The first-named class formed the only species of independent yeomanry
then existing in Ireland. They were the descendants of the small
grantees of Queen Elizabeth, Cromwell, and King William III. by their
confiscations; possessed about 200 or 300 acres of land each, in fee,
from the Crown;[32] and were occasionally admitted into the society of
better gentlemen—particularly hunters—living at other times amongst each
other, with an intermixture of their own servants, with whom they were
always on terms of intimacy. They generally had good clever horses,
which could leap over any thing, but seldom felt the trimming-scissors
or currycomb, unless they belonged to _jockey_ gentlemen. The riders
commonly wore buck-skin breeches, and boots well greased, (blacking was
never used in the country,) and carried large thong whips heavily loaded
with lead at the butt-end, so that they were always prepared either to
horsewhip a man or knock his brains out, as circumstances might dictate.
These half-mounted gentlemen exercised hereditarily the authority of
keeping the ground clear at horse-races, hurlings, and all public
meetings (as soldiers keep the lines at a review). Their business was to
ride round the inside of the ground, which they generally did with
becoming spirit, trampling over some, knocking down others, and slashing
every body who encroached on the proper limits. Bones being but very
_seldom_ broken, and skulls still seldomer fractured, every body
approved of their exertions, because all the by-standers gained thereby
a full view of the sport which was going forward. A shout of merriment
was always set up when a half-mounted gentleman knocked down an
interloper; and some of the _poets_ present, if they had an opportunity,
roared out their verses[33] by way of a song to encourage the gentlemen.
-----
Footnote 32:
Their ancestors had mostly been troopers in the English armies, and
were mingled amongst the Irish to _mend the breed_. They however soon
imbibed the peculiarities of the Irish character with an increased
ability to procure all its gratifications. In country sports they were
quite pre-eminent, except a few who took exclusively to farming and
drinking.
Footnote 33:
I recollect an example of those good-humoured madrigals. A poet,
called Daniel Bran, sang a stanza aloud, as he himself lay sprawling
on the grass, after having been knocked down with a loaded whip, and
ridden over, by old Squire Flood, who showed no mercy in the
“execution of his _duty_.”
“There was Despard so brave, (a soldier)
And that son of the wave, (a sailor)
And Tom Conway, the pride of the bower; (a farmer)
But noble Squire Flood
Swore, G—d d—n his blood!
But he’d drown them all in the Delower.”
-----
The second class, or gentlemen _every inch of them_, were of excellent
old families;—whose finances were not in so good order as they might
have been, but who were not the less popular amongst all ranks. They
were far above the first degree, somewhat inferior to the third; but had
great influence; were much beloved, and carried more sway at popular
elections and general county meetings than the other two classes put
together.
The third class, or gentlemen _to the back-bone_, were of the oldest
families and settlers, universally respected, and idolised by the
peasantry, although they also were generally a little out at elbows.
Their word was law; their nod would have immediately collected an army
of cottagers, or colliers, or whatever the population was composed of.
Men, women, and children, were always ready and willing to execute any
thing “the squire” required, without the slightest consideration as to
either its danger or propriety. The grand juries were selected from the
two last classes.[34]
-----
Footnote 34:
These distinct classes have for some years been gradually losing their
characteristic sharp points, and are now wearing fast away. The third
class have mostly emigrated, and, like the _wolf-dogs_, will soon be
extinct.
-----
A curious circumstance perhaps rendered my family peculiarly popular.
The common people had conceived the notion that the lord of
Cullenaghmore had a right to save a man’s life every summer assizes at
Maryborough; and it did frequently so happen, within my recollection,
that my father’s intercession in favour of some poor deluded creatures
(when the White Boy system was in activity) was kindly attended to by
the government; and, certainly, besides this number, many others of his
tenants owed their lives to similar interference. But it was wise in the
government to accede to such representations; since their concession
never failed to create such an influence in my father’s person over the
tenantry, that he was enabled to preserve them in perfect tranquillity,
whilst those surrounding were in a constant state of insubordination to
all law whatever. Hanging the Irish will never either reform their
morals, or thin their population.
I recollect a Mr. Tom Flinter, of Timahoe, one of the first-class
gentlemen, who had speculated in cows and sheep, and every thing he
could buy up, till his establishment was reduced to one blunt faithful
fellow, Dick Henesey, who stuck to him throughout all his vicissitudes.
Flinter had once on a time got a trifle of money, which was burning in
his greasy pocket, and he wanted to expend it at a neighbouring fair!
where his whole history, as well as the history of every man of his
half-mounted contemporaries, was told in a few verses,[35] by a fellow
called Ned the dog-stealer, but who was also a _great poet_, and resided
in the neighbourhood:—he was remarkably expert at both his trades.
-----
Footnote 35:
These lines were considered as a standing joke for many years in that
part of the country, and ran as follows:
Dialogue between Tom Flinter and his man.
TOM FLINTER. Dick! said he;
DICK HENESEY. What? said he;
TOM FLINTER. Fetch me my hat: says he;
For I will go, says he;
To Timahoe, says he;
To buy the fair, says he;
And all that’s there, says he.
DICK HENESEY. Arrah! _pay what you owe!_ said he;
And _then_ you may go, says he;
To Timahoe, says he;
To buy the fair, says he;
And all that’s there, says he.
TOM FLINTER. Well! by this and by that! said he;
Dick! Here, _hang up my hat_! said he.
-----
In travelling through Ireland, a stranger is very frequently puzzled by
the singular ways, and especially by the idiomatic equivocation,
characteristic of every Irish peasant. Some years back, more
particularly, these men were certainly originals—quite unlike any other
people whatever. Many an hour of curious entertainment has been afforded
me by their eccentricities; yet, though always fond of prying into the
remote sources of these national peculiarities, I must frankly confess
that, with all my pains, I never was able to develop half of them,
except by one sweeping observation; namely, that the brains and tongues
of the Irish are somehow differently formed or furnished from those of
other people. Phrenology may be a very good science; but the heads of
the Irish would puzzle the very best of its professors. Very few of
those belonging to the peasantry, indeed, leave the world in the same
shape they came into it. After twenty years of age, the _shillelah_
quite alters the natural formation, and leaves so many hills and hollows
upon their skulls, that the _organ_ of _fighting_ is the only one
discoverable to any certainty.
One general hint which I beg to impress upon all travellers in Hibernia,
is this: that if they show a disposition toward kindness, together with
a moderate familiarity, and _affect_ to be _inquisitive_, whether so or
not, the Irish peasant will outdo them tenfold in every one of these
dispositions. But if a man is haughty and overbearing, he had better
take care of himself.
I have often heard it remarked and complained of by travellers and
strangers, that they never could, when on a journey, get a true answer
from any Irish peasant as to _distances_. For many years I myself
thought it most unaccountable. If you meet a peasant on your road, and
ask him how far, for instance, to Ballinrobe, he will probably say it
is, “_three short_ miles!” You travel on, and are informed by the next
peasant you meet, “that it is _five long_ miles!” On you go, and the
next will tell “your honour” it is “a long _mile_, or about that same!”
The fourth will swear “if your honour stops at _three_ miles, you’ll
never get there!” But, on pointing to a town just before you, and
inquiring what place that is, he replies,
“Oh! plaze your honour, that’s Ballinrobe, sure enough!”
“Why you said it was more than _three_ miles off!”
“Oh yes! to be sure and sartain, that’s from my _own cabin_, plaze your
honour.—We’re no scholards in this country. Arrah! how can we tell any
distance, plaze your honour, but from our own _little cabins_? Nobody
but the schoolmaster knows that, plaze your honour.”
Thus is the mystery unravelled. When you ask any peasant the distance of
the place you require, he never computes it from where you _then are_,
but from his _own cabin_; so that, if you asked twenty, in all
probability you would have as many different answers, and not one of
them correct. But it is to be observed, that frequently you can get no
reply at all, unless you understand _Irish_.
In parts of Kerry and Mayo, however, I have met with peasants who speak
Latin not badly. On the election of Sir John Brown for the county of
Mayo, Counsellor Thomas Moore and I went down as his counsel. The
weather was desperately severe. At a solitary inn, where we were obliged
to stop for horses, we requested dinner; upon which, the waiter laid a
cloth that certainly exhibited every species of dirt ever invented. We
called, and remonstrating with him, ordered a clean cloth. He was a low
fat fellow, with a countenance perfectly immoveable, and seeming to have
scarcely a single muscle in it. He nodded, and on our return to the
room, (which we had quitted during the interval,) we found, instead of a
clean cloth, that he had only folded up the filthy one into the
thickness of a cushion, and replaced it with _great solemnity_. We now
scolded away in good earnest. He looked at us with the greatest
_sang-froid_, said sententiously, “_Nemo me impune lacessit!_” and
turned his back on us.
He kept his word; when we had proceeded about four miles in deep snow,
through a desperate night, and on a bleak bog-road, one of the wheels
came off the carriage, and down we went! We were at least three miles
from _any_ house. The driver cursed (in Irish) Michael the waiter, who,
he said, “had put a _bran new_ wheel upon the carriage, which had turned
out to be an _old_ one, and had broken to pieces. It must be the devil,”
continued he, “that changed it. Bad luck to you, Michael the waiter, any
how! He’s nothin else but a treacherous blackguard, plaze your honour!”
We had to march through the snow to a wretched cottage, and sit up all
night in the chimney corner, covered with ashes and smoke, and in
company with one of the travelling fools who are admitted and welcomed
for _good luck_ in every cabin, whilst a genuine _new wheel_ was got
ready for the morning.
The Irish peasant, also, never, if he can avoid it, answers any question
_directly_: in some districts, if you ask where such a gentleman’s house
is, he will point and reply, “Does your honour see that large house
there, all amongst the trees, with a green field before it?”—You answer,
“Yes.” “Well,” says he, “plaze your honour that’s _not it_. But do you
see the big brick house, with the cow-houses by the side of that same,
and a pond of water?—you can’t see the ducks, becaze they are always
diving, plaze your honour.”
“Yes.”
“Well, your honour, _that’s_ not it. But, if you plaze, look quite to
the right of that same house, and you’ll see the top of a castle amongst
the trees there, with a road going down to it betune the bushes,—and a
damn’d bad road, too, for either a beast or his master!”
“Yes.”
“Well, plaze your honour, _that’s not it_ neither—but if your honour
will come down this bit of a road a couple of miles, I’ll show it you
_sure enough_—and if your honour’s in a hurry, I can run on _hot
foot_,[36] and tell the squire your honour’s _galloping after_ me. Ah!
who shall I tell the squire, plaze your honour, is coming to see
him?—he’s my own landlord, God save his honour day and night!”
-----
Footnote 36:
A figurative expression for “with all possible _speed_”—used by the
Irish peasants: by taking short cuts, and fairly hopping along, a
young peasant would beat any good traveller.
-----
Their superstitions are very whimsical. On returning from the election
of Mayo, I asked a fellow who was trotting away by the side of the
carriage, and every now and then giving a long hop, to show us his
agility—(twisting his shillelah over his head like a whirligig)—“if he
was going far that night.”
“Ough! no, no, plaze your honour; it is me that would not go far in this
country, these times, after sunset—oh, no, no!”
Fancying he alluded to robbers, I did not feel comfortable:—“And pray,
friend,” said I, “why not?”
“I’ll tell your honour that:—becaze, plaze your honour, all the ould
people say that the devil comes out of Castlebar after sun-down, to look
for prey, from the day the Virgin was delivered till Candlemas eve, and
all the priests can’t do nothing against him in this quarter. But he’s
never seen no more the same year till the holly and ivy drive him out of
all the chapels and towns again coming Christmas—and that’s the truth,
and nothing else, plaze your honour’s honour!”