distinct becomes the conviction that the present difficulty is rather
social and economic than political. It is far more a question,
apparently, of stomach than of brain. The complaints which are poured
out on every side refer not in the least to politics. Very few in
Mayo, and hardly anybody at all in Connemara, seem to take any account
of Home Rule, or of any other rule except that of the Land League. The
possibility of a Parliament on College-green affects the people of the
West far less than the remotest chance of securing some share of the
land. If ever popular disaffection were purely agrarian, it is now, so
far as this part of Ireland is concerned. Orators and politicians from
O'Connell until now have spoken of Repeal and Reform; but it is more
than probable that the Connaught peasant always understood that he was
to be emancipated from some of his burdens. All his ideas are
dominated by the single one of land. He knows and cares for very
little else. He is superstitious to an astounding degree, and his
ignorance passes all understanding--that is, on every subject but the
single one of land. And the land he knows of is that in his own
county, or home section of a county. But his knowledge of this is
singularly and curiously exact. Either by his own experience or by
tradition he is perfectly acquainted with the topography of his own
locality and with the history of its present and former proprietors
and occupants. With perfect precision he will point out a certain
tract of country and tell how, in the old, old time, it was, "reigned
over" by the O'Flahertys, and then was owned by the Blakes, who
disposed of part of their country to the present possessors. He knows
perfectly well how the great Martin country came first into the hands
of the Law Life Insurance Company, and then into those of Mr.
Berridge, and how the latter gentleman came down to Ballynahinch, of
the traditional avenue, extending for forty miles to Galway. More than
this, he knows how an island was bought by its present owner with so
much on it due to the above-named society. Moreover, he knows the site
and size of the villages depopulated by famine, emigration, or the
"exterminator," and in many cases the very names of the former
tenants. He is a man of one idea--that the country was once prosperous
and is now wretched, not in consequence of natural causes but of
oppression and mismanagement. When he shouted in favour of Repeal he
meant Land. When he applauded Disestablishment and Denominational
Schools he meant Land, Land, nothing but Land. At last his dominant
feeling is candidly expressed when he cries out against landlords,
"Down wid 'em!"
In one of those neat remarks, distracting attention from the real
point at issue, for which Lord Beaconsfield is justly famous, he
expressed an opinion that "the Irish people are discontented because
they have no amusements." Like all such sayings, it is true as far as
it goes. Despite dramatists, novelists and humorists, Ireland is
singularly barren of diversion. In a former letter I pointed out that
the only relaxation from dreary toil enjoyed in Mayo is found at the
cattle-fairs, and little country races to which they give rise. There
are no amusements at all at Connemara. One ballad-singer and one
broken-legged piper are the only ministers to public hilarity that I
have yet seen. Nothing more dreary can be imagined than the existence
of the inhabitants. When by rare good luck a peasant secures road-work
or other employment from a proprietor at once sufficiently solvent and
public-spirited to undertake any enterprise for the improvement of the
country, he will walk for a couple or three hours to his work and then
go on with it till dinner-time. But it is painfully significant that
the word "dinner" is never used in this connection. The foreman does
not say that the dinner hour has arrived, but "Now, boys, it is time
to eat your bit o' bread." The expression is painfully exact; for the
repast consists of a bit of bread and perhaps a bottle of milk. Indian
corn meal is the material of the bit of bread, a heavy square block
unskilfully made, and so unattractive in appearance that no human
being who could get anything else would touch it. Then the man works
on till it is time to trudge over the mountain to the miserable cabin
he imagines to be a home, and meet his poor wife, weary with carrying
turf from a distant bog, and his half-clad and more than half-starved
children. Luckily the year has been a good one for drying peat, and
one necessity for supporting human life is supplied. What the
condition of the people must be when fuel is scarce is too terrible to
think of.
I esteem myself fortunate in being enabled to describe what the life
of the Connemara peasant is under favourable circumstances. His abject
misery in years of famine and persistent rain, when crops fail and
peat cannot be dried, may be left to the imagination. Potatoes raised
from the "champion" seed introduced during the distress last year are,
if not plentiful, yet sufficient, perhaps, for the present, in the
localities to which a good supply of seed was sent; but I should not
like to speculate on the probable condition of affairs in March next.
I have also spoken of such a peasant as has been fortunate enough to
obtain work at nine shillings a week, esteemed a fair rate
hereabouts. But in truth there is very little work to be had; for the
curse of absenteeism sits heavily on the West. Four great landed
proprietors, who together have drawn for several years past about
70,000l. from their estates in Mayo, Galway, and Clare, have not, I am
assured, ever spent 10,000l. a year in this country. As with the land
itself, crop after crop has been gathered and no fertiliser has been
put in. The peasant is now aware of as many of such facts as apply to
his own locality, and this knowledge, coupled with hard work and
hunger, has aroused a discontent not to be easily appeased. To him his
forefathers appear to have led happy lives. It would be beyond my
purpose to discuss whether the good old times ever existed, either
here or anywhere else. My object just now is simply to reflect the
peasant's mind, after having endeavoured, so far as is possible in
this place, to verify the facts adduced by him, and I may add
generally admitted by others.
The peasant looks lovingly on the tradition of the old time when the
native proprietors dwelt among their people, without reflecting that
it was the almost insane recklessness and extravagance of the
hereditary lords of the soil which led to the breaking up of their
estates among purchasers who had no kind of sympathy with the
inhabitants. But good or bad, as they may have been, the names of the
Martins, the O'Flahertys, the Joyces, and the Lynches are still held
in honour, although their descendants may have disappeared altogether,
or remained on a tenth or twentieth part of the vast possessions once
held by their family. Some of the present representatives, however,
are unpopular from no fault of their own. To cite a typical case.
There is a large estate between this place and Clifden, the present
holders of which should hardly be held responsible for the faults of
their ancestors. A very large part of it has been sold outright and is
in good hands. The remainder is strictly settled on a minor, and is
mortgaged, in the language of the country, "up to the mast-head."
Naturally the guardians of the minor are unwilling that the estate
should be sold up, all possibility of improvement and recovery
sacrificed, and themselves erased from the list of the county gentry.
Landlords have as much objection to eviction and compulsory emigration
as tenants, and are as much inclined to cling to their land, hoping
for better things. Thus arises a state of affairs against which the
peasant at last shows signs of revolt. Physically and mentally
neglected for centuries by his masters, he has found within the last
fifty years neglect exchanged for extortion and oppression. To prevent
the sale of the property, the owners or trustees must pay the interest
on the encumbrances. Moreover, they, being only human, think
themselves entitled to a modest subsistence out of the proceeds of the
property. To pay the interest and secure this "margin" for themselves
there are only two ways--to wring the last shilling out of the
wretched tenants, to first deprive them of their ancient privileges,
and then charge them extra dues for exercising them, or to let every
available inch of mountain pasture to a cattle-farmer, whose herds
take very good care that the cottier's cow does not get "the run of
the mountain" at their master's expense.
This "run of the mountain" appears to have been the old Irish analogue
of the various kinds of rights of common in England, which have for
the most part been lost to the poorer folk, not always without a
struggle with the neighbouring landlord or lord of the manor. I hear
from almost every place a complaint that within thirty or forty years
the "run of the mountain" has been taken from the people and let to
graziers. On the legal merits of the case I cannot at this moment
pretend to decide, but inasmuch as this addition to an ordinary
holding survives on some estates, there appears strong ground for
believing that the practice was general. Where the cattle-run remains
it is mapped out as a "reserve" for a certain townland, and is greatly
prized by the peasants. It may therefore be imagined that those from
whom it has been taken by the strong hand are bitterly resentful, and
even where the change was made so long as twenty-five or thirty years
ago nourish a deeply-rooted sense of wrong. It is absurd to suppose
that when the act of spoliation took place village Hampdens could
spring up on every hill-side in Connemara. Owing to the neglect of
those who were responsible for their condition, they were the most
ignorant and superstitious people in the British Islands. Landlords
were not yet awakened to a sense that their tenants should at least be
taught to read; and Connemara was esteemed, I am told, as a kind of
penal settlement for priests who had not proved shining lights in more
civilised communities. The latter reproach can no longer be brought,
for the zeal and activity of the local clergy are conspicuous; and
where the children are within any reasonable distance of a school they
come readily to it, and prove bright and apt scholars. But when the
"run of the mountain" was seized upon by many proprietors, the people
were mentally, if not bodily, in a swinish condition. The idea of any
right which a landlord was bound to respect had not dawned upon them,
and, if it had, prompt vengeance would have descended on the village
Hampden in the shape of a notice to quit, and he whose conception of
the world was limited to his native mountains would have been turned
out upon them with his wife and children to die.
I hear on very good authority that the purchaser of part of one of the
old estates has acquired an unpleasant notoriety in his management of
the land. I am compelled to believe that in the old period the
peasants enjoyed their little holdings at a very low rent. Moreover
these holdings were not all "measured on 'um," as one of my informants
phrased it, but were often composed of two or more patches, bits of
productive land, taken here and there on the rough mountain. Doubtless
this arrangement had its inconveniences, but the people were
accustomed to it, and also set great store by the run of the mountain,
which they had, it seems, enjoyed without let or hindrance from time
immemorial. The first act of the new management was to "sthripe the
land on 'um," that is to mark it out into five-pound holdings, each in
one "sthripe" or block. This arrangement, which to the ordinary mind
hardly appears unreasonable, was considered oppressive by the tenants,
who submitted, however, as was then the manner of their kind. They had
still the mountain, and could graze their cow or two, or their
half-dozen sheep upon it, and they naturally regarded this privilege
as the most valuable part of their holding, inasmuch as it paid their
rent, clothed them, and supplied them with milk to drink with their
potatoes. In these days of alimentary science it is needless to remind
readers that, humble as it appears, a dinner of abundant potatoes and
milk is a perfect meal, containing all the constituents of human
food--fat, starch, acids, and so forth.
Thus many of the tenants were, as they call it, "snug." Satisfied
with little, they rubbed on contentedly enough, only the more
adventurous spirits going to England for the harvesting. Then came
serious changes. The rent of the five-pound holdings was raised to
seven pounds, and the mountain was taken away. The poor people
protested that they had nothing to feed their few animals upon on the
paltry holdings of which a couple of acres might be available for
tillage, a couple more for grass, and the remaining two or three good
for hardly anything. An answer was given to them. If they must have
the mountain they must pay for it--practically another rise in the
rent. To this they agreed perforce, and even to the extraordinary
condition that during a month or six weeks of the breeding season for
grouse they should drive their tiny flocks or herds off the mountain
and on to their holdings, in order that the game might not be
disturbed at a critical period. I hear that for the last year rents
have fallen into arrear, and that the beasts of those who have not
paid up have just been driven off the mountain.
I have cited this case as one of the proofs in my hands that the
country is not overpopulated, as has been so frequently stated. I
drove over part of the estate mentioned, and questioned some of the
people as to the accuracy of the story already told to me, and the
agreement was so general that I am obliged to give credence to it. To
talk of over-population in a country with perhaps half-a-dozen houses
per square mile, is absurd. What is called over-population would be
more accurately described as local congestion of population. The
people who in their little way were graziers and raisers of stock have
been deprived of their cattle run, and having no ground to raise
turnips upon, cannot resort to artificial feeding. What was originally
intended to serve as a little homestead to raise food on for
themselves is all they have left, and it is now said that they are
crowded together. It would be more correct to say that they have been
driven together like rats in the corner of a pit. As one steps out of
one of their cabins the eye ranges over a vast extent of hill, valley,
and lake--as fair a prospect as could be gazed upon. Yet the few
wretched inhabitants are cooped within their petty holdings, and
allowed to do no more than look upon the immense space before them.
Where there is so much room to breathe they are stifled.
GALWAY, _Tuesday, Nov. 9th._
On the long dreary road from Clifden to this place, the greater part
of which is included in the vaunted "avenue" to Ballynahinch, there is
visible at ordinary times very little but mountain, bog, and sky. Of
stones and water, and of air marvellously bright and pure, there is no
lack, and some of the scenery is of surpassing grandeur, especially on
a day like yesterday, so fair and still that mountain and cloud alike
were mirrored on the surface of a legion of lakes. It was only when
one reached the clump of trees which in these wild districts denotes
the presence of a house of the better sort that any symptoms of
disturbance were seen. All was calm and bright on Glendalough itself,
but no sooner had I entered the grounds of the hotel than I became
aware of the presence of an armed escort. Presently Mr. Robinson, the
agent for Mr. Berridge, the purchaser of the "Martin property" from
the Law Life Insurance Company, came out, jumped on his car with his
driver, and was immediately followed by the usual escort of two men
armed with double-barrelled carbines. A few minutes later I heard that
Mr. Thompson's "herd" over at Moyrus, near the sea-coast, had been
badly beaten on Sunday night, or rather early yesterday morning; and
there were disquieting rumours of trouble impending at Lough Mask. If
the Moyrus story be true, it is noteworthy as marking a new line of
departure in Connemara. Hitherto actual outrages have been confined to
property; persons have only been threatened, and few but agents go in
downright bodily fear. I have not heard why Mr. Thompson is unpopular;
but can easily understand that Mr. Robinson has become so. The
management of 180,000 acres of poor country, in some parts utterly
desolate, in others afflicted with congested population, can hardly
be carried on without making some enemies. Moreover, I have no reason
to believe that the vast "Law Life" property has, since it passed out
of the hands of its ancient insolvent owners, been either more wisely
or liberally administered than in the wild, wicked days when the
Martins "reigned" at Ballynahinch, and boasted that the King's writs
did not run "in their country."
Before leaving Connemara I resolved to give a detailed account of the
condition of the peasants of the sea-coast at the conclusion of a
phenomenally good season followed by a fair harvest, thinking that a
better impression would be obtained now than in periods of distress. I
regret to say that the effect of several excursions from Letterfrack
and Clifden has been almost to make me despair of the Connemara man of
the sea-coast. I hesitate to employ the word "down-trodden," because
it has been absurdly misused and ignorantly applied to the whole
population of Ireland. I may be pardoned for observing in this place,
once for all, that my remarks are always particularly confined to the
place described, and by no means intended to apply to districts I have
not yet visited, still less to Ireland generally--if a country with
four if not five distinct populations should ever by thoughtful
persons be spoken of "generally." What I say of the inhabitants of the
sea-coast of Connemara does not, I hope most sincerely, apply to any
other people in the British Islands. They are emphatically
"down-trodden"--bodily, mentally, and in a certain direction morally.
They do not commit either murder, adultery, or theft, but they are
fearfully addicted to lying--the vice of slaves. Their prevarication
and procrastination are at times almost maddening. I have seen men and
women actually fencing with questions put to them by the excellent
priest who dwells at Letterfrack, Father McAndrew, who was obliged to
exercise all his authority to obtain a straight answer concerning the
potato crop grown on a patch of conacre land. Did they have any
"champion" seed given to them at the various distributions of that
precious boon? "Was it champions thin?" was the reply. "'Deed, they
had the name o' champions." The woman who said this in my hearing only
confessed under very vigorous cross-examination that "the name o'
champions" signified four stone weight of the invaluable seed which
has resisted disease in its very stronghold. Now in very poor ground
the yield of this quantity should have been twelvefold, or about 5
cwt. of potatoes. "'Deed, and it wasn't the half of it. The champions
was planted too thick, sure; and two halves of 'um was lost." Taken
only mathematically this statement would not hold water, but it was
not till after a stern allocution that the fact was elicited that
much champion seed had been wasted by over-thick planting--a habit
acquired by the people during successive bad years. As these poor
people prevaricate, so do they procrastinate. The saddened man who
said, in his wrath, all men are liars, would have found ample
justification for his stern judgment on the Connemara sea-coast at the
present moment; but the Roman centurion immortalised in Holy Writ
would make a novel experience. He might say "Go," but he would have to
wait a while before the man went, and if he cried "Come" would need to
possess his soul with patience. Yet the people are not dull. In fact
the dull Saxon is worth a hundred of them in doing what he is told,
and in doing it at once. This simple fact goes far to explain the
unpopularity of English land-agents. Prepared to obey their own chief,
Englishmen, especially if they have served in the army, expect instant
obedience from others. Now that is just what they will not get in
Clifden or elsewhere in the neighbourhood. Almost everybody is as
fearfully deliberate in action as in untruth, and the Saxon who
expects instant attention and a straightforward answer, and is apt to
storm at procrastinators and shufflers, appears to the poor native as
an imperious tyrant. Now the native is always as civil as he is
deceptive. About the middle of my journey yesterday, I discovered that
the pair of horses who were to bring me twenty-six Irish miles from
Clifden to Oughterard had been driven ten miles before they began
that long pull. Of course the poor creatures dwindled to a walk at
last, and I sank into passive endurance lest the driver might inflict
heartless punishment upon them. My remarks on arriving at Oughterard,
where an excellent team awaited me, were vigorous in the extreme; but
I am bound to admit that they were accepted in a thoroughly Christian
spirit.