Month: January 2022

A Barrister’s Mysterious Death, 1844

‘Mist on Moylussa Mountain, Lough Derg,’ by Grace Mary Trench, via Whytes

From the Tipperary Vindicator, October 1844:

” J WALSH ESQ., BARRISTER-AT-LAW

It is with feelings of intense sorrow we announce the death of this gentleman. His loss is a public one. It is one which, we fear, it will be difficult to supply. The detail of his melancholy fate – having met death by drowning on Saturday – appear in another part of our columns. The learned and lamented gentleman had not been long attached to this circuit; but, short as was the time, we never remember an advocate who won more of confidence at the hands of the people, or, who, we verily believe, deserved a larger share of popular respect and attachment. Without casting censure on those who went before him, or who were with him in that peculiar walk of forensic exercise, in which he was singularly successful – that of a criminal lawyer – we may with truth aver such a man as Mr Walsh was sadly wanted on this circuit; and that his withdrawal under any circumstances, but particularly under the afflicting circumstances of his untimely fate is a public calamity. Since Mr Hatchell left the outer bar we have had no one to compare to him in the qualities which constitute the criminal advocate but Mr Walsh. The loss, then, of Mr Walsh is a grievous one. His sympathies were with the people. He was bold, and sanguine, and tenacious. He had the moral courage to speak what he thought, and what his case demanded; and to the crime manufacturers of this locality, who first drive the people to desperation and then hunt them down by the bloodhounds of the law, he was a decided and a bitter foe.

The melancholy circumstances of his death remind us of the last day he spent here. It was a day of relaxation after the heavy business of the assizes. At the request of one who was desirous of showing him the romantic scenery of our neighbourhood, he and three others, one a barrister, one an attorney, and the third a journalist, proceeded to Lough Darrig [now Lough Derg]. The day was beautifully fine; but nothing, for a long time, could induce Mr Walsh to venture on the lake. He expressed his utmost horror of water; after some entreaties, however, in which all his companions joined, he agreed to enter a small boat which lay on the margin of the lake; but the party had not proceeded far out when he intimated a desire to return, and it was not till a large boat was procured that he would remain on the water, but even then with some apparent reluctance. He did, however, remain out for a few hours. The party crossed the lake, went ashore on the Galway side, enjoyed the magnificent scenery of the Shannon, and Mr Walsh rejoiced in the evening that he had not allowed his prejudices to overcome him, and that he had seen what he had frequently heard of, the almost enchanting beauty of this neighbourhood.”

Viewed in light of the above, the circumstances of Mr Walsh’s subsequent demise, as reported in the Cork Examiner, 23 October 1844, appear somewhat eerie:

“MELANCHOLY ACCIDENT – DEATH OF JOHN WALSH, ESQ, BARRISTER-AT-LAW, BY DROWNING

We have the painful duty to announced the sudden and melancholy death, by drowning, of John Walsh, Esq, of Lower Dominick-street, which disastrous event took place upon Saturday last adjoining Tolka Park, Finglas, between two and three o’clock in the afternoon. It appears that the unfortunate gentleman, having disposed of his business for the day in the Insolvent and in other public courts, returned home, when, having got his favourite dogs, he proceeded alone to take a walk in the country as he was constantly in the habit of doing. He was observed going along the canal shortly before two o’clock, and before three was seen at the Finglas quarry, where the lamentable accident took place, which, as well as we could collect, must have occurred as follows, although the exact circumstances surrounding the event are as yet, and are likely to remain, unknown.

It is supposed that the deceased had thrown a stick into the water for one of his dogs to follow, and was reaching over the bank to get it again with his umbrella, when he over balanced himself, and was precipitated in head foremost. Other reports state that he had a cord or chain attached to the collar of one of the animals, a dog of remarkable size and strength, which suddenly jumped into the water, dragging the deceased along with him; however, the truth of this statement is not at all confirmed, for we could not ascertain, although we made particular inquiries, that either of the dogs were seen in the water or had the appearance of being recently wet. The unfortunate gentleman had sixteen pounds and a very valuable watch, together with keys and other articles, upon his person, which remains in the possession of the coroner at present.”

A submerged quarry in 19th century Finglas, from the Dublin City Digital Archive

Inquest reports describe poor Mr Walsh as having been identified by his hat and umbrella, on which his name and place of residence was engraved. Ironically, the dogs accompanying Mr Walsh – Newfoundlands – were of a breed noted for their endeavours in saving persons from drowning.

A Newfoundland dog rescuing a child, via Ebay

But the story was not over. According to the Tipperary Vindicator, of 2 November 1844:

“Mr Meredith, attorney, appeared before his worship, and intimating that he acted on behalf of Major Louis Walsh, also in attendance, whom he affirmed to be the only brother of the late lamented Counsellor Walsh, made the following statement:- His client had returned from England on Saturday, in order to get possession of his deceased’s brother’s house and furniture in Dominick Street, to which he was entitled. He found it occupied by a lady named O’Kelly, together with two children, who were reputed to be that of the deceased gentleman, and was received by them without any denial of the pretensions he made to relationship with the former owner of the house. Mr John Walsh had not during his lifetime stated that he had a brother, and he (Mr Meredith) had advised his client that it would be proper for him to remain in the house, in order to secure ultimately the possession of it; but it so happened that he had been induced to quit the house, and after which he had not been able to gain admittance. During the previous night he (Mr Meredith) heard that the furniture was being removed from the house, whereupon he immediately gave instructions to a police inspector to hinder the proceeding if possible. At six o’clock that morning a float had been brought to the door, and his (Mr Meredith’s) client, who was on the spot, not offering opposition to the removal of the furniture, the police made no interference in the matter, and consequently a good deal of property had been removed by Mrs O’K., and taken to a house in Anne Street, where it was there stored. His (Mr Meredith’s) application was that informations for robbery should be taken against Mrs O’Kelly, by whom a caveat had been entered against administration, in which she caused herself to be termed the natural and lawful aunt of the deceased.

Mr Studdert – You want us to act upon the assumption that your client’s story is true?

Mr Meredith said there was a person of respectability, named Askens, present, who had been in the habit of receiving money from Mr John Walsh during his lifetime, and transmitting it to his brother – the person before the bench – who lived in England at that period, and that he would have his evidence.

Charles Askens, of No. 17 Christchurch-place, was then sworn, and deposed that he knew the said Mr Walsh; knew that the person before the bench had always been recognised as Mr John Walsh’s brother; never heard otherwise than that he was his legitimate brother.

Mr Studdert said he should refuse the application for informations; but would allow Mr Meredith a summons against the parties in possession of the house in question, for illegally removing the furniture, so that they might have an opportunity of speaking for themselves, and in the meantime further information respecting Mr Meredith’s client could be sought for.“

Major Louis Walsh’s subsequent application to summons Mrs O’Kelly was dismissed by another magistrate, Dr Kelly, who was not satisfied that he was John Walsh’s bona fide heir at law. A report in the Kerry Evening Post of 6 November 1844 noted that ‘Major’ was only a Christian name of Louis Walsh and not a title of station in the army.

Meanwhile, a note in the Limerick Reporter described John Walsh as a zealous and eloquent advocate, with an excellent reputation as a criminal lawyer, whose practice was becoming every day more extensive, and whose professional emoluments, particularly during the last three years of his life, must have been very great. It also stated that he was formerly a very leading member of the Trades’ Union, and subsequently edited a weekly paper called the People; during that period he suffered six months’ imprisonment for an imputed political offence but latterly he took no part in politics.

Though perhaps politics had not done with Mr Walsh? The below advertisement appeared in the newspapers not long after his death.

Did Mr Walsh’s excitement at his belated discovery of the beauties of rivers and lakes lead him to be careless in his perambulations along the Tolka? Was he really done to death by the Newfoundland dogs so beloved of Irish lawyers? Or was some river sprite waiting to seal his fate all his life? Could he have been the victim of a conspiracy to acquire his large estate? Or perhaps killed because his legal skill and moral courage made him too dangerous to many?

The possibilities are manifold, but there is, however, one moral to this story – hesitate next time you well-meaningly try to help a colleague overcome a phobia!

Midlands Circuit Judge Throws Himself Between Combatants to End Free Fight in Boyle Court, 1907

The old Courthouse, Boyle, Co Roscommon, via Buildings of Ireland

From the Evening Herald, 15 October 1907:

“While his Honor County Court Judge Wakely was revising the voters’ list in Boyle Courthouse yesterday a wild scene of tumult took place. George W Tully was after being examined in support of his claim for a vote, and on leaving the witness table he deliberately struck Arthur O’Connor two blows on the face with his clenched fist. Mr O’Connor retaliated, and a wild scene of riot ensued. The audience was composed of the supporters of Mr Jasper Tully and the supporters of the Parliamentary Party. As if the attack was pre-arranged, both parties rushed at each other, and fierce fighting took place all over the Court.

His Honor cried, ‘Order, order.” The police rushed between the combatants, and tried to separate them, but owing to the confined area in which the fight took place they were handicapped, and the riot continued till the parties on either side showed signs of exhaustion. His Honor from the Bench cried, ‘Shame, shame,’ but this had no effect, and he left his seat and threw himself between the parties, who were fighting and struggling all over the place, encouraged by the wild shouts and cries of their supporters, who could not join in the fray.

Eventually order was to some extent restored, but many of the combatants bore visible signs of the fierceness of the struggle. Mr Jasper Tully’s face was covered with blood, which ran from a deep cut over the eye. His face also presented a bruised appearance. His Honor, when he could make himself heard, said – Gentlemen of Boyle, I am ashamed of you. I never thought you would conduct yourselves in such a manner in a court of mine’ (cries of ‘It was Tully’s fault’).

This photograph of Jasper Tully at Westminster a decade prior to the above incident, via the National Portrait Gallery, demonstrates that the combatants in the above fight were men of mature years.

Mr Jasper Tully appealed to his Honor against Patrick O’Connor, who went near kicking the eye out of him.

Mr O’Connor – It was George and yourself commenced the row?

Mr Jasper Tully – My lord, look at the state of my eye (laughter).

His Honor – ‘Order, order.’ He then asked the head constable who was responsible for such a disgraceful scene (cries of ‘Tully, Tully’ and cheers and counter cheers).

Acting-Sergeant McGarry was sworn by his Honor, and swore he saw George Tully strike Arthur O’Connor twice on the face with his clenched fist.

His Honor – I sentence George Tully to a week‘s imprisonment for contempt of court.

Mr Jasper Tully – What about O’Connor?

His Honor – Who was that man I saw struggling so violently in the seat?

Acting Sergeant – Alfred – O’Connor.

His Honor – I also sentence him to a week’s imprisonment.

Before the Court adjourned, his Honor again referred to the scene, and expressed the pain it was to him to witness such a disgraceful scene in the court over which he presided. He altered the sentence on Tully and O’Connor to a fine of £2 each, and hoped the matter would end at that.

Our reporter wires that the wildest scenes of tumult occurred in Boyle last night. The police were kept busy separating contending parties, and the town was in a very disturbed condition.”

Boyle Courthouse was not the only legal temple of justice to echo to the sound of fist meeting MP’s cheekbone. A fistfight in the Round Hall of the Four Courts, immediately in front of the statue of the late Lord Chief Justice Whiteside, resulted in a black eye for Mr Matthew Kenny MP in 1893.

Judge Wakely, from Edenderry, was the first Circuit Court judge on what later became the Midlands Circuit. Michael Byrne, solicitor, has written a wonderful post about him, and his successors on that Circuit, available to read here.

British Soldiers Routed by Dublin Amazons, 1871

British soldiers in Dublin, from John F Finerty’s ‘Ireland in Pictures,‘ 1898

From the Freeman’s Journal, via the Western Mail, 11 September 1871:

“During Tuesday last the locality of Pill Lane was considerably excited by a collision which occurred between a party of military and a number of the females gathered in the neighbourhood of the police courts. A soldier, absent without leave, was supposed to live in a house in the lane, and a picket of his regiment went in search of the fugitive. They attempted to enter the house, but were confronted by several women, by whom they were forcibly repulsed.

Upon renewing their endeavour to force admission they were furiously assailed, the din of the conflict sounding afar off, and attracting all the passers by in the vicinity. One of the female combatants sounding a species of general’s cry with a brickbat on the head of an adversary, in a moment a battalion of Amazons sallied forth and, with appalling vociferations, swooped upon the forlorn hope of redcoats, who, utterly confounded by the ferocity and determination of an enemy against whom the ordinary process of warfare could not be employed, were compelled to the ignominious tactic of entrenching themselves behind such points of shelter as the lane afforded.

A council of war was called, but the foe were in force, and the regulars being too feeble to take the field, they finally retired amid howls, leaving their warlike laurels in the lane, and the female visitors to reverse the boastful train, and sing after their fashion ‘None but the fair deserve the brave.’ “

19th century Dublin was a military city with many dependent on Army custom to keep their businesses going. One category of businesspeople who had no need to maintain good relations with the military were the fishwives of Pill Lane, immediately behind the Four Courts, who sold leftover fish to the poorest of the poor, on a street with a tradition of rebellion going back to 1798.

From Pill Lane to today’s Chancery Street – the street behind the Four Courts where the British Army was routed in 1871

If even the mighty British Army quailed at their invective, imagine how lawyers making their way home must have feared abuse from these wild women! Read a complaint from one passer-by here.

More on the Milltown Outrage, 1861

I previously posted a short video about the Milltown Outrage, which occurred in Dublin in September 1861. It involved an attack on a 19-year-old governess by the cab driver engaged to bring her home from Sackville (now O’Connell) Street to Rathgar.

At the end of the video it was disclosed that an arrest had subsequently been made. The name of the man arrested was John Curran. Unusually for the perpetrator in a 19th century Dublin criminal trial, we have a contemporaneous drawing of Curran (above).

Curran was a 24-year-old husband and father living in Grant’s Row, off Lower Mount Street. He did not live with his wife, who was in service as a nurse (she lost her job as a result of the trial). He and his two children lived with his aunt, Mrs Meares, who kept a lodging-house. The children slept with Mrs Meares; Curran shared a bed in another room with two of her male lodgers. He owned a horse, and rented a cab from Mrs O’Connor in Baggot Street, where he also stabled the horse.

The trial of John Curran took place in the Commission Court, Green Street, Dublin (now Green Street Courthouse) the month after the attack. It would have occurred earlier, were it not for the fact that Miss Jolly was in poor health following the attack. It was, to say the least, an eventful trial, with one of the witnesses being subsequently convicted of perjury. There were also some unexpected witnesses – the crew of a cross-channel ferry called the SS Moorsom!

The key issue in Curran’s trial was one of identification of the perpetrator – something which is of key relevance in many criminal trials today. Although the law has evolved since then, the warnings given by the presiding judge in his charge to the jury regarding the dangers of identification evidence still apply.

Ironically, Curran shared his name with two of Ireland’s greatest advocates – John Philpott Curran, father of Robert Emmet’s beloved Sarah, and his own defence counsel, John Adye Curran. His trial was one of the most widely reported Irish criminal proceedings of the 19th century.

What was it that made the Milltown Outrage and its fallout of such concern to Dubliners? In 1861, Dublin’s middle-class community was enthusiastically expanding into the red-brick South Dublin suburbs of Ranelagh, Rathgar and Rathmines. But not all of the new arrivals had private carriages. Safe transportation for women living in these areas, particularly at night, was a must. But the only alternative to the cab was the Rathgar omnibus, which had already fallen into the Grand Canal at Portobello in April of the same year, resulting in the loss of a number of lives.

A further spark to the fire: Ranelagh, Rathgar and Rathmines were Protestant areas, and Miss Jolly herself was a Protestant. It may not have escaped the notice of older Dubliners that the Bloody Fields, where the attack occurred, was exactly where citizens of Anglo-Norman Dublin had been massacred by a contingent of Wicklow Gaels in 1209. No one would have wanted the attack on Miss Jolly polarised in similar terms, but as long as the perpetrator remained at large, there was always the risk that it might be characterised as sectarian.

For a trial that prompted so much newspaper coverage both in Ireland and abroad – in London, one man was charged with attacking his wife due to a difference between them as to Curran’s guilt – it is amazing that the Milltown Outrage has now been wholly forgotten.

See below a further video detailing the events at the trial and subsequently. I hope you enjoy!

Fawn-Smuggling on Inns Quay, 1838

Inns Quay, by James Hore, from the 1830s.

From the Freeman’s Journal, 30 June 1838:

“A man named John Cowan was brought before the magistrates on a charge of having stolen a fawn in the Phoenix Park, on the preceding day.

Police Constable 97D stated that he met the prisoner on the King’s Inns Quay, with a suspicious looking bundle under his coat; on searching him he found a live fawn concealed on his person.

The prisoner said he was returning from the review, with a number of other persons, and saw the fawn lying beneath a hawthorn tree; imagining that it had been deserted by its dam, he thought it was no harm to bring it away.

Alderman Tyndall said it was most necessary to have all similar offences severely punished. He would, accordingly, inflict a penalty 5l on the prisoner, in the present case, which he hoped would be a warning to the public on future occasions.”

The above was only one of many incidents of fawn-stealing from the Phoenix Park resulting in criminal charges in the 1830s.

In June 1830 two ‘respectable mechanics’ were taken up at Arran Quay with a young fawn tied up in a handkerchief and concealed under one of their coats. They were also fined 5l each, and the fawn restored to the woods and wilds.

In July 1835 George Godden, one of the rangers of the Phoenix Park, swore informations against a man named George Callaghan, for attempting to steal a fawn the previous Monday. Mr Godden gave evidence that he observed Mr Callaghan, through a telescope, running away with the fawn, who had since died, in consequence of the injury received by the pressure in carrying it off. Mr Callaghan was sentenced to two months’ imprisonment, in default of paying the usual fine of 5l.

In June 1837 Mr Godden appeared at Arran-Quay Police-office yet again, to give evidence against Dennis Keogh and Daniel McGordon, whom he had again observed, through his telescope, taking up a fawn and tying it in a handkerchief. He arrested them at Knockmaroon-gate, with the fawn still in their possession. The magistrate, Mr Hitchcock, said, in consequence of the many instances of fawn-stealing, and the depradations which had recently occurred in the Phoenix Park, the Magistrates were called upon to exact the maximum penalty of £30, or, in default of payment, six months’ incarceration to each of the prisoners.

There were no more prosecutions for fawn-stealing after 1838 – the purchase of black-market fawns must have gone out of fashion or perhaps the high financial penalties being imposed served as a disincentive?

I hope Mr Cowan’s fawn made its way safely back to its family. It may be that its descendants still live in the Park today!

Image Credit (top)(middle)(bottom)