"The pig that we meant
To drynurse in the parlor to pay off the rent."
The pig is becoming an institution of the past. I was told by a
gentleman of the first respectability in Derry, that sucking pigs are
sold in that market for thirty shillings. These would be precious to the
peasant if he had them, but he has not, nor means to get them. This
great resource for paying the rent is gone.
Up the Lough we sailed into beautiful Ramelton, an exceptionally pretty,
clean little place, boasting of a very nicely kept hotel. The scenery
all around is delightful. Across the Lannon River, on the banks of which
is one of the principal streets, is a lofty ridge crowned with grand
trees. The Lannon runs into Lough Swilly, and is affected by the ebb and
flow of the tide. The trees on the ridge are tenanted by a thriving
colony of rooks, very busy just now with their spring work. Two
delightful roads, one above another, run along the brow of the hill
under the shade of the trees.
I discovered that rooks know a great deal; that there is infinite
variety of meaning in their caw. The young couples who are starting
housekeeping have not only to provide materials and build their homes,
but to defend their property at every stage from the rapacity of their
neighbors. They have also to build in such a manner as to satisfy the
artistic taste of the community. I saw an instance of this during a
morning walk. Five rooks were sitting in judgment on the work of a young
and thoughtless pair of rooks, I suppose. The work was condemned, the
young couple were evicted without mercy and the nest pulled to pieces by
the five censors with grave caws of disapprobation, while the evicted
ones flew round and showed fight and used bad language. The Coercion Act
was not in favor among the black coated gentry of the air.
It has fallen like a spell over Ireland though, and evictions are
hurried through as if they thought their time was short. People are
afraid to speak to a stranger.
I have succeeded in obtaining introductions, which I hope will give me
an entrance into society in Donegal.
Was driven by my new friends over a part of Lord Leitrim's estate, and
through his town of Milford. The murdered Earl has left a woeful memory
of himself all over the country side. He must have had as many curses
breathed against him as there are leaves on the trees, if what
respectable people who dare speak of his doings say of him be true,
which it undoubtedly is. Godly people of Scottish descent, Covenanters
and Presbyterians, who would not have harmed a hair of his head for
worlds, have again and again lifted their hands to heaven and cried.
"How long, Lord, are we to endure the cruelty of this man?"
One case (which is a sample case) I will notice. In the plantation of
Scottish settlers in the North it seems that either for company or
mutual protection against the dispossessed children of the soil, the
farmhouses are built together in clachans or little groups. After a
lapse of years these clachans in some cases expanded into small towns.
The people built houses and made improvements on their holdings, paying
their rent punctually, but holding the right to their own money's worth,
the result of years of toil and stern economy under the Ulster custom.
In this way the greater part of the town of Milford sprung into
existence.
One John Buchanan, a Presbyterian of Scottish descent, son of
respectable people who had lived on this estate for generations, was
employed in the land office of the Earl of Leitrim over twenty years.
This man trusting to the Ulster custom, and the honest goodness of the
old Earl, grandfather of the present Earl, a good landlord and a just
man, by all accounts, invested his savings in building on the site of
the old farmhouse in Milford a block of buildings--quarrying the stone
for them--consisting of two large houses on Main street, and the rest
tenement houses on Buchanan street. He improved his farm by reclaiming
land, making nice fields out of bog.
When the good Earl died and the late Earl came into possession, he
immediately raised the rent to nearly double what was paid before,
making John Buchanan pay dearly for his improvements. John Buchanan died
rather suddenly, leaving a widow and five children. The widow in her
overwhelming grief was visited by Lord Leitrim personally. He told her
with great abuse and outrageous language, that she had no claim whatever
to a particle of the property, "she did not own a stone of it." The
widow, worn and nervous with the great trouble she had passed through,
was unable to bear this new trouble; his Lordship's violence gave her a
shock from which she never recovered. He then sent his bailiffs and put
her and her children out; put out the fires, as taking possession, and
re-let the place to her, again doubling the rent. Her eldest son, a
young lad, boiling with wrath over the wrong done and the language used
to his mother, went to his aunt, living at some distance, and besought
her to send him out of the country, lest he should be tempted to take
vengeance in his own hand. His aunt seeing this danger, fitted him out
from her own pocket, and the poor lad, his mother consenting, was
expatriated out of harm's way to far Australia.
The widow never recovered the shock which Lord Leitrim had given her. It
was aggravated by despair at seeing all the savings of her husband's
lifetime appropriated by the strong hand, and her children left
destitute. She was also in debt to the value of L600 for building
material for an addition built to the house and some office houses,
built later on, some time after the rest of the property. This debt of
L600 wore on her. She had no means of payment; all her means were
swallowed up in this property. The creditors could not collect it off
the property, it was not held liable for the debt, neither was Lord
Leitrim, who had seized the property. Her sense of honesty and the honor
of her husband's name made her fret over this debt. The doctor had
declared her illness heart disease brought on by a shock, and her death
imminent. To soothe her mind her sister again came forward and out of
her own pocket paid the money. The widow died and was buried. Their only
relative tried what the law would do to redress the grievances of the
orphans. The presiding judge, the chairman of the quarter sessions,
lifted up his hands saying, "Must I issue a decree that will rob these
helpless orphans." The decree was issued, and the children ejected
without a farthing of compensation. To leave no stone unturned, the
children went in a body to Lord Leitrim to ask, as justice had been
powerless, for mercy from him. He ordered his servant to put them out.
At the time these orphans were turned out of the house their father
built, there was not a farthing of rent due, all had been paid up at the
unjust Earl's own estimate.
This case had been heard by the Royal Commissioners sent to enquire into
these things, but it appears that there is no law to redress a tenant's
wrong. This occurred under the tenant custom of Ulster.
I drove round this fine property in Milford. It was pointed out to me
that almost all the houses in the town were acquired by Lord Leitrim, by
the strong hand, in the same way. Passed the house from which the
Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Mr. White, was evicted. It was his own
private property. It stands windowless and roofless, a monument to the
dead earl. The priest of the parish had no house of his own; he was a
boarder with one of his flock, who had built himself a house in the time
of the good earl. When Lord Leitrim fancied that he had cause of quarrel
with the priest he obliged his tenant to put him out, on pain of losing
the house which he had built. After he had got rid of priest and
minister, he built a little Episcopal Church, that the people might
worship at his shrine. The little church stands empty now. The graveyard
about this little church was a rocky corner with little soil. The
minister ventured to request that the people might have leave to draw a
little clay from a hill nearby, to cover the bodies interred there, as
there was not soil enough. "I'll not give a spoonful; let their bones
bleach there," said the earl.
During the life-time of the good earl, the people being encouraged to
improve their lands, crept up the mountain side, reclaiming whatever
land they could. I have seen some of these portions, and noticed how
they had got up close to the rocks, by using the spade where the plough
would not go. They cleared off the whins of the mountain; they drained
the bogs. They made kilns and burned lime for top-dressing. When the
wicked lord came into possession he not only raised the rent on the
tenants' improvements, but built a kiln of his own, and burned lime,
forbidding them to use theirs, compelling them to buy from him at his
price. He would not even allow them to make manure of the floating sea-
weed that drifted in from the sea.
Went to see the place where Lord Leitrim was done to death. Looked down
on Milford Bay, dotted with little treeless and shrubless islands. Round
it are round-shouldered hills, brown and bare now--purple with heather
bells in summer time, I dare say. On a point stretching out into this
bay stands his residence, Manor Vaughan. The road leading from Manor
Vaughan to Milford is screened by a plantation of trees. On the opposite
side of the bay the hills are really mountains. The murderers crossed
the bay, tied their boat to a stone, and waited in the plantation. Lord
Leitrim, with his clerk, was driven along on one car, followed by
another containing his servants. His car, somewhat in advance, went
slowly up a little hill. Those lying in wait fired; the driver fell
dead. Lord Leitrim was wounded; he jumped off on one side, the clerk on
the other. He had pistols but they were in the car; he retreated, trying
to defend himself as they poured on him shot after shot. Those in the
other car, instead of coming up, stopped in mortal terror. The clerk,
only slightly wounded in the ear, ran to them, exclaiming, "They are
killing Lord Leitrim, they have killed me," and dropped dead with
nervous terror. The assassins had poured in all their shot, still the
Earl was not dead. He might yet have been saved if there had been any
one to help him. What must his thoughts have been in that supreme
moment. They beat the life out of him, he defending himself to the last.
They cut loose their boat, rowed across the bay, cast it adrift, took
the mountains and escaped.
The Earl fell, his head in a little pool of water. The country people
coming in to Milford town passed by with white faces on the other side;
no one lifted his head, no one looked to see if life was extinct. At
length the constabulary came, and the remains of the dreaded lord were
carried in a cart into Milford. There was a _post mortem_
examination; part of his poor remains was buried in the graveyard of the
little church which he built, and a load of the clay he refused to his
tenants brought to cover it. His name will long linger in evil fame
among the mountains and deserts.
It is but just to the memory of this man to say, that some, who with
good reason abhor his memory, do not believe that charges of gross
immorality made against him were true. Others who think themselves
equally well informed hold a contrary opinion. To think of mentioning
all I have heard of his oppressive injustice would be impossible. I was
told that when news of his death came into certain places, men clasped
hands and drank one another's health as at a festival; that pious people
thanked God for the deliverence, who abhorred the means by which it came
about.
I saw among the hills three nice farms, which a well-to-do farmer bought
and improved, and finally bequeathed to his three sons. One died and the
Ahab-like Earl took possession. Wishing to evict another for the purpose
of throwing two farms into one, he offered the farm to the remaining
brother in addition to his own. The man refused to ruin his brother. The
Earl, to punish him, raised his rent from L35 to L70. Griffith's
valuation of this farm is L29 5s. Another eviction from Milford was so
pitiful in its cruelty that the compassion of the country was aroused,
and a home bought by subscription for the old people. I saw the property
from which these people were evicted in Milford, a valuable row of
houses.
The present Earl acknowledged the justice of the claim of John
Buchanan's children, and spoke of restitution, but his agent, on whom
the mantle of the late Earl had fallen, persuaded him against it, as
nearly all the property in Milford town had been acquired in the same
way. "Making restitution to one would open up the question of the
others, and could not be afforded."