Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry | Page 4

William Carleton
a stupendous cliff overhanging a green
glen, into which tumbles a silver stream down a height of two or three
hundred feet. At the bottom of this rock, a few yards from the basin
formed by the cascade, in a sunless nook, was a well of cool, delicious
water. This was the "Holy Well," out of which issued a slender stream,
that joined the rivulet formed by the cascade. On the shrubs which grew
out of the crag-cliffs around it, might be seen innumerable rags
bleached by the weather out of their original color, small wooden
crosses, locks of human hair, buttons, and other substitutes for property;
poverty allowing the people to offer it only by fictitious emblems.
Lower down in the glen, on the river's bank, was a smooth green,
admirably adapted for the dance, which, notwithstanding the religious
rites, is the heart and soul of a Patron.
On that morning a vast influx of persons, male and female, old and
young, married and single, crowded eagerly towards the well. Among
them might be noticed the blind, the lame, the paralytic, and such as
were afflicted with various other diseases; nor were those good men
and their wives who had no offspring to be omitted. The mendicant, the
pilgrim, the boccagh, together with every other description of
impostors, remarkable for attending such places, were the first on the
ground, all busy in their respective vocations. The highways, the fields,
and the boreens, or bridle-roads, were filled with living streams of
people pressing forward to this great scene of fun and religion. The

devotees could in general be distinguished from the country folks by
their Pharisaical and penitential visages, as well as by their not wearing
shoes; for the Stations to such places were formerly made with bare
feet: most persons now, however, content themselves with stripping off
their shoes and stockings on coming within the precincts of the holy
ground. Human beings are not the only description of animals that
perform pilgrimages to holy wells and blessed lakes. Cows, horses, and
sheep are made to go through their duties, either by way of prevention,
or cure, of the diseases incident to them. This is not to be wondered at,
when it is known that in their religion every domestic animal has its
patron saint, to whom its owner may at any time pray on its behalf.
When the crowd was collected, nothing in the shape of an assembly
could surpass it in the originality of its appearance. In the glen were
constructed a number of tents, where whiskey and refreshments might
be had in abundance. Every tent had a fiddler or a piper; many two of
them. From the top of the pole that ran up from the roof of each tent,
was suspended the symbol by which the owner of it was known by his
friends and acquaintances. Here swung a salt herring or a turf; there a
shillelah; in a third place a shoe, in a fourth place a whisp of hay, in a
fifth an old hat, and so on with the rest.
The tents stood at a short distance from the scene of devotion at the
well, but not so far as to prevent the spectator from both seeing and
hearing what went on in each. Around the well, on bare knees, moved a
body of people thickly wedged together, some praying, some
screaming, some excoriating their neighbors' shins, and others dragging
them out of their way by the hair of the head. Exclamations of pain
from the sick or lame, thumping oaths in Irish, recriminations in broken
English, and prayers in bog Latin, all rose at once to the ears of the
patron saint, who, we are inclined to think--could he have heard or seen
his worshippers--would have disclaimed them altogether.
"For the sake of the Holy Virgin, keep your sharp elbows out o' my
ribs."
"My blessin' an you, young man, an' don't be lanin' an me, i' you plase!"
"_Damnho sherry orth a rogarah ruah!_* what do you mane? Is it my
back you're brakin'?"
* Eternal perdition on you, you red rogue.
"Hell pershue you, you ould sinner, can't you keep the spike of your

crutch out o' my stomach! If you love me tell me so; but, by the livin'
farmer, I'll take no such hints as that!"
"I'm a pilgrim, an' don't brake my leg upon the rock, an' my blessin' an
you!"
"Oh, murdher sheery! my poor child'll be smothered!"
"My heart's curse an you! is it the ould cripple you're trampin' over?"
"Here, Barny, blood alive, give this purty young girl a lift, your sowl,
or she'll soon be undhermost!"
"'Och, 'twas on a Christmas mornin' That Jeroosillim was born in The
Holy Land'----'
"Oh, my neck's broke!--the curse----Oh!
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code

 / 171
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.