Duel of my brother William Barrington with Mr. M‘Kenzie—He is killed by
his antagonist’s second, General Gillespie—The general’s
character—Tried for murder—Judge Bradstreet’s charge—Extraordinary
incidents of the trial—The jury arranged—The high sheriff (Mr. Lyons)
challenged by mistake—His hair cut off by Henry French
Barrington—Exhibited in the ball-room—The Curl Club formed—The sheriff
quits the country, and never returns—Gillespie goes to India—Killed
there—Observations on his cenotaph in Westminster Abbey.
As the circumstances attending the death of my younger brother, William
Barrington, by the hand of the celebrated General Gillespie, (whom
government has honoured with a monument in Westminster Abbey,) have been
variously detailed, (seldom, indeed, twice the same way,) I think it
right to take this opportunity of stating the _facts_ of that most
melancholy transaction. I will do so as concisely as may be, and as
dispassionately as what I consider the murder of a beloved brother will
admit.
William Barrington had passed his twentieth year, and had intended,
without delay, to embrace the military profession. He was active,
lively, full of spirit and of animal courage;—his predominant traits
were excessive good-nature, and a most zealous attachment to the honour
and individuals of his family.
Gillespie, then captain in a cavalry regiment, had shortly before the
period in question married a Miss Taylor, an intimate friend of ours,
and was quartered in Athy, where my mother resided.
A very close and daily intercourse sprang up between the families. After
dinner, one day, at Gillespie’s house, when every gentleman had taken
more wine than was prudent, a dispute arose between my brother and a Mr.
M‘Kenzie, lieutenant in an infantry regiment, quartered at the same
place. This dispute never should have been suffered to arise; and, as it
was totally private, should, at least, never have proceeded further. But
no attempt was made either to reconcile or check it, on the part of
Captain Gillespie, although the thing occurred at his own table.—He
never liked my brother.
Gillespie was a very handsome person; but it was not that species of
soldier-like and manly beauty, which bespeaks the union of courage and
generosity. He had a fair and smooth countenance, wherein the tinge of
reckless impetuosity appeared to betray his prevailing character. His,
however, was not the rapid flow of transitory anger, which, rushing
ingenuously from the heart, is instantly suppressed by reason and
repentance:—I admire that temper; it never inhabits the same mind with
treachery or malice. On the contrary, a livid paleness overspread the
plethoric countenance of Gillespie upon the slightest ruffle of his
humour:—the vulgar call such, “_white-livered persons_:” they are no
favourites with the world in general; and I have never, throughout the
course of a long life, observed any man so constituted possessing a list
of virtues.
I never could bear Gillespie! I had an _instinctive_ dislike to him,
which I strove, in vain, to conquer. I always considered him to be a
dangerous man—an impetuous, unsafe, companion—capable of any thing in
his anger. I know I ought not to speak with prejudice; yet, alas! if I
do, who can blame me?
A cenotaph, voted by the British Parliament, has raised his fame:—but it
is the fame of a _sabreur_—erected on piles of slaughter, and cemented
by the blood of Indians. No tale of social virtues appears to enrich the
cornice of his monument. I wish there had! it would at least have
indicated repentance.
To return to my story.—Midway between Athy and Carlow was agreed on for
a meeting. I resided in Dublin, and was ignorant of the transaction till
too late. A crowd, as usual in Ireland, attended the combat; several
gentlemen, and some relatives of mine, were, I regret to say, present.
In a small verdant field, on the bank of the Barrow, my brother and
M‘Kenzie were placed. Gillespie, who had been considered as the friend
and intimate of my family, _volunteered_ as second to M‘Kenzie, (a
comparative stranger,) who was in no way adverse to an amicable
arrangement. Gillespie, however, would hear of none; the honour of a
military man, he said, must be satisfied, and nothing but _blood_, or at
least every effort to draw it, could form that satisfaction.
The combatants fired and missed:—they fired again; no mischief was the
consequence. A reconciliation was now proposed, but objected to by
Gillespie:—and will it be believed that, in a civilised country, when
both combatants were satisfied, one of the principals should be
instantly slain by a _second_? Yet such was the case: my brother stood
_two_ fires from his opponent, and after professing his readiness to be
reconciled, was shot dead by the hand of his opponent’s second.
Gillespie himself is now departed: he died by the same death that he had
inflicted. But he was more favoured by Providence;—he died the death of
a soldier;—he fell by the hand of the enemy, not by the weapon of an
intimate.
William was my very beloved brother. The news soon reached me in Dublin.
I could not, or rather, I durst not, give utterance to the nature and
excess of my feelings on the communication. Thus much I will admit—that
_sorrow_ had the least share in those thoughts which predominated. A
passion not naturally mine absorbed every other:—my determination was
fixed: I immediately set out post; but my brother had been interred
prior to my arrival; and Gillespie, the sole object of my vengeance, had
fled, nor was his retreat to be discovered. I lost no time in procuring
a warrant for murder against him from Mr. Ryan, a magistrate. I sought
him in every place to which I could attach suspicion; day and night my
pursuit was continued, but, as it pleased God, in vain. I was not,
indeed, in a fit state for such a rencontre; for had we met, he or I
would surely have perished.
I returned to Dublin, and, as my mind grew cooler, thanked Heaven that I
had not personally found him. I, however, published advertisements
widely, offering a reward for his apprehension; and at length he
surrendered into the prison of Maryborough, to take his trial.
The assizes approached; and I cannot give the sequel of this melancholy
story better than by a short recital of Gillespie’s extraordinary trial,
and the still more extraordinary incidents which terminated the
transaction.
The judges arrived at the assize town, (it was during the summer assizes
of 1788,) accompanied in the usual way by the high sheriff, (Mr. Lyons,
of Watercastle,) and escorted by numerous bailiffs and a grand
cavalcade. Mr. Lyons was a gentleman of taste and elegance, who had
travelled much, but very seldom came to Ireland: he possessed a small
fortune and a beautiful cottage _ornée_, on the banks of the Nore, near
Lord De Vesci’s. Mr. Thomas Kemmis (afterward crown solicitor of
Ireland, and a sincere friend of mine,) was the attorney very
judiciously selected by Captain Gillespie to conduct his defence.
The mode of choosing juries in criminal cases is well known to every
lawyer, and its description would be uninteresting to an ordinary
reader. Suffice it to say, that by the methods then used of selecting,
arranging, and summoning the panel, a sheriff, or sub-sheriff, in good
understanding with a prisoner, might afford him very considerable, if
not decisive, aid. And when it is considered that juries must be
unanimous, even one dissentient or obstinate juror being capable of
effectually preventing any conviction,—and further, that the charge we
are alluding to was that of murder or homicide, occurring in consequence
of a duel, on the same ground and at the same time,—it might fairly be
expected that the culprit would stand a chance of acquittal from
military men, who, accustomed to duelling, and living in a country where
affairs of that kind were then more frequent than in any other, might be
inclined to regard the circumstance more indulgently than a jury of mere
civilians.
To select, by management, a _military_ jury, was therefore the natural
object of the prisoner and his friends; and, in fact, the list appeared
with a number of half-pay officers at the head of it, who, as gentlemen,
were naturally pained by seeing a brother-officer and a man of most
prepossessing appearance, in the dock for murder. The two prisoners
(Gillespie and M‘Kenzie) challenged forty-eight; the list was expended,
and the prosecutor was driven back to show cause why he objected to the
first thirteen. No _legal_ ground for such objection could be supported;
and thus, out of twelve jurors, no less than ten were military officers!
The present Lord Downs and the late Judge Fletcher were the prisoner’s
counsel.
On this, perhaps, the most interesting trial ever known in that county,
numerous witnesses having been examined, the principal facts proved for
the prosecution were:—that after M‘Kenzie and my brother had fired four
shots without effect, the latter said he hoped enough had been done for
both their honours, at the same time holding out his hand to
M‘Kenzie,—whose second, Captain Gillespie, exclaimed, that his friend
_should not_ be satisfied, and that the affair should proceed. The
spectators combined in considering it concluded, and a small circle
having been formed, my brother, who persisted in uttering his pacific
wishes, interposed some harsh expressions toward Gillespie, who
thereupon losing all control over his temper, suddenly threw a
handkerchief to William Barrington, asking if he dared take a corner of
that!—The unfortunate boy, full of spirit and intrepidity, snatched at
the handkerchief, and at the same moment received a ball from Gillespie
through his body;—so close were they together, that his coat appeared
scorched by the powder. He fell, and was carried to a cabin hard by,
where he expired in great agony the same evening. As he was in the act
of falling, his pistol went off. Gillespie immediately fled, and was
followed by three of his own dragoons, whom he had brought with him, and
who were present at the transaction, but whom he declined examining on
the trial. The spectators were very numerous, and scarcely a dry eye
left the field.
Capt. Gillespie’s defence rested upon an assertion on his part of
irritating expressions having been used by my brother, adding that the
cock of his own pistol was knocked off by my brother’s fire. But that
very fact proved every thing against him; because his shot _must_ have
been fired and have taken effect in my brother’s body previously; for if
the cock had been broken in the first place, Gillespie’s pistol could
not have gone off. In truth, the whole circumstance of a second killing
a principal because he desired reconciliation was, and remains, totally
unexampled in the history of duelling even in the most barbarous eras
and countries.
Judge Bradstreet, who tried the prisoners, held it to be clearly murder
by law. A verdict of even manslaughter must (he contended) be returned
by a forced or rather false construction;—but _acquit_ him (Gillespie)
generally, the jury could not.
The prosecution was not followed up against M‘Kenzie, whose conduct
throughout had been that of an officer and a gentleman, and who had
likewise desired reconciliation. Of course he was acquitted.
The jury had much difficulty in making up their verdict. Some of them,
being men of considerable reputation, hesitated long. They could not
acquit; they _would_ not convict;—and hence a course was taken which
corresponded neither with the law nor the evidence. A verdict of
“_justifiable homicide_” was returned, in consequence of which Capt.
Gillespie was discharged on his recognizance to appear in the court of
King’s Bench the ensuing term, and plead his Majesty’s pardon.
Thus was compromised the justice of the country. Thus commenced the
brilliant career of that general whom the munificence of the British
nation has immortalised by a monument amongst her heroes!—Thus did the
blood of one of the finest youths of Ireland first whet Gillespie’s
appetite for that course of glorious butchery to which he owed his
subsequent elevation. But conscience is retributive, and Heaven is just.
I hear that he was never happy after:—intrepid to excess, he often
tempted fate; and his restless and remorseless existence was at length
terminated by a Gentoo in India.
The circumstances attending General Gillespie’s death are remarkable,
and manifest, in my opinion, desperation rather than real bravery. He
had, contrary to instructions, attempted to storm:—his fire was
inadequate—his troops repulsed:—new attempts were made, but again
unsuccessfully, numerous brave men being sacrificed to no purpose. Still
the general persisted;—even the guard was taken from the paymaster, who
had treasure under his care.—Gillespie was aware that he had disobeyed
instructions, and was determined to succeed or perish in the attempt. He
damned the paymaster, who remonstrated against being left
unprotected—looked for a moment at the storming party through his
glass,—and seeing his men falling fast, he drew his sword, called upon
every soldier to follow him, and in five minutes received several balls,
which ended his cares and existence. _Requiescat in pace!_—but never
will I set my foot in Westminster Abbey.
Scarcely was the melancholy trial referred to over, when the case was
succeeded by another almost in the opposite extreme—altogether too
ludicrous, indeed, to form the termination of so serious a business, but
at the same time too extraordinary and too public to be omitted. It was
certainly, in its way, as unparalleled an affair as that which gave rise
to it.
On the evening of the trial, my second brother, Henry French
Barrington,—a gentleman of considerable estate, and whose perfect good
temper, but intrepid and irresistible impetuosity when assailed, were
well known—the latter quality having been severely felt in the county
before,—came to me. He was, in fact, a complete country gentleman,
utterly ignorant of the law, its terms and proceedings; and as I was the
first of my family who had ever followed any profession (the army
excepted), my opinion, so soon as I became a counsellor, was considered
by him as oracular: indeed, questions far beyond mine, and sometimes
beyond the power of any person existing, to solve, were frequently
submitted for my decision by our neighbours in the country.
Having called me aside out of the bar-room, my brother seemed greatly
agitated, and informed me that a friend of ours, who had seen the
jury-list, declared that it had been decidedly _packed_!—concluding his
appeal by asking me what he ought to do? I told him, we should have
“challenged the array.”—“That was my own opinion, Jonah,” said he, “and
I will do it now!” adding an oath, and expressing a degree of animation
which I could not account for. I apprised him that it was now too late,
as it should have been done before the trial.
He said no more, but departed instantly, and I did not think again upon
the subject. An hour after, however, my brother sent in a second request
to see me. I found him, to all appearance, quite cool and tranquil. “I
have done it, by G-d!—(cried he, exultingly)—’twas better late than
never!” and immediately he produced from his coat-pocket a long queue
and a handful of powdered hair and curls. “See here!” continued he, “the
cowardly rascal!”
“Heavens!” cried I, “French, are you mad?”
“Mad!” replied he, “no, no! I followed your own advice exactly. I went
directly after I left you to the grand-jury room to ‘_challenge the
array_,’ and there I challenged the _head_ of the array, that cowardly
Lyons!—He peremptorily refused to fight me; so I knocked him down before
the grand-jury, and cut off his curls and tail!—See, here they are,—the
rascal! and my brother Jack is gone to flog the sub-sheriff!”
I was thunderstruck, and almost thought my brother was _crazy_, since he
was obviously not _in liquor_ at all. But after some inquiry, I found
that, like many other country gentlemen, he took words in their
commonest acceptation. He had seen the high sheriff coming in with a
great “_array_,” and had thus conceived my suggestion as to challenging
the array was literal; and accordingly, repairing to the grand-jury
dining-room, had called the high sheriff aside, told him he had omitted
challenging him before the trial, as he ought to have done according to
advice of counsel; but that it was better late than never, and that he
must immediately come out and fight him. Mr. Lyons conceiving my brother
to be intoxicated, drew back, and refused the invitation in a most
peremptory manner. French then collared him, tripped up his heels, and
putting his foot on his breast, cut off his side-curls and queue with a
carving-knife which an old waiter named Spedding (who had been my
father’s butler, and liked the thing,) had readily brought him from the
dinner-table. Having secured his spoils, my brother immediately came off
in triumph to relate to me his achievement.
Mr. Lyons was a remarkably fine, handsome man; and, having lived very
much abroad, was by no means acquainted with the humours of Irish
country gentlemen, with whom he had associated but little, and by whom
he was not at all liked; and this his first reception must have rather
surprised him.
Mr. Flood, one of the grand-jury, afterward informed me, that no human
gravity could possibly withstand the astonishment and ludicrous figure
of the mutilated high sheriff; the laugh, consequently, was both loud
and long. Nobody chose to interfere in the concern; and as Mr. Lyons had
sustained no bodily injury, he received very little condolement amongst
the country gentlemen, and immediately withdrew.
My situation in this curious _dénouement_ was truly to be commiserated,
since I should be considered as the adviser of my brother; and I
therefore determined to consult Mr. Downs, (Gillespie’s counsel) as to
what was best to be done in the matter.
Mr. (afterward Lord) Downs, always proud, icy, and decorous, seemed to
think my brother’s case irremediable, and that a couple of years’
imprisonment and a heavy fine, at least, must be the necessary result of
such a trimming of a high sheriff in the face of a county—advising
French, at the same time, to fly and make terms if possible. “Fly!” said
French Barrington, when I informed him of the suggestion; “no, no! tell
Counsellor _Thingumbob_ to go to the ball to-night, and he’ll see more
of the matter.” In fact, my brother went to the ball-room when it was
crowded, and having tied the sheriff’s curls and queue to a lamp which
hung in the centre of the room, got upon a form, and made a loud
proclamation of the whole transaction from first to last. A sort of
sympathetic feeling caught the young men in the room, many of whom were
my brother’s companions: they immediately led out their partners, and
formed a circle-dance (as about a May-pole) around the sheriff’s spoils,
which were sticking to the lamp. The remonstrances of mothers, and other
discreet efforts, were totally vain:—the girls liked the fun, and a
succession of different sets did honour in turn to Mr. Lyons’ late queue
and curls. A club was subsequently proposed, to be called the _Curl
Club_, and to be held every summer assize; and this was for several
years kept up.
The ensuing morning my brother dressed up the bridle of his hunter with
the curls and queue, newly powdered by Mr. Robert Casey; and having
paraded the streets for a considerable time (avoiding the judge’s
residence), he rode home; and was never called to account or molested on
the subject in any way whatsoever.
Mr. Lyons left the country almost immediately, went back to the
Continent, and never after, at least to my knowledge, returned.
The matter, however, having been justly represented in a serious light
to the judge, he sent for me, and I related the entire truth. He had
been much dissatisfied with the verdict, and had received strong hints
as to the arrangement of the jury: he could not restrain a smile, but
said he must, if required, give permission to a magistrate to take
examinations against Mr. Barrington. He, however, declined all personal
interference on circuit; desiring Mr. Lyons to apply to the King’s
Bench, where no doubt he would be duly attended to, according to the
merits of the case. But no examinations whatever were taken; nor was any
application made to the King’s Bench. It could not have been made
without involving the question as to the way in which the jury was
constituted; and since that matter would not bear sifting, the
circumstances were suffered to remain without further investigation.