Liam O'Flaherty: Land

Elizabeth was sobbing aloud when her niece finished speaking.

“Oh! My child!” she murmured. “My gentle child! If I could only take this sorrow from you! Oh! The cruelty and stupidity of men!”

“Father Cornelius asked me to take Michael a message,” Lettice said. “I’m trying to decide whether I have enough courage to deliver it without again …”

She was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps mounting the stairs. Her face brightened at once.

“That’s Father Francis,” she cried, jumping to her feet. “He has come back at the right moment. Oh! How wonderful!”

She ran to the door and threw it open. She saw Father Francis mopping his forehead as he came on to the landing. With a cry of joy, she went to the priest and threw her arms around him.

“I’m so glad you came, Father Francis,” she cried. “I need you terribly just now.”

“I heard that Elizabeth is sick,” Father Francis whispered.

Still mopping the perspiration from his haggard face with a big red handkerchief, he hurried to Elizabeth’s bed. He wore a dark frieze overcoat that reached almost to the floor. Lettice walked with him, holding his left arm with both hands.

“Dear Father Francis!” Elizabeth said, with tears rolling down her cheeks. “How good of you to come at this moment!”

Father Francis took her outstretched hands and said:

“Hearing you were sick, I thought you might need me, now that Raoul and Michael are both gone.”

“We both need you terribly,” Lettice said with deep emotion. “Allow me to take your coat.”

“It was last night I heard you were sick,” he said to Elizabeth, as Lettice removed his coat. “It was up in the mountains I heard it, at a village fifteen miles from here. I have been walking since before dawn.”

“You poor man!” Elizabeth said. “Sit down on this chair here beside me. Lettice will get you food and drink.”

“I’ll get some at once,” Lettice said, moving away with the coat.

“I’m so excited,” Father Francis said, “by what I have seen and heard, that I feel neither hunger nor weariness nor thirst.”

Lettice paused as she crossed the floor. She looked back at the priest over her shoulder. Elizabeth also looked at him intently. Since his appearance, they had been prattling like excited children. Now they became sombre again, as they had been during the tragic communion he interrupted.

“A miracle has happened,” Father Francis said. “The people are standing fast again after their panic. I’ve tramped every inch of the whole district during the past three weeks, back and forth the whole time. Everywhere I found them again brave after their panic.”

He paused and looked from one to the other of the two women. His face had become exalted.

“I felt certain that all was lost,” he said, “on the terrible day Raoul got arrested. There didn’t seem to be any hope for people so degraded. Oh! They were base that day. They behaved terribly. Yet they are now standing fast. They remain loyal and obedient to the Fenians, in spite of all inducements. They share all they have with our brave fighting men. Nor is it through fear of punishment they do so. Not any more. There is a new light in their eyes now, the poor creastures. It’s a light that will never again be quenched until they are free men.”

Neither Lettice nor Elizabeth spoke. They both now looked at the floor sombrely.

“The fight against Butcher is nearing its end,” the priest continued, lowering his voice. “I heard things on my way here, strange news that convinces me of that wicked man’s approaching doom.”

Both Lettice and Elizabeth raised their heads and looked at him eagerly.

“It was at the village of Bothar Liath I heard the news,” Father Francis continued, “while I was resting there for a spell on my way here. A woman came to the house where I was and asked me, for the love of God, to comfort her nephew. ‘He’s Andrew Fitzgerald,’ she said, ‘the groom that was in service to Captain Butcher. He has run away from Manister House and he is in a terrible state. From the way he’s acting and talking, I’m afraid he’ll do himself harm.’ So I went with her to see the groom. I heard him shouting and using terrible language as I approached the house. On seeing me, though, he got quiet. He told me his story gently, just as if it were his confession. Indeed, part of his strange tale concerns only himself and God, so I’ll not mention it. The other part alone is our concern. He told me that Butcher’s wife eloped with District Inspector Fenton three nights ago. They took a large sum of money with them, several thousands sovereigns, belonging to Captain Butcher.”

“Good gracious!” said Elizabeth. “How extraordinary!”

“Butcher is overwhelmed, the groom said,” continued the priest. “When such things happen the end is near.”

“Where are they gone?” said Elizabeth. “Does anybody know?”

“To America,” said Father Francis. “She sent back her grey stallion from Galway by messenger. The man carried a note for her husband, telling all that had happened. There’s a callous woman for you. When Butcher read it, he fell down in a heap. The note dropped to the floor. The groom picked it up and read it. Then he ran out of the house like a madman, up the mountains to the place where I found him.”

Lettice hurried back to him, clutched his arm and looked up into his face.

“You really think the end is near?” she said anxiously. “Why do you think so?”

The priest looked at her solemnly and said:

“When the green of the forest is bent and the withered is torn, death marches past.”

“Take me to Michael,” Lettice whispered urgently.

The gave was shaped like a kite. It was thirty feet wide and twenty feet high at the entrance. Then it narrowed rapidly and the roof dropped as it penetrated the bowels of the cliff to a depth of one hundred and ten feet. Towards the far end, a man had to crawl on his hands and knees in order to advance. Both the floor and the roof were dry. A thick bed of heather, over which blankets were strewn, lay against the right wall. On the left there was a small forge, used for casting bullets and making repairs on firearms. A number of sacks, containing rifle ammunition and dynamite, were stacked against the front wall to the right of the entrance hole. A crude table of white pine stood to the left of the hole. The sea was visible in the far distance. The horizon was still red at the point where the sun had just disappeared. The sound of the waves, dashing against the base of the cliff, two hundred and fifty feet below, was deep and awe-inspiring. The air was very cold.

Michael was sitting at the table, going over the plan of the night’s operation for the last time, when a sentry marched into the cave.

“Your wife is up on top with Father Kelly,” the man said. “She wishes to see you.”

Michael glanced at the man sharply. He showed no emotion.

“Tell her to wait a little while,” he said. “I’ll send for her presently.”

He watched the sentry leave the cave. Then he lowered his eyes once more to the rough map that was chalked on the surface of the table.

“The important thing,” he said, “is to keep the enemy from interfering with our work. For that reason, Kilroy and Lynch have the chief tasks in the night’s work.”

He began to mark points on the map with a piece of chalk.

“Kilroy’s men will block the Clash road at this point,” he continued, “in order to keep the enemy forces bottled up in the town. Lynch’s men will encircle Manister House over here and keep it under fire, in order to pin down the enemy detachment stationed there. Flatley and his men will destroy all these buildings marked here, together with all fuel, fodder and other stores they may find, using dynamite for whatever won’t burn readily. Roche, Deering, Muldoon and Coyne will proceed with their detachments along these routes marked here and drive the cattle to this bridge, where I’ll be waiting. Has any man got a question to ask? Is everything absolutely clear?”