lady, and furnished through the steward with an abundant supply of
cold meat, bread, and beer, of which he contrived to make a meal that
somewhat astonished the servants. Having satisfied his hunger, he
deliberately--but with the greatest simplicity of countenance--filled
the wallet which he carried slung across his back, with whatever he had
left, observing as he did it:--
“Fwhy, thin, 'tis sthrange it is, that the same custom is wit us in
Ireland beyant that is here: fwhor whinever a thraveller is axed in, he
always brings fwhat he doesn't ate along wit him. An sure enough it's
the same here amongst yez,” added he, packing up the bread and beef as
he spoke, “but Gad bliss the custom, any how, fwhor it's a good one!”
When he had secured the provender, and was ready to resume his journey,
he began to yawn, and to exhibit the most unequivocal symptoms of
fatigue.
“Arrah, sir,” said he to the steward, “you wouldn't have e'er an ould
barn that I'd throw myself in fwhor the night? The sarra leg I have to
put undher me, now that I've got stiff with the sittin' so lang; that,
an' a wishp o' sthraw, to sleep an, an' Gad bliss you!”
“Paddy, I cannot say,” replied the steward; “but I shall ask my master,
and if he orders it, you shall have the comfort of a hard floor and
clean straw, Paddy--that you shall.”
“Many thanks to you, sir: it's in your face, in thrath, the same gudness
an' ginerosity.”
The gentleman, on hearing Phil's request to be permitted a
sleeping-place in the barn, was rather surprised at his wretched notion
of comfort than at the request itself.
“Certainly, Timmins, let him sleep there,” he replied; “give him sacks
and straw enough. I dare say he will feel the privilege a luxury,
poor devil, after his fatigue. Give him his breakfast in the morning,
Timmins. Good heavens,” he added, “what a singular people! What an
amazing progress civilization must make before these Irish can be
brought at all near the commonest standard of humanity!”
At this moment Phil, who was determined to back the steward's request,
approached them.
“Paddy,” said the gentleman, anticipating him, “I have ordered you sacks
and straw in the barn, and your breakfast in the morning before you set
out.”
“Thrath,” said Phil, “if there's e'er a stray blissin' goin', depind an
it, sir, you'll get it fwhor your hanerable ginerosity to the sthranger.
But about the 'slip,' sir--if the misthress herself 'ud shake the whisp
o' sthraw fwhor her in the far carner o' the kitchen below, an' see her
gettin' her supper, the crathur, before she'd put her to bed, she'd be
thrivin' like a salmon, sir, in less than no time; and to ardher the
sarwints, sir, if you plase, not to be defraudin' the crathur of the big
phaties. Fwhor in regard it cannot spake fwhor itself, sir, it frets as
wise as a Christyeen, when it's not honestly thrated.”
“Never fear, Paddy; we shall take good care of it.”
“Thank you, sir, but I aften heered, sir, that you dunno how to feed
pigs in this counthry in ardher to mix the fwhat an' lane, lair (layer)
about.”
“And how do you manage that in Ireland, Paddy?”
“Fwhy, sir, I'll tell you how the misthress Gad bless her, will manage
it fwhor you. Take the crathur, sir, an' feed it to-morrow, till its as
full as a tick--that's for the fwhat, sir; thin let her give it nothin'
at all the next day, but keep it black fwhastin'--that's fwhor the lane
(leap). Let her stick to that, sir, keepin' it atin' one day an' fastin'
an-odher, for six months, thin put a knife in it, an' if you don't have
the fwhat an' lane, lair about, beautiful all out, fwhy nirer bl'eve
Phadrumshagh Corfuffle agin. Ay, indeed!”
The Englishman looked keenly at Phil, but could only read in his
countenance a thorough and implicit belief in his own recipe for mixing
the fat and lean. It is impossible to express his contempt for the sense
and intellect of Phil; nothing could surpass it but the contempt which
Phil entertained for him.
“Well,” said he to the servant, “I have often heard of the barbarous
habits of the Irish, but I must say that the incidents of this evening
have set my mind at rest upon the subject. Good heavens! when will ever
this besotted country rise in the scale of nations! Did ever a human
being hear of such a method of feeding swine! I should have thought it
incredible had I heard it from any but an Irishman!”
Phil then retired to the kitchen, where his assumed simplicity highly
amused the servants, who, after an hour or two's fun with “Paddy,”
conducted him in a kind of contemptuous procession to the barn, where
they left him to his repose.
The next morning he failed to appear at the hour of breakfast, but his
non-appearance was attributed to his fatigue, in consequence of which he
was supposed to have overslept himself. On going, however, to call him
from the barn, they discovered that he had decamped; and on looking
after the “slip,” it was found that both had taken French leave of the
Englishman. Phil and the pig had actually travelled fifteen miles that
morning, before the hour on which he was missed--Phil going at a dog's
trot, and the pig following at such a respectful distance as might not
appear to identify them as fellow-travellers. In this manner Phil
sold the pig to upwards of two dozen intelligent English gentlemen and
farmers, and after winding up his bargains successfully, both arrived in
Liverpool, highly delighted by their commercial trip through England.
The passage from Liverpool to Dublin, in Phil's time, was far different
to that which steam and British enterprise have since made it. A vessel
was ready to sail for the latter place on the very day of Phil's arrival
in town; and, as he felt rather anxious to get out of England as soon
as he could, he came, after selling his pig in good earnest, to the
aforesaid vessel to ascertain if it were possible to get a deck passage.
The year had then advanced to the latter part of autumn; so that it
was the season when those inconceivable hordes of Irishmen who emigrate
periodically for the purpose of lightening John Bull's labor, were
in the act of returning to that country in which they find little to
welcome them--but domestic affection and misery.
When Phil arrived at the vessel, he found the captain in a state of
peculiar difficulty. About twelve or fourteen gentlemen of rank and
property, together with a score or upwards of highly respectable
persons, but of less consideration, were in equal embarrassment. The
fact was, that as no other vessel left Liverpool that day, about five
hundred Irishmen, mostly reapers and mowers, had crowded upon deck, each
determined to keep his place at all hazards. The captain, whose vessel
was small, and none of the stoutest, flatly refused to put to sea with
such a number. He told them it was madness to think of it; he could not
risk the lives of the other passengers, nor even their own, by sailing
with five hundred on the deck of so small a vessel. If the one-half of
them would withdraw peaceably, he would carry the other half, which was
as much as he could possibly accomplish. They were very willing to grant
that what he said was true; but in the meantime, not a man of them
would move, and to clear out such a number of fellows, who loved nothing
better than fighting, armed, too, with sickles and scythes, was a task
beyond either his ability or inclination to execute. He remonstrated
with them, entreated, raged, swore, and threatened; but all to no
purpose. His threats and entreaties were received with equal good-humor.
Gibes and jokes were broken on him without number, and as his passion
increased, so did their mirth, until nothing could be seen but the
captain in vehement gesticulation, the Irishmen huzzaing him so
vociferously, that his damns and curses, uttered against them, could not
reach even his own ears.
“Gentlemen,” said he to his cabin passengers, “for the love of Heaven,
tax your invention to discover some means whereby to get one-half of
these men out of the vessel, otherwise it will be impossible that we can
sail to-day. I have already proffered to take one-half of them by lot,
but they will not hear of it; and how to manage I am sure I don't know.”
The matter, however, was beyond their depth; the thing seemed utterly
impracticable, and the chances of their putting to sea were becoming
fainter and fainter.
“Bl--t their eyes!” he at length exclaimed, “the ragged, hungry devils!
If they heard me with decency I could bear their obstinacy bettor: but
no, they must turn me into ridicule, and break their jests, and turn
their cursed barbarous grins upon me in my own vessel. I say, boys,”
he added, proceeding to address them once more--“I say, savages, I have
just three observations to make. The first is,”--
“Arrah, Captain, avourneen, hadn't you betther get upon a stool,” said
a voice, “an' put a text before it, thin divide it dacently into three
halves, an' make a sarmon of it.”
“Captain, you wor intended for the church,” added another. “You're the
moral (* model) of a Methodist preacher, if you wor dressed in black.”
“Let him alone,” said a third; “he'd be a jinteel man enough in a
wildherness, an' 'ud make an illigant dancin'-masther to the bears.”
“He's as graceful as a shaved pig on its hind legs, dancin' the
'Baltithrum Jig.'”
The captain's face was literally black with passion: he turned away with
a curse, which produced another huzza, and swore that he would rather
encounter the Bay of Biscay in a storm, than have anything to do with
such an unmanageable mob.
“Captain,” said a little, shrewd-looking Connaught man, “what 'ud you be
willin' to give anybody, ower an' abow his free passage, that 'ud tell
you how to get one half o' them out?”
“I'll give him a crown,” replied the captain, “together with grog and
rations to the eyes: I'll be hanged if I don't.”
“Then I'll do it fwhor you, sir, if you keep your word wit me.”
“Done!” said the captain; “it's a bargain, my good fellow, if you
accomplish it; and, what's more, I'll consider you a knowing one.”
“I'm a poor Cannaught man, your haner,” replied our friend Phil; “but
what's to prevent me thryin'? Tell thim,” he continued, “that you must
go; purtind to be for takin' thim all wit you, sir. Put Munster agin
Connaught, one-half on this side, an' the odher an that, to keep the
crathur of a ship steady, your haner; an' fwhin you have thim half
an' half, wit a little room betuxt thim, 'now,' says yer haner, 'boys,
you're divided into two halves; if one side kicks the other out o' the
ship, I'll bring the conquirors.'”
The captain said not a word in reply to Phil, but immediately ranged the
Munster and Connaught men on each side of the deck--a matter which he
found little difficulty in accomplishing, for each party, hoping that he
intended to take themselves, readily declared their province, and stood
together. When they were properly separated, there still remained about
forty or fifty persons belonging to neither province; but, at Phil's
suggestion, the captain paired them off to each division, man for man,
until they were drawn up into two bodies.
“Now” said he, “there you stand: let one-half of you drub the other out
of the vessel, and the conquerors shall get their passage.”
Instant was the struggle that ensued for the sake of securing a passage,
and from the anxiety to save a shilling, by getting out of Liverpool
on that day. The saving of the shilling is indeed a consideration with
Paddy which drives him to the various resources of begging, claiming
kindred with his resident countrymen in England, pretended illness,
coming to be passed from parish to parish, and all the turnings and
shiftings which his reluctance to part with money renders necessary.
Another night, therefore, and probably another day, in Liverpool, would
have been attended with expense. This argument prevailed with all: with
Munster as well as with Connaught, and they fought accordingly.
When the attack first commenced, each, party hoped to be able to expel
the other without blows. This plan was soon abandoned. In a few minutes
the sticks and fists were busy. Throttling, tugging, cuffing, and
knocking down--shouting, hallooing, huzzaing, and yelling, gave evident
proofs that the captain, in embracing Phil's proposal, had unwittingly
applied the match to a mine, whose explosion was likely to be attended
with disastrous consequences. As the fight became warm, and the struggle
more desperate, the hooks and scythes were resorted to; blood began to
flow, and men to fall, disabled and apparently dying. The immense crowd
which had now assembled to witness the fight among the Irishmen, could
not stand tamely by, and see so many lives likely to be lost, without
calling in the civil authorities. A number of constables in a few
minutes attended; but these worthy officers of the civil authorities
experienced very uncivil treatment from the fists, cudgels, and sickles
of both parties. In fact, they were obliged to get from among the
rioters with all possible celerity, and to suggest to the magistrates
the necessity of calling ir the military.
In the meantime the battle rose into a furious and bitter struggle for
victory. The deck of the vessel was actually slippery with blood, and
many were lying in an almost lifeless state. Several were pitched into
the hold, and had their legs and arms broken by the fall; some were
tossed over the sides of the vessel, and only saved from drowning by
the activity of the sailors; and not a few of those who had been knocked
down in the beginning of the fray were trampled into insensibility.
The Munster men at length gave way; and their opponents, following up
their advantage, succeeded in driving them to a man out of the vessel,
just as the military arrived. Fortunately their interference was
unnecessary. The ruffianly captain's object was accomplished; and as
no lives were lost, nor any injury more serious than broken bones and
flesh-wounds sustained, he got the vessel in readiness, and put to sea.
Who would not think that the Irish were a nation of misers, when
our readers are informed that all this bloodshed arose from their
unwillingness to lose a shilling by remaining in Liverpool another
night? Or who could believe that these very men, on reaching home, and
meeting their friends in a fair or market, or in a public-house after
mass on a Sunday, would sit down and spend, recklessly and foolishly,
that very money which in another country they part with as if it were
their very heart's blood? Yet so it is! Unfortunately, Paddy is wiser
anywhere than at home, where wisdom, sobriety, and industry are best
calculated to promote his own interests.
This slight sketch of Phil Purcel we have presented to our readers as
a specimen of the low, cunning Connaught-man; and we have only to add,
that neither the pig-selling scene, nor the battle on the deck of the
vessel in Liverpool, is fictitious. On the contrary, we have purposely
kept the tone of our description of the latter circumstance beneath the
reality. Phil, however, is not drawn as a general portrait, but as
one of that knavish class of men called “jobbers,” a description
of swindlers certainly not more common in Ireland than in any other
country. We have known Connaughtmen as honest and honorable as it was
possible to be; yet there is a strong prejudice entertained against
them in every other province of Ireland, as is evident by the old adage,
“Never trust a Connaugtaman.”
THE GEOGRAPHY OF AN IRISH OATH.
No pen can do justice to the extravagance and frolic inseparable from
the character of of the Irish people; nor has any system of philosophy
been discovered that can with moral fitness be applied to them.
Phrenology fails to explain it; for, so far as the craniums of Irishmen
are concerned, according to the most capital surveys hitherto made and
reported on, it appears that, inasmuch as their moral and intellectual
organs predominate over the physical and sensual, the people ought,
therefore, to be ranked at the very tip-top of morality. We would warn
the phrenologists, however, not to be too sanguine in drawing inferences
from an examination of Paddy's head. Heaven only knows the scenes in
which it is engaged, and the protuberances created by a long life of
hard fighting. Many an organ and development is brought out on it by the
cudgel, that never would have appeared had Nature been left to herself.
Drinking, fighting, and swearing, are the three great characteristics
of every people. Paddy's love of fighting and of whiskey has been long
proverbial; and of his tact in swearing much has also been said. But
there is one department of oath-making in which he stands unrivalled and
unapproachable; I mean the alibi. There is where he shines, where his
oath, instead of being a mere matter of fact or opinion, rises up
into the dignity of epic narrative, containing within itself, all the
complexity of machinery, harmony of parts, and fertility of invention,
by which your true epic should be characterized.
The Englishman, whom we will call the historian in swearing, will depose
to the truth of this or that fact, but there the line is drawn; he
swears his oath so far as he knows, and stands still. “I'm sure, for my
part, I don't know; I've said all I knows about it,” and beyond this his
besotted intellect goeth not.
The Scotchman, on the other hand, who is the metaphysician in swearing,
sometimes borders on equivocation. He decidedly goes farther than the
Englisman, not because he has less honesty, but more prudence. He will
assent to, or deny a proposition; for the Englishman's “I don't know,”
and the Scotchman's “I dinna ken,” are two very distinct assertions when
properly understood. The former stands out a monument of dulness, an
insuperable barrier against inquiry, ingenuity, and fancy; but the
latter frequently stretches itself so as to embrace hypothetically a
particular opinion.
But Paddy! Put him forward to prove an alibi for his fourteenth or
fifteenth cousin, and you will be gratified by the pomp, pride, and
circumstance of true swearing. Every oath with him is an epic--pure
poetry, abounding with humor, pathos, and the highest order of invention
and talent. He is not at ease, it is true, under facts; there is
something too commonplace in dealing with them, which his genius scorns.
But his flights--his flights are beautiful; and his episodes admirable
and happy. In fact, he is an improvisatore at oath-taking; with
this difference, that his extempore oaths possess all the ease and
correctness of labor and design.
He is not, however, _altogether_ averse to facts: but, like your true
poet, he veils, changes, and modifies them with such skill, that they
possess all the merit and graces of fiction. If he happen to make an
assertion incompatible with the plan of the piece, his genius acquires
fresh energy, enables him to widen the design, and to create new
machinery, with such happiness of adaptation, that what appeared out
of proportion of character is made, in his hands, to contribute to the
general strength and beauty of the oath.
'Tis true, there is nothing perfect under the sun; but if there were,
it would certainly be Paddy at an _alibi_. Some flaws, no doubt, occur;
some slight inaccuracies may be noticed by a critical eye; an occasional
anachronism stands out, and a mistake or so in geography; but let it
be recollected that Paddy's alibi is but a human production; let us not
judge him by harsher rules than those which we apply to Homer, Virgil,
or Shakspeare.
“Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus,” is allowed on all hands. Virgil made
Dido and AEneas contemporary, though they were not so; and Shakspeare,
by the creative power of his genius, changed an inland town into a
seaport. Come, come, have bowels. Let epic swearing be treated with the
same courtesy shown to epic poetry, that is, if both are the production
of a rare genius. I maintain, that when Paddy commits a blemish he
is too harshly admonished for it. When he soars out of sight here, as
occasionally happens, does he not frequently alight somewhere about
Sydney Bay, much against his own inclination? And if he puts forth
a hasty production, is he not compelled, for the space of seven or
fourteen years, to revise his oath? But, indeed, few words of fiction
are properly encouraged in Ireland.
It would be unpardonable in us, however, to overlook the beneficial
effects of Paddy's peculiar genius in swearing alibis. Some persons, who
display their own egregious ignorance of morality, may be disposed to
think that it tends to lessen the obligation of an oath, by inducing
a habit among the people of swearing to what is not true. We look upon
such persons as very dangerous to Ireland and to the repeal of the
Union; and we request them not to push their principles too far in the
disturbed parts of the country. Could society hold together a single
day, if nothing but truth were spoken, would not law and lawyers soon
become obsolete, if nothing but truth were sworn what would become of
parliament if truth alone were uttered there? Its annual proceedings
might be dispatched in a month. Fiction is the basis of society, the
bond of commercial prosperity, the channel of communication between
nation and nation, and not unfrequently the interpreter between a man
and his own conscience.
For these, and many other reasons which we could adduce, we say with
Paddy, “Long life to fiction!” When associated with swearing, it shines
in its brightest colors. What, for instance, is calculated to produce
the best and purest of the moral virtues so beautifully, as the swearing
an alibi? Here are fortitude and a love of freedom resisting oppression;
for it is well known that all law is oppression in Ireland.
There is compassion for the peculiar state of the poor boy, who,
perhaps, only burned a family in their beds; benevolence to prompt the
generous effort in his behalf; disinterestedness to run the risk of
becoming an involuntary absentee; fortitude in encountering a host
of brazen-faced lawyers; patience under the unsparing gripe of a
cross-examiner; perseverance in conducting the oath to its close against
a host of difficulties; and friendship, which bottoms and crowns them
all.
Paddy's merits, however, touching the alibi, rest not here. Fiction on
these occasions only teaches him how to perform a duty. It may be,
that he is under the obligation of a previous oath not to give evidence
against certain of his friends and associates. Now, could anything in
the whole circle of religion or ethics be conceived that renders the
epic style of swearing so incumbent upon Paddy? There is a kind of moral
fitness in all things; for where the necessity of invention exists, it
is consolatory to reflect that the ability to invent is bestowed along
with it.
Next to the alibi comes Paddy's powers in sustaining a
cross-examination. Many person thinks that this is his forte; but we
cannot yield to such an opinion, nor compromise his originality
of conception in the scope and plan of an alibi. It is marked by a
minuteness of touch, and a peculiarity of expression which give it every
appearance of real life. The circumstances are so well imagined,
the groups so naturally disposed, the coloring so finished, and the
background in such fine perspective, that the whole picture presents you
with such keeping and _vraisemblance_, as could be accomplished only by
the genius of a master.