THE EVICTION.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXI, Issue 112, 13 May 1911, Page 10

THE EVICTION.

I. The- Sergeant came up the loanin' with the slow steps of a man who has an important duty to perform, and is not quite certain of the manner in which he will be received. He held the blue notice to quit prominently in his hand, so that it might be a terror to all lawbreakers and evildoers and persons inclined to treat a sergeant of police disrespectfully. He passed up the loanin' in saf«ty, having met no one on the' way, and tapped at th© door of Michael FarrelTs cottage. There came no answer. "Are ye in, Mike?" he demanded, but still there was no reply. The Sergeant put persuasion into his voice. "Now, sure, there's no good yer purtendin' ye're not in, Mike, fur oi know as well as oi|m livin' that ye're behoin' that dure wi' yere eye t' the kayhole watching what oi'm doin' !" "Faith, an' oi'm nat thin !" came the voice of Michael Farrell through the key-hole. "Och, now, didden oi tell y© y© wur !" exclaimed the Sergeant, and his voice was exultant with the triumph h© had achieved. "Now come on out an' open the dur© loike a dacent man, and not kape me stan'in' her©, fur sure it's no pleasure til a man o' moi disposition t' be houl'in' a summons in me han' in a public place wi' all the neighbours lukkin' on !" "Oi will not com© out, Sergeant FlanTiory," replied Michael. "Norra an inch o' me'll budge oura this hous© this day, not if all the peelers in Oirelan' wus stan'in' loike a divil'o army about t' place ready t' blow me t' pieces w' canyon-balls thrum Dublin Castle itself!" Th© Sergeant became expostulatory : he spoke in tho manner of a wise and kindly man of years* remonstrating with a perverse child. "Ah, now, what's the good o' talkin' loike that ! Sure, ye know ye've got t' go ! Aren't ye behoin'hand wi' yer rint thi3 long toime. It's the law ! . ." Michael's voice rasped through th© key-hole. "Oi tell y© oi'll not budge an inch oura this, not if the King o' Englan' an the lords o' the Coorts o' Justice wus t' com© on their han's an' knees an' beg me to! Oi wus born an' rared in this house, an' oi'll doie in it. D'ye hear that, Sergeant Flannery?" "Now, what wud a foine, healthy man loike yerself be talkin' about doiin' fur ! Sure, ye're the hardy oul' fella, an' yell outlive the lot o' us!" "Oi don't want noan o' yer saft talk, Sergeant Flannery ! If me strong son that's in America — God be good til him — was here this minit, it's not sian'in' there wid a summons in yer han' ye'd be, but runnin' fur yer loife down the loanin' an' lukkin' fur a hoidin'-place in the soide o' the hill that ye'd be 1" The Sergeant became angry at this aspersion on his courage. "Come on oura that, will ye, an' noan o' yer back-talk ! Oi'm not goin* t' stap here all day argyin' wi' an oul' fella that ought t' bo in his grave be roights. not able t' take care o' himself! ... „." The door opened violently, and Michael bounded out, his face wrinkled with rage. "Is it insullin' me ye nre, t' me face, ye low-born sou o' a Donegal shiuler (tramp)? Yell be heaiin' about this, ye will, the niorra's mom! It's intil Bally/iliannon oi'll jjo, a:i' it's a lawyer oi'll be 6cein', an' suia' yo in the I'oorlG l'ul loibel an' slander oi'll be! Ve're iinly 11 pnlumian, .that's all ye ;uc, wi' ; er uuifoim on an* yer yawl' braid a3 if yer wur the Lord-Lieutenant

himself ! There'll be questyins asked i about ye in Parliament, me foine I'eUa, an' inspectors comin' down tnrum Dublin til enquoire intil yer behaviour, an' a foine disturbance in the papers ! . . ." Tho Sergeant thrust the summons into the old man's hands. j "Aw houl 1 yer tongue," he said, 1 impatiently, "sure, ye're the quare ould blether ! Ye'd wake the dead wi' yer clatter!" Michael tore the summons and flung it in tho Sergeant's face. "It's little good that'll do ye," said the policeman. "Ye've had it in yer, han', an' ye can't say ye' haven't bin ssirved wi' it !" ho ' went on in a portentous voice : "An' if ye're not oura that cottage be the toime oi call again, oi'll have t' use the force o' the law agin ye, an' eject ye. If ye're a woise man yell give no trouble at all !" He walked a little way down the loanin', and then, as if recollecting something, returned. "An' yo can go an' see all the lawyers in Oirelan' if ye loike, an' much good may they do .ye ! Oi'm not afeard o' you or yer big strong son in America ! . . ." "Ye wudden be sayin' that if he was stan'in' afore ye wi' his fist on yer nose! It's aisy t' be talkin' whin he can't hear ye! .'. ." The old man's voice altered; the anger gave out, and a plaintive tone came into it. "Me strong son in America !" he said. "Oi haven't seen him fur twinty-foive year ! It's a long toime, Sergeant. The Sergeant, without speaking, stopped to listen. "Oi'm the lonely oul' man here be me lone, an' no wumman to do a han's turn fur me," an' no choile be me soide in me oul' age ... If me son had been here, it'B not turnin' me out ye'd be! . . ." "Sure, it's not mod fault, Mike! Oi'm ' not the lan'lord, oi'm on'y the polisman ! . . ." There was bitterness in* the voice of the Sergeant, the rancour of a man protesting against ostracism by his own class. "Oi know that, though God knows it's the dirty work ye have t' do !" "D'ye nivir hear thrum yer son?" "Oi uset t' hear thrum him whin he first wint there. He wud wroite the foine letters about the gran 1 position he wus goan t' make fur himself, an' sometoimes he'd send me a few shilling. Oi've not heerd these twenty year! "Mebbe, he's dead or married or eomethin' ! . . ." "It's not dead he is nor married he is ! It's makin' a fortune he is t' surproise me wan day. An' he'll come in the dure there wi' his pockets stuffed wi' goolden sover'ns, an' him a millionaire an' all, an' nivir a day's work more will oi have to do whin me strong son comes home thrum America. It'll be hard fur him t' come an' loin' me turned out o' me home loiko a common man thrum a low town. It's the quara pity o' the oul' ! " The sergeant walked a little way off. "Sure, yell be all right whin y« git over to the ... ! Michael started, md then rushed quickly^ into his cottage, slamming the door violently aa he did bo. He appeared at the window and shouted at the sergeant. " Norra on inch o' me'll budge oura here, Sergeant Flannery! Oi'll not go to no workhouse, oi tell ye! No wan in moi fairly ivir wus there, an' oi'll not disgrace me ' name ! Ye can bring yei- peelers, an' yer sodgers ! . . ." "Aw, now, houl 1 yer tongue, will ye! Sure, yell be as' comfertibl© there as annywhere, God help y9 !" 11. The sergeant and three constables, one of whom had been specially drafted into the district for the purpose, ca-me up the loanin'. There was a crowd outside Michael Farrell's cottage, old men and young men and women of all ages' with shawls round their heads, and children. Groans greeted -th« 'policemen. "Whoy don't, ye lave , the oui' .man alone," cried someone as the sergeant tapped on the door of the cottage, on which a blue notice had been nailed. The sergeant became awe-inspiring immediately. " Who said that?" ho demanded. "Oi give ye solimn warnin' that oi'll arrest the first man or wumman than 'interferes wi' me in the execution o' me duty. D'ye hear that, John M'Clurg? Stan'in' there laaghin' ! Whoy don't ye go on home an" do yer work mstid o' stan'in' there?" John M'Clurg laughed openly. "Is it mo ye'er talkm' to, ma foine polisman? ..." " Polisman !" exclaimed Ann Moriarty. " Polisman, indade ! Bailiff' 6 what h© is !" " Yell fin' yerself in Letterkenny jail, me good wumman, afore 5 ye're very much oul'er if ye gimme "army o' yerimperence ! An', mom', if oi nade assistance, oi'm entitled be the law o' the lan t' deman' help thrum army wan o' ye ondher penalty o' " He couldn't remember the penalty, _ but after a moment's hesitation he invented magnificently, "Transportation or penal sarvitude!" he said. An old woman touched tha .man M'Olurg on the arm. " Don't be interferin' wi' tfie polis," she said, " fur sure they're the bad lot !" A constable shifted about on his feet and pattered something about "oul weemin !" She turned to him and explained her meaning at' great length. •"Ye know," she said, " ye'i'e mado peelers because o' yer badness o' heart ! Don't they take ye acau«e y& turn again yer own people an* foight tur the English?" Murmurs of assent from the crowd. " Aren't ye fed on beef ivry day loike an Englishman t' make ye fierce loike a foightin'-cock? Aren't yo trained ivry day in yer barracks loiko codgers t' make yo fit t' bate the loike o' us ! Yew traitors t' yer country, that's what y© are !" " Noan o' yer back-talK ! . . ." exclaimed the sergeant, weakly. The old woman turned to the others, ignoring the sergeant completely. "A wus 'toul' wance," she said, -" that whin a man's a peeler they aend him til a Prodesan^ distric' if he's a Cathlik, an' til a Cathlik distric* if he's a Prodesan., acause then he'll have no rayson fur bein' marciful whin he's chargin' the people !" "The brute bastes! ..." "Ay, ye may well say that!' Comin' here an' turnin' an ould man of seventvfoiv© oura his hous© that he's lived in since ho wus born!" The sergeant, who had been rapping on the door, without receiving a reply, now called the 'three constables to his eide. " We'll hay© to force an entry," he said. " Th© dure3 an' windas is barricaded. A'U just give him another warnin' !" He stepped to the door and kicked it with his foot. " Are y© there, Michael Farrell?" h© shouted. "D'ye hear me? It's no good y©r purtendin' ye're deaf,, fur y© can hear m© rightly ! Oi warn y© oi'll force the dur© in if ye don't open !-^ " "D'ye hear that," crief M'Clurg, buttoning his coat. "Aw, fur dear sake, don't interfere wi' the law ! . . ." "An ould man loike that! Forcin' hi« duro open! . . . Is there' a man among yell help t.' batter a. peeler t' bits?" The- Sergeant, looked up. "If there's any batterin' t' be don©, it'll be us that'll do it wi' our batons 1" Ha took his club out of its leather case. "A slap on the side o', the head wi' that," he added, " '11 make ye wondher what's up wi' y©!" He spoke again at tho door. "Alt give yo wan more chance." he said. "Will y© com© out i>eaceable Inikp a -dare«fr. •man, or will oi haw t 1 drag ye out be the scruff. o' tho -neck? 1 ' No answer camo. ".Come, on, boys,"

said tho Sergeant. "We'll hstve to break in! Oi've given him fair warning,' an 1 oi can't do mortj." The three constables advanced towards the door, and put their ehouldei6 againet it. A low groan came from the crowd, and as the door creaked beneath tho pressure of tho policemen's weight, the women covered their faces with their shawls, and a wailing sound, a kena of woe, broke from their lipe. "It's a hard heart a polisman must have til do his work," said an old man, and the Sergeant, overhearing him, turned and scowled. "Yo wud. think t' hear ye," he said, "that oi loike doin' this ! Sure, it's not moi pleasure brings me herel Y'e'd bo moighty glad, the lot o' ye, of me help if a shuiler wus t' stale yer cattle or yer money!" The door bent beneath the policemen's shoulders, and in a little while it was pushed off ita hinges ; it was easy work, 6O old and rusty and ramshackle was the house. The Sergeant went into the cottage. They found Michael, his hands folded loosely together, sitting on a ropebottomed chair before the turf fire. He did not look up as the policemen entered. * "You're a nice one," complained the Sergeant, ,"givin' ue all thie bother! Sure, ye might as well 'iv opened tho dure at first! Mebbe yo'll jus' step outside now we have got in!" Michael did not reply. "Now, come on!" continued the Sergeant kindly. "Sure, we don't want_ t' putt ye to army bother 1" "Oi'll not lave this house that oi wus born an' rared in," replied Michael, speaking in a slow, low voice. "Aw, now, what's the good o' bein' contrairy? . . ." "Oi wuk born an' rared in this house, me an' me father afor-e me. Oi brought me wife here thrum the town o' Strabane, an' me childher wur born here an' some o' them doied ! . . Oi'm an oul' man wi' not long t' live, an' oi'll not stir oura this fur no wan, the King o' Englan' nor you nor no wan!" "Oi wudden like t' have t' kexry ye out! ..." "Oi'll kick the loife oura the man that troies! . . ." The Sergeant became impatient. Tho crowd at th© door looked on' gleefully at his discomfiture. It was clear to him that the time for gentlenets had departed, and that he must assort his authority. "Come on, come on 1" he sai(? abruptly. "We can't wait here all night!" He put out his hand to take the old man by the shoulder, but Michael leaped to his feet and struck him violently in tho face. "Take thatl . . ." ho began, but got no further ; the policeman seized him and bora him, struggling bravely, towards the door. "Assault an' battery !" murmured the Sergeant, and tho next moment was wrestling with M'Clurg, the hot-tempexed. It was over quickly. M'GTurg had to be arrested ; Michael, now that he was actually out of the cottage, became strangely quiet; he sat' down on the earth wall that separated his cottage from the road, and spoke to the weeping ' women of the amazing deeds that had been done, and would again be done, by his big strong eon in America. "God help that man Flannery when me son comes homo again!" he eaid, whilst his cottage door was being barred againet him. . . He was sitting there when the policemen went away, nor did ho look up asi they passed by him* Ono by one his sympathisers disappeared down the loanin' or across the fields to their homes. He was welcome, they assured him, to come and stay with them for a while and have a bite o' somethin' to ate ; but he stayed on. The dusk descended over the fields, and pale mists settled on the hills. The black heights of the Sligo mountains became vague and lost themselves in the night. A curlew cried sorrowfully above his,, head. Hp sat jon, his hands, broken arid crinkled, folHed as they h^d been "when he sat before the firei he was waiting for his big; strong con v to come back from America.. — St. John G-. Ervine, in the Westminster Gazette.