Enniskillen is a pretty little town, situated on an island formed by the great Lough Erne, in a place where it narrows and forms a river of rapid current. This lake is the longest in Ireland, if included with it is taken the length of river which joins the upper to the lower part. The lake is nearly forty miles long, and at many places is from ten to twelve miles wide.
This town boasts of its attachment to King William; it sustained a siege against his father-in-law. I saw on the gate this inscription, which had been placed there recently: 'THE GLORIOUS MEMORY OF THE FIRST OF JULY.' I do not like these memorials, they serve but to humiliate and anger the vanquished—that is to say, not those who are really wrong, but who happen to be the weakest; it would be more generous and more politic to let the past be the past. This inscription reminds me of one at Dublin, in Nassau Street, where I have seen, cut on a stone, the words: 'MAY WE NEVER WANT A WILLIAM TO KICK THE BREECH OF A JACOBITE.' These inscriptions anger me, I admit; they prove, however, that there is still existing a great deal of animosity between sections of the people, while not one of the members of these sections had anything to do with the original quarrel, and consequently ought to forget all about it.
Lord Belmore has just built in this neighbourhood a superb palace, the masonry alone of the building costing him £80,000 sterling. The colonnade of the front elevation is of an architecture too fine, perhaps, for an individual and for a country house. The interior is full of rare marbles, and the walls of several rooms are covered with rare stucco work produced at great cost, and by workers brought from Italy. Comfort has been almost entirely sacrificed to beauty; the rooms intended for visitors are like cellars, although at the top of the building. Light comes to them only through little windows eight feet below the level of the ceiling, and against these windows there is a stone balustrade, so that they may not be perceived in the design from the outside. My taste perhaps is odd, but I confess that a house that is comfortable appears to me to be preferable to a palace which is not. The temples should be left to the gods.
The whole of this country seems, at one time, to have been covered by a prodigious number of little lakes or small branches of the principal one, which have now been drained; the land is cut up entirely into little hills, and valleys without outlet. Lough Erne, they say, has still 365 islands, and this is said also about Lough Derg, Lough Ree, and Lough Allen. On one of these islands are the ruins of an ancient abbey and of several churches, which I went to see. The round tower is not so high as several I have seen in the province of Connaught. I was able to hoist myself up to the door, which is only about ten or twelve feet above the level of the ground. I have already mentioned that ingenious people have given themselves a great deal of trouble to find out how the summit of these towers was reached, but a simple inspection of the interior enables one to form a very good idea. There are always four or five projecting stones from storey to storey, and it is evident that they were intended to support beams on which floors were laid. There are several bell-towers on the Continent which have similar interior construction. That tells me—but I would be very sorry to take away the pleasure of dreaming from antiquaries. The ruins on this island are somewhat of the character of those on the east side of Ireland; they are smaller than those of the provinces of Munster or Connaught, and have not been built with the same taste. There is here a vaulted chapel which resembles that at Glendalough which is called St. Kevin's Kitchen. In the cemetery is seen a stone coffin, and the folk of the neighbourhood are accustomed to lie down on it. I do not know of the evil it cures, the miracle is that it fits perfectly to all heights. I tried it myself, and certainly it fitted me very well. It is a sort of frock-coat of which the folds give no trouble, and which the tailor<29> is always sure to cut according to fashion.
The estates of the last Prince of Ulster were confiscated, and he himself hung at London, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth; part of his lands were at that time assigned for the maintenance of a public school for the town. In consequence the place of the schoolmaster at Enniskillen has become a sort of bishopric; it brings in about two thousand pounds sterling per annum. One would think that the sure way of having no school would be to give the master two thousand pounds of annual income; as a matter of fact, the result which I would anticipate is that which has arrived at Enniskillen. However, the person who occupies the situation at present, Dr. Stock (with whom I passed the two days I stayed in Enniskillen), is a very highly educated man, and besides having twelve or fifteen children of his own, has five or six nieces or nephews that he brings up himself, and seven or eight boarders at one hundred guineas per annum. I have seen very few houses in which there were so many children, where such order reigned; but, on the other hand, I never saw such a schoolmaster.
I quitted the hospitable roof of Dr. Stock, and following the romantic and rocky borders of Lower Erne I came to Belleek, where is the first cataract on the river flowing from the lake. It is about three miles from the point of issue, and up to this point the river hardly seems to have any current, the level being almost exactly that of the lake. Here it falls suddenly, in the length of one hundred paces, more than sixty feet—the first fall may be twelve or fifteen feet.
I do not say anything here about the possibility of making this river navigable, because from here to the sea, which is only four miles off, it is simply a furious torrent. A canal had been commenced, half the cost was incurred, and then the whole thing was shamefully abandoned. Is it not evident that in removing the first cataract nearly the whole of the lower lake could be drained? The operation would be so much easier here by reason of the fact that the river forms a large sheet of water just before the falls. This could be forced to take its course to one side of the waterfall, and so allow the work to proceed on the lower side protected by a dyke.
It may be objected that the lake is superb, and many other nice things may be said, but I should hardly imagine that the Irish are such lovers of water. They need not fear—they will always have plenty of this; for my part I must say I would rather see fertile fields and meadows than the most beautiful sheet of water in the universe.
I was received at Ballyshannon by Mr. Gamble. This town is a small and little-used seaport on the bay of Donegal. It is situated at the last cascade of the river which flows from Lough Erne, and which falls fifteen or twenty feet perpendicularly into the sea. There is one side on which the flow is not so rapid, and it is curious here to watch the salmon in their efforts to proceed against the current. Enormous quantities are taken at this spot, so that I think very few manage to reach the lake.
Fifteen miles seawards, at the entry of the bay, is an island called Inishmurray, famous for the ruins of its expiatory vaults or cellars, and for the Sun-stone or Muidhr, from which the island takes its name. General Vallencey assumes that this Muidhr is the Mithra of the Persians and the Mahody of the Gentoos. He draws certain conclusions which seem to be well founded, and which are in agreement with ancient Irish tradition as to the origin of these stones. In his published work he gives a little engraving of the stone dedicated to Mahody, the supreme god, which Captain Rike discovered in a Gentoo temple in the island of Elephanta, India. He is sure it resembles very much the stone dedicated to Muidhr in Inishmurray. The two stones are cut in cone shape, and both are surrounded by a circle to prevent profanation, and are placed in both islands with the same design. The first Christian missionaries, seeking to use the prejudices and customs of the people in order to make them adopt the new faith more easily, built two chapels in the enclosure of this temple, dedicated the one to St. Molaise and the other to St. Columba, and in this way appropriated to Christianity the rites and devotions which they were not strong enough to terminate.
Formerly the herrings frequented this bay on the south coast of Donegal. The late Mr. Burton Conyngham, who was always anxious to support enterprises which he believed to be of use to his country, spent £30,000 sterling of his fortune and £20,000 of Government money in establishing fisheries on these coasts. He even built a little town on an island for the fishers, but the herrings were, with reason, frightened by these immense preparations which seemed to menace their entire destruction, and took themselves off and have not reappeared since. The result is that all these warehouses, the town, and all its connections rest, uninhabited, in a desert country, where no one is ever seen. It looks very funny, but it must not be forgotten that the intention was praiseworthy, and that it could not have been foreseen that the herrings would desert the neighbourhood. It is, of course, just possible that they may return, I have often thought that they move from one coast to another for food reasons. When they have entirely eaten the grass on which they are nourished at one place, it is to be expected that they will go elsewhere. Why, then, not try to find out what is this marine grass or weed, and propagate it at the places to which it is desirable to attract the herrings?
I went from here to Brown Hall, near Ballintra, to Mr. Hamilton, and there passed several days very agreeably. In the park enclosure there is a little lake, out of which flows a river which I look upon as one of the principal natural curiosities of this country. At times it flows slowly through subterranean caverns, filled with petrifactions, and along its side one can walk at ease; at other times it is an impetuous torrent. It appears and disappears, and advantage has been taken of the natural vault, at several places, to carry the roads or paths over it. In one of the caverns pigeons have made a home and occupy it by themselves; in another, bats have taken possession. At another cavern there is a sudden fall of twenty feet. In other hollows there are surprising echoes. Altogether it is the most singular piece of natural work I have seen, and as it is enclosed here in a well-kept pleasure ground or garden, it appears all the more remarkable. I take it that the river flows underground, in the different sections, altogether for about two miles.
I had heard of a peculiar practice of the inhabitants of this part of the country, and I desired to make some inquiries about it. I refer to what are called 'Sweating-Houses,' which are looked upon here as a remedy for all ills, Mr. Hamilton was good enough to take me to see one in the neighbourhood. I am sure it will trouble the reader to imagine what a sweating-house can be, and for his benefit I may say it is a species of oven five or six feet high by about three in width, with a hole for entrance of about one and a half feet high at the level of the earth, the whole construction being the shape of a thimble.
To use the sweating-house they heat it with turf, exactly in the way such a construction would be heated for the purpose of baking bread. When it is pretty hot, four or five men or women, entirely naked, creep in as best they can through the little opening, which is immediately closed with a piece of wood covered over with dung. The unfortunates stay in this for four or five hours without the possibility of getting out, and if one of them takes ill, he or she may sit down, but the plank will not be taken away before the proper time. As soon as the patients enter, an abundant perspiration starts, and, commonly, when they come out they are much thinner than when they went in. Wherever there are four or five cabins near each other there is sure to be a sweating-house, and no matter what may be the malady of the peasant, he uses this as a means of cure. The man who showed me the one I examined had been in it the day before for sore eyes.
To know exactly what it felt like to be in one I crept in myself, and although no fire had been in it for twenty-four hours, and although the hole through which I crept remained open, I must say that there are few maladies which I would not prefer to the sweating-house remedy. However, if breathing air can be provided for, a violent perspiration may be useful in many cases; it is certain that many peasants here are cured by this means of rheumatism and other maladies caused by chills. On going out of the sweating-houses some are accustomed to lie in bed in the cabin and keep themselves warm for a little time, others do not trouble to do this, but simply put on their clothes and go back to their work as if nothing special had happened. The fowls seem to be fond of the sweating-house, it is always their shelter in time of bad weather—to be sure they only stand in the opening.
The Tuatha Dé Danaan, who were, according to history, magicians and sorcerers, and who for the greater part dwelt in the north of Ireland in the county of Donegal, 'established,' says General Vallencey, 'an oracle on an island in a little lake named Lough Gearg, Dearc, or Derg. There is in it a cavern called Uamh Treimh-Oin—the cave of the tribe of Oin, which was afterwards called St. Patrick's Purgatory.' This is the principal pilgrimage of Ireland, and here, in summer, come crowds of devotees from different parts of the island. The number of persons visiting the place is stated to be over thirty thousand. The ferry boat by which they cross is insured for £200 sterling, and sometimes the crowds crossing are so large that the passage is dangerous. Four or five years ago a boat, too heavily laden, was swamped in the passage and thirty persons were lost. In ancient times the devotees submitted to terrible trials; at present penitences are made on the belly, on the back, and on the knees. However, 'this famous and ancient cavern was broken open and filled up in the year 1497, on the day of the fête of St. Patrick, and condemned as a fabulous thing by the head of the Franciscans of Donegal, and other persons, by order of Pope Alexander the Sixth.'(Sir Richard Ware)
The mountains, and even the villages and territories in the neighbourhood of the lake, have all names which in Irish relate to sorcery of some form. Rughd-Cruach, Cruach-Brioct, Sceir-Gearg or Gearog, the Mountain of Charms, of the Sorcerers, the last the Rock of Destiny, which has given the name to the lake Gearg, or Dearg.'<3>
The approaches of the lake are by impregnable marshes and across mountains where one can scarcely get a safe or sound footing. The description given by Mathew Paris in a Latin work written in the twelfth century, and which I have read at Brown Hall, seems to be intended for the mysteries of Eleusis or for the grotto of Trophonius. The extraordinary things which the Irish captain declares he saw, require faith at least as great as that of a grain of mustard to be believed. He saw the devils and the damned stretched on burning wheels or stewing in cauldrons of sulphur; he himself was roasted and boiled for some time, and after many trials of this kind he arrived at last in the Champs Elyseés,<31> where he was received by bishops and monks, who showed him the Gate of Paradise, complimented him on his courage, fed him on celestial food, and then sent him back to Hell, that is to say back to this world for
Ce monde, hélas, est bien un autre enfer.<32>
It will not be out of place to add that Mathew Paris explains that before entering into this cavern it is customary to confess the penitent, and make him fast, in order to prepare him for the surprising things he is about to see. We have an old French proverb which says 'A hungry belly has no ears,' and it may be said that the proverb is wrong, and that it is very easy to make a man so prepared hear and see everything that it is intended he should hear and see.
I come back to my travels. I came through the little town of Donegal, and, turning immediately westward, came to that singular opening in the mountains which seems to have been made by the wish of nature in order to allow of communication between one country and another; it is the only pass in the mountains from the sea. I saw an old castle standing alone among the wild hills, and my conductor told me that formerly it was the home of troops placed there to keep the country free from Tories, who, he said, were highway robbers. At last, after a fatiguing day, I was able to present myself to the Bishop of Raphoe, who received me with great kindness. The county of Donegal, which I omitted from my tour by coming immediately to Raphoe by the mountain pass I have described, is a country almost as little known as Connemara. It is said, however, by people who know it to be much better. Ireland is very populous at parts, and if a dispersion could be effected so that the remote corners should be filled, it could contain and nourish at least double its present population. To keep them in the country would certainly be better than to allow them in crowds to emigrate to America, as they have been doing now for a long time.
After Sligo the Catholics appear to be less numerous; the inhabitants in this district appear to be divided as to religion almost equally, being Anglican, Catholics, and Presbyterians. On Sunday I went with the good bishop whose hospitality I enjoyed, and his church was full. From his house I went to that of the dean, and after staying with him for a day or two, I proceeded to Londonderry, passing near the arm of the sea which is called Lough Swilly. It is a bay of very considerable size, very deep and very safe almost everywhere, but the country round its shores is rather wild, and that was the reason why the English company making settlements here during the reign of Queen Elizabeth established themselves at Derry and not here. It was at that time that Derry had the addition of 'London' made to its name.
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A Frenchman's Walk in Ireland by The Chevalier De Latocnaye
Non-FictionJacques-Louis de Bougrenet De La Tocnaye (1767-1823) was a minor French aristocrat, who fled France at the revolution along with thousands of others. He took refuge in Britain and, with no occupation, depended on the hospitality, not always generous...
