Passion for duelling in Ireland—Ancient duel before the judges and law
authorities, &c. &c. at the Castle of Dublin—List of official and
judicial duellists in author’s time—Family weapons described—The
Fire-eaters’ Society—Their chiefs—Elegant institution of the Knights
of Tara—Description of them—Their exhibitions and meetings—The rules
of duelling and points of honour established by the fire-eaters,
called the Thirty-six Commandments—Singular duel between the author
and Mr. Richard Daley, a remarkable duellist and fop—Daley
hit—Author’s second the celebrated Balloon Crosby—His singular
appearance and character.
It may be objected that anecdotes of duelling have more than their due
proportion of space in these sketches, and that no writer should publish
feats of that nature (if feats they can be called), especially when
performed by persons holding grave offices, or by public functionaries.
These are very plausible, rational observations, and are now anticipated
for the purpose of being answered.
It might be considered a sufficient excuse, that these anecdotes refer
to events long past; that they are amusing, and the more so as being
matters of _fact_, (neither romance nor exaggeration,) and so various
that no two of them are at all similar. But a better reason can be
given;—namely, that there is no other species of detail or anecdote
which so clearly illustrates the character, genius, and manners of a
country, as that which exemplifies the distinguishing propensities of
its population for successive ages. Much knowledge of a people will
necessarily be gained by possessing such a series of anecdotes, and by
then going on to trace the decline of such propensities to the progress
of civilization in that class of society where they had been prevalent.
As to the objection founded on the rank or profession of the parties
concerned, it is only necessary to subjoin the following _short_
abstract from a long list of official duellists who have figured away in
my time, and some of them before my eyes.—The number of grave personages
who appear to have adopted the national taste, (though in most instances
it was undoubtedly before their elevation to the bench that they
signalised themselves in single combat,) removes from me all imputation
of pitching upon and exposing an unusual frailty; and I think I may
challenge any country in Europe to show such an assemblage of gallant
_judicial_ and _official_ antagonists at fire and sword as is exhibited
even in the following list.[1]
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Footnote 1:
Single combat was formerly a very prevalent and favourite mode of
_administering justice_ in Ireland; the _letter_ of that law existed
in England; and, not being considered so brutal as bullfights, or
other beastly amusements of that nature, it was legally authorised,
and frequently performed before the high authorities and their ladies,
in the castle-yard of Dublin;—_bishops_, _judges_, and other persons
of high office, generally honouring the spectacle with their presence.
The last exhibition of that nature I have read of was between two
Irish gentlemen, Connor Mac Cormac O’Connor, and Teige Mac Kilpatrick
O’Connor. They fought with broadswords and skeens (large knives), in
the castle of Dublin, in the presence of the archbishop and all the
chief authorities and ladies of rank. They had hewed each other for a
full hour, when Mr. Mac Kilpatrick O’Connor happening to miss his
footing, Mr. Mac Cormac O’Connor began to cut his head off very
expertly with his knife; which, after a good deal of cutting,
struggling, and hacking, he was at length so fortunate as to effect;
and, having got the head clear off the shoulders, he handed it to the
lords justices (who were present), and by whom the head and neck was
most graciously received.
-----
Earl Clare, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, fought the Master of the
Rolls, the Right Honourable John Philpot Curran, with
twelve-inch pistols.
The Earl of Clonmell, Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, fought
Lord Tyrawly, about his wife, and the Earl Landaff, about his
sister; and others, with sword or pistol, on miscellaneous
subjects.
The Judge of the County of Dublin, Egan, fought the Master of
the Rolls, Roger Barrett,[2] and _three_ others; one with
swords.
-----
Footnote 2:
On the duel between Judge Egan and Counsellor Roger Barret a
curious incident occurred, of hackneyed celebrity, but very
illustrative of that volatile eccentricity with which the
gravest events were frequently accompanied in that country.
On the combatants taking their ground (secundum
consuetudinem), Roger (who was the _challenger_) immediately
fired without much aim, and missing his antagonist, coolly
said, “Egan, now my honour is satisfied,” and began to walk
away with great stateliness and composure.
The judge, however, (who had not fired,) cried aloud, “Hulloa,
Roger—hulloa!—stop—stop, Roger; come back here; stay till I
take a _shot_ at your _honour_!”
Roger obeyed; and with the same composure cried out, “Very
well, fire away, Jack.”
Egan presented, and seemed by his motions determined to finish
Roger:—at length he cried out, “Pho! pho! I won’t humour you,
by G—d! I wouldn’t be _bothered_ shooting you, Roger!—so now
you may go to the devil your own road; or _shake hands_,
whichever you like best.”
The finale may be anticipated. This circumstance is truly
Irish; it took place on the site of Donnybrook fair, and some
hundreds of _amateurs_ were present.
-----
The Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Right Honourable Isaac
Corry, fought the Right Honourable Henry Grattan, a privy
counsellor, and the chancellor was hit. He also exchanged shots
or thrusts with _two_ other gentlemen.
A baron of the exchequer, Baron Medge, fought his brother-in-law
and _two_ others—a hit.
The Chief Justice, C. P., Lord Norbury, fought Fire-eater
Fitzgerald, and _two_ other gentlemen, muzzle to muzzle, and
frightened Napper Tandy and several besides: one hit
only.—Napper was near being hanged for _running away_!
The Judge of the Prerogative Court, Doctor Duigenan, fought
_one_ barrister and frightened _another_ on the ground.—The
latter case a very curious one.
The First Counsel to the Revenue, Henry Deane Grady, Esq., K.
C., fought Counsellor O’Maher, Counsellor Campbell, and
others:—very stout work.
The Right Honourable the Master of the Rolls fought Lord
Buckinghamshire, (Chief Secretary, &c.) because he would not
dismiss an official person.
The Provost of the University of Dublin, the Right Honourable
Hely Hutchinson, fought Mr. Doyle, master in Chancery: they went
to the plains of Minden to fight!
N.B. The spirit of the Hutchinson family was proverbial, and
their good nature was no less so.
The Chief Justice C. P. Patterson fought _three_ country
gentlemen, one of them with swords, another with guns, and
wounded _all_ of them.
The Right Honourable George Ogle, the Orange chieftain, a privy
counsellor, fought Barny Coyle, a whiskey distiller, because he
was a _papist_.—They fired eight shots without stop or stay, and
no hit occurred: but Mr. Ogle’s second broke his own arm by
tumbling into a potatoe-trench.
Sir Harding Gifford, late Chief Justice of Ceylon, fought the
rebel General Bagenal Harvey at a place called the Scalp, near
Dublin. The Chief Justice received a severe, but very _odd_
wound.—He eventually, however, suffered no important injury.
Counsellor Dan O’Connell fought the Orange chieftain, who had
been _halloo’d_ at him by the corporation. The champion of
Protestant ascendancy never rose to fight again.
The Collector of the Customs of Dublin, the Honourable Francis
Hutchinson, fought the Right Honourable Lord Mountnorris:—a hit.
_Cum multis aliis quæ nunc enumerare longum est._
The reader of this dignified list (which, as I have said, is only a
_very_ short abridgment[3]) will surely see no great indecorum in an
Admiralty Judge having now and then, when required so to do, exchanged
_broadsides_, more especially as they did not militate against the law
of nations, and no _ghost_ was the consequence.
-----
Footnote 3:
Two hundred and twenty-seven memorable duels have actually been fought
during my grand climacteric.
-----
However, it must be owned that there were occasionally _peaceable_ and
_forgiving_ instances among the barristers.—A brave, thrice-proven, but
certainly capricious individual, Mr. Curran, was whipped by a very
_savage_ nobleman, Lord Clanmorris; and another eminent barrister was
_said_ to have had his eye saluted by a messenger from a gentleman’s
lips in the body of the House of Commons.—Yet both those little
_incivilities_ were arranged very amicably, and without the aid of any
deadly weapon whatsoever, I suppose for _variety’s_ sake. But the people
of Dublin used to observe, that a _judgment_ came upon Counsellor
O’Callaghan, for having kept his friend, Mr. Curran, _quiet_ in the
horse-whipping affair, inasmuch as his own brains were literally
scattered about the ground by a Galway attorney very soon after he had
turned pacificator.
To speak after the manner of a _Bulletin_:—“In my time, the number of
killed and wounded among the bar was very considerable.—The other
learned professions suffered much less.”
It is nearly incredible what a singular passion the Irish gentlemen
(though in general excellent-tempered fellows) formerly had for fighting
each other and immediately becoming friends again. A duel was indeed
considered a necessary piece of a young man’s _education_, but by no
means a ground for any future animosity with his opponent:—on the
contrary, proving the bravery of both, it only cemented their
friendship.
One of the most humane men existing, an intimate friend of mine, and a
prominent and benevolent public character, but who (as the expression
then was) had frequently played both “hilt to hilt” and “muzzle to
muzzle,” in desperate rencontres, was heard endeavouring to keep a
little son of his quiet who was crying for something:—“Come, now, do be
a good boy! Come, now,” said my friend, “don’t cry, and I’ll give you a
case of nice little _pistols_ to-morrow. Come, now, don’t cry, and we’ll
shoot them all in the morning.”—“Oh, yes! yes! papa! we’ll _shoot them
all_ in the morning!” responded the child, drying his little eyes and
delighted at the notion.
I have heard Sir Charles Ormsby, who affected to be a wit, though at
best but a humourist and _gourmand_, liken the story of my friend and
his son to a butcher at Nenagh, who in a similar manner wanted to keep
_his_ son from crying, and effectually stopped his tears by
saying,—“Come, now, be a good boy! don’t cry, and you shall _kill a
lamb_ to-morrow! now, won’t you be good?”—“Oh yes, yes,” said the child,
sobbing; “Father, is the _lamb ready_?”
Within my recollection, this national relish for fighting was nearly
universal,—originating (I think) in the spirit and habits of former
times. When men had a glowing ambition to excel in all manner of feats
and exercises, as their forefathers had done, they naturally conceived
that single combat in an _honest_ way (that is, not knowing _which_
would be perforated) was the most chivalrous and gentlemanly of all
possible accomplishments; and this idea gave rise to an assiduous
cultivation of personal tactics, and dictated _laws_ for carrying them
into execution with regularity, honour, and dispatch, among the nobility
and gentry of that punctilious nation.
About the year 1777, _Fire-eating_ was in great repute in Ireland. No
young fellow could _finish his education_ till he had exchanged shots
with some of his friends or acquaintances. The first questions asked as
to a young man’s respectability and qualifications (particularly when he
proposed for a lady-wife) were, “What family is he of?”—“Did he ever
_blaze_?”—His _fortune_ was then the last inquiry; because the reply was
seldom satisfactory.
Tipperary and Galway were the ablest schools of the duelling science.
Galway was most scientific at the sword: Tipperary most practical and
prized at the pistol: Mayo not amiss at either: Roscommon and Sligo had
many professors and a high reputation in the leaden branch of the
pastime.
When I was at the university, Jemmy Keogh, _Buck English_,[4] Cosey
Harrison, Crowe Ryan, Reddy Long, Amby Bodkin, Squire Fulton, Squire
Blake, Amby Fitzgerald, Terry Magrath, and some others, were supposed to
understand the _points of honour_ better than any men in Ireland, and
were constantly referred to.—Terry Magrath especially was counted a very
good opinion.
-----
Footnote 4:
The celebrated Buck English was expelled for killing by foul play, and
had like to be hanged. The “Fire-eaters” _outlawed_ him.—Foul play was
never known to occur in that society—save in this instance. English
was saved, on his trial, by _one_ juror holding out against his
_eleven_ brethren:—however, as they could not agree, Baron Hamilton
ordered them all to be packed in turf kishes, conveyed on cars to the
boundary of the county, twenty-seven miles off, and there discharged
on foot. At the ensuing assizes all the witnesses against English were
duly disposed of—none appeared—and he was acquitted of course.
-----
In the North, the Fallons and the Fentons were the first hands at it;
and most counties could then boast their regular _point-of-honour_ men.
The late chief justice of the common pleas was supposed to understand
_the thing_ as well as any gentleman in Ireland, and was frequently
referred to by the high circles.
In truth, these oracles were in general gentlemen of good connexions[5]
and most respectable families, otherwise nobody would either fight or
consult them.
-----
Footnote 5:
There was an association in the year 1782, (a volunteer corps) which
was called the “Independent Light Horse.” They were not confined to
one district, and none could be admitted but the younger brothers of
the most respectable families. They were all both “hilt and muzzle
adepts;”—and, that no member might set himself up as greater than
another, every individual of the corps was obliged, on entering, to
give his honour “that he could cover his fortune with the crown of his
hat, and had exchanged a shot or thrust before he was ballotted for.”
Roscommon and Sligo then furnished some of the finest young fellows
(fire-eaters) I ever saw: their spirit and decorum were equally
admirable, and their honour and liberality conspicuous on all
occasions.
-----
Every family had then a case of hereditary pistols, which descended as
an heir-loom, together with a long silver-hilted sword, for the use of
their posterity. Our family pistols, denominated _pelters_, were brass
(I believe my second brother has them still): the barrels were very long
and _point-blankers_. They were included in the armoury of our ancient
castle of Ballynakill in the reign of Elizabeth, (the stocks, locks, and
hair-triggers were, however, modern,) and had descended from father to
son from that period: one of them was named “_sweet lips_,” the other
“_the darling_.” The family rapier was called “_skiver the pullet_” by
my grand-uncle, Captain Wheeler Barrington, who had fought with it
repeatedly and run through different parts of their persons several
Scots officers, who had challenged him all at once for some national
reflection. It was a very long, narrow-bladed, straight cut-and-thrust,
as sharp as a razor, with a silver hilt, and a guard of buff leather
inside it. I kept this rapier as a curiosity for some time; but it was
stolen during my absence at Temple.
I knew Jemmy Keogh extremely well, when he was pretty old. He was
considered in the main a _peace-maker_, for he did not like any body to
fight but himself; and it was universally admitted that he never killed
any man who did not well deserve it. He was a plausible, although
black-looking fellow, with remarkably thick, long, curled eyebrows
closing with a tuft over his nose. He spoke deliberately, reasoned well,
and never showed passion. When determined to fight, his brows knit, his
eyes fixed, and (as an antagonist) he cut a very unprepossessing figure.
I never heard that he was wounded. When he tried to _restrain_ his
anger, he set his teeth, kept his tongue a close prisoner, and appeared
like one with a locked jaw. No man was more universally known in
Ireland. He unfortunately shot a _cripple_ in the Phœnix Park, which,
though fair enough, did him great mischief. He was land-agent to Bourke
of Glinsk, to whom he always officiated as second.
At length, so many quarrels arose without sufficiently _dignified_
provocation, and so many things were considered as quarrels _of course_,
which were not quarrels at all,—that the principal fire-eaters of the
South clearly saw disrepute was likely to be thrown both on the science
and its professors, and thought it full time to interfere and arrange
matters upon a proper, steady, rational, and moderate footing; and to
regulate the time, place, and other circumstances of duelling, so as to
govern all Ireland on one principle—thus establishing a uniform,
national code of the _lex pugnandi_; proving, as Hugo Grotius did, that
it was for the benefit of all belligerents to adopt the same
regulations.
In furtherance of this object, a _branch society_ had been formed in
Dublin termed the “Knights of Tara,” which met once a month at the
theatre, Capel-street, gave premiums for fencing, and proceeded in the
most laudably systematic manner. The amount of admission-money was laid
out on silver cups, and given to the best fencers, as prizes, at
quarterly exhibitions of pupils and amateurs.
Fencing with the small-sword is certainly a most beautiful and noble
exercise: its practice confers a fine, bold, manly carriage, a dignified
mien, a firm step, and graceful motion. But, alas! its professors are
now supplanted by contemptible groups of smirking quadrillers with
unweaponed belts, stuffed breasts, and strangled loins!—a set of
squeaking dandies, whose sex may be readily mistaken, or, I should
rather say, is of _no_ consequence.
The theatre of the Knights of Tara, on these occasions, was always
overflowing:—the combatants were dressed in close cambric jackets,
garnished with ribbons, each wearing the favourite colour of his fair
one: bunches of ribbons also dangled at their knees, and roses adorned
their morocco slippers, which had buff soles, to prevent noise in their
lunges. No masks or visors were used as in these more timorous times; on
the contrary, every feature was uncovered, and its inflections all
visible. The ladies appeared in full morning dresses, each handing his
foil to her champion for the day, and their presence animating the
singular exhibition. The prizes were handed to the conquerors by the
fair ones from the stage-boxes, accompanied each with a wreath of
laurel, and a smile then more valued than a hundred victories! The tips
of the foils were blackened, and therefore instantly betrayed the hits
on the cambric jacket, and proclaimed without doubt the successful
combatant. All was decorum, gallantry, spirit, and good temper.
The Knights of Tara also had a select committee to decide on all actual
questions of honour referred to them:—to reconcile differences, if
possible; if not, to adjust the terms and continuance of single combat.
Doubtful points were solved generally on the peaceable side, provided
women were not insulted or defamed; but when that was the case, the
knights were obdurate, and blood must be seen. They were constituted by
ballot, something in the manner of the Jockey Club; but without the
possibility of being dishonourable, or the opportunity of cheating each
other.
This most agreeable and useful association did not last above two or
three years. I cannot tell why it broke up: I rather think, however, the
original fire-eaters thought it frivolous, or did not like their own
ascendancy to be rivalled. It was said that they threatened direct
hostilities against the knights; and I am the more disposed to believe
this, because, soon after, a comprehensive code of the laws and points
of honour was issued from the Southern fire-eaters, with directions that
it should be strictly observed by all gentlemen throughout the kingdom,
and kept in their pistol-cases, that ignorance might never be pleaded.
This code was not circulated in print, but very numerous written copies
were sent to the different county clubs, &c. My father got one for his
sons; and I transcribed most of it on some blank leaves. These rules
brought the whole business of duelling into a focus, and have been much
acted upon down to the present day. They called them in Galway “the
_thirty-six_ commandments.”