Recollections of the eventful life of a soldier

by Joseph Donaldson

On the other hand, there were magistrates, who, going to the opposite extreme, rendered themselves useless to the country. One of this description lived near us, and from having no strength of mind, or reliance on his own judgment, was alternately the slave of either party, repealing now, what he had enacted before—ordering men to be apprehended one day as criminals, and on being threatened by their party, releasing them the next,—he was despised by all, and trusted by none. There were not wanting magistrates who, to an active and effective execution of their duty, added discrimination and a conciliatory spirit; but I am sorry to say that their efforts were often neutralized by the blundering, hot-headed zeal, or the timid inanity of their colleagues in office.

Although the alarmists made the most of every trifling circumstance that occurred, yet it cannot be denied that some very barbarous actions were committed by the associated bands of Shanavests and Caravats, always directed, however, against individuals who showed themselves forward in oppressing them, or who took the land at a rack-rent over their heads. Nothing could be more absurd than to say they had any regular political aim in view. In their combination, the two parties seemed to have a jealousy of each other, and often fell out at their hurling matches, and beat each other soundly; and there were a good many spies among them in pay of the magistracy, who gave information of all their proceedings. While we were there, they had a quantity of arms, which they had forcibly taken from people in the neighbourhood who, being loyalists, were authorized to keep them. A smith belonging to the faction kept them in repair, but when payment came to be asked for his trouble, instead of money they gave him a ‘good licking’ for his presumption. Barny did not like this mode of clearing scores, and, to be revenged, gave in a list of the names of all who had arms in their possession to the magistrate. This list was stuck up at the cross-roads, along with a summons, to deliver them up, or stand the consequence. Some did comply, but the greater number evaded the order by secreting them. Barny, however, would not let them slip that way: he conducted us to an old drain, where we found upwards of forty stand of blunderbusses, fowling-pieces, and pistols; but two-thirds of them were so much out of repair that it would have been dangerous to use them. Poor Barny, from the time he had lodged the information, was obliged to take up his quarters with us, and eventually had to bid ‘his native land good-night’ for his share in the business, and I dare say did not venture back in a hurry.

In general their aim was revenge, not plunder; but a few of the most hardened and daring of them were regular robbers and house-breakers—a gang of six or seven of whom were apprehended while I was there, and sent into jail. At the ensuing assizes they were tried; one or two got off through want of evidence, and others were transported for life. I happened to be present when the trial of one of them came on, who, from his activity and forwardness in their depredations, was considered a ringleader. If I recollect right, there was some murder connected with the robbery with which he was charged. I do not now remember the exact particulars of his trial, but I cannot forget the boldness and audacity of his conduct while at the bar. Evidence after evidence was examined, and although there was much circumstantial proof of his guilt, yet there seemed to be a connecting link wanting, without which it must fall to the ground. One evidence (a woman) had been repeatedly called, but she did not appear; and the eye of the prisoner beamed triumph and defiance. The public prosecutor stood up to close his case.

‘He was compelled to own,’ he said, ‘that it had been but imperfectly made out, and he would therefore not trouble’—At this moment a bustle was heard in the court.

‘Make way for the witness,’ said the crier, and she stood before them. All were surprised; but I cannot convey an idea of the effect her appearance had upon the prisoner; he stood as if turned into stone, his face grew deadly pale, and he reeled back from the bar, while, with a convulsive fetch of his breath, he uttered, ‘I am sold.’ She went on with her evidence; it was clear and conclusive, and filled up every blank. The prisoner had recovered himself, and stood listening to her story with his livid lips strongly compressed, his hands clenched, and the cold sweat standing on his forehead. When she concluded, he caught her eye as she turned to descend from the table, and gave her a withering look, full of deadly revenge, and summoning up his remaining energy for the effort, he uttered a curse upon her, with an emphasis worthy of a demon, and sunk back in the dock. He was sentenced to death.

There is little time allowed in Ireland between sentence and execution, and this he employed in steeling his mind to every feeling. On the morning of his execution, his relations from the country were admitted to see him; they had drank whisky before they came in, to drown their grief, and a scene took place between them and the dying man, which, were I to attempt to draw in the ludicrous light it was presented, would not be credited. The drop was in front of the jail, and his relations accompanied him to the foot of the stairs he had to ascend: as they parted with him, ‘Here, Murthy,’ said he, shuffling off his shoes, ‘take them—no hangman rascal shall get my shoes.’

His friends now came to the front of the jail, and were allowed to remain on the green plot, between the soldiers and the drop. When the unfortunate man approached the door, from which he was to plunge into another world, he pushed hurriedly forward, with the intention of addressing the multitude; but he was drawn back until the rope was placed about his neck, which being done, he advanced boldly to the edge of the platform, and in the face of the clearest evidence of his guilt, and former abandoned course of life, he cried out to the spectators, ‘I am innocent of the crime for which I suffer.’

A murmur burst from the crowd, responsive of their belief in his asseveration, when one of his half-intoxicated relatives cried out,—

‘Ah, poor Andy, and his shoes off too!’ and sunk down upon the grass, but immediately rising and raising his arm, he cried out to the unfortunate wretch, who was now standing on the fatal drop—‘Die hard, Andy—Andy, jewel, die like a man.’

The next moment, Andy spurned the handkerchief indignantly from his hand, and was launched into eternity amid the prayers of the surrounding multitude, who, I have no doubt, considered him a martyr to the vindictive spirit of the laws.