I was not
inside; I did not like to go; those who were said it was very clean and
neat. A room with a few ornaments, a table and some chairs, and a
kitchen with its dresser and table, and a few chairs and stools. The
rent was L14 6s. The tenant stated that he objected to pay the rent on
account of it being too high. The family were sad-looking, but were very
quiet. A paper was presented to him to sign, acknowledging himself a
tenant at will, and promising to give up the holding on demand; on
signing the paper, he got a respite of six months.
The crowd then went to the house of James McCauley, when the same form
was gone through and the same respite granted.
The next house was John Carruthers'. Here the crowd were very much
excited, the women screeched, the men howled, and the poor constabulary
came in for unlimited hooting.
The next place was the joint residence of Owen and Denis Quigley, joint
tenants of a little patch. The cottage is in a gulley on the mountain
side, about a mile of crooks and turns from John Carruthers' house. The
crowd was very large that was gathered round the door. As the police
came up how they did howl! How they did shout, "Down with Harvey (the
agent), and the Land League for ever." Some of the women declared
themselves willing to die for their country.
Another man was evicted, a tenant of Mr. Hector McNeil. The rent here
was L22 3s and the valuation L18 10s. Like the rest he said he could not
pay it because it was too high.
At the next place a young lady Land Leaguer delivered a speech - Mary
McConigle, a rather pretty young girl. Her speech was a good deal of
fiery invective, withering sarcasm and chaff for the police, who winced
under it, poor fellows, and would have preferred something they could
defend themselves from - bayonets, for instance - to the forked lightning
that shot from the tongue and eyes of this female agitator. Whatever
would be the opinion of critics about it, Mary McConigle voiced the
sentiments of the people and was cheered by the men and kissed by the
women. There were a good many speeches made at different times.
Father Bradley, a tall, sallow young priest with a German jaw, square
and strong and firm, spoke very well, swaying his hearers like oats
before the wind. He praised them, he sympathized with them, he
encouraged them, putting golden hopes for the future just a little way
ahead of them, but through it all ran a thread of good advice to them to
be self-restrained and law-abiding. I think I rather admired Father
Bradley and his speech. I had a little conversation with him afterward.
He said the lands were really rented too high, too high to leave for the
cultivator of the soil anything but bare subsistence in the best of
years; and when bad years followed one another, or in cases of sickness
coming to the head of the family, want sat down with them at once.
Mr. Cox, the representative of the Land League, was also there, and made
a speech. He and some gentlemen of the press arrived in a car with
tandem horses. Such grandeur impressed upon the people the belief that
they were connected with law and landlords, so, in enquiring the way,
they found the people very simple and ignorant. When they came where
roads met they were at a loss to know how to proceed, and a countryman
whom they interrogated was both lame and stupid; when he knew, however,
who Mr. Cox was, he recovered the use of his limbs and brightened up in
his intellect in a truly miraculous manner. There were other speeches
during the forenoon of the evictions from Father O'Kane, the gentle
little priest of Moville, Mr. McClinchy, the Poor Law Guardian, and
others.
The greatest success of the day as to speech-making was, after all, the
speech of Mary McConigle, to judge of its present effect - no one else
was kissed. The gist of most of the speeches which I heard, or heard of,
was, advising to hope, to firmness, to stand shoulder to shoulder, and a
counsel to be law-abiding, wrapped up in a little discreet blarney.
As we drove away in the direction of Carndonagh we passed on the way a
wing of the Ladies' Land League, marching home in procession two and
two. A goodly number of bareheaded sonsie lasses, wrapped in the
inevitable shawl; rather good-looking, healthy and rosy-cheeked were
they, with their hair snooded back, and gathered into braids sleek and
shining. Brown is the prevailing color of hair among the Irish girls in
the four counties I have partly passed through. These Land League
maidens reminded me of other processions of ladies which I have seen
marching in the temperance cause. They were half shame-faced, half
laughing, clinging to one another as if gathering their courage from
numbers.
Carndonagh, which we reached at last, is another clean, excessively
whitewashed little town, straggling up a side hill, with any amount of
mountains looming up in the near distance.
A little after we arrived the Carndonagh contingent of the police on
duty at the evictions came driving in, horses and men both having a
wilted look. The drivers came in for some abuse as they took their
horses out of the cars on the street. One old man could not at all
express what he felt, though he tried hard to do so, and screeched
himself hoarse in the attempt.
