It Was A Trying Walk, A Walk To Be Measured By Ups And Downs, For The
Derryveigh Hamlets Were Widely Scattered.
There they were - roofless
homes, levelled walls, desolation and silence.
And it is a desolation,
indeed. Broken down walls here and there, singly and in groups, mark the
place where there was a contented population when Mr. Adair bought the
estate. He had made plans for turning his purchase into a veritable El
Dorado. The barren mountains are fenced off, surely at a great expense,
that no sheep or lamb might bite a heather bell without pay. It was to
be a great pasture for black-faced sheep. The sides of the mountains,
which are bog in many places, are scored with drains to dry up the bog
holes and give the sheep a sure footing. I did not see many sheep on the
hill or many cattle on the deserted farms. It is an awfully lonesome
place; desolation sits brooding among the broken-down walls. My guide, a
lonesome-looking man, enlivened our way by remarks like these: "This was
a widdy's house. She was a well-doin' body." "Here was a snug place.
See, there's the remains of a stone porch that they built to break off
the wind." "That was Jamie Doherty's, he that died on the road-side
after he was evicted. You see, nobody dare lift the latch or open the
door to any of the poor creatures that were put out."
And this has been done; human beings have died outside under the sky for
no crime, and this under the protection of English law.
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