Duelling and hurling

Accounts of the Election of 1807, the Duel, and the Last Election of a Colclough
The following extracts from the Cornhill Magazine entitled “Irish elections 60 years
ago” and from which I (Beauchamp C JC 2013) omit the apocryphal portions, gives a very fair version of the
circumstance. “These encounters alternated from grave to gay. One of the saddest
occurred in the year 1807, in connection with the polling in Wexford “... all the
polling lay between Colclough and Alcock. At the hustings, many electors who had
promised their votes to the latter treacherously tendered them to the former. Alcock
called on his friend, yet opponent, to respect these votes, but Colclough anxious of
course to be at the head of the poll, accepted with alacrity, and thanked the rascals
with much satirical gratitude. This so exasperated Alcock that he sent a challenge to
his adversary, which was couched in such terms that Colclough, according to the
ideas of those days, could not possibly decline it. The two friends, accompanied as
was the custom, by troops of those who called themselves their friends met near the
quaint and Ancient looking city.
They were as courteous to each other as if offence had neither been given, taken nor
understood. There was no malice between them, but was then called “honour” had
been wounded and when such damage had been done it was always repaired by
murder, or an attempt at it. The two friends fired, Colclough clapped his hand to his
side, fell back dead, and “honour” was satisfied. The conclusion pronounced by some
of the spectators of “there's an end to that matter”, was, however not the true one.
Alcock unharmed in body, had received such a mental shock at seeing his friend lying
stark dead on the turf, that he was more to be pitied than the poor fellow he had so
swiftly and suddenly slain. Assuredly his condition was worse than that of the dead
man, for he speedily sank into an imbecility, from which he never recovered...”
Alcock was tried for murder, and happily acquitted, for althow it no doubt was
murder in the eye of the law, I do not hesitate in saying from information derived
from documentary evidence, as well as from a minute description of it from the lips
of my grandfather, who was an eye witness, that it was a fair duel.
I have heard it said that the funeral was a sight, to be witnessed only once in a
lifetime, and I can well believe it, for John was the people’s idol, and his memory is
revered to the present day, (Beauchamp's day 1879 JC).

The following was added by Beauchamp taken from a newspaper report of the time, the name of which I do not have to hand at present, this is a lifetimes work despite much having been done already JC 2013.

“A Legend of the County Wexford” which I took from a Newspaper published many
years and entitled “Old Caesar Colclough of Tintern Abbey”.
“The reader I trust will be kind enough to recollect the precise year, for I do not, that
Mr. Colclough, the candidate for the representation of the County Wexford, was
killed in a duel by his opponent, a gentleman of the name of Alcock. I hate dates and
politics, and all I can remember of the melancholy event is the funeral of the
unfortunate Sir John. It took place on a day remarkable serene and beautiful. I had
been at the Abbey of Dunbrody in the morning, and about two o clock arrived at
Tintern. The Village was literally in mourning, and every countenance wore the
aspect of unaffected sorrow. While most of the people had gone forward to meet
the funeral, I strolled into the depository of the dead, and not far from the newly
opened grave I saw an old man, to whose countenance I instantly became partial. It
was venerable, rosy and cheerful, he looked as if he had never travelled beyond the
precincts of his native hamlet, or ever tasted of the bitter cup which others are
doomed to drain. I took my seat in silence on a tombstone opposite to him, my
solitary companion was the first to speak. ”I wonder“ says he, ”will the birn be soon
here.” “I can’t say,“ was my reply. “Och,” says he, “they are making useless bodher
about it, with all their gewgaws and hat bands, for sure it was nothing but what was
to be expected after all, though he was kilt in a duel.” “Why?” said I, “I think no one
could have expected that Mr. Colclough would have been killed in a duel,” he shook
his head significantly and replied, “Aye, but every body knew that a Colclough can
never die on his bed like another’’. “How is that?” “Why you must know they all die
some how or another not in a natural way. One of ‘em is shot, another drowned and
another hanged, but the not o’ one of ‘em ever dies in his bed. Some of the
neighbours ses it is bekase they murthered all the clergy and friars who lived in the
Abbey in ould times before Oliver Cromwell, sweet bad luck to him come to Ireland.
But Father Doyle heaven bless im ses that couldn't be, for they were all massacred
before the Colcloughs set foot in the Country, for often and often, Jim Farrell of the
boghereen, who has a long head of his own, tould me that the Colcloughs never
would have luck nor place, because they quarrelled wid the “good people”. The first
of the family who settled in Tintern, was called Caesar, and like Sir John, he was a
great man for making improvements. He built a Market House and brought over
weavers from Germany to learn his poor tenants how to manufacture cloth, but
O’ch! themselves and their weaving are all gone, gone to pot now. Well as I was
saying, Mr. Colclough was fond of alterations, an among other things that stood in
his way was a mote. One day he ordered his men to dig it and carry it away to fill up
a quarry hole, but one of the men who knew something about the matter, advised
his master to make a ha ha of it for that it wasn't lucky or safe to meddle with the
place where the Sheeoges lived. Mr. Colclough only laughed at the fellow, and
ordered the men to do as they were bid. The first spit they took however broke the
pick and the first carload that was drawn away, sunk in the bog, and the horse wid it.
Begad the men got afraid, and refused to do any more, when Mr. Colclough himself
seized the pickaxe an fell to work, called his servants to help him and soon levelled
the mote, for good and all. An ould fairy woman, who lived in the country, sed he’d
suffer for it and so he did as things came afterwards to pass.
“The Colclough's were always fine fellows for sporting an hurling, and no gentleman
in the country could equal ‘em for throwing away money like chaff. Ould Caesar
Colclough was too a great favourite in England, and was hand and glove wid the
King, not Georgy but some other. ”Mr. Colclough,” says he ”you’re always talking
about your County Wexford hurlers, now I'll be bail you haven’t twenty one men
among ‘em all, that could hurley against twenty one Englishmen.” “Yes, my Liege,”
ses he, ”I have, an that I'll beat ‘em too.” “Done,” ses the King. “Done,” ses
Colclough, and off he sets hot foot for sweet little Ireland, for afther all, that’s the
spot for real good men, for if they weren't bigger nor a Clonmel turf, they’d beat an
Englishman any day. Well, when Colclough reached home, he gave out that the
Scarroghs would hurl against the Beanybags, an accordingly they met, and when the
match was over he picked out twenty one of the best from both sides, for per
tuchonn as the Barony of Forth fellows are, Begad they were always fine hurlers.
You can almost see the Tower of Hook from this, well there was no Tower there then
neither, but a fine grand castle in which an ould Irish gentleman, one of the real sort,
lived, who had the prettiest daughter of his own in seven counties. She had a great
fortune to boot, and we all know that money makes the mare go. Colclough, you
may be sure was head and ears in love wid her, an why but he would, seeing she was
a fine girl wid plenty of araguthchise! Afore going to England he went to take his
leave of her an she was very disconsolate, entirely so, she was, for something tould
her he’d never return. Any how she promised ‘im that every night she’d keep a light
burning in her window that overlooked the sea until he came back, for fear his vessel
might be racked on the rocks for want of something to guide her.
When Colclough arrived in England with his twenty-one hurlers, the King gave him an
hundred thousand welcomes, an when the day came for the match to take place the
boys began to strip. The Englishmen looked wid contempt on our hurlers an thought
they would only have childers play in putting out the goal. But egad, they were out in
their reckoning, for the Masther gave them a glass o’ Irish Whiskey a piece, and bid
them tie a yallow handkerchief about their middles, that way they would know one
another. The King, Queen, and all the ladies and gentlemen of the three Kingdoms
were looking on, an a fine sight they had when the ball was thrown up. Oh! then it
would do your heart good to see our boys, how they tossed about the Englishmen,
as if they were nothing in their hands, an every now and then, the King and Queen
would cry out, ”Well done Yellow Bellies, fine fellows Yellow Bellies”, meaning our
boys, who wore the yellow handkerchief about their middles. You may be sure the
paddys won the day and when the goal was put out, every lady cried,”hurrah! hurrah
! hurrah! for the yellow bellies”. An from that day to this, the people of the County
Wexford are now called “Yellow Bellies”. Throth that’s the only reason, for their
skin, astore, is just as white as another. You may be sure Colclough, having received
his wager, left England wid flying colours, an was making all haste to his sweetheart,
who was waiting for him night after night in her father's Castle wid her light burning
to direct him where to sail. One night while she was watching the blue waves like a
Banshee watching in an ould ruin, what should she hear but the finest music in the
world wide. It was soft so soft, and so delicious, an she was as weary that she fell
asleep fast, fast, fast, asleep. When she awoke she found her candle out, and the
waves running mountains high. In a minute she hears the screams of poor sailors in
distress, an thought she could mark her Colclough's voice amongst the rest. She ran
down, called her father and all the servants, but it was of no manner of use. The
vessel had been dashed to pieces on the rocks, an only two persons saved their lives.
Next morning the body of the great Colclough was washed on shore, and thus the
“Good people” were revenged, for sure it was them, an’ nobody else, that purposely
set the poor young lady asleep wid their music, that they might put out the light an
raise the storm. Indeed, one of the men who was saved, sed they heard the music,
and saw the light, but it was a false light and lid ‘em astray. The poor young lady, you
may be sure was a’most broken hearted, an as she ever afterwards had pity for poor
sailors, she turned her father's Castle into a light house, an a light house it is, to this
very day. “As you see,” continued my informant, ”How dangerous a thing it is to
meddle wid the “Good People”. The Colcloughs have long since repented of it, as
good reason why. But here is the birn”, and he pointed to the road along where the
funeral train was advancing, and so ended our conversation.
Caesar, the testator, was, as I have said, a prisoner in France, and how the estate
was managed from the time of John’s death, till Caesar returned to this country at
the peace of Amiens, it is rather difficult to say. In his early life Caesar lived a great
deal with his Uncle Adam at Duffry Hall and at one time when Caesar the eldest son
of Adam (afterwards Chief Justice) was at the Bar in Dublin, and Caesar of Tintern in
College there, a quarrel took place between them, which terminated in a duel, after
which they became friends again. Caesar of Tintern in one of his letters, alluding to
his early life, says that he was driven out of Ireland to escape from his father’s
importunities that he went to London 6th November 1789, where he attended the
Law Courts, and eat his dinners at Lincoln Inns, that he went from that to Paris in
1791, ”Which isolated me from all persecutions, and opened at the cheapest rate
the doors of my favourite pursuit in the Arts, and exact Sciences”. Owing to the
interruption of all intercourse between the two Countries at that time, it was
supposed for years that he was dead, during which time, he was under the necessity
of supporting himself, and his mechanical ingenuity and skill stood him in good
stead.
This song recalling the hurling match between the Carlow team and the
Duffry Hurlers.
The Hurling at Mohurry.
All you that court Fortune and her fond smiles,
A jade that is giddy and made up of wiles;
Beware, lest, like Carlow men, you get a fall,
That hurled against Duffry at Duffry Hall.
Themselves are to blame; they're lately grown bold,
For they knew that the Duffry was famous of old;
Their sires and grand-sires the same story could tell,
That the brave County Wexford bore always the bell.
As I sat in my chair in a sycamore tree-
A place which the hurlers appointed for me-
I was struck with surprise when I saw the Carlow men,
Appearing in stature like the great “Anakim”,
I then invoked Pallas, the goddess, by prayer,
Beseeching that she might the Duffry spare;
Said the goddess to Cavanagh, ”Be not in dread”;
David, though little, Goliath left dead.
Though they have the advantage of ground, sun and wind,
Our brave Duffry heroes will goal them you’ll find;
Like bulwarks they’ll stand in a thick fearful host.
But those Hectors, we’ll make them all pay for the roast.
Squire Colclough our patriot threw up the ball,
And Dick Doyle from Marshalstown gave the first fall;
Our men being well trained in the hurling school-
Like a shot from a cannon they sent the ball “cool”,
When Carlow men tempted to force back the play,
Pat Byrne ,like Ajax, stood much in the way;
Mick Murphy from Bantry, performed great deeds,
And men stood before him as feeble as weeds.
Thumkin and Mullett did manfully play;
These were to be pitied who came in their way,
Dick Doyle and Art Mullett and hardy Jack Tharp,
Nick Cowman, Pat Connor, and Ned played that day;
Without them we never had carried the sway.
Once at a time when the ball it came down,
Unknown to the heroes of brave Marshalstown,
Pursued by brave fellows who home the play,
Our counterscarp heroes obstructed the play.
Jack Tharp, Bob and Mickey, great valour displayed,
Like Achilles’ myrmidons manfully played,
They up the ball like the hurlers of old;
Poor goal-keeper, Kelly had like to get cold.
Dillon and Nolan played well in their turn,
And sent up the ball to the gallant Pat Byrne;
Pat with his thunder bolt ran like a roe.
Brought with him the ball, and drove it through the bow.
So let the Carlow men ever pretend,
Though they’re surely brave fellows, with us to contend,
Were they not defeated the Sunday before?
Mick Murphy of Oulart had his collar bone sore.
Now, since we had won this Olympian prize,
Let us drink till the liquor flows out of our eyes,
And toast the great offspring of Caesar the Bold,
Who means to establish the customs of old.
This old hurling song was composed by the wandering bard, Cavanagh,
after the great inter-county hurling match between Carlow and Wexford
at Mohurry. It will be noticed that in the last line of the third verse of the
song that the goal is referred to as the “bow”. “Guarding the bow”, is very
often used in old County Wexford hurling songs as the equivalent for the
modern goal-keeping. The “bow” of the old time songs was much more
easy to guard, and a much more difficult mark for the forward player than
the up-to-date goal with its liberal scoring space. The “bow” was formed
by two sallies bent in the form from which it probably took its name
His namesake the Councillor, was at this time following his profession in Ireland, and
it is related of him, that when on one occasion the Barristers on circuit were going
from Wexford to Waterford by way of Ballinlaw, and had arrived at the bank of the
river, they found the wind so boisterous, and the crossing so extremely dangerous
that all the party with the exception of Caesar Colclough declined the venture. He
however, persisted in going, and reached the opposite shore in safety, upon which
his friend Mr. Charles Kendall Bushe (afterwards Judge) threw off the following
impromptu,
While meaner souls the tempest keeps in awe,
Intrepid Colclough crosses Ballinlaw,
And tells the boatman shivering in his rags,
Thou carriest Caesar and his saddle bags.
Presumably the journey in those days, was made on horse back.
Sir Jonah Barrington also a friend of Caesar, adds some particulars whose
authenticity I do not vouch. Getting dismayed during the passage, Caesar
began to cry on the Lord for protection, “Arrah, Councillor,” said the
boatman, “don’t go on praying that side if you plase, sure it’s the other lad
you ought to be praying to. “What lad do you mean?” cried Colclough in
alarm. “What lad! Why, Councillor, the ould people do be always saying
that the divel takes care of its own, and if you don’t vex him by praying the
other way, I really think, Councillor, we have a purty safe cargo aboard this
present passage.

Counsellor Caesar was appointed Chief Justice of Prince Edward Island in 1807, and
of Newfoundland in 1813, but owing to failing health, he was obliged to resign his
appointment a couple of years afterwards, and return to this Country with his wife
and two daughters. He died a few years afterwards in France, and in a letter to his
namesake in Tintern, written shortly before his death, he urgently recommends his
orphan children, to the care of the head of his family. This letter with many others
was found by me (Beauchamp 1879 JC) afterwards in the old press at Tintern.




As I look through these documents I will post them because they make interesting reading. I have managed to get all the pedigree put togther by Beauchamp onto a spread sheet, it's difficult to get onto this format. I am setting up a website where I hope to be able to publish them.
John