This
country over which we were travelling was as rich with round-headed
trees and wide meadows as a gentleman's park. The road, a particularly
meandering one, passed through Hollymount - a lovely place - and through
Carrowmore, my companions telling me of the landlords and the tenants as
we drove along. The rent was high and hard to make up, the turf far to
draw, that was all. There was no account of vexatious office rules or
special acts of tyranny related to me at all.
Ballinrobe, on the river Robe, is near Lough Mask, and is another quiet,
pretty, leisurely little town. I was troubled with neuralgia and did not
see much of it. Opposite the hotel was the minister's residence, amid
gardens, all shut in behind a stone wall high enough for a rampart.
Through an archway from the street was the church where he ministered,
sitting meditating among the tombs. I wandered into this place one day
on my way to the post-office. Noticed the great number of the name of
Cuffe who were buried there. Cuffe is the family name of Lord Tyrawley.
The Catholic church sits back from the street a good way and the ground
before it is laid out in flowers. There are some images of saints
through the grounds, which are set in arches of rock work, over which
climbing plants are trained. There is also a community of Christian
Brothers, who have a school here. Their building had so much glass in
front, with so many geraniums in flower, a perfect blaze of them behind
the glass, that it looked like a conservatory.
Left Ballinrobe behind and drove to Lough Mask Castle, where the
celebrated Captain Boycott managed to kick up such a fuss. We passed a
couple of iron huts occupied by policemen, who came out to look at us. I
may as well mention that after I left Ballinrobe I found that the driver
was more "than three-quarters over the bay." He had a way of talking to
himself on the land question, of Captain Boycott, Lord Mountmorris and
Lord Ardilaun, that was not pleasant to listen to, especially as he
spiced his monologue with many words that savored strongly of brimstone.
I was not without hope that the fresh air might dissipate the fumes of
liquor from his brain as we drove along. I had the more hope of this as
I could see that he was a habitual drinker, poor man, as his face but
too plainly testified. Drink is universal here, as medicine a universal
remedy, as a daily, almost hourly, stimulant for young, and old, rich
and poor, man and woman. They tell me that Scotland is worse; if so,
Scotland should be prayed for. I confess that I have not seen much
drunkenness. I saw very few that I could call drunk, but it is constant,
steady, universal, or almost so, sipping and tippling.
XLII.
LOUGH MASK CASTLE - CAPTAIN BOYCOTT AND HIS POLICY - LORD MOUNTMORRIS.
Well, my Jehu did sober up considerably before we halted at the
entrance gates of Lough Mask Castle. The sharp hi! hi! of the driver
brought out the gate keeper, a poor looking and sour looking woman, who
admitted us into the drive which lay through some fields and beside some
young plantations. In one place the driver pulled up, our way lay
through a large field divided by the road into two unequal parts.
He told me to look round me, which I did. "On one side here, were the
dragoons; their horses were picketed here; on the other side was the
infantry. It was awful weather. What them men and their horses stood of
hardships and misery no tongue could tell. The dragoons marched down
here, looking fine and bowld, their horses were sleek and fat and
shining, when they marched away they wor staggering with the wakeness
and the men wor purty wilted looking. He made them believe he needed
protection." This with a growl that had depths of meaning in it.
"He's coming back here again. Out among nagurs or anywhere else he could
not find them to put up with him like ourselves." Of course I omit the
strong words that were used as garnishing. I must own that this was the
first time that any carman had used profane language before me - and it
wasn't himself was in it at all at all but the whiskey. "The soldiers,
whin they wor here," continued the old man, "cut down the trees of the
plantation for firing. That went to his heart, it did. How could they
help themselves, I'd like to know? Sure they would have perished with
the cowld and the wet among the pelting of the snow and the sleet.
Wherever they are this blessed day they don't admire the memory of
Captain Boycott. What I like is behaviour in aither man or baste, and
Captain Boycott had no behaviour. They killed a sheep to ate, or maybe
two, and sorra a blame to them. It was ate or die wid them; but ye see
the gallant Captain didn't like it." About this time a volley of
anathemas was poured out against the absent Captain.
During all this we were sitting on the car viewing the field where the
bivouac had been. A policeman with a questioning look on a pleasant face
came along from the great house with a tin pail in his hand. "What have
you got in the can!" asks this inquisitive car driver. "Milk," responded
the policeman. "You would have got no milk at the big house in Captain
Boycott's time."
"Oh; yes, I would," said the other, "when I paid for it." I did not like
to question this man, for he did swear so, but I ventured to ask if Mrs.
Boycott were equally as much disliked as her husband.
