Rebellion in Ireland, in 1798—Mr. Waddy’s castle—A priest cut in two by the portcullis, and partly eaten by Waddy—Dinner-party at Lady Colclough’s—Names and characters of the company, including Mr. Bagenal Harvey, Captain Keogh, &c.—Most of them executed soon after—Tour through and state of County Wexford, after the battles and storming of the town—Colonel Walpole killed and his regiment defeated at Gorey—Unaccountable circumstance of Captain Keogh’s head not decaying.

Many incidents which, I really think, could not have occurred in any country except Ireland, took place in the year 1798. There is something so very different from other people in every deed or word of the unsophisticated Irish, that in fact one has no right to be surprised, whatever scenes may be acted by them.

One of these curious occurrences remains even to this day a subject of surmise and mystery. During the rebellion in County Wexford in 1798, Mr. Waddy, a violent ultra loyalist, surrounded by a neighbourhood of inveterate insurgents, to whom he had made himself peculiarly obnoxious, fled to a castle at a considerable distance from the town of Wexford. Though out of repair, it was not unfit for habitation; and might secure its tenant from any coup de main of undisciplined insurgents. He dreaded discovery so much, that he would entrust his place of refuge to no person whatsoever; and, as he conceived, took sufficient food to last until he might escape out of the country. There was but one entrance to the castle, and that was furnished with an old portcullis, which drew up and let down as in ancient fortresses.

Here Mr. Waddy concealed himself; and every body was for a long time utterly ignorant as to his fate:—some said he was drowned in the Slaney; some, burned alive; others, murdered and buried in ploughed ground! But while each was willing to give an opinion as to the mode of his destruction, no one supposed him to be still alive. At length, it occurred to certain of his friends to seek him through the country; with which view they set out, attended by an armed body! Every wood and ruin was explored; but their search was vain, until approaching by chance an old castle, they became aware of a stench, which the seekers conjectured to proceed from the putrid corpse of murdered Waddy. On getting nearer, this opinion was confirmed; a dead body lay half within and half without the castle, which the descent of the old portcullis had crushed nearly into equal portions. Poor Mr. Waddy was deeply lamented; and, though with great disgust, they proceeded to remove that half of the carcase which lay outside the entrance—when, to their infinite astonishment, they perceived that it was not Waddy, but a neighbouring priest, who had been so expertly cut in two;—how the thing had happened, nobody could surmise. They now rapped and shouted—but no reply: Waddy, in good truth, lay close within, supposing them to be rebels. At length, on venturing to peep out, he discovered his friends, whom he joyfully requested to raise, if possible, the portcullis, and let him out, as he was almost starved to death.

This, with difficulty, was effected, and the other half of the priest was discovered immediately within the entrance,—but by no means in equally good condition with that outside; inasmuch as it appeared that numerous collops and rump-steaks had been cut off the reverend gentleman’s hind-quarters by Waddy, who, early one morning, had found the priest thus divided; and being alike unable to raise the portcullis or get out to look for food, (certain indeed, in the latter case, of being piked by any of the rebels who knew him,) he thought it better to feed on the priest, and remain in the castle till fortune smiled, than run a risk of breaking all his bones by dropping from the battlements—his only alternative.

To the day of Waddy’s death, he could give no collected or rational account how this incident occurred:—indeed, so confused had his head become in consequence of his critical circumstances, that the whole appeared to him ever after as a dream or vision quite beyond his comprehension.

The foregoing, though among the most curious, is but one of the extraordinary occurrences of that dreadful insurrection—some of which tend to strengthen my superstitious feeling, which is, I confess, very deep-rooted, as also is my conviction, that “whatever is, is right!”—Scarcely any except the fortunate will, I suppose, be ready to join me in the latter notion, though in the former I am aware I have many associates, particularly among old women and hypochondriacs: I am, it is true, perpetually laughed at for both by what are termed clever ladies and strong-minded gentlemen, but still think proper to retain my own impressions.

I will detail the following circumstance in illustration of these principles. It took place immediately previous to the breaking out of the rebellion.

I dined at the house of Lady Colclough (a near relative of Lady Barrington), in the town of Wexford, in April, 1798. The company, so far as I now recollect, consisted of about sixteen persons, among whom were several other of Lady Barrington’s relatives (then members of the grand-jury): Mr. Cornelius Grogan, of Johnstown, a gentleman, seventy years old, of very large fortune, who had represented the county; his two brothers, both wealthy men; Captain Keogh, afterward rebel governor of Wexford, the husband of Lady B.’s aunt; the unfortunate John Colclough, of Tintern, and the still more unfortunate Mr. Colclough; Counsellor John Beauman; Counsellor Bagenal Harvey, afterward the rebel generalissimo; Mr. William Hatton, a rebel director in Wexford; and some others. The conversation after dinner turning on the distracted state of the country, became rather too free, and I begged some of the party to be more moderate, as our ways of thinking were so different, and my public situation did not permit me, especially at that particular period, to hear such strong language: the loyalists among us did not exceed five or six (exclusive of ladies, whose politics nobody minds).

The tone of the conversation was soon changed, but not before I had made up my mind as to the probable fate of several in company, though I certainly had no idea that, in little more than a month, a sanguinary rebellion would desolate my native land, and violent deaths, within three months, befall a considerable proportion of that joyous assemblage. I had seen enough, however, to convince me that all was not right; and that, by plunging one step further, most of my relatives and friends would be in imminent danger. The party however broke up; and next morning, Counsellor Beauman and myself, happening to meet on the bridge, talked over the occurrences of the previous day, uniting in opinion as to the inauspicious aspect of things, and actually proceeding to sketch out a list of those among the dinner-party whom we considered likely to fall victims!—and it so turned out that every one of our predictions was verified! It was superficial observation alone that led me to think as I did at that moment, but a decided presentiment of what eventually happened soon after took possession of me; and indeed so full was I of forebodings, that I was more than once roused out of my sleep by the horrid ideas floating through my mind as to the fate of connexions for whom I had a warm affection.

Bagenal Harvey (already mentioned in this work), who had been my school-fellow and constant circuit-companion for many years, laughed, at Lady Colclough’s, at my political prudery; assured me I was totally wrong in suspecting him; and insisted on my going to Bargay Castle, his residence, to meet some old Temple friends of ours on the ensuing Monday;—my relative Captain Keogh was to be of the party.

I accordingly went there to dinner; but that evening proved to me one of great uneasiness, and made a very disagreeable impression both on my mind and spirits. The company I met included, besides the host, Mr. Cornelius Grogan; Captain Keogh; the two unfortunate Counsellors Sheers, who were both hung shortly afterward; Mr. Colclough, who was hung on the bridge; Mr. Hay, who was also executed; Mr. William Hatton, one of the rebel directory of Wexford, who unaccountably escaped; and a gentleman of the bar whose name I shall not mention, as he still lives. In fact, seven of the company were soon afterward headless.

The entertainment was good, and the party cheerful. Temple freaks were talked over; the bottle circulated: but, at length, Irish politics became the topic, and proceeded to an extent of disclosure which utterly surprised me. With the Messrs. Sheers (particularly Henry) I had always been on terms of the greatest intimacy: I had extricated both of them not long before from considerable difficulty, through the kindness of Lord Kilwarden; and I had no idea that matters wherein they were concerned had proceeded to the lengths developed on that night. The probability of a speedy revolt was freely discussed, though in the most artful manner, not a word of either of the party committing themselves, or indeed any one else: but they talked it over as a result which might be expected from the complexion of the times and the irritation excited in consequence of the severities exercised by the government. The chances of success, in the event of a rising, were openly debated, as were also the circumstances likely to spring from that success, and the examples which the insurgents would in such a case probably make. The Marquess of Ely and Lord Clare they looked upon as persons not likely to be spared. All this was at the same time talked over, without one word being uttered in favour of rebellion;—a system of caution which, I afterward learned, was much practised for the purpose of gradually making proselytes without alarming them. I, however, saw through it clearly, and here my presentiments came strong upon me. I found myself in the midst of absolute though unavowed conspirators. I perceived that the explosion was much nearer than the government expected; and was startled at the decided manner in which my host and his friends spoke. The barrister whom I have mentioned but not named did not reside in that province, and had no connexion with it that I ever heard of. I therefore saw that he was an envoy. He has, I believe, never been publicly committed in that business.

Under these circumstances, my alternative was evidently to quit the house, or give a turn to the conversation. I therefore began to laugh at the subject, and ridicule it as quite visionary, observing jestingly to Keogh—“Now, my dear Keogh, it is quite clear that you and I, in this famous rebellion, shall be on different sides of the question; and of course one or the other of us must necessarily be hanged at or before its termination—I upon a lamp-iron in Dublin, or you on the bridge of Wexford. Now, we’ll make a bargain!—if we beat you, upon my honour I’ll do all I can to save your neck; and if your folks beat us, you’ll save me from the honour of the lamp-iron!”

A hearty laugh ensued, and my health was drunk in a bumper.

We shook hands on the bargain, and the whole after-talk assumed a cheerful character. But I returned to Wexford at twelve at night, with a most decided impression of the danger of the country, and a complete presentiment that either myself or Captain Keogh would never see the conclusion of that summer.

I immediately wrote to Mr. Secretary Cooke, without mentioning names, place, or any particular source of knowledge; but simply to assure him that there was not a doubt that an insurrection would break out at a much earlier period than the government contemplated. I desired him to ask me no questions, because I could give him no details, my ideas being the free result of observation: however, I said that he might depend upon the fact; adding that a commanding force ought instantly to be sent down to garrison the town of Wexford, which might prevent any rising. “If the government,” said I, in conclusion, “does not attend to my warning, it must take the consequences.” My warning was purposely disregarded; but his Majesty’s government soon found I was right. They lost Wexford, and might have lost Ireland, by that culpable inattention.

The result need scarcely be mentioned; many members of that jovial dinner-party were executed within three months! and on my next visit to Wexford, I saw the heads of Captain Keogh, Mr. Harvey, and Mr. Colclough, on spikes over the court-house door.

Previously to the final catastrophe, however, when the insurgents had been beaten, Wexford retaken by our troops, and Keogh made prisoner, I did not forget my promise to him at Bargay Castle. He was a good man and a respectable gentleman, and I would have gone any length to save him. Many certificates had reached Dublin of his humanity to the royalists whilst the town of Wexford was under his government, and of attempts made upon his life by Dixon, a brutal chief of his own party, for his endeavouring to resist the rebel butcheries. I had intended to go with these directly to Lord Camden, the lord lieutenant; but I first saw Mr. Secretary Cooke, to whom I related the entire story, and showed him several favourable documents. I begged he would come with me to the lord lieutenant, whom the aide-de-camp in waiting had informed me would receive me forthwith. He told me I might save myself the trouble of going to Lord Camden; and at the same time handed me a despatch received that morning from General Lake, who stated that he had thought it necessary, on recapturing Wexford, to lose no time in “making examples” of the rebel chiefs; and that accordingly, Mr. Grogan, of Johnstown, Mr. Bagenal Harvey, of Bargay Castle, Captain Keogh, Mr. Colclough, and some other gentlemen, had been hanged on the bridge and beheaded the previous morning.

I felt shocked beyond measure at this intelligence,—particularly as I knew Mr. Cornelius Grogan (an excellent gentleman, seventy years of age, of very large fortune and establishments,) to be no more a rebel than myself. Being unable, from infirmity, to walk without assistance, he was led to execution.—His case was, in fact, most pitiable: he was decidedly murdered according to municipal law, but which at that period was totally superseded by “martial law,” which in many instances was most savagely resorted to.

I was at all times ready and willing to risk my life to put down that spirit of mad democracy which sought to subvert all legal institutions, and to support every true principle of the constitution which protected us: but at the same time I must in truth and candour say (and I say it with reluctance), that, during those sanguinary scenes, the brutal conduct of certain frantic royalists was at least on a parallel with that of the frantic rebels.

Immediately after the recapture of Wexford, I traversed that county, to see the ruins which had been occasioned by warfare. Enniscorthy had been twice stormed, and was dilapidated and nearly burned. New Ross showed melancholy relics of the obstinate and bloody battle of full ten hours’ duration, which had been fought in every street of it; when Lord Mountjoy fell, at the head of his regiment, by the fire of a rebel named Shepherd, who singled him out at the three billet-gate:—his regiment instantly retreated, and the triumphant rebel advanced and took his lordship’s watch out of his pocket. The man afterward showed it me in Dublin, when I took him as a witness on the attainder bill before the House of Commons. Lord Clare wanted to take it, and to send him to Newgate;—but I had brought him up on an amnesty, and government supported me. The numerous pits crammed with dead bodies, on Vinegar Hill, seemed on some spots actually elastic as we stood upon them; whilst the walls of an old windmill on its summit appeared stained and splashed with the blood and brains of the many victims who had been piked or shot against it by the rebels. The court-house of Enniscorthy, wherein our troops had burned alive above eighty of the wounded rebels; and the barn of Scullabogue, where the rebels had retaliated by burning alive above one hundred and twenty Protestants—were terrific ruins! The town of Gorey was utterly destroyed,—not a house being left perfect; and the bodies of the killed were lying half-covered in sundry ditches in its vicinity. It was here that Colonel Walpole had been defeated and killed a few days before.^[48]

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.