Duelling Extraordinary.

Chapter XXXIX. **

Duelling Extraordinary**

**Frequency of election duels - Ludicrous affair between Frank Skelton and an exciseman - Frank shoots the exciseman and runs away - His Curious reasons-Sir J. Bourke’s quadrille duel, with five hits - Mr. H. D. G---y’s remarkable meeting with Counsellor O’Maher - O’Maher hit - Civil proposition of G---‘s second - G---‘s gallant letter to the author on his election for Maryborough - Honourable Barry Yelverton challenged by nine officers at once - His elucidation of the Fire-eaters’ Resolutions - Lord Kilkenny’s memorable duels and lawsuits - His lordship is shot by Mr. Ball, an attorney - The heir to his title, the Hon. Somerset Butler, challenges Counsellor Burrowes - The latter hit, but his life saved by some gingerbread nuts - Lord Kilkenny’s duel with Counsellor Byrne - The counsellor wounded - Counsellor Guinness escapes a rencontre - Sketch of Counsellor M’Nally - His duel with the author - His three friends: all afterwards hanged - M’Nally wounded-Bon-mot of Mr. Harding - The affair highly beneficial to M’Nally - His character, marriage, and death - Ancient mode of fighting duels - The lists described - Duel of Colonel Barrington with Squire Gilbert on horseback

• Both wounded - Gilbert’s horse killed - Chivalrous conclusion.**

Our elections were more prolific in duels than any other public meetings: they very seldom originated at a horse race, cock-fight, hunt, or at any place of amusement: folks then had pleasure in view, and “something else to do ” than to quarrel; but at all elections, or at assizes, or, in fact, at any place of business, almost every man, without any very particular or assignable reason, immediately became a violent partisan, and frequently a furious enemy to somebody else; and gentlemen often got themselves shot before they could tell what they were fighting about.

At an election for Queen’s County, between General Walsh and Mr. Warburton, of Garryhinch, about the year 1783, took place the most curious duel of any which have occurred within my recollection. A. Mr. Frank Skelton, one of the half-mounted gentlemen described in the early part of this volume, a boisterous, joking, fat young fellow, was prevailed on, much against his grain, to challenge the exciseman of the town for running the butt-end of a horse-whip down his throat the night before whilst he lay drunk and sleeping with his mouth open. The exciseman insisted that snoring at a dinner-table was a personal offence to every gentleman in company and would therefore make no apology.

Frank, though he had been nearly choked, was very reluctant to fight; he said “he was sure to die if he did, as the exciseman could snuff a candle with his pistol ball; and as he himself was as big as a hundred dozen of candles, what chance could he have?” We told him jocosely to give the exciseman no time to take aim at him, by which means he might perhaps hit his adversary first, and thus survive the contest. He seemed somewhat encouraged and consoled by the hint, and most strictly did he adhere to it.

Hundreds of the townspeople went to see the fight on the green of Maryborough. The ground was regularly measured, and the friends of each party pitched a ragged tent on the green, where whisky and salt beef were consumed in abundance. Skelton having taken his ground, and at the same time two heavy drams from a bottle his foster-brother had brought, appeared quite stout till he saw the balls entering the mouths of the exciseman’s pistols, which shone as bright as silver, and. were nearly as long as fusils. This vision made a palpable alteration in Skelton’s sentiments; he changed colour, and looked about him as if he wanted some assistance. However, their seconds, who were of the same rank and description, handed to each party his case of pistols, and half-bellowed to them - “Blaze away, boys!”

Skelton now recollected his instructions, and *lost no time; *he cocked *both *his pistols at once, and as the exciseman was deliberately and most scientifically coming to his “dead level,” as he called it, Skelton let fly.

“‘Holloa!” said the exciseman, dropping his level, “I’m battered, by Jasus!”

“The devil’s cure to you!” said Skelton, instantly firing his second pistol.

One of the exciseman’s legs then gave way, and down he came on his knee, exclaiming “Holloa! holloa! you bloodthirsty villain! do you want to take my life ft”

“Why, to be sure I do!” said Skelton. “Ha! ha! have I *stiffened *you, my lad?” Wisely judging, however, that if he staid till the exciseman recovered his legs, he might have a couple of shots to stand, he wheeled about, took to his heels, and got away as fast as possible. The crowd shouted; but Skelton, like a hare when started, ran the faster for the shouting.

Jemmy Moffit, his own second, followed, overtook, tripped up his heels, and cursing him for a disgraceful rascal, asked “Why he ran away from the exciseman?”

“Ough thunther!” said Skelton, with his chastest brogue, “how many holes did the villain want to have drilled into his carcass? Would you have me stop to make a *riddle *of him, Jemmy?”

The second insisted that Skelton should return to the field to be shot at. He resisted, affirming that he had done *all *that *honour *required. The second called him “a coward!”

“By my sowl,” returned he, “my dear Jemmy Moffit, may be so! you may call me a coward, if you please; but I did it all for the best”

“The *best! *you blackguard?”

“Yes,” said Frank “sure it’s *better *to be a *coward *than a *corpse! *and I must have been either *one *or *t’other *of them.”

However he was dragged up to the ground by his second, after agreeing to fight again if he had another pistol given him. But, luckily for Frank, the last bullet had stuck so fast between the bones of the exciseman’s leg that he could not** **stand. The friends of the latter then proposed to strap him to a tree, that he might be able to shoot Skelton; but this being positively objected to by Frank, the exciseman was carried home: his first wound was on the side of his thigh, and the second in his right leg; but neither proved at all dangerous.

The exciseman, determined on *haling *Frank, as he called it, on his recovery, challenged Skelton in his turn. Skelton accepted the challenge, but said he was *tould *he had a right to choose his own weapons. The exciseman knowing that such was the law, and that Skelton was no swordsman, and not anticipating any new invention, acquiesced. “Then,” said Skelton, “for my weapons I choose my *fists; *and by the powers, you gauger, I’ll give you such a *basting *that your nearest relations shan’t know you.” Skelton insisted on his right, and the exciseman not approving of this species of combat, got nothing by his challenge; the affair dropped, and Skelton triumphed.

The only modern instance I recollect to have heard of as applicable to No. 25 (refer to the regulations detailed in last sketch), was that of old John Bourke, of Glinsk, and Mr. Amby Bodkin. They fought near Glinsk, and the old family steward and other Servants brought out the present Sir John, then a child, and held him upon a man’s shoulder to see papa fight. On that occasion both principals and seconds engaged: they stood at right angles, ten paces distant, and all began firing together on the signal of a pistol discharged by an umpire. At the first volley the two principals were touched, though very slightly. The second volley told better, both the seconds, and Amby Bodkin, Esq., staggered out of their places: they were well hit, but no lives lost. It was, according to custom, an election squabble.

The Galway rule No 2. was well exemplified in a duel between a friend of mine, the present first counsel to the Commissioners of Ireland, and a Counsellor O’Maher. O’Maher was the challenger: no ground was measured; they fired ad libitum. G---y, never at a loss upon such occasions, took his ground at once, and kept it steadily; O’Maher began his career at a hundred paces distance, advancing obliquely and gradually contracting his circle round his opponent, who continued changing his front by **corresponding movements; both parties now and then aiming, as feints, then taking down their pistols. This *pas de deux *lasted more than half an hour, as I have been informed; at length, when the assailant had contracted his circle to firing distance, G---y cried out, suddenly and loudly, O’Maher obeyed the signal, and instantly fired, G---y returned the shot, and the challenger reeled back hors de combat.

On the same occasion, Mr. O’Maher’s second said to G---‘s, the famous Counsellor Ned Lysight, “Mr. Lysight, take care, your pistol is cocked!” “Well, then,” said Lysight, “cock yours, and let me take a slap at you as we are idle!” However, this proposition was not acceded to.

There could not be a greater *game cock, *the Irish expression, than G---y. He was not only spirited himself, but the cause of infusing spirit into others. It will appear from the following friendly letter which I received from him during my contested election for Maryborough, that Lord Castlecoote, the returning officer, had a tolerable chance of becoming acquainted with my friend’s *retorters, *the pet name for *hair triggers, *which he was so good as to send me for the occasion. His lordship, however, declined the introduction.

Dublin, Jan. 29th, 1800.

“My dear Jonah,

“I have this moment sent to the mail coach-office two bullet-moulds, not being certain which of them belongs to the reporters: suspecting, however, that you may not have time to melt the lead, I also send half a dozen bullets; merely to keep you going while others are preparing.

“I lament much that my situation and political feeling prevents me from seeing you *exhibit *at Maryborough.

“Be bold, wicked, steady, and fear nought!

“Give a line to yours, truly,

“H. D.G.”

“Jonah Barrington, Esq.”

My friend G---y did not get off so well in a little affair which he had in Hyde Park in the night on which occasion I was his guardian: a Counsellor Campbell happened to be a better shot than my friend, and the moon had the unpleasant view of his discomfiture - he got what they call a *crack; *however, it did not matter much, and in a few days G---y was on his legs again.

There could not be a better elucidation of Rule No. 5, of the code of honour, than an anecdote of Barry Yelverton, second son of Lord Avonmore, Baron of the Exchequer. Barry was rather too odd a fellow to have been accounted at all times perfectly *compos mentis. *He was a barrister. In a ball-room on circuit, where the officers of a newly arrived regiment had come to amuse themselves and set the Munster lasses agog, Barry having made too many libations, let out his natural dislike to the military, and most grossly insulted several of the officers - abusing one, treading on the toes of another, jostling a third, and so forth, till he had got through the whole regiment.

Respect for the women, and the not choosing to commit themselves with the black gowns on the first day of their arrival, induced the insulted parties to content themselves with only requiring Barry’s address, and his hour of being seen the next morning. Barry, with great satisfaction, gave each of them his card, but informed them that sending to him was unnecessary - that he was *his own second, *and would meet every man of them at eight o’clock next morning in the ball-room, concluding by desiring them to bring their swords, as that was always his weapon.

Though this was rather a curious rendezvous, yet the challenged having the right to choose his weapon, and the place being *apropos, *the officers all attended next day punctually, with the surgeon of the regiment and a due proportion of small swords, fully expecting that some of his brother gownsmen would join in the *rencontre. *On their -arrival, Barry requested to know how many gentlemen had done him the honour of giving him the invitation, and was told their names, amounting to nine. “Very well, gentle-men,” said Yelverton, “I am well aware I abused some of you, and gave others an offence equivalent to a blow, which latter being the greatest insult, we’ll dispose of those cases first, and I shall return in a few minutes fitly prepared.”

They conceived he had gone for his sword and friends. But Barry soon after returned alone, and resumed thus:-

“Now, gentlemen, those to each of whom I gave an equivalent to a blow, will please step forward.” Four of them accordingly did so, when Barry took from under his coat a bundle of switches,, and addressed them as follows

“Gentlemen, permit me to have the honour of handing each of you a switch - according to the rule No. 5 of the Tipperary Resolutions - wherewith to return the blow, if you feel any particular desire to put that extremity into practice. I fancy, gentlemen, that settles *four *of you; and as to the rest, here,” handing one of his cards to each, with *I beg your pardon *written above his name, “that’s agreeable to No. 1,” reading the rule. “Now I fancy *all *your cases are disposed of; and having done my duty according to the Tipperary Resolutions, which I will never swerve from, if, gentlemen, you are not satisfied, I shall be on the bridge to-morrow morning with a case of *barking-irons.” *The officers stared, first at him, then at each other: the honest, jolly countenance and drollery of Barry were quite irresistible: first a smile of surprise, and then a general laugh took place, and the catastrophe was their asking Barry to dine with them at the mess, where his eccentricity and good humour delighted the whole regiment The poor fellow grew quite deranged at last, and died, I believe, in rather unpleasant circumstances.

The late Lord Mount Garret, afterwards Earl of Kilkenny, had for several years a great number of lawsuits at once on his hands, particularly with some insolvent tenants, whose causes had been gratuitously taken up by Mr. Ball, an attorney, Mr. William Johnson, the barrister, and seven or eight others of the circuit. His lordship was dreadfully tormented. He was naturally a very clever man, and devised a new mode of carrying on his lawsuits. He engaged a clientless attorney, named Egan, as his working solicitor, at a very liberal yearly stipend, upon the express terms of his undertaking *no other business, *and holding his office solely in his lordship’s own house and under his own eye and direction.

His lordship applied to Mr. Fletcher, afterwards judge, and myself; requesting an interview, upon which he informed us of his situation; that there were generally *ten *counsel pitted against him, but that he would have much more reliance on the advice and punctual attendance of *two *steady than of *ten *straggling gentlemen; and that under the full conviction that one of us would always attend the courts when his causes were called on, and not leave him in the lurch as he had been left, he had directed his attorneys to mark on our two briefs *ten times *the amount of fees paid to each on the other side: “Because,” said his lordship, “if you won’t surely attend, I must engage ten counsel, as well as my opponents, and perhaps not be attended to after all.” The singularity of the proposal set us laughing, in which his lordship joined.

Fletcher and I accepted the offer, and did most punctually attend his numerous trials - were most liberally feed - but most unsuccessful in our efforts; for we never were able to gain a single cause or verdict for our client.

The principle of strict justice certainly was with his lordship, but certain formalities of the law were decidedly against him; thus perceiving himself likely to be foiled, he determined to take another course, quite out of our line, and a course whereby no suit is decided in modern days-namely, to *fight it out, *muzzle to muzzle, with the attorney and *all *the counsel on the other side.

The first procedure on this determination was a direct challenge from his lordship to the attorney, Mr. Ball: it was accepted, and a duel immediately followed, in which his lordship got the worst of it. He was wounded by the attorney at each shot, the first having taken place in his lordship’s right arm, which probably saved the solicitor, as his lordship was a most accurate marksman. The noble challenger received the second bullet in his side, but the wound was not dangerous.

My lord and the attorney having been thus disposed of, the Honourable Somerset Butler, his lordship’s son, now took the field, and proceeded, according to due form, by a challenge to Mr. Peter Burrowes, the first of the adversaries’ counsel, now Judge Commissioner of Insolvents. The invitation not being refused, the combat took place, one cold frosty morning, near Kilkenny. Somerset knew his business well; but Peter had had no practice whatever in that line of litigation.

Few persons feel too warm on such occasions, and Peter formed no exception to the general rule. An old woman who sold spiced gingerbread nuts in the street he passed through accosted him, extolling her nuts to the very skies, as being well spiced, and fit to expel the wind and to warm any gentleman’s stomach as well as a dram. Peter bought a pennyworth on the advice of his second, Dick Waddy, an attorney, and duly received the change of a sixpenny-piece, put the coppers and nuts into his *waistcoat pocket, *and marched off to the scene of action.

Preliminaries being soon arranged, the pistols given, ten steps measured, the flints hammered, and the feather-springs set, Somerset, a fine dashing young fellow, full of spirit, activity, and animation, gave elderly Peter, who was no posture-master, but little time to take his fighting position; in fact, he had scarcely raised his pistol to a wabbling level, before Somerset’s ball came *crack dash *against Peter’s body! The halfpence rattled in his pocket: Peter dropped flat, Somerset fled, Dick Waddy roared “murder,” and called out to Surgeon Pack. Peter’s clothes were ripped up; and Pack, *secundum artem, *examined the wound: a black hole designated the spot where the lead had penetrated Peter’s abdomen. The doctor shook his head, and pronounced but one short word, “mortal” - it was, however, more expressive than a long speech.

Peter groaned, and tried to recollect some prayer, if possible, or a scrap of his catechism; his friend Waddy began to think about the coroner; his brother barristers sighed heavily, and Peter was supposed to be fast departing this world, but, as they all endeavoured to persuade him *for a better, *when Surgeon Pack, after another exclamation, taking leave of Peter, and leaning his hand on the grass to assist him in rising, felt something hard, took it up and looked at it curiously: the spectators closed in the circle to see Peter die; the patient turned his expiring eyes. towards Surgeon Pack, as much as to ask, “Is there no hope?” - when lo! the doctor held up to the astonished assembly the *identical bullet, *which, having rattled amongst the heads and harps and gingerbread nuts in Peter’s waistcoat pocket, had flattened its own body on the surface of a preserving copper, and left His Majesty’s bust distinctly imprinted and accurately designated, in black and blue shading, on his subject’s carcass! Peter’s heart beat high he stopped his prayers; and finding that his Gracious Sovereign, and the gingerbread nuts had saved his life, lost as little time as possible in rising from the sod on which he had lain extended: a bandage was applied round his body, and in a short time Peter was able, though of course he had no reason to be overwilling, to begin the combat anew.

His lordship having now on his part recovered from the attorney’s wound, considered it high time to recommence hostilities according to his original plan of the campaign; and the engagement immediately succeeding was between him and the present Counsellor John Byrne, king’s counsel, and next in rotation of his learned adversaries.

His lordship was much pleased with the spot upon which his son had chosen to hit Counsellor Peter, and resolved to select the same for a hit on Counsellor John. The decision appeared to be judicious, and, as if the pistol itself could not be ignorant of its direction, and had been gratified at its own previous accuracy and success, for it was the same, it sent a bullet in the identical level, and Counsellor John Byrne’s carcass received a precisely similar compliment with Counsellor Peter Burrowes’s, with this difference, that the former had bought no gingerbread nuts, and the matter consequently appeared more serious. I asked him during his illness how he felt when he received the *crack? *he answered just as if he had been punched by the mainmast of a man of war! - certainly a grand simile; but how far my friend Byrne was enabled to form the comparison he never divulged to me.

My lord having got through two of them, and his son a third, it became the duty of Captain Pierce Butler, brother to Somerset, to take** **his turn in the lists. The barristers now began not much to relish this species of argument, and a gentleman who followed next but one on the list owned fairly to me, that he would rather be on *our *side of the question ; but it was determined by our noble client, so soon as the first series of combats should be finished, to begin a new one, till he and *the lads *had tried the mettle or “touched the inside” of the remaining barristers. Mr. Dicky Guinness, a little dapper, popular, lisping, jesting pleader, was the next on the list; and the Honourable Pierce Butler, his intended slaughterer, was advised, for variety’s sake, to put what is called the *onus *on that little gentleman, and thereby force *him *to become the challenger.

Dick’s friends kindly and candidly informed him that he could but have little chance, the Honourable Pierce being one of the most resolute of a courageous family, and quite an undeviating marksman; that he had besides a hot, persevering, thirsty spirit, which a little fighting would never satisfy; and as Dicky was secretly informed that he would to a certainty be forced to** **battle, it being his turn, and as his speedy dissolution was nearly as certain, he was recommended to settle all his worldly concerns without delay.

But it was otherwise decided. Providence took Dick’s part; the Honourable Pierce injudiciously put his *onus, *and rather a wicked one, on Dick in open court before the judge; an uproar ensued, and the Honourable Pierce hid himself under the table. However, the sheriff lugged him out, and prevented that encounter effectually; Pierce with great difficulty escaping from incarceration on giving his honour not to meddle with Dicky. At length, his lordship finding that neither the laws of the land nor those of battle were likely to adjust affairs to his satisfaction, suffered them to be terminated by the three duels and as many wounds.

Leonard M’Nally, well known both at the English and Irish bars, and in the dramatic circles, as the author of that popular little piece *Robin Hood; *&c., was one of the strangest fellows in the world. His figure was ludicrous; he was very short, and nearly as broad as long, his legs were of unequal length, and he had a face which no washing could clean; he wanted one thumb, the absence of which gave rise to numerous expedients on his part; and he took great care to have no nails, as he regularly ate every morning the growth of the preceding day; he never wore a glove, lest he should appear to be guilty of affectation in concealing his deformity.

When in a hurry he generally took two thumping steps with the short leg to bring up the space made by the long one, and the bar, who never missed a favourable opportunity of nicknaming, called him accordingly “one *pound *two.” He possessed, however, a fine eye, and by no means an ugly countenance, a great deal of middling intellect, a shrill, full, good bar voice, great quickness at cross examination, with sufficient adroitness at defence, and in Ireland was the very staff and standing-dish of the criminal jurisdictions.

In a word, M’Nally was a good-natured, hospitable, talented, dirty fellow, and had by the latter qualification so disgusted the circuit bar, that they refused to receive him at their mess, a cruelty I set my face against, and every Summer circuit endeavoured to vote him into the mess, but always ineffectually, his neglect of his person, the shrillness of his voice, and his frequenting low company, being assigned as reasons which never could be set aside.

M’Nally had done something in the great cause of Napper and Dutton, which brought him into still further disrepute with the bar. Anxious to regain his station by some act equalising him with his brethren, he determined to offend or challenge some of the most respectable members of the profession, who, however, shewed no inclination to oblige him in that way. He first tried his hand with Counsellor Henry Deane Grady, a veteran, but who upon this occasion refused the combat M’Nally, who was as intrepid as possible, by no means despaired; he was so obliging as to honour me with the next chance, and in furtherance thereof; on very little provocation gave me the retort *not *courteous in the court of King’s Bench.

I was well aware of his object, and not feeling very comfortable under the insult, told him, taking out my watch, “M’Nally, you shall meet me in the park in an hour.”

The little fellow’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at the invitation, and he instantly replied, “In *half an hour, *if you please,” comparing at the same moment his watch with mine. “I hope you won’t disappoint me,” continued he, as that --- Grady did,”

“Never fear, Mac,” answered I; “there’s not a gentleman at the bar but will fight you *to-morrow, *provided you live so long, which I can’t promise.”

We had no time to spare, so parted to get ready. The first man I met was Mr. Henry Harding, a huge, wicked, fighting King’s County attorney. I asked him to come out with me. To him it was fine sport. I also summoned Rice Gibbon, a surgeon, who, being the most ostentatious fellow imaginable, brought an immense bag of surgical instruments, &c. from Mercer’s Hospital. In 45 minutes we were regularly posted in the middle of the review ground in the Phoenix Park; and the whole scene to any person not so seriously implicated, must have been irresistibly ludicrous. The sun shone brightly, and Surgeon Gibbon, to lose no time in case of a hit, spread out all his polished instruments on the grass, glittering in the light on one side of me. My second having stepped nine paces, then stood at the other side, handed me a case of pistols, and desired me to *“work *away by J---s.”

M’Nally stood before me, very like a beer-barrel on its stilling, and by his side were ranged three unfortunate barristers, who were all soon afterwards hanged and beheaded for high treason - namely John Sheers, who was his second, and had given him his *point-blanks, *with Henry Sheers and Bagenal Harvey, who came as amateurs. Both of the latter I believe were amicably disposed, but a negotiation could not be admitted, and to it we went. M’Nally presented so coolly that I could plainly see I had but little chance of being missed, so I thought it best to lose no time on my part. The poor fellow staggered, and cried out, “I am hit!” and I found some twitch myself at the moment which I could not at the time account for.

Never did I experience so miserable a feeling. He had received my ball directly in the curtain of his side. My doctor rushed at him with the zeal and activity of a dissecting surgeon, and in one moment, with a long knife, which he thrust into his waistband, ripped up his clothes, and exposed his naked carcass to the bright sun.

The ball appeared to have hit the buckle of his gallows (yclept suspenders), by which .it had been partially impeded, and had turned round instead of entering his body. Whilst I was still in dread as to the result, my second, after seeing that he had been so far protected by the suspenders, inhumanly exclaimed, “By J---s, Mac! you are the only rogue I ever knew that was *saved *by the gallows.”

On returning home, I found I had not got off quite so well as I had thought; the skirt of my coat was perforated on both sides, and a scratch, just enough to break the skin, had taken place on both my thighs. I did not know this whilst on the ground, but it accounts for the *twitch *I spoke of.

My opponent soon recovered, and after the *precedent *of being wounded by a King’s Counsel, no barrister could afterwards decently refuse to give him satisfaction. He was therefore no longer insulted, and the poor fellow has often told me since, that my shot was his salvation. He subsequently got Curran to bring us together at his house, and, a more zealous friendly partisan I never had than M’Nally proved himself on my contest for the city of Dublin.

Leonard was a great poetaster; and having fallen in love with a Miss Janson, daughter of a very rich attorney, of Bedford Row, London, he wrote on her the celebrated song of “The Lass of Richmond Hill” - her father had a lodge there. She could not withstand this, and returned his flame. This young lady was absolutely beautiful, but quite a slattern in her person. She likewise had a turn for versifying, and was therefore altogether well adapted to her lame lover, particularly as she never could spare time from her poetry to wash her hands - a circumstance in which M’Nally was sympathetic.

The father, however, notwithstanding all this, refused his consent; and consequently M’Nally took advantage of his dramatic knowledge by adopting the precedent of Barnaby Brittle, and bribed a barber to lather old Janson’s *eyes *as well as his *chin, *and with something rather sharper too than Windsor soap. Slipping out of the room whilst her father was getting rid of the lather and the smart, this Sappho, with her limping Phaon, escaped, and were united in the holy bands of matrimony the same evening; and she continued making, and M’Nally correcting verses, till it pleased God to call them away. This curious couple conducted themselves, both generally and towards each other, extremely well after their union. Old Janson partly forgave them, and made some settlement upon their children.

The ancient mode of duelling in Ireland was generally on horseback. The combatants were to gallop past each other at a distance marked out by posts, which prevented a nearer approach: they were at liberty to fire at any time from the commencement to the end of their course; but it must be at a hand-gallop: their pistols were previously charged alike with a certain number of balls, slugs, or whatever was most convenient, as agreed upon.

There had been from time immemorial a spot marked out on level ground near the Down of Clapook, Queen’s County, on the estate of my granduncle, Sir John Byrne, which I have often visited as *classic ground. *It was beautifully situated near Stradbally, and here, according to tradition and legendary tales, the old captains and chieftains used to meet and decide their differences. Often did I walk it over, measuring its dimensions step by step. The bounds of it are still palpable, about 60 or 70 steps long, and about thirty or forty wide large stones remain on the spot where, I suppose, the posts originally stood to divide the combatants, which posts were about eight or nine yards asunder, being the nearest point from which they were to fire. The time of firing was voluntary, so as it occurred during their course, and, as before stated, in a hand-gallop.

If the quarrel was not terminated in one course, the combatants proceeded to a second; and if it was decided to go on after their pistols had been discharged, they then either finished with short broadswords on horseback or with small swords on foot; but the tradition ran that when they fought with small swords, they always adjourned to the rock of Donamese, the ancient fortress of the O’Moors and the Princes of Offely. This is the most beautiful of the inland ruins I have seen in Ireland. There, in the centre of the old fort, on a flat green sod, are still visible the deep indentures of the feet both of principals who have fought with small rapiers and their seconds; every modern visitor naturally stepping into the same marks, the indentures are consequently kept up, and it is probable that they will be deeper one hundred years hence than they were a year ago.

My grandfather, Colonel Jonah Barrington of Cullenaghmore, had a great passion for hearing and telling stories as to old events, and particularly as to duels and battles fought in his own neighbourhood or by his relatives; and as these were just adapted to make impression on a very young curious mind like mine, at the moment nearly a *carte blanche *(the *Arabian Nights *for instance, read by a child are never forgotten by him), I remember, as if they were told yesterday, many of his recitals and traditionary tales, particularly those he could himself attest; and his face bore, to the day of his death, ample proof that he had not been idle amongst the combatants of his own era.

The battle I remember best, because I heard it oftenest and through a variety of channels, was one of my grandfather’s about the year 1759. He and a Mr. Gilbert had an irreconcilable grudge; I forget the cause, but I believe it was a very silly one. It increased, however, every day, and the relatives of both parties found it must inevitably end in a combat, which, were it postponed till the sons of each grew up, might be enlarged perhaps from an individual into a regular family engagement. It was therefore thought better that the business should be ended at once, and it was decided that they should fight on horseback on the green of Maryborough; that the ground should be 100 yards of race and eight of distance ; the weapons of each, two holster pistols, a broad-bladed but not very long sword - I have often seen my grandfather’s, with basket handle, and a skeen or long broad-bladed dagger; the pistols to be charged with one ball and swan-drops.

The entire country for miles round attended to see the combat, which had been six months settled and publicly announced, and the county trumpeter who attended the judges at the assizes was on the ground. My grandfather’s second was a Mr. Lewis Moore, of Cremorgan, whom I well recollect; Gilbert’s was one of his own name and family-a captain of cavalry.

All due preliminaries being arranged, the country collected and placed as at a horse-race, and the ground kept free by the gamekeepers and huntsmen mounted, the combatants started and galloped towards each other. Both fired before they reached the nearest spot, and missed. The second course was not so lucky. My grandfather received many of Gilbert’s shot full in his face; the swan-drops penetrated no deeper than his temple and cheek-bones, the large bullet fortunately passed him. The wounds, not being dangerous, only enraged old Jonah Barrington, and the other being equally willing to continue the conflict, a fierce battle hand to hand ensued; but I should think they did not close *too *nearly, or how could they have escaped with life?

My grandfather got three cuts, which he used to exhibit with great glee

• one on the thick of the right arm, a second on his bridle-arm, and the third on the inside of the left band. His hat, which he kept to the day of his death, was also sliced in several places; but both had iron skull-caps under their hats, which probably saved their brains from remaining upon the green of Maryborough.

Gilbert had received two pokes from my grandfather on his thigh and his side, but neither dangerous. I fancy he had the best of the battle, being as strong as and less irritable than my grandfather, who, I suspect, grew towards the last a little ticklish on the subject; for he rushed headlong at Gilbert, and instead of striking at his person, thrust his broadsword into the horse’s body as often as he could, until the beast dropped with his rider underneath him; my grandfather then leaped off his horse, threw away his sword, and putting his skeen or broad dagger to the throat of Gilbert, told him to ask his life or die, as he must do either one or the other in half a minute. Gilbert said he would ask his life only upon the terms that, without apology or conversation, they should shake hands heartily and be future friends and companions, and not leave the youths of two old families to revenge their quarrel by slaughtering each other. These terms being quite agreeable to my grandfather, as they breathed good sense, intrepidity, and good heart, he acquiesced, and from that time they were the most intimately attached and joyous friends and companions of the county they resided in.

My grandfather afterwards fought at Clapook a Mr. Fitzgerald, who was badly shot On this occasion old Gilbert was my grandfather’s second. I remember well seeing him, as I do also the late chief justice, then Serjeant Pattison, who had come down to Cullenaghmore to visit my grandfather, and, as I afterwards discovered, to cheat him. Gilbert brought me a great many sweet things; and 1 heard that evening so many stories of fights at Clapook, and on the ridge of Maryborough, that I never forgot them; and it is curious enough that I have all my life taken the greatest delight in hearing of or reading about ancient battles and chivalrous adventures. Nothing amuses me more to this day, and hence, perhaps, it is that I recollect those tales and traditions at the present moment with perfect distinctness and accuracy - my memory seldom fails me in anything, and least of all in recitals such as the foregoing.

Barrington Index. Home.