34 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
rious banner, waved it defiantly at the redcoats, and galloped to his
gunfire death screaming, "Erin go bragh!"
As in an awful dream, Jamie saw Sean reach down from his horse, gather
up the flag, and gallop toward the British lines. Then he saw something
else, and it was something he envied all of his days. The vision of Sean
riding to certain death was so heroic in his mind that Jamie stared at
him in wonder, and thought his friend triumphant.
He saw Sean fall from his horse, and raced to him. He jumped down and
gathered his friend in his arms. Blood was pumping from Sean's chest, and
gurgling up through his mouth. and his face was contorted in pain. Jamie
held Sean to him, crying on him to live, but knew he could not.
Then Sean looked at him, and a sweet smile suffused his face, for behind
Jamie he saw a pure, golden light, brighter than any sun, that warmed his
soul, and then there were all the dazzling colors of a rainbow, and a
deep and abiding sense of peace swept over him.
Jamie knew nothing of this. The futile battle raged around him, unseen
and unheard by him, because all he saw was that sweet smile on Sean's
face, and then the body relaxed in his arms, and Sean was gone from him.
But Jamie could never define, with any certainty, the moment of his
going. He clutched his friend to him and screamed his name, but Sean
could not hear him.
He scrambled to his feet, Sean's body in his arms, and staggered through
the blood and the mud and gunfire and the bodies to find some quiet place
to fulfill his promise to his friend.
He could not escape the deafening roar of the battle, but the place he
found would be quiet enough, he knew, tomorrow, when the soldiers were
gone. There was a large oak tree by a little brook, and Jamie set Sean
down, and waited to gather his strength, to dig, with his bare hands,
some form of grave.
Soldiers found him, far from the battleground, and were puzzled by him.
A crop-haired lad, with blood all over his rough clothes but otherwise
unharmed, sitting beside the body of another and keening for what he had
lost, he did not have the manner or bearing of a peasant. They surrounded
him, guns drawn, and dragged him to his feet, punching him a few times.
BLOODLINES 35
They demanded his name, and when he told them, his accent did not have
a thick brogue. Thinking him a possible ringleader, they did not kill him
there, as they might have done, and had done to others, but took him
away, to be questioned by their officers.
Jamie stared at them with vacant eyes, but when they kicked the body of
Sean into the brook, his anger raged, for he knew he had broken a most
solemn vow. With a furious cry, he launched himself at his captors, who
laughed, and hit him on the head with a musket butt. He fell to the
ground, but the blow, although painful, had not been hard enough, and he
was conscious of all that they did to him as they dragged him away to
whatever his fate might be.
What Jamie did not know was that the British spared him because the Irish
had won. Father John had led a foolhardy charge to the British artillery,
had taken it, and turned it on the astounded Ancient Britains. The
soldiers who found him were looking for stragglers or runaways who might
give information about the Irish numbers and intentions.
The officers of the Ancient Britains knew his name, He was on a list of
wanted men, because of his family connection to the traitor Oliver Bond.
They marched him to Dublin and delivered him to Newgate Prison, to be
hanged, or to rot with his fellows for his treachery.
Jamie felt none of their wrath and was insensible to their scorn.
Battered and bruised by his captors, he walked in chains to Dublin, lost
in a limbo of present grief and the expectation of coming execution. As
they marched him through the towns and villages, the people lined the
roadway, but not to cheer him or jeer the soldiers, for he was only
another victim of their revolution, and the soldiers were the victors.
Father John had won the battle of Gorey Hill, but the war was being lost.
They took him to the forbidding prison and released him from his
manacles. There was no need of them here, because escape was impossible.
His new guards, rougher than any soldier, kicked him below, and locked
him in a small, dark cell.
Alone in a dank and musty cell, and without any light, Jamie felt his way
along the wall and found a bunk where he lay down and stared at the
blackness that engulfed him.
5
Newgate Prison was a hellish place, but no worse than Jamie's imaginings,
and perhaps somewhat better. In the moming they let him out of his cell,
to empty his bucket and wash his face, as best he could, at the communal
well in the yard. Bread and oatmeal were the only foods his captors
supplied, but many prisoners had plentiful nourishment, provided by
relatives on the outside, or bought with bribes to the venal guards. They
ate and spent their days in the great hall of the prison, and Jamie found
several he knew there, United Irishmen, and many acquaintances. They
cheered him, as a new arrival, and were kind to him, and those with food
shared some with him, and begged for news of the outside world.
Then he heard a familiar voice.
"Jamie? Is it you?"
He turned and saw his uncle Henry, pate, thin, and scruffy, but with a
welcome smile and open arms. The sight of the loved and loving man broke
the dam of Jamie's reserve. He went to his uncle and wept, for the first
time since Sean's death, and poured out his distress. Henry was gentle
with him. He sat Jamie down and listened to his sad story, and said
nothing of his own.
He tried to find words of solace, but he had no good news for his nephew.
Jamie's small war at Gorey Hill was a tiny fragment of the larger whole.
In one battle, thirty thousand Catholic rebels had died, for the loss of
only two thousand British. Father John was dead: caught, imprisoned, and
hanged. Wolfe Tone was dead. Caught after a futile landing with a token
French force in the south, he had been imprisoned and condemned to death,
and had slashed his neck with a penknife smuggled in by a friend. The
Sheares brothers had been hanged. Oliver Bond was condemned to a similar
fate.
36
BLOODLINES 37
Lord Edward Fitzgerald had lost his reason. Captured when sick in a tiny
garret, he was beaten about the head by arresting soldiers, and his brain
was damaged. Unable to comprehend or accept the failure of their
enterprise, or the coming execution, not only of himself but of so many
he held dear, his mind had wandered into happier pastures, from which no
doctor could reclaim him. The rebellion was a failure. The noble cause for
which they'had fought lay about them in ruins.
 
; Jamie listened to the litany of woe in silence, and when his uncle was
done, he asked the question that dominated his thinking.
"What will happen to me?"
Then he corrected himself.
"What will happen to us, I mean?"
Henry nodded again, but did not smile. Most men's thoughts were, seltish
when faced with the prospect of their possible demise, and it was' the
question that every prisoner asked when first delivered to the place of
his captivity. There was a similar question that all condemned men asked
at some point before their coming execution: "Will it hurt?"
"They might hang us; they say they will," he said, with a cheerfulness
that surprised Jamie. "But then again, they haven't yet, and while
there's life, there's hope."
It was an old clich6, but clich6s often brought comfort to hopeless men,
and he had no better words to say. Jamie did not believe him then, but
the simple, reassuring presence of his uncle made his burden somewhat
easier to bear. Over the weeks, he was questioned, sometimes with brutal
force, about what he knew, but it didn't matter if he gave his
interrogators the names of subversives, for all those he knew were
already behind bars. As the months wore on and no hint was given of a
trial, Jamie relaxed, and almost began to enjoy the rough companionship
of prison life.
They were taken out into the prison yard one day, and lined in ranks.
Nothing was said to them, no reason was given for this change in the
daily pattern of their lives, and several believed they were to be shot,
or hanged, although there was no gallows. They were kept at attention for
half an hour, and any man who spoke or asked a question was hit with a
truncheon.
A big metal door on the opposite side of the yard scraped
38 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
open, and two guards came through, with another man between them. It was
Lord Edward Fitzgerald, now a babbling idiot. His hair was wild and
unkempt, his eyes were glassy. Spittle dribbled from his chin. They
paraded him past his fellows, so that all could see the degradation of the
man who had been their leader. Nothing was said, nothing was spoken,
except by Lord Edward, who chattered to himself throughout, in a language
no one but he understood. He did not recognize any of those who had been
his brothers-in-arms.
They took him back to his cell, left the assembled men in the yard for
another half hour, then ordered them back inside.
Jamie saw Eleanor once, on a high walkway, taking food to her husband's
cell, for he was a condemned man, and kept apart from the others. Eleanor
saw Henry and waved at him, and then Jamie, and a smile lighted her face.
She called words of encouragement, and threw some food from her basket
to him. Jamie found it hard to imagine that she could be so caring for
him and others, and so cheerful of manner, when Oliver was to die.
Eleanor's grief at her husband's conviction was real and deeply felt, but
she saw no point in dwelling on it, especially with him, who was already
keenly enough aware of what lay in store. She tried to make his final days
on earth as bounteous as possible, kept him well supplied with good food
and the gossip of the city, and liquor when she could, and talked of his
coming execution only when he raised the subject. She took advantage of
the penal laws to arrange a party for him, some few days before his
appointed date with the hangman, for she thought he would enjoy being with
all his old friends. She bribed the guards, as was necessary, and brought
in food and drink. Oliver was allowed out of his solitary confinement for
the afternoon, although several other guards had to be paid handsome sums
to keep watch on him during the festivity.
Jamie, when he heard about it, thought it was morbid, and could not
imagine how the revels could be anything other than gloomy, but Oliver,
and Eleanor, surprised him, and he had forgotten the Irish capacity to
enjoy themselves, and laugh, even in the teeth of death. They sang songs
and swapped yarns, and relived the dreams of what might have been if
their
BLOODLINES39
rebellion had succeeded. They swore eternal friendship, and told dark
jokes of the gallows.
Oliver stood up to speak. Visibly overcome with emotion, he called them
his brothers, and thanked them for their loyalty and friendship. He
stopped speaking, and seemed to be struggling to control his emotions.
Eleanor took his hand and held it, and he looked at his wife with a
curious amazement, as if he needed to tell her something of utmost
importance, that he had never known before.
He stumbled and slumped to the floor. Eleanor gave a little cry and ran
to him, calling out his name. Others came to her help, but there was
nothing they could do for Oliver, who had suffered a stroke. He died in
Eleanor's arms.
"Glory be, the ould bugger's dead," a man said gently to Eleanor. She
clutched Oliver to her, and then remembered her duties as a hostess. She
laid her husband on the floor, went to the table, and raised a mug of
ale.
"To a glorious son of Ireland," she shouted defiantly.
They cheered and drank to his memory.
Eleanor looked at the guards, who were jolted, and not sure what to do
in the face of this unexpected crisis.
"To the Oliver," Eleanor cried again, "and home rule for Ireland! "
The others cheered and drank with her again.
"To Ireland," she said softly.
"To Ireland," they all agreed, as softly as she.
Eleanor knelt on the floor beside her dead husband, stroked his face, and
keened a gentle threnody for her lost love.
The death of Oliver Bond provided the British authorities with the
catharsis they needed. The rebellion had been crushed; the leaders were
dead, or, in the case of Lord Edward, mad. The association of United
Irishmen was broken. There was little point in further persecution,
because that might inflame the populace anew, and Britain wanted a settled
colony and simply could not afford the men to police an Ireland of
continuing turmoil. The empire was expanding rapidly, and the troops were
needed in other trouble spots.
But they could not set the prisoners entirely free. Those convicted or
suspected of only minor treason were offered the
40 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
chance to sign a confession of all their misdeeds, and would then be
released on the condition that they leave Ireland forever.
It was exile, or banishment, Jamie understood, but it was preferable to
a lifetime behind bars, or a possible death by hanging. In any case,
there was nothing for him in Ireland now, He talked with his uncle Henry,
who was of a similar opinion.
"I've fought the good fight all my days," he said, "and I do not think
I have lost, for it will go on. But I'm getting old, and I want a settled
life, before I am to
o old to enjoy it."
"Where will you go?" Jamie asked him.
"America, of course," Uncle Henry replied, slightly surprised that his
nephew had the need to ask. "Where else is there?"
Jamie laughed. It was so very obvious, and it had probably been in the
back of his mind, but buried beneath a mountain of worry.
"Half of Ireland is already there, and your brothers," Uncle Henry
reminded him. "John is doing well in Philadelphia. I shall join him
there."
He wondered what his nephew would do, where he would go.
America, I guess." Jamie shrugged, because he couldn't think of anywhere
else. He wasn't very good at languages, and he didn't want to live among
foreigners all his life, so there was nowhere in Europe for him. He
wasn't allowed to live in Britain. So he chose America, if only by
default. And having chosen, he felt his soul tingle a little, for America
represented a great, new adventure, free of danger, free of the
complications of having to choose between his Irish people and his
English masters. A place that now, in his moment of direst need, at the
time of his banishment, at the start of exile, gave him a haven. He did
not choose America just to save himself from prison, but he did choose
America because it would give him freedom.
They were released in rough order of their imprisonment, Henry some weeks
before Jamie. When his time came, Jamie answered their questions and
signed his confession. His papers
BLOODLINES 41
were put in order by the prison officials, and he was provided with a
warrant that allowed him time to get his affairs in order, and, if
necessary, pass through an English port on the way to his destination. It
was assumed he could support himself financially because his fattier was
known to be wealthy. He was released on a cold autumn day. He had been in
prison for nearly two years.
He went straight to his uncle Henry's house and was warmly received. His
first priority was a hot bath, to rid his body and hair of dirt and lice,
and his uncle burned his old clothes, and gave him new ones. Henry was
leaving for America within the week. He had sold his house and his
ironworks at rock-bottom prices, but he had enough for a good start in
the new world.
"A new start at my age," Henry said wryly. "But then, all things are
possible."
He offered money, but Jamie, whether from pride or foolishness, would not
take it.
He moved to Eleanor's and spent a quiet Christmas with his sister. For
the first time since Oliver's death, they talked of him, but Eleanor,
although she wore the formal black of mourning and grieved for her
husband, was more concerned about the future. At midnight on the last
night of the year, she gave him champagne, and they drank to the
challenges ahead. It was the end of the old century, and the beginning
of the new.
"I had wonderful times with Oliver," she said, "no matter how short. But
he is gone from us, and we must look forward. "
She had few plans of her own, but as yet she was still coming to terms
with her widowhood, and asked what Jamie would do.
I 'America," he smiled, and Eleanor laughed.
"Of course, a new land for a new century," she said. "It is the proper
place for a young man to be. This old world is too decadent. "
She folded her hands neatly on her lap, and looked at her young brother
coyly.
"It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that I might go there
myself," she smiled.
42 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
"But how could you leave Ireland?" he cried, both thrilled and shocked.
Oliver was already perceived by the people as a martyr to the Irish
cause, and she, as his widow, a heroine.
"Tush," she said. "As easily as you will do."
She looked sad, and Jamie thought she might cry, and he knew that if she
ever did leave Ireland it would not be as easy for her as she pretended.
But she shook her head, and busied herself with his business. She asked
if he had any money, and Jamie lied, but she knew that. She gave him a