Sudden fright and horror, or even agitating news, have often the most extraordinary effect on the human frame, exciting a variety of disorders, and sometimes even death. I have myself seen numerous examples of the overwhelming influence of surprise. Not long since, a near relative of mine, a clergyman of ample fortune—a pattern of benevolence and hospitality—healthy, comely, happy, and adored by his parishioners—had been driven into some trifling lawsuit. He had conceived a strange opinion, that a clergyman would be disgraced by any cause he contested being given against him. With this notion, he attached an ideal importance to success; and the thing altogether rendered him anxious and uneasy. The day of decision at the assizes of Carlow came on: he drove in his gig to the court-house door, quite certain of the justice of his cause, and confident, therefore, of its issue;—when the attorney who acted for his opponent, coming out of court, abruptly told him that the decision was adverse to him. The extreme suddenness of this unexpected news, like an electric shock, paralysed his frame, extinguished all his faculties—and, in a word, he instantaneously fell dead! The event was even if possible more lamentable, as the intelligence was communicated in sport. The cause had been actually decided in my relation’s favour.
REBEL PORTRAITS.
Tendency of the imagination to embody character—Its frequent errors—Exemplified in the personal traits of several of the rebel chiefs of Ireland—The Bretons of La Vendée—Intrepidity of their leaders—The battle of Ross—Gallantry of a boy twelve years old—Beauchamp Bagenal Harvey—Description of his person and character—His habit of joking—Dangerous puns—His bewilderment as rebel generalissimo—His capture and behaviour at execution—Portrait, physical and mental, of Captain Keogh—Remarkable suicide of his brother, and his own execution—Mr. Grogan, of Johnstown Castle, described—His case, sentence, and execution—Unmerited fate of Sir Edward Crosby, Bart.
When we read or hear of public and distinguished characters, whether good or bad, we are naturally disposed to draw in our mind a figure or face for each, correspondent to the actions which rendered the individual conspicuous. We are inclined, for instance, to paint in our imagination a rebel chieftain as an athletic powerful personage, with a commanding presence;—an authoritative voice to controul; and impetuous bravery to lead on a tumultuous army of undisciplined insurgents. Were this always the case, insurrections would, perhaps, stand a better chance of being successful.[[39]]
[39]. Such was the case with the Bretons in La Vendée. An officer of rank in the French army at that period, commanding a regiment of chasseur republicans, told me very lately, that above 15,000 regular troops (his regiment among the rest) were surprised at noon-day, defeated and dispersed, and their artillery and baggage taken, by a smaller number of totally undisciplined Vendeans, with few fire-arms, but led on by officers selected for powerful strength and fiery enthusiasm. Their contempt for life, and impetuosity in close combat, were irresistible; the latter, indeed, was always a characteristic with them, and the gallantry of their chiefs was quite unparalleled.
In the Irish Rebellion of 1798, the chief leaders had scarcely any of these attributes. Numerically, the rebels were sufficient, and more than sufficient, to effect all their objects; but they had no idea of discipline, and little of subordination. Their intrepidity was great, and their perseverance in the midst of fire and slaughter truly astonishing. Yet on every occasion it was obviously the cause and not the leaders that spurred them into action: when Irishmen are well officered they never yield.[[40]]
[40]. The battle of Ross, in June, 1798, lasted ten hours. The rebel officers did nothing, the men every thing. While the commander-in-chief, Counsellor Bagenal Harvey, was standing on a hill nearly a mile distant, a boy twelve years old (Lett of Wexford town) called on the insurgents to follow him. He put himself at the head of ten thousand men—approached the town, and stormed it. The town took fire; the rebels got liquor; and they were killed in sleep and drunkenness. Nothing could have saved our troops had the rebels been well officered: General Johnston, who commanded the royalists, deserved great praise for his judgment on that critical occasion.