Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (15 page)

A woman answered, her jaw dropping. Frowning, she turned into the house and cried, "Father, come quickly."

Bran saw it was the black robe of the priest, and his only thought was to unburden himself. He grabbed Father Etienne and roared, "I am going to burn!"

 
"What are you talking about?" Father Etienne cried.

"Liam, Darcy, the others--soldiers--for money." confessed Bran. He slid down Father Etienne's body, landing on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

The priest's eyes widened, as he realized that Bran had turned informant, and he gasped, "What have you done, man?" Hoping that it wasn't too late, Father Etienne broke away from Bran and dashed into the fog, hoping that there still might be time to warn the smugglers of the ambush.

Bran lay on the ground for a long time, tearing at the sod beneath him and wailing. After a while, the roaring in his ears subsided then stopped entirely, and he pulled himself to his feet. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. His face was streaked with tears, and he was covered with mud, but he felt better. In fact, he felt much better, and he reached down for the money in his pants. It was still there. He realized it was too late to catch the French vessel but with money to spend, anything was possible. With a light heart and heavy pockets, he stood up and left Kilkerry forever.

Chapter 13

 
The density of the fog alarmed Darcy. Using her memory to the abbey was the only way through the blinding mist. The fog was less upon the bluff, and she had renewed hopes that the ship may see her lanterns after all. She climbed onto a crumbling stone wall in one corner of the abbey and placed one lantern down. Using great care, she walked to the cliff's edge and placed another lantern on top of a large boulder. The last lantern she would take to the top of the high cross in the monastery churchyard.

Darcy strained her eyes, looked out to sea. Nothing was visible, and all she could do was hope that the candlelight would penetrate the mist, and signal the French vessel. She could have been on that ship tonight heading for
France
, maybe even
Paris
, but she had no regrets.

The high cross of the churchyard was barely visible, and the mist swirled around the sculpture as if it were a phantom. She loved the Celtic design adorning it, and similar to the small cross on her neck, the high cross was covered with lovely, flowing patterns and a circle on the crossbar representing the circle of life and immortality of the soul.

As Darcy stood staring at the cross, a sense of uneasiness crept over her. She reached down to clutch her little pewter cross. Deciding that she must focus on her work and not allow her mind to wander, Darcy asked the Almighty's pardon and pulled herself up to the top of the cross. The stone was slippery, and she struggled to the top, stretching tall, thrusting her lantern into the air.

Suddenly, a hand yanked her ankle. She clawed at the air and came tumbling down, hitting her hip on the hard stone of the crossbar, then the ground. The impact of the fall knocked her breathless.

Two soldiers jerked her to her feet and began dragging her toward the abbey. She stumbled along blindly with a sharp pain in her hip, choking and gasping for air as they pushed her.

"Hurry up, you ignorant bitch!”

As they swept her along, she tripped sprawling to the ground, and the men lost their grip. Seizing the opportunity, Darcy dashed toward the cliff walk, terror driving her to run faster than she ever had in her life. She could hear them shouting and swearing behind her. Darcy's knowledge of the terrain allowed her to run full speed in the blinding fog, even though she was bruised and shaken. On and on she ran until she could go no farther. She doubled over, panting and struggled to listen. The only sound she heard were the waves breaking.

She realized now that her comrades were walking into an ambush. Suddenly, the pounding of hooves sent her bolting toward Glinnish Grove. Darcy was no match for men on horseback. The thunder of the horses behind her roared in her ears, and one of the soldiers grabbed her hair, pulling her up off her feet. Darcy struggled madly trying to free herself. The horses slowed their pace, and the men jumped down, pushing Darcy to the ground. She felt a sharp pain as one of them dug a knee into her back, and bound her hands tightly. She thought her lungs would explode as she lay there pinned to the ground. Lifting her like a sack of meal, they threw her over the back of one of the horses and carried to the abbey.

"Put her here, Cooper," ordered a fat, wheezy sergeant. "We must tie her to something before we help catch the others."

It was exactly as she had feared, the owlers were being ambushed. Cooper, a skinny pimply-faced regular, dragged Darcy inside the abbey, not far from the lantern she had placed there earlier. The mist crawled across the floor like a poisonous vapor. Darcy had never seen the abbey look more hideous. Terrified and desperate, she called for the monks, asking them to intercede as guardians giving her sanctuary from these violent men.

"Get over there, and I don‘t want you looking!" shouted the fat sergeant to Cooper, as he unbuttoned his pants.

The young man moved away. Sergeant Beardsley pushed Darcy down onto her back and snarled, "I'm going to give you a pounding that you'll never forget," and he pulled up her skirt.

"No!" she screamed through her teeth, writhing on the floor.

Without the use of her hands, Darcy was helpless. As the man bore down upon her, he violated something deep within her. The hatred he unleashed on her was terrifying and the act humiliating.

After pounding her violently, Darcy heard him grunt, and the full weight of his huge body fell upon her. Initially it knocked the air out of her lungs, but when her breathing returned, she could smell the greasy closeness of his hair and his foul breath. Filled with hatred, she lashed out the only way possible. She turned and tore his ear with her teeth. Beardsley roared and jumped to his feet, clutching his head.

As hard as he could, he kicked her in the ribs. “I should kill you, you filthy cunt!”

He lunged at her once more, but Cooper grabbed him before he could touch her. "Not so fast," said Cooper. "I want a piece of her too."

Panting with rage, the sergeant yanked away and walked over by the lantern to nurse his wound. Lying in the darkness, every fiber of Darcy’s being was on alert. Her instincts said this younger soldier was even more dangerous than his predecessor.

He mumbled, "You'll not get the better of me."

He removed his belt and rolled Darcy face down, strapping it tightly around her neck. As he raped her, he tightened the belt slightly. She choked and sputtered, gasping for air and trying to cry out. Gradually he drew the belt tighter and tighter until Darcy lost consciousness. When he was finished he tied her battered body to a headstone in the churchyard. She lay there, slumped over, unconscious.

Beardsley and Cooper mounted their horses and rode along the cliff walk to the precipice just above the smugglers. They knew that Major Russell and his men were waiting in the shadows below, watching the owlers while they made final preparations to meet the ship.

Oblivious to the danger, Michael O'Hearn supervised the loading of the curraghs. When everything was done he shouted, "Jerry! Is your craft ready?"

"Aye, she's ready!" said Jerry Joyce, as he secured the last bundle of wool.

Other curraghs were being tied off, and the group was ready to row out and make the exchange with the French ship. Michael limped up and down the shore, looking for Bran. Stopping at the last craft, he pushed the damp hair off his forehead and said, "Liam is Moynahan with you?"

"No, I haven't seen him all night."

Michael shook his head then climbed into the boat with Jerry Joyce. He shared his curragh with Jerry just as his father had done thirty years before him. Jerry was growing old, but he was a trustworthy and a faithful owler.

"Let's shove off!" shouted Michael, and the five narrow boats pushed into the sea. The fog was thick, but these men had operated many times under bad conditions. With their intimate knowledge of these waters, they could navigate blindfolded.

They pulled their crafts out a short distance, and suddenly like a specter, the ship loomed up before them.

They approached the hull and exchanged their goods while Michael coordinated the next rendezvous with the French. In no time they were rowing back to shore--another mission successfully completed.

Michael and Jerry rode up and down on the huge waves, guiding their craft smoothly toward shore. It took great skill to maneuver these narrow boats especially when they were loaded to capacity. They could easily topple, given any mishandling.

Michael felt better tonight than he could ever remember. Although the soldier's presence in the village had a sobering effect, he believed they would be leaving soon. He thought of Bridget. He was wildly in love with her. Everything was going well. She was in her sixth month carrying his child, the crops were good, and it appeared as if the village would prosper once more. To Michael O'Hearn life was at last worth living.

Liam and Paddy Kennedy were the first to return to shore. The owlers had chosen a small sandy cove surrounded by large rocks with a narrow access for the donkeys. It was a natural shelter from the strong winds and very secluded. But tonight behind those rocks, Major Russell waited with his men ready to strike. Every soldier present was eager to show these ignorant Irishmen what the British regular was made of, and at last they could retaliate against these surly villagers.

The next three crafts were pulled onto shore, and they beached their curraghs, chattering back and forth good naturedly. Next they began to load the donkey carts with brandy.

Suddenly, Major Russell stood up and ordered, "In the name of His Majesty, King George the Second, you are under arrest."

The regulars sprang out of hiding and pointed their muskets at the stunned owlers. Complete silence fell as the group looked around helplessly.

Beardsley and Cooper stumbled down the hill to stand by Liam, who remained motionless by his cart. Kennedy was nearby, and the other men were scattered around the cove completely surrounded.

Cooper couldn't resist the temptation to taunt someone who was at his mercy, and under his breath he said to Liam, "Irish fuckin’ scum."

In a flash, Liam knocked Cooper's musket barrel into the air, discharging a round. Stunned, Cooper jumped back, but he was too late, Liam gathered him into his arms. "No, don't!” whined Cooper. “Don't! Please don't!"

Without a second thought, Liam pushed Cooper's head back, and with a resounding snap, broke his neck. He threw the twitching body to the ground and began to scramble up the hill, but he was stopped by a bullet in the back from Major Russell's musket.

The scene dissolved into chaos. Shots were fired, and several men engaged in hand to hand combat while other fell to the ground, soaking the sand with their blood. One soldier, who attempted to restrain Kennedy, was smashed by an owler in the face with the blunt end of a heavy walking stick. Blood gushed from his nose, as he fell to his knees, spitting out teeth.

Taking full advantage of the limited visibility, Kennedy and two of the other smugglers bolted up the rocks and disappeared into the mist.

Major Russell was enraged. He had underestimated their determination. He noticed Liam lying face down in the sand and ground his boot heel on the bullet wound in his back. Getting no reaction, he kicked him and ordered his men to gather their prisoners.

"My God, Michael, what's happening on shore?" asked Jerry at the sounds of gunfire.

"It's an ambush! The soldiers are on shore!" shouted Michael.

Upon hearing those words, Jerry panicked and began to turn the curragh back out to sea.

"No, Jerry! You'll swamp her!" exclaimed Michael, but Jerry didn't hear. In his terror and hysteria, he continued to turn the craft. Everything seemed to Michael as if it were in slow motion; the shouts of the men on shore, the panic-stricken face of the old man and the slow overturning of the curragh. He saw Jerry tumble into the sea then he too hit the icy waters of the
Atlantic
.