Wild Wales Part 101

"They say! who minds what they say? Havn't we the word of the blessed Pope that we are right?"

"And they say that they have the word of the blessed Gospel that you are wrong."

"The Gospel! who cares for the Gospel? Surely you are not going to compare the Gospel with the Pope?"

"Well, they certainly are not to be named in the same day."

"They are not? Then good luck to you! We are both of the same opinion.

Ah, I thought your honour was a rale Catholic. Now, tell me from what kingdom of Ireland does your honour hail?"

"Why, I was partly educated in Munster."

"In Munster! Hoorah! Here's the hand of a countryman to your honour.

Ah, it was asy to be seen from the learning which your honour shows, that your honour is from Munster. There's no spot in Ireland like Munster for learning. What says the old song?

"'Ulster for a soldier Connaught for a thief, Munster for learning, And Leinster for beef.'"

"Hoorah for learned Munster! and down with beggarly, thievish Connaught!

I would that a Connaught man would come athwart me now, that I might break his thief's head with my Alpeen."

"You don't seem to like the Connaught men," said I.

"Like them! who can like them? a parcel of beggarly thievish blackguards.

So your honour was edicated in Munster, I mane partly edicated. I suppose by your saying that you were partly edicated, that your honour was intended for the clerical profession, but being over fond of the drop was forced to lave college before your edication was quite completed, and so for want of a better profession took up with that of merchandise. Ah, the love of the drop at college has prevented many a clever young fellow from taking holy orders. Well, it's a pity, but it can't be helped. I am fond of a drop myself, and when we get to - shall be happy to offer your honour a gla.s.s of whiskey. I hope your honour and I shall splice the mainbrace together before we part."

"I suppose," said I, "by your talking of splicing the mainbrace that you are a sailor."

"I am, your honour, and hail from the Cove of Cork in the kingdom of Munster."

"I know it well," said I. "It is the best sea-basin in the world. Well, how came you into these parts?"

"I'll tell your honour; my s.h.i.+p is at Swansea, and having a relation working at the foundry behind us, I came to see him."

"Are you in the royal service?"

"I am not, your honour; I was once in the royal service, but having a dispute with the boatswain at Spithead, I gave him a wipe, jumped overboard and swam ash.o.r.e. After that I sailed for Cuba, got into the merchants' service there and made several voyages to the Black Coast. At present I am in the service of the merchants of Cork."

"I wonder that you are not now in the royal service," said I, "since you are so fond of fighting. There is hot work going on at present up the Black Sea, and brave men, especially Irishmen, are in great request."

"Yes, brave Irishmen are always in great request with England when she has a battle to fight. At other times they are left to lie in the mud with the chain round their necks. It has been so ever since the time of De Courcy, and I suppose always will be so, unless Irishmen all become of my mind, which is not likely. Were the Irish all of my mind, the English would find no Irish champion to fight their battles when the French or the Russians come to beard them."

"By De Courcy," said I, "you mean the man whom the King of England confined in the Tower of London after taking him from his barony in the county of Cork."

"Of course, your honour, and whom he kept in the Tower till the King of France sent over a champion to insult and beard him, when the king was glad to take De Courcy out of the dungeon to fight the French champion, for divil a one of his own English fighting men dared take the Frenchman in hand."

"A fine fellow that De Courcy," said I.

"Rather too fond of the drop though, like your honour and myself, for after he had caused the French champion to flee back into France he lost the greater part of the reward which the King of England promised him solely by making too free with the strong drink. Does your honour remember that part of the story?"

"I think I do," said I, "but I should be very glad to hear you relate it."

"Then your honour shall. Right glad was the King of England when the French champion fled back to France, for no sooner did the dirty spalpeen hear that they were going to bring De Courcy against him, the fame of whose strength and courage filled the whole world, than he betook himself back to his own country and was never heard of more. Right glad, I say, was the King of England, and gave leave to De Courcy to return to Ireland, 'And you shall have,' said he, 'of the barony which I took from you all that you can ride round on the first day of your return.' So De Courcy betook himself to Ireland and to his barony, but he was anything but a lucky man, this De Courcy, for his friends and relations and tenantry, hearing of his coming, prepared a grand festival for him with all kinds of illigant viands and powerful liquors, and when he arrived there it was waiting for him, and down to it he sat, and ate and drank, and for joy of seeing himself once more amongst his friends and tenantry in the hall of his forefathers and for love of the drop, which he always had, he drank of the powerful liquors more than he ought, and the upshot was that he became drunk, agus do bhi an duine maith sin misgeadh do ceathar o glog; the good gentleman was drunk till four o'clock, and when he awoke he found that he had but two hours of day remaining to win back his brave barony. However, he did not lose heart, but mounted his horse and set off riding as fast as a man just partly recovered from intoxication could be expected to do, and he contrived to ride round four parishes, and only four, and these four parishes were all that he recovered of his brave barony, and all that he had to live upon till his dying day, and all that he had to leave to his descendants, so that De Courcy could scarcely be called a very lucky man, after all."

Shortly after my friend the sailor had concluded his account of De Courcy we arrived in the vicinity of a small town or rather considerable village. It stood on the right-hand side of the road, fronting the east, having a high romantic hill behind it on the sides of which were woods, groves, and pleasant-looking white houses.

"What place is this?" said I to my companion.

"This is -, your honour; and here, if your honour will accept a gla.s.s of whiskey we will splice the mainbrace together."

"Thank you," said I; "but I am in haste to get to Swansea. Moreover, if I am over fond of the drop, as you say I am, the sooner I begin to practise abstinence the better."

"Very true, your honour! Well, at any rate, when your honour gets to Swansea you will not be able to say that Pat Flannagan walked for miles with your honour along the road without offering your honour a gla.s.s of whiskey."

"Nor shall Pat Flannagan be able to say the same thing of my honour. I have a s.h.i.+lling in my pocket at Pat Flannagan's service, if he chooses to splice with it the mainbrace for himself and for me."

"Thank your honour; but I have a s.h.i.+lling in my own pocket, and a dollar too, and a five-pound note besides; so I needn't be beholden for drink money to anybody under the sun."

"Well then, farewell! Here's my hand!-Slan leat a Phatraic ui Flannagan!"

"Slan leat a dhuine-uasail!" said Patrick, giving me his hand; "and health, hope and happiness to ye."

Thereupon he turned aside to -, and I continued my way to Swansea.

Arrived at a place called Glandwr, about two miles from Swansea, I found that I was splashed from top to toe, for the roads were frightfully miry, and was sorry to perceive that my boots had given way at the soles, large pieces of which were sticking out. I must, however, do the poor things the justice to say that it was no wonder that they were in this dilapidated condition, for in those boots I had walked at least two hundred miles, over all kinds of paths, since I had got them soled at Llangollen. "Well," said I to myself, "it won't do to show myself at Swansea in this condition, more especially as I shall go to the best hotel; I must try and get myself made a little decent here." Seeing a little inn on my right I entered it, and addressing myself to a neat, comfortable landlady, who was standing within the bar, I said-

"Please to let me have a gla.s.s of ale!-and hearkee; as I have been walking along the road, I should be glad of the services of the 'boots.'"

"Very good, sir," said the landlady with a curtsey.

Then showing me into a nice little sanded parlour, she brought me the gla.s.s of ale, and presently sent in a lad with a boot-jack to minister to me. O, what can't a little money effect? For sixpence in that small nice inn I had a gla.s.s of ale, my boots cleaned and the excrescences cut off, my clothes wiped with a dwile, and then pa.s.sed over with a brush, and was myself thanked over and over again. Starting again with all the spirited confidence of one who has just cast off his slough, I soon found myself in the suburbs of Swansea. As I pa.s.sed under what appeared to be a railroad bridge I inquired in Welsh of an ancient-looking man, in coaly habiliments, if it was one. He answered in the same language that it was, then instantly added in English-

"You have taken your last farewell of Wales, sir; it's no use speaking Welsh farther on."

I pa.s.sed some immense edifices, probably manufactories, and was soon convinced that, whether I was in Wales or not, I was no longer amongst Welsh. The people whom I met did not look like Welsh. They were taller and bulkier than the Cambrians, and were speaking a dissonant English jargon. The women had much the appearance of Dutch fisherwomen; some of them were carrying huge loads on their heads. I spoke in Welsh to two or three whom I overtook.

"No Welsh, sir!"

"Why don't you speak Welsh?" said I.

"Because we never learnt it. We are not Welsh."

"Who are you then?"

"English; some call us Flamings."

"Ah, ah!" said I to myself, "I had forgot."

Presently I entered the town, a large, bustling, dirty, gloomy place, and inquiring for the first hotel was directed to the "Mackworth Arms," in Wine Street.