One day he asked me if there was great wonder on their names out in
the country.
I said there was no wonder on them at all.
'Well,' he said, 'there is great wonder on your name in the island,
and I was thinking maybe there would be great wonder on our names
out in the country.'
In a sense he is right. Though the names here are ordinary enough,
they are used in a way that differs altogether from the modern
system of surnames.
When a child begins to wander about the island, the neighbours speak
of it by its Christian name, followed by the Christian name of its
father. If this is not enough to identify it, the father's epithet -
whether it is a nickname or the name of his own father - is added.
Sometimes when the father's name does not lend itself, the mother's
Christian name is adopted as epithet for the children.
An old woman near this cottage is called 'Peggeen,' and her sons are
'Patch Pheggeen,' 'Seaghan Pheggeen,' etc.
Occasionally the surname is employed in its Irish form, but I have
not heard them using the 'Mac' prefix when speaking Irish among
themselves; perhaps the idea of a surname which it gives is too
modern for them, perhaps they do use it at times that I have not
noticed.
Sometimes a man is named from the colour of his hair. There is thus
a Seaghan Ruadh (Red John), and his children are 'Mourteen Seaghan
Ruadh,' etc.
Another man is known as 'an iasgaire' ('the fisher'), and his
children are 'Maire an iasgaire' ('Mary daughter of the fisher'),
and so on.
The schoolmaster tells me that when he reads out the roll in the
morning the children repeat the local name all together in a whisper
after each official name, and then the child answers. If he calls,
for instance, 'Patrick O'Flaharty,' the children murmur, 'Patch
Seaghan Dearg' or some such name, and the boy answers.
People who come to the island are treated in much the same way. A
French Gaelic student was in the islands recently, and he is always
spoken of as 'An Saggart Ruadh' ('the red priest') or as 'An Saggart
Francach' ('the French priest'), but never by his name.
If an islander's name alone is enough to distinguish him it is used
by itself, and I know one man who is spoken of as Eamonn. There may
be other Edmunds on the island, but if so they have probably good
nicknames or epithets of their own.
In other countries where the names are in a somewhat similar
condition, as in modern Greece, the man's calling is usually one of
the most common means of distinguishing him, but in this place,
where all have the same calling, this means is not available.
Late this evening I saw a three-oared curagh with two old women in
her besides the rowers, landing at the slip through a heavy roll.
They were coming from Inishere, and they rowed up quickly enough
till they were within a few yards of the surf-line, where they spun
round and waited with the prow towards the sea, while wave after
wave passed underneath them and broke on the remains of the slip.
Five minutes passed; ten minutes; and still they waited with the
oars just paddling in the water, and their heads turned over their
shoulders.
I was beginning to think that they would have to give up and row
round to the lee side of the island, when the curagh seemed suddenly
to turn into a living thing. The prow was again towards the slip,
leaping and hurling itself through the spray. Before it touched, the
man in the bow wheeled round, two white legs came out over the prow
like the flash of a sword, and before the next wave arrived he had
dragged the curagh out of danger.
This sudden and united action in men without discipline shows well
the education that the waves have given them. When the curagh was in
safety the two old women were carried up through the surf and
slippery seaweed on the backs of their sons.
In this broken weather a curagh cannot go out without danger, yet
accidents are rare and seem to be nearly always caused by drink,
Since I was here last year four men have been drowned on their way
home from the large island. First a curagh belonging to the south
island which put off with two men in her heavy with drink, came to
shore here the next evening dry and uninjured, with the sail half
set, and no one in her.
More recently a curagh from this island with three men, who were the
worse for drink, was upset on its way home. The steamer was not far
off, and saved two of the men, but could not reach the third.
Now a man has been washed ashore in Donegal with one pampooty on
him, and a striped shirt with a purse in one of the pockets, and a
box for tobacco.
For three days the people have been trying to fix his identity. Some
think it is the man from this island, others think that the man from
the south answers the description more exactly. To-night as we were
returning from the slip we met the mother of the man who was drowned
from this island, still weeping and looking out over the sea. She
stopped the people who had come over from the south island to ask
them with a terrified whisper what is thought over there.
Later in the evening, when I was sitting in one of the cottages, the
sister of the dead man came in through the rain with her infant, and
there was a long talk about the rumours that had come in.
