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

“I was at this time much attached to the family; and debating in my own mind how best to conduct myself toward my friends, I determined not to tell George Robert my opinion, as it would be in effect to declare that Lord Altamont wanted courage to defend his own honour. I therefore resolved on seeking some more plausible ground of quarrel, which soon presented itself; for at the summer assizes of Mayo, holden at Castlebar, Charles Lionel Fitzgerald prosecuted his elder brother George Robert for false imprisonment and savage conduct toward their father, upon whom George Robert had fastened a chain and dray!

“The affair came on before Lord Carleton, and I volunteered in the only cause I ever pleaded.17

“An affidavit was produced, stating that the father was not confined. I observed, ‘that Robert Fitzgerald had long notice of this cause coming on; and that the best answer would be the attendance of the father when he was called as one of the magistrates in the commission for the county of Mayo.’

“Remesius Lennon, a battered old counsellor, on the other side, observed that the father was one of the worst men living, and that it would be unjust to censure any son for confining such a public nuisance.

“I opposed putting off the trial of George Robert, and concluded to this effect: – ‘Though believing that, in course of a long life, this wretched father had committed many crimes, yet the greatest crime against society and the greatest sin against Heaven that he ever perpetrated, was the having begotten the traverser.’

“On this, George Robert said, smiling, ‘Martin, you look very healthy – you take good care of your constitution; but I tell you, that you have this day taken very bad care of your life.’

“The trial went on; and it was proved, among a great number of other barbarities, that the father was chained by his son George Robert to a dray, and at times to a muzzled bear: a respectable jury found the traverser guilty; and Lord Carleton sentenced him to three years’ imprisonment, and to pay a fine to the king of five hundred pounds.

“‘Kissing’ at this time went ‘by favour;’ and Mr. Conally, the brother-in-law of George Robert, obtained from the late Duke of Buckingham, then Lord Lieutenant, the pardon and release of Fitzgerald.

“Some months after, I happened to pass through Castlebar, and learned that Mr. Fitzgerald was in the town. I had heard of his denunciations, but my determination was, neither to avoid nor seek my antagonist. Desirous of ascertaining what I had to expect, I requested a friend to call on him, and, after conversation on some ordinary subject, to say that I had been in the town.

“This was done, and George Robert answered, ‘that he hoped, whenever we met, it would not be as enemies.’

“My friend reported this: but, on the whole, I thought it as well not to seek any occasion of meeting a person who, I apprehended, might, so soon after our dispute, be induced to depart from his pacific resolution; I therefore proceeded on my journey to Dublin.

“Mrs. Crawford, I found, had been engaged to play for a few nights at Crow Street theatre, and I determined to see her Belvidera. I had not long taken my seat in the front row of the stage-box, when I heard a noisy, precipitate step, and an order given in a commanding tone for the box to be opened. I turned, and saw Mr. Fitzgerald, who took his place on the next row. His look indicated rage, and I therefore left my place in front, and took my seat on the same row with him. He stared for a moment or two directly into my face, then turned away and laughed, on which I asked, ‘Have you any thing particular to say to me, Mr. Fitzgerald?’

“He answered, with a stern look of defiance – ‘Only to tell you that I followed you from Castlebar, to proclaim you the bully of the Altamonts.’

“‘You have said enough, Mr. Fitzgerald; you no doubt expect to hear from me, and it shall be early in the morning.’

“‘I shall hear from you to-morrow!’ he repeated, contemptuously, making, as he spoke, a blow at me, and adding, ‘this will refresh your memory.’ He then pulled back his body from behind the curtain of the box, and instantly retreated toward the lobby.

“My feet got entangled in the curtain when I rushed out to follow my antagonist, and I fell upon the floor. The present Lord Howden, then Major Craddock, kindly lifted me up. When on my feet, I sprang into the lobby, which was crowded almost to an overflow. I uttered all that rage could dictate, accused Fitzgerald of cowardice, and told him he had created the present scene in order that we should be both bound over to the peace.

“‘You have got a blow,’ replied he: ‘I desire to disgrace you, and when you are punished to my liking that way (and not before) you shall have the satisfaction of being shot, or run through the body.’

“Next day, I met the late Lord Donoughmore, and he most kindly said, if I required it, he would deliver a message to Fitzgerald. I said, ‘No, I could not think of embroiling any friend of mine with such a fellow; that I would wear my sword, and trust to my opportunities of meeting Fitzgerald.’

“I watched his house closely for several days, but he did not appear. At this critical moment, a Mr. George Lyster called upon me, and said he would take my message to Fitzgerald.

“I answered, ‘that of all things I most desired to meet him; that I found I could not unkennel the fox; and that I would thank whomsoever should succeed in putting us face to face.’ I was, however, cautious of employing Lyster, knowing him to be Fitzgerald’s cousin, and supposing it possible he might have been employed by Fitzgerald himself: this induced me to try him and to say, ‘As you have offered to go to this gentleman, I will thank you to appoint the earliest moment for a meeting.’

“Mr. Lyster drew not back, but went to his cousin’s house, and was ushered by one of the servants into the drawing-room. Mr. Fitzgerald shortly entered, and as soon as Mr. Lyster hinted his business, our hero desired the footman to send one of the valets: when the latter entered, Fitzgerald said, ‘Francis, bring my cudgel with the green riband.’ When Fitzgerald got this weapon, he addressed his relative thus – ‘How dare you bring a message to me? Hold out your finger with the diamond-ring upon it!’ Poor Lyster obeyed, ignorant of his design, and with one blow Fitzgerald broke the finger, and the band of the ring, which fell on the floor. ‘Now,’ proceeded he, ‘I order you to take up the ring, and present it to me.’ As if thunderstruck, Lyster obeyed. When Fitzgerald got possession of the ring, he put it into paper, and returned it to Lyster, saying, ‘Young fellow, take care of the ring! put it up very safe, and don’t swear I robbed you of a present from some fair one.’

“This dialogue (recounted to me by Lyster himself) was followed by several blows, which cut and battered the young man severely. At last, he rushed to the window, drove his head through a pane of glass, and cried out for assistance. The police, hearing the cry, soon assembled; and not finding any of the city magistrates, they having seized both parties, conducted them into the presence of Mr. Justice Robinson.

“The judge first heard Lyster, and seeing him severely bruised, and supposing his skull might be fractured, declared that the prisoner could not be bailed.

“Fitzgerald now, on the other hand, asked to have his examination entered against Lyster. He stated, ‘that Lyster was his relative, and protected by him, and that I had influenced the young man to deliver a message from me.’ He said, ‘that Mr. Lyster had delivered such a message: that he had answered mildly, that he would not fight Mr. Martin;’ whereon, (says Fitzgerald,) this young gentleman said, ‘Then you must fight me.’ My answer was, that I would not fight any man; on which,’ continued George Robert, ‘he made several blows of the cudgel I hold in my hand’ (his own) ‘at me. I happened to be more dexterous than my assailant, and was fortunate enough to take the weapon out of his hands, and in my own defence was obliged to strike in turn, or I should have been murdered.’

“The old judge, believing every word of so plausible a statement, said, ‘I have heard enough; I commit Lyster for trial, and bind over Mr. Fitzgerald to prosecute; and I do so, expressing my approbation of Mr. Fitzgerald’s manly conduct, in refusing to fight Mr. Martin, and thus appealing for redress to the laws of his country.’

“Shortly after this curious scene, I heard that Fitzgerald was at Castlebar, and had it intimated to him that I should be there. I travelled with Mr. H. Flood18 in his carriage, and he kindly offered to be my friend, which I declined – fearing to have exposed him to some insult.

“I had sent my duelling pistols by a fellow who got drunk on the road, and forgot his errand; – so that I remained some hours at Lord Lucan’s house, expecting in vain their arrival, during which period I heard that Mr. Fitzgerald was parading the town with a number of persons from Turlow, his own estate, famous for its mobs trained to every kind of outrage.19 I heard, too, that he said, I waited for Lord Altamont’s carriage, which, observed he significantly, would not arrive. Here I have to remark that I had written a note to Lord Altamont, to say that I would gladly compound for a slight wound in the expected affair, and that I requested his carriage might be in waiting for me at Castlebar, which is only eight miles from Westport. George Robert had heard this, and said to the mob, ‘Mr. Martin expects Altamont’s carriage, but he may wait long enough; for though the horse is a brave animal, I fancy Altamont’s are like the owner, and will not stand the smell of powder.’

“These taunts reached me; and procuring a case of the common holster pistols my servant rode with, I determined to use them: but they were so stiff in the trigger that I could hardly let them off. I fastened on my sword, and putting my hand under Doctor Merlin’s arm, walked into the town, and soon saw Fitzgerald, followed by his mob. He too wore his sword, and I instantly told him to draw. He answered that he was lame, the pavement bad, and that he could not keep his footing; that I had Lord Lucan’s mob on my side; and that, in short, he would not fight me.

“I then said, ‘You will find me in the barrack-yard, where I shall remain.’

“‘I shall be in no hurry, after having struck you for your pertness,’ said he.

“On this I flung a switch into his face, walked to the barrack, and got sentries posted, with orders to keep out all persons but Mr. Fitzgerald and his friend, whilst we should be fighting. He and Mr. Fenton soon appeared: he had a good case of pistols in his hand, while I had the wretched tools I named.

“I stood against a projecting part of the barrack wall, and desired Mr. Fitzgerald to come as close as he pleased. He said a cannon would not carry so far. I answered, ‘I will soon cure that, for I will now march up until I lay my pistol to your face.’ I accordingly advanced, until our pistols touched. We both fired: he missed me, but I hit him full in the breast, and he fell back, supporting himself by a projection of rock, and exclaiming, ‘Honour, Martin, honour!’

“I said, – ‘If you are not disabled, I will wait as long as you choose!’

“At this moment, he couched treacherously like a cat, presented, fired, and hit me. I returned the fire, and hit him: he again recovered, came up, begged my pardon, asked to shake hands, and said, ‘Altamont has caused all this, and now would not send you his carriage; – let us both kick him!’

“Flood met me at the gate, and I leaned on him. I was taken to Doctor Lendser’s, to have the wound dressed, but on the way desired my servant to go with my compliments and inquire how Mr. Fitzgerald felt. Mr. Flood said, ‘On no account make any inquiry, or, if he lives, you will have a second fight.’ I was foolish, as will appear, and sent.

“I had not been many moments in bed when my hero entered the room with a careful, timid step. He said, ‘Doctor, how do you find Mr. Martin?’ I was quite surprised, but said, ‘I am very well, and hope you are not badly hurt.’

“He then addressed me, and observed, ‘Doctor Merlin insulted me, and I consider him a bully, and instrument of yours, and as such I will make you accountable.’

“I answered, ‘If I account with you, on a mutual understanding that Doctor Merlin is beneath your notice, I shall have to fight him also for such an imputation: – so put your renewed quarrel on some other ground. If you say you did not ask my pardon, I will fight you again; or if you say you are fond of such an amusement, I will fight ‘until my eyelids can no longer wag.’

“‘Shall you be at Sligo?’ was Mr. Fitzgerald’s reply.

“I said, ‘It was not my present purpose; but if he wished it, I would be there, and that immediately.’

“He named the day, to which I assented. It was reported, but I cannot vouch for the fact, that a party was sent to intercept and murder me. Shortly after I reached Sligo, my opponent sent Sir M. Crafton to say, that ‘Mr. Fitzgerald did not require any further renewal of the quarrel;’ and thus the affair ended. My surprise at Fitzgerald’s being alive and well, after having received two shots from horse-pistols full upon him, was soon cleared up; he had plated his body so as to make it completely bullet proof. On receiving my fire, he fell from the force of the balls striking him direct, and touching his concealed armour. – My wound was in the body.

“The elegant and gentlemanly appearance of this man, as contrasted with the savage treachery of his actions, was extremely curious and without any parallel of which I am aware.”

RECRUITING AT CASTLEBAR

Further particulars respecting George Robert Fitzgerald – His band of myrmidons – Proposal made to the author – He accedes to it, and commences the “recruiting service” – Hospitality at an Irish inn – Practical joking – The author’s success in enlisting George Robert’s outlaws – Serjeant Hearn and Corporal O’Mealy – Fair day at Castlebar – A speech, succeeded by “beating orders” – Mutiny among the new levies – The utility of hanks of yarn – An inglorious retreat, and renunciation, by the author, of the honours of a military life.

There were few men who flourished in my early days that excited more general or stronger interest than Mr. George Robert Fitzgerald, of Turlow, the principal object of the preceding sketch. He was born to an ample fortune, educated in the best society, had read much, travelled, and been distinguished at foreign courts: he was closely allied to one of the most popular and also to one of the most eminent personages of his own country; being brother-in-law to Mr. Thomas Conolly of Castletown, and nephew to the splendid, learned, and ambitious Earl of Bristol, Bishop of Derry: – yet, so powerfully did some demon seize upon his mind, and – let us hope – disorder his intellect, that though its starting was thus brilliant, his life presented one continuous series of outrage, and his death was a death of ignominy.

I have neither space nor inclination to become his general biographer; – in truth, he has never, to my knowledge, had any true one.20 Both his friends and enemies are now all nearly hors de combat. I know but two contemporaries capable of drawing his portrait; and in the words of one of these I have recited an anecdote not unworthy of being recorded. – I always conceive that a writer characterising the nearly exhausted generation of which he has been a contemporary, resembles a general who dates dispatches from the field of battle, wherein he details the actions and merits of his friends or enemies, while the subjects of the bulletin lie gasping or quite dead before him – and he himself only awaiting the fatal bullet which, even while he writes, may send him to his comrades. This is my own case!

The singular life, and miserable death of Mr. Fitzgerald form an historic episode which the plan and character of this work will neither admit of my detailing nor altogether passing over. The consideration of his career and catastrophe arouses in the memory acts and incidents long since erased from ordinary recollection, and thus, like a mirror, reflects the manners of the age wherein he lived.

While George Robert Fitzgerald was undergoing a part of his sentence in Newgate, Dublin,21 his brother, Charles Lionel, got possession of the house and demesne of Turlow, near Castlebar, County Mayo – one of the most lawless places then in Ireland. George Robert, as hinted in the former sketch, had armed and organised a band of desperadoes, who knew no will but his, and had no desire but his pleasure. All men were in awe of them, and the regular army alone was then held sufficient to curb their outrages. When their leader was convicted and imprisoned their spirit was somewhat depressed; but idleness and vice were by habit so deeply engrafted in their minds, that peaceable or honest means of livelihood were scouted by them. They were at length proclaimed outlaws; the military chased them; and ultimately, a sort of treaty took place, which, like our modern diplomatic negotiations, exhibited only one party endeavouring to outwit the other. The desperadoes agreed to give up all their wild courses on a promise of pardon; a great proportion declared they would “take on” for a musket; and as the army had no objection to receive robbers and murderers to fight for their king, country, and religion, their offer was accepted.

About this time my military propensities were not totally extinguished, but susceptible of being rekindled by proper stimuli – and Dean Coote, brother to Sir Eyre Coote, then Commander-in-chief in India, sent to my father, and made him what my family considered a magnificent offer – namely, that one of his sons should forthwith receive a captain’s commission in the East India Company’s service, on recruiting a hundred men for that service, and for each of which recruits, if the number were completed, twenty guineas should be paid on their being handed over to the depôt in Dublin.

In acknowledgment of this flattering offer my father immediately nominated me. I now almost fancied myself a nabob, or something better, helping to plunder and dethrone a few of the native princes – then quite plentiful, and considered fair game by the Honourable Company’s servants, civil and military. I with joy accepted the proposition – fully expecting, in four or five years, to return loaded with lacks of rupeés, and carats of diamonds, and enabled to realise all my visions of ulterior happiness. The Dean also sent me the “beating order” and instructions, with a letter of introduction, and a strong recommendation to Mr. Lionel Fitzgerald, then residing at Turlow, requesting he would aid me in enlisting his brother’s outlaws for the Company’s service, of whom above eighty had promised to accept the king’s money on terms of pardon. All now went on prosperously; the tenants of Cullenagh brought in every shilling they could rap or run, to set the young captain a-spinning; and in a week I was on my road, through frost and snow, to the county of Mayo: my father’s old huntsman, Matthew Querns, was selected to attend me as being most sensible, at least among the domestics of the family.

Matthew was attired in his best field clothing – namely, a green plush coat, scarlet-laced waistcoat of old times, buckskin breeches, and a black leather hunting cap. He carried my portmanteau, with my volunteer broad-sword buckled to it, behind him, and his own hunting horn was strapped by a belt about his middle: – this he sounded at every inn door, as he said, to make us respectable.

I was mounted on a large white horse called Friday, after Robinson Crusoe’s black boy. A case of huge holster pistols jogged before me, and my cavalry coat-case behind, containing my toilet, flints, a bullet mould, my flute, my beating order, with – to amuse leisure hours – a song-book, and the Sentimental Journey (then in high vogue, being totally new both in style and subject). Thus caparisoned and equipped, the late Matthew Querns and the present Sir Jonah Barrington, set out, fifty years ago, for the purpose of enlisting robbers and outlaws in Mayo, to plunder gentoos in the Carnatic, and establish the Christian religion on the plains of Hindostan.

At that period of my life, cold or fatigue was nothing when I had an object in view; and at the end of the third day’s trotting we arrived, through deep snow, bog roads, and after some tumbles (miserably tired), at a little cabin at Hallymount, near the plains of Kilcommon, where many a bloody battle had been fought in former times; – and as the ground was too rocky to dig graves, thousands of human skeletons had been covered up with stones – of which there is no scarcity in any, particularly that part of Ireland. Our reception was curious; and as affording an excellent idea of the species of inns and innkeepers then prevalent in Ireland, I shall sketch one of the oddest imaginable places of “entertainment for man and horse,” – which notification was written in large letters over the door, – and the house certainly did not belie it.

The landlord was a fat, red-nosed, pot-bellied, jovial fellow, the very emblem of goodnature and hospitality; he greeted me cordially before he knew any thing about me, and said I should have the best his house afforded, together with a hearty welcome (the welcome of an innkeeper, indeed, is generally very sincere). He also told Matthew that he never suffered his bin of oats in the stable to be closed, always leaving it to gentlemen’s beasts to eat at their own discretion – as he’d engage they would stop of themselves when they had got enough; and the more they eat at one meal, the less they would eat the next – so he should be no loser.

The inn consisted of cabins on the ground-floor only, and a very good hard dry floor it certainly was. The furniture was in character: but my bed (if I were to judge from its bulk and softness) had the best feathers of five hundred geese at least in it: the curtains had obviously once been the property of some greater personage than an innkeeper, as the marks of embroidery remained (on crimson silk), which had been carefully picked out – I suppose to sell the silver. My host begged I would not trouble myself as to dinner, as he knew what was good for me after so bad a journey. He protested that, so far as poultry, game, and lobsters went, no man in Mayo could beat him; and that he had a vessel of Powldoody oysters, which was sent him by Squire Francis Macnamara, of Doolan, for old acquaintance sake.

I promptly asked for a bottle of his best wine; but he told me he never sold a single bottle to a gentleman, and hoped I would have no objection to two. Of course I acquiesced, though intending to dine alone and only to drink the half of one. I was therefore surprised to see shortly a spruce young maid-servant lay out the table for six persons, with every thing in good order: – and on dinner coming in, my landlord introduced his old wife, two smart pretty daughters, and his son, by no means a “promising boy.” He uncorked both bottles at once, and no persons ever fared more sumptuously. The wine, he said, was the finest old claret, of the “real smuggling” by Sir Neil O’Donnel’s own cutter called Paddy Whack, from the Isle of Man; – and Sir Neil (a baronet of Newport) never sent a bad hogshead to any of his customers: his honour’s brandy, likewise, was not a jot worse than his claret, and always tasted best of a cold morning.

We had got deep into our second bottle, of which the ladies took a glass each, while the young gentleman drank a bumper of brandy, when my host, who knew every body and every thing local, gave me the life, adventures, and character, of almost each person of note in that county, including numerous anecdotes of George Robert, which originated in, and were confined to the neighbourhood. He laughed so heartily at his own stories, that it was impossible not to join him. Tea and hot cakes followed; a roast goose, brandy punch, and old ale, made the supper, and I retired to bed hearty and careless.

Next morning I was roused rather early by a very unexpected guest, namely, a hen, which having got into my room, layed a couple of eggs at once on my coat, which lay beside me; and then, as hens accustom themselves to do, (and it is no bad practice,) she gave as loud and protracted a notice of her accouchement as her voice could furnish.