Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 3 (of 3)

This affair had its sequel exactly as any rational person might have anticipated. The preacher and Mrs. Mary, after a decent mourning, united their spiritual and temporal concerns, and became flesh of the flesh and bone of the bone; in which happy state of husband and wife (which happy state they had been in many months before the ceremony was thought necessary) they remained nearly two years, when His Reverence, happening to light on a younger and handsomer swaddler, and legatee, after beating Mrs. Mary almost to a jelly, embarked with his new proselyte for America, where, changing his name, curling his hair, colouring his eyebrows, &c. &c., he turned quaker, and is at this moment, I have learned, in good repute at meeting, and solvency as a trader, in the city of Philadelphia.

The entire of my uncle Stephen’s library and manuscripts, with the exception of the year books, Newcastle on the Manége, seven farriery and several cookery books, I gave to my friend, old Lundyfoot, to envelope his powder in; and most of my books being well impregnated, or rather populously inhabited by divers minute and nearly impalpable maggots, probably added some poignancy to the sneezing qualities of his celebrated preparation.

I recollect a whimsical expression used by Davy Lander, an Irish counsellor, whom I brought with me to hear the will read.

“By my soul, Barrington,” said Lander, “she was right enough in bequeathing her soul to God, out of hand, or the devil would certainly have taken it as heir-at-law! But I hope he has the reversion.”

That branch of the Geraldines is now entirely extinct, having ended with my cousin Fanny, the swaddler; and nothing now remains but the old castle, its celebrated ivy tree, St. Bridget’s stone, and my legends, to preserve even the recollection of Moret.

HANGING AN ATTORNEY BY ACCIDENT

The attorney’s corps of yeomanry, and their strange appellation – Eccentric loyalty in Dublin – The Fogies – Sir John Ferns, and his anti-rebel resolve – Aide-de-Camp Potterton and the other members of Sir John’s chivalrous party – Tragi-comic incidents attending their martial progress – Admixture of discretion with bravery – Discovery of a suspicious lurker, and zealous anxiety for his immediate execution – Process of suspension – Attorney Walker’s accidental participation in the captive’s lot – Respective demeanor of the two sufferers – Appearance of the enemy in sight – The attorney relieved from his situation – Conclusion of the day’s adventures.

A hanging match of a very curious nature occurred a few days after the breaking out of the same rebellion in Dublin, and its relation will form an excellent companion to that of Lieutenant H – ’s mode of execution (ante).

The attorneys’ corps of yeomanry, horse and foot, were at that period little less than 800 or 900 strong; and I really believe it might, in an enemy’s country, (or even in a remote district of its own,) have passed for as fine a “pulk of Cossacks” as ever came from the banks of the Don or the Danube.

In Ireland, every thing has its alias denomination; – in the regular army, certain regiments are honoured by the titles of the “King’s own,” the “Queen’s own,” or the “Prince’s own,” & c. Many of the Irish yeomanry corps, in 1798, were indulged with similar distinctions; not indeed by the King himself, but by his majesty’s sovereign mob of Dublin. For example, the attorneys’ regiment was christened, collectively, the “Devil’s own;” the infantry part of it, the Rifle Brigade; and the cavalry, the Chargers; the Custom-house corps, Cæsar’s (seizer’s) army, &c. &c. &c. The pre-eminent titles thus given to the attorneys, (who are gentlemen by Act of Parliament,) were devised by one Mr. Murry, a cheese and oilman in Great George Street, whose premises (as he deposed) were stormed one night by a patrol of that legal corps, and divers articles of the first quality-food and luxury, cheeses, hams, tongues, anchovies, Burton ale, and bottled porter, &c. were abstracted against his will therefrom, and feloniously conveyed into, and concealed in, the bodies, bowels, and intestines, of divers ravenous and thirsty attorneys, solicitors, and scriveners; and thereby conveyed beyond the reach or jurisdiction of any search warrants, replevins, or other legal process. A more curious deposition did not appear during the whole of those troublesome times, than that sworn by Mr. Murry, cheese and oilman, and annexed to a petition to parliament for compensation. However, the parliament, not considering Mr. Murry to be an extra-loyalist (but which the attorneys certainly were, and ultra into the bargain), refused to replenish his warehouse. In consequence whereof, Mr. Murry decided upon his own revenge by nicknaming the enemy, wherein he succeeded admirably.

Here I cannot avoid a little digression, by observing, that so strong and enthusiastic was the genuine loyalty which seized upon the nobility, gentry, and clergy of Dublin at that period, that even the young gentlemen of Merrion Square, who had so far advanced toward their grand climacteric as to exceed threescore, formed a strong band of volunteers, who proved their entire devotion to king and country, by first parading every fine evening, then drinking tea and playing whist, and afterwards patrolling all Merrion Square – east, west, north, and south; and if there had been any more sides, no doubt they would have patrolled them also. They then, in a most loyal manner, supped alternately at each other’s houses. They were commanded by Lord Viscount Allen, who was surnamed the “Bog of Allen,” from his size and substance, and contrasted with the Lieutenant-Colonel, Mr. Westenra, (father of the present Lord Rossmore,) who, having no flesh of his own, was denominated “the Commissary.” This company, as a body, were self-intitled the Garde du Corps, alluding to their commander Lord Allen; and as they could have (by the course of nature) but a short period either to fight or run away, and life, like every other commodity, when it runs rather short, becomes the more valuable, so they very wisely took most especial care of the remnants of their own, as civilians: and, of a wet or damp night, I have with great pleasure seen a score, at least, of our venerable Garde Grenadier gallantly patrolling Merrion Square, and marching in a long file of sedan-chairs, with their muskets sticking out of the windows ready to deploy and fire upon any rebel enemy to church or state, who should dare to oppose their progress and manœuvres.

The humorists of that day, however, would not consent to any Gallic denomination for these loyal yeomen, whom they rather chose to distinguish by a real Irish title; viz. the Fogies,57– a term meaning, in Hibernian dialect, “a bottle that has no liquor in it.” This excellent corps, in due time, however, died off without the aid of any enemy, and, I fear, not one of them remains to celebrate the loyalty of the defunct. I therefore have taken upon myself that task, (so far as my book can accomplish it,) for which I shall, doubtless, receive the heartfelt thanks of their sons and grandchildren.

I shall now proceed to the misfortunes of an attorney, neither deserved nor expected by that loyal yeoman: the anecdote, however, should remain as a caution and warning to all hangmen by profession, and other loyal executioners, down to the latest posterity.

The regiment of attorneys, &c. (or, as the malicious Mr. Murry called them, the “Devil’s own”) was at that time extremely well commanded; the cavalry (or “chargers”) by a very excellent old fox-hunting solicitor, Arthur Dunn; the infantry, (or rifle companies,) by Mr. Kit Abbot, a very good, jovial, popular practitioner.

Both commanders were loyal to the back-bone; they formed unbending buttresses of church and state, and had taken the proper obligation, “to bury themselves under the ruins of the Weavers’ Hall and Skinners’ Alley, sooner than yield one inch of the Dodder River or the Poddle Gutters to any Croppy or democratic papist.”

After the rebellion broke out, some of these true and loyal attorneys, feeling that martial law had totally superseded their own, – and that, having nothing to do in the money-market, their visits to the flesh-market were proportionably curtailed; credit having likewise got totally out of fashion, (as usual during rebellions,) – they bethought themselves of accomplishing some military achievement which might raise their renown, and perhaps at the same time “raise the wind;” and, as good luck would have it, an opportunity soon turned up, not only of their signalising their loyalty, but also (as they imagined without much hazard) of a couple of days’ feasting at free quarters.

This adventure eventually had the fortunate result of procuring a bulletin in several of the Dublin newspapers, though it did not seriously give the gallant yeomen half the credit which their intrepidity and sufferings had merited.

Sir John Ferns,58 who had been sheriff, and the most celebrated wine-merchant of Dublin, was at that period justly admired for his singing – his luxurious feasts – insatiable thirst – and hard-going hospitality: his amarynth nose, with cheeks of Bardolph, twinkling black eyes with a tinge of blood in the white of them, rendered any further sign for his wine-vaults totally unnecessary.

This Sir John (like the Earl of Northumberland in Cheviot Chase) had made some vow, or cursed some curse, that he would take his sport three summer days, hanging or hunting rebels, and burning their haunts and houses about the town of Rathfarnan, where he had a villa. All this he was then empowered and enabled to do, by virtue of martial law, without pain or penalty, or lying under any compliment to judges or juries, as in more formal or legal epochas. He accordingly set about recruiting well-disposed and brave associates to join him in the expedition, and most fortunately hit upon Attorney James Potterton, Esq., in every point calculated for his aide-de-camp. The troop was quickly completed, and twenty able and vehement warriors, with Captain Sir John Ferns at their head, and Mr. James Potterton, (who was appointed sergeant,) set out to hang, hunt, and burn all before them where they found disloyalty lurking about Rathfarnan.

The troop was composed of five attorneys; three of Mr. John Claudius Beresford’s most expert yeomen, called manglers, from his riding-house; two grocers from the guild of merchants; an exciseman, and a master tailor; a famous slop-seller from Poolbeg-street; a buck parson from the county of Kildare; one of Sir John’s own bottlers, and his principal corker; also a couple of sheriff’s officers. Previously to setting out, the captain filled their stomachs gullet-high with ham, cold round, and cherry bounce; and being so duly filled, Sir John then told them the order of battle.

“I sent to the landlord of the yellow house of Rathfarnan, many months ago,” said Sir John, “a hogshead of my capital chateau margot, for which he has never paid me; and as that landlord now, in all probability, deserves to be hanged, we can at least put up with him at nights; drink my chateau; do military execution in the days, which will report well to Lord Castlereagh; and at all events, the riding and good cheer can do us no harm.” This was universally approved of; and, led by this gallant and celebrated vintner, the troop set off to acquire food and fame about the environs of the capital.

Sergeant Potterton, who was a very good-humoured and good-natured attorney, with a portion of slang dryness and a sly drawl, diverting enough, afterwards recited to me the whole of their adventure, which campaign was cut a good deal shorter than the warriors premeditated.

“No man,” said Attorney Potterton, “could be better calculated to lead us to any burning excursion than Sir John. You know, Counsellor, that every feature in his face is the picture of a conflagration; and the people swear that when he bathes, the sea fizzes, as if he was a hot iron.

“But,” continued Sergeant Potterton, “Counsellor Curran’s story of Sir John’s nose setting a cartridge on fire, when he was for biting off the end of it, has not one word of truth in it.”

This troop had advanced on their intended route just to the spot where, a few nights before, the Earl of Roden had received a bullet in his nightcap, and had slain some rebels, when Sergeant Potterton espied a rebel skulking in what is called in Ireland a brake or knock of furze. Of course the sergeant immediately shouted out, in the proper military style – “Halloa, boys! – halloa! – hush! – hush! – silence! – halloa! Oh! by – , there’s a nest of rapparee rebels in that knock. Come on, lads, and we’ll slice every mother’s babe of them to their entire satisfaction. Now, draw, boys! – draw! – cock! – charge!” said the grocers. “Charge away!” echoed the attorneys; and without further ceremony they did charge the knock of furze with most distinguished bravery: but, alas! their loyal intentions were disappointed; the knock of furze was found uninhabited; the rebels had stolen off, on their hands and feet, across a ditch adjoining it; and whilst the royal scouters were busily employed cutting, hacking, and twisting every furze and tuft, in expectation that a rebel was behind it, of a sudden a certain noise and smoke, which they had no occasion for, came plump from an adjoining ditch. “Halloa! – halloa! – I’m hit, by – !” said one. “I’m grazed, by the – !” said another. “I heard the slugs whiz like hailstones by my head!” swore a third. “O, blood and – z!” roared out Sergeant Potterton the attorney, “I’ve got an indenture in my forehead.” – “This is nothing else but a fair ambush,” said Malony the bailiff, scratching his cheek, through which a couple of slugs had made an illegal entry to visit his grinders. “Church and state be d – d!” said the buck parson, inadvertently, on seeing a dash of blood on his waistcoat. “Oh, murder! murder!” cried the slop-merchant. “Oh, Mary Ann, Mary Ann! why did I not stay fair and easy at Poolbeg-street, as you wanted me, and I would not be massacred in this manner?”

Many of the combatants actually fancied themselves mortally wounded, at least, and all flocked round Captain Sir John Ferns for orders in this emergency. “Halloa!” roared the captain; “Halloa, boys, wheel – wheel – eel – l – boys! I say, wheel – l – l!” But being too brave to specify whether to the right, or left, or front, or rear, every wheeler wheeled according to his own taste and judgment; some to right and others to left, by twos, threes, fours, and single files, as was most convenient; of course the poor horses, being equally uncertain as the riders, absolutely charged each other in one mélange– heads and tails – helter skelter – higgledy piggledy – rumps and foreheads all toulting and twisting, to the great edification of the gentlemen rebels, who stood well hid behind the ditch, charging for another volley.

Sir John standing bravely in the centre to rally his men, his nose like the focus of a burning-glass collecting its rays, was himself a little astounded at seeing the number who appeared wounded and bleeding after so short an encounter. For this surprise the captain no doubt had very good cause: his charger had, in truth, got a bullet through his nostrils, and not being accustomed to twitches of that kind, he began to toss up his head, very naturally, in all directions, dispersing his blood on the surrounding warriors; whilst, there being no particular tint by which the blood of a Christian or an attorney and that of a horse are distinguished on a field of battle, every gallant who got a splash of the gelding’s aqua vitæ from his nose and nostrils, fancied it was his own precious gore which was gushing out of some hole bored into himself, in defence of the church and state; to both of which articles he gave a smothered curse for bringing him into so perilous and sanguinary an adventure.

However, they wisely considered that the greatest bravery may be carried too far, and become indiscretion. By a sort of instinctive coincidence of military judgment, therefore, without waiting for a council of war, word of command, or such ill-timed formalities, the whole troop immediately proved in what a contemptible point of view they held such dangers; and to show that they could turn a battle into a matter of amusement, commonly called a horse-race – such as was practised by the carbineers at the battle of Castlebar (ante), Captain Ferns, Sergeant Potterton, and the entire troop, started from the post, or rather the knock of furze, at the same moment, every jockey trying whose beast could reach a quarter of a mile off with the greatest expedition. This was performed in a time incredibly short. The winner, however, never was decided; as, when a halt took place, every jockey swore that he was the last – being directly contrary to all horse-races which do not succeed a battle.

When the race was over, a council of war ensued, and they unanimously agreed, that as no rebel had actually appeared, they must of course be defeated, and that driving rebels out of the furze was, in matter of fact, a victory.

After three cheers, therefore, for the Protestant ascendancy, they determined to follow up their success, and scour the neighbourhood of all lurking traitors.

With this object (like hounds that had lost their game), they made a cast to get upon the scent again; so at a full hand-gallop they set out, and were fortunate enough to succeed in the enterprise. In charging through a corn-field, the slop-seller’s horse, being rather near-sighted, came head foremost over some bulky matter hid amongst the corn. – “Ambush! – ambush!” cried Sir John: – “Ambush! ambush!” echoed his merry men all. Sergeant Potterton, however, being more fool-hardy than his comrades, spurred on to aid the poor slop-trader: in getting across the deep furrows, his gelding took the same summersets as his less mettlesome companion, and seated Sergeant Potterton exactly on the carcass of the slop-man, who, for fear of worse, had laid himself very quietly at full length in the furrow; and the sergeant, in rising to regain his saddle, perceived that the slop-man’s charger had stumbled over something which was snoring as loud as a couple of French-horns close beside him. The sergeant promptly perceived that he had gotten a real prize: it was, with good reason, supposed to be a drunken rebel, who lay dozing and snorting in the furrow, but, certainly, not dreaming of the uncomfortable journey he was in a few minutes to travel into a world that, before he fell asleep, he had not the least idea of visiting.

“Hollo! hollo! hollo! Captain, and brave boys,” cried Attorney Potterton: “I’ve got a lad sure enough; and though he has no arms about him, there can be no doubt but they lie hid in the corn: so his guilt is proved; and I never saw a fellow a more proper example to make in the neighbourhood!” In this idea all coincided. But what was to be done to legalize his death and burial, was a query. A drum-head court-martial was very properly mentioned by the captain; but on considering that they had no drum to try him on, they were at a considerable puzzle, till Mr. Malony declared “that he had seen a couple of gentlemen hanged in Dublin on Bloody-bridge a few days before, without any trial, and that by martial law no trial was then necessary for hanging of any body.” This suggestion was unanimously agreed to, and the rebel was ordered to be immediately executed on an old leafless tree, (which was at the corner of the field, just at their possession,) called in Ireland a rampike.

It was, however, thought but a proper courtesy to learn from the malefactor himself whom they were to hang. He protested an innocence, that no loyal man in those times could give any credit to; he declared that he was Dan Delany, a well-known brogue-maker at Glan Malour; that he was going to Dublin for leather; but the whisky was too many for him, and he lay down to sleep it off when their hands waked him. “Nonsense!” said the whole troop, “he’ll make a most beneficial example!”

Nothing now was wanting but a rope, a couple of which the bailiff had fortunately put into his coat-case for a magistrate near Rathfarnan, as there were no ropes there the strength of which could be depended upon, if rebels happened to be fat and weighty, or hanged in couples.

This was most fortunate; and all parties lent a hand at preparing the cravat for Mr. Dan Delany, brogue-maker. Mr. Walker happened to be the most active in setting the throttler, so as to ensure no failure. All was arranged; the rebel was slung cleverly over the rampike; but Mr. Walker, perceiving that the noose did not run glib enough, rode up to settle it about the neck so as to put Mr. Delany out of pain, when, most unfortunately, his own fist slipped inadvertently into the noose, and, whilst endeavouring to extricate himself, his charger got a smart kick with the rowels, which, like all other horses, considering as an order to proceed, he very expertly slipped from under Attorney Walker, who was fast, and left him dangling in company with his friend the brogue-maker, one by the head, and the other by the fist; and as the rope was of the best manufacture, it kept both fast and clear from the ground, swinging away with some grace and the utmost security.

The beast being thus freed from all constraint, thought the best thing he could do was to gallop home to his own stable (if he could find the way to it), and so set out with the utmost expedition, kicking up behind, and making divers vulgar noises, as if he was ridiculing his master’s misfortune.

He was, however, stopped on the road, and sent home to Dublin, with an intimation that Captain Ferns and all the troop were cut off near Rathfarnan; and this melancholy intelligence was published, with further particulars, in a second edition of the Dublin Evening Post, two hours after the arrival of Mr. Walker’s charger in the metropolis.

Misfortunes never come alone. The residue of the troop in high spirits had cantered on a little. The kind offices of Mr. Walker to Mr. Delany being quite voluntary, they had not noticed his humanity; and, on his roaring out to the very extent of his lungs, and the troop turning round, as the devil would have it, another tree intercepted the view of Mr. Walker, so that they perceived a very different object. – “Captain, Captain,” cried out four or five of the troop, all at once, “Look there! look there!” and there did actually appear several hundred men, attended by a crowd of women and children, approaching them by the road on which the rebel had been apprehended. There was no time to be lost; and a second heat of the horse-race immediately took place, but without waiting to be started, as on the former occasion; and this course being rather longer than the last, led them totally out of sight of Messrs. Walker and Delany.

The attorney and rebel had in the mean time enjoyed an abundance of that swing-swang exercise which so many professors of law, physic, and divinity practised pending the Irish insurrection; nor was there the slightest danger of their pastime being speedily interrupted, as Captain Ferns’ troop, being flanked by above three hundred rebels, considered that the odds were too tremendous to hold out any hopes of a victory: of course a retrograde movement was considered imperative, and they were necessitated, as often happens after boasted victories, to leave Messrs. Walker and Delany twirling about in the string, like a pair of fowls under a bottle-jack.

But notwithstanding they were both in close and almost inseparable contact, they seemed to enjoy their respective situations with a very different demeanour.

The unpleasant sensations of Mr. Delany had for a considerable time subsided into a general tranquillity, nor did his manner in the slightest degree indicate any impatience or displeasure at being so long detained in company with the inveterate solicitor; nor indeed did he articulate one sentence of complaint against the boisterous conduct of his outrageous comrade.

The attorney, on the contrary, not being blessed with so even a temper as Mr. Delany, showed every symptom of inordinate impatience to get out of his company, and exhibited divers samples of plunging, kicking, and muscular convulsion, more novel and entertaining than even those of the most celebrated rope-dancers; he also incessantly vociferated as loud, if not louder than he had ever done upon any former occasion, though not in any particular dialect or language, but as a person generally does when undergoing a cruel surgical operation.