There is scarcely a trait of human nature involved in more mystery,
or generally less understood, than the singular strength of affection
which binds the humble peasant of Irish life to his foster-brother, and
more especially if the latter be a person of rank or consideration.
This anomalous attachment, though it may to a certain extent be mutual,
is nevertheless very seldom known to be equal in strength between
the parties. Experience has sufficiently proved to us, that whilst
instances of equality in feeling have been known to characterize it, the
predominant power of its spirit has always been found to exist in the
person of the humbler party. How to account for this would certainly
require a more philosophical acquaintance with human nature than has
fallen to our lot; we must therefore be content to know that the fact
is precisely as we have stated it. Irish history and tradition furnish
us with sufficient materials on which to ground clear and distinct
proofs that the attachment of habit and contiguity in these instances
far transcends that of natural affection itself. It is very seldom
that one brother will lay down his life for another, and yet instances
of such high and heroic sacrifices have occurred in the case of the
foster-brother, whose affection has thus not unfrequently triumphed
over death itself. It is certainly impossible to impute this wild but
indomitable attachment to the force of domestic feeling, because, whilst
we maintain that the domestic affections in Ireland are certainly
stronger than those of any other country in the world, still instances
of this inexplicable devotion have occurred in the persons of those in
whom the domestic ties were known to be very feeble. It is true, there
are many moral anomalies in the human heart with which we are as yet but
imperfectly acquainted; and as they arise from some wayward and irregular
combination of its impulses, that operates independently of any known
principles of action, it is not likely that we shall ever thoroughly
understand them. There is another peculiarity in Irish feeling, which, as
it is analogous to this, we cannot neglect to mention it. We allude to
the _Parisheen_, a term which we must explain at further length to our
readers. When the Dublin Foundling Hospital was in existence, the poor
infants whom an unhappy destiny consigned to that gloomy and withering
institution were transmitted to different parts of the country, to be
nursed by the wives of the lower classes of the peasantry--such as
day-labourers, cottiers, and small farmers, who cultivated from three to
six or eight acres of land. These children were generally, indeed almost
always, called Parisheens--a word which could be properly applied only to
such as, having no known parents, were supported by the parish in which
they happened to be born. It was transferred to the Foundlings, however;
although, with the exception of the metropolis, which certainly paid a
parish tax for their maintenance, they were principally supported by a
very moral act of Parliament, which, by the wise provision of a large
grant, held out a very liberal bounty to profligacy. At all events, the
opprobrious epithet of Parisheen was that usually fixed upon them.
Now, of all classes of our fellow-creatures, one might almost naturally
suppose that those deserted and forsaken beings would be apt, consigned
as they uniformly were to the care of mercenary strangers, to experience
neglect, ill-treatment, or even cruelty itself; and yet, honour be to the
generous hearts and affectionate feelings of our humble people, it has
been proved, by the incontestible authority of a Commission expressly
appointed to examine and report on the working of the very hospital in
question, that the care, affection, and tenderness with which these
ill-fated creatures were treated by the nurses to whom they were given
out, was equal, if not superior, to that which was bestowed upon their
own children. Even when removed from these nurses to situations of
incomparably more comfort--situations in which they were lodged, fed, and
clothed, in a far superior manner--they have been known, in innumerable
instances, to elope from their masters and mistresses, and return to
their old abodes, preferring the indulgence of their affection, with
poverty and distress, to any thing else that life could offer.
All this, however, was very natural and reasonable, for we know that even
the domestic animal will love the hand that feeds him. But that which
we have alluded to as constituting the strong analogy between it and
the attachment of the foster-brother, is the well-known fact, that the
affection of the children to the nurses, though strong and remarkable,
was as nothing when compared with that which the nurses felt for them.
This was proved by a force of testimony which no scepticism could
encounter. The parting scenes between them were affecting, and in many
instances agonizing, to the last degree. Nay, nurses have frequently come
up to Dublin, and with tears in their eyes, and in accents of the most
unfeigned sorrow, begged that the orphans might be allowed to stay with
them, undertaking, rather than part with them, that they would support
them at their own expense. It would be very difficult to produce a more
honourable testimony to the moral honesty, generosity, and exquisite
kindness of heart which characterize our people, than the authentic facts
we have just mentioned. They fell naturally in our way when treating
of the subject which preceded them, and we could not, in justice to
circumstances so beautiful and striking, much less injustice to the
people themselves, pass them over in silence.
We shall now relate a short story, illustrating the attachment of a
foster-brother; but as we have reason to believe that the circumstances
are true, we shall introduce fictitious names instead of real ones.
The rebellion of ninety-eight was just at its height, when the incidents
we are about to mention took place. A gentleman named Moore had a
daughter remarkable for her beauty and accomplishments. Indeed, so
celebrated had she become, that her health was always drunk as the toast
of her native county. Many suitors she had, of course, but among the rest
two were remarkable for their assiduous attentions to her, and an intense
anxiety to secure her affections. Henry Irwin was a high loyalist, as
was her own father, whose consent to gain the affections of his daughter
had been long given to his young friend. The other, who in point of fact
had already secured her affections, was unfortunately deeply involved
in, or we should rather say an open leader on, the insurgent side. His
principles had become known to Moore, as republican, for some time before
the breaking out of the insurrection; in consequence he was forbidden his
house, and warned against holding communication with any member of his
family. He had succeeded, however, before this, by the aid of Miss Moore
herself, who was aware of his principles, in placing as butler in her
father’s family his own foster-brother, Frank Finnegan--an arrangement
which never would have been permitted, had Moore known of the peculiar
bond of affection which subsisted between them. Of this, however, he was
ignorant; and in admitting Finnegan into his family, he was not aware
of the advantages he afforded to the proscribed suitor of his daughter.
This interdiction, however, came too late for the purposes of prudence.
Ere it was issued, Hewson and his daughter had exchanged vows of mutual
affection; but the national outbreak which immediately ensued, by forcing
Hewson to assume his place as an insurgent leader, appeared to have
placed a barrier between him and her, which was naturally considered
to be insurmountable. In the meantime, Moore himself, who was a local
magistrate, and also a captain of yeomanry, took an extremely active
part in quelling the insurrection, and in hunting down and securing the
rebels. Nor was Irwin less zealous in following the footsteps of the
man to whom he wished to recommend himself as his future son-in-law.
They acted together; and so vigorous were the measures of the young
loyalist, that the other felt it necessary in some instances to check the
exuberance of his loyalty. This, however, was not known to the opposite
party; for as Irwin always seemed to act under the instructions of his
friend Moore, so was it obviously enough inferred that every harsh act
and wanton stretch of authority which he committed, was either sanctioned
or suggested by the other. The consequence was, that Moore became,
if possible, more odious than Irwin, who was looked upon as a rash,
hot-headed zealot; whilst the veteran was marked as a cool and wily old
fox, who had ten times the cunning and cruelty of the senseless puppet he
was managing. In this, it is unnecessary to say, they were egregiously
mistaken.
In the meantime the rebellion went forward, and many acts of cruelty and
atrocity were committed on both sides. Moore’s house and family would
have been attacked, and most probably murder and ruin might have visited
him and his, were it not for the influence of Hewson with the rebels.
Twice did the latter succeed, and on each occasion with great difficulty,
in preventing him and his household from falling victims to the vengeance
of the insurgents. Moore was a man of great personal courage, but apt to
underrate the character and enterprize of those who were opposed to him.
Indeed, his prudence was by no means on a par with his bravery or zeal,
for he has often been known to sally out at the head of a party in quest
of his enemies, and leave his own mansion, and the lives of those who
were in it, exposed and defenceless.
On one of those excursions it was that he chanced to capture a small body
of the insurgents, headed by an intimate friend and distant relative of
Hewson’s. As the law at that unhappy period was necessarily quick in its
operations, we need scarcely say, that, having been taken openly armed
against the King and the Constitution, they were tried and executed by
the summary sentence of a court-martial. A deep and bloody vengeance was
now sworn against him and his by the rebels, who for some time afterwards
lay in wait for the purpose of retaliating in a spirit prompted by the
atrocious character of the times.
Hewson’s attachment to his daughter, however, had been long known, and
his previous interference on behalf of her father had been successful
on that account only. Now, however, the plan of attack was laid without
his cognizance, and that with the most solemn injunctions to every one
concerned in it not to disclose their object to any human being not
officially acquainted with it, much less to Hewson, who they calculated
would once more take such steps as might defeat their sanguinary purpose.
These arrangements having been made, matters were allowed to remain
quiet for a little, until Moore should be off his guard; for we must
observe here, that he had felt it necessary, after the execution of the
captured rebels, to keep his house strongly and resolutely defended. The
attack was therefore postponed until the apprehensions created by his
recent activity should gradually wear away, and his enemies might with
less risk undertake the work of bloodshed and destruction. The night at
length was appointed on which the murderous attack must be made. All
the dark details were arranged with a deliberation at which, removed as
we now are from the sanguinary excitement of the times, the very soul
shudders and gets sick. A secret, however, communicated even under the
most solemn sanction to a great number, stands a great chance of being no
secret at all, especially during civil war, where so many interests of
friendship, blood, and marriage, bind the opposing parties together in
spite of the public principles under which they act. Miss Moore’s maid
had a brother, for instance, who, together with several of his friends
and relatives, being appointed to aid in the attack, felt anxious that
she should not be present on that night, lest her acquaintance with them
might be ultimately dangerous to the assailants. He accordingly sought an
opportunity of seeing her, and in earnest language urged her to absent
herself from her master’s house on the appointed night. The girl was not
much surprised at the ambiguity of his hints, for the truth was, that
no person, man or woman, possessing common sense, could be ignorant of
the state of the country, or of the evil odour in which Moore and Irwin,
and all those who were active on the part of government, were held. She
accordingly told him that she would follow his advice, and spoke to him
in terms so shrewd and significant, that he deemed it useless to preserve
further secrecy. The plot was thus disclosed, and the girl warned to
leave the house, both for her own sake and for that of those who were to
wreak their vengeance upon Moore and his family.
The poor girl, hoping that her master and the rest might fly from the
impending danger, communicated the circumstances to Miss Moore, who
forthwith communicated them to her father, who, again, instead of
flying, took measures to collect about his premises, during the early
part of the dreaded night, a large and well-armed force from the next
military station. Now, it so happened that this girl, whose name was
Baxter, had a leaning towards Hewson’s foster-brother Finnegan, who in
plain language was her accepted lover. If love will not show itself in a
case of danger, it is good for nothing. We need scarcely say that Peggy
Baxter, apprehensive of danger to her sweetheart, confided the secret
to him also in the early part of the day of the attack. Finnegan was
surprised, especially when he heard from Peggy that Hewson had been kept
in ignorance of the whole design (for so her brother had told her), in
consequence of his attachment to her young mistress. There was now no
possible way of warding off such a calamity, unless by communicating
with Hewson; and this, as Finnegan was a sound United Irishman, he knew
he could do without any particular danger. He lost no time, therefore,
in seeing him; and we need scarcely say that his foster-brother felt
stunned and thunderstruck at the deed that was about to be perpetrated
without his knowledge. Finnegan then left him, but ere he reached home,
the darkness had set in, and on arriving, he sought the kitchen and its
comforts, ignorant, as were indeed most of the servants, that the upper
rooms and out-houses were literally crammed with fierce and well-armed
soldiers.
Matters were now coming to a crisis. Hewson, aware that there was
little time to be lost, collected a small party of his own immediate
and personal friends, not one of whom, from their known attachment to
him, had been, any more than himself, admitted to a knowledge of their
attack upon Moore. Determined, therefore, to be beforehand with the
others, he and they met at an appointed place, from whence they went
quickly, and with as much secrecy as possible, to Moore’s house, for the
purpose not only of apprising him of the fate to which he and his were
doomed, but also with an intention of escorting him and all his family
as far from his house as might be consistent with the safety of both
parties. Our readers are of course prepared for the surprise and capture
of honest Hewson and his friends, of whose friendly intentions they are
aware. It is too true. Not expecting to find the house defended, they
were unprepared for an attack or sally; and the upshot was, that in a
few minutes two of them were shot, and most of the rest, among whom was
Hewson, taken prisoners on the spot. Those who escaped communicated to
the other insurgents an account of the strength with which Moore’s house
was defended; and the latter, instead of making an attempt to rescue
their friends, abandoned the meditated attack altogether, and left Hewson
and his party to their fate. A gloomy fate that was. Assertions and
protestations of their innocence were all in vain. An insurgent party
were expected to attack the house, and of course they came, headed by
Hewson himself, who, as Moore said, no doubt intended to spare none of
them but his daughter, and her, only, in order that she might become a
rebel’s wife. Irwin, too, his rival in love and his foe in politics, was
on the court-martial, and what had he to expect? Death; and nothing but
the darkness of the night prevented his enemies from putting it into
immediate execution upon him and his companions.
Hewson maintained a dignified silence; and upon seeing his friends
guarded from the hall where they were now assembled into a large barn, he
desired to be placed along with them.
“No,” said Moore; “if you are a rebel ten times over, you are a
gentleman; you must not herd with them; and besides, Mr Hewson, with
great respect to you, we shall place you in a much safer place. In the
highest room in a house unusually high, we shall lodge you, out of which
if you escape, we will say you are an innocent man. Frank Finnegan, show
him and those two soldiers up to the observatory; get him refreshments,
and leave him in their charge. Guard his door, men, for you shall be held
responsible for his appearance in the morning.”
The men, in obedience to these orders, escorted him to the door, outside
of which was their station for the night. When Frank and he entered
the observatory, the former gently shut the door, and, turning to his
foster-brother, exclaimed in accents of deep distress, but lowering his
voice, “There is not a moment to be lost; you must escape.”
“That is impossible,” replied Hewson, “unless I had wings and could use
them.”
“We must try,” returned Frank; “we can only fail--at the most they can
only take your life, and that they’ll do at all events.”
“I know that,” said Hewson, “and I am prepared for it.”
“Hear me,” said the other; “I will come up by and bye with refreshments,
say in about half an hour; be you stripped when I come. We are both of a
size; and as these fellows don’t know either of us very well, I wouldn’t
say but you may go out in my clothes. I’ll hear nothing,” he added,
seeing Hewson about to speak; “I am here too long, and these fellows
might begin to suspect something. Be prepared when I come. Good bye, Mr
Hewson,” he said aloud, as he opened the door; “in troth an’ conscience
I’m sorry to see you here, but that’s the consequence of turnin’ rebel
against King George, an’ glory to him--_soon and sudden_,” he added in
an undertone. “In about half an hour I’ll bring you up some supper, sir.
Keep a sharp eye on him,” he whispered to the two soldiers, giving them
at the same time a knowing and confidential wink; “these same rebels are
like eels, an’ will slip as aisily through your fingers--an’ the devil
a better one yez have in there;” and as he spoke, he pointed over his
shoulder with his inverted thumb to the door of the observatory.
Much about the time he had promised to return, a crash was heard upon
the stairs, and Finnegan’s voice in a high key exclaiming, “The curse
o’ blazes on you for stairs, an’ hell _presume_ all the rebels in
Europe, I pray heavens this night! There’s my nose broke between you
all!” He then stooped down, and in a torrent of bitter imprecations--all
conveyed, however, in mock oaths--he collected and placed again upon
the tray on which they had been, all the materials for Hewson’s supper.
He then ascended, and on presenting himself at the prisoner’s door, the
blood was copiously streaming from his nose. The soldiers--who by the
way were yeomen--on seeing him, could not avoid laughing at his rueful
appearance--a circumstance which seemed to nettle him a good deal. “Yez
may laugh!” he exclaimed, “but I’d hould a wager I’ve shed more blood for
his majesty this night than either of you ever did in your lives!”
This only heightened their mirth, in the midst of which he entered
Hewson’s room; and ere the action could be deemed possible, they had
exchanged clothes.
“Now,” said he, “fly. Behind the garden Miss Moore is waitin’ for you;
she knows all. Take the bridle-road through the broad bog, an’ get into
Captain Corny’s demesne. Take my advice too, an’ go both of you to
America, if you can. But, aisy. God forgive me for pullin’ you by the
nose instead of shakin’ you by the hand, an’ me may never see you more.”
The poor fellow’s voice became unsteady with emotion, although the smile
at his own humour was upon his face at the time.
“As I came in with a bloody nose,” he proceeded, giving that of Hewson a
fresh pull, “you know you must go out with one. An’ now God’s blessin’ be
with you! Think of one who loved you as none else did.”
The next morning there was uproar, tumult, and confusion in the house of
the old loyalist magistrate, when it was discovered that his daughter and
the butler were not forthcoming. But when, on examining the observatory,
it was ascertained that Finnegan was safe and Hewson gone, no language
can describe the rage and fury of Moore, Irwin, and the military in
general. Our readers may anticipate what occurred. The noble fellow was
brought to the drum-head, tried, and sentenced to be shot where he stood:
but ere the sentence was put in execution, Moore addressed him. “Now,
Finnegan,” said he, “I will get you off, if you tell us where Hewson and
my daughter are. I pledge my honour publicly that I’ll save your life,
and get you a free pardon, if you enable us to trace and recover them.”
“I don’t know where they are,” he replied, “but even if I did, I would
not betray them.”
“Think of what has been said to you,” added Irwin. “I give you my pledge
also to the same effect.”
“Mr Irwin,” he replied, “I have but one word to say. When I did what I
did, I knew very well that my life would go for his; an’ I know that
if he had thought so, he would be standin’ now in my place. Put your
sentence in execution; I’m prepared.”
“Take five minutes,” said Moore. “Give him up and live.”
“Mr Moore,” said he, with a decision and energy which startled them, “I
AM HIS FOSTER-BROTHER!”
This was felt to be sufficient; he stood at the appointed place, calm and
unshrinking, and at the first discharge fell instantaneously dead.
Thus passed a spirit worthy of a place in a brighter page than that of
our humble miscellany, and which, if the writer of this lives, will be
more adequately recorded.
Hewson, finding that the insurgent cause was becoming hopeless,
escaped, after two or three other unsuccessful engagements, to America,
instigated by the solicitations of his young wife. Old Moore died in a
few years afterwards, but he survived his resentment, for he succeeded
in reconciling the then government to his son-in-law, who returned to
Ireland; and it was found by his will, much to the mortification of
many of his relatives, that he had left the bulk of his property to Mrs
Hewson, who had always been his favourite child, and whose attachment to
Hewson he had himself originally encouraged.
There are two records more connected with this transaction, with which
we shall close. In a northern newspaper, dated some fifteen years
afterwards, there occurs the following paragraph:--
“AFFAIR OF HONOUR--FATAL DUEL.--Yesterday morning, at the early hour of
five o’clock, a duel was fought between A. Irwin, Esq. and J. Hewson,
Esq. of Mooredale, the former of whom, we regret to say, fell by the
second fire. We hope the words attributed to one of the parties are not
correctly reported. The blood of Frank Finnegan is now avenged.”
The other record is to be found in the churchyard of ----, where there is
a handsome monument erected, with the following inscription:--
“Sacred to the memory of Francis Finnegan, whose death presented an
instance of the noblest virtue of which human nature is capable, that
of laying down his life for his friend. This monument is erected to his
memory by James Hewson, his friend and foster-brother, for whom he died.”