--Their Manner of Swearing
We have introduced an Irish outlaw, or tory, in the person of
Shawn-na-Middoque, and, as it may be necessary to afford the reader a
clearer insight into this subject, we shall give a short sketch of the
character and habits of the wild and lawless class to which he belonged.
The first description of those savage banditti that has come down to us
with a distinct and characteristic designation, is known as that of
the wild band of tories who overran the South and West of Ireland both
before the Revolution and after it. The actual signification of the word
_tory_, though now, and for a long time, the appellative of a political
party, is scarcely known except to the Irish scholar and historian. The
term proceeds from the Irish noun _toir_, a pursuit, a chase; and from
that comes its cognate, _toiree_, a person chased, or pursued--thereby
meaning an outlaw, from the fact that the individuals to whom it
was first applied were such as had, by their murders and robberies,
occasioned themselves to be put beyond the protection of all laws, and,
consequently, were considered outlaws, or tories, and liable to be shot
down without the intervention of judge or jury, as they often were,
wherever they could be seen or apprehended. We believe the word first
assumed its distinct character in the wars of Cromwell, as applied to
the wild freebooters of Ireland.
Tory-hunting was at one time absolutely a pastime in Ireland, in
consequence of this desperate body of people having proved the common
enemy of every class, without reference to either religious or political
distinction. We all remember the old nursery song, which, however
simple, is very significant, and affords us an excellent illustration of
their unfortunate condition, and the places of their usual retreat.
“I'll tell you a story about Johnny Magrory,
Who went to the wood and shot a tory;
I'll tell you another about his brother.
Who went to the wood and shot another.”
From this it is evident that the tories of the time of Cromwell and
Charles the Second were but the lineal descendants of the thievish wood
kernes mentioned by Spenser, or at least the inheritors of their
habits. Defoe attributes the establishment of the word in England to the
infamous Titus Oates.
“There was a meeting,” says he “(at which I was present), in the
city, upon the occasion of the discovery of some attempt to stifle the
evidence of the witnesses (about the Popish plot), and tampering with
Bedlow and Stephen Dugdale. Among the discourse Mr. Bedlow said 'he had
letters from Ireland; that there were some tories to be brought over
hither, who were privately to murder Dr. Oates and the said Bedlow.'
The doctor, whose zeal was very hot, could never hear any man after this
talk against the plot, or against the witnesses, but he thought he was
one of the tories, and called almost every man who opposed him in his
discourse a tory--till at last the word became popular. Hume's account
of it is not very much different from this.
“The court party,” says he, “reproached their antagonists with their
affinity to the fanatical conventiclers of Scotland, who were known by
the name of Whigs.* The country party found a resemblance between the
courtiers and the Popish banditti in Ireland, on whom the appellation of
tory was affixed. And after this manner these foolish terms of reproach
came into public and general use.”
* The word _whig_ is taken from the fact, that in Scotland
it was applied to milk that had become sour; and to this day
milk that has lost its sweetness is termed by the Scotch,
and their descendants in the north of Ireland, whigged milk.
It is evident, from Irish history, that the original tories, politically
speaking, belonged to no party whatever. They were simply thieves,
robbers, and murderers on their own account. Every man's hand was
against them, and certainly their hands were against every man. The fact
is, that in consequence of the predatory nature of Irish warfare, which
plundered, burned, and devastated as it went along, it was impossible
that thousands of the wretched Irish should not themselves be driven
by the most cruel necessity, for the preservation of their lives and of
those of their families, to become thieves and plunderers in absolute
self-defence. Their habitations, such as they were, having been
destroyed and laid in ruins, they were necessarily driven to seek
shelter in the woods, caves, and other fastnesses of the country, from
which they issued forth in desperate hordes, armed as well as they
could, to rob and to plunder for the very means of life. Goaded by
hunger and distress of every kind, those formidable and ferocious “wood
kernes” only paid the country back, by inflicting on it that plunder
and devastation which they had received at its hands. Neither is it
surprising that they should make no distinction in their depredations,
because they experienced, to their cost, that no “hosting,” on either
or any side, ever made a distinction with them. Whatever hand was
uppermost, whether in the sanguinary struggles of their rival chiefs, or
in those between the Irish and English, or Anglo-Irish, the result was
the same to them. If they were not robbed or burned out to-day, they
might be to-morrow; and under such circumstances to what purpose could
they be expected to exercise industrious or laborious habits, when they
knew that they might go to bed in comfort at night, and rise up beggars
in the morning? It is easy to see, then, that it was the lawless and
turbulent state of the country that reduced them to such a mode of life,
and drove them to make reprisals upon the property of others, in the
absence of any safe or systematic way of living. There is no doubt that
a principle of revenge and retaliation animated their proceedings, and
that they stood accountable for acts of great cruelty and murder, as
well as of robbery. The consequence necessarily was, that they felt
themselves beyond the protection of all law, and fearfully distinct in
the ferocity of their character from the more civilized population of
the country, which waged an exterminating warfare against them under the
sanction and by the assistance of whatever government existed.
It was about the year 1689 that they began to assume or to be
characterized by a different designation--we mean that of rapparees; so
called, it is said, from the fact of their using the half pike or short
rapier; although, for our part, we are inclined to think that they were
so termed from the word _rapio_, to plunder, which strikes us as the
most appropriate and obvious. At all events it is enough to say that the
_tories_ were absorbed in the rapparees, and their name in Ireland and
Great Britain, except as a political class, was forgotten and lost in
that of the rapparees, who long survived them.
Barney Casey was, as the reader must have perceived, a young fellow
of good sense and very acute observation. He had been, since an early
period of his youth, domesticated in the family of Mr. Lindsay, who
respected him highly for his attachment and integrity. He had a brother,
however, who, with his many good qualities, was idle and headstrong. His
name was Michael, and, sooth to say, the wild charm of a freebooter's
life, in addition to his own indisposition to labor for his living,
were more than the weak materials of his character could resist. He
consequently joined Shawn-na-Middogue and his gang, and preferred the
dangerous and licentious life of a robber and plunderer to that of
honesty and labor--precisely as many men connected with a seafaring life
prefer the habits of the smuggler or the pirate to those of the
more honorable or legitimate profession. Poor Barney exerted all his
influence with his brother with a hope of rescuing him from the society
and habits of hia dissolute companions, but to no purpose. It was a
life of danger and excitement--of plans and projects, and changes, and
chases, and unexpected encounters--of retaliation, and, occasionally,
the most dreadful revenge. Such, however, was the state of society at
that time, that those persons who had connected themselves with these
desperate outlaws were by no means afraid to pay occasional visits to
their own relatives, and from time to time to hold communication with
them. Nay, not only was this the fact, but, what is still more strange,
many persons who were related to individuals connected with this daring
and unmanageable class were in the habit of attending their nightly
meetings, sometimes for the purpose of preventing a robbery, or of
killing a family whom they wished to suffer.
One night, during this period of our narrative, Barney's brother
contrived to have secret interview with him for the purpose of
communicating some information to him which had reached his ears from
Shawn-na-Middogue, to the effect that Caterine Collins had admitted to
him (Shawn), upon his promise of marrying her--a promise made only for
the purpose of getting into her confidence, and making her useful as
an agent to his designs--that she knew, she said, that it was not his
brother Charles who had brought unfortunate Grace Davoren to ruin, but
Harry Woodward, and, she added, when it was too late, she suspected
something from his manner, of his intention to send Charles, on that
disastrous night, in his stead. But Shawn, who knew Caterine and her
connections well, recommended Michael Casey to apprise his brother that
he could not keep too sharp an eye upon the movements of both, but,
above all things, to try and induce him to set Woodward in such a way
that he could repair the blow upon him, which, in mistake, he had dealt
to his innocent brother. Now, although Barney almost detested Woodward,
yet he was incapable of abetting Shawn's designs upon Suit Balor.
“No,” said he to his brother, “I would die first. It is true I do not
like a bone in his body, but I will never lend myself to such a cowardly
act as that; besides, from all I know of Shawn, I did not think he would
stoop to murder.”
“Ay, but think of our companions,” replied hia brother, “and think too,
of what a notion they have of it. Shawn, however, is a different man
from most, if not all, of them--and he says he was urged on by a fit
of fury when he found the man, that he thought the destroyer of Grace
Davoren, speaking to her in such a lonely and suspicious place. It
was his intention to have bidden him to stand on his guard and defend
himself, but jealousy and revenge overcame him at the moment, and he
struck the blow. Thank God that it failed; but you may take my word
that the next won't--because Shawn now swears, that without preface or
apology, or one moment's warning, he will stab him to the heart wherever
he can meet him.”
“It's a bad life,” replied Barney, “that Shawn's leading; but, poor
fellow, he and his resaved hard treatment--their house and place torn
down and laid in rains, and instead of protection from government, they
found themselves proclaimed outlaws. What could he and they do?
But, Michael, it was a different thing with you. Our family were
comfortable--too much so, indeed, for you; you got idle habits and a
distaste for work, and so, rather than settle down to industry, you
should join them.”
“Ay, and so would you, if you knew the life we lead.”
“That might be,” replied his brother, “if I didn't happen to think of
the death you die.”
“As to that,” said Michael, “we have all made up our minds; shooting and
hanging will get nothing out of us but the death-laugh at our enemies.”
“Ay, enemies of your own making,” said Barney; “but as to the
death-laugh on the gallows, remember that that is at your own expense.
It will be what we call on the wrong side of the mouth, I think. But in
regard of these nightly meetings of yours, I would have no objection to
see one of them. Do you think I would be allowed to join you for an hour
or two, that I might hear and see what you say and do?”
“You may, Barney; but you know it isn't every one that would get that
privilege; but in ordher to make sure, I'll spake to Shawn about it.
Leave is light, they say; and as he knows you're not likely to turn a
spy upon our hands, I'm certain he won't have any objection.”
“When and where will you meet next?” asked Barney.
“On the very spot where Shawn struck his middogue into the body of
Masther Charles,” replied his brother. Shawn has some oath of revenge to
make against Woodward, because he suspects that the villain knows where
poor Granua Davoren is.”
“Well, on that subject he may take his own coorse,” replied Barney; “but
as for me, Michael, I neither care nor will think of the murdher of a
fellow-crature, no matther how wicked he may be, especially when I know
that it is planned for him. As a man and a Christian, I cannot lend
myself to it, and of coorse--but this is between ourselves--I will put
Mr. Woodward on his guard.”
Those were noble sentiments, considering the wild and licentious period
of which we write, and the dreadfully low estimate at which human life
was then held.
“Act as you like,” replied Michael; “but this I can tell you, and this I
do tell you, that if, for the safety of this villain, you take a single
step that may bring _Shawn-na-Middogue_ into danger, if you were my
brother ten times over I will not prevent him--Shawn I mean--from
letting loose his vengeance upon you. No, nor upon Rathfillan House and
all that it contains, you among the number.”
“I will do nothing,” replied Barney, firmly, “to bring Shawn or any of
you into danger; but as sure as I have a Christian soul to be saved, and
my life in my body, I will, as I said, put Mr. Harry Woodward upon his
guard against him. So now, if you think it proper to let me be present
at your meeting, knowing what you know, I will go, but not otherwise.”
“I feel, Barney,” said his brother, “that my mind is much hardened of
late by the society I keep. I remember when I thought murder as horrible
a thing as you do, but now it is not so. The planning and the plotting
of it is considered only as a good joke among us.”
“But why don't you lave them, then?” said Barney. “The pious principles
of our father and mother were never such as they practise and preach
among you. Why don't you lave them, I say?”
“Don't you know,” replied Michael, “that that step would be my death
warrant? Once we join them we must remain with them, let what may
happen. No man laving them, unless he gets clear of the country
altogether, may expect more than a week's lease of life; in general not
so much. They look upon him as a man that has been a spy among them, and
who has left them to make his peace, and gain a fortune from government
for betraying them; and you know how often it has happened.”
“It is too true, Michael,” replied his brother, “for unfortunately it
so happens that, whether for good or evil, Irishmen can never be got to
stand by each other. Ay, it is true--too true. In the meantime call on
me to-morrow with liberty from Shawn to attend your meeting, and we will
both go there together.”
“Very well,” replied his brother, “I will do so.”
The next night was one of tolerably clear moonlight; and about the
hour of twelve or one o'clock some twenty or twenty-five outlaws were
assembled immediately adjoining the spot where Charles Lindsay was
so severely and dangerously wounded. The appearance of those men was
singular and striking. Their garbs, we need scarcely inform our readers,
were different from those of the present day. Many--nay, most, if not
all of them, were bitter enemies to the law, which rendered it penal for
them to wear their glibs, and in consequence most of those present had
them in full perfection around their heads, over which was worn the
_barrad_ or Irish cap, which, however, was then beginning to fall into
desuetude. There was scarcely a man of them on whose countenance was not
stamped the expression of care, inward suffering, and, as it would seem,
the recollection of some grief or sorrow which had befallen themselves
or their families. There was something, consequently, determined and
utterly reckless in their faces, which denoted them to be men who had
set at defiance both the world and its laws. They all wore the _truis_,
the brogue, and beneath the cloaks which covered them were concealed the
celebrated Irish skean or mid-dogue, so that at the first glance they
presented the appearance of men who were in a peaceful garb and unarmed.
The persons of some of them were powerful and admirably symmetrical,
as could be guessed from their well-defined outlines. They arranged
themselves in a kind of circle around Shawn-na-Middogue, who stood in
the centre as their chief and leader. A spectator, however, could not
avoid observing that, owing to the peculiarity of their costume, which,
in consequence of their exclusion from society, not to mention the
poverty and hardship which they were obliged to suffer, their appearance
as a body was wild and almost savage. In their countenances was blended
a twofold expression, composed of ferocity and despair. They felt
themselves excommunicated, whether justly or not, from the world and its
institutions, and knew too well that society, and the laws by which it
is regulated and protected, were hunting them like beasts of prey for
their destruction. Perhaps they deserved it, and this consideration
may still more strongly account for their fierce and relentless-looking
aspect. There is, in the meantime, no doubt that, however wild,
ferocious, and savage they may have appeared, the strong and terrible
hand of injustice and oppression had much, too much, to do with the
crimes which they had committed, and which drove them out of the pale
of civilized life. Altogether the spectacle of their appearance there
on that night was a melancholy, as well as a fearful one, and ought to
teach statesmen that it is not by oppressive laws that the heart of man
can be improved, but that, on the contrary, when those who project and
enact them come to reap the harvest of their policy, they uniformly find
it one of violence and crime. So it has been since the world began,
and so it will be so long as it lasts, unless a more genial and humane
principle of legislation shall become the general system of managing,
and consequently, of improving society.
“Now, my friends,” said Shawn-na-Middogue, “you all know why we are
here. Unfortunate Granua Davoren has disappeared, and I have brought you
together that we may set about the task of recovering her, whether
she is living or dead. Even her heart-broken parents would feel it
a consolation to have her corpse in order that they might give it
Christian burial. It will be a shame and a disgrace to us if she is not
found, as I said, living or dead. Will you all promise to rest neither
night nor day till she is found? In that case swear it on your skeans.”
In a moment every skean was out, and, with one voice, they said, “By the
contents of this blessed iron, that has been sharpened for the hearts of
our oppressors, we will never rest, either by night or by day, till we
find her, living or dead”--every man then crossed himself and kissed his
skean--“and, what is more,” they added, “we will take vengeance upon the
villain that ruined her.”
“Hould,” said Shawn; “do you know who he is?”
“By all accounts,” they replied, “the man that you struck.”
“No!” exclaimed Shawn, “I struck the wrong man; and poor Granua was
right when she screamed out that I had murdered the innocent. But now,”
he added, “why am I here among you? I will tell you, although I suppose
the most of you know it already: it was good and generous Mr. Lindsay's
she-devil of a wife that did it; and it was her he-devil of a son, Harry
Woodward, that ruined Granua Davoren. My mother happened to say that
she was a heartless and tyrannical woman, that she had the Evil Eye,
and that a devil, under the name of Shan-dhinne-dhuv, belonged to her
family, and put her up to every kind of wickedness. This, which was
only the common report, reached her ears, and the consequence was that
because we were-behind in the rent only a single gale, she sent in her
bailiffs without the knowledge of her husband, who was from home at the
time, and left neither a bed under us nor a roof over us. At all events,
it is well for her that she was a woman; but she has a son born in her
own image, so far, at least, as a bad heart is concerned; that son is
the destroyer of Granua Davoren; but not a man of you must raise his
hand to him: he must be left to my vengeance. Caterine Collins has told
me much more about him, but it is useless to mention it. The Evil Spirit
I spoke of, the Shan-dhinne-dhuv, and he have been often seen together;
but no matter for that; he'll find the same spirit badly able to protect
him; so, as I said before, he must be left to my vengeance.”
“You mentioned Caterine Collins?” said one of them. “Caterine has
friends here, Shawn. What is your opinion of her?”
“Yes,” observed another, “she has friends here; but, then, she has
enemies too, men who have a good right to hate the ground she walks on.”
“Whatever my opinion of Caterine Collins may be,” said Shawn, “I will
keep it to myself; I only say, that the man who injures her is no friend
of mine. Isn't she a woman? And, surely, we are not to quarrel with, or
injure a defenceless woman.”
By this piece of policy Shawn gained considerable advantage. His purpose
was to preserve such an ascendency over that cunning and treacherous
woman as might enable him to make her useful in working out his own
designs, his object being, not only on that account, but for the sake
of his own personal safety, to stand well with both her friends and her
enemies.
Other matters were discussed, and plans of vengeance proposed and
assented to, the details of which would afford our readers but slight
gratification. After their projects had been arranged, this wild and
savage, but melancholy group, dispersed, and so intimately were
they acquainted with the intricacies of cover and retreat which then
characterized the surface of the country, that in a few minutes they
seemed rather to have vanished like spectres than to have disappeared
like living men. Shawn, however, remained behind in order to hold some
private conversation with Barney Casey.
“Barney,” said he, “I wish to speak, to you about that villain
Woodward.”
“I don't at all doubt,” replied this honest and manly peasant, “that he
is a villain; but at the same time, Shawn, you must remember that I am
not a tory, and that I will neither aid nor assist you in your designs
of murdher upon him. I received betther principles from my father and
the mother who bore me; and indeed I think the same thing may be said of
yourself, Shawn. Still and all, there is no doubt but that, unlike that
self-willed brother of mine, you had heavy provocation to join the life
you did.”
“Well, Barney,” replied Shawn, in a melancholy tone of voice, “if the
same oppressions were to come on us again, I think I would take another
course. My die, however, is cast, and I must abide by it. What I wanted
to say to you, however, is this:--You are livin' in the same house
with Woodward; keep your eye on him--watch him well and closely; he is
plotting evil for somebody.”
“Why,” said Barney, “how do you know that?”
“I have it,” replied Shawn, “from good authority. He has paid three
or four midnight visits to Sol, the herb docthor, and you know that a
greater old scoundrel than he is doesn't breathe the breath of life.
It has been long suspected that he is a poisoner, and they say that in
spite of the poverty he takes on him, he is rich and full of money.
It can be for no good, then, that Woodward consults him at such
unseasonable hours.”
“Ay; but who the devil could he think of poisoning?” said Barney. “I see
nobody he could wish to poison.”
“Maybe, for all that, the deed is done,” replied Shawn. “Where, for
instance, is unfortunate Granua? Who can tell that he hasn't dosed her?”
“I believe him villain enough to do it,” returned the other; “but still
I don't think he did. He was at home to my own knowledge the night
she disappeared, and could know nothing of what became of her. I think
that's a sure case.”
“Well,” said Shawn, “it may be so; but in the manetime his stolen
visits to the ould herb docthor are not for nothing. I end, then, as I
began--keep your eye on him; watch him closely--and now, good night.”
These hints were not thrown away upon Barney, who was naturally of an
observant turn; and accordingly he kept a stricter eye than ever upon
the motions of Harry Woodward. This accomplished gentleman, like every
villain of his class, was crafty and secret in everything he did and
said; that is to say, his object was always to lead those with whom
he held intercourse, to draw the wrong inference from his words and
actions. Even his mother, as the reader will learn, was not in his
full confidence. Such men, however, are so completely absorbed in the
management of their own plans, that the latent principle or motive
occasionally becomes apparent, without any consciousness of its
exhibition on their part. Barney soon had an opportunity of suspecting
this. His brother Charles, after what appeared to be a satisfactory
convalescence, began to relapse, and a fresh fever to set in. The first
person to communicate the melancholy intelligence to Woodward happened
to be Barney himself, who, on meeting him early in the morning, said,--
“I am sorry, Mr. Woodward, to tell you that Masther Charles is a great
deal worse; he spent a bad night, and it seems has got very feverish.”
A gleam of satisfaction--short and transient, but which, however, was
too significant to be misunderstood by such a sagacious observer as
Barney--flashed across his countenance--but only for a moment. He
recomposed his features, and assuming a look expressive of the deepest
sorrow, said,--
“Good heavens, Casey, do you tell me that my poor brother is worse, and
we all in such excellent spirits at what we considered his certain but
gradual recovery?”
“He is much worse, sir; and the masther this morning has strong doubts
of his recovery. He's in great affliction about him, and so are they
all. His loss would be felt in the neighborhood, for, indeed, it's he
that was well beloved by all who knew him.”
“He certainly was a most amiable and affectionate young fellow,” said
Woodward, “and, for my part, if he goes from us through the means of
that murdering blow, I shall hunt Shawn-na-Middogue to the death.”
“Will you take a friend's advice?” replied Barney: “we all of us wish,
of coorse, to die a Christian death upon our beds, that we may think
of the sins we have committed, and ask the pardon of our Saviour and
inthersessor for them. I say, then, if you wish to die such a death,
and to have time to repent of your sins, avoid coming across
Shawn-na-Middogue above all men in the world. I tell you this as a
friend, and now you're warned.”
Woodward paused, and his face became black with a spirit of vengeance.
“How does it happen, Casey,” he asked, “that you are able to give
me such a warning? You must have some particular information on the
subject.”
“The only information I have on the subject is this--that you are set
down among most people as the man who destroyed Grace Davoren, and not
your brother; Shawn believes this, and on that account, I say, it
will be well for you to avoid him. He believes, too, that you have her
concealed somewhere--although I don't think so; but if you have, Mr.
Woodward, it would be an act of great kindness--an act becomin' both
a gentleman and a Christian--to restore the unfortunate girl to her
parents.”
“I know no more about her than you do, Casey. How could I? Perhaps my
poor brother, when he is capable of it, may be able to afford us some
information on the subject. As it is I know nothing of it, but I shall
leave nothing undone to recover her if she be alive, or if the thing can
be accomplished. In the meantime all I can think of is the relapse of
my poor brother. Until he gets better I shall not be able to fix my mind
upon anything else. What is Grace Davoren or Shaivn-nu-Middogue--the
accursed scoundrel--to me, so long as my dear Charles is in a state of
danger?”
“Now,” said he, when they parted “now to work earth and hell to secure
Shaum-na-Middogue. He has got my secret concerning the girl Davoren, and
I feel that while he is at large I cannot be safe. There is a reward for
his head, whether alive or dead, but that I scorn. In the meantime, I
shall not lose an hour in getting together a band who will scour the
country along with myself, until we secure him. After that I shall be at
perfect liberty to work out my plans without either fear of, or danger
from, this murdering ruffian.”