EDUCATION
Perhaps the biggest wrench in life is going to school. It may not seem
so very much afterwards--as the boy said of the tooth when he looked at
it in the dentist's forceps--but the wrench is really bad.
I learned my letters from my mother, and picked up a few other
smatterings before I had daily lessons from a tutor at Dingle. Strange
to say, a very good classical education could have been obtained there
in the thirties, better, so far as I can estimate, than could have been
expected from a town double the size at the same period in England.
At the age of ten I was sent to Huddard's, then a very sound school in
Dublin. I was well enough taught, not caned enough for my deserts,
though more than sufficed for my feelings, and sufficiently fed, but at
the end of two years I had to leave owing to ill health.
An apothecary, who selfishly recollected that the more medicines I took
the better for him if not for me, converted me into a human receptacle
for his empirical abominations, but another surgeon, who was rather
tardily called in, packed me off to the country.
One of the leading Dublin physicians certified that I had only one lung;
but as the other has served me faithfully for sixty-nine years, I am
rather sceptical as to the accuracy of his diagnosis.
I remember very little about Huddard's, except that it was in Mountjoy
Square, and about a hundred boys were herded there in unsought
proximity. We boarders always fought the town boys, but also had to
cajole them in humiliating ways to smuggle us in contraband articles of
food. The meals at Huddard's were fairly good, no doubt, as school fare
goes, but the sugary stick-jaw stuff for which the soul of a boy longs
was naturally not part of the official bill of fare. The bullying was of
a reasonable nature, or at all events I could hold my own with the best
of them, being indifferent to punishment so long as I could hit out
effectively from the shoulder. One of the ushers, a dwarf of malignant
disposition, was an awful tyrant, and we always had an ardent desire to
tar and feather him, only we did not know how to set about the operation
even if we had ventured to attempt it.
After a happy interval of convalescence at home, I was sent to a smaller
school kept by Mr. Hogg at Limerick. One of the boys there subsequently
became that illustrious ornament of the Bench, Lord Justice Barry.
He was a very eloquent man, counted so even at the Irish Bar, where a
certain high-flown loquacity is pretty prevalent, and had a great
repute. He arrived at Cork once, and had to fight his way through a
dense throng to get into court. On inquiring the reason of the crowd, he
was told that everybody wanted to hear the big speech that was expected
from Councillor Barry.
'Well, unless you make way for me it's disappointed every mother's son
of you will be, for I am twin to Councillor Barry, and I never heard
tell he had a brother.'
He carried on the old-fashioned habit of after-dinner conviviality, and
used to sit drinking three hours after the wine had been put on the
table, which was why I never accepted his hospitality in after years,
for, as I said before, I am a man of moderation.
In my young days it was the regular thing to bring in whisky-punch after
dinner; and for many years I regularly took one tumbler and never had a
second, not once to the best of my recollection.
There is a good deal of change in the habits of life. When I was a boy
coffee was unknown for breakfast, cocoa had not become known as a
beverage, and tea was regularly drunk. We seldom took lunch, nor did the
ladies, and afternoon tea was unheard of. Instead, tea was brought into
the drawing-room about eight in the evening, and was always drunk very
weak and sweet. In those times it was invariably from China and pretty
costly.
We dined at five. Dinners were very solid. Soup was a pretty regular
opening, but could be dispensed with without comment, and it was almost
always greasy. At Dingle fish was pretty plentiful, but sweets were
regarded as a great extravagance.
I remember, when grown up, dining with an elderly man near Cahirciveen,
who had a turbot for which he must have paid at least eight shillings,
but he apologised for not having a pudding on account of the necessity
for economy, though a pudding would not have cost him eightpence.
Made dishes were very few and badly cooked. The food was chiefly joints,
and, in nine cases out of ten, roast mutton. Vegetables were not so much
eaten as now, always excepting potatoes, which were consumed in large
quantities. There was practically no fruit, except a few apples and
oranges at Christmas.
Men sat very long over their wine. Sherry used to be served at dinner
and often claret afterwards, but the great beverage was port. I am
inclined to think that port has sensibly deteriorated since my young
days. It was as a rule more fruity then, but we never talked of our
livers, as subalterns and undergraduates do nowadays.
Port used to come direct to Dingle. It was an easy harbour 'to run,' and
there was some smuggling.
On one occasion some soldiers were sent to protect the gauger, who was
bent on making an important seizure. A few of the inhabitants of Dingle
took the opportunity of entertaining the officer, and whilst he
slumbered from the effects of their hospitality, the opportunity for
making the seizure was lost.
There is no particular reason why I should tell the following story
here, but it is worth recording, and I don't know any other part of my
reminiscences where it is more likely to slip in appropriately.
In Kerry in 1815, the farmers had been an extra long time fattening up
their pigs. After the Peace, prices all fell, and though the farmers
were reluctant, they had to yield to circumstances. One day the dealers
were buying at extremely low rates in Tralee market, when the postman
brought the news that Napoleon had escaped from Elba.
Instantly all the farmers broke off their bargains, and proceeded to
start homeward with their swine, shouting:--
'Hurrah for Boney that rose the pigs.'
My mother often told me of this scene, which she herself witnessed.
There was always a distinct sympathy with France, owing to the smuggling
from that land, and after the English had prohibited the exportation of
wool, it was smuggled into France, whence were brought back silks and
brandy.
The geography of Kerry is ideal for landing contraband store, and I
should say even more was done in this respect locally than on the coast
of Scotland.
There is a certain amount of good-will between people whose mutual
interests are similar until they fall out, and the hope of a French
landing in Ireland, though never very serious, always fanned the native
disaffection to the Government in the West.
The veracity of an Irishman is never considerable, for as a rule he will
say what he thinks likely to please you rather than state any unpleasant
fact. Of course the gauger--excise officer--was an especially unpopular
personage, and I doubt if a tithe of the lies told to him were ever
considered worthy of being confessed at all.
O'Connell's family made much money by smuggling, which was a pursuit
that carried not the slightest moral reproach. Indeed 'to go agin the
Government' in any sort of way has always been an act of
super-excellence.
The most lucrative side of the commercial enterprises of Morgan
O'Connell was his trade in contraband goods. In Derrynane Bay, he and
his brother landed cargoes which were sent over the hills on horses'
backs to receivers in Tralee.
Of O'Connell himself most stories have been told, but it is difficult to
indicate the enormous influence he had over the lower classes in his own
country.
Years before George IV. had aptly expressed the situation amid his
maudlin tears over Catholic emancipation.
'Wellington is King of England, O'Connell is King of Ireland, and I
suppose I'm only considered Dean of Windsor.'
As an advocate, the Liberator had many of the attributes of Kenealy, and
his popularity was so great that he was often briefed in every case at
an assize.
There is no doubt that he bullied judges, was allowed enormous laxity in
browbeating opposing counsel and witnesses, and, like Father O'Flynn,
had a wonderful way with him, so far as the jury was concerned.
When I saw him in Dublin, I at once realised how true must be the bulk
of the stories of his great conceit. He has been elevated into a
superhuman being by the posthumous praise of hundreds of blatant mob
orators.
Dan had two brothers, John and James. The latter was the first baronet,
and noted for his witty sayings.
He presided at a dinner given for the purpose of presenting an address
to the manager of a bank. On the toast of the Army and Navy being
proposed, the only man who could return thanks for the former was a
solicitor named Murphy, who said that if he were forced to respond to
the toast, it clearly proved what a peaceful community they lived in,
adding:--
'It is such a long time since I laid by the sash and the sword, that I
have forgotten my drill.'
'But you have never forgotten the charge,' observed the chairman, who
had a long bill from Murphy in his pocket at the time.
On another occasion, a lady spoke to James about subscribing to the
Roman Catholic Cathedral at Killarney.
'For my part,' she observed, 'it's little I can do in my lifetime, but I
have left all my money for the good of my soul.'
'I believe, ma'am,' says James, 'you were an original shareholder in the
Provincial Bank. The shares are now quoted at eighty and they pay six
per cent. That is very much like twenty-one per cent. on the original
capital.'
'I am not a clever man like you at making these calculations,' replies
the lady; 'I have higher and holier things to think about.'
'Don't say that again to me, ma'am,' says he. 'I put my money into
farms, and I get five per cent, from a grumbling and unsatisfactory set
of tenants. And what are you getting? Twenty-one per cent. in this world
and salvation in the next. It's the most damnable interest I ever heard
tell of, either in this world or any other.'
Yet another tale about him.
He had received an unconscionable bill of costs from an attorney, and
happening to meet a Roman Catholic bishop in Cork, he asked him if an
attorney could ever be saved.
'Why not? Even an extortioner can be if he make ample restitution in his
life-time, and dies fortified with the rites of the Church.'
'May be so, my lord,' replied Sir James, 'you know more about these
things than I do, but if it is as you say, you are taking a confounded
amount of unnecessary trouble about the rest of us.'
The bishop was not a bit disconcerted.
'I am an honest labourer striving to be worthy of my hire,' he
explained.
And at that Sir James left it, because he said it was not respectful to
ask too many invidious questions about a man who had the making of your
soul at his own will.
All this is a digression from my education, which was as desultory as
these reminiscences.
After a spell at Limerick I was again sent home ill, and for six months
I really had to be treated as an invalid. I was always very fond of
books, notably history, and I think I have read pretty well every book
published upon the history of Ireland. It was at this time I began
teaching myself a bit, and that is the teaching which is better than any
other, except what one has to learn against one's own will and for one's
own advantage in the school of life. Like a good many other people I was
led to history not only by a shortage of lighter books at home, but also
by curiosity aroused by the novels of Sir Walter Scott. In the way of
promoting better reading, I believe Scott has been far more beneficial
than any other writer of fiction in English.
I was for a short time at school in Exeter, and then at a rather rough
establishment at Woolwich, where my father wished me to have the tuition
in mathematics which could be obtained from the masters in the Academy
at irregular times. By all accounts the fagging and bullying in that
establishment were appalling. The headmaster of the school I was at was
an able fellow, and many of the cadets used to come to have a grind with
him. Some of their tales were 'hair-erectors,' as the Americans say.
One new boy had the misfortune to sprain his ankle, and to incur the
fury of the head of dormitory on the same evening. The latter tied his
game ankle up to his thigh, and fastening him by the wrist to the bottom
of the bed, made him stand the better part of the night on his bad
ankle.
This reminds me of the story of a certain royal prince going to an
educational establishment and being asked who his parents were. On his
reply, the senior--or 'John'--gave him a terrific _cuff_ on the side of
the head saying:--
'That's for your father, the prince.'
And before the half-stunned boy recovered, he received a stinging blow
on the other ear with:--
'That's for your mother, the princess, and now black my boots.'
His Highness could say nothing, but in time he grew to be the biggest
and the worst bully.
Then the younger brother of his former tormentor came, and the prince
sent for him, and telling him what his brother had done some years
before, made him bend down and flogged him so unmercifully that he had
to go into hospital.
Years after, when in an important position, he met his former victim,
now a general, and congratulating him on his career said:--
'Perhaps I made your success by giving you that tanning at Sandhurst.'
I wonder whether there was murder in the heart of the grim old warrior
at the recollection. Of course that would not be strange, for many a
time officers have been actually shot in action by their own men.
Here is a perfectly true story, only neither the men nor the officer
need be specified.
A colonel who had grossly mismanaged the regiment knew his fate was
sealed.
So when the men paraded for the engagement, he said:--
'I know you mean to shoot me to-day, but for God's sake don't do so
until we have won the battle.'
This was greeted with a cheer, and he came back safe to be decorated and
to play whist at his club as badly as any member in it.
I am not sure that cards ought not to be considered part of every lad's
training. If a man goes through life without touching a card, he
probably loses a good deal of innocent amusement, and debars himself
from much pleasant society. If he learns to play when grown up, he may
find it a costly and unsatisfactory branch of education. But if he is
taught to play reasonably well as a boy, and is shown that excellent
games can be had without gambling--I do not consider an infinitesimal
stake, in proportion to his means, gambling--he will have an extra
amusement made for him and a relaxation after his day's work.
A near relative of my own gets his club cronies to play bridge with his
son, aged eighteen, and pays his losses, in order that he may be
thoroughly grounded in the game. The lad is a capital boy, and all the
better for his early association with elder men on their own level.
One of the resources of my old age is three games of picquet every night
after dinner with my wife, and very much I enjoy them. There is often
the fashionable bridge played in the room by my children and their
friends, but I have never taken a hand, though in younger days I derived
a fair amount of diversion from whist.