by Charles Egan
The maid showed the Inspector out. Danny was stunned. He could not say that he knew who the Manchester bodymaster was. To do so, could incriminate him, and imply he himself might have been behind the Eckersley murder. Worse still, the Molly Maguire gang had ways of dealing with informers, and Danny knew that he would spend the rest of his life on the run if he informed on Sheridan. Or die if they caught him.
After some moments of silence, Irene spoke. ‘Calm down, Danny.’
‘I am calm,’ Danny said, without conviction.
‘You’re white in the face. Crawford saw that.’
‘Well, I was shocked, wasn’t I? Hearing Jamesy was dead, that was shock enough. You reckon it goes further, do you?’
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘He certainly suspects you. What he suspects you of, is not clear, and perhaps even he doesn’t know yet. One way or another, we’ve got to be very careful. Crawford is no fool.’
Danny was more than alarmed. He was becoming terrified. He had started a chain of events which had ended in two murders. He convinced himself that it was not something that he could ever have foreseen. He had asked Sheridan to remove Eckersley, not to kill him. All he had wanted was to eliminate the shebeens on his sites and stop the gang riots. His objective was quite right, even Crawford would have agreed with that. But Eckersley had died, and, while he had not wanted that, it had happened. He had always prided himself on being tough on his workers, but in spite of his toughness, he felt a certain guilt about Eckersley’s death. Now Jamesy was dead too. An old friend for many years, and no matter which way he looked at it, he himself was guilty of his death.
He could only hope that this was the end of the chain. Or would it turn into an endless series of tit-for-tat killings?
Murtybeg too was shocked by McManus’ murder, but he said nothing to Danny. There were other matters on his mind, less shocking, but more immediate.
He had been disturbed by Murty’s discussion with Roughneen, and even more so by the meeting with Joe Gilligan and the gang in Yorkshire. He had never expected the way they had scorned other Irish navvies and the Irish of the slums. In some ways, he could see the logic of it, in that men on good wages were afraid to be undercut by those who were used to working for nothing at all in County Mayo. ‘Slaves’, as Doyle had put it. Roughneen too.
What disturbed him more was that it was something he had never considered when he was in Mayo. Landless men and their families had been all around him there, but he had had little interest in them. Those in school were the ones who could afford to pay, not the children of rednecks.
The families who paid might have paid very little, and a few even paid in kind – potatoes and cabbages in season, sometimes labour – but even these were families who valued the benefits of education. But what of the rest? The people in mud cabins? Roughneen had been right. Michael had had a landless couple living in a mud cabin in Carrigard. Sorcha was the woman’s name, but he had forgotten the name of her husband. She had been a hard worker. But what had happened to them? He had some recollection of them being sent to Knockanure Workhouse, but that was all.
Did he care? It no longer mattered whether he did or not. He had a straight choice – work with Danny, or work with the gang in Yorkshire. But which was the lesser evil?
One evening, he stood on the path outside the house. It was a clear, starry night, and bitterly cold. Murty came out.
‘There you are, Murteen. I thought we’d lost you.’
Murtybeg laughed. ‘You’d be hard put to lose a fellow like me.’
‘What’s up with you, standing out in the cold like this?’
‘Just thinking.’
‘About McManus?’
‘That, and other matters.
‘Jamesy’s murder was a terrible thing.’
‘It was,’ Murtybeg replied. ‘It shocked us all.’
‘There’s only one thing I’m wondering, Murteen. Why was he killed?’
‘Damned if I know,’ Murtybeg replied.
For some time, Murty said nothing, then he spoke again.
‘Remember what we said about loyalty, Murteen. I’ll ask it another way. Who murdered him?’
Murtybeg knew he was caught.
‘I’d be telling the truth if I said I don’t know, but I’ve got my strong suspicions. It was someone from the English gang that were working next to Jamesy’s site. As yet, I doubt if anyone knows the exact man.’
‘And why would any of those fellows want to kill Jamesy?’
‘In revenge for Eckersley’s murder.’
‘The shebeen fellow?’
‘Yes,’ Murtybeg replied. ‘The shebeen fellow.’
There was silence again, as Murty knocked his pipe on the heel of his shoe and watched the still-glowing ashes on the ground. Then he tamped more tobacco into the pipe, and slowly lit it.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that fellow got one hell of a beating. Died afterwards. Just the same as happened to Jimmy Corrigan, after you and Danny beat the hell out of him.’
Murtybeg was angry now. ‘Well I can tell you one thing for sure, father. It wasn’t me nor Danny beat Eckersley.’
‘Fine,’ Murty said. ‘I believe you on that point. But the question is, who did beat him, and under whose orders?’
‘Not mine anyhow,’ Murtybeg said, knowing well that that left only one alternative, and Murty was shrewd enough to work that out for himself.
‘Well, enough of that for now,’ Murty said. ‘What did you think of our visit to Gilligan and the rest of them?’
‘It went well,’ Murtybeg replied. ‘You’ve sure got a job there, if you want it.’
‘Yes,’ Murty said. ‘And that’s the question, isn’t it?’
‘But why wouldn’t you?’
‘Quite a few reasons, Murteen. One is the question of your mother, and how she would take it, moving from site to site.’
‘They mightn’t move as much as you think,’ Murtybeg said. ‘After all, they’ve been on the Leeds & Thirsk for a year or two. Good lodgings too, as we both saw.’
‘Maybe you’ve the right of it,’ Murty answered. ‘But there’s other questions too. Did you hear what they were saying about the other Irish navvies? They hold them in utter scorn.’
‘Yes,’ Murtybeg answered. ‘I noticed that fast enough. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.’
‘It’s not much different to what you fellows think over here, is it. Though mind you, at least the Gilligan lot aren’t exploiting them, though their hatred is bad enough.’
‘It is.’ Murtybeg took out his own pipe, tamped it and lit it. ‘So have ye decided?’
‘I have,’ Murty said. ‘Have you?’
‘Damned if I know what I want,’ Murtybeg said.
That night, Murtybeg lay back in his bed, staring into the darkness. He felt more conflicted than ever. He had told his father that he held his first loyalty, but still his actions showed a closer loyalty to Danny. If he was loyal to his father and mother, he could leave Danny and work in the Gilligan gang. They were still looking for strong fellows from Kilduff, and Murtybeg was sure he could work with them, and stay with Murty and Aileen. He knew Aileen would be delighted if he did, and this would help her out of her misery. But then what? Whatever Gilligan said about it, he would be working as a navvy, even as a highly paid one. How long could that last? Twenty years until he could do it no longer? Perhaps more, but even so, it would come to an end. He had better chances with Danny, and could become a wealthy man, and retire when he liked. Which was the better?
Next evening, Murty was alone with Danny, as the maid was clearing up the dishes after dinner, and the rest had gone to bed.
‘I’m leaving here,’ he said.
Danny looked up in surprise. ‘Leaving?’
‘Leaving,’ Murty repeated. ‘There’s nothing to keep me here. I’ve had enough.’
Danny put down his pen. He could see from his father’s face that this was deadly serious.
‘But surely…you’re ma
king good money, more than you’d ever make in Mayo.’
‘True,’ Murty said, ‘but then I see where it’s all coming from. This is an evil place, Danny, and you’ve made it so. The way you treat your men, the way you pay them, the condition of the navvy huts, the evictions, what could be worse? All these years I’ve been a teacher…’
‘Yes,’ said Danny angrily, ‘but that’s over. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
‘It is, right enough,’ Murty answered, ‘but it doesn’t mean I have to stay.’
Danny stood, and walked over to the fire.
‘But where would ye go? Times are hard now, you know that. The Stock Market…’
‘I know,’ Murty said, ‘I read the papers too, you know.’
‘Well, then?’
‘I’ll be working with Joe Gilligan and the rest of the lads…’
‘You’ll what’ Danny exclaimed. ‘You’d work on the rails, would you? And you’re the one saying you’re a teacher.’
‘Yes,’ Murty said, ‘I’d work on the rails. They need someone for all the paperwork, and God knows I’m well able for that.’
‘But…in Leeds. Sure that’s miles away. The other side of the Pennines.’
‘So it is,’ Murty said, ‘but what of that? We can start over again, this time with a respectable job. Yes, it’s less money – just over half what I’m getting here. But who knows, Aileen might get a job in the mills too and make up for it.’
‘There’s no work for mill-hands.’
‘Not now, there’s not. But there will be again. Give it time.’
‘And…where would you stay?’
‘Their lodgings are fine. A good house, good landlady, good food. What more could a man want?’
Danny had a sudden thought. Why was he arguing? If Aileen went, it would solve any problems between her and Irene.
As indeed it did.
‘Thank God for that,’ Irene said to him afterwards. ‘Now we’ll be able to live the way we want, without having to look back over our shoulders every hour.’
But Danny did not look at it that way. His family was close to him. Nessa’s death had hit him very hard, and he and Murtybeg had beaten a man for it, a man who died soon afterwards. Danny saw no conflict in this. His duty was to protect his family, and if others must suffer for it, so be it. One way to protect the family was to make enough money to ensure they had enough to eat. He knew the Hell that County Mayo had now become. He had taken his parents out of that, given them food and lodgings and good pay. The fact he was exploiting helpless men to achieve this was not a problem to his mind. Yes, he had had differences with Murty, and even Murtybeg in the past, but he had never seen these as serious opposition.
But now, Murty was leaving. He saw this as a betrayal of everything he valued. That it was done by his own father was even worse. He knew now he was alone, or almost so. Irene would stay, but was that only for his money? Murtybeg might stay too, but was he tough enough for this business?
And all this, coming on top of Crawford’s visits. Perhaps he was reading too much into Crawford’s questions, but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was of it. Crawford suspected him of Eckersley’s murder. He also suspected him of being the bodymaster for the Molly Maguire gang in Manchester. The only way to prove otherwise, was to inform on Sheridan.
Either way, he could die for it.
No time was wasted, as Murty and Aileen left a few days later. All their possessions were packed in trunks and loaded onto a hansom cab, which Murtybeg had been instructed to order.
‘It’s not too high a cost for getting what you want,’ Danny said to Irene.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Irene said. ‘Not that I like paying it.’
Danny and Murtybeg kissed Aileen, and stood by the door as the cab left. Irene was already back working on accounts.
A few minutes later, she came across to his desk.
‘Have you seen this?’
She handed him a letter from Birkenhead. Brassey’s head office.
‘What does it say?’
‘They want completion by the end of May.’
‘The end of May? Are they mad?’
‘They might be. But one way or another, we have to do it.’
Danny shook his head. ‘My God, that’s impossible.’
‘We’re going to have to make it possible,’ she said. ‘So first, we’ll have to get an awful lot more navvies.’
‘Yes, I know, there’s thousands around, but we won’t be able to pay them the wages we’re paying the west Mayo fellows. Even if they’re desperate, it’ll be at least two shillings a day, maybe half a crown.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that,’ she said. ‘Sure, it’ll cost us, but we’ve got the margins built in.’
‘Ah yes,’ Danny responded, ‘your contingencies.’
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Though less than before, now. Aren’t you pleased they were there though?’
‘Indeed. But there’s another problem now. Even if we take on new navvies, it’ll have to be four or five hundred.’
‘There’s plenty of jobless men around here. We won’t need any direct from Ireland. They’re all over here already.’
‘True. But then – at the end of May – we’ll have to fire the lot of them again. Seven hundred men, or more. And how the devil can we do that? There’s nowhere else they can go for work, that’s for certain. And the Parish won’t take them.’
‘Send them back to Ireland,’ she said ‘It’s the only way.’
‘But think of the cost. And anyway why send them all the way to Ireland?’
‘You’re right. So just put them on wagons back to Liverpool. Let the Workhouse take them. They can do what they like – send them back to Ireland or feed them, or just let them beg.’
‘We’d have to get someone to go with them though.’
‘How about Murtybeg? He was good enough at getting them over from Liverpool. And he knows the Workhouse staff.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we could do that. But first they’d have to be fired.’
‘Get the gangers to fire them.’
‘They’ve too much to be thinking about already.’
‘Let’s use your own family again, so. You keep going on about how educated they are.’
‘Who so?’
‘Your cousin…’
‘Luke. He’s gone to America.’
‘I know. He’s not your only cousin. Is he?’
‘There’s Pat.’
‘Pat, so. Why would he want to stay in Mayo?’
‘I understand he’s got a position in the Poor Law Union.’
She snorted. ‘And how long is that going to last? From all we hear, half the Irish Unions are bankrupt already. What we should do is write to him, offer him good pay. It’ll be better than Union rates anyhow, and he’ll be over here in a flash. We don’t have to tell him what his duties will be, he can work that out when he gets here.’
‘Maybe,’ Danny said. ‘That might work. Let me think about it.’
‘Don’t think too long.’
‘Don’t worry. Our next problem though is Jamesy’s site. We’ve no ganger there. There’s a few foremen, but I doubt they’re much good.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We’ll just have to split it between Murtybeg and myself for a while.’
Danny’s next shock came when he received a letter from Roy Anderson. In it, Anderson explained that the crash on the railways was now causing severe problems. There was an on-going threat of suspensions on their sites. The only exception was the Little Ireland site in Ancoats, which was going well.
On the other three, Anderson wrote, the only way to avoid suspensions was to cut the price. He suggested a reduction of twenty percent.
Chapter 25
Montreal Transcript, January 1848: From Grosse Île, the great charnel house of victimised humanity, up to Port Sarnia – along the borders of our magnificent river, upon the shores of Lakes Ontario
and Erie, and wherever the tide of immigration has extended, are to be found the resting places of the sons and daughters of Erin – one unbroken chain of graves where repose fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers in one comingled heap, without a tear bedewing the soil or a stone to mark the spot.
One morning in February, one of the Quebecer overseers came up to Luke. Wordlessly, he handed him a letter.
Luke looked at it in astonishment. He saw the Castlebar postmark.
‘Where did this come from?’
‘Pour vous? Oui?’
‘Yes, yes, for me. But where…?’
‘Quebec.’
Luke stared at it, still unable to comprehend it. The address on the front was very short. It read – ‘Luke Ryan, Gilmours, Quebec, Canada.’
There were scribbles on the front in English and French:
– Unknown. Try the shipyard.
– Pas ici.
– Not here either. Try Wolfe’s Cove.
– Irlandais?
– McGowan might know.
He turned it over. There was another note on the back of the envelope – ‘You were fortunate this landed on my desk after all this time. Hope it reaches you now. Mary says to send our best wishes to you and the lads. Write us when you get to New York. Larry.’
McGowan, he thought. He knew where I was. Damned lucky, that. He opened it.
Carrigard
Kilduff
County Mayo
Ireland
Luke Ryan
Gilmours
Quebec
Canada
11 December 1847
My Dearest Luke,
I am sending this letter in the hope that it will reach you. Perhaps it will, who knows. We well received your first letter, and were more happy to have it than I can tell. We had heard such terrible stories about the Quebec ships. Your mother says the Good Lord was looking over you. Your second letter was welcome too, we had not expected another so soon. Your father directs me to say the price of corn is high, and we have much need of money for the rent too. I am happy to say that all here are well. The fever around is less than it was, and thank God for that. Pat is well, and Sarah has visited us twice since you left. Neither of them will say anything, but I’m sure she’s not coming over just to visit your mother and myself, and like I told your mother before, there is too much making eyes between them. I think you may now think her your sister-in-law. Your father still works the farm and quarry. Your mother says he is doing too much, and Pat helps whenever he can. Your father says that we have enough potatoes for our own needs. There has been no rot this year past, but we have had to bring them all in to the house, for they would all have been stolen by now if we had not. There were far too few potatoes planted around Kilduff, and whatever there were would be gone before it even got out of the ridge, except it was guarded at night. But now we are in a good way, though I fear the hunger goes on around us, and it will do for some time yet. I pray the next harvest will be a good one, for everyone’s sakes.
