Willy Reilly and his Dear Coleen Bawn. A tale, founded upon fact

Front matter

AND HIS DEAR COLEEN BAWN A TALE, FOUNDED UPON FACT. BY. WILLIAM CARLETON, author of "the black prophet;" " the miser;" " red hall, or the baronet's daughter;" "traits and storie6 of the irish peasantry;" "valentine m'clutchy;" etc. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. " ' Oh, rise up, Willy Reilly, and come alongst with me! I mean for to go with you, and leave this counterie ; To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and free lands ;'— And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Coleen Bawn." Ballad of "Willy Reilly. 1 ' Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth." Shakspeare. LONDON: HOPE AND CO., 16, GREAT SIARLBOBOUGH-STBEET. 1855.

Preface

. Most of our Irish readers must be aware that the following story is founded upon an incident in the history of the affections, which, ever since its occurrence, has oc cupied a large portion of popular interest. From the very first discovery of their attachment, the loves of "Willy Reilly" and his "Fair Coleen Bawn" became cele brated, and were made the burthen of many a rude ballad throughout Ireland. With the exception, however, of the one which we subjoin, they have all disappeared ; but that production, rude as it is, has stood its ground, and is permanently embodied as a favourite in the ballad poetry of the people. It is not, though couched in humble and a

PREFACE.

. VI unpretending language, without a good deal of rustic vigour, and, if we may be allowed the expression, a kind of inartistic skill, furnished either by chance or nature — it is difficult to determine which. We are of opinion, however, that it owes a great portion of its permanent popularity to feelings which have been transmitted to the people, arising not so much from the direct interest of the incidents embodied in it, as from the political spirit of the times in which they occurred. At that unhappy period the Penal Laws were in deadly and terrible operation ; and we need not be surprised that a young and handsome Ca tholic should earn a boundless popularity. especially among those of his own creed, by the daring and resolute act of taking away a Protestant heiress — the daughter of a persecutor — and whose fame, from her loveliness and accomplishments, had already become proverbial among the great body of the Irish people, and indeed throughout all classes. It was looked upon as a kind

PREFACE.

. VII of triumph over the persecutors ; and, in this instance, Cupid himself seemed to espouse the cause of the beads and rosary, and to become a tight little Catholic. The character of Sir Robert Whitecraft (a ficti tious name) is drawn from traditions which were some time ago floating among the peo ple, but which are fast fading out ofthe popu lar mind. The mode of his death, and its concomitants, the author has "often heard told in his youth, around the hob, during the long winter evenings. With respect to the description of the state of the unhappy Catholics, however I may have diminished, I have not exaggerated it ; and I trust that I have done ample justice to the educated Protestants of the day, many of whom not only opposed the Government openly and directly — whose object was extermination by the wither ing operation of oppressive laws — but threw up their commissions as justices of the peace, and refused to become the tools and abettors of religious persecution. To

PREFACE.

. VIII such noble-minded men I trust I have rendered ample justice. The following is the celebrated ballad of "Willy Reilly," which is still sung, and will long conti nue to be sung, at many a hearth in Ireland : — " Oh. ! rise up, Willy Reilly, and come alongst with, me, I mean for to go with you and leave this counterie, To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and free lands :"— And away goes "Willy Reilly and his dear Coleen Bawn. They go by hills and mountains, and by yon lonesome plain, Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain ; But her father followed after with a well-arm'd chosen band, And taken was poor Reilly and his dear Coleen Bawn. It's home then she was taken, and in her closet bound, Poor Reilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground, 'Till at the bar of justice before the Judge he'd stand. For nothing but the stealing of his dear Coleen Bawn.

PREFACE.

. IX " Now in the cold, cold iron, my hands and feet are bound, I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground ; But all this toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand, Still hoping to be succoured by my dear Coleen Bawn." The jailor's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say, " Oh ! get up, Willy Reilly, you must appear this day, Tor great Squire FoDlard's anger you never can withstand ; I'm afear'd you'll suffer sorely for your dear Coleen Bawn. " This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear, The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you clear." " If that be so," says Reilly, " her pleasure I will stand, Still hoping to be succoured by my dear Coleen Bawn." Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green, His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be seen j

PREFACE.

. X He's taU and straight, and comely as any could be found, He's fit for Foulard's daughter, was she heiress to a crown. The Judge he said, " This lady being in her tender youth, If Reilly has deluded her, she wOl declare the truth." Then, like a moving beauty bright, before him she did stand : — " You're welcome there, my heart's delight and dear Coleen Bawn !" " Oh, gentlemen," Squire Foillard said, " with pity look on me, This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family, And by his base contrivances this villany was planned; If I don't get satisfaction I will quit this Irish land." The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she, " The fault is none of Reilly's, the blame lies all on me: I forced him for to leave his place and come along with me ; I loved him out of measure, which has wrought our destiny."

PREFACE.

. XI Then out bespoke the noble Fox,* at the table he stood by, " Oh ! gentlemen, consider on this extremity, To hang a man for love is a murder you may see, So spare the life of Reilly, let him leave this counterie." " Good my Lord, he stole from her her diamonds and her rings, Gold watch and silver buckles, and many precious things, Which cost me in bright guineas more than five hundred pounds, I will have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds." "Goodmy Lord, I gave them him as tokens of true love; And when we are aparting I will them all remove : If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to me; They're poor compared to that true heart which I have given to thee. " There is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear, With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair, And as a true-love token wear it on your right hand, That you may think on my broken heart when you're in a foreign land." * His counsel; a celebrated advocate, and afterwards a judge.

PREFACE.

. XII Then out spoke noble Fox, " Tou may let the prisoner go, The lady's oath has cleared him, as the Jury all may know : She has released her own true love, she has renewed his name ; May her honour bright gain high estate, and her offspring rise to fame!" This ballad I found in a state of wretched disorder. It passed from one individual to another by ear alone ; and the inconsecu tive position of the verses, occasioned by inaccuracy of memory and ignorance, has sadly detracted from its genuine force. As it existed in the oral versions of the populace, the narrative was grossly at variance with the regular progress of circumstances which characterize a trial of any kind, but espe cially such a trial as that which it under takes to describe. The individuals concerned in it, for instance, are made to speak out of place ; and it would appear, from all the versions that I have heard, as if every stanza was assigned its position by lot.

PREFACE.

. XIII This fact, however, I have just accounted for and remedied, by having restored them to their original places, so that the vigorous but rustic bard is not answerable for the confusion to which unprinted poetry, sung by an uneducated people, is liable. As the ballad now stands, the character of the poet is satisfactorily vindicated; and the dis order which crept in during the course of time, though strongly calculated to weaken its influence, has never been able to injure its fame. This is a high honour to its composer, and proves him well worthy of the popularity which, under such adverse circumstances, has taken so firm a hold of the peasant feeling, and survived so long. The author trusts that he has avoided, as far as the truthful treatment of his sub ject would enable him, the expression of any political sentiment calculated to give offence to any party — an attempt of sin gular difficulty in a country so miserably divided upon religious feeling as this. The vol. I. * b

PREFACE.

. XIV experience of centuries should teach states men and legislators that persecution, on ac count of creed and conscience, is not only bad feeling but worse policy; and if the author, in these pages, has succeeded in conveying this self-evident truth to his readers, he will rest satisfied with that result, however severely the demerits of his work may be censured upon purely literary grounds. One thing may be said in his defence — that it was utterly impossible to dissociate the loves of this celebrated couple from the condition of the country, and the operation of the merciless laws which prevailed against the Catholics, in their day. Had the lovers both been Catholics, or both been Protestants, this might have been avoided ; but, as political and religious matters then stood, to omit the state and condition of society which resulted from them, would be somewhat like leaving the character of Hamlet out of the tragedy. As the work was first written, I described a good many of the Catholic priests of the

PREFACE.

. XV day as disguised in female apparel ; but on discovering that there exists an ecclesias tical regulation or canon forbidding any priest, under whatever persecution or pressure, to assume such apparel for the purpose of disguising his person or saving his life, I of course changed that portion of the matter, although a layman might well be pardoned for his ignorance of an ecclesiastical statute, which, except in very rare cases, can be known only to ecclesiastics themselves. I retain one instance, how ever, of this description, which I ascribe to Hennessy, the degraded friar, who is a histo rical character, and who wrought a vast weight of evil, as an informer, against the Catholic priesthood of Ireland, both regular and secular. With respect to the family name of the heroine and her father, I have adopted both the popular pronunciation and orthography, instead of the real. I give it simply as I found it in the ballad, and as I always heard it pronounced by the people ; in the

PREFACE.

. XVI first place, from reluctance, by writing it accurately, to give offence to that portion of this highly respectable family which still exists ; and in the next — from a disinclina tion to disturb the original impressions made on the popular mind by the ballad and the traditions associated with it. So far as the traditions go, there was nothing connected with the heroine of which her descendants need feel ashamed. If it had been otherwise, her memory never would have been enshrined in the affections of the Irish people for such an unusual period of time. Dublin, Febeuaey, 1855. WILLY EEILLY.

Chapter I. An Adventure And An Escape

Spirit of George Prince Regent James, Esq., forgive me this commencement ! It was one evening, at the close of a September month and a September day, that two equestrians might be observed passing along one of those old and lonely Irish roads that seemed, from the nature of its construction, to have been paved by a society of antiquarians, if a person could judge from its obsolete character, and the difficulty, without risk of neck and limb, of riding a horse or driving a carriage along it. Ireland, as our English readers ought to know, has always been a country teeming with abundance — a happy land, in which want, destitution, sickness, and famine have never been felt or known, except through VOL. I. B the mendacious misrepresentations of her enemies. The road we speak of was a proof of this ; for it was evident to every observer that in some season of superabundant food the people, not knowing exactly how to dispose of their shilling loaves, took to paving the common roads with them, rather than they should be utterly useless.

These loaves, in the course of time, underwent the process of petrifaction, but could not, nevertheless, be looked upon as wholly lost to the country. A great number of the Irish, within the last four years, took a peculiar fancy for them as food, which, we presume, caused their enemies to say that we then had hard times in Ireland. Be this as it may, it enabled the sagacious epicures who lived upon them to retire, in due course, to the delightful retreats of Skull and Skib bereen, and similar asylums, there to pass the remainder of their lives in health, ease, and luxury. The evening, as we have said, was about the close of September, when the two equestrians we speak of were proceeding at a pace necessarily slow. One of them was a bluff, fresh-complexioned man, of about sixty sum mers ; but although of a healthy look, and a frame that had evidently once been vigorous, yet he was a good deal stooped, had about him all the impotence of plethora, and his hair, which fell down his shoulders, was white as snow.

The other, who rode pretty close to him, was much about his own age, or perhaps a few years older, if one could judge by a face that gave more undeniable evidences of those furrows and wrinkles which Time usually leaves behind him. This person did not ride exactly side by side with the first-mentioned, but a little aback, though not so far as to prevent the possibility of conversation. At this time it may be mentioned here that every man who could afford it wore a wig, with the exception of some of those eccentric individuals that are to be found in every state and period of society, and who are remark able for that peculiar love of singularity which generally constitutes their character — a small and harmless ambition, easily gratified, and involving no injury to their fellow-creatures. The second horseman, therefore, wore a wig, but the other, although he eschewed that ornament, if it can be called so, was by no means a man of that mild and harmless character which we have attributed to the eccentric and unfashionable class of whom we have just spoken.

So far from that, he was a man of an obstinate and violent temper, of strong and unreflecting prejudices both for good and evil, hot, per severing, and vindictive, though personally brave, intrepid, and often generous. Like many of his class, he never troubled his head about religion as a matter that must, and ought to have been, personally, of the chiefest interest to himself; but, at the same time, he was looked upon as one of the best and staunchest Protestants of the day. His loyalty and devotedness to the throne of England were not only unquestionable, but proverbial throughout the country ; but, at the same time, he regarded no clergyman, of his own or any other creed, as a man whose intimacy was worth preserving, unless he was able to take off his three or four bottles of claret after dinner.

In fact, not to keep our readers longer in suspense, the relation which he and his companion bore to each other was that of master and servant. The hour was now a little past twilight, and the western sky presented an unusual, if not an ominous appearance. A sharp and melancholy breeze was abroad, and the sun, which had set among a mass of red clouds, half-placid, and half-angry in appearance, had for some brief space gone down. Over from the north, however, glided by imperceptible degrees a long black bar, right across the place of his disappearance, and nothing could be more striking than the wild and unnatural contrast between the dying crimson of the west, and this fearful mass of impenetrable darkness that came over it. As yet there was no moon. and the portion of light, or rather " darkness visible," that feebly appeared on the sky and the landscape, was singularly sombre and impressive, if not actually appal ling.

The scene about them was wild and desolate in the extreme; and as the faint outlines of the bleak and barren moors appeared in the dim and melancholy dis tance, the feelings they inspired were those of discomfort and depression. On each side of them were a variety of lonely lakes, abrupt precipices, and extensive marshes; and as our travellers went along, the hum of the snipe, the feeble but mournful cry of the plover, and the wilder and more pierc ing whistle of the curlew, still deepened the melancholy dreariness of their situa tion, and added to their anxiety to press on towards the place of their destination. " This is a very lonely spot, your honour," said his servant, whose name was Andrew, or, as he was more familiarly called, Andy Cummiskey. " Yes, but it's the safer, Andy," replied his master.

" There is not a human habi tation within miles of us." " It doesn't follow, sir, that this place, above all others in the neighbourhood, is not, especially at this hour, without some persons about it. You know I'm no coward, sir." " What, you scoundrel ! and do you mean to hint that I'm one?" " Not at all, sir ; but you see the truth is, that this being the very hour for duck and wild-fowl shootin', it's hard to say where or when a fellow might start up, and mistake me for a wild-duck, and your honour for a curlew or a bittern." He had no sooner spoken than the breeze started, as it were, into more vigorous life, and ere the space of many minutes a dark, impenetrable mist or fog was borne over from the solitary hills, across the dreary level of country through which they passed, and they felt themselves suddenly chilled, whilst a darkness, almost palpable, nearly concealed them from each other.

Now the roads which we have described, being almost without exception in remote and unfre quented parts of the country, are for the most part covered over with a thick sole of close grass, unless where a narrow strip in the centre shows that a pathway is kept worn, and distinctly marked by the tread of foot-passengers. Under all these circumstances, then, our readers need not feel surprised that, owing at once to the impe netrable obscurity around them, and the noiseless nature of the antique and grass covered pavement over which they went, scarcely a distance of two hundred yards had been gained when they found, to their dismay, that they had lost their path, and were in one of the wild and heathy stretches of unbounded moor by which they were surrounded. " We have lost our way, Andrew," observed his master.

" We've got off that damned old path ; what's to be done ? where are you?" " I'm here, sir," replied his man ; " but as for what's to be done, it would take Mave Mullin, that sees the fairies and tells for tunes, to tell us that. For heaven's sake stay where you are, sir, till I get up to you, for if we part from one another we're both lost. Where are you, sir?" " D — n you, sirra," replied his master, angrily, " is this either a time or place to jest in? A man that would make a jest in such a situation as this, would dance on his father's tombstone." " By my soul, sir, and I'd give a five pound note, if I had it, that you and I were dancing ' Jig Polthogue' on it this minute. But in the mane time, the devil a one o' me sees the joke your honour spakes of." " Why, then, do you ask me where I am, when you know I'm astray, that we're both astray, you snivelling old whelp ?

By the great and good King William, I'll be lost, Andrew !" " Well, and even if you are, sir," replied Andrew, who, guided by his voice, had now approached and joined him ; " even if B you are, sir, I trust you'll bear it like a Christian and a Trojan." " Get out, you old sniveller — what do you mean by a Trojan ?" " A Trojan, sir, I was tould, is a man that lives by sellin' wild fowl. They take an oath, sir, before they begin the trade, never to die until they can't help it." " You mean to say, or to hint at least, that in addition to our other dangers we run the risk of coming in contact with poachers ?" " Well then, sir, if I don't mistake they're out to-night. However, don't let us alarm one another. God forbid that I'd say a single word to frighten you ; but still, you know yourself that there's many a man not a hundred miles from us that 'ud be glad to mistake you for a target, a mallard, or any other wild fowl of that description."

" In the meantime we are both well armed," replied his master; "but what I fear most is the risk we run of falling down precipices, or walking into lakes or quagmires. What's to be done ? This fog is so cursedly cold that it has chilled my very blood into ice." " Our best plan, sir, is to dismount, and keep ourselves warm by taking a pleasant stroll across the country. The horses will take care of themselves. In the mane time keep up your spirits — we'll both want something to console us: but this I can tell you, that devil a bit of tombstone ever will go over either of us, barrin' the sky in hea ven; and for our coffins let us pray to the coffin-maker, bekaise you see it's the maddhu ruah* (the foxes), and ravens, and other civilised animals that will coffin us both by instalments in their hungry guts, until our bones will be beautiful to look at — afther about six months' bleaching — and a sharp eye 'twould be that 'ud know the difference between masther and man then, I think."

We omitted to say, that a piercing and most severe hoar frost had set in with the * Maddhu ruah, or, red dog, the Irish name for the fox. fog, and that Cummiskey's master felt the immediate necessity of dismounting, and walking about, in order to preserve some degree of animal heat in his body. " I cannot bear this, Andrew," said he, " and these two gallant animals will never recover it after the severe day's hunting they've had. Poor Fiddler and Piper," he exclaimed, " this has proved a melancholy day to you both. What is to be done, Andrew ? I am scarcely able to stand, and feel as if my strength had utterly left me." " What, sir," replied his servant, who cer tainly loved his master, " is it so bad with you as all that comes to ? Sure I only thought to amuse you, sir. Come, take cpurage, I'll whistle, and maybe somebody Avill come to our relief."

He accordingly put his two fingers into his mouth, and uttered a loud and piercing whistle, after which both stood still for a time, but no reply was given. " Stop, sir," proceeded Andrew; " I'll give them another touch that'll make them spake, if there's any one near enough to hear us." He once more repeated the whistle, but with two or three peculiar shakes or varia tions, when almost instantly one of a similar character was given in reply. "Thank God," he exclaimed, "be they friends or foes, we have human creatures not far from us. Take courage, sir. How do you feel ?" " Frozen and chilled almost to death," replied his master; " I'll give fifty pounds to any man or party of men that will con duct us safely home." " I hope in the Almighty," said Andrew, to himself, in an anxious and apprehensive tone of voice, " that it's not Parra Ruah (Red Patrick), the Red Rapparee, that's in it, and I'm afeered it is, for I think I know his whistle.

There's not a man in the three baronies could give such a whistle as that, barring himself. If it is, the masther's a gone man, and I'll not be left behind to tell his story. God protect us !" " What are you saying, Andrew ?" asked his master. " What were you muttering just now ?" " Nothing, sir, nothing ; but there can be no harm, at all events, to look to our pistols. If there should be danger let us sell our lives like men." " And so we will, Andrew. The country I know is in a disturbed and lawless state, and ever since that unfortunate affair ofthe priest, I know I am not popular with a great many. I hope we won't come across his Rapparee nephew." " Whether we do or not, sir, let us look to our fire-arms. Show me yours till I settle the powdher in them. Why, God bless me, how you are tremblin'."

" It is not from fear, sir," replied the in trepid old man, "but from cold. If any thing should happen me, Andrew, let mv daughter know that my will is in the oaken cabinet; that is to say, the last I made. She is my heiress — but that she is by the laws of the land. However, as I had disposed of some personal property to other persons, which disposition I have revoked in the will I speak of — my last as I said — I wish you to let her know where she may find it. Her mother's jewels are also in the same place — but they, too, are her's by right of law — her mother bequeathed them to her." " Ah! sir, you are right to remember and think well of that daughter. She has been a guardian angel to you these five years. But why, sir, do you give me this message ? Do you think I won't sell my life in defence of yours ?

If you do you're mistaken." " I believe it, Andrew, I believe it, An dy," said he, familiarising the word ; " but if this Red Rapparee should murder me, I don't wish you to sacrifice your life on my account. Make your escape if he should be the person who is approaching us, and convey to my daughter the message I have given you." At this moment another whistle proceeded from a quarter of the moor much nearer them, and Andy having handed back the pistols to his master, asked him should he return it. " Certainly," replied the other, who during all this time was pacing to-and-fro, in order to keep himself from sinking ; " certainly, let us see whether these persons are friends or enemies." His servant then replied to the whistle, and in a few minutes it was answered again, whilst at the same time a strong but bitter wind arose which cleared away the mist, and showed them with considerable distinct ness the position which they occupied.

Within about ten yards of them, to the left, the very direction in which they had been proceeding, was a small deep lake, or tarn, utterly shoreless, and into which they unquestionaby would have walked and perished, as neither of them knew how to swim. The clearing away of the mist, and the light of the stars (for the moon had not yet risen), enabled the parties to see each other, and in a few minutes Andrew and his master were joined by four men, the principal person among them being the identical individual whom they both had dreaded — the Red Rapparee. " Master," said Cummiskey, in a whisper, on seeing them approach, " we must fight for it, I'm afeered, but let us not be rash ; there may be a friend or two among them, and it is betther to come off peaceably if we can." " I agree with you," replied his master.