due to their inferiority as a race of men. Wherever there is a
factory, you will find all the foremen Protestants--that is, Saxons.
And Irishmen expect it. They will not work under Irish foremen, if
they can help it. The Catholic labourer will work for the Protestant
farmer, for choice, every time. The Catholic housekeeper goes to the
Protestant shop, by preference. Where their own personal and earthly
interests are concerned, the Papist population always prefer the
guidance of the cursed heretic. And yet they express for the
Black-mouths the greatest contempt and aversion, and would willingly
put them out of the country to-morrow. That is because they wish to
possess our goods. They vote for Home Rule in the belief that they are
paving the way for a dismissal of Protestants, and the division of
their property. They do not know the name of the man who represents
them, the title of the Parliamentary division for which he sits, or
even, in many cases, the name of the county in which they themselves
reside. To talk reason to such people would be absurd. Trained from
their infancy to regard England as an enemy, they would not listen to
anyone speaking on her behalf. They declare that they are barefoot
because England wears their shoes, that they are starving that England
may be over-fed. The how, the why, the wherefore are not within their
ken, but they are sure of the facts. They had them from Father Dick,
Tom, or Harry, and the holy man would not tell a lie. Stupid people
over the Channel, listening to this iterated complaint, are acting as
though it were true. Gladstone took it up, and his followers followed.
No doubt it was all that most of them could do. Result,--tumult,
disturbance, confusion worse confounded. Home Rule means that the
country will be deluged with blood, that civilisation will receive a
shock which will send back the island for a century. The causes of
Ireland's poverty are laziness and lack of enterprise, the latter
accentuated by everlasting disturbance. Before the Nationalists we had
the Fenians, the Whiteboys, the Ribbon-men, the United Irishmen, the
Defenders, the goodness-knows-what, running back in continuous line up
to the dawn of history. No wonder we are poor. Cannot Gladstonians
read the records? If they did so, and if they were acquainted with the
character of the Irish when in their native land, they would agree
with my cook, herself a Kelt of Kelts, who says that Irishmen are
leather, good leather, but fit only for the sole, and not for the
uppers.
"I used to regard Mr. Gladstone as an honest man. Now I think
otherwise. As for the ruck that follow him--well, if they were
intelligent when honest, or honest when intelligent, nobody could
understand their deviation from the path of reason and rectitude. But
the rogues will of course do anything they think will suit them best,
no matter what befalls their country; and as for the rest, why of
course no reasonable man would blame people for not thinking, when
Providence has not provided them with the requisite machinery."
Ballyshannon, August 5th.
No. 58.--THE TRUTH ABOUT BUNDORAN.
There is no railway between Donegal and Ballyshannon, fifteen miles
away. The largest town in the county is not connected with the
principal port. But you can steam from Ballyshannon to Bundoran, the
favourite watering-place of Donegal, quaint and romantic, with a deep
bay and grassy cliffs. The bathing-grounds have a smooth floor of
limestone, and the Atlantic rolls in majestically, sending aloft
columns of white spray as its waters strike the outlying islands of
rock, each with a green crown of vegetation. The bare-headed and
bare-legged natives walk side by side with the fashionably-dressed
citizens of Dublin, Belfast, and Londonderry. The poorest folks are
tolerably clean, and, unlike the Southerners, occasionally wash their
feet. The town is small, but there is plenty of good accommodation for
holiday makers. Bundoran is Catholic and intolerant. Although
depending on their Protestant countrymen for nine-tenths of their
livelihood, the people of Bundoran object to Protestantism, and the
intensity of their antipathy to the Black-mouths has impelled them to
quarrel with their bread-and-butter. Of late the question of tolerance
has been much discussed. Sapient persons whose assumption is equal to
their ignorance of the subject, affect to despise the fears of the
scattered Protestant population whose alarm is based on the experience
of a lifetime. English Home Rulers who wish to create effect
unblushingly affirm that the Protestants are the only intolerants, and
that the Papists are as distinguished for affectionate toleration as
for industry and honesty. In direct opposition to daily experience and
the evidence of history, they assert that the Papists are the
persecuted party, and that they only practise their religion with fear
and trembling. Notwithstanding the well-known doctrine of the Roman
Church, which preserves heaven exclusively for those within its own
pale, these eccentric politicians aver that under a Roman Catholic
Parliament, elected by the clergy alone, the isolated Protestants of
Catholic Ireland, known in the Papist vernacular as Black-faces,
Black-mouths, Heretics, Soupers, and Jumpers, would be treated with
perfect consideration, would enjoy the fullest freedom, the most
indulgent toleration, would, in short, be placed in a position of
equality with the predestined inhabitants of Paradise, or, to quote
Catechism, the inheritors of the Kingdom of Heaven. The persons most
nearly concerned know better. The shrewd farmers of Ulster, like the
Puritan brethren of Leinster, Munster, and Connaught, are entirely
devoid of faith in the promised Papist toleration. Protestant equality
under a Home Rule Parliament! You might as well tell them to plant
potatoes and expect therefrom a crop of oats. Men do not gather grapes
off thorns nor figs off thistles.
The Bundoran Protestants have evidence to offer. The date is recent.
Not two hundred years ago, but in the year of grace
eighteen-hundred-and-ninety-three. Seeing that the little seaside
resort was full of holiday-makers from the Protestant counties of
Fermanagh and Tyrone, two young Protestant clergymen determined to hold
Gospel services in a tent which was pitched in a field the property of
Mr. James A. Hamilton, J.P. For about a week beforehand handbills
announcing the services for July 21 had been distributed in the town
and suburbs, but no controversial topic was mentioned, nor was it
intended that the services should be other than strictly evangelical.
The tent was erected solely to accommodate the great influx of
visitors, after the manner so familiar in England. Here was a test of
Papal toleration. The tent was on private ground, and if Papists did
not like it they could easily keep away, making a wry face and spitting
out the abomination as they passed, after their liberal custom. This,
however, was not enough. No sooner had the handbills been issued, than
a most scurrilous placard appeared, calculated to inflame the passions
of the ignorant, and to make them act after their kind. The Gospellers
were accused of an attempt to poach on the Papal preserves, and it was
mockingly stated that they had at last come to Christianise the
benighted Papists. The effect of this placard was soon evident. It
became known that the Roman Catholics of the district had determined
that they would allow no Gospel services in Bundoran. The police
authorities, who know all about Papist "tolerance," increased the small
village force to twenty-five men, but, as the result proved, these were
absolutely useless. A mob of more than a thousand pious ruffians
gathered early in the evening, and attacked in a brutal and merciless
manner every person they suspected of being on the way to the meeting.
The two Evangelists went to the tent under the escort of the
twenty-five policemen, but before they could commence the service the
apostles of toleration made a desperate rush on the congregation, most
of whom were struck with bludgeons and stones, knocked down, kicked,
and otherwise maltreated. The constabulary with great determination,
but with much difficulty, protected the two young clergymen, upon whom
a most venomous attack was made. The Protestants defended themselves
with umbrellas, walking-sticks, and the like, but being strongly
charged these proved of little avail against the wild onslaught of the
party of toleration. Well may the local paper say that "a regular panic
pervades the resident and visiting Protestant families."
Mr. Morley, replying to a question in the House, said the reports were
exaggerated. The hapless Irish Secretary, unable to meet this and
similar charges with denial, always relies on the plea of
"exaggeration." The statement given above is derived from
eye-witnesses of both creeds, and from an official source. One word as
to the plea of exaggeration.
When I had investigated the fifteen moonlighting atrocities of four
weeks in County Limerick, the County Inspector, who had just returned
from a conference with Mr. Morley, said to me:--
"Everything is ve-ry quiet. We're going on very nicely now." But the
_Gazette_ gave particulars of the shooting in the legs of the four
members of the Quirke family, and Mr. Morley was obliged to admit the
fifteen outrages which constituted County Inspector Moriarty's idea of
"quiet." Subordinates will say there is peace when there is no peace,
if the master requires it. The Bundoran outrage is not susceptible of
exaggeration. Call another witness.
The _Sligo Independent_, which being published on the spot can speak
with authority, says that "the intolerant and bigoted Roman Catholics
of Bundoran and surrounding districts look upon Protestantism as a
kind of leprosy which ought at all hazards to be stamped out," and
further states that "even the ladies did not escape their fanatical
hatred and fury. Several people were severely injured, and a clergyman
who was coming to the meeting with his Bible in his hand, was thrown
down and badly beaten, the Book being torn from him and destroyed.
What may Protestants expect should the Home Rule Bill ever become law,
when such disgraceful outbursts of religious bigotry are quite common
under the existing _regime_? The natural conclusion is that all such
Gospel meetings would be put down with a strong hand, and Protestant
religious liberty trampled under foot by their unscrupulous Roman
Catholic fellow-countrymen. And yet Loyalists are told to trust in
them and all will be well!" Thus the Sligo journal; and its editor may
perhaps, under the circumstances, be pardoned for suggesting that "it
were better for Loyalists not to put themselves in the power of men
who have proved themselves unfit even to associate with civilised
beings. Bundoran will feel the evil effects of these insane attacks
upon defenceless people next season when tourists and pleasure-seekers
will avoid this seat of stupid bigotry, and visit some other summer
resort where they will at least be allowed to worship their Maker
according to their own desires." Exactly. Many visitors left at once,
and will never return. During my six hours' stay I heard complaints of
the falling-off of business. If the place be empty next summer the
people will attribute the loss to the British Government, and
especially to the machinations of the Tory party. An old fisherman
said the fish had left the bay. I assured him they would return under
a Dublin Parliament. He refused to be comforted, because they were
not.
There is no railway from Bundoran to Sligo, that is, no direct
railway. The great lines mostly run from east to west, but the west
lacks connecting links. Look at the map of Ireland. Cast your eye on
the west coast. If you would go by rail from Westport to Sligo, you
must first go east to Mullingar. If you would go by rail from Sligo to
Bundoran, you must first go east to Enniskillen. If from Bundoran to
Donegal, less than twenty miles, you must again go to Enniskillen,
thence to Strabane, where you arrive after the best part of a day's
journey, ten miles further away than when you started, thence to
Stranorlar, changing there to the narrow-gauge railway for your final
trip. Travelling on the west coast is tedious and expensive, whether
you go round by rail or drive direct. Many of the most attractive
tourist districts are almost inaccessible. To open them up is to
enrich the neighbourhood. Few Englishmen know what the Balfour
railways really mean. The following statement gives particulars
respecting the Light Railways authorised by the Salisbury Government,
and constructed either wholly or in part by the nation. These
railways introduce tourists to those parts of Ireland which are best
worth visiting, and the economy of time, money, and muscular tissue
effected by them would be hard to overestimate. But this is not all,
nor was this their primary purpose. They gave and still give
employment to the people of the district, and besides bringing the
money of the tourists into the country, enable the natives to send
their produce out of it, to place it on the market, to turn it into
gold. There is no railway from Dugort, in Achil, to any market. Fish
caught in Blacksod Bay are therefore worth nothing except as food for
the fisherman's family. Large crabs were offered to me for one
halfpenny each. Does this fact impress the usefulness of Balfour's
railways? Here they are complete:--
Length in Balfour's
Name. miles. contribution.
Donegal and Killybegs 17-3/4 L115,000
Stranorlar and Glenties 24-1/2 116,000
On this line you run for twelve miles from Stranorlar without seeing a
single cottage. There are none within sight on either side.
Downpatrick and Ardglass 7-1/4 L30,000
Galway and Clifden 50 264,000
This will run in connection with the splendid system of the Midland
and Western Railway, opening up the grand scenery of Connemara, which
to the average Britisher is like a new world. No end of fishing here
among virgin shoals of trout and salmon, and nearly always for
nothing. It was along the first sixteen miles of this line, still
unopened, that I ran on the engine to Oughterard.
Westport to Mulranney 18-1/4 L131,400
To which is added the
Achil Island extension 8-1/4 65,000
This will enable travellers to steam from Dublin to Achil Island via
Midland and Western, instead of the ten hours on an open car, which on
their arrival at Westport now awaits visitors to Dugort. It was on
this line that I had the startling adventures on a fiery untamed bogey
engine, lent to the _Gazette_ by Mr. Robert Worthington, of Dublin.
But I must condense.
Claremorris and Collooney 47 L150,000
Ballina and Killala 6-1/2 44,000
Bantry extension 2 15,000
Baltimore extension 8 56,700
West Kerry and Valentia 27 85,000
Headford and Kenmare 20 50,000
Milltown, Malbay, Kilkee, and Kilrush 26 2% on 120,000
Tuam and Claremorris 17 2 " 97,000
Ballinrobe and Claremorris 12 2 " 71,664
Besides these, similar lines have been constructed, and are now
working between Tralee, Dingle, and Castlegregory; Skibbereen and
Skull; Ballinscarty, Timoleague, and Courtmacsherry. The Cork and
Muskerry Railway, which runs through the groves of Blarney, owes its
completion and success to Mr. Balfour's administration.
Driving from Bray to the Dargle, my jarvey pointed to the ruins of a
light railway undertaken without the aid of the British intellect.
"'Tis a nice mess they made iv it, the quarrelin' pack o' consated
eejits! They must run a chape little thing to the Dargle, about two
miles away, along the roadside, just as Balfour showed them the way.
What have they done? Desthroyed the road. Lost all the money they
could raise. Got the maker to take back the rails (for they bought
thim afore they wanted thim), an' the only thing they now have in the
shape of shareholders' property is a lawsuit wid the Wicklow folks
about desthroyin' the road. Faix, an iligant dividend is that same.
An' them's the chaps that's to rule the counthry. That's the sort of
thim, I mane. Many's the time I seen the Irish mimbers. Sorra a thing
can they do, barrin' dhrink an' talk. I wouldn't thrust one of thim to
rub down a horse, nor wid a bottle of poteen. Divil a one of thim but
would dhrink as much whiskey as would wash down a car, an' if they
could run as fast as they can talk, begorra, ye might hunt hares wid
thim. Rule the counthry, would ye. Whe-w-w-w!" He whistled with a
"dying fall," like the strain in _Twelfth Night_.
I drove from Bundoran to Sligo, the sea on the right, the Benbulben
mountains on the left, singularly shaped but splendid. The round
towers and ancient Irish crosses, the lakes and rivers of Sligo, are
full of interest and beauty. The Abbey ruins are exceptionally fine.
The town is fairly well built, but it is easy to realise that once
more it is Connaught. During a turn round Bridge Street, a country
cart heaves alongside, steered by a stalwart man in hodden gray. He
notes the stranger, and politely says,
"Can I be of any use? I see you are a visitor."
We fell into conversation. Presently I said, "Everything will be well
when you get Home Rule."
He stopped the cart and protested against this statement. Unknowingly
I had tapped a celebrity. My hodden-gray friend was none other than
the famous Detective James Magee, who arrested James Stephens, the
Number One, the Head Centre of the Irish Revolutionary Brotherhood;
also John O'Leary, editor of the Fenian _Irish People_, of which
O'Donovan Rossa was business manager. O'Leary was a doctor hailing
from Tipperary. He asked Magee if he might have his "night-cap," and
his captor allowed him to call for the whiskey at a well-known Dublin
resort, on parole of honour. Later, as a crowded street was reached,
O'Leary said, "There are three thousand of my friends there. If you go
that way I cannot save you. Better try a back street." "That was
handsome," said Mr. Magee. "O'Leary was a gentleman. Stephens was only
a 'blower.'" My friend was unalterably set against Home Rule, which he
regards as an empty, foolish cry. Being a pensioner he wishes to be
reticent, but his opinion is pronounced, and the Sligo people know it.
He has a high opinion of the law-abiding instincts of his compatriots,
and believes that "if they were left to themselves" the district
would need no police. "A better-hearted, kinder, more obliging people
never lived," said this excellent judge, who after twenty-seven years
of police service, returned to end his days among them. And my short
experience of the Sligo folks confirms this statement. They were not
all so reserved as Detective-sergeant Magee. A thriving shopkeeper
said:--"The majority, if you count noses, are for Home Rule, but if
you count only brains and intelligence you would find an overwhelming
majority against it. Mr. Gladstone and his set of blockheads seem
quite impervious to reason, and even the constituencies of England
seem to lack information. The reason is plain. While we have been
minding our work the Nationalists have been agitating. For thirteen
years they have been on the stump, and have stolen a march on us and
they take a lot of catching up. We allowed them to empty their
wind-bags, forgetting that the English people were not so conversant
with the facts or with the character of the orators as we are. We
thought that no precautions were required, and that their preposterous
statements would be received in England as intelligent, enlightened
people would receive them here. Their strength in Ireland is almost
entirely among the illiterates, who in the polling booths are coerced
by their priests. I have seen a man crying because he had not been
allowed to vote for the candidate supported by his employer. Such a
ridiculous thing could not happen in England, and Englishmen who do
not know Ireland and the Irish will scarcely credit it. This shows how
unable most Saxons are to understand Irish character and motive.
"All our civilisation is from England, all our progress, all our
enlightenment, and nearly all our money. As a poor, helpless,
semi-barbaric country, we ought to cleave to England with all our
might and main. A more and more complete and perfect unity is our best
hope. To ask for separation is the wildest absurdity. And just as we
were beginning to go along smoothly! That was entirely due to the just
but firm administration of the Balfour period.
"Among Irishmen justice with firmness is always appreciated in the
long run. An Irish Secretary needs the hand of iron in the velvet
glove. Paddy spots the philanthropic fumbler in a moment, and uses
him, laughing the while at what he rightly calls his 'philandering.'
Morley means well, but nobody here respects him. He knows no more of
Irish character than a blind bull-pup. His master in my opinion is
worse, if possible. He is deaf to all the arguments of Irish sense and
Irish culture, and proposes to finally resolve the unresolvable, to
settle the Irish difficulty by a Catholic Parliament. As well go out
with a net to catch the wind. He listens to the representatives of
ruffianism, counting them first. We kept silent too long. We thought
the donkeys might bray for ever without shaking down the stars. We
were wrong. Now we are almost powerless. For what are a handful of
reasonable men against a crowd of blackguards with big sticks?"
While conversing with Detective Magee, that astute gentleman pointed
out The O'Connor, lineal King of Connaught, and a staunch Unionist! A
devout Catholic and intensely Irish, yet the uncrowned King is a
loyalist. But The O'Connor is a man of superior understanding. After
this I saw three Home Rulers--yea, I conversed with four, one a
positive person whom I mistook for a farm labourer, but who proved to
be a National schoolmaster who absorbed whiskey like the desert sands.
A decent farmer who thought the Land League the finest thing in the
wuruld, complained that while the British Government have contracted
for hay at L8 15s., yet he and his friends could only get L3 for "best
saved." His idea of Home Rule was--No Rent to pay. A ferocious
commercial traveller, whose jaw and cheekbones were as much too large
as his eyes and forehead were too small, wanted to know "what right
had England to rule Ireland? Ye have no more right to rule Ireland
than to rule France." This was his only idea. He was a patriot of the
sentimental type, and wished that Ireland might take her place as an
independent nation with Belgium, Switzerland, Holland. His hero was
Paddy O'Donnell, of Bedlam--_clarum et venerabile nomen_--who for five
days held his house, since called the Fort, against a strong force of
police. "If all was like O'Donnell, we'd soon have the counthry to
ourselves," said my commercial friend. "An' if ye don't let us go,
we'll make ye wish ye did. Wait till ye get into throuble with France.
The Siam business may yet turn up thrumps." He was very voluble, very
loud, very illiterate, and I declined to discuss the question except
in Irish, which he did not speak. Like most of the patriot orators of
Ireland, he was as ignorant of his native language as of his native
literature, and every other. This is the class from whom the political
speakers who infest country places are drawn. At first sight they seem
unworthy of notice, but contempt may be pushed too far. Even wasps
become dangerous when in swarms. And Hatred is like fire: it makes
even light rubbish deadly.
Sligo, August 8th.
No. 59.--IRISH NATIONALISM IS NOT PATRIOTISM.