V. F. M. to E. Œ. S. (Ross, January, 1894.)
“These sudden deaths are happy for the people who die them, but desperate for those who are left behind. Certainly it makes one feel that the thing to desire, beyond most heavenly things, is strength to face the dreadful thing that may be coming. For oneself, one could wish for the passion for death that was in a young fellow here. He disappeared on St. Stephen’s Day[10] and they found him at last in the Wood of Annagh, in an awful pond that is on your left, just after you get into the wood—Poulleen-a-férla. They hooked him up from among the sunken branches of trees, and found him by getting a boat on to the pool and staring down in all lights. Finally they wrapped a big stone in a white flannel ‘bauneen’ and dropped it in. They were just able to see where it lay, and it placed things for them, so that they at last recognised some dim companion shadow as what they were searching for, and got it out. He was a very religious and steady young man, but his mind was weak, and it turns out that what chiefly preyed on it was that one day some people called him from his work and deluded him somehow into shortening up the chain of the chapel bell, in order that when the new priest came to hold Mass next Sunday, the bell could not be rung. (I have told you that Father Z. has been forbidden to officiate, and a new priest is coming.)
“When this poor boy found out what he had done, he was miserable. He brooded over it and his people were alarmed, and watched him, more or less, but not enough. Never was a more bitter comment on a parish feud, and never was there a more innocent and godly life turned to active insanity by dastardly treatment. (The curs, who were afraid to meddle with the Chapel themselves!)”
Rickeen’s discussion of the matter with Martin and one of the “Nursies” is interesting in showing the point of view of an intelligent peasant, a man who had been to America, and who was, though illiterate, of exceptionally sound and subtle judgment. I copy it from the notes that Martin sent to me.
“Rickeen and Nurse Davin and I were talking about the poor boy who is believed to have drowned himself. Rick took up his parable.
“‘Sure you remember of him? Red Mike’s son, back in Brahalish? Him that used to be minding the hins for the Misthress?
“‘Always and ever he was the same; not a word o’ talk out of him the longest year that ever came, only talkin’ about God, and goin’ to Mass, and very fond of the work. Sure they say the mother wouldn’t let him to Mass this while back to Father X.’ (N.B. This is the lawful priest. Father Z., his predecessor, was suspended by the Church, but many of the parish still side with him.) ‘And Mortheen, the brother that’s in Galway, got an account he was frettin’ like, and he hired a car and took him to Galway to go to Mass there, and tellin’ him no one ’d be denyin’ him there. Faith, sorra Mass he’d go to in it! They say before he left home, a whileen back, himself was back in the room, and the people was outside, talkin’, and sayin’ he should be sent to Ballinasloe’ (the Lunatic Asylum) ‘and sorra bit but when they looked round, himself was there, leshnin’ to them! “What did I ever do to ye?” says he, “And aren’t ye damned fools,” says he, walkin’ over to them this way, “to think ye’ll put me in it!” says he. And sorra word more he spoke.
“‘The Lord save us! They’re lookin’ for him now since Stephenses Day, and I’m sure ’tis in Poulleen-a-férla he is. He was down lookin’ at it a while ago, and Stephenses Day they seen him runnin’ down through Bullywawneen, and they’re afther findin’ his Scafflin and his Agnus Di[11] on a flagstone that’s on the brink. Sure he took thim off him the ways he’d be dhrowned. No one could be dhrowned that had thim on him. Faith, he could not.
“‘Didn’t ye hear talk of the man back in Malrour, that wint down to the lake last Sunday, and jumped into it to dhrown himself? The people that seen him they ran, and they dhragged him out, an’ he lyin’ on his back, and the scafflin he got from the priest round his neck; and it dhry! God help the crature!’
“(Nurse Davin, weeping, ‘Amin! Amin!’)