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riod of civilization, when humanity will emerge from darkness and barbarity? But it is time to quit this digression, and continue my story.

Having with difficulty got to land, for which we were much indebted to the courage and humanity of Mr. Robinson, a clergyman in sight of whose house we were first stranded, and who came with some of his people in a row. boat to our assistance, we went to an inn kept by an ancient, sea captain called Jones. Here there arrived on the following morning the passengers of a packet-boat bound to Bristol, put in, damaged and dismasted by similar distress of weather. Between the passengers of both vessels our society was numerous, and enlivened by some pretty and amiable persons of the fair sex. Our fare was good though not sumptuous. We had a clean fire-side, and that cordial pleasure that arises from past toil. We had a harper to play to us at dinner, and we danced to his music in the evening. The next day we made our parties to wander on the strand and climb upon the rocks; and in this manner we passed several days which to me seemed short. But as the rest of his casual society went off in a few days, each to pursue his own particular destination, I was left to consider for myself. I had indeed perceived that calumny and terror had been before-hand with me. Certain it is that my name seemed to have reached the shore before me, and I could see that I was eyed as an object of curiosity. if not of horror. Many, I dare say, piqued themselves upon discovering in my features the indications of my bloody disposition; or in my structure, the signs of that atrocious force, by which I had been able to destroy with my own hand all the ancient British cavalry. And I'dare say my name, so well suited to such a terrific illusion, was

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taken for something into the account. And all this was sustained by the ribaldry copied from the Irish faction prints; for I never could take up a news-paper without meeting some paragraph touching myself, in which there was only this one consistency, that of near a thousand which I have read from first to last, I can safely say there was not one that contained a syllable of truth. One only I shall take the trouble of citing, as explanatory of what is to follow. Its author, calculating upon what was doubtless preconcerted, but not foreseeing the frequent putting back of the Lovely Peggy nor the stranding of the Lovely Mary, took upon him in the true spirit of the party boldly to publish, that I had been refused admission into Portugal, and this at least three months before I went there!

In my present extraordinary position it was necessary to come to some explanation. I therefore wrote to the duke of Portland, secretary of state, and also to lord Cornwallis. To the former I recapitulated all that had passed from the time I had written to him from Carlisle gaol, to request to be sent to trial. I told him of the constant denial of that justice; of the torture of my servant, and of the engagement I had so disinterestedly entered into with the government; and the unfair manner in which advantage had been taken of it; of the assertion that I had confessed treason, whereas I had never been allowed to speak: that in short I was ready if he chose, to go to London and convince him by irrefragible proofs, that if there was treason, which I abhorred, it lay upon my accusers, and not with me. Had this offer been accepted, I should have had hopes, though late, of obtaining justice for myself and perhaps of effecting some more general good. I think it was to lord Cornwallis that I mentioned a wish to

remain where I now was; for I had already more than one good reason to forebode that I should not have fair play in Portugal.

For more surety I addressed my letter to lord Cornwallis, to his private secretary, captain Taylor: and I had by return of post the following answer:

Dublin Castle, Dec. 5, 1798. Sir,

I AM directed by lord Cornwallis to acquaint you, that your letter of the 2d. instant has been transmitted to the duke of Portland, and that a compliance with your request must rest entirely with the English government.

I am, Sir,
Your most obedient humble servant,


And from the duke of Portland I had the answer which follows:

White-Hall, Dec. 13, 1798. Sir,

It was not in my power to answer your letter of the 28th November, before I had communicated with the lord lieutenant of Ireland on the subject of the request it contained. I have now to acquaint you that there is no objection either to your remaining at Pullhelly, until the vessel in which you arrived there shall be in a condition to prosecute her voyage, or to repair to Falmouth in order to proceed by the first packet to Lisbon. In case you should prefer the latter, I enclose a passport which may prevent your meeting with any difficulty on the road.

I must bege of you to inform me, by return of post, whether you intend to remain at Pullhelly; and if you do, of the probable period which it may be necessary for you to wait before the vessel can sail.

I am, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant,


'The passport enclosed with the above, you will find in an appendix, which it is my intention to subjoin; and in which I shall insert such other documents illustrative of this narrative, as I shall be able to obtain possession of before it is closed. (See Appendix, No. VI.)

It was dated White-Hall. It was unlimited as to time.

It literally empowered me to go from White Hall to Falmouth. The letter being silent as to my passing through London, seemed to leave it at my option, and I had once nearly formed that design. Meantime I had written to lord Moira, in whose hands I had deposited many authentic documents touching the barbarities committed on the Irish; and I now desired to have them in order if any opportunity was allowed, to profit by the true light I could throw upon those affairs, and boldly to reclaim justice for myself and others at my own peril.

You must have heard of lord Moira's motion in the Irish house of lords, founded upon these and numberless other documents, the truth of which was incontrovertible. Lord Moira certainly did state the facts of which he was possessed much less energetically than might be expected from his eloquence and sensibility. It is possible that aiming at conciliation, he feared the too strong truth; and his motion had little other effect than to bring upon himself a torrent of vulgar abuse. Such was the reward of his moderation on the one hand, whilst on the other the people smarting with the sense of injury and insult, took little part in a discourse which painted their sufferings so short of what they felt them. Yet trusting to the good intentions of the earl of Moira, and seeing the difficult card he had to play; above all comparing him with those who were against him, I could not but feel very great respect for his efforts, and an infinite desire to contribute to their

Indeed if his motion had no other good effect, it had at least that of setting in a striking point of view the contrast between a man of high breeding and the low petulance of the faction that opposed him in the name of a constitution which they had already betrayed and were shortly to annihilate.



To the Reader.

WHEN these letters were written, I had withheld from my friend the following correspondence with lord Moira. This might have been an overstrained delicacy, at that time; but subsequent events and present circumstances require, that I should make it known for my reputation's sake. And indeed circumvented and ensnared as I am by the craft of my enemies, I have no other means

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