The mountainous districts in the north of Ireland have long been
famous for the manufacture of whisky—or as it is sometimes called when
made without the concurrence of the revenue, ‘poteen.’ Until the last
few years, the practice was exceedingly common, even within a few
miles of towns of considerable size; but latterly the total output of
spirits has been much reduced in quantity, and has been of inferior
quality. Various causes have contributed to this. Formerly, the excise
supervision was not so efficient as it has since become. Very often,
Englishmen or Scotchmen were selected for Irish districts, and found
the peasantry combined to a man against them. They were aided, too, by
a body of police whose sole duties were the detection and exposure of
frauds against the revenue, and therefore it was a clear issue between
two parties, with a large body of spectators standing neutral, or
rather, in the national spirit, strongly sympathising with those who
were trying to evade the law. Besides, if the Squire—who was of course
a magistrate—found an anonymous present of a five-gallon jar of poteen,
why should he go and waste good liquor by giving it up, and perhaps by
so doing get some of his own tenants into trouble! It was clearly none
of his business; in which opinion his neighbours heartily shared, as
they sipped it in punch at his festive board. The priest, too, was of
the same mind; for as long as the ‘boys’ did not take too much, or beat
their wives, or neglect attending mass, it was a very convenient way of
turning an honest penny in those hard times. With the tacit concurrence
of these two great social forces, the owner of the still had little to
fear, and could carry on his lawless trade with comparative impunity.
The possession of a common secret encouraged cordial relations between
all classes and creeds, until they resembled the proverbial happy
family. But the events of the last thirty years have changed all this,
and have indirectly led to a large diminution of private distillation.
The first blow which it received was the disbanding of the revenue
police about the year 1858, and the absorption of their duties, and the
drafting of the most capable members of the force into the Royal Irish
Constabulary. This body have a great many duties to perform: they keep
the peace; act as public prosecutors in petty cases; distribute and
collect the census papers and votes for poor-law guardians; make up
the agricultural statistics; act as an armed drilled force in time of
riot; and lastly, as detectives of crime and, since 1858, of illicit
distillation. On account of these numerous functions, they are brought
into contact with almost every individual in their district, not so
much at the barracks as at their own homes; and the sight of an empty
jar in an unlikely place, or an unusual abundance of spirits about a
particular house, are signs not lost on the vigilant constable, and
carefully stored up by him for future use.
Again, the improved means of transit in the mountainous districts
have given the affairs of the inhabitants more publicity. Post-vans,
mail-cars, and narrow-gauge railways, are everywhere furnishing certain
and regular communication between the better populated and more
civilised valleys and the poorer and less inhabited mountains. By these
means, enterprising travellers have penetrated the backward districts,
and been received with the customary hospitality of the Irish to
strangers. They are occasionally even permitted to taste the native
‘mountain dew,’ and sometimes thoughtlessly bring their entertainers
into trouble by incautiously boasting of their privileges before
strangers. The information has been carried to the police force in the
district in which the, alas! too confiding host resided, and has caused
a watch to be set on him, resulting eventually in the discovery of the
fountain-head.
But information of this kind is accidental, and therefore such cases
are rare. The fact is that the chief sources of knowledge are, as
might be expected from the analogy of other Irish conspiracies, from
within the camp, which is sure to hold sooner or later some informer.
A difference of opinion about the division of the spoil, a row amongst
their womankind, or some such characteristic quarrel, leads to
ill-feeling, and some impulsive member of the gang, in the haste of
momentary spite, secretly informs the police. Then the customary and
well-known scene follows. A force of constabulary fully armed steals
out under cover of night, carefully surround the fated still-house, and
advancing from all sides, simultaneously burst in upon the unfortunate
distillers just as the outlying scout has brought word that the police
are coming. Resistance, though sometimes attempted, is useless, and the
dread guardians of the law proceed to destroy the prepared materials,
seize the still, and quench the fire. Finally, the sad procession of
police, prisoners, and utensils—the last being placed in a cart with
the manufactured spirits—wends its way down the mountain-side to the
nearest barracks. Then, at the next petty sessions of the district, all
those who were found engaged, together with the tenant on whose holding
the distillation was being carried on, are heavily fined, with the
option of a severe term of imprisonment.
But what has conduced more than anything else to the diminution of
illicit distillation has been successive bad harvests, rack-renting,
and absentee landlords. These have produced agrarian outrages, and
these in their turn have led to Coercion Acts, giving the constabulary
night-patrol powers of a very comprehensive character. As the
mountainous districts are the poorest, so the outrages have been
more frequent there, and the police in seeking for those intent on
committing crime, have often accidentally found those merely intent on
distilling poteen. All these discoveries are treasured up, and care
taken that the same practice will not again occur in the same place;
and thus the opportunities for illicit distillation are gradually
becoming fewer and fewer, and everything seems to point towards its
total extinction.
The place selected for the operations of the distiller is usually
some natural hollow, or a sheltered spot partially hidden by some
overhanging rock. But occasionally there are much more habitable places
prepared. A favourite example of this is an artificial cave dug out
in the side of a high bank close to a stream, the proximity of which
is always necessary for their operations. The entrance is generally
concealed with great ingenuity by a luxuriant growth of furze and
other shrubs. Inside, a raised seat of earth, on which some heather
has been strewn, and a rudely built chimney, complete the structure.
The functions of the chimney are not by any means exhausted by being
brought up to the natural level of the earth. As is well known, burning
peat has an easily recognisable odour, and if this drew attention to
a wreath of smoke ascending in the midst of a field, the chances of a
long life for the still-house would be very small. Instead, therefore,
of being directly brought out, every conceivable artifice is employed
to render the smoke invisible. Sometimes it is led into a drain; at
others, into a thick growth of underwood; again, it is carried for
some distance, and allowed to make its escape in such small quantities
as to be practically imperceptible. In one case of which we knew, the
still-house was underground in the vicinity of the owner’s cottage, and
advantage of this was taken to convey the chimney up the earthen fence
and effect a junction with the flue of the kitchen.
In some cases, a dwelling-house is chosen in such a locality as to
defy suspicion. An example of this occurred in a market-town where
distillation was carried on for many years in the main street within
a hundred yards of an important constabulary barracks, and the owner
in this case was said to have amassed a considerable amount of money.
For aught that is known, many similar instances may still exist, as
the shrewdness shown by the choice of such a hiding-place renders
detection, except through treachery, a most unlikely event. It would be
well perhaps to add, that in the case just related the proprietor of
the still was a bachelor.
Having prepared a suitable place, the next thing is to procure a still
and worm, which are usually manufactured by the local tinker. The still
is generally made of strong tinned plate, and is of a cylindrical form,
except the head, which is rounded and enlarged, in order to better
collect the alcohol as it evaporates. The highest part of the head
terminates in a tube, wide at first, but gradually becoming narrower,
until it reaches the worm, which is a long tube curled into a spiral,
and during work is always kept cold by immersion in water. It is
sometimes made from tinned plate, but preferably of sheet-copper, as
this material, in some mysterious way, is said to make better poteen.
The still having been procured, the materials from which the spirit
is extracted must be obtained. Malt is, of course, the most important
item, but in past times was very difficult to procure, as part of the
excise officer’s labours, until the repeal of the malt tax, was to
prevent its preparation in corn-mills, so that the still-owner had
frequently to choose between making it for himself with imperfect
appliances, or using an inferior substitute. This was either ordinary
grain or treacle, generally the latter, from its portability, and the
quickness with which it could be prepared. Indeed, the extra sale of
treacle in particular districts has been a very trustworthy indication
of the quantity of spirits being manufactured. In one village where
some years ago the average sale was three casks a week, the present
consumption is not more than one every two months. But perhaps this
may result as much from the repeal of the malt tax as the decline in
illicit distillation.
The malt or treacle is laid down in water somewhat under boiling-point,
and allowed to remain there until it has attained to the consistence of
thin water-gruel. It is now ready for fermentation, which is effected
by means of yeast; and when this process is complete, the mixture is
called ‘wash,’ and is now ready for distillation. The still is now
filled with wash, and a gentle heat applied, vaporising the alcohol,
which passes through the still-head, and is cooled back to its liquid
form in the worm, at the lower end of which it is received by pans,
crocks, ‘piggins,’ or indeed any vessel which will hold it. From these
receptacles it is put into jars or casks—more commonly five-gallon
‘kegs’—and conveyed to a place of safety. When all the wash has been
distilled, the articles employed are carefully hidden, a favourite
place for the still and worm being under water in the neighbouring
stream. Then nothing remains but the distribution of the spirits in
such a manner as to realise a handsome profit. This is an operation
demanding all the craft of the distiller. To dispose of it to his
immediate neighbours would be to disclose his secret, and they would
either demand the poteen for nothing, or denounce him if he refused
to give it. It must therefore be conveyed to a distance, and sold to
some publican at such a price as will amply compensate both parties for
their risk. As the publican must keep a record of all the spirits he
receives, he incurs the danger of having material on his premises which
is not entered in his stock-book; as a rule, therefore, the poteen is
mixed with whisky resembling it in flavour, and the blend sold as the
original.
In order to get the jar or cask safely into the town, the distiller
usually envelops it in straw or hay, and tries to pass it off as
innocent fodder; or another plan is to place it in the centre of a cart
of turf, and on selling the turf to the proper person, its removal is
easy, though occasionally even more ingenious methods are resorted to.
Fortunes acquired by means of illicit distillation have given rise
to a very curious taunt amongst the inhabitants of the north-west
of Ireland. When it was intended to convey to any person in the
strongest possible manner that his pride in his family circumstances
was only that of an upstart, the common expression for this was: ‘Your
grandmother was Doherty ——, and wore a tin pocket.’ The origin of this
saying was as follows. The northern part of the county of Donegal,
particularly the district of Innishowen, is largely peopled by persons
of the name of Doherty and O’Doherty. In past times, one of the best
means of smuggling poteen into Londonderry and other towns in the
vicinity was by a tin flask carried by the women in their pockets.
Hence the expression.