O'Keefe, an old man of seventy, was the spokesman, and said:—
'If you plase, sorr, we have the rint in our pocket, and would be glad to pay it if it were not for the fear that we have of being shot.'
To my lasting regret, I replied:—
'There is no danger. You must pay.'
They did, and on the Sunday week following, a band of marauders, headed by fife and drum, went to the houses of these men, and shot them in the presence of their families. All the flesh on the lower part of O'Keefe's legs was shot away, one of the Cronins was shot in the knee, but the other in the body.
Everybody in the neighbourhood knew the perpetrators of this ghastly outrage, but said:—
'What use would there be in our telling, as the jury would acquit them, and we should be shot?'
Then came this announcement, which caused great excitement in Killarney:—
'In consequence of the difficulty of getting his rents, the Earl of Kenmare has decided to leave the country for the present. All the labourers employed on the estate are discharged, as well as some of the gamekeepers.'
My own opinion was that he showed great wisdom in abandoning the ungrateful locality where only man, debased by the Land League, was vile.