Skibbereen
AS DAN DONOVAN RODE THROUGH THE FALLING LEAVES, HE SLOWED down his horse. Some distance away was a large group of men bearing shovels and spades that glinted in the autumn sunlight as the men marched along the road. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, a dishevelled rag bag, poorly clad and poorly fed. Stalwart men now emaciated, likely employed on the new public roadworks near Caheragh.
For the most part they looked too undernourished to lift a pick or shovel and be set to hard physical labour. Dan had protested at the treatment of these men, advising the authorities to feed them and allow them to return to strength before employing them, but they refused to listen.
Lately, Dan had heard of the failure to pay the men the subsistence money they were due. No doubt this half-starved mob was making its way to town en masse in some form of protest.
Dan feared what would happen when this massive army of nearly a thousand men reached Skibbereen, where they would face the armed military forces. Skibbereen had asked for food supplies but instead they had been sent more soldiers, who were now stationed in the town to protect the district’s food stores.
There was little time and so Dan rode on quickly to forewarn Major Parker, the head of the Board of Works, about the workers.
‘There are near a thousand of them,’ he warned. ‘I presume that they are in search of food or money. You must appease them, Major, or else there will be violence this day on the streets of Skibbereen.’
Dan could sense that the major was reluctant to believe him. Immediately, he turned his horse quickly and went to warn some of the townspeople, before heading home to alert his own family.
‘My dear,’ he told his wife, ‘you must stay inside with the doors locked and make sure that the children do not go outside.’
‘What is happening?’ Henrietta cried, alarmed.
‘Hundreds of men from the roadworks are marching into town, no doubt to protest to the head of the Board of Works, and I fear they will not be deterred in their purpose.’
‘Promise me that you will be careful, Dan,’ she cautioned, ‘for you have done these people no wrong.’
As he headed back into town, Dan passed the courthouse. There he met his cousin, magistrate Michael Galwey, who had been attending court, and told him of the situation.
Confirming Dan’s suspicions, within a short time hundreds and hundreds of angry workers poured into Skibbereen, protesting that they could not afford to buy food for their families as they were owed their pay by the Board of Public Works.
Terrified merchants, shopkeepers and the bank staff all rushed to close their doors, but many of the townspeople were sympathetic to the workers’ plight.
The men kept coming, like some pale spectral army, and the intensity of their demands and anger seemed to grow and grow. Seventy soldiers, with their guns ready and loaded, awaited them in front of the town’s new school.
‘We are famished!’ the men chanted again and again, clanging their shovels and spades on the ground.
‘We have no food! Our wives and children are starving! We work and get not a penny in payment! Not even a piece of food!’ they yelled, shouting out their grievances to the passers-by. ‘The hunger is on us!’
‘We’ll have our money!’ a grey-haired man shouted to the crowd, raising his shovel high in the air as the mob surged towards the bank.
The soldiers began to surround them, bayonets at the ready, but they were far outnumbered and would surely come under attack before long.
Dan pulled aside one of the soldiers.
‘Go and tell Mr Hughes at the depot that he must distribute some food to them,’ he told him. He abhorred the unfair treatment of these men and believed that they were justified in their actions.
‘I’ll speak to them,’ offered Michael Galwey. ‘Perhaps they will listen to me.’
He stood up in front of the school and the men came to a halt.
‘As the local magistrate, I inform you that this riot is unlawful. You must all return to Caheragh and not disturb this town or, I warn you, the military here will be forced to use their weapons and take action against you.’
‘We may as well be shot as starved!’ they shouted back loudly. ‘We have not eaten a morsel for twenty-four hours!’
Michael Galwey raised his voice and ordered the seventy soldiers to prepare to fire. The town fell silent. There were only slight mutters of dissent as the rioters took a few steps back.
The grim-faced soldiers held firm.
Afraid of the army that now faced them, with their guns raised and ready to fire, the protesters stopped. A voice declared loudly that there would be no trouble.
‘Return to work and I promise that the money due to each of you will be distributed in a matter of days,’ urged Michael Galwey.
At that point, Mr Hughes from the food depot appeared.
‘Open the food store immediately, Mr Hughes,’ the magistrate ordered, ‘and issue these men with a quantity of biscuits. Three cheers for the Queen and plenty of employment tomorrow!’
A few half-hearted cheers rose from the crowd of workers, but most kept their heads down and said nothing. Their riot defeated, the exhausted men sat quietly and devoured hungrily the biscuits they were eventually served.
Dan had to assuage his own anger. How could the Board of Works not understand how desperate the men were for the eight pennies a day they were being paid? For them, it was the difference between life and death. He wished they had fought harder for their demands. They had strength in numbers and should have refused to leave the town till they were paid.
But Dan could see it everywhere: hunger and disease were slowly killing the people’s spirit and their ability to fight for any kind of justice.