that, like Mr. John Dillon, he had the gift of remembering occurrences
before they took place.
Much has been spoken and written in England concerning "Orange
rowdyism." I saw the twenty thousand Orangemen who walked through
Belfast to Knocknagoney on Wednesday last. They had nearly five miles
to march on a hot day before they reached the meeting-place, some
hours to stand there listening to speeches, and then the long march
back again. Large numbers went to the Orange Halls, there to conclude
the day. I followed them thither, heard their speeches, noted their
modes of enjoyment, watched them unnoticed and unknown, save in one
instance, until they finally dispersed. Next day I went to Scarva,
forty miles away, to see the great sham fight which annually takes
place there between representatives of King James and King William of
Orange. There were sixty-four special trains, at cheap fares, running
to Scarva, besides the ordinary service, and let it be remembered that
Scarva is on the main line from Dublin to Belfast. Now let me state
precisely what I saw.
The Belfast procession was very like the tail of the Belfast Balfour
demonstration, and with good reason, for both consisted of twenty
thousand Orangemen. But on Wednesday the Orangemen, instead of being
preceded by a hundred thousand citizens of Ulster, had it all to
themselves. The authorities know the character of Orangemen. They know
that scorching weather and long dusty marches are apt to lead to
copious libations, especially in holiday time. They know that
political feeling runs high, and that the present moment is one of
undue excitement. They know that the Papist party have taunted
Orangemen with the supposed progress of the bill, and that the same
people say daily that Orangeism will be at once abolished, and that
this year sees the last Orange procession in Belfast. "This is yer
last kick before we kick ye to hell," said a broken-nosed gentleman at
the corner of Carrick Hill. The authorities knew all these things, and
taking into account the known character of Orangeism, with the special
exasperation of the moment, and remembering their own responsibility
in the matter of order, how many extra policemen were drafted into the
city?
Not one. The men who really know Orangemen knew that no precautions
were needed.
There were brass bands, drum and fife bands, and bands of bagpipes.
The drums were something tremendous. The Belfast drumming is a thing
apart, like a Plymouth Brother. We have nothing like it in England.
The big drums run in couples, borne by stout fellows of infinite
muscle, and tireless energy. The kettle-drums hunt in packs, like
beagles. The big drums are the biggest the climate will grow, and the
drummers lash them into fury with thin canes, having no knob, no
wrapper of felt, no softening or mitigating influence whatever. The
bands played "God save the Queen," "Rule Britannia," "The Boyne
Water," and "The Death of Nelson." The fifes screamed shrilly, the
brass tubes blared, and every drummer drummed as if he had the Pope
himself under his especial care. The vigour and verve of these
marching musicians is very surprising. You cannot tire them out. The
tenth mile ended as fresh as the first, though every performer had
worked like a horse. There is a reason for this. Their hearts are in
the work. To them it means something. The scarves and busbies and
uniforms and desperate paroxysms of drumming are somewhat comical to
strangers, but the people looked earnest, and as if engaged in serious
business. Thousands of well-dressed people walked with the procession,
or looked gravely on. There was no horse-play, and no noise other
than the music. No bare feet, no bare heads, no rags, no dirt, no
disorder. A Papist sprang from his lair in a side street and tried to
snatch the scarf from a young man, who promptly drove him back to his
den. Nothing else happened. At midnight there were for the whole city
twenty police cases against thirty-nine for last year's twelfth. So
much for Orange rowdies in the streets. Let us look upon their private
orgies.
At seven o'clock I went to the Orange Hall, Clifton Street, the
headquarters of the body. The various lodges were dispersed in several
rooms, where they seemed to be taking tea with their sisters and their
cousins and their aunts. A turn outside landed me opposite Saint
Patrick's Roman Catholic Church, and here was a strong guard of
police. The neighbouring streets of Carrick Hill, North Street, and
another, literally swarmed with filthy, bare-footed women, wearing the
hooded shawl of Limerick, of Tuam, of Tipperary. The men had a
dangerous look. Many were drunk, and some had bandaged heads. More
policemen half-way down Carrick Hill, and more still at the end. The
people who pay no taxes cost most to keep in order. I have somewhere
seen a body of returns showing that while the Unionist population
requires only ten or twelve policemen to every ten thousand people,
the Home Rule provinces take from forty-eight to fifty-two to manage
the same number. Returning to the Orange Hall a number of dirty,
bare-footed children walked in procession past the door singing
vociferously. They sung with great spirit to the tune of "Tramp,
tramp, tramp, the boys are marching," and seemed to enjoy it
amazingly. I did not catch the words. They stopped as I came up, but a
young fellow on guard at the hall said, "They grind up the children in
songs of a party nature, and send them here to annoy us. Of course, we
can't notice little children."
This time I dropped in the thick of the entertainment. A mild, mild
man occupied the chair, young men and maidens, old men and children
sitting around. They were inebriating on ginger beer and biscuits, and
their wildest revelry was the singing of "The Old Folks at Home" by a
young lady in white. Mr. E.J. Fullwood, of Birmingham, who was there
as a visitor, made a rattling speech, and received a great ovation. A
quiet gentleman, by special request, made a few remarks on the
political situation. He said:--"We will resist a Home Rule Parliament
at any cost and at every cost. We will not have it. Our faith is
plighted, and we are not the men to go back of our word." His manner
was very subdued, and the audience also kept very quiet. What these
men say they say in their sober senses, and not by reason of
excitement. Another room was livelier. An English gentleman was
holding forth. Then the band played "No surrender," after which a lady
sang "Killarney's hills and vales." In a third room a brother was
calling on the brethren to give three cheers for "our beloved Queen,"
under whose benignant reign blessings had been shed upon the British
Empire, "to which we belong, and to which we still belong, so long as
they will have us." In a fourth room the listening Orangemen sat under
a discourse on the efficacy of prayer, which they were urged to make a
living part of their everyday life. All this was very disappointing,
and when in Royal Avenue the helmeted watchman of the night assured me
that nothing had happened, and that nothing was likely to happen, I
abandoned all hope of Orange rowdyism.
Next day at ten, I went to Scarva, or, as the natives spell it,
Scarvagh. A neat little place full of Black Protestants. The houses
are clean and tidy, and the people have a well-to-do look. There was a
great crowd at the station, and a band of drummers were laying on with
such thundering effect that my very coat sleeves vibrated with the
concussion. A big arch of orange lilies bore the one word WELCOME, and
the roadside was lined with stalls selling provisions and ginger beer.
The church on the hill flew the Orange flag with the Union Jack. The
Presbyterian meeting-house and a Methodist Chapel complete the tale of
worship-houses. The place is without rags, dirt, beggars, or any other
symptoms of Home Rule patriotism. Neither is there a Roman Catholic
Chapel. The signboards bore Scots and English names. Mr. J. Hawthorne
stood at his door, big-boned and burly, with a handsome good-humoured
face. "Ye'll gang up the brae, till ye see an avenue with lots of folk
intil it," said this "Irishman," whose ancestors have lived at Scarva
from time immemorial.
"Yes, we pit up the airch o' lilies to welcome our friends. They come
every year, and a gude mony o' them too, so we pit up that bit thing
oot o' friendship like."
I told him this was to be the last occasion, as Mr. Dillon was
determined to manage Ulster. He laughed good-naturedly.
"Mon alive, d'ye tell me that any mon said sic a fuleish speech? Mon,
its borne in on me that we'll tak a dooms lot of managin'. These chaps
dinna ken ower weel what they're talkin' aboot. An' they maun say
somethin' to please the fellows that keep them in siller. These things
hae gane on in Scarva sin' auld lang syne, an' nothin' e'er stappit
them. They went on when the Party Processions Act was law, an' tho'
the sojers ance cam frae Dublin to stop the demonstration, the
Orangemen mustered in sic force that they never interfered aifter all.
An' in Ulster we'll hauld our own, d'ye mind that? We've tauld them
oor mind, an' that we wunna hae Home Rule. We've tauld them that, an'
we'll stand by it. They've gotten oor ultimatum, an' they can mak a
kirk or a mill o' it."
I gangit up the brae through dense crowds constantly increasing as the
sixty-four specials gradually came in. The way was sylvan and pretty,
big beech trees and elms meeting overhead, the road running along the
side of a steep hill sloping down to a small river, the slope
carefully tilled, and showing good husbandry. Then a beautifully
wooded and extensive demesne, and a mile of avenue, with many
thousands of well-dressed orderly people, the ladies forming about
half the company. Then a large low, brown mansion with a gravelled
quadrangle, around which marched fife and drum bands playing "No
Surrender" and "The Boyne Water." And everywhere incessant drumming
and drinking of ginger beer. Banners were there of every size, shape,
and colour, many with painted devices, more or less well done. The
Lurgan Temperance Lodge exhibited Moses in the wilderness, holding up
the brazen serpent. "Three-fourths of the Orange Lodges are based on
temperance principles," said an Orange authority standing by, "and
what is more, they don't allow smoking. We Orange rowdies are to a
great extent temperance men." I remembered that the three meetings of
the night before were smokeless concerts, and that the fourth
resembled a Methodist love-feast, with an old brother telling his
experiences. Also that Captain Milligen, a leading Plymouth Brother of
Warrenpoint, had told me that he had been present at a Scarva meeting,
and that from beginning to end he never heard a bad word, nor saw
anything objectionable. The sham fight took place on a hill hard by.
Two fine young fellows fenced with old cavalry swords, and King James,
with green coat and plumes, succumbed to King William with orange coat
and plumes, while their respective armies to the number of about
thirty, fifteen on each side, fired in the air. I noticed that while a
few had ancient brass-bound muskets, which looked as if converted from
flint locks, most were armed with Snider rifles of army pattern. The
drums excelled themselves, and the fifers shrieked martial airs. The
people waved their hats and cheered, and that was the whole of it.
Returning to the station, a good young man gave me a tract, wherein I
found myself addressed as a Dear Unsaved Reader, and later as a
Hell-deserving Sinner. Then a Salvation Army man telling a crowd to
Escape for their lives, which I was just doing, and that once he had
loved pleasure, which seemed likely enough. Then a big banner whereon
was depicted David in the act of beheading Goliath with a yeomanry
sword, the Wicklow mountains in the distance. Then an old man on the
bridge declaring to the multitude that he would not be a Papist for
all that earth could give, and that nothing could induce his
fellow-citizens to submit to Home Rule for one second of time. "No,
never, never, never. Rather than accept of Popish rule, we'll take
arms in our hands as our fathers did, and like them we will conquer.
Have we not their example before us? Are we such dastards as to give
up that for which they shed their blood? Shall the sons be unworthy of
the sires? Never shall it be said that the children were unworthy
their inheritance of Freedom. Old as I am, I would take a musket, and
go forth in the name of the Lord. Shame on the Scots and English if
they desert us in our hour of need. Are they not our own kith and kin?
But whether they aid us, or whether they desert us, we will stand
firm, and be true to ourselves. Our cause is good, and we are bound to
win, as we won before. Only stand firm, shoulder to shoulder. Shall
we bow down to Popery? No, by the God that made us, No. Shall we
truckle to Rome, shall we become slaves to Popish knaves, shall we
become subservient to priestcraft and lying and roguery and trickery?
Never shall it be said of us. We claim to be part and parcel of the
glorious British Empire. We have helped to upbuild that Empire, and we
claim our inheritance. We will NOT sell our birthright, we will NOT
connive at the destruction of Britain's greatness, we will NOT have
Home Rule. 'Shall we from the Union sever? By the God that made us,
never!'"
The people listened silently, with grave, earnest faces. They mean
business. During my first visit to Belfast I interviewed the leading
citizens, the clergy, nobility, and gentry. This time I spoke with
artisans and craftsmen, and I found the same feeling, a deep and
immovable resolve to fight till the last extremity. It should be
remembered that all Ulstermen are not Orangemen. But the religious
bodies which have held aloof from Orangeism are just as determined. On
the Irish Church question the Orange body stood alone. The dissenting
sects were against them everywhere. All are united now, and the
attempt to force Home Rule on these resolute men would be attended by
the most awful consequences. They are not of a breed that easily
knocks under. They remind you of the Scottish Covenanters. They are
men with whom you would rather dine than fight. In Belfast, besides
Mr. Fullwood, of Birmingham, previously mentioned, I met with Mr.
Lyons, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, who in his walks abroad in the city had
put down in his pocket-book the names of all streets he judged to be
exclusively Catholic. He was right save in three cases, where the
people were mixed. He also observed that in the poorer quarters the
windows of all Protestant places of worship were protected by wire
netting, but that the Catholic chapels were not so protected. As the
Protestants are three to one, he thought this a curious commentary on
the statements anent Orange rowdyism. Mr. Deacon, of Manchester, and
the Englishmen hereinbefore mentioned were present at the Orange Hall,
and all saw what I have related. Mr. Henry Charlton, J.P., of
Gateshead-on-Tyne, agrees with them that the religious question is the
secret of the whole agitation, and that the sooner a leading statesman
meets the Home Rule movement on this, the true ground, the better for
the country. "We are too squeamish in England. We fear to offend our
Catholic friends, with whom there is no fault to be found. But we want
an influential speaker to say at once that the conflict is reality
between Protestantism and Popery. The best plan would be to state
things as they are, and to meet the enemy directly." So spoke one of
these visitors, a gentleman of great political experience. Is this
opinion not well worth consideration? Is not the time for soft
speaking nearly over?
Mr. Dillon says he will manage Ulster. He will need the British Army
at his back. His Army of Independence will not avail him much. The
position of the Nationalist members towards Ulster is not unlike that
of the Chinaman who wanted an English sailor punished. "There he
stands," said the skipper, "go and punch his head." "No, no," said the
Celestial complainant, "me no likee-pikee that way. But spose three,
five, 'leven big sailors tie him up, hold him fast, then very much me
bamboo he." And that is how the Dillonites would hope to manage
Ulster.
Belfast, July 15th.
No. 49.--THE CONSTITUTION OF THE ORANGE LODGES.
Portadown is another of the clean, well-built towns of Ulster
dependent for its prosperity on the linen trade. The River Bann flows
through it, a fine stone bridge spanning its waters in the principal
street. Everybody seems comfortably off, and dirty slums are nowhere
to be found. Some of the shops are very much larger than the size of
the town would seem to warrant, and one ironmonger's store is far
larger than any similar shop in Birmingham. The Presbyterian
meeting-house, on the right as you enter, and the Protestant Church,
which occupies a conspicuous position at the meeting of two main
thoroughfares, are plain, substantial buildings without any striking
architectural pretensions, and the Orange Hall, which seems an
indispensable adjunct of all "settler" towns, is also modest and
unassuming. The meadows bordering the Bann are spread with miles of
bleaching linen, for which the river is especially famous, its waters
having a very superior reputation for the production of dazzling
whiteness. The town is half-a-mile from the station, which is an
important junction, and the number of cars in waiting show that the
people expect the coming of business men. When first I visited the
town, placards announcing drill meetings at the Orange Hall were
everywhere stuck up, but I saw none during my last march round.
Perhaps the Orangemen have completed their arrangements. The Portadown
people have no intention of accepting Home Rule. On the contrary they
are determined to have none of it. At present they are quiet enough,
because they are confident that the bill can never pass, and they do
not wish to meet trouble halfway. The House of Lords is their best
bower anchor, and for the present they leave the matter with the
peers. So they mind their work, and spend their time in making linen.
When they demonstrate they do it with a will, but they cannot live by
demonstrations, and they are used to paying their way. They see what
happens in so-called "patriotic" districts, how neglect of duty
accompanies eternal agitation, and how the result is poverty and
failure to meet the ordinary obligations of social life. The artisans
of Portadown go to work every day, and the farmers do their level best
with the land, which all about this region is highly cultivated. They
claim to belong to the party of law and order, and they agree with the
great orator who once said:--"The party of law and order includes
every farmer who does not want to rob the landlord of his due and who
does not want to be forced to pay blackmail to agitation--every poor
fellow who desires to be at liberty to earn a day's wages by
whomsoever they are offered him, without being shunned, insulted,
beaten, or too probably murdered." The orator in question bears the
well-known name of William Ewart Gladstone, now intimately associated
with the names of Dillon, O'Brien, Sexton, O'Connor, Tim Healy, and
the rest of the agitators to whom he was referring in the above-quoted
speech, delivered at Hawick just ten years ago.
A Portadown Orangeman complained bitterly of the attitude of the
English Gladstonian party with reference to his order. He said:--"We
have been denounced as rowdies and Orange blackguards until the
English people seem to believe it. They never think of comparing our
record with the record of the party denouncing us, nor do they know
anything of the history and constitution of the order. We have always
been loyal, always friends of England, and that is why the Nationalist
party so strongly disapprove of us. We have never occupied the time of
the English Parliament, nor have we leagued ourselves with the enemies
of England. We have maintained order, and taken care of English
interests in Ireland, besides looking after our own personal affairs.
We have not stood everlastingly hat in hand, crying, like the daughter
of the horse-leech, Give, give. And great is our reward. We are to be
handed over to a pack of Papist traitors and robbers, who for years
have made the country a perfect Hell. Mr. Gladstone would fain give
rich, industrious Ulster into the hands of lazy, improvident
Connaught. Let them try it on. Let them impose their taxes, and let
them try to collect them. They'll find in Ulster something to run up
against. We prefer business to fighting and disturbance, but when once
we make up our minds for a row we shall go in for a big thing. Most of
our people have a deep sense of religion, and they will look upon it
as a religious war. It will be the sword of the Lord and of Gideon. We
never will bow down to Popery. And that is what Home Rule means. We
see the abject condition of the Papists, and we know their slavish
superstitions. The bulk of them are body and soul in the hands of the
priests, and that is the secret of their non-success in life. The
poorest among them are taxed to death by the Church. A fee must be
paid for christening, and unless you pay a stiff figure you won't have
a priest at your funeral. The poor Catholics are buried without any
religious service whatever. They are taken to the churchyard by their
friends and put in a hole, like a dog. Pay, pay, pay, from the cradle
to the grave. And when the priests wish to raise money, they dictate
how much each person is to give. They do not believe in free-will
offerings, otherwise their receipts would be very small indeed. There
you have one explanation of Papist poverty. Are we to put our necks
under the heels of a Parliament worked by Bishop Walsh of Dublin?
Never, as long as we can strike a blow for freedom. We look to England
at present. If England fails us, we shall look to ourselves. Our
fathers died to preserve us from King James and Popery, and we are not
going back to it at this time of day.
"English Home Rulers have actually taken up the cry of Equality, and
down with Protestant ascendency. Such foolish ignorance almost amounts
to crime. Where are the Roman Catholic disabilities? For two
generations the Papists have had absolute equality. Every office is
open to them on the judicial bench. There have been Roman Catholic
Lord Chancellors, and Lord Chief Justices. O'Laughlin, O'Hagan, Naish,
Pallas, Barry, O'Brien, Keogh, and many others are all Roman Catholic
judges. The Papists have an overwhelming preponderance in
Parliamentary representation. They are looked after in the matter of
education, whether elementary, intermediate, or University. The system
of the National Board was introduced to meet the objections of the
Roman Catholics. They objected to the use of the Bible. As you know
the Papists object very strongly to the Bible, and as it came out some
time since, before the Commissioners of Education, of four hundred
Maynooth students only one in forty had a Bible at all. Theological
students without a Bible! But each was compelled to have a copy of
some Jesuit writer.
"Where is the inequality? The Romanists have their own college, this
very Maynooth, entirely under the control of their own bishops, where
they educate the sons of small farmers and peasants and whiskey-shop
keepers by means of funds very largely taken from the Protestant
Church of Ireland. They do not desire equality, they are resolved on
ascendency. We who live in Ireland know and feel the spirit of
intolerance which marks the Romanist body. It is proposed to make of
Ireland a sort of Papal state. We have the declarations of Cardinal
Logue, of Archbishop Walsh, of Archbishop Croke before us. We need to
know no more. The English people pay no attention to them, or have
forgotten them. We bear them in mind, and we shall act accordingly."