They Are All Over - A Good Deal Over - One Thousand Feet High.
A few
lakes are spread out here and there also.
I am as ignorant of their
names as of those of the lakes I saw crossing Maine. Westport, like
Castlebar, has a mall. Castlebar mall is a square of grass with some
trees drawn up on one side. It is fenced in with chains looped up on
posts - a fence that nobody minds except to step over and they track the
grass with paths running in every direction. Westport's mall is a long
space with trees standing sentry by a river, walled in as if it were a
canal.
I had a wish to meet with a Mr. Smithwick, a land agent, from whom I
might receive a good deal of information. I had information from himself
that he should be at Newport upon the day after I arrived at Westport. I
fought successfully against myself, and got up at an uncomfortably early
hour and went to Newport by mail car. Newport, Mayo, is six Irish - seven
and a half English - miles from Westport and is at the head of Clew Bay.
The road lies through a nice rolling country, entirely desolate and
empty.
The only passenger by the car besides myself, was a gentleman, English I
presume, who, after he became tired of silence, began a conversation
with me, taking for his subject the over-population of the West. I
looked to the side of the car where we sat - it was a country of fine
grassy hills with not one wreath of smoke curling up from a solitary
chimney as far as the eye could reach. I leaned over the well of the car
and looked to the other side - to the limit of the horizon, behold, the
land was empty of house or home or human being. I looked over the
horses' ears - there was the same scene of utter desolation. I turned
round with difficulty and looked behind us - saw the same grassy hills
swelling up in green silence without man or beast. I said softly, "Lift
up thine eyes, sir stranger, and look northward and southward, eastward
and westward. Is not the land desolate without inhabitant, where then is
the over-population?" The strange gentleman looked, not at the empty
hills and the silent green valleys, but at his fellow-traveller with
emotions of fear. To doubt that this fair and desolate Mayo is over-
populated is to show signs of lunacy or worse. Fenianism, Communism, or
even Nihilism, is possible if there is no lunacy to account for such
strange ideas.
Mildly, but with resolution like Samantha's, I urged on the gentleman to
look at the prospect, and he was like one awakening from a dream, for
the country from Newport to Westport, seven and a half miles, is without
inhabitants. I believe Lord Lucan was chief exterminator over this
stretch of country. Brought up at the little inn at Newport, and the
stranger and I had breakfast together. We conversed about over-
population. He had travelled much, and when he recollected what his eyes
saw instead of what his ears heard of a false cry, he admitted that a
loneliness had fallen upon this part of the west.
After breakfast he went his way, with a new subject for thought, and I,
deserted in a wilderness of a commercial room, took out some paper and
began to write. There was no sound but the steel scratch of a pen that
grew monotonous. After a long time - some hours - of solitude, the door
opened and a gentleman entered with some luggage and a young woman
followed him. I gathered up my scribblings and put them away. The
gentleman took off his overcoat, and shining out of the breast pocket
was a bright revolver. I grew afraid, though, generally speaking, I am
too busy to think of being afraid. There was a trans-Atlantic look about
the gentleman, a Mississippi appearance about the too conspicuous
revolver, and, I admit, I thought of some Fenian leader and wondered
what Stephens was like. I heard the gentleman order lunch and afterward
he left the room.
When he returned he introduced himself as Mr. Smithwick. He was not at
all the kind of gentleman I had expected to see. By some perversity he
had become fixed in my imagination as a very tall gentleman with fair
curled hair. Now this was sheer foolishness, but it had a disastrous
effect on the interview. My mind, instead of gathering itself up into an
attitude for receiving information about the land question, would go off
wool-gathering in speculation whether this was the very Mr. Smithwick or
not. The gentleman said with all politeness that he was willing to give
me all the information in his power on any subject on which I wanted
information.
There is something not canny in the west. I had felt it before, but
never as I did then. I could not possibly disentangle my ideas enough to
be clear as to what information I did want. I was under some spell. I
could only look at Mr. Smithwick, wondering if he was he, and smile at
my own stupidity. Time passes quickly; the gentleman remained but about
an hour and a half at most, and he had to have luncheon out of that and
attend to some little business in town besides. Before I got to be
myself he was gone. We did talk a little about reclaiming bog land. He
put the cost per acre for trenching, laying stones in the drains, sand
and manure, at L21 per acre. Reclaiming bog land has been done by tenant
farmers all over the country, who were evicted afterward when they fell
behind in rent in the bad years, and did not get any compensation for
the land so reclaimed. Mr. Smithwick did not think the relief money in
all cases reached those for whom it was intended; believed it was partly
intercepted on the way.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 61 of 106
Words from 61161 to 62171
of 107283