Henry Joy M'Cracken

SOME EXTRACTS
FROM THE
RECORDS OF

OLD LISBURN

AND THE

MANOR OF KILLULTAGH.

-- -- -- --

Edited by JAMES CARSON.

-- -- -- --

LXV.

-- -- -- --

HENRY JOY M'CRACKEN.

Ulster Biographies of 1798, by W. T. Latimer, B.A., 1897.

Henry Joy M'Cracken was born in High Street, Belfast, on the 31st of August, 1767. His father, John M'Cracken, was captain and part owner of a vessel that traded between Belfast and the West Indies. He was descended from a Presbyterian family that had settled at Hillhall, near Lisburn, when driven from Scotland by Prelatic persecution.

His mother was Ann Joy, daughter of Francis Joy, who, on the 1st of September, 1737, established the "Belfast Newsletter," the third newspaper published in Ireland. The family of Joy, or Joyeuse were of Huguenot descent; having fled from France rather than sacrifice their Presbyterian faith.

Samuel Neilson formed the idea of joining his country men, both Protestant and Catholic, into one grand confederacy of United Irishmen, who, instead of injuring one another, might combine to overthrow the enemies of their country.

The first object of the association was to obtain Parliamentary reform, and thus prevent a few hundred Episcopal landlords from ruling an entire nation. At first the United Irish Society was a lawful association, established for accomplishing a most desirable object. Its founder was Neilson, but Henry Joy M'Cracken laboured late and early with all the energy of his enthusiastic nature to promote its interests.

Before long, the leaders of the United Irishmen became discouraged at their want of speedy success in procuring Parliamentary reform by legitimate means, and, most unfortunately, began to aim at setting up a republic, after the example of the French. Accordingly, the society was remodelled, and in March, 1795, M'Cracken took the teat of the new organisation. Henceforth he devoted much of his time and energy to advocate its principles and forward its interests.

There is no doubt whatever that the Protestant United Irishmen of Ulster were by far the most formidable body with which the Government had to deal. They were numerous, more intelligent, and better organised than their brethren in any other province.

An adjutant-General was appointed in each county, and under him were a number of colonels. In Antrim the colonels held a meeting about the beginning of June, and pressed the general, Robert Simms, to take the field; but he opposed the resolution and resigned his command. M'Cracken was soon afterwards appointed in his stead, and he became not only adjutant-general for Antrim, but commander-in-chief of the United Irish Army of the North.

He planned for attacks to be made simultaneously on Randalstown, Ballynahinch, Saintfield, Newtownards, and Portaferry.

M'Cracken determined to make his chief attack on the town of Antrim, and there he commanded in person.

One hour after M'Cracken attacked Antrim he was master of the town, and the victory seemed to be won.

Meanwhile reinforcements, superior in numbers to the entire rebel army, had arrived under Clavering and Durham, from Blaris camp and from Belfast.

The battle was now won by the Royal troops, but at the expense of many killed and wounded.

Undaunted by this defeat, M'Cracken collected the remains of his army at Donegore, and determined to attack the Royal troops at Ballymena. But the insurgents, baffled by defeat, dispersed so rapidly that very soon he could count only about a hundred followers. These also soon dispersed, and he was finally captured near Carrickfergus.

The trial took place on July 17th, in the Exchange, Belfast, when he was condemned and ordered to prepare for immediate execution.

At five o'clock M'Cracken was ordered to the place of execution -- the old market-house which stood at the corner of Corn Market and High Street, and which had been given to the town by his own great-grandfather.

The hangman had accepted a bribe to discharge his duty so as to save the prisoner's life, and medical friends were ready to apply every remedy as soon as they received his body. M'Cracken ascended the scaffold and attempted to speak to the people, but his words were drowned by the trampling of the cavalry, and he quietly resigned himself to his fate. Years before this fatal day he had told a friend that he did not desire to ever die of sickness. In a few minutes all was over. His body was given to his friends, but all efforts to restore animation were unsuccessful.

His remains were buried in the graveyard beside the Episcopal church in High Street. Some years afterwards the parson of the parish got many of the graves levelled, and the ground sold for building purposes. The dust of the patriot lies under one of the houses erected on this site. His coat and sword may still be seen in the Belfast Museum.

M'Comb's Guide to Belfast and Adjoining Districts, 1861.

This little volume of some 180 pages contains a large amount of varied information -- historical and otherwise -- and gives a long and detailed account of the

BATTLE OF BALLYNAHINCH.

On the morning of the 11th June. 1798, Munroe -- who had been a Volunteer -- a man of good military talent, "spoiled," says Teeling, "by a romantic love of glory and a mistaken feeling of honour," despatched one of his officers, named Townshend, to take possession of Ballynahinch -- a commission which was easily executed, as the garrison fled at his approach. On the 12th Munroe marched for Ballynahinch with the remainder of his force. (With that detached under Townshend it amounted to nearly 7,000 men.) On his way he learned that the Royal troops under General Nugent, supported by the artillery of General Barber, had left Belfast to intercept him. It was not long before their approach was indicated by unmistakable signs. As far as the eye could reach they had fired the country along their line of march. The two armies shortly came into collision. For upwards of an hour Munroe succeeded in keeping the Royal forces in check. He had, however, no artillery except a few small ship guns -- some six or eight -- mounted on country cars, while the British artillery was effective and well served. Obliged at length to give way, he sent instructions to Townshend to evacuate Ballynahinch, a part of which had already caught fire from the enemy's shells, and drew off his forces to the neighbouring hill of Ednavady. The British troops entered the town late in the evening, and began plundering, burning, and drinking. The disorganisation caused by these excesses afforded the insurgent army an opportunity during the night of repairing the disaster of the day. A council of war was held, and instant action was urged by all except Munroe. "We scorn," said he, "to avail ourselves of the ungenerous advantage which night affords. We will meet them in the blush of open day; we will fight them like men, not under the cloud of night, but the first rays of to-morrow's sun." This decision was so unpopular among Munroe's men that a well-armed division of about 700, with their leader, marched off en masse, and numerous other desertions followed.

At dawn on the 13th Munroe formed his men for action, and soon after commenced the attack by cannonading the town as best he could with his inadequate means. His small h=guns were promptly replied to by the heavier artillery of the enemy. A strong division of insurgents marched from Ednavady hill, with the view of entering the town on the right; a still more formidable column, led by Munroe, directed its march to the left. The former drawn up solid column, received a body of troops despatched by Nugent with a destructive fire, by which their leader was killed, and they were compelled to retreat to the town. Munroe's division, bearing down all opposition, entered it under a dreadful fire of musketry and grape. A piece of heavy artillery fell into the hands of the pikemen, who charged to the very muzzle of the guns. Munroe gained the centre of the town, where he was exposed to a cross-fire of musketry in the market square, and raked by artillery. His ammunition failing, he made an irresistible charge with the bayonet and the pike. The British general ordered a retreat. The insurgents, unacquainted with the trumpet's note, and enveloped by the smoke, mistook the sound for the signal to charge, and, conceiving that the enemy had been reinforced, fled precipitately from the town in a southerly direction, while the Royal troops were as rapidly evacuating it on the north. The consequence was an utter rout of the rebels. The 22nd Light Dragoons charged the flying insurgents, and were joined by the infantry who had rallied. Munroe regained his former position on Ednavady, but too late to offer decisive resistance. There remained no alternative between flight and destruction. The former was adopted. Numbers of the insurgents fell in the retreat. The town was pillaged and burned by the victorious Royalists. Two days afterwards Munroe was captured, tried by court-martial, and executed in front of his own house in Lisburn. His head was exhibited from the market-house on a pole.

As regards the losses on both sides during the two days of the conflict, various statements have appeared -- none of them, probably, accurate. Gordon says that the loss of the rebels was about 150, and that of the Royal troops more than 40. Another account states that only 20 bodies of the rebels were found in the town, and 28 scattered over the surrounding country; and a third gives the number of insurgents killed on the field and in the flight as from 100 to 500. The forces of the latter on the 13th amounted, deducting for desertions, to over 5,000; that of the Royalists to from 2,000 to 3,000.

The insurgents were routed after a hard contest; many of them were killed by the yeomanry in their flight, and among them a young girl of extraordinary beauty, named Elizabeth Grey, of Killinchy. She went into the action with a brother and a lover, determined to share their fate, mounted on a pony, and bearing a green flag. After the defeat the three fled, and on their retreat they were overtaken by a detachment of the Hillsborough Yeomanry Infantry, within a mile and a half of Hillsborough. She was first come up with, the young men being at a little distance seeking a place for her to cross a small river, and could easily have escaped. She refused to surrender, and when they saw her likely to fall into the hands of the yeomen they rushed to her assistance, and endeavoured to prevail on the captors to release her, offering themselves as prisoners in her stead. Their entreaties were in vain. Her brother and her lover were murdered on the spot. She still resisted, and it is said that a man called "Jack Gill," one of the cavalry, cut her gloved hand off with his sword. She was then shot through the head by Thomas Nelson, of the parish of Anahilt; aided by James Little, of the same place. The three dead bodies were found and buried by their friends. Little's wife was afterwards seen wearing the girl's earrings and green petticoat.


Bessie Grey.

If through Killinchy's woods and vales
      You searched a summer day.
The loveliest maiden to be found
      Was bonnie Bessie Grey.

The wild flowers shed their sweet perfume
      Whene'er she passed them by,
And put their brightest colours on
      To meet her gladsome eye.

She gathered pebbles in the brook,
      And berries in the dell--
A favourite wheresoe'er she went--
      The neighbours loved her well.

And Willie loved her tenderly;
      And won her maiden heart;
He loved, and was beloved again.
      And nought but death would part.

Alas! alas! Killinchy woods,
      Woe worth the summer day
When Willie left his native hills
      To join the battle fray!

And Bessie by her brothers side
      Rode on in sadden'd glee,
While many a weeping one cried out
      "God bless the gallant three!"

'Twas morning when they reached the hill.
      And welcome words were said
By many who, before the night,
      Lay numbered with the dead.

Fierce looks were quickly interchanged
      Between contending foes,
As sound of sharp'ning pike and song
      From Ednavady rose.

And shouts of noisy soldiery
      From Windmill Hill were heard
As proud defiance lifted up
      The musket and the sword.

Now Bessie on her tiny steed
      Bore high her flag of green;
Where'er the battle fiercely raged
      Killinchy's Lass was seen.

Now woe be on thee, Anahilt!
      And woe be on the day
When brother, lover, both were slain,
      And with them Bessie Grey!

(Next Week: The Volunteers of 1778.)


(This article was originally published in the Lisburn Standard on 11 January 1918 as part of a series which ran in that paper each week through 1917 and into 1918. The text along with other extracts can be found on my website Eddies Extracts.)

Harry Munroe, 1758-1798

SOME EXTRACTS

FROM THE

RECORDS OF

OLD LISBURN

AND THE

MANOR OF KILLULTAGH.

-- -- -- --

Edited by JAMES CARSON.

-- -- -- --

LXIV.

-- -- -- --

HARRY MUNROE, 1758-1798.

By Hugh M'Call.

The excitement and restlessness created by the political agitation that immediately preceded the insurrection in 1798 did immense injury to the country. Unsettled habits were giving a reckless tone to a large class of society, and the effect on industrial progress was most injurious. Many farms lay partially cultivated for two or three seasons, linen looms remained idle a great part of the time, and, as a consequence, the production of goods did not exceed two-thirds the usual average. Exports of finished linens, which amounted to forty-six million yards in '98. But during the intervening period preparations for open war had been stealthily carried on by the disaffected party. The Irish pike -- a rude and unsightly weapon -- was much prized by them, and the manufacture occupied many of the midnight hours of such workers at fire and forge as were engaged in that dangerous employment. A smith, celebrated for his make of weaver's shears, and who lived near Templepatrick directed much of his labour to pike-making, and was much patronised by the United men. In an entry off Ann Street, Belfast, a shuttle-maker often worked eighteen hours out of the twenty-four in turning out pike heads and handles. Hunders of dozen of these were sent to the depots in Down by the ingenious contrivance of packing them in puncheons. On several occasions the cart that conveyed a couple of these puncheons passed under the eye of Town Major Fox, that vigilant officer never dreaming but that the vessels were filled with the national beverage. According to the returns of the United Irishmen's secret committee, there were enrolled in the Country Antrim in 1797 a grand total of 26,720 men, 3,220 muskets, 1,120 bayonets, 350 pistols, 3,500 pikes, 100 swords, and 10 cannon, besides ample stores of ammunition. During the winter of 1797 and the spring of the following year a Lisburn whitesmith forged upwards of five hundred pikes, and all this was accomplished without leaving undone any of the ordinary work he was called to perform for his every-day customers.

The linen markets of the Northern districts of Ulster were attended by great numbers of buyers about this time, and of that itinerant brotherhood none were more respected than Harry Munroe and Bartholomew Teeling. These gentlemen had been members of the Lisburn Volunteers, and when that body was ignominiously put down by the State, they both felt a full share of the general indignation at imperial ingratitude. Munroe was an Episcopalian, fondly attached to his Church, and Teeling, son of Mr. Luke Teeling, of Chapel Hill, Lisburn, belonged to the Catholic creed. Their career was remarkably unfortunate. In several points of character they were much alike, but Munroe was less mercurial than his younger friend, and had strenuously opposed many of the propositions introduced by the more excitable members of the fraternity. At no period of the insurrection had he contemplated taking the field against the Royal troops, and until a few days before the fight at Ballynahinch he attended to his business as usual; but from causes which need not be explained here, he was unexpectedly called on to take the command of the Irish army, and looking upon the call as a matter of honour he accepted it, without for a moment waiting to consider the magnitude of the responsibility he was about to undertake.

The battle of Ballynahinch was fought on the 13th of June, 1798, and, as is well known, a complete victory on the part of the Royal army, and a total overthrow of the insurgents, followed that reckless attempt to meet well-disciplined soldiers in the open field. Munroe's followers were scattered like sheep, and had fled in all directions; but though sadly broken down by fatigue, and dispirited by defeat, the unfortunate general was among the last to the leave the field; nor did he finally abandon the scene until, as he had hoped, the remnant of his people had got into some place of comparative safety. For several hours he had roamed about the country, and though well known by many of the farmers, the large rewards offered for his apprehension failed to induce any of them to betray the secret of his hiding-place. To the honour of one of the loyalists he was concealed nearly two days, during which time he received all the attention a kind-hearted man could bestow on an ill-fated fellow-creature. But as the harbouring of any suspected person was at that time contrued into an offence of great magnitude, the hospitable entertainer of Munroe dare not run the risk of allowing him to stop at his place for any lengthened time, especially as patrols of cavalry were marching through the country on the lookout for straggling men of the routed army. On the morning of the 15th of June he was consequently once again obliged to seek shelter in some other quarter, and at break of day he left the cottage.

His Betrayal.

Not daring to appear except in the most unfrequented parts of the country, he at length ventured into a small farmstead situate on the borders of Dromara, County of Down, and at nearly equal distances from the towns of Lisburn and Hillsborough. In that house he met a man named Holmes, to whom he offered five pounds -- all the money he had in his possession -- and a small parcel of shirts, to conceal him for some days, and until the opinion of Government should be known us to the prospects of pardon.

To this proposal the fellow not only agreed, but he expressed the utmost sympathy for the misfortunes of the fugitive. Making sure of the cash and the shirts, he gave Munroe some refreshment, and, leading the way out of the cottage, placed him, as the fugitive had been led to hope, in a secure retreat at the end of a large pig-house, where he covered him over with bundles of straw. But as Holmes had never entertained the most distant idea of keeping faith with his captive, his first thought after leaving the place of concealment was how to make the most of that secret. With this view he set off to the next seat of military authority at Hillsborough, where he met four members of the local corps of yeomanry, known as the Black Troop because of their not wearing any uniform save a band of white linen round the left arm. To these men he reported what had taken place at Dromara. The fellows immediately armed themselves with muskets and bayonets, and proceeded to the place alluded to by the informer. As soon as they arrived there they pounced on their prey, dragged him from his hiding-place, and to guard against further they tied his hands behind his back. Finding himself betrayed, Munroe tried to soften his captors by stating that if they permitted him to get free a large sum would be paid to them by his friends. But either in the hope of obtaining a higher reward, or from the fear that, should they acceded to his appeal, the promise would not be kept, they refused to make any terms with him, and in great triumph marched their prisoner into Hillsborough.

Believers in the doctrine of retributive justice will find much material to strengthen their faith in the after-history of the men who captured Munroe and received a handsome reward for their "loyalty." It is a remarkable fact that although each of them had some property at that time, they afterwards became miserably poor, and the longest-lived of the four was a mere pauper at the time of his death. Holmes, the betrayer of the unfortunate Munroe, was held in contempt and scorn by people of every class and creed in his own neighbourhood. From the day he violated his faith to the last hour of his life he was despised for his deceit and denounced for his treachery, and after dragging out a miserable existence he died as he had lived -- a wretched outcast.

Under a strong guard the prisoner was marched off to Lisburn, handcuffed, and on arriving there he was confined for the night in a temporary prison in Castle Street. When it become known among his former friends that be had been taken prisoner, the utmost sympathy was felt for him. His clothes were much torn and his health had suffered materially under the fatigue of his fugitive life for several days before. Mr. George Whitla, a local cotton manufacturer, sent him a full suit of clothes, and the rector of the parish, the Rev. Dr. Cupples, who resided within a few doors of the guardhouse, had his meals regularly carried to him from the rectory during the period of his confinement.

The Trial.

On Monday, the 17th of June, the trial came on before a court-martial, composed of officers belonging to the several regiments then lying in Lisburn Barracks and at Blaris camp. Among those officers, General Goldie and his aide-de-camp, M'Coy, were characterised as men of great austerity. In one case it is said that when a rebel soldier was about to suffer M'Coy pushed him up the ladder. The tribunal before which Munroe was tried sat in a large room situate near the guardhouse; and it is only fair to state that, if mercy rarely found a resting-place in that august assembly, justice was rigidly enforced. Short was the period of the court's deliberations; it required little proof to convict, and it was still easier to condemn. Only three witnesses were examined for the Crown, and the deposition that the prisoner had led the native troops at the recent battles being conclusive, the sentence of death was at once written out and Harry Munroe was ordered for execution.

The culprit was immediately informed that he had not long time to live, and to make speedy preparation for the death that awaited him. On his way from that judgment-hall to the place of punishment he requested to be taken to the rectory, that he might receive the sacrament. That rite of the Church having been administered to him, he was led down the street to the Market Square, where a temporary gallows had been erected in front of Mr. Ward's stationery warehouse, and nearly opposite the woollen-drapery concern of which Munroe was proprietor. He was dressed in a black coat, nankeen knee-breeches and white stockings. A guard of the 23rd Light Dragoons, under Colonel Woolarston, and two companies of the local yeomanry, were drawn up before the place of execution. During all the preliminary arrangements the condemned patriot exhibited perfect coolness without putting on the slightest appearance of the bravado. One request alone he made, and this was -- while the executioner adjusted the fatal noose -- to beg the commanding officer's permission to see a friend who resided in the immediate vicinity of the spot where he stood. That request was granted, and when the gentleman appeared he addressed a few words to him in a low tone, just before he ascended the ladder leading to the gallows. What he said on the occasion was never known, even by the nearest relations of the friend into whose ear it was spoken.

The Execution.

The moment the preparations had been made, Munroe leaped from the street up the ladder, but the slight rung on which he alighted having given way, he fell down against some of the guards by whom he was surrounded. Recovering his balance in a moment, although having his arms firmly pinioned, he said "All-right," and, refusing assistance, again mounted the ladder. When he had reached the required height the executioner, whose face was closely veiled by a piece of black crape, also ascended to the spot, and placed the rope round the prisoner's neck with an awkwardness of manner that proved him to be a mere amateur in the art of legal strangulation. Without waiting for the final act of the finisher of the law, the doomed man suddenly leaped forward, and as the body fell, and swung to and fro, a low wail of sorrow, which the military authorities vainly endeavoured to suppress, told how bitterly the tragic their fellow-townsman was felt by the multitude that thronged the place of execution. Many of his acquaintances -- many linen merchants who, in happier days, had stood side by side with Harry Munroe in the Linen-Hall, engaged in the usual pursuits of their business -- were around him at his last moments, and though several of them looked upon his conduct as that of the wildest and most misguided patriotism, his political opponents, as well as his personal friends, mourned heartily over the sad fate of the man whom everyone respected as a worthy and amiable citizen. When the body was taken down the final vengeance of the law had not been fully satisfied -- the authorities, who irresponsibly wielded the powers of life and death, having ordered that decapitation should take place after the execution of the first part of the sentence. On that savage act having been perpetrated, a dragoon seined the head and flung it into the air, shouting "There goes the head of a traitor." In this act of wanton ferocity the operator seemed to think that, in thus outraging the remains of an unfortunate fellow-creature, he performed an achievement worthy the glory of a British soldier. Munroe's head, with the white night-cap still on it, was afterwards stuck on a spike and placed on the front of the Market-House, the military authorities carrying out a custom barbarous as any ever practised by the most savage tribes of the New Zealanders. Some weeks afterwards a Scotch nobleman, in passing through the town, and feeling shocked at the disgraceful spectacle, had the head taken down and interred in the Lisburn Churchyard, in the same grave that contained the other portion of the mutilated body.

Whatever may have been the errors of Henry Munroe as a politician, his conduct in private life was that of a perfect gentleman. Numerous are the anecdotes related of his light-heartedness and love of fun, and still more numerous are the stories told of his fearless conduct and disregard of personal danger. On one occasion, when attending the linen market of Lurgan, an alarming fire having been discovered in the church of that town, he exhibited the greatest courage in his efforts to stop the progress of the flames, and risked his life in assisting to save the building. Although warmly attached to what was then considered a righteous cause, he had never taken any direct part in the movements of the insurgent army until it became known that, at the eleventh hour, the ostensible leader of the native troops had refused to take the command. In consequence of that determination, the duty that should have devolved on another was forced on Munroe; but having accepted the office, he threw himself into it with all the enthusiasm of an over-sanguine disposition. Nothing, however, could tempt him to tarnish his fame as an honest friend and a manly foe. He was considered a very handsome man, and had ever been exceedingly fond of neatness in dress. At that time it was fashionable to wear a portion of the back hair very long, and this was tied with black ribbon and hung over the collar of the coat. Munroe continued to wear his hair in this form, but most of the United Irishmen cut off their "pig tails," hence the origin of the tern "croppie."

Ballynahinch.

During the short period of his leadership a circumstance occurred which proved that he considered the preservation of his honour as dearer than life itself. It appears by the histories given on both sides of the question that, on the eve of the Ballynahinch fight, the Royal troops were ranged on the Windmill Hill, near that town, and the insurgent lender had drawn up his forces along the north side of a mount in the demesne of Earl Moira, the town of Ballynahinch lying between the rival troops. A proposal was made to Munroe that he should attack and cut off the local yeomanry, several companies of which were then in Ballynahinch; and as numbers of them had been indulging in drunken carousal, and, of course, were unable to repel a sortie, there would have been little difficulty in overpowering the garrison and setting fire to the town. Against that proposition his generous and manly spirit at once revolted. Had he given his assent to it, a cold-blooded and terrible massacre would have been the inevitable consequence. "If we are to fight," said Munroe, "let us take the field like men, and do battle with all our might, but a national cause must not be stained by the cowardice of midnight assassins." There was the greatness of true heroism in this, but so much was the majority of the troops opposed to it that numbers of them deserted in course of the night.

After the death of Harry Munroe many of the disaffected party were made prisoners and lodged in the Lisburn Guardhouse. Two of these people were tried and convicted, the sentence of death following close on the verdict of guilty. One of the condemned was Richard Vincent, copper and tin smith, a native of Lisburn, and the other was named Maxwell. These men were executed almost immediately after receiving sentence, and their heads, after being cut off, were placed on the Market-House beside Munroe's. Not many days after his execution, a sister of the general, one who had been celebrated as a heroine in the national struggle, was passing through the town, and when opposite the Market-House she gazed for a moment at her brother's head, and exclaimed aloud, "Ah, Harry, you will be revenged for all yet!"

Harry Munroe's mother lived in Lisburn for many years after the "day of trouble," and supported herself respectably by keeping a little shop in the house situated on the Sluice Bridge, in Bow Street. She survived the death of her son about seventeen years.

A United Irishman, who gave his name as Crabbe, was the first person hanged for treason in that town. He suffered death on a lamp-post at the corner of Castle Street, and right opposite the Market-House. The charge against him was having a pistol in his pocket and a green cockade hid in his hat. Some reports went to say that he had been a clergyman, but no direct proof of the fact was ever brought forward, nor did a single secret connected with his history transpire, from that day to the present. He was taken prisoner in one of the bye-lanes in Lisburn, and in three hours afterwards was tried, convicted, and executed.


(This article was originally published in the Lisburn Standard on 4 January 1918 as part of a series which ran in that paper each week through 1917 and into 1918. The text along with other extracts can be found on my website Eddies Extracts.)

Ring Out, Wild Bells

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
    The flying cloud, the frosty light;
    The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
    Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
    The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
    For those that here we see no more,
    Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
    And ancient forms of party strife;
    Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
    The faithless coldness of the times;
    Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
    The civic slander and the spite;
    Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
    Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
    Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
    The larger heart the kindlier hand;
    Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 1850

Harry Munro

SOME EXTRACTS

FROM THE

RECORDS OF

OLD LISBURN

AND THE

MANOR OF KILLULTAGH.

-- -- -- --

Edited by JAMES CARSON.

-- -- -- --

LXIII.

-- -- -- --

HARRY MUNRO.

From "Ulster in '98," by Robert M. Young, B.A., M.R.I.A., 1893.

Harry Munro was born at Lisburn in May, 1758. His father was a man of superior literary taste. The family consisted of a son and daughter, and both received very good educations. Harry, when in his fifteenth year, was taught linen-weaving -- an art in high estimation, and in social life regarded as much above that of any other handicraft. As a member of the Episcopal Church, Harry was a regular attender of the Sunday services at the Cathedral, and was highly respected by the rector and his curate. He became a buyer of linen webs for the then leading bleachers, Hancock, of Lisburn, and M'Cance, of Suffolk. Finlay M'Cance commanded an outpost at the battle of Ballynahinch, and only retired when all was lost, at the urgent appeal of Munro.

Harry Munro during the two years that followed the spring of 1796 had continued his adherence to the Society of United Irishmen. Spies and informers abounded in Belfast and Lisburn, keeping regular correspondence with Lord Castlereagh and the other authorities in Dublin. Vast quantities of arms, as well as ammunition, had been collected by the Society throughout Ulster, and during the month of May, 1798, preparations were made to take the field. The member who had been appointed to lead the United men declined at nearly the last moment to act as commander, and on the night of Saturday, the 9th of June, a Belfast lawyer, the legal adviser of the Society, but who was said to be the paid protege of Lord Castlereagh, called on Harry Munro at the latters residence in Market Square, Lisburn. Munro had some years before married the handsome daughter of Robert Johnston, an extensive linen bleacher, who lived at Seymour Hill, Dunmurry. The attorney reported the refusal of the man who was appointed as commander to take charge of the National army, and said the only hope was that Harry Munro should accept the command. The enthusiast at once agreed. His wife set off to her father's place, and early on Monday, the 11th, Munro, dressed in in uniform, presented himself as chief to the army assembled at Edenavady, in the grounds of Lord Moira. The chiefs of the rebel at Ballynahinch were dressed in green jackets, turned up with white or yellow, white vest, buckskin breeches, half boots, hats with white cock neck feathers, and green cockades.

When Munro's division, beating down all opposition of the regular troops, stormed the town of Ballynahinch under a dreadful fire of musketry and grape, the British general ordered the retreat to be sounded. As the trumpet-call was heard by the pikemen, it was mistaken for the signal to charge, and, thinking the enemy was heavily reinforced, they wavered, and sullenly retreated in a southerly direction, the Royal soldiers falling back to the north. As the Light Dragoons charged on the stubborn peasants, mangled as they were by a raking fire from the artillery of grape and round shot, they held their ground manfully moving slowly back with heavy loss. Colonel Forde, who observed many of his own tenants dropping in the insurgent ranks, said to an officer riding at his side, " G--o d--n these stiff-necked Presbyterians, they won't run."

Battle of Ballynahinch.

The actual fight took place on Wednesday, the 13th, at Ballynahinch, and, as is well known, the insurgents were completely routed and fled in all directions. Munro gallantly tried to rally the remnant, but in vain, and at length he himself, worn out and fairly prostrated by fatigue and disappointment, retired from the scene of strife. Early on Thursday morning he reached a farmhouse and sought shelter there. The owner paid the unfortunate rebel all the attention he could. He had refreshment prepared for him, after partaking of which he had a bed made in an outhouse, and secreted him there until Saturday morning, when, dreading vengeance for concealing an outlaw, he told him before daylight he must seek some other place of refuge. Munro set off and travelled to near Dromore, where he gave a man named Holmes some money he retained, and begged to be concealed for a few days until the Government offer of pardon to rebels who gave up arms should be issued.

Holmes took the money, promised to shelter the fugitive, but, instead of doing so, went to Hillsborough and told the yeomanry of having Munro concealed in an outhouse. A guard immediately accompanied him and the unfortunate man was handcuffed, brought to Hillsborough, and thence to Lisburn, where he was placed in the temporary prison. It was then late in the afternoon, and he was kept watched by soldiers till Monday forenoon, when he was brought before the court-martial that sat in Castle Street to be hanged and beheaded. As Munro was very popular in his native town, some difficulty occurred in finding a carpenter willing to erect a gallows, but at length one offered to do the work, and from out a window situated nearly opposite the condemned man's dwelling the dread structure was erected. At four o'clock Munro was brought out under a strong military guard. He begged to be allowed to go into the house of the rector, Dr. Cupples, to receive the sacrament. The request was granted, and, after partaking of the sacred rite, the procession again commenced, and on reaching the place of execution a wretched prisoner from the guard-house, with a black crape over his face, stood ready to perform the part of hangman. Munro stood at the foot of the gallows and sought leave from the officer of the guard to speak to a friend who lived near. Permission was granted, the friend was sent for, and the soldiers gracefully stood back during the short conference. Standing up firm and undismayed, he said, "I have deserved better of my country," and after a short prayer stepped on to the ladder, and, as his hands were tied, he missed, his footing, one of the rungs gave way, and he fell. Rising up lightly, he said to the crowd, "I am not cowed, gentlemen." On the ladder being adjusted he went up with the rope round his neck, the executioner turned the ladder, and, in a few minutes all was over. Then came the horrid finale of beheading, which was done, the hangman holding up the severed head and crying out, "There is the head of a traitor." Three other men were hanged in Lisburn. H. J. M'Cracken sent a man called Crabbe to the South to tell the rising was commenced, and entrusted him with a written communication. He was taken to Lisburn, and ate his despatch. His hat was knocked off, and a green cockade found in it; he was hanged half an hour after. He refused at tell his name, message, whence or whither he was going. Dick Vincent was the name of another man executed. Tom Armstrong, who was found near the town with a United cockade concealed in the lining of his hat, and the words "Remember Orr," was tried, condemned, and executed two days before Munro met his fate. Very tragic, full of the chivalry of greatness, was an episode in the last hours of Armstrong. He knew many secrets of the United men, and was offered pardon if he informed on other leaders, and his wife was brought to the guard-house in the hope that her entreaties would induce him to turn traitor. The poor woman cried bitterly, went on her knees, and begged of her husband to save his life for the sake of her and their two children. Armstrong seemed agonised for some moments, but at length, drawing himself an to his full height, he cried out: "No, Mary, I will not save my life on such terms. Were I to do so. great numbers of wives would be left widows, and many children deprived of their chief protectors. I will leave only one widow and two children, and the God of the widow and the fatherless will take charge of them."

The heads of the four men that suffered were stuck on spikes, and were placed on each corner of the Lisburn Market-house. They remained there until August, when the sight became so revolting that they were taken down and buried.

Harry Munro had attained to such military skill in the use of arms during the weekly parades of the Volunteers that, on the death of the veteran who had been drill sergeant for many years, he was appointed to that office, and in 1790 was raised to the rank of adjutant. Considerable bodies of military men encamped on Blaris Moore, and a great number of toot and horse soldiers were quartered in Lisburn for some time before the breaking out of the Rebellion in June, '98. On the morning of Wednesday preceding the battle of Ballynahinch, Harry was told by one of his lieutenants that in the evenings many of the soldiers stationed in the Lisburn barracks were in the habit of getting drunk, and that if Munro marched a sufficient number of his men that afternoon into Lisburn he could force a surrender of the Royal army, seize their arms and the ammunition, and set fire to the town. The rebel general listened to the proposal, but his chivalrous sense of dignity overcame the old adage that "All's fair in love and war," and he replied: "We will not act the part of midnight assassins, but in the open day meet and, I trust, gain one victory for Ireland." A spy who, decked out as a milk-woman, and bearing cans of milk, which was sold to the rebels who were posted in Mr. Ker's demesne close to Ballynahinch, had heard of the proposal to storm Lisburn, but not of Munro's refusal to accede to it, made way into the latter-named town and reported to the colonel in command. -- This was about seven o'clock in the evening. Of course, there was great commotion in military as well as civic circles. An order was issued that all lights and fires in the households of the inhabitants should be put out at nine o'clock, and, except the regular soldiers and local yeomanry, no one was to go out of doors after that hour. The Lisburn guard-house, situate at the Castle Street entrance to the cathedral, had in its dark recesses eight men, natives of the town, who had been suspected of sympathy in favour of the United Irishmen, but were not actually members. Sergeant White, of the Lisburn Yeomanry, and half a dozen of his men were in charge of the prisoners, all of whom were townsmen of his own. About nine o'clock, when all was still and silent in the streets, the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the pavement was heard by the prisoners. The rider stopped at the door of the guard-house, called out Sergeant White, and had a short conversation with him, after which he clanked down the street towards the horse barracks. The prisoners, suspecting some dread news, knocked at the door of their cell and begged of the sergeant to tell them what was the report. "It is a melancholy one," replied White; "the orderly was a dragoon. He said Harry Munro, with a large contingent of the rebel army, was expected to assail the troops in town. A sentinel had been placed at Bridge End, on the County Down side. A gun would be fired in Market Square to warn the loyal army of the assailants' approach; in which case," continued the sergeant, "our order is to put all prisoners to death."

As already stated, the report of Munro's assault on the town was erroneous; but the few hours of terrible suspense passed by the prisoners was a time of intense suffering quite indescribable.

The Axe that cut off Munro's Head.

The story is that a rebel was pardoned on condition that he would execute Munro. The morning was wet, and the handle of the axe was so slippery that the man said he could not hold it properly, so one of the dragoons who was in attendance pulled a piece of chamois out of his wallet and threw it to him. He wrapped it round the handle and used it, but the handle was broken by the force of the blow. The axe, handle and all, were put in the grave with the headless corpse, and on the grave being opened recently the chamois was found sticking to the axe handle. Munro was a very active man, a great jumper and runner. He was often known to jump the locks of the Lagan Canal. Mr. Breakey, Ballibay, used to tell that one morning Munro, with other linen buyers, was leaving his house to take their horses for their usual journey to the next town. He came out to the hall-door, and, telling tho groom to arrange them side by side, he sprang clear over the whole lot, landing safely on the other side.


(This article was originally published in the Lisburn Standard on 28 December 1917 as part of a series which ran in that paper each week through 1917 and into 1918. The text along with other extracts can be found on my website Eddies Extracts.)

William Henry West Betty, 1791-1874 (part 2)

SOME EXTRACTS

FROM THE

RECORDS OF

OLD LISBURN

AND THE

MANOR OF KILLULTAGH.

-- -- -- --

Edited by JAMES CARSON.

-- -- -- --

LXII.

-- -- -- --

WILLIAM HENRY WEST BETTY,
1791-1874

(The Young Roscius).

From "Ireland and Her Staple Manufactures," 1870, 

by Hugh M'Call.

(Continued.)

London, 1804.

But now comes the great epoch in the professional life of Betty. The lessee of Covent Garden had been for some time in negotiation with the elder gentleman for the purpose of securing the services of the son, and at length the matter was arranged on the terms of fifty pounds a night. Great preparations had been made for his debut on the London boards, and on the evening of the 1st of December, 1804 -- ten days after the termination of his first engagement in Manchester -- he appeared at Covent Garden Theatre, in Dr. Brown's adaptation of Voltaire's tragedy, Merope. Nothing could have exceeded the excitement produced on this occasion. It seemed as if the world of London had been taken by storm, and for the time being the "Young Roscius" was lion of the West End, and the magnate East of Temple Bar. The "Morning Chronicle" thus alludes to the first night's performance:--

"So early as ten o'clock on Saturday morning, many gentlemen began to parade the Piazzas and Bow Street, in order that they might be near the doors when the crowd should begin to assemble. Before one and two o'clock numbers had taken their stations near all the doors leading to the pit, boxes, and galleries; and long before the doors were opened they stretched out in long, thick, close-wedged, impenetrable columns to the extremity of the Piazzas, in Covent Garden, and quite across Bow Street. Peace officers were provided inside the theatre, and a strong detachment of guards procured outside. The heat in every part of the house became excessive very soon after it was filled. In the pit many gentlemen fainted, and were dragged seemingly lifeless, up into the boxes. The ladies in one or two boxes were employed almost the whole night in fanning the gentlemen who were beneath them in the pit. Frequently we heard screams from those who were overcome by the heat, but could neither get out nor obtain the slightest relief. Upwards of twenty gentlemen who had fainted were dragged up into the boxes; we observed several more raising their hands, as if in in the act of supplication for mercy and pity. It was with satisfaction that we observed but few females exposed to this distressing state in the pit; they were but thirteen, and they fortunately were placed in situations so near the proscenium as to derive the full benefit of the air from the stage. Behind the scenes were many of the first personages, both for rank and learning in the country. Besides the Lord Chief Baron, Lord Melville, and Mr. Const, the counsel, there were all the theatrical judges of merit. Numerous groups of ladies of the first fashion were also content to stand during the whole of the performance in any hole or corner where they could get a glimpse. The Prince Regent occupied Lady Miller's box on the night of the first appearance at Drury Lane, and joined several times in the applause pealed forth by the general audience. Mr. Charles Kemble assisted on the occasion. Master Betty's reception of the character was classically correct. His performance was not the successful repetition of a mere lesson, but that of an experienced tragedian, rich in understanding and discrimination. He did not appear in the least degree fatigued by the exertions, but rather increased in energy during the progress of the piece. In the third act his restrained tenderness -- his apparent transports at the praises bestowed on him by his mother -- the difficulty with which he refrains from declaring himself -- the discovery of her son being alive, and the determination of the son to revenge her wrongs, were admirably conceived, and so effectually rendered as to bring down bursts of applause from all parts of the house."

The receipts of the theatre during the twenty nights of Betty's first London season amounted to twenty-seven thousand guineas, being the largest aggregate ever before realised in any similar period at either of the great houses. Of that sum the fortunate performer received one-tenth share, which represented fifty guineas a night for three nights, and one hundred guineas a night for twenty-five nights. Besides this he had four free benefits that brought the aggregate up to three thousand eight hundred guineas, and, in addition, he received presents of plate, which made a grand total of four thousand guineas for about a month's performances.

This unparalleled success is said to have almost turned the heads of the fortunate youth's parents, and to himself the rapid change of position, the magical turn of affairs that brought him from the comparative quiet of a linen warehouse to the exciting scenes connected with theatrical life, must have appeared as the realisation of some fairy tale. The young gentleman was then little more than thirteen years of age; he had been about eighteen months on the boards, and during that time he had netted as many thousand pounds as he was years old.

Park Lane and Piccadilly turned out their hosts of patrons in all the blase of jewelled coronets and diamond necklaces.

Rubicund dowagers and red-faced aldermen from the regions east of Temple Bar migrated from the city to gaze on the "wonderful boy." George the Third summoned the youthful prodigy to attend at St. James' Palace, where select readings were given from different authors before his Majesty and the rest of the Royal household. When "Hamlet" was to be performed at Covent Garden, Mr. Pitt actually adjourned the House of Commons that he might see Master Betty in the role. Sheridan brought the lad into his box at the conclusion of the piece, and presented him as the Young Roscius to Fox, Burke, and Curran, who had left the Senate House to witness the performance.

Critics.

In the midst of all this popularity, and when wealth was pouring in on the favoured tragedian as if he had been in possession of the philosopher's stone, the whole course of events did not run in his favour without a ruffle. A few of the critics stood away from the admiring throng, and strongly dissented from the "childish enthusiasm" for the boy-player. Partisan spirit was aroused in several quarters, and the jealousy of the green-room -- perhaps the bitterest of all such feeling -- added strength to the minority. At the very time when young Betty drew immense crowds to Drury Lane, and when he was receiving one hundred guineas a night, Mrs. Siddons and her brother, John P. Kemole, were playing to thin houses at Covent Garden on the respective salaries of £30 and £25 a night. Envy, hatred, and malice followed this turn of affairs, and the advocates of the "legitimate drama" fought furiously against the mania for "infantile prodigies." Richard Cumberland, the dramatist, devotes some pages of his autobiographic memoirs to a very ungenerous critique on Master Betty, and becomes savagely facetious in his remarks on what he designates "beardless youths usurping the popularity of votaries of the stage." "How delicious," says the green-eyed Richard, "is it to be praised and panegyrised by leading critics. To be caressed by dukes, and, still better, by the daughters of dukes; to be flattered, by wits, feasted by aldermen, stuck up in the windows of print-shops, and, last of all, set astride upon the cut-water of a privateer, like the tutelary genius of the British flag."

Master Betty was very tall for his years, and when he stood before a London, audience he had considerably improved in the power of self-possession. He was exceedingly handsome in personal appearance, and highly graceful in action. His voice was round and full, and of such remarkable compass that, without apparent effort, he could make himself distinctly heard in all parts of the largest theatre. But his was a popularity as evanescent as it had been wonderful. Once on the inclined plane, the descent was rapid and irrecoverable.

1824.

It is a strange feature in his history that, from the time he arrived at the age of sixteen, his power over the play-going public began to wane, and when he took leave of the stage as the "Earl of Warwick," in the Southampton Theatre in 1824, the house was not half filled. The "marvellous boy" had by that time degenerated into a very commonplace man. It seemed as if the wand had been broken by which, in his juvenile days, he had charmed the most fastidious critics, the highest men of the theatrical world, and nearly every patron of the profession, and that the enchanter was no longer able to cast his spell over the play-going multitude. Having seceded from the stage, he commenced to study for the Church, and very soon afterwards became an ordained minister; but, not finding himself at home either in the reading-desk or the pulpit, he had the good sense to leave the field of theology and to retire into private life. His failure, in that case, forms a strange passage in the history of genius.

Betty, the favoured actor, who, when in the height of his popularity, wielded almost superhuman power over the theatrical world, was unable, when he became a Church clergyman, to preach in such a style as would Keep up the attention of a country congregation for half an hour. Mr. Betty, has, since then, lived in complete retirement, at least so far as regards theatrical life; but he never forgot either the stage or its people, and his hand was always open when actors in distress solicited his assistance.

Chambers's Biographical Dictionary.

He quitted the stage in 1808, but after studying for two years at Cambridge, returned to it in 1812. He retired finally in 1824, and lived for fifty years on the ample fortune he had so early amassed. He died in London, August 24, 1874.

(Next Week: Harry Munro.)


(This article was originally published in the Lisburn Standard on 21 December 1917 as part of a series which ran in that paper each week through 1917 and into 1918. The text along with other extracts can be found on my website Eddies Extracts.)

William Henry West Betty, 1791-1874

SOME EXTRACTS
FROM THE
RECORDS OF
OLD LISBURN
AND THE
MANOR OF KILLULTAGH.

-- -- -- --
Edited by JAMES CARSON.
-- -- -- --

LXI.

-- -- -- --

WILLIAM HENRY WEST BETTY,
1791-1874
(The Young Roscius).

From "Ireland and Her Staple Manufactures," 1870, 
by Hugh M'Call.

W. H. W. Betty was son of a linen bleacher, and passed the early part of his boyhood amid the bustle of business at his father's house in Chapel Hill, Lisburn. His grandfather, Doctor Betty, was a celebrated physician in that town, and who, besides attending to the duties of a large and lucrative practice, was owner of an extensive bleachfield situate a few miles out in the County of Down. The old gentleman in his day had been an active member of the Presbyterian Church, and when the house of worship, still owned by the first congregation, was being erected he was himself a liberal contributor to the funds and a most successful collector from others.

The house in which the family resided is situated in Chapel Hill, and nearly opposite the property then owned by Mr. Luke Teeling. After the doctor's death his only son, William Henry, succeeded him in the bleaching concern, and in 1790 married Miss West, a lady belonging to Shrewsbury, where, in September of the following year, the subject of this brief notice first saw the light. At the end of autumn Mrs. Betty and her son returned to Lisburn, and continued there for many years. Mr. Betty in the meantime pursuing his business in the purchase and finish of linens. The embryo Roscius received the rudiments of his education in the school of Mr. Goyer, and he also attended the classical institution conducted by the Rev. Mr. Dubourdieu. It appears that during his scholastic studies he never exhibited any special evidence of that precocious talent which afterwards took the world by storm.

From the time of the Insurrection the handsome town of Lisburn had been the station for a troop of horse and a numerous company of foot soldiers. A splendid band accompanied them, and what with the daily parades, inspection of troops and periodical bugle calls, the inhabitants were bidding fair to imbibe much more of the military spirit than is usually found to exist in provincial towns. Besides these sources of excitement, a respectable company of theatricals, under the management of Mr. Robert Owenson, father of the future Lady Morgan and Lady Clarke, added largely to the intellectual amusement of the citizens. Mr. Owenson's theatre was situate in the rere of Mr. Stewart's house opposite the road since made to Hillsborough, and the lessee himself and his two daughters resided next door.

Miss O'Neill, afterwards Lady Beecher -- then a young and rapidly rising performer, took the leading parts in the cast of characters, and rejoiced in the moderate salary of thirty shillings a week. This lady, as well as the Owenson family, were frequent visitors to Mr. Betty, when the hostess, who was famed for her "love of the lamp," occasionally entertained her friends with readings and recitations from celebrated dramatic authors.

Brought up in a home-school where the military and dramatic element formed the largest share of fireside education, young Betty became strongly impressed with a desire for the stage. This feeling was still further strengthened by his having witnessed the performance of Mrs. Siddons in the character of Lady Macbeth, at the Belfast theatre, and he felt so struck with the peculiar beauty of her elocution that he came home determined to try his fortune as a player.

At that time he was under eleven years of age, yet he seemed to have had conceptions of his future career, settled and ambitious as if he had seen thirty summers. The linen bleacher entertained very different views respecting the after pursuits of his son, and when he first learned of his leanings towards the theatrical profession he expressed himself strongly against that course of life. Mrs. Betty, however, had opposite ideas on the subject -- the "green room" to her was the land of promise, and, as is usual in most cases of domestic policy, the "weaker vessel" stood out for the rights of the sex, and ultimately had it all her own way. But not only did she exult over her boy's predilection for the stage, she also undertook the charge of his dramatic education, and for a considerable period she spent some hours each day in that labour of love.

Theatre Royal, Belfast, 1803.

Under this course of study, added to his own natural taste for the art, Betty speedily became a local celebrity, but his fame did not long remain bounded by the environs of Lisburn. Mr. Atkins, who was lessee of the Belfast theatre from its opening in 1791, had heard some reports about the precocious genius of the young tragedian, and after obtaining further information on the subject from his brother manager Mr. Owenson, he was so much interested by the report that he went up to Lisburn and concluded an engagement with the elder Mr. Betty for five nights performances. In course of the following week the blank walls and fronts of untenanted houses in Belfast were nearly covered with large posters, announcing, in flaming capitals, that a wonderful performer, only eleven years of age, would appear on the local boards in the character of Osman, in Voltaire's celebrated tragedy of Zara.

The Theatre Royal on that occasion was crowded to excess. All the open space at the end of Arthur Street and Castle Lane with blocked up with anxious play goers, and so great was the struggle to secure places in the different parts of the house that before six o'clock in the evening every seat in the gallery was crammed, the upper and lower boxes had not a vacant spot, and two noblemen, then members of Parliament, were glad to get a small-area of standing-room in the pit. Master Betty had not then attained his twelfth year, but, as he was well grown, he appeared at last two years above that age. The theatrical critics of the Northern Athens were perfectly astounded at the correctness of enunciation, judicious delivery, and thorough conception of character displayed by the young gentleman. His performance was a triumphant success, the occupants of the boxes lustily applauded, those of the pit were enthusiastically delighted, and the gods sent forth peal after peal of vociferous acclamation. At the conclusion of the piece Mr. Atkins was called before the curtain, and having returned thanks to the audience for their hearty response to his notice that he had an "extraordinary novelty" to produce for their gratification, he announced that Master Betty would appear next evening (Saturday) in the same character, and that on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of the succeeding week he would have the honour of coming out respectively in the characters of Romeo, Rolla, and Norval. On each of these occasions the popularity of the young actor had so much increased that vast numbers of persons were disappointed in their attempts to obtain seats, and only left the doors of the theatre after all chances of getting standing places had been given up.

The marvellous success of his son and the tempting proposals which poured in on him for engagements in the theatre changed the entire current of Mr. Betty's ideas as to the lad's future pursuits. He therefore sold off all his stock of linens, as well as the farm and bleachfield, that he might be at perfect liberty to accompany his son as the keeper of his purse and the guardian of his person in a proposed tour through the kingdom.

Dublin, 1803.

In course of the autumn which succeeded Betty's debut as a public performer, many overtures were made him for engagements. Among others, the lessee of the Dublin Theatre Royal offered two hundred pounds for twenty nights' performance. This was considered liberal in the extreme; but the dread of appearing before an audience famed as the most fastidious, as well as the most accomplished, critics in Europe, and in a city where, as has been rightly said, "the wit of the gods in the gallery is usually keener than that of the author on the stage," kept negotiations in abeyance for some weeks.

At length, in November, 1803, the young Roscius went to Dublin, where he appeared in the character of Hamlet, and was received with a perfect ovation. Previous to his engagement there the local patrons of the drama had fallen into one of those periodical fits of dulness to which public communities as well as private individuals are occasionally subject. But almost immediately after the appearance of the young star the wild excitement cut of doors and the crowds that assembled in the theatre every night told that the theatrical taste which exists in such greatness on the border of the Liffey had been aroused in all its strength. This engagement proved most successful, and he left the city with a new wreath of laurels on his brow. In the early part of 1804 he visited the West of Scotland, and while performing in Edinburgh he was invited to dine with Lord Meadowbank and Mr. Home. The author of Douglass paid him the high compliment of stating that his admirable personation of young Norval proved him to be the genuine offspring of the Douglass. It should here be stated that while performing in Dublin Mr. Macready, father of the great tragedian and joint lessee of the Birmingham theatre, was present, and felt no less astonished than any of the outsiders at the remarkable genius of young Betty, and some time afterwards an arrangement was made for the introduction of the young gentleman to a Birmingham audience. He appeared there in August, 1804, and marvellous was the excitement which that event caused in the great depot of mosaic jewellery and brass buttons.

In a notice of the Birmingham performance the writer, said:-- "The theatrical annals of the town furnish nothing equal to the commotion which Betty's appearance excited. The hotels and inns were completely occupied during his stay by persons who came from every part of the adjacent country to witness the novelty. Nine characters were sustained by him in Birmingham."

Birmingham, 1804.

An amusing incident connected with this engagement is related by one of the biographers of the young Roscius. Mr. Jackson, who shared the management of the Birmingham theatre with Mr. Macready, had been requested to secure the services of this "prodigy" for twelve nights, at a salary of ten pounds a night; but as the appearance of the lad off the stage was not calculated to impress beholders with the idea of great excellence in the histrionic art, he had no sooner been introduced to him than he begged to be released from what he considered "a ruinous engagement." Betty's relatives expressed their willingness to cancel the affair, provided they were paid their travelling expenses from Edinburgh. During the discussion Mr. Macready proposed that the arrangement might be made in another form, "Suppose," said he, "that for general expenses sixty pounds be taken from the gross receipts of each night's performance, and the balance divided between the 'star' and the lessees." This proposal was agreed to but so immensely did the receipts exceed Macready's calculation that his colleague the over-cautious manager, found he had to pay the "star" fifty pounds a night instead of ten. From Birmingham Master Betty proceeded to Sheffield, where he was no less attractive. Doncaster races were going on at the time, and carriages labelled "Theatrical coach to carry six insides to see the Young Roscius" were stationed near the course to convey passengers from the sports of the turf to more intellectual amusements of the stage.

His next appearance was in Liverpool and there the struggle to get places in the theatre exceeded all previous excitement. On the morning that preceded his first performance, when the box-office was opened, some gentlemen had their cloth torn to tatters, others had their hats and shoes carried away in the crowd, and a third party sometimes severely bruised and almost suffocated in the attempt to obtain tickets for themselves and their friends. During the first twelve nights of his performance in that maritime capital the total receipts of the house amounted to about twenty-seven hundred pounds. Of this sum he received on an average ninety pounds a night; and, including the profits of his benefit, he realised by that engagement about fifteen hundred guines. Before he left Liverpool he was presented with two very valuable silver cups, and at the conclusion of the engagement the managers of the theatre offered to give him one hundred pounds a night for a further series of performances, but, having made other arrangements, he could not accept those very liberal terms. On Monday, the 12th of November, 1804, young Betty appeared in the Manchester theatre.

(To be Continued.)


(This article was originally published in the Lisburn Standard on 14 December 1917 as part of a series which ran in that paper each week through 1917 and into 1918. The text along with other extracts can be found on my website Eddies Extracts.)

A. T. Stewart, Millionaire, 1801-1876.

SOME EXTRACTS

FROM THE

RECORDS OF

OLD LISBURN

AND THE

MANOR OF KILLULTAGH.

-- -- -- --

Edited by JAMES CARSON.

-- -- -- --

LX.

-- -- -- --

A. T. STEWART, MILLIONAIRE, 1801-1876.

Extracts from a Sketch of His Life by Hugh M'Call.

In the last quarter of the eighteenth century John Turney, a very intelligent farmer, resided on the Hertford estate, at a part of Lissue near the Maze. It was usual at that time for men who had capital to spare to do a little in the manufacture of linen as well as to attend to the business of the field. As one of the descendants of the Huguenot exiles that settled in the town and about the neighbourhood of Lisburn one hundred years before, Mr. Turney inherited much of the spirit of industry and peaceful disposition of his forefathers, and, like them, had great taste for the beautiful, whether in nature or art; his garden was quite a model in floriculture, and, what was not usual in country houses, he had in his parlour two or three oil paintings of a style which was rare as the works were valuable.

One of his neighbours, Thomas Lamb, of Pear Tree Hill, greatly admired the pictures, but laughed heartily at the estimate their owner placed on them. Mr. Lamb, a sturdy Quaker, and Elias Hughes, another member of the same sect, who resided in that locality, were also engaged in the making of coarse linens.

John Turney's family consisted of his wife and a daughter named Margaret, and very happy was his household; but during the troublous times of Ninety-Eight the former, who was a delicate and rather nervous woman, had been much shocked by some local occurrence, and became very ill.

After lingering some weeks, she passed away into the Unseen Land.

There lived at that time near the Red Hill, and not far from Mr. Turney's place, Thomas Stewart, and his wife Martha, a very industrious and very quiet people. Their family consisted of five sons and three daughters.

The head of the house had been brought up on a farm situate near the Rock Chapel, but several years before he had taken some land at Red Hill, in Lissue.

The second son, Alexander, a steady-going and very energetic young man, commenced life as an agriculturist on a twenty-acre farm on the Hertford estate.

In the list of Margaret Turney's admirers young Alexander Stewart had a high place, but her father could not think of his daughter giving her hand to a small farmer who had only commenced to make his way in the world.

More than twelve months had gone by since the second marriage of her father had made the previous happy home a scene of unpleasant and divided feeling.

At length she left her father's house and got privately married to Mr. Stewart, immediately after which the young husband took her home to the farm cottage at Red Hill, a picturesque part of the Hertford estate, situate about two miles from Lisburn.


Birth and Early Life.

The young couple lived very happily together. Stewart was a good-natured, industrious fellow, and worked hard at the farm. Among the saddest years of Ireland's eventful history was that of 1801, the time of dearth, disease, and privation; the previous harvest was a failure, and every article of food had gone up to famine price. Extra exertion was necessary to keep farmers afloat, and in his anxiety to get finished some outdoor work the farmer over-heated himself, and eventually fell into consumption, which carried him off in some few months. Not many weeks had elapsed after the death of Alexander Stewart when the young wife, still in her teens, was confined of a son; and in that cottage which still stands (in 1881) on the farm of Mr. James N. Richardson, of Lissue, the future merchant prince of Broadway first saw the light, and in due time received the baptismal name of Alexander Turney, in honour of his father and grandfather.

As soon as she was able to leave the cottage her father had her and the infant removed to his own place. A purchaser soon turned up for the little farm, the stock and furniture were disposed of to good advantage, and the proceeds set apart for the young widow and her son.

Some time afterwards David Bell, a farmer, began to pay court to the widow, and in April, 1803, got married to her. The father of the bride, for a second time, was still more annoyed at that affair than he had been on the previous occasion. Bell sold his farm and stock and prepared to embark for America. He himself, as well as his wife, was anxious to take the child, then eighteen months old, along with them, but Mr. Turney would not permit that arrangement, and took it home.

Having received a good education himself, Mr. Turney determined that his grandson should enjoy the full advantages of modern acquirements, and at the proper time become a minister of the Church of England. There was then in the Causeway End a teacher of children famed for instructing them in the rudiments of spelling, reading, and writing; and all that course was to be taught juveniles without the use of the rod. That model school-master's name was William Christie, and if he lived in these days, when, in some schools, flogging is still a sort of pastime with the principals, he would deserve canonisation. MAny of the people of Causeway End -- John Hodgen, George Briggs, John Anderson, and others -- recollected the thoughtful-looking lad passing along the road that led from his grandfather's house to the village seminary, conning over his Manson's Spelling-Book as he went on his way. In due time the lad was sent to the Lisburn English and Mercantile Academy, then conducted by Mr. Benjamin Neely, one of the ablest of teachers, as well as one of the most efficient flagellators that ever flourished a ratan. Many of that gentleman's pupils rose in after days to places of high distinction in the world. Thomas Spence, the famous writing-master, was one of his early scholars; James W. Hogg, afterwards known as chairman of the East India Board, and member for Honiton, a great favourite of Sir Robert Peel, who conferred on him the honour of a baronetcy, Brigadier-General Nicholson, one of the leading heroes of the Punjaub; Serjeant Armstrong, celebrated as a chief of the Irish Bar; and several other men mark, were also taught at the Lisburn Academy.

This most popular classical seminary in the rural districts of that part of Antrim County was then presided over by the Rev. Skeffington Thompson, LL.D., of Magheragal, and on the first day of February, 1815, Alexander T. Stewart was entered there as a student. Early in the following month John Turney took ill, and it was evident his day of life was coming to a close. Thomas Lamb, his valued neighbour, visited him very frequently, and, with the never-failing attention to worldly affairs that forms the leading characteristic of Quakerism, advised his friend to settle his affairs, and in doing so not to forget his daughter, Margaret Bell, and her children.

He died on the 16th of April, 1815.

After the old man's death Mr. Lamb brought Alexander T. Stewart to reside in his house, where he became thoroughly at home, the two sons, John and Joshua, looking on the orphan boy as, if possible, something more than a brother.

Stewart had now quite given up any idea of going on for the clerical profession, and in order to fit him for business Mr. Lamb advised that, instead of emigrating to New Tork, as he proposed to do, he should go to Belfast and learn something of shopkeeping. The good old Quaker arranged with a grocer in that town that the well-educated lad should become his apprentice, and in course of a few weeks he commenced his duties there. But neither the place nor the business suited the taste of A. T. Stewart. During the short time he was at the grocery business he spent the time from each Saturday evening till Monday at the house of Mr. Matthew Morrow, whose daughters conducted a ladies' school in Chichester Street, and where he met with the utmost kindness. But before the end of April he told the grocer that he did not like the business; and, having begged his guardian's permission to carry out the project of going to America, Mr. Lamb did not stand in the way, and thus all was amicably arranged.

America, 1818.

His guardian handed him fifty pounds out of the fortune then awaiting his coming of age. With that capital, in May, 1818, he left Belfast, in a ship bound for New York, and six weeks afterwards he found himself in the city on the Hudson.

After considerable difficulty he found his mother's residence. His half-brother, James Bell, had, some weeks before, ran off from home, and gone to sea, and the family then consisted of his half-sister Mary, his mother, and stepfather. Determined not to remain a burden on the family, he sought employment as an assistant teacher, and was engaged at four hundred dollars a-year -- a sum barely equal to pay his board and maintain him in respectable clothing. Having found himself fully equal to the duties of the school, several additions were made to his salary during the next two years, and in 1820 he found himself master of an annual income of six hundred dollars.

A course of communication was maintained between him and his guardian all that time, and in December, 1822, he received a long letter from the honest Quaker, stating that the property left him having been realised, the proceeds were lodged in a Belfast bank. Mr. Lamb also advised his ward that the money arising from the sale of the meadow and two fields, together with small cottage and garden (£140), was lent at 5 per cent. interest to a linen draper, and the seven pounds arising from that investment were paid quarterly to Mrs. Turney, his step-grandmother.

Early in the following your A. T. Stewart left New York for Liverpool, and when he reached that port in May, lost no time in taking his passage in the next steamer for Belfast, where he arrived in due course, and from thence made his way to Lisburn. The first person he called on was Fanny Fox, a Quaker lady, then engaged, in the haberdashery and millinery business. Miss Fox pressed him to remain all night, and next morning, on speaking to that lady respecting his business in Ireland, he requested her to introduce him to a lawyer, which she did by taking him to the office of Mr. Dillon. Having had some legal advice from that solicitor, the young man set off on foot -- a distance of about four miles -- for Pear Tree Hill, the residence of Mr. Thomas Lamb, his grandfather's executor, where he was received with the utmost attention, and in the course of the day all the accounts of Mr. Turney's estate, from April, 1815, were laid before him, with the several amounts received and the sums paid, and the vouchers in each case. Various estimates have been made respecting the sums paid over to A. T. Stewart; nothing definite, however, is known on the subject, but it must have amounted to several hundred, or perhaps one thousand, pounds.

It has been stated that Mr. Stewart had received from his guardian the full amount of money arising from the proceeds of property left him by his grandfather; but on getting the cash into his hands he found some difficulty in arriving at any definite conclusion as to how it should be invested. The bustle and prosperity he had seen in the everyday commerce of New York had stirred in his mind a desire for business; he therefore consulted a Belfast friend on the subject, and in doing so frankly acknowledged his ignorance of mercantile affairs. That friend told him that with his educational attainments and aptitude for learning he would soon master the details of trade. "It was most erroneous," he added, "to suppose that because a young man was a classical scholar he would not succeed when engaged at the matter-of-fact details of life as they existed behind the counter."

Acting on that shrewd counsel, the student made his first purchase from a manufacturer in Rosemary Street in that town, comprising a large lot of fancy goads, high-class muslins, insertions, tambours, and some flouncings. These articles were all of a quality which the embryo merchant was assured had rarely before been seen in any American city. He had also bought from the eminent firm of James N. Richardson & Co., of Lisburn, a parcel of the finest linens and some specialities in French cambric. Having thus invested the greater part of his capital in first-class goods, he once again sailed for New York, and arrived safe in July, 1823. There was then to be let the store afterwards known as "283, Broadway," situate between Murray and Warren Streets. The locality was central, and although the store was a mere wooden structure, twenty feet square, and the rent 37S dollars a-year, he entered as tenant, made some improvements, and in that tiny spot, with his Belfast and Lisburn purchases, and a job lot of laces, silk gloves, and general hosiery, the man who in after years became the financial counsellor of Presidents and the wonder of Wall Street commenced his marvellous career.

Marriage in 1825.

In 1825 Mr. Stewart married Miss Cornelia Clinch, daughter of a very wealthy ship chandler of New York. The young lady had received a very good education, but in the course of that sowing of intellectual seed the duty of industry had not been forgotten, and immediately after having taken upon herself the responsibilities of a wife she set about aiding in the transactions of the store, as it was on her own exertions much of the future success depended. It has been said that, on the delivery of the goods which her husband was in the habit of purchasing at the auction sales, she would refinish parcels of gloves and also the lots of ing in the transactions of the store, as if it just from the hands of the manufacturer. [sic]

The concern 283 [sic] had ceased to accommodate the customers and and contain the stock, and during the three years previous to the autumn of 1832 A. T. Stewart had made two removals, in each case to larger places of business. No 257, Broadway, was an extensive store, situate between Murray and Warren Streets, and this had been fitted up with great care and taste, the young merchant's classical education having given him a love of the decorative that was seen even in his selection of fancy fabrics. Nine years' successful commerce had made him a person of civic celebrity and a wonder to the plodding speculators of Wall Street.

In the spring of 1847 the premises of A. T. Stewart & Co. were found totally inadequate to meet the growing extension of their business. Washington Hall, a famous commercial hotel and its mercantile club, were then in the market, and at a cost of sixty thousand dollars the site was purchased by Mr. Stewart. The area of that building ground comprised two acres, and after clearing away the buildings that stood over it the erection of the world-renowned Marble Palace was commenced.


Famine, 1847.

Ireland in 1847 was undergoing one of those periodical seasons of sadness which seem coincident with her history. Two millions of her people were in the very whirlpool of destitution, dearth, and disease, and towards the relief fund which had been got up the Broadway merchant sent to the Irish Committee, then sitting in Dublin, a contribution of ten thousand dollars, and a cargo of food to the Lisburn Committee value for £5,000.

A. T. Stewart had then been in the dry goods trade for more than one quarter of a century, and his power of arranging the daily duties of an entire army of rank and file assistants showed how well the algebraic and mathematical lessons he had been taught by Mr. Benjamin Neely must have been acted upon in course of his commercial life.

The marble palace had become more than ever the resort of the fashionable and the gay of high life, when A. T. Stewart saw that it was time for him to make another move in the upward direction. He accordingly, in 1860, purchased the fee-simple of more than two acres of ground situate between Ninth and Tenth Streets and Fourth Avenue. There he commenced the erection which, when finished, stood, from the level of the street to the top cornice, eighty-eight feet in height, and was the largest store ever erected in any part of the world. It consisted of eight floors, six above and two below the ground, thus making an area of eighteen acres in all.

About the time of the commencement of the war between the Southern and Northern States of America Mr. Stewart purchased immense quantities of military stores, and when demand for such goods rose with the requirements, sales were made at very large profits, and yet, as it was afterwards proved, the purchases made by Government at A. T. Stewart's were on much better terms than any that had been bought from other holders.

Some of A. T. Stewart's biographers have written of him as if he had been a man whose only enjoyment was the accumulation of riches. Nothing could be further from broad fact than such statements. It is true that to casual observers he may have seemed cold and frigid, and that in the management of his great business he exacted scrupulous attention to details on the part of his army of assistants, but in connection with that stern love of discipline and a determination to have the line of conduct he marked out strictly adhered to, he had a heart brimful of benevolence, and a disposition which ever prompted him to distribute with no sparing hand a portion of his wealth in doing good to his less fortunate brethren.

The munificent contribution which Mr. Stewart sent to the Lisburn Relief Committee has been mentioned. He also chartered the ship Mary Edson to take over on her return voyage a number of the cotton weavers to New York. When those emigrants reached that city the Broadway merchant had temporary homes prepared for them, and until they got into employment all were supported at his expense.

Death, 1876.

He delighted to gather around him the most distinguished man of the city, and on the third Sunday in March, 1876, had his usual dinner party. On the occasion alluded to the party was intended to consist of sixteen gentlemen, including the host himself, but three of the invited guests were unable to attend, and, to Mr. Stewart's momentary annoyance, thirteen sat down to table. A very pleasant evenins was spent, however, for he was quite a different man in his own house from the plodding merchant of Broadway. Next day he felt very ill, and did not go to business. An internal disease which had first appeared three years before set in with increased severity. The family physician, Dr. Marcey, was in close attendance, and he rallied a little under that gentleman's care, but on Thursday, the 6th of April, he had caught fresh cold and became considerably worse. On the morning of the 10th he was quite unconscious, and before the close of that day the millionaire storekeeper, whose name had been a household word to every place of note in the world of commerce, had passed away to the Land of Spirits.

President Grant offered to appoint Mr. Stewart to the very important office of Secretary of the United States Treasury, but various obstacles intervened, and the matter fell through.

He died childless.

One of A. T. Stewart's peculiarities was that of being religiously reticent on the subject of his boyhood. He occasionally referred to John Turney, his maternal grandfather; but of Thomas Stewart and Martha, his paternal grandfather and grandmother, or of his four uncles and three aunts, he was never heard to speak. A friend once wrote him in favour of one of his relatives, then in poor circumstances, but he never replied to that letter. More than thirty years ago Tom Stewart, then the only surviving son of his grandfather, had got past the age of labour, and was badly off in Lisburn. On having been appealed to on the subject by Mr. Jon Owden, of the arm of J. N. Richardson & Co., A. T. Stewart sent the applicant means to pay his uncle ten shillings a week which sum was continued till the old man's death.

That disposition to ignore the existence of his relations in that country was evinced in his last will; and most remarkable is the fact that the world-renowned merchant, who is said to have died worth fifty millions of dollars, and whose benevolence towards the outside world was munificent, did not leave a solitary cent to those blood relations who, seeing that he died without issue, had direct claims on his testamentary action.

This neglect of his relations was one weak point in the character of one of the most wonderful of the world's commercialists. And yet he loved with national fervour the land of his birth, and in her times of need administered with liberal hand to Ireland's necessities. He has gone to his final resting-place, and, taking him for all in all, more than one generation will have passed before the world sees another A. T. Stewart.


Chamber's Biographical Dictionary, 1897.

Alexander Turney Stewart, 1803-1876, millionaire, born at Lisburn, near Belfast; emigrated to New York in 1823, where two years later he opened his first dry-goods store. His charities were numerous, yet at his death he left some £8,000,000. His body was stolen in 1878, and restored to his widow three years after on payment of £4,000 through a lawyer.

(Next Week: Betty, the Young Roscius.)


(This article was originally published in the Lisburn Standard on 7 December 1917 as part of a series which ran in that paper each week through 1917 and into 1918. The text along with other extracts can be found on my website Eddies Extracts.)