len, about a mile from
the back of our house, was a police barrack. This was attacked one
night, but not captured, although the valiant attackers forced some of
their prisoners to stand in the line of fire, between them and the
building. The police had closed the windows with feather beds and
mattresses, and these the Fenian bullets could not penetrate. Within a
few days the fiasco of a rising was at an end. I do not think any of
the people in our neighborhood joined it. When the rebels retreated
along the Wicklow road, they threw several pikes over the wall close to
our lodge gates. The preference on the part of the Irishman of the last
generation for the pike as a fighting implement was remarkable. He
regarded it as quite superior to the rifle.

My father had never been well off; each passing year had left him more
and more deeply involved. In 1867 a disastrous lawsuit with the Marquis
of Bute over some mining rights in Wales almost brought ruin to our
door. It was decided to emigrate. The advantages of New Zealand, Buenos
Ayres, and South Africa were all considered. But a letter from Cardinal
(then Bishop) Moran, of Grahamstown, decided our fate: the Cape Colony
was to be our destination.

My three sisters were all senior to me. The eldest accompanied us to
the Cape. The second had, the previous year, gone to India. The
youngest, who was in delicate health, remained behind with an aunt. My
brother, who was younger than I, stayed at school in Ireland.

So one lovely day, in early November of 1867 we embarked at Dublin on a
small paddle-steamer called the Lady Eglinton. Our immediate
destination was Falmouth; there we had to join the S.S. Asia, one of
the old "Diamond Line." Memory is a curious thing; although I can
recall minute details of most of my uneventful life between my sixth
and twelfth years, the circumstances of this voyage, the first in my
experience, have passed almost entirely away. The only memory that
remains is connected with a ridiculous episode.

There was a drunken Irish soldier on board. He was a good-natured
creature who made himself most embarrassingly friendly towards all and
sundry of the passengers. Eventually he tried to embrace one of the
ladies. For this misdemeanor, which I am persuaded was based on no evil
intention, he was trussed and tied down on the hatch, close to the
wheel. But the man must have been a philosopher, for his bonds
distressed him not at all. For several hours he lif