Bland's estate as I could have wished, but between the showers I was
able to form a fair idea of his building and road improvement. It is a
matter of pride to the proprietor that on a territory once impassable
by a wheeled vehicle he can now drive to every farm in a carriage and
pair, and that among tenants averaging "the grass of six cows" apiece;
men and women at least speak English, and children go to school. The
barbarous state of the country and inhabitants forty years ago may be
gathered from the following anecdote. Two gentlemen were out shooting
on the mountain and were driven by a "Kerry shower"--which is as much
like a cataract as anything I know of--into a peasant's cabin. The man
received them with all the dignity and self-possession peculiar to the
best of his class, and when the storm cleared off invited them to eat
with him on their return from the hillside. When they came back,
expecting only potatoes and butter, they were astounded to see their
host take several pieces of some kind of meat out of the pot and place
them on the table, for there were no plates before them. It turned out
that the mysterious meat was that of a newly-born calf whose dam was
yet lying helpless in a corner of the cabin. The man was quite
unconscious that there was anything objectionable in the dreadful
food, and offered it to "the masthers" with perfect grace, and without
the slightest pang at the costliness of the banquet. He had given the
best and only meat he had to his guests. Like the Italian gentleman
with his falcon, or rather the Arab sheik with his horse, who, my
friend Mr. Browning tells me, is the original of Boccaccio's
mamby-pamby story, the Kerry mountaineer had fulfilled the rites of
hospitality at whatever cost. For long after the date of the grim
repast just recorded, in fact, even till to-day, the peasants on the
Derryquin estate have been accustomed to refer their almost
innumerable wrangles and squabbles to the decision of "the masther,"
who might be figured as a kind of Hibernian St. Louis, sitting under a
tree, and adjudicating between his subjects. Sometimes it was not very
easy to arrive at a decision. Not very long ago a man came with a
complaint that his once-intended son-in-law had behaved shabbily and
fraudulently. It appeared that the father of the girl had agreed with
the "boy" that a cow should be killed "to furnish forth the marriage
table;" that the father should provide the cow for the happy day, and
that the cost of the animal should be shared between them. The cow had
been killed, and the bride had been dressed, but the Kerry "county
Guy" had not been forthcoming, that mercenary youth having married out
of hand another girl with four more cows to her fortune than the one
he was engaged to. Hereat the outraged parent demanded, not that he
should pay damages for breach of promise, but his share of the cost of
the cow. "And," said the masther, "you had the cow and the daughter
thrown on your hands?" "Divil a throw, your honour," was the reply;
"mee daughter got another husband in tin minutes, begorra, and we ate
the cow, your honour; but Mike is a blackgyard, and should pay his
half of the cow, your honour." This was a knotty case, but his
"honour" decided that Mike should pay his share, and, to do that
fickle bridegroom justice, he paid up with very little demurring. He
was clearly three cows and a half the better by his bargain, and, I
believe, lives happily to this day. It is needless to say that he has
numerous children.
Mr. Bland has under his paternal rule about 300 agricultural tenants
besides the villagers of Sneem, who mostly have lots lying contiguous
to, or at some little distance from, their houses. The holdings,
albeit averaging the grass of six cows, vary very considerably in size
and quality. Thus one farmer holds 803 acres, or "the grass of
twenty-four cows," with mountain run attached, at a rent of 35l.,
while another who has 1,493 acres is only charged 26l. for "the grass
of seventeen cows," with proportionate mountain. Even on holdings of
this size, as well as on others of less value, such as 250 acres at a
rent of 13l. 15s., Mr. Bland has experienced great difficulty in
inducing the tenants to bear any share of the cost of building and
other improvements. Of course there are tenants and tenants at
Derryquin, as elsewhere, but the general feeling has undoubtedly been
averse to paying an extra percentage for improvements. Mr. Bland has
done what he could, but has rarely found anybody inclined to pay more
than 2 per cent., and one irreconcilable actually refused to pay 1l. a
year extra to have a 70l. house built for him. The "masther" appears
to take a view of the subject which might have been with great
advantage more widely distributed among Irish proprietors of the
improving sort. It is not extravagant to ask a farmer with the nominal
grass of twenty cows, and a mountain run on which he grazes twice as
many bullocks, to pay 5 per cent. on 80l. or 100l. as the rent of a
good and substantial house; but it is preposterous to ask the holder
of a ten-acre lot to do likewise. Such peasants should, as I observed
in one of my early letters, not be called farmers at all. Their
condition is about equal to that of the English farm labourer. When
the landlord can afford to build better cottages for them than they
now have, he should certainly not expect more than 1, or at best 2 per
cent. for his outlay, and carry the balance to his profit and loss
account, after the manner of English landowners of the best class. The
Derryquin houses or cottages are very well built and excellently
planned; they are also very pretty with their whitewashed walls, red
tile roofs, and doors painted red to match. These patches of bright
colour give extraordinary cheerfulness to a landscape otherwise of
green, brown, and grey, looking cold enough under a weeping sky. The
walls are of stone, "dashed" after the Irish fashion with mortar or
concrete, and slate roofs have now given place to red tiles in fancy
patterns. Inside they are divided into two rooms on the ground floor,
paved with concrete, and two sleeping rooms above, in order, if
possible, to keep the people from huddling together at night. It is a
fact, impossible as it may appear, that when the pretty and tasteful
lodge at the gate of Derryquin was first built, the occupants, four in
number, all slept together in one room rather than be separated at
night, and were only induced to occupy the apartments built to prevent
this habit by the threat of eviction. I might have doubted this
amazing story had I not seen the condition of a cottage rebuilt
recently on an old foundation at a cost of 60l., for which a rent of
1l. is charged. The tenant fought hard against the innovation, and
yielded to the imposition of 1l. a year, and a clean new house, only
under fear of being turned off the estate. He and his have only been
in the new building for a few weeks, but they have made wild work of
it already. In the room to the left of the door a "bonneva," or
half-grown pig of the size called a "shote," in the State of Georgia,
was disporting himself by looking on at a girl spinning wool, a "boy"
doing nothing, and two dirty youngsters wallowing on the floor. In the
other brand new room, not long since left sweet and tidy by the
builders, were piled an immense heap of turf and a great store of
potatoes, over against which stood a bedstead and a pair of boots.
There was nothing else in the room, not the slightest fragment of
table or chair, not a sign of water or washing utensils; in the room
above were also bedsteads, without anything that could be called
bedding, and no other stick of furniture. Before the front door was a
rough stone causeway, already ankle-deep in filth. Close up to the
rear of the house was a dung-heap of portentous size and savour.
Evidently this was a case of taking the horse to the water and being
unable to make him drink, for the people thrust into a clean house
were obviously doing their best to bring it into harmony with their
own views. I heard also of a remarkable case of subdivision on the
part of some labourers on Mr. Bland's estate, higher up on the
mountain. A couple or three years ago two "boys" received permission
to occupy a cabin on a little patch of land. This spot has since grown
into a colony. The "boys" have both got married, and have children.
Their brothers-in-law also, with wives and children, as a matter of
course, have built their cabins against the original one given to the
two bachelors, and the holding has a population of forty-five souls.
These poor people are surely the most affectionate in the world, and
the uproar when any one of the colony is ailing is astonishing, and
bewildering to more civilised and perhaps colder-blooded folk.
Mr. R. Mahony's estate of Dromore (_Anglice_ "Big Ridge") is the
theatre of even more extensive improvements than those of Derryquin.
Mr. Mahony has 29,163 acres in Kerry, valued by Griffith at 3,071l.
In his pamphlet he states:--"In the year 1851 I came into possession
of my estate. Old rentals in my possession show that for many years
previous to that date there had been allowances made to tenants at the
rate of about 1,000l. per annum. Yet when I took up the estate there
was not one drain made by a tenant, not one slated house, not a perch
of road, not a yard of sub-soiled land. I then adopted the system of
making all improvements myself, charging interest of the outlay upon
the occupier according to the circumstances and increased value of the
farm. The result has been that in five-and-twenty years I have built
about eighty houses and offices slated or tiled, made twenty-eight
miles of road, built nine bridges, made twenty-three miles of fences,
thoroughly drained about five hundred acres, planted one hundred and
fifty acres of waste land, and proportionately improved the condition
and circumstances of the people."
There is abundant evidence of Mr. Mahony's work on his estate, which
is not only valuable in itself but as an example. The roads are
admirably laid, and the employment of concrete made of Portland cement
and the sand and pebbles of the seashore, since followed at Ardfert,
was initiated at Dromore. Walls, floors, partitions, are all of
concrete, and the roofs of the houses last built of handsome red
tiles. The disposition of the apartments in the Dromore cottages
varies somewhat from that of the neighbouring estate. The principal
room, or kitchen, has nothing above it but the high-pitched roof,
lined with wood tastefully disposed. The remaining three apartments
are two on the ground floor, a tiny parlour and convenient bedroom,
and one full-sized bedroom above. Separate cow-houses and pigsties are
also appended to each cottage. So far as can be judged from a hurried
visit, many of the houses are very well and tidily kept; in fact, so
treated as not to destroy hope in the future of the Irish peasant
cultivator, although this trimness is by no means so general as it
might be. Mr. Mahony has also, by way of showing his people how things
should be done, a model farm and dairy, of such moderate size as not
to be beyond the ambition of a successful tenant. The proprietor has
also, like Mr. Bland and Mr. Butler, of Waterville, a successful
salmon fishery, great part of the produce whereof goes, at some little
advance on sixpence per pound, to the agents of a London firm, who
also get an enormous supply of mushrooms from county Kerry.
There is a greatly-improved property in county Cork, lying west of
Macroom and south of Mill Street. This is Ballyvourney, one of the
estates of Sir George St. John Colthurst, of Ardrum, whose father laid
out an immense sum in reclaiming a portion of the 25,000 acres, which
bring him in about 5,000l. per annum.
There are other landlords in the counties of Cork and Kerry who, like
Mr. Bence Jones, have done well by their land; but there is no
occasion to multiply experiences of a similar character. The purpose
of my Kerry excursion was to observe the Kerry peasant when he had
been left to himself, and where he had been looked after, and perhaps
governed, by a landlord whose interest in him had not been diminished
by recent legislation. My impression is very much the same as that
produced by my visit to Connemara, that the peasant requires firm as
well as gentle handling, and that his emancipation from the control of
his landlord should be accompanied by some other authority
representing the State, and interfering to prevent the tendency to
local congestion of population.
The Kerry peasant's qualities are in the main good, and he is upheld
under difficulties by hopefulness almost equal to his vanity and habit
of exaggeration. A Kerry man's boat is a ship, his cabin is a house,
his shrubs are trees, his "boreen" is an avenue, and, as a native bard
declares, "all his hens are paycocks." He may be briefly described as
in morals correct, disposition kindly, manners excellent, customs
filthy. It is, however, despite his hopefulness, difficult to find any
trace of that gaiety for which he was formerly famous, whether justly
or not. His amusements outside the calm of Derrynane, Derryquin, and
Dromore, appear to be cattle fairs, whisky, and sedition. At times he
is unconsciously humorous, as in the story of the Duchess of
Marlborough's Indian meal distributed for the relief of the poor
during the hard time of last winter. A gentleman, who ought to know
better, was buying some potheen, or illicit whisky, of the maker.
"Now, Pat," said he, "I hope this lot is better than the last." "And,
your honour," was the reply, "the last was but the name of whisky.
Begorra, it's the Duchess's meal as makes mighty poor potheen." This
was said quite seriously and with an injured air. For there is no
merriment in Kerry. The old dances at the cross roads are danced no
more. The pipe of the piper is played out.
XVII.
"BOYCOTTED" AT CHRISTMASTIDE.
KILFINANE, CO. LIMERICK, _Christmas Eve._
The fox-terrier sits blinking on the hearth-rug in the pretty
drawing-room as nightfall approaches, and a servant appears with a
message that a woman has come with a big cake from Mrs. O'Blank, a
sympathising neighbour. There is no mistake about the size and
condition of the cake; it is a yard and a quarter in circumference; it
has a shining holiday face, like that of the fabled pigs who ran about
ready roasted, covered with delicately-browned "crackling," perfumed
with sage and onions, and carrying huge bowls of apple-sauce in their
mouths. As the pigs cried, "Come and eat me," so does the cake appeal,
but in more subtle manner, to the instincts and nostrils of all
present. It has that pleasant scent with it peculiar to newly-baked
plumcake. Huge plums, which have worked their way perseveringly to the
surface, wink invitingly, and, above all, the cake is hot, gloriously
hot, besides having with it a delicate zest of contraband acquired by
being smuggled on to the premises under Biddy M'Carthy's shawl.
Biddy has watched the moment when the "boys" on the watch--scowling
ruffians by the same token--had gone in quest of tea or more potent
refreshment, and has slipped from the avenue which runs past the house
instead of up to it, by the lodge gate and up to the door in that
spirit-like fashion peculiar to this part of Ireland. When they wish
to do so, the people appear to spring out of the ground. Two minutes
before the monotony of existence is broken by a fight there will not
be a soul to be seen, but no sooner is it discovered that some unlucky
wight is in present receipt of a "big bating" than hundreds appear on
the spot, and struggle for a "vacancy," like the lame piper who howled
for the same at the "murthering" of a bailiff.
This ghost-like faculty, however, has served us right well, for I need
not speculate upon what would have happened to Mrs. M'Carthy (whose
real name is not given for obvious reasons) if she had been discovered
carrying a huge cake to a house under ban. She would not have been
injured bodily; no soul in Kilfinane would have touched the cake, much
less have eaten the hateful food made and baked and attempted to be
carried to the stronghold of the "tyrant"; but it would have gone ill
with the brave little woman nevertheless. Her husband would have been
compelled to seek elsewhere for a livelihood, for neither farmer nor
tradesman would dare to employ either him or her. Her elder children
would have been pointed at as they went to school, and sent to
Coventry while there; and she would have been refused milk for the
younger ones. Not a potato nor a pound of meal nor an egg could she
have bought all through the hamlet; and if people at a distance had
sold her anything, they would have been intercepted and compelled to
take it back again. The carriers would not have delivered to or taken
parcels from her; she would, in fact, have been very much in the
condition that Eve, according to Lord Byron, thought she could put
Cain into by cursing him.
Fortunately, however, the cake-bearer has escaped, and we fall with
keen appetites upon the not very digestible banquet she has provided.
The blockade has been successfully run, and we celebrate the event
accordingly. We are not so very badly off after all, and in fact have
passed a by no means dull time for the last two days. It is not quite
so easy to frighten our garrison as a pack of sympathising peasants
who attempt no kind of resistance against the mysterious leaders of
the _Jacquerie_. The son of the house and his two grown cousins are
here, the butler and gardener still remain staunch, as well as the
coachman and a couple of bailiffs living outside, all "Boycotted"
also. Moreover, we have a cook and housemaid with us, and two members
of the Royal Constabulary. We have busy times, too. So far as
turkeys, geese, chickens, and eggs, butter and bacon are concerned, we
have enough and to spare within protecting range of rifle and
revolver, but for fresh beef and mutton and flour we must depend upon
Cork. Now the mysterious agent in Cork who sends us the supplies
cannot get them carried nearer to the house than the railway station
at Kilmallock, the interesting little town at which one of the county
members keeps the inn and "runs" the cars, a fact whereof the citizens
are not a little proud. When we receive the news, letter or telegram,
announcing that meat or other stores will arrive by a certain train,
we drive down to meet it, and without the slightest assistance, for
not a single gloomy by-stander would do us a hand's turn, we carry it
off to our own car, and thanks to the awe inspired by army revolvers,
Winchester rifles, one constable on the car, and those officially at
the railway station, bring our property away.
A day since there was great excitement concerning the arrival of a
daughter of the house, who was coming down to keep house for the
"boys" whose guest I am. Her brother and one of her cousins went down
on the car to meet her, armed as usual, for although they would be
comparatively safe with a lady on the car, they ran considerable risk
until she was actually on board. The train came, but not the young
lady, and as it was broad daylight her well-armed escort came back
again. Towards the hour for the arrival of the evening train there was
more anxiety. It was dark, but it was absolutely necessary to go down
to Kilmallock again, on the off chance that she might have come later
than was expected, and had forgotten to telegraph. If she had arrived
and nobody had been there to meet her, the consequences would have
been awkward. She would not, it is true, have been exposed to the
slightest insult, for except in the case of Miss Gardiner, of
Farmhill, I believe Irishmen have never forgotten their natural
gallantry so much as to insult, much less shoot at and wound, a lady.
There would, therefore, have been no fear of violence; but it is very
doubtful whether anybody would have removed her trunks from the spot
on which they had been laid down. Most assuredly no cardriver would
have dared to drive her home, and I question if any house in
Kilmallock would have afforded her shelter. However, she did not come
by the train after all, and the "boys" drove back, not without an
Irish howl to keep them company on the road.
Dinner over, the company being composed of the three "boys" and the
writer, who among them made short work of a plump turkey and a
vigorous inroad on a round of beef, besides disposing of soups,
sweets, and sherry--not a bad _menu_ under "Boycotting" rules--we,
after seeing that the front door was properly barred, bolted, and
chained, and the iron-linked shutters, relics of the Fenian time, made
equally secure, adjourned to the kitchen for a smoke, a common
practice in this part of Ireland. The kitchen, with its red-tiled
floor, is a capital smoking room, warm and cosy, and while tobacco is
leisurely puffed, and that eternal subject, "the state of the
country," discussed, the eye reposes complacently on the treasures
suspended from the hooks on the ceiling, plump hams and sides of
well-fed bacon giving assurance that the garrison is far from being
reduced to extremities. But there are in the kitchen other objects
less suggestive of festivity. On the round table by the central column
supporting the kitchen roof lie sundry revolvers, and nearer one of
the windows a couple of repeating rifles and the double-barrelled
carbines of the constabulary. Two members of that well-grown and well
set-up corps are seated at a corner of the dresser, deeply engrossed
in the intricacies of the mysterious game of forty-five, before which
the mind of the dull Saxon remains bewildered in hopeless incapacity.
Presently the well-thumbed pack is laid aside, and one of the
constables addresses himself to the task of closing and barring up the
shutters, thus shutting out all chance of any present being picked off
by a shot through the window, as was done when Miss Gardiner was
wounded under somewhat similar circumstances.
There is a great deal of gossip concerning the "Boycotting" of Mr.
Bence Jones, and that of the most recent victim, The Macgillicuddy of
the Reeks, whose family is well known to all present; but even the one
engrossing subject wears itself out at last. One cannot attain any
wild pitch of hilarity among bolts and bars and Winchester rifles.
Nobody appears to care for any stories but such as bear upon the
present troubles and the Fenian affair in 1867. At Kilmallock there is
no sign of song or dance; no talk of pantomimes, and what jokes are
made bear grim reference to troubles actually endured and possible
troubles to come.
By day it is by no means dreary. To begin with, the house is built on
a charming spot six miles distant from a railway station; in front and
beyond the lawn is a pretty little lake broken up by islands, making a
tender foreground for the Galtee and nearer mountains. From the
opposite side the view is equally delightful, the hills being crowned
with trees and brushwood, an unusual sight in Ireland. Down the slope
of the immense saddle-backed range lie fields of the brightest green,
divided by banks and hedges delightful to look at after the grim stone
walls of Mayo, Galway, and Clare. From behind these grassy slopes
peeps the purple crest of the distant mountains, giving grandeur to a
scene which might otherwise have been deemed tame. The climate,
although chilled by recent heavy rains, is deliciously soft, and the
breeze has none of that incisive quality common to the more northern
hills. It is needless to say that at sunrise there is no chance of
meeting any watchers of the "Boycotting" brigade. At seven o'clock any
quantity of cargo might be "run" into the beleaguered citadel; but so
for that matter can anything one likes be done at noon, under
sufficient escort. When nothing is to be carried there is not the
slightest occasion for escort in Kilfinane itself, although the
attitude of the people is hostile in the extreme. Going for a stroll
with the nephew of the absent "master," I am recommended to put a
pistol in my pocket, and, much against the grain, do so.
I must confess that I draw a line at agents. Alone I should not dream
of going about armed, although "indignation meetings" have been held
to denounce me for speaking the truth and believing my own eyes, and I
consider myself quite safe while in the company of many landlords. But
agents are another matter. There is while with them always the off
chance of something untoward turning up, and it is, perhaps, as well
to be prepared for emergencies. Personally I must confess that I am
favourably disposed towards the much vilified agents. They are in many
respects the most manly men in Ireland. Nearly always well-bred, they
excite sympathy by the position they hold between the upper and nether
millstone of landlord and tenant. Perhaps they have made a good thing
of it, but if so they have earned it, for their position always
reminds one of that assigned by Lord Macaulay to the officers of the
East India Company, such as Olive and Warren Hastings. To these
founders of our Eastern Empire "John Company" said, "Respect treaties;
keep faith with native rulers; do not oppress the people; but send us
money."