OVER AND AROUND BELFAST
It was almost 11:00 o’clock when we alit at the foot of Cave Hill.
Leaving our airship in charge of an astonished Irishman, whose house
was near by, we took a street car down town, and had lunch at the Y. M.
C. A. cafe.
Evidently our flight over the city had been observed by many, as we
heard a good deal of conversation about the “airship.”
We came back to Cave Hill about noon, and I found a great crowd around
the aeroplane. Getting a starting rail, Mike prepared to ascend as
quickly as possible. Just as we were about ready to start, I saw a
young man edge his way through the crowd, with a note book in one hand
and a pencil in the other. I recognized him at once as a reporter,
seeking an interview. Before he came close enough to hear, I said to
Mike: “Hurry up, hurry up. I see a newspaper man.”
If I had told Mike I had seen his Satanic Majesty, he could not
have hurried his final preparations more, as he has a horror of the
“interviewer,” and we were determined to escape them while in Ireland.
When the reporter reached my side, he began at once: “I represent the
Whig, the Belfast Whig. We want an account of this airship, if you
please. What are your names? Where did you come from?” Before he could
ask any more questions, Mike shouted loudly to me: “All aboard.”
I was glad to leap into my seat. Without another word, Mike vaulted
into his place, started the motor, and before the astonished reporter
could get out another word, we were sailing in the air.
The big crowd cheered and clapped their hands, as we rose gracefully
towards Cave Hill. Ascending to the very summit of this hill, Mike
turned the aeroplane in one of his familiar circles, and we made
another wide sweep over Belfast. Below us we could see Belfast Castle.
The Earl of Shaftesbury, grandson of the famous philanthropist, lives
in this Castle, which is a modern mansion, as everything is around
Belfast. The Earl has inherited some of the sterling qualities of his
illustrious grandfather, and is a public spirited citizen. He was
elected Lord Mayor of Belfast in 1907. Belfast is a remarkable city,
different from any other city in Ireland. It practically came on the
map in the 17th century, when it first became a centre for the export
of linen in a small way.
As it is located at the junction of Down and Antrim two Presbyterian
Counties, Belfast has always been a Presbyterian stronghold. There are
upwards of 60 prosperous Presbyterian churches in the city today, and
the Presbyterian Assembly Hall is one of the largest and most beautiful
buildings in the North of Ireland.
One hundred years ago Belfast had a population of less than 20,000.
Today it has nearly 400,000. Its wealth has doubled six times in the
last 25 years.
Belfast owes its prosperity to the linen trade. This industry alone
now amounts to sixty million dollars a year. The largest mill, which I
could easily distinguish, covers five acres, with 6000 spindles, 1000
looms and more than 4000 employees.
There are also extensive machine shops, and its ship yards build the
largest ocean liners afloat.
Here also are manufactured agricultural implements, “soft drinks” of
all kinds, and machinery of every sort.
Its situation on Belfast Lough, at the mouth of the Lagan is
picturesque, and, taken altogether, Belfast is one of the finest cities
in Europe. Leaving it behind us we sailed due south, in the direction
of Downpatrick, where St. Patrick is buried.
As we crossed County Down, we admired again the thrifty farm-houses,
well-tilled farms, and the little fields, green with potatoes and
turnips, or waving with flax and oats.
In less than half an hour Downpatrick came in sight. We flew over the
beautiful Gothic Down Cathedral, in the churchyard of which St. Patrick
lies buried. Here also lies buried St. Bridget and St. Columba, two
other noble characters in Ireland’s religious history.
St. Patrick was born in Scotland about the year 387. When he was
sixteen years old, he was taken a captive, and sold as a slave to an
Irishman, for whom he herded sheep and swine in County Antrim.
While a slave, he became a devout Christian, and made his escape when
he was twenty-two years old. He entered a monastic school in France,
and fitted himself as a Missionary to Ireland. At that time the Irish
worshipped at Druid altars.
Landing at the mouth of the Slaney in County Down, he settled in
Downpatrick. He remained here several years and then visited all parts
of the island, meeting with marvelous success. In 457 he settled in
Armagh and lived there for eight years.
While visiting in Downpatrick in his 78th year, he was seized with
a fatal illness, and died at the scene of early labors. Here he was
buried.
St. Bridget was born near Armagh about 453. She was rich and beautiful,
but became a convert to Christianity, and devoted her life to
missionary labors amongst the Irish. She died in 525, and was first
buried at Kildare. Her remains and those of St. Columba were brought
to Downpatrick in 1185. St. Patrick made the shamrock the national
flower of Ireland by teaching from its three petals the doctrine of the
Trinity.
Turning west from Downpatrick, Mike and I followed in the air St.
Patrick’s footsteps to Armagh. Before entering County Armagh, we
crossed over a pretty village, called Banbridge. County Armagh
resembles County Down in its general appearance. It was a beautiful
picture of rural quietude. It was after two o’clock when we caught our
first glimpse of the famous Irish city of Armagh.
This is Ireland’s most sacred city. Two Primates of Ireland live here,
and here are two Archbishops, and two magnificent Cathedrals. Armagh
is a well-built town of some 8,000 inhabitants. It is built partly
on a hill, which makes some of its streets quite steep. A Cathedral
was founded here by St. Patrick in 432. His Eminence, Cardinal Logue,
an able and learned divine, is the Roman Catholic Primate, while Dr.
Alexander is the Protestant Primate of the island. The ecclesiastical
head of the Presbyterian Church is called the Moderator, and is elected
every year.
We sailed over the beautiful grounds of Dr. Alexander’s Palace, and
were reminded of his gifted wife, who wrote:
“There is a green hill far away,
Outside a city wall
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.”
Mrs. Alexander died in 1895. Another well known poem of hers is “The
Burial of Moses.”
There are three prosperous and growing Presbyterian churches in Armagh.
Dr. John Hall, who afterwards became one of the foremost preachers
in America, was pastor of one of these Presbyterian churches for a
time, and laid the foundation of his future fame in this city. There
is a vigorous Methodist church, which is also active in promoting the
Christian faith.
Armagh is rich in historic memories. As I circled over its steep and
winding streets that day with Mike, I thought of all the scenes enacted
on the soil beneath.
Here St. Patrick lived. Here a great educational institution flourished
more than 1200 years ago. As many as 7000 students gathered in this
place at one time to attend its far-famed University.
The bleeding body of Brian Boru was reverently carried here, after the
fatal day at Clontarf in 1014. In the stirring years of the O’Neills,
Armagh saw many exciting scenes. But all was quiet and peaceful on that
lovely summer day, as we circled over the sacred city, and flew south
toward Newry.