Disturbed Ireland | Page 2

were probably as safe, if not safer,
on a high road in Mayo than in Sackville-street, Dublin. It was admitted
that, theoretically, I was quite in the right; but that like many other
theorists I might find my theory break down in practice. I was
entertained with a full account of the way in which assassinations are
conducted in the livelier counties of Ireland, and great stress was laid
upon the fact that the assassins were always well primed with "the wine
of the country," that is to say whisky, of similar quality to that known
in New York as "fighting rum," "Jersey lightning," or "torchlight
procession." It was then impressed upon me that half-drunken assassins,
specially imported from a distant part of the county to shoot a landlord
or agent, might easily mistake a stranger for the obnoxious person and
shoot him accordingly, just as the unlucky driver was hit in Kerry the
other day instead of the land agent. Furthermore, I was taken to a
gunsmith's in Dawson-street, where I was assured that the sale of
firearms had been and was remarkably brisk, the chief demand being
for full-sized revolvers and double-barrelled carbines. The weapon
chiefly recommended was one of the latter, with a large smooth bore
for carrying buck-shot and spreading the charge so much as to make the
hitting of a man at thirty yards almost certain. The barrels were very
short, in order that the gun might be convenient to carry in carriage or
car. This formidable weapon was to be carried in the hand so as to be
ready when opportunity served; a little ostentation as to one's habit of
going armed being vigorously insisted on as a powerful deterrent.
To any person unacquainted with the humorous side of the Irish
character a morning spent in such converse as I have endeavoured to

indicate might have proved disquieting enough; but those who know
Irishmen and their ways at once enter into the spirit of the thing, and
enjoy it as much as the untamable jokers themselves. Nothing is more
amazing to serious people than the light and easy manner in which
everybody takes everything on this side of the Irish Sea. This is
perfectly exemplified by the tone in which the Kerry murder is
discussed. I have heard it talked over by every class of person, from a
landholding peer to a not very sober car-driver, and the view taken is
always the same. No horror is expressed at the commission of such a
crime, or at the state of society which makes it possible. Nothing of the
kind. A little sympathy is expressed for the poor man who was shot by
mistake, and then the humour of the situation overrules every other
consideration. That poor people resenting what they imagine to be
tyranny should shoot one of their own class instead of the hated agent
is a fact so irresistibly comic as to provoke a quantity of hilarious
comment. As laughter dies away, however, another expression of
feeling takes place, and the slackness of the master in not being ready
with his pistol, and his want of presence of mind to pursue the murderer
and avenge his servant's death, are spoken of with the fiercest
indignation. But nobody appears to care about the general and social
aspect of the case.
Beneath all this humour and a curious tendency to exaggerate the
condition of the West, there undeniably lurked very considerable
uneasiness. It was known that "the Castle" was hard at work, and that,
before proceeding to coercive measures, Mr. Forster was getting
together all the trustworthy evidence that could be obtained as to the
state of the country. As an instance of the absurd rumours flying about,
I may mention that I was in the presence of two Irish peers solemnly
assured that a "rising in the West" was imminent, and not only
imminent, but fixed for the 31st October. Now, who has not heard at
any time within the memory of man of this expected "rising in the
West"? It is the spectre rouge, or, to be more accurate as to local colour,
the spectre vert of the Irish alarmist, and a poor, ragged, out-at-elbows
spectre it is, altogether very much the worse for wear. Flesh and blood
could not bear the mention of this shabby, worn-out old ghost with
calmness, and I conveyed to the gentlemen who volunteered the

information my opinion that the spectre vert was, in American
language, "played out." Will it be believed that I was the only person
present who ridiculed the "poor ghost"? I soon perceived that my
scornful remarks were not at all in accordance with the feeling of the
company, who did not see anything impossible in a "rising in the
West," and refused to laugh