to the table, only turning his eye slightly about, to observe if his
brother accompanied him. “Denis,” said he, “which of us will swear
first? you may;” for, as he doubted his brother's firmness, he was
prudent enough, should he fail, to guard against having the sin of
perjury to answer for, along with those demands which his country had to
make for his other crimes. Denis took the book, and cast a slight glance
at his brother as if for encouragement; their eyes met, and the darkened
brow of Anthony hinted at the danger of flinching in this crisis. The
tremor of his hand was not, perhaps, visible to any but Anthony, who,
however, did not overlook this circumstance. He held the book, but
raised not his eye to meet the looks of either the magistrate or the
priests; the color also left his face, as with shrinking lips he touched
the Word of God in deliberate falsehood. Having then laid it down,
Anthony received it with a firm grasp, and whilst his eye turned boldly
in contemptuous mockery upon those who presented it, he impressed it
with the kiss of a man whose depraved conscience seemed to goad him only
to evil. After “clearing” himself, he laid the Bible upon the table with
the affected air of a person who felt hurt at the imputation of theft,
and joined the rest with a frown upon his countenance, and a smothered
curse upon his lips.
Just at this moment, a person from Cassidy's house laid upon the table a
small box covered with black cloth; and our readers will be surprised
to hear, that if fire had come down visibly from heaven, greater awe
and fear could not have been struck into their hearts, or depicted upon
their countenances. The casual conversation, and the commentaries upon
the ceremony they had witnessed, instantly settled into a most profound
silence, and every eye was turned towards it with an interest absolutely
fearful. “Let,” said the curate, “none of those who have sworn depart
from within the ring, until they once more clear themselves upon this;”
and as he spoke, he held it up--“Behold,” said he, “and tremble--behold
THE DONAGH!!!”
A low murmur of awe and astonishment burst from the people in general,
whilst those within the ring, who with few exceptions, were the worst
characters in the parish, appeared ready to sink into the earth. Their
countenances, for the most part, paled into the condemned hue of guilt;
many of them became almost unable to stand; and altogether, the state
of trepidation and terror in which they stood, was strikingly wild and
extraordinary.
The curate proceeded: “Let him now who is guilty depart; or if he
wishes, advance and challenge the awful penalty annexed to perjury upon
this! Who has ever been known to swear falsely upon the Donagh, without
being visited by a tremendous punishment, either on the spot, or in
twenty-four hours after his perjury? If we ourselves have not seen such
instances with our own eyes, it is because none liveth who dare incur
such dreadful penalty; but we have heard of those who did, and of
their awful punishment afterwards. Sudden death, madness, paralysis,
self-destruction, or the murder of some one dear to them, are the marks
by which perjury upon the Donagh is known and visited. Advance, now, ye
who are innocent, but let the guilty withdraw; for we do not desire to
witness the terrible vengeance which would attend a false oath upon the
Donagh. Pause, therefore, and be cautious! for if this grievous sin be
committed, a heavy punishment will fall, not only upon you, but upon the
parish in which it occurs!”
The words of the priest sounded to the guilty like the death-sentence
of a judge. Before he had concluded, all, except Meehan and his brother,
and a few who were really innocent, had slunk back out of the circle
into the crowd. Denis, however, became pale as a corpse; and from time
to time wiped the large drops from his haggard brow: even Anthony's
cheek, despite of his natural callousness, was less red; his eyes
became disturbed; but by their influence, he contrived to keep Denis in
sufficient dread, to prevent him from mingling, like the rest, among
the people. The few who remained along with them advanced; and
notwithstanding their innocence, when the Donagh was presented and the
figure of Christ and the Twelve Apostles displayed in the solemn tracery
of its carving, they exhibited symptoms of fear. With trembling hands
they touched the Donagh, and with trembling lips kissed the crucifix,
in attestation of their guiltlessness of the charge with which they had
been accused.
“Anthony and Denis Meehan, come forward,” said the curate, “and declare
your innocence of the crimes with which you are charged by the Cassidys
and others.”
Anthony advanced; but Denis stood rooted to the ground; on perceiving
which, the former sternly returned a step or two, and catching him by
the arm with an admonitory grip, that could not easily be misunderstood,
compelled him to proceed with himself step by step to the table. Denis,
however, could feel the strong man tremble and perceive that although
he strove to lash himself into the energy of despair, and the utter
disbelief of all religious sanction, yet the trial before him called
every slumbering prejudice and apprehension of his mind into active
power. This was a death-blow to his own resolution, or, rather it
confirmed him in his previous determination not to swear on the Donagh,
except to acknowledge his guilt, which he could scarcely prevent himself
from doing, such was the vacillating state of mind to winch he felt
himself reduced.
When Anthony reached the table, his huge form seemed to dilate by his
effort at maintaining the firmness necessary to support him in this
awful struggle between conscience and superstition on the one hand, and
guilt, habit, and infidelity on the other. He fixed his deep,
dilated eyes upon the Donagh, in a manner that betokened somewhat
of irresolution: his countenance fell; his color came and went, but
eventually settled in a flushed red; his powerful hands and arms
trembled so much, that he folded them to prevent his agitation from
being noticed; the grimness of his face ceased to be stern, while it
retained the blank expression of guilt; his temples swelled out with the
terrible play of their blood-vessels, his chest, too, heaved up and
down with the united pressure of guilt, and the tempest which shook him
within. At length he saw Denis's eye upon him, and his passions took a
new direction; he knit his brows at him with more than usual fierceness,
ground his teeth, and with a step and action of suppressed fury, he
placed his foot at the edge of the table, and bowing down under the
eye of God and man, took the awful oath on the mysterious Douagh, in a
falsehood! When it was finished, a feeble groan broke from his brother's
lips. Anthony bent his eye on him with a deadly glare; but Denis saw it
not. The shock was beyond his courage,--he had become insensible.
Those who stood at the outskirts of the crowd, seeing Denis apparently
lifeless, thought he must have sworn falsely on the Donagh, and
exclaimed, “He's dead! gracious God! Denis Meehan's struck dead by the
Donagh! He swore in a lie, and is now a corpse!” Anthony paused, and
calmly surveyed him as he lay with his head resting upon the hands of
those who supported him. At this moment a silent breeze came over where
they stood; and, as the Donagh lay upon the table, the black ribbons
with which it was ornamented fluttered with a melancholy appearance,
that deepened the sensations of the people into something peculiarly
solemn and preternatural. Denis at length revived, and stared wildly
and vacantly about him. When composed sufficiently to distinguish and
recognize individual objects, he looked upon the gloomy visage and
threatening eye of his brother, and shrunk back with a terror almost
epileptical. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “save me! save me from that man, and
I'll discover all!”
Anthony calmly folded one arm into his bosom, and his lip, quivered with
the united influence of hatred and despair.
“Hould him,” shrieked a voice, which proceeded from his daughter, “hould
my father or he'll murdher him! Oh! oh! merciful Heaven!”
Ere the words were uttered she had made an attempt to clasp the arms of
her parent, whose motions she understood; but only in time to receive
from the pistol which he had concealed in his breast, the bullet aimed
at her uncle! She tottered! and the blood spouted out of her neck upon
her father's brows, who hastily put up his hand and wiped it away, for
it had actually blinded him.
The elder Meehan was a tall man, and as he stood, elevated nearly a head
above the crowd, his grim brows red with his daughter's blood--which,
in attempting to wipe away, he had deeply streaked across his face--his
eyes shooting fiery gleams of his late resentment, mingled with the
wildness of unexpected horror--as he thus stood, it would be impossible
to contemplate a more revolting picture of that state to which the
principles that had regulated his life must ultimately lead, even in
this world.
On perceiving what he had done, the deep working of his powerful frame
was struck into sudden stillness, and he turned his eyes on his bleeding
daughter, with a fearful perception of her situation. Now was the
harvest of his creed and crimes reaped in blood; and he felt that the
stroke which had fallen upon him was one of those by which God will
sometimes bare his arm and vindicate his justice. The reflection,
however, shook him not: the reality of his misery was too intense and
pervading, and grappled too strongly with his hardened and unbending
spirit, to waste its power upon a nerve or a muscle. It was abstracted,
and beyond the reach of bodily suffering. From the moment his daughter
fell, he moved not: his lips were half open with the conviction produced
by the blasting truth of her death, effected prematurely by his own
hand.
Those parts of his face which had not been stained with her blood
assumed an ashy paleness, and rendered his countenance more terrific by
the contrast. Tall, powerful, and motionless, he appeared to the crowd,
glaring at the girl like a tiger anxious to join his offspring, yet
stunned with the shock of the bullet which has touched a vital part.
His iron-gray hair, as it fell in thick masses about his neck, was moved
slightly by the blast, and a lock which fell over his temple was blown
back with a motion rendered more distinct by his statue-like attitude,
immovable as death.
A silent and awful gathering of the people around this impressive scene,
intimated their knowledge of what they considered to be a judicial
punishment annexed to perjury upon the Donagh. This relic lay on the
table, and the eyes of those stood within view of it, turned from
Anthony's countenance to it, and again back to his blood-stained visage,
with all the overwhelming influence of superstitious fear. Shudderings,
tremblings, crossings, and ejaculations marked their conduct and
feeling; for though the incident in itself was simply a fatal and
uncommon one, yet they considered it supernatural and miraculous.
[Illustration: PAGE 899-- Have I murdhered my daughter?]
At length a loud and agonizing cry burst from the lips of Meehan--“Oh,
God!--God of heaven an' earth!--have I murdhered my daughter?” and he
cast down the fatal weapon with a force which buried it some inches into
the wet clay.
The crowd had closed upon Anne; but with the strength of a giant he
flung them aside, caught the girl in his arms, and pressed her bleeding
to his bosom. He gasped for breath: “Anne,” said he, “Anne, I am without
hope, an' there's none to forgive me except you;--none at all: from God,
to the poorest of his creatures, I am hated an' cursed, by all, except
you! Don't curse me, Anne; don't curse me! Oh, isn't it enough, darlin',
that my sowl is now stained with your blood, along with my other crimes?
In hell, on earth, an' in heaven, there's none to forgive your father
but yourself!--none! none! Oh, what's comin' over me! I'm dizzy an'
shiverin'! How cowld the day's got of a sudden! Hould up, avourneen
machree! I was a bad man; but to you Anne, I was not as I was to every
one! Darlin', oh look at me with forgiveness in your eye, or any way
don't curse me! Oh! I'm far cowlder now! Tell me that you forgive me,
_acushla oge machree!--Manim asthee ha_, darlin', say it. I darn't look
to God! but oh! do you say the forgivin' word to your father before you
die!”
“Father,” said she, “I deserve this--it's only just: I have plotted with
that divilish Martin to betray them all, except yourself, an' to get
the reward; an' then we intended to go--an'--live at a distance--an'
in wickedness--where we--might not be known--he's at our house--let him
be--secured. Forgive me, father; you said so often that there was no
thruth in religion--that I began to--think so. Oh!--God! have mercy upon
me!” And with these words she expired.
Meehan's countenance, on hearing this, was overspread with a ghastly
look of the most desolating agony: he staggered back, and the body of
his daughter, which he strove to hold, would have fallen from his
arms, had it not been caught by the bystanders. His eye sought out his
brother, but not in resentment. “Oh! she died, but didn't say 'I forgive
you!' Denis,” said he, “Denis, bring me home--I'm sick--very sick--oh,
but it's eowld--everything's reeling--how cowld--cowld it is!”--and as
he uttered the last words, he shuddered, fell down in a fit of apoplexy,
never to rise again; and the bodies of his daughter and himself were
both waked and buried together.
The result is brief. The rest of the gang were secured: Denis became
approver, by whose evidence they suffered that punishment decreed by law
to the crimes of which they had been guilty. The two events which I
we have just related, of course added to the supernatural fear and
reverence previously entertained for this terrible relic. It is still
used as an ordeal of expurgation, in cases of stolen property; and we
are not wrong in asserting, that many of those misguided creatures, who
too frequently hesitate not to swear falsely on the Word of God, would
suffer death itself sooner than commit a perjury on the Donagh.
* * * * *
The story of the Donagh, the Author has reason to believe, was the means
of first bringing this curious piece of antiquity into notice. There
is little to be added here to what is in the sketch, concerning its
influence over the people, and the use of it as a blessed relic sought
for by those who wished to apply a certain test of guilt or innocence
to such well known thieves as scrupled not to perjure themselves on
the Bible. For this purpose it was a perfect conscience-trap, the most
hardened miscreant never having been known to risk a false oath upon it.
Many singular anecdotes are related concerning it.
The Author feels great pleasure in subjoining two very interesting
letters upon the subject--one from an accomplished scholar, the late
Rev. Dr. O'Beirne, master of the! distinguished school of Portora at
Enniskillen; the other from Sir William Betham, one of the soundest and
most learned of our Irish Antiquaries. Both gentlemen differ in their
opinion respecting the antiquity of the Donagh; and, as the author is
incompetent to decide between them, he gives their respective letters to
the public.
““Portora, August 15, 1832.
““My Dear Carleton.--It is well you wrote to me about the Dona. Your
letter, which reached me this day, has proved that I was mistaken in
supposing that the promised drawing was no longer necessary. I had
imagined, that as you must have seen the Dona with Mr. Smith, any
communication from me on the subject must be superfluous. And now that
I have taken up my pen in compliance with your wish, what can I tell you
that you have not perhaps conveyed to yourself by ocular inspection, and
better than I can detail it?
““I accompanied Mr. S. to Brookborough, and asked very particularly
of the old woman, late the possessor of the Dona, what she knew of its
history; but she could say nothing about it, only that it had belonged
to 'The Lord of Enniskillen.' This was the Fermanagh Maguire, who took
an active part in the shocking rebellion of 1641, and was subsequently
executed. His castle, the ruins of which are on the grounds of Portora,
was stormed during the wars of that miserable time. When I entered on my
inquiries for you, I anticipated much in the way of tradition, which, I
hoped, might prove amusing at least; but disappointment met me on every
hand. The old woman could not even detail distinctly how the Dona had
come into her possession: it was brought into her family, she said, by a
priest. The country people had imagined wonders relative to the contents
of the box. The chief treasure it was supposed to contain was a lock of
the Virgin Mary's hair!!!
““After much inquiry, I received the following vague detail from a
person in this country; and let me remark, by the by, that though the
possession of the Dona was matter of boast to the Maguires, yet I could
not gain the slightest information respecting it from even the most
intelligent of the name. But now for the detail:--
““Donagh O'Hanlon, an inhabitant of the upper part of this country
(Fermanagh), went, about 600 years ago (longer than which time, in the
opinion of a celebrated antiquary, the kind of engraving on it could
not have been made), on a pious pilgrimage to Rome. His Holiness of the
Vatican, whose name has escaped the recollection of the person who gave
this information, as a reward for this supererogatory journey, presented
him with the Dona. As soon as Donagh returned, the Dona was placed in
the monastery of Aughadurcher (now Aughalurcher). But at the time, when
Cromwell was in this country, the monastery was destroyed, and this
_Ark_ of the _Covenant_ hid by some of the faithful at a small lake,
named Lough Eye, between Lisbellaw and Tempo. It was removed thence
when peace was restored, and again placed in some one of the neighboring
chapels, when, as before in Aughalurcher, the oaths were administered
with all the superstition that a depraved imagination could, invent, as
“that their thighs might rot off,” “that they might go mad,” etc., etc.
““When Kings James and William made their appearance, it was again
concealed in Largy, an old Castle at Sir H. Brooke's deer-park. Father
Antony Maguire, a priest of the Roman Church, dug it up from under the
stairs in this old castle, after the battle of the Boyne, deposited it
in a chapel, and it was used as before.
““After Father Antony's death it fell into the possession of his niece,
who took it over to the neighborhood of Florence-court. But the Maguires
were not satisfied that a thing so sacred should depart from the family,
and at their request it was brought back.”
“For the confirmation of the former part of this account, the informant
refers you to Sir James Ware. I have not Ware's book, and cannot
therefore tell you how much of this story, is given by him, or whether
any. In my opinion there is nothing detailed by him at all bearing
on the subject. The latter part of this story rests, we are told, on
tradition.
“As I confess myself not at all versed in Irish antiquities, it may
appear somewhat presumptuous in me to venture an opinion respecting this
box and its contents, which is, I understand, opposed to that of our
spirited and intelligent antiquary, Sir Wm. Betham. I cannot persuade
myself that either the box or the contained MSS. were of such an age as
he claims for them. And, first, of the box:--
“At present the MSS. are contained in a wooden box; the wood is, I
believe, yew. It cannot be pronounced, I think, with any certainty,
whether the wooden box was originally part of the shrine of the precious
MSS. It is very rude in its construction, and has not a top or lid.
Indeed it appears to me to have been a coarse botched-up thing to
receive the MSS. after the original box, which was made of brass, had
fallen to pieces.
“The next thing that presents itself to us is the remnant of a brass
box, washed with Silver, and rudely ornamented with tracery. The two
ends and the front are all that remain of the brass box.
“You may then notice what was evidently an addition of later times,
the highly ornamented gilt-silver work, made fast on the remains of the
brass box, and the chased compartments, which seem to have formed the
top or lid of the box. But, as you have seen the whole, I need not
perhaps have troubled you with this description. I shall only direct
your attention to the two inscriptions. In the chasing you will see that
they are referred to their _supposed_ places.
“The upper inscription, when deciphered, is--
“'Johannes: O'Karbri: Comorbanus: S. Tignacii: Pmisit.' For S.
Tigcnaii I would conjecture St. Ignacii: P, I should conjecture to
be Presbyterus. On this I. should be very glad to have Sir William's
opinion. I cannot imagine, if P stands part of a compound with misit,
what it can mean. I would read and translate it thus--'John O'Carbery,
coadjutor, priest, of the order of St. Ignatius, sent it.'
“This inscription, is on a narrow slip of silver, and is presumed to
have formed part of the under edge of the upper part of the back of the
box. The lower inscription is--;
“'_Johannes O'Barrdan fabricavit._'
“This also is on a slip of silver, and appears to have fitted into a
space on the upper surface which is supposed to have been the top, and
to have lain in between the two square compartments on the left hand:
this is marked in the drawing. I have expressed myself here in the
language of doubt, for the box is all in confusion.
“Now, on the inscriptions, I would say, that they indicate to me a date
much later than some gentlemen who have seen the box are willing to
ascribe to it. In the island of Devenish, in our lake (Lough Erne), is
an inscription, that was discovered in the ruins (still standing) of
a priory, that was built there A. D. 1449. The characters in this
inscription are much more remote from the Roman character in use among
us than those used in the inscriptions on the box. The letters on
the box bespeak a later period, when English cultivation had begun to
produce some effect in our island, and the Roman character was winning
its way into general use. I shall probably be able to let you see the
Devenish inscription, and ajuxta position of it and the others will
satisfy you, I think, on this point. In my opinion, then, the box, with
all its ornaments, must have been made at some time since the year 1449.
I cannot think it reasonable to suppose that an inscription, containing
many letters like the Roman characters, should be more ancient than
one not only having fewer letters resembling them, but also having the
letters that differ differing essentially.”
Now for the MSS.
“I am deficient in antiquarian lore: this I have already confessed; but
perhaps I want also the creative fancy and devoted faith of the genuine
antiquary. I cannot, for example, persuade myself, that a MS. written
in a clear, uniform, small character of the Roman form, could have been
written in remote times, when there is reason to think that MSS. were
written in uncial characters only, without stops, and with few or no
divisions into words, sentences, or paragraphs. The palimpsest MS.
examined by Dr. Barrett is in uncial characters, and is referred by him
to the 6th or 7th century. _Cic. de Republica_, published by Angelo Mai,
is assigned to much the same period. Small letters, and the distinctions
above mentioned, were the invention of later times. I cannot therefore
persuade myself that this MS. is of so early an age as some would
ascribe to it, though I will not take it upon me to assign the precise
time in which, it was written. The characters are decidedly and
distinctly those now called the Roman: they have not many abbreviations,
as far as I could judge, and they are written with much clearness
and regularity. They are not the _literae cursivae_, or those used in
writing for the sake of facility and connection: they seem rather formed
more in imitation, of printed letters. SECUNDUM--This imperfect attempt
to present one of the words, will explain my meaning. But I had better
not weary you any more with my crude notions. I shall be very glad to
hear your opinion, or that of Sir William Betham, to whom I should bow
with all the respect due to talent and worth. I must avow my distrust
of Irish antiquities; yet, allow me to add, that there is no man more
willing to be converted from my heresy, if you would call it so, than
“My dear Carleton,
“Your friend and servant,
“A. O'BEIRNE.”
“Stradbrook House, October, 1832.