A GLIMPSE AT AN IRISH VILLAGE IN THE 18TH CENTURY. PART II

The Nationalist and Leinster Times, 14 November 1896

A Glimpse at an Irish Village in the Eighteenth Century

Part II

The rather lengthened interval which has elapsed between the appearance of this paper and the previous one on the same subject no doubt calls for explanation. Discarding vain excuses, the true and only reason is that the editors of local papers are bound to cater to the taste of the bulk of their readers, and they know full well the record of present nowadays doings, even of the most commonplace description, are much more eagerly looked for than memories of the past. For the past few weeks our Court of Quarter Sessions have furnished plenty of readable copy, and naturally enough everything that would keep was pigeon-holed – that is what has escaped the waster paper basket.

In the preceding paper we dealt with the social aspect of Balitore as it presented itself to the vision of that observant old Quaker lady, Mary Leadbeater. We represented as well as we were able the picture of the quiet, but prosperous village, where peace and plenty were enjoyed, and in which prosperity was attainable by many. We now come to a time when the calm and quiet existence of the simple villager was rudely interrupted by that horror of horrors, an unsuccessful insurrection. Coming events cast their shadows before, and dire presages of the dreadful year of 1798 were not wanting. In 1794 we are told that great popular dissatisfaction was caused by the embodying of the militia, and about 100 men entered Balitore one morning and tendered an oath to all of their class (presumably the working class) that they should not join either army or militia, but remain true to their own cause. Soon after this a party of soldiers was stationed in Balitore, and the Kerry Militia were soon afterwards sent and billeted on the inhabitants. Much inquietude prevailed in these islands about this time on account of the apprehended invasion by the French, and Mrs. Leadbeater was witness to the departure of troops to repel invaders on the occasion of one of these war scares. She writes, “Many of us were in Carlow attending the quarterly meeting, when on the morning of the 25th of the 12th month (Christmas Day) the alarm came that the French Fleet had been seen off Bantry. We saw the troopers march out of town to meet them. It was an awful sight, not knowing but that these, now in the pride of health, would be sacrificed to war. The weather became very inclement and the rigours of frost and snow were severely felt by the crowds of soldiers who were hastening to Bantry. Carlow was all in confusion; so was Balitore, our houses being for a long time open to the military.” The godly Quakers were much shocked at the dissipated habits and profane language of the soldiers. One of the warriors, we were told, was particularly robust in his expressions and was rebuked for swearing by a companion who noticed the effect of his outrageous expressions on the ladies of the household. “Me swear,” he replied with seeming surprise. “I never swear in the greatest extremities.” Mrs. Leadbeater adds that her people bore with the inconvenience of having their houses thronged with soldiers, but that the idea that this was but the beginning of sorrows was distressing. The foreboding was cruelly verified. In the summer of 1797 there was a bonfire, and the first illuminations ever seen in Balitore, to testify the joy of the people for Col. Keating having gained the election over Co. Kildare. “His amiable lady,” writes our author, instituted an annual spinning match in the court of her own house and distributed five prizes. This bid fair to awaken a spirit of industry, but the pleasant prospect was soon overcast . . .   Soldiers now constituted part of the inhabitants of Balitore – the Cork Militia were stationed here. William Cooke, Ballylea, about three miles hence, was attacked by a number of men who attacked his house and demanded arms. We all saw with dread the approaching flame of discord. Early in 1798 the King’s County Militia, who had been quartered in the village and who had by their good conduct earned the good will of the people, were withdrawn and their places were taken by the Tyrone Militia, most of whom, we are told, were professed Orangemen, and wore the ribbon of their party. This is the state of affairs that ensued –“Hitherto the soldiers who were quartered in our houses had found themselves in provisions. The threat respecting free quarters was now put into execution. Foraging parties were sent into the country shops and private houses were searched for whiskey, which was ordered to be spilled (we doubt that the gallant true blues carried out this order literally), and seditious papers were sought for. On the day of this search I was not at home, else I suppose I should have opened by desk in the security of conscious innocence, quite forgetting that I had thrown into it one of the squibs then privately circulated which in very tolerable poetry avowed disloyal sentiments. I started at the danger it was so near bringing upon us, and thankfully flung it into the fire. Robert Bayley was pursued because he attempted to take away one of his own horses and was made a prisoner. Ephraim Boake’s house was plundered.”

After describing the plunder and robbery of the unfortunate people by the soldiers and militia, she states that the garrison was augmented by the Suffolk Fencibles and the infamous Ancient Britons. The latter, whom she describes as dressed in blue with much silver lace – a very pretty dress – came from Athy, seized the smiths’ tools to prevent them from making pikes, and made prisoners of the smiths themselves. “I could not see,” she writes “without emotion poor Owen Finn and his brother hand-cuffed, and weeping as they walked after the car containing these implements of industry which had enabled them to provide comfortably for the family. Several of these were whipped publicly to extort confessions about the pikes. The torture was excessive, the victims were long in recovering, and in every case it was applied fruitlessly. The village once so peaceful exhibited a scene of tumult and dismay, and the air rang with the shrieks of the sufferers, and the lamentations of those who beheld them suffer.” The 24th of May the soldiers were ordered to march to Naas, a report having been circulated that the jail there had been attacked. Mrs. Leadbeater states, as the troops were leaving the town a young woman told a lieutenant privately that the insurgents lay in ambush at Narraghmore wood. The British were, therefore, prepared to meet them, and many were killed both there and at the Courthouse.

The soldiers having evacuated Balitore, the insurgents to the number of 300 marched in. They were dressed in green, bore sticks on which were fastened green rags, and were led by one Malache Delaney, who we are told, rode upon a white horse. How different was their conduct from that of the soldiery we may glean from Mrs. Leadbeater’s description, “I saw from the upper window a crowd come towards our kitchen door, I went down and found many armed men who desired refreshments, especially a drink. I brought them milk and was cutting a loaf of bread when a little elderly man called ‘the Canny,’ took it kindly out of my hand and divided it himself, saying, ‘be decint boys; be decint.’ Encouraged by having found a friend I ventured to tell that so many armed men in the room frightened me. The warriors condescended to my fears. ‘We’ll be out in a shot,’ they replied, and in a minute the kitchen was empty.” The conduct of the rebels all through showed an amount of chivalry and generosity strongly in contrast with the brutal ferocity of their foes. A small party of the soldiers who remained in Balitore were told that they would not be molested if they surrendered, and when they were taken prisoners, after a stout resistance, the Irish were satisfied with taking the life of one of the party who had shot down one of the peasantry. Delaney, we are told, exerted himself to prevent bloodshed, and proved himself to be a generous enemy, showing as much humanity as courage. Richard Yeates, son to Squire Yeates, of Moone, was shot – doubtless, the popular account against him was a heavy one. “Priest Cullen” says Mrs. Leadbetter “begged the young man’s life on his knees.”

The writer refers briefly to the abortive insurgent attack on Carlow, which she says was repelled with a slaughter almost amounting to massacre. “A row of cabins in which the insurgents had taken shelter were set on fire and the inmates burned to death. No quarter was given, no mercy shown, and most of those who had escaped burning, with disappointment, rage and revenge joined the Wexford party.”

On the 27th of May the troops returned to wrest Balitore from the United Irishmen. They were commanded by a Major Denis, who issued the cruel order to fire upon every man in coloured clothes. This force, which had come from Carlow, was joined by a party from Athy who, on their way out, battered down Col. Keating’s house at Narraghmore with cannon and mortally wounded John Carroll, cousin of the owner. The insurgents being too weak to cope with such a force they retreated, leaving the village to the tender mercies of the soldiery, who killed, burned, and plundered to their hearts’ content. The heart of the gentle “Friend” was harrowed at these fearful scenes. She records her feelings of disgust at the savagery of a “fat tobacconist of Carlow,” who “lolled upon one of our chairs and talked boastingly of the exploits performed by the military he had accompanied; how they had shot several, adding, we burned one fellow in a barrel.’ I never in my life felt disgust so strongly; it even overpowered the horror due to the dead which had been actually committed. The stupid cruelty of a man in civil life which urged him voluntarily and without necessity to leave his home and bear a part in such scenes was far more revolting than the fiery wrath of a soldier.” Mrs. Leadbeater records the names of many of the villagers who were shot in pure wantonness. These included Owen Finn, the blacksmith, and Dr. Johnson, who was executed although a Loyalist, and was actually wearing a yeoman uniform at the time of his arrest. “Priest Cullen,” we are told, applied to Mr. Shackleton for one of his coats with which to disguise himself, but not daring to put it on he fled up Boakefield and concealed himself in a clump of trees, where he remained undisturbed, although those who thirsted for his blood were scattered all about. Timolin was attacked after Balitore, and several houses were burned down. One Conway, a Protestant, was speared by one body of the soldiery, but was cut down by another.

The prowess of Hugh Cullen, of Prospect, father of the late Cardinal Cullen, has been handed down by tradition from father to son in the County Kildare, and the present writer has often heard it stated that Cullen killed four troopers with his own hand at the battle of Kilcullen. Mary Leadbeater was evidently unaware of the exploits of her neighbour, for she writes – “Martial law continued to be observed in Athy. Hugh Cullen, of Prospect, was made prisoner and carried from his fields to encounter this formidable power. Ephraim Boake saw the threatened destruction of his neighbour, the industrious father of a large family, whom he did not believe to have been guilty of any violence. Ephraim’s body and mind were not rendered inactive by age. He went to Dublin and exerted his influence with his friend Agar, Archbishop of Cashel, by whose means he obtained an order to stop proceedings by court martial from Lord Castlereagh, whose brother, Colonel Stewart, commanded in Athy and district. His messenger hastened from Dublin on his errand of mercy. The uplifted sword was stayed, and though long detained a prisoner Hugh Cullen was not irrevocably torn from his family. His brother, Paul, had been condemned by court martial a little before. His poor father attended the trail. When he returned the family anxiously inquired, “What news?” “Good news,” replied the parent sadly, “my child is to die, and is willing to die.” There seems to have been good stuff in these Cullens, either for the service of the church or that of their unfortunate country.

That portion of the annals dealing with the end of the year 1798 and the beginning of 1799 is a melancholy narrative of a series of outrages by the military and also of retaliation by the insurgents, many of whom were living as outlaws in the Wicklow mountains, from which they made descents during the night for the purpose of obtaining food and money. The houses of the Balitore Quakers were frequently visited, but the occupants do not seem to have been subjected to violence – at all events of an aggravated kind.

Re-typed by Jennifer O’Conner