IRISH FACTION FIGHTS. possesses; and that the spirit of clanship, and the habit of pursuing family feuds-feelings and practices diametrically opposed to all law and good order-should still continue in full force, and produce most lamentable effects; producing a willing execution of the most brutal decrees issued by their mischievous secret societies, which keep them all in a state of bondage, and engaging them in those brutal "faction fights," an account of which we shall borrow from Mr. Inglis's work on Ireland. It occurred at a "Pattern," which he had the curiosity to attend. 66 A pattern was originally a religious ceremony, (in honour of the patron saint of the place,) and was and still is always celebrated near to a holy well; but although some still frequent the pattern for devotional purposes, it is now resorted to chiefly as a place of recreation, where, after the betterdisposed have partaken of the innocent amusements of dancing and moderate hilarity, drunkenness and fighting wind up the entertainment. "The ascent to the spot where the pattern was to be held was picturesque in the extreme. Far up the winding way, for miles before us, and for miles behind too, groups were seen moving up the mountain's side,-the women with their red petticoats easily distinguishable: some were on foot, some few on horseback, and some rode double. About half-way up, we overtook a party of lads and lasses beguiling the toil of the ascent by the help of a piper, who marched before, and whose stirring strains every now and then prompted an advance in jig-time up the steep mountain path. Some few we met coming away-sober people, who had performed their station at the holy well, and had no desire to be partakers in the sort of amusement that generally follows. "Everybody in this part of the country is called Joyce; and the spot where the pattern is held is claimed by the Joyces to be in Joyce's country; but this is not admitted by the Cunnemara boys; and, accordingly, two factions-the Joyces and their opponents-usually hold patterns near the same ground, though not close together, but yet so near as to make it impossible that the meetings should break up without a scrimmage. "When I reached the summit of the pass, and came in sight of the ground, it was about four in the afternoon, and the pattern was at its height: and truly, in this wild mountain spot, the scene was most striking and picturesque. There were a score of tents or more-some open at the sides, and some closed; hundreds in groups were seated on the grass, or on the stones which lie abundantly there. Some old persons were yet on their knees, beside the holy well, performing their devotions; and here and there apart, and half screened by the masses of rocks which lay about, girls of the better * Ireland in 1834. By Henry D. Inglis, author of "Spain in 1830," "The Channel Islands," "The Tyrol," &c. 59 order, who had finished their pastimes, were putting off their shoes and stockings to trot homeward, or were arranging their dress, or perhaps though more rarely-exchanging a word or two with a Joyce or a Cunnemara boy. All were quiet when I reached the ground ; and I was warmly welcomed as a stranger by many, who invited me into their tents. Of course I accepted the invitation, and the pure potheen circulated freely. "By-and-by, however, some boastful expression of a Joyce appeared to give offence to several at the far end of the tent; and something loud and contemptuous was spoken by two or three in a breath. The language, which, in compliment to me had been English, suddenly changed to Irish. Two or three glasses of potheen were quickly gulped by most of the boys; and the innkeeper who had accompanied me, and who sat by me, whispered that there would soon be some fighting. I had seen abundance of fighting on a small scale in Ireland, but, I confess, I had been barbarous enough to wish I might see a regular faction fight; and now I was likely to be gratified. Taking the hint of the innkeeper, I shook hands with the boys' nearest to me, right and left; and taking advantage of a sudden burst of voices, I stepped over my bench, and, retiring from my tent, took up a safe position on some neighbouring rocks. "I had not long to wait: out sallied the Joyces and a score of other 'boys' from several tents at once, as if there had been some preconcerted signal; and the flourishing of shillelahs did not long precede the rest of them. Any one, to see an Irish fight for the first time, would conclude that a score or two must inevitably be put hors de combat. "The very flourish of a regular shillelah, and the shout that accompanies it, seem to be the immediate precursors of a fractured scull; but the affair, though bad enough, is not so fatal as it appears to be. The shillelahs, no doubt, do sometimes descend upon a head, which is forthwith a broken head; but they oftener descend upon each other; and the fight soon becomes one of personal strength. The parties close and grapple; and the most powerful man throws his adversary. "Fair play is but little attended to: two or three often attack a single man ; nor is there a cessation of blows, even when a man is on the ground. On the present occasion, five or six were disabled; but there was no homicide; and after a scrimmage, which lasted perhaps ten minutes, the Joyces remained masters of the field. The women took no part in the fight; but they are not always so backward. It is chiefly, however, when stones are the weapons, that women take a part, by supplying the combatants with missiles. When the fight ended, there were not many remaining, excepting those who were still in the tents, and who chanced to be of neither faction. Most of the women had left the place when the quarrel began, and some of the men too. I noticed, after the fight, that some who had been opposed to each other shook hands and kissed, and appeared as good friends as before." Homicides occurring at faction fights are facetiously denominated fair murders, being generally committed at fairs, and constitute, says Mr. Inglis, "the most numerous class of cases at most Irish Assizes. I do not," he continues, "know any means by which so much insight is to be obtained into the character of the Irish peasantry, and into the condition of the country, and the state of things among the lower classes of society, as by listening to these prosecutions for fair murders. There were many of these prosecutions at the Ennis assizes (which Mr. Inglis attended); and although I had already heard much of the factions into which the peasantry are divided, I had no conception of the extent of this evil, nor of the bitterness with which this spirit of faction is attended. However these factions may have originated, there is now no distinction among their adherents, excepting that which arises from the possession of a different name. The O'Sullivans are as distinct a people from the O'Neils as the Dutch from the Belgians. Carrying the Body of the Murdered Man, drawn on the Spot by J. E. TIMBRILL, Esq. The factions have chiefs who possess authority. When, as is too frequently the case, these fights are attended with loss of life, the original feud becomes more violent than ever. The partizans of the slain man convey his body home in procession, vowing vengeance on the whole "faction" to which the murderer belongs. The widow, who in most cases has been a spectator of the fight, follows weeping, while her friends around her mingle oaths and threats with the funeral wail. Each of the faction feels himself bound in honour to assist the poor widow to give a splendid wake and funeral to the fallen champion, who is buried with all the honours due to a valiant warrior. Revenge fills every heart, and it is sought for in every possible way. It is glutted perhaps by assassination of the murderer, or by a renewal of the fight, but is most frequently sought through the medium of the law. We shall again refer to Mr. Inglis for a further illustration of the spirit of faction as manifested in a court of justice. To save a relation from punishment, or to punish any one who has injured a relation, an Irish peasant will swear anything. This would be called by some hatred of the law; but although in swearing falsely the Irish peasant wishes to defeat the ends of justice, he does not do so merely because he hates justice and the law, but because he thinks he is bound to save his relation, or any one of his faction. If the name of the man who was killed be O'Grady, then every witness who comes up to be sworn for the prosecution is also an O'Grady; or if they be women, they were O'Gradys before they were married and if the name of the prisoner be O'Neil, then all the witnesses for the defence are O'Neils; or if there be any exceptions in names, still there is a relationship of some kind. The spirit of faction is brought into court by almost every witness in these prosecutions. As for finding out the truth by the mere evidence of the witnesses, it is generally impossible. Almost all worth knowing is elicited on the cross examination; and it is always by the appearance and manner of the witness, more than by his words, that the truth is to be gathered. All the witnesses examined for the prosecution were, by their own account, mere lookers-on at the battle; nor stick nor stone had they. Their party had no mind to fight that day; but in making this assertion they always take care to let it be known that, if they IRISH FACTION FIGHTS.-THE INDIAN WARRIOR. had had a mind to fight, they could have handled their shillelahs to some purpose. On the other hand, all the witnesses for the prisoner aver just the same as themselves; so that it is more by what witnesses won't tell, than by what they do tell, that truth is discovered. Half the witnesses called on both sides have broken heads; and it is not unfrequently by a comparison of the injuries received on both sides, and by the evidence of the doctor, that one is helped to the truth. "But the most striking defect of character which is brought to light, is a perfect contempt of human suffering, and an utter disregard even of the value of human life." (These are the attributes of the lowest barbarism, yet still subsisting among a people who acknowledge and adore a Redeemer.) "Weapons of the most deadly description are brought into court as evidence,-sticks and whips loaded with lead, and stones that might crush the head of a horse. A ruffian may occasionally be found in England who would flay a man alive to become possessed of his purse; but I greatly question whether, out of Ireland, fifty men could be found in any one parish, in any country in Europe, ready to beat one another's brains out with sticks and stones, and all but glorifying in the deed. And as I have already observed, the same ferocity which has been exhibited at the fight is brought into court: false oaths are the substitutes for weapons; and by these witnesses seek to avenge the death of a relation who has been more unfortunate, but probably not less criminal, than the accused." Mr. Inglis looks upon it as most essential to the prosperity of Ireland that these factions should be put down. They are nearly as inimical to the investment of capital, and nearly as much do they encourage absenteeism, as many of those other kinds of agitation which are more familiar to us. The Widow begging Alms on the Corpse for its Burial, drawn on the spot by J. E. TIMBRILL, Esq. 61 THE INDIAN WARRIOR. WE find the Indian fierce and courageous, but stealthy and unrelenting. To him the midnight massacre is a deed of glory-the murder of women and children a matter of triumph. He laughs at the white man's scruples, and insists that in war the object being to injure the enemy, no means by which that can be effected are to be neglected. The sudden surprise-the stealing on an unsuspecting foe, are held as proofs of the warrior's skill, and he is praised for his cunning like the successful hunter who has artfully entrapped his game. He spares none, nor does he expect to be spared, but rushes to battle with his long scalp lock flying in the wind, as a defiance-a challenge to his foe to come and take it. He prepares for war by painting his body as hideously as possible, that he may strike terror into his enemy; and before going forth to battle all the warriors perform a wild dance, in which, amidst the horrible yells which with them take the place of the drum and trumpet and animate them in the fight, they show the feats they intend to do, and alternately dash at the red post planted in the centre, the type of a bleeding foe, and strike their tomahawks into the fictitious scull. They never aim at making prisoners, but the stoutest arm will weary with striking, and captives are occasionally taken. But it is a great mistake to imagine that these are invariably given up to torture. The prisoner of war was the first slave. The conqueror who spared life considered himself the unaccountable master of his captive; and with the Indian, with whom mercy is not a duty, but a mere impulse, it is so still. The captive is made the sport of the women and children in every village. These claim the right of triumphing over their fallen foe; the warriors are indifferent as to what becomes of one accidentally, as it were, saved from the tomahawk. But it is not until the prisoner is brought to the dwelling-place of his captors that his fate is finally determined on. "The Indians," says Heckewilder, a writer who was well acquainted with their habits and character," do not often put their prisoners to the torture, or even to death-seldom unless when they have sustained great losses, or when some of their warriors have been murdered. The torture is then resorted to, to glut their vengeance." In fact, the prisoner's fate is almost entirely dependent upon the wide-spread system of blood revenge, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a man for a man, which is common in all savage nations, but is observed with remarkable exactitude among the Indians. In illustration of this peculiarity we may perhaps be excused for relating a very singular anecdote, extracted from the appendix to the first volume of Mr. Storer's life of Joseph Brant Thayendanegia, the Mohawk chief-first premising The Indian rule of blood revenge is that the tribe of a slain man shall require the blood of some, no matter what, member of the tribe of the offender; and the duty of procuring this atonement lies upon the nearest relation, but all the tribe are bound in honour to assist him. At the period to which we have referred, an Indian had been murdered by some unknown white man who had escaped. The rest of the narrative we give in Mr. Storer's own words. | that Mr. Dean was a most useful and excellent | upon her to remain quiet with her children in the Indian Missionary, who from early life had devoted room where they slept, while he would receive the himself to that service; had resided with and been council in an adjoining one, and endeavour to avert adopted into a tribe of the Oneidas when but a boy; their determination, trusting to Providence for the had been of great service in retaining that nation result. He met the Indians at the door, and seated in the interest of the States during the war of the them in the outer room. There were eighteen, Revolution, and at the time when the occurrence and all chief or head men of the nation. The we are about to mention, was residing among the senior chief informed him that they had come to Oneidas upon an estate which had been presented sacrifice him for the murder of their brother, and to him by their people, a portion of which is held that he must now prepare to die. He replied to by his family to this day. them at length, claiming that he was an adopted son of the Oneidas; that it was unjust to require his blood for the wrong committed by a wicked white man; that he was not ready to die, and that he could not leave his wife and children unprovided for. The council listened to him with profound gravity and attention, and when he sat down, one of the chiefs replied to him. He rejoined and used every argument his ingenuity could devise in order to reverse their sentence. The debate continued a long time, and the hope of escape grew fainter and fainter as it proceeded. At length he had nearly abandoned himself to the doom they had resolved upon, when he heard the pattering of a footstep without the door. It opened, and a squaw entered. She was the wife of the senior chief, and at the time of Mr. Dean's adoption into the tribe in his boyhood, she had taken him as her son. The entrance of a woman into a solemn council was, by Indian etiquette, at war with all propriety. She, however, took her place near the door, and all looked on in silence. A moment after, another footstep was heard, and another Indian woman entered the council. This was the sister of the former, and she, too, was the wife of a chief then present. Another pause ensued, and a third entered. Each of the three stood wrapped closely in her blanket, but said nothing. At length the presiding chief addressed them, telling them to be gone, and leave the chiefs to go on with their business. The wife replied, that the council must change their determination, and let the good white man-their friend-her own adopted son, alone. The command to be gone was repeated, when each of the Indian women threw off her blanket, and showed a knife in her extended hand; and declared that if one hair of the white man's head was touched, they would each bury their knives in their own heart's blood. The strangeness of the whole scene overwhelmed with amazement each member of the council, and regarding the unheard-of resolution of the women to interfere in the matter as a sort of manifestation of the will of the Great Spirit that the white man's life should not be taken, their previous decree was reversed on the spot, and the life of their victim preserved." The chiefs thereupon held a consultation at Oneida to determine what was to be done. Their deliberations were held in secret, but through the friendship of one of the number, Mr. Dean was advised of what was going on. From the office that he held, and the high standing he maintained among the white men, it was urged in the council that he was the proper person to sacrifice in atonement for the offence committed. The question was, however, a very difficult one to dispose of. He had been adopted into the tribe, and was held to be a son; and it was argued by many of the chiefs that he could now be no more responsible for the offence than one of the natives of the tribe, and that his sacrifice would not furnish the proper atonement. For several days the matter was debated, and no decision was arrived at. While it was undetermined, he continued to hope for the best, and his friendly informant kept him constantly advised of all that was arrived at. At first he reflected upon the propriety of his leaving the country, and escaping from the danger. But his circumstances, together with the hope of a favourable issue of the question in the council, induced him to remain. He had erected a small house, which he was occupying with his wife and two children, one an infant; and it was idle to think of removing them without exciting observation, and perhaps causing a sacrifice of all. As the council continued its session for several days, his hopes of a favourable decision brightened. He, however, kept the whole matter to himself, not even mentioning it to his wife, and prepared himself for an emergency which might befall him. One night after he had retired to bed, he was awoke by the sound of the death-whoop, at a short distance from his house. He then, for the first time, communicated to his wife his fears that a party were approaching to take away his life. He enjoined it The interference of the women upon this occasion was not altogether unusual, although wholly irregular; when it happens, it is looked on and respected as the consequence of a supernatural diffusing that inestimable blessing, and with that purpose we transcribe, although with pain, an account of the Indian mode of torture as described by an English eye-witness. impulse, and there are many well-authenticated | We write with the hope of being instrumental in instances where victims bound to the torture-stake have been rescued by the interposition of womanly compassion. One such occurrence has been so beautifully illustrated by that distinguished poet Mrs. Hemans, that we shall take leave to transcribe a few lines. He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand A step hath pierced the ring !—Who dares intrude She had sat gazing on the victim long, "He shall not die !"—the gloomy forest thrill'd "Having been informed that they were about putting one of their prisoners to death, I went to their camp to witness the spectacle. The man was tied to a tree; after which they heated an old barrel of a gun until it became red-hot, with which they burned him on the legs, thighs, neck, cheeks, and belly. They then commenced cutting the flesh from about the nails, which they pulled out, and next separated the fingers from the hand joint by joint. During the performance of these cruelties the wretched captive never winced, and instead of suing for mercy, he added fresh stimulants to their barbarous ingenuity by the most irritating reproaches, part of which our interpreter translated as follows:- My heart is strong.-You do not hurt me. You can't hurt me.-You are fools.You do not know how to torture.-Try it again.I don't feel any pain yet. We torture your relations a great deal better, because we make them cry out aloud like little children.-You are not brave, you have small hearts, and you are always afraid to fight.” Then addressing one in particular, "It was by my arrow you lost your eye;" upon which the Flathead darted at him, and with a knife in a moment scooped out one of his eyes; at the same time cutting the bridge of his nose nearly in two. To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were still'd, Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell. They gazed, their dark souls bow'd before the maid, This did not stop him: with the remaining eye he She of the dancing step in wood and glade! And, as her cheek flush'd through its olive hue, As her black tresses to the night-wind flew, Something o'ermaster'd them from that young mienSomething of heaven, in silence felt and seen; And seeming, to their childlike faith, a token That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken. Returned from battle, the warriors exhibit their trophies, the bloody scalps of their foes; they dance their wild dance of triumph, yelling forth their exultation over the fallen. Then they proceed to the lodge of any squaw who has been made a widow by the fight; they sing to her a song of consolation; they tell her of the bravery of him she has lost; they throw a share of their spoils at her feet, and they promise her revenge. The most acceptable offering is the torture of a captive; but unless some such cause exists, the prisoners are adopted into different families, and thenceforth become children of the tribe. Their fate mainly depends upon the determination of families some of whose members have fallen. The bereaved inother will either receive a young warrior to replace her lost son, or she will demand the gratification of satiating her vengeance upon the slayer. The details of such proceedings are horrible, but they should be known and remembered. Nothing but the gospel can put an end to them. looked sternly at another and said, I killed your brother, and I scalped your old fool of a father." The warrior to whom this was addressed instantly sprung at him and separated the scalp from his head. He was then about plunging a kuife in his heart, until he was told by the chief to desist. The raw skull, bloody socket, and mutilated nose, now presented an horrific appearance, but by no means changed his tone of defiance." It was I," said he to the chief, "that made your wife a prisoner last fall;-we put out her eyes; we tore out her tongue ;-we treated her like a dog. Forty of our young warriors "The chieftain became incensed the moment his gun, and wife's name was mentioned; he seized his before the last sentence was ended, a ball from it passed through the brave fellow's heart *,” PITY. E. HE that hath pity on another man's sorrow shall be free from it himself; but he that delighteth in, and scorneth the misery of another, shall one time or other fall into it himself.-Sir W, Raleigh. * Cox's "Columbia River." |