Left up among my country people in this hill country of Donegal, I set
myself to see and to hear what they had to say for themselves or against
their landlords. In the pauses of storm I walked up the mountains to see
the people in their homes. I seem to have lost the power of description.
I will never think of scenes I saw there without tears. I never, in
Canada, saw pigs housed as I saw human beings here. Sickness, old age,
childhood penned up in such places that one shuddered to go into them.
Now, mark me! every hovel paid rent, or was under eviction for failing
to pay.
The landlord has no duties in the way of repairing a roof or making a
house comfortable. Such a thing is utterly unknown here. To fix the
rent, to collect the rent, to make office rules as whim or cupidity
dictates, to enforce them, in many instances with great brutality, is
the sole business of the landlord; and the whole power of the Executive
of England is at his back. This is not a good school in which to learn
loyalty. Submission to absolute decrees or eviction are the only
alternative.
The tenant has no voice in the bargain. He has no power to be one party
to a contract. This irresponsible power of an autocrat over serfs of the
soil is bad for both parties. I will try to tell these people's side of
the question as nearly in their own words as I can.
When the native population was driven off the good valley lands to the
hills of Donegal during the confiscation times, they built their cabins
in groups, like the Scotch _clachans_, for company, perhaps even
for protection. Each man broke up, clearing off stones and rooting up
whins, the best patch within his reach. He ditched and drained pieces of
low-lying bog, and paid for what he cultivated, all the rest being
common.
By what title the Clemens of Leitrim got lordship over the wild hills as
well as the fat lowlands I cannot tell; but all the country here, for
miles and miles, up hill and down vale, is his. The people have
absolutely no rights, far as the land is concerned.
The first move towards this dreadful state of things was called
"Squaring the farms." This was done to compel the people to pay for the
wild as well as the cultivated lands. Under the old system a man might
have a few goats or sheep, or a heifer, on the hills, and, if his crop
was not good, or a hail storm threshed out his oats, he could sacrifice
these to pay the rent. When the farms were squared each man drew lots
for his new holding. I am speaking of Lord Leitrim's estate. This was a
hard decree, but the tenant had no alternative but to submit. A man
often found himself squared out of the best of his clearing, squared out
of his cabin and all accommodation for his cow or horse, and squared on
to a new place without any house on it at all.
I made particular enquiry if Lord Leitrim had ever made any allowance or
compensation to a man deprived of the house, which he or his fathers had
built, after this summary fashion. No compensation. Every fixture put
upon the land belonged to the landlord absolutely.
"Was there ever any help allowed to a man in building a new house?"
"In a very few instances a man got a door and a couple of window-sashes
as a charitable assistance, not by any means as a compensation."
After some time the wild mountains, where there was nothing but rocks
and heather, were fenced off. Before this the goats and sheep grazed up
there. A new office rule made the price for a sheep or goat picking a
living among the heather. It was one shilling and sixpence for a sheep
with a lamb at her foot, and other animals in proportion. Still the
wretched men of the hills struggled to live on in the only homes they
had, or had ever known. Then the rents were raised. In one instance from
L3 11s 4d to L6 5s for 6 Irish acres, the increased value being the
result of the man's own hard labor. In another instance from L1 9s 4d to
L13. Another office rule charges five shillings for the privilege of
cutting turf for fuel even if cut on the little holding for which he is
paying rent.
Now, when every nerve was strained to pay this rack rent, and cattle
were high in price, if the unfortunate tenant failed, why, he was
evicted. He might go where he liked, to the workhouse or the asylum, or
the roadside, his little clearing would make pasture, and this, at the
price of beef cattle, would be still more profitable. For any landlord
in this part of Donegal to speak of freedom of contract is a fallacy. It
does not exist.
The oppression at present exercised by Captain Dopping on the Leitrim
estate, which he can carry out safely under the protection of bayonets,
would raise up Judge Lynch in America before three months. Lately, the
people told me, he visited the farm-houses in person, pulled open the
doors of the little room that the better class strive to have, without
permission asked, and walked in to inspect if there were any signs of
prosperity hidden from the eye that might warrant further extortion.
This act was resented with a feeling that found no relief in words. I
noticed that there was no word of complaint or denunciation anywhere.
Facts were stated, and you understood by glance and tone that the time
for mere complaint was past.
I was taken to see a paralytic schoolmaster who had dared to build a
room next to the school-house out of which he was helped into school
every morning, for he could teach, though he had lost the use of his
limbs. No sooner did Lord Leitrim know this than he had the paralytic
carried out and laid on the road, and the room which he had built with
his earnings and the help of his neighbors, was pulled down--not one
stone was left upon another. He then lost his situation which was his
living. I can hardly bear to describe this man's dwelling in which I
found himself, his wife, four children and the cow. The winds of the
mountain and the rains of heaven equally found their way in. His wife
teaches sewing in the school at a salary of L8 per annum. This, with
other help from the Rev. Mr. Martin, formerly Episcopal Rector of
Kilmacrennan, who got the wife the post of schoolmistress, has kept
these people alive. The father has not seen the sky since he was evicted
in 1870. At present there is a writ of ejectment on the house for L9 of
back rent, and he is sued for seed, got in the time of scarcity.
The house is horrible--there are boards with some straw on them over the
beds. The children are very pretty, and as hardy as mountain goats. The
father was quite an educated man, to judge from his speech. I, who was
well clothed, shivered at the hearth, but want and nakedness stayed
there constantly. If this poor man were put in the poor-house, he would
have to part from the faithful wife and sweet children; but that is the
doom that stares him in the face.
The longer I stayed among the hills the more I became convinced that the
people had strained every nerve to pay what they considered unjust and
extortionate rents. They worked hard; they farmed hard; they wore poor
clothing; they left their hill and went over to Scotland or England, at
harvest time, to earn money to pay the rent. "And we were not considered
as kindly, or as much respected, as their hogs or dogs," said a farmer
to me. There was nothing left after the rent for comfort, or to use in
case of sickness; they always lived on the brink of starvation.
"Why did you not refuse to pay these increased rents when they were put
upon you first? You should have refused in a body, and stood out," I
said to one man. "Some could do that, my lady, but most could not. At
first I had the old people depending on me, and I could not see them on
the hillside; now I have little children, and the wife is weakly. And
there were many like me, or even worse."
Now consider some of the office rules. My lord had a pound of his own:
for a stray beast, so much; for a beast caught up the mountain without
leave, eviction; for burning the limestone on your own place instead of
buying it at the lord's kiln, eviction; for burning some parings of the
peat land, the ashes of which made the potatoes grow bigger and drier,
eviction. Not only did the man who did not doff his hat to the landlord
stand in danger, but the man who did not uncover to his lowest under-
bailiff. One exaction after another, one tyranny after another has dug a
gulf between landlord and tenant that will be hard to bridge. I saw a
stone house used as a barn. Lord Leitrim made the man who built it, who
had got permission to build from the good Earl, tear down the chimney
and make an office-house of it, on pain of eviction. He must continue to
live himself in the hovel. Another widow woman, evicted for not being
able to pay her rent, had the roof torn off her house, but has a place
like a goose pen among the ruins, and here she stays. Every day rides
out Capt. Dopping with his escort of police, paid for by the county, and
evicts without mercy. Since the eyes of the world have been drawn to
Ireland by the proceedings of the Land League none have been left to die
outside. The tenants are admitted as caretakers by the week, but the
eviction, I am told, extinguishes any claim the poor people might have
under the Ulster Custom.
I have seen nothing yet to make me think I was in a disturbed country
except meeting Captain Dopping and his escort, and seeing white police
barracks and dandy policemen, who literally overrun the country. It
carries one's mind back to the days of bloody Claverhouse or wicked
Judge Jeffries to hear and see the feelings which the country people--
Catholic as well as Protestant--have towards the memory of the late
Earl. "Dear, the cup of his iniquity was full, the day of vengeance was
come, and the earth could hold him no longer," said a Protestant to me.
"It was bad for the people, whoever they were, that took vengeance out
of the hands of the Almighty, but many a poor creature he had sent out
of the world before he lay helpless at the mercy of his enemies," said
many an orthodox person to me. One poor girl on that dreadful day
thanked God that the oppressor was laid low. Her mother evicted, had
died on the roadside exposed to the weather of the hills, her brother
went mad at the sight of misery he would almost have died to relieve but
could not, and is now in the asylum at Letterkenny. One can imagine with
what feeling this desolate girl lifted her hands when she heard of the
murder, and said, "I thank Thee, O Lord."
What kind of a system is it that produces such scenes, and such
feelings? It is a noticeable fact how many there are in the asylum in
Letterkenny whose madness they blame on the horrors of these evictions.
Wise legislation may find a remedy for these evils, but the memory of
them will never die out. It is graven on the mountains, it is stamped on
the valleys, it is recorded on the rocks forever.