Part 18

An unaccountable circumstance was witnessed by me on that tour immediately after the retaking of Wexford. General Lake, as I have before mentioned, had ordered the heads of Mr. Grogan, Captain Keogh, Mr. Bagenal Harvey, and Mr. Colclough, to be placed on very low spikes over the court-house door of Wexford. A faithful servant of Mr. Grogan had taken away his head; but the other three remained there when I visited the town. The countenances of friends and relatives, in such a situation, would, it may be imagined, give any man most horrifying sensations! The heads of Mr. Colclough and Harvey seemed black lumps, the features being utterly undistinguishable; that of Keogh was uppermost, but the air had made comparatively little impression on it! His comely and respect-inspiring face (except the livid hue) appeared nearly as in life: his eyes were not closed—his thin hair did not look much ruffled: in fact, it seemed to me rather as a head of chiselled marble, with glass eyes, than as the lifeless remains of a human creature:—this singular appearance I never could get any medical man satisfactorily to explain.[49] I prevailed on General Hunter, who then commanded in Wexford, to suffer the three heads to be taken down and buried.

Footnote 49:

It has occurred to me, that the very great difference in the look of the heads might proceed from the following causes:—Messrs. Harvey and Colclough were hanged on the bridge, and their bodies suffered to lie some time before they were decapitated. The effect of strangulation made the faces black; and the blood cooling and stagnating, this black colour remained. Keogh had been decapitated as soon as cut down;—the _warm_ blood was therefore _totally discharged_ from the head, and the face became _livid_, no stagnate blood remaining to blacken it. If the thing had not been public, it might have been doubted. It is now thirty years past, and I can divine no other reason for so curious a circumstance; and army surgeons in Paris (I suppose the best in the world) tell me that my conjecture is perfectly well-founded.

WOLF TONE.

Counsellor Theobald Wolf Tone—His resemblance to Mr. Croker—He is ordered to be hanged by a military court—General Craig attached in the court of Common Pleas—Tone’s attempt at suicide—Cruel suggestion respecting him.

Theobald Wolf Tone was one of the most remarkable of the persons who lost their lives in consequence of that wild democratic mania, which, at the period treated of in the former sketch, had seized upon the reason of so many otherwise sensible individuals. His catastrophe cannot fail to be interesting:—it affected me much.

This gentleman’s enthusiastic mind was eternally surrounded by the mist of visionary speculation: it was a fine sailer, but wanted ballast. He had distinguished himself somewhat in the University as a desultory declaimer; but, in my judgment, that was the full extent of his oratorical powers. He was neither high-born nor wealthy:—in fact, I fear even a certain competency was not at his command; and hence his spirit, naturally restless, was additionally goaded and inflamed. He had no steady pursuit; nor was his nature adapted to mental labour:—of _personal_ activity he had abundance; but was deficient in judgment, and absolutely destitute of cool common sense.

Yet Wolf Tone possessed considerable talent, together with great personal firmness and intrepidity; but he knew not the time, place, or manner of turning these gifts to his advantage. His best qualities were squandered—his worst exposed; and there was a total absence of that consolidating power which draws such abilities to a focus.

It is a curious circumstance that Mr. Tone, a decided revolutionist, married (improvidently enough) one sister, whilst Mr. Thomas Reynolds, who betrayed the revolutionary friends of Tone and of himself, espoused another.

Tone was called to the Irish bar; but had been previously over-rated by the Historical Society, and did not succeed. I thought it a pity (as he was really a very good-hearted person) that he should not be fairly tried, and, if possible, pushed forward; and being myself high on the circuit, I took him round in my carriage three circuits, and thought well of him; but he was too light and visionary; and as for law, I found that species of science quite uncongenial to him. His person was unfavourable, and not gentlemanly; and he had not been much in society:—his countenance was thin and sallow; and he had in his speech a harsh guttural pronunciation of the letter _R_. Mr. Croker, of the Admiralty, resembles him in personal appearance greatly, but is much Tone’s inferior in elocution. Had Tone had the _hundredth_ part of Mr. Croker’s _tact_ and _skill_ in working upward, he might this day have been living and happy.

It is my belief that Tone _could_ not have succeeded in any steady civil profession. He was not worldly enough, nor had he sufficient collectedness for his guidance. His biography has been repeatedly published, and I only intend here to allude to the extraordinary circumstances of his death;—an event upon which I confess I had many painful feelings, and not the less so from its being connected with my own judicial functions.

He had been taken in arms by Sir John Borlase Warren, at sea, in a French frigate, proceeding to land troops in Ireland. He wore the uniform of a French officer; but being recognised, brought prisoner to Dublin, and delivered over for trial to the provost-marshal and military authorities, he was of course condemned to be hanged. I did not see him under these distressing circumstances, nor in truth was it my wish to do so; for although there existed between us no actual friendship, still I had a strong feeling for a gentleman with whom I had been so well acquainted.

It occurred to his counsel that the jurisdiction of martial law could not extend to him, as it only operated on land, and he had been taken at sea. An application was therefore made to the Common Pleas to have him brought up by habeas corpus, in order (the point being ascertained) to be regularly tried before the competent tribunal—the Court of Admiralty. The habeas corpus being granted, was served on General Craig, who then commanded in Dublin; but who, considering (as all the generals then did) that the municipal judges were no more than corporals or quarter-masters with respect to his Majesty’s forces, refused to obey it, and was attacked for his disobedience; an order was immediately made for the general, the provost-marshal, brigade-major, and some others, to be taken into custody by the officers of the court of Common Pleas forthwith.

To me (as judge of the Admiralty) this appeal was most distressing. Had Tone the least chance of escape in any court, or upon any trial, it might have been otherwise; but he could not be defended; and to have him brought before me only to witness his conviction, and to pronounce his sentence, shocked me extremely. His friends thought this course might prolong his fate a considerable time, and it was supposed that something might intermediately occur calculated to effect a commutation of the capital punishment. I knew better! I was convinced that his execution was determined on: it was unavoidable, and I felt _great_ uneasiness.

The court having, as I have said, ordered General Craig and Major Sandys (provost-marshal) to be arrested for disobedience, both these gentlemen, after some hesitation, submitted to the arrest, and the _pursuivant_ was then directed to bring up the body of Theobald Wolf Tone, on the writ of habeas corpus.—The judges sat patiently awaiting the officer’s return; and the decision being of great importance, the court was crowded to suffocation.

A considerable time elapsed, and still the _pursuivant_ returned not. At length he appeared, with horror in his looks, and scarcely able to speak. He informed the court that Mr. Tone, feeling certain of execution by order of the military, and being ignorant of the motion which his friends thought might give him some chance for his life, had cut his throat from ear to ear, and, he believed, was dying! A surgeon now attended, who reported that the prisoner had certainly cut his throat, but that recovery was possible: the incision was long and deep, but had missed the artery, and he still lived. Of course the trial was postponed; every friend he had (and I think he had many amongst the bar) rejoicing that poor Tone had escaped a public execution. He lingered awhile:—and will it be believed, that when the wound had been connected, and whilst life still seemed to be precarious, owing to the extreme inflammation,—I say, will it be believed that there existed cruelty sufficient in the breast of any human creature to advise his execution—though it would have been impossible to put the sentence in force without inserting the rope within the wound, and nearly tearing away the unfortunate gentleman’s head from his body?—Yet such advice was positively given, for “the sake of example;”—and rejected, I am happy to say, with horror! I will spare the man who gave it the ignominy which would thence attach to his name were it mentioned.

DUBLIN ELECTION.

My contest for Dublin city—Supported by Grattan, Ponsonby, Plunkett, and Curran—Singularity of a canvass for Dublin—The election—Curious incidents—Grattan’s famous philippic, never before published—Memoirs of Mr. John Giffard, called the “dog in office”—Horish the chimney-sweeper’s bon-mot.

In 1803, I had become particularly popular in Dublin. I was not at enmity with any sect or party. The losses and deprivations which the citizens of Dublin were suffering in consequence of the Union, brought to their recollection the fact of my having been one of its most zealous opponents. They knew that I had entertained professional ambition; and they also knew that, in order to oppose that measure, and support the independence of the nation as well as my own, I had with open eyes sacrificed all the objects of my ambition;—that I had refused the most gratifying proposals; and, in maintenance of principle, had set my face decidedly against the measures of that government which I had on other occasions supported, and which alone possessed the power to advance me. They knew that I had braved the animosity of Chancellor Clare, whom few had ever ventured to oppose so decidedly as myself; and that I had utterly renounced Lord Castlereagh, by whom all means were employed to attach me. In fact, the citizens of Dublin recollected that I had abandoned _every_ prospect in life to uphold their interest;[50] and consequently many persons on both sides of politics had proposed to me to become a candidate for the representation of the metropolis in Parliament. Some entire corporations voted me their freedom and support; and a great number of the freeholders tendered me their aid. Having, in addition, an extensive personal interest of my own, I at length determined to stand the contest.

Footnote 50:

This observation is fully verified. I anticipated the consequences of an _imperium in imperio_, which the Union inevitably produced; and which always evades the claims and advancement of bold, independent men, preferring those who have more pliability, _discretion_, and tact, for the management of second-hand rulers and authorities.

Persons of the first weight and rank came forward in my favour; and among these I am proud to enumerate—His Grace the Duke of Leinster, Mr. Grattan, Mr. George Ponsonby, Mr. Curran, Mr. Plunkett, many of the most respectable members of my own profession, and numerous private gentlemen. Indeed, the mode in which I was brought forward, and the parties by whom I was encouraged, could not but gratify me highly.

The city, however, immediately divided into two inveterate factions,—one of which declared for Mr. Beresford, the banker, and Mr. Ogle, the Orange chieftain; whilst the other supported Mr. Latouche and myself. A fifth gentleman, Sir John Jervoise White Jervoise, Bart., also announced himself a candidate, on the strength of his own personal connexions and individual property in the city, backed by any second votes he could pick up amongst the rest.

Dublin differs from London in this respect—inasmuch as there must be an _individual_ canvass, requiring hard labour of at least two months or ten weeks, by day and by night, to get through it cleverly. One custom alone takes up an immensity of time, which, though I believe it never existed any where else, has the semblance of good sense to recommend it. The grand corporation of Dublin comprises twenty-five minor corporations or trades, each independent of the other; and all (knowing their own importance previous to an election, and their insignificance after it is over) affect the state and authority of a Venetian senate, and say (shrewdly enough), “How can we, ignorant men! tell who is fittest to represent Dublin till we have an opportunity of knowing their abilities?” And for the purpose of acquiring this knowledge, each corporation appoints a day to receive the candidates in due formality in its hall; and each candidate is then called on to make an oration, in order to give the electors power of judging as to his capability to speak in parliament. So that, in the progress of his canvass, every candidate must make twenty-four or twenty-six speeches in his best style! Nothing can be more amusing than the gravity and decorum, wherewith the journeymen barbers,[51] hosiers, skinners, cooks, &c. &c. receive the candidates, listen to their fine florid harangues, and then begin to debate amongst themselves as to their comparative merits; and, in truth, assume as much importance as the diplomatists at Vienna, with intentions to the full as wholesome.

Footnote 51:

These gentry, not many years since, addressed the Duke of York as “the corporation of surgeons,”—i. e. _barber-surgeons_. The address was replied to without its being known that they were only shavers and wig-makers!

However, I got through my canvass of nearly three months, and remained tolerably in my senses at the conclusion of it: though, most undoubtedly, I drank as much porter and whisky with the electors themselves, and as much tea and cherry-brandy with their wives, as would have ended my days on any other occasion. But I loved the people of Dublin; I had lived more than thirty years among them; was upon good terms with all parties and societies; and, if elected, I should have been a very faithful, and I trust, an effective representative.

The humours of an Irish canvass can only be known to those who have witnessed them; and, I believe, no election, even in Ireland, ever gave rise to more of what is termed real _fun_. Most of the incidents are too trivial and too local for detail: but there were some so ludicrous, that, even at this moment, I can scarce refrain from laughing at their recollection.

Never was a business of the kind conducted with more spirit; and, at the same time, a degree of good temper prevailed, not to have been expected in a contest which called into play the most fiery and rancorous party feelings; and the genuine stream of humour that steadily flowed on, had a great effect in washing away any marks of ill-blood.

It is with pride I relate that the four voters who formed my first tally were, Mr. George Ponsonby[52] (afterward lord chancellor), Mr. Henry Grattan, Mr. William Plunkett (the present attorney-general), and Mr. John Philpott Curran (afterward master of the rolls); and that the two former accompanied their votes by far more than merited eulogiums. No candidate on any election in Ireland ever yet exhibited so talented a tally.

Footnote 52:

“My reason,” said Mr. Ponsonby, on the hustings, “for proposing Mr. Barrington for the representation of the city of Dublin is—that I have known him as my _friend_, and I have known him as my _enemy_; and, in either character, have found him ‘an _honest man_.’”

I lost the election: but I polled to the end of the fifteen days, and the last tally; and had the gratification of thinking that I broke the knot of a virulent ascendancy, was the means of Mr. Latouche’s success, and likewise of Mr. Grattan’s subsequent return.

In the course of that election many curious incidents occurred; and as every thing which relates to Mr. Grattan, and tends to elucidate the character and peculiarities of that most pure and eminent of my countrymen, must necessarily be interesting (anecdotes, which, as cotemporaries are dropping fast around me, would, if not now recorded, be lost for ever,)—I feel myself justified in detailing a few, though in themselves of no particular importance.

In the days of unsophisticated patriotism, when the very name of Grattan operated as a spell to rouse the energies and spirit of his country;—when the schisms of party bigotry had yielded to the common weal, and public men were sure to obtain that public gratitude they merited;—the corporation of Dublin (in some lucid interval of the sottish malady which has ever distinguished that inconsiderate and intemperate body) obtained a full-length portrait of Henry Grattan, then termed their great deliverer. His name graced their corporate rolls as an hereditary freeman,[53] when the jealous malice of that rancorous and persevering enemy of every man opposed to him, the Earl of Clare, in a secret committee of the House of Lords, introduced into their report some lines of a deposition by one Hughes (a rebel who had been made a witness, and was induced to coin evidence to save his own life), detailing a conversation which he alleged himself to have had with Mr. Grattan, wherein the latter had owned that he was a United Irishman. Every body knew the total falsity of this. Indeed, Mr. Grattan was, on the other hand, a man whose principles had been on certain occasions considered too aristocratic; and yet he was now denounced, in the slang of the lord chancellor, “an _infernal democrat_!” The corporation of Dublin caught the sound, and, without one atom of inquiry, tore down from their walls the portrait which had done _them_ so much honour, and unceremoniously expelled Mr. Grattan from the corporation without trial or even notice; thus proclaiming one of the most loyal and constitutional subjects of the British empire to be a rebel and incendiary. He despised and took no notice of their extravagance, but nevertheless sorely felt their ingratitude.

Footnote 53:

Mr. Grattan’s father had been recorder of Dublin and representative in parliament for that city.

On the election in question, I was proposed by Mr. George Ponsonby; and upon Mr. Grattan rising next to vote upon my tally, he was immediately objected to as having been expelled on the report of Lord Clare’s committee. A burst of indignation on the one side, and of boisterous declamation on the other, forthwith succeeded. It was of an alarming nature: Grattan meanwhile standing silent, and regarding, with a smile of the most ineffable contempt ever expressed, his shameless accusers. The objection was made by Mr. John Giffard—of whom hereafter. On the first intermission of the tumult, with a calm and dignified air, but in that energetic style and tone so peculiar to himself, Mr. Grattan delivered the following memorable words—memorable, because conveying in a few short sentences the most overwhelming, although certainly hyperbolical philippic—the most irresistible assemblage of terms imputing public depravity, that the English, or, I believe, any other language, is capable of affording:—

“Mr. Sheriff, when I observe the quarter from whence the objection comes, I am not surprised at him who made it;—the hired traducer of his country—the excommunicated of his fellow-citizens—the regal rebel—the unpunished ruffian—the bigotted agitator!—In the city a firebrand—in the court a liar—in the streets a bully—in the field a coward!—And so obnoxious is he to the very party he wishes to espouse, that he is only supportable by doing those dirty acts the less vile refuse to execute!”

Giffard, thunderstruck, lost his usual assurance; and replied, in one single sentence, “I would _spit_ upon him in a desert!”—which vapid exclamation was his sole retort!

I called for the roll, and, on inspection, the form of erasing Mr. Grattan’s name appeared to have been omitted. Of course, the objection was overruled,—my friend voted, and his triumph was complete.

The erasure of his name from the roll was never afterward attempted; and, on the dissolution of that parliament, he was requested by the very same body to stand forward as their “most illustrious countryman!” and elected by acclamation in that very same court-house, as the representative of the city and corporation which had so recently endeavoured to debase and destroy him; his chairing being attended with enthusiasm by those who some time before would with equal zeal have attended his execution. Never was there exhibited a more complete proof of causeless popular versatility; which, indeed, was repeatedly practised on that _genuine_ patriot.—It totally disgusted me;—and for ever banished from my mind the charm of _vulgar popularity_, which envelopes _patriots_ only to render their fall the more conspicuous. If a public character acts conscientiously, the less he _seeks_ for popularity the more certainly he will _acquire_ it, and the longer it will adhere to him.

Mr. John Giffard, the subject of the foregoing philippic, was a very remarkable person. He had a great deal of vulgar talent; a daring impetuosity; and was wholly indifferent to public opinion. From first to last he fought his way through the world; and finally worked himself up to be the most sturdy partisan I ever recollect in the train of government. His detestation of the Pope and his adoration of King William he carried to an excess quite ridiculous; in fact, on both subjects he seemed occasionally delirious. His life had many curious incidents connected with it; and as it would be wrong that a name so frequently occurring in the local history of Ireland should remain unnoticed, I have, therefore, in these fragments introduced it.

I did not agree with Mr. Grattan as to the epithets wherewith he honoured the captain. “A coward” he most certainly was not; and, with all his faults, he had several qualities which in social intercourse are highly valuable; and, hence, it is just to make a clear distinction between his private and his public character. He was as sincere, warm-hearted, and friendly a person as I ever met with; and, on the other hand, a bitterer enemy never existed: I do not think he ever was _mine_, and I certainly never was _his_: indeed, I had a very great regard for him in private, and sometimes in public—even against myself, because I found him _sincere_. Our first difference arose on that election, but never proceeded to any degree of hostility.