Rebellion in Ireland, in 1798—Mr. Waddy’s castle—A priest cut in two by
the portcullis, and partly eaten by Waddy—Dinner-party at Lady
Colclough’s—Names and characters of the company, including Mr. Bagenal
Harvey, Captain Keogh, &c.—Most of them executed soon after—Tour
through and state of County Wexford, after the battles and storming of
the town—Colonel Walpole killed and his regiment defeated at
Gorey—Unaccountable circumstance of Captain Keogh’s head not decaying.
Many incidents which, I really think, could not have occurred in any
country except Ireland, took place in the year 1798. There is something
so very different from other people in every deed or word of the
unsophisticated Irish, that in fact one has no right to be surprised,
whatever scenes may be acted by them.
One of these curious occurrences remains even to this day a subject of
surmise and mystery. During the rebellion in County Wexford in 1798, Mr.
Waddy, a violent ultra loyalist, surrounded by a neighbourhood of
inveterate insurgents, to whom he had made himself peculiarly obnoxious,
fled to a castle at a considerable distance from the town of Wexford.
Though out of repair, it was not unfit for habitation; and might secure
its tenant from any _coup de main_ of undisciplined insurgents. He
dreaded discovery so much, that he would entrust his place of refuge to
no person whatsoever; and, as he conceived, took sufficient food to last
until he might escape out of the country. There was but one entrance to
the castle, and that was furnished with an old portcullis, which drew up
and let down as in ancient fortresses.
Here Mr. Waddy concealed himself; and every body was for a long time
utterly ignorant as to his fate:—some said he was drowned in the Slaney;
some, burned alive; others, murdered and buried in ploughed ground! But
while each was willing to give an opinion as to the mode of his
destruction, no one supposed him to be still alive. At length, it
occurred to certain of his friends to seek him through the country; with
which view they set out, attended by an armed body! Every wood and ruin
was explored; but their search was vain, until approaching by chance an
old castle, they became aware of a stench, which the seekers conjectured
to proceed from the putrid corpse of murdered Waddy. On getting nearer,
this opinion was confirmed; a dead body lay half within and half without
the castle, which the descent of the old portcullis had crushed nearly
into equal portions. Poor Mr. Waddy was deeply lamented; and, though
with great disgust, they proceeded to remove that half of the carcase
which lay outside the entrance—when, to their infinite astonishment,
they perceived that it was _not_ Waddy, but a neighbouring priest, who
had been so expertly cut in two;—how the thing had happened, nobody
could surmise. They now rapped and shouted—but no reply: Waddy, in good
truth, lay close within, supposing them to be rebels. At length, on
venturing to peep out, he discovered his friends, whom he joyfully
requested to raise, if possible, the portcullis, and let him out, as he
was almost starved to death.
This, with difficulty, was effected, and the other half of the priest
was discovered immediately within the entrance,—but by no means in
equally good condition with that outside; inasmuch as it appeared that
numerous collops and rump-steaks had been cut off the reverend
gentleman’s hind-quarters by Waddy, who, early one morning, had found
the priest thus divided; and being alike unable to raise the portcullis
or get out to look for food, (certain indeed, in the latter case, of
being piked by any of the rebels who knew him,) he thought it better to
feed on the priest, and remain in the castle till fortune smiled, than
run a risk of breaking all his bones by dropping from the
battlements—his only alternative.
To the day of Waddy’s death, he could give no collected or rational
account how this incident occurred:—indeed, so confused had his head
become in consequence of his critical circumstances, that the whole
appeared to him ever after as a dream or vision quite beyond his
comprehension.
The foregoing, though among the most curious, is but one of the
extraordinary occurrences of that dreadful insurrection—some of which
tend to strengthen my superstitious feeling, which is, I confess, very
deep-rooted, as also is my conviction, that “whatever is, is
right!”—Scarcely any except the _fortunate_ will, I suppose, be ready to
join me in the latter notion, though in the former I am aware I have
many associates, particularly among old women and hypochondriacs: I am,
it is true, perpetually laughed at for both by what are termed _clever_
ladies and _strong-minded_ gentlemen, but still think proper to retain
my own impressions.
I will detail the following circumstance in illustration of these
principles. It took place immediately previous to the breaking out of
the rebellion.
I dined at the house of Lady Colclough (a near relative of Lady
Barrington), in the town of Wexford, in April, 1798. The company, so far
as I now recollect, consisted of about sixteen persons, among whom were
several other of Lady Barrington’s relatives (then members of the
grand-jury): Mr. Cornelius Grogan, of Johnstown, a gentleman, seventy
years old, of very large fortune, who had represented the county; his
two brothers, both wealthy men; Captain Keogh, afterward rebel governor
of Wexford, the husband of Lady B.’s aunt; the unfortunate John
Colclough, of Tintern, and the still more unfortunate Mr. Colclough;
Counsellor John Beauman; Counsellor Bagenal Harvey, afterward the rebel
generalissimo; Mr. William Hatton, a rebel director in Wexford; and some
others. The conversation after dinner turning on the distracted state of
the country, became rather too free, and I begged some of the party to
be more moderate, as our ways of thinking were so different, and my
public situation did not permit me, especially at that particular
period, to hear such strong language: the loyalists among us did not
exceed five or six (exclusive of ladies, whose politics nobody minds).
The tone of the conversation was soon changed, but not before I had made
up my mind as to the probable fate of several in company, though I
certainly had no idea that, in little more than a month, a sanguinary
rebellion would desolate my native land, and violent deaths, within
_three_ months, befall a considerable proportion of that joyous
assemblage. I had seen enough, however, to convince me that all was not
right; and that, by plunging one step further, most of my relatives and
friends would be in imminent danger. The party however broke up; and
next morning, Counsellor Beauman and myself, happening to meet on the
bridge, talked over the occurrences of the previous day, uniting in
opinion as to the inauspicious aspect of things, and actually proceeding
to sketch out a list of those among the dinner-party whom we considered
likely to fall victims!—and it so turned out that _every one_ of our
predictions was verified! It was superficial observation alone that led
me to think as I did at that moment, but a decided presentiment of what
eventually happened soon after took possession of me; and indeed so full
was I of forebodings, that I was more than once roused out of my sleep
by the horrid ideas floating through my mind as to the fate of
connexions for whom I had a warm affection.
Bagenal Harvey (already mentioned in this work), who had been my
school-fellow and constant circuit-companion for many years, laughed, at
Lady Colclough’s, at my political prudery; assured me I was totally
wrong in suspecting him; and insisted on my going to Bargay Castle, his
residence, to meet some old Temple friends of ours on the ensuing
Monday;—my relative Captain Keogh was to be of the party.
I accordingly went there to dinner; but that evening proved to me one of
great uneasiness, and made a very disagreeable impression both on my
mind and spirits. The company I met included, besides the host, Mr.
Cornelius Grogan; Captain Keogh; the two unfortunate Counsellors Sheers,
who were both hung shortly afterward; Mr. Colclough, who was hung on the
bridge; Mr. Hay, who was also executed; Mr. William Hatton, one of the
rebel directory of Wexford, who unaccountably escaped; and a gentleman
of the bar whose name I shall not mention, as he still lives. In fact,
_seven_ of the company were soon afterward headless.
The entertainment was good, and the party cheerful. Temple freaks were
talked over; the bottle circulated: but, at length, Irish politics
became the topic, and proceeded to an extent of disclosure which utterly
surprised me. With the Messrs. Sheers (particularly Henry) I had always
been on terms of the greatest intimacy: I had extricated both of them
not long before from considerable difficulty, through the kindness of
Lord Kilwarden; and I had no idea that matters wherein they were
concerned had proceeded to the lengths developed on that night. The
probability of a speedy revolt was freely discussed, though in the most
artful manner, not a word of either of the party committing themselves,
or indeed any one else: but they talked it over as a result which might
be expected from the complexion of the times and the irritation excited
in consequence of the severities exercised by the government. The
chances of success, in the event of a rising, were openly debated, as
were also the circumstances likely to spring from that success, and the
examples which the insurgents would in such a case probably make. The
Marquess of Ely and Lord Clare they looked upon as persons not likely to
be spared. All this was at the same time talked over, without one word
being uttered in favour of rebellion;—a system of caution which, I
afterward learned, was much practised for the purpose of gradually
making proselytes without alarming them. I, however, saw through it
clearly, and here my presentiments came strong upon me. I found myself
in the midst of absolute though unavowed conspirators. I perceived that
the explosion was much nearer than the government expected; and was
startled at the decided manner in which my host and his friends spoke.
The barrister whom I have mentioned but not _named_ did not reside in
that province, and had no connexion with it that I ever heard of. I
therefore saw that he was an _envoy_. He has, I believe, never been
publicly committed in that business.
Under these circumstances, my alternative was evidently to quit the
house, or give a turn to the conversation. I therefore began to laugh at
the subject, and ridicule it as quite visionary, observing jestingly to
Keogh—“Now, my dear Keogh, it is quite clear that you and I, in this
famous rebellion, shall be on different sides of the question; and of
course one or the other of us must necessarily be hanged at or before
its termination—I upon a lamp-iron in Dublin, or you on the bridge of
Wexford. Now, we’ll make a bargain!—if we beat you, upon my honour I’ll
do all I can to save your neck; and if your folks beat us, _you’ll_ save
_me_ from the honour of the lamp-iron!”
A hearty laugh ensued, and my health was drunk in a bumper.
We shook hands on the bargain, and the whole after-talk assumed a
cheerful character. But I returned to Wexford at twelve at night, with a
most decided impression of the danger of the country, and a complete
presentiment that either myself or Captain Keogh would never see the
conclusion of that summer.
I immediately wrote to Mr. Secretary Cooke, without mentioning names,
place, or any particular source of knowledge; but simply to assure him
that there was not a doubt that an insurrection would break out at a
much earlier period than the government contemplated. I desired him to
ask me no questions, because I could give him no _details_, my ideas
being the free result of observation: however, I said that he might
_depend_ upon the _fact_; adding that a commanding force ought instantly
to be sent down to garrison the _town_ of Wexford, which might prevent
any rising. “If the government,” said I, in conclusion, “does not attend
to my warning, it must take the consequences.” My warning was purposely
disregarded; but his Majesty’s government soon found I was right. They
lost Wexford, and might have lost Ireland, by that culpable inattention.
The result need scarcely be mentioned; many members of that jovial
dinner-party were executed within three months! and on my next visit to
Wexford, I saw the heads of Captain Keogh, Mr. Harvey, and Mr.
Colclough, on spikes over the court-house door.
Previously to the final catastrophe, however, when the insurgents had
been beaten, Wexford retaken by our troops, and Keogh made prisoner, I
did not forget my promise to him at Bargay Castle. He was a good man and
a respectable gentleman, and I would have gone any length to save him.
Many certificates had reached Dublin of his humanity to the royalists
whilst the town of Wexford was under his government, and of attempts
made upon _his_ life by Dixon, a brutal chief of his own party, for his
endeavouring to resist the rebel butcheries. I had intended to go with
these directly to Lord Camden, the lord lieutenant; but I first saw Mr.
Secretary Cooke, to whom I related the entire story, and showed him
several favourable documents. I begged he would come with me to the lord
lieutenant, whom the aide-de-camp in waiting had informed me would
receive me forthwith. He told me I might save myself the trouble of
going to Lord Camden; and at the same time handed me a despatch received
that morning from General Lake, who stated that he had thought it
necessary, on recapturing Wexford, to lose no time in “_making
examples_” of the rebel chiefs; and that accordingly, Mr. Grogan, of
Johnstown, Mr. Bagenal Harvey, of Bargay Castle, Captain Keogh, Mr.
Colclough, and some other gentlemen, had been hanged on the bridge and
beheaded the previous morning.
I felt shocked beyond measure at this intelligence,—particularly as I
knew Mr. Cornelius Grogan (an excellent gentleman, seventy years of age,
of very large fortune and establishments,) to be no more a rebel than
myself. Being unable, from infirmity, to walk without assistance, he was
_led_ to execution.—His case was, in fact, most pitiable: he was
decidedly _murdered_ according to _municipal_ law, but which at that
period was totally superseded by “_martial_ law,” which in many
instances was most _savagely_ resorted to.
I was at all times ready and willing to risk my life to put down that
spirit of mad democracy which sought to subvert all legal institutions,
and to support every true principle of the constitution which protected
us: but at the same time I must in truth and candour say (and I say it
with reluctance), that, during those sanguinary scenes, the brutal
conduct of certain frantic _royalists_ was at _least_ on a parallel with
that of the frantic _rebels_.
Immediately after the recapture of Wexford, I traversed that county, to
see the ruins which had been occasioned by warfare. Enniscorthy had been
twice stormed, and was dilapidated and nearly burned. New Ross showed
melancholy relics of the obstinate and bloody battle of full ten hours’
duration, which had been fought in every street of it; when Lord
Mountjoy fell, at the head of his regiment, by the fire of a rebel named
Shepherd, who singled him out at the three billet-gate:—his regiment
instantly retreated, and the triumphant rebel advanced and took his
lordship’s watch out of his pocket. The man afterward showed it me in
Dublin, when I took him as a witness on the attainder bill before the
House of Commons. Lord Clare wanted to take it, and to send him to
Newgate;—but I had brought him up on an _amnesty_, and government
supported _me_. The numerous pits crammed with dead bodies, on Vinegar
Hill, seemed on some spots actually elastic as we stood upon them;
whilst the walls of an old windmill on its summit appeared stained and
splashed with the blood and brains of the many victims who had been
piked or shot against it by the rebels. The court-house of Enniscorthy,
wherein our troops had burned alive above eighty of the wounded rebels;
and the barn of Scullabogue, where the rebels had retaliated by burning
alive above one hundred and twenty Protestants—were terrific ruins! The
town of Gorey was utterly destroyed,—not a house being left perfect; and
the bodies of the killed were lying half-covered in sundry ditches in
its vicinity. It was here that Colonel Walpole had been defeated and
killed a few days before.[48]
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Footnote 48:
No man ever came to a violent death more unwarily! Colonel Walpole was
a peculiarly handsome man, an aide-de-camp to Lord Camden. With
somewhat of the air of a _petit-maître_, he fluttered much about the
drawing-room of the Castle:—but, as he had not seen actual service, he
felt a sort of military inferiority to veterans, who had spent the
early part of their lives in blowing other people’s brains out; and he
earnestly begged to be entrusted with some command that might give him
an opportunity of fighting for a few weeks in the County Wexford, and
of writing some elegant despatches to his excellency the lord
lieutenant. The lord lieutenant most kindly indulged him with a body
of troops, and sent him to fight in the County Wexford, as he
requested: but on passing the town of Gorey, not being accustomed to
advanced-guards or flankers, he overlooked such trifles altogether!
and having got into a defile with some cannon and the Antrim
regiment,—in a few minutes the colonel was shot through the head—the
cannon changed masters—and most of the Antrim heroes had each a pike,
ten or twelve feet long, sticking in his carcase:—“Sic transit gloria
mundi!”
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An unaccountable circumstance was witnessed by me on that tour
immediately after the retaking of Wexford. General Lake, as I have
before mentioned, had ordered the heads of Mr. Grogan, Captain Keogh,
Mr. Bagenal Harvey, and Mr. Colclough, to be placed on very low spikes
over the court-house door of Wexford. A faithful servant of Mr. Grogan
had taken away his head; but the other three remained there when I
visited the town. The countenances of friends and relatives, in such a
situation, would, it may be imagined, give any man most horrifying
sensations! The heads of Mr. Colclough and Harvey seemed black lumps,
the features being utterly undistinguishable; that of Keogh was
uppermost, but the air had made comparatively little impression on it!
His comely and respect-inspiring face (except the livid hue) appeared
nearly as in life: his eyes were not closed—his thin hair did not look
much ruffled: in fact, it seemed to me rather as a head of chiselled
marble, with glass eyes, than as the lifeless remains of a human
creature:—this singular appearance I never could get any medical man
satisfactorily to explain.[49] I prevailed on General Hunter, who then
commanded in Wexford, to suffer the three heads to be taken down and
buried.
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Footnote 49:
It has occurred to me, that the very great difference in the look of
the heads might proceed from the following causes:—Messrs. Harvey and
Colclough were hanged on the bridge, and their bodies suffered to lie
some time before they were decapitated. The effect of strangulation
made the faces black; and the blood cooling and stagnating, this black
colour remained. Keogh had been decapitated as soon as cut down;—the
_warm_ blood was therefore _totally discharged_ from the head, and the
face became _livid_, no stagnate blood remaining to blacken it. If the
thing had not been public, it might have been doubted. It is now
thirty years past, and I can divine no other reason for so curious a
circumstance; and army surgeons in Paris (I suppose the best in the
world) tell me that my conjecture is perfectly well-founded.
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