Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

At an election for Queen’s County, between General Walsh and Mr. Warburton, of Garryhinch, about the year 1783, took place the most curious duel of any which occurred within my recollection. A Mr. Frank Skelton, one of the half-mounted gentlemen described in the early part of the first volume,—a boisterous, joking, fat young fellow, called a harmless blackguard,—was prevailed on, much against his grain, to challenge Roberts, the exciseman of the town, for running the butt-end of a horse-whip down his throat the night before, while he sat drunk and sleeping with his mouth open. The exciseman insisted that snoring at a dinner-table was a personal offence to every gentleman in company, and would therefore make no apology.

Frank, though he had been nearly choked, was very reluctant to fight; he said “he was sure to die if he did, as the exciseman could snuff a candle with his pistol-ball; and as he himself was as big as a hundred dozen of candles, what chance could he have?” We told him jocosely to give the exciseman no time to take aim at him, by which means he might perhaps hit his adversary first, and thus survive the contest. He seemed somewhat encouraged and consoled by the hint, and most strictly did he adhere to it.

Hundreds of the towns-people went to see the fight on the green of Maryborough. The ground was regularly measured; and the friends of each party pitched a ragged tent on the green, where whiskey and salt beef were consumed in abundance. Skelton having taken his ground, and at the same time two heavy drams from a bottle his foster-brother had brought, appeared quite stout till he saw the balls entering the mouths of the exciseman’s pistols, which shone as bright as silver, and were nearly as long as fusils. This vision made a palpable alteration in Skelton’s sentiments: he changed colour, and looked about him as if he wanted some assistance. However, their seconds, who were of the same rank and description, handed to each party his case of pistols, and half-bellowed to them—“blaze away, boys!”

Skelton now recollected his instructions, and _lost no time_: he cocked _both_ his pistols at once; and as the exciseman was deliberately and most scientifically coming to his “dead level,” as he called it, Skelton let fly.

“Holloa!” said the exciseman, dropping his level, “I’m _battered_, by J—s!”

“Oh! the devil’s cure to you!” said Skelton, instantly firing his second pistol.

One of the exciseman’s legs then gave way, and down he came on his knee, exclaiming, “Holloa! holloa! you blood-thirsty villain! do you want to take my life?”

“Why, to be sure I do!” said Skelton. “Ha! ha! have I _stiffened_ you, my lad?” Wisely judging, however, that if he staid till the exciseman recovered his legs, he might have a couple of shots to stand, he wheeled about, took to his heels, and got away as fast as possible. The crowd shouted; but Skelton, like a hare when started, ran the faster for the shouting.

Jemmy Moffit, his own second, followed, overtook, tripped up his heels, and cursing him for a disgraceful rascal, asked “why he ran away from the exciseman?”

“Ough thunther!” said Skelton, “how many holes did the villain want to have _drilled_ into his carcase? Would you have me stop to make a _riddle_ of him, Jemmy?”

The second insisted that Skelton should return to the field, to be _shot at_. He resisted, affirming that he had done _all_ that _honour_ required. The second called him “_a coward_!”

“By my sowl,” returned he, “my dear Jemmy Moffit, may be so! you may call me a coward, if you please; but I did it all for _the best_.”

“The _best_? you blackguard!”

“Yes,” said Frank: “sure it’s _better_ to be a _coward_ than a _corpse_! and I must have been either _one_ or _t’other_ of them.”

However, he was dragged up to the ground by his second, after agreeing to fight again, if he had another pistol given him. But, luckily for Frank, the last bullet had stuck so fast between the bones of the exciseman’s leg that he could not stand. The friends of the latter then proposed to strap him to a tree, that he might be able to shoot Skelton; but this being positively objected to by Frank, the exciseman was carried home: his first wound was on the side of his thigh, and the second in his right leg; but neither proved at all dangerous.

The exciseman, determined on _gauging_ Frank, as he called it, on his recovery challenged Skelton in his turn. Skelton accepted the challenge, but said he was _tould_ he had a right to choose his own weapons. The exciseman, knowing that such was the law, and that Skelton was no swordsman, and not anticipating any new invention, acquiesced. “Then,” said Skelton, “for my weapons, I choose my _fists_: and, by the powers, you diabolical exciseman, I’ll give you such a _basting_ that your nearest relations shan’t know you.” Skelton insisted on his right, and the other not approving of this species of combat, got nothing by his challenge; the affair dropped, and Skelton triumphed.

The only modern instance I recollect to have heard of as applicable to No. 25., (refer to the regulations detailed in last sketch,) was that of old John Bourke, of Glinsk, and Mr. Amby Bodkin. They fought near Glinsk, and the old family steward and other servants brought out the present Sir John, then a child, and held him upon a man’s shoulder, to see papa fight. On that occasion, both principals and seconds engaged: they stood at right angles, ten paces distant, and all began firing together on the signal of a pistol discharged by an umpire. At the first volley, the two principals were touched, though very slightly. The second volley told better;—both the seconds, and Amby Bodkin, Esq. staggered out of their place: they were well hit, but no lives lost. It was, according to custom, an election squabble.

The Galway rule, No. 2., was well exemplified in a duel between an old and very particular friend of mine and a Counsellor O’Maher, who had given offence, yet I believe was the challenger: no ground was measured; they fired _ad libitum_. G., never at a loss upon such occasions, took his ground at once, and kept it steadily. O’Maher began his career at a hundred paces distance, advancing obliquely, and gradually contracting his circle round his opponent, who continued changing his front by corresponding movements; both parties now and then aiming, as feints, then taking down their pistols. This _pas de deux_ lasted more than half an hour, as I have been informed:—at length, when the assailant had contracted his circle to firing distance, G. cried out, suddenly and loudly: O’Maher obeyed the signal, and instantly fired: G. returned the shot, and the challenger reeled back _hors de combat_.

On the same occasion, Mr. O’Maher’s second said to G.’s, (the famous Counsellor Ned Lysight,) “Mr. Lysight, take care:—your pistol is cocked!”—“Well, then,” said Lysight, “cock yours, and let me take a slap at you, as we are idle!” However, this proposition was not acceded to.

There could not be a greater _game-cock_ (the Irish expression for a man of determined courage) than my friend G—. That he was not only spirited himself, but the cause of infusing spirit into others, will appear from the following humorous letter which I received from him during my contested election for Maryborough. That election gave rise to many characteristic Irish adventures, for which this volume does not afford compass. Lord Castlecoote, the returning officer, (himself also a joint _proprietor_,) evinced an excessive horror of becoming acquainted with the _reporters_. Some person having jocularly told him of my friend’s letter, it became a subject of great amusement, and afforded a variety of anecdotes for the Honourable Robert Moore, who supported me on that election against his brother, the Marquis of Drogheda.

“Dublin, Jan. 29th, 1800.

“My dear Jonah,

“I have this moment sent to the mail coach-office two
bullet-moulds, not being certain which of them belongs to the
_reporters_: suspecting, however, that you may not have time to
_melt_ the _lead_, I also send half-a-dozen bullets, merely to
keep _you going_ while others are preparing.

“I lament much that my situation and political feeling prevent
me from seeing you _exhibit_ at Maryborough.

“Be _bold, wicked, steady_, and _fear nought_!

“Give a line to yours, truly,
“H. D. G.

“Jonah Barrington, Esq.”

I took his advice:—our friendship was long and close; and we never (that I am aware of) had any cause for coolness.

There could not be a better elucidation of Rule No. 5. of the code of honour, than an anecdote of Barry Yelverton, second son of Lord Avonmore, baron of the exchequer.—Barry was rather too odd a fellow to have been accounted at all times perfectly _compos mentis_. He was a barrister. In a ball-room on circuit, where the officers of a newly arrived regiment had come to amuse themselves and set the Munster lasses agog, Barry, having drunk too many bumpers, let out his natural dislike to the military, and most grossly insulted several of the officers; abusing one, treading on the toes of another, jostling a third, and so forth, till he had got through the whole regiment. Respect for the women, and the not choosing to commit themselves with the black gowns on the first day of their arrival, induced the insulted parties to content themselves with only requiring Barry’s address, and his hour of being seen the next morning. Barry, with great satisfaction, gave each of them his card, but informed them that sending to him was unnecessary;—that he was _his own second_, and would meet every man of them at eight o’clock next morning, in the ball-room; concluding by desiring them to bring their swords, as that was always his weapon. Though this was rather a curious rendezvous, yet, the challenged having the right to choose his weapon, and the place being _à propos_, the officers all attended next day punctually, with the surgeon of the regiment and a due proportion of small-swords, fully expecting that some of his brother gownsmen would join in the rencontre. On their arrival, Barry requested to know how many gentlemen had done him the honour of giving him the invitation, and was told their names, amounting to nine. “Very well, gentlemen,” said Yelverton, “I am well aware I abused some of you, and gave others an offence equivalent to a blow,—which latter being the greatest insult, we’ll dispose of those cases first, and I shall return in a few minutes fully prepared.”

They conceived he had gone for his sword, and friends. But Barry soon after returned alone, and resumed thus:—“Now, gentlemen, those to each of whom I gave an equivalent to a blow will please step forward.” Four of them accordingly did so, when Barry took from under his coat a bundle of switches, and addressed them as follows:—“Gentlemen, permit me to have the honour of handing each of you a switch, (according to the rule No. 5. of the Tipperary Resolutions,) wherewith to return the blow, if you feel any particular desire to put that extremity into practice. I fancy, gentlemen, that settles _four_ of you; and as to the rest, here, (handing one of his cards to each, with _I beg your pardon_ written above his name) that’s agreeable to No. 1. (reading the Rule). Now I fancy _all_ your cases are disposed of; and having done my duty according to the Tipperary Resolutions, which I will never swerve from,—if, gentlemen, you are not satisfied, I shall be on the bridge to-morrow morning, with a case of _barking-irons_.” The officers stared, first at him, then at each other: the honest, jolly countenance and drollery of Barry were quite irresistible; first a smile of surprise, and then a general laugh, took place, and the catastrophe was their asking Barry to dine with them at the mess, where his eccentricity and good humour delighted the whole regiment. The poor fellow grew quite deranged at last, and died, I believe, in rather unpleasant circumstances.

The late Lord Mount Garret (afterward Earl of Kilkenny) had for several years a great number of law-suits on his hands at once, particularly with some insolvent tenants, whose causes had been gratuitously taken up by Mr. Ball, an attorney;—Mr. William Johnson and several other gentlemen of the circuit took their briefs. His Lordship was dreadfully tormented. He was naturally a very clever man, and devised a new mode of carrying on his law-suits, not being able, as he said, to trust his attorney out of his sight.

He engaged a clientless attorney, named Egan, as his working solicitor, at a very liberal yearly stipend, upon the express terms of his undertaking _no other business whatsoever_, and holding his office solely in his Lordship’s own house and under his own eye and direction. His Lordship applied to Mr. Fletcher (afterward judge) and to myself, requesting an interview; whereupon, he informed us of his situation: that there were generally eight or ten counsel pitted against him; but that he would have much more reliance on the advice and _punctual_ attendance of _two_ certain, than of _ten_ straggling gentlemen; and that, under the full conviction that one of us at least would always attend the court when his causes were on, and not leave him in the lurch as he had been left, he had directed his attorney to mark on our two briefs _ten times_ the amount of what the fees should be on the other side: “Because,” said his Lordship, “if you don’t attend, to a certainty I must engage _ten_ counsel, as well as my opponents.” The singularity of the proposal set us laughing, in which his Lordship joined.

Fletcher and I accepted the offer: we did punctually and zealously attend these numerous trials, and were most liberally feed; but most unsuccessful in our efforts; for we never were able to gain a single cause, verdict, or motion, for our client.

The principle of strict justice certainly was with his Lordship; but certain formalities of the law were decidedly against him: he had, in fact, adopted an _obsolete_ mode of proceeding as a short cut: thus, perceiving himself likely to be foiled, he determined to take another course, quite out of _our_ line, and a course whereby no suit is decided in modern days—namely _fight it out_, “muzzle to muzzle,” with the attorney and _all_ the counsel on the other side.

The first procedure on this determination was a direct challenge from his Lordship to the attorney, Mr. Ball: it was accepted, and a duel immediately followed, in which his Lordship got the worst of it. He was wounded by the attorney at each shot, the first taking place in his Lordship’s right arm, which probably saved the solicitor, as his Lordship was a most accurate marksman. The noble challenger received the second bullet in his side, but the wound was not dangerous. The attorney’s skin remained quite whole.

My Lord and the attorney having been thus disposed of for the time being, the Honourable Somerset Butler (his Lordship’s son) now took the field, and proceeded, according to due form, by a challenge to Mr. Peter Burrowes, &c., the senior of the adversaries’ counsel (now judge commissioner of insolvents). The invitation not being refused, the combat took place, one chilly morning, near Kilkenny. Somerset knew his business well; but Peter had had no practice whatever in _that line_ of _litigation_—being good tempered and peaceable.

Few persons feel too _warm_ on such occasions, of a _cold_ morning, and Peter formed no exception to the general rule. An old woman who sold spiced gingerbread nuts in the street they passed through accosted the party, extolling her nuts to the very skies, as being well spiced, and fit to expel the wind, and to warm any gentleman’s stomach and bowels as well as a dram. Peter bought a pennyworth on the advice of his second, Dick Waddy, an eminent attorney, and duly receiving the change of a sixpenny-piece, marched off to the scene of action munging his gingerbread.

Preliminaries being soon arranged—the pistols given—ten steps measured—the flints hammered—and the feather-springs set—Somerset, a fine dashing young fellow, full of spirit, activity, and animation, after making a few graceful attitudes, and slapping his arms together as hackney-coachmen do in frosty weather, to make their fingers supple—gave elderly Peter (who was no posture-master) but little time to take his fighting position:—in fact, he had scarcely raised his pistol to a wabbling level, before Somerset’s ball came _crack-dash_ against Peter’s body! The halfpence rattled in his pocket: Peter dropped; Somerset fled; Dick Waddy roared “murder,” and called out to Surgeon Pack. Peter’s clothes were ripped up; and Pack, _secundum artem_, examined the wound:—something like a black hole designated the spot where the lead had penetrated the abdomen. The doctor shook his head, and pronounced but one short word—“_mortal!_”—it was, however, more expressive than a long speech. Peter groaned; his friend Waddy began to think about the coroner; his brother barristers sighed heavily, and Peter was supposed to be departing this world (but, as they all _endeavoured_ to persuade him, _for a better_);—when Surgeon Pack, after another _fatal_, taking leave of Peter, and leaning his hand on the grass to assist him in rising, felt something hard, took it up, and looked at it curiously: the spectators closed in the circle, to see Peter die; the patient turned his expiring eyes toward Surgeon Pack, as much as to say—“Good bye to you all, lads!”—when lo! the doctor held up to the astonished assembly the _identical bullet_, which, having rattled among the heads and harps, and gingerbread nuts, in Peter’s waistcoat-pocket, had flattened its own body on the surface of a copper, and left His Majesty’s bust distinctly imprinted and accurately designated, in black and blue shading, on his subject’s carcase! Peter’s heart beat high; and finding that his Gracious Sovereign, and the gingerbread, had saved his life, lost as little time as possible in rising from the sod: a bandage was applied round his body, and in a short time he was _able_ (though of course he had no reason to be over-_willing_) to begin another combat.[9]

His Lordship having now, on his part, recovered from the attorney’s wounds, considered it high time to recommence hostilities according to his original plan of the campaign; and the engagement immediately succeeding was between him and the late Counsellor John Byrne, king’s counsel, and next in rotation of his learned adversaries.

His Lordship was much pleased with the spot upon which his son had chosen to hit Counsellor Peter, and resolved to select the same for a hit on Counsellor John. The decision appeared to be judicious; and, as if the pistol itself could not be ignorant of its destination, and had been gratified at its own previous accuracy and success, (for it was the same,) it sent a bullet in the identical level, and Counsellor Byrne’s carcase received a precisely similar compliment with Counsellor Burrowes’s:—with this difference; that as the former had no gingerbread nuts, the matter appeared more serious. I asked him during his illness how he felt when he received the _crack_? he answered, just as if he had been punched by the mainmast of a man of war!—certainly a grand simile; but how far my friend Byrne was enabled to form the comparison he never divulged to me.

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Footnote 9:

Mr. Peter Burrowes, K. C., was my old friend and schoolfellow. He was
one of those persons whom every body likes:—there never was a better
hearted man! We were at Temple together.

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My Lord having got through two counsellors, and his son a third, it became the duty of Captain Pierce Butler (brother to Somerset) to take _his_ turn in the lists. The barristers now began not much to relish this species of _argument_; and a gentleman who followed next but one on the list owned fairly to me, that he would rather be on _our_ side of the question: but it was determined by our noble client, so soon as the first series of combats should be finished, to begin a new one, till he and _the lads_ had tried the mettle or “touched the inside” of all the remaining barristers. Mr. Dick Guinness, a very good-humoured, popular, _lisping_,[10] dapper little pleader, was next on the list; and the Honourable Pierce Butler, his intended slaughterer, was advised, for _variety’s sake_, to put what is called the _onus_ on that gentleman, and thereby force _him_ to become the challenger,—which he was told by a young parson would considerably _diminish_ the crime of _killing_ him.

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Footnote 10:

Lord Clare (when attorney-general) coming out of the Exchequer, which
was much crowded, was asked who was _speaking_. “Speaking!” said
Fitzgibbon; “nobody—Dick Guinness is _whistling_ a demurrer.”

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Dick’s friends _kindly_ and candidly informed him that he could have but little chance—the Honourable Pierce being one of the most resolute of a courageous family, and quite an undeviating marksman: that he had, besides, a hot, persevering, thirsty spirit, which a _little_ fighting would never quench: and as Dick was secretly informed that he would to a certainty be forced to battle (it being his _turn_), and his speedy dissolution being nearly as certain, he was recommended to settle all his worldly concerns without delay.

But it was to be otherwise.—Providence took Dick’s part, and decided that there should be no coroner’s inquest held on his body. The Honourable Pierce injudiciously put his _onus_ (and rather a _wicked_ one) on Dick in _open court_ before the _judge_; an uproar ensued, and the Honourable Pierce hid himself under the table: however, the sheriff lugged him out, and prevented that encounter effectually; Pierce with _great_ difficulty escaping immediate incarceration on giving his _honour never_ to meddle with Dick, his members, or appurtenances, for three years, commencing from the day of his _onus_. This was an interruption which the Kilkenny family could not have foreseen; and at length his Lordship, finding that neither the laws of the land, nor those of battle, were likely to adjust affairs to his satisfaction, suffered them to be terminated by the three duels already narrated.

Counsellor Leonard M‘Nally, well known both at the English and Irish bars, and in the dramatic circles as author of that popular little piece “Robin Hood,” &c., was one of the strangest fellows in the world. His figure was ludicrous: he was very short, and nearly as broad as long: his legs were of unequal length, and he had a face which no washing could clean: he wanted one thumb, the absence of which gave rise to numerous expedients on his part; and he took great care to have no nails, as he regularly eat every morning the growth of the preceding day: he never wore a glove, lest he should appear to be guilty of _duplicity_ in concealing the want of thumb. When in a hurry, he generally took two thumping steps with the short leg, to bring up the space made by the long one;—and the bar, who never missed a favourable opportunity of naming people, called him “one _pound_ two.” As being a _poet_, the bar wags termed him “_Olympus_.” He possessed, however, a fine eye, and by no means an ugly countenance; a great deal of middling intellect; a shrill, full, good forensic voice; great quickness at cross examination, with sufficient adroitness at defence; and in Ireland he was both the staff and standing-dish of the criminal jurisdictions: in a word, M‘Nally was a good-natured, hospitable, talented, dirty fellow, and had, by the latter qualification, so disgusted the circuit bar, that they refused to receive him at their mess—a cruelty I set my face against, and every summer circuit endeavoured to vote him into the mess, but always ineffectually; his neglect of his person, the shrillness of his voice, and his low solicitor company, being assigned as reasons which never could be got over.

M‘Nally had done something in the great cause of Napper and Dutton, which brought him into still further disrepute with the bar. Anxious to regain his station by some act equalising him with his brethren, he determined to offend or challenge some of the most respectable members of the profession, who, however, showed no inclination to oblige him in that way. He first tried his hand with Counsellor * * *, a veteran of the bar, but who, upon this occasion, according to the decision of his fellows, refused the combat. M‘Nally, who was as intrepid as possible, by no means despaired, and was so obliging as to honour me with the next chance; in furtherance thereof, on very little provocation, to my surprise, and by no means to my satisfaction, gave me the retort _not_ courteous in the Court of King’s Bench.

I was well aware of his object; and, not feeling comfortable under this public insult, told him (taking out my watch), “M‘Nally, you shall meet me in the Park in an hour.”

The little fellow’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at the invitation: never, perhaps, was any person so rejoiced at a good chance of going out of the world before dinner time. He instantly replied, “In _half an hour_, if you please,” comparing, at the same moment, his watch with mine:—“I hope you won’t _disappoint_ me,” continued he.

“Never fear, Mac,” answered I, “there’s not a gentleman at the bar will be ashamed to fight you _to-morrow_, provided you live so long, which I can’t promise;—though I confess I wish you had selected some other of your friends for so very disagreeable an operation.”

We had no time to spare, so parted, to get ready. The first man I met was Mr. Henry Harding, a huge, wicked, fighting King’s County attorney.—I asked him to come out with me: to him it was “fine sport.” I also summoned Rice Gibbon, a surgeon, who being the most ostentatious fellow imaginable, brought an immense bag of surgical instruments, &c. from Mercers Hospital. In forty-five minutes we were regularly posted in the middle of the review-ground in the Phœnix-park, and the whole scene, to any person not so seriously implicated, must have been irresistibly ludicrous. The sun shone brightly; and Surgeon Gibbon, to lose no time in case of a hit, spread out all his polished instruments, dissecting-knives, forceps, scalpels, saws, tourniquets, probes of all lengths, &c., on the _grass_, glittering in the light on one side of me. I am sure it looked more like a _regimental_ preparation before a battle, than for an individual encounter:—every thing was ranged in surgical order, ready for the most desperate operations; while a couple of young pupils from Mercers Hospital unfurled their three-tailed bandages like so many streamers. My second having stepped nine paces, then stood at the other side, handed me a case of pistols, and desired me to “_work_ away by J——s.”—M‘Nally stood before me, very like a beer-barrel on its stilling, and by his side were ranged three unfortunate barristers, who were all soon afterward hanged and beheaded for high-treason;—namely, John Sheers, (who was his second, and had given him his _point-blanks_,) with Henry Sheers and Bagenal Harvey, who came as _amateurs_. Both of the latter, I believe, were amicably disposed, but a negociation would not be admitted by M‘Nally, (to whom it was of great consequence to fight a _King’s Counsel_,) and to it we went. M‘Nally presented so coolly, that I could plainly see I had but little chance of being missed, so I thought it best to lose no time on my part. The poor fellow staggered, and cried out, “I am hit!” and I felt some little twitch myself, which I could not at the moment account for. Never did I experience so miserable a feeling. He had received my ball directly in the centre of his ribs. My doctor rushed at him with the zeal and activity of a dissecting surgeon, and in one moment, with a long knife, which he thrust eagerly into his waistband, ripped up his clothes to the skin, and exposed his naked carcase to the bright sun.

The ball appeared to have hit the buckle of his suspenders (_vulgariter_, gallows), by which it had been partially impeded, and had turned round, instead of entering his paunch. While I was still in dread as to the result, my second, after seeing that he had been so protected by the suspenders, inhumanly exclaimed, “By J—, Mac, you are the only _rogue_ I ever knew that was _saved_ by the _gallows_!”—I felt quite happy that he was not dangerously hurt.

On returning home, I found I had not got off quite so well as I thought; the skirt of my coat was perforated on both sides, and a scratch just enough to break the skin had taken place on both my thighs. I did not know this while on the ground, but it accounts for the _twitch_ I spoke of.

My opponent soon recovered, and after the _precedent_ of being wounded by a King’s Counsel, no barrister could afterward decently refuse to give him satisfaction. He was, therefore, no longer insulted, and the poor fellow has often told me since that my shot was his salvation. He subsequently got Curran to bring us together at his house, and a more zealous partisan I never had than M‘Nally proved himself, on my contest for the city of Dublin, during which he did me good service.

Leonard was a great poetaster; and having fallen in love with a Miss Ianson, daughter to a very rich attorney, of Bedford-row, London, he wrote on her the celebrated song of “The Lass of Richmond Hill” (her father had a lodge there). She could not withstand this, and returned his flame. This young lady was absolutely beautiful, but quite a slattern in her person. She likewise had a turn for versification, and was therefore altogether well adapted to her lame lover, particularly as she never could spare time from her poetry to _wash her hands_; a circumstance in which M‘Nally was _sympathetic_. The father, however, notwithstanding all this, refused his consent; and consequently, M‘Nally took advantage of his _dramatic_ knowledge, by adopting the precedent of Barnaby Brittle, and bribed a barber to lather old Ianson’s _eyes_ as well as his _chin_, and with something rather sharper too than Windsor soap. Slipping out of the room, while her father was getting rid of the lather and the smart, this Sappho, with her limping Phaon, escaped, and were united in the holy bands of matrimony the same evening; and she continued making, and M‘Nally correcting, verses, till it pleased God to call his angel away. This curious couple conducted themselves, both generally and toward each other, extremely well, after their union. Old Ianson partly forgave them, and made some settlement upon their children.

The _ancient_ mode of duelling in Ireland was generally on _horseback_. The combatants gallopped past each other, at a distance marked out by posts which prevented a nearer approach: they were at liberty to fire at any time from the commencement to the end of their course; but it must be at a hand-gallop: their pistols were charged alike with a _certain_ number of bullets, slugs, or whatever was most convenient, as agreed.

There had been, from time immemorial, a spot marked out on level ground near the Doone of Clapook, Queen’s County, on the estate of my grand-uncle, Sir John Byrne, which I have often visited as _classic ground_. It was beautifully situated, near Stradbally; and here, according to tradition and legendary tales, the old captains and chieftains used to meet and decide their differences. Often did I walk it over, measuring its dimensions step by step. The bounds of it are still palpable, above sixty or seventy steps long, and about forty wide: large stones remain on the spot where, I suppose, the posts originally stood to divide the combatants, which were about eight or nine yards asunder—being the nearest point from which they were to fire. The time of firing was voluntary, so as it occurred during their course, and, as before stated, in a hand-gallop. If the quarrel was not terminated in one course, the combatants proceeded to a second; and if it was decided to go on after their pistols had been discharged, they then either finished with short broad-swords on horseback, or with small-swords on foot; but the tradition ran, that when they fought with small-swords, they always adjourned to the rock of Donamese, the ancient fortress of the O’Moors and the Princes of Offely. This is the most beautiful inland ruin I have seen in Ireland. There, in the centre of the old fort, on a flat green sod, are still visible the deep indentures of the feet both of principals, who have fought with small rapiers, and their seconds: every modern visitor naturally stepping into the same marks, the indentures are consequently kept up; and it is probable that they will be deeper a hundred years hence than they were a twelvemonth ago.

My grandfather, Colonel Jonah Barrington, of Cullenaghmore, had a great passion for hearing and telling stories of old events, particularly respecting duels and battles fought in his own neighbourhood, or by his relatives: and as these were just adapted to make impression on a very young curious mind, like mine, at the moment nearly a _carte blanche_, (the Arabian Nights, for instance, read by a child, are never forgotten by him,) I remember, as if they were told yesterday, many of his recitals and traditionary tales, especially those he could himself attest; and his face bore, to the day of his death, ample proof that he had not been idle among the combatants of his own era. The battle I remember best, because I heard it oftenest and through a variety of channels, was one of my grandfather’s, about the year 1759. He and a Mr. Gilbert had an irreconcilable grudge. (I forget the cause, but I believe it was a very silly one.) It increased every day, and the relatives of both parties found it must inevitably end in a combat, which, were it postponed till the sons of each grew up, might be enlarged perhaps from an individual into a regular _family_ engagement. It was therefore thought better that the business should be ended at once; and it was decided that they should fight on horseback on the green of Maryborough; that the ground should be one hundred yards of race, and eight of distance; the weapons of each, two holster pistols, a broad-bladed but not very long sword (I have often seen my grandfather’s,) with basket handle, and a skeen, or long broad-bladed dagger: the pistols to be charged with one ball and swan-drops.

The entire country, for miles round, attended to see the combat, which had been six months settled and publicly announced, and the county-trumpeter, who attended the judges at the assizes, was on the ground. My grandfather’s second was a Mr. Lewis Moore, of Cremorgan, whom I well recollect to have seen—he long survived my grandfather: Gilbert’s was one of his own name and family—a captain of cavalry.

All due preliminaries being arranged, the country collected and placed as at a horse-race, and the ground kept free by the gamekeepers and huntsmen mounted, the combatants started, and gallopped toward each other. Both fired before they reached the nearest spot, and missed. The second course was _more fortunate_. My grandfather received many of Gilbert’s shot full in his face: the swan-drops penetrated no deeper than his temple and cheek-bones; the large bullet luckily passed him. The wounds, not being dangerous, only enraged old Jonah Barrington; and the other being equally willing to continue the conflict, a fierce battle, hand to hand, ensued: but I should think they did not close totally, or they could not have escaped with life.

My grandfather got three cuts, which he used to exhibit with great glee; one on the thick of the right arm, a second on his bridle-arm, and the third on the outside of the left hand. His hat, which he kept to the day of his death, was also sliced in several places; but both had iron skull-caps under their hats, which probably saved their brains from remaining upon the green of Maryborough.

Gilbert had received two pokes from my grandfather on his thigh and his side, but neither disabling. I fancy he had the best of the battle, being as strong as, and less irritable than, my grandfather, who, I suspect, grew, toward the last, a little ticklish on the subject; for he rushed headlong at Gilbert, closed, and instead of striking at his person, thrust his broad-sword into the horse’s body as often as he could, until the beast dropped with his rider underneath him: my grandfather then leaped off his horse, threw away his sword, and putting his skeen, or broad dagger, to the throat of Gilbert, told him to ask his life or die, as he must do either one or the other in half a minute. Gilbert said he would ask his life only upon the terms that, without apology or conversation, they should shake hands heartily and be future friends and companions, and not leave the youths of two old families to revenge their quarrel by carving each other. These terms being quite agreeable to my grandfather, as they breathed good sense, intrepidity, and good heart, he acquiesced; and from that time they were the most intimately attached and joyous friends and companions of the county wherein they resided.

My grandfather afterward fought at Clapook Squire Neddy Fitzgerald, who was badly shot. On this occasion, old Gilbert was my grandfather’s second:—I remember well seeing him; as I do also, about the same time, the late Chief Justice (then _Serjeant_) Pattison, who had come down to Cullenaghmore to visit my grandfather, and, as I afterward discovered, to cheat him of a borough and two seats in parliament, which he effected. Gilbert brought me a great many sweet things; and I heard that evening so many stories of fights at Clapook, and on the ridge of Maryborough, that I never forgot them; and it is curious enough that I have all my life taken the greatest delight in hearing of, or reading about, ancient battles and chivalrous adventures. Nothing amuses me more to this day; and hence perhaps it is, that I recollect those tales and traditions at the present moment with perfect distinctness and accuracy: my memory seldom fails me in any thing, and least of all in recitals such as the foregoing.[11]

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Footnote 11:

I have found many notes respecting such-like matters, in old Ms.
books, &c. &c.; particularly two or three at the end of an old Cookery
book, in Ms., by my great-grandmother Lady Byrne, of Timogue, in her
own hand-writing, in 1729, with several receipts purporting to be by
Lady Rory O’Neil, of Smithfield, Dublin, who died in 1741, at a great
age. I shall revive this subject in another volume, which I
contemplate.

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GEORGE HARTPOLE.

Curious fatality in the Hartpole family—Characteristic sketch of the
last of the name—Description of Shrewl Castle—The chapel and
cemetery—Strictures on epitaph-writing—Eccentricities of the
Earl of Aldborough—His Lordship proposes his sister, Lady
Hannah Stratford, as _returning-officer_ for the borough of
Baltinglass—Consequent disturbances—The North-Briton put on his
mettle, but out-manœuvred—“Lending to _the Lord_”—Successful
conspiracy to marry Hartpole to the daughter of a village
inn-keeper—He is stabbed by his wife, and deserts her in
consequence—He forms an attachment to Miss Maria Otway, whom he
marries, under the plea of his previous connexion being
illegal—Unfortunate nature of this union—Separation of the
parties—Hartpole’s voyage to Portugal, his return, and death—Sundry
other anecdotes of the Stratford family.

In the year 1791, George Hartpole, of Shrewl Castle, Queen’s County, Ireland, had just come of age. He was the last surviving male of that name, which belonged to a popular family, highly respectable, and long established in the county. Few private gentlemen commenced life with better promise, and none better merited esteem and happiness. He was my relative by blood; and though considerably younger, the most intimate and dearest friend I had.

His father, Robert, had married a sister of the late and present Earls of Aldborough. She was the mother of George; and through this connexion originated my intercourse with that eccentric nobleman and his family.

A singular fatality had attended the Hartpole family from time immemorial. The fathers seldom survived the attainment of the age of 23 years by their elder sons, which circumstance gave rise to numerous traditionary tales of sprites and warnings.[12]

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Footnote 12:

The country authorities were very wise, very grave, and very grim on
this subject; but, after all, I suspect the most natural way of
accounting for the fatality alluded to is, that the old gentlemen were
commonly among the _hardest livers_ in the country, and consequently,
the gout was certain to be their companion, and generally their
executioner.

If wood be kept _alternately_ in and out of moisture, it rots soon:—if
it is _always_ in water, it never decays. A man’s constitution and
rum-punch may to a degree resemble wood and water in this respect. The
hardest _incessant_ drinkers I ever recollect lived to a great age,
were generally healthy, and usually made their exit, at last, by
apoplexy, without troubling either doctor, parson, or apothecary:
while, on the contrary, most of those who were only _intermitting_
boozers, died much earlier; their _finisher_ being, nine times out of
ten, gout in the head or stomach: a cause, however, occasionally
varied by a broken neck by a fall from a horse, when riding home from
a housewarming, or drowning in a ditch, whilst watering their horses
after the _dogh à dourish_. A few were smothered in shaking bogs,
whilst attending the turf-cutters, &c. &c.

It required at least three days and nights incessant _hard going_ to
kill a drinker of the first class. It cost Squire Luke Flood of
Roundwood, a place situated in Queen’s County, _five_ days and nights
hard working at port before he could _finish_ either himself or the
piper. Old Squire Lewis Moor of Cremorgan died, by way of _variety_,
at seventy-six, of a violent _passion_, because his wife became
jealous of his proceedings with the kitchen-maid. A few died of
Drogheda usquebaugh, and several of _sore ancles_. I recollect, in
fact, many of the most curious deaths and burials in Ireland that ever
took place in any country under heaven. None of them were considered
as being _melancholy events_, since every _hard going_ squire then
generally took his full turn in this world, and died by some _coup de
grace_, as stated: however, he was commonly regretted by all his
acquaintance and family, except his _eldest son_.

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Robert, as usual with the gentlemen of his day, was the dupe of agents, and the victim of indolence and hospitality. He had deposited his consort in the tomb of her fathers, and had continued merrily enjoying the convivialities of the world (principally in the night-time) till his son George had passed his 22nd year, and then punctually made way for _the succession_, leaving George inheritor of a large territory, a moderate income, a tattered mansion, an embarrassed rent-roll, and a profound ignorance (without the consciousness of it) of business in all departments.

George, though not at all handsome, had completely the mien and manners of a gentleman. His features accorded well with his address, bespeaking the cordiality of a friend and the ardour of an Irishman. His disposition was mild—his nature brave, generous, and sincere: on some occasions he was obstinate and peevish; on others, somewhat sullen and suspicious; but in his friendships, George Hartpole was immutable.

His stature was of the middle height, and his figure exhibited no appearance either of personal strength or constitutional vigour: his slender form and the languid fire of his eye indicated excitation without energy; yet his spirits were moderately good, and the most careless observer might feel convinced that he had sprung from no ordinary parentage—a circumstance which then had due influence in Ireland, where agents, artisans, and attorneys had not as yet supplanted the ancient nobility and gentry of the country.

Shrewl Castle, the hereditary residence of the Hartpoles, was in no way distinguishable from the numerous other castellated edifices now in a state of dilapidation throughout the whole island—ruins which invariably excite a retrospect of happier times, when the resident landlord, reverenced and beloved, and the cheerful tenant, fostered and protected, felt the natural advantages of their reciprocal attachment; a reflection which leads us to a sad comparison with modern usages, when the absent lord and the mercenary agent have no consideration but the rents, no solicitude but for their collection; when the deserted tenantry keep pace in decline with the deserted mansion; when the ragged cottager has no master to employ, no guardian to protect him!—pining, and sunk in the lowest state of want and wretchedness,—_sans_ work, _sans_ food, _sans_ covering, _sans_ every thing,—he rushes forlorn and desperate into the arms of destruction, which in all its various shapes stands ready to receive him. The reflection is miserable, but true:—such is Ireland since the year 1800.

Hartpole’s family residence, picturesquely seated on a verdant bank of the smooth and beautiful Barrow, had, during the revolutions of time, entirely lost the character of a fortress: patched and pieced after all the numberless orders of village architecture, it had long resigned the dignity of a castle without acquiring the comforts of a mansion: yet its gradual descent, from the stronghold of powerful chieftains to the rude dwelling of an embarrassed gentleman, could be traced even by a superficial observer. Its half-levelled battlements, its solitary and decrepit tower, and its rough, dingy walls, (giving it the appearance of a sort of habitable _buttress_,) combined to portray the downfall of an ancient family.

Close bounding the site of this ambiguous heritage was situate the ancient burial-place of the Hartpole family and its followers for ages. Scattered graves, some green—some russet—denoted the recentness or remoteness of the different interments; and a few broad flag-stones indented with defaced or illegible inscriptions, and covering the remains of the early masters of the domain, just uplifted their mouldering sides from among weeds and briars, and half disclosed the only objects which could render that cemetery interesting.

One melancholy yew-tree, spreading wide its straggling branches over the tombs of its former lords and the nave of an ancient chapel, (its own hollow trunk proclaiming that it could not long survive,) seemed to await, in awful augury, the honour of expiring with the last scion of its hereditary chieftains.

To me the view of this melancholy tree always communicated a low feverish sensation, which I could not well account for. It is true, I ever disliked to contemplate the residence of the dead:[13] but that of the Hartpole race, bounding their hall of revelry, seemed to me a check upon all hilarity; and I never could raise my spirits in any room, or sleep soundly in any chamber, which overlooked that sanctuary.

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Footnote 13:

I never could get over certain disagreeable sensations and awe at the
interment of _any_ person. So strongly, indeed, have I been impressed
in this way, that I formed a resolution, which (with one exception) I
have strictly adhered to these forty years,—namely, never to attend
the funeral even of a relative. I have now and then indulged a whim of
strolling over a country church-yard, occasionally to kill time when
travelling, in other instances for statistical purposes: but, in
general, the intelligible and serious inscriptions on the tomb-stones
are so mingled and mixed with others too ridiculous even for the brain
of a stone-cutter to have devised, that the rational and preposterous,
alternately counteracting each other, made a sort of equipoise; and I
generally left an ordinary church-yard pretty much in the same mood in
which I entered it.

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The incidents which marked the life of the last owner of Shrewl Castle were singular and affecting, and on many points may tend to exhibit an instructive example. Nothing, in fact, is better calculated to influence the conduct of society, than the biography of those whose career has been conspicuously marked either by eminent virtues or peculiar events. The instance of George Hartpole may serve to prove, were proof wanting, that matrimony, as it is the most irrevocable, so is it the most precarious step in the life of mortals; and that sensations of presentiment and foreboding (as I have already more than once maintained) are not always visionary.

I was the most valued friend of this ill-fated young man. To me his whole heart was laid open;—nor was there one important circumstance of his life, one feeling of his mind, concealed from me. It is now many years since he paid his debt to nature; and, by her course, I shall not much longer tarry to regret his departure; but, whilst my pilgrimage continues, that regret cannot be extinguished.

George had received but a moderate education, far inadequate to his rank and expectations; and the country life of his careless father had afforded him too few conveniences for cultivating his capacity. His near alliance, however, and intercourse with the Aldborough family, gave him considerable opportunities to counteract, in a better class of society, that tendency to rustic dissipation to which his situation had exposed him, and which, at first seductive, soon becomes habitual, and ruinous in every way to youthful morals.

Whatever were the other eccentricities or failings of Robert, Earl of Aldborough (the uncle of Hartpole), the hyperbolical ideas of importance and dignity which he had imbibed, though in many practical instances they rendered him ridiculous, still furnished him with a certain address and air of fashion which put rustic vulgarity out of his society, and, combined with a portion of classic learning and modern belles-lettres, never failed to give him an entire ascendancy over his ruder neighbours. This curious character exhibited a pretty equal proportion of ostentation and meanness.[14]

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Footnote 14:

Hartpole, though he despised the empty arrogance of his uncle, yet saw
that his Lordship knew the world well and profited by that
knowledge:—he therefore occasionally paid much attention to some of my
Lord’s _worldly_ lectures; and had he observed the _best_ of them,
though he might possibly have appeared less amiable, he would
doubtless have been far more fortunate. But Hartpole could not draw
the due distinction between the folly of his uncle’s ostentation and
the utility of his address; disgusted with the one, he did not
sufficiently practise the other; and despised the idea of acting as if
he knew the world, lest he should be considered as affecting to know
too much of it.

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The most remarkable act of his Lordship’s life was an experiment regarding his sister, Lady Hannah Stratford. The borough of Baltinglass was in the patronage of the Stratford family; and on that subject, his brothers, John and Benjamin, never gave him a peaceable moment: they always opposed him, and generally succeeded. He was determined, however, to make a new kind of burgomaster or returning-officer, whose adherence he might religiously depend on. He therefore took his _sister_, Lady Hannah, down to the corporation, and recommended _her_ as a fit and proper returning-officer for the borough of Baltinglass! Many highly approved of her Ladyship, by way of a _change_, and a double return ensued—a man acting for the brothers, and the lady for the nobleman. This created a great battle. The honourable ladies of the family all got into the thick of it: some of them were well trounced—others gave as good as they received: the affair made a great uproar in Dublin, and informations were moved for and granted against some of the ladies. However, the brothers, as was just, kept the borough, and his Lordship never could make any farther hand of it.

The _high_-ways of Lord Aldborough, and the _by_-ways with which he intersected them, are well exhibited by an incident that occurred to him when the country was rather disturbed in 1797. He proceeded in great state, with his carriage, outriders, &c. to visit the commanding officer of a regiment of cavalry which had just arrived in that part of the country. On entering the room, he immediately began by informing the officer “that he was the Earl of Aldborough, of Belan Castle; that he had the finest mansion, demesne, park and fish-ponds in that county, and frequently did the military gentlemen the _honour_ of inviting them to his dinners;”—adding, with what he thought a dignified politeness, “I have come from my castle of Belan, where I have all the conveniences and luxuries of life, for the especial purpose of saying, Major, I am glad to see the military in my county, and have made up my mind to give _you_, Major, my countenance and protection.” The Major, who happened to be rather a rough soldier and of a country not famed for the softness of its manners, could scarcely repress his indignation at his Lordship’s arrogant politeness: but when the last sentence was pronounced, he could restrain himself no longer:—“Coontenance and proteection!” repeated he contemptuously, two or three times: “as for your _proteection_, Mister my Lord, Major M‘Pherson is always able to proteect himsel; and as for your _coontenance_, by heeven I would not tak it for your eerldom!”