O'Callaghan, of Bodyke, went to Limerick to buy cattle for grazing on
his estate. The cattle were duly bought, but the gallant Colonel had
to drive them through the city with his own right hand. I saw his
martial form looming in the rear of a skittish column of cows, and
even as the vulture scenteth the carcase afar off, even so, scenting
interesting matter, did I swoop down on the unhappy Colonel, startling
him severely with my sudden dash. He said, "I'm driving cows now,"
and, truth to tell, there was no denying it. Even as he spoke, a
perverse beast of Nationalist tendencies effected a diversion to the
right, plainly intending a charge down Denmark Street, _en route_ for
Irish Town, and the gallant Colonel waiving ceremony and a formidable
shillelagh, hastened by a flank movement to cut off this retreat, and
to guide the erring creature in the right way to fresh woods and
pastures new. I fired a Parthian arrow after the parting pair.
"Appointment?" I shouted, but the Colonel shook his head. It was no
time for gentle assignations. The cursed crew in front of him absorbed
his faculties, and then he half expected to be shot from any street
abutting on his path. Perhaps I may nail him yet. He has been
attempting to distrain. If the Colonel refuses to speak I will
interview his tenants. I have said I will pursue, I will overtake, I
will divide the spoil--with the readers of the _Gazette_. _Dixi._ I have
spoken! There is much shooting on the Bodyke estates, and in Ennis
they say that sixty policemen are stationed there to pick up the game.
Nobody has been bagged as yet, but the Clare folks are still hoping.
To-morrow a trusty steed will bear me to the spot. Relying on a
carefully-considered, carefully-studied Nationalist appearance, an
anti-landlord look, and a decided No-Rent expression in my left eye, I
feel that I could ride through the most dangerous districts with
perfect impunity. "Base is the slave that pays," says Ancient Pistol.
That is my present motto. One touch of No Rent makes the Irish kin.
The English people should be told that nearly all Irishmen, whether
Unionist or otherwise, are strong Protectionists. The moment Home Rule
becomes law a tremendous attempt will be made to shut out English
goods. "The very first thing we do," said to me an influential
Dubliner I met here, "is to double the harbour dues; you can't prevent
that, I suppose? The first good result will be the choking-off of all
the Scotch and Manx fishermen who infest our seas. At present they
bring their fish into Dublin, whence it is sent all over Ireland,
competing against Irish fishermen. Then we'll tax all manufactured
goods. We will admit the raw material duty-free, but we must be
permitted to know what suits us best, and we must, and will, tax
flour, but not wheat. We in Ireland, forsooth, must submit to having
all our flour mills closed to suit the swarming populations of
Manchester and Birmingham. They must have a cheap loaf. Dear me! and
so flour comes here untaxed, having given employment to people in
America, while our folks are walking about idle. Go down the river
Boyne, from Trim to Drogheda. What do you see? Twelve mills, with
machinery worth L100,000 or more, lying idle. One of those mills once
employed fifty or sixty men. Now it employs none. Tax flour, I say,
and so says everybody. We must have Protection, and very stringent
Protection. Irish manufacturers must be sustained against English
competition. Twenty years ago Dublin was a great place for cabinet
work. Now nothing is done there, or next to nothing. Everything must
come from London. At the same period we did a great trade in leather.
The leather trade is gone to the devil. We did a big turnover in boots
and shoes. Now every pair worn in the city comes from Northampton.
Ireland and Irish goods for the Irish, and burn everything English but
English coals. Give us Home Rule, and all these trades will be
restored to us."
Thus spoke the great Home Ruler, who declined to permit his name to
appear, as he said it might affect his business. His sentiments are
universal, and, as I have said, his opinions are shared by the great
majority of Irishmen, even though professedly Unionist.
A word of comment on the patriotic sentiments of my friend. I went to
Delany, of George Street, Limerick, for a suit of Blarney tweed. He
had not a yard in the place. He was indicated as the leading clothier
and outfitter of the city, but the Mahony Mills were not represented
amongst his patterns. He had Scotch tweeds, Yorkshire tweeds, West of
England tweeds, but although the Blarney tweeds are said to be the
best in the world as well as the handsomest, I had to seek them
elsewhere. An English friend says, "The Irish politicians are rather
inconsistent. They came into this hotel one evening, six of them,
red-hot from a Nationalist meeting, cursing England up hill and down
dale, till I really felt quite nervous. I hadn't got a Winchester like
that. (I hope it won't go off.) They agreed that to boycott English
goods was the correct thing, and of course they were for burning all
but English coals, when the leader of the gang said, 'Now, boys, what
will you drink,' and hang me! if they didn't every one take a bottle
of Bass's bitter beer! Did you ever know such inconsistency?"
The quirks and quips of the Irish character would puzzle a
Philadelphia lawyer. Spinning along the lane to Killaloe, with Mr.
Beesley, of Leeds, and Mr. Abraham Keeley, of Mallow, balanced on
opposite sides of a jaunting car, we came on a semi-savage specimen of
the genuine Irish sort. Semi-savage! he was seven-eighths savage, and
semi-lunatic, just clever enough to mind the cows and goats which,
with a donkey or two, grazed by the way-side. He might be
five-and-twenty, and looked strong and lusty. His naked feet were
black with the dirt of his childhood, and not only black, but shining
and gleaming in the sun. His tattered trousers were completely worn
away to the knee, showing his muscular legs to perfection. The rags
that clothed his body were confusing and indefinite. You could not
tell where one garment ended and another began, or whether there were
more than one at all. Cover a pump with boiling glue, shake over it a
sack of rags, and you will get an approximate effect of his costume.
His tawny, matted hair and beard had never known brush, comb, or
steel. It was a virgin forest. He scratched his head with the air of
the old woman who said "Forty years long have this generation troubled
me;" and ran after the car with outstretched hand. I threw him a
penny, upon which he threw himself at full length, his tongue hanging
out, a greedy sparkle in his eye. My Irish friend instantly stopped
the car.
"Now I'll show you something. This man is more than half an idiot, but
watch him." Then he cried:
"Come here, now, I'll toss you for the penny."
The man came quickly forward.
"Now then, put down your penny, and call. What is it? Head or harp,
speak while it spins!"
"Head," shouted the savage, and head it was.
He picked up the second penny with glee, and said with a burst of wild
laughter. "Toss more, more, more; toss ever an' always; toss agin,
agin, agin."
The car-driver was disgusted. "Bad luck to ye for a madman. Ye have
the gamblin' blood in ye. Bedad, ye'd break Monty Carly, ye would."
Then looking at the gambler's black and polished feet, he said:--
"Tell me, now, honey, is it Day an' Martin's ye use?"
Ennis (Co. Clare), April 29th.
No. 16.--CIVIL WAR IN COUNTY CLARE.
The name of Bodyke is famous throughout all lands, but few people know
anything about the place or the particulars of the great dispute. The
whole district is at present in a state of complete lawlessness. The
condition of matters is almost incredible, and is such as might
possibly be expected in the heart of Africa, but hardly in a civilised
country, especially when that country is under the benignant British
rule. The law-breakers seem to have the upper hand, and to be almost,
if not quite, masters of the situation. The whole estate is divided
into three properties, Fort Ann, Milltown, and Bodyke, about five
thousand acres in all, of which the first two comprise about one
thousand five hundred acres, isolated from the Bodyke lands, which
latter may amount to some three thousand five hundred acres. Either by
reason of their superior honesty, or, as is sometimes suggested, on
account of their inferior strategic position, the tenants of the Fort
Ann and Milltown lands pay their rent. The men of Bodyke are in a
state of open rebellion, and resist every process of law both by
evasion and open force. The hill-tops are manned by sentries armed
with rifles. Bivouac fires blaze nightly on every commanding eminence.
Colonel O'Callaghan's agent is a cock-shot from every convenient
mound. His rides are made musical by the 'ping' of rifle balls, and
nothing but the dread of his repeating rifle, with which he is known
to be handy, prevents the marksmen from coming to close quarters. Mr.
Stannard MacAdam seems to bear a charmed life. He is a fine athletic
young man, calm and collected, modest and unassuming, and, as he
declares, no talker. He has been described as a man of deeds, not
words. He said, "I am not a literary man. I have not the skill to
describe incident, or to give a clear and detailed account of what has
taken place. I have refused to give information to the local
journalists. My business is to manage the estate, and that takes me
all my time. You must get particulars elsewhere. I would rather not
speak of my own affairs or those of Colonel O'Callaghan."
There was nothing for it but to turn my unwilling back on this
veritable gold mine. But although Mr. MacAdam could not or would not
speak, others were not so reticent, and once in the neighbourhood the
state of things was made plainly evident. The road from Ennis to
Bodyke is dull and dreary, and abounds with painful memories.
Half-an-hour out you reach the house, or what remains of it, of
Francis Hynes, who was hanged for shooting a man. A little further and
you reach the place where Mr. Perry was shot. A wooded spot,
"convaynient" for ambush, once screened some would-be murderers who
missed their mark. Then comes the house of the Misses Brown, in which
on Christmas Eve shots were fired, by way of celebrating the festive
season. From a clump of trees some four hundred yards from the road
the police on a car were fired upon, the horse being shot dead in his
tracks. The tenantry of this sweet district are keeping up their rifle
practice, and competent judges say that the Bodyke men possess not
less than fifty rifles, none of which can be found by the police. Said
one of the constabulary, "They lack nerve to fire from shorter
distances, as they think MacAdam is the better shot, and to miss him
would be risky, as he is known to shoot rabbits with ball cartridge.
At the same time, I remember Burke of Loughrea, who was shot, had
also a fine reputation as a rifleman, but they settled him neatly
enough. I saw him in the Railway Inn, Athenry, just before he was
killed, with a repeating rifle slung on his back and a revolver on his
hip. I saw him ride away, his servant driving while Burke kept the
cocked rifle ready, the butt under his armpit, the trigger in his
hand. He sat with his back to the horse, keeping a good look-out, and
yet they shot both him and his servant as they galloped along. The
horse and car came in without them. To carry arms is therefore not a
complete security, though no doubt it is, to some extent, a deterrent.
But my opinion is that when a man is ordered to be shot he will be
shot. Clare swarms with secret societies, and you never know from one
moment to another what resolutions they will pass. I don't know what
the end of it will be, but I should think that Home Rule, by giving
the murderers a fancied security, would in this district lead to
wholesale bloodshed. The whole country would rise, as they do now, to
meet the landlord or his agent, but they would then do murder without
the smallest hesitation."
His companion said--the police here are never alone--"The first thing
Morley did was to rescind the Crimes Act. When we heard of that we
said 'Now it's coming.' And we've got it. Every man with a head on
him, and not a turnip, knew very well what would happen. The police
are shot at till they take no notice of it. Sometimes we charge up the
hills to the spot where the firing started, but among the rocks and
ravines and hills and holes they run like rabbits, or they hand their
arms to some fleet-footed chap to hide, while they stay--aye, they do,
they actually stand their ground till we come, and there they are
working at a hedge or digging the ground, and looking as innocent and
stupid as possible. They never saw anybody, and never heard any
firing--or they thought it was the Colonel shooting a hare. We hardly
know what to do in doubtful cases, as we know the tenants have the
support of the Government, and it is as much as our places are worth
to make any mistake under present circumstances. The tenants know that
too, so between them and Morley we feel between two fires."
The trouble has been alive for fifteen years or so, but it was not
until 1887 that Bodyke became a regularly historic place. The tenants
had paid no rent for years, and wholesale evictions were tried, but
without effect. The people walked in again the next day, and as the
gallant Colonel had not an army division at his back he was obliged to
confess himself beaten at every point. He went in for arbitration, but
before giving details let us first take a bird's eye view of his
position. I will endeavour to state the case as fairly as possible,
premising that nothing will be given beyond what is freely admitted by
both parties to the dispute.
The Colonel, who is a powerfully-built, bronzed, and active man,
seemingly over sixty years old, left the service just forty years ago.
Four years before that his father had died, heavily in debt, leaving
the estate encumbered by a mortgage, a jointure to the relict, Mrs.
O'Callaghan, now deceased (the said jointure being at that time
several years in arrear), a head rent of a hundred guineas a year to
Colonel Patterson, with taxes, tithe rent-charges, and heaven knows
what besides. In 1846 and 1847 his father had made considerable
reductions in the rents of the Bodyke holdings, but the tenants had
contrived to fall into arrears to the respectable tune of L6,000, or
thereabouts. Such was the state of things when the heir came into his
happy possessions.
A Protestant clergyman said to me--"Land in Ireland is like
self-righteousness. The more you have, the worse off you are." Thus
was it at Bodyke.
Something had to be done. To ask the tenants for the L6,000 was mere
waste of breath. The young soldier had no agent. He was determined to
be the people's friend. Although a Black Protestant, he was ambitious
of Catholic good-will. He wanted to have the tenants blessing him. He
coveted the good name which is better than rubies. He wished to make
things comfortable, to be a general benefactor of his species; if a
Protestant landlord and a Roman Catholic tenantry can be said to be of
the same species at all, a point which, according to the Nationalist
press, is at least doubtful. He called the tenants together, and
agreed to accept three hundred pounds for the six thousand pounds
legally due, so as to make a fresh start and encourage the people to
walk in the paths of righteousness. When times began to mend, the
Colonel himself a farmer, commenced to raise the rents until they
reached the amount paid during his father's reign. The people stood it
quietly enough until 1879, when the Colonel appointed agents. This
year was one of agricultural depression. A Mr. Willis succeeded the
two first agents, but during the troubles he resigned his charge. The
popular opinion leans to the supposition that his administration was
ineffective, that is, that he was comparatively unused to field
strategy, that he lacked dash and military resource, and that he
entertained a constitutional objection to being shot. The rents came
under the judicial arrangement, and reductions were made. Still things
would not work smoothly, and it was agreed that bad years should be
further considered on rent days. This agreement led to reductions on
the judicial rent of 25 to 30 per cent., besides which the Colonel, in
the arbitration of 1887, had accepted L1,000 in lieu of several
thousand pounds of arrears then due. After November, 1891, the tenants
ceased to pay rent at all, and that is practically their present
position. The Colonel, who being himself an experienced farmer is a
competent judge of agricultural affairs, thinks the tenants are able
to pay, and even believes that they are willing, were it not for the
intimidation of half-a-score village ruffians whose threatened
moonlighting exploits, when considered in conjunction with the bloody
deeds which have characterised the district up to recent times, are
sufficient to paralyse the whole force of the British Empire, when
that force is directed by the feeble fumblers now in office.
That they can pay if they will, is clearly proved by recent
occurrences. Let us abandon ancient history and bring our story down
to date. The number of incidents is so great, and the complications
arising from local customs and prejudices are so bewildering that only
after much inquiry have I been able to sort from the tangled web a few
clear and understandable instances, which, however, may be taken as a
fair sample of the whole.
New brooms sweep clean. The new agent, Mr. MacAdam, began to
negotiate. Pow-wows and palavers all ended in smoke, and as meanwhile
the charges on the estate were going on merrily, and no money was
coming in to meet them, writs were issued against six of the best-off
farmers; writs, not decrees, the writ being a more effective
instrument. One Malone was evicted. He was a married man, without
encumbrances, owed several years' arrears, had mismanaged his farm, a
really good bit of land, had been forgiven a lot of rent, and still he
was not happy. A relative had lent him nearly L200 to carry on, but
Malone was a bottomless pit. What he required was a gold mine and a
man to shovel up the ore, but unhappily no such thing existed on the
farm. The relative offered to take the land, believing that he could
soon recoup himself the loan, but Malone held on with iron grip,
refusing to listen to the voice of the charmer, charmed he never so
wisely. The relative wished to take the place at the judicial rent,
and offered to give Malone the house, grass for a cow, and the use of
three acres of land. Malone declined to make any change, and as a last
resort it was decided to evict him. On the auspicious day MacAdam
arrived from Limerick, accompanied by two men from Dublin, whom he
proposed to instal as caretakers in Malone's house. The Sheriff's
party were late, and MacAdam, waiting at some distance, was discovered
and the alarm given. Horns were blown, the chapel bell was rung, the
whole country turned out in force. Anticipating seizure, the people
drove away their cattle, and shortly no hoof nor horn was visible in
the district. A crowd collected and, observing the caretakers, at once
divined their mission, and perceived that not seizure, but eviction,
was the order of the day. They rushed to Malone's house, and, with his
consent and assistance, tore off the roof, smashed the windows, and
demolished the doors. The place was thus rendered uninhabitable.
This having been happily effected, the Sheriff's party arrived an hour
or so late, in the Irish fashion. Possession was formally given to the
agent, who was now free to revel in the four bare walls, and to enjoy
the highly-ventilated condition of the building. The crowd became more
and more threatening, and if they could have mustered pluck to run in
on the loaded rifles, Sheriff, agent, and escort must have been
murdered without mercy. The shouting and threatening were heard two
miles away. But the tenants had taken other measures. A firing party
was posted on a neighbouring hill, and as the Sheriff left the shelter
of the walls a volley was poured in from a clump of trees four
hundred yards away, one bullet narrowly missing a man who ducked at
the flash. The riflemen were visible among the trees, and the Sheriff
returned the fire. Several policemen also fired into the clump, but
without effect, and their fire was briskly returned from the hill,
this time just missing the head of a policeman covered by a bush, a
bullet cutting off a branch close to his ear. The police then prepared
to charge up the hill, when the firing party decamped. No arrests were
made, although the marksmen must have been dwellers in the
neighbourhood. A policeman said, "We know who they are; you can't
conceal these things in a country place; but we have no legal
evidence, and although we saw them at four hundred yards, who will
accept our identification at such a distance? And of course no jury
would convict. We have no remedy in this unfortunate country. So long
as Gladstone and such folks are bidding for the people's votes so long
we shall have lawlessness. But for the change of Government all would
long have been settled amicably. But I heard a young priest say to the
people, 'Hold on a bit till the new Government goes in.'"
To return to the Malone affair, Mr. MacAdam applied to the police for
resident protection not for himself, but for the caretakers, whom he
now proposed to instal in a farmhouse in the occupation of one of the
Colonel's servants, and from which no one had been evicted. The
authorities refused protection on the very remarkable plea that the
situation of the aforesaid premises was so dangerous! so that had the
place been quite safe, they would have consented to protect it.
MacAdam determined to carry out his plan, with or without protection.
He left Limerick at midnight with an ammunition and provision train of
seven cars, with two caretakers and four workmen, with materials to
fortify the place. He had previously given the authorities notice that
he meant to occupy Knockclare, the house in question, and before he
started they sent a police-sergeant from Tulla, a twenty miles drive,
to formally warn him off, for that his life would assuredly be taken,
and the officer also demanded that he should be permitted to
personally warn the caretakers of the risk they ran. This was granted,
but the men stuck to their guns. At the eviction a man had funked,
frightened out of his seven senses. The police declined all
responsibility, but offered to guard the farm for a shilling per man
per day. MacAdam thought this proposal without precedent, and left the
police to their own devices, driving along the twenty miles of hilly
road, with sorry steeds that refused the last hill, so that the loads
had to be pushed and carried up by the men. This was at eight or nine
in the morning, after many hours' toilsome march. The fun was not over
yet. Like the penny show, it was "just a-goin' to begin."
The crowd turned out and with awful threats of instant death menaced
the lives of the party, who, with levelled rifles, at last gained the
building. The people brought boards, and showed the caretakers their
coffins in the rough. They spoke of shooting, and swore they would
roast them alive that night by burning the house in which they were
sheltered. A shot was fired at MacAdam. A sergeant with one man
arrived from Tulla police-barracks and urged the party to leave before
they were murdered. MacAdam would hold his post at all risks. Later
eight armed policemen arrived, and then two carmen started to go home.
A wall of stones blocked the road. They somehow got over that, and
found a second wall a little further on. Here was a menacing crowd,
and the police who followed the car drew their revolvers, and with
great determination advanced on the mob, saving the carmen's lives,
for which they were publicly praised from the Bench. But the jarveys
returned, and by a circuitous route reached Limerick via Killaloe,
thanking Heaven for their whole skins, and vowing never to so risk
them again. The County Inspector who refused the party police
protection explained that he did so "out of regard for the safety of
his men." He said, "I had more than Mr. MacAdam and his party to
consider. I must preserve the lives of the men in my charge."