I MET with a ludicrous instance of the dissipation of even latter days,
a few months after my marriage. Lady B---- and myself took a tour
through some of the southern parts of Ireland, and among other places
visited Castle Durrow, near which place my brother, Henry French
Barrington, had built a hunting-cottage, wherein he happened to have
given a house-warming the previous day.
The company, as might be expected at such a place and on such an
occasion, was not the most select; in fact, they were "_hard-going_"
sportsmen.
Among the rest, Mr. Joseph Kelly, of unfortunate fate, brother to Mr.
Michael Kelly (who by-the-by does not say a word about him in his
Reminiscences), had been invited, to add to the merriment by his
pleasantry and voice, and had come down from Dublin for the purpose.
Of this convivial assemblage at my brother's, he was, I suppose, the
very life and soul. The dining-room had not been finished when the day
of the dinner-party arrived, and the lower parts of the walls having
only that morning received their last coat of plaster, were, of course,
totally wet.
We had intended to surprise my brother; but had not calculated on the
scene I was to witness. On driving to the cottage-door I found it open,
while a dozen dogs, of different descriptions, showed ready to receive
us not in the most polite manner. My servant's whip, however, soon sent
them about their business, and I ventured into the parlor to see what
cheer. It was about ten in the morning: the room was strewed with empty
bottles--some broken--some interspersed with glasses, plates, dishes,
knives, spoons, &c., all in glorious confusion. Here and there were
heaps of bones, relics of the former day's entertainment, which the
dogs, seizing their opportunity, had picked. Three or four of the
Bacchanalians lay fast asleep upon chairs--one or two others on the
floor, among whom a piper lay on his back, apparently dead, with a
table-cloth spread over him, and surrounded by four or five candles,
burnt to the sockets; his chanter and bags were laid scientifically
across his body, his mouth was wide open, and his nose made ample amends
for the silence of his drone. Joe Kelly and a Mr. Peter Alley were fast
asleep in their chairs, close to the wall.
Had I never viewed such a scene before, it would have almost terrified
me; but it was nothing more than the ordinary custom which we called
_waking the piper_, when he had got too drunk to make any more music.
I went out, and sent away my carriage and its inmate to Castle Durrow,
whence we had come, and afterward proceeded to seek my brother. No
servant was to be seen, man or woman. I went to the stables, wherein I
found three or four more of the goodly company, who had just been able
to reach their horses, but were seized by Morpheus before they could
mount them, and so lay in the mangers awaiting a more favourable
opportunity. Returning hence to the cottage, I found my brother, also
asleep, on the only bed which it then afforded: he had no occasion to
put on his clothes, since he had never taken them off.
I next waked Dan Tyron, a wood-ranger of Lord Ashbrook, who had acted as
maitre d'hotel in making the arrangements, and providing a horse-load
of game to fill up the banquet. I then inspected the parlor, and
insisted on breakfast. Dan Tyron set to work: an old woman was called in
from an adjoining cabin, the windows were opened, the room cleared, the
floor swept, the relics removed, and the fire lighted in the kitchen.
The piper was taken away senseless, but my brother would not suffer
either Joe or Alley to be disturbed till breakfast was ready. No time
was lost; and, after a very brief interval, we had before us abundance
of fine eggs, and milk fresh from the cow, with brandy, sugar, and
nutmeg, in plenty; a large loaf, fresh butter, a cold round of beef,
which had not been produced on the previous day, red herrings, and a
bowl dish of potatoes roasted on the turf ashes; in addition to which,
ale, whiskey, and port, made up the refreshments. All being duly in
order, we at length awakened Joe Kelly, and Peter Alley, his neighbor:
they had slept soundly, though with no other pillow than the wall; and
my brother announced breakfast with a _view holloa_!
The twain immediately started, and roared in unison with their host most
tremendously! It was, however, in a very different tone from the _view
holloa_, and perpetuated much longer.
"Come, boys," says French, giving Joe a pull, "come!"
"Oh, murder!" says Joe, "I can't!"--"Murder!--murder!" echoed Peter.
French pulled them again, upon which they roared the more, still
retaining their places. I have in my lifetime laughed till I nearly
became spasmodic; but never were my risible muscles put to greater
tension than upon this occasion. The wall, as I said before, had only
that day received a coat of mortar, and of course was quite soft and
yielding, when Joe and Peter thought proper to make it their pillow; it
was, nevertheless, setting fast, from the heat and lights of an eighteen
hours' carousal; and, in the morning, when my brother awakened his
guests, the mortar had completely set and their hair being the thing
most calculated to amalgamate therewith, the entire of Joe's stock,
together with his _queue_, and half his head, was thoroughly and
irrecoverably bedded in the greedy and now marble cement, so that, if
determined to move, he must have taken the wall along with him, for
separate it would not. One side of Peter's head was in the same state of
imprisonment. Nobody was able to assist them, and there they both stuck
fast.
A consultation was now held on this pitiful case, which I maliciously
endeavored to prolong as much as I could, and which was, in fact, every
now and then interrupted by a roar from Peter or Joe, as they made fresh
efforts to rise. At length, it was proposed by Dan Tyron to send for the
stone cutter, and get him to cut them out of the wall with a chisel. I
was literally unable to speak two sentences for laughing. The old woman
meanwhile tried to soften the obdurate wall with melted butter and new
milk--but in vain. I related the school story how Hannibal had worked
through the Alps with hot vinegar and hot irons: this experiment
likewise was made, but Hannibal's solvent had no better success than the
old crone's.
Peter Alley, being of a more passionate nature, grew ultimately quite
outrageous: he roared, gnashed his teeth, and swore vengeance against
the mason; but as he was only held by one side, a thought at last struck
him: he asked for two knives, which being brought, he whetted one
against the other, and introducing the blades close to his skull, sawed
away at cross corners till he was liberated, with the loss only of half
his hair and a piece of his scalp, which he had sliced off in zeal and
haste for his liberty. I never saw a fellow so extravagantly happy! Fur
was scraped from the crown of a hat, to stop the bleeding; his head was
duly tied up with the old woman's _praskeen_; and he was soon in a state
of bodily convalescence. Our solicitude was now required solely for Joe,
whose head was too deeply buried to be exhumed with so much facility. At
this moment, Bob Casey, of Ballynakill, a very celebrated wig-maker,
just dropped in, to see what he could pick up honestly in the way of his
profession, or steal in the way of anything else; and he immediately
undertook to get Mr. Kelly out of the mortar by a very expert but
tedious process, namely clipping with his scissors, and then rooting out
with an oyster-knife. He thus finally succeeded, in less than an hour,
in setting Joe once more at liberty, at the price of his queue, which
was totally lost, and of the exposure of his raw and bleeding occiput.
The operation was, indeed, of a mongrel description--somewhat between a
complete tonsure and an imperfect scalping, to both of which
denominations it certainly presented claims. However, it is an ill wind
that blows nobody good! Bob Casey got the making of a skull-piece for
Joe, and my brother French had the pleasure of paying for it, as
gentlemen in those days honored any order given by a guest to the family
shopkeeper or artisan.