The Mountain Tavern

== THE MOUNTAIN TAVERN ==
=== By Liam O'Flaherty===
Reprinted from The Mountain Tavern and Other Stories,  (1897)
LIAM O'FLAHERTY, author of The Mountain Tavern, Spring
Sowing, The Tent, and many other short stories, and of the novels The Informer,
The Assassin, etc., was born in the 
in 1897. As a youth he was a volunteer in the Irish Republican Army; during the
Great War he joined the British Army; in a Scotsman converted him to
Socialism. He attributes the awakening of his conscious mind to the experience
during the War of contact with all sorts of workingmen, including German
prisoners. After the War, becoming bored with Irish Republicanism, he spent
several roving years at sea, in the United States, Canada, and elsewhere
(recorded in the autobiographical Two Years), returning to Ireland about 1920
to fight the Black and Tans (British troops}. By that time he was a Communist.
He attributes much of the success of his subsequent literary career to timely
encouragement and criticism from Edward Garnett. ''
Snow was falling. The bare, flat, fenceless
road had long since disappeared. Now the white snow fell continuously on virgin
land, all level, all white, all silent, between the surrounding dim peaks of
the mountains. Through the falling snow, on every side, squat humps were
visible. They were the mountain peaks. And between them, the moorland was as
smooth as a ploughed field. And as silent, oh, as silent as an empty church.
Here, the very particles of the air entered the lungs seemingly as big as pebbles
and with the sweetness of ripe fruit. An outstretched hand could almost feel
the air and the silence. There was absolutely nothing, nothing at all, but
falling flakes of white snow, undeflected, falling silently on fallen snow. 
Up above was the sky and God perhaps,
though it was hard to believe it; hard to believe that there was anything in
the whole universe but a flat white stretch of virgin land between squat
mountain peaks and a ceaseless shower of falling snow-flakes. 
There came the smell of human breathing
from the east. Then three figures appeared suddenly, dark, although they were
covered with snow. They appeared silently, one by one, stooping forward. The
leading man carried his overcoat like a shawl about his head, with a rifle,
butt upwards, slung on his right shoulder and two cloth ammunition belts slung
across his body. He wore black top boots. His grim young eyes gazed wearily
into the falling snow and his boots, scarcely lifted, raked the smooth earth,
scattering the fallen snow-flakes. 
The second man wore a belted leather coat,
of which one arm hung loose. With the other hand he gripped his chest and
staggered forward, with sagging, doddering head. A pistol, pouched in a loose
belt, swung back and forth with his gait. There was blood on his coat, on his hand
and congealed on his black leggings, along which the melting snow ran in a
muddy stream. There was a forlorn look in his eyes, but his teeth were set.
Sometimes he bared them and drew in a deep breath with a hissing sound. 
The third man walked erect. He wore no
overcoat and his head was bare. His hair curled and among the curls the snow
lay in little rows like some statue in winter. He had a proud, fearless face,
bronzed, showing no emotion nor weariness. Now and again, he shook his great
body and the snow fell with a rustling sound oif his clothes and off the heavy
pack he carried. He also had two rifles wrapped in a cape under his arm; and in
his right hand he carried a small wooden box that hung from a leather strap. 
They walked in each other's tracks slowly.
Rapidly the falling snow filled up the imprints of their feet. And when they
passed there was silence again. 
The man in front halted and raised his eyes
to look ahead. The second man staggered against him, groaned with pain and
gripped the other about the body with his loose hand to steady himself. The
third man put the wooden box on the ground and shifted his pack. 
"Where are we now?" he said. 
His voice rang out, hollow, in the
stillness and several puffs of hot air, the words, jerked out, like steam from
a starting engine. 
"Can't say," muttered the man in
front. "Steady, Commandant. We can't be far now. We're on the road anyway.
It should be there in front. Can't see, though. It's in a hollow. That's
why." 
"What's in a hollow, Jack?"
muttered the wounded man. "Let me lie down here. It's bleeding
again." 
"Hold on, Commandant," said the
man in front. "We'll be at the Mountain Tavern in half a minute. Christ!"
"Put him on my back," said the
big man. "You carry the stuff." 
"Never mind. I'll walk," said the
wounded man. "I'll get there all right. Any sign of them?" 
They peered into the falling snow behind
them. There was utter silence. The ghostly white shower made no sound. A
falling curtain. 
"Lead on then," said the big man.
"Lean on me, Commandant." 
They moved on. The wounded man was groaning
now and his feet began to drag. Shortly he began to rave in a low voice. Then
they halted again. Without speaking, the big man hoisted his comrade,
crosswise, on his shoulders. The other man carried the kit. They moved on
again. 
The peak in front became larger. It was no
longer a formless mass. Gradually, through the curtain of snow, it seemed to
move towards them and upwards. The air became still more thin. As from the
summit of a towering cliff, the atmosphere in front became hollow; and soon, through
the haze of snow, they caught a glimpse of the distant plains, between two
mountain peaks. There below it lay, like the bottom of a sea, in silence. The mountain
sides sank down into it, becoming darker; for it did not snow down there. There
was something, after all, other than the snow. But the snowless, downland earth
looked dour and unapproachable. 
"It must be here," the leading
man said again. "Why can't we see it? It's just under the shelter of that
mountain. There is a little clump of pine trees and a barn with a red roof.
Sure I often had a drink in it. Where the name of God is it, anyway?" 
"Go on. Stop talking," said the
curly-headed man. 
"Can't you be easy?" muttered the
leading man, moving ahead and peering into the snow that made his eyelids blink
and blink. "Supposing this is the wrong road, after all. They say people
go round and round in the snow. Sure ye could see it from the other end, four
miles away in clear weather, two storey high and a slate roof with the sun.
shining on it. It's facing this way too, right on the top of the hill, with a
black board, 'Licensed to Sell.' Man called Galligan owns it. I'd swear by the
Cross of Christ we must be up on it." 
"Hurry on," snapped the curly
man. "There's a gurgle in his throat. Jesus! His blood is going down my
neck. Why can't you hurry on, blast it?" 
"Hey, what place is that?" cried
the leading man, in a frightened voice. "D'ye see a ruin?" 
They halted. A moment ago there had been
nothing in front but a curtain of falling snow, beyond which, as in a child's
sick dream, the darkening emptiness of the snowless lowland approached,
tumbling like a scudding black cloud. Now a crazy blue heap appeared quite
close. Suddenly it heaved up out of the snow. It was a ruined house. There was
a smell from it too. From its base irregular tufts of smoke curled up
spasmodically; dying almost as soon as they appeared and then appearing again. 
The two men watched it. There was no
emotion in their faces. They just looked, as if without interest. It was too strange.
The Mountain Tavern was a smoking ruin. 
"It's gone west," murmured the
leading man. 
"Eh?" shouted the curly man.
"Gone did ye say?" 
"Aye. Burned to the ground. See?"
"Well?" 
"God knows. We're up the pole." 
Suddenly the curly man uttered a cry of
rage and staggered forward under his load. The other man opened his mouth wide,
drew in an enormous breath and dropped his head wearily on his chest. Trailing
his rifle in the snow behind him, he reeled forward, shaking his head from side
to side, with his under lip trembling. Then he began to sing foolishly under
his breath. There were people around the ruined house. And as the two men, with
their dying comrade, came into view, quite close, these people stopped and
gaped at them. There was a woman in front of the house, on the road, sitting on
an upturned barrel. She was a thin woman with a long pointed nose and thin
black hair that hung in disorder on her thin neck, with hairpins sticking in
it. She had a long overcoat buttoned over her dress and a man's overcoat about
her shoulders. She held a hat with red feathers on it in her right hand, by the
rim. Two children, wrapped in queer clothes, stood beside her, clinging to her,
a boy and a girl. They also were thin and they had pointed noses like their
mother. One man was pulling something out of a window of the ruined house.
Another man, within the window, had his head stuck out. He had been handing out
something. Another man was in the act of putting a tin trunk on a cart, to
which a horse was harnessed, to the right of the house. All looked, gaping, at
the newcomers. 
"God save all here," said the
curly man, halting near the woman. 
Nobody replied. The other man came up and
staggered towards the woman, who was sitting on the upturned barrel. The two
children, silent with fear, darted around their mother, away from the man. They
clutched at her, muttering something inaudibly. 
"Is that you, Mrs. Galligan?" 
"It is then," said the woman in a
stupid, cold voice. "And who might you be?" 
"We're Republican soldiers," said
the curly man. "I have a dying man here." 
He lowered the wounded man gently to the
ground. Nobody spoke or moved. The snow fell steadily. 
" Mummy, mummy," cried one of the
children, "there's blood on him. Oh! mummy." 
The two children began to howl. The dying
man began to throw his hands about and mutter something. A great rush of blood
flowed from him. 
"In the name of the Lord God of
Heaven," yelled the curly man, "are ye savages not to move a foot?
Eh? Can't ye go for a doctor? Is there nothing in the house?" 
He stooped over the dying man and clutching
him in his arms, he cried hoarsely: 
"Easy now, Commandant. I'm beside ye.
Give us a hand with him, Jack. We'll fix the bandage." 
The two of them, almost in a state of
delirium, began to fumble with the dying man. The children wept. The dying man
suddenly cried out: 
"Stand fast. Stand fast boys. Stand. .
. ." 
Then he made a violent effort to sit up. He
opened his mouth and did not close it again. 
The woman looked on dazed, with her
forehead wrinkled and her lips set tight. The three men who had been doing something
among the ruins began to come up slowly. They also appeared dazed, terrified. 
"He's gone," murmured the curly man,
sitting erect on his knees. "God have mercy on him." 
He laid the corpse flat on the ground. The
blood still flowed out. The other soldier took off his hat and then, just as he
was going to cross himself, he burst into tears. The three men came close and
looked on. Then they sheepishly took off their hats. 
"Is he dead?" said one of them. 
The curly man sat back on his heels. 
"He's dead," he said. "The
curse o' God on this country." 
"And what did he say happened?" 
"Ambush back there. Our column got wiped
out. Haven't ye got anything in the house?" 
The woman laughed shrilly. The children
stopped crying. 
"Is there nothing in the house, ye
daylight robber?" she cried. "Look at it, curse ye. It's a black
ruin. Go in. Take what ye can find, ye robber." 
"Robbers!" cried the soldier who
had been weeping. "Come on, Curly. Stand by me. I'm no robber. God! Give
me a drink. Something to eat. Christ! I'm dyin'." 
He got to his feet and took a pace forward
like a drunken man. The curly-headed soldier caught him. 
"Keep yer hair on, Jack," he
said. 
"Look at what ye've done," cried
the woman. "Ye've blown up the house over me head. Ye've left me homeless and
penniless with yer war. Oh! God, why don't ye drop down the dome of Heaven on
me?" 
"Sure we didn't blow up yer
house," cried the curly soldier. "An' we lookin' for shelter after
trampin' the mountains since morning. Woman, ye might respect the dead that
died for ye." 
The woman spat and hissed at him. 
"Let them die. They didn't die for
me," she said. "Amn't I ruined and wrecked for three long years with yer
fightin', goin' back and forth, lootin' and turnin' the honest traveller from
my door? For three long years have I kept open house for all of ye and now yer
turnin' on one another like dogs after a bitch." 
"None o' that now," cried the
hysterical soldier, trying to raise his rifle. 
"Hold on, man," cried one of the
other men. "She has cause. She has cause." 
He grew excited and waved his hands and
addressed his own comrades instead of addressing the soldiers. 
"The Republicans came to this house
this morning," he cried. " So Mr. Galligan told me an' he goin' down
the road for McGilligan's motor. The Republicans came, he said. And then . . .
then the Free Staters came on top of them and the firing began. Women and
children out, they said, under a white flag. So Galligan told me. 'They damn
near shot me,' says he to me, 'harbourin' Irregulars under the new act.' Shot
at sight, or what's worse, they take ye away on the cars, God knows where.
Found in a ditch. None of us, God blast my soul if there is a word of a lie in
what I am sayin', none of us here have a hand or part in anything. Three miles
I came up in the snow when Mr. Galligan told me. Says he to me, 'I'll take
herself and the kids to aunt Julia's in McGilligan's motor.'" 
"Where did they go?" said the
curly soldier. 
"I was comin' to that," said the
man, spitting in the snow and turning towards the woman. "It's with a bomb
they did it, Galligan said to me. Something must have fallen in the fire. They
stuck it out, he said. There were six men inside. Not a man came out without a
wound. So he said. There were two dead. On a door they took 'em away. They took
'em all off in the cars. And they were goin' to take Mr. Galligan too. There
you are now. May the Blessed Virgin look down on here. An' many's a man '11 go
thirsty from this day over the mountain road." 
"Aye," said the woman. "For
twenty years in that house, since my father moved from the village, after buyin'
it from Johnny Reilly." 
"Twenty years," she said again. 
"Can't ye give us something to
eat?" cried the hysterical man, trying to break loose from the curly
soldier, who still held him. 
"There's nothing here/' muttered a
man, "until Mr. Galligan comes in the motor. He should be well on the way
now." 
"They were all taken," said the
curly soldier. 
"All taken," said the three men,
all together. 
"Sit down, Jack," said the curly
soldier. 
He pulled his comrade down with him on to
the snow. 
He dropped his head on his chest. The
others looked at the soldiers sitting in the snow. The others had a curious, malign
look in their eyes. They looked at the dazed, exhausted soldiers and at the
corpse with a curious apathy. They looked with hatred. There was no pity in
their eyes. They looked steadily without speech or movement, with the serene
cruelty of children watching an insect being tortured. They looked patiently,
as if calmly watching a monster in its death agony. 
The curly-headed soldier suddenly seemed to
realize that they were watching him. For he raised his head and peered at them
shrewdly through the falling snow. There was utter silence everywhere, except
the munching sound made by the horse's jaws as he chewed hay. The snow fell,
fell now, in the fading light, mournfully, blotting out the sins of the world. 
The soldier's face, that had until then
shown neither fear nor weariness, suddenly filled with despair. His lips bulged
out. His eyes almost closed. His forehead gathered together and he opened his
nostrils wide. 
"I'm done," he said. "It's no
use. Say, men. Send word that we're here. Let them take us. I'm tired fightin'.
It's no use." 
No one spoke or stirred. A sound
approached. Strange to say, no one paid attention to the sound. And even when a
military motor lorry appeared at the brow of the road, nobody moved or spoke.
There were 
soldiers on the lorry. They had their rifles pointed. They drew near slowly.
Then, with a rush, they dismounted and came running up. 
The two Republican soldiers put up their
hands, but they did not rise to their feet. 
"Robbers," screamed the woman.
"I hate ye all. Robbers." 
Her husband was there with them. 
"Mary, we're to go in the lorry,"
he said to her. They're goin' to look after us they said. Fr. Considine went to
the barracks." 
"The bloody robbers," she
muttered, getting off the barrel. 
"Who's this?" the officer said,
roughly handling the corpse. 
He raised the head of the corpse. 
"Ha!" he said. "So we got
him at last. Eh? Heave him into the lorry, boys. Hurry up. Chuck 'em all
in." 
They took away the corpse and the
prisoners. There was a big dark spot where the corpse had lain. Snow began to
fall on the dark spot. 
They took away everybody, including the
horse and cart. Everybody went away, down the steep mountain road, into the
dark lowland country, where no snow was falling. All was silent again on the
flat top of the mountain. 
There was nothing in the whole universe
again but the black ruin and the black spot where the corpse had lain. Night
fell and snow fell, fell like soft soothing white flower petals on the black
ruin and on the black spot where the corpse had lain. 
==
Category:O'Flaherty
Category:Published