Bits of Blarney

By this time, the barrack had been set fire to, and the flames raged fiercely. Dismayed, defeated, and surrounded by their opponents, the soldiers were grouped together on one side. Some twenty or thirty Whiteboys had gathered around the dying sergeant, watching his agonies with fiendish joy. "In with him! in with him to the fire! Burn him – burn the murderer alive!" were exclamations which burst from their lips, and made the doomed man shudder as he heard. Cussen stood a little aloof from all; one might have almost taken him for an unconcerned looker-on, as he carelessly stood with his arms folded, a close-fitting skull-cap of dark fur upon his head, and a narrow slip of crape concealing the upper part of his face. When the Whiteboys seized the sergeant, with the avowed intent of casting him into the flames, the young officer addressed Cussen, and earnestly entreated him to prevent so dreadful a deed. "My men have fallen," he said, "but I do not know why they were attacked. For the love of heaven, do not allow this wretched man to suffer such a death, in cold blood. Besides, he has a mortal wound. If they want his death, a few hours, at the farthest, will gratify them. Do not let him perish thus."

Cussen answered: "My men came here for revenge upon that man, and I can scarcely prevent their taking it to the fullest. He deserves his death. Blood for blood! When he shot an innocent, unoffending man, as if he were a dog, he drew this vengeance on himself. Still, it need not be pushed to the extremity they call for. A life for a life is all that can reasonably be required. But – what cries are those?"

Turning round, he saw that the flames had now reached the stables in which the horses of the dragoons were. The poor animals were driven almost to madness by fear, and their dreadful cries came shrilly and fearfully upon the ear, filling with awe the breasts of those wild men, who, while human agony appealed in vain, shuddered at this painful manifestation of deep suffering by the brute creation. Help was out of the question, as the flames spread too rapidly for assistance to be rendered. The poor animals were literally burned alive, amid the loudly expressed pity of the beholders.

From this tragedy they turned to the wounded sergeant. He had breathed his last while this scene had engaged their attention. They would not be cheated out of their revenge. With a yell of triumph, they cast his corpse into the flames, amid a thousand execrations.

They thus had accomplished their work. Cussen turned to the young officer and said: "You are free; but you must pledge me your word that if you have any personal knowledge of me, or think that you have, you will never take advantage of it." This pledge the officer firmly declined giving. Cussen paused for a few seconds, and replied that it did not matter: he would draw off his men. Giving the word, they marched off in good order – were soon out of sight, and the smoking ruins and diminished force remained as evidence of that night's tale of ruin.

CHAPTER V. – THE ATTACK ON ROSSMORE

The news that Churchtown Barracks had been burned down, and the greater portion of its military defenders killed, spread, like wildfire, through all parts of the kingdom. Magisterial and military inquiries did no more than ascertain the facts, but the persons remained undiscovered. Many were arrested on suspicion, but the actual perpetrators escaped. The policy used was to collect them from distant points, so that domiciliary visits from the patrols and the police in the neighbourhood where the outrage had been committed found the peasantry within their own habitations. Thus suspicion was diverted and detection almost impossible – except by treachery.

Viewed through the magnifying glass of public rumor, the affair at Churchtown appeared very great. In the dearth of more interesting intelligence, it was such an event as the wonder-workers of the Press delighted to snatch up as an especial theme for record and remark. The London newspapers especially gloated over it. Day after day their columns were filled with "important particulars of the massacre at Churchtown, where the Irish rebels, in overpowering numbers, killed a regiment of infantry and two troops of cavalry, burned the barracks to the ground, and barbarously threw the soldiers' wives and children into the flames, in which they were all consumed by the devouring element." The affray was repeatedly mentioned in Parliament, where the changes rung upon it produced quite a variorum edition of horrors.

The Executive offered large rewards for such information as might lead to the apprehension and conviction of the offenders. Though the required knowledge was scattered among hundreds of the peasantry – hunger-stricken men, who often wanted even salt to their potatoes – not one was found to enrich himself by the "blood-money." Two descriptions of persons are held in utter hatred and contempt in Ireland; – the man who, for lucre, turns from the ancient faith of his fathers, and he who becomes a "stag" (informer) to save his own neck, or gain the wages of treachery. Of the two, the informer is considered more harshly than the apostate, who may repent, and in the fulness of time return (even on his death-bed) to the faith he has forsaken; but once that a man becomes a traitor to his colleagues, he does what cannot be undone by any contrition, and may be punished, but cannot be atoned for by Death. It is a strange condition of society, lamented by O'Connell, Sheil, and others, that, in any cases, while the Irish peasantry would pity, and even shield the murderer, (finding or making excuses for his crime,) they will not, they cannot pardon or excuse the informer.

Up to this time, Cussen had escaped suspicion of any participation in the Whiteboy proceedings. Latterly, whether from distaste for the low companionship into which he had fallen, or from a desire to elude suspicion, he had made a point of frequenting society of a better order. On one of these occasions, while he was spending the evening at the house of Mr. F. Drew, Drewscourt, near Charleville,(in which, by the way, the writer of these Sketches was born,) the affair of Churchtown became a subject of conversation. Cussen took no part in the dialogue, but when all had retired, except Mr. Drew – a very shrewd but eccentric man – he spoke freely upon the subject, and having drank rather more than was good for him, got thrown off his guard so much as, in the excitement of the moment, to give a minute account of everything which had passed on the memorable night in question. With fearful energy he narrated all the details, and at the close, when he told how the mutilated body of the sergeant had been cast into the flames,

"Even in his glance, the gladiator spoke."

The impression which his statement and his manner made upon his listener was (as Frank Drew told me afterwards) that Cussen must have been a principal in the frightful scenes which he so vividly described, or must have had his information direct from an eye-witness and participant. As the communication had been unguardedly made, and was protected by the seal of that confidence which exists between guest and host, the suspicion never found words until after it was too late to harm Cussen.

The Churchtown insurgents remained undetected. Emboldened by success, Cussen determined to make a bold attempt to obtain arms. His followers strongly urged him to obtain fire-arms by attacks on the houses of country gentlemen who were known to have provided themselves with large means of defence.

Castletown Conyers (about three miles from Drewscourt) was the country mansion of a gentleman of large property, not far from the boundary of Limerick county. Mr. Conyers, an old gentleman whose loyalty and fears were on a par, was living, when the predial disturbances broke out, in a remote part of the county, and, having incontinently taken fright, had applied to the Government for protection, and had a corporal and six of the Rifle Brigade quartered in his house as a defensive force. Thus garrisoned, the place might be considered a stronghold; – for, in addition to the military force, Mr. Conyers had procured two or three cases of Birmingham fowling-pieces, a few kegs of powder, a large bag of flints (this was before the general use of percussion caps), and a hundred weight of sheet lead, to be cast into bullets.

This formidable supply of arms and ammunition had reached Castletown under strong military escort from Limerick, and report spoke of it as even more considerable than it really was. With these munitions of war, and the soldiers and the servants of the house, Castletown was one of the most formidable places the Whiteboys could have thought of attacking. Yet, with that characteristic, but calculating boldness, which gave him eminence with his followers,

"For those who THINK must rule o'er those who TOIL,"

Cussen determined to invest this fortilage. The arms and ammunition were what he wanted, for no one could harbor enmity against the owner of Castletown, a harmless, neutral character, whose house was open to the poor; while his wife, a matron of the olden school (she was half-sister to Sir John Fitzgerald, now M. P. for Clare), was beloved throughout the district, for her kindness and charity.

Cussen well knew that his party, numerous but badly armed, would have but small chance of success in an ordinary attack upon Castletown, well defended as it was. He determined to win by strategy what he could scarcely gain by force. He usually preferred such exploits as could be achieved rather by mental ingenuity than mere physical effect. To figure as the contriver gratified him, and encouraged his followers' belief that, no matter what the difficulty, his sagacity could bring it through with success.

About a mile from Castletown, and yet more remote from other large houses – for it was in a part of the country half-bog, half-mountain – was Rossmore, the residence of Mr. John Shelton, owner of a considerable property. Long confined to his chair by gout, which had deprived him of the power of walking, he had not taken any part in the county proceedings, as a magistrate. Nor, while other resident landlords were soliciting assistance to protect their dwellings, had Mr. Shelton joined in the entreaty. Isolated by habits and local situation, from the gentry of the district, he believed that the Whiteboys would not obtrude on the obscurity of one who felt that, as a good landlord, he did not deserve ill at the hands of any one. Of his large family there were then residing with him a son aged about eighteen, and two daughters some years older. As Mr. Shelton was my own uncle, I can speak confidently as to the details which I give.

About ten o'clock, on a fine evening in March, 1822, the peaceful inhabitants of Rossmore House were disturbed by a Whiteboy visit. The doors were speedily forced in, front and rear. The helpless household offering no resistance, the intruders proceeded to make themselves quite "at home." One division sat down in the servants' hall, threw wood and turf on the fire, and commanded the trembling female servants to cover the long table with provisions. Others ranged through the adjacent apartments in search of arms. More loudly called out for young Charles Shelton. The plan of Cussen was to take this lad to Castletown a prisoner, and threaten to shoot him in sight of the garrison there, unless all the arms and ammunition were given up. The two families were on such friendly terms, besides being related, that Cussen made sure of Mr. Conyers making any sacrifice rather than see his neighbor's son killed. But, in very truth, (as I afterwards knew,) whatever Mr. Conyers might have felt, the military force at Castletown would rather have permitted the murder than part with the means of defence – the catastrophe at Churchtown being in their minds.

Charles Shelton, who slept in an upper and remote apartment, did not immediately hear the tumult below. His elder sister, Alicia, who had high spirit and much self-possession, heard the clamour – readily surmised the extreme danger of her brother – hastily arose, throwing a shawl over her night dress – ran to her brother's room, the door of which she locked, securing the key – and then went down boldly to face the danger, if necessary.

While she stood near the door of the servants' hall, regarding what was going on, but herself unseen, Cussen came in from the back-yard, having kept aloof from the confusion until then. He was just in time. The frightened servants, in compliance with loud demands for drink, had placed the whiskey-jar upon the table. Knowing that success, and even safety depended on such indulgence being abstained from, he broke thejar with the fowling-piece he carried.

His men looked at each other, then at him, but his stern looks awed them. One or two merely muttered a regret that "such prime stuff" should be wasted.

Cussen then, as if anxious to avoid all chance of recognition, returned to the back of the house. He wore a close-fitting skull-cap, with a slip of crape in front, and could see whatever occurred. His followers were more or less disguised, and all, except Cussen, had white shirts over their garments – hence the name Whiteboy.

Perceiving the power of his leadership, Alicia Shelton determined not to waste words or time in entreaties on the men, but to appeal at once to Cussen. She managed to leave the house without being noticed – found Cussen outside, leaning on his fowling-piece, in a thoughtful and abstracted mood. To throw herself on her knees before him – to implore him for the love of Heaven to save her brother's life – was the impulsive action of a moment. He turned away, not even looking upon her, and then – the present peril giving her new energy and courage – she seized him by the coat-skirt and earnestly said, "You want to take my brother to Castletown. There they will see him torn to pieces before they will surrender their arms. You must know that it will be an idle attempt. Then, in their disappointment, your men will kill him. Save him – save my brother, if you have a human heart. I know that you will do it, and I will bless you if you do."

She sank on the ground before him. He felt that she was speaking the truth. Besides, he was moved by her entreaty. Raising her from the ground, he said, in a kind and soothing manner, "Lady! I am afraid that we must have your brother's company, but no harm shall reach him with my consent."

Her convulsive grasp still held him. Striving to extricate himself, he got into the moonlight, and then, for the first time, he had a view of her features. She was very handsome; and now, with her dark hairdishevelled, her eager glance, her graceful attitude, her earnest tone, her light attire, she looked a Pythoness.

Cussen gazed long and anxiously on the still kneeling suppliant. Some old memory may have passed through his mind in that brief space – a wave in life's vast ocean. Perhaps some resemblance of form, feature, or voice brought back a glimpse of bygone days of happiness and love. There still was something tender in that troubled heart. He passed his hands across his eyes, as if he would clear them from a mist, and then with a gentle courtesy, as if they were in a ball-room, raised Miss Shelton from the ground.

"Lady," said he, "whatever I can do to aid you, I will do. They have not yet found your brother. If he be concealed, keep him so, and I will make some pretext to draw off my men. They must have whatever arms are in the house; but they shall be content with that."

Miss Shelton would have expressed her warm gratitude, but Cussen did not wait to be thanked. He turned away then. While she yet lingered, with clasped hands to heaven, he suddenly returned, politely raised his cap from his head for a moment, took one of her hands in his, pressed his lips to it, with the gallant air of a cavalier, and then withdrew. Almost before Alicia Shelton had regained her own apartments, Cussen had given his men the word to retire. He led them into the belief that the military and police were approaching, and this made them hastily retreat and disperse, taking with them all the arms in the house except a small pair of pistols which Captain Shelton had picked up and brought away with him from Waterloo. They are now in my own possession.

Before Miss Shelton had risen from her earnest thanksgiving for her brother's safety, Captain Rock and his force had departed. She then ventured into her father's room, from whence his bodily ailments did not allow him to move, and was happy to learn that he had not heard the tumult which had prevailed in the more distant part of the house. Thus terminated a night of terror.

CHAPTER VI. – THE TRIAL

Much alarm was created, through the county of Limerick, by the attack upon Mr. Shelton of Rossmore. The neighbouring gentry argued from it, and not without cause, that if a gentleman whose advanced years and bodily ailments had kept him aloof from the actual exercise of his magisterial functions, were thus singled out, there was little hope for escape for those who had made themselves marked men, by determined and acknowledged resistance to and denunciation of the Whiteboys Accordingly, zeal being now quickened by fear for personal safety, it was resolved that neither trouble nor expense be spared to discover the persons implicated in this last affair. Many circumstances tended to establish a conviction that the leader of the Whiteboys must be some one greatly superior to those whom he commanded. The brief conversation which had been held with the officer at Churchtown, and Miss Shelton at Rossmore, almost proved that one and the same person had commanded on both occasions, – that he was a man of education and gentle bearing, – and that it was necessary, above all, if the insurrectionary conspiracy was to be put down, to strike at him, its life and soul.

Weeks passed by, and though many were suspected, and several taken into custody by the police, no clue to the discovery of the veritable Captain Rock was yet discovered. At last, one of the persons apprehended on suspicion – faint-hearted as a weak woman, and far less faithful – let fall some words which first excited suspicion against John Cussen. No notice appeared to be taken of them at the time, but the prisoner, who was kept in solitary confinement for some time, was gradually worked upon by promises of large payment in the event of the conviction of the actual leader of the Whiteboys. He vacillated between cupidity and fear of his own personal safety. At last, he stagged– that is, he gave some information, on the solemn promise that his having done so should never transpire, that he should not be required to give any evidence in public, and that he should immediately be conveyed out of the country for safety.

At first, the magistrates hesitated to believe that John Cussen could be concerned in the outrages which had spread alarm far and near, and directed particular inquiries to be made respecting his habits, way of living, haunts, occupation, and companions. They ascertained, from this scrutiny and espial, the fact of his frequent absences from home at night; they obtained proof of his having been seen, within the prohibited hours, in remote places where outrages had been committed; and the conviction came upon their minds that Cussen, and none other, was the much-dreaded and long-concealed Captain Rock.

Orders were given to arrest him, and also to search his house. Among his papers were found some documents which could scarcely have been in possession of any but a leader of the disaffected. They were insufficient of themselves, however, to fix him as such.

The police and the military, charged with the warrant to arrest Cussen, received strict injunctions to avoid unnecessary violence. It was anticipated, from his determined character and great personal strength, that he would resist any attempt to make him a prisoner. Contrary to expectation, he surrendered himself without struggle or hesitation. He was found sitting tête-à-tête with old Frank Drew, at Drew's Court, – the same to whom he had spoken so freely about the particulars of the attack on Churchtown Barracks, – and when he heard the measured tread of the military, as they came up the avenue, he paused in his conversation, and exclaimed, "They have come for me."

In custody his deportment, equally devoid of effrontery and fear, was apparently that of an innocent man, and impressed very many with the idea that he was unjustly suspected. The magistrates, who knew better, but were compelled to conceal the source of their information, even incurred some blame, from public opinion, for having apprehended and detained him.

The difficulty was – how to prove that John Cussen was identical with Captain Rock. In accordance with his compact with the authorities, the craven who had given the clue had been quietly shipped off to England. The most liberal offers were secretly made, on the part of the Government, to induce some of the other prisoners to turn king's evidence, but without avail. They knew, one and all, what share Cussen's had been in the Whiteboy movements; but they were fully aware, also, that to appear in evidence against him would, in effect, be equivalent to the signing of their own death-warrant. They continued faithful to him – and from higher motives, perhaps, than that of personal fear. For he was a man who possessed the power of winning hearts, and there were many – very many of his followers, who had become so warmly attached to him that they would have laid down their own lives to protect his from harm.

It was believed that Miss Shelton, if she was so minded, could have recognized his figure, his features, and the very tone of his voice. She was strongly urged to do so, in order "to promote the ends of justice;" but, grateful for the service which he had rendered to her brother, and remembering his personal courtesy to herself, she invariably declined doing so, and, to avoid all compulsion or persuasion in the matter, was secretly preparing to pay a visit to her elder sister, who had married an English gentleman, and resided at Bath. On her repeated refusal to assist the Crown, it was determined that, by means of a stratagem, she should be trepanned into identifying him.

Accordingly, Major Eeles, Captain Johnstone, and another officer of the Rifle Brigade, made a morning-call at Rossmore, and, as if by accident, asked Miss Shelton and her sister whether they would not like to see the barrack at Ballingarry, which they had repeatedly promised to visit. A party of six or seven was made up on the instant. The horses were ordered out, and very soon the party reached the barrack, in which Cussen was detained until his final removal to the county-prison of Limerick. That such a person was there, was unknown to all the visitors. Accompanied by some of the officers' wives, whom they knew, the ladies from Rossmore entered the room occupied by Cussen, heavily ironed and closely guarded. As they were passing through it, Cussen was purposely provoked, by one of his guards, to speak loudly – angrily, indeed – to some taunting remark. Alicia Shelton, recognizing the peculiar and unforgotten tone, seized her sister's arm, with a sudden impulse, and exclaimed – "It is the very man!" and would have fallen, but for support immediately rendered.

Cussen started at her exclamation, looked at her, "more in sorrow than in anger," rose from his chair, raised his hat, and courteously saluted the party. Miss Shelton, who avoided a second glance at him, restrained her feelings, and did not again open her lips; but what she had involuntarily said, slight as it was, sealed his fate – and he knew it. So did the officers who had planned the trick.

Government had directed that Cussen's trial should immediately take place. This was before Alicia Shelton had been betrayed into a recognition of the prisoner. She considered herself bound in honour not to give evidence to the detriment of one who had conferred a signal favour on herself. But, on the night of the attack, Cussen had also been seen and heard by her younger sister, whose bed-room window overlooked the back-yard, and who had witnessed the occurrence between them. Not considering herself bound by any personal ties of gratitude, and somewhat selfishly recollecting her own alarm rather than her brother's secured safety, Susanna Shelton declared that, for her part, she had no scruples in performing what she believed to be an act of justice to society. In addition, two of Cussen's followers, to save their own necks from the halter, promised, almost at the last moment, to turn king's evidence – but as there was no certainty of their remaining in the same mind, when put into the witness-box (or, rather, as it actually was, upon the table in the Court), not much reliance was placed upon them.