Kitabı oku: «Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 1 (of 3)», sayfa 9

Judge Bradstreet, who tried the prisoners, held it to be clearly murder by law. A verdict of even manslaughter must (he contended) be returned by a forced or rather false construction; – but acquit him (Gillespie) generally, the jury could not.

The prosecution was not followed up against M‘Kenzie, whose conduct throughout had been that of an officer and a gentleman, and who had likewise desired reconciliation. Of course he was acquitted.

The jury had much difficulty in making up their verdict. Some of them, being men of considerable reputation, hesitated long. They could not acquit; they would not convict; – and hence a course was taken which corresponded neither with the law nor the evidence. A verdict of “justifiable homicide” was returned, in consequence of which Capt. Gillespie was discharged on his recognizance to appear in the court of King’s Bench the ensuing term, and plead his Majesty’s pardon.

Thus was compromised the justice of the country. Thus commenced the brilliant career of that general whom the munificence of the British nation has immortalised by a monument amongst her heroes! – Thus did the blood of one of the finest youths of Ireland first whet Gillespie’s appetite for that course of glorious butchery to which he owed his subsequent elevation. But conscience is retributive, and Heaven is just. I hear that he was never happy after: – intrepid to excess, he often tempted fate; and his restless and remorseless existence was at length terminated by a Gentoo in India.

The circumstances attending General Gillespie’s death are remarkable, and manifest, in my opinion, desperation rather than real bravery. He had, contrary to instructions, attempted to storm: – his fire was inadequate – his troops repulsed: – new attempts were made, but again unsuccessfully, numerous brave men being sacrificed to no purpose. Still the general persisted; – even the guard was taken from the paymaster, who had treasure under his care. – Gillespie was aware that he had disobeyed instructions, and was determined to succeed or perish in the attempt. He damned the paymaster, who remonstrated against being left unprotected – looked for a moment at the storming party through his glass, – and seeing his men falling fast, he drew his sword, called upon every soldier to follow him, and in five minutes received several balls, which ended his cares and existence. Requiescat in pace!– but never will I set my foot in Westminster Abbey.

Scarcely was the melancholy trial referred to over, when the case was succeeded by another almost in the opposite extreme – altogether too ludicrous, indeed, to form the termination of so serious a business, but at the same time too extraordinary and too public to be omitted. It was certainly, in its way, as unparalleled an affair as that which gave rise to it.

On the evening of the trial, my second brother, Henry French Barrington, – a gentleman of considerable estate, and whose perfect good temper, but intrepid and irresistible impetuosity when assailed, were well known – the latter quality having been severely felt in the county before, – came to me. He was, in fact, a complete country gentleman, utterly ignorant of the law, its terms and proceedings; and as I was the first of my family who had ever followed any profession (the army excepted), my opinion, so soon as I became a counsellor, was considered by him as oracular: indeed, questions far beyond mine, and sometimes beyond the power of any person existing, to solve, were frequently submitted for my decision by our neighbours in the country.

Having called me aside out of the bar-room, my brother seemed greatly agitated, and informed me that a friend of ours, who had seen the jury-list, declared that it had been decidedly packed! – concluding his appeal by asking me what he ought to do? I told him, we should have “challenged the array.” – “That was my own opinion, Jonah,” said he, “and I will do it now!” adding an oath, and expressing a degree of animation which I could not account for. I apprised him that it was now too late, as it should have been done before the trial.

He said no more, but departed instantly, and I did not think again upon the subject. An hour after, however, my brother sent in a second request to see me. I found him, to all appearance, quite cool and tranquil. “I have done it, by G-d! – (cried he, exultingly) – ’twas better late than never!” and immediately he produced from his coat-pocket a long queue and a handful of powdered hair and curls. “See here!” continued he, “the cowardly rascal!”

“Heavens!” cried I, “French, are you mad?”

“Mad!” replied he, “no, no! I followed your own advice exactly. I went directly after I left you to the grand-jury room to ‘challenge the array,’ and there I challenged the head of the array, that cowardly Lyons! – He peremptorily refused to fight me; so I knocked him down before the grand-jury, and cut off his curls and tail! – See, here they are, – the rascal! and my brother Jack is gone to flog the sub-sheriff!”

I was thunderstruck, and almost thought my brother was crazy, since he was obviously not in liquor at all. But after some inquiry, I found that, like many other country gentlemen, he took words in their commonest acceptation. He had seen the high sheriff coming in with a great “array,” and had thus conceived my suggestion as to challenging the array was literal; and accordingly, repairing to the grand-jury dining-room, had called the high sheriff aside, told him he had omitted challenging him before the trial, as he ought to have done according to advice of counsel; but that it was better late than never, and that he must immediately come out and fight him. Mr. Lyons conceiving my brother to be intoxicated, drew back, and refused the invitation in a most peremptory manner. French then collared him, tripped up his heels, and putting his foot on his breast, cut off his side-curls and queue with a carving-knife which an old waiter named Spedding (who had been my father’s butler, and liked the thing,) had readily brought him from the dinner-table. Having secured his spoils, my brother immediately came off in triumph to relate to me his achievement.

Mr. Lyons was a remarkably fine, handsome man; and, having lived very much abroad, was by no means acquainted with the humours of Irish country gentlemen, with whom he had associated but little, and by whom he was not at all liked; and this his first reception must have rather surprised him.

Mr. Flood, one of the grand-jury, afterward informed me, that no human gravity could possibly withstand the astonishment and ludicrous figure of the mutilated high sheriff; the laugh, consequently, was both loud and long. Nobody chose to interfere in the concern; and as Mr. Lyons had sustained no bodily injury, he received very little condolement amongst the country gentlemen, and immediately withdrew.

My situation in this curious dénouement was truly to be commiserated, since I should be considered as the adviser of my brother; and I therefore determined to consult Mr. Downs, (Gillespie’s counsel) as to what was best to be done in the matter.

Mr. (afterward Lord) Downs, always proud, icy, and decorous, seemed to think my brother’s case irremediable, and that a couple of years’ imprisonment and a heavy fine, at least, must be the necessary result of such a trimming of a high sheriff in the face of a county – advising French, at the same time, to fly and make terms if possible. “Fly!” said French Barrington, when I informed him of the suggestion; “no, no! tell Counsellor Thingumbob to go to the ball to-night, and he’ll see more of the matter.” In fact, my brother went to the ball-room when it was crowded, and having tied the sheriff’s curls and queue to a lamp which hung in the centre of the room, got upon a form, and made a loud proclamation of the whole transaction from first to last. A sort of sympathetic feeling caught the young men in the room, many of whom were my brother’s companions: they immediately led out their partners, and formed a circle-dance (as about a May-pole) around the sheriff’s spoils, which were sticking to the lamp. The remonstrances of mothers, and other discreet efforts, were totally vain: – the girls liked the fun, and a succession of different sets did honour in turn to Mr. Lyons’ late queue and curls. A club was subsequently proposed, to be called the Curl Club, and to be held every summer assize; and this was for several years kept up.

The ensuing morning my brother dressed up the bridle of his hunter with the curls and queue, newly powdered by Mr. Robert Casey; and having paraded the streets for a considerable time (avoiding the judge’s residence), he rode home; and was never called to account or molested on the subject in any way whatsoever.

Mr. Lyons left the country almost immediately, went back to the Continent, and never after, at least to my knowledge, returned.

The matter, however, having been justly represented in a serious light to the judge, he sent for me, and I related the entire truth. He had been much dissatisfied with the verdict, and had received strong hints as to the arrangement of the jury: he could not restrain a smile, but said he must, if required, give permission to a magistrate to take examinations against Mr. Barrington. He, however, declined all personal interference on circuit; desiring Mr. Lyons to apply to the King’s Bench, where no doubt he would be duly attended to, according to the merits of the case. But no examinations whatever were taken; nor was any application made to the King’s Bench. It could not have been made without involving the question as to the way in which the jury was constituted; and since that matter would not bear sifting, the circumstances were suffered to remain without further investigation.

ENTRANCE INTO PARLIAMENT

My first entrance into the Irish House of Commons – Dinner at Sir John Parnell’s – Commencement of my intimacy with public men of celebrity – Maiden speech – I attack Grattan and Curran – Suicide of Mr. Thoroton – Lord De Blacquiere – His character.

The day on which I first took my seat in the Irish Parliament for the city of Tuam I still reflect on as one of the most gratifying of my life. The circumstance, abstractedly, was but of secondary consideration; but its occurrence brought back to my mind the events of past ages, and the high respectability of the race from which I sprang. My imagination was excited, and led me almost to fancy that I could see my forefathers ranged upon those seats which they had so long and so honourably occupied in the senate of their country, welcoming their descendant to that post which had not for a few years past been filled by any member of the family. In fact, the purer part of my ambition was hereby gratified. I felt myself an entirely independent representative of an equally independent nation – as a man assuming his proper station in society, not acquiring a new one.

I confess I always had, and still continue to have, and to nourish, the pride which arises from having been born a gentleman. I am aware that wealth, and commerce, and perhaps talent, have, in modern times, occasioned family pride to be classed in the rank of follies; but I feel it, nevertheless, most strongly: – and if it be even a crime, I am culpable; if a folly, I submit to be regarded as imbecile. The sensations I experienced were indeed altogether delightful upon finding myself seated under that grand and solemn dome: – I looked around me, and saw the most dignified men of that day, – the ablest orators of Europe, – many of the best-bred courtiers, and some of the most unsophisticated patriots in the empire! These, including a few friends and intimates of my family, were mingled, here and there, in amicable groups, and by turns kindly encouraged a young barrister, of only two years’ practice, without patronage or party, as a fair independent aspirant to rank and eminence.³⁵

I was greatly moved and excited: but it was not excitement of an ephemeral or feverish character; on the contrary, my emotions had their source in a tranquil, deep-seated, perhaps proud, satisfaction, impossible to be clearly described, and almost impossible to be felt by any but such as might be placed in circumstances precisely similar.

There were some members present, I have already said, with whom I was personally acquainted. My friend, Sir John Parnell – partly, I am sure, on my account, and partly, no doubt, with a view to the service of government, lost no time in introducing me to many of his own particular friends.

I dined with him on that day: he was then chancellor of the exchequer. The entire party I do not recollect; but I remember perfectly those individuals of it with whom I subsequently cultivated acquaintance. Among them were Major Hobart (since Lord Buckinghamshire), Isaac Corry, Sir John (since Lord) De Blacquiere, Robert Thoroton, Marcus Beresford (Lord Clare’s nephew), the present Lord Oriel (then Speaker), Thomas Burgh, of Bert, Sir Hercules Langreish, and James Cuffe (since Lord Tyrawley). The scene was new to me: – hitherto, my society in Dublin had naturally fallen among the members of my own profession; we were all barristers, and I felt myself but a barrister: and though certainly we formed at that time the second-best society in Ireland, it was inferior to that of which I had now become a member. I found myself, in fact, associated as an equal with a circle of legislators whose good-breeding, wit, and conviviality were mingled with political and general information. I was in my element: – the first steps of the ladder were mounted; and as meanwhile Sir John’s champaign was excellent, and quickly passed round, my spirits rose to a pitch far higher than in the morning, and any talent for conversation or anecdote which I might possess involuntarily coming out, Sir John Parnell, shaking his fat sides with laughter, according to his usual custom, said to me, before we broke up, “Barrington, you’ll do!” upon which, Sir Hercules Langreish, who had very much the tone of a Methodist preacher, yet was one of the wittiest men in Ireland, immediately said, – “No: we must have another trial;” and a day was fixed to dine with him.

My acquaintance soon augmented to a degree almost inconvenient. My friendship I limited to such men as I held to possess congeniality of sentiment; and before any long time had elapsed, I was not only the frequent guest of many of the distinguished characters of Ireland, but was considered as an early and favoured candidate for any professional promotion which the shortness of my standing at the bar would admit of.

Reflecting, soon after I had taken my seat, on the novel nature of my situation, I felt that it was beset by considerable difficulties. I allude to the decision necessary for me to come to with respect to the line of politics I meant to pursue. I was not a new man, by whom any course might be taken, without exciting comment or question. On the contrary, I was of an old family, the importance and influence of which I was desirous to revive in that house, and hence it became requisite that I should weigh my actions well, and avoid precipitancy.

Political parties at that time ran high, though but little individual hostility existed. Grattan, the two Ponsonbys, Curran, Brownlow, Forbes, Bowes, Daly, Connolly, Arthur Brown, and numerous other most respectable personages were then linked together in a phalanx of opposition which, under the name of Whiggery, not only assailed the government upon every feasible occasion, but was always proposing measures which, under the then existing system, were utterly inadmissible. The opposition had the advantage in point of ability, and, therefore, nothing but supreme talent had any chance, among them, of rendering its possessor useful or valued. Though my nature was patriotic, I ever respected the aristocracy, which, while the democracy exhibits a people’s general character and energy, tends to embellish the state, and to give it an imposing grandeur.

The supporters of the Irish government, as I have said, were certainly inferior, except in patronage and power, to the opposition by which they were assailed. But they lived socially: there was a sort of convivial union among them, which, whether in high or low life, is, of all other ties, for awhile most binding upon my countrymen. It was therefore rather inconsistent in Lord Clare to give offence, as he did, to many of the most respectable gentlemen of Ireland by calling the Whigs an “eating and drinking club,”³⁶ since the sarcasm might, at least with equal justice, have been retorted on the supporters of His Majesty’s government. All the great constitutional questions were, in 1790, supposed to have been arranged. Still the opposition sought a more radical reform, to which the government would not accede. They wrangled, in fact, about every trifle – and that at a time when the local concerns of the country were advancing to the highest pitch of prosperity. To neither party, however, attached any dishonourable stigma, which should prevent an honest man from joining their ranks; and meanwhile, I sought celebrity and advancement. The coast was clear before me. I was my own master, and free to choose my own course. In case of my connecting myself with the Whigs, I saw that I must play but a very inferior part in their game. I felt that amidst such an assemblage of talent I had but little right to expect eminence, and still less probability of acquiring professional advancement, even if my friends should become victorious. But, above all, I reflected that what at first view had appeared to me a blaze of constitutional patriotism, dwindled, on a closer inspection, into what is generally called party.

The country had prospered beyond all possible anticipation, and was still further advancing in prosperity, under the then existing system of administration. I did not perceive that any immediate change of men or measures was at all in prospect, nor that it was at that moment necessary, or even desirable. My immediate personal connexions were on the side of the government. I had always doubted the sincerity of the Whigs: my doubts were now realised, and, on the whole consideration, I determined to attach myself to the administration. I had previously voted with them on the choice of a Speaker; but that I did not consider as constituting any pledge as to my future conduct. I voted for Mr. Forster, as the friend of Sir John Parnell, and because I considered him more fitting for the station than his opponent, Mr. William Ponsonby.

Thus, my mind being at length made up, I determined to render myself of some importance to the side I had adopted. The common course of desultory debate (even conquest over declaimers of my own calibre) would have led to no distinction. I decided either to rise or fall; and with this view, resolved to fly at once at the highest game, in which attempt even if I should not succeed, the trial itself would be honourable. My earliest effort was therefore directed against the two most celebrated speakers of that period, Grattan and Curran; and on the first day I rose I exhibited a specimen of what I may now call true arrogance. The novelty of such unexpected effrontery surprised the House, and afterward surprised myself. It was a species of bold hardihood, which, I believe, no person who had a just sense of his own inferiority would have ventured on without great hesitation. I launched into a strong philippic on the conduct of the most able and respectable opposition that Ireland had ever possessed. I followed and traced the Whigs, as I thought, through all their meanderings and designs. In a word, I surpassed the boundaries, not only of what I had myself resolved, but of what common prudence and propriety should have dictated. The government party, at the same time, was evidently not gratified. Its members, no doubt, considered me as a lost partizan, who had courted and called for my own suppression; and with some portion of the same feeling myself, I sat down almost ashamed of my forwardness, and awaiting, if not with resignation, at least with certainty, a just although cruel chastisement. How then must I have been surprised, and how wofully rebuked, by the mild and gentlemanly retorts which I received from Grattan! whilst Curran’s good temper never showed itself more conspicuously than in his treating me merely with wit and facetiousness. I was abashed and mortified on contrasting the forbearance of those great men with my own intemperance. Had I perceived any thing like contempt in that forbearance, I really believe I should have found it difficult to resume my spirits in the House; but no such feeling appeared toward me; and it is most singular to say, that some incidents which sprang from that very night’s debate gave rise both to the friendship of Mr. Grattan,³⁷ with which I was afterward honoured, and to the close intimacy between me and Mr. Curran, which was never after interrupted.

I had the good fortune, on that occasion, to make one fair hit as to Grattan, which he afterward told me he was much pleased with. It came across me at the moment: – in fact, most of the speeches I ever made have been literally impromptu. I never studied a speech in my life, except on law cases; and perhaps to this circumstance I may honestly attribute an incorrectness of language that frequently attended my best efforts.

Grattan had repeatedly assailed our side of the house, as “a side from which all public virtue had long been banished.” I observed, “that the right honourable gentleman had proved unequivocally the falsehood of his own assertion, that public virtue was confined to one side of the house; for I had had the honour of seeing the right honourable gentleman himself on both!” I alluded to his having supported government against Mr. Flood, after the vote of 50,000l. by parliament. This joke was loudly cheered, and perhaps somewhat contributed to save me from discomfiture.

From that day I attached myself zealously and sincerely to the administration of Lord Westmoreland. I became more or less intimate with almost every member of my party in parliament. I formed close and lasting friendships with Edward Cooke, the unfortunate and lamented Robert Thoroton, Isaac Corry, and Sir John De Blacquiere; and it was not very long before the opposition also opened their convivial ranks to receive me. Curran and Arthur Brown were the earliest of my intimates on that side the house; and before 1792 had expired, I felt myself as happy on all points, and as much befriended, as any man of my standing who had preceded me.

Before I went into parliament, I had become acquainted with Mr. R. Thoroton, who had come over to Ireland with the Duke of Rutland. He had the manner of a coxcomb, but the heart of a friend, and the sentiments of a gentleman. He was clerk of the House of Commons; and being by no means a common man, formed a necessary part of all our societies. He and I lived much together: and I found the intercourse very advantageous, since my friend knew every thing that was going forward, and, under the rose, set me right on many occasions. At the same time, I was aware that circumstances existed which were the cause, to him, of great anxiety; and, finally, a most unexpected event, – namely, the death of Mr. Thoroton by his own hand, – deprived me of one of the sincerest and most useful friends I ever possessed.

But among the foremost of all those persons who, from first to last, endeavoured to do me service, was a man universally esteemed for his gentlemanly manners, and as universally abused for public jobbing. As to the latter, it concerned not me; whilst his friendship was of the greatest advantage.

Sir John (afterward Lord) De Blacquiere (I believe of Swiss descent) had been colonel of a regiment of heavy cavalry in Ireland; had acted as secretary of legation in France with Lord Harcourt, and, having succeeded him there for a short time as minister, came to Ireland with his lordship as principal secretary, and becoming a permanent resident, attached himself to that side of politics whence only he could derive the great object of his exertions, – a revenue sufficiently ample to enable him to entertain his friends as well, and far more agreeably, than any other person I had previously met. Nobody ever understood eating and drinking better than Sir John De Blacquiere; and no man ever was better seconded in the former respect than he was by his cook, Mrs. Smith, whom he brought from Paris, after he had been minister there. His company seldom exceeded ten in number; but so happily was it selected, that I never yet saw a person rise from his table who did not feel gratified. Sir John was one of the old school; and with all the playful good-breeding by which it was distinguished, he had nothing of that starch pride which, in more recent times, has supplanted conviviality without making men either wiser, better, or happier.

Sir John certainly was a pluralist, enjoying, at one time, the first, the middle, and the last pension on the Irish civil list. He was director of the public works in Dublin; and to his jobbing is that capital indebted for its wide streets, paving, lighting, and convenient fountains. He made as much as he could of these works, it is true; but every farthing he acquired in Ireland he expended in it. If his money came from the public purse, it was distributed to the public benefit: if he received pensions from the crown, butchers, bakers, and other tradesmen pocketed every shilling of it. He knew employment to be the best species of charity. In short, Sir John De Blacquiere was as much abused, and as much regarded, as any public character of any period.