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.