CHAPTER XXII.

OUTRAGES.

About a fortnight ago, after long and careful observation, I recommended an increase of the police force, for patrol and search duty in certain disturbed districts, as the best means of preventing those dreadful outrages by which the ‘No Rent’ Manifesto is enforced. Martial Law and Trial by Commission, instead of Trial by Jury, could not, as I then pointed out, in existing circumstances be effectively applied. The Government have adopted the plan suggested in every particular; and, if it be vigorously carried out, the best results may be looked for. At the same time it must be still kept in view that if, after a fair trial of the patrol system, the outrages are not reduced in number or in ferocity, a temporary suspension of Trial by Jury may yet be rendered necessary in a few districts, in the interest of the miserable tenants exposed to such brutality. The importance of this question cannot be overestimated. A very slight examination of the facts will show that for want of a sufficient check to these atrocities the situation in Ireland changes daily and rapidly for the worse. A disposition to murder and maim obnoxious individuals, if unable to defend themselves, has been a common and disgraceful feature of every Irish agitation (no matter what political or religious faction promoted it), in the wilder parts of the country, and therefore the promulgators of the ‘No Rent’ policy are the more blameworthy. The rustic Irishman of the West has a limited intelligence, fitted for the consideration of but one idea at a time, to the exclusion of everything beyond and outside his narrow field of view. He is anxious just now for nothing but the improvement of p. 153 his material condition. I have often, in conversation with a small Western tenant, been struck with the keen anxiety he has shown to have his rent reduced; and at the same time his almost total indifference about Home Rule. The desire for a native Parliament at Dublin is the cherished emotion of an Eastern tenant, from his youth upwards; but it is hardly to be met with in the West, except among public‐house loafers in small towns. Mr. Parnell in the Eastern counties appeals to the hearts of his hearers; in the Western, to their stomachs. For a year past the tenant in the West has paid no rent; and on the average he owes at least eighteen months’ arrears. It cannot be too frequently repeated that there is very little chance of this money ever being recovered. In some cases, no doubt, a dishonest farmer, not resident in a district afflicted by outrages, who declines to pay his rent, has the money, and much more; and in such cases, after due proof, something like the English method of imprisonment for wilful refusal to obey an order to pay a debt might be usefully introduced. But, as a rule, the Western tenant is a poor man, reckless and improvident, and the little sum scraped together after the harvest has already found its way to the publican’s till, or the safe of the ‘Gombeen man’—that is, the village usurer. The people were led to believe, if not positively told, for months together, that they need not pay more than they wished; and this doctrine was generally accepted in the widest sense.

Now no such idea was ever sanctioned by the famous agitators of the past. The nearest approach to it was when the late Archbishop of Tuam took a holding in order to be liable for Tithe, intending to refuse payment as a protest against taxing Catholics for the support of what they regarded as the worst of heresies. But from the teaching which has now brought about such great evils the Romish Bishops have held resolutely aloof. Here and there, indeed, a Prelate is to be found taking a conspicuous part in current politics, who, like the famous Geordie Graham, when reproved by James VI., in the course of his sermon, for maintaining error, ‘will neither speak sense nor come down.’ But as a rule the Clergy have been represented in the agitation mainly by the younger p. 154 curates; although it is unfortunately true that some priests have, in order to retain their influence over the people, joined in the movement. The Bishop of Elphin, however, prevented the establishment of a Land League branch in Sligo, and it does not always do a priest good to join the League. One who had resisted it stoutly told me the other day that he had got in all his dues, while a neighbouring Leaguer priest had been compelled by his flock to abate considerably in his demands. What with the eloquent instigation of patriots, the tacit countenance of their priesthood, and it would seem, the politic sufferance of the Government, the deluded tenants were at last persuaded that they had the power to withhold their rents; and there is no doubt whatever that for a time they had such a power, the ordinary machinery of Government being wholly inapplicable to the difficulty. In course of time the country would have righted itself, for the people have in large numbers neglected to pay the shopkeepers, just as they had refused to satisfy the landlords’ claims, and the value of contract obligation would very soon have been brought home to them. Another incentive to hold out against paying rent lies in the tenant’s consciousness that on making any regular settlement he will have to pay the arrears, and unhappily he has spent the money that would enable him to do so. It is unfortunate that power was not given to the Commission to pay to the landlord, on behalf of the tenant, with or without the latter’s consent, say one‐half the arrears; repayable by a redeemable land‐tax of small amount, ultimately recoverable from the tenant. The necessity of a measure conferring this power being taken in an autumn Session has already been pointed out. My belief that the necessity was and still is most pressing is confirmed by the anxiety expressed upon the subject by every tenant, and many of the landlords with whom I converse. The landlords are now very many of them in desperate circumstances, partly from the non‐payment of rent, and partly from the large and by them unexpected reductions effected or threatened by the Sub‐Commissions in their incomes. They have therefore begun p. 155 evicting on a large scale, and the money for which the Lord Mayor of London is now applying will go to pay bailiffs and emergency men; indeed, it will do much to ease the pockets of the landlords, who up to this time have generally left their poorer brethren to their own resources. On the other side, the tenants, if they dare to pay rent in certain districts, are threatened with the fearful vengeance of ‘Captain Moonlight.’ Until this personage is hunted out of his accustomed beats, there can, therefore, be little hope of a better state of things. For this purpose not only must rewards of a large amount be paid for information, but informers should be offered a free passage to any place out of Ireland in which they might feel it safe to settle; as was done in the Fenian times.

The areas of outrage to be operated upon are fortunately neither many nor extensive. But as a means of economising, it might be as well to mount as many of the new police recruits as possible, in order that the largest space might be commanded by a given force. Whenever a tenant pays his rent, or is for any reason obnoxious to his neighbours, the fact should be confidentially notified to the Sub‐Inspector by the agent or the priest, and a special guard maintained near his house from sunset to dawn. Every road in a disturbed district should be heavily patrolled all night, four men walking together at every third of a mile, and every third party consisting of half‐a‐dozen mounted men ready to gallop in any direction. This would, no doubt, cost a great deal of money, which, with full compensation to the victim of every outrage, or in case of death to his family, should be exacted from every person in the district, landlord or tenant, able to pay. No one could complain, for the landlord would get his rent, the innocent tenant protection, and the guilty but a small part of his deserts.1 Every gun and pistol in the possession of a man who has not paid his rent should be taken from him. p. 156 Such precautions would probably be effectual in most cases, and they would certainly save much bloodshed. Let it be remembered that it is only in a few districts that they are required—for no greater mistake can be made than to talk as if the whole island were ungovernable.

By way of illustrating these remarks let me relate what I have just witnessed within a few miles of these lovely hills and lakes. A few days ago Mr. Hussey, Lord Kenmare’s agent, published an account of the shooting of three men who had paid their rent to him. In the Kerry Sentinel, of yesterday’s date, I find the following observations:—‘Mr. Hussey’s letters are composed of a tissue of disjointed falsehoods. . . . . We do not wish to impute cowardice or laziness to any of the priests or local patriots in this matter concerned, but why did not some one say to Mr. Hussey long ago’—and then follows a reference to some unfortunate eviction proceedings of Mr. Hussey, said to have resulted in the death of a child. It is a habit with some Irish newspapers to describe all reports of outrages as untrue, and I therefore yesterday visited the place for myself. After passing through the town, and across the outlying hills, my carman turned down the Raheen Road, eastwards. For twenty miles on every hand was a vast extent of gently undulating land, here and there reclaimed, but part still in its original state of brown bog. The houses were few in number, and at first, on Lord Kenmare’s land, of a miserably poor description. But on The O’Donoghue’s estate the farmhouses were generally large and well‐appointed, and the fields in good condition. At the Raheen school‐house, the schoolmistress directed us on our way, and gave me some interesting information about her pupils, from which I gathered that they are receiving a sound elementary education. Some miles farther on it became necessary to inquire again, and here a great change took place. The shadow of some mysterious dread was visible on every face as soon as my words of inquiry were uttered. One poor girl blushed painfully as she denied that she knew where the first man shot could be found; although she belonged to the same p. 157 village. We were within a few miles of Mill Street, and in the notorious district extending from Castle Island on the west to Mallow on the east, in which no man’s life is safe for an hour if he pays his rent. ‘Captain Moonlight’ and his ruffians here act in bands of sometimes thirty or forty together, under the command of a leader, and are members of a sworn confederacy.

I then passed through Maughantoorig. The people rushed to the doors to view the unaccustomed sight of a stranger on a side car. The country is so poor and unfrequented that my driver, constantly employed for the last twenty years in excursions about the neighbourhood of Killarney, did not even know the main road. Daniel Cronin’s dwelling is in a lonely spot, half a mile from the village, faced by the house of a neighbour. He is a man of about fifty, tall, spare, with a ruddy complexion. I was informed at the agent’s office that he holds under a lease dated March 10, 1873, for forty‐one years, and a life, at a rent of 10l.; the valuation being 9l. 5s. He has always paid his rent punctually, has steadily improved his holding, and refused to have anything to do with the League. As is well known, the tenantry with a very few exceptions on Lord Kenmare’s estate have refused to pay their rents; but Daniel Cronin unfortunately paid. Such being the case, there is great blame somewhere for not having the poor man properly protected. I need not say that I had the utmost difficulty in getting any information from him, his wife, or the family. They were certain that the attacking party did not belong to the neighbourhood, but came from a distance; and not one word of repining or accusation escaped their lips. Cronin was lying in great pain in the back room of his comfortable farmhouse. Another person present told me the sad story of the outrage, while the victim occasionally clasped his hands and murmured feebly, ‘I forgive them, whoever they are.’

At about eight on Sunday evening, November 2, the family were preparing for bed, with the exception of the son, a fine young man, who was, as ill‐luck would have it, away, when a party of armed men, with blackened faces, rushed in. p. 158 The leader immediately knocked the lamp off the table, and then stood with his back to the fire, giving directions. First Cronin was strictly questioned as to whether he had paid his rent. His book was called for, and his denials taken down. ‘What’s this woman doing here?’ said the leader, suddenly; and the screaming wife and children were forced into the bed‐room. Immediately afterwards they heard a loud report; the door of the bed‐room was released, and they hurried back to find Daniel Cronin staggering and fainting, with a great wound in his thigh. The charge of shot had passed sideways through the muscular part of the thigh, half‐way between the hip and the knee, behind the bone, fortunately without shattering it. The surgeon had extracted a circular piece of corduroy two inches square, and all the shot, from the opposite end of the wound. Daniel’s pulse was firm and regular, and be seems likely to recover; but he is still in deadly fear that the assassins may return. His wife told me, with a choking utterance, that her husband went regularly to mass, and had that fatal day attended it.2 With a few cheering words, uttered very much against the grain, I left them.

After another half‐hour’s drive over the desolate bog I reached John Keefe’s house at the further extremity of Lisheen; a village containing, I should say, as much filth, raggedness, and misery as are distributed over a large English town. The inhabitants seemed to be all either frightened, or gloomy and discontented. One morose‐looking man stood out with his hands in his pockets; but kept his eyes fixed on the ground until I had passed, refusing to meet my glance. I found poor old Keefe very seriously ill. I felt his wrist, but could not perceive any pulse. Laying my hand over his heart I detected its faint, rapid beating, and could observe that he was extremely weak and feverish. His unhappy wife, p. 159 over sixty years of age, had done her best for him, from first to last, but he was getting weaker. The villains who had shot Cronin reached here after the old couple were in bed, and broke a pane of glass in order to wake them. Keefe opened the door in his night‐shirt. Two boys were kept in the back room while the stern examination about the payment of rent went on. The pass‐book and the lease were inspected, and the old man was cuffed about until he leaned, almost stupefied, against the table. Then, while his wife cried wildly to spare his life, and offered to do or pay anything for mercy, a shot was fired before her face. Her husband sank to the ground, which was red with his blood, and the ruffians ran off with shouts and laughter into the darkness. I was shown the hole in the table into which the shots finally penetrated in one mass, and two were extracted and handed over to me. The weapon must almost have touched the man, and the charge tore away the greater part of the calf of his leg. The gang then went on to the eldest son’s house, but the old dame told me, and folded her hands with gratitude as she said it, ‘He was away, sir, by the mercy of God, and our blessed Lady the Virgin.’ The band, however, afterwards injured a third person, and then dispersed. After all this was over the police, stationed at Rathmore, four miles away, commenced their nightly patrol of three hours. I have it on the best authority that the three roads by which the scene of the outrages could be approached were all watched by scouts, planted to give due warning of the approach of the police. To my surprise my carman drove me back to Killarney by another route, and it was only after closely pressing him that he acknowledged he did so for my safety. At Killarney I went to the police station and found the men who had shot Cronin and Keefe locked up there. But no person would give evidence against them; although an intimation had been received by the constables that if Keefe died evidence would be forthcoming. They were all neighbours of the victims. Eventually they must be discharged for want of evidence.

1. I have reason to believe that the Government are doubtful whether the example of injustice which would be set, if they passed a statute rendering the property of numerous innocent persons liable to make good damages inflicted by the guilty few, would not increase the existing demoralisation of the peasantry.

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2. It is remarkable how often outrages are committed on Sunday night. The reason is, strange as it may appear, that the superstitious peasantry will not, if they can avoid it, take the life of a man who is unprepared for death. A man who has paid his rent trebles the risk he runs by going to mass.

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