SUFFERINGS AND ESCAPE OF CHARLES JACKSON, I was born an Englishman; and, at an early period of life, went to Ireland. At Cork I married, and received £200 with my wife. In the beginning of the year 1797, I settled in Wexford, as a carver and gilder, where, being the only person in that line of business in that county, I was much employed till the breaking out of the late horrid rebellion. On Saturday night, May 26, 1791, information was first received of the rebels being in force, about twelve miles from Wexford. The troops at that time in the town, consisting of a party of the North Cork militia, between 300 and 400 men, and the cavalry and infantry corps of yeomen, were under arms the whole of the night; and, on Sunday morning the alarm increased on hearing that the rebels were burning the houses of all the Protestant farmers in the neighbourhood. A party of the militia were ordered out, and marched to a placed called Oulard, where they were met by the rebels. The situation of the ground was so unfavourable, that the party, after firing three rounds, (by which a considerable number of the rebels were killed) was surrounded and cut to pieces, Colonel Foote and two privates only escaping. The terror of the inhabitants of Wexford cannot be described. To add to it, all the families in the neighbourhood who were able, were seen flying into the town, leaving their property behind them; the women who lost their husbands in the late engagement, running through the streets with their fatherless children, with all the expressions of distress. Nothing could exceed the anxiety visible in every countenance of the female inhabitants who had husbands, sons, fathers, or brothers, belonging to the different loyal corps of volunteers, and the constant apprehension of the arrival of the insurgents, flushed with recent victory, and now rendered more formidable by having obtained the arms and ammunition of the militia who were slain. It indeed appeared to us, unacquainted with the miseries of civil war, a terrible scene. VOL. II. 98 That night, Sunday, May 27, the loyal inhabitants were all employed in making preparations for the arrival of our foes, and hourly in hopes of reinforcements from Waterford. No attack was made during the night. The next day, Monday, May 28th, about one o'clock, we saw the smoke of the town of Enniscorthy, then in flames. (Enniscorthy is situated on the sea-coast, about eleven miles from Wexford.) The loyalists made a most gallant defence, and would have repulsed the rebels, had not the Catholic inhabitants treacherously set fire to the town, to smother the troops who were defending it. Thus circumstanced, the troops were obliged to secure their safety in flight, after having cut off about 500 of the rebels. Here it may not be improper to remark, that the manner in which the rebels attacked their opponents was, by driving before them a quantity of horses (without any persons on them) and cattle, in order to disorder their ranks. At about four o'clock this afternoon, no description can give an adequate, idea of the scene at Wexford. The inhabitants, who had escaped from Enniscorthy and its neighbourhood, pushed into the town in crowds; persons of the first fortunes, in that part of the country, covered with dust and blood, with their infants in their arms, and their wives clinging behind them; and such women as had not been able to procure a horse or seat with their husbands, endeavouring to keep up with the mob of fugitives, with their children in their arms and others hanging to them; women who, but a few hours before, were: in possession of every comfort life could afford. The inhabitants of Wexford, still more terrified by the spectacle now before them, were each endeavouring to secure a birth for their wives and children on board some one of the vessels lying in the harbour, every one of which was soon filled as full as it could hold. The gallant husbands and fathers now returned to their respective parades, apparently fortified with a double portion of courage, since the objects of their tenderest care seemed to have been placed in safety. The next morning, Tuesday, May 29, a party of the Donegal militia arrived, with two pieces. of cannon, and brought news that more assistance was advancing; but, about twelve o'clock, we received intelligence that a party of artillery-men, with cannon and howitzers, had been taken by the rebels. Orders were now given that all fires should be put out, and that such houses as had thatched roofs should be immediately stripped, to prevent the disaffected party from following the example of their associates at Enniscorthy, by setting fire to the town during the time of its being attacked. On Wednesday, May 30, in the morning, the troops (the Donegal and Cork militia, near 600 in all) went out to meet the rebels, who were now supposed to be 15,000 strong. About three miles from Wexford, at a place called Three Rocks, there was some firing, when the militia, finding them so powerful from numbers, and in possession of the artillery taken the day before, retreated to the town. There were at this time in the gaol of Wexford, in consequence of an order from Dublin, Mr. Beecham Bagnall Harvey, Mr. Fitzgerald, and Mr. Cokely, all men of property, and of great interest in the county. A council was called, and it was resolved, that it was impossible to defend the town, as the greatest part of the Catholics who had taken up arms had deserted. The proportion of the Catholic inhabitants of Wexford I believe to have been about three to one Protestant, but only about 200 had taken up arms; on the remainder, however, no dependance could be placed. Two gentleman, Mr. Richards, a counsellor, and Dr. Jacobs, a physician, mayor of the town, were appointed to offer to surrender the town to the rebels, and to endeavour to save the lives TERRIFIC REGISTER. of the inhabitants; to which condition the rebels agreed. In the mean time the troops, accompanied by all the unmarried yeomen, effected their escape to Duncannon Fort, about twenty-three miles off. I now return to what more immediately relates to myself. On Thursday, May 24, three days after the breaking out of the rebellion, my wife was brought to bed; and, on the Monday following, the day of the battle at Enniscorthy, I thought myself fortunate in being able to move her with her infant, and place them on board one of the vessels, in which we had no doubt of being safely carried to Wales. In this vessel we continued on the open deck, with only a sail to cover us, till Wednesday morning, May 30, when, about two o'clock, we saw the toll-house and part of the bridge of Wexford, on fire. The town was immediately in an uproar; and, while the cavalry were endea❤ vouring to cut away a part of the bridge, to prevent the flames from communicating to the town, the quays, and every avenue leading to the water-side, were crowded with women and children, begging in the most pitiable manner, to be admitted on board the vessels. But that was impossible, they were already filled in every part. One young lady, in particular, threw herself into the sea, to get on board a small boat that was near the quay, and would have been drowned, had not some men in a boat taken her up: and they were immediately in great danger of losing their lives, owing to the numbers who pressed forward to reach their boat. On seeing the flames, the vessels all weighed, and stood to the mouth of the harbour, where they cast anchor. About one o'clock, a white flag was seen flying in Wexford (a signal that the rebels were in possession of the town), and the captain of our vessel instantly answered it by another. His example was followed by the rest, except two, which sailed for Wales. They then again weighed anchor, and stood for the town. We now concluded the die was cast, and that we were to be given up to our enemies. Every entreaty I could urge was strenuously enforced to in-. duce the captain to carry us to Wales, but without effect. With a mind distracted I went into the hold, where my wife and her infant were now lodged, to take what I supposed would be a last farewell; but the horror expressed in her emaciated countenance deterred me from communicating all my apprehensions. At length we arrived at the quay; and, with my charge, I was landed on the beach. Which way to turn me I knew not, and every moment expected a ball or pike would put an end to my miseries. Towards my own house I was afraid to move, believing that I should be murdered on my way. While I was in the anxious state of suspense, one of their captains, of the name of Furlong, came up to me, and asked if I belonged to the town, and whether I had any arms: I told him that at the house where I had lived, I had a musket. He bid me follow him and give it up. I requested him to protect us through the town, as we had half a mile to go to my house, which he promised. We passed through crowds of the rebels, who were in the most disorderly state, without the least appearance of discipline. They had no kind of uniform, but were most of them in the dress of labourers, white bands round their hats and green cockades being the only marks by which they were distinguished. They made a most fantastic appearance, many having decorated themselves with parts of the apparel of ladies, found in houses which they had plundered. Some wore ladies' hats and feathers; others caps, bonnets, and tippets. From the military which were routed they had also collected some clothing, which added to the motley show. Their arms consisted chiefly of pikes, of an enormous length, the handles of many of them being sixteen or eighteen feet along. Some carried rusty muskets. They 8 were accompanied by great numbers of women shouting and huzzaing. It was impossible for a mob to be more wild and frantic: many of the men seemed in a state of intoxication. The houses first attacked were the Custom-house, and those of Mr. Lee the collector, Captain Boyd's, and the Rev. Mr. Millar's. In a short time nothing remained but bare walls. The Catholic inhabitants were unmolested, and numbers of them assisted the rebels, and even seized and delivered up their Protestant neighbours. Following close our conductor, I passed safely with my wife and child through this terrible scene to my house. I gave him my musket, and he rode off. My wife laid down on a bed, and I crept under it, thinking to hide myself in case I should be sought for. I had not been in this situation more than ten minutes, when I heard my name called. Presently one Patrick Murphy, with six others, all armed, came into the room. This Murphy was a near neighbour of mine, and had always professed a great regard for me. My wife, on seeing him, threw herself off the bed with the child in her arms, and fell on her knees, entreating them to spare me. One of them swore if she did not say where I was, he would blow her brains out. On hearing this, from fear of her being injured, I showed myself, and was immediately seized and dragged down stairs. My wife begged to be allowed to go along with me; but they told her if she attempted to follow, they would run her through with their pikes. I left my house, suffering the pangs of a man going to execution, and was conducted to the barracks, near a mile off, through streets filled with creatures who appeared to me more like devils than men. At the barracks I was put into a room in which there were about eight others, all expecting soon to be put to death. Every moment some of the rebels, with pikes and pistols in their hands, came in to view us. After remaining in this situation about an hour, one of the rebels, armed with an old bayonet, fixed to the end of a long pole, asked if there were any bloody Orangemen or informers there. One of the townsmen pointed me out, on which he made a thrust at my throat, but the point was prevented from entering by a thick cushion under my cravat. He then wounded me slightly just below my hip At that moment Counsellor Richards, belonging to the town, who had been obliged to join the rebels to save his own life, came into the room with Mr. Bagnall Harvey, and, seeing the state I was in, requested him to save me, which Mr. Harvey did by taking me out with him. Which way to go I knew not, and entreated Mr. Richards to convey me to a place of safety. He said he did not know what was best to do with me, but would take me to a Mr. Ilughes, at the Foley, a brewery. He accordingly protected me through the midst of the mob, as we had to go almost two hundred yards from the barracks. Unfortunately, as I entered the house, one of the townsmen saw me, and informed others that an Orangeman had secreted himself in that house. I went up a back staircase, and got into a small room at the top of the house, where was a bed lying upon the ground. Being almost exhausted, I intended to lie down ; but had not been above five minutes in the room when I heard persons below searching the house. I opened a window that looked into the garden, and thought to have leaped out, but fortunately saw the tops of some of the rebel-pikes just under me. I should then have crept under the bed, but providentially saw a small door in the inside of the room, belonging to a cupboard, which was formed by the eaves of the house. I got in, but was forced to sit down almost double. Soon after my pursuers came into the room; and, not seeing me, were going out again, when one of them called the others back to examine a cupboard he had just observed. I then thought nothing could save me; and, if ever living man felt the terrors of death, I did. He opened the door of the cupboard, but, providentially holding his musket slanting, the muzzle, pushed into the cupboard, struck against the roof; on which, supposing it empty, without turning his head, he went away. Thus disappointed, I heard them propose to set fire to the house, but that was over-ruled. In that situation I continued till ten o'clock at night; I then ventured out, and got over the rocks to a place called Maudlin Town (near a mile from Wexford), to the house of an old woman of the name of Cole, whom I thought I could trust. I found the house empty, except an old bedstead, with some straw upon it. Being fearful I should be seen if I lay at top, I was forced to get under it, and lay the whole night upon nothing but the earthen floor. Having eat nothing the whole day, and being almost worn out with exertion and agitation of spirits. I endeavoured to sleep, but my terror, for fear the rebels should come in and put me to death, prevented me. People came into the cabin several times during the night, but never looked under the bed. About eight o'clock the next morning, May 31st, the old woman who owned the cabin came home, (she was a Roman Catholic), and I made myself known to her, begging that she would permit me to remain concealed there till affairs were a little settled. She told me she would as long as she could without endangering herself, and that she would go into the town and see how matters went, which she accordingly did ; and, in about two hours returned, with information that the insurgents were searching all the houses for Protestants, and committing them to gaol; and farther told me, if I should be found there, that they would kill her and burn the house, therefore it was necessary I should go to some other place. She then advised me to try and get among the fields, and lay in the hedges by day, and travel by night. Accordingly, I got out at her back-door, and went two miles across the country, when I met an old woman, and requested her to show me what road I had better take to effect my escape. She told it was in vain to attempt it; for that, if I did not belong to the rebels, my own brother would betray me. I left her and went on, but soon heard voices behind me, calling on me to stop, and I should have mercy. I turned round, and saw six men advancing with pikes in their hands. They seized me, and conducted me back to town, and then put me into gaol, in which I found about two hundred and twenty Protestants. Several days passed without my being particularly noticed; but, during that period, many prisoners were taken out, a few at a time; and, being carried to the camp, were piked. On the day that information was received of the rebels being defeated at Ross, to revenge the loss, fifteen of the Wexford, and ten of the Enniscorthy people were ordered out of the gaol. When this notice was given, I ran into my cell, and got upon my knees in a dark corner, and pulled some straw over me; but a man, of the name of Prendergast, came in and drew me out, uttering shocking threats against me. He dragged me into the yard, where I found my unhappy comrades upon their knees. One of them, who had been a Protestant, but had become a Catholic, and who was now imprisoned on a charge of being an Orangeman, requested to have the priest with him before he died. This was immediately granted; and a messenger was sent to Father Curran, the Roman-Catholic parish priest of Wexford. He presently came; and, to give effect to his admonition and intercession, had dressed himself in his cowl, and bore a crucifix in his hand. He held up the crucifix, and all present fell on their knees. He exhorted them in the most |