“That no man of the towne shall sell galley, bote or barque to an Irishman.
“That no person shall give or sell to the Irish any munition as hand-povins, calivres, poulter, leade, nor salt-peter, nor yet large bowes, cross-bowes, cross-bowe strings, nor yearne to make the same, nor any kind of weapon on payn to forfayt the same and an hundred shyllinges.
“If anie man being an Irishman to brag and boste upon the towne, to forfayt 12 pence.
“That no man of this towne shall ostle or receive into their house at Christmasse or Easter nor no feast elles, anny of the Burkes MacWilliams, the Kellies, nor no septs elles, without the licence of the Maior and Council on payn to forfayt £5. That neither O’ ne Mac shall strutt or swagger through the streets of Galway.”
You still find traces of the commerce of the Tribes with Spain, not only in the old Spanish buildings of the town, but in the black Spanish eyes and hair of the people. I remember to have been struck in Donegal by a dignity, a loftiness of bearing, as well as by a height and stateliness of the peasant people that made one murmur “Spanish” to one’s own ear.
One of the sights of Galway is the ruins of the house from the window of which James Lynch Fitz Stephen, a Chief Magistrate of Galway in 1493, hanged his only son for murder with his own hand, lest the townspeople should rescue him. The house is called The Cross Bones nowadays, and is situated most appropriately in Dead-Man’s Lane. There remains but an old wall, with a couple of doorways having the pointed Spanish arches and some ornate window-spaces above. There is a tablet on the wall, bearing a skull and cross-bones, with the inscription:
“Remember Deathe,
Vaniti of vanitis, all is but vaniti.”
Some people believe that this Lynch is the “onlie begetter” of Lynch Law. This, however, I do not believe, and I think it more likely to have been derived from a Lynch of the mining-camps in Southern California, who was the first to promulgate and put in practice the wild justice of execution without judge or jury. Anyhow, I cannot see that the example of James Lynch FitzStephen was an admirable one, and I do not believe the legend that he died heart-broken as a result of his own stern sense of justice.
The palmy days of the Tribes were over with the Reformation, for they did not cease to be Catholics, and so were in no great favour with the predominant partner. Galway also stood for the King against the Parliament, was besieged and taken by the Parliamentary soldiers under Ludlow, who stabled his horses, according to report, in St. Nicholas’s Cathedral. After that Galway’s great prosperity as a trading centre passed away, and the Tribes scattered among the ferocious O’Flaherties and others of their sort and became country gentlemen, with a noble contempt for trade. The situation of Galway, on its magnificent Bay, still cries out for commerce. The spectacle of Galway as a port of call for American steamers has dangled before the eyes of the Galwegians for a long time without being realized, although they made preparations for it long ago, by building a hotel that would house a Mauretania-load of travellers.
Only the other day I listened to a Galway Tribesman conversing with someone who had lived in Galway, and who asked after the old places and persons. “What’s become of So-and-so?” “He’s just the same as ever; not a bit of change in him. He comes home every night strapped to the outside car to keep him from falling off.” “And what’s become of So-and-so?” “Oh, he’s done very well for himself. His father says, ‘Mac’s all right; he’s got the run of a kitchen in Yorkshire,’ meaning that he married an English heiress.”