Returned to Newport in a very undecided frame of mind whether to go to
Ballycroy or not. There was a Land League meeting to be held there, and
I might see that; but then I had been at two Land League meetings, and
they are pretty much alike. Of course it is well to see a great
assemblage of people, for they always are of interest as showing what
condition the people are in, and what sentiments find an echo in their
hearts. But the length of the way, the uncertainty of a place to stop at
had some weight, and I found myself unable to decide. To clear up my
brain I asked for a bit of fish for dinner, but such a thing could not
be obtained at Newport. The fish caught there are exported. They might
get a fish by going down to the boat for it, and paying dearer for it
than the Dublin price. I asked for fish at Westport with the same
result. If you mention salmon they will say, "Oh, yes," and if not
stopped, rush off and buy a can of American salmon for you. I got
something to eat - not fish, and not very eatable - and wrote a little
while, with the same stupid sensation bothering me that I had felt
during my interview with Mr. Smithwick, and decided to put off all
decision and go to bed, which I did.
In the morning, having found that Newport was the nearest point by which
to reach Achill Island, I determined to go there, and if I thought I
could endure the journey to diverge at Mulrany and drive to Ballycroy on
my return from Achill Island.
XXXIX.
BY THE SHORE OF CLEW BAY - ACROSS ACHILL ISLAND - A LONELY LOVELY
RETREAT.
The drive from Newport, Mayo, to Mulrany was very pleasant. The roads
winds along Clew Bay, that bay of many islands, for quite a distance.
Clew Bay was resting, calm as a mirror, blue and bright, not a lap of
the wave washed up on the shore of Green island or Rocky Point the day
we drove past. No fisher's boat divided the water with hopeful keel. The
intense solitude of bays and inlets as well as the loughs looks like
enchantment. It reminds one of the drowsy do-nothingness of "Thompson's
Castle of Indolence," only here the indolence is not the indolence of
luxurious ease but of hunger and rags. If the knight of arts and
industry will ever destroy monopoly, and these silent waters will be
alive with enterprise:
"When many fishing barks put out to fish along the coast."
there will be a happy change in the comfortless cabins that dot the
shores of Clew Bay.
The islands of Clew Bay, being treeless and green, have a new look, as
if they had just heaved up their backs above the waters and were waiting
for the fiat that shall pronounce them good. I looked with longing eyes
in the direction of Clare Island, that has one side to the bay and one
side to the broad Atlantic which lies between me and home. On Clare
Island is the remains of Doona Castle, the principal stronghold, of the
heroic Grace, where she held the heir of Howth captive till ransomed,
and till his father learned to understand what _Cead mille failte_
means at dinner time.
Here, by Tulloghan Bay, I was told to look across the bay, where the
heather-clad mountains rise above the broad heather-clad bog, where the
road to Ballycroy winds along between the bay and the mountains, past
houses of mortarless stone, hard to be distinguished from the heath; for
over there in a certain spot occurred the shooting affray which has made
young Mr. Smith, the son of the then agent for the Marquis of Sligo, a
man of renown.
The hard feeling between the exterminating Marquis, the agent who
executed his will and the tenantry was intense. Four men were lying in
wait here with the intention of shooting Mr. Smith, who was expected to
pass that way. He drove along accompanied by his son. The would-be
assassins fired; they were concealed above the road; the shots passed
harmlessly over the heads of the two Smiths. Young Mr. Smith, who is an
exceptionally good shot - can hit a small coin at an immense distance -
saw the men run and fired after them, killing one, fired again, wounding
another, and would have fired again, but was prevented by his father.
Young Mr. Smith is quite a hero among the people on this account. There
is an expressed regret that Mr. Smith the elder interfered to prevent
the young marksman from shooting them all; very few would blame him if
he did, as the men, though too nervous to do harm, lay in wait for the
purpose of murder. Still it is revolting to hear people in cold blood
regret so heartily that there was not more bloodshed.
The scenery - as scenery - was as grand as bare heathery mountains and
wide desolate waters could make an almost treeless solitude, but viewed
as a home for human beings, viewed as land that has rent and taxes and
existence to be carved out of it, it has a hopeless look.
The houses are something dreadful, to consider them in the light of
human habitations. Limestone does not abound here, and therefore the
houses of the poorer sort are built like a cairn or a fence of loose
stones without mortar. When the Atlantic winds sweep in here in winter
time, the crevices in these houses will be so many chinks to whistle
through.
