HISTORIC IRELAND

New Zealand Tablet, 27 April 1911, Page 753

HISTORIC IRELAND

SOME NOTED PLACES To those who know Ireland and Irish history well, perhaps Tara is the first name that presents itself to the mind when speaking -of the country’s striking points of history — a hill of gentle eminence, sloping upward from the fertile plains of Meath. Here it ivas that the Ard Righs made laws for the entire country, and St. Patrick first preached the faith during one of the triennial parliaments presided over by the chief monarch, Leary. The last monarch who dwelt at Tara was Diarmid. Extracts from the old Annals bring up strange scenes from those first early, half-civilised days, when St. Patrick’s successors were instilling those Catholic principles to which the Irish have clung so tenaciously. One of the most interesting of these extracts has to do with that Diarmid who was the last high king to reign at Tara, and who for all that is known to the contrary may have been buried in the remarkable tumulus at New" Grange, not far from Dublin, which is known to have been the burying-place of the ancient Irish kings. For many years considered an outlaw, a price set on his head by Tuathal, whose successor in office he was to be, Diarmid lived many years with St. Kieran at Clonmacnoise, and when the saint was founding his monastery, helped him to put up his first building. Afterward, when he was King Diarmid, he had serious disputes with the monks. The monasteries had the right of sanctuary, and on two separate occasions the king denied this right, taking by force the offenders who sought it and putting them to death. The monks protested, but he flagrantly insulted them, whereat, in their indignation and anger, they set a ban upon Diarmid and Tara, condemning both. After that the ancient palace fell into decay; no other Ard High ruled within it, each king, after Diarmid, ruling in his own ancestral territory.

Sympathy in itself is an education, for anything that broadens the mind helps to develop it. Sympathy, therefore, is the companion we must take with us on our voyage to the historic spots of Ireland. Hers is such an heroic story and so pathetic. Well has Father Hill called her ' the passion flower of nations.' _ Her struggles for liberty, the great men who rose within her borders., leaders in battleall are memories which will appeal to the heart as well as to the mind. Ono may feel inclined to smile, in this prosaic age, when they show you the grave of the poet Ossian, as they do at Cushendall in County Antrim—or point out the evidences of Fion MacCoul's great strength. But after a while one grows to expect these tales, even to look for them, and in turn to love them. Yet all tho tales are not of imaginary personages. The doings of hundreds of years ago live fresh in the people's hearts today—wonderful tales of wonderful deeds.

In Galway there is a beautiful churchnow Protestantdedicated to St. Nicholascalled St. Nicholas Within the Walls to distinguish it from the Catholic Church of St. Nicholas Without. In the Church of St. Nicholas Within were two statues carved in black marble — of tho great saint himself, and the other of Our Lord. Both of these escaped the fury of Cromwell and his men, and may be seen in the Catholic church of the same name. Though even now very beautiful, the Protestant church must have been much more magnificent in the old days for it had fourteen chapels, at the altars of which Mass was often celebrated at the one time. One of the five of these left standing is called Lynche's Chapel, containing a monument to Mayor Lynche Fitzstephen, whose tragic story is part of the history of Galway. James Lynche Fitzstephen was elected Mayor of Galway in 1493. He had one son, Walter, his idol and the idol of the townspeople, who was engaged to be married to a lovely young girl. Preparations were going on for the approaching nuptials, when a noble young Spaniard came to visit the mayor — son of one who had befriended and entertained the mayor during a recent visit to Spain. Young Fitzstephen had one great fault—jealousy. He became so intensely jealous of the Spaniard that in a moment of blind rage, seeing him leaving the house of the girl with whom he was in love, he accused him of treachery and in his mad fury slew him. ' The grief and consternation of the worthy mayor when the body was found were uncontrollablebut' when his son Walter stepped forth out of the awe-struck throng and in a tone of forced calm acknowledged his guilt, the father was stupefied. There was but one courss to pursue and that course the unfortunate young man desired to follow he must give his own life for the life he had taken Recovering from the first shock, tho people begged the father to have pity. All pleaded earnestly for him the wife, the _ mother, the friends, the sweetheart who. had been the innocent cause of all the trouble. But Mavor Fitzstephen was inexorable. Honor and justice demanded full expiation. In order to avoid the gathering of the people, ho set the execution for an early hour in the morning. Citizens were appointed >o watch the prison, and an effort was to be made to rescue the young man on his way to the scaffold. But while tho populace surged to

and .fro before the house, the father -himself- led his son more than willing, even eager thus to atoneto the second storey of the mansion, placed a rope about his neck and launched him from a window directly over the entrance door. The history adds that the father never left his house again his heart was broken. All that remains of the scene of this tragedy is a portion of the front wall of the house. In this are two Gothic doorways. Over one is the coat-of-arms of the Lynches, over the second, and beneath the window from which Walter Fitzstephen was hanged, are the ‘ crossbones.’ In 1649 Cromwell had besieged Drogheda, which then, as now, extended on both sides of the Boyne. The walls encircling the town were a mile and a half in length, twenty feet high, and from four to six feet thick. Of. the eleven massive gateways only one remains standing. From there he went to Wexford, and the frightful tragedy of the Bull Ring, as the market-place was called, still lives green in Irish memories. There three hundred women of all ages and rank knelt before the cross nraying for mercy, and there tho brutal soldiery murdered every one. In the height of the carnage a priest appeared bearing aloft a crucifix, encouraging his helpless people, until he, too, was stricken down.

Strongly built and fortified, Wexford was easily in a position to make favorable terms with the enemy. It was defended by a brave and experienced garrison, and in case of siege would have held out and probably defeated the besiegers. Four gentlemen of position in the town were appointed to treat with Oliver Cromwell in behalf of the people. One of these, James Stafford, was captain of the castle, which, being built on a height, commanded the walls of Wexford. While the governor and inhabitants were awaiting Cromwell's reply, this man, for a price, delivered up the keys of the castle, and the besiegers were thus treacherously enabled to enter. Singularly enough, the priest mentioned above, who died at his post, was Father Raymond Stafford, of the same name and race as the betrayer.

The story of the city of Limerickthe scene of the greatest struggle for Irish liberty— is one to stir the. blood. Indissolubly connected with it is the name of Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan. Besieged by the enemy, it was saved by Sarsfield’s bravery, and Sarsfield’s ride is a matter of history. With a hostile army at its gates, the city was making active preparations for defence, when a deserter informed Sarsfield that a large train of artillery was expected to be in the English camg,Jn a day or two, and that there would lie no organised attack until it arrived. It was then that Sarsfield determined on the brave attempt which has passed into history as Sarsfield’s ride. - Waiting until night, he rode out, with a body of. picked : men, in a directly opposite route to that from which the siege train was expected in order to mislead > any" possible watchers. Under the guidance of a gentleman who, refined and highly educated, was yet an outlaw’ because of his faith, they journeyed through the country, over mountain and valley, making a wide circuit until, by degrees, they stole nearer and nearer to the artillery train and its escort. They rested all the following day among, the mountains and when darkness fell again started out. There was but one thing wanting that Sarsfield might not spring his mine too soon —the watchword for the night in the enemy’s camp An Irish trooper, whose horse was lame, was obliged to drop behind the rest. On his road he encountered an Englishwoman, the wife of one of the soldiers, bhe had lost her way and was utterly at sea when the goodhearted soldier came across her. Ho mounted her on. his horse until they reached a path from which he could show her where to reach the English camp. Grateful for his kindness, she gave him the countersign. It was Sarsfield ! So secretly and carefully had the Irish made their way tin ough the hills, and so true to the cause were the peasantry, that the English convoy had no suspicion of danger until the sentries caught the tread of horses and heard the ord: ‘Sarsfield!’ Even then they suspected nothing until the Irish were upon them, and in a short time. the work was done. _ The guns, the baggage, powder, and stores of every kind were piled upon the loaded cannon their muzzles were buried in the ground, and with , a roar and a flash that were heard at Limerick, the whole train was blown into the air.

The memorable devotion of the women of Limerick has passed into history. ; After the English had beaten the men from their posts they urged them back to the conflict boldly standing in the breach even nearer to the foe than the men, and fighting. for nearly three hours, throwing stones, bottles, and every available missile down on the heads of the assailants. To this splendid heroism Kinc Williams own historian attributes his defeat—' foiled ht a v/oman's hand before a battered wall.' ; ; ' >.C ; .r Limerick was victorious that time, but Kinc William determined that it must be won. The Irish, with Sari field, were determined to defend it to the last. A vear after the gallant defence recorded above it „was once more a battlefield—one on which the fortunes of the campaign were to bo decided: the M great Irish struggle for »«£ a generation, &fa *«»«y

A proclamation was issued. In return for the surrender of Limerick the inhabitants were to be granted civil liberty and liberty of conscience the Irish noblemen were to be given back their estates. Full and free pardon was offered to all the garrison and their officers, and employment in the king's service for all who desired to enter it. In spite of Sarsfield, in spite of the protest of a great number among the defendants, a parley was agreed upon. To the bitter grief and indignation of many in the city of Limerick, the treaty was signed. The Irish forces were drawn up in array, at liberty to return to their homes, take service with King William, or enter the ranks of the -French Army. Every inducement was made to the men to enroll under the English banner, but the number of those who chose to follow Sarsfield and fight for France was fourteen thousand. About a thousand of the soldiers enlisted in the English service. As for the agreement, it is enough to say that Limerick is known as the City of the Violated Treaty. From Limerick we go to Blarney— famous castle which was built by a McCarthy many hundreds of years ago. Near the top of the south side of the castle is the famous Blarney Stone. This stone is popularly supposed to possess wonderful qualities which are said to be communicated to the fortunate kisser. If a maiden kiss it she will be lucky in finding a husband, if a young man kiss it he will grow so . eloquent that neither man nor woman can withstand him. About three miles south of Blarney is Cork, derived from the Irish word corrach, a marsh. A little to the north of the city is a grsve in which rests one of Ireland's poets and novelists, Gerald Griffin. Having tasted of life's joys and felt its woes, he forsook the glitter of the world and became a humble Christian Brother. He is buried in the cemetery of the Brothers, North Cork. Scattered in the valley of Glendalough are rounded stones which bear on their sides a certain resemblance to loaves of bread. These, wo, are told, were once real loaves which a woman was carrying under her apron, for it was a time of great scarcity, and she hid them for fear any one would ask to share her store. Meeting St. Kevin, she told him she was carrying stones. 'lf what you say be not true,' returned the saint, 'I pray that they may become such for your punishment,' and instantly the loaves turned to stone and rolled upon the ground. In Glendalough is shown the Giant's Cut, a curious cleft right through the rock, made by the great Fion MacCoul nearly three hundred years before St. Kevin. St. Kevin's Kitchen is close to this famous spot, in which are shown St. Kevin's griddle cakes.

A short drive from the city of Belfast one comes across the ancient Irish cromlech called the Giant's Ring. Neither .history nor tradition can inform us for what use this great circular enclosure of more than two acres was erected. An outer wall was built round the embankment some years ago to preserve it from depredation. - There is, of course, a popular legend connected with the Giants' Ring. The giant—he who built the' Causeway— with his wife one day, divorced her on the spot, and tore the wedding ring from her finger. Fearing that if he threw it into the sea the waves would bring- it hack, he flung it inland with all his strength. It fell on this spot, and he sent all the sappers and miners of his army to cover it with earth. There it still remains. The giant having committed the sin of divorce, subsequently erected the altar to appease the gods. To look at the ruined castle of the O'Donnells, one could scarcely dream of the stirring events that marked the life of its most notable lord—Red Hugh. The English, fearing him, had him kidnapped and imprisoned. He escaped, only to be captured again. Again escaping at the end of the fourth year of incarceration, he was pursued and hunted and sheltered by turn until he reached Tyrconnel, where he was received by his own clansmen with tumultuous joy. A party of marauders, sent by Bingham, had driven out the monks from the monastery close by, and established themselves there, issuing forth at times to plunder the city. Without delay O'Donnell ordered them to leave—which they did, and the monks returned, to pray for Hugh Roe, one of the bravest Irish chieftains that ever drew a sword.— Benziger's Magazine.