Books: The Letters of Norah on her Tour Through Ireland
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Margaret Dixon McDougall >> The Letters of Norah on her Tour Through Ireland
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We are nearing the town, for the woodland wealth is enclosed behind high
walls. Grand houses peep from among the branches; trim lodges, ivy-
garnished, sit at the gates, glimpses of gardens are seen, all the
wealth of leafage and blossoming that fertility spreads over the land
when spring breathes is here. In a glow of sunshine after the rain--
smiles after tears--we enter Sligo.
We draw up in the open street, everyone alights from our elevation as
they can. No one takes notice of any other by way of help. Each gets off
and goes his several way. The land agent, who has sat in high-bred
silence all the way, pays his fare and goes off on the car that awaits
him. The rest disperse. I pay my fare. The driver asks to be remembered.
I mentally wonder what for. I paid a porter to place my bag on the car.
I got up as I could, I scramble down as I may. I will pay another porter
to take me to a hotel. The driver's whip takes as much notice of me as
he does. Why in the world should I remember him? It is part of a system
of imposition and it would be rank communism to find fault, so I
remember him; he thanks me, and this little game of give and take ends.
Installed in the Imperial Hotel I send off my one letter of
introduction, which remains. Discover the post office, find no letters,
return and sit down to write across the water. The lady proprietor of
the Imperial Hotel has been across the Atlantic and has a warm feeling
toward the inhabitants of the great republic; she shares the benefit of
this feeling with the wandering Canadian and takes us out to see Sligo.
Gladly do we lay down the pen to look Sligo straight in the face. Sligo
looks nice and clean. Belfast is large, prosperous, beautiful; but many
of her fine buildings and public monuments look as if they required to
have their faces washed, but Sligo buildings are fair and clean. We pass
a rather nice building, suppose it a school, but we are informed it is
the rent-office of the late Lord Palmerston. That astute nobleman showed
his usual good sense, if it was his choice, to own lands in the sunny
vales of Sligo instead of the hungry hills of Leitrim. If some have
greatness thrust upon them, some in the same way inherit lands. Out of
the town we went, and climbed up a grassy eminence; with some difficulty
got upon the "topmost tow'ring height" of an old earthwork--blamed on
the Danes of course; everything unknown is laid on them. The square
shape, the remains of the ditch that surrounds it look too much like
modern modes of fortification not to have a suspiciously British look.
Of course we are both delightfully ignorant on the subject.
The scenery from our elevated position is glorious. At our feet Sligo,
all her buildings, churches and convents white in the sunshine, around
her the fairest of green fields; the blue waters of Lough Gill sparkling
and glancing from among trees of every variety that in spring put on a
mantle of leaves. On every side but the gate of the west through which
we see a misty glance of the far Atlantic, Sligo has mountains standing
sentry around her. One, Knock-na-rea, is seen from a great distance, a
long mountain with a little mountain on her breast. The bells were
chiming musically, the sound floating up to where we stood. Below us, on
the other side of the old earthwork, a little apart from one another,
stood two great buildings, that are so necessary here, the poor-house
and the lunatic asylum. These magnificent and extensive buildings must
have cost an immense sum. The asylum has been enlarged recently, as the
freshly-cut stone and white mortar of one wing testified.
As I looked, a band struck up familiar airs. We saw them standing in a
field beside the asylum. I was told that the band was composed of
patients. This made the music more thrilling. When they struck up "Auld
Lang Syne," or "There Is no Luck About the House," there was a wail in
it to my ears, after home, happiness and reason. We got down from our
high position and came home by another way, passing through some of the
poorer streets of Sligo, which are kept scrupulously clean. Even here
women and girls were gathering sticks to cook the handful of meal. The
poor are very poor on the bare hills of Leitrim, or in this green valley
of Sligo.
XXIX.
ON LOUGH GILL--TWO MEN--STAMPEDE FROM SLIGO--THE ANCIENT AND THE
MODERN.
I was a little disappointed that I was getting no information on any
side of the question of the day, and my letters which were to be sent to
Sligo not coming to hand, I was advised to go down the beautiful Lough
Gill to Drumahaire to see the ruins of Brefni Castle, the place from
which the fair wife of the O'Ruarke, Prince of Brefni, fled with
McMurrough, which was the cause of the Saxon first gripping green Erin.
I thought I might as well, and set out to walk to the boat landing, a
good _billie_ out of Sligo, along the street, past small tenement
houses inhabited by laborers, who do not always obtain work, past the
big gloomy gaol, past the dead wall and the high bank on the top of
which goats are browsing, down to the landing beside the closely-locked
iron gate, and the little lodge sitting among the trees behind it,
belonging to the property of a Captain Wood Martin. Had the felicity,
while yet some way off, of seeing the shabby little boat cast off the
rope and puff herself and paddle herself slowly off down the lake.
Coming back a very pretty girl electrified me by informing me that I was
from America. She advised me to take a small boat and have a sail on
Lough Gill, for I would always regret it if I did not see its beauty
when I had the opportunity. In her excessive kindness she introduced me
to a river maiden, strong and comely, who would row me about with all
kindness for a small consideration. Prudently discovered what the
consideration was to be, and then gave in to the arrangement.
The water nymph had been away gathering sticks; she had to empty her
boat and I waited a little impatiently, a little ruefully. The boat was
big, clumsy and leaky, but the girl was eloquent and eager to persuade
me it was a fast and comfortable boat. She produced an ancient cushion
from somewhere; there was a clumsy getting on board, and she pushed off.
We went sailing down among the swans, the coots and the rushes, and
passed little tree-laden islands, hooped with stone wall for fear they
might be washed away. The sun shone pleasantly, the swans floated on
majestically, or solemnly dived for our pleasure, the coots skimmed
about knowing well we had not often enjoyed the pleasure of watching
them. The grand woods that encompass the residence of Wynne of Hazelwood
spread out over many, many acres, caught the sunlight on one side. The
broad green meadows of Captain Wood Martin lying among the trees looked
like visions of Eden on the other. My river maiden discovered to me a
swan's nest among the reeds; told me stories of the fierceness of
brooding swans, and offered to get me a swan's egg for a curiosity,
nevertheless.
Remarking to her that Captain Wood Martin kept his grounds locked up
very carefully; enquired what should happen if we drew ashore and landed
on his tabooed domain. The water maiden said one of his men would turn
us out. Enquired if he was a good landlord. "Oh, sure he has ne'er a
tenant at all at all on his whole place; it does be all grazing land. He
takes cattle to graze. He charges L2 a year for a yearling and L5 a year
for a four-year-old, and he has cattle of his own on it." How do you
know the price? "Sure I read it on the handbills posted up."
Looking at the other side of the glorious lake, at the long thicket of
trees that shades the demesne that Wynne of Hazelwood keeps for his home
and glory, stretching over miles of country; saw the little grey
rabbits, more precious than men in my native land, that were hopping
along, after their manner, quite a little procession of them, at the
edge of the bush; and said, "What kind of a landlord does Wynne of
Hazelwood make?" "Is it Mr. Wynne, ma'am? Oh, then, sure it's him that
is the good landlord and the good man out and out. He is a good man, a
very good man, and no mistake." "Why, what makes you think him such a
good man?" "Because he never does a mane or durty action; he's a
gentleman entirely." "Come now, you tell me what he does not do; if you
want me to believe in your Mr. Wynne, tell me some good thing he has
done." "I can soon do that, ma'am," said my water maiden. "Last winter
was a hard winter; the work was scarce, and the poor people would have
starved for want of fire but for Mr. Wynne of Hazelwood." "He let you
gather sticks in his woods, then?" "He did more than that; he cut down
trees on purpose for the people, and we drew them over the ice, for the
lough was frozen over. We had no fire in our house all last winter, and
it was a cold one, but what we got that way from Mr. Wynne." Mr. Wynne's
eloquent advocate rowed along the lake close in shore, for fear of any
doubt resting on my mind, and showed the stumps of the trees, cut very
close to the ground, a great many of them indeed, as a proof of Mr.
Wynne's thoughtful generosity.
We rowed along over the laughing waters among the pretty islands, and
finally pulled ashore on the Hazelwood demesne and landed. We walked
round a little bit, filling our eyes with beauty; feloniously abstracted
a few wild flowers and a fir cone or two, and reluctantly left
Hazelwood. Now this gentleman was not a perceptible whit the poorer for
all the cottage homes that were warmed by his bounty--yes, and hearts
were warmed, too, through the dreary winter. "Blessed is he that
considereth the poor." There is riches for you--oh master of Hazelwood!
The emigration from Sligo amounts to a stampede now. How many more would
leave the island that has no place for them, if they only had the means?
I missed that Drumahaire boat no less than three times--that is, she
was either gone before the time when she was said to go, or was lying
quietly at the wharf, having made up her mind not to stir that day. She
seemed to have no stated time for going or coming, or if she had, to
keep it as secret as an eviction, for no one could be found to speak
with certainty of her movements. When disappointed for the third time,
my very kind friend, Mrs. O'Donell, of the Imperial Hotel, took me on
her own car to Drumahaire. We drove completely round lovely Lough Gill,
seeing it from many points of view. Sligo is not altogether a garden of
Eden, for we passed a great deal of poor stony barren land here and
there during this journey. Like all hilly land, there are pretty vales
among the hills and fair, broad fields here and there, but there is much
barren and almost worthless soil.
Now, there is one thing that has struck me forcibly since I came to
Ireland. I saw it in Down, Antrim, Derry, Donegal, wherever I have been
as well as in Sligo. The poorer and more worthless the land, there were
the tenants' houses the thickest. The good land has been monopolized to
an immense extent for lands laid out for grandeur and glory--and they
are grand and gloriously beautiful. Then pride and fashion demand that
the mountain commons be reserved for game, that is, rabbits. A man must
have extensive wilds to shoot over, so the poor laborers are huddled
into houses--awful hutches without gardens, and the poor farmers are
clustered on barren soil, trying to force nature to allow them to live
after paying the rent.
We got to Drumahaire, stopped at a dandy iron gate beyond which the
turrets of Brefni Castle were waving funereal banners of ivy, entered
and found ourselves in a private domain. Here in the shadow of the old
castle was the handsome modern cottage, extensive and stylish, inhabited
by Mr. Latouche, the agent so much dreaded, so much hated in Northern
Leitrim. This is the gentleman who is accused of charging the tenants
10s. 6d. for potatoes which the landlord sent down to be given to the
tenants at five. If racking the tenantry is the condition on which he
gets this lovely home, it is a temptation certainly. We felt as if we
were in the wrong place, as, after glancing at the handsome cottage, the
trim lawn fringed with shrubbery and then at the ruins we took the lower
walk hoping to get round under the shelter of some trees to the ruins. A
small river brawled over the stones below--far below where we were
walking. A detached portion of the ruins sitting on a rock overlooked
both us and the river. Was it in any part of this building that the
naughty lady watched for her lover?
A little further on we looked down some steps into gardens stretching
along beside the river--gardens blazing with flowers and sweet with
blossomed fruit trees. It was so unexpected, so splendidly beautiful, it
surpassed a dream of fairy-land. We passed on, saw a shadowy lady among
the flowers on the lawn, knew it was the wraith of the unhappy and
guilty Dearvorgill. Stole out of the farther gate--at least I did--
feeling naughty and intrusive. Found ourselves in the clean little town
of Drumahaire, a pretty little village, straggled over a hillside among
the trees.
Went into a shop to enquire for the veritable Brefni Castle. A sad and
hungry-looking man scenting a possible sixpence started forward as
guide. He piloted us back by the way we came into the ruins we had
passed. Was determined to see visions and dream dreams amid these
historical ruins. Alas, it was a disgraceful failure. Not only was the
back of the modern tyrannical cottage laid up against the tyrannical
castle of history, but the ancient and modern were dovetailed into one
another, trying to bewilder you as to where ancient history and legend
ended, and modern anecdote began. We looked into the great hall with its
deep fire-place at the side, and upwards where another stately apartment
had once been, a lofty presence room over the great hall, but the week's
wash of the La Touches was flapping in the wind that moaned through the
deserted halls of the O'Ruarke. Looked into a tower to find a peat
stack, climbed over a load of coal to see the withdrawing room of the
departed, but not forgotten great lady, or the kitchen that cooked for
the men-at-arms, who waited on the lord's behest. Peeped into a turret
and was insolently asked what we meant by a splendid but ill-tongued
peacock; admired the ivy green that happed the bare walls and noticed
that the chickens roosted there in its shelter.
We drove home by another way, among gay, green woods under the shelter
of mighty rocks, passed more ruins. We stopped to examine these older
ruins of the ancient O'Ruarkes. A Milesian gentleman showed us through
them. It is the correct thing to have a ruin on your place; it is a kind
of patent of gentility. If a banshee could be thrown in along with a
ruin, a new man would give a great price for an old place. But banshees
are getting scarce and decline to be caught. This ruin has been patched
over, clumsily but earnestly, so that hardly a speck of the original
ruin is left. It was delightful to listen to our Milesian guide. My
companion was bound to get some information out of him. He was cautious,
not knowing who we were or what design we might have to entangle him in
his talk; he was determined that he would not give the desired
information. He conquered. The ruins were not worth sixpence altogether
to look at, but I gave him sixpence as a tribute to genius. And so in
the dim evening we drove back to Sligo.
XXX.
SLIGO'S GOOD LANDLORDS--THE POLICE AND THEIR DUTIES--A DOUBTFUL
COMPLIMENT--AN AMAZON.
It has been something wonderful to me that when I left Leitrim, I
seemed to have left all bad landlords behind me. Every one I came in
contact with in Sligo, rich or poor, had something to say about a good
landlord. Some were thoughtfully kind and considerate, of which they
gave me numerous instances; others if the kind actions were unknown,
positively unkind ones were unknown also, so their portraits came out in
neutral tints. I conversed with high Tories and admirers of the Land
League, but heard only praise of Sligo's lords of the soil. I thought I
should leave Sligo, believing it an exceptional place, but just before I
left I heard two persons speak of one bad landlord of Sligo.
On May 18th I left the green valleys of Sligo behind and took passage on
the long car for Ballina. I found that the long car was to be shared
with a contingent of police, who were returning to their several
stations after lawfully prowling round the country protecting bailiffs
and process-servers in their unpopular work. I cannot believe that these
quiet, repressed conservators of the peace can possibly feel proud of
their duties. These duties must often--and very often--be repugnant to
the heart of any man who has a heart, and I suppose the majority of them
have hearts behind their trim jackets. I liked to look at these men,
they are so trim, clean, self-respectful. They have also a well-fed
appearance, which is comfortable to notice after looking at the hungry-
looking, tattered people, from whom they protect the bailiffs.
We passed Balasodare--I did not stop, for I felt that it was better to
get this disagreeable journey over at once.
We stopped at a place called Dromore west, to change horses and to
change cars. We had dropped the police, a few at a time, as we came
along, so that now the car was not by any means crowded. We all stood on
the road while the change of horses was being made. It was slow work,
and I went into a shop near to ask for a glass of water. The mistress of
the shop enquired if I would take milk. I assented, and was served with
a brimming tumbler of excellent milk. Payment was refused, and as I
turned to leave, I was favored with a subdued groan from the women
assembled in the shop. Evidently they thought I was some tyrant who
required the protection of the police. It would not flatter me--not
much--to be taken for some landholders here.
When my police fellow-voyagers were dropped at their comfortable white
barracks here and there, and only one was left, we fell into
conversation to beguile the time. He had been at one time on duty in
Donegal and knew how matters were there, from his point of view, better
than I did. We spoke of Captain Dopping, and his opinion of him was if
anything lower than mine. He expressed great thankfulness that guarding
the Captain had never been his duty. Whether he disliked it from moral
causes, or for fear of intercepting in his own person a stray bullet
intended for the gallant captain, he did not say.
Arrived at Ballina after a long, tiresome journey, yet like everything
else in this world it had its compensations. Ballina is a kind of
seaport town, in the Rip Van Winkle way. An inlet from Killala Bay
called the Moy runs up to the town. There is no stir on the water, no
perceptible merchandise on the quay. One dull steamboat painted black,
in mourning for the traffic and bustle of life that ought to be there,
slides out on its way to Liverpool and creeps back again cannily. Unless
you see this steamboat I can testify that you might put up quite a while
at Ballina and never hear its existence mentioned, so it cannot be of
much account. The streets are thronged with barefoot women and ragged
lads with their threepenny loads of turf. The patient ass, with his
straw harness and creels, is the prevailing beast of burden everywhere I
have travelled since I entered Enniskillen with the exception of Sligo.
Sligo town, like Belfast in a lesser degree, has the appearance of
having something to do and of paying the people something who do it. The
traders who come to Ballina market seem to trade in a small way as at
Manor Hamilton. Still, the town is handsome and clean, a large part of
the population, prosperous-looking, in an easy going way, the ladies
fine-looking and well dressed. One wonders what supports all this, for
the business of the town seems of little account.
Spent a Sunday here and after church became aware that the too, too
celebrated Miss Gardiner, with her friend Miss Pringle, had arrived at
the hotel on their way to Dublin, on evictions bent. The police had
marched out in the evening to her place to protect her in. I was eager
to see this lady, who enjoys a world-wide fame, so sent her my card
requesting an interview, which she declined. I caught a glimpse of her
in the hall as she passed out with her friend and guard. She is a very
stout, loud-voiced lady, not pretty. The bulge made by the pistols she
carries was quite noticeable. "Arrah, why do you want to see either of
them," said a maiden to me. "Sure they both of thim drink like dragons"--
dragoons she meant, I suppose--"an' swear like troopers, an' fight like
cats." This was a queer bit of news to me. I did not take any notice of
it at that time; but, dear me, it is as common news as the paving
stories on the street.
Miss Gardiner is almost constantly at law with her tenants, lives in a
state of siege, maintains, at the cost of the country, an armed body
guard, and is doing her very best to embroil the country in her efforts
to clear the tenants off her property. At the Ballycastle petty sessions
a woman summoned by this lady for overholding, as they call it, appeared
by her son and pleaded that she had been illegally evicted. Miss
Gardiner told them they might do what they liked, but she must get her
house. Now this house never cost Miss Gardiner a farthing for repairs
nor for erection, and it is all the house the wretched creatures have,
and, of course, they hold to it as long as they are able. The priest
attempted to put in a word for the woman, and was unmercifully snubbed
by the bench. In Miss Gardiner's next case, the bench decided that the
service was illegal. Miss Gardiner then called out, "I now demand
possession of you in the presence of the court." The bench would not
accept this notice as legal. She had a great many cases and gained them
all but this one. This particular Sunday when I had the honor of seeing
her she was bound for Dublin on eviction business.
XXXI.
KILLALA--THE CANADIAN GRANT TO THE FAMINE FUND AND WHAT IT HAS DONE--
BALLYSAKEERY--THREE LANDLORDS--A LANDLORD'S INTERESTING STATEMENT.
I had the very great pleasure of a drive to the ancient town of
Killala, accompanied by the wife of the Rev. Mr. Armstrong, who
superintends the orphanage and the mission schools in connection with
the Presbyterian Church of Ballina. Killala is an old town with a gentle
flavor of decay about it. It has a round tower in good preservation, and
an ancient church. I was shown the point where the French landed at the
stirring time of war and rebellion.
It makes my heart glad to hear in so many places of the benefit the
Canadian grant has been to this suffering country. I heard with great
pleasure of fishing boats along the coast named Montreal, Toronto and
other Canadian names in affectionate remembrance of the Canadian dollars
that paid for them. This grant has been a means of convincing the people
that there is such a place as Canada. The peasant mind had a sort of
belief that America consisted of two large towns, New York and
Philadelphia. In one instance the Canadian paid nets arrived on
Thursday; they were in the water on Saturday, and many boats returned
laden with mackerel. So great a capture had not been remembered for many
years. In one locality where the nets given were valued for less than
L200, it was proved that the boats had brought in during four weeks over
L1,200 worth of mackerel.
After we had taken a view of Killala we had a pleasant interview with
the good minister at Ballysakeery. Here we received one of those
welcomes that cheer the travellers' way and leave a warm remembrance
behind. The famine pressed hard upon Mayo. Many respectable people were
obliged to accept relief in the form of necessary food, seed potatoes
and seed oats. It is a noticeable fact that here, as in Leitrim--that
part at least of Leitrim in which I made investigations--the landlords
in a body held back from giving any help to the starving people on their
lands. Sir Roger Palmer gave potatoes to his tenants and sold them meal
at the lowest possible figure, thus saving them from having the
millstone of Gombeen tied round their neck. Sir Charles Gore, a resident
landlord, has the name of generosity at this time of want, and justice
at all times, which is better to be chosen than great riches. The Earl
of Arran, who has drawn a large income, he and his ancestors, from this
part of Mayo for which they paid nothing, not only gave nothing but gave
no reply whatever to letters asking for help.
The land belonging to the Earl of Arran here--I cannot undertake to
write the name of the locality by the sound--was a common waste and was
let by the Earl at two shillings and sixpence per acre to Presbyterian
tenants, who came here from the North I believe. Of course they had to
reclaim, fence, drain, cultivate for years. They built dwellings and
office houses, built their lives into the place. After they had spent
the toil of years on improvement, their rents were raised to seven and
sixpence per acre, five shillings at one rise; then it was raised to ten
shillings; the next rise was to fifteen shillings and then to twenty.
The land is not now able to bear more than fourteen shillings an acre
rent and support the people who till it. These people have been paying a
rack rent for years to this nobleman, the Earl of Arran, yet when
starvation overtook them, he had neither helping hand nor feeling heart
for them.
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