Having now seen what the lower class of Irish endure, it may be well to look into their natural character, and ascertain what is the cause of that endurance—what are their virtues, and what their vices?
That "endurance under privation, greater than that of any country in Europe," is the true characteristic of the peasantry, cannot be questioned, particularly after being declared by the high authority of the Devon Commission. That it is innate in their character, is evident. They believe that "whatever is, is best"—not as fatalists; for under the most severe suffering, you will hear them say, "Well, shure, it's a marcy 'twasn't worse any how." "Well, I'm shure, I might be contint, bekase it might be double as bad." And every sentence ends—"And God is good." They have also a certain natural spring (lessening daily) which upholds them, and they try to make the best of every thing as it comes.
"Jack," said I, some years since, to a handy "hedge carpenter," in the county of Wexford, "why did you not come last night to do the job I wanted? It is done now, and you have lost it." "Whi-thin, that's my misforthin any how—an be-dad 'twas a double misforthin too, for I wus dooin nothin else thin devartin meeself." "Diverting yourself," said I, "and not minding your business?" "Bee-dad it's too thru; but I'll tell your hanur how it happened. I wus workin fur the last three days fur my lan'lady, which av coorse goes agin the rint; and whin I cum home yisterday evenin, throth, barrin I tuck the bit from the woman and childre, sorra a taste I could get—so sis I, Biddy jewel, I'm mighty sick intirely, an I cant ate any thing. Well, she coxed me—but I didn't. So afther sittin a while, I bethought me that there wus to be a piper at the Crass-roads, an I was thin gettin morthul hungery; so sis I t'meeself I'll go dance the hunger off—and so I did:—an that wus the way I wus divartin meeself." Now, I have no doubt, that many an Irishman has danced the thought of hunger away as well as Jack. But the following incident will prove that the innate feeling of the people is to make the best of their miseries.
It was, I think, in the winter of 1840, a fortnight of most severe weather set in at Dublin. I had suffered in London from "Murphy's coldest day" in 1838, and thought it was in reality the coldest I had ever felt; but 1840 would have won the prize if left to his Majesty of Russia to decide the question. In addition to a black frost, there came with it a biting, piercing, easterly wind, which seemed to freeze and wither every thing it came upon. Pending this infliction (for I confess I suffered under sciatica as well as the easterly wind), I left home rather early one morning, muffled in two coats, a cloak, muffler, "bosom friend," worsted wrists, and woolsey gloves; and yet as I closed the door, I half repented that I had faced the blast.
Not twenty yards from my dwelling, I overtook a little creature, a boy of about eight or nine years old, dressed in—of all the cold things in the world—a hard corduroy habiliment, intended to have fitted closely to him; but his wretched, frozen-up form, seemed to have retreated from the dress, and sunk within itself. I believe he had not another stitch upon him. His little hands were buried into his pockets, almost up to the elbows, seeking some warmth from his body; and he crept on before me, one of the most miserable pictures of wretchedness my eye ever rested on.
As I contemplated him, I could not but contrast my own blessings with his misery. I had doubted whether I should leave the comforts of my home, although invigorated by wholesome, perhaps luxurious food, and I was clothed to excess; while the being before me, likely had not tasted food that day, and was barely covered. Such were my thoughts; and I had just said to myself, we know not, or at least, appreciate not, a tithe of the blessings we possess, when that little creature read me a lesson I shall recollect for my life. He shewed me that he could bear up against his ills, and make light of them too.
At the moment I speak of, I saw one hand slowly drawn from his pocket, and in effort to relieve it from its torpor, he twisted and turned it until it seemed to have life again. Next came forth the other hand, and it underwent the same operation, until both appeared to possess some power. Then he shrugged up one shoulder and the other, seeking to bring life there also; and at length flinging his arms two or three times round, he gave a jump off the ground, and exclaimed in an accent half pain, half joy, "Hurrah! for the could mornins!"—and away he went scampering up the street before me, keeping up the life within him by that innate natural power of endurance I have described, evidently with a determination to make the best of his suffering, and not sink under misfortune. What a noble trait of character—but how little appreciated!
With such a ground-work to act upon, what might not these people be made? and that they have intellect of almost a superior order, cannot be questioned. Their ready replies alone prove it; and their usual success any where but in their own country, tells it truly. Some years ago I stood talking to an English gentleman on particular business at a ferry slip in Dublin, waiting for the boat. A boy, also waiting for it, several times came up to shew some books he had for sale, and really annoyed my friend by importunity, who suddenly turned round and exclaimed, "Get away, you scamp, or I shall give you a kick that will send you across the river." In an instant the reply came—"Whi-thin thank yur hanur fur thit same—fur 'twill just save me a ha-pinny." They are quick to a degree—and have great activity and capability for labour and effort, if but fed, which may be seen by every Englishman who looks and thinks. The coal-whippers of the Thames, the hod-men, or mason's labourers of London, the paver's labourers, and such like, almost all are Irishmen. But they must be fed, or they cannot labour as they do here. Treat them kindly, confide in them, and be it for good or evil; I mean to reward or punish, never break a promise, and you may do as you please with them. My own experience is extensive; but one who is now no more, my nearest relative, had forty years of trial, and he accomplished by Irish hands alone, in the midst of the outbreak of '97 and '98, as Inspector-General of the Light-houses of Ireland, the building of a work, which perhaps more than rivals the far-famed Eddystone,—namely, the South Rock Light-house three miles from the land, on the north-east coast of Ireland,—every stone of which was laid by Irish workmen. And to the honour of the people be it spoken, when the rebellion broke out it was known that a large stock of blasting powder and lead lay at the works on the shore; yet not a single ounce of one or the other was taken. It was known, too, that their employer was then engaged in the command of a yeomanry brigade, formed for the defence of the east side of Dublin; still his lead and powder lay safely in the north of Ireland. But more extraordinary still, after the battle of Ballinahinch, where the rebels were routed, his yacht was taken by a party of them to make their escape to England; and lest any ill should befall it, when they arrived at Whitehaven they drew lots for three to deliver it up to the collector of the port, and state to whom it belonged. They were immediately arrested, as indeed they must have expected, and with great difficulty were their lives afterwards saved.
I could relate several similar instances which occurred to others; but I shall only state one more, as occurring to a defenceless woman. My maternal grandmother occupied at the time of that rebellion the castle of Dungulph, in the county Wexford, the family residence. It was an old stronghold regularly fortified and surrounded by a moat, with a drawbridge; and when she left it to take refuge in the fort of Duncannon, with the other gentry of the county, it was immediately taken possession of by a force of rebels from the county Kilkenny, as a most valuable place of defence, &c. They remained in possession for about a fortnight, and during that time killed twenty of the sheep found in the demesne. At the expiration of the period, the rebels of the neighbourhood, who had been in the interim engaged at the battle of Ross, returned, forced the others to leave the castle, and when my relative came back to her residence, she found that twenty sheep had been brought from another part of the country, and placed with her own in the demesne; which on being traced by their marks, were discovered to belong to a county Kilkenny grazier, the county from whence the rebel party had come; thus the sheep were brought from the same place the rebels had come from,—it was supposed, as an act of retaliation. I should add, too, that while these occurrences took place, the heir to the property was engaged in the defence of Ross, where many of his own tenantry were slain or wounded, as rebels, by the military under his command.