The west coast of Ireland presents scenery of the most beautiful and
romantic character. Here grey peaks rise up amidst verdure of emerald
green; trees of varied hue come feathering down close to the water;
yellow sands line the shores of many lonely bays; dark rocks of
fantastic shape extend out into the ocean, while deep blue lochs mirror
on their bosoms the varied forms of the surrounding heights. On the
south-west part of the coast a wide bay is to be found. At the extreme
southern end, up a deep loch, a castle, the seat of an ancient family,
reared its towers high above the waters. The bay came sweeping round at
some places with a hard sandy beach; then, again, the ground rose,
leaving but a narrow ledge between the foot of the cliffs and the
waters. Thus the shore extended on for some distance, forming a lofty
headland, when it again sank to its former level. A reef of rocks ran
out a considerable distance into the ocean, forming a natural breakwater
to the bay. Here and there to the north were several deep indentations,
in which fishing-boats and several coasting craft might find shelter.
In some of these little bays fishermen had formed their habitations,
mostly out of the wrecks of stout ships which had been cast on their
rocky shores. In some of the coves or bays several huts had been
congregated together, but a short distance north of the promontory which
has been spoken of stood a single hut. It was strongly built of ships'
timbers and roofed with stout planks, kept down by heavy stones, so
that, though the furious blasts which swept across the Atlantic blew
against it, it had hitherto withstood the rough shocks to which it had
been exposed.
The day was lovely; not a cloud dimmed the blue heavens, while the sun
setting over the distant ocean shed a glow of light across the waters,
rippled by a gentle westerly breeze. Several boats were approaching the
shore. In one of them sat a lad. No other person was to be seen on
board. The dark nets were piled up in the centre of the boat, at the
bottom of which a number of fish, still giving signs of life, showed
that he had been successful in his calling. Every now and then he
looked up at the tanned sail to see that it drew properly, and then
would cast his eye towards the shore to watch the point to which he was
steering. He could scarcely have numbered twelve summers, though his
figure was tall and slight. His trousers were rolled up above the
knees, showing his well-turned legs and feet. His shirtsleeves were
treated in the same manner, while the collar, thrown back, exhibited his
broad and well-formed chest. His eyes were large and dark, and the hue
of his skin gave indication that Spanish blood was flowing in his veins;
while his dark locks escaping from beneath his fisherman's red cap, gave
a still more southern look to his well-chiselled features. His
practical knowledge and activity seemed to have made up for his want of
strength, for few boys of his age would have ventured forth to sea in a
fishing-boat of that size by themselves. Another and a larger boat had
been for some time steering a course to approach him.
"Ah! Dermot, me darlin'; and all alone too?" said a man from the boat
which now overtook him.
"Yes! my mother was ill and unable to go off, so I went by myself; an'
see, Uncle Shane, I have had a good haul for my pains."
"I see, boy, an' sure I'm glad of it," said the first speaker; "but you
are scarcely strong enough to go off alone, for should a gale spring up
you would be unable to manage that boat by yourself."
"Och! an' haven't I managed her before now in heavy weather?" replied
Dermot. "But suppose, Uncle Shane, I was lost, would you take care of
my mother? She's not so strong as she used to be; toil has worn her
down, working hard for me when I ought to have been toiling for her."
"I will," answered Shane.
"Will you swear it, uncle, by the Holy Virgin and the blessed saints?"
"I will, Dermot, as I hope for mercy in the day of trouble. But why do
you ask that question?"
"Because, uncle, as I was pulling up my nets I slipped and almost fell
overboard. I thought that had my feet been entangled, as they might
have been, I should have gone down an' been unable to regain the boat.
We none of us know what may happen: but could I feel that my mother
would be protected from want, it would nerve my arm, and make me feel
more ready for whatever lot may be in store for me."
"Boy," observed the elder fisherman, looking at his nephew, "you are
thoughtful above your years; but the saints will protect you, and I will
not forget to make an offering to Saint Nicholas, that he may watch over
you."
Thus conversing the old man and the lad steered their boats towards the
shore side by side, the former hauling in his mainsail somewhat to
lessen the speed of his boat. They parted to the northward of the
promontory described, Dermot steering for the little cove in which stood
the solitary hut already spoken of, while his uncle continued along the
shore a little further to the north.
Dermot ran his boat between two rocks, at the end of which was a small
sandy beach, where a capstan being placed he was enabled to haul her up
out of the water. As he approached, a woman was seen descending from
the hut. The same dark eyes and raven hair, though somewhat streaked
with white in her case, which characterised the boy, was observable in
the woman. Her figure was thin and wiry, giving indication of the
severe toil to which she was exposed. She was dressed in a rough frieze
petticoat, with a dark handkerchief drawn across her bosom, and the
usual red cloak and hood worn at that time by most of the peasantry of
the west of Ireland was thrown over her shoulders.
"Mother!" exclaimed the boy, "see, I have done well; I have had a better
haul than we have got for many a day."
"And may be, Dermot, we will have a better market too," observed the
woman. "It is said the Earl has come to the castle with many fine
people, and they will be wanting fish to a certainty. It would be too
late now to go, they would not see you; but to-morrow morning, as soon
as the sun is up, you shall set forth, and to be sure they'll be glad to
buy fish of my Dermot." The woman drew herself up as she spoke, and
looked towards the boy with a glance of pride, as if she would not
exchange him for any of the highest born in the land.
"How are you, mother?" asked Dermot; "have all those aches of which you
were complaining gone away? Do you feel strong again?"
"Yes; the saints were merciful; I did not forget to pray to them, and
they have heard me," answered the woman.
With her, as with most of her countrywomen, superstition, if it had not
altogether taken the place of religion, had been strangely mixed up with
it; yet she spoke in a tone of simple and touching faith, at which no
one with any feeling would have ventured to sneer.
Next morning, Dermot, laden with the finest of his fish in a basket at
his back, set off along the shores of the bay towards Kilfinnan Castle.
The approach to it was wild and picturesque. A narrow estuary, having
to be crossed by a bridge, almost isolated the castle from the mainland,
for the ground on which the old fortress stood was merely joined to it
by a rugged and nearly impassable ledge of rocks. The castle itself was
of considerable size and strongly built, so that it could well withstand
the gales which, from time to time, circled round it. Dermot had but
little natural timidity or shyness; yet he felt somewhat awed when,
having missed the back approach used by the servants of the
establishment, he found himself at the entrance-hall, in which a number
of well-dressed persons were assembled on their way to the
breakfast-room. Some passed him carelessly.
"Oh, here, papa, is a fisher-boy with such fine fish," said a young and
fair girl as she ran up to a tall and dignified man, who at that moment
appeared.
"Why, boy, what brought you here?" asked the gentleman.
"To sell some fish; I caught them myself," was Dermot's answer. "They
are fine and fresh. I will not bargain for the price, as I feel sure
you will give me what they are worth."
The gentleman seemed amused at the boy's composure, and stepping forward
looked into the basket which Dermot opened to exhibit his fish.
"You are right, boy. Send Anderson here," he said, turning to a
footman. "We will purchase your fish, and you may come whenever you can
bring others as fine."
Several ladies of the party seeing the Earl, for the gentleman who spoke
was the owner of the castle, addressing the boy, came forward, and now,
for the first time, remarked his handsome features and picturesque,
though rough, costume.
The little girl begged that the fish might be taken out of the basket to
be shown to her, and seemed delighted with the brightness of their
scales and their elegant forms.
"Look after the boy, Anderson, and give him some breakfast," said the
Earl, as the head cook appeared, and Dermot, finding himself more
noticed than he was ever before in his life, was conducted down below to
the servants' quarters. Although they were town servants, and would
certainly have disdained to speak to a mere beggar-boy, or to a young
country clown, there was something in Dermot's unaffected manner and
appearance which won their regard, and they treated him with far more
kindness and attention than would otherwise have been the case.
Highly delighted with this his first visit to the castle, Dermot
returned to his mother's hut to give her an account of what had
occurred. That evening she was sufficiently recovered to accompany him
on their usual fishing expedition. Again they were successful, and the
next morning Dermot once more made his appearance at the castle. He was
received much in the same manner as on the previous occasion. His fish
were exhibited before being taken below, and greatly to his astonishment
a lady of the party begged that he would stand where he was, with his
basket in his hand, while she produced her sketch-book and made a
portrait of him. Dermot scarcely understood the process that was going
forward, and was somewhat relieved when the breakfast bell sounding, the
lady was compelled to abandon her undertaking.
"But I must have you notwithstanding, young fisher-boy," said the lady.
"You must come back after breakfast and hold one of those fish in your
hand; I have only made the outline, and the drawing will not be perfect
until it is well coloured."
"He does not understand the honour that has been done him," observed an
elderly dame to the fair artist; "still he looks intelligent, and
perhaps when he sees himself on paper he will be better pleased than he
appears to be at present."
Dermot scarcely understood all that was said, for though he spoke
English very fairly, he could not comprehend the language when spoken
rapidly.
Breakfast being concluded, he was again summoned to the hall, and to his
utter astonishment he was made to stand with the fish in his hand, while
the young lady continued her sketch. As a reward she exhibited it to
him when it was finished. He blushed when he saw himself, for she was
no mean artist, and she had done him ample justice. Indeed he looked
far more like the Earl's son, dressed in a fisher-boy's costume, than
what he really was.
"Could my mother see that picture?" he asked at length, "I am sure she
would like it, she knows more about those things than I do, for I have
never seen anything of that sort before."
"What! Have you never seen a picture before?" exclaimed the young lady
in surprise, "nor a print, nor a painting?"
Dermot shook his head--"No, nothing of the sort. I did not think that
anything so like life could be put on paper."
"Cannot you read?" asked the lady.
"No," said Dermot, "I have no book. The priest can read, but there are
few people else in this part of the country who can do so."
"Oh! you must be taught to read, then," exclaimed the young lady. "It
is a pity that you should be so ignorant. Would you not like to learn?"
"Yes!" said the boy, looking up, "and to draw such figures as that. I
should like to learn to place you on paper. You would make a far more
beautiful picture than that is."
The young lady smiled at the boy's unsophisticated compliment. "Well,
if you will come to the castle, I will try to teach you to read at all
events," she answered. "I should like such a pupil, for I am sure you
would learn rapidly."
"And I must help you, Lady Sophy," said the little girl, who had been
the first to draw attention to Dermot. "I am sure I should teach him to
read very quickly, should I not, little fisher-boy? You would like to
learn of me, would you not?"
"Indeed I would," answered Dermot, looking at her with an expression of
gratitude. "You are very gentle and kind, but I would not learn of
those who try to force me."
"When will you begin?" asked Lady Sophy.
"To-morrow. I long to gain the art you speak of," answered the boy
eagerly. "The priest tells me many things I have not known. Perhaps I
shall be able to tell him some things he does not know."
"So you wish to show this portrait to your mother?" observed Lady Sophy,
in a kind tone. "I cannot trust you with it, but if you will tell me
her name and where she lives, we will ride over some day and pay her a
visit."
"My mother is Ellen O'Neil, the Widow O'Neil, she is generally called,
for my father is dead. She is a kind mother to me, and there are not
many like her," answered the boy with a proud tone, showing how highly
he prized his remaining parent. "But our hut is not fit for such noble
ladies as you are to enter," he added, now gazing round the hall and for
the first time comparing it with his own humble abode. "It is but a
fisherman's hut, and my mother and I live there alone. You could
scarcely indeed ride down to it without the risk of your horses falling.
If you will let me have the picture I will promise you faithfully that
I will bring it back."
"No, no!" answered the young lady, laughing; "perhaps your mother might
keep it, and I want to have an excuse for paying her a visit. So we
will come, tell her, and we shall not mind how small the hut may be."
Dermot was at length compelled to explain where his mother's hut was to
be found, though he again warned the ladies that the approach to it was
dangerous, and entreated them to keep well to the right away from the
sea as they crossed the downs.
They promised to follow his injunction, and at length allowed him to
take his departure. This he was anxious to do, as he knew that it was
time to put off, to haul the nets which had been laid down in the
morning.
Day after day, while the fine weather lasted and fish were to be
procured, Dermot paid a visit to the castle, and each morning after
breakfast was over, the young ladies insisted on giving him his reading
lesson. He made rapid progress, and after a few days, they gave him a
book that he might take home and study by himself.
Hitherto Lady Sophy and her friends at the castle, had not paid their
promised visit to the fisherman's cottage. At length, however, one
evening just as Dermot and his mother had landed, they heard voices on
the downs above their hut, and looking up Dermot espied the party from
the castle. They were standing irresolute what path to take. He
instantly climbed up the cliff by a pathway which speedily placed him by
their side. He begged them to dismount, and undertook to conduct Lady
Sophy and the little girl, whom he heard addressed as Lady Nora, down to
the hut.
"I have brought the drawing as I promised," said Lady Sophy, taking a
portfolio from the groom who held their horses. "I will show it to your
mother, and perhaps she will let me take hers also."
There were other ladies and several gentlemen, and they expressed an
intention of coming also down to the hut. Lady Sophy guessed that this
would not be pleasant to the boy's mother, and begged them to continue
their ride along the downs, promising in a short time to rejoin them.
Dermot was greatly relieved, for he knew his mother would be much
annoyed at having so many visitors; at the same time he felt equally
sure she would be pleased at seeing the two young ladies.
Widow O'Neil had just reached her hut with a basket of fish on her
shoulders. As the young ladies entered, conducted by Dermot, she placed
two three-legged stools and begged them to be seated, for there was no
chair in the hut.
"You have come to honour an old fishwife with a visit, ladies," she
said; "you are welcome. If I lived in a palace you would be more
welcome still. My boy has told me of your kindness to him. A mother's
heart is grateful. I can give nothing in return, but again I say, you
are welcome."
"We came to show you a drawing I made of him," said Lady Sophy. "Here,
see, do you think it like him?"
"Oh! like him!" exclaimed the widow, lifting up her hands; "indeed, like
him, and far more like him who has gone--his father--whose grave lies
off there in the cold dark sea. I would that I could possess that
drawing, I should prize it more than pearls!"
"I will make you a copy," said Lady Sophy, "on one condition, that you
allow me to make a drawing of yourself."
"Of me! of the old fishwife?" exclaimed the astonished widow. "There is
little that would repay you for doing that, lady!"
The young lady smiled as she gazed at the picturesque costume and the
still handsome features of the woman, although the signs of age had
already come upon them. Her eyes were unusually bright, but her cheek
and mouth had fallen in, and her figure having lost all the roundness of
youth, was thin and wiry.
"Oh yes, you would make a beautiful picture," exclaimed the young lady,
looking at her with the enthusiasm of an artist. "Do sit still on that
cask for a time with a basket of fish at your feet. You must let me
draw you thus. Remember, if you will not, I cannot promise to make a
copy of your son's likeness for you."
"As you will, ladies," answered the fishwife. "The bribe you offer is
great. As for me, it matters little what you make of me. You are
likely to give me qualities I do not possess."
Although she used appropriate terms, she spoke the English with some
difficulty. It was unusual for any of the peasantry of that part of the
coast in those days to speak English, and how she had acquired a
knowledge of the language, and had been able to impart it to her son, it
was difficult to say. Perhaps her husband might have spoken it, or her
younger days might have been passed in some distant part of the country,
and yet she had the characteristic features of the people in the
south-west of Ireland, many of whom are descended from Spanish settlers,
who had crossed over in ancient days from the coast of Spain.
Dermot stood by Lady Nora's side, watching with looks of astonishment
the progress made by Lady Sophy's pencil. He hastened to bring her a
cup of water that she asked for, to moisten her colours; still greater
was his surprise when he saw the tints thrown in and gradually a very
perfect portrait produced of his mother.
He clapped his hands with delight. "It's her, it's her," he exclaimed;
"I wish that thus she could always be. Oh, lady, if you give my mother
a likeness of me, I must ask you to give me a copy of that portrait.
It's beautiful; it's like her in every respect. If I were away from
her, I should think it could speak to me."
"Away from her," said the woman, looking up and speaking to herself.
"Oh, that so dark a day should ever arrive, and yet am I to keep him
always by me, perhaps to share the fate of his father."
The words scarcely reached the ears of those in the hut.
At length Dermot obtained a promise from Lady Sophy that she would give
him a copy of the portrait she had just taken. He now accompanied her
and her young companion to the spot where they had left the horses.
"You must promise to come to-morrow, Dermot," said the Lady Sophy; "we
wish to push you on with your lessons, for we shall not be here much
longer, and we probably shall not return until next year."