Irish Barrister Escapes Prison, Elopes to France in a Barrel, 1820

Sir John Rogerson’s Quay, Dublin, c.1800, from whence Mr Hodgens would certainly have taken ship to France, though whether in a barrel or not is debatable.

From the Weekly Irish Times, 26 April 1902:

“In the early years of the last century, a youthful barrister named Hodgins, just called to the bar, fell in love with a pretty girl he had noticed coming out of a fashionable boarding school in Mary Street. She smiled upon him, they managed in some way to become acquainted in spite of difficulties, and then he eloped with and married her. But ‘the course of true love never did run smooth.’ The young lady was an heiress, and a ward of court, daughter of a deceased State Lottery Agent. The hard-hearted Lord Chancellor separated them, and clapped the young husband in the Four Courts Marshalsea Prison for his contempt of court. However, Love laughs at locksmiths, so he found his way out into Thomas Street and into an empty herring barrel which, with a number of full ones, was conveyed on a cart to Sir John Rogerson’s Quay and there put on a vessel that carried him to safety in France. More than sixty years afterwards he appeared once more in the Four Courts, this time before the present Lord Chancellor, in a property dispute, to establish the rights of his grandson.”

What the story doesn’t mention is that Thomas Hodgins (or Hodgens) was accompanied to France by the lady in the case, Anne Walker, with whom he had previously eloped on two separate occasions. It was third time lucky for Thomas; the couple remained abroad until Anne had reached full age, when their marriage was sanctioned by the Lord Chancellor. He probably could do little else given that Anne’s reputation had been ruined as a result of their prolonged cohabitation.

Perhaps because of his previous legal difficulties, Thomas Hodgens’ subsequent bar career was not marked by any notable success. Not that he needed a professional income. During their sojourn abroad, Anne’s claim to the estate of her late uncle, Thomas Walker, had been upheld by the Irish courts, thereby entitling her to the very substantial sum of eighty-three thousand pounds.

Anne’s entitlement on the intestacy of Mr Walker, bookseller and publisher of The Hibernian Magazine, had originally been contested by other relatives. Their basis for objecting to her claim was that the doubtful reputation of her mother (described as a lady of easy virtue from Grangegorman) was such that she was unlikely to have been married to Anne’s father, thereby making Anne illegitimate. The court disagreed. More about the Walker will case here.

A happily ever after ending? Not exactly. Anne later eloped with an army doctor, Surgeon-General Anthony Patrick Mahon. A subsequent criminal conversation trial, with Daniel O’Connell appearing for Thomas Hodgens and Nicholas Purcell O’Gorman for Mahon, resulted in full disclosure of the Hodgenses’ marital history.

In particular, it was disclosed that far from Thomas falling in love with Anne at first sight, she had been approached by him with the connivance and consent of her mother and older non-marital siblings, after he had advised them of her legal status as her father’s sole heir. His initial strategy, on first meeting her, was to offer her sweets; the second time they met, he brought fruit; on meeting for the third time, she agreed to marry him, at the age of just 13 years old.

After their third, successful, elopement, he kept her in two rooms, locking her in one when he was out, with only one dress, which she had to wash herself and stay in bed until it dried. Moreover, following their marriage, he beat her, was mean with money, and had a number of mistresses, including some of their servants.

Most advocates for Thomas Hodgens would have given up at this point. Not so O’Connell, whose reference, in his closing speech, to ‘a wife and husband clinging to each other with a passionate and devoted fondness until the adulterer came to dissolve the dream’ brought tears to hardened reporters’ eyes and secured a verdict for his client of no less than three thousand pounds in damages. During the brief period of the marriage described in such glowing terms by O’Connell, the Hodgenses lived at 112 Stephen’s Green, where the Unitarian Church is today – something to think of when next passing that spot!

In separate proceedings, Lord Chancellor Plunket, unswayed by sentimentality, made an order denying Thomas any entitlement to Anne’s property. The Lord Chancellor’s decision – unprecedented in those times – was upheld on appeal by the House of Lords. The contents of their judgment, available to read in full here, confirm the assertions made against Thomas at the criminal conversation trial.

The Lord Chancellor’s ruling enabled Anne and Surgeon Mahon to live together for the rest of their lives, and they had two daughters, although Anne’s sons by Thomas remained with him in the house in Stephen’s Green, which he was allowed to retain along with its furniture.

Thomas Hodgens’ character becomes of still more doubtful repute when an investigation of the 1874 litigation referred to as establishing his grandson’s rights discloses that he had in fact participated in this litigation for the purpose of opposing those rights and claiming the estate of the now-deceased Anne for himself. The decision in the case is reported in the Irish Jurist Reports, again available to read in full here.

Thomas Hodgens died shortly afterwards, at Bath Avenue, Dublin, leaving an estate of only £100. Did he ever escape in a barrel as reported above? It seems so – at least if his evidence before the House of Lords is to be believed – he swore on affidavit that he was ‘put in a provision cask, having holes made therefor to admit air, and forwarded in a dray with other casks containing provisions, and put on board a ship about to sail for London,’ with Anne also being brought on board, in disguise. He was then let out of the cask after the ship was in open water. Maybe he should have been left in there!

Some say that only the good die young, and Thomas Hodgens appears to have been fortunate enough to live long enough to rewrite his life history – not the first, nor yet the last, miscreant Irish barrister to do so!

Image Credit: Whytes (closer zoom facility at link)

Served up on a Staffordshire Platter: The Four Courts, c.1820

A blue transfer-printed Staffordshire china platter, with a central scene depicting the Four Courts, c.1820.

Perhaps originally part of some barrister’s dining set? Now in New England.

Some details below (zoom in closer here).

(1) A very early view of Morgan Place at the side of the courts.

(2) White-trousered gentlemen, possibly sailors? The couple should keep an eye on that dog – pets were regularly stolen on the quays.

(3) The very new Richmond Bridge in the distance. Track its evolution here and here.

The foliage in the foreground, which might seem fantastical today, may have been the ‘very fine trees’ on Usher’s Quay shown peeping out from behind the bridge in this image from c. 1800.

The area of the Four Courts was originally sylvan, there were nurseries and greenhouses on the quays as late as 1789 and Irwin’s Dublin Guide of 1853 describes nearby Blackhall-Street as being a location in Dublin where figs and grapes attain a tolerable size and maturity, and a few vines and fig-trees may yet be seen trained against some of the houses.’

Time to bring back horticulture to Dublin 7?

As It Was: Images of the Inns Quay/Arran Quay Junction, 1753-present

This fantastic map from the Dublin City Council Digital Archive (minutely zoomable version available to download here) shows the junction of Inns Quay and Arran Quay in 1790, not long before the opening of the Four Courts on the old Inns of Court site close by.

The bridge appearing on the map is the Old Bridge of Dublin, replaced in 1818 by today’s Father Mathew (formerly Whitworth) Bridge. But what are those clusters of buildings on either side?

According to Liffey historian John de Courcy Ireland, the carriageway of the Old Bridge, built high at the centre to accommodate a navigation arch, reached the river walls on each side at a level significantly higher than quay level. As a consequence, its links to Arran Quay and Inns Quay on the north bank, and their links to one another, could not be on the edge of the river, but rather some 20m back, leaving space for riverside properties to develop in front. You can see a visual representation of these properties in the below extract from the engraving ‘A Perspective View of the City of Dublin from Phoenix Park,’ published in Middleton’s Complete System of Geography (1778). Thank you to tweeter @heliolight for being kind enough to provide this marvellous image.

The group of buildings on the western side of the Old Bridge were known as Arran Lane and were directly in front of 1-8 Arran Quay . Arran Quay was a fashionable gentry quarter back in the day but 1-8 were regarded as inferior to the other houses on the quay since, due to Arran Lane, they lacked a river view.

The notation on the 1790 map indicates that the buildings on the Inns Quay riverside were Derham’s Hotel, which may simply be a later incarnation of the chapel and hostelry historically recorded as located beside the Bridge.

You can see the riverside buildings, in much the same configuration, on Roque’s map below of 1756 but they are gone by the time of Jeffrey’s map of 1809. Nor do they feature in early visual representations of the Four Courts c.1800. It appears that they were demolished not long after the 1790 map which may indeed have been prepared for the purposes of their compulsory acquisition. The north quay was subsequently built up to meet the bridge deck.

Roque’s Plan of the City of Dublin, 1756
Jeffreys, An Accurate Plan of Dublin, 1809

1-8 Arran Quay survived with their views and possibly also their values infinitely improved by the removal of Arran Lane. Below are some images of the Arran Quay-Inns Quay junction from the late 19th century up to the present day, including one unexpectedly glamorous representation. The Old Bridge of Dublin’s replacement, the Fr Mathew Bridge, has never looked better than when Rock Hudson travels over it hidden in the back of a cart at 14.23 of this YouTube version of the 1955 movie ‘Captain Lightfoot.’

Maps have their limitations in terms of visual depiction and it is wonderful that the 1778 image above (which may in fact be a copy of a 1753 view by Joseph Tudor) survives to give us an idea of what the junction of Inns Quay and Arran Quay looked like almost half a century prior to the opening of the Four Courts!

A colour extract from Tudor’s 1753 view, via the Rijksmuseum
A 19th century image, via Europeana
A purported early 19th century Four Courts shown in glorious technicolour in ‘Captain Lightfoot.’ Continuity appears to have forgotten to remove the ‘Four Courts Hotel’ sign on the left.
William Mooney’s 1977 photo of Arran Quay from the Dublin City Digital Archives
Another view of Arran Quay from around the same time, from the Dixon Slides Collection, Dublin City Digital Archives
Arran Quay today via Google Maps

A Bear in the Dock, 1875

From the Freeman’s Journal, 2 April 1875:

“A Bear in the Dock

Two Frenchmen were charged with causing an obstruction to the public thoroughfare at Pill-Lane, that morning, by exhibiting a dancing bear.

The prisoners were placed in the dock, with the bear between them. It was a shaggy, uncouth-looking animal, not at all like that which Goldsmith’s bear leader described as never dancing but to the genteelest music, ‘Water Parting,’ or the duet in ‘Ariadne.’

On entering the enclosure, the brute squatted on his haunches, and placed his fore paws upon the bar of the dock, which he commenced to scratch with much vigour.

The constable who had made the arrest said he found the bear climbing up a pole and that a large number of persons were congregated about it.

Mr O’Donel asked the prisoners what they had to say to the charge.

The prisoners intimated by signs their inability to understand the question.

The constable said that when he called upon the prisoners to move on they refused, and in very intelligible English desired him to go to hell.

An interpreter was sent for, and on his arrival he interrogated the prisoners by the magistrate’s direction. They said they were really unable to speak English. As to the charge against him, they stated that they had only recently arrived from Liverpool, where they were allowed to exhibit the bear in the side streets without hindrance. They thought they might do the same thing here.

Mr O’Donel discharged the prisoners with a caution not to obstruct the thoroughfare, and their undertaking to leave the country as soon as possible.”

Performing animals were once very prevalent around the Four Courts – perhaps due to Polito’s Grand Menagerie being situated close by on Ormond Quay! By 1875, they had mostly disappeared, though an elephant did make a appearance in 1906.

Pill Lane was a street running behind the Four Courts complex, approximately where Chancery Street is today. The wonderful history website Beyond22 gives a great account of how the street configuration of this area has changed over the years.

A brown performing bear appeared in the dock in West Ham in 1889, in Dalston and Wandsworth in 1890, in Woolwich in 1894, in the South Western (London) Police Court in 1897 and West Ham again in 1899, on each occasion accompanied by two Frenchmen with language difficulties. The above, rather cruel, image from the Police News of April 5th, 1890, shows a rather chastened-looking bear in Wandsworth Police Court.

Poor thing. Not a nice way for an animal to live.

I wonder was it the same bear as our one?

Future Judge Brings Legal Proceedings to Recover Dognapped Pet, 1830

The Ha’penny Bridge and Wellington Quay, Dublin, by Samuel Brocas, 1818, with the dome of the Four Courts in the distance. Click here to zoom in! Mr Harvey’s warehouse was located among the line of buildings on the left of this image, close to where the Clarence Hotel is today.

From the Pilot, Wednesday 19 October 1831:

“FIDELITY OF A DOG – On Thursday, a servant man of Mr Ball, the barrister, applied before the magistrates of the Head Office, and stated that he had seen a very large sized Newfoundland dog that day, which his master had lost about three months before at Messrs. Harvey’s warehouse, on Wellington Quay. He said that he had made application to some persons in the establishment to have the dog restored to his master, but was told that Mr Harvey had bought him for a guinea, and would not therefore resign him.

A summons was forthwith issued, requiring Mr Harvey’s attendance at the police-office to show cause for retaining the dog. Yesterday Mr Ball, with the Surgeon-General Mr Crampton, from whom the former had got the dog as a present about nine months ago, and Mr Harvey were in attendance before the magistrates. The Surgeon General declared that if the dog which Mr Harvey had in his possession, was the same that he had given to his friend Mr Ball, he would be able positively to identify him, and was quite certain the dog would recognise him. Mr Crampton said he had reared the dog, and would never have parted with him but for his inveterate propensity for killing sheep, as he was a fine animal, and most docile and affectionate creature.

“Why, sir,” (said Mr C, turning to Mr Harvey,) ‘when he arrives I shall make him seize you by the throat, if you have no objection.’ Just at that moment a servant man entered the board room, followed by the subject of inquiry. ‘That’s the very dog!” exclaimed Mr C – “Carlos! my poor fellow Carlos!’ The dog, in evident delight, jumped on Mr C, licked his face, and evinced the utmost joy. ‘Here, Carlos,’ said Mr C., after caressing the dog for some time, ‘jump over this stick,’ Carlos jumped over a walking cane, raised five feet from the ground – ‘Carlos, shut the door;’ in an instant, the door of the boardroom was clapped to. ‘I beg,’ said Mr Harvey, ‘you may not put your proposal in practice, with respect to my throat!’ ‘Oh then,’ replied Mr C, ‘you are satisfied that Carlos and I have not now seen one another for the first time.’ ‘Quite satisfied,’ was the reply. The magistrates ordered that the dog should be given up to Mr Ball; and the parties separated. Carlos left the office jumping about his quondam master, apparently quite delighted with being restored to him.”

Mr Ball was Nicholas Ball KC, subsequently appointed a judge of the Court of Common Pleas in one of the first Catholic appointments to the Irish Bench since the days of James II. Judge Ball suffered from extreme noise-sensitivity, a trying complaint for a judge at the best of times, and one which tended to push him to the extreme during lively Cork Assizes.

Dognapping was a lucrative criminal activity in 19th century Dublin, with a number of much-loved pets mysteriously disappearing in Inns Quay and its vicinity in the early years of the century. Moreover, it seems that Newfoundland dogs were among the most popular breed in the city due to one of them having become very famous due to jumping into the Liffey and successfully saving a child from drowning. The temptation to make off with as fine a specimen as Carlos must have been irresistible!

Many barristers and judges of the period kept dogs, including Charles Robert ‘Charlie’ Barry, Justice of the Queen’s Bench 1872-1883 and Lord Justice of the Irish Court of Appeal 1883-1887, whose ‘fine red setter dog’ accompanied him to the court every morning and came back to take him to the club after work. It may not have been pure coincidence that the inaugural meeting of the Irish Red Setter Club took place in Morgan Place, close to the Four Courts, during Judge Barry’s tenure on the Bench.

If Judge Ball’s dog had indeed a propensity to worry sheep, hopefully he did not take it with him to work at the Four Courts, where it was usual to see huge flocks of sheep passing by several times daily on their journey out of the jurisdiction. One benevolent barrister intervened to prevent an injured sheep being mistreated – and ended up having to pay for its subsequent keep for his pains!

Surgeon-General Crampton seems to have been quite the character – you can read more here about the mysterious memorial erected to him at the junction of D’Olier Street, Pearse Street, and College Green, which remained in place until it fell apart in 1959.

Image Credit: Wikipedia Commons (link in caption below image)