A DAY WITH THE VANDALEUR EVICTORS.

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 222, 20 September 1888, Page 2

A DAY WITH THE VANDALEUR EVICTORS.

SERIES OF PAINFUL SCENES.

TJie following is theaccountof the Vandaleitr evictions which aroused such indignation and sympathy >-Sixfarriilies •virter^■Visited;to day, and five evicted—a fair day's ttdrL- Accurately, there were only four evicted, but this will be explained a- little further on, and I should not be surprised if the exception led to a cross-queationing of Mr Balfour by some members of the House; The force, consisting: as usual- of infantry, cavalry; and battering-ram team, began early, for the ■ inarch was a long one ■i-' about four ■ tniles—- but once a<j the end of these, lour miles, there was very little-further marching, except the march back, fo? the houses to be evicted were all within .a circle of three or lour hundred yards radius. The first house the force stopped at was Pati Carrie's, Tullycrine, on the rood to Ehnis.-,.. ,P&t; Carrig's house was not barricaded; Was the combination breaking down, or what? "Not at all," says a countryman standing at theVhouse corner; "it's the ol<l man that is sick, v and they'll have to carry hint oufe" <( Where's the doctor?" Colonel Turner calls Out; and then in a low voice, "If he's as ill as they cay, we mu9t leave the poor people alone." But'to ascertain the;:re&l; state of affairs the doctor must be allowed to enter. So a parley, beganr--Pat CarrigV the old man's son, standing on the'insideOf the closed door, and Colonel Turner, with the regimental doctor and some others, at the outside. "We only want to see the sick man.said Colonel Turner.'' "Will you idmit the doctor, and one or two more ?" " Faith,, and I will,!' .replies Eat, " but you muse not bring any more in wid you," "All; right." It was a truce to be honourably observed. Then there's^, noise of Pat tugging, panting, and scrambling behind the door, removing the obstructions. He opens it half-way. < *' Now, "he says, "coiino in. Nobody will interfefe with ye. Is that the Sheriff ? Walk in. Don't be afraid. Nobody will meddle With ye." There was a delicious touch of humour in this encouraging invitation to the Sheriff, of "all people in the world; the very aian whom he might not unnaturally wish in a warmer locality than Tullycrine. It*' a minute or two the landlord'a agent approaches the door. " Come in," says Pat; " come in, Mr Studderfc, sure not a eoul will interfere^ with ye;" '.';" Leave them alone," exclaimed Colonel Turner, emerging, from the ;_ house.! " thfe . jipor old Miow; is too ill to. be removecj." So Pat' and Ink wife andfamily 'arid' tKe- p]6of _ old man have been let off for this time; "Bosh," said a stalwart individual in the crowd ; " they have lugged in the old fellow from some neighbour's house. The whole thing is a sham. This kind of thing is often done." This was the opinion, not only of that particular gentleman, but.of a considerable number of the Royal Irish Constabulary j but to quote their own monosyllable, their opinion was "bosh." The poor "old fellow" had been lying on that very bed upwards of four years. # Hia age was about eighty-eight. I visited him in his hole, for it scarcely deserves a better name —a little hole partitioned off from the main room.' He was less a living creature than a corpse in which the spirit still lingered. The expression of relief and gratitude oh Pat's face, when he, saw that he was to have some respite, and that his dying; father was not to bo, turned out upOn the roadside, was something to behold. The n«ixt house was Thomas Conaidinefs. He pwes nearly four years' rent.1 His annual rent is £0...; He never applied to the Land Court:, not thinking it worth while. His barricade was of the flimsi6st description-T-A heap of' bush stuck in the doorway, through which "JudgeNorbery " gfea-sawetf with his iron head like a knife through butter. Ther^'were several squirts of hot; water, and tlie sheriff and another ruined for their sbieftlfl, but there wasi'no further resistance. The Royal Irish Constabulary quietly entered and as quietly came out again with three men and two girls prisoners. -The girls were at oncereeb at liberty. " You are the co-respondent of the "Daily News?" a farmer asks me. "Yes." " Tom: Coußidine wants to give you a paper; '* " What is it, j Mr, Considine?' 1 ''It's only t<> show you how my 'rint' has been raised on me. Look at this. Twenty years ■ ago I jpaid £4 15s, and, enough it was at that, for I worked day and night to keep.a rqpf o'er our heads; and then, when the rifle; took place in 1874, they ;made it double, juatmine pounds, and that ruined mjß. 1 went on paying and paying until I could pay no more. God help us, I don't know what to do.". ' . ■-■ .' ■ ■/ ■ ■ ' •■

I can only cay that I have a black list of bases far worse than Tom Considine'a ; uad now lot us move on. John Flannigan's house, the next; is withbutrdoors, and the •windowp areopeni and the inmates unprepared to resist. John Flannjgan ia/.afiout to be evicted fdir a debt of'nearly £ICiO, but nooeven a sauoftrM of hot water has he fpr the thousandth re-baptism of fcho sheriff. .;*' How ioii this, Miss $lannigari ?" I asked 'of the tall and comely young lady who (stood in the doorway: surveying an & LO. fromhis boots to hiscurls, with a look of amused disdain. " How ?" she replies): :■•' we were unprepared.(, Mr-fliliiara (the tenant's lawyer) said that? as our eviction notice had been put up in a we could not be evicted without proper intimation, so wje put up no barricades.'' ■" But then. Miss Flannigan, you have pub all your furniture outside." '■ Yes;\ we set about it as soon as we saw that Httle army coming./ We had no time ,tp do" more. We pub out the furniture to prevent its being broken by the Emergency men." An intelligent ypuhg lady is Miss Flanagan. As a matter of fact, there liaa been an' illegality in the posting; up of a number, of these evictions', and the' question is to be argued in Kilrush Court-house next Wednesday; & That little army," says Miss F., " many. a victory has bepn won in India by .British armies smaller than that army that has come to turn us out of our bwn house," and With that Miss Flanafean threw her heid back^ and laughed at what she considered to be theabajirditypl the contrast. One or two of my military friends; joioed-witk;gc%d humour in the t laughter. Now I don'b know- where MiS||IlJiliigan re&d all that---.whether in History,book or in therplper.. All I ttiiiw is thfit i ,Misß .Flajb'stgati was; not far wrong, and that I felt real admiration for her ladyship. By this time alt the wdinenkihd of tKo family joined W in the doorway. "Long live the Plan of Campaign 1" exclaimed' one of them,; " and' may the Ltrrd jpres«rve John Dillon and William O'Brien!" I*m more than half inclined to tliihk fcha* the womifcot Ireland are the beat iWiow's in the country. What should bava JbSeV the iiege of Flanniglan's fort waa all this while rMomiwr itself infcQ.a ntonio. W«U, I'm "blowed I^.s^id^mem-, b'er of lie family of, tieraiw Atkßs, he 'rartreyedfchep«wpecti.;^ ' ,- . - . L»b me' give a rough and hasty sketch of the Boeno. Round the afad gKPdiiw etoctd in » wide' botdon^ the fedopfl asd tbo men el the R^»lJri«». von»t»»«: hxj, Oubßide the line »M Mattered on the grean mounds arid hUloclui, of which therei weV© m&nv, were groujf* rf country folk, jß»ny of tn^^wte'-on-'^oweifeek, *w»o "I Jp ;sbo ia<Jd^, ,' others" v riding jbftw,;*;. fe<«&»4 ftnd Jwltjb 'oss. ■<■■ 6ordurof 'ttei*Bjaw}y(lir«gj{ed oyer^liliei| heavy Jjeoie b^%% :tt^' tlie eftlyeii of their lege. Qh tiißk Vtdgei ptan^ n double tow' of •l^asaqte ,m .JO^iiV^Hay.. htm... the|y hands fa tlioip poeiwN, &M thrty are n< quleb and as, it :sefy oh\ir,o«, - :Oti .^ba^ pirns,:gmm %,:&&#&s olcduatry mm*r; «#. •RBd *w* %■ •■■■■■■■:.■ ' ■ : •......■

hoods of their blue cloaks oveii? their heads. Half a dozen red coats/ with fixed bayonets, intervene between these'two groups and the reserved space. Similar bodies 6| .sjSecftafcors, similarly guarded, are1 Scattered over the field,and here and thereth& horseiibf thf dismounted Hussars are champing their bits. Right in front of .the Flahni^an's House is a* hayfield,; one half of it uncut, and in the uncut half other redcoats are wading leisurely. Just lobk at thif e&sy^ warribr ! Amidsifthe sweet" grass, which is dappled With Wild fls#Si?s, lidS ThoinoS' on his back at full length, his hands are clasped beneath.'hii head, bis rifle ...is stretched across his cbestj his .right foot is balanced on his _ left knee, and* he calmly smokes the pipe of "peace.: Here, there, everywhere are stretched the redcoats^ Borne leaning on one elbow, others face downwards on both; A warrior of- the BerkshireSiiWhomvl nod to as I pass him,is contemplatively' chewing a, straw.;/ ;:Jt=4s a picture of: idyllic repose. Even the evicted family conSe leisurely sauntering down to the hayfield, ~ A photdgrapheir Who has been prowling about all day seizes the psychological moment Wifili, the promptitude of genius. He leads the' family captive; He takes them up to a big haycock and beseeches them to stand for a moment with their backs thereto. He espies a priest. He rushes upon him and annexes him-ra good choice M a priest as luck would have it, tW the priest was none other than the Rev. Mr Gilligan, who for the crime of having made a speech in a boat oni the river Shannon was lately run info Liineridk Gaol afid fed there for weeks on toke arid skilly, The artist placed thd priest; in the middled "The rest of the group Were Mrs Flanriigan and Miss Elannigan (to whom I have already introduced the reader), arid old Mr Flannigan and his three sbiis. " Steady i": saya the artwfc; Now, such is the amiable Weakness of huftian nature that even hi* reverence, whose thoughts are usually occupied with higher things, felt •■■ and. fumbled . about for "an attitude. He leant his elbow against the side of the haycock, and rested his cheek on his forefinger. " Steady,!'" says the artist; "Now!" Off went the capsule. In an instant he clapped it on again. "Thank you," said hej "finished 111I 11 Whereupon the priest, and Miss I?.; and the rest of them looked at each other awkwardly. They sighed) and then they separated carelessly among* the spectators.' ■■ Such was the eviction of the Bannigan family, but what followed was somewhat different. The evicting army calls at Mary 0 Daa/s, a short distance off. Mrs O'-Dea owes three years' renfc and arrears. She awaits with open door the sherilFa arrival. } Sheissifcting by the fireside, her grey cheek resting on the palm of her hand. Her daughter, a Btout, dark-bairedi rather handI some girl,-stand* in front of the" fireplace : with her right baud on her hip. At her feet lies a big dogi with his nose on his paws and his eyes winking. The emergency men* entering, put the furniture outside Ihe houeej and then came the symbolic performance whichsbmehqw Ihadneyerseen before. AsheriiFs man comes in with a bucket of water. With that he extinguishesthe fire and Mrs O"Dea!s hearthis no louger her o^n; Inoticed that when the man threw the water on the firs Mrs'O'Dea turned round slowly in her seat, and gazed mournfully upou the spot. A splash of water fell upon the dog, who1 rose upshot started up; for as it turned out he was old. and lame. " Now, thehj" says the constabulary officer* and the old woman slowly rises and walks' away. The daughter follows, and behind her limps the dog. Then we,march on. We stop at a namesake's of the,last family. Mary O'Dea's door is closed.: i" Bring up< thff sledge hammer.". A. single blow thereof knocks the frail door open. Out rushes a pale, scared-looking woman with her child on her bacx secured by a shawl: an older child clih&ing. to her thin, tafcit'.©l dress, trembleis #itn Mifht. He cluioaas her, skirts, "and tries v tb* hide hteeelt. ■" Be quiet, .darlint, they won't hurt ye." But the poor woman is herself trembling.,with, fright. "My rent is only-ihirty sbillisJgs. lujty. name is Mary O'JDea. My husband ia dead. I have been doing my best. What will Ido? What willl dpt" But all of asudden the sheriif moves off with long;quick stridfes;: He seems very ill at ease. ; I wonder',What is the matter with him. '• Com^ away, men/ sharp!" They have been " evicting" the wrong_ house 1 Cbn't you distress yourself," 1 - oaids td Mrs O'Dea. "Yoii are not evicted; You see the sheriff has made a mistake. Go back to your house, and try to qufefc your cKildrehi" She turned to go mV and;Wien 1 left her, but the next moment sonic people came running up to tell us that Mary: ODea hacl fainted on the roadside. Heir neighbours carried her in. A scream of terror followed the blow of the sledge hammer on the door, arid from first to lAat in this sorry business the poor woman and her ohildren wero in dire distress. So far as I know,' not even an apology haa1 been made to Mary O!l>ea.n It may: have been* made j I hope it has been made; -but if I werb a Parliamehtary member I should put some Questionsi'db^ tfo'subjjecfaif iw! g And now comes the lasi exploit of the day. Another ODea has to be evicted. Johanna oDea the tenant's n^kne isi Her rent a £16. Doors and windows are open. No'resistance id''"tp^be limayiiI;;';'\lV'iipj)roach. the door, a constabulary officer meets me, " Atipther dodge," says. ''They have bifbughtasick child into thei house, and they have placed the bed near the %©•'-'■; ',' YesJ' observed another, "they tiro tiyin^.on theii1 Ijammon." I walked leißurcly into the house. The polica were fast crowding into it. In a corner by the nre, and on a straw bed with.whitelinen, liy the sick child, not facing the door, but rather with her back to it. Beside the sick child sat an aged woman, in a blue cl6ak and big white cap^,; with a black silk ribbon across it. She was swaying from side to side an d gazing into the child's face as she sang in a low tone, aa. if to sobthe; the. patient. -Three or four other women stood with, their backs to the hearth' silently observing' 4 the Royal Irish .Constabulary as they entered; I now caught iny-first glimpse of the ohild's face,:and npticed; the pure white • inarblelike look of the very large brow. Within a yard or- two of me stood ShtififfCrOkerf smilling sceptically. I know what was irt his mind. "Gammon," he thought; I iwas jotting down a few notes. •On looking up 1. saw child's face. : Blowly>tui:piDg: rOiind. ■■"■ What isrbnderful eyes, ''I though|, all the darker by contrast : with the pure whifo skiri-r-such large, brilliant eyes,! sßuff Kbw Btfangely .vajjaht I The *;childsß 'mouth relaxes into a smile, but a > smile of. BiicH;^.utter*.peaninglessftessl,, The^.truih; flashed upon me. " Good God, the child is an i,diot_|" v I ,was horror-struck. Oi the men standing about me' some seemed appalled, and welt they might.vJThe;.; sight of that child, with its^ blank,! efiipty smile, has burned itself as it were, into myjirain. I wpuid, haVo given much noi to', have Beenit,rhadit not been for the reflection that my account of it might, perhapß, be of soms service in rousing tlie^ conscience of the English people to. the 'barbarities' that in this5 unhappy coußtry are perpsferated in th^ir "name. " Ybii inuat take thai child out." sft>s a^^ brisk, haid voice. One of thai women', bonding over the cotj utters a wliTof r«m6nVtran<se. " pqm« along, get. oat." So th» Woman puts one arm round tie (Child's neck^ and thfei 6th»r round the j Jiolplesß, body; raises if gentl^.up,,while anothor woman wraps the child in blankets. The'cb'ildi'criatf, suoa-ap^teousjinarfetoulatei inhumon cry. I can endure it no longer, and. finish but, of the place; ■ THeV:w"omeri wqJki' Qttt> With '■:■ ■'*t%ir' sad burden. The wOTiancWrying the; child sits'down at.* corner of an outhouse, the; child Btill. walling In her arms. "Can the child sbfcakr laskedlafter fttirae. ''vWfcen we aek her how she is she says, *l aw grand." She very "seldom say/i.-.anytihlrig ?lee." . ohild'e.nam© l 9 Bridget.; ;^he Uelxyean old. She u««d to go tofoheol^

but about eighteen molll'd ago she be|a)olQ ill from, as > the local <J<>ct'ors say, a spinal i|ompMn#whi6^ at Jsist has reached the brain.' She is so weak; in health! that she is* unabld to keep her head' up: righ^. , That:; was :^hy, vrUbft ;-y's'ne was*1, taken, up v in her N aunt's; arms, ;her head fell and shook from side; to side just asJf the nect were' disjointed. , And I 'poor little Bridget's parents, where are j •thdyX They left tK e r old holiie'* wheffs, Bridget wa§ tenmonthg old. They left for America, the promised land of the Irish face, that new world of which the aged | folk know nothing, except that it lies some- j where in the far west beyond the blue sea ■which they look upon'from the hills of Glare. They;'.weht^ away,to niake: money, for their old parents, but nothing has been beard of them for a long time., Bridget, at any rate, j is hot.conscious of Her loss.