Liam O'Flaherty - Land

The eight men had been leaning forward in a compact group about him, peering intently at the map. Now they all stood erect. They looked shapeless and huge, owing to the great number of thick frieze garments they wore. Even so, they blew on their palms, slapped their arm-pits and stamped their feet because of the intense cold. Nobody spoke.

“Very well,” Michael said, as he drew a piece of sacking back and forth over the chalked map. “We must have gone over this plan a thousand times during the past three days. There is nothing further I can do for you. Just keep cool and obey orders to the letter. Be on your way, lads. Good luck to you. Be careful with those sacks going up the cliff.”

As the men began to pick up the sacks of ammunition and throw them across their backs, Michael got to his feet and called Anthony Cooney. The young schoolmaster came over to him.

“Wait here a little while, Anthony,” Michael said. “I want to have a last word with you.”

The other men said good-bye casually to their commander as they went out, stooping under the weight of the sacks. They turned sharply to the right after going through the hole. A narrow ledge stretched along the cliff’s face to the path that led upwards to the summit.

When they were alone, Michael put his hands on Cooney’s shoulders.

“Are you certain now that you’re strong enough for the job you’ve undertaken?” he said.

Cooney was a slightly built man of twenty-six, with coal black hair, rosy cheeks and merry blue eyes. His nose and mouth were most delicately shaped. Indeed, his whole face was endowed with great beauty. He looked gay, weak and irresponsible. He blushed with annoyance at Michael’s question.

“Why do you keep at me, Michael?” he said in a musical voice. “Is it how you think I’m a coward?”

“They are going to do terrible things to you, Anthony,” Michael said.

“Let them do their best,” Cooney said arrogantly. “Maybe they’ll get the surprise of their lives.”

“You have no idea of the terrible things they are going to do to you,” Michael said.

Cooney got angry. His eyes blazed and his upper lip twitched.

“Is it how you are trying to frighten me instead of giving me courage?” he said bitterly.

Michael pressed his shoulders affectionately.

“I want to harden you,” he said gently, “by making you suffer beforehand. That’s why I have kept talking to you for the past three days, about the awful things they are going to do to you and about the danger of your turning coward. I wanted you to suffer so much beforehand that the real trial would be easy to bear. You’ll be so prepared for it in your mind that it won’t feel half as bad as you thought it would.”

Cooney’s handsome face became radiant. Tears of pride came into his eyes.

“I won’t fail you, Michael,” he cried with passionate earnestness. “I swear before Almighty God that I won’t fail you.”

Michael clasped the young man’s hand and said:

“I have confidence in you, Anthony. Go now. Tell my wife to come down alone.”

With a gay wave of his arm, Cooney ran out of the cave. He began to sing as he went along the ledge.

“I knew she would come,” Michael said aloud as he stared at the sea through the entrance hole. “I wanted her to come, even though I had already said farewell.”

A schooner was bearing towards the south, with all her white sails bellied full, across the spot where the sun had set. The red glow had now vanished. It was getting dusk.

Michael started when he heard the sentry’s voice guiding her along the ledge. He began to tremble. Then she appeared at the entrance and the sentry went away. She came forward into the cave until she saw him. Then she halted, with her hands by her sides and her feet close together, like a timid little girl. She was dressed in a red frieze skirt and a black jacket of rough flannel. A grey woollen shawl cowled her head.

“How are you, Michael?” she said in a low voice.

Michael tried to speak and failed. Then he came forward and took her hand. They remained silent, standing close together with their hands clasped. Although they smiled with their lips, there was anguish in their eyes.

“Father Costigan asked me to give you a message,” she said at length.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“He wants you to stop fighting and obey the Committee,” she said, speaking very rapidly. “He said the people want peace and that, if blood is spilt by you, it’s the innocent who will suffer. He said the Catholic clergy have now taken command of the Land League all over Ireland and that they have won the people of substance over to their side. A continuation of violence, by even a small group, would prejudice their chances of gaining land reforms from the English. He said that the Fenians, in every district except this, have obeyed Michael Davitt and renounced militant action of an illegal character. He said that you would be shortly outlawed by your own Fenian organization if you persisted in your present conduct. Finally, he offered to procure a safe passage out of the country for you and your men, if you …”

Michael dropped her hand and said sharply:

“That’s enough.”

He moved back into the cave two paces and then stood with his back to her.

“Forgive me, Michael,” Lettice said, “but I promised him that I would deliver the message.”

“I’m glad you came,” Michael said. “I’m terribly glad.”

“There is another thing I want to tell you,” Lettice whispered.

“Tell me what it is,” Michael said.

“I’m going to have a baby,” she said softly.

He turned at once and rushed to her.

“Oh! My darling!” Lettice said as he took her in his arms.

After a transport of tenderness, he took her face between his hands and said:

“There is no farewell to such a love as ours.”

“No, Michael,” Lettice said.

“I hope it is a son,” he said.

“I’m certain of it,” she answered.

“If it is,” Michael said, “I want him to be called Raoul Francis.”

“That will be his name,” Lettice said.

“Raoul and Francis must teach him,” Michael said.

“That will be very beautiful,” Lettice said.

“Then he will be well equipped,” Michael said, “when his time comes to travel my road.”

Even though they were so close together, their faces had now become indistinct in the quickly falling gloom of night.

“It’s time for you to go, Lettice,” he whispered.

They embraced once more. Then he shouted to the sentry and walked with her out of the cave.

“Be very careful with her now, Matt,” he said in a detached tone as the sentry came along the ledge towards them. “Go slowly up the path.”

“Have no fear,” the sentry said. “I’ll be careful with her.”

Lettice did not look at him again. When she had passed out of sight, he shuddered. Then he walked stiff-legged to the brink of the cliff and looked down into the sea. All was darkness there.

He covered his face with his hands and stood motionless, listening to the never-ending lament that rose from the hidden water.

The wind blew fiercely through the broad arch of the stone bridge beneath which the old woman had taken shelter for the night. She had thrown up a wall of loose stones about herself. It made a semicircle against the side of the arch. There was only room for a fire and the wooden box on which she sat within the tiny enclosure. She had to crouch in order to keep her head out of the wind.

Her milch goat and her ass were tethered to the lee of the wall. The ass had his snout to the ground and he leaned far over to the right, trying to get his scarred back under cover. The white goat chewed her cud. She had a cosy place to lie under the ass’s belly. A little cart stood on end, with its red spokes in the air, by the mouth of the arch.