Election for County Mayo—Author and Counsellor Moore at Ballinrobe—Mr.
Dan Martin’s “little paved parlour”—Preparations for a festive
breakfast—A formidable incursion—Counsellor Moore laid
prostrate—Advance of the foe—The two barristers take up an elevated
position—Disappearance of the various eatables—General
alarm—Dislodgment of the enemy—Mr. Dan Martin’s comments upon the
“affair”—_Secrets_ worth Knowing—All’s Well that Ends Well.
The following is almost too trifling an anecdote to be recorded; but, as
it characterises place, time, and people, and is besides of a novel
description, I cannot deny myself the pleasure of relating it. The
period at which it occurred was that of the Mayo election alluded to in
the last sketch.
After some days of hard labour, bad food, worse wine, and no
tranquillity, Mr. Martin (I think that was his name), the owner of an
alehouse in our interest, told us with great glee, he had got in a few
loaves of good white bread and a paper of tea from Castlebar, fit for
the chancellor—together with fresh eggs and new milk; and that if we
would vouchsafe to put up with his own “little paved parlour,” we should
have a roaring fire, capital buttered toast, and, in short, every thing
to our satisfaction, one meal _any how_; it was God’s curse and a
thousand pities he had nothing better for the “dear counsellors;” but
there was to be a fine slip of a pig killed in the town that night by a
friend of his own, and we might have a beautiful griskin next morning
broiled to our liking.
My friend Moore and I were delighted at the announcement of a
comfortable breakfast (for some time a stranger to us), and immediately
went into the little paved parlour, where every thing was soon in full
array according to Mr. Daniel Martin’s promises. The turf fire glowed
fit to roast an ox; abundance of hot buttered toast was quickly placed
before it; plenty of new-laid eggs appeared—some boiled, some poached; a
large saucepan with hot water was bubbling on the ashes; our tea was
made (as the tea-pot leaked) in a potsheen-jug; and every thing appeared
in the most proper state to _feast_ two lately _half-fed_ Dublin
barristers (as they called us). My mouth watered, Moore licked his lips,
and we never sat down to the sensual enjoyment of the palate with more
_goût_ or satisfaction than in Mr. Martin’s “little paved parlour.”
It seemed as if nothing short of an earthquake (perhaps not even that)
could have disappointed us. But I do not recollect any incident during a
long life so completely verifying the old aphorism of “Many a slip
between the cup and the lip.” During our happy state of anticipation,
rather a loud rap was heard:—I was just in the act of cracking the shell
of an egg, with my back to the door, and cried out, “Come in! come in!”
Nobody entered; but another and still louder rap succeeded. My friend,
not being at that instant so busily occupied as I, stepped to the door,
with the purpose of telling whoever it might be to “call again” in half
an hour. I meanwhile proceeded with my egg; when I heard Moore, who was
not in the habit of using imprecations, cry out piteously, “Oh! blood
and oons!” and his exclamation was accompanied by a crash that alarmed
me. On turning rapidly round, to aid him in any possible emergency, I
saw my companion extended on the floor, his heels kicked up in the air,
and eight or ten young _pigs_ making the best of their way over the
counsellor’s prostrate body with great vivacity. Their _mother_, with
divers deep and savage grunts, snorting, and catching the air through
her enormous proboscis, took her way round the other side of the room,
and effectually cut us off both from the door and our weapons on the
breakfast-table. This manœuvre certainly would have daunted much greater
heroes than either of us pretended to be; and I doubt if there is a
field-marshal in the service either of his Britannic or Most Christian
Majesty who would have felt himself quite at ease under similar
circumstances.
We had no retreat: the foe had anticipated us, and appeared both able
and willing to slaughter us for the sake of her progeny. “Mount, Moore,”
said I. He limped, for his leg was hurt, to a high old-fashioned chest
of drawers, which fortunately stood in a corner. Upon these drawers each
of us got, and thence watched ulterior operations, but by no means
considering ourselves _out of danger_ from so _frightful_ an enemy.
That the reader who has not been accustomed to associate with swine at
Ballinrobe may form a just idea of our situation, he shall be made
accurately acquainted with the species of lady visitor we had to deal
with. The eight or ten _childer_ were what we call “piggin riggins,” too
old for a dainty and too young for bacon—the “_hobble-de-hoys_” of
swinehood. Their mother literally “towered above her sex,” and was the
lankiest and most bristly sow I ever beheld. Her high arched back,
taller than a donkey’s, springing from the abutments of her loins and
shoulders, resembled a coarse rustic bridge; her dangling teats swept
the ground; long loose flabby ears nearly concealed a pair of small
fiery blood-shot sunken eyes, and their ends just covered one half of a
mouth which, dividing her head as it were into an upper and under story,
clearly showed that she had the means of taking what bite she pleased
out of any thing. Her tusks, indeed, like a boar’s, peeped under her
broad and undulating nostrils, which were decorated with an iron ring
and hook, that appeared to afford the double power of defending the
wearer against assaults and hooking in an enemy.
Of such a description was the family that paid us this unwelcome visit,
demonstrating thereby the uncertainty of all sublunary expectations. The
fact was, that the lady, with ten of her _childer_, had been wallowing
in the quagmire by the side of our parlour-window, which we had opened
to give a part of the captive smoke an opportunity of escaping—but which
at the same time let out the savoury perfume of our repast; this
entering piggy’s sensitive nostrils, she was roused to action, and,
grunting to her family as a trumpeter sounds “to horse,” they made their
way to the well-known door of the little paved parlour, which finding
closed (a very unusual circumstance), madam’s temper was somewhat
ruffled, and the catastrophe ensued. Ceremony from a sow, under such
circumstances, could not be reasonably looked for, and any delay in
disposing of our luxuries was still less to be expected. In her haste to
accomplish that achievement, she had on gaining admittance run between
the legs of Counsellor Thomas Moore, and, as on an inclined plane, she
first raised, then deposited him upon the pavement; and leaving him to
the discretion of her _piggin riggins_, changed her own course to our
breakfast-table, which having duly overset, the whole was at her
mercy—of which, however, she showed none;—the toast, the bread, the
eggs—in short, _every thing_, disappearing in marvellous quick time.
The two counsellors, from their elevated position, beheld the
destruction of all these comforts, and congratulated themselves on the
good luck of being personally out of danger: but here also we “reckoned
without our host:” we entertained no doubt of madam sow’s peaceable
departure, and did not wish to expose ourselves to the ridicule of being
discovered perched upon a chest of drawers. One of the _piggins_,
however, not content with the prey he had already got, in roaming about
for more, and unaccustomed to boiling water, happened to overset the
large saucepan which was steaming upon the hob, and which descended full
on his unseasoned hide. Hereupon, feeling his tender bristles getting
loose, and at the first scratch coming away with a due quantity of
scarf-skin to keep them together, he set up the most dreadful cries I
ever heard, even from the most obstinate of his race when the butcher
was taking the preliminary steps towards manufacturing corned pork—that
comrade of pease-pudding, and glory of the British navy!
The _mamma_ of course attributed the cries of her darling to some
torture inflicted by the _Christians_ upon the drawers; to the foot of
which she therefore trotted, and with deep and loud grunts looked up at
us, opening her wide jaws, and seeming to say, “I wish I had you both
down here, and my dear little _piggin riggins_ should soon be revenged
for your cruelty!” I thought that, once or twice, she appeared disposed
to try if she could balance her body on her hind-legs and rear up
against the chest of drawers; in which case, even if her jaws did not
clearly take hold of us, the strong iron hook in her nose would be sure
to catch and hawl down one or other by the leg—as, if once hooked, it
would only be a trial of strength between the sow’s snout and the tendon
Achilles of either counsellor. We could not kick at her for fear of the
same hook; so we kept dancing and stamping, to try if that would deter
her. But she was too much bent on mischief to care for our defensive
operations; and we were ultimately obliged to resort to that step
generally taken by people when they find themselves failing in point of
fortitude, and manfully cried out—“Murder! murder!” But as no one came,
Moore said they were so used to _that_ cry in Ballinrobe (and
particularly in the “little paved parlour”), that the people never
minded it; so we changed our tone, and roared “Fire! fire!”
In a second the entire population of the house was in the room, when an
_éclaircissement_ took place. Still, however, the _lady_ would not beat
a retreat:—sticks, flails, handles of rakes, and pitchforks, belaboured
her in vain; she minded them no more than straws. At length, they seized
hold of her _tail_:—this action seemed to make her imagine that it was
desired to _detain_ her _in_ the room; upon which, that spirit of
contradiction inherent in more animals than one, determined her to _go
out_. She accordingly rushed off, followed by the whole brood, and we
saw no more of her or her hopeful family.
After they were gone, it took Mr. Martin above five minutes to lavish on
the sow and _piggin riggins_ every imprecation his vocabulary could
furnish; and he concluded thus:—“Ough! May the curse of Crummell light
on yee, for a greedy owld sow as you are! yee need not have taken such
trouble to cater for your _childer_. If they had just peeped up the
chimney, they’d have seen their _father_ as well dried and smoked as any
boar that ever was _kilt_ in Ballinrobe these two years, any how; and by
my sowl I expect to have six of the _childer_ along with him by next
Michaelmas, at latest.”
All being now arranged, we begged Mr. Martin to replenish our board as
quickly as possible. Daniel, however, looked grave and chop-fallen, and
in two monosyllables apprised us of the extent of our misfortunes. “I
can’t,” said he.
“Why?” we both asked in a breath.
“Oh, holy poker!” exclaimed Mr. Dan Martin, “what shall I do to feed
yee, counsellors dear! By my sowl, Sir Neil will _skiver_ me! Devil a
bit or sup more I have in this same house. Arrah! Mary! Mary!”
“What’s that, avourneen?” said Mary, entering.
“What have you in the house, Mary?” demanded the landlord.
“Ough! the devil a taste was left from the Newport voters, barring what
we kept for the counsellors.”
“And have you literally _nothing_, Mr. Martin?” demanded we.
“All as one,” was the reply. “Sir Neil’s men got the last of the meat;
and a minute or two ago, who should come in—devil’s cure to him! but
Denis Brown Sallough’s body-sarvant, and pretended, the villain, that he
was Sir Neil’s man; and he bought all the rest of the bread and tay for
ready money. If I had thought, counsellors, of the incivility my sow put
on yees—bad luck to her sowl, egg and bird!—I’d have seen Denis Brown
Sallough’s body-sarvant _carded_ like a tithe proctor[25] before I’d
have sold him as much as would fill a hollow tooth—and by my sowl he has
plenty of _them_, counsellors dear!”
-----
Footnote 25:
_Carding_ the tithe proctors (who certainly were the genuine tyrants
of Ireland) was occasionally resorted to by the White Boys, and was
performed in the following manner.
The tithe proctor was generally waked out of his first sleep by his
door being smashed in; and the _boys_ in white shirts desired him
“never to fear,” as they only intended to _card_ him this bout for
taking a quarter instead of a tenth from every poor man in the parish.
They then turned him on his face upon the bed; and taking a lively ram
cat out of a bag which they brought with them, they set the cat
between the proctor’s shoulders. The beast, being nearly as much
terrified as the proctor, would endeavour to get off; but being held
fast by the tail, he intrenched every claw deep in the proctor’s back,
in order to keep up a firm resistance to the White Boys. The more the
tail was pulled _back_, the more the ram cat tried to go _forward_; at
length, when he had, as he conceived, made his possession quite
secure, main force convinced him to the contrary, and that if he kept
his hold he must lose his tail. So, he was dragged backward to the
proctor’s loins, grappling at every pull, and bringing away here and
there strips of the proctor’s skin, to prove the pertinacity of his
defence.
When the ram cat had got down to the loins he was once more placed at
the shoulders, and again _carded_ the proctor (_toties quoties_)
according to his sentence.
-----
“Have you no eggs, Mr. Martin?”
“Why, plase your honour, it’s not two hours since the high sheriff’s
cook (as he called himself) came and took every cock and hen I had in
the world (he paid like a gentleman, to be sure), for he has a great
dinner to-day, and being disappointed of poultry, he _kilt_ every
mother’s babe of mine, gentlemen.”
“You have milk?”
“I’d have plenty of that stuff, counsellors, only (oh my poor cow, and
the three heifers!) Sir Neil’s voters are generally so _dry_, and by my
sowl, I believe not far from _hungry_ either, that they, five or six
times a day if they can, get a drink out of the poor animals. They have
been milked, indeed, till their teats are raw, gentlemen, and that’s the
truth, and nothing else but the _true truth_.” Recollecting himself,
however, he added—“But, counsellors, dear, if your honours can put up
with _our own_ little breakfast, you’ll be more welcome nor the flowers
of May, and there will be plenty of that, gentlemen, such as it is, and
I’ll tell you _what_ it is. First and foremost, there’s no better than
the apple pratees, and they are ready hot and smothering for ourselves
and that d——’d sow and her _childer_, and be cursed to them! but the
devil a one they will get this day, for affronting yees, gentlemen!—And
next to the pratees, there’s the potsheen. I _still’d_ it myself a year
ago, and hid it under ground when the elections came on; but I get a
bottle or two out always. And then, gentlemen, I can broil for you (but
that’s a secret, plase your honours,) a few beautiful rashers out of the
two flitches I have hid on a little shelf up the chimney for fear of the
two-guinea freeholders;—it’s more like clear horn nor bacon, counsellors
dear,” pursued he, hauling down a side of it as he spoke, and cutting
out several large rashers.
“I suppose,” said I, “this is some of your good sow’s family;—if so, I
shall have great pleasure in paying her off in her own style?”
“Why, then, counsellor,” said Mr. Martin, laughing and rubbing his
hands—“you are the very devil at finding out things!—ha! ha!—By my sowl,
it is a _sister_ of the said sow’s, sure enuff—bad luck to the whole
breed for eating the buttered toast this blessed morning!”
The result was, that we got rashers, potatoes, and potsheen, for our
breakfast; at the end of which Mr. Martin brought in a jug of capital
home-brewed ale;—and the possession of this, also, he said was a secret,
or the gauger would play the deuce with him. We fared, in a word, very
well; I much doubt, to speak truth, if it were not a more appropriate
meal for a desperate bad day and much hard work than a lady’s teapot
would afford; and, in pursuance of this notion, I had a rasher, potatoe,
and draught of good ale, every day afterward during my stay at that
abominable election.
English people would hardly credit the circumstances attending an
electioneering contest in Ireland, so late as twenty-three years ago.
Little attention was then paid by the country gentlemen to their several
assize towns; and there was not a single respectable inn at Ballinrobe.
Somebody indeed had built the shell of an hotel; but it had not been
plastered either within or without, or honoured by any species of
furniture: it had not indeed even banisters to the stairs.
Perhaps the time of year and desperate state of the weather (uncheckered
by one ray of sunshine) tended to disgust me with the place: but I
certainly never in my lifetime was so annoyed as at the election of
Ballinrobe, though every thing that could possibly be done for our
comfort _was_ done by Sir John Brown—than whom I never met any gentleman
more friendly or liberal.