Harvey was a person of the best fortune in his quarter of the county; of a Protestant family; and, being charitable and benevolent to his tenantry, was much beloved by them. Nobody in fact could dislike him: though he was flippant, he did not want sense; and presented an excellent example of those contradictory qualities so often discoverable in the same individual. He was considered by the heads of the United Irishmen to be well adapted—as a man of fortune and local influence in the most disaffected portion of their strongest county—to forward their objects: and he suffered his vanity so far to overcome his judgment, as, without the slightest experience, to assume the command of a great army—for which purpose there were few men in Ireland so utterly unfit.
In his martial office, his head became totally bewildered; the sphere of action was too great—the object struggled for, too comprehensive. Nor did even his personal courage follow him to the field. His bravery, as against a single man, was neutralised in a tumult; and a mind naturally intrepid became bewildered, puzzled, and impotent. Amidst the roar of cannon, and the hurly-burly of the tumultuous and sanguinary battle of Ross, his presence of mind wholly forsook him, and he lost the day by want of tact and absence of spirit. His men fought hand to hand in the streets of Ross with the regular troops, of whom they slew a considerable number, including the Earl of Mountjoy; nor did they at last retire until they had not a single officer left to continue the engagement or lead them on to a renewed attack—which in all probability would have been effectual. Never did human beings show more decided bravery than the Irish peasantry in that bloody engagement. Thrice the town was theirs, and was finally lost by their inebriety and want of proper officers. Had Harvey captured New Ross, all Munster would have risen in his cause; and then indeed no royalist could have anticipated without dread the consequences. Officers and arms would have made the whole country inevitably theirs. When Wexford was retaken, Harvey concealed himself on an island, but was discovered, brought to that town, and without much ceremony hanged next day upon the bridge, toward the erection of which he had largely subscribed.
I could not but feel extreme regret at the sad fate which befell my old friend and school-fellow, who did not meet his destiny quite so firmly as his original manly bearing had inclined people to expect:—poor fellow! he idly strove by entreaty to avert, or at least retard it; and its infliction was aggravated by every species of indignity. In every thing except his politics, Harvey’s character was unimpeachable.
I never knew two persons much more dissimilar than were the commander-in-chief of the insurgents and the rebel governor of Wexford, Captain Keogh. The latter was a retired captain of the British service, who had fought in America, and, like many others, had there received a lesson on civil liberty which never escaped his memory. He was married to an aunt of Lady Barrington; and, for many years, when I went the circuit, I lived at his house, and had conceived the greatest friendship for him. He was a very clever man. His housekeeping was characterised by neatness, regularity, and cheerfulness. Every thing was good of its kind; and in that plentiful country, even luxuries were abundant. Calm, determined, moderate, and gentlemanly, Captain Keogh combined good sense with firmness and spirit. But, most unfortunately, ill-treatment sustained from Lord Chancellor Clare perverted half his good qualities, and metamorphosed him into a partizan, which was far from being his natural tendency.
He had a fine soldier-like person, above the middle size; his countenance was excellent; his features regular and engaging; his hair, rather scanty, receded from his forehead; his eyes were penetrating and expressive; and his complexion exhibited that partial ruddiness which we so frequently see in fine men approaching threescore. He was appointed rebel governor of Wexford, but among those savages soon lost his popularity; and had the insurgents continued much longer masters of the place, he would surely have been assassinated. He did what he durst on the side of humanity, and had supposed that his orders would be obeyed: but he was deceived; blood, and blood in torrents, was the object of both parties during that horrid summer. On the surrender of the town, Keogh was immediately convicted under martial law. He pleaded for himself; and I learn that on that occasion every body was affected. He knew his situation to be irretrievable, and his life forfeit; and he conducted himself at his execution with the utmost firmness, as became a gentleman and a soldier. He was hanged and beheaded on the bridge of which he also was a proprietor; and his head, as mentioned in a former volume (Vol. i.), was exhibited on a spike over the court-house door.
A singular circumstance occurred in Keogh’s house while the rebels were in possession of Wexford. His brother, a retired major in the British army, had also served in America, and lived with the captain in Wexford, but was a most enthusiastic royalist. Upon the rebels taking the place, he endeavoured to dissuade his brother from accepting the office of governor, but failing in the attempt, he retired to his own room and immediately blew his brains out!
The next of my friends and connexions who suffered by the hands of the executioner, was Mr. Cornelius Grogan of Johnstown Castle, a gentleman of large fortune, and great local interest and connexion. He had been twice high-sheriff and representative in Parliament for the county. He resided three miles from Wexford at his castle, where he had a deer-park of one thousand acres of good ground, besides a fine demesne. He lived as a quiet, though hospitable country gentleman. At this unfortunate period he had passed his seventieth year, and was such a martyr to the gout that his hands were wrapped up in flannel; and half carried, half hobbling upon crutches, he proceeded to the place of execution.
Mr. Grogan was in person short and dark-complexioned. His countenance, however, was not disagreeable, and he had in every respect the address and manners of a man of rank. His two brothers commanded yeomanry corps. One of them was killed at the head of his corps (the Castletown cavalry) at the battle of Arklaw; the other was wounded at the head of his troop (the Healtford cavalry) during Major Maxwell’s retreat from Wexford.
The form of a trial was thought necessary by General Lake for a gentleman of so much importance in his county. His case was afterward brought before Parliament, and argued for three successive days and nearly nights. His crime consisted in having been surrounded by a rebel army, which placed him under the surveillance of numerous ruffians. They forced him one day into the town on horseback;—a rebel of the appropriate name of Savage always attending him with a blunderbuss, and orders to shoot him if he refused their commands. They one day nominated him a commissary, knowing that his numerous tenantry would be more willing in consequence to supply them. He used no weapon of any sort;—indeed, was too feeble even to hold one. A lady of the name of Seagriff gave evidence that her family were in want of food, and that she got Mr. Grogan to give her an order for some bread, which order was obeyed by the insurgents. She procured some loaves, and supplied her children; and for that bread (which saved a family from starvation) Mr. Grogan was, on the lady’s evidence, sentenced to die as a felon—and actually hanged, when already almost lifeless from pain, imprisonment, age, and brutal treatment! The court-martial which tried him was not sworn, and only mustered seven in number. His witness was shot while on the way to give evidence of his innocence; and while General Lake was making merry with his staff, one of the first gentlemen in the county (in every point his superior) was done to death almost before his windows!
From my intimate knowledge of Mr. Grogan for several years, I can venture to assert most unequivocally (and it is but justice to his memory) that, though a person of independent mind and conduct as well as fortune, and an opposition member of parliament, he was no more a rebel than his brothers, who signalised themselves in battle as loyalists; and the survivor of whom was rewarded by a posthumous bill of attainder against the unfortunate gentleman in question, by virtue of which estates of many thousands per annum were confiscated to the king. (The survivor’s admitted loyal brother had been killed in battle only a few days before the other was executed.) This attainder was one of the most flagitious acts ever promoted by any government:—but after ten thousand pounds costs to crown officers, &c. had been extracted from the property, the estates were restored. I spent the summer of 1799 at Johnstown Castle, where I derived much private information as to the most interesting events of that unfortunate era.