There
were about a dozen present. Presbyterianism does not, as a rule,
flourish in Mayo, though there are a good many small congregations and
many mission schools.
My friend of "the force" got leave of absence for a day and having got
into plain clothes drove with me to Pontoon Bridge between Lough Conn
and Lough Cullin. As we passed the poor-house he told me of the awful
crush that took place round its doors, where the relief was served
during the scarcity. The press and struggle of the hungry creatures were
so dreadful that no serving could be attempted for some days. I could
not help pitying the force standing in mud ankle-deep trying to beat
back the frantic people, to make serving the relief possible. But, oh!
the despair of the people who had to go and come again because the press
was so great. It seemed to a civilian like me that the matter was badly
planned and by heartless people, or two or even three places would have
been appointed for the distribution of the relief and not send them home
without. I often wonder if I am too tender-hearted, too easily moved.
The want of feeling toward the very poor strikes me forcibly wherever I
turn. I think that it was not so to such a perceptible degree before the
poor-houses were built. I solemnly think the Poor Law system educates
people into hardness of heart.
The road out from Castlebar was very beautiful but thinly populated. All
gone to grass near the town, hardly any cottages at all. Our first visit
was to Turlough where there is a round tower with an iron gate quite
close to the ground. The other two which I had seen before at Devinish
and at Killala had their doors about eleven feet from the ground. The
top of this round tower was broken and it had been mended by the
Government. There is a story among the peasantry to the effect that it
never had been finished at all. They say it was the work of the
celebrated _Gobhan saer_, an architect who seems to have had a hand
in every ancient building almost. The finishing of the rounded top of
this tower was done by an apprentice who was likely to rival his great
master. He, in a sudden fit of jealousy, before it was quite finished
pulled away the scaffolding and the too clever apprentice was killed.
There is a ruined abbey adjoining the round tower. It is roofless and
open, yet still an iron gate opens from one part to another. Here in
this abbey has been the burying-place of many of the sept of the
Fitzgeralds, and it was interesting to pass from tablet to tablet and
read of the greatness that had returned to dust. The most remarkable
dust which moulders here is the celebrated George Robert Fitzgerald, a
man who was handsome, well educated, who had spent much of his time at
the French Court. In Ireland he felt himself as absolute as King Louis
(le petit grand). In pursuance of a private feud he arrested his enemy,
and with a slight color of law murdered him. The act was too glaring, he
was tried and to his great surprise hung. The rope broke twice, and the
country people believe that the breaking of the rope gave him a right to
a pardon. They tell me that the sheriff, a personal enemy, in spite of
the signs and tokens of the breaking ropes, hung him while he had a
reprieve in his pocket. There is a kind of Rob Royish flavor about the
memory of this man in the country side.
Continued our drive to Pontoon. As soon as the land became rugged, boggy
and comparatively worthless the tenant houses became more plentiful. Saw
some sheep about, which is always a cheering sign amid the utter poverty
of the people. On the way to Pontoon, on the top of a rock stands one of
the famous rocking stones of the Druidical time in Ireland. A party of
soldiers in their boisterous play determined to roll it down from the
rock. This they were unable to do, easy as the matter looked, but they
destroyed the delicate poise of it, and it rocks no more.
The rocks become bolder and the scenery wilder as you come to the shores
of Lough Conn. Lough Cullen, or lower Lough Conn, has bare round-
shouldered rocks sleeping round it, reminding one of the rocks on the
Ottawa about the Oiseau. The Neiphin Mountain towers up among the rocks
far above them all, looking over their heads into the lake. Lough Conn
is three miles long, and in its widest place three miles wide. Where the
upper and lower lakes meet it is narrow as a river, and over this the
bridge is placed. The marvel here is that a strong current sets in from
Lough Conn to Lough Cullen half the time, and then turns and sets from
Lough Cullen to Lough Conn. The bridge is called Pontoon because a
bridge of boats was made here at the time of the French invasion.
Saw some fishermen fishing in the lakes. There were many boats here and
there lying on the sandy shore, or anchored out in the lake. These
fishermen had no boats; they had waded out waist-deep, and stood fishing
in the water dressed in their shirts. As the fishing is strictly
monopolized, I should not wonder if these breekless, boatless fishermen
were poaching.
The quantum of fish in the waters, the scarcity of fish on the shore is
often referred to as a proof of the people's laziness.
