In 1731—during the reign of George II., that is—there sailed from Copenhagen a Danish East Indiaman, the Golden Lion, with a valuable cargo, including twelve large chests of silver valued at about £16,000. Captain Heitman, of the Golden Lion, after encountering bad weather in the Channel and being driven northward to the Kerry coast, at last put into the Bay of Tralee, near the northern shore of which there lies another bay, called the Bay of Ballyheigue, abounding with sunken rocks and sandbanks, a place of terror to mariners.
How it happened is not clear, but on October 28 the Golden Lion entered this treacherous bay. It has been asserted that the men of Kerry lured her by false lights, though they vowed their innocence. In any case, the Golden Lion was in a serious fix, and the only way to save the crew was for Captain Heitman to steer his ship ashore. This he did, and succeeded in saving the sixty men comprising the crew, and also the £16,000 of silver and various other things, though the Golden Lion herself became a total wreck.
To the credit of the Kerry men be it said that for a long time the Danes were hospitably treated by them; the officers were housed at Ballyheigue House, and their treasure was allowed to be stored in an old tower, at the south-west corner of the court belonging to the house. The crew were taken in to billet at various houses round about. Meanwhile, Heitman sent news to London and Copenhagen of his misfortune; but it would appear that these never reached their destination, being held up in Ballyheigue, and the Danes had to wait long, and as patiently as they could, for news that never came.
Then there began to be a change in the attitude of the Kerry men. Thomas Crosbie, owner of Ballyheigue House, died, and a relative named Arthur Crosbie came to the help of his widow and mother, executors of the late host. Now, Arthur Crosbie was a queer customer—hard up, crafty, always with his nose in other people’s business. He felt that the Danes should be made to pay something out of their hoard for all the hospitality shown them. Heitman, nothing averse to doing so, objected, however, to the charges put down by Crosbie—namely, £4,000—and he sent a letter of complaint—though how it got through goodness only knows—to Dublin. The authorities at Dublin sent back a message that the Danes were not to be imposed upon; and Crosbie knew that he had been foiled.
But only in one direction, for his crafty mind soon set to work to devise a plan whereby he could get some of that treasure in the vaults beneath the square tower of Ballyheigue House; and he was not alone in his plotting, for others of the Kerry men were of much the same mind as he was.
A pretty plot was in the way of being hatched.
A man named Cantillon (a distant relative of the Crosbies) started things seriously. He conferred with David Lawlor, who kept an inn at Tralee, in April, 1732, and the result of their confab was that they paid a visit to the farm at Beinaree belonging to the Protestant Archdeacon of Ardfert, the Rev. Francis Lauder, who was also a J.P. The plotters told their scheme to one named Ryan, tithe-proctor and steward to the archdeacon, and he eagerly threw in his lot with them. The prize was worth it. He promised to do his best to get other helpers, and that night he tackled John Kevane, a labourer on the farm.
Now, Kevane was wary; he was not at all opposed to the plot, but he wanted to be sure that it had substantial backing in the shape of “the gentlemen of the county.” Ryan was evasive on this point.
“I’m going to see the master,” he said, “and feel sure that the gentry will consent to it.” But Kevane was not at all convinced, and reserved his opinion.
Having so far committed himself, Ryan naturally had to follow the matter up with Kevane and get him into the plot, lest he gave information; and next day he tried again to persuade him.