THE Reverend Charles Bunworth was rector of Buttevant,
in the county of Cork, about the middle of the last century. lie was a man
of unaffected piety, and of sound learning; pure in heart, and benevolent
in intention. By the rich he was respected, and by the poor beloved; nor did
a difference of creed prevent their looking up to ." the minister "(so
was Mr. Bunworth called by them) in matters of difficulty and in seasons of
distress, confident of receiving from him the advice and assistance that a
father would afford to his children. He was the friend and' the benefactor
of the surrounding country - to him, from the neighbouring town of Newmarket,
came both Curran and Yelverton for advice and instruction, previous to their
entrance at Dublin College. Young, indigent and inexperienced, these afterwards
eminent men received from him, in addition to the advice they sought, pecuniary
aid; and the brilliant career which was theirs, justified the discrimination
of the giver.
But what extended the fame of Mr. Bunworth far
beyond the limits of the parishes adjacent to his own, was his performance
on the Irish harp, and his hospitable reception and entertainment of the poor
harpers who travelled from house to house about the country. Grateful to their
patron, these itinerant minstrels sang his praises to the tingling accompaniment
of their harps, invoking in return for his bounty abundant blessings on his
white head, and celebrating in their rude verses the blooming charms of his
daughters, Elizabeth and Mary. It was all these poor fellows could do; but
who can doubt that their gratitude was sincere, when, at the time of Mr. Bunworth's
death, no less than fifteen harps were deposited on the loft of his granary,
bequeathed to him by the last members of a race which has now ceased to exist,
Trifling, no doubt, in intrinsic value were these relics, yet there is something
in gifts of the heart that merits preservation; and it is to be regretted
that, when he died, these harps were broken up one after the other, and used
as fire-wood by an ignorant follower of the family, who, on their remove to
Cork for a temporary change of scene; was left in charge of the house.
The circumstances attending the death of Mr.
Bunworth may be doubted by some; but there are still living credible witnesses
who declare their authenticity, and who can be produced to attest most, if
not all of the following particulars.
About a week previous to his dissolution, and
early in the evening, a noise was heard at the hall-door resembling the shearing
of sheep; but at the time no particular attention was paid to it. It was nearly
eleven o'clock the same night, when Kavanagh, the herdsman, returned from
Mallow, whither he had been sent in the afternoon for some medicine, and was
observed by Miss Bunworth, to whom he delivered the parcel, to be much agitated.
At this time, it must be observed, her father was by no means considered in
danger.
"What is the matter, Kavanagh?" asked Miss Bunworth:
but the poor fellow, with a bewildered look, only uttered, "The master, Miss
- the master - he is going from us;" and, overcome with real grief, he burst
into a flood of tears.
Miss Bunworth, who was a woman of strong nerve,
enquired if any thing he bad learned in Mallow induced him to suppose that
her' father was worse.
" No, Miss," said Kavanagh; "it was not in Mallow
-"
"Kavanagh," said Miss Bunworth, with that stateliness
of manner for which she is said to have been remarkable, "I fear you have
been drinking, which, I must say, I did not expect at such a time as the present,
when it was your duty to have kept yourself sober ; - I thought you might
have been trusted: - what should we have done if you had broken the medicine.
bottle, or lost it? for the doctor said it was of the greatest consequence
that your master should take the medicine to-night. But I will speak to you
in the morning, when you are in a fitter state to under-stand what I say."
Kavanagh looked up with a stupidity of aspect
which did not serve to remove the impression of his being drunk, as his eyes
appeared heavy and dull after the flood of tears - but his voice was not that
of an intoxicated person.
Miss," said he," as I hope to receive mercy hereafter,
neither bit nor sup has passed my lips since I left this house: but the master
----"
"Speak softly," said Miss Bunworth; "he sleeps,
and is going on as well as we could expect."
Praise be to God for that, any way," replied
Kavanagh; " but oh! Miss, he is going from us surely - we will lose him-the
master - we will lose him, we will lose him!" and he wrung his hands together.
"What is it you mean, Kavanagh?" asked Miss Bunworth.
"Is it mean?" said Kavanagh: "the Banshee has
come for him, Miss; and 'tis not I alone who have heard her."
" 'Tis an idle superstition," said Miss Bunworth.
"May be so," replied Kavanagh, as if the words
idle superstition only sounded upon his ear without reaching his mind - "May
be so," he continued; "but as I came through the glen of Ballybeg, she was
along with me keening, and screeching, and clapping her hands, by my side,
every step of the way, with her long white hair failing about her shoulders,
and I could hear her repeat the master's name every now and then, as plain
as ever I heard it. When I came to the old abbey, she parted from me there,
and turned into the pigeon-field next the berrin ground, and folding
her cloak about her, down she sat under the tree that was struck by the lightning,
and began keening so bitterly, that it went through one's heart to hear it."
" Kavanagh," said Miss Bunworth, who had, however,
listened attentively to this remarkable relation, " my father is, I believe,
better; and I hope will himself soon be up and able to convince you that all
this is but your own fancy; nevertheless, I charge you not to mention what
you have told me, for there is no occasion to frighten your fellow servants
with the story."
Mr. Bunworth gradually declined; but nothing
particular occurred until the night previous to his death: that night both
his daughters, exhausted with continued attendance and watching, were prevailed
upon to seek some repose; and an elderly lady, a near relative and friend
of the family, remained by the bedside of their father. The old gentleman
then lay in the parlour, where he had been in the morning removed at his own
request, fancying the change would afford him relief; and the head of his
bed was placed close to the window. In a room adjoining sat some male friends,
and, as usual on like occasions of illness, in the kitchen many of the followers
of the family had assembled.
The night was serene and moonlight-the sick man
slept - and nothing broke the stillness of their melancholy watch, when the
little party in the room adjoining the parlour, the door of which stood open,
was suddenly roused by a sound. at the window near the bed: a rose-tree grew
out-side the window, so close as to touch the glass; this was forced aside
with some noise, and a low moaning was heard, accompanied by clapping. of
hands, as if of a female in deep affliction. It seemed as if the sound proceeded
from a person holding her mouth close to the window. The lady who sat by the
bedside of Mr. Bunworth went into the adjoining room, and in the tone of alarm,
enquired of the gentlemen there, if they had heard the Banshee? Sceptical
of super natural appearances, two of them rose hastily and went out to discover
the cause of these sounds, which they also had distinctly heard. They walked
all round the house, examining every spot of ground, particularly near the
window from the voice had proceeded; the bed of earth beneath, in which the
rose tree was planted, had been recently dug, and the print of a footstep
- if the tree had been forced aside by mortal hand - would have inevitably
remained; but they could perceive no such impression; and an unbroken stillness
reigned without. Hoping to dispel the mystery, they continued their search
anxiously along the road, from the straightness of which and the' lightness
of the night, 'they were enabled to see some distance around them; but all
was silent and deserted, and they returned surprised and disappointed. How
much more then were 'they astonished at learning that the whole time of their
absence, those who remained within the house had heard the moaning and clapping
of hands even louder and more distinct than before they had gone out; and
no sooner was the door of the room closed on them, than they again heard the
same mournful sounds! Every succeeding ,hour the sick man became worse, and
as the first glimpse of the morning appeared, Mr. Bunworth expired.
Source: Thomas Crofton Croker, "Fairy Legends
and Traditions", Chapter XII, 1825
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