Joe and Jennie disagreed strongly over Irish politics, though they were both ardent patriots. Their battles were over strategy not principle and for the rest they were fond of each other and kind to me. And though times were hard, we were relatively comfortable with my parents' employment and our garden plot. I moved contentedly from the quiet Quaker classroom to the tiny, untidy apartment in Cahir, often filled with arguing, drinking, plotting friends of Joe's and Jennie's, and from our small, dark house on the estate to the warm stables behind the sprawling stone mansion of the Glengalls. I am grateful for those early memories. There is no heritage more valuable than that of a happy childhood.

I was disconsolate. Yet I resisted Jenny's coaxing to join them. I was happy at home. I did not wish to be separated from her, but neither would I leave Father and my snug Irish life. I stayed more often at the apartment, though, and Joe seemed to be there less and less.

On the afternoon of my birthday I overheard Joe and his friend Donal arguing.

"Let's take him," Donal was urging. "We'll need a look-out. No one will pay any attention to him standing around. He's just a kid."

"Don't be crazy, Donal. Herself'd kill me if anything happened to him."

"Joe," I interrupted eagerly. "It's my birthday, you know. I'm fourteen. I'm old enough to help. Please, Joe!"

So in the end I went, shivering with excitement in the chill evening as I joined the young men outside the parish hall - thirty or so of them, big country fellows in frieze jackets, and heavy boots, swinging their arms against the cold. I watched as they blackened their faces with the char from their deadened torches, half joking - scared, though no one wanted to show it. I was not even sure what the raid was for - revenge on several landlords who were grazing cattle on lands from which they had evicted their tenants, I gathered - and Joe was afraid the British troops had been warned. Finally, at Joe's order each man picked up a weapon from the motley collection of shotguns, fowling pieces, rifles, pistols, revolvers, and even a few blackthorn shilelaghs. As the last light left the sky, we set out through the bleak and leafless country-side and marched in the black silence, single-file, making a great circle to avoid the army barracks near the old fort.

Joe left me hiding behind the ruined breastworks. Peering through the deeper shadows of the scrubby bushes, I could make out a sentry and a flickering lantern in a window marking the hut of the relief guard. "Keep low. Mind you make no sound and stay out of sight," Joe admonished under his breath. "We won't be long. If you hear anything, Cooee" and run for home." His disembodied whisper cut the blackness, tense, almost threatening. "Promise me, Niall, signal and then run for home. Get back to Jennie. Whatever happens don't stick around. Swear!"

I swore, crossing myself,"So help me God!" Off he went, hurrying to catch up. A few sticks cracked on stones in the underbrush, then silence. I tried to make out the sentry, fear melting my limbs as I crouched, shivering as much with excitement as from the damp cold.

The silence screamed at my nerves. My throat was dry. I tried to swallow. How I wished I had not begged to come. What if I let them down? What if I were caught? Endless time passed. I eased my cramped, chilled body into a new position. My teeth wanted to chatter so I stuffed an old rag from my pocket into my mouth for fear of giving myself away.

Shouts, yells, a shot, then a straggling volley. I leaped up in terror as the soldiers stamped by me, running past from the relief hut. "Cooee, Cooee!" I whistled, knowing it was too late.

The sentry above me yelled,"Who goes there?" A shot whanged off the rock near my ear. More shots in the distance. What was I to do? Ducking low, I scuttled down into the gully and ran. Hearing no pursuit, I finally stopped and crouched down to relieve my bowels, which terror had turned to water.

I was in an agony of indecision. Should I stay, try to help, cause a diversion perhaps, or should I go? I felt like a coward for finally heeding Joe's words, fearing the worst for his safety, but what else could I do? I trudged sorrowfully home.

I reached the tenement and stood outside for a few minutes to catch my breath and calm myself. As I opened our door, Jennie called out,"Joe?"

"No it's me, Niall."

"Where have you been? You should be home. Mam'll be expecting you for your birthday." She was sitting in her favourite chair, knitting, and I took up my place at the table by the stove.

"I've work to do." I pretended to be studying though my thoughts were back at the fort. My body would not stop shivering and my mind raced round and round like a trapped rat. What had happened? Where were they? Would they get away? Could I have done anything? I felt sick.

After an eternity we were both startled by a loud rap on the door. Jenny leapt up to answer it. Donal McBane was leaning against the door post. Blood dripped down his still blackened face from a cut over his eye; his left arm was half hanging, half held by his right hand.

"Where's Joe?" Jennie's voice was sharp.

"He's hurt, bad."

"Take me there, then," she ordered, snatching up her long, grey cloak.

"Nah, it's far from here, Jennie, and too dangerous. The Regulars are all around."

"I must go. Tell me where and I'll go myself. They won't hurt a woman."

"Jennie, it's too late. They shot him. He's dead."

Her cloak dropped slowly to the floor as she sank back into her chair, her thin fingers clasped tightly together, knuckles white, talking to herself almost. "Oh Mother of God! I knew something would happen. I felt it like a dark cloud. I knew we'd never get away in time." Then, as I watched horror-struck, she rushed at Donal, belabouring him with blows.

"Go you and all of you and stay away. Playing stupid games that lead to nothing but useless killings!" She pushed him out and slammed the door shut, then dropped back into her chair, staring into space.

I sat at the table, my head buried in my arms, sobbing quietly. If only I'd done something. If only I'd heard the troops first I might have saved him. I said nothing to Jennie. At least I would keep my promise.

For the next few weeks I stayed at Jennie's all the time. At the wake, Da took me aside and bade me look after her, though she, in truth, was the one who did most of the looking after.

Life went on, Jennie silent and grim, I trying to comfort her and lighten her spirits. One evening about a month later, as I sat at the table doing my lessons, she reading and knitting in her accustomed chair, we were startled again by an urgent knock. We sat frozen for a moment, both taken back to that awful night. When at last Jennie opened the door there stood the head groom, Mr. Mallinson, his face grey and miserable.

"What is it?" Jennie cried. "Oh, God, what's happened to Da?"

"You must be strong, my dears." His eyes were filled with tears.

"Who"?" Jennie was white. My chest was tight with fear.

Mr. Mallinson wiped his face with his large kerchief, stumbling over his words. "The typhus has been bad on the Estate this Spring." I heard Jennie gasp. "When the two young ones came down with it and died, your Da didn't want you to know to come to the wake for the danger to you. Then your Mam was sick and he stayed home to nurse her. I'd not seen him for several days, so I went by this morning." He stopped, his old face screwed up with grief.

"So he's dead." The coldness of Jennie's voice penetrated my heart. A sudden blackness overcame me. When I awoke I was lying on the floor covered with a shawl and we were alone.

Jennie and I clutched in each other's arms, our tears mingling. The sense of having failed them, of going about our lives normally while a few miles away they were suffering and dying was almost too much to bear. Jennie's wail: "How could he not have told us? Why was I not there to look after them? Oh, Da, how could you do this to me?" The rush of memory floods over me again and I am fourteen and a child, unable to imagine life without my father.

The wake was a short one, though Da had many friends. There was too much sickness to linger long after each one who died. Back in their empty house, sorting out the few possessions worth saving, Jennie burst out in anger. "They never had a life" and now they're dead. No one in this country has a life unless they're rich - Lords, priests! This country is not for the likes of us. The New World can't be worse." I watched, shocked and unbelieving, as she pushed over Mam's wool loom, knocking it to the floor. "The poor have no time. They must always be straining and struggling. I cannot believe life holds nothing more. Even the animals live better!"

"We'll go to New York, Niall." She turned on me, her eyes bright with tears and determination. "You can't say no! There's nothing left here now to keep us."

"But should we not stay to help Ireland?" I stammered.

"There's no saving Ireland. We're a lost people, debased and destroyed by our Conquerors - and by our own weaknesses. Irishmen would as soon bash each other's pates as unite to face the enemy. They steam themselves up with drink and then fight over religion. I despair of Ireland!"

My face must have mirrored my shock for she smiled a bit then and softened. "We must go, Niall darling. It's the only thing for us. We'll find a bit of land there, I'm sure. The country is that big and empty. And if we have to work hard, we're used to that. At least we'll have something to show for it."

I knew I would go. She was right. There was no more reason to stay.

My heart was heavy as I heard again my father's voice telling the beloved old tale and I barely noticed the miles go by. I was roused from my reveries as we stopped in front of Hearne's Hotel and Mr. Bianconi's day car office in Clonmel.

"Farewell my dears," Mr. Mallinson's eyes were wet and both Jennie and I were weeping. "Shall I never see you again?" He shook his head in unbelief. "Such few short weeks since you were all a happy, thriving family." He patted Jennie on the shoulder. "Be sure to send us news of your safe arrival. The Good Lord be with you."

Jennie thanked him for all his kindness to us and I shook his hand - no words would come. We waited and watched as he drove away, turning to wave several times before he was out of sight.

We climbed aboard the day car. I helped the driver stow our baggage under the seat and we set off. My spirits rose. I had seen these cars often, running between Cahir and Clonmel, but I had never before ridden in one. "The poor man's stage coach" they were called.

On the way to Waterford, Jenny chatted with the other passengers while I stared at the misty countryside, seeing it for the first time and the last. The fields were bleached by the mist which softened the harsh green bog grasses and the huge dark rocks of the hills. The road was edged with straggling hedgerows, blackberries, and rowan trees. The wheels joggled as we crossed the silver ribbon of a passing stream. A curlew's haunting cry echoed in the distance. We were all thankful that the rain held off. There was no roof and, the carriages being set low to the ground, the passengers got muddy on a wet day.

Waterford was a busy town but we saw little of it. We stayed at White's Hotel for the night - I was lost in awe, my first time in a hotel - and were up early to catch the steamboat to Liverpool.

I had never in my life before been farther than Clonmel - and that only once and never for a night. I had never eaten in a public house or slept anywhere except at home and at my sister's. I had never even seen the ocean or travelled on a boat. Everything was new, except the comforting presence of Jennie, who had experienced little more than I, but who seemed self assured and confident to me.

Ireland is so small compared to Canada that it is perhaps hard to believe I had not seen the sea or travelled on water until I arrived at Waterford. To this day I am not a keen sailor, having no confidence in water as a medium of transportation. That morning, as I looked out at the endless expanse of grey, choppy sea, I would have given everything I had to have stayed at home.

On board the ferry my fears were realized. I spent that endless trip hanging over the leeboard rail, in company with a row