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Title: Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate
Author: Porter, Frank Thorpe
Language: English
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TWENTY YEARS' RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH POLICE MAGISTRATE.
BY
FRANK THORPE PORTER, A.M., J.P.,
BARRISTER-AT-LAW,
AND FOR UPWARDS OF TWENTY YEARS A MAGISTRATE OF THE HEAD OFFICE OF
DUBLIN POLICE.
"Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te sciate hoc sciat alter."--PERSIUS.
TENTH EDITION.
_DUBLIN_:
HODGES, FOSTER, AND FIGGIS.
_LONDON_:
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
1880.
PREFACE.
In submitting the following pages to the consideration of the public, I
am influenced by a desire to extend the appetite which is so greedy in
devouring fiction to some morsels of fact.
Several of my narratives refer to incidents which, in their disclosures,
might occasion disagreeable feelings to the parties or to their kindred.
In such cases, I shall adopt fictitious names; but in all the details
offered to the reader, I shall include nothing which I do not firmly
believe or personally know to be _strictly true_. To the former class
must be referred several anecdotes derived from parental lips, and
referring to years previous to my birth. In a theatre, the performers
are neither applauded nor hissed from behind the scenes. The judgment
which they have to encounter is that of the audience. As a literary
manager, I shall leave each tragic or comic incident to the unbiassed
opinion and criticism of my readers. I shall occasionally have to
encounter the danger arising from allowing a great culprit to escape, or
a virtuous and estimable individual to undergo misfortune. In this
respect the writer of fiction possesses a vast advantage. He can lavish
every worldly blessing on the deserving, and allot the direst
punishments to vice and crime. But when we have to deal with stern
realities, we may regret the occurrence of a fact which leaves guilt
undetected and innocence in deep affliction. I can, however, safely
assert, upon the experience of a long professional and official life,
that vice seldom attains to great worldly prosperity, and that worth and
integrity are rarely subjected to utter destitution.
It is difficult to classify anecdotes or reminiscences which are not
connected with each other. The course I propose to adopt is to lay
before my readers the narratives which I have derived from sources
anterior to my birth, from lips truthful and occasionally humorous, but
now silent for ever. I shall reserve, as far as possible, my own
personal recollections for the latter part of this publication, in the
hope that the amusement and information obtained from others, may soften
the critical reader to an indulgent reception of the portion peculiarly
connected with myself. I may remark that some anecdotes in which my name
is introduced have been very extensively published in several
periodicals. I accord to their authors my willing testimony as to their
great imaginative power, for in the statements concerning me there is
not one word of truth. My friend, Mr. Fitzpatrick, in his recent
productions of "The Sham Squire" and "Ireland before the Union," has
mentioned me as the source from which he derived the particulars of a
few incidents in those interesting works. His unexaggerated correctness
forms a strong contrast to the flippant fictions of others. However,
when my name is brought before the public, in reference either to
fiction or fact, it affords me some apology for appearing _in propriâ
personâ_.
I cannot refrain from subjoining to this preface, with the permission of
the writer, a letter which I received soon after the publication of the
first edition.
F. T. P.
DUBLIN CASTLE, _29th October, 1875_.
DEAR MR. PORTER,
"I must thank you for the gratification and amusement Lady Burke
and I have found in your "Gleanings." The stories are full of
interest, and the anecdotes are told with wit, humour, and
piquancy. The volume is one of the cleverest books I have read this
long time."
Yours very truly,
J. BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
Lonergan's Case--Old Prisons 1
CHAPTER II.
Vesey and Keogh 6
CHAPTER III.
Mary Tudor 16
CHAPTER IV.
The Birth of a Word--A Letter of Introduction--The
Honor of Knighthood 25
CHAPTER V.
A Millionaire 31
CHAPTER VI.
The Ship Street Diamond--Second-hand Plate--The Silver
Slab--Law's Window--Old Newgate 33
CHAPTER VII.
Gonne's Watch 42
CHAPTER VIII.
The Major 49
CHAPTER IX.
Committals--A Barber Wanted--Dwyer the Rebel--An Extraordinary
Inquest--Sergeant Greene's Horse--Christy
Hughes--The Police Clerks--Recorder Walker--The
Police Statutes--Preamble--A Benefit Society Case--Police
Recruits--A Born Soldier 57
CHAPTER X.
Mendicancy 71
CHAPTER XI.
Carriage Court Cases--Dublin Carmen 77
CHAPTER XII.
A Gratuitous Jaunt--The Portuguese Postillion--A Few
Hyperboles--Miscellaneous Summonses 88
CHAPTER XIII.
Dogs--Whipping Young Thieves--Garden Robbers--Reformatories
--Apologies for Violence--Trespassers on a Nunnery 95
CHAPTER XIV.
Terry Driscoll's Fiction--Bridget Laffan--Sailors--Fisher 103
CHAPTER XV.
A Duper Duped 110
CHAPTER XVI.
Who threw the Bottle?--Excise and Customs Cases 119
CHAPTER XVII.
John Sergeant--The Magisterial Offices--Two Murders--One
Reprieved--Delahunt's Crimes 127
CHAPTER XVIII.
Murder of Mr. Little--Detective Inefficiency--Individual
Efficiency--A False Accusation Exposed--Extraordinary
Gratitude--A Salutary Reformation--A Charge of Felony--Poor
Puss, who shot her?--Baxter and Barnes 139
CHAPTER XIX.
A Run to Connaught--A Present--A Puzzle--Moll Raffle--A
Lucky Accusation--Crown Witnesses--Who blew up King
William?--Surgical Assistance--A Rejected Suitor--George
Robins--The Greek Count: The Rats--The Child
of the Alley--The Lucky Shot 153
CHAPTER XX.
O'Connell--Smith O'Brien and Meagher--John Mitchel
--Informers--The Close of 1848--The Military--A French
View of Popular Commotions 169
CHAPTER XXI.
Cholera: An Impatient Patient; Good News! only Typhus
Fever--Royal Visits--Scotch Superiority strongly
asserted--A Police Bill stigmatised--Leave of Absence--The
Rhine--The Rhineland 186
CHAPTER XXII.
Brussels--Royal Children--The Great Exhibition in
London--Home Again: A Preacher--Unlucky Rioters--Visit to
Paris--Michel Perrin 202
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Count or Convict, which?--The Fawn's Escape 231
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Count de Coucy--Dumas--A Threatened Suicide 251
CHAPTER XXV.
Dargan's Exhibition--A Bell and Knocker--Lord Gough--Father
Pecherine's Case--Assaults and Thefts--The City
Militia--A Scald quickly cured--Sailors leaving their Ship 262
CHAPTER XXVI.
Effects of Enlistment--Martial Tendencies--The She
Barracks--The Dublin Garrison--An Artillery Amazon--A
Colonel of Dragoons--Donnybrook Fair--The Liquor Traffic 277
CHAPTER XXVII.
The College Row--The Cook Street Printer--A Question and
Answer--A Barrister--An Attorney--Gibraltar 291
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Gibraltar, _continued_ 306
CHAPTER XXIX.
Gibraltar, _continued_--Departure for Home--Charity, real
Charity--A Death and Funeral--The Bay of Biscay again--At
Home: Leisure no Pleasure--A Review 320
CHAPTER XXX.
A Dublin Dentist 332
CHAPTER XXXI.
A Trip to the North--Metrical Attempts--Contrasts--Paris:
A Fair--A Review--Nadar's Balloon--Sport, Turf,
Boxing--Liquor Vehicles--No Hods--A Horse, a Dog, Rats 346
CHAPTER XXXII.
Contrasts--French Kitchens--Shops and Signs--The
Seine--Trees and Flowers--A Pretty Thief--French
Wit--French Silver--The Hotel des Invalides 360
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Gain preferred to Glory--Curious Inscriptions--Former
Gambling--An Assault--French Charity--A Letter to Heaven 376
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Father Prout 382
CHAPTER XXXV.
A French Land Murder--Irishmen, French Ecclesiastics--Algerian
Productions--Bird Charming--Brittany--Chateaubriand 387
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The Arran Islands--Circuit Reminiscences--Conclusion 396
TWENTY YEARS' RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH POLICE MAGISTRATE.
CHAPTER I.
LONERGAN'S CASE--OLD PRISONS.
Although it is probable that I may bring before my readers an incident
or two of a more remote date, I shall commence with the narrative of an
alleged crime and its supposed punishment, which has been adverted to by
Sir Jonah Barrington in his "Personal Recollections," Vol. I., page 52,
and in the description of which he has lapsed into considerable
inaccuracy. According to him, the name of the person chiefly concerned
was "Lanegan;" but in that respect there is a positive error; for by
examining the records of the Crown Office, (Ireland,) I find the name,
as my father had frequently stated to me, to be "Lonergan." He was a
young man who had been educated at the school of the Rev. Eugene
M'Kenna, of Raheny, in the County of Dublin, and from that establishment
entered Trinity College, Dublin, in the year 1773. During his
undergraduate course, he resided with Mr. M'Kenna, and acted as an
assistant in the school. In 1777, having finished his University
studies, he became a tutor in the family of Mr. Thomas O'Flaherty, of
Castlefield, in the County of Kilkenny. That gentleman was singularly
unfortunate in having married a woman of most depraved tendencies. She
engaged in an intrigue with Lonergan, and on the 28th of June, 1778, Mr.
O'Flaherty died under circumstances which occasioned the arrest of
Lonergan, on a charge of having poisoned him. The woman evaded arrest
and escaped to a foreign country. Some time must have elapsed between
the commission of the crime and the apprehension of the accused party,
for it was not until the Summer Assizes of Kilkenny, in 1781, that
Lonergan was arraigned for _Petit Treason_, the offence being considered
by the law, as it then existed, as more aggravated than murder, inasmuch
as he was in the domestic service of the man whom he was alleged to have
destroyed. He succeeded, on certain legal grounds, in postponing his
trial; but in the ensuing term a writ of _certiorari_ issued, and the
indictment was removed to the Court of King's Bench. A trial at bar was
held on November 12th, 1781, the jury having been brought up from
Kilkenny. The prisoner was convicted, and sentenced to be hanged and
_quartered_ on the 24th of the aforesaid month, and the sheriffs of the
City of Dublin were directed to have the sentence carried into effect.
At the time of his conviction, the prisoner declared that he was
innocent of the crime; but he admitted that he bought arsenic at the
instance of Mrs. O'Flaherty, who, according to his statement, told him
that she intended to use it in destroying rats. He did not deny the
imputation of an adulterous intrigue with her. The Rev. Mr. M'Kenna did
not forget his former pupil and assistant. He visited him in prison,
testified to his character in very favorable terms at the trial, and,
after condemnation, was assiduous in preparing him to meet his impending
doom with Christian resignation. He determined to attend him to the
termination of his sufferings, and to pay the last duties to his
remains. M'Kenna was married to a cousin of my father, and he was on
terms of the closest intimacy with our family. My father resided in
Skinner Row, (now Christ Church Place,) Dublin; and at the period to
which this narrative refers, he was in the prime of life--tall,
vigorous, and active. He was also serjeant of the grenadier company of
the Dublin Volunteers. He had known the unhappy Lonergan during the
peaceful and comparative innocent days that the latter had spent at
Raheny. He pitied the miserable fate of the culprit, doubted his guilt,
and sympathized with the worthy man whose pious solicitude and
friendship still sought to console the spirit that was so soon to pass
away. On the evening before the execution, M'Kenna remained with the
condemned as long as the regulations of the prison permitted. He then
betook himself to my father's house, where he proposed to stay until the
earliest hour of the morning at which he could be admitted to the gaol.
Having mentioned that he would not fail to attend Lonergan to the
consummation of his fate, in compliance with the culprit's request, he
was informed by my father that he should also be at the execution, for
that owing to the paucity of regular troops in Dublin, the sheriff had
made a requisition for a guard of the Volunteers, and that the grenadier
company were to attend at Baggot Street, (the Tyburn of Dublin,) to
which place the prisoner was to be escorted from Thomas Street by a
troop of cavalry.
Accordingly, on the 24th November, 1781, Lonergan, having briefly but
very distinctly denied any participation in the crime for which he was
condemned, was hanged by the withdrawal of the cart from beneath the
gallows to which the halter was attached, and although he received no
drop, his sufferings did not seem to be very acute. He almost
immediately ceased to struggle, and life appeared to be extinct. The
weather was extremely inclement; and when the body had been suspended
for about twenty minutes, the sheriff acceded to a suggestion that it
might be cut down. There was some difficulty in getting at the rope so
as to cut it with a knife. M'Kenna remarked this to my father, who,
drawing his short, slightly curved, and very sharp hanger, directed the
cart to be backed towards the body. Then, springing up on the cart, he
struck the rope where it crossed the beam, and severed it at once. A
coffin was brought forward from a hearse which was in waiting. The
sheriff directed the cap to be removed, and the body to be turned with
the face down. Then he handed a sharp penknife to the executioner, who
made two incisions across each other on the back of the neck. This was
considered a formal compliance with the portion of the sentence which
directed "quartering." The body was then left to the care of the
faithful friend, M'Kenna, who directed it to be placed in the hearse and
conveyed to his house at Raheny. On the 26th, a funeral, very scantily
attended, proceeded to Raheny churchyard. M'Kenna had the coffin lowered
into a very deep grave, and the burial service was read by the parochial
clergyman. Persons were engaged to watch for a few nights lest any
attempt should be made to exhume the corpse for anatomical purposes. In
two days after the funeral my father received a note from M'Kenna, in
consequence of which he immediately proceeded to Raheny. On his arrival
he was pledged to secrecy and co-operation. He willingly assented, and
having been conducted into a small apartment in the upper part of the
house, he there beheld alive, although greatly debilitated, the man
whom, at Baggot Street, he had cut down from the gallows. On the night
of the 30th November, he brought Lonergan into Skinner Row. There he
kept him concealed for upwards of a week, and then succeeded in shipping
him for Bristol. From thence he proceeded, unsuspected and
uninterrupted, to America, where, under the name of James Fennell, he
lived for a considerable time, and supported himself by educational
pursuits. His resuscitation was attributed to the rope having been
unusually short, to his being swung from the cart without receiving any
perpendicular drop, and especially to the incisions in his neck, which
produced a copious effusion of blood. Lonergan stated that on being
suspended, he immediately lost any sensation of a painful nature. His
revival was attended with violent and distressing convulsions.
OLD PRISONS.
Before I proceed to the details of some other narratives, I trust that
my readers will not censure me for submitting to their perusal incidents
connected with real or imputed crimes, and asking them to accompany me,
even in imagination, to prison scenes. There is scarcely a novelist of
celebrity that has not frequently introduced his readers to such places,
and generally without exciting any repugnance to his description of
them, or to the narratives which they supply or the subjects they
suggest. Although the prison may disappear and be replaced by other
structures, even of a different character, its ideal existence
continues, and perhaps outlasts those that arose on its foundations or
in its vicinity. In Paris, the Bastille is spoken of as if it still
existed. The name is inscribed on omnibusses, and the cab-driver asks no
further explanation when ordered to drive "a la Bastille." A house
within a short distance of the place where it stood displays on a
sign-board a view of the old fortress-prison; and few strangers pass it
during the day without pausing to gaze on the picture of a building to
which history refers so many fearful incidents, exaggerated nevertheless
most enormously by the unscrupulous revolutionists who introduced a
"reign of terror" of greater extent, and more sanguinary atrocity, than
the records of all the state prisons of France could supply. The Chateau
of Vincennes is an existing building; visited more for the memories of
the past than for the attractions of the present or the hopes of the
future; and few visitors leave it without gazing on the spot where, at
midnight, the hapless Duc D'Enghien received the fatal volley and filled
an untimely grave. Many prisons in England are associated with local
traditions or historical events highly interesting; but the lapse of
time and the habitudes of a people exceptionally romantic have deprived
them of an extensive popular appreciation. The Tolbooth of Edinburgh and
the building of the same designation in Glasgow have derived a lasting
fame from the pen of Scott; and whilst the English language exists, the
readers of the "Heart of Mid-Lothian" or "Rob Roy" will have the
Tolbooths vividly impressed on their imaginations. There are anecdotes
connected with the old prisons of Ireland, many of which would afford
most ample subjects for the writer of Romance, whilst even their simple
details would fully verify the adage that "Fact is stranger than
Fiction." I shall now proceed to a narrative which refers to a period
more than a century past, but in which, as to names and dates, the
crown-office records of the time fully agree with the statements which I
have heard from the descendants of some of the most respectable
characters connected, but in no discreditable manner, with the
circumstances detailed.
There may still be seen on the right hand side of the road leading from
Dublin through Mount Brown to Inchicore, a small portion of a granite
wall which formerly was in front of "Old Kilmainham," the common gaol of
the County of Dublin. That building was considered one of the worst
prisons of the kingdom, in consequence of its insufficient size and lax
discipline. Swift is said to have been, in his youthful days, a
frequent, although not a criminal visitor at this old gaol; and there,
perhaps, in the conversation of its inmates, he acquired much of the
coarseness and indelicacy which mar the wit and vigor of his
productions. I shall, however, most willingly and scrupulously abstain
from offering to my readers any specimens of the language of such a time
and place, when the building echoed with drunken revelry, and the
sufferings of a prisoner were aggravated by indecent buffoonery or
ribald jests. To my narrative such expressions are neither necessary nor
ornamental.
CHAPTER II.
VESEY AND KEOGH.
On the 15th of February, 1743, a gentleman named James Vesey, who held a
commission in the army, was returning to Dublin from a southern county
where he possessed a respectable landed property. The facilities which
now exist for the safe and prompt remittance of money were then almost
unknown, and he had with him upwards of eighteen hundred pounds in
specie. He was so unfortunate as to be stopped on the road at
Castleknock, and robbed of the money, his watch, and its appendages.
The highwayman who opened the door of the post-chaise had an associate
who kept at the horses' heads, and could not be recognized. After the
perpetration of the crime, the traveller proceeded on to Dublin and
apprised the authorities of his loss. A vigilant search terminated,
after a few days, in the apprehension of two brothers named Martin and
Sylvester Keogh. They were men of a sinister reputation, who resided
near Rathcoole, and spent more money than they could be supposed to have
acquired honestly, being the occupiers of a thatched house of humble
dimensions, and a neglected farm of six or seven acres. On being brought
before a magistrate, Martin Keogh was fully identified by Mr. Vesey, as
the man who, pistol in hand, opened the door of the chaise and despoiled
him of his property. Against the other there was no criminating
evidence, and after a detention of some days, he was discharged. The
closest search after the money terminated unsuccessfully, not a guinea
could be found. Martin Keogh was committed for trial at the ensuing
commission of _Oyer and Terminer_ for the county of Dublin, and was
there convicted of the robbery, on the positive and undoubtedly true
testimony of Mr. Vesey. Sentence of death was passed, and the doomed
felon became an occupant of the condemned cell at Old Kilmainham, from
the dreary precincts of which he was to issue at the end of twenty-one
days, to die upon the gallows. Mr. Vesey's leave of absence had been
extended until the result of the trial left him free to proceed to
England to join his regiment; and he departed from Dublin without any
other satisfaction for his eighteen hundred pounds than what might be
derived from the impending punishment of the delinquent. He had ample
opportunities for seeing Martin Keogh during the preliminary proceedings
and in the progress of the trial, and the figure and features of the
highwayman remained indelibly impressed on his memory. Soon after Mr.
Vesey's arrival in England, he proceeded to encounter the dangers and
privations of protracted foreign service; he attained the rank of
Captain, and his regiment formed a portion of "the terrible English
column" on the memorable field of Fontenoy, the 11th day of May, 1745.
It is unnecessary to introduce here any lengthened or distinct
description of the obstinate valor with which the English advanced,
thinned, but undismayed, by the concentrated fire of the French
artillery, and unbroken by the repeated charges of veteran troops led by
the most chivalrous of a gallant nobility. They were not broken until
assailed by the Irish Brigade, who rushed upon them with irresistible
fury. Then, penetrated and scattered, the column became completely
disorganized, and subjected to fearful slaughter by the impetuous Irish
and exulting French. Captain Vesey remained on the field of battle. He
had been wounded, almost simultaneously, by two balls, and also received
a blow from the butt of a musket, which reduced him to a state of utter
insensibility.
Louis XV was present at Fontenoy, and in the hour of victory displayed
the only virtues which, in his character, were associated with many
great vices. He was generous and humane, and at once directed that the
wounded English should receive the same care as was bestowed on his own
soldiers. Considerable numbers were conveyed to Lille, where surgical
skill and the soothing attentions of religious communities and
kind-hearted inhabitants effected numerous recoveries. Captain Vesey was
soon convalescent. During his illness, several officers of the Irish
Brigade forgot he was an enemy, but recollected that he was their
gallant and suffering countryman, and from them he experienced the
courtesy of gentlemen and the sympathy of friends. Amongst them was the
Count de St. Woostan, an officer in the regiment of Berwick, who was
acting at Lille in a capacity similar to that of town-major in an
English garrison. One evening, at the Count's quarters, the conversation
turned on the various incidents of the battle in which they had been so
recently engaged, and an officer remarked that Vesey owed his life, in
all probability, to a private in Berwick's regiment, who procured
assistance to convey him from the field whilst in a state of
insensibility, and manifested the utmost anxiety for his preservation.
This elicited a very natural remark from Vesey, that it was
extraordinary the man had never since approached him, either to evince
any satisfaction at his recovery, or to claim a recompense for his
services. On further enquiry, he ascertained that the soldier's name was
Martin Vaughan, and that he was in the garrison of Lille. On the
following day he proceeded, accompanied by the Count, to seek out the
man to whom his safety was ascribed, and found that he had been sent, on
escort duty, a short distance from the town. The Count, thereupon, left
directions for Martin Vaughan to present himself at his quarters on a
certain evening. The soldier attended accordingly, and was ushered into
the presence of the Count and Captain Vesey, the latter of whom felt
inclined to distrust his own senses, when he beheld Martin _Keogh_, whom
he believed to have been, for more than two years, mouldering in a
felon's grave. Suddenly, however, the idea occurred that a recognition
might be irreparably injurious to the man who had recently rendered him
such material service. He felt at once that Keogh's escape from the
ignominious fate to which he had been doomed was like an interposition
of providence, highly beneficial to both of them. He approached the man
and briefly expressed his thanks for the care to which he ascribed his
safety. He then tendered him twenty _louis d'or_, but the gift was at
once respectfully declined. The soldier appeared greatly agitated, and
exclaimed--"No, Captain Vesey, not a penny of your money will I ever
touch again."
The Count remarked the expression, and observed--"Why, Vaughan, it would
appear that you have met the captain before you took service with us."
"We have met," said the soldier; "he knows when and where; he will tell
you what he knows, but he does not know all. Ye are two gentlemen on
whose honor I can rely, and I shall tell you on one condition."
"Excuse me," said the Count, "my curiosity is not so intense as to make
me desirous of a confidence disagreeable either to Captain Vesey or to
you. You have been a good soldier, in every respect, since you entered
the regiment. I have known you only in that capacity. I have no wish to
be informed on any previous transaction."
"And I pledge my hand and word," said Vesey, "that I shall never allude
to you except as the man to whose humane exertions I am indebted for my
life."
He extended his hand to the soldier, who respectfully pressed it between
his own, saying--"Let it be so, I am fully satisfied." He saluted the
Count and departed.
In about two months after an exchange of prisoners was effected. The
Count and Vesey parted with mutual regret and assurances of lasting
friendship. A few minutes before they parted, the Count mentioned that
he had procured for Vaughan the grade of sergeant. Vaughan asked and was
granted an opportunity of bidding the Captain a respectful farewell. The
military operations of the English were for some time extensive and
diversified; and during eleven years Vesey did not revisit Ireland. He
had been in India and in America; and he again became a prisoner to the
French in 1756, when the Duc de Richlieu captured Minorca. There he
again met with the Count de St. Woostan. Their friendship was renewed,
and Vesey, who had attained to the rank of colonel, obtained permission,
upon parole, to visit Paris, whither the Count was proceeding with
despatches. He casually enquired for Vaughan, and was informed by the
Count that soon after their parting at Lille, Vaughan's brother,
Sylvester, had arrived from Ireland, and joined the regiment. He was
killed at the battle of Raucoux, where Martin was severely wounded, and
had consequently become an inmate of the _Hotel des Invalides_. There
Colonel Vesey again saw the man, whose escape from an ignominious death
had often occasioned perplexing conjectures to his prosecutor. The old
sergeant evinced great pleasure at the Colonel's visit, attended him
through the establishment, and having conducted him into one of the
arbors, which the veterans of the Invalides have, from the very
commencement of the institution, cultivated with peculiar care and
taste, he offered the Colonel a seat under an agreeable shade, and
requested him to listen to a narration of the escape which had been
effected from Old Kilmainham. "I need not now, sir," he added, "ask any
condition from you, for the man who arranged the affair is dead. No one
can now be injured by the disclosure. I have bitterly mourned the
disgraceful act that subjected me to capital punishment, which I only
escaped by flying for ever from my native country, and which also led to
the loss of my poor brother, whom I persuaded to join in it and some
other similar deeds. God knows my heart. I would willingly make
restitution of your property, but I shall never possess the means. It
was a great consolation that I was able to do you a little service after
Fontenoy, and I felt a certain happiness in receiving your forgiveness
when we parted at Lille."
"My good friend," said the Colonel, "as to the affair at Castleknock, I
would wish you never to mention it again. I have, however, a great
curiosity to know how you managed to avoid the fate which, to say the
truth, I thought you had undergone."
"We took the money, sir," said Martin, "and placed it in a strong canvas
bag. We hid it in neither house, garden, nor field, but in a deep part
of the river Liffey, below the Salmon Leap. There was a stout cord from
the bag to a heavy weight, so that it might be easily caught by a drag.
Well, I was convicted and sentenced, and there were four others
condemned at the same Commission, and we were all to be executed on the
same day. One was a forger, and three were housebreakers. We each
occupied a separate cell in the condemned yard. It was a horrible place,
for I well recollect that on each side of the yard a full length figure
of Death was painted,[1] holding in his skeleton hands a scythe and
hour-glass; so that wherever our eyes turned, we were reminded of our
hapless condition and coming sufferings. The gaoler came in two or three
times daily, whilst our cells were open, and I soon remarked that he
took very little notice of the others, but spoke pretty often to me. On
the fifth or sixth day after my sentence, I was in my cell, counting my
days, and trying to count my hours; making pictures in my despairing
mind of the cart and the crowd, and cringing as if I already felt the
slippery noose of the soaped halter closing round the creeping flesh of
my neck; thinking of the happy days of innocent childhood, and feeling
some consolation in my misery that my brother had not been condemned;
that I left no wife or family, and that both my parents were dead, and
spared the shame and sorrow of their son's public execution. This was
the state of my mind when the gaoler entered the cell. He closed the
door, and addressed some kind expressions to me, hoping that I was
resigned to the great change that was impending, and enquiring if he
could do anything for my comfort or consolation. In a stout but low tone
I replied, that I would rather get rid of the business without being
hanged at all. He closed the door, and sat down on the block-stool, and
we remained silent for a few minutes; but there were looks passing
between us; we were reading each other's hearts. At length he
said--'Have you the money?'
"'It is safe, every guinea of it,' I replied, 'but useless to me and to
every one else, if I am to stay here for the few remaining days of my
life. Moreover, I could not give it all, for there would be very little
use in going out of the prison if I had not the means of going far and
going fast; but I have fifteen hundred pounds for a friend, who would be
a real friend.'
"'Mr. Vesey is gone,' said the gaoler, 'we are perfectly secure from any
observation or interference on his part; I am running a great risk, but
I shall try the chance. I am, I admit, in great want of money. Give me
fifteen hundred pounds, and I will allow your brother to pass through my
rooms to the top of the prison, and to bring a rope ladder with him. He
can descend into the yard, and there he will find a key in the door of
your cell; this can be done at twelve to-morrow night; and you may be
far away before nine the following morning. Your brother will be here to
see you by-and-by, you can arrange with him, but there is no time to be
lost.'
"'My brother,' I replied, 'shall have nothing to do with the business,
except to bring the money, I shall not cross the wall, I must go out by
the door, I must be let out, or stay until I am disposed of along with
the rest.'
"'It is impossible,' said the gaoler.
"'It is not impossible,' I replied, 'but very easy, if you can get a
little assistance. I must be sick, very sick; fever, gaol fever, is to
be my complaint; I must die, and be sent out in a coffin.'
"'No,' said he, 'there must be a real corpse. I think it can be managed,
but I cannot have more than a thousand pounds for myself, the remainder
of the money must be divided between two other persons, on whose
co-operation I feel certain that I can fully rely.'
"We agreed upon the plan, and for several days I was really sick, made
so by artificial means--spirits, laudanum, tobacco, and other things
were used in various ways. Half of the stipulated sum was brought by my
brother, and paid to the gaoler in the condemned cell. The other men
were removed to another part of the building. At length _I died_, you
understand; and on that night a corpse was introduced into my cell by
the gaoler himself. It was of my size, and was procured from the
neighbouring burial ground of the Hospital fields, vulgarly termed
_Bully's Acre_; but unlike the generality of such disinterments, it was
to go back there again, and to be buried in my name. I was informed that
there would be an inquest on me; but as I had died of putrid, spotted
fever of the most infectious description, it was not likely that the
coroner or the jury would view my body, unless at the greatest possible
distance. I assisted the gaoler to arrange the supposed corpse of
myself, placing the face to the wall, and then I was quietly let out
upon the high road, after having paid the balance of the fifteen
hundred pounds. My brother who had brought the money, was in waiting,
but we soon separated. He thought it would prevent suspicion being
raised if he attended the funeral of my substitute; and I set out on
foot, taking the road to Wicklow, and stopping in the morning to have a
little rest and refreshment at Loughlinstown. About the time of my
funeral, I was passing Coolagad, near Delgany, and was alarmed by a pack
of hounds crossing the road close to where I was walking. There were
some riders following them whom I knew, but they were too much engaged
in the sport to think about, or even to look at me. I proceeded by
Wicklow and Arklow to Wexford, and there I got a passage to Jersey. From
that island I was taken by a smuggler to St. Malo, on the supposition
that I was extremely anxious to join the Irish Brigade. My life was now
safe from the hangman, but I had much trouble and suffering to
encounter. I was suspected of being a spy, although I could not speak a
word of French; and the possession of some of your guineas was a great
crime in the eyes of those who wished to get them for themselves. At
Chartres I met a fellow-countryman, who was in Berwick's regiment, and
at his instance I enlisted to get rid of the annoyance I was suffering,
and to avoid the poverty which I saw approaching, and which was certain
to overtake a stranger, whose only resource was military service. I
took, on enlisting, the name of Vaughan, which was that of my mother's
family. I have again to express my deep sorrow for the wrongful act I
committed, and _I hope you will never regret that I was not hanged_."
Colonel Vesey parted with Martin Keogh, _alias_ Vaughan, in the kindest
manner, and was soon after enabled to proceed to England. His military
career was terminated by a wound at the capture of Quebec, in 1761,
which incapacitated him for further service: he died at Bath in 1776.
The Count de St. Woostan accompanied the gallant but much calumniated
Lally-Tollendahl to India. He possessed his confidence, shared in his
dangers and subsequent persecutions, but eventually, freed from every
imputation, restored to the rank and emoluments of colonel, he died at
Amboise, in 1782. His name was Alen, and he belonged to a family which,
located at St. Woolstans, near Celbridge, in the county of Kildare,
occupied high position in Ireland previous to the reign of Elizabeth,
and from a collateral branch of which the ducal Howards of Norfolk
derive the additional name of Fitzalen.
Martin Vaughan married, in 1758, a _blanchisseuse de fin_, who had a
comfortable dwelling and profitable business in the _Rue de Bellechase_,
Paris. His name disappears from the register of the Invalides, in 1769.
His escape from Old Kilmainham protracted his existence twenty-six
years. It was effected by means which would not be practicable in any
prison of the British Empire at the present time. Officials have become
more respectable, and their integrity is protected from temptation by
the intervention of a vigilant superintending authority, unknown at the
period to which the foregoing narrative refers. It will, in all
probability, occur to the reader that the two persons whose co-operation
the gaoler considered as indispensable in effecting the escape of Martin
Keogh, were the coroner of the county and the medical officer of the
prison. Such a conclusion is almost inevitable. Still, a similar project
could not now be accomplished by a similar combination. There have been,
however, some inquests held in the same county (Dublin) which seriously
compromised the coroner of the time and the medical man habitually
employed by him, but none of them originated in a prison. It is right to
state that they occurred anterior to the appointment of the present
coroners and of their respective immediate predecessors. I shall recur
to them in a subsequent page or two, when I come to the narration of
some extraordinary incidents entirely within my personal knowledge and
recollection. As yet I have placed no female character prominently
before my readers. I shall proceed to introduce one; and however I may
distrust my own powers of description, I feel that the mere facts which
I shall detail will not prove uninteresting, especially as they refer to
her whom I may term the heroine of the story.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] This gratuitous cruelty did not cease when Old Kilmainham was taken
down. Similar disgusting figures have been seen by me, on the door and
walls of the condemned yard, in the present county gaol.--F. T. P.
CHAPTER III.
MARY TUDOR.
Longevity, although desired by almost all human beings, is a subject of
contemplation to very few. We attach, in general, a greater interest to
an aged tree or an antique building, than to a venerable individual
whose life may connect with the present time the stirring period of the
American war of Independence or the awful period of the French
Revolution. It is, perhaps, better for ourselves that as we attain old
age we should meet with respect and care, without being sought as close
companions by our juniors: we thus become habituated to think more on
those who have gone before us, and of our own approach to that solemn
moment which is to quench the socket-glimmer of earthly existence.
Nevertheless, we occasionally meet with some whose mental faculties have
not yielded to the attacks of time, in proportion to the effects
produced by his inexorable hand upon the corporeal frame, and whose
society is sought by many who observe that they can, even in the years
of senectude, revert to their early days, and seek to enjoy the
pleasures of memory by detailing to others the scenes through which they
have passed, and the points of character they have noted. Such a person
I can truly designate my father to have been. His frame was robust, and
his general health very good, even after he had attained to fourscore
years. Accident had rendered him lame, but his mind and memory were
strong, and his disposition affable. Whilst he perfectly recollected the
past, he evinced a warm interest in the present; and almost immediately
after the opening of the Great Southern and Western Railway of Ireland,
he sped from Dublin to Cork and back, merely to contrast the five hours'
performance of the "Iron Horse" with the four days' journey of his early
years. It was a great gratification to him to take a slow drive through
Dublin, and recount to his companions, of whom I was generally one, the
former appearance of places, and the habits and peculiarities of their
occupiers; but no part of the city called forth his recollections more
strongly than the locality of Christ Church Place. He never mentioned it
by its present name; with him it continued "Skinner Row;" and it was no
small pleasure to him to remark that the house in which he had lived and
prospered at the beginning of the present century, was still remaining,
whilst the entire of the opposite side of the "Row" had disappeared. He
regretted the change even whilst he admitted the advantage of the
alteration; but he could not refrain from reinstating in his
imagination, and describing, the narrow-fronted houses within eighteen
feet of the opposite dwellings, rising to a height which effectually
precluded even half-an-hour's sunshine from reaching the thoroughfare.
His mind reverted to the former tenants, jewellers, silversmiths, and
booksellers, by which trades the "Row" had been monopolized; and it was
more agreeable to him to recollect Dick Tudor, Tom Delancy, Jemmy
Wilson, and many others, cleaning their windows and sweeping their
shops, than to remark that such avocations, in the present day, had
ceased to be incumbent on even the junior apprentices, and had devolved
upon menial servants.
One evening he was enjoying the society of two or three convivial
friends. He had taken a drive that day, accompanied by me, and had
halted so long in Christ Church Place, that the hackney carmen might
almost have suspected that he meditated an invasion of their stand. He
enjoyed his drive and his dinner, and having attained to his second
glass of whiskey-punch, he commenced, at the instance of his companions,
the narration of one of his "Skinner Row" reminiscences.
Dick Tudor was a goldsmith and jeweller. He had the reputation of being
the wealthiest man in the locality. He neither lent nor borrowed. His
intercourse with his neighbours was very limited. He was a widower, and
had an only child, of whom he was excessively fond. His tastes were in
his business; he had a love for his art, and would execute a beautiful
design for a smaller comparative profit than would satisfy him for
second-hand plate or mere repairs; but his affections excluded every
other worldly object, and were concentrated in his daughter, Mary Tudor.
She was about eighteen years of age at the time to which the
commencement of the narrative refers, and although reared in a city, was
as simple and unaffected in her manner as if her life had previously
been passed on mountain heather or in mossy dell. She was a brunette of
perfect features, and small but symmetrical figure. Her disposition
appeared to be gay, and almost puerile, and none would suppose that in a
trader's daughter, whose jocund smile and sparkling eyes seemed to seek
and spread mirth around her, there was a latent intensity of feeling,
and a determination of character, worthy of the noblest cause or of the
highest lineage.
Skinner Row had its attachments, jealousies, and little diplomacies as
fully as ever they existed even in more important localities. In one
respect, it possessed a material for civic intrigue greater than could
be found in any other part of Dublin in the last century. The Row
commanded, in the Common Council, one seat for the Stationers' Guild,
and two for the Goldsmiths. As to those objects of ambition, there was a
certain fixed understanding--there should be no division outside their
own precincts, and the members chosen should be men of the Row. Amongst
themselves, intrigues, insinuations, or open opposition might be freely
practised; but once they had determined on the man to be supported,
every vote should go to him. Dick Tudor and James Wilson were the
goldsmiths chosen for the Common Council, and the distinction thus
conferred excited great envy in the mind of Tom Delancy, whose
discontent was kept fully alive by his son, not on account of civic
honours, but because young Christian Wilson had contrived to stand
between him and the sun in the rays of which he wished to bask, namely,
the eyes of pretty Mary Tudor.
Old Tudor and James Wilson were friends, not very intimate, but perhaps
liking and respecting each other more on that account. Tudor's daughter
and Christian Wilson were lovers, and the infrequency of their meetings
only rendered their occasional interviews more delectable. The
neighbours observed the attachment of the young people before their
parents suspected its existence; but the moment Tudor perceived a
preference evinced by his daughter for young Wilson, he sedulously
endeavoured to prevent all future communications between them. He became
suddenly anxious that Mary should visit some relatives in the County of
Wexford, about whom he had for years expressed no interest. He thought
change of air would materially serve her health, although no other eye
could notice the slightest indication of illness, or even delicacy of
constitution. Accompanied by an elderly female attendant, she left
Dublin by a conveyance termed Good's Long Coach, which the proprietor,
William Good, advertised as the perfection of cheap and expeditious
travelling. It left the Ram Inn, Aungier Street, Dublin, on each Monday
morning, at an early hour, so as to ensure reaching Wicklow town on the
succeeding night. Tuesday saw the vehicle achieve a further progress to
Gorey, and on Wednesday evening it reached Wexford. It returned to
Dublin in the three succeeding days, and thus enabled the public to have
a cheap, safe, and comfortable communication, to and fro, between two
places about ninety English miles asunder, within the short space of six
days.
Three or four weeks elapsed, and Tudor mentioned, in answer to some kind
enquiries, that Mary was enjoying herself wonderfully at Kilmore, in the
County of Wexford, and that she had written him a very interesting
description of the Saltee Islands, St. Patrick's Bridge, and the Lady's
Island. She was very comfortable with a worthy cousin and his wife, both
arrived at an age which made them appreciate a life of quietude. They
were very kind to her, and they had no family or nearer relations than
himself and Mary. Her visit was likely to lead to considerable
advantages. He would never have disclosed his daughter's temporary
residence if he had not believed Kilmore to be as difficult of access to
Christian Wilson as Madeira or Malta would be to a gallant of the
present time. The lover was a youth of very peculiar character--clever
and active, but rash and inconsiderate. Having ascertained that the
smacks which traded between Wexford and Dublin, if favoured by a fair
wind, could make the run in a few hours, he determined on seeing Mary
Tudor. His father had allowed him as a perquisite the profits arising
from making "balloon guineas" into rings, and he had thereby acquired a
few pounds, as it was a very prevalent custom for females of the humbler
classes to invest a guinea in a ring, and carry their money on their
fingers. Savings-banks were then unknown.
Christian informed his father that he wished to go, for a few days, to a
friend in Drogheda, and obtained his consent. He left home in the
evening, ostensibly to go by the mail, but he sojourned to Hoey's Court,
and was seen there in company with some young men whose characters were
unknown, or worse. They left Hoey's Court about ten o'clock, and Wilson
betook himself to Sir John's Quay, and went out of the river in the
smack "Selskar," of Wexford, on the night-tide. After midnight Dick
Tudor's workshop was robbed; but the guilty parties did not all escape.
Two were apprehended leaving the premises, and were recognised as having
been seen in Christian Wilson's company in Hoey's Court for some time
after his own father supposed him to have left Dublin for Drogheda. A
letter was posted to the latter place, and, to old Wilson's
astonishment, he received a reply that his son had not gone there. Where
was he?
Whispered malice is most intense. Delancy and his son added assertion to
suspicion, and revelled in the idea of a broken-hearted father, and a
disgraced, degraded son, being forced by the awkward circumstances,
magnified and industriously disseminated, to abandon, one, the coveted
representation of the Goldsmiths' Guild, and the other, the pursuit in
which all the affections of his heart and the energies of his mind were
concentrated--the love of Mary Tudor.
In a few days Christian Wilson returned to Dublin. His father's
reproaches were fierce and unmeasured, and became a perfect storm of
rage when the young man refused to state where he had been, or for what
purpose he had left home. Old Tudor aggravated the quarrel between the
father and son, by accusing them of a design to entrap his daughter into
a clandestine union, to which James Wilson replied that he would sooner
transport his son than consent to his marriage with Tudor's daughter.
The circumstances of the robbery were fully investigated. They did not
directly inculpate Christian; but enough appeared to sully his
reputation, and to prove that he was not sufficiently guarded in his
associations. Old Delancy expressed his good-natured regret that the son
of one "Wainscot man"[2] should be strongly suspected of robbing
another. Young Delancy, with affected benevolence, expressed his
_sincere_ gratification that Christian had not been _caught_; and there
were not wanting some kind-hearted individuals to convey his
observations to the unhappy subject of them. The young men casually met
in Christ Church yard; an explanation was demanded; and the demand was
answered by the sneering remark, that the affair explained itself.
Christian was maddened by his rival's taunts, and gave Delancy a fearful
beating. A blow or fall produced concussion of the brain. The assailant
had to fly; and his father determined to send him, banished and
unforgiven, to the West Indies, consigning him to the care of a relative
who had been for several years in Barbadoes.
Mary Tudor received a letter written at Liverpool, and announcing the
immediate departure of Christian Wilson for his tropical destination. In
it he simply stated the circumstances which led to his expatriation, and
renewed his vows to her of deep affection and fidelity. The young woman
at once determined on departing from Kilmore; and on her arrival in
Dublin placed Christian's letter in her father's hands. She insisted on
the examination of the master and crew of the Selskar; and they proved
that they dropped down the river with Christian on board, two hours
before the time of the robbery. But this was not all. The guilty parties
confessed that the young man was not with them, and accounted for having
sought his society in Hoey's Court, for the purpose of eliciting some
information as to Tudor's premises into which they were desirous of
effecting an entrance. Young Delancy had recovered. Tudor and James
Wilson had been reconciled; but Christian had sailed in the ship
"Hyacinth," of Liverpool, and he must see Barbadoes before he can become
aware of Mary's truth and her determined exertions to remove all
aspersions from her lover's character.
The "Hyacinth" never reached her destined port. Her fate was
conjectured, but was not ascertained, as it would be in the present time
of superior arrangements in agency and communication. Her owners
received their insurance as for a total loss, and James Wilson believed
that his hapless son had been entombed in the ocean.
At the commencement of the war between England and her revolted colonies
of North America, two commissioners were sent out, in the hope that
differences might be reconciled and peace restored. The Earl of Carlisle
and Mr. Eden (afterwards Lord Auckland) were proceeding on this mission
in a frigate, and after having encountered very stormy weather, they
fell in with a boat in which were several persons, reduced to the utmost
extremity by hunger and fatigue. They were rescued, and recovered their
strength by rest and nutrition. All, except one, were sailors, and they
were, perhaps very summarily, added to the frigate's crew. The landsman
was of a melancholy temperament, although young and naturally strong. He
was, however, of an humble and unpresuming manner, which did not
indicate vulgarity or ignorance. He expressed a desire to make himself
useful, cleaned some watches for the officers, and kept the plate of
their mess in proper order. Curiosity induced Lord Carlisle to accost
him, and the communication resulted in several acts of kindness on the
part of the nobleman, which were respectfully and gratefully, and
perhaps it may be said, gracefully, received. His Lordship's interest in
the poor shipwrecked fellow increased; and on their arrival in America,
he obtained for his protégé, from Sir Henry Clinton, an ensigncy in the
army.
Meanwhile Christian Wilson was forgotten in Skinner Row by all except
one. They had "mourned him dead in his father's _house_." His family
never adverted to his fate, for the subject was of painful recollection
in more senses than one. But Mary Tudor, although she seldom spoke of
Christian, would not admit that he was dead. Suitors for her hand were
numerous, but to none would she give the slightest encouragement, and
Delancy soon discovered that indifference was too mild a term to
describe her feeling towards him. Some years had passed. Her father had
attained complete senectude, but was still sound in mind and hale in
body. He lived happily with his daughter, who consulted his wishes on
every subject, except his anxiety to see her married in comfort and
respectability before he died. She had attained to her twenty-fifth or
twenty-sixth year, and she was particularly intimate with the family of
the person from whom this narrative is derived. In fact, it was her only
intimacy, and in her intercourse with them she frequently avowed her
conviction that the "lost one" would return.
One morning a note was received by my father, requesting him to call, as
soon as possible, on the writer, at the Queen's Head Hotel in Bride
Street. He repaired to the place appointed; and in consequence of what
there occurred, he had interviews next morning with Richard Tudor and
James Wilson, and prevailed on them to accompany him to Cork Hill, about
11.30 a.m., and there he pointed out to the astonished and delighted old
men Captain Christian Wilson, of the 60th Regiment, marching his company
to relieve the guard at Dublin Castle.
The tale concludes. The lovers met and were united. Old Tudor was rich;
his closing years were happy. Wilson retired from the army after he had
attained the rank of Major, and settled on a property in a southern
county, where the descendants of him and Mary Tudor are living in
independence and respectability.
This narrative has been closely criticised. It has been asked, Did the
hero of the tale keep his very existence concealed so long, and why?
Suspicions have been expressed that the lovers had some communication or
correspondence. Whatever conjectures may be entertained, they need not
be canvassed here. The reader may form his own opinion. Much was said on
the subject, and something was even sung. The following verses are a
portion of a lyric attributed to a Mr. Rooney, a basket-maker in
Fishamble Street. The Tholsel guard, to the somnolent tendencies of
which an allusion is made, were in number about a dozen. They were
dressed in blue with orange facings, and armed with pole-axes. An
alderman of the time sarcastically described them as "selected for their
age and infirmities, and not required to be awake unless at their
meals."
"Some folk averr'd a bird was heard
To Mary's casement nigh;
And from its throat there thrill'd the note,
He's coming by-and-by.
"Some said there came, with war-worn frame,
A vet'ran grenadier,
Who spoke of one that led him on
Through battle's fierce career.
"Some said between them both had been
Of love notes not a few,
But this was clear, he did appear,
And wed his maiden true.
"Through Skinner Row the toast must go,
And our cheers reach Christ Church Yard,
Till its vaults profound send back the sound,
To waken the Tholsel guard.
"Here's to their health in peace and wealth;
May Death, that bold intruder,
A long while pause ere he lays his claws
On such as MARY TUDOR."
FOOTNOTE:
[2] In the old "Tholsel" or Guildhall of Dublin, members who had served
the office of Sheriff, or who represented the Guild of Merchants,
occupied the centre of the Council chamber. The members representing
incorporated trades sat next the wainscot. They had the reputation of
being the most independent members of the Corporation.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BIRTH OF A WORD--A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION--THE HONOR OF KNIGHTHOOD.
I have mentioned in the narrative respecting Lonergan, that my father
was a member of the corps of Dublin Volunteers, and that he was serjeant
of the grenadier company. Many of his comrades were living within my
memory, and I could name five or six who derived great gratification
from reverting to the period when the citizen soldiers of Ireland were
enrolled in thousands for the purpose of resisting an invasion which was
threatened by the French. The reviews, parades, and convivial
associations of the Volunteers afforded many agreeable recollections;
and I have heard from different narrators the same account of what may
be termed the birth of a word which originated in Eustace Street,
Dublin, upon the same day that ushered into this breathing world the
oldest and highest of rank amongst the Irish nobility.[3] I indulge in a
hope that my readers may consider the circumstances under which a word
was added to our language as curious or interesting, especially when
they are apprised that it was not taken from any other language, ancient
or modern, and yet it has become ubiquitous.
On the 21st of August, 1791, news had arrived in Dublin that Her Grace
the Duchess of Leinster had given birth to a young Marquis of Kildare.
To all ranks of society the intelligence was welcome, but especially to
the Volunteers. The Duke was the general of that force in his province,
but his own corps, of which he was colonel, was the Dublin one. Along
with the announcement of the accouchement of the Duchess, came an
intimation, that the corps would be expected at Carton on the happy
occasion of the christening. The opportunity for paying a compliment to
their commander was hailed by the citizen-soldiers with the utmost
enthusiasm, and there was a numerous gathering of them, to learn the
particulars and to consider their arrangements, at a tavern in Eustace
Street, Dublin, kept by a person named Bennett, and known as "The
Eagle." The evening had, as might be expected, a convivial termination.
Several who had attained to high civic dignities were amongst those
assembled; and there was also present Richard Daly, the proprietor and
manager of the Smock Alley theatre, who had an extraordinary propensity
for making wagers in reference to incidental matters, however
unimportant. In the course of the evening some casual opinions were
expressed on the histrionic powers of an actor named Sparkes, who was
then drawing immense houses in Daly's theatre. One of the Volunteers,
named Delahoyde, expressed his surprise that such crowds should run
after Sparkes, and remarked that his popularity was more the result of
fashionable caprice than of histrionic merits. "He is, in my opinion,"
added the speaker, "just what the French would term _un fagotin_." "And
what is the exact meaning of that word?" asked Alderman Moncrieffe.
"There is, perhaps, no one word in the English Language which conveys
its meaning exactly," said the interrogated party. "If I could give an
English word to signify a low, vulgar mountebank, I should not have
employed the French term." "Then," observed Daly, "why do you not make a
word and send it into circulation? You should not feel aware that our
language was deficient in expression without being charitable enough to
supply its want, especially as it costs nothing to make a word." "But,"
rejoined the other, "how could I ensure the reception of a word into
general use? It might be characterized as slang, or remain unnoticed and
unadopted; it might be as difficult to obtain currency for a word, or
more so, than it was to pass Wood's halfpence."
"Dick," said Alderman Moncrieffe, "suppose you try your own hand, as you
think the matter so easy. I would leave it to your own ingenuity, but I
fear you will find it very difficult to induce the public to take your
word. If they took some of your _assurance_ it might be an advantage;
you have plenty to spare."
"I thank you, Alderman," replied Daly. "I did not suppose that so much
wit could come from the neighbourhood of the Tholsel."
"Oh!" said Moncrieffe, "it has strayed up to us from the theatre, where
it has lately become scarce. But, Dick, why have you chatted so long on
this and other subjects this evening without offering a single wager?
Come now, start a bet."
"I shall not use a phrase or make a word," said Daly, "in disparagement
of Sparkes, from whom I have derived much pleasure and profit; but I
shall bet you twenty guineas, and I propose our friend and captain, who
is also your brother alderman, I propose John Carleton as the judge or
arbitrator between us, that within forty-eight hours there shall be a
word in the mouths of the Dublin public, of all classes and sexes, young
and old; and also that within a week, the same public shall attach a
definite and generally adopted meaning to that word, without any
suggestion or explanation from me. I also undertake, as essential to the
wager, that my word shall be altogether new and unconnected with any
derivation from another language, ancient or modern. Now, Alderman, what
say you to taking my word or winning my money?"
"I shall not take your word, Dick, but I propose winning some of your
money. I shall put five guineas in the wager, provided the present
company take up the balance, and let the winnings be spent on the
evening of the first parade day after our return from the christening of
the young Marquis of Kildare."
The company were joyous, and the proposal of the appropriation of the
proceeds to festivity induced a speedy acceptance of the remaining
liability. The terms were reduced to writing, and deposited with
Carleton. Daly looked at his watch and took his departure. It happened
to be a Saturday evening, and he reached the theatre a short time before
the termination of the performance. He immediately procured some lumps
of chalk, and a dozen or two of cards. Upon each of the cards he wrote a
word. It was short and distinct, and at the fall of the curtain he
required the attendance of the call-boys, scene-shifters, and other
inferior employés of the concern. To each of them he gave a card and a
piece of chalk, and directed them to perambulate the city until
daybreak, chalking the word upon the doors and shutters of the houses.
His directions were diligently obeyed, and on the Sunday morning the
doors of shops, warehouses, and even private dwellings appeared to have
one word conspicuously chalked on them. The timid were alarmed, lest it
indicated some unlawful or hostile intention, but these apprehensions
were dissipated by the fact of its universal appearance. One, as he
issued from his dwelling, conceived that it was meant for a nick-name
for him; but he immediately changed his opinion on seeing it on his
neighbour's premises also. It could not be political, for all parties
were treated the same way. It was manifestly not a mark on any religious
persuasion, for all denominations were chalked alike. It was not
belonging to any known language, nor could a word of any meaning be
formed by the transposition of its letters. Still the universality of
its appearance excited the curiosity of all, and formed a subject for
public conjecture and general conversation. After a few days the general
conclusion was, that the word was a hoax, a trick, a humbug, a joke.
However, it was not forgotten. The parties to the wager, which Dick Daly
was adjudged to have won, have all disappeared, but I have heard several
of them narrate the particulars as I have stated them. The hands by
which the word was chalked have all mouldered into clay, but the term
that owed its birth to the Eustace Street wager has become almost
ubiquitous. It is heard in India, Australia, the United States, Canada,
or the Cape; in fact, wherever the English language is spoken. The word
is QUIZ.
It may not be inopportune to mention here that I related the foregoing
account of the origin of the word "quiz" one day in, I think, the year
1832, at the table of Cornelius Lyne, the facetious and convivial
barrister of the Munster Circuit, where he was designated, in
contradistinction to the old Irish chieftain, "Con of the hundred
_battles_," "Con of the hundred _bottles_." Amongst the guests was a
gentleman named Montgomery, who resided in Belfast. On hearing my story,
he remarked that a quiz has occasionally produced a reality. He
proceeded to tell us that when James Madison was President of the United
States, a young man connected with one of the most eminent houses in
Belfast, thought fit to make an American tour. Having crossed the
Atlantic, he passed upwards of eighteen months to his perfect
satisfaction. On his return he was greatly pestered by one of his
fellow-townsmen, a pushing, plausible, self-sufficient kind of fellow,
for letters of introduction to some American friends, the applicant
declaring his intention of visiting all the principal cities of the
Union. At length the solicited party replied to an urgent entreaty, by
declaring that there was no one with whom he felt himself warranted to
take such a liberty except his friend Madison. "The President!"
exclaimed the importunate teaser; "why it would be invaluable." Acceding
to his request, a letter was written commencing with "My dear Mr.
Madison," and conveying the assurance, that the attentions which the
writer had received would never be forgotten, and that the recollection
of such kindness emboldened him to introduce a friend, in the hope that
he would be received with even a portion of that urbanity which had been
experienced so agreeably, and remembered so gratefully, by his ever
faithful and obliged, &c., &c. The traveller departed, and a
considerable time elapsed before he reappeared in Belfast. When he
returned, his first visit was to the author of the valuable
introduction. "My dear friend," said he, "I presented your letter at a
public reception. The President was more than polite, he was extremely
cordial. I was invited to several delightful parties, and received the
utmost attention. It was, however, very extraordinary, that when I
called to pay my farewell visit, he asked me several questions in
reference to your personal appearance, remarking that you had lapsed
from his recollection." This was not so very surprising, for the
President had never seen the man whose letter of introduction for the
other had been a thorough quiz. At the conclusion of the anecdote which
my narrative had elicited from Mr. Montgomery, Tom Moylan, Mr. Lyne's
nephew, contributed another. He remarked that the Belfast man had only
quizzed a President, but a Dublin man had completely humbugged a king.
When George the Fourth was reigning, a Dublin medical doctor wrote a
book. He had a copy splendidly bound for presentation, and then went to
London, to the royal levee, where he handed a card to the
lord-in-waiting, on which his name appeared as attending to present his
work on a certain professional subject, _and to receive the honor of
knighthood_. The lord-in-waiting thought that all was right; the king
thought so, too. The Dublin doctor knelt down, the king took a sword
gave him the slap of dignity, and bade him arise Sir Thomas ----. After
the levee, and when the newspapers had published the knighthood as one
of the incidents of the day, there were some enquiries about the
recipient of the distinction. Who had recommended him? Of what minister
was he the protegè? But they were all too late, the knighthood had been
conferred. People could only laugh. Canning was reported to have said,
that he supposed the doctor claimed the honor by _prescription_.
Although I was not personally acquainted with the medical knight who was
the subject of Tom Moylan's anecdote, I have a perfect recollection of
him for several years before he was dubbed a "Sir." He resided in St.
Peter's parish, Dublin, and was very prominent in the old agitation
times antecedent to Catholic Emancipation. At the vestries there could
not be a rate or cess proposed to which he had not an amendment or
direct negative to offer. On one occasion, at a very crowded parochial
meeting, he complained to Archdeacon Torrens, who was presiding, that
the vestry-room was too limited a place for such an important
discussion as that in which they were engaged. "I move, reverend sir,"
said he, "that we adjourn _to the Churchyard_." "My dear doctor,"
replied the archdeacon, very quaintly, "you will have us there time
enough."
FOOTNOTE:
[3] These expressions refer to the late Duke of Leinster, who has died
since I wrote them.--F. T. P.
CHAPTER V.
A MILLIONAIRE.
I shall revert to old Skinner Row in reference to the career of an
individual which may be said to have commenced there about the year
1782. The incidents which I shall detail are not of an amatory or very
sentimental nature, but nevertheless, truly extraordinary. To a Dublin,
or even an Irish reader, it is unnecessary to offer an assurance of
their truth, or to mention the individual's name. Only one error in
reference to him has had currency, and that to a very limited extent. It
arose, in all probability, from envy or malice, and consisted in
describing him as a person of very imperfect education, of plebeian
manners and disposition, and of almost menial avocations. He might have
been truly described as well-informed, unaffectedly courteous,
unobtrusive of his own opinions, and tolerant of the opinions of others,
whilst his business transactions were marked by diligence, integrity,
and intelligence. The proprietor of a very extensive establishment in a
central situation in Dublin, where bookselling and auctions of libraries
were carried on, had advertised for an assistant; and the situation
attracted the attention of many competitors, of whom the individual
alluded to was one. He was young and active, and sought a personal
interview with Mr. V. the advertiser. He was informed that the latter
had gone up to Skinner Row, to my father's house, where he would be
engaged for upwards of an hour. The applicant hurried off to the narrow,
crowded, and inconvenient locality. The footway was disproportionally
raised above the carriage road, and at the very door of the house to
which he was going, he accidentally slipped and fell. In a disabled
condition, he was raised and carried in, and it was ascertained that his
ankle was dislocated. His sufferings excited great sympathy. He was
conveyed to a bedroom, and surgical aid was procured. Mr. V. manifested
great interest in the young man, and came frequently to see him. After
several weeks elapsed his cure was effected, and the situation which he
sought was given to him. He expressed the deepest gratitude to my father
for the kindness he had experienced, and the acquaintance which
commenced in the painful accident referred to, ripened ultimately into a
very close intimacy. He gained the confidence of Mr. V., who conferred
many marks of his esteem, and on the retirement of that gentleman from
business, he became, to a great extent, his successor. All his
undertakings prospered, and he acquired the reputation of being
extremely wealthy. A rumour was circulated that, between the leaves of
some books which he had purchased, he had found several bank notes of
considerable value, but that report was groundless. In addition to
extensive bookselling, he had formed a connection with the house of Bish
and Co., of Cornhill, by which he was enabled to do a profitable
business in bills on London amongst the Dublin traders, for at that time
the facilities of letters of credit were very little known. He also
dealt largely in the tickets and shares of the State Lotteries which,
three or four times in the year, stimulated the community into legalized
gambling. One evening in the year 1794, my father had occasion to call
upon him, and found him unusually dissatisfied. He said that Bish's
people had made a great mistake in sending him several whole tickets
instead of quarters, eighths, or sixteenths, and that three tickets had
been left on his hands, involving a loss of sixty pounds. There was not
sufficient time to communicate with London before the drawing day, and
he could only warn them against committing a similar error on the next
occasion. However, in about a week after, my father ascertained that the
mistake had eventuated in one of the tickets turning out a prize for
twenty thousand pounds. Bish was no longer censured by the man whose
wealth, previously considerable, had received a great and unexpected
augmentation. The writer of fiction would hesitate before he would adopt
a young man lying on the flagway of a city in which he was a complete
stranger, with a dislocated ankle, as the material for a future
_millionaire_. The person to whom this narrative refers was not English,
Irish, or Scotch. He was a Manxman, who left his native island to seek
in Dublin, what he most completely found, a fortune. He died a member of
Parliament for an Irish county. Three of his sons attained to similar
positions, and one of them was elevated to the House of Peers. Their
positions were honourably and worthily acquired.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SHIP STREET DIAMOND--SECOND-HAND PLATE--THE SILVER SLAB--LAW'S
WINDOW--OLD NEWGATE.
I have already mentioned that old Skinner Row contained a considerable
number of establishments belonging to goldsmiths and jewellers.
Pre-eminent amongst them was one kept, in the early part of the present
century, by Matthew West, who realised an ample fortune there, and
attained to high civic distinctions in Dublin. His concern was
celebrated for an extensive assortment of jewelry, and for the tasteful
and correct execution of orders specially relative to the setting of
precious stones. When such were brought to be cleaned, arranged, or set,
the owner was required to state the value which he attached to the
property, and to sign such statement on the back of the receipt given
for the articles. Mr. West gave considerable employment, especially in
gem-setting, to a man named Delandre, who occupied the upper part of a
house in Great Ship Street, in front of the ground on which the church
of St. Michael le Pole formerly stood, and over the yard of which the
windows of his working-room opened. A narrow passage led from the street
under the house to a building in the rere, and a high wall separated
this passage from the old cemetery. The top of the wall was thickly
studded with broken glass, to prevent trespasses. In the year 1811, a
gentleman called on Mr. West, and produced a diamond to which he
attached considerable value, and which he wished to have set in a
peculiar style. His order was taken, and a receipt was given for the
stone, with an endorsement of its value at £950. Delandre was sent for,
and received the diamond, with directions for the setting, and with an
injunction to be expeditious. He took it to his work-room, and, the
weather being very warm, the window close to his bench had been opened.
He was using heavy pressure of the diamond against the material in which
it was to be set, when either the tool or the gem slipped, and the
latter flew out of the opened window. Instantly alarming his family, he
watched the passage and the yard until means were adopted to prevent the
entrance of any strangers. Then the passage was swept, and the sweepings
were sifted. The surface of the old cemetery, for a considerable space,
was similarly treated, the top of the wall was brushed carefully, and a
tombstone in which a fissure was observed was raised and examined; but
all the searching was fruitless. Finally, Delandre had to betake himself
to Mr. West, and communicate the disastrous loss of the valuable jewel.
Extraordinary as was the statement, Mr. West did not discredit the
workman, in whose probity he placed great confidence. He undertook to
afford constant employment to Delandre and to his son, but stipulated
that an insurance should be effected on the life of the former, and that
weekly deductions should be made from their earnings, so as to provide
for the premium on the insurance policy, and form a reserve for the
value of the diamond. Delandre scrupulously observed his engagements. He
had full employment from West, and although he was working, as he termed
it, "for a dead horse," he kept his hands busy and his heart light.
Each year lessened his liabilities, and at length, having paid for the
diamond, he received an assignment of the policy of insurance, for the
ultimate benefit of his family. He had grown old and rather feeble, but
still, in conjunction with his son, attended industriously to his trade.
Mr. West had died, and I, who had been a schoolboy when the diamond was
lost, had become a magistrate of the Head Police Court of Dublin. In my
younger days I had often heard of the Ship Street diamond, and the
various accounts of its loss were occasionally exaggerated immensely in
reference to its size and value. In 1842 some much-needed repairs were
in progress at the rere of Delandre's dwelling. Whitewashing and
plastering were intended, and the top of the wall between the yard and
passage was to be re-glassed. Old Delandre had gone out to buy some
provisions, and on his return he was accosted by one of the workmen who
had been removing the glass from the wall, and who showed him a
_curiosity_ which he had found. Delandre did not require a second look
to satisfy himself that it was the long-lost gem. Amongst the glass
which had been on the wall there was the neck of a pint bottle, which
had been placed in the plaster with the mouth downwards, and it had
formed the trap in which the diamond had been caught on falling from the
window. Delandre gave the finder a liberal reward; but with a laudable
anxiety to remove all suspicion of a sinister nature from himself, he
had the discovery of the diamond made the subject of a solemn
declaration, which the finder subscribed before me in the Head Police
Court. The loss of the gem had been eventually highly advantageous to
the man, by whom it was at first very naturally considered a great
calamity. It had induced him to adopt a life of strict economy and
industry, which easier circumstances would not have suggested or
enforced.
SECOND-HAND PLATE.
The same Mr. West to whom the last incident referred had a handsome
private residence in Harcourt Street, and he was known habitually to
place an unlimited confidence in the care and discretion of his wife, to
leave large sums in her custody, and to approve of or acquiesce in the
investments to which she might apply such moneys. Her management fully
justified his confidence, and he made no secret of the course he had
adopted or of the satisfactory results it produced. In 1817 he had
arrived one morning in Skinner Row, when a livery servant, of very
stylish appearance, entered and enquired, "Had Captain Wilson been
there?" Mr. West replied that "he had not the pleasure of knowing
Captain Wilson;" and then the servant stated, that "his master, Captain
Marmaduke Wilson, intended to purchase some plate, and had ordered him
to go to Mr. West's, and await his arrival there." He added, "He is a
fine-looking man, but he has lost his right arm at Waterloo. I have to
deliver a message in Dame Street. You will easily know him when he
comes; and please to tell him that I shall be back in about ten
minutes." The servant departed, and very soon after his master made his
appearance. A complete _militaire_, he displayed moustaches, a Waterloo
ribbon, and a frogged frock-coat; but the right sleeve was empty from
the elbow, and the cuff was looped up to the breast. He inquired for the
servant, and seemed a little dissatisfied at the fellow's absence. He
then proceeded to inform Mr. West that he was about to fix his residence
on a property which he held in the county of Monaghan, and that he
wished to unite economy with respectability in his domestic
arrangements. He had heard that Mr. West's stock of second-hand plate
was very ample, and wished to purchase some on which the crestings could
be obliterated and the Wilson crest substituted, producing at the same
time a silver snuff-box, on which a crest was engraved, with the
initials of Marmaduke Wilson beneath it. The servant had returned, and
accompanied his master through the warerooms, conducted by the
proprietor, who succeeded in displaying tea services, salvers, &c.,
which met with Captain Wilson's approval, provided the prices were
lower. The demands were reduced considerably, as the customer urged that
it was a dealing for "cash down." The charges amounted to one hundred
and forty pounds, when the Captain said "he would not go any further for
the present," and requested Mr. West to have the plate packed in a
basket which the servant had brought, in order that Mrs. Wilson might
see the articles before the crests were altered. The silver was directed
to be treated as he desired, and he then turned to Mr. West and said,
"You must be my amanuensis, and write the order to Mrs. Wilson for the
cash. I shall send my man for the money, and when he brings it, you will
let him have the basket." Mr. West took the pen, and wrote, at the
Captain's dictation--
"DEAR MARIA,
"I have bought some second-hand plate, of which, I think, you will
approve. Send me, by bearer, £140."
He added--"Just put my initials, M. W. Is it not very curious, Mr. West,
that our initials are the same?" He then took the pen in his left hand,
and made a rough kind of small semicircle in the left-hand corner, which
he designated his private mark. "Now," said he to the servant, "make all
haste to your mistress, get the money, and fetch it here. I shall wait
until you return, for you have not far to go." The servant departed, and
the Captain remained for about twenty minutes, and seemed very impatient
at the fellow's delay. He expressed an opinion that perhaps his wife had
gone out, and said that he would take a car and see what caused the
delay, adding, "When he brings you the cash you can let him have the
hamper." The Captain then departed. The servant did not come for the
plate, and it remained packed and ready for delivery on the arrival of
the purchase money. Late in the afternoon Mr. West went home, and having
dined, was asked by his wife, "What second-hand plate was it that you
bought to-day?" "I bought none," he replied, "but I sold some, and it
was to have been taken away at once, but I suppose it will be sent for
to-morrow." "And why," enquired Mrs. West, "did you send to me for one
hundred and forty pounds? Here is your note, which a servant in livery
brought, and I gave him the money."
The swindle was complete. The basket was never called for, nor could the
defrauded party ever obtain any trace of the Waterloo Captain or of his
livery servant. The reader need not suppose that the veteran delinquent
was minus an arm. He was "made up" for the part which he was to play in
the deliberate and deeply-planned villainy, and in all probability he
had both his hands in full use, to take off his moustache and frogged
coat in a few minutes after leaving Mr. West's premises. The transaction
excited much interest and some merriment. It afforded a subject for one
of Burke Bethel's jokes. He said that whether the captain reappeared or
not, he could never be designated otherwise than as _off-handed_ in his
dealings with Mr. West.
THE SILVER SLAB.
There was another Dublin establishment in the gold, silver, and jewelry
trade, and also belonging to a Mr. West. It was in Capel Street. I may
mention an incident connected with it of a very extraordinary nature.
There were mills at Chapelizod, near Dublin, kept by a Mr. M'Garry, in
which he had very powerful machinery for rolling metals. He was
frequently employed to roll silver for Mr. West. In the year 1829, a
silver slab, valued at £27, was delivered to his carrier at Capel
Street, and the usual receipt was given for it. The slab was to be
rolled into a silver sheet; but when the vehicle in which it had been
placed arrived at Chapelizod, the article was not to be found. In
appearance it was not bright, having lain in store for some time after
being cast. Advertisements and enquiries failed to discover it, and Mr.
M'Garry paid its value to the owner. In 1845, it was brought to a
silversmith named Chapman, on Essex Quay, and offered for sale. Chapman
stopped the article, and gave the bearer of it into custody. On an
investigation before me, it appeared that a shoemaker who lived in
Leixlip had found it on the road and taken it home with him. He never
suspected that it was silver. He considered it to be pewter or zinc, and
it was used for the purposes of a lapstone for sixteen years. How the
person in whose possession it was found had ascertained its real quality
did not appear, but he had purchased it from the shoemaker for
half-a-crown. West's and M'Garry's books coincided as to the nature of
the article, its value, and the time of its loss. The old slab was
adjudged to M'Garry, who at once sold it to Chapman for the price he
offered, £22. The shoemaker expressed deep, and certainly sincere regret
that he had never suspected the real value of his lapstone. His only
consolation was, that the roguish fellow who induced him to sell it for
half-a-crown, lost two shillings and sixpence by the bargain.
LAW'S WINDOW.
Whilst shops profusely stocked with articles of the precious metals and
with costly jewels attract affluent and even extravagant customers, they
also afford immense temptations to thieves and swindlers. No
establishment in Dublin was superior in any respect to that in Sackville
Street belonging to Mr. Law. On each side of the entrance there was a
window, consisting of a single sheet of glass, inside of which a most
magnificent display of costly plate, gems, and watches tacitly demanded
and obtained the admiration of all spectators. In the year 1847, and in
the afternoon of a pleasant May day, an elderly gentleman stood at the
window next the corner of Eden Quay, and gazed with delight on the
various splendid and tasteful productions inside. He had an umbrella,
which he carried beneath his arm in a horizontal position, and with the
ferule end unluckily too near the costly sheet of glass. A young fellow
came rapidly running along the footway, and violently jostled the
respectable admirer of the splendid contents of the window. The glass
was smashed by the point of the umbrella, and the mischief resulting
from the collision only imparted greater celerity to the jostler's
movements. He fled down Eden Quay, and was almost instantly out of
sight. Mr. Law was in his shop, and along with some of his assistants
seized on the proprietor of the intruding umbrella. The old gentleman
demurred to the imputed liability, and ascribed all the mischief to the
ruffian who had rushed against him. Law was persistent, and demanded
nine pounds for his fractured glass. He threatened to give the old
gentleman in charge to the police. The latter became very indignant and
excited, used extremely strong language, and even applied opprobrious
epithets to those by whom he was detained. He said that he was a
stranger, just arrived from England, to transact some affairs of
importance connected with the purchase of extensive properties in the
west of Ireland. He warned Law that he would bring an action, and look
for ample damages, if he were not permitted to depart. He stated his
name to be James Ridley, and that his residence was in Lincoln's Inn
Fields, London. Finding that Law was about to send for a constable, he
produced a Bank of England note for £100, and told the "obdurate
scoundrel" to take the cost of his window out of that, but _at his
peril_. Law disregarded the threat, deducted nine pounds, and gave £91
to Mr. Ridley, who departed, vowing vengeance. However, no proceedings
were instituted, and subsequent enquiries after James Ridley in
Lincoln's Inn Fields resulted in no such person being known there. _The
£100 note was a forgery._
OLD NEWGATE.
Towards the close of the last century, a gaol for the city of Dublin was
built, and its appearance had a great tendency to deter any person from
incurring the liability of becoming an inmate. Its soot-begrimed walls
and rusty portal completely falsified its designation of Newgate, and
its front constituted a considerable portion of a locality, the aspect
of which suggested no idea of verdure, although it was called Green
Street. It was a place replete with fatal memories, very few of which
are worthy of being evoked, and it has been completely taken down. The
sons of the gentleman who was governor more than fifty years ago were my
schoolmates, and my associations with them made me acquainted with some
incidents which may be worthy of narration. When Oliver Bond was under
sentence of death for treason; and whilst there was the strongest
probability that the law would take its course, he was permitted, during
the day-time, to occupy an upper apartment, the door of which was partly
of glass. Mrs. Bond was as much with him as the rules of the prison
allowed, and was sitting in the room on the day when Mr. Michael William
Byrne was executed as a united Irishman. The fatal procession had to
pass close by the door of Bond's apartment; and as it approached, Mr.
Byrne remarked to the sheriff, that Mrs. Bond would be greatly shocked
by seeing a person pass to that scaffold on which her husband expected
to suffer. Mr. Byrne then suggested that they should stoop and creep
noiselessly by the door, so as to escape her observation. His wish was
complied with, and on reaching the drop, he turned to the sheriff, and
remarked, with an air of great satisfaction, "we managed that extremely
well." This spontaneous solicitude to spare the feelings of an afflicted
female, will aptly class with that of the gallant Count Dillon, who was
one of the earliest victims of the Reign of Terror in France, and who,
when he arrived at the guillotine, was requested by a female
fellow-sufferer, to precede her, upon which the _preux chevalier_
saluted her with courtly grace, and stepped forward, saying, "anything
to oblige a lady."
In one of the back yards of Newgate, to the right of the entrance, was
the place of confinement for the condemned, the walls of which exhibited
initials, sometimes entire names of unhappy occupants. One, who suffered
the extreme penalty of the law nearly sixty years ago, for forging
notes of the Bank of Ireland, pencilled the following lines on the door
of his cell:--
"Unhappy wretch, whom Justice calls
To bide your doom within these walls,
Know that to thee this gloomy cell
May prove, perhaps, the porch of Hell.
Thy crimes contest, thy sins forgiven,
Mysterious change! it leads to heaven."
It is to be hoped that the soul of the poor prisoner experienced the
"mysterious change" which his untimely fate led him so fully to
appreciate.
CHAPTER VII.
GONNE'S WATCH.
In the year 1810 a manufacturing goldsmith of high respectability, named
Gonne, lived in Crow Street, Dublin. His establishment was noted for the
superior execution of chased work, especially in watch cases, and he had
occasionally extensive orders from the house of Roskill, of Liverpool,
the reputation of which for watches and chronometers, was then, as it is
still, extremely high. Mr. Gonne indulged himself in the purchase of a
splendid gold watch of Roskill's best make, and prided himself greatly
on the possession of an article not to be surpassed either in exquisite
ornamentation or accuracy of movement. He was fond of pedestrian
excursions, and his hours of relaxation were frequently devoted to a
ramble along the low road to Lucan, which is certainly not inferior in
picturesque scenery, to any other of the many beautiful localities in
the vicinity of Dublin; but on one night Mr. Gonne came home greatly
disgusted with his promenade, and avowing a determination never again to
set foot on _that nasty road_. He did not bring home his beautiful
watch, and it transpired that a man, of small stature, had disturbed an
agreeable revery by requesting to be accommodated with whatsoever money
Mr. Gonne had in his possession, and that he also expressed great
admiration of his watch, and insisted on the immediate delivery of that
article. The propinquity of a pistol to Mr. Gonne's breast, induced a
speedy compliance with the disagreeable demand. On his arrival in
Dublin, Gonne declared that he had been robbed by _a little tailor_. He
stated that the fellow's features were concealed by a veil, and that as
soon as he got the watch and a small sum of money into his possession,
he managed to ascend the wall of Woodlands demesne with surprising
agility, and on it he seated himself _cross-legged_. He then addressed
the victim of his depredation by name, and assured him that his watch
should be safely kept, and that an opportunity should be afforded for
redeeming it for ten pounds. Gonne apprised the authorities of the
outrage which he had suffered. He declared that he never, to his
knowledge, beheld the robber before; that he did not recognise his
voice, but felt satisfied that he was a tailor, from the manner in which
he sat on the wall. An experienced peace-officer who heard the
description, agreed with Gonne that the delinquent was a tailor, and
added that he knew the man. It appeared that there was a little knight
of the thimble, of most remarkable activity, named Flood; he was of
dissipated habits, and was known at the racket-court in John's Lane,
where his play was most astonishing. He rarely missed a ball, and none
would encounter him in a match of rackets, unless at very great odds.
Flood was sought for, but was not forthcoming. Several of the provincial
towns were searched in vain, and it was supposed that he had left the
country, when he was apprehended, almost in the act of committing a
highway robbery on the Rock-road, which at that time constituted a
portion of the City of Dublin. His haunts were discovered and searched,
and several articles of value, supposed to have been acquired by highway
robbery, were found. There was a case quite sufficient for the
conviction of Flood in the affair for which he was apprehended; but it
was deemed expedient to investigate several other charges, and amongst
them the robbery of Mr. Gonne, who minutely detailed all the
circumstances of his disagreeable adventure on the Lucan Road, but he
could not identify the prisoner. He was then directed by the divisional
magistrate of police, before whom the case was pending, to pass round to
the rere of the bench and view a number of watches which were in a
drawer, of which the magistrate had the key. His watch was not amongst
them. Flood was committed for trial, and sent to Newgate on two other
charges, but the robbery of Mr. Gonne was not considered one on which an
indictment could be sustained.
At the period to which this narrative refers, there was in Ireland a
Lord Lieutenant belonging to the highest rank of nobility. His tastes
and amusements were rather unlike those of his successors. His personal
undertaking was quite sufficient for the disposal of three or four
bottles of claret after dinner. He was so good a judge of whisky-punch
as to impart to Kinahan's LL its peculiar designation and much of its
popularity amongst "choice spirits." He dined at Donnybrook fair,
_upstairs in a tent_,[4] visited John's Well in its pattern days, took
oyster suppers at "Queen Casey's" cellar in Britain Street, patronized
an occasional cockle party at Dollymount, superintended matches of
single-stick in the riding school, witnessed what was then termed the
"Royal Sport of Cock-fighting" in Clarendon Street; and his fingers were
no strangers to "the gloves." But his favourite amusement was harmless
and graceful. He played rackets frequently in John's Lane, and took
great pleasure in witnessing a match well contested by first-rate
players. At the time of Flood's detection, his Excellency was making a
tour through the south of Ireland, and after an interval of a few weeks,
he returned to Dublin, to receive some English visitors of
distinguished position and convivial tendencies. Amongst them was Lord
Sydney Osborne, who prided himself upon his skill at rackets, and who on
the day of his arrival stated at the viceregal table, that he was open
to play "any man in the world" for a thousand guineas. His Excellency
immediately took up the wager, and engaged to find a successful
competitor for his noble guest. It was stipulated that the match should
be played within three weeks, at the racket-court of the Kildare Street
Club. On the following morning the Lord Lieutenant proceeded to John's
Lane, and apprised the marker of the racket-court that he wished to find
a little fellow whom he had frequently seen there, and whom he described
as the most expert player that had ever come under his observation, as
one who had distanced all his antagonists, but he had forgotten his
name.
"My Lord," replied the marker, "I think your Excellency means Flood."
"Yes, yes, I now recollect the name; I want him particularly, for I have
wagered a large sum on a match between him and an English gentleman, and
if he wins, I shall reward him amply."
"Murder! murder!" exclaimed the marker, "your Grace must lose. Flood
can't play your match, _he is to be hung on Saturday_. He played rackets
well, but he played some queer tricks, too. He used to go looking for
watches and purses on the roads outside Dublin, and he was caught at
last, just near Merrion churchyard. Baron George tried him, and he was
found guilty. The judge told him to expect no mercy, so he is to die at
Newgate on Saturday."
"'Tis a d----d business," said his Excellency.
"Indeed it's likely to end that way," replied the marker, "for he was
rather loosely conducted, and now he has but a very short time to make
his soul."
His Excellency departed greatly disconcerted; he felt that he had been
too hasty in his wager. His thousand guineas appeared to be hopelessly
gone, and he could not bear to think how Lord Sydney Osborne would
chuckle at a walk over. He dined that day in Stephen's Green with his
very intimate friend, Sir Hercules Langrishe, to whom he took an
opportunity of communicating his unpleasant predicament. To his great
surprise, Sir Hercules did not appear to think that there was much
difficulty in the matter, and he even intimated his willingness to back
Flood for a hundred or two. "There is no danger," observed the baronet,
"of a change of ministry; you will be Lord Lieutenant for some years; so
the sooner you give Flood a pardon, and set him to practise for the
match, the better chance for your wager."
"Could there be a memorial got up in his favor?" suggested his
Excellency.
"It would not be advisable," replied Sir Hercules; "it would make the
affair a public topic. No, that would not do; just send over a pardon
to-morrow; let Flood come to me. I shall procure liberty for the fellow
to practise at the Shelbourne Barracks, and he also can get into the
court at the club at early hours, as it is there that the match is to be
played."
It was soon known that Flood was saved. The motive was left to public
ingenuity to discover, and, consequently, every reason except the true
one was assigned. It was supposed by many that he had given some
valuable information about a recent mail-coach robbery; but in the
meanwhile, he had been made aware of the high opinion entertained of his
skill as a racket-player, and the expectations that he would win the
match.
Full of gratitude for having been rescued from the gallows, he promised
to win, and redeemed his promise. His noble antagonist was an excellent
player, but in hand, eye, and agility, the tailor was greatly superior.
The nobleman became agitated and lost his temper, which was speedily
followed by his money. His aristocratic feelings were not, however,
outraged by even a suspicion of the fact, that he was defeated by a
little tailor, who, if the law had been permitted to take its course,
would have "shuffled off his mortal coil" in front of Newgate; and who
had been liberated from the condemned cell only for the purpose of
liberating a thousand guineas from the pocket of a duke's brother.
His Excellency gave Flood fifty pounds and some good advice, suggesting
a removal from Dublin and even from Ireland; but Flood was for some time
unwilling to depart. He remained in a city where he could only be known
as "the unhanged one," and where his character could not be retrieved.
His trade was useless. He could not obtain any employment. His money was
soon exhausted, and he had an insuperable objection to recur to his
former habit of taking nocturnal strolls in quest of watches and purses.
Unwilling to give the law another _lien_ on his neck, he at length
determined to leave Ireland as soon as he could obtain means of crossing
the Channel. Mr. Gonne was rather surprised by receiving a visit from
him, and still more by the request of a couple of pounds. The
indignation of a man who had been robbed of his watch and money exploded
at once. He assured Flood of his sincere regret and deep disappointment
at the gallows having been shamefully defrauded of its due. He then
informed him, in terms more plain than polite, that he could not expect
any contribution on the voluntary principle, but that a reasonable
expenditure would be willingly incurred to procure a halter, if its
application to Flood's neck was guaranteed. The "unhanged one" bore all
this very meekly, and said that he had a simple and intelligible
proposal to make, namely, that Mr. Gonne should lodge two pounds in the
hands of a certain person, on condition that the money should be
restored if the watch was not recovered by its owner; but if the article
was obtained for Mr. Gonne, Flood was to receive the deposit, to enable
him to leave Dublin for ever.
This offer was acceded to, and the cash was lodged with Jack Stevenson
of St. Andrew Street. Jack was a man of very extensive connections. He
had nephews and nieces in abundance; and whenever any of them wished to
retire plate, jewels, or trinkets from the vulgar gaze, Jack, like an
affectionate uncle, _advanced_, and took charge of the valuable
articles. He adorned the space between his front windows with the
ancient crest of Lombardy, three golden apples; and his transactions
with his relatives were of such a particular nature, that they were
recorded _in duplicate_. He had known Flood in his early days, before he
had become an adept either in racket-playing or robbing. He consented to
hold the money subject to the specified conditions; and then Flood and
Gonne proceeded to the last place to which it might be imagined that the
steps of the former would be voluntarily directed, namely, to the Police
Office, where he had been charged, and from whence he had been
committed. There he told Gonne to remain at the exterior door; and as
the Office was about to be closed for the day, he desired him to ask the
magistrate when he came out, what was the exact time. Gonne complied
with this direction, and His Worship readily, but rather too hastily,
produced a watch. No sooner was it displayed than its appearance
elicited the most disagreeable oath ever sworn before the "worthy
justice," for Gonne instantly explained, "By G----! that's my watch."
Gonne obtained his watch, and was with great difficulty persuaded to
refrain from bringing the transaction under the notice of the Executive.
The system by which the magistrate managed occasionally to possess
himself of a valuable watch or some other costly article, consisted in
having two or three drawers wherein to keep the property found with
highwaymen or thieves. If the prosecutor identified the delinquent, he
was then shown the right drawer; but if he could not swear to the
depredator, the wrong drawer was opened.
The magistrate to whom this narrative refers, was dismissed in a short
time after, for attempting to embezzle fifty pounds. I wish, for the
honor of the profession of which I am proud to be a member, to state
that he was not a barrister. Flood was afterwards for many years the
marker of a racket court at Tottenham Court Road, London. He judiciously
and wittily changed his name to _Waters_.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] The proprietor of this tent was a person named Cheevers. Having
received an intimation, a few days before the fair, that the Lord
Lieutenant would, with a select party, dine in his tent, he had it
constructed with a lofting or first-floor, and a flight of steps, by
which the Viceregal party ascended to their repast. On the succeeding
days, whilst the fair lasted, the elevated apartment which had been
honored by his Excellency was crowded to excess, and Cheevers received
an ample remuneration for his very original project.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MAJOR.
I shall now advert to another Police magistrate whose name I need not
refrain from mentioning, inasmuch as although his unpopularity was
unparalleled, his name has never been associated with any imputation of
a dishonourable or debasing tendency, such as was manifested in
reference to Gonne's watch. Henry Charles Sirr was for many years
Town-Major of Dublin; and through the insurrection of 1798, and during
the outbreak of 1803, he was peculiarly energetic and most unscrupulous
in the exercise of his powers as a magistrate of Police, in which
capacity he continued until his death in 1841. He was detested by all
those to whose opinions he was opposed, and whose designs and acts he
was engaged in repressing or punishing. He was not respected by those of
a contrary tendency; for he unnecessarily and continually engaged
personally in enquiries, searches, and arrests, which a proper
appreciation of his magisterial position would have induced him to leave
to his subordinates. He was accustomed, during the insurrectionary
times, to traverse the streets of Dublin or the suburbs, with some
special attendants following at a short distance. He carried pistols,
and was also provided with a short heavy bludgeon. If a suspicion
crossed his mind in reference to any person whom he casually met, his
usual practice was to knock the individual down, and then to ascertain
if he had secured the right man. He was of considerable although
indirect advantage to his colleagues and successor; for, during his
official career, the acts of his colleagues, if of an unpopular
tendency, were attributed to the example he afforded, or to his supposed
suggestions. His successor was judged by the contrast, and his faults
were considered as venial mistakes, whilst the Major's acts were only
remembered to be stigmatized as wilful misdeeds. His courage has been
doubted, but the imputation of cowardice is not fairly sustained. It
arises from the prejudice which satisfied itself that he could not
possess any good quality. His conduct at the apprehension of Lord Edward
Fitzgerald did not evince either courage or cowardice. He entered the
room after the conflict had commenced, and fired the fatal shot, in all
probability, to save the life of his associate. He frequently, and
without any necessity, risked his personal safety, and there is no sound
reason for believing that he was of a pusillanimous nature.
In 1798 Sirr received information that a young man of most respectable
family, who had involved himself in the insurrectionary movement of the
period, had arrived in Dublin, and was concealed in the upper room of a
house in Bull Alley. The Major proceeded, attended by several of his
myrmidons, to the place, and entered a house on the right hand side from
Bride Street, the lower part of the premises being a butcher's shop. He
went up to the front two-pair room, and there surprised the accused
party lying on a bed, and partly undressed. He held a pistol to the
young man's head, and commanded him to arise and surrender. The mandate
was complied with, and the captive apparently submitted to his fate. He
arose and asked permission to wash his face and hands, which was
accorded, and he then put on his coat, which the Major had previously
ascertained to have no weapons in the pockets. Suddenly the prisoner
made a spring, throwing himself bodily against the window, which yielded
to his force, and out he went. Sirr shouted and dashed down stairs,
greatly impeded by his own assistants who were hurrying up on the alarm.
The poor fellow who had adopted so desperate an expedient, met, in his
fall, a clothes pole, and then came on some wooden shed-work which
projected over the front of the shop; the latter was rather crazy and
gave away. He sprang to his feet unhurt, darted down the alley and
escaped by one of the numerous passages with which it communicated. Sirr
hastened down to the Coombe, turned out the Poddle guard, and searched
the neighbourhood, but without success. When the British government,
after the campaign of Waterloo, formed some regiments of lancers, they
procured two Austrian officers, of ascertained capability, to impart a
knowledge of the lance exercise to those regiments. One of the officers
was the Bull Alley jumper. He took an opportunity of renew his
acquaintance with Sirr, and jocosely apologised for having terminated
their previous interview so suddenly and unceremoniously.
Sirr was once tricked into making himself instrumental in carrying out
the punishment desired by an outraged father against a profligate son,
and it occurred also in the unhappy year of 1798. There was a wealthy
bookseller residing on Lower Ormond Quay, who had a son, his only child,
bearing the same Christian name. Mr. Patrick W----, the father, was very
indulgent. Mr. Patrick W----, the son, was extremely vicious. His time
was chiefly spent in society of the most objectionable description, and
he was not particular as to the means whereby he made his father's money
available for his licentious pleasures. He had been absent from the
paternal roof for some weeks. His father had vainly sought to discover
him, when he unexpectedly met him in the street, and directed a storm of
well-merited reproaches on the young reprobate.
Young Pat stood submissively attentive to his parent, and allowed him to
vent the first burst of his wrath, and when old Pat closed his
impassioned complaints by peremptorily ordering him to go home, he
mildly replied, "I was going there, sir, to try if you would admit me; I
own it is more than I deserve, but give me one trial more before you
cast me off: give me one more trial, and you shall not regret it."
"You young villain! where have you spent the last month?"
"I spent it as badly as I could, except the last week, and during that
time I have been with Mr. Luke White, at Woodlands."
"At Woodlands!" exclaimed the astonished old man, "Is it with Luke
White, my oldest, my most valued friend, you have been?"
"Yes sir. This day week I was walking in Stephen's Green, and Mr. White
met me. I sought to avoid him, I own that, but he called after me, took
me aside and expostulated with me about my habits and associates. He
told me that I was breaking your heart, and that I must reform my life.
He said that he grieved, as did all your friends, over the coming ruin
of your hopes, and that he was determined, if possible, to avert it;
that you were his esteemed, respected, and highly valued friend. He then
proposed that I should go out to him that evening to Woodlands for a
week, and that in the peaceful retirement of that residence, he would
try to bring me to a proper sense of duty to a worthy father. I yielded
to his remonstrances, and accepted his invitation; and having spent the
week with that excellent gentleman, I was going, by his direction, to
throw myself upon my knees before you, and implore your forgiveness."
"Oh!" exclaimed old Pat, "may heaven's choicest blessings be showered on
him, my real, true friend, who felt for my misery, and has relieved it.
Come, Pat, my darling boy, all is forgiven and forgotten. Happiness is
in store for us both. You will be my pride and comfort. I can die
contented if my eyes are closed by a son whom I leave respectable in
conduct and character."
Father and son proceeded home; and old Pat immediately sought all means
to convince young Pat of his faults having been condoned. He was
informed of the business transactions then pending; and his father
handed him a cheque for a considerable amount, and directed him to
proceed to the bank, and pay some bills which were due that day.
Young Pat departed. He did not return; and the notary's messengers
called in the evening with the unpaid bills. The miserable parent was
only able to discover that his son had been seen, during the afternoon,
in most disreputable society. Next morning old Pat waited on Mr. White,
and thanked him most warmly for his exertions to reclaim the young
reprobate by his advice and expostulations. "If anything could have
produced a good effect on him," exclaimed the agonized father, "it
would have been your advice, your example, and the contemplation of the
sweet scene and happy family to which your invitation last week----"
"My dear sir," interrupted Mr. White, "there is a great delusion on your
mind. I have not seen your son, nor have I had any communication
whatever with him for more than twelve months."
The old gentleman staggered to a seat. A terrible convulsion shook his
frame. Then supervened that which is fearful to witness in woman, but
doubly horrible in man, hysterical tears and sardonic laughter. At
length the fit terminated. Old Pat arose and took his leave. He walked
away with surprising energy, and his countenance assumed a calmness
beneath which was concealed nothing less
"Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire
Of a strong human heart, and in a sire."
Old Pat sought a private interview with Major Sirr, and confided to him
strong suspicions that young Pat was compromised with the United
Irishmen, and that if closely and properly interrogated, he could
disclose a great deal, especially as to some depôts of pikes and other
weapons intended for insurrectionary purposes. He affected to stipulate
for the utmost secrecy as to the Major's informant, protested that he
regarded the rebels with the utmost horror and detestation, and that he
had no idea of favoring a change in public affairs detrimental to those
who, by unremitting industry, had realized property. He suggested that
his son, when arrested, should be brought to the Custom House, which, at
that time, was in Essex Street, and directly opposite to his own
residence on Ormond Quay. Sirr entered into his views, complimented him
on his prudence and loyalty, and took immediate measures for the arrest
of young Pat, who, when captured, was delivered to some of "Beresford's
Troop," to exercise their inquisitorial talents in eliciting all he knew
about men whom he had never seen, and as to designs of which, in all
probability, he had never heard. The young man was perfectly free from
all political or religious influences. Beau Brummell might as justly
have been accused of complicity in the designs of revolutionary _sans
culottes_, as young Pat of any sympathy with other pursuits than the
midnight orgies and debasing revels of the worst of both sexes.
In the Custom House yard he was interrogated, and his denials only
produced louder and sterner demands. Truth, strict truth, issued from
lips to which it had been hitherto a stranger. The triangles stood
before him, and all his protestations of innocence were uttered to ears
worse than deaf. He was stripped, tied up, and lashed until he swooned;
then taken down, and recalled to a sense of existence by restoratives,
only to be put up again, until, at last, he lay before his torturers, a
lacerated and semi-animate frame, incapable of enduring further
suffering. They cursed him as an obdurate, callous villain, from whom
nothing could be extorted; and whilst his terrific punishment was in
process of infliction, his father was looking on, from the window of his
residence. The wretched youth was conveyed home, and a considerable time
elapsed before he was sufficiently recovered to proceed to America,
whence he never returned. His father made no secret of the means he
adopted to punish young Pat and to trick the Major.
Sirr was occasionally humorous. He announced to one of his acquaintances
the fate which was expected to befal Theobald Wolfe Tone, in the laconic
phrase--"Mr. Tone is to a-tone to-morrow in the front of Newgate."
Galvin, the hangman, having applied to Sirr for his interest and
recommendation to procure a small pension, laid before him a memorial,
which he was desirous of having forwarded to Government under the
Major's auspices. In it the veteran executioner submitted that for many
years he had acted as finisher of the law in the County and City of
Dublin, with frequent visits for professional purposes to towns on the
Home and the Leinster circuits. That age and infirmities were rendering
him incapable of continuing his public duties; and that he humbly
besought a small pension for the support of his declining years. "Tom,"
said the Major, "you should have stated in your memorial that during
your official career you discharged your duties _to the perfect
satisfaction of all parties concerned_." "I thank you, Major," replied
the stupid old wretch, "I'll get it altered, and put _that_ in." One of
Sirr's colleagues, a barrister, was remarkable for speaking in a low
voice, and with a great lisp. He was indebted to the Major for the
nickname of "Mississippi."
At a funeral in St. Werburgh's churchyard, and close by the vaults in
which the body of Lord Edward Fitzgerald had been deposited, the Major
was present. After the interment, a Mr. S. ----, whose person was
invariably extremely slovenly, approached him and remarked, "I suppose,
Major, that you cannot be here without thinking of Lord Edward."
"My friend," was the reply, "I am at present thinking of you, and
wondering from whence you derive such an ample supply of soiled shirts."
In 1831, during Earl Grey's administration, Sirr attended meetings
convened in favour of Parliamentary Reform, and moved resolutions of the
most liberal tendency. He voted at the city election for the Reform
candidates, and was twitted by the late Thomas Ellis for having deserted
his party and forgotten his principles. His answer was simple and
true--"I am totally unchanged; I have always supported _the Government_,
and I shall continue to do so."
When the piers which form Kingstown harbour were in course of
construction, the supply of stone was derived from immense quarries at
Killiney, and conveyed along a tramway, on which, near the quarries,
there were slopes, down which the loaded waggons required no impelling
power, but rather to be restrained, by breaks, from acquiring a
dangerous velocity. Major Sirr was fond of collecting natural
curiosities, especially of a geological nature; and he frequently
visited Killiney in quest of spar formations, which were occasionally
found there. He was by no means niggardly in his dealings with the spar
finders; but still he could not conciliate them into a feeling of
kindness or respect. One day he was proceeding up the tramway slope,
when the discharge of artillery at the Pigeon House fort attracted his
attention. He turned and looked in the direction of the firing, just at
the moment when a train of loaded wagons was about to descend. Being
right before them, he would have been utterly destroyed in a moment, but
the breaksman saw his perilous situation, and applied the requisite
pressure, stopped the train, and saved the Major. Several persons
witnessed his danger and the prompt means by which it was averted. On
the transaction becoming known in the quarries, there was an immediate
strike. All work was stopped, and a determination was unanimously avowed
to insist on the dismissal of the breaksman. No specific complaint was
preferred against the individual whose expulsion was required. The
Harbour Commissioners deputed Mr. Hickman Kearney to enquire into the
grounds and reasons for such an extraordinary demand. He went to the
quarries and called on the workmen to come forward and explain the cause
of their animosity to the breaksman. The only reply was that "he should
go." It appeared, on reference to the clerk of the works, and to the
overseers, that the obnoxious man was honest, sober, diligent, and
attentive to his duties; and it was strongly urged that no accident had
occurred at the slope since his appointment, and that he had, by his
presence of mind and promptitude, saved Major Sirr's life. This produced
a general exclamation of "That's the reason he shan't stay amongst us.
What business had he to save the Major?" The poor breaksman would have
lost his employment, but for an old and influential workman who
interfered in his favor, and induced the others to forgive him,
_provided he faithfully promised never to do the like again_.
The Major was peculiarly unpopular amongst the hackney carriage drivers,
and yet he was not a severe judge of their delinquencies, for he
dismissed nearly half the complaints preferred before him, and the
average of his fines was three shillings and sixpence; still, they hated
him; and although he preached to them very many little sermons in the
carriage court, and occasionally sought to impart Scriptural knowledge
to their minds, the benighted "jarveys" detested the magisterial
apostle. At last "the Major" died. His illness was very brief, and his
indisposition commenced in a covered car. He drove home to the Lower
Castle-yard, and never rallied, but sank in a few hours. The story was
circulated that he actually died in a covered car; and for some time
after his decease, I was occasionally treated to the hearing of
complaints preferred by covered car-drivers against outside carmen, for
usurping their turns, and defrauding them of their jobs. It was, and is,
very unusual for carmen to summon members of their own body; but in the
cases to which I refer there was a peculiar grossness assigned to the
offence. "Yer worship," the plaintiff would exclaim, "I would not mind
him _stumping me_, but he roared out to the people that were going to
hire me that my car was the very one the owld Major died in, and yer
worship, _I couldn't be expected to forgive that_."
CHAPTER IX.
COMMITTALS--A BARBER WANTED--DWYER THE REBEL--AN EXTRAORDINARY
INQUEST--SERGEANT GREENE'S HORSE--CHRISTY HUGHES--THE POLICE
CLERKS--RECORDER WALKER--THE POLICE STATUTES--PREAMBLE--A BENEFIT
SOCIETY CASE--POLICE RECRUITS--A BORN SOLDIER.
It is pleasing to observe decided improvements in institutions of
importance to the community. In the time of Major Sirr, the coarsest
language was addressed from the bench of the police courts, not only to
prisoners on serious charges, but to persons prosecuting or defending
summonses. If a magistrate of police were now to apply terms of abuse,
even to the most disreputable characters, he would most certainly be
severely censured, or perhaps dismissed. The personal characters of the
present magistrates of Dublin ensure the observance of the strictest
propriety in their courts. I may remark, also, that imprisonment cannot
now be inflicted in the reckless manner formerly adopted. On the day
when my magisterial functions commenced, I called for a list of the
existing committals to the Dublin prisons from the Head Office. I was
astonished to find that one man had been detained for the previous
fifteen years, another for thirteen, and a third for ten, in default of
sureties to keep the peace, and be of good behaviour. I ordered the
immediate discharge of those persons, and two of them expressed great
dissatisfaction at being thrown upon the world from which they had been
so long estranged. These committals were signed by Major Sirr. There is
no danger of persons being now sent to prison, and forgotten there; for
if such a committal were sent, through ignorance or inadvertence, the
Board of Superintendence would soon draw attention to the fact of a
prisoner's subsistence being charged on the public for an illegal or
unreasonable period. At the time when the committals to which I have
alluded came under my notice, I happened to meet with some reports from
a Governor of the Richmond Bridewell addressed to the magistrates of the
Head Police Office during the time when that prison was under their
exclusive control and supervision. In one of these documents, the writer
states the building to be in good repair, and perfectly adapted for the
safe custody of its inmates, and that every ward was in a clean and
wholesome condition. He proceeds to describe the good effects produced
by the use he made of a barber, who, for riotous and disorderly conduct,
had been committed for two months with hard labour. He had not put the
delinquent to stone-breaking or oakum picking, but employed him in
shaving and hair-cutting the other prisoners, the effect of which was to
improve their appearance, and to impart cleanly tendencies. He then
expresses his regret that the barber's term of imprisonment had elapsed,
and that the prisoners had become less cleanly-looking from remaining
unshaven and uncropt. He terminates the report by earnestly and most
respectfully suggesting to "their worships" to avail themselves of the
first opportunity that may offer for committing _another barber for the
longest term in their power_.
For some time after my appointment to the magistracy, Alderman John
Smith Fleming was my senior colleague at the Head Office. He had a very
vivid recollection of the rebellion of 1798, and was secretary to his
uncle, Alderman Thomas Fleming, Lord Mayor of Dublin in that year.
Amongst other anecdotes of that period, I have heard him relate that
Dwyer, one of the insurgent chiefs, had prolonged his resistance for
some months after the insurrection had been generally quelled. In the
mountains of Wicklow, with a few but faithful followers, he evaded every
exertion for his capture. Mr. Hume, of Humewood, near Baltinglass, was
particularly anxious to secure Dwyer. He was the commander of a corps of
yeomanry, and a magistrate of the County of Wicklow, which he also
represented in Parliament. Of very extensive influence, he easily
procured the co-operation of the civil and military authorities of his
own and of the adjoining districts. Still Dwyer was not to be had. At
length an arrangement was made that the yeomanry corps of the western
portion of Wicklow should assemble, at an early hour on an appointed
day, at Humewood, and should set out to scour the country, exploring
every recess, and leaving no place, on hill or plain, unransacked for
Dwyer. Yeomanry from Wexford, Carlow, and Kildare were to move on
preconcerted points, so as to intercept the fugitive if he should
attempt to shift his quarters. A day was wholly spent in a most
fatiguing search. It seemed as if Dwyer had transformed himself into a
bird, and flown beyond sight or reach. However, in a short time, Mr.
Hume received an intimation, that if Dwyer's life would be spared, and
that he would be permitted to leave the country, he was willing to
surrender. With the assent of the Government, Mr. Hume acceded to this
offer. Dwyer was brought to Dublin, and the required undertaking and
consequent immunity from punishment were acknowledged before the Lord
Mayor. The outlaw was kindly and generously treated by Mr. Hume during
the few days which preceded his departure for America; and at a final
interview Mr. Hume said--"Before we part, Dwyer, will you tell me how
you avoided capture on the day that we scoured the whole country in
search of you?" "Sir," replied Dwyer, "I had information of your
intentions, so I went to Humewood on the night before, and when the
yeomen were paraded on your lawn, before they started in search of me,
_I was looking at them from your hay-loft_."
For some years previous to 1842, the number of persons "found drowned"
in the County of Dublin was much greater than might be expected either
from the extent of the population or the nature of the locality. It was
indeed true that one canal, the Grand, extended along the greater part
of the southern boundary of the Irish metropolis, and another, the
Royal, was similarly situated in the northern direction; but although
these canals afforded great facilities for the termination of human
existence, whether by suicide or accident, the cases of drowning were
far more numerous than could be fairly attributed to violence,
intoxication, lunacy, or carelessness. It would also seem that the
southern canal was much more destructive to human life than the other,
and that the bank which was in the county possessed some attraction for
the corpses, for they were almost always taken out at the county side.
It happened on the 11th of March, 1842, a few minutes before 10 o'clock,
a.m., that a young man named Kinsella, who was employed in a distillery
at Marrowbone Lane, was proceeding, after his breakfast, from his
residence at Dolphin's Barn to resume his work, when, on approaching the
canal bridge, he was stopped by a constable, who informed him that the
coroner required his attendance, as a juror, on an inquest that was
about to be held on the body of an old man, just taken out of the canal.
Kinsella vainly expostulated against the detention. He was told that it
would be a very short business, for there were no marks of violence on
the corpse; it would merely be a case of "found drowned." The man was
accordingly sworn on the inquest, and the coroner having informed the
jury that they were required by law to view the body, they were
conducted to the apartment where it lay. As soon as Kinsella beheld the
corpse, he rushed forward, dropped on his knees beside it, seized the
stiff and frigid hand, and exclaimed, "My father! my poor, dear father!
We buried him on this day week, decently and well, in the Hospital
Fields. He had no business in the canal; and _them old clothes_ never
belonged to him; he never wore a stitch of them." The coroner and the
doctor vainly endeavoured to persuade Kinsella that he was mistaken; and
his recognition of his parent produced an enquiry, which resulted in
bringing to light some very extraordinary practices on the part of the
county functionary and his medical satellite. They were paid by public
presentment, according to the number of inquests held; and they had
recourse to the expedient of having bodies disinterred, clothed in old
habiliments, and thrown into the canal. Such bodies were almost always
discovered very soon, and were taken out on the county side of the
canal, to swell the coroner's next presentment for inquests on persons
who were "found drowned." A crush from a passing barge afforded an
additional profit, as the bruises constituted a plausible reason for a
_post mortem_ examination, and thereby doubled the doctor's ordinary
fee. The coroner and his associate were convicted of conspiring to
defraud, and consequently were deprived of their functions. It must be
acknowledged that, if their mode of procuring inquests was not honest,
it was certainly novel and ingenious. If the practice had been known in
the days of Hamlet, it would have furnished an additional reason for his
exclamation:--
"To what base uses we may return, Horatio."
In the year 1842, and for several subsequent years, by an arrangement
with my colleagues, I undertook the magisterial duties connected with
the licensing and regulation of job and hackney vehicles, and the
adjudication of complaints in the carriage court. At the time when I
assumed those duties, Richard Wilson Greene (whose high legal
acquirements ultimately obtained for him the position of Baron in the
Court of Exchequer) was in very extensive practice at the Bar. An issue
from Chancery was sent to be tried at one of the principal towns on the
Leinster Circuit, and he was specially retained for one of the parties.
A very efficient reporter, named Christopher Hughes, in whose character
there was great comical eccentricity, was employed to take down, in
shorthand, the trial of the issue. Early in the succeeding term, it was
arranged that a consultation should be held at the house of the senior
counsel, in Leeson Street, and Mr. Hughes was requested to meet Mr.
Greene at the Courts, with his notes, and to accompany him to the
consultation. The appointed time had nearly arrived, when Greene and
Hughes hurried off from the Four Courts. Having passed out to the quay,
the former hailed an outside car, on which they sat beside each other,
and the driver was ordered to make all possible haste to Leeson Street.
The horse was a fine-looking animal, but he stepped high and was very
slow. Mr. Greene urged the driver to hasten on, and after two or three
expostulations, he remarked to the Jehu that the horse was unfit for a
jaunting car, although he was large and strong, but that he would suit
well for a family carriage. The driver, a lad of eighteen or nineteen
years of age, exclaimed, "Bedad your honor is a witch!" "What do you
mean?" asked Mr. Greene. "Oh," replied the carman, "I mane no offince,
but yer honor is right about the baste; that's what he is. I'll tell yer
honor a saycret. The baste is a carriage horse belonging to one
Counsellor Greene, and the coachman has a hack-car and figure on Bride
Street stand. He ginerally manages to have something the matther with
one of the horses, and that gives him an opportunity to get a good deal
of work out of the other in the car." Although Mr. Greene was very angry
at what the driver had communicated, he did not disclose that he was the
owner of the horse. He whispered to Hughes, and requested him to give
the driver his name and address, but to leave him unpaid. When they
arrived at Leeson Street, Greene at once entered the house of the senior
counsel, and warned the servant against telling his name to the carman.
Hughes had a scene, and was treated to a copious supply of opprobrious
epithets, but he did not pay, and merely gave his name and address. He
was summoned, at the owner's suit, before me; and when the case was
called the proprietor of the vehicle, in very energetic terms, demanded
exemplary costs against the defaulting hirer of his car. His
denunciations were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Greene;
and there was abundant merriment, of which I had a full share, when it
transpired that the learned Queen's Counsel had hired a hack-car drawn
by his own horse. The coachman ran out of court, and I afterwards heard
that he never applied for wages or discharge. The incident attained
great publicity, and afforded much amusement in "The Hall" amongst the
long-robed fraternity. One day Greene said to some of his brethren that
he believed the fellow had left Dublin, but that he was strongly tempted
to send the police in quest of him. "Send your horse," observed the
facetious Robert Holmes, "for he is best acquainted with _the carman's
traces_."
Mr. Hughes, whose name appears in the preceding anecdote, deserves to be
noticed upon his own merits. He was frequently engaged in reporting
proceedings in the Police Courts, and we never had occasion to impute
any inaccuracy to his statements. He was always ready to assist any of
his brethren of the "press-gang," and to suggest a palliation or excuse
for their casual errors. I frequently indulged him with permission to
sit in the magistrate's room whilst he was transcribing his notes, and I
have been often amused with his remarks and statements, which were
strictly true, and in which he never concealed his own professional
expedients or mistakes. He mentioned that he was directed to go to one
of the dinners of the Malachean Orphan Society, where O'Connell
presided, but having indulged in his potations at a luncheon, he forgot
the requirement for his services at Mrs. Mahony's great rooms in Patrick
Street. "I slept," said he, "until about 11 o'clock, and then I
recollected myself, so I went quietly to the office and got the file of
the previous year, and, with a little alteration, it did for the day's
dinner as well." He often mentioned what he designated his greatest
mistake. He described it thus:--"On the concluding day of George the
Fourth's visit, in 1821, he went to Powerscourt, where he got a splendid
reception from the noble proprietor. Lord Powerscourt had caused
reservoirs to be constructed above the waterfall, in order that when his
Majesty went to see it, the sluices might be drawn, and a tremendous
cataract produced. I went down in the morning and viewed the place, and
minutely noted all the preparations. I then drew on my imagination for a
description of a second Niagara, and put into the mouth of the royal
visitor various exclamations of delight and surprise. I sent off my
report, and it appeared in due time, but unfortunately the king was too
much hurried by other arrangements, and did not go to the Waterfall at
all, but drove direct from Powerscourt House to Kingstown, where he
embarked. I have been often quizzed for my imaginative report, but,
nevertheless, I stated what the King _ought_ to have done, and what he
_ought_ to have said, and if he did otherwise, it was not my fault."
I was extremely fortunate, at my accession to magisterial office, to
find myself provided with clerks who could not be surpassed in
diligence, integrity, or intelligence. I shall particularize Messrs.
Pemberton and Cox. The former was the son of a previous chief
magistrate, at whose instance he was appointed. The latter had been for
several years in America, and had been engaged by Jacob Philip Astor in
forming the settlement of Astoria, in Washington Irvine's description of
which he is most favorably mentioned. He was a man of great literary
taste, and was an accomplished linguist. Their performance of official
duties never required from me, nor to my knowledge from any of my
colleagues, the slightest correction or reproof. Pemberton was a
solicitor, and was promoted in 1846 to the Clerkship of the Crown for
the King's County. He had been many years before an assistant to Messrs.
Allen and Greene, the Clerks of the Peace for the City of Dublin. I
shall have to notice hereafter some amusing incidents connected with
Cox, but shall give precedence to a few anecdotes derived from
Pemberton, and arising from his acquaintance with the old Session House
in Green Street, and the records there, to which, I suppose, he had full
access.
Towards the close of the last century an aid-de-camp of the then viceroy
was indicted, at the Quarter Sessions, for the larceny of a handsome
walking-stick, and also for assaulting the gentleman who owned it, and
who was, moreover, a Frenchman. The transaction arose in a house of a
description unnecessary to be particularized. An affray took place, the
Frenchman was kicked down stairs, and lost his cane, which was alleged
to have been wrested from him by the aid-de-camp. The charge of larceny
was absurd, and the grand jury ignored the indictment. But the assault
could neither be denied nor justified, and the traverser submitted,
pleaded "guilty," and was fined five pounds. That punishment did not
cure his propensity for beating Frenchmen and taking their _sticks_. On
the 21st of June, 1813, he beat Marshal Jourdan at Vittoria, and
captured his _baton_; and on the 18th of June, 1815, at Waterloo, he
beat the greatest Frenchman that ever lived, Napoleon Bonaparte. I do
not feel justified in naming the delinquent aid-de-camp, and perhaps the
reader may think it quite unnecessary that I should.
More than half a century has elapsed since the office of Recorder of
Dublin was held by Mr. William Walker, whose town residence was in Lower
Dominick Street. One day a groom, in the service of a Mr. Gresson, was
tried before him, for stealing his master's oats. The evidence was most
conclusive, for the culprit had been detected in the act of taking a
large bag of oats out of his master's stable, which was in the lane at
the back of the east side of Dominick Street. When the prisoner was
convicted, the Recorder addressed him to the following effect:--"The
sentence of the Court is, that you are to be imprisoned for three
calendar months; and at the commencement of that term you are to be
publicly whipped from one end of _that lane_ to the other, and back
again; and in the last week of your imprisonment, you are to be again
publicly whipped from one end of _that lane_ to the other, and back
again; for I am determined, with the help of Providence, to put a stop
to oat-stealing in _that lane_." His worship's emphatic denunciation of
oat-stealing in _that lane_, arose from the circumstance of his own
stable being the next door to Mr. Gresson's.
The same civic functionary was a great amateur farmer. He had a villa
and some acres of land at Mount Tallant, near Harold's Cross, and prided
himself upon his abundant crops of early hay. On one occasion he entered
the court to discharge his judicial duties at an adjourned sessions, and
was horrified at hearing from the acting Clerk of the Peace (Mr.
Pemberton) that there were upwards of twenty larceny cases to be tried.
"Oh!" said he, "this is shocking. I have three acres of meadow cut, and
I have no doubt that the haymaking will be neglected or mismanaged in my
absence." In a few minutes, he inquired in an undertone, "Is there any
old offender on the calendar?"
"Yes," was the reply, "there is one named Branagan, who has been twice
convicted for ripping lead from roofs, and he is here now for a similar
offence, committed last week in Mary's Abbey."
"Send a turnkey to him," said the Recorder, "with a hint that, if he
pleads guilty, he will be likely to receive a light sentence."
These directions were complied with, and the lead-stealer was put to the
bar and arraigned.
"Are you guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty, my lord."
"The sentence of the court is that you be imprisoned for three months.
Remove him."
Branagan retired, delighted to find a short imprisonment substituted for
the transportation that he expected. As he passed through the dock, he
was eagerly interrogated by the other prisoners--
"What have you got?"
"Three months."
"Three months--only three months!" they exclaimed; "Oh! but we're in
luck. His lordship is as mild as milk this morning. It's seldom that
he's in so sweet a humour."
"Put forward another," said the Recorder.
"Are you guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty, my lord."
"Let the prisoner stand back, and arraign the next."
Accordingly, the prisoners were rapidly arraigned, and the same plea of
"Guilty" recorded in each case. Presently it was signified to his
lordship that the calendar was exhausted. All the thieves had pleaded
guilty.
"Put the prisoners to the front of the dock," said he; and they were
mustered as he directed. He then briefly addressed them--
"The sentence of the court is that you and each of you be transported
for seven years. Crier, adjourn the court."
Branagan had been thrown as a sprat, and had caught the other fish
abundantly. This incident might afford a useful, or perhaps it should be
termed, a convenient suggestion, to other judicial functionaries,
especially on circuit when there is a crowded dock.
When Mr. Pemberton received the appointment of Clerk of the Crown for
the King's County, Mr. Cox, who had been for several years the second
clerk in the Head Police Office, succeeded to the chief clerkship. He
possessed very extensive knowledge of the world, and was highly
educated. Many incidents connected with him are worthy of being
recorded. I may mention here that the Police Laws of the Irish
Metropolitan district are, to the highest degree, complex, voluminous,
involved, and perplexing. In the English Metropolitan district two
statutes regulate, one the Police Force, and the other the Police
Courts. In Dublin we have a statute passed in 1808, another in 1824, a
third in 1836, a fourth in 1837, a fifth in 1838, a sixth in 1839, a
seventh in 1842, and an Act in relation to public carriages, which may
also be termed a police statute, in 1848. They contain three hundred and
sixty-six sections, and may be designated as disgraceful to the several
executive governments which have left them unconsolidated and
uncodified. When the 5th Vic. sess. 2, Chap. 24, passed, it recited the
other Acts to which I have alluded, and then its preamble proceeds to
heap or bundle them all together in the following terms:--
"Be it therefore enacted by the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, by
and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and
Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by
the authority of the same, that the said recited Acts of the
forty-eighth year of the reign of King George the Third, of the
fifth year of the reign of King George the Fourth, of the session
of Parliament holden in the sixth and seventh years of the reign of
King William the Fourth, of the first year of Her present Majesty's
reign, and of the sessions of Parliament holden respectively in the
first and second, second and third, and third and fourth years of
Her present Majesty's reign, and this Act, shall be construed
together as one Act; and that all and every the enactments and
provisions therein contained shall apply and extend to this Act,
and to all Convictions, Warrants, Distresses, Proceedings, and
Things, made, taken, or done in execution of this Act, as fully to
all intents and purposes as if the same were herein repeated and
re-enacted, save in so far as such enactments and provisions are
inconsistent with or contrary to this Act, or as such enactments or
provisions may be altered by this Act, or other enactments or
provisions made in lieu thereof."
Mr. Cox commented on this farrago by observing that "its framer would
have an easy death, for that if he was affected with ague, or even if he
were hanged, he would be too lazy to shake in the former or to kick in
the latter case." In the blank leaf of a bound copy of the Police
statutes, the following was written in reference to the preceding
quotation:--
"The preamble saith the forty-eighth of George the Third is one,
that must be tack'd to another Act, the fifth of George his son.
Then whilst you're at it, just take a statute, the sixth and
seventh session, of him who did own the British throne, the next in
due progression. Then the first of the reign of our present Queen,
and then the first and second; the next that occurred was the
second and third, then the third and fourth is reckoned. All these
in fact, to the present Act, you must fasten tight as leather.
There may be flaws in many a clause, but, take them all together,
it must be your plan, as well as you can, to deal with your
numerous doubts, or be the employer of some shrewd lawyer, to shew
you their ins and outs. If your puzzled brain, you rack in vain,
until you fume and curse; if they bother you, why they've bothered
me too, so take them for better, for worse."
There were, and I suppose still are, many complaints preferred before
divisional magistrates, at the Police Courts, in reference to claims on
Benefit or Friendly Societies, for allowances in cases of sickness, or
for money payable to members or their representatives, under family
visitations. Whenever any summonses on such subjects were disposed of by
me, I called for the transaction and account-books, and required them to
be produced at the commencement of the proceedings. On one occasion a
quire of copy paper, stitched in a cover of brown, in a condition
absolutely dirty, and in which the entries were irregularly scrawled,
was handed up to me. I strongly censured such a slovenly mode of
recording their proceedings as very discreditable. On hearing the
complainant, I considered that the case was very well suited for an
arbitration, and the parties offered no objection to have it so disposed
of; but they disagreed on each of the other societies which were
suggested for the purpose of deciding it. However, one of the persons
concerned said, that he would be satisfied to leave the matter entirely
to Paddy Flannery, whom he saw present, and whom he considered "the most
knowledgeable man in all Dublin on such a business." The others
concurred, and I directed Mr. Cox to indorse on the copy of the summons
a reference by me, with the consent of the parties, of all matters in
dispute between them to the aforesaid Flannery. I proceeded with some
other business; and the indorsement having been made, I signed it
without any hesitation, and it was given to the late Mr. Charles
Fitzgerald, who was concerned in the case, but in whose honor and
probity all parties who knew him fully confided. In a day or two after,
I was talking to him, during a few minutes of leisure, and he showed me
the indorsement which I had signed. It was as follows:--
"This Benefit Society, which keeps no proper book, evinces
impropriety deserving a rebuke. As further litigation on each part
they decline, no other observation is requisite on mine. 'Tis left
to Patrick Flannery to judge of every fact, and in whatever manner
he thinks right they're bound to act. My order I reserve until he
makes out his award, and when he does, at once I will the rule of
Court record."
Dr. Ireland was, for many years, the principal surgeon of the Dublin
Metropolitan Police. He had to inspect the recruits, and satisfy himself
of their size, health, mental capacity, and bodily strength being
suitable to the service in which they proposed to engage. Cox said that
the Dublin Police was in one respect, very like to Howth Harbor, as no
one could get into either without passing "Ireland's Eye." When the
railway was being made from Dublin to Wicklow, he said that its course
through the County of Dublin was extremely inharmonious, for it went
first to a Dun-_drum_, proceeded to a Still-_organ_, and then attained
to a _Bray_.
Mr. Cox came into the Police Court one morning after the custody cases
had been disposed of. He brought forward an elderly female whom he
stated to be desirous of making a statutable declaration before me, and
which she had brought already drawn. There was a peculiar expression in
his countenance as he suggested that I might, perhaps, be pleased to
peruse the document previous to its official reception. It was made
under circumstances which I shall briefly mention. A young man named
Dempsey thought fit to embrace a military life, and enlisted in the 97th
Regiment. He did not give his paternal name, but adopted the maiden name
of his mother, and was enrolled as Peter Moran. He served for some years
in India, but died there from the effects of sun-stroke. Some arrears of
pay and a share of prize-money were due at the time of his decease; and
his widowed mother applied, as next of kin, to obtain the amount. The
War-Office authorities did not understand how Peter Moran came to be the
son of Anne Dempsey. The declaration to which Cox slyly drew my
attention was intended to afford an explanation of the grounds on which
the claim was preferred, and it, moreover, afforded an instance of a
martial disposition being as early in its inception as the
birth-acquired tendency of poetic inspiration. The declaration was as
follows:--
"Police District of Dublin}
Metropolis, to wit,}
I Bridget Carey, of Fade Street, in the City of Dublin, widow, do
hereby solemnly declare that I am a midwife, and have been such for
the last thirty-five years; and I further declare that about
twenty-seven years ago, I attended Anne Dempsey who was then living
in Little Longford Street, in her confinement, and, with God's
assistance, I then and there _safely delivered her of the soldier
in dispute_, and I make this declaration for the information of the
Secretary-at-war, and the other authorities of the War Office, &c."
Cox remarked, with an assumption of gravity which was irresistibly
comic, "I suppose, your worship, that it is not necessary to describe
the uniform or accoutrements in which 'the soldier' made his natal
appearance." The document was retained by me, and another was
substituted, in which the deceased was not accorded the distinction of
having been "born a soldier."
CHAPTER X.
MENDICANCY.
I think that some useful information may be blended with amusement by
offering to my readers a few anecdotes in reference to mendicancy and
the laws intended for its repression. Two persons were charged before me
at the Head Police Office, in 1843, with begging in the public streets.
One was detected in Castle Street and the other in Palace Street. They
were male and female, and stated themselves to be brother and sister.
Neither denied the commission of the offence. Having been searched at
the station-house, the man was found to have £300 in his possession, and
the woman had £180. I do not recollect what names they gave, but I am
sure they were not the real ones. They were committed, each for a
calendar month, with hard labor; but during the period of their
imprisonment their subsistence was charged on the rates of the city of
Dublin, and the £480 were returned to them at their discharge. I have
been informed that the law of Scotland authorises the support of
vagrants, when committed to gaol, to be defrayed from money found in
their possession. If such be the case, I would suggest to our Irish
Members to have the law of this country, in cases of vagrancy,
assimilated to the Scotch system as quickly as possible.
Very soon after the occurence which I have mentioned, a gentleman who
resided at Kingstown, arrived there by train between seven and eight
o'clock, p.m. He was walking up the Forty-foot Road, when he was
accosted by a man of humble but decent appearance, who kept by his side
whilst addressing him. "I came out, sir," said this individual, "early
in the day, on an appointment with Mr. Herbert, of Tivoli Terrace, as he
promised to let me have a few pounds that he owes me; but I found that
he had to start suddenly for Bray on some particular business, and he
left word for me that he would be back about ten o'clock, so I have to
wait: and I declare, sir, that I had only enough when I left home to get
a return ticket, and I have not had a bit to eat since morning. Might I
ask you for as much as would get me a crust of bread and a mug of milk."
On reaching George's Street, the gentleman handed him a sixpence, and
received the expression of an earnest prayer for his earthly prosperity
and eternal happiness. On the following evening, the gentleman arrived
at the same time, proceeded up the same road, and not being recognized,
was accosted by the same person, who told the same tale, concluding with
a wish for "the crust and mug of milk." A constable happened to be in
view, and the hungry applicant was arrested and charged as a vagrant
beggar. He had two ten-pound notes and three of five pounds, with
eighteen shillings in silver and copper coin. The vagrant stated his
name to be Richard Bryan, and a most extraordinary document was found on
him. It was soiled and partly torn, but it was signed, "Your loving
brother, John Bryan," was dated, "Borris, August 30th, 1843," and
contained a suggestion which was fully acted on, and which I could not
allow to escape my recollection. Here it is:--
"We have got in the barley all right, and we are going at the oats
to-morrow. I had to lend the horses to-day to Mr. Kimmis. I
couldn't refuse, for you know he is a good warrant to obleege us
when we want a turn. Nolan is bothering about the rent. He is very
cross. You must see and make it out for him, _if you were even to
beg for it_."
One month's imprisonment, with hard labour, provided the mendicant with
some "crusts" and "mugs of milk" at the cost of the county. The
delinquent did not, I believe, resume his solicitations within our
district. The office sergeant who escorted him, with some other
prisoners, to Kilmainham, told the clerk at Kingstown on the following
morning, that Mr. Bryan stigmatized my decision as "most uncharitable
and disgusting."
I did not find mendicancy so persistent in any part of the police
district as in Kingstown. If a vagrant was brought up and punished for
begging in Rathmines or the Pembroke township, or if the detection
occurred at Inchicore, or in the more respectable parts of the city, it
was not at all probable that the beggar would be soon found again in the
same locality. The Kingstown vagrants, as soon as they were discharged
from Kilmainham, generally started off to return and resume their
solicitations at the piers and jetty, or about the streets and terraces,
which were more devoted to healthful recreation than to professional or
commercial affairs. I have no doubt that mendicants from distant places
receive more at Kingstown or Bray, from visitors whom they recognize, or
who recognize them, than would be given to them if both parties were at
home. A lady with whom I was personally acquainted, and whose family
residence was near Carlow, has several times, in my presence, given
sixpences to beggars who belonged to her own neighbourhood, and I have
heard her tell them that Kingstown was a better and more lucky place for
them than ever they would find Carlow to be. I shall close my
observations on street begging, by deliberately stating from my personal
and official experience, that not one penny can be given to any
mendicant on our thoroughfares in real, efficient, and merited charity.
I would now warn my readers against another kind of begging, which
avails itself of very systematic and elaborate means, and sometimes
displays considerable educational acquirements, namely, written
applications to charitable individuals to alleviate dire distress or
succour unmerited misfortune. I know that this system is extensively
practised in London, and I have heard that it is reviving in Dublin. I
use the term "reviving," because it was completely crushed here in 1844
by the intelligence and activity of the detective division. At that time
it was discovered that a confederacy of impostors had been formed in
Bridgefoot Street, and that the members of this nefarious association
were levying contributions on all in whose dispositions they had
ascertained charity and credulity to be united. Forty-one of them were
arrested and brought before me, and I committed them for trial on
charges of "conspiring to defraud, obtaining money under false
pretences, and forgery at common law." They were, however, consigned to
Newgate, exactly at the time when the State prosecutions against
O'Connell had been commenced; and it was the received opinion in police
quarters that they owed their escape--for they were not prosecuted--to a
feeling on the part of the attorney-general of that period, that all his
attention was demanded in bringing down the eagle, and that none of his
energies could be spared to scatter a flock of kites. But they were not
relinquished by the detectives, and were brought in detail under the
castigation of the law until the confederacy was broken up. Their
begging letters and petitions were addressed to all whom they considered
likely to yield the slightest attention to their requests. These
productions were termed in their slang "_Slums_." One impostor
represented that she was a clergyman's widow, with four female children,
the eldest only eleven years of age; that her pious, exemplary, and most
affectionate partner had died of malignant fever, contracted whilst
whispering the words of Christian consolation to the departing sinner,
and imparting the joyful assurance, that the life flickering away, the
socket glimmer of a mere earthly light, would be rekindled in a lamp of
everlasting duration and unvarying brilliancy. That resigned to her
suffering, and adoring the hand from which she had experienced
chastening, she was not forbidden to hope that the blessed spirit of
charity would be manifested in her relief, and in shielding her
helpless, artless babes from the privations of distress in their
infancy, and from the still more fearful danger of being, in advanced
youth, exposed to the snares of sin and its depraving consequences. A
contribution, however small, addressed to Mrs. ----, at No. --
Bridgefoot Street, Dublin, would, it was respectfully hoped, be accorded
by Lord ----, or Mr. or Mrs. ----, whose well-known, though
unostentatious benevolence, must plead the poor widow's apology for such
an intrusion. Another was an unfortunate man, who for many years had
earned a respectable livelihood as a commercial agent, and supported a
numerous and interesting family by his industry and intelligence, but
having unfortunately been in the County of Tipperary, when a contested
election was in progress, he unguardedly expressed a wish for the
success of the Conservative candidate, and although not a voter, he was
set upon by a horde of savage ruffians, and beaten so as to produce
paralysis of his lower extremities, and that now nothing remained for
him but to entreat the humane consideration of one who could not, if the
public testimony of his, or her generous disposition, was to be
credited, refuse to sympathize with a parent whose helplessness
compelled him to witness, with unavailing anguish, the poignant
miseries of the offspring he had hoped, by his honest exertions, to have
supported and reared, without submitting to the galling necessity of
soliciting that aid which nothing but the most absolute destitution
could reconcile him to implore. A _military lady_ announced herself as
the widow of color-sergeant Robert Maffett, who having served faithfully
for twenty-three years, the four last having been in India, had been
severely wounded in a decisive battle in Scinde, and when invalided and
pensioned, was unfortunately drowned at Blackwall, in consequence of the
boat which was conveying him ashore being accidentally upset. That she
and her eight poor orphans had no resource on reaching her native city,
where she found that all her relations had died or emigrated, and where
she was friendless and alone, but to throw herself upon the charitable
feelings of one whose character emboldened her to hope that the humble
appeal of the soldier's widow, for herself and her poor orphans, would
not be unavailing. These and a thousand other _slums_ were manufactured
in Bridgefoot Street, alias Dirty Lane, not an unsuitable name for the
locale of such proceedings, and they were invariably accompanied by
lists of subscriptions, and magisterial or municipal attestations,
admirably got up in the first style of forgery. In the first case to
which I have adverted, the "hapless widow" succeeded in getting five
pounds from the Lord Chief Justice of Ireland (Pennefather). In the
instance of the "military widow," Lady Blakeney was lightened of three
pounds. Another _slum_ was circulated by a scoundrel who represented
himself to be the son of a gentleman in the south of Ireland, of an old
family, and of the pristine faith; that he had been educated at Louvain,
had an ardent wish to become a Catholic clergyman, and that one of the
most distinguished dignitaries of that church was inclined to ordain
him, but his father had died in debt, without leaving him the means of
providing even the most humble outfit for such a vocation. One of his
missives produced the effect of relieving an alderman's lady of five
pounds sterling, which the excellent and worthy matron piously
suggested might be useful in providing the embryo priest _with
vestments_.
This confederacy was not confined to Dublin. Its branches extended
through Leinster, Connaught, Munster, and in almost every important town
in England its connections were established. It is, however, very
curious that the Scots and our Northern countrymen were left
comparatively free from its attacks. Why? Is it because the rascally
crew conceived the natives of Scotland and Ulster to be more cautious or
less benevolent than their respective Southern neighbours? The reader
may judge for himself; but swindlers are not, in general, very wrong in
their estimate of character or disposition.
The head-quarters of the society were in an obscure country town in an
inland county of Ireland, and there the _materiel_ of the association
was seized, according to my recollection, in April, 1844. There was
found at the source of their system, a chest of very elegant
manufacture, and containing, in compartments, admirably executed
counterfeits of the public seals of Cork, Waterford, Limerick, Sligo,
Drogheda, Dublin, Liverpool, Bristol, Hamburg, Havre, and New York.
These were used to seal forged certificates and attestations, which were
transmitted for use to more populous places; but the seals were
cunningly kept in a remote, and for a long time, an unsuspected
locality.
CHAPTER XI.
CARRIAGE COURT CASES--DUBLIN CARMEN.
When I assumed, by an arrangement with my colleagues, the regulation of
the public vehicles, and the disposal of complaints in the Carriage
Court at the Head office, announced my inflexible determination to
cancel the license of any driver who was proved to have been drunk while
in charge of his vehicle on the public thoroughfare required the fullest
proof of the offence, to whom I awarded the highest punishment. I am
happy to say that such cases were by no means frequent, but there were
some, and they generally occurred at funerals. A Rathfarnham carman was
summoned before me and was convicted, not only on the clearest evidence,
but by his own admission. He was about my own age, and I remembered that
when I was about eighteen years old, I was one day swimming in a
quarry-hole at Kimmage, where the water was at least twenty feet deep,
and was suddenly seized with very severe cramps in my left leg. I kept
myself afloat and shouted for help, but I was unable to make for the
bank, when a young fellow who had been swimming, and was dressing
himself, hastily threw off his clothes, plunged into the water, and
pushed me before him to the side of the quarry. He saved my life, and I
now beheld him in the person of the convicted carman. I related the
circumstance from the magisterial bench, and then cancelled his licence,
and remarked to those who were assembled, that when I treated the
preserver of my life so strictly, others could not expect the slightest
lenity at my hands if they transgressed in the same way. The poor fellow
left the court in great dejection, and when my duties for the day were
over, I dropped in to my friend Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of
Police, and mentioned the circumstance to him. He said, "You cancelled
his licence, but I can give him a new one, and he shall get it
to-morrow." The licence was accordingly renewed, without causing me the
slightest dissatisfaction.
Most of my readers are aware that the Richmond Bridewell, which is now
the common gaol of the City of Dublin, is situated near Harold's Cross;
and that on its front is inscribed, "Cease to do evil. Learn to do
well." A carman named Doyle, who lived at Blackrock, was summoned before
me on charges of violent conduct, abusive language, and extortion. He
was a man of very good character, and the complainant was a person of
the worst reputation, who had been convicted of several misdemeanors of
a very disgraceful nature. Frauds and falsehoods were attributed to him
as habitual and inveterate practices. He was sworn, and then he
described Doyle as having been most abusive and insulting in his
language, as having threatened to kick him unless he paid much more than
the rightful fare, and as having extorted an extra shilling by such
means. The defendant denied the charges totally, and declared that the
accusation was false and malicious. He then asked me to have Inspector
O'Connor and Sergeant Power called and examined as to the complainant's
character, and whether he was deserving of being believed on his oath.
From my own personal knowledge of the complainant's reputation, I
willingly acceded to the demand, and desired that the required witnesses
should be called from the upper court, where they were both attending.
Whilst we were waiting their appearance, Doyle made a speech; it was
very brief, and I took it down _verbatim_; he said:--
"Your worship, if I get any punishment on this man's oath, it will be a
wrong judgment. The Recorder knows him well, and he wouldn't sintence a
flea to be kilt for back-biting upon his evidence. He has took out all
his degrees in the Harold's Cross college; and if, instead of sending me
to the Cease to do evil hotel, you had himself brought there, the door
would open for him of its own accord, for there is not a gaol in Ireland
that would refuse him. He swore hard against me, but thanks be to God,
he did not swear that I was an honest man, for there is nobody whose
character could stand _under the weight of his commendation_."
On the evidence of O'Connor and Power, I dismissed the charge, and
subsequently spoke of the case, and repeated Doyle's speech in festive
society. When Boucicault produced his interesting Irish drama of
Arra-na-pogue at the Theatre Royal, I was one of his gratified audience,
and was greatly surprised at hearing the speech which had been
originally delivered before me in the Carriage Court by the Blackrock
carman, addressed to the court-martial by Shawn-na-poste, to induce a
disbelief of the informer by whom he was accused. I subsequently
ascertained that it had been given to Boucicault by one who could fully
appreciate its originality and strength, my gifted friend, Dr. Tisdall.
The Dublin carmen are far from being faultless, but, as a class, I found
them generally very honest. Whilst I discharged the carriage business, I
knew instances of considerable sums of money and articles of value,
which had been left in their vehicles, being brought in and delivered up
to the police. I do not know how such property, if unclaimed, is now
disposed of; but in my time, I invariably, after the expiration of
twelve months, had it delivered, subject to charges for advertising,
&c., to the person who brought it. I may mention one very extraordinary
incident. Before the opening of the Great Southern and Western Railway,
the Grand Canal Company ran passenger boats to the towns of Athy and
Ballinasloe. A boat for the latter place left Portobello each day at two
o'clock. A Rathmines man, who was owner and driver of a covered car, was
returning home one morning about 11 o'clock, when he was hailed, in Dame
Street, by a respectably dressed man, who engaged him to drive about
town, and to be paid by the hour. The hirer stopped at several
establishments and bought parcels of woollen, linen, plaid, and cotton
goods, as also a hat and a pair of boots, for all of which he paid in
cash. There was merely room for the hirer in the vehicle along with his
ample purchases. Finally, he directed the driver to go to Portobello,
adding that he intended to leave town by the passage-boat at two
o'clock. When the car arrived at the end of Lennox Street, the driver
was ordered to stop. The hirer alighted and told the driver to go round
by the front of the hotel and wait for him at the boat. The order was
obeyed, and the carman waited until the boat started, but the hirer did
not appear. The driver apprized the police of the circumstance, and, at
their suggestion, he attended the two boats which left on the following
day, but no one came to claim the goods. They were brought to the police
stores and advertised, the hirer was described and sought for in various
hotels and lodging-houses, but without any result. It was ascertained
at the establishments where the parcels were purchased that they cost
twenty-seven pounds, and the carman ultimately got them on paying some
small charges. He had not been paid his fare, nevertheless he was not
dissatisfied. A rare case amongst his fraternity.
When it was proposed to have a hackney fare for sixpence, "for a drive
with not more than two passengers, direct, and without any delay on the
part of the hirer, from any place within the municipal boundary to any
other place within the same," I refused to sanction such a regulation. I
considered that it would, in many instances, be a most inadequate
payment for the employment of a vehicle. I suggested that the fifteen
municipal wards should form three districts of five wards each, and
designated, Southern, Middle, Northern. I proposed that a drive entirely
in one of those districts should be a sixpenny fare, that from South or
North to Middle, or _vice versa_, should be eightpence, and that North
to South, or _vice versa_, should be tenpence. My suggestions were not
even considered, for the carmen published advertisements that they were
desirous of giving cheap locomotion to the people of Dublin, but that
the magistrate refused to allow them to take small fares. I sent for the
"runners," as the attendants on the stands were termed, and told them
that I should no longer object to the sixpenny fare which was proposed.
I added that it was the carmen's own act, and, to use a homely phrase,
"as they had made the bed, nothing remained for me but to compel them to
lie in it." The by-law was no sooner in operation than numerous cases of
its violation were brought before me. I fined each, if I thought it
fully proved, in the maximum penalty of two pounds. One delinquent was
extremely urgent to have a smaller penalty inflicted. I recognized him
as having been present when I used the phrase which I have quoted, and
reminded him that he had been fully warned. He replied, "Yes, yer
worship, we did make the bed, and you promised to make us lie in it,
_but we never thought that it would be so heavily quilted_."
I held that any stop or deviation from the direct line between two
places, at the hirer's instance, voided the sixpenny contract, and
entitled the driver to additional remuneration. I often availed myself
of a sixpenny lift, and was taking one in which I passed the Shelbourne
Hotel, in front of which there was a "hazard," or branch stand for five
or six cars or cabs. It was considered very objectionable for a
disengaged vehicle to stop alongside a hazard and thus obstruct the
carriage way. I observed a jarvey committing this offence, and desired
my driver to "hold a moment." I said to the offender, "If a constable
takes your number for obstructing, you will not escape for less than ten
shillings." I then bid my man to go on. He replied, "Yes, yer worship,
and it would serve that fellow right to have him punished, for he is
after putting your worship in for _another sixpence to me_."
Two of my daughters had gone to make some purchases at the establishment
of Messrs. Todd and Burns, in Mary Street. They were engaged to spend
the afternoon at a house in Leinster Street. Rain was falling, and the
elder beckoned to the driver of a covered car who happened to be
passing. They got into it, and desired him to go to No. 14 Leinster
Street. When they arrived, the elder let her sister pass before her into
the house, and then she offered a sixpence to the carman. He declined to
take it, and said that she should give "the father or mother of that."
She asked how much did he demand? and the reply was "a shilling at
least." She then said that she would get half-a-crown changed in the
house, and bring him a shilling, but she added "that she would speak to
papa about it." "Musha, who is papa?" said he. "Mr. Porter," was the
reply. She went in, got the change, and came back with the shilling, but
he was gone. He preferred giving her a gratuitous drive to having my
opinion elicited in reference to the transaction.
A cavalry regiment, if I recollect rightly it was the "Scots Greys,"
occupied the barracks at Island Bridge in 1854. One day an outside
jaunting-car was waiting in the barrack-yard, and the driver was
standing on the step. He was a few yards from the quarters of a Captain
B----, who was reputed to have a private income of £15,000 per annum.
The officer was amusing himself with a little gun, which discharged peas
and leaden pellets by detonating caps with greater force than the
captain was aware of. He shot at the carman, and the pellet passed
through his overcoat and reached his back, giving him a smart blow, but
without penetrating the skin. The driver was looking round, and
expressing his displeasure, when he received a second shot, which,
striking the calf of his leg, lodged in the flesh. He instantly whipped
his horse, drove rapidly away, and betook himself to the Meath Hospital,
where the shot was extracted. He summoned the officer before me, and
when the facts were stated, I expressed an opinion that the act was most
unjustifiable, that a wanton and very severe assault had been committed,
but that I thought it originated more in a spirit of foolish fun than in
any wish to injure the complainant, and as it was a misdemeanor, the
parties might come to an understanding, which would render further
proceedings unnecessary.
The captain accosted the carman--"Will you take one hundred pounds?"
"Of coorse, I will, yer honor, and I'll never say another word, even if
you war to shoot me agin."
Two fifty-pound notes were handed to the delighted complainant, who then
said to me--
"The business is settled, yer worship, and I can only say that when I
was hit, although it gave me a great start, I felt satisfied it was a
_rale gintleman_ that shot me."
I advised the captain to discontinue the sport of jarvey-shooting. Cox
complimented him on his generosity, adding that he ought to have got a
large covey of such game for the price he paid. I regret to add that the
money did not improve its recipient. He relapsed into habits of idleness
and drunkenness, lost his licence through misconduct, and was reduced to
complete destitution.
A gentleman, who lived in Baggot Street, came to Exchange Court one
morning for the purpose of reporting that his coach-house had been
entered, as he believed, by means of false keys, and that a set of
cushions, adapted to an outside jaunting-car, had been abstracted. He
described them as white cord material with green borders and seams. A
detective mentioned that he had seen cushions of the description on a
car which had been brought for inspection, and the licence of which had
been suspended on account of its unseemly condition. The car was then in
Dame Street, and a further enquiry eventuated in the discovery on it of
the articles which had been supposed to have been abstracted. The owner
of the car was a brother of the gentleman's servant who had lent his
master's cushions to pass the inspection. The car licence was cancelled;
but I believe that similar tricks were frequently played on similar
occasions.
For upwards of ten years I have been estranged from the Dublin Police
Courts. I cannot speak as to the habits and characteristics of the
carmen of the present time. I have already stated that, according to my
experience and recollection, they were honest and sober. I can add that
I knew many instances in which members of their class manifested
generosity, kindness, and courage. A man belonging to New Street stand
went to the fair of St. Doulagh's, and expended his savings in the
purchase of a fine-looking horse that appeared in a sound condition, but
on whose leg there was a slight scar. In about a week after the fair,
the beast exhibited some very extraordinary symptoms, and at last became
most furious and unruly. He dashed into a shop window, and injured
himself so much as to make it necessary to kill him. It was the opinion
of a veterinary practitioner that he had been bitten by some rabid
animal, and had taken hydrophobia. The other carmen promptly subscribed
a sum sufficient to defray the damage done to the shop, and to procure
another horse for the man who vainly sought to ascertain the former
owner of the one that he bought at St. Doulagh's. I am aware that
previous to the establishment of the fire brigade in Dublin, the drivers
on a car-stand would leave two or three of their number to mind their
horses and vehicles, and apply themselves to work the engines and
extinguish fires in their vicinity. Many acts of heroism on the part of
carmen have occurred on our quays and at Kingstown, in saving, at their
own imminent risk, persons in danger of drowning.
Having noticed some very good qualities, I must remark on the scarcity
amongst them, according to my experience, of veracity. When a carman was
summoned by a constable he almost invariably met the accusation by a
direct contradiction. If called on to answer for being shabbily dressed
or dirty in his apparel, he bought or borrowed a good suit of clothes,
shaved, put on a clean shirt, and stated boldly to me that he was just
in the same attire when the policeman "wrote him." If the summons was
for being absent from his beast and vehicle, he insisted that he was
holding "a lock of hay" to his horse all the time. If the complaint was
for furious driving, the defence was that "the baste was dead lame, that
it was just after taking up a nail, and was on three legs when he was
'wrote.'" If it was alleged that the horse was in a wretched condition,
and unfit to ply for public accommodation, he expressed his surprise
that any fault should be found with a horse that could "rowl" four to
the Curragh and back without "turning a hair." Whatever statement was
made for the defence, it evinced imaginative power, for the plain, dull
truth was hardly ever permitted the slightest admixture in the excuse
offered. Mr. Hughes, whom I have mentioned in some earlier pages, was in
the carriage-court one day, on an occasion when an old man named Pat
Markey, formerly belonging to the Baggot Street stand, made a statement
utterly at variance with all probability, and directly opposed to the
evidence adduced against him: however, on the prosecutor's own showing
the case was dismissed, as the charge was not legally sustained. On
leaving the court, Hughes asked Pat why he did not tell the truth at
first, as it would have been better for him; upon which the other
exclaimed--"Musha, cock him up with the truth! that's more than I ever
towld a magistrate yit." A delinquent seldom mentioned the offence for
which he was punished; he generally substituted for it, the inducement
which led to its commission. If he went into a tobacconist's, and while
he made his purchase, his horse moved on, and was stopped by a
constable, who summoned the driver, the latter when asked what he was
fined for would reply, "for taking a blast of the pipe." If, on a
Saturday evening, he betook himself to a barber's shop to have the
week's growth taken off his chin, and incurred a penalty for being
absent from his vehicle, he said, "the polis wrote him" for getting
himself shaved. And on Sunday morning, if a devotional feeling prompted
him to get "a mouthful of prayers," whilst his beast remained without
any person to mind it, upon the public thoroughfare, he expressed his
indignation at a consequent fine "for going to Mass."
I found it impossible to adapt the law, as it existed in my time, so as
effectually to compel the carmen to keep themselves in cleanly,
respectable attire, or their vehicles in proper order. When summoned and
fined, their comments evinced the inutility of the punishment. I have
said to one, "Your car has been proved to be in a most disgraceful
state, and I shall fine you ten shillings." The reply has been, "I thank
yer worship, shure _that fine will help me to mend it_." I have told
another that I would suspend his licence for a month; but this only
elicited a request for an order to admit him and his family to the
poorhouse during the suspension. If the complaints preferred by the
police did not effect much good, those brought forward by private
individuals were, in their general tendency, and as a class of cases,
decidedly injurious. When extortion, violence, insolence, or an
infraction of duty provoked an aggrieved person to summon, the usual
course was for the delinquent to send his wife to the complainant's
residence, or sometimes to borrow a wife, if he had not one of his own,
to beg him off. In the case of a young lad being the offender, the
intercession was managed by his mother, whether the maternity was real
or pretended. The afflicted female beset the door, and applied to all
who passed in or out "to save her and her childher, or her poor
_gorsoon_, from the waves of the world," that Mr. Porter was a "rale
Turk," and if the poor fellow was brought before him, he would be
destroyed "out of a face." A riddance of such importunities formed no
slight inducement to forego the prosecution, and consequently the
majority of such cases were dismissed for the non-appearance of the
complainant; but sometimes the fellow who had been "begged off" came
forward, stated that he was ready to answer the summons, and insisted on
his loss of time being recompensed by costs. I must admit that I always
complied with such applications, and I have enjoyed frequently the vain
remonstrances of the forgiving party, who, for his mistaken and
expensive lenity, acquired nothing but the wholesome warning not to
summon a Dublin driver without appearing to prosecute.
Although the carmen were rather fond of getting more than their fare,
they became the dupes and victims of dishonest and tricky employers,
and, to use their own term, were "sconced" much more frequently than was
generally supposed. The Four Courts constituted, in my time, the
frequent scene of such rascality. There was seldom a day in Term that
some poor carman was not left "without his costs" by a plausible fellow,
who alighting at one door, and passing through the hall, went out at
another, leaving the driver with the assurance, that "he would be back
in a minute," to find that he had been employed, for perhaps an hour or
two previously by a heartless blackguard, who desired no better fun than
"sconcing" him. I believe that a regulation has been since adopted which
authorises a driver engaged by time to require payment in advance. I
consider it a very great improvement.
CHAPTER XII.
A GRATUITOUS JAUNT--THE PORTUGUESE POSTILLION--MISCELLANEOUS SUMMONSES.
A young woman who was servant in a house in Harcourt Street in which two
students resided, had an altercation with one of them, which eventuated
in a summons and a cross-summons before me. It appeared that the young
man had imputed dishonesty to her, and she had been very indignant and
abusive towards her accuser. He called his fellow-student as a witness,
to prove that the girl threw a bottle at him, and that she freely used
the terms of swindler, blackguard, &c. The charge of dishonesty was
unfounded, and the encounter between the parties terminated without any
personal injury to either, but the damsel cross-examined the witness in
reference to a transaction, and elicited a mode of procuring a jaunt
across the city, which I hope that I shall not lessen the reader's
interest in my observations and reminiscences of the Dublin carmen by
briefly detailing. The woman acquired the knowledge of it by having
overheard a conversation between the young men.
They had been invited to an early evening party at Summer Hill. They
were not inclined to walk such a distance, and neither of them found it
convenient to pay for a vehicle. At last the one who subsequently
complained of being termed a swindler and blackguard said that he would
get a covered car without payment. Accordingly, having walked to the
nearest "hazard," he desired his comrade to get into a car, and also
seated himself, he then directed the driver to proceed "to Santry."
"Santry!" explained the astonished jarvey; "is it joking you are? D----l
an inch I'll go to Santry to-night. Get out of my car if you plaze, the
baste is tired, and I won't go." "My good fellow," was the answer, "I
shall not get out, and you may as well get on at once." "By gorra, if
you don't get out, I'll pull you out," said the carman. "If you lay a
finger on me," answered the occupant, "I will resist you as well as I
can, and I shall prosecute you for an assault." It was a bad business.
The carman changed his tactics. "Why, yer honor," he mildly urged, "it
is an unrasonable thing to ax a man to go to such a place even in the
day time, for there's nothin but murdher and robbery on that b----y
road, an' if I _do_ go, we'll be all kilt, and you'll be robbed into the
bargain; shure you haven't right sinse to think of such a jaunt." "My
friend," said the fare, "there may be something in what you say, but I
shall call at a house on Summer Hill and get firearms for myself and my
companion, and with two case of pistols I fear no robbers." The carman
grumbled, but he had a sturdy customer, so he mounted his seat and drove
on. When they came to Summer Hill he was desired to pull up, and the two
sparks alighted, assuring him that they would immediately procure the
arms and resume their journey. As soon as they were inside the
hall-door, the jarvey plied his whip, and rattled off as fast as he
could, congratulating himself that he had escaped a drive to Santry, and
leaving the two scamps to enjoy the joke of having got a gratuitous
jaunt from Harcourt Street to Summer Hill.
There was at the time of my appointment to the magistracy, a car
proprietor in Dublin, whose name was Bittner. His father had been a
sergeant in the King's German Legion, had been invalided, and died in
Dublin about the year 1810, leaving one son, who was then sixteen years
of age. He was tolerably educated, intelligent, cleanly, active, and
well-looking. A gentleman who was in delicate health, engaged the lad as
his personal attendant, and was soon after advised by his physicians to
betake himself to the south of Europe, in the hope of checking the
progress of pulmonary disease. Lisbon was the only available place to
the invalid, and he proceeded there, along with his youthful servant. He
lived in Portugal for nine or ten years, and was so well satisfied with
the care and attention of Bittner that he left him a legacy of £250. The
gentleman's body was directed by his will to be interred in Dublin,
whither it was conveyed by the faithful domestic. Bittner did not
squander his money, neither did he become inactive. He was fond of
horses, and of equestrian exercise, and engaged in the service of the
late Mr. Quin, of Bray; then the proprietor of an extensive hotel and
first-rate posting establishment. The romantic scenery of Wicklow was
then, as it must ever be, highly appreciated, and Quin's chaises
conveyed many visitors to the varied and numerous scenes of picturesque
beauty. On one occasion Bittner was directed to bring a chaise to the
door, to take two foreign gentlemen through the Glen of the Downs, and
on to Dunran. The travellers were quite unacquainted with the English
language, and in the hotel, had recourse to signs and self-attendance as
much as possible. They got into the chaise, having previously pointed
out on a map to Mr. Quin, the route they wished to take. On arriving at
the gate of Dunran, they made signs to stop the vehicle, and alighted.
They then began to bewail to each other, their ignorance of English, and
their consequent inability to acquire information as to the scenery,
residences, and other particulars usually interesting to tourists. They
spoke Portuguese, and Bittner immediately accosted them in their own
language, told them that he would procure a person to mind his horses,
and that he would then take them up to the "View Rock," and conduct them
to each of the many places worthy of their observation. They expressed
the highest gratification, and availed themselves of his services. As
they proceeded, he told them that Mr. Quin's was the greatest and best
regulated establishment _in the world_. That there were postillions kept
there who had been procured from every European nation. The French
postillions had gone with a party of their countrymen to the "Seven
Churches," and two Germans and one Italian had left, early in the
morning, for the Vale of Ovoca. The Spaniard was gone to Luggelaw. "I,"
said he, "am the Portuguese postillion, I am delighted to have you, and
can take you to all the beautiful places in Wicklow, but I am afraid
that I shall soon have to leave this employment, for we hardly ever
have a Portuguese gentleman at the hotel, so my chances are very poor."
The travellers, driven by Bittner for about a-week, went to all the
delightful scenery of Wicklow, and when departing, gave him a couple of
sovereigns. In about three months after, Mr. Quin received a parcel in
which there were two nicely bound volumes, and a complimentary letter,
sent from Lisbon by Don Pedro Cabrito. With some difficulty he got the
letter translated, and also a couple of pages which had been turned down
to attract his attention. He was then made aware that the Portuguese
traveller accorded the highest praise to the comfort and elegance of his
establishment, and also to his anxiety to convenience his foreign
visitors, by keeping postillions, who, in the aggregate, were acquainted
with _all European languages_. The book also made honorable mention of
the "Portuguese postillion," Bittner. The latter, as I have already
stated, became a car proprietor. His vehicles were cleanly and neat, his
drivers well conducted, and a complaint against him was of very rare
occurrence. On one occasion, after I had heard an explanation from his
driver, he asked my leave to say "a word or two," to which I replied,
"With pleasure, Mr. Bittner, I shall hear you, provided you do not speak
Portuguese." "Oh! your worship," said he, "I see you know that story. I
suppose Mr. Quin told you." His supposition was correct.
A FEW HYPERBOLES.
One of the clerks in the police-court of Liverpool got leave of absence
in, as I best remember, 1845. He came to Dublin with some other young
Englishmen for a few days of recreation. Curiosity induced him to visit
our police-courts, where our clerks received him with fraternal
courtesy. He told Mr. Cox that he and three others took an outside car,
for a suburban drive. It happened to be on _Corpus Christi_ day, and
they were going along Rathmines road, just as the religious procession
incident to the festival was moving round the extensive court outside
of the Roman Catholic chapel there. They directed the driver to stop,
and then stood up on the seats to obtain a full view. Almost immediately
one of them exclaimed, "Well, that beats the devil!" The carman touched
his hat to the exclaimer and replied, "Yes, your honor, that's what it's
for." I have heard the late Judge Halliburton (Sam Slick the
clock-maker) say, that he asked a carman what was the reason for
building the Martello towers? and that the interrogated party told him,
"he supposed it was, like the round towers, _to puzzle posterity_."
The Spaniard, who described the rain as so heavy, that "it wetted him to
the marrow," was not so poetical or forcible in his hyperbole as some of
our jarveys have been. I recollect reading in a little work, published
many years ago, and entitled "Sketches of Ireland," that when a
gentleman complained of the choking dust of the Rock road, and declared
that he did not think it possible for a road to be so dusty, his driver
remarked, "It's thrue for yer honor! but this road bates all others for
dust, for, _by all accounts, there was dust on this road the day after
Noah's flood_." A lady who resided at Chapelizod was wont to give a
carman whom she frequently employed a glass of grog, along with his
fare, at the conclusion of each engagement. However, she became too
sparing of the spirits, or too generous of the water, but the grog
eventually became so weak, that its recipient criticised it, of course
with an oath, by asserting, that "if you threw half-a-pint of whisky
over Essex Bridge, you might take up as strong grog as that at the
Lighthouse."
MISCELLANEOUS SUMMONSES.
According to my recollections of the summons cases of a police-court,
apart from carriage complaints, I feel justified in remarking on the
mild and forgiving tendencies of the men, and the vindictive rancour of
the women of Dublin. From recent conversations with police
functionaries, I am disposed to believe that the present time differs
in no material respect from the past. The man claims the protection of
the law; "he has no desire to injure the parties he complains of, but he
wants them bound to the peace, just to keep them quiet." The woman wants
"the coorse of the law, and to have her adversary chastised and kept
from killing the whole world, like a murdhering vagabone as she is; it's
no use in talkin', but the street will never be quiet until she gets
_some little confinement_ just to _larn_ her manners." Summonses for
abusive language, or as the fair complainants term it, "street scandal,"
are, perhaps, the most numerous cases as a class; and on the hearing of
them, there is frequently elicited an amount of vituperation beyond
anything that Billingsgate could attempt to supply. In almost every case
a total absence of chastity is imputed as a matter of course; and if a
foreigner would only believe both sides of a police summons-book, he
would be forced to the conclusion that chastity was a virtue rarely
found amongst the lower order of Dublin females. Yet the very contrary
is the fact: furious in their resentments, uncontrollable in their
invectives, and inveterately addicted to assassination of character,
they are, in general, extremely chaste; and attest the value they attach
to female virtue by invariably imputing its absence to their opponents.
Sometimes, indeed, a novel term of reproach arouses volcanic fury, and
an eruption of indignation is excited by the most extraordinary and
unmeaning epithet. I cannot forget a fish-vendor from Patrick Street
vociferating to me, that if her enemy was not sent off to Grangegorman
_at wanst_, her life and her child's life (for she was _enceinte_) would
be lost. "But what did she say?" was my query. "What did she say! yer
worship, what did she say! Why she came down _forenenst the whole world
at the corner of Plunket Street_, and called me 'a b----y ould
excommunicated gasometer.'" I may mention that as female invective
generally ascribed inconsistency to its opponent, so the male
scolds--happily not very numerous--had their favorite term of reproach;
and when they wished to destroy a man's reputation, they designated
him--a thief?--no; a robber?--no; a murderer?--no; they satiated all
their malignity in calling him "an informer."
Disputes between manufacturers and their artisans or workmen were very
rarely the subject of magisterial investigation. There was, however, one
case disposed of by me in which a comparison was instituted of a most
extraordinary nature. A journeyman summoned an employer for abruptly
dismissing him, without giving him, according to the usage of the trade,
"a week's notice or a week's wages." I shall not mention the name,
residence, or trade of the defendant: but I must say that his
countenance exhibited the greatest obliquity of vision that I ever
observed in a human face. All the trite phrases commonly applied to
squints would fail adequately to describe the tendency of his eyes to
avoid seeing the same object at the same time. He admitted having
summarily discharged the workman, and alleged that the complainant had
totally spoiled an article which he had been directed to make in a
hexagon form, and conformable to a pattern supplied, and had produced a
piece of work in which shape and proportion had been totally
disregarded. The complainant insisted that the work had been properly
done, and in complete conformity with the model, and he asked why it was
not produced, so that I might judge, by viewing it, whether it deserved
to be condemned as crooked and shapeless. I suggested a postponement of
the case, and the production of the condemned article. The defendant,
who was rather excited, replied, "Your worship, I was so vexed when it
was brought in, that I threw it out of the window of the finishing room
into the yard, and it was smashed to pieces, but I am ready to swear, in
this or any other court, that _it was as crooked as the two eyes in my
head_." The laugh in which I indulged, at hearing this comparison, was
lost in the risibility of all present. I suggested that the parties
might come to an understanding, and that the complainant might be
afforded another opportunity of making an article perfectly conformable
to the pattern, and without any resemblance _to anything else_. This was
agreed to, and they departed reconciled.
CHAPTER XIII.
DOGS--WHIPPING YOUNG THIEVES--GARDEN ROBBERS--REFORMATORIES--APOLOGIES
FOR VIOLENCE--TRESPASSERS ON A NUNNERY.
The statute, passed since my retirement, to enforce and regulate the
registration of dogs, has relieved the magistrates from having to
dispose, in the course of each year, of some hundreds of summonses
against the owners, or reputed owners of dogs which were found "roaming
at large on the public thoroughfare, without log or muzzle." In my time,
I never found a summons in reference to a dog, at the instance of a
constable, entered indiscriminately with other complaints. If the first
case was a canine one, I might feel assured that it would be followed by
forty or fifty others of the same description, and that the dogs would
monopolise the day. It appeared to me that the police were occasionally
directed to give special attention, for two or three days, to the
unlogged and unmuzzled curs, and thus produce what our clerks used to
term "a dog board." The appearance of a male defendant was extremely
rare. The persons complained of were generally working tradesmen or
labourers, who, on receiving a summons, directed the wife to attend the
court, as they could not afford to lose their time. When a defendant was
called, his female substitute, eager to have the first word, answered to
the man's name; but what she said referred to the animal. A mere
listener might imagine that the defendants were either guilty of some
atrocious offences, or were subjected, unheard and untried, to a
fearful, fatal doom; for instance--
"Call James Foley."
"He's drounded, yer worship, we drounded him off Wood Quay, the very
evening that we got the summons, he wasn't logged or muzzled, but he is
dead now, and the policeman 'ill never see him again."
"You are fined two and sixpence."
"Oh! yer worship, that's very hard, and he dead."
"Call Peter Casey."
"He's hung, sir; he was very owld and stupid, and hadn't a tooth in his
head, so we hung him, not to be bother'd with him any more," &c.
"Call Patrick Dempsey."
"Plaze yer worship, he's dead, and if the polisman knew him, he'll know
that he's dead. We had him hung and got him skinned, and I have his skin
here to show you."
Perhaps another case would disclose the appalling fact, that Denis
Reilly was "_pisened_ by a young doctor that we got to sponge his nose
with some Prooshun stuff, and it kilt him." Such calamities have been
averted from the Foleys, Caseys, Dempseys, and Reillys of the present
time, and the magistrates have been relieved from having to listen to
such murderous details from the lips of the gentler sex by the magical
effect of canine registration.
WHIPPING YOUNG THIEVES.
In a few years after my appointment, a statute passed authorising the
infliction of corporal punishment on boys convicted of thieving. The Act
empowered us to order the offender to be flogged, if we were of opinion
that his age did not exceed fourteen years. There was a lad named Lowry,
who was an inveterate thief, and who received five or six castigations
by my directions. The instrument employed was a birch rod, with which a
constable gave the delinquent six heavy lashes. As soon as Lowry
appeared before me, he seemed to disregard the details of the charge
preferred. There were no protestations of innocence, no admissions of
guilt; but the moment he entered, he commenced the loud and continued
assertion, "I'm beyant fourteen, I'm beyant fourteen." On each occasion
I differed from the opinion so forcibly enunciated, and ordered the
application of the birchen correction. Finally, he withdrew from my
quarter, and restricted his delinquencies to the B and C divisions. I
was informed that he expressed his disgust at my decisions by
saying--"If I was to live until I got as grey as the owld rascal
himself, he'd still insist that I was not beyant fourteen."
One day there were a number of packages lying in a heap on the floor of
a shop in Parliament Street, and rather near the entrance. A label upon
each stated the contents to be three pounds of tea, of the finest
quality, offered by the proprietor of "The Golden Teapot" to his
respected customers, at the unprecedented low price of seven shillings.
The parcels were covered with bright tin-foil, and had on each end a
large seal in red wax. A detective passing at the opposite side of the
street observed a boy stoop forward, just inside the door, and possess
himself of one of the packages of "splendid tea." The young thief was
seized at once, and brought before me, in about five minutes after he
had stolen the article. I ordered him to be taken down stairs, to have
six lashes administered, and to be discharged. I then directed the
office messenger to run over to the establishment, and tell them to send
some person to claim the property. On his return he said that the people
were making fun of him, and laughing at the result of the young thief's
attempt. I then raised one of the seals slightly with an office knife,
and found that the parcel was a _dummy_, made up for show, and that the
contents were sawdust. I told the messenger, when I had closed the seal
with another touch of wax, to take it down and give it to the delinquent
on his departure, as the owners had not claimed the property. The
whipping was just over, and the sufferer issued forth, having under his
arm the cause of his punishment, and for which it was to become his
consolation. I was standing at the window, and just as he passed the
external rails, he stopped suddenly, and proceeded to examine the
package. Instantly he tore the cover, and flung up the contents. The
pain of the flogging seemed to return with augmented force, and he
screamed forth the most vituperative comments on my decision. "It wasn't
tay at all. I was beat for sawdust, and there's no law for that. I'll
get a letter wrote to the Lord Leftennant, you owld rascal, and he'll
larn you the differ between sawdust and tay." Inspector O'Connor told me
that the case was very fully discussed amongst the young thieves, and
that the general conclusion was, "not to be too ready to steal parcels
out of shops, without knowing what was inside of them."
GARDEN ROBBERS.
My immediate predecessors generally resided in Dublin, and they were
considered by the proprietors of orchards and gardens in the rural
portion of the district, as too lenient to depredators of fruit and
vegetables. At the time of my appointment, there was no safety for such
crops unless they were closely watched, and during the night, the
discharge of firearms, to deter marauders, was almost continuous in
Dolphin's Barn, Kilmainham, Harold's Cross, and Crumlin. Any cessation
of strict vigilance was certain to produce consequences which might be
fairly termed calamitous to those whose fruits and vegetables were
depended on for the maintenance of their families. There were many
persons who followed garden robbing as their avocation, and the injuries
inflicted by them frequently extended to the succeeding year. If they
feared interruption, they would tear or cut the branches of the larger
fruits, and entire gooseberry and currant bushes would be abstracted, to
be picked at leisure. Small fines or short imprisonments had totally
failed to check such offences. At the time to which I refer, I resided
at Roundtown, and although I had gardens and a fine vinery there, they
were never spoliated, so that in adopting towards fruit-stealers
stronger measures than they had previously experienced, I was not
actuated by any personal feeling. However, I had the birch very
liberally used amongst the boys, and the more mature offenders were,
when convicted by me, deprived of any opportunity for continuing their
depredations on the growing or ripening productions of the season.
Personal motives were, nevertheless, sometimes ascribed to me, even by
those who were highly pleased with my decisions. A very extensive
orchard and garden at Harold's Cross were entered by three habitual
thieves, and they were captured whilst hastily filling two sacks with
the choicest apples, pears, apricots, &c. They had taken the sacks from
premises adjoining, and I convicted them of two distinct offences. Each
was sent for four months to Kilmainham, with hard labour. Mr. Cox was
engaged in drawing the informations and committals, when the proprietor
exclaimed, in a tone of the highest gratification, "Oh! Mr. Cox, is it
not a blessing from God that we have now got a magistrate _who has a
garden of his own_?"
Two musicians belonging to a regimental band were observed one night to
cross a wall at Inchicore, into a garden abounding with every
description of choice fruit. The police were quietly apprised of the
offence, and the delinquents were apprehended coming out of the premises
precisely at the place where they had entered. They were both Germans.
Their pockets were crammed, and each had a handkerchief containing as
much as could be bundled in it. They had not taken a peach, apricot, or
plum; even the pears and apples were disregarded; and the produce of
their daring raid consisted entirely of onions. I committed them for a
week, and they were dismissed from the service by the regimental
authorities.
REFORMATORIES.
Previous to my retirement from magisterial duty, the offence of
fruit-stealing had greatly diminished, and I believe that it does not
now attain one-tenth of its former frequency. When the magistrates were
empowered to send juvenile thieves to reformatories, corporal punishment
ceased to be administered. I preferred having a boy flogged and
discharged to sending him to prison, to be kept, at the public expense,
in baneful associations. As soon, however, as a reformatory became
available, I transmitted the juvenile offenders, after a few days'
imprisonment, to the care and instruction which, in all those
institutions, have produced most beneficial results. My first
consignment to Glencree Reformatory was made under circumstances rather
extraordinary.
I was invited by my kind and valued friend, the late Mr. George Evans,
of Portrane, to spend a week at his hospitable mansion. Arrangements
were made by me with my colleagues to admit of my absence for that time,
and that I should take the duty on the Monday of the succeeding week.
Accordingly, I came to Dublin from Donabate by an early train, and
commenced the custody cases about ten o'clock, a.m. A constable
prosecuted a lad whom he had met on Rathmines Road about four o'clock on
that morning, carrying a coarse bath-sheet, in which two check shirts,
three pairs of cotton socks, and a washing waistcoat were wrapped. The
prisoner was charged with having those articles in his possession, they
being "reasonably suspected of having been stolen or unlawfully
obtained." I called on the prisoner to account to my satisfaction how he
came by them. He declined any explanation, and produced a laugh in court
by saying "that I would know time enough." I ordered him to be
imprisoned for a week, and then to be transmitted to Glencree for three
years. On my return home to Roundtown in the evening, I was told that my
bath-sheet, nightshirts, &c., had been stolen on the previous night from
a bleaching-line in the back yard, over the wall of which my first envoy
to Glencree had managed to clamber. The articles did not remain long in
the police store.
APOLOGIES FOR VIOLENCE.
Soon after my appointment to office, an election occurred, and the city
of Dublin was keenly contested. I received an order to proceed, on the
nomination day, to Green Street, to take charge of the civil force
there, and to report myself to the returning officer, the High Sheriff.
I had consequently, in my official capacity, to present myself to my own
brother, the late Joshua Porter, and I continued during the election,
which was protracted as long as the law allowed, ready to quell any
riotous demonstration. My brother was not fortunate enough to please
all parties. His arrangement of booths and selection of deputies were
denounced as having been made in a partial spirit, and the mob
vociferously expressed an anxiety to be actuated in their treatment of
him by the greatest of Christian virtues, for they unanimously agreed
that it would be a "charity" to pelt him, if any opportunity offered to
make a liberal subscription of stones for the purpose. He was escorted
each day to and from the court-house by a strong body of police, and he
remained in it until the termination of the proceedings in the evenings.
There was usually during the election, a troop of hussars stationed in
Halston Street, at the rere of Newgate, and a party of police was
distributed between them and King Street, North. One afternoon, just at
twilight, I walked out of the court-house, and as soon as I got to the
steps, a crowd in King Street uttered a yell of animosity, and sent a
volley of stones at me. I was not struck by any of the missiles. The
police moved towards the mob, and the latter receded a few yards, but
remained together. I walked towards them, and loudly informed them, that
if they renewed their attack, I had the "Riot Act" in my pocket, and
would instantly read it, and reply by a discharge of carbine bullets.
There was no further demonstration on their part, and I returned to the
court-house. In a few minutes, I was departing for home, when I was
accosted by a carman named Smith. He asked me, "Would I take a covered
car?" and I replied in the affirmative. He brought me home; and on
discharging him, he said that the people had directed him to try "if he
could get to say two or three words to me." He then conveyed to me the
most extraordinary apology that could emanate from a mob for an
attempted outrage. "Yer worship, I was tould to tell you that there
wasn't a man or boy among them would throw anything at you or any other
of yer magistrates, but whin you came out on the steps, in the dusk of
the evening, they really thought that you were THE HIGH SHERIFF."
I may mention that being in London in 1849, on official business, I was
invited to dine at the Mansion House at an entertainment given by the
Lord Mayor of that year (Sir James Duke) to the judicial authorities,
metropolitan magistrates, &c. I had the honour to sit beside Chief Baron
Pollok, and in conversation with him and two or three others in my
proximity, I narrated the preceding anecdote. He said that the apology
tendered to me was not more ridiculous or absurd than one which had been
offered by some of those engaged in the "No Popery" riots of 1780,
connected with the name of Lord George Gordon. There was a house in
Charles Street, from the precincts of which morality was totally
estranged, and it was thoroughly devastated by a furious mob. Some of
those concerned in wrecking it were subsequently arrested, tried and
convicted of the offence. When brought forward for sentence, the judge
gave them to understand that the reputation of the premises afforded no
justification for their violence, nor could it be alleged in mitigation
of their punishment. Two or three of them exclaimed, "that if they had
known what the house really was, they would never have attacked it; but
they had been told, and fully believed, that it was _a Nunnery_."
TRESPASSERS ON A NUNNERY.
In twelve or eighteen months after the festive occasion to which I have
referred, I accompanied a friend to visit two of his daughters, who were
pupils at the Loretto Convent, Rathfarnham. Mrs. Ball, the aged and
respected Superioress, gave us a very kind reception. We were conducted
through the gardens and conservatories. On returning to the house, we
were plentifully served with refreshments. In the course of
conversation, my friend expressed his regret that so much hostile
feeling should exist against conventual institutions. I remarked that it
was not at all so intense as it had been in the previous century, when
in London the mere reputation of a house being a nunnery was considered
by the populace as fully sufficient to justify its destruction. To the
best of my recollection, the Superioress observed--"I hope that those
who entertained such hostile feelings lived long enough to repent of
them. I think that the various classes of society are coming to a better
understanding, and I expect great progressive improvement. Here we have
not suffered the slightest annoyance for more than thirty years, and the
only matter of which we had to complain was not very serious. Shortly
after this establishment was founded, two young fellows, who resided in
the neighbourhood, formed a design to entice two very handsome and rich
young ladies to elope with them. They provided ladders, climbed into the
trees which overhung the wall, dropped notes at the feet of the lasses,
and were for a time incessant in their amatory pursuit. However, a
communication with the guardian of one and the parents of the other, and
the consequent authoritative expostulations, produced a satisfactory
effect. They promised to relinquish their project, and as a token of
their sincerity, sent us their ladders. I believe they repented of
having given us any trouble, and they implicitly kept their promise. One
of them is now a colonel in the army, and the other is _a magistrate of
police_. Mr. Porter, let me request you to have more fruit and another
glass of wine." I admired the kind and forgiving sentiments of the
Superioress, and felt very grateful for her courteous hospitality, but I
had no idle curiosity to know the names of the two ladder lads to whom
her observations referred.
CHAPTER XIV.
TERRY DRISCOLL'S FICTION--BRIDGET LAFFAN--SAILORS--FISHER.
I shall now revert to magisterial reminiscences, and notice an anecdote
originally published in the _Warder_ newspaper, as a portion of a letter
signed "Terry Driscoll," which was the _nom de plume_ of a well-known
facetious and imaginative contributor named Jackson. It purports to be a
report of observations addressed by me to a female who was repeatedly
charged with being "drunk and disorderly." It states that Mr. Porter
said to the delinquent that her frequent intoxication was always
accompanied with indecent language and personal violence, so as to
render her a public nuisance and a plague to the police. He then
adjudged her, in default of solvent security for her good behaviour, to
be committed for one calendar month, which time should be sufficient to
bring her to a proper state of reflection on the past, and a disposition
to reform her habits, and to curse Whiskey. To this she is represented
to have replied, "That she had no fault to find with Whiskey, nor would
she ever curse it, but from the bottom of her heart she could wish _bad
lack to Porter_." To this anecdote several English periodicals have
afforded extensive publicity, and I have merely to say that it is
altogether a fiction.
BRIDGET LAFFAN.
There is, I believe, still living in Dublin, a woman named Bridget
Laffan. I would readily wager that since 1841 she has been the subject
of more than two thousand committals, in which drunkenness, violence,
abusive language, indecent expressions or behaviour, and occasional
mendicancy, constituted the offences. Shortly before I retired, she was
brought before me charged with intoxication, and with three distinct
assaults; one being on a constable in the execution of his duty. I told
her, the cases having been fully proved, that on each of the assaults
she should go to prison, with hard labor, for two months, which would
relieve the public and the police for the next half year from one who
had become an intolerable pest and disgrace to the community. When I
directed her to be removed, she exclaimed that "she had not been allowed
to say a word for herself." I then said that she was at liberty to
speak, if it occurred to her that there was any favorable circumstances
in her case either as a defence or mitigation. Her reply was short and
peculiarly argumentative.
"It's an unrasonable thing to sind me to Grangegorman for six months,
and to call me a pest and disgrace to the 'varsal world. If it wasn't
for me and the likes of me, that gets a bit disorderly whin we have a
drop, and kicks up ructions now and then, there ud be very little call
for polis magistrates and polismen, or such varmint. It's creatures like
me that's yer best friends, and keeps the bread in yer mouths, and all
we get for it is jailing and impudence."
SAILORS.
During the considerable time in which I discharged magisterial duties at
the Head Office and also at Kingstown, I cannot recollect that more than
five or six charges were preferred before me against sailors. When the
Ajax was stationed at the latter place one of the crew stole some
clothes and other articles from several of his shipmates. The thief was
detected on shore with some of the property in his possession, and was
summarily convicted before me, and imprisoned, with hard labor, for six
months. I notice this case on account of the discontent which, I was
credibly informed, the treatment of the delinquent produced amongst the
crew. It is generally believed that the abolition of corporal punishment
was anxiously desired by our sailors; but in reference to the instance
of thieving which was disposed of by me, it was regarded on board the
ship as almost tantamount to the forgiveness of the delinquent. The
opinion was most freely expressed that the fellow should have been sent
on board, tried by court-martial, and _flogged_. It was the only offence
of a mean and disgraceful nature that I ever knew to be charged against
a blue-jacket.
About twenty years have elapsed since "La Hogue" frigate came into
Kingstown. One of the crew, as fine-looking a young man as ever I saw,
came on shore and indulged too freely in strong potations. It required
two or three constables to effect his capture and lodgment in the
station-house. Next morning he was brought up before me, and the
circumstances of his intoxication and resistance were in course of
statement by one of his captors, who occupied the witness box, whilst
the prisoner stood directly opposite to the bench, with the ship's
corporal, who had been sent ashore to look after him, standing close
beside him. I said to the sailor, "If you wish to put any question to
the constable, you are at liberty to do so, and if you feel disposed to
say anything for yourself, I am ready and willing to hear you." He stood
silent and downcast, when the ship's corporal nudged him and said quite
aloud, "Speak up for yourself like a man, the magistrate is a good
gentleman, and is ready to hear you." The prisoner replied in a
desponding, but perfectly audible tone, "It's no use, that fellow
(pointing to the policeman) will swear anything, and the old chap will
believe him." There was loud and general laughter at the estimate formed
by the tar of the constable and of the magistrate. I discharged him,
without prejudice to informations and a warrant, and told the ship's
corporal that the warrant should not be sent on board. I consequently
restricted the sailor to remain in his vessel during her stay at
Kingstown, which was for about another week.
From the same ship a sailor came ashore attired in his best clothes, and
with seven pounds in his pocket. He was decoyed into a disreputable
place, where, by the administration of whiskey and snuff, he was
rendered insensible. A detective observed a woman leaving the house, and
carrying a bundle. He allowed her to proceed to the railway terminus, at
the entrance of which he arrested her. The bundle contained the seaman's
clothes, and the female searcher got a five pound note and two
sovereigns secreted in the culprit's _chignon_. The police did not
inform the sailor of the clothes and money having been found. They
dressed him in some old ill-fitting habiliments, and he looked most
lubberly in his attire, and also deeply dejected at the supposed loss
of his clothes and cash. His sadness was at once dissipated by the
contents of the bundle being produced, and the banknote and sovereigns
completed the restoration of his spirits. There was, however, one small
article missing, and in reference to it he made an earnest request of
me, and accompanied it with _an alluring offer_, in the following
terms:--
"Your honor, my clothes are all here and my money is safe too. I only
miss a little blue hankercher with white spots, I had it from mother
when we last parted; and it's dog's usage I'll get from her if I haven't
it at our next meeting. If you send out a smart chap or two in search of
it, I think it will be easily got, and if it is, I'm d----d but I'll
stand anything that you and your people choose to call for, all round."
A summary conviction, with six months' imprisonment, of the woman with
whom the clothes and money were detected, terminated the proceeding. The
kerchief was not sought for, and we had "all round" to content ourselves
without the proffered libations.
FISHER.
One of the most extraordinary characters of the many who came under my
frequent magisterial notice, was a man named Fisher. He was the most
inveterate and incorrigible drunkard that was to be found in Dublin,
perhaps I might truly say, in the Empire. He had been educated, as I
heard, in Stockholm, and acquired a proficiency in several European
languages. He had also considerable classical attainments. His
intemperance had ruined his commercial interests, and precluded his
employment by others, even in very subordinate capacities. Occasionally
he would be taken and kept almost as a prisoner in the concerns of an
extensive timber merchant, arranging with the Norwegian or Danish people
engaged in the delivery of cargoes. A suit of clothes and a pound or two
would be thus acquired, but in a few minutes after his liberation he
would assuredly be found in street or lane, hall or entry, dead drunk.
He was never violent, abusive, blasphemous, or indecent, and as his
senses returned, he became courteous and submissive. By the police he
was generally pitied, and when a constable was obliged to state that he
found "Mr. Fisher" drunk on a thoroughfare, he almost invariably added
that he was _very quiet_. The magistrates were not severe on the
wretched creature, and in general, the ruling in reference to him was
deferred until the close of their sitting (four o'clock), and then the
charge sheet was marked, "Dismissed with a caution." If there happened
to be a paucity of cases, we were not disinclined to allow Fisher to
address the bench, and state the grounds on which he expected or
solicited exemption from punishment. He never "worshipped" us, but
invariably named the magistrate, with the prefix of "My dear." I
recollect a short speech having been made by him before myself, which
excited my surprise and admiration from its purity of diction and the
combination of interesting ideas it evinced. The charge against him was
"Drunk on a public thoroughfare," and the constable stated that he found
Mr. Fisher lying on the steps of a hall door in Peter Street, fast
asleep, and having been aroused, he was very drunk, but perfectly quiet.
"My dear Mr. Porter," said the prisoner, "I acknowledge and regret my
lapse from propriety--
'Facilis descensus Averni.'
I have, however, been severely punished. I reclined on the steps where
your constable found me, and immediately I sank into a slumber which,
had it lasted for ever, would have afforded me a blissful immortality.
Sweet visions of the past, retrospections of youthful joys, untainted by
the errors and cares of the present, monopolised my imagination. A
mother's lips were pressed to mine. A father's smile gladdened my heart.
I had clasped a sister's hand, and a brother's arm encircled my neck.
The home of my childhood arose before me, and the garden, with which my
earliest recollections were associated, appeared in luxuriant, vernal
beauty. The strong hand of your officer, firmly but not rudely applied,
dispelled the delightful scene in which I was entranced, and recalled me
to the sad reality of captivity and degradation. Have I not already
suffered enough to justify the clemency which I implore?" The wretched
man was cautioned and discharged.
Having been brought before me on four successive mornings, I told him
that I would not permit his coming so frequently, and that I adjudged
him to pay a shilling, or to be confined for twenty-four hours.
Thereupon he replied, "I regret, my dear Mr. Porter, that on this
occasion you do not manifest your usual equanimity. I acknowledge my
fault, but I am not worse to-day than I was yesterday or any of the
previous days. Moreover, I must respectfully submit that you are greatly
mistaken in your remarks as to my _coming_ so often. I never _came_
before you or any magistrate. I was always _brought_. If the police will
leave me as they find me, I shall never complain of their want of
attention, nor shall I ever intrude on your presence. Strike off that
paltry shilling, and let me depart once more." I told the constable to
remove the prisoner, upon which he exclaimed, "If you are obdurate, and
insist on marking a penalty, put five shillings on the sheet. It will
look more respectable, and there is just the same chance of its
payment."
Fisher continued a hopeless, persistent drunkard. With natural talents
of no mean order, and with educational acquirements from which great and
varied advantages might be expected, he lived despised and ridiculed,
and afforded to those under whose occasional observation he came, a
melancholy but certain proof that when a man's habits render him his own
enemy, he becomes incapable of deriving any benefit from the friendship
of others. On a winter's night in, I believe, 1856, Fisher betook
himself to a limekiln in Luke Street. He lay down too near the edge and
fell asleep, never to awake again in this world. Suffocated by the fumes
of the kiln, his corpse, after an inquest and verdict of "accidental
death," was consigned to a pauper's coffin, and was ultimately made a
subject for anatomical demonstration. His fate was truly melancholy, but
some salutary reflections may be derived from contemplating the final
consequences of habitual and unrestrained intemperance.
CHAPTER XV.
A DUPER DUPED.
I shall now proceed to relate a magisterial reminiscence in which the
only fictions are the names of the parties, and I trust that at the
termination of the narrative, my readers will agree in the moral which I
shall attempt to deduce, that the person who commences a cheating game
is not to be pitied, if, at the close, he finds himself the only loser.
Twenty-five years have elapsed since, in an aristocratic family, in a
central county of Ireland, a young woman was residing in a capacity
rather difficult to define. She was somewhat above a menial and below a
governess, neither the companion of her employers nor the associate of
the servants. Her educational attainments were very limited, and her
industrial power was of little value, for she was of small frame and
delicate constitution. The care of two children was deputed to her, and
all services necessary for their health, comfort, instruction,
correction, or amusement were expected from Elizabeth Jones.
She had enough to do, but she did not think so. Her life was monotonous,
her tastes were not congenial to the circumstances and persons amongst
whom she was placed. A native of Wales, far from her kindred, and
prevented by her position from forming, amongst her own sex, a
friendship, or even an acquaintance to which she could attach any value,
her only resource was to fall in love,--and a few casual attentions from
an officer of constabulary quite overcame poor Elizabeth Jones.
"He dazzled her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain,
He caught her affections so light and so vain."
He perceived that he was loved, and pretended a reciprocal feeling. He
promised, and vowed, and swore that she should be his wife, and he
deceived her.
Richard Gilmore was sorely annoyed when Elizabeth Jones suggested very
strong reasons for the immediate observance of his solemn promise of
marriage; but he refused compliance, and sought to convince her that
their union would only ruin him without saving her. She addressed her
remonstrances to deaf ears. Marriage was out of the question, and she
found herself a ruined, friendless creature, with the certainty of a
speedy and disgraceful expulsion from the house in which she had for
some years humbly earned her subsistence. However she vented no
reproaches; she only upbraided with a tear, and communicated her
determination to depart and carry her sorrows to some distant locality.
Of this intention Richard fully approved; and he congratulated himself
on the prospect of being so soon delivered from any future annoyance on
the part of Elizabeth Jones. She fixed the time for leaving her
situation, and requested a last interview with Mr. Gilmore, at an early
hour, before the inmates of the house were stirring. Richard was
punctual. She opened a writing-desk, and informed him that she had come
to the resolution of releasing him from every promise on his part, from
every claim which she could advance then or at any future time, on one
condition; she only required his written pledge, upon his honor as an
officer and a gentleman, that he would never seek to renew his
acquaintance with her, or even pretend to know her if they met. To this
he joyfully acceded, and placed the required document in her hands; but
his curiosity induced him to enquire as to her motive in seeking such a
solemn written undertaking.
"Richard Gilmore," she said, "I was prostrated by acute and increasing
misery, but a door of escape from total disgrace and destruction has
been opened. I can never be happy, but I may have some opportunity for
reflection, and ultimately, my mind may become somewhat tranquil. I
shall soon be a mother. I am about to depart from Ireland for ever, and
shall fix my residence in a retired part of England, and there, in the
garb and under the designation of a widow, I shall devote myself to the
care of the child of whom you are father, but for whom, I only insist
and have stipulated with you, that you shall never disgrace your
offspring by disclosing its paternity, and never remind me by your
presence of the degradation to which, by your falsehood, I have been
reduced."
"But," said Gilmore, "your means are scanty, and for a time you must be
incapable of any industrial pursuit or exertion. I can give you some
pecuniary assistance; it is my duty to do all I can to alleviate your
sufferings. I deserve your reproaches, and would gladly do anything to
prove that I am not so utterly heartless as you think me."
"No, Richard Gilmore; not a farthing would I receive from you, if it
were to save me from starvation. To you I owe my ruin, but with you I
have no further communication; and I shall never allow you to think that
I have compromised my wrongs for money, or taken a price for my
character. Moreover, I may now tell you that I shall not want your
assistance; and as I feel that you dare not break your written
undertaking, you may read this."
She placed in his hands a letter, of which the following is a copy,
substituting fictitious names:--
"Abergavenny, June 14th, 1847.
"MISS ELIZABETH JONES,
"Madame, I hasten to apprize you of the death of your lamented
aunt, Miss Rebecca Jones, who expired yesterday morning, after a
very short indisposition. The respectable deceased applied for my
professional assistance about three weeks since, in the settlement
of her worldly affairs. For some years she had lived in great
seclusion, and was extremely averse to any communication with your
brother; she would never see his wife. In fact, her relatives seem
to have been disliked in proportion to the proximity of their
residence; and it is to your long absence from her that I ascribe
the preference which she has evinced towards you, on which I offer
you my respectful congratulations.
"By your aunt's will (which is in my possession) she has devised to
you several freehold interests in and adjacent to this town,
producing about £300 per annum; she has also bequeathed to you
£2,000 secured by mortgage on the property of Mr. Deacon, of
Aberystwith, and a bond of Mr. Edmond Morgan, of Cardiff, for
£1,100.
"I hope, Madame, you will feel that in the capacity of your
respective relative's confidential adviser I have not been hostile
or even indifferent to your interests; and I beg to assure you
that, if your affairs are entrusted to my care, I shall make every
exertion to justify the preference that I respectfully solicit.
"I have the honour to be, Madame,
"Your obedient, humble servant,
DAVID WYNNE, _Solicitor_.
"PS.--Mrs. Wynne desires me to convey, with her respects, a request
that if you visit Abergavenny, you will honor her and me by
becoming our guest during your stay."
"Good heaven!" exclaimed Richard Gilmore, "how delighted I am, my
dearest Lizzie, at your good fortune." I shall fully and faithfully
observe my pledge; but before we part, consider well whether you should
not use your altered circumstances for your own comfort, for the
complete prevention of every future pain and difficulty, and above all,
for the sake of your unborn offspring. If I could, without absolute
ruin, have redeemed the promise which my passion produced, you should
never have had occasion to upbraid me. I loved you fondly, dearly; and
it is in your power to give me an opportunity of proving, whilst we
live, a faithful and devoted husband."
"Ah, no!" said Elizabeth, "our marriage could never be happy; we would
be mutually miserable. You would never respect her whom, in her supposed
poverty, you scorned; and our union now would be as much the subject of
scandalous comment as if you wedded me this day openly at the church of
Castle----."
"If you marry me, my darling Lizzie, I shall adopt means to prevent
exposure, or even suspicion. You shall leave this place immediately, go
up to Dublin, and take a lodging in one of the small city parishes,
where few Protestants reside. I shall obtain leave of absence, follow
you to Dublin, take out a license, and after a short stay I shall return
and effect an exchange to a remote county, where I can present you to
society as my wife, without any suspicion being entertained that our
union has been too recent for your reputation. There your child can be
born without any stain on its birth, or any cloud on its future
prospects. Come, Lizzie dear, forget and forgive; I am still your own
fond Richard."
He seized her hand, her struggle was slight, his arm encircled her
waist, and on her lips he imprinted the seal of his future truth and of
her present forgiveness. In two days Elizabeth Jones was lodging in
Nicholas Street, Dublin, and in about a week Richard Gilmore was married
to her in the church of St. Nicholas. The wedding was very private and
quiet, the only witnesses being the man in whose house they lodged, his
wife, and two young persons whose attendance they procured.
Three or four days elapsed, and Richard Gilmore accosted his bride.
"Lizzy," he said, "I cannot delay my return to duty beyond another week.
I have already made application for an exchange; but before I return to
the country, I think it would be well if I went over to Wales and
regulated the future receipt of your rents, and also ascertained how the
money due by Deacon and Morgan is circumstanced. If they pay five per
cent, punctually, we shall be very comfortable. I have calculated that,
with my pay, we shall have near £600 a-year. I shall buy a nice
jaunting-car and----"
"You need not trouble yourself, Richard," said Mrs. Gilmore, very
solemnly, "about my property in Wales. In fact, I have just taken a leaf
out of your own book, and if the perusal is disagreeable, it is not to
me that the authorship should be imputed. You made me a promise of
marriage, you broke your word, and refused to save me from disgrace and
misery. I procured a letter to be written about property that never
existed, and made you believe that it was your interest to marry her
whom your affection or sense of honor did not suffice to shield from
destruction."
"You infernal Jezebel! you lying profligate! debased and degraded you
shall be. I shall never live another hour with you. I shall never give
a farthing to save you or your brat from starvation."
"I thank you, Mr. Gilmore, for myself and my coming brat. Thank heaven,
you cannot say my bastard. You know what course it best answers you to
take, but----"
Richard Gilmore was gone. Presently he was heard descending the stairs,
and in a few minutes more the landlady announced to Mrs. Gilmore that
her husband had departed, having first paid the lodging rent for the
coming week, and having relinquished any further tenancy.
Mrs. Gilmore heard this intelligence with surprising calmness, and
replied by informing the landlady of Mr. Gilmore's position, and of the
place where he was stationed; adding that she would stay for the time
for which the rent was paid, and that then, when she would be really
destitute, she would go to THE WORKHOUSE. She imparted a good deal of
confidence to the landlady, whom we shall name Mrs. Canavan, and who,
seeing that she would not lose anything, gave Mrs. Gilmore her utmost
sympathy. Mrs. Canavan was a fair specimen of human nature; for we never
refuse our sympathy to our unfortunate fellow-creatures when we are not
asked for anything more.
In another week Mrs. Gilmore proceeded to the South Dublin Union
Workhouse, and there informed the admission committee that her husband
was a constabulary officer; that his income was about double the
reality; that he had some private property and great expectations; and
that she, on the eve of her _accouchement_, was deserted by her husband,
and compelled to become an inmate of the workhouse.
The committee admitted the applicant, registered the admission, and
brought the case before the Board of Guardians on the following
Thursday, when they obtained a ready sanction to prosecute Mr. Gilmore
for deserting his wife, and leaving her, as a pauper, chargeable on the
rates. A summons bearing my signature issued, and the constabulary
officer appeared at the police-court. The marriage was proved, as were
the circumstances of the desertion. On the part of the Guardians a
demand was made for the immediate committal of the delinquent, to be
imprisoned, with hard labor for three months. Richard Gilmore escaped a
formal conviction by paying the expenses already incurred, and
undertaking to allow twenty shillings weekly for his wife's maintenance.
All parties left the police-court; but in an hour or two after the case
had been heard, Richard Gilmore returned and applied to me to have
Elizabeth Jones, calling herself Gilmore, apprehended on a charge of
bigamy. He alleged that she had been married in Wales about four years
previous to her marriage with him, and that her husband, Thomas Jones,
was still living. His assertions were made on statements which he had
received from others. He had no legal evidence of the charge, and I
refused to issue a warrant for the apprehension of the alleged bigamist,
but he determined to persist in the accusation. He seized on his wife in
the public street, and gave her into the custody of a constable on a
charge of felony. On the following morning he stated on oath that he had
been informed, and fully believed, that the prisoner had been married to
one Thomas Jones in a parish church near Carnarvon; that said Thomas was
still living; and he further swore to the marriage of the prisoner with
himself in the city of Dublin. He asked for a remand, and stated that he
expected to produce witnesses from Wales to prove his charge. I remanded
the accused for six days, and Richard left Dublin by the next Holyhead
packet in quest of evidence to convict his wife. Before she was removed
to prison she sent to me a short note, in which she implored me to
direct that no person should be permitted to see her in the prison
unless at her own request; and further, that on the day for resuming the
investigation, she should be placed amongst a number of females, and
that the witnesses should be required to identify her from amongst the
others. I considered those requests to be fair and reasonable, and
directed that they should be complied with. Richard Gilmore returned to
Dublin the day before the resumption of the case. He brought over two
witnesses, and sought at the prison to give them a view of the accused,
but they were denied admittance. On the appointed day Elizabeth Gilmore
was brought from the prison, and placed in the carriage-court with about
a dozen of other females, amongst whom was Mrs. Canavan, her Nicholas
Street landlady, who manifested great interest in her sufferings, and
great indignation at Richard Gilmore's attempt to transport an innocent
creature whom he had vowed to love and cherish. Without separating the
prisoner from the other women, I proceeded to swear the first witness,
one William Jones, who stated that he was a parish clerk of some
unpronounceable place in Wales; that he remembered the marriage of
Thomas Jones and Elizabeth Jones, and he produced the registry; he
recollected the matter very distinctly, the more so from the parties
being both of the same name as himself. I directed him to look at the
women present, and to point out the one whom he had seen married at the
time mentioned in the registry if she was amongst them. Mr. Jones walked
to the group, viewed all the women, and very deliberately placing his
hand on Mrs. Canavan's shoulder, identified her as the culprit. He was
instantly electrified by a burst of abuse, delivered in an accent
acquired much nearer to Patrick Street than to Penmaemawr.
Mrs. Canavan's vocabulary was too copious to be select. I do not think
that I could have restrained her, and I admit that I allowed her a
latitude from which I derived some amusement. She descanted on the
propriety of "cropping the ears"[5] of perjured parish clerks, but gave
up that idea as, on full consideration, it appeared too mild a treatment
for the Welshman. She proceeded to assure him, that there was not a gaol
in Ireland that would refuse him admission; and that in no place of such
a description could he meet with anyone worse than himself. She appealed
to my benevolent tendencies to have the Welsh fellow transported at
once, upon the grounds that it would be "a charity;" and she descanted
on the physiological defect in such a parish clerk having been born
without handcuffs, suggesting an artificial amendment of the natural
deficiency. She thanked Mr. Jones for the pleasant news, that she had
one husband in Dublin and another in Wales, and assured him that he
might expect some very particular attentions from the Dublin one in
acknowledgment of his testimony.
"And still she talked, and still the wonder spread,
That one small tongue could utter all she said."
The parish clerk was overwhelmed with confusion, but Richard Gilmore
persisted in his charge, and demanded the examination of his remaining
witness. Accordingly, a Mrs. Edwards was sworn. She deposed that the
Thomas Jones mentioned in the registry was her brother. She had not been
present at the marriage, but was satisfied that her brother was living,
for she had seen him at Swansea about a month previous, at which time he
was proceeding to America as supercargo in a merchant vessel. On further
examination, she stated that she was aware that Thomas and Elizabeth
Jones had separated within the last two years, and this put an end to
the case, for a reference to Gilmore's information showed that his
acquaintance with the prisoner commenced nearly three years before their
marriage. I remarked that the only allegation fully and clearly proved
was the marriage of Mr. Gilmore to Miss Jones in the church of St.
Nicholas; and it only remained for me to discharge the prisoner, to
congratulate the parties on the removal of all imputation on the
legality of their union, and to wish them many years of connubial
happiness. Richard Gilmore did not manifest the slightest gratitude for
this kind expression; he left the court without asking his wife to
accompany him, but she was not compelled to betake herself again to the
workhouse. Her weekly stipend was continued. Soon afterwards a son was
born, and he is now a confidential employé in an extensive mercantile
establishment in Dublin. I do not believe that he ever sought his
father, or that his father ever took the slightest notice of him.
Wishing him prosperity and happiness, I hope that he may never be
necessitated to engage in any correspondence or enquiry relative to his
mother's property in Wales. She resided for a considerable time in one
of our southern suburbs, and latterly affected no secrecy as to the
means which she adopted to effect her marriage. In the year 1858, I
expressed, in some conversations with a medical man of her acquaintance,
a wish for the particulars, and a copy of the letter which I have given
to my readers was enclosed to me by post, without any accompanying
condition, or even an indication of the quarter from whence it was
furnished.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] Cropping the ears was in former times a punishment for perjury.
CHAPTER XVI.
WHO THREW THE BOTTLE?--EXCISE AND CUSTOMS CASES.
In the "Dublin Annals" given in Thom's Almanac and Official Directory,
it is stated in reference to the year 1822, "Riot in the theatre, on the
Marquis of Wellesley, the Lord Lieutenant's first visit thither, during
which a bottle was flung into his Excellency's box."
At the time referred to, I had not attained a profession, and my
magisterial position was twenty years distant. I have, however, a very
distinct recollection of the affair, as I was seated about the centre of
the pit during the riot, and I have to notice that the statement in the
Dublin Annals is incorrect. It contains, perhaps, the only inaccuracy
that can be found in that voluminous and comprehensive publication. No
bottle was flung into the viceregal box, but a rattle was thrown, which
struck the front of the box, fell inside, and was raised and held up to
the view of the audience by the Lord Lieutenant himself. A bottle was
thrown from one of the galleries, and it struck the curtain in the
middle with such violence, as to form a kind of bay for itself, and it
slipped down on the stage, close to the foot-lights, and was taken up
unbroken by the leader of the orchestra.
Prosecutions for riot were instituted, and amongst others a man named
Henry Hanbidge was indicted. To him was imputed the throwing of the
bottle, and some persons swore informations to the effect, that they
were in the middle gallery, and that the bottle was cast from the upper
gallery to the centre of the curtain. The proceedings for riot were
ineffective. There was no conviction.
When I became a magistrate, in casual conversations with Pemberton, Cox,
and others, the "bottle and rattle riot" formed a topic. They said that
the assertion of the bottle having been cast from the upper gallery was
generally disbelieved. It was, in fact, regarded as an impossibility.
Major Sirr and Alderman Darley went one morning, whilst the prosecutions
were pending, to the theatre, bringing a large hamper of bottles, and
accompanied by some active and powerful peace-officers, who were
directed to throw bottles from the upper gallery to the curtain, but not
a bottle reached even the orchestra. The roof of the theatre sloped
forward and downwards, and the elevation required to send the missile to
the curtain invariably smashed it against the ceiling, and distributed
the broken glass about the pit. The Major and Alderman came to the
conclusion that the riotous bottle had been cast from the boxes or lower
gallery.
In about ten years after the affair at the theatre, the house of Sir
Abraham Bradley King in Dame Street was consumed by fire. The
conflagration commenced in the lower part of the premises, in which
there was a great quantity of stationery. The first and second floors
were almost immediately in flames. The catastrophe occurred on a Sunday
morning. No fire brigade was then organized, no fire escapes had been
provided. A man was in the top front room, and he had no access to the
roof. A fearful death appeared to be his inevitable fate, when another
man emerged from the roof of a neighbouring house, carrying a rope of
six or seven yards in length, at one end of which he had formed a
running noose. He stood on the narrow parapet over the window, and let
down the looped end to the poor fellow, whose only chance of escape
depended on the sheer strength and steadiness of an individual. The
rope was fastened round the waist of him whom the flames were fast
approaching, and he was carried along by the intrepid fellow whose
courage and humanity excited him to risk his own life to avert
destruction from another, until the window of the adjoining house was
reached, and the rescue was completed. This heroic act was accomplished
by Henry Hanbidge.
I had been ten or twelve years in office as a police magistrate, when I
was applied to by a poor old fellow who was suffering acutely and
completely debilitated by rheumatism, to sign a recommendation for his
admission to Simpson's Hospital. The applicant was Henry Hanbidge. I
most readily complied with his request, and told him that I would insert
a few observations on his noble achievement at the fire in Dame Street.
He expressed the deepest gratitude for my disposition to serve him. When
I was giving him the document, I said, "Now, Hanbidge, might I ask you
who threw the bottle?" He replied, "I did, your worship." I asked him
"from what part of the house was it thrown?" "From the upper gallery,
your worship. A friend and I had emptied the bottle, and I ran my stick
into the neck, and shot it straight to the curtain off the stick." My
predecessors had not thought of such a mode of projection.
EXCISE AND CUSTOMS CASES.
During my tenure of office I had an undesirable monopoly of the cases
brought forward for infractions of the Excise laws, and also an ample
share of imputed violations of the statutes regulating the Customs
duties in the City and County of Dublin. The barristers who preceded me
as magistrates of the Head Police Office, had, in consideration of such
business being disposed of by them, an addition of £105 to their salary;
but when I was about a month in office, I was favored with a
communication that, without prejudice to the continuance of the work, I
was to be exonerated from the trouble of receiving or acknowledging the
usual pecuniary remuneration. The proceedings instituted by the Excise
were, almost invariably, of an uninteresting character. I only
recollect one which I consider worth recording in these pages. The
premises of a maltster were visited by a revenue officer, and in one of
the rooms he observed that a board of the floor was rather loose under
his step. He raised it, and found a shoot which led to another floor in
adjoining premises, which were apparently untenanted, and in which a
large quantity of fresh malt was in process of drying. The principal
workman in the maltster's employment dropped on his knees, implored
mercy, and said that he would confess all. He then stated that he had
made the communication for the purpose of stealing his master's malt,
and that he had taken away all that was found by the officer in the
adjoining store. He produced from his pocket a key for the external door
of the building in which the malt was found. The maltster escaped the
infliction of a very heavy penalty, but the workman was convicted on his
own confession of stealing the malt, and was sentenced to twelve months'
imprisonment. I subsequently was informed that during his confinement
the man whom he had robbed (?) supported his family most comfortably,
and as soon as the culprit terminated his incarceration, _he was
received back into the maltster's employment_.
As to the infractions of the Customs laws, my cases all consisted of
tobacco or brandy, and the seizures were, in almost every instance,
effected immediately on the arrival in port of the respective ships. I
believe that the intelligence of smuggling ventures being on board was
almost always furnished by those from whom the contraband articles were
purchased, or by the attendants in taverns or liquor shops, before whom
unguarded conversations might have occurred, and in some instances from
both sources. According to my recollection, the great majority of
detections occurred on board vessels coming from places belonging to the
British Crown. Jersey contributed largely to the contraband traffic,
Gibraltar afforded an occasional venture, and the timber ships from the
British provinces in North America were frequently made available to the
illicit importation of tobacco. A fine brig from St. John's, New
Brunswick, named, as well I can remember, "The Hope," arrived in Dublin
in the summer of 1852. She was boarded in the bay by some officers of
Customs, to whom the master stated that his cargo was exclusively
timber. No other description of goods was mentioned in the vessel's
papers. The officers proceeded to raise some boards at the foot of the
cabin stair, and took out a large quantity of Cavendish tobacco. They
then entered the cabin and removed some other boards, finding an
abundance of tobacco, which had been there concealed. The master was
arrested, and having been brought before me, I remanded the case, by the
wish of all parties, for a week. The revenue authorities did not
institute any proceedings involving the condemnation of the brig, but
they sought the conviction of the master, who was adjudged by me to pay
two hundred pounds, or in default of such payment, to be imprisoned for
six months. His wife had been the companion of his unfortunate voyage,
and their separation, on his committal to prison, was extremely sad. He
was a fine-looking young man; I think his name was Harris, and he stated
that he belonged to St. John's. The wife was also a native of that
place, and I never beheld a woman who, in my opinion, surpassed her in
personal beauty. Moreover, she was very near the time when to the
designation of "wife" the term "mother" would be added. Whilst I
condemned the man I deeply commiserated the woman, and all who witnessed
their parting sympathized in her affliction. At the Richmond Bridewell,
he was treated with much kindness, and was frequently allowed access to
the gardens, to which, as well as to his prison-room, his wife was
constantly admitted. There was a young man confined at that time at the
instance of some of his relatives. He was a very extraordinary person.
In him great literary attainments were combined with imaginative power:
he had a mind which could
"Give to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."
He sometimes lapsed into excessive intemperance, during which he
exhibited such violent tendencies as justified a committal for two
months in default of substantial bail. This imprisonment brought him
into association with Harris the tobacco smuggler. They became
confidential friends. At this time about two months of the smuggler's
term had expired, and his fellow-prisoner expressed an anxiety that they
should both be liberated together. Harris could not perceive how such a
wish could be accomplished, but the other thought it perfectly feasible.
He prepared a memorial to the Commissioners of Customs, which he desired
Harris to sign, and it was forwarded forthwith. In a few days I received
a letter from the solicitor of the Customs, and with it the memorial.
The Commissioners expressed their willingness to have three months taken
off the term of the smuggler's incarceration, provided that the
committing magistrate did not object to such a commutation. I
immediately forwarded the fullest approval of such lenity, and having
read the memorial, I returned it to the solicitor. I regret that I did
not keep a copy of it, for it was a document which I feel myself
incompetent to describe in terms suitable to its merits. In refined and
elegant language it acknowledged the commission of the offence and the
justice of the punishment inflicted. It declared a determination to
abstain in future from every wilful infraction of the laws, and implored
the commiseration of those to whom it was addressed for the misery to
which the memorialist was reduced, even though it had originated in his
own misconduct. His young and affectionate wife, who had accompanied him
from her native country, had been unable to withstand the pressure of
their misfortunes, and had gone to an early grave in a strange land,
being attacked by premature childbirth. He had not even the mournful
privilege of assisting at the interment of his beloved consort and her
offspring; but from the gloomy precincts of a penal prison he besought
the authorities to come to the merciful conclusion that he had suffered
enough.
Half of his imprisonment was abrogated, and the time of his discharge
was at hand. I was about to leave the police-court on an afternoon, when
I was informed that a lady earnestly requested an interview for a few
minutes. To this application I acceded: and the fair visiter, having
apologized for her intrusion, proceeded to inquire--
"If you please, sir, will you kindly inform me whether my husband's time
of imprisonment is to be calculated from the day of his arrest or from
the day of his trial?"
I asked the name of the lady, and she replied that she was Mrs. Harris.
I remarked that "I was agreeably surprised, as I had seen it stated that
she was dead."
"Oh, sir," she exclaimed, "that was put in the memorial by Mr. ----
without even my husband's knowledge. However, I lost my little baby. But
I hope that you will not tell that I am alive." I then informed her that
her husband's term commenced from the date of his conviction, and she
retired. I did not feel it necessary to give any publicity to Mrs.
Harris's continued existence.
When the Ajax man-of-war was stationed at Kingstown, the officer in
command frequently exercised his crew in warlike operations. In the year
1844, as well as I now recollect, he announced his intention to have a
mimic attack made on the ship, by boats, at night. A vast number of
persons assembled to behold a spectacle intrinsically grand and
peculiarly novel to a Dublin public. The operations commenced about ten
o'clock, and continued for upwards of an hour. Signals of alarm were
displayed by numerous lights of various colours, and they were succeeded
by tremendous discharges of artillery and musketry, above which the
cheers of the supposed combatants were frequently audible. At length the
assailants retired, and the Ajax remained intact and triumphant. The
spectators were most enthusiastic in their applause of the bloodless
conflict, which certainly was most deserving of public admiration.
However, it afterwards transpired that during the sham battle in the
harbour, some extraordinary operations were effected in the vicinity. A
smuggling vessel landed a cargo of tobacco close to the Kingstown end
of the eastern pier, but outside the harbour. The venture was completely
successful, and several days elapsed before the revenue authorities
received any intimation of such a daring proceeding. The cargo was
conveyed away partly by rail, partly by road, and it was reported that
almost the whole of it was transmitted to Limerick, but nothing tangible
resulted from enquiries or searches. On the same night another cargo was
landed on Dalkey Island, and hastily concealed amongst the rocks. It was
supposed to have been brought by a consort of the craft which had made
the other run. On the following day, a man, apparently of the seafaring
class, gave information to the Customs that he knew where there was a
large quantity of contraband tobacco concealed, and that he was willing,
for the usual remuneration, which I believe was nearly half the value of
the commodities, to conduct them to the place. He accordingly took them
to Dalkey Island, where they found the tobacco. It was subsequently
rumoured, and I believe the rumour was well-founded, that he was the
master of the vessel from which it had been landed; and as one cargo had
been successfully smuggled, and the vessels had got away in safety, the
reward, incident to discovering the other cargo, was sufficient to pay
the prime cost and expenses of the two ventures, and to realize a
considerable profit on the whole transaction.
Lest the favorable issue of the illicit speculation which I have last
narrated should have the effect of encouraging or even suggesting to any
individual any connection with such traffic, I would say that I noticed
the successful issue of the enterprise as an extraordinary and
exceptional incident. Detection is generally the result, with forfeiture
of the goods, fine, or imprisonment. About four years before I retired
from office, a young man who had a fine fishing-boat at Howth, and who
was engaged to be married, went off to Jersey, and freighted his craft
with tobacco and brandy. A revenue cutter was sent to meet him, and he
was captured within view of his native hill. His vessel forfeited, his
cargo seized, himself a prisoner, and utter ruin substituted for his
dazzling but delusive hopes, he lapsed into the extreme of despair,
jumped overboard, and perished. His fate should deter, more than a
casual and extraordinary escape should encourage, an infraction of the
revenue laws.
CHAPTER XVII.
JOHN SARGEANT--THE MAGISTERIAL OFFICES--TWO MURDERS--ONE
REPRIEVED--DELAHUNT'S CRIMES.
I shall now present a magisterial reminiscence which derives its
greatest interest from antecedent occurrences, the first of which brings
me back to 1821, the year in which George the Fourth visited Ireland. If
I become a little diffuse in my recollections of the period, it is
because they are strongly impressed on my memory, and extraordinary in
their nature. Nothing could exceed the universal homage tendered to the
king. If it has been termed "servile adulation" by some, I am not
prepared to insist on a complete exoneration of our national character
from such an imputation. I was then an undergraduate of the University
of Dublin. On the day of the Royal entry, we, the students, possessed
ourselves of the railings in front of the College, as affording an
excellent view of the procession. The rails were freshly painted, and
produced a most piebald appearance on our hands and clothes (blue coats
with "welcome" buttons, white waistcoats and trousers.) We rubbed some
of the paint off our hands on the faces and clothes of each other
previous to proceeding to the Castle with the University Address. On
entering the upper yard from Cork Hill, we marched to the right by the
footway, and had an opportunity, of which we availed ourselves, of
pulling the white caps off some of the cooks and scullions who were
viewing us from the two lower windows in the farthest corner of the
yard. We jostled each other up the staircase, and during the reading of
the Address, amused ourselves by climbing on each other's shoulders by
turns in order to have a better view. Some of us, amongst whom I was
one, suggested rather loudly, that cakes and wine would be acceptable.
This produced a counter suggestion from some officials of our immediate
retirement from the State apartments. On reaching the hall, I observed
the porters and other attendants sternly expelling a tall female who was
dressed in deep black. She appeared in great affliction, but was
accorded no sympathy. No one thought that anyone else had a right to be
sad when the King was in Ireland. I subsequently saw the "woman in
black," at the review in the Phoenix Park, vainly endeavouring to
approach the Royal presence. I was a spectator of the various public
demonstrations during the Royal sojourn, and enjoyed the exciting
pageantry as anyone of my age and temperament might be supposed to do. I
pass, however, to the day of the King's departure, the 3rd of September.
On the morning of that day, the place of his embarkation was Dunleary,
but on his arrival he changed its designation into "The Royal Harbour of
Kingstown." He entered his barge very near the place where the
commemorative column stands, and close to the inner end of the eastern
pier. The "woman in black" somehow managed to get very near. She
endeavoured in vain to address him, and just as the Royal barge was
shoving off, she rushed forward, holding a paper in her hand, and, in
her frantic haste, was precipitated into the water, from which, however,
she was speedily rescued. The king saw enough of her exertions and
mishap to excite his curiosity, and ordered her communication to be
received and laid before him. It was a petition imploring the Royal
mercy for her husband, who was then under sentence of death in a
southern county, for burning his house with intent to defraud an
insurance company. Her prayer was favourably considered. An act of
clemency appeared peculiarly suitable to the termination of the Royal
visit, and the sentence on John Sargeant was commuted to transportation.
At the time to which I refer there was a considerable portion of
Kilmainham prison appropriated to the reception of convicts under
sentence of transportation; and in a short time after the successful
exertions of the "woman in black" at Kingstown, John Sargeant was
transmitted to Kilmainham, there to remain until a sufficient number of
convicts were congregated to form a living freight for a transport ship,
and to transfer the future advantages of their patriotic exertions to a
southern hemisphere. I use the term "patriotic" in the same sense as the
accomplished pickpocket, Borrington, applied it in a prologue spoken by
him previous to the performance of a play at Sydney by a company
consisting exclusively of transported thieves--
"True patriots we! for be it understood,
We left our country for our country's good."
At the time of Sargeant's arrival at Kilmainham, I had a very near
relative who was a member of the committee or board which superintended
the gaol, and I frequently accompanied him to the prison. Sargeant was a
person of considerable educational acquirements. He managed to
ingratiate himself with some of the authorities of the convict depôt,
especially with a Dr. Trevor. He was frequently employed in copying
documents, which business he discharged most satisfactorily; and I have
often seen him thus engaged. When the other convicts were sent off, some
pretext or excuse was made available for retaining him, and after the
expiration of two years, he succeeded in obtaining a pardon, and was
released from confinement. The "woman in black" did not witness his
liberation; she had previously succumbed to that fate which crime
inflicts most severely on those whose love clings to unworthy and guilty
objects, even in suffering and disgrace; love which, like the ivy, will
embrace a ruin with greater tenacity than it would if the structure
stood in its pristine strength or in renovated beauty.
About three years more had elapsed, and I was residing in London,
attending the number of terms requisite for a call to the Irish Bar. At
Gray's Inn I was an adept in all the duties then requisite for an
admission to the status of a learned barrister-at-law, and indeed I
brought to their inception no slight qualifications. I could decant old
crusted Port without a funnel, my carving was considered faultless, and
the salads of my dressing would gratify the palate of Apicius Coelius.
In that society there was far greater intercourse between the Bar and
the students than I ever observed at our King's Inns. I frequently
derived great pleasure and, I believe, no slight advantage, from the
conversation of those whose deep research and matured experience
qualified them to utter words of wisdom and suggestions of prudence to
their juniors. I was fond of attending the courts, and criminal trials
possessed for me a peculiar attraction. One day I sat close to two
barristers whom I had occasionally met previously. They spoke with great
interest of a trial which was expected to be held at the Old Bailey on
the following morning, and suggested to me to be present at it, and I
followed their advice. The prisoner was alleged to have been concerned
in various frauds, but the specific offence for which he was tried was
for obtaining upwards of £800 under false pretences and representations,
and by means of forged documents. It appeared that a West Indian Creole,
Mr. D----, had arrived in London some months previous, possessed of an
immense fortune. He indulged in habits of extravagance most frivolous
and ostentatious. He fell into the error of considering fast society
good society, and formed acquaintances and established confidences which
a very moderate share of discretion would have made him avoid. Mr. D----
had seen a lady, a member of a noble family, whose ancient lineage
connected them with the most remote periods of English history, and in
which gentle blood was thoroughly united with personal worth. Mr. D----
became deeply enamoured, and made no secret of his admiration, but he
could not procure an introduction. His tropical temperament spurned all
patience and prudence, and an Irish gentleman, Mr. John Sibthorpe, took
him under his guidance and protection, and promised to realize all his
visions of matrimonial bliss. Sibthorpe advised that the lady's maid
should be approached, and enlisted, with an ample bounty, in the
Creole's service, and that she might be induced, in a short time, to
convey letters to the adored one, who could not long continue
indifferent to the suit of an amiable, wealthy, and disinterested lover.
The bait was swallowed. One hundred sovereigns were confided to
Sibthorpe to be transmitted to Kitty, and a note in reply, purporting to
be written by her, acknowledged the Creole's generosity and promised her
best exertions. More money was sent and more notes were received. The
lady was described as expressing a lively and grateful interest in the
man who had manifested such an attachment. This encouraging
communication produced a most respectful but ardent letter from the
lover to the lady, and a further douceur to the maid. In due time Mr.
D---- received a note couched in terms most favourable to his suit, and
professing to be written by the fair hand which he panted to possess.
Enraptured beyond expression, he imagined himself at the summit of his
wishes, when he casually and suddenly learned the afflicting
intelligence that the lady's nuptials with a noble suitor were fixed for
an early day. Unable to restrain his feelings, he rushed into her
paternal hall as she was about to enter her carriage, and kneeling
before her, besought her pity for a broken-hearted man to whom she had
kindly written. Mr. D---- was interrupted in his expostulations by being
kicked out of doors by the footmen, and he soon discovered that
Sibthorpe had forged the correspondence on the part of both maid and
mistress. The delinquent was apprehended, prosecuted, and convicted. I
heard him sentenced to two years' imprisonment with hard labor, and as
he stood at the bar I had no difficulty in recognising the object of
anxious solicitude to "the woman in black," the pardoned incendiary, the
profligate John Sargeant.
In two or three months after the trial of this swindler, I returned to
Ireland, and engaged in professional pursuits, to which I devoted my
attention for about twelve years. I then became a magistrate of police.
In 1844, I was doing duty in College Street Police Court for the late
Alderman Tyndall, who was suffering from severe indisposition. An
application was made to me by a director and secretary of one of the
principal banks in the city, I think it was "The Royal." They were
accompanied by their solicitor, and it appeared that a bill of exchange
for £100, purporting to be the acceptance of a gentleman of high
position in the county of Wicklow, had been tendered for discount on the
previous day, and that they had ascertained it to be a forgery. A close
description was given of the accused, who had been told to call at the
bank at two o'clock. An information was sworn and a warrant issued, and
the delinquent was apprehended in the vestibule of the bank, whither he
had the audacity or folly to proceed on his nefarious design. On being
placed before me, he stated his name to be John Sharkey, and that he had
recently returned from Oporto, where for several years he had been
employed as a clerk in an English house engaged in the wine trade. I
remanded the case for the production of the alleged acceptor, and during
the intervening time very conclusive evidence was obtained as to the
body of the bill having been written by the prisoner. At his final
committal, I told him that, although I never before had any magisterial
cognisance of him, I had no difficulty in recognising the person whom I
had seen convicted at the Old Bailey, and who had previously been an
inmate of Kilmainham, after having the sentence of capital punishment
commuted to transportation. The latter punishment was subsequently
awarded to him in Green Street, and thus, as far as I am aware, was
closed the career of Mr. John Sargeant.
THE MAGISTERIAL OFFICES.
My magisterial office was held for twenty years and four months. During
that time I was a Justice of the Peace for the city and county of
Dublin, and for the counties of Meath, Kildare, and Wicklow. The
division appurtenant to the Head Office comprised, at the time of my
appointment, (in January, 1841,) about one-half of the southern moiety
of Dublin, in which were contained the poor and very populous districts
known as "The Liberties." In about six years after, we were required to
supply a magistrate daily to the Police Court at Kingstown, for the
discharge of the business incident to the townships of Kingstown,
Blackrock, and Dalkey; and in about three years later, the entire of the
Metropolitan Police district south of the Liffey was assigned and
consolidated into one division, in which my two colleagues and myself
had to discharge the magisterial duties. Persons apprehended in the
police district for offences committed in other parts of Ireland were
brought before us to be remanded or transmitted, according to
circumstance. I mention these particulars to enable my readers more
fully to appreciate the extraordinary fact, that during the period which
I have specified there never was brought before us an individual charged
with a capital offence. I do not mean to induce an impression on the
reader's mind that our locality was free from crimes of magnitude. Two
murders occurred in our division during the time referred to, but in
each case the culprit was committed by the coroner.
One of them was in the city, and the other in the county portion of our
district. The former case was the deprivation of a wife's life by the
hand of her husband. He was a house-painter, a journeyman bearing an
excellent character for knowledge of his business, industry, honesty,
and strict sobriety. She was the daughter of a tradesman in Rathfarnham,
and her person was exceedingly comely. Very soon after marriage, she
lapsed into habits of the grossest intemperance, so as to acquire the
_soubriquet_ amongst her neighbours of "the drunken beauty." She was a
frequent, though involuntary, visitor to the police court for having
been found "drunk and incapable" in the public streets. One evening her
husband found her completely intoxicated, and he discovered that his
best clothes had been pawned to furnish the means for her inordinate
indulgence. She replied to his complaints and reproaches in abusive and
opprobrious terms, until exasperated beyond the control of reason, the
unfortunate man seized an old sword-stick which happened to be at hand,
and with that weapon he pierced her eleven times through the body, three
of the stabs perforating the heart. Curiosity led me to visit the scene
of the sanguinary termination of a union which commenced in ardent love,
and might have lasted long and happily, if every hope of domestic peace
and enjoyment had not been subverted by intemperance. I was present at
the inquest, which resulted in a verdict of "wilful murder" against the
husband. He was subsequently convicted at the Commission Court, and
received sentence of death. I exerted myself in procuring memorials to
the Executive for a commutation of the capital punishment, and in an
interview with the Chief Secretary and the law officers I argued that
the multiplicity of the wounds inflicted on the wretched woman denoted a
sudden burst of uncontrollable passion, and not a premeditated design of
deliberate and malicious destruction of life. I expressed an opinion
that one mortal stab would indicate more malice than could be inferred
from the eleven furious blows. My representations were received with
courteous attention, and the applications for mercy were acceded to; but
the unfortunate man died in the Richmond Bridewell in less than six
months after the transaction. His heart was broken. I may mention here,
that whilst I was a crown prosecutor on the Leinster circuit, and during
my tenure of magisterial office, I never knew of an application for
mercy to be made to the Executive that did not receive the fullest and
fairest consideration, and I believe that all the Governments of which I
had any knowledge or experience were equally desirous to avail
themselves of any opportunity for tempering justice with mercy.
The other murder which occurred in our division was perpetrated in
December, 1841, by a young man named Delahunt. In the character of this
culprit there was an amount of cool, dispassionate, and deliberate
predilection for crime, surpassing any details in the pages of the
"Newgate Calendar," or the "Archives of the Parisian Police." About one
year previous to the last-mentioned date, a poor Italian organ-grinder
was found lying close to the wall of Rathfarnham demesne, on the
roadside near Rathfarnham bridge. His throat had been cut, and a belt
which he usually wore round his waist, and in which it was supposed that
his scanty savings were stowed, had been taken away. A man named Cooney,
a tinker, had been seen in the immediate vicinity of the place, and he
had been taken into custody on suspicion, by the constabulary. An
inquest was being held, when Delahunt accosted Colonel Browne, the
Commissioner of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, in the Castle yard, and
told him that he (Delahunt) had seen the murder committed. The Colonel
immediately directed one of his serjeants to take the man out to the
coroner, as the offence had been committed in the county, and outside
the police district. On being produced at the inquest, Delahunt swore
that he had seen Cooney murder the Italian. A reward of twenty-five
pounds had been advertised for the conviction of the perpetrator of the
fearful assassination, and that accounted for Delahunt's promptitude in
offering his testimony. On the trial of Cooney at the ensuing
commission, the jury disbelieved Delahunt, and acquitted the tinker. I
am satisfied that they arrived at a proper conclusion, and I strongly
suspect that if Delahunt really knew anything about the crime, it was
owing to himself being the perpetrator.
In about four months after the trial of Cooney, there was a contested
election in the city of Dublin, at which it was deemed expedient to
utilise the canvassing abilities of a considerable number of
coal-porters. These energetic advocates of liberty took considerable
liberties with such voters as they found recusant to their wishes, or
even tardy in complying with their demands. They were provided with
hackney cars, and provided themselves with cudgels. Individual
resistance or even indifference to their behests occasioned very
forcible applications to the heads and shoulders of any elector, and
when they brought him to the hustings, his attention was invited to a
reserved body specially stationed in the vicinity of the polling booths,
from whom he was informed that he might expect very strong censures on
his want of patriotism, if he voted on the wrong side. After the
election, some prosecutions were instituted for threats and actual
assaults on voters, and there was one case in which a retired military
gentleman had been dragged from his bed in a state of illness, and
violently assaulted with cudgels. A reward was offered for the discovery
and conviction of his assailants, and Delahunt at once came forward. He
pointed out on the quay, six coal-porters as the guilty parties, swore
that he had heard them directed to go to the gentleman's residence and
bring him to the poll, and that he followed them and witnessed the
entire transaction. They were committed for trial at the Commission
Court, and there Delahunt most positively identified the six. One of
them had a large hare-lip, and the party who had been assaulted swore
that the fellow with the split lip was not present at the outrage.
Another of the accused established the fact, by the evidence of
constables and turnkeys, that he had been convicted on the day previous
to the attack on the voter, and that he was in gaol for drunkenness and
disorderly conduct at the time when Delahunt swore to having seen him
assaulting Captain C----. The six coal-porters were acquitted, and
Delahunt's sanguine expectations of an ample reward were completely
disappointed.
On the 20th of December, 1841, a little boy named Thomas Patrick
Maguire, eight years of age, was playing with some other children in
Blackhall Row. The children were of the humblest class, and Maguire was
bare-footed. Delahunt, having previously ascertained his name, and that
he lived with his mother in Plunket Street, told him that he had been
sent to bring him to her. The poor boy went with him, but was not
brought home. Delahunt took him to a distant part of the city, and
called at his (Delahunt's) brother's lodgings in Little Britain Street,
where he stated to his sister-in-law that Maguire was a stray child
whom the police had given into his care to take home. He sharpened two
knives at his brother's, and after his departure with the child, one of
the knives was missed. In the meantime, he brought the little fellow
across the city, bought some cakes for him, and took him into a lonely
lane in the suburbs, close by Upper Baggot Street, and there between
seven and eight o'clock in the evening, he cut the child's throat. In a
very short time, the body was found, and taken to a police-station in
order to have an inquest held. Delahunt reappeared, and stated that he
had passed the end of the lane, and had seen a woman throw the little
boy down, and that she passed close to him, and went hurriedly away. He
said that he had no idea of the child having been killed at the time,
but thought that the woman had chastised him for some offence or naughty
trick. He named a woman, and declared that he could swear to her.
Unluckily for him, the woman whom he designated had been very sick
during the entire day, and confined to bed, to the positive knowledge of
several friends and neighbours. Some persons recognised Delahunt as
having been with the boy, and amongst them was the woman from whom he
had bought the cakes. In a field adjoining the lane where the corpse was
discovered, a knife was found, which was sworn to by his sister-in-law
as having been sharpened by him, and subsequently missed. She also
identified the body of the child as that of the boy whom Delahunt had
with him at her residence. He was finally tried and convicted of the
murder on the 14th of January, 1842, and was executed on the 5th
February. He made a full confession of his guilt, and acknowledged that
he had falsely accused Cooney the tinker of murdering the Italian, and
that his evidence against the coal-porters was totally unfounded. He
disclaimed all malice or ill will against the poor child, Maguire. He
declared that he only wanted to be rewarded for convicting some person
of murder, and that he could not originate such a charge without the
preliminary procurement of a corpse. In a volume of Dickens's
periodical, _All the Year Round_, and under the title of "Old Stories
re-told," there is a full narration of murders committed by Burke,
Bishop, and Hare, for the purpose of selling the bodies of their victims
to anatomical schools. Each distinct case of crime perpetrated by those
miscreants was of less aggravated turpitude than the offence for which
Delahunt was hanged, for they contemplated the destruction of the
sufferer as the consummation of a design, but Delahunt deprived one
individual of life on the speculation that he would thereby be enabled
to obtain a reward, perhaps a trifling one, by consigning another
fellow-creature to the precincts of a gaol, and ultimately to the
ignominious horrors of a public execution, for a crime committed by
himself, and imputed, by his deliberate perjury, to an innocent being,
whose hand was unstained and whose heart was untainted. For a
considerable time after his execution, he was reputed, especially
amongst the humbler classes, to have been a police spy, and to have been
in receipt of frequent subsidies from the detective office. He was never
produced in any court as a witness at the instance of the police. In the
case of the coal-porters, he applied to me for funds to enable him to
remain in Dublin until the trial was held, and I refused his
application. He repeatedly offered superintendents and inspectors to
swear to cases of illicit or irregular traffic in liquors, but they
never believed his statements, nor would they, in any instance, avail
themselves of his proffered testimony. No villainy could be more
unprofitable than Delahunt's systematic attempts to support himself by
false accusations of others. I feel perfectly satisfied that, instead of
deriving the wages of an informer or spy from the metropolitan police or
from the constabulary, he never cost the public one penny beyond what
sufficed for his maintenance in gaol whilst under committal for his
diabolical offence, and to provide the halter which he most thoroughly
merited.
The contemplation of such a character may not be unproductive of some
salutary results. Whilst we acknowledge and admire the blessed
tendencies of the most elevated virtues, a wholesome and very
instructive lesson may be derived from the contrast exhibited and the
eventual disgrace and destruction almost invariably incident to a
complete lapse into utter depravity.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MURDER OF MR. LITTLE--DETECTIVE INEFFICIENCY--INDIVIDUAL EFFICIENCY--A
FALSE ACCUSATION EXPOSED--EXTRAORDINARY GRATITUDE--A SALUTARY
REFORMATION--A CHARGE OF FELONY--POOR PUSS, WHO SHOT HER?--BAXTER AND
BARNES.
I shall now advert to a most atrocious murder which was committed in the
Metropolitan Police District in 1856. It occurred in the Northern
division, and I was requested by the learned and worthy Chief
Magistrate, Mr. J. W. O'Donnell, to assist in its investigation. Mr.
George Little, the Cashier of the Midland Great Western Railway, had not
returned to his residence on the evening of the 14th November, and on
the following morning, his relatives enquired for him at the office in
the station. The office door was broken open, and he was found lying on
his face in a pool of blood, his throat having been cut from ear to ear.
At first the impression was that he had committed suicide, for a
considerable sum of money was on his desk. However, it was ascertained
by an examination of the body, that many very severe injuries had been
inflicted, and that the skull had been fractured by blows from a heavy,
blunt instrument. A coroner's inquest returned a verdict of "Wilful
murder by some person or persons unknown," and a large reward was
advertised for the discovery and conviction of the perpetrator. No
arrest was made on suspicion until the 21st of December, when a person
was brought before the Northern Police Court, but was very speedily
discharged. I refrain from mentioning the name, because there is no
doubt that the charge was unfounded. It was rumoured that an
experienced London detective had been specially engaged to afford his
assistance in the furtherance of justice, but nothing of importance
transpired until the 26th June, 1857, when a woman, named Spollen,
informed a superintendent of police that her husband, James Spollen, was
the murderer, and that he had concealed the bank-notes which he took
from Mr. Little's office in a certain place immediately adjoining a
small house which he occupied on the railway premises, he being in the
Company's employment as a painter and cleanser. The superintendent
immediately arrested Spollen, but kept him in his own custody from ten
o'clock in the morning until nearly ten o'clock at night, when he
brought him to a police station-house and gave him in charge for the
murder, producing the wife of the accused as the charging party. The
place indicated by the woman was immediately searched, and a
considerable sum in bank-notes was discovered concealed in an ashpit,
and packed in a small firkin, which had previously contained white
paint. Some money in silver was also found in a canvas bag deposited in
a cistern, and the utmost publicity was given to the searches, the
results, and the source from whence the information concerning them was
derived. His wife's evidence against Spollen was properly rejected by
the magistrates; and although the case was sent for trial on other
grounds, the result was an acquittal. During the magisterial
investigation, I suggested that a portion of the Royal Canal close to
the railway premises should be drained and searched, as I considered it
very probable that some of the implements used in the murder had been
thrown into the water. When the search commenced, the superintendent
announced that whoever found the razor should receive a guinea. A razor
was accordingly found in the mud almost immediately, but it was manifest
that it had not been there until the search was directed, for it was
perfectly free from rust or corrosion. However, another razor was found,
and the name of "Spollen" was on the handle. A fitter's hammer was also
taken out of the canal, and it was more than probable that the razor and
hammer had been in fatal proximity to the throat and head of the
unfortunate George Little. After the trial, some of the London papers
commented in the strongest terms on the ignorance and stupidity evinced
in the preliminary proceedings of the police officer to whom the case
had been assigned. The bungling, blundering incompetency which
characterised the transaction was described as truly Irish. They also
complained that the English detectives who had been sent to Dublin were
thwarted and impeded in all their efforts by the members of the Dublin
force. I fully admit that the case was thoroughly mismanaged, but I must
add that the person most prominently engaged, the superintendent, was an
Englishman, and I deny that English detectives had to encounter Irish
jealousy, as no person of the description was sent to Dublin in
reference to that crime, or indeed in any instance within my
recollection, without meeting a cordial, perhaps I might venture to say,
a fraternal, reception from the Dublin Police. I may add that whenever
our constables were sent to the English metropolitan district, they
invariably returned with a grateful recollection of the kindness
manifested towards them.
In the case to which I have last adverted, and in some others which came
under my observation, I attribute the failure of justice to the
ignorance and consequent incapacity of members of the police force or of
the constabulary engaged. However, I consider it only just to remark on
the paucity of instruction afforded to constables for detective
purposes. Activity of body, corporeal strength, general mental
intelligence, and moderate educational acquirements, are considered
sufficient qualifications for the discharge of detective duties, and
further teaching is left to be acquired by future experience. In several
continental states, reports of important criminal trials are arranged
for the use of the police by an _archiviste_, and instruction is thereby
afforded as to the means by which guilt was established, or, perhaps, to
the mistakes or rash precipitancy by which justice was defeated, or
innocence accused. The essential difference between our police and that
which I have observed in France, Belgium, and Rhenish Prussia, is
exhibited in the speedy arrests of suspected persons here, compared with
the tardiness of apprehension in the latter countries, unless the
prisoner is actually caught _in flagrante delicto_. The moment that a
suspicion is entertained in Ireland, the supposed delinquent is seized,
and thereby all chance of obtaining evidence by his subsequent acts is
completely lost. The foreign system is to watch him night and day. This
frequently eventuates in detecting him concealing property, weapons, or
bloodstained clothes, or suddenly quitting his abode without any
previous intimation, and perhaps under an assumed name. If we are to
have an efficient police, we will find it indispensably necessary to
keep well-informed, shrewd, patient, watchful detectives. I have known
many who contended that a constable should adopt no disguise, but that,
in the uniform of the force to which he belongs, he should perambulate
the streets, suppress disorders, apprehend offenders, and when directed
to execute warrants, he should go in search of the culprit openly and
avowedly. To such I would suggest, that if in the organization of a
police there is anything unconstitutional, it is rather to be found in
the adoption of a uniform than in the attire of "plain clothes." The old
common-law constable had no uniform; he went, and came, and mixed
amongst other men, without a number on his collar or a crown on his
buttons, and still his office and its functions were not denounced as
unconstitutional. A policeman in uniform may patrol our streets,
suppress riots, restrain indecency, and apprehend the pickpocket or
drunkard; but it is not by such that the progress of the swindler is to
be traced and stopped, the haunts of the burglar ascertained, or that
the minute circumstances, trifling to the casual observer, but
amounting, in the aggregate, to perfect conviction, are to be discovered
and concatenated to establish the fearful guilt of the murderer.
Having remarked the inefficiency manifested by the officer to whom the
management of the murder case at the railway was assigned, I think it
fair to state, that amongst some other members of our detective
division, I have known instances in which great sagacity and promptitude
were evinced. Shortly after my appointment to the magistracy, an old man
died in a lodging-house in Bishop Street. The place in which he had
lived for nine or ten years was a small room without the slightest
indication of comfort or even of cleanliness. Nevertheless, he was
reputed to have been possessed of a considerable sum of money, which was
supposed to be hoarded in some part of his humble habitation. Two of his
relatives made oath that they believed him to have accumulated some
hundreds of pounds; that they suspected and believed that the cash had
been purloined; and they demanded that the house should be strictly
searched. I gave a search-warrant to a detective named James Brennan,
who proceeded to the house, and stated his function to the landlady. She
declared that the man had been miserably poor, that he died in complete
destitution, and that they had to bury him in a parish coffin. Brennan
searched the premises most rigidly, but the expected treasure was not
forthcoming. Some of the landlady's female neighbours expressed great
indignation at "any honest woman's place being ransacked after such a
manner." One of the garrulous sympathizers declared that "so far was the
landlady from having a lot of money, that she was hard set to live, and
that the very night the old man died, the poor woman had to pledge her
best feather bed, at Booth's the pawnbroker's, for a few shillings."
Brennan took his leave, and immediately went to the pawn-office. He had
the bed produced, and observed that the stitching on one seam was
fresher in appearance than on the others. He ripped the seam, and in the
middle of the feathers he found seven notes, each of a £100, and two of
£20. The affair eventuated in the money being divided amongst the
kindred of the deceased. The landlady denied all knowledge of the money,
and insisted that the old man must have concealed it himself. She was
not prosecuted, but Brennan's intelligence was rewarded with one of the
£20 notes.
The residence of the late Dr. Graves in Merrion Square was robbed
several years ago, by the thief's entrance at the windows of the front
drawing-room, which had been left unfastened. The balcony did not appear
accessible by ordinary means, but was easily attained from that of the
adjoining house. Brennan was sent to examine the premises, and he at
once perceived the traces left by a soiled foot in climbing by the
pillars of the hall-door next to Dr. Graves's; he then walked over to
the rails of the square, and found marks which satisfied him that some
person had recently crossed; amongst the bushes there were a few heaps
of twigs, the parings or prunings of the shrubs; and beneath one of them
he discovered an excavation or _cache_, in which was a quantity of the
stolen property. At night he lay down at a little distance from the
place, and was not long there before a person approached and proceeded
to take up the property. At the rails he was giving it to an associate,
when, on a signal from Brennan, some other constables came forward, and
the burglars were secured. They were subsequently convicted and
transported.
A FALSE ACCUSATION EXPOSED.
I have known several instances in which innocence has derived complete
protection, even from the inconvenience of any arrest or personal
interference, from the tact and intelligence of members of that force,
to which a most greedy appetite for convictions is freely attributed.
About ten years before I became a magistrate, a considerable portion of
the County of Cork was a scene of disturbances, which might be fairly
termed insurrectionary. Amongst other outrages which were then
perpetrated, was the murder of a clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Hewson, who was
shot on the high road, and in the open day, in the vicinity of Bandon.
No clue was obtained whereby the guilty parties could be discovered, and
the offence has never been punished. In the year 1842, a soldier in a
regiment stationed at Fredericton, New Brunswick, stated to his officer
that he had been concerned in the crime, and he named two persons as his
accomplices; the man was sent home and brought up before me for
examination. A detective informed me that he had been, at the period of
the murder, orderly to the constabulary officer at Bandon; that he had
been at the scene of offence very soon after its commission, and that he
wished to be present at the examination of the self-accused prisoner. To
this I acceded, and the soldier detailed that on the day and at the hour
when the clergyman was murdered, he and two men, whom he named, met the
unfortunate gentleman on his way home, that one of them seized his
horse, and the other shot him with a blunderbuss; that they immediately
fled, and he made a statement of where and how they spent the remainder
of the day. The detective, whose name, if I recollect rightly, was
Benson, by my permission asked him, "Which of you backed the horse, and
overturned the gig into the ditch at the road-side?" to which the reply
was, "I did." He then asked, "Which of you cut the traces?" The response
was, "L---- did." He proceeded, "Which of you struck the poor woman who
saw the murder, for screaming?" He was answered, "P---- did." The
interrogator then declared to me that the fellow was telling a tissue of
falsehoods, for the horse had not been backed into the grip, and the
vehicle was not a gig, but an outside jaunting-car; that the traces had
not been cut, neither was any woman near the place assaulted by the
murderers. Subsequent inquiries established the fact, that one of the
persons accused in the soldier's confession was, at the period of the
murder, apprentice to a cabinet-maker in Cork, a reference to whom and
to whose books showed that the party sought to be implicated had been in
his master's concerns during the day of the assassination, and for a
considerable time previous to and after the transaction; and it appeared
that the statement had been made for the mere purpose of its fabricator
being sent home from service in a regiment with which he was
discontented, and in which he had acquired a most disreputable
character.
EXTRAORDINARY GRATITUDE.
The discharge of magisterial duties with firmness and impartiality
occasionally evokes expressions of approbation from those by whom
proceedings may have been instituted or closely observed, and may even
elicit a complimentary notice from an editorial pen. A deep sense of
_gratitude_ for the exercise of magisterial functions is not so
frequently avowed or ascribed. I am therefore disposed to bring before
the reader the circumstances which, in a very public place, produced a
compliance with a request of mine, accompanied by the expression,
"Anything that I could do for you, Mr. Porter, if it was even to put my
hands under your feet, should be a duty and a pleasure, for I can never
be too grateful to such a worthy magistrate as you." This was said by a
station-master of the Great Southern and Western Railway named Duffy, in
1851, in reply to an application for a coupée carriage for a friend of
mine who was going to Cork with his wife and daughter. The guard of the
train was directed by Mr. Duffy to be most attentive to the party. My
friend subsequently remarked to the guard that the station-master
evinced a great anxiety to please me. "So he ought," was the reply; "the
poor fellow is married to a real incarnate devil, and Mr. Porter sends
her to gaol whenever she is brought before him." Habitual intemperance,
with concomitant violence, occasioned the frequent incarcerations for
which the delinquent's husband felt so grateful.
A SALUTARY REFORMATION.
About the time to which the last anecdote refers, I was applied to, on a
Monday afternoon, by a gentleman who asked and obtained a private
interview. He was in a high social position, and possessed an ample
fortune. He stated that his wife had lapsed into habits of intemperance
which rendered his life wretched, and estranged him from association
with his friends, to whom he could not bear to have her deplorable
tendencies exposed. When inebriated she was excessively violent, and did
not hesitate to assault the domestics, and that on the preceding evening
she had assaulted, in his presence, a female servant, with a poker. I
told him to have her summoned by the servant for the following Thursday,
and I had three o'clock mentioned as the hour for hearing the complaint.
The lady did not attend, and on proof of the service of the summons and
a sworn information of the assault, I issued a warrant for her
apprehension. She was brought before me after all the other business of
the next day had been finished, and I required her to give bail in two
sureties to keep the peace, and in default of such, to be imprisoned for
three months. At Grangegorman, she was not compelled to associate with
the other prisoners, and the matron's attention was invited to the case.
At the termination of the second month, her husband, who had received
frequent letters from her, felt confident that she had become reformed,
and I discharged her at his instance and on his surety. I afterwards met
them frequently in society. I have seen her at viceregal parties, and
never observed the slightest appearance of, or tendency to, her former
indulgence. I do not believe that she ever relapsed; but whilst I am
happy to notice a complete reformation, my satisfaction is alloyed by
the reflection that it was the only instance of such a change that I
ever knew to occur.
A CHARGE OF FELONY.
I was frequently invited to the hospitable and joyous table of my
cousin, the late Anthony Hawkins of Leopardstown, Stillorgan. On one
occasion he entertained about a score of guests, of whom I was
unquestionably the senior. Choice viands and generous wines sustained
and stimulated the utmost hilarity; and when some of the company
expressed apprehensions that further indulgence might bring them under
the cognizance of the police, the host remarked that they would have a
_friend in court_, for it could not be supposed that the jolly old
magistrate would lean heavily in the morning on those who had been his
boon companions on the preceding evening, and that each of them would
get off for _a song_, which he would suggest to be given in advance. Two
young fellows, reminded me that they lived on Merchants' Quay, and as
that was in my division, they entertained no fears. The company
separated in time to avail themselves of the latest train to Dublin, and
the two sparks travelled in the same carriage with me. Neither of them
was in the slightest degree "the worse for liquor;" and when we parted
at Harcourt Street Station we shook hands, and one said, "Good night,
your worship, I hope you'll not be hard on us to-morrow." Next morning I
was on duty at Exchange Court, and when the charge sheets from Chancery
Lane were laid before me, I was astonished beyond description to find my
companions who had bespoken my leniency brought forward on an accusation
of FELONY. A constable stated that he had seen one of the prisoners get
on the shoulders of the other, and pull down a large gilt salmon, which
formed the sign over the door of a fishing-tackle establishment on Essex
Quay. On taking down the salmon, they were crossing over to the quay
wall when he intercepted them, and with the aid of another policeman and
a civilian, he captured and brought them to the station-house. Another
witness proved that the prisoners stopped at the door over which the
sign was suspended, and that one of them said, "Let us give the poor
salmon a swim." This evidence induced me to believe that the transaction
was not a deliberate theft, but a wanton, mischievous freak. The
proprietor of the shop expressed the same opinion, and urged a summary
adjudication. They offered to pay for the sign, as it had been broken by
an accidental fall; and the court was convulsed with laughter when the
proprietor observed that the salmon had been taken "out of the lawful
season." The spree cost the two delinquents the moderate sum of six
pounds. The subsequent banterings which they had to endure amongst
their festive associates completely deterred them from any further
manifestation of fishing propensities.
POOR PUSS! WHO SHOT HER?
A friend to whose inspection I submitted the preceding pages suggested
that as they detailed many mistakes and peccadillos of others, a reader
might consider it an agreeable variety if I inserted a couple of errors
peculiarly mine own. In accordance with his opinion I have to mention
that shortly after I assumed magisterial duties at Kingstown, the
proprietor of an extensive hotel in the immediate vicinity of the
police-court received several letters threatening speedy and fatal
violence to him and his family, unless certain demands on the part of
his waiters, postillions, and carters, were complied with. He was justly
incensed and alarmed at such threats, and submitted the obnoxious
documents to the consideration of the authorities and to the detective
agencies of the police force. His garden wall was close to the yard of
the police-court, between which and the sea no building at that time
intervened. It happened that an official, connected with the fiscal
business of the county of Meath, had embezzled a considerable sum and
attempted to abscond, but was captured on shipboard at Kingstown, and
committed for further examination. The delinquent had provided himself
with a most ample outfit for emigration and residence abroad; and the
articles found in his possession were deposited in a room adjoining the
police-court and overlooking the hotel garden. Amongst them was a rifled
air-gun of great power, and after the business of the court had been
disposed of, I was, along with the chief clerk, Mr. Lees, indulging my
curiosity by pumping and discharging the weapon. There was a bag of
small bullets, of which we directed two or three at the wall of the
yard. An unfortunate cat chanced to make her appearance in the hotel
garden at a distance of fifty or sixty yards, and exclaiming that "I
would give puss a start," I sent a bullet in her direction, without the
slightest expectation that the shot would be fatal. The cat fell dead
on the garden walk; we closed the window, locked up the gun and bullets,
and departed. Next morning, I was about to commence the charge-sheets,
when the proprietor of the hotel applied most earnestly for a private
interview. He was greatly agitated, and declared that he felt convinced
of his life being in danger from those who threatened to assassinate
him. "Your worship," he added, "they are manifestly bent on mischief,
for our poor cat was found dead in the garden, and on examination she
was found to have been shot. The fellow who killed her, did so only to
show that I might expect the same treatment if an opportunity offered
for shooting me." The poor man little knew that the weapon which
inflicted the injury was in the apartment where he was expressing his
direful apprehensions, and that he was seeking the sympathies and
protection of him who had done the mischief. I took means, through a
particular channel, to disabuse his mind of the feeling that the cat's
fate was intended to precede a similar termination to his own existence.
BAXTER AND BARNES.
The carriage complaints were usually disposed of at the Head Police
Office in a court upon the ground floor. The light was derived from
windows opening on a yard, and they were so near to the magisterial
bench as to enable its occupant frequently to hear observations and
conversations of an extraordinary nature. It was my custom to remain
after the carriage cases were heard, and when the criminal charges or
summonses were, in the upper court, brought before some of my
colleagues. I was thus enabled, in comparative quietude, to prepare
reports on memorials referred by the executive or revenue authorities,
or perhaps, to enjoy an occasional leisure hour over a magazine or
newspaper. When the upper court was crowded, persons would betake
themselves to the yard and frequently engage in conversation close to
the windows, which in warm weather were generally open; but there was
no indication to those outside of the presence inside of a listener to
their communications. In the summer of 1854, I was sitting alone, and
reading the latest news from the Crimea, when two women took their stand
outside the open window, and one of them proceeded to impart her sorrows
to her sympathizing friend. At the time to which I refer, recruiting was
very rife in Dublin, and it was not uncommon for us to attest one
hundred persons in a week. The utmost vigilance was exercised to prevent
or detect desertion, and in the apprehension of deserters, a police
sergeant named Barnes had particularly exerted himself, and had
consequently received rewards to a considerable amount. This was the
reason why his name was introduced into the narrative which I happened
to overhear, and which I inscribed on a blank leaf of an interleaved
statute. There is not one original idea of mine in the production, and I
should not submit it to my readers if I did not consider it essential to
the appreciation of the criticism subsequently pronounced by Mr. Barnes.
Musha! Katey Doyle, do you know what?
Shure Jem has took the shilling,
And off he's gone to Aldershot,
It's there he'll get the drilling.
The polis now along the Coombe[6]
No more will be resisted,
And Fordham's Alley's all in gloom
Since Jem has took and listed.
So have you got a dhrop at all?
My sperrits is so sinking,
I do not think I'd stop at all
If wanst I take to drinking.
The night afore he wint to list
I cribb'd his half week's wages,
And when the two 'r three hogs[7] he miss'd
At wanst he wint outrageous.
Next mornin' to the Linen Hall
He goes and takes the bounty;
It would not be so bad at all
If he had join'd the County;
For they're not gone to foreign parts,
And won't encounter dangers,
But, just as if to break our hearts,
He join'd the Connaught Rangers.
The night afore he wint away
He came to bid "good-bye" there.
I thought to get him for to stay,
That thrick we couldn't try there,
For Barnes was watching, skulking round
When Jem and I were parting--
That polisman would make a pound
On any boy desarting.
I'm shure I'd like to take a quart
Of Jameson's distillin',
To drink bad luck to all his sort--
The tallow-faced ould villin.
So Jem is gone to Aldershot,
Where 'tis I've no idea;
Of coorse it is some desprate spot,
Nigh-hand to the Crimea.
There's some entrench'd upon a hill,
Some hutted in a valley;
I'm sure Jem would be better, still
At home in Fordham's Alley.
For the Cossacks now he'll have to stob,
Or shoot 'em holus bolus;
I'm shure 'twould be an easier job
At home to face the polis.
In a week or ten days after I had perpetrated this production, I was
sitting in the upper court, when I was informed by the usher that
Sergeant Barnes was most anxious to speak to me at my convenience and
leisure. I directed that he should be admitted, and he proceeded to
request that Mr. Baxter, one of the junior clerks, should be restrained
from singing a song which he had picked up somewhere, and occasionally
lilted to the other clerks when unemployed, as it was most
disrespectful, and even termed him, Sergeant Barnes, "a tallow-faced old
villain." I told the complainant that I should certainly prohibit
Baxter from continuing his vocal pastime, as it was calculated to annoy
an active and meritorious member of the police force. Barnes expressed
his gratitude, and added, "I knew that your worship would never tolerate
any of the clerks in abusing or ridiculing us. I readily acknowledge
that I have received nearly £30 for detecting and taking deserters, but
I would spend every farthing of the amount if I could only discover the
author of Mr. Baxter's song, I'd punish him to the utmost severity of
the law for writing such a rigmarole about me." In about ten minutes
after the interview, the song was torn out of the interleaved statute by
the hand that had inscribed it. The sergeant soon after retired from the
force on a pension, and was, for several years, in a confidential
situation at the premises from which the whisky was considered so
desirable to "drink bad luck to all his sort" namely, Jameson's
distillery.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] A long thoroughfare in the Liberties of Dublin, supposed to have
been originally called "The Come."
[7] A term used for English shillings, which previous to the change of
currency, in 1825, passed in Ireland for thirteen pence each.
CHAPTER XIX.
A RUN TO CONNAUGHT--A PRESENT--A PUZZLE--MOLL RAFFLE--A LUCKY
ACCUSATION--CROWN WITNESSES--WHO BLEW UP KING WILLIAM?--SURGICAL
ASSISTANCE--A REJECTED SUITOR--GEORGE ROBINS--THE GREEK COUNT: THE
RATS--THE CHILD OF THE ALLEY--THE LUCKY SHOT.
In the year 1842, I indulged in an excursion to the County of Mayo, and
enjoyed a sojourn of a fortnight at the house of a most hospitable
friend near Crossmolina. On leaving Dublin, I travelled by rail to
Mullingar, and from thence proceeded by the mail-coach to my
destination. I may mention here that a few months previous, a
transaction had occurred in the vicinity of Strokestown which was of a
most unusual, perhaps I might say an exceptional, character in
Connaught--namely, the murder of a landlord. I was the sole occupant of
the inside of the vehicle, and as the journey was nocturnal, I had
several hours of sound and refreshing sleep. The stoppage of the coach
in Strokestown to change horses awakened me, and I lowered the window in
order to alight. The door was at once opened for me by a young fellow,
who said, "Strokestown, sir." "Oh!" I replied, "this is where you shot
Major M----." "Troth it is," said he, "we are all rale docthors here,
and when we can't cure, of coorse we kill." Such a jest, although prompt
and witty, was not calculated to produce a favorable impression on the
mind of a stranger; but during my visit to the West, I did not hear an
angry word spoken, nor did I observe any tendency on the part of the
humbler classes to treat those in higher positions with hostility or
disrespect. I was perfectly pleased with the country and the people, and
my friend's hospitality afforded me social gratifications in which there
was one novelty which I peculiarly relished. It was a liquor derived
from no foreign vineyard, but was so peculiarly Irish as to induce one
whom I am certainly not singular in believing to be the greatest lyric
poet that ever existed, to make it the subject of song adapted to the
joyous and spirit-stirring air of "Paddy O'Rafferty." I shall quote the
lines of the immortal Moore as fully justifying the predilection which I
have acknowledged for the potation he describes:-
"Drink of this cup--you'll find there's spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in,
Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it;
But would you rise above earth, till akin
To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it.
Send round the cup--for oh! there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
"Never was philter form'd with such power
To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing;
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,
A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing.
There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd
With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd
To enliven such hearts as are here brought together.
Then drink of the cup--you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
"And though, perhaps--but breathe it to no one--
Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful,
In secret this philter was first taught to flow on,
Yet 'tisn't less potent for being unlawful.
And ev'n though it taste of the smoke of that flame,
Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden,
Fill up, there's a fire in some hearts I could name,
Which may work too its charm though as lawless and hidden.
So drink of the cup--for oh! there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality."
A PRESENT.
Amongst my convivial friends in Mayo, I expressed my regret that the
liquor which I enjoyed so much in their festive society was almost
unknown and unattainable in Dublin. In two or three weeks after my
return home, I received an anonymous note, stating that a box would be
delivered at the Head Police Office, directed to me, and advising that I
should not have it opened by any other hands but my own. The box
arrived, and was treated according to the suggestion. It contained two
jars, each holding two gallons of "the reality." A flat bottle was
frequently filled, and conveyed, in my breast-pocket, "to enliven such
hearts as I wished to bring together;" but at last I found that the jars
were nearly empty. About half a pint remained, and it was never drank. I
was aware that the next day was fixed for the hearing of a number of
complaints preferred for the evasion or violation of excise laws. I
directed the office-attendant to wash and thoroughly cleanse the
inkstands, which were on the public table, for the use of parties
prosecuting or defending, and to bring the glasses to me. I procured
some ink powder, on which I put the remaining portion of the Mayo
"philter," and supplied the stands with excellent ink, well suited for
transcribing a _strong_ charge or a _spirited_ defence. It was not
inodorous, and I was greatly amused by hearing the excise officers
frequently observing to their superior and to their solicitor, that
"they smelt illicit spirits." Mr. Morewood and Mr. Stormont also
recognised the peculiar smell, and formed various conjectures; but none
of the persons engaged ever imagined that the ink in their pens was made
upon potteen. Immediately after the termination of the excise cases, one
of my colleagues had the inkstands emptied and replenished with the
ordinary ink. He said that "it was a fair joke on the gaugers, but when
they were gone he could not submit to be tantalised by _the smell_
without any chance of enjoying _the taste_."
MOLL RAFFLE.
I was sitting one day at the police-court in Dublin, along with another
magistrate, when a gentleman entered and preferred a very urgent request
that one of us would accompany him to Kingstown, to witness and certify
the execution of a power of attorney by his mother, in reference to
certain funds in the Bank of England. The applicant was reputed to be
the natural son of a very distinguished nobleman who had discharged
viceregal duties in Ireland, and also in very important and extensive
oriental territories. I never heard what the original name of the lady
had been, but she was known by the rather inelegant _soubriquet_ of Moll
Raffle. She had followed her aristocratic paramour to Ireland, and he
had relieved himself from her claims or importunities by providing her
with a husband, and her son with an official appointment of respectable
rank and emolument. I had never seen her, and I was influenced by
personal curiosity to accede to her son's request. We proceeded to
Kingstown, and on arriving at a commodious and genteel residence, he
desired the servant to inform Mrs. ---- that he had brought the
magistrate for the business required. In a few minutes she appeared, and
although no longer youthful, or even middle-aged, a second look was not
necessary to convince me that she must have been exquisitely beautiful
in her features, and of a tall and symmetrical figure. Her right arm was
bandaged and in a sling, and she exclaimed to her son that she was
deeply mortified at having given me the trouble of coming so far on an
ineffectual mission, for that she had unfortunately sustained a severe
fall, having trodden on a loose stair-rod just after he had started for
Dublin, and her wrist and hand were so much bruised as to render her
incapable of making her signature. I told her that if she took the pen
in her left hand, I would, at her instance and request, guide it so as
to write her name, and that I would explain the matter in a special
magisterial attestation on the document. To this suggestion she readily
acceded, and the power of attorney was promptly perfected. She insisted
that I should take luncheon, after which I left. Not having to return to
official duties, I sauntered through Kingstown until about four o'clock,
when I went to the jetty, which was crowded, as a military band was
playing there. I was not long on the jetty before I saw Mrs. ---- with
half-a-dozen companions, but the sling was gone, and her right hand
seemed perfectly capable of managing her parasol. I subsequently
ascertained that "Moll Raffle" had never been taught to write, and that
she thought it more agreeable to pretend that her hand had been hurt
than to acknowledge her educational deficiency.
A LUCKY ACCUSATION.
In the year 1846, the Ribbon association, or fraternity, prevailed very
extensively in the city of Dublin, and in the counties of Dublin,
Wicklow, Kildare, and Meath. I believe that religious opinions or
political tendencies had very little influence on their deliberations or
proceedings. All the information that I acquired in reference to them
led me to the conclusion that their temporal interests actuated them
throughout. Threats, menaces, and even murderous violence were used
without hesitation to deter competition with a ribbon-man in affairs of
tenancy, traffic, or employment. I notice these tendencies merely as
being connected with a most extraordinary incident at the time. A man
named Lacy held a small farm somewhere between Brittas and Blessington,
and at an early hour on a Saturday morning, he left home, bringing, with
a horse and cart, various commodities for sale in Dublin. Having
disposed of his goods, he was about to start for home in the evening. He
stopped at a shop in Bride Street to purchase some groceries, and
tendered in payment a crown-piece. It was a coin of George the Third's
reign, was rather worn, and had acquired a dark and very questionable
appearance. The proprietor of the shop pronounced the crown to be base,
and used some expressions which irritated Lacy, who replied to them in
vituperative terms. The grocer observed a constable passing, and having
called upon him, charged Lacy with tendering a base coin. The man was
taken to the station-house in Chancery Lane, his horse and cart were
sent to a livery stable, and he remained in custody until Monday
morning, when the charge was laid before me. Mr. Stuart, of Dame Street,
a silversmith, was examined, and in my presence tested the crown. He
pronounced it to be perfectly genuine. I accordingly directed the
accused party to be discharged from custody, and I was not surprised at
his expressions of indignation for having been detained and locked up
amongst thieves and disorderly characters, and his horse and cart sent
to livery, whilst his family could not but feel alarmed for his safety
when he failed to return at the expected time. I directed his horse and
cart to be given to him, and that the livery should be defrayed from the
police funds. Scarcely had I disposed of the case when Lacy's wife
arrived in an indescribable state of joyful excitement. She clasped him
in her arms, exclaiming, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She
manifested no resentment towards the grocer, but wished him good luck
and prosperity. The cause of her delight may be briefly explained, but
it is not the less extraordinary. Her husband had incurred the
resentment of the ribbon-men of his vicinity, by offering for land
against one of the fraternity. On the Saturday night an armed party
entered his house for the purpose of killing him, but their diabolical
design was thwarted by the circumstance of their intended victim being
in custody of the Dublin Police, upon an unfounded, but certainly not an
unfortunate accusation. His family had communicated with the
constabulary, lest the intended assassination might be perpetrated on
his journey home, and early on Monday morning his wife started in search
of him with the result which has been stated.
CROWN WITNESSES.
For several years subsequent to my appointment to magisterial office,
there were two houses in Great Ship Street, on the side now entirely
occupied by the barrack, which were appropriated to the accommodation of
crown witnesses. There was an internal communication between those
houses, and the witnesses, of both sexes, were allowed to associate free
from all supervision, except what served to keep them from leaving the
premises, unless accompanied by an attendant, and examining letters
received or despatched by them. Their meals were generally taken
together; and for the amusement or employment of their evenings, they
were left entirely to themselves. Amongst those witnesses almost every
variety of character was to be found. A young man, whose name has lapsed
from my recollection, was charged by a female with attempting to commit
an offence which I need not particularise, and I was directed to
investigate the affair at the premises, without imparting to it any
avoidable publicity. The accused party denied the misconduct imputed to
him, and attributed the charge to spite and resentment on the part of
the complainant and another inmate of the place. A woman stated that
"the girl was vexed by the questions put to her, and the faults found
with her evidence every time that her case was tried." I was greatly
surprised to find that the crown witnesses were accustomed to have their
evidence rehearsed before an amateur judge, an improvised jury, and a
couple of supposed counsel, one to prosecute and the other to defend. If
a case failed, the witnesses were instructed as to their deficiencies,
either in manner or matter; and they were drilled to avoid admissions of
any nature calculated to weaken their testimony. I made such
representations to the Executive as produced the suppression of the Ship
Street establishments.
WHO BLEW UP KING WILLIAM?
Very soon after my appointment to the police magistracy, there was a
person named Jones convicted of being deeply implicated in the Ribbon
system. He was not committed for trial from the Head Office, and I was
not officially connected with any of the proceedings in his case. After
he had been sent to another hemisphere under sentence of transportation,
I heard casually from a professional man, on whose statements I placed
the utmost reliance, that Jones had acknowledged to him being the person
by whom the statue of King William in College Green was blown up in
1836. There was no prosecution instituted as to that extraordinary
affair, and I notice it only on account of the statements subsequently
made, and an incident which may be considered of an amusing character.
Two women of a disreputable class were standing at the corner of Church
Lane in College Green just after midnight. A man whom they had not
previously observed, descended quickly from the statue, and having
crossed the rails which then intervened between the pedestal and the
thoroughfare, he ignited a fuse which had been previously connected with
some explosive substance placed between the figures of the steed and the
rider. The man rapidly decamped, the fuse burned quickly, and there was
an explosion which was heard in almost every part of the city, and by
which the figure of the monarch was completely separated from his horse,
and thrown into the public carriage-way, several yards from the
pedestal. It was reported that a respectable citizen residing in the
immediate vicinity, who had been suffering for some time previous from
disease of the heart, rose from his bed in hasty alarm, and almost
immediately dropped lifeless. Jones, according to the statement of my
informant, subsequently tried to cut the head off the prostrate figure,
but was deterred by the approach of a party of police from College
Street. I believe that those who examined the figures of man and horse
expressed a decided opinion that the explosion had not been effected by
gunpowder, and the statements of the acknowledged delinquent denied that
gunpowder had been used, but without his specifying what material had
effected such an extraordinary result.
SURGICAL ASSISTANCE.
In the year 1836, Lord Mulgrave, afterwards Marquis of Normanby, was
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He had an aide-de-camp, a Captain B----, who
has since supplemented that name by another commencing with O. That
gentleman then was, and has since continued to be, a most desirable
addition to any social or convivial re-union in which wit and comic
humor were appreciated. On the night of the explosion, Captain B---- was
returning from some festive scene, and reached College Green, on his way
to the Castle, a few minutes after the occurrence. He instantly ordered
his driver to make for Merrion Square as quickly as possible, and to
stop at the residence of Crampton, who was the first surgical
practitioner of the time, and who was very generally considered to have
a most persistent anxiety to establish acquaintance and even intimacies
amongst the aristocracy. Captain B---- applied himself to the knocker
and door-bell until he had completely roused every inmate of the house,
and to the first who enquired the reason for his urgent application, he
replied, "To let Surgeon Crampton know that a very distinguished
personage had fallen from his horse in College Green, and sustained
serious injuries." The hoax was successful. Crampton proceeded with the
utmost haste to the place designated, and subsequently he caused
considerable surprise by becoming the frequent narrator of the trick to
which he had been subjected.
A REJECTED SUITOR.
In offering to my readers an incident or anecdote, I have the advantage
of being free from any necessity for a consecutive arrangement. My
recollections may suggest occurrences anterior to some already narrated
without precluding me from a description of them. About the time,
however, to which I have last adverted, I was residing in Lower
Fitzwilliam Street, and a young lady, a near relative of my wife, was a
frequent visitor. She was decidedly handsome, and possessed other
attractions of no inconsiderable value. Her admirers were numerous, and
amongst them there was no more ardent suitor than a Mr. Richard S----.
He was an accomplished gentleman, of handsome countenance and fine
portly figure. He sang very well, and almost always adapted his voice to
the music of his own guitar. His family was of high respectability in a
southern county, but some banking speculations had seriously diminished
their financial resources. His addresses were most ardently directed,
but the fair lady was not to be won. She was informed that her admirer
supported himself by some employments or agencies in the corn trade. He
was refused, and almost immediately disappeared from Irish society. When
I resigned the police magistracy in 1861, I was invited by my friend,
the late Marcus Costello, to visit him at Gibraltar, at which place he
held the office of Attorney-General. In a few weeks after my arrival
there, he told me that some Spanish officers of high distinction were to
cross from Algesiras, to visit the fortress and see the extraordinary
productions of nature and art which are there so abundantly displayed. I
accompanied him and several other functionaries to the Governor's
residence, at which, amidst the firing of salutes and other
manifestations of respect, the Spanish officers were received. The
principal personage amongst them was highly decorated. He had
distinguished himself in the then recent warfare with the Moors, and was
a general in the army, besides holding an important provincial office
which, as well as I recollect, caused him to be designated "Intendente."
To my great astonishment, Don Ricardo de S. advanced to me, preferred
his hand, enquired about many of his old acquaintances, and enabled me
to recognise the quondam guitar performer, whose personal qualities and
capabilities had been better appreciated abroad than in his native land.
I may, in some later pages, have occasion to refer to other
recollections of Gibraltar.
GEORGE ROBINS.
About the time of my accession to magisterial office, a sale was
advertised of two properties on the river Blackwater. The descriptions
specified two fine mansions, with the adjuncts of extensive stabling,
gardens, ornamental plantations, and such a number of acres suited for
pasture or tillage as would fairly entitle each place to be considered a
demesne worthy of the attention of all who desired a residence fit for
high rank and liberal expenditure. The advertisements stated the
properties to be beautifully picturesque, and as affording ample means
to the sportsman for the gratification of all his tastes or
inclinations. But public attention was peculiarly excited by the
announcement that the sale by auction would be conducted at Morrison's
in Dawson Street, by the far-famed London auctioneer, GEORGE ROBINS. Not
being the least curious of the community, I betook myself to the place
appointed, and found the room crowded at the hour of one o'clock, P.M.
George allowed fifteen or twenty minutes to elapse before he appeared
and offered an apology for his delay, as having been occasioned by the
breaking down of a vehicle. He then proceeded to address his auditors in
a tone of, perhaps assumed, despondency and discontent, to the
following effect:--"Ladies and gentlemen, I feel deeply mortified at
having to submit for public competition these properties, of which I
have not the slightest personal knowledge. I regret having accepted the
engagement, which I am decidedly unable to discharge to my own
satisfaction. It was my intention to have viewed the houses and lands,
so as to know what I could truly state; but I was unfortunately detained
in London, until it became impossible for me to run down to Mallow or
Youghal before the auction. I think it very probable that I shall take
an early opportunity to see the places which I am now about to sell. My
curiosity has been excited greatly by two gentlemen who travelled in the
coach with me on my journey through Wales. They knew me; and in the
course of our conversation, I mentioned that I was proceeding to Dublin
to sell these two properties on the Blackwater. They stated that they
knew the places perfectly well, and that I might expect a brisk
competition. As we passed through the lovely scenery of Llangollen,
Clwyd, and some other enchanting places, I expressed the most
unqualified admiration of landscapes uniting all the beauties which hill
and valley, wood and water, towering rooks and verdant glens can present
to the view of a delighted traveller. My companions did not join in my
fervent appreciation of the Welsh scenery. They said that it was
certainly agreeable to the eye, but when compared with that of some
other localities, it did not surpass mediocrity. When I reiterated my
opinion that I had never previously viewed such beautiful landscapes,
they replied that _if I only took a glance at the places on the
Blackwater, which I was going over to sell, they would monopolise my
admiration, and convince me of the utter inferiority of the most
picturesque portion of Wales_. I have consequently a very great desire
to see the two splendid demesnes which I must now offer for your
competition." I do not insist on my readers giving implicit credence to
the tale about the travelling companions. Whoever disbelieves it will
not be singular.
THE GREEK COUNT--THE RATS.
I had the pleasure of being intimately acquainted with the late Thomas
Symes of Leinster Street. He was a solicitor of the highest
respectability, and was an universal favorite in a very extensive
circle. He had travelled much, especially in the southern parts of
Europe; and few foreigners from those localities, if of rank or
consideration, came to Dublin without experiencing his attentions.
Amongst those whom I met at his house, there was only one in whom I
observed a tendency to make statements which were worthy of observation
and productive of amusement from the total absence of any truthful
ingredient. He was a Greek, and was also a Count, and not a Baron, so
that he could not be mistaken for a personage of the latter dignity,
whose name commenced with the same letter. Count M---- was not the
veritable Baron Munchausen, but he was decidedly his rival in demands on
the credulity of those who heard his asservations. He never spoke to the
disparagement of any human being except Otho, who was then King of
Greece, and whom he occasionally expressed a wish to burn. He spoke
English and some other languages with wonderful fluency, and no matter
what subjects appeared most agreeable to any company, the Count never
failed to introduce and expatiate on the surprising intelligence of
RATS, and he invariably closed each anecdote with a declaration that
"upon his sacred word of honor it was strictly true."
"I was obliged," said he, "to leave Athens by the tyrannical persecution
of Otho, and I betook myself to Zante, in which island I possessed
extensive currant grounds and olive plantations. In our oil cellar we
had a large tun and a great number of jars and flasks, which were
generally well filled. We found, however, that the jars and bottles
prepared for corking and sealing in the evening were lessened by some
inches as to their contents in the morning. Having closely and quietly
watched, we found that the rats took it in turn to let down their tails
into the vessels, so as to enable the others to lick off the oil thus
abstracted. The store tun appeared to be full to the bung-hole; but when
the contents were drawn off for refining, we discovered that the rats
had kept the oil up to the orifice by dropping pebbles into the vessel.
I pledge you my sacred word, &c.
"I was one day strolling through the currant grounds, and provided with
an excellent fowling-piece, in the hope of meeting with quail. I was
near to a small stream, when I observed two rats approaching the water.
They were so close together that their sides appeared to be touching,
and I killed both in one shot. On going to the spot where they were
lying, I immediately perceived that one rat was blind, and between them
there was a little straw blade, of which each had held an end in his
mouth. It was thus that the blindness of one was productive of sagacious
care and attention in the other. I pledge you," &c.
I have lately observed that the Count is mentioned in The Life and
Recollections of the Hon. Granville Berkeley, but without any allusion
to the extraordinary tendencies and dexterous expedients which, amongst
us, he attributed to such hateful vermin.
THE CHILD OF THE ALLEY.
Amongst my personal recollections, there is one which I hope to narrate
without ruffling or alarming the most sensitively delicate of my
readers, although amongst the prominent characters of the scene about a
dozen belonged to the most wretched and degraded portion of the female
sex, and dwelt in a mean, loathsome, and disreputable locality named
Cole Alley, which was, and perhaps still continues to be, occupied by
denizens of a similar description. I shall apply to them the term
adopted by Hood in his exquisite production of "The Bridge of Sighs,"
and designate them "unfortunates." I had been a magistrate for three or
four years, when I was one day informed by the attendant of the
police-court that a deputation of females from Cole Alley earnestly
besought me to give them an audience. My colleagues were amused at the
application, and ironically congratulated me on such an exclusive
preference; but I determined to accede to the request, and directed them
to be admitted. About twelve of them entered the court, and amidst the
"unfortunates" I perceived a female child of ten or eleven years of age.
The spokeswoman of the party led this child forward, and addressed me to
the following effect:--
"Yer worship, this poor little girl was born in the alley. She was not
quite a year old when the collar (cholera) made a great sweep up there,
and took off her mother, who was one of us. The child had no one to care
her, so we agreed to do the best we could for her, and we gave her a bit
of food, a rag or two to cover her, and she lived about among us, so
that we used to call her our own child. But now, yer worship, we see
that she is coming to a time of life when to stay in the alley would be
her destruction. We are doatingly fond of her, and it would be a
heartscald to us all to think of her ever falling into our course of
life. We would beg of you to have her put into some school or
institution where she will be reared in decency, and trained to earn
honest bread."
I at once stated to "the deputation" that I should do my utmost to
realize their wishes, and that they might leave the child to my care.
They embraced her most affectionately, and with the warmest thanks for
my compliance, they departed. The Poor Law Unions had not been organized
at the time, and I sent the child on a remand committal to the worthy
matron of Grangegorman Prison, Mrs. Rawlins, with a note explaining the
circumstances, and requesting that the little girl should be kept apart
from the juvenile delinquents. My wishes were strictly complied with. On
the following day, I dined at Portrane with the worthy George Evans. I
mentioned the transaction to him, and he communicated it to his sister,
Mrs. Putland. That lady was an impersonation of charity, and at once
offered to have the "child of the alley" placed in one of the many
institutions which she contributed to support. I regret that I am
unable to state any further results, having omitted to make ulterior
enquiries, but I have always considered the earnest application, perhaps
I might fairly term it the _supplication_, of the Cole Alley
"unfortunates" as the strongest acknowledgment, offered sincerely and
spontaneously, by VICE of the superiority of VIRTUE.
THE LUCKY SHOT.
A female of the class to which I have adverted was an inmate of one of
the many disreputable houses which constituted almost the entire of a
street on the south side of Dublin. It was called "French Street" but
the obnoxious establishments having been suppressed, it is now
designated "Upper Mercer Street." An English commercial traveller betook
himself to the house in which the "unfortunate" resided. He was in a
fearful state of _delirium tremens_; and having been refused a further
supply of liquor, he took out a pistol, and shot the "unfortunate,"
lodging two bullets in her body. He was seized, and the woman was
conveyed to Mercer's Hospital, which was in the immediate vicinity. Her
wounds did not prove mortal, the balls were extracted; but whilst her
recovery was uncertain, I went several times to the hospital for the
purpose of taking her informations. She never expressed any resentment
against her assailant, and she refused to prosecute him. Some of his
family and friends contributed about £20, which sum was paid to her a
few days before she was discharged, and she appropriated it to defray
the expenses of her emigration. I was informed by the attendants that
she often spoke of _the lucky shot_, by which she was enabled to quit a
course of sin and degradation, and to essay a new life in a new land.
This occurred, I think, in the year 1843.
CHAPTER XX.
O'CONNELL--SMITH O'BRIEN AND MEAGHER--JOHN MITCHELL--INFORMERS--THE
CLOSE OF 1848--THE MILITARY--A FRENCH VIEW OF POPULAR COMMOTIONS.
In 1844 there was the most intense excitement amongst all classes,
sects, and parties of the Irish community, arising from the prosecutions
instituted by the Attorney-General, Thomas Berry Cusack Smith against
O'Connell and several others for various alleged violations of the laws
in their meetings, publications and other proceedings adopted by them to
promote a repeal of the Union. The preliminary informations were sworn
before a judge, and none of the police magistrates were called upon to
interfere, in any way whatever, from the commencement to the conclusion
of the affair. On the 30th of May, the accused were sentenced to certain
terms of imprisonments and fines, and they were liberated on the
reversal of the judgment by the House of Lords, on the 6th September. A
few days before the sentence was pronounced, I dined in company with Mr.
John O'Connell, when he stated that they expected to be sent to Newgate
or Kilmainham, I advised him to have a special application made to the
court to order the imprisonment in the Richmond Bridewell, which was
cleanly and spacious, and where they might have access to two extensive
gardens. My suggestion was adopted, and the prisoners were sent by a
circuitous route, avoiding the great thoroughfares of the city, to the
bridewell. In the evening I was going home to my residence in Rathmines,
when I overheard a woman loudly expressing to a number of sympathetic
listeners, her hearty detestation and curse upon all "who had any hand
in sending the Liberator to the same place as that to which Porter sends
_his blackguards_."
Thomas Berry Cusack Smith, the Attorney-General, had been nicknamed,
"Alphabet Smith," from the multiplicity of his names, and when the
judgment of the Queen's Bench was reversed, a ballad appeared to the
tune of "The Shan van vocht." A police inspector asked my opinion as to
the prevention of it being chanted by the street vocalists, and I
advised him against making it more known and more relished by the
multitude, as it would be by his interference. It is as follows:--
"Musha, Dan, who let you out?
Says the T. B. C.
For you're here beyant a doubt,
Says the T. B. C.
Sure I thought I locked you in,
You contrariest of min,
And what brings you here agin?
Says the T. B. C.
Through the chimney did you climb?
Says the T. B. C.
For you're up to any crime,
Says the T. B. C.
There were locks both great and small,
Did you dare to pick them all?
Did you scale the prison wall?
Says the T. B. C.
No, I didn't scale the wall,
Says the Dan van vocht,
Through the flues I didn't crawl,
Says the Dan van vocht,
Not a weapon did I take,
And no lock I tried to break,
Such attempts I'd scorn to make,
Says the Dan van vocht.
But might is foiled by right,
Says the Dan van vocht,
As the darkness by the light,
Says the Dan van vocht,
My cause was on a rock,
'Twas the law that picked the lock,
And I'm free, my bantam cock,
Says the Dan van vocht.
Oh! confusion to you Dan,
Says the T. B. C.
You're a divil of a man,
Says the T. B. C.
And we're in a precious plight
By your means this very night,
For you've bothered us outright,
Says the T. B. C."
During the progress of the prosecution against the repealers, Tom
Steele, who was one of those indicted, interrupted the proceedings
several times, audibly contradicting some expressions of the
Attorney-General, and annoying him by exclamations and gestures. Tom
prided himself on being considered the _fidus Achates_ of O'Connell, and
was never so happy as when closely associated with his political leader.
It was said, and I believe it was perfectly true, that Smith succeeded
in quieting Tom, by intimating that if he continued to exclaim and
gesticulate, his name should be struck out of the indictment, and his
chance of participating in the expected martyrdom thereby annihilated.
Whilst O'Connell and the other state prisoners were in the Richmond
Bridewell, they received a continual supply of the choicest provisions
and wine sent as presents by their political adherents. It would be very
difficult to particularise any article suited to a luxurious repast,
which was not tendered for their enjoyment. I was twice at the prison,
on magisterial business, during their detention, and on each occasion I
saw materials fit for princely banquets brought for their use. I was
rather surprised at one contribution which very soon disappeared. It was
half a ton of _ice_, and it did not preserve its consistency, beyond a
few hours. I heard from some of the prison officials that O'Connell's
meals were generally simple in their material, but that his appetite was
healthy and strong. When released from confinement he did not appear to
have been weakened by its infliction.
It would not be in accordance with the objects of my reminiscences to
advocate or condemn the political opinions or proceedings of any portion
of the community, unless they involved direct incitements to, or the
actual adoption of, open violence. In noticing O'Connell as a remarkable
public character, I may express my conviction that he had a decided
repugnance, even in the hottest times of political excitement, to the
application of actual force. It may be said that he could "speak
daggers," but he was disposed to "use none."
Whenever I had an opportunity to hear him, whether on legal or
political occasions, I availed myself of it, in the anticipation of
being highly amused, and I was scarcely ever disappointed. I am tempted
to detail two or three of my recollections, which have not been noticed
by any of his biographers. I am aware that my expressions must be far
inferior to his diction, but my readers will not, I hope, be too severe
in criticising my inefficiency.
I was present at the trial of a very beautiful young lady who, with her
mother and two other persons, was indicted for conspiring to take away a
minor from his parents, and have him married to the young lady in
Scotland. The prosecution was conducted with considerable acrimony, and
the Gretna-Green bride was described as a person of very tarnished
reputation, whose favorite paramour had been a _blacksmith_. No proofs
were adduced of the imputed immorality, and O'Connell, in a speech for
the defence, denounced it as a fabrication "which had not even the merit
of originality, but was borrowed from the mythological assignment of
_Vulcan to Venus_."
At the commencement of the first viceroyalty of the Marquis Wellesley, a
newspaper was started in Parliament Street by a Mr. Hayden. It was
called _The Morning Star_, and its editorial articles were almost
exclusively devoted to the most disparaging and insulting productions in
reference to the Lord Lieutenant or O'Connell. The latter was never
forgotten; and every term of obloquy was put in requisition for his
diurnal vilification. Firebrand, Rebel, Arch-mendicant, Liar, Impostor,
Schemer, were liberally appropriated to him, and even the shape of his
hat, and the mode of carrying his umbrella, became subjects of offensive
observation. The attention of the Attorney-General was attracted to an
article in _The Morning Star_, headed "The profligate Lord Wharton," the
writer of which stated that the history of the Wharton viceroyalty had
never been fully published, because a true description of such a
character would be considered as an incredible exaggeration, but that it
might now be produced without any apprehension of such an opinion
prevailing, inasmuch as its worst details would be found fully equalled
in Dublin Castle under the auspices of its present occupant. A criminal
information was filed against Mr. Hayden for a libel on the Lord
Lieutenant; and he became extremely apprehensive of a severe punishment,
resulting from his very offensive comparison of Lord Wellesley with Lord
Wharton. He immediately engaged William Ford as his attorney, and the
next step was to retain O'Connell as his principal counsel. The latter
agreed to act, but required that he should be left completely free to
adopt whatever line of defence he preferred, and to manage the case at
his own discretion. The trial was held in the King's Bench before Bushe,
the Chief Justice, and the opening statement for the prosecution was
delivered by the Attorney-General, Plunket. Sir Charles Vernon, who held
the appointment of register of newspapers, was the first witness; and he
produced the official copy of the paper containing the alleged libel,
and it was read by him for the court and jury. O'Connell was then at the
outer bar, and occupied a seat on its front row. He submitted to the
judge, that when a document was given in evidence, either party could
insist on the entire of it being read. To this proposition the Chief
Justice acceded, expressing a hope, however, that his time would not be
wasted in listening to irrelevant matter. O'Connell then required Sir
Charles to read sundry portions of the paper in which "a person named
O'Connell" was made the subject of the most defamatory animadversions.
The entire auditory were convulsed with laughter, as he gravely
proceeded to elicit ardent wishes for the speedy hanging or
transportation of the arch-agitator, the apostle of mischief, the
disseminator of disaffection, the mendicant patriot, the disgrace to his
profession, and the curse of his country. When the case for the
prosecution closed, he proceeded to address the jury, and his speech was
replete with the highest encomiums on the Marquis Wellesley, to whose
Indian government and diplomatic services he referred as exhibiting all
the qualities of perfect statesmanship. He then expressed his surprise
at the Attorney-General condescending to notice the publication of a
mere newspaper squib, which could not possibly affect the illustrious
viceroy. In the paper produced there were several unwarrantable attacks
upon some person named O'Connell, who had instituted no proceedings
against their publisher, although, perhaps, he was very likely to be
affected injuriously by them, especially if his livelihood depended upon
his character and reputation. Bitterly as he had been assailed, he had
remained quiescent, and so regardless of the invectives directed against
him, that it was very probable he had no desire whatever to mulct or
incarcerate his assailant, but would rather aid in terminating his
anxieties, and sending him _home to his wife and five children_.
At the conclusion of his speech O'Connell left the court. I had been
sitting very near him, and went out at the same time. Ford was in the
vestibule, and when they met, O'Connell said, "Ford, I hope that I did
not make a wrong cast in my closing sentence; _is the fellow married_?"
Hayden was not convicted, the jury disagreed, and the prosecution was
not renewed. The publication of "The Morning Star" was almost
immediately discontinued.
In 1834, the question of Repeal of the Union was introduced by O'Connell
to the House of Commons, and negatived by an overwhelming majority. The
principal opponent of the motion was Thomas Spring Rice (afterwards Lord
Monteagle) who was then one of the members for Limerick city, and a very
general opinion was immediately entertained that he would never be
elected there on any future occasion. In the autumn of 1834, I was
appointed a revising barrister in reference to tithes, and in that
capacity I visited Limerick. I had finished my business, and was
preparing for my departure, when about two o'clock in the afternoon,
O'Connell arrived at the hotel (which was, I think, Cruise's), and the
street was immediately thronged to excess by an enthusiastic multitude.
He was on his way to Dublin; but whether he wished to address the
people or not, it was manifest that a speech from the balcony was
unavoidable. I got as near to him as the crowded state of the apartment
permitted, and was enabled to hear his oration fully; but of course I
cannot do more than give its general import, and endeavour to describe
its effect. He commenced by stating that a report had been circulated
that he intended to interfere with the people of Limerick, and to
direct, and even _to dictate_, the choice of their Parliamentary
representatives. This rumour he denounced as a scandalous, infamous
_lie_. He had no wish to curb or trammel them in the exercise of their
rights, and he was not such a fool as to attempt dictation to a
community too independent and intelligent to yield to any influence
except dispassionate arguments suggested by patriotism and conducive to
the welfare of their beloved country. Frequent and rapturous cheers from
listening thousands evinced their appreciation of his address,
especially when he referred to the valorous defence of their city by
their forefathers. At length he said that his topics were exhausted, and
that he had nothing to add unless they wished him to tell them a _little
story_. Shouts were immediately raised for "the story, the story," and
he proceeded to narrate that about the beginning of the present century
an opinion was very prevalent that the French intended to invade
Ireland, and it was considered probable that their fleet would enter the
Shannon, and land the troops on the left side of that splendid river, in
the vicinity of Limerick. The French had exacted such heavy
contributions from the continental states which they had occupied, that
very great apprehensions were entertained that their invasion of Ireland
would be attended with similar results, and that the industrial
resources of the country and the savings of the people would be speedily
spoliated. There then lived near Foynes a farmer named Maurice Sullivan,
a man of excellent character, religious, sober, thrifty, industrious,
and intelligent. He had a loved and loving wife, comely and amiable, who
made his home happy by the observance of every domestic duty. On a
Sunday morning, they were returning from Mass, and were chatting as to
the probability of the French coming over. He said that they would ruin
thousands who were then comfortable and contented, and that they would
help themselves to everything they fancied. "I have now," he added, "to
tell you, my dear Jenny, that I have more money than you knew of. I have
had good crops, and the cattle and sheep have thriven well and fetched
high prices, and I have laid by close on eight hundred pounds. If a
Frenchman came across my savings, he would not ask leave or licence, but
plunder me at once."
"Maurice," replied his wife, "I must acknowledge to you that I have put
by more than one hundred pounds that I made from time to time by the
poultry and eggs and early vegetables. Now that we have made a clear
breast to each other, what course shall we take to keep the money safe?"
"Well," said he, "I was down, a few evenings ago, in the old churchyard,
and noticed a hole at the corner of the big monument belonging to the
RICE family. I think if I got a strong canister or jar, and packed the
money in it, and hid it under the monument, closing up the hole
completely, nobody would ever think of ransacking such a place as that,
or suppose that it contained anything valuable."
"Maurice," replied Jenny, "it was a cute notion of yours, and I am sure
that no Frenchman would ever go to root out your canister, but still
with my consent not even a farthing shall ever be put there."
"Why, what is your objection?" said her husband.
"My objection is very simple," answered Jenny; "do anything else that
you please, but not that, for _I wouldn't trust a Rice living or dead_."
The "little story" was vehemently cheered, and its concluding words
became a political maxim amongst the repealers of Limerick. Rice had no
longer a chance of election there, but he was returned at the next
dissolution for an English borough, I believe for Cambridge. The "little
story" appeared to me rather an extraordinary sequel to the disavowal of
any desire to interfere, to direct, or to dictate.
In some recent publications I have seen it stated that O'Connell
achieved a complete triumph over an inveterate termagant named Biddy
Moriarty, whose quickness and copiousness of abusive diction deterred
all others from engaging her in any wordy warfare. His success was
ascribed to the application of mathematical terms to his vituperative
antagonist, who became completely bewildered at finding herself
designated a detested parallelogram, a notorious hypothenuse, an
octagonal diagram, of rectangular habits and rhomboidal practices. I do
not believe that he ever came in collision with the redoubtable Biddy,
for the tale of her discomfiture was very rife before O'Connell had
attained to great eminence, either politically or professionally, and I
have heard it told in the year 1817 in the presence of Curran, who was
mentioned as her successful antagonist, and complimented on the
effective means he adopted to overcome the incorrigible scold; and I
recollect hearing him state that the encounter took place at
Rathcormack, in the County Cork. He added, that having declared, towards
the conclusion of the verbose strife, that he could never condescend
again to notice such "an individual," the exasperated woman replied that
he had a power of impudence to say the like, for that she was no more an
_andyvigal_ than he was himself.
In reference to O'Connell, I have a very distinct recollection that in
1837-38 he took a prominent part in opposing combinations amongst the
working tradesmen of Dublin. He attended public meetings, and spoke of
the evils arising from combinations or trade-strikes in the strongest
terms. Hostility, amounting to threats of personal violence, was
displayed towards him by some of those to whose opinions and proceedings
he was adverse. I have heard Joseph Denis Mullen state that he suggested
to O'Connell that the course adopted by him might endanger his
popularity, to which he replied:--
"When my popularity depends on the surrender or compromise of my
conscientious convictions, I shall not seek to retain it." It was in
reference to his conduct at that time that the late Lord Charlemont,
when presiding at a public banquet to the metropolitan members, of whom
O'Connell was one, and proposing the toast of the evening, applied a
very appropriate quotation, derived from classic knowledge and suggested
by classic taste--
"Justum, et tenacem propositi virum
_Non civium ardor prava jubentium_;
Non vultus instantis tyranni
Mente quatit solida."--[8]
In April, 1835, I had occasion to visit London, and, during a sojourn of
about three weeks, I spent several evenings in the gallery of the House
of Commons. There had been a recent change of ministry, and the
Melbourne cabinet was formed. In the preceding Government Lord Ashley
had been a Lord of the Admiralty, and at the time to which I refer, a
sergeant-at-law, named Spankey, had been returned, on the liberal
interest, for a metropolitan constituency, I believe Finsbury. I
happened to be in the gallery one evening when there was not a member of
the administration present, and the opposition benches were also
unoccupied by any of the leading conservatives. There was no probability
of any interesting discussion arising, and the secretary of the
admiralty was engaged in moving the navy estimates to which he did not
appear to apprehend any objection, as they had been framed at a
considerable reduction of the preceding amounts. I was about to retire
from the gallery, when Lord Ashley arose, and denounced the proposed
votes as having originated in a spirit of parsimony, and as tending to
impair the most important element of our national strength. Having
delivered a speech, in which the greatest ignorance of their duties, and
a most culpable neglect of our naval requirements were imputed to the
Government; he was followed by Sergeant Spankey, who manifested the
utmost hostility to the administration, and declared it to be unworthy
of public confidence or respect. To the surprise of all present,
O'Connell arose and expressed his opinion that the estimates had been
judiciously framed, and that the Government had evinced a laudable
desire to economize the national expenses. He proceeded to say that he
was not astonished at the hostility of the noble lord towards an
administration by which he had been deprived of power and the sweets
concomitant to power; but he was unable to comprehend the motives, or
even to imagine the reasons, for the asperity and unmitigated hostility
of the honorable and learned member, from whom the Government had not
taken any power or official advantages, and to whom, it was believed,
that they had offered _his full value_.
"Sir," exclaimed Spankey, "they offered me nothing."
"Mr. Speaker," said O'Connell, "that is exactly what I surmised."
Laughter, loud and of long continuance, followed this uncomplimentary
explanation of the Sergeant's worth, and I believe that "Spankey's
price" was for some time adapted as a term to signify a total deficiency
of value.
Having detailed these few personal recollections, which I hope may not
be considered too discursive, I have to approach the incidents of 1848,
when the "Young Ireland" or "Confederate" movement occurred. It is not
my intention to laud or censure those engaged in its furtherance or its
repression, my only object being to state such facts as came under my
personal observations, or of which I had official cognizance, leaving to
the reader to derive amusement from some circumstances and useful
information from others. I think it was on the 21st day of March that
the crown-solicitor preferred charges of sedition against Smith O'Brien
and Meagher, and required me to make them amenable. When the
informations were sworn, I asked him if he had any objection to an
intimation from me to the accused, that such proceedings had been
instituted, in order that they might appear and give bail to stand their
trial without subjecting them to the indignity of arrest. To this course
Mr. Kemmis at once acceded; and I called on Smith O'Brien at his
lodgings in Westland Row that evening, and found Meagher and several
other persons along with him. When I stated the object of my visit, one
of the company exclaimed, "Give no promise or undertaking to appear.
Accept no courtesy from your prosecutors, but let the Government incur
the odium of arresting you." Both of them, however, declined to follow
such advice, and assured me that they would attend at the Head Office,
at noon, on the next day. They thanked me for the inclination I had
exhibited to save them, as much as possible, from personal annoyance;
and as I was leaving, O'Brien laughingly exclaimed, "Your urbanity, Mr.
Porter, shall not be forgotten; and when the government of Ireland comes
into our hands; your official position shall not be disturbed." At the
appointed time they gave the required bail, and I returned the
informations for trial. They were indicted for sedition, and,
unfortunately for themselves, were acquitted. I say "unfortunately,"
because if they had then been convicted, and imprisoned for three or
four months, they would have been unable to engage in the proceedings
which eventuated in their conviction for high treason, at Clonmel, in
the following September. I think it worth remarking, that when they had
utterly failed in their insurrectionary designs, and had been banished
to a distant region, I occasionally heard great culpability and folly
imputed to them; but in reference to their conduct, the most severe
censures were uttered by the lips of him who had urged them to reject
the slight courtesy and the forbearance of arrest, to which I have
alluded above.
In all the cases of treason-felony which were tried in Dublin, the
informations were sworn before me. I had also to issue warrants for the
apprehension of the principal organizers of Confederate clubs, and
search-warrants for concealed arms. Such transactions were numerous, and
the period was one of very fervid excitement. I am therefore proud of
being able to declare that no imputation of partiality, precipitance, or
undue severity was preferred or suggested in reference to my magisterial
conduct. There were several instances in which I refrained from issuing
warrants on the evidence of constables or of private informers; but in
all such cases the higher authorities were made acquainted with the
peculiar circumstances under which further proceedings appeared to be
unnecessary or inadvisable, and approved of the forbearance. If a person
was known to have joined a Confederate club, or to have made seditious
speeches, or to have subscribed to a fund for the purchase of arms, or
to have attended meetings for drilling and training; and if it was also
known that he had relinquished such associations and practices, and
especially if he was desirous of leaving the country, there was no
anxiety to prosecute him or delay his departure.
JOHN MITCHELL.
The most important case tried in Dublin was that of John Mitchell, for
treason-felony, grounded on his publications in _The United Irishman_
newspaper. He had been committed by me, and on the 27th May he was
convicted and sentenced to transportation for fourteen years. The only
relic of the period in my possession is his "pattern pike," which was
found in his house when the police seized the premises. On the day of
his condemnation, I was passing along Capel Street on an outside hackney
jaunting-car. At Mary's Abbey corner I was recognized by a crowd of
roughs, and saluted with a volley of stones. Not one of the missiles
struck me, but the carman received a blow on the point of his left elbow
which caused intense pain, and elicited copious maledictions. Police
were close at hand, and protected me from further aggression. I
suggested to the driver that the stone was not intended for him, to
which he replied--"It hurt me all the same. Them vagabonds shouldn't
throw stones without knowing who they'd hit."
INFORMERS.
No more offensive epithet can be applied in this country, in the warmest
spirit of invective, than that of an "informer." I have repeatedly
heard it asserted as a popular maxim, that all informers should be shot.
I can truly and deliberately declare it to be my firm conviction, that
if all the informers of 1848 were so disposed of, the Confederate clubs
and revolutionary associations of Dublin would have been decimated.
There were in one great commercial establishment _forty_ Confederates,
of whom _ten_ were in communication with the police. I resided at
Roundtown, and I would often have preferred walking into town or
strolling homeward, when I had to take a seat on a hackney car or in an
omnibus to avoid a request to step into Blackberry Lane or turn up the
Barrack Avenue, and listen to details of proceedings of which it is
highly probable I had been already fully apprised.
A smith, in a town between thirty and forty miles from Dublin, was
engaged to manufacture pikes. He made two hundred and eighty pike-heads,
and brought them, according to directions which he had received, to a
place, the designation of which was peculiarly appropriate for the
reception of such articles, for it was the _slaughter-house of a
butcher_. They were of the best quality, in respect of materials and
workmanship. The industrious tradesman delivered the "goods" to his
customer, and was paid fully and promptly. He then made me acquainted
with the transaction, and I referred him to the Commissioners of Police.
They entrusted its management, or perhaps I might more correctly say its
mismanagement, to a superintendent who, instead of having the premises
closely watched, proceeded precipitately to seize the weapons. They were
packed in strong deal cases, of the contents of which the butcher and
his assistants declared that they had no knowledge. Before the Executive
came to any conclusion as to what course was to be adopted, the hopes of
the revolutionists had been extinguished at Ballingarry. No prosecution
was instituted, and the pike-heads were sent to England where, I
believe, they were transferred to the naval department.
THE CLOSE OF 1848.
On the 18th July, 1848, Dublin was proclaimed under the Crime and
Outrage Act, and a bill was introduced about the same time for
suspending the Habeas Corpus Act. When the Government adopted these
measures, several of the clubs came to the conclusion that it would be
advisable to dissolve. In almost every instance the police authorities
were fully informed of such proceedings, and some of the persons, to
whom the books and transactions were entrusted, made us acquainted with
their contents. The Government was extremely anxious to prevent the
formation of revolutionary associations in the provinces; but as soon as
the insurrectionary attempt of Smith O'Brien collapsed, the executive
became less desirous of exercising severity. It was considered necessary
to offer £500 reward for the apprehension of O'Brien, and £300 for the
capture of each of his principal associates; but _I know_ that the news
of their arrival in a foreign land would have been more welcome in
Dublin Castle than the intelligence of their arrest.
The authorities were aware that at a certain place in Sandymount, a
suburb of Dublin, nightly meetings were held by some young men who had
been engaged in the Confederate movement, for the purpose of consulting
on the most feasible mode of leaving the country, and providing the
requisite expenses for their departure. There was not the slightest
inclination to balk their wishes or impede their progress. Some of them
have attained wealthy and important positions in distant lands, and some
have returned home, where they may spend their remaining days,
undisturbed and undisturbing.
During the first six or seven months of 1848, the superior officers of
regiments in Dublin made frequent communications respecting the
assiduous exertions of the disaffected to sap the loyalty of the
soldiery, and effect an introduction of the military element to their
fraternity. Much time and money were applied to this purpose; but,
although the sobriety of the soldier was frequently impaired, his
loyalty remained intact, and his usual apology for an unsteady step, or
for returning late to his quarters, ascribed the fault to "the bloody
rebels." "They had made him drink a great lot of bad toasts, and he
wouldn't have done so for them, if the whiskey had not been very good."
The only instance of disaffection found to exist in a military body was
amongst the Royal Artillery at Portobello barrack. An Irishman who had
enlisted in London, in 1846, under a false name, induced thirteen of his
comrades to join him in forming a Confederate association. Their usual
place of meeting was very near to my residence at Roundtown; and the
first information which I received concerning them arose from the
resentment of a woman. I had some communication with Colonel Gordon, the
Adjutant-general of the Ordnance, and we were both inclined to
disbelieve the statement which I had received. Eventually, however, we
became satisfied of its truth, and acquired such additional evidence as
to render the case sufficiently strong to procure a conviction of all
the delinquents by a court-martial. I earnestly advised Colonel Gordon
to leave them unprosecuted, but to disperse them. He adopted my views,
and in a few days not one of the fourteen was in Ireland, neither were
any two sent to the same station. In 1861, I saw the principal offender
at Gibraltar. He was then a sergeant.
The abortive attempt at revolution in 1848 was decidedly obstructive to
the progress of all the industrial pursuits which conduce to the
prosperity of a country and the comforts of a community. It also
involved the expenditure of vast sums in maintaining military forces,
augmented police and constabulary, and defraying the expenses of special
commissions. There is only one agreeable recollection afforded by it.
Neither side shed blood. Popular violence inflicted no mortal injury,
and no victim was demanded by the ultimate restoration of Law and Order.
I am now disposed to lay before my readers a short extract from a French
author (Le Comte de Melun), in reference to insurrectionary movements.
It is from his "Life of Sister Rosalie, the Superioress of the Order of
Charity." A work crowned by the French Academy.
"In the ranks of society against which they appear to be more specially
directed, insurrections and revolutions suspend profit, diminish
revenue, compel a restriction of outlay, and introduce disquietude and
torment where security and abundance previously prevailed. But their
consequences are far more afflicting and grievous upon those who live
with great difficulty upon the labor of each day. The least commotion in
the street stops the work, and of course the wages. It changes the
difficulties of life into the deepest misery.
"Whatever may be the issue of the movements for which their aid is
bespoken, the people are always the dupes and victims of these
sanguinary comedies. Whilst many of those who speak in their name, who
push them on to the conflict, who breathe into their ears the sentiments
of revolution, conceal themselves during the combat, escape the
consequences of defeat, and are always foremost to adjudge to themselves
the advantages of success; the wretched people are exposed to blows on
the field of battle, to prison or exile in case of defeat, to the
diminution of employment, and thereby to an abridgment of their
resources if they are conquerors--for it requires much time, after a
successful revolution, to restore security to capital, activity to
commerce, its proper balance to society; and the workman has not, as an
inducement to patience, like the heads of parties, portfolios, important
situations, and a share in the budget. Then, after having suffered much,
and waited long for the day of compensation, the mere individual does
not see it arrive, and remains as he was previously--a workman, when he
does not become a pauper."
FOOTNOTES:
[8]
The man of firm and righteous will,
No rabble clamorous for the wrong,
No tyrant's brow, whose frown may kill,
Can shake the strength that makes him strong.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHOLERA: AN IMPATIENT PATIENT; GOOD NEWS! ONLY TYPHUS FEVER--ROYAL
VISITS--SCOTCH SUPERIORITY STRONGLY ASSERTED--A POLICE BILL
STIGMATISED--LEAVE OF ABSENCE--THE RHINE--THE RHINELAND.
Leaving to my readers, without any comment from myself, the
consideration of the statements and sentiments contained in the extracts
from the French author, I pass to the year 1849, which certainly
afforded a most agreeable contrast to its immediate predecessor in the
almost total cessation of political agitations and asperities. The only
regrettable circumstance to which my recollections of the latter year
can revert being the appearance of cholera in Dublin, early in April,
and its continuance, with intermitting violence, until October. It was
far less prevalent than it had been in 1832, and, in almost every
instance, the disease was ascribed to the use of fish, fruit, acid
drinks, or habitual intemperance. In the great majority of cases ardent
spirits were administered; and the police were frequently complained to
by officers of health and other sanitary officials who had been called
on to relieve pretended sufferings, in the expectation of brandy or
whisky being promptly afforded. Occasionally, on being refused the
coveted dram, the mock sufferer became at once invigorated, and
addressed abusive language and threats of personal violence to "the
cholera fellow." Some instances of opprobrious and menacing expressions
were brought by summons under my cognizance, and for such I prescribed a
month's sojourn in the Richmond Bridewell, unless the delinquent found
two good and substantial sureties for his good behaviour. One of these
summonses was reported, I believe by Mr. Dunphy, in the _Freeman's
Journal_. It was described as "an affair in which a patient became
impatient, because he was not _stimulated_ when he _simulated_."
My residence at Roundtown was not far from a range of small cottages
occupied by the laboring class. One of our female servants alarmed my
family by stating that the cholera was very nigh, for that she had seen
five poor people taken off to hospital from the cottages near the
quarry. I mentioned her statement to a police sergeant, and requested
him to enquire if it was correct. In about half an hour, he returned and
said, "Your worship, I have good news for you. The cholera has not come
near you: it is only the typhus fever."
ROYAL VISITS.
In 1849, Dublin had the honor of a Royal visit, which was regarded by
all classes as a most gratifying event. On the 5th of August, her
Majesty Queen Victoria arrived in Kingstown Harbour, accompanied by
Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, the Princess Royal, Prince Alfred,
and the Princess Alice. The _Victoria and Albert_ yacht was escorted by
ten war steamers, and the squadron anchored about eight o'clock in the
evening. The Queen made a public entry into Dublin on the following day,
and remained in Ireland until the 10th. Having a perfect recollection of
George the Fourth's visit in 1821, I presume to say that the reception
of Victoria was most respectful and cordial, and did not indicate the
slightest approach to sycophantic adulation. I would not apply the same
terms in describing the popular demonstrations which her uncle's visit
produced; for if ever a community manifested unanimous servility and
insane enthusiasm, it was when his Irish subjects accorded to George the
Fourth a homage almost idolatrous. Both visits occurred in the same
month, but with an interval of twenty-eight years. I hope that I shall
not be deemed too discursive in mentioning that the King was received by
the municipal authorities, with the usual ceremonies, at the northern
end of Upper Sackville Street, where a gate had been constructed for his
admission; and over the external side there appeared a very conspicuous
inscription, derived from the sixth book of Virgil's Æneid--
"Hic vir, hic est, tibi quem promitti sæpius audis,
Augustus."[9]
The meaning of this quotation did not seem a difficult attainment, even
to those who had never previously seen a Latin word. It was generally
construed by such persons, "Here he is; it is all right; he has come, as
he promised, in August."
It was during the King's sojourn at the Viceregal Lodge in the Phoenix
Park, that an anecdote became current of a question having been
addressed by him to an Irish footman as to whether there was any person
in the establishment who understood German? to which the interrogated
domestic replied, "Please your Majesty, I don't know anyone who spakes
Jarman, but I have a brother who plays the Jarman flate."
In 1849, when it became known that Queen Victoria would visit Dublin, a
great influx of the nobility and gentry was reasonably expected. The
city became also very attractive to persons of a different and
objectionable description. Great numbers of mendicants arrived, and the
increase of beggars on our streets became most disagreeably apparent.
The Commissioners of Police immediately told off constables in plain
clothes on the special duty of repressing the nuisance, and so vigilant
and active were they, that our thoroughfares were less infested by
beggars during the Royal visit than I ever knew them to be at any other
period. The committals were generally for ten or fourteen days; and many
of the vagrants were by no means slow in attributing their confinement
to special orders from the Queen herself to have the beggars locked up
while she was in Dublin. A woman, who was committed by me for a
fortnight on a conviction for mendicancy, exclaimed, as she was leaving
the police-court, "Mr. Porter is sending us to jail in hopes of getting
himself made Sir Frank."
During the Queen's progress through the city on the 6th of August, the
whole line of the procession was densely crowded, the windows were
occupied, and banners, emblematic of respect and welcome, abundantly
displayed; and she was universally hailed with enthusiastic shouts of
applause. In the evening there was a general and most brilliant
illumination. The whole day passed without the slightest tumult or
accident, until about eleven o'clock at night, when the vast crowds were
dispersed by the heaviest rain that I ever witnessed in Ireland. The
shower lasted about an hour. During the succeeding four days, Her
Majesty visited the principal public institutions, and held a levee in
Dublin Castle, the most numerous and influential that had ever been
assembled there, and a drawing-room which exhibited an unprecedented
display of rank, fashion, and beauty. On the 10th of August, she
embarked at Kingstown, amidst the acclamations of assembled thousands,
and sailed for England. She afforded signal acknowledgments of her
appreciation of the reception she had experienced from her Irish
subjects, for on leaving the pier at Kingstown, she ordered the Royal
standard to be lowered and raised again on board the Royal yacht, a mark
of honor never before employed except for a Royal personage. In a short
time after her visit of 1849, she created her eldest son Earl of Dublin.
SCOTCH SUPERIORITY STRONGLY ASSERTED.
Several months elapsed after the exciting and gratifying demonstrations
to which I have last adverted, during which time we had profound
quietude, and a total cessation of political turmoils. I cannot
recollect any incident, public or official, which I would consider worth
a reader's notice. I shall mention, however, that there was then here an
individual character with whom I had occasional communication, and from
whom I derived considerable amusement almost every time we met. He was a
man of high military rank, holding an important garrison appointment.
Kind, courteous, and affable, he had, nevertheless, some extraordinary
prejudices, which I took every opportunity to induce him to express. He
was a Scotchman, who insisted that his country and its people were
superior to every other region and race, and who did not hesitate to
disparage any attempt to assign even an equality with the Scotch to the
natives of any other kingdom. His greatest explosions of indignation
seemed specially reserved for a comparison, if at all favourable, of the
Irish with the Scotch. Consequently, I boldly ascribed a manifest
superiority to my countrymen over his in intelligence, integrity,
diligence, neatness, promptitude of action, and all other estimable
qualities which could be evinced in either peaceful or martial
avocations; so that I was sure to produce a denial of all my statements,
and a suggestion that I should never repeat them without blushing. Still
I persevered, and enjoyed the excitement which my expressions elicited.
A few days before he left Dublin we had a conference, and, as usual, I
boasted of Burke, Grattan, Curran, Goldsmith, Moore, Sheridan,
Wellington, Gough, &c. He insisted that Scotland could produce equal or
perhaps superior characters, if she had the opportunity. I remarked that
even when Irishmen engaged in nefarious criminal pursuits, they evinced
superior dexterity, and that our thieves were peculiarly knowing and
adroit. "Your thieves!" he exclaimed, "I'll be d----d if we haven't
thieves in Edinburgh or Glasgow that your Dublin fellows couldn't hold a
candle to."
A POLICE BILL STIGMATISED.
In the session of Parliament of 1850, a bill was brought in by the
Government for the revision and consolidation of the acts regulating the
Dublin Metropolitan Police. It was printed, and a considerable number of
copies were circulated in Dublin. We regarded it as a most desirable
measure, for it would, if passed, have substituted, a simplified code
for an involved and complicated hotch-potch of seven statutes
containing about four hundred sections. The police authorities were
extremely anxious for the success of the proposed bill, but it was
objected to by others, delayed, and ultimately, at the close of the
session, became one of the sufferers in the "Massacre of the Innocents."
Whilst it was pending, an alderman made it the subject, at a meeting of
the Corporation, of a most condemnatory speech. He stigmatised it as
unconstitutional and tyrannical, and dwelt at considerable length on a
section which would impart power to a divisional magistrate, in case
dealers in certain commodities neglected or refused to comply with a
notice to produce any article in their possession, alleged to have been
stolen, to inflict on the person so neglecting or refusing, a penalty of
_twenty pounds_, and in default of payment of such penalty, to commit
the offender for _two months_. He indignantly demanded from what region
of despotism had such a tyrannical proposition been imported, and
declared that it would disgrace any legislature to enact, or any
executive to enforce, such unconstitutional severity. He was spared the
mortification of seeing such power imparted to a police magistrate. The
obnoxious bill was not passed, and the law remained unaltered. By it the
tyrannical penalty is only _fifty pounds_, with an alternative
imprisonment of merely _six months_. I do not believe, however, that
there has ever been an instance of such a penalty being exacted or such
imprisonment inflicted.
LEAVE OF ABSENCE.
In the year 1851 my magisterial duties, which did not indeed afford any
incident worthy of being particularized, were interrupted by a severe
attack of gastric fever; on my recovery from which, I was directed by my
medical attendant to proceed to Wiesbaden, and take such baths and drink
such mineral waters as should be prescribed by a certain English
physician residing there, Dr. Lewis. I waited on the Chief Secretary,
Sir William Somerville, who subsequently became Lord Athlumney, and
requested leave of absence for a month or six weeks. He took a printed
form of reply, directed it to me, and signed it. By this document I was
granted "leave of absence for ----." On remarking to him that he had not
specified the duration of the indulgence, the worthy gentleman was
pleased to compliment me by saying, "I have left a blank for the time.
Go, and stay until your health and strength are completely renovated,
and fill up the blank at your return. You are deserving of the most
favourable treatment." I record with gratitude and pride such an
acknowledgment of my anxious endeavours to discharge my official duties
with efficiency; but I must also say that kindness and benignity were
amongst his prominent characteristics. I left Dublin at the latter end
of May, and proceeded through London to Ostend, and from thence by
railway to Bonn, where I commenced ascending "the wide and winding
Rhine." Whilst waiting at the wharf for the steamer, and contemplating
"The castled crag of Drachenfels," I thought of Byron's lines, in which
he describes the scenery which appeared so enchanting to Childe Harold,
and also how
"Peasant girls with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o'er this paradise;"
and I felt that the landscape before me transcended even his
description. I had, however, the greatest contrast offered to my view so
far as regarded eyes, hands, or smiles. Four females approached with
flowers, which they desired to sell. They were all old women, and they
constituted, in their features and figures, the most complete
realization of hideous ugliness. It is not my intention to attempt any
description of the scenes which successively astonished and delighted me
whilst proceeding up the Rhine from Bonn to Mentz. I would fully adopt
the unexaggerated truth contained in four short lines--
"The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauties varying round."
I found the steamer extremely convenient and most agreeable, especially
for a person debilitated by severe and recent indisposition. I do not
recollect the charges for conveyance or refreshments, but I considered
them moderate, and relished my repasts greatly, whether as regarded
their materials, culinary preparation, or table attendance. The few
hotels at which I stopped were very comfortable in every respect. At the
Giant Hotel, Coblentz, I observed that the delicious wine, sparkling
Moselle, was given for a Rhenish florin and a half, (two shillings and
sixpence,) per bottle, and that Guinness's Dublin Porter was precisely
the same price there. I have heard some Germans, who understood English,
remark on the designation almost universally given to the Rhenish wines
by us. The vineyards are nearly all on places considerably elevated, and
the names of the wines have generally the prefix of "High." The German
word is "Hoch," and they give it a guttural pronunciation which the
Irish and Scotch can utter perfectly, but which an Englishman cannot
accomplish. He hardens "hoch" into "hock," and adopts the prefix alone
as the name of the exhilarating fluid, and we follow his example. The
mistake, however, is perfectly harmless, for the abbreviation has not
lessened the production, or deteriorated the flavor of the liquor.
At Coblentz, I saw in a square before a church, the name of which I do
not remember, a monument with two inscriptions, the first of which I
considered indicative of silly and premature pride, whilst the second
formed an instance of a complete junction of wit and wisdom. In 1812,
when the French had occupied Moscow, the prefect of Coblentz erected the
monument and inscribed it thus--
AN. MDCCCXII.
MEMORABLE PAR LA CAMPAGNE
CONTRE LES RUSSES,
SOUS LA PREFECTURE DE JULES DOAZAN.[10]
In 1814 the fortunes of war had necessitated the retreat of the French
before the allied forces, and Coblentz was occupied by the Russians.
Instead of demolishing the memorable record of the previous campaign,
the Russian commander of the force, by which the town was captured,
caused a supplementary statement to be added, which clearly showed the
complete change of affairs. The addition was as follows:--
VU ET APPROUVE PAR NOUS, COMMANDANT RUSSE DE LA VILLE
DE COBLENTZ. 1 JAN. 1814.[11]
The people of Coblentz appeared to enjoy drawing a stranger's notice to
these inscriptions, and it was easy to perceive that they considered the
annexation of the Rhenish provinces to France, by the first Napoleon, as
not merely objectionable, but detestable and insufferable. I believe
that the same sentiments pervaded every part of Germany, which had been
under the rule or in the occupation of the French. As far as my sojourn
in Germany enabled me to form an opinion, I thought that the people
liked the English very much, and thoroughly disliked the French. I found
them most friendly, and on several occasions when I have wished to
procure fruit, and produced money, pointing at the same time to apple,
pear, or plum trees, in the _unfenced_ gardens and orchards near
Wiesbaden, the tree would be shaken, and signs made to me to pick up the
fallen fruits, and money would be declined. This kindness was accorded
to me because I was deemed an Englishman. I do not believe that an apple
would have been gratuitously tendered to a Frenchman. In the places of
public amusement, I repeatedly heard a certain lively tune played. It
seemed to be decidedly popular, and I was informed that it owed its
popularity to the fact of having been the quick-step to which the
Prussians advanced upon the flank of the French army at the close of the
battle of Waterloo.
In the preceding paragraph, I have mentioned unfenced gardens and
orchards. I have passed along roads in the Rhenish land where, for five
or six miles, there were no fences whatever between the highway and
grounds appropriated to the culture of choice fruits and vegetables, and
where no hedge, wall, or ditch intervened to distinguish or separate one
holding from another. The bounds were marked by poles, on the tops of
which bits of straw or dried rushes were placed; but even such marks
were not considered necessary at the edges of the public thoroughfare.
Of course, in those districts grazing was impracticable. No sheep or
goats were to be seen, no horses, unless such as were yoked or saddled;
and the food for the cows was usually conveyed, in the morning and
evening, from the place of its production, in a cart drawn by one of
themselves. The summer feeding for the cattle consisted of clover,
Italian rye-grass, Lucern, American cow-grass, or vetches. I observed
that the fodder was cut and left lying sufficiently long to become
flagged before it was given to the animals. The tillage in those
districts presented a great contrast to the generality of Irish crops.
Neatness and cleanliness characterized the German culture, and the weeds
were excluded from the partnership which is so liberally accorded to
them here. Near Wiesbaden, I saw a very flourishing crop, which
occupied, in my opinion, about two acres, and I was informed by Dr.
Greiss, that the elevation of the place above sea-level was 2400 ft. The
growth was tobacco, for the production of which our soil and climate are
as well suited as those in which the Germans cultivate it. There it is
taxed, or, as I believe, taken by the Government at a valuation, and
made an Imperial monopoly. Here it is prohibited, to form, perhaps, a
very apt and forcible illustration of the principle of Free Trade.
The springs at Wiesbaden are not numerous, but they constitute great
natural curiosities. There is one which, if I remember rightly, is
called the Kochbrunnen. It is intensely hot; and I was told that even in
winter, the water is used for scalding the hair off slaughtered pigs.
It gushes up profusely; and yet, within fifty yards of it, there is a
spring extremely cold and effervescent, precisely similar to the Seltzer
water. Whilst the Roman empire continued, almost all the Rhineland was
appurtenant to it, and Wiesbaden was then designated "Mattiacæ aquæ." It
is believed that Nero visited it for the benefit of his health; and
there is a locality close to the town, where he is said to have
sojourned, and which is named Nerothal, (Nero's valley.) Some ancient
edifices have Latin inscriptions denoting their former use or the names
of their pristine occupants. The Germans take special care of such
antique remains; and instead of destroying relics of heathenism, they
show them as indicating a state of darkness and degradation to which
Christianity offers the greatest and most glorious contrast. In
reference to the gratitude of their votaries to Pagan deities for
benefits attributed to the exercise of their peculiar powers, I only
recollect one mythological inscription, which I was prevented from
forgetting by a ludicrous comment on it, made by a Manchester visitant
at Wiesbaden. In the Ræmerbad, (Roman bath,) there was a mural tablet in
perfect preservation, every letter on the stone being as distinct as
when cut many centuries ago. It was as follows:--
"ÆSCULAPIO SANATORI, MILITES QUATUORDECIMÆ LEGIONIS, OB
VALETUDINEM RESTAURTAM, HANC TABULAM VOTIVAM.
D.D.D."
The Manchester gent and I had become acquainted at the _table d'hôte_ of
the "Four Seasons," and we happened to stroll into the Ræmerbad at the
same time. Pointing to the mural tablet, he said--
"Mr. Porter, they say that is Latin."
"Yes," I replied, "you have been rightly informed."
"Could you untwist it, and tell us what it is about?"
"I shall try. To Æsculapius the healer, the soldiers of the fourteenth
legion, in consequence of their health being restored, give, inscribe,
and dedicate this votive tablet."
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "those chaps were wide awake; and they
knew how to pay a nice compliment, for of course this Skewlaypius _was
their regimental doctor_."
I regretted that there was not another tablet extant declaratory of
their veneration and devotion to Mars, for it would have elicited the
interesting suggestion that his military rank was, at least, that of a
colonel.
I recollect seeing on an ancient tower of octagonal form, near
Andernach, an inscription, in reference to which I heard many
conjectures, and some of them extremely absurd. It was as follows:--
"SISTE PAULULUM, AMBULA PAULULUM, SEDERE VETITUM EST, ET
DORMIRE EST MORI."[12]
The conclusion at which I arrived was, that immediately beneath this
direction a sentinel's station had been established, and that whether he
stood, or walked "his lonely round," he was to bear in mind that to
slumber on his post was inexcusable, and subjected him to the forfeiture
of life.
One day I sat, in the large dining-room of the Four Seasons, near a
noble lord who, with his lady, had been there for some weeks. She was a
native of Germany, and he was an Irishman who possessed extensive
estates in a southern county. I heard him say to a gentleman, who was
recommending him to visit Frankfort-on-the-Maine, that he could not
adopt his suggestion, as he was obliged to start for home on the next
day but one. That evening I was speaking to the landlord, and mentioned
that I had heard my noble countryman tell his friend that he was about
to leave. The landlord replied, "I am delighted to hear that they are
going, for _her other husband_ is to be here next week, and their
meeting would be rather unpleasant, especially as he is bringing _his
other wife_."
At a short distance from Wiesbaden, the road to Schlangenbad (the
serpent's bath) passes through a portion of a very extensive forest. In
one of my rambles, I left the highway, and walked into the dense wood,
and when I thought that I had gone far enough, and that it was time to
return, I became suddenly aware that I had lost my way. In a state of
extreme uneasiness I walked for more than an hour, frequently shouting,
but without hearing any responsive voice. Dismal ideas arose in my mind
as to the probability of having to meet dangers and privations beyond my
power of resistance or endurance. At length I found that there was a
hill before me, on which the trees were rather sparse; and having
attained the elevation, I was relieved from my apprehensions by a
glimpse of the Rhine, and immediately directed my steps towards the
river, and soon emerged from the forest. If any of my readers should
contemplate a visit to any place in the vicinity of extensive woods,
they will avoid all liability to such annoyance as I suffered, by
refraining from solitary forest rambles, and by taking such excursions
with a guide, or with companions acquainted with the localities. Before
I left Wiesbaden, a young gentleman named Vernon was found dead in the
Taunus forest. His death was attributed to the bite of an adder or
viper.
In the Kursahl, at Wiesbaden, there was a _Roulette_ table, and also one
for _Rouge et Noir_. The gambling was not considered at all comparable
to the play at Baden-Baden; nevertheless, I have seen many instances of
serious, perhaps of ruinous losses. On one occasion I observed an
Englishman who sat down at the _Rouge et Noir_ table. He had a large
leathern purse full of gold, and certainly more than one thousand pounds
in Bank of England notes of fifty pounds each. In less than an hour, all
his money was absorbed, and some exclamations, garnished with
imprecations, as he retired, impressed me with the opinion that he was
reduced to destitution. Whilst I express the warmest approval of the
abolition of those gambling establishments, and their recent suppression
in the German towns, I must admit having tried my luck occasionally to
the extent of four florins (about six shillings and eightpence.) In
almost every instance the remorseless rake added my stake to the
accumulations of "the bank." On the last evening that I was at the
Kursahl, I went in a party of nine persons, of whom six were ladies. One
of my fair companions proposed that each of us should contribute four
florins, and stake the amount on red. This was acceded to, and I stepped
forward and placed the money on the colour. The bystanders were
numerous, and when it was announced that the red had won, I picked up
the seventy-two florins, but whilst doing so, I heard an exclamation
from one end of the crowd--"That would be a nice story to tell at the
Dublin police-office."
During my stay at Wiesbaden, I visited Mentz, or Mayence, several times.
On the first occasion, I was crossing the bridge from the right bank of
the Rhine, and met a young officer in Austrian uniform. At that period
Mentz was termed a Confederate town, and its garrison was composed of an
equal number of Prussian and Austrian troops. I had seen enough of them
at Wiesbaden to satisfy me that an inquiry on the part of a stranger
would receive a kind and polite reply. I consequently accosted the
gentleman in French, being quite destitute of German beyond the name of
the place to which I wished to go, which was the Music Garden. To my
surprise and great gratification, he said, "If it is the same thing to
you, Mr. Porter, to speak English, I shall give you any information in
my power." I told him that I wanted a direction to the Music Garden, and
he replied, "I have to leave an order with the officer on guard at the
Cassel end of the bridge, and then I shall return to my quarters, and
the Music Garden is on the way, I shall show it to you in a few
minutes." During our walk, I asked him how he knew my name, and was
informed that he remembered seeing me at the assizes of Nenagh; that he
was a "Tipperary boy," born and reared within sight of the Devil's Bit
Mountain, and his name was Scully. He was a captain in an infantry
regiment, and appeared to be perfectly contented with his position and
its attendant prospects. We thoroughly fraternized, and I never again
went to Mentz without calling at his quarters. He expressed an intention
of visiting Ireland, and promised to favor me with a renewal of our
friendly intercourse in Dublin; but my hopes of seeing him have not been
realized, and I fear that he has not escaped all the disastrous combats
in which, since 1851, the Austrian forces have been engaged.
Nothing tends more to render a sojourn in the Rhineland agreeable, than
the great number of persons connected with hotels, railways, steamers,
and other public establishments, who understand English. Indeed I may
extend the observation to Belgium also. A foreigner in Dublin, if he is
unacquainted with our language, has to encounter more difficulties than
we would have to contend with in the places to which I have referred.
This is to be regretted; for exquisitely beautiful as Rhenish, Swiss, or
Italian scenery may be justly considered, still Ireland can present to a
foreign tourist, views numerous and extensive, which cannot be surpassed
in picturesque beauty. I have never met a foreigner who had seen the
principal places of attraction in our country, who was not most
enthusiastic in his expressions of admiration. Our insular position is
no longer a serious obstacle to the traveller who may wish to visit even
the most remote districts; and it is to be hoped that at no distant time
Ireland shall be far better known by strangers. They should be
encouraged by the most respectful and attentive treatment; and when we
find that in the Mechanics' Institute of Dublin, a member will be
instructed in French, German, or Italian, at the very moderate charge of
six shillings per quarter, it is not creditable to our trading and
operative classes that they should not attain to educational
acquirements equal to those possessed by a considerable number of the
same classes in several continental countries. Although I am a Dublin
man, I regret that I must admit the superiority of Cork as regards the
means of satisfactory communication with foreigners, understanding them
and being understood.
Before I close my observations on the very interesting portion of
Germany in which I had so agreeable a sojourn, I shall relate a couple
of incidents from which my readers may form an idea as to the honest
tendencies of the people. I spent an evening, along with some of my
Wiesbaden associates, at the Music Garden of Mentz, and the weather
being rather close and sultry, I took off a waterproof overcoat, and
laid it on a rockery just beside our refreshment table. When the musical
performances and other amusements had terminated, I departed without
recollecting the garment, and arrived at Wiesbaden before I became aware
of my forgetfulness. Next morning I set off to Mentz to try my chance of
recovering the vestment, but with very slight hopes of succeeding. At
the garden, a person connected with the establishment, on being informed
of my business, said, in English, "Come to the place where you threw off
your overcoat, and you will most probably find it." Accordingly, when we
reached the rockery, I saw the coat lying where I placed it, and having
possessed myself of it, observed to my conductor that I was extremely
lucky, for unquestionably more than one thousand persons must have
passed the spot on the previous evening. "Oh, yes," replied the German;
"the garden was crowded, but there was not a man here who saw your coat
lying there, _without knowing that it was not his_."
At Biebrich, the office of the steamers plying on the Rhine is in a
house on the quay. It faces the south, but abuts the public thoroughfare
without any rails or other fence. On the front wall there were two
vines, on which there was an abundant crop of grapes; and on the day of
my departure, whilst waiting for the steamer, I remarked to the agent
that his fruit was almost ripe, and that it appeared to be of first-rate
quality. He said that another week would suffice to ripen them
perfectly, and that they were of very fine flavor. I observed that there
was a strong temptation for his neighbours, and even for the casual
passengers who walked the quay, to assume a partnership in such
desirable productions. He seemed surprised at my observation, and told
me that no person would interfere with his vines, adding, "The grapes
will be all left for me to gather. They have never been taken by anyone
else, _for they are grown on my wall, and are mine_." I do not think
that in any part of the United Kingdom there would be the slightest
chance of fruit grown in a similar public situation, and unprotected by
a strong fence, being left to the enjoyment of its owner, or even
allowed to ripen.
FOOTNOTES:
[9]
Here is the man; here you may now behold
Augustus, promised oft, and long foretold.
[10] The year 1812. Memorable by the campaign against the Russians,
during the prefecture of Jules Doazan.
[11] Seen and approved by me, the Russian commander of Coblentz, 1st
Jan. 1814.
[12] "Stand awhile, walk awhile, to sit down is forbidden, and to sleep
is to die."
CHAPTER XXII.
BRUSSELS--ROYAL CHILDREN--THE GREAT EXHIBITION IN LONDON--HOME AGAIN: A
PREACHER--UNLUCKY RIOTERS--VISIT TO PARIS--MICHEL PERRIN.
On my way home from the Rhineland, I stopped for two days in Brussels,
the second of which happened to be the day on which the anniversary of
the attainment of Belgian independence was celebrated. I recollect
seeing a monument which had been erected to the memory of those who had
been killed in the ranks of the Belgian revolutionists, and amongst the
names inscribed on it I observed "Corcoran, Irlandais," so that the
Emerald Isle was not totally unrepresented on the occasion. Brussels was
very full at the time of the fête, and in its crowded streets and
squares a tolerable idea might be obtained of the confusion of tongues
incident to the abortive attempt to erect the Tower of Babel. German,
French, Flemish, English, Italian, Spanish, and the various languages of
the more northern countries were abundantly ventilated, and with an
effect which I thought extremely amusing. The city presented a very
martial appearance, for not only the regular troops but the national
guards also of the kingdom were made available for a grand review by
their sovereign, Leopold the First. Each regiment had its
"_vivandieres_," and I was informed that those of the national guards
were women of the same social rank as the members of the regiment to
which they were attached. Their costume was as much assimilated to the
uniforms of their respective regiments as female attire would permit.
The grenadiers had _vivandieres_ of a height proportionally tall; the
other regiments were accompanied by women, perhaps I should say ladies,
of lesser stature, but all of them were, in my opinion, unexceptionally
beautiful, and of most graceful and decorous demeanor.
At the time to which I refer, 1851, I was impressed with the conviction
that no people could be more attached to a sovereign than the Belgians
were to Leopold, and to his family. I did not form that opinion from the
loud and spontaneous acclamations which greeted him and his children in
the streets and at the review, but from the joyous expression which
irradiated the countenances of all ranks and conditions, and impressed
me with the belief that their loyalty was not merely respectful, but
thoroughly sincere and affectionate. Regal splendor may dazzle its
beholders, and popular demonstrations may excite and perhaps enlist many
of those who witness their display; but I venture to assert that human
nature can produce no spectacle more worthy of being admired and
remembered than the cordial and enthusiastic reception of a benign and
beloved monarch, by contented, happy, and loyal subjects.
ROYAL CHILDREN.
On the occasion to which I have last referred, one of the royal
carriages contained three children, two boys and a girl, with their
tutor and governess. The girl was Leopold's only daughter, and her name
was identical with that of his first wife, Charlotte. The little Belgian
princess was then eleven years of age, and was exceedingly pretty. She
was delicately fair, blue-eyed, and flaxen-haired, and appeared to
appreciate highly the popular acclamations which were frequently
announced as specially intended for her. The joyous countenance,
irradiated by the excitement incident to demonstrations of enthusiastic
approbation, seemed inaccessible to the wrinkles of care, and exempt
from the lachrymal effects of sorrow. Nevertheless, that royal child has
furnished a most piteous instance of the mutability of fortune, of
accumulated miseries substituted for the apparent approach of
transcendent happiness. To her have been allotted
"The hopes that but allure to fly,
The joys that vanish while we sip;
Like Dead-Sea fruits that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lip!"
In about six years after the time to which my reminiscence refers, she
became the consort of Ferdinand Maximilian, eldest brother of the
Emperor of Austria, who subsequently, at the instance of Napoleon the
Third, assumed the title of Emperor of Mexico, but having utterly failed
in his efforts to establish the Imperial authority to which he aspired,
was shot as a culprit, by order of the President Juarez, in 1867,
leaving his bereaved widow in such affliction as to produce a state of
insanity from which she is not expected to recover.
THE GREAT EXHIBITION IN LONDON.
On my return from the Continent, I spent a few days in London, and had a
most gratifying opportunity of seeing the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park,
which, apart from its own attractions and merits, afforded an example to
the civilized nations of the world, stimulating their pursuits of the
industrial arts, awakening dormant energies, and evoking amicable
competitions and peaceful rivalries. I happened to express to the
Commissioner of Police, a wish to be admitted to the building at night,
and he gave me a note to the Superintendent in charge there, directing
him to conduct me through it. The structure was lighted sufficiently to
afford means to the police on duty to keep it safe from the designs of
marauders and from accidental injury. Profound silence was only
interrupted by the chiming of the clocks, and the announcement at
certain intervals of "All's well." The solitude, the subdued light, the
banners of all nations, statues and other works of art, of which I was
the only spectator in that splendid and extensive edifice, suggested
contemplative feelings which I am not adequate to express; but I can
safely assert that my midnight visit to the great Crystal Palace of
1851, afforded me greater gratification than I ever derived from any
public spectacle however gorgeous or crowded.
HOME AGAIN: A PREACHER.
When I returned to Dublin, I found that one of the magistrates of the
northern division was only waiting for my appearance before making an
application for leave of absence; and his request having been acceded
to, it was arranged that I was to do duty in the northern court on two
days in each week, namely, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was sitting in my
own court on a Wednesday, when a constable preferred a charge against a
man named Dowling, for collecting a crowd, causing a very great
obstruction in Parliament Street, and refusing to move on when required.
He was a street-preacher, who appeared to be extremely fanatical,
insisting that he had a special mission to announce the glad tidings of
salvation to the benighted people of Dublin. On hearing the evidence, I
stated that his conduct was a nuisance, and that I should send the case
for trial, unless the constable withdrew the complaint on the express
promise of the accused party that the offence should not be repeated. To
this the prosecutor agreed, and the preacher said "he would shake the
dust off his shoes as a testimony against me, but that I should never
again have to investigate such a complaint against him." He was
discharged; but on the following day, I had to dispose of a similar
charge against him in the northern court. He manifested very little
displeasure against his prosecutor, but seemed to reserve all his
indignation for me; and when I reminded him of the promise he had made
on the previous day, he replied that he had made himself acquainted with
the bounds of my division in the south of the district, and did not
intend ever to raise his voice there again, but that I was not satisfied
to get rid of him, _but had followed him_ to the northern division, to
continue an unworthy persecution of a zealous but humble laborer in the
vineyard of salvation. I was highly amused, as were many of the persons
present, at the tendency attributed to me to pursue the street-preacher;
and when he declared that he would leave Dublin, I suggested to the
police constable the withdrawal of his charge, to which he readily
acceded, and the accused party was discharged. In about six weeks after
this incident I went to Liverpool with a near relative who was about to
proceed to Australia, and having gone into the police-courts there when
the morning business was about to commence, one of the clerks told the
magistrate (Mr. Rushton) that I was present, and he most courteously
offered me a seat on the bench. The first charge on the sheet was for
obstructing the thoroughfare, by collecting a crowd, and refusing to
desist from preaching there; and Dowling was the delinquent. He did not
wait for the constable to be sworn or the charge stated, but at once
exclaimed that he despaired of obtaining any justice, when they had
_imported me from Dublin_ to sit in judgment on him there. His
excitement and indignation produced great merriment, especially when Mr.
Rushton told him that I was not there in any official capacity, but as a
private individual who had not interfered, directly or indirectly, in
any matter coming before the court. He was discharged with a caution. I
have never seen him since: and I mention the case of this
street-preacher only to show how accidental circumstances may produce,
in some minds, the most unfounded conclusions.
UNLUCKY RIOTERS.
On my resumption of duty in Dublin, I had very few cases of importance
or peculiar interest to dispose of. I may mention one in which two men
were charged with being actively engaged in a riotous tumult in Dean
Street, and assaulting the police. They had been extremely violent, and
one of the constables had been so severely injured as to be
incapacitated for duty during several days. In almost all such cases the
prosecutors prefer a summary decision; and in the one to which my
present remarks apply, I stated that I considered the prisoners, Foley
and Magrath, deserved the utmost punishment which I was empowered to
award, namely two months' imprisonment with hard labor. The culprits
loudly exclaimed against such a judgment, and vociferated that they
should get a full and fair trial by a jury. I acceded to their demand,
and returned the informations to the next commission of _Oyer et
Terminer_ for the city of Dublin. There never was a more complete
exemplification of an escape from the frying-pan by a fall into the
fire. They were tried and convicted before Baron Richards, and he
sentenced them to be imprisoned for twelve months, and kept to hard
labor each alternate month. Their repugnance to a summary conviction had
received great publicity; and the increased punishment to which they
were subjected had the effect of reconciling the delinquents who were
subsequently brought to the police-court to the fullest exercise, by the
magistrates, of their summary jurisdiction.
VISIT TO PARIS.
In 1853 a prosecution was instituted by a lady, named Kelly, against a
Mr. Birch, whom she accused of embezzling or stealing a very
considerable sum of money. Her informations were sworn before my
colleague, Mr. Magee, and he issued a warrant for the apprehension of
Birch, which was delivered to a very intelligent and active officer, who
subsequently was promoted to be the chief superintendent. The accused
party was supposed to be in France, whither it was intended to send Mr.
Ryan with the warrant. I had nothing whatever to do with the case, and
I chanced to be sitting beside Mr. Magee when an application was made to
him that he should go to France, having his expenses fully paid, and
taking with him all the documents relating to the charge, for the
information and satisfaction of the French authorities. Mr. Magee at
once refused the request, alleging that his health would not admit of
rapid travelling, but suggesting that Mr. Porter might undertake the
journey, and fetch all the papers likely to induce the French
functionaries to consent to the extradition of Birch, in the event of
Ryan being able to find him. I consented to this arrangement, and set
off for Paris, where I remained for a fortnight without any arrest
having been effected of the accused party by the officer holding the
warrant. I was never called on to produce the informations, and had no
warrant in my possession, nor did I feel the slightest anxiety on the
subject. Ryan was proceeding to France, when he ascertained that Birch
was in Southampton, and there the capture was effected. A rumor was
circulated in Dublin that I had gone to Paris to make a search,
personally, for the alleged offender, when, in fact, I had neither the
power nor the inclination to interfere beyond producing the informations
which had been sworn before my colleague, and to authenticate them if
required. My expenses were fully paid, and I found, on returning to
Dublin, that the prosecution was abandoned. My short sojourn in the
French capital was extremely pleasant; and having made myself known, as
a Dublin police-magistrate, by the production of my passport at the
prefecture, I experienced very kind and agreeable attentions. A man who
spoke English was directed to attend me when visiting the public
institutions, and I received a tricolored card, which procured me
admission to all the theatres. I am tempted to mention one performance
which I saw in a small theatre on the Boulevard near the large barracks,
(La Caserne de Prince Eugene.) I do not recollect the title of the
piece, but it exhibited the most extraordinary adaptation of machinery
that I ever beheld, and the stage-tricks transcended all that I had
previously seen or supposed possible. A scene represented a railway
terminus, and on the arrival of a train, the engine exploded, and the
carriage next to it was torn asunder. One passenger was supposed to have
had his head knocked off, his arms separated from his shoulders, and his
lower extremities from his hips, and the body, head, and limbs were
seen, as the vapour cleared off, lying on the roof of a shed. Ladders
were instantly applied, and the passenger was taken down piecemeal. A
bench was pushed forward on the platform, it seemed covered with dark
cushions, and the trunk of the victim was placed on it, the head was
affixed and the lower extremities were attached, an arm added on the
left side, when a poodle dog joined in the performance by seizing the
other arm and taking it off the stage. Instantly the man arose,
apparently with only one arm, and pursued the dog, exclaiming that the
cursed poodle should not have his arm for supper. He returned, bringing
the arm, and resumed his place on the bench, where the apparent reunion
of his frame was completed. A surgeon was supposed to have been sent
for, and he came too late to claim any share in the restoration of life
and vigor to the dismembered patient. On proceeding to feel the pulse,
he was rewarded by a slap on the cheek, accompanied with the
contemptuous intimation of "_Voici votre honoraire_." (Here's your fee.)
I may remark that there did not appear to be any dripping of blood on
the shed, neither did the platform or bench show any gory stains; and
the performers who represented railway officials of the various grades,
and passengers, male and female, to the number of twenty at least,
intervened four or five times between the bench and the audience, as if
actuated by the deepest anxiety for the supposed sufferer. I was not
much surprised at the apparent deficiency of the right arm, for I had
several times seen the late Pat Brophy, of Dawson Street, Dublin,
representing Nelson in a _tableau vivant_, and he managed on those
occasions to appear as if he had lost an arm. The incidents which I have
attempted to describe were only stage-tricks, but they were most
perfectly accomplished.
A gentleman, who appeared to me to fill the office of secretary or
chief clerk at the prefecture, availed himself of several opportunities
for having conversations with me in English. I related to him some of
the anecdotes and circumstances which I have included in the preceding
pages, and he reciprocated by affording me much information and
amusement. At our last interview, M. Hubert gave me six volumes,
containing memoirs derived from the archives of the Parisian police,
from the time of Cardinal Richelieu's administration down to the
accession of Louis Philippe. I cannot offer many extracts from these
volumes to the reader, but I shall notice two narratives which I was
assured were, in their main circumstances, _strictly true_. One was
subsequently shown to me in a collection of tales, and I considered it
so amusing that I shall translate it in these pages. The other will, I
hope, be deemed a striking instance of mere fact being far stranger than
fiction. The former was entitled "Michel Perrin," and it is as
follows:--
MICHEL PERRIN.
"I must go; I must depart as soon as possible. I plainly perceive that
she has sold her watch without informing me. She has to work hard from
morning to night; the needle of a woman cannot provide for the
requirements of two persons. Ah! I ought to have left long before this!
But where to go? without money, without family influence, without
friends! How to get on in a world where I have never as yet lived, of
the habits and customs of which I am as uninformed as an infant child!
Nevertheless, I shall go, were I to beg on the highway; were I to die of
hunger, I shall go."
This soliloquy is referred to the eighth year of the Republic, in a very
humble apartment, which perhaps still exists at Dijon, and which was
then inhabited by a former pastor of a small village in the department
of the Cote-d'Or. Michel Perrin, who had lived up to that time in
performing acts of charity, praying to his Creator, and cultivating the
garden of his manse, had found himself torn from the asylum in which
twenty-two years of his tranquil existence had been spent. Deprived of
the slender stipend attached to his functions, persecuted by some agents
of the Republican Government, and suspected by all, the poor priest had
rambled for a considerable time from village to village, sometimes to
avoid captivity, sometimes to avail himself of the friendship of the
many kind hearts whose gratitude he had earned in happier times. Lastly,
for a year he had lived at Dijon. There he had rejoined his sister,
Madeleine Perrin, the supreme mistress of his establishment, and also
his sole support in the world.
Madeleine, on leaving the manse, had betaken herself direct to Dijon,
where she hoped to renew some old friendships, and to support herself by
needlework. She had fully succeeded in utilising her talents for sewing
to the extent of providing for her own wants; but when the good pastor,
yielding to her earnest entreaties, had come to occupy one of the two
little garret-rooms which constituted her residence, Madeleine soon
became aware that a man, still in vigorous health and of good appetite,
is more difficult to be fed than to be lodged.
She nevertheless completely refrained from discovering to her dear
Michel the slightest shadow of her uneasiness regarding the future of
them both. Anyone who heard her singing whilst plying her needle, or who
had witnessed how, after having placed upon the table a savory repast,
she cried, "Michel, your dinner is ready," would pronounce her to be a
happy lass. However, at night, Madeleine was no sooner on her bed, and
aware, by his loud snoring, that her brother was soundly sleeping, than
a crowd of sad thoughts would arise to besiege her mind. When a delay in
the payment of her earnings produced some difficulties, eight days of
sickness brought a fearful aggravation of her misery. Moreover, she was
becoming aged, being only two years younger than Michel, who was
entering on his fiftieth year. Already her sight was weakened, and soon
she might be unable to sew, even with the aid of glasses. In vain did
poor Madeleine strive to dispel thoughts so dark, so afflicting. More
than once did the rising sun irradiate her chamber, and recall her to
work without her eyes having been closed by sleep.
On his part, Michel Perrin, notwithstanding the efforts of his sister to
conceal the result of his residence with her, was not slow in
discovering the sad truth. From that time he had not ceased to form
plans to effect the earning on his own part of even a few pence; but
Madeleine repelled every suggestion which appeared to her as tending to
lessen the dignity of the reverend pastor. Only one project had received
her assent. She agreed to see her brother, whose studies had been
refined and extensive, giving lessons in Greek and Latin, so that no
person could have a son or nephew without being besought by her to make
the boy learn the dead languages, and to choose Michel Perrin as his
master; but whether the people of Dijon made little of those old
acquirements, or that the learning of a village pastor did not inspire
them with sufficient confidence, Madeleine addressed herself in vain to
her friends or employers to give the smallest pupil to her brother, at
even the smallest price. "He is still very clever," the poor woman would
say, when she tried one of her vain efforts; "I wish you would come and
see us. He never reads anything but Latin or Greek, except when he is at
his breviary. If that does not convince you of his capability, I can say
no more." She derived from all her applications only deep sighs without
even shallow hopes.
It was true that the worthy pastor had no other amusement whatsoever
than repeated perusals of Homer and Tacitus, which he had managed to
save from the wreck of his scanty chattels. They constituted his whole
library. Leading a life completely retired, when the weather precluded
him from taking a solitary ramble, he passed his time in reading,
praying, or chatting with his sister, whose voice was almost the only
one by which he had been accosted during the past twelve months;
consequently, although his affection for Madeleine had been always very
great, it had become so intense as to make him regard another separation
from her as the most deplorable of all his misfortunes. It was therefore
in a miserable state of mind that he awaited Madeleine's return, each
time that she left home in a renewed hope of procuring him pupils. For a
considerable time he had refrained from asking her the question too
often followed by the reply of disappointment. It was enough for her to
give him a silent embrace, and that after she had thrown her shawl upon
the bed, she betook herself at once to her work, for him to form the
determination of leaving; and the sale of her watch, to which she
attached peculiar value, confirmed his resolution.
He had decided on the following week as the time for a separation too
afflicting, when one morning Madeleine returned, her countenance
indicating that her mind was engrossed by some recent and unusual
subject. Michel Perrin, absorbed in his reflections, did not at first
observe her serious features. She was seated and working near the
window, whilst the pastor, with an open book lying on his knees, was
racking his mind as to how he could obtain the means of sustaining life
when he would quit his sole remaining asylum.
"What a misfortune that Paris is so far off," said Madeleine several
times, without perceiving perhaps that she was speaking aloud.
At the fourth or fifth repetition of this expression, Michel raised his
head--"Why so, my dear sister?" said he; "wherefore do you wish Paris to
be nearer?"
"Ah! wherefore? It would take too much of your time to listen to me, my
dear brother, and you are reading your breviary, I believe."
"Tell me fully the reasons for your wish," replied the pastor, laying
his book upon the table.
"It is because I have chanced to hear a matter so astonishing, so
surprising. It must be admitted that some people are extremely lucky."
"We cannot be considered so," said Michel, as he breathed a heavy sigh.
"No; but your old class-fellow, Eugene Camus. Are you aware that he
went to Paris in quest of employment? Well, he has come back for a few
days, after having obtained a situation of two thousand francs a-year in
the consolidated taxes."
"A place of two thousand francs!" exclaimed the good pastor. "You are
right in saying that some are very lucky, Madeleine, for I would adduce
this poor Eugene Camus as the most thorough blockhead and dunce that
ever came from the college of Juilly."
"Well, he was dying of hunger at Paris for nearly two years; but his
good fortune brought it about that another pupil of the Oratorians,
Joseph Fouché, of whom you have frequently spoken to me----"
"Oh! Joseph Fouché should be a very different kind of man. I am very
glad to hear that he is still living. A cunning fellow without any
doubt, and always amongst the first. He and I acted together, as they
said in the college; he helped me in my tasks, and in return I fought
for him; for I was a stout, healthy youth, and Joseph Fouché was by no
means strong."
"That has not hindered him from getting forward in the world, I must say
that for him. He is minister--minister of, what shall I term it? It is
all the same; it appears that when one becomes minister he may do
whatever he wishes, and as his greatest pleasure consists in making the
fortunes of his old class-fellows"----
"If I was sure of that," interrupted the poor pastor, with great
emotion.
"I think he gave you a sufficient proof in placing Camus as I have
described," replied Madeleine; "but Camus, being in Paris, could see
him, could speak to him."
"And why should not I go to Paris, Madeleine?" exclaimed Michel Perrin,
with an air of determination. "I shall go, sister; I shall see Fouché; I
shall speak with him; since he has recognised Camus, who was not more
than two years at Juilly, I am certain that he will recognise me also."
"Would you wish to undertake so long a journey, Michel?" said the kind
sister, in great dismay; "no, no, my dear brother."
"Hear me, Madeleine," replied the pastor, moving his seat close to her,
"whether I go to Paris or elsewhere, I shall leave this place."
"You are going away! You wish to leave me!"
"Your earnings are merely sufficient for your own support, my dear
Madeleine. I do not wish any longer to eat the half of them; and all
that you can say to induce me to remain will only annoy me, without
making me abandon my resolution. Departing from this place, is it not
the better course for me to go to Paris than any other place, inasmuch
as you give me the hope of finding a friend there?"
"But Paris is so far," said Madeleine, bursting into tears.
"Bah! sixty or eighty leagues, what is that distance to a good walker?
What annoys me the most, is having to take from you two or three crowns
to support me on the road and at the commencement of my sojourn. Can you
make out so much?"
"I shall not let you depart for Paris with two or three crowns, Michel,
you may be assured of that," said poor Madeleine, sobbing.
"That would be beyond my requirements, sister. Something tells that once
I arrive there, I shall find resources, and that my first letter from
Paris will bring you good news."
The poor clergyman appeared so full of hope from the success of his
journey, that he finished by imparting it to Madeleine. Without being
fully consoled, she smiled sometimes at the agreeable perspective which
her brother offered to her imagination. He perhaps did not indulge in
very sanguine expectations, but having decided on being no longer a
burden to her, he felt that he could act as a messenger or woodcutter
when the good Madeleine was not at hand to prevent him.
The preparations for such a journey not being of a nature to delay it,
in two days after that of which we have been speaking, Madeleine
carefully made up a bundle for her beloved brother, which he was to
carry on the end of a stick, and gave him a sealed rouleau in which, she
said, there were forty francs; and when the brother and sister had
embraced each other again and again, in tearful affliction, they
separated.
The pastor accomplished ten leagues in his first day's journey, impelled
by the double anxiety for a speedy arrival, and an avoidance of expense
on the road. He was far richer than he supposed; for on the second day,
his purse being empty, although he had lived on bread and cheese, he
opened the rouleau, and his surprise equalled his grateful affection
when he found three pieces of gold besides the forty francs. Feeling
certain that Madeleine had not been able to provide such a sum without
contracting debts, he resolved not to spend this gold, and to send it
back by the first opportunity; but he was not the less thankful for her
sisterly love.
As soon as he had taken up his abode at the most moderately furnished
hotel of the capital, he did not lose a moment in acquiring information
on various subjects which he considered conducive to his chances of
obtaining an industrial livelihood. From his landlord he learned that
Joseph Fouché was the minister of the general police, and that all the
ministers gave a public audience once in each week, but that in order to
obtain a special interview, it was necessary to request it by letter.
Accordingly he penned the following note:--
"CITIZEN MINISTER
"Michel Perrin implores his former class-fellow, Joseph Fouché, to
receive him as soon as possible. He is lodging at the hotel _du
Soleil_, rue Mouffetard."
"_Vale et me ama._"
"Health and respect."
Michel supposed that prefixing a Latin adieu to "Health and Respect,"
would remind Joseph of the time when, seated on the same bench, they
were studying Cicero. Almost an entire week elapsed without any reply
from the minister; and when Michel asked his landlord if it ever
happened that such notes were left unanswered, the latter mentioned
about fifty instances of such neglect, almost without drawing breath.
His hopes were thus completely annihilated; and already he was only
thinking of earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, when one evening
the porter brought him a letter. After breaking the seal with a
trembling hand, he read these words which seemed to him to be written in
letters of gold:--
"The minister of the general police will receive the citizen,
Michael Perrin, on Thursday the 24th inst., at one o'clock."
A person should, like our hero, have returned after having, in a state
of utter despondency, traversed the streets of Paris, those streets so
populous, but in which he would seek in vain for even an individual
inclined to extend the hand of succour, to be able to form an idea of
his joyful hope that he had at last found a protector--a powerful
protector. Accordingly, he wrote, before retiring to rest, to Madeleine,
_that he was to be with the minister of the general police on the
ensuing Thursday_.
On the appointed day, Michel Perrin was in the ante-chamber of the
minister before noon. Seated on the edge of a bench, he endeavoured to
banish the timidity natural to those who have continuously lived apart
from the world, and which the sight of a mansion in which everything
indicated power and opulence tended to augment. To embolden himself, he
recurred to his college days, and he was repeating for perhaps the
hundredth time that Joseph Fouché had been his class-fellow, when he was
called in.
Fouché was alone in his cabinet, seated before a desk covered with
papers. He had hardly raised his head and fixed his small reddish eyes
on the person entering, than assuming a cheerful manner--"There was no
necessity," he said, "to announce you, for on my faith, I could not have
met you in the street without recognising you."[13]
At this friendly reception the poor pastor fully resumed his courage.
"And you, too, citizen minister," he answered, cordially grasping the
hand which Fouché extended to him, "you have so slightly changed that I
believe myself recurring to the time when old Vieil allotted us our
tasks."
The figure of the minister assumed an appearance of cheerfulness which
was by no means habitual. Perhaps the sight of an old college comrade
served to relieve him of some disagreeable reflections, perhaps it
recalled to a deputy of the convention the recollection of the time when
his life was simple and innocent.
"Sit down there," he said in a gay tone, "and tell me how you have got
on in this world, since we lost sight of each other."
"I have lived for many years as happily as possible," replied Michel
with a sigh; "for shortly after my ordination, I obtained a living in
the most agreeable village of Burgundy."
"A poor position at present that of a pastor must be!" replied the
minister, shaking his head.
"So poor in fact that after having been thrust out of the door of my
manse, ruined, persecuted, I have lived during the last seven years on
the benefactions of some charitable, kind souls."
"And why the devil did you not try to get out of your difficulties? You
should bestir yourself."
"Bestir, bestir! That is easy said. At first I was obliged to hide
myself in the farms, in the cottages, because I was suspected, or they
pretended so; and I would ask you of what should I be suspected? But in
short, matters proceeded thus in the department of the Cote-d'Or."
"And in many other departments," said Fouché; "but when you no longer
feared for your head, you should have thought of your purse."
"If thinking of it would have filled it, it would never have become
empty," replied Michel with a sorrowful smile. "I believe more ideas
pass through the mind of a poor fellow who is trying to gain a crown
than passed through the mind of Homer when writing the Iliad or
Odyssey."
"And that did not lead you to any decided course?"
"To nothing but to come to Paris." Michel paused, but not without
directing on his college friend a look more expressive than any words.
Fouché smiled. "Did you know that I was minister?" said he.
"Certainly."
"And you have counted on me," replied Fouché, with a kindness inspired
by the thorough frankness of this man.
"Counted on you so much," replied the poor pastor, "that after God you
are my only hope. Employ me where you wish, at whatever you choose, my
destitution has absorbed all other difficulties. I shall not recoil from
any description of employment. I am resolved to do anything by which I
can earn my subsistence."
"To do anything!" repeated Fouché, with some surprise, "then you would
not refuse to be employed in my department."
"Oh! that is all that I ask!" cried Michel Perrin, his eyes sparkling
with joy.
"Undoubtedly you would acquire more money than your parish ever
produced."
"Is it possible?"
"Certainly; men who resemble you are rather scarce." And Fouché fixed
his eyes on the becoming figure of the pastor. "I know that you are very
intelligent, and you can express yourself clearly and explicitly."
"It is certainly advantageous to have received a classical education,"
said Michel, with a modest air, although he was in fact highly gratified
by the compliment.
"Besides, I can put complete confidence in you, whilst with the
generality"----
The door of the cabinet opened, and an usher informed the minister that
the first consul required his presence at the Tuileries immediately.
Fouché bundled a number of papers into a portfolio with all the haste of
a man who fears to lose a minute.
"As to me, as to me?" said the poor pastor, who with terror beheld him
preparing to leave without any definite promise.
"Hold," said the minister, writing hastily two lines on a scrap of
paper, "take this to Desmarest, chief of division." He then hurried to
his carriage and drove away.
The pastor had barely read these words, "_Desmarest is to employ Michel
Perrin, and to pay him liberally_," when in the utmost delight, he
proceeded to the office of the functionary mentioned, and the order
which he brought procured his immediate admission.
The citizen Desmarest, who appeared to him to assume more importance
than the minister himself, inasmuch as he had not been his class-fellow,
took the paper, read it, and without offering him a seat, asked him if
he was the person named Michel Perrin.
"The same, citizen."
"You have just left the minister?"
"Only this moment; for we had chatted together a full half-hour, as two
good friends would do who had not met for a considerable time."
"Be seated, Citizen Perrin. Is it the minister's intention that you are
to correspond directly with him or with me?"
"It would seem that in referring me to you, citizen."
"As he has said nothing positive in this respect, it is with me you will
have to do."
"And when shall I commence?"
"Without delay; for the minister, in directing me to pay you liberally,
undoubtedly believed that there was need of your ability and zeal."
"For my zeal I can fully answer," replied Michel. "I hope that, with
some little experience in the discharge of actual duty, my ability shall
equal it."
"I have no doubt of it, no doubt whatever. You have been sent to me by a
man who is never mistaken in his estimate of individual capability. I
shall enter your name on the list of those employed here. You shall have
twenty francs per day, and your payment shall commence from this
morning."
At these words, the poor pastor had great difficulty in restraining an
enthusiastic expression of gratitude for such treatment. He said that he
longed to render himself sufficiently useful to justify the good opinion
entertained of him, and he asked the chief of the division to designate
at once the duty he was eager to commence.
"For to-day, I have no particular directions to give you; but you will
come to me in two or three days. Meanwhile, go through the city,
traverse the promenades and other public places, dine in the
restaurateurs, especially in the good restaurateurs."
"Ah! as for the prime restaurateurs," said Michel smiling, "they shall
not see me at all. I believe them to be far too costly for my purse."
"I understand," replied Desmarest; "perhaps you are short of cash; but I
am going to pay you a fortnight in advance. Will that suffice?"
"For a long time, I assure you," answered the good pastor, full of
gratitude, "although I have really a scruple not having done any duty
yet."
"Bah! it is almost always the usage here; the intentions of the minister
were certainly not to have you sent to the mean eating-houses."
"What good angel has led me to these worthy people?" said Michel Perrin
to himself; and whilst he was expressing reiterated thanks, the chief of
division, having no time to lose, wrote an order for the cashier, and
handed it to him, telling him to go and get his payment, and not to
return before the following Monday, unless he had something pressing to
say.
If the first thought of the pastor, when he found himself the possessor
of three hundred francs, tended towards God, the second was for
Madeleine, and he could not dream of dining before he had written four
pages to that good sister, and made his letter the bearer of half his
treasure to Dijon. Then, with a light heart and mind at ease, he
resolved to follow the advice of the Citizen Desmarest, and to enjoy a
little portion of the Parisian pleasures. "I have four good days before
me up to Monday," he said, "and indeed I shall take some amusement."
In consequence, he betook himself to walk about the city. Paris, which
up to this time had appeared sad, muddy, smoky, took all at once a
cheerful appearance in his eyes, for a man whose mind is at ease, sees
matters very differently from the aspect they present to an afflicted
person. He was not fatigued by visiting the beautiful monuments, public
buildings, bridges, gardens, and parks, and he imagined himself
transported to fairyland. The Boulevards soon became his favorite
promenade. Owing to the variety of amusements which he found there, the
good pastor could pass his entire day without experiencing one moment of
ennui. The shops, equipages, puppet-shows attracting and occupying his
attention; not until night did he direct his steps to the Rue
Mouffetard, delighted with the sights of the day, and greatly pleased at
having been able to provide himself with two plentiful meals, an
indulgence which he had for a long time previous been unable to procure.
When Monday arrived, Michel Perrin presented himself at the ministry of
police rather anxious to ascertain whether the employment about to be
assigned to him might not be beyond his capacity.
"Ah! 'tis you," said Desmarest, who appeared busily searching for a
paper which he could not find on his desk. "Well! where the devil have I
thrust it? What have you done these four days past?"
"I have run about the city as if I was only twenty years old," replied
the pastor gaily.
"Something infernal must have happened to it," said the chief of
division, opening a drawer that he had not tried before. "All was quiet,
I suppose."
"Ah! perfectly quiet! Every one I saw appeared, like myself, to be bent
on amusements."
"The malcontents are not giving up their designs for all that. (Could I
have taken it home with me by mistake?)"
"Yes; the discontented people. That is what a poor fellow told me
yesterday in a chat which we had at the Boulevard du Temple, and, in
faith, I think he was one of them himself."
The pastor stopped speaking for a few moments after these words.
"Speak on; go on," said Desmarest, who continued to rummage his papers;
"I am listening to you whilst I am looking for this cursed letter. What
sort of man was this fellow?"
"He is a former garde du corps of the Comte d'Artois."
"Is he young? (This is enough to set one mad!)"
"About my age."
"(Ah! I have found it at last.) Well, your former garde du corps?"
"He told me his entire history."
"What a confiding man! Well?"
"It was a simple, plain story, and indeed I told him that I was a
clergyman, that"----
"You told him that you had been a clergyman?" exclaimed Desmarest,
laughing immoderately.
"Undoubtedly," replied Michel, rather disconcerted.
"All right, all right," said the chief of division in a tone of
approval. "What makes me laugh is, that if you had told me the same
thing when you first came here, you would not have surprised me, and I
should have believed you at once: I observe in you so much of the air of
a man who has worn a priestly habit."
"I have never been able to divest myself of that air, although it has
often proved almost fatal to me," said Michel, with a sigh.
"At present, on the contrary, it is most favorable; your figure, your
entire appearance inspires confidence."
The pastor bowed to express his thanks.
"And without doubt," continued Desmarest, "the good Royalist of the
Boulevard is living on hope like all his friends. He has some lively
expectations of a happy change of his circumstances."
"He has indeed, many."
"What do they depend on?"
"Ah! I do not know. The first time that he saw me this man could not
tell me all his affairs."
"This is very natural," said the chief of division. "Have you arranged
to see him again?"
"We have settled to have a game of chess one of these days, provided I
may be free to return to the Café Turc."
"And what prevents you?"
"If the business which you will appoint for me to-day requires my entire
time."
"I have no business to appoint for you," answered Desmarest, "but as I
am greatly burdened myself at present, you may return to this matter or
to any other until Thursday; come to me on that day."
Michel Perrin, not wishing to be troublesome, hastened to salute his
chief and to leave the office, but not without being greatly surprised
that they paid him so liberally for doing nothing. Nevertheless, feeling
certain that ultimately he would be set to work, he laughed as he walked
on the quay. "Three more holidays," he said, "and in faith we'll enjoy
them!" And he resumed the life of a Parisian cockney.[14]
The following Thursday, after having waited near two hours in the
ante-chamber with some men of very sinister aspect, the pastor was
admitted to citizen Desmarest, who smiled graciously, saying--
"Well, what news?"
"News!" exclaimed Michel quite astonished.
"Yes; when you come here undoubtedly you must have something to tell
me."
"In fact, citizen, as this is Thursday, I have come to know if it is
to-day that you desire to commence employing me."
"No, a hundred times no! I have already told you to take your own
course, to go through Paris like a man who thinks only of amusing
himself and seeing everything."
"I do nothing else through the length of the day," said the pastor
laughing.
"Well, that is the minister's intention and mine; have you settled your
game of chess? Have you again met your garde du corps?"
"No."
"The devil!" said Desmarest, who at that time was specially looking
after the Royalists; "but at least you know his name?"
"He never told it to me."
The chief of division shrugged his shoulders, smiling.
"You have let him see that you were too knowing for him."
"Quite the contrary," replied Michel, "for I told him at once that my
ideas were very simple."
"I am beginning to think so too," muttered Desmarest; then to terminate
the interview, he bowed and added, "let me see you on Monday."
"Certainly," said the pastor to himself, as he took the direction of the
Palais-Royal with the intention of dining at the café de Foi; "certainly
if this continues I can congratulate myself on having obtained a most
agreeable position. As long as my business consists in waiting on my
chief twice in the week, I run no risk of losing my employment through
incapacity."
When he entered on the following Monday, he had waited a very long time
until a number of persons passed, who stated that they were ordered to
attend.
"The usher says that you have been waiting for six or seven hours," said
the citizen Desmarest. "I had some important business to transact, or
you should have been admitted sooner; for I suppose that you have
something pressing to tell me."
"Nothing whatever, citizen," quietly replied the pastor, "I always come
very early, that you may have me at hand, if you wish to have me
called."
"It is certain that you are admirably punctual, citizen Perrin; I said
so yesterday to the minister."
"I hope that in this respect you shall never have to reproach me,"
replied the pastor, bowing.
"You pass your days in your chamber," said Desmarest.
"Me! I run like a mountaineer; yesterday I did more than two leagues on
the flagways of Paris."
"And you have seen nothing, heard nothing worthy of your attention and
mine?"
"Ah!" said the pastor laughing; "it requires so little to attract my
attention and to enable me to pass the time, that you would not wish to
lose your time listening to such trifles."
"Well! be it so," said the citizen Desmarest, whose astonishment had
reached its acme; "Good day, return to-morrow, I request of you."
Michel Perrin had scarcely closed the door of the cabinet, when the
chief of division rang and obtained the immediate attendance of one of
the _mouchards_ or detectives who were in the ante-chamber.
"Follow the man in the brown great-coat who has just left me," said he;
"follow him throughout the day, and come to report to me to-morrow
morning."
Until late in the evening the poor pastor could not move a foot or hand,
or speak a word without a note being made of it by the clever spy who
had become his shadow; so that on the next day, when he received the
order to enter the cabinet of Desmarest, the latter knew better than he
did himself all that he had said or done the preceding evening.
"Now," thought the chief of division, "unless he is deaf, blind, or
dumb, he will not be silent this morning;" and desiring him to be
seated--"Come," said he, "you are about, I hope, to give me an account
of yesterday's business."
The good pastor was always somewhat surprised at the interest which his
chief seemed to take in his actions or movements; he replied, with an
air of astonishment--
"My business of yesterday! I passed my time, since our last interview,
in nearly the same manner as I passed all the other days since our first
meeting. In the morning I walked to the Tuileries; in the evening I
strolled on the Boulevards."
"I am not asking about your acts or movements," interrupted Desmarest,
"but about what you were able to observe."
"Oh! nothing new," replied Michel Perrin; "I am beginning to know all
these places as well as I do my own pocket."
"This man cannot be of a sane mind," said Desmarest to himself. Then
taking patience--
"Do me the favor of telling me where you dined yesterday, citizen
Perrin."
"At a restaurateur's in the Palais-Royal," replied the pastor, whom this
kind of interrogatory surprised to the utmost.
"And afterwards?"
"I went to take my coffee at the cafe du Caveau."
"And whilst you were taking your coffee, what passed there? I beg of you
to tell me."
"Oh! nothing that I know."
"What! did you not remark three young fellows who were talking just
beside you, whose table was next to yours?"
"Stay, stay; I recollect now that there were indeed, just beside me,
some gentlemen; I cannot say whether three or four, but I know they had
a bowl of punch."
"And they used most horrible language regarding the First Consul," added
the chief of division with anger; "they even went so far as to threaten
his life!"
"As for that, I am completely uninformed on the subject, inasmuch as,
having observed two or three times that these gentlemen lowered their
voices when I turned my head towards them, I moved off to a table
farther from them. I did not wish to have even the appearance of
listening to them, you understand."
"By my faith, this is too bad!" exclaimed Desmarest. "What occupation do
you think that you have at the ministry of police?"
"Ah!" said the pastor, quickly, "that is exactly what I have been
desiring to know during the last fifteen days."
"Eh, zounds! you are a spy for the police!"
"A mouchard?"
"A mouchard!"
The pastor bounded from his seat, his cheeks flushed, his lips
quivering. "Monsieur!--But it is not to you that I have to speak," said
he, hastily rushing from the apartment.
He ran to the door of the minister, and wished to have it opened.
"The minister has gone out," answered one of the ushers, laughing in his
face.
"I shall wait for him; I shall wait the whole day if it be necessary."
"Wait for him, then, in the street," said the usher, "for you cannot
remain here."
"Be it so," replied the poor pastor, resolved to place himself before
the gate of the hotel, but he had barely crossed the courtyard, when
Fouché, on his return, alighted from his carriage.
Michel Perrin did not hesitate to rush towards the door.
"I beg of you to hear me for a minute, citizen minister," said he, in an
altered tone.
Fouché, although somewhat surprised at the sight of this excited
applicant, recognised Michel Perrin, and permitted him to follow him.
"Well! what now?" asked he, when they were alone. "Have you discovered
some conspiracy, to be thus almost beside yourself?"
"I have discovered that you have made a jest of the friend of your
youth," replied the good pastor, with a courage derived from resentment.
"Poor as I am, and powerful as you are, I would never wish to have been
subjected to such treatment."
"May I die if I know what you are speaking about," replied Fouché,
looking closely at him to ascertain if he was in his right senses.
"Have you not issued your orders to your citizen Desmarest?"
"Undoubtedly; he has even told me," added Fouché, laughing, "that you
earned your money very badly."
"Ah! my deepest regret is having received that sum of money, for
unfortunately I am unable to return it: I have sent the half to my poor
sister Madeleine. I have remaining at most only"----
"Eh! who says a word about your returning money, you fool? As long as I
choose to employ you, what has Desmarest to say about it?"
"To employ me! to employ me as a spy!" cried Michel, reddening with
indignation.
"Methinks your scruples arise rather late, when you have been attached
to the police for fifteen days," replied Fouché.
"It was only on this day that I discovered it," cried the poor pastor.
"What! did you not know it? Was it only to-day you ascertained your
function?" said the minister, as, struck by the comic tendency of the
matter, he indulged in great laughter.
"I should never have supposed it," answered Michel Perrin, proudly;
"your man told me of it."
"It was a fortunate thing that he afforded you such an interesting
disclosure," said Fouché, who vainly endeavoured to resume his gravity;
"but, in fact, Michel, did you not come to me, stating that you were
dying of hunger, and that you were resolved to do anything to provide
the means of supporting life?"
"Certainly; I would have agreed to sweep your apartments, to carry the
fuel for your stoves, to do everything that might be done without
forfeiting reputation and losing self-respect." And, in saying these
words, the poor pastor raised his fine head, which fretting and
privation had already covered with snowy locks.
Honor exercises an influence even upon those who have tampered with
their own. Fouché discontinued his laughter, and approaching his
class-fellow--
"There has been a misunderstanding, Michel," said he, taking his hand;
"let us forget this, and continue good friends, especially," he added,
"as I have most delightful news for you: it is that they are about to
restore your parish to you."
"Another hoax," said Michel Perrin, shrugging his shoulders, with an air
of incredulity.
"No; on my faith. Public worship is re-established. You know, or perhaps
you do not know, that Cardinal Gonsalvi was here for a considerable
time, to arrange the basis of a concordat with the Pope. This concordat
is signed; the First Consul communicated it yesterday to his Council of
State."
"Ah! if I again saw my good peasants! If I returned to my manse with
Madeleine!" cried the good pastor, his eyes sparkling with joy; "but,"
added he, "perhaps the parish will be given to another?"
"I shall take special care that it shall not," replied the minister.
"Your parish was in Burgundy, I believe?"
"Just beside Dijon. I had it for a year."
"You shall receive news from me very soon; but, in the meantime, I
advise you to return to your sister. Paris is full of people too crafty
for you; and as you must live," continued Fouché, "take this rouleau of
twenty-five louis."
"No, no; I shall take no more money," said the good pastor, pushing
aside the hand of the minister.
"You must take it. You do not imagine, I hope, that this would be a
recompense for the services you have rendered," said Fouché, laughing
heartily. "It is given to you by me for yourself, for your sister."
"Well, be it so," replied Michel, greatly softened. "I cannot reject the
gift of an honest man."
Fouché stifled a sigh. "Adieu," said he; "return to Dijon."
The following year, Michel Perrin had resumed his clerical functions;
and Madeleine again became the lady and mistress of the manse. The
peace, the comfort, the security for the future which they enjoyed,
seemed to be enhanced by the recollection of past sufferings.
If Madeleine, in whom there was a little vanity, remarked to her
brother, when returning from church, that all the peasants took off
their hats--
"Yes, yes," the pastor answered in a low voice, and with a smile, "THE
WORTHY FELLOWS ARE NOT AT ALL AWARE THAT FOR FIFTEEN DAYS I WAS A POLICE
SPY."
FOOTNOTES:
[13] I was informed by M. Turpin that Fouché frequently related the
incidents of this narrative which were subsequent to the interview, but
without naming his old class-fellow.--F. T. P.
[14] The word in the original is "badaud."
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE COUNT OR CONVICT, WHICH?--THE FAWN'S ESCAPE.
I now proceed to the narration of the other case which I received from
M. Hubert, the facts of which are far more extraordinary than any of the
exuberant fictions presented in the pages of romance.
In the early part of May, 1818, the Place Vendome was occupied by
detachments from the garrison of Paris, for the purpose of effecting
certain military requirements and arrangements. They were under the
command of the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene, colonel of the 72nd
Legion. Amidst a brilliant cortege, he appeared, bearing on his breast
the insignia of officer of the Legion of Honor, Chevalier de
Saint-Louis, and also the Spanish orders of Alcantara and
Saint-Wladimir. One of the spectators, meanly attired, and of rather
sinister appearance, attempted to approach the distinguished officer,
but he was unceremoniously repelled by those to whom the duty of keeping
the ground had been assigned. He found no difficulty, however, in
ascertaining that the residence of the Comte was in the Rue
Basse-Saint-Denis; and when the military duties of the day had been
fulfilled, and the gallant nobleman returned to his house, he was
apprised that a stranger was waiting in the ante-chamber on some affairs
which he declared to be of paramount importance. The Count proceeded to
the apartment, and was there accosted in rather familiar terms.
"You must remember me; I am Darios, your former comrade of the chain. I
bear you no ill-will, and do not wish to take any advantage of you, but
you are rich and I am miserably destitute. Give me your succour, relieve
my necessities, and you may depend on my prudence and gratitude."
The Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene affected to treat this intruder as
an impostor or madman. He summoned his attendants, and had Darios at
once expelled from the premises. The latter, in the highest state of
exasperation at such treatment, betook himself to the office of the
Minister of the Interior, and having eventually succeeded in obtaining
an audience of the Duc Decazes, declared to the minister that the Comte
de Pontis de Sainte-Helene was no other than Pierre Coignard, who, on
the 18th October, 1800, had been condemned by the criminal tribunal of
the department of the Seine to fourteen years of hard labor, for various
robberies committed by nocturnal housebreaking, and also by means of
false keys. That in about five years he had managed to elude the
vigilance of the prison authorities of Toulon, and had escaped from the
Bagne. The Duc Decazes was completely amazed at this statement, and
inasmuch as it was made by one who acknowledged himself to be a
convicted criminal, he at first considered it to be false and malicious.
Other reasons, of a political nature, made him determine to avoid any
personal participation in an inquiry resulting from such averments; and
as the imputations were directed against a person in a high military
position, he referred the matter to General Despinoy, who commanded the
division of the army to which the accused belonged. The co-operation of
the police was obtained, and the celebrated Vidocq was brought into
requisition. It was fully ascertained that Coignard, after escaping from
Toulon, had made his way to Catalonia, in Spain, where he formed an
intimate acquaintance with a young female, named Maria Rosa. She
constituted the entire domestic establishment of the veritable Comte de
Pontis de Sainte-Helene, who was a French emigrant, and of an ancient
family belonging to Soissons. He had been in the Spanish service, and
had distinguished himself in South America. Having returned to Europe in
broken health, he was reduced to great poverty by the inability of the
Spanish government to meet the claims of their dependants, or even to
make any effectual resistance against the French invasion, which was
then in very active progress. Death relieved him from his privations,
and Coignard induced Maria Rosa to become his accomplice in assuming
the designation of the deceased nobleman. The family papers and pedigree
were made available by the spurious Comte and Comtesse, and Coignard
proceeded to join the irregular troops or guerilla bands, which were
under the orders of Mina, to whom he introduced himself as a French
nobleman, exiled as a legitimist, and anxious to combat to the utmost
the upstart who had usurped the throne of his country. He either
received, or subsequently pretended that he received, the orders of
Alcantara and Saint-Wladimir during his time of service under Mina, but
he did not remain long in the Spanish ranks, and alleged that ill health
rendered his retirement unavoidable. In a short time, however, he
presented himself to Soult, and implored to be received into the army of
his native country. He continued in a military capacity, fortunate in
escaping the casualties of war, and in gradually attaining higher rank,
until the departure of Napoleon for Elba, and then, free from all
suspicions of his false pretensions, he professed to belong to the
_ancienne noblesse_, and to regard the restoration of the Bourbon
dynasty as the vindication of a right and the realization of a blessing.
When Napoleon returned, Louis the Eighteenth betook himself to Ghent,
and the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene conciliated his confidence and
esteem by becoming a participator of his short exile. He was basking in
courtly favor, when his former "comrade of the chain" recognised him in
the Place Vendome, and when his prudence, nay, even his instinctive
caution, so completely deserted him that he effected to treat a
statement which he knew to be perfectly true, as the threats of an
impostor or the ravings of a lunatic. It is highly probable that a small
pension, paid weekly or monthly, to Darios would have ensured his
silence.
But in reference to this most extraordinary culprit, it remains to be
mentioned that the police discovered and proved before the _Cour
d'assises de la Seine_, on the 10th July, 1819, that Coignard, even
after he had attained to rank and opulence, was in communication with
several of the most accomplished robbers of Paris, and that he aided
them by using the opportunities derived from his intimacy with persons
of wealth and proprietors of costly mansions, to ascertain where their
money and plate were kept, and at what time the property might be
pillaged with the least risk of interruption or detection. When he found
the proofs of his past and of his continued delinquencies accumulated
beyond any possibility of resisting an adverse judgment, he attempted to
escape, and on being arrested, he discharged several pistol shots at the
police officers, by which two of them were dangerously wounded and
permanently disabled. Amongst the associates of his aristocratic career,
there was far less indignation expressed at his robberies or dishonest
proclivities, than at his audacious assumption of exalted rank, and his
intrusion amongst a class, the members of which would evince greater
lenity to the opening of a banker's coffers by means of false keys, than
to the attainment of admission to a courtly circle by a pretended title
of nobility. Conclusive evidence having been adduced of the identity of
Coignard as an escaped convict, and also of his subsequent complicity in
several criminal transactions, he was remitted to Toulon, there to be
imprisoned for life and kept to hard labor. When he left the Bicetre, on
the 24th July, 1819, on the galley chain, an enormous crowd assembled to
witness his departure, and his demeanour was remarked as indicating
neither despondency nor contrition. In the towns through which he
passed, he excited the utmost curiosity. The false Comtesse, Maria Rosa,
proceeded to Toulon, and subsisting on whatever she had been able to
save from the wreck of her previous fortunes, she continued firmly
attached to the wretched Coignard. She visited him whenever permitted,
and afforded him every attention that the rules of the prison allowed.
She died in 1829, and he survived her only until the succeeding spring.
I think that in laying before my readers the details of this romantic
reality, I have given them an instance of fact being far more
extraordinary than fiction. The materials in the narrative last related,
are not suitable for being woven into one piece in the loom of fiction.
Those who would make a Count the hero or principal character of an
imaginative production, would shrink from choosing him amongst the
galley slaves of Toulon. Those who would make a convict a prominent
actor in any ideal drama, would consider it too ridiculous to dignify
him with a title immediately after his escape from penal servitude.
As to the memoirs derived from the archives of the Police of Paris, a
person disposed to make selections would have two difficulties to
encounter; namely, where to commence and where to conclude his extracts.
I may mention that there are some which certainly should not be
presented for public perusal, and which I would totally abstain from
translating; for although I might have no intention of publishing them,
I would not leave their details in manuscript. They might vitiate, but
could not improve. I could not, in these pages, insert all that I
consider amusing or instructive, although perfectly unobjectionable,
without extending this publication to an unusual amplitude, and causing
the result of my Parisian visit, comparatively to monopolise it. I have
translated every incident in the memoirs which I felt confident of being
free from impropriety, and perhaps, at a future period, I shall venture
to submit them to public consideration. At present I shall content
myself by submitting two narratives to my readers, and then, with a few
remarks on some of the novels of Alexandre Dumas, and with one or two of
my personal recollections, I shall leave Paris for Dublin, until an
interval of ten years has elapsed, when my acquaintance with the French
capital shall be renewed as satisfactorily, I hope, to my readers as it
was to myself.
THE FAWN'S ESCAPE.
The tale on which I am entering is designated in the memoirs, "The
Fawn's Escape," and the applicability of that title will appear when the
reader arrives at the Deer Park, (Parc-aux-Cerfs.) The preliminary
observations were certainly not written on any previous edition to that
of 1838, when the Orleans branch of the Bourbon family was in the
ascendency.
Philippe Auguste de Sainte-Foix, Chevalier d'Arc, was the grandson of
Louis the Fourteenth. The career of this person, during the succeeding
reign, powerfully illustrates the fearful state into which society had
merged, and proves that when the door is opened for the entry of one
vice, several others are likely to gain admission. It is worthy of
notice that the profligacy of the higher classes during the reign of the
depraved Louis the Fifteenth, was fully equal to the ferocity that
overthrew the throne of his successor, and, on the ruins of all civil
and religious institutions, established a reign of Terror. The people
witnessed all the precepts of divine or moral authority not only
violated but openly ridiculed; and we cannot feel much surprise at the
utter disregard of all the claims put forward by the higher classes,
when we recollect that they had long ceased to possess the slightest
self-respect. The robes of nobility were not torn to rags by the wild
and furious passions of a fierce democracy, until long after they had
been trailed in the mire by their aristocratic owners. But we are not
proceeding to write political considerations on the causes or effects of
revolutions; we only invite attention to the peculiar state of society
at the period to which our tale refers, and leaving the reader to
reflect for himself upon its consequences. We return to the chevalier
d'Arc.
An illustrious though illegitimate origin might be expected to elevate
his mind, render him susceptible of high feelings, and capable of noble
deeds; but in him it only inspired a ridiculous vanity and unmeasured
impudence. Perverted in his youth by the vicious philosophy of the time,
he followed its abominable maxims to the letter, and speedily compelled
all who had any respect for themselves, to repulse his approaches and
repudiate his intimacy. He consequently soon became admissible only to
those haunts which were open to any person who had a title to disgrace
and a sword to carry.
On reaching manhood, he entered into possession of an estate in the
vicinity of St. Cloud, which had been bequeathed to him by his father,
the Comte de Toulouse, one of the sons of Madame de Montespan. Being of
a handsome person, and of insinuating though frivolous manners, he
attracted the notice of a young widow, who had been, soon after her
marriage, bereaved of a very old and very wealthy husband, for whose
death she was prevented from becoming utterly inconsolable by the
acquisition of a very ample fortune. The chevalier perceived that to the
fair widow he was not an indifferent object, and, without the slightest
intention of ultimate matrimony, he professed the most boundless love.
He was warmly received, vows were interchanged, and to encourage his
advances, the widow occasionally spoke of her extensive possessions in
different parts of the kingdom; but far from insinuating that she wished
to reserve any portion of her property from her future husband, she
generally managed to introduce a favorite maxim--"That between two
united hearts there should be a community of interests."
The chevalier dined at the widow's mansion; the entertainment was
superb, and the table was covered with plate, with the exception of the
soups, which were served in porcelain. Affecting the familiarity of a
lover, the chevalier insisted that his fair hostess should permit him to
supply this deficiency, and on the following day two splendid soup
tureens were sent to Madame, with a _billet doux_, to which the dear,
fond creature attached more value than to the handsome present it
accompanied.
In about a fortnight after, the chevalier took an opportunity of
mentioning that he was unpleasantly circumstanced through the oversight
of his house steward, who had neglected to have his plate brought from a
chateau in Picardy, where he had passed the previous autumn. "Dear
friend," he added, "I am to entertain to-morrow the Comte Ecouy and the
Duc de Rohan, and owing to this fatality I find myself unable to make an
appearance even respectable. Will you lend me whatever you can spare,
and thus save my credit with my guests?"
Charmed at an opportunity of obliging her well-beloved, the widow
reserved not even a spoon, all was sent with alacrity; but in two days
she received a letter enclosing the duplicates of her plate, and
containing the assurance, that he should never have made it available
for his necessities but for the recollection of her own sentiment, "That
between two united hearts there should be a community of interests."
Impoverished by his profligacy, he petitioned the King. Louis the
Fifteenth recollected him as a playmate of his youth, and sent him a
draft on the treasurer of his household for eight thousand livres. As
the amount was specified in figures, the chevalier added a cipher, which
augmented the royal generosity to an unreasonable amount. The King was
urged to compel the restitution of the sum thus obtained, and his
majesty replied, "In my situation I cannot pay too dearly for a useful
lesson. It will teach me, for the future, to economise less the letters
of the alphabet."
Afterwards the Chevalier d'Arc became one of the most indefatigable
purveyors for the Parc-aux-Cerfs; and in reference to this part of his
life, we have to notice the following, which is romantic in the extreme,
and is also free from any details of an immoral tendency, rather a rare
feature in any adventure connected with the Parc-aux-Cerfs.
The chevalier being admitted, by reason of the reputation of his father
and his consanguinity to the Duc de Penthievre, to an intimacy with some
respectable gentlemen of Querci sojourning at Paris, whither they had
come to solicit official employment, or seek royal favor, was not long
in remarking the exquisite beauty of the only daughter of one of them.
Mademoiselle de Pal----[15] was beloved by a young officer of
musketeers, of honorable family and high character, every way worthy of
her hand, and they deferred the marriage only until the realization of
their hopes from courtly favor would leave the family in more easy
circumstances.
But a demon entered their residence when they admitted the Chevalier
d'Arc. He applied himself to stimulate the soul of the Comte de Pal----,
father of Mademoiselle Helene, with suggestions of guilty ambition,
until the foolish but obstinate old man determined to effect the
admission of his daughter into the Parc-aux-Cerfs. But how to procure
the concurrence of the two brothers of the old gentleman, one
Lieutenant-Colonel the Baron de M----, the other an abbé, and grand
vicar of the Bishop of Tulle. These gentlemen, high in their sense of
honor, and proud in their family recollections, would scorn to see
fortune coming through so vile an avenue. How to reconcile a virtuous
girl to her own degradation. Above all, how to dispose of her lover.
To make an open attack was impossible. Meanwhile, the old dotard of a
count, infatuated by the suggestions which the Chevalier d'Arc
continually whispered, fancied himself a minister of state, destined to
save France from every peril by the guidance of his sage advice;
moreover, he saw in his brother, the baron, a marshal of France, and in
his younger brother, an archbishop or cardinal. This picture enchanted
him, and instead of kicking his infamous tempter out of doors, he
listened to no other counsel but his. The virtue of his daughter became
a chimera and a trifle compared with the advantages which must result to
the entire community from an influence acquired over the yielding mind
of a libertine monarch.
The chevalier, on his part, had committed himself in the affair beyond
retreat. The King had heard something of it. His valet, Lebel, and the
portly lady, the directress of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, were impatiently
awaiting the appearance of this eighth wonder of the world. They worried
the intermeddling chevalier, and he soon concluded that the palladium of
the royal protection should be secured as soon as possible, and by all
possible means. He and the father of the young lady had recourse to
stratagem. They lived in Paris in the Rue des Moulins. One morning,
under the pretext of preferring a request to M. de Choiseul, lately
installed minister, the Comte de Pal----, his daughter, and the
Chevalier d'Arc proceeded to Versailles. On their arrival, they enquired
the hour at which the minister received public applicants, and finding
that there was some time to spare, the chevalier proposed a promenade
through the town. The suggestion was approved by the father, and the
daughter acquiesced.
They take their way through a lonely lane. The long wall, by which it is
bounded on one side, is pierced by a door which happens to be open, and
discloses a view of a beautiful garden. They ask of a domestic who is
passing if they can be permitted to walk in this delightful place. The
reply is affirmative, and they enter; and at the end of a shady avenue,
they meet a lady.
"Oh! it is the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers."
"Oh! the much-esteemed Chevalier d'Arc!--what a pleasure!"
"I am enchanted, madame, at this instance of good fortune in meeting
you. I presume to present to you the Comte de Pal----, my most intimate
friend, and Mademoiselle, his daughter."
High compliments are reciprocated. The Marchioness, so luckily
encountered, assumes the guidance of the party. They admire the beauty
and magnificence of the place. At last they arrived at a kiosque,
erected in the purest oriental style, and they find a repast of the
choicest pastry, fruits, liqueurs, wines, and iced water. Mademoiselle
Helene de Pal---- is pressed to eat and drink. She complies; and after
having taken refreshment, a sudden stupor overcomes her, and she yields
to a somnolency totally irresistible.
On awaking, she is astonished to find herself in a sumptuous bed. She is
informed of all that has passed by the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers, whom
she recognizes, and by whom she is affectionately embraced. A letter is
placed in her hands from her father, in which she is informed that he
has not been able to refuse to so kind a lady, the care of his daughter
during the period of his stay in the capital. He will see her at every
visit to Versailles, and Mademoiselle de Pal---- will be more
comfortably and respectably circumstanced than she could be in furnished
lodgings with him.
This had a great semblance of truth; and although certain precautions
and restraints appeared extraordinary, the young lady was so perfectly
innocent as to entertain no suspicion of the infamous nature of the
mansion in which she was placed. She had not acquired a knowledge of the
character of the Chevalier d'Arc, which was very different from that of
provincial gentlemen, and she had not the most remote idea of the
functions which he exercised at court. In the evening, she was induced
to enter the saloon. There, to her surprise, she recognized the King, in
a gentleman who stood with his back to the chimney.
A conversation ensued, in which his Majesty used much gallant and polite
language, and in which he stated that he came there without any
ceremony, as the Marchioness was his foster-sister. On his retiring,
they surrounded the young lady, and exclaimed that she should be proud
of the distinguished attentions of the King. In short, every allurement
which can be addressed to vanity was tried on one whose mind was guided
by sentiments of a higher nature. Helene, far from acquiescing in the
views of the depraved creatures of both sexes, with whom she was
associated, regarded all their suggestions with undisguised repugnance.
The same evening, a royal page brought her a porcelain vase, containing
a bouquet of natural flowers, upon which appeared a butterfly formed of
sparkling gems. Upon the handles were fastened two diamond ornaments,
shaped like pears, of very large dimensions and surpassing brilliancy.
These were accompanied by necklaces composed of precious stones,
remarkable for splendor, purity, and magnitude.
Ecstacy seemed to pervade the circle. Mademoiselle de Pal----, in a firm
and deliberate tone, apprised the Marchioness, that, at an early hour on
the succeeding day, she wished to return to her paternal home. Her
uncle the abbé, would undertake to have the present returned. There was
an outcry--
"You darling, to quit me! Ah! you wicked one! what ingratitude!
Moreover, how could I expose you, lonely and unprotected? I would not
entrust you to anyone; my responsibility is pledged. You will remain
until the next visit of your father, the Comte."
Constrained to yield to this specious resistance, Mademoiselle de
Pal---- retired to her chamber, and there wrote to her father an account
of all that had passed, and urged the imperative necessity of
immediately flying from the gallantry of the King. The poor child
comforted herself in the expectation of a prompt succour from her
father. What would have been her feelings if she had witnessed the
transports of joy in which the old gentleman indulged at the apparent
certainty of accomplishing his designs? It was a complete delirium!
Repeatedly he embraced the Chevalier d'Arc, whose pockets he replenished
with money. Then taking his pen, he hastened to reply that it appeared
premature to impute evil designs to any person; that the King could have
no bad intentions. Finally, they owed his Majesty so much love and
respect, that all other feelings should be absorbed in reference to him.
The conclusion of this letter plunged the virtuous girl in despair.
After two more days, she received a second visit from the King, and was
offered homage of a more marked character--the most costly stuffs, and
various other articles of such enormous value as could not be authorized
by simple gallantry or innocent admiration. Mademoiselle de Pal----,
distracted, overwhelmed, saw herself abandoned by those on whom the very
feelings of nature should have imposed the duty of protecting her
innocence. She did not accuse her father directly, but her mind was
beset with frightful suspicions.
One morning, at an early hour, the Marchioness not having left her
bed-chamber, a girl, who filled some very subordinate station in the
establishment, came into the apartment of Mademoiselle, in the absence
of the _femme-de-chambre_ who had been assigned to her. This damsel,
entering cautiously, informed Helene that a handsome lad, in her
father's livery, had brought a letter which he would deliver only to
herself in person.
Too much tormented not to distinguish any favorable circumstance in her
unhappy situation--knowing, moreover, that her father had not permitted
his two old servants to bring his family livery to Paris--she was only
too ready to take advantage of the opportunity afforded by the early
hour; consequently, she consented to receive the envoy.
An exclamation of surprise and delight escaped her. It was her lover,
the Vicomte de Benavent Rhodés, a gentleman of very high extraction,
quite ready to believe that his fathers constituted a younger and
distant branch of the sovereign counts of Rhodés. He was a black
musketeer, young, brave, and thoroughly daring. The Comte de Pal----, a
man without prudence or reserve, had permitted his brother to discover
his secret, and even to become acquainted with the letter of his
daughter. This worthy ecclesiastic, indignant at the projects of his
brother, lost not a moment before informing the person most interested
in defeating the base plots of the royal seraglio. The family was
distracted, but the circumstances required delicate management. They had
to deal with the difficulty of struggling against the proceedings of an
obstinate old man, who found historic sanctions for his conduct in the
innumerable pollutions of the Court. The great evil consisted in the
abuse of an acknowledged power, the authority of a parent. Besides where
were they to find Helene? He kept the secret as soon as he found his
family in revolt against his projects. The embarrassment was great, but
the Vicomte de Benavent, better informed than the respectable abbé, at
once surmised all that passed; how, owing to the villainy of the
Chevalier d'Arc, the fair Helene was already in the infamous precincts
of the Parc-aux-Cerfs. He wished to go himself, and warn his mistress of
the dangers by which she was surrounded.
Certain that he could never penetrate into this place if he went in his
ordinary attire, for habitual watchfulness interdicted the entry of the
_gardes-du-corps_, the _officiers-aux-gardes_, and the musketeers, grey
or black, as persons of suspicious reputation amongst those who had the
guardianship of youth and beauty, the lover flattered himself that he
would deceive the "Argus" by assuming a livery, and presenting himself
at an early hour.
He was not wrong in his conjectures; and by choosing the early hour he
gained the assistance of the poor female drudge who introduced him. Once
in presence of Mademoiselle de Pal----, he kissed her hand, and placed
in it a letter from the abbé in the following terms:--
"MY DEAREST NIECE,
"I write to you in the affliction of a broken heart. Your poor
father has been scandalously led astray by a knave, a swindler, a
man without an honourable idea, and destitute of faith and morals.
Dear niece, are you aware that you are now in the Parc-aux-Cerfs?
Who detains you there? The abominable directress of that polluted
mansion. Your ruin is resolved on. I trust that God will not
abandon you, and that this affair may terminate without crime or
scandal. Consult with the Vicomte (M. de Benavent.) He is regarded
by me as my future nephew. If your plans should not succeed, then
God will guide the steps of one of His ministers, and should I find
it necessary to approach the King, I shall not recoil from my duty.
Adieu, let us invoke the Virgin, the saints, your holy patroness,
and above all, the Three Persons of the all-powerful and
all-merciful Trinity."
The musketeer at once arranged with the young lady that precisely at
midnight she should descend from her chamber, and he furnished her, for
that purpose, with a silken ladder wrapped in a handkerchief. She was to
make for a part of the wall over which a white plume would be displayed,
and having arrived there, she was to clap her hands three times, and her
liberators would appear.
These matters having been arranged, prudence required the lovers to
separate; but the Vicomte, who at first had been more timid than the
object of his affection, protracted his adieu until Mademoiselle
Justine, an artful spy over the youthful inmates, arrived. At sight of
her, the musketeer took his leave in the style of a valet. This was in
vain; she was not to be deceived, and her practised eye detected the man
of quality. The provincial livery could not conceal true grace and
courtly bearing beneath its gaudy laces. At once she proceeded to make
her report to _Madame_. Alarm spread through the camp, and they took
immediate measures to defeat the plans of the young couple. Helene
passed the rest of the day almost alone. _Madame_ having sought
admission, a violent headache was alleged as a justification for
declining an interview. She soon returned, and being admitted by
Justine, she openly divulged the purposes which she entertained. Helene
gave full vent to her scorn and unqualified disdain. This was
indiscreet, but the error arose not more from her youthful inexperience
than from the noble sincerity and purity of her mind. Flattery was
tried, and she was addressed in terms of the highest exaggeration as to
the brilliant position to which the royal favor would necessarily exalt
her. This produced a declaration from her that love unsanctioned by
marriage commenced with infamy and terminated in perdition. This
language excited a perfect tempest of invective, her scruples were
derided, and to the most galling sneers were added direct threats of
ruin to all her kindred, and also to the family of her lover.
Tears were her reply, but her determination was unchanged. She expressed
a wish to retire early. In this she was indulged; and as midnight
sounded she attached the silken cord to the window, and abandoning
herself to Providence, she rapidly descended. Having reached the ground
in safety, she knelt and offered her thanks to Heaven for this
successful commencement. Then, approaching the exterior wall, she
perceived the white plume raised above it upon a pole. She clapped her
hands, and immediately heard all the indications of a violent contest.
Murmurs, imprecations, the clash of weapons, and several pistol shots
were almost simultaneous. The uproar increased; a struggle, hand to
hand, seemed to terminate in the departure of the combatants, and
although the signal continued displayed, profound silence ensued.
The poor girl was overwhelmed with terror, her conjectures were
tortures thoroughly agonizing; but just as the external tumult ceased,
_Madame_ issued from the mansion, attended by six male servants bearing
torches.
"Indeed, Mademoiselle," said this debased woman, "you cannot expect us
to indulge your wishes for midnight promenades in an inclement season.
The air is sharp, and your health is delicate. Please to re-enter the
mansion. The physician will hold us responsible for the results of such
indiscretion; and our tenderness for you compels us to guard against
your caprices. Until you become more reasonable, you must occupy an
apartment from which you shall not find it so easy to issue."
Mademoiselle de Pal---- did not condescend to reply to this cool
impertinence, but she understood that in such a contest her adversaries
were unscrupulous as to the means they employed. Alone, almost lifeless
with terror, and abandoned by her father, she apprehended the most
sinister designs, and her undisguised disgust excited an implacable
hostility amongst those to whom the superiority of virtue was odious.
"In fact," murmured the mistress of the mansion, "we are far more
foolish than she is herself, to labour for her exaltation; the insulting
creature will only detest us the more for our exertions."
They placed her on the ground floor, and assigned her some apartments
furnished in the most luxurious manner; but the windows were carefully
fitted with iron bars. When Justine had a second time undressed her
mistress, _Madame_ betook herself to rest.
Mademoiselle de Pal---- spent the night in tears, for she understood too
well what had occurred. Men previously posted had been waiting for her
lover. Perhaps he had paid, even with his life, for his generous
intervention. She implored God to protect the young musketeer, and to
avert the crushing resentment of the King.
In the morning she requested an audience of _Madame_, which was
immediately granted, and she earnestly implored of her not to report
what had passed to his Majesty. "I know not what I might do on another
occasion," was the reply, "but in the present case I have only to
express my regret that the King is already fully informed upon the
subject."
"It will be upon me then," promptly observed Helene, "that his wrath
must fall, since my generous defender is dead."
"Dead! the Vicomte de Benavent-Rhodés! You are pleased to think so,"
remarked this depraved woman, in a bantering tone. "Certainly it is not
owing to him and his associates that some of the King's servants did not
perish. Happily, there has been more noise than actual injury; but this
gentleman and four other musketeers are in the custody of the
grand-prevot, and they must answer to justice for an armed attack, at
midnight, on a royal residence. The laws of France attach capital
punishment to such an outrage."
Mademoiselle de Pal---- uttered a piercing shriek, and fell into violent
convulsions, which excited great alarm in the mind of _Madame_, lest the
death, or even the severe indisposition, of the young beauty, should be
imputed to her indiscretion. She sought to assuage her sufferings, and
when restoratives had produced relief, strongly advised her to apply to
his Majesty, who was of a merciful disposition, and would not refuse
pardon to the musketeers at her intercession.
The dread of the price which would be demanded for this favor
contributed to diminish the pleasure which the hope of clemency excited.
Nevertheless she resolved to meet the peril, trusting to overcome it,
and to conquer culpable intentions by purity of heart and the innate
power of virtue. When she ascertained that Louis XV had arrived, she
proceeded to the saloon. The conversation was gay, brilliant, and
varied. Mademoiselle displayed the intrepidity which is so frequently
the attendant of innocence, and although her face was suffused with
blushes, her voice was distinct and unfaltering, as she gracefully and
respectfully besought the King to pardon the five prisoners. Louis
reverted to his feelings towards herself, and observed that it lay in
her power to induce him to interfere in a matter which involved a
direct offence against his personal safety and his rights. He indulged
in the chivalrous levity which has so often characterised the Bourbons,
remarking that he was her slave, but that even a slave should not be
exasperated. Finally, he gave her distinctly to understand that the fate
of the prisoners depended on her compliance.
She demanded four days' interval, which the King acceded to, adding that
she could not follow a better example than that of Jephtha's daughter.
Two days had elapsed, the King was going to Mass, when a priest placed
himself in front of the cortege.
"Monsieur l'Abbé," said the Duc de Richelieu, "stand aside, you impede
his Majesty's passage."
"Sire," exclaimed the priest, "Sire!" and he raised his voice,
notwithstanding the repeated admonitions of the Duc de Richelieu that
silence should be observed, and that the King was not to be accosted
then or there.
"Sire, in the name of God, and appealing to the pious traditions of your
race, I implore an audience. Reflect that a moment's delay may endanger
your hopes of Paradise."
The firmness and dignified demeanor of the ecclesiastic produced an
extraordinary effect upon his Majesty. He stopped, reflected an instant,
and then replied--
"Be it so, Monsieur; after Mass you may come to my closet, I shall hear
you there."
This strange incident perplexed the court. The Comte and the Baron de
Pal---- were well known amongst the courtiers; but their brother, pious
and unpresuming, passed unnoticed in a place where no one appeared
important unless by the favor they received, or by the influence they
possessed. Impelled by curiosity, a crowd surrounded the abbé, and were
lost in various conjectures. Mass being over, the door of the royal
closet opened, and the captain of the guard advanced and enquired for
the abbé to whom the King had promised an audience. The abbé presented
himself and was admitted. He addressed the King in terms of profound
respect, but protested against the detention of his niece, and also
pleaded the cause of the young musketeer and his companions. In speaking
of the young lady and her lover, his language was pathetic and
persuasive; but he did not hesitate to remind the monarch of the
enormity of deliberate, premeditated sin, and of the awful consequences
before that tribunal of eternal justice where monarchs would be judged
without reference to earthly power, save as to how far they had abused
it. He was urging his arguments, when the official entered and presented
a letter which the King immediately perused, and raised his eyes and
hands in great perturbation. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbé," he exclaimed, "do
not proceed any further. The danger is imminent. Go, invested with
plenary authority, at once to the Parc-aux-Cerfs."
"Me, sire!"
"Yes, you; I want not your indignant looks. Lose not a moment, run,
demand Mademoiselle de Pal----."
"My niece!"
"The same; prevent the accomplishment of her fatal resolution. Let her
know that I renounce--but no, she is destroyed; it is all over. Take and
read that. My God, how obstinate and self-willed these little girls
are!"
The abbé, astonished at this event, hastily perused the letter.
"Sire," wrote the young lady, "I am apprised that it is by my
dishonour the life of the Vicomte de Benavent can be saved. I
prefer saving his life by the sacrifice of my own. If you do not
wish to be answerable for my fate before an Almighty judge, do not
punish a lover whom you have rendered sufficiently miserable
already by my untimely death. I shall have ceased to live when this
letter meets your eyes."
"But go, Monsieur," the King exclaimed again. "These priests are
effective only in the pulpit; they can advise well, but cannot act with
energy."
The horror of that note imparted speed to the abbé; he ran to the
Parc-aux-Cerfs, preceded by the Marquis de Pontecoulant, who was sent
specially by the King. The mansion was in an indescribable state, its
inmates filled with consternation at the desperate course adopted by
the hapless Helene. Several physicians were present, and various
antidotes had been tried, but without any satisfactory results. At sight
of the abbé, the bedside was left free for his approach.
"Oh! my niece," said the priest, in a voice almost choked with grief,
"how could you presume to dispose of your life?"
"I preferred death to infamy."
"My niece, your honor is respected, and the King concedes your requests.
The Vicomte de Benavent and his comrades are at liberty."
"Then I go to my grave consoled and contented."
"Dearest Helene! live to make a husband happy; live to impart joy to
your family."
"It is too late."
The abbé cast imploring looks on the medical men, whose countenances
mutely indicated their conviction of the hopelessness of the case. The
sad sacrifice appeared nearly consummated. How she had obtained the
poison none could tell. Dissolution seemed imminent, when a man of lofty
stature, whose features, though extremely swarthy, expressed great
intelligence, entered the room. In one hand he bore a small glass, and
in the other a phial, containing a liquid of the deepest green color,
and perfectly clear. "I come by the King's command," he exclaimed; and
passing, through the yielding crowd, to the bedside, he half filled the
glass with water, into which he dropped a portion of the green elixir.
Directing Justine to raise the drooping head of the apparently expiring
girl, he succeeded in getting her to swallow the medicine. Immediately a
fierce spasm convulsed her frame; she raised herself with surprising
energy, but instantly fell back on the pillow.
"She is dead!" exclaimed many of those present.
"She is saved," replied the tall, swarthy man, in a tone of perfect
confidence. He was the celebrated Comte de Saint-Germain, whose
influence with Louis XV. appeared mysterious to the courtiers, but
really arose from his extensive information and research. In theory and
practice his scientific attainments were of a very high order, and
appeared still more surprising when contrasted with the ignorance and
imbecility of the aristocracy of that period.
Mademoiselle de Pal---- recovered so speedily as to be capable of
removing, under her uncle's care, in about a week. On leaving the
Parc-aux-Cerfs, THE ESCAPED FAWN received, by order of the King, a
splendid note-case, in which there was a draft on the Controller-General
for five hundred thousand francs (£20,000.) On the previous evening, the
King said to the Vicomte de Benavent:--
"Monsieur, on this occasion I am endowing virtue." Then he added, with a
laugh, "One swallow does not make a summer."[16]
On the day that Mademoiselle left the Parc-aux-Cerfs, her worthless
father was banished from court, and enjoined to live on his estate at
Vivarais, The Chevalier d'Arc had the effrontery to present himself at
court as if nothing to his discredit had occurred! The King remarked to
him, that in affairs of gallantry, the consent of the young lady was
more necessary than that of her father; and suggested that he should in
future avoid appearing in Paris or Versailles, and fix his residence at
Tulle. He accordingly retired to that place, where he died in 1779.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] This abbreviation strictly copied from the memoirs, appears to be
intended to conceal the complete designation of the young lady and her
family.
[16] The original phrase is "Une fois n'est pas coutume."
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE COUNT DE COUCY--DUMAS--A THREATENED SUICIDE.
It is probable that these pages will be perused by some who recollect a
recent attempt to substitute a child procured in an English workhouse
for the veritable heir to an Irish earldom. It is extremely improbable,
that, in any part of the world, they may be read by any person
unacquainted with the main circumstances of the lengthened
investigations, which terminated in the conviction of a spurious
aspirant to an English baronetcy. I shall now offer my second selection
from the French memoirs. It relates to a claim to a title of nobility,
and, looking to the source from which the statements have been derived,
I think they may fairly be designated a true account of a falsehood.
The Marquis de Coucy sent his son to be nursed at Gonesse, where he was
left during three years, as was usual at that period (the reign of Louis
XIV.) The young Count was then brought back to his paternal home, and
became the idolized darling of his parents, who had no other child. When
the proper time arrived to commence his education, the first masters
were engaged. His progress was most rapid, and at sixteen, having
completed his preliminary studies, he was entered at the Military
Academy.
One day, whilst he was amusing himself along with some of the Rohans,
the Tremouilles, a Duguesclin or two, and several of the young
Rochefoucaults, a decrepit female, hideously ugly, excessively dirty,
although not badly clad, proposed to this party of high-born lads to
tell their fortunes. Some haughtily rejected the old impostor, others
eagerly embraced her offer, and amongst them the young Coucy. She took
the hands of four or five in succession, told them her idle stories, and
pocketed their money.
All, through a motive of amusement, even those who were not desirous of
making a personal experience of her imaginative power, surrounded the
fortune-teller. When it came to the turn of the young Count de Coucy to
extend his palm, he offered it. The old hag examined his hand for a much
longer time than she had devoted to the inspection of the preceding
ones, and suddenly rejecting it with every indication of disdain, she
exclaimed--"Back, fellow! Begone, clown! I am here to speak only to
gentle-folk, and not to tell the future destiny of a peasant's son."
At these words there was a universal laugh: some ridiculing the old
woman on her divining power, others venting a good-humoured raillery
upon their companion. He knew not whether to be jocular or angry. They
informed the old woman of the name and title of the illustrious youth
whom she had designated the son of a peasant, but she continued to swear
by all the saints that the young Coucy was nothing else. The uproar
occasioned by this denunciation continued to such a pitch, that the
captain of cavalry, the commandant of the academy, interfered, and
calling a groom, directed him to turn out that woman.
"That a woman!" exclaimed the groom; "I would wager that it is a man."
Another groom declared that he had seen an individual, in the habit of a
peasant, enter a neighbouring tavern, from whence, in about a quarter of
an hour, he had issued disguised as a female; and he averred that the
fortune-teller whom they had just expelled was the same person. The
young Count de Coucy heard these statements with indifference; but as
they referred to a creature who had seemed to take pleasure in insulting
him, they did not entirely lapse from his recollection.
Six months passed. One morning the Marquis de Coucy, being in his room,
was discussing with the Marchioness a project of marriage for the young
Count; they were anxious to marry him to a princess of the house of
Lorraine. In the midst of their deliberations, a valet-de-chambre
appeared. He was the brother of the young Count's foster-father, and the
servant to whom the Marquis manifested the greatest liking and
confidence. He apologised for disturbing their conversation, and stated
that a young man, of a most elegant demeanor and prepossessing manner,
and whose appearance seemed almost familiar to him, requested to be
admitted.
"Let him come in," said the Marquis. The stranger is introduced. He is
youthful, and appears not to have passed his seventeenth year; his
figure slight and symmetrical; his aspect expressive and bland; his
carriage is good, he has a sweet smile, and his salute is agreeable.
Still his deportment does not suggest that noble blood is coursing
through his veins. He has not the aristocratic air which a courtly life
imparts, or the polished manner derived from elevated society.
The young man appears under the influence of some strong emotions; he
produces a letter, and presents it to the Marquis. It is received, and
the youthful stranger sinks upon his knees, and covers his face with his
hands, as if about to implore pardon for some great transgression. Here
is the letter:--
"MONSEIGNEUR,--Sixteen years have this day elapsed since, yielding
to the pernicious suggestions of my wife, I committed a horrible
crime, of which I now accuse myself, and for which I must endeavor
to make all possible reparation, by a full acknowledgment of my
offence. This luckless day saw your legitimate heir taken from his
cradle, and my poor son substituted for the noble child. The
imposture still continues, and it is the son of Maurice Lesourd and
Madeleine Ledaille that, in your princely mansion, occupies the
position due to your legitimate offspring, whose youth has been
condemned to the weary labours of a rustic life. Whilst my wife
lived, I reluctantly concealed this scandalous transaction, but her
death, this very day, terminates my guilty silence; and as I do not
involve her in the punishment due to my offence, I feel the less
repugnance in submitting to the justice of the violated laws. I
send you, monseigneur, your son; he will deliver this letter, and
it is for you to place him in his rightful position. I shall
receive, in return, the unfortunate creature from whom a brilliant
career of life is thus withdrawn. Can my utmost tenderness ever
repay him for the loss incident to this disclosure?
"I am ready to maintain, before any tribunal, the integrity of this
statement; and I cherish the hope, that I may still enjoy some
portion of your distinguished protection. I have the honor to be,
Monseigneur, your most humble, most respectful servant,--
"MAURICE LESOURD."
The Marquis could not believe his eyes. The Marchioness fell lifeless at
the reading of this startling communication; but presently, yielding to
a natural impulse, raising the young man from his humble posture, they
pressed him to their hearts, and mingled their tears whilst recognising
his title to their affections.
One thing surprised the Marquis, the style of the letter. The young man
declared that it was written by the brother-in-law of Lesourd, the chief
clerk of a Parisian notary. "He it was," added the youth, "that
stimulated Lesourd to this act of justice; he is an excellent man,
worthy of the patronage of Monseigneur ----"
"Say your father's patronage," replied the Marquis; "but his noble
conduct shall not lack acknowledgment and recompense; from this day he
shall be my confidential agent. My present agent wishes to retire, being
aged and infirm."
Meanwhile, the Marchioness, recovering from her excitement, recollecting
the virtues and high endowments of him whom she was no longer to term
her son, began to consider that to deprive him of the rights with which
he had been so long vested, would require something more than the mere
will, or even the conclusive determination, of the Marquis. Her husband
found himself meshed in the most embarrassing manner; and the new
aspirant, who is already invested with the title of Count de Coucy,
perceives that he has to encounter an obstacle of which he had not
calculated the strength and magnitude, namely, the adverse possession by
his rival for upwards of fourteen years of the position in which he now
sought to supersede him! How was he to deprive him of title, rank,
fortune! How was he to banish him from a family of which he had so long
been a cherished member? There was nothing in his deportment denoting
the inferiority of his birth. He bore no resemblance, indeed, to either
the Marquis or Marchioness de Coucy, but his likeness to the father of
the latter had frequently been remarked.
He now enters the apartment. His air is noble, and with respectful
affection he embraces the parents of his love. Their fondness for him of
whom they had been so proud, and by whom their anxieties and hopes had
been engrossed, is irrepressible. They are plunged into heartbreaking
perplexity. They cannot allow the awful storm suddenly to burst upon
him. Neither the Marquis nor his lady could summon courage for an
explanation, which, nevertheless, it was impossible long to defer. The
new claimant is withdrawn for the time, a large sum is given for his
use, and both of the parents, to whom he has so lately presented
himself as their offspring, assure him that a speedy and rigid
investigation shall be instituted.
Persons of the highest discretion and of the greatest sagacity are put
in requisition. Experienced magistrates, profound lawyers, are
consulted. They mostly declare that the confession of the foster-father
is insufficient; but some incline to a different opinion. The matter
could not be concealed; in a few days it becomes publicly known. The
partisans of the new claimant make loud comments on the insulting and
disdainful manner, with which a fortune-teller at the academy had
repelled the Count, telling him that he was a plebeian. The gentlemen
who were present attested this fact, to which immense importance was
attached.
The unfortunate Count trembled with rage at these attacks. He tenderly
loved his parents, and was deeply shocked at the bare possibility of
losing their affections. M. de la Rochefoucault, his most intimate
friend, announced to him the damaging effect of the scene with the
gipsy. For a long time the Count had forgotten this event; but when it
was mentioned by his friend, all the circumstances recurred to his mind,
and amongst them the expressions of the two grooms. They are sent for.
One repeats that he believed the person referred to was a man disguised
as a female; the other declared that he had seen a peasant enter the
tavern known as _de la Bonne-Foi, rue du Petit-Lion-Saint-Sauveur_, and
that the same person soon after issued forth in female attire.
The Count and his advisers betook themselves to this tavern. They did
not find it easy to enlighten the proprietor, or bring him to appreciate
the importance of their inquiries; but when he had sufficiently
collected his ideas, he declared that a peasant of Gonesse, with whom he
was personally acquainted, one Lesourd, had asked to be accommodated
with a room in which he could disguise himself, and, he added, that
Lesourd stated his motive for the trick to be, that he was employed by
the parents of a young man to watch his conduct at the academy, and that
the disguise thus adopted afforded him the best means of making his
observations.
This was an important discovery. Lesourd encountered it by declaring
that the better to punish himself for his substitution of the false
heir, and to prepare a triumph for the cause of truth, he had made this
preliminary denunciation of his son. This reason appeared
unsatisfactory; such conduct was not straightforward or candid. Truth
abhors disguises. Still the mystery was undiscovered, and all remained
involved in doubt. The most conflicting opinions continued to be
entertained, and the best society in Paris sought no other topic for
conversation than the merits of the respective claimants to the honors
of the illustrious house of Coucy.
We have to recollect that, on the recommendation of the new candidate,
the brother-in-law of Lesourd had been appointed agent to the Marquis de
Coucy. He had quitted the notarial office in which he had been
previously employed, and for several weeks had discharged the duties of
his new and important function. He had laboured with great zeal to
establish the claims of the recent comer, and omitted no opportunity of
furthering his cause. This man, Romain Ladaille, possessed a spaniel, an
extremely sagacious and gentle animal. The Marchioness became fond of
the dog, and allowed it into the apartments of the mansion, where it
became a complete pet. One morning Romain was engaged with the Marquis
on some business of importance. A manuscript was wanting. After a slight
delay the agent found it, and laying it before the Marquis, he casually
observed, "If I had not found the paper, Fidele would have relieved us
of the difficulty; he is so intelligent a dog, he finds anything that is
lost." Upon this he paces round the chamber, conceals his portfolio
beneath the cushions of a sofa, and then returning to his seat, calls
the dog, pretends to lament the loss of something valuable, and makes a
gesture to Fidele to search for the missing article. The animal at once
betakes himself to the task, as if he fully comprehended a glance of his
master; he smells about the apartment, and presently drags the portfolio
from its place of concealment.
The Marquis was highly amused; he called the dog, and disengaging the
portfolio from his teeth, a letter drops from it. The superscription is
in his own name. He opens it, and as he reads an indescribable agitation
pervades his frame; his hand trembles, the blood forsakes his cheeks,
and his strength scarcely suffices to ring the bell. A servant appears,
and receives an order. In a few moments an exempt of the Police enters,
and respectfully requires to know for what purpose he has been summoned.
"To arrest this villain," cries the Marquis, pointing to his agent; "and
to affix your signature to the margin of this letter, which I have just
received from his portfolio, and which I must request you to peruse."
The Marchioness having been apprised of some extraordinary discovery
having been made, hastens to her husband. "Ah, beloved wife," he says to
her, "God has had pity on our misery; the imposture is unveiled. Listen,
it is Heaven itself that succours us." And he reads--
"MONSEIGNEUR,
"I am on my death-bed, and at this awful moment, truth is a duty
which I owe to you. You have been my benefactor; I have been reared
in your household; you were bountiful to me on my marriage, and by
you I was chosen to nurse your only child. Three years have passed
since my husband, induced by some pernicious temptation, besought
me to pass our son Pierrot as yours, but I have always refused to
commit this crime. Nevertheless, I fear that after my death this
guilty design will be persevered in. I therefore apprise you of the
sure means of its detection. In his childhood Pierrot fell into the
fire, and the accident has left visible marks on his legs and left
arm. These scars will serve to show which is your son and which the
impostor, in case they should attempt to deceive you on the
subject. Your son has not the slightest mark of a burn on any part
of his frame. All our neighbours are aware of the accident having
occurred to my child. I confide this letter to Romain, my brother,
and have enjoined him to deliver it to you. On receiving it, send
for my husband, read it to him, and he will renounce his evil
project. But for the love of God, and in the requital of the
service I now render, pardon my unfortunate husband, and do not
abandon my poor Pierrot, my own wretched son.
"I have the honor to be, &c., &c.
"MADELEINE LADAILLE _femme_ LESOURD."
Gonesse, May 22nd, 1712.
Beyond this letter there was nothing required to prove the fraud of
Lesourd and his brother-in-law. The latter fell on his knees before the
Marquis, beseeching mercy, and throwing on his brother-in-law all the
odium of the infamous design in which, he said, the threats of Lesourd
had compelled him to participate. Lesourd, when brought forward, wished
to exculpate himself by attributing to Romain the entire plan and
subsequent furtherance of the iniquitous affair. Thus, these two
scoundrels aggravated still more their detestable guilt. They finished
by declaring that the youthful Pierrot was their willing accomplice.
The police, by some inquiries, succeeded in demonstrating that the two
brothers-in-law were equally willing to promote their nefarious scheme.
Justice had some vindication. Lesourd and Romain were sent to the
galleys, but the Marchioness interceded for Pierrot. Some money was
given to him, and he went to America. There, this detestable fellow
continued to call himself the Count de Coucy.
The spaniel Fidele became the cherished pet of the true count; Romain
never could account how the letter of his sister, which he treasured
carefully as the means of domineering over his nephew in case his
attempt on the title of de Coucy should prove successful, had been taken
from a casket in which he had placed it, as a most important possession;
how it was transferred to the portfolio he could never conjecture. But
the police received, in the course of their investigations, some
statements from which they were led to believe that Romain was
occasionally a somnambulist.
DUMAS.
Dumas, in the construction of the plots of some of his novels, seems to
have availed himself of facts derived from the Police Memoirs, over
which, however, he spreads a very ample drapery of fiction. In "The
Three Musketeers" he ascribed to a Gascon gentleman, d'Artagnan, a
clearness of perception, a promptitude of action, and a personal
intrepidity which were really exhibited by one who was born much nearer
to the Shannon than to the Garonne, and who was a confidential attendant
in the household of the Duke of Buckingham, and is mentioned by
Bois-Robert, one of Richelieu's spies, in the following terms:--
"I shall first state to his Eminence, that chance having enabled me
again to meet an Irishman whom I had known in Paris, when he was
pursuing his studies; I then rendered him some service, and he, from
that moment, manifested to me the most ardent gratitude. On leaving
Paris, he proceeded to England, where, very luckily, he became the
valet-de-chambre of his grace the Duke of Buckingham. Although the
emoluments of that situation must be considerable, Patrick O'Reilly
(which is the name of this Irishman) is always without a halfpenny. In
this respect he imitates his noble master. I have received him kindly
whenever he came to see me; and such is my zeal in the service of
Monseigneur, that I have submitted to associate with this valet, hoping
to obtain some useful information respecting his master. It was also for
this purpose that I advanced him some money."
Dumas does not entirely ignore the name of Patrick O'Reilly, but he
gives it to a jeweller, whom he mentions as the wealthiest and most
skilful of all then following that trade in London. In his novel of the
Count of Monte Cristo, he introduces the hero as the chief officer of a
fine merchant ship. It would have been more true, though perhaps rather
vulgar, to have presented to his readers, a shoemaker, of the
description called chamber masters, whose name was François Picaud, and
who, through motives of jealousy or envy, was represented to Savary, duc
de Rovigo, as an agent or spy for the English and the royalists of La
Vendee. He was imprisoned, his intended marriage having been prevented
by his arrest, and continued incarcerated at Fenestrelle from 1807 to
1814. In the prison he was appropriated as a personal attendant to a
Milanese ecclesiastic, of high rank, who died in January, 1814, having
confided to Picaud full information as to his immense property, and the
places where the documents necessary to it were to be found. He also
gave him a brief testamentary grant of all he possessed or was entitled
to. There was a very great value accruing to the legatee in diamonds and
hidden coin, but that treasure was in the vicinity of Milan, and the
statements respecting the Chateau d'If, and the island of Monte Cristo,
were complete fictions.
As to the last novel to which I have adverted, I am tempted into finding
very great fault with one of its incidents, which appears most
unnatural, and therefore most improbable. I refer to the scene between
the ruined merchant and his son, in which a father acknowledges his
intention to commit suicide, and ultimately persuades his son to
acquiesce in such a crime; nay, even to use to his parent, with the
pistols lying before him prepared for the catastrophe, the expression,
"Die in peace, my father, I will live." This is, I repeat, unnatural and
improbable. The English are said to be a suicidal people, amongst whom a
November day produces throat-cutting, pistoling, and poisoning; but in
England was there ever an instance of suicide being the subject of
consultation between parent and child? Oh! never; nor do we believe that
such could appear to our continental neighbours more consistent with the
state and feelings of society amongst them than it is amongst ourselves.
A THREATENED SUICIDE.
I may mention, in reference to suicidal attempts, that I witnessed what
I at first considered a dreadful attempt on the part of a Frenchman to
terminate his existence before some hundreds of spectators, and in the
immediate presence of a handsome young woman whose frigid indifference
to his ardent passion for her he loudly declared had rendered his life
insupportable. It was during my visit to Paris in 1853, and occurred on
a Sunday, in the grounds adjoining the palace of St. Cloud, where there
were numerous tables occupied fully by parties enjoying the viands and
wine, beer, or coffee, procured from two restaurants, which were also
well supplied with the choicest confections. The demented lover, who was
very well-looking, and seemed to be about five and twenty years of age,
declared, unless Mademoiselle would agree to marry him in the ensuing
week, he was determined to die there, and shed his blood at her feet.
She appeared worse than indifferent to his entreaties and to the fatal
intentions which he expressed, for she laughed most heartlessly at his
expressions of hopeless despair. Leaving the table, he threw an overcoat
across his arm, and hurried to one of the restaurants, from which he
very quickly returned, and made a final demand that Mademoiselle should
decide his fate. She continued inexorable, and I felt great surprise
that none of those who heard him interfered either by expostulation or
actual restraint. With frantic gesticulations he drew a pocket-pistol
from under the folds of his overcoat, and thrust it into his mouth. It
produced, however, no explosion. The pistol gave way between his closing
teeth, and the barrel was soon lodged in his stomach. The apparently
deadly weapon was made of chocolate, of which the obdurate damsel, still
laughing, insisted on getting a portion.
CHAPTER XXV.
DARGAN'S EXHIBITION--A BELL AND KNOCKER--LORD GOUGH--FATHER PECHERINE'S
CASE--ASSAULTS AND THEFTS--THE CITY MILITIA--A SCALD QUICKLY
CURED--SAILORS LEAVING THEIR SHIP.
I returned to Dublin in 1853, on the 10th of May, and had the pleasure
of witnessing the opening of the Great Industrial Exhibition in Merrion
Square on the 12th. It was a great success, and caused a very
considerable influx of visitors to Dublin, not merely from other parts
of the United Kingdom, but also from the continent of Europe, and even
more distant regions. It is unnecessary to dilate on the beneficial
tendency of such displays to awaken tastes and excite emulation in
reference to artistic productions of beauty or utility, for it is almost
universally acknowledged; but I am convinced that they produce very
salutary effects by bringing each class of society into the view and
under the observation of the others, approximating without confounding
them, requiring no relinquishment of rank or undue familiarity. The
building in which the exhibition was held was erected at the personal
expense of William Dargan, and cost £26,000. A statue, on the pedestal
of which "Dargan" is inscribed, now stands upon the scene of his
patriotic liberality. No other inscription is requisite to have his
generosity acknowledged and his memory revered by his countrymen.
Previous to the opening in 1853, it was suggested in the public press
and at the sittings of the committee, that as the inauguration of the
English exhibition in 1851 had been accompanied by a prayer for the
occasion, offered by a prelate of the highest rank, a similar course
should be observed in Dublin. However, the opening here was not attended
by any ecclesiastical demonstration, and some few of the spectators
considered the omission culpable. At the close of the ceremony, three or
four young men passed out at the same time that my brother magistrate,
James Magee, and I were leaving. There was no indication as to the
religious denomination to which they belonged, but we were greatly
amused at the zealous and fervent piety of one who designated the
omission of prayer, on such an occasion, as "a d----d shame."
The Dublin Exhibition of 1853 continued open until the end of October,
and during that time there was only one charge brought for magisterial
investigation from within its limits, and it was preferred before me.
There was a portion of the building termed the "Medieval Court," and a
man was accused of stealing, in that place, a coat belonging to a person
employed on the premises. He confessed his guilt, and I awarded him two
months' imprisonment with hard labor for the unlawful possession of the
article. This solitary offence would, perhaps, have lapsed from my
memory but for the total ignorance of the term "medieval" evinced by the
parties concerned, for they all spoke of the transaction as having
occurred in the "_middle evil court_."
It may appear almost incredible to some of my readers that, during the
erection of the Exhibition building, and for upwards of five months in
which it was resorted to by thousands, and I may add the comparatively
short time subsequently occupied in taking down the structure and
removing the materials, there was no other infraction of the law brought
under magisterial cognizance than the petty larceny case which I have
mentioned. I hope that I shall not be considered too discursive if I
introduce here an extraordinary and very gratifying statement of an
anterior date. The Great Southern and Western Railway of Ireland was
opened to Carlow in 1846. The splendid terminus at the King's Bridge and
several miles of the line are in the Dublin Metropolitan Police
district. The works on that portion included very extensive buildings
and deep excavations, and I have been credibly informed that they cost
upwards of fifty thousand pounds. A vast number of persons were
employed, comprising the various artisans, laborers, (commonly called
navvies,) and drivers. I was in office during the entire time of their
operations, and there was not even one complaint or charge preferred as
arising amongst any class or between individuals. Mr. Dargan, the
contractor, at a festive meeting jocularly congratulated me "on having a
sinecure, as far as regarded the people at the King's Bridge, where
there were no prosecutions required, except the prosecutions of the
works." I regret that at the present time such very gratifying qualities
could not be expected to a similar extent in similar undertakings.
Intemperance has become too prevalent, especially amongst the operative
portion of the community, to admit of large numbers being brought
together daily, without occasional, or perhaps frequent quarrels.
A BELL AND KNOCKER.
There had been in 1852 a contested election for the city of Dublin, and
the defeated party, as is usual on such occasions, attributed their
failure to the use, on the part of their adversaries, of every unfair
stratagem and corrupt inducement. At the commencement of the Session of
Parliament in 1853, it was rumoured that a petition would be lodged to
invalidate the return, especially on the grounds of extensive bribery
amongst the freemen. It was alleged that a certain alderman was the
confidential treasurer of the funds appropriated for the venal voters,
and that a person named BELL had been employed to procure the men and
dispense the money. The alderman was one of my most intimate friends,
and I frequently enjoyed his hospitality. I was also acquainted with
several of the other party who were loud in their denunciations of the
corruption of which Bell was alleged to have been the instrument. When I
heard them speaking of the sums distributed amongst the freemen, I
contented myself by affecting to lament the injustice to which I was
individually subjected, that I was a freeman of my native city, and that
I might have participated in the distribution to which they referred,
were it not for an odious statutable enactment which prohibited a Dublin
Police magistrate from exercising the franchise, and realizing its
incidental advantages, whilst the English Metropolitan Magistrates were
subjected to no such disqualification. One of my friends who happened to
be the editor of a newspaper, remarked that I seemed disposed to treat
the recent bribery with levity, and to regard it as mere fun, and I
replied that he was not far wrong in his conjecture, and that I would
advise him to adopt a similar course. He asked me to commit my ideas to
writing and transmit them to him. I acceded to his request, and he
published my communication; but I feel confident that neither publicly
nor privately did he divulge the name of its author. No parliamentary
petition was presented; and the bountiful treatment of the freemen was
only noticed publicly in my poor production of--
THE MAGIC BELL,
My retrospection of that election
Accords perfection to the magic "Bell,"
Whose notes so soothing were felt each booth in
Where freemen voted so prompt and well.
That Bell so cheering, our hopes uprearing,
As Green Street nearing we came to poll,
With _notes_ persuasive, soft and adhesive,
And touch evasive of law's control.
There are joy-bells swinging, and sweetly ringing,
Their blithe sounds flinging from Christ Church high
And Father Yore has erected more
On the Liffey's shore to the Four Courts nigh.
But more sublime than their varied chime
Of a festal time or a funeral knell,
Was the Bell so soothing, felt every booth in
Where freemen voted so prompt and well.
From the gifted Prout, we derive no doubt,
Sweet strains about days of infancy,
When "The bells of Shandon did sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee."
We may search in vain, we'll ne'er meet again
With a sweeter strain than Moore's "Evening Bell;"
But a Bell more soothing was felt each booth in
Where freemen voted so prompt and well.
The hermit lowly, whose thoughts are solely
On subjects holy, delights to hear,
When morn is shining or eve declining,
Sweet peals combining, his soul to cheer.
From far or near to his raptured ear
No sound so dear ever reach'd his cell
Like the Bell so soothing, felt every booth in
Where freemen voted so prompt and well.
In a few days after the publication of the foregoing lines, I dined at
his residence near Salthill, with my friend the alderman, and in the
course of the evening he mentioned that Bell was greatly annoyed by such
a production, and that he considered it libellous. I asked how could he
show that it applied to him. My worthy host said that it could not apply
to any other person, and I then remarked that it was not malicious or of
an injurious tendency, and that it had been written merely as an attempt
at harmless fun. This elicited the question of how I knew in what spirit
it had been written, to which I replied, that I had written it myself,
intending to be jocose; and that if my verses were not considered worthy
of laurel, they certainly did not deserve the application of birch. To
this expression I received a contradiction unanimous but good-humored;
and it was agreed that if the public whipping of a police magistrate
could be effected, it would be an interesting novelty and a general
gratification. There were two other aldermen present besides our host,
and they repeatedly assured me, even when shaking hands at the
conclusion of the entertainment, that they would provide some punishment
for my transgression. On the following evening I was at the house of a
friend on Merchant's Quay, and when I returned home, after midnight, I
found that the knocker of my hall-door had disappeared. My servant
stated that two gentlemen had called, one of whom expressed a wish to
see me, and on being informed that I was not at home, said that he would
write a note in my study and leave it for me. Whilst he was so employed,
the other remained in the hall. At their departure the servant did not
perceive that the knocker had been abstracted; but at my return I at
once observed the loss, and opening the note, which was written in a
hand manifestly disguised, I read the following communication:--
"Mr. Porter is so expert in the fabrication of a Bell, that he may
confine himself to ringing without knocking."
Although I felt considerable annoyance at such an unwarrantable trespass
whereby I lost a very handsome and expensive brass knocker, I did not
indulge in resentful expressions or state the suspicions which I
entertained. The door remained without a knocker, as if I intended to
acquiesce in the suggestion of only using a bell. The door had not been
injured or defaced, for the knocker had not been wrenched away, but had
been unscrewed by the person who remained in the hall whilst the other
was penning the note to me. I was repeatedly quizzed, and subjected to
mock condolence, but I treated the matter as a practical joke, and
ascribed the disappearance of my knocker to aldermanic influence. In
about a fortnight I was invited to another dinner at Salthill, and met
there the same parties who had been at the previous entertainment.
Amongst the various pleasantries of the evening, my knocker was not
forgotten, and my health was drank, accompanied by what I considered a
bantering wish for the restitution of the brazen appendage to my
hall-door. On my return home I was surprised to find the door furnished
with a knocker, which I soon recognized as my own. It appeared that
almost immediately after I had left home, a man came to my house,
stating that I had ordered the article at Bryan's ironmongery warehouse
in Bride Street, and he proceeded to fix it on. I have never since that
time meddled with any "Bell," and my door has not been interfered with
in any disagreeable manner.
LORD GOUGH.
About the end of 1853, I was for a few weeks engaged in magisterial
duties at Kingstown, and on one occasion I observed the late Viscount
Gough entering the police-court, and taking a seat in the part to which
the public were indiscriminately admitted. There was some case pending,
at the hearing of which he wished to be present, and I immediately
requested his Lordship to honor me by occupying a seat beside me, adding
that I could not consent to a person of his high rank and illustrious
character remaining in any position inferior to my own. He declined my
proposal, but consented to take a chair between the bench and the
right-hand side of the court. His chair was rather close to the grate,
which was full of fuel, only a few minutes previously kindled. The
court was crowded, and soon became very warm, but his Lordship's
proximity to the grate almost immediately compelled him to change his
position. Apologizing for the interruption, he asked me to direct the
office constable to remove his chair to the left side of the court, and
to place it near a window. Acceding at once to the request of the noble,
illustrious, and worthy old warrior, I ordered his seat to be moved to
the place which he preferred, adding, that I hoped the gentlemen of the
press would report the remarkable fact, that Lord Gough retreated from
the fire of the police, although he never had shrank from any other
fire, however hot it might have been. A member of his family told me, in
a few days after, that his Lordship considered my observation as most
complimentary and gratifying.
FATHER PECHERINE'S CASE.
In the discharge of my magisterial duties at Kingstown, I had to dispose
of a charge against a Roman Catholic clergyman named Pecherine, for
publicly burning a copy of the Bible. The accused party was a foreigner,
who had become a member of the order of Redemptorists, and joined a
number of that community in holding "a mission" at Kingstown, in
November, 1855.
He preached very frequently to numerous congregations, and excited great
admiration and even surprise by the fluency of his language and
correctness of diction. Finding that many books and tracts had been
distributed, in Kingstown and its vicinity, containing doctrines or
controversial arguments of which he and his religious associates
disapproved, he exhorted his hearers to bring all such publications to
him, and having received a considerable quantity, he burned them in a
large fire lighted within the precincts of the church where the mission
was held, and between the building and the exterior railing. It was
alleged that amongst the articles thus consumed, there was a copy of the
Scriptures. A prosecution was instituted before me, which was met by a
denial that any perfect copy of the Bible had been burned; and that if
even a portion of one had been thus destroyed it was by mere mischance,
and without his knowledge, intention, or approval. The proceedings
before me produced intense excitement, and great manifestation,
especially amongst the humbler classes, of the asperities usually
incident to indications of religious differences. I sent the case for
trial to the ensuing commission of _Oyer et Terminer_ for the County of
Dublin, and the result was an acquittal; but I refer to the occasion as
having produced some very striking instances of the most inconsiderate
and rash violence, committed without any provocation whatever on the
part of those assailed, and in the supposition that they had been
concerned in a proceeding with which they were totally unconnected.
ASSAULTS AND THEFTS.
Previous to the investigation of the complaints preferred on summons and
information, the custody cases were, as usual, disposed of, and I had
nine prisoners brought before me for having been drunk on the public
thoroughfare. Some had been quiet and submissive, and they were fined
one shilling each. Others who had been noisy or disorderly had fines of
half-a-crown or a crown inflicted. Amongst the former was a newsboy, of
about nineteen years of age, who had only one hand. Having paid his
fine, he was liberated, and passed out into Georges Street, where a
crowd had collected to get the earliest intelligence as to the progress
and result of Father Pecherine's case. When the newsboy appeared a girl
in the crowd exclaimed, "There's the horrid villain that is just after
swearing against the priest." Immediately he was seized, violently
beaten, and dashed through a large plate-glass window in the front of a
shop. Some police constables were close at hand, and saw the sudden
attack on the poor lad. They rushed forward and arrested four men who
had been prominent in assaulting the newsboy, and one of them was fully
identified as the person who had first laid hands on him and incited the
others. I do not recollect the names of the delinquents, nor is it
material to the narrative that I should, but when I asked if they had
any defence, or if they wished to make any statement, the ringleader
addressed me to the following effect--
"I thought, your worship, that he was after swearing against the priest,
or I wouldn't have laid a finger on him. It was all a mistake, and we
never intended to break the shop window. Indeed he broke that himself
trying to get away. Moreover, if what was done was wrong, I have been
well punished for it already."
I immediately designated the excuse alleged by the prisoner as an
aggravation of his offence, for if the person attacked had been a
witness, the violence used towards him tended to defeat public justice,
and to substitute might for right, making anarchy predominant. I added
that I did not understand the allegation of the prisoner, that he had
been already punished for his gross misconduct, and I wished him to
explain.
"Your worship," he replied, "I am a carpenter, and I was going to buy
some timber for repairs to a house at Sandycove. I had two sovereigns
and a half in a little leather purse in my waistcoat pocket. As soon as
I was brought into the police-station, I missed the money, and I have no
doubt but my pockets were picked in the crowd, and during the
confusion."
Wishing to take a short interval for considering whether I should
adjudicate summarily, or send the case for trial at the Quarter
Sessions, I postponed it for a week, urging the police to detect, if
possible, the girl who had caused the tumult and assault, and I allowed
the prisoners to be discharged from custody on giving ample bail for
their re-appearance, and proceeded to take the evidence adduced on the
summons against the priest. When the business of the day was nearly
concluded, two women were brought in, having been taken in the act of
assaulting a young woman at the market, which, at the time, was rather
crowded. The violence inflicted was very severe, and it appeared that
as the injured party was approaching the place where the others were
standing, a girl, described as being about twenty years of age,
explained, "Here she comes, the ---- ---- that has been swearing Father
Pecherine's life away." Immediately a scene similar to the one in the
morning was acted by female performers, the foremost being a large
powerful woman, the wife of a publican in a neighbouring village. The
supposed witness had been struck, kicked, and scratched; her hair
pulled, and her clothes torn, and the similarity of the two zealous
manifestations was fully evinced by the publican's wife, declaring that
"she thought" the suffering party had been swearing against the priest,
and she bitterly deplored the loss of three pounds of which her pocket
had been picked in the "scrimmage." Two other women were subsequently
arrested who _thought_ too hastily and acted too violently, but the
inciter had managed to elude detection, and it was believed that
immediately after her second exploit, she had hurried off to the railway
and gone up to Dublin with her booty. I dealt summarily with the female
prisoners, as the young woman whom they attacked was obliged to leave
immediately for Manchester, where she had procured some engagement as a
domestic. I indicted the very trifling penalty of sixpence on each
delinquent for the assault, but supplemented each conviction with two
pounds costs to the party assailed. This decision, in reference to the
costs, was extremely repugnant to the feelings of those against whom it
was awarded. It was at once pronounced to be hard, and they declared
their total inability to pay so much for a "little mistake," and their
disapproval of my judgment was greatly augmented by the alternative
which was left to their option of two months' imprisonment with hard
labor.
The fines and costs were almost immediately paid, and I believe they
were defrayed by a subscription. On the newsboy's case being resumed, he
declined all further prosecution, and declared that he had been
sufficiently remunerated. The girl who had incited the attacks was
detected in the act of picking a pocket in a place of worship at
Kingstown, about a fortnight after the occurrence which I have detailed.
She was not brought before me, but having been committed for trial by
Mr. Wyse, her delinquencies procured her "a complete retirement from
business" for seven years. She was not an un-thrifty thief, for it
appeared at her trial that a savings' bank book was found on searching
her lodgings, in which £37 were entered to her credit. It occurs to me
that the name of this culprit was Catherine Gaffney. Dishonesty is very
seldom associated with frugality. I have heard, during my magisterial
experience, of only two instances of the union of such tendencies. I
have already mentioned one. The other was a man named John Donohoe, a
shop porter in the employment of the late Alderman Butler, in Christ
Church Place. He was convicted, in February, 1853, of five distinct
larcenies on his master's premises; and whilst he was robbing on every
possible opportunity, he had £64 in a savings' bank.
THE CITY MILITIA.
At the commencement of the Crimean War, the militia regiments of the
United Kingdom were embodied. The City of Dublin Light Infantry and
Artillery and the County regiment were almost entirely raised in the
metropolitan district. Recruiting for the line was also very briskly
pursued here, and I can safely and deliberately state, that the military
enrolments relieved our district of a great number of loose characters,
whose abstraction was very salutary to our community. When the city
militia became sufficiently strong for active service, they were
embarked at Kingstown for Liverpool in a large steamer. I was on the
jetty, and I do not think the English language could supply any
opprobrious term that was not loudly ventilated in reference to me. The
copious application of every variety of invective was really amusing to
me, and it was only noticed by a frequent smile or an occasional laugh.
It was remarked by one, that "if the d----l didn't take owld Porter, we
might as well be without a d----l at all;" but another expressed his
opinion, "that the d----l was in no hurry to grip the owld rascal, as he
was certain to get him at last." I am sure, however, that if another
police magistrate had been also present, he would have been considered
fully entitled to participate equally in the compliments which I
monopolized, and which I only notice in the hope that some remarks which
I intend to submit to my readers in a subsequent page may be considered
interesting, and perhaps, I may add, important.
A SCALD QUICKLY CURED.
An infantry regiment of the line was embarked at Kingstown in a very
capacious steamer, I believe the Medusa, for Gibraltar or Malta. There
was a large quantity of baggage which the men were actively engaged in
conveying on board and stowing away. I was sauntering on the jetty when,
at one o'clock, they were directed "to knock off for dinner." The meal
was served on deck, and consisted of soup, bread, and meat, and the
recipients availed themselves of every position in which they could
speedily enjoy their repast. The circular seat around the window on the
quarter-deck was fully occupied. The soup was brought up in large tin
basins, and the bread was amply supplied, ready cut, from wicker
baskets. One of the men who occupied the circular seat, seeing a basket
of bread placed almost within his reach, stood up, advanced about a
yard, and having procured what he required, stepped backward to resume
his place. Meanwhile, one of the attendants had placed a large vessel of
soup on the portion of the bench apparently vacant, and the soldier sat
down in it. With a loud scream, indicative of acute pain, he rushed to
the tafferel, and plunged into the sea. He was immediately rescued from
the risk of drowning, and having been brought on board, was sent below
for medical treatment, and to get his wet clothes changed. I saw him on
deck in the course of the afternoon, and he stated that he was
suffering very little, and that he would be "all right" very soon.
Unless the temperature of the soup was below scalding heat, the
instantaneous application of the cold water, although of a saline
character, must have been extremely efficacious.
SAILORS LEAVING THEIR SHIP.
A large ship was quartered to convey the head-quarters of the 11th
hussars from Kingstown to Balaklava. A considerable number of horses
were embarked, and there were slings fastened to the roof and passing
under each animal's body, which supported him whilst sleeping, but
without allowing him to lie down. All arrangements for sailing had been
completed. A steamer was provided to tow the vessel to the outside of
the Kish Bank, and the wind was as favorable as possible for proceeding
down the Channel. The captain announced, about ten o'clock, a.m., that
he would leave at noon, whereupon three of his crew asked him to defer
his departure until the next day, and to allow them to spend the
intermediate time ashore. On his refusal, they required him to hoist a
signal, which, to the best of my recollection, was _a blue shirt_, at
the foretop, and he complied with their demand, inasmuch as, according
to his statement to me, his refusal would subject him to most severe
penal consequences. The signal denoted that there were persons on board
willing to serve in the Royal Navy; and as soon as it was displayed, a
lieutenant who was stationed at Kingstown, on the duty of naval
recruiting, went on board, and was informed by the three sailors that
they were desirous of joining his service. He acceded to their
application, and the captain found himself unable to put to sea for want
of sufficient hands, and without any expectation of being able to supply
the deficiency for some days. In this emergency, he applied to me to
have the men treated as wilful absconders, and to send them back to the
ship. I had a communication with the lieutenant, whose name, I think,
was Henderson; and whilst he fully admitted the hardship of which the
captain complained, he declared that his orders were so stringently
imperative that he could exercise no discretion, and had no alternative
course to adopt. I observed that by retaining the men there would be a
serious injury inflicted by one department of the public service on
another, and that it amounted to military exertion being paralyzed by
naval interference. He agreed with me as to the injurious effect of
having the ship detained, but declared that he was unable to prevent it.
I said that under the circumstances, I was inclined to have the men
taken and sent back to the vessel from which they had virtually
absconded. To this he replied, that he would offer no resistance to the
execution of any warrant or order that I might issue, but that he would
report the proceeding to the Admiralty. Thereupon, I suggested to the
captain to have the ship taken from alongside the jetty to the centre of
the harbour, and to stop any further communication with the shore. This
was immediately done, and I then sent a warrant for the seamen, and had
them conveyed on board, having previously advised them to go of their
own accord, which they declined doing, with the intimation that if they
ever returned to Ireland, they would smash every bone in my body, even
if they were to be hanged the next minute for killing such a d----d old
scoundrel. When they arrived at the ship, they told the captain that
they would not do any duty, to which he replied that, whilst they
refused to work, they need not expect to get any rations. The rest of
the crew disapproved of their conduct, and I believe that they soon
became reconciled to a resumption of duty. The lieutenant informed me,
in a few days after the transaction, that he had fully reported the
circumstances to the Admiralty, and that they approved of the course I
had adopted, and exonerated him from any censure. I was subsequently
informed by him, that on the arrival of the ship at Balaklava, she was
boarded by a party from the flag-ship, and the officer in command
produced the documents incident to the enlistment of the three men at
Kingstown, and claimed them as belonging to the naval service. They
had, however, the advantage of being allowed their pay, as seamen in the
Queen's service, from the date of their enrolment at Kingstown, and they
also had their wages from the vessel in which they had been employed
during the voyage to the Crimea. None of them have returned as yet to
realize their fearful intention on him whom they designated "a d----d
old scoundrel;" and he never entertained the slightest apprehensions of
any violent commentary on the course he adopted towards them.
CHAPTER XXVI.
EFFECTS OF ENLISTMENT--MARTIAL TENDENCIES--THE SHE BARRACKS--THE DUBLIN
GARRISON--AN ARTILLERY AMAZON--A COLONEL OF DRAGOONS--DONNYBROOK
FAIR--THE LIQUOR TRAFFIC.
In one of the preceding pages I stated that "the military enrolments
relieved our district of a great number of loose characters, whose
abstraction was very salutary to our community." I subsequently
expressed an intention to submit to my readers "some remarks that might
be considered interesting, and perhaps important."
It is unnecessary to particularise the numerous varieties of
objectionable tendencies and habits, any of which will be considered
sufficient to constitute the person exhibiting them "an undoubted
scamp." In Dublin and its suburban districts, society has never been
free from the evils incident to the existence of such disreputable
characters; but I fully believe that we are not more tainted by them
than any other part of the United Kingdom of equal extent and
population. The three regiments of militia embodied at the commencement
of the Crimean war relieved us of some hundreds of loose, disorderly, or
dishonest fellows, the riddance of whom produced a very desirable
decrease in the custody cases of our police-courts. However, at the
termination of the war, those regiments were brought back, and
disembodied in the locality where they had been raised; and many persons
might reasonably expect very disagreeable and injurious results from the
return of those whose departure was regarded as a happy riddance by the
community from which they had been abstracted. But very few instances
occurred of the discharged militia-men relapsing into disreputable
habits and criminal practices. Military service had produced a great and
most desirable reformatory effect. Supervision, strict without
unnecessary severity, with the adjuncts of regular and wholesome diet,
comfortable clothing and personal cleanliness, emulation in the
efficient discharge of duty, and the incitements arising from the
preference accorded in various minor appointments and employments to the
well-conducted soldier--all these, together with a change from the scene
of previous improprieties and disreputable associations, strongly tended
to generate a desire for improvement, and the acquisition of a new
character. Similar results were observable in reference to the last
enrolment and subsequent disembodiment of those regiments consequent on
the outbreak and suppression of the Indian mutiny. I wrote to the late
Lord Herbert of Lea, then Mr. Sydney Herbert, and Secretary of State for
War, in reference to the reformatory results, which I attributed to
military influence. He read my letter in the House of Commons when
moving the army estimates, and excited much laughter by stating that he
did not think it expedient to mention the name of the writer or the
regiments to which the communication referred.
My eldest son was a lieutenant in the County of Dublin Militia, which,
soon after being embodied, was stationed at Waterford. One morning he
was crossing the barrack yard from his quarters, to serve on a
regimental court-martial, before which some disorderly or insubordinate
characters were to be brought, when he was accosted by the wife of one
of the delinquents. She earnestly besought him not to be very severe on
"poor Larry," and that it would be a hardship if he got worse treatment
in Waterford than he'd get in Dublin for a little spree. She added, "The
owld gentleman, your father, long life to him, never put the poor fellow
up for more than a week at a time."
MARTIAL TENDENCIES.
During the period of my magisterial duty, I almost invariably discharged
the afternoon business, by an arrangement with my colleagues, which
tended to their convenience and mine. The attestations of recruits were
very seldom taken in the morning, and consequently they were generally
made before me. At the commencement of the Crimean war, recruiting was
very rife, and I was frequently appealed to by the recruit as to the
particular place in which the regiment for which he was enlisted was
stationed, inasmuch as he had bargained to be sent "where the fighting
was going on." This desire could not be attributed to any excitement
arising from sudden caprice or whim, or from indulgence in liquor, for
the attestation was never administered until twenty-four hours had
elapsed after enlisting, and unless the recruit appeared perfectly
sober, and aware of the responsibility which, with his own free will, he
was required to assume.
There was a man named Roger Tobin, who lived somewhere about the classic
locality of Stoneybatter. He appeared to be about twenty-five years of
age, tall, strong, intelligent, healthy, and handsome. There were at
least a dozen public-houses which the recruiting sergeants frequently
visited at the time of the Crimean campaign, being then in quest of the
martial spirits to whom pay, booty, promotion, and military glory were
promised as certain acquisitions, all considerations of danger or death
being left unmentioned and ignored as improbable or impossible. Roger
would enter one of these houses, having previously ascertained that the
sergeant had not yet arrived, and he would locate himself in a chair or
on a bench close to a table, and order some moderate refreshment. He
manifested an intense anxiety as to the most recent news from the seat
of war, and generally succeeded in making the proceedings of our army
the subject of conversation amongst the persons present. When the
collector of future heroes appeared, he was sure to be greeted by Roger
with the warmest wishes for his success in providing gallant hearts and
strong hands to repel the encroachments of Russia. The poor Poles would
be commiserated, and our brave French allies eulogized. Every topic
calculated to excite martial feelings would be adverted to by the
enthusiastic Roger. Such expressions would naturally lead the sergeant
to conclude that he might calculate on one recruit accompanying him back
to barracks, and his request or suggestion of immediate enlistment met
with a ready acquiescence. The magic shilling having been paid, the new
recruit would spend it in an additional libation, and address an earnest
exhortation to any young fellows then present to follow his example. The
sergeant would not be slow in giving a further advance, the application
of which to convivial purposes might procure him two or three additional
adherents. Ten shillings, or perhaps more, having been joyously spent,
Roger was informed that he was to accompany the sergeant, and any others
who had joined, and receive accommodation in the barrack, from whence he
would be brought next day to the police-court for attestation. Promptly
acceding to this direction, and raising his fine manly figure, he left
the table, and enabled the disgusted sergeant to perceive that his
recruit was clubfooted, and totally incapable of ever being put in
marching order. How the expenses incurred were afterwards liquidated,
whether the sergeant was the loser, or the liability devolved on the
recruiting department, I am unable to state, but I fully believe that
Roger repeated the same trick on many occasions. It would seem that each
sergeant did not wish to be the last victim, and consequently none of
them disclosed the deception to the new comers, or to those in other
parts of the metropolitan district. Roger's game was spoiled by a
warning communicated to the recruiting stations from the police.
THE SHE BARRACKS.
When the Richmond Barracks were built at Golden Bridge, they were
intended to afford ample accommodation for more than an entire regiment.
There were also barracks at Island Bridge, and the distance between both
was about half a mile. The former were generally occupied by infantry,
and the latter by artillery. A person in the vicinity had a large
building constructed through a speculative motive of a very
extraordinary kind. He was aware that soldiers marrying without leave,
or whose wives were dishonest, turbulent, quarrelsome, slovenly, or
habitually intemperate, were not allowed to bring such objectionable
characters into the regimental quarters. He consequently calculated that
he would find no difficulty in having his premises occupied by tenants,
to whose habits and morals he attached no importance, provided they paid
the rent, and his expectations were not disappointed. His apartments
were no sooner vacated by the incorrigible termagants of one regiment,
than a succession of vixens, was supplied from another to fill the
unedifying edifice. The proprietor had not appropriated any particular
name to the building, but it became speedily known in the district under
the designation of "The She Barracks." In the southern division of the
police districts, there were five extensive military barracks, and I can
unhesitatingly declare, that the cases supplied for police intervention
or magisterial decision from them all, were completely outnumbered by
those derived from the comparatively diminutive limits of the structure
designed for the use and associated with the name of the softer sex. The
details of the various charges and summonses in which inmates of these
premises were compromised, would neither be instructive nor amusing, but
I cannot ever forget a case in which two women, the wives of
artillerymen, appeared, on summons and cross-summons, to swear against
each other to the greatest extent of culpability. Each of them imputed
to her adversary the inclination and avowed intention to commit every
offence of a violent or malicious description, and neither came
unprovided with witnesses ready to surmount the most elevated pinnacles
of exaggeration. Whilst this auction of swearing was in progress, the
husbands of the two inmates of the She Barracks were seated together,
quietly listening to the proceedings, apparently on very friendly terms
with each other, and not evincing any anxiety for the success of their
respective consorts. At the close, I directed the informations of the
parties to be engrossed, and stated that I would commit both for a
month, unless they respectively found a surety in five pounds for their
future good behaviour. I added, that as they were strangers, I did not
suppose they could easily find bail amongst their neighbours, and that I
was satisfied to take the husband of each as a surety for his wife.
Immediately I was addressed by one of the artillerymen to the following
purport:--
"May it please your honor, I'm only a private soldier, and where would I
get five pounds in a day or two, when they begin again. Besides, if I
was a fit bail, I would sooner be bound for his wife's behaviour than
for my own wife's. 'Tis best to let them go." Then turning to his
comrade, he added, "Come, Sam, we're likely to have a quiet month while
they're both up."
Nevertheless, he was disappointed, for the two viragoes, acting on the
suggestion of an attorney who had been engaged in the case, came almost
immediately to terms, and neither of them would make an information.
They were consequently liberated, and instead of having a quiet month, I
am sure that the artillery men had, during that time, to undergo some
heavy domestic bombardments.
THE DUBLIN GARRISON.
The regular military establishments in our district produced very few
cases for decision by the civil authorities. I am not able to state the
exact strength of the Dublin garrison, but I believe that it is the
largest in the United Kingdom, and that the seven barracks never contain
less than five thousand men of all ranks and arms. Since the
commencement of the present century, this city has had quartered within
its limits or immediate suburbs every regular regiment in the service,
and large bodies of militia. In 1813, a private dragoon named Tuite
deserted, and on a Sunday morning stopped a gentleman named Goulding on
South Circular Road, near Portobello, for the purpose of robbing him.
The offence had a fatal conclusion, for Goulding was shot through the
heart, and the murderer was apprehended and executed. After his
conviction he acknowledged his guilt, but declared that he intended only
to rob, and that the discharge of the pistol was occasioned by his
trepidation. In 1818, a corporal named Alliard was indicted for
murdering a woman named Flood, in a cellar in Thomas Street, and he was
acquitted. These two cases constituted all the capital charges preferred
against soldiers before civil tribunals in our district from 1800 to the
present time. During my magistrature of upwards of twenty years'
duration, I had to send two private soldiers for trial on a charge of
passing base coin, and one of them was convicted. I had no cognizance or
knowledge of offences purely military as to their nature or number.
Whenever a soldier was found on a public thoroughfare in a state of
intoxication, he was taken by the police, and when sober, sent by
magisterial order to the officer commanding at his quarters; but the
number of such captures was very inconsiderable. Indeed if the entire
population of the district had been strictly similar to the military in
their habits and conduct, my office would have been almost a sinecure.
AN ARTILLERY AMAZON.
There was an affair brought under my cognizance about seven years
previous to my retirement, of which I have a perfect recollection, and
in which, I am free to confess, I busied myself beyond my magisterial
duties for mere amusement. An artillery soldier strolled into town from
his barracks at Portobello, and having indulged freely in liquor, betook
himself to a house in Bow Lane, off Mercer Street, about ten o'clock at
night. He was unable to return to his quarters, and having been
undressed, was placed in bed to sleep off his intoxication. The inmates
of the house were by no means of a reputable description, and amongst
them was a female unusually tall in stature, and with proportional
amplitude of figure. In a sudden whim, she arrayed herself in the
uniform of the sleeping soldier, and set out on a nocturnal promenade,
to the infinite amusement of her associates, by some of whom she was
accompanied. Their obstreperous merriment attracted the attention of the
police, and eventuated in the arrest of the amazon. On my arrival at the
police-court on the following morning, I was apprised of the
extraordinary charge which awaited my investigation; and I immediately
communicated with a gentleman with whom I was personally acquainted, and
who was in a high position connected with the Ordnance Office. He came
to me, and we arranged that I should not dispose of the case in the
police-court until the circumstances were made known to the military
authorities at Portobello. When the woman was brought before me, I
directed a sergeant of police to take her in a covered vehicle to the
barrack, and, in the meantime, the artillery man was captured in Bow
Lane by a party sent from the barracks, and as his own attire was not
forthcoming, he was brought away in a cab, and with habiliments not
altogether suitable to his sex or his station. The heroine was submitted
to some of the women, who divested her of the martial appearance she had
assumed, and transferred the garments to two non-commissioned officers,
who gave in return the clothes or improvised vestments that covered the
soldier during his return to barracks. I did not inflict any further
punishment on the woman, and I believe that the artillery man was not
severely treated: but I was informed by some of his officers that he was
made the object of the most persistent banter and ridicule amongst his
comrades, who accorded him the soubriquet of "Mary Anne." I believe,
indeed, that severe corporal punishment inflicted on his delinquency
would not have deterred the other soldiers from the commission of a
similar error so effectually as the jests and sarcasms supplied from
amongst themselves, and suggested by the appearance of one who had
returned from his roving so very unsuitably.
A COLONEL OF DRAGOONS.
Before I pass from the recollections and favorable impressions produced
by the almost uniform good conduct of the gallant members of our
garrison, I am disposed to give my readers a short narrative, without
any other comment than the expression of an opinion that it is one of
the many instances in which fact appears stranger than fiction. A lady,
the widow of a medical officer, having presented a memorial soliciting a
commission for her son, received a reply appointing him to a regiment in
one of our most distant colonies, and involving the necessity of his
speedy departure from this country. At her request I interested myself
to procure for him an outfit, promptly supplied, of excellent quality
and of very reasonable price. It was furnished by Buckmaster, Malyn, and
Co., of Dawson Street, who have also an extensive establishment in
London. I had occasion to call two or three times during the execution
of the order, and I was making one of those visits when two officers
entered. On seeing them, Mr. Malyn said to me, "This colonel is a most
extraordinary man; when he is gone I shall tell you why I say so." The
officers were in the uniform of a heavy dragoon regiment; one was the
lieutenant-colonel, the other was the adjutant. The former was in face
and figure such a man as I would consider that no painter or statuary
would decline to accept as a faultless model for a splendid artistic
production. His communication was very brief, but he appeared to be
intelligent and courteous. When he departed, Mr. Malyn told me that he
remembered him working on their shopboard, as a tailor, at their house
in New Burlington Street, London; that he knew his business perfectly,
being skilful, sober, and industrious. Nevertheless, he disliked such a
sedentary occupation, and being fond of equestrian exercise, enlisted
in the dragoons. Having entered the service, his conduct was such as
gained the approbation of his superiors, and he soon attained the rank
of sergeant. In active service he evinced patience, promptitude, and
courage, and the adjutancy having become vacant he was appointed to it,
with a concomitant commission. Being thus entitled to be received in
society as an officer and a gentleman, he gained respect and esteem in
his new position, and also succeeded in marrying a lady possessed of a
very ample fortune, by which he was enabled to expedite promotion
whenever it could be acquired by purchase. His success would seem to
have resulted from persistent good conduct, winning and retaining the
favorable opinions of all who could materially aid his advancement. The
most imaginative of our romance writers would certainly shrink from
presenting for our perusal the ideal descent of a field-officer's
epaulets upon the shoulders of a journeyman tailor.
DONNYBROOK FAIR.
I have to notice an event which occurred in 1855, and was productive of
most salutary results, not merely to the suburb in which it was
effected, but to the entire city and county of Dublin; I mean the
abolition or suppression of Donnybrook Fair. This excellent proceeding
was effected at the instance and mainly by the exertions of Alderman
Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin in the last-mentioned year.
It would be almost impossible to describe the scenes of drunkenness,
violence, gambling, and gross indecency that characterized an entire
week in the month of August, every year whilst "The Brook" afforded its
immoral attractions, causing our prisons to be immediately crowded with
loose, disorderly, or dishonest characters, so as to resemble hospitals
in a locality suddenly visited by an epidemic or contagious distemper. I
do not believe that, for many years previous to its suppression,
Donnybrook Fair was ever held without being the direct or indirect cause
of a life or lives being lost. It lasted for a week; and the greatest
intemperance and violence seemed to be specially displayed on the day
known as "the Walking Sunday." I visited the fair on several occasions
in my days of boyhood, and I can recollect some sad accidents in which
lives were lost or limbs fractured by vehicles having been driven
furiously by drunken "jarveys." I have seen the body of a female taken
out of a mill-race close to the fair green, into which she had fallen in
a state of intoxication. I witnessed a very furious encounter on the
bridge between coal-porters and some other class of combatants, in which
a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall; but the
worst experience that I had of Donnybrook was in 1820, when an amiable
and most inoffensive young gentleman, named James Rogerson, was walking
beside me through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in
the evening, and was struck in the head by a large stone thrown at
another person. He was felled by the blow, and was raised in a state of
insensibility. After he had revived a little, I took him in a covered
car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died in a few
days from the effects of the injury, and the perpetrator of the fatal
assault was never made amenable for the offence. From the time when I
attained the police magistracy in 1844 until 1855, I had to deal with an
ample share of the charges and summonses arising from the annual
nuisance of Donnybrook Fair; and I fully agreed with my colleagues in
considering such duties as "moral scavenging;" and just as pedestrians
might apologise for mud-covered feet or bespattered garments being
unavoidable in filthy thoroughfares, so the delinquencies arising from
the various evil excitements abundantly offered in the locality where
they occurred, were almost invariably imputed to the offender having
unfortunately gone to "The Brook." I must admit that in disposing of
drunken or disorderly cases, I was often influenced by the consideration
that when such an annual abomination was tolerated in a civilized
community, it was a ground for slightly mitigating the punishments
incurred by yielding to its abundant temptations.
In the early pages of these reminiscences I mentioned that a Lord
Lieutenant of Ireland had dined in a tent at Donnybrook Fair. I have
heard doubts expressed as to the correctness of such a statement. I now
reiterate it, adding that it occurred in 1808, in the viceroyalty of the
Duke of Richmond. It was noticed in several newspapers of the time, but
not with the slightest expression of disapproval. It was almost an
established custom for the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, with many of the
aldermen and common council, to dine at the fair, but their festivities
were enjoyed in a house. The place was then in the city of Dublin, but
it has since, along with a large adjoining district, been added to the
county of Dublin as regards any civil or criminal jurisdiction, but the
parliamentary franchises are available in the city, although the
district forms no portion of it, and possesses no municipal privileges
whatever. This arrangement, or perhaps it might be termed "derangement,"
occurred in 1832. I shall not digress into any remarks on local changes
of a political nature, but resume my recollections of the fair now so
properly abolished.
Almost every tent displayed the proprietor's name, and generally the
place of his residence, to induce visitors, from the same direction, to
give him a preference. Colored signs were frequently exhibited, which at
night became transparencies by a lamp being placed behind each. On one
might be seen the representation of a fellow apparently dancing with a
young female, whilst underneath was inscribed--
"Here Paddy comes to have a swig,
A better one he never took;
And now he'll dance an Irish jig
With Dolly Dunne of Donnybrook."
I recollect another sign representing a bee-hive, for the exhibition of
which no reason of an industrial nature was adduced. It displayed the
following invitation:--
"In this hive we're all alive,
Good whisky makes us funny;
So don't pass by, but stop and try
The sweetness of our honey."
Such were some instances of the allurements to participate in
dissipations then not merely permitted, but encouraged, but which have
happily been prevented from continuing their periodical infractions of
public peace, and their interruptions of quietude and industry. I shall
conclude my observations on the subject by quoting a verse of one of Ned
Lysaght's songs, which tends strongly to prove that drunken violence was
not merely tolerated, but made the occasion of a laudatory strain--
"Whoe'er had the luck to see Donnybrook Fair,
An Irishman, all in his glory, was there,
With his sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green.
His clothes spic and span new, without e'er a speck,
A neat Barcelona[17] entwined on his neck;
He goes into a tent and he spends half-a-crown,
He comes out, _meets a friend, and for love knocks him down_,
With his sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green."
I sincerely hope that the "glory" derived from Donnybrook Fair has been
for ever quenched, and that future indications of love for a friend will
not require to be illustrated by the application of a shillelagh. Some
of my readers may not be aware that this designation of a cudgel is
derived from a barony named Shillelagh in the County of Wicklow, which
has been celebrated for its oak woods from a very remote period. I
believe at present they are the property of Earl Fitzwilliam; and I have
frequently heard that the timber contained in the roof of Westminster
Hall was supplied from them. I am not aware, however, that the
propinquity of such material has produced any quarrelsome or combative
tendencies amongst the senators or legal practitioners who frequent the
locality.
THE LIQUOR TRAFFIC.
I am disposed to offer here a few observations in reference to the
liquor traffic, and the effect of the laws by which it is regulated. I
have heard the commission of every offence in which violence was a
principal ingredient, attributed to the demoralising and infuriating
indulgence in strong drinks. I am convinced, by my official experience,
that hundreds of crimes unattended with actual violence, have also
originated in the debasing craving for stimulating liquors. Frauds and
thefts have been abundantly committed from such an incentive; and even
affection has been extinguished by its loathsome power so completely, as
to make the criminality and degrading infamy of a son or daughter,
subsidiary to the gratification of intemperate habits; and the result of
recent legislation has certainly neither remedied, nor in my humble
opinion mitigated, the prevalence of drunkenness and its multifarious
concomitant evils. We are informed that a strict observance of the
statute prohibiting the opening of public-houses on Sunday before two
o'clock, p.m., has been enforced, and notwithstanding that regulation,
we see numerous cases of intoxication in our thoroughfares two or three
hours before the publicans open. On a Sunday in the present year, a
servant-man left my house between ten and eleven o'clock, in the
forenoon, and returned, or rather was brought back, in less than two
hours completely intoxicated. In such a case the law is only operative
in restraining the regular licensed trader. To deal with those
infractions of the law and of public decency, the visitorial powers of
the police and constabulary should be greatly extended; and the
penalties incident to a conviction for the illicit traffic should be
augmented to at least fourfold the amount now authorised, with the
alternative, in case of non-payment, of three or four months'
imprisonment with hard labor. In the preceding pages I have mentioned a
conviction for smuggling tobacco, on which a penalty of one hundred
pounds or six months' imprisonment was awarded. I recollect a detection
of an illicit still in a house on Haddington Road, in reference to which
the Excise authorities required that every adult found on the premises
should be subjected to very severe penalties, or imprisonment for some
months; and when I declined to convict a young woman who was washing
clothes in the dwelling-house, and who was not a resident, but merely
employed there occasionally, the professional gentlemen engaged in the
prosecution were very dissatisfied with my decision. Offences against
the Customs or Excise, which tend to withhold or lessen the revenue,
even in the slightest degree, are made legally liable to penal
consequences, compared with which the infractions of laws intended to
protect the community from the innumerable evils generated by
intemperance, may be regarded as trifling indiscretions, undeserving of
strict and severe repression. If a trader sends forth from his premises
one hundred drunken customers, to exhibit every phase of violent or
indecent behaviour, his conduct is not visited with one-tenth of the
punishment incurred by selling a glass of poteen whisky.
FOOTNOTE:
[17] A showy description of silk handkerchief, supposed to be derived
from a Spanish city, and associated with its name.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE COLLEGE ROW--THE COOK STREET PRINTER--A QUESTION AND ANSWER--A
BARRISTER--AN ATTORNEY--GIBRALTAR.
The latter portion of my period of magisterial service was very scanty
in the production of events worthy of being recorded. On the 12th of
March, 1858, the Earl of Eglinton arrived in Dublin to assume the Lord
Lieutenancy, as successor to the Earl of Carlisle, who had left on the
8th of that month, in consequence of the dissolution of the Palmerston
Ministry. I believe that in the respective selections of Lords Carlisle
and Eglinton, the Liberal and Conservative administrations succeeded in
giving to the Irish community functionaries deservedly popular with all
ranks and conditions. I therefore consider it a subject of great regret
that the entry of the latter nobleman, on the day above mentioned,
should have been attended with a riot in College Green, in which the
police and the students of the University came into collision. The place
of the occurrence was not within the limits of the police division to
which I was attached, but I happened to be in a house very close to the
scene, and had the fullest opportunity of witnessing the entire affair.
It commenced by the throwing of squibs and crackers from within the
rails in front of the College, which rendered the horses of the mounted
police and of a few dragoons very unquiet, and irritated some of the
riders. I believe that amongst the persons engaged in annoying the
police there were many who were not students. An attempt to repress
forcibly the throwing of the squibs and crackers produced the addition
of some stones to the missiles, and the affair eventuated in the reading
of the Riot Act by Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of Police, and the
clearing of the space between the building and the front railing by an
attack of the police, in which some severe blows were inflicted.
Happily, none of them resulted in fatal or permanent injury. A very
lengthened investigation supervened, during which animosity and
irritation almost entirely subsided, and were replaced by feelings of
mutual kindness. I think that an extract from the proceedings, dated the
10th of April, may afford to my readers a most creditable and
praiseworthy manifestation by the police and the students. I may mention
that Mr. M'Donogh, Q.C., was engaged in the inquiry on the part of the
collegians, when Colonel Browne expressed himself as follows:--
"I am sure Mr. M'Donogh will not be displeased with me if I say that I
thought the police, whom I consider a fine body of young men, had been
ill-treated for an hour or two by a number of young gentlemen. They were
on unpleasant duty, not of their own will; and I was more annoyed to see
them so treated than if there had been fifty dozen stones showered on
myself. They, too, were irritated at seeing stones thrown at me. All I
now wish to say is this, I take the entire responsibility of all that
occurred on myself. (Sensation.) I gave the order, and ought to be
accountable for everything that happened. It is not because two or three
of the men have, and no doubt did, act intemperately, that the others
should be punished. The whole concern should be thrown on me; and I hope
the collegians will cast it on me, and forgive me. I have a great regard
for the collegians; and have always had, and to the last moment of my
life I shall remember the kindness with which they have treated me. I
thought that a good feeling existed between my men and them, and I think
there did. I feel regret for what has occurred--regret that will go down
with me to my grave, and I say none but myself alone ought to bear the
consequences of what has occurred."
Mr. M'Donogh--"After that expression of regret, Colonel Browne, I, as a
gentleman, shall not ask you another question." (Loud expression of
approbation from the students and others present.)
Mr. M'Dermot, (Police Magistrate)--"I hope the language of Colonel
Browne will be received in the spirit in which it is offered. It is as
creditable to him as the ebullition of feeling which we have just heard,
and at which I do not wonder, is creditable to the students of Trinity
College."
Mr. M'Donogh--"And I am proud and happy that my young friends have shown
how they can feel."
The applause was continued for some time longer. Colonel Browne, who
seemed to be altogether overcome by emotion, retired amidst warm
demonstrations of regard. No ulterior proceedings were adopted, and thus
terminated the only collision or misunderstanding between the civil
authorities and the students of the University that occurred from the
commencement of my magisterial duties in 1841 to the present time.
Colonel Browne retired from office in 1858, upon a pension of £800 per
annum. He has also the half-pay of a lieutenant-colonel, and is a
Companion of the Bath. He is decorated with the Peninsular medal for
military service in the army under Wellington in his early Spanish
campaigns. He was succeeded as Commissioner of Police by Colonel Lake,
whose services have been highly and deservedly appreciated, especially
in the defence of Kars, when besieged by the Russians.
Almost immediately after the collision between the police and the
collegians, a song was composed, in reference to the affair, by a
gentleman who has acquired by it and several other productions of a
comic character, a reputation which obtains for him a most enthusiastic
reception in the choicest convivial reunions. He introduces the most
extravagant fictions, and enunciates them with such apparent
seriousness, as suffices completely to dissolve the gravity of his
hearers. His song on the "College Row" imputes the "doleful tragedy" to
the resentment of the Duchess of Sutherland, Lord Carlisle's sister,
consequent on his loss of the Lord Lieutenancy, and the appointment of
Lord Eglinton. She communicates by telegrams with the Commissioners of
Police, and remits five hundred pounds to supply their force with ardent
spirits, closing the communication with an injunction, that in case of
any enthusiasm being manifested by the students on the public entry of
Eglinton, they should be at once subjected to the most unsparing
application of swords, batons, and bayonets. The ballad describes the
carnage provoked by the explosion of a few crackers and squibs, as being
fully equal to the worst excesses of our Indian sepoys in their mutinous
massacres. I have heard it sung in the presence of Colonel Brown and
other police functionaries; and from all who heard its fearful but
fictitious details, it elicited the utmost merriment. I have been
informed that in his subsequent viceroyalty, Lord Carlisle and his Chief
Secretary had it frequently sung by the author, who is now connected
with the Dublin police in an important professional capacity.
THE COOK STREET PRINTER.
Shortly after the affair between the collegians and the police, a
complaint preferred by the Crown solicitor was brought under my personal
cognizance, and subsequently became the subject of a lyric production,
in which it was almost impossible to determine whether exaggeration or
fiction predominated. There was a printer in Cook Street remarkable for
bodily deformity and mental acerbity. His trade almost entirely
consisted in the publication of ballads, which were bought by itinerant
vocalists, who came each evening to replenish their stocks of amatory,
political, or comic productions. In proportion to the number of
customers who crowded his shop and contended for a speedy supply, the
publisher varied and multiplied his maledictions, and most impartially
cursed and abused them all alike. His habitual vituperations were
disregarded or laughed at, and were generally ascribed to mental
infirmity; but he embarked in a speculation which brought him under the
serious notice of the authorities as being intolerably offensive. He
published an almanac, the marginal notes and memoranda of which were
replete with sedition, and in which the public functionaries were
grossly stigmatised. It happened that the corporation had effected a
contract with the proprietor of a quarry in Wales for the supply of
stone of a quality considered best adapted for the repair of the streets
of Dublin, and the day on which the contract had been accepted by the
civic body was noted in the almanac as the date of an infamous
preference of foreign production, and an exclusion of Irish industry and
material through corrupt and debasing motives. This statement, however,
constituted no portion whatever of the charges preferred before me,
which consisted almost entirely of references to former attempts of a
rebellious character, with expressions of deep regret for their failure,
and hopes that the patriotic energies of the Irish nation would, in the
next encounter prove more effective in crushing Saxon despotism than had
been the efforts of the glorious Sarsfield, the noble Lord Edward, the
martyred Emmett, or the more recent champions of Hibernian
freedom--O'Brien, Meagher, and Mitchell. Colonel Browne was not even
aware of the proceedings before me having been instituted; and Mr.
Whiteside, the present Chief Justice, was never concerned in any case
before me during my tenure of magisterial office. The printer of the
almanac appeared on a summons to show cause why informations should not
be taken against him, and returned for trial on numerous and deliberate
seditious statements published by him. The late Mr. John Adye Curran
appeared as his counsel, and proposed to give sureties for his client's
appearance to meet the charges preferred, if the Crown solicitor deemed
it necessary to continue the prosecution, offering also to give up all
copies of the almanac remaining in stock, and to abandon its future
publication. The Crown solicitor, Mr. Kemmis, at once acceded to this
proposal, and, on the sureties having been produced, I allowed the
accused party to leave, and entered in the summons-book that the
complaint was "dismissed without prejudice." I did not manifest the
slightest sympathy for the delinquent, but informed him that he owed his
escape from severe punishment entirely to the lenity of the Crown
solicitor, and not to any disinclination on my part to have him made
seriously and severely responsible for his misconduct. In a few days he
became the subject of a lyric panegyric, in which his prosecution was
attributed to Colonel Browne and Mr. Whiteside, and the stoppage of the
proceedings was ascribed _to me_ and to Mr. Curran; the course adopted
by the latter gentleman being the only thread of truth interwoven in a
web of fiction, and sung to an old Irish air, which I am not able to
particularise. It has been entitled by an additional fiction--
THE LOWER CASTLE YARD.
You gallant-hearted Irishmen,
Come listen to my lay,
The melancholy muse I woo,
She comes in tears to-day.
Oh Wirra! Wirrasthrue, says she,
Sure Dublin's noblest bard
Is took before his tyrants
In the Lower Castle Yard.
In Cook Street was our Printer born,
In Cook Street was he bred,
The legends of Hibernia's land
His young ideas fed,
How Brian Coru and Granyah too,
Did Saxons disregard,
And the flag of green once waved serene
In the Upper Castle Yard.
His first animadversions
Were on the paving stones,
Why should you send your cash to Wales,
To Taffy or to Jones?
Why not lay down, throughout the town,
Your Irish granite hard?
And macadamize the dirty spies
In the Lower Castle Yard?
Colonel Browne, he being a Welshman,
Swore by St. David's bones
He'd prosecute the Irishman
Who dare oppose their stones.
He order'd Whiteside to indict
And carcerate the Bard;
Let him try, says he, Geology,
In the Lower Castle Yard.
But good luck to Frank Thorpe Porter,
That expounder of the laws,
Likewise to Adye Curran,
Who was counsel in the cause.
They tann'd the hide of long Whiteside,
And did him disregard,
And freed our Printer from his fangs,
In the Lower Castle Yard.
A QUESTION AND ANSWER.
I was occasionally sent for by the Chief Secretary of the Lord
Lieutenant in reference to matters of a local nature on which it was
desirable to obtain prompt and confidential information. I cannot say
that any of those functionaries ever applied to me on a subject which I
considered very important, and I was never informed what was the
ultimate object of the inquiry. I believe that in several instances the
wish was to acquire some topics or materials for replies to deputations.
It was intimated to me, in 1853, one day about two o'clock, that the
Chief Secretary desired to see me immediately, and I accordingly
proceeded to his office. He said that he wished to know whether the
trade and commerce of Dublin was in a state of healthy progress, or of
retrogression as compared with the two previous years. I told him that
the files of the Dublin Gazette would enable him fully to ascertain the
increase or decrease of bankruptcies within the city in the last year
compared with any recent period, and that the Imports and Exports
published under the sanction of the Customs authorities could be easily
procured and examined. He declined to adopt the course I suggested as
being complex, and requiring too much time to ascertain its results; and
he then said that he wished me to come on the next day and tell him
whether I believed that the general trade and commerce of Dublin were in
a better or worse state during the past twelve months than they had been
for the two previous years. I attended at the time appointed, and
expressed a most decided opinion that the trading community had been far
more prosperous in the latter period, and that I believed their business
was one half greater than it had been during the terms with which it was
to be compared. The Right Honorable functionary asked me when I had
arrived at such a conclusion; to which I simply answered that my opinion
had been formed since our last interview. I was then interrogated as to
what documents I had examined, or what class of traders I had consulted,
to which I replied that I had nothing on the subject, and had spoken to
a few traders merely as to certain commodities in which I was aware that
they dealt. I was asked what commodities I meant, and the Secretary
seemed rather surprised when I mentioned coarse papers and packing
cordage, in which articles I was informed that they were doing an
increased and increasing traffic. I added that when there was a brisk
demand for such materials it denoted that the sale of shop goods must be
also brisk, just as extensive purchases of seeds, manures, or tillage
implements, would indicate greater activity in agricultural or
horticultural pursuits. A young gentleman, who acted as private or
confidential secretary to the Chief Secretary, was present when I
expressed such opinions and my reason for their adoption, and when his
principal indulged in a laugh which was, perhaps, somewhat derisive of
the importance I ascribed to wrapping papers and twine, he amply
participated in the merriment. I then said that I might possibly augment
their amusement by imparting the result of another inquiry which I had
made, and which tended to confirm my previous statements. I had been
informed, in almost all the pre-eminent musical establishments, that
there had been a considerable increase in the sale of pianofortes, and I
felt perfectly convinced that a pianoforte was very rarely purchased by
a person in embarrassed circumstances, whilst it was almost invariably
considered a desirable addition to the domestic recreation of a
comfortable and solvent family. This statement produced more laughter,
and as the interview was not of a secret nature, my references to
wrapping-paper, twine, and pianofortes, became sufficiently known to
obtain for me a considerable amount of banter. The Secretary
subsequently told me that several other persons whom he consulted gave
him opinions similar to mine on the commercial state of Dublin, although
their calculations and inferences were derived from very different
sources. I still entertain the impression that the grounds on which I
formed my conclusion were by no means unworthy of consideration.
A BARRISTER.
In some of the preceding pages I have mentioned several attorneys whose
professional avocations were extensively connected with the
police-courts, and whose conduct and character entitled them to our
esteem and respect. Whilst they would endeavour to induce the
magistrates to adopt the construction of a statute or by-law in the
sense most favorable to their clients, they sedulously avoided the
suppression or exaggeration of facts when seeking a mitigation of
punishment, or applying for the acceptance of bail. There were,
however, two or three professional men who occasionally subjected us to
the very disagreeable, perhaps I may say the disgusting, duty of
listening to statements subsequently ascertained to be totally false,
and which they were undoubtedly aware of being unfounded. One gentleman,
who was a member of my own profession, had a wonderful aptitude for
citing cases purporting to have been decided in the English courts, and
in complete accordance with the course which he was desirous we should
pursue. We soon found that many of those cases were suppositious, and
many others distorted and misrepresented. Our chief clerk, Mr. Cox,
having assisted on a particular occasion in detecting several
misquotations, observed, that if the learned counsel ever attained to
the peerage his most appropriate title would be Lord Phibsborough.[18]
AN ATTORNEY.
There was another practitioner, an attorney, who was known by the
nickname of "Bluebottle," inasmuch as his tendency was to taint whatever
he touched, and to evince a preference for garbage. He happened to be
present on one occasion, when a man and woman were charged before me
"for creating a disturbance in Dame Street, and using abusive,
insulting, and threatening language on the public thoroughfare." The
woman stated that the man was her husband; that he was in comfortable
circumstances, but left her in destitution, and refused to contribute to
her support. She produced a marriage certificate and various other
documents in support of her allegation, and I discharged the parties,
with a caution against ventilating their domestic wrongs or differences
in the public streets, suggesting to the female, that if she obtained
admission to the South Union Workhouse as a destitute pauper, the
guardians would make her husband responsible for deserting her, and
rendering her a charge upon the rates. As her excitement and volubility
appeared likely to create more disturbance, if she and her husband went
forth together, I directed her to leave at once, and suggested, on her
departure, that the man might remain until she had left the court and
its vicinity. When she went out, she was followed by Bluebottle, who
accosted her at the foot of the stairs, and told her that he would take
immediate steps to compel her husband to afford her a suitable
maintenance. Affecting to sympathise deeply with a destitute and
friendless female, he induced her to give him all her documents, and
also a small photographic picture, in which she and her husband appeared
holding each other by the right hand. He then desired her to go away,
promising to meet her at the Lord Mayor's court on the following day.
This conversation and arrangement occurred very close to the door of the
custody-room, and was fully overheard by the constable in charge, of
whose proximity the ardent vindicator of the poor woman's wrongs had no
knowledge or suspicion. When she departed, Bluebottle stepped up to the
court, and beckoned to the husband, whom he brought to the precise spot
where the previous conference had occurred. He then told him that he had
obtained all the woman's papers, the certificate and the picture, and
that he was willing to give him a great bargain of the entire for one
pound. The man declared that all the cash in his possession amounted
only to twelve shillings and sixpence, which he was willing to pay for
the articles. Bluebottle agreed to take the latter sum, and received it,
but before he delivered the picture and documents, the constable emerged
from the vestibule of the custody-room and arrested him. He was brought
immediately before me in his genuine name of Richard Walsh, and I had to
decide whether the certificate, picture, and letters he was about to
dispose of, brought him under a culpable liability. The 53rd section of
the 5th Vic., sess. 2, chap. 24, enacts--
"That every person who shall be brought before any of the
divisional justices, charged with having in his possession, or on
his premises, with his knowledge, or conveying in any manner
anything which may be reasonably suspected to be stolen or
unlawfully obtained, and who shall not give an account to the
satisfaction of such justice how he came by the same, shall be
deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and on conviction thereof before
such justice or justices, shall be liable to a penalty not more
than five pounds, or in the discretion of the justice, may be
imprisoned in any gaol or house of correction within the police
district, with or without hard labour, for any time not exceeding
two calendar months."
On the facts as proved before me, I made the picture and the certificate
the subjects of a conviction for unlawful possession, and sent Mr. Walsh
for two months to the Richmond Bridewell, to be kept during that time at
hard labor. I declined to make any order for returning the twelve
shillings and sixpence to the man from whom it had been received, whose
name, as well as I can recollect, was Crozier; but his wife was put in
possession of the articles which she had entrusted to the treacherous
attorney. I believe that he was the only member of his profession on
whom, since the commencement of the present century, a criminal
conviction inflicted a disgraceful punishment in the metropolitan
district. He was inclined to corpulence, and had a very plethoric
appearance. In a few days after his committal, I received a note from
the governor of the prison in the following terms:--
"SIR,
"In reference to the case of Richard Walsh, committed by you for
two months, with hard labour, I beg leave to report that the
medical officers of the prison think it would be dangerous to work
a person of his age and full habit of body on the treadmill. I
believe, however, that I can make him perfectly available as an
oakum-picker. I have the honor, &c., &c."
This communication was entered in the official letter-book of the
police-court, and consequently became generally known. The delinquent
was a person of extreme effrontery, and the members of his profession
considered him to be habitually supercilious and offensive. When the
term of his punishment was completed, he had the almost incredible
audacity to attempt to resume practice in the criminal courts. None of
the other attorneys would act or associate with him, and his presence
always produced complaints against the "very disagreeable smell of
oakum." He died, as I have been informed, uncommiserated and unaided, in
extreme indigence. From the incidents which I have narrated, a lesson
may be derived to the effect, that the man who disgraces a profession
will soon render his pursuit of it thoroughly unprofitable.
GIBRALTAR.
My official reminiscences are nearly terminated. The latter years of my
magistracy were not marked by any important public events or political
excitement. In 1861 my health became seriously impaired, and a medical
commission of six members reported in favor of my superannuation. My
dear friend, Marcus Costello, the attorney-general of Gibraltar, having
been apprised that I had been greatly debilitated by bronchitis and
pleurisy, sent me a brief note to go out at once, and to say by return
of post when he might expect me. In compliance with his invitation, I
sailed from Southampton on the 27th of April, in the Peninsular and
Oriental Company's steamer, "Delta," and on the 29th we were crossing
the Bay of Biscay. My memory reverted to a ballad which I had heard sung
by Incledon, descriptive of the fearfully tempestuous state in which
that bay is generally found. One of his verses is, I believe, as
follows:--
"Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder,
The rain a deluge show'rs,
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid powers.
The night all drear and dark,
Closed round our wretched bark,
As she lay, on that day,
In the Bay of Biscay, O!"
I presume to attempt a description of what I observed in crossing this
estuary; and I can truly affirm, that whatever may be the defects of my
composition, it does not contain the slightest exaggeration--
"The light-blue sky is o'er us,
The dark-blue sea beneath,
The wave scarce moves before us,
As zephyrs gently breathe.
The great unfathom'd deep,
Calm as an infant's sleep,
Cheers our way, on this day,
Through the Bay of Biscay, O!
"The mighty steam-ship cleaving
The tide, displays her pow'r,
The wondrous feat achieving
Of fifteen knots an hour;
We speedily shall gain
A sight of sunny Spain.
No delay checks our way
Through the Bay of Biscay, O!"
When we did attain sight of the Spanish coast, it afforded a very marked
contrast to the picturesque views presented by the shores of Ireland and
England. There were no towering and precipitous cliffs or verdant slopes
to be seen, and almost the only indications of the country being
inhabited were some watch-towers, from which in former days warning
signals were exhibited to denote the approach of hostile or predatory
vessels from Algiers or Barbary. Being totally unacquainted with
Transatlantic and Mediterranean scenery, I can exercise a very limited
judgment, but of all the marine views I have seen I consider the most
beautiful to be the Bay of Dublin, and the ugliest to be the far-famed
Trafalgar.
I landed at Gibraltar on the 2nd of May, and was not inclined, at my
arrival, to form a very favorable opinion of the climate, for I never
had previously seen such heavy rain as fell on that day, and continued
until midnight. Mr. Costello's man-servant, hearing me remark the
unpleasant state of the weather, said, "that it was the last rain of the
season, and that we should have no more until the middle of September."
I did not attach much credence to his statement, but although my visit
lasted for four months, I never saw another drop of rain there. He was a
native of the place, and spoke from experience.
My friend's residence was not far from the southern extremity of
Gibraltar, which is also supposed to be the southern extremity of
Europe, and there were three roads leading from it to the main body of
the city which is near the north front. They were constructed, I
suppose, for the purpose of affording the most ample means of
communication along the sloping face of the mountain, and between the
batteries which defiantly bristle all through the territory. On the
second day of my arrival, I set out to walk to the town, and for the
sake of the view which it commanded, I took the most elevated road.
There were no dwellings on it, and it went through an exhausted quarry,
to which the drummers and bugle boys were brought for instruction. A
squad of them were about to commence their practice just as I passed
their front, whereupon one of them lowered his instrument, and exclaimed
to a comrade, "Oh! Fitzpatrick, there's ould Porter from Dublin." On
reaching the city I was recognised by some officers of the 7th
Fusiliers. Indeed I am disposed to believe that a considerable number of
the private soldiers of the garrison had been attested by me in the
Dublin police-court, for I received frequent salutes whenever I
sauntered past the barracks or guard stations.
My health rapidly improved, and in a few days I attained renovated
strength. There was no lack of varied amusement or social enjoyment, and
until the intense heat of July and August precluded any movement outside
the house, between morning and evening, I never passed a tedious or
tiresome minute. Even in the hot time, especially if the wind is
westerly, an evening saunter along the low road and through the Alameda
is very agreeable. The people, especially those of the Spanish race,
rise about four or five o'clock in the morning during the sultry months.
They go to market and attend to their commercial arrangements and
domestic affairs until nine or ten o'clock, then, having breakfasted,
they betake themselves to bed and enjoy a "Siesta." I adopted the same
course as far as the retirement to bed was concerned, and found it
extremely pleasant. I went to sleep almost immediately after lying
down, and seldom awoke until four or five o'clock. Then walking slowly
down to the bay I took a plunge in the salt water, and generally
returned endowed with an appetite for a hearty dinner and a liberal
supplement of sherry and ice, after which a stroll to the Alameda and a
seat under the cool shade of an acacia or bella sombra tree, with a
military band playing on an adjoining bastion, enabled me and my friend
to pass the evening in good humour with the world and with each other.
FOOTNOTE:
[18] A suburb of Dublin, pronounced _fibs_borough.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
GIBRALTAR.--_Continued._
The road by which Gibraltar is approached from Spain is, for a
considerable distance, completely level. The connecting isthmus is
flanked by the bay and the Mediterranean, and the latter has been
admitted, in the English territory, into extensive and deep excavations,
which confine the means of access to a very narrow breadth. The face of
the fortress on this side displays a stupendous and precipitous
formation, in which galleries have been constructed, from the embrasures
of which a fire of heavy artillery can be directed, sufficient, as I was
informed by an officer of engineers, not only to annihilate a hostile
force, but to destroy the avenue itself, whilst the occupants of those
batteries would be almost completely exempt from retaliatory casualties.
On entering the gate on the north front, a battery of about forty guns
is passed, and it is known by the unpalatable designation of "The
Devil's Tongue." Close to it, and forming part of the city, are two
districts, of which one is named Portuguese town and the other, Irish
town. I endeavoured to ascertain the origin of the Hibernian term for
the latter locality, but my inquiries failed to elicit any information,
beyond the fact of the name having existed for the place previous to the
capture of the fortress by the British in 1704. The residence of the
Governor was in former times occupied by a religious community, and it
retains the appellation of "The Convent." A stranger is occasionally
surprised by hearing that the Governor's lady has given a splendid ball,
or that his Excellency has entertained a number of distinguished persons
_at the Convent_. The gardens command a delightful view of the bay, and
are remarkable for large bushes of myrtles and roses, beautiful
fuchsias, and geraniums, whilst the finest grapes, figs, pomegranates,
peaches, apricots, and melons are profusely produced without requiring
artificial heat or the protection of glass. The climate is too hot for
the growth of apples, pears, gooseberries, currants, or raspberries.
Oranges are very abundant, but are not palatable when gathered from the
tree, as they are all of the Seville or bitter kind, and are used for
making marmalade, which is highly valued in the sultry months when
butter is unattainable.
Although this interesting and impregnable possession is so generally
termed the _Rock_ of Gibraltar, there is a considerable portion of its
surface highly capable of cultivation. The most prevalent weeds are the
nasturtium, snapdragon, and convolvulus; and there is an indigenous pea,
the blossom of which is exquisitely beautiful in appearance, but
completely scentless. At the termination of the rainy season, a plant
springs up in great profusion in the ravines and watercourses. It is
about a foot in height, and the blossoms are very pretty, some of the
plants bearing white flowers, some red, and others blue. The Spaniards
call it "Don Pedro," and the English have named it "Four o'clock." The
petals open about that hour in the afternoon, and the blossoms continue
expanded, and diffusing a delightful fragrance until daybreak, when they
invariably close up. The Spanish name is derived from a fable, which
describes Don Pedro to have been a confirmed rake, who slept all the day
and spent the night in revelling, until an indignant fairy transformed
him into a plant, which retains his habit.
The east side of Gibraltar is washed by the Mediterranean, and there are
very few guns mounted along that line, of which four-fifths are totally
inaccessible. The signal station is at the summit of the mountain, and
from the parapet wall, beside the flagstaff, a pebble can be dropped
into the water with a direct fall of fourteen hundred and ninety-four
feet. The rock formation on the entire territory is exclusively
limestone, and I broke off some of it at the station, and found it a
complete mass of concrete shells, whereby it is manifestly proved that
the mountain must have been originally in a submarine position. The
strait between it and Barbary is more than fourteen miles in breadth,
and I was informed that the depth of water midway was three thousand six
hundred feet.
Snakes and lizards are frequently seen in the Alameda, in private
enclosures, and in the cemeteries. I was assured, however, that none of
the former were of a venomous character, and I caught several with the
utmost impunity. The lizards are almost all of a bright green color, and
do not exceed a foot in length. The shape is precisely the same as that
of an alligator. Monkeys were formerly rather numerous, but they have
become almost extinct. Some of the oldest residents told me that they
had never seen one. During my sojourn, the place was twice visited by
flights of quail from Africa, suddenly coming in myriads, and as
suddenly departing.
There is a cemetery just outside the city at a place called the "Ragged
Staff." I could not ascertain how that name originated, but the cemetery
is remarkable for a considerable number of tombstones placed over the
remains of persons who died at Gibraltar from the effects of wounds
received at Trafalgar. Each inscription commences with "Sacred to the
memory of ----," and it proceeds to enumerate the virtues, personal
merits, and intrepid deeds of the deceased. I remarked one stone placed
upon the grave of James Dudley, by the direction and at the expense of
his shipmates, who valued him highly for his kind and generous
disposition, and for his undaunted courage in the closest and fiercest
conflicts, as he always evinced great skill and _deep penetration_. It
then states that he died of wounds received in the battle off Cape
Trafalgar, where he acted as master gunner of His Majesty's ship,
Colossus. I thought on reading this inscription, that "deep penetration"
was a very natural attribute for the gunner of a line-of-battle ship.
In the beginning of July, 1861, a brig from America, bound for
Gibraltar, and laden with ice, got ashore in a fog near Cape Spartell,
on the Barbary coast, and just at the entrance of the straits. A Moorish
boat brought speedy news of this disaster, and the Redpole steamer was
ordered to proceed to the assistance of the stranded vessel. I requested
the naval superintendent, the late Admiral Warden, to allow me to go
over to the place in the "Redpole," to enjoy the novelty of the trip,
and see the intended operations. He most kindly complied, and the
officer in command provided me with a comfortable berth, and treated me
with great hospitality. We found the brig aground, but uninjured; and
when a few tons of her cargo were removed she floated, and was towed by
the steamer to her destination. Several Moors came on board, and
assisted in lightening the vessel for a trifling remuneration; and they
afforded very great amusement by their gestures and exclamations, their
expressions being interpreted by a Tangierine lad, who was employed in
the steamer. They had never seen ice previously, and were inclined to
believe it a supernatural or magical production. They were astonished at
the coldness and hardness of the glassy blocks, and at their rapid
dissolution when exposed to the rays of a Mauritanian sun; but they were
very soon reconciled to the magical material, and seemed to appreciate
highly the introduction of it to some sherbet and lemonade with which
they were regaled, steadfastly declining any stronger potations.
During my visit to Gibraltar, I went to see bull-fights at Algesiras,
San Roque, and Malaga. They are certainly national institutions, which I
firmly believe could not be abolished or avowedly discouraged in Spain
by any government, although their tendency is most undeniably debasing
and brutalising. At the time to which my narrative refers, the bulls
throughout nearly the whole province of Andalusia were procured from the
domains of a very wealthy widow, whose name has escaped my memory. She
generally attended the exhibitions in which the wild ferocity of her
animals was considered a most desirable quality, and always received an
enthusiastic welcome, even the most exalted and fairest of her own sex
joining in the exclamation of "Viva la Viuda." (Long live the widow.)
At Algesiras I saw a bull in the _Circo_ that evinced no fierceness or
combative inclination. The poor brute tried to avoid his assailants, and
to push back the door through which he had entered. His quietude excited
the utmost indignation, and even the females joined in the cry of
"Fuego!" (Fire.) Accordingly, darts were thrown at the animal, in each
of which, close to the barbed point, there was a charge of gunpowder,
connected in the interior of the weapon with a lighted fuse. When some
of these charges exploded in his flesh, he became completely maddened,
to the great gratification of the spectators, by whom, I have no doubt,
the death of even a human victim occasionally, would be regarded as an
exciting and interesting addition to their amusement.
The attire of the mounted combatants at the bull-fights appeared to me
to be far more gaudy than graceful. Their limbs, below the hips, were so
thickly padded as to look as large as the upper portions of their
persons; and in their encounters they did not ride rapidly forward, but
merely opposed the lance to the onset of the bull. In each of eighteen
collisions which I witnessed, the horse was frightfully gored and
destroyed, his rider being saved by the matadores throwing their scarlet
cloaks over the eyes of the bull, and plunging their swords to the hilt
in his neck, so as to reach the spine. I am now tempted to quote a few
lines from the first canto of "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," to which I
shall subjoin an observation, from which it will appear that what I saw
differed vastly in one respect from the glowing description extracted
from Byron's romantic production--
"Hush'd is the din of tongues--_on gallant steeds_,
With milk-white crest, gold spurs, and light-poised lance,
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds,
And lowly bending, to the lists advance;
Rich are their scarfs, _their chargers featly prance_;
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day,
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance,
Best prize of better acts, they bear away,
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay."
Of the eighteen "gallant steeds" which I saw at the bull-fights, there
was not one to which I would attach the value of five pounds. None of
them essayed to "prance," and unquestionably if a horse equal to the
best of them appeared on the streets of Dublin between the shafts of a
hackney vehicle, his owner would incur the suspension of his license for
plying a horse totally unfit for public accommodation.
The most picturesque assemblage that I ever beheld was the public market
at Gibraltar on Sunday morning. Persons of the lower class in the parts
of Spain which I visited, are, during the week-days, as poorly attired
as any that can be found in a corresponding position in the towns of
Ireland, but they are invariably provided with a suit specially reserved
for Sundays and two or three festivals. The men have conical hats, round
which rows of showy ribbons are twined; and their coats, waistcoats, and
small clothes, of whatever colors they fancy, are profusely furnished
with globular little buttons of bright metal. Sandals, shoes, or buskins
display gilt or silvered fastenings. Gay neckties, and a brooch or
chain, complete the holiday costume. I am not competent to describe the
female attire, but it comprises a head-dress of lace, fastened with
glittering clasps or buckles; boots or shoes gaily ornamented; and a
gown of rich material, almost invariably encircled at the waist by a
girdle of metallic tissue. Ornaments of gold and jewels, or their
semblance, appear in abundance. From a thousand to fifteen hundred such
persons may be seen at the market on Sundays, between five and six
o'clock in the morning. Females of various ranks, wives or daughters of
persons in the garrison, appear arrayed in their best attire. Boats from
Tangier and Oran land their produce, to be disposed of by dealers
wearing Moorish or Arabic costumes. Sailors from the ships of war and
artillerymen mingle their blue uniforms amongst the scarlet-clad
regimental soldiers. A similar scene cannot be exhibited in any part of
the United Kingdom; and the diversity of attire is fully equalled by the
diversity of language which is there to be heard.
Towards the end of May, 1861, the assizes for the city and territory of
Gibraltar were held, and at their conclusion, the judge, Sir James
Cochrane, asked leave of absence for two months, and I was appointed as
his _locum tenens_ for that time. I received several official documents
incident to the position, and amongst them was the commission of a
Justice of the Peace, which was not a temporary authority, and it is
still in my possession. I am, perhaps, the only person in Ireland whose
designation of J.P. is unconnected with any locality in the United
Kingdom. My judicial duties consisted in hearing a few petitions from
insolvents seeking discharges from imprisonment, and granting two or
three fiats under an Admiralty jurisdiction, in reference to alleged
collisions between vessels in the bay. Although my authority was of very
brief duration, it imparted, during its continuance, rank next to that
of the Governor. It devolved on me, accompanied by his Excellency's
principal aide-de-camp, to wait on the present Empress of Austria, who
arrived at Gibraltar in the royal yacht, "Victoria and Albert," on her
way home from Madeira, where she had been staying for some time to
renovate her health. I never beheld a woman of more prepossessing
appearance, and I considered her deportment perfectly dignified, but
also extremely courteous. She accepted the Governor's invitation to a
dejeuner at the convent, but premised, that as she was returning to her
family, happily free from any indisposition, she was desirous of first
visiting the Catholic cathedral, to return thanks to the Almighty for
the merciful manifestation which she had experienced. Accordingly, the
streets were lined by the troops, and royal salutes from the principal
batteries greeted her landing, and attended her return to the steamer,
after the coaling and other preparations for continuing the voyage to
Trieste had been accomplished.
On one of many occasions that I had the honor and pleasure of enjoying
the hospitality of the Governor, Sir William Coddrington, I sat next to
the officer who commanded a Portuguese frigate, "The Braganza," that
anchored for a few days at the New Mole. He was one of the Royal family
of Portugal, and bore the title of Duke of Oporto. His Royal Highness
spoke English tolerably well; and having heard me mention Dublin as my
native place, asked me numerous questions respecting Ireland and the
Irish. I suggested to him that he might induce his Government to let him
have a cruise to our shores, that some of our bays were very beautiful,
and that a run from Cork to Killarney would not require much time to
accomplish, whilst it would assuredly afford him great gratification. At
the close of our conversation, he said, "Sir, if you should at any time
visit Lisbon, if I shall be there, I hope that you will call on me: I
shall be happy to see you, and to endeavour to make the place agreeable
to you." I expressed my warm thanks for his courteous expression, but I
have not availed myself of his kindness, nor have I any intention to do
so. He is now King of Portugal; but at the time when I had the honor of
sitting beside him, there were, I believe, three members of his family
whose respective claims to the throne were prior to his.
On a Saturday afternoon, in the beginning of July, 1861, I was passing
through the hall at the Governor's residence, on my way to the garden,
to which I was allowed the fullest access. The windows were all open;
and groups of persons, including the Governor and some members of his
family, were sitting beneath the trees, but within hearing of any
expressions uttered in an ordinary tone in the hall. A naval captain, in
full uniform, hastily entered from the street, and said to the servants
in attendance, "Let the Governor be immediately informed that _Captain
Jones has brought The Scourge for him_." On hearing this announcement, I
exclaimed, "Good heavens! What has he done to deserve that?" This
occasioned some laughter, in which, I believe, his Excellency
participated. The Scourge was not unexpected, and its arrival was very
satisfactory. On the 25th of the previous month, the late Sultan of the
Ottoman Empire had commenced his reign; and Sir William Coddrington,
having been the Commander-in-chief of our army at the conclusion of the
Crimean war, was very judiciously selected to proceed in "The Scourge"
steamer to Constantinople, for the purpose of presenting Queen
Victoria's letter of congratulation on his accession, to the Turkish
monarch. His Excellency left Gibraltar on his mission in two or three
hours after Captain Jones' arrival, and a Lieutenant-Governor, Colonel
Stehelin, of the Engineers, was sworn into office by me on the following
Wednesday; but in the interim, my position, as acting judge, gave me
precedence of all other functionaries, civil or military, in the
territory. If I had been told, before leaving home, that such an
elevation, even for a few hours, would occur, I should have deemed it
incredible.
About the beginning of August, 1861, two vessels of the Russian Imperial
navy, a frigate and a corvette, both steamers, came into Gibraltar, and
anchored for the purpose of coaling. A considerable portion of their
crews were indulged by their commanding officers with leave to come
ashore; and certainly they could not have landed at any place more
likely to excite surprise and gratify curiosity during a ramble of a few
hours through it. However, they did not evince any anxiety for a close
inspection of the fortress, or how its natural formation and elaborate
constructions imparted unrivalled strength. Potency of a far different
description engrossed their attention. They proceeded to some taverns or
public-houses near to the boat-wharf, and only a few entered the
premises, whilst the others remained in groups under trees or shaded by
the walls. In less than an hour they were all drunk, and many of them
were lying on the thoroughfare in the most helpless state of complete
intoxication. The scene of their unrestrained indulgence was about one
hundred yards from the residence of my friend, and the windows of his
drawing-room, from which I had a full view of them, were all open. If I
had been only half as far from them, without having them in sight, I
should never have noticed their total lapse from sobriety, for there was
no shouting, or singing, or quarrelling; in fact, their intoxication was
a silent enjoyment, and formed a most thorough contrast to that of every
liquor-loving group that ever came under my observation on any other
occasion. They were taken down to their boats by parties of their
shipmates who were on duty, and consequently constrained to keep sober.
I believe that the population of Gibraltar, in 1861, was about 16,000
persons, exclusive of the officials and military. The Christian portion
consisted of Roman Catholics, Protestants, and Presbyterians. There was
a considerable number of Jews, amongst whom several were reputed to be
extremely wealthy, and there were some resident Mahometans. It might be
supposed that in such a mixed community, religious bickering and
polemical acerbity would be sometimes manifested, but my own
observation, and the deliberate statements of all those with whom I
associated or communicated, enable me to express my decided conviction
that the place was as free from religious animosity or controversial
skirmishing as Ireland is from toads or snakes. I have seen the funerals
of persons belonging respectively to the various religious
denominations; and although the covering of the hearse or bier, the
presence of priestly functionaries in sacerdotal costume, or the
direction in which the procession was moving, indicated the religion
which the deceased had professed, all those who met it on the way to the
cemetery, stood with uncovered heads as the corpse passed them, and
offered to those engaged in the mournful ceremony a courteous but tacit
mark of sympathy and respect.
Although Gibraltar has been deliberately recognised and acknowledged to
be British territory by the Spanish Government, prominent members of
political parties have repeatedly advocated a demand for its restoration
to Spain, and there have been some Englishmen who expressed opinions of
a similar tendency. Alfonso, who has recently been elevated to regal
dignity in Madrid, introduced the subject in his address on assuming the
sovereignty; and we may expect, if his realm becomes completely subject
to his rule, and ceases to be the theatre of sanguinary intestine
encounters, that a claim will be addressed to the British government for
the cession of a fortress which was tremendously strong when it was
captured, and has been, by consummate skill, and a profuse expenditure,
rendered completely impregnable. A prompt and direct refusal will, I
have no doubt, be the reply to all demands or requests for the transfer
of this important possession; but I feel perfectly convinced that a
British minister might safely refer the application to the decision of
the inhabitants, the great majority of whom have been born in the place,
and are, to all intents and purposes, British subjects. I do not think
it possible for a population to be more attached to any government than
they are to our rule; and if Spanish agents were permitted to canvass
them, and proceeded to solicit their adhesion, they would find their
mission replete with danger. In 1861, being one day in the shop of a
bootmaker, named Finochio, I amused myself by pretending to argue with
my friend, Dr. Williams, in the presence of some native residents, that
the territory was really Spanish, and that it should be relinquished by
England. I was greatly surprised, and in some degree alarmed, at the
effect produced by my observations on the hearers. Finochio rushed
impetuously to the door of his shop, which commanded a view of the
signal-station, on which the British flag was displayed, and pointing to
it he exclaimed, "I would rather endure to be bombarded or famished--I
would rather see the whole town burned to ashes, than have that flag
changed for any other. Let me tell you, sir, that if you talk to the
people here about England giving them up to Spain, some of them will
lose temper and insult you." The others approved fully of Finochio's
observations. However, it is not difficult to ascertain the grounds and
reasons for such attachment on the part of the native population. Their
tenements are almost entirely held directly from the Crown; and although
the leases are not in general granted for a longer period than
twenty-one years, the rents are very seldom raised, or a renewal refused
at the expiration of the term, if the tenant has been punctual and
improving. Taverns and hotels are subjected to considerable licence
duties, and there is some charge incident to the importation of spirits.
These are the only taxes which, I believe, are levied in the territory.
Wine, tea, sugar, coffee, tobacco, wearing apparel, and furniture, or
materials for the two latter are freely admitted. The streets and roads
are constructed by the military, and cleansed by convict labor. The
places of worship are exempt from rents to the Crown, and the legal
institutions are highly appreciated by the people, who regard the
administration of justice, and especially the trial by jury, according
to the laws of England, as forming a most favorable contrast to the
proceedings before the Spanish tribunals in the cities and towns of
Andalusia. I may add, that in 1861 there was a very extensive trade in
English manufactures and many other productions, especially tobacco,
carried on by smuggling vessels conveying contraband cargoes to Spain,
Portugal, Italy, and the Balearic Islands. I believe, that in no part of
the world are there more devoted, although not disinterested, supporters
of English authority than were to be found navigating their picturesque
latteen craft, laden with articles derived from the factories of
Manchester, Leeds, Nottingham, or Sheffield.
I have already mentioned several Spanish towns which I visited for the
purpose of seeing bull-fights. I was also at some fairs; and although
there are some points in the Spanish character and habitudes which I am
far from admiring, I must, in justice to the people who came under my
observations, state that I never saw one of them intoxicated, although
wine and spirits are, in their country, to be had for less than half
what they cost here. Some gentlemen at Gibraltar, who had travelled
through Spain, told me that they believed there was more drunkenness in
our small possession than in the entire kingdom. I never saw a Spanish
person of respectable appearance, drink a glass of undiluted sherry. The
addition of cold water in equal quantity seemed indispensable. I have
seen muleteers setting out on a journey requiring an entire day for its
completion, and they carried no animal food. Each man had a bottle
containing a little more than a pint of red wine called Priorato, a
couple of onions, and a large roll of bread made of two-thirds of maize,
ground fine, and one-third of wheaten flour. They consider onions and
bread, sliced and eaten together, as very nutritive diet, and their
strong and healthful appearance justifies their opinion. The Priorato
wine has a taste somewhat resembling Port, but I was forbidden by
medical authority to take it at all, and I was told that the berries of
the elder tree were plentifully added to the grapes in its manufacture.
Spaniards of the humbler class and of either sex, who bring edible
commodities for sale in Gibraltar, demand a much higher price from any
person whom they believe to have just arrived, and not to have acquired
a knowledge of the marketable value of the articles, than they ask of
those whose faces are familiar, or with whom they have had previous
dealings. Nevertheless, they do not manifest any surprise or indignation
at being offered, or any laxity in accepting, a mere fractional portion
of the sum first mentioned. A milkman demanded two shillings and two
pence for about three pints of goat's milk, which he left with me on
being offered sixpence. A woman sold me muscatel grapes for a shilling,
after having named eight shillings and eight pence for them. I had an
opportunity of sending home to Dublin some Murcian melons, and proposed
to purchase six which had been brought to market in a limber kind of
basket or net-work neatly made of rushes. The vendor did not speak
English, and I reciprocated his ignorance of my language by being
equally unacquainted with his vernacular. He managed, mostly by signs,
to apprise me that he required six dollars for his fruit. I regarded
this demand, amounting to twenty-six shillings, as utterly unreasonable,
and relinquished all expectation of acquiring a gratifying treat for my
people, when Dr. Williams happened to approach, and on being informed of
my disappointment, became an interpreter and negotiator between the
Spaniard and me. His interference eventuated in rendering me the owner
of the fruit and the basket, in which the melons could be very
conveniently transmitted, at the very reasonable price of seven
shillings. He told me that he had expostulated with the seller on his
attempt to obtain from a purchaser more than three-fold the fair value
of the articles; but the Spaniard considered himself fully justified in
the course he had adopted previous to my friend's arrival, inasmuch as
he believed me to be a complete stranger, ignorant of the language, and
of the usual prices demanded for fruits, but that in any future dealings
with me I should not be overcharged, although he was quite convinced
that, like all other English gentlemen, I was very rich and well able to
pay.
The mention of my friend's name reminds me that in Gibraltar there is no
scarcity of surgeons and physicians possessing high professional
qualifications. The more respectable classes of society avail
themselves, in their ailments, of the aid which skill and experience can
fully impart. The lower classes seem insensible or indifferent to the
character or capability of those to whom they have recourse, and there
are in the territory some practitioners who profess to repair human
hurts or maladies, and also the injuries of certain inanimate articles.
There is an inscription on the front of a small shop, that I venture to
transcribe, even at the risk of mistaking the exact spelling of the
Spanish words, and I subjoin an English translation:--
"BARBERO, SANGUEDOR Y SACAMUELAS,
SE REPAREN ABANICOS PARAGUAS Y PARASOLES."
"BARBER, BLEEDER, AND TOOTH-DRAWER,
FANS, UMBRELLAS, AND PARASOLS REPAIRED."
CHAPTER XXIX.
GIBRALTAR (CONTINUED)--DEPARTURE FOR HOME--CHARITY, REAL CHARITY--A
DEATH AND FUNERAL--THE BAY OF BISCAY AGAIN--AT HOME: LEISURE NO
PLEASURE--A REVIEW.
Towards the conclusion of my visit to Gibraltar, a marriage was
solemnized between an officer commanding a frigate lying off the New
Mole and a young lady of very prepossessing appearance who came from
England, accompanied by her mother and some other relatives. The
ceremony was performed at the Protestant Church, about eleven o'clock in
the forenoon, and an arrangement had been made that the wedding dejeuner
should take place on board the vessel, after which the happy couple were
to proceed by boat to Algesiras to spend the honeymoon. The frigate was
directly in view of Mr. Costello's residence, and with the help of a
binocular glass I could see persons on deck as plainly as if I stood
amongst them. As soon as the bridegroom came ashore to proceed to the
church, several boats came from the stairs at the Ragged Staff,
conveying a profuse supply of evergreens and flowers. These were quickly
taken aloft by the crew who swarmed up, and in a few minutes the masts,
yards, and rigging were festooned with floral decorations, amongst which
the peculiarly appropriate nuptial ornament, "a wreath of orange
blossoms," was conspicuously displayed on each bow and quarter. The
other ships were dressed in the usual manner, but the frigate appeared
pre-eminently beautiful. The reception of the bride and bridegroom and
their cortege was most enthusiastic. I was assured by several naval
officers that the display, which excited the unqualified admiration of
all who witnessed it, was a spontaneous manifestation on the part of the
crew of their respect and affection for their captain. I regret that I
do not recollect his name, but the feeling evinced towards him was not
the only instance that came under my observation indicative of great
attachment on the part of British sailors for their commanders.
To the respectable residents of Gibraltar, whether official or
commercial, the place affords many advantages. The comforts attainable
in the cities of the United Kingdom can be there procured on terms in
many respects more moderate, and in none, as far as I could learn,
seriously greater, whilst many articles of domestic requirement, are
vastly cheaper, owing to their importation not being subjected to
Customs' duties. The prices of shoes, boots, and hats appeared to me to
be lower than those I should have to pay in Dublin for a similar
description and quality of goods. Woollen, linen, and cotton fabrics are
somewhat dearer than here, and tables, chairs, and bedsteads, unless
made of very old and well-seasoned wood, shrink and shrivel in the
sultry time, and require repairs involving some outlay. The expenses
incident to soft goods and furniture are not much complained of, and do
not appear to be considered serious inconveniences.
Respectable residents or visitors can have, at a cost of twenty
shillings yearly, access to a library, from which useful information and
amusement may be extensively derived. The building is of elegant
structure, of extensive dimensions, and its furniture unites beauty of
appearance with utility and comfort. It is supplied with the principal
newspapers and periodical publications of the civilized world, and its
shelves contain about twenty thousand volumes, most conveniently
arranged, and comprising the choicest specimens of ancient and modern
literature. No person should visit Gibraltar, even during the time
required for coaling a steamer, without taking a glance or two at the
library and from its windows, for some of them command a splendid view
of the bay and of a considerable portion of the fortress, whilst many
others are immediately over parterres of the choicest and most luxuriant
floral productions.
Having enumerated almost every agreeable or advantageous circumstance
that I can recollect respecting the time I spent in Gibraltar, I shall
proceed to notice the only alloys to the varied pleasures which I
experienced there. From the middle of June to the beginning of
September the heat is extremely oppressive, and when the wind is
easterly, as it frequently was during my sojourn, its effect is
extremely debilitating to the body and depressing to the mind. During
the sultry months no rain ever falls, and, nevertheless, the wind coming
from the Levant is surcharged with moisture. Clothes hung out to dry
under a scorching sun continue as damp as when first exposed, or perhaps
become more so. Fish or flesh meat killed in the morning will not be
eatable in seven or eight hours. Wine bottled, marmalade or jams made,
turn acid very soon. The slightest exertion becomes a labour, and
persons are less censurable for inattention to the comforts of others as
they lapse into indifference to their own requirements. A long
continuance of an east wind would probably prove disastrously unhealthy,
but it seldom lasts long, and generally, after a couple of days or a few
hours, it is succeeded by a westerly breeze from the broad Atlantic,
cool, dry, and invigorating.
This impregnable fortress, which may defy all human efforts for its
forcible reduction, is not proof against the invasion of countless small
but most sanguinary creatures that, if they could audibly express their
universal craving, would make an unvaried and continuous demand of
blood. The mosquitoes appear early in June, and are a most persistent
nuisance during the sultry months. It is no slight advantage to Great
Britain and Ireland to be free from their annoyance. I suffered greatly
from their envenomed bites, and although sex or age appears to be
utterly disregarded in their insatiate and incessant attacks, they are
reputed to accord a preference to the blood of a stranger. The slightest
aperture in the curtains of my bed resulted in numerous punctures being
made in the skin of my face and hands. My friend Costello slept in an
uncurtained bed, and was not attacked by the mosquitoes. He told me
that, after he had resided in Gibraltar for a couple of years, they
ceased to annoy him. Dr. Williams described them as "the most
affectionate little creatures in the world, for if you killed one, some
hundreds would come to his funeral."
During the months of May and June in 1861, I heard more cannon shots
than ever reached my ears in the rest of my existence. The artillery
were practising daily for several hours at floating targets in the bay,
and the noise was certainly far from agreeable to me. In the expression
of a wish for more quietude, I met no sympathy from those who had
resided in Gibraltar for a year or two, and who had become accustomed to
the firing, and perhaps, if I spent a few months more in the fortress my
nerves would have become more obtuse. The convict depot, outside the
line wall, was very near to the battery principally used for practice,
and I have seen the premises occupied by the superintendent completely
clouded with smoke, whilst his walls reverberated the repeated
discharges of heavy cannon. He directed my attention to the domestic
fowl, of which he had a considerable number, and to the poultry of
various kinds having become quite accustomed and apparently reconciled
to the appalling sounds, and to the fire and smoke copiously emitted in
their proximity.
I was told, in casual conversations with artillery officers, that
one-third of the ammunition contained in the magazines of Gibraltar was
expended yearly, and that the deficiency was supplied by an equal
quantity from home. I was informed that gunpowder becomes deteriorated
if kept beyond three years, and that the most advantageous use of the
old stock was to expend it in artillery practice. Some of the floating
targets were stated to be eight hundred yards, and others six hundred,
from the battery. I saw shells used very frequently, and was informed
that the practice was not efficient or satisfactory if at least
one-third of the shells did not explode directly over the target. The
bay is occasionally visited by large shoals of porpoises, and in calm
weather they frolic in great numbers on the surface of the water. On a
day in June, 1861, they were extremely abundant, and no where more so
than close to the floating targets. Every shell discharged, killed or
disabled some of them without frightening the others or dissolving their
"aggregate meeting." Some tons of porpoises were collected after the
firing ceased, and subjected, I believe, to some process for the
extraction of oil. I was a spectator, for about two hours, of the scene
I have endeavoured to describe, and it impressed me with an awful
appreciation of our artillery as applicable to actual warfare.
DEPARTURE FOR HOME.
Early in the month of September I mentioned, in a conversation with the
naval superintendent, my intention to leave Gibraltar for England by the
first homeward-bound steamer of the Peninsular and Oriental Company that
arrived. He observed that the "St. Jean d'Acre," the flag-ship of
Admiral Elliot, was to sail for Plymouth on the 8th or 9th, and that if
I chose to go in her he would ask the Admiral to give me a passage. To
this most friendly proposal I thankfully acceded, and received, through
Captain Warden, an invitation from the Admiral, and an intimation that a
cot should be slung up for me in his saloon. At the appointed time, I
went on board, and met with a most gratifying reception from the Admiral
and the other officers. I was apprised that the ship was to call at
Tangier, and also at Cadiz, which might cause a delay of some hours at
each place. We went very quickly to Tangier, where a communication was
received for the British ambassador at Madrid, to be transmitted to him
from Cadiz. On arriving off the latter place, the Admiral landed and
came back in about an hour to have his personal luggage packed up, to
put his sailing captain in full command of the vessel, and then to
proceed himself to Madrid as speedily as possible, in accordance with a
telegraphic message from our ambassador. All requisite arrangements were
very quickly completed; but before he left the ship he addressed the
officers and crew, expressing briefly but strongly his regret at parting
from those who had evinced, whilst under his command, the greatest
efficiency in the discharge of their duties, accompanied by numerous
manifestations of respect and attachment, of which he felt extremely
proud, and should never be forgetful. As soon as his barge pulled off,
the crew, of their own accord, rapidly manned the yards, and cheered him
most enthusiastically until he entered the port and was no longer in
sight. It was a most affectionate farewell, and must have been
thoroughly disinterested, for the ship was going home to be paid off,
and, consequently, her officers and crew would be dispersed amongst the
general body of the naval service. Immediately after we left Cadiz, the
midshipmen came into the saloon to receive lessons from the naval
instructor; and as each of them entered he saluted me with a semblance
of the utmost respect and humility, as "Admiral Porter." When I
disclaimed the rank and authority ascribed to me by the middies, one of
them replied, that when the admiral had gone away, leaving me in full
possession of his cabin, they had agreed to make me an admiral, at all
events until we reached Plymouth; and he begged leave to suggest that
the first exercise of my authority ought to be an order to the
instructor to give them a holiday or two. I laughed heartily at the
young scamp's suggestion, and the lessons commenced. The instructor
reprimanded one of his pupils for not having previously studied some
pages assigned to him to learn, saying, "You will never attain rank in
the navy if you continue so ignorant of Navigation," The middy replied,
pointing to me, "The admiral who is sitting there is of very high rank,
and I could safely swear that I know as much about navigation as he
does."
CHARITY; REAL CHARITY.
A woman and two children had been sent on board the "St. Jean d'Acre" at
Gibraltar to be taken to England. Her name was Crompton, and she was the
widow of a carpenter who had been accidentally killed at the New Mole
two or three months previous to our departure. Of the children, both
boys, one was still unweaned, and the poor mother and her offspring
appeared to be miserably destitute. Their scanty clothing was squalid
and ragged, and her health had been seriously impaired. She said that
her native place was in Durham, and that on arriving at Plymouth she
should apply to be transmitted home by the parochial authorities. We
were not forty-eight hours at sea before she and her infants were
comfortably and neatly clad, the outer garments being made of blue
serge, and the others of checkered stuff. She and her elder boy were
furnished with hats and boots, fitting perfectly, the uppers of the
latter being made of canvas darkly varnished. I was greatly surprised at
the skill displayed in attiring the poor creatures, for the needlework
was faultless. The younger child was made the favorite plaything of the
crew, who seemed delighted to pet and nurse him. When our voyage was
completed, a subscription amongst the officers, seamen, and marines
provided her with twenty-two pounds, to which I added half a sovereign.
The boatswain was the principal collector for the poor widow, whom he
described in nautical phraseology, to be "at dead low water."
A DEATH AND FUNERAL.
The progress of the "St. Jean d'Acre" did not appear to me to be very
speedy after our departure from Cadiz until we arrived off Cape St.
Vincent. The vessel was propelled solely by the steam-screw. She was
large and heavy, and the weather was quite calm, so that sails were
useless. I did not regret the delay, for I could not be in more
agreeable society, and I never experienced any tendency whatever to
sea-sickness. However, just as we sighted St. Vincent, a strong and very
favorable breeze sprung up, and the sails were ordered to be set. Whilst
all hands were engaged aloft, I was sitting on the quarter-deck,
enjoying the novelty of the scene before me, and admiring the celerity
with which the work was accomplished. The men were beginning to descend,
when a poor fellow named Parkes dropped from a great height. I think he
fell from what is termed the mizen-topsail-yard, and he came down very
close to me. I instantly took him under the armpits and drew him
lengthways on his back. He muttered, "Too much tobacco," and died
instantly. It appeared that he had been cautioned by the medical
officers against the excessive chewing of tobacco, but his neglect of
the warning, and a persistent indulgence in the unwholesome mastication,
produced a very fatal fall. In the evening of the following day, his
body was committed to the deep. It was sewn in his hammock, in which a
large cannon ball was also enclosed. The band played some mournful music
whilst the corpse was conveyed to a grating, on which it was laid,
covered with the British flag. The officers were in full uniform, and
all the men not actually engaged in navigating the ship came on deck.
The chaplain read the Burial Service of the Church of England,
substituting "the deep" for "the ground," and the grating and flag were
then released from their horizontal position, and the body, slipping
from between them, sank into the ocean. The ceremony was extremely
solemn and respectful; but as soon as it concluded, the band went down
between decks and commenced playing very lively tunes, and the crew
betook themselves to dancing and other pastimes incident to an hour of
merry "sky-larking." I believe that in the navy and army it is deemed
desirable to discourage the continuance, after discharging the last
duties to the deceased sailor or soldier, of gloomy thoughts or dismal
recollections.
THE BAY OF BISCAY AGAIN.
When we arrived in the Bay of Biscay, it was in a state very unlike that
which I endeavoured to describe in reference to my passage through it on
my voyage to Gibraltar. It then fully realised the Byronic line--
"And ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child;"
but when I viewed it from the deck of the homeward-bound war-steamer,
its surface was free from foam, and perfectly glassy, but the smooth,
unbroken water exhibited stupendous undulations. We had a steady breeze
on our quarter, filling every sail, and directing the roll of the sea
completely with us, and our decks were quite dry. From the summit of a
mountain wave, we slided noiselessly down, and were immediately raised
again to a great but transient elevation. In my former passage across
the bay, I was charmed by its unusual placidity, and on my return I was
struck with admiration of its grand appearance, and highly gratified by
the safe and very quick run that we accomplished.
We anchored in Plymouth harbour late in the evening of the 16th of
September, and I landed on the following morning, and remained at a
hotel for two days, awaiting the arrival of the steamer on her way from
London to Dublin. During my short stay, I was able to go through
Plymouth, Devonport, and their environs, which, whilst they display
natural beauties of no ordinary character, afford to a stranger, in
their public establishments, many objects which cannot fail to excite
admiration. Eventually, I reached Dublin on the 21st, and received the
affectionate congratulations of my family on my return to them in
perfect health. On the day after my arrival, my youngest child
designated me "the sweetest papa in the world." The appellation was
undoubtedly suggested by the circumstance, that I had brought home 100
lbs. of orange marmalade, 70 lbs. of preserved nectarines, 70 lbs. of
apricot jam, and six large Murcian melons. The excellence of my sweets
was fully proved by the rapidity of their consumption. I fetched from
Gibraltar a snake and a green lizard, which I sent to the Zoological
Gardens; but I believe they did not long survive their transportation
from the South of Spain to our cold and humid climate.
AT HOME--LEISURE NO PLEASURE.
After my return from Gibraltar, I found the tenor of my life in Dublin
forming the greatest contrast to the twenty years during which I had
been engaged in magisterial duties of a multifarious nature, extending
from the cognizance of lapses from sobriety or neglect of sweeping a
footway, to authorising a search for concealed pikes or firearms, or
taking informations and issuing warrants for treason-felony. I regarded
my release from any further attendance at the place in Exchange-court,
dignified by the appellation of the Head-Office, as a most agreeable and
healthful change; but I often regretted the cessation of my functions at
the branch-court in Kingstown, where I enjoyed the ventilation of a pure
atmosphere through cleanly and elevated premises, whilst the bench which
I occupied commanded a view of almost the entire Bay of Dublin. I also
derived from my official position a free passage, by first-class
carriage, on the Dublin and Kingstown Railway, and occasionally received
passes on the Great Southern and Western Line, enabling me to visit Cork
or Killarney. All these advantages terminated on my retirement. Persons
sometimes came to my house, supposing that I still had sufficient
authority to take declarations or attest signatures; and when informed
that my functions had ceased, expressed their disappointment at finding
that I was "no longer of any use." My next-door neighbour was a Rev. Dr.
Browne; and a gentleman who had some business with him, but did not
exactly know his residence, pointed out my door to a cabman, and desired
him to "try there." Cabby replied, "No, sir, that is where Porter, the
_decayed magistrate_, lives." I do not believe, however, that in the use
of such an expression any wilful disrespect was intended. I have often
heard owners and drivers of public vehicles declare that they regretted
my retirement.
The Italians have a very current phrase,[19] which attaches delight to
the total absence of employment. I never could appreciate idleness as
pleasurable; and I believe that numerous instances of mental aberration
have originated in the want of occupation. I am disposed to insert in
these pages a few productions of my first year of unrelished leisure. If
their perusal is pleasing to a reader, they require no apology; and if
they are considered unworthy of attention, they may serve as a warning
to others against being induced to waste their time in similar attempts.
A REVIEW.
A gentleman of literary tendencies, and for whom I had a great personal
regard, mentioned to a small party of friends his intention to publish a
semi-monthly periodical in Dublin, under the title of "The Irish
Review." I stated that whilst wishing the utmost success to his
undertaking, my hopes were extremely slender, and adduced what I
considered cogent reasons for the opinion expressed. None of the others
coincided with me, and one of them jocularly remarked that a penance
should be imposed on me by requiring me to write the preface. With this
proposition the others fully agreed, and although I steadfastly declined
to comply with their requisition, I expressed a willingness to attempt a
contribution of a prefatory nature, the topics and composition being
completely left to my own discretion, or perhaps I should say,
indiscretion. The production was sent and published, and although the
periodical was not ultimately successful, a better result may possibly
attend the next attempt to establish an enlightened and impartial organ
of literary criticism in the Irish metropolis. My contribution was
headed--
AN IRISH REVIEW.
When Albion, proud Albion, heard threats of invasion,
Her spirit and energy met the occasion;
She call'd on her sons, and they readily back'd her,
And perhaps for that reason, no foes have attack'd her.
Of Ireland, it seems, there were doubtings and fears;
From us they declined to demand volunteers;
They thought that if bay'nets and muskets we got,
We'd exchange with each other a thrust or a shot.
They thought Tipperary could ne'er meet Tyrone,
And part in whole skin without any sore bone,
That lads from old Galway or Southern Tralee;
With Derry's apprentices might disagree.
We've no volunteers, and we'll not have a fight,
Our colors are peaceful, they're plain black and white;
But without volunteers in green, scarlet, or blue,
We're determined on having AN IRISH REVIEW.
A review--where a mere moral force we demand,
A review--at which Intellect takes the command,
A review--where each Science delights to combine,
A review--where Wit's facings appear in the line.
A review--where a _press_ procures _willing_ recruits,
A review--where at Folly the satirist shoots;
At poor _Private_ Folly no aim is directed,
But _General_ Folly's the mark that's selected.
To _Gen'ral_ Goodhumor the duty's assigned
Of keeping the ground, and the public shall find
He'll drive away Rancor and Prejudice, too,
Till _Gen'ral_ Applause greets THE IRISH REVIEW.
LINES IN AN ALBUM.
I wrote at the request of my beloved and truly lamented son, Austin
Duggan Porter, the following lines in his Album:--
My youthful years have pass'd away,
My step hath lost its lightness,
And scanty locks, once brown, then gray,
Now show unvaried whiteness.
My failing eyes can see but few
Of early friends remaining,
Yet have I many reasons true
To keep me from complaining.
To be a blessing to mine age,
I see mine offspring striving;
And even in this little page
My boyhood seems reviving.
I feel that they who bear my name
My early tastes inherit,
And their pursuits are just the same
As pleased my youthful spirit.
FOOTNOTE:
[19] Dolce far niente.
CHAPTER XXX.
A DUBLIN DENTIST.
Several friends have suggested that, even at the risk of being
considered discursive or irregular in the arrangement of my Gleanings
and Reminiscences, I should not conclude without narrating a few of the
incidents which my intimacy with the late Patrick Brophy, of Dawson
Street, the State Dentist, enabled me to witness or to hear described by
him.
He had commenced industrial avocations as an apprentice to a jeweller in
Skinner Row, and became singularly skilful in the execution of articles
in the precious metals, especially in the making of necklaces or setting
of gems. He subsequently obtained employment from a German dentist who
lived in Golden Lane; and from him he acquired a practical knowledge of
the operative means necessary for the relief of personal suffering by
stuffing or extracting teeth. The German returned to his native country
in 1815, and Brophy immediately succeeded to his Dublin business. When I
became acquainted with him, he was living in Dawson Street, and reputed
to be in the most extensive practice of a profession for which he had
not received any special preliminary instruction. He was extremely
convivial, but far more willing to give than to receive invitations; and
although his table was most profusely supplied with the choicest wines
and spirits, I never perceived in him the slightest indication of
intemperance. Amongst his intimates the most intimate was a gentleman
who resided in the town of Galway, and whose person was so very bulky as
to obtain for him the _soubriquet_ of "The Great Western." He required
no invitations to Brophy's table, for whenever he visited Dublin, he
became a daily dinner guest during his stay; and certainly his host did
not hesitate to make him the subject of tricks or bantering. At one
time, Brophy had just returned from a Parisian trip, and brought home
two or three shawl or scarf-pins made of polished steel, and having
large mother-of-pearl heads. The "Great Western" was in town, and was in
his usual place at dinner time, on a day when I happened to be a guest.
Pat had a dark scarf on his neck, and it was fastened with one of the
Parisian pins which I afterwards heard had cost about tenpence. His
bulky friend had a finger ring, on which there was one diamond, and soon
after dinner, he took it off, and handed it to Brophy, saying--
"Pat, you are considered a very competent judge of diamonds; what would
you value that ring at?"
Brophy examined the article, and replied, "I think it is worth about
thirty pounds."
"Well," said the other, "I bought it this morning at West's in Capel
Street, for thirty guineas."
"I do not think you should be dissatisfied with your bargain. It is a
nice, clear stone, and has been very neatly set," was the observation of
our host; but the proprietor of the ring very soon observed that Pat was
sporting a beautiful pearl pin, and asked him where he had procured it.
"This pin," said Brophy, taking it out of his scarf, and holding it up
to the view of his interrogator, "should be in some national museum or
institution where the relics of departed heroism and the memorials of
glorious achievements would excite the curiosity and admiration of
future generations. I have neither the time nor the ability necessary to
the description of its formation or value. I almost wish that I never
became its possessor."
The "Great Western" took the pin, and expressed his admiration at the
neatness of its formation, and the clearness and smoothness of the
beautiful pearl, of which he implored his dear friend Pat to disclose
the entire history. Pat consented, and proceeded as follows:--
"I was for several years on terms of the closest intimacy with the late
Dr. Auchmuty, who had a dispensary at Rathfarnham. In his latter years
his teeth had completely decayed, and I made him a set, with which he
was highly pleased, and for which I declined to accept of any
remuneration. I kept them in order by occasional repairs and cleaning,
and frequently visited the old doctor, for whom I had the highest
esteem, and whose conversation was extremely interesting, for he had
been a naval surgeon, and served on board the "Victory" at the battle of
Trafalgar. At length he found his health declining very rapidly, and
felt that his end was approaching; and he said to me, a short time
before his death, that he wished to leave me a token of his gratitude
for my attentions, and begged me to accept this pin, which he assured me
was formed from a nail drawn from the timbers of the 'Victory,' steeled
and highly polished, and then mounted with the pearl, _which he had
taken from Nelson's eye_. Such is the simple history of this
extraordinary relic."
"Oh! what a treasure you obtained from your old friend!" exclaimed the
"Great Western," "exquisitely beautiful in appearance, and also
surpassingly interesting in reference to its materials and origin."
"Its intrinsic value," said Brophy, "is not half, or perhaps a quarter,
of what your ring cost."
"I would give two such rings for that pin," was the reply.
"Suppose I let you have it for one."
"I would close the bargain at once."
"Then close it," said Pat, handing the pin to the "Great Western," from
whom he received in return the thirty-guinea ring.
Within forty-eight hours all the very numerous friends and acquaintances
of the dentist became fully informed respecting the substitution of the
Parisian shawl-pin for the pearl off Nelson's eye. The former owner of
the ring became the object of cajolery and mock condolence wheresoever
he appeared, and no one quizzed or bantered him more than his friend
Pat, who advised him to get up a raffle for the pin, and offered to take
three tickets, provided each chance of obtaining the Trafalgar relic did
not exceed fourpence. He retained the ring; but, certainly, the "Great
Western" could console himself in the enjoyment of very frequent
repasts, which he appeared fully to appreciate.
When Prince Napoleon, some years since, went round Great Britain and
Ireland in the Imperial yacht, "La Reine Hortense," he was detained at
Galway by the weather becoming extremely boisterous. Having landed and
arranged to remain for a few days at the railway hotel, he was waited on
by the "Great Western," who then happened to be the High Sheriff, and
who, accompanied by some of the principal gentry, welcomed the Prince,
and expressed an anxiety to give him a cordial reception and to render
his sojourn agreeable. The sheriff addressed him in French, but was
immediately requested to speak English, with which language the Prince
stated that he was perfectly acquainted. In a short time after, I was
dining at Brophy's, and the Galway functionary commenced a narration of
the interview, but was immediately interrupted by Pat, who told him that
we knew all about the affair already.
"How can you know anything about it?" said the sheriff; "there was
nothing published beyond the fact of our having called to pay our
respects."
"Oh!" replied Pat, "one of your companions was here very soon after, and
gave me the particulars fully, and I mentioned them to a great many of
my friends. He said that you told those who were going with you that you
would address Napoleon in French, and when you and the others were
admitted, you began to speak, but were immediately stopped by the
Prince, who said, 'Mr. Sheriff, you will greatly oblige me by speaking
English, for I assure you and the other Galway gentlemen that I do not
understand the _Irish_ language.'"
The laughter excited by Brophy's imaginative statement that the
sheriff's French had been mistaken for Irish was renewed and increased
by the earnest declaration of the latter that the Prince had not uttered
a word about the Irish language, nor imputed any imperfection to his
French. By his energetic denials of the fiction he rendered it extremely
amusing.
Along with great hospitality, Brophy afforded his guests frequent and
varied amusements. He had a considerable number of costumes, which
enabled him to impart a grotesque and motley appearance to the occupants
of his dinner-table, or to produce a _tableau vivant_ in his
drawing-room. There was a young barrister whose stature exceeded six
feet, and he was generally wigged, robed, and placed on an elevated
seat, to be styled "The Lord High Chancellor." I was usually equipped to
personate a Lord Mayor; but whenever his favorite tableau of the death
of Nelson was produced, I was in the garb of a sailor, and had to catch
the falling hero as soon as one who sang, with a splendid voice and
great musical taste, the recitative and air descriptive of the casualty,
came to the lines announcing--
"At length the fatal wound,
Which spread dismay around,
The hero's breast received."
The vocalist was not in view; he was in a side wing, where he was
accompanied by pianoforte music, and the shot was simulated by a blow on
a drum. Brophy's Nelson was a perfect make-up. He wore an admiral's
uniform, presenting an armless sleeve and various decorations, and the
green shade over _the pearl_ on the sightless eye was not forgotten. I
recollect one representation, when he fell more against my shoulder than
across my arm and knee, but he immediately stood up and exclaimed,
"D----n it, that won't do: I must die again."
He was very fond of music, and played the violin frequently, but
confined his performances to jigs, reels, and lively Irish tunes. I
called one evening, when I was told that he was not at home, but as I
was leaving, the servant followed me, and I was informed that he wished
me to go down to the lower room of "the return," where he had "a couple
of fiddlers." When I entered the apartment, he said that he was glad I
came, as I had two legs, and could increase the number amongst them to
half-a-dozen. Each of his companions was minus a leg, but their hands
were in perfect order, and their music was extremely pleasing.
The late Lord Rossmore was very intimate with Brophy, who was certainly
not singular in admiring the many amiable and agreeable qualities
invariably evinced by his noble friend. On one occasion Pat had engaged
a first-rate player on the Irish pipes named Conolloy or Coneely, to
enliven upwards of a dozen guests by his very delectable music. He was
totally blind, and was placed on a chair in a corner of the parlour,
where he played whilst we were dining, but he had been previously
supplied with a plentiful repast. In the course of the evening, Brophy
had a small table placed before the piper, and said that he had afforded
us very great pleasure, but he should take a little rest, unyoke the
pipes, and have a tumbler of punch, which was made by Brophy and put
just at his hand. Almost immediately after this arrangement had been
effected, Captain Toosey Williams urged Lord Rossmore to take the pipes
and favor us with a tune or two. We all joined in the request to "his
lordship," and he acceded to our wishes, and played several pieces of
exquisitely sweet music, interspersed with most extraordinary
imitations. In one, which was named "The Hare in the Corn," he produced
sounds very much resembling the cry of harriers, and other tones like
the notes of a hunting horn, terminating with two or three simulated
squeaks, supposed to indicate the capture of the hare. He then proceeded
to play the beautiful Scotch air of "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,"
to which we were listening with great delight, when the blind piper rose
from his seat, and exclaimed with furious indignation--
"I did not expect such treatment from any people calling themselves
gentlemen. It was a most scandalous shame to bring me, a poor dark man,
here to be humbugged as you are trying to do, calling on _my lord_ to
yoke my pipes and play for ye. He is as much "a lord" as I am myself;
the d----l a lord ever played as he does, he's nothing but a rale piper.
It is not honest or decent to try and deceive me, but you can't do it."
Brophy succeeded in pacifying the enraged musician by admitting that the
performer was a real piper, and we had two or three tunes more.
Conolly's indignation produced very great merriment amongst us, and no
one enjoyed it more than the noble object of his censure.
There was a citizen of high commercial position, who was, I believe,
justly reputed to be very wealthy. He was a widower, and had become
habituated to take a very copious allowance of grog immediately before
retiring to rest. He had a son whose society Brophy highly relished, for
he had been an amateur performer in every scene of warfare to which he
could obtain access. He had served in Portugal under the standard of
Donna Maria, and subsequently joined the foreign legion embodied to
contend against the claims of Don Carlos to the crown of Spain. The
contests in which he had participated, and the vicissitudes he had
undergone, enabled him to relate many interesting occurrences. He was a
very agreeable companion, and was always welcome in Dawson Street.
Brophy had made a set of teeth for the old gentleman, and when doing
some occasional repairs, was informed of the fact, that every night the
teeth were placed in a vessel of cold water, where they remained until
their own owner restored them to his jaws in the morning. One evening
the young man was expressing great dissatisfaction at the dull, tame,
and insipid life he was leading, without having any incentive or
opportunity to exhibit energy or attempt enterprise; and he added, that
although he was well lodged, clothed, and dieted, he was personally
penniless, for his father never allowed him any pocket-money.
"I'll get you a little cash," said Brophy. "Slip into his bedchamber,
and bring me his teeth; he puts them in a water-basin before he goes to
bed." In a night or two the suggestion was adopted, and Brophy
immediately made some slight alteration to prevent them exactly fitting
their owner, who very soon arrived in a most disconsolate state, and was
scarcely able to express articulately the inconvenience and annoyance to
which he was subjected. He admitted that he had not been quite sober
when he went to bed, but felt certain that he had left the teeth in the
basin as usual.
Brophy sympathised with the toothless patient, and told him that he
would lose no time in remedying the disaster. He measured the mouth, and
then said that there was a set nearly ready for a person who had
bespoken them, which, with a little alteration, might fit the present
occasion. The teeth were tried, they were a little too tight in one
place, and not close enough in another; but these faults were speedily
redressed, and the old gentleman was enabled to express distinctly his
perfect satisfaction, adding--
"It is all right, Pat. There could not be a better dentist found in the
world; and only that they did not fit when you tried them at first, I
would most swear that _my own teeth were back again in my head_."
Brophy received twenty pounds, which were immediately transferred to the
young fellow, who subsequently went to Italy to fight for the Pope, but
never returned.
Patrick Brophy was a widower when my acquaintance with him commenced. At
his marriage he had received from the bride's father one thousand pounds
in cash, and a bond for a thousand pounds, the interest on which was to
be paid half-yearly, and the principal to be liquidated at the death of
the obligor. A sudden and very severe indisposition proved fatal to the
bride in nine days after her wedding, and in the evening after her
interment her husband returned the cash and bond to her parent. Although
such conduct was certainly disinterested, and might by many be deemed
even generous, he never relished any allusion or reference to it.
I believe that about the commencement of his dentistry pursuits, Brophy
had some employment connected with Doctor Steevens' Hospital. I have
heard that he used to repair or clean some instruments for the use of
the institution; but I know that when he had attained to extensive
practice and the incident advantages, he frequently evinced a great
desire for the prosperity and advancement of it, and he frequently
visited the old hospital, to all the wards of which he had full access.
There was a stringent prohibition of the smoking of tobacco by any
person whatever in the wards or passages, and a disobedience or neglect
of this order was punishable by immediate expulsion from the premises.
James Cusack, who, as a surgeon, was not to be surpassed, was the
principal of the professional authorities, and he entertained a peculiar
abhorrence of the slightest fume of tobacco being observed on the
premises. On an afternoon stroll I accompanied Brophy until we were
within a few yards of the building, when Cusack's carriage came rapidly
up, and he alighted, and entered as soon as possible the principal male
ward, in the most distant bed of which he saw a man in a sitting posture
and smoking a pipe. The offender, perceiving that he was detected,
reclined back, and drew the bedclothes about his shoulders. Cusack
stepped rapidly to the bedside, and said--
"You have been smoking."
"No, sir."
"I saw you, you lying scoundrel."
"No, sir."
Cusack was standing close to the culprit, and turning round, he shouted
for the attendants, who hurried to him; along with them Brophy and I
entered the ward, when Cusack resumed--
"This man has been smoking tobacco; the pipe was in his mouth when I
came into the ward."
"No, sir."
"You have the pipe in the bed with you."
"No, sir."
"Lift this fellow to another bed, and see that he has nothing wrapped in
his shirt."
The order was obeyed, and then the vacated bed was strictly searched,
the bolster, quilt, blankets, sheets, and mattress separately examined,
but no pipe was forthcoming, Cusack repeated his positive assertions,
that he had seen the fellow smoking, but he could only elicit another
"No, sir." He was retiring from the ward, not perplexed in his
conviction of having witnessed the forbidden indulgence, but
disappointed and annoyed at the fruitless search. Returning to the
offender, he said--
"I promise to forgive you fully, and leave you quite unpunished, if you
now tell me where you put the pipe."
"Try your own pocket, sir."
Cusack put his hand in the back pocket of his overcoat, and there found
the pipe, which the delinquent had slipped in as the other had turned
about to call the attendants.
Great laughter supervened, in which the eminent and amiable James Cusack
heartily joined. When we were leaving the hospital, Brophy went into the
ward and gave the smoker half-a-crown, and on our way home he remarked
that the fellow deserved a reward, as undoubtedly his trick upon Cusack
was "as good as a play."
An intimate friend, whom I could also term a schoolfellow, named
Vickers, was my companion on a Sunday walk in the summer of 1852, and we
happened to direct our course to the Royal Hospital of Kilmainham, and
finding that the door of the grounds so long used as a public cemetery
was open, we entered, and seated ourselves in the centre of the
inclosure, formerly known as "Bully's Acre," or the Hospital Fields,
resting ourselves on the remains of an old monument, and enjoying the
prospect presented by the varied and undulating surface of the Phoenix
Park, and the rich country in its vicinity. My companion had been a
medical student in his youth, and he related an adventure which the
locality suggested to his recollection, and with the results of which
Brophy was stated to have been unpleasantly and unprofitably connected.
His narrative was as follows:--
"We had a very stirring row in that corner one night, when I was
apprentice to old Aby Colles; for at that time we had generally to
provide our own _subjects_, or to purchase them, at a very high price,
from men who followed the calling of "sack-em-ups;" and as money was not
always plenty, we used to form parties for the purpose of invading this
and other burial-grounds, and exhuming the bodies. Brophy, the dentist,
had a brother named Maurice, whom he was desirous of putting into the
medical profession. He was a manly, generous fellow, and possessed a
very strong inclination for anything that denoted enterprise, or
promised excitement. Pat had taken a cottage and garden in Rathmines,
and for his whim or amusement he went into a shop in Kennedy's Lane and
purchased a spade; and having given his address, the seller wrote the
name and address on the handle of the implement. The spade was sent
home, and upon the same day a party was organised, of which I
constituted one, to visit this place and disinter two or three bodies
that had been buried in the morning. I mentioned to Maurice the project
we had formed, and he eagerly joined in the undertaking. All was
arranged; and we drove out to this place, left our cars at a little
distance, and entered the ground, determined to work silently and
quickly. However, our volunteer friend had provided himself with his
brother's spade, and certainly used it with great despatch, although not
so noiselessly as might be wished. But we had been watched. We were seen
entering the cemetery, and a body of men, armed with every rough weapon
that they could procure, came suddenly upon us. We had to retreat, and
made a running fight until we reached the wall, and there our associate
was attacked by a man who, with fearful imprecations, declared he would
have his life. Blows were quickly interchanged; the combatants closed;
and a fierce struggle occurred, which was terminated by Maurice urging
his antagonist to the wall, and very speedily pitching him over; the
depth at the other side was at least ten feet, although where the
encounter occurred was only a foot or two lower than the wall top. The
man fell, exclaiming that he was murdered. He groaned heavily; and we
succeeded with great difficulty, and not without some severe blows from
sticks and stones, in effecting an escape from a scene where we felt
almost fully convinced that we had left a warm corpse in our attempt to
obtain a cold one.
"On reaching Dublin, I accompanied Maurice to the house of his brother,
who was greatly alarmed at our appearance, and still more at our
narration of the adventure. When it was concluded, he eagerly asked
where was the spade, and on being apprised that it had been left in the
cemetery, he exclaimed that we would all be hung, or at best
transported. 'I knew,' said he to his brother, 'that you would get
yourself into an infernal scrape sooner or later; and now your only
chance is to set off on foot, and make your way to Naas. I shall have an
inside seat taken in the Limerick day-coach for a gentleman who will get
in there; make your way to Limerick, and we will try and manage a
passage for you from some southern part to get abroad.' Arrangements
were made with brief despatch; our companion departed; and the dentist,
retired to an uneasy bed, perplexed by fears of coroner's inquest,
wilful murder, hue and cry, apprehension, trial, conviction, and
execution of his unlucky brother.
"Next morning he had scarcely finished his breakfast when he was
informed that M'Donough, the peace-officer, required to see him. He
admitted the unwelcome visitant, and was informed that his orders[20]
were to bring Mr. Brophy immediately to the Head Police-Office, and to
keep him from communicating with any other person before he arrived
there. There was no further explanation; and Brophy thought it prudent
to refrain from any question beyond asking if he might take a car. This
was at once acceded to; and as the peace-officer and his _quasi_
prisoner were getting on the vehicle, a woman rapidly approached and
screamed forth the dentist's name. He ascribed this circumstance to the
grief or resentment of a bereaved widow or sister, who thought that she
beheld in him one of the murderous authors of her misery; but the car
drove off rapidly, and the police-office was reached without any further
incident or interruption.
"The office was crowded, and at the table was seated Mr. William Hall,
an attorney. Brophy and he were well acquainted, and a salute passed
between them as the dentist sat down near the other. The magistrates
were in their private room, engaged in some conference or consultation.
After the lapse of a few minutes, Brophy ventured a word to Mr. Hall.
"'This is a very unpleasant business, Billy.'
"'Very annoying, indeed,' replied the other, 'I have not met a more
unpleasant case for some time.'
"'Billy, would a little money be of any avail?'
"'Why, my dear fellow, thirty pounds would put an end to it altogether.'
"'Thirty pounds! Don't say another word. Here's the money. I depend on
you that all will be right.'
"The magistrates[21] entered, and Billy Hall immediately proceeded to
express his great gratification that it would not be necessary, or
indeed possible, to go any further with the charge then pending before
them. 'In fact,' said he, 'it is impossible to continue the prosecution,
for the respectable gentleman, whose name was alleged to have been
forged, has paid the bill, and it is now my duty to have it handed over
to him in your worship's presence.'
"A bill of exchange was delivered, in compliance with Hall's direction,
to Patrick Brophy, who found his name written as drawer upon it, in a
manner closely resembling his own signature. Evidently surprised, he
exclaimed that he thought he had been sent for on another matter.
"'What other matter, sir?' inquired Major Sirr.
"'Oh, nothing, nothing, sir,' said the enraged but fearful Brophy, who
felt that an explanation, which would relieve him from the loss just
incurred, might involve his brother Maurice in an accusation of dreadful
import. 'Perhaps,' said a peace-officer, 'the gentleman knows something
about a spade which we have below. We stopped a young vagabond pledging
it on the Coombe, and it appears quite new. There was a name and
direction on the handle, but the fellow scraped it almost entirely out.
We have found, however, on inquiry in Kennedy's Lane, that this
gentleman bought such a spade at Bryan Murphy's, yesterday.'
"'That spade,' said Brophy, 'is gone from Dublin. It was bought for a
friend, and is forty miles away by this time.'
"'Then, what other business were you thinking of?" resumed the
inquisitive Major.
"'Perhaps,' suggested Alderman Darley, 'his anxiety refers to the young
woman from Dolphin's Barn, who is charged with concealing the birth of
her infant, and who so obstinately refuses to tell who is its father.'
"'Alas! for the depravity of man,' said the Major. 'Shall we never be
free from vice and its consequences, sin and sorrow, crime and
punishment?'
"'Why, Major,' said Brophy, taking courage, 'I don't think you'll be
quite free of them in a hurry; but I'd like to find out the other
parties concerned in this darling bill, for, by G----, I'll make some of
them pay it if I can.'
"'Fie, sir!' said the Major. 'It is plain that a mistaken lenity has led
you to adopt a forgery; and I only hope that there may be more of them
in circulation; for now having paid one, you cannot refuse the others;
and as it is, I have a strong inclination to fine you for blasphemous
swearing.'
"'Don't mind it, Major,' said Brophy, 'I won't _swear_ any more; but
when I get out of this, I think that I'll _curse_ a little.'
"He departed, having paid thirty pounds for a forgery of his own name,
and had no consolation beyond discovering, which he did very soon, that
the fellow who had been thrown over the wall was not dead, nor even
materially injured, and had taken his beating without making much noise
about it, once it was over. The spade had been found by some poor
vagrant, who sought quietly to dispose of it. Maurice was brought home
again, and Pat was forced to acknowledge, amongst his bantering
associates, that the _spade_ had turned up 'a trump' for the forger."
FOOTNOTES:
[20] Such orders were not unusual in former times.
[21] I have often heard Pemberton and Ross Cox describe the scene as
fully remembered by them.
CHAPTER XXXI.
A TRIP TO THE NORTH--METRICAL ATTEMPTS--CONTRASTS--PARIS: A FAIR--A
REVIEW--NADAR'S BALLOON--SPORT, TURF, BOXING--LIQUOR VEHICLES--NO
HODS--A HORSE, A DOG, RATS.
I took a run to Belfast in 1862, and from thence through Carrickfergus,
and along the coast-road to the Giant's Causeway, where I spent two days
most agreeably. At the Causeway hotel I met several gentlemen, to one of
whom I was known, and by him was introduced to the others. Their society
was extremely pleasant; for although they differed in their views and
opinions on certain subjects, their conversation was completely free
from acerbity. In referring to the preference of certain colors by the
inhabitants of northern or southern districts, an anecdote was related
of a wrangle between two young fellows who had come from very distant
parts of Ireland, to be employed in one of the great monetary
establishments of Dublin, and who resided at Sandymount. I have not
introduced into my preceding pages any expressions indicative of
political or religious preferences, and I think that the "wrangle" may
be submitted to the perusal of all parties or sects without offending
their feelings or exciting their prejudices. I thought it curious and
amusing, and it induced me to attempt to narrate, in a versified form,
the antagonistic tendencies of--
GREEN AND ORANGE--ORANGE AND GREEN.
"There is a flow'r I dearly love, and which with pride I bear
Upon my head, or next my heart, none with it can compare;
It is the Orange Lily, to which glorious memories cling,
Of Derry, Boyne, or Aughrim, 'twill the recollection bring.
Some roots I have procured to plant, and when their flow'rs appear,
I'll hail them as the emblems of the cause I hold most dear."
Thus spoke a sturdy Northern lad. A Munster boy was nigh,
And heard the words which, he conceived, an insult did imply.
"I hate, I loathe your gaudy flow'r," disdainfully he cried;
"It shall not grow, its tints to show, wherever I abide.
Your lily shall be trampled if it ever meets my sight."
The blood of both was thus aroused and eager for a fight;
An aged man reproved them, bade their bitter taunts to cease,
And then suggested that his taste each might indulge in peace.
"My friend, I'll plant your lily, let its color glad your eyes,
No hateful green shall intervene to rival its rich dyes.
There's space enough throughout the land where those who love to see
The verdant hue may freely view the sod, the shrub, the tree."
The old man took the lily roots entrusted to his care,
With which the rival youths agreed no more to interfere.
In genial soil, of aspect warm, at once he planted them,
But as each primal leaf arose he nipp'd it from the stem.
He said the green must not appear the orange flow'r beside,
The blossom bright should meet the sight in undisputed pride.
But then the blossom, lone and bare, without the friendly aid
Of leaves to shield its rising stem soon wither'd and decay'd.
The abortive root unto the youths the old man then display'd.
"Both colors are essential to the perfect flow'r," he said.
"You cannot have the orange if the green you take away,
The plant affords a lesson--may it reach your hearts, I pray."
METRICAL ATTEMPTS.
I shall venture to offer two or three more productions to the readers of
these pages. If my metrical attempts are considered even below
mediocrity, they will serve to make others more acceptable. The coarse,
homely attire of the peasant is a foil tending strongly to enhance
admiration for the courtly costumes of the upper classes; and the weeds
that blossom in our hedgerows, or on the sides of our highways, render
us unconsciously more appreciative of the floral beauties displayed in
the gardens of aristocratic mansions. My own recollections enable me to
compare much of the past with the present, and render me desirous of
endeavouring to describe some of the changes which have occurred since--
LONG AGO.
Yon tree whose massive timber
The storms assail in vain,
I've seen a sapling limber
A child might rend in twain;
And in the churchyard yonder,
It's planter's lying low,
Whilst on its growth I ponder,
And think of LONG AGO.
Yon brook that quickly courses
To turn the busy mill,
Then spent its unclaim'd forces
Adown the heath-clad hill.
The heather to plantation
Has yielded, and below,
A bustling railway station
Contrasts with LONG AGO.
The breeze is freshly blowing
Full in yon harbour's face,
And yet some craft are going
Their wat'ry way to trace.
The adverse wind unheeding,
The waves aside they throw;
By steam their journey speeding--
How changed from LONG AGO.
I meet a friend--he mentions
That news of import grand,
O'er half the earth's dimensions
Has reach'd the Irish land.
Th' events occurr'd this morning,
And now each fact we know
By an electric warning,
Undreamt of LONG AGO.
The village school is ending
Its labours for the day,
Each child, released, is wending
Its joyous homeward way.
Blithe be their youthful gambols,
Uncheck'd by care or woe,
As were my boyhood's rambles,
How long, how LONG AGO.
And as my tott'ring paces
Proceed, there's at my side
One whom for varied graces
I gladly make my bride.
Her dark hair then contrasted
With locks now tinged with snow,
But still our love has lasted
The same as LONG AGO.
Thus let it be for ever--
Let Youth enjoy its time;
Let Age, contented, never
Regret its vanish'd prime.
Life's joys, life's hopes, life's duties,
Each passing year will show,
And retrospective beauties
Appear in LONG AGO.
Amongst the pictures which have, within my memory, been exhibited in
Dublin, one painted by Paul Delaroche was regarded by me with surpassing
admiration, in which feeling I was certainly not singular, for I found
it equally appreciated by many others who viewed it at Le Sage's in
Sackville Street. It was said to have originated in an extraordinary
reverie of the artist, who, whilst suffering from fever, imagined that
he beheld the corpse of a young and beautiful female, whose hands and
feet had been tightly bound, drifting along a deep and rapid river. On
recovering from his malady, Delaroche delineated this vision, and then
considered what title he should give the production. On searching the
records of martyrdom he could not discover the name of any sainted
victim of persecution who had perished in the manner indicated; but
finding that the Emperor Diocletian had, about the year of our Lord 300,
caused some hundreds of his Christian subjects to be drowned in the
Tiber for refusing to abjure their faith, he named the picture "La
Martyre Chretienne." It has been engraved, lithographed, and
photographed so much, as to evince a general admiration of the
conception and artistic power of the painter. I have written some lines
on this subject, and have endeavoured to adopt the metre of Ariosto,
which I consider not unsuitable to an incident connected with Italy and
the ancient days of the Eternal City. The concluding stanza alludes to
the lambent circle which, in the painting, appears above the head of--
THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR.
The sedgy margin of his yellow stream
Beholds old Tiber rolling to the main,
In eddies silver'd by the struggling beam,
Wooing the ripples which it can't retain.
A mutual mockery, a vap'ry dream,
Illusive, unsubstantial, cold, and vain
As human hopes, like ev'rything of earth,
Passing, unpausing, dying e'en in birth.
That river has beheld the glorious day
When chaste Lucretia's wrongs awoke the ire
That freed her country from the Tarquin's sway;
Upon that bank Virginia from her sire,
Loathing the brutal Appius to obey,
When in his breast there raged a base desire,
In her pure heart received the fatal knife,
Preferring death to a dishonor'd life.
Upon that bank in youthful beauty stood
The virgin Cloelia, when with high disdain
She scorn'd Porsenna's pow'r, and deem'd the flood
Was easier to stem than tyrant's chain
Could be endured; and there the multitude
Of foes on Cocles fiercely press'd in vain,
There, one 'gainst thousands, he maintain'd his post,
And foil'd the foremost of Etruria's host.
Upon that classic bank did Mutius stand,
And in the midst of his astonish'd foes
Upon the altar there he placed his hand
Unshrinking, round it whilst the flames arose,
To show th' invader of his native land
How he could scorn the torture's fiercest throes,
And that no tyrant's power could be secure
Against a patriot's purpose, firm and pure.
All these were high and noble in their daring,
In distant ages were their deeds achieved,
But they had earthly motives strongly bearing
Them onward in their course, for they believed
That man would honor them. Nor scant nor sparing
Has been the classic fame they have received,
And history still delights to gild her pages
With deeds like theirs from Rome's incipient ages.
But still old Tiber's course hath onward sped,
And other incidents of higher fame
Have on his banks a holy lustre shed,
There Diocletian did his will proclaim--
That to the ancient stream there should be led
His Christian subjects, and the sacred name
Of Christ should be abjured, or Tiber's wave
Should those engulf who own'd His pow'r to save.
In youthful innocence a beauteous maid
Stands 'mongst the victims doom'd with lips compress'd,
And eyes already closed--she hath essay'd
To banish earthly thoughts. Upon her breast
Her hands are folded--she hath meekly pray'd,
And He to whom her pray'r has been address'd,
To whom she clings all faithful, gives her pow'r
To meet the terrors of life's closing hour.
They bind her hands--she heeds not the infliction
Of cords that sink into her tender limb;
She, thinking of her Saviour's crucifixion--
Her soul hath flown to Calvary to Him.
She meekly hears each heathen malediction,
Heav'n seems to ope as earth appears more dim;
Her fate severe for thrones she would not barter,
And now she sinks--a Christian Maiden Martyr!
Her form is slowly gliding to the sea,
Her soul to Paradise its way is winging,
Upon her pallid face serenity
Shows that to earth her heart was never clinging;
To all the elements her corse may be
Abandoned, but the seraph choir is singing,
And chaplets fairer than the flow'rs of Eden
In Heav'n shall deck the martyr'd Christian maiden.
Still o'er her drifting form a circlet golden
Upon the river sheds its lambent rays,
As though it would the lively hope embolden
The martyr's truth shall shine in future days,
And when her bones have moulder'd deep and cold in
Their ocean grave, men shall accord their praise
To him whose reverie or vision mystic
Her suff'rings shall depict with grace artistic.
The following lines were suggested by a visit to an extensive paper
manufactory at Inchicore, which, I regret to say, is not working at
present:--
I stray'd along a village street,
And as in listless mood I wander'd,
The breeze had wafted to my feet
Something on which awhile I ponder'd.
Was it a precious talisman,
Whose magic tracings doth unfold
A right by which its bearer can
Claim and obtain the treasured gold?
Was it a flow'r with tints array'd
Such as the vernal suns bestow,
Richer than monarch e'er display'd,
Was it a fragrant flowret? No!
Was it a feather dropt away
From some wild bird of varied hues?
From moors whereon the plovers stray,
Or groves wherein the ringdove coos?
Was it the down the thistle yields,
That sails through air like drifting snow?
Or fairy flax from fenny fields,
Or plume from warrior's helmet? No!
Or manhood's locks, or maiden's hair,
Wafted by breeze through village street?
Nor this, nor these--but lying there
A filthy rag was at my feet.
With dirt begrimed, that remnant mean,
Crushed in the mire, I saw no more;
But yet I mused on what had been
Its various uses heretofore.
The great, the humble, grave or gay,
Noble or base, whoe'er it clothed,
Reject it now, and cast away,
'Tis only seen but to be loathed.
Such were my thoughts till slumber came,
And then by fancy's vivid light
Methought that rag, the very same--
Appear'd again before my sight.
No longer were its folds defiled,
But pure and white it seem'd as snow,
And 'neath a roller whirling wild,
I saw the worthless fragment go.
And bleach'd and clean, by that machine
'Twas triturated fast;
And when 'twas found completely ground,
O'er wires its pulp was pass'd.
And on and on that rag hath gone,
'Neath cylinders I traced it,
And there it roll'd through heat and cold,
Whilst giant force embraced it.
And I could mark th' electric spark[22]
Gleam like a fairy taper;
And fair and smooth as the brow of youth,
That filthy rag was PAPER.
Material fit for Holy Writ
And tidings of salvation--
Material grand for a struggling land,
When seeking liberation.
Material proud to warn aloud
'Gainst slavery's subtle meshes--
Material true to teach the few
The many's rights are precious.
Material meet for tidings sweet
Of distant recollection--
Material best to purge each breast
Of Bigotry's infection.
Material bright to guide and light
The onward march of Reason--
Oh! that old rag has form'd a flag
For man's best thoughts to blazon.
Then may its use each day produce,
From pen and press united,
Each noble thought by which we ought
To feel our souls excited.
May Honor grand, with Virtue bland,
Inspire it and direct it,
Till wheresoe'er 'tis hoisted, there
That flag shall be respected.
In the pages which I have yet to submit to the indulgent consideration
of my readers, it is not my intention to continue the insertion of
specimens of my metrical tendencies. The remainder of my reminiscences
are chiefly derived from a residence of eighteen months in Paris in
1864-5. That city has been subjected to much suffering amongst her
inhabitants, and to the destruction of magnificent palatial and
municipal edifices since the time to which my visit refers; and the
Imperial dynasty, that then seemed perfectly secure against Bourbon
rivalry or republican designs, has experienced a complete extinction,
without any apparent chance of its revival. Notwithstanding all the
changes which have occurred within the last ten years, I feel convinced
that there are many sights which the French capital can still present to
the observation of a traveller from this country, and which will remain
indelibly impressed on his memory, either through their intrinsic beauty
or magnificence, or still more by the marked contrast they exhibit to
objects similar in name here, but in which the name is the only
resemblance. He who reflects on the presence of some objects and the
absence of others, will be frequently more astonished at not seeing than
in beholding. I think that this remark can be exemplified. There is a
fair in Paris which is held, during the entire month of January, on the
Boulevards, extending from the Madeleine to the Place de la Bastille, a
distance of about three English miles. It is resorted to by the most
respectable classes. There are wooden booths erected at both sides of
the Boulevard, on the footways; and the articles offered for sale
comprise "everything, and anything else you may wish for." Children have
their toys and confections. Hats, lamps, shoes, boots, jewels, hosiery,
glass, birds, mountebanks, newspapers, portable baths, guns, groceries,
gloves, cutlery, false teeth, false beards, false eyes, false legs,
tempt the adults. There are, however, no horses, cattle, sheep, or swine
offered for sale, the live stock, consisting only of poultry, rabbits,
pigeons, and Guinea-pigs. To an Irishman it is a fair only in name. I
visited it frequently, and saw it early and late, but I did not hear an
altercation or see a fight, or any person intoxicated. Oh, Donnybrook!
how different from your defunct glories! How could a Patlander recognise
any resemblance in a scene of peaceable amusement, excited and busy, but
without a reel or a blow, to the classic spot, where "batin' was chape
as dirt" amongst
"Hearts soft with whisky, and heads soft with blows."?
A REVIEW.
I was at a review in honor of the Emperor's birth-day, or perhaps it
should be termed the "Napoleon day," for it was held on the 15th of
August, 1864, the real natal day of the third Napoleon being the 20th of
April, and the other day being the anniversary of the first Napoleon's
nativity in 1769. There were more than 100,000 troops on the ground, the
Champ de Mars, but nearly the half were National Guards. The concourse
of spectators was immense. When his Imperial Majesty arrived, there was
not a hat raised, neither was there a shout uttered, nor a shot fired.
The troops defiled before him in slow and quick time, and then he
departed. I must have been afflicted on that day with temporary
deafness, for I saw it announced in several newspapers of the following
morning, that his Majesty had been received with the loudest
acclamations.
NADAR'S BALLOON.
Neither at the review to which I have adverted, nor at the ascent of
Nadar's giant balloon, where a still greater multitude were assembled,
did I see an intoxicated person, or witness any disturbance or
altercation. I am far from averring that intoxication does not occur
amongst the French, but I believe it to be very infrequent. On a
summer's evening, in the Avenue de Neuilly, I observed three workmen,
and they were inebriated. Each of them was insisting that the other two
should carry him, and they successively tried the experiment, but it
terminated always in the tumbling of the three. The spectators were
laughing, and the fellows themselves seemed to enjoy the fun, without
the slightest asperity towards those who indulged in merriment at their
falls. I thought that in my own country there would have been a very
prompt offer made, by any tipsy fellows who were laughed at, to supply
the company present with an immediate assortment of darkened eyes and
ensanguined noses.
SPORT, TURF, BOXING.
Some of our words have been pretty generally adopted by the Parisians.
"_Sport_" is frequently used in reference to hunting and racing, but I
never heard it applied to shooting or coursing; and it is remarkable
that the word, with the addition of an "e," also signifies the basket of
a mendicant friar. Le _Turf_ is, as a racing term, understood in the
same sense as amongst ourselves; and the monosyllable by which we
express a pugilistic contest, is used to invite or describe an encounter
between two combatants who are unprovided with weapons. Outside a
wine-house, at Vaugirard, I witnessed a quarrel, and heard the
invitation, "_Voulez-vous box?_" The affair commenced by the parties
stripping off their blouses, and then, with raised arms and open hands,
capering before each other, as if watching an opportunity to strike. I
did not see a box given; for, after a few feints, one combatant gave the
other a fearful kick in the pit of the stomach, which stretched him in
the greatest agony, and loud acclamations from amongst the bystanders
greeted the conqueror. On another occasion, in the Rue de L'oratoire,
after a similar challenge, the parties did not strike or kick, but had a
wrestle, which terminated in one getting the other down; he then seated
himself on his prostrate antagonist, and proceeded to strike him
violently on the head with a _sabot_; or wooden shoe, without any
interference or disapproval on the part of the persons present. A
_sergent de ville_ having seen the crowd, came up, and required the
victor to cease hammering his foe. He was instantly obeyed, the
vanquished party arose and decamped, and the police-officer walked on
without taking any further notice of the affair. A bystander expressed
his sympathy with the conqueror, by remarking, that after having gone to
the trouble of getting the fellow down, it was a pity that he was not
allowed to punish him.
LIQUOR VEHICLES.
I did not at any time in Paris see two persons in attendance on any
vehicle used in the conveyance of liquor. One man took charge of a long,
narrow dray, on which a number of barrels were placed in two, or perhaps
three, tiers; they were secured by ropes passing from rere to front, and
there tightened by a kind of capstan, with bars and a catch-bolt. There
was also a hinge between the shafts and the body, which allowed the
front to be elevated and the rere to be lowered. One man managed this
machinery, and could deliver the entire or any part of the load with
safety and despatch. The adoption of similar vehicles in the liquor
traffic of our country would be decidedly economical; but additional
labour would be required to lower large casks into underground cellars,
a description of store which is very uncommon in Paris.
NO HODS.
In one of the early productions of my schoolfellow and frequent
playmate, Samuel Lover, he narrates an anecdote of two Dublin hodmen,
one of whom expressed doubts as to the capability of the other to carry
a hod, heavily laden, up a ladder to the roof of a high house. This
produced, on the part of the other, a wager of a gallon of porter, that
he would carry the very man who had taunted him, in a hod, and deliver
him over the parapet, five stories above the street. The bet was made,
and one fellow seated himself in the hod, and was carried by the other
safely to the roof; he then acknowledged that he had lost, but added,
"When you were about five rungs of the ladder from the top, I thought
you were getting a little weak, and that _I had a fine chance of winning
the gallon_." I do not think such a dangerous wager could arise in
Paris, for although very extensive buildings were in progress during my
sojourn, I never saw such an implement as a hod there. All the materials
were hoisted up by ropes, pulleys, and windlasses. Horse labour was very
much used, and small steam-engines were occasionally employed. The lives
and limbs of the Parisian workmen were consequently safe from the risks
incident to a false step or a rotten rung.
A HORSE, A DOG, RATS.
The French occasionally train animals to exhibit amusing tricks and
tendencies; and the surprise of a spectator is not excited so much by
what he sees done, as by the conjectures he forms or hears expressed by
others, as to the means adopted in bringing animals to the observance of
extraordinary habits, or the habitual performance of prescribed duties.
When the Messieurs Pereire were building the magnificent structures
which form the Boulevard Malesherbes, a large black English horse was
employed to raise materials by rope and pulleys. He worked kindly at his
laborious task; but as soon as the bell rang for breakfast, dinner, or
the termination of the day's work, he stopped, and would not resume
until the usual time for feeding or rest had elapsed.
At the corner of the junction of the Rue de Castiglione with the Rue de
Rivoli, a shoeblack plied his humble vocation, and derived great
assistance in obtaining employment from a poodle dog, that had been
trained to run, with paws purposely soiled, across the feet of persons
coming towards his master's bench and brushes. The dog was, perhaps, the
greatest curiosity in the locality, for he never attempted to renew his
trespass on the boots or shoes of those who had spent two sous in having
them polished by his proprietor. I have frequently seen him actively
engaged; but he confined his attentions to the male sex; and I can add,
as a circumstance very creditable to those on whom his avocation was
exercised, that I never saw him kicked or struck. His daily duties were
of a very extraordinary nature; but far more extraordinary must have
been the training by which he was qualified for their performance.
On the Esplanade des Invalides I witnessed a most extraordinary
exhibition. A very aged man appeared, drawing a small four-wheeled
truck. He stopped and rang a handbell for some minutes. When a number of
spectators had collected, he opened a slide on the top of the truck, and
in the most endearing terms invited his pets, his darlings, to come
forth. The darlings came at his call, and consisted of about three dozen
rats, mostly of a white or cream color, with red eyes. They crept up his
legs, crowded on his head and shoulders, nestled inside his vest, and
eagerly fed on some fragments of cheese and some Indian corn, which he
produced from a dirty old bag. He then took a tin box, in the lid of
which there was a hole, sufficient to admit one rat at a time; and
having given the word of command, the "darlings" proceeded to enter. It
seemed too small to contain the entire number; but he insisted on their
entrance, scolded them, and swore vehemently at their tardiness. At
length all had disappeared, and I then perceived that the bottom of the
box was fastened to the upper part by hooks, which the old man drew
back, and raising the box he displayed a compact mass of rats, packed
almost in a square. He gave the word and they separated, and having got
some water, re-entered the truck, and the old fellow sent round the hat
to collect a few coppers from the spectators. I could not refuse a
trifle for an exhibition which I considered very curious, but very
disgusting. I looked with loathing upon the intimacy between the nasty
vermin and their pauper master; and I should have seen, with great
satisfaction, the entire school consigned to the attentions of
half-a-dozen terriers.
FOOTNOTE:
[22] The paper, when coiled upon the receiving roller, is very
electrical, until it becomes perfectly cool. If the hand is held within
five or six inches of it, sparks are elicited, and a lucifer match may
be ignited without bringing it nearer to the "material."
CHAPTER XXXII.
CONTRASTS--FRENCH KITCHENS--SHOPS AND SIGNS--THE SEINE--TREES AND
FLOWERS--A PRETTY THIEF--FRENCH WIT--FRENCH SILVER--THE HOTEL DES
INVALIDES.
In narrating the incidents that came under my personal observation, and
the impressions produced by many of them on my mind, during a residence
of eighteen months in the French capital, I have to suffer the
disadvantage of a lapse of ten years, during which some tremendous
visitations have produced very disastrous effects, which may be
attributed not only to the successful hostility of a foreign enemy, but
also to the unrestrained and sanguinary violence arising from domestic
turbulence. These unhappy events may have occasioned changes in the
morals and habits of the Parisians, which would prevent recent
travellers from deeming my descriptions correct or my conclusions
reasonable. Having premised the possibility of a considerable social
alteration, I resume, and shall advert to certain comparative qualities
of persons in this country and in Paris, belonging to similar classes,
presuming to recommend them to the consideration, not only of those who
may visit the French city, but to all who are desirous of the
improvement and civilized progress of thousands around us. Let me put
some unpleasant but truthful contrasts. If I walk, between the hours of
nine and twelve at night, from Stephen's Green, by Grafton Street,
Westmoreland Street, and Sackville Street, to the Rotundo, I shall see
from two to three dozen intoxicated females, and hear many loathsome
expressions. On Monday mornings, there have been frequently upwards of
fifty females convicted before me for drunkenness; and it would appear,
by the statistical tables of the Dublin police, that the numbers have
not decreased since my retirement from office. Now, without stigmatizing
my own native Dublin as a peculiar locality of public impropriety, I
would fearlessly assert that the English Metropolitan district is as
bad, that Liverpool is worse, and our own Cork not better. The contrast
presented to the reader is, that during a residence of eighteen months
in Paris, and in that time frequently passing at late hours through
quarters in which much poverty is to be seen, and to which great
immorality is generally ascribed, I never saw a female under the
influence of liquor, and never heard an expression or witnessed a
gesture of an indecent character.
I ascribe much of the intemperance of the operative classes in Ireland,
aye, and in Great Britain also, to the absence in general of each sex
from the potations of the other. I shall venture on a narrative, which
the stenographic talent of Mr. Hughes enabled him to acquire whilst
waiting in the yard or lobby of the police-court, and listening to a
woman detailing the misfortunes of some of her friends:--
"Mrs. Rafferty had just run out to get a grain of tay and a quarther of
shuggar. Mrs. M'Mullen, the shoemaker's wife, had a few half-pence left
after paying for a pair of soles and some binding; and was it not quare
that they should meet Jenny Riordan just round the corner at Cassidy's
door? Cassidy always kept 'the best of sperrits,' and Jenny Riordan
stood for little Patsy M'Mullen only a fortnight before. Mrs. M'Mullen
insisted that half a glass a-piece would do them no harm, if they'd slip
into Cassidy's. Well, in they went; and just as they were passing
'behind the tay chests,' that all the world mightn't see them, who
should be there but Kitty Laffan and Betty Rooney. Poor Betty had just
left her sarvice, and had half a quarter's wages in her pocket; and she
wished to explain why she wouldn't stay in that place, as her mistress
was too particular entirely. They were all decent women, that never took
more than 'half a glass' at a time. But they were all very genteel, and
had a proper spirit; so each insisted on 'standing' until each half
glass had become half a pint. Mrs. M'Mullen got home after losing the
pair of soles on the way, and got terrible usage from her husband. Mrs.
Rafferty had a little difference with Betty Rooney, and as Betty felt
herself rather strong after the last little sup, she cut Mrs. Rafferty's
head with a pewter quart that happened, unluckily, to be 'convenient.'
Mrs. Rafferty put Betty's eyes into mourning for the next week; and the
big polisman (I don't know his name, but they call him 'Coffin-foot',
because you might bury a child in his shoe) escorted the combatants to
Chancery Lane." Some more of the party were picked up on their way home,
and taken to Newmarket, and were brought up to the Head Office next
morning. The husbands of these half-glass takers could not say much
about the matter, for they had a little jollification amongst themselves
on the previous Monday, and two of them beat their respective wives very
severely, for daring to go skulking and prying after them, and
disturbing them, under the pretence of getting them home.
Such was not an exaggerated picture, nor did it deal with an unusual
occurrence; but there was a vast difference between it and the
indulgences of the corresponding class in Paris. There, if a married
operative took himself to the fair of St. Cloud, to the Bois de
Boulogne, or Vincennes, his wife almost invariably not only accompanied
him, and if they had a family, brought one or two of the children with
her, but she also assumed the direction of the humble festivity over
which she presided. Then, as to the refreshments, no seclusion was
sought: on the contrary, if the weather was fine, the open air was
preferred. Their landlord, their employers, their neighbours might be
passing, or perhaps occupying the next tables, whilst the Frenchman and
his family were enjoying themselves. The woman shared the wine, beer,
coffee, cakes, or whatever formed the repast. Their superiors were
recognised, and saluted with grave respect. Their acquaintances were
accosted with politeness and apparent cordiality, but were not invited
to join. Wine was not much used; beer, of German or English manufacture,
especially the latter, was the drink most desired. The man sat, chatted,
and smoked; the woman occupied herself with the children, or perhaps
with needle-work. The various incidents of a French metropolitan
thoroughfare or pleasure-grounds amused and sometimes excited them.
Intoxication and its concomitant indecencies and absurdities were
ignored. A man could not but feel repugnance to excess in the presence
of his wife, and with his children almost at his knees; and, moreover,
publicity is an important auxiliary to the promotion and maintenance of
decorum. In the British empire, the respectability of a neighbourhood is
considered a valid reason against granting a licence for the sale of
liquor to be consumed on the premises, in the vicinity. In Paris, there
is a _restaurant_ in the gardens of the Tuileries, another at the
Luxembourg, and two within the palatial grounds of St. Cloud, unless
recent events have caused their suppression, which there is no reason to
suppose to have occurred. In every part of France that I visited, I felt
convinced that the policy was to have liquors moderately supplied to
sober customers, and to impart full publicity to the sale and
consumption. Amongst us the classes of society are separated from the
view, and consequently from the moral influences of each other; and
licensed public-houses in all our populous localities are provided with
places arranged for the reception and refreshment(?) of the lower
orders, where they may meet "no one better than themselves"--where they
may skulk in and reel out.
I turn to another topic which involved a great and very apparent
difference between the operative and labouring classes who came under
my observation in Paris and those of corresponding grades in my own
country. In the French capital, works were in progress of a most
extensive nature. Great eminences were to be levelled, and valleys
filled up; old streets were to disappear, to be replaced by spacious
Boulevards, lined with splendid mansions. I was informed that upwards of
200,000 labouring men were employed in daily toilsome work, but to avoid
any imputation of an exaggerated statement, I shall suppose the number
not to exceed one-half of the thousands mentioned by my informants. As
to those whom I saw engaged in mere labour, one look at their wrists and
ankles--one glance at their weather-bronzed features and high cheek
bones would suffice to satisfy any observer of the unceasing exertions
incident to their avocations. Their necks were open, and a hat or cap, a
blouse, trousers, shoes, and stockings were the only garments to be
seen. Their clothes in general appeared old and worn; a patched elbow, a
patched knee was to be seen with the great majority: but amongst them I
looked repeatedly, but invariably in vain, for even _one ragged man_. I
may mention that the words "_une leque_" (a rag) was considered amongst
the lower classes in Paris as expressive of the utmost contempt for the
person, male or female, to whom it would be applied.
FRENCH KITCHENS.
To such of my readers as may visit Paris, I presume to suggest that they
will be amused and perhaps surprised by examining two or three French
kitchens. The space appropriated to culinary purposes, even in
establishments containing numerous inmates, is in general less than
one-half the size of the apartment used for similar purposes amongst us.
The cooking is done by "a range," which usually occupies one-third of
the room. Covers, stewpans, saucepans, salad baskets, ladles, &c.,
appear on the shelves or hang thickly upon the walls. They are very
cleanly in appearance. The French own Cayenne, but I never met a French
cook who was acquainted with such a stimulant as Cayenne pepper, nor
did I ever see it at table. Mushrooms are profusely used in a variety of
ways, and by their extensive artificial cultivation, are procurable
almost in all seasons, but catsup appears to be unknown, nor is there a
specific word in the language by which it can be expressed. The French
have been contemptuously designated "frog-eaters," but if you wish to
indulge in a repast of frogs, you will have to pay as much for it as
would procure you a far larger portion of turtle in London or Liverpool.
The hind-quarters of the frog are the only parts used in French cookery.
Snails are highly esteemed, and enormous quantities are displayed for
sale, in baskets or barrels, at certain houses, which exhibit
inscriptions that they are celebrated for snails (_specialité pour
escargots_.) I tried a plate once, and must candidly admit that the
stomach overcame the palate, or perhaps I should say that prejudice
conquered judgment. I have never seen them served up to table, unless in
soup, and my plate contained at least a dozen. I took one, thought it a
delicious morsel, swallowed it, and essayed another. Nothing could be
nicer, and down it went, but then my stomach suggested that I was eating
snails. In vain the palate pleaded; I could go no further, and
compromised with the stomach that if it retained the two, no more should
be offered. I do not consider myself an epicure, but can easily imagine
that a lover of dainties might regret that he had not been trained in
early life to take, without repugnance, _a mess of snails_.
If you fancy corned beef and the vulgar vegetable which is abundantly
used, but never named at our tables by lips polite, let your thoughts
revert to home, and postpone the repast, until your return, for at a
French table it is not to be seen. If you get a nice slice of ham you
are at liberty to wish for a little strong Irish mustard to give it a
relish; the French mustard is made with vinegar and flavored with
garlic, and is certainly a very unpleasant contrast to ours. If you wish
for pepper or salt, turn the haft of your silver or plated fork and help
yourself with it. I never saw a salt-spoon or pepper-castor at a French
table.
SHOPS AND SIGNS.
The shops on the principal commercial thoroughfares of Paris are
tastefully constructed, and their internal arrangements, in almost every
instance, appear creditable to the proprietor and convenient to his
customers. Still, I do not think that Grafton Street, College Green,
Dame Street, Westmoreland Street, or Sackville Street, would be
disparaged by a comparison with the Parisian streets in which similar
trades are pursued as those to which, in the above-mentioned places, the
Dublin shops are appropriated. Perhaps I should not employ the term
"shop," for it appears to have fallen greatly into disuse, and to have
been supplanted by houses, temples, halls, emporiums, magazines,
bazaars, institutions, and repositories. I like the old respectable,
bread-winning word; and I cannot forget the expression attributed to the
first Napoleon, that he overcame every difficulty until he had to
encounter the hostility of "ships and shops." However, I fear I am
digressing, and shall proceed to notice some differences which a tourist
may observe between our shops and those of Paris. In my opinion, nothing
proves the advance of education, although of a very limited nature, in
Dublin more than the almost universal abandonment of signs and peculiar
designations over our shops. In my early boyhood, few of the laboring
class, or even of the domestic servants, could read. It was hazardous to
send a messenger to Messrs. Worthington and Dawson, hardware merchants,
27 Thomas Street. Signs were absolutely necessary for those who could
not read; so we had the "New Frying Pan," the "Golden Boot," the "Three
Nuns," the "Plough," the "Raven," and hundreds of others displayed.
Nicknames were sometimes advantageous to traders; O'Brien of Christ
Church yard would rather have his till plundered than be deprived of his
designation of "Cheap John." "Squinting Dick's" was an unfailing
direction to a rich trader's in Mary's Abbey, where he viewed both sides
of the street at one glance. In France. I feel convinced that the
education of the "million" has not advanced as it has with us, and
consequently signs and peculiar titles for commercial establishments are
extensively used. In Paris the number and variety is astonishing, and in
some instances very irreverent. That name, at the mention of which every
knee should bend, is over more than one shop. Saintly names and effigies
designate many houses engaged in the sale of mere worldly wares or
fashionable vanities. A picture of the first Napoleon is displayed on
one house as "La Redingôte Grise," (the grey riding coat,) and on
another he appears as "Le Petit Caporal" (the little corporal.) Some
signs bespeak the patronage of the aristocratic legitimists, others
refer to French progress in the arts, or prowess in the battle-field.
Some of the shops amuse by ludicrous propinquities. In the Rue de Rivoli
one house, over the door of which Cupid appears persistently stationary,
is inscribed with an announcement of marriage outfits; next door to it
is an extensive establishment of baby linen. On one of the Boulevards,
St. Michael the archangel is only a door removed from--the prophet
Mahomet.
I have to enunciate a deliberate opinion, which to those who have not
visited the French capital will undoubtedly appear extraordinary, and
perhaps be by them considered exaggerated. It is to the effect that if I
had to select the Parisian shop most worthy of a prize for comparative
cleanliness, beauty of internal arrangement, quality and variety of
productions incident to the trade, I should feel bound to award the
preference to some one of the many shops belonging to BUTCHERS. In
nearly all these concerns, whether small or spacious, it would be almost
impossible to suggest any improvement. There is one belonging to Duval,
in the Rue Tronchet, just at the rere of the Madeleine, well deserving
of an express visit. An entire house is appropriated to make a shop, and
nothing intervenes between the floor and the roof. Over the front, as
emblems of the trade, you see gilded ox-heads and the horns of deer
displayed. You enter on a floor neatly matted, or in summer sprinkled
with white sand. The meat lies on slabs of white marble, or hangs from
hooks of polished steel, and the scales are sheeted with porcelain.
Stools, well padded, and covered with green leather afford you a seat.
On the shelves, and in the recesses, bouquets of flowers and pots of the
choicest exotics gratify your sight and smell. A fountain with a
rock-work basin exhibits gold fish and scarlet carp. The cashier is a
handsome female, elegantly attired. The aspect of the place tends to
excite an appetite, for no idea of an impure or disgusting nature can be
suggested by anything in your view. The front closes with lattice rails,
which admit the air, and the meat in warm weather is covered with a
gauzy kind of canvas which excludes the flies. If you admire a nice
plant or bouquet, it is intimated that you can have it at a certain
price, and the fish will be sold if you fancy any of them. Any articles
you purchase are succeeded next morning by a fresh supply. One word,
however, as to the Parisian butchers' shops. Never lodge very near one,
unless you are satisfied to lie awake from about four o'clock in the
morning. The beasts are all slaughtered at the public "abattoirs," the
carcasses are conveyed to the shops on strong and loudly-rattling carts.
The work of cutting up, cleaving, sawing, chopping, then commences, and
to sleep, within fifty yards of the place, is out of the question.
The transition is natural from the butcher's stall to the poulterer and
fishmonger. Their shops are far inferior in arrangement or appearance to
those of the flesh vendors, but the fowls in France are uncommonly fine,
which is ascribed to the feeding being _finished_ with maize and milk. I
would back Paris against London for a Christmas turkey or pair of fowl.
Truffles are an addition seldom seen at our tables, but a splendid
turkey would be considered in France, a very ill-treated bird, if it
went to the spit unaccompanied by the honors of a truffle-stuffing. I
may here incidentally mention that I have seen flocks of turkeys at _St.
Germain en Laye_, and also in different parts of Normandy and Brittany,
feeding eagerly on haws picked from the foot-stalks and crushed in
wooden troughs. What numbers of turkeys might be fed in Ireland by a
similar process! Fish, in Paris, is scarcely ever of first-rate quality,
and it is always dear. They eat many kinds which we seldom touch. Carp,
tench, and perch are frequently to be seen at table, and the gudgeon is
used to an extent calculated to surprise a Dublin man, in the vicinity
of whose city it is most abundant, but at whose repasts it is unknown.
THE SEINE.
The Seine, which at Paris is a considerable river, not being affected by
any tide, and also being protected from the access of such quantities of
filth as are conveyed into the Liffey by our public sewers, presents
always a clear, and sometimes a limpid, appearance. The banks are a
great school of practical patience. There may be seen numerous anglers
watching the floats of their lines, and tranquilly awaiting the bite of
some unwary member of the finny tribe, whilst hours are absorbed into
past time, but without pastime--not even "one glorious nibble" rewarding
their perseverance. I have sauntered along the quays of Paris for an
hour or two almost every day, and never saw but one capture, which was a
small eel. The proprietor of the rod and line seemed very proud of his
solitary achievement, and it was evident that he regarded it as an
unusual occurrence.
Persons who rescue others from drowning at Paris receive from some
public fund, either police or municipal, a reward of twenty francs (16s.
8d.) I have been credibly informed that it is not an infrequent
arrangement between two scamps, that one is to fall into the river, and
then the other takes a heroic plunge, seizes the sinking victim, and
emulates the skill and courage of Cassius, when, "from the waves of
Tiber he bore the troubled Cæsar." But the modern Cassius and Cæsar, if
the reward is attained, devote it to a gastronomic sacrifice, and feast
sumptuously on what was so nobly acquired. A young female on the Quai
Voltaire, having excited suspicion by falling too frequently into the
river, was told that no reward would be given for any future salvage;
consequently the subsequent wettings of her garments were reserved for
the washing tub.
TREES AND FLOWERS.
Perhaps the most general taste in France, amongst all classes and
conditions of people, is for ornamental trees and flowers; you see them
everywhere. On the Boulevards you find rows of the Oriental plane,
acacia, horse-chestnut, hickory, catalpa, maple, and various other
trees. Every nook or corner, not required for some industrial or
domestic purpose, is planted. The yards of horse repositories or forges
have trees or scandent plants trained on the walls; and in private
residences, and the enclosures belonging to public offices, trees and
flowers abound. Balconies and window-stools display boxes and flowerpots
wherever the aspect is favorable; and even in northern aspects the hardy
ivy is encouraged to push its verdant tendrils. In the palatial gardens
and public parks, Flora appears to be not merely the presiding, but the
monopolising deity. Great care is bestowed on the cultivation of those
places; but it is worthy of remark and imitation on the part of
strangers, that where an enormous population have free access, without
any distinction of age or class, no trespass is committed--the blossoms
are unplucked, and the boughs unbroken. Flower shows are very frequent
in Paris, and are always certain of attracting a numerous and
fashionable assemblage. I have attended on many such occasions; and my
candid judgment of the gardens and horticultural exhibitions I have seen
is, that profusion and mediocrity appear to be their leading
characteristics. I can freely and fairly acknowledge that many of the
choicest productions of our gardens, our best fruits and finest flowers,
have been originally derived from France; but our cultivation, whether
of trees or plants, results in a decided superiority. However, I have
seen a vast deal worthy of admiration in their horticulture, and I hope
that speedy improvement will attend their future labors. I shall now
close my horticultural remarks with an anecdote which I ascertained to
be strictly true.
A PRETTY THIEF.
In 1864 there was a show of fruits and flowers in the Rue de la
Chausée-d'Antin, and the proprietor of a suburban nursery exhibited a
collection of _orchides_, grown and blown to perfection. One flower was
of surpassing size and beauty, and was deservedly considered the gem of
the exhibition. On the second day, a young woman of prepossessing
appearance, whose attire and manner indicated that she belonged to the
industrial class, appeared to be quite enchanted by the splendid orchis,
and her encomiums, and perhaps her good looks, attracted the attention
of the exhibitor. He paid her some gallant compliments, and ventured to
inquire her name.
"Monsieur, it is in the catalogue."
"Then, Mademoiselle, it must be 'Rose;' you are indeed worthy of the
same designation as the pride of our parterres."
"Monsieur is right in his conjectures as to my name, but he is mistaken
in the comparison by which he compliments me so greatly."
"May I presume, to ask where Mademoiselle resides?"
"I live, Monsieur in the Rue d'Amsterdam, No. --."
"I indulge the pleasing hope that Mademoiselle may permit me to have the
honour of calling on her."
"Monsieur confers a great honour on me, I shall have much pleasure in
receiving his visit."
The horticulturist became completely enamoured; he redoubled his
compliments, and eventually requested Mademoiselle to remain in care of
his flowers whilst he procured some ice and other delicacies for her
refection. When he returned, Rose had disappeared, and with her his
magnificent orchis had departed. The plant remained, but the stem was
severed near the root, and the display of its loveliness was adjourned
for at least twelve months. Furiously indignant, he denounced the pretty
Rose as a thief. Proceeding quickly to the Rue d'Amsterdam, he found
that the numbers of the houses stopped short by one of the number
mentioned by her. He was despoiled, and had no available remedy. Towards
the close of the next day, he was contemplating his stand, lamenting the
loss of its greatest attraction, and recounting to his sympathising
friends the circumstances of the spoliation, when a box and a note were
delivered to him by a porter, who had been employed to convey them from
a neighbouring street. The note was as follows:--
"MONSIEUR,
"You displayed too great a temptation to an ardent admirer of
beautiful flowers. From the moment I beheld your orchis I
determined that its artificial reproduction should not fall to the
lot of any rival _artiste_. In the accompanying box you may behold
your flower; and if you place it upon the stem, it will not wither
for a considerable time. Receive, Monsieur, the assurance of my
lasting respect and gratitude.
"ROSE."
The box contained an artificial orchis, so exactly resembling the stolen
flower, that it would deceive the closest observer. It was placed upon
the stand, and passed off admirably. The fair delinquent was not
detected--indeed the search for her was not rigorously pursued--but
copies of the abstracted orchis gained a general and deserved
pre-eminence amongst the artificial flowers which graced the fashionable
female dresses of the succeeding season.
FRENCH WIT.
Some of the lighter literary productions of the French press afford to a
reader abundant instances of pithy and witty expressions. A stranger who
has not been habituated to the language, and accustomed to think in it
as well as to speak it, will be very likely to allow many sparkles of
conversational wit to escape his notice, and may consequently impute
more dullness to the social circle in which he mingles than he is
justified in ascribing. I am sure that many ebullitions of genius
totally escaped my observation, but I recollect an expression addressed
to me by a cab-driver which I cannot omit relating. I had walked down
the Rue St. Florentine towards the Place de la Concorde, when in turning
the corner at which I had arrived, the driver accidentally let his whip
fall. It lay just at my feet, I took it up and handed it to the owner,
who respectfully touched his hat and said, "I thank you, sir; I hope
that whenever misfortune (_malheur_) meets you, he'll lose his whip."
FRENCH SILVER.
I often thought, during my Parisian sojourn, that the instability of
human dynasties was strongly evidenced by a handful of French silver, a
coinage which has been left to public currency from the end of the last
century. I met with coins of the old Republic, of Bonaparte, First
Consul; Napoleon, Emperor; Louis XVIII., Charles X., Louis Philippe, the
French Republics again, and Napoleon III. The silver coins of the
Republic immediately preceding the last empire, have on the obverse,
"Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité." I remarked to a shopkeeper in the Rue de
Bac, that it was very strange the Imperial government left the coin of
the Republic still in circulation. He took up a five-franc piece, and
said, "_Liberté point. Egalité point. Fraternité point_." The forcible
wit of his expression consisted in the double meaning which may be
assigned to "_point_." It signifies a full stop or period, but taken as
an adverb, it may be understood to denote "Liberty, not at all;
Equality, not at all; Fraternity, not at all."
THE HOTEL DES INVALIDES.
There is no institution more worthy of a visit from a tourist than the
Hotel des Invalides at Paris. An additional interest has been imparted
to it since the remains of the first Napoleon have been deposited in a
magnificent mausoleum immediately adjoining. In the front of the
building, ranged along the terrace, and also on the eastern and western
sides, were a considerable number of cannon, captured in war. I saw guns
of Russian, Chinese, Dutch, Austrian, Prussian, and Moorish origin; but
amongst them all I do not believe that the English artillery would find
an old acquaintance. When you enter the church, your attention is
immediately arrested by the flags of various nations pendant from the
walls to your right and left, and placed there as captured trophies. On
the left hangs an English flag. I asked, on four different occasions,
and of different persons, where this color had been taken. The
invariable reply was "Leipsic." I thought this very extraordinary,
having always supposed that no English were at Leipsic, except a troop
of the Rocket Brigade, and certainly they did not carry a color.
The Hotel des Invalides was under the direction of the Minister of War;
and in the library of the War Office I have seen several rolls and
registries of its former inmates. In such as relate to the period
between 1700 and 1775, Irish names are not infrequent; Byrne, Bryan,
Carty, Cavanagh, Dunne, Delany, Keogh, Kelly, Corcoran, Quin, Purcell,
Redmond, Sullivan, &c., appear to attest the services and sufferings of
the Irish Brigade. There are not many "O's"; and I am inclined to
believe that in several instances that prefix was laid aside purposely.
Scotch names occur, but not at all in such frequency as Irish. Of the
occupiers of this splendid military asylum, I can safely affirm that I
found them extremely civil, and by no means reserved in their
communications. They were proud of their Institution and of the
profession with which it was connected; but their conversations
exhibited the human character in some thoroughly prejudiced phases. I
did not meet amongst the veterans even one individual who had served
under "The Emperor," and only three or four who had ever seen him; but
all were well versed in the traditions of his military achievements. I
had become intimate with Monsieur Turpin, the librarian of the War
Office, who understood English perfectly, and he appeared to enjoy, as
much as I did, frequent visits to the Invalides, and the peculiar
feelings or sentiments expressed by the old soldiers, especially
regarding the policy adopted by Napoleon, and the political and military
operations to which he had recourse for the extension of French power
throughout the world. It was almost an article of faith amongst them,
that Napoleon was never conquered by any of his numerous adversaries.
They could not admit that he ever committed a military mistake, or was
guilty of a moral wrong. In Russia, he was repelled by the frost and
snow. At Leipsic he suffered a reverse by the premature explosion of a
mine. At Waterloo he was sold. At Paris he was betrayed. It was
politically expedient for Napoleon to imprison Ferdinand of Spain, when
he entered France as a suitor for the hand of his sister, Pauline; but
it was infamous to send Napoleon to St. Helena. It was a noble idea for
Napoleon to collect the choicest works of art from every capital on the
Continent into the museum of the Louvre; but that their original owners
should take them back was _robbery_. It was glorious to recollect that
the victorious eagle of France had triumphantly entered Madrid, Lisbon,
Berlin, Rome, Vienna, Milan, Naples, Munich, Venice, Hamburg, and
Moscow; but that the European powers should ever think of returning the
visit--that the Russians should have threatened to shell Paris from the
heights of Montmartre--that the Prussians should have encamped in the
Bois de Boulogne, and the English in the Champs Elysées, was a
degradation, an insult never to be forgotten nor forgiven. After all,
perhaps, these Frenchmen are fair specimens of human vanity, of human
resentments, and only think and speak as we would think and speak if we
had, like them, to revert to a series of astonishing military successes
terminating in our complete discomfiture.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
GAIN PREFERRED TO GLORY--CURIOUS INSCRIPTION--FORMER GAMBLING--AN
ASSAULT--FRENCH CHARITY--A LETTER TO HEAVEN--FATHER PROUT.
When a stranger surveys the military asylum for the maimed or aged
soldiers--when he beholds the triumphal arch (_l'arc de l'Etoile_) at
the higher termination of the Champs Elysées, erected at the almost
incredible cost of £417,812, to commemorate the achievements of the
French armies--when he contemplates the column in the Place Vendôme,
towering to the height of 135 feet, and cased with bas reliefs, of which
360,000 pounds weight of captured cannon supplied the material--when he
observes large and frequent bodies of troops marching with beat of drum
to various posts--when he finds it impossible to glance at any crowded
street, or enter any place of public resort or recreation, without
beholding the uniforms of, perhaps, every branch of the service, he is
almost forced to the conclusion that the bent of the French disposition,
and the genius of the nation, is essentially military. However, I
believe that an observant and reflecting mind will notice many points in
the French character of an unmilitary tendency. Whenever a campaign or
expedition becomes the subject of conversation in a French circle, the
first consideration is, How much will it cost, and what shall we gain?
Solferino and Magenta are prized more as having annexed Nice, than for
the laurels they conferred on French valor. I frequently visited the
triumphal arch to which I have already adverted; and on one occasion I
was struck by the remark of a Frenchman in reference to the enormous sum
it cost, and also to the surprising fact, that although the names of
more than ninety victories are inscribed on its interior walls, _not one
of those places was then in the possession of the victorious power_.
CURIOUS INSCRIPTION.
On the 15th of August, 1864, the birth day of the first Napoleon, the
fête of the Bonaparte family was celebrated by various public
demonstrations. The rails surrounding the base of the column in the
Place Vendôme were decorated with violet-colored ribbons and wreaths of
Immortelles. Amongst them I observed a large oval tablet richly
bordered, and bearing an inscription in Italian, which I transcribe and
translate, leaving its applicability to the character of the first
Napoleon to the calm and dispassionate judgment of all acquainted with
the history of Europe from the time of his appearance at the siege of
Toulon to the subversion of his power at Waterloo--
"A Te, essere il piu maraviglioso della creazione, il cielo conceda
quella pace che ti negò la malvagita degli uomini."
"To you, the most wonderful being of the creation, heaven grants
that peace which the waywardness of mankind denied you."
FORMER GAMBLING.
Gambling houses, formerly so perniciously abundant in Paris, have been
rigorously suppressed by the government for a considerable time past.
High play is carried on still in various phases of society, but as it is
furtive and illicit, its dupes and victims are very limited compared
with the thousands who were ruined when the vice was tolerated by the
public authorities. The Palais Royal was, about forty years ago, the
head-quarters of Parisian gaming, and every season produced a crop of
suicides. The usual course was for the ruined gamester to pledge or sell
his watch or trinkets, buy a pistol at a gunmaker's shop in the piazza,
charge it, cross the rails into the parterre, and blow out his brains;
but such incidents did not stop the play; they merely produced a few
shrugs of the shoulders, and the observation, "His game is up."
There is an old gentleman in Dublin who resides so near my house that I
see him almost every day. About the time to which I refer, he was in the
confidential employment of a most respectable firm of solicitors, and
one morning he was apprised by the senior partner that it was intended
to send him to Paris, to have certain deeds executed. He was to be
allowed liberally for his expenses, and to be permitted, as a reward for
his previous good conduct, to spend ten days or a fortnight in the
French metropolis. He arrived in Paris at night, arose early next
morning, and betook himself at once to the business with which he was
entrusted. He was so fortunate as to find all the required parties, and
in a few hours had all the deeds perfected. He then went off in quest of
amusement, and having met an acquaintance, was ultimately brought to the
Palais Royal, and entered one of the principal gaming-houses. He looked
on for a while, and then ventured a stake of a few gold pieces; he won,
tried again, and was successful. He continued to play with such good
fortune, that at the termination of the sitting, he had won upwards of
one thousand pounds. He went to his hotel, took some rest, paid his
bill, and set off with all haste for Dublin. His employers were
surprised at his speedy return, and he told them what had occurred,
adding that _he would not trust himself another night in Paris_. His was
a solitary instance of good luck and prudence; for with thousands of
others a similar gain would have only been the precursor of final and
irretrievable ruin.
AN ASSAULT.
At the suggestion of an intimate friend, who was in Paris during the
time of my residence there, I shall mention an incident of an
extraordinary and very disagreeable nature, arising entirely from an
expression used by me to a young woman possessed of considerable
personal attractions, but also having a most fearful and ungovernable
temper, without the least intention on my part to excite her feelings. I
went into a shop in the Champs Elysées, to purchase some stationery,
snuff, postage stamps, &c., and was supplied by the young woman, to
whom I handed a twenty franc gold piece for her to take four francs and
give me the change. Belgium silver coins were at the time very freely
circulated; but Swiss silver was considered to be alloyed most
unreasonably, and when recognised was invariably rejected. The damsel
gave me eight pieces, each of two francs, and I observed that on two of
them the Helvetian or Swiss designation was impressed. I immediately
remarked that Mademoiselle had been subjected to a Swiss deception,
(_une tromperié Suisse_,) when she exclaimed, "Accursed Englishman, you
are a liar," at the same time throwing a heavy canister at me, knocking
off my hat, and following up that hostile proceeding by flinging a flask
of oil in the same direction. The latter did not strike me, but broke a
large square of glass in a side window looking into the Rue de
l'Oratoire. Her brother-in-law, who was proprietor of the concern,
seized her, and prevented any further violence; but the abusive language
continued for some minutes. Finally I succeeded in getting the Swiss
silver replaced by two pieces of French coinage, and left after
declaring my intention to prosecute my assailant. The proprietor
contented himself by declaring that the affair was a mere "mistake;" and
he certainly seemed more annoyed by having his window smashed than by
the misconduct evinced towards me. Subsequently I was informed that the
young woman had been engaged in some courtship or amatory correspondence
with a Swiss, who had terminated the affair by an abrupt departure
without any previous notice. The angry damsel referred my expression,
not to the money, but to the man, and I relinquished any attempt to make
her responsible for the treatment I had received in consequence of her
hasty "mistake."
FRENCH CHARITY.
In the foregoing observations I have not hesitated to refer to some
faults, vanities, and unreasonable expectations which attracted my
attention during my residence in Paris. I shall now offer a few remarks
and a little narrative connected with one of the noblest virtues that
can elevate and adorn human nature, and which I believe to exist in the
French character to a degree far beyond what would be imagined by the
travellers whose brief visits enable them to take only transient or
superficial views of French society. There is no civilized nation more
charitable than the French. They have no legalised and established
system of poor laws, but their cities abound with benevolent
institutions, and the requirements of helpless age or unprotected
infancy are never disregarded. There is no lack of charity in any
class--even the rag-pickers will share their slender means in
alleviating human suffering. Amongst the more affluent there is very
little mediocrity of religious feeling; they are generally devout or
indifferent, but very few are uncharitable. The means of relief for the
suffering of indigence are almost always administered through religious
agencies; and the mercy that is manifested in a generous and
unostentatious succour of the poor, exemplifies very frequently the
words of Shakespeare--
"It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
For many of those who were indifferent to religion, but disposed to
charity, have been themselves caught, reformed, and reconciled through
the energies which they employed for relieving the necessities of
others.
A LETTER TO HEAVEN.
Connected with the subject of French charity, I shall introduce the
narrative of an incident of 1864, and I had several interviews and
conversations of a very agreeable nature with the little heroine of the
tale.
In one of the small old streets which adjoin the market of St. Honoré,
upon the upper floor of a house built some centuries ago, the family of
a poor workman were struck by a most fearful affliction. Not only had
the wife been unable to rise from a bed of sickness for a considerable
time, but the husband, the only support of her five children, had, by a
sudden accident, been so disabled as to be stretched in utter
helplessness and acute suffering. What was to be done? Where were the
helpless creatures to find subsistence?
Amongst the children of this hapless couple there was a little
blue-eyed, fair complexioned girl; she was lively, intelligent, and
interesting, and had been for a short time attending a public school;
but now she was obliged to remain at home to give her puny care to her
sick parents. Afflicted by the misfortune of her father, and assailed
even by hunger, she instinctively sought a remedy.
"When you are in trouble you should apply to the Good God; the sister at
the school tells us so. Well, I shall address the Good God. I shall
write a nice letter, such as my mother made me write to my godmother
last Sunday. I have a bit of paper and a pen."
No sooner said than done. Whilst her parents are in an uneasy slumber,
she scribbles a note abounding in blots, in which she implores of the
Good God to restore their health, and to send some bread for her little
brothers and herself. Then she slips out, runs at once to Saint-Roch,
and supposing that the alms-box for the poor was the letter-box of the
Good God, she approached it with timidity, and in the hope that she was
not seen.
At this moment an aged and respectable lady was leaving the church. She
was behind the little girl, and seeing her approach the alms-box
stealthily, and supposing her actuated by some culpable motive, she
caught hold of her arm.
"What are you doing, you unfortunate child?"
The little girl, surprised and affrighted, cast down her streaming eyes,
but being kindly and mildly questioned by the lady, she recounted her
sad story, and showed the letter which she wished to send to heaven.
The good lady, moved with compassion, consoled the poor child, and
taking the paper, said--
"Leave me your letter; I take upon myself to forward it to its
destination."
Then she immediately added, "But have you put your address, to receive
the answer?"
The child, who looked upon the lady with the utmost astonishment,
answered, "No, Madam; but the sister at my school tells us that the Good
God knows everything."
"And she has told you the truth, my child" said the lady, smiling; "but
those whom He may charge to deliver the answer may not know as well as
He does."
The child then stated where her poor parents lived, received two francs
from the lady, and with a joyous heart betook herself back to the
wretched garret.
In the morning she found at her door a large hamper containing clothes,
provisions, and some money. A label was affixed, inscribed, "The answer
of the Good God."
A gentleman named M'Carthy, eminent for his medical skill, and also much
respected for his generous and benevolent disposition, soon after, at
the instance of the charitable lady, visited the poor sufferers. He was
one of those Irishmen whose talents and worth attained to high
professional positions in Paris. He speedily cured the man, and
considerably alleviated the sufferings of the woman. He allowed me to
accompany him two or three times whilst attending the humble denizens of
the garret, from whence charity had removed misery and despair, and on
those occasions I found the little girl fully convinced and most
earnestly insisting, that the answer of the Good God must have been
brought _by one of His angels_.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
FATHER PROUT.
I had, during my residence in Paris, the supreme gratification of being
honored with the intimacy of the Rev. Francis Mahony, whose _nom de
plume_ of "Father Prout" is suggestive of a complete union of learning,
wit, and poetic power, without the slightest alloy of pedantry,
acerbity, or vanity. I was a very frequent visitor at his apartments in
the Rue de Moulin, and was never denied admission. If he was writing, I
did not accost him, but sat down, taking up a newspaper or book, and
remaining silent until he found himself at leisure either to chat at
home, or to saunter out through the parks or gardens, museums or
libraries, I repeatedly thanked him for the unrestricted access thus
granted, and his invariable reply was, "Come whenever you please, you
never interrupt me." He was the correspondent of a London evening paper,
_The Globe and Traveller_, and I do not think that he relished the
occupation, for his conversation scarcely ever indicated a political
tendency, and I never knew him to introduce a topic involving political
or religious differences. At the time to which I refer, the war was
raging between the northern and southern states of America; and the only
opinion that I ever heard Father Mahony express on the subject was not
favorable to the cause of either side as regarded its merits, but to the
effect, that whatever might be the issue of the contest, the belligerent
states would never become again united in firm and enduring friendship.
He formed this conclusion from the deadly hatred and vengeful
denunciations evinced by great numbers of Americans of both parties who
were then in Paris, and amongst whom the females were the most
uncompromising and persistently truculent in their expressions. It
remains for time to confirm or confute his prediction; I pass to one or
two anecdotes of this gifted and amiable individual, which I hope my
readers will consider interesting. I had made an appointment with him to
have a ramble in the French capital, or its environs, and twelve o'clock
was the hour fixed for its commencement. Some unforeseen circumstances,
however, delayed my arrival at his residence until another hour had
nearly elapsed. When I apologised for my failure in punctuality, Father
Mahony said that he had employed the interval in jotting down
suggestions as to the direction which our proposed saunter might take,
for my consideration and decision. They are as follow:--
To the Bois de Boulogne shall we wander to-day,
Or visit the tomb where Napoleon reposes,
Or ascend Notre Dame, from its tow'rs to survey
The scene unsurpass'd which that prospect discloses?
From Boulevards crowded our steps may diverge,
If we wish at the Bourse[23] to see bright or long faces,
As some bubbles rise, or as others may merge
In the vortex where Hope vainly looks for their traces.
Shall we seek the Pantheon's vast edifice, where
An echo to thunder converts every sound,
From vaults[24] in whose precincts the bones of Voltaire
Were so carefully stow'd that they cannot be found?
Or the Luxemburg Palace, with gardens, where grow
The roses so varied, throughout the whole year;
And you see on each side stained queens in a row,
Their costumes antique looking cold and severe?
To the Louvre's magnificent halls shall we hie,
Where art's choicest gems require days to explore them;
Where dynasties past seem around us to lie,
Whilst emblems Imperial are triumphing o'er them?
Shall we visit St. Cloud, and continue our course
To Versailles, where a palace exemplifies all
That monarchical pride from its serfs could enforce,
Till their patience exhausted accomplish'd its fall?
If at Sevres we pause to admire for awhile
Its plastic productions of classical taste,
We shall see the sole work that the Pompadour's smile
Ever sanction'd that was not impure and debased.
We should not forget St. Germain, and its claims
On a stranger's attention * * *
The last place mentioned in this unfinished production was chosen; and
after viewing the tomb of James the Second of England, the church, to
the vaults of which the mortal remains of many French monarchs had been
consigned, the old palace, and the exquisitely beautiful scenery of its
vicinity, I prevailed on my estimable friend to become my only guest at
the Prince of Wales' (_Le Prince de Galles_) Hotel and Tavern, where we
had what he designated "a sumptuous dinner," the entire charge for which
was defrayed by seven francs (5s. 10d.). How sumptuous!
During another stroll I happened to express very great admiration of the
poetic productions of Gray; and in reference to his "Elegy written in a
country churchyard," ventured to term it the finest composition of the
elegiac class in the English language. Father Mahony praised it highly,
but disagreed as to its merits being superior to every other production
of the kind. He then stated that about the middle of the last century, a
native of Dublin, named John Cunningham, who was a comic actor,
published a volume of poems, and dedicated them to David Garrick. They
were chiefly pastoral, but amongst them was "An Elegy on a pile of
Ruins," composed, he believed, on Rosslyn Abbey and Rosslyn Castle; and
he then repeated several verses which he considered very beautiful, and
which he declared to be equal, in his estimation, to the poetic merits
of Gray's Elegy. I asked if he could lend me the work, and he replied
that he had never seen it except at a public library in Cork. Soon after
my return to Dublin I saw on a bookstand at Aston's Quay, a copy, which
I purchased for a shilling, and thus became enabled to quote the verses
to which my very learned friend ascribed such excellence. They are
extremely alliterative--
In the full prospect yonder hill commands,
O'er barren heaths and cultivated plains;
The vestige of an ancient abbey stands,
Close by a ruin'd castle's rude remains.
Half buried, there, lie many a broken bust,
And obelisk, and urn, o'erthrown by Time;
And many a cherub, there, descends in dust
From the rent roof, and portico sublime.
Where rev'rend shrines in Gothic grandeur stood,
The nettle, or the noxious night-shade, spreads;
And ashlings, wafted from the neighbouring wood,
Through the worn turrets wave their trembling heads.
There Contemplation, to the crowd unknown,
Her attitude composed, and aspect sweet!
Sits musing on a monumental stone,
And points to the MEMENTO at her feet.
Soon as sage ev'ning check'd day's sunny pride,
I left the mantling shade, in moral mood;
And seated by the maid's sequester'd side,
Pensive, the mould'ring monuments I view'd.
Inexorably calm, with silent pace
Here TIME has pass'd--What ruin marks his way!
This pile, now crumbling o'er its hallow'd base,
Turn'd not his step, nor could his course delay.
Religion raised her supplicating eyes
In vain; and Melody, her song sublime;
In vain, Philosophy with maxims wise,
Would touch the cold unfeeling heart of TIME.
Yet the hoar tyrant, tho' not moved to spare,
Relented when he struck its finish'd pride;
And partly the rude ravage to repair,
The tott'ring tow'rs with twisted Ivy tied.
The eight verses which I have quoted from "An Elegy on a Pile of Ruins,"
are not consecutive in that production. It may appear extraordinary that
Father Mahony should make such long quotations with perfect correctness,
but to those who knew him a misquotation or deficiency of recollection
on his part would seem far more surprising.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] The Parisian Stock Exchange.
[24] The door of this vault, when clapped, produces a noise fully equal
to the report of a heavy cannon. The general opinion is, that the bones
of Voltaire were abstracted and burnt, soon after the restoration of
Louis the Eighteenth.
CHAPTER XXXV.
A FRENCH LAND MURDER--IRISHMEN, FRENCH ECCLESIASTICS--ALGERIAN
PRODUCTIONS--BIRD CHARMING--BRITTANY--CHATEAUBRIAND.
Whilst sojourning in Paris I became acquainted with an _avocat_, named
Vanneau, who practised in a provincial district, and who came to stay,
for a few days, at the boarding-house in the Rue de l'Oratoire in which
I was located. He had been recently engaged in defending persons charged
with criminal acts, and narrated a case by which it appeared that
Ireland had not a monopoly of _land murders_. A. M. Deneubourg had
purchased, at Cambray, a piece of land near Ewars, occupied by a farmer,
named Potiez, who had offered for the property, but was outbid by
Deneubourg. In the evening of the day of sale, the two men, on their way
home, met at a house of entertainment at Ramillies, and some very angry
language passed between them. They left the house, and in some time
Potiez returned to Ramillies, and stated that they had been attacked on
the road, that he had saved himself by flight, but he feared Deneubourg
had been murdered by the villains who had assailed them. On proceeding
to the place described, Deneubourg was found horribly murdered. His head
was smashed to small pieces, and to a club which was found near the body
a portion of his brains and two of his teeth were adhering. There were
no footprints on the soft ground except what corresponded to the shoes
of the deceased or of Potiez, and the dress of the latter was marked
with blood. Various other circumstances fully indicated the guilt of
Potiez. He was convicted, but was not sentenced to death. The French
jury found him guilty of the murder, _under attenuating circumstances_.
I asked Monsieur Vanneau what attenuating circumstances could the jury
discover in so brutal a murder, and he gravely replied that they thought
an accepted offer for the purchase of the property, outbidding that of
the occupying tenant, was a very strong provocation and a natural
incitement to revenge. He then added that Potiez was fortunate in being
tried by a jury on which there was not _a landed proprietor or an
auctioneer_.
IRISHMEN--FRENCH ECCLESIASTICS.
I met in Paris with some Irishmen holding ecclesiastical appointments
there, and I gratefully recollect their kind and hospitable attentions.
One of them, Père M'Ardle, was attached to the Church of St. Sulpice,
which was much frequented by Irish, English, and American Roman
Catholics. His duties consisted in the celebration of Mass, hearing
confessions, visiting the sick, &c.; but he never preached, the pulpit
being reserved for clergymen who could deliver sermons in French with
the ease and fluency incident to their native language. The side aisles
of the church were appropriated to persons of respectable appearance,
who were expected to pay six sous for each chair provided for their
accommodation. The chairs were under the management of some female
attendants, who were most persistent in collecting the chair-rent. On
Whitsunday, 1864, a soldier entered one of the aisles and took
possession of a chair, without the intention, and probably without the
means, of paying for its use. He was immediately required to pay the
usual charge, or to leave the aisle and join the general crowd in the
centre, and he obstinately refused to adopt either course. Whilst the
altercation was proceeding, the Curè of St. Sulpice had entered from the
street, and was passing quietly to the sacristy to make the necessary
arrangements for preaching the sermon. He touched the soldier gently on
the shoulder, and whispered, "My friend, pay her trifling demand; here
is what will enable you to procure the same accommodation for a
considerable time." Slipping a five-franc piece into the soldier's hand,
he passed on and discharged the duty which he had undertaken. On the
next Sunday, (Trinity,) the Curè was confined to bed by a severe attack
of bronchitis, and another ecclesiastic preached, and afterwards went
to the apartment of the invalid to afford his sympathy and express hopes
of a speedy recovery. The Curè almost immediately asked him if he had
observed a soldier amongst the congregation, to which the other replied
that there were more than a dozen soldiers listening to the sermon, and
they subsequently came to the sacristy, where, on being asked what they
required, they replied, "Only the money." On being told that there was
no money for them, they expressed some anger and great disappointment,
as they had been led to believe by a comrade that they would get five
francs each.
On one occasion I was a spectator of a procession of French bishops from
the College of St. Sulpice to the church. Amongst them there was one
Irishman, Monseigneur Cruise; he was the Bishop of Marseilles.
ALGERIAN PRODUCTIONS.
From the abundance and variety of Algerian productions which I beheld in
the Parisian markets, it appeared to me that the country from which they
were supplied possessed great capability of soil and climate, and
received a high degree of cultivation. The finest Muscat grapes, both as
to size and flavor, melons, pomegranates, shaddocks, and all the lesser
varieties of the citron tribe, almonds, brinjals, sweet potatoes, and
what was a very novel sight to an Irish eye in October, splendid
strawberries, met my view in several shops entirely appropriated to the
sale of Algerian commodities. I confidently hope that French enterprise
will be eventually far more successful in Africa than it was on the
other side of the Atlantic. Few of the most valuable productions of the
West Indies are indigenous. They were first introduced by the French
into St. Domingo, and that island was the first to escape from European
ownership. When the sugar-cane was brought from Egypt, the coffee bush
from Arabia, and luscious fruits and stimulating spices from various
lands, the negro was imported from Africa, to be eventually the master
of all. However, the stain of slavery does not attach to the French
rule in Algeria, and from all that I was able to learn of their
government there, I know no reason why all who are desirous of the
substitution of civilization instead of piracy and tyranny should not
wish it to be permanently successful.
BIRD CHARMING.
In closing my Parisian recollections, I wish to notice what was termed
"Bird Charming" in the gardens of the Tuileries. There was a silly
notion amongst some people there that by the agency of animal magnetism,
or by some peculiar power, the feathered tenants of the woods and
shrubberies of the palace became familiar with particular persons, and
the subject was specially mentioned in _Le Monde Illustre_. It was
certainly very curious to see the sparrows flocking about a person,
eating from his hand, and perching on his hat, in expectation of the
crumbs which he was distributing; but it was far more extraordinary to
see the woodquest (_le pigeon sauvage_) come from his lofty nest, alight
at your feet, then perch on an adjoining rail, and pick the crumbs from
between your fingers. Still the "charming" was a misconception. The
birds were in a place where they felt secure; they were not shot at or
frightened, but they were petted and fed, and accordingly became
familiar. I had no magnetic or mesmeric influence, but I had some nice
bread, and they came down and ate from my hand, and some sparrows even
took morsels from between my lips. _Le Monde Illustre_ noticed two
occasions on two consecutive days, when the birds were plentifully fed,
and their feeders were described in terms, of which the following is a
very literal translation:--
"A young man of genteel demeanor, his head uncovered and slightly thrown
back, called the birds, which came fluttering around him, and took, even
from between his lips, the morsels of bread which he offered them. We
wished to discover the secret of this curious proceeding, and returned
at the same hour on the following day. We experienced a great
disappointment; for, instead of a man young and prepossessing, we beheld
'a charmer,' _old and wrinkled, no sparkle in his eye, no expression in
his looks_. He began by throwing into the little railed arbours some
morsels, quickly devoured by the bold sparrows. Then, having gradually
attracted them, he kept in his hand a further supply of bread, and from
the thickets of shrubs, and from the surrounding trees, finally from all
quarters of the garden, birds of various species came flocking and
fluttering around him. Attaining to a degree of _crescendo_ between him
and his feathered guests, he finished by having them perched on his
shoulders, and picking the crumbs from between his lips."
Who could the individual have been, thus designated as old, wrinkled,
unsparkling, and inexpressive? Oh! I hope that none of my readers will
suppose or suspect that such terms were applied to me. I should prefer
being considered "a young man of genteel demeanor," but if the other
description appears more suitable or probable, then--"What can't be
cured must be endured."
BRITTANY.
I left the French capital after a very agreeable residence of eighteen
months, and, previous to returning to my native city, availed myself of
an invitation from a kind and hospitable friend to pass a month with him
at a delightful villa in Brittany, about a couple of miles from St.
Malo. Amongst the people of this locality, I observed a vast
dissimilitude to the corresponding classes in Paris. Display, and the
excitement incident to the metropolitan requirements of frequent and
varied amusements, appeared to have very slight attractions for the
Bretons, whose pursuits and habits were mostly directed to the
acquisition and enjoyment of public advantages and domestic comforts.
Their soil did not appear to me to be superior to the generality of that
which I have seen in the southern half of Ireland; nor did I consider
their climate more genial during the time of my visit, which comprised
the latter half of August and the next half of September. Their exports
of orchard fruits, butter, eggs, and poultry, from the port of St. Malo,
were enormous in quantity, and, I believe, unexceptionable in quality.
The external appearance of their firkins and other packages was
extremely neat and cleanly, and the butter was liable to inspection
previous to its shipment. I was informed by the English Consul that the
exportation of butter amounted in the year to twenty-five thousand
firkins, and the fowls exceeded one million. On the lands which I had
opportunities of viewing in Brittany, I saw very large crops of rape,
the seed of which was intended to be crushed for the production of oil,
and I have been in three concerns where the rape oil was filtered
through charcoal, and thus clarified and qualified for our use as "Colza
oil." Buckwheat (_blè noir_) is considered a valuable crop, and is much
used for feeding poultry. The sugar-beet (_betterave jaune_) is often to
be seen, but is generally mistaken by strangers for mangold wurtzel. But
the most extraordinary production is one which we could cultivate fully
as well and as profitably as the Bretons can, if we were permitted on
any terms. I have seen many acres, even on one farm, thickly covered
with tobacco growing most luxuriantly. Why cannot we see it on the Irish
soil? Why is it utterly prohibited here?
During the wars of the French Revolution and of the first empire, St.
Malo was a port almost exclusively appropriated to the outfit and
employment of privateers. Few of their cruises were eminently
successful; but the greatest prize stated to have been acquired was a
large ship, belonging to the English East India Company, which was
captured in very foggy weather between Jersey and Southampton. The cargo
consisted of the choicest Indian produce, and there was also a very
large amount of specie on board. This affair realized an ample fortune
for the proprietor of the privateer, who retired from any further
speculation in or connection with maritime operations, whether forcible
or otherwise, and invested his gains in the purchase of a fine estate in
the vicinity of St. Malo. During my visit I was at several delightful
entertainments given by families with whom my friend was on intimate
terms; and, at one, in St. Servan, a conversation arose relative to the
great injury inflicted on the commercial navy of the Northern American
States by Southern privateers. One gentleman stigmatized such
proceedings as utterly disgraceful, and insisted that no nation should
ever promote or even countenance nefarious attack on private property,
and the consequent ruin of unarmed and non-belligerent parties. I was
much amused when, on our way home from the repast, my friend informed me
that the indignant denunciation of privateers was uttered by the
possessor of the estate acquired by the capture of the Indiaman, the
grandson of the proprietor of the fortunate cruiser.
The religious tendencies of the people of St. Malo formed a very great
contrast to those of the Parisians. In these pages I shall not
intentionally introduce a word of a controversial or sectarian nature;
but I may remark, that whilst in the metropolis, public and private
works and commercial avocations were unscrupulously pursued on Sundays;
whilst the bricklayer, carpenter, and slater; plied their trades, and
numerous carts supplied them with building materials, the provincial
town was as still and as quiet as the most rigorous observer of the
Sabbath could require in our cities or towns. I went into St. Malo on a
Sunday when the procession of Corpus Christi passed through the
principal streets, and it appeared to me to produce amongst all classes
most devotional effects. The thoroughfare was covered with freshly cut
grass and short sprigs of evergreens. Young females dressed in white
headed the procession, carrying baskets of flowers, which they
occasionally strewed, whilst flowers were abundantly thrown from almost
every window. I firmly believe that demonstrations of any inclination to
impede or offend the numerous sacerdotal functionaries engaged, would
have excited the general populace to a very prompt and violent
manifestation against the offenders. I feel equally convinced that any
similar religious or ecclesiastical demonstration in Paris could not
pass through any street of that city. It would be overwhelmed by mob
violence, not from its connection with any particular creed, but from
the popular dislike to any form of religion whatever.
CHATEAUBRIAND.
Whilst at St. Malo I visited the tomb of a man, the great attributes of
whose character, and the extraordinary incidents of whose life, have
been recently made the subject of a most interesting lecture, delivered
by my truly learned friend, Professor Robertson, and published, amongst
several others, by Mr. Kelly, of this city. I allude to François-René,
Viscount de Chateaubriand, who was born at St. Malo in the year 1768,
and during a life of eighty years witnessed the outbreak and many of the
horrors of the French Revolution; who had, for his personal safety, to
undergo exile and penury, until his literary acquirements and
productions procured for him the friendship and respect of strangers,
and relieved him from indigence. Then, having been enabled to return to
France, he published some romances, and also works of a serious
description, by which he acquired a high and lasting reputation.
Subsequently, having travelled in Greece, Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine,
Barbary, and Spain, he made the results of his travels the subject of a
most interesting Itinerary. In 1821 he was sent as ambassador to
Prussia, and in 1822 was appointed to a similar office at the British
Court. Towards the close of the reign of Louis the Eighteenth, he became
the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, but did not continue long in
office; he died in 1848 at Paris, and his remains were conveyed to St.
Malo. I have mentioned Chateaubriand as an illustrious and highly gifted
man, and my readers will be greatly surprised when I add--He sleeps in a
nameless tomb.
In his lifetime the municipality of St. Malo had, at his request,
granted a solitary rock in the bay of that seaport for his place of
sepulture. There his coffin was deposited in a grave cut out of the
solid stone, and surmounted by a granite cross, which marks the last
resting-place of one whose reputation was far more than European. It
bears the short and simple inscription of "Here lies a Christian." (_Ci
git un Chretien._) I believe, however, that the omission of the name has
caused all who have seen the tomb to enquire who was its occupant, and
has not tended to render him forgotten, or his memory unappreciated by
his countrymen.
The foregoing notice of this celebrated native of St. Malo had scarcely
been put in type when I received a copy of _The Tablet_ newspaper,
containing a communication from a French correspondent relative to the
inauguration of a Chateaubriand memorial at St. Malo, on Sunday the 5th
of September last. I presume to insert it in these pages, as strongly
confirming the opinions I have expressed, and being likely to please and
interest the reader by its intrinsic merits.
"_A Statue to Chateaubriand._--Yesterday (Sunday) the inauguration
of the Chateaubriand Memorial took place at Saint Malo. All the
papers are full of recollections of the author of the _Genie du
Christianisme_. Chateaubriand lived at a time when the evils of
revolution had left the strongest emotions in all hearts. There was
a drama in every man's life, a romance in every one's history. The
very air was full of a floating, vague poetry of sufferings and
regrets, and disappointed hopes. Nature and misfortune combined to
make Chateaubriand a poet. A dreamy, unhappy childhood heightened
the sensitiveness of his feelings, and religion itself was to him
as poetry was--emotional. He saw his mother die, heard her last
prayer for himself, the child of her affections, for his welfare,
temporal and eternal. From that day he submitted to the Church's
dominion. 'I wept,' he says, and 'I believed.' He then travelled in
America, and the ocean and the wilderness revealed to the young man
a new kind of poetry. He went to Philadelphia to salute Washington.
Subsequently he travelled into the far West. Returning to Europe,
Chateaubriand endured the miseries of exile. That was the most
unhappy part of his life. It was then that he commenced authorship.
We next hear of him at the siege of Verdun, on the surrender of
which place he found himself without resources. After many
vicissitudes of fortune he reached London, and betook himself
seriously to literary work. The remainder of his history is too
well known to need recapitulation here; I therefore return to the
_fête_ of yesterday. The town of Saint Malo is small but curious by
reason of its sombre mediæval aspect, its granite houses, its
narrow, winding streets, and its absence of greenery--not a lawn
nor a shrub being visible anywhere. Chateaubriand's native townsmen
retain a lively recollection of him, and welcomed the day with
enthusiasm. A large number of strangers also paid their respects to
the tomb of the author of _Les Martyrs_. The emotion was general
when the procession reached the summit of the 'Grand Bé,' and came
in sight of Chateaubriand's monument. High above the waves was an
iron railing and a cross of stone, nothing more. Its simplicity was
touching and effective. Chateaubriand perhaps yielded to a feeling
of pride, in wishing to be buried thus on that elevated spot, with
nothing in sight but the immensity of the heaven and the immensity
of the ocean:--
'Coelum undique et undique pontus.'
Be that as it may, the people of Saint Malo have done honor to
themselves in honouring Chateaubriand. We may apply to him his own
words about Bossuet, 'His genius will stand like the mighty figure
of Homer, always seen through the long vista of the ages. If
sometimes it is obscured by the dust of a falling century, the
cloud soon disperses, and there it is again in all its majesty,
only overlooking new ruins.'"
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE ARRAN ISLANDS--CIRCUIT REMINISCENCES.
On my return from France, I found that my son, Frank Thorpe, had
accepted the appointment of medical officer in the Islands of Arran,
which lie at the entrance of Galway Bay; and at his earnest desire, I
proceeded to visit him, without the slightest expectation of deriving
from the trip any pleasure, except that resulting from our meeting. On
my journey, as I reverted to the scenes and associations which, in
distant and foreign lands, had been almost invariably agreeable, I felt
convinced that I was certain of finding, in the lonely insular locality
to which I was going, the most striking contrasts. The passenger
communication between Galway and Arran was effected by a sailing vessel
of very moderate dimensions, but bearing the dignified appellation of
"The Yacht." She had one small cabin for the reception of all ranks,
sexes, or ages; and as the weather was neither wet nor cold, I
preferred a seat astern, and having procured a reeling-line from one of
the crew, amused myself by capturing mackerel until I had acquired a
couple of dozen. There were four lines in operation during a run of
about thirty miles, and for five hours the catching of mackerel was
incessant. The skipper said that the bay was swarming with them, but
net-fishing was only followed in the vicinity of Galway town, as the
transmission of large quantities by sailing boats was considered
extremely hazardous. If the capability of Galway Bay for supplying
enormous quantities of mackerel, herrings, and occasionally pilchards,
shall ever be made available, results may be obtained immensely
advantageous to local interests, and most important to the general
community. I may revert briefly to this subject whilst detailing some
incidents of my sojourn amongst the Arran islanders.
No traveller ever arrived in a locality to which he could be supposed to
attach a more slender expectation of being gratified by what he might
receive during his stay, than that felt by me at the commencement of my
visit to Arran. I was impressed with a paramount idea, that I was to
spend the time in a bleak, sterile region, and amongst a population
destitute of almost every habitude or quality imparted by civilization.
I could not possibly have formed a more erroneous opinion, for I never
stood on any spot, in any of the islands, without having in view,
whether near or distant, scenery sublimely picturesque; and I found the
people, without even an individual exception, unpresuming, unobtrusive,
civil, obliging, intelligent, and industrious. The adults of both sexes
generally indicate in their personal appearance the effects of constant
manual labor, and of occasional privation, but they are mostly tall,
vigorous, and active. Many of the youthful females are decidedly
beautiful in features and figure, and there is no scarcity of very
pretty children. The aggregate population of the three islands exceeds
four thousand; and although Irish is the language generally spoken, I
did not meet with any who could not converse in English. Schools
connected with the National Board of Education are numerously and
regularly attended; and although the generality of the men and women
appear to be attached to, and contented with the locality in which they
live, there is a great desire frequently expressed to qualify their
progeny to engage in industrial pursuits or trading employments
elsewhere.
There are no forest trees to be seen in any of the islands except a few
stunted sycamores. I saw two or three pear-trees, which had been planted
close to walls, but their growth appeared to have been checked by the
saline atmosphere and shallow soil, and they produced no fruit. On the
hills I found a great variety of indigenous flowering plants, which were
very handsome, and in the rocky dells there were several kinds of
convolvulus of very rich florescence. The Madagascar Periwinkle seems to
be perfectly acclimated, and blossoms profusely; and I was greatly
surprised to find a very abundant growth of hops, the introduction of
which is ascribed to the monks, by whom the numerous old ecclesiastical
structures were formerly occupied. The tillage of the islands comprises
potatoes, mangold-wurtzel, vetches, rape, clover, oats, and barley. The
potatoes almost exclusively planted are round, white tubers, generally
small, but numerous, and they are termed "Protestants." A perfect
stranger might be startled by hearing a direction given to put the
Protestants on the fire, or to roast them in the glowing turf; but the
proprietor of the Atlantic Hotel, in reply to an observation of mine,
said that there was no offence intended, for _they found the Protestants
very palatable_. The tillage crops are sometimes greatly devastated by
caterpillars and grubs; and I have frequently heard the abundance of
those pernicious insects attributed to the great scarcity of sparrows
and other small birds. Starlings are occasionally seen, but I never
observed a swallow. Gulls and other marine birds are very numerous,
amongst which the Ospray or sea-eagle is a conspicuous object. The
raven, crow, rook, or jackdaw cannot be found; but there is a bird which
I thought extremely handsome, very numerous, especially in the North
Island. It is the Chough, which, in addition to plumage dark and glossy,
like that of the jackdaw, displays a beak and legs of bright scarlet. It
is said that this bird was formerly to be seen in flocks at various
places on the English coast, especially Dover cliff, and that now it
cannot be found in any part of the United Kingdom except the Arran
Islands. I should regret its extinction, for I know it to be handsome,
and it is reputed to be harmless.
I recollect reading, although I am unable to specify in what work, that
frogs were not indigenous to Ireland. It was stated that in the reign of
Elizabeth, a person connected with the University of Dublin, then
recently established, brought from England a crock or jar of frog spawn,
which he emptied into a ditch at Beggars' Bush, near Dublin, and that in
his importation our present community of amphibious croakers and jumpers
originated. The probability of this statement is strengthened by the
fact, that frogs are not to be seen in the Arran Islands.
I believe that there is not a salmon fishery in Great Britain or Ireland
more abundant than the one at Galway. I have there seen from the bridge
the fish in such numbers as I should have considered incredible if
described. These myriads of salmon entered Galway Bay from the Atlantic,
and passing the islands, proceeded about thirty miles to the river where
they appeared in such enormous quantities. I therefore think that I
should mention a most extraordinary fact, that whilst I was at Arran, I
saw, in a morning stroll, five men drawing a seine net at the entrance
to Kilronan harbour. They took some herrings, a few flat fish of various
kinds, some whiting, some pollock, and a salmon of about twelve pounds
weight. I was desirous of purchasing the latter, and they readily sold
it to me for two shillings; but they all assured me that they did not
know what kind of fish it was, and that they had never seen one before.
The quantity of land capable of tillage in each island is very limited,
and consequently affords employment only to a small portion of the
population. Fishing in the bay, with boats rather poorly equipped, or
drawing seine nets in the creeks and entrance of the harbour, and
cleaning and drying the produce, are followed by many during the
favorable weather; but the principal employment of a very considerable
number of both sexes is gathering of the seaweed, and converting it into
kelp by calcination. I believe that all other industrial occupations are
of trivial importance to the Arran people compared with the production
of kelp. The capability of Galway Bay to be made a fishing station of
immense importance has never been denied; it can produce an abundance of
the choicest piscatory delicacies, and frequently becomes, through its
entire extent, replete with mackerel or herrings. I venture to express
an opinion, that the greatest obstacle to the development of such
advantages is to be found in the feeling of indifference, perhaps I
might use a stronger term, on the part of the people belonging to the
various adjoining localities, to each other. I have heard, in Arran,
frequent expressions of contempt for the Connemara fishermen, of dislike
to the Clare people, and of utter detestation of those belonging to the
Claddagh at Galway. On two occasions, in the South of England, I saw a
great fleet of boats, comprising vessels from Cornwall, Devonshire,
Hampshire, and Kent, co-operating amicably and efficiently in
surrounding a shoal of mackerel or pilchards. On narrating these
occurrences to some Arran fishermen, I was told "it would be impossible
to bring about such a state of things there; and that, even if others
became agreeable, the Claddagh fellows would rather sail through the
nets of other fishermen than join in taking as much as would fill every
boat."
Whilst I was at Arran some cases occurred of severe typhus fever. There
is no hospital in any of the islands. The habitations are, with three or
four exceptions, thatched, and without any upper story. The invariable
course adopted was to nail up the door of the patient's apartment, to
take out the sashes of a window, and render it the sole means of
external communication. The medical attendant, clergy, and nursetender,
had no other means of ingress or egress, and I never heard any
objection made to the system. My son contracted the disease, and
although ten days elapsed before a medical gentleman arrived from
Galway, he surmounted the fearful malady. I spent each night in his
apartment, and during the day he was tended by a nurse. Almost every
night I heard some gentle taps outside of the vacant window, and on
going to it I would be told, "My wife is afther making a pitcher of whay
fur the poor docthur; you'll find it on the windystool," or "I brought
you two jugs of milk, to make whay fur yer son; they're on the
windystool." When the crisis had passed, and nutriments or stimulants
were required, I would be told, "We biled down two chickens into broth
for the docthur, I hope that it will sarve him." Rabbits, chickens, and
joints of kid were tendered for his use, and even a bottle of "rale
Connemara potteen" was deposited on the window-stool. The people were
all kind and anxious; and when he became able to walk out, he was
cordially saluted and congratulated, but no person would approach him if
they could avoid it. They were all dreadfully apprehensive that he might
impart the direful contagion. I brought him home as soon as possible,
but he and I will always remember most gratefully the unvarying kindness
and sympathy we experienced in Arran.
CIRCUIT REMINISCENCES.
Some friends of the Leinster Circuit have suggested that a few
descriptive notices of my personal recollection of scenes in court,
convivial evenings at the Bar-mess, or other amusing incidents of the
period between 1827 and 1840, during which time I had attended every
Assize Court held in Wicklow, Wexford, Waterford, Kilkenny, and
Tipperary, might not be unacceptable. The subject is one in which the
pleasures of memory are mingled with numerous regrets; for of all those
whose learning and talents excited my respect and admiration, or whose
wit and conversational powers rendered their society invariably
delightful, very few remain. Of the judges which I remember, I
considered Chief Baron O'Grady (subsequently created Lord Guillamore)
the most amusing public functionary that I ever had seen. He came our
circuit but once during my time. At Wicklow he presided in the Crown
Court; and amongst the cases for trial there were four or five for
sheep-stealing, and they were all convicted. Sheep-farming was at that
time so prevalent in Wicklow, and considered so important by the class
of persons who were summoned as jurors, that an accusation of
sheep-stealing almost invariably eventuated in conviction. Towards the
close of the assizes, a member of the Militia band then stationed at
Arklow was put forward for trial on an indictment for the manslaughter
of a comrade, whom he had killed with his sword on a sudden altercation.
The case appeared fully to warrant a conviction, but the jury, without
even retiring, acquitted the prisoner. Mr. Scott, the senior counsel for
the crown, expressed an indignant disapproval of the verdict, upon which
the Chief Baron observed, "Mr. Scott, the prisoner is not yet
discharged, and you can get a conviction immediately if you only indict
him for _sheep-stealing_." When we proceeded to Wexford, the Chief
Baron, as Record Judge, had but two short cases to try, and when they
were disposed of, he engaged in the trial of criminals. A woman named
Hester Carroll, who had been for some time a pest and disgrace to the
town of Enniscorthy, was put forward, charged with a robbery of a gold
watch and chain, and upwards of twenty pounds, from a farmer, who had
become intoxicated in her society. She was found guilty, and when the
verdict was announced, a sergeant of constabulary, who had been the
principal means of her detection, advanced to the table in the Record
Court where she was standing, to take away various articles which had
been found in her possession; whereupon she sprang at him, tore his face
fearfully, and bit his hand very severely. When she was disengaged from
her intended victim, and held so as to prevent further violence, the
Chief Baron pronounced the sentence of the court in terms which seemed
to me and others of his hearers to be an imitation, in style and
assumed solemnity, of that incident to a capital offence. After some
preliminary observations on the heinous nature of her crime, and the
certainty of her guilt, and the tendency of her conduct in court to
prevent any mitigation of punishment, he concluded in the following
words--"The sentence of the court is that you, Hester Carroll, shall be
taken from the place where you now stand, to the gaol from whence you
were brought, and from thence that you shall be transported for the term
of seven years to such penal settlement or colony as his Majesty's
government may direct, and may God have mercy upon those who shall have
to manage you there."
A prisoner was tried before him at Wexford on an indictment for highway
robbery, and although the evidence amounted to a strong probability of
his guilt, the verdict was an acquittal. Richard Newton Bennett, who
defended the prisoner, immediately applied to the Chief Baron to order
the man to be liberated, to which the other replied, "He will be
discharged from custody, Mr. Bennett, to-morrow at noon. I shall set out
for Waterford in the morning, and I wish to have a couple of hours start
of your client."
In my early professional days the law in reference to injuries to
growing crops of vegetables was very imperfect, and although taking
potatoes, turnips, &c. out of the owner's ground was considered a very
serious trespass, the offence could not be treated as actual larceny.
Some proceedings at Waterford, in reference to the abstraction of
turnips, were held to be insufficient to sustain an indictment, and a
deputation of the Grand Jury sought a conference with Chief Baron
O'Grady on the subject. One of them asked his Lordship if the
delinquents could be made liable to punishment under the _Timber_ Act,
to which he gravely replied, "Certainly not, unless you can prove that
the turnips were _sticky_."
Charles Kendal Bushe had been a member of the Leinster Bar; and when he
had attained the distinguished position of Chief Justice, he frequently
selected his former circuit as a Judge of Assize. Amongst the members
of the Bar he was not merely respected and admired, but beloved. Portly
in his personal appearance, he was dignified without ostentation, witty
without sarcasm, learned without pedantry, and his judicial duties were
discharged with impartiality, patience, kindness, and humanity. Kilkenny
was his native county, and amongst the gentry of that place his family
had been long established. The judges on circuit usually invite two or
three barristers to dinner daily in each town; and I had the very
agreeable honor of being an occasional guest of Chief Justice Bushe. I
recollect a conversation relative to the criminal calendars of that time
compared with those of the previous century. The Chief Justice said that
the name of his family had been introduced into the charge of a judge to
the Grand Jury of Kilkenny, about the year 1760, in terms far from
complimentary. There were then organised bands or gangs of freebooters,
who plundered and maltreated the proprietors and tenants of estates,
unless a certain subsidy, called rapparee rent, or blackmail, was paid
for their forbearance, and concealment and subsistence afforded whenever
required. He said that the Agar family, (pronounced _Eager_,) the
Floods, and the Bushes had become contributory to the marauders, and
sheltered them from capture. Rumours of such an arrangement having been
circulated, it was alluded to by Baron Dawson telling the Grand Jury of
Kilkenny that their county was _eager_ for prey, _flooded_ with
iniquity, and that every _bush_ sheltered a knave.
Having given the Chief Justice's anecdote in reference to three names, I
may mention that my own name has not passed scotfree. At our Bar-mess,
the Hon. Patrick Plunket was one evening insisting that I should sing a
particular song. I begged to be excused, but he persevered, and
continued exclaiming, "Porter! Porter!" I said that "although I was
'Porter,' he should not make a _butt_ of me." He replied, "I don't want
to make a _butt_ of you, I only wish to get a _stave_ out of you."
Judge Torrens often came on our circuit, and generally dined twice at
the bar-mess: one dinner being the customary banquet given by the Bar
to the judges at Kilkenny, and the other being by special invitation at
Clonmel. He was always desirous on such convivial occasions of obtaining
some vocal contributions, especially of a comic character. His favorite
song was "The Wedding of Ballyporeen." He was Judge of the Record Court
at Clonmel in 1833, and immediately after taking his seat at the
commencement of the Assizes, was applied to by the late Mr. Brewster to
fix a day for the trial of a case, the parties to which, and their
witnesses, had to come from the most distant part of the country,
namely, Ballyporeen. The Judge made the order sought, saying, in a
playful tone, "Is Mr. Porter engaged in this Ballyporeen case?" "No, my
Lord," replied Brewster, "I regret that I have not the assistance of my
learned friend."
"Most unquestionably," said his Lordship, "he ought to be in it."
There were some attorneys present who heard his remark, but they were
not aware of the origin of his suggestion. Perhaps they ascribed it to a
very favorable opinion of my professional capacity, or to a feeling of
personal friendship; but I found it subsequently productive of several
record-briefs, which I might truly say were obtained "for a song."
In 1836, the Attorney-General (Richards) appointed me to a Crown
prosecutorship on the circuit. In the afternoon of a day next before the
opening of the Assizes of Clonmel, in 1838, I was sitting and noting a
brief, whilst about a dozen more were lying on my table, when I was
informed that a gentleman wished me to grant him an interview. Acceding
to his request, I desired the servant to show him up, and I immediately
perceived that he was an ecclesiastic. I proffered him a chair, and he
proceeded to inform me that he was the Rev. Mr. Coony, a Catholic curate
in a parish the name of which has escaped my memory; but it was near
Clonmel. He was young, and zealous in advancing the religious interests
of the flock with which he had recently become connected, and stated it
was much to be regretted that the Catholic church of his parish was so
completely out of repair as to require almost a total renovation. That
he had been encouraged by the character he had heard of me to appeal to
my generous and charitable disposition for a subscription towards
rendering the church suitable and safe for his numerous poor
parishioners. I was inclined at the time to have a little fun with his
reverence, and said, "Well, sir, when you have your church repaired, I
suppose you will make it as available as possible to the religious and
moral improvement of your people."
"Certainly, sir; we shall endeavour to do so."
"You will urge them to abstain from fighting and killing each other,
from administering unlawful oaths, serving threatening notices, burning
houses, houghing cattle, or plundering firearms, and even from excessive
drinking."
"Assuredly, sir, it will be our duty to do so."
"So you come to me, to persuade me to cut the ground from under my own
feet, by subscribing to further your acknowledged intentions. I am a
prosecuting counsel on this circuit, and on the table before you I have
a profitable assortment of murders, conspiracies, and attempts to
murder, abductions, threatening notices, and faction-fights. You would
render my vocation worthless by inculcating the observance of law and
order, quietude, and temperance. It would be much more reasonable that I
should be asked to subscribe to a society for the distribution of
blunderbusses and pistols."
"Oh!" exclaimed the astonished priest, "may heaven grant that I shall
never again hear such expressions from human lips."
"Well," said I, "suppose we effect a compromise. You expected to get a
pound from me. Will you let the poor Crown prosecutor off for
half-a-sovereign?"
"Mr. Porter," said he, "I now feel convinced that you were jesting; for,
if you really felt as you spoke, you would not give me a farthing."
I gave him the half-sovereign. We walked together to "The Ormond," where
we had some biscuits and wine, and parted on most friendly terms.
For a considerable time previous to my retirement from the Leinster Bar
we had a junior member of that body whose name it is unnecessary to
mention fully. He had been the adjunct or drudge of an attorney-general,
and was consequently known amongst us by the designation of "Tom the
Devil." I have heard that in his earlier years he had been a midshipman
on board the "Orwell," a splendid ship belonging to the East India
Company, and that for some special service which he undertook and
accomplished under most dangerous circumstances, the Directors had
allotted him a reward of one thousand guineas, on the acquirement of
which he returned home to Ireland, and applied himself to the legal
profession. He was greatly liked amongst us, and none relished his
society more than I did. He frequently became my chum on circuit, and on
one occasion, at Clonmel, he asked me to convey, in reference to a
personal quarrel, the most liberal offer perhaps ever made to an
adversary. There was an individual whose conduct and character were by
no means questionable, as they were fully ascertained to be thoroughly
disreputable, and he came to our lodgings whilst I was ordering
breakfast. He was accompanied by another person who had been concerned,
as a second, in a recent hostile meeting, and he stated that he wished
to have an interview with Mr. ----, meaning my chum, "Tom the Devil,"
who was still in bed in a small adjoining room. I went to the door and
said, "Tom, here is Mr. ----, who wants to see you." He jumped up, and
without adding any other garment to his night-shirt, put his feet in his
slippers and entered the sitting-room; then turning to the applicant he
said, "What do you want with me?"
"Mr. W----," was the reply, "I have been informed that on several
occasions you have insinuated various matters prejudicial to my
character, personal and professional; and I deemed it necessary to have
a direct explanation as to whether you have expressed such injurious
insinuations."
Tom replied, "You have been altogether misinformed. I can solemnly
affirm, indeed I can safely swear, that I never breathed any
_insinuation_ whatever respecting you." The other bowed and seemed
evidently gratified, but Tom continued, "I admit that I have spoken of
you, but not indirectly. I have not hinted or insinuated, but plainly
stated that I considered you a low, mean, ignorant, pettifogging
blackguard. That is my explanation; and now, sir, if you will only wait
until I draw on my boots, I shall feel much pleasure in kicking you down
stairs."
I stepped forward, and implored the interrogating party and his friend
to retire. I said that the apartment was mine, and that I would not
allow any further altercation there. I succeeded in getting them away,
and then I said to my candid chum, "This is a most unpleasant affair to
occur in my presence. It may be highly injurious to me, for it will
produce a challenge and a hostile meeting."
"He wont fight," observed Tom. "They are gone down the street, and as
you are dressed, slip on your hat, and follow them. Tell the rascal to
make no further row here, but to start at once for Milford, where I'll
meet him. Tell him that my brother gave me forty pounds yesterday, and
if he fights me I'll give him twenty, and, by ----, _I'll pay for his
funeral into the bargain_."
I declined carrying this liberal offer. I may add that there was no
challenge sent, and the party against whom there had been _no
insinuation_ immediately retired from the profession. I cannot call to
mind any further reminiscences connected with the Leinster Circuit. I
regret that, whilst I was a member of it, I did not keep a regular
diary.
In the foregoing pages I have mentioned occurrences and personal
observations incident to my sojourns in France, Germany, Spain, and
England. In all the cities which I visited, I found the people by no
means indifferent to the reputation of their respective localities, or
disposed to impress strangers with the opinion, that they had arrived in
a place where vulgarity, dishonesty, and brutal violence habitually
prevailed; and where to the worst and most appalling crimes there had
been publicly accorded
"A local habitation and a name."
It would seem specially reserved for Dublin, my native city, to record
by public inscriptions, and to insert in the list of our metropolitan
thoroughfares, that within the municipal precincts there may be found a
COW-PARLOUR, a PIGTOWN, a CHEATER'S LANE, a STONEYBATTER, a CUTTHROAT
LANE, and a MURDERING LANE. It may be said that these places are mostly
of small dimensions, but they appear in Thom's Official Directory in the
same type, and fully as conspicuous to the eye of a stranger as the most
populous and important of our streets or squares. Within my memory
Skinner Row has been metamorphosed into Christchurch Place, Dirty Lane
has become Bridgefoot Street, half of Exchequer Street has been
converted into Wicklow street, and French Street has been elevated into
Upper Mercer Street. Surely the same authority that effected such
alterations ought to substitute other names for those which cannot be
retained without continuing to impute to our city that it contains
places specially appropriated to low, vulgar, dishonest, and sanguinary
practices. During my tenure of magisterial office I found the city of
Dublin capable of very favorable comparison with any other place of
similar extent and population; and I consider the names to which I have
referred most unjustifiably false and defamatory. The designation of one
of our bridges has lately been changed, and it is to be henceforth made
conducive to the memory of Grattan. The motives of those who proposed
such an alteration were undoubtedly patriotic and praiseworthy; but
identifying the truly illustrious orator and statesman with a bridge
across the Liffey, will not, in the present state of the river, tend to
keep his name in _good odour_.
Since my return home I have lived in such retirement and quietude that I
cannot refer to any incident worthy of insertion in these pages. In
concluding these "Recollections," I have to assure my readers that I
have sedulously endeavoured to minister to their information or
amusement. If I have succeeded, their approval will impart great
happiness to the closing years of my life; and having done my utmost, I
trust that they will accord me a favorable criticism, for which I shall
be deeply grateful.
PORTEOUS AND GIBBS, Printers, 18 Wicklow-street, Dublin.
* * * * *
NOW READY. SECOND EDITION.
_Royal 8vo, Cloth, Price 28.s_
THE
ECCLESIASTICAL ARCHITECTURE
OF IRELAND
ANTERIOR TO THE ANGLO-NORMAN INVASION;
COMPRISING
AN ESSAY ON THE ORIGIN AND USES
OF THE
+Round Towers of Ireland+,
_To which, was awarded the Gold Medal and Prize of the
Royal Irish Academy_.
BY
GEORGE PETRIE, R.H.A.
FORMERLY VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL IRISH ACADEMY.
This is admittedly one of the most valuable contributions on the
origin of these famous Round Towers, and contains +Two Hundred and
Fifty-six Illustrations+.
DUBLIN:
HODGES, FOSTER, AND FIGGIS,
_+Booksellers and Publishers to the University of Dublin.+_
+JUST PUBLISHED. THIRD EDITION.+
_Post 8vo, Cloth, Price 5s._
THE
EFFICACY OF PRAYER:
BEING THE
Donnellan Lectures for the Year 1877
_Delivered in Trinity College, Dublin_.
BY
JOHN H. JELLETT, B.D.
SENIOR FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.
DUBLIN:
HODGES, FOSTER, AND FIGGIS,
+Booksellers and Publishers to the University of Dublin+.
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