I have heard Sir Charles Ormsby, who affected to be a wit, though at best but a humourist and gourmand, liken the story of my friend and his son to a butcher at Nenagh, who in a similar manner wanted to keep his son from crying, and effectually stopped his tears by saying,—“Come, now, be a good boy! don’t cry, and you shall kill a lamb to-morrow! now, won’t you be good?”—“Oh yes, yes,” said the child, sobbing; “Father, is the lamb ready?”
Within my recollection, this national relish for fighting was nearly universal,—originating (I think) in the spirit and habits of former times. When men had a glowing ambition to excel in all manner of feats and exercises, as their forefathers had done, they naturally conceived that single combat in an honest way (that is, not knowing which would be perforated) was the most chivalrous and gentlemanly of all possible accomplishments; and this idea gave rise to an assiduous cultivation of personal tactics, and dictated laws for carrying them into execution with regularity, honour, and dispatch, among the nobility and gentry of that punctilious nation.
About the year 1777, Fire-eating was in great repute in Ireland. No young fellow could finish his education till he had exchanged shots with some of his friends or acquaintances. The first questions asked as to a young man’s respectability and qualifications (particularly when he proposed for a lady-wife) were, “What family is he of?”—“Did he ever blaze?”—His fortune was then the last inquiry; because the reply was seldom satisfactory.
Tipperary and Galway were the ablest schools of the duelling science. Galway was most scientific at the sword: Tipperary most practical and prized at the pistol: Mayo not amiss at either: Roscommon and Sligo had many professors and a high reputation in the leaden branch of the pastime.
When I was at the university, Jemmy Keogh, Buck English,[[4]] Cosey Harrison, Crowe Ryan, Reddy Long, Amby Bodkin, Squire Fulton, Squire Blake, Amby Fitzgerald, Terry Magrath, and some others, were supposed to understand the points of honour better than any men in Ireland, and were constantly referred to.—Terry Magrath especially was counted a very good opinion.
[4]. The celebrated Buck English was expelled for killing by foul play, and had like to be hanged. The “Fire-eaters” outlawed him.—Foul play was never known to occur in that society—save in this instance. English was saved, on his trial, by one juror holding out against his eleven brethren:—however, as they could not agree, Baron Hamilton ordered them all to be packed in turf kishes, conveyed on cars to the boundary of the county, twenty-seven miles off, and there discharged on foot. At the ensuing assizes all the witnesses against English were duly disposed of—none appeared—and he was acquitted of course.
In the North, the Fallons and the Fentons were the first hands at it; and most counties could then boast their regular point-of-honour men. The late chief justice of the common pleas was supposed to understand the thing as well as any gentleman in Ireland, and was frequently referred to by the high circles.
In truth, these oracles were in general gentlemen of good connexions[[5]] and most respectable families, otherwise nobody would either fight or consult them.