Galway Bay (39 page)

Johnny Og worked with Da, tying up the púcán in the Gap where the stream emptied into the Bay.

No other Bearna children played on the strand—sleeping, probably, waiting for whatever food their mothers could give them. One meal a day. Ours ate twice a day and still had a bit of heft on them.

Yesterday, I’d found Jamesy and Bridget walking along the strand road toward Galway. They said they were off to meet their da. Wouldn’t he be coming home now after his time in heaven? Every night Stephen asked, “Da? . . . Da?” looking at me, puzzled.

“They can’t believe he’s gone forever,” Paddy had said to me.

“Boys,” I shouted, “watch yourselves. The water’s very cold.”

“Mam, look!” Jamesy pointed at the sailing ship moving through the channel, following the Bay to the sea, gone now, the
Cushlamacree
.

Not many more will be going. Sensible captains feared the North Atlantic when winter closed in—storms and cold weather, slow going. Da said he’d seen púcáns that went out too far, too late, come back covered in ice.

Can’t wait much longer. Should we take passage on the next ship going, Michael?

“Come on, children. Let’s go in.”

Máire and her children stayed with us that night. A nest of Keeleys. Clear, easy breathing—no coughing. Thank God.

Voices and pounding woke me. I saw Da holding the door half-open. “Who are you? What do you want?” Da asked.

A paper was thrust through the opening.

“Notice to quit,” the voice said. That abrupt tone, the burred Ulster vowels—Jackson. “You are evicted.” He pushed Da away and stomped into the cottage. Almost as tall as Da, but a thick body and years younger.

“A mistake, sir,” Da said. “The Lynches promised no evictions. I’ve paid my rent on time for thirty years.”

Then I was up standing next to Da, and Mam with us.

“The Lynches are no longer your landlords,” Jackson said. “Lord Campbell owns this property now, and he’s set the rent to the proper amount. You are in arrears.”

“How much?” I asked.

Jackson looked at me. “It’s too late. Lord Campbell is clearing the whole seashore. Great plans he has.”

“Plans?” asked Da. “What do you mean?”

“None of your business, old man,” Jackson said.

And suddenly Da
was
old—his shoulders bowed, not a huge big Keeley fisherman—staring at Jackson. “Plans?” Da said again, confused.

“Bathing houses,” Jackson said. “Seaside villas. No concern of yours.”

I remembered the men who’d come to Marcus Lynch. Another Brighton, they’d said. And as soon as the Lynches could sell their land, they had, with no thought at all of us.

“Leave now, and I’ll allow you to take your possessions,” Jackson said. “The law permits Lord Campbell to confiscate them, but he wants to be generous.”

“Generous?” I said.

Jackson didn’t seem to know me. “Very generous. Much more than he should do for you idolaters.”

Máire came over to us. “Jackson.”

He recognized Máire soon enough. “Mr. Jackson to you, harlot.”

Da moved closer to Máire. He lifted his head. “This is my daughter,” Da said.

“Unfortunate for you.”

Then Jackson walked over to the children, awake now, sitting up.

“Are the little bastards here, too?” he said.

The boys stared at him. Gracie started to cry. Bridget leaned over to her, patting her shoulder.

“No attack this time?” Jackson asked the boys. “I wouldn’t try it. Very different troopers with me tonight.”

Now I could hear the noises outside. Through the open door I saw squads of soldiers—two or three at each of the thirty cottages. They were shouting: “Hurry up now! Go! Get out!”

I turned to Jackson. “And where are we to go?”

“To hell or Connaught. Oh, I forgot!” he said. “You are in Connaught. Well, then, hell seems to be your destination.”

Mam was putting odds and ends into the boiling pot: her few spoons, Granny’s wooden cross from the penal days, and a crucifix carved from the same wood used for the beams in the roof the meitheal had raised thirty years before. Everything else had been pawned.

I had hidden my money behind a loose stone in the wall near the hearth. Fifty-three pounds. I have to get it, and I can’t let Jackson see me—he’ll take it.

I looked at Máire. She stood silent before Jackson. Her twenty gold coins were hidden in her cottage, unless the soldiers had stolen them already. I took a half step toward the hearth.

Jackson was taunting Máire, his face close to hers.

“Thought you’d escaped, didn’t you? Got clean away with your children and the stolen goods.”

“I stole nothing.”

“That’s not what old Major Pyke told me. A large sum of money is missing, and jewelry. I’m placing you under arrest.”

“You? Don’t make me laugh,” Máire said.

“By what authority?” Da said.

“The ignorance of you people!” Jackson said. He took Máire’s arm. “I charge you under the Crime and Outrage Act. As a Protestant, I’m commissioned to bear arms and enforce the queen’s law to protect property.”

“Remember I am the mother of Major Pyke’s grandsons!” Máire said.

“I’ll be taking the oldest bastard. Might get something for him. If not?” Jackson shrugged.

I took another step toward the hearth and my money. Paddy, Jamesy, and Bridget moved between Mam and Da. Stay there. Hide my movements.

Máire’s children sobbed; even Johnny Og was crying. Máire picked up Gracie, rocking her.

Jackson stepped past Máire to grab Thomas. He knocked into Gracie, who started screaming—a high-pitched wail.

“Get rid of that squalling brat, unless you want her to go to Australia with you!” Jackson pulled at Gracie.

“Don’t touch her!” Bridget shouted.

Jackson couldn’t see where the voice came from.

“Don’t hurt her!” Bridget yelled at him. She walked toward Máire. “Come on, Gracie, come to me. Bridey will play with you.”

Máire looked at me and I nodded. She put Gracie down and the little girl tottered over to Bridget.

I saw that in order to hold Thomas, Jackson had let go of Máire.

“The battle rage, Paddy!” I said. “Now!”

Paddy understood. “Hoo-rah!” Head down, he charged Jackson, hitting him directly in the groin.

Jackson doubled over, releasing Thomas, who started kicking him.

Johnny Og and Daniel ran at Jackson, too, their fists pounding Jackson’s legs. Paddy jumped on his back, and Jackson bent over. Jamesy spat in his face.

Now to the corner. I loosened the rock, pulled out the sack of sovereigns, and tucked it into the waist of my skirt.

While Jackson tried to shake off Paddy, Máire ran out the door.

“The Gap!” I yelled to Máire.

Jackson had Paddy on the floor, his boot pulled back, ready to kick my son.

“Don’t!” I screamed.

Da moved between Jackson and Paddy. He’ll tell him they’re only children. He’ll apologize to Jackson. He’ll . . . But instead, Da punched Jackson hard on the jaw.

Jackson went down.

“Run!” I said.

“Run!” Da shouted.

And we were out the door, running down the strand. We stopped behind a rock near the Gap. I could see where Da had tied his púcán.

A squad of soldiers was herding the twenty fisher families— almost two hundred people—toward Bearna pier. “Move! Move!” they shouted. Directly above us at the Clancy cottage, one soldier held a torch while another pulled at Mary Clancy, who clung to the doorposts of her cottage. Finally he broke her hold, pushed her to the ground, and pointed his musket at her face. She slowly stood up and moved to join the crowd walking onto the pier.

Children screamed and cried.

Then Jimmy Joe Egan grabbed the arm of a soldier. I could hear him talking in Irish.

The soldier took the stock of his musket and smashed Jimmy Joe in the jaw. “Speak English, you papist baboon!”

The soldiers are drunk. Dear God, help us. Holy Mother . . .

Máire came running from her cottage past us.

“Mam and Da, boys! Come on! Don’t look! Come on!” I shouted.

I carried Stephen. Mam had Gracie. Paddy and Jamesy, each holding one of Bridget’s hands, ran with Daniel and Thomas to the Gap and Da’s boat. Johnny Og and Da were there.

Máire stood next to it, panting. “Hurry, hurry!” she said.

I gave Stephen to Mam. Máire and Johnny Og and I helped Da push the púcán into the stream that went into the Bay.

“Get in! Get in!” I shouted.

Johnny Og took Gracie from Mam and jumped into the boat.

Paddy and Jamesy climbed over the side and landed on the bottom.

I helped Mam in and swung first Bridget and then Stephen in after her.

Da was hoisting the sail.

Thomas pushed Daniel into the boat, then climbed in himself.

“Good boy, Thomas,” Máire said. “Don’t look back. The Pykes are nothing to you.”

Da had the sail up.

Máire and I gave the boat a final push and jumped in.

“We’re overloaded,” I said to Da, but he didn’t turn.

“I don’t see Jackson,” Máire said.

“Da knocked him out,” I told her.

Da said nothing. He took the tiller. The púcán’s red sail filled with wind. We started moving.

Da steered us toward the deep channel in the center of Galway Bay. So dark . . . How would he see to avoid the rocks?

We pulled opposite Bearna pier. Our neighbors stood in line as if waiting for the soup. They faced their own cottages, where soldiers holding torches walked along the narrow spaces between the houses. Then one soldier touched his torch to a thatched roof. The other soldiers did the same. With a
whoosh,
all thirty cottages caught fire.

The glare from the flames brightened the dark sky and turned the water around us orange. I could feel the heat.

“Jackson!” Mam said. “Jackson’s in our cottage!”

To hell or Connaught.

“The soldiers will find him, Mary,” Da said.

“Or not,” Máire said. “Jackson’s a great believer in Providence.”

Da didn’t look at the shore.

“Where are we going, Da?” I asked.

“To Ard, Honora. To Carna.”

We sailed away from the light of the Bearna fire into the black night. How will Da even know if we’re in the channel?

Clouds covered the moon. Full again, a month since I’d seen Michael’s path on the water . . . full . . . But shadowed and shuttered, no use to us.

The wind picked up, driving us forward, blowing hard. The púcán pitched in the waves—overloaded . . . badly overloaded . . .

Dear God, St. Bridget, Blessed Mother, Mac Dara, Michael . . . Help us.

And then the clouds, so thick around the moon, began to blow apart . . .

Christ above me, Christ before me, Christ on the right, Christ on the left . . . the radiance of the moon . . . the radiance of the moon . . .

Radiant. Emerging from the clouds. Shining on us.

Slowly the dark waters took the light and a way opened up before us.

The jagged top of Carrigmor, the great rock that had wrecked so many ships, rose up before us, visible now in the moonlight. Da jerked the tiller to the left and we missed the rock, though we came so close that I could have touched it.

Da set the púcán on the bright path along the center of Galway Bay to the Atlantic Ocean.

At sunrise, we arrived in Ard/Carna.

A week now since that morning. The Keeleys had welcomed us, feeding us from the little they had themselves. They said, “Of course you have a place here!” But how could we impose on them? Black ’47 had brought death and evictions to the Ard Keeleys. The Sean Mors, the whole family, had died of fever. The blight had destroyed all potatoes here, too. Our cousins could only hope the fishing would sustain them this year. Two families had left for Amerikay in the spring, but no word had come from them.

“Don’t know if they’re living or dead,” said Sean Og, the leader since his cousin Sean Mor’s death. “Terrible journey,” he’d said to me.

A terrible journey. But one I would make.

I knew I had to go. The path of moonlight Michael sent had brought us to the sea and pointed the way toward Amerikay. I’d find a ship somehow. Even if Máire, Mam, and Da stayed, the children and I must escape. Michael wanted us to live.

I walked with Sean Og on the strand and told him my plan. I would row out into the sea and intercept a sailing ship.

“Impossible,” he said. “Mad entirely.”

Wait for the spring season, book passage with the Clifden shipping agent, he told me. But I knew in a way I couldn’t explain that another winter of starving would kill my sons and Bridget.

I pointed out toward Mac Dara’s Island. “Don’t the ships slow down near the island where Galway Bay and the Atlantic meet?” I asked.

He admitted they did. The captains needed to gauge the wind and tides as the ships moved from coastal waters into the sea. But the lookout might not see the curragh, and even if he did, the captain would never take us aboard. Jimmy Jimmy Hughie’s son had been refused. Others had tried, and the big ships had nearly run them over.

“I’m determined, Sean Og,” I said.

Máire, coming across the strand to us, heard me.

“Determined to do what?” she asked.

Sean told her, shrugging his shoulders, shaking his head. Beside himself.

Máire put her two hands on my shoulders.

“Don’t say anything, Máire. I’m going. I have to.”

“Then I’ll go with you, Honora.”

“Oh, Máire!” I hugged her.

“Honora’s a fierce woman when her mind’s made up,” Máire said to Sean Og. “You may as well help us.”

Sean Og admitted he knew when the big ships were coming— signals came from up the coast. Old contacts from his smuggling days.

But we’d have only a few hours’ notice. Get ready.

“I can’t, Honora,” Da said. And Mam nodded.

“But, Da,” I started.

Mam took my hand. “You must go. We must stay,” she said. “Try to understand.”

“I’m back where I began, Honora,” Da said. “Perhaps that’s what Our Lord intends.”

“And me with him,” Mam said.

I stopped trying to persuade them and set my face toward Amerikay.

When I explained to the boys that we were going to Amerikay, they only nodded. They’d said little since we’d left Bearna. Jamesy had cried and cried because he’d dropped his tin whistle running from the cottage, but Paddy showed no emotion.