THE ATTACK ON ROSSMORE.
The news that Churchtown Barracks had been burned down, and the greater
portion of its military defenders killed, spread, like wildfire, through
all parts of the kingdom. Magisterial and military inquiries did no more
than ascertain the facts, but the persons remained undiscovered. Many
were arrested on suspicion, but the actual perpetrators escaped. The
policy used was to collect them from distant points, so that domiciliary
visits from the patrols and the police in the neighbourhood where the
outrage had been committed found the peasantry within their own
habitations. Thus suspicion was diverted and detection almost
impossible--except by treachery.
Viewed through the magnifying glass of public rumor, the affair at
Churchtown appeared very great. In the dearth of more interesting
intelligence, it was such an event as the wonder-workers of the Press
delighted to snatch up as an especial theme for record and remark. The
London newspapers especially gloated over it. Day after day their
columns were filled with "important particulars of the massacre at
Churchtown, where the Irish rebels, in overpowering numbers, killed a
regiment of infantry and two troops of cavalry, burned the barracks to
the ground, and barbarously threw the soldiers' wives and children into
the flames, in which they were all consumed by the devouring element."
The affray was repeatedly mentioned in Parliament, where the changes
rung upon it produced quite a _variorum_ edition of horrors.
The Executive offered large rewards for such information as might lead
to the apprehension and conviction of the offenders. Though the required
knowledge was scattered among hundreds of the peasantry--hunger-stricken
men, who often wanted even salt to their potatoes--not one was found to
enrich himself by the "blood-money." Two descriptions of persons are
held in utter hatred and contempt in Ireland;--the man who, for lucre,
turns from the ancient faith of his fathers, and he who becomes a "stag"
(informer) to save his own neck, or gain the wages of treachery. Of the
two, the informer is considered more harshly than the apostate, who may
repent, and in the fulness of time return (even on his death-bed) to the
faith he has forsaken; but once that a man becomes a traitor to his
colleagues, he does what cannot be undone by any contrition, and may be
punished, but cannot be atoned for by Death. It is a strange condition
of society, lamented by O'Connell, Sheil, and others, that, in any
cases, while the Irish peasantry would pity, and even shield the
murderer, (finding or making excuses for his crime,) they will not,
they cannot pardon or excuse the informer.
Up to this time, Cussen had escaped suspicion of any participation in
the Whiteboy proceedings. Latterly, whether from distaste for the low
companionship into which he had fallen, or from a desire to elude
suspicion, he had made a point of frequenting society of a better order.
On one of these occasions, while he was spending the evening at the
house of Mr. F. Drew, Drewscourt, near Charleville,(in which, by the
way, the writer of these Sketches was born,) the affair of Churchtown
became a subject of conversation. Cussen took no part in the dialogue,
but when all had retired, except Mr. Drew--a very shrewd but eccentric
man--he spoke freely upon the subject, and having drank rather more than
was good for him, got thrown off his guard so much as, in the excitement
of the moment, to give a minute account of everything which had passed
on the memorable night in question. With fearful energy he narrated all
the details, and at the close, when he told how the mutilated body of
the sergeant had been cast into the flames,
"Even in his glance, the gladiator spoke."
The impression which his statement and his manner made upon his listener
was (as Frank Drew told me afterwards) that Cussen must have been a
principal in the frightful scenes which he so vividly described, or
must have had his information direct from an eye-witness and
participant. As the communication had been unguardedly made, and was
protected by the seal of that confidence which exists between guest and
host, the suspicion never found words until after it was too late to
harm Cussen.
The Churchtown insurgents remained undetected. Emboldened by success,
Cussen determined to make a bold attempt to obtain arms. His followers
strongly urged him to obtain fire-arms by attacks on the houses of
country gentlemen who were known to have provided themselves with large
means of defence.
Castletown Conyers (about three miles from Drewscourt) was the country
mansion of a gentleman of large property, not far from the boundary of
Limerick county. Mr. Conyers, an old gentleman whose loyalty and fears
were on a par, was living, when the predial disturbances broke out, in a
remote part of the county, and, having incontinently taken fright, had
applied to the Government for protection, and had a corporal and six of
the Rifle Brigade quartered in his house as a defensive force. Thus
garrisoned, the place might be considered a stronghold;--for, in
addition to the military force, Mr. Conyers had procured two or three
cases of Birmingham fowling-pieces, a few kegs of powder, a large bag of
flints (this was before the general use of percussion caps), and a
hundred weight of sheet lead, to be cast into bullets.
This formidable supply of arms and ammunition had reached Castletown
under strong military escort from Limerick, and report spoke of it as
even more considerable than it really was. With these munitions of war,
and the soldiers and the servants of the house, Castletown was one of
the most formidable places the Whiteboys could have thought of
attacking. Yet, with that characteristic, but calculating boldness,
which gave him eminence with his followers,
"For those who THINK must rule o'er those who TOIL,"
Cussen determined to invest this fortilage. The arms and ammunition were
what he wanted, for no one could harbor enmity against the owner of
Castletown, a harmless, neutral character, whose house was open to the
poor; while his wife, a matron of the olden school (she was half-sister
to Sir John Fitzgerald, now M. P. for Clare), was beloved throughout the
district, for her kindness and charity.
Cussen well knew that his party, numerous but badly armed, would have
but small chance of success in an ordinary attack upon Castletown, well
defended as it was. He determined to win by strategy what he could
scarcely gain by force. He usually preferred such exploits as could be
achieved rather by mental ingenuity than mere physical effect. To figure
as the contriver gratified him, and encouraged his followers' belief
that, no matter what the difficulty, his sagacity could bring it through
with success.
About a mile from Castletown, and yet more remote from other large
houses--for it was in a part of the country half-bog, half-mountain--was
Rossmore, the residence of Mr. John Shelton, owner of a considerable
property. Long confined to his chair by gout, which had deprived him of
the power of walking, he had not taken any part in the county
proceedings, as a magistrate. Nor, while other resident landlords were
soliciting assistance to protect their dwellings, had Mr. Shelton joined
in the entreaty. Isolated by habits and local situation, from the gentry
of the district, he believed that the Whiteboys would not obtrude on the
obscurity of one who felt that, as a good landlord, he did not deserve
ill at the hands of any one. Of his large family there were then
residing with him a son aged about eighteen, and two daughters some
years older. As Mr. Shelton was my own uncle, I can speak confidently as
to the details which I give.
About ten o'clock, on a fine evening in March, 1822, the peaceful
inhabitants of Rossmore House were disturbed by a Whiteboy visit. The
doors were speedily forced in, front and rear. The helpless
household offering no resistance, the intruders proceeded to make
themselves quite "at home." One division sat down in the servants' hall,
threw wood and turf on the fire, and commanded the trembling female
servants to cover the long table with provisions. Others ranged through
the adjacent apartments in search of arms. More loudly called out for
young Charles Shelton. The plan of Cussen was to take this lad to
Castletown a prisoner, and threaten to shoot him in sight of the
garrison there, unless all the arms and ammunition were given up. The
two families were on such friendly terms, besides being related, that
Cussen made sure of Mr. Conyers making any sacrifice rather than see his
neighbor's son killed. But, in very truth, (as I afterwards knew,)
whatever Mr. Conyers might have felt, the military force at Castletown
would rather have permitted the murder than part with the means of
defence--the catastrophe at Churchtown being in their minds.
Charles Shelton, who slept in an upper and remote apartment, did not
immediately hear the tumult below. His elder sister, Alicia, who had
high spirit and much self-possession, heard the clamour--readily
surmised the extreme danger of her brother--hastily arose, throwing a
shawl over her night dress--ran to her brother's room, the door of which
she locked, securing the key--and then went down boldly to face the
danger, if necessary.
While she stood near the door of the servants' hall, regarding what was
going on, but herself unseen, Cussen came in from the back-yard, having
kept aloof from the confusion until then. He was just in time. The
frightened servants, in compliance with loud demands for drink, had
placed the whiskey-jar upon the table. Knowing that success, and even
safety depended on such indulgence being abstained from, he broke the
jar with the fowling-piece he carried.
His men looked at each other, then at him, but his stern looks awed
them. One or two merely muttered a regret that "such prime stuff" should
be wasted.
Cussen then, as if anxious to avoid all chance of recognition, returned
to the back of the house. He wore a close-fitting skull-cap, with a slip
of crape in front, and could see whatever occurred. His followers were
more or less disguised, and all, except Cussen, had white shirts over
their garments--hence the name Whiteboy.
Perceiving the power of his leadership, Alicia Shelton determined not to
waste words or time in entreaties on the men, but to appeal at once to
Cussen. She managed to leave the house without being noticed--found
Cussen outside, leaning on his fowling-piece, in a thoughtful and
abstracted mood. To throw herself on her knees before him--to implore
him for the love of Heaven to save her brother's life--was the
impulsive action of a moment. He turned away, not even looking upon her,
and then--the present peril giving her new energy and courage--she
seized him by the coat-skirt and earnestly said, "You want to take my
brother to Castletown. There they will see him torn to pieces before
they will surrender their arms. You must know that it will be an idle
attempt. Then, in their disappointment, your men will kill him. Save
him--save my brother, if you have a human heart. I know that you will do
it, and I will bless you if you do."
She sank on the ground before him. He felt that she was speaking the
truth. Besides, he was moved by her entreaty. Raising her from the
ground, he said, in a kind and soothing manner, "Lady! I am afraid that
we must have your brother's company, but no harm shall reach him with my
consent."
Her convulsive grasp still held him. Striving to extricate himself, he
got into the moonlight, and then, for the first time, he had a view of
her features. She was very handsome; and now, with her dark hair
dishevelled, her eager glance, her graceful attitude, her earnest tone,
her light attire, she looked a Pythoness.
Cussen gazed long and anxiously on the still kneeling suppliant. Some
old memory may have passed through his mind in that brief space--a wave
in life's vast ocean. Perhaps some resemblance of form, feature, or
voice brought back a glimpse of bygone days of happiness and love. There
still was something tender in that troubled heart. He passed his hands
across his eyes, as if he would clear them from a mist, and then with a
gentle courtesy, as if they were in a ball-room, raised Miss Shelton
from the ground.
"Lady," said he, "whatever I can do to aid you, I will do. They have not
yet found your brother. If he be concealed, keep him so, and I will make
some pretext to draw off my men. They must have whatever arms are in the
house; but they shall be content with that."
Miss Shelton would have expressed her warm gratitude, but Cussen did not
wait to be thanked. He turned away then. While she yet lingered, with
clasped hands to heaven, he suddenly returned, politely raised his cap
from his head for a moment, took one of her hands in his, pressed his
lips to it, with the gallant air of a cavalier, and then withdrew.
Almost before Alicia Shelton had regained her own apartments, Cussen had
given his men the word to retire. He led them into the belief that the
military and police were approaching, and this made them hastily retreat
and disperse, taking with them all the arms in the house except a small
pair of pistols which Captain Shelton had picked up and brought away
with him from Waterloo. They are now in my own possession.
Before Miss Shelton had risen from her earnest thanksgiving for her
brother's safety, Captain Rock and his force had departed. She then
ventured into her father's room, from whence his bodily ailments did not
allow him to move, and was happy to learn that he had not heard the
tumult which had prevailed in the more distant part of the house. Thus
terminated a night of terror.