The Dreams of Mad Dogs

By J.T. Dossett

SURVIVORS OF THE DUMPING GROUNDS

After abject suffering, the loss of their family, and the misery of the workhouse, during the Great Hunger, Irish orphans Maeve and Emer Dannaher are sentenced to indentured service to a strange continent on the other side of the world. They live in servitude, as do the continent’s original inhabitants, and survive, despite hardships that would have crushed others. Follow the lives of the brave Dannaher sisters, who find adventure in the colonies of 1850’s Australia; encounters with “The Wild Colonial Boys”: the First Nation Clans of Aboriginal people; the hardy diggers of the gold fields; the unique flora and fauna of the rugged outback, and even love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977263490

J.T. Dossett

Jim (J.T.) Dossett lives in East Tennessee and this is his ninth novel, MAMACITA. The characters in all of his books are colorful, and work well together to tell the story intriguingly. He delves into the human condition with clarity that is moving, leading the reader to empathize with his characters and the roles they play in the story. 

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The Dreams of Mad Dogs

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2023 J.T. Dossett

v2.0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover Photo © 2023 J.T. DOSSETT. All rights reserved - used with permission.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To those I love.

Other Books by J.T. Dossett

Finding Bobby Ray

Starvin’ Dog and the Guardians

Glory on Stinking Creek

Armandus’ Absolution

Dannaher’s Kin

The Indigo Gullah Brothers

Secrets of the Black Tupelo

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

THE IRISH PROBLEM

DECEIT REVEALED

INTO THE MYSTIC

WATERY PATH TO DOWN UNDER

OWAIN JONES, ENTREPRENEUR

YOUNG DOCTOR HANDSCHUH

MEETING THE MASTERS

HANDSOME DANNY O’MEARA AND FRIENDS

DANNY’S DREAM

MAEVE VISITS THE NEIGHBORS

JOHANNA’S CHRISTMAS GIFT

JOHANNA’S DEPARTURE

RENDEZVOUS IN SILESIA

THE MISSIVE FROM MELBOURNE

INCIDENT ON SAINT KILDA ROAD

BATTLE OF THE EUREKA STOCKADE

BERRIES AND MAD DOGS

THE SIX COLONIES CLASH

ON THE RUN

MOURNING EMER

THE BENDIGO SHOPPING SPREE

THE PROBLEM IN AUSTRALIA

THE DAY AT THE SEA RACES

THE ASSASSIN’S HOLIDAY

THE SEARCH FOR THE FACELESS MAN

LEAVING THE DEN

REUNION

L. DANKWORTH SAVES THE DAY

DANNY AND EMER’S ESCAPE

ON THE WINGS OF AN ANGEL

THE WAGNER PROPOSAL

A PLACE BY THE YARROWEE

LAZARUS REDUX

TYING UP LOOSE ENDS

MEETING HARRIET

NEWS FROM DR. SPENCER & GETTYSBURG

GRIEF AND EXPECTATIONS

COFFEE WITH DEREK

THE BIRTHDAY VISITOR

THE LETTER FROM HEAVEN

SHIPS PASSING IN THE NIGHT

THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT

DESPOTS AND HEROES

MEETING OWEN LOVEJOY

EPILOGUE

FOREWORD

There is so much to learn about the fascinating history of Australia, and I am sure historians and today’s fabulous Aussies will disagree with some or many of my historical references, which I have misunderstood, or adjusted to fit this story. My apologies to you, but since I am a fictional writer, I take license with these things in order to tell my own story; something that well could have happened, somewhere or sometime based upon real facts, and imagined thoughts. My interests in Australia were heightened, not from the impact of Crocodile Dundee’s escapades, or the remarkable Down Under icon, the late Steve Irwin. But when I learned via 23 and Me, that I am mostly Irish and Scottish with a smidgeon of Western Europe flowing in my veins, I became enamored with all things Irish, including the horrendous Irish Potato Famine, where Anglo-Irish landlords confiscated all of the crops grown by their tenants, and when the Potato Blight occurred several years in a row, Irish folks died by the millions of starvation and disease while their overseers remained fat and happy. Workhouses and jails were overflowing with orphans and the poor, and thieves who were incarcerated for crimes of stealing bread to feed their dying families. The Brits, forever scheming how to improve conditions on their small piece of real estate, came up with the brilliant idea of cleaning house by dumping their unwanted human refuse on their recently acquired continent; Australia, a humongous landmass; on the other side of the world, out of sight, out of mind. And so, the settling of Australia came to be, with many people who felt underserved by humanity maliciously destroying a priceless native culture, with a genocidal agenda to exterminate those they considered lower than themselves; human beings they viewed as animals. This story touches on some of these things, but it is focused on the survivors of a beautifully savage land, and the monstrous wickedness, and sanctimony of immoral people; an ancient scenario, similar in some ways to what we still suffer today. My hat is off to all survivors.

J.T. Dossett

January 2023

Chapter 1

THE IRISH PROBLEM

Curtains of rain fell over Dublin, as gales from the Irish Sea bullied emaciated pedestrians, uprooted trees, and loosened flapping shutters. It was hours before sunup, but the deluge was sure to veil that event. Flashes of lightning periodically revealed the colossal building on St. James Street, The Dublin County Union Workhouse. This edifice and others across Ireland were recognized as sanctuaries for paupers and there was an entire nation of paupers during the Irish Potato Famine, the core source of starvation, misery and despair, and the cruel deaths of over a million people.

This heinous incident could have been avoided had the Protestant Anglo/Irish landowners (English who had settled Ireland many years before) not sold off all of their tenant’s crops; oats, barley, wheat, and livestock and shipped them to England. The tenants were dependent on potatoes as their main source of sustenance, but the potato crops continually failed, and starvation was so ubiquitous that victims resorted to eating grass to soothe their empty bellies.

History proves that the English failed to assist the Irish because they were too busy tight fisting their grip on resources and money. As part of the English Poor Law System, workhouses, like the 163 buildings in Dublin were established to soften the wretched assault of raging poverty in the country. These attempts failed miserably as the prisoners worked 16 hours a day at difficult, monotonous jobs.

A few of the inmates were able to gaze briefly from the tiny windows to view Dublin, laughingly referred to by some as One of the Crown Jewels of the British Empire and they turned their heads quickly in disgust at the sight. They were further reminded of the misery when the odious stench filtered through the walls; the bouquet of the streets of Dublin filled with decay from putrescible matter, the rancid aroma that blended with the stink of dead bodies on carts and in the alleyways.

Despite the plink, plink, plink, of water dripping from the moldy ceiling into buckets and bowls, the coughing of the sickly, the moaning of the mentally ill, exhausted residents of the ward slept, albeit fitfully.

Maeve Dannaher hugged the edge of the bed she shared with her sister, Emer and two fat girls from Limerick. Emer spooned close to Maeve’s back for comfort and to avoid a kick or well-placed elbow from the corpulent bed mate next to her. She and Maeve were perplexed at how anyone could be chubby in this dire time of famine, but they giggled up their sleeves of their ragged smocks when they witnessed the two stout girls gobble down the meager servings of thin soup, sparingly laced with onions, or something that looked like scraps of vegetables, and made their way down the long table, demanding to lick the bowls of those who’d already finished their meals. The Limerick piggies were bullies other than at the trough too. Earlier in the evening, they threatened to kick the sisters out of bed if Emer did not cease moaning.

Emer was miserable. Maeve, me hands are bloody and burnin’ do you think I am goin’ to die, like Ma? One of the bedmates rolled over restlessly and issued a sinister threat as Maeve took her little sister into her arms and rocked her gently.

There, there, sister, Ma was a lot worse off than ye, she whispered in Emer’s ear, and smoothed her stringy hair across her sweaty forehead. Emer gasped in pain as Maeve examined her hands which were raw and bleeding from picking tar embedded in the rough hemp rope used for mooring ships. Maeve tightened her grip on her sister and cringed, not entirely from the suffering of her beloved one, but also from the memory of her mother’s ignoble passing on the side of the road.

Their father and the boys were smashing rocks to bits with sledgehammers, and the woman and children were placing the stones in the roadbed jigsaw puzzle when their mother, Colleen cut her finger deeply on a sharp stone. No medication or proper treatment was available for the injury, and the weakened woman died of sepsis about two weeks subsequent to the incident. Later, their father, Fearghus, was crazy with grief, when he knocked the teeth from the heads of two Gombeen men, (stooges for the landlord) who had come this fateful day to evict him and his family from their shoddy dwelling. Members of the Irish Constabulary (flunkies for the English) delivered him to Kilmainham Gaol, where he subsequently died from disease. The boys and their sisters were sent to the workhouse, but the sons of Fearghus Dannaher did not stay long when they were evicted for fighting and insubordination. The mean streets and filthy alleys were their home, and they worked on the docks, with the shared dreams of sailing to America, and sending for their sisters later. Alternatively, they added to their meager coffers with booty from thievery and petty crimes. Finally, after two years of scrimping amid much sacrifice, they had cobbled together money for passage to America and were eager to share their good fortune with their siblings.

Maeve and Emer were awakened by what they thought was a sharp crack of lightning. The commotion was actually caused when Mrs. O’Reilly, announced her entrance by striking her shillelagh, made from a stout, knotty blackthorn stick, against the wall. She was old and bent, but not crippled, carrying the cane as a threatening weapon. She shrieked a witches’ s high yelp, when an equally startled rat scampered across her foot. Maeve’s and Emer’s bed was stationed at the doorway, and they twittered at the comical scene, despite their fear of the old crone. She bent close to their faces, her breath smelling of fish, snuff, and rot.

Ye’’ll stay in your places while the rest of these babblin’ gobshites go to breakfast! she ordered.

The rest of the girls lined up silently and filed out of the room, afraid to look in Maeve’s and Emer’s direction for fear of being accused of collaborating with whatever offense of which the sisters were suspected. Faint smiles appeared in the fleshy faces of the Limerick piggies as they waddled out of the room. Mrs. O’Reilly’s abrasive voice echoed after them in the hallway.

And hurry up and get yer eatin’ done, today we have weavin’ to do! She turned to Emer and grabbed her hands between her own crusty, icy fingers. Emer cried out in pain, which pleased the hag, who smiled, showing her few, yellowed, crooked teeth.

Yes, precious little Emer, everyone but you and yer motherly sister will be weavin’ today, a much easier task than most. But I have found places for ye at tar pickin’ the ropes. That agree with you? She clamped her claws on the girl’s thin shoulders.

Now, ye are scheduled to meet with Master Breathnach, our director, she croaked as she pointed them to the opposite end of the long hall. The girls were terrified.

But, but what have we done wrong? cried Maeve.

No need to fear the wind if yer haystacks are tied down, is there? crowed Mrs. O’Reilly and her cruel cackling bounced off the lofty ceilings as thunder announced the arrival of another storm.

The storm returned, but not with the ferocity of the previous evening. It did bring rain and colder temperatures though, and a notable draft flowed like the river Liffey through the many cracks and fissures in the walls and dank hallways.

Despite the cold, Master Colin Breathnach perspired heavily as he shuffled mounds of paperwork on his desktop in a frenzy, like a mother rat building her nest. He was preparing the exit of inmates in his charge in accordance with the explicit regulations set forth by the British Secretary of State for the Colonies; Henry, Third Earl of Grey. It was called, naturally, The Earl Grey Scheme. Grey’s plot to alleviate workhouse misery and Ireland’s woes was roundly approved by boards of directors to ship young, unmarried orphan girls and women to Australia, where females were in great demand. Upon arrival, the travelers would be met by sponsors who would ensure that they would be gainfully employed as domestics, and laborers. It was also noted that the females would be instrumental in populating the British colonies on the vast continent. Breathnach laughed, the sound of fingernails on a blackboard which a Scotsman invented some years before.

Bloody whores, they will populate the continent quickly with their feckin, he spat and was interrupted by a quiet pecking at the door.

Come in, come in and don’t plan on stayin’ long! he commanded, as he continued to riffle through stacks of papers importantly.

Mrs. O’Reilly’s appearance and demeanor changed radically as she approached Breathnach, in a supplicant posture.

Master Breathnach, per your request, I have brung ye the young women regarding the Lady Kennaway journey, she said in a toadying tone. Breathnach failed to respond to O’Reilly’s statement, glaring menacingly at the petrified youngsters, who stood with their arms wrapped around each other.

So, the infamous Dannaher sisters! What have these two been up to lately, Mrs. O’Reilly?

Mrs. O’Reilly forgot her act and morphed back into her original self, just short of snarling as she berated the two waifs.

Oh, Master Breathnach, they have upset the other girls, pissin’ and moanin’ about their work bein’ too hard, bullyin’ their bedmates, and… Maeve mustered strength and approached Breathnach with her hands on her hips.

That is not true! We obey the rules. We… She was interrupted when Mrs. O’Reilly back handed her across the face, sending her sprawling like a rag doll to the floor. Emer screamed and ran to her sister who was struggling to get to her feet. Breathnach seemed unperturbed about the harsh treatment, and continued, as Mrs. O’Reilly assumed her fawning persona.

When’s the last time you were visited by those two scalawag brothers of yourn? he queried starkly.

They are not scalawags, said Emer on the verge of tears as she attempted to steady her wobbly sister.

Don’t get cheeky with me you bloody little misfit, I’ll send you through that wall, with more than the love tap your sister was given by this old lick-arse, he shouted, gesturing toward Mrs. O’Reilly, who was actually cowering.

Maeve took a shaky step forward.

Phelim come to see us Sunday, yesterday. Rory was workin’.

Breathnach was aware that one or both of the boys visited their sisters without fail, once a week, mostly on Sundays. He directed his ire at Emer.

And what did you talk about, hmm?

Emer bowed her head.

I ain’t supposed to talk about it, she mumbled. Breathnach bunched her apron up to her chin and nearly lifted her off the ground as he dragged her to him.

I will be the one who decides what you ain’t supposed to talk about, you miserable urchin! He paused and dropped her to the ground, wiping his hand on his leg as if she were a soiled diaper.

He howled. Your apron is filthy ye bloody eijit. Ye know ye are supposed to keep your clothin’ clean!

Maeve spoke up again and crossed her arms in front of her face in expectation of another blow from Mrs. O’Reilly.

It’s from her hands sar, they are bloody.

Mrs. O’Reilly interrupted, but not on behalf of the frightened child.

It happened a couple of days ago sar. I told her to clean it up, but she refused. It has somethin’ to do with her time of the month.

Breathnach paled and looked as if he would vomit. He kicked at Emer as if she were a street dog, but luckily missed his target, who scrambled behind her sister as he wailed like a banshee.

Miserable filthy little cailin! I should take a strigil to me hands and scrape ‘em, he shouted as he stalked them ominously. Maeve stepped forward again, risking injury, to stop his approach and spoke to him unflinchingly.

We talked about goin’ to America; we been talkin’ about it fer nigh on to two years. Her shoulders slumped as Emer, in her excitement let the cat out of the bag.

Aye, they’ve saved the money and they are agoin!

Breathnach’s demeanor changed swiftly, from raving lunatic to socially proper, Master of the noble workhouse. He continued with a lie.

I must confess that I did talk to Phelim that day after he met with you. He told me that he and his brother were leaving for America soon and that he expected to have enough money to pay for all of your passages. Breathnach’s face flashed from calm to contorted revealing his revulsion for Phelim and his brother, who he had kicked out of the workhouse several years ago for fighting with his hoodlums, and disrespect to him.

Much to the chagrin of Mrs. O’Reilly, Maeve and Emer Danced around like faeries and squealed with pleasure at the revelation. Oddly, Breathnach did not scold them, and Mrs. O’Reilly’s mouth gaped in astonishment at his feigned mild deportment.

Breathnach continued calmly.

Settle down young ladies. That is why I have you here today-to prepare for your departure and I hope that time is soon. Maeve and Emer forgot most of their fright and formality, and rushed to the edge of his desk, where he was waiting with some papers in his hand. He shook them at the children.

These are the papers for your discharge. Can either one of you read or write?

The two shook their heads no.

He cleared his throat.

Ahem, which is all right. These papers will let officials know that you have been treated properly at The Dublin County Union Workhouse. All you have to do is make your mark, any mark on this line. Mrs. O’Reilly, I require you to sign as a witness on the line next to where I have affixed my signature, please.

The girls clumsily wielded the pen to scratch what was supposed to be their names on the line, while Mrs. O’Reilly chastised them not to ruin the nib. Breathnach blew on the fresh ink and lay the paper aside.

Well, that does it; the papers are signed for your departure. Now all you have to do is gather your things which I imagine are few and be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. And I caution you, do not mention this to the other residents, do you understand me?

Caught up in their serendipity, the youngsters nodded their heads like Magpies.

Mrs. O’Reilly escort the young ladies back to work, he commanded, and as she shepherded them into the hallway, he stopped her.

O’Reilly, next Wednesday, got it?

She grinned evilly, as if she were an important spy on assignment.

Yes sar, will do, sar, she responded in a raspy whisper as the door clicked behind her.

Chapter 2

DECEIT REVEALED

Rory and Phelim had grown into powerful men over the past year and so many months; with broad shoulders, heavily muscled from their labors on the docks and elsewhere. They were known for their honest, hard labor, and their handiness with their fists, at the notion that someone might try to rob them or keep them from their quest. Tonight, their sleeping place was a warehouse on the docks. Thunder rolled in the distance with the promise of rain, and they were grateful that they were not sleeping in a doorway, or on the streets this evening. They were sharing two pints