the charming people of Connaught, the brutal Saxon will be interested
to observe some of the ancient customs to which they cling with a
touching tenacity. Marriage with the Connaught folks is entirely a
matter of pecuniary bargain. The young folks have no act or part in
the arrangements. The seniors meet and form a committee of ways and
means. How much money has your son? How much has your daughter? The
details once understood, the parties agree or disagree, or leave the
matter pending while they respectively look about for a better
bargain. And even if the bargain be ostensibly agreed to, either party
is at liberty to at once break the match, on hearing of something
better. The prospective bride and bridegroom have nothing to say in
the negotiations, and may never have seen each other in their lives.
Previous acquaintance is not considered necessary, and the high
contracting parties are frequently married without having met before
they meet at the altar. This was hard to believe, but careful inquiry
established the fact. Never was a case of rebellion recorded. The lady
takes the goods the gods provide her, and the gentleman believes that
the custom yields all prizes and no blanks. Marriage is indeed a
lottery in Connaught. The system works well, for unfaithfulness is
said to be unknown. The Connaught funerals are impressive. One of
these I have seen, and one contents me well. The coffin arrived on a
country cart, the wife and family of the deceased sitting on the body,
after the fashion attributed to English juries. To sit elsewhere than
on the coffin would in Connaught be considered a mark of disrespect.
The children sit on the head and feet, the wife jumps on the chest of
the dear departed, and away goes the donkey. The party dismount at the
churchyard gates, and as the coffin enters they raise the Irish cry, a
blood-curdling wail that makes your muscles creep, while a cold chill
runs down your spine, and you sternly make for home. You may as well
see it out, for you can hear the "Keen" two miles away against the
wind. The mourners clasp their hands and move them quickly up and
down, recounting the deceased's good deeds, and exclaiming, in Irish
and English, "Why did ye die? Ah, thin, why did ye die?" To which very
reasonable query no satisfactory answer is obtainable. The widow is
expected to tear her hair, if any, and to be perfectly inconsolable
until the churchyard wall is cleared on leaving. Then, and not before,
she may address herself to mundane things. Good "Keeners" are in much
request, and a really efficient howler is sure of regular employment.
The Connaught folks are somewhat rough-and-ready with their dead.
Colonel Winter, of the Buffs, told me that he came across a
donkey-cart in charge of two men, who were waiting at a cross-road. A
coffin had been removed from the cart, and stood on its end hard by.
"I thought it was an empty coffin," said the Colonel, "but it wasn't.
The men were waiting, by appointment, for the mourners, and meanwhile
the old lady in the coffin was standing on her head. Wonderful country
is Ireland.
"An old woman died in the workhouse of typhus fever, or some other
contagious disorder. The corpse was placed in a parish coffin, and
was about to be buried, when a relative came forward and offered to
take charge of the funeral, declining to accept the workhouse coffin.
The authorities consented, on condition that the proposed coffin
should be large enough to enclose the first one, explaining that the
body was dangerously contagious. The relative, a stout farmer, duly
arrived at the workhouse with the new coffin, which was found to be
too small to include the first one, and the authorities thereupon
refused to have the coffins changed. So the mourner knocked down two
men, and, making his way into the dead-room, burst open the receptacle
containing his revered grandmother, whipped her out of the parochial
box, planked her into the family coffin, and triumphantly walked her
off on his shoulder. There was filial piety for you! They arrested
that man, locked him up, and, for aught I know, left the old lady to
bury herself, which must have been a great hardship. What Englishman
would have done as much for his grandmother? And yet they say that
Connaught men have no enterprise!"
A Protestant of Castlebar said:--"If the English people fail to
correctly estimate the supreme importance of the present crisis it is
all over with us, and, I think, with England. If the Unionist party
persevere they must ultimately win. The facts are all with them.
Enlightenment is spreading, and if time to spread the truth can be
gained Home Rule will be as dead as a door-nail. If, on the other
hand, the English people fail to see the true meaning of Home Rule,
which is revolution and disintegration, England, from the moment an
Irish Parliament is established, must be classed with those countries
from which power has dwindled away; her glory will have commenced to
wane, her enemies will rejoice, and she will present to the world the
aspect of a nation in its decadence. The Irish leaders and the Irish
people alike, who support Home Rule, are ninety-nine hundredths
disloyal. Already the leaders are cursing England more deeply than
before, this time for deceiving them about the Home Rule Bill. Their
most respectable paper is already preparing the ground for further
agitation. The _Irish Independent_ says that the Irish people are
being marched from one prison to another, and told that is their
liberty. Such is the latest criticism of the Home Rule Bill, as
pronounced by the Nationalist party. The same paper ordered the Lord
Mayor of Dublin and the City Council to refuse an address of
congratulation on the marriage of the Duke of York and Princess May,
and they refused by more than four to one. They refused when it was
the Duke of Clarence. We could understand that, but why refuse now,
when Home Rule is adopted as the principal measure of the Government
whose only aim is the Union of Hearts? The English people must indeed
be fools if they cannot gauge the feeling that dictated a vote so mean
as this. Surely the English will at the eleventh hour draw back and
save us and our country, and themselves and their country from unknown
disaster. If they allow this ruinous measure to become law I shall
almost doubt the Bible where it says, 'Surely the net is set in vain
in the sight of any bird.'"
I met a very savage Separatist in Castlebar. They are numerous in Mayo
and Galway. The more uncivilised the district, the more ignorant the
people, the more decided the leaning to Home Rule. My friend was not
of the peasant class, but rather of the small commercial traveller
breed, such as, with the clerks and counterskippers of the country
stores, make up the membership of the Gaelic clubs by which the
expulsion of the Saxon is confidently expected. He said, "I am for
complete Independence, and I do not believe in what is called
constitutional agitation. Who would be free, themselves must strike
the blow. Every country that has its freedom has fought for it. I
would not waste a word with England, which has always deceived us and
is about to deceive us once again. England has always wronged us,
always robbed us. England has used her vast resources to ruin our
trade that her own might flourish. The weakest must go to the
wall--that is the doctrine of England--which thrives by our beggary
and lives by our death. You have heaps of speakers in England who
admit this. Gladstone knows it is true. The Irish people have let the
English eat their bread for generations. The Irish people have seen
the English spending their money for centuries. This must be stopped
as soon as possible, and Ireland grows stronger every day. Every
concession we have obtained has been the result of compulsion, and I
am for armed combination. Every Irishman should be armed, and know the
use of arms. The day will come when we shall dictate to England, and
when we may, if we choose, retaliate on her. We shall have an army and
navy of our own; all that will come with time. We must creep before we
walk, and walk before we run. The clubs already know their comrades;
each man knows his right and left shoulder man, and the man whose
orders he is to obey. Merely a question of athletic sports, at
present. But when we get Home Rule the enthusiasm of the people will
be whetted to such an extent that we shall soon enroll the whole of
the able-bodied population, and after then, when we get the WORD, you
will see what will happen. Where would be your isolated handfuls of
soldiery and police, with roads torn up, bridges destroyed, and an
entire population rising against them? Yes, you might put us down, but
we'd first have some fun. In a week we'd not leave a red coat in the
island."
The gratitude, the warm generosity of the Irish people is very
beautiful. The Union of Hearts, however, as a paying investment seems
to have fallen considerably below par.
Castlebar, June 8th.
No. 33.--TUAM'S INDIGNATION MEETING.
Here I am, after two hours' journey by the Midland and Great Western
Railway, which leads to most of the good things in Ireland, and is
uncommonly well managed, and with much enterprise. By the Midland and
Great Western Railway you may cover the best tourist districts in
quick time and with great comfort. By it you may tackle Connemara
either from Galway or Westport, and the company, subsidised by Mr.
Balfour, will shortly open fifty miles of line between Galway and
Clifden. Then we want a thirty-mile continuation from Clifden by
Letterfrack and Leenane to Westport, and the circle will be complete.
For that, Paddy must wait until the Tories are again in office. As he
will tell you, the Liberals spend their strength in sympathetic talk.
Mr. Hastings, of Westport, said:--"I care not who hears me say that
the Tories have instituted the public works which have so much
benefited the country. The Liberals have always been illiberal in this
respect. Mr. Balfour did Ireland more good than any Liberal Irish
Secretary." Mr. Hastings is as good a Catholic Home Ruler as Father
McPhilpin, who said substantially the same thing. Ballina is on the
Moy--every self-respecting town in Ireland has a salmon river--and the
Midland and Great Western Railway gives fishing tickets to tourists,
who anywhere on this line should find themselves in Paradise. From the
three lakes of Mullingar to the Shannon at Athlone, from the Moy at
Ballina to the Corrib at Galway, the waters swarm with fish. The
salmon weir at Galway is worth a long journey to see. The fish
literally jostle each other in the water. They positively elbow each
other about. Sometimes you may stand against the salmon ladder in the
middle of the town, and although the water is clear as crystal you
cannot see the bottom for fish--great, silvery salmon, upon whose
backs you think you might walk across the river. The Moy at Ballina is
perhaps fifty yards wide, and the town boasts two fine bridges, one of
which is flanked by a big Catholic church. The streets are not
handsome, nor yet mean. Whiskey shops abound, though they are not
quite so numerous as in some parts of Ennis, where, in Mill Street,
about three-fourths of the shops sell liquor. Castleisland in Kerry
would also beat Ballina. Mr. Reid, of Aldershot, said:--"The
population of Castleisland is only one thousand two hundred, but I
counted forty-eight whiskey-shops on one side of the street." Of a row
of eleven houses near the main bridge of Ballina I counted seven
whiskey-shops, and one of the remaining four was void. There were
several drink-shops opposite, so that the people are adequately
supplied with the means of festivity. The place has no striking
features, and seems to vegetate in the way common to Irish country
towns. It probably lives on the markets, waking up once a week, and
immediately going to sleep again. The Post Office counter had two
bottles of ink and no pen, and the young man in charge was whistling
"The Minstrel Boy." The shop-keepers were mostly standing at their
doors, congratulating each other on the fine weather. A long, long
street leading uphill promised a view of the surrounding country, but
the result was not worth the trouble. It led in the direction of
Ardnaree, which my Irish scholarship translates "King's Hill," but I
stopped short at the ruins of the old workhouse, and after a glance
over the domain of Captain Jones went back through the double row of
fairly good cottages, and the numerous clans of cocks and hens which
scratched for a precarious living on the King's highway. The people
turned out _en masse_ to look at me, and to discuss my country, race,
business, appearance, and probable income. The Connaught folks have so
little change, are so wedded to one dull round, that when I observe
the interest my passage evokes I feel like a public benefactor. A bell
rings at the Catholic church. Three strokes and a pause. Then three
more and another pause. A lounger on the bridge reverently raises his
hat, and seeing himself observed starts like a guilty wretch upon a
fearful summons. I ask him what the ringing means, and with a
deprecatory wag of his head he says:--
"Deed an' deed thin, I couldn't tell ye."
The Town Crier unconsciously launched me into business, and soon I was
floating on a high tide of political declamation. What the crier cried
I could not at all make out, for the accent of the Ballina folks is
exceedingly full-flavoured. When he stopped I turned to a well-dressed
young man near me and said, "He does not finish, as in England, with
God save the Queen."
"No," said my friend with a laugh, "he has too much regard for his
skin."
"What would happen if he expressed his loyalty?"
"He would be instantly rolled in the gutter. The people would be on
him in a moment. He'd be like a daisy in a bull's mouth. He might say
"God save Ireland," just to round the thing off, but "God save the
Queen"!
My friend was a Home Ruler, and yet unlike the rest. He said: "I am a
Home Ruler because I think Home Rule inevitable now the English people
have given way so far. Give Paddy an inch and you may trust him to
take an ell. We must have something like Home Rule to put an end to
the agitation which is destroying the country. It is now our only
chance, and in my opinion a very poor chance, but we are reduced so
low that we think the bottom is touched. The various political
agencies which have frightened away capital and entirely abolished
enterprise will continue their work until some measure of Home Rule is
given to the country, and then things will come to a head at once. It
is barely possible that good might ultimately result, but young men
would be gray-headed before things would work smoothly. The posture of
the poorer classes is simply absurd. They will have a dreadful
awakening, and that will also do good. They are doing nothing now
except waiting for the wonderful things they have been told will take
place when Irishmen get into power. You must have heard the
extraordinary things they say about the mines and factories that will
be everywhere opened. Some of their popular orators tell them of the
prosperity of Ireland before the Union. That is true enough, but the
conditions are totally changed. We did something in the way of
manufacturing, but we could not do it now. We had no Germany, no
America to compete against. Those who tell us to revive that period of
prosperity by the same means might just as well tell us to revive the
system of tribal lands or the chieftainship of Brian Boru.
"The people need some tremendous shock to bring them to their senses.
They used to work much better, to stand, as it were, on their own
feet. Now they make little or no exertion. They know they will never
be allowed to starve. They know that at the cry of their distress
England and America will rush to their succour. And they have tasted
the delights of not paying. First it was the rent, the impossible
rent. In this they had a world-wide sympathy, and a very large number
of undeserving persons well able to pay chummed in with the deserving
people who were really unable to meet their engagements. And at the
meetings of farmers to decide on united action, the men who could pay
but would not were always the most resolute in their opposition to the
landlord. This was natural enough, for they had most to gain by
withholding payment. The landlords always knew which was which, and
would issue ejectment processes against those able to pay, but what
could be done against a whole county of No-rent folks? And never have
these people been without aid and sympathy from English politicians.
We have had them in Ireland by the dozen, going round the farmers and
encouraging them to persevere.
"The great advantage of Home Rule in the eyes of the farmers is this
and this only--that an Irish House would settle the land question for
ever. The people would take a good bill from the House of Commons at
Westminster if they could get it, but they can't. They believe that
their only hope is with an Irish Parliament. The most intelligent are
now somewhat doubtful as to the substantial benefits to come. They
fear heavy taxation. They say that everything must come out of the
land, and they wonder whether the change would pay them after all. On
the whole, they will risk it, and under the advice of the clergy, who
have their own little ideas, they will continue to vote for Home Rule.
Throw out this bill, let Mr. Balfour settle the land question, and the
agitators will not have a leg left to stand on."
All this I steadfastly believe. No farmer wants Home Rule for anything
beyond his personal interests. Mr. Patrick Gibbons, of Carnalurgan, is
one of the smartest small farmers I have met, and he confirms the
statements of his fellows. "Give the farmers the land for a reasonable
rent," said he, "and they would not care two straws for Home Rule."
The small traders admit that they would like it, as a mere matter of
fancy, and because they have been from time to time assured that the
English Parliament is the sole cause of Ireland's decadence. They are
assured that an Irish Parliament by instituting immense public works
would prevent emigration, and that the people staying at home and
earning money would bring custom to their shops. Nearly everybody
insists on an exclusive system of protective tariffs. England, they
say, competes too strongly. Ireland cannot stand up to her. She must
be kept out at any cost.
According to a Ballina Nationalist this is where the "shock" will come
in. He said:--
"The bill is being whittled down to nothing. Gladstone is betraying
us. It is doubtful if he ever was in earnest. 'Twould be no Home Rule
Bill at all, if even it was passed. An' what d'ye mane by refusing us
the right to put on whatever harbour dues we choose? An' what d'ye
mane by sayin' we're not to impose protective tariffs to help Irish
industries? Ye wish to say, 'Here's yer Parlimint. Ye're responsible
for the government of the counthry, for the advancement of the
counthry, for the prosperity of the counthry; but ye mustn't do what
ye think best to bring about all this. When we have a Parlimint we'll
do as _we_ choose, an' not as _you_ choose, Ye have no right to
dictate what we shall do, nor what we shan't do. We'll do what we
think proper, an' England must make the best of it. England has always
considered herself: now we'll consider ourselves. If we're not to
govern the counthry in every way that _we_ think best, why on earth
would we want a Parlimint at all? Tell me that, now. If Ireland is to
be governed from England, if we are to have any interference, what
betther off will we be? An' Protection is the very first cry we shall
raise."
The good folks at Tuam have held an indignation meeting to protest
against the statements contained in my Tuam letter, which they
characterise as "vile slanders" which they wish to "hurl back in my
teeth" (if any). The meeting took place in the Town Hall on Sunday,
which day is usually selected by the Tuamites to protest against the
brutal Saxon, and to hold meetings of the National League, a
colourable successor to the Land League. All these meetings are
convened by priests, addressed by priests, governed by priests. The
Tuamites are among the most priest-ridden people in Ireland, and,
after having seen Galway and Limerick, this is saying a good deal. The
meeting was from beginning to end a screaming farce, wherein language
was used fit only for an Irish House of Commons. The vocabulary of
Irish Town Commissioners and Irish Poor Law Guardians was laid under
heavy contribution. The speakers hurled at the _Gazette_ the pet terms
they usually and properly reserve for each other. The too flattering
terms which in a moment of weakness I applied to Tuam and its people
are described as "lying, hellish, mendacious misrepresentations."
Misther MacCormack said the English people would know there was "not
a wurrud of thruth in these miserable lies." The report of the _Tuam
Herald_ reads like a faction fight in a whiskey-shop. You can hear the
trailing of coats, the crack of shillelaghs on thick Irish skulls, the
yells of hurroosh, whirroo, and O'Donnell aboo! Towards the end your
high-wrought imagination can almost smell the sticking plaister, so
vivid is the picture. "The bare-faced slanders of this hireling scribe
from the slums of Birmingham" were hotly denounced, but nobody said
what they were. The clergy and their serfs were equally silent on this
point. I steadfastly adhere to every syllable of my Tuam letter. I
challenge the clergy and laity combined to put their fingers on a
single assertion which is untrue, or even overstated. Let them point
out a single inaccuracy, if they can. To make sweeping statements, to
say that this "gutter-snipe," this "hireling calumniator," this
"blackguard Birmingham man" has made a series of "reckless calumnies,"
"devoid of one particle of truth," is not sufficiently precise. I
stand by every word I have uttered; I am prepared to hold my ground on
every single point. Most of my information was obtained from Catholics
who are heart-weary of priestly tyranny and priestly intimidation; who
are sufficiently enlightened to see that priestly power is based on
the ignorance of priestly dupes, that priestly influence is the real
slavery of Ireland, the abject condition of the poor is its
unmistakable result, and that where there are priests in Ireland there
are ignorance and dirt in exact proportion. They have compared the
clean cottages of the North with the filthy hovels of the South, and
they have drawn their own conclusions. But to descend to detail. What
do the Tuamites deny? "Not a particle of truth in the whole letter!"
Father Humphreys said my Tipperary letter was "a pure invention,"
without a syllable of truth. Since then Father Humphreys has been
compelled to admit, in writing, that all I said was true, and that he
"could not have believed it possible." That was his apology.
Turning to the Tuam letter, I find these words--
"The educated Catholics are excellent people--none better anywhere,
none more tolerant." This is construed into "a gross insult on our
holy priests, and particularly on our Archbishop," who, by the way,
was not mentioned or made the subject of any allusion, however remote.
Do the Tuamites deny that "many of the streets are wretchedly built,"
and "the Galway road shows how easily the Catholic poor are
satisfied?" Do they deny that the cabins in this district are
"aboriginal in build, and also indescribably filthy," and that "the
condition of the inmates is not one whit higher than that obtaining in
the wigwams of the native Americans?" Do they deny that "the hooded
women, barefooted, bronzed, and tanned by constant exposure, are
wonderfully like the squaws brought from the Far West by Buffalo
Bill?"