The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 43, April 24, 1841 — John Shaqi
The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 43, April 24, 1841Various
History
The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 43, April 24, 1841
Various
Ireland -- Periodicals
“Now,” said he, “fly. Behind the garden Miss Moore is waitin’ for you;
she knows all. Take the bridle-road through the broad bog, an’ get into
Captain Corny’s demesne. Take my advice too, an’ go both of you to
America, if you can. But, aisy. God forgive me for pullin’ you by the
nose instead of shakin’ you by the hand, an’ me may never see you more.”
The poor fellow’s voice became unsteady with emotion, although the smile
at his own humour was upon his face at the time.
“As I came in with a bloody nose,” he proceeded, giving that of Hewson a
fresh pull, “you know you must go out with one. An’ now God’s blessin’ be
with you! Think of one who loved you as none else did.”
The next morning there was uproar, tumult, and confusion in the house of
the old loyalist magistrate, when it was discovered that his daughter and
the butler were not forthcoming. But when, on examining the observatory,
it was ascertained that Finnegan was safe and Hewson gone, no language
can describe the rage and fury of Moore, Irwin, and the military in
general. Our readers may anticipate what occurred. The noble fellow was
brought to the drum-head, tried, and sentenced to be shot where he stood:
but ere the sentence was put in execution, Moore addressed him. “Now,
Finnegan,” said he, “I will get you off, if you tell us where Hewson and
my daughter are. I pledge my honour publicly that I’ll save your life,
and get you a free pardon, if you enable us to trace and recover them.”
“I don’t know where they are,” he replied, “but even if I did, I would
not betray them.”
“Think of what has been said to you,” added Irwin. “I give you my pledge
also to the same effect.”
“Mr Irwin,” he replied, “I have but one word to say. When I did what I
did, I knew very well that my life would go for his; an’ I know that
if he had thought so, he would be standin’ now in my place. Put your
sentence in execution; I’m prepared.”
“Take five minutes,” said Moore. “Give him up and live.”
“Mr Moore,” said he, with a decision and energy which startled them, “I
AM HIS FOSTER-BROTHER!”
This was felt to be sufficient; he stood at the appointed place, calm and
unshrinking, and at the first discharge fell instantaneously dead.
Thus passed a spirit worthy of a place in a brighter page than that of
our humble miscellany, and which, if the writer of this lives, will be
more adequately recorded.
Hewson, finding that the insurgent cause was becoming hopeless,
escaped, after two or three other unsuccessful engagements, to America,
instigated by the solicitations of his young wife. Old Moore died in a
few years afterwards, but he survived his resentment, for he succeeded
in reconciling the then government to his son-in-law, who returned to
Ireland; and it was found by his will, much to the mortification of
many of his relatives, that he had left the bulk of his property to Mrs
Hewson, who had always been his favourite child, and whose attachment to
Hewson he had himself originally encouraged.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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