Liam O'Flaherty - Land

“Stand back there,” Cleary shouted as he forced his way into the Hall from the doorway. “I have a suggestion to make and I think it’s a good one.”

He was an elderly man, of large and bony frame, with a bald head and drooping white moustaches. He was a highly respected parishioner, so the people made way for him.

“Here is what I propose,” he said, after having reached the platform. “O’Dwyer can’t be found. McNamara doesn’t want the job of chairman. He’s not fitted for it, in any case, no more than I am myself. Yet we must find a chairman at once, or we’ll have no Committee, and Father Costigan will have a good laugh at our expense. So will every parish in the county. We’ll be a proper laughing-stock if we go home now without electing a Committee. Do we want to be a laughing-stock and a show-board?”

“No,” the people cried. “We want to elect a Committee, same as every other parish.”

“Then, I think I have found our man,” Cleary said, “the only man that could do the trick, an educated man and a true friend of the people, judging by recent events. I refer to Mr. Raoul Henry St. George.”

This statement was received in silence. At first the people looked surprised. Then they looked suspicious. As Lettice had remarked to Elizabeth, they had recently come to like Raoul for the help he had given O’Dwyer. That liking was a far cry, however, from wanting to make him their leader. Hatred of the St. George family had become part of their nature through centuries of oppression. One man’s change of heart was not sufficient to suddenly eradicate that hatred.

McNamara overcame their repugnance by his enthusiasm. The shopkeeper was not a party, at least for this moment, to the common hatred. Just now he was so anxious to escape once more, into obscurity and contempt, that he would gladly advocate making the Devil himself leader.

“Three cheers for Mr. St. George,” he screamed with savage energy, as he swung his hat above his head. “Hip! Hip!”

The people hesitated for a minute fraction of a second. Then they succumbed to the little man’s frenzy and broke into a cheer. Learning what had been decided, those out in the square also cheered wildly. The popular enthusiasm for Raoul was all the more abandoned because of the original revulsion caused by his name.

McNamara, Cleary and a fisherman called Hernon were chosen as a deputation. The whole throng formed into a column for the march to Manister Lodge behind these three men. Again there was singing of revolutionary songs. Indeed, the choice of an aristocrat as their leader gave some men such courage that they cursed the police out loud and brandished their sticks at the barracks.

The throng had crossed the square and was approaching the little bridge leading to the gate of Manister Lodge when Raoul and his daughter came into sight. The column halted at once. After a short whispered consultation, the deputation was allowed to proceed alone. The three men came up with Raoul and Lettice at the very centre of the little wooden bridge.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Raoul said, raising his hat.

He looked worried and surprised. Annie Fitzpatrick had brought him news of the disturbance during Mass. Furious because O’Dyer’s mysterious absence had upset his carefully laid plans, he set out for the village at once with Lettice, in order to discover what exactly had happened.

“Mr. St. George,” McNamara said, “we have a favour to ask of you.”

“A favour?” Raoul said.

“We want to elect a Committee, sir,” McNamara continued. “There are Committees being set up all over the county, to deal with the terrible emergency that faces the people. We have to fight the landlords or starve, so we must organise. Father Costigan refuses to lead us. The Archbishop has turned the clergy against us. Michael O’Dwyer was leading us until to-day. Now he has disappeared, without hair or hide of him to be seen anywhere. So we are left staggering about, like a hen without a head. In the heel of the hunt, Mr. St. George …”

“We came to you,” Cleary interrupted, “as it’s only fit and proper that we should.”

“Take command,” the whole throng shouted, beginning to move closer to the bridge. “We want you as our leader.”

“You see how it is, sir,” said McNamara. “It would be a noble act of charity, if a fine gentleman like yourself, a true friend of the people, stepped into the empty breach and defended the parish of Manister against another famine. Your father, Lord have mercy on his soul, did his best when we were stricken before …”

“He did, ’faith,” an old woman shouted, “and more power to his memory. He went from door to door, giving bite and sup to the needy, while his own empty belly was screeching with the hunger.”

There was tense silence after the old woman had spoken. Raoul stared at the crumbling planks of the old bridge. His upper lip trembled. Then Lettice touched him on the sleeve. He looked at his daughter. She was smiling and nodding her head eagerly.

“You really think I should?” Raoul whispered to her.

“Please, Father,” she said, gripping his arm tensely.

Her face was radiant. Raoul had to swallow a lump in his throat, as her joy forced itself upon him.

“I accept the honour with the greatest of pleasure,” he said, bowing low to the deputation.

The whole throng rushed on to the little bridge with frenzied shouts. Cleary threw himself in front of them and stretched out his arms.

“Keep back,” he cried. “This old bridge is falling to pieces. It will break under the strain.”

Ignoring his appeals, the crowd kept pressing forward. Then the railing snapped. There was a cry of fright. A young man was hurtling down into the stream beneath when a neighbour grabbed him. Frightened by this incident, the people allowed themselves to be driven back on to the road. Raoul and Lettice then advanced, amid a scene of extraordinary enthusiasm.

An elderly man knelt before Raoul bareheaded.

“Lord!” he said, pressing Raoul’s hand to his forehead. “May God give you noble addition.”

Women crowded round Lettice and kissed her hand.

“May God give you noble addition,” they said to her, bowing low.

Lettice received these marks of homage with solemn dignity, as if she had been accustomed to them all her life. Raoul, on the contrary, seemed to be overcome. He was trembling and there were tears in his eyes.

The people marched back to the Hall behind Raoul and Lettice. Now they marched solemnly and in silence, as if conscious of a new dignity. Order had once more been restored in their lives, after a brief moment of frightening anarchy.

A light breeze swept up from the sea through the garden, breaking the warm stillness of the afternoon. There was a violent fluttering of leaves. Blossoms came adrift.

Elizabeth straightened her back and took a deep breath, to enjoy the delicious fragrance that had been set in motion by the wind. She had been working steadily among the fruit trees for the past two hours. Now she felt pleasantly tired and content.

She looked out over the sea. Tiny islands dotted the surface of the water for about a mile from shore. Farther out there were larger islands, some of them inhabited. A little while ago, the smoke from the houses out there stood against the misty blue wall of the horizon like slender trees. Now the wind had begun to play with the columns of smoke, twisting them into fantastic shapes.

She was about to resume her work when she caught sight of Tim Ahearn coming along the rough wagon road that ran between the brick wall of the garden and the pebbled shore.

“Could I have a word with you, miss?” he shouted to her, while still some distance away.