The Asses Were
Sleek And Fat, Shod And Attached To Carts.
How different from Ramelton,
Donegal, Manor Hamilton, Leitrim, Castlebar or Mayo, where straw
harness, lean asses and hungry, barefoot women abound.
The land is good
round Drogheda, and there is manufacturing going on. This makes the
difference.
I will never get up along the Boyne at this rate. I went along the south
side and, hearing the cheery clack of a loom, went into a cottage to see
the weaver, a woman. She was weaving canvas for stiffening for coats.
Could make threepence a yard, which was better pay a good deal than the
Antrim weavers of fine linen make. She was much exercised in her mind
against Mr. Vere Forster, who helps young western girls to emigrate to
America, confounding him with the infamous wretches who decoy girls to
France and Belgium. I tried to set her right, to explain matters to her,
but I am afraid that I did not succeed in convincing her.
The land on both sides of the Boyne is dotted with houses and filled
with people, so the country looks more cheerful than in empty Mayo or
Roscommon. I spoke to a farmer who was looking hopefully at a large
field of oats, and asked him what rent he paid. Owing to his nearness to
Drogheda he paid L7 per acre. "How can you pay it?" I asked. "I can pay
it in good years well enough," he said. "What have you left for
yourself?" "I have the straw," he answered. I walked on and got weary
enough before I came to the iron bridge and the monument. The monument
has a very neglected, weather-stained appearance. Where Duke Schomberg
was said to have fallen there was a growth of red poppies. I plucked
some as a memorial of the place. I returned by the Meath side along a
lovely tree-shaded road.
Some work-people explained to me that the late severe winters had
destroyed the song birds of Ireland. I did not hear one lark sing in all
the summer since I came. These working people were all anxious to
emigrate if they had some means, and listened eagerly to the advantages
of Canada as a place for settlement.
I was one Sabbath day in Drogheda, and attended service in the
Presbyterian church there, which was opposite the spot where the great
massacre of women and children took place in Cromwell's time. This was
eagerly pointed out to me. The congregation was very small, not half
filling the church.
Between Dublin and Belfast I had as travelling companion a Manchester
merchant, who had run over during his holidays to have a peep at the
turbulent Irish. He had been in Ireland for a few weeks, and had visited
some cabins and spoken to some laborers, and had settled the matter to
his own satisfaction. "The ills of Ireland arise from the inordinate
love of the soil in the Irish, and their lower civilization. For
instance, an English farmer in renting a farm would consider how much
would support his family first, and if the landlord would not accept as
rent what was left the bargain would not be struck. The Irish farmer
would think first how much he could give the landlord, and would
calculate to live somehow, not as any human beings should live, but
somehow on the balance."
This was his theory. He denounced in no measured terms the union of
Church and State, blaming this for the prevalent unbelief.
In many parts of Ireland I have been taken for some one else. I have had
secrets whispered to me under the mistake that I was somebody else, and
words of warning given that were of no use to me, but the funniest of
all was on my way from Dublin to Belfast. At a station in Down, I think,
a gentleman got into our compartment who was in the good-natured stage
of tipsyness. He seemed to labor under the impression that I had, in
company with my brother, canvassed eagerly for Colonel Knox at the
Tyrone election. He felt called upon to tell me some home truths, the
bitterness of which he qualified with nods and smiles. "We bate your
Colonel Knox, mem, in spite of you and your brother. Thank God for the
ballot, mem, we can vote according to our own consciences, mem, not as
we're told as it used to be, mem. You and your party think you have all
the sense and learning and religion in Ireland, mem. All your religion
is in your song, 'We'll kick the Pope before us.' All your learning,
mem, is to hold up King William a decent man and abuse King James at the
Orange meetings in Scrabba where your brother speaks. You and your kind
need to know nothing but what happened in '98 and only one side of that.
What happens in '81, mem, you hold your noses too high to notice." In
this manner my tipsy friend ran on until the train stopped at Lisburn,
when he left with a parting benediction. "God bless you, mem, you're
better natured than I thought you were. May you go to heaven and that's
where your brother won't go in a hurry."
I had to go to Liverpool to catch the ship and so had to forego seeing
many things in Belfast which I had hoped to see. It was with some
gladness I saw the ship "Ontario" again. Having arrived before the other
cabin passengers I took the opportunity of going over the steerage with
Mr. Duffin, the excellent chief steward. The quarters for steerage
passengers were on the same deck as the saloon, as lofty and as well
ventilated. The berths were arranged in groups with an enclosed state
room to each. Single men by themselves, families by themselves, single
women by themselves and foreigners by themselves, every division having
their own conveniences for cleanliness and comfort.
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