Part 23 (1/2)
You will understand, therefore, why I was so eager to see it, and I went into the bar to consult with the barmaid as to the best manner of getting to it. I had been told that it was possible to reach it from the left bank of the river without the aid of a boat, but the maid a.s.sured me this could be done only when the river was low, and was out of the question in the present stage of the water. So she went to the door and called to a pa.s.sing boatman, and explained my wishes, and he at once volunteered to ferry me over to the island. His house, he said, was just opposite the island, and his boat was tied up at the landing there; so we walked down to it, along the bank of the ca.n.a.l which parallels the river.
A little way down the ca.n.a.l was a mill, and a boat was tied up in front of it unloading some grain, and when I looked into the boat, I saw that the grain was sh.e.l.led Indian corn! It was not from America, however, but from Russia, and my companion told me that quite a demand for cornmeal was growing up in the neighbourhood, and that it was used mixed with flour. And then he listened, his eyes round with wonder, while I told him how corn grows. He had never seen it on the ear, and did not know the meaning of the word ”cob,” except as applied to a horse.
”And of course you have seen bananas growing!” he said, when I had finished, and I think he scarcely believed me when I tried to explain that a country warm enough for corn might still be too cold for bananas.
We finally reached his house--a little hovel built on a bluff overhanging the river--and went down some rude stone steps to the water's edge; and he unchained his boat, and whistled to his dog, and pushed off. It was quite an exciting paddle, for the current was very swift; but we got across to the island at last, after some hair-raising sc.r.a.pings against rocks and over submerged reefs. We found the island a tangle of weeds and briars, but we broke our way through, and after some searching, found the tiny church, almost hidden by the bushes about it.
They were so thick that I found it quite impossible to get a picture of the whole church, but by breaking down some of them, I finally managed to get a picture of the narrow inclined doorway, with my guide's dog posing on the threshold.
The oratory is built solidly of stone, with walls three feet thick, and a steep stone roof. Its inside measurements are ten feet by six! There is a single window, with a round head cut out of a block of stone, and in the wall on either side just below it is a shallow recess. The ceiling has fallen in, but one can still see the holes in the walls where the supporting beams rested. Above it, under the steep roof, was a croft, where perhaps the saint slept.
Consider, for a moment, what was going on in the world when this little church was built. It takes us back to the age of legend--the age of King Arthur and his knights--to that dim period when the Saxons were conquering England, and the Frankish kingdom was falling to pieces, and Mohammed was preaching his gospel in Arabia. A century and a half would elapse before Charlemagne was born, and two centuries before the first Norse boat, driving westward before the tempest, touched the New England coast!
[Ill.u.s.tration: ENTRANCE TO ST. MOLUA'S ORATORY]
[Ill.u.s.tration: A FISHERMAN'S HOME]
There is, of course, a holy well on the island--the one at which St.
Molua drank; and we found it after a long search, but the river was so high that it was under two or three feet of water. There were some rags and other tokens hanging on the neighbouring bushes, but not many, and I judge that few people ever come to this historic spot.
At last I was ready to go, and we climbed into the boat and started for the mainland; and once I thought we were surely going to capsize, for the boat got out of control and banged into a rock; but we finally stemmed the current, and the boatman dropped his paddle and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a pole, and pushed along so close to the sh.o.r.e that the overhanging branches slapped us in the face, and the dog, thinking we were going to land, made a wild leap for the bank, fell short, and nearly drowned.
When we were safe again at the landing-place, and the boat tied up, I asked my companion how much I owed him for his trouble.
”Not a penny, sir,” he said, warmly. ”It's glad I am to oblige a pleasant gentleman like yourself.”
”Oh, but look here,” I protested, ”that won't do,” and I fished through my pockets and was appalled to find that I had only nine-pence in change. ”Wait till we get back to the hotel,” I said, ”and I'll get some money.”
”What is that you have in your hand, sir?”
”Oh, that's only nine-pence.”
”That would be far too much, sir,” he said; and when I hesitatingly gave it to him, he as hesitatingly took it, and I really believe he was in earnest in thinking it too much.
On our way back to the town, he expounded to me his theory of life, which was to give faithful service to one's employer, and help one's fellow-men when possible, and never bother unduly about the future, which was never as black as it looked. And I agreed with him that trouble always came b.u.t.t-end first, and that, after it had pa.s.sed, it frequently dwindled to a pinpoint--the which has been said in verse somewhere, by Sam Walter Foss I think, but I can't put my hand on it.
We got back to Castleconnell just as the fishermen were coming in, and it was far from empty-handed they were this time. The array of salmon stretched out on the floor of the bar, when they had all arrived, was a very n.o.ble one. And everybody stood around and looked at them proudly, and told of the enormous flies that had been used, and how one monster had whipped the boat around and towed it right down through the rapids, and lucky it was that the water was high or it would infallibly have been ripped to pieces, but the boatmen kept their heads and managed to get it through, and when the salmon came out in the quiet river below and found itself still fast, it gave up and let itself be gaffed without any further fuss.
And again after dinner, we saw the familiar sight of the catch being wrapped in straw to be sent by parcel post back to England, as proof of the anglers' prowess; and I can guess how those battles on Shannon water were fought over again when the angler got back to the bosom of his family. As for me, I have only to close my eyes to see again that n.o.ble stream sweeping along between its green, flower-sprinkled banks, foaming over the weirs, brawling past the rapids, hurrying between the quays of Limerick, and widening into the great estuary where it meets the sea.
Into the West, where, o'er the wide Atlantic, The lights of sunset gleam, From its high sources in the heart of Erin Flows the great stream.
Yet back in stormy cloud or viewless vapour The wandering waters come, And faithfully across the trackless heaven Find their old home.
CHAPTER XVII
LISSOY AND CLONMACNOISE
SINCE we could not get to Athlone by water, we must needs get there by rail; so, most regretfully, next morning, we bade good-bye to Castleconnell and took train for Limerick. Half an hour later, we pulled out of the Limerick terminus, circled about the town, crossed the Shannon by a long, low bridge, and were in County Clare.
Ruins are more numerous here than almost anywhere else in Ireland, for this western slope of the Shannon valley, so fertile and coveted, was famous fighting-ground. There are one or two in sight all the time, across the beautiful rolling meadows. Near Cratloe there are three, their great square keeps looming above the trees, and looking out across the wide Shannon estuary. A little farther on is the famous seat of the Earls of Th.o.m.ond, Bunratty Castle, a fine old fortress, with all the approved mediaeval tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of moat, guard-room, banqueting-hall, dungeons and torture-chamber, and I am sorry we did not get to visit it.