Great-aunt Elizabeth. My uncle seized and hanged.

Chapter II

Elizabeth Fizgerald.

My great-aunt Elizabeth - Besieged in her castle of Moret - My uncle seized and hanged before the walls - Attempted abduction of Elizabeth, whose forces surprise the castle of Reuben - Severe battle.

A great-aunt** **of mine, Elizabeth Fitzgerald, whose husband, Stephen, possessed the castle of Moret, near Bally-Brittis, and not very far from Cullenagh, did not fare quite so well as my great-grandfather before mentioned.

She and her husband held their castle firmly during the troubles. They had 40 good warders; their local enemies had no cannon, and but few guns. The warders, protected by the battlements, pelted their adversaries with large stones, when they ventured to approach the walls; and in front of each of that description of castles there was a hole, perpendicularly over the entrance, wherefrom any person, himself unseen, could drop down every species of defensive material upon assailants.

About the year 1690, when Ireland was in a state of great disorder, and no laws were really regarded, numerous factious bodies were formed in every part of the country to claim old rights, and take possession of estates under legal pretences.

My uncle and aunt, or rather my aunt and uncle, for she was said to be far the most effective of the two, at one time suffered the enemy (who were of the faction of the O’Cahils, and who, claimed my uncle’s property, which they said Queen Elizabeth had turned them out of), to approach the gate in the night-time. There were neither outworks nor wet fosse; the assailants therefore, counting upon victory, brought fire to consume the gate, and so gain admittance. My aunt, aware’ of their designs, drew all her warders to one spot, large heaps of great stones being ready to their hands at the top of the castle.

When the O’Cahils had got close to the gate, and were directly under the loop-hole, on a sudden streams of boiling water, heated in the castle coppers, came showering down upon the heads of the crowd below: this extinguished their fire, and cruelly scalded many of the besiegers.

The scene may be conceived which was presented by a multitude of scalded wretches, on a dark night, under the power and within the reach of all offensive missiles. They attempted to fly; but whilst one part of the warders hurled volleys of weighty stones *beyond *them, to deter them from retreating, another party dropped stones more ponderous still on the heads of those who, for protection, crouched close under the castle walls: the lady of the castle herself, meantime, and all her in aids, assisting the chief body of the warders in pelting the Jacobites with every kind of destructive missile, till all seemed pretty still; and wherever a groan was heard, a volley quickly ended the troubles of the sufferer.

The old traditionists of the country often told me, that at daybreak there were lying above one hundred of the assailants under the castle wails - some scalded, some battered to pieces, and many lamed so as to have no power of moving off; but my good aunt kindly ordered them all to be put out of their misery as fast as ropes and a long gallows, erected for their sakes, could perform that at piece of humanity.

After the victory the warders had a feast on the castle top, whereat each of them recounted his own feats. Squire Fitzgerald, who was a quiet easy man, and hated fighting, and who had told my aunt at the beginning that they would surely kill him, having seated himself all night peaceably under one of the parapets, was quite delighted when the affray was over. He had walked out into his garden outside the walls to take some tranquil air, when an ambuscade of the hostile survivors surrounded and carried him off. In vain his wardens sallied - the squire was gone past all redemption!

It was supposed he had paid his debts to Nature, if any he owed, when, next day, a large body of the O’Cahil faction appeared near the castle. Their force was too great to be attacked by the warders, who durst not sally; and the former assault had been too calamitous to the O’Cahils to warrant them in attempting another. Both were therefore standing at bay, when, to the great joy of the garrison, Squire Fitzgerald was produced, and one of the assailants, with a white cloth on a pike, advanced to parley.

The lady attended his proposals, which were very laconic. “I’m a truce, lady! Look here (shewing the terrified squire), we have your husband in hault - yees have yeer castle *sure *enough. Now, we’ll change, if you please: we’ll render the squire and you’ll render the keep; and if yees won’t do that same, the squire will be throttled before your two eyes in half an bour”

“Flag of truce!” said the heroine, with due dignity and without hesitation; “mark the words of Elizabeth Fitzgerald, of Moret Castle - they may serve for your own wife upon some future occasion. Flag of truce! I *won’t *render my keep, and I’ll tell you why - Elizabeth Fitzgerald may get another husband, but Elizabeth Fitzgerald may never get another castle; so I’ll keep what I have; and if you can’t get off faster than your legs can readily carry you, my warders will try which is hardest, your skull or a stone bullet.”

The O’Cahils kept their word, and old Squire Stephen Fitzgerald in a short time was seen dangling and performing various evolutions in the air) to the great amusement of the Jacobites, the mortification of the warders, and chagrin (which, however, was not without a mixture of consolation) of my great-aunt Elizabeth.

This magnanimous lady, after Squire Stephen had been duly cut down, waked, and deposited in a neighbouring garden, conceived that she might enjoy her castle with tranquillity; but, to guard against every chance, she replenished her stony magazine, had a wide trench dug before the gate of the castle, and pit-falls, covered with green sods, having sharp stakes driven within, scattered round it on every side - the passage through these being only known to the faithful warders. She contrived, besides, a species of defence that I have not seen mentioned in the *Peccata Hibernia, *or any of the murderous annals of Ireland: it consisted of a heavy beam of wood, well loaded with iron at the bottom, and suspended by a pulley and cord at the top of the castle, and which, on any future assault, she could let down through the projecting hole over the entrance; alternately, with the aid of a few strong warders above, raising and letting it drop smash among the enemy who attempted to gain admittance below, thereby pounding them as if with a pestle and mortar, without, the power of resistance on their part.

The castle vaults were well victualled, and at all events could safely defy any attacks of hunger; and as the enemy had none of those despotic engines called cannon, my aunt’s garrison were in all points in tolerable security. Indeed, fortunately for Elizabeth, there was not a single piece of ordnance in the country, except those few which were mounted in the Fort of Dunnally, or travelled with the king’s army; and, to speak truth, fire-arms then would have been of little use, since there was not sufficient gunpowder among the people to hold an hour’s hard fighting.

With these and some interior defences, Elizabeth imagined herself well armed against all marauders, and quietly awaited a change of times and a period of general security.

Close to the castle there was, and I believe still remains, a dribbling stream of water, in which there is a large stone with a deep indenture on the top. It was always full of limpid water, and called St., Bridget’s Well, that holy woman having been accustomed daily to kneel in prayer on one knee, till she wore a hole in the top of the granite by the cap of her pious joint.

To this well old Jug Ogie, the oldest piece of furniture in Moret Castle (she was an hereditary cook), daily went for the purpose of drawing the most sacred crystal she could, wherewith to boil her mistress’s dinner; and also, as the well was naturally consecrated, it saved the priest a quantity of trouble in preparing holy water for the use of the warders.

On one of these sallies of old Jug, some fellows, who, as it afterwards appeared, had with a very deep design lain in ambush, seized and were carrying her off, when they were perceived by one of the watchmen from the tower, who instantly gave an alarm, and some warders sallied after them. Jug was rescued, and the enemy fled through the swamps; but not before one of them had his head divided into two equal parts by the hatchet of Keeran Karry, who was always at the head of the Warrders, and the life and soul of the whole garrison.

The dead man turned out to be a son of Andrew M’Mahon, a faction man of Reuben; but nobody could then guess the motive for endeavouring to carry off old Jug. However, that matter soon became developed.

Elizabeth was accounted to be very rich - the cleverest woman of her day-and she had a large demesne into the bargain; and finding the sweets of independence, she refused matrimonial offers from many quarters; but as her castle was, for those days, a durably safe residence, such as the auctioneers of the present time would denominate *a genuine undeniable mansion, *the country squires determined she *should *marry one of them, since marry willingly she would not, but they nearly fell to loggerheads who should *run away *with hen. Almost every one of them had previously put the question to her by *flag of truce, *as they all stood in too much awe of the lady to do it personally: and at length, teased by their importunities, she gave notice of her intention to hang the next flag of truce who brought any such impudent proposals.

Upon this information, they finally agreed to decide by lot who should be the hero to surprise and carry off Elizabeth, which was considered a matter of danger on account of the warders, who would receive no other commandant.

Elizabeth got wind of their design and place of meeting, which was to be in the old castle of Reuben, near Athy. Eleven or twelve of the squires privately attended at the appointed hour and it was determined that whoever should be the lucky winner, was to receive the aid and assistance of the others in bearing away the prize, and gaining her hand. To this effect, a league offensive and defensive was entered into between them, one part of which went to destroy Elizabeth’s warders root and branch; and to forward their object, it was desirable, if possible, to procure some inmate of the castle, who, by fair or foul means, would inform them of the best mode of entry: this caused the attempt to carry off old Jug Ogie.

However, they were not long in want of a spy: for Elizabeth, hearing of their plan from the gassoon of Reuben, a nephew of Jug’s, determined to take advantage of it. “My lady,” said Jug Ogie, “pretend to turn me adrift in a dark night, and give out that my gassoon here was found robbing you - they’ll soon get wind of it, and I’ll be the very person the squires want, and then you’ll hear all.”

The matter was agreed on, and Jug Ogie and the gassoon were turned out as thieves, to the great surprise of the warders and the country. But Jug was found and hired, as she expected, and soon comfortably seated in the kitchen at Castle Reuben, with the gassoon whom she took in as kitchen boy. She gave her tongue its full fling - told a hundred stories about her “devil of a mistress,” and undertook to inform the squires of the best way to get to her apartment.

Elizabeth was now sure to learn everything so soon as determined on. The faction had arranged all matters for the capture. The night of its execution approached. The old cook prepared a good supper for the quality- the squires arrived, and the gassoon had to run only three miles to give the lady the intelligence. Twelve cavaliers attended, each accompanied by one of the ablest of his faction, for they were all afraid of each other, whenever the wine should rise upwards.

The lots, being formed of straws of different lengths, were held by the host, who was disinterested, and the person of Elizabeth, her fortune, and Moret Castle, fell to the lot of Cromarty O’Moore, one of the Cremorgan squires, and, according to tradition, as able-bodied, stout a man as any in the whole county. The rest all swore to assist him till death; and one in the morning was the time appointed for the surprise of Elizabeth and her castle, while in the meantime they began to enjoy the good supper of old Jug Ogie.

Castle Reuben had been one of the strongest places in the county, situated in the midst of a swamp, which rendered it nearly inaccessible. It had belonged to a natural son of one of the Geraldines, who had his throat cut by a gamekeeper of his own; and nobody choosing to interfere with the sportsman, he remained peaceably in possession of the castle, and now accommodated the squires with it during their plot against Elizabeth.

That heroic dame, on her part, was not inactive; she informed her warders of the scheme to force a new master on her and them; and many a round oath she swore (with corresponding gesticulations, the description of which would not be over agreeable to modern readers), that she never would grant her favours to man, but preserve her castle and her chastity to the last extremity.

The warders took fire at the attempt of the squires. They always detested the defensive system; and probably to that hatred may be attributed a few of the robberies, burglaries, and burnings which in those times were little more than occasional pastimes.

“Arrah! lady,” said Keeran Karry, “how many rogues will there be at Reuben, as you larn, to-night? - arrah!”

“I hear only four-and-twenty,” said Elizabeth, “‘besides the M’Mahons.”

Right a’nuff,” said Keeran, “the fish in the Barrow must want food this hard weather; and I can’t see why the rump of a rapparee may not make as nice a tit-bit for them as anything else.”

All then began to speak together, and join most heartily in the meditated attack.

“Arrah! run for the priest,” says Ned Regan, “maybe you’d like a touch of his reverence’s office first, for fear there might be any sin in it.”

“I thought you’d like him with your brandy, warders,” said Elizabeth with dignity, “I have him below: he’s praying a little, and will be up directly. The whole plan is ready for you, and Jug Ogie has the signal. Here, Keeran,” giving him a green ribbon with a daub of old Squire’ Fitzgerald, who was hanged, dangling to the ribbon, “if you and the warders do not bring me their captain’s ear, you have neither the courage of a weazel nor - nor,” striking her breast hard with her able hand, “even the revenge of a woman in you.”

“Arrah, be asy, my lady!” said Keeran, “be asy! by my soul, we’ll bring you four-and-twenty pair, if your ladyship have any longing for the ears of such villains.”

“Now, warders,” said Elizabeth, who was too cautious to leave her castle totally unguarded, “as we are going to be just, let us be also generous; there’s only twenty-four of them, besides the M’M’ahons, will be there. Now it would be an eternal disgrace to Moret, if we went to overpower them by numbers: twenty-four chosen warders, Father Murphy and the corporal, the gassoon and the piper, are all that shall leave the castle to-night; and if Castle Reuben is let to stand till day-break to-morrow, I hope none of you will come back to me again.”

The priest now made his appearance; he certainly seemed rather as if he had not been idle below during the colloquy on the leads; and the deep impressions upon the bottle which he held in his hand gave grounds to suppose that he had been very busy and earnest in his devotions.

“My flock!” said Father Murphy rather lispingly.

“Arrah!” said Keeran Karry, “we ‘re not sheep to-night: never mind your flocks just now, father! give us a couple of glasses a piece! time enough for mutton-making.”

“You are right, my chickens!” bellowed forth Father Murphy, throwing his old black surtout over his shoulder, leaving the empty sleeves dangling at full liberty, and putting a knife and fork in his pocket for ulterior operations:- “I forgive every mother’s babe of you everything you choose to do till sun-rise; but if you commit any sin after that time, as big even as the blacks of my nele, I can’t take charge of yeer sowls, without a chance of disappointing you.”

All was now in a bustle - the brandy circulated merrily, and each warder had in his own mind made mince-meat of three or four of the Reuben faction, whose ears they fancied already in their pockets. The priest marked down the “De profundis” the leaves of his double manual, to have it ready for the burials - every man took his skeen in his belt - had a thick club, with a strong spike at the end of it, slung with a stout leather thong to his wrist, and under his coat a sharp broad hatchet with a black blade and a crooked handle. And thus, in silence, the twenty-five Moret warders set out with their priest, the piper, and the gassoon, with a copper pot slung over his shoulders, and a piece of a poker in his hand, on their expedition to the castle of Reuben.

Before twelve o’clock, the warders, the priest, Keeran Karry, and the castle piper had arrived in the utmost silence and secrecy. In that sort of large inhabited castle the principal entrance was through the farmyard, which was, indeed, generally the only assailable quarter. In the present instance the gate was half open, and the house lights appeared to have been collected in the rear, as was judged from their reflection in the water of Barrow which ran close under the windows.

A noise was heard, hut not of drunkenness-it was a sound as of preparation for battle. Now and then a clash of steel as if persons were practising at the sword or skeen for the offensive, was going forward in the back hall, and a loud laugh was occasionally heard. The warders foresaw it would not be so easy a business as they had contemplated, and almost regretted that they had not brought a less chivalrous numerical force.

It was concerted that 10 men should creep upon their hands and feet to the front entrance, and await there until, by some accident, it might be sufficiently open for the ferocious rush which was to surprise their opponents.

But Keeran, always discreet, had some forethought that more than usual caution would be requisite. He had counted on dangers which the others had never dreamt of; and his prudence, in all probability, saved the lives of many of the warders. He preceded his men, crawling nearly on his breast; he had suspected that a dog overheard them, and a bark soon confirmed the truth of that suspicion, and announced the possibility of discovery. Keeran, however, was prepared for this circumstance; he had filled his pockets with pieces of bacon impregnated with a concentrated preparation of nux vomica, then, and at a much later period, well known to the clergy and spirituals, I cannot tell for what purpose, nor shall I here inquire. Its effect on dogs was instantaneous; and the savoury bacon having rendered them quite greedy to devour it, it had flow an immediate effect on two great mastiffs and a wolf-dog who roamed about the yard at nights. On taking each a portion, they quickly resigned their share of the contest without further noise.

Keeran advanced crawling to the door; he found it fast, but having listened, he soon had reason to conjecture that the inmates were too well armed and numerous to make the result of the battle at all certain. He crept back to the hedge, and having informed the warders of the situation in which they were placed, they one and all swore that they would enter or die. The priest had lain himself down under a hay-stack in the outer hay-yard, and the piper had retired nobody knew where, nor in fact did any body care much about him, as he was but a very indifferent chanter.

Keeran now desired the warders to handle their hatchets, and be prepared for an attack so soon as they should see the front door open and hear three strokes on the copper kettle. The gassoon had left that machine on a spot which he had described near the gate, and Keeran requested that, in case of any fire, they should not mind it till the kettle sounded. He then crawled away, and they saw no more of him.

The moments were precious, and seemed to advance too fast. At one o’clock a body armed possibly better than themselves, and probably more numerous, would surely issue from the castle on their road to Moret, well prepared for combat. The result in such a case might be very precarious. The warders by no means felt pleased with their situation; and the absence of their leader, priest, and piper gave no additional ideas of conquest or security. In this state of things near half an hour had elapsed, when of a sudden they perceived, on the side of the hay-yard towards their own position, a small blaze of fire issue from a corn-stack - in a moment another, and another!

The conflagration was most impetuous; it appeared to be devouring everything, but as yet was not perceived by the inmates at the rear of the house. At length volumes of flame illuminated by reflection the waters of the river under the back windows. The warders now expecting the sally, rubbed their hands well with bees’ wax, and grasped tightly their hatchets, yet moved not-breathless, with a ferocious anxiety, they awaited the event in almost maddening suspense. A loud noise now issued from the interior of the house; the fire was perceived by the garrison - still it might be accidental - the front door was thrown open, and nearly 30 of the inmates poured out, some fully, others not fully armed. They rushed into the hay-yard, some cried out it was ” treachery!” whilst others vociferated “accident! accident!” All was confusion, and many a stout head afterwards paid for its incredulity.

At that moment the copper kettle was beaten rapidly and with force - a responsive sound issued from the house - the garrison hesitated, but hesitation was quickly banished; for, on the first blow of the kettle, the warders, in a compact body, with hideous yells, rushed on the astonished garrison, who had no conception who their enemies could be. Every hatchet found its victim; limbs, features, hands, were chopped off without mercy - death or dismemberment followed nearly every blow of that brutal weapon, whilst the broad sharp skeens soon searched the bodies of the wounded, and almost half the garrison were annihilated before they were aware of the foe by whom they had been surprised.

The survivors, however, soon learned the cause, perhaps merited, of their comrades’ slaughter. The warcry of “A Gerald! a Gerald! a Gerald !” - which now accompanied every crash of the murderous hatchet, or every plunge of the broad-bladed skeen, informed them who they were fighting with - 15 or 16 still remained unwounded of the garrison - their case was desperate.

Keeran Karry now headed his warders. The gassoon rapidly and fiercely struck the copper in unison with the sound of the fatal weapons, whilst the old and decrepit Jug Ogie, within the castle, repeated the same sound, thereby leading the garrison to believe that to retreat inside the walls would only be to encounter a fresh enemy.

The affair, however, was far from being finished - the survivors rapidly retired, and got in a body to the position first occupied by Keeran’s warders. They were desperate - they knew they must die, and determined not to go alone, to the other regions. The flames still raged with irresistible fury in the hay-yard. It was Keeran who had set fire to the corn and hay, which materials produced an almost supernatural height of blaze and impetuosity of conflagration. The survivors of the garrison were at once fortified, and concealed from view by a high holly hedge, and awaited their turn to become assailants - it soon arrived. From the midst of the burning ricks in the hay-yard a shrill and piercing cry was heard to issue, of ” Ough, murther, murther - the devil - the devil! ough Holy Virgin, save me! if there is any marcy, save me!”

The voice was at once recognised by the warriors of Moret as that of their priest Ned Murphy, who had fallen asleep under a haystack, and never awakened till the flames had seized upon his cloak. Bewildered, he knew not how to escape, being met wherever he ran by crackling masses. He roared and cursed to the full extent of his voice, and gave himself up for lost, though fortunately, as the materials of his habit did not associate with flame, he was not dangerously burned, although he suffered somewhat in his legs. No sooner did they perceive his situation, than the warders, each man forgetting himself, rushed to save their “clergy,” on whom they conceived their own salvation entirely to depend. They now imagined that the fight was** **ended, and prepared to enjoy themselves by the plunder of Castle Reuben.

This was the moment for the defeated garrison-with a loud yell of “A Moore! a Moore! a Moore!” they fell in their turn upon the entangled warders in the hay-yard, five of whom had been wounded and one killed in the first fray, whilst many had subsequently thrown down their hatchets to receive their pastor, and had only their spikes and skeens wherewith to defend themselves.

The battle now became more serious, because more doubtful, than at its commencement. Several of the warders were wounded, and four more lay dead at the entrance to the hay-yard; their spirit was dashed, and their adversaries laid on with the fury of desperation. Keeran Karry had received two sword-thrusts through his shoulder, and could fight no more; but he could do better - he could command. He called to the warders to retreat and take possession of the castle, which was now untenanted: this step saved them; they retired thither with all possible rapidity, pursued by the former garrison of the place, who, however, were not able to enter with them, but killed another man before the doors were fast closed.

Keeran directed the thick planks and flag stones to be torn up, thereby leaving the hall open to the cellar beneath, as had been done at Moret. The enemy were at bay at the door, and could not advance; but, on the other hand, many of the warders having, as before stated, flung away their hatchets, were ill-armed. The moment was critical: Keeran, however, was never at a loss for some expedient; he counted his men; five had been killed in the hay-yard, and one just outside the wails; several others were wounded, amongst whom was the piper, who had been asleep.

Keeran told the warders that he feared the sun might rise on their destruction, if something were not immediately done. “Are there,” said he, “five among ye who are willing to swap your lives for the victory?” Every man cried out for himself, and I! I! I! echoed through the hall. “Well!” said Keeran, who without delay directed five men, and the gassoon with the copper kettle, to steal out at the back of the castle, creep through the hedges, and get round directly into the rear of the foe before they attacked; having succeeded in which, they were immediately to advance, beating the vessel strongly. “They will suppose,” said the warlike Keeran, “that it is a reinforcement, and we shall then return the sound from within. If they believe it to be a reinforcement they will submit to mercy: if not, we’ll attack them front and rear; and as our numbers are pretty equal, very few of us on either side will tell the story to our childer; but we’ll have as good a chance as them villains.”

This scheme was carried into immediate execution, and completely succeeded. The enemy, who were now grouped outside the door, hearing the kettle in the rear, supposed that they should be at once attacked by sally and from behind. Thinking that they had now only to choose between death and submission, the mercy which was offered they accepted; and peep o’ day being arrived, the vanquished agreed to throw their arms into the well - to swear before the priest that they never would disturb, or aid in. disturbing, Lady Elizabeth or the castle of Moret; that no man on either side should be called upon by law for his fighting that night; and finally, that the person who had succeeded in drawing the lot for Elizabeth, should deliver up the lock of his hair that grew next his ear to testify his submission: this latter clause, however, was stipulated needlessly, as Cromarty O’Moore was discovered in the farmyard with nearly all his face cut off, and several skeen wounds in his arms and body.

Early in the morning the dead were buried without noise or disturbance, and both parties breakfasted together in perfect cordiality and good humour: those who fell were mostly tenants of the squires. The priest, having had his burnt legs and arm dressed with chewed herbs by Jug Ogie, said a full mass, and gave all parties double absolution, as the affair was completed by the rising of the sun. The yard was cleared of blood and havoc; the warders and garrison parted in perfect friendship; and the former returned to the castle bringing back Jug Ogie to her impatient mistress.

Of the warders thirteen returned safe, six remained behind badly wounded, and six were dead. Keeran’s wounds were severe, but they soon healed; and Elizabeth afterwards resided at Moret to a very late period in the reign of George the First. Reuben soon changed its occupant, M’Mahon, who was hanged for the murder of his master; and that part of the country has since become one of the most civilised of the whole province.

I have given the foregoing little history in full, inasmuch as it is but little known, is strictly matter of fact, and exhibits a curious picture of the state of Irish society and manners in or about the year 1690.

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