As an instance of hardships of which the poor had to complain, my
informant mentioned the case of one very old man, whose children had
scattered away over the world, which meant that they had emigrated. He
held a small place on a property close beside another property managed
by my informant's brother. This old man had paid his rent for sixty-nine
years; he and his people before him had lived, toiled and paid rent on
this little place. He was behind in his rent, for the first time, and
had not within a certain amount the sum required. He besought the
intercession of my friend's brother, who, having Scotch caution in his
veins, did not, though pitying, feel called upon to interfere. The old
man tendered what money he had at the office and humbly asked that he
might have time given him to make up the rest. It was refused with
contempt.
"Sir," faltered the old man, "I have paid my rent every year for sixty-
nine years. I have lived here under three landlords without reproach. I
am a very old man. I might get a little indulgence of time."
"All that is nothing to me," said the agent.
"Sir," said the old man, "if my landlord himself were here, or the
General his father, or my Lord Belmore who sold the land to him, I would
not be treated in this way after all."
"Get out of this instantly," said the agent, stamping his foot, "How
dare you give such insolence to me."
"You see," explained my friend, "he was very old, it was not likely that
any more could be got out of him even if he got time, for he was past
his labor. Besides there was a man beside him who held a large farm, and
he wanted this old man's little holding to square off his farm, so the
old man had to go to the wall, but I was sorry for him."
There is a good deal of this unproductive sorrow scattered over Ireland
among the comfortable classes. There are a good many also who feel like
that motherly Christian lady in Clones who said to me, "When they have
to go into the poor-house at the last, and they know it will come to
that, why not go in at once?"
I am convinced more and more every day of the widespread need there is
that some evangelistic effort should be made to bring a practical Gospel
to bear on the dominant classes in Ireland.
My friend and I walked up to the church to search for some graves in the
churchyard that lies around it. He drew my attention to the socket where
a monument had been erected but which was gone, and mentioned the
circumstances under which it had disappeared. A gentleman of the
country, an Episcopalian, had fallen in love with and married a Catholic
lady. The usual bargain had been made, the daughters to follow the
mother's faith, the sons to go with the father. There was one son who
was a member of the Episcopalian church. It seemed that the son loved
and reverenced his Catholic mother, and that she was also loved and
reverenced by her Catholic coreligionists. When she died she was buried
in the family burying plot of ground in the Episcopalian churchyard. Her
son erected there a white marble cross to his mother's memory. At this
cross, on their way home from mass, sundry old women used to turn in,
and, kneeling down there, say a prayer. This proceeding, visible from
the church windows, used to annoy and exasperate the officiating
clergyman very much. At the time of the disestablishment of the Church a
committee was being formed to make some arrangements consequent upon
this event. The Episcopal son of this Catholic mother was named on the
Committee, and a great opposition was got up to his nomination on
account of his being only Protestant by half blood. There was no
objection to him personally, his faith or belief was thought sound,
except that part of it which was hereditary. My friend considered this
very wrong, and ranged himself on the side of the gentleman who was the
cause of the dispute. The dispute waxed so hot that the parties almost
came to blows in the vestry room.
During the time this war raged some bright genius, on one of the days of
Orange procession, had a happy thought of putting an orange arch over
the churchyard gate, in such a manner that the praying women should have
to pass under it if they entered. I am not quite sure whether the arch
was destroyed or not; as far as my memory serves I think it was.
Something happened to it anyway. Something also happened to the
monumental cross, which was torn down, broken up and strewed round in
marble fragments. The gentleman prosecuted several Orangemen whom he
suspected of this outrage. There was not evidence to convict them. An
increased ill-feeling got up against the gentleman for a prosecution
that threw a slur on the Orange organization. The Orange society offered
a reward of L60 for the discovery and conviction of the offenders, but
nothing came of it. My friend thought it was done by parties unknown to
bring reproach on the Orange cause. The gentleman of the half-blood had
not been so much thought of by his fellow church members since this
transaction.
I spoke to my friend upon the unchristian nature of this party spirit,
which he agreed with me in lamenting, but excused by telling me outrages
by the Catholic party which made me shudder. All these outrages were
confirmed by the ancient woman who kept the key of the church, and who
stood listening and helping with the story, emphasizing with the key. I
asked when these outrages had taken place, and was relieved considerably
to hear that they happened about 1798 and 1641. Asked my friend if the
other side had not any tales of suffered atrocities to tell? He supposed
they had, thought it altogether likely. Why then, I asked him, do you
not bury this past and live like Christians for the future.
I am often asked this question about burying the past, said my friend.
My answer is, let them bury first and afterwards we will. Let them bury
their Ribbonism, their Land Leagueism, their Communism and their
Nihilism (making the motion of digging with his hands as he spoke) and
after that ask us to bury our Orangeism, our Black Chapter, our Free
Masonry, and we will do it then.
As we came down the hill from the church, I said to my friend, "You
acknowledge that there are wrongs connected with land tenure that should
be set right. You say that you see things of doubtful justice and scant
mercy take place here, that you see oppression toward the poor of your
country; why, then, not join with them to have what is wrong redressed,
fight side by side on the Land Question and leave religious differences
aside for the time being?" "I would be willing to do this," said my
friend, "I do not believe in secret societies, although I belong to
three of them, but a man must go with his party if he means to live
here. There are many Orangemen who have become what we call 'rotten,'
about Fermanagh, over one hundred have been expelled for joining the
Land League."
Party spirit is nourished, and called patriotism; it is fostered and
called religion, but it is slowly dying out, Ireland is being
regenerated and taught by suffering. In all suffering there is hope.
This thought comforted me when I shook hands with my friend and turned
my back to Ballyconnell and to Belturbet and took the car for Cavan,
passing through the same scenery of field and bog and miserable houses
that prevail all over.
The only manufacture of any kind which I noticed from Clones to Cavan, a
large thriving town bustling with trade, was the making of brick, which
I saw in several places. These inland towns seem to depend almost
entirely on the agricultural population around them.
From Cavan down through the County Cavan, is swarming with Land Leaguers
they say, although I met with none to know them as such. Poor land is in
many places, a great deal of bog, many small lakes and miserable mud
wall cabins abounding. In every part of Ireland, and almost at every
house, you see flocks of ducks and geese; raising them is profitable,
because they do not require to be fed, but forage for themselves, the
ducks in the water courses and ponds, while the geese graze, and they
only get a little extra feed when being prepared for market. Ducks can
be seen gravely following the spade of a laborer, with heads to one side
watching for worms. Neither ducks nor geese, nor both together, are as
numerous as the crows; they seem to be under protection, and they
increase while population decreases.
As one journeys south the change in the countenance of the people is
quite remarkable. In Down, Antrim, Donegal, the faces are almost all
different varieties of the Scottish face--Lowland, Highland, Border or
Isle--but as you come southward an entirely different type prevails. I
noticed it first at Omagh. It is the prevailing face in Cavan; large,
loose features, strong jaws, heavy cheeks and florid complexion,
combined mostly with a bulky frame. You hear these people tracing back
their ancestors to English troopers that came over with Cromwell or
William the Third. They have a decided look of Hengist and Horsa about
them.
The feeling against the Land League among the Conservative classes in
the north is comparatively languid to the deeper and more intense
feeling that prevails southward. The gulf between the two peoples that
inhabit the country widens. After leaving Cavan we crossed a small point
of Longford and thence into Westmeath, passing quite close to
Derryvaragh Lake, and then to Lake Owel after passing Mulingar, getting
a glimpse of yet another, Westmeath Lake.
After passing Athlone and getting into Roscommon we got a view of that
widening of the Shannon called Lough Ree, sixteen miles long and in some
parts three miles wide. A woman on the train told me of that island on
this lough, Hare island, with Lord Castlemaine's beautiful plantation,
of the castle he has built there, decorated with all that taste can
devise, heart can desire or riches buy. A happy man must be my Lord
Castlemaine. Lough Ree is another silent water, like the waters of the
west unbroken by the keel of any boat, undarkened by the smoke of any
steamer, the breeze flying over it fills no sail.
I have mentioned before how completely the County Mayo has gone to
grass. The same thing is apparent in a lesser degree elsewhere. There is
not a breadth of tillage sufficient to raise food for the people. Cattle
have been so high that hay and pasturage were more remunerative, and the
laborers depend for food on the imported Indian meal. The grassy
condition of every place strikes one while passing along; but Roscommon
seems to be given up to meadow and pasture land almost altogether. The
hay crop seems light in some places. The rain has been so constant that
saving it has been difficult in some places. I saw some hay looking
rather black, which is an unbecoming color for hay. Roscommon is a very
level country as far as I saw of it, and very thinly populated.
The town of Roscommon has a quiet inland look, with a good deal of
trading done in a subdued manner. There is the extensive ruin of an old
castle in it; the old gaol is very castle-like also. I drove over to
Athleague as soon as I arrived, a small squalid village some four Irish
miles away. The land is so level that one can see far on every side as
we drive along, and the country is really empty. The people left in the
little hamlets have one universal complaint, the rent is too high to be
paid and leave the people anything to live on. It was raised to the
highest during prosperous years; when the bad years came it became
impossible.
I enquired at this village of Athleague what had become of all the
people that used to live here in Roscommon. They were evicted for they
could not pay their rents. Where are they? Friends in America sent
passage tickets for many, some, out of the sale of all, made out what
took them away; some were in the poor house; some dead and gone. The
land is very empty of inhabitants.