The Wild Goose/Number 1
A Collection of Ocean Waifs.
To Our Readers.
From the frozen north, past the past the smiling shores of the lakes, brilliant in silvery moonlight Island of Destiny,—where so oft I have lingered in great luxurious lakes, brilliant in silvery moonlight, slept on the bosoms of its singing rivers, and shrieked in wild freedom o'er its verdant hills,—far o'er the broad Atlantic, on adventurous wing,—the leader of my flock,—I have flown, to cheer you on your weary way with my homely notes. Ill natured people may incline to call this cackling; but I scorn the insinuation. When the notes of a goose—a mere tame slave of a creature—saved the Capitol of mighty Rome, was that cackling? Ans(w)er! Not that I mean to say that a wild goose has not a privilege to cackle sometimes,—for instance after having made a lay, and on many other legitimate occasions, of all which I intend to avail myself.
I’ve dipped my wings in the emerald spray of Erin’s waters, scanned the pathless Ocean’s waifs on my way hitherward, and with retrospective eye, have contemplated the land of pilgrimage and pride of the "Wild Geese" of other days,—to bring your memories of home and friends, of wives and sweethearts, and of scents and songs of fatherland, ever dear to the wanderer.
I will aim to console you for the past, to cheer you for the present, and to strengthen you for the future. But it beseems not so shy a Bird to promise too much, nor must I flatter myself that I shall be as welcome to you as one of more melodious throat or gaudier plumage; yet welcome I trust shall be here where all else is strange, and that each new weekly visitant may be still more welcome,—welcome not alone for the news it brings to keep your memories green, but also that it may prove of interest to all to watch the changing flight of the flock, and read the mystic story they trace as they pass on their airy flight to the shores of that far, strange land of our destined exile.
Who has not heard of the ancient fairy lore of Erin; of the pagan rites and incantations of the Danuans, when every hill, ruth, fountain, and ruin of Innisfail, had its own guardian genius; or which of us has not listened, with rapt attention, to the legendary traditions which we heard in our boyhood, of the adventurous deeds of Milesian heroes, or of the no less exciting and marvelous records of enchantments and spells, performed by some demoniacal witch, to cross the daring exploits of heroes, in their pursuit of love or war? How often around the quite and happy homes of our childhood, have we been hushed to rest by beloved lips, perchance, ere now, for ever silent in death, singing to us croons and lullabies of warriors and men long since departed! Amid the bustle and excitement of maturer years, those snatches of a melody, and those tales of other days will sometimes come crowding along the field of memory, bringing vividly to our recollection the calm and halcyon days of our parents' homesteads.
Before the benign influence of Christianity shed its halo of heavenly glory over the Island of Saints, no one, perhaps, of the witches, fairies or goblins or Eirie, exercised such sway, or was held in such dread, as Cliodhna, the Queen of the Munster Fairies. All round the borders of the green Isle, her name was celebrated as a being possessed of more than matchless power and many a witch bumbled over her incantations, as the name of the dreaded Queen was mentioned. From the enchanted shores of Lough Lene, around the seaside, to the farther borders of a Thomond, or North Munster, none dared dispute her sway, or enter the magical ring to compete with her, in a tourney of supernatural skill. She is described by the poets and storytellers of Ireland, as a young woman possessed of more than mortal charms; and, like some of the goddesses of Grecian mythology, she seems to have been passionately fond of earthly lovers, and her principal occupation was, by means of her magical rites, to assume various disguises, and thus seduce young men from their allegiance to their sweethearts. Many a lovely daughter of Erin shook with dread when she thought of the hateful influence of the all-powerful enchantress, and innumerable were the charms, and talismans employed, to counteract her diabolical arts. From the high-born and proud daughter of the King, and beautiful maiden of the cottage, all, without any distinction, prayed for the preservation of lover or brother, from the seductions of the dreaded enchantress. Others, vowed offerings, and dedicated feasts, to propitiate her good will, and though she seems never to have been regarded with veneration, yet, perhaps, she had more worshipers than any other traditional divinities of Ireland. Her principal place of resort was Carrig Cliodhna, or the Rock of Cliodhna generally, a picturesque and barren mass of stone, rising abruptly from the level land lying round. It is not necessary nowadays, to give the ancient Irish name of the district in which this famous rock was situated. Numerous were the places which claimed the honour of having it in its locality, and like to the cities of ancient Greece, which severally claimed to be the birthplace of Homer, so, also, many places in Munster had its own Carrig Cliodhna which was looked to with mingled feelings of awe and fear, by the neighbouring inhabitants. The place which we will fix on for her residence in the following story, is that situated in the parish of Donoughmore, barony of East Muskerry, County of Cork. It is a pile of grey massive rock rising perpendicularly to the height of 20 or 30 feet above the surrounding country and occupying an area of about one acre of land. The neighbouring district is rather hilly and mountainous; particularly to the south and west, where the Bogra hills form a connecting link, between that the continuation of the Rocks in Kerry and the Bullyhoura and Nagle mountains which were offshoots from the lordly Gullies. To the north, the rock looks down on the rich valley of the Blackwater, from which river it is distant, about six or seven miles, and the view extends far away over the wide champaign lands of Duhallow, than which there is not a fairer or more fertile district in our beautiful and beloved Island.
(To be continued.)
Latest News.
Earth, Sky, and Sea.
General Telegraph Co. (Unlimited.).
From the Supernal Spheres, Nov. 1
A tremendous banquet given to the Gods last night by Bacchus, which shows they hallow-een earthly festivals. Jupiter took soda-water and brandy this morning, and a similar report has been maliciously been circulated concerning the ox-eyedd lady. Phoebus quite choleric; Kicked Caelus out of the sky for breathing too heavily; indisposed towards evening, and retired to bed rather early.
Nov. 2.—Venus visited at the man in the Moon. Diana threatened to scratch her eyes out. Celestial court greatly scandalized.
Marine Regions.Nov.9th.—Squalls ahead. Neptune thinks he has enough of finny uns in his dominions and is incensed at the thought of a fresh influx of these turbulent beings. When they reach the line he is determined to hook them, if they don't hook it.
Abyssinia, via Cape Verde, Nov 9th.—It is generally believed that the assistance of the Emperor Theodore is at an end, since the British troops have Gon-dar.
The Markets.
Tobacco not to be had at any price; holders unwilling to part with the commodity—Great demand for preserved potatoes and plum-duff.—Water scarce, and of an inferior quality.—Pork rather higher than usual and still advancing.—Biscuit getting livelier.—Chocolate a drug in the market.—Tea rather flat.—Oatmeal steady.
Our entire staff, "devil" and all, have been fairly driven to their wits' ends to concoct something to fill up this little corner, and have utterly failed.
Answers to Correspondents.
"One who fears rats."—better bear with the rats than become acquainted with the cat.
"Peter."—Yes; all Scilly people are English.
"Ignorance."—A latitudinarian is a man who finds the latitude at sea and elsewhere. A vegetarian is a man who grows vegetables. Why don’t you buy a dictionary?
"Enquirer."—Very little is known of the first settlers of central Africa; but the supposition that it was colonized by an Irish Chieftain named Tim Buctoo appears to be a popular error.
"One eager to learn."—Your question, to say the very least that can be said about it, is abound, and betrays your unfounded ignorance. However we will condescend to enlighten you. First, then, Mexico is an island in the Red Sea, from which it is evident it takes its name. Its inhabitants are of a light blue color, and not black as you supposed. They are very industrious people, but they never work on holidays (of which they have 365 in the year.) On those gala days their dress is richer than usual, being composed of a pair of spectacles and a bludgeon; on all other days they vary their costume by omitting the spectacles. Their Government is a despotic anarchy, and they are very happy under it, indeed. We cannot devote any more of our valuable space to you; but if you wish to become thoroughly acquainted with this subject we advise you to study the "London Directory" for 1612.
We should be very sorry to injure anyone, even unintentionally; and, if we have done so we will be willing to make reparation. Will "Endymion," then kindly inform us in what way we have deserved his ill will, that he should inflict on us such trash as his "Plaint to the Moon".
"A Constant Reader."—We don’t believe it possible to cozen the captain out of the sheep shanks made by the crew; neither do we think they would improve the soup.
"They’ll come again when south winds blow."
SATURDAY, NOV. 9th 1867.
Home Thoughts.
In our passage through this world we sought wisdom by a stern monitor,—Experience. Pain, and sorrow and suffering, take each their part in giving to us the golden lesson; and but for their powerful influence the end of our pilgrimage would often be dark and cheerless, although the path itself might have been lighted up by the false glaze of excitement and pleasure. By their rude discipline our minds are prepared for the mild and soothing balm and consolation of religion, and rendered softer and better in our intercourse with our fellow-man. They tame the wayward heart of the thoughtless youth and turn his pliable mind to the truer and more enduring pleasure of home with all its endearing ties of parental love and brotherly affection; and they tone down the stranger passions of maturer years and guide the mind in that strait and oft-neglected way that alone leads to true and perfect happiness. "Sweet are the uses of Adversity," wrote the poet; and in that brief sentence is enclosed a truth worthy of deep consideration. But Divine Wisdom has not ordained that sufferings and errors are the only beneficial influences that act upon us. It is not by adversity alone that we are rendered good or happy. There are certain powers or facilities of the mind which, if nourished and cultivated, will shed a mild and steady light on our path through life and will keep the loftier and better part of our nature green and vigorous. Best and foremost amongst those powers of the soul is that beautiful and mysterious feeling of love and reverence that attaches to the word "home." Dear is that word to our hearts at all times,—dear even in its most limited sense, and when we are enjoying its peace, its blessings, and its affections; but oh! inexpressibly dear is that little word to the weary wanderer! To him its significance is limitless—everything his heart yearns after—Country, wife, child, brother, friend! all are enveloped in its mystic charm; and though wandering far, far away from the scenes of his joyous youth and merry boyhood, the purer part of his nature returns thither, and revels in dreams o'er the beloved haunt of the dim and dreary past. Yes, dear to the wanderer are those memories; they are shrined in the bosom of the emigrant, who, from his adopted home, looks not back to, nor thinks of, the dark cloud of want and misery or the cruel hand of oppression that drew him from the home of his fathers; they lighten the path of the mariner tossed about in the wild waves of the trackless deep; they cheer the heart of the tired soldier, who sleeping beside the bivouac fire, lives again his happiest years in the bright but visionary scenes of dreamland. They are dear to all, and one cherished by all, but deeper, purer, stronger than the love of the emigrant, the sailor, or the soldier, is that changeless and undying devotion that lives in the heart of the exile. To him the word has holy signification,—a power that embodies within itself everything that men can cheris. It conjures up the spirits of the past from their shadowy dwellings, and paints with vivid pencil the beloved features of the beloved dead. It carries him far away from the stern realities of the present; and, although in his retrospective journey he may again behold many saddening scenes, and indulge in reflections of happy days forever vanished, still he lingers fondly o'er the heart-cherished picture, and loves it all the dearer for every pang it afflicts on him. And is it better thus? What language can expose the baseness of the wretch who, through fear of causing pain to himself, would cast away and ignore forever the good and holy thoughts and memories that are etched upon him by the name and recollection of our childhood's home? If there exist such a being, let us speak of him in the words of our poet:—
"Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever;
Blessings shall hallow it
Never, oh! Never."
But why should we speak thus? Surely never, or rarely indeed, has our fair little country produced so degenerate a son. No, no!—wild, volatile, thoughtless, reckless, we may be called—but that stigma is undeserved. We love the little isle that it has pleased God to make our motherland. In her few smiles, in her many tears, and in her countless sufferings, we love her. The blessed hope of returning again to her genial soil, and to the dear ones left behind, will five us strength to bear and brave the worst; and, until then, this pain, and regret, and sorrow, we will still look back and pray for her and for them with the true, unwavering love only known to Exiles.
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Farewell.
Farewell! Oh how hard and how sad 'tis to speak
That last word of parting—forever to break
The fond ties and affection that cling round the heart
From home and from friends and from country to part.
'Though it grieves to remember, 'tis vain to regret.
The sad word must be spoken, and memory's spell
Now steals o'er me sadly. Farewell! Oh farewell!
Farewell to thy green hills, thy valleys and plains,
My poor blighted country! In exile and chains
Are the sons doomed to linger. Of God who didst bring
Thy children to Zion from Egypt's proud king,
We implore Thy great mercy! Oh stretch forth Thy hand,
And guide back her sons to their poor blighted land.
Never more thy fair face am I destined to see;
E'en the savage loves home, but 'tis crime to love thee.
God bless thee, dear Erin, my loved one, my own,
Oh! how hard 'tis these tendrils to break that have grown
Round my heart. But 'tis over, and memory's spell
Now stears o'er me sadly. Farewell! Oh, Farewell!
"Hougoumont," Oct 12th, 1867
Prison Thoughts.
Whilst to and fro my prison cell I trace
The drear elliptical course with constant feet,
Thought spurns restraint, and, eager to embrace
Loved friends and scenes, speeds far on pinions float?.
Between the bars the golden sunbeams stray,
And whisper stories of the world outside
And joyous sparrows twitter all the day,
as if my prison sorrows to deride.
Back in the past! I am a child,
Kneeling at mother's side in reverent prayer
Before God's awful throne. In accents mild
She prays the Lord her boy to make his care.
To guide his steps, from sin to keep him free,
Then teaches me the Sacred Page to read,
That I must bow to His all-wise decree,
And always praise, and pray in hour of need.
In childhood's cloudy hour, who soothed my woes,
And kissed off my cheek each falling tear,
And lulled me to her breast in sweet repose:
best friend of earthly mould,—my mother dear.
In far Arcadia lies her sacred dust,
her sainted spirit dwells in zealness of light,
Whilst I—my only hope that God is just,
A living death must suffer in the night.
Methinks I breath the hallowed atmosphere,
Around that grave, and gain new strength therefrom:
My heart her cenotaph contains—writ there,
Thy will, O God! be done, Thy Kingdom come!"
Millbank, July, 1867
A Leap for Liberty
Immediately after the late rising of in Kerry, the committer of the following incident was compelled to fly home in consequence of the rigid search kept up by her majesty’s troops, 2,000 of whom had their canvass pitched and their bivouac fires lighted amongst the romantic mountains that lie to the west of the beautiful and far-framed Lakes of Killarney. The search was kept up for more than a fortnight, during which time they climbed all the peaks and crags, and explored the beautiful valleys, before they were satisfied that the tired rebels had retired to their homes and abandoned the revolutionary movement.
After many hair-breadth escapes and adventures too numerous to relate here, I succeeded in making my way to London, where I was enjoying myself in the society of some friends but this was too bright a state of things to last; for even then the cunning detectives were on my trail and before a month was at an end, I was in their custody, with a pair of steel bracelets on my wrists, sitting between two of them in the coupée of a first class railway carriage bound for Ireland at the rate of fifty miles an hour. What various feelings came over me as I started on that journey!—Feelings that I now find utterly impossible to describe, such as I had never before experienced in my life. My liberty was gone, and I felt it severely; for a few weeks had only passed away since I was treading the beautiful hills of Kerry, free as the eagle that soars over the steep crags from which the take their name. I thought the adventures and hardships I had encountered to preserve that liberty; and now that a foul hand was laid upon me, I fancied I could not breath freely, and my heart swelled with fierce and bitter feelings. I had not been five minutes locked in the train when the thought of escape flowed through my brain, and all my energies were instantly at work. In a moment my plan was struck,—I would induce my guards to remove my handcuffs, and then take a desperate leap to liberty; and now my pulse was beating quickly at the approach of danger. I knew I would risk my life in the attempt; but what was life without liberty, if once outside that carriage window I was free again—but how could that be accomplished, sitting between two armed policemen with my hands firmly bound, both doors of the compartment locked, and the train dashing along at lightning speed. The handcuffs were so tight that my wrists swelled. I complained oft, and my captors, after some hesitation took them off. They had nothing to fear. The door was locked and the train was travelling at a furious rate. But they did not know how dearly I loved my liberty. I found myself served at this moment with tremendous thought. I started suddenly to my feet, and in a second the two men found themselves unexpectedly on the floor of the carriage. I dashed open the windows, placed my hands on the ledge, and sprang out into the darkness. I felt or fancied that I was whirled about in the air before I reached the ground. Then all was blank.
My senses had left me but again gradually revived, and I found myself sitting on the ground. Everything around me had a deathlike stillness. At first I was unconscious of what had occurred; but a picture of the scene, by degrees, came over my dizzy brain. I thought it was a dream until I heard the hoarse puffing of the train gradually dying away in the distance, and felt my hands clutching the gravel. I felt faint but, with a strong effort struggled to my feet.
I was free again! But I am sorry to say it did not last long; for, in four days after, I was in the same train, under a stronger escort, on my way to the old country, to stand my trial for treason-felony of which I was found guilty and am now on board the "Hougoumont" bound for Western Australia.
Australia.
As our readers we presume would be grateful for a truthful account of the land to which we are going, and where they will probably sojourn for a lengthened period, we of our great good nature, condescend to impart to them some interesting particulars concerning that vast island, the knowledge of which may exercise beneficial influence on their future course of life. It is perhaps superfluous to say that our statements may be implicitly relied on. Australia is surrounded by water, and the sun is visible there during the day, when not obscured by clouds. Excellent authority informs us that, luminary is of material service to cooks, enabling them to dispense with the ordinary process of boiling and baking their meals over mere earthly fires. Native animals of various kinds, which may or may not be different from any we have ever seen, abound there: those which are not domesticated roaming about untamed, sustaining life by devouring what they eat. The chief production of the soil are ingenious for what we know or care. The island is as broad as it is long, and contains, as many square miles as its average length multiplied by its average breadth will produce. This great continent of the south, having been discovered by some Dutch skipper and his crew, somewhere between the 1st and 9th centuries of the Christian era, was, in consequence taken possession of by the government of Great Britain, in accordance with that just and equitable maxim, "What’s yours is mine; what's mine is my own." That magnanimous government in the kindly exuberance of their feelings, have placed a large portion of that immense tract of country called Australia at our disposal. Generously defraying all expenses incurred on our way to it, and providing retreats for us there to secure us from the inclemency of the seasons and the carnivorous propensities of the natives, neither through their forethought must we take thought of the morrow as to how we shall clothe ourselves, or as to what we shall eat or drink. The inhabitants of Australia are chiefly convicts and kangaroos. The student in ethnology may not be surprised to learn that the males are all sons of their mothers. Their chief employment is a very fowl occupation: this announcement is official. Their religious ceremonies are performed with a tedium not known elsewhere. The form of government is popular and particularly gives satisfaction to high officers of state who secure themselves ₤1,000 a year for life for obliging the people by enduring the fatigues of office for twelve months. As an evidence of the advanced state of civilization amongst the natives, the consumption of oysters and ale (from which the name of the country is derived) is so enormous, that we smack our lips at the bare idea, and fondly indulge in pleasing anticipations of the part we are destined to play in exterminating the mollusca of those vast seas, and draining the country of its vast potations. Gold was at one time so abundant, that the fair sex wore hair of that precious metal, but now it has become so scarce, that the Australians are reduced to the necessity of using "tin" as their medium of exchange.
Should an eager and intelligent public so far appreciate our labours as to demand a separate publication of this graphic and instructive sketch, our modesty may be so far overcome as to permit us to comply with their wishes; and we shall not only add copious notes, but comply the first actions to illustrate our work.
A Great quantity of our manuscript has been deliberately some careless person having sat on our slates. We have thus lost much valuable matter, for which mishap we intend to stop the grog of our "devil," which we hope will be satisfactory to the public.
We are happy to announce that a series of the popular evening concerts will be resumed on Monday, 11th inst. When an entirely new arrangement of the programme will be adopted.
The beautiful constellation of the Southern Cross is now visible nightly in the south—just above the horizon.
It is rumoured that five misses will be allowed on deck in turn each morning at four o'clock. for the purposes on bathing. We congratulate the public on this very necessary boon.
Wanted, a few critics; none need apply except gentlemen of undisputed talent and experience. Apply at this office.
Wanted, contributions of ice and cigars for use of editors and staff; all of which will be thankfully acknowledged.
Printed and published at the office, No 6 Mess, Intermediate Cabin, Ship "Hougoumont," for the editors, Messrs. John Flood, and J.B. O'Reilly, by J.E.K.
Registered for transmission abroad.