She Herself Was Not Among Those Against Whom The
Processes Were Served.
We saw the process server leave the ranks of the police and walk down to
a wretched little cabin and return in a few moments.
The order to march
was given, and the police tramped along to the next house, a bit off the
road. Two or three little children were in the field, apparently herding
cattle. The least one said to his brother in an accent of terror,
"Jimsey, Jimsey, the war is come at last."
Along the road, tramp, tramp, off the road through the bogs, every house
called at seeming worse than the last. A rumor had been running along
before us - ever before us - of an Amazonian army with pitchforks, tongs
and the hooks used for drawing the sea weed ashore, armed and ready,
some three hundred strong, waiting for the police. We never came up to
this army or caught a sight of their rags. Crossing a field we were told
of a merciful lady, a Mrs. Major Jones, who gave them seed potatoes and
trusted them with meal when they had nothing to eat. As the police
halted before some houses we heard the muttered exclamations of the few
women near, "Eagh! eagh! oh, Lord, and them in need of charity!"
Well, we never came up with the army of women. The processes were not
all served, for some of the houses were empty, and there was no one on
whom to serve them; we turned our steps, or our horses rather, homeward
to Ballina, the boys calling out in compliment to America, "Three cheers
for the noble lady," as we drove off.
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