Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 1 (of 3). Jonah Barrington

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СКАЧАТЬ that he had been Master of the Ceremonies at Dublin Castle is rather perplexing! He became a wine-merchant latterly, dropped the O which had been placed at the beginning of his name, and was a well-conducted and respectable man.19

      Joe was a slender young man, remarkably handsome; but what, in that part of the country, they emphatically styled “the devil!” I recollect his dancing a hornpipe upon the stage in a sailor’s costume most admirably. He also sang the songs of Young Meadows, in “Love in a Village,” extremely well, as likewise those of Macheath and other parts; but he could never give the acting any effect. He was, strictly speaking, a bravura singer; – there was no deep pathos – nothing touchant in his cadences; – but in drinking-songs, &c. he was unrivalled. As his brother has not thought proper to speak about him, it might be considered out of place for me to go into his history, all of which I know, and many passages whereof might probably be both entertaining and instructive. Some parts of it however are already on record, and others I hope will never be recorded. The Duke of Wellington knew Joe Kelly extremely well; and if he had merited advancement, I dare say he would have received it. The last conversation I had with him was on the Boulevard Italien, in Paris. I was walking with my son, then belonging to the 5th Dragoon Guards. Kelly came up and spoke to us. I shook him by the hand, and he talked away: – spoke to my son – no answer; – he tried him again – no reply. Kelly seemed surprised, and said, “Don’t you know me, Barrington? why don’t you speak to me?” – “’Tis because I do know you that I do not speak to you,” replied my son. – Kelly blushed, but turned it off with a laugh. I could not then guess the reason for this cut direct; and my son refused to tell me: I have since, however, become acquainted with it, and think the sarcasm well merited. It was indeed the bitterer, from its being the only one I ever heard my son utter. Joe Kelly killed his man in a duel, for which he was tried, and narrowly escaped. According to his own account indeed, he killed plenty at the battle of Waterloo, and in other actions. He was himself shot at Paris by a commissary with whom he had quarrelled, and the Irish humorists remarked thereupon that Joe had “died a natural death.”

      Of this convivial assemblage at my brother’s, he was, I take it, the very life and soul. The dining-room (the only good one) had not been finished when the day of the dinner-party arrived, and the lower parts of the walls having only that morning received their last coat of plaster, were, of course, totally wet.

      We had intended to surprise my brother; but had not calculated on the scene I was to witness. On driving to the cottage-door, I found it open, whilst a dozen dogs, of different descriptions, showed themselves ready to receive us not in the most polite manner. My servant’s whip, however, soon sent them about their business, and I ventured into the parlour to see what cheer. It was about ten in the morning: the room was strewed with empty bottles – some broken – some interspersed with glasses, plates, dishes, knives, spoons, &c. – all in glorious confusion. Here and there were heaps of bones, relics of the former day’s entertainment, which the dogs, seizing their opportunity, had cleanly picked. Three or four of the Bacchanalians lay fast asleep upon chairs – one or two others on the floor, among whom a piper lay on his back, apparently dead, with a table-cloth spread over him, and surrounded by four or five candles, burnt to the sockets; his chanter and bags were laid scientifically across his body, his mouth was quite open, and his nose made ample amends for the silence of his drone. Joe Kelly, and a Mr. Peter Alley, from the town of Durrow, (one of the half-mounted gentry,) were fast asleep in their chairs, close to the wall.

      Had I never viewed such a scene before, it would have almost terrified me; but it was nothing more than the ordinary custom which we called waking the piper.20

      I sent away my carriage and its fair inmate to Castle Durrow, whence we had come, and afterward proceeded to seek my brother. No servant was to be seen, man or woman. I went to the stables, wherein I found three or four more of the goodly company, who had just been able to reach their horses, but were seized by Morpheus before they could mount them, and so lay in the mangers awaiting a more favourable opportunity. I apprehend some of the horses had not been as considerate as they should have been to tipsy gentlemen, since two or three of the latter had their heads cut by being kicked or trampled on. Returning hence to the cottage, I found my brother, also asleep, on the only bed which it then afforded: he had no occasion to put on his clothes, since he had never taken them off.

      I next waked Dan Tyron, a wood-ranger of Lord Ashbrook, who had acted as maître d’hôtel in making the arrangements, and providing a horse-load of game to fill up the banquet. I then inspected the parlour, and insisted on breakfast. Dan Tyron set to work: an old woman was called in from an adjoining cabin, the windows were opened, the room cleared, the floor swept, the relics removed, and the fire lighted in the kitchen. The piper was taken away senseless, but my brother would not suffer either Joe or Alley to be disturbed till breakfast was ready. No time was lost; and, after a very brief interval, we had before us abundance of fine eggs, and milk fresh from the cow, with brandy, sugar and nutmeg in plenty; – a large loaf, fresh butter, a cold round of beef, (which had not been produced on the previous day,) red herrings, and a bowl-dish of potatoes roasted on the turf ashes; – in addition to which, ale, whiskey, and port made up the refreshments. All being duly in order, we at length awakened Joe Kelly, and Peter Alley, his neighbour: they had slept soundly, though with no other pillow than the wall; and my brother announced breakfast with a view holloa!21

      The twain immediately started and roared in unison with their host most tremendously! it was however in a very different tone from the view holloa, – and continued much longer.

      “Come boys,” says French, giving Joe a pull – “come!”

      “Oh, murder!” says Joe, “I can’t!” – “Murder! – murder!” echoed Peter. French pulled them again, upon which they roared the more, still retaining their places. I have in my lifetime laughed till I nearly became spasmodic; but never were my risible muscles put to greater tension than upon this occasion. The wall, as I said before, had but just received a coat of mortar, and of course was quite soft and yielding when Joe and Peter, having no more cellarage for wine, and their eyesight becoming opake, thought proper to make it their pillow; it was nevertheless setting fast from the heat and lights of an eighteen hours’ carousal; and, in the morning, when my brother awakened his guests, the mortar had completely set, and their hair being the thing best calculated to amalgamate therewith, the entire of Joe’s stock, together with his queue, and half his head, was thoroughly and irrecoverably bedded in the greedy and now marble cement; – so that if determined to move, he must have taken the wall along with him, for separate it would not. One side of Peter’s head was in the same state of imprisonment, so as to give his bust the precise character of a bas-relief. Nobody could assist them, and there they both stuck fast.

      A consultation was now held on this pitiful case, which I maliciously endeavoured to protract as long as I could, and which was every now and then interrupted by a roar from Peter or Joe, as each made fresh efforts to rise. At length, it was proposed by Dan Tyron to send for the stone-cutter, and get him to cut them out of the wall with a chisel. I was literally unable to speak two sentences for laughing. The old woman meanwhile tried to soften the obdurate wall with melted butter and new milk – but in vain. I related the school story how Hannibal had worked through the Alps with vinegar and hot irons: – this experiment likewise was made, but to no purpose; the hot irons touching the raw, only added a new octave to the roars of the captives, and the Carthaginian solvent had no better success than the old crone’s. Peter being of a more passionate nature, grew ultimately quite outrageous: he bellowed, gnashed his teeth, and swore vengeance against the mason; – but as he was only held by one side, a thought at last struck him: he asked for two knives, which being brought, he whetted one against the other, and introducing the blades close to his skull, sawed away at cross corners for half an hour, cursing and crying out during the whole operation, till at length he was liberated, with the loss only of half his hair, the skin of one jaw, and СКАЧАТЬ