granite by Mr. Curry, a stone cutter in one of the neighboring towns,
and erected at the expense of local contributors many years ago. It
bears no likeness to any human being, but the motive which erected it
was pure and patriotic, and in a measure it is appropriate because on
Easter morning in the year 433 St. Patrick proclaimed the gospel of
Jesus Christ to the pagan priests and the King of Tara and his court,
standing upon the very spot now occupied by his statue. Father Mathew
once delivered a temperance speech from that holy spot, and in 1843
Daniel O'Connell addressed a monster meeting, attended by a quarter of a
million people, many of whom came fifty miles or more to hear him
advocate the political emancipation of the Roman Catholic population of
Ireland. The meeting lasted two days and O'Connell spoke twice. It was
one of his last meetings before his arrest and imprisonment at Dublin.
On or near the Mound of the Hostages, according to the best authorities,
stood the "Lia Fail," or "Stone of Destiny," upon which for ages the
monarchs of Ireland were crowned. This stone, according to tradition,
was the pillow of Jacob when he dreamed his dream and when the angels
descended and ascended a golden ladder at his head. It was preserved by
fugitive Israelites at the destruction of Jerusalem and the dispersion
of the tribes, was brought to Ireland with the Ark of the Covenant, and
passed into the possession of the early kings. This stone was carried to
Scotland and preserved at Scone until Edward I. took it to London for
his coronation, and ever since his day it has been the seat of the
coronation chair. All of the kings of England have sat upon it while the
crown of sovereignty was placed upon their heads, from Edward I. to
Edward VII., and any one may see it in the coronation chair at
Westminster Abbey.
Petrie, one of the highest authorities on Irish history, denies that the
coronation stone of Scone, now in the coronation chair at Westminster
Abbey, is the Lia Fail. He asserts that it never left Tara. And he
believes it is now there--a stone pillar, standing erect on the Forradh,
marking the place of the interment of a number of Irish who were killed
in the rebellion of 1798. It is about eleven feet long, and about half
of its length is in the ground, so that it appears but a rough, unhewn
pillar, five feet three inches high.
A similar stone was used by the Ulstermen to inaugurate The O'Neill. It
was in a rath at Tullyhogue, near Cookstown, County Tyrone, and was
broken up by an English expedition in the time of Queen Elizabeth. The
Clannaboy O'Neills used an inauguration chair, a fragment of gray
sandstone in the shape of a chair with a high back, without the mark of
chisel upon it--evidently found somewhere just as it was. It was kept at
Castlereagh, on the hills overlooking Belfast on the southeast. It was
found among the ruins of the castle about seventy-five years ago, and is
now in the Museum at Belfast.
Joyce's "History of Ireland" gives an interesting story of the taking of
the Lia Fail to Scotland: The Irish, or Gaels, or Scots, of Ulster, from
the earliest ages were in the habit of crossing over in their currachs
to the coast of Alban, as Scotland was then called; and some carried on
a regular trade therewith, and many settled there and made it their
home. The Picts often attempted to expel the intruders, but the latter
held their ground, and as time went on occupied more and more of the
western coast and islands. About A.D. 200, a leader named Riada (meaning
the long armed), a grandson of Conn of the Hundred Battles, and first
cousin of Cormac Mac Art, settled among the Picts of Alban with a large
following of Munster fighting men and their families. From him all this
western portion of Scotland was called Dalriada (Riada's portion). There
was also an Irish Dalriada named for him, comprising what is now the
northern portion of County Antrim. The Venerable Bede, in his
"Ecclesiastical History," also gives an account of Riada and his colony.
About A.D. 503, three brothers, Fergus, Angus, and Loarn, sons of a
chief named Erc, and all Christians (Erc was a direct descendant of
Riada), led a large body of colonists over to Alban. They united with
the previous settlers from Ireland, and took possession of a large
territory, which they formed into a kingdom, of which Fergus, the son of
Erc (hence called Fergus Mac Erc), was made the first king. The Lia Fail
was taken over from Tara in order that Fergus might be inaugurated king
upon it, and was never brought back. So, if this is true, the Stone of
Destiny had been taken from Tara a generation before the curse of St.
Ruadhan caused Tara to be abandoned as a royal residence.
This Fergus is the reputed ancestor of the Scottish royal family, and
from him, through the Stuarts, descended, in one of his lines of
pedigree, King Edward VII. of England. Gradually the name of Scots,
which was originally that of the people of Ireland, was transferred to
the people of Alban, and the country of the latter finally assumed the
name of Scotland.
Carrickfergus (the Rock of Fergus) takes its name from this Fergus, the
first Scottish king. He was troubled with some ailment, and went over to
Ireland to use the waters of a well (presumably considered holy). He was
wrecked off the coast, and his body drifted ashore on the strand by the
rock on which the castle is now built; so the rock was named for him.
Across the valley on the Hill of Skreen, where Cormac took refuge after
his abdication, Father Mathew lived for several years, and the ruins of
an abbey may be found there still.
So firmly convinced were some antiquarians who have investigated this
place of the truth of the traditions of the coronation stone that they
have dug up the ground in various places and searched for the Jewish Ark
of the Covenant, which they believe was buried here by the Irish priests
to escape capture at the time the palaces of Tara were looted and
destroyed. But they have never been able to find any traces of it.
In 1798, during the rebellion, a battle was fought on Tara Hill between
a body of about four thousand insurgents, composed chiefly of young
farmers and peasant lads from the neighborhood, against nearly three
thousand well-armed troops, who easily overcame them and put them to
flight.
The Tara of to-day is a cluster of cottages, a post office, a police
station, a blacksmith shop, a general store, and the inevitable "public
house"--the curse of Ireland. The usual group of loafers were sitting
inside chatting with a slattern behind the bar. It was a filthy place,
and smelled of spilt liquor and bad tobacco, but, as usual, everybody
was very polite to us, and, when we climbed out of the automobile a
lame, round-shouldered, toothless old man came hobbling up to us crying
in a wheezy voice:
"I'm the guide! I'm the guide! I'm the lawful guide, yer honors, and
I'll show yez around."
[Illustration: CARRICKFERGUS CASTLE]
He was so deaf that he couldn't understand us, and he mumbled his words
so that we couldn't understand him, except now and then a word, but he
was so anxious to be of service, so eager to earn a tip, that he would
repeat everything he said again and again, until we were able to
comprehend it. With his crooked stick he pointed the way across the
fields and we followed him. We wouldn't have got much information,
however, had not Mr. Wilkinson, the first citizen of Tara, come to our
rescue. He saw us as we passed his house, which stands a little way down
the road, and, as he explained, "Having nothing better to do, and always
enjoying an opportunity to meet Americans," he fortunately came over and
joined our party and gave us intelligent and interesting explanations.
He is a rugged old gentleman, is Mr. Wilkinson. Although more than
eighty years of age, he "can do as big a day's work, six days in the
week, and enjoy the Lord's day for rest as much as he did when he was
only forty." His great-grandfathers as far back as he knows, like
himself, were born in the cottage in which he lives, and "I've seen
things come and go for many a day," he said. When Mr. Wilkinson had
passed beyond hearing with the ladies, the old guide seized me by the
arm, drew me anxiously to shelter and then in a whisper repeated several
times until I was able to comprehend:
"'E's the richest man in Tara and in all the country round about. 'E's
worth three thousand pun if he's worth a penny, and he got it from his
father before him. He's a good man, too, and I dunno what we'd do here
without Mr. Wilkinson."
They led us to the top of the hill, where we could stand beside the spot
once occupied by the coronation stone and admire all Ireland, spread out
like a cyclorama around us. It is one of the most beautiful landscapes
in the universe. There are no mountains, except in the far distance;
there are no rocks or other ungainly objects in view, but as serene and
peaceful and fertile a tract of territory as can be found upon God's
footstool. Ireland is the greenest country that ever was. The turf and
the foliage have a brighter color and a richer luster than those of any
other country. That, however, is not news. The fact was discovered
centuries ago and has been disclosed by every son of old Erin who ever
wrote poetry or prose. But nowhere is there such convincing proof that
the Emerald Isle was appropriately named as is offered from the top of
the Hill of Tara. You cannot transfer the testimony of the fields and
the forests to paper, either with a pen or a brush, and certainly not
with a typewriter. There are no words in the English language sufficient
to convey to another mind what the eyes can see of this glorious
landscape, and it is useless to multiply adjectives.
"Some sez it's the place of the coronation chair," mumbled the guide, as
we stood on the crest of the hill. "Some sez it's the king's chair; but
I calls it a very commandin' spot. Two years ago," he continued, "some
friends of Lord Dunsany came here. May be they have a son married to his
daughter, I dunno, but she was a very dacent lady. She wouldn't walk any
further than the hall, and she sez, sez she, 'Me man, bide here with
me,' and I sez, sez I, 'Have no fear, me lady, sit here on the soft sod
and I'll go with his lordship, for people are always comin' from
Scotland and Ameriky, and I always shows them about.' There's none else
that can do it so well as meself, and when they came back his lordship
gave me two shillin', and he's a vera dacent man."
Mr. Wilkinson gave us some interesting history, and repeated many
traditions and legends of the place. He told us how many parties of
archæologists had been here digging for the Ark of the Covenant and had
found nothing but dirt and stone. He took us through the modern
churchyard and opened to us the little sanctuary where Rev. Mr. Handy
preaches every Sunday morning and baptizes into the Church of Ireland
the babies of Tara, that are very numerous in the short, narrow street.
He told us that Mr. Briscoe was the largest landowner in the
neighborhood, and had inherited from several generations the sacred hill
upon which we stood. He had fenced in the remains to keep the cattle out
and kept down the grass so that the outlines of the ruins could be
followed. Mr. Briscoe has recently disposed of nearly all his holdings,
under the new land act, to his tenants, who occupy them, and now nearly
every acre within the range of human vision from the Hill of Tara
belongs to the man who tills it.
After we had thanked Mr. Wilkinson for his attentions and parted with
him on the roadside, a woman put her head out of one of the cottage
windows and in a stage whisper said:
"He's the best and richest man in Tara. He's worth every penny of ten
thousand pounds."
Cambrensis, one of the oldest and earliest writers of Ireland, says:
"There is in Mieth a hill called the Hill of Taragh, whereon is a plaine
twelve score long which was named the King his hall; where the countrie
had their meetings and folkmotes, as a place that was accounted the high
place of the monarch. The historians hammer manie fables in this forge
of Fin Mac Coile and his champions."
While Tara was the seat of authority for all Ireland, and the center of
military education and display, it was also the place where the bards
used to assemble in early times for competitions in poetry and melody.
Each year the troubadours of Ireland gathered there to recite heroic
epics in praise of their patrons and sing the ballads they had composed
for prizes. These musical and literary tournaments reached their
greatest fame and influence during the days when Cormac Mac Art was
king. He was not only the greatest warrior, but the greatest scholar and
legislator and judge that the Irish knew during the period of which Tara
was their capital. The poems and chronicles of his time describe him as
a model of majesty, magnificence, and manly beauty. He founded three
colleges in the neighborhood of Tara, one for the teaching of law, one
for poetry, literature, history, and music, and the third for military
science. He organized what was known as the "Fena of Erin," a body of
militia remarkable in many respects, which was under the command of Fin
Mac Cool, his son-in-law, who of all the ancient heroes of Ireland is
best remembered in tradition and combined the qualities of Hercules,
Julius Cæsar, and Solomon.
But no reference in literature to this sacred place is more familiar
than one of the ballads of Tom Moore. Indeed, the great majority of
people never heard of Tara from any other source:
"The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts that once beat high for praise
Now feel that pulse no more!
"No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks
To show that she still lives."
The history of Tara, the proceedings of the nobles, kings, and learned
men who met there at intervals, with the ard-ri at their head, to devise
laws and promote the welfare of the kingdom, and to transact other
important business, were all written down in a book called the Psalter
of Tara. This book also contained a record of the "fes," or tournaments,
both military and athletic, that were held there, and contained a list
of the prize winners, but, although the Psalter of Tara is frequently
quoted by early writers the original of the book was lost or destroyed
ages ago.
There are, however, many venerable tomes, epic poems, as well as
history, that illuminate what are usually termed the prehistoric times
in Ireland. The history of this country does not fairly begin until the
time of St. Patrick and the introduction of Christianity and modern
learning. Since then the records are practically complete. The many
monasteries were filled with scriveners who kept a record of events with
considerable detail and probable accuracy. But the more interesting
period lies farther back, when the kings of Tara were in their glory and
the sun shone upon the exploits of half-savage clans that lived by the
chase and not by agriculture, as their descendants do. It is a familiar
joke to say that one's ancestors were kings of Ireland, but there is
more truth than witticism in such remarks.
There is no reliable authority for the existence of any national
military organization of professional or fighting men in Ireland other
than chiefs, down to the reign of "Conn of the Hundred Battles," who was
monarch at Tara from 123 A.D. to 157 A.D., in which year he was slain.
Still, it is stated that Conn himself came to the throne from the
command of the celebrated national militia, popularly known as the
"Fianna Eireann," of whom the great Finn, Mac Cumhaill, and his father,
Cumhaill, were the most famous commanders, just as many of the Roman
emperors rose to the purple through the backing and from the command of
the Prætorian Guards. This militia of ancient Ireland were accomplished
athletes to a man, and their preparation and competition for enlistment
were most arduous and remarkable. The name Fianna (hence the modern
"Fenians") is explained in an antique glossary preserved in a volume of
the famous "Brehon Laws." There were several severe conditions which
every man who was received into the Fianna was obliged to fulfill.
The first was that he should not accept any fortune with his wife, but
select her for her beauty, her virtue, and her accomplishments.
The second was that he should not insult any woman.
The third was that he should never deny any person asking for food.
The fourth was that he should not turn his back on less than nine
foemen.
No man was received into the Fianna until a wide pit had been dug for
him, in which he was to stand up to his knees, with a shield in one hand
and a hazel stake the length of his arm in the other. Nine warriors,
armed with spears, came within a distance of nine ridges of ground of
him and threw their spears at him all at once. Should he be wounded,
despite the shield and hazel staff, he was not received into the order
of the Fianna.
No man was received into the Fianna until his hair was first braided. He
was then chased by selected runners through a forest, the distance
between them at the start being one tree. If they came up with him he
could not be taken into the Fianna.
No man was received into the Fianna if his weapons trembled in his
hands.
No man could be received if a single braid of his hair had been loosened
by a branch as he ran through the forest.
No man was received into the Fianna whose foot had broken a withered
branch in his course. (This to insure light and careful as well as swift
runners, who left no trail.)
No man was received unless he could jump over the branch of a tree as
high as his head and stoop under one as low as his knee.
No man was received unless he could pluck a thorn out of his heel
without coming to a stand.
And finally, no man could be received until he had first sworn fidelity
and obedience to the king and commander of the Fianna.
It's a sin that there is no place for visitors to stay at Tara. The
nearest hotel is seven miles away, and the lord of the manor cannot
entertain every American tourist that comes along. I know of no lovelier
landscape or more attractive site for a summer hotel, but I suppose the
patronage would be limited, because Tara is a long way from the railroad
and an automobile costs five guineas a day with an allowance of seven
shillings for the board and lodging of the chauffeur and whatever
gasoline may be used.
We were sorry to leave the historic place. One is sorry to leave almost
every place in Ireland. It is such a fascinating country. But the next
stop will develop something else quite as novel and interesting as it
did to us at Castle Dunsany, the ancient home of the Plunkett family.
The "Annals of the Four Masters" relate that there were fierce lords
upon the road from Dublin to Tara, and that if the traveler was not
robbed by the Lord of Dunsany Castle he would be robbed by the Lord of
Killeen, and if he managed to escape Killeen he was sure to be robbed at
Dunsany. These two famous places stand on both sides of the highway not
more than a mile apart, and, although both have been restored and
remodeled for modern occupants they are still very old and associated
with much interesting history. Dunsany Castle was built by Hugh de Lacy
about the middle of the twelfth century. Killeen Castle was the seat of
the Earl of Fingal. Both are surrounded by magnificent demesnes or
wooded parks inclosed with high walls and filled with game, according to
the Irish custom. Near by Castle Dunsany, in the midst of a glorious
grove of trees that have been growing there for centuries, are the
roofless walls of the ancient Church of St. Nicholas, rebuilt upon the
site of an older sanctuary by Nicholas Plunkett in the fifteenth century
and named in honor of his patron saint. His sarcophagus is in the center
surrounded by other tombs of the Plunkett family for several
generations. At Killeen is another church of similar age and in similar
condition, and that also contains the monuments of the founder and his
family for many generations.
Hugh de Lacy was the original owner and occupier of the Abbey of
Bective, one of the finest of the many ruins in this section, and in its
time a very important establishment. He was a Norman knight of ancient
French family, who came over with Strongbow at the first English
invasion of Ireland and was given the Province of Meath for his
possessions. Although not the greatest fighter, he was the wisest and
best governor of all the barons who served Henry II. in Ireland. He
built strong castles in all parts of Meath, including Castle Dunsany and
Castle Killeen, and greatly increased his power and influence by
marrying a daughter of the old king of this province, Roderick O'Conor.
He was accused of conspiring to make himself King of Ireland, and did
not live to clear himself of the charge. One day while he was
superintending the building of a new castle at Durrow a young Irishman
drew a battle ax that was concealed under his cloak, and with one blow
cut off the great baron's head. The murderer afterward explained that it
was done to revenge the desecration of a venerated oratory that had once
been occupied by St. Columba and had been torn away by De Lacy.
Hugh de Lacy's son and namesake, after his father's death, attempted to
seize the throne of Connaught and was betrayed and killed in the
Cathedral of Downpatrick on Good Friday in the year 1204, where,
barefooted and unarmed, he was saying his prayers and doing penance for
his sins. When he was attacked he seized the nearest weapon, a large
brass crucifix, and dashed out the brains of thirteen of his assailants
with it before he was overpowered. When the elder Hugh de Lacy was
murdered his head was taken to the Abbey of St. Thomas, in Dublin,
according to the terms of his will, made several years previous. The
monks demanded the remainder of the body, but the abbot of Bective would
not surrender it until he had been commanded to do so by the pope.
XIII
SAINT PATRICK AND HIS SUCCESSOR
The little cathedral city of Armagh (pronounced with a strong accent
upon the last syllable) is the most sacred town of Ireland. It is the
ecclesiastical headquarters of both the Roman Catholic and the
Protestant churches, the seat of the most ancient and celebrated of
Irish schools of learning; the burial place of Brian Boru, the greatest
of all the Irish kings; the home of St. Patrick for the most important
years of his life, and the cradle of the Christian church in the United
Kingdom. It was from Armagh that the message of the gospel was sent to
the people of Scotland and England, and there was the genesis of the
faith that is now professed by all the nation.
Armagh is a quiet, well kept town of about eight thousand inhabitants,
built on a hill around the cathedral founded by St. Patrick in the year
432, and the streets are steep and rather crooked. It resembles an
English university town, and looks more like Cambridge or Winchester
than the rest of Ireland. More than twelve hundred years ago it was the
greatest educational center in the civilized world, and it still has
several important schools, including a Roman Catholic theological
seminary, a large convent for young women, a technological school, an
astronomical observatory, a public library of twenty thousand volumes
and a little old-fashioned Grecian temple of a building with a sign to
advertise it as the rooms of the Philosophical Society. The houses are
packed together very closely, as is the custom in all Ireland, although
there is plenty of room for the town to spread out, if it were the
fashion to do so. There are ranges of green hills all around, and their
sunny slopes are closely planted to grain, and other crops. We saw them
at harvest time when the song of the reaper and the mower was heard in
the land. There are several linen factories in the neighborhood which
furnish employment for the wives and daughters of the town, and a small
automobile factory. The population is about equally divided between
Protestant and Roman Catholic faiths. There are three Presbyterian
churches and one Methodist, which assert themselves boldly even in the
presence of an ecclesiastical see that is nearly fourteen hundred years
old.
'Way back about the year 444 St. Patrick came to Armagh and built a
church and a monastery upon the summit of a beautiful hill overlooking a
most delightful country, where he established his ecclesiastical
headquarters as Primate of Ireland. The land was given him by the King,
whose royal palace stood there for centuries, and that estate has
remained in the possession of the church ever since and is now occupied
partly by the demesne that surrounds the palace of the Protestant
archbishop and partly by the residences and business houses of the town,
and the ground rents furnish a handsome endowment. The ancient episcopal
palace is now occupied by the Rev. Dr. Alexander, Protestant Archbishop
of Armagh and Primate of the Episcopal Church of Ireland.