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Hunted

Chapter II. Pleading for Mercy

Chapter II. Pleading for Mercy.

Next morning William Dillon was up betimes, and with the energy born of a new day, he had emerged from the cloud of despondency of the previous night; he even felt buoyant with the hope that he would combat the difficulty by which he was beset. He determined that he would make every effort to stay the sentence of exile from his home, and with this object he adhered to the conviction that his first and wisest course was to proceed to town and see the agent at once, to assure himself of the position of affairs, and if necessary, to try and persuade him to make an exception in the case of his farm.

In this he was confirmed by the opinion of his wife, who, with her faith in the inherent goodness of human nature, could not believe that the agent, on the case being presented to him, would persist in the determination to deprive them of a home, in which the family of her husband had resided for generations, maintaining a character for integrity and a position of high esteem, not only with the landlord and successive agents of the estate, but among the entire population of the district.

When, therefore, Dillon mounted his horse and bade good-bye to his wife, it was with considerable confidence that his mission would be successful. It was the monthly fair in the county town, and as Dillon proceeded on his way, he passed throngs of country men and women proceeding in the same direction, who respectfully saluted him as he passed, according to the fashion of the country. For though Dillon neither in race nor religion was related to them, there had always been in the district a high respect for his family, and for the young farmer himself, because of the warm sympathy he had always shown for the trials and sufferings of his humbler neighbours.

On reaching the town he found that the news of his being included in the general eviction had spread, and many were the expressions of regret with which the people gathered around him. Determined, however, to know the worst, he proceeded, as soon as he had put up his horse at the inn, to the office of the estate.

It was a large building of cold grey stone, having more the appearance of a prison than of a place of business. Indeed, portion of it was occupied by the constabulary, and in a small room within it, justice was periodically dispensed by Captain Lewis and his brother justices, so that the alliance between property and authority was significantly impressed on the minds of the population.

There were few people in the street as Dillon approached, as if a sense of awe kept the crowds aloof, but he could not help noticing a little group standing on the steps leading up to the door of the office; it consisted of an old man and his wife, and apparently their son, to whom they were communicating their advice as to how he should deport himself in the coming interview with the great man.

They were of the humblest of the peasantry, but there was an air of decency and page 5 respectability about them that excited Dillon's interest. The nervous excitement and flushed face of the young fellow showed that he had no relish for the ordeal he was about to pass, but from the anxiety of the aged and venerable pair it was apparent that much was considered to depend on the impression he should make. While from time to time in his nervousness the young man removed his cap and brushed his hair with his hand, the mother continued to improve his simple toilet by fixing his neckerchief, or whisking some imaginary dust off his coat with her handkerchief, and the old man, with anxiety depicted on every feature, explained and impressed on his son the details of the case to be submitted.

Dillon's heart sickened within him at the sight, and at the thought of such agony inflicted on any human creature by the prospect of having to approach into the presence of a fellow being. He stood aside, unwilling to interrupt the proceedings, and as the young man entered, he watched the old couple standing as if transfixed, with heads bowed, as if seeking to catch something of what was proceeding within.

Whatever the nature of the interview it was a brief one, and when in a few moments the door opened and the young man came out, it was evident from the look of silent distress with which the whole party walked away, that the result had not been satisfactory.

On Dillon entering he found the agent seated at a table, with his attention fixed on some documents before him. For some minutes he stood before him without being noticed, when at length Captain Lewis, without raising his eyes, said ‘Well, Dillon, what do you want with me?’

The young farmer narrated what he had heard, that it was intended to take his farm from him, and to send him away from a home which had been occupied by his forefathers through many generations. He went on to say that they had at all times endeavoured to prove themselves good tenants and had never given any trouble in respect of their rent.

Captain Lewis listened in silence as if absorbed in the contents of the papers before him. ‘It was true,’ he remarked, ‘it had been determined in the interest of the estate that certain arrangements should be carried out, and these unfortunately did involve the taking of the farm, as well as a number of others. It might seem hard, but he had a duty to perform for Lord Errington, and for the improvement of the estate, and he could not allow other considerations to interfere with it.

‘I should be very sorry to stand in the way of the interests of the estate,’ said Dillon; ‘nor could I expect you, sir, to prejudice those interests. But I am sure I can count on your sympathy when I appeal to you in behalf of a young family dependent on me to whom the blow will be disastrous; in fact I do not know where I am to turn or what I am to do, if I am in present circumstances deprived of the farm, and my children of a home. Season after season has been bad, and the result has been to deprive me of all the little means I had, so that I am in a worse position now than ever I was in my life before, for meeting such a calamity.’

‘That may be all true, Dillon, and I have no doubt it is, but if I were to attend to such pleas it would bring the whole of my plans for the improvement of the estate to a standstill. You are a young man in the prime of life, and you can easily make a living any where—far more so than many others I am obliged to evict. But these are considerations that I cannot permit to stand in the way of the improvement of the estate. It has been allowed to get into a dreadful condition, overrun with a swarm of paupers who are only struggling to eke ont a wretched livelihood, doing no good for themselves, and paying nothing to their landlord.’

‘This cannot be said of me, Captain Lewis, nor of my family. We have been faithful to our obligations, and we have all received much consideration from the Errington family, as well as from your predecessors who had the management of the property, and I think that in the circumstances an exception might be made in my case. Indeed I can hardly think that if Lord Errington was aware of it, this harsh treatment would be inflicted.’

‘You have no reason for thinking so; his lordship in no way inteferes with my management of the property; and whom I have resolved on a certain course, I am accustomed to carry it through. It is part of my plans for improving the value of the estate, that I take your farm, as I am taking others to convert them into large pastoral properties, and to take it I am resolved, and there is no use in bandying words about it. You have heard my decision.’

‘Well, sir, it is hard, very hard, but if your decision is formed, I would only ask that you give me a little time, a year or so, that I may make arrangements and see where I am to take my family.’

‘That I cannot do. I want to clear the country, and you must go with the rest. We have had quite enough on the subject. Good-day.’

‘Sir, I have been born and lived my lifetime on the estate, and I am compelled to say that your management is not after the traditions of the Errington family, and if—’

‘Dillon, I've had enough of this. How dare you, sir, to come to my office to lecture me in this fashion?’—then turning to one of the bailiffs—‘Porter, see that this farm is cleared as quickly as the forms of law will allow, and further see that everything on the farm is at once seized for the rent now due, page 6 and that not a hoof or a stick of furniture is removed till my claim is satisfied. Leave this office, sir.’

‘Captain Lewis,’ said Dillon, calmly, ‘I shall leave your office; I shall leave your farm; there is no reason for your getting into such excitement. You know that you can crush me, and I know that you will; and it is unmanly—even though you are a soldier, I say it—for you to increase the harshness of the act, by the violence of your words. You are doing this, as you are doing many another cruel thing on the estate, on your own responsibility, and without the will of Lord Errington. You are doing as no other agent did before, and if there is a God in heaven you will be punished for it. Sit down, Captain Lewis, and hear me: I am not threatening you; I know that you will do your worst, but though you do your worst, you cannot prevent me from giving free expression to my opinion as to the cruelties you have been por-petrating on the unfortunate tenantry, cruelties which, if they were only known, would find no sympathy with any one with a drop of the blood of the Erringtons flowing in his veins. You have driven tenants to their death; under your own orders they have been left to sicken and die and rot by the wayside; and the blood of your murdered victims is crying for vengeance from the ground. That cry for vengeance will not rise to heaven in vain, and as sure as God is true and heaven is just, God's vengeance will fall on your head.’

The agent cowered under the torrent of invective and denunciation, and a spell of horror seemed to rest on bailiffs and clerks, and to strike them silent as Dillon calmly turned and walked out of the office.

When the cool air fell on his heated brow the young farmer felt aghast at what he had done. He turned rapidly into a side street, that in its comparative privacy he might gather his thoughts and reflect on the scene from which he had just emerged. He could not upbraid himself with having done a wrong thing, but there was a revulsion of feeling when he thought of the consequences that would be sure to 'ensue from his violence.

That he could not have altered the determination of Captain Lewis to seize all he possessed, to turn him and his family out into the highways, he felt fully convinced, and that conciliatory language would have been thrown away on him; but then, while he could not repress a certain feeling of exultation at the agent having been compelled for once in his life to hear the honest truth, his heart sank within him as he thought of the loved ones at home and the pitiless treatment to which they, as well as himself, would be subjected if they only came within the power of the tyrant. The look of startled fear in the agent's face as he denounced him as a murderer presented itself in such an aspect to him that he could not repress his sense of the ludicrous, but he knew that the tyrant was only momentarily baffled, and that his rage would blaze forth with all the greater fierceness.

As the flush of excitement passed away, he felt that his action had been indiscreet, and that in giving way to his indignation he had brought suffering on those he loved. But there was no use in regrets; what he had done was beyond help, and his duty was to meet the trouble in its aggravated form and overcome it in the best way he could.