Liam O'Flaherty - Land

“Quite an interesting theory,” Fenton said irritably.

“With me it’s not a theory,” Butcher said, “but an article of faith.”

“Really?” said Fenton.

“England is already beginning to rot at the core,” Butcher continued with heat. “Since the capitalists got into the saddle, Liberals and Radicals have become all-powerful in the Government. Because of them, Fenton, you and I are obliged to fight rebellion with one hand tied behind our backs. We can’t deal with the Irish in the way Roberts is dealing with the Afghans and Chelmsford with the Zulus. No, sir. If we show the least sign of undue severity, as the Liberals put it, there is a rumpus in Parliament. Why? Because the Irish peasant now has a vote. Furthermore, he is a customer for English manufactured goods. The capitalists coddle him and fight the Irish landlords, because they want all the peasant’s money in exchange for their goods. They are opposed to land rents, the payment of which curtails the peasant’s purchasing power. Do you follow me, Fenton?”

“What has all this got to do with O’Dwyer?” Fenton said insolently.

“It has this to do with it,” Butcher said. “In dealing with O’Dwyer we have to use cunning. Otherwise, the Liberals are going to pounce on us.”

“I’m afraid that I disagree,” Fenton said. “The essence of English law, like the Roman, is impartial justice.”

“Good Heavens!” Butcher cried in horror. “You are talking like a Liberal yourself.”

“Nothing criminal about being a Liberal,” Fenton said in a low voice.

“What?” Butcher shouted, purple in the face. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not in the habit of being flippant,” Fenton said.

Although he spoke quietly and seemed to be in complete control of himself, he was really getting terribly afraid of Butcher. He found it increasingly difficult to breathe. He tugged at the collar of his uniform, in an effort to give himself more air.

Butcher glared in silence at his guest for a while. There was hatred in his little grey eyes. Then he suddenly assumed a cordial expression once more.

“Let’s forget about the damn thing,” he said heartily. “Let me tell you about this hole in my buttock. As you may know, I bought this property from Marcus St. George in 1852. In the previous year I had married and become agent for Lord Mongoole’s Clash estate. There was complete chaos at the time, after the great famine. Peasants were still dying in droves. Others were emigrating. Properties were being auctioned. Having a little money on hand—I had married well—I bought Manister. Unlike other Englishmen that were buying Irish land at the time, I had no ambition to become a foxhunting loafer. As I said before, I come of yeoman stock. I love land. Just to possess it is a passion with me. In addition, I’m no fool in business matters. I could see how things were going. With industry developing in England at a colossal pace, a man didn’t have to be a wizard in order to see that rural Ireland would become England’s cattle market. So I decided to clear Manister of peasants and raise cattle. Most of the new English landowners were doing the same thing. I ran into opposition at once. It was really astonishing. The number of Irish people had been reduced by three millions in a few years, through hunger and fever, yet they continued to resist. They fought us tooth and nail. How do you explain it, Fenton? Is it courage or sheer obstinacy?”

Fenton shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. He was bored with the recital.

“John O’Dwyer was leader of the tenants on my estate,” Butcher continued. “Curiously enough, he was not a peasant. The O’Dwyers were shipbuilders in Clash for centuries, a wealthy family at one time. The famine ruined them, as it did nearly everybody else. He was just a natural leader, I suppose, so he took command, finding a number of fellows eager to fight and in search of a leader. It was a pity that he had a kink in him, turning him into a rebel. He would have made a fine soldier. He was the type, fearless and coolheaded. He put up a good fight against me. Then I got a confederate among his followers and that was the end of O’Dwyer.”

He smiled broadly and cracked the thumb of his left hand against the third finger.

“But he nearly got you, judging by that hole,” said Fenton viciously.

Butcher chuckled as he rubbed his large hands together.

“I had to take that chance,” he said.

“How do you mean?” said Fenton.

“I laid a trap for him,” Butcher said.

“Really?” said Fenton with mounting indignation. “You mean to say that you arranged the ambush?”

“I even bought the blunderbuss,” Butcher said.

He again smiled and rubbed his hands together.

“I see,” said Fenton. “You mean to lay another trap. Is that it?”

“Exactly,” said Butcher. “Otherwise, it would be impossible to hang O’Dwyer. There is not enough evidence to place before a jury for a conviction. You know very well that it’s no longer possible to pack a jury. The Liberals have stopped all that.”

“I take it that you sent for me,” Fenton continued slowly, “because you want my co-operation.”

“I’ve always had an understanding with the Constabulary officers in my district,” Butcher said.

“What if I am an exception to this rule?” Fenton said.

“I can be a very hard man when crossed,” Butcher said. “I have very considerable influence in the county.”

“Are you threatening me?” Fenton said.

“Threatening you?” said Butcher. “What an idea! Come now. I’m asking you to do nothing extraordinary.”

“Then why don’t you say what you want?” said Fenton. “Why do you beat about the bush?”

Butcher stretched out his legs to their full length under the bedclothes and sighed.

“For twelve long months,” he said bitterly, “I’ve been going about in a steel waistcoat, accompanied by a bloodhound and body-servants, waiting for that ruffian to shoot. I’ve felt humiliated day and night, every moment of that time. I’m determined to make him suffer for every moment of my humiliation. Every moment. Do you understand? I’m going to take no chance of his escaping me. I am determined to see him die, swinging from the end of a rope. You understand?”

Becoming more and more frightened, Fenton struggled hard against submitting. He knew instinctively that Butcher’s proposal, whatever it was, would degrade him.

“I have never done anything irregular during my time in the service,” he said harshly.

Butcher finally lost his temper completely with his victim. He looked Fenton straight in the eyes with the fixity of a pointer dog.

“I’m afraid that you don’t understand me yet, Fenton,” he said in a menacing tone.

Fenton shuddered. Now he was more than frightened. He was mortally terrified. At this instant he understood everything. He knew why the landowner had been so kind to him ever since his arrival in the district six months previously. He understood why so many opportunities for being along with Barbara had been put his way. He knew that he had been deliberately led into a trap. Flight now seemed to him the most desirable thing in the world. He had to keep his feet pressed hard against the floor, in order to conceal the trembling of his knees.

Butcher was now looking at the far wall. He seemed to have sunk into a reverie. There was dead silence in the room. The silence was like a weight pressing against Fenton’s chest. It became unendurable. He gasped, swallowed his breath and sat forward abruptly in his chair, staring at Butcher intently.

“What do you want me to do?” he cried in a shrill tone.

Now it was apparent that Butcher had not been sunk in a reverie. He turned sharply towards Fenton with a smile of triumph on his face.