DUBLIN, _Thursday, March 8._--At eight o'clock this morning I left the
Harcourt Street station for Inch, to take a look at the scene of the
Coolgreany evictions of last summer. These evictions came of the
adoption of the Plan of Campaign, under the direction of Mr. Dillon,
M.P., on the Wexford property of Mr. George Brooke of Dublin. The agent
of Mr. Brooke's estate, Captain Hamilton, is the honorary director of
the Property Defence Association, so that we have here obviously a
grapple between the National League doing the work, consciously or
unconsciously, of the agrarian revolutionists, and a combination of
landed proprietors fighting for the rights of property as they
understand them.
We ran through a beautiful country for the greater part of the way. At
Bray, which is a favourite Irish watering-place, the sea broke upon us
bright and full of life; and the station itself was more like a
considerable English station than any I have seen. Thence we passed into
a richly-wooded region, with neat, well-kept hedges, as far as Rathdrum
and the "Sweet Vale of Avoca." The hills about Shillelagh are
particularly well forested, though, as the name suggests, they must have
been cut for cudgels pretty extensively for now a great many years. We
came again on the sea at the fishing port of Arklow, where the stone
walls about the station were populous with small ragamuffins, and at the
station of Inch I found a car waiting for me with Mr. Holmes, a young
English Catholic officer, who had most obligingly offered to show me the
place and the people. We had hardly got into the roadway when we
overtook a most intelligent-looking, energetic young priest, walking
briskly on in the direction of our course. This was Dr. Dillon, the
curate of Arklow. We pulled up at once, and Mr. Holmes, introducing me
to him, we begged him to take a seat with us. He excused himself as
having to join another priest with whom he was going to a function at
Inch; but he was good enough to walk a little way with us, and gave me
an appointment for 2 P.M. at his own town of Arklow, where I could catch
the train back to Dublin. We drove on rapidly and called on Father
O'Neill, the parish priest. We found him in full canonicals, as he was
to officiate at the function this morning, and with him were Father
Dunphy, the parish priest of Arklow, and two or three more robed
priests.
Father O'Neill, whose face and manner are those of the higher order of
the continental clergy, briefly set forth to me his view of the
transactions at Coolgreany. He said that before the Plan of Campaign was
adopted by the tenants, Mr. William O'Brien, M.P., had written to him
explaining what the effect of the Plan would be, and urging him to take
whatever steps he could to obviate the necessity of adopting it, as it
might eventually result to the disadvantage of the tenants. "To that
end," said Father O'Neill, "I called upon Captain Hamilton, the agent,
with Dr. Dillon of Arklow, but he positively refused to listen to us,
and in fact ordered us, not very civilly, to leave his office."
It was after this he said that he felt bound to let the tenants take
their own way. Eighty of them joined in the "Plan of Campaign" and paid
the amount of the rent due, less a reduction of 30 per cent., which they
demanded of the agent, into the hands of Sir Thomas Esmonde, M.P., Sir
Thomas being a resident in the country, and Mr. Mayne, M.P. Writs of
ejectment were obtained against them afterwards, and in July last
sixty-seven of them were evicted, who are now living in "Laud League
huts," put up on the holdings of three small tenants who were exempted
from the Plan of Campaign, and allowed to pay their rents subject to a
smaller reduction made by the agent, in order that they might retain
their land as a refuge for the rest.
All this Father O'Neill told us very quietly, in a gentle,
undemonstrative way, but he was much interested when I told him I had
recently come from Rome, where these proceedings, I was sure, were
exciting a good deal of serious attention. "Yes," he said, "and Father
Dunphy who is here in the other room, has just got back from Rome, where
he had two audiences of the Holy Father."
"Doubtless, then," I said, "he will have given his Holiness full
particulars of all that took place here."
"No doubt," responded Father O'Neill, "and he tells me the Holy Father
listened with great attention to all he had to say--though of course, he
expressed no opinion about it to Father Dunphy."
As the time fixed for the function was at hand, we were obliged to leave
without seeing Father Dunphy.
From the Presbytery we drove to the scene of the evictions. These
evictions were in July. Mr. Holmes witnessed them, and gave me a lively
account of the affair. The "battle" was not a very tough one. Mr.
Davitt, who was present, stood under a tree very quietly watching it
all. "He looked very picturesque," said Mr. Holmes, "in a light grey
suit, with a broad white beaver shading his dark Spanish face; and
smoked his cigar very composedly." After it was over, Dr. Dillon brought
up one of the tenants, and presented him to Mr. Davitt as "the man who
had resisted this unjust eviction." Mr. Davitt took his cigar from his
lips, and in the hearing of all who stood about sarcastically said,
"Well, if he couldn't make a better resistance than that he ought to go
up for six months!" The first house we came upon was derelict--all
battered and despoiled, the people in the neighbourhood here, as
elsewhere, regarding such houses as free spoil, and carrying off from
time to time whatever they happen to fancy. Near this house we met an
emergency man, named Bolton, an alert, energetic-looking native of
Wicklow. He has four brothers; and is now at work on one of the
"evicted" holdings.
I asked if he was "boycotted," and what his relations were with the
people.
He laughed in a shrewd, good-natured way. "Oh, I'm boycotted, of
course," he said; "but I don't care a button for any of these people,
and I'd rather they wouldn't speak to me. They know I can take care of
myself, and they give me a good wide berth. All I have to object to is
that they set fire to an outhouse of mine, and cut the ears of one of my
heifers, and for that I want damages. Otherwise I'm getting on very
well; and I think this will be a good year, if the law is enforced, and
these fellows are made to behave themselves."
Near Bolton's farm we passed the holding of a tenant named Kavanagh, one
of the three who were "allowed" to pay their rents. Several Land League
huts are on his place, and the evicted people who occupy them put their
cattle with his. He is a quiet, cautious man, and very reticent. But it
seemed to me that he was not entirely satisfied with the "squatters" who
have been quartered upon him. And it appears that he has taken another
holding in Carlow. From his place we drove to Ballyfad, where a large
house, at the end of a good avenue of trees, once the mansion of a
squire, but now much dilapidated, is occupied as headquarters by the
police. Here we found Mr. George Freeman, the bailiff of the Coolgreany
property, a strong, sturdy man, much disgusted at finding it necessary
to go about protected by two policemen. That this was necessary,
however, he admitted, pointing out to us the place where one Kinsella
was killed not very long ago. The son of this man Kinsella was formerly
one of Mr. Brooke's gamekeepers, and is now, Mr. Freeman thinks, in
concert with another man named Ryan, the chief stay of the League in
keeping up its dominion over the evicted tenants.
Many of these tenants, he believes, would gladly pay their rents now,
and come back if they dared.
"Every man, sir," he said, "that has anything to lose, would be glad to
come back next Monday if he thought his life would be safe. But all the
lazy and thriftless ones are better off now than they ever were; they
get from £4 to £6 a month, with nothing to do, and so they're in clover,
and they naturally don't like to have the industrious, well-to-do
tenants spoil their fun by making a general settlement."
"Besides that," he added, "that man Kinsella and his comrade Ryan are
the terror of the whole of them. Kinsella always was a curious, silent,
moody fellow. He knows every inch of the country, going over it all the
time by night and day as a gamekeeper, and I am quite sure the
Parnellite men and the Land Leaguers are just as much afraid of him and
Ryan as the tenants are. He don't care a bit for them; and they've no
control of him at all."
Mr. Freeman said he remembered very well the occasion referred to by
Father O'Neill, when Captain Hamilton refused to confer with Dr. Dillon
and himself.
"Did Father O'Neill tell you, sir," he said, "that Captain Hamilton was
quite willing to talk with him and Father O'Donel, the parish priests,
and with the Coolgreany people, but he would have nothing to say to any
one who was not their priest, and had no business to be meddling with
the matter at all?"
"No; he did not tell me that."
"Ah! well, sir, that made all the difference. Father Dunphy, who was
there, is a high-tempered man, and he said he had just as much right to
represent the tenants as Captain Hamilton to represent the landlord, and
that Captain Hamilton wouldn't allow. It was the outside people made all
the trouble. In June of last year there was a conference at my house,
and all that time there was a Committee sitting at Coolgreany, and the
tenants would not be allowed to do anything without the Committee."
"And who made the Committee?"
"Oh, they made themselves, I suppose, sir. There was Sir Thomas
Esmonde--he was a convert, you know, of Father O'Neill--and Mr. Mayne
and Mr. John Dillon. And Dr. Dillon of Arklow, he was as busy as he
could be till the evictions were made in July. And then he was in
retreat. And I believe, sir, it is quite true that he wanted the Bishop
to let him come out of the retreat just to have a hand in the business."
The police sergeant, a very cool, sensible man, quite agreed with the
bailiff as to the influence upon the present situation of the
ex-gamekeeper Kinsella, and his friend Eyan. "If they were two
Invincibles, sir," he said, "these member fellows of the League couldn't
be in greater fear of them than they are. They say nothing, and do just
as they please. That Kinsella, when Mr. John Dillon was down here, just
told him before a lot of people that he 'wanted no words and no advice
from him,' and he's just in that surly way with all the people about."
As to the Brooke estate, I am told here it was bought more than twenty
years ago with a Landed Estates Court title from Colonel Forde, by the
grandfather of Mr. Brooke. He paid about £75,000 sterling for it. His
son died young, and the present owner came into it as a child, Mr. Vesey
being then the agent, who, during the minority, spent a great deal on
improving the property. Captain Hamilton came in as agent only a few
years ago. While the Act of 1881 was impending, an abatement was granted
of more than twenty per cent. In 1882 the tenants all paid except
eleven, who went into Court and got their rents cut down by the
Sub-Commissioners. There were appeals; and in 1885, after Court
valuations, the rents cut down by the Sub-Commissioners were restored in
several cases. There never was any rack-renting on the estate at all.
There are upon it in all more than a hundred tenants, twelve of whom are
Protestants, holding a little less in all than one-fourth of the
property.
There are fifteen judicial tenants, twenty-one lease-holders, and
seventy-seven hold from year to year.
The gross rental is a little over £2000 a year of which one-half goes to
Mr. Brooke's mother. Mr. Brooke himself is a wealthy man, at the head of
the most important firm of wine-merchants in Ireland, and he has
repeatedly spent on the property more than he took out of it.
The house of Sir Thomas Esmonde, M.P., was pointed out to me from the
road. "Sir Thomas is to marry an heiress, sir, isn't he, in America?"
asked an ingenuous inquirer. I avowed my ignorance on this point. "Oh,
well, they say so, for anyway the old house is being put in order for
now the first time in forty years."
We reached Arklow in time for luncheon, and drove to the large police
barracks there. These were formerly the quarters of the troops. Arklow
was one of the earliest settlements of the Anglo-Normans in Ireland
under Henry II., and once rejoiced in a castle and a monastery both now
obliterated; though a bit of an old tower here is said to have been
erected in his time. The town lives by fishing, and by shipping copper
and lead ore to South Wales. The houses are rather neat and well kept;
but the street was full of little ragged, merry mendicants.
We went into a small branch of the Bank of Ireland, and asked where we
should find the hotel. We were very civilly directed to "The Register's
Office over the way." This seemed odd enough. But reaching it we were
further puzzled to see the sign over the doorway of a "coach-builder"!
However, we rang the bell, and presently a maid-servant appeared, who
assured us that this was really the hotel, and that we could have
"whatever we liked" for luncheon. We liked what we found we could
get--chops, potatoes, and parsnips; and without too much delay these
were neatly served to us in a most remarkable room, ablaze with mural
ornaments and decorations, upon which every imaginable pigment of the
modern palette seemed to have been lavished, from a Nile-water-green
dado to a scarlet and silver frieze. There were five times as many
potatoes served to us as two men could possibly eat, and not one of them
was half-boiled. But otherwise the meal was well enough, and the service
excellent. Beer could be got for us, but the house had no licence, Lord
Carysfort, the owner of the property, thinking, so our hostess said,
that "there were too many licences in the town already." Lord Carysfort
is probably right; but it is not every owner of a house, or even of a
lease in Ireland, I fear, who would take such a view and act on it to
the detriment of his own property.
Dr. Dillon lives in the main square of Arklow in a very neat house. He
was absent at a funeral in the handsome Catholic church near by when we
called, but we were shown into his study, and he presently came in.
His study was that of a man of letters and of politics. Blue-books and
statistical works lay about in all directions, and on the table were the
March numbers of the _Nineteenth Century_, and the _Contemporary
Review_.
"You are abreast of the times, I see," I said to him, pointing to these
periodicals.
"Yes," he replied, "they have just come in; and there is a capital paper
by Mr. John Morley in this _Nineteenth Century_."
Nothing could be livelier than Dr. Dillon's interest in all that is
going on on both sides of the Atlantic, more positive than his opinions,
or more terse and clear than his way of putting them. He agreed entirely
with Father O'Neill as to the pressure put upon the Coolgreany tenants,
not so much by Mr. Brooke as by the agent, Captain Hamilton; but he
thought Mr. Brooke also to blame for his treatment of them.
"Two of the most respectable of them," said Dr. Dillon, "went to see Mr.
Brooke in Dublin, and he wouldn't listen to them. On the contrary, he
absolutely put them out of his office without hearing a word they had to
say."[22]
I found Dr. Dillon a strong disciple of Mr. Henry George, and a firm
believer in the doctrine of the "nationalisation of the land." "It is
certain to come," he said, "as certain to come in Great Britain as in
Ireland, and the sooner the better. The movement about the sewerage
rates in London," he added, "is the first symptom of the land war in
London. It is the thin edge of the wedge to break down landlordism in
the British metropolis."
He is watching American politics, too, very closely, and inclines to
sympathise with President Cleveland. Archbishop Ryan of Philadelphia, he
tells me, in his passage through Ireland the other day, did not hesitate
to express his conviction that President Cleveland would be re-elected.
Dr. Dillon was so earnest and so interesting that the time slipped by
very fast, until a casual glance at my watch showed me that we must make
great haste to catch the Dublin train.
We left therefore rather hurriedly, but before reaching the station we
saw the Dublin train go careering by, its white pennon of smoke and
vapour curling away along the valley.
I made the best of it, however, and letting Mr. Holmes depart by a train
which took him home, I found a smart jarvey with a car, and drove out to
Glenart Castle, the beautiful house of the Earl of Carysfort. This is a
very handsome modern house, built in a castellated style of a very good
whitish grey marble, with extensive and extremely well-kept terraced
gardens and conservatories.
It stands very well on one high bank of the river, a residence of the
Earl of Wicklow occupying the other bank. My jarvey called my attention
to the excellence of the roads, on which he said Lord Carysfort has
spent "a deal of money," as well as upon the gardens of the new Castle.
The head-gardener, an Englishman, told me he found the native labourers
very intelligent and willing both to learn and to work. Evidently here
is another centre of useful and civilising influences, not managed by an
"absentee."[23]