On the morning of the appointed day, the walls of Castle Cumber were duly covered with placards containing the points to be discussed, and the names of the speakers on both sides of the question. The roads leading to the scene of controversy were thronged with people of all classes. Private jaunting cars, gigs, and carriages of every description, rolled rapidly along. Clergymen of every creed, various as they are, moved through the streets with eager and hurried pace, each reverend countenance marked by an anxious expression arising from the interest its possessor felt in the result of the controversy. People, in fact, of all ranks and religions, were assembled to hear the leading men on each side defend their own creeds, and assail those of their enemies. The professional men relinquished, for the day, their other engagements and avocations, in order to be present; and invalids, who had not been long out of their sick rooms, tottered down, wrapped in cloaks, to hear this great display of learning and eloquence. Early on the preceding morning, the Catholic Clergy, though without the sanction of their Bishops, formally signified to the committee of the society, their intention of meeting them man to man on the platform. Before the door was open to the crowd at large, the opposing clergymen and the more select friends on both sides were admitted by a private entrance. The gallery was set aside for ladies, who, in Ireland, and we believe everywhere else, form an immense majority at religious meetings.
When the house was thronged to suffocation, none but a man intimately acquainted with the two-fold character of the audience, could observe much more within it, than the sea of heads with which it was studded. The Protestant party looked on with a less devoted, but freer aspect; not, however, without an evident feeling and pride in the number and character of their champions. A strong dash of enthusiasm might be seen in many fair eyes among the females, who whispered to each other an occasional observation concerning their respective favorites; and then turned upon the divine champions, smiles that seemed to have been kindled by the sweet influences of love and piety. Among the Roman Catholic party there was an expression of wonder created by the novelty of the scene; of keen observation, evinced by the incessant rolling of their clear Milesian eyes from one party to another, together with something like pity and contempt for the infatuated Biblemen, as they called them, who could so madly rush upon the sharp theological spears of their own beloved clergymen. Dismay, or doubt, or apprehension of any kind, were altogether out of the question, as was evident from the proud look, the elated eye, and the confident demeanor by which each of them might be distinguished. Here and there, you might notice an able-bodied, coarse-faced Methodist Preacher, with lips like sausages, sombre visage, closely cropped hair, trimmed across his face, sighing from time to time, and, with eyes half closed, offering up a silent prayer for victory over the Scarlet Lady; or, perhaps, thinking of the fat ham and chicken, that were to constitute that day's dinner, as was not improbable, if the natural meaning were to be attached to the savory spirit with which, from time to time, he licked, or rather sucked at, his own lips. He and his class, many of whom, however, are excellent men, sat at a distance from the platform, not presuming to mingle with persons who consider them as having no title to the clerical character, except such as they conveniently bestow on each other. Not so the Presbyterian Clergymen who were present. They mingled with their brethren of the Establishment, from whom they differed only in a less easy and gentlemanly deportment, but yielded to them neither in kindness of intellect, firmness, nor the cool adroitness of men well read, and quite as well experienced in public speaking. At the skirt of the platform sat the unassuming Mr. Clement, a calm spectator of the proceedings; and in the capacity of messenger appeared. Darby O'Drive, dressed in black—he had not yet entered upon the duties of his new office—busily engaged in bringing in, and distributing oranges and other cooling fruit, to those of the Protestant party who were to address the meeting. High aloft, in the most conspicuous situation on the platform, sat Solomon M'Slime, breathing of piety, purity, and humility. He held a gilt Bible in his hands, in order to follow the parties in their scriptural quotations, and to satisfy himself of their accuracy, as well as that he might fall upon some blessed text, capable of enlarging his privileges. There was in his countenance a serene happiness, a sweet benignity, a radiance of divine triumph, partly arising from the consciousness of his own inward state, and partly from the glorious development of scriptural truth which would soon be witnessed, to the utter discomfiture of Popery and the Man of Sin. For some time before the business of the day commenced, each party was busily engaged in private conferences; in marking passages for reference, arranging notes, and fixing piles of books in the most convenient position. Mr. Lucre was in full pomp, exceedingly busy, directing, assisting, and tending their wants, with a proud courtesy, and a suavity of manner, which no man could better assume. The deportment and manners of the Roman Catholic clergy were strongly marked, and exceedingly well defined; especially in determination of character and vigor of expression. In a word, they were firm, resolute, and energetic. Among the latter, the busiest by far, and the most zealous was Father M'Cabe, who assumed among his own party much the same position that Mr. Lucre did among his. He was, no doubt of it, in great glee, and searched out for Mr. Lucre's eye, in order to have a friendly glance with him, before the play commenced. Lucre perceived this, and avoided him as much as he could; but, in fact, the thing was impossible. At length he caught the haughty parson's eye, and exclaimed with a comical grin, which was irresistible—
“I am glad to see you here, Mr. Lucre; who knows, but we may make a Christian of you yet. You know that we, as Catholics, maintain that the power of working miracles is in the Church still; and that, certainly, would prove it.”
Mr. Lucre bowed, and smiled contemptuously, but made no reply.
When the chairman was appointed, and the regulations by which the meeting was to be guided, read and assented to by both parties, the melee commenced; and, indeed, we are bound to say, that a melancholy comment upon Christian charity it was. It is not our intention to give anything like a report of this celebrated discussion, inasmuch, as two reports, each the genuine and authentic one, and each most egregiously contradictory of the other, have been for several years before the public, who, consequently, have a far better right to understand the business than we do, who are at this distant date merely the remote historian.
We may be permitted to say, however, that the consequences of this great discussion were such as are necessarily produced by every exhibition of the kind. For a considerable time afterwards nothing was heard between Catholic and Protestant but fierce polemics, and all the trite and wordy arguments that are to be found in the mouths of ignorant and prejudiced men on both sides. The social harmony of the district was disturbed, and that friendly intercourse which should subsist between neighbors, was either suspended or destroyed. A fierce spirit of exacerbation and jealousy was created, and men looked Upon each other with bitterness and resentment; whilst to complete the absurdity, neither party could boast of a single convert to attest the glory of the triumph which each claimed.
At this period, the character of the Castle Cumber yeomanry corps, or as they were called, M'Clutchy's Blood-hounds, was unquestionably in such infamous odor with all but bigots, in consequence of their violence when upon duty, that a few of the more mild and benevolent gentry of the neighborhood, came to the determination of forming a corps composed of men not remarkable for the extraordinary and exclusive loyalty which put itself forth in so many offensive and oppressive forms. Deaker's Dashers were by no means of such rancid bigotry as M'Clutchy's men, although they were, heaven knows, much worse than they ought to have been.
Their most unjustifiable excesses, however, Were committed in his absence, and without his orders; for it is due to Deaker himself to say, that, although a staunch political Protestant and infidel, he never countenanced violence against those who differed from him in creed. Deaker's creed was a very peculiar one, and partook of the comic profligacy which marked his whole life. He believed, for instance, that Protestantism was necessary, but could not for the life of him understand the nature or tendency of religion. As he himself said, the three great Protestant principles and objects of his life were—to drink the “Glorious Memory “—“To hell with the Pope”—merely because he was not a Protestant—and to “die whistling the Boyne Water.” If he could accomplish these successfully, he thought he had discharged his duty to his king and country, and done all that could be fairly expected from an honest and loyal Protestant. And, indeed, little, if anything else, in a religious way, was expected from him, or from any other person, at the period of which we write.
Be this, however, as it may, the formation of a new corps of cavalry was determined on, and by unanimous consent, the conduct of the matter in all its departments was entrusted to Mr. Hartley, the gentleman already mentioned, as selected to contest the county against Lord Cumber or his brother, for it had not yet been decided on between them, as to which of them should stand. Lord Cumber expected an Earldom for his virtues, with a seat in the house of Lords, and should these honors reach him in time, then his brother, the Hon. Richard Topertoe, should be put in nomination. In point of fact, matters between the two parties were fast drawing to a crisis, and it was also in some degree to balance interests with Lord Cumber, and neutralize the influence of the Irish government, that Hartley and his friends deemed it advisible to have a cavalry corps at their disposal. The day of the dissolution of parliament was now known, and it naturally became necessary that each candidate should be found at his post.
It was at this very period that a circumstance occurred, which, although of apparently small importance, was nevertheless productive of an incident that will form the catastrophe of our chronicles. Our readers cannot forget the warm language which passed between the man Sharpe and our exquisite friend, Philip M'Clutchy, on their way from Deaker's. Now, it is due to this man to say, that, on looking back at the outrage which occurred in O'Regan's cottage, and reflecting upon the melancholy consequences it produced—not forgetting the heart-rending insanity of O'Regan's wife—he felt deep regret, amounting almost to remorse, for the part which he bore in it. Independently of this, however, the conduct of Phil and his father, in their military capacity over the corps, was made up of such tyrranical insolence at one time, and of such contemptible meanness at another, that the men began to feel disgusted with such sickening alternations of swaggering authority, and base, calculating policy. Many of them, consequently, were heartily tired of their officers, and had already begun to think of withdrawing altogether from the corps, unless there were some change for the better made in it. Now, at this precise state of feeling, with regard to both circumstances, had Sharpe arrived, when he met his lieutenant on the day when that gallant gentleman signalized himself by horsewhipping his grandmother. Phil's threat had determined him to return to the Dashers, but, on hearing a day or two afterwards, that Hartley was about to raise a new corps, composed of well-conducted and orderly men, he resolved not only to offer himself to that gentleman, but to induce all who were moderate among the “hounds,” and, indeed, they were not many, to accompany him. This alarmed M'Clutchy very much, because on Lord Cumber's arrival to canvass the county, it would look as if his Lordship's interests had been neglected; and he feared, too, that the withdrawing of the men from his corps might lead to investigations which were strongly to be deprecated. After a day or two's inquiries, therefore, and finding that from eighteen to twenty of his youngest and most respectable yeomanry had not only returned him their arms and appointments, but actually held themselves ready to be enrolled in the Annagh Corps—for so Hartley's was termed—he sat down and wrote the following letter to Lord Cumber:—