of our men would make a hundred of them run like hares. On the 27th
ult. a party of Orangemen were fired upon near Stewartstown, and
although unarmed they stormed the hill whence came the shots, while
the heroic riflemen who had fired 14 bullets, luckily without effect,
showed that if too cowardly to fight, they were not too lazy to run."
This occurrence, of which I had the description from authority, would
have excited some attention in England, but here it is lightly passed
over as nothing exceptional. "We are holding back our men. The other
party are egging us on to outbreak, in the hope that our cause will be
discredited, and that Lord Salisbury's visit in May might be
hindered." There is a mutual repugnance between the two peoples, but
the character of the repulsion is different. The Roman Catholics
manifest an unmistakable hatred--the term is no whit too strong--a
hatred of the social and intellectual superiority of their
fellow-countrymen, who in turn look upon the Catholics (as a whole)
with mistrust, mingled with contempt. As well ask Brother Jonathan to
submit to the rule of the negro, as well ask the London trader to put
his interests in the hands of a Seven Dials' syndicate, as well ask
Mr. Gladstone and his followers to listen to reason or to talk common
sense, as to expect the powerful and influential Protestants of
Belfast and Ulster generally to entrust their future to a Legislature
elected by the most illiterate electorate in the three kingdoms, and
under the thumb of the priests--who wield a despotic power which
people in England cannot be made to understand. A short time ago the
Dublin Freemasons held a bazaar in aid of a charity whose object was
the complete care of orphan children. The Catholic Archbishop
immediately fulminated a decree that whosoever patronised the show
would incur the terrors of the church, which means that they would
perish everlastingly. Some poor folks, servant girls and porters and
the like, who were sent by their mistresses or called by their honest
avocations, dared to enter the accursed precincts, and emerging alive,
rushed to confession, that the leprosy of Masonic charity might be
washed from their souls by absolution.
Absolution was refused. The wretched outcasts were referred to the
Bishop, who in this dire emergency had sole power to unlock the gates
of heaven. Do English people know what an Irish Catholic feels when
refused absolution? I trow not, and that therefore they cannot justly
estimate the power of the priests. Another illustration. A friend of
mine made some purchases and sent a man for them, one of five hundred
Catholics in his employ. The poor fellow halted two hundred yards from
the contaminating circle, and by the aid of a policeman, got the
parcel brought to him--without risking his immortal soul.
The bazaar realised twenty-two thousand pounds.
The Ireland of the harp and vesper bell, free from the dominion of
England, having the prestige of an independent Catholic State, the
Ireland of excommunication by bell, book, and candle, the Ireland of
the priest and Pope--that, and no other, according to Ulstermen, is
the ultimate end of Home Rule. They will have none of it, their
determination is announced, and they will stand by what they say. From
what I have seen and heard I am convinced that Ulster means business,
and also has the power to win. The Irish Unionists are worthy
co-partners in the great fight, and Englishmen should stand with them
shoulder to shoulder. But with or without English aid, Ulster may be
trusted to hold its own.
Belfast, April 1st.
No. 4.--MR. BALFOUR'S WELCOME.
Arriving in the northern capital from Dublin you are apt to experience
a kind of chill, akin to that felt by the boy of easy-going parents
who, visiting the house of a staid and sober uncle, said to his little
cousins, "At home we can fight with pillows, and let off crackers in
the kitchen, and ride on the poker and tongs across the dining-room
tables, and shy oranges at the chimney ornaments, and cut the sofas
and pull out the stuffing, but here we get no fun at all!" The
effervescence of the sunny south is conspicuous by its absence, and be
it observed that the political south and the geographical south of
Ireland are entirely different, the Ulstermen invariably using the
term to denote an imaginary line across the country just above
Dundalk. The mention of this town reminds me of a Cork commercial
traveller's description of the Dundalk festivities in connection with
the visit of our famous citizen, Mr. Egan, on the occasion of his
release--"There was a murtherin' big crowd o' the greatest ruffians ye
ever clapped your two eyes on. Some o' them had long sticks with a
lump o' tow on the end, steeped in petroleum or something equally
inflammable, an' whin they got the word to march--the hero was in a
brake--they lit up and walked away in procession without looking at
him at all, or taking any notice of him, which was moighty strange, I
thought. They went on an' on, a lot o' rapscallions ye wouldn't like
to meet in a lonely lane, and whin the brake stopped, for some reason
or other, the whole o' them were unconscious of it, an' marched on
without the grate man, leaving him an' his brake alone. I had the
curiosity to go to the meetin'. There were two factions in the town,
an' only one of them was riprisinted, the others stood aloof. They are
at daggers drawn, flyin' at each other's throat, although Catholics
and Home Rulers, an' this meetin' was the funniest thing at all! The
chairman was a common fellow that made money some way, an' ye may say
he liked to hear himself spake. An' be the powdhers o' war, he had the
convaniences for speech-makin', for he had a jaw like a bulldog, an' a
mouth on him ye couldn't span with your two hands." Further
description proceeded in the same strain, and even allowing for the
exuberancies of my friend's southern imagination, and his wide command
of figurative language, this account of the kind of people who
constitute ninety-nine hundredths of Mr. Gladstone's allies should
give Home Rulers pause.
There is no lack of enthusiasm here, but the people mind their work,
and do not bubble over every five minutes. They certainly showed
warmth on Monday morning, and never was popular ruler, victorious
general, or famous statesman welcomed with more spontaneous burst of
popular acclaim. York Street was literally full of all classes of
people, save and except the typical Irish poor. Of the tens of
thousands who filled Royal Avenue, Donegal Place, and the broad road
to the North Counties Railway, I saw none poorly clad. All were well
dressed, orderly, respectable, and wonderfully good-humoured, besides
being the tallest and best-grown people I have ever seen in a fairly
extensive European experience. I was admitted to the station with a
little knot, comprising the Marquess of Ormonde, Lord Londonderry, the
gigantic Dr. Kane, head of the Ulster Orangemen, and Colonel
Saunderson, full as ever of fun and fight. It was at first intended to
keep the people outside, and a strong detachment of police guarded the
great gates, but in vain. They were swept away by mere pressure, and
the people occupied the place to the number of many thousands, mostly
wearing primroses. As the train steamed in there was a tremendous rush
and cheering--genuine British cheering, such as that with which
Birmingham used on great occasions to greet John Bright--rendering
almost inaudible the numerous explosions of fog-signals which perhaps
by way of salute had been placed at the entrance to the station. There
was a mocking shout of "Dynamite," followed by a roar of laughter, and
despite the frantic efforts of the railway men, who humanely struggled
to avoid the seemingly impending sacrifices _a la_ Juggernaut, the
more active members of the crowd storming the train, instantly sprang
aloft and manned the tops of the carriages with a solid mass of
vociferating humanity. Soon Mr. Balfour's face appeared, and a moment
after he was standing amidst the throng, swayed hither and thither by
loyalists who shook his hands, patted him on the back, deafened him
with their cheers. Out came the horses, dashing through the people,
snorting and plunging like so many Gladstonians, but happily injuring
no one. In went the men, Mr. Balfour laughing merrily, and looking
uncommonly fit, lifting his soft brown hat in mute recognition of the
magnificent welcome accorded by men who are perhaps among the most
competent judges of his merit as a benefactor of Ireland. Away went
the carriage, amid tumultuous shouting of "No Home Rule," and "God
save the Queen." This went on for miles, from the Northern Counties'
Terminus to Victoria Street, when Lord Londonderry signalled to
quicken the pace, and after a short speech at the Albert Memorial, the
_cortege_ disappeared over the bridge, and I returned to meet the
English working men who arrived an hour later. Splendid it was to hear
the six hundred miners from Newcastle-on-Tyne shouting "Old Ireland
for ever!" while the generous Irishmen responded with "Rule Britannia"
and cheers for Old England. Cheers for Belfast and Newcastle
alternated with such stentorian vigour, each side shouting for the
other, that you might have been excused for imagining that the Union
of Hearts was an accomplished fact, and that brotherly love had begun
and must ever continue. Said a miner, "We're all surprised to see that
the people here are just like Englishmen. An' I'm blest if they aren't
more loyal than the English themselves."
From Monday morning the city has been resounding with beat of drum and
the shrill sounds of the fife. The houses are swathed in bunting, and
the public buildings were already covered with banners when I arrived
on Friday last. This, however is not characteristic Belfast form. The
Belfasters _can_ rejoice, and whatever they do, is thoroughly done,
but work is their vocation, as befits their grave and sober mood. They
are great at figures, and by them they try to show that they, and not
the Dubliners, should be first considered. They are practical, and
although not without sentiment, avoid all useless manifestation of
mere feeling. They are mainly utilitarian, and prefer mathematical
proof, on which they themselves propose to rely, in proving their
case. Here is an instance. A Belfast accountant, who is also a public
officer, has collected a number of comparative figures on which he
bases the claims of Belfast to prior consideration. The figures are
certainly exact, and are submitted as evidence of the superior
business management, and larger, keener capacity of Protestant Belfast
as compared with those of Catholic Dublin. Beginning with the
functions of the Dublin Lord Mayor, secretary, and so forth, which
cost L4,967 a year, it is shown that the same work in Belfast--which
is rather larger than Dublin--costs only L176. Let us tabulate a few
representative cases:--
Dublin. Belfast.
Mayor, &c. L4,967 L176
Town Clerk, secretaries of committees, law agents 5,659 2,752
Treasurer, accountants, stock registrar 3,402 2,168
Fire Brigade, salaries and lighting 3,616 1,247
Coroners, sanitary officials 3,530 1,310
Wages of sanitary staff 2,233 1,130
Surveyors (borough & waterworks) and Secretaries 6,070 4,472
Clerks of Peace and Revision Officers 2,451 1,552
------ ------
Totals L31,928 L14,807
This discrepancy is everywhere observable. The Dublin Gas
Management costs L14,850 against L8,060 in Belfast, with the
result that the Ulster City Gasworks yielded in 1891 a profit of
L27,105, charging 2s. 9d., while the Dubliners charge 3s. 6d. and
make no profit at all. The Belfast markets yield a profit of about
L3,500, while on the Dublin markets and abattoir there was a
deficit of L3,012 to be made good by the ratepayers. Dublin, with
property amounting to L20,000 a year and old-established Royal
bounties, owes nearly twice as much as Belfast, which latter city
spends more on what may be called the advance of civilisation.
In 1892 Belfast spent L8,000 on a public park--Government
providing for this matter in Dublin--L5,686 on public libraries,
and L4,100 on baths and workhouses, against L1,217 and L1,627
for like purposes in Dublin. "Therefore," say the Belfast men,
"we will not have our affairs managed by these incompetent men,
who, besides their demonstrated incapacity to deal with finance, are
dependent for their position on the illiterates of the agricultural
districts, who are to a man under the thumb of the priests, and who,
moreover, have shown that their rapacity is equal to their lack of
integrity, and whose leading doctrine is the repudiation of lawful
contracts," a point on which commercial Ulster is excessively severe.
One thing is certain--Ulster will never pay taxes levied by an Irish
Legislature in which Ulster would be utterly swamped. All classes
are of this opinion, from the Earl of Ranfurly, who during a long
interview repeatedly expressed his conviction that the passing of
any Home Rule Bill would be fraught with most lamentable results,
to the humble trimmer of a suburban hedge who, having admitted
that he was from the county Roscommon, and (therefore) a Catholic
Home Ruler, claimed to know the Ulster temper in virtue of 28
years' residence in or near Belfast, and said--
"What they say they mane, an' the divil himself wouldn't tur-r-n thim.
Ah, but they're a har-r-d-timpered breed, ivery mother's son o' them.
Ye can comether (gammon) a Roscommon man, but a Bilfast man,
whillaloo!" He stopped in sheer despair of finding words to express
the futility of attempting to take in a Belfast man. "An' whin ye ax
thim for taxes, an' they say they won't pay--ye might jist as well
whistle jigs to a milestone! 'Tis thrue what I tell ye."
As for to-day, the magnificence of the pageant beggars description.
Whether regarded from a scenic point of view or with respect to
numbers and enthusiasm, never since Belfast was Belfast has the city
looked upon a sight approaching it. From early morning brass bands and
fife bands commenced to enter the city from every point of the
compass, and wherever you turned the air resounded with the inspiring
rattle of the drum. Monday's display of bunting was sufficiently
lavish to suggest the impossibility of exhibiting any more, but the
Belfasters accomplished the feat, and the bright sunshine on the
brilliant colours of the myriad banners was strongly reminiscent of
Paris _en fete_ under the Empire. The Belfast streets are long,
straight, and wide, and mostly intersect at right angles. Much of the
concourse was thus visible from any moderate coign of vantage, and
from the Grand Stand in Donegal Place the sight was truly wonderful.
The vast space, right, left, and front, was from 10 o'clock closely
packed with a mighty multitude that no man could number, and
locomotion became every moment so painful as to threaten total
stagnation. The crowd was eminently respectable and perfectly orderly,
and submitted to the passage of innumerable musical organisations with
charming good humour. Never have I seen or heard of such an assemblage
of bands, all uniformed, all preceded by gorgeous banners bearing all
kinds of loyal and party mottoes, all marching in splendid military
fashion, and of themselves numerous enough to furnish a very
considerable demonstration. Many of the tunes were of a decidedly
martial character, and strange to English ears, such as the "Boyne
Water," the "Orange Lily" and the "Protestant Boys," the last being a
version of the "Lillibulero" so often mentioned by Scott. All these
tunes, more or less distasteful to Nationalists, were interspersed
with others less debatable, such as "Rule Britannia," "The Old Folks
at Home," "The Last Rose of Summer," "God Save the Queen," and "See
the Conquering Hero comes," which last generally accompanied the
portrait of Orange William, the "Glorious, Pious, and Immortal,"
mounted on his famous white charger, which noble animal is depicted in
the attitude erroneously believed to be peculiar to that of Bonaparte
when crossing the Alps. The Earl of Beaconsfield was also to the fore
with primroses galore; indeed, the favourite flower was invariably
worn by the ladies, who were greatly in evidence. "Our God, our
Country, and our Empire" was the motto over Mr. Balfour, with a huge
"Welcome" in white on scarlet ground, the whole surrounded by immense
Union Jacks. The familiar red, white, and blue bore the brunt of the
decorative responsibilities, although here and there the green flag of
Ireland hung cheek by jowl with the English standard, emphasising the
friendliness of the present Union. As time went on the crowd became
more and more dense, and a breathless pressman, who reached his post
at twelve o'clock, stated that the seething myriads of Donegal Place
and the adjacent streets were "hardly a circumstance" to what he had
seen in the York Road, where the people awaited the hero of the hour.
Things were getting serious at 12.15, and then it was that the active
members of the crowd swarmed on the railings, balancing themselves in
most uncomfortable situations, and maintaining their spiky seats with
a tenacious martyrdom which spoke volumes for the determination of the
Ulster character.
On and ever on went the bands in seemingly endless procession,
although merely assembling for the great march past, and therefore
only a fraction of the impending multitude. Some enterprising men
climbed the trees bordering the square, driving away the little flocks
of sparrows which till then had conducted a noisy committee meeting
in the branches, heedless of the drumming and general uproar, but
which now dispersed without so much as a vote of thanks to the chair.
At 12.30 a foam of white faces broke over the roofs of the lofty
buildings around, protected by stone balustrades. At the same moment a
shout of "They are coming" was heard, followed fey a thunderous roar
of cheering. Mr. Balfour slowly emerged from York Road, amid immense
acclamation, his carriage, piloted by the Corporation, moving inch by
inch through the solid mass with inconceivable difficulty. Over and
over again the line of vehicles stopped dead, and it was clear that
the horses had much trouble to maintain their gravity. As the carriage
with Sir Daniel Dixon (the Lord Mayor of Belfast), Sir Samuel Black
(Town Clerk), and Lord Londonderry neared the Grand Stand, the
pressmen agreed that nothing equal to this demonstration had ever
before been held within the British Islands. Mr. Balfour having gained
the platform the procession proper commenced, headed by the banner of
the Belfast Harbour Commissioners, while the people broke into a
chorus, asserting that Britons never, never shall be slaves.
This at 12.35 precisely. Next came the Belfast Water Commissioners,
the Belfast Board of Guardians, the provincial Corporate bodies, and
the provincial Boards of Guardians. A tremendous tumult of voices
accompanied all these, but when the Trinity College graduates arrived
the din became overpowering. Their standard was halted opposite Mr.
Balfour, and the young fellows burst into wild and uncontrollable
enthusiasm. The medical students of Queen's College, Belfast, with the
_alumni_ of the Methodist and Presbyterian College succeeding, gave
"God Save the Queen" with great vigour, and came in a close second;
but nothing quite touched the Trinity College men. The Scottish
Unionist clubs, a fine body, two thousand strong, confirmed the
statement that Scots who understand the situation are against Home
Rule. Most of these men work in the shipbuilding yards of Belfast. The
Belfast Unionist Clubs and the Provincial Unionist Clubs were, of
course, heartily greeted, returning the applause with interest, and
the Independent Order of Rechabites showed that their alleged
exclusive partiality for cold water had not diminished their lung
power. The British Order of Ancient Free Gardeners, the Loyal Order of
Ancient Shepherds, and the Independent Order of Oddfellows reminded
the Brutal Saxon who might be present of his native shore, the men
being of the familiar sturdy type, marching in dense columns, all
gloriously arrayed. There was none of the artful spreading over the
ground which I observed in the great Birmingham demonstration which
was to "end or mend" the Lords; and another point of divergency
consists in the fact that the Belfast demonstration, which was
incomparably larger, was perfectly spontaneous, and not due to
organisation.
Baronets and other gentlemen of distinction headed the Unionist clubs,
walking through the streets in such manner as was never known before.
Magistrates and Presbyterian ministers tramped with the rank and file.
Sir William Ewart, Bart., Mr. Thomas Sinclair, J.P.--a great name in
the city--and the Rev. Dr. Lynd were especially prominent. Some of the
teetotallers wore white sashes, which were perhaps more conspicuous
than the gaudy colours affected by the Orangemen, and one body of
Unionists from the suburban clubs waved white handkerchiefs, a feature
which for obvious reasons can never occur in Nationalist processions.
The Shepherds have a pastoral dress, each man carrying a crook, and
the marshals of the lodges bore long halberds. The van of each column
was preceded by a stout fellow, who dexterously raising a long staff
in a twirling fashion peculiar to Ireland, shouted, "Faugh-a-Ballagh,"
which being interpreted signifies "Clear the way." The Oddfellows
marched to the tune known in England as "We won't go home till
morning," which is the same as "Marlborough goes to war," the
favourite air of the Great Napoleon. All this time Mr. Balfour is
standing at my elbow as I write, bareheaded, acknowledging the finest
reception ever accorded to any man in Ireland, not excepting Dan
O'Connell and Parnell. The funeral of the uncrowned king was a
comparatively small affair, while the respectability of the crowd was
of course immeasurably below that of the Belfast concourse. An old man
somehow got near the platform and presented Mr. Balfour with a bunch
of orange lilies, saying that was the flower the people would fight
under. The Young Men's Christian Association cheered lustily for the
Union to the tune of three thousand strong. The Central Presbyterian
Association marched past singing "God is our refuge and our strength,"
and the Church of Ireland Young Men's Society, headed by the clergy,
superintended by the Bishop of the diocese from the stand, made a
brave and gallant show. Hour after hour glides by, and still the
teeming multitude moves on, and still Mr. Balfour stands uncovered. No
joke to be a hero nowadays. The "Young Irelands" gave a grand cheer,
and passed in brave array, singing with the Y.M.C.A. "Hold the Fort"
and "God Save the Queen." Dr. Kane, the Bishop of Clogher, Captain
Somerset Maxwell, Colonel Saunderson, and the Earl of Erne, Grand
Master of the Orangemen of Ireland, received a stupendous reception as
they followed the Young Men Christians, mustered in overwhelming
force. The "Marseillaise" here broke out with considerable severity,
and Mr. Balfour broke out into a broad smile, which ran over into a
laugh, as the too familiar strains of "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay" made the
welkin ring. Then came "The March of the Men of Harlech," mixed with
"Home Sweet Home" and "The Boyne Water," till the senses reeled again.
At 3.35 the two miles of Orangemen seemed likely to go on for ever,
and Mr. Balfour said to me, "I think this demonstration undoubtedly
the greatest ever seen, and if you like you may convey that as my
message to the Unionists of Birmingham. They will know what the effect
of this will be. I need say no more." I asked Mr. Balfour if he
thought the bill would pass, and he replied, "Tell the Birmingham men
what I have said already. They will require no more." At 4.10 the
procession was in full swing, but Mr. Balfour seemed to have had about
enough and showed symptoms of making a move, and, as a preliminary,
put on his hat. This was the signal for cheering, which perhaps
surpassed anything that had gone before. The great ex-Irish-Secretary
effaced himself; and Colonel Saunderson, backed by Lord Salisbury's
son and several Irish peers, essayed to fill the gap. I ventured in my
timid way to tap the gallant Colonel on the shoulder with a view to
tapping his sentiments, which proved to be exultant. He told me of the
wire he had received from Lord Salisbury, and spoke of the meeting in
the Botanic Gardens which had taken place while I had watched the
procession. Then he said, "Tell the Birmingham people through the
_Gazette_ that as we have the last Prime Minister and the present
Chief of the Opposition with us, we cannot be called revolutionary. As
for this meeting, it will speak for itself. I think it the biggest
thing ever known." During the procession a copy of the Home Rule Bill
was burnt on the top of a pole in front of the Grand Stand.