Liam O'Flaherty - Land

She looked at Raoul and added, with tears in her eyes:

“I’m sorry that I failed you so miserably.”

“Not a word more, Lizzie,” Raoul said with feeling as he hurried to her.

He bowed low over her hand.

“You are a tower of strength to me,” he said. “It was most gracious of you to have suffered such annoyance for my sake. I didn’t for a moment expect you to succeed in getting him to denounce the plot. On the other hand, I am now certain that his henchmen are going to act to-morrow. It’s always good to be forewarned.”

He turned towards Father Francis and said briskly:

“I still have one more card to play. I’m going to play it to-morrow, before they can remove me from the Committee.” Michael had been leaning against the back of the sofa, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Now he sat forward abruptly, put his clenched fists on his knees and looked intently at Raoul.

“Let me deal with the leaders of this faction,” he said. “I assure you that I’ll bring them to their senses at once. They’ll make no further trouble.”

“By force?” Raoul said.

Michael did not reply.

“I absolutely forbid you to do anything of the sort,” Raoul said after a pause. “You would only make matters worse. The vast majority of the people now side with Father Costigan. All the members of the Committee, except one, are opposed to me. It’s no longer a small faction with which we are confronted. Tomorrow the people of Manister intend to depose me and elect Father Costigan as chairman.”

“Why allow the Committee to meet to-morrow?” Michael said. “I could attend to them to-night. To-morrow we could nominate trustworthy men to take their place.”

“That would be substituting one form of tyranny for another,” said Raoul.

Michael jumped to his feet. He stood erect and motionless, in front of the sofa. His face darkened.

“I don’t understand you,” he said in a low voice.

“I told you at our first conference in my study,” Raoul said, “that the support of the whole people is necessary for the successful isolation of Captain Butcher.”

“We have that support,” Michael said. “Our orders have been obeyed so far, with very few exceptions. Those who disobeyed were quickly brought to their senses.”

“The support must be voluntary and enthusiastic,” Raoul said. “One can enforce obedience for a time by means of the knout and the torch and the gun, but not for long. Especially when the enemy is also practising the same kind of violence, with immeasurably greater resources.”

“That is not what you have taught me,” Michael said. “You have taught me that discipline must be enforced ruthlessly on the many by the few.”

“Granted,” said Raoul, “but I have not taught you that it can be imposed without authority from the people. I have maintained, and I still maintain it, that the many must grant authority to enforce discipline to the few, before it can be enforced.”

Michael walked stiff-legged towards Raoul. He did not come to a halt until he was quite close. Then he crossed his arms on his chest. He was still looking intently at Raoul.

“The people have granted that authority,” he said quietly.

“To-morrow they will withdraw it,” Raoul said.

“They have no right to do so,” Michael said. “Once an enemy has been engaged in battle, nobody has a right to turn back. Nobody has a right to turn coward.”

They stared at one another in silence for a long time. There was a feeling of great tension in the room.

“What card do you intend playing to-morrow?” Michael said at length.

Elizabeth rose hurriedly and went over to the sofa. She sat down and took Lettice by the hand. Lettice had turned very pale. She was staring at the floor with her lips parted.

“I’m going to get myself arrested for making a seditious speech,” Raoul said.

“Why?” said Michael.

“As a last effort to win the people over to our side,” Raoul said. “It will be difficult to denounce a man who is in jail as Antichrist and an enemy of the people.”

“That is a trick,” Michael said. “We set out to teach the people how to become soldiers. We can’t teach them by such tricks as that.”

“It has always been permissible in war,” Raoul said, “to meet guile with guile.”

“If you go to jail,” Michael said, “Father Costigan will become chairman of the Committee.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Raoul. “He has the people with him. All we can try to do is to make him adopt as much as possible of our programme. It’s not we who are important, but our programme.”

“You mean to say that I must obey him if he is elected chairman,” Michael said.

“I’m afraid so,” said Raoul.

Michael stared in silence for a little while.

“In future,” he said at length, “I’m not going to take orders from anyone. I’ve lost confidence in you and I consider Father Costigan to be a contemptible shyster. I’m going to finish what we began, in my own way.”

“Very well, Michael,” Raoul said calmly. “I have just one favour to ask of you.”

“What is it?” Michael said.

“Do nothing for twenty-four hours,” Raoul said. “Allow me to make my statement in public to-morrow.”

“Agreed,” Michael said.

Then he turned away and strode quickly to the door.

“Michael!” Lettice cried as she got to her feet.

He halted by the door and looked at her. She came running across the floor. She halted when she was still a little distance away from him. She stood with her feet close together and her hands drawn straight down her sides, like a timid little girl.

“May I come with you?” she said softly.

He shook his head. His face showed no emotion.

“You remember what I told you after the storm?” he said tenderly.

She nodded.

“I must go alone,” he said.

“I understand,” Lettice whispered.

Michael turned and passed out of the room.

“He who sows the wind,” Raoul said as he put his fingers to the tip of his beard, “reaps the whirlwind.”

The village square looked desolate. All night there had been a high wind accompanied by intermittent squalls of heavy rain. Now the autumn glory of the trees was spent. The gaily coloured leaves, to which capricious Nature had given such beauty at their hour of death, were torn from the branches. The rain-darkened trunks looked all forlorn in their unaccustomed nakedness. The houses, too, were sombre and unkempt after the gale. There were dirty tracks down their painted walls. The ground was dotted with pools of stagnant water on which dead leaves floated. Up above in the grey sky, the pale lack-lustre face of the sun kept peeping from behind the torn clouds as it rolled west.

Shortly before noon, Tim Ahearn brought a horse and cart into the square. The village carpenter was with him. They halted near the monument and lowered a small wooden platform from the cart. They placed it carefully in position on a level spot. It was four feet high and it had steps up one side. The carpenter climbed on top of it and stamped with both feet, to make sure that it was properly balanced. Then he nodded to Ahearn and came down.

At that moment, Sergeant Geraghty approached and said gruffly:

“What’s that thing you have there?”

“It’s a platform,” Ahearn said.

“What are you going to do with it?” the sergeant said.

The carpenter looked furtively at Geraghty. Then he nodded again to Ahearn and walked away quickly towards his house. He was obviously glad to be rid of a dangerous association.

“How long are you going to leave it here?” the sergeant said to Ahearn.

“My master told me to tell you,” Ahearn said, scratching his forehead slowly, “that this platform is a personal convenience he intends to use within the hour, that it’s not obstructing the public thoroughfare and that you have no authority to interfere with it.”