Skibbereen
DAN DONOVAN WAS RETURNING FROM OVERSEEING THE OPENING OF A fresh pit in Abbeystrewery graveyard. Despite his best medical efforts, the numbers of those falling ill with fever continued to grow, and the fever wards and sheds were now full.
The Union had opened a new auxiliary workhouse for women on Levis Quay, and another, smaller government soup kitchen had been set up on North Street. They were feeding near eight thousand people. Two men with a horse and cart brought soup and biscuits to be distributed to outlying areas such as Kilcoe, Ballydehob and Rath, and also to the sick and weak. The guardians and the relief committee were doing what they could to cope with the enormous numbers now being dispossessed who found themselves in need of assistance. It was disheartening to say the least.
He stopped to gather his thoughts and took in the sight of the riverbank and the beauty of the Ilen as it wound its way towards the curving stone arches of the town’s bridge. It was a calm spot away from the misery and deprivation all around him. Scraggy thorn branches bowed low over the river, and a light breeze rippled through the rushes that grew along its edge. The sunlight sparkled on the clear water, where ducks, swans and waterfowl aplenty used to swim and dabble. However, such creatures were long gone.
The river was low that day and Dan’s eyes were drawn to something caught among the silt and stones and rushes. He left his horse and walked down to the water’s edge to investigate. It soon became apparent to him that what he could see was a body that somehow had fallen into the river and become trapped among the rushes. He surmised that it had been there for a few weeks at least, for nature and the river had done their worst.
He climbed back up the bank, mounted his horse and returned to the graveyard where he ordered the men there to give him a hand in raising the body. Between them, they managed to use their shovels to catch the dead man by his coat and drag him out and up on to the riverbank.
‘Putrid,’ grumbled Martin, the older gravedigger.
Dan knelt to examine the body, which was clearly emaciated. Most likely the man had drowned either by throwing himself in the river or falling into the fast-flowing water. It was hard to tell, but then he noticed the remnants of a fishing line and two hooks that had wrapped themselves around his torso, which indicated that his fall had probably been accidental. There were no signs of identification on him and the state of the decomposition made recognition impossible.
‘What do you want us to do with him, doctor?’
‘You can put him in the cart and bury him today.’
There was no need for Dan to do an autopsy on this poor fellow who had been fishing and likely fallen into the river when he lost his footing.
He wondered if the man was from Bridgetown or Windmill Lane. Did he have family there, or was he just another stranger passing through the town? At least whoever the poor man was, he would be buried in Abbeystrewery.