spent an hour in writing the letter. They requested total secrecy from Danny. Then they explained about Brigid, continuing with their plans for Brigid’s education in detail.

  When Winnie had finished writing, and they had both signed the letter, Eleanor picked it up.

  ‘He’ll think we’re senseless, won’t he?’

  ‘I think your own man thought we were senseless too, but he’s come around now. Hasn’t he?’

  ‘Indeed he has. It took us long enough though, and we had the benefit of having him close to hand. I don’t know if we’ll succeed with Danny. We’ll only have the one chance. A single minute, and he’ll decide.’

  That afternoon, Winnie brought the letter up to town. She showed it in confidence to Sabina. Then, with her permission, she added a postscript, requesting that Danny should reply directly to her at Sabina’s address.

  Pat was on guard at the potato field one night, when he heard a bellowing from the cowshed. He ran down, but his father was already inside, holding a lantern.

  ‘What’s wrong, father?’

  ‘They’ve hocked her.’


  ‘Hocked her? What? Where?’

  Michael held the lantern behind the cow. The light was very dim, but Pat could see the blood oozing from the tendons at the lower part of the cow’s hind leg.

  ‘Hocked her well and truly,’ Michael said. ‘She’ll never walk again.’

  ‘The bastards. Did you see them?’

  ‘See them? They ran like the devil.’

  ‘In the name of God, where are they now?’

  Michael realised the danger. He rushed to the door. ‘Quick. The potatoes.’

  They ran to the potato field. In the moonlight, they could see shadowy figures at the top end of it. One of the intruders whistled sharply. At the signal, the remaining potatoes were piled into three sacks, and the men ran. Pat ran after them. As he gained on them, the men panicked and, one by one, they dropped their sacks. Pat stopped running, and gathered up the sacks with the potatoes. Michael arrived, gasping.

  ‘At least we kept the potatoes,’ Pat said.

  ‘Yes,’ Michael answered. ‘Now let’s get them into the house, and see about the cow.’

  Pat spent the night at the potato field, while his father stayed in the cowshed.

  Next morning, Michael killed the cow with a rapid blow to the head from the back of an axe. The cow sank to her knees, let out a single bellow and rolled on her side.

  Then the hard work of butchering began. Using sharp knives, Michael and Pat skinned the cow.

  Eleanor brought out basins to collect the blood, to make into black pudding. She could see that Winnie was queasy, but said nothing. Best to let her get used to it. She had seen enough stomach-turning sights already. This was only one more.

  Using the axe again, Michael split the cow down the middle. They began to take out the offal, separating out the waste and retaining the edible parts, including the liver, heart, kidneys and more. Then it was time to cut the cow into its primal parts of beef, a process carried out by Michael and Pat. These were brought into the house, and the women began to salt them.

  Sabina arrived at Carrigard. The other three women were there with the baby.

  ‘A letter for ye,’ she said.

  ‘From Danny?’ Eleanor asked.

  ‘Now you don’t think I’d be opening your post, do you? It’s clearly addressed to the pair of ye only.’

  Impatiently, Eleanor snatched the letter. She saw the Manchester postmark.

  She slit it open. A bank note fluttered out.

  ‘Five pounds,’ Winnie gasped. She picked it up. ‘Why on earth would he send money in the post? A bank draft would have been safer.’

  ‘Maybe he wanted it kept secret,’ Kitty said.

  ‘But five pounds!’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you he’d be generous,’ Eleanor said. ‘Here, you read it.’

  She handed it to Winnie.

  ‘Well, here’s one man doesn’t think we’re crazy,’ Winnie said. ‘He reckons with a mother as bright as Nessa, Brigid should go all the way to training college.’

  ‘College!’ Sabina exclaimed. ‘Starvation all around, and he talks of college. Is he mad too?’

  ‘No more than the rest of us,’ Kitty said, ‘but with this class of madman backing us, we can do anything.’

  Winnie looked closely at the banknote.

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘What now?’ Eleanor echoed. ‘Tomorrow morning, I’ll go straight over to the Hibernian Bank in Knockanure. I’ll open an account for Brigid.’

  ‘Can you open an account for a baby?’

  ‘I can ask.’

  Chapter 23

  Staffordshire Advertiser, January 1848: On Messrs Brassey & Co.’s contract, which comprises the Pottery line from Macclesfield to Colwich and the Norton Bridge and Newcastle branches, a length of 40 miles, 1,950,800 cubic yards of earthwork had been removed; considerable progress has been made with the heavy Works at Macclesfield, by arching over the river Bollin, and building the retaining walls through the town. The viaducts over the river Dove, and at Congleton, may be considered as each half finished. At Congleton some of the centres are erected for turning the arches.

  Report of the Engineers to the Directors of the North Staffordshire Railway In England the letter from Eleanor and Winnie had stunned Danny. Until the moment he received it, he had not thought of the baby in anything but abstract terms. Now she had a name.

  Nor had he thought about the fact that Eleanor had been fostering her. From the time of Nessa’s death, he had not cared any more about the baby, but now she had been presented to him in very real terms. Brigid. Nessa’s daughter. The only sliver of Nessa left on earth.

  What had astonished him too, was the sheer ambition of the women. He could well remember Eleanor from so many years ago. His first memories were of playing with Luke in Eleanor’s house. She was a strong woman, and, to some degree, had reared Danny almost as her own son. Even before he had left Mayo, Aileen had begun to withdraw into herself.

  Teacher training! He knew that Eleanor had all the strength to achieve her aim. Would the child be able for it though? He thought of Nessa’s bright intelligence, and his own father’s ability as a respected and capable teacher. Of course Brigid could become a teacher. What other outcome was possible?

  Cash was not an immediate worry for Danny. He was more concerned about future contracts.

  That morning he had received a letter from the Brassey head office. It stated bluntly, that the North Staffordshire contract was to be finished by the first of May.

  ‘And that causes two problems,’ he told Irene. ‘First, that we need even more labour than we expected. And second, we’ll need new contracts. Brassey represents damned near half of what we’re doing. How do we replace that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m reckoning we’ll pick up the Baxendale contracts.’

  ‘We might, alright.’

  ‘We will. They’re going bankrupt, and if we play our cards right, we’ll take much of their business. The one by McManus’ site for certain, and with a little luck, we might be able to take that Ormskirk contract too.’

  ‘Assuming the bank lends to us on Ormskirk.’

  ‘They will when Baxendales have gone bankrupt. It’s like Nick Roscoe said. They’ll have no choice.’

  ‘I wish I had Roscoe’s confidence.’

  ‘There’s no question of Baxendales not going bankrupt. This is a time of great opportunity for us.’

  ‘And a time of great risk.’

  ‘What risk?’

  ‘For God’s sake, will you look around you, Irene? The country’s in a desperate state.’

  ‘What’s that to do with the railways?’

  ‘They’re the worst. Look at all the suspensions. Deferments. Postponements. Whatever you want to call them. And outright cancellations too.’

  ‘And none of them affect us. Nor will they, if we complete our contracts fast enough. You say Brassey want us to finish quickly. Fine, let’s give them what they want. It’s as your father said. The North Staffordshire will have wasted huge sums of money if they can’t complete the line. Their outlay is only worthwhile on a railway with trains running all the way through. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘It is,’ Danny admitted.

  ‘So any railway will only suspend those Works that are not necessary. And we’ve got them there on all Andersons’ contracts too. They have to be finished. They’re worthless unless they are. The railways know that.’

  ‘And the Manchester South Junction? They’re already suspending Works.’

  ‘Not ours. The Ancoats Works are more than a railway. The Council in Manchester is desperate to clear the slums. The whole world knows about Little Ireland. No, they won’t stop that one. Not until they’re all evicted.’

  Danny was more puzzled than ever.

  ‘And if we finish all these contracts, what then?’

  ‘Then we’ve cash in the bank. Nothing to worry about for a long time. But even there, I don’t believe it will happen that way. By that time, they’ll be
giving us contracts.’

  ‘Giving us!’

  ‘Look at all the bankrupt contractors. Sooner or later, those lines will have to be completed, and we’re the ones that can complete them cheapest. The railways know that. And so do the banks.’

  ‘I know. Low wages…’

  ‘And more than that, Danny. Much more. Low timber prices. The merchants are near bankrupt too. We can buy timber for whatever we like. Cash on delivery gives them the only chance they have to avoid bankruptcy. We string them out, just keeping them in business, and take all their profit for ourselves.’

  ‘But…what of the workers? What do we do when we finish the North Staffordshire? It’s huge.’

  ‘Just fire them. Remember this. There’s thousands of navvies out of work, up and down the country. Wherever we’ve contracts, we hire. Where we don’t, we fire them.’

  ‘Have you no conscience?’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘There’s no ‘maybe’ about it, Danny. This is a rough business. Are you in, or are you out?’

  ‘In, for sure. But, good God, Irene, how can either of us handle all this?’

  ‘Either of us? What about your father?’

  ‘What about him?’ Danny asked, angrily.

  ‘We could use him better,’ she replied. ‘Just think it through. You’re too busy visiting sites. This business is going to need a lot more controlling, and we can’t afford to have you out travelling the country when we’ve got to be dealing with our customers. Not to mention the bank, especially when we get the Ormskirk contract.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Up to you, Danny.’

  ‘But if I don’t visit the sites, who will? You’re not suggesting…?’

  ‘Exactly,’ she answered. ‘Your father. It’s what he’ll be best at. After all, he’s taught all our gangers, except Steele. They look up to him. That’s what you said. Whatever about the ganger meetings, we need reliable figures week by week, and someone to look over the sites and spot problems before they arise.’