Part 19

Giffard was originally an apothecary. When I was at the Dublin University, the students were wild and lawless:—any offence to one was considered as an offence to all; and as the elder sons of most men of rank and fortune in Ireland were then educated in Dublin College, it was dangerous to meddle with so powerful a set of students, who consequently did precisely what they chose (outside the college-gates). If they conceived offence against any body, the collegians made no scruple of bringing the offender into the court, and pumping him well; and their unanimity and numbers were so great, that it was quite impossible any youth could be selected for punishment. In my time, we used to break open what houses we pleased!—regularly beating the watch every night, except in one parish, which we always kept in pay, to lend us their poles wherewith to fight the others! In short, our conduct was outrageous; and the first check we ever received was from Giffard, who was a director of the watch, and resided close to the Parliament-house.

He having in some way annoyed the collegians, they determined to pump Giffard; but they reckoned without their host! He entrenched himself in his house, which we assailed, breaking all his windows. He gave repeated warnings to no purpose; and a new assault being commenced, Giffard fired a pistol, and a collegian was wounded in the wrist, whereupon the assailants immediately raised the siege.

It was a lucky shot for Giffard, who immediately obtained some parochial office for his firmness;—made himself of importance on every trifling subject; and harangued constantly in the vestry. Of his subsequent progress I know nothing till about the year 1790, when I became a public character, and found Giffard an _attaché_ to the Castle in divers capacities. He was afterward placed in the revenue department, became a common-councilman, and at length high sheriff; at which epoch he acquired the title which forsook him not, of “_The Dog in Office_,” though wherefore, I could never rightly make out. His acts from that period became part of the general statistical history of Irish politics. One of his sons was butchered in cool blood by the rebels at Kildare, which naturally increased the ferocity of the father. His eldest son, Harding Giffard, and Mr. Croker of the Admiralty, married two sisters in Waterford. Mr. Croker’s good luck enabled him to aid his relative, who, having tried the Irish bar in vain for several years, has become chief justice of Ceylon:—Mr. Croker himself (after _his_ unsuccessful professional essay) being casually indebted to several persons of celebrity for his very rapid elevation.

During the election we are speaking of, one Horish, a master chimney-sweeper, appeared on the hustings. This man, being known to have several votes at command besides his own, had been strongly canvassed, but would promise none of the candidates, or give the least hint how he intended to vote.

During the rebellion of 1798, Mr. John Beresford (one of the candidates) had built a riding-house for his yeomanry troop in Marlborough Green, which had been also much used as a place for whipping _suspected_ persons in, to make them _discover_ what in all probability they _never knew_;—a practice equally just and humane, and liberally resorted to (perhaps for sport) by military officers, pending that troublous era, when martial law authorised every species of cruelty.

In Mr. Beresford’s riding-house this infernal system was carried on to a greater extent than in any other place of execution then tolerated in the metropolis:—to such an extent, indeed, that some Irish wags (who never fail even upon the most melancholy occasions to exercise their native humour) had one night the words, “Mangling done here by J. Beresford and Co.” painted upon a sign-board, and fixed over the entrance.

It happened that this same Horish had been among those who had paid to their king and country a full share of skin for the crime of being anonymously suspected. He had not forgotten the couple of hundred lashes on his bare carcase which he had received in Mr. Beresford’s riding-house: but the circumstance (being of such an ordinary nature) was, of course, totally forgotten by the candidate, notwithstanding the tenacious sensation of the elector’s loins, where many a good thick welt remained to remind him of the pastime.

Horish, a coarse, rough-looking, strong-built, independent, and at the moment well-dressed brute of a fellow, remained quite coquettish as to his votes. “Let me see!” said he, feeling his importance, and unwilling to part with it, (which would be the case the moment he had polled,) and looking earnestly at all the candidates,—“Let me see! who shall I vote for?—I’m very hard to please, gentlemen, I assure you!” He hesitated: we all pressed:—“Fair and easy, gentlemen,” said Horish, looking at each of us again, “don’t hurry a man!”

“Barrington,” cried impatient Beresford, “I know that honest fellow Horish will vote for me!” Horish stared, but said nothing.

“Indeed he will not,” replied I,—“eh, Horish?” Horish looked, but remained silent.

“I’ll lay you a _rump and dozen_,” exclaimed Beresford, “on the matter!”

Horish now started into a sort of animation, but coolly replied:—“You’ll lose that same rump and dozen, Mr. Beresford! ’twas many a _dozen_ you gave my _r—p_ already in your riding-house, and to the devil I bob that kind of entertainment! but if ever I have the honour of meeting you up a chimney, depend on it, Mr. Beresford, I’ll treat you with all the _civility_ imaginable!—Come, boys, we’ll poll away for the counsellor!” and, under Horish’s influence, I was supported by every chimney-sweeper in the city of Dublin (and there were many) who had a vote. I think he brought me near twenty voters of one species or another.

ELECTION FOR COUNTY WEXFORD.

Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s contest for County Wexford, omitted by all his pseudo-biographers—Duel of Mr. Alcock and Mr. Colclough (candidates), on a question respecting Mr. Sheridan’s poll—Colclough killed—A lamentable incident—Mr. Alcock’s trial—He afterward goes mad and dies—His sister, Miss Alcock, also dies lunatic in consequence—Marquess of Ely tried for an outrage at Wexford, and fined.

It is to be lamented that the biographers and eulogists of Richard Brinsley Sheridan should have suppressed some of the most creditable incidents of his variegated life, while his memory is disgraced by pretended friends and literary admirers.

These writers have raked up from his ashes, and exposed to public indignation, every failing of that great and gifted man:—so that, if their own productions were by any chance to become permanent, they would send him down to posterity as a witty, but low and dissipated _sharper_; or, in their very best colouring, as the most talented of mean and worthless mendicants. But Sheridan’s reputation will outlive all such attempts to obliterate it; while the ignorance of his libellers is conspicuous from their entire omission of some of the most interesting events of his career, at the same time that others are vouched for, which to my individual knowledge are gross misrepresentations.

Among the incidents that have been overlooked is one both extraordinary and melancholy, and forming an honourable comment on Mr. Sheridan’s public character. I was myself interested in the transaction;—and can give it on my own responsibility. I am, indeed, most anxious to rescue his memory from the rough hands which, in sketching their subject, have placed the mane of the lion upon the shoulders of a mountebank.

In speaking thus, I deeply regret that one of these biographers should be a man whom I esteem; and I regret it the more, since he has used poor Sheridan as a chopping-block, whereon to hack the character of the most illustrious person of the British empire, who (for the first time in his life, I believe) has been accused of _pecuniary illiberality_. A circumstance accidentally came to my knowledge to _prove_ that charge the very reverse of truth. But an opportunity will be taken by me of observing still more explicitly on these _friends_ of Mr. Sheridan.

At the general election of 1807, Mr. John Colclough, of Tintern Abbey, County Wexford, a near relative of mine, (and _locum tenens_ of his elder-brother, Mr. Cæsar Colclough, who had been long resident on the continent,) declared himself for the second time candidate for Wexford county, which he had represented in the previous parliament. The Colclough estates were large, the freeholders thereon numerous, and devoted to the interest of their patriotic leader, whose uncle, Mr. John Grogan, of Johnstown Castle (also a relative of mine), possessed of a very large fortune and extensive tenantry, had united with his nephew and other most respectable and independent gentlemen of that county, to liberate its representation from the trammels of certain noblemen who had for many years usurped its domination. Mr. Colclough was determined to put the pride, spirit, and patriotism of the county to proof; and therefore, in the progress of the business, proposed Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan as joint-candidate with himself, declaring that he was authorised by the independent freeholders of the county to say, that they should feel the greatest gratification in being represented by so distinguished an ornament to the name of Irishman.

Mr. Colclough and Mr. Sheridan were therefore nominated on the one hand; and Mr. Alcock, supported by the interest of the influenced electors, on the other.

Never yet was any poll conducted by more resolute, active, and zealous partisans; but it is lamentable to add that they were equally intemperate as zealous. The _ignis fatuus_ of _patriotism_ had caught the mass of the population; tenants no longer obeyed the dictates of their absent landlords nor the menaces of tyrannic agents: no man could count on the votes of his former vassals. The hustings was thronged with crowds of tenantry, constitutionally breaking away from their shackles, and voting according to their principles of free agency for Sheridan,—a man known to them only by the celebrity of his talents. The poll proceeded:—the independent party was advancing fast to success; and had the election continued, there is little doubt that Mr. Sheridan would have been a representative for Wexford county. At this crisis occurred one of the most unfortunate and melancholy events on Irish record, and by which the contest was terminated—as if the untoward destiny of Sheridan withered every thing with which he came in contact.

Several tenants of a person who had given his interest to Mr. Alcock absolutely refused to vote for that gentleman, declaring that, at every risk, they would support Colclough and “the great Sheridan!” Mr. Alcock’s partisans perverted the free agency of these men into seduction on the part of Mr. Colclough: hence a feeling decidedly hostile was excited; the fierce zeal and frenzy of election partisanship burst into a flame; and Mr. Colclough was required to decline such votes, or to receive them at his peril.

Of course he disregarded this outrageous threat, and open war ensued. One party lost sight of reason;—both, of humanity; and it was determined, that before the opening of next morning’s poll, the candidates should decide, by single combat, the contested question, and (of course) the election itself. With what indignation and horror must such a resolution, at once assailing law, good morals, and decency, be now regarded! and how will the feeling of surprise increase from its being passed over with impunity!

Early on the eventful morning many hundred people assembled to witness the affair; and it will scarcely be believed that no less than eleven or twelve _county magistrates_ stood by, passive spectators of the bloody scene which followed, without an effort, or apparently a wish, to stop the proceeding.

Both combatants were remarkably near-sighted; and Mr. Alcock determined on wearing glasses, which was resisted by the friends of Mr. Colclough, who would wear none.—The partisans of the former, however, persevered, and he did wear them. The ground at length was marked; the anxious crowd separated on either side, as their party feelings led them; but all seemed to feel a common sense of horror and repugnance. The unfeeling seconds handed to each principal a couple of pistols; and placing them about eight or nine steps asunder, withdrew, leaving two gentlemen of fortune and character—brother-candidates for the county—and former friends, nay, _intimate companions_,—standing in the centre of a field, without any _personal_ offence given or received, encouraged by false friends, and permitted by unworthy magistrates, to butcher each other as quickly and as effectually as their position and weapons would admit.

The sight was awful!—a dead silence and pause ensued: the great crowd stood in motionless suspense: the combatants presented: men scarcely breathed: the word was given: Mr. Alcock fired first, and his friend—his companion—one of the best men of Ireland, instantly fell forward, shot through the heart! he spoke not—but turning on one side, his heart’s blood gushed forth—his limbs quivered—he groaned, and expired. His pistol exploded after he was struck—of course without effect.

The bystanders looked almost petrified. The profound stillness continued for a moment, horror having seized the multitude, when, on the sudden, a loud and universal yell (the ancient practice of the Irish peasantry on the death of a chieftain) simultaneously burst out like a peal of thunder from every quarter of the field; a yell so savage and continuous—so like the tone of _revenge_,—that it would have appalled any stranger to the customs of the country. Alcock and his partisans immediately retreated; those of Colclough collected round his body; and their candidate (a few moments before in health, spirits, and vigour!) was mournfully borne back upon a plank to the town of his nativity, and carried lifeless through those very streets which had that morning been prepared to signalise his triumph.

The election-poll, of course, proceeded without further opposition:—the joint friends of Colclough and Sheridan, deprived of their support, and thunderstruck at the event, thought of nothing but lamentation; and in one hour Mr. Alcock was declared duly elected for Wexford county, solely through the death of his brother-candidate, whom he had himself that morning unjustly immolated.

A more wanton duel, a more unnecessary, cruel, and in all points illegal transaction, never occurred in the United Empire: yet, strange to say, of those eleven or twelve magistrates who actually stood by, as amateurs or partisans, in defiance of the law and of their duty,—not one was displaced or punished!—a precedent of impunity most discreditable to the high authorities of that day, dangerous to the peace of the country, and subversive of the first principles of free election. Judge of Sheridan’s feelings on receiving this intelligence! and judge of the correctness of his biographers, who have suppressed the incident altogether.

Nor was poor Colclough’s death the last act of the tragedy. His friends thought themselves called on to prosecute Mr. Alcock, who fled, but subsequently returned and surrendered for trial. I attended, as special counsel for the prosecution. Baron Smith tried the cause. The evidence was stronger than I have deemed it necessary to recite. The baron stated his opinion on the legal distinctions as applicable to duelling, and on that opinion the bar differed. It was not the wish of the prosecutors to do more than mark the transaction by a _conviction_ for _manslaughter_, which the law, under the circumstances, seemed to render imperative. However, the then politics of Wexford juries differed not unfrequently both from the laws of God and the statute book; and the verdict returned in this instance was, to the surprise of every one, a _general acquittal_!

But, alas! the acquitted duellist suffered more in mind than his victim had done in body. The horror of the scene, and the solemnity of the trial, combined to make a fatal inroad on his reason! He became melancholy; his understanding gradually declined; a dark gloom enveloped his entire intellect; and an excellent young man and perfect gentleman at length sank into irrecoverable imbecility. Goaded by the vicious frenzy of election partisans, he had slain his friend; and, haunted by reflection and sorrow, he ended his own days in personal restraint and mental ruin.

Two other duels were fought upon the same occasion, but with little injury and still less interest. Mr. Cæsar Colclough has since returned from the continent; and, on the strength of his late brother’s popularity, was elected member for County Wexford. He has not, however, followed up the high reputation of that brother; nor very satisfactorily fulfilled the expectations of his constituents.

But to this sanguinary and fatal duel there was yet another sad corollary. Miss Alcock, sister of the member, had been most deeply affected by the mournful catastrophe. She had known Colclough long and intimately; and being an amiable and sensitive young woman,—her brother’s absence, his trial, and his subsequent depression, kept the gloomy transaction alive in her mind: hence she also gradually wasted; and the death of her brother sinking deeper and deeper into a heart, all the sources of tranquillity whereof had been dried up,—_her_ reason wandered, at length fled, and she did not long survive the dreadful fate of her friend and of her brother.

A trivial anecdote will suffice to exhibit the general state of Wexford county, and of the aristocracy and magistracy, many of whom were a disgrace to their office, and completely filled up Mr. Grattan’s definition of a “regal rebel” by their arrogance, tyranny, oppression, and disaffection. By these men the peasantry were goaded into a belief that justice was banished, and so driven into the arms of the avowed rebels, who used every lure to enforce their previous delusion.

A handsome young woman, maid-servant to a Mrs. Lett, who was considered as a great _patriot_ (rebel) in Wexford, happened one summer’s evening to sit at her mistress’s window singing songs, but to certain airs that were not considered orthodox by the aristocracy.

The present Marquess of Ely, with the high sheriff and other gentlemen of the county, were retiring after their wine from the grand-jury, and heard this unfortunate young siren warbling at the window: but as the song sounded to their loyal ears of a rebellious tendency, it was thought advisable to demolish the fragile parts of Mrs. Lett’s house-front without delay; and, accordingly, my lord, the high sheriff, and their friends (to preserve the peace and protect the constitution from such traitorous maid-servants), forthwith commenced their laudable undertaking; and stones being the weapons nearest at hand, the windows and the warbling maid received a broadside, which was of the greatest utility to the glazier, and had well-nigh put fees into the pockets, not only of the surgeon, but of the sexton and coroner likewise.

However, on this occasion, justice was not so far off as the peasants had been persuaded: my lord, the high sheriff, and others, being indicted and tried, I had the honour of being his lordship’s counsel; and as our duty was to make “the worse appear the better _cause_,” I certainly did my utmost for the marquess:—but his lordship, conceiving my delicacy to the maid-servant rather too great, requested permission to ask her a few questions himself, which was granted.

“Now, girl,” said the marquess, “by the oath you have taken, did you not say you would _split my skull open_?”

“Why, then, by the virtue of my oath,” said the girl, turning to the judge, “it would not be _worth my while_ to split his skull open, my lord!”

“Ha! ha!” said the marquess, “now I have her!” (wisely supposing she made some allusion to a _reward_ for killing him:) “and _why_, girl, would it be not worth your while?”

“Because, my lord,” answered she, “if I had split your lordship’s skull open,—by virtue of my oath, I am sure and certain I should have found little or nothing inside of it!”

The laugh against the noble marquess was now too great to admit of his proceeding any further with his cross-examination: he was found guilty, and fined.

WEDDED LIFE.

Lord Clonmel, chief justice of the Irish Court of King’s Bench—His character—Lady Tyrawly’s false charge against him—Consequent duel between him and Lord Tyrawly—Eclaircissement—Lord Tyrawly and Miss Wewitzer—Lord Clonmel’s hints “How to rule a wife”—Subsequent conversation with his lordship at Sir John Tydd’s.

The first chief judge who favoured me with his intimacy was Lord Clonmel, chief justice of the King’s Bench. His character appears at full length in my “Historical Memoirs of Ireland,” vol. i. p. 38, and a curious but true character it is. I was introduced to his lordship’s notice through Sir John Tydd (the truest friend he had), and received from him many instances of attention; and he gave me, early in life, some of the very best practical maxims. As he was one of the celebrated _official_ “fire-eaters” (whom I shall hereafter mention), and fought several duels, it may be amusing to extract here, from the work in question, a few distinguishing traits of his lordship.—“Mr. Scott never omitted one favourable opportunity of serving himself. His skill was unrivalled, and his success proverbial. He was full of anecdotes, though not the most refined: these in private society he not only told, but _acted_; and when he perceived that he had made a very good exhibition, he immediately withdrew, that he might leave the most lively impression of his pleasantry behind him. His boldness was his first introduction—his policy, his ultimate preferment.—Courageous, vulgar, humorous, artificial, he knew the world well, and he profited by that knowledge:—he cultivated the powerful; he bullied the timid; he fought the brave; he flattered the vain; he duped the credulous; and he amused the convivial. He frequently, in his prosperity, acknowledged favours he had received when he was obscure, and _occasionally_ requited them. Half-liked, half-reprobated, he was too high to be despised, and too low to be respected. His language was coarse, and his principles arbitrary; but his passions were his slaves, and his cunning was his instrument. In public and in private he was the same character; and, though a most fortunate man and a successful courtier, he had scarcely a sincere friend or a _disinterested_ adherent.”—What regard I had for his lordship was literally so.

His duel with Lord Tyrawly was caused and attended by circumstances which combine to form a curious narrative:—Lady Tyrawly had an utter dislike for her husband (then the Honourable James Cuffe). They had no children, and she made various efforts to induce him to consent to a distinct and total separation. There being no substantial cause for such a measure, Mr. Cuffe looked upon it as ridiculous, and would not consent.—At length, the lady hit upon an excellent mode for carrying her wishes into effect, and ensuring a separate maintenance: but I have never heard of the precedent being followed.

Mr. Cuffe found her one day in tears, a thing not frequent with her ladyship, who had a good deal of the amazon about her. She sobbed—threw herself on her knees—went through the usual evolutions of a repentant female—and, at length, told her husband that she was unworthy of his future protection,—had been faithless to him, and was a lost and guilty woman.