Tendency of the imagination to _embody_ character—Its frequent
errors—Exemplified in the personal traits of several of the rebel
chiefs of Ireland—The Bretons of La Vendée—Intrepidity of their
leaders—The battle of Ross—Gallantry of a boy twelve years
old—Beauchamp Bagenal Harvey—Description of his person and
character—His habit of joking—Dangerous puns—His bewilderment as rebel
generalissimo—His capture and behaviour at execution—Portrait,
physical and mental, of Captain Keogh—Remarkable suicide of his
brother, and his own execution—Mr. Grogan, of Johnstown Castle,
described—His case, sentence, and execution—Unmerited fate of Sir
Edward Crosby, Bart.
When we read or hear of public and distinguished characters, whether
good or bad, we are naturally disposed to draw in our mind a figure or
face for each, correspondent to the actions which rendered the
individual conspicuous. We are inclined, for instance, to paint in our
imagination a rebel chieftain as an athletic powerful personage, with a
commanding presence;—an authoritative voice to controul; and impetuous
bravery to lead on a tumultuous army of undisciplined insurgents. Were
this always the case, insurrections would, perhaps, stand a better
chance of being successful.[39]
-----
Footnote 39:
Such _was_ the case with the Bretons in La Vendée. An officer of rank
in the French army at that period, commanding a regiment of chasseur
republicans, told me very lately, that above 15,000 regular troops
(his regiment among the rest) were surprised at noon-day, defeated and
dispersed, and their artillery and baggage taken, by a _smaller_
number of totally undisciplined Vendeans, with few fire-arms, but led
on by officers selected for powerful strength and fiery enthusiasm.
Their contempt for life, and impetuosity in close combat, were
irresistible; the latter, indeed, was always a characteristic with
them, and the gallantry of their chiefs was quite unparalleled.
-----
In the Irish Rebellion of 1798, the chief leaders had scarcely any of
these attributes. _Numerically_, the rebels were sufficient, and more
than sufficient, to effect all their objects; but they had no idea of
discipline, and little of subordination. Their intrepidity was great,
and their perseverance in the midst of fire and slaughter truly
astonishing. Yet on every occasion it was obviously the _cause_ and not
the _leaders_ that spurred them into action: when Irishmen _are_ well
officered they never yield.[40]
-----
Footnote 40:
The battle of Ross, in June, 1798, lasted ten hours. The rebel
_officers_ did nothing, the _men_ every thing. While the
commander-in-chief, Counsellor Bagenal Harvey, was standing on a hill
nearly a mile distant, a boy twelve years old (Lett of Wexford town)
called on the insurgents to follow him. He put himself at the head of
ten thousand men—approached the town, and stormed it. The town took
fire; the rebels got liquor; and they were killed in sleep and
drunkenness. Nothing could have saved our troops had the rebels been
well officered: General Johnston, who commanded the royalists,
deserved great praise for his judgment on that critical occasion.
-----
A spirit of uncompromising fortitude or enthusiastic gallantry generally
spreads over the countenance some characteristic trait. Undisciplined
followers are fascinated by ferocious bravery: they rush blindly any
where, after an intrepid leader. But a languid eye, unbraced features,
and unsteady movements, palpably betray the absence of that intellectual
energy, and contempt of personal danger, which are indispensable
qualities for a rebel chief.
To reflect on the great number of respectable and unfortunate gentlemen
who lost their lives by the hands of the common executioner in
consequence of that insurrection, is particularly sad;—indeed, as
melancholy as any thing connected with the long misrule and consequent
wretched state of brave and sensitive Ireland—which is _now_, at the
termination of seven hundred years, in a state of more alarming and
powerful disquietude than at any period since its first connexion with
England.
I had been, as stated in a former volume, in long habits of friendship
and intercourse with most of the leading chiefs of that rebellion. Their
features and manners rise, as it were in a vision, before my face:
indeed, after thirty long years of factious struggle and agitation, when
nothing remains of Ireland’s pride and independence but the memory,
every circumstance occasioning and attending that period, and the
subsequent _revolution_ of 1800, remains in freshest colours in the
recollection of a man who _once_ prided himself on being born an
Irishman.
I made allusion, in a previous part of this work, to a dinner of which I
partook in April, 1798, at Bargay Castle, County Wexford, the seat of
Beauchamp Bagenal Harvey,—who, I may as well repeat here, was a month
afterward general-in-chief over an army of more than thirty thousand men
(mostly of his own county), brave and enthusiastic; and, in two months
more, died by the hands of the hangman. He had been my school and
class-fellow, and from nine years of age we held uninterrupted
intercourse: he was a most singular example of mixed and opposite
qualities; and of all human beings, I should least have predicted for
him such a course, or such a catastrophe.
Harvey was son of one of the six clerks of chancery, who having amassed
a very considerable fortune, purchased the estate and castle of Bargay.
Beauchamp Bagenal, his eldest son, was called to the Irish bar, and
succeeded to his father’s estates. It was said that he was nearly
related by blood to that most extraordinary of all the country gentlemen
of Ireland, Beauchamp Bagenal, of Dunlickry, whose splendour and
eccentricities were the admiration of the continent while he was making
the grand tour (then reserved as part of the education of the very
highest circles). This relationship was the subject of much merriment
after a duel which Harvey’s reputed kinsman provoked my friend to fight
with him, in order to have the satisfaction of ascertaining, “whether or
no the lad had metal.”[41]
-----
Footnote 41:
Mr. Bagenal provoked Harvey to challenge him. They met. Harvey fired,
and missed. “D—n you, you young rascal,” cried Bagenal, “do you know
that you had like to kill your _god-father_? Go back to Dunlickry, you
dog, and have a good breakfast got ready for us. I only wanted to see
if you were _stout_.”
-----
Harvey’s person was extremely unimposing. He was about five feet four
inches in height; and that ancient enemy of all beauty, the small-pox,
had shown him no mercy, every feature being sadly crimped thereby. His
sharp peaked chin never approached toward a contact with his cravat, but
left a thin scraggy throat to give an impoverished hungry cast to the
whole contour, by no means adapted to the mien and port of a “commander
of the forces.” His scanty hair generally hung in straight flakes, and
did not even pretend to be an ornament to his visage; his eye was quick
but unmeaning; his figure thin and ill put together; his limbs short,
slight, and wabbling; his address cheerful, but tremulous. On the whole,
a more unprepossessing or unmartial-like person was never moulded by
capricious nature.
Yet Harvey was a very good-tempered friendly man, and a hearty
companion. In common life he was extremely well conducted, and in the
society of the bar often amusing, and never out of humour.
He was the greatest punster of his profession, and piqued himself on
that qualification, in which he often succeeded admirably.[42] He had,
in short, that sort of partial popularity with his bar contemporaries as
rendered them always glad to have him in their society; but it was
seldom any one inquired what had become of him when he was out of it. He
had an ample store of individual courage; feared not single combat, and
fought several duels intrepidly, though I do not think he ever
_provoked_ one. He shot Sir Harding Giffard, late Chief Justice of
Ceylon, and obtained a very droll name through that achievement, which
never forsook him during his lifetime.
-----
Footnote 42:
I cannot omit introducing here one of his puns, because he ran a great
risk of being _shot_ for making it. A gentleman of the bar, married to
a lady who had lost all her front teeth, and squinted so curiously
that she appeared nearly blind, happened to be speaking of another
lady who had run away from her husband. “Well,” said Harvey, “you have
some _comfort_ as to _your_ wife.”
“What do you mean, sir?” said the barrister.
“I mean that if once you should lose Mrs. ——, you will never be able
to _i_-_dent_-ify her.”
If Mr. —— had cared a farthing for his wife, it would have been
impossible to reconcile this joke to him.
The above was an inferior pun, but it was to the _point_, and created
great merriment.
-----
Harvey was a person of the best fortune in his quarter of the county; of
a Protestant family; and, being charitable and benevolent to his
tenantry, was much beloved by them. Nobody in fact could dislike him:
though he was flippant, he did not want sense; and presented an
excellent example of those contradictory qualities so often discoverable
in the same individual. He was considered by the heads of the United
Irishmen to be well adapted—as a man of fortune and local influence in
the most disaffected portion of their strongest county—to forward their
objects: and he suffered his vanity so far to overcome his judgment, as,
without the slightest experience, to assume the command of a great
army—for which purpose there were few men in Ireland so utterly unfit.
In his martial office, his head became totally bewildered; the sphere of
action was too great—the object struggled for, too comprehensive. Nor
did even his _personal_ courage follow him to the field. His bravery, as
against a single man, was neutralised in a tumult; and a mind naturally
intrepid became bewildered, puzzled, and impotent. Amidst the roar of
cannon, and the hurly-burly of the tumultuous and sanguinary battle of
Ross, his presence of mind wholly forsook him, and he lost the day by
want of tact and absence of spirit. His men fought hand to hand in the
streets of Ross with the regular troops, of whom they slew a
considerable number, including the Earl of Mountjoy; nor did they at
last retire until they had not a single officer left to continue the
engagement or lead them on to a renewed attack—which in all probability
would have been effectual. Never did human beings show more decided
bravery than the Irish peasantry in that bloody engagement. Thrice the
town was theirs, and was finally lost by their inebriety and want of
proper officers. Had Harvey captured New Ross, all Munster would have
risen in his cause; and then indeed no royalist could have anticipated
without dread the consequences. Officers and arms would have made the
whole country inevitably theirs. When Wexford was retaken, Harvey
concealed himself on an island, but was discovered, brought to that
town, and without much ceremony hanged next day upon the bridge, toward
the erection of which he had largely subscribed.
I could not but feel extreme regret at the sad fate which befell my old
friend and school-fellow, who did not meet his destiny quite so firmly
as his original manly bearing had inclined people to expect:—poor
fellow! he idly strove by entreaty to avert, or at least retard it; and
its infliction was aggravated by every species of indignity. In every
thing except his politics, Harvey’s character was unimpeachable.
I never knew two persons much more dissimilar than were the
commander-in-chief of the insurgents and the rebel governor of Wexford,
Captain Keogh. The latter was a retired captain of the British service,
who had fought in America, and, like many others, had there received a
lesson on _civil liberty_ which never escaped his memory. He was married
to an aunt of Lady Barrington; and, for many years, when I went the
circuit, I lived at his house, and had conceived the greatest friendship
for him. He was a very clever man. His housekeeping was characterised by
neatness, regularity, and cheerfulness. Every thing was good of its
kind; and in that plentiful country, even luxuries were abundant. Calm,
determined, moderate, and gentlemanly, Captain Keogh combined good sense
with firmness and spirit. But, most unfortunately, ill-treatment
sustained from Lord Chancellor Clare perverted half his good qualities,
and metamorphosed him into a partizan, which was far from being his
natural tendency.
He had a fine soldier-like person, above the middle size; his
countenance was excellent; his features regular and engaging; his hair,
rather scanty, receded from his forehead; his eyes were penetrating and
expressive; and his complexion exhibited that partial ruddiness which we
so frequently see in fine men approaching threescore. He was appointed
rebel governor of Wexford, but among those savages soon lost his
popularity; and had the insurgents continued much longer masters of the
place, he would surely have been assassinated. He did what he durst on
the side of humanity, and had supposed that his orders would be obeyed:
but he was deceived; blood, and blood in torrents, was the object of
_both_ parties during that horrid summer. On the surrender of the town,
Keogh was immediately convicted under martial law. He pleaded for
himself; and I learn that on that occasion every body was affected. He
knew his situation to be irretrievable, and his life forfeit; and he
conducted himself at his execution with the utmost firmness, as became a
gentleman and a soldier. He was hanged and beheaded on the bridge of
which he also was a proprietor; and his head, as mentioned in a former
volume (Vol. i.), was exhibited on a spike over the court-house door.
A singular circumstance occurred in Keogh’s house while the rebels were
in possession of Wexford. His brother, a retired major in the British
army, had also served in America, and lived with the captain in Wexford,
but was a most enthusiastic royalist. Upon the rebels taking the place,
he endeavoured to dissuade his brother from accepting the office of
governor, but failing in the attempt, he retired to his own room and
immediately blew his brains out!
The next of my friends and connexions who suffered by the hands of the
executioner, was Mr. Cornelius Grogan of Johnstown Castle, a gentleman
of large fortune, and great local interest and connexion. He had been
twice high-sheriff and representative in Parliament for the county. He
resided three miles from Wexford at his castle, where he had a deer-park
of one thousand acres of good ground, besides a fine demesne. He lived
as a quiet, though hospitable country gentleman. At this unfortunate
period he had passed his seventieth year, and was such a martyr to the
gout that his hands were wrapped up in flannel; and half carried, half
hobbling upon crutches, he proceeded to the place of execution.
Mr. Grogan was in person short and dark-complexioned. His countenance,
however, was not disagreeable, and he had in every respect the address
and manners of a man of rank. His two brothers commanded yeomanry corps.
One of them was killed at the head of his corps (the Castletown cavalry)
at the battle of Arklaw; the other was wounded at the head of _his_
troop (the Healtford cavalry) during Major Maxwell’s retreat from
Wexford.
The form of a trial was thought necessary by General Lake for a
gentleman of so much importance in his county. His case was afterward
brought before Parliament, and argued for three successive days and
nearly nights. His _crime_ consisted in having been surrounded by a
rebel army, which placed him under the surveillance of numerous
ruffians. They forced him one day into the town on horseback;—a rebel of
the appropriate name of Savage always attending him with a blunderbuss,
and orders to shoot him if he refused their commands. They one day
nominated him a _commissary_, knowing that his numerous tenantry would
be more willing in consequence to supply them. He used no weapon of any
sort;—indeed, was too feeble even to _hold_ one. A lady of the name of
Seagriff gave evidence that her family were in want of food, and that
she got Mr. Grogan to give her an _order_ for some bread, which order
was obeyed by the insurgents. She procured some loaves, and supplied her
children; and for that bread (which saved a family from starvation) Mr.
Grogan was, on the lady’s evidence, sentenced to die as a felon—and
actually hanged, when already almost lifeless from pain, imprisonment,
age, and brutal treatment! The court-martial which tried him was not
sworn, and only mustered seven in number. _His_ witness was shot while
on the way to give evidence of his innocence; and while General Lake was
making merry with his staff, one of the first gentlemen in the county
(in every point his superior) was done to death almost before his
windows!
From my intimate knowledge of Mr. Grogan for several years, I can
venture to assert most unequivocally (and it is but justice to his
memory) that, though a person of independent mind and conduct as well as
fortune, and an opposition member of parliament, he was no more a
_rebel_ than his brothers, who signalised themselves in battle as
_loyalists_; and the survivor of whom was _rewarded_ by a posthumous
bill of attainder against the unfortunate gentleman in question, by
virtue of which estates of many thousands per annum were confiscated to
the king. (The survivor’s admitted _loyal_ brother had been killed in
battle only a few days before the other was executed.) This attainder
was one of the most flagitious acts ever promoted by any government:—but
after ten thousand pounds costs to crown officers, &c. had been
extracted from the property, the estates were restored. I spent the
summer of 1799 at Johnstown Castle, where I derived much private
information as to the most interesting events of that unfortunate era.
It is, of course, most painful to me to recollect those persons whose
lives were taken—some fairly—some, as I think, unfairly—at a time when
military law had no restraint, and enormities were daily committed
through it not much inferior to those practised by the rebels.
Sir Edward Crosby, a baronet with whom I was intimately acquainted, and
who also lived tranquilly, as a country gentleman, upon a moderate
fortune, near Carlow, was another person who always struck me to have
been _murdered_ by martial law. There was not even a rational _pretence_
for _his_ execution. His trial, with all its attending documents, has
been published, and his innocence, in fact, made manifest. The president
of the martial court was one Major Dennis, who some time after quitted
the service—I shall not mention why. The sentence on Sir Edward was
confirmed by Sir Charles Asgill, I must suppose through gross
misrepresentation, as Sir Charles had himself known enough about
_hanging_ (though personally innocent) in America, to have rendered him
more merciful, or at least more cautious in executing the first baronet
of Ireland.
The entire innocence of Sir Edward Crosby has since, as I just now
mentioned, been acknowledged by all parties. His manners were mild and
well-bred: he was tall and genteel in appearance; and upward of fifty
years of age. He had a wife who loved him; and was every way a happy man
till he was borne to execution without the slightest cause. He was the
elder brother of my old college friend, Balloon Crosby, whom I have
heretofore mentioned in relating my _rencontre_ with Mr. Daly. (See Vol.
ii.) He did not die with the courage of Keogh, but hoped for mercy to
the last minute, relying on the interference of his old friend Judge
Downes, who, however, proved but a broken reed.