[a] This was written, it should be remembered, some years ago.

Part IV

No two journeys to these islands are alike.  This morning I sailed with the steamer a little after five o’clock in a cold night air, with the stars shining on the bay.  A number of Claddagh fishermen had been out all night fishing not far from the harbour, and without thinking, or perhaps caring to think, of the steamer, they had put out their nets in the channel where she was to pass.  Just before we started the mate sounded the steam whistle repeatedly to give them warning, saying as he did so—­

’If you were out now in the bay, gentlemen, you’d hear some fine prayers being said.’

When we had gone a little way we began to see the light from the turf fires carried by the fishermen flickering on the water, and to hear a faint noise of angry voices.  Then the outline of a large fishing-boat came in sight through the darkness, with the forms of three men who stood on the course.  The captain feared to turn aside, as there are sandbanks near the channel, so the engines were stopped and we glided over the nets without doing them harm.  As we passed close to the boat the crew could be seen plainly on the deck, one of them holding the bucket of red turf, and their abuse could be distinctly heard.  It changed continually, from profuse Gaelic maledictions to the simpler curses they know in English.  As they spoke they could be seen writhing and twisting themselves with passion against the light which was beginning to turn on the ripple of the sea.  Soon afterwards another set of voices began in front of us, breaking out in strange contrast with the dwindling stars and the silence of the dawn.

Further on we passed many boats that let us go by without a word, as their nets were not in the channel.  Then day came on rapidly with cold showers that turned golden in the first rays from the sun, filling the troughs of the sea with curious transparencies and light.

This year I have brought my fiddle with me so that I may have something new to keep up the interest of the people.  I have played for them several tunes, but as far as I can judge they do not feel modern music, though they listen eagerly from curiosity.  Irish airs like ‘Eileen Aroon’ please them better, but it is only when I play some jig like the ’Black Rogue’—­which is known on the island—­that they seem to respond to the full meaning of the notes.  Last night I played for a large crowd, which had come together for another purpose from all parts of the island.

About six o’clock I was going into the schoolmaster’s house, and I heard a fierce wrangle going on between a man and a woman near the cottages to the west, that lie below the road.  While I was listening to them several women came down to listen also from behind the wall, and told me that the people who were fighting were near relations who lived side by side and often quarrelled about trifles, though they were as good friends as ever the next day.  The voices sounded so enraged that I thought mischief would come of it, but the women laughed at the idea.  Then a lull came, and I said that they seemed to have finished at last.