THE ENNISCORTHY BOAR.
Incidents attending the first assault of Wexford by the rebels, in 1798—Excesses mutually committed by them and the royalists—Father Roche—Captain Hay, and his gallant rescue of two ladies—Mr. O’Connell in by-gone days—Painful but ludicrous scenes after the conflict at Wexford—Swinish indignity offered to a clergyman—A pig of rapid growth—Extraordinary destination of the animal—Its arrival and special exhibition in London—Remarks on London curiosities—Remarkable success of the Enniscorthy boar—Unhappy disclosure of the animal’s previous enormities—Reaction on the public mind—His Majesty’s comments on the affair—Death of the swinish offender, in anticipation of a projected rescue by the London Irish.
A most ludicrous incident chanced to spring out of the most murderous conflict (for the numbers engaged) that had occurred during the merciless insurrection of 1798 in Ireland.
The murdered victims had not been effectually interred, the blood was scarcely dry upon the hill, and the embers of the burned streets not yet entirely extinguished in Enniscorthy, when, in company with a friend who had miraculously escaped the slaughter, and Mr. John Grogan, of Johnston, who was then seeking for evidence amongst the conquered rebels, to prove the injustice of his brother’s execution, I explored and noted the principal occurrences of that most sanguinary engagement. I give them, in connexion with the preposterous incident which they gave rise to, to show in one view the mélange of fanaticism, ferocity, and whimsical credulity, which characterised the lower Irish at that disastrous epocha, as well as the absurd credulity and spirit of true intolerance which signalised their London brethren, in the matter of the silly incident which I shall mention.
The town of Enniscorthy, in the county of Wexford, in Ireland, (one of the first strong possessions that the English, under Strongbow, established themselves in,) is situate most beautifully on the river Slaney, at the base of Vinegar Hill; places which the conflicts and massacres of every nature, and by both parties, have marked out for posterity as the appropriate sites of legendary tales, and traditional records of heroism and of murder.
The town is not fortified; and the hill, like half a globe, rising from the plain, overlooks the town and country, and has no neighbouring eminence to command it.
The first assault on this town by the rebels, and its defence by a gallant, but not numerous garrison, formed one of the most desperate, heroic, and obstinate actions of an infatuated people. It was stormed by the rebels, and defended with unflinching gallantry; but captured after a long and most bloody action, during which no quarter was given or accepted on either side. Those who submitted to be prisoners only preserved their lives a day, to experience some more cold-blooded and torturing extinction.
The orange and green flags were that day alternately successful. But the numbers, impetuosity, and perseverance of the rebels, becoming too powerful to be resisted, the troops were overthrown, the rout became general, and the royalists endeavoured to save themselves in all directions: but most of those who had the good fortune to escape the pike or blunderbuss were flung into burning masses, or thrown from the windows of houses, where they had tried to gain protection or conceal themselves.
The insurgents were that day constantly led to the charge, or, when checked, promptly rallied by a priest, who had figured in the French revolution in Paris—a Father Roche. His height and muscular powers were immense, his dress squalid and bloody, his countenance ruffianly and terrific; he had no sense either of personal danger, or of Christian mercy. That day courage appeared contagious, and even his aged followers seemed to have imbibed all the ferocity and blind desperation of their gigantic and fearless pastor.
The streets through which the relics of the royal troops must traverse to escape the carnage were fired on both sides by the order of Father Roche, and the unfortunate fugitives had no chance but to pass through volumes of flame and smoke, or yield themselves up to the ferocious pike-men, who chased them even into the very body of the conflagration.
My accompanying friend had most unwittingly got into the town, when in possession of the army, and could not get out of it on the sudden assault of the rebels. He had no arms. Many of them knew him, however, to be a person of liberal principles, civil and religious; but he with difficulty clambered to a seat high up in the dilapidated castle; where, unless as regarded the chance of a random shot, he was in a place of tolerable safety. There he could see much; but did not descend till the next morning; and would certainly have been shot at the windmill on Vinegar Hill had not the Catholic priests of his own parish vouched for his toleration and charity; and above all, that he had, early that year, given a large sum towards building a chapel and endowing a school for the cottagers’ children.
His description of the storm was extremely exciting; and the more so, as it was attended by an occurrence of a very interesting nature.
It was asserted by some of the loyal yeomen who were engaged, that the rebels were commanded, as to their tactics, by Captain Hay, of the —— dragoons, who had been some time amongst them as a prisoner; a report countenanced by the disaffection of his family. This gave rise to charges against Captain Hay of desertion to the rebels, and high-treason. He was submitted to a court-martial; but an act of the most gallant and chivalrous description saved him from every thing but suspicion of the criminality imputed.
Mrs. Ogle and Miss Moore, two of the most respectable ladies of Wexford, happened to be in Enniscorthy, when it was assaulted, without any protector, and subject to all the dangers and horrors incidental to such captures. They had no expectation of escape, when Captain Hay, in the face of every species of danger, with a strength beyond his natural powers, and a courage which has not been exceeded, placing them on a horse before him, rushed into the midst of a burning street, and, through flames and shots, and every possible horror, bore them through the fire in safety; and, although he sadly scorched himself, proceeded in conveying and delivering them safe to their desponding relations. Mr. Ogle was member for the county. The act was too gallant to leave any thing more than the suspicion of guilt, and the accused was acquitted on all the charges.
Very shortly afterwards his eldest brother was executed at Wexford, his father died, while another brother, also deeply implicated, was not prosecuted, and figured many years afterwards as secretary to the Catholic Committee; but he was neither deep enough nor mute enough for Mr. Daniel O’Connell, who, at that day, was, by-the-by, a large, ruddy young man, with a broad and savoury dialect, an imperturbable countenance, intrepid address, et præterea nihil. He was then more fastidious as to his approbation of secretaries than he afterwards turned out to be.[[60]]
[60]. Mr. O’Connell was called to the bar, Easter, 1798, on or about the same day that Father Roche was hanged. He did not finger politics in any way for several years afterwards, but he studied law very well, and bottled it in usum—jus habentis may be added or not.
Amongst the persons who lost their lives on that occasion was the Rev. Mr. Haydn, a very old and highly respected clergyman of the Established Church: he was much more lamented than the thirty priests who were hanged at the same period. He was piked or shot by the rebels in the street, and lay dead and naked upon the Castle Hill, till duly consumed by half-starving dogs, or swine of the neighbourhood, that marched without invitation into the town, to dine upon any of the combatants who were not interred too deep to be easily rooted up again.
After the rebellion had entirely ended, it was remarked in the neighbourhood, that what the peasants call a “slip of a pig,” who had been busy with his neighbours carousing in Enniscorthy, as aforesaid, had, from that period, increased in stature and corresponding bulk to an enormous degree, and far outstripped all his cotemporaries, not only in size, but (so far as the term could be applicable to a pig) in genuine beauty. At length his growth became almost miraculous; and his exact symmetry kept pace with his elevation.
This young pig was suffered to roam at large, and was universally admired as the most comely of his species. He at length rose to the elevation of nearly a heifer, and was considered too great a curiosity to remain in Ireland, where curiosities, animate and inanimate, human and beastly, are too common to be of any peculiar value, or even excite attention. It was therefore determined to send him over as a present to our Sovereign—as an olive-branch, so to speak, for the subdued and repentant rebels of Enniscorthy, and a specimen which, being placed in the Tower, might do great honour to the whole race of domestic swine, being the first tame gentleman of his family that ever had been in any royal menagerie.
This Enniscorthy miracle was accordingly shipped for Bristol, under the care of a priest, two rebels, and a showman, and in due season arrived in the metropolis of England. Regular notice of his arrival was given to the king’s proper officers at the Tower, who were to prepare chambers for his reception, though it was maliciously whispered that the “olive branch,” as the priest called the pig, was intended only second-hand for his Majesty; that is to say, after the party and showman should have pursed every loose shilling the folks of London might be tempted to pay for a sight of so amiable an animal. The pig took admirably; the showman (a Caledonian by birth) was economical in the expenditure, and discreet in his explanations. The pig became the most popular show at the east end; Exeter Change even felt it. However, fate ultimately restored the baboons and tigers to their old and appropriate rank in society.
This proceeding, this compliment of the olive branch, was neither more nor less than is generally used in the case of our most celebrated generals, admirals, and statesmen, (and occasionally our most gracious Sovereigns,) who, being duly disembowelled, spiced, swaddled, and screwed up in a box, with a white satin lining to it, (well stuffed, to make it easy,) are exhibited to their compatriots of all ranks, who can spare sixpence to see an oak trunk, covered with black, and plenty of lacquered tin nailed on the top of it. But here the pig was seen alive and merry, which every body (except testamentary successors) conceives has much the advantage over any thing that is inanimate.
I had myself, when at Temple, the honour of paying sixpence to see the fork which belonged to the knife with which Margaret Nicholson attempted to penetrate the person of his Majesty, King George the Third, at St. James’s; and the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, through their actuaries, receive payment for showing the stone heads of patriots, poets, and ministers, whom they have secured in their tabernacle; Sir Cloudesley Shovel, who was drowned as an admiral; Major André, who was hanged as a spy; and Mr. Grattan, who should have been buried in Ireland.
There can be little doubt that the greatest men of the present day, for a British shilling, before much more of the present century is finished, will be exhibited in like manner.
The thing has become too public and common. In early days, great men, dying, required to be buried in the holiest sanctuary going. Sometimes the great bust was transferred to Westminster Abbey; but, of late, the monuments are becoming so numerous, the company so mixed, and the exhibition so like a show-box, that the modern multiplication of Orders has made many Knights very shy of wearing them. Thus the Abbey has lost a great proportion of its rank and celebrity; and I have been told of a gentleman of distinction, who, having died of a consumption, and being asked where he wished to be buried, replied, “any where but Westminster Abbey.”
To resume, however, the course of my narrative—the celebrity of the “olive branch” every day increased, and the number of his visitors so rapidly augmented, that the priest and showman considered that the day when he should be committed to the Tower would be to them no trifling misfortune. Even the ladies conceived there was something musical in his grunt, and some tried to touch it off upon their pianos. So gentle, so sleek and silvery were his well-scrubbed bristles, that every body patted his fat sides. Standing on his bare feet, his beautifully arched back, rising like a rainbow, overtopped half his visitors; and he became so great and general a favourite, that, though he came from Ireland, nobody even thought of inquiring whether he was a papist or protestant grunter!
One day, however, the most unforeseen and grievous misfortune that ever happened to so fine an animal, at once put an end to all his glories, and to the abundant pickings of his chaplain.
It happened, unfortunately, that a Wexford yeoman, who had been at the taking and retaking of Enniscorthy, (a theme he never failed to expatiate on,) and had been acquainted with the pig from his infancy, as well as the lady sow who bore him, having himself sold her to the last proprietors, came at the time of a very crowded assembly into the room; and, as Irishmen never omit any opportunity of talking, (especially in a crowd, and, if at all convenient, more especially about themselves,) the yeoman began to brag of his acquaintance with the hog, the storming of the town, the fight, and slaughter; and, unfortunately, in order to amuse the company, by suggesting the cause of his enormous bulk and stature, mentioned, as a national curiosity, that the people in Ireland were so headstrong as to attribute his growth to his having eaten the Rev. Mr. Haydn, a Protestant clergyman of Enniscorthy, after the battle; but he declared to the gentlemen and ladies that could not be the fact, as he was assured by an eye-witness, a sergeant of pike-men amongst the rebels, that there were several dogs helping him, and some ducks out of the Castle court. Besides, the parson having been a slight old gentleman, there was scarcely as much flesh on his reverend bones as would have given one meal to a hungry bull-dog. This information, and the manner of telling it, caused an instantaneous silence, and set every English man and woman staring and shuddering around him, not one of whom did the pig attempt to put his snout on. The idea of a Papist pig eating a Protestant parson was of a nature quite insupportable; both church and state were affected: their praises were now turned to execration; the women put their handkerchiefs to their noses to keep off the odour; every body stood aloof both from the pig and the showman, as if they were afraid of being devoured. The men cursed the Papist brute, and the rebellious nation that sent him there; every one of them who had a stick or an umbrella gave a punch or a crack of it to the “olive branch;” and in a few minutes the room was cleared of visitors, to the astonishment of the yeoman, who lost no time in making his own exit. The keepers, now perceiving that their game was gone, determined to deliver him up, as Master Haydn, to the lieutenant of the Tower, to be placed at the will and pleasure of his Majesty.
The chaplain, showman, and two amateur rebels, now prepared to return to Wexford. Though somewhat disappointed at the short cut of their exhibition, they had no reason to find fault with the lining their pockets had got. The officers of the Tower, however, had heard the catastrophe and character of the “olive branch,” and communicated to the lieutenant their doubts if he were a fit subject to mix with the noble wild beasts in a royal menagerie. Several consultations took place upon the subject; the lord chamberlain was requested to take his Majesty’s commands upon the subject in council: the king, who had been signing some death-warrants and pardons for the Recorder of London, was thunderstruck and shocked at the audacity of an Irish pig eating a Protestant clergyman; and though no better Christian ever existed than George the Third, his hatred to pork from that moment was invincible, and became almost a Jewish aversion.
“The Tower! the Tower!” said his Majesty, with horror and indignation. “The Tower for an Irish hog that ate a pious Christian!—No, no—no, no, my lords.—Mr. Recorder, Mr. Recorder—here, see, see—I command you on your allegiance—shoot the pig, shoot him—shoot, Mr. Recorder—you can’t hang.—Eh! you would if you could, Mr. Recorder, no doubt. But, no, no—let me never hear more of the monster. A sergeant’s guard—shoot him—tell Sir Richard Ford to send his keepers to Ireland to-night—to-night if he can find them—go, go—let me never hear more of him—go—go—go—go—shoot him, shoot him!”
The Recorder withdrew with the usual obeisances, and notice was given that at six next morning a sergeant’s guard should attend to shoot the “olive branch,” and bury his corpse in the Tower ditch, with a bulky barrel of hot lime to annihilate it. This was actually executed, notwithstanding the following droll circumstance that Sir Richard Ford himself informed us of.
Sir Richard was far better acquainted with the humour and management of the Irish in London, than any London magistrate that ever succeeded him: he knew nearly all of the principal ones by name, and individually, and represented them to us as the most tractable of beings, if duly come round and managed, and the most intractable and obstinate, if directly contradicted.
The Irish had been quite delighted with the honour intended for their compatriot, the Enniscorthy boar, and were equally affected and irritated at the sentence which was so unexpectedly and so unjustly passed on him; and, after an immediate consultation, they determined that the pig should be rescued at all risks, and without the least consideration how they were to save his life afterwards. Their procedure was all settled, and the rescue determined on, when one of Sir Richard’s spies brought him information of an intended rising at St. Giles’s to rescue the pig, which the frightened spy said must be followed by the Irish firing London, plundering the Bank, and massacring all the Protestant population—thirty thousand choice Irish being ready for any thing.
Sir Richard was highly diverted at the horrors of the spy, but judged it wise to prevent any such foolish attempt at riot, by anticipating his Majesty’s orders; wherefore, early in the evening, a dozen policemen, one by one, got into the hog’s residence, with a skilful butcher, who stuck him in the spinal marrow, and the “olive branch,” scarcely brought life to the ground with him. The rescue was then out of the question, and in a very short time Doctor Haydn’s Gourmand was not only defunct, but actually laid ten feet under ground, with as much quick-lime covered up over his beautiful body as soon left hardly a bone to discover the place of his interment.
Sir Richard told this anecdote, as to the execution, &c. with great humour. The Irish used to tell Sir Richard that a pig was dishonoured by any death but to make bacon of; that God had sent the breed to Ireland for that purpose only; and that, when killed for that purpose, they considered his death a natural one!
THE END.
PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
Transcriber’s note:
Page xxii, ‘H. R.’ changed to ‘R. H.,’ “as for Mr. R. H. of Brompton”
Page xxix, em-dash changed to long dash, “Dr. T——’s perseverance”
Page 4, ‘gende’ changed to ‘gender,’ “of the feminine gender,”
Page 8, ‘its—its’ changed to ‘it’s—it’s,’ “Egad, it’s—it’s very true”
Page 8, double quote struck after ‘Dublin,’ “the Corporation of Dublin.”
Page 35, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “Sure it’s not for myself”
Page 35, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “it’s for my calling”
Page 46, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “it’s for all the world”
Page 47, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “Sure it’s not ignorance”
Page 55, ‘Its—its’ changed to ‘It’s—it’s,’ “It’s—it’s not so—so”
Page 59, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “By my sowl! it’s a”
Page 72, double quote struck before ‘Burgundy,’ “day:—viz. Burgundy pitch,”
Page 79, ‘two’ changed to ‘too,’ “We are three days too late”
Page 94, ‘diagreeable’ changed to ‘disagreeable,’ “particularly disagreeable to travellers”
Page 102, double quote inserted after ‘Galway,’ “in the county of Galway.””
Page 105, ‘gaurantee’ changed to ‘guarantee,’ “You can guarantee this”
Page 116, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “because it’s their own tongue”
Page 116, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “and now it’s grown a custom”
Page 117, ‘Its’ changed to ‘It’s,’ “It’s no joke”
Page 117, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “Sure it’s the Jews”
Page 118, ‘Its’ changed to ‘It’s,’ “It’s only putting them in”
Page 118, ‘Its’ changed to ‘It’s,’ “It’s well for the crethurs they”
Page 118, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “Sure it’s not Sergeant Towler”
Page 131, ‘eing’ changed to ‘being,’ “which not being fastened”
Page 131, ‘fig re’ changed to ‘figure,’ “and suspicious figure”
Page 134, full stop inserted after ‘Mr.,’ “unfortunate antagonist, Mr. Fitzgerald”
Page 137, ‘elde t’ changed to ‘eldest,’ “the eldest sons”
Pages 142-143, single quotes changed for clarity from “He stated, ‘that Lyster was his relative, and protected by him, and that I had influenced the young man to deliver a message from me. He said, ‘that Mr. Lyster had delivered such a message: that he had answered mildly, that he would not fight Mr. Martin; whereon, (says Fitzgerald,) this young gentleman said, ‘Then you must fight me.’ My answer was, that I would not fight any man; on which, continued George Robert, he made several blows of the cudgel I hold in my hand (his own) at me. I happened to be more dexterous than my assailant, and was fortunate enough to take the weapon out of his hands, and in my own defence was obliged to strike in turn, or I should have been murdered.’” to “He stated, ‘that Lyster was his relative, and protected by him, and that I had influenced the young man to deliver a message from me.’ He said, ‘that Mr. Lyster had delivered such a message: that he had answered mildly, that he would not fight Mr. Martin;’ whereon, (says Fitzgerald,) this young gentleman said, ‘Then you must fight me.’ My answer was, that I would not fight any man; on which,’ continued George Robert, ‘he made several blows of the cudgel I hold in my hand’ (his own) ‘at me. I happened to be more dexterous than my assailant, and was fortunate enough to take the weapon out of his hands, and in my own defence was obliged to strike in turn, or I should have been murdered.’”
Page 158, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “and it’s not so easy to shoot”
Page 159, ‘eclat’ changed to ‘éclat,’ “To give my march the greater éclat”
Page 161, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “Ough! if it’s ‘beating’”
Page 173, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “whenever it’s your convenience”
Page 186, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “future, when it’s not convenient”
Page 187, ‘wave’ changed to ‘waive,’ “disposed to waive his “privilege.””
Page 191, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “it’s rather a small matter”
Page 191, comma inserted after ‘about,’ “to go to law about,” (mistaking his meaning).”
Page 191, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “when it’s a gentleman that resorts”
Page 271, full stop inserted after ‘lieutenant,’ “better than the lieutenant.”
Pages 277, 280, 281, 425, 432, all instances of ‘Pikeman’ and ‘Pikemen’ have been regularised to ‘Pike-man’ and ‘Pike-men’
Page 309, double quote inserted before ‘I,’ ““I am ashamed of its”
Page 323, hyphen inserted after ‘o’,’ “cat-o’-nine-tails”
Page 347, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “by my sowl it’s true enough”
Page 348, ‘its’ changed to ‘it’s,’ “D—n money—it’s nothing but trash:”
Page 351, double quote inserted after ‘expense,’ “without either delay or expense.””
Page 373, hyphen inserted after ‘eight,’ “after the two-and-eight-penny-halfpenny”
Page 384, double quote inserted before ‘’tis,’ ““’tis too late!”
Page 413, ‘cameleon’ changed to ‘chameleon,’ “like the chameleon, assuming”