CHAPTER IX A GOOD TIME
"There's a good time comin', though we may never live to see it."
—Moleskin Joe.
A watery mid-November sun was peering through a leafless birch tree that rose near my sleeping-place when I awoke to find a young healthy slip of a woman looking at me with a pair of large laughing eyes.
"The top o' the morn to ye, me boy," she said. "Ye're a young cub to be a beggar already."
"I'm not a beggar," I answered, getting up to my feet.
"Ye might be worse now," she replied, making a sort of excuse for her former remark. "And anyway, it's not a dacent man's bed ye've been lyin' on all be yerself, me boy." I knew that she was making fun of me, but for all that I liked the look of her face.
"Now, where would ye be a-goin' at this time o' the morn?" she asked.
"That's more than I know myself, good woman," I said. "I have been working with a man named Sorley, but I left him last night."
"Matt Sorley, the boycotted man?"
"The same."
"Ye'll be a Donegal cub?"
"That I am," I replied.
"Ye're a comely lookin' fellow," said the woman. "An' what age may ye be?"
"I'll be thirteen come Christmas," I said proudly.
"Poor child!" said the woman. "Ye should be in yer own home yet. Was old Mary Sorley good to ye?"
"She's dead."
"Under God the day and the night, and d'ye tell me so!" cried the woman, and she said a short prayer to herself for the soul of Mary Sorley.
"She was a bad woman, indeed, but it's wrong to speak an ill word of the dead," my new friend went on when she had finished her prayer. "Now where would ye be makin' for next?"
"That's it," I answered.
For a moment the woman was deep in thought. "I suppose ye'll be lookin' for a new place?" she asked suddenly.
"I am that," I said.
"I have a half-brother on the leadin' road to Strabane, and he wants a cub for the winter term," said the woman. "I live in the same house meself and if ye care ye can come and see him, and I meself will put in a word in yer favour. His name in James MaCrossan, and he's a good man to his servants."
That very minute we set out together. We came to the house of James MaCrossan, and found the man working in the farmyard. He had a good, strong, kindly face that was pleasant to look upon. His shirt was open at the front, and a great hairy chest was visible. His arms, bare almost to the shoulders, were as hairy as the limbs of a beast, and much dirtier. His shoes were covered with cow-dung, and he stood stroking a horse as tenderly as if it had been a young child in the centre of the yard. His half-sister spoke to him about me, while I stood aside with my little bundle dangling from my arm. When the woman had finished her story MaCrossan looked at me with good humour in his eyes.
"And how much wages would ye be wantin'?" he asked.
"Six pounds from now till May-day," I said.
The man was no stickler over a few shillings. He took me as a servant there and then at the wages I asked.
His farm was a good easy one to work on, he and his sister were very kind to me, and treated me more like one of themselves than a servant. I lay abed every morning until seven, and on rising I got porridge and milk, followed by tea, bread and butter, for breakfast. There was no lack of food, and I grew fatter and happier. I finished my day's work at eight o'clock in the evening, and could then turn into bed when I liked. The cows, sheep, and pigs were under my care, MaCrossan worked with the horses, while Bridgid, his half-sister, did the house-work and milked the cows. I did not learn to milk, for that is a woman's job. At least, I thought so in those days. Pulling the soft udder of a cow was not the proper job for a man like me.
One day my master came into the byre and asked me if I could milk.
"No," I answered. "And what is more I don't want to learn. It is not a manly job."
MaCrossan merely laughed, and by way of giving me a lesson in manliness, he lifted me over his head with one wrench of his arm, holding me there for at least a minute. When he replaced me on the ground I felt very much ashamed, but the man on seeing this laughed louder than ever. That night he told the story to his half-sister.
"Calls milkin' a job for a woman, indeed!" she exclaimed. "The little rogue of a cub! if I get hold of him."
With these words she ran laughing after me, and I ran out of the house into the darkness. Although I knew she was not in earnest I felt a bit afraid of her. Three times she followed me round the farmyard, but I managed to keep out of her reach each time. In the end she returned to the house.
"Dermod, come back," she called. "No one will harm ye."
I would not be caught in such an easy manner, and above all I did not want the woman to grip me. For an hour I stood in the darkness, then I slipped through the open window of my bedroom, which was on the ground floor, and turned into my bed. A few moments afterwards Bridgid came into the room carrying a lighted candle, and found me under the blankets. I watched her through the fringe of my eyelashes while pretending that I was fast asleep.
"Ha, ye rogue!" she cried. "I have ye now."
She ran towards me, but still I pretended to be in a deep slumber. I closed my eyes tightly, but I felt awfully afraid. She drew closer, and at last I could feel her breath warm on my cheek. But she did not grip me. Instead, she kissed me on the lips three times, and I was so surprised that I opened my eyes.
"Ye little shamer! d'ye think that that is a woman's job too?" she asked, and with these words she ran out of the room.
I stayed on the farm for nineteen months, and then, though MaCrossan was a very good master, I set my mind on leaving him. Day and night the outside world was calling to me, and something lay awaiting for me in other lands. Maybe I could make more money in foreign parts, and earn a big pile for myself and my people. Some day, when I had enough and to spare, I would do great things. There was a waste piece of land lying near my father's house in Glenmornan, and my people had set their eyes on it. I would buy that piece of land when I was rolling in money. Oh! what would I not do when I got rich?
About once a month I had a letter from mother. She was not much of a hand at the pen, and her letters were always short. Most of the time she wanted money, and I always sent home every penny that I could spare.
Sometimes I longed to go back again. In a boy's longing way I wanted to see Norah Ryan, for I liked her well. Her, too, I would remember when I got rich, and I would make her a great lady. These were some of my dreams, and they made me hate the look of MaCrossan's farm. Daily I grew to hate it more, its dirty lanes, the filthy byre, the low-thatched house, the pigs, cows, horses, and everything about the place. Everything was always the same, and I was sick of looking at the same things day after day for all the days of the year.
My mind was set on leaving MaCrossan, though his half-sister and himself liked me better than ever a servant was liked before in mid Tyrone. The thought of leaving them made me uncomfortable, but the voice that called me was stronger than that which urged me to stay. I had a longing for a new place, and the longing grew within me day after day. Over the hills, over the sea, and miles along some dusty road which I had never seen, some great adventure was awaiting me. Nothing would keep me back, and I wrote home to my own mother, asking if Micky's Jim wanted any new men to accompany him to Scotland. Jim was the boss of a potato-digging squad, and each year a number of Donegal men and women worked with him across the water.
Then one fine morning, a week later, and towards the end of June, this letter came from Micky's Jim himself:
"Dear Dermid,
"i am riting you these few lines to say that i am very well at present, hoping this leter finds you in the same state of health. Well, dear Dermid i am gathering up a squad of men and women to come and work with me beyont the water to dig potatoes in Scotland. there is a great lot of the Glenmornan people coming, Tom of the hill, Neds hugh, Red mick and Norah ryan, Biddy flannery and five or six more. Well this is to say that if you woud care to come i will keep a job open for you. Norah ryan, her father was drounded fishing in Trienna Bay so she is not going to be a nun after all. If you will come with me rite back and say so. your wages is going to be sixteen shillings a week accordingley. Steel away from your master and come to derry peer and meet me there, its on the twenty ninth of the month that we leave Glenmornan.
"Yours respectfuly,
"Jim Scanlon."