ON HIS RETURN TO SKIBBEREEN, MR MAHONY CALLED IN TO THE crowded dispensary. Dan was happy to see him again and accompanied him to the Becher Arms where the coach stop was. The coach wasn’t due for a short while, so they went inside to take a cup of tea.
‘Tell me, Mr Mahony, how did you fare on the rest of your visit?’ Dan asked.
‘The people in Ballydehob and Schull are in a terrible state too. I cannot understand how the authorities are allowing such extreme suffering to occur. These past few days I have seen women, children and babies all starving before my very eyes.’
Dan could detect the huge emotion and strain in the man’s voice.
‘I’m sure that you will do your best to reflect this grave situation in which we find ourselves, Mr Mahony.’
‘In Ballydehob, Reverend Triphook told me that anyone who can gather a few pounds is leaving the town to escape the fever and the distress.’
‘Aye, Mr Mahony, you cannot blame them!’
‘And in Schull, I saw hundreds of women, desperate to buy meal which had been delivered by sloop to the town. Apparently, there are tons of Indian meal on board, but it is being guarded by a government steam ship. I saw only miserable quantities being doled out to those waiting and it was being charged at exorbitant prices.’
‘They are saving food for a rainy day,’ Dan said, exasperated, ‘when it is clear that the full force of the storm is already upon us.’
‘I was also introduced to the rector there, Dr Robert Traill. I found him to be a most charitable man. Every day, he and his good wife feed a few hundred people with a warm nourishing soup, from their own door at the rectory in Schull. Such are the numbers that they now employ a number of men to help them make and distribute it. The townspeople are fortunate to have such a dedicated vicar among them.’
‘Robert is indeed a good man,’ Dan agreed, ‘and well respected by all of us.’
‘It’s strange, Dr Donovan, but in normal circumstances, Skibbereen and these towns and villages are places I would visit to paint or sketch for their great beauty, their inspiring landscapes and views with the sea and river, and the coastline and islands nestling in the shadow of Mount Gabriel. Alas, my work now is of a very different nature.’
‘Mr Mahony, your work is of great importance to the people of this town and West Cork,’ Dan reminded him.
‘As are your reports in the newspaper,’ he admitted. ‘I perhaps doubted their accuracy somewhat, or suspected they may be highly coloured and exaggerated, but from my visit here I have seen at first hand the terrible truth of the extreme suffering of the people. Neither pen nor pencil could ever portray the misery and horror to be witnessed at this moment in Skibbereen.’
Dan nodded gravely as he sipped his tea.
‘If anything, Dr Donovan, you have tried to make the reports less graphic and more palatable for the readers by hiding the hideous reality that you and Mr Crowley have to contend with day after day.’
‘That is true,’ Dan admitted calmly. ‘I have found that the human mind can only deal with so much distress and horror.’
‘I have observed that there is little sympathy shown between the living and the dead,’ Mahony continued. ‘Men driving carts filled with corpses show little respect for them, and foremen and managers on the work schemes show no care for the men they oversee. Men who may have walked miles stand in the mud and cold to break stones and build roads, with not even a scrap of food in their belly. It is a cruelty beyond any belief.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout that the coach to Cork would be ready to leave in a few minutes. The artist nodded and stood up to leave.
‘I’d better take my seat.’
‘Mr Mahony, we are very appreciative of your visit, as distressing as it has been for you. Thank you for coming to Skibbereen.’
‘Dr Donovan, I have filled my sketch pads and am as well informed of the situation as I can be. I promise you that I will endeavour with fidelity to portray what I have witnessed in order to make the suffering and afflictions of this famine-stricken people known to the charitable public and readers of the paper.’
‘Sir, God bless you and your work.’
Dan caught Mahony by the shoulder and gripped his hand firmly as they bade each other farewell.
A crowd of beggars swarmed around the horses and coach as the artist took his place aboard.
‘The hunger is on us,’ they called and shouted, over and over, as the remaining passengers climbed inside and sat back in their seats. ‘The hunger is on us!’
The driver ignored them as he checked his fares were safely ensconced. He grabbed the reins swiftly and urged on the horses to pass the crowd and leave the hungry town behind them.