Pirates of the Carraigín

Pirates of the Carraigin

A gentle sea laps against the rough, peppered rock of the Muglins, a tiny granite island, sitting lonely on the western edge of Killiney Bay, just south of the port of Dublin. Kelp glistens in the sunlight as it rises and falls with the ebb and flow of the tide. Nearby, a bull seal rests his bulk on a partially submerged rock, tail curled skyward. His eyes blink sleepily; his body twisted half on his back, all the better to expose his fat silver belly to the warmth of the morning sun.

A man’s rib bone dances about on a ragged plateau, as a group of angry seagulls noisily fight each other for the last morsel of meat, still doggedly attached. A skull, scoured by the sun, wind and sand, is lodged firmly in a crevice nearby. Some hairs, still attached to the cranium by a bead of tar, stand and fall as they are brushed by the sea breeze. They seem to wave a surrender. Dark, hollow, long empty eye sockets still stare. The stench and foulness are all but gone now.

It is the summer of 1766.

1. The Age of Reason.

Twelve months earlier, taking a shortcut through Ludgate Street, a bustling thoroughfare in the City of London, William Robert Cockeran, ‘Bill’ was making his way past the recently completed St Paul's Cathedral.  He was a regular visitor to the city and used this local route habitually. His head held high, he strolled purposefully, thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind his back, along the newly paved street. The sight of the massive lead dome that crowned Sir Christopher Wren’s masterpiece, now the tallest building in the city, never failed to impress him. The sheer scale of it, dwarfing every other building, including the great Tower of London, was truly a testament to God’s approval of this glorious city. He was in a world of his own. He had earlier been to visit his tobacconist, to collect some of his favourite Virginia leaf and half a dozen new Churchwarden clay pipes, as he was due to leave London for the Canary Islands, later in the day. A visit to this city, for him, as much as for any traveller of the time, was an exciting prospect. A letter written in 1740 described the scene:

In the middle of the street roll chaises, carriages and drays in an unending stream. Above this din and the hum and clatter of ten thousand tongues and feet, one hears the chimes from church towers, the bells of the postmen, the organs, the screech of fiddles and hurdy-gurdies, the tambourines of English mountebanks and the cries of those who sell hot and cold viands in the open at the street corners. Then you will see a roaring bonfire of wood shavings flaring up as high as the upper floors of the houses, in a circle of merrily shouting beggar-boys, sailors and rogues. Suddenly a man, whose handkerchief has been stolen, will cry ‘Stop thief!’ and everyone will begin running and pushing and shoving, many of them not with any idea of catching the thief, but of prigging for themselves perhaps a purse or watch. Before you know where you are, a pretty, nicely dressed ‘Miss’ will take you by the hand. ‘Come, my lord, come along, let us drink a good glass together’ or ‘I'll go with you, if you please.

Trying to stay focused, not to be too distracted by all the goings-on today, Bill pressed on through the crowds. He had thought of visiting a bootmaker, his right heel having worn to the point of being uncomfortable when it caught on a cobble but time was pressing, and he did have one last appointment to keep before he departed from the North Bank of the Thames that evening. The heel would have to wait. This vainglorious city was undergoing a period of rapid growth, reflecting the increasing population nationally. The numbers thronging its streets were bolstered by the migration of workers from the surrounding counties and further afield, driven there as a result of the earliest stirrings of the Industrial Revolution. Its position on the world stage, as the centre of the mighty British Empire, seemed unassailable. This was the age of the Grand Tour when the bright, well educated, wealthy young men of the land would set off for the Continent and beyond to further their cultural education, to aid and cultivate their aesthetic tastes. They would return, laden down with the fine paintings and statuary that would in time, form the basis of the collections that would adorn their fine homes. They also returned with the news and views of those they had met on their extended travels. These daring new opinions, quite shocking for the time, would help to inform and shape the future politics and fashions of the age.

London was also a prime destination for many young European tourists, travelling in the opposite direction. The fashionable city boasted many attractions, not all of which were very savoury, designed to stimulate the contemporary French or Italian gentleman. Amongst the more infamous attractions were those included in Harris's list, a popular and expensive circular which sold in most bookshops for two shillings and sixpence. It listed the names and addresses of the many London prostitutes or Covent Garden Ladies as they were known, with reviews and accompanying notes on their prices and the details of their particular erotic specialties:

Miss Moble, No. 10 Plow Court... has the most consummate skill in reviving the dead. The very tip of her tongue can talk eloquently to the heart.

or,

Mrs Forbes, Yeoman’s Row...is very much pitted with the pox but has known her own sex and is as lascivious as a goat!

Not every visitor was enamoured with the capital, however, ...ugly, hopelessly ugly houses are far too common on every side. The streets are badly paved, filled with mud black as ink and with every kind of filth. It is difficult, unless you are very active upon your feet, to get out of the way of all the horses and carriages which, even if they do not actually touch you, cover your coat with ugly splashes wrote a Mr Paratti from Florence in 1760. On the congested streets of this vibrant metropolis, the usually polite conversation enjoyed amongst gentlemen was increasingly turning to the shocking reports of impending revolution in neighbouring countries.

The political landscape in Georgian Britain had remained relatively stable during this period, but the close proximity of this developing situation was to some, quite concerning. Many of these nearby states were firm and long-standing allies of the British Crown but, needless to say, some were not. Political alliances seemed to change by the day, although the unspoken bond between the old European Royal families remained seemingly unbreakable. In the years that were to follow the allegiances between these powers would be tested to breaking point. In Paris and in some of the other European capitals, there was a definite sense of growing unease. The People were becoming restless, and there was a burgeoning wish for some sort of change. Most of these continental states were experiencing some level of turmoil, as the fractious countries tried to maintain frail and very fluid alliances, in markedly unstable political times. By the mid-1760s the challenges facing the ruling families of these states were by far, the most difficult in their long, deep-rooted history. A bright new and radical movement was starting to take hold, the effects of which were being felt far and wide, as it spread like wildfire across the uneasy continent. Unnerved, Europe would be forever changed by the impact of the Enlightenment, as it became known. This movement would prove to be the catalyst, the spark that would destabilise the older orders and in some states lead to full and very bloody revolution. This was notably played out in France with the deposition of an 800-year old sovereignty. The ‘Capetian’ dynasty came to an end with the execution of King Louis XVI in 1793.

Across the Atlantic in the fledgling American colonies, this Age of Reason, it was said, was spurring on the people to insurgency. Whereas there has been in several parts of the colonies, divers tumultuous and unlawful assemblies to the disturbance of the peace and to the terror of many of His Majesty's liege subjects... stated a notice printed in the New London Gazette in September 1765, I am hereby commanding all Magistrates, Sheriffs and other officers, civil and military to use their utmost endeavours and offices to suppress all riot and tumult and to duly execute the laws made for suppressing and punishing such disorder.

The Enlightenment was a powerful, philosophical and cultural movement. Its chief aim was to reform society by promoting the advancement of knowledge amongst all men. Its main, stated principal was the demand for the citizen to foster liberty and embrace religious tolerance. Its growing number of champions were also very keen to promote experimental scientific thought and sought to challenge the idea of blind faith.  Ostensibly, they wanted to put to an end the perceived abuses of a well-connected church and state. These principles were widely debated at meetings in scientific academies, masonic lodges, literary salons and with the help of cheaper mass produced books and pamphlets, in the coffee houses that were also growing in popularity. People were wholly encouraged to embrace the idea of scepticism in all its forms, as this would surely lead to far greater intellectual debate. Some of the more noted protagonists had close ties to the so-called Scientific Revolution, indeed a Mr Benjamin Franklin and a Mr Thomas Jefferson came to London during this period and were reportedly heavily involved and contributed actively to various political and experimental debates. Some of the key ideals of the movement were later incorporated in part, into the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States.

In the beautifully decorated and ornate formal dining rooms of mid 18th century England, this subversive thinking was, to many, very worrying indeed. Heated arguments would break out during formal (most occasions were) dinners in these gilded, candlelit apartments as the long-held rules of law and order were being torn up and rewritten.

The exquisite house, to which the guests had been invited to dine this evening, had recently been built for Mr Josiah Collogan, merchant. Constructed of limestone and granite, it is one of only sixteen built around a newly laid out and formally landscaped city square. At a cost of nearly fifteen hundred guineas, it was way beyond the means of all but the members of the richer classes. Three stories over a basement, its wide granite steps led up to a solid oak panelled door, painted in fashionable Prussian blue. A highly polished brass lion’s head holding a ring in its mouth acted as the knocker. Large twelve pane sash windows, set either side of the Doric columns, framed the entrance, reducing to nine then six frames as they ascended and marked each floor. The high ceilings and detailed plasterwork in the interior of every room, with the exception of the servant’s quarters, gave the house a feeling of spacious opulence. The predominant colours on the walls were yellow and white, and the rich upholstery in the reception rooms simply had to match, in the newly fashionable Palladian style. Rural landscapes, painted in oil and stilted family portraits jostled for position on every wall. At the rear, overlooking the pleasure garden and ‘other conveniences,’ the coach house with its adjoining stables were large enough to cater for a carriage and a team of horses, which could be accessed by the staff from a lane at the rear of the property. This was the ultimate statement in a modern Georgian townhouse. Discussions had been underway for some time to raise funds for a statue of the recently crowned King George III that the residents hoped would grace the plinth near the water fountain at the centre of the square. It would be commissioned as soon as all of the residents could agree on a design.

Collogan was self-made, a very wealthy man who was never