IRISHMEN ON A HOLIDAY.
When they met at a “pattern,” (patron, perhaps,) or merry-making, the lively dance of the girls, and the galloping jig-note of the bagpipes, usually gave place to the clattering of alpeens, and the whoops of onslaught; when one of them sold his pig, or, under Providence, his cow, at the fair, the kicking up of a “scrimmage,” or at least the plunging head foremost into one, was as much matter of course as the long draughts of ale or whiskey that closed his mercantile transaction. At the village hurling-match, the “hurlet,” or crooked stick, with which they struck the ball, often changed its playful utility; nay, at a funeral, the body was scarce laid in the grave, when the voice of petty discord might be heard above the grave’s silence.
These contentions, like all great events, generally arose from very trivial causes. A drunken fellow, for instance, was in a strange public-house; he could not content himself with the new faces near him, so struck at some three, six, or ten, as it might be; and, in course, got soundly drubbed. On his return home he related his case of injury, exhibiting his closed eye, battered mouth, or remnant of nose; enlisting all his relatives, “kith-and-kin;” in fact, all his neighbours who liked “a bit of diversion,” and they generally included the whole male population able to bear arms. At the head of his faction he attended the next fair, or other place of popular resort, where he might expect to meet his foes; the noise of his muster went abroad, or he sent a previous challenge: the opposite party assembled in as much force as possible, never declining the encounter; one or other side was beaten, and tried to avenge its disgrace on the first opportunity; defeat again followed, and again produced like efforts and results; and thus the solemn feud ran through a number of years and several generations.
A wicked, “devil-may-care” fellow, feverish for sport, would, at fair, pattern, or funeral, sometimes smite another without any provocation, merely to create a riot; the standers-by would take different sides, as their taste or connections inclined them; and the fray, thus commencing between two individuals who owed each other no ill-will, embroiled half the assembled concourse. Nay, a youth, in despair that so fine a multitude was likely to separate peaceably, stripped off his heavy outside coat, and trailed it through the puddle, daring any of the lookers on to tread upon it; his defiance was rarely ineffectual; he knocked down, if possible, the invited offender; a general battle ensued, that soon spread like wild-fire, and every “alpeen” was at work in senseless clatter and unimaginable hostility.
The occurrence of the word “alpeen” seems to suggest a description of the weapon of which it is the name, and this can best be given in a piece of biographical anecdote.
Jack Mullally still lives in fame, though his valiant bones are dust. He was the landlord of a public-house in a mountain district; a chivalrous fellow, a righter of wrongs, the leader of a faction of desperate fighting men, and, like Arthur, with his doughty knights, a match for any four among them, though each a hero; and, above all, the armourer of his department. In Jack’s chimney-corner hung bundles of sticks, suspended there for the purpose of being dried and seasoned; and these were of two descriptions of warlike weapons; shortish oaken cudgels, to be used as quarter-staves, or, par excellence, genuine shillelaghs; and the alpeens themselves,—long wattles with heavy knobs at the ends, to be wielded with both hands, and competent, under good guidance, to the felling of a reasonable ox.
Jack and his subjects, Jack and his alpeens, were rarely absent from any fair within twenty miles, having always business on hands in the way of their association. When a skirmish took place, the side that could enlist in its interests Jack, his alpeens, and his merry men, was sure of victory. The patriarch was generally to be found seated by his kitchen fire; business was beneath him; he left all that to the “vanithee;” and his hours lapsed, when matters of moment did not warn him to the field, either in wetting his sticks with a damp cloth, and then heating them over the turf blaze, to give them the proper curve; or, in teaching a pet starling to speak Irish, and whistle “Shaun Buoy;” or, haply, in imbibing his own ale or whiskey, and smoking his short black pipe, or doohdeen, as himself termed it. And here he gave audience to the numerous suitors and ambassadors who, day by day, came to seek his aid, preparatory to a concerted engagement. His answer was never hastily rendered. He promised, at all events, to be with his corps at the appointed ground; and then and there he would proclaim of which side he was the ally. This precautionary course became the more advisable, as he was always sure of a request from both factions; and time, forethought, and inquiry, were necessary to ascertain which side might prove the weakest; for to the weakest (the most aggrieved formed no part of his calculations) Jack invariably extended his patronage.
The vanithee, good woman, when she heard of an approaching fair, or other popular meeting, immediately set about preparing plasters and ointments; and this resulted from a thrifty forecast; for were she to call in a doctor every time her husband’s head wanted piecing, it would run away with the profits of her business. Jack, indeed, never forgot his dignity so far as to inform his wife that he intended being engaged on such occasions; but she always took it for granted, and with the bustle of a good housewife, set about her preparations accordingly: till, at length, a breach happened in his skull which set her art at defiance; and ever since she lives the sole proprietor of the public-house where Jack once reigned in glory. The poor widow has thriven since her husband’s death; and is now rich, not having lately had Jack’s assistance in spending, (she never had it in earning.) She recounts his exploits with modest spirit; and one blessing at least has resulted from her former matronly care of the good man—she is the Lady Bountiful of her district; a quack it may be, yet sufficiently skilful for the uncomplicated ailments of her country customers.[201]