Part 7

The earliest notice of the town dates from the time of St. Fin Barre, who flourished about the seventh century. He founded an ecclesiastical establishment on the south side of the chief channel of the Lee, and it ultimately attained to a high reputation among the schools of Ireland. Then the Danes, after repeatedly plundering it, took a fancy to settling down here themselves, and carried on a somewhat flourishing commerce until the Anglo-Norman invasion. At that time the ruling power was in the hands of Dermot McCarthy, Lord of Desmond, who promptly made submission to Henry II. on his arrival in 1172, and did him homage. For a long period the English held the place against the Irish, living in a state of almost perpetual siege. They were compelled, Holinshed says, "to watch their gates hourlie, to keepe them shut at service time, at meales, from sun to sun, nor suffer anie stranger to enter the citie with his weapon, but the same to leave at a lodge appointed." Camden also describes it as "a little trading town of great resort, but so beset by rebellious neighbors as to require as constant a watch as if continually besieged."

Cork took an active part in the disturbed history of the Middle Ages. It declared for Perkin Warbeck, and the mayor, John Walters, was hanged for abetting his pretensions. It was made the headquarters of the English forces during the Desmond rebellion. In 1649 it surrendered to Cromwell, who is said to have ordered the bells to be melted for military purposes, saying that, "since gunpowder was invented by a priest, he thought the best use for bells would be to promote them into cannons."

A noticeable event in its history was the siege by William III.'s army under Marlborough and the Duke of Wurtemburg, when the garrison surrendered after holding out five days; the Duke of Grafton was killed on this occasion.

Numerous monastic establishments were founded in early times, nearly all traces of which, as well as of its walls and castles, have been swept away. In the southwestern district of the city is the old cathedral, small and very unlike what a cathedral should be. St. Fin Barre, the founder of the cathedral, was born in the neighborhood of Bandon, and died at Cloyne in 630. His first religious establishment was in an island in Lough Gouganebarra, but about the beginning of the seventh century he founded another on the south bank of the Lee, which became the nucleus of the city of Cork. He was buried here in his own church, and his bones were subsequently enshrined in a silver case; but these relics were carried away by Dermot O'Brien when he plundered the city in 1089. There is little of general interest in the subsequent history of the see. In 1690, at the siege of Cork, a detachment of English troops took possession of the cathedral and attacked the south fort from the tower; the cathedral was so much damaged that it was taken down in 1734 and another erected. With the exception of the tower, which was believed to have formed part of the old church, it was a modern Doric building, with a stumpy spire of white limestone. The mode in which the funds were raised for its erection was the levying of a tax on all the coal imported for five years. This building stood until 1864, when it was taken down in order to erect the present structure upon its site. A cannon-ball fired during the siege of 1690 was found in the tower, forty feet from the ground, and is now on a bracket within the cathedral. In laying the foundations, three distinct burial-places were found, one above the other, and the human remains found exhibited remarkable racial peculiarities.

St. Anne Shandon Church is at the foot of Church Street, off Shandon Street, at the north side of the city; it was built in 1722, and is remarkable for its extraordinary tower, one hundred and twenty feet high, surmounted by a graduated turret of three stories, faced on two sides with red stone, and on the others with limestone.

"Party-colored, like the people, Red and white stands Shandon steeple."

It contains a peal of bells, immortalized by "Father Prout" in the famous lyric:

"... The Bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the River Lee."

They bear the inscription: "We were all cast at Gloucester, in England.--Abel Rudhall, 1750." "Father Prout" is buried in the church-yard of Shandon. Shandon derives its name from _Seandun_ (old fort); the name was given to the church of St. Mary, from its near neighborhood to Shandon Castle, an old seat of the Barrys.

On the way down to Queenstown we passed Passage West, a pretty village embosomed in woods, and a considerable place of call, both for travelers and others bound up and down the river. "Father Prout" has sung its praises:

"The town of Passage is both large and spacious, And situated upon the say; 'Tis nate and dacent, and quite adjacent To come from Cork on a summer's day.

"There you may slip in and take a dippin' Forenent the shippin' that at anchor ride; Or in a wherry cross o'er the ferry To Carrigaloe, on the other side."

Near here is Monkstown, where Anastasia Gould, wife of John Archdeckan, while her husband was absent in a foreign land, determined to afford him a pleasant surprise by presenting him with a castle on his return. She engaged workmen and made an agreement with them that they should purchase food and clothing solely from herself. When the castle was completed, on balancing her accounts of receipt and expenditure, she found that the latter exceeded the former by fourpence. Probably this is the first example on record of truck practice on a large scale. She died in 1689, and was buried in the ground of the adjoining ruined church of Teampull-Oen-Bryn, in which is a monument to her memory.

Queenstown extends for a considerable distance along the northern coast of the harbor, and from its fine situation and the mildness of its climate ranks high among the southern watering-places. Queen Victoria landed here on August 3, 1849, of which she has written as follows: "To give the people the satisfaction of calling the place 'Queenstown,' in honor of its being the first spot on which I set foot upon Irish ground, I stepped on shore amidst the roar of cannon and the enthusiastic shouts of the people."

We visited many banks at various towns during our trip, and were courteously received by the managers. The Irish banks are managed on the branch system, Belfast and Dublin being the headquarters for the parent corporations. Belfast for the most part takes care of the northern part of the island, and Dublin the southern. These institutions are very prosperous and are conservatively managed by intelligent men. Banks are established in all towns of any importance, and where the population is large they usually number half a dozen.

At Queenstown we went on board the Cunard steamer _Etruria_, on Sunday morning, bound for New York. The company's popular agent, Mr. E. Dean, obtained the captain's cabin for me on the upper deck, and in many other ways "killed me with kindness." On looking back I find that my highest expectations of the trip were all fulfilled, and I have nothing but pleasant memories in connection with it. There were, of course, some bad moments, and for that matter, bad days; but they are all forgotten in the recollection of the kindly Irish people and the interesting land in which they live. I cannot recall a single cross word or hard look given me by any one during the entire trip, excepting in the Derry Customs, and that doesn't count. We traveled over three hundred and fifty miles on jaunting-cars, making use of twenty-three of them. We traversed the counties of Donegal, Leitrim, Sligo, Mayo, and Clare, and used some ten different boats and steamers in completing our journey.

To the readers of this very imperfect sketch I would say that should they ever think of following in our footsteps, they should fully consider the drawbacks and inconveniences incident to the journey before deciding to start. They will meet with wet days, some cheerless, damp hotels, and sometimes poor cooking; they will probably not be able to get on as quickly or conveniently as I did, for I was born in Ireland and know the ways of the country and its people. But if they have in them the innate desire to see some of the finest natural scenery in the world, and by all odds the greatest display of verdure in all its varying shades and colors, then perhaps they may risk the many disappointing conditions that must be overcome if they would see Ireland at its best.

"Immortal little island! no other land or clime Has placed more deathless heroes in the Pantheon of Time."

THE END

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.

End of Project Gutenberg's On an Irish Jaunting-car, by Samuel G. Bayne