Narrative of a Private Soldier in His Majesty's 92d Regiment of Foot

by George Billany

One thing I would particularly notice here, is the ferocity of civil war; it has barbarities not now practised in the national wars of Europe. In one spot, where seven had fled to a house, in which they were killed, their bodies had been brought out to the road side, where they lay, shamefully uncovered, and some of them mangled in a manner too indelicate to mention. At another place, I saw an insurgent, who had been taken and dragged by the hair of his head, which was long, for some distance along the road, and then shot through the heart. It was said, he was unwilling to inform upon the rest of the insurgents. Numerous and shocking barbarities were committed on both sides, sometimes originating in animosity, sometimes in wanton cruelty, and at other times in retaliation.

I was witness to a scene of the latter kind a few days after, in the town of Gorey. A man was brought to the back of the camp, to be hanged upon a tree on the road side, by a party of an English fencible regiment. The man was scarcely suspended, when the officer of the party fired the contents of two pistols into the body, and then drew his sword and ran it into it. I then turned from the sight with disgust; but those of my comrades who stayed, told me that the body was lowered down from the tree upon the road; that the soldiers of the party perforated it with their bayonets, cut off the head, cut it in pieces, and threw them about, tossing them in the air, calling out, "Who will have this?" They then dug a hole on the opposite side of the road, and buried the body and the mangled pieces of the head, in the presence of a few of the unhappy man's friends. I was informed that he had been a judge in the insurgent army for trying their prisoners: that a brother of the officer of the party had been taken prisoner by the insurgents, and had been sentenced by this man to be piked to death: and that this was the reason why he had been so used.

Piking to death was what the insurgents practised upon those of the king's troops that fell into their hands, particularly if they remained firm in their allegiance. The common method was for "two to stand behind, and two before the victim, and thrust their pikes into his body at once, and raise it from the ground, holding it suspended, writhing with pain, while any signs of life appeared. At other times, two men, with pikes, would come before the victim, and begin to stab him in the feet, and then the legs, and thighs, and belly, until they reached the heart. At other times they literally perforated the body all over, with pike wounds." Such barbarities could not fail to produce desire of revenge. But, as our regiment had not been in the country during the out-breaking of the insurrection, we had received no injury to provoke our resentment. And as we had not been employed in the execution of any of the rigorous measures resorted to by the government to prevent the insurrection, no one had any ill will against us. We were called into the service of suppressing this unhappy and calamitous insurrection, after it had begun to decline, and we were rather witnesses of its ruinous and distressing effects, than active hands in suppressing it by force. For it so happened, that although we several times pursued considerable bodies of the insurgents through the mountains, and were at times pretty close upon them, yet no one of us fired a musket, with the exception of one or two, who did it without orders, on the morning of the 5th July, on the White Heaps: neither was a musket fired at us; and the only loss the regiment sustained during this service, occurred one morning when we were pursuing a body of insurgents among the mountains. One of our men having fallen behind through weakness, was met by two or three insurgents in women's clothes, carrying pails of milk on their heads, as if returning from milking. They offered him drink; and, while he was drinking, one of them seized his musket, and after threatening to kill him, they allowed him to proceed to the regiment, with the loss of his musket and ammunition.

The sight of so many houses and villages, and parts of towns, burned and destroyed, and the great number of women and children, who were in a destitute state, because their husbands and fathers were either gone with the insurgents, or were fled for safety, touched most powerfully the sensibilities of our hearts, and diffused a feeling of generous sympathy through the regiment. It so happened at that time, that we had newly received a more than ordinary balance of arrears of pay, so that every man was in possession of money, less or more; and although we were very fond of milk, because we had been long living upon salt provisions, before our arrival in Ireland, yet there were none who would accept of a draught of milk for nothing, but would pay its price. And if the people of the house would not take payment, they would give the value of what milk they received to the children.

As this conduct in soldiers is more rare than even conspicuous courage in the field, the truth of what is here asserted, may be the more ready to be questioned. I shall, therefore, take the liberty of inserting a quotation from Gordon's History of the Irish Rebellion. The author of that work is a clergyman, whose residence appears to have been in the vicinity of Gorey, and who had a personal knowledge of what took place there at that time. That author complains of the losses sustained by the inhabitants from the insurgents and the soldiery: he says, "on the arrival of the Marquis of Huntly, however, with his regiment of Scottish Highlanders, in Gorey, the scene was totally altered. To the immortal honour of this regiment, its behaviour was such, as, if it were universal among soldiers, would render a military government amiable. To the astonishment of the (until then miserably harassed) peasantry, not the smallest trifle, even a drink of butter milk, would any of these Highlanders accept, without the payment of at least the full value."—Gordon's History of the Irish Rebellion, 2d edit Lond. p. 240.

When we entered the town of Gorey, it was, in great part, deserted by the inhabitants. Nothing was to be procured for money. After the very fatiguing march we had on the day we entered it, we received one biscuit and one glass of whiskey. On the next day we marched to a considerable distance, in quest of the insurgents, and returned back; we got a draught of milk, and one day's allowance of boiled beef, which had arrived from Arklow; but no bread.—The day was very warm, and I was considerably exhausted. That day passed over, and the next day, until the evening, without any word of any more provisions. The dread of having to pass another night in our present hungry state, determined other two and myself, to go in quest of something that we could eat. We saw some who had purchased some old potatoes at the mill of the place. We made all haste to the mill; but the potatoes were all sold. We felt disappointed; but, observing that the mill was at work, we entered it to see what was grinding. We found a man attending the mill, who said he was not the miller, but had just set the mill to work to grind some barley. There were but a few handfuls ground; and we resolved, rather than want, that we would wait until some greater quantity was done, when we would endeavour to get it cleaned, so as to be capable of being turned into food. After stopping a few seconds in the mill, I began to look about, when I perceived a number of sacks that were, less or more, filled with something: I said to my comrades, "Perhaps there may be something in some of these sacks that will serve us: we had better examine them and see." We were indeed loath to touch any thing; but we were in absolute want of food, and were willing to pay for it. Observing a sack about half full, standing beneath another that was full, and was bent over it, we thought we would see what was in the broken sack first. We instantly removed the full sack, and, to our great joy, we found the other was about half full of excellent oatmeal, ready for use. The miller's wife came in, in great agitation, and said, that she durst not sell it, for it belonged to a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who was a Captain of the Yeomen. I replied, that we were in absolute need, and must have it; but that we would pay a fair market price for it, which she could give to the gentleman who owned the meal; that he would likely be able to procure a supply to himself elsewhere; that he perhaps was not in the immediate want of it, but that we were, and did not know any where else to find it; and that she might state this to the owner, and that would remove all blame from her. She assented to the justice of this; and said, that one shilling and six-pence was a fair price for the stone weight. The weights were quickly erected; we weighed a stone, paid the price, and set out to get it cooked, leaving a number more of our comrades, who had come to the mill, to be supplied in the same way as we had been. While passing along the street, looking for an inhabited house, where we might get our meal cooked, we met other three of our comrades, who had gone to the country in quest of provisions, but could get nothing but milk, of which they had their canteens full. We agreed that we would give them a share of our meal for a share of their milk. We then went into a house, in which was a woman with one child. She said her husband was a blacksmith, and that the insurgents had forced him to go with them, to forge their pikes.[^[3]] We told her that we wanted her to make us some porridge, and that she should get a share of it for her trouble. She instantly cleaned her pot, (which was but a small one,) and got it on the fire. We procured some wood for fuel; and, the first pot full being soon made, and poured into a dish to cool, we desired her to make haste and get the second ready, for we were very hungry, and what was in the dish would do little to fill us: we then sat down, all six, to satisfy our hunger. What was in the dish would have been a very scanty meal for three; yet, after we had eagerly swallowed a few spoonfuls, we began to slacken our speed, and (although the milk and porridge were exceedingly good) to swallow them slowly, and with difficulty; and we were all reluctantly compelled to leave off before our little mess was nearly finished, and the poor woman got the remains, and the second pot full for her trouble. We told her, that we would call back next day after parade, to get another meal. On returning to our quarters, we found that our provisions had arrived in our absence; but as we could not know that they were to arrive that night, we felt satisfied with what we had done. We did call back at our cook's next day; and, after taking a little more porridge, desired her to make use of the rest of that meal as she needed it, for that we had now got plenty of other provision, and were not likely to require it.

The town and adjacent country were in a most distressing state. Numbers of the cattle were going through the corn-fields, and destroying more than they were eating. The milk-cows were lowing most piteously for want of being milked. And as the town had been more than once in the hands of the insurgents, the alternate movements of the army and the insurgents created always fresh alarm to the peaceable and helpless, who were liable to suffer by every change. The insurgents harassed those who did not join with them; and when the insurgents had to fly, the soldiers harassed those whom they found at home, on pretence that they were friends or favourers of the insurgents: so that it was next to impossible, for even those who were unable to take any part on either side, to escape being involved in the distresses attendant on the quarrel.

The following circumstance will in part show this. Three of our men went from Gorey, to the country, in quest of provisions; (I think it was the same three that gave us milk formerly.) They went to a farm house, into which they entered, but could find no one within. They went through all the apartments, but could discover no one. They saw that the fire was unextinguished; the milk, and every thing about the house, showed that the inhabitants could not be far away. When they had waited a good while, in the hope that some of them might make their appearance, a young child came into the house. This convinced them that the mother could not be far off. They spoke kindly to the child, and gave it a penny. It then left them, and in a short time reappeared with its mother and the rest of the women and children belonging to the house. The soldiers told them that they wanted to buy some milk; to which they replied, that they might take whatever they wanted, and welcome. The soldiers said, they did not want any thing for nothing, but would pay for what they got; but the women insisted that they should take freely what they wanted, and said, that was not the way they had been used by the soldiers that had visited them before, for they took what they wanted without asking their liberty, and sometimes ill used themselves; adding, "We saw you coming, and we were afraid, and went and hid ourselves; but when the child came into our hiding-place, and showed us a penny it had got from you, this encouraged us to make our appearance; and God bless you, take what you want freely." The soldiers got their canteens filled with milk, but the inhabitants had no other provisions that they could spare. They then left them, (after giving the children as many pence as they thought the milk was worth,) highly pleased with their visit.

We stayed in the town of Gorey a fortnight, during which time public confidence was greatly restored. The bulk of the inhabitants had returned, and the grocers' shops began to be replenished. There was no whiskey, or drink of any kind, to be had when we entered it; but whiskey was distilled and sold some days previous to our departure, which consumed the soldiers' money much faster than the buying of milk did, although the milk was by far the preferable article, had they been so wise as to have contented themselves with it. We left Gorey, and had two days march to Blessington, twelve miles from Dublin. Our route led us through a part of the country that had suffered severely. Almost every change of landscape presented to our view the roofless walls of cabins and of gentlemen's country seats, many of which were spacious and elegant. The populous village of Carnew, where we halted for a night, had been almost totally burnt. The inhabitants had sheltered themselves within the walls of their cabins the best way they could; but, in wet weather, their condition was pitiful. A great part of the town of Blessington had also been destroyed. We pitched our tents in the rear of the Marquis of Downshire's fine house, which had also been burnt. A large body of military was encamped in the pleasure grounds, and great openings were made in the walls and hedges to admit of a ready communication between the different parts of the camp, and every thing was in a ruinous state. We were here put under the orders of Sir John Moore, then a Major General, and in a few days he marched with our regiment, and the Hompesch dragoons, and two pieces of artillery, and encamped in the glen of Eimal, among the mountains of Wicklow; where several detached bodies of insurgents were still in arms. When we entered the glen, which was a fruitful valley of considerable extent, the inhabitants kept their houses, because some of the military, who had been there before us, had spread a report that we were uncommonly ferocious. But this impression was of short duration; we were soon great favourites with them, and our camp became a place of public resort, particularly upon Sundays. The young men and women were entertained with whiskey, music, and dancing; to which exercise they were encouraged by the attendance and approbation of a neighbouring Catholic priest, who excited the young women to dance with the military, even with very profane language. This drew forth the remarks of the soldiers; and even the most openly profane among them condemned their own sins when committed by a priest.—A circumstance of a different kind took place here, which was remarked as uncommon among us. Two of the soldiers quarrelled, and had a long vociferous wrangle, consisting chiefly in profane oaths and curses. They were not far from the Major's tent; (the Major was a Catholic;) he was so disgusted at the horrid profanity of their language, that he ordered them extra drill, as a punishment, and complained to Lord Huntly, who gave out an order prohibiting the practice, and threatening to put the Articles of War in force, and to fine every man in a shilling for every oath. This was a temporary check to the very public commission of it, but it was only of short duration; for the practice was too general among all ranks, and the order was soon as if it had never been.

While we lay in this camp, Sir John Moore marched twice with us into the interior of the mountains, where the insurgents still kept in small bodies. They made a show of resistance, but fled when we got near them. We pursued them slowly; Sir John did not allow any to fire at them, though it might, at times, have been done. It appeared to be his intention to intimidate them from remaining in arms, and by showing them forbearance, to induce them to return to their allegiance. This wise conduct of the general, along with the conciliatory behaviour of the soldiers, had a happy effect. For, during the time that we were encamped here, the greater part of them came in and delivered up their arms. The whole would have submitted in the course of a day or two, if the French had not landed at Killala. It was said, that the only remaining leaders were in the camp, and had left it to fetch in their followers the next day; but that the report of the French having landed[^[4]] reaching them in the evening, revived their hopes of a revolution: and, our marching suddenly away next morning to oppose the French, confirmed them in the belief that they were in great force. In consequence of this, they remained in arms during the autumn and winter, committing petty depredations, and skulking among the mountains. It was lamentable to see the ignorance of the people who had been in arms. They were indeed no judges of political questions. Petty local animosity, and an aversion to Protestants, was all that operated with the great body of them; and beyond these, they could not be made to look by those who saw farther.