Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate

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1. Body-Snatching Raid at Bully's Acre, Kilmainham

   Kilmainham · townland · Dublin

   A medical student recalls a nighttime raid by a gang of resurrectionists into the old public cemetery known as Bully's Acre, at the Royal Hospital Kilmainham grounds, to exhume freshly buried bodies for dissection. The raiders were discovered and violently chased off by armed locals, during which one attacker was thrown over a wall and believed killed.

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   "We had a very stirring row in that corner one night, when I was apprentice to old Aby Colles; for at that time we had generally to provide our own _subjects_, or to purchase them, at a very high price, from men who followed the calling of "sack-em-ups;" and as money was not always plenty, we used to form parties for the purpose of invading this and other burial-grounds, and exhuming the bodies. Brophy, the dentist, had a brother named Maurice, whom he was desirous of putting into the medical profession. He was a manly, generous fellow, and possessed a very strong inclination for anything that denoted enterprise, or promised excitement. Pat had taken a cottage and garden in Rathmines, and for his whim or amusement he went into a shop in Kennedy's Lane and purchased a spade; and having given his address, the seller wrote the name and address on the handle of the implement. The spade was sent home, and upon the same day a party was organised, of which I constituted one, to visit this place and disinter two or three bodies that had been buried in the morning. I mentioned to Maurice the project we had formed, and he eagerly joined in the undertaking. All was arranged; and we drove out to this place, left our cars at a little distance, and entered the ground, determined to work silently and quickly. However, our volunteer friend had provided himself with his brother's spade, and certainly used it with great despatch, although not so noiselessly as might be wished. But we had been watched. We were seen entering the cemetery, and a body of men, armed with every rough weapon that they could procure, came suddenly upon us. We had to retreat, and made a running fight until we reached the wall, and there our associate was attacked by a man who, with fearful imprecations, declared he would have his life. Blows were quickly interchanged; the combatants closed; and a fierce struggle occurred, which was terminated by Maurice urging his antagonist to the wall, and very speedily pitching him over; the depth at the other side was at least ten feet, although where the encounter occurred was only a foot or two lower than the wall top. The man fell, exclaiming that he was murdered. He groaned heavily; and we succeeded with great difficulty, and not without some severe blows from sticks and stones, in effecting an escape from a scene where we felt almost fully convinced that we had left a warm corpse in our attempt to obtain a cold one.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 96

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around here is Bully's Acre, the old public cemetery on the grounds of the Royal Hospital Kilmainham. A medical student once recalled a nighttime raid here when he was apprentice to old Aby Colles. In those days students had to provide their own bodies for dissection, or buy them at a high price from men called "sack-em-ups." Money was not always plentiful, so they formed parties to invade burial grounds and exhume the dead. Brophy the dentist had a brother named Maurice, a manly, generous fellow drawn to anything that promised excitement. Pat had taken a cottage and garden in Rathmines, and on a whim went into a shop in Kennedy's Lane and bought a spade. The seller wrote the name and address on the handle. A party was organized that same day to disinter two or three bodies buried that morning. The narrator told Maurice the plan, and Maurice eagerly joined. They drove out and left their cars at a distance, entered the ground determined to work silently and quickly. Maurice used his brother's spade with great dispatch, though not so noiselessly as they might have wished. But they had been watched. Men armed with every rough weapon they could procure came suddenly upon them. They retreated and made a running fight to the wall. There Maurice was attacked by a man who, with fearful imprecations, declared he would have his life. Blows were exchanged, the combatants closed, and Maurice urged his antagonist to the wall and pitched him over. The drop on the other side was at least 10 feet. The man fell, exclaiming that he was murdered, and groaned heavily. They escaped with great difficulty, taking severe blows from sticks and stones, feeling almost fully convinced, as the student put it, that they had "left a warm corpse in our attempt to obtain a cold one."

2. Burial and Secret Revival of Lonergan at Raheny

   Raheny · street · Dublin · 1781

   After apparent execution, Lonergan's body was brought to Raheny by his former teacher M'Kenna and buried in Raheny churchyard, but he was later found alive and hidden in the house, having revived from hanging.

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   Accordingly, on the 24th November, 1781, Lonergan, having briefly but very distinctly denied any participation in the crime for which he was condemned, was hanged by the withdrawal of the cart from beneath the gallows to which the halter was attached, and although he received no drop, his sufferings did not seem to be very acute. He almost immediately ceased to struggle, and life appeared to be extinct. The weather was extremely inclement; and when the body had been suspended for about twenty minutes, the sheriff acceded to a suggestion that it might be cut down. There was some difficulty in getting at the rope so as to cut it with a knife. M'Kenna remarked this to my father, who, drawing his short, slightly curved, and very sharp hanger, directed the cart to be backed towards the body. Then, springing up on the cart, he struck the rope where it crossed the beam, and severed it at once. A coffin was brought forward from a hearse which was in waiting. The sheriff directed the cap to be removed, and the body to be turned with the face down. Then he handed a sharp penknife to the executioner, who made two incisions across each other on the back of the neck. This was considered a formal compliance with the portion of the sentence which directed "quartering." The body was then left to the care of the faithful friend, M'Kenna, who directed it to be placed in the hearse and conveyed to his house at Raheny. On the 26th, a funeral, very scantily attended, proceeded to Raheny churchyard. M'Kenna had the coffin lowered into a very deep grave, and the burial service was read by the parochial clergyman. Persons were engaged to watch for a few nights lest any attempt should be made to exhume the corpse for anatomical purposes. In two days after the funeral my father received a note from M'Kenna, in consequence of which he immediately proceeded to Raheny. On his arrival he was pledged to secrecy and co-operation. He willingly assented, and having been conducted into a small apartment in the upper part of the house, he there beheld alive, although greatly debilitated, the man whom, at Baggot Street, he had cut down from the gallows. On the night of the 30th November, he brought Lonergan into Skinner Row. There he kept him concealed for upwards of a week, and then succeeded in shipping him for Bristol. From thence he proceeded, unsuspected and uninterrupted, to America, where, under the name of James Fennell, he lived for a considerable time, and supported himself by educational pursuits. His resuscitation was attributed to the rope having been unusually short, to his being swung from the cart without receiving any perpendicular drop, and especially to the incisions in his neck, which produced a copious effusion of blood. Lonergan stated that on being suspended, he immediately lost any sensation of a painful nature. His revival was attended with violent and distressing convulsions.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 2

   As the companion tells it

   Raheny is where Lonergan was brought after his apparent execution on 24 November 1781. Hanged at Baggot Street by the withdrawal of the cart from beneath the gallows, he received no drop and almost immediately ceased to struggle. Life appeared extinct. After about twenty minutes, the sheriff agreed the body might be cut down. M'Kenna, Lonergan's former teacher, remarked on the difficulty of getting at the rope. The narrator's father drew his sharp hanger, backed the cart towards the body, and severed the rope at the beam. A coffin was brought from a waiting hearse. The sheriff had the cap removed and the body turned face down. The executioner made two incisions across each other on the back of the neck, a formal compliance with the sentence directing quartering. M'Kenna then placed the body in the hearse and conveyed it to his house. On 26 November, a scantily attended funeral proceeded to the churchyard. M'Kenna had the coffin lowered into a very deep grave, and the parochial clergyman read the burial service. Watchers were engaged for a few nights against exhumation for anatomical purposes. Two days after the funeral, the narrator's father received a note from M'Kenna and went to the house. Pledged to secrecy, he was conducted to a small upper room. There he beheld alive, though greatly debilitated, the man he had cut down from the gallows. Lonergan was brought to Skinner Row on 30 November, concealed for over a week, then shipped for Bristol. From there he travelled to America under the name James Fennell, supporting himself by teaching. His resuscitation was attributed to the short rope, the lack of a perpendicular drop, and the incisions in his neck producing a copious effusion of blood. Lonergan said he lost all painful sensation on being suspended. His revival brought violent and distressing convulsions.

3. Murder of the Midland Great Western Railway Cashier

   near Broadstone · street · Dublin · 1856–1857

   George Little, cashier of the Midland Great Western Railway, was found murdered in his office at the railway station in 1856, his throat cut and skull fractured. His alleged killer, James Spollen, a company painter, was later acquitted despite bank notes and a razor bearing his name being found nearby.

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   I shall now advert to a most atrocious murder which was committed in the Metropolitan Police District in 1856. It occurred in the Northern division, and I was requested by the learned and worthy Chief Magistrate, Mr. J. W. O'Donnell, to assist in its investigation. Mr. George Little, the Cashier of the Midland Great Western Railway, had not returned to his residence on the evening of the 14th November, and on the following morning, his relatives enquired for him at the office in the station. The office door was broken open, and he was found lying on his face in a pool of blood, his throat having been cut from ear to ear. At first the impression was that he had committed suicide, for a considerable sum of money was on his desk. However, it was ascertained by an examination of the body, that many very severe injuries had been inflicted, and that the skull had been fractured by blows from a heavy, blunt instrument. A coroner's inquest returned a verdict of "Wilful murder by some person or persons unknown," and a large reward was advertised for the discovery and conviction of the perpetrator. No arrest was made on suspicion until the 21st of December, when a person was brought before the Northern Police Court, but was very speedily discharged. I refrain from mentioning the name, because there is no doubt that the charge was unfounded. It was rumoured that an experienced London detective had been specially engaged to afford his assistance in the furtherance of justice, but nothing of importance transpired until the 26th June, 1857, when a woman, named Spollen, informed a superintendent of police that her husband, James Spollen, was the murderer, and that he had concealed the bank-notes which he took from Mr. Little's office in a certain place immediately adjoining a small house which he occupied on the railway premises, he being in the Company's employment as a painter and cleanser. The superintendent immediately arrested Spollen, but kept him in his own custody from ten o'clock in the morning until nearly ten o'clock at night, when he brought him to a police station-house and gave him in charge for the murder, producing the wife of the accused as the charging party. The place indicated by the woman was immediately searched, and a considerable sum in bank-notes was discovered concealed in an ashpit, and packed in a small firkin, which had previously contained white paint. Some money in silver was also found in a canvas bag deposited in a cistern, and the utmost publicity was given to the searches, the results, and the source from whence the information concerning them was derived. His wife's evidence against Spollen was properly rejected by the magistrates; and although the case was sent for trial on other grounds, the result was an acquittal. During the magisterial investigation, I suggested that a portion of the Royal Canal close to the railway premises should be drained and searched, as I considered it very probable that some of the implements used in the murder had been thrown into the water. When the search commenced, the superintendent announced that whoever found the razor should receive a guinea. A razor was accordingly found in the mud almost immediately, but it was manifest that it had not been there until the search was directed, for it was perfectly free from rust or corrosion. However, another razor was found, and the name of "Spollen" was on the handle. A fitter's hammer was also taken out of the canal, and it was more than probable that the razor and hammer had been in fatal proximity to the throat and head of the unfortunate George Little. After the trial, some of the London papers commented in the strongest terms on the ignorance and stupidity evinced in the preliminary proceedings of the police officer to whom the case had been assigned. The bungling, blundering incompetency which characterised the transaction was described as truly Irish. They also complained that the English detectives who had been sent to Dublin were thwarted and impeded in all their efforts by the members of the Dublin force. I fully admit that the case was thoroughly mismanaged, but I must add that the person most prominently engaged, the superintendent, was an Englishman, and I deny that English detectives had to encounter Irish jealousy, as no person of the description was sent to Dublin in reference to that crime, or indeed in any instance within my recollection, without meeting a cordial, perhaps I might venture to say, a fraternal, reception from the Dublin Police. I may add that whenever our constables were sent to the English metropolitan district, they invariably returned with a grateful recollection of the kindness manifested towards them.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 34

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere about Broadstone, in November 1856, George Little, the cashier of the Midland Great Western Railway, failed to return home. The next morning his relatives came to his office in the station, the door was broken open, and he was found lying face down in a pool of blood, his throat cut from ear to ear. At first it looked like suicide, for a considerable sum of money sat untouched on his desk, but examination showed his skull had been fractured by blows from a heavy blunt instrument. A coroner's inquest returned a verdict of "wilful murder by some person or persons unknown." Nothing happened until June 1857, when a woman named Spollen went to the police and said her husband James Spollen, a painter employed by the railway company, was the murderer. She told them he had hidden bank notes near a small house he occupied on the railway premises. The notes were found in an ashpit, packed in a firkin that had contained white paint, and silver was found in a canvas bag in a cistern. A razor bearing the name Spollen was found in the canal, along with a fitter's hammer. His wife's evidence was rejected by the magistrates, and though the case went to trial on other grounds, the result was acquittal. London papers later called the police handling bungling and incompetent, describing it as "truly Irish." The author, an Irish police magistrate who assisted in the investigation, points out that the superintendent most blamed was an Englishman, and that no English detectives were obstructed by Irish jealousy.

4. Abolition of Donnybrook Fair in 1855

   Donnybrook · parish · Dublin · 1855

   Donnybrook Fair, notorious for a week of drunkenness, violence, gambling and indecency each August, was abolished in 1855 through the efforts of Lord Mayor Alderman Joseph Boyce, ending decades of crime and disorder that had crowded Dublin's prisons every year.

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   I have to notice an event which occurred in 1855, and was productive of most salutary results, not merely to the suburb in which it was effected, but to the entire city and county of Dublin; I mean the abolition or suppression of Donnybrook Fair. This excellent proceeding was effected at the instance and mainly by the exertions of Alderman Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin in the last-mentioned year. It would be almost impossible to describe the scenes of drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency that characterized an entire week in the month of August, every year whilst "The Brook" afforded its immoral attractions, causing our prisons to be immediately crowded with loose, disorderly, or dishonest characters, so as to resemble hospitals in a locality suddenly visited by an epidemic or contagious distemper. I do not believe that, for many years previous to its suppression, Donnybrook Fair was ever held without being the direct or indirect cause of a life or lives being lost. It lasted for a week; and the greatest intemperance and violence seemed to be specially displayed on the day known as "the Walking Sunday." I visited the fair on several occasions in my days of boyhood, and I can recollect some sad accidents in which lives were lost or limbs fractured by vehicles having been driven furiously by drunken "jarveys." I have seen the body of a female taken out of a mill-race close to the fair green, into which she had fallen in a state of intoxication. I witnessed a very furious encounter on the bridge between coal-porters and some other class of combatants, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall; but the worst experience that I had of Donnybrook was in 1820, when an amiable and most inoffensive young gentleman, named James Rogerson, was walking beside me through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening, and was struck in the head by a large stone thrown at another person. He was felled by the blow, and was raised in a state of insensibility. After he had revived a little, I took him in a covered car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died in a few days from the effects of the injury, and the perpetrator of the fatal assault was never made amenable for the offence. From the time when I attained the police magistracy in 1844 until 1855, I had to deal with an ample share of the charges and summonses arising from the annual nuisance of Donnybrook Fair; and I fully agreed with my colleagues in considering such duties as "moral scavenging;" and just as pedestrians might apologise for mud-covered feet or bespattered garments being unavoidable in filthy thoroughfares, so the delinquencies arising from the various evil excitements abundantly offered in the locality where they occurred, were almost invariably imputed to the offender having unfortunately gone to "The Brook." I must admit that in disposing of drunken or disorderly cases, I was often influenced by the consideration that when such an annual abomination was tolerated in a civilized community, it was a ground for slightly mitigating the punishments incurred by yielding to its abundant temptations.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 83

   As the companion tells it

   You are passing through Donnybrook, a parish long associated with one of Dublin's most infamous institutions. For a week every August, Donnybrook Fair filled the village with what one contemporary called "drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency." The prisons would crowd as if hit by an epidemic, and for years before its suppression, the fair was the direct or indirect cause of someone losing their life. The worst of it fell on the day known as the Walking Sunday. The author of these recollections remembered seeing the body of a woman pulled from a mill-race near the fair green, fallen in while drunk. He witnessed a man thrown from the bridge in a brawl and killed by the fall. In 1820, a young man named James Rogerson was walking beside him through the village street when a stone thrown at someone else struck him in the head. He died within days, and his killer was never caught. From 1844 to 1855, the author sat as a police magistrate dealing with the annual fallout, work he and his colleagues called moral scavenging. People excused themselves simply by saying they had been to The Brook. The whole thing finally ended in 1855, brought about chiefly by the efforts of Alderman Joseph Boyce, Lord Mayor of Dublin that year.

5. Faked Death Using a Corpse from Bully's Acre

   near Bully's Acre · graveyard cemetery burial ground · Dublin

   To escape hanging at Old Kilmainham, Keogh's gaoler procured a substitute corpse from the burial ground of the Hospital Fields, known as 'Bully's Acre', to be placed in the condemned man's cell and buried in his name.

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   "We agreed upon the plan, and for several days I was really sick, made so by artificial means--spirits, laudanum, tobacco, and other things were used in various ways. Half of the stipulated sum was brought by my brother, and paid to the gaoler in the condemned cell. The other men were removed to another part of the building. At length _I died_, you understand; and on that night a corpse was introduced into my cell by the gaoler himself. It was of my size, and was procured from the neighbouring burial ground of the Hospital fields, vulgarly termed _Bully's Acre_; but unlike the generality of such disinterments, it was to go back there again, and to be buried in my name. I was informed that there would be an inquest on me; but as I had died of putrid, spotted fever of the most infectious description, it was not likely that the coroner or the jury would view my body, unless at the greatest possible distance. I assisted the gaoler to arrange the supposed corpse of myself, placing the face to the wall, and then I was quietly let out upon the high road, after having paid the balance of the fifteen hundred pounds. My brother who had brought the money, was in waiting, but we soon separated. He thought it would prevent suspicion being raised if he attended the funeral of my substitute; and I set out on foot, taking the road to Wicklow, and stopping in the morning to have a little rest and refreshment at Loughlinstown. About the time of my funeral, I was passing Coolagad, near Delgany, and was alarmed by a pack of hounds crossing the road close to where I was walking. There were some riders following them whom I knew, but they were too much engaged in the sport to think about, or even to look at me. I proceeded by Wicklow and Arklow to Wexford, and there I got a passage to Jersey. From that island I was taken by a smuggler to St. Malo, on the supposition that I was extremely anxious to join the Irish Brigade. My life was now safe from the hangman, but I had much trouble and suffering to encounter. I was suspected of being a spy, although I could not speak a word of French; and the possession of some of your guineas was a great crime in the eyes of those who wished to get them for themselves. At Chartres I met a fellow-countryman, who was in Berwick's regiment, and at his instance I enlisted to get rid of the annoyance I was suffering, and to avoid the poverty which I saw approaching, and which was certain to overtake a stranger, whose only resource was military service. I took, on enlisting, the name of Vaughan, which was that of my mother's family. I have again to express my deep sorrow for the wrongful act I committed, and _I hope you will never regret that I was not hanged_."

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 4

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere about Bully's Acre, the burial ground of the Hospital Fields, a condemned man named Keogh once cheated the hangman at Old Kilmainham. To escape, he and his gaoler agreed on a plan. Keogh made himself genuinely sick over several days using spirits, laudanum, and tobacco, until he appeared to die. The gaoler brought a corpse from this burial ground into the condemned cell, one of roughly Keogh's own size, and arranged it face to the wall. The story was that Keogh had died of putrid spotted fever, so infectious that the coroner and jury were unlikely to view the body closely. The gaoler then let Keogh out onto the high road. The whole arrangement cost fifteen hundred pounds, half paid before and half on the night of escape. His brother brought the money and stayed to attend the funeral of the substitute corpse, which was buried in Keogh's name and returned to Bully's Acre. Keogh walked through the night toward Wicklow, stopping at Loughlinstown for rest. He passed Coolagad near Delgany, then went on through Wicklow and Arklow to Wexford, where he found a passage to Jersey. From there a smuggler carried him to St. Malo in France, where he enlisted in Berwick's regiment at Chartres under the name Vaughan. He ends his account with the words, "I hope you will never regret that I was not hanged."

6. Fraudulent 'found drowned' scheme exposed at Dolphin's Barn canal bridge

   near Dolphin's Barn · street · Dublin · 1842

   When Kinsella was summoned to view a body taken from the Grand Canal near Dolphin's Barn, he recognised his father, buried a week earlier, exposing a coroner and doctor who disinterred bodies and put them in the canal to claim additional inquest fees.

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   For some years previous to 1842, the number of persons "found drowned" in the County of Dublin was much greater than might be expected either from the extent of the population or the nature of the locality. It was indeed true that one canal, the Grand, extended along the greater part of the southern boundary of the Irish metropolis, and another, the Royal, was similarly situated in the northern direction; but although these canals afforded great facilities for the termination of human existence, whether by suicide or accident, the cases of drowning were far more numerous than could be fairly attributed to violence, intoxication, lunacy, or carelessness. It would also seem that the southern canal was much more destructive to human life than the other, and that the bank which was in the county possessed some attraction for the corpses, for they were almost always taken out at the county side. It happened on the 11th of March, 1842, a few minutes before 10 o'clock, a.m., that a young man named Kinsella, who was employed in a distillery at Marrowbone Lane, was proceeding, after his breakfast, from his residence at Dolphin's Barn to resume his work, when, on approaching the canal bridge, he was stopped by a constable, who informed him that the coroner required his attendance, as a juror, on an inquest that was about to be held on the body of an old man, just taken out of the canal. Kinsella vainly expostulated against the detention. He was told that it would be a very short business, for there were no marks of violence on the corpse; it would merely be a case of "found drowned." The man was accordingly sworn on the inquest, and the coroner having informed the jury that they were required by law to view the body, they were conducted to the apartment where it lay. As soon as Kinsella beheld the corpse, he rushed forward, dropped on his knees beside it, seized the stiff and frigid hand, and exclaimed, "My father! my poor, dear father! We buried him on this day week, decently and well, in the Hospital Fields. He had no business in the canal; and _them old clothes_ never belonged to him; he never wore a stitch of them." The coroner and the doctor vainly endeavoured to persuade Kinsella that he was mistaken; and his recognition of his parent produced an enquiry, which resulted in bringing to light some very extraordinary practices on the part of the county functionary and his medical satellite. They were paid by public presentment, according to the number of inquests held; and they had recourse to the expedient of having bodies disinterred, clothed in old habiliments, and thrown into the canal. Such bodies were almost always discovered very soon, and were taken out on the county side of the canal, to swell the coroner's next presentment for inquests on persons who were "found drowned." A crush from a passing barge afforded an additional profit, as the bruises constituted a plausible reason for a _post mortem_ examination, and thereby doubled the doctor's ordinary fee. The coroner and his associate were convicted of conspiring to defraud, and consequently were deprived of their functions. It must be acknowledged that, if their mode of procuring inquests was not honest, it was certainly novel and ingenious. If the practice had been known in the days of Hamlet, it would have furnished an additional reason for his exclamation:--

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 15

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere about Dolphin's Barn, near the Grand Canal bridge, a grim fraud was exposed in 1842. For years before that, far too many bodies were being found drowned in the canal, nearly always pulled out on the county side. On the 11th of March 1842, a young distillery worker named Kinsella was stopped on his way to work and pressed into service as a juror for an inquest on a body taken from the canal. When he was brought to view it, he dropped to his knees, seized the hand, and called out, "My father, we buried him on this day week, decently and well, in the Hospital Fields. He had no business in the canal, and them old clothes never belonged to him." The coroner and his doctor tried to tell Kinsella he was mistaken, but the investigation his recognition triggered showed that both men were paid by the number of inquests they held. They had been disinterring bodies from graves, dressing them in old clothes, and throwing them into the canal to be found and claimed as fresh drownings. A crush from a passing barge was extra profit, since the bruises justified a post mortem examination and doubled the doctor's fee. Both men were convicted of conspiring to defraud and lost their positions.

7. The 1836 Bombing of King William's Statue in College Green

   near College Green · street · Dublin · 1836

   In 1836 a man later convicted for Ribbon activity, named Jones, allegedly detonated an explosive charge that blew the equestrian statue of King William off its pedestal in College Green, an explosion heard across the city. He reportedly tried to behead the fallen figure before being scared off by police approaching from College Street.

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   Very soon after my appointment to the police magistracy, there was a person named Jones convicted of being deeply implicated in the Ribbon system. He was not committed for trial from the Head Office, and I was not officially connected with any of the proceedings in his case. After he had been sent to another hemisphere under sentence of transportation, I heard casually from a professional man, on whose statements I placed the utmost reliance, that Jones had acknowledged to him being the person by whom the statue of King William in College Green was blown up in 1836. There was no prosecution instituted as to that extraordinary affair, and I notice it only on account of the statements subsequently made, and an incident which may be considered of an amusing character. Two women of a disreputable class were standing at the corner of Church Lane in College Green just after midnight. A man whom they had not previously observed, descended quickly from the statue, and having crossed the rails which then intervened between the pedestal and the thoroughfare, he ignited a fuse which had been previously connected with some explosive substance placed between the figures of the steed and the rider. The man rapidly decamped, the fuse burned quickly, and there was an explosion which was heard in almost every part of the city, and by which the figure of the monarch was completely separated from his horse, and thrown into the public carriage-way, several yards from the pedestal. It was reported that a respectable citizen residing in the immediate vicinity, who had been suffering for some time previous from disease of the heart, rose from his bed in hasty alarm, and almost immediately dropped lifeless. Jones, according to the statement of my informant, subsequently tried to cut the head off the prostrate figure, but was deterred by the approach of a party of police from College Street. I believe that those who examined the figures of man and horse expressed a decided opinion that the explosion had not been effected by gunpowder, and the statements of the acknowledged delinquent denied that gunpowder had been used, but without his specifying what material had effected such an extraordinary result.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 44

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere about College Green, an equestrian statue of King William once stood inside railings between the pedestal and the thoroughfare. In 1836, a man named Jones blew it up. He was later convicted of being deeply involved in the Ribbon system and transported to another hemisphere, and after that sentence a professional man of the utmost reliability told the police magistrate that Jones had acknowledged being the person who did it. It happened just after midnight. Two women of a disreputable class were standing at the corner of Church Lane. A man they had not noticed descended quickly from the statue, crossed the rails, and ignited a fuse connected to some explosive substance placed between the figures of the steed and the rider. He rapidly decamped. The fuse burned quickly, and the explosion was heard in almost every part of the city. The figure of the monarch was completely separated from his horse and thrown into the public carriage-way, several yards from the pedestal. A respectable citizen living in the immediate vicinity, who had been suffering from disease of the heart, rose from his bed in hasty alarm and almost immediately dropped lifeless. Jones, according to the informant, later tried to cut the head off the prostrate figure, but was deterred by the approach of a party of police from College Street. Those who examined the figures of man and horse expressed a decided opinion that the explosion had not been effected by gunpowder. Jones denied that gunpowder had been used, but never said what material had done it.

8. Torture of young Pat at the Custom House yard

   Custom House · electoral division · Limerick · 1798

   Betrayed by his own father to Major Sirr on false suspicion of United Irish sympathies, young Pat was arrested and taken to the Custom House yard in Essex Street, where he was flogged at the triangles until he collapsed, while his father watched from a window.

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   In the Custom House yard he was interrogated, and his denials only produced louder and sterner demands. Truth, strict truth, issued from lips to which it had been hitherto a stranger. The triangles stood before him, and all his protestations of innocence were uttered to ears worse than deaf. He was stripped, tied up, and lashed until he swooned; then taken down, and recalled to a sense of existence by restoratives, only to be put up again, until, at last, he lay before his torturers, a lacerated and semi-animate frame, incapable of enduring further suffering. They cursed him as an obdurate, callous villain, from whom nothing could be extorted; and whilst his terrific punishment was in process of infliction, his father was looking on, from the window of his residence. The wretched youth was conveyed home, and a considerable time elapsed before he was sufficiently recovered to proceed to America, whence he never returned. His father made no secret of the means he adopted to punish young Pat and to trick the Major.

   Sirr was occasionally humorous. He announced to one of his acquaintances the fate which was expected to befal Theobald Wolfe Tone, in the laconic phrase--"Mr. Tone is to a-tone to-morrow in the front of Newgate." Galvin, the hangman, having applied to Sirr for his interest and recommendation to procure a small pension, laid before him a memorial, which he was desirous of having forwarded to Government under the Major's auspices. In it the veteran executioner submitted that for many years he had acted as finisher of the law in the County and City of Dublin, with frequent visits for professional purposes to towns on the Home and the Leinster circuits. That age and infirmities were rendering him incapable of continuing his public duties; and that he humbly besought a small pension for the support of his declining years. "Tom," said the Major, "you should have stated in your memorial that during your official career you discharged your duties _to the perfect satisfaction of all parties concerned_." "I thank you, Major," replied the stupid old wretch, "I'll get it altered, and put _that_ in." One of Sirr's colleagues, a barrister, was remarkable for speaking in a low voice, and with a great lisp. He was indebted to the Major for the nickname of "Mississippi."

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 14

   As the companion tells it

   You are passing through Custom House, in Limerick, where in 1798 a young man called Pat was brought to the Custom House yard in Essex Street and questioned about United Irish sympathies. He denied everything, but his denials only brought louder demands for the truth. The triangles stood before him, and he was stripped, tied up, and lashed until he swooned. They took him down, revived him with restoratives, and put him up again, until at last he lay before his torturers, in the book's words, "a lacerated and semi-animate frame, incapable of enduring further suffering." They cursed him as an obdurate villain from whom nothing could be extorted. All the while, his father watched from the window of his own residence, for it was his father who had betrayed him to Major Sirr on suspicion of United Irish sympathies, a suspicion that proved false. The father made no secret of the means he adopted to punish young Pat and trick the Major. Pat was carried home, and a long time passed before he was well enough to sail for America, and he never came back.

9. Dragoon Tuite's murder of Goulding on South Circular Road

   South Circular Road · street · Dublin · 1813

   In 1813, a deserted dragoon named Tuite stopped a gentleman named Goulding on South Circular Road near Portobello to rob him, shooting him fatally through the heart; Tuite was later apprehended and executed after confessing.

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   The regular military establishments in our district produced very few cases for decision by the civil authorities. I am not able to state the exact strength of the Dublin garrison, but I believe that it is the largest in the United Kingdom, and that the seven barracks never contain less than five thousand men of all ranks and arms. Since the commencement of the present century, this city has had quartered within its limits or immediate suburbs every regular regiment in the service, and large bodies of militia. In 1813, a private dragoon named Tuite deserted, and on a Sunday morning stopped a gentleman named Goulding on South Circular Road, near Portobello, for the purpose of robbing him. The offence had a fatal conclusion, for Goulding was shot through the heart, and the murderer was apprehended and executed. After his conviction he acknowledged his guilt, but declared that he intended only to rob, and that the discharge of the pistol was occasioned by his trepidation. In 1818, a corporal named Alliard was indicted for murdering a woman named Flood, in a cellar in Thomas Street, and he was acquitted. These two cases constituted all the capital charges preferred against soldiers before civil tribunals in our district from 1800 to the present time. During my magistrature of upwards of twenty years' duration, I had to send two private soldiers for trial on a charge of passing base coin, and one of them was convicted. I had no cognizance or knowledge of offences purely military as to their nature or number. Whenever a soldier was found on a public thoroughfare in a state of intoxication, he was taken by the police, and when sober, sent by magisterial order to the officer commanding at his quarters; but the number of such captures was very inconsiderable. Indeed if the entire population of the district had been strictly similar to the military in their habits and conduct, my office would have been almost a sinecure.

   Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 80

   As the companion tells it

   This is South Circular Road, where in 1813 a private dragoon named Tuite stopped a gentleman named Goulding near Portobello on a Sunday morning, meaning to rob him. Tuite had deserted his regiment. The attempt had a fatal conclusion. Goulding was shot through the heart. Tuite was apprehended and executed. After his conviction, he acknowledged his guilt but declared that he intended only to rob, and that the discharge of the pistol was occasioned by his trepidation. The Dublin garrison was the largest in the United Kingdom. Its seven barracks never contained fewer than five thousand men of all ranks and arms. Since the commencement of the century, the city had quartered within its limits every regular regiment in the service, and large bodies of militia. Yet the regular military establishments produced very few cases for the civil authorities. From 1800 onward, only two capital charges were preferred against soldiers before civil tribunals in the district. The second came in 1818, when a corporal named Alliard was indicted for murdering a woman named Flood in a cellar in Thomas Street, and was acquitted. During upwards of twenty years as magistrate, the narrator sent two private soldiers for trial on charges of passing base coin, and one was convicted. He had no cognizance of offences purely military. Soldiers found intoxicated on a public thoroughfare were taken by the police and, when sober, sent by magisterial order to the commanding officer at their quarters, but such captures were very inconsiderable. If the entire population had been similar to the military in conduct, his office would have been almost a sinecure.

10. George IV's departure from Kingstown and the woman in black's plea

    near Dún Laoghaire · town · Dublin · 1821

    On 3 September 1821, King George IV embarked from Dunleary (renamed Kingstown in his honour) near the site of the commemorative column. A distraught woman rushed forward with a clemency petition for her condemned husband and fell into the water, leading the king to commute the sentence to transportation.

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    I shall now present a magisterial reminiscence which derives its greatest interest from antecedent occurrences, the first of which brings me back to 1821, the year in which George the Fourth visited Ireland. If I become a little diffuse in my recollections of the period, it is because they are strongly impressed on my memory, and extraordinary in their nature. Nothing could exceed the universal homage tendered to the king. If it has been termed "servile adulation" by some, I am not prepared to insist on a complete exoneration of our national character from such an imputation. I was then an undergraduate of the University of Dublin. On the day of the Royal entry, we, the students, possessed ourselves of the railings in front of the College, as affording an excellent view of the procession. The rails were freshly painted, and produced a most piebald appearance on our hands and clothes (blue coats with "welcome" buttons, white waistcoats and trousers.) We rubbed some of the paint off our hands on the faces and clothes of each other previous to proceeding to the Castle with the University Address. On entering the upper yard from Cork Hill, we marched to the right by the footway, and had an opportunity, of which we availed ourselves, of pulling the white caps off some of the cooks and scullions who were viewing us from the two lower windows in the farthest corner of the yard. We jostled each other up the staircase, and during the reading of the Address, amused ourselves by climbing on each other's shoulders by turns in order to have a better view. Some of us, amongst whom I was one, suggested rather loudly, that cakes and wine would be acceptable. This produced a counter suggestion from some officials of our immediate retirement from the State apartments. On reaching the hall, I observed the porters and other attendants sternly expelling a tall female who was dressed in deep black. She appeared in great affliction, but was accorded no sympathy. No one thought that anyone else had a right to be sad when the King was in Ireland. I subsequently saw the "woman in black," at the review in the Phoenix Park, vainly endeavouring to approach the Royal presence. I was a spectator of the various public demonstrations during the Royal sojourn, and enjoyed the exciting pageantry as anyone of my age and temperament might be supposed to do. I pass, however, to the day of the King's departure, the 3rd of September. On the morning of that day, the place of his embarkation was Dunleary, but on his arrival he changed its designation into "The Royal Harbour of Kingstown." He entered his barge very near the place where the commemorative column stands, and close to the inner end of the eastern pier. The "woman in black" somehow managed to get very near. She endeavoured in vain to address him, and just as the Royal barge was shoving off, she rushed forward, holding a paper in her hand, and, in her frantic haste, was precipitated into the water, from which, however, she was speedily rescued. The king saw enough of her exertions and mishap to excite his curiosity, and ordered her communication to be received and laid before him. It was a petition imploring the Royal mercy for her husband, who was then under sentence of death in a southern county, for burning his house with intent to defraud an insurance company. Her prayer was favourably considered. An act of clemency appeared peculiarly suitable to the termination of the Royal visit, and the sentence on John Sargeant was commuted to transportation.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 32

    As the companion tells it

    The road brings you through Dún Laoghaire, a place that carries a story from 1821. In September of that year King George the Fourth came to the end of his visit to Ireland. He set out from Dunleary, and on arriving he changed its name to the Royal Harbour of Kingstown. He entered his barge near where the commemorative column stands, close to the inner end of the eastern pier. Through the whole Royal visit a woman dressed in deep black had been trying to reach the king. She had appeared at the Castle, in great affliction, and the porters had sternly expelled her. No one thought anyone had a right to be sad when the king was in Ireland. She was seen again at the review in the Phoenix Park, vainly endeavouring to approach the Royal presence. On the day of departure she somehow managed to get very near the barge. She tried to speak to him and failed. Just as the Royal barge was shoving off she rushed forward, holding a paper in her hand, and in her frantic haste was precipitated into the water. She was speedily rescued. The king saw enough of her exertions and mishap to excite his curiosity, and ordered her communication to be received and laid before him. It was a petition imploring the Royal mercy for her husband, John Sargeant, who was under sentence of death in a southern county for burning his house with intent to defraud an insurance company. Her prayer was favourably considered. An act of clemency appeared peculiarly suitable to the termination of the Royal visit, and the sentence on John Sargeant was commuted to transportation.

11. Search of the Royal Canal for Murder Weapons

    near Royal Canal · canal · Dublin · 1856–1857

    During the investigation into George Little's murder, the magistrate suggested draining and searching a portion of the Royal Canal near the railway premises. A razor bearing the name 'Spollen' and a fitter's hammer, likely used in the killing, were recovered from the mud.

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    I shall now advert to a most atrocious murder which was committed in the Metropolitan Police District in 1856. It occurred in the Northern division, and I was requested by the learned and worthy Chief Magistrate, Mr. J. W. O'Donnell, to assist in its investigation. Mr. George Little, the Cashier of the Midland Great Western Railway, had not returned to his residence on the evening of the 14th November, and on the following morning, his relatives enquired for him at the office in the station. The office door was broken open, and he was found lying on his face in a pool of blood, his throat having been cut from ear to ear. At first the impression was that he had committed suicide, for a considerable sum of money was on his desk. However, it was ascertained by an examination of the body, that many very severe injuries had been inflicted, and that the skull had been fractured by blows from a heavy, blunt instrument. A coroner's inquest returned a verdict of "Wilful murder by some person or persons unknown," and a large reward was advertised for the discovery and conviction of the perpetrator. No arrest was made on suspicion until the 21st of December, when a person was brought before the Northern Police Court, but was very speedily discharged. I refrain from mentioning the name, because there is no doubt that the charge was unfounded. It was rumoured that an experienced London detective had been specially engaged to afford his assistance in the furtherance of justice, but nothing of importance transpired until the 26th June, 1857, when a woman, named Spollen, informed a superintendent of police that her husband, James Spollen, was the murderer, and that he had concealed the bank-notes which he took from Mr. Little's office in a certain place immediately adjoining a small house which he occupied on the railway premises, he being in the Company's employment as a painter and cleanser. The superintendent immediately arrested Spollen, but kept him in his own custody from ten o'clock in the morning until nearly ten o'clock at night, when he brought him to a police station-house and gave him in charge for the murder, producing the wife of the accused as the charging party. The place indicated by the woman was immediately searched, and a considerable sum in bank-notes was discovered concealed in an ashpit, and packed in a small firkin, which had previously contained white paint. Some money in silver was also found in a canvas bag deposited in a cistern, and the utmost publicity was given to the searches, the results, and the source from whence the information concerning them was derived. His wife's evidence against Spollen was properly rejected by the magistrates; and although the case was sent for trial on other grounds, the result was an acquittal. During the magisterial investigation, I suggested that a portion of the Royal Canal close to the railway premises should be drained and searched, as I considered it very probable that some of the implements used in the murder had been thrown into the water. When the search commenced, the superintendent announced that whoever found the razor should receive a guinea. A razor was accordingly found in the mud almost immediately, but it was manifest that it had not been there until the search was directed, for it was perfectly free from rust or corrosion. However, another razor was found, and the name of "Spollen" was on the handle. A fitter's hammer was also taken out of the canal, and it was more than probable that the razor and hammer had been in fatal proximity to the throat and head of the unfortunate George Little. After the trial, some of the London papers commented in the strongest terms on the ignorance and stupidity evinced in the preliminary proceedings of the police officer to whom the case had been assigned. The bungling, blundering incompetency which characterised the transaction was described as truly Irish. They also complained that the English detectives who had been sent to Dublin were thwarted and impeded in all their efforts by the members of the Dublin force. I fully admit that the case was thoroughly mismanaged, but I must add that the person most prominently engaged, the superintendent, was an Englishman, and I deny that English detectives had to encounter Irish jealousy, as no person of the description was sent to Dublin in reference to that crime, or indeed in any instance within my recollection, without meeting a cordial, perhaps I might venture to say, a fraternal, reception from the Dublin Police. I may add that whenever our constables were sent to the English metropolitan district, they invariably returned with a grateful recollection of the kindness manifested towards them.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 34

12. The Eustace Street Wager That Invented 'Quiz'

    Eustace Street · street · Dublin · 1791

    At a Volunteers' gathering at 'The Eagle' tavern in Eustace Street, Dublin, Richard Daly wagered that he could introduce a brand-new word into universal public use within a week. He had theatre staff chalk the word 'quiz' on doors across the city overnight, winning the bet and giving the English language a new word.

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    "I shall not use a phrase or make a word," said Daly, "in disparagement of Sparkes, from whom I have derived much pleasure and profit; but I shall bet you twenty guineas, and I propose our friend and captain, who is also your brother alderman, I propose John Carleton as the judge or arbitrator between us, that within forty-eight hours there shall be a word in the mouths of the Dublin public, of all classes and sexes, young and old; and also that within a week, the same public shall attach a definite and generally adopted meaning to that word, without any suggestion or explanation from me. I also undertake, as essential to the wager, that my word shall be altogether new and unconnected with any derivation from another language, ancient or modern. Now, Alderman, what say you to taking my word or winning my money?"

    "I shall not take your word, Dick, but I propose winning some of your money. I shall put five guineas in the wager, provided the present company take up the balance, and let the winnings be spent on the evening of the first parade day after our return from the christening of the young Marquis of Kildare."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 6

    As the companion tells it

    A Dublin street, Eustace Street. In 1791, at a Volunteers' gathering at The Eagle tavern, Richard Daly wagered he could put a brand-new word into the mouths of the Dublin public within forty-eight hours, and give it a generally adopted meaning within a week. He said, "I shall bet you twenty guineas," proposing John Carleton as judge, that the word would reach all classes and sexes, young and old, and that the public would attach a definite meaning to it without any suggestion or explanation from him. The word would be, in his words, "altogether new and unconnected with any derivation from another language, ancient or modern." Daly won the bet. He had theatre staff chalk the word 'quiz' on doors across the city overnight, and the English language had a new word. An alderman had taken the wager, putting in five guineas provided the company covered the balance, with the winnings to be spent on the evening of the first parade day after their return from the christening of the young Marquis of Kildare.

13. Oliver Bond's Confinement and an Execution Outside Newgate

    Green Street · street · Dublin

    While under sentence of death for treason, Oliver Bond was held in an upper apartment of Newgate prison in Green Street, where his wife visited him; when fellow United Irishman Michael William Byrne was led to execution, he crept quietly past the glass door to spare Mrs. Bond the sight.

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    Towards the close of the last century, a gaol for the city of Dublin was built, and its appearance had a great tendency to deter any person from incurring the liability of becoming an inmate. Its soot-begrimed walls and rusty portal completely falsified its designation of Newgate, and its front constituted a considerable portion of a locality, the aspect of which suggested no idea of verdure, although it was called Green Street. It was a place replete with fatal memories, very few of which are worthy of being evoked, and it has been completely taken down. The sons of the gentleman who was governor more than fifty years ago were my schoolmates, and my associations with them made me acquainted with some incidents which may be worthy of narration. When Oliver Bond was under sentence of death for treason; and whilst there was the strongest probability that the law would take its course, he was permitted, during the day-time, to occupy an upper apartment, the door of which was partly of glass. Mrs. Bond was as much with him as the rules of the prison allowed, and was sitting in the room on the day when Mr. Michael William Byrne was executed as a united Irishman. The fatal procession had to pass close by the door of Bond's apartment; and as it approached, Mr. Byrne remarked to the sheriff, that Mrs. Bond would be greatly shocked by seeing a person pass to that scaffold on which her husband expected to suffer. Mr. Byrne then suggested that they should stoop and creep noiselessly by the door, so as to escape her observation. His wish was complied with, and on reaching the drop, he turned to the sheriff, and remarked, with an air of great satisfaction, "we managed that extremely well." This spontaneous solicitude to spare the feelings of an afflicted female, will aptly class with that of the gallant Count Dillon, who was one of the earliest victims of the Reign of Terror in France, and who, when he arrived at the guillotine, was requested by a female fellow-sufferer, to precede her, upon which the _preux chevalier_ saluted her with courtly grace, and stepped forward, saying, "anything to oblige a lady."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 12

    As the companion tells it

    Green Street in Dublin was where the city's Newgate prison once stood, built towards the close of the last century. Its soot-begrimed walls and rusty portal falsified the name Newgate, and its front formed a considerable part of a street whose name suggested verdure though the aspect suggested none. It was a place replete with fatal memories, and it has been completely taken down. When Oliver Bond was under sentence of death for treason, with the strongest probability that the law would take its course, he was permitted during the day-time to occupy an upper apartment whose door was partly glass. Mrs. Bond was with him as much as the prison rules allowed, and was sitting in the room on the day Michael William Byrne was executed as a United Irishman. The fatal procession had to pass close by the door of Bond's apartment. As it approached, Byrne remarked to the sheriff that Mrs. Bond would be greatly shocked by seeing a person pass to the scaffold on which her husband expected to suffer. He suggested they stoop and creep noiselessly by the door to escape her observation. His wish was complied with. On reaching the drop, he turned to the sheriff and said, with an air of great satisfaction, "we managed that extremely well." The author, whose schoolmates were the sons of the prison's governor, counted this spontaneous solicitude for an afflicted woman alongside the conduct of Count Dillon, an early victim of the Reign of Terror in France. When Dillon arrived at the guillotine, a female fellow-sufferer asked him to precede her. The gentleman saluted her with courtly grace, stepped forward, and said, "anything to oblige a lady."

14. Bridgefoot Street confederacy of begging-letter forgers broken up

    Bridgefoot Street · street · Dublin · 1844

    A confederacy of forty-one impostors operating from Bridgefoot Street (alias Dirty Lane) manufactured elaborate fraudulent begging letters, or 'slums,' with forged seals and attestations, extracting money from charitable individuals including a Lord Chief Justice and Lady Blakeney before being prosecuted by the detective division.

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    I did not find mendicancy so persistent in any part of the police district as in Kingstown. If a vagrant was brought up and punished for begging in Rathmines or the Pembroke township, or if the detection occurred at Inchicore, or in the more respectable parts of the city, it was not at all probable that the beggar would be soon found again in the same locality. The Kingstown vagrants, as soon as they were discharged from Kilmainham, generally started off to return and resume their solicitations at the piers and jetty, or about the streets and terraces, which were more devoted to healthful recreation than to professional or commercial affairs. I have no doubt that mendicants from distant places receive more at Kingstown or Bray, from visitors whom they recognize, or who recognize them, than would be given to them if both parties were at home. A lady with whom I was personally acquainted, and whose family residence was near Carlow, has several times, in my presence, given sixpences to beggars who belonged to her own neighbourhood, and I have heard her tell them that Kingstown was a better and more lucky place for them than ever they would find Carlow to be. I shall close my observations on street begging, by deliberately stating from my personal and official experience, that not one penny can be given to any mendicant on our thoroughfares in real, efficient, and merited charity. I would now warn my readers against another kind of begging, which avails itself of very systematic and elaborate means, and sometimes displays considerable educational acquirements, namely, written applications to charitable individuals to alleviate dire distress or succour unmerited misfortune. I know that this system is extensively practised in London, and I have heard that it is reviving in Dublin. I use the term "reviving," because it was completely crushed here in 1844 by the intelligence and activity of the detective division. At that time it was discovered that a confederacy of impostors had been formed in Bridgefoot Street, and that the members of this nefarious association were levying contributions on all in whose dispositions they had ascertained charity and credulity to be united. Forty-one of them were arrested and brought before me, and I committed them for trial on charges of "conspiring to defraud, obtaining money under false pretences, and forgery at common law." They were, however, consigned to Newgate, exactly at the time when the State prosecutions against O'Connell had been commenced; and it was the received opinion in police quarters that they owed their escape--for they were not prosecuted--to a feeling on the part of the attorney-general of that period, that all his attention was demanded in bringing down the eagle, and that none of his energies could be spared to scatter a flock of kites. But they were not relinquished by the detectives, and were brought in detail under the castigation of the law until the confederacy was broken up. Their begging letters and petitions were addressed to all whom they considered likely to yield the slightest attention to their requests. These productions were termed in their slang "_Slums_." One impostor represented that she was a clergyman's widow, with four female children, the eldest only eleven years of age; that her pious, exemplary, and most affectionate partner had died of malignant fever, contracted whilst whispering the words of Christian consolation to the departing sinner, and imparting the joyful assurance, that the life flickering away, the socket glimmer of a mere earthly light, would be rekindled in a lamp of everlasting duration and unvarying brilliancy. That resigned to her suffering, and adoring the hand from which she had experienced chastening, she was not forbidden to hope that the blessed spirit of charity would be manifested in her relief, and in shielding her helpless, artless babes from the privations of distress in their infancy, and from the still more fearful danger of being, in advanced youth, exposed to the snares of sin and its depraving consequences. A contribution, however small, addressed to Mrs. ----, at No. -- Bridgefoot Street, Dublin, would, it was respectfully hoped, be accorded by Lord ----, or Mr. or Mrs. ----, whose well-known, though unostentatious benevolence, must plead the poor widow's apology for such an intrusion. Another was an unfortunate man, who for many years had earned a respectable livelihood as a commercial agent, and supported a numerous and interesting family by his industry and intelligence, but having unfortunately been in the County of Tipperary, when a contested election was in progress, he unguardedly expressed a wish for the success of the Conservative candidate, and although not a voter, he was set upon by a horde of savage ruffians, and beaten so as to produce paralysis of his lower extremities, and that now nothing remained for him but to entreat the humane consideration of one who could not, if the public testimony of his, or her generous disposition, was to be credited, refuse to sympathize with a parent whose helplessness compelled him to witness, with unavailing anguish, the poignant miseries of the offspring he had hoped, by his honest exertions, to have supported and reared, without submitting to the galling necessity of soliciting that aid which nothing but the most absolute destitution could reconcile him to implore. A _military lady_ announced herself as the widow of color-sergeant Robert Maffett, who having served faithfully for twenty-three years, the four last having been in India, had been severely wounded in a decisive battle in Scinde, and when invalided and pensioned, was unfortunately drowned at Blackwall, in consequence of the boat which was conveying him ashore being accidentally upset. That she and her eight poor orphans had no resource on reaching her native city, where she found that all her relations had died or emigrated, and where she was friendless and alone, but to throw herself upon the charitable feelings of one whose character emboldened her to hope that the humble appeal of the soldier's widow, for herself and her poor orphans, would not be unavailing. These and a thousand other _slums_ were manufactured in Bridgefoot Street, alias Dirty Lane, not an unsuitable name for the locale of such proceedings, and they were invariably accompanied by lists of subscriptions, and magisterial or municipal attestations, admirably got up in the first style of forgery. In the first case to which I have adverted, the "hapless widow" succeeded in getting five pounds from the Lord Chief Justice of Ireland (Pennefather). In the instance of the "military widow," Lady Blakeney was lightened of three pounds. Another _slum_ was circulated by a scoundrel who represented himself to be the son of a gentleman in the south of Ireland, of an old family, and of the pristine faith; that he had been educated at Louvain, had an ardent wish to become a Catholic clergyman, and that one of the most distinguished dignitaries of that church was inclined to ordain him, but his father had died in debt, without leaving him the means of providing even the most humble outfit for such a vocation. One of his missives produced the effect of relieving an alderman's lady of five pounds sterling, which the excellent and worthy matron piously suggested might be useful in providing the embryo priest _with vestments_.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 16

    As the companion tells it

    A Dublin street once known as Dirty Lane, Bridgefoot Street was where, in 1844, a confederacy of forty-one impostors manufactured begging letters of remarkable skill. The detective division uncovered the operation. The letters were called slums in the gang's own slang, and they were accompanied by forged subscription lists and magisterial or municipal attestations, all admirably produced. One impostor posed as a clergyman's widow with four daughters, the eldest eleven, claiming her husband had died of fever contracted while whispering Christian consolation to a dying man. That letter brought five pounds from the Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, Pennefather. Another purported to be the widow of colour-sergeant Robert Maffett, who had served twenty-three years, four of them in India, been wounded in a battle in Scinde, and then drowned at Blackwall when a boat upset. She wrote of herself and her eight orphans, and Lady Blakeney gave three pounds. A third letter came from a man claiming to be the son of an old southern Irish family, educated at Louvain, who wished to become a Catholic priest but lacked the means for even a humble outfit. An alderman's lady gave five pounds and piously suggested it might be useful in providing the embryo priest with vestments. The forty-one were arrested and charged with conspiring to defraud, obtaining money under false pretences, and forgery at common law. They were sent to Newgate just as the State prosecutions against O'Connell began. The attorney-general gave all his attention to that case, and these impostors were not prosecuted at first. The detectives did not relinquish them, however, and brought them before the law one by one until the confederacy was broken up.

15. Dwyer's surrender negotiated at Humewood, Baltinglass

    Humewood · townland · Wicklow · 1798

    Insurgent chief Dwyer evaded a massive coordinated search by Wicklow, Wexford, Carlow and Kildare yeomanry by hiding in Mr. Hume's own hay-loft at Humewood the night before, later surrendering there under safe-conduct to leave for America.

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    For some time after my appointment to the magistracy, Alderman John Smith Fleming was my senior colleague at the Head Office. He had a very vivid recollection of the rebellion of 1798, and was secretary to his uncle, Alderman Thomas Fleming, Lord Mayor of Dublin in that year. Amongst other anecdotes of that period, I have heard him relate that Dwyer, one of the insurgent chiefs, had prolonged his resistance for some months after the insurrection had been generally quelled. In the mountains of Wicklow, with a few but faithful followers, he evaded every exertion for his capture. Mr. Hume, of Humewood, near Baltinglass, was particularly anxious to secure Dwyer. He was the commander of a corps of yeomanry, and a magistrate of the County of Wicklow, which he also represented in Parliament. Of very extensive influence, he easily procured the co-operation of the civil and military authorities of his own and of the adjoining districts. Still Dwyer was not to be had. At length an arrangement was made that the yeomanry corps of the western portion of Wicklow should assemble, at an early hour on an appointed day, at Humewood, and should set out to scour the country, exploring every recess, and leaving no place, on hill or plain, unransacked for Dwyer. Yeomanry from Wexford, Carlow, and Kildare were to move on preconcerted points, so as to intercept the fugitive if he should attempt to shift his quarters. A day was wholly spent in a most fatiguing search. It seemed as if Dwyer had transformed himself into a bird, and flown beyond sight or reach. However, in a short time, Mr. Hume received an intimation, that if Dwyer's life would be spared, and that he would be permitted to leave the country, he was willing to surrender. With the assent of the Government, Mr. Hume acceded to this offer. Dwyer was brought to Dublin, and the required undertaking and consequent immunity from punishment were acknowledged before the Lord Mayor. The outlaw was kindly and generously treated by Mr. Hume during the few days which preceded his departure for America; and at a final interview Mr. Hume said--"Before we part, Dwyer, will you tell me how you avoided capture on the day that we scoured the whole country in search of you?" "Sir," replied Dwyer, "I had information of your intentions, so I went to Humewood on the night before, and when the yeomen were paraded on your lawn, before they started in search of me, _I was looking at them from your hay-loft_."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 15

    As the companion tells it

    Close to Humewood, in 1798, the insurgent chief Dwyer made his surrender. He had prolonged his resistance for months after the insurrection was generally quelled, hiding in the mountains of Wicklow with a few faithful followers, evading every effort to capture him. Mr. Hume, of Humewood, near Baltinglass, was particularly anxious to secure him. Hume commanded a corps of yeomanry, was a magistrate of County Wicklow, and represented the county in Parliament. He used his extensive influence to procure the co-operation of the civil and military authorities of his own and adjoining districts. Still Dwyer could not be had. At length an arrangement was made. The yeomanry corps of the western portion of Wicklow would assemble at Humewood at an early hour on an appointed day and set out to scour the country, exploring every recess, leaving no place on hill or plain unransacked. Yeomanry from Wexford, Carlow, and Kildare were to move on preconcerted points to intercept the fugitive if he tried to shift his quarters. A whole day was spent in a most fatiguing search. It seemed as if Dwyer had transformed himself into a bird and flown beyond sight or reach. In a short time, Mr. Hume received word that if Dwyer's life would be spared and he would be permitted to leave the country, he was willing to surrender. With the assent of the Government, Mr. Hume acceded. Dwyer was brought to Dublin, and the undertaking was acknowledged before the Lord Mayor. Hume treated him kindly and generously in the few days before his departure for America. At a final interview, Hume asked him how he had avoided capture on the day they scoured the whole country. Dwyer replied: "I had information of your intentions, so I went to Humewood on the night before, and when the yeomen were paraded on your lawn, before they started in search of me, I was looking at them from your hay-loft."

16. Hester Carroll convicted of robbery and assaults a constable in court at Enniscorthy

    Enniscorthy · townland · Wexford · 1827–1840

    A notorious woman from Enniscorthy, Hester Carroll, was convicted of robbing a farmer of a gold watch, chain, and money after getting him drunk; upon conviction she violently attacked the arresting constabulary sergeant in open court, biting and clawing him.

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    Some friends of the Leinster Circuit have suggested that a few descriptive notices of my personal recollection of scenes in court, convivial evenings at the Bar-mess, or other amusing incidents of the period between 1827 and 1840, during which time I had attended every Assize Court held in Wicklow, Wexford, Waterford, Kilkenny, and Tipperary, might not be unacceptable. The subject is one in which the pleasures of memory are mingled with numerous regrets; for of all those whose learning and talents excited my respect and admiration, or whose wit and conversational powers rendered their society invariably delightful, very few remain. Of the judges which I remember, I considered Chief Baron O'Grady (subsequently created Lord Guillamore) the most amusing public functionary that I ever had seen. He came our circuit but once during my time. At Wicklow he presided in the Crown Court; and amongst the cases for trial there were four or five for sheep-stealing, and they were all convicted. Sheep-farming was at that time so prevalent in Wicklow, and considered so important by the class of persons who were summoned as jurors, that an accusation of sheep-stealing almost invariably eventuated in conviction. Towards the close of the assizes, a member of the Militia band then stationed at Arklow was put forward for trial on an indictment for the manslaughter of a comrade, whom he had killed with his sword on a sudden altercation. The case appeared fully to warrant a conviction, but the jury, without even retiring, acquitted the prisoner. Mr. Scott, the senior counsel for the crown, expressed an indignant disapproval of the verdict, upon which the Chief Baron observed, "Mr. Scott, the prisoner is not yet discharged, and you can get a conviction immediately if you only indict him for _sheep-stealing_." When we proceeded to Wexford, the Chief Baron, as Record Judge, had but two short cases to try, and when they were disposed of, he engaged in the trial of criminals. A woman named Hester Carroll, who had been for some time a pest and disgrace to the town of Enniscorthy, was put forward, charged with a robbery of a gold watch and chain, and upwards of twenty pounds, from a farmer, who had become intoxicated in her society. She was found guilty, and when the verdict was announced, a sergeant of constabulary, who had been the principal means of her detection, advanced to the table in the Record Court where she was standing, to take away various articles which had been found in her possession; whereupon she sprang at him, tore his face fearfully, and bit his hand very severely. When she was disengaged from her intended victim, and held so as to prevent further violence, the Chief Baron pronounced the sentence of the court in terms which seemed to me and others of his hearers to be an imitation, in style and assumed solemnity, of that incident to a capital offence. After some preliminary observations on the heinous nature of her crime, and the certainty of her guilt, and the tendency of her conduct in court to prevent any mitigation of punishment, he concluded in the following words--"The sentence of the court is that you, Hester Carroll, shall be taken from the place where you now stand, to the gaol from whence you were brought, and from thence that you shall be transported for the term of seven years to such penal settlement or colony as his Majesty's government may direct, and may God have mercy upon those who shall have to manage you there."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, in Enniscorthy, a woman named Hester Carroll was known for years as a pest and a disgrace to the town. Between 1827 and 1840, the Assize Courts came round to Wexford, and when the Chief Baron O'Grady presided over the criminal trials, her case came up. She was charged with robbing a farmer of a gold watch and chain, and upwards of twenty pounds, after he had become intoxicated in her company. The jury found her guilty. When the verdict was read out, a sergeant of constabulary, who had been the principal means of her detection, stepped forward to the table where she was standing, to take away the various articles that had been found in her possession. She sprang at him. She tore his face fearfully and bit his hand very severely. It took several people to disengage her from the sergeant and hold her so she could do no more violence. Then the Chief Baron pronounced sentence. He spoke of the heinous nature of her crime, the certainty of her guilt, and how her conduct in court would prevent any mitigation of punishment. He imitated the solemn style of a capital sentence, though the punishment was transportation. His words were, "The sentence of the court is that you, Hester Carroll, shall be taken from the place where you now stand, to the gaol from whence you were brought, and from thence that you shall be transported for the term of seven years to such penal settlement or colony as his Majesty's government may direct, and may God have mercy upon those who shall have to manage you there." The remark about those who would have to manage her drew the only laugh the courtroom got that day.

17. Ribbon Murder Plot Foiled by Unfounded Coin Charge Near Blessington

    Blessington · town · Wicklow · 1846

    A farmer named Lacy, holding land between Brittas and Blessington, was falsely accused of passing a base coin at a shop in Bride Street and detained overnight, unwittingly saving his life. An armed Ribbon party had entered his home that Saturday night intending to kill him for outbidding a Ribbon-man on land, but found him absent due to his arrest.

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    In the year 1846, the Ribbon association, or fraternity, prevailed very extensively in the city of Dublin, and in the counties of Dublin, Wicklow, Kildare, and Meath. I believe that religious opinions or political tendencies had very little influence on their deliberations or proceedings. All the information that I acquired in reference to them led me to the conclusion that their temporal interests actuated them throughout. Threats, menaces, and even murderous violence were used without hesitation to deter competition with a ribbon-man in affairs of tenancy, traffic, or employment. I notice these tendencies merely as being connected with a most extraordinary incident at the time. A man named Lacy held a small farm somewhere between Brittas and Blessington, and at an early hour on a Saturday morning, he left home, bringing, with a horse and cart, various commodities for sale in Dublin. Having disposed of his goods, he was about to start for home in the evening. He stopped at a shop in Bride Street to purchase some groceries, and tendered in payment a crown-piece. It was a coin of George the Third's reign, was rather worn, and had acquired a dark and very questionable appearance. The proprietor of the shop pronounced the crown to be base, and used some expressions which irritated Lacy, who replied to them in vituperative terms. The grocer observed a constable passing, and having called upon him, charged Lacy with tendering a base coin. The man was taken to the station-house in Chancery Lane, his horse and cart were sent to a livery stable, and he remained in custody until Monday morning, when the charge was laid before me. Mr. Stuart, of Dame Street, a silversmith, was examined, and in my presence tested the crown. He pronounced it to be perfectly genuine. I accordingly directed the accused party to be discharged from custody, and I was not surprised at his expressions of indignation for having been detained and locked up amongst thieves and disorderly characters, and his horse and cart sent to livery, whilst his family could not but feel alarmed for his safety when he failed to return at the expected time. I directed his horse and cart to be given to him, and that the livery should be defrayed from the police funds. Scarcely had I disposed of the case when Lacy's wife arrived in an indescribable state of joyful excitement. She clasped him in her arms, exclaiming, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She manifested no resentment towards the grocer, but wished him good luck and prosperity. The cause of her delight may be briefly explained, but it is not the less extraordinary. Her husband had incurred the resentment of the ribbon-men of his vicinity, by offering for land against one of the fraternity. On the Saturday night an armed party entered his house for the purpose of killing him, but their diabolical design was thwarted by the circumstance of their intended victim being in custody of the Dublin Police, upon an unfounded, but certainly not an unfortunate accusation. His family had communicated with the constabulary, lest the intended assassination might be perpetrated on his journey home, and early on Monday morning his wife started in search of him with the result which has been stated.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 42

    As the companion tells it

    Coming up near Blessington now. Back in 1846, the Ribbon Brotherhood held sway across Dublin, Wicklow, Kildare, and Meath, and they used threats and murder to stop anyone competing with a Ribbon-man over land, work, or trade. A farmer named Lacy, who held a small farm between Brittas and Blessington, had drawn their fury by bidding against one of the fraternity for land. On a Saturday morning he set off for Dublin with a horse and cart to sell his goods. That evening, stopping at a shop in Bride Street for groceries, he paid with a worn crown piece from George the Third's reign. The shopkeeper declared it base and called a passing constable. Lacy was locked up in the station-house in Chancery Lane, his horse and cart sent to livery. He stayed in custody until Monday morning, when a silversmith from Dame Street named Stuart tested the coin and pronounced it perfectly genuine. The magistrate ordered him discharged and had the livery paid from police funds. Lacy was furious at being locked up among thieves, but the moment the case ended his wife arrived, clasped him in her arms, crying, "You're safe, all is right, thanks to God." She bore no ill will toward the grocer. The reason for her relief was grim. That Saturday night, an armed Ribbon party had entered their home intending to kill him. They found him absent only because he had been locked up in Dublin on a false charge. His family had already contacted the constabulary, fearing the assassination might happen on his journey home. The unfounded accusation had saved his life.

18. College Green Riot at Lord Eglinton's Entry

    near College Green · street · Dublin · 1858

    On 12 March 1858, the arrival of the Earl of Eglinton as Lord Lieutenant was marked by a riot in College Green between police and Trinity College students. Squibs and crackers thrown from the College railings escalated to stone-throwing, prompting the Riot Act to be read and a police charge that inflicted severe blows, though none fatal.

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    The latter portion of my period of magisterial service was very scanty in the production of events worthy of being recorded. On the 12th of March, 1858, the Earl of Eglinton arrived in Dublin to assume the Lord Lieutenancy, as successor to the Earl of Carlisle, who had left on the 8th of that month, in consequence of the dissolution of the Palmerston Ministry. I believe that in the respective selections of Lords Carlisle and Eglinton, the Liberal and Conservative administrations succeeded in giving to the Irish community functionaries deservedly popular with all ranks and conditions. I therefore consider it a subject of great regret that the entry of the latter nobleman, on the day above mentioned, should have been attended with a riot in College Green, in which the police and the students of the University came into collision. The place of the occurrence was not within the limits of the police division to which I was attached, but I happened to be in a house very close to the scene, and had the fullest opportunity of witnessing the entire affair. It commenced by the throwing of squibs and crackers from within the rails in front of the College, which rendered the horses of the mounted police and of a few dragoons very unquiet, and irritated some of the riders. I believe that amongst the persons engaged in annoying the police there were many who were not students. An attempt to repress forcibly the throwing of the squibs and crackers produced the addition of some stones to the missiles, and the affair eventuated in the reading of the Riot Act by Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of Police, and the clearing of the space between the building and the front railing by an attack of the police, in which some severe blows were inflicted. Happily, none of them resulted in fatal or permanent injury. A very lengthened investigation supervened, during which animosity and irritation almost entirely subsided, and were replaced by feelings of mutual kindness. I think that an extract from the proceedings, dated the 10th of April, may afford to my readers a most creditable and praiseworthy manifestation by the police and the students. I may mention that Mr. M'Donogh, Q.C., was engaged in the inquiry on the part of the collegians, when Colonel Browne expressed himself as follows:--

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 85

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about College Green, on the 12th of March 1858, the Earl of Eglinton arrived in Dublin to take up the Lord Lieutenancy. He was successor to the Earl of Carlisle, who had left on the 8th of that month after the dissolution of the Palmerston Ministry. Both men were popular with all ranks and conditions, which makes it a matter of great regret that Eglinton's entry was marked by a riot in College Green, with police and students of the University coming into collision. The author of this account was not attached to the police division where it happened, but he was in a house very close to the scene and saw the entire affair. It began with squibs and crackers thrown from within the rails in front of the College. These upset the horses of the mounted police and a few dragoons, and irritated some of the riders. There were, he believed, many among those annoying the police who were not students at all. An attempt to repress the throwing forcibly only added stones to the missiles. Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of Police, read the Riot Act. The police then attacked and cleared the space between the building and the front railing. Some severe blows were inflicted, but happily none resulted in fatal or permanent injury. A very lengthened investigation followed, during which animosity and irritation almost entirely subsided and were replaced by feelings of mutual kindness. By the 10th of April, the proceedings showed what the author calls a most creditable and praiseworthy manifestation by both police and students. Mr. M'Donogh, Q.C., was engaged in the inquiry on the part of the collegians.

19. Conviction for High Treason at Clonmel

    Clonmel · town · Tipperary · 1848

    Smith O'Brien and Meagher, having been acquitted of sedition earlier in 1848, were later convicted of high treason at a special commission held in Clonmel that September, following their involvement in the failed insurrection.

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    Having detailed these few personal recollections, which I hope may not be considered too discursive, I have to approach the incidents of 1848, when the "Young Ireland" or "Confederate" movement occurred. It is not my intention to laud or censure those engaged in its furtherance or its repression, my only object being to state such facts as came under my personal observations, or of which I had official cognizance, leaving to the reader to derive amusement from some circumstances and useful information from others. I think it was on the 21st day of March that the crown-solicitor preferred charges of sedition against Smith O'Brien and Meagher, and required me to make them amenable. When the informations were sworn, I asked him if he had any objection to an intimation from me to the accused, that such proceedings had been instituted, in order that they might appear and give bail to stand their trial without subjecting them to the indignity of arrest. To this course Mr. Kemmis at once acceded; and I called on Smith O'Brien at his lodgings in Westland Row that evening, and found Meagher and several other persons along with him. When I stated the object of my visit, one of the company exclaimed, "Give no promise or undertaking to appear. Accept no courtesy from your prosecutors, but let the Government incur the odium of arresting you." Both of them, however, declined to follow such advice, and assured me that they would attend at the Head Office, at noon, on the next day. They thanked me for the inclination I had exhibited to save them, as much as possible, from personal annoyance; and as I was leaving, O'Brien laughingly exclaimed, "Your urbanity, Mr. Porter, shall not be forgotten; and when the government of Ireland comes into our hands; your official position shall not be disturbed." At the appointed time they gave the required bail, and I returned the informations for trial. They were indicted for sedition, and, unfortunately for themselves, were acquitted. I say "unfortunately," because if they had then been convicted, and imprisoned for three or four months, they would have been unable to engage in the proceedings which eventuated in their conviction for high treason, at Clonmel, in the following September. I think it worth remarking, that when they had utterly failed in their insurrectionary designs, and had been banished to a distant region, I occasionally heard great culpability and folly imputed to them; but in reference to their conduct, the most severe censures were uttered by the lips of him who had urged them to reject the slight courtesy and the forbearance of arrest, to which I have alluded above.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 49

    As the companion tells it

    Up ahead is Clonmel in Tipperary, where a special commission in September 1848 convicted Smith O'Brien and Meagher of high treason. The road brings you near the town where that trial closed a short and failed chapter of insurrection. The story begins earlier that year. About the 21st of March, the crown-solicitor preferred charges of sedition against Smith O'Brien and Meagher. The man telling this account, a police magistrate named Porter, was asked to bring them in. He proposed a courtesy: rather than arrest them, he would inform them of the charges so they could appear and give bail. The crown-solicitor, Mr. Kemmis, agreed. Porter called that evening on Smith O'Brien at his lodgings in Westland Row and found Meagher and several others there. When he explained his visit, one of the company urged them to accept no courtesy from their prosecutors, to let the Government incur the odium of arrest. Both men declined that advice and promised to attend the Head Office at noon the next day. They thanked Porter for saving them, as far as possible, from personal annoyance. As he was leaving, O'Brien laughingly told him his urbanity would not be forgotten, and that when the government of Ireland came into their hands, his official position would not be disturbed. They gave bail and stood trial for sedition. They were acquitted. Porter called this unfortunate, because had they been convicted and imprisoned for three or four months, they could not have taken part in what followed. That September, at Clonmel, they were convicted of high treason. Their insurrectionary designs had utterly failed, and they were banished to a distant region. Porter later noted that the most severe censures of their conduct came from the very man who had urged them to reject the courtesy of avoiding arrest.

20. Father Pecherine's Bible-burning trial at Kingstown

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin · 1855

    Redemptorist priest Father Pecherine held a mission at Kingstown in November 1855, during which he publicly burned tracts and, allegedly, a Bible, leading to a prosecution before Porter and intense religious sectarian excitement; he was sent for trial and acquitted.

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    He preached very frequently to numerous congregations, and excited great admiration and even surprise by the fluency of his language and correctness of diction. Finding that many books and tracts had been distributed, in Kingstown and its vicinity, containing doctrines or controversial arguments of which he and his religious associates disapproved, he exhorted his hearers to bring all such publications to him, and having received a considerable quantity, he burned them in a large fire lighted within the precincts of the church where the mission was held, and between the building and the exterior railing. It was alleged that amongst the articles thus consumed, there was a copy of the Scriptures. A prosecution was instituted before me, which was met by a denial that any perfect copy of the Bible had been burned; and that if even a portion of one had been thus destroyed it was by mere mischance, and without his knowledge, intention, or approval. The proceedings before me produced intense excitement, and great manifestation, especially amongst the humbler classes, of the asperities usually incident to indications of religious differences. I sent the case for trial to the ensuing commission of _Oyer et Terminer_ for the County of Dublin, and the result was an acquittal; but I refer to the occasion as having produced some very striking instances of the most inconsiderate and rash violence, committed without any provocation whatever on the part of those assailed, and in the supposition that they had been concerned in a proceeding with which they were totally unconnected.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 72

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere close to Kingstown, in November 1855, the Redemptorist priest Father Pecherine held a mission. He preached frequently to large congregations and drew admiration for the fluency of his language and the correctness of his diction. Books and tracts had been distributed in the area containing doctrines he and his associates disapproved of. He called on his hearers to bring all such publications to him, and when a considerable quantity had been gathered, he burned them in a large fire lighted within the precincts of the church, between the building and the exterior railing. It was alleged that among the articles burned was a copy of the Scriptures. A prosecution was brought before the magistrate Porter. The defence denied that any perfect copy of the Bible had been burned, and said that if even a portion of one had been destroyed, it was by mere mischance, without Pecherine's knowledge, intention, or approval. The proceedings produced intense excitement, especially among the humbler classes, with sharp manifestations of religious feeling. Porter sent the case for trial to the Oyer et Terminer for the County of Dublin, and the result was an acquittal. The occasion also produced striking instances of rash violence, committed without provocation against people who had no connection to the proceeding at all.

21. Militia bandsman acquitted of manslaughter at Wicklow assizes

    Wicklow · townland · Wicklow · 1827–1840

    A member of the Arklow militia band, tried for manslaughter after killing a comrade with his sword in a sudden quarrel, was acquitted by the jury without even retiring, prompting a sardonic remark from the Chief Baron about sheep-stealing convictions being easier to obtain.

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    Some friends of the Leinster Circuit have suggested that a few descriptive notices of my personal recollection of scenes in court, convivial evenings at the Bar-mess, or other amusing incidents of the period between 1827 and 1840, during which time I had attended every Assize Court held in Wicklow, Wexford, Waterford, Kilkenny, and Tipperary, might not be unacceptable. The subject is one in which the pleasures of memory are mingled with numerous regrets; for of all those whose learning and talents excited my respect and admiration, or whose wit and conversational powers rendered their society invariably delightful, very few remain. Of the judges which I remember, I considered Chief Baron O'Grady (subsequently created Lord Guillamore) the most amusing public functionary that I ever had seen. He came our circuit but once during my time. At Wicklow he presided in the Crown Court; and amongst the cases for trial there were four or five for sheep-stealing, and they were all convicted. Sheep-farming was at that time so prevalent in Wicklow, and considered so important by the class of persons who were summoned as jurors, that an accusation of sheep-stealing almost invariably eventuated in conviction. Towards the close of the assizes, a member of the Militia band then stationed at Arklow was put forward for trial on an indictment for the manslaughter of a comrade, whom he had killed with his sword on a sudden altercation. The case appeared fully to warrant a conviction, but the jury, without even retiring, acquitted the prisoner. Mr. Scott, the senior counsel for the crown, expressed an indignant disapproval of the verdict, upon which the Chief Baron observed, "Mr. Scott, the prisoner is not yet discharged, and you can get a conviction immediately if you only indict him for _sheep-stealing_." When we proceeded to Wexford, the Chief Baron, as Record Judge, had but two short cases to try, and when they were disposed of, he engaged in the trial of criminals. A woman named Hester Carroll, who had been for some time a pest and disgrace to the town of Enniscorthy, was put forward, charged with a robbery of a gold watch and chain, and upwards of twenty pounds, from a farmer, who had become intoxicated in her society. She was found guilty, and when the verdict was announced, a sergeant of constabulary, who had been the principal means of her detection, advanced to the table in the Record Court where she was standing, to take away various articles which had been found in her possession; whereupon she sprang at him, tore his face fearfully, and bit his hand very severely. When she was disengaged from her intended victim, and held so as to prevent further violence, the Chief Baron pronounced the sentence of the court in terms which seemed to me and others of his hearers to be an imitation, in style and assumed solemnity, of that incident to a capital offence. After some preliminary observations on the heinous nature of her crime, and the certainty of her guilt, and the tendency of her conduct in court to prevent any mitigation of punishment, he concluded in the following words--"The sentence of the court is that you, Hester Carroll, shall be taken from the place where you now stand, to the gaol from whence you were brought, and from thence that you shall be transported for the term of seven years to such penal settlement or colony as his Majesty's government may direct, and may God have mercy upon those who shall have to manage you there."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere close to Wicklow, assize courts were held between 1827 and 1840, and one case from that time remains. The narrator attended every assize court in this county during those years. Of all those whose learning and talents excited respect and admiration, very few remained. He considered Chief Baron O'Grady, later created Lord Guillamore, the most amusing public functionary he had ever seen. O'Grady came the Leinster Circuit but once, and presided in the Crown Court here. Among the cases for trial were four or five for sheep-stealing, and all were convicted. Sheep-farming was so prevalent in the area, and so important to the class of persons summoned as jurors, that an accusation of sheep-stealing almost invariably ended in conviction. Towards the close of the assizes, a member of the militia band then stationed at Arklow was put forward for trial on an indictment for the manslaughter of a comrade, whom he had killed with his sword on a sudden altercation. The case appeared fully to warrant a conviction, but the jury, without even retiring, acquitted the prisoner. Mr. Scott, the senior counsel for the crown, expressed an indignant disapproval of the verdict, upon which the Chief Baron observed, "Mr. Scott, the prisoner is not yet discharged, and you can get a conviction immediately if you only indict him for sheep-stealing."

22. Roger Tobin's recruiting scam in Stoneybatter public-houses

    Stoneybatter · street · Dublin

    Roger Tobin, a clubfooted man from Stoneybatter, repeatedly tricked Crimean War recruiting sergeants into paying him enlistment money and drinks in local public-houses, only to reveal his disability and avoid actual service each time.

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    There was a man named Roger Tobin, who lived somewhere about the classic locality of Stoneybatter. He appeared to be about twenty-five years of age, tall, strong, intelligent, healthy, and handsome. There were at least a dozen public-houses which the recruiting sergeants frequently visited at the time of the Crimean campaign, being then in quest of the martial spirits to whom pay, booty, promotion, and military glory were promised as certain acquisitions, all considerations of danger or death being left unmentioned and ignored as improbable or impossible. Roger would enter one of these houses, having previously ascertained that the sergeant had not yet arrived, and he would locate himself in a chair or on a bench close to a table, and order some moderate refreshment. He manifested an intense anxiety as to the most recent news from the seat of war, and generally succeeded in making the proceedings of our army the subject of conversation amongst the persons present. When the collector of future heroes appeared, he was sure to be greeted by Roger with the warmest wishes for his success in providing gallant hearts and strong hands to repel the encroachments of Russia. The poor Poles would be commiserated, and our brave French allies eulogized. Every topic calculated to excite martial feelings would be adverted to by the enthusiastic Roger. Such expressions would naturally lead the sergeant to conclude that he might calculate on one recruit accompanying him back to barracks, and his request or suggestion of immediate enlistment met with a ready acquiescence. The magic shilling having been paid, the new recruit would spend it in an additional libation, and address an earnest exhortation to any young fellows then present to follow his example. The sergeant would not be slow in giving a further advance, the application of which to convivial purposes might procure him two or three additional adherents. Ten shillings, or perhaps more, having been joyously spent, Roger was informed that he was to accompany the sergeant, and any others who had joined, and receive accommodation in the barrack, from whence he would be brought next day to the police-court for attestation. Promptly acceding to this direction, and raising his fine manly figure, he left the table, and enabled the disgusted sergeant to perceive that his recruit was clubfooted, and totally incapable of ever being put in marching order. How the expenses incurred were afterwards liquidated, whether the sergeant was the loser, or the liability devolved on the recruiting department, I am unable to state, but I fully believe that Roger repeated the same trick on many occasions. It would seem that each sergeant did not wish to be the last victim, and consequently none of them disclosed the deception to the new comers, or to those in other parts of the metropolitan district. Roger's game was spoiled by a warning communicated to the recruiting stations from the police.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 78

    As the companion tells it

    A stretch of Dublin street, Stoneybatter, where during the Crimean War recruiting sergeants worked the public-houses for new soldiers. A man named Roger Tobin lived somewhere about Stoneybatter. He was about twenty-five, tall, strong, intelligent, healthy, and handsome, and he had a clubfoot. At least a dozen public-houses were frequented by the sergeants, who promised pay, booty, promotion, and military glory, with danger left unmentioned. Roger would enter one before the sergeant arrived, sat near a table, and order a modest refreshment. He showed intense anxiety about the latest news from the war and made the army's proceedings the talk of the room. When the sergeant appeared, Roger greeted him with warm wishes for success in providing gallant hearts and strong hands to repel the encroachments of Russia. The poor Poles were commiserated, the brave French allies eulogized. Every topic calculated to excite martial feelings, Roger raised. The sergeant, concluding he had a recruit, suggested immediate enlistment and met ready acquiescence. The magic shilling paid, Roger spent it on another drink and exhorted the young fellows present to follow his example. The sergeant gave a further advance, and perhaps ten shillings or more was joyously spent. Roger was then told to accompany the sergeant to barracks for attestation at the police-court next day. He promptly agreed, raised his fine manly figure, and let the disgusted sergeant see that his recruit was clubfooted and totally incapable of ever being put in marching order. How the expenses were afterwards liquidated is not known, but Roger was believed to have repeated the trick on many occasions. No sergeant wished to be the last victim, so none disclosed the deception to newcomers. Roger's game was spoiled by a warning from the police to the recruiting stations.

23. The Murder of an Italian Organ-Grinder at Rathfarnham Bridge

    Rathfarnham · townland · Dublin · 1840–1841

    An Italian organ-grinder was found with his throat cut near Rathfarnham demesne on the roadside by Rathfarnham bridge, his money belt stolen. A tinker named Cooney was wrongly accused on the false testimony of Delahunt, who later confessed to fabricating the charge.

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    The other murder which occurred in our division was perpetrated in December, 1841, by a young man named Delahunt. In the character of this culprit there was an amount of cool, dispassionate, and deliberate predilection for crime, surpassing any details in the pages of the "Newgate Calendar," or the "Archives of the Parisian Police." About one year previous to the last-mentioned date, a poor Italian organ-grinder was found lying close to the wall of Rathfarnham demesne, on the roadside near Rathfarnham bridge. His throat had been cut, and a belt which he usually wore round his waist, and in which it was supposed that his scanty savings were stowed, had been taken away. A man named Cooney, a tinker, had been seen in the immediate vicinity of the place, and he had been taken into custody on suspicion, by the constabulary. An inquest was being held, when Delahunt accosted Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, in the Castle yard, and told him that he (Delahunt) had seen the murder committed. The Colonel immediately directed one of his serjeants to take the man out to the coroner, as the offence had been committed in the county, and outside the police district. On being produced at the inquest, Delahunt swore that he had seen Cooney murder the Italian. A reward of twenty-five pounds had been advertised for the conviction of the perpetrator of the fearful assassination, and that accounted for Delahunt's promptitude in offering his testimony. On the trial of Cooney at the ensuing commission, the jury disbelieved Delahunt, and acquitted the tinker. I am satisfied that they arrived at a proper conclusion, and I strongly suspect that if Delahunt really knew anything about the crime, it was owing to himself being the perpetrator.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 33

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere close to Rathfarnham, a murder took place in December 1841, committed by a young man named Delahunt. The author of this record wrote that the culprit's character showed a cool, dispassionate, deliberate predilection for crime surpassing anything in the pages of the Newgate Calendar or the Archives of the Parisian Police. About one year before that date, a poor Italian organ-grinder was found lying close to the wall of Rathfarnham demesne, on the roadside near Rathfarnham bridge. His throat had been cut. A belt he usually wore round his waist, in which it was supposed his scanty savings were stowed, had been taken away. A man named Cooney, a tinker, had been seen in the immediate vicinity, and was taken into custody on suspicion by the constabulary. An inquest was being held when Delahunt accosted Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, in the Castle yard, and told him he had seen the murder committed. The Colonel directed one of his sergeants to take Delahunt out to the coroner, as the offence had been committed in the county, outside the police district. At the inquest, Delahunt swore he had seen Cooney murder the Italian. A reward of 25 pounds had been advertised for the conviction of the perpetrator, which accounted for Delahunt's promptitude in offering his testimony. At Cooney's trial at the ensuing commission, the jury disbelieved Delahunt and acquitted the tinker. The author was satisfied they reached the proper conclusion, and strongly suspected that if Delahunt really knew anything about the crime, it was because he himself was the perpetrator.

24. The Waterloo Captain's Second-Hand Plate Swindle

    Harcourt Street · street · Dublin · 1817

    In 1817 a well-dressed impostor posing as a one-armed Waterloo veteran, 'Captain Marmaduke Wilson', defrauded jeweller Mr. West of Skinner Row of £140 worth of plate through an elaborate confidence trick involving a forged note supposedly to his wife.

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    The swindle was complete. The basket was never called for, nor could the defrauded party ever obtain any trace of the Waterloo Captain or of his livery servant. The reader need not suppose that the veteran delinquent was minus an arm. He was "made up" for the part which he was to play in the deliberate and deeply-planned villainy, and in all probability he had both his hands in full use, to take off his moustache and frogged coat in a few minutes after leaving Mr. West's premises. The transaction excited much interest and some merriment. It afforded a subject for one of Burke Bethel's jokes. He said that whether the captain reappeared or not, he could never be designated otherwise than as _off-handed_ in his dealings with Mr. West.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 9

    As the companion tells it

    The Waterloo Captain's Second-Hand Plate Swindle was a confidence trick on Harcourt Street, Dublin, in 1817. A well-dressed impostor, Captain Marmaduke Wilson, posed as a one-armed Waterloo veteran and defrauded the jeweller Mr. West of £140 worth of plate through a forged note supposedly to his wife. The basket was never called for, and Mr. West could never trace the captain or his livery servant. The veteran was not truly minus an arm. He was made up for the part, and in all probability had both hands in full use, to remove his moustache and frogged coat minutes after leaving Mr. West's premises. The transaction excited much interest and some merriment. Burke Bethel joked that whether the captain reappeared or not, he could never be designated otherwise than as "off-handed" in his dealings with Mr. West.

25. Highway Robbery of Captain Vesey at Castleknock

    Castleknock · street · Dublin · 1743

    In 1743, army officer James Vesey was stopped on the road at Castleknock and robbed of over eighteen hundred pounds in specie, his watch, and appendages by the highwayman Martin Keogh and an accomplice.

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    On the 15th of February, 1743, a gentleman named James Vesey, who held a commission in the army, was returning to Dublin from a southern county where he possessed a respectable landed property. The facilities which now exist for the safe and prompt remittance of money were then almost unknown, and he had with him upwards of eighteen hundred pounds in specie. He was so unfortunate as to be stopped on the road at Castleknock, and robbed of the money, his watch, and its appendages. The highwayman who opened the door of the post-chaise had an associate who kept at the horses' heads, and could not be recognized. After the perpetration of the crime, the traveller proceeded on to Dublin and apprised the authorities of his loss. A vigilant search terminated, after a few days, in the apprehension of two brothers named Martin and Sylvester Keogh. They were men of a sinister reputation, who resided near Rathcoole, and spent more money than they could be supposed to have acquired honestly, being the occupiers of a thatched house of humble dimensions, and a neglected farm of six or seven acres. On being brought before a magistrate, Martin Keogh was fully identified by Mr. Vesey, as the man who, pistol in hand, opened the door of the chaise and despoiled him of his property. Against the other there was no criminating evidence, and after a detention of some days, he was discharged. The closest search after the money terminated unsuccessfully, not a guinea could be found. Martin Keogh was committed for trial at the ensuing commission of _Oyer and Terminer_ for the county of Dublin, and was there convicted of the robbery, on the positive and undoubtedly true testimony of Mr. Vesey. Sentence of death was passed, and the doomed felon became an occupant of the condemned cell at Old Kilmainham, from the dreary precincts of which he was to issue at the end of twenty-one days, to die upon the gallows. Mr. Vesey's leave of absence had been extended until the result of the trial left him free to proceed to England to join his regiment; and he departed from Dublin without any other satisfaction for his eighteen hundred pounds than what might be derived from the impending punishment of the delinquent. He had ample opportunities for seeing Martin Keogh during the preliminary proceedings and in the progress of the trial, and the figure and features of the highwayman remained indelibly impressed on his memory. Soon after Mr. Vesey's arrival in England, he proceeded to encounter the dangers and privations of protracted foreign service; he attained the rank of Captain, and his regiment formed a portion of "the terrible English column" on the memorable field of Fontenoy, the 11th day of May, 1745.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 4

    As the companion tells it

    On the 15th of February, 1743, Castleknock was the scene of a highway robbery that cost an army officer named James Vesey over eighteen hundred pounds in specie. He was returning to Dublin from a southern county where he held landed property, carrying the money with him because the means of safe remittance were then almost unknown. A highwayman opened the door of his post-chaise while an associate held the horses' heads. The associate could not be recognized. Vesey was robbed of the money, his watch, and its appendages. He proceeded to Dublin and reported the loss. A search after a few days led to the arrest of two brothers, Martin and Sylvester Keogh. They lived near Rathcoole and bore a sinister reputation. They occupied a small thatched house and a neglected farm of six or seven acres, yet spent more money than they could be supposed to have acquired honestly. Martin Keogh was identified by Vesey as the man who, pistol in hand, opened the door of the chaise and despoiled him of his property. No evidence against Sylvester Keogh was found, and he was discharged after some days. The money was never recovered. Martin Keogh was tried at the commission of Oyer and Terminer for the county of Dublin, and convicted on the testimony of Vesey. Sentence of death was passed. He was held in the condemned cell at Old Kilmainham, to issue after twenty-one days and die upon the gallows. Vesey's leave of absence had been extended until the trial left him free to proceed to England and join his regiment. He departed Dublin with no other satisfaction for his eighteen hundred pounds than the robber's punishment. He attained the rank of Captain, and his regiment formed part of "the terrible English column" at the field of Fontenoy on the 11th of May, 1745.

26. Porter Arranges Bail for Smith O'Brien and Meagher at Westland Row

    Westland Row · street · Dublin · 1848

    When sedition charges were brought against Smith O'Brien and Meagher in March 1848, Porter visited O'Brien's lodgings in Westland Row to arrange for them to appear voluntarily and give bail rather than be arrested.

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    Having detailed these few personal recollections, which I hope may not be considered too discursive, I have to approach the incidents of 1848, when the "Young Ireland" or "Confederate" movement occurred. It is not my intention to laud or censure those engaged in its furtherance or its repression, my only object being to state such facts as came under my personal observations, or of which I had official cognizance, leaving to the reader to derive amusement from some circumstances and useful information from others. I think it was on the 21st day of March that the crown-solicitor preferred charges of sedition against Smith O'Brien and Meagher, and required me to make them amenable. When the informations were sworn, I asked him if he had any objection to an intimation from me to the accused, that such proceedings had been instituted, in order that they might appear and give bail to stand their trial without subjecting them to the indignity of arrest. To this course Mr. Kemmis at once acceded; and I called on Smith O'Brien at his lodgings in Westland Row that evening, and found Meagher and several other persons along with him. When I stated the object of my visit, one of the company exclaimed, "Give no promise or undertaking to appear. Accept no courtesy from your prosecutors, but let the Government incur the odium of arresting you." Both of them, however, declined to follow such advice, and assured me that they would attend at the Head Office, at noon, on the next day. They thanked me for the inclination I had exhibited to save them, as much as possible, from personal annoyance; and as I was leaving, O'Brien laughingly exclaimed, "Your urbanity, Mr. Porter, shall not be forgotten; and when the government of Ireland comes into our hands; your official position shall not be disturbed." At the appointed time they gave the required bail, and I returned the informations for trial. They were indicted for sedition, and, unfortunately for themselves, were acquitted. I say "unfortunately," because if they had then been convicted, and imprisoned for three or four months, they would have been unable to engage in the proceedings which eventuated in their conviction for high treason, at Clonmel, in the following September. I think it worth remarking, that when they had utterly failed in their insurrectionary designs, and had been banished to a distant region, I occasionally heard great culpability and folly imputed to them; but in reference to their conduct, the most severe censures were uttered by the lips of him who had urged them to reject the slight courtesy and the forbearance of arrest, to which I have alluded above.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 49

    As the companion tells it

    A Dublin street, Westland Row, was where Smith O'Brien had his lodgings in 1848. In March of that year the crown-solicitor preferred charges of sedition against Smith O'Brien and Meagher, and required Porter, the police magistrate, to make them amenable. When the informations were sworn, Porter asked the crown-solicitor whether he had any objection to Porter intimating to the accused that proceedings had been instituted, so that they might appear and give bail to stand their trial without the indignity of arrest. Mr. Kemmis acceded to this at once. That evening Porter called on Smith O'Brien at his lodgings in Westland Row and found Meagher and several other persons there with him. When Porter stated the object of his visit, one of the company exclaimed, "Give no promise or undertaking to appear. Accept no courtesy from your prosecutors, but let the Government incur the odium of arresting you." Both O'Brien and Meagher declined to follow that advice. They assured Porter they would attend at the Head Office at noon the next day, and thanked him for his inclination to save them from personal annoyance. As Porter was leaving, O'Brien laughingly exclaimed, "Your urbanity, Mr. Porter, shall not be forgotten; and when the government of Ireland comes into our hands; your official position shall not be disturbed." At the appointed time they gave the required bail. They were indicted for sedition and were acquitted. Porter later remarked that if they had been convicted then and imprisoned for a few months, they would have been unable to engage in the proceedings that led to their conviction for high treason at Clonmel in the following September. He noted that the man who had urged them to reject the courtesy of avoiding arrest was afterwards the most severe in censuring their conduct.

27. The Seditious Almanac of the Cook Street Printer

    Cook Street · street · Dublin · 1858

    A deformed and bad-tempered printer in Cook Street, Dublin, published an almanac containing seditious marginal notes praising Sarsfield, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Emmet, and more recent rebels, and denouncing the corporation's use of Welsh paving stone over Irish material. He was brought before the author on charges of seditious libel.

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    Shortly after the affair between the collegians and the police, a complaint preferred by the Crown solicitor was brought under my personal cognizance, and subsequently became the subject of a lyric production, in which it was almost impossible to determine whether exaggeration or fiction predominated. There was a printer in Cook Street remarkable for bodily deformity and mental acerbity. His trade almost entirely consisted in the publication of ballads, which were bought by itinerant vocalists, who came each evening to replenish their stocks of amatory, political, or comic productions. In proportion to the number of customers who crowded his shop and contended for a speedy supply, the publisher varied and multiplied his maledictions, and most impartially cursed and abused them all alike. His habitual vituperations were disregarded or laughed at, and were generally ascribed to mental infirmity; but he embarked in a speculation which brought him under the serious notice of the authorities as being intolerably offensive. He published an almanac, the marginal notes and memoranda of which were replete with sedition, and in which the public functionaries were grossly stigmatised. It happened that the corporation had effected a contract with the proprietor of a quarry in Wales for the supply of stone of a quality considered best adapted for the repair of the streets of Dublin, and the day on which the contract had been accepted by the civic body was noted in the almanac as the date of an infamous preference of foreign production, and an exclusion of Irish industry and material through corrupt and debasing motives. This statement, however, constituted no portion whatever of the charges preferred before me, which consisted almost entirely of references to former attempts of a rebellious character, with expressions of deep regret for their failure, and hopes that the patriotic energies of the Irish nation would, in the next encounter prove more effective in crushing Saxon despotism than had been the efforts of the glorious Sarsfield, the noble Lord Edward, the martyred Emmett, or the more recent champions of Hibernian freedom--O'Brien, Meagher, and Mitchell. Colonel Browne was not even aware of the proceedings before me having been instituted; and Mr. Whiteside, the present Chief Justice, was never concerned in any case before me during my tenure of magisterial office. The printer of the almanac appeared on a summons to show cause why informations should not be taken against him, and returned for trial on numerous and deliberate seditious statements published by him. The late Mr. John Adye Curran appeared as his counsel, and proposed to give sureties for his client's appearance to meet the charges preferred, if the Crown solicitor deemed it necessary to continue the prosecution, offering also to give up all copies of the almanac remaining in stock, and to abandon its future publication. The Crown solicitor, Mr. Kemmis, at once acceded to this proposal, and, on the sureties having been produced, I allowed the accused party to leave, and entered in the summons-book that the complaint was "dismissed without prejudice." I did not manifest the slightest sympathy for the delinquent, but informed him that he owed his escape from severe punishment entirely to the lenity of the Crown solicitor, and not to any disinclination on my part to have him made seriously and severely responsible for his misconduct. In a few days he became the subject of a lyric panegyric, in which his prosecution was attributed to Colonel Browne and Mr. Whiteside, and the stoppage of the proceedings was ascribed _to me_ and to Mr. Curran; the course adopted by the latter gentleman being the only thread of truth interwoven in a web of fiction, and sung to an old Irish air, which I am not able to particularise. It has been entitled by an additional fiction--

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 86

    As the companion tells it

    Along Cook Street, there was once a printer known for his bodily deformity and his sour temper. He made his living printing ballads for itinerant singers who came each evening to stock up on songs of love, politics, or comedy. The more customers crowded his shop, the more he cursed them, but people laughed it off as a kind of infirmity. Then he published an almanac whose marginal notes were full of sedition. The notes praised Sarsfield, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Emmet, and the more recent rebels O'Brien, Meagher, and Mitchell, and expressed hope that Irish patriotic energies would prove more effective next time in crushing Saxon despotism. The almanac also denounced the corporation for choosing Welsh paving stone over Irish material. He was brought before the police magistrate on charges of seditious libel. His counsel, John Adye Curran, offered sureties for his appearance and promised to surrender all remaining copies and abandon publication. The Crown solicitor, Mr. Kemmis, accepted, and the case was dismissed without prejudice. The magistrate told him he owed his escape to the Crown solicitor's leniency alone. Within days a ballad appeared celebrating him, attributing the prosecution to Colonel Browne and Mr. Whiteside and the stoppage to the magistrate and Mr. Curran, most of it fiction, sung to an old Irish air.

28. The Unsolved Murder of Rev. Mr Hewson near Bandon

    Bandon · town · Cork · 1830–1842

    The Rev. Mr Hewson, a clergyman, was shot on the high road in broad daylight near Bandon during a period of insurrectionary disturbance in County Cork. The crime was never solved, though a soldier later falsely confessed to involvement to secure discharge from his regiment.

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    About ten years before I became a magistrate, a considerable portion of the County of Cork was a scene of disturbances, which might be fairly termed insurrectionary. Amongst other outrages which were then perpetrated, was the murder of a clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Hewson, who was shot on the high road, and in the open day, in the vicinity of Bandon. No clue was obtained whereby the guilty parties could be discovered, and the offence has never been punished. In the year 1842, a soldier in a regiment stationed at Fredericton, New Brunswick, stated to his officer that he had been concerned in the crime, and he named two persons as his accomplices; the man was sent home and brought up before me for examination. A detective informed me that he had been, at the period of the murder, orderly to the constabulary officer at Bandon; that he had been at the scene of offence very soon after its commission, and that he wished to be present at the examination of the self-accused prisoner. To this I acceded, and the soldier detailed that on the day and at the hour when the clergyman was murdered, he and two men, whom he named, met the unfortunate gentleman on his way home, that one of them seized his horse, and the other shot him with a blunderbuss; that they immediately fled, and he made a statement of where and how they spent the remainder of the day. The detective, whose name, if I recollect rightly, was Benson, by my permission asked him, "Which of you backed the horse, and overturned the gig into the ditch at the road-side?" to which the reply was, "I did." He then asked, "Which of you cut the traces?" The response was, "L---- did." He proceeded, "Which of you struck the poor woman who saw the murder, for screaming?" He was answered, "P---- did." The interrogator then declared to me that the fellow was telling a tissue of falsehoods, for the horse had not been backed into the grip, and the vehicle was not a gig, but an outside jaunting-car; that the traces had not been cut, neither was any woman near the place assaulted by the murderers. Subsequent inquiries established the fact, that one of the persons accused in the soldier's confession was, at the period of the murder, apprentice to a cabinet-maker in Cork, a reference to whom and to whose books showed that the party sought to be implicated had been in his master's concerns during the day of the assassination, and for a considerable time previous to and after the transaction; and it appeared that the statement had been made for the mere purpose of its fabricator being sent home from service in a regiment with which he was discontented, and in which he had acquired a most disreputable character.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 35

    As the companion tells it

    Bandon, in County Cork, is the town near where a clergyman was murdered in broad daylight. This was during a time when a considerable portion of the county was in a state that might fairly be called insurrectionary. The dead man was the Reverend Mr Hewson. He was shot on the high road, in the open day, in the vicinity of Bandon. No clue was ever found. The guilty parties were never discovered, and the offence was never punished. Years later, in 1842, a soldier stationed at Fredericton in New Brunswick told his officer he had been concerned in the crime, and named two men as his accomplices. He was sent home to Ireland and brought up for examination before a magistrate. A detective named Benson, who had been orderly to the constabulary officer at Bandon at the time of the murder and had gone to the scene very soon after, asked to sit in. The soldier told his story. He said that on the day and at the hour of the murder, he and two men met Hewson on his way home. One seized his horse, the other shot him with a blunderbuss. They fled. Benson asked which of them backed the horse and overturned the gig into the ditch. The soldier said he did. Which cut the traces? He said one of the others. Which struck a poor woman who screamed? The third man. Benson then declared the whole statement false. The horse had not been backed. The vehicle was not a gig but an outside jaunting-car. The traces had not been cut. No woman was assaulted. One of the accused men was shown to have been at work as an apprentice to a cabinet-maker in Cork that day. The confession was fabricated to get the soldier sent home from a regiment he hated.

29. Crown prosecutor's crowded criminal docket reflects rural violence near Clonmel

    Clonmel · town · Tipperary · 1838

    A young Catholic curate near Clonmel sought a subscription to repair his dilapidated church, prompting the Crown prosecutor to jokingly list the abundant crimes on his docket—murders, conspiracies, abductions, threatening notices, and faction-fights—that improved morals would undercut.

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    "So you come to me, to persuade me to cut the ground from under my own feet, by subscribing to further your acknowledged intentions. I am a prosecuting counsel on this circuit, and on the table before you I have a profitable assortment of murders, conspiracies, and attempts to murder, abductions, threatening notices, and faction-fights. You would render my vocation worthless by inculcating the observance of law and order, quietude, and temperance. It would be much more reasonable that I should be asked to subscribe to a society for the distribution of blunderbusses and pistols."

    "Oh!" exclaimed the astonished priest, "may heaven grant that I shall never again hear such expressions from human lips."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

    As the companion tells it

    Back in 1838, around Clonmel, a young Catholic curate went looking for subscriptions to repair his dilapidated church. He called on the Crown prosecutor, who told him straight that subscribing to better morals would cut the ground from under his own feet. On his table he had what he called a profitable assortment of murders, conspiracies, abductions, threatening notices, and faction-fights. You would render my vocation worthless, he said, by inculcating law and order, quietude, and temperance. The priest could only answer that he prayed heaven he might never hear such expressions from human lips again.

30. Delahunt Sharpens Knives at Little Britain Street Lodgings

    Little Britain Street · street · Dublin · 1841

    Before murdering the child, Delahunt called at his brother's lodgings in Little Britain Street, falsely claiming the boy was a stray child given to him by police, and sharpened two knives there, one of which was later found missing.

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    On the 20th of December, 1841, a little boy named Thomas Patrick Maguire, eight years of age, was playing with some other children in Blackhall Row. The children were of the humblest class, and Maguire was bare-footed. Delahunt, having previously ascertained his name, and that he lived with his mother in Plunket Street, told him that he had been sent to bring him to her. The poor boy went with him, but was not brought home. Delahunt took him to a distant part of the city, and called at his (Delahunt's) brother's lodgings in Little Britain Street, where he stated to his sister-in-law that Maguire was a stray child whom the police had given into his care to take home. He sharpened two knives at his brother's, and after his departure with the child, one of the knives was missed. In the meantime, he brought the little fellow across the city, bought some cakes for him, and took him into a lonely lane in the suburbs, close by Upper Baggot Street, and there between seven and eight o'clock in the evening, he cut the child's throat. In a very short time, the body was found, and taken to a police-station in order to have an inquest held. Delahunt reappeared, and stated that he had passed the end of the lane, and had seen a woman throw the little boy down, and that she passed close to him, and went hurriedly away. He said that he had no idea of the child having been killed at the time, but thought that the woman had chastised him for some offence or naughty trick. He named a woman, and declared that he could swear to her. Unluckily for him, the woman whom he designated had been very sick during the entire day, and confined to bed, to the positive knowledge of several friends and neighbours. Some persons recognised Delahunt as having been with the boy, and amongst them was the woman from whom he had bought the cakes. In a field adjoining the lane where the corpse was discovered, a knife was found, which was sworn to by his sister-in-law as having been sharpened by him, and subsequently missed. She also identified the body of the child as that of the boy whom Delahunt had with him at her residence. He was finally tried and convicted of the murder on the 14th of January, 1842, and was executed on the 5th February. He made a full confession of his guilt, and acknowledged that he had falsely accused Cooney the tinker of murdering the Italian, and that his evidence against the coal-porters was totally unfounded. He disclaimed all malice or ill will against the poor child, Maguire. He declared that he only wanted to be rewarded for convicting some person of murder, and that he could not originate such a charge without the preliminary procurement of a corpse. In a volume of Dickens's periodical, _All the Year Round_, and under the title of "Old Stories re-told," there is a full narration of murders committed by Burke, Bishop, and Hare, for the purpose of selling the bodies of their victims to anatomical schools. Each distinct case of crime perpetrated by those miscreants was of less aggravated turpitude than the offence for which Delahunt was hanged, for they contemplated the destruction of the sufferer as the consummation of a design, but Delahunt deprived one individual of life on the speculation that he would thereby be enabled to obtain a reward, perhaps a trifling one, by consigning another fellow-creature to the precincts of a gaol, and ultimately to the ignominious horrors of a public execution, for a crime committed by himself, and imputed, by his deliberate perjury, to an innocent being, whose hand was unstained and whose heart was untainted. For a considerable time after his execution, he was reputed, especially amongst the humbler classes, to have been a police spy, and to have been in receipt of frequent subsidies from the detective office. He was never produced in any court as a witness at the instance of the police. In the case of the coal-porters, he applied to me for funds to enable him to remain in Dublin until the trial was held, and I refused his application. He repeatedly offered superintendents and inspectors to swear to cases of illicit or irregular traffic in liquors, but they never believed his statements, nor would they, in any instance, avail themselves of his proffered testimony. No villainy could be more unprofitable than Delahunt's systematic attempts to support himself by false accusations of others. I feel perfectly satisfied that, instead of deriving the wages of an informer or spy from the metropolitan police or from the constabulary, he never cost the public one penny beyond what sufficed for his maintenance in gaol whilst under committal for his diabolical offence, and to provide the halter which he most thoroughly merited.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 33

    As the companion tells it

    On the 20th of December, 1841, a little boy named Thomas Patrick Maguire, eight years old and bare-footed, was playing with other children in Blackhall Row. Delahunt had already found out his name and that he lived with his mother in Plunket Street. He told the boy he had been sent to bring him home. The child went with him, but was never brought there. Delahunt called at his brother's lodgings in Little Britain Street and told his sister-in-law that Maguire was a stray child the police had given into his care. He sharpened two knives at his brother's. After he left with the boy, one of those knives was missed. He bought some cakes for the child and brought him across the city to a lonely lane near Upper Baggot Street. There, between seven and eight o'clock in the evening, he cut the boy's throat. The body was found shortly after and taken to a police station. Delahunt came back and said he had seen a woman throw the child down and hurry away. He named a woman and said he could swear to her. But that woman had been sick in bed all day, known to friends and neighbours. The woman who had sold him the cakes recognised him as having been with the boy. In a field next to the lane, a knife was found, sworn to by his sister-in-law as one he had sharpened and that had gone missing. She also identified the child's body as the boy she had seen with Delahunt. He was tried and convicted of the murder on the 14th of January, 1842, and executed on the 5th of February. He made a full confession. He said he only wanted to be rewarded for convicting someone of murder, and that he could not make such a charge without first procuring a corpse. He disclaimed all malice against the poor child.

31. Fatal stone-throwing death of James Rogerson at Donnybrook, 1820

    Donnybrook · parish · Dublin · 1820

    In 1820, young James Rogerson was struck in the head by a stone thrown at another person while walking through Donnybrook village, and died days later at his father's home in William Street; his killer was never brought to justice.

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    I have to notice an event which occurred in 1855, and was productive of most salutary results, not merely to the suburb in which it was effected, but to the entire city and county of Dublin; I mean the abolition or suppression of Donnybrook Fair. This excellent proceeding was effected at the instance and mainly by the exertions of Alderman Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin in the last-mentioned year. It would be almost impossible to describe the scenes of drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency that characterized an entire week in the month of August, every year whilst "The Brook" afforded its immoral attractions, causing our prisons to be immediately crowded with loose, disorderly, or dishonest characters, so as to resemble hospitals in a locality suddenly visited by an epidemic or contagious distemper. I do not believe that, for many years previous to its suppression, Donnybrook Fair was ever held without being the direct or indirect cause of a life or lives being lost. It lasted for a week; and the greatest intemperance and violence seemed to be specially displayed on the day known as "the Walking Sunday." I visited the fair on several occasions in my days of boyhood, and I can recollect some sad accidents in which lives were lost or limbs fractured by vehicles having been driven furiously by drunken "jarveys." I have seen the body of a female taken out of a mill-race close to the fair green, into which she had fallen in a state of intoxication. I witnessed a very furious encounter on the bridge between coal-porters and some other class of combatants, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall; but the worst experience that I had of Donnybrook was in 1820, when an amiable and most inoffensive young gentleman, named James Rogerson, was walking beside me through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening, and was struck in the head by a large stone thrown at another person. He was felled by the blow, and was raised in a state of insensibility. After he had revived a little, I took him in a covered car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died in a few days from the effects of the injury, and the perpetrator of the fatal assault was never made amenable for the offence. From the time when I attained the police magistracy in 1844 until 1855, I had to deal with an ample share of the charges and summonses arising from the annual nuisance of Donnybrook Fair; and I fully agreed with my colleagues in considering such duties as "moral scavenging;" and just as pedestrians might apologise for mud-covered feet or bespattered garments being unavoidable in filthy thoroughfares, so the delinquencies arising from the various evil excitements abundantly offered in the locality where they occurred, were almost invariably imputed to the offender having unfortunately gone to "The Brook." I must admit that in disposing of drunken or disorderly cases, I was often influenced by the consideration that when such an annual abomination was tolerated in a civilized community, it was a ground for slightly mitigating the punishments incurred by yielding to its abundant temptations.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 83

    As the companion tells it

    The road is passing through Donnybrook, a parish on the edge of Dublin. For a week every August this place held a fair, and the worst of it came on the day called Walking Sunday. The fair was a byword for drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency. One who later served as a police magistrate from 1844 recalled seeing the body of a woman pulled from a mill-race near the fair green, where she had fallen in while drunk. He witnessed a furious fight on the bridge between coal-porters and others, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed. But his worst experience was in 1820. He was walking through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening, beside a young gentleman named James Rogerson, whom he calls amiable and most inoffensive. A large stone thrown at another person struck Rogerson in the head. He fell, and when raised he was insensible. After he had revived a little, he was taken in a covered car to his father's home in William Street, where he died a few days later from the injury. The person who threw the stone was never made amenable for the offence. The fair was suppressed in 1855, at the instance and mainly by the exertions of Alderman Joseph Boyce, Lord Mayor of Dublin in that year.

32. Fisher's death by suffocation in a Luke Street limekiln

    Luke Street · street · Dublin · 1856

    On a winter's night around 1856, the habitual drunkard Fisher lay down too close to the edge of a limekiln in Luke Street and was suffocated by its fumes as he slept. An inquest returned a verdict of accidental death, and his body was later used for anatomical study.

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    Fisher continued a hopeless, persistent drunkard. With natural talents of no mean order, and with educational acquirements from which great and varied advantages might be expected, he lived despised and ridiculed, and afforded to those under whose occasional observation he came, a melancholy but certain proof that when a man's habits render him his own enemy, he becomes incapable of deriving any benefit from the friendship of others. On a winter's night in, I believe, 1856, Fisher betook himself to a limekiln in Luke Street. He lay down too near the edge and fell asleep, never to awake again in this world. Suffocated by the fumes of the kiln, his corpse, after an inquest and verdict of "accidental death," was consigned to a pauper's coffin, and was ultimately made a subject for anatomical demonstration. His fate was truly melancholy, but some salutary reflections may be derived from contemplating the final consequences of habitual and unrestrained intemperance.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 28

    As the companion tells it

    Luke Street is where a man called Fisher met his end. Fisher had natural talents and educational acquirements from which great advantages might have been expected, but he was a hopeless, persistent drunkard. He lived despised and ridiculed, a melancholy proof that when a man's habits render him his own enemy, he becomes incapable of deriving benefit from the friendship of others. On a winter's night in 1856, he betook himself to a limekiln, lay down too near the edge, and fell asleep, never to awake again. Suffocated by the fumes of the kiln, his corpse, after an inquest and a verdict of "accidental death," was consigned to a pauper's coffin and ultimately made a subject for anatomical demonstration. His fate was truly melancholy, but some salutary reflections may be derived from contemplating the final consequences of habitual and unrestrained intemperance.

33. Howth fisherman's fatal smuggling venture to Jersey

    Howth · townland · Dublin

    A young engaged fisherman from Howth sailed to Jersey and loaded his boat with tobacco and brandy, but was intercepted by a revenue cutter within sight of his home hill; facing ruin, he jumped overboard and drowned.

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    Lest the favorable issue of the illicit speculation which I have last narrated should have the effect of encouraging or even suggesting to any individual any connection with such traffic, I would say that I noticed the successful issue of the enterprise as an extraordinary and exceptional incident. Detection is generally the result, with forfeiture of the goods, fine, or imprisonment. About four years before I retired from office, a young man who had a fine fishing-boat at Howth, and who was engaged to be married, went off to Jersey, and freighted his craft with tobacco and brandy. A revenue cutter was sent to meet him, and he was captured within view of his native hill. His vessel forfeited, his cargo seized, himself a prisoner, and utter ruin substituted for his dazzling but delusive hopes, he lapsed into the extreme of despair, jumped overboard, and perished. His fate should deter, more than a casual and extraordinary escape should encourage, an infraction of the revenue laws.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 31

    As the companion tells it

    Close to Howth, a young fisherman kept a fine boat. He was engaged to be married. About 4 years before the author retired from office, this young man sailed to Jersey and loaded his craft with tobacco and brandy. A revenue cutter was sent to meet him, and he was captured within view of his native hill. His vessel forfeited, his cargo seized, himself a prisoner, and utter ruin substituted for his dazzling but delusive hopes, he fell into the extreme of despair, jumped overboard, and perished. The author had just told of one smuggling venture that succeeded, but he calls that an extraordinary and exceptional incident. Detection, he says, is generally the result, with forfeiture of goods, fine, or imprisonment. This young man's fate should deter more than a casual and extraordinary escape should encourage an infraction of the revenue laws.

34. Keogh Brothers of Rathcoole Suspected of Robbery

    Rathcoole · street · Dublin · 1743

    Martin and Sylvester Keogh, brothers of sinister reputation who lived near Rathcoole in a small thatched house with a neglected farm, were arrested on suspicion after the Castleknock robbery; Martin was identified and convicted while Sylvester was released for lack of evidence.

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    On the 15th of February, 1743, a gentleman named James Vesey, who held a commission in the army, was returning to Dublin from a southern county where he possessed a respectable landed property. The facilities which now exist for the safe and prompt remittance of money were then almost unknown, and he had with him upwards of eighteen hundred pounds in specie. He was so unfortunate as to be stopped on the road at Castleknock, and robbed of the money, his watch, and its appendages. The highwayman who opened the door of the post-chaise had an associate who kept at the horses' heads, and could not be recognized. After the perpetration of the crime, the traveller proceeded on to Dublin and apprised the authorities of his loss. A vigilant search terminated, after a few days, in the apprehension of two brothers named Martin and Sylvester Keogh. They were men of a sinister reputation, who resided near Rathcoole, and spent more money than they could be supposed to have acquired honestly, being the occupiers of a thatched house of humble dimensions, and a neglected farm of six or seven acres. On being brought before a magistrate, Martin Keogh was fully identified by Mr. Vesey, as the man who, pistol in hand, opened the door of the chaise and despoiled him of his property. Against the other there was no criminating evidence, and after a detention of some days, he was discharged. The closest search after the money terminated unsuccessfully, not a guinea could be found. Martin Keogh was committed for trial at the ensuing commission of _Oyer and Terminer_ for the county of Dublin, and was there convicted of the robbery, on the positive and undoubtedly true testimony of Mr. Vesey. Sentence of death was passed, and the doomed felon became an occupant of the condemned cell at Old Kilmainham, from the dreary precincts of which he was to issue at the end of twenty-one days, to die upon the gallows. Mr. Vesey's leave of absence had been extended until the result of the trial left him free to proceed to England to join his regiment; and he departed from Dublin without any other satisfaction for his eighteen hundred pounds than what might be derived from the impending punishment of the delinquent. He had ample opportunities for seeing Martin Keogh during the preliminary proceedings and in the progress of the trial, and the figure and features of the highwayman remained indelibly impressed on his memory. Soon after Mr. Vesey's arrival in England, he proceeded to encounter the dangers and privations of protracted foreign service; he attained the rank of Captain, and his regiment formed a portion of "the terrible English column" on the memorable field of Fontenoy, the 11th day of May, 1745.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 4

35. Quarrymen strike to punish the man who saved Sirr's life

    Killiney · townland · Dublin

    After a breaksman saved Major Sirr from being crushed by wagons at the Killiney quarries, the workmen there staged a strike demanding his dismissal purely for having preserved the unpopular magistrate's life.

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    When the piers which form Kingstown harbour were in course of construction, the supply of stone was derived from immense quarries at Killiney, and conveyed along a tramway, on which, near the quarries, there were slopes, down which the loaded waggons required no impelling power, but rather to be restrained, by breaks, from acquiring a dangerous velocity. Major Sirr was fond of collecting natural curiosities, especially of a geological nature; and he frequently visited Killiney in quest of spar formations, which were occasionally found there. He was by no means niggardly in his dealings with the spar finders; but still he could not conciliate them into a feeling of kindness or respect. One day he was proceeding up the tramway slope, when the discharge of artillery at the Pigeon House fort attracted his attention. He turned and looked in the direction of the firing, just at the moment when a train of loaded wagons was about to descend. Being right before them, he would have been utterly destroyed in a moment, but the breaksman saw his perilous situation, and applied the requisite pressure, stopped the train, and saved the Major. Several persons witnessed his danger and the prompt means by which it was averted. On the transaction becoming known in the quarries, there was an immediate strike. All work was stopped, and a determination was unanimously avowed to insist on the dismissal of the breaksman. No specific complaint was preferred against the individual whose expulsion was required. The Harbour Commissioners deputed Mr. Hickman Kearney to enquire into the grounds and reasons for such an extraordinary demand. He went to the quarries and called on the workmen to come forward and explain the cause of their animosity to the breaksman. The only reply was that "he should go." It appeared, on reference to the clerk of the works, and to the overseers, that the obnoxious man was honest, sober, diligent, and attentive to his duties; and it was strongly urged that no accident had occurred at the slope since his appointment, and that he had, by his presence of mind and promptitude, saved Major Sirr's life. This produced a general exclamation of "That's the reason he shan't stay amongst us. What business had he to save the Major?" The poor breaksman would have lost his employment, but for an old and influential workman who interfered in his favor, and induced the others to forgive him, _provided he faithfully promised never to do the like again_.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 14

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here in Killiney, the old quarries once supplied stone for the piers of Kingstown harbour. Loaded wagons ran down a tramway slope near the quarry faces, held back by brakes to keep them from gathering dangerous speed. Major Sirr, the police magistrate, used to come here looking for spar formations. He was fair with the men who found them, but he could never win their goodwill or respect. One day he was walking up the slope when artillery fire from the Pigeon House fort caught his eye. He turned to look, right in the path of a train of loaded wagons coming down. The brakesman saw the danger, applied the brakes, and stopped the train, saving Sirr's life. When the quarries heard what had happened, every man struck work. They demanded the brakesman be dismissed. The Harbour Commissioners sent Mr. Hickman Kearney to investigate. He asked the men what complaint they had. The only answer was that he should go. The clerk of the works and the overseers confirmed the man was honest, sober, diligent, and that no accident had happened at the slope since his appointment. This prompted a general cry: "That's the reason he shan't stay amongst us. What business had he to save the Major?" The brakesman would have lost his job, but an older, influential workman spoke up for him and got the others to relent, on one condition: that he faithfully promised never to do the like again.

36. Robbery Proceeds Hidden in the Liffey Below the Salmon Leap

    Salmon Leap · street · Dublin · 1743

    Martin Keogh recounted that the stolen money was hidden not in a house or field but in a deep part of the River Liffey below the Salmon Leap, tied to a weight so it could later be retrieved by drag.

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    "We took the money, sir," said Martin, "and placed it in a strong canvas bag. We hid it in neither house, garden, nor field, but in a deep part of the river Liffey, below the Salmon Leap. There was a stout cord from the bag to a heavy weight, so that it might be easily caught by a drag. Well, I was convicted and sentenced, and there were four others condemned at the same Commission, and we were all to be executed on the same day. One was a forger, and three were housebreakers. We each occupied a separate cell in the condemned yard. It was a horrible place, for I well recollect that on each side of the yard a full length figure of Death was painted,[1] holding in his skeleton hands a scythe and hour-glass; so that wherever our eyes turned, we were reminded of our hapless condition and coming sufferings. The gaoler came in two or three times daily, whilst our cells were open, and I soon remarked that he took very little notice of the others, but spoke pretty often to me. On the fifth or sixth day after my sentence, I was in my cell, counting my days, and trying to count my hours; making pictures in my despairing mind of the cart and the crowd, and cringing as if I already felt the slippery noose of the soaped halter closing round the creeping flesh of my neck; thinking of the happy days of innocent childhood, and feeling some consolation in my misery that my brother had not been condemned; that I left no wife or family, and that both my parents were dead, and spared the shame and sorrow of their son's public execution. This was the state of my mind when the gaoler entered the cell. He closed the door, and addressed some kind expressions to me, hoping that I was resigned to the great change that was impending, and enquiring if he could do anything for my comfort or consolation. In a stout but low tone I replied, that I would rather get rid of the business without being hanged at all. He closed the door, and sat down on the block-stool, and we remained silent for a few minutes; but there were looks passing between us; we were reading each other's hearts. At length he said--'Have you the money?'

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 4

    As the companion tells it

    This is the Salmon Leap on the River Liffey, where stolen money was once hidden in the water. In 1743, a man called Martin Keogh gave an account of what had been done with the proceeds of a robbery. He said they took the money and placed it in a strong canvas bag. They hid it in neither house, garden, nor field, but in a deep part of the river Liffey, below the Salmon Leap. A stout cord ran from the bag to a heavy weight, so that it might be easily caught by a drag. Martin was convicted and sentenced, and four others were condemned at the same Commission: one a forger, three housebreakers. All were to be executed on the same day. Each occupied a separate cell in the condemned yard. Martin recalled that on each side of the yard a full-length figure of Death was painted, holding in skeleton hands a scythe and hour-glass, so that wherever their eyes turned, they were reminded of their condition. The gaoler came in two or three times daily, and Martin noticed he took little notice of the others but spoke often to him. On the fifth or sixth day after sentence, Martin sat in his cell counting his hours, imagining the cart and the crowd, and feeling consolation that his brother had not been condemned, that he left no wife or family, and that both his parents were dead. The gaoler entered, closed the door, and spoke kindly, asking if he could do anything for his comfort. Martin replied that he would rather get rid of the business without being hanged at all. The gaoler sat down on the block-stool, and they remained silent, reading each other's hearts, until at length he said: 'Have you the money?'

37. Sailors incited to desert their ship at Kingstown for the Navy

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin

    Three sailors aboard a ship carrying the 11th Hussars to Balaklava from Kingstown demanded shore leave, and when refused, signalled willingness to join the Royal Navy, causing a dispute between naval and magisterial authority; Porter ordered them forcibly returned to the ship.

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    A large ship was quartered to convey the head-quarters of the 11th hussars from Kingstown to Balaklava. A considerable number of horses were embarked, and there were slings fastened to the roof and passing under each animal's body, which supported him whilst sleeping, but without allowing him to lie down. All arrangements for sailing had been completed. A steamer was provided to tow the vessel to the outside of the Kish Bank, and the wind was as favorable as possible for proceeding down the Channel. The captain announced, about ten o'clock, a.m., that he would leave at noon, whereupon three of his crew asked him to defer his departure until the next day, and to allow them to spend the intermediate time ashore. On his refusal, they required him to hoist a signal, which, to the best of my recollection, was _a blue shirt_, at the foretop, and he complied with their demand, inasmuch as, according to his statement to me, his refusal would subject him to most severe penal consequences. The signal denoted that there were persons on board willing to serve in the Royal Navy; and as soon as it was displayed, a lieutenant who was stationed at Kingstown, on the duty of naval recruiting, went on board, and was informed by the three sailors that they were desirous of joining his service. He acceded to their application, and the captain found himself unable to put to sea for want of sufficient hands, and without any expectation of being able to supply the deficiency for some days. In this emergency, he applied to me to have the men treated as wilful absconders, and to send them back to the ship. I had a communication with the lieutenant, whose name, I think, was Henderson; and whilst he fully admitted the hardship of which the captain complained, he declared that his orders were so stringently imperative that he could exercise no discretion, and had no alternative course to adopt. I observed that by retaining the men there would be a serious injury inflicted by one department of the public service on another, and that it amounted to military exertion being paralyzed by naval interference. He agreed with me as to the injurious effect of having the ship detained, but declared that he was unable to prevent it. I said that under the circumstances, I was inclined to have the men taken and sent back to the vessel from which they had virtually absconded. To this he replied, that he would offer no resistance to the execution of any warrant or order that I might issue, but that he would report the proceeding to the Admiralty. Thereupon, I suggested to the captain to have the ship taken from alongside the jetty to the centre of the harbour, and to stop any further communication with the shore. This was immediately done, and I then sent a warrant for the seamen, and had them conveyed on board, having previously advised them to go of their own accord, which they declined doing, with the intimation that if they ever returned to Ireland, they would smash every bone in my body, even if they were to be hanged the next minute for killing such a d----d old scoundrel. When they arrived at the ship, they told the captain that they would not do any duty, to which he replied that, whilst they refused to work, they need not expect to get any rations. The rest of the crew disapproved of their conduct, and I believe that they soon became reconciled to a resumption of duty. The lieutenant informed me, in a few days after the transaction, that he had fully reported the circumstances to the Admiralty, and that they approved of the course I had adopted, and exonerated him from any censure. I was subsequently informed by him, that on the arrival of the ship at Balaklava, she was boarded by a party from the flag-ship, and the officer in command produced the documents incident to the enlistment of the three men at Kingstown, and claimed them as belonging to the naval service. They had, however, the advantage of being allowed their pay, as seamen in the Queen's service, from the date of their enrolment at Kingstown, and they also had their wages from the vessel in which they had been employed during the voyage to the Crimea. None of them have returned as yet to realize their fearful intention on him whom they designated "a d----d old scoundrel;" and he never entertained the slightest apprehensions of any violent commentary on the course he adopted towards them.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 76

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, close to Kingstown, a ship lay ready to carry the headquarters of the 11th Hussars to Balaklava. Horses stood aboard in slings that held them without letting them lie down. The captain told his crew he would sail at noon. Three sailors asked him to wait until the next day and let them go ashore. He refused. They demanded he hoist a blue shirt at the foretop, a signal that meant men aboard were willing to serve in the Royal Navy. He complied, saying refusal would bring severe penal consequences. A lieutenant stationed at Kingstown for naval recruiting came aboard. The three sailors told him they wanted to join the Navy. He accepted them, and the captain found himself unable to put to sea for want of hands. The captain applied to the police magistrate to have the men treated as absconders. The lieutenant admitted the hardship but said his orders were so stringent he had no discretion. The magistrate observed that one department of the public service was paralysing another, military exertion crippled by naval interference. He suggested the captain move the ship to the centre of the harbour and cut off communication with the shore. This was done, and the magistrate sent a warrant for the seamen. He advised them to go of their own accord. They declined, and threatened that if they ever returned to Ireland they would smash every bone in his body. They were conveyed aboard and refused duty. The captain told them no work meant no rations. The rest of the crew disapproved of their conduct, and they soon resumed duty. The lieutenant reported to the Admiralty, who approved the magistrate's course. At Balaklava the ship was boarded and the three men were claimed for naval service, though they received pay as seamen from the date of their enrolment at Kingstown and wages from the vessel for the voyage. None of them ever returned to carry out their threat.

38. Witnesses at Church Lane See the Bomber Flee

    Church Lane · street · Dublin · 1836

    Two women standing at the corner of Church Lane in College Green witnessed a man descend from the King William statue, ignite a fuse, and flee moments before the explosive charge detonated, destroying the monument.

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    Very soon after my appointment to the police magistracy, there was a person named Jones convicted of being deeply implicated in the Ribbon system. He was not committed for trial from the Head Office, and I was not officially connected with any of the proceedings in his case. After he had been sent to another hemisphere under sentence of transportation, I heard casually from a professional man, on whose statements I placed the utmost reliance, that Jones had acknowledged to him being the person by whom the statue of King William in College Green was blown up in 1836. There was no prosecution instituted as to that extraordinary affair, and I notice it only on account of the statements subsequently made, and an incident which may be considered of an amusing character. Two women of a disreputable class were standing at the corner of Church Lane in College Green just after midnight. A man whom they had not previously observed, descended quickly from the statue, and having crossed the rails which then intervened between the pedestal and the thoroughfare, he ignited a fuse which had been previously connected with some explosive substance placed between the figures of the steed and the rider. The man rapidly decamped, the fuse burned quickly, and there was an explosion which was heard in almost every part of the city, and by which the figure of the monarch was completely separated from his horse, and thrown into the public carriage-way, several yards from the pedestal. It was reported that a respectable citizen residing in the immediate vicinity, who had been suffering for some time previous from disease of the heart, rose from his bed in hasty alarm, and almost immediately dropped lifeless. Jones, according to the statement of my informant, subsequently tried to cut the head off the prostrate figure, but was deterred by the approach of a party of police from College Street. I believe that those who examined the figures of man and horse expressed a decided opinion that the explosion had not been effected by gunpowder, and the statements of the acknowledged delinquent denied that gunpowder had been used, but without his specifying what material had effected such an extraordinary result.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 44

    As the companion tells it

    In 1836, Church Lane in Dublin was where two women stood at the corner just after midnight and saw the man who destroyed the King William statue in College Green. They were women of what the source calls a disreputable class. They had not noticed the man before. He descended quickly from the statue, crossed the rails that then stood between the pedestal and the thoroughfare, and ignited a fuse already connected to some explosive substance placed between the figures of the horse and the rider. He ran. The fuse burned fast. The explosion was heard in almost every part of the city. The figure of the monarch was separated completely from his horse and thrown into the public carriage-way, several yards from the pedestal. A respectable citizen living nearby, who had been suffering from disease of the heart, rose from his bed in alarm and almost immediately dropped lifeless. A man named Jones, later convicted of being deeply involved in the Ribbon system and transported to another hemisphere, acknowledged to a trusted professional man that he had carried out the bombing. Jones tried to cut the head off the fallen figure but was deterred by the approach of police from College Street. Those who examined the figures expressed a decided opinion that gunpowder had not been used. Jones denied that gunpowder was used, but did not say what material had been. No prosecution was ever instituted for the affair.

39. Assault after drinking ends at Chancery Lane

    Chancery Lane · street · Dublin

    In a narrated account of a group of Dublin women who drank together, a fight broke out in which one woman struck another with a pewter quart. A policeman nicknamed 'Coffin-foot' then escorted the combatants to the police station at Chancery Lane.

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    "Mrs. Rafferty had just run out to get a grain of tay and a quarther of shuggar. Mrs. M'Mullen, the shoemaker's wife, had a few half-pence left after paying for a pair of soles and some binding; and was it not quare that they should meet Jenny Riordan just round the corner at Cassidy's door? Cassidy always kept 'the best of sperrits,' and Jenny Riordan stood for little Patsy M'Mullen only a fortnight before. Mrs. M'Mullen insisted that half a glass a-piece would do them no harm, if they'd slip into Cassidy's. Well, in they went; and just as they were passing 'behind the tay chests,' that all the world mightn't see them, who should be there but Kitty Laffan and Betty Rooney. Poor Betty had just left her sarvice, and had half a quarter's wages in her pocket; and she wished to explain why she wouldn't stay in that place, as her mistress was too particular entirely. They were all decent women, that never took more than 'half a glass' at a time. But they were all very genteel, and had a proper spirit; so each insisted on 'standing' until each half glass had become half a pint. Mrs. M'Mullen got home after losing the pair of soles on the way, and got terrible usage from her husband. Mrs. Rafferty had a little difference with Betty Rooney, and as Betty felt herself rather strong after the last little sup, she cut Mrs. Rafferty's head with a pewter quart that happened, unluckily, to be 'convenient.' Mrs. Rafferty put Betty's eyes into mourning for the next week; and the big polisman (I don't know his name, but they call him 'Coffin-foot', because you might bury a child in his shoe) escorted the combatants to Chancery Lane." Some more of the party were picked up on their way home, and taken to Newmarket, and were brought up to the Head Office next morning. The husbands of these half-glass takers could not say much about the matter, for they had a little jollification amongst themselves on the previous Monday, and two of them beat their respective wives very severely, for daring to go skulking and prying after them, and disturbing them, under the pretence of getting them home.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 102

    As the companion tells it

    Mrs. Rafferty had gone out for tea and sugar; the evening ended at Chancery Lane. Mrs. M'Mullen, the shoemaker's wife, had a few halfpence left after paying for a pair of soles and some binding. They met Jenny Riordan at Cassidy's door, round the corner. Cassidy always kept the best of spirits. Mrs. M'Mullen insisted half a glass each would do no harm, so in they went. Passing behind the tea chests so the world mightn't see them, they found Kitty Laffan and Betty Rooney. Betty had just left her service with half a quarter's wages in her pocket, and wished to explain why her mistress was too particular entirely. They were all decent women who never took more than half a glass at a time. But they were genteel, with a proper spirit, and each insisted on standing drinks until half a glass became half a pint. Mrs. M'Mullen got home after losing the pair of soles on the way and got terrible usage from her husband. Mrs. Rafferty had a little difference with Betty Rooney. Betty, feeling strong after the last sup, cut Mrs. Rafferty's head with a pewter quart that happened to be convenient. Mrs. Rafferty put Betty's eyes into mourning for the next week. The big policeman they called Coffin-foot, because you might bury a child in his shoe, escorted the combatants to the police station. More of the party were picked up on their way home, taken to Newmarket, and brought to the Head Office next morning. The husbands of these half-glass takers could not say much about the matter. They had a little jollification amongst themselves on the previous Monday, and two of them beat their wives very severely for daring to go skulking and prying after them, under the pretence of getting them home.

40. Election riot and stoning at Green Street courthouse

    Green Street · street · Dublin

    During a keenly contested Dublin election, Porter was in charge of the civil force at Green Street courthouse; his brother the High Sheriff was threatened with stoning, and Porter himself was later stoned by a mob in King Street who mistook him for the Sheriff.

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    Soon after my appointment to office, an election occurred, and the city of Dublin was keenly contested. I received an order to proceed, on the nomination day, to Green Street, to take charge of the civil force there, and to report myself to the returning officer, the High Sheriff. I had consequently, in my official capacity, to present myself to my own brother, the late Joshua Porter, and I continued during the election, which was protracted as long as the law allowed, ready to quell any riotous demonstration. My brother was not fortunate enough to please all parties. His arrangement of booths and selection of deputies were denounced as having been made in a partial spirit, and the mob vociferously expressed an anxiety to be actuated in their treatment of him by the greatest of Christian virtues, for they unanimously agreed that it would be a "charity" to pelt him, if any opportunity offered to make a liberal subscription of stones for the purpose. He was escorted each day to and from the court-house by a strong body of police, and he remained in it until the termination of the proceedings in the evenings. There was usually during the election, a troop of hussars stationed in Halston Street, at the rere of Newgate, and a party of police was distributed between them and King Street, North. One afternoon, just at twilight, I walked out of the court-house, and as soon as I got to the steps, a crowd in King Street uttered a yell of animosity, and sent a volley of stones at me. I was not struck by any of the missiles. The police moved towards the mob, and the latter receded a few yards, but remained together. I walked towards them, and loudly informed them, that if they renewed their attack, I had the "Riot Act" in my pocket, and would instantly read it, and reply by a discharge of carbine bullets. There was no further demonstration on their part, and I returned to the court-house. In a few minutes, I was departing for home, when I was accosted by a carman named Smith. He asked me, "Would I take a covered car?" and I replied in the affirmative. He brought me home; and on discharging him, he said that the people had directed him to try "if he could get to say two or three words to me." He then conveyed to me the most extraordinary apology that could emanate from a mob for an attempted outrage. "Yer worship, I was tould to tell you that there wasn't a man or boy among them would throw anything at you or any other of yer magistrates, but whin you came out on the steps, in the dusk of the evening, they really thought that you were THE HIGH SHERIFF."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 25

    As the companion tells it

    Porter's account places the trouble at Green Street courthouse. Soon after his appointment to office, a Dublin election was keenly contested. On nomination day he was ordered there to take charge of the civil force and report to the returning officer, the High Sheriff, who was his own brother, Joshua Porter. The election ran as long as the law allowed. Porter stayed ready to quell any riotous demonstration. His brother failed to please all parties. His booth arrangements and deputy selections were denounced as partial, and the vociferous mob agreed it would be a charity to pelt him with a liberal subscription of stones. He was escorted to and from the court-house each day by a strong body of police. One afternoon, at twilight, Porter walked out of the court-house. As he reached the steps, a crowd in King Street yelled and sent a volley of stones at him. None struck him. The police moved forward and the mob receded a few yards but stayed together. Porter walked towards them and called out that if they renewed their attack, he had the Riot Act in his pocket and would reply with carbine bullets. There was no further demonstration. Heading home, he was accosted by a carman named Smith, who asked if he would take a covered car. Smith brought him home, and on being discharged, said the people had told him to try to say two or three words. Then came the apology: "Yer worship, I was tould to tell you that there wasn't a man or boy among them would throw anything at you or any other of yer magistrates, but whin you came out on the steps, in the dusk of the evening, they really thought that you were THE HIGH SHERIFF."

41. Hidden Fortune Found in a Pawned Feather Bed from Bishop Street

    Bishop Street · street · Dublin

    An old man died in poverty-stricken lodgings in Bishop Street, reputed to have hoarded money. Detective Brennan traced a pawned feather bed to Booth's pawnbroker's and found £820 hidden in the stitching, solving the mystery of the missing fortune.

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    Having remarked the inefficiency manifested by the officer to whom the management of the murder case at the railway was assigned, I think it fair to state, that amongst some other members of our detective division, I have known instances in which great sagacity and promptitude were evinced. Shortly after my appointment to the magistracy, an old man died in a lodging-house in Bishop Street. The place in which he had lived for nine or ten years was a small room without the slightest indication of comfort or even of cleanliness. Nevertheless, he was reputed to have been possessed of a considerable sum of money, which was supposed to be hoarded in some part of his humble habitation. Two of his relatives made oath that they believed him to have accumulated some hundreds of pounds; that they suspected and believed that the cash had been purloined; and they demanded that the house should be strictly searched. I gave a search-warrant to a detective named James Brennan, who proceeded to the house, and stated his function to the landlady. She declared that the man had been miserably poor, that he died in complete destitution, and that they had to bury him in a parish coffin. Brennan searched the premises most rigidly, but the expected treasure was not forthcoming. Some of the landlady's female neighbours expressed great indignation at "any honest woman's place being ransacked after such a manner." One of the garrulous sympathizers declared that "so far was the landlady from having a lot of money, that she was hard set to live, and that the very night the old man died, the poor woman had to pledge her best feather bed, at Booth's the pawnbroker's, for a few shillings." Brennan took his leave, and immediately went to the pawn-office. He had the bed produced, and observed that the stitching on one seam was fresher in appearance than on the others. He ripped the seam, and in the middle of the feathers he found seven notes, each of a £100, and two of £20. The affair eventuated in the money being divided amongst the kindred of the deceased. The landlady denied all knowledge of the money, and insisted that the old man must have concealed it himself. She was not prosecuted, but Brennan's intelligence was rewarded with one of the £20 notes.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 34

    As the companion tells it

    An old man died in a lodging-house on Bishop Street in Dublin, and the story of what happened after is one of the detective division's sharper successes. He had lived there for 9 or 10 years in a small room without the slightest indication of comfort or even of cleanliness. He was reputed to have been possessed of a considerable sum of money, supposed to be hoarded somewhere in that humble room. Two of his relatives made oath that they believed he had accumulated some hundreds of pounds, that they suspected the cash had been purloined, and they demanded the house be strictly searched. A search-warrant was given to a detective named James Brennan. He went to the house and stated his function to the landlady. She declared the man had been miserably poor, that he died in complete destitution, and that they had to bury him in a parish coffin. Brennan searched the premises most rigidly, but the expected treasure was not forthcoming. Some of the landlady's female neighbours expressed great indignation at any honest woman's place being ransacked after such a manner. One of them declared that so far was the landlady from having money, she was hard set to live, and that the very night the old man died the poor woman had to pledge her best feather bed at Booth's the pawnbroker's for a few shillings. Brennan took his leave and immediately went to the pawn-office. He had the bed produced and observed that the stitching on one seam was fresher in appearance than on the others. He ripped the seam and in the middle of the feathers he found 7 notes of 100 pounds each and 2 of 20 pounds. The money was divided amongst the kindred of the deceased. The landlady denied all knowledge and insisted the old man must have concealed it himself. She was not prosecuted, but Brennan's intelligence was rewarded with one of the 20 pound notes.

42. Keogh's Escape Route Through Loughlinstown and Coolagad near Delgany

    near Delgany · town · Wicklow · 1743

    After his fake death, Martin Keogh fled on foot toward Wicklow, resting at Loughlinstown, and later passed Coolagad near Delgany where he was startled by a hunting pack crossing the road, before continuing through Wicklow, Arklow and Wexford to escape to Jersey.

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    "We agreed upon the plan, and for several days I was really sick, made so by artificial means--spirits, laudanum, tobacco, and other things were used in various ways. Half of the stipulated sum was brought by my brother, and paid to the gaoler in the condemned cell. The other men were removed to another part of the building. At length _I died_, you understand; and on that night a corpse was introduced into my cell by the gaoler himself. It was of my size, and was procured from the neighbouring burial ground of the Hospital fields, vulgarly termed _Bully's Acre_; but unlike the generality of such disinterments, it was to go back there again, and to be buried in my name. I was informed that there would be an inquest on me; but as I had died of putrid, spotted fever of the most infectious description, it was not likely that the coroner or the jury would view my body, unless at the greatest possible distance. I assisted the gaoler to arrange the supposed corpse of myself, placing the face to the wall, and then I was quietly let out upon the high road, after having paid the balance of the fifteen hundred pounds. My brother who had brought the money, was in waiting, but we soon separated. He thought it would prevent suspicion being raised if he attended the funeral of my substitute; and I set out on foot, taking the road to Wicklow, and stopping in the morning to have a little rest and refreshment at Loughlinstown. About the time of my funeral, I was passing Coolagad, near Delgany, and was alarmed by a pack of hounds crossing the road close to where I was walking. There were some riders following them whom I knew, but they were too much engaged in the sport to think about, or even to look at me. I proceeded by Wicklow and Arklow to Wexford, and there I got a passage to Jersey. From that island I was taken by a smuggler to St. Malo, on the supposition that I was extremely anxious to join the Irish Brigade. My life was now safe from the hangman, but I had much trouble and suffering to encounter. I was suspected of being a spy, although I could not speak a word of French; and the possession of some of your guineas was a great crime in the eyes of those who wished to get them for themselves. At Chartres I met a fellow-countryman, who was in Berwick's regiment, and at his instance I enlisted to get rid of the annoyance I was suffering, and to avoid the poverty which I saw approaching, and which was certain to overtake a stranger, whose only resource was military service. I took, on enlisting, the name of Vaughan, which was that of my mother's family. I have again to express my deep sorrow for the wrongful act I committed, and _I hope you will never regret that I was not hanged_."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 4

    As the companion tells it

    Coming up near Delgany, you are on the road Martin Keogh walked after faking his own death in prison. He had paid fifteen hundred pounds to a gaoler, who let a substitute corpse into his cell from the burial ground called Bully's Acre, and placed the dead man face to the wall. The inquest would be a formality, since the supposed death was from putrid spotted fever, and no coroner or jury would want to look closely. Keogh was let out onto the high road at night and set out on foot for Wicklow, resting at Loughlinstown in the morning. By the time his own funeral was taking place, he was passing Coolagad near here, and a pack of hounds crossed the road right in front of him. Riders he actually knew were following the hunt, but they were too taken with the sport to give him a second glance. He kept going through Wicklow and Arklow to Wexford, found a passage to Jersey, and was taken from there by a smuggler to St. Malo in France. He later enlisted in Berwick's regiment at Chartres under his mother's name of Vaughan. His last recorded words on the matter were a hope that you would never regret he was not hanged.

43. Market assault on supposed witness in Pecherine case

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin · 1855

    At the market in Kingstown, a young woman thought to have testified against Father Pecherine was viciously assaulted by a crowd of women, incited by a girl who falsely accused her; the victim had to flee to Manchester afterward.

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    Wishing to take a short interval for considering whether I should adjudicate summarily, or send the case for trial at the Quarter Sessions, I postponed it for a week, urging the police to detect, if possible, the girl who had caused the tumult and assault, and I allowed the prisoners to be discharged from custody on giving ample bail for their re-appearance, and proceeded to take the evidence adduced on the summons against the priest. When the business of the day was nearly concluded, two women were brought in, having been taken in the act of assaulting a young woman at the market, which, at the time, was rather crowded. The violence inflicted was very severe, and it appeared that as the injured party was approaching the place where the others were standing, a girl, described as being about twenty years of age, explained, "Here she comes, the ---- ---- that has been swearing Father Pecherine's life away." Immediately a scene similar to the one in the morning was acted by female performers, the foremost being a large powerful woman, the wife of a publican in a neighbouring village. The supposed witness had been struck, kicked, and scratched; her hair pulled, and her clothes torn, and the similarity of the two zealous manifestations was fully evinced by the publican's wife, declaring that "she thought" the suffering party had been swearing against the priest, and she bitterly deplored the loss of three pounds of which her pocket had been picked in the "scrimmage." Two other women were subsequently arrested who _thought_ too hastily and acted too violently, but the inciter had managed to elude detection, and it was believed that immediately after her second exploit, she had hurried off to the railway and gone up to Dublin with her booty. I dealt summarily with the female prisoners, as the young woman whom they attacked was obliged to leave immediately for Manchester, where she had procured some engagement as a domestic. I indicted the very trifling penalty of sixpence on each delinquent for the assault, but supplemented each conviction with two pounds costs to the party assailed. This decision, in reference to the costs, was extremely repugnant to the feelings of those against whom it was awarded. It was at once pronounced to be hard, and they declared their total inability to pay so much for a "little mistake," and their disapproval of my judgment was greatly augmented by the alternative which was left to their option of two months' imprisonment with hard labor.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 73

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, in 1855, a market assault took place that grew out of the case against Father Pecherine. The magistrate hearing the priest's case had postponed it for a week, and while the day's business was nearly concluded, two women were brought in, caught in the act of assaulting a young woman at the market. The market was crowded at the time. The violence was very severe. As the young woman approached the place where the others were standing, a girl of about twenty called out that here she comes, the one who has been swearing Father Pecherine's life away. Immediately a scene began, carried out by women, the foremost being a large powerful woman, the wife of a publican from a neighbouring village. The supposed witness was struck, kicked, and scratched. Her hair was pulled and her clothes torn. The publican's wife declared that she thought the young woman had been swearing against the priest, and she bitterly complained that three pounds had been taken from her pocket in the scrimmage. Two other women were arrested afterwards, who had thought too hastily and acted too violently. But the girl who incited the assault had managed to escape. It was believed she hurried to the railway and gone up to Dublin with what she had stolen. The magistrate dealt summarily with the women, because the young woman they attacked had to leave immediately for Manchester, where she had found work as a domestic servant. He fined each woman sixpence for the assault, with two pounds in costs awarded to the victim. The women found the costs extremely hard and declared they could not pay so much for what they called a little mistake. The alternative left to them was two months in prison with hard labour.

44. Newsboy attacked in George's Street after Pecherine case

    near George's Street · street · Waterford · 1855

    A one-handed newsboy, mistaken for a witness against Father Pecherine, was violently attacked by a crowd in George's Street, Kingstown, and thrown through a plate-glass shop window; police arrested four assailants.

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    Previous to the investigation of the complaints preferred on summons and information, the custody cases were, as usual, disposed of, and I had nine prisoners brought before me for having been drunk on the public thoroughfare. Some had been quiet and submissive, and they were fined one shilling each. Others who had been noisy or disorderly had fines of half-a-crown or a crown inflicted. Amongst the former was a newsboy, of about nineteen years of age, who had only one hand. Having paid his fine, he was liberated, and passed out into Georges Street, where a crowd had collected to get the earliest intelligence as to the progress and result of Father Pecherine's case. When the newsboy appeared a girl in the crowd exclaimed, "There's the horrid villain that is just after swearing against the priest." Immediately he was seized, violently beaten, and dashed through a large plate-glass window in the front of a shop. Some police constables were close at hand, and saw the sudden attack on the poor lad. They rushed forward and arrested four men who had been prominent in assaulting the newsboy, and one of them was fully identified as the person who had first laid hands on him and incited the others. I do not recollect the names of the delinquents, nor is it material to the narrative that I should, but when I asked if they had any defence, or if they wished to make any statement, the ringleader addressed me to the following effect--

    "I thought, your worship, that he was after swearing against the priest, or I wouldn't have laid a finger on him. It was all a mistake, and we never intended to break the shop window. Indeed he broke that himself trying to get away. Moreover, if what was done was wrong, I have been well punished for it already."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 73

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about George's Street, in 1855, a one-handed newsboy of about nineteen was attacked by a crowd and thrown through a shop window. He had been brought before the police magistrate that morning, one of nine prisoners charged with being drunk on the public thoroughfare. The quiet ones were fined one shilling each; the noisy or disorderly ones got half a crown or a crown. The newsboy had been quiet and submissive. He paid his fine and walked out into George's Street. A crowd had gathered there, waiting for the earliest news of Father Pecherine's case. When the boy appeared, a girl in the crowd called out, "There's the horrid villain that is just after swearing against the priest." Immediately he was seized, violently beaten, and dashed through a large plate-glass window in the front of a shop. Police constables were close at hand and saw the sudden attack on the poor lad. They rushed forward and arrested four men who had been prominent in the assault. One of them was fully identified as the person who had first laid hands on the boy and incited the others. When the magistrate asked if they had any defence or wished to make a statement, the ringleader said he had thought the boy was after swearing against the priest, or he would not have laid a finger on him. He called it all a mistake and said they never intended to break the shop window, claiming the boy broke it himself trying to get away. He added that if what was done was wrong, he had been well punished for it already.

45. Petit Treason Trial of Lonergan Removed to King's Bench

    Castlefield · townland · Kilkenny · 1778–1781

    Lonergan, tutor at Castlefield, Co. Kilkenny, was tried at the Kilkenny Summer Assizes for the alleged poisoning of Thomas O'Flaherty, then had his case removed by certiorari to the Court of King's Bench in Dublin, where a trial at bar convicted him in 1781.

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    Although it is probable that I may bring before my readers an incident or two of a more remote date, I shall commence with the narrative of an alleged crime and its supposed punishment, which has been adverted to by Sir Jonah Barrington in his "Personal Recollections," Vol. I., page 52, and in the description of which he has lapsed into considerable inaccuracy. According to him, the name of the person chiefly concerned was "Lanegan;" but in that respect there is a positive error; for by examining the records of the Crown Office, (Ireland,) I find the name, as my father had frequently stated to me, to be "Lonergan." He was a young man who had been educated at the school of the Rev. Eugene M'Kenna, of Raheny, in the County of Dublin, and from that establishment entered Trinity College, Dublin, in the year 1773. During his undergraduate course, he resided with Mr. M'Kenna, and acted as an assistant in the school. In 1777, having finished his University studies, he became a tutor in the family of Mr. Thomas O'Flaherty, of Castlefield, in the County of Kilkenny. That gentleman was singularly unfortunate in having married a woman of most depraved tendencies. She engaged in an intrigue with Lonergan, and on the 28th of June, 1778, Mr. O'Flaherty died under circumstances which occasioned the arrest of Lonergan, on a charge of having poisoned him. The woman evaded arrest and escaped to a foreign country. Some time must have elapsed between the commission of the crime and the apprehension of the accused party, for it was not until the Summer Assizes of Kilkenny, in 1781, that Lonergan was arraigned for _Petit Treason_, the offence being considered by the law, as it then existed, as more aggravated than murder, inasmuch as he was in the domestic service of the man whom he was alleged to have destroyed. He succeeded, on certain legal grounds, in postponing his trial; but in the ensuing term a writ of _certiorari_ issued, and the indictment was removed to the Court of King's Bench. A trial at bar was held on November 12th, 1781, the jury having been brought up from Kilkenny. The prisoner was convicted, and sentenced to be hanged and _quartered_ on the 24th of the aforesaid month, and the sheriffs of the City of Dublin were directed to have the sentence carried into effect. At the time of his conviction, the prisoner declared that he was innocent of the crime; but he admitted that he bought arsenic at the instance of Mrs. O'Flaherty, who, according to his statement, told him that she intended to use it in destroying rats. He did not deny the imputation of an adulterous intrigue with her. The Rev. Mr. M'Kenna did not forget his former pupil and assistant. He visited him in prison, testified to his character in very favorable terms at the trial, and, after condemnation, was assiduous in preparing him to meet his impending doom with Christian resignation. He determined to attend him to the termination of his sufferings, and to pay the last duties to his remains. M'Kenna was married to a cousin of my father, and he was on terms of the closest intimacy with our family. My father resided in Skinner Row, (now Christ Church Place,) Dublin; and at the period to which this narrative refers, he was in the prime of life--tall, vigorous, and active. He was also serjeant of the grenadier company of the Dublin Volunteers. He had known the unhappy Lonergan during the peaceful and comparative innocent days that the latter had spent at Raheny. He pitied the miserable fate of the culprit, doubted his guilt, and sympathized with the worthy man whose pious solicitude and friendship still sought to console the spirit that was so soon to pass away. On the evening before the execution, M'Kenna remained with the condemned as long as the regulations of the prison permitted. He then betook himself to my father's house, where he proposed to stay until the earliest hour of the morning at which he could be admitted to the gaol. Having mentioned that he would not fail to attend Lonergan to the consummation of his fate, in compliance with the culprit's request, he was informed by my father that he should also be at the execution, for that owing to the paucity of regular troops in Dublin, the sheriff had made a requisition for a guard of the Volunteers, and that the grenadier company were to attend at Baggot Street, (the Tyburn of Dublin,) to which place the prisoner was to be escorted from Thomas Street by a troop of cavalry.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 2

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, at Castlefield in County Kilkenny, a tutor named Lonergan lived in the family of Thomas O'Flaherty. Lonergan had been educated at the school of the Reverend Eugene M'Kenna at Raheny in County Dublin, and entered Trinity College in 1773. In 1777, after finishing his university studies, he became tutor in the O'Flaherty household. Thomas O'Flaherty had married a woman the records describe as having most depraved tendencies. She engaged in an intrigue with Lonergan, and on the 28th of June 1778, O'Flaherty died under circumstances that led to Lonergan's arrest on a charge of poisoning. Mrs. O'Flaherty evaded arrest and escaped abroad. It was not until the Summer Assizes of Kilkenny in 1781 that Lonergan was arraigned for Petit Treason. The law treated the offence as more aggravated than ordinary murder, because he had been in the domestic service of the man he was alleged to have destroyed. He succeeded on certain legal grounds in postponing his trial, but the following term a writ of certiorari issued and the indictment was removed to the Court of King's Bench in Dublin. A trial at bar was held on the 12th of November 1781, the jury brought up from Kilkenny. Lonergan was convicted and sentenced to be hanged and quartered on the 24th of that month. At his conviction he declared himself innocent, but admitted he had bought arsenic at Mrs. O'Flaherty's request. She had told him it was for destroying rats. He did not deny the adulterous intrigue. The Reverend M'Kenna did not forget his former pupil. He visited Lonergan in prison, testified to his character in favourable terms at the trial, and after condemnation was assiduous in preparing him to meet his fate.

46. Rathfarnham carman convicted despite saving the magistrate's life

    Rathfarnham · townland · Dublin

    A Rathfarnham carman was convicted of drunkenness while driving, and Porter recognized him as the young man who had once saved his life from drowning in a quarry-hole at Kimmage. Porter cancelled his licence anyway to demonstrate impartial justice.

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    When I assumed, by an arrangement with my colleagues, the regulation of the public vehicles, and the disposal of complaints in the Carriage Court at the Head office, announced my inflexible determination to cancel the license of any driver who was proved to have been drunk while in charge of his vehicle on the public thoroughfare required the fullest proof of the offence, to whom I awarded the highest punishment. I am happy to say that such cases were by no means frequent, but there were some, and they generally occurred at funerals. A Rathfarnham carman was summoned before me and was convicted, not only on the clearest evidence, but by his own admission. He was about my own age, and I remembered that when I was about eighteen years old, I was one day swimming in a quarry-hole at Kimmage, where the water was at least twenty feet deep, and was suddenly seized with very severe cramps in my left leg. I kept myself afloat and shouted for help, but I was unable to make for the bank, when a young fellow who had been swimming, and was dressing himself, hastily threw off his clothes, plunged into the water, and pushed me before him to the side of the quarry. He saved my life, and I now beheld him in the person of the convicted carman. I related the circumstance from the magisterial bench, and then cancelled his licence, and remarked to those who were assembled, that when I treated the preserver of my life so strictly, others could not expect the slightest lenity at my hands if they transgressed in the same way. The poor fellow left the court in great dejection, and when my duties for the day were over, I dropped in to my friend Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of Police, and mentioned the circumstance to him. He said, "You cancelled his licence, but I can give him a new one, and he shall get it to-morrow." The licence was accordingly renewed, without causing me the slightest dissatisfaction.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 17

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, a carman from Rathfarnham was once summoned before the magistrate Porter in the Carriage Court, and convicted of being drunk while in charge of his vehicle. The evidence was clear and the man admitted it himself. Porter had announced that any driver proved drunk on the public thoroughfare would lose his licence, and he meant to keep that rule. But when he looked at the man standing before him, he recognized him. When Porter was about eighteen, he had been swimming in a quarry-hole at Kimmage, where the water was at least twenty feet deep, and was seized with severe cramps in his left leg. He kept himself afloat and shouted for help but could not reach the bank. A young fellow who had been swimming and was dressing himself threw off his clothes, plunged in, and pushed Porter to the side of the quarry. He saved his life, and that young fellow was now the convicted carman. Porter told the whole story from the bench. Then he cancelled the licence, and said that when he treated the preserver of his own life so strictly, others could not expect lenity if they transgressed the same way. The poor fellow left the court in great dejection. When his duties were over, Porter called on his friend Colonel Browne, the Commissioner of Police, and told him what had happened. Browne said, "You cancelled his licence, but I can give him a new one, and he shall get it tomorrow." And the licence was renewed, without causing Porter the slightest dissatisfaction.

47. Dismissal of the Sedition Charge Against the Printer

    Cook Street · street · Dublin · 1858

    Counsel John Adye Curran offered sureties and the surrender of the almanac stock, and Crown solicitor Mr. Kemmis accepted, leading the magistrate to dismiss the case 'without prejudice' while warning the printer he had escaped punishment only through the Crown's leniency.

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    Shortly after the affair between the collegians and the police, a complaint preferred by the Crown solicitor was brought under my personal cognizance, and subsequently became the subject of a lyric production, in which it was almost impossible to determine whether exaggeration or fiction predominated. There was a printer in Cook Street remarkable for bodily deformity and mental acerbity. His trade almost entirely consisted in the publication of ballads, which were bought by itinerant vocalists, who came each evening to replenish their stocks of amatory, political, or comic productions. In proportion to the number of customers who crowded his shop and contended for a speedy supply, the publisher varied and multiplied his maledictions, and most impartially cursed and abused them all alike. His habitual vituperations were disregarded or laughed at, and were generally ascribed to mental infirmity; but he embarked in a speculation which brought him under the serious notice of the authorities as being intolerably offensive. He published an almanac, the marginal notes and memoranda of which were replete with sedition, and in which the public functionaries were grossly stigmatised. It happened that the corporation had effected a contract with the proprietor of a quarry in Wales for the supply of stone of a quality considered best adapted for the repair of the streets of Dublin, and the day on which the contract had been accepted by the civic body was noted in the almanac as the date of an infamous preference of foreign production, and an exclusion of Irish industry and material through corrupt and debasing motives. This statement, however, constituted no portion whatever of the charges preferred before me, which consisted almost entirely of references to former attempts of a rebellious character, with expressions of deep regret for their failure, and hopes that the patriotic energies of the Irish nation would, in the next encounter prove more effective in crushing Saxon despotism than had been the efforts of the glorious Sarsfield, the noble Lord Edward, the martyred Emmett, or the more recent champions of Hibernian freedom--O'Brien, Meagher, and Mitchell. Colonel Browne was not even aware of the proceedings before me having been instituted; and Mr. Whiteside, the present Chief Justice, was never concerned in any case before me during my tenure of magisterial office. The printer of the almanac appeared on a summons to show cause why informations should not be taken against him, and returned for trial on numerous and deliberate seditious statements published by him. The late Mr. John Adye Curran appeared as his counsel, and proposed to give sureties for his client's appearance to meet the charges preferred, if the Crown solicitor deemed it necessary to continue the prosecution, offering also to give up all copies of the almanac remaining in stock, and to abandon its future publication. The Crown solicitor, Mr. Kemmis, at once acceded to this proposal, and, on the sureties having been produced, I allowed the accused party to leave, and entered in the summons-book that the complaint was "dismissed without prejudice." I did not manifest the slightest sympathy for the delinquent, but informed him that he owed his escape from severe punishment entirely to the lenity of the Crown solicitor, and not to any disinclination on my part to have him made seriously and severely responsible for his misconduct. In a few days he became the subject of a lyric panegyric, in which his prosecution was attributed to Colonel Browne and Mr. Whiteside, and the stoppage of the proceedings was ascribed _to me_ and to Mr. Curran; the course adopted by the latter gentleman being the only thread of truth interwoven in a web of fiction, and sung to an old Irish air, which I am not able to particularise. It has been entitled by an additional fiction--

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 86

    As the companion tells it

    Cook Street in Dublin was where a printer, remarkable for bodily deformity and mental acerbity, ran a trade publishing ballads for itinerant vocalists who came each evening for amatory, political, or comic songs. He cursed and abused his customers impartially, but this was generally laughed off as mental infirmity. In 1858 he published an almanac whose marginal notes were replete with sedition, and public functionaries were grossly stigmatised. The charges brought before the magistrate consisted of references to former rebellious attempts, expressions of regret for their failure, and hopes that Irish patriotic energies would prove more effective in crushing Saxon despotism than had the efforts of Sarsfield, Lord Edward, Emmett, O'Brien, Meagher, and Mitchell. Colonel Browne was not even aware the proceedings had been instituted, and Mr. Whiteside, the Chief Justice, was never concerned in any case before the magistrate. The printer appeared on a summons to show cause why informations should not be taken against him and he returned for trial. His counsel, John Adye Curran, proposed sureties for his client's appearance and offered to surrender all remaining copies of the almanac, abandoning its future publication. The Crown solicitor, Mr. Kemmis, acceded at once. The magistrate dismissed the complaint "without prejudice" but told the printer he owed his escape from severe punishment entirely to the Crown solicitor's leniency, not to any disinclination on the magistrate's part to have him made responsible for his misconduct. Within days a ballad appeared, attributing the prosecution to Colonel Browne and Mr. Whiteside, and the stoppage of proceedings to the magistrate and Mr. Curran. The only thread of truth was Curran's involvement. It was sung to an old Irish air and entitled by an additional fiction.

48. Fatal fight on Donnybrook bridge

    Donnybrook · parish · Dublin

    Porter recalls a violent brawl between coal-porters and other combatants on the bridge at Donnybrook, during which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall.

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    I have to notice an event which occurred in 1855, and was productive of most salutary results, not merely to the suburb in which it was effected, but to the entire city and county of Dublin; I mean the abolition or suppression of Donnybrook Fair. This excellent proceeding was effected at the instance and mainly by the exertions of Alderman Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin in the last-mentioned year. It would be almost impossible to describe the scenes of drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency that characterized an entire week in the month of August, every year whilst "The Brook" afforded its immoral attractions, causing our prisons to be immediately crowded with loose, disorderly, or dishonest characters, so as to resemble hospitals in a locality suddenly visited by an epidemic or contagious distemper. I do not believe that, for many years previous to its suppression, Donnybrook Fair was ever held without being the direct or indirect cause of a life or lives being lost. It lasted for a week; and the greatest intemperance and violence seemed to be specially displayed on the day known as "the Walking Sunday." I visited the fair on several occasions in my days of boyhood, and I can recollect some sad accidents in which lives were lost or limbs fractured by vehicles having been driven furiously by drunken "jarveys." I have seen the body of a female taken out of a mill-race close to the fair green, into which she had fallen in a state of intoxication. I witnessed a very furious encounter on the bridge between coal-porters and some other class of combatants, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall; but the worst experience that I had of Donnybrook was in 1820, when an amiable and most inoffensive young gentleman, named James Rogerson, was walking beside me through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening, and was struck in the head by a large stone thrown at another person. He was felled by the blow, and was raised in a state of insensibility. After he had revived a little, I took him in a covered car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died in a few days from the effects of the injury, and the perpetrator of the fatal assault was never made amenable for the offence. From the time when I attained the police magistracy in 1844 until 1855, I had to deal with an ample share of the charges and summonses arising from the annual nuisance of Donnybrook Fair; and I fully agreed with my colleagues in considering such duties as "moral scavenging;" and just as pedestrians might apologise for mud-covered feet or bespattered garments being unavoidable in filthy thoroughfares, so the delinquencies arising from the various evil excitements abundantly offered in the locality where they occurred, were almost invariably imputed to the offender having unfortunately gone to "The Brook." I must admit that in disposing of drunken or disorderly cases, I was often influenced by the consideration that when such an annual abomination was tolerated in a civilized community, it was a ground for slightly mitigating the punishments incurred by yielding to its abundant temptations.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 83

    As the companion tells it

    You are coming through Donnybrook, a parish the road passes through just south of the city. This was the home of Donnybrook Fair, suppressed in 1855 at the instance of Alderman Joseph Boyce, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin that year. For a week every August the fair brought drunkenness, violence, gambling, and gross indecency, crowding the prisons as if an epidemic had struck. The writer of these recollections did not believe that for many years before its suppression the fair was ever held without a life or lives being lost. He witnessed a furious encounter on the bridge between coal-porters and some other class of combatants, in which a man was thrown over the battlement and killed by the fall. He also saw the body of a female taken out of a mill-race close to the fair green, into which she had fallen in a state of intoxication. In his boyhood he recalls vehicles driven furiously by drunken jarveys, causing accidents in which limbs were fractured and lives lost. His worst experience was in 1820, when an amiable and inoffensive young gentleman named James Rogerson was walking beside him through the main street of the village, about eight o'clock in the evening. A large stone thrown at another person struck Rogerson in the head and felled him. After he revived a little, the writer took him in a covered car to his father's residence in William Street, where he died in a few days. The perpetrator was never made amenable. From 1844 to 1855 the writer dealt with charges and summonses arising from the fair, calling such work moral scavenging.

49. Fire at Sir Abraham Bradley King's house in Dame Street

    Dame Street · street · Dublin

    The house of Sir Abraham Bradley King in Dame Street burned on a Sunday morning, trapping a man in a top-floor room with no roof access. Henry Hanbidge, emerging from a neighbouring roof with a rope, heroically rescued him by carrying him along on a noose to safety.

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    In about ten years after the affair at the theatre, the house of Sir Abraham Bradley King in Dame Street was consumed by fire. The conflagration commenced in the lower part of the premises, in which there was a great quantity of stationery. The first and second floors were almost immediately in flames. The catastrophe occurred on a Sunday morning. No fire brigade was then organized, no fire escapes had been provided. A man was in the top front room, and he had no access to the roof. A fearful death appeared to be his inevitable fate, when another man emerged from the roof of a neighbouring house, carrying a rope of six or seven yards in length, at one end of which he had formed a running noose. He stood on the narrow parapet over the window, and let down the looped end to the poor fellow, whose only chance of escape depended on the sheer strength and steadiness of an individual. The rope was fastened round the waist of him whom the flames were fast approaching, and he was carried along by the intrepid fellow whose courage and humanity excited him to risk his own life to avert destruction from another, until the window of the adjoining house was reached, and the rescue was completed. This heroic act was accomplished by Henry Hanbidge.

    I had been ten or twelve years in office as a police magistrate, when I was applied to by a poor old fellow who was suffering acutely and completely debilitated by rheumatism, to sign a recommendation for his admission to Simpson's Hospital. The applicant was Henry Hanbidge. I most readily complied with his request, and told him that I would insert a few observations on his noble achievement at the fire in Dame Street. He expressed the deepest gratitude for my disposition to serve him. When I was giving him the document, I said, "Now, Hanbidge, might I ask you who threw the bottle?" He replied, "I did, your worship." I asked him "from what part of the house was it thrown?" "From the upper gallery, your worship. A friend and I had emptied the bottle, and I ran my stick into the neck, and shot it straight to the curtain off the stick." My predecessors had not thought of such a mode of projection.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 30

    As the companion tells it

    The house of Sir Abraham Bradley King in Dame Street was consumed by fire on a Sunday morning. The fire began in the lower part of the premises, where there was a great quantity of stationery. The first and second floors were almost immediately in flames. No fire brigade was then organized, no fire escapes had been provided. A man was in the top front room with no access to the roof. A fearful death appeared to be his inevitable fate, when another man emerged from the roof of a neighbouring house, carrying a rope of 6 or 7 yards with a running noose at one end. He stood on the narrow parapet over the window and let down the looped end to the trapped man, whose only chance of escape depended on the sheer strength and steadiness of one individual. The rope was fastened round the waist of him whom the flames were fast approaching. He was carried along by the intrepid fellow until the window of the adjoining house was reached and the rescue was completed. This heroic act was accomplished by Henry Hanbidge. Years later, the narrator, a police magistrate, was approached by a poor old man suffering acutely from rheumatism, seeking admission to Simpson's Hospital. The applicant was Henry Hanbidge. The narrator signed the recommendation and told him he would note his noble achievement at the fire in Dame Street. Hanbidge expressed the deepest gratitude. The narrator then asked him, "Now, Hanbidge, might I ask you who threw the bottle?" He replied, "I did, your worship." Asked from what part of the house it was thrown, he said, "From the upper gallery, your worship. A friend and I had emptied the bottle, and I ran my stick into the neck, and shot it straight to the curtain off the stick."

50. Mock naval battle at Kingstown used as cover for tobacco smuggling

    near Dún Laoghaire · town · Dublin · 1844

    During a mock nighttime naval attack staged by the Ajax at Kingstown in 1844, smugglers used the diversion to land tobacco cargoes near the eastern pier and on Dalkey Island, evading detection for days.

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    When the Ajax man-of-war was stationed at Kingstown, the officer in command frequently exercised his crew in warlike operations. In the year 1844, as well as I now recollect, he announced his intention to have a mimic attack made on the ship, by boats, at night. A vast number of persons assembled to behold a spectacle intrinsically grand and peculiarly novel to a Dublin public. The operations commenced about ten o'clock, and continued for upwards of an hour. Signals of alarm were displayed by numerous lights of various colours, and they were succeeded by tremendous discharges of artillery and musketry, above which the cheers of the supposed combatants were frequently audible. At length the assailants retired, and the Ajax remained intact and triumphant. The spectators were most enthusiastic in their applause of the bloodless conflict, which certainly was most deserving of public admiration. However, it afterwards transpired that during the sham battle in the harbour, some extraordinary operations were effected in the vicinity. A smuggling vessel landed a cargo of tobacco close to the Kingstown end of the eastern pier, but outside the harbour. The venture was completely successful, and several days elapsed before the revenue authorities received any intimation of such a daring proceeding. The cargo was conveyed away partly by rail, partly by road, and it was reported that almost the whole of it was transmitted to Limerick, but nothing tangible resulted from enquiries or searches. On the same night another cargo was landed on Dalkey Island, and hastily concealed amongst the rocks. It was supposed to have been brought by a consort of the craft which had made the other run. On the following day, a man, apparently of the seafaring class, gave information to the Customs that he knew where there was a large quantity of contraband tobacco concealed, and that he was willing, for the usual remuneration, which I believe was nearly half the value of the commodities, to conduct them to the place. He accordingly took them to Dalkey Island, where they found the tobacco. It was subsequently rumoured, and I believe the rumour was well-founded, that he was the master of the vessel from which it had been landed; and as one cargo had been successfully smuggled, and the vessels had got away in safety, the reward, incident to discovering the other cargo, was sufficient to pay the prime cost and expenses of the two ventures, and to realize a considerable profit on the whole transaction.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 31

    As the companion tells it

    Dún Laoghaire was Kingstown in 1844, and that year it staged a spectacle the Dublin public had never seen before. The Ajax, a man-of-war stationed in the harbour, was to face a mock nighttime attack by boats. A vast crowd gathered. About ten o'clock the operations began, and they ran for upwards of an hour. Coloured lights signalled alarm, then came tremendous discharges of artillery and musketry, with the cheers of the supposed combatants rising above it all. When the assailants retired, the Ajax stood intact and triumphant, and the spectators applauded enthusiastically. What no one knew was that the sham battle served as cover for something far more profitable. While the harbour blazed and thundered, a smuggling vessel landed a cargo of tobacco close to the Kingstown end of the eastern pier, outside the harbour. It was completely successful. Several days passed before the revenue authorities heard anything about it. The tobacco went partly by rail, partly by road, and was reportedly sent almost entirely to Limerick. Searches and enquiries turned up nothing tangible. That same night, another cargo landed on Dalkey Island, hastily hidden among the rocks, thought to have been brought by a consort of the first vessel. The following day, a man of the seafaring class came to the Customs and said he knew where a large quantity of contraband tobacco was concealed. For the usual reward, nearly half the value of the goods, he would lead them to it. He took them to Dalkey Island, and there they found the tobacco. It was later rumoured, and believed well-founded, that this man was himself the master of the vessel that had landed it. One cargo was already safely smuggled and the ships had escaped, so the reward for discovering the second was enough to cover the prime cost and expenses of both ventures and still leave a considerable profit.

51. Persistent begging scam on Kingstown's Forty-foot Road

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin · 1843

    A well-dressed beggar repeatedly told the same fabricated story about waiting for money from a Mr Herbert of Tivoli Terrace to solicit alms from the same gentleman on the Forty-foot Road at Kingstown, until he was arrested carrying over twenty pounds and a letter about farm rent.

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    Very soon after the occurence which I have mentioned, a gentleman who resided at Kingstown, arrived there by train between seven and eight o'clock, p.m. He was walking up the Forty-foot Road, when he was accosted by a man of humble but decent appearance, who kept by his side whilst addressing him. "I came out, sir," said this individual, "early in the day, on an appointment with Mr. Herbert, of Tivoli Terrace, as he promised to let me have a few pounds that he owes me; but I found that he had to start suddenly for Bray on some particular business, and he left word for me that he would be back about ten o'clock, so I have to wait: and I declare, sir, that I had only enough when I left home to get a return ticket, and I have not had a bit to eat since morning. Might I ask you for as much as would get me a crust of bread and a mug of milk." On reaching George's Street, the gentleman handed him a sixpence, and received the expression of an earnest prayer for his earthly prosperity and eternal happiness. On the following evening, the gentleman arrived at the same time, proceeded up the same road, and not being recognized, was accosted by the same person, who told the same tale, concluding with a wish for "the crust and mug of milk." A constable happened to be in view, and the hungry applicant was arrested and charged as a vagrant beggar. He had two ten-pound notes and three of five pounds, with eighteen shillings in silver and copper coin. The vagrant stated his name to be Richard Bryan, and a most extraordinary document was found on him. It was soiled and partly torn, but it was signed, "Your loving brother, John Bryan," was dated, "Borris, August 30th, 1843," and contained a suggestion which was fully acted on, and which I could not allow to escape my recollection. Here it is:--

    "We have got in the barley all right, and we are going at the oats to-morrow. I had to lend the horses to-day to Mr. Kimmis. I couldn't refuse, for you know he is a good warrant to obleege us when we want a turn. Nolan is bothering about the rent. He is very cross. You must see and make it out for him, _if you were even to beg for it_."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 16

    As the companion tells it

    Near here, on the Forty-foot Road at Kingstown, in 1843, a man of humble but decent appearance fell in beside a gentleman who had just arrived by train. It was between seven and eight in the evening. The man said he had come out early that day to meet Mr Herbert of Tivoli Terrace, who owed him a few pounds. Herbert had left suddenly for Bray, he said, and left word he would be back around ten. He said he had only enough for a return ticket when he left home and had eaten nothing since morning. He asked for enough to get a crust of bread and a mug of milk. At George's Street the gentleman handed him a sixpence and received an earnest prayer for his earthly prosperity and eternal happiness. The following evening the same gentleman arrived at the same time and walked the same road. The man did not recognise him and told the same tale, ending with the same request for the crust and mug of milk. A constable was in view, and the man was arrested and charged as a vagrant beggar. He had two ten-pound notes and three of five pounds, with eighteen shillings in silver and copper. He gave his name as Richard Bryan. A document was found on him, soiled and partly torn, signed "Your loving brother, John Bryan," and dated Borris, August 30th, 1843. It spoke of getting in the barley and going at the oats the next day, of lending horses to Mr Kimmis, and of a man named Nolan bothering about the rent. It ended with the line "if you were even to beg for it." That torn letter may have been the whole plan.

52. Bridget Laffan's two thousand committals and Grangegorman sentencing

    Grangegorman · parish · Dublin · 1841

    Bridget Laffan, a notorious repeat offender in Dublin, was said to have faced over two thousand committals for drunkenness, violence and abusive language since 1841; Porter sentenced her to two months' hard labour and she delivered a defiant self-justifying speech.

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    "It's an unrasonable thing to sind me to Grangegorman for six months, and to call me a pest and disgrace to the 'varsal world. If it wasn't for me and the likes of me, that gets a bit disorderly whin we have a drop, and kicks up ructions now and then, there ud be very little call for polis magistrates and polismen, or such varmint. It's creatures like me that's yer best friends, and keeps the bread in yer mouths, and all we get for it is jailing and impudence."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 27

    As the companion tells it

    You're coming through Grangegorman now, the Dublin parish where Bridget Laffan heard her sentence in 1841. She was a notorious repeat offender, said to have faced over 2,000 committals for drunkenness, violence and abusive language. Porter sentenced her to two months' hard labour, and she answered with a defiant speech. As the record has it, she said: 'It's an unreasonable thing to send me to Grangegorman... and to call me a pest and disgrace to the universal world.' She insisted that without people like her there would be little call for police magistrates and policemen.

53. Crackdown on Mendicancy During Queen Victoria's 1849 Visit

    Dublin · city · Dublin · 1849

    Ahead of Queen Victoria's visit to Dublin in 1849, large numbers of beggars flocked to the city, prompting police to deploy plain-clothes constables to suppress mendicancy. Many vagrants were committed for ten to fourteen days, and some believed the Queen herself had ordered their imprisonment.

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    In 1849, when it became known that Queen Victoria would visit Dublin, a great influx of the nobility and gentry was reasonably expected. The city became also very attractive to persons of a different and objectionable description. Great numbers of mendicants arrived, and the increase of beggars on our streets became most disagreeably apparent. The Commissioners of Police immediately told off constables in plain clothes on the special duty of repressing the nuisance, and so vigilant and active were they, that our thoroughfares were less infested by beggars during the Royal visit than I ever knew them to be at any other period. The committals were generally for ten or fourteen days; and many of the vagrants were by no means slow in attributing their confinement to special orders from the Queen herself to have the beggars locked up while she was in Dublin. A woman, who was committed by me for a fortnight on a conviction for mendicancy, exclaimed, as she was leaving the police-court, "Mr. Porter is sending us to jail in hopes of getting himself made Sir Frank."

    During the Queen's progress through the city on the 6th of August, the whole line of the procession was densely crowded, the windows were occupied, and banners, emblematic of respect and welcome, abundantly displayed; and she was universally hailed with enthusiastic shouts of applause. In the evening there was a general and most brilliant illumination. The whole day passed without the slightest tumult or accident, until about eleven o'clock at night, when the vast crowds were dispersed by the heaviest rain that I ever witnessed in Ireland. The shower lasted about an hour. During the succeeding four days, Her Majesty visited the principal public institutions, and held a levee in Dublin Castle, the most numerous and influential that had ever been assembled there, and a drawing-room which exhibited an unprecedented display of rank, fashion, and beauty. On the 10th of August, she embarked at Kingstown, amidst the acclamations of assembled thousands, and sailed for England. She afforded signal acknowledgments of her appreciation of the reception she had experienced from her Irish subjects, for on leaving the pier at Kingstown, she ordered the Royal standard to be lowered and raised again on board the Royal yacht, a mark of honor never before employed except for a Royal personage. In a short time after her visit of 1849, she created her eldest son Earl of Dublin.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 53

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Dublin, this is the city Queen Victoria visited in 1849. When word spread that she was coming, great numbers of beggars flooded in alongside the expected nobility and gentry. The Commissioners of Police put plain-clothes constables on the streets to suppress the begging, and committals ran ten to fourteen days. Many of the vagrants blamed the Queen herself, believing she had ordered them locked up for the duration of her stay. One woman, sentenced to a fortnight, declared that the magistrate was sending them to jail in hopes of getting himself made Sir Frank. On the 6th of August the Queen's procession through the city drew dense crowds, filled windows, banners, and enthusiastic applause. The evening brought a brilliant illumination. All passed without tumult until about eleven at night, when the heaviest rain the writer had ever witnessed in Ireland dispersed the crowds in about an hour. Over the next four days she visited the principal public institutions, held the most numerous levee ever assembled at Dublin Castle, and held a drawing-room of unprecedented rank and fashion. On the 10th of August she embarked at Kingstown to the acclamation of thousands and sailed for England. As she left the pier she ordered the Royal standard lowered and raised again aboard the Royal yacht, a mark of honor never before used except for a Royal personage. After the visit she created her eldest son Earl of Dublin.

54. Dublin's crime-associated street names criticized as defamatory

    Dublin · city · Dublin

    The author criticizes Dublin's official directory for retaining street names such as Cow-Parlour, Pigtown, Cheater's Lane, Stoneybatter, Cutthroat Lane, and Murdering Lane, arguing they unfairly imply the city harbours vulgarity and violent crime.

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    It would seem specially reserved for Dublin, my native city, to record by public inscriptions, and to insert in the list of our metropolitan thoroughfares, that within the municipal precincts there may be found a COW-PARLOUR, a PIGTOWN, a CHEATER'S LANE, a STONEYBATTER, a CUTTHROAT LANE, and a MURDERING LANE. It may be said that these places are mostly of small dimensions, but they appear in Thom's Official Directory in the same type, and fully as conspicuous to the eye of a stranger as the most populous and important of our streets or squares. Within my memory Skinner Row has been metamorphosed into Christchurch Place, Dirty Lane has become Bridgefoot Street, half of Exchequer Street has been converted into Wicklow street, and French Street has been elevated into Upper Mercer Street. Surely the same authority that effected such alterations ought to substitute other names for those which cannot be retained without continuing to impute to our city that it contains places specially appropriated to low, vulgar, dishonest, and sanguinary practices. During my tenure of magisterial office I found the city of Dublin capable of very favorable comparison with any other place of similar extent and population; and I consider the names to which I have referred most unjustifiably false and defamatory. The designation of one of our bridges has lately been changed, and it is to be henceforth made conducive to the memory of Grattan. The motives of those who proposed such an alteration were undoubtedly patriotic and praiseworthy; but identifying the truly illustrious orator and statesman with a bridge across the Liffey, will not, in the present state of the river, tend to keep his name in _good odour_.

    Since my return home I have lived in such retirement and quietude that I cannot refer to any incident worthy of insertion in these pages. In concluding these "Recollections," I have to assure my readers that I have sedulously endeavoured to minister to their information or amusement. If I have succeeded, their approval will impart great happiness to the closing years of my life; and having done my utmost, I trust that they will accord me a favorable criticism, for which I shall be deeply grateful.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 121

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Dublin, you are in a city an old police magistrate once defended against its own street names. He listed names still appearing in Thom's Official Directory in his time: Cow-Parlour, Pigtown, Cheater's Lane, Stoneybatter, Cutthroat Lane, and Murdering Lane. His complaint was that a stranger reading the directory would see these names printed as prominently as the grandest streets and squares, and conclude that Dublin was a place given over to what he called "low, vulgar, dishonest, and sanguinary practices." He had served as a magistrate, and from that experience he found Dublin compared favourably with any city of similar size and population. The names, he said, were unjustifiably false and defamatory. He pointed out that the same authority had already renamed Skinner Row as Christchurch Place, Dirty Lane as Bridgefoot Street, half of Exchequer Street as Wicklow Street, and French Street as Upper Mercer Street. Surely, he argued, it could substitute names for the ones that still imputed crime and vulgarity to the city. He noted that one of the bridges across the Liffey had lately been renamed for Grattan, a patriotic gesture he praised, though he added that associating the great orator with the river, in its present state, might not keep his name in good odour.

55. Flood the Tailor-Highwayman Caught Near Merrion Churchyard

    Merrion · townland · Dublin

    The dissipated tailor and champion racket-player Flood, who had been robbing travellers on the roads outside Dublin, was finally apprehended near Merrion churchyard while attempting a highway robbery on the Rock-road, and was tried and sentenced to death.

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    "Murder! murder!" exclaimed the marker, "your Grace must lose. Flood can't play your match, _he is to be hung on Saturday_. He played rackets well, but he played some queer tricks, too. He used to go looking for watches and purses on the roads outside Dublin, and he was caught at last, just near Merrion churchyard. Baron George tried him, and he was found guilty. The judge told him to expect no mercy, so he is to die at Newgate on Saturday."

    "'Tis a d----d business," said his Excellency.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 13

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here, near Merrion churchyard, a man called Flood was caught at last. He was a tailor by trade and a fine racket-player, but he had a habit of going out on the roads outside Dublin looking for watches and purses. Baron George tried him, found him guilty, and told him to expect no mercy. He was sentenced to die at Newgate on the Saturday.

56. The Mysterious Death of a Cat in a Kingstown Hotel Garden

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin

    Near the Kingstown police-court, a hotel proprietor who had received threatening letters found his cat shot dead in his garden and feared it presaged an attack on himself. In fact the magistrate himself had accidentally shot the cat while testing a confiscated air-gun.

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    A friend to whose inspection I submitted the preceding pages suggested that as they detailed many mistakes and peccadillos of others, a reader might consider it an agreeable variety if I inserted a couple of errors peculiarly mine own. In accordance with his opinion I have to mention that shortly after I assumed magisterial duties at Kingstown, the proprietor of an extensive hotel in the immediate vicinity of the police-court received several letters threatening speedy and fatal violence to him and his family, unless certain demands on the part of his waiters, postillions, and carters, were complied with. He was justly incensed and alarmed at such threats, and submitted the obnoxious documents to the consideration of the authorities and to the detective agencies of the police force. His garden wall was close to the yard of the police-court, between which and the sea no building at that time intervened. It happened that an official, connected with the fiscal business of the county of Meath, had embezzled a considerable sum and attempted to abscond, but was captured on shipboard at Kingstown, and committed for further examination. The delinquent had provided himself with a most ample outfit for emigration and residence abroad; and the articles found in his possession were deposited in a room adjoining the police-court and overlooking the hotel garden. Amongst them was a rifled air-gun of great power, and after the business of the court had been disposed of, I was, along with the chief clerk, Mr. Lees, indulging my curiosity by pumping and discharging the weapon. There was a bag of small bullets, of which we directed two or three at the wall of the yard. An unfortunate cat chanced to make her appearance in the hotel garden at a distance of fifty or sixty yards, and exclaiming that "I would give puss a start," I sent a bullet in her direction, without the slightest expectation that the shot would be fatal. The cat fell dead on the garden walk; we closed the window, locked up the gun and bullets, and departed. Next morning, I was about to commence the charge-sheets, when the proprietor of the hotel applied most earnestly for a private interview. He was greatly agitated, and declared that he felt convinced of his life being in danger from those who threatened to assassinate him. "Your worship," he added, "they are manifestly bent on mischief, for our poor cat was found dead in the garden, and on examination she was found to have been shot. The fellow who killed her, did so only to show that I might expect the same treatment if an opportunity offered for shooting me." The poor man little knew that the weapon which inflicted the injury was in the apartment where he was expressing his direful apprehensions, and that he was seeking the sympathies and protection of him who had done the mischief. I took means, through a particular channel, to disabuse his mind of the feeling that the cat's fate was intended to precede a similar termination to his own existence.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 37

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere around here in Kingstown, a hotel proprietor near the police-court had been receiving threatening letters. His waiters, postillions, and carters demanded certain things, and the letters promised fatal violence to him and his family if the demands were not met. He gave the letters to the police and their detective agencies. His garden wall stood close to the yard of the police-court, with no building between it and the sea. Confiscated property was sometimes stored in a room adjoining the court, overlooking that garden. One such case involved an official from the county of Meath who had embezzled a considerable sum and tried to flee by ship from Kingstown, but was captured on board. His effects were deposited in that room, and among them was a powerful rifled air-gun. After court business was done, the magistrate and the chief clerk, Mr. Lees, were firing the weapon at the wall of the yard. A cat appeared in the hotel garden, fifty or sixty yards off. The magistrate declared, "I would give puss a start," and sent a bullet toward her, never expecting it would kill her. The cat fell dead on the garden walk. They closed the window, locked up the gun and bullets, and left. Next morning the hotel proprietor came seeking a private interview, greatly agitated. He told the magistrate his life was in danger. "Your worship," he said, "they are manifestly bent on mischief, for our poor cat was found dead in the garden, and on examination she was found to have been shot. The fellow who killed her, did so only to show that I might expect the same treatment if an opportunity offered for shooting me." He had no idea the gun was in the very room where he stood, or that he was asking protection from the man who had done it. The magistrate quietly took steps through a particular channel to set his mind at rest about the cat's fate.

57. A Condemned Forger's Verse on His Cell Door at Newgate

    Green Street · street · Dublin

    A prisoner condemned for forging Bank of Ireland notes pencilled a penitential poem on the door of his condemned cell in Newgate prison shortly before his execution, nearly sixty years before the author's writing.

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    "Unhappy wretch, whom Justice calls To bide your doom within these walls, Know that to thee this gloomy cell May prove, perhaps, the porch of Hell. Thy crimes contest, thy sins forgiven, Mysterious change! it leads to heaven."

    It is to be hoped that the soul of the poor prisoner experienced the "mysterious change" which his untimely fate led him so fully to appreciate.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 12

    As the companion tells it

    This is Newgate prison on Green Street, Dublin. A prisoner condemned for forging Bank of Ireland notes pencilled a verse on his condemned cell door before execution, nearly sixty years before the author's writing. The poem called the cell perhaps the porch of Hell, but if sins were forgiven, a mysterious change leads to heaven. The author hoped the prisoner's soul experienced that change.

58. Boy flogged for stealing a dummy tea parcel in Parliament Street

    Parliament Street · street · Dublin

    A detective observed a boy steal a package of 'finest tea' from a shop display in Parliament Street; the boy was whipped and given the parcel, which he then discovered was actually filled with sawdust, provoking his fury.

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    One day there were a number of packages lying in a heap on the floor of a shop in Parliament Street, and rather near the entrance. A label upon each stated the contents to be three pounds of tea, of the finest quality, offered by the proprietor of "The Golden Teapot" to his respected customers, at the unprecedented low price of seven shillings. The parcels were covered with bright tin-foil, and had on each end a large seal in red wax. A detective passing at the opposite side of the street observed a boy stoop forward, just inside the door, and possess himself of one of the packages of "splendid tea." The young thief was seized at once, and brought before me, in about five minutes after he had stolen the article. I ordered him to be taken down stairs, to have six lashes administered, and to be discharged. I then directed the office messenger to run over to the establishment, and tell them to send some person to claim the property. On his return he said that the people were making fun of him, and laughing at the result of the young thief's attempt. I then raised one of the seals slightly with an office knife, and found that the parcel was a _dummy_, made up for show, and that the contents were sawdust. I told the messenger, when I had closed the seal with another touch of wax, to take it down and give it to the delinquent on his departure, as the owners had not claimed the property. The whipping was just over, and the sufferer issued forth, having under his arm the cause of his punishment, and for which it was to become his consolation. I was standing at the window, and just as he passed the external rails, he stopped suddenly, and proceeded to examine the package. Instantly he tore the cover, and flung up the contents. The pain of the flogging seemed to return with augmented force, and he screamed forth the most vituperative comments on my decision. "It wasn't tay at all. I was beat for sawdust, and there's no law for that. I'll get a letter wrote to the Lord Leftennant, you owld rascal, and he'll larn you the differ between sawdust and tay." Inspector O'Connor told me that the case was very fully discussed amongst the young thieves, and that the general conclusion was, "not to be too ready to steal parcels out of shops, without knowing what was inside of them."

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 22

    As the companion tells it

    A detective watching a shop in Parliament Street saw a boy stoop forward just inside the door and take one of the packages lying on the floor near the entrance. The parcels were covered in bright tin-foil, sealed at each end with red wax, and labelled as 3 pounds of the finest tea from "The Golden Teapot," priced at 7 shillings. The boy was seized at once and brought before the magistrate within 5 minutes. The magistrate ordered him taken downstairs, given 6 lashes, and discharged. He then sent the office messenger to the shop to tell them to send someone to claim the property. The messenger returned saying the people at the shop were laughing at him. The magistrate raised one of the seals with an office knife and found the parcel was a dummy, made up for show, filled with sawdust. He closed the seal with a touch of wax and told the messenger to give it to the boy on his departure, since the owners had not claimed it. The whipping was over. The boy came out with the parcel under his arm. The magistrate was standing at the window. The boy stopped at the external rails and examined the package, tore the cover, and flung up the contents. The pain of the flogging seemed to return with augmented force, and he screamed, "It wasn't tay at all. I was beat for sawdust, and there's no law for that. I'll get a letter wrote to the Lord Leftennant, you owld rascal, and he'll larn you the differ between sawdust and tay." Inspector O'Connor told the magistrate the case was fully discussed among the young thieves, and the general conclusion was not to be too ready to steal parcels out of shops without knowing what was inside them.

59. Catherine Gaffney's pickpocketing at a Kingstown place of worship

    Kingstown · townland · Dublin · 1855

    The girl who had incited the mob attacks was later caught picking a pocket in a Kingstown place of worship and committed for trial, receiving seven years; a savings bank book showing £37 credited to her was found in her lodgings.

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    The fines and costs were almost immediately paid, and I believe they were defrayed by a subscription. On the newsboy's case being resumed, he declined all further prosecution, and declared that he had been sufficiently remunerated. The girl who had incited the attacks was detected in the act of picking a pocket in a place of worship at Kingstown, about a fortnight after the occurrence which I have detailed. She was not brought before me, but having been committed for trial by Mr. Wyse, her delinquencies procured her "a complete retirement from business" for seven years. She was not an un-thrifty thief, for it appeared at her trial that a savings' bank book was found on searching her lodgings, in which £37 were entered to her credit. It occurs to me that the name of this culprit was Catherine Gaffney. Dishonesty is very seldom associated with frugality. I have heard, during my magisterial experience, of only two instances of the union of such tendencies. I have already mentioned one. The other was a man named John Donohoe, a shop porter in the employment of the late Alderman Butler, in Christ Church Place. He was convicted, in February, 1853, of five distinct larcenies on his master's premises; and whilst he was robbing on every possible opportunity, he had £64 in a savings' bank.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 73

    As the companion tells it

    Close to Kingstown, in a place of worship, a woman named Catherine Gaffney was caught picking a pocket in 1855. She was the same girl who had incited mob attacks about a fortnight before. The newsboy she had attacked declined further prosecution, saying he had been sufficiently remunerated, and the fines and costs were paid by subscription. About two weeks later, Gaffney was detected in the act of picking a pocket in a place of worship. She was not brought before the magistrate who tells this story, but was committed for trial by Mr. Wyse. Her crimes earned her seven years, what the book calls "a complete retirement from business." She was not an unthrifty thief. At her trial, it came out that a savings bank book had been found in her lodgings, showing £37 entered to her credit. The magistrate remarks that dishonesty is very seldom associated with frugality. He had heard of only two such cases in all his experience. The other was a man named John Donohoe, a shop porter employed by the late Alderman Butler in Christ Church Place. Donohoe was convicted in February 1853 of five distinct larcenies on his master's premises, and while robbing at every opportunity, he had £64 in a savings bank.

60. Corporal Alliard's trial for murder in a Thomas Street cellar

    Thomas Street · street · Dublin · 1818

    In 1818, a corporal named Alliard was indicted for the murder of a woman named Flood in a cellar on Thomas Street but was acquitted at trial.

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    The regular military establishments in our district produced very few cases for decision by the civil authorities. I am not able to state the exact strength of the Dublin garrison, but I believe that it is the largest in the United Kingdom, and that the seven barracks never contain less than five thousand men of all ranks and arms. Since the commencement of the present century, this city has had quartered within its limits or immediate suburbs every regular regiment in the service, and large bodies of militia. In 1813, a private dragoon named Tuite deserted, and on a Sunday morning stopped a gentleman named Goulding on South Circular Road, near Portobello, for the purpose of robbing him. The offence had a fatal conclusion, for Goulding was shot through the heart, and the murderer was apprehended and executed. After his conviction he acknowledged his guilt, but declared that he intended only to rob, and that the discharge of the pistol was occasioned by his trepidation. In 1818, a corporal named Alliard was indicted for murdering a woman named Flood, in a cellar in Thomas Street, and he was acquitted. These two cases constituted all the capital charges preferred against soldiers before civil tribunals in our district from 1800 to the present time. During my magistrature of upwards of twenty years' duration, I had to send two private soldiers for trial on a charge of passing base coin, and one of them was convicted. I had no cognizance or knowledge of offences purely military as to their nature or number. Whenever a soldier was found on a public thoroughfare in a state of intoxication, he was taken by the police, and when sober, sent by magisterial order to the officer commanding at his quarters; but the number of such captures was very inconsiderable. Indeed if the entire population of the district had been strictly similar to the military in their habits and conduct, my office would have been almost a sinecure.

    Project Gutenberg #55668, Chapter 80

    As the companion tells it

    Thomas Street in Dublin was the scene of a murder trial in 1818. A corporal named Alliard was indicted for killing a woman named Flood in a cellar on Thomas Street, and at trial he was acquitted. Dublin had the largest garrison in the United Kingdom. Seven barracks never held fewer than 5,000 men of all ranks and arms, and since the start of the century every regular regiment in the service, with large bodies of militia, had been quartered in the city or its immediate suburbs. Yet the regular military produced very few cases for the civil courts. From 1800 to the time of writing, only two capital charges were preferred against soldiers before civil tribunals in the district. One was in 1813. A private dragoon named Tuite deserted, and on a Sunday morning stopped a gentleman named Goulding on South Circular Road, near Portobello, to rob him. Goulding was shot through the heart. Tuite was apprehended and executed. After his conviction he acknowledged his guilt but said he intended only to rob, and that the discharge of the pistol was occasioned by his trepidation. The other was Alliard's. A woman named Flood was dead in a cellar on Thomas Street, and a corporal stood accused of her murder. He was acquitted. Those two cases were all the capital charges against soldiers in the district from 1800 onward.