A DAY IN ENNISKILLEN
When we woke up late the next morning the sun was shining in at the
windows. We congratulated ourselves on having escaped the bad weather
of the previous evening, and we expected to again enjoy the sight of
Ireland’s green fields lit up with sunshine.
When I arose I felt quite stiff and sore, and I saw Mike moved around
with more than his usual precision. The prolonged flight of the
previous day had wearied us considerably. Some aeronauts may wonder we
could make such a long flight, but straight, cross-country aeroplaning
differs much from circling a mile track. The aeroplane is not so
comfortable as a dirigible balloon, and a flight like Count Zeppelin’s
recent cross-country trip in Europe would be quite strenuous in the
heavier-than-air machines at present. But a journey of 300 or 400 miles
a day, with proper stops, does not call for any extraordinary endurance.
As we came down stairs to breakfast we heard a band out on the street
and we noticed an air of excitement on every hand. We thought, at
first, that we were the occasion of the evident agitation, but a waiter
soon showed us that there were greater things, even, than aeroplanists
in Ireland on that day.
“It’s a foine Twelfth of July,” he said to us.
“What about the Twelfth of July?” asked Mike.
The waiter stared at him, until Mike went on:
“What’s going on here today?”
Then the waiter, seeing we were ignorant Americans explained to us how
they celebrated the victory of the Boyne every Twelfth of July, and
how the celebration that day was to be the biggest ever held. Then I
remembered how the great day in the North of Ireland is the Twelfth of
July, just as the Seventeenth of March is the great day in the rest of
Ireland. However, St. Patrick’s Day is now generally observed in some
way not only in Ireland, but in all the world.
“Mike,” said I, “let us stay in Enniskillen today and celebrate.”
“We’ll stay and rest,” said Mike, “and see what they do here on the
‘glorious Twelfth’, as our waiter calls it.”
After breakfast we went out on the streets, and found them filling up
with a holiday crowd. I was reminded of a celebration of July Fourth
in America. Excursion trains coming in from different points in the
surrounding territory added to the crowd every hour. These excursion
parties brought with them in every case one or two fife bands, and
occasionally a brass band. These bands played popular airs to the
great delight of the crowd. All these numerous bands, and the immense
crowd of Irishmen and Irish women, gathered in a large field beside
Enniskillen. It was a scene of the greatest enthusiasm. Bands in
different parts of the field were playing different airs. All was
hub-bub and excitement. There were stands all around where all kinds
of drinks were sold. Already several plainly showed that they had been
drinking a liquid much stronger than lemonade. Lads and lasses were
walking around, jostling, crowding and laughing. It was a good-natured
crowd, as there was no counter-demonstration of any kind, as happens
sometimes in other parts of Ireland, I understand. The differences
between the Roman Catholic and Protestant are very acute in the Emerald
Isle for several reasons. Often the two sides have bitter disputes. In
this controversy, as in all else, the inevitable humor of the Irish
sometimes crops out. The famous Father O’Leary had a polemical contest
with the Protestant Bishop of Cloyne. The Bishop, in a pamphlet,
inveighed with great acrimony against the doctrines of the Roman
Catholic Church, and particularly against purgatory.
Father O’Leary, in his reply, slyly observed, “that, much as the Bishop
disliked purgatory, he might go farther and fare worse.”
When Dean Swift was at Carlow, he found the Episcopal Church badly
dilapidated. “Why don’t you give it to the Catholics?” said the caustic
Dean. “You know they would repair it and _you could take it from them
afterwards_.” It is not theology alone that separates Catholics and
Protestants in Ireland. The real estate deals of the English Kings and
Queens have something to do with it.
We enjoyed immensely our day in Enniskillen. We saw a typical North
of Ireland crowd, heard an Irish orator declaim against “the foes of
Ireland,” listened to Irish bands, and shared in the enthusiasm of the
occasion. There was an excursion steamer running on Lough Erne and in
the afternoon we had a delightful boat ride. In the evening, while at
supper, we had a sample of real Irish wit. There was a large sign in
the dining room with this notice: “Strangers are requested not to give
any money to the waiters, as attention is charged for in the bill.”
Our waiter saw Mike reading this sign, and remarked to him:
“Oh, Mister, sure that doesn’t concern you at all. _We’re not makin’ a
stranger o’ you, sor._”
We laughed heartily, and told him we never felt more at home in our
lives. “Tips” are as necessary in Ireland, even when traveling with an
aeroplane, as raincoats.
We had been informed that we would find wretched hotels in Ireland,
but the Imperial Hotel at Cork and the Royal Hotel at Enniskillen, are
excellent hotels, and, as a rule, we found the hotel accommodations
satisfactory. In the evening, before dark, we sauntered forth, and
Mike went into a “shop,” as they call stores in Erin, and bought out
their entire supply of light oil-cloth. Taking this with us, we went
out to see our aeroplane. In the excitement of July Twelfth, the news
of our strange craft evidently did not spread very wide, and we were
very glad to escape notoriety in Enniskillen. We found the airship just
as we left it the previous night. The farmer wondered what had become
of us. Mike got some tacks and a hammer, and covered the upper plane
entirely with oil-cloth.
“Even an airship needs a rain-coat in this country,” said Mike to the
farmer.
“But, sor,” said the farmer, “it’s such a gentle rain we have here.”
The oil-cloth was quite a good idea on the part of Mike. It gave us
both a big umbrella during the rest of our trip, and the sudden showers
were not so disagreeable.
The next morning we started at 5:00 o’clock, and after rewarding our
farmer friend for his care of the aeroplane, we ascended into the Irish
atmosphere again. After circling over Enniskillen, we turned North,
and, leaving Lough Erne far to the West, we sped, like a gigantic
eagle, towards Tyrone.