Rebellion in Kildare

The Rebellion in Kildare.

We are indebted to the Rev. John O’Hanlon, the able biographer of Archbishops O’Toole and O’Morghair, for the following traditional reminiscence of his grandfather’s connexion with the rebellion in Kildare

“In 1798, soon after the general rising, a comfortable grazier named Denis Downey, who held a considerable tract of land, on which stood the Gray Abbey ruins, near the town of Kildare, had been induced by a relative to take up arms and join the insurgent ranks. Having been engaged in some of the desultory affairs previous to the Curragh massacre, and his helpless wife, with two small children, having been daily exposed to insults, and the rapacity of the military force, during his absence from home, it was at length found necessary to abandon the farm-stead.

His wife and her infant charge sought a temporary place of refuge in Derryoughter; near the river Barrow. Here her aged father and mother resided. The insurgent husband found means for communicating to her his intentions of surrendering, with others, at the Gibbet Rath on the 3d of June. It is a fact, well remembered and handed down by tradition amongst the townspeople of Kildare, that on the very day before, several of Lord Roden’s foxhunters, in a riotous and drunken brawl, appeared in the streets, carrying articles of apparel on the top of their fixed bayonets, and swearing most vehemently, ‘We are the boys who will slaughter the croppies to-morrow at the Curragh!’ This announcement deterred many rebels from proceeding to the spot, and proved instrumental, no doubt, in saving their lives.

Amongst the unnotified, however, Downey, in hope of obtaining pardon, and mounted on a fine horse, went to the fatal trysting place. Having surrendered his arms, and an indiscriminate slaughter of the rebels’ having commenced, he at once got on horseback, and was endeavouring to escape, when he observed a near relative running away on foot. The horseman stopped for a moment, but when stooping for the purpose of mounting his friend behind, a bullet brought Downey to the ground, when his horse galloped wildly forward towards Derryoughter, where it had been previously stabled.

Meantime, Mrs Downey, whose mind had been filled with alarm and anxiety to learn the state of her husband, remained up nearly the whole of that night immediately preceding the 3d of June. Towards morning, wearied and careworn, she had been induced to take a brief rest. The most strange event of all then occurred, as afterwards frequently certified by herself and those with whom she at that time resided. About the very hour when the massacre took place on the Gibbet Rath, she started from a troubled sleep, during which she had a frightful dream or vision of her husband weltering in his blood.

Her instant screams drew all the family to her bedside. In vain did the aged father represent to her, that such a dream was only the result of her disordered fancies, and that better news might soon be expected. She wept bitterly and in utter despair of ever seeing her husband alive. The old man, taking his walking stick, turned down a retired road branching from his house towards the more public thoroughfare, leading from the Curragh. Almost the first object he encountered on the way was Downey’s horse covered with foam and galloping furiously, without any rider, yet bridled and saddled. This unwonted sight furnished a sad presentiment of his son-in-law’s fate.

Soon again he observed numbers of country people running along the high road in a state of wild excitement. The old man asked some of them what news from the Curragh. ‘Bad news! bad news!’ they exclaimed, ‘our friends were all slaughtered on the Curragh to-day!’ This heartrending intelligence was afterwards conveyed to his unhappy daughter.

With all the energy of despair, Mrs Downey insisted on having one of the common farm cars prepared. In this she proceeded to the scene of this diabolical massacre. She afterwards stated, that on the blood-stained plain, she turned over at least, 200 dead bodies before she recognised that of her husband. This latter she deposited covering the corpse with straw and a quilt.

Thus placing it beside her, the forlorn widow escaped without molestation to the house of a relative of her husband, living near the old burial-place, named Dunmurry, near the Red Hills of Kildare. Preparations were made for the interment. That very night, however, a rumour went abroad, that the military were searching every house throughout the district. Wherever a rebel corpse was found, it was reported that the house containing it would be consigned to the flames.

Hastily acting on such information, a grave was dug in an adjoining family burial-place of Dunmurry, whilst the body of Denis Downey was wrapped in a shroud and covered with sheets, for time would not allow of a coffin being made. In this manner the remains were consigned to their last resting-place, and covered with earth.

The poor woman soon returned to find her former comfortable home a perfect wreck. For nights in succession, with a servant maid, she was obliged to rise from bed and allow the ruffian soldiery to despoil her of almost every remnant of property. Desponding and broken-hearted in her unprotected situation, and happily wishing a retirement from the scenes of former happiness, the farm was afterwards sold to a purchaser, and the desolate widow, with her small infant charge, removed to the neighbouring town of Monasterevan.

Rarely could she be induced, in after years, to recur to this earlier period of her life, without tears moistening her eyes and stealing down her cheeks; nor could she ever regard a soldier without feelings of deep aversion. The foregoing narrative furnishes a dark illustration of baneful events, connected with the Irish Rebellion of 1798. ‘It is no isolated episode,’ adds Mr O’Hanlon; ‘for many other family afflictions, equally deplorable and tragic in results, must have chequered the lot in life of thousands who became victims during this sad period of civil commotion and disorder.’”

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