Free Under the Hawthorn Tree by Marita Conlon-Mckenna

and brokenhearted, who had lost everything. The carts made their way through the street, the horses whinnying nervously, their drivers muttering under their breath. They turned off the main square and took a street that sloped gradually downwards.The crowd, silent and jostling, still followed. One of the horses slipped but managed to right itself. Peggy clung tightly to Eily’s hand, sure that something bad was about to happen.
    The three children gasped when they reached the end of the street, as right in front of them stretched the harbour. Two boats were tied to the quayside and they moved very gently on the water. A large warehouse lay on one side and from this men were rolling large kegs and barrels to be placed on the boats. Two or three big muscular men had come over to the carts and begun to unload the grain. A ripple ran through the crowd that now lined the water’s edge.
    One old man got up his courage. ‘Where is that grain being shipped to?’ he asked.
    ‘England,’ was the curt reply.
    The old man, whose body was bent and twisted, shook his head sadly from side to side. The crowd began to whisper, and all the time the carts were being unloaded. Two, now empty, moved off in another direction.
    A tall red-haired man moved to the front of the crowd. He had a big frame but his muscles had wasted away, so there was little strength in him now.
    ‘Stop this folly,’ he shouted. ‘Are ye blind? Can’tyou see the starving folk all around you?’
    No one answered. The men kept working and the soldiers grouped themselves together. Another cart was empty by now.
    ‘We’re starving, the hunger is on us,’ shouted the tall man again, unable to hide the tears in his eyes. At once about twenty other voices joined in, until they all shouted in unison, ‘The hunger is on us.’
    The soldier in charge stepped forward. ‘Disperse. Let there be no trouble. These goods are sold and paid for.’
    ‘We’re Irishmen, and our food is being sent away, grown in Irish soil to feed English bellies, while ours are empty and our people starve and die,’ the red-haired man began. ‘We’ll not stand for it.’
    He stepped forward to try to reach a sack of grain, but one of the soldiers gave him a blow and knocked him to the ground. A gasp of dismay came from the crowd.
    Then, how it happened Eily did not know, but two or three skeleton-like young men had jumped on to the carts and slashed open the sacks. At first the grain started to trickle and then it flowed out all over the cobbles below. The soldiers were trying to pull the horses into the warehouse as well as beat back some of the crowd. The children filled theirfists with grain and stuffed it in their pockets and in the bag, quick as lightning, and then took to their heels and ran for their lives, not wanting to see what would happen. People were running and scattering in all directions.
    ‘Eily, what will we do?’ questioned Michael. ‘I don’t like this place, it’s too dangerous. Let’s leave it.’
    Eily and Peggy agreed with him, so the children made their way out of the town. They had not gone very far when they met a farmer herding a few sheep along the road. He looked at them with suspicion.
    ‘Excuse me, sir,’ begged Michael. ‘Do you know of the town of Castletaggart? Are we heading in the right direction?’
    The farmer stopped and stared at them. They looked wretched and wild, but they were only children, about the same age as his own brood at home.
    ‘Well, you are on the right path. Follow this coast road for a few miles – you’ll be in view of the sea the whole time – then around the mountain and cross-country and to another main road, and that will lead you to it. It’s a fair distance. Ask as you go.’ He went to move off and then stopped and drew from his pocket a small loaf of bread and alarge wedge of cheese. ‘Here you go,’ he shouted as he threw it to Michael, who just managed to catch it.
    The children stood in total disbelief.