The Dolocher (2 page)

That night Kate had managed to fall asleep despite the protestations of her belly and the stench of her surroundings. The guard at their door had taken some small pity on them and had put some blankets through the bars to cover the women while they huddled together on the damp hay to sleep and a stale hard lump of bread was tossed in between them. She knew that she dreamed every night, but they were never of any real substance, just images mixed up and rearranged of things that happened before in her life or exaggerations of imagings she might have upon seeing something odd or startling.

On this night, she thought she was dreaming for a long time before she realised she was awake. Once she did she sat up in fright, listening. Her jostling woke some of the other women.

“Go back to sleep darlin’,” one of them said as though to a child.

“Listen,” Kate said sitting up straighter still.

“What is it Kitty?” The women, who were still asleep, started to stir as the noise Kate spoke of began to register in their consciousness’s. There was a low howling that at first could have been mistaken for the wind but when they listened they knew it wasn’t. It was a woman screaming though at a very low volume and then it began to grow louder. All of the women were awake now, and they took stock to see if any of their number was missing but they were all still there. They could hear the guards moving around a little and then the screaming grew even louder until there was no denying what it was anymore. It was a woman screaming and the sound was coming from somewhere up in the tower.

“Olocher is killing someone up there!” the women shouted at the guards.

“Be quiet in there!” one of them snapped back but his attention was on the stairs to where he could hear the other guards calling out to one another and asking what was going on. His face was scared and white in the darkness.

“Olocher’s asleep in his bed,” someone called down but the screaming was still going and getting louder.

And then a new noise began, not unlike the first but from outside this time and the women looked through the bars and they could see that there were many pigs, more than would be usual in the same place, and they were whining lowly, in the same way, as the screaming from upstairs.

“It’s the banshee!” one of the women said and no one knew any better to correct her. They clutched closer together in natural defensiveness. Outside, the porcine chorus grew in intensity, and the guards looked out to the see what was happening. The squeals grew frenzied from the wild animals, and an agitation began to run through them as though they were in pain. The squealing grew to such a pitch that it was painful to listen to, and all the women and the guards had to cover their ears.

“What the fuck is going on here?” James Brick asked bursting into the courtyard just above the steps to the dungeon. He was pulling on a coat over his bed clothes.

“We don’t know” was the inept reply from one of the guards.

“What is this noise?” Brick shouted above the din.

“Pigs outside the gate”

“Pigs?” Brick was clearly confused but also a little relieved.

“There’s another noise coming from up there but the guards up there say Olocher is asleep in his bed, and they don’t know where the noise in coming from.”

Just then, there was a terrific thump at the wooden gates of the prison.

“Now what?” Brick said exasperated, the apprehension back in his face.

“Someone’s trying to get in!” a guard called out.

“Where are the soldiers?” Brick called out. There was another massive thump against the gates, and they creaked with the force.

“Keep your hair on in there” a voice called from without the gates “It’s these bleedin’ pigs bashing against the gate!” It was one of the soldiers who was guarding from outside. They could hear him trying to shoo the animals, and they heard the heavy wet slap of the soldier’s baton on the back flesh of the pigs. “There’s a fuckin’ tonne of them out here” he went on. The squealing was reaching a point where nothing else could be heard. More thumping came against the gates but it was almost silent at that point, a visual throbbing of wood pulse in the lantern fire sparkled shadowplay.

The noise was unbearable now, and though men were talking, shouting, no voice could be heard save that of the screaming pigs and the original scream of no fixed origin. Everyone had their ears covered, and no one knew what to do so all stood rooted to where they were. Kate could feel the trembling of the women about her as some cried and others shook as if to try to rid themselves of the sounds in their head or to try wake themselves from what was clearly, to them at least, a terrible nightmare.

And then all the noises stopped, and there was silence. For ten seconds still more not a soul moved. Kate looked out the window, and she could see the army of pigs disperse down different streets, some stopping and sniffing at the kerbsides for food and otherwise acting as the normal nuisance that they were.

“Check on Olocher” the soldier from outside shouted in but it was said with no immediacy.

“Do it,” Brick said and the women’s guard left his post and ran up the stairs. Kate listened to his feet slapping on the stone steps and then heard the rattle of keys and his voice from the distance,

“Get up there now” and then she heard the heavy clanking of the lock and the door of the cell opening. Then there was silence for a moment.

Kate had a terrible feeling in her body at this silence. She was imagining the guard going to the bed where Thomas Olocher was sleeping and drawing back the blanket find it stuffed with hay and no sign of Olocher. She imagined him loose in the goal and somehow being in this very room right now waiting to kill them as they slept. She could almost hear his echoed breathing against the cold stone walls. Involuntarily she darted glances around the room and though there was none big enough to hide a man of any size every black space multiplied the terror in her soul.

“He’s escaped” she heard herself say. The others looked at her in horror, and it was clear to her that they had all had the same idea though none was happy that it had been spoken aloud.

There was a commotion of running and talking from those up in the tower and the women’s fears seemed to be correct. They huddled closer together and waited grimly for the news that he had escaped.

“You better come here sir” one of the guards called down.

“Why what's going on?” Brick asked (he was known not to like walking up those stairs if he could avoid it.)

“You better come see” the voice came back down and there was leaning in tone towards something dreadful.

“Oh for fuck sake,” Brick said as he began to ascend the stairs.

“Wait!” one of the women called out, “we have no guard” Brick looked in at the women.

“You’ll be fine for a few minutes,” he said sarcastically and he continued on up. The women listened again for that dreaded word ‘escaped.’ The gaoler seemed to take an age shuffling up those stairs, and there was no longer any commotion or noise anywhere else.

When he finally got to the top, they could hear some speaking and then the gaoler crying out,

“What? How?” and this to the women confirmed their horrid beliefs.

“Oh god, what are we going to do?” one of them wailed.

“It’s ok Betty,” Kate said rubbing her arm, “Don’t forget we’re still locked in here, and it’s as hard to get in as it is to get out.”

“Shhh, I can’t hear what's going on?” the woman closest to the cell door said. They all listened again, and they could hear what seemed to be the voice of Brick muttering about something but no one else was speaking. In a few moments, they heard the heavy uniforms of the soldiers as they came down the stairs. When the soldiers got to the bottom of the stairs, they stood at the gate and opened the hatch, and one of them said something to the soldier outside.

“What's going on?” Betty called out to them. One of the soldiers looked in to the cell and surveyed the women, probably trying to see if he been a customer of any of them.

“You don’t have to worry your pretty little heads darlin’s,” he said

“Why is that?” Betty asked.

“Our old pal Olocher is dead.”

“Dead?” Kate asked though there were no questions from the rest as they were just relieved to be out of mortal danger.

“Killed himself with a blade he must have smuggled in,” the soldier said and he left them and went back to the other soldier in the yard.

The women knew at this point that there was going to be no sleep tonight. An officer from the army was first to arrive, followed closely by an army doctor and then some men who looked like they might be involved in the legal profession. There was comings and goings all night, and the gaoler was obviously under severe pressure as to why this had been able to happen.

“Was he not searched when he got here?” the officer asked incredulous.

“He came straight from the courthouse under armed guard, I was sure he would have been searched already” Brick replied.

“What type of a prison are you running here you idiot!” the officer shouted. Brick was displeased in the extreme, but he was too clever to answer back and make things worse for himself. Kate however had no shame about enjoying his squirming and embarrassment.

The same questions were asked throughout the night and in all the furore about Olocher’s death it was almost possible to forget about the wailing and the screeching of the pigs outside. Kate wondered if it had indeed been the banshee they heard-the ancient foreteller of death and then she wondered about the three knocks that also signalled death, had that been how many times the pigs had barraged against the gates? She couldn’t be sure, but she thought so.

“That was the oddest thing with the pigs wasn’t it?” she said to the others.

“I’ve never heard of, or seen anything like it in me life!” Betty replied.

“What was it all about?” another of the women asked, but none among them had even a guess to make. It was baffling beyond description, especially since there were so many pigs about the streets in general and everyone was used to their habits by now.

There must have been at least two hundred people at Gallows Green at the scaffold where Thomas Olocher was to be hanged the following morning. It had been arranged solely for his execution, and there was none other scheduled for the drop that morning which was an unusual practice. The weather was fine though chilly with a strong low sun that blinded those who caught its glare or that reflected off any metal or glass surface. It had been raining overnight again, and the wet and filth covered cobbles threw the glare further still like an expanding golden river in the street.

As is always the way there was much hubbub in the crowd though in secret it was a nervous excitement that thrilled through each private individual; the lust for death by justice loses a lot of its sheen and romanticism when faced with the actual hanging itself-the rickety scaffold, the thick rope, the hooded killer and the priest, those who must oversee the hanging. It was truly morbidly sickening, but even those who were veterans of this queasiness could not bring themselves to stay away from such a momentous meeting out of justice as that for Thomas Olocher.

It was only ten in the morning, but there was a whiskey cabin atmosphere spreading throughout the crowd, a kind of drunkenness that fed on the fears and trepidations of the people who had gathered there. The noise of voices continued to rise and rise and was punctured here and there by the cacophony of street sellers trying to hawk anything imaginable and the shouts of those who shooed beggars or pickpockets who were always present for large gatherings.

As the time for the spectacle grew closer, the crowd grew larger and at the appointed hour there was close to five hundred packed into the space around the streets surrounding the gallows. Mullins had arrived late and made his way through the crowds until he found some faces that he knew, Cleaves among them. They nodded to him but continued with their conversation. Mullins looked around at the crowd until he heard something that piqued his interest.

“What’s this about pigs?” he asked the men.

“There was hundreds of pigs screaming and stomping the gates of the prison last night!” one of them said.

“It wasn’t hundreds!” Cleaves contradicted him.

“I heard something unnatural last night alright,” Mullins said, “but I had no clue what it was.”

“Well, now you know but it’s still a mystery as to what they were up to,” Cleaves said.

“Maybe the Pinking Dindies sent them to try to break old Olocher out,” Mullins joked, and the men all laughed.

“Jokes aside though, there are still rumours that they may try to spring him from here today,” Cleaves said

“I see a few men over by the weavers there that fit the bill perfectly,” Mullins said and they all looked over to where he nodded.

There were ten men who conversed in a close circle, all very well dressed and carrying swords as part of this attire. They were all very well groomed as well and were taller than average and though not fat in the slightest they had the healthy bulk of the well fed upper classes. It was, of course, possible that there were some of the gang known as the Pinking Dindies, but few amongst the lower classes knew any of these people by name. It was said that they were a law unto themselves and did what they liked when they liked. Mullins tried to see the ends of their swords, but they were concealed within cloaks and greatcoats-it was said that they would cut an inch or so from their scabbard and use the bare end of the blade to stab and poke people with while they extricated their belongings. It was said they worked in groups of four to six, and they were never caught in the act or brought to justice later on. The worst of it in most people’s eyes was that they were all educated and well to do men who had no need to be stealing.

“They may be Dindies,” Mullins said finally “but their faces have been seen by all and sundry here now so I doubt if there is anything to go down that they will play any part of it.”

“So we have to wait for some masked warriors before we can get excited,” Cleaves said.

“Who knows maybe the Liberty Boys or the Ormonde Boys will save him to use in their next street fight,” Mullins joked again. As he said this he became aware of a solitary soldier making his way through the crowd and as his eyes followed this man others joined him so that the majority of the crowd was watching him by the time he got to the scaffold and handed an official some paper.

The face of the official-no one actually seemed to know who he was, had up to now been beaming with what many took for pride at the fact that he was in charge of such a momentous execution, dropped and grew sullen as he read the paper. He looked at the soldier but said nothing; it was a look that asked if what was written were really the case and the solder understanding this nodded that it was. The official turned and said something to the hangman and the priest who seemed surprised by what he said. The priest shook his head and blessed himself, and the hangman just stood there as though he were contemplating what to do next. The official nodded at the structure of the scaffold to the men who had erected it, and they began to gather around it in the unmistakable fashion of preparing for it to be disassembled.

A loud level of conversation then seemed to emerge from the back of the crowd that gathered, and those closer to the front wondered if this was the entry of the condemned. It was very confusing for everyone as to what was happening. And then the road went up “Reprieved!” and it spread from mouth to mouth in surprise, anger, shock, confusion, fear and disappointment.

Almost as soon as this was uttered the crowd began to move as one. They passed the burial ground at Merrion Row, the north side of the green off Beaux’s walk and then through Reparee Fields before coming through Hell and finally to Cornmarket and the gates of ‘The Black Dog.’ When they got there, which was only a ten minute walk, their anger at his release was at boiling point and almost everyone among them was willing to do mortal harm to Olocher should he cross their path.

There was a military cordon set up around the gates, and the crowd was forced to stop a distance away but not so far that they could not see the gates.

“Where is he?” people cried out. “If you can’t supply justice give him to us as we’ll supply it ourselves!” “Where is that monster?” “Let us at him!” and then there was suddenly a wave of silence that went from front to back of the crowd.

“What’s happenin’?” Cleaves asked the taller Mullins from where they stood about thirty men deep. Mullins could see no reason for the silence, and he looked at the gates of the prison for a few moments before he noticed that there were some soldiers loading something onto a cart just outside.

“He got a blade in somehow and killed himself last night,” one of the soldiers said to clarify that this was indeed the dead body of Thomas Olocher that was being carried away from the prison.

“He’s dead!” went up a cry “Done himself in!” said another and once again the news rippled back through the crowd and the emotions and confusions came sprawling forward once again.

“Can’t you fuckers even babysit for one night without messing it up!” someone called out at the soldiers.

“Less of that talk,” the soldier said back. The crowd was showing signs of becoming restless, and the soldiers knew it, had seen it many times before.

The cart began to move off, and the crowd surged forward after it.

“Where are they taking him?” they demanded. The soldiers pushed back, and the prison guards were also called into duty to help them. An officer who at the gates shouted into the crowd in a loud authoritative voice,

“You are required to disperse at once lest I have to call for troops to disperse you!” but the anger was too much instilled in the blood of the people now and they surged forward and broke through the ranks of the soldiers (the prison guards gave up and stepped out of the way almost immediately) and Brick-who had been at the gates while Olocher was being taken out, ran back inside and had the gates shut quickly.

The officer called for backup, but he was quickly silenced with the weight of blows against him and his soldiers too were quickly overrun. The cart had tried to pick up speed when the driver saw what was happening behind but the slick conditions of the road gave the wheels no traction and he too was quickly engulfed by the crowd and pulled from his cart and it was then overturned, Olocher’s body wrapped in a white sheet spilling into the sewer runs at the kerbside.

“Best place for him,” someone cried and mighty cheer went up.

The body was pulled up by four men who disappeared down an alleyway as the new soldiers arrived and began to fire into the crowds. People scattered in every direction, and there were wails of pain as people fell to the ground and were trampled by others escaping the hot flashes of the muskets. Cleaves had grabbed Mullins and ran towards the river; his intention to get to the other side and lay low over there for a time.

They were not far from Cornmarket when it was clear that the soldiers were not in pursuit; at least not in the direction they were running. They had probably just wanted to regain control of the area outside of the prison gates. Cleaves noticed this, and he grabbed onto Mullins’ arm.

“Stop, stop, they’re not coming this way.” Mullins stopped, and he looked behind.

“No point going over to the northside when we can just go home and lay low there,” Cleaves said.

They were in Swan Alley now so they continued onto Merchants Quay and followed the Liffey west to Ushers Quay before turning up Dog and Duck Yard where Mullins lived. They stopped at his door and looked around. There were people scuttling about everywhere and back into their own homes, but there was no sign of the soldiers anywhere.

“You should come in and stay the night,” Mullins said to Cleaves.

“Sure I’m only a few streets away,” Cleaves said, “I’ll be fine,” and he was making to move away when Mullins grabbed his arm.

“Seriously Cleaves, you should come in. Those English bastards will be looking for blood tonight.” Cleaves didn’t say anything, he looked like he was mulling it over. “You have to go right through them to get home,” Mullins said to sway him some more. Cleaves nodded at this was still looked like he was weighing up his chances of getting home unharmed. “Come on, I have a coddle on and enough whiskey to see us through the night”, and this was the final sway needed as they both entered through the doorway.