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She had seen Father O'Neil pour milk and water into the same tumbler, and, after mixing them well, produce them separate. I assured her I had seen the same from the Wizard of the North. She was ignorant, and
and told me 6 the father was to be translated to heaven on a car. "For what?" I inquired. She could not answer. “Gammon!” said I. For sacrificing some hundred lives, I suppose, my dear Pumpkin, as the sequel will show you. Pshaw! Well, to the 12th-no, I mean the 13th--for it was the day after the 12th I heard. the sad doings from an eye-witness.
A troop of dragoons were formed up in the potato-market by the quay, when a mêlee commenced between the Russell party and Potter's
, that exceeded anything you can imagine—broken heads, bloody noses, brains protruding, and split skulls. And one man, my informant tells me, was thrown from a room above stairs, and, alighting on some iron railings, remained spiked for some moments before he was released. Another Tory was thrown over the bridge, and as his corpse
floated down the river, they stoned it as it went. A squadron of dragoons was ordered to charge, and one officer had his face cut open with a stone, and, but for his helmet, must have lost his eye; two or three of the others were hit, and some of the private soldiers severely hurt. A female hay having attacked a hot-tempered private soldier, I am informed he scalped her head with one sweep of his sword. He had not half the gallantry of the Birdcage-walk gentlemen, however (excuse an execrable pun), whatever his military gallantry might be-eh? On the Tuesday, the Horse Artillery planted their howitzers on each bridge, to prevent all ingress, but to allow all egress. Father O'Neil addressed the dragoons as they patrolled the town, and inquired the reason of this military array. "The officer of the troop treated his question to a sneer. - Then
your blood be on your own heads,” said the padre. “ The blood has been on some of our own bodies yesterday,” said a trooper, sotto voce, "and it shall be on your party to-day, master.”
On the Wednesday, all the garrison were called out, and kept patrolling the town ; gentlemen in cocked hats dashing about the streets, with mounted soldiers with drawn swords galloping after them, and guards turning out and presenting arms"; and cars filled with voters came galloping in, escorted by dragoons, and registering their votes, guarded by soldiers with fixed bayonets. In the afternoon, a report being prettily generally circulated that the Protestant candidate was getting the best of it, an attack was made by the mob, halloaed on by their priests—I am told, like a wild herd of buffaloes—upon most of the Protestant voters? houses— their windows broken, and their furniture and “household gods” seized and cast into the street.
I now come to the most unpleasant part of my reminiscences. You will recollect how honoured I felt when the Lord-Lieutenant of the country thought fit to appoint me to a commission in the peace; but I was then little aware of the duties required of me, or I would have hurled it in his teeth back again. You, my dear Pumpkin, who stay at home, and only see the mayoralty sitting in all the pomp of office, guarded by faithful policemen, will hardly credit their duties in Ireland. In our happy city, the most required of such a functionary is to commit to gaol some half-starved vagabond for tramping about the country, or im
prison an hilarious
gets drunk and wrenches off knockers; but here, my dear sir, they are compelled to lead the forlorn-hope for the
You would hardly believe it, but it is not until the soldiers have been well pelted with stones and brickbats, fish and dead cats, and the magistrate read over a lot of gibberish, that the freedom of the constitution allows her soldiers to fight. It may be very pleasant to some gentlemen to be set up, as we used a plaster-of-paris image at school, for a cock-shy, but for me there is no glory in danger—no delight in being hurt.
But to return to our subject. I received a peremptory order to be at the Royal Barracks, to accompany a troop of dragoons in aid of the civil power, at 8 P.M. that evening (Wednesday), couched in such terms, that I saw a refusal was out of the question. It was death or obey !—perhaps death either way; so having scribbled my will, and taken a long farewell of my dear family, simply telling them I was going to have my hair cut - which they thought a very inopportune period --I set off for the dreaded barracks. Now, ever since the time that that Scotch maid we had ran away with my cash-box and a life-guardsman, I have had a mortal antipathy to all people and places military ; so I reached this “ den of iniquity” (as many designate a barrack) with feelings much resembling a young truant who is going to be whipped for shirking school, or a cur dog that has had a tin kettle tied to his tail. I was received by a hirsute six-feet-high young gentleman, who ushered me into a mess-room, where a dinner was going on, and at the head of the table sat another hirsute six-feet-high gentleman, to whom I was introduced as being the “beak.” I was thereon requested to be seated, and pressed to eat ; but the deadly prospect before me quite overcame my appetite, which, had it not, the bloodthirsty stories of the different dressed gentlemen around me would have, without any question of a doubt. heard of nothing but blood and fighting, death and glory. Some talked of their deeds in the Bengal presidency, others of those in the Punjaub, others in Canada, others in Caffraria, others in the West Indies, and one at Waterloo, until, at last, they all agreed they would no more think of
slipping a bayonet into a man's bread-basket,” or “bagging some twenty Celts,” than tossing off a glass of Moselle! I got nervous, and began to think I had made a mistake and got amongst a party of elegant highwaymen or gentlemen-murderers, until I heard an elderly officer, with a toupee and dyed moustache, who had chirruped something about Quatre Bras through his dissolute teeth, give us a little epitome of scandal as to his success with the ladies. He had just told us how Lady — (my dear fellow, I refrain from giving names) and himself were yachting off Cowes, when -at this moment a gentleman with a gun in the barrack-square cried, “Guard, turn out!" and I saw a large party of hirsute soldiers, with brass caps on and drawn swords, come marching in. I then heard a trumpet sound, and something
which, the old posting days, we should have called “next turn out.” Every one was in excitement, and I took a glass of champagne, and was partially unconscious until I knew I was to meet my doom-I was to lead the relieving-party! There are moments—but enough-Wellington, Cæsar, Marlborough, Lord Gough, have felt them, and so did I ; but as I have said enough, I will not trouble
that score. I recollected nothing until I felt a lurch, a plunge, a heave, and myself on the small
of my back, and lying like a lively turtle in the barrack-square, unable to rise. It appeared, that although I had never mounted a quadruped before, save, as a boy, a donkey at Gravesend, I had clambered upon the top of a troop-horse ; and although the animal was very quiet indeed when mounted by a gent in red, it had a great antipathy to one in the dress of a respected and respectable burgher of the city of London, just as I am informed one of Barclay and Perkins' dray-horses would feel when first mounted by a yeomanry officer in “full fig.” (a slang expression I picked up at “our” mess) --meaning, with a rattling sword and blazing helmet, and the clatter of what Shakspeare calls “ harness.” Success to champagne ! I remounted, and, with the assistance of two soldiers on foot, preserved my equilibrium pretty fairly. Outside the barracks, alas ! myself in front of all, my two soldier friends on foot now gone, and no chance of running away, my courage, like Bob Acres', fairly oozed out, and to you, my dear fellow, in strict confidence, let me say, I was in a "funk,” and could have wept as a child! We proceeded down some bye-lanes, where I was assailed upon the cruelty of our dear native landold England, the liberty of the subject, of elections, and so forth. Many of the soldiers were assailed with stones and dirt, and the latter being Irish dirt, was of course of a superlative degree ; and they jeered the troop with being "sanguinary Englishmen," or "orange wreckers,” until the captain told me “to read the Riot Act.” At that moment I would have read anything to get out of such a mess as I was in, down to the whole of the “ Magna Charta” or “ Burns' Justice of the Peace;" but I am not an animated statute-book (double-entry being more in my line), so I said, “I could not, as I knew not such an Act by rote.”
Upon this he pushed a small parchment-covered book into my hands, and in a wild, stentorian voice exclaimed, “ Read !" The private soldiers began to use towards me some coarse expletives, so I quickly obeyed—though I have yet to learn what " Confidential Reports to the Military Secretary, Royal Hospital, Dublin," has to do with a proclamation for all people to disperse and peaceably depart to their lawful business (perhaps I read the wrong page). However, at the words “these reports must be sufficiently explicit,” the captain said, “That will do; cry ‘God save the Queen.'” So, did I not loyally scream “God save the Queen ?”—when a sword grazed my left cheek, and went into a retiring gentleman's back, like a knife into a keg of melting butter, and the dragoon which wielded it swore a frightful oath he would do for every one of them the same, if they pelted him with stones. By holding my horse as firm as I could, I managed to let the soldiers pass me; and when they had fairly galloped away, I turned round to the left, and the nag quietly took me up to barracks. Judge, my dear boy, of my astonishment, when, upon my arrival there, I found I was a hero! You will laugh, doubtless, but it appears there is no glory to be gained by the officers on these occasions, and without glory in view these gents are as calm as ditch-water. No wonder, then, Louis Napoleon gets on so well with his army! Now it appeared that the troop, after satiating their thirst for blood, returned to barracks, said it was nothing ! although I saw many of them hit and cut about with stones and that I did everything! And it was all along of me everything was done! Did I not drink champagne, that was all, that night? I was toasted as a “brick," and a “trump,
I was going to write-a general. But to end my story briefly, on retiring to bed, I was
☺ and a
not in that state I should have been in; for with the officers I felt valorous, talked of Cambridge and Harry Smith, and even of the Duke as “old Velly," and said, the man who could not beat little Bonaparte, or spit an American through with his sabre, was not worth the price of a keg of pickled herrings. After that, I don't recollect much further than hurrahing a good deal, and joining a chorus of
Let the toast pass, drink to the lass :
I'll warrant you'll find an excuse for the glass. Next morning I was very bilious, and took soda-water to a great extent, and swore the only salvation for Ireland was- -its immediate disfranchisement, and then handing it over, on a five years' lease, to Nicholas, Czar of Russia. Torrents of rain falling for the next two days, the town was quiet.
ng the Cork Exhibition ! To Islington immediate! What an unfortunate fatality hangs over this unfortunate country! With what fair prospects did that exhibition open! Did not the queen, and half England, intend to troop over to see Munster ? A foul priest-ridden fiend stalks abroad, and overthrows the weak intentions of man! Next
year, we are told, an exhibition is to be exposed in Dublin. Will it succeed? My Lord Derby (in my opinion) will be overthrown, Lord Palmerston and Sir J. Graham in power, and a fresh election-the issue, and the consequence, another series of riots. Form your own surmises. Poor Ireland! Believe me, faithfully yours,
JEREMIAH TUBBS. No. 2.–From Tubbs, at Ballymactarbarry Castle, to Pumpkin, High-street,
Islington DEAR PUMPKIN,– When I wrote you my last communication, I vainly flattered myself our next should be a vocal one in the har of the Peacock. How vain is man’s proposals ! Alas ! no, my dear fellow. Although a free and independent subject, I am still confined to this hated land. Sad, sad doings have been enacted within the very precincts of my threshold. I think I fully explained to you in my last the nature of these aborigines Celts. They are like a herd of wild buffaloes, and go trooping, and screaming, and whirling their shellelahs about wherever their priests choose to holloa them on tomay, be it their own destructionas the sequel will show.
The priests this year were fully determined the Derby government should not stand. The unfortunate riot at Stockport was a handle not to be despised, and inflammatory placards, headed with—“Hell broke loose in England,"containing such a tissue of lies and calumnies as none but a blind and jesuitical society could string together, was posted up in
every direction; as an instance, one bill was a large wood-cut, representing a row of nuns with upstretched arms, appealing for mercy, while two priests lay on the ground apparently dead, and another was beseeching two dragoons to have pity on these holy women!! while, how much the more must every right-thinking and rational man's disgust and indignation be aroused, when he was further told, by a notice beneath, that a convent of English nuns had been handed over to gratify the licentious and lustful passions of a troop of dragoons for their bloody work on the Irish at Stockport! The poor fanatics believe ALL their priests tell them!
It was a Thursday—the polling-day at Six-mile-bridge—that a long line of ten cars and vans, filled with voters, had to enter that town. Now let me explain to you how the soldiers were placed (as explained to me by an eye-witness). There were forty soldiers altogether; ten were placed in front of the cars, under command of an officer, and ten in the rear, under command of another officer, and the remaining twenty men were placed two-and-two to guard the ten cars, and it was upon these men the attack was made—the twos-and-twos guarding the cars. (And here, an officer informed me, was the error, as this part of the soldiering ought by rights to have been done by cavalry.) The priests excited on the people, who attacked the twos guarding the cars, and many of the voters were pulled off their cars, and a corporal had his musket broken, and himself treated in a brutal and savage manner, while the mob was about to treat others after the same Celtic fashion. Now it
these soldiers, with their officers, had fought and conquered at Ferozeshah, Moodkee, and Aliwah, and were not likely men to see their officers and comrades treated in such a dastardly manner by a herd of creatures not one whit more civilised than a tribe of niggers. A fire was opened upon them, and it is worthy of remark that the first shot fired was by a Roman Catholic, and he shot his own cousin.* We must at all times deplore the loss of life, but in this instance it was absolutely necessary as an act of self-defence. If a mawkish sentimentality is to raise every Irish ruffian with a blunderbuss at full cock, aiming at his landlord's head from behind a “ ditch,” into an interesting object of pity, or every murderer who sends the “image of his Maker," unshriven, at a moment’s notice, into eternity, into a zoological specimen of natural history, to be seen (by an order of a magistrate) whenever the curiosity of ladies lie in that direction,—why I then consider Feargus O'Connor quite fit for the post of King of England, and the Exeter-hall saints had better form his cabinet. The radical press and the people of Munster are entirely governed by the priests, and upon these priests' souls lie the blood of these unfortunate creatures who were shot on that day. One priest, I see by the evidence on the inquest, urged his poor fanatics to the muskets' mouths, but seeing the soldiers about to fire, wisely," dodged down, and crawled away! Wise precaution! Another priest had his hat perforated by a Minié ball; and but that the soldier fired too high, there can be but little doubt the quasi-holy gentleman would be now disputing the gates of purgatory with Saint Peter, instead of promulgating curses against heretics. But you will really think, my dear sir, I am becoming a monster of cruelty and blood. Living and associating with men, however, whose profession leads them to slight death, my mind has, of late, become quite imbued with the impressions they have made on it, though perhaps, after all
, I have only been giving you a dish of opinions which Jully's French dictionary calls “réchauffée." There is a large encampment, consisting of horse-artillery, cavalry, and infantry, under canvas, within sight of my drawing room windows ; poor fellows! they must feel the rain sadly, for, during the last month, it has come down incessantly ; but it is very picturesque to see the different uniforms of the different branches of the service -- the stalwart Highlanders mounting guard and keeping sentry, and the horses picketed, and the cavalry and
artillery sol* A fact.