Away from the North once more, this time direct southwards; paused on
the Sabbath-day in the neighborhood of Tandragee, and went to a field-
meeting at a place called Balnabeck--I wonder if I spell it right? This
gathering in a church-yard for preaching is held yearly as a
commemoration service because John Wesley preached in this same
graveyard when he made an evangelistic tour in Ireland. Although this is
only a yearly service, and a commemoration service of one whom the
people delight to honor, they made it pretty much a penitential service.
There were no seats but what the damp earth afforded, no stand for the
officiating minister but a grave; it was not, therefore, a very
attentive congregation which he addressed. The speaker, a Mr. Pepper,
had emigrated from thence when a lad to America. He now returned to the
people who had known him in earlier days. It was certainly listening
under difficulties, and we were obliged to leave, by limb-weariness,
before the service was over.
I had an opportunity on the morrow of seeing the handsome weaving of
damask. The looms are very complicated and expensive affairs, and do not
belong to the weaver but to the manufacturer. The pattern is traced on
stiff paper in holes. Was very much interested in watching the process
of weaving; of course did not understand it, and therefore wondered over
it. The web was two and a half yards wide, was double damask of a fern
pattern. The weaver, a young and nice-looking man, with the assured
manner of a skilled worker, informed me proudly that he could earn three
shillings a day--75 cents. Out of this magnificent income he paid the
rent of his house--which was not a palace either--and supported his
wife and family. His wife, a pretty and rather refined looking young
woman, had a baby, teething sick, in the cradle. It must wail, and
mother could only look her love and coo to it in softest tones, for if
she took the little feverish sufferer up the pirns would be unwound and
the husband's three shillings would have a hole in it, so both wife and
baby had a share in the earning of that three shillings--baby's share
the hardest of all.
Called in to see another weaver of damask to-day; he could earn fifteen
pence a day. He was a melancholy little man, of a pugnacious turn of
mind, I am afraid. He said that fifteen pence a day was but little out
of which to pay rent and support a wife and family. Thinking of the wife
and baby at the other house, we said that seeing the wife wound the
bobbins, cooked, kept house, nursed and washed for her family that she
earned her full share of the fifteen pence. Would not be surprised to
hear that there had been a controversy raging on this very subject
before we came in, the man's face became so glum and the woman's so
triumphant. It was an enthusiastic blessing she threw after us when we
left.
Visited a great thread factory, where the yarn is made ready that is
woven into double damask, and thread for all purposes supplied to all
parts. In whatever part of Ireland the tall factory chimney rises up
into the air the people have not the look of starvation that is stamped
on the poor elsewhere. Still, if we consider a wage of seven to twelve
shillings a week--twelve in this factory was the general wages--and
subtract from that two shillings a week for the house and three
shillings a week for fuel the operators are not likely to lay up large
fortunes. As they have no gardens to the houses owned by the factory,
nor backyard accommodation of any kind, the cleanliness and tidy
appearance of houses and workpeople are a credit to them. But when times
grow hard, and the mills run half time, and not even a potato to fall
back upon, there must be great suffering behind these walls.
There are large schools, national schools, in this village, and the
children over ten years of age, who work in the factory, go to school
half time. They are paid at the rate of two-pence halfpenny a day for
the work of the other half of the day--that is equivalent to five cents.
The teachers of the schools informed me that, when the little ones came
in the morning, as they did on alternate weeks, that they learned well,
but when they came in the afternoon they were sleepy and listless. On
that morning they had to rise at five o'clock.
The schools which I have seen in Ireland, for so far, are conducted on
the old plan; children learn their lessons at home, repeat them to the
teachers in school, who never travel out of record, are trained in
obedience, respect to superiors, and in order, more or less, according
to the nature of the teacher. They still adhere to the broad sound of A,
which has been so universally abandoned on the other side of the water.
The factories at Gilford are very remunerative; great fortunes, allowing
of the purchase of landed estates and the building of more than one
castlelike mansion have been made in them. From Tandragee to Portadown,
in Armagh, which we travelled in a special car, took us through the same
green country waving with crops, and in some places shaded heavily with
trees. In the environs of Gilford--as if that very clean manufacturing
town set an example that was universally followed--all the houses are
clean and white as to the outside, further away the dreadful-looking
homes abound. Portadown, all we saw of it, just passing through, is a
clean and thrifty little town.
We would have liked to linger in Armagh a little while, but we must
hurry down to the South. Got a glimpse of Armagh Catholic cathedral--a
very fine building, not so grand, however, as the Cathedral at Sligo.
Took notice of a very fine memorial window, with the name of Archbishop
Crolly on it. I remember him very well, saw him frequently, got a pat on
the head from him occasionally. He seemed partial to the little folks,
when we played in the chapel yard--a nice place to play in was the
chapel yard in Donegal street. He was then Bishop Crolly, and I was a
very small heretic, who loved to play on forbidden ground. Walked about
a little in Armagh between the trains, saw that there were many fine
churches and other nice buildings from the outside view of them, and
passed on to Clones. The land as seen from the railway is good in some
places, poor in others, but in all parts plenty of houses not fit to be
human habitations are to be seen.
Clones is a little town on a hill, with a history that stretches back
into the dim ages. It has a round tower that threatens to fall, and
will, too, some windy night; an abbey almost gone, but whose age and
weakness is propped up by modern repairs, as, they say, the tenure of
some land depends on the old gable of the abbey standing; a three-story
fort, that, as Clones is built on a hill and the fort is built on
Clones, affords a wide view of the surrounding country. Clones has a
population of over two thousand, has no manufactory, depends entirely on
the surrounding farming population, does not publish a newspaper, and is
quietly behind the age a century or two. The loyal people who monopolize
the loyalty are in their own way very loyal. It is delightfully sleepy,
swarming with little shops with some little things to sell; but where
are the buyers? If a real rush of business were to come to Clones I
would tremble for the consequences, for it is not used to it.
I was quartered in the most loyal corner of all the loyal places in
Clones. Every wall on which my eyes rested proclaimed that fact. Here
was framed all the mysterious symbols of Orangeism, which are very like
the mysterious symbols of masonry to ignorant eyes. There was King
William in scarlet, holding out his arm to some one in crimson, who
informed the world that "a bullet from the Irish came that grazed King
William's arm." On the next wall is the battle of the Boyne, with some
pithy lines under.
"And now the well-contested strand successive columns gain,
While backward James' yielding band is borne across the plain;
In vain the sword that Erin draws and life away doth fling,
O worthy of a better cause and of a nobler king!
But many a gallant spirit there retreats across the plain,
Who, change but kings, would gladly dare that battlefield again."
I read that verse, like it, transcribe it, and turn to study the
handsome face of Johnston of Ballykillbeg, who is elevated into the
saint's place alongside of King William on many, many cottage walls,
when the hostess appears. Noting the direction of my glance, she informs
me of the martyrdom which Mr. Johnston has suffered from Government. She
has a confused idea that Mr. Johnston is at present returning good for
evil by holding our gracious Queen upon the throne in some indirect way.
After carefully finding out what my religious opinions are, she informs
me of evangelistic services that are held in a tent at the foot of the
hill on which Clones sits. These services are not, she says, in
connection with the "Hallelujahs" or the "Salvations," but are
authorized by the Government, and are under the wing of the Episcopal
Church. Of course tent services under the wing of the Episcopal Church
are worth going to, so we attend.
The service is quite as evangelical as if it were preached by
"Hallelujahs." There is a very large audience, and the people seem very
attentive. My hostess is much affected. She tells me that if she can
work hard and manage well and be content with her station, reverencing
her betters as she ought to do, she hopes to get to heaven at last.
Almost in the same breath she informs me that all the people of Mayo
will go to hell, if any one goes, for that is their _desarvings_.
Yes. The Mayo people are sure to be damned. "God forgive me for saying
so," adds my hostess, as a saving clause. I am afraid the evangelistic
services have failed as yet as far as my hostess is concerned; and Mayo,
beautiful and desolate Mayo, may be glad that the keys of that
inconveniently warm climate are not kept by a Clones woman whom I know.
There are few who have not something to be proud of. My woman of Clones
is proud of the fact that she entertained and lodged for a night the
potato pilgrims--thirty-five of them--who went to Captain Boycott's
relief down to Lough Mask. After she had mentioned this circumstance a
few times, and did seem to take much spiritual comfort from the face, I
ventured to inquire if she were paid for it. Oh, yes, she was; but if
she had not been--she was all on the right side, she was that; and if
she had the power would sweep every Papist off the face of the earth.
She was wicked, she said, on this subject.
I did not believe this woman; her talk was mere party blow. The whole
street about her was full of Papists, small and great. I do not think
she would sweep the smallest child off the face of the earth, except by
a figure of speech. There are those who really know what language means
who are responsible for this bloodthirsty kind of talk. It means little,
but it keeps up party spirit.
I thought of speeches which I heard on the 12th of July by ministers of
the Gospel, with all the Scripture quotations from Judges, and Samuel,
telling an inflamable people--only they were too busy with their drums
and fifes to listen--that "God took the side of fighting men--Gideon
meant battle--an angel was at the head of the Lord's host--Scotland was
especially blest because it was composed of fighting men." Does the
Gospel mean brother to war against brother for the possession of his
field? How much need there is for our loving Lord to rebuke His
disciples by telling them again, "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye
are of, for the leaders of my people cause them to err."
Clones takes its name from a word that may signify the meadow of Eois,
or high meadow. It has a history that goes back to grope about Ararat
for the potsherds thrown out of the ark. It has a very old and famous
round tower, used at some time as a place of sepulchre, for a great
quantity of human bones have been found in it. In one stone of this
tower is the mark of two toes printed into the stone, or the mark of
some fossil remains dislodged by a geological hammer.
As Clones sits upon a hill, and the fort sits on the highest part, it
commands an extensive view. There is also an ancient cross in the market
square, once elaborately carved in relief, but the figures are worn
indistinct. There are the remains of an old castle built in among the
modern walls and hidden out of sight. There are stories of an
underground passage between the abbey and the castle. In fact, they came
on this underground way when levelling the market space, but did not
explore it. There is such a romance about mystery that it is as well, I
suppose, not to let too much daylight shine in upon it.
Clones, with its abbey, was burned by De Lacy in the thirteenth century,
which was, perhaps, its last burning.
I was glad on the evening on which I climbed to the top of the fort to
find little gardens lying up the slope at the back of the poorer houses.
Clones is better off in this respect by being behind the age. In Antrim
and Down, in too many instances, the farmers have taken the cotter's
gardens into their fields. I wished to be sure if the gardens belonged
to the people who lived in the thatched cottages, and I spoke across the
hedge to a man who was digging potatoes in one of them, a man with a
leather apron, marking him out as a shoemaker, and a merry, contented
face. Yes, the gardens belonged to the cottages at the foot of the hill.
All the cottages had gardens in Clones. The people had all gardens in
Clones. They were not any of them in want. They had enough, thank God.
There was every prospect of a good harvest and a good harvest brought
plenty to every home.
A few words often change the world to us. I climbed the three-storey
fort at Clones feeling sad and hopeless in the grey evening, everything
seemed chill and dreary like the damp wind, and this man's cheery words
of rejoicing over the prospect of good crops, over the yield of the
little gardens, touched me as if sunset splendor had fallen over the
world, and I came down comforted with the thought that our Father who
gives fruitful seasons will also find a way for Ireland to emerge from
the thick darkness of her present misery.
I was referred to the Presbyterian minister of Clones for information on
the antiquities of Clones, and from his lecture, which he with great
kindness read to me, I gathered what historical hints I have inserted
here. At the minister's I met with a pleasant-faced, motherly looking
lady who talked to me of the Land question, the prevailing topic. From
remarks she made I gathered that she was an enthusiastic church member,
but on the Land question she had no ideas of either justice or mercy
that could possibly extend beyond the privileged classes. I referred to
the excessive rents, she gave a mild shake of her motherly chin and
spoke of the freedom of contract. I spoke of new landlords making new
and oppressive office rules and raising the rents above the power to pay
of the tenants he found there when coming into possession. She said they
might suffer justly if they had no written guarantee. She actually
considered that a gentleman was not bound by his word of promise, nor
did he inherit any _verbal_ agreement entered into by the man from
whom he inherited his property. I spoke of the hardship of a long life
of toil and penury ending in the workhouse. She said when they knew they
must go into the workhouse eventually why did they not go in at once
without giving so much trouble. I asked her if she, who seemed to know
what it was to be a mother, would not if it were her own case put off
going into the workhouse, which meant parting with her children, to the
very last. The idea of mentioning her name in the one breath with these
people precluded the possibility of answering. She threw down her
knitting and left the room.
Was it not sad to think that this Christian lady had yet to learn the
embracing first two words of the Lord's prayer, Our Father. Looking at
the strength of this caste prejudice, as strong here as in India, I
often feel sad, but Our Father reigns. Protestant ministers belonging
_ex-officio_ to this upper caste, and being, so to speak, a few
flights of stairs above their people, cannot speak with the power of
knowledge which our Lord had by His companionship with the poor of His
people.
I was more astonished than I can describe at the sentiments that met me
in this red hot corner of Monaghan. "The people were armed," they said,
"the people had revolvers and pikes, they would rise and murder them if
they were let up at all." They did not exactly know what this let up
meant, and I am sure I did not either. I heard a great deal about '98;
surely '98 ought to get away into the past and not remain as a present
date forever. I cannot for the life of me see what '98 has to do with
allowing a man to live by his labor in his own country. The land
question affects all and is outside of these old remembrances.
I must acknowledge that I have heard no Roman Catholic mix the land
question with religion; they keep it by itself. I was informed that when
I passed Clones I was in Ireland, as if Clones was an outpost of some
other country.
The Episcopal Church in Clones is built on an eminence and is reached by
a serious flight of steps; it looks down on the ancient cross which
stands in the market place. This church is being repaired and was
therefore open, so I climbed the long flight of steps and went in to see
it. It certainly is being greatly improved. A grand ceiling has replaced
the old one, a fine organ and stained glass windows add to the glory of
the house. I had an opportunity of speaking with the rector, and his
curate, I imagine. They pointed out the improvements in the church,
which I admired, of course, and they told me some news which was of more
interest to me than either organ tone or dim religious light streaming
through stained glass.
They said that the temperance cause was flourishing in connection with
their congregation. Both these clergymen were strict teetotalers, they
said, and workers in the total abstinence field. The number of pledged
adherents to the temperance cause had increased some hundreds within a
given time. There was every encouragement to go on in the fight with all
boldness. Truly these gentlemen had good cheer for me in what they said
on this subject, for the drinking customs are a great curse to the
people of the land wherever I have been.
From Clones to Belturbet Junction, where there were no cars, and there
was the alternative of waiting at the station from two to seven p.m., or
getting a special car. Waiting was not to be thought of for a moment, so
got a car and a remarkably easy-going driver. He informed me that the
rate of wages about that part of the country was one shilling a day with
food. He thought the people were not very poor. The crops were good, the
wages not bad, and he thought the people were very contented. Belturbet
is another quiet little town, larger than Clones I should say. Like
Clones it has no newspaper, no specific industry, but depends on the
farmers round.
Procured a car and drove out to the village of Drumalee. The land is
middling good as far as the eye can judge. This neighborhood abounds
with small lakes. Here for the first time I saw lads going to fish with
the primitive fishing rods peculiar to country boys. The country round
here is full of people and there is no appearance of extreme poverty.
The houses are rather respectable looking, comparatively speaking.
There is a fine Catholic chapel in Drumalee built of stone in place of
the mud wall of seventy odd years ago. Saw no old people about and found
that almost the recollection of Father Peter Smith, the blessed priest
who wrought miracles, had faded away from the place, also that of his
friend the loyal Orangeman who always got Orange as a prefix to his
name.
The police in these midland counties are not so alert and vigilant, like
people in an enemy's country, as they are in the west. They do not seem
to have "reasonable suspects" on their minds. The asses of Belturbet,
although some of them appear dressed in straw harness, and with creels,
are well fed and sleek and do not bray in a melancholy, gasping manner
as if they were squealing with hunger as the Leitrim asses do. It rained
pretty steadily during the time I was in Belturbet, and the principal
trading to be seen from my window was the sale of heather besoms. A
woman and a young girl, barefooted and bareheaded, arrived at the corner
with an ass-load of this merchandise. They were sold at one half-penny
each. They were neatly made, and the heather of which they were composed
being in bloom they looked very pretty. How it did rain on these
dripping creatures! Being shut up by the weather I took an interest in
the besom merchants and their load, which was such a heavy one that a
good-natured bystander had to help to lift the load off the ass's back.
It was a long while before a customer appeared. At length a stout woman,
with the skirt of her dress over her head, ran across the street to buy
a broom. She bargained closely, getting the broom and a scrubber for one
half-penny, but as she was the first purchaser she spat upon the half-
penny for luck. Then came some more little girl buyers, who inspected
and turned over the brooms with an important commercial air, with intent
to get the worth of their half-penny and show to their mothers at home
that they were fit to be trusted to invest a half-penny wisely. They
bought and others came and bought until the stock began to diminish
sensibly.
A little man who had arrived with his load of besoms somewhat later sold
none. I saw him glance from his load to the stock of mother and
daughter, fast selling off, and become aware that his stock as compared
with theirs was rather heathery, and he began to trim off roughnesses
with his knife. I hope he succeeded in selling.
Drove out to Drumlane, where are the ruins of a large church and abbey
and round tower. The driver, a Catholic, talked a little, guardedly, of
the high rents. A broken-down looking man, who opened the iron gates for
us into the ruins, complained heavily of the rents. He was only a
laborer himself, the farmer he worked for was paying fifty-five
shillings an acre for part of his farm and L3 for the rest. The land on
which I looked was rented at L3. My only wonder is that the lands thus
rented pay the rent alone without supporting in any manner the tillers
of the soil. It was all pasture at this particular place. The ruins here
of the church are very extensive, of the abbey only the fragment of a
wall is standing. My guides informed me that there was an underground
passage in old days between the abbey and the church, so that the bishop
was not seen from the time he left the abbey until he appeared on the
high altar.
They remarked that a story handed down from father to son as a true
record of a place should be believed before a written account. They made
no allowance for the coloring given to a story as it passed through the
imaginations of successive generations. I assured them that I accepted
all legends as historical facts to a certain extent. They were made
happy, and were in a fit state of mind to _insinse_ me into the
facts of the case about the round tower. It is of great thickness, the
area enclosed would make a good sized room. The stone work is remarkably
solid and good, and every stone smoothly fitted into the next with no
appearance of mortar. It is wonderful to see how the projection of one
stone is neatly fitted into a cavity made to correspond in its fellow.
On one stone a bird is cut in relief, another nearly the same in the
attitude of following is cut on another stone. There is also a
representation of a coffin. The beautiful stone work goes up a great
way, and suddenly stops, the remainder of the building being done in a
much rougher manner.
Seeing that I was of a reasonable turn of mind, they informed me that
the lower portion of this round tower was built by a woman, but she
being jeered at and tormented by the men masons, jealous of her work,
disappeared in the night, leaving the masons to finish it, which they
did, but not nearly so well, as we could see.
On the way from Drumlane to Ballyconnell the driver began to talk of the
bitter feeling that was kept up in the country on party subjects. He
said that religion forbid it, for if we noticed in the Lord's prayer it
was a prayer to forgive us as we forgave others. He thought Ireland
could not prosper or have God's blessing until the bitterness of party
spirit went down.
Found Ballyconnell just such another sleepy little town as Clones and
Belturbet. Here I had the comfort of meeting a friend who had puzzled a
little over the land question in a misty sort of way, and was willing to
give the benefit of his observations and conclusions.
From Clones to Belturbet and on to Ballyconnell, as I have mentioned
before, I believe, is pretty much the same sort of country, good fields,
middling and good pastures alternating with stretches of bog and many
small lakes dotted about here and there. Every appearance of thrifty,
contented poverty among the people as far as met the eye. They were
better clad, the little asses shod, and sleek and fat, so different from
other places. Still, the best of the common people all along here is not
very good to trans-Atlantic eyes, and the houses one sees as they pass
along are dreadfully bad.
I spoke of this to my friend in Ballyconnell, who informed me that the
people were harassed with ever-increasing rent, that as soon as they
could not meet it they were dealt with without mercy. A man who had
toiled to create a clearing--put a life's labor into it--was often not
able to pay the increased rent and then he was put out, while another
man paid the increased rent on his neighbor's lost labor.
This friend of mine held the opinion that landlords of the old stock
never did wrong, never were rapacious or cruel; it was the new
landlords, traders who bought out in the Encumbered Estates Court, who
had no mercy, and the agents. Here again was brought up the story denied
before that the agents had a percentage on the rents collected.
One cannot agree with the fact of all landlords of the old stock being
considerate and kind and all new landlords rapacious; for Lord Leitrim
was of the old stock, and who would wish to succeed to the inheritance
of hatred he left behind him, and Lord Ardilaun, a new landlord, is well
spoken of by all his people. Every one with whom I spoke of him,
including the parish priest, acknowledged him to be a high-toned,
grandly benevolent man, who, if he differed from his tenants, differed
as one on a height of grandeur may misjudge the ability of the poor.