BELFAST--TEMPERANCE--"THE EVE OF A GREAT REBELLION"--THE POOR HOUSE--
THE POLICE--COUNTY DOWN--MAKING ENDS MEET--WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO
TURN UP.
Belfast seems a busy town, bustle on her streets, merchandise on her
quays. Did not meet one man on the streets with the hopeless look on his
face of the poor fellow who carried my trunk in Liverpool. There must be
distress however, for the mills are not running full time, and there are
entertainments got up for the benefit of the deserving poor. I saw no
signs of intoxication on the streets, yet the number of whiskey shops is
appalling. Had a conversation with a prominent member of the Temperance
League, who informed me that temperance was gaining ground in Belfast.
"Half of the ministers are with us now; they used to, almost entirely,
stand aloof." But where are the rest?
The land question is the absorbing topic. Every one seems to admit that
there is room for vast improvement in the land laws, that there has been
glaring injustice in the past. They acknowledge that rents are too high
to be paid, and leave anything behind to support the farmer's family in
any semblance of comfort. There is a very strong feeling against Mr.
Parnell among the Protestants of the north. In fact they talk of him
exactly as they did of Daniel O'Connell when in the height of his power.
Many whisper to me that we are on the eve of a great rebellion. One
strong-minded lady who informed me that she had come of a Huguenot stock
talked of the Land Leaguers as if they were responsible for the
revocation of the Edict of Nantes: but she acknowledged that the land
laws were very unjust and needed reform.
Visited the Poor House, a very noble building in well-kept grounds. Went
on purpose to see a sick person and did not go all over it. It was not
the right day, or something. It was very distressing to see the number
of able-bodied looking young men and rosy-cheeked women about the
grounds who begged for a halfpenny, and so many loungers in hall and
corridor--perhaps they were only visitors. If they were inmates there
was plenty of cleaning to be done--the smell in some parts was dreadful.
In the hospital part the floors were very clean, and the head nurse, a
bright, cheery woman, seemed like sunshine among her patients. She
showed us all her curiosities, the little baby born into an overcrowded
world on the street, the little one, beautiful as an angel, found on the
street in a basket. It was very touching to see the beggar mothers
sparing from their own babies to nourish the little deserted waif. A
poor house is a helpless, hopeless mass of human misery.
One thing that impresses a stranger here is the number of policemen;
they are literally swarming everywhere. Very dandified as to dress and
bearing, very vigilant and watchful about the eyes, with a double
portion of importance pervading them all over as men on whom the peace
and safety of the country depend. These very dignified conservators of
the peace are most obliging. Ask them any question of locality, or for
direction anywhere, and their faces open out into human kindness and
interest at once.
Went out into County Down by rail about twenty miles. No words can do
justice to the beauty of the country, the cleanness of the roads, the
trimness of the hedges, and the garden-like appearance of the fields.
The stations, as we passed along, looked so trim and neat. The houses of
small farmers, or laborers I suppose they might be, were not very neat.
Many of them stood out in great contrast as if here was the border over
which any attempt at ornament should not pass.
On the train bound for Dublin was a little old woman travelling third
class like myself, who scraped an acquaintance at once in order to tell
me of the disturbed state of the country. She emphasized everything with
a wave of her poor worn gloves and a decided nod of her bonnet.
"They are idle you know, they are lazy, they are improvident. They are
not content in the station in which it has pleased God to place them. I
know all about these people. They are turbulent, they are rebellious;
they want to get their good, kind landlords out of the country, and to
seize on their property. It is horrid you know, horrid!" and the little
old lady waved her gloves in the air. "If they had a proper amount of
religion they would be content to labor in their own station. I am
content with mine, why not they with theirs? You understand that,"
appealing to me.
"Have you a small farm?" I enquired.
"Indeed I have not," said the little old lady with the greatest disgust,
"I live on my money."
It was quite evident I had offended her, for she froze into silence. As
I left the train at Tandragee she laid her faded glove on my arm and
whispered, "It is their duty to be content in their own station, is it
not?"
"If they cannot do any better," I whispered back.
"They cannot," said the little old lady sinking back on her seat
triumphantly.
It is rather unhandy, that the names of the stations are called out by a
person on the platform outside the cars, instead of by a conductor
inside.
The manufacturing town of Gilford is a pretty, clean, neat, little place
clustered round the mills and the big house, like the old feudal
retainers round the castle. Here, as in Belfast, a certain amount of
distress must exist, for the mills are not running full time.
The wages of a common operative here is twelve shillings (or three
dollars) per week. If they have a family grown up until they are able to
work at the mills, of course it adds materially to the income. Girls are
more precious than boys, I have heard, as being more docile and easier
kept in clothing. They can earn about half wages, or six shillings (one
dollar and a half) per week. Rents are about two shillings (or half a
dollar) per week. It takes one and sixpence for fuel. A young family
would keep the parents busy to make ends meet in the best of times. In
case of the mill running short time I should think they would
persistently refuse to meet. No signs of distress, not the least were
apparent anywhere. The mill hands trooping past looked clean, rosy and
cheerful, and were decently clad. The grounds around the factory were
beautiful and very nicely kept, and beautiful also were the grounds
about the great house. I felt sorry that there were no little garden
plots about the tenement houses occupied by the operatives; so when hard
times come they will have no potatoes or vegetables of their own to help
them to tide over the times of scant wages. How I do wish that the
large-hearted and generous proprietors of these works could take this
matter into consideration.
People waiting at the station talked among themselves of hard times, of
farms that were run down, that would not yield the rent, not to speak of
leaving anything for the tenants to live on. There was no complaint made
of the landlords; the land was blamed for not producing enough. Of
course, these people ought to know, but the fields everywhere looked
like garden ground. The only symptoms of running down that I could see
were in some of the houses, two-roomed, with leaky-looking roofs and a
general air of neglect. I must own, however, that houses of this
description were by far the fewest in number. At one station where we
stopped, one respectable-looking man asked of another, "Have you got
anything to do yet, Robert?" "Still waiting for something to turn up,"
was the answer. This man was not at all of the Micawber type, but a
well-brushed, decent-looking person with a keen peremptory face,
evidently of Scottish descent. A group of such men came on the train,
whose only talk was of emigrating if they only had the means.
I have heard a great deal of talk of emigration among the people with
whom I have travelled since I landed, but have not heard one mention of
Canada as a desirable place to emigrate to. The Western States, the
prairie lands, seem to be the promised land to everyone. One of these
would-be emigrants took a flute out of his pocket and played the Exile
of Erin. The talk of emigration stilled and a great silence fell on them
all. There were some soldiers on the car, young men, boys in fact, who
seemed by the heavy marching order of their get-up to be going to join
their regiment. Some of them struggled mannishly with the tears they
fain would hide. Truly the Irish are attached to the soil. I could not
help wondering if these lads were ordered to foreign service, and on
what soil they would lay down their heads to rest forever.
Two persons near by, conversing in low tones on the state of the
country, drew my attention to them. One was a sonsie good-wife with any
amount of bundles, the other a little old man with a face of almost
superhuman wisdom.
"The country will be saved mem, now; when the Coercion Bill has passed
the country will be saved," said the old man.
"There's a great deal too much fuss made about everything," remarked the
good-wife. "Look at that boy ten years old taken up, bless us all! for
whistling at a man."
"Did you take notice, mem, that the whistling was derisive, was
derisive, it was derisive. That is where it is, you see," said the old
man with a slow, sagacious roll of his head.
"I would not care what a wee boy could put into a whistle: it was
awfully childish for a man and a gentleman to take up just a wean for a
whistle."
"You see mem, they have to be strict and keep everything down. The
Government have ways of finding out things; they know all though, they
don't let on. There will be a bloody time, in my opinion."
Oh, the wisdom with which the old man shook his head as he said this,
adding in a penetrating whisper, "The times of '98 over again or worse."