It was in 1797 that sorrow again visited the happy circle at
Edgeworth Town, and Edgeworth wrote thus of his wife to Dr. Darwin:
'She declines rapidly. But her mind suffers as little as possible. I
am convinced from all that I have seen, that good sense diminishes
all the evils of life, and alleviates even the inevitable pain of
declining health. By good sense, I mean that habit of the
understanding which employs itself in forming just estimates of
every object that lies before it, and in regulating the temper and
conduct. Mrs. Edgeworth, ever since I knew her, has carefully
improved and cultivated this faculty; and I do not think I ever saw
any person extract more good, and suffer less evil, than she has,
from the events of life. . . .'
Mrs. Edgeworth died in the autumn of the year 1797. Maria adds: 'I
have heard my father say, that during the seventeen years of his
marriage with this lady, he never once saw her out of temper, and
never received from her an unkind word or an angry look,'
Edgeworth paid the same compliment to his third wife which he had
done to his second--he quickly replaced her. His fourth wife was
the daughter of Dr. Beaufort, a highly cultivated man, whose family
were great friends of Mrs. Ruxton, Edgeworth's sister. Edgeworth
wrote a long letter about scientific matters to Darwin, and kept his
most important news to the last: 'I am going to be married to a
young lady of small fortune and large accomplishments,--compared
with my age, much youth (not quite thirty), and more prudence--some
beauty, more sense--uncommon talents, more uncommon temper,--liked by
my family, loved by me. If I can say all this three years hence,
shall not I have been a fortunate, not to say a wise man?'
Maria adds: 'A few days after the preceding letter was written, we
heard that a conspiracy had been discovered in Dublin, that the city
was under arms, and its inhabitants in the greatest terror. Dr.
Beaufort and his family were there; my father, who was at Edgeworth
Town, set out immediately to join them.
'On his way he met an intimate friend of his; one stage they
travelled together, and a singular conversation passed. This friend,
who as yet knew nothing of my father's intentions, began to speak of
the marriage of some other person, and to exclaim against the folly
and imprudence of any man's marrying in such disturbed times. "No
man of honour, sense or feeling, would incumber himself with a wife
at such a time!" My father urged that this was just the time when a
man of honour, sense, or feeling would wish, if he loved a woman, to
unite his fate with hers, to acquire the right of being her
protector.
'The conversation dropped there. But presently they talked of public
affairs--of the important measure expected to be proposed, of a
union between England and Ireland--of what would probably be said
and done in the next session of Parliament: my father, foreseeing
that this important national question would probably come on, had
just obtained a seat in Parliament. His friend, not knowing or
recollecting this, began to speak of the imprudence of commencing a
political career late in life.
'"No man, you know," said he, "but a fool, would venture to make a
first speech in Parliament, or to marry, after he was fifty."
'My father laughed, and surrendering all title to wisdom, declared
that, though he was past fifty, he was actually going in a few days,
as he hoped, to be married, and in a few months would probably make
his "first speech in Parliament."
'He found Dublin as it had been described to him under arms, in
dreadful expectation. The timely apprehension of the heads of the
conspiracy at this crisis prevented a revolution, and saved the
capital. But the danger for the country seemed by no means over,
--insurrections, which were to have been general and simultaneous,
broke out in different parts of the kingdom. The confessions of a
conspirator, who had turned informer, and the papers seized and
published, proved that there existed in the country a deep and
widely spread spirit of rebellion. . . .
'Instead of delaying his marriage, which some would have advised, my
father urged for an immediate day. On the 31st of May he was
married to Miss Beaufort, by her brother, the Rev. William Beaufort,
at St. Anne's Church in Dublin. They came down to Edgeworth Town
immediately, through a part of the country that was in actual
insurrection. Late in the evening they arrived safe at home, and my
father presented his bride to his expecting, anxious family.
'Of her first entrance and appearance that evening I can recollect
only the general impression, that it was quite natural, without
effort or pretension. The chief thing remarkable was, that she, of
whom we were all thinking so much, seemed to think so little of
herself. . . .
'The sisters of the late Mrs. Edgeworth, those excellent aunts (Mrs.
Mary and Charlotte Sneyd), instead of returning to their English
friends and relations, remained at Edgeworth Town. This was an
auspicious omen to the common people in our neighbourhood, by whom
they were universally beloved--it spoke well, they said, for the new
lady. In his own family, the union and happiness she would secure
were soon felt, but her superior qualities, her accurate knowledge,
judgment, and abilities, in decision and in action, appeared only as
occasions arose and called for them. She was found always equal to
the occasion, and superior to the expectation.'
Maria had not at first been in favour of her father's marrying Miss
Beaufort, but she soon changed her opinion after becoming intimate
with her, and writing of her father's choice of a wife says: 'He did
not late in life marry merely to please his own fancy, but he chose
a companion suited to himself, and a mother fit for his family.
This, of all the blessings we owe to him, has proved the greatest.'
The family at Edgeworth Town passed the summer quietly and happily,
but (Maria continues) 'towards the autumn of the year 1798, this
country became in such a state that the necessity of resorting to
the sword seemed imminent. Even in the county of Longford, which had
so long remained quiet, alarming symptoms appeared, not immediately
in our neighbourhood, but within six or seven miles of us, near
Granard. The people were leagued in secret rebellion, and waited
only for the expected arrival of the French army to break out. In
the adjacent counties military law had been proclaimed, and our
village was within a mile of the bounds of the disturbed county of
Westmeath. Though his own tenantry, and all in whom he put trust,
were as quiet, and, as far as he could judge, as well-disposed as
ever, yet my father was aware, from information of too good
authority to be doubted, that there were disaffected persons in the
vicinity.
'Numbers held themselves in abeyance, not so much from disloyalty,
as from fear that they should be ultimately the conquered party.
Those who were really and actually engaged, and in communication
with the rebels and with the foreign enemy, were so secret and
cunning that no proofs could be obtained against them.
'One instance may be given. A Mr. Pallas, who lived at Growse Hall,
lately received information that a certain offender was to be found
in a lone house, which was described to him. He took a party of men
with him in the night, and he got to the house very early in the
morning. It was scarcely light. The soldiers searched, but no man
was to be found. Mr. Pallas ordered them to search again, for that
he was certain the man was in the house; they searched again, but in
vain; they gave up the point, and were preparing to mount their
horses, when one man, who had stayed a little behind his companions,
saw, or thought he saw, something move at the end of the garden
behind the house. He looked, and beheld a man's arm come out of the
ground: he ran to the spot and called to his companions; but the arm
disappeared; they searched, but nothing was to be seen; and though
the soldier still persisted in his story, he was not believed
"Come," cries one of the party, "don't waste your time here looking
for an apparition among these cabbage-stalks--go back once more to
the house!" They went to the house, and lo! there stood the man they
were in search of in the middle of the kitchen.
'Upon examination it was found that from his garden to his house
there had been practiced a secret passage underground: a large
meal-chest in the kitchen had a false bottom, which lifted up and
down at pleasure, to let him into his subterraneous dwelling.
'Whenever he expected the house to be searched, down he went; the
moment the search was over, up he came; and had practised this with
success, till he grew rash, and returned one moment too soon. . . .
'Previous to this time, the principal gentry in the county had
raised corps of yeomanry; but my father had delayed doing so,
because, as long as the civil authority had been sufficient, he was
unwilling to resort to military interference, or to the ultimate law
of force, of the abuse of which he had seen too many recent
examples. However, it now became necessary, even for the sake of
justice to his own tenantry, that they should be put upon a footing
with others, have equal security of protection, and an opportunity
of evincing their loyal dispositions. He raised a corps of infantry,
into which he admitted Catholics as well as Protestants. This was so
unusual, and thought to be so hazardous a degree of liberality, that
by some of an opposite party it was attributed to the worst motives.
Many who wished him well came privately to let him know of the odium
to which he exposed himself.
'The corps of Edgeworth Town infantry was raised, but the arms were,
by some mistake of the ordnance officer, delayed. The anxiety for
their arrival was extreme, for every day and every hour the French
were expected to land.
'The alarm was now so general that many sent their families out of
the country. My father was still in hopes that we might safely
remain. At the first appearance of disturbance in Ireland he had
offered to carry his sisters-in-law, the Mrs. Sneyd, to their
friends in England, but this offer they refused. Of the domestics,
three men were English and Protestant, two Irish and Catholic; the
women were all Irish and Catholic excepting the housekeeper, an
Englishwoman who had lived with us many years. There were no
dissensions or suspicions between the Catholics and the Protestants
in the family; and the English servants did not desire to quit us at
this crisis.
'At last came the dreaded news. The French, who landed at Killala,
were, as we learned, on their march towards Longford. The touch of
Ithuriel's spear could not have been more sudden or effectual than
the arrival of this intelligence in showing people in their real
forms. In some faces joy struggled for a moment with feigned sorrow,
and then, encouraged by sympathy, yielded to the natural expression.
Still my father had no reason to distrust those in whom he had
placed confidence; his tenants were steady; he saw no change in any
of the men of his corps, though they were in the most perilous
situation, having rendered themselves obnoxious to the rebels and
invaders by becoming yeomen, and yet standing without means of
resistance or defence, their arms not having arrived.
'The evening of the day when the news of the success and approach of
the French came to Edgeworth Town all seemed quiet; but early next
morning, September 4th, a report reached us that the rebels were up
in arms within a mile of the village, pouring in from the county of
Westmeath hundreds strong.
'This much being certain, that men armed with pikes were assembled,
my father sent off an express to the next garrison town (Longford)
requesting the commanding officer to send him assistance for the
defence of this place. He desired us to be prepared to set out at a
moment's warning. We were under this uncertainty, when an escort
with an ammunition cart passed through the village on its way to
Longford. It contained several barrels of powder, intended to blow
up the bridges, and to stop the progress of the enemy. One of the
officers of the party rode up to our house and offered to let us
have the advantage of his escort. But, after a few minutes'
deliberation, this friendly proposal was declined: my father
determined that he would not stir till he knew whether he could have
assistance; and as it did not appear as yet absolutely necessary
that we should go, we stayed--fortunately for us.
'About a quarter of an hour after the officer and the escort had
departed, we, who were all assembled in the portico of the house,
heard a report like a loud clap of thunder. The doors and windows
shook with some violent concussion; a few minutes afterwards the
officer galloped into the yard, and threw himself off his horse into
my father's arms almost senseless. The ammunition cart had blown up,
one of the officers had been severely wounded, and the horses and
the man leading them killed; the wounded officer was at a farmhouse
on the Longford road, at about two miles' distance. The fear of the
rebels was now suspended in concern for this accident; Mrs.
Edgeworth went immediately to give her assistance; she left her
carriage for the use of the wounded gentleman, and rode back. At the
entrance of the village she was stopped by a gentleman in great
terror, who, taking hold of the bridle of her horse, begged her not
to attempt to go farther, assuring her that the rebels were coming
into the town. But she answered that she must and would return to
her family. She rode on, and found us waiting anxiously for her. No
assistance could be afforded from Longford; the rebels were
reassembling, and advancing towards the village; and there was no
alternative but to leave our house as fast as possible. One of our
carriages having been left with the wounded officer, we had but one
at this moment for our whole family, eleven in number. No mode of
conveyance could be had for some of our female servants; our
faithful English housekeeper offered to stay till the return of the
carriage, which had been left with the officer; and as we could not
carry her, we were obliged, most reluctantly, to leave her behind to
follow, as we hoped, immediately. As we passed through the village
we heard nothing but the entreaties, lamentations, and objurations
of those who could not procure the means of carrying off their goods
or their families; most painful when we could give no assistance.
'Next to the safety of his own family, my father's greatest anxiety
was for his defenceless corps. No men could behave better than they
did at this first moment of trial. Not one absented himself, though
many, living at a distance, might, if they had been so inclined,
have found plausible excuses for non-appearance.
'He ordered them to march to Longford. The idea of going to
Longford could not be agreeable to many of them, who were Catholics.
There was no reluctance shown, however, by the Catholics of this
corps to go among those who called themselves Orangemen.
'We expected every instant to hear the shout of the rebels entering
Edgeworth Town. When we had got about half-a-mile out of the
village, my father suddenly recollected that he had left on his
table a paper containing a list of his corps, and that, if this
should come into the hands of the rebels, it might be of dangerous
consequence to his men; it would serve to point out their houses for
pillage, and their families for destruction. He turned his horse
instantly and galloped back for it. The time of his absence appeared
immeasurably long, but he returned safely after having destroyed the
dangerous paper.
'Longford was crowded with yeomanry of various corps, and with the
inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who had flocked thither for
protection. With great difficulty the poor Edgeworth Town infantry
found lodgings. We were cordially received by the landlady of a
good inn. Though her house was, as she said, fuller than it could
hold, as she was an old friend of my father's, she did contrive to
give us two rooms, in which we eleven were thankful to find
ourselves. All our concern now was for those we had left behind. We
heard nothing of our housekeeper all night, and were exceedingly
alarmed; but early the next morning, to our great joy, she
arrived. She told us that, after we had left her, she waited hour
after hour for the carriage; she could hear nothing of it, as
it had gone to Longford with the wounded officer. Towards evening,
a large body of rebels entered the village; she heard them at the
gate, and expected that they would have broken in the next instant;
but one, who seemed to be a leader, with a pike in his hand, set his
back against the gate, and swore that, if he was to die for it the
next minute, he would have the life of the first man who should open
that gate or set enemy's foot withinside of that place. He said the
housekeeper, who was left in it, was a good gentlewoman, and had
done him a service, though she did not know him, nor he her. He had
never seen her face, but she had, the year before, lent his wife,
when in distress, sixteen shillings, the rent of flax-ground, and he
would stand her friend now.
'He kept back the mob: they agreed to send him to the house with a
deputation of six, to know the truth, and to ask for arms. The six
men went to the back door and summoned the housekeeper; one of them
pointed his blunderbuss at her, and told her that she must fetch all
the arms in the house; she said she had none. Her champion asked her
to say if she remembered him. "No," to her knowledge she had never
seen his face. He asked if she remembered having lent a woman money
to pay her rent of flaxground the year before. "Yes," she remembered
that, and named the woman, the time, and the sum. His companions
were thus satisfied of the truth of what he had asserted. He bid her
not to be frighted, for that no harm should happen to her, nor any
belonging to her; not a soul should get leave to go into her
master's house; not a twig should be touched, nor a leaf harmed. His
companions huzzaed and went off. Afterwards, as she was told, he
mounted guard at the gate during the whole time the rebels were in
the town.
'When the carriage at last returned, it was stopped by the rebels,
who filled the street; they held their pikes to the horses and to
the coachman's breast, accusing him of being an Orangeman, because,
as they said, he wore the orange colours (our livery being yellow
and brown). A painter, a friend of ours, who had been that day at
our house, copying some old family portraits, happened to be in the
street at that instant, and called out to the mob, "Gentlemen, it
is yellow! Gentlemen, it is not orange!" In consequence of this
happy distinction they let go the coachman; and the same man who had
mounted guard at the gate, came up with his friends, rescued the
carriage, and surrounding the coachman with their pikes brought him
safely into the yard. The pole of the carriage having been broken in
the first onset, the housekeeper could not leave Edgeworth Town till
morning. She passed the night in walking up and down, listening and
watching, but the rebels returned no more, and thus our house was
saved by the gratitude of a single individual.
'We had scarcely time to rejoice in the escape of our housekeeper
and safety of our house, when we found that new dangers arose even
from this escape. The house being saved created jealousy and
suspicion in the minds of many, who at this time saw everything
through the mist of party prejudice. The dislike to my father's
corps appeared every hour more strong. He saw the consequences that
might arise from the slightest breaking out of quarrel. It was not
possible for him to send his men, unarmed as they still were, to
their homes, lest they should be destroyed by the rebels; yet the
officers of the other corps wished to have them sent out of the
town, and to this effect joined in a memorial to government. Some
of these officers disliked my father, from differences of
electioneering interests; others, from his not having kept up an
acquaintance with them; and others, not knowing him in the least,
were misled by party reports and misrepresentations.
'These petty dissensions were, however, at one moment suspended and
forgotten in a general sense of danger. An express arrived late one
night with the news that the French, who were rapidly advancing,
were within a few miles of the town of Longford. A panic seized the
people. There were in the town eighty of the carabineers and two
corps of yeomanry, but it was proposed to evacuate the garrison. My
father strongly opposed this measure, and undertook, with fifty men,
if arms and ammunition were supplied, to defend the gaol of
Longford, where there was a strong pass, at which the enemy might be
stopped. He urged that a stand might be made there till the King's
army should come up. The offer was gladly accepted--men, arms, and
ammunition, all he could want or desire, were placed at his
disposal. He slept that night in the gaol, with everything prepared
for its defence; but the next morning fresh news came, that the
French had turned off from the Longford Road, and were going towards
Granard; of this, however, there was no certainty. My father, by the
desire of the commanding officer, rode out to reconnoitre, and my
brother went to the top of the courthouse with a telescope for the
same purpose. We (Mrs. Edgeworth, my aunts, my sisters, and myself)
were waiting to hear the result in one of the upper sitting-rooms of
the inn, which fronted the street. We heard a loud shout, and going
to the window, we saw the people throwing up their hats, and heard
huzzas. An express had arrived with news that the French and the
rebels had been beaten; that General Lake had come up with them at a
place called Ballynamuck, near Granard; that 1500 rebels and French
were killed, and that the French generals and officers were
prisoners.
'We were impatient for my father, when we heard this joyful news;
he had not yet returned, and we looked out of the window in hopes of
seeing him; but we could see only a great number of people of the
town shaking hands with each other. This lasted a few minutes, and
then the crowd gathered in silence round one man, who spoke with
angry vehemence and gesticulation, stamping, and frequently wiping
his forehead. We thought he was a mountebank haranguing the
populace, till we saw that he wore a uniform. Listening with
curiosity to hear what he was saying, we observed that he looked up
towards us, and we thought we heard him pronounce the names of my
father and brother in tones of insult. We could scarcely believe
what we heard him say. Pointing up to the top of the court-house, he
exclaimed, "That young Edgeworth ought to be dragged down from the
top of that house."
'Our housekeeper burst into the room, so much terrified she could
hardly speak.
'"My master, ma'am!--it is all against my master. The mob say they
will tear him to pieces, if they catch hold of him. They say he 's
a traitor, that he illuminated the gaol to deliver it up to the
French."
'No words can give an idea of our astonishment. "Illuminated!" What
could be meant by the gaol being illuminated? My father had
literally but two farthing candles, by the light of which he had
been reading the newspaper late the preceding night. These, however,
were said to be signals for the enemy. The absurdity of the whole
was so glaring that we could scarcely conceive the danger to be
real, but our pale landlady's fears were urgent; she dreaded that
her house should be pulled down.
'We wrote immediately to the commanding officer, informing him of
what we had heard, and requesting his advice and assistance. He came
to us, and recommended that we should send a messenger to warn Mr.
Edgeworth of his danger, and to request that he would not return to
Longford that day. The officer added that, in consequence of the
rejoicings for the victory, his men would probably be all drunk in a
few hours, and that he could not answer for them. This officer, a
captain of yeomanry, was a good-natured but inefficient man, who
spoke under considerable nervous agitation, and seemed desirous to
do all he could, but not to be able to do anything. We wrote
instantly, and with difficulty found a man who undertook to convey
the note. It was to be carried to meet him on one road, and Mrs.
Edgeworth and I determined to drive out to meet him on the other. We
made our way down a back staircase into the inn yard, where the
carriage was ready. Several gentlemen spoke to us as we got into the
carriage, begging us not to be alarmed: Mrs. Edgeworth answered that
she was more surprised than alarmed. The commanding officer and the
sovereign of Longford walked by the side of the carriage through the
town; and as the mob believed that we were going away not to return,
we got through without much molestation. We went a few miles on the
road toward Edgeworth Town, till at a tenant's house we heard that
my father had passed half an hour ago; that he was riding in company
with an officer, supposed to be of Lord Cornwallis's or General
Lake's army; that they had taken a short cut, which led into
Longford by another entrance:--most fortunately, not that at which
an armed mob had assembled, expecting the object of their fury.
Seeing him return to the inn with an officer of the King's army,
they imagined, as we were afterwards told, that he was brought back
a prisoner, and they were satisfied.
'The moment we saw him safe, we laughed at our own fears, and again
doubted the reality of the danger, more especially as he treated the
idea with the utmost incredulity and scorn.
'Major (now General) Eustace was the officer who returned with him.
He dined with us; everything appeared quiet. The persons who had
taken refuge at the inn were now gone to their homes, and it was
supposed that, whatever dispositions to riot had existed, the news
of the approach of some of Lord Cornwallis's suite, or of troops who
were to bring in the French prisoners, would prevent all probability
of disturbance. In the evening the prisoners arrived at the inn; a
crowd followed them, but quietly. A sun-burnt, coarse-looking man,
in a huge cocked hat, with a quantity of gold lace on his clothes,
seemed to fix all attention; he was pointed out as the French
General Homberg, or Sarrazin. As he dismounted from his horse, he
threw the bridle over its neck, and looked at the animal as being
his only friend.
'We heard my father in the evening ask Major Eustace to walk with
him through the town to the barrack-yard to evening parade; and we
saw them go out together without our feeling the slightest
apprehension. We remained at the inn. By this time Colonel
Handfield, Major Cannon, and some other officers, had arrived, and
they were at the inn at dinner in a parlour on the ground-floor,
under our room. It being hot weather, the windows were open. Nothing
now seemed to be thought of but rejoicings for the victory. Candles
were preparing for the illumination; waiters, chambermaids,
landlady, were busy scooping turnips and potatoes for candlesticks,
to stand in every pane of every loyal window.
'In the midst of this preparation, half an hour after my father had
left us, we heard a great uproar in the street. At first we thought
the shouts were only rejoicings for victory, but as they came nearer
we heard screechings and yellings indescribably horrible. A mob had
gathered at the gates of the barrack-yard, and joined by many
soldiers of the yeomanry on leaving parade, had followed Major
Eustace and my father from the barracks. The Major being this
evening in coloured clothes, the people no longer knew him to be an
officer, nor conceived, as they had done before, that Mr. Edgeworth
was his prisoner. The mob had not contented themselves with the
horrid yells that they heard, but had been pelting them with hard
turf, stones, and brickbats. From one of these my father received a
blow on the side of his head, which came with such force as to
stagger and almost to stun him; but he kept himself from falling,
knowing that if he once fell he would be trampled under foot. He
walked on steadily till he came within a few yards of the inn, when
one of the mob seized hold of Major Eustace by the collar. My father
seeing the windows of the inn open, called with a loud voice, "Major
Eustace is in danger!"
'The officers, who were at dinner, and who till that moment had
supposed the noise in the street to be only drunken rejoicings,
immediately ran out and rescued Major Eustace and my father. At the
sight of British officers and drawn swords, the populace gave way,
and dispersed in different directions.
'The preparation for the illumination then went on as if nothing had
intervened. All the panes of our windows in the front room were in a
blaze of light by the time the mob returned through the street. The
night passed without further disturbance.
'As early as we could the next morning we left Longford, and
returned homewards, all danger from rebels being now over, and the
Rebellion having been terminated by the late battle.
'When we came near Edgeworth Town, we saw many well-known faces at
the cabin doors looking out to welcome us. One man, who was digging
in his field by the roadside, when he looked up as our horses
passed, and saw my father, let fall his spade and clasped his hands;
his face, as the morning sun shone upon it, was the strongest
picture of joy I ever saw. The village was a melancholy spectacle;
windows shattered and doors broken. But though the mischief done was
great, there had been little pillage. Within our gates we found all
property safe; literally "not a twig touched, nor a leaf harmed."
Within the house everything was as we had left it--a map that we had
been consulting was still open upon the library table, with pencils,
and slips of paper containing the first lessons in arithmetic, in
which some of the young people had been engaged the morning we had
driven from home; a pansy, in a glass of water, which one of the
children had been copying, was still on the chimney-piece. These
trivial circumstances, marking repose and tranquillity, struck us at
this moment with an unreasonable sort of surprise, and all that had
passed seemed like an incoherent dream. The joy of having my father
in safety remained, and gratitude to Heaven for his preservation.
These feelings spread inexpressible pleasure over what seemed to be
a new sense of existence. Even the most common things appeared
delightful; the green lawn, the still groves, the birds singing, the
fresh air, all external nature, and all the goods and conveniences
of life, seemed to have wonderfully increased in value from the fear
into which we had been put of losing them irrevocably.
'The first thing my father did, the day we came home, was to draw
up a memorial to the Lord-Lieutenant, desiring to have a
court-martial held on the sergeant who, by haranguing the populace,
had raised the mob at Longford; his next care was to walk through
the village, to examine what damage had been done by the rebels, and
to order that repairs of all his tenants' houses should be made at
his expense. A few days after our return, Government ordered that
the arms of the Edgeworth Town infantry should be forwarded by the
commanding-officer at Longford. Through the whole of their hard
week's trial the corps had, without any exception, behaved perfectly
well. It was perhaps more difficult to honest and brave men
passively to bear such a trial than any to which they could have
been exposed in action.
'When the arms for the corps arrived, my father, in delivering them
to the men, thanked them publicly for their conduct, assuring them
that he would remember it whenever he should have opportunities of
serving them, collectively or individually. In long-after years, as
occasions arose, each who continued to deserve it found in him a
friend, and felt that he more than fulfilled his promise. . . .
Before we quit this subject, it may be useful to record that the
French generals who headed this invasion declared they had been
completely deceived as to the state of Ireland. They had expected to
find the people in open rebellion, or at least, in their own phrase,
organised for insurrection; but to their dismay they found only
ragamuffins, as they called them, who, in joining their standard,
did them infinitely more harm than good. It is a pity that the lower
Irish could not hear the contemptuous manner in which the French,
both officers and soldiers, spoke of them and of their country. The
generals described the stratagems which had been practised upon them
by their good allies--the same rebels frequently returning with
different tones and new stories, to obtain double and treble
provisions of arms, ammunition, and uniforms--selling the ammunition
for whisky, and running away at the first fire in the day of battle.
The French, detesting and despising those by whom they had been thus
cheated, pillaged, and deserted, called them beggars, rascals, and
savages. They cursed also without scruple their own Directory for
sending them, after they had, as they boasted, conquered the world,
to be at last beaten on an Irish bog. Officers and soldiers joined
in swearing that they would never return to a country where they
could find neither bread, wine, nor discipline, and where the people
lived on roots, whisky, and lying.'
Maria ends this exciting chapter of the Memoirs with these moral
reflections: 'At all times it is disadvantageous to those who have
the reputation of being men of superior abilities, to seclude
themselves from the world. It raises a belief that they despise
those with whom they do not associate; and this supposed contempt
creates real aversion. The being accused of pride or singularity may
not, perhaps, in the estimation of some lofty spirits and
independent characters, appear too great a price to pay for liberty
and leisure; they will care little if they be misunderstood or
misrepresented by the vulgar; they will trust to truth and time to
do them justice. This may be all well in ordinary life, and in
peaceable days; but in civil commotions the best and the wisest, if
he have not made himself publicly known, so as to connect himself
with the interests and feelings of his neighbours, will find none to
answer for his character if it be attacked, or to warn him of the
secret machinations of his enemies; none who on any sudden emergency
will risk their own safety in his defence: he may fall and be
trampled upon by numbers, simply because it is nobody's business or
pleasure to rally to his aid. Time and reason right his character,
and may bring all who have injured, or all who have mistaken him, to
repentance and shame, but in the interval he must suffer--he may
perish.'