keeping in their purses what was due to him, in order that somebody's
tenants in the next county might get better terms. Still Mr.
Smith-Barry held out, and the Land League determined to make of him a
terrible example. He owned most of the town. Happy thought! let the
shopkeepers leave his hated tenements. Let their habitations be
desolate and no man to dwell in their tents. The Land League can build
another Tipperary over the way, the tenants can hop across, and Mr.
Smith-Barry will be left in the lurch! The end, it was thought, would
justify the means, and some sacrifice was expected. Things would not
work smoothly at first. The homes of their fathers were void; new
dunghills, comparatively flavourless, had to be made, the old
accretions, endeared by ancestral associations, had to be abandoned,
and the old effluvium weakened by distance was all that was left to
them. The new town was off the main line of trade and traffic, but it
was thought that these, with the old Tipperary odour, would come in
time. Streets and marts were built by the Land League at a cost of
L20,000 or more. The people moved away, but they soon moved back
again. The shopkeepers could do no business, so with bated breath and
whispering humbleness they returned to Mr. Smith-Barry. The mart was
declared illegal, and the old one was re-opened. But while the
agitation continued, the town was possessed by devils. Terrorism and
outrage abounded on every side. The local papers published the names
of men who dared to avow esteem for Mr. Smith-Barry, or who were
supposed to favour his cause. The Tipperary boys threw bombshells into
their houses, pigeon-holed their windows with stones, threw blasts of
gun-powder with burning fuses into their homes. They were pitilessly
boycotted, and a regular system of spies watched their goings out and
their comings in. If they were shopkeepers everything was done to
injure them, and people who patronised them were not only placed on
the Black List but were assaulted on leaving the shops, and their
purchases taken by violence and destroyed. Broken windows and threats
of instant death were so common as to be unworthy of mention, and the
hundred extra armed policemen who were marched into the town were
utterly powerless against the prevailing rowdyism of the Nationalist
party. Honest men were coerced into acting as though dishonest, and
one unfortunate man, who had in a moment of weakness paid
half-a-year's rent, pitifully besought Mr. Smith-Barry's agent to sue
him along with the rest, and declared he would rather pay it over
again than have it known that the money had been paid. "Ye can pay a
year's gale for six months, but ye can't rise again from the dead,"
said this pious victim to circumstances.
At last the leaders were prosecuted, but before this the Boys had
great divarshun. These good Gladstonians, these ardent Home Rulers,
these patriotic purists, these famous members of the sans-shirt
Separatist section, set no limits to their sacrifices in the Good
Cause, stuck at nothing that would exemplify their determination to
bring about the Union of Hearts, were resolved to take their light
from under a bushel and set it in a candlestick. They wrecked many
houses and sorely beat the inmates. They burnt barns, and stacks, and
homesteads, and in one case a poor man's donkey-cart with its load of
oats. They exploded in people's homes metal boxes, leaden pipes, and
glass bottles containing gun-powder, in such numbers as to be beyond
reckoning. They burnt the doors and window sashes of the empty houses,
knocked people down at dark corners with heavy bludgeons, and fired
shots into windows by way of adding zest to the family hearth. Poor
John Quinlan escaped five shots, all fired into his house. Mr. Bell,
of Pegsboro, beat this record with six. He was _believed_ to
sympathise with Mr. Smith-Barry! Men with white masks pervaded the
vicinity from the gentle gloaming till the witching morn, and woe to
the weak among their opponents, or even among the neutrals, whom they
might meet on their march!
The tenants were great losers. A commercial man from Dublin assured me
that the agitation cost him L2,000 in bad debts. The people were
inconvenienced, unsettled, permanently demoralised, their peaceful
relations rudely interrupted, themselves and their commercial
connections more or less discredited and injured, and the whole
prosperous community impoverished, by the machinations of O'Brien and
Bishop Croke of Thurles, a few miles away. The inferior clergy were of
course in their element. Father Humphreys and others were notorious
for the violence of their language. Gladstonians who think Home Rule
heralds the millennium, and who babble of brotherly love, should note
the neat speech of good Father Haynes, who said, "We would, if we
could, pelt them not only with dynamite, but with the lightnings of
heaven and the fires of hell, till every British bulldog, whelp, and
cur would be pulverised and made top-dressing for the soil." This is
the feeling of the priests, and the people are under the priestly
thumb. That this is so is proved by recent events in Dublin. None but
the Parnellites could make head against the Catholic Party. In the
recent conflict the Parnellites were squelched. Tim Healy kicked and
bit, but Bishop Walsh got him on the ropes, and Tim "went down to
avoid punishment." The priest holds Tim in the hollow of his hand. Tim
and his tribe must be docile, must answer to the whistle, must keep to
heel, or they will feel the lash. Should they rebel, their
constituencies, acting on priestly orders, will cast them out as
unclean, and their occupation, the means by which they live, will be
gone. Tim and his congeries hate the clerics, but they fear the
flagellum. They loathe their chains, but they must grin and bear them.
They have no choice between that and political extinction.
The opinion of Tipperary men on the question of religious toleration
is practically unanimous. Pass Home Rule and the Protestants must
perforce clear out. As it is, they are entirely excluded from any
elective position, their dead are hooted in the streets, their funeral
services are mocked and derided by a jeering crowd. The other day a
man was fined for insulting the venerable Protestant pastor of
Cappawhite, near Tipperary, while the old man was peacefully
conducting the burial service of a member of his congregation. Foul
oaths and execrations being meekly accepted without protest, a more
enterprising Papist struck the pastor with a sod of turf, for which he
was punished. But, returning to our muttons, let me conclude with
three important points:
(1) Mr. Smith-Barry built the Town Hall of Tipperary at a cost of
L3,000, and gave the use thereof to the Town Commissioners for
nothing. He spent L1,000 on a butter weigh-house, L500 on a market
yard, and tidied up the green at a cost of L300. He gave thirty acres
of land for a park, and the ground for the Catholic Cathedral. He
offered the land for a Temperance Hall (I think he promised to build
it), on condition that it was not used as a political meeting-house.
The Catholic Bishop declined to accede to this, and the project was
abandoned.
(2) Several dupes of the Land League, for various outrages, were
sentenced to punishment varying from one year's hard labour to seven
years' penal servitude.
(3) O'Brien, M.P., and Dillon, M.P., who had brought about the
trouble, were with others convicted of conspiracy, and were sentenced
to six months' imprisonment. But this was in their absence, for soon
after the trial commenced, being released on bail, they ran away,
putting the salt sea between themselves and their deservings. Heroes
and martyrs of Ireland, of whom the brutal Briton hears so much,
receive these patriots into your glorious company!
The spirit of Tipperary is ever the same. No open hostility now, but
the fires of fanaticism are only smouldering, and only a breath is
needed to revive the flame. Every Protestant I saw, and all the
intelligent and enlightened Catholics, concur that this is so, and
that Home Rule would supply the needful impulse. These men also submit
that they understand the matter better than Mr. Gladstone and his
patch-work party.
Tipperary April 12th.
No. 9.--TYRANNY AND TERRORISM.
The peasantry and small shopkeepers of this district can only be
captured by stratagem, and this for two reasons. Their native
politeness makes them all things to all men, and their fear of
consequences is ever before them. Their caution is not the Scotsman's
ingrained discretion, but rather the result of an ever-present fear.
English working men of directly opposite politics chum together in
good fellowship, harbouring no animosity, agreeing to differ in a
friendly way. It is not so in Ireland. The Irish labourer is
differently situated. He dare not think for himself, and to boldly
speak his mind would mean unknown misfortunes, affecting the liberty
and perhaps the lives of himself and those nearest and dearest to him.
That is, of course, assuming that his opinions were not approved by
the village ruffians who watch his every movement, of whom he stands
in deadly terror, and whom he dreads as almost divining his most
secret thoughts. A direct query as to present politics would fail in
every case. As well try to catch Thames trout with a bent pin, or
shoot snipe with a bow and arrow. My plan has been to lounge about
brandishing a big red guide-book, a broad-brimmed hat, and an American
accent; speaking of antiquities, shortest roads to famous spots,
occasionally shmoking my clay dhudeen with the foinest pisantry in the
wurruld and listening to their comments on the "moighty foine weather
we're havin', Glory be to God." They generally veer round to the
universal subject, seeking up-to-date information. Discovering my
ignorance of the question, they explain the whole matter, incidentally
disclosing their own opinions. The field workers of this district are
fairly intelligent. Most have been in England, working as harvesters,
and some of the better-informed believe that in future they will be
compelled to live in England altogether.
A fine old man, living by the roadside near Oolagh, said:--"I wint to
England for thirty-four years runnin', and to the same place, in North
Staffordshire, first wid father, thin wid son. Whin I got too ould an'
stiff I sent me own son. First it was old Micky, thin it was young
Micky. He's away four months, and brings back enough to help us thro'
the winter, thanks be to God. The other time he mostly works at the
big farrum beyant there. Whin they cut up the big farrums into little
ones, nayther meself nor Micky will get anything, by raison we're
dacent, harmless people. 'Tis the murtherin' moonlighters will get the
land, an' me son wouldn't demane himself by stoppin' in the counthry
to work for them. First 'twas the landlords dhrove us away, next
'twill be the tenants. We're bound to be slaughtered some way,
although 'twas said that when we 'bolished the landlords we'd end our
troubles. But begorra, there's more ways o' killin' a dog than by
chokin' him wid butther." There is a growing feeling among the farmers
that the land will be heavily taxed to raise revenue, and that this
means expatriation to the labouring classes, who will swarm to England
in greater numbers than ever.
Another grand old man, named Mulqueen, spoke English imperfectly, and
it was only by dint of frequent repetition that his meaning could be
mastered. Well clothed and well groomed, he stood at his cottage door,
the picture of well-earned repose. Thirty-two years of constabulary
service and twenty-one years in a private capacity had brought him to
seventy-five, when he returned to end his days on his native spot,
among Irish-speaking people, and under the noble shadow of the Galtee
Mountains. Divested of the accent which flavoured his rusty English,
Mr. Mulqueen's opinions were as follows:--
"I am a Home Ruler and I voted for a Nationalist. But I am now
doubtful as to the wisdom of that course. I see that Irishmen quarrel
at every turn, that they are splitting up already, that the country
under their management would be torn to pieces, that the people would
suffer severely, and that England would have to interfere to keep our
leaders from each other's throats. It was Irish disputes that brought
the English here at first. In the event of an Irish Legislature Irish
disagreements would bring them here again. We'll never be able to
govern ourselves until the people are more enlightened." I left this
sensible and truly patriotic Irishman with the wish that there were
more like him. He was a pious Catholic, and regretted to learn that I
was otherwise, admitting in extenuation that this was rather a
misfortune than a fault, and, with a parting hand-shake, expressing an
earnest hope that "the golden gates of glory might open to receive my
sowl, and that we might again convarse in the company of the blessed
saints in the peaceful courts of heaven." This old-fashioned pious
kindliness is hardly now the mode, and isolated instances can rarely
be met with even in remote country districts.
Running down to Limerick, I witnessed a warm contention between a
Unionist from Belfast and a commercial traveller from Mullingar, a hot
Home Ruler, the latter basing his arguments on alleged iniquitous
treatment of his father, a West Meath farmer, and defending boycotting
as "a bloodless weapon," which phrase he evidently considered
unanswerable. The Land League he contended was a fair combination to
protect the interests of the tenants, and avowed that all evictions
were unwarrantable acts of tyranny. The Belfast man showed that these
arguments were equally applicable to the other side, and asked the
patriot if eviction were not likewise "a bloodless weapon," to which
inquiry the Mullingar man failed to find the proper answer, and, not
coming up to time, was by his backers held to have thrown up the
sponge. This incident is only valuable as showing the poor line of
country hunted by the more brainy Nationalists. A County Clare man
boasted of his collection of Irish curiosities. "I have the pistol
O'Connell shot So-and-So with, I have the pistol Grattan used when he
met Somebody else, I have the sword of Wolfe Tone, the pike that Miles
O'Flanagan--" Here the Ulsterman broke in with--
"Excuse me, Sir. There's one thing I'd like to see if ye have it. Like
you, I am a pathriotic Irishman, and take deloight in relics
appertaining to the histhory of me counthry. Tell me now, have ye the
horsewhip, the thunderin' big horsewhip, that young McDermot, of
Thrinity College, used when he administhered condign punishment to Tim
Healy? Have ye that, now?"
The County Clare man was completely knocked out. He discontinued the
recital of his catalogue, and surveyed the scenery in dignified
silence. His own friends chuckled. This was the most unkindest cut of
all. Irishmen love to see a splendid knockdown blow. They are full of
fight, and their spirit must have vent. They fight for fun, for love,
for anything, for nothing, with words, with blows, with tongues, with
blackthorns, anywhere, anyhow, only let them fight. Remove Mr. Bull,
they will fight each other. Heaven help the right when nobody stands
by to see fair play!
A Mr. Magrath, of Killmallock, was inclined to take a jocose view of
the situation. "Faix, the English could never govern Ireland, an'
small blame to thim for that same. Did ye see the Divil's Bit
Mountains as ye came down from Dublin? Ye did? Av coorse, ye couldn't
help but see them. Did ye see the big bite he tuk out o' the range--ye
can see the marks o' the divil's own teeth, an' the very shape of his
gums, divil sweep him! Shure, I seen it meself whin I wint to the
Curragh races wid Barney Maloney; an' by the same token, 'twas Barney
axplained it to me. Didn't the divil take his bite, an' then didn't he
dhrop it on the plain out there forninst ye, the big lump they call
the rock iv Cashel? Av coorse he did. An' if the divil himself found
Ireland too hard a nut to crack, how can the English expect to manage
us? Anyway, 'tis too big a mouthful for Misther Bull." One gentleman
stood at his shop door, and having looked carefully around, said, "Ye
niver know who ye're spakin' wid, an' ye niver know who's spyin' ye.
Ah, this is a terrible counthry since we all got upset wid this Home
Rule question. Did ye hear of Sadleir, of Tipperary? Ye didn't? He was
a savin', sthrivin' man, an' he married a woman wid money. He had a
foine shop, wid ploughs, an' sickles, an' spades for the whole
counthry round. 'Twas a grand business he had, an' he made a powerful
dale o' money. He was a quiet man, an' niver wint to the whiskey
shops, where the boys they would be quarrellin' an' knockin' hell out
iv each other. He introduced a timprance lecturer that towld the boys
the poteen was pizenin' thim, an' 'twas wather they must dhrink. Ha!
Ha! Will I tell ye what owld Sheela Maguire said to the timprance
man?"
I admitted a delirious delight in discursive digression.
"The timprance man had a wondherful glass that made iverything a
thousand million times as big. What's this he called it? Ye're right,
'twas a my-cross-scrope; ye hit it to a pop; bedad 'tis yerself has
the larnin.' An' the people looked through it at the wather he put in
a glass, an' they seen the wather all swimmin' wid snakes an'
scorpions; 'twas enough to terrify the mortal sowl out o' ye. An' so
Sheela looked in an' saw them. An' the man put in the wather a good
dhrop o' whiskey, an' he says, says he, 'Now ye'll see the effect on
animal life,' says he. An' Sheela looked in again, an' she seen the
snakes all doubled up, an' kilt, an' murthered an' says Sheela, says
she:--
"'May the divil fly away wid me,' says she, 'if I ever touch wather
again till I first put in whiskey to kill them fellows!'
"'Twas poor Sadleir, of Tipperary town, brought the man down. Sadleir
must howld land; nothin' less would sarve him, an' he tuk from
Smith-Barry a big houldin', an' paid the out-going tenant five
thousand pounds for his interest. Whin the throubles began he refused
to join the Land League, by raison that he'd put all his money in the
land. They sent him terrible letthers wid skulls an' guns, an'
coffins, an' they said Will ye join? An' he said No, once. They
smashed ivery pane o' glass in his house, an' they said Will ye join?
An' he said No, twice. They bate his servants next, an' said Will ye
join? An' he said No, three times. They threw explosives into the
house, an' said Will ye join? An' he broke down. He was afeard for his
life. He wint in wid the rest, an' refused to pay rint', an' iv coorse
he got evicted, an' lost his five thousand pounds he put into the
farm, an' then he lost his business, an' before long he died with a
broken heart. An' where did he die? Just in the workhouse. 'Twas all
thro' William O'Brien, the great frind iv Oireland, that this
happened. An' if O'Brien an' his frinds got into power, why wouldn't
it happen again? But we're afeard to breathe almost in this
unfortunate counthry, God help us!"
Amid the varying opinions of the Irish people there is one point on
which they are unanimous. They have no confidence in their present
leaders, whom they freely accuse of blackguardism, lying, and flagrant
dishonesty. Business men, although Home Rulers, agree that the
destinies of the country should not be trusted to either or any of the
jarring factions, which like unclean birds of evil omen hover darkling
around, already disputing with horrid dissonance possession of the
carcase on which they hope to batten. At the Station Hotel, Limerick
Junction, a warm Nationalist said to me, "The country will be ruined
with those blackguards. We have a right to Home Rule, an abstract
right to manage our own affairs, and I believe in the principle. But I
want such men as Andrew Jameson, or Jonathan Hogg, or that other
Quaker, Pym, the big draper. There we have honourable gentlemen, whom
we or the English alike might trust, either as to ability or
integrity. We might place ourselves in the hands of such men and close
our eyes with perfect confidence. Our misfortune is that our men, as a
whole, are a long way below par. They inspire no confidence, they
carry no weight, and nobody has any respect for them." Here my friend
mentioned names, and spoke of an Irish M.P.'s conduct at Sligo. I give
his story exactly as I heard it, premising that my informant's _tout
ensemble_ was satisfactory, and that he assured me I might rely on his
words:--"At the Imperial Hotel a discussion arose--a merely political
discussion--and blows were exchanged, the 'honourable gentleman' and
others rolling about the floor like so many savage bull dogs in a
regular rough-and-tumble fight. The poor 'boots' got his face badly
bruised, and for some days went about in mourning. I see that this
same member is bringing in a Bill in the House of Commons, and I read
it through with great interest, because I remembered the row, which
was hushed up, and never appeared in the papers. Imagine any Irishman,
with any respect either for himself or his country, trusting either to
a parcel of fellows like that."
My friend spoke more moderately of the objectionable Irish M.P.'s than
they do of each other, but his opinions were obviously strong enough
for anything. The attitude of the _Freeman's Journal_ moved him to
contempt, and its abject subjection to the priesthood excited his
disgust. He said, waving the despised sheet with indignity--"We have
no paper now. We lost all when we lost Parnell. He was a Protestant,
and could carry the English people, and with all his faults he had the
training of a gentleman. Look at the low-bred animals that represent
us now. Look at Blank-Blanky and his whole boiling. I swear I am
ashamed to look an Englishman in the face. The very thought of the
Irish members makes me puke."
The mention of Mr. Jonathan Hogg reminds me that this eminent Dubliner
submitted to me a point which I do not remember to have seen in print.
Said Mr. Hogg: "When the Irish Legislature has become an accomplished
fact, which is extremely improbable, the land will be divided and
sub-divided until the separate holdings will yield incomes below the
amount required for the payment of income-tax. The effect of this will
be that a large number of incomes now paying tax will disappear, each
leaving a number of small incomes paying no tax, so that a larger tax
must be levied on the remaining incomes to meet the deficiency. Then
the large manufacturers who can move away will certainly do so, and
the country will suffer severely. Employment will be scarce or
altogether lacking, and the people will go to England, by their
competition lowering the rate of wage." The mention of Mr. Andrew
Jameson reminds me of his opinion _re_ Customs. He said to me "The
bill nominally deprecates Separation, and yet proposes to establish a
Custom House between the two countries, making Ireland a foreign
country at once." Mr. John Jameson, who was present along with Mr.
Arundel, the business manager of the great J.J. concern, then
expressed his fears anent the practicability of Customs' collections
on the Irish coast. He said, "We have 1,300 coastguards at present,
and this force is ample when backed by the Royal Irish Constabulary,
marching and patrolling in the interior. But when the constabulary are
no longer engaged in the direct protection of British interests the
little force of thirteen hundred coastguards must prove quite
insufficient, and I doubt if even thirteen thousand would prove an
adequate force. The Irish people will have no interest in protecting
the British Government. Their interest will be exactly the other way.
Grave difficulties attend the proposition having regard to the Customs
duties between the two countries." Another eminent authority then
present referred to the encouragement which the Act would give to the
enterprising smuggler, and thought that a small fleet of American
steamers, smart built, fast little boats, would instantly spring into
existence to carry on a splendidly paying trade--a trade, too, having
untold fascination for the Yankees, while the average Irishman, as
everybody knows, is a smuggler by nature, disposition, heredity, and
divine right. It was also pointed out that, whereas huge quantities of
spirits now pass to Ireland through the ports of Bristol and London,
under the new dispensation Irish merchants would order direct, which
would inflict loss on England. The details of this loss were fully
explained, but I omit them for the reason that experts will
understand, while lay readers may safely accept a statement uttered in
the presence of the two Jamesons and receiving their assent.