The whole administration of the poor law is complained of pretty
universally in this style. The poor rate is excessively high, the
administration very expensive, and the economy is practised where it is
least needed, is the complaint I hear again and yet again.
At the station a great crowd and a rather excited one was assembled. A
Mr. Moffany had been arrested as a reasonable suspect, and was to be
taken to Kilmainham. The man who was arrested was a small, sickly-
looking, by no means interesting specimen of humanity, slightly lame. He
was in some sort of shop-keeping business. The crowd on the platform was
dense and composed mostly of the poorer class, who were enthusiastic
enough for anything. The policemen in charge, civilly and politely, with
no fuss or force, got their suspect into a second class carriage and got
in beside him. The suspect put his head out of the window and addressed
the crowd, expressing his willingness to suffer for the good cause, and
said he was not likely to come out of the prison alive owing to his
state of health. He advised them to be law-abiding and to go home
quietly.
Oh, the cheering there was; the endeavors to get near enough to shake
him by the hand; the surging to and fro of the crowd, the half-crying
hurrahs of the women; the waving of handkerchiefs and caps was something
to be remembered. As the train moved off slowly the people ran alongside
cheering themselves hoarse, shouting words of encouragement and
blessing, of hope and farewell till the train quickened its speed and
left them behind.
XXXVI.
DEPARTURE OF EMIGRANTS - TURLOUGH - THE FITZGERALDS - FISH - THE ROYAL
IRISH WATCHDOGS.
The day on which I had to return to Sligo from Castlebar an immense
crowd was gathered at the station, and I wondered what was the matter.
It was a gathering to see emigrants start for America. The emigrants
took the parting hard. If they had been going to instant execution they
could not have felt worse. Three young girls of the party had cried
until their faces were swollen out of shape. The crowd outside wept and
wailed; some clasped their hands over their heads with an upward look to
heaven, some pressed them on their hearts, some rocked and moaned, some
prayed aloud - not set prayers, but impromptu utterances wrung out by
grief. The agony was so infectious that before I knew what I was about I
was crying for sympathy.
I was not to say sorry for them, for I knew the fine, healthy, strong
girls were likely to have a better chance to help their parents from the
other side of the water than here, and the young men might make their
mark in the new world and make something of themselves over there. Still
it was hard to witness the agony of their parting without tears.
When the carriage moved off, the cry "O Lord!" with which the passengers
started to their feet and the relatives outside flung up their hands,
was the most affecting sound I ever heard. It was a wail as if every
heart-string was torn. A countryman explained to me that the Irish were
a people that wept tears out of their hearts till they wept their hearts
away. By the conversation of the emigrants, I found that one girl had
turned back. "She failed on us, my lady," said her comrade. "Her heart
gave up when she saw the mother of her in a dead faint and she turned
back. One has but the one mother and it is hard to kill her with the
bitter grief of parting before the time."
People who have travelled much, and are loosely tied to any spot on
earth, ridicule the affection of these mountain people for their cabin
among the hills, but love of home is a glorious instinct, and if the
country of these people could afford them a little bit of the soil for a
home - liberty to live and toil - they would be both loving and loyal. All
the poor want is permission to live in a corner of their own country.
Castlebar is reached by rail. The station is a little out of town.
Castlebar is the first town where my few belongings were fought for. The
victor in the strife was a most determined old man. I thought he had a
car, but he had only his sturdy old legs. He shouldered my big bag,
little bag and bandbox and trudged off. I ventured to ask him had he not
a car. "Sorra a car, miss. After all your sitting in the cars sure it
will do you all the good in life to walk a bit." They think to flatter
elderly women by calling them Miss individually.
I had an introduction to a member of the Royal Irish Constabulary in
Castlebar. He was son to a gentleman who was kind enough to claim
kindred with me in Antrim. When I alighted from the cars I noticed a
sub-constable with quiet face taking note of all arrivals, and saw that
he was good enough looking to be an Antrim man. Found I was right and
entered Castlebar protected by a member of the force. Paid the
victorious old heathen who had walked off with my luggage the price of a
car, partly for his bravery and partly for his impudence. The approach
to Castlebar from the station, about a mile, is bounded on one side by
Lord Lucan's demesne, shut in behind a high wall, over which the tall
trees wave their arms at you.
