Memoir of Owen Peter Mangan 1838-1924

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Document ID 0505559
Date 01-08-1838
Document Type Diaries and Journals
Archive Heart of Breifne, 1984
Citation Memoir of Owen Peter Mangan 1838-1924;Copyright Retained by Mr Gerry Fitzgerald; CMSIED 0505559
27203
Memoir of Owen Peter Mangan 1838 - 1924


T.J. Barron

Reamhra

This is a memoir written by Owen Peter Mangan who 
was a native of 
Knockbride parish, Co Cavan, where he was born in 1838.  he wrote 
this extremely interesting account of his life in January 1912 as 
he says himself "for the benefit of his descendants" and it is one 
of these descendants, Mr Gerry Fitzgerald of New York, who has very 
kindly given us permission to publish it in The Heart of Breifne.  
In the 1984 issue of this fine journal we are publishing the first 
part of the Memoir - the account of Owen's life until he emigrated 
to England at the age of fifteen in March 1853.  The second part of 
the Memoir which will be published in the 1985 issue, le cuidiu De, 
deals with his life in England, his emigration to the U.S.A. in 1869 
and his life in, as the ballad makers used to say, 'Columbia, the 
land of the free'.  He died in June 1924, so obviously the dire 
hardships of his early days had not affected too seriously his 
strong and robust constitution.

It is interesting to note that Owen Mangan was born in the same 
district as Mary Jane Hill-Anderson (1827 - 1924) Part of whose 
enthralling Autobiography - that part dealing with her life in
Ireland - was published in the 1983 issue of this journal.  
Both these stories bring vividly before our eyes a picture of 
life in East Cavan before, during, and after, the Famine of 
1845-47.  It was a life of hardship, poverty and starvation 
enriched only by the glimpses we get of kindly people prepared 
to share with neighbours what little they had.  What a contrast 
with present day times, for example, is Owen's account of his 
journey to Drogheda where he spent a might sleeping in a house 
the owners of which had never known of him before that evening 
but who felt genuinely sorry for the young boy.  No need for 
strong locks or burglar alarms in those days of Christian
charity!

One would be tempted to comment at length on many aspects of the lifestyles 
portrayed in this Memoir and on such matters as education, linen weaving,
food, cruelty to children, travelling etc. etc. but this temptation has to 
be resisted and the account must be let speak for itself.  Perhaps at a 
future date we shall analyse in detail both Mary Jane Hill-Anderson's 

Autobiography and Owen Mangan's Memoir and from the information available 
in them write an account of life in this area of our county during those 
years of radical change in many aspects of life in Ireland.

We might just mention en passant the matter of population.  Cullies townland
in which Owen Mangan was born had, just before his birth 21 homes; today it has
but 12; Knockalosset nearby had then 35 homes but today it has but five.  It is regrettable that he does not make any reference at all to the language people 
spoke.  Irish would have been spoken by very many of the people he met particularly
in the 'mountains' in Knockbridge parish where his Aunty Betty lived but then
we must remember that he was telling the story of his life for the benefit of his 
descendants and happenings were all that mattered and not habits or customs 
except in so far as they affected his life.

As we read this Memoir we gradually begin to feel a great affection for this
young lad, Owen Mangan, who emerges from all his misadventures as a kindly 
enterprising and attractive young man whose outlook on life never became 
soured by the many quite horrendous events of his youth.  All emigrants 
from Ireland in those days were, to use the 'in' word at the moment, 
escapists, escapists from poverty and starvation, in short from a way of 
life that offered no hope of better things.  Owen, in a manner of speaking, 
had from early childhood learned to run away from circumstances that 
threatened danger.  Like so many other emigrants, as he crossed the 
broad Atlantic he looked back on poverty but forward to affluence. 
Owen, unlike many others, prospered.

Here then in his own words, is Owen Mangan's account of his childhood
years in Ireland; we have left it exactly as he wrote it; we have 
changed nothing but the punctuation which we have modernised and the 
spelling of words ending in 'our'; we have used the traditional English 
spelling rather that the American which Owen favoured e.g. we have 
changed 'favor' to 'favour'.  We also, of course, put in the sub-titles.

The Owen Peter Mangan Memoir

Life in Billy Hill 

I was born on the first Aug. 1838 in the townland called the Billy Hill 
in the Co. of Cavan, Ireland.  Now whether I was born on the first of 
August or not, I cannot say for a positive fact. Neither could my mother, 
but the nearest she could come to it was that I was a baby in arms the 
night of the big wind, which occurred on the 29th of January, 1839.  
And if I asked her how old I was on the night of the big wind she 
would always say I was a fine lump of a boy, and about six months old.  
Therefore I selected the first of Aug. 1838, as my birthday and held on 
to it through life in order to avoid conflicting statements of age.

My father was a drover, that is a man who buys cattle and drives them 
from town to town and sells to the highest bidder.  My mother's name 
was Connell; Margaret; she always claimed to be a relation of the great 
Dan O'Connell.(1) How she claimed relationship I cannot tell, though 
I suppose she told me but I have forgotten.

Her home was in the parish of Kill Co.Cavan.  I don't know how Father 
got acquainted with Mother, but he bought, before he got married, a 
nice little farm of 20 acres not far from Mother's people's home.(2)  
It was good, but he still kept droving cattle.  He was also owner 
of twenty acres of good land from which he


[Image displayed here]
This is a copy of the first page of the Memoir of Owen Peter Mangan, 
dated January 3rd, 1912.  It has been kindly made available by his 
great-grandson, Mr Gerry Fitzgerald, 817 West End Avenue, New York, 
N.Y.


raised enough to support his family which consisted of five sons, 
I being the youngest at the time of which I speak.

My mother was a fine, strong, healthy woman and took good care of the 
home when father was on the road selling his cattle.  In those early 
days there were no railroads, no means of shipping cattle from place 
to place except on foot, so that sometimes father would be away from 
home a long time travelling from town to town, buying and selling, and 
consequently Mother had the sole charge of the family and that was a 
big responsibility as there were five boys of us, and no sisters.
Therefore, it was not to be wondered if she complained a little of 
her hard lot.

Christmas of 1836 Father came home with a determination to try 
something else that would keep him more at home and at the same 
time enable him to keep the family.  About 3 miles from where we 
lived there was a very thriving town called Cootehill.  It was known 
all over Ireland for its flax market, which was held every second 
Wednesday of each month.  It occurred to Father that he might avail
himself of this market if he had something to sell.  But flax was 
out of his line.  After he and Mother deliberated for a long time 
they finally decided to go into the bacon, eggs, and butter 
business which they followed up for some time with profit. Still 
Father complained of having too much spare time on his hands, 
particularly in the Winter.

About 75 yards from our house there was a small lake? Although 
not large, it was very handsome and the water very good.  Whiskey 
making in Ireland at this time was very profitable, if you could 
do it without the government finding you out.  Here was a 
temptation for Father, nobody was better located that he.  Just
run a pipe underground to pump up the water and another to carry 
off the waste.  I mean the dirty water, washing off barrels, and 
so forth  Our house was about a quarter of a mile from the main 
road, and that was in his favour.  So, after talking it over 
with Mother he set to work, got everything necessary for the 
making of whiskey and followed it up for six months and was 
making money.  However an envious neighbour gave him away at 
the end of six months, whereupon he was arrested, tried,
found guilty, and sentenced to serve one year in the House 
of Correction.  After serving six months he took seriously 
ill.  He was sent home and died shortly after.  To add to 
Mother's affliction, a baby brother ten days old, died about 
the same time and was buried in the same grave with Father.  
I was then two years old, James was four, William six, John 
eight, Terence ten.

My poor mother was in great sorrow after her loss; how was 
she going to bring up a family of 5 tough boys on a small farm 
of 20 acres,  The nearest school was two miles away.  That was 
too far to send children on foot and cold.  My Father was a 
man who believed in educating children, and although he could 
hardly afford it, he employed a man to come in the evenings to 
our house and teach my brothers who were old enough to learn.  
This man's name was Francis Mullen.  He was educated for the 
priesthood, but in his Philosophical Year he changed his mind 
and became a schoolmaster.  His mother was living at the time 
he was teaching my brothers.  I remember nothing of him at this 
time, I being only two years old at the time of Father's death 
but I have heard since from my brothers that they all hated 
him cordially on account of his Mother who used to come and 
billet herself on Mother a week at a time.  Moreover he was 
cranky and bad tempered with my brothers although I am told 
he was very religious.(4)

However that may be I don't know, but I do know that he 
offered Mother his hand in marriage, which she accepted, and 
they were married in less than a year after Father's death. 

This event scattered our family so that we never after met 
under the same roof.  My older brother Terence hired with a 
farmer named Whitfield, a Quaker in religion, but by all 
accounts a good man.  He remained with him for five years 
and saved enough money to bring him to this country.  He 
settled down in New Orleans about 1845 and died with yellow 
fever in 1847. 

	Brother John went to sea and we never heard from him 
till the Fall of 1851.  We were living in Drogheda at the time. 
He found us out after much hard work and told us that he had 
been shipwrecked and lost everything he had but the clothes 
he had on. He stayed a week with us and then disappeared. 
We never saw or heard of  him from that day till this.
	William went to the North of England, I think it was 
Durham, and settled down. He married young. In 1857 he was 
suspected of  Fenianism and there was a warrant out for his 
arrest, but he stole away in the night and came out to this
country and settled down in Philadelphia. He brought out 
his family shortly after went into the coopering business 
and made money.
	After Mother got married, or shortly after, they sold 
out the farm and disposed of everything. They put James and me 
in the care of old Lettie Sharp.(5)  Then they started up to 
Dublin. How long they remained there I do not know.(6)
	At the time Mother married my stepfather I was only 
about three years old and brother James was five. We were both 
under the same care of an old woman, Lettie Sharp her name was, 
and she was as sharp as her name would imply.  "Oh didn’t
we get the stick!"; the last time I remember receiving a little 
taste of it was one night we were sent out to wash our feet 
in a little steam that meandered past our house, for we were 
living in the country at this time. It was I think in November
and the water was very cold, so cold that I only washed one 
foot, thinking I could fool the old woman. But no sir! She 
got her eye on the other black foot and down came the stick 
and a blackthorn at that!
Now we had been taking in potatoes that day and about ten 
barrels were filled up in the corner of the kitchen letting 
them dry previous to packing them away for the winter. There 
was a lot of straw round them to keep them from scattering 
round the kitchen. Well, when I saw the blackthorn coming 
I ran for safety and my only chance was, as I thought to 
mount the potato bin. So I made a run, but the blamed 
potatoes gave way under my weight, and the old woman could
just reach me with her stick. Well I kicked and roared and 
potatoes flew round the kitchen and it made the old lady 
more mad than ever. I thought when she would get through 
that I would never be able to walk again. Brother James 
scooted to bed but he had come down again to help me to 
get the potatoes in place again. This was I think, my 
first awakening to reason and I am sure it was the last 
time old Lettie Sharp used the blackthorn on me.
	Brother James went away the next day and found out 
where Mother was living. He came back and told me they 
were living in the county of Monaghan in a place called 
Raw and that my Stepfather was teaching school. I was 
then about five years old, so I stole off from old Lettie 
and brother James and I started off for Mother. What 
become of Brother James after that I never heard till 
I went to England years after. Someone bought me word 
that my Stepfater had a position in Drogheda and that 
James was living with him and was studying to be a 
druggist.  He did not remain long at that for the next 
I heard he was learning the drygoods with James Vallely 
& Co. in Newry. He remained there till the commencement 
of the war in Italy. He then joined the Pope’s army 
under Major O’Riely. He fought in many battles, got a 
slight wound in the knee, but got better and remained 
until Garibaldi won the day. Then the Pope’s army was 
disbanded and came back to Newry. He opened a gent’s 
furnishing store and made money fast. In a short time
he married a lady named Miss Murphy by whom he had 
one daughter. But she died young and the Mother 
lamented her loss so much that she did not long 
survive her.
	He came out to this country and left his 
family behind. He went into the linen business and 
made money and soon brought out his family. His wife 
did not enjoy good health and soon died leaving him 
with five children, four sons and a daughter, whom 
he gave a good education to. He died in 18?? from 
pneumonia.

A CHANGE OF SCENE

	Now I will leave my brothers and talk about 
myself. As I previously remarked, my first awakening 
was when old Lettie woke me up with the blackthorn 
for only washing one foot instead of two. Well, I 
remember the next impression I had was a clout on 
the earhole from my Stepfather for not having my
ABC’s off. My Stepfather was then teaching school 
under the government in the townland of Raw in the 
County Monaghan.(7) We lived happy there for about 
three years. Only one affliction got into our family. 
That was the smallpox which I caught in a neighbour’s 
house. I had only about fifty spots on me but my
stepbrother got it bad. It was a hard time for poor 
Mother but we got over it, thank  God.
	The next great event in my life, or rather 
the greatest wonder that I ever witnessed, occurred 
on Easter Sunday, to the best of my opinion in 1845. 
I have often heard tell of people talking about the 
sun dancing but I have never met with anyone who ever 
witnessed it but myself. Our house was built on the 
edge of a road facing a large meadow. It was low, 
flat country and when the sun rose there was nothing 
to obstruct our view. The morning was mild with a 
little fog rising from the meadow. My Stepfather was 
up early, no doubt he was looking for the Phenomena. 
All at once we heard his voice crying out "Mother get 
up! Children! get up, and see the sun dancing" We were 
all out in a minute. My Mother threw on a wrap and we 
fell on our knees outside the door. My Stepfather was 
saying the litany of Jesus. We remained there about 
fifteen minutes and by that time the sun had got so 
strong that the beautiful sight disappeared. I would 
like to give a description of how it appeared but I 
have not got the language. It appeared to send forth 
transparent leaves resembling shamrock. They rose up
in myriads from the sun and were wafted along the 
whole expanse of heaven and fell gently as snowflakes 
before our eyes in the meadow. It was the grandest 
sight I have ever seen and I got up many an Easter 
Sunday since, but never did see them (?) move.
	Those few years spend in Raw schoolhouse were 
the only years of my life that I can look back to as 
happy days of childhood. We left there when I was about
eight years old and settled down in another school 
near Cootehill in the county of Cavan.
	The reason that my Stepfather left the Raw 
schoolhouse was that he would not read passages out 
of the Protestant Bible to the children. But, strange 
to say, the Government employed him again and did not 
compel him to read the Bible. We remained there during 
the two terrible years of  famine and Oh! those were
awful times! I never, I think during those two years 
got a good square meal. 

	My Stepfather’s salary was only two pounds a 
year.(9)  In ordinary times we could live on it but in 
those days of famine it did not half supply our wants. 
But he got into two private families to teach their boys 
during the Winter and that helped out some. The teaching 
used to keep him out late of evenings. Mother would stay  
up and as a general rule would have a little snack (as 
she used to call it) for the Master when he would come 
home. I remember one night I went to bed and left no 
water in. It was my job to bring in the water and toward 
eleven o’clock I felt the bed clothes pulled off me and 
a well-known voice says "You went to bed and left no 
water, eh," and then I felt the sting of a willow switch 
round my Hardy that made me jump the height of myself. 
The well was out in a meadow about three hundred yards 
from the house. I had to cross a little bridge that 
spanned a running stream and we always fancied that 
ghosts or the old boy kept guard on the bridge looking 
out for bad boys at night. As luck would have it, it 
was a moonlight night and I could see anything if it 
came along, But still my heart was in my mouth till I
crossed the bridge coming back, and as I did not see 
anything, I said quite loud that the devil was not 
as bad as people said he was. Of course, if he heard 
me, it would be a feather in my cap and we could be 
on better terms, should I ever meet him. I reached 
he house in safety and banged the door after me. 
But unfortunately Mother kept a nanny goat, a very 
good milker, but as cross a goat as ever ate a tin 
can or kettle. She and I had many battles to see who 
was boss. She was lying very comfortably behind the 
door in a snug place Mother had prepared for her to 
lie in after Mother went to bed. She was boss of the 
hall and did not like to be disturbed after once lying 
down. Well thinking of the devil I forgot the goat
and just as I went past her she made one spring and 
landed me and my pail of water bang up against the 
kitchen door. I gave a terrific scream. Mother and my 
Stepfather sprang to their feet. When they opened the 
door they found me and the goat hors de combat. The 
goat was standing on hind legs ready to make another
spring at me and I reached the kitchen with just 
enough water to make a cup of tea I shall never 
forget that night’s experience. Mother gave me leave 
to take a good stick next day and give her a good 
whaling which I did. I met her out on the lawn and 
challenged her. She accepted it  and met me with her 
head down. I stepped a little to one side and seized 
her by the horns with my left hand and laid on her side 
with my stick till she begged for mercy. We were the 
best of friends ever after. But she was still so cross 
and ugly that Mother had her killed and we ate
her. Thus ends the tale of a goat!

	In May of 1849, one Monday evening, my Stepfather 
was a little sick and stayed in bed. The children came to 
school as usual, and, as there was no master, they were 
raising Cain round the school. Then who should walk in but 
the Government Inspector. Mother went out to meet him and 
told him that Master Mullan was sick and could not attend. 
He said he ought to have made some provision and have the 
children sent home rather than have them running wild. He
reported him to the school board in Dublin and his pay was 
stopped right off. He remained there four or five months 
after that and never received another penny, although he 
taught the children as usual. He petitioned the board but 
all to no use. We were pretty poor at this time. During 
the Famine there was a system of relief established for 
the poor in every district and we had to avail of it. It 
consisted of bread made from rice and flour, the rice having 
been first boiled; it ate well. Then there was meal, tea 
and sugar in small quantities. This was distributed twice 
a week and it kept us from starving. In the meantime, my 
Stepfather found me a job with a farmer named Paddy Markey, 
to take his cattle out in the morning and keep them from 
jumping fences into neighbours’ lots. I liked the job very 
well, only I had no shoes. In fact I had not known what 
shoes felt like for I never had had a pair of my own at 
this time. I remember the mornings as they were frosty, 
it being the Fall of the year, and I had to go through 
stubble fields, that is, fields that the corn and wheat 
had been cut from. Well it did not matter how I tried. 
The sharp Stubbles would run up between my toes and make 
them bleed and many a cry I had. But it was all compensated 
for by the good times at home.
	Paddy had a pet pig. The mother died when she was 
young so he brought her up in the kitchen. She didn’t like 
strangers, I remember the first meal I had there; it was 
supper and we had a fine basket of potatoes set in the 
middle of the floor with a noggin of buttermilk. I was 
enjoying myself thinking what a snap I had fallen into, 
when all at once I was seized by the rump by the pet 
pig, and I’ll be danged if she didn’t take a piece as 
big as a half dollar out of me and she left (a) hole in 
my pants, which was worse. Then I had another fight on 
my hands for Paddy told me to take a stick and whale her.
I did it and ever after, when she would meet me, she 
would very respectfully take the other side, with a sharp 
eye on me. 
	Paddy had a good wife and three lovely daughters, 
Margaret, 22; Bridget, 20; and Rosie, about 18. They were 
good girls and went to church every Sunday in their turn, 
for they had only one pair of shoes between them, Mr. and 
Mrs.Markey went every Sunday. I was only a little boy about 
ten so I did not have to go. Besides, I had no shoes
	Well, I used to like Sunday to come, for when Pa 
and Ma went to church the girls that stayed at home  always 
made a little feast of some kind or other, and as I 
was let in on the feast, I had to keep my mouth shut, 
and you bet I did. It was a long way to the church so 
that they did not get home till towards one o’clock. 
The feast commenced about eleven. It consisted sometimes 
of good tea with potato cakes and fresh butter and 
sometimes tea, oatcakes , eggs and flour. We had always
plenty of eggs and butter for the feast. 
	I think I stayed there about three or four months. 
Then my Stepfather got a position in Bailieborough as 
Assistant Superintendent in the Poor House so Mother wanted 
me home to help them move.(10)
	The distance was about ten miles and when I reached 
home I remember my Stepfather says "Well, how are you doing?"
"Oh the best  way I can" I replied. I think he left the next 
day for his new job. Mother sold all the furniture she could
dispose of, and what she could not, she left in the 
schoolhouse. Our living apartments adjoined the school and, 
as my stepfather still held the key, we could use it as we 
liked
	In those days, there were no such things as moving 
teams, and no means of travel, only walk, except you owned 
your own horse and team and as we were not fortunate enough, 
we had to walk. My Stepfather took Frank, the oldest of my
stepbrothers with him. I think they started on Monday 
morning and Mother and I and the two youngest boys on 
Thursday. We started pretty early in the morning and made 
five long Irish miles before evening. The youngest boy, 
Charley, was only about four years, so I had to carry him 
on my back the most of the way. Pat was between six and 
seven. He had to walk.
	We put up that night with some friends on the South 
side of the lake in the Townland called the Billy Hill not 
far from the place where I was born. After a good night’s 
rest on a bed of fresh straw, A good breakfast of oatmeal 
for me and the boys, and Mother refreshed with tea and 
toast and a fresh egg, we started off for the other leg 
of our journey, five miles more, which we concluded about 
six o’clock in the evening. Mother and the boys got a very 
warm reception but not so with me. My Stepfather asked Mother 
what on earth she did bring me up for. "I couldn’t get here 
without him"" said she, "He carried your boy on his back nearly
All the way".
"It don’t matter" said he. "There is no room here for him and 
he will have to go back."
"Well, where will he go to" said Mother
"Let him go back to the schoolhouse and he will get something 
to do" said my stepfather. Mother objected but it was no use. 
After she and he had debated all night, I had to go. I will 
admit they were cramped for room. I think they only had a 
bedroom and kitchen. However, morning came and I had a good 
breakfast and was ready for anything. Poor Mother was 
heart-broken, at least she seemed so.  She kissed me and gave 
me all the advice in her power, to be good and not to forget 
my prayers. Sixpence was all she had between her and death, 
which she gave me, and I started off for Cootehill, ten miles 
away to take possession of the school house, where my 
Stepfather had taught for four months and received no pay. 
He told me to hold the key until the Government would make 
a settlement with him, which they never did. I reached the 
school in the evening sometime. I don’t remember just when.
	The first thing was where to have supper. Now, 
there was a good mild lady who taught the girls upstairs, 
there being two separate rooms, one for the boys
whom my stepfather taught and one for Mrs. O’Riely who taught 
the girls upstairs. "Now," said I to myself," Mrs. O’Riely 
would like to hear the news, so I will step up and probably 
she will ask me to have supper." It worked like a charm, 
I had a good supper and Mrs. O’Riely told me to be sure and 
come to breakfast. They had no family that I remember, so I 
did a lot of chores for Mrs. O’Riely, and was always sure of 
something to eat. I was sure of a place to sleep, as I had the
keys of the school and our tenement downstairs which had three 
rooms - two bedrooms and a kitchen. We had a large table in 
the kitchen with pans and dishes that Mother could not take. 
there was also a bed and bedding, so, take it all in all
I was not very badly off. But I had no money
	Now a thought struck me whereby I might raise some 
money. Passing by our door you would always see a teamster 
driving a two-wheel cart with long shafts carrying loads of 
merchandise from town to town, sometimes as many as a dozen
of them together. Now there was a little brook running by 
our back door and along its banks the grass grew almost one 
yard high. Now nobody claimed that grass and why could I not 
cut it, put it in bundles, and sell it to the draymen. I 
borrowed a hook, cut a whole forenoon, bundled it up, and 
sold it to the draymen in the afternoon at one penny per 
bundle.  In that afternoon I cleared sixpence from the sale. 
Next day I cut all the long grass in sight and always met a 
ready sale. At the end of the week brother William called 
to see me. Where he had been working I can't tell, but I 
suppose he was working for a farmer. He was a big fellow, 
I thought, for he brought me into Cootehill and bought me 
a suit of clothes and found me a place to stay with a friend 
of my Mother's where they wanted boys to do chores round the 
house and look after the cattle. But no pay that I remember!

LIVING NEAR COOTEHILL

William was very angry at my Stepfather for using me so harshly. 
I don't think he ever met him again. William went to England 
shortly after and I never met him again till I came to America 
in 1869.
We bid Mrs O'Riely goodbye and I thanked her heartily for her 
kindness and started off for Barney Wiggins's at a place called 
Bawn Gate.
Barney was a gamekeeper for Sir Richard Coote. He was a good, 
bighearted fellow, always ready to tell a joke, and liked a 
glass of whiskey, and many a time I had in to trot in to 
Cootehill for a quart, and that was about three long miles. 
But then I wouldn't think no more about ten than I would of 
three. Barney was an old pensioner. He had served twenty one 
years in the English Army and consequently drew a nice 
pension. He had a nice amiable wife and three children, 
Katie 9, Johnny 7, and young Barney 2 years. The happiest 
days of my young life were spent in this house.
I used to go out with Mr. Wiggins, as we called him, for he 
held a very exalted position, being gamekeeper for the Lord 
Coote.(11) Well as I say, I used to go out with him when he 
would go a-shooting, for he would have to send in his turn 
a certain amount of game and fish up to the house. There 
were many gamekeepers as well as he. It was about fifteen 
miles round his domain and they each supplied the house in 
their turn. Well, it was great fun for me to go out with Mr. 
Wiggins on expeditions of this kind. Besides, I carried the 
game, hares, partridges, and pheasants.  For fish we set 
night lines and we caught pike and salmon.  I remember
going out one morning with rod and line and catching a
bushel basket in an hour, great large bream fish,  It was 
a shame to see that lake teeming with beautiful fish
and no one allowed to catch any except the gamekeepers,
If we took a walk into the wood we could see thousands 
of rabbits and hares, deer and other game. 
There was no church nearer than Cootehill, but a priest 
used to bring a few young men on Sunday to teach catechism. 
We met out in a little fort, where there were 40 or 50 
pine trees, and we would sit down on the grass and learn 
our catechism. I learned my catechism in about three 
months from cover to cover and got confirmed, but I 
cannot remember whether the bishop came to the fort, 
or whether we went into the town. But I know I got 
confirmed for I remember the slap he gave me on the 
cheek.

A sad, or rather a bad, piece of business on my part, 
caused me to leave the Wiggins family forever. When 
Mr. Wiggins left the Army he received his own army 
rifle from the government. This is the gun which he 
did all his shooting with. Mr. Wiggins was away from 
home for a few days one month and on one of those 
days, early in the morning, Mrs. Wiggins having gone 
to milk, she left me in charge of the house. There 
was a baby about two years old in the cradle and the 
other two children had not got up. I looked around 
to see how I could amuse myself when, all at once, 
my eye rested on the gun which hung over the mantle 
together with his powder flask and caps. Here was a 
chance for fun. I got a chair, mounted up, and took 
down the gun. I put a cap on the nipple, as one had 
to do with all the old rifles. I used to see Mr. 
Wiggins, after cleaning out his guns, put an 
explosive cap on to blow out any dust that might 
be in the barrel. Well,  she had a powerful strong 
cock and (it was) hard work to put it up. However I 
managed it, and put a cap on. It was as much as I 
could do to carry the old thing round, but I went 
to the door and aimed at birds. I probably would 
have killed one, only my finger was not strong 
enough to pull the trigger. I then aimed it at 
the kid in the cradle but, thank God, it did not 
go off. "Gee" said I to myself, "I'll make this 
go off." There was a nice oak table in the kitchen, 
nearly new. I put the muzzle on the table, planted 
the stock hard to my shoulder, put a finger of each 
hand to the lock, and pulled with all my might. 
BANG, she went, and the force of it knocked me 
across the kitchen. "Lord", said I, "I'm killed." 
Of course the gun fell to the floor and my head 
felt as if in the inside was blown out, leaving 
only an outside covering remaining.
When I came to my senses, I began to sidle up to 
the child in the cradle who was roaring murder. 
The others came running down in their night 
clothing. All was confusion. I put the gun in its 
place, then ran to the door to see if Mrs. Wiggins 
was coming. Sure enough, she was close at hand. I 
ran to wipe the table down, when OH HORRORS! (I saw) 
a round hole in the table about the breadth of a 
silver dollar, cut out as clean as if cut by a 
circular saw. It was the old story, the gun was 
loaded and I didn't know it.  As soon as she 
entered she could smell the powder and she asked 
what was the matter. I told the exact truth and 
all she said was that Barney would kill me when 
he came home. But I had already made up my mind 
that Barney would not get the chance for I would 
go home to Mother.

Barney was expected home that evening, so after 
breakfast I stole up to my room, put on two pairs 
of pants and two shirts, and went out through the 
back door into the woods. I sat down at the foot 
of a tree to think it over and, after thinking 
and crying for a while, I fell fast asleep. How 
long I slept I don't know. It must have been near 

noon when I woke up. By then my mind was made up. 
I turned my back on the Bawn Gate and the best of 
friends forever and started for Cootehill. One 
hour in Cootehill and then off to the mountains 
to Aunt Betty's, as we called my mother's younger 
sister, Elizabeth McCabe.


THE MOUNTAINS AND THE JOURNEY TO DROGHEDA

She was with her husband and five children, got 
a precarious living on thirty acres of land. It 
was pretty good land, though, for the raising of 
potatoes, flax and corn. They had three cows, one 
horse, and a donkey, lots of hens and pigs, and, 
I think, I stayed a couple of weeks with them while 
they were taking in their flax crop. At that time, 
I was worth my keep driving either the horse or 
donkey. To my surprise, they informed me that Mother 
and family had moved to Drogheda. That was about 
thirty six Irish miles away. My Stepfather did not 
like his position as Assistant Superintendent in 
the Workhouse, so he went to Drogheda and got a 
good position as a clerk in the Marsh Mills-those 
were linen mills, or rather mills where they took 
in the flax and manufactured it into yarn ready 
for the loom. I made up my mind I would go and 
see Mother.
Aunty Betty put me up a lot of oatcake and gave 
me sixpence. I started off at seven o' clock 
for Drogheda. I got about twelve miles on the 
road and it was drawing near evening and about 
time to think where I was going to put up for 
the night. Looking off to my left, I saw a 
farmer digging potatoes for the supper, so I 
stepped up to him and told him where I was 
going and where I came from and asked him if 
he would put me up for the night. I told him 
that all the money I had was sixpence and that 
he could have it.

"Take that basket, sonny," says he, "and gather 
up those praties, and we will have supper, and 
I think the old woman can find a place for you 
to sleep."
I thanked him, and soon picked up the praties, 
as he called them, and we went into the house. 
He had only two children and his wife, she being 
a very nice kind woman. When she heard my story, 
she felt like adopting me for one of her own. 
The potatoes were soon boiled and emptied out 
on the baskets. We each got our noggin of 
buttermilk with a plate of pepper and salt, 
in the middle of the basket and we all went 
at them and enjoyed them and we did not look 
for dessert either. About seven thirty we were 
all ready for bed. The good lady made a good 
bed of straw for me in the kitchen as they 
had only two sleeping rooms. I told them I 
would start early as I had a long way to go 
next day. I wanted to reach Drogheda if possible, 
next day. I slept the sleep of the just till 
six o'clock in the morning, pulled on my little 
panties and started off, no breakfast. I did 
not need any. I had a good hunk of Aunty Betty's 
hard tack left, and I ate it on the way, and 
could find plenty of nice spring water when I 
was dry. I had skelpt along about five miles 
when I was overtaken by the stage coach. We 
called it the Long Car. It would seat about 
twelve passengers, six each side, and you 
might in a pinch sit one with the driver. 
When it had passed me I followed after it, 
caught up to it, and was congratulating 
myself on the help I was deriving by 
hanging on behind when the driver lashed 
out with his whip and just missed me by 
an inch. Oh! Wasn't I mad. I would have 
pinked him with a stone only I was afraid 
I might hit some of the passengers. I think 
there were about eight of them. However, I 
teased him for about a mile. I kept running 
alongside of the car and sometimes by the horses. 
He couldn't run away from me.
There was a good natured gent, a man about 
fifty, and his wife, going to Drogheda and 
he shouted to me "Where are you going? To 
Drogheda?" He turned to the driver and said 
something. I suppose he asked how much to 
take me to Drogheda. Then after a few words 
he stopped the car and made room for me and 
beckoned me up. I hope and pray that the 
gentleman's soul is in heaven for that kind act.

Well I felt as big as the Lord Mayor of London. 
After we chatted awhile, and he had found out 
all about me, he began to tell me things and 
pointed out places of interest on the way. Among 
the many he pointed out were the ruins of Tara 
castle in the County Meath. We didn't reach 
Drogheda till seven o'clock and then I had to 
hunt Mother up. I thanked the gentleman in my 
boyish way and bid goodbye to all the passengers 
(but that did not include the driver). I started 
off to find Mother which I did after some time. 
They were living in a part of the city called 
The Mall. I got a good hearty welcome from Mother 
and the boys, but the old man was gruff. He wanted 
to know how I found them out. I told him Aunt 
Betty had told me and he said why did I not stay 
with Aunt Betty. I told him that I preferred to 
stay with Mother.

LIFE IN DROGHEDA

I was too young to go to work so I was sent to 
school for, I think, about one year. I remember 
my schoolmaster, his name was Mansfield, and he 
was a cruel son of a gun. He would flog the boys 
most unmercifully for the least fault. I was glad 
to get away from school. I wanted to go to work. 
My Stepfather got me a job in the Marsh Mill 
where he was bookkeeping. I got half a crown 
a week and I think I worked six months and never 
had a raise. My Stepfather lost his job and I 
was glad of it. He was kind of religious about 
this time and made a rule to say so many prayers 
a day. One morning he slept so long he did not 
have time to say the usual quantity of prayers. 
So when he got into the office and closed the 
gates, for along with bookkeeping he had to 
take charge of the gate, he dropped down on 
his knees to finish his prayers when who 
bounced in but Mr. McMaster, the owner. Mr. 
Mullen remained on his knees till he finished 
his prayers, then he turned around and said 
"Good morning" to the boss.
"Mr. Mullen," said Mr. McMaster, "is this a 
factory or is it a church?"  "I know it is 
a factory," said my stepfather, "but I was 
a little late this morning and I did not 
have time to say them at home. I thought 
I would finish them here."

Mr. Mullen, said he, "You may take one weeks 
notice. I want a man who will attend to his 
work during working hours and pray in the proper 
place." Mr. Mullen worked one week more, and left. 
I was very glad for I was tired working for half 
a crown a week. There was a cotton mill not long 
built and it was owned by a man named Johnny Oats. 
He wanted a man to travel through Ireland to sell 
his cotton cloth. Mr. Mullen applied for the job 
and got it. The mill was built on the banks of the 
Boyne, in a place the Green Hills. It was about one 
half mile from Drogheda. This was a very good 
position for Mr. Mullen, only it kept him away from 
home a good deal. I did not care if it kept him 
away all the time, of course.

I got a job in the cotton mill right away. The 
first job was pulling the filling off the paper tubes 
that came from the weavers. I had to sit all day at 
that job and did not like it. My next job was carrying 
weft, or filling, to the weavers from the storeroom. 
This job just suited me for the girls would give me 
candy and do anything for me if I would bring them 
good filling. We had one good spinner named Tom Davie 
who always made good filling and, of course, all my 
favourites got Davie's filling. I got the girls to 
teach me how to make a weaver's knot, and draw the 
threads. In fact, I soon learned many things about 
that craft. There was one loom inside the door and 
when I thought I was capable of running it I
asked the Loom, as he was called, if he would let me 
have it.  And he did. Then my pay went up to three 
shillings a week.
I only worked on it about six weeks when I asked 
for another loom.  Then my pay went up six shillings 
per week but never went over that as long as I remained 
in Ireland.  My money was always turned up to Mother.  
She gave me three pence, or four, and if I was a good 
boy I got sixpence.  At this time Mother had a little 
provision store.  She was always of a business turn 
of mind and when I would come home in the evening 
I would help Mother in the store.  I was her right 
bower (?) and that's how I came to get sixpence 
occasionally.  All went well with me till March, 1853.
 	In this month a little trouble started up 
between Mother and me that caused me to leave home 
for good. Seventeenth of March, of course is always 
a strict holiday in Ireland, and, of course the factory
closed down.  The cloth that I was weaving was paid 
for at eighteen pence a cut.  Well, through being off 
on St Patrick's Day, I missed a cut of each loom, 
which made three shillings less of the week, just 
half of the week’s pay.  Mother could not see how I 
could lose three shillings for one day when I only 
earned six shillings per week.  She was very angry 
on Saturday when I brought my pay home although I did 
my best to explain.  My Stepfather happened to be home 
that week.

When Sunday morning came, Mother was getting breakfast 
ready.  Mr Mullen was dressing in his room.  Mother 
began to complain about the three shillings shortage.  
She said something that made me angry and I retorted 
saucily back.  Whatever I said I do not remember, 
but my stepfather ran out of his room to chastise me 
but I happened to be near the front door so I cleared 
out and slammed it on Mr Mullen.  He never saw me again 
till 1860, when he came over to England to see me and 
stayed a month, at this time his boys had learned 
trades  and they had moved to Dublin.  His old employer 
Johnny Oats had failed and the factory was stopped.  
I never met Mother again till 1869 when I met her in 
Philadelphia.

	That Sunday morning when I missed the wallop 
from my stepfather I went direct to one of my chum's 
house, named Andy Heeney, Andy was a big, good natured 
fellow and I had breakfast with him.  I told them why 
I had left home and they said I would be back in the 
evening.  We all went to mass and after dinner Andy 
and I went and hunted up two more chums and we all made 
up our minds we would all go to England that evening.  
The fare was only two shillings and we had all been 
saving up a little money with the intention of going 
to England sometime.  And now was the time.  So we 
started off that Sunday evening on board the Leinster 
Lass and arrived in Liverpool on Monday morning at 
5 o'clock on the 27th March 1853.  We went straight 
to Preston.  It is about 18 miles from Liverpool.  
We heard of it being cotton manufacturing town. 
That was what we wanted.  After a few unsuccessful 
attempts to get a job, we finally struck it rich at a
factory owned by a man named Humbers.  We got only 
two Looms to start with but we could earn 10 shillings 
and a penny per week. That was 4 more than I could
earn in Ireland. I was then in my sixteenth year 
and must now shift for myself, in earnest.
	[To be continued in The Heart Of Breifne 1985, Deo Volente.]

FONOTAI

1. 
The O'Connells of Munterconnacht Parish Claim that their ancestors retreated to County Cavan from the battle of Kinsale in 1601. The O'Connells of Kill parish may have had some such tenuous connection with the South-West of Ireland.
2. 
The Knockbridge Tithe Lists for 1828 show that John Mangan had 1 acre, 3 roods and 16 perches of land rented in Knockalossett, A Greville Rent List for 1833, shows that he was joined with a John Banan is paying £4/9/6 rent for a small farm in Knocknalossett. The twenty acres of land he speaks of in Kill parish may have been used on a yearly basis to graze cattle purchased in Cootehill fairs till he had an opportunity to dispose of them. The "20 acres of good land" on which he supported his family may be exaggeration. He was never the "owner" of land; like most other farmers he was just a tenant.
3. 
The 75 yards between the site of Mungan's house and Killaliss Lake seems indeed to have been the correct distance. Again and again in the course of his Memoirs, Owen Mangan displays a phenomenal memory for numbers and dates.
4. 
We gather from the Second Report of the Commissioners of National Education (1835) that Francis Mullan, a R.C., received £8 per annum for teaching in Killaliss pay-school:
6 pupils of the Established Church,
13 pupils of the Presbyterian Church,
12 pupils of the R.C. Church.
The school received no outside support, so the £8 salary must have been  
pupils' fees.
The building was of lime and stone. Mullan’s hot temper led to his    
dismissal when he “whipped ten boys, the eldest of whom was fifteen years 
of age, for some slight offence and compelled them to take off all their 
clothes before the whole school”. (See Mary Jane Hill’s Autobiography in
the Heart Of Breifne, 1983.) During Mary Jane’s period at school,     
Mullan’s predecessor. Terence Brady, pulled an ear off William Bannon,
another pupil at the school.
5  
John Sharpe and Letitia Thompson, his wife, of Drumcondra, had four  
Children baptised in Corroneary Presbyterian Church between 1799 and   
1815.
6      
It is strange that Owen Mangan did not know why his father went to Dublin  
for a short period. As we find him on his return acting as National 
Teacher in Raw National School, it is likely that he had gone to a crash 
course of training to fit him for work under the Commissioner of National 
Education. This training was done in the Model Schools in Marlborough 
Street.
7      
Raw is the name of a townland of 150 acres in the parish of Aughnamullen  
in County Monaghan, between Cootehill and Ballybay. The school was 
evidently under Protestant management. The Manager had requested the 
master to use the Authorised Version of the Scriptures during the time 
  devoted to Scripture Reading. No rule of the Commissioners bound the 
  teacher to obey, so the Manager dismissed the teacher. The Government 
  had then to withdraw Mangan’s salary. While working in the payschool at 
  Killaliss Mangan  had willingly taught the pupils to read the A.V of the
  Scriptures.
  8 
  The context would lead one to infer that Mangan’s second National School 
  was at Dernakesh where there was a two-storey school, probably under
  Catholic Management.
9 
  The salary of £2 a year should probably have been £12. In their Tenth  
  Annual Report (1843) the Commissioners stated that teachers had been 
  divided into three classes to which the following salaries were attached. 
  First or highest class £20; second £15; third £12; these were the rates
  for men.  For women the respective figures were £15; £12; and £10.
10  
  The fact that Francis Mullen had to seek employment in Bailieborough  
  Workhouse indicates that the Commissioners of National education were 
  unwilling to recognise him for further work in National School.
11. 
This Coote was not a lord but just a plain Mr.  He was an illegitimate 
son of the famous or notorious Earl of Bellamont.
12. 
As there was no such ruin as Tara Castle it is likely that the ruins he  
saw were the walls of the ancient church and other buildings on the 
Hill of Slane