DETACHMENT.
In the course of duty, I was one of a detachment sent to a village
about twenty miles from head-quarters, where the inhabitants were
in a disturbed state. From the accounts given us by the constables
when we first went there, we were led to believe that the whole
country was in arms, ready, when the word was given, to massacre all
opposed to their schemes. But we soon found that their fears or their
prejudices had magnified the cause of alarm to a wonderful degree.
Before we became acquainted with the true state of affairs, they
made us complete hacks, calling us out to their assistance in every
drunken squabble which took place, often through their own insolent
behaviour.
I remember one night we were turned out in a great hurry by one of
the constables, who rode up to our barrack, with his horse sweating
and his face pale with terror. He had laid off a dreadful story of
his coming home from the fair of T——, and on the top of a hill,
about two miles from the town, he had unexpectedly come upon about
two hundred Shanavests in a field, holding one of their nocturnal
meetings, who, when they saw him, shouted out and fired half-a-dozen
shots at him; that he, seeing it of no use to face so many, set spurs
to his horse and fled, followed by a whole troop of them, to the very
end of the village.
Having turned out, we set off at a double quick pace towards the
scene of action; on reaching the foot of the hill, where he said
the boys were assembled, we loaded, fixed our bayonets, and were
gallantly led up to the attack by the constable himself.
‘Easy, easy boys,’ said he, ‘we’ll be on them in a jiffy—don’t fire
till I give you the word, and you’ll see we’ll surround them and
take them all prisoners.’ So saying, he crept softly on some way in
front. The night was very dark, and we could see nothing distinctly;
but when within about fifty yards of the top of the hill, we were
startled by a tremendous clatter of feet upon the stones of the road,
followed by the cry of ‘Murder, murder! Fire, fire!’ We had not been
accustomed to waste our ammunition uselessly, and waited a second or
two to see what we had to fire at; but one of our party (a recruit)
snapt his musket on the alarm; luckily for the constable, it missed
fire, for it was directed at him as the only object that could be
seen. In less time, however, than I could relate it, the cause of our
alarm rushed past in the shape of a horse, that had sprung from the
field upon the road as we advanced. Having reached the spot pointed
out by the constable, nothing could be seen but a few heifers grazing
about, quite unconscious of having disturbed the peace. We certainly
did not feel well pleased at being turned out at such an unseasonable
hour to no purpose, and we taxed the constable roundly with imagining
the whole story, but he swore by all that was good, that every word
of what he told was truth. Next morning, however, we were convinced
that our surmises were correct, for on inspecting the field where the
Shanavests were said to be assembled, not a single foot-mark could
be seen, although the ground was moist from previous rain; besides,
it was well known that the constable had taken a sup too much at the
fair, for when he left it he was scarcely able to sit his horse.
For some time we were regularly called out by these fellows, when
they went to distrain a man’s goods for rent or tithes, until we were
more like the bailiff’s body-guard than anything else. But after
being made fools of in this way two or three times, our officer
remonstrated, and arranged matters so, that we were not obliged to
go out without a special order from the magistrate. This relieved us
from the petty affairs more immediately under the cognizance of the
constable; but still we had enough to do in following the magistrate,
who seemed to consider a hunt after his countrymen even more amusing
than one after the fox. Had the people been peaceably inclined, his
conduct would have goaded them on to outrage. He was continually up
to the ears in business—some momentous matter always on hand. Every
trifling riot was magnified into a deep-laid rebellion—if a cabin or
a hay stack was set on fire, a whole village was burned—if one man
was wounded, a dozen were killed; and so on, always magnifying the
event in proportion to the distance. His conduct put me in mind of
those amateurs, who when they want to bait a bull, aggravate it to
the necessary pitch to create them sufficient sport, and then allege
its madness as a pretext for treating it cruelly.
On the other hand, there were magistrates, who, going to the opposite
extreme, rendered themselves useless to the country. One of this
description lived near us, and from having no strength of mind, or
reliance on his own judgment, was alternately the slave of either
party, repealing now, what he had enacted before—ordering men to
be apprehended one day as criminals, and on being threatened by
their party, releasing them the next,—he was despised by all, and
trusted by none. There were not wanting magistrates who, to an active
and effective execution of their duty, added discrimination and a
conciliatory spirit; but I am sorry to say that their efforts were
often neutralized by the blundering, hot-headed zeal, or the timid
inanity of their colleagues in office.
Although the alarmists made the most of every trifling circumstance
that occurred, yet it cannot be denied that some very barbarous
actions were committed by the associated bands of Shanavests and
Caravats, always directed, however, against individuals who showed
themselves forward in oppressing them, or who took the land at a
rack-rent over their heads. Nothing could be more absurd than to say
they had any regular political aim in view. In their combination, the
two parties seemed to have a jealousy of each other, and often fell
out at their hurling matches, and beat each other soundly; and there
were a good many spies among them in pay of the magistracy, who gave
information of all their proceedings. While we were there, they had
a quantity of arms, which they had forcibly taken from people in the
neighbourhood who, being loyalists, were authorized to keep them. A
smith belonging to the faction kept them in repair, but when payment
came to be asked for his trouble, instead of money they gave him a
‘good licking’ for his presumption. Barny did not like this mode of
clearing scores, and, to be revenged, gave in a list of the names of
all who had arms in their possession to the magistrate. This list was
stuck up at the cross-roads, along with a summons, to deliver them
up, or stand the consequence. Some did comply, but the greater number
evaded the order by secreting them. Barny, however, would not let
them slip that way: he conducted us to an old drain, where we found
upwards of forty stand of blunderbusses, fowling-pieces, and pistols;
but two-thirds of them were so much out of repair that it would have
been dangerous to use them. Poor Barny, from the time he had lodged
the information, was obliged to take up his quarters with us, and
eventually had to bid ‘his native land good-night’ for his share in
the business, and I dare say did not venture back in a hurry.
In general their aim was revenge, not plunder; but a few of the most
hardened and daring of them were regular robbers and house-breakers—a
gang of six or seven of whom were apprehended while I was there, and
sent into jail. At the ensuing assizes they were tried; one or two
got off through want of evidence, and others were transported for
life. I happened to be present when the trial of one of them came on,
who, from his activity and forwardness in their depredations, was
considered a ringleader. If I recollect right, there was some murder
connected with the robbery with which he was charged. I do not now
remember the exact particulars of his trial, but I cannot forget the
boldness and audacity of his conduct while at the bar. Evidence after
evidence was examined, and although there was much circumstantial
proof of his guilt, yet there seemed to be a connecting link wanting,
without which it must fall to the ground. One evidence (a woman) had
been repeatedly called, but she did not appear; and the eye of the
prisoner beamed triumph and defiance. The public prosecutor stood up
to close his case.
‘He was compelled to own,’ he said, ‘that it had been but imperfectly
made out, and he would therefore not trouble’—At this moment a bustle
was heard in the court.
‘Make way for the witness,’ said the crier, and she stood before
them. All were surprised; but I cannot convey an idea of the effect
her appearance had upon the prisoner; he stood as if turned into
stone, his face grew deadly pale, and he reeled back from the bar,
while, with a convulsive fetch of his breath, he uttered, ‘I am
sold.’ She went on with her evidence; it was clear and conclusive,
and filled up every blank. The prisoner had recovered himself, and
stood listening to her story with his livid lips strongly compressed,
his hands clenched, and the cold sweat standing on his forehead. When
she concluded, he caught her eye as she turned to descend from the
table, and gave her a withering look, full of deadly revenge, and
summoning up his remaining energy for the effort, he uttered a curse
upon her, with an emphasis worthy of a demon, and sunk back in the
dock. He was sentenced to death.
There is little time allowed in Ireland between sentence and
execution, and this he employed in steeling his mind to every
feeling. On the morning of his execution, his relations from the
country were admitted to see him; they had drank whisky before they
came in, to drown their grief, and a scene took place between them
and the dying man, which, were I to attempt to draw in the ludicrous
light it was presented, would not be credited. The drop was in front
of the jail, and his relations accompanied him to the foot of the
stairs he had to ascend: as they parted with him, ‘Here, Murthy,’
said he, shuffling off his shoes, ‘take them—no hangman rascal shall
get my shoes.’
His friends now came to the front of the jail, and were allowed to
remain on the green plot, between the soldiers and the drop. When
the unfortunate man approached the door, from which he was to plunge
into another world, he pushed hurriedly forward, with the intention
of addressing the multitude; but he was drawn back until the rope was
placed about his neck, which being done, he advanced boldly to the
edge of the platform, and in the face of the clearest evidence of
his guilt, and former abandoned course of life, he cried out to the
spectators, ‘I am innocent of the crime for which I suffer.’
A murmur burst from the crowd, responsive of their belief in his
asseveration, when one of his half-intoxicated relatives cried out,—
‘Ah, poor Andy, and his shoes off too!’ and sunk down upon the grass,
but immediately rising and raising his arm, he cried out to the
unfortunate wretch, who was now standing on the fatal drop—‘Die hard,
Andy—Andy, jewel, die like a man.’
The next moment, Andy spurned the handkerchief indignantly from
his hand, and was launched into eternity amid the prayers of the
surrounding multitude, who, I have no doubt, considered him a martyr
to the vindictive spirit of the laws.