value my
life more than my money, and more especially do I think of those
belonging to me. Suppose I held on, and kept the land. Every time the
lad went out I'd expect him to be brought in shot to his mother and
me. And when I saw the lad's dead face, what would I think? And what
would I say when his mother turned round and said, 'Ye have the land,
haven't ye, William?' Our lives would not be worth twopence if I held
on. Do you remember Carey, the informer? The British Empire couldn't
protect him, though it shipped him across the world. How would I be
among the mountains here? I could be shot going to or coming from
market, my cattle houghed or mutilated, nobody would buy from me,
nobody would sell to me, nobody would work on my farm. My stacks would
be burnt. Look at the hay burnt in the last few weeks! You say I'd get
a presentment against the county--and if I did I'd have to wait till
next March for the money. Where's the capital to carry on? Suppose I
wanted thirty tons of hay between this and that. That would cost L90.
Where would I get the money? But that's not it. Life is dear, and life
might at any moment be taken. If my stacks were burnt in July I'd have
to wait a year for my money. I'd be cut off from all communication
with the people, and shunned as if I'd the plague. If I went to market
the people would leave the road to me, would cross over to the other
side when they saw me coming. You never saw boycotting; you don't know
what it means."

In a lonely stretch of gorse-bordered road, steep and rough, I came
upon two members of the Royal Irish Constabulary, with rifles,
sword-bayonets, and batons. We had a chat, and I examined their short
Sniders while they admired the humble Winchester I carried for
company, and which on one occasion had acted like a charm. They
carried buckshot cartridges and ball, and had no objection to express
their views. "Balfour was the man to keep the country quiet. Two
resident magistrates could convict, and the blackguards knew that, if
caught, it was all up with them. They are the most cowardly vermin on
the face of the earth, for although if any of our men (who never go
singly, but always in twos or threes) were to appear unarmed, they'd
be murdered at sight. Yet although they often fire on us, they mostly
do it from such distances that their bullets have no effect, so that
they can run away the moment they pull the trigger. Lately things have
been looking rather blue over ther