Photo by W. Leonard
Tombs in Bannow Church
County Wexford
[CHAPTER XIV]
Departure from Fethard—The Dead Horse and a Lawsuit—Approach to Dublin—Estate of Kilruddery—The Swan as a Fighter—Glendalough, its Ruins and History—Tom Moore and his Tree in Avoca—Advantages of Motor Travel—Superstition of the Magpie—A Boy, a Cart, and a Black Sheep—The Goose and the Motor.
The next day opens nasty and wet. Leaving our benediction and thanks with Mr. and Mrs. P. we roll off through the drops of rain over the muddy roadways. It is not especially pleasant and conversation lags, but it must be a bad day indeed to suppress all chances for excitement in Ireland, as we shortly discover.
Turning a bend of the road we see, coming towards us, a jaunting-car, hauled by a bay horse and driven by an old man. The nag gives evidence of fright and our motor is stopped instantly at some three hundred feet from her. The old man succeeds in turning her around and at our suggestion unwinds himself from his lap-robe and gets down to hold her. All the time our car is at a standstill and making no sound. Whether the old chap got tangled in the reins or stumbles, I know not, but the nag plunges, knocking him down, then plunges again and falls against a stone wall, breaking a shaft. B. gets out of our car and suggests that I go back to the town just behind and bring a policeman as there will surely be claims for damages. I cannot see how, as we have not been in motion for the past fifteen minutes and certainly have an equal right upon the highroads. However, I roll away, and en route I notice a travelling circus with a nigger in charge who grins at me. The policeman secured and brought back in the car, we find to our amazement that the horse is dead, and the nigger and owner are already haggling over the sale of its carcass. The latter wants a sovereign and the former offers half a crown.
What killed the beast is unknown to us to this day; it certainly did not break its neck as it kicked and plunged a lot after it was down. However, it is dead, and there is trouble in consequence. Of course we are "entirely to blame" though the accident did not occur until we had been stationary for some fifteen minutes, and until the old man had had ample time to argue with the horse and then to turn her around and move away from us before he got down, at which time she was perfectly quiet. It's my opinion that he became tangled in the reins and fell against her. Fact remains that she neither scared nor plunged until he got down from the car and made for her head, and as I have stated before, I have often noticed that horses are more frightened by their owner's sudden grabs at the bridle than by the motor car.
I had once a saddle horse which could never be induced to pass a piece of paper be it ever so small without violent shying, and I could at any instant, by pressing my knee suddenly into the saddle, cause him to look round for such objects and shy violently in advance.