Chapter VIII: Part 8

This procession being in fact partly intended to mark and to designate the extreme boundaries of his lordship’s jurisdiction, at those points where they touch the Earl of Meath’s liberty, the lord mayor thrust his sword through the wall of a certain house;—and then concluded the ceremony by approaching the sea at low water, and hurling a javelin as far upon the sands as his strength admitted, which was understood to form the boundary between him and Neptune.

The trade of Dublin is comprised of twenty-five corporations, or guilds, each independent of the other, and represented, as in London, by a common council. Every one of these comprised its masters, journeymen, and apprentices;—and each guild had a patron saint, or protector, whose image or emblem was on all great occasions dressed up in appropriate habiliments.

For this procession every member of the twenty-five corporations prepared as for a jubilee. Small funds only were collected, and each individual gladly bore his extra charges—the masters and journeymen being desirous of outvying one another, and conceiving that the gayer they appeared on that great day, the more consideration would they be entitled to throughout the ensuing three years! Of course, therefore, such as could afford it spared no expense: they borrowed the finest horses and trappings which could be procured; the masters rode—the journeymen walked, and were succeeded by the apprentices.

Every corporation had an immense carriage, with a great platform and high canopy,—the whole radiant with gilding, ribbons, and draperies, and drawn by six or eight horses equally decked and caparisoned—their colours and flags flying in all directions. On these platforms, which were fitted up as workshops, were the implements of the respective trades; and expert hands were actually at work during the entire perambulation, which generally lasted eight or nine hours!—The procession indeed took two hours to pass. The narrow-weavers wove ribbons which they threw to the spectators:—the others tossed into the air small patterns of the fabric they worked upon: the printers were employed in striking off innumerable hand-bills, with songs, and odes to the lord mayor, the lady mayoress, &c.

But the smiths’ part of the spectacle was the most gaudy: they had their forge in full work, and were attended by a very high phaeton adorned in every way they could think of—the horses covered with flowers, gilt stars, and coloured streamers. In this phaeton sat the most beautiful woman they could possibly procure, as wife to their patron, Vulcan. It is unnecessary to describe her dress: suffice it to say, it approached that of a Venus as nearly as decency would permit: a blue scarf, covered with silver doves, was used at her discretion, and four or five little Cupids, apparently naked, with goose wings stuck to their shoulders, (aiming with bows and arrows at the ladies in the windows,) played at her feet.—On one side rode, on the largest horse which could be provided, a huge fellow, representing Vulcan, dressed _cap-à-pie_ in coal-black armour, and flourishing an immense smith’s sledge-hammer as if it had been a light toy!—On the other side pranced his rival, Mars, on a tawdry-caparisoned charger, in shining armour (with an immensity of feathers and horse-hair), and brandishing a two-edged glittering sword six or eight feet long—Venus meantime seeming to pay much more attention to her gallant than to her husband. Behind the phaeton rode Argus, with an immense peacock’s tail; whilst numerous other gods and goddesses, saints, devils, satyrs, &c. were distributed in the procession, on carriages painted with clouds for the _gods_, and blue flames for the _devil_!

The skinners and tanners seemed to undergo no slight penance—a considerable number of these artisans being dressed up close in sheep and goat skins of different colours. The representatives of the butchers were enveloped in hides, with towering horns, and rode along brandishing knives, marrowbones, and cleavers!—a most formidable-looking corporation! The apothecaries made up and distributed pills and boluses on their platform, which was furnished with numerous metal pestles and mortars, so contrived and tuned as to sound, in the grinding, like bells ringing some popular air.—Each corporation had its appropriate band and colours; perfect order was maintained; and so proud was the Dublin mob of what they called their _fringes_,[47] that on this peculiar occasion they managed to behave with great decorum and propriety.

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Footnote 47:

_Franchises._

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But the crowd seemed always in the most anxious expectation to see _the tailors_, who were certainly the favourites. The master-tailors usually borrowed the best horses from their _gentlemen_ customers; and as they were not accustomed to horseback, the scene was certainly highly ludicrous. A tailor on a spirited horse has ever been esteemed a curiosity; but a troop of a hundred and fifty or two hundred tailors, all decked with ribbons and lace and every species of finery, on horses equally adorned, presented a spectacle outvying description! Their great difficulty in keeping their seats was extremely amusing.—But when the beast was _too obstreperous_, a couple of tawdry apprentices led him:—this precaution, however, did not prevent occasional misadventures. The journeymen and apprentices walked—except that number of workmen on the platform. St. Crispin with his last, St. Andrew with his cross, and St. Luke with his gridiron, were all included in the show; as were the city officers in their full robes and paraphernalia. The guild of merchants, being under the especial patronage of the _Holy Trinity_, could not, with all their ingenuity, find out any unprofane emblem, except a _shamrock_, of huge dimensions! the three _distinct_ leaves whereof are on _one_ stalk. This, by the way, offered St. Patrick means of explaining the Trinity, and thereby of converting the Irish to Christianity; and hence the shamrock became the national emblem of Ireland. The merchants had also a large ship on wheels, drawn and manned by _real_ sailors.

This singular procession I twice witnessed: it has since been abolished, after having worked well, and done no harm, from the days of the very first lord mayor of Dublin. The city authorities, however, began at length to think venison and claret would be better things for the same expense; and so it was decided that the money should remain in the purse of the corporation, and a wretched substitute for the old ceremony was arranged. The lord mayor and sheriffs, with some dozen of dirty constables, now perambulate these bounds in privacy and silence;—thus defeating, in my mind, the very _intention_ of their charter, and taking away a triennial prospective object of great attraction and pride to the inhabitants of the metropolis of Ireland, for the sole purpose of gratifying the sensual appetites of a city aristocracy, who court satiety and indigestion at the expense of their humbler brethren.

The unnecessary abolition of all ancient ceremonies is impolitic. Such as that of which I speak, tended to keep up an honest feeling of national pride, and to mark epochas in time: gratifying the humbler classes by giving them the prospect, although a distant one, of an attractive object adapted to their taste, their habits, and their station. The _fringes_ were a spur to industry, and the poor people took great pride therein.

IRISH REBELLION.

Rebellion in Ireland, in 1798—Mr. Waddy’s castle—A priest cut in two by
the portcullis, and partly eaten by Waddy—Dinner-party at Lady
Colclough’s—Names and characters of the company, including Mr. Bagenal
Harvey, Captain Keogh, &c.—Most of them executed soon after—Tour
through and state of County Wexford, after the battles and storming of
the town—Colonel Walpole killed and his regiment defeated at
Gorey—Unaccountable circumstance of Captain Keogh’s head not decaying.

Many incidents which, I really think, could not have occurred in any country except Ireland, took place in the year 1798. There is something so very different from other people in every deed or word of the unsophisticated Irish, that in fact one has no right to be surprised, whatever scenes may be acted by them.

One of these curious occurrences remains even to this day a subject of surmise and mystery. During the rebellion in County Wexford in 1798, Mr. Waddy, a violent ultra loyalist, surrounded by a neighbourhood of inveterate insurgents, to whom he had made himself peculiarly obnoxious, fled to a castle at a considerable distance from the town of Wexford. Though out of repair, it was not unfit for habitation; and might secure its tenant from any _coup de main_ of undisciplined insurgents. He dreaded discovery so much, that he would entrust his place of refuge to no person whatsoever; and, as he conceived, took sufficient food to last until he might escape out of the country. There was but one entrance to the castle, and that was furnished with an old portcullis, which drew up and let down as in ancient fortresses.

Here Mr. Waddy concealed himself; and every body was for a long time utterly ignorant as to his fate:—some said he was drowned in the Slaney; some, burned alive; others, murdered and buried in ploughed ground! But while each was willing to give an opinion as to the mode of his destruction, no one supposed him to be still alive. At length, it occurred to certain of his friends to seek him through the country; with which view they set out, attended by an armed body! Every wood and ruin was explored; but their search was vain, until approaching by chance an old castle, they became aware of a stench, which the seekers conjectured to proceed from the putrid corpse of murdered Waddy. On getting nearer, this opinion was confirmed; a dead body lay half within and half without the castle, which the descent of the old portcullis had crushed nearly into equal portions. Poor Mr. Waddy was deeply lamented; and, though with great disgust, they proceeded to remove that half of the carcase which lay outside the entrance—when, to their infinite astonishment, they perceived that it was _not_ Waddy, but a neighbouring priest, who had been so expertly cut in two;—how the thing had happened, nobody could surmise. They now rapped and shouted—but no reply: Waddy, in good truth, lay close within, supposing them to be rebels. At length, on venturing to peep out, he discovered his friends, whom he joyfully requested to raise, if possible, the portcullis, and let him out, as he was almost starved to death.

This, with difficulty, was effected, and the other half of the priest was discovered immediately within the entrance,—but by no means in equally good condition with that outside; inasmuch as it appeared that numerous collops and rump-steaks had been cut off the reverend gentleman’s hind-quarters by Waddy, who, early one morning, had found the priest thus divided; and being alike unable to raise the portcullis or get out to look for food, (certain indeed, in the latter case, of being piked by any of the rebels who knew him,) he thought it better to feed on the priest, and remain in the castle till fortune smiled, than run a risk of breaking all his bones by dropping from the battlements—his only alternative.

To the day of Waddy’s death, he could give no collected or rational account how this incident occurred:—indeed, so confused had his head become in consequence of his critical circumstances, that the whole appeared to him ever after as a dream or vision quite beyond his comprehension.

The foregoing, though among the most curious, is but one of the extraordinary occurrences of that dreadful insurrection—some of which tend to strengthen my superstitious feeling, which is, I confess, very deep-rooted, as also is my conviction, that “whatever is, is right!”—Scarcely any except the _fortunate_ will, I suppose, be ready to join me in the latter notion, though in the former I am aware I have many associates, particularly among old women and hypochondriacs: I am, it is true, perpetually laughed at for both by what are termed _clever_ ladies and _strong-minded_ gentlemen, but still think proper to retain my own impressions.

I will detail the following circumstance in illustration of these principles. It took place immediately previous to the breaking out of the rebellion.

I dined at the house of Lady Colclough (a near relative of Lady Barrington), in the town of Wexford, in April, 1798. The company, so far as I now recollect, consisted of about sixteen persons, among whom were several other of Lady Barrington’s relatives (then members of the grand-jury): Mr. Cornelius Grogan, of Johnstown, a gentleman, seventy years old, of very large fortune, who had represented the county; his two brothers, both wealthy men; Captain Keogh, afterward rebel governor of Wexford, the husband of Lady B.’s aunt; the unfortunate John Colclough, of Tintern, and the still more unfortunate Mr. Colclough; Counsellor John Beauman; Counsellor Bagenal Harvey, afterward the rebel generalissimo; Mr. William Hatton, a rebel director in Wexford; and some others. The conversation after dinner turning on the distracted state of the country, became rather too free, and I begged some of the party to be more moderate, as our ways of thinking were so different, and my public situation did not permit me, especially at that particular period, to hear such strong language: the loyalists among us did not exceed five or six (exclusive of ladies, whose politics nobody minds).

The tone of the conversation was soon changed, but not before I had made up my mind as to the probable fate of several in company, though I certainly had no idea that, in little more than a month, a sanguinary rebellion would desolate my native land, and violent deaths, within _three_ months, befall a considerable proportion of that joyous assemblage. I had seen enough, however, to convince me that all was not right; and that, by plunging one step further, most of my relatives and friends would be in imminent danger. The party however broke up; and next morning, Counsellor Beauman and myself, happening to meet on the bridge, talked over the occurrences of the previous day, uniting in opinion as to the inauspicious aspect of things, and actually proceeding to sketch out a list of those among the dinner-party whom we considered likely to fall victims!—and it so turned out that _every one_ of our predictions was verified! It was superficial observation alone that led me to think as I did at that moment, but a decided presentiment of what eventually happened soon after took possession of me; and indeed so full was I of forebodings, that I was more than once roused out of my sleep by the horrid ideas floating through my mind as to the fate of connexions for whom I had a warm affection.

Bagenal Harvey (already mentioned in this work), who had been my school-fellow and constant circuit-companion for many years, laughed, at Lady Colclough’s, at my political prudery; assured me I was totally wrong in suspecting him; and insisted on my going to Bargay Castle, his residence, to meet some old Temple friends of ours on the ensuing Monday;—my relative Captain Keogh was to be of the party.

I accordingly went there to dinner; but that evening proved to me one of great uneasiness, and made a very disagreeable impression both on my mind and spirits. The company I met included, besides the host, Mr. Cornelius Grogan; Captain Keogh; the two unfortunate Counsellors Sheers, who were both hung shortly afterward; Mr. Colclough, who was hung on the bridge; Mr. Hay, who was also executed; Mr. William Hatton, one of the rebel directory of Wexford, who unaccountably escaped; and a gentleman of the bar whose name I shall not mention, as he still lives. In fact, _seven_ of the company were soon afterward headless.

The entertainment was good, and the party cheerful. Temple freaks were talked over; the bottle circulated: but, at length, Irish politics became the topic, and proceeded to an extent of disclosure which utterly surprised me. With the Messrs. Sheers (particularly Henry) I had always been on terms of the greatest intimacy: I had extricated both of them not long before from considerable difficulty, through the kindness of Lord Kilwarden; and I had no idea that matters wherein they were concerned had proceeded to the lengths developed on that night. The probability of a speedy revolt was freely discussed, though in the most artful manner, not a word of either of the party committing themselves, or indeed any one else: but they talked it over as a result which might be expected from the complexion of the times and the irritation excited in consequence of the severities exercised by the government. The chances of success, in the event of a rising, were openly debated, as were also the circumstances likely to spring from that success, and the examples which the insurgents would in such a case probably make. The Marquess of Ely and Lord Clare they looked upon as persons not likely to be spared. All this was at the same time talked over, without one word being uttered in favour of rebellion;—a system of caution which, I afterward learned, was much practised for the purpose of gradually making proselytes without alarming them. I, however, saw through it clearly, and here my presentiments came strong upon me. I found myself in the midst of absolute though unavowed conspirators. I perceived that the explosion was much nearer than the government expected; and was startled at the decided manner in which my host and his friends spoke. The barrister whom I have mentioned but not _named_ did not reside in that province, and had no connexion with it that I ever heard of. I therefore saw that he was an _envoy_. He has, I believe, never been publicly committed in that business.

Under these circumstances, my alternative was evidently to quit the house, or give a turn to the conversation. I therefore began to laugh at the subject, and ridicule it as quite visionary, observing jestingly to Keogh—“Now, my dear Keogh, it is quite clear that you and I, in this famous rebellion, shall be on different sides of the question; and of course one or the other of us must necessarily be hanged at or before its termination—I upon a lamp-iron in Dublin, or you on the bridge of Wexford. Now, we’ll make a bargain!—if we beat you, upon my honour I’ll do all I can to save your neck; and if your folks beat us, _you’ll_ save _me_ from the honour of the lamp-iron!”

A hearty laugh ensued, and my health was drunk in a bumper.

We shook hands on the bargain, and the whole after-talk assumed a cheerful character. But I returned to Wexford at twelve at night, with a most decided impression of the danger of the country, and a complete presentiment that either myself or Captain Keogh would never see the conclusion of that summer.

I immediately wrote to Mr. Secretary Cooke, without mentioning names, place, or any particular source of knowledge; but simply to assure him that there was not a doubt that an insurrection would break out at a much earlier period than the government contemplated. I desired him to ask me no questions, because I could give him no _details_, my ideas being the free result of observation: however, I said that he might _depend_ upon the _fact_; adding that a commanding force ought instantly to be sent down to garrison the _town_ of Wexford, which might prevent any rising. “If the government,” said I, in conclusion, “does not attend to my warning, it must take the consequences.” My warning was purposely disregarded; but his Majesty’s government soon found I was right. They lost Wexford, and might have lost Ireland, by that culpable inattention.

The result need scarcely be mentioned; many members of that jovial dinner-party were executed within three months! and on my next visit to Wexford, I saw the heads of Captain Keogh, Mr. Harvey, and Mr. Colclough, on spikes over the court-house door.

Previously to the final catastrophe, however, when the insurgents had been beaten, Wexford retaken by our troops, and Keogh made prisoner, I did not forget my promise to him at Bargay Castle. He was a good man and a respectable gentleman, and I would have gone any length to save him. Many certificates had reached Dublin of his humanity to the royalists whilst the town of Wexford was under his government, and of attempts made upon _his_ life by Dixon, a brutal chief of his own party, for his endeavouring to resist the rebel butcheries. I had intended to go with these directly to Lord Camden, the lord lieutenant; but I first saw Mr. Secretary Cooke, to whom I related the entire story, and showed him several favourable documents. I begged he would come with me to the lord lieutenant, whom the aide-de-camp in waiting had informed me would receive me forthwith. He told me I might save myself the trouble of going to Lord Camden; and at the same time handed me a despatch received that morning from General Lake, who stated that he had thought it necessary, on recapturing Wexford, to lose no time in “_making examples_” of the rebel chiefs; and that accordingly, Mr. Grogan, of Johnstown, Mr. Bagenal Harvey, of Bargay Castle, Captain Keogh, Mr. Colclough, and some other gentlemen, had been hanged on the bridge and beheaded the previous morning.

I felt shocked beyond measure at this intelligence,—particularly as I knew Mr. Cornelius Grogan (an excellent gentleman, seventy years of age, of very large fortune and establishments,) to be no more a rebel than myself. Being unable, from infirmity, to walk without assistance, he was _led_ to execution.—His case was, in fact, most pitiable: he was decidedly _murdered_ according to _municipal_ law, but which at that period was totally superseded by “_martial_ law,” which in many instances was most _savagely_ resorted to.

I was at all times ready and willing to risk my life to put down that spirit of mad democracy which sought to subvert all legal institutions, and to support every true principle of the constitution which protected us: but at the same time I must in truth and candour say (and I say it with reluctance), that, during those sanguinary scenes, the brutal conduct of certain frantic _royalists_ was at _least_ on a parallel with that of the frantic _rebels_.

Immediately after the recapture of Wexford, I traversed that county, to see the ruins which had been occasioned by warfare. Enniscorthy had been twice stormed, and was dilapidated and nearly burned. New Ross showed melancholy relics of the obstinate and bloody battle of full ten hours’ duration, which had been fought in every street of it; when Lord Mountjoy fell, at the head of his regiment, by the fire of a rebel named Shepherd, who singled him out at the three billet-gate:—his regiment instantly retreated, and the triumphant rebel advanced and took his lordship’s watch out of his pocket. The man afterward showed it me in Dublin, when I took him as a witness on the attainder bill before the House of Commons. Lord Clare wanted to take it, and to send him to Newgate;—but I had brought him up on an _amnesty_, and government supported _me_. The numerous pits crammed with dead bodies, on Vinegar Hill, seemed on some spots actually elastic as we stood upon them; whilst the walls of an old windmill on its summit appeared stained and splashed with the blood and brains of the many victims who had been piked or shot against it by the rebels. The court-house of Enniscorthy, wherein our troops had burned alive above eighty of the wounded rebels; and the barn of Scullabogue, where the rebels had retaliated by burning alive above one hundred and twenty Protestants—were terrific ruins! The town of Gorey was utterly destroyed,—not a house being left perfect; and the bodies of the killed were lying half-covered in sundry ditches in its vicinity. It was here that Colonel Walpole had been defeated and killed a few days before.[48]

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Footnote 48:

No man ever came to a violent death more unwarily! Colonel Walpole was
a peculiarly handsome man, an aide-de-camp to Lord Camden. With
somewhat of the air of a _petit-maître_, he fluttered much about the
drawing-room of the Castle:—but, as he had not seen actual service, he
felt a sort of military inferiority to veterans, who had spent the
early part of their lives in blowing other people’s brains out; and he
earnestly begged to be entrusted with some command that might give him
an opportunity of fighting for a few weeks in the County Wexford, and
of writing some elegant despatches to his excellency the lord
lieutenant. The lord lieutenant most kindly indulged him with a body
of troops, and sent him to fight in the County Wexford, as he
requested: but on passing the town of Gorey, not being accustomed to
advanced-guards or flankers, he overlooked such trifles altogether!
and having got into a defile with some cannon and the Antrim
regiment,—in a few minutes the colonel was shot through the head—the
cannon changed masters—and most of the Antrim heroes had each a pike,
ten or twelve feet long, sticking in his carcase:—“Sic transit gloria
mundi!”

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An unaccountable circumstance was witnessed by me on that tour immediately after the retaking of Wexford. General Lake, as I have before mentioned, had ordered the heads of Mr. Grogan, Captain Keogh, Mr. Bagenal Harvey, and Mr. Colclough, to be placed on very low spikes over the court-house door of Wexford. A faithful servant of Mr. Grogan had taken away his head; but the other three remained there when I visited the town. The countenances of friends and relatives, in such a situation, would, it may be imagined, give any man most horrifying sensations! The heads of Mr. Colclough and Harvey seemed black lumps, the features being utterly undistinguishable; that of Keogh was uppermost, but the air had made comparatively little impression on it! His comely and respect-inspiring face (except the livid hue) appeared nearly as in life: his eyes were not closed—his thin hair did not look much ruffled: in fact, it seemed to me rather as a head of chiselled marble, with glass eyes, than as the lifeless remains of a human creature:—this singular appearance I never could get any medical man satisfactorily to explain.[49] I prevailed on General Hunter, who then commanded in Wexford, to suffer the three heads to be taken down and buried.

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Footnote 49:

It has occurred to me, that the very great difference in the look of
the heads might proceed from the following causes:—Messrs. Harvey and
Colclough were hanged on the bridge, and their bodies suffered to lie
some time before they were decapitated. The effect of strangulation
made the faces black; and the blood cooling and stagnating, this black
colour remained. Keogh had been decapitated as soon as cut down;—the
_warm_ blood was therefore _totally discharged_ from the head, and the
face became _livid_, no stagnate blood remaining to blacken it. If the
thing had not been public, it might have been doubted. It is now
thirty years past, and I can divine no other reason for so curious a
circumstance; and army surgeons in Paris (I suppose the best in the
world) tell me that my conjecture is perfectly well-founded.

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WOLF TONE.

Counsellor Theobald Wolf Tone—His resemblance to Mr. Croker—He is
ordered to be hanged by a military court—General Craig attached in the
court of Common Pleas—Tone’s attempt at suicide—Cruel suggestion
respecting him.

Theobald Wolf Tone was one of the most remarkable of the persons who lost their lives in consequence of that wild democratic mania, which, at the period treated of in the former sketch, had seized upon the reason of so many otherwise sensible individuals. His catastrophe cannot fail to be interesting:—it affected me much.

This gentleman’s enthusiastic mind was eternally surrounded by the mist of visionary speculation: it was a fine sailer, but wanted ballast. He had distinguished himself somewhat in the University as a desultory declaimer; but, in my judgment, that was the full extent of his oratorical powers. He was neither high-born nor wealthy:—in fact, I fear even a certain competency was not at his command; and hence his spirit, naturally restless, was additionally goaded and inflamed. He had no steady pursuit; nor was his nature adapted to mental labour:—of _personal_ activity he had abundance; but was deficient in judgment, and absolutely destitute of cool common sense.

Yet Wolf Tone possessed considerable talent, together with great personal firmness and intrepidity; but he knew not the time, place, or manner of turning these gifts to his advantage. His best qualities were squandered—his worst exposed; and there was a total absence of that consolidating power which draws such abilities to a focus.

It is a curious circumstance that Mr. Tone, a decided revolutionist, married (improvidently enough) one sister, whilst Mr. Thomas Reynolds, who betrayed the revolutionary friends of Tone and of himself, espoused another.

Tone was called to the Irish bar; but had been previously over-rated by the Historical Society, and did not succeed. I thought it a pity (as he was really a very good-hearted person) that he should not be fairly tried, and, if possible, pushed forward; and being myself high on the circuit, I took him round in my carriage three circuits, and thought well of him; but he was too light and visionary; and as for law, I found that species of science quite uncongenial to him. His person was unfavourable, and not gentlemanly; and he had not been much in society:—his countenance was thin and sallow; and he had in his speech a harsh guttural pronunciation of the letter _R_. Mr. Croker, of the Admiralty, resembles him in personal appearance greatly, but is much Tone’s inferior in elocution. Had Tone had the _hundredth_ part of Mr. Croker’s _tact_ and _skill_ in working upward, he might this day have been living and happy.

It is my belief that Tone _could_ not have succeeded in any steady civil profession. He was not worldly enough, nor had he sufficient collectedness for his guidance. His biography has been repeatedly published, and I only intend here to allude to the extraordinary circumstances of his death;—an event upon which I confess I had many painful feelings, and not the less so from its being connected with my own judicial functions.

He had been taken in arms by Sir John Borlase Warren, at sea, in a French frigate, proceeding to land troops in Ireland. He wore the uniform of a French officer; but being recognised, brought prisoner to Dublin, and delivered over for trial to the provost-marshal and military authorities, he was of course condemned to be hanged. I did not see him under these distressing circumstances, nor in truth was it my wish to do so; for although there existed between us no actual friendship, still I had a strong feeling for a gentleman with whom I had been so well acquainted.

It occurred to his counsel that the jurisdiction of martial law could not extend to him, as it only operated on land, and he had been taken at sea. An application was therefore made to the Common Pleas to have him brought up by habeas corpus, in order (the point being ascertained) to be regularly tried before the competent tribunal—the Court of Admiralty. The habeas corpus being granted, was served on General Craig, who then commanded in Dublin; but who, considering (as all the generals then did) that the municipal judges were no more than corporals or quarter-masters with respect to his Majesty’s forces, refused to obey it, and was attacked for his disobedience; an order was immediately made for the general, the provost-marshal, brigade-major, and some others, to be taken into custody by the officers of the court of Common Pleas forthwith.

To me (as judge of the Admiralty) this appeal was most distressing. Had Tone the least chance of escape in any court, or upon any trial, it might have been otherwise; but he could not be defended; and to have him brought before me only to witness his conviction, and to pronounce his sentence, shocked me extremely. His friends thought this course might prolong his fate a considerable time, and it was supposed that something might intermediately occur calculated to effect a commutation of the capital punishment. I knew better! I was convinced that his execution was determined on: it was unavoidable, and I felt _great_ uneasiness.

The court having, as I have said, ordered General Craig and Major Sandys (provost-marshal) to be arrested for disobedience, both these gentlemen, after some hesitation, submitted to the arrest, and the _pursuivant_ was then directed to bring up the body of Theobald Wolf Tone, on the writ of habeas corpus.—The judges sat patiently awaiting the officer’s return; and the decision being of great importance, the court was crowded to suffocation.

A considerable time elapsed, and still the _pursuivant_ returned not. At length he appeared, with horror in his looks, and scarcely able to speak. He informed the court that Mr. Tone, feeling certain of execution by order of the military, and being ignorant of the motion which his friends thought might give him some chance for his life, had cut his throat from ear to ear, and, he believed, was dying! A surgeon now attended, who reported that the prisoner had certainly cut his throat, but that recovery was possible: the incision was long and deep, but had missed the artery, and he still lived. Of course the trial was postponed; every friend he had (and I think he had many amongst the bar) rejoicing that poor Tone had escaped a public execution. He lingered awhile:—and will it be believed, that when the wound had been connected, and whilst life still seemed to be precarious, owing to the extreme inflammation,—I say, will it be believed that there existed cruelty sufficient in the breast of any human creature to advise his execution—though it would have been impossible to put the sentence in force without inserting the rope within the wound, and nearly tearing away the unfortunate gentleman’s head from his body?—Yet such advice was positively given, for “the sake of example;”—and rejected, I am happy to say, with horror! I will spare the man who gave it the ignominy which would thence attach to his name were it mentioned.

DUBLIN ELECTION.

My contest for Dublin city—Supported by Grattan, Ponsonby, Plunkett, and
Curran—Singularity of a canvass for Dublin—The election—Curious
incidents—Grattan’s famous philippic, never before published—Memoirs
of Mr. John Giffard, called the “dog in office”—Horish the
chimney-sweeper’s bon-mot.

In 1803, I had become particularly popular in Dublin. I was not at enmity with any sect or party. The losses and deprivations which the citizens of Dublin were suffering in consequence of the Union, brought to their recollection the fact of my having been one of its most zealous opponents. They knew that I had entertained professional ambition; and they also knew that, in order to oppose that measure, and support the independence of the nation as well as my own, I had with open eyes sacrificed all the objects of my ambition;—that I had refused the most gratifying proposals; and, in maintenance of principle, had set my face decidedly against the measures of that government which I had on other occasions supported, and which alone possessed the power to advance me. They knew that I had braved the animosity of Chancellor Clare, whom few had ever ventured to oppose so decidedly as myself; and that I had utterly renounced Lord Castlereagh, by whom all means were employed to attach me. In fact, the citizens of Dublin recollected that I had abandoned _every_ prospect in life to uphold their interest;[50] and consequently many persons on both sides of politics had proposed to me to become a candidate for the representation of the metropolis in Parliament. Some entire corporations voted me their freedom and support; and a great number of the freeholders tendered me their aid. Having, in addition, an extensive personal interest of my own, I at length determined to stand the contest.

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Footnote 50:

This observation is fully verified. I anticipated the consequences of
an _imperium in imperio_, which the Union inevitably produced; and
which always evades the claims and advancement of bold, independent
men, preferring those who have more pliability, _discretion_, and
tact, for the management of second-hand rulers and authorities.

-----

Persons of the first weight and rank came forward in my favour; and among these I am proud to enumerate—His Grace the Duke of Leinster, Mr. Grattan, Mr. George Ponsonby, Mr. Curran, Mr. Plunkett, many of the most respectable members of my own profession, and numerous private gentlemen. Indeed, the mode in which I was brought forward, and the parties by whom I was encouraged, could not but gratify me highly.

The city, however, immediately divided into two inveterate factions,—one of which declared for Mr. Beresford, the banker, and Mr. Ogle, the Orange chieftain; whilst the other supported Mr. Latouche and myself. A fifth gentleman, Sir John Jervoise White Jervoise, Bart., also announced himself a candidate, on the strength of his own personal connexions and individual property in the city, backed by any second votes he could pick up amongst the rest.

Dublin differs from London in this respect—inasmuch as there must be an _individual_ canvass, requiring hard labour of at least two months or ten weeks, by day and by night, to get through it cleverly. One custom alone takes up an immensity of time, which, though I believe it never existed any where else, has the semblance of good sense to recommend it. The grand corporation of Dublin comprises twenty-five minor corporations or trades, each independent of the other; and all (knowing their own importance previous to an election, and their insignificance after it is over) affect the state and authority of a Venetian senate, and say (shrewdly enough), “How can we, ignorant men! tell who is fittest to represent Dublin till we have an opportunity of knowing their abilities?” And for the purpose of acquiring this knowledge, each corporation appoints a day to receive the candidates in due formality in its hall; and each candidate is then called on to make an oration, in order to give the electors power of judging as to his capability to speak in parliament. So that, in the progress of his canvass, every candidate must make twenty-four or twenty-six speeches in his best style! Nothing can be more amusing than the gravity and decorum, wherewith the journeymen barbers,[51] hosiers, skinners, cooks, &c. &c. receive the candidates, listen to their fine florid harangues, and then begin to debate amongst themselves as to their comparative merits; and, in truth, assume as much importance as the diplomatists at Vienna, with intentions to the full as wholesome.

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Footnote 51:

These gentry, not many years since, addressed the Duke of York as “the
corporation of surgeons,”—i. e. _barber-surgeons_. The address was
replied to without its being known that they were only shavers and
wig-makers!

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However, I got through my canvass of nearly three months, and remained tolerably in my senses at the conclusion of it: though, most undoubtedly, I drank as much porter and whisky with the electors themselves, and as much tea and cherry-brandy with their wives, as would have ended my days on any other occasion. But I loved the people of Dublin; I had lived more than thirty years among them; was upon good terms with all parties and societies; and, if elected, I should have been a very faithful, and I trust, an effective representative.

The humours of an Irish canvass can only be known to those who have witnessed them; and, I believe, no election, even in Ireland, ever gave rise to more of what is termed real _fun_. Most of the incidents are too trivial and too local for detail: but there were some so ludicrous, that, even at this moment, I can scarce refrain from laughing at their recollection.

Never was a business of the kind conducted with more spirit; and, at the same time, a degree of good temper prevailed, not to have been expected in a contest which called into play the most fiery and rancorous party feelings; and the genuine stream of humour that steadily flowed on, had a great effect in washing away any marks of ill-blood.

It is with pride I relate that the four voters who formed my first tally were, Mr. George Ponsonby[52] (afterward lord chancellor), Mr. Henry Grattan, Mr. William Plunkett (the present attorney-general), and Mr. John Philpott Curran (afterward master of the rolls); and that the two former accompanied their votes by far more than merited eulogiums. No candidate on any election in Ireland ever yet exhibited so talented a tally.

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Footnote 52:

“My reason,” said Mr. Ponsonby, on the hustings, “for proposing Mr.
Barrington for the representation of the city of Dublin is—that I have
known him as my _friend_, and I have known him as my _enemy_; and, in
either character, have found him ‘an _honest man_.’”

-----

I lost the election: but I polled to the end of the fifteen days, and the last tally; and had the gratification of thinking that I broke the knot of a virulent ascendancy, was the means of Mr. Latouche’s success, and likewise of Mr. Grattan’s subsequent return.

In the course of that election many curious incidents occurred; and as every thing which relates to Mr. Grattan, and tends to elucidate the character and peculiarities of that most pure and eminent of my countrymen, must necessarily be interesting (anecdotes, which, as cotemporaries are dropping fast around me, would, if not now recorded, be lost for ever,)—I feel myself justified in detailing a few, though in themselves of no particular importance.

In the days of unsophisticated patriotism, when the very name of Grattan operated as a spell to rouse the energies and spirit of his country;—when the schisms of party bigotry had yielded to the common weal, and public men were sure to obtain that public gratitude they merited;—the corporation of Dublin (in some lucid interval of the sottish malady which has ever distinguished that inconsiderate and intemperate body) obtained a full-length portrait of Henry Grattan, then termed their great deliverer. His name graced their corporate rolls as an hereditary freeman,[53] when the jealous malice of that rancorous and persevering enemy of every man opposed to him, the Earl of Clare, in a secret committee of the House of Lords, introduced into their report some lines of a deposition by one Hughes (a rebel who had been made a witness, and was induced to coin evidence to save his own life), detailing a conversation which he alleged himself to have had with Mr. Grattan, wherein the latter had owned that he was a United Irishman. Every body knew the total falsity of this. Indeed, Mr. Grattan was, on the other hand, a man whose principles had been on certain occasions considered too aristocratic; and yet he was now denounced, in the slang of the lord chancellor, “an _infernal democrat_!” The corporation of Dublin caught the sound, and, without one atom of inquiry, tore down from their walls the portrait which had done _them_ so much honour, and unceremoniously expelled Mr. Grattan from the corporation without trial or even notice; thus proclaiming one of the most loyal and constitutional subjects of the British empire to be a rebel and incendiary. He despised and took no notice of their extravagance, but nevertheless sorely felt their ingratitude.

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Footnote 53:

Mr. Grattan’s father had been recorder of Dublin and representative in
parliament for that city.

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On the election in question, I was proposed by Mr. George Ponsonby; and upon Mr. Grattan rising next to vote upon my tally, he was immediately objected to as having been expelled on the report of Lord Clare’s committee. A burst of indignation on the one side, and of boisterous declamation on the other, forthwith succeeded. It was of an alarming nature: Grattan meanwhile standing silent, and regarding, with a smile of the most ineffable contempt ever expressed, his shameless accusers. The objection was made by Mr. John Giffard—of whom hereafter. On the first intermission of the tumult, with a calm and dignified air, but in that energetic style and tone so peculiar to himself, Mr. Grattan delivered the following memorable words—memorable, because conveying in a few short sentences the most overwhelming, although certainly hyperbolical philippic—the most irresistible assemblage of terms imputing public depravity, that the English, or, I believe, any other language, is capable of affording:—

“Mr. Sheriff, when I observe the quarter from whence the objection comes, I am not surprised at him who made it;—the hired traducer of his country—the excommunicated of his fellow-citizens—the regal rebel—the unpunished ruffian—the bigotted agitator!—In the city a firebrand—in the court a liar—in the streets a bully—in the field a coward!—And so obnoxious is he to the very party he wishes to espouse, that he is only supportable by doing those dirty acts the less vile refuse to execute!”

Giffard, thunderstruck, lost his usual assurance; and replied, in one single sentence, “I would _spit_ upon him in a desert!”—which vapid exclamation was his sole retort!

I called for the roll, and, on inspection, the form of erasing Mr. Grattan’s name appeared to have been omitted. Of course, the objection was overruled,—my friend voted, and his triumph was complete.

The erasure of his name from the roll was never afterward attempted; and, on the dissolution of that parliament, he was requested by the very same body to stand forward as their “most illustrious countryman!” and elected by acclamation in that very same court-house, as the representative of the city and corporation which had so recently endeavoured to debase and destroy him; his chairing being attended with enthusiasm by those who some time before would with equal zeal have attended his execution. Never was there exhibited a more complete proof of causeless popular versatility; which, indeed, was repeatedly practised on that _genuine_ patriot.—It totally disgusted me;—and for ever banished from my mind the charm of _vulgar popularity_, which envelopes _patriots_ only to render their fall the more conspicuous. If a public character acts conscientiously, the less he _seeks_ for popularity the more certainly he will _acquire_ it, and the longer it will adhere to him.

Mr. John Giffard, the subject of the foregoing philippic, was a very remarkable person. He had a great deal of vulgar talent; a daring impetuosity; and was wholly indifferent to public opinion. From first to last he fought his way through the world; and finally worked himself up to be the most sturdy partisan I ever recollect in the train of government. His detestation of the Pope and his adoration of King William he carried to an excess quite ridiculous; in fact, on both subjects he seemed occasionally delirious. His life had many curious incidents connected with it; and as it would be wrong that a name so frequently occurring in the local history of Ireland should remain unnoticed, I have, therefore, in these fragments introduced it.

I did not agree with Mr. Grattan as to the epithets wherewith he honoured the captain. “A coward” he most certainly was not; and, with all his faults, he had several qualities which in social intercourse are highly valuable; and, hence, it is just to make a clear distinction between his private and his public character. He was as sincere, warm-hearted, and friendly a person as I ever met with; and, on the other hand, a bitterer enemy never existed: I do not think he ever was _mine_, and I certainly never was _his_: indeed, I had a very great regard for him in private, and sometimes in public—even against myself, because I found him _sincere_. Our first difference arose on that election, but never proceeded to any degree of hostility.

Giffard was originally an apothecary. When I was at the Dublin University, the students were wild and lawless:—any offence to one was considered as an offence to all; and as the elder sons of most men of rank and fortune in Ireland were then educated in Dublin College, it was dangerous to meddle with so powerful a set of students, who consequently did precisely what they chose (outside the college-gates). If they conceived offence against any body, the collegians made no scruple of bringing the offender into the court, and pumping him well; and their unanimity and numbers were so great, that it was quite impossible any youth could be selected for punishment. In my time, we used to break open what houses we pleased!—regularly beating the watch every night, except in one parish, which we always kept in pay, to lend us their poles wherewith to fight the others! In short, our conduct was outrageous; and the first check we ever received was from Giffard, who was a director of the watch, and resided close to the Parliament-house.

He having in some way annoyed the collegians, they determined to pump Giffard; but they reckoned without their host! He entrenched himself in his house, which we assailed, breaking all his windows. He gave repeated warnings to no purpose; and a new assault being commenced, Giffard fired a pistol, and a collegian was wounded in the wrist, whereupon the assailants immediately raised the siege.

It was a lucky shot for Giffard, who immediately obtained some parochial office for his firmness;—made himself of importance on every trifling subject; and harangued constantly in the vestry. Of his subsequent progress I know nothing till about the year 1790, when I became a public character, and found Giffard an _attaché_ to the Castle in divers capacities. He was afterward placed in the revenue department, became a common-councilman, and at length high sheriff; at which epoch he acquired the title which forsook him not, of “_The Dog in Office_,” though wherefore, I could never rightly make out. His acts from that period became part of the general statistical history of Irish politics. One of his sons was butchered in cool blood by the rebels at Kildare, which naturally increased the ferocity of the father. His eldest son, Harding Giffard, and Mr. Croker of the Admiralty, married two sisters in Waterford. Mr. Croker’s good luck enabled him to aid his relative, who, having tried the Irish bar in vain for several years, has become chief justice of Ceylon:—Mr. Croker himself (after _his_ unsuccessful professional essay) being casually indebted to several persons of celebrity for his very rapid elevation.

During the election we are speaking of, one Horish, a master chimney-sweeper, appeared on the hustings. This man, being known to have several votes at command besides his own, had been strongly canvassed, but would promise none of the candidates, or give the least hint how he intended to vote.

During the rebellion of 1798, Mr. John Beresford (one of the candidates) had built a riding-house for his yeomanry troop in Marlborough Green, which had been also much used as a place for whipping _suspected_ persons in, to make them _discover_ what in all probability they _never knew_;—a practice equally just and humane, and liberally resorted to (perhaps for sport) by military officers, pending that troublous era, when martial law authorised every species of cruelty.

In Mr. Beresford’s riding-house this infernal system was carried on to a greater extent than in any other place of execution then tolerated in the metropolis:—to such an extent, indeed, that some Irish wags (who never fail even upon the most melancholy occasions to exercise their native humour) had one night the words, “Mangling done here by J. Beresford and Co.” painted upon a sign-board, and fixed over the entrance.

It happened that this same Horish had been among those who had paid to their king and country a full share of skin for the crime of being anonymously suspected. He had not forgotten the couple of hundred lashes on his bare carcase which he had received in Mr. Beresford’s riding-house: but the circumstance (being of such an ordinary nature) was, of course, totally forgotten by the candidate, notwithstanding the tenacious sensation of the elector’s loins, where many a good thick welt remained to remind him of the pastime.

Horish, a coarse, rough-looking, strong-built, independent, and at the moment well-dressed brute of a fellow, remained quite coquettish as to his votes. “Let me see!” said he, feeling his importance, and unwilling to part with it, (which would be the case the moment he had polled,) and looking earnestly at all the candidates,—“Let me see! who shall I vote for?—I’m very hard to please, gentlemen, I assure you!” He hesitated: we all pressed:—“Fair and easy, gentlemen,” said Horish, looking at each of us again, “don’t hurry a man!”

“Barrington,” cried impatient Beresford, “I know that honest fellow Horish will vote for me!” Horish stared, but said nothing.

“Indeed he will not,” replied I,—“eh, Horish?” Horish looked, but remained silent.

“I’ll lay you a _rump and dozen_,” exclaimed Beresford, “on the matter!”

Horish now started into a sort of animation, but coolly replied:—“You’ll lose that same rump and dozen, Mr. Beresford! ’twas many a _dozen_ you gave my _r—p_ already in your riding-house, and to the devil I bob that kind of entertainment! but if ever I have the honour of meeting you up a chimney, depend on it, Mr. Beresford, I’ll treat you with all the _civility_ imaginable!—Come, boys, we’ll poll away for the counsellor!” and, under Horish’s influence, I was supported by every chimney-sweeper in the city of Dublin (and there were many) who had a vote. I think he brought me near twenty voters of one species or another.

ELECTION FOR COUNTY WEXFORD.