None can either advance or retreat, if the ground be measured. If no
ground be measured, either party may advance at his pleasure, even
to touch muzzle; but neither can advance on his adversary after the
fire, unless the adversary step forward on him.
N.B. The seconds on both sides stand responsible for this last rule
being _strictly_ observed, bad cases having accrued from neglect of
it.
These rules and resolutions of the “Fire-eaters” and “Knights of Tara”
were the more deeply impressed on my mind, from my having run a great
chance of losing my life, when a member of the university, in
consequence of the strict observance of one of them. A young gentleman
of Galway, Mr. Richard Daly, then a Templar, had the greatest
predilection for single combat of any person (not a society fire-eater)
I ever recollect: he had fought sixteen duels in the space of two years;
three with swords and thirteen with pistols;—yet, with so little skill
or so much good fortune, that not a wound worth mentioning occurred in
the course of the whole. This gentleman was called to the Bar; figured
afterwards for many years as patentee of the Theatre Royal, Dublin; and
had the credit of first introducing that superior woman and actress,
Mrs. Jordan, when Miss Francis, on the Dublin boards.
I was surprised one winter’s evening by receiving a written challenge,
in the nature of an _invitation_, from Mr. Daly, to fight him early the
ensuing morning. I never had spoken a word to him in my life, and
scarcely _of_ him, and no possible cause of quarrel that I could guess
existed between us: however, it being then a decided opinion that a
first overture of that nature could _never_ be declined, I accepted the
_invitation_ without any inquiry; writing, in reply, that as to place, I
chose the field of Donnybrook fair as the fittest spot for _all_ sorts
of _encounters_. I had then to look out for a second, and resorted to a
person with whom I was very intimate, and who, as he was a curious
character, may be worth noticing. He was brother to the unfortunate Sir
Edward Crosby, Bart., who was murdered by a court-martial at Carlow,
May, 1798. My friend was afterward called “_Balloon_ Crosby,” being the
first aeronaut who constructed an Hibernian balloon, and ventured to
take a journey into the sky from Ireland (from Ranelagh Gardens).[7]
-----
Footnote 7:
His second ascent was a most unfortunate one for the _spectators_. It
took place from the Duke of Leinster’s lawn, Merrion-square: the
crowds outside were immense, and so many squeezed together and leaned
against a thick parapet wall fronting the street, that it yielded to
the weight and pressure, and the spectators and parapet wall came
tumbling down together a great depth. Several were killed and many
disabled; while Crosby sailed quietly over their heads, in all human
probability, to be drowned before an hour had expired.
-----
Crosby was of immense stature, being near six feet three inches high: he
had a comely-looking, fat, ruddy face, and was, beyond comparison, the
most ingenious mechanic I ever knew. He had a smattering of all
sciences, and there was scarcely an art or trade of which he had not
some practical knowledge. His chambers at college were like a general
workshop for all kinds of artisans: he was very good tempered,
exceedingly strong, and as brave as a lion—but as dogged as a mule:
nothing could change a resolution of his when once made; and nothing
could check or resist his perseverance to carry it into execution. He
highly approved of my promptness in accepting Daly’s invitation; but I
told him that I unluckily had no pistols, and did not know where to
procure any against the next morning. This puzzled him: but on
recollection, he said he had no complete pistols neither; but he had
some _old locks_, _barrels_, _and stocks_, which, as they did not
originally belong to each other, he should find it very difficult to
make any thing of: nevertheless, he would fall to work directly. He kept
me up till late at night in his chambers to help him in filing the old
locks and barrels, and endeavouring to patch up two or three of them so
as to go off and answer that individual job. Various trials were made:
much filing, drilling, and scouring were necessary. However, by two
o’clock in the morning we had completed three entire pistols, which,
though certainly of various lengths and of the most ludicrous
workmanship, struck their fire _right well_, and that was all we wanted
of them,—_symmetry_ (as he remarked) being of no great value upon
_these_ occasions.
It was before seven o’clock on the 20th of March, with a cold wind and a
sleety atmosphere, that we set out on foot for the field of Donnybrook
fair, after having taken some good chocolate and a plentiful draught of
cherry-brandy, to keep the cold wind out. On arriving, we saw my
antagonist and his friend (Jack Patterson, nephew to the chief justice)
already on the ground. I shall never forget Daly’s figure. He was a very
fine-looking young fellow, but with such a squint that it was totally
impossible to say what he looked at, except his nose, of which he never
lost sight. His dress (they had come in a coach) made me ashamed of my
own: he wore a pea-green coat; a large tucker with a diamond brooch
stuck in it; a three-cocked hat with a gold button-loop and tassels, and
silk stockings; and a _couteau-de-chasse_ hung gracefully dangling from
his thigh. In fact, he looked as if already standing in a state of
triumph, after having vanquished and trampled on his antagonist. I did
not half like his steady position, showy surface, and mysterious squint;
and I certainly would rather have exchanged _two_ shots with his
slovenly friend, Jack Patterson, than _one_ with so magnificent and
overbearing an adversary.
My friend Crosby, without any sort of salutation or prologue,
immediately cried out “_Ground_, gentlemen! _ground—ground!_ come, d—n
measurement, to work!” and placing me on his selected spot, whispered
into my ear “_Medio tutissimus ibis_: never look at the _head_ or the
_heels_: _hip_ the maccaroni! the hip for ever, my boy! hip,
hip!”—when my antagonist’s second, advancing and accosting mine, said,
Mr. Daly could not think of going any further with the business; that
he found it was totally a mistake on his part, originating through
misrepresentation, and that he begged to say he was extremely sorry
for having given Mr. Barrington and his friend the trouble of coming
out, hoping they would excuse it and shake hands with him. To this
arrangement I certainly had no sort of objection; but Crosby, without
hesitation, said, “We cannot do that _yet_ sir: I’ll _show_ you we
_can’t_: (taking a little manuscript book out of his breeches pocket,)
there’s the _rules_!—look at that, sir,” continued he, “see No.
7.:—‘No apology can be received _after_ the parties meet, _without a
fire_.’ You see, there’s the rule,” pursued Crosby, with infinite
self-satisfaction; “and a young man on his _first blood_ cannot break
rule, particularly with a gentleman so used to the sport as Mr. Daly.
Come, gentlemen, proceed! proceed!”
Daly appeared much displeased, but took his ground, without speaking a
word, about nine paces from me. He presented his pistol instantly, but
gave me most gallantly a full front.
It being, as Crosby said, my first blood, I lost no time, but let fly
without a single _second_ of delay, and without taking aim: Daly
staggered back two or three steps; put his hand to his breast; cried,
“I’m hit, sir!” and did not fire. Crosby gave me a slap on the back
which staggered me, and a squeeze of the hand which nearly crushed my
fingers. We got round him: his waistcoat was opened, and a black spot,
about the size of a crown-piece, with a little blood, appeared directly
on his breast-bone. I was greatly shocked: fortunately, however, the
ball had not penetrated; but his brooch had been broken, and a piece of
the setting was sticking fast in the bone. Crosby stamped, cursed the
damp powder or under-loading, and calmly pulled out the brooch: Daly
said not a word; put his cambric handkerchief doubled to his breast, and
bowed. I returned the salute, extremely glad to get out of the scrape,
and so we parted without conversation or ceremony; save that when I
expressed my wish to know the _cause_ of his challenging me, Daly
replied that he would _now_ give no such explanation, and _his_ friend
then produced his book of rules, quoting No. 8.:—“If a party challenged
accept the challenge without asking the reason of it, the challenger is
never bound to divulge it afterward.”
My friend Crosby, as I have mentioned, subsequently attempted to go off
from Dublin to England in a balloon of his own making, and dropped
between Dublin and Holyhead into the sea, but was saved. The poor fellow
some time after went abroad, and was supposed to have died far too early
for friendship,—which he was eminently capable of exciting. I never saw
two persons in face and figure more alike than Crosby and my friend
Daniel O’Connell: but Crosby was the taller by two inches, and it was
not _so_ easy to discover that he was an Irishman.[8]
-----
Footnote 8:
It has since been discovered that death did not master him for many
years after this report. His history is not a common one. I have
lately received a considerable quantity of documents and Mss.
collected or written during the period he was supposed to be dead, and
at many different places, till a late day. Most of them are to me
utterly unintelligible; but there is sufficient to furnish matter for
one of the most _curious memoirs_ that can be conceived, and
altogether novel. So multifarious, however, are the materials, that I
fear their due arrangement would be quite beyond my powers.
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