The emigrants : a tale of Irish life

Front matter

NEW YORK: ROUTLEDGE& CO., 18, BEEKMAN

And FARRINGDON STREET, LONDON.

LONDON, FARRINGDON STREET.

Preface

Having written the work which follows, for the purpose of exhibiting, I trust without any offensive prejudice, the circumstances that in general occasion the unparalleled tide of emigration which has drained, and is still draining, this unhappy country of its best blood and strength, I find it very difficult to add anything further upon the subject in the shape of a preface. As there probably may be many persons, however, who will expect from this book more political details upon the subject of Emigration than I have deemed it my business as a novelis to enter into, I think it necessary in the very outset to undeceive them, and to state that, if they open its pages with such a hope or such a fear, they will most "assuredly be disappointed. The work is not, therefore, a political one, nor encumbered with anything like a superabundance of mere political reflections. So far from that, I have only introduced such short and plain statements affecting the condition of our people, and pointing out the many causes which have produced it, as were in point of fact necessary to elucidate the motives of action which I have ascribed to some of my characters. I have not presumed to dictate to the legislator nor to make suggestions to the mere politician* 31y humble task has been to lay open, with an honest and firm hand, many of those evils which press upon the most industrious classes of my brethren the people ; and, having done this in a spirit that is not calculated to exasperate but to instruct, I consider my task accomplished. It is for the legislator and the politician to read and draw the obvious inference if they think I am right — and, if they think I am wrong, to pause a little and examine closely whether the error be in their own judgment or mine — in their own prejudices or in my facts.

VI PREFACE.

There is, however, one great truth which every statesman should know and reflect upon, as involving his first and greatest duty. The truth I allude to is — that unless some large and enlightened measure shall be conceived and shaped into law, for placing the state of landed property in Ireland on a new and more impartial basis — upon a basis that will secure to the occupying tenants the fruits of their own industry and enterprise — whilst the rights and interests of the head proprietor shall be undisturbed — unless they are furnished with adequate motive to work and improve their farms without risk of being sent adrift upon the world at the will of either a landlord or agent — unless, we say, some such great and just measure or measures be taken, it is in vain to hope that the people will ever rest satisfied, — that peace and security of life will ever be established, or that the country can ever prosper. One would think that these are very obvious truths; but yet it is singular with what difficulty legislators can be got to acknowledge or to act upon them. No man can palliate murder or assassination — they are crimes which, when resulting from a desperate and deliberate system, ought to be instantly and at once put down by the strong hand of the law; but at the same time the condition from which they spring ought also to be investigated — and, if necessary, altered and improved.

With respect to priestly denouncements — I have never concealed my opinion ofthem ; and, for the purpose of showing their evil tendency, I have introduced one here. The moment a priest of any church desecrates the altar or the pulpit by political harangues, or denounces individuals for political offences, that moment he should be held responsible for the immoral abuse of his office and position, and the outrages or darker crimes that such abuse may occasion. There has been, and there is, too much of this unjustifiable assumption of perverted authority upon all hands in our unhappy countiy, to the disgrace of true religion and her mild and soothing influences.

Dublin, December 13th, 1847.

Chapter I. A Strong Farmer's Establishment And Family

It was one summer morning, about nine o'clock, when a little man, in the garb and trim of a mendicant, accompanied by a slender but rather handsome looking girl about sixteen, or it may be a year more, were upon their way to the house of a man, who, from his position in life, might be considered a wealthy agriculturist, and only a step or two beneath the condition of a gentleman farmer, although much more plain and rustic in his manners. The house and place had about them that characteristic appearance of abundance and slovenly neglect which is, unfortunately, almost peculiar to our country. The house was a long slated one, and stood upon a little eminence, about three or four kindred yards from the highway. It was approached by a broad and ragged boreen or mock avenue, as it might be called, that was in very good keeping with the premises to which it led. As you entered it from the road, you had to pass through an iron gate, which it was a task to open, and which, when opened, it was another task to shut. In consequence of this difficulty foot passengers had made themselves a way upon each side of it, through which they went to and came from the house; and in this they were sanctioned by the example of the family themselves, who, so long as these side paths were passable, manifested as much reluctance to open or close the gate as any one else.

The month was May ; and nothing could be more delightful and exhilarating than the, breeze which played over the green fields that were now radiant with the light which was flooded down upon them from the cloudless sun. Around them, in every field, were the tokens of that pleasant labour from which the hopes of ample and abundant harvests always spring. Here, fixed in the ground, stood the spades of a

A

■i THE EMIGRANTS OF AHADARRA.

boon* of labourers, who, as was evident from that circumstance, were then at breakfast: in another place might be seen the plough and a portion of the tackle lying beside it, being expressive of the same fact. Around them, on every side, in hedges, ditches, green fields, and meadows, the birds seemed animated into joyous activity or incessant battle, by the business of nest-building or love. Whilst all around, from earth and air, streamed the ceaseless voice of universal melody and song.

On reaching the gate, Peety Dhu and his pretty daughter turned up towards the house we have alluded to — which was the residence of a man named Burke. On reaching it they were observed by a couple of large dogs, who, partaking of the hospitable but negligent habits of the family, first approached and looked at them for a moment, then wagged their tails by way of welcome, and immediately scampered off into the kitchen to forage for themselves.

Burke's house and farmyard, though strongly indicative of wealth and abundance in the owner, were, notwithstanding, evidently the property of a man whose mind was far back in a knowledge of agriculture, and the industrial pursuits that depend upon it. His haggard was slovenly in the extreme, and his farmyard exceedingly offensive to most of the senses ; everything lay about in a careless and neglected manner; — wheelbarrows without their trundles — sacks for days under the rain that fell from the eaves of the houses — other implements embedded in mud — car-houses tumbling down — the pump without a handle — the garden-gate open, and the pigs hard at work destroying the vegetables, and rooting up the garden in all directions. In fact, the very animals about the house were conscious of the character of the people, and acted accordingly. If one of the dogs, for instance, was hunted at the pigs, he ran in an apparent fury towards that which happened to be nearest him, which merely lifted its head and listened for a time — the dog with loud and boisterous barking, seizing its ear, led it along for three or four yards in that position, after which, upon the pig demurring to proceed any further, he very quietly dropped it and trotted in again, leaving the destructive animal to resume its depredations.

The house inside bore the same character. Winter and summer the hall-door, which had long lost the knocker, lay hospitably open. The parlour had a very equivocal appearance ; for the furniture, though originally good and of excellent materials, was stained and dinged and hacked in a manner

* A oonsiderable number of men working together.

that denoted but little sense of care or cleanliness. Many of the chairs, although not worn by age, wanted legs or backs, evidently from ill-usage alone — the grate was without fireirons — a mahogany bookcase that stood in a recess to the right of the fireplace, with glass doors and green silk blinds, had the glass all broken and the silk stained almost out of its original colour ; whilst inside of it, instead of books, lay a heterogeneous collection of old garden seeds in brown paper — an almanac of twenty years' standing, a dry ink-bottle, some broken delf, and a large collection of blue-moulded shoes and boots, together with an old blister of French flies, the lease of their farm, and a great number of their receipts for rent. To crown all, the clock in the other recess stood cobwebbed about the top, deprived of the minute hand, and seeming to intimate by its silence that it had given note of time's progress to this idle and negligent family to no purpose.

On the drawing-room stairs there lay what had once been a carpet, but so inseparable had been their connexion that the stairs were now worn through it, and it required a sharp eye to distinguish such fragments of it as remained from the colour of the dirty boards it covered and the dust that lay on both.

On entering the kitchen Peety and his little girl found thirteen or fourteen, in family labourers and servants of both sexes, seated at a long deal table, each with a large wooden noggin of buttermilk and a spoon of suitable dimensions, digging as if for a wager into one or other of two immense wooden bowls of stirabout so thick and firm in consistency that, as the phrase goes, a man might dance on it. This however was not the only picture of such enjoyment that the kitchen afforded. Over beside the dresser was turned upon one side the huge pot in which the morning meal had been made, and at the bottom of which, inside of course, a spirit of rivalry equally vigorous and animated, but by no means so harmonious', was kept up by two dogs and a couple of pigs, which were squabbling and whining and snarling among each other, whilst they tugged away at the scrapings or residuum that was left behind after the stirabout had been emptied out of it. The whole kitchen, in fact, had a strong and healthy smell of food — the dresser, a huge one, was covered with an immense quantity of pewter, wood, and delf; and it was only necessary to cast one's eye towards the chimney to perceive by the weighty masses of black hung beef and the huge sides and flitches of deep yellow bacon which lined it, that plenty and abundance, even to overflowing, predominated in the family.

The " chimnev brace" nrm'ectecl far out over the fireplace towards the floor, and under it on each side stretched two long nobs or chimney cornsr seats, on which nearly a dozen persons could sit of a winter evening. Mrs. Burke, a smart goodlooking little woman, though somewhat advanced in years, kept passing in a kind of perpetual motion from one part of the house to the other, with a large bunch of bright keys jingling at one side, and a huge housewife pocket with a round pincushion dangling beside it at the other. Jemmy Burke himself, a placid though solemn-faced man, was sitting on the hob in question complacently smoking his pipe, whilst over the glowing remnants of an immense turf fire hung a singing kettle, and beside it upon three crushed coals was the teapot, "waitin'," as the servants were in the habit of expressing it, "for the masther and misthress's breakfast."

Peety, who was well known and a great favourite on his rounds, received a warm and hospitable welcome from Jemmy Burke, who made him and the girl sit upon the hob and immediately ordered them breakfast.

"Here, Nancy Devlin, get Peety and the girsha their skinfuls of stirabout an' milk. Sit over to the fire, alanna, an' warm yourself."

"Warm, inagh!" replied Peety; "why sure it's not a fire sich a blessed mornin' as this she'd want — an' a blessed mornin' it is, glory be to God!"

"Throth, an' you're right, sure enough, Peety," replied the good-natured farmer; "a blessed saison it is for gettin' down the crops. Go over there, now, you an' the girsha to that other table, an' — whish! — kick them pigs an' dogs out o' the house, an' be d — d to them ! One can't hear their ears for them. — you an' the girsha, an' let us see what you can do. Nancy, achora, jist dash a gawliogue o' sweet milk into their noggins — they're not like us that's well fed every day — it's but seldom they get the likes, the cratures — so dash in a brave gawliogue o' the sweet milk for them. Take your time, Peety — aisy, alanna, till you get what I'm sayin' ; it '11 nourish an' put strinth in you."

" Ah, Misther Burke," replied Peety, in a tone of gratitude peculiar to his class, "you're the ould* man still — ever an' always the large heart an' the lavish hand — an' so sign's on it — full an' plinty is upon you an' about you— an' may it ever be so wid you an' yours, a chierna, I pray ! An' how is the misthress, sir?"

" Throth she's very well, Peety — has no raison to complain, thank God 1"

* That is to ssy, the same man still.

"Thank God, indeed ! an' betther may she be, is my worst wish to her — an' Masther Hycy, sir? — but I needn't ax how he is. Isn't the whole country ringin' wid his praises ; — the blessin' o' God an you, acushla" — this was to Nancy Devlin, on handing them the new milk — "draw over, darlin, nearer to the table — there now" — this to his daughter, whom he settled affectionately to her food. "Ay, indeed," he proceeded, "sure there's only the one word of it over the whole Barony we're sittin in — that there's neither fetch nor fellow for him through the whole parish. Some people, indeed, say that Bryan M'Mahon comes near him; but only some, for it's given up to Masther Hycy all to pieces."

" Faix, an' I for one, although I'm his father— amn't I, Rosha ? " he added, good humouredly addressing his wife, who had just come into the kitchen from above stairs.

" Throth," said the wife, who never replied with good humour unless when addressed as Mrs. Burke, " you're ill off for something to speak about. How are you, Peety ? an' how is your little girl ?"

" In good health, ma'am, thank God an' you ; an' very well employed at the present time, thanks to you still !"

To this Mrs. Burke made no reply ; for it may be necessary to state here, that although she was not actually penurious or altogether without hospitality, and something that might occasionally be termed charity, still it is due to honest Jemmy to inform the reader in the outset, that, as Peety Dhu said, "the large heart and the lavish hand" were especially his own. Mrs. Burke was considered to have been handsome — indeed a kind of rustic beauty in her day — and like many of that class she had not been without a due share of vanity, or perhaps we might say coquetry, if we were to speak the truth. Her teeth were good, and she had a very pretty dimple in one of her cheeks when she smiled, two circumstances which contributed strongly to sustain her good humour, and an unaccountable tendency to laughter, when the poverty of the jest was out of all proportion to the mirth that followed it. Notwithstanding this apparently light and agreeable spirit, she was both vulgar and arrogant, and laboured under the weak and ridiculous ambition of being considered a woman of high pretensions, who had been most unfortunately thrown away, if not altogether lost, upon a husband whom she considered as every way unworthy of her. Her father had risen into the possession of some unexpected property when it was too late to bestow upon her a suitable education, and the consequence was that, in addition to natural vanity on the

O THE EMIGRANTS OF AHADARRA.

score of beauty, she was a good deal troubled with pursepride, which, with a foolish susceptibility of flattery, was a leading feature in her disposition. In addition to this, she was an inveterate and incurable slattern, though a gay and lively one ; and we need scarcely say that whatever she did in the shape of benevolence or charity, in most instances owed its origin to the influence of the weaknesses she was known to possess.

Breakfast, at length, was over, and the labourers, with an odd hiccup here and there among them from sheer repletion, got their hats, and began to proceed towards the farm.

"ISTow, boys," said Jemmy, after dropping a spittle into his pipe, pressing it down with his little finger, and putting it into his waistcoat pocket, "see an" get them praties down as soon as you can, an' don't work as if you intended to keep your Christmas there ; an', Paddy the Bounce, I'll thank you to keep your jokes an' your stories to yourself, an' not to be idlin' the rest till afther your work's done. Throth it was an unlucky day I had anything to do wid you, you divartin' vagabone — ha! ha! ha! When I hired him in the Micklemas fair," proceeded Jemmy, without addressing himself to any particular individual, "he killed me wid laughin' to sich. a degree, that I couldn't refuse the vcehony whatsomever wages he axed; an* now he has the men, instead o' mindin' their work, dancin' through the field, an' likely to split at the fun he tells them, ha! ha! ha! Be off, now, boys. Pecher Murphy, you randletree, let the girl alone. That's it, Peggy, lay on him; ha! devil's cure to you! take what you've got any way — you desarved it."

These latter observations were occasioned by a romping match that took place between a young labourer and a goodlooking girl who was employed to drop potatoes for the men.

At length those who were engaged in the labour of the field departed in a cheerful group, and in a few minutes the noise of a horse's feet, evidently proceeding at a rapid trot, was heard coming up the boreen or avenue towards the house.

"Ay," exclaimed Burke, with a sigh, "there comes Hycy at a trot, an' the wondher is it's not a gallop. That's the way he'll get through life, I fear ; an' if God doesn't change him he's more likely to gallop himself to the Staff an' Bag* than to anything else that I know of. I can't nor I won't stand

* Beggary.

his extravagance — but it's his mother's fault, an' she'll see what it'll come to in the long run."

He had scarcely concluded when his son entered the kitchen, alternately singing and whistling the Foxhunter's jig in a manner that betokened exuberant if not boisterous spirits. He was dressed in top boots, a green riding-coat, yellow waistcoat, and drab cassimere small clothes — quite in jockey trim, in fact.

Hycy rather resembled his father in the lineaments of his face, and was, consequently, considered handsome. He was about the middle size, and remarkably well proportioned. In fact, it would be exceedingly difficult to find a youngfellow of manlier bearing or more striking personal attractions. His features were regular, and his complexion fresh and youthful looking, and altogether there was in his countenance and whole appearance a cheerful, easy, generous, unreflecting dash of character that not only made him a favourite on first acquaintance, but won confidence by an openness of manner that completely disarmed suspicion. It might have been observed, however, that his laugh, like his mother's, never, or at least seldom, came directly from the heart, and that there was a hard expression about his otherwise well-formed mouth, such as rarely indicated generosity of feeling, or any acquaintance with the kinder impulses of our nature. He was his mother's pet and favourite, and her principal wish was that he should be looked upon and addressed as a gentleman, and for that purpose she encouraged him to associate with those only whose rank and position in life rendered any assumption of equality on his part equally arrogant and obtrusive. In his own family his bearing towards his parents was, in point of fact, the reverse of what it ought to have been. He not only treated his father with something bordering on contempt, but joined his mother in all that ignorant pride which kept her perpetually bewailing the fate by which she had been doomed to become his wife. Nor did she herself come off better at his hands. Whilst he flattered her vanity, and turned her foibles to his own advantage, under the guise of a very dutiful affection, his deportment towards her was marked by an ironical respect, which was the more indefensible and unmanly because she could not see through it. The poor woman had taken up the opinion, that difficult and unintelligible language was one test of a gentleman ; and her son, by the use of such language, let no opportunity pass of confirming her in this opinion, and establishing his own claims to the character.

" Where did you ride to this morning, Misther Hycy?"

8 THE EiUIGRAKTS OP AHADARRA.

" Down to take a look at Tom Burton's mare, Crazy Jane, ma'am : —

" ' Away, my boys, to horse away, The Chase admits of no delay — ' "

"Tom Burton !" re-echoed the father, with a groan ; " an* so you're in Tom Burton's hands ! A swindlin', horse-dalin' scoundrel, that would chate St. Pether. Hycy, my man, if you go to look for wool to Tom you'll come home shorn."

" ' Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule

Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl, That there's wrath and despair — '

Thank you, father — much obliged; you entertain a good opinion of me."

"Do I, faith? Don't be too sure of that."

"I've bought her at any rate," said Hycy — "thirty-five's the figure ; but she's a dead bargain at fifty."

"Bought her!" exclaimed the father; "an' how, in God's name, do you expect to pay for her?"

"By an order on a very excellent, worthy man and gentleman-farmer— ycleped James Burke, Esquire — who has the honour of being father to that ornament of the barony, Hycy Burke the accomplished. My worthy sire will fork out."

" If I do, that I may — "

" Silence, poor creature!" said his wife, clapping her hand upon his mouth — "make no rash or vulgar oats. Surely, Misther Burke — "

" How often did I bid you not misther me? Holy scrapers, am I to be misthered and pesthered this way, an' my name plain Jemmy Burke!"

"You see, Hycy, the vulgarian will come out," said his mother. "I say, Misther Burke, are you to see your son worse mounted at the Herringstown Hunt than any other gentleman among them? Have you no pride?"

' ' No, thank God ! barrin' that I'm an honest man an' no gintleman ; an', as for Hycy, Rosha — "

"Mrs. Burlte, father, if you please," interposed Hycy; "remember who your wife is at all events."

" Faith, Hycy, she'll come betther off if I forget that same ; but I tell you that instead of bein' the laughin'-stock of the same Hunt, it's betune the stilts of a plough you ought to be, or out in the fields keepin' the men to their business."

"I paid three guineas earnest money, at all events," said the son ; "but ' it matters not,' as the preacher says—

" ' "When I was at home I was merry and frisky, My dad kept a pig and my mother sold whiskey'—

Beg pardon, mother, no allusion — my word and honour none — to you I mean —

' My uncle was rich, but would never be aisy Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey.*

Fine times in the army, Mr. Burke, with every prospect of speedy promotion. Mother, my stomach craves its matutinal supply — I'm in excellent condition for breakfast."

"It's ready. Jemmy, you'll — Misther Burke, I mane — you'll pay for Misther Hycy's mare."

" If I do — you'll live to see it, that's all. Give the boy his breakwhisht."

' ' Thank you, worthy father — much obliged for your generosity—

" ' Oh, love is the soul of a nate Irishman — He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can, With his sprig of — '

Ah, Peety Dhu, how are you, my worthy peripatetic? Why this daughter of yours is getting quite a Hebe on our hands. Mrs. Burke, breakfast — breakfast, madam, as you love Hycy the accomplished." So saying, Hycy the accomplished proceeded to the parlour we have described, followed by his maternal relative, as he often called his mother.

" Well, upon my word and honour, mother," said the aforesaid Hycy, who knew and played upon his mother's weak points, " it is a sad thing to see such a woman as you are, married to a man who has neither the spirit nor feelings of a gentleman — my word and honour it is."

"I feel that, Hycy, but there's no help for spilt milk; we must only make the best of a bad bargain. Are yon coming to your breakfast," she shouted, calling to honest Jemmy, who still sat on the hob ruminating with a kind of placid vexation over his son's extravagance — " your tay's filled out!"

"There let it," he replied, "I'll have none of your plash to-day ; I tuck my skinful of good stiff stirabout that's worth a ship-load of it. Drink it yourselves — I'm no gintleman."

" Arrah, when did you find that out, Misther Burke?" she shouted back again.

"To his friends and acquaintances it is anything but a recent discovery," added Hycy; and each complimented the observation of the other with a hearty laugh, during which the object of it went out to the fields to join his men.

"I'm afraid it's no go, mother," proceeded the son, when breakfast was finished — " he won't stand it. Ah, if both my parents were of the same geometrical proportion, there would be little difficulty in this business ; but upon my honour and

10 TH£ EMIGRANTS OF AHADARRA,

reputation, my dear mother, I think between you and me that my father's a gross abstraction — a most substantial and ponderous apparition."

" An' didn't I know that an' say that too all along?" replied his mother, catching as much of the high English from him as she could manage: "however, lave the enumeration of the mare to me. It'll go hard or I'll get it out of him."

"It is done," he replied; "your stratagetic powers are great, my dear mother, consequently it is left in your bands."

Hycy, whilst in the kitchen, cast his eye several times upon the handsome young daughter of Peety Dhu, a circumstance to which we owe the instance of benevolent patronage now about to be recorded.

"Mother," he proceeded, " I think it would be a charity to rescue that interesting little girl of Peety Dhu's from a life of mendicancy."

" From a what?" she asked, staring at him.

"Why," he replied, now really anxious to make himself understood — "from the disgraceful line of life he's bringing her up to. You should take her in and provide for her."

"When I do, Hycy," replied his mother, bridling, "it won't be a beggar's daughter nor a niece of Philip Hogan's — sorrow bit.

"As for her being a niece of Hogan's, you know it is by his mother's side ; but wouldn't it be a feather in her cap to get under the protection of a highly respectable woman though? The patronage of a person like you, Mrs. Burke, would be the making of her — my word and honour it would."

" Hem! — ahem! — do you think so, Hycy?"

"Tut, mother — that indeed !— can there be a doubt about it?"

"Well then, in that case, I think she may stay — that is, if the father will consent to it."

"Thank you, mother, for that example of protection and benevolence. I feel that all my virtues certainly proeeed from your side of the house and are derived from yourself — there can be no doubt of that."