On the 20th of May I received a whisper of an eviction that was to
occur up in the neighborhood of the Ox Mountains. Great opposition was
expected, and therefore a large force of police was to be there. I
procured a car, and in company with the local editor went to see. The
landlord of this property is an absentee; the agent--a Mr. Irwin--lived
in a pleasant residence which we passed on our way. We noticed that it
was sheepshearing time at his place, and many sheep were in the act of
losing their winter covering.
After we left Ballina behind, and followed in the wake of the police for
some time, we seemed to have got into the "stony streak." Such land!
Small fields--pocket handkerchiefs of fields--the stones gathered off
them built into perfect ramparts around them! I enquired of one
gentleman what was the rent exacted for this land so weighted down with
stones--for in addition to the high, broad fences surrounding the little
fields some of them had cairns of stones built up in the middle of them.
He said thirty shillings an acre ($7.50); asked another who said fifteen
($3.75). I fancy one would need to see the office receipts to know
correctly.
There is little cultivation in this part of the country. Hopeless-
looking ragged men, and barefoot ragged women, were at work in the
fields; little ragged children peeped from the wretched houses at the
police as they passed. And indeed they were a fine squad of broad-
shouldered, good-looking men, heavily-armed, marching along, square and
soldier-like, with a long, swinging step that goes over the ground
quickly.
We followed them up a stone-fenced lane just wide enough for the car to
pass. As we went along, men working at building a stone wall, looked at
the procession with a cowed frightened look. Our carman gave them the
"God save you" in Irish, and in answering they turned on us surely the
weariest faces that ever sat on mortal man. The lane becoming narrower,
we soon had to leave the car and follow the police on foot through a
pasture sprinkled with daisies.
Suddenly we saw the police scatter, sit down on the ditch and light
their pipes, throw themselves on the grass, group themselves in two's
and three's here and there. The end of the journey was reached.
We looked round for the wild men of Mayo from whom the bailiff, sub-
sheriff, and agent were to be protected, who were, I was told, to shed
rivers of blood that day. They were conspicuous by their absence. There
were three or four dejected-looking men standing humbly a bit off, three
women sitting among the bushes up the slope, that was all. The house
where the eviction was to be held was a miserable hovel, whose roof did
not amount to much, sitting among untilled fields, with a small dung
heap before the door. It was shut up, silent and deserted.
The bailiff, a gentleman who, if ever he is accused of crime, will not
find his face plead for him much, broke open the door and began to throw
out the furniture on the heap before the door. Here are the items: One
iron pot, one rusty tin pail, two delf bowls,--I noticed them
particularly, for they rolled down the dungheap on the side where I
stood,--one rheumatic chest, one rickety table, one armful of
disreputable straw, and one ragged coverlet. This was supposed to be the
bed, for I saw no bedstead; there was no chair, no stool, or seat of any
kind. The sub-sheriff with the bailiff's assistance fastened the door
with a padlock. He handed the agent a tuft of grass as giving him
possession, and the eviction was over.
The agent--a large-featured man--seemed undecided as to whether he would
view the transaction in a humorous light or as a scene where he was
chief sufferer. He came forward and offered some rambling remarks
addressed to nobody in particular. He drew our attention to the
condition of the roof which needed renewing, to the fields that were
uncropped. This was certainly shiftless, but when he mentioned that the
man had gone to England "in the scarcity" to look for work, and was
lying sick in an English hospital, we did not see how he could help it.
He told us how bad the man was; how he pitied his wife, who was, he
said, worse than himself. She was not present, being from home when her
poor furniture was pitched out. He lamented over the fact that this man
had sent him nothing of his wages, while another man had sent him as
much as thirty pounds. He then went into details of these evicted
tenant's married life; how his wife and he lived, and how they agreed;
and rambled off into general philosophic remarks rather disagreeable and
nasty.
No one seemed to pay any attention, although he looked from one to
another for an answering smile of appreciation to his funny attempts to
justify himself and amuse his hearers. Some one asked him how much rent
was due; he said ten or eleven years. Two years were due, as we found by
the law papers on returning to Ballina. He then made an attack on the
poor men standing there, asking why they were not at home working, and
telling them what they should be doing. While he lectured these men in a
joking voice, he turned his eye from one to another of those present as
if he were seeking for applause.
These men, not heeding the agent, were presenting a petition to the sub-
sheriff. I drew near to learn what it was. They were thin, listless
looking witted men. One could not help wondering when they had last
eaten a square meal. Half-starved in look, wretched in clothing, stood
like criminals awaiting sentence, with dreadfully eager eyes and parched
lips that would not draw together over their teeth, before the plump
rosy sub-sheriff. They asked for some meal on credit which the sub-
sheriff refused. I asked them if they owed any rent. No, they did not
owe a penny of rent, they said. Remember there was only one harvest
between them and the famine year. They had also put in the crops in
their little holdings, they said, "but as God lives we have neither bite
nor sup to keep us till harvest time." The sub-sheriff asked why they
did not go to a certain dealer. They said the terms were so hard that
they could never pay him. "How much would keep you till the crops come
in," he asked. Two hundred of Indian meal for each they said. Finally he
promised them one hundred each on credit, even if he had to pay it out
of his own pocket. "That is what you will have to do," said the agent.
We left and drove home. We saw the police, hot and tired, march past to
their barracks after our return. These men had a long march, loaded down
with arms to protect the bailiff, the stalwart agent, the rosy sub-
sheriff from a crowd of five hunger-bitten peaceable men and three
ragged women. The whole crowd might have been put to flight by any one
of the three with one hand tied behind him.
I forgot to mention that the agent offered to one of the women there all
the tenant's poor things that were thrown out, which was an honest and
honorable proceeding on his part, and very generous.