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Where old tales and new stories come together
Ireland's Lore and Tales
Sniper's Moon Part II
At six o'clock in the morning the sun was already shining brightly and the night shift of prison guards went about their final inspection of the cells, awakening the inmates. On this occasion the guards were escorted by a small squad of armed soldiers, who were sent to bring Sean Cullen to the Court Martial in chains. Loudly, the heavy army boots of the men echoed off the stone floor of the narrow corridor. Step by loud step the marched until they came before the door to Sean's cell. "Get up, Cullen!" the leader of the military escort barked out an order as the guard turned his key in the lock of the door. With a creak the heavy metal door opened to reveal that the cell was empty. The escort leader rushed into the cell, with army pistol drawn, and confirmed that there was no prisoner there. "Alarm!" he cried out and began to rush back down the corridor with his men.
"Alarm!"; "Prisoner Escape!"; The alarm spread rapidly throughout the jail block that had been incorporated into the old castle building. In just a matter of minutes the entire building was filled with soldiers and auxiliaries running here and there, seeking the whereabouts of Sean Cullen. In the main office telephones and telegraphs were busy spreading the news of Cullen's escape throughout the entire countryside. Police patrols, flying columns of Black and Tans, and squadrons of soldiers scoured the land searching every possible place that Cullen might seek refuge. Cottages, whether full or empty, were ransacked. Barns, hedgerows and known caves were all searched with great thoroughness, but the fugitive remained at large.
By afternoon the warm sunshine of the early morning had given way to dark clouds and heavy downpours of rain. By early evening "Wanted Posters" had begun to appear throughout the district. Even in the small fishing village of Kilcurragh, which lay on the coast some five miles from Derryard, the local policemen were busy pasting posters in ever available prominent position. Each poster proclaimed that a reward was available to any person giving information to the authorities, which would lead to the arrest of the fugitive, Sean Cullen. The head of the local constabulary, Sergeant Thompson, was being assisted by Constables O'Neill and Kelly in the task of posting the town and district. By the time they actually got into the narrow streets of the small fishing town darkness was beginning to settle. Thankfully the heavy rain showers had ceased, but a mist was beginning to settle on the town as the three officials hurried to finish their thankless task and return to their homes.
The taller of two constables, Kelly, addressed the sergeant, "Sergeant, that big door over there looks a great spot to put up one of these posters."
"He doesn't hear you, Kelly," said O'Neill. "Try him again."
Pointing to the huge door of a nearby store Kelly called to the sergeant in a voice that was a little louder. "Will this door be a good place for one of these posters, sergeant?"
But sergeant Thompson's attention was attracted elsewhere and was not hearing anything his subordinates had to say. "For God's sake, sergeant will we put one of these posters on this door over here?" O'Neill shouted.
Rather distractedly the sergeant answered, "Look over here! There are steps that lead all the way down to the water."
"It's a fishing harbor," Kelly informed him. "Fishing boats dock here all the time!"
The sergeant appeared unmoved by Kelly's sarcastic tone of voice and continued with his own discussion. "You know boys, this is the sort of place that would need to be carefully watched. If this Cullen fellow managed to make his way down those steps some of his friends might get a boat to meet him. In fact, those same boys could very well steal a local boat for the job."
Kelly just looked at his superior with quite some disbelief and repeated, "The door? It's a good place for a poster!"
"Aye!" replied the sergeant. "Stick one of them up there."
As O'Neill and Kelly pasted the poster on the large wooden door the sergeant began to read aloud the writing that the poster contained, "Wanted for Murder and Absconding Jail; Sean Cullen; Dark Hair, Dark Eyes; Smooth Faced and Five Feet Five Inches in height. Last seen with bandaged hand and bandaged right forearm."
"That's a good description to be going by," commented Kelly.
"It would have been much better if I had seen the man with my own eyes," said Thompson, "but they didn't hold on to him long enough. How in the name of Jesus did a wounded man get out of that jail. He must have had friends on the inside, or the help of the Holy Spirit!"
"You might not be too far from the truth there, sergeant," said Kelly. "But look at that! A hundred guineas is a tempting amount for any man and any policeman nabbing him will take a good leap up the ranks."
"You're right, Kelly!" Thompson told him. "I tell you what, I will take care of this area. It wouldn't surprise me that Cullen has already scoped this place. If Cullen and his pals do come this way then he will be mine, and someone who needs the reward will get it!"
Constable O'Neill regarded his sergeant with disbelief at what he had heard. "Are you a mad man?" he asked Thompson. "If any of us catch Cullen we will be signing our own death warrants. The people around here, and maybe even our own relations, will spit in our eye. None of us would know the minute or the hour when we would get a bullet or a knife in the back one dark night when we are on our own."
Sergeant Thompson gave the constable a look of complete disgust. "We are the police and we have a duty to uphold the law. If we fail to do our job then the entire country will fall into chaos."
"Sure isn't the entire country already in a complete state of chaos?" said O'Neill.
"You know what I mean, you smart arse. Just finish putting up those posters both of you and get yourselves back here as soon as possible. Don't be too long, for I am not too fussy about standing around this place for too long!" Sergeant Thompson told him.
As the two constables left him alone on the dockside Sergeant Thompson perused the poster once again and began to think about what he could do with one hundred guineas. If only he could be the man to capture Sean Cullen he would get a well-deserved promotion as well as a decent reward. "Wouldn't I be on the pig's back," he muttered to himself quietly and smiled. It was then that he heard a slight noise coming from behind him, and he turned to see a poorly dressed man who had been trying to slip past him unnoticed.
"Where do you think you are going, little man?" Thompson growled at the stranger.
"Sure, I did not want to disturb you sergeant," the man replied.
"Ah sergeant, sure I am just a poor travelling man who is fond of the gargle and sleeps among the old netting down there. Some of the fishermen and the harbor workers give me a few pennies now and again to put some meat on my bones, thanks be to God."
As the stranger went to walk on, sergeant Thompson took a step toward him. "Did I not tell you to stop? Are you deaf, or do you not know what "Stop" means?" the sergeant asked. "These days, you just cannot go wherever you like, you know."
"God bless you sergeant, but it is a hard fate for a man to be poor and wanting a rest from a hard day trying to keep yourself alive."
"Just who in the name of God are you?" asked the sergeant impatiently. "I don't recognise you as someone from around these parts."
"My name, sergeant, is Tommy Carney, and I live anywhere I can lay my head, and make a few pennies tinkering."
"Never heard of you, Tommy Carney," Sergeant Thompson told him.
"I am thankful for that," Tommy smiled. "If you knew me already it might not be in the best light. But, I am harmless tramp who is not known too well anywhere."
"And so what brings you here?"
"I came here to earn myself a few shillings when the fishing boats get in after daylight breaks. I'll do a bit of lifting and carrying from the boats and that will allow me to survive another day or two," Tommy told the policeman.
"Get out of here, you gobshite!" Thompson told him. "Move on out of this!"
The ill-dressed little man simply smiled at the sergeant an said, "Sure I will just make myself comfortable among those boxes and nets at the dock steps."
"Indeed you will not," insisted Thompson. "No person will be allowed near those dock steps this night."
"Can I not just sit over there at the steps themselves? Those boxes will give me shelter from the chilly sea breeze and I can use the nets as a blanket to cover me," said Carney, rather forlornly.
Thompson shook his head and asked Carney, "What part of the word "No" do you not understand, little man?"
"I'll go," Carney told him. "Could you just give a few pennies to get myself something to drink that might keep me warm?"
"Tea, I suppose?" replied Thompson sarcastically. "Do you think I'm a fool? Get away out of this!"
But Carney opened his coat and took out a half-bottle of poteen, which he offered to the policeman. "Would you like a wee mouthful, yourself?"
"By Jaysus, Carney, will you get out of my way before I put my big size twelve hobnail boots up your arse!"
Carney replace the bottle and buttoned his coat before he began to moving off toward the steps of the dock. Sergeant Thompson could not quite believe it and angrily asked, "Where the hell are you going now?"
"You told me to move on sergeant and I am obeying your order, like any law abiding citizen," replied Carney.
"Are you really looking trouble, or are you really just a complete eejit?" Thompson asked angrily and shouted at him, "I pointed for you to go back where you came from!"
"To the town?" asked Carney.
"Let me show you the way, Sir!" said Thompson as he took hold of Carney by the shoulders and pushing him in the direction that he wanted him to go. "Now, get out of here!"
Carney took two steps forward and came to an abrupt halt. It was the 'last straw' for the sergeant. "What the hell are you stopping for now? You must be looking for trouble!"
Carney pointed to the 'wanted poster' on the large wooden door saying, "I bet that's the fella you're waiting for, sergeant."
"And what if it is?"
"Sure it's just that I know that man, Sean Cullen, well. But, I'll just get on my way like you asked, sergeant."
"Just hold on a minute!" said Thompson. "What sort of man is this Cullen? There's no pictures of him, and we don't know what he looks like!"
"I can tell you nothing," Carney told him. "Just speaking to a policeman could get me killed in a very short time."
"Why would that be? Sure aren't we only talking?"
But Carney just shook his head and replied, "If you don't know by now then God be with you. But let me tell you that I would not want to be in your shoes if you catch Cullen. I wouldn't get involved in this matter even if the reward was three times as much."
In a flash, Sergeant Thompson rushed forward and took hold of Carney with both hands. "Alright, smart arse," he shouted, "What kind of man is this Sean Cullen and where do you know him from? Are you one of his friends?"
"Friends?" questioned Carney nervously. "I hardly know the man well enough to call him a friend. I only met the man about four months ago in a pub, but I can tell you that he is a man to strike fear in others. You wouldn't want to be left alone facing him, for there is not a weapon that man doesn't know how to use. But he doesn't need a weapon for that boy has muscles as hard as oak, and could do some real damage."
Thompson looked into Carney's eyes and was convinced that the tramp was exaggerating. "I don't think that he is that bad."
But Carney's expression did not change and he insisted, "He is!"
The sergeant released his grip on Carney as he asked him, "Tell me more."
Carney pulled himself together and began to speak quietly, making sure no person was around to hear him. "There was a man on the other side Kinvarra, another policeman, and Cullen killed him with a sledge hammer."
"When was this?" asked Thompson with a definite tone of suspicion. "I never heard a word about that one."
"Of course you wouldn't have heard about it," insisted Carney. "He was an undercover policeman and his battered body was dumped in a rubbish pit."
"Jaysus, but this has become one hell of a terrible country to live in!" said Thompson as he removed his helmet and rubbed his brow with the back of his hand.
"Isn't it the truth?" said Carney. "One minute you could be standing giving your full attention to something, and comes up quietly behind you and does the job."
"The job?"
"Cut your throat," said Carney.
The sergeant took a very deep breath and told Carney, "It will take a whole troop of police and auxiliaries to catch this murdering rebel and not the few boys we have here."
"I could stay with you," Carney offered. "You keep watch the one way and I will watch your back."
Thompson thought for a moment and put his helmet back on his head. "That just might work, since you actually know the man."
"Ah, that Sean Cullen! Sure I would know that man a mile away, Sergeant."
"Aye, but you would want a share of my reward money!"
"Are you crazy, Sergeant? I don't want the name of being an informer," Carney insisted. "A 'tout ' (Informer)does not live very long these days, and I wouldn't have much time to spend what I would get. No, you can keep it all yourself and I will make myself scarce!"
"Just you stay where you are!" Thompson ordered him.
Together the two men stood in silence, looking out across the small, darkening harbor and the policeman gave a great yawn. "You're a tired man, sergeant. All this walking up and down here, keeping your eyes open has exhausted you," Carney told him.
"I'm well used to it," replied Thompson.
"Aye, but you just might need all your strength, should you come up against Cullen in the dark," Carney warned him and pointed to some large, wooden fish barrels standing close the large wooden door of the store. "Look, let's get up on those barrels, where we can rest ourselves and still have a good view of things."
Sergeant Thompson nodded his head in approval and the two men clambered on the fish barrels. "We will sit back to back," suggested Thompson, " so we have the best view all around. To be honest, the way you described Cullen to me has made me awful uneasy."
"Just give me a light of my pipe, sergeant," said Carney and Thompson obliged him with a match to light his pipe. "Maybe you would like a smoke yourself, sergeant. It would ease your nerves and make you feel a little more comfortable. Just you keep your eyes peeled ahead of you and I will reach my pipe around to you."
Thompson didn't move, but kept staring straight ahead of himself. "Don't you worry wee man, I won't look away. But, I will light my own pipe and we can have a smoke together." Thompson struck a match, lit his pipe and the two men sat back to back on the barrels smoking in the pleasant night air.
"Do you know Carney that being a policeman is not all it's cracked up to be," complained Thompson. "You are out to all hours, in all types of weather, and never a word of thanks is heard for the dangerous situations we find ourselves in. We only ever get dog's abuse from all sides, and yet they expect us to carry out our duty. There's not one would ask or even care if you are a married man with family before they send you into the most dangerous situations."
Carney took another drag from his pipe and with a sweet voice he quietly began to sing, "They say that the Lakes of Killarney are fair, but none with the Liffey will ever compare! If it's water you want you will get plenty of it there! Thank God, we're surrounded by water!"
"For Jaysus' sake Carney, don't be singing those songs around here. You know these are dangerous days and those Black and Tans are trigger happy. They would shoot you just for being Irish, never mind the song," Thompson warned him.
"But, sergeant, a little bit of a song helps keep my heart light, especially when my thoughts are turned to Cullen and his friends. I can't help thinking that he is lurking about here just waiting for his chance to jump both of us."
"Well stop singing and keep a good look out," the policeman urged.
Carney shrugged his shoulders and assured the sergeant, "Isn't that just what I am doing, sergeant Thompson, sir. And sure aren't I doing it for free? What kind of a fool am I?" He took yet another puff from his pipe and blew a large cloud of fragrant tobacco smoke into the air. "But, sure I could never stand by and just watch another man in trouble."
"Don't worry Carney, you will get your reward in heaven."
"Don't I know that, sergeant. But, I would like to enjoy life on earth first."
Thompson smiled at the tramp's comment and told him, "Sing your song then, if it gives you comfort."
Carney cleared his throat and began his song where he left off, "The sea, the sea, the geal grá mo chroí, long may it reign between England and me. It's a sure guarantee that some hour we'll be free …"
"Wheesht! For Christ's sake! If you sing that type of song I will have to arrest you, you eejit" said Thompson. "If you want to sing, sing something like "the Galway Shawl.""
Carney turned his head slightly around, "That's a good song sergeant. Imagine a man of the law knowing such a song?"
"There's many a thing that I know," replied Thompson. "I wasn't always a policeman."
"I bet you were some boy in your youth, sergeant. Sitting up with your friends drinking the 'porter' and singing all the old songs of freedom," Carney laughed.
"I did, to be sure!" smiled Thompson as he recalled those days of his youth.
"May be Cullen also enjoyed a glass of 'porter' and singing freedom songs when he was a young boy. Maybe singing the same songs as yourself," Carney commented. "It's a small world filled with queer coincidences, sergeant. You took one road and
"Quiet!" urged the Sergeant. "I think there is someone coming this way," he declared nervously and shuffled himself slightly to try and obtain a better view. "Ah! Sure it's only an old dog!"
"Do you not think this is a queer world, sergeant?" asked Carney as he resumed from where he was before being interrupted. "With you, being a policeman ,could even be faced with arresting one of those friends you sang those songs with, and putting him before a judge."
"True enough! It could all happen," the sergeant responded
"You know, in those days, after a few drinks and a few songs those boys may have talked a little treason. Maybe you joined in. If they talked about ways in which to free this country you may have also joined in those discussions."
"I couldn't say that I didn't, for I was a wee bit wild in my younger days," smiled Thompson.
Carney laughed a little and told him, "It's a queer world, Sergeant, sure enough. No mother knows what might happen her child as that child goes through life, and how may it end up."
"You couldn't speak a truer word," Thompson told him. "if it wasn't for the sense beaten into me by my parents, and the fact that I am a father and a husband, I could have gotten into trouble. Only for joining the police force I could well be a fugitive from justice, hiding in the darkness and seeking refuge in whatever hovel I could find that would take me in. It could have even been the case that Cullen would be sitting here instead of me. Him keeping the law and me breaking it, and trying to escape justice. Me waiting to put a bullet in his head, or even beat his brains out with a brick. What the ..?" the sergeant gasped and turned his attention to the water.
"I didn't hear anything," said Carney.
"It sounded like the splash of an oar. I had thought maybe friends of Cullen will try and free him, by sailing him out of here," said Thompson.
"Not at all," sneered Carney eager to get his attention back to their conversation. "You are and will always be a man of the people and not just a slavish servant of the law."
"Aye, I was foolish in my young days, but those days have long gone," Thompson declared.
Carney looked at Thompson for a minute before saying, "I bet those feelings are still in there somewhere, despite the uniform and badge."
"You would be wrong, then," snapped Thompson.
"I think you will be on his side very soon," Carney told him.
The sergeant's expression darkened, "Keep your thoughts to yourself, you gobshite!" he snarled. "How dare you talk to me like that, a policeman. I have my duty to do and my orders to obey." There was another splashing sound and Thompson turned his attention to the dockside again. He jumped down from the fish barrel, telling Carney, "That is a boat, for I can hear the splash of oars in the water."
As Thompson moved closer to the edge of the dock Carney again broke into song, "Thank God we're surrounded by water?"
"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?" the sergeant turned back toward Carney with a very angry look on his face.
"The Sea, the sea, the …." Carney began to sing louder.
"Stop now, Carney, or you will go to jail!" said the sergeant as a soft whistling noise came from the area of the dock steps.
"Now that is a signal to somebody," declared Thompson, causing Carney to get down of the fish barrel and move toward the dockside.
"Keep back there, Carney," Thompson urged him. "You cannot pass this way."
But, Carney did not stop and kept coming forward. "Just who, in God's name, are you?"
"You know me by the name on that poster," Carney declared.
"Cullen? You are Cullen?" said a shocked police sergeant.
Carney removed his hat and the wig he had been using to disguise the bandage on his head and threw them at the sergeant's feet. "I am Sean Cullen and there are a hundred guineas on my head. Furthermore, there is a boat at the bottom of these stone steps that contains some very close comrades of mine who are ready to take me to safety," he said.
"Well, Cullen. You certainly tricked me this night, but it will do you no good!" Thompson angrily assured him.
"Look, Sergeant. I have one hundred guineas on my head because I fight for our freedom."
"I heard about the reward, Cullen and I have heard something of what you have done. I have a certain sympathy but I have my duty to do," replied Thompson.
"There's no more time to waste on idle talk now. Will you let me pass or will I have to force my way past?" Cullen warned in a cold tone of voice.
"Good God, man, I am an officer of the law and I cannot knowingly allow a criminal to escape. In fact I actually hoped I might convince you in a friendly manner to … What's that?" said the sergeant as he placed his right hand into the breast of his jacket.
There were voices talking as they approached the dockside from another street. "This where we left the sergeant," said one of the voices that Thompson recognised as Constable Kelly.
"Those are my constables returning from patrol," said the sergeant as he looked into Cullen's face.
"You will not betray me to them, Sergeant. Not a true Irishman like you," Cullen told him as he returned to his hiding place behind the barrels, just in the nick of time.
"That was the last of the posters, thanks be to God," said Constable O'Neill.
"Well, if that boyo makes good his escape it will be no fault of ours. All the posters we have put up will ensure he is well known in this area, now," pointed out Kelly.
In the meantime, as his comrades came closer, Thompson kicked the fugitive's wig and hat, behind some barrels.
"Did you see anyone since we left?" asked O'Neill.
"Not a one," replied Thompson nervously, for it was the first occasion that he had deliberately lied.
"Nobody?"
"Not a single soul," the sergeant replied more confidently.
"Since we have no orders to go back to the police station we thought we would come and keep you company, Sergeant," said O'Neill.
Thompson looked at the two constables for a moment and bluntly told them, "There is nothing here for you to do!"
"You told us that we should come back to this place as quickly as we could," Constable Kelly reminded him. "You wanted us to keep watch with you."
"I would rather be on my own, boys. Sure why would any escaped convict come this way with all the noise and racket the two of you make with all your chatter? It might be better if I was here on my own.."
"Right then, sergeant. But we will leave you this torch," said Constable O'Neill.
"Just bring it with you, I don't need it," The sergeant told them.
"It is still dark, sergeant and there are rain clouds gathering that will make it even darker," O'Neill pointed out. "I will just put it over here on the barrels so it will be handy for you."
"Just take the damn thing with you, for God's sake, and go" snapped Thompson angrily.
The two constables were taken aback by this change in the sergeant's tone. "We only thought it would help you. It's a big torch and gives plenty of light, but you could also use it as a weapon if someone creeps up on you. That torch would give some eejit a quare dig in the head," said constable Kelly.
"I will give you two a quare dig on the head if you don't get out of here and take that damn torch with you."
"Jaysus, sergeant, we were only trying to help," said O'Neill as the two constables stormed off toward the police station.
As the two policemen marched away, Cullen stuck his head up from behind the fish barrels. Sergeant Thompson went closer to him and asked, "What are you waiting for now?"
"I need my hat and wig! It's cold and it might even rain," said Cullen.
Sergeant Thompson handed the items to Cullen and he put them back on his head as he walked toward the dock steps. "Good night, my friend," he said. "You have helped save my life this night and I will never forget it. Maybe the day will come when I will be able to do something for you that will be just as important, when freedom comes. I would shake your hand on it but you know that I can't because of my wound. I will, however, give you my word of honour." He nodded his head in respect to the police sergeant and began to walk down the stone steps.
Thompson just watched as Cullen descended the steps and sighed sadly to himself, "Am I as big a buck eejit as I feel?" He turned on his heels and followed the same path as his constables back to the police barracks.
weebush
Sniper's Moon Part I
A story of the Irish War for Independence
June is a month of short nights and long, warm days. But, for some, the long June nights proved to be no advantage, when it came to fulfilling their assigned tasks. It was not until midnight that darkness first began to really envelop the town of Derryard, with the full moon shedding its bright silvery light over the streets and houses. If there were clouds or rain in the night sky then darkness would come sooner and gave extra cover to those who used the blackness to hide them from observation. But, in the quietness that night-time brought there could be heard the occasional growl of a lorry engine, or the heavy clip of military boots upon the cobbled roads and paved footpaths. In the ill lit streets there were shadows of small squads of armed men making through their way through the town. Here and there the sound of automobile engines could be heard as lorries filled with troops and armoured cars are moved, spreading out in their search for those who were prepared to spread treason. This was the terrible, dark days of war with Black and Tan auxiliaries, as Ireland sought its independence from Britain.
A slow moving river wound its way through the centre of town and an ornate iron bridge carried traffic across from one bank to the other. On a high rooftop overlooking the bridge there lay a young man with a rifle by his side. He had skilfully established a hidden sniper's nest for himself high above the road that ran across the iron bridge. From this vantage point he scanned the area with a pair of binoculars, seeking an easy target for his bullets. Making the minimum of movement the young man studied the scene before him with eyes that were both bright and cold. He had a lot of spare time to himself, in which to consider the fate that would most likely befall him if he was ever captured by the enemy. The young man, filled with the courage of youth, preferred, however, to put such negative thoughts to one side and concentrate on the next target that unwarily moved into his rifle's sights.
There was an uneasy quiet over the entire town as the Church clock struck the half-hour, and the sniper felt his stomach rumble with the winds of hunger. There, lying at his side, next to the rifle, sat a small satchel that he had brought with him from home. He put his hand into the small satchel and took out a roughly cut sandwich that had been prepared that morning and began to eat it very hungrily. The young man had eaten nothing since the previous morning, an hour or so prior to entering the building below and making his way up to the roof, where he had immediately proceeded to settle himself down. Then, as he chewed on the bread he muttered satisfyingly to himself, "By Jaysus, that is one hell of a good sandwich Ma has made."
He felt that the sandwich had been well worth the wait and, when he had finished it, he reached into the satchel for a small flask of whisky that he had also brought with him. He took a swift drink and enjoyed the feeling of comfort that immediately began to spread through his stiff body before he replaced the flask. Then, just for a moment, he thought about lighting a cigarette to enjoy a soothing smoke after his snack. It was an idea, however, that he quickly discarded because it was much too risky. The lighting of a cigarette might easily be seen in the growing darkness, and he did not wish to give the enemy any kind of signal as to where he was hiding.
As the sniper raised his head cautiously above the roof's parapet, he noticed the shadows of four soldiers as they crossed beneath a street lamp on the bridge below him. In the light of that street lamp he could just discern that the four figures crossing the bridge were members of the hated British auxiliaries, the Black and Tans. So, pointing the barrel through the parapet's ornamentation, the sniper took careful aim along the barrel of the rifle, picked out his target, and gently squeezed the trigger. There was a flask as the built exploded out of the gun's barrel, spinning its way down toward the target that had been chosen. It only took a fraction of a second for the bullet to reach its destination, but it missed the chosen target and smashed into the concrete casement of the bridge, just above the soldier's head. "Jaysus, steady yourself man,"the sniper muttered to himself.
Just as he finished reloading the rifle, with the bolt action, there was another explosion from a rifle shot, and a bullet flattened itself against the ornate parapet that was camouflaging the sniper's nest. Down below, on the bridge, three of the four auxiliary soldiers immediately sought cover, while the fourth soldier prepared to defend his comrades. He had seen the flash from the muzzle of the sniper's rifle and had hurriedly fired a shot in reply. "Return fire!" he instructed his comrades and bullet after bullet whizzed over Sean's head, crashing into the parapet and chimney pots and causing him to keep his head down. While the sniper was thus engaged two of the auxiliary soldiers broke cover, and ran across to the building in which the sniper was hiding.
Sean, the sniper, realised that it was time to move his position and he crawled about ten yards to his left. While the enemy was continuing to lay down suppressing fire on his previous position, Sean felt he was now secure enough to raise his head carefully above the parapet. On this occasion, however, only two of the soldiers on the bridge were visible to him, one of whom was creeping closer to the gas street lamp. Sean raised his rifle and sighted it upon his new target, who was illuminated by the gas light. He squeezed the trigger of the rifle and let loose another bullet, which flew perfectly toward the enemy. The bullet struck home, exploding in the man's head, killing him instantly, and causing his body to convulse with the impact.
From the roof, the sniper could clearly hear the shouts of men calling out to each other as he reloaded and sought yet another target. Just at that moment an armoured car rattled down the cobbled main street of the town, and slowly advanced across the bridge until it reached the remaining soldier. Sean felt it was time to move his position again and, on this occasion, he crawled over to a chimney stack, raising himself up behind it. Hidden from view of the pursuing soldiers, Sean felt free to sneak a peek over the parapet to identify a new target for himself. Although he had wanted to open fire on the armoured car he did not want to give his new position away on a fruitless task. Both Sean and the troops in the armoured car knew that the bullets would never pierce the armoured steel that covered that vehicle.
From the street below Sean could hear the crash of a door being forced open. He had not a doubt that the door that he heard being broken belonged to the building on whose roof he was hiding. It was obvious that the Black and Tans had now gained entry to the building and that they would soon be on the roof seeking him out. But, Sean did not allow himself to be distracted from the armoured car on the bridge and he caught sight of the remaining soldier there breaking cover. Creeping his body bent and low to the ground, the man quickly made his way to the side of the car, and he began to talk to another soldier who had made an appearance in the vehicle's turret. The soldier standing at the side of the armoured car began to point in Sean's direction, causing the man in the turret to raise his head and shoulders above the turret protection. Sean exhaled calmly as he gently squeezed the rifle's trigger. Within a fraction of a second the bullet hit the soldier in the turret, causing his head to be jarred backward and his body to fall heavily, as it folded over the turret. "Two," Sean said to himself, quietly pleased with his efforts so far.
The auxiliary who had been standing at the side of the armoured car was stunned by the swiftness of his comrade's demise. One moment he had been talking to a friend and the next moment he was covered in the blood of that friend. Unfortunately, the shock of the incident had caused him to stand motionless for a few seconds as he took in the total horror of it all. Sean, did not take his eyes from the scene, pushed another bullet into the chamber and, as the auxiliary began to run for cover, he fired the rifle again. In an instant the bullet smashed into the fleeing soldier's body, causing a fountain of blood to spurt high in the air as the man's torso twisted, and he fell with a great shriek to the road. "Three," Sean smiled, pleased with himself.
Then, suddenly, and without any warning, an access door to the roof burst open causing Sean to turn quickly and loose off a shot towards the origin of the sound. The bullet found its mark in the body of another soldier, but he had managed fire a shot from his own gun. There was a sudden and excruciating pain that shot through Sean's arm, which caused him to drop his rifle. "The game's up," said Sean to himself as the rifle fell onto the roof with a loud clattering sound that Sean was certain the other soldiers would have heard. With his forearm virtually immobile, Sean immediately flung his body flat against the roof, and painfully crawled away to protective cover.
The soldier that remained at the door was in no mind to be reckless with his life after seeing how his comrades had been so efficiently killed by the sniper. He had heard the armoured car pulling up outside the building and thought it would be a much better tactic to await reinforcements. While he waited the nervous soldier kept a watch on the roof, hoping to get a clear shot at the sniper and be declared the hero of the hour by his comrades.
Sean reached a suitable place of cover and with his left hand examined the injury to his right forearm. There was still sufficient light in the sky to see the blood that was oozing through his jacket sleeve, and he was quite surprised that there was no real pain. But, there was a numbness in his forearm that made him start to think that his arm had been cut off. Since this was clearly not the case, however, Sean took a large knife from his jacket pocket, opened it with his teeth and began to cut the sleeve of his jacket.
At the site of the wound there was only a small hole that indicated where the bullet had entered, while on the other side of the arm there was no sign of where the bullet had exited. Sean knew enough, however, to realise that the soldier's bullet had lodged in the bone of the arm and must have caused it to fracture. He gritted his teeth and bent his arm below the wound. His arm bent back quite easily causing him great pain, and he had wanted to scream out aloud. But, Sean didn't dare make a sound that might expose him to any danger.
From another pocket in his jacket Sean took out his field dressing and ripped open the packaging with his knife. Breaking the neck of a bottle of iodine, Sean allowed the bitter fluid to drip on the wound and sterilize it. There was a tremendous burning sensation that wracked his entire body with great pain, and he quickly placed the cotton padding over the wound. With a good deal of difficulty he wrapped the dressing over his fore-arm and tied the end with the help of his teeth. He was exhausted by the effort and he lay still against the chimney stack, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to shut out the pain that was sweeping through his body. Sean could not, however, permit himself to sleep though his eyes were very heavy and his mind sought some means of relief.
Below Sean's hiding place, in the street, there was almost complete quiet. The armoured car's engine was no longer turning over and the body of the dead soldier still hung lifelessly over the turret. The other members of the crew had disembarked the car and were quickly making their way through the building. All this while, Sean was still lying motionless against the chimney stack, nursing his wounded arm and making frantic plans for his escape. The enemy, he now knew, were at the door that led on to the roof and that they would be very reluctant to expose themselves to any danger, without knowledge of his exact location. Sean would have to kill whatever number of soldiers were there and, not being able to use his rifle, he only had his revolver with six bullets to help him achieve success in his escape attempt. This called for Sean to devise a new exit plan from the roof .
Sean removed his cap and pulled his rifle closer to him. Placing the cap over the muzzle of his rifle he slowly pushed the rifle out from the side of the chimney stack until the cap was visible to the black and tans hiding in the doorway. Almost immediately there was the crack of a rifle shot and a bullet pierced the centre of the cap. Gradually, Sean slanted the rifle forward until the hat fell down on to the roof. A few seconds later he allowed the rifle to drop on to the roof with a clatter and immediately rose to his feet with the revolver ready in his left hand.
"I got him!" declared an excited English voice from the open doorway. "That sneaky bastard's dead! Let's go get him!" The doorway opened a little wider and the light from a gas light caused the auxiliary soldiers to be exposed to Sean. His plan appeared to be starting out successfully and he smiled, knowing that his enemies had made a serious error of judgement. He lifted his revolver and braced himself against the brickwork of the chimney stack as he took aim at the figures only about thirty feet distant. It was a hard shot in the dim light, despite the short distance to the targets, and the pain in his right arm was like someone sticking a dozen knives into him. Though his hand trembled, he took as steady an aim as he possibly could. Pressing his lips tightly together he breathed heavily through his nose and squeezed the trigger once, twice, and three times. The sound of the revolver being fired was ear shattering and the recoil of each shot shook his arm violently. But, when the smoke had cleared, Sean saw the lifeless bodies of two men lying on the roof just outside the door. The others had escaped back into the sanctuary of that doorway. It was now time for Sean to quickly execute his own escape. He began to move further to his left, to a place on the parapet where a steel ladder had been fixed that ran down the side of the building to the narrow dark street below. The death of two more comrades might just cause the other auxiliaries to delay a further assault and, therefore, give Sean enough time to descend to the street.
A chill now descended over Sean's body and he trembled a little. The anger and blood-lust that had filled him only minutes before was now gone. A sense of great remorse for the lives he had taken that night now filled him. But, despite the chills he was experiencing there were beads of sweat that stood out on his forehead. He was very much weakened by the wound he had received and by the loss of blood that he had been forced to endure. In fact, if he had had anything substantial in his stomach he would have, most likely, been physically sick at the sight of two slain men lying in a pool of their own blood. The chills began to worsen, perhaps it was shock, but his teeth began to chatter and his mind began to wander. In his pain and confusion he began to mutter quietly to himself and curse this damned, bloody war. He had not, however, heard the silent approach of an enemy soldier, who had scrambled over the parapet after climbing the escape ladder at the side of the building. There was moment's pain, followed by deep unconsciousness. "Got the rat!" an English voice cried in triumph.
When he awakened Sean's head was throbbing very badly and he was lying on a cold stone bed with a rough army blanket spread over him. If the blanket was there to give him some warmth, Sean thought, it had failed very badly. The pain in his head was almost overpowering, and he reached up his hands to find that a thick bandage had been wrapped around it. When he pulled the blanket off he saw that he was only dressed in a light cotton shirt and his trousers, from which the belt had been removed. With pain coming from every quarter of his body Sean sat up on the makeshift bed to examine his new surroundings, though there was not much to see. He was in an eight by four feet cell with four walls that had been painted a grey colour. Above his head daylight shone through a small, iron-barred window and in the opposite wall stood a grey metal door with a sliding panel about two-thirds the way up the door. Sean looked down at his forearm and saw that his wound had been freshly dressed by someone who knew what they were doing. Then he lay back on the cold stone bed, with no pillow for his head and resigned himself to the fact that he was now a prisoner of his enemies.
The panel in the door quietly slid open and allowed Sean to see a red, bespectacled face staring in at him. "You're awake the?" the red-faced man asked.
"I am," replied Sean disinterestedly.
"Aren't you the big man, Cullen?" asked the guard sarcastically. "Caught today, Court Martial tomorrow, and a courtyard firing squad tomorrow or the next day."
"It will be quick then," said Sean as he spat at the door of the cell. Sean knew the danger that he was in and was resigned to whatever fate befell him.
"As quick as any of your comrades did," the guard smiled. "But be careful, Cullen, for there are all sorts of strange things happen here. So, sleep tight if you can," he ended the conversation and slid the panel back in place.
The hours passed peacefully and the prison guards changed their shifts on a regular basis, rarely looking into Sean's cell. He could clearly hear the Black and Tan auxiliaries talking as they smoked cigarettes and played cards. There was also the clink of glass, suggesting that the men were also enjoying a few bottles of beer, or something stronger. They were enjoying the fact that they had captured the man who had been considered the scourge of the crown's forces in this area for several months. This was the man who had been nicknamed, "Hawkeye" and had caused the death of at least eighteen members of the British forces. It was time for the soldiers to celebrate that they would soon have the pleasure of seeing "Hawkeye" executed by firing squad.
Balck and Tans
The Blarney Part II
Final Part
With the reader now having been shown the state of Eddie's feelings for Nelly, we can leave these two companions as they once again resume their work. It is time I think that the reader should better know Miss Nelly Malone, for love of whom poor Eddie had tasted the wonders of the ancient Greek Muses.
In a neat little room that totally reflected the unmistakable evidence of a tidy woman's care, sat the young lady in question. She busied herself, with her delicate, little fingers working with speed as she knitted a very small cardigan for herself. In that humble place there was no trace of wealth to be seen in this humble abode, but there was more than a suggestion of comfort there. At the open window blossoms of the honey-suckle and the sweet-pea peeped in, filling the air with a perfume, more beautiful than any parfumier could ever devise. On the walls hung small artless prints, and here and there a ballad was framed, which spoke of some heart-breaking subject. One ballad was the infamous 'Highwayman's End", which began adventurously with:
"I robbed Lord Mansfield,
I do declare,
And Lady Somebody in Grosvenor
Square,"
Elsewhere shelves and small tables were decorated with festoons of ribbons and cloth of the most colourful and dazzling variety. In a small open cage of was perched a fine, plump, contented lark, in an open cage, which he entertained the girl with its wild, sweet song. Dozing quietly upon the window-sill lay a beautiful sleek cat, whose furry coat shone like satin in the sun's rays, purring softly and indicating that it was a very happy pussy. That house echoed with the innocence and beauty, that was Nelly Malone.
What thoughts, you wonder, were passing through that pretty Nelly's head? Perhaps a There may have been some anxiety, or even some doubts, but there was no evidence of sorrow to dull the brightness of her lovely face. She speaks quietly to her cat, which is her most discreet confidante, as well as her most loved pet. "It's foolishness, so it is. Don't you agree puss?"
The cat didn't show any sign of having heard or understood Nelly's remark. "Now, Minnie, I ask you, isn't it a terrible mistake? The most terrible mistake of all to be thinking about someone who gives absolutely no thought for me? I will not allow myself to do this anymore. Definitely not! Though I do wonder if holds any love for me? I somehow fancy he does, and yet again if he does, why can he not just say? There is one thing that is certain, which is, that I don't love him! I mean to say, I won't love him. Sure, what kind of an eejit would I be if I gave my heart to someone who wouldn't give me his heart in return? That would be a really bad bargain, wouldn't it, Minnie?"
The Pussycat remained quiet and Nelly took this as a sign that Minnie agreed with her."But, oh!" Nelly continued, "if I thought that he did love me, silly me I've dropped a stitch. What in the name of all that's holy am I thinking' of? I mustn't give way to such girlish foolishness. The little is done with her singing, and Minnie is giving me an angry stare out of her big eyes. Don't be jealous, Minnie, you shall always have your saucer of milk, whatever happens, and — listen now! That's his step, and he's coming! I wonder how do I look," and running to her little hand mirror, Nelly, with very understandable vanity, thought that there could be no improvement on her features. Nelly was not being narcissistic about her beauty because, curiously she was entirely right.
"He's taking long time coming in," she thought as she stole a quick glance through the white window-curtain. She saw Eddie approaching the garden gate slowly. Nelly, of course, just wanted to rush out to the gate to meet him, but such a thing would have appeared unseemly to her neighbours and she waited. For a moment she saw Eddie hesitate, but it was only to allow him to gulp in a few lungs-full of breath. He began to walk again, and he came closer to the house with every approaching step. Nelly could feel her pulse beat at a much higher rate, and she began to think that it might look better if he was to see her at work. With this thought in her mind she hastily took up her work, which was twisted and ravelled into almost inextricable confusion. Trying to maintain a calm face she mechanically employed her needles, and her heart gave a slight shiver as Eddie gave the door a short, nervous rap. Nelly opened it with a most deceitful, "Ah! Ned, is that you? Who would have thought it! Come in, sure."
Inside Nelly, her feelings were at fever pitch, and yet she forced herself to remain cold and unattached, saying, "Take a chair, Eddie, won't you?"
And there, sitting opposite each other, were two people, whose hearts yearned for each other. They looked at each other coldly, gazed at the wall, the floor, cat, or the lark. Eddie quite suddenly discovered something that needed some of his attention in the band of his hat. At the same time, Nelly suddenly began to show an extraordinary degree of affection toward the cat. In truth, it was evident to even the most casual observer that they were both very far from comfortable.
Eddie had thoroughly made up his mind to speak to Nelly this time, irrespective of the outcome, and had even gone so far as to have rehearsed his opening speech. But Nelly's cold and indifferent attitude had frightened every word out of his head, and now it was essential that he should recover his senses. Eddie, however, seemed to think that twisting his hat into every possible shape, and tugging at the band, were the only possible means by which this could be accomplished. Once again all was arranged in his head, and he had just cleared his throat to begin talking, when the rascally cat turned sharply round and stared him straight in the face. In all his life, Eddie thought, he had never seen a dumb creature express such thorough contempt in its face.
"It well becomes me," he thought, "to be demeaning myself before the cat," and once again his thoughts away flew out of his head. Of course, all this was very perplexing to Nelly, who, in the expectation of hearing something interesting, remained patiently silent. There was another considerable pause until, at last, remembering his friend Mick's advice, and cheered by a most encouraging smile from the rapidly-thawing Nelly, Eddie wound up all his feelings for one desperate effort, and blurted out, "Isn't it fine today, Miss Malone?"
Breaking the silence so suddenly he caused Nelly to jump in her chair, while the lark fluttered in the little cage, and the pussycat made one leap back into the garden. Amazed and terrified by the results of his first effort, Eddie's mouth went dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He saw little hope of discovering an easy way of overcoming his embarrassment, and the more he stuttered and stammered the deeper he got himself into a sticky situation. Finally, gathering himself together, Eddie made a dash through the door, and was off as fast as his legs would carry him. Nelly sighed with disappointment as she sat down to resume her knitting, and this time she felt very sad.
"Well, what happened?" asked Mick, as, nearly out of breath from running, Eddie joined up with him again in the meadow. "Have you broken the ice?"
"I have, certainly," said Eddie, "and, better than that, I fell into the water through the hole."
"Why? Would she not listen to you?"
"Yes, she would, but sure I didn't give her a chance. My usual complaint returned to me very strongly. Christ's sake! What's the use in having a tongue in your head at all, if it won't speak the words that a man needs to say. Aren't I the great fool; a right eejit? She was sitting there, Mick, looking out at me from those big beautiful eyes. It was if she was asking me to speak out like a man, and her smiling softly, spreading over her lovely face, and playing among her beautiful dimples, like a merry moonbeam dancing on a lake. Oh, dear God! Mick, what am I going to do? I can't live without her, and I haven't the heart to tell her that."
"Well, it is a terrible thing to see," replied Mick, "a good-looking man such as yourself, strong and healthy, flinching from a pretty girl. Do you not think that it might do you a bit of good to go and kiss the Blarney Stone."?
"That's it!" exclaimed Eddie, joyously clapping his hands together. Clicking his fingers together loudly he declared, "Isn't it a wonder that I never thought of it before? Sure, I'll walk every inch of the way to it, though my legs should drop off before I got halfway there. Do you think it would do me good to kiss it?"
"I'd be certain of it! Sure, it was never known to fail yet," said Mick, excitedly.
"Why, then, may I never eat another meal, if there is any truth in that stone, and if I don't have the magic out of it." And that very night, so eager was Eddie to get cured of his shyness that he set out for Blarney Castle immediately. It was a long and tedious journey, but the thought of being able to speak to Nelly when he returned, was sufficient to drive away his tiredness and gave him the determination to reach that far-famed castle, of which it is said,
"On the top of whose wall,
But take care you don't fall,
There's a stone that contains all the
Blarney!"
Eddie climbed with caution, discovered the exact spot, and believing implicitly that his troubles were now over, he knelt, and with a whole-hearted prayer for his absent Nelly, he reverently kissed 'The Blarney Stone.' A true and devoted sense of love had given him the strength to overcome the difficulties of access to the stone, while his imagination did the rest. It was with a degree of humility and diffidence that he had approached the object of his pilgrimage. With the task achieved, Eddie descended from the stone's location with his head erect and with a joyful expression on his face. He could feel confident now to tell his deepest feelings in Nelly's ear. He was now very much a changed man and, as he left the castle, he encountered a very pretty girl, who officiated as guide. It was said that upon her pouting lips many men checked out how well the charm had worked. Not surprisingly, when she met Eddie at the archway of the castle, he took the opportunity to give her a hearty kiss. He astonished himself as much as he had the girl, and standing aback for a moment he watched the effect his kiss had., much more to his own astonishment than to hers, gave her a hearty kiss, starting back to watch the effect. There was no frown on her face, and there wasn't even a sign of a blush in her cheeks. Eddie was utterly delighted that his wish had come true. "He could kiss whoever he pleased with his gift of the Blarney," and feeling supremely happy, he did not lose another moment retracing his steps back home.
In the meantime, Nelly had been missing her shy sweetheart, whose absence had only served to strengthen the feeling of affection which she held for him. Day followed day as she waited for him and he did not come to her. Every long hour of watching and waiting for him tightened even more closely the chains of love that held her heart. Now, for the first time, she admitted to herself that he was essential to her future happiness, and she prayed fervently that the next day might see him return to her side. But, as each day passed, and his absence continued, Nelly quickly grew anxious until that anxiety turned into alarm.
The dark cloud of jealousy soon began to cover her heart and she became wretched in her impatience. Although she tried to convince herself that all her dark thoughts were unnecessary, the light that had once illuminated her life was almost extinguished and there appeared to be only gloom surrounding her. The once lively Lark in its cage appeared to share the young woman's mood, its wing drooped, and its once happy song was silent. Her entire environment appeared to be greatly influenced by the spirit of the hour, and her once homely room began to feel cold, comfortless and solitary. Nelly's love for Eddie was all consuming, filled with devotion and intensity. She believed that if she were to lose him it would be, effectively, the loss of everything that rendered life worth living for.
Every day she gazed out of her window in the faint hope of seeing something of her beloved, and one day her heart suddenly jumped in her breast with a new-found joy. She thought that she saw him approach, and her heart filled to bursting with joy that Eddie had finally returned to her. But, as she watched, she noticed that there was something very different about this man. At first, Nelly thought that her eyes had deceived, but her heart told her that it was indeed Eddie who was approaching.
What had confused Nelly was that the man who was approaching had not the downcast look and hesitating step that was common with Eddie. Instead, there was a joy in his face, a great smile on his mouth, and he walked with a new easy, lively, and careless gait. As he came nearer to her, Nelly thought that she heard him sing. When she realised that he was singing, Nelly was completely taken aback. She wondered if Eddie had finally broken out of his shell of reserve, and what this would mean for her. She had loved Eddie's shyness and she was not sure if she wanted him to lose that, and yet there was something very impressive about the man coming toward her. It was now Nelly's turn to be tongue-tied and stricken dumb. Despite her best efforts she could not utter a syllable, but trembling to her very core, Nelly sat silently in her room awaiting the moment she feared would prove to be the end of her happiness.
Whistling a merry tune, Eddie easily jumped over the little paling fence, and in a moment found himself in face to face with Nelly. She still could not speak, or move and his first greeting to her did not make Nelly feel any easier. "Nelly," said he, "you drove me to it, but it's done now! It's done!"
"What's done? What can he mean?" thought a greatly agitated Nelly.
"It's all over now," he continued, "for I've kissed it. Don't you hear me, Nelly? I say I've kissed it."
"In heaven's name," cried the pale, trembling girl, "what do you mean, Eddie. Who have you kissed?"
"It's not a who!" said Eddie, laughing loudly, "but an it! I've kissed it!"
"Kissed what?"
"The Blarney Stone, of course," Eddie screamed at her, throwing his cap at the cat and danced a few light steps in delight. It was something that Nelly would never have thought she would see from Eddie. Anyone else who saw him conducting himself in this manner would have sworn that the man had gone insane. "Sure, I did it all for you, Nelly, my darling! Just for you! It has loosened my tongue, and now I can tell you how deeply my love for you burns within my very heart of hearts. I love you so much, my bright-eyed, beautiful darling!"
There is really no need for me to relate anything more that was said between the two. The world famous 'Blarney Stone' had lost none of its magic on this particular occasion, and continues to transfer that magic even today. Nelly, of course, went on to inform Eddie that, "You needn't have gone so far!" The fact is that by perseverance the path of true love can run very smoothly. Three weeks after his return from 'The Blarney Stone' the chapel bells rang out across the parish to announce the wedding of Eddie and Nelly. The course of true love sometimes does run smooth, a great authority to the contrary, nevertheless, for in about three weeks' time, the chapel bells rang merrily for the wedding of Edward and Nelly. It was a great day, enjoyed by all, and what's more, neither of them had cause to regret Eddie's visit to 'The Blarney Stone'.
The Blarney
The Blarney Part I
It is said by many that a sweet-talking Irishman has a "Touch of the Blarney", a gift of speaking given to him because he has kissed the 'Blarney Stone'. The following verse I once heard, but I cannot recall the person who wrote it, and I offer it to the readers as a basic introduction to the story that follows it.
"Oh, did you ne'er hear of the
Blarney,
'Tis found near the banks of
Killarney,
Believe it from me, no girl's heart is
Once she hears the sweet sound of
the Blarney."
"Ah! Dear God, Mick! You can talk and advise me until I'm blue in the face, but it still won't matter for I just cannot do it. That, my friend, is just the long and the short of it."
"Would you just listen to him, surely you are not one of these bashful types are you, Eddie?"
"It's true Mick! I'm afraid it all true."
"Have you gone completely mad? You know that they'll put into a museum along with other rare creatures like mermaids and Dodo-Birds! A bashful Irish man! Sure, nothing like it has ever been heard of, never mind been seen."
"Aye, so they say. But, friend, I have caught the complaint anyway."
"Well! May my arse trail the ground if ever I have heard the likes of this from a friend of mine! It makes me worry about the future of our race, for if modesty gets a hold among us Irish it will be the ruin of us altogether. I shouldn't surprise me that some of them damned English men have inoculated us with this affliction, as they travelled through our country. Now, Eddie, tell me what does it feel like when you are blushing?"
"Ah! Mick, now don't you be laughing at me and making fun. Sure, there is none of us can help having a weakness. Anyway, it is only when I am with her that my heart seems to melt away entirely."
"Never mind, my friend. Sure, it's only a good man, like you, who can feel like that anyway. And so, pretty Nelly has put the spell on you and taken over your senses?"
"You could well say that, Mick, for its not one bit of sense do I have left. Sometimes I wonder if I ever possessed even an ounce of sense in my body. Do you know, Mick, no joking, but isn't it a mighty odd thing that I can't get my usually big mouth to utter a single word out of my head when I see her looking at me? Did you ever see Nelly's eye, Mick?"
"I've seen them hundreds of times."
"Maybe that isn't an eye?"
"Maybe there isn't a pair of them, now that I think on it?"
"As sure as there is an eye in a goat, I have never seen such wicked-looking innocence in the eyes of a Christian person before. At least there is no one that I can remember."
"Sure, man dear, it's only right that you should think like that, Eddie."
"Oh! Mick, the joy that beams out of those eyes, when she's happy, is to me as good as that wonderful warm feeling you get from the softest sun-ray that ever made the world smile. But when she's sad, oh, Christ, Christ, Mick! When those watery jewels flutter about her silken eye-lashes, or they flow slowly down upon her downy cheek, like dew upon a rose-leaf, who in the name of God could endure it? It's as much as I can do to stand up before those merry glances, but when her eyes take to the water, then by all the powers of heaven, it bothers my heart out an' out and I don't know what to do."
"Fair Play, Eddie."
"And then there is her mouth! Did you ever see Nelly's mouth, Mick?"
"I've only seen it from a distance, Eddie."
"Well, that's what I call a real mouth, Mick. It's not like all those other mouths that are only to pile food and drink into. Her mouth is a soft-talking, sweet-loving mouth, with her kisses growing in tempting clusters about it, which none dare have the cheek to pluck off. Isn't that right, Mick?"
"Now, be quiet for a while Eddie. Hold your tongue."
"I will tell you, Mick, that if Nelly's heart isn't the very bed of love, why then Cupid is a total gobshite, that's all. And then her teeth! Did you ever take notice of those teeth? I tell you that even the best pearls are simple paving-stones compared to Nelly's teeth. Oh, how they do gleam and flash, as her beautiful round red lips part to let out a voice that is just so soft and sweet, almost like honey. Every word she speaks slips into the soul of a man, whether he likes it or not. Oh! Mike, Mike, there is absolutely no use in talking. If that woman isn't an angel, she ought to be, and that's all."
"Jaysus, you really have fallen for this girl in a big way, Eddie, and that's a fact. It's a wonderful thing to see the talent that a boy can develop for talking such nonsense when his soft emotions get stirring in his head. Tell me, Eddie, have you ever spoken to her?"
"What? How could I? Sure, wasn't I too busy listening to her? But, in all honesty, and between you and me, the truth of the matter is, I just couldn't do it. Whether it was that she had bewitched me, or that my senses had got completely drowned with drinking in all her charms, making me stammer and stutter like a child, I don't know! But every time that I attempted to say something to her, my tongue, may the devil take it, twisted and turned itself into knots, and sure devil the word would it say for itself, bad or good."
"Well, now, allow me to think for a moment, and let me give you a wee bit of advice, Eddie. The next time you see that girl, just take it easy. Keep your feelings in check! Put a big stone on them and simply ask her about the weather. Your problem is, you see, that you want to pour out all you have to say at once, and your throat is too small and narrow to let it all through."
"Be patient and cool, sure that's good advice, Mick, if I can but follow it. This love is a great and troublesome affection, isn't it?"
"It's tremendous, Eddie. I had it once myself."
"How did you catch it?"
"I didn't catch it at all. I took to it naturally."
"And did you ever get cured, Mick? Tell me."
"I was completely cured."
"I got married."
"Oh God, let's just go to work."
From this conversation between two friends, Mick Riley and Eddie Flynn, it is quite clear that fabled Cupid's arrow, "Feathered with pleasure and tipped with pain," had firmly embedded itself in Eddie's heart. Putting it plain and simple, Eddie Flynn was completely infatuated with Miss Nelly Malone. During a rest period at work they had indulged in this discussion and, when the conversation was ended, the two men resumed their mowing. Mick, the settled "married man" began to hum a sprightly air, which kept time to the stroke of his scythe. Meanwhile, the love-struck Eddie joined in, every now and then, with strictly orthodox sighs as an accompaniment.
It certainly was a most clear signal of just how strongly attracted Eddie was to pretty Nell. There was never a more noble heart that ever beat than the honest, manly heart that now throbbed with the first pangs of a passion that was both pure and unselfish. After an hour or two of labour, the two men rested again. Eddie was feeling rather sad and he remained silent. There is something within Irish men that makes them regard suffering as sacred and, having respect for this suffering in his friend, Mick also kept quiet. Finally, Eddie looked up. He was still a little downcast and there was a sheepish expression on his face, but there was the slight trace of a smile that crept across his lips as he said, "Mick, do you know what?"
"What?" said Mick.
"I've written a bit of a song about Nelly."
"You didn't," smiled Mick, with an ambiguity in his voice that made it obvious that he believed his friend. "Is it a song?" he asked tactfully, "Sure why shouldn't you? Haven't you the great heart of a poet, and the ability to write songs that are as good as anyone else's? Give us a wee blast of it, Eddie."
"Damn the bit of it will I sing! Sure, you'll only laugh at me, Mick."
"Me? Not at all, Eddie!" replied Mick in such a manner that Eddie was convinced that his friend would not make fun of his efforts to sing. After pausing for a minute or two to prepare, Eddie cleared his throat nervously and, with a fine, clear voice, he began to sing:
"All you sporting young heroes, with
hearts so light and free,
Take care how you come near
the town of Tralee;
For the witch of all witches that
ever wove a spell
In the town of Tralee, at this moment
does dwell.
"Oh, then, don't venture near her, be
warned by me,
For the devil all out is the Rose of
Tralee.
"She's as soft and as bright as a
young summer morn,
Her breath's like the breeze
from the fresh blossomed thorn,
Her cheek has the sea shell's pale
delicate hue,
And her lips are like rose leaves just
bathed in the dew;
"So, then, don't venture near her, be
For she's mighty destructive, this
Rose of Tralee.
"Oh! her eyes of dark blue, they so
heavenly are
Like the night sky of summer,
and each holds a star;
Were her tongue mute as silence,
man's life they'd control;
But eyes and tongue both are too
much for one's soul.
"Young men, stay at home, then,
and leave her to me,
For I'd die with delight for the Rose
of Tralee."
New Blog and Web Page
Some people have asked me to start a history blog of Ireland as "The Troublesome Land". I have therefore set up a new web page @ http://www.myirelandspast.wordpress.com. If you like it pass it on
Land War
Tobacco Road Part IV
(final)
Paddy was in shock at the man's meagre offer. He had hoped to at least double his investment, but he now saw a huge loss being the only results of his dealings. "O, my darling Jenny!" Paddy began to cry, swinging his body from side to side in his grief, "My sweet Jenny! What will you say to your man, after him throwing away a half year's rent that should have been given to the agent? O! what will you say, sweet heart, but that I made one stupid eejit of myself, for listening to Shane Fee, that lousy schemer! And what shall our wee Sheila say when I when I won't be able to give her a dowry and when Tim Murphy won't take her without the cows that I won't have to give her? O, Mister Parsons will you not show me some mercyand don't short change or cheat me for God's sake? Give me the ten pounds that it cost me, and I'll pray for your soul, always. O! Jenny, Jenny, I'll never be able to face you, or Sheila, or any of our neighbours again. At least not without the ten pound note."
"Well, if you don't give me your tobacco for less than that, you can call on Mr. Burton, at the other side of the bridge. He deals in such goods too. Although I cannot do more for you, you could go farther but you might also fare worse," warned Mister Parsons and directed Paddy to Mr. Burton, who was, in fact, the excise officer.
Feeling very deflated by his experience with Mister Parsons, Paddy cautiously proceeded across the bridge until he reached a house with a big green door and a brass knocker. Paddy hesitated when he saw that the building was not a shop, or advertised any business enterprise. When assured that this was indeed the house of Mr. Burton, he went up to the door, and gave the door three loud knocks with the butt end of his Blackthorn stick. The knocks were so loud they could have awakened the dead, but it had the desired effect of rousing Mister Burton, who was angered at the loudness of the rapping and went to see just who had created it. "In the name of God, man, are you wanting to break my door down with that brass knocker, or what?"
"Ah sure, I'm sorry for being so noisy," said Paddy as he removed his broad-brimmed hat, and tried to hurriedly shine his shoes on the backs of his trouser legs. "I've never seen such a large knocker on a door before this night, and sure I wouldn't have troubled you at all, only I have some fine goods that I have been told would suit you. You can have it for next to nothing, because I don't have the heart to go on any farther. My pony is almost done and I'm shite scared of being caught by the guager."
"May I just ask you, who sent you here to sell smuggled tobacco?" asked the astonished guager.
"An honest man, but a bad buyer, who trades the other side of the bridge. He would only give me five pounds for what cost me ten pounds. I wish I had never started all of this! I put a half year's rent into this! My thirteen female children and my poor wife, God help them, will be soon be out on the roads. I'll never go home without the ten pounds in my pocket. Damn to you, Shane Fee, you sickly faced blackguard, that brought me into smuggling. O! Jenny, I will have to go soldiering with a gun an my shoulder."
"Shane Fee!" exclaimed the excise man. "Do you know Shane Fee? I'd give ten pounds just to see that villain.""I do sir, and it is myself who could put your finger on him, if I had you in Ballintree. But, just I was leaving the place, he was lying under an old quilt, and I heard him telling someone that the priest said he had spotted fever enough for a thousand men.""That villain will never die of the spotted fever, in my humble opinion," said the guager.
"You're a good judge, sir. Sure, didn't I hear the rogue himself say, 'Bad luck to that thief of a priest, and him telling me that I would die of a stoppage of breath!' But won't you just allow me to turn in the wee bit of tobacco?"
The excise man was now extremely angry at the underhand way that Mister Parsons would attempt to bring ruin to this wee man, just because he didn't get his way. Mr. Burton was now determined to punish that crook's treachery. "Listen to me, wee man," he said to Paddy, "I am the exciseman that you dread so much, and I am sworn to do my duty, and confiscate that bit of tobacco. But, it is common justice that the treacherous blackguard that sent you here should be punished. Go back to him now, quickly, and tell him that he can have the lot at his at his own terms. I will be close behind you, and give him the proper reward for his treachery. Do this job right, and I promise, on my word, that I shall give you ten pounds more, and you will make the profit you need."Paddy threw himself to his knees, and lifted his hands in prayer, but he could not speak. The terror and delight of this moment, however, made him unable to utter a sound.
"Get up, I say," exclaimed the excise man, "up now and get going. Go now and earn your ten pounds, while getting a sweet revenge on the thief that betrayed you."Paddy rapidly made his way back to Mr. Parson's shop, muttering a prayer of thanksgiving beneath his breath, "What a real gentleman, and may the Lord make his soul a comfortable bed in Heaven." Then he turned his mind to Mr. Parsons, muttering, "Now, that cheating villain of a man. He thought he was sending the fox to mind the hens sure enough. May he be hung high, the blackguard and informer. He'll suffer for his sins this day."
When they met again Mister Parsons asked Paddy, "Have you seen that gentleman I sent you to?""Ah, sir, when I came to the bridge an looked about me, I began to suspect everyone I met was a thief or a guager. Then, after I stood there a while, quite distracted with fear and nerves, and I forgot the man's name. So I came back again to ask you, if you would please …""You had better take the five pounds I offered if you don't want any more bother. There's a guager in town, and your situation, therefore, is very dangerous.""Oh my God, a guager in town!" cried Paddy. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what'll I do now? I'm done, surely to God. Take it for what you like, and should you ever have trouble like this, you be comforted in that you had a poor man's blessing. I give that to you on my knees and may it help you along the road of life."
With the deal done the tobacco was brought inside the premises, and placed it among Mr. Parson's other contraband goods. Paddy placed the five pounds in his pocket and, in that moment, Mr. Burton burst into the room. The Tobacconist's business and reputation was destroyed. Parson's was subjected to a heavy fine, and the community would have nothing to do with him because of his treachery, causing him die in extreme poverty. The man's family and descendants were destined to become homeless wanderers. There was to be no forgiveness for the family of the only informer that ever disgraced the district.
Excise Men
Tobacco Road Part III
It was early on a clear sunny morning, soon after this, that a man with a pony and cart was seen entering the town of Kilferns from the west. He walked slowly in front of the animal, which appeared to be very reluctant to allow himself to be dragged along at the full length of his halter. On the small cart was laid a quantity of straw, upon which lay a human form. It was a long body of a grown man being, whose feet extended over the rear of the cart, and was covered with old flannel quilt. The man's face, as it appeared above the tattered hem of the quilt, looked to very ill and malnourished, which seemed to be causing him some pain. His distorted features showed the terrible pain he was enduring, and as the small cart jolted along that rugged path, he groaned hideously. This miserable human being was, indeed, Shane Fee, and he who was leading the pony was none other than Paddy Corr. By this manner, Paddy was trying to smuggle his "bit of baccy," which he had concealed in well-packed bales beneath the sick-bed upon which Shane lay, simulating his grevious illness.
As they continued along the road, Shane uttered a loud groan, and with such a sound of real agony that it startled Paddy. He was so sure that Shane's cry of pain was real, that he rushed to the back of the cart to see for himself if his companion was still alive. Shane, however, was very much alive and none too pleased that Paddy had left his post. "For God's sake, Paddy," he growled in a deep voice, "it's not that far now until we come across that thieveing and scheming guager. Back to your post now and make ready to carry out our plan. Don't forget now, that it is the spotted fever I have."
As Shane had said, a short time later, they came upon the 'Excise Man' on the street. Nervous about being able to act out his role caused Paddy to avoid looking at the man. This aroused the suspicions of the guager, who brought the traveller and his cart to a halt. "Well, wee man," he greeted Paddy, "where are you from, and just where would you be heading?"
"O, sir, may the good Lord bless you, for you must be one of the good ones, asking after the health of a poor shore fisherman like me. But, sir, it isn't so much where I come from as where the body in the cart will die on me."
"How far are you taking him?" asked the 'Excise Man'.
"Sure, wouldn't I like to know that myself. I would get down on my two bended knees and pray for your soul, sir, if you could give the answer to that question. Didn't I forget to ask the poor creature where he should be buried when we came away, and now he can't string two words together."
The guager listened intently to what Paddy told him, but he was becoming very suspicious of the way he was delaying in answering his questions."Come on now, where is it that you live?"
"Ah, Jaysus, sure it's your way of talking that has me entirely confused. But if you want to know where my woman and children are, it is that way. To the west in Ballintee, Surely you have heard of Ballintee, Sir?"
"No," came the reply.
"Well, no matter, sir, for if you had been there you might have got the sickness, God forbid. Stay away from that place, for it would be better if you talked to the man there and ask him to offer up a rosary for you. It would be cheaper than having to send for Doctor Crummy."
"Perhaps I should just search the cart. Maybe you have some soft goods concealed under that sick man," said the guager, as he came closer to the cart. "It wouldn't be the first time that I caught a smuggler and his wares in such a situation."
"There's not even the smell or taste of any goods under that man, but your welcome to look if you wish to disturb him. As for catching a smuggler, I would say the only thing you'll catch under him is the spotted fever."
"Fever!" repeated the startled guager, taking a step or two backwards.
"Aye, the fever, sir! Didn't Father Brody prepare him, and tell us that he had the spotted. He said he had never seen worse, and that it could destroy a thousand men! Come on, sir, take a wee look in the poor man's face, and then lift the dying creature out of his resting place. He that came that came all the way from the hill country to fulfil a dream of his, to sort out a Mass for the soul of his wife at Ballintee. Aye, sure just you go ahead and throw him out of the cart and on to the road, and let his blood, a stranger's blood be on your conscience, and his fever in your body."
Paddy Corr had played his role very well and had brought out the guager's fear of the dreaded fever, which saved his load of 'baccy' from being discovered and confiscated. Nevertheless, both men decided it was too dangerous to search for a buyer in Kilferns and directed their path toward the nearby coastal town of Carnbay, that lay further east.
It was late in the evening as the small party entered the town. Fortunately, Shane could read quite well and it was he who noticed a sign for a guest-house with adjacent stable for the pony. He told Paddy that they would spend the night there, and then told Paddy to visit the only tobacconist in town. But, Paddy felt it strange that Shane chose not to accompany him.
The shop owner, Mister Parsons, had just finished dealing with several customers, as Paddy entered. He waited until the customers had exited the store before greeting the owner,"Well, big man, how's business?" Mister Parsons was startled by such a rude greeting from some person unknown to him, when a more formal greeting would have been appropriate. The shopkeeper looked at the new visitor with an expression that showed his distaste for those he considered to be of a lower class. At first he ignored the small man's presence in the shop, but, after a moment he acknowledged Paddy and asked, "What can I do for you?"
Paddy Corr said nothing, but stood there with his mouth gaping widely. Mister Parsons immediately added, "I believe you have come from the west?"
Paddy now came to his senses again and replied, "Sure enough, from the westernmost part of the west. By the grace of God, I have made it this far on honest business and would like to speak to you."
Mr. Parsons now showed a great deal of interest in what this strange, short visitor and asked him, "I have no doubt that you have brought something in my line of business with you?"
"Indeed I have," replied Paddy. "I have the best bit of tobacco that you have ever seen, or smoked, and that's no idle brag. The man from whom I received it that a sweeter taste had never left the hold of his ship. Now, I will give it to you dog cheap, only because it has travelled such a long way."
"I don't think you you have been very long in this business," said Mister Parsons.
"That's true. This is not something I have done before, in all my life, short though it has been," Paddy told him.
Mister Parsons smiled inwardly to himself, because if the man before him was inexperienced in running smuggled goods, there might just be a profitable deal to be made. He told Paddy that he should bring the goods privately to the back door of his premises. Paddy, with his fear of the guager still very much on his mind, wasted no time in carrying out the instructions. But, when Mr Parsons examined the packages brought by Paddy, the shopkeeper had a deeply disappointed expression upon his face, and exclaimed, "This stuff is no good, young man! It is entirely damaged by sea water, and will never do."
"Sea water? I don't think so!" replied Paddy. "Not one drop of water, salt or fresh, did ever touch my 'baccy'. The boat, 'The Black Widow' that brought it could skim along the waves like a seagull, and I can assure you that there are two things she never yet let in, namely water or 'water-guards'. Water drips off her as it does a duck's back, and the great wolfhound on her deck keeps the at a good distance." This was information that Paddy had simply gleaned from talking to Shane as they journeyed along the road, and in the smugglers' cave.
"Ah, don't you be trying to hoodwink me with your knowledge of the sea, for you cannot teach me anthing about my own business. So, take it away, for no man in this trade would take it on. But I'll tell you this, I will do you you a favour rather than let a poor, ignorant man fall into the hands of the guager. I shall give you five pounds for the lot."
Tobacco Road Part II
"Jaysus, Paddy," said Shane loudly, "watch where you're putting those feet of yours. Better take it easy friend, for one little mistake might just send you, arse over tit, two hundred feet down to where you could become supper for the sharks. There are very few that would dare venture down here, wee man, except for the odd wild fox and the honest smuggler. God help them, for they are both poor persecuted creatures, but the 'Big Man' has given them good helpings of gumption that allow us to find a place of shelter, where we can enjoy the rewards of our good work. Glory be to his holy name!"
Shane knew this place well and was not far short with his estimate of the sheer cliff's height. The fearful cliff overhung the deep Atlantic Ocean, and a narrow pathway wound its way, snake-like, round and beneath so many terrifying precipices. It was likely, that if Paddy Corr had realised his predicament in the clear light of day, he may have been so frightened that he may have slipped in his fear and became a cold meal for sharks, just as Shane had intimated. Being ignorant of his frightening situation was the thing that saved Paddy's life. Shane, meanwhile, had an inherent knowledge of this secret pathway, and a limberness of muscle unknown to most men. It was his ability to move so assuredly and smoothly that allowed him to swiftly follow every twist and turn of that treacherous path as it wound its way downward.
As the two men moved down the path the wild sea birds were disturbed from their sleep and swept past them from their nests, screeching cries of alarm that aroused others that were resting farther down the path. As they moved around the foot of the cliff, where the projecting crags formed the sides of a little cove, a harsh and threatening voice demanded "Who goes there?"
The voice echoed along the receding wall of rocks and sounded like the challenge from a huge guardian that was conducting its nightly patrol of the area. Those loud words blended with the sound of beating wings, and the frightened cries of sea birds. The horrid sounds of these cries were multiplied a thousand fold, almost as if all the demons of Hell had chosen to gather in that lonely place at that hour, and add their shrieks of terror to the wind.
"Who goes there?" demanded the guardian of this wild place and once again brought about a cacophony of terrifying noises.
"A friend, my old pal," Shane answered. "Peadar, big man, what powerful lungs you have! But keep your voice a little bit lower, my friend, or you might waken the guagers and they could grab you when you least expect it."
"Shane Fee! You old thief!" the guardian replied. "Is it yourself?" Both men laughed and big Peadar turned his attention to Paddy, saying "You, wee man, take care of that tall, pasty-faced schemer doesn't take advantage of you. But, I will shake your hand in the knowledge that Shane will yet come to a nasty end. Not another creature, except maybe a fox, could creep down that cliff in the full dark of night. But I know what saved your arses. Fate says the man that's born to be hanged will not be drowned!"
"By Jaysus, Peadar," said Shane, who was rather annoyed by the manner in which the big guard had made fun of him, "do you carry that big gun over your shoulder to convince people that you are not the wee woman that you truly are? Aye, just like a woman you wave the gun about and scare every bird on the cliff with your bull-roar of a voice! Now, make way there, you big gobshite, or I'll stick that gun's barrel up your arse and pull the trigger!"
"Away to the boss, bucket mouth," replied the big guard. "I swear that, as sure as there is an eye in a goat, after you have danced on the gallows, you blackguard, I will buy your corps from the hangman and use it as a scarecrow!"
After they had moved on a few paces along the narrow ledge that lay between the steep cliff and the sea, Shane and Paddy entered a large cave excavated from the rock, which seemed to have been formed some kind of volcanic activity when the world was young. The path running through the cavern was covered with fine sand that had been hardened by frequent pressure, and it caused the sounds of their feet to reverberate in the gloominess. Ahead of the two men a strong light gleamed, piercing the darkness and partially revealing the walls of the cavern. The far space beneath the lofty cavern roof, was impervious to the powerful light and extended onward, dark and undefined. From this darkness came the sound of human voices shouting and laughing uproariously. As Paddy and Shane moved onward a strange scene burst into view.
Before a huge, blazing fire which illuminated all the deep recesses of the high over-arching rock that rose to form the lofty roof of this Gothic cathedral, sat five strange and unkempt men. They were wild-looking men who were dressed in a variety of seamen's clothing. Between the men was a large sea-chest, upon which was placed a large earthenware flaggon, from which one of the men, probably their leader, poured sparkling amber liquid into a single glass that was quickly passed around each of them. As they drank, the men joked, laughed and sang loudly echoing throughout the expansive cavern.
"Well men!" said Shane loudly as they approached the group of men. "Ah! Mister Cronin, it looks like you and the boys are having great fun. Let's all have another glass of Brandy and we can all laugh and sing together. How is it with that big hound of a dog, that knows how to bark so well at those dirty, plundering thieves of guagers?"
"Ah! sure you're very welcome, Shane," replied Cronin with a large smile across his face. "The customer you've brought us may be depended upon for his discretion, I hope. Sit down, boys."
"We thank you," Shane answered. "As for being dependable, there is no decenter man in this land than Paddy Corr, that stands here."
"Come on boys, and get yourselves a wee drink of our best Brandy, while I help you to some ham," the smuggler offered. "I know you Shane Fee, you have the stomach of a shark, the digestion of an ostrich, and the good taste of the connoisseur."
"By God, that's a compliment when it comes from your mouth, Mister Cronin," replied the much flattered Shane. "Gentlemen, here's a toast to free trade among honest men, and hang all informers from the highest trees! By all that's good!" he said , smacking his lips, "But that's the quare stuff! It brings a powerful warmth to the stomach!"
"You are welcome to our home, Paddy Corr," the leader of the group spoke loudly, "there's a roof over our head, the rent is paid, and the barrels of best Brandy have not been watered down. So eat, drink, and be merry. When the moon reaches its highest point, we can proceed to business."
Paddy, being the gentleman that he was, made ready to thank his host until Shane Fee again interrupted. "I have never saw a man, himself and his friends. Drinking and womanising on land, and spreading the sails of that boat of yours 'The Black Widow' over the sea. By the Devil, if I had Donald the Piper beside me, and that barrel of Brandy, sure I'd drink and dance until morning. But here's to God's blessing on us all, and success to our trip, Paddy, my friend." And with those words he drained his glass.
Then, after many successive rounds passed by, the emaciated looking Shane Fee became totally intoxicated, and he called out at the top of his voice, "Silence now, boys, untl I give you a song." In a squeaking, non-melodic,and out of tune voice he began to sing:
"Ah, will you come to the bower,
O'er the deep and thunderous ocean,
Where stupenduous waves roll,
In deep and thunderous motion.
Where the mermaids are seen,
and the fierce tempest gathers,
To Ireland the Green,
Dear home of our fathers.
Will you? Will you?
Will you come to the bower?
Another Blog – Factual
For those readers who wish to learn more about Ireland and its chequered history e,g The Great Famine, Irish Slavery, The Troubles, and many other subjects you can use the following blog https://wordpress.com/myirelandspast.wordpress.com.
This blog will be for Lore and Tales, while the other blog will be more historical and factual, giving background to the stories here. Hope to see you following both and passing the information on to others….
Tobacco Road Part I
For many years before Ireland became free of the British Crown and its oppressive offices, the vast majority of the population held a particular revulsion of men in uniform. Though these groups included soldiers, sailors and policemen, the most severe treatment was reserved the members of the Royal Customs and Excise. Even in these modern times, in certain places the men of the Customs and Excise, whether Royal or not, continue to be reviled by a wide variety of social classes on this island. Although these men do not raise their hands against all men, it can be truly said that almost every man's hand is raised against them. Most will smile cordially at the 'Revenue Man', but those officers are very much aware of the unmitigated hostility that those same people hold against them throughout their career. Those people look upon the smuggler as a 'Robin Hood' figure who supplies untaxed goods such as alcohol, tobacco, and luxury items. The 'Revenue Men' are seen as the evil forces of the law who try to stop them.
Known to the old-time Irish smugglers as 'Guagers', the 'Revenue Man' has often wrongly been depicted as being a ludicrous figure of a man. Those many occasions on which the 'Revenue Man' showed generosity, a sense of justice, and a certain abandonment of the strict rules have, for the most part, been entirely forgotten by writers. In this story we will see reasons as the why 'Gaugers' should not be the butt of ridicule, and that their virtues should not be ignored.
Our story begins one foggy November evening many years ago as two men made their weary way along a muddy road that wound its way through the wild mountains that stood guard over a remote area of Ireland's far west. Now, as then, it was a wild, savage, and lonely scene that surrounded these two men. Ahead of them, in the far distance, they could just see the wild, heaving waters of the broad Atlantic Ocean, upon which the lowering clouds appeared to be settling themselves. Scattered over the surrounding moorlands arose a variety of misshapen rock formations, like large fingers of stones that have been carved by the winds and rains into a vast range of picturesque shapes. Around their bases and within their niches grew thick holly bushes and hardy mountain greenery. On the highest peaks of the nearby hills roamed herds of sheep and goats, scampering from place to place as they took full advantage of their freedom.
These two men, each of whom was leading a small pony that bore an empty sack along that difficult road, were widely different from each other in both form and appearance. One of the men was a small thickset man whose broad shoulders and muscular limbs showed that he possessed a degree of strength. But, he was a man who also possessed soft, blue eyes and a kind, good humoured face that would convince any observer that this man's strength amd muscular arms had never been involved in any act of violence. He was dressed in a heavy brown jacket and corduroy trousers, while on his head he wore a broad brimmed, tightly woven straw hat that made him look like an outcast from the American 'Wild West'.
This man's companion, however, made a much more strange and unseemly figure of a man, being taller than his friend. In fact, he would be considered to be taller than the great majority of local men. His arms hung loosely together and seemed to accompany his extremely thin body with some reluctance, being literally nothing more than skin and bone. His head was a conical shape, thinly covered with rusty coloured hairs than were so thin they waved about his face in the light evening breeze. The tall man's complexion was a greasy, deathly yellow colour, and highlighted by his rheumy sunken eyes, his highly prominent nose, the thin livid lips, half showing a few of his rotten, well-spread teeth. In fact he could have been held up as an excellent example of how disease and misery can affect the human body. He moved like a human skeleton and the pony that he led was hardly able to keep pace with the swinging unequal stride of that gaunt man, whose fleshless limbs did not fill the clothes that flapped and fluttered around him as he strode along that chilly moorland path.
As the two men and their ponies proceeded along the road, they were able to walk side-by-side and enjoy a good conversation with each other. The smaller of the two men pushed forward and renewed a conversation that had been interrupted some yards earlier as the path had narrowed to only allow passage in single file.
"You were saying, Shane," said the small fellow, as he came up alongside of his lean, taller companion. "You were saying about that face of yours being the means by which we can keep the 'guager' from our wee bit of baccy (tobacco)."
"Aye, not one of those 'gaugers' will ever get a smell, never mind a squint, at even one bit of that baccy," Shane promised, "as long as I am with you. In all the twelve months that I travelled with Tim Casey there was not one 'gauger' who even suspected the man. If that 'buck eejit' of a man had taken me with him that day, his load of best Brandy would still be his and he wouldn't be sitting in a cold jail cell. If I had been with him he would now be stting at his own table, in front of a blazing fire, tucking into a good steak!"
Paddy Corr laughed heartily at his companion's comment and then roguishly told the taller man, "The worry on my part is that it wasn't much of Tim Casey's profits that came your way, more like the cheap change, and that was what caused the poor man's fate to change."
"It's you that could be laughing heartily on the other side of your mouth, Paddy Corr, should a 'gauger' got a sniff at your taste of 'baccy'," Shane replied. "There's no doubt that he would take all that you have if I was not there to frighten him off, just like I have done, so often before."
"But, could we not just put our 'baccy' in a couple of panniers on the backs of our ponies, put a few fish and oysters on top, and pretend that we have just been out fishing?"
"I know what I am talking about, mark my words, Paddy Corr. I was taught the trade by an old man whom the devil could could not out do when it came to committing a bit of roguery. So, Paddy, put your goods in the pony cart and spread an old sheet over them. Then I will lie down on that and you can tell any 'gauger' that we meet that I was on my way to the fair in Ballintree when I came down with a bad fever. You tell them that, as an act of mercy for my poor mother, you are taking me home. Say that it was Father Brady who had seen to me, and that he had said it was the worst case of the spotted fever that he had seen in the country for almost ten years. By Jaysus if that doesn't frighten the nosey bastard, then you can be sure that someone has sold you out, and me alongside you"
By this time they had reached a deep ravine, through which a narrow stream pursued its slow, murmuring course. At this point they stopped, left the horses, and, gathering up some empty sacks, they walked on until they reached the edge of a steep cliff. In the dark void below them could be heard the great, hollow roar of the heaving ocean, as its waves smashed against this towering granite barrier. All along the dark outline at the foot of the cliffs great mounds of foam were created, as the snowy-white crests of never ending wave formations angrily vented the last vestiges of their strength in constant flashes of phosphoric light, that sparkled and danced splendidly to the wild and sullen music of the crashing sea.
Gaugers
Satan's Creation January 16, 2020
The Mountain Walk January 6, 2020
Knocknashee December 3, 2019
Cures at the Graves of Saints November 20, 2019
The "Dar-Daol" October 30, 2019