The Much-Maligned Mary Pike: The Rebel County and '98

By Kieran Groeger

Mary Pike, a young, wealthy Quaker heiress, was kidnapped in July 1797 by a widowed knight, Sir Henry Brown Hayes, intent on forcing her into marriage and getting his hands on her money. She was rescued. He fled the country but, then decided public opinion was in his favour and challenged her to face him in court. Her barrister was John Philpot Curran. Mary Pike won her case. Sadly, the history books tell us that the ordeal was too much for her. She suffered a nervous breakdown and died in a mental hospital. However, there is a lot more to the story than that!

This account is set against the background of the time before and after the 1798 Rebellion. Many people wonder, did nothing happen in Cork? A lot happened. The city is brought to life in this very readable volume.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Manuscript Publisher
• Release date: May 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463945926

Kieran Groeger

Kieran Groeger, author of The Trial and Execution of James Cotter, the Little Book of Youghal, along with other books and articles on local history, delights in stripping away the layers of a story and revealing the truth. He is a retired teacher, avid Francophile and regular cyclist.

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Prologue

Orange and Green

The Meeting in the Kings Arms, Castle Street, Cork on 15th November 1791 was brisk and efficient. It began with a number of people recounting dreadful experiences at the hands of Whiteboys and Defenders. There were Whiteboys threatening law-abiding landowners at Curraheen and, a dreadful murder at Kilcrea, just outside the city. The victim had been collecting tithes. A rusty scythe was the weapon of choice, leaving the victim gutted and gasping his last breaths in the midst of his own entrails. An attack by Whiteboys in Kilcully was thwarted when the house owner discharged his blunderbuss, wounding several. There was loud applause for his bravery.

There were reports of people arrested for enlisting in the ranks of the Defenders. There was loud applause and many huzzahs at this news. Arrests were usually followed by hayricks and barns being set on fire for revenge. In the absence of a police force, the establishment had to fend for itself, the meeting was told. The sheriff of County Cork, Arthur O’Connor, was doing his best to persuade the papists to be peaceful in their protests but, it was a pointless task, the speaker said. They needed to fight fire with fire and stamp out the rebels. There was more applause for this contribution.

One rector offered a twenty-five per cent reduction in the tithe, in the hope of calming matters and, got his house burnt around him for his troubles. There were cries of For shame at this sad tale. Some rectors were even so frightened to ask for their legal rights, the basic need for their sustenance that, they were forced to entrust others with the task and so, reduce their paltry money to a pittance. Surely, even papists must understand the need to support the Established Church! There were more cries of For shame! at the thought of the financial distress suffered by the clergy, caused by a recalcitrant papist population determined to undermine the glorious Protestant Ascendancy. For some reason, papists objected to supporting protestant clergy. How dare they! It was a God-ordained right.

A new society would be formed in Cork. It would cherish the House of Hanover; its supporters would wear orange cockades and woe betide anyone with the temerity to sport green colours. Henceforth Orangemen would rule Ireland. The Hanoverian Society was very successful, in other towns, in suppressing papist activity. They would do the same in Cork!

The Hanoverian Society was established on that day with the Lord Mayor of Cork, Henry Puxley, in the chair; Baron Hayes Saint Leger of Doneraile as secretary and, Sir Henry Brown Hayes, the honorary treasurer.

Over a hundred leading landowners signed up to combine their efforts to stamp out the Whiteboys and Defenders. A reward of fifty guineas would be paid for the arrest and trial of any one rebel. Other financial support would be given to anyone taking a case against Whiteboys or Defenders. People were to arm themselves and be vigilant.

Among the membership of the Hanoverian Society were the Earl of Shannon, Robert Harding M.D., Sir James Laurence Cotter, Samuel Rowland, Robert Hutchinson and Michael Westropp.

The sheriff of Cork was there, with past and future mayors of Cork and, members of parliament. Together, they would form a strong backbone to the new society. There were also a number of young men, all wearing orange cockades, who took upon themselves the role of vigilante enforcement officers.

After the meeting, the young men stayed for a very liquid lunch and, there were many toasts to the glorious Protestant Ascendancy, to the House of Hanover, to the King… and then, this group of quite intoxicated young men stumbled around town to inspect the natives and, maybe have a bit of fun, teach a lesson or two.

At the end of Blarney Street, one unfortunate servant girl caught their eye. She was wearing a green bonnet. Green no less! Just what they had been talking about! For the young men and their, somewhat older, leader with the most remarkable set of whiskers a man might wear, this was a downright provocation, an insult to the House of Orange. They surrounded her and began to insult and kick her. Her bonnet was roughly pulled off her head and tufts of hair as well. She was kicked on the ground as a frenzy of blows descended upon her. She was screaming but, none of those who stood and watched were prepared to face the wrath of the group.

One young man came out of his shop, forced his way among the attackers and pulled the young woman into his shop. His action further enraged the mob, who charged into the shop and began to attack the young man who had defied them. They beat him and ransacked the shop. French and Italian fabrics offended them in particular and were shredded. Good English linen only please! Over and over, they pummelled the young shopkeeper and the servant girl. Having satisfied themselves that a lesson had been taught to the papists, they headed back into town to find more diversions. The crowd that had gathered to watch followed them at a safe distance.

The young shopkeeper, John Swiney, picked himself up. The maid was on the ground crying. Her head was bleeding from the blows she received and from where her hair had been ripped from her head. Her face was bleeding and her hands also. He helped her up and found out she was Mrs. Penrose’s maid. Swiney brought her into a back room, where he gave her another bonnet to hide her battered head. The maid, still visibly distressed, went out into the street with Swiney, who accompanied her to Penrose’s Timber Yard on Kyrl’s Quay.

Later, Swiney got some paper and wrote down every detail of the attackers that he could think of. He recognised just one – Henry Brown Hayes – and he decided he should be taught a lesson. Later that evening, a group of armed Whiteboys visited Vernon Mount, the home of the aforementioned Henry Brown Hayes. Henry, fortunately for him, was not present. He and his friends had extended their liquid lunch and inspection of the town into an evening of card playing, whoring and drinking, as befitted the young bucks that they were.

The Whiteboys went around his yard and outhouses setting fire to everything. Inside, there was furniture and goods belonging to Atti Hayes, Henry’s father, who was leasing the house to his son. He had downsized when his wife died. Henry had previously been warned by Captain Rock that his behaviour was causing concern. Notices were put on his gates and on his barn. He ignored the warnings. He still strutted around town with his friends, attacking anybody wearing green, anybody with a cropped hairstyle, anybody who offended him in any way.

The attackers were careful not to set fire to the house itself. Inside the house there were women and children, screaming with fear. The house would last for over two centuries more until a group of yobbos celebrating Bonfire Night, in 2016, burnt it down.

When he got back home, early the next day, Henry was furious. A lot of valuable furniture, paintings and goods were destroyed and, the servants had been too afraid to leave the house in case they were attacked. Henry vowed revenge, if only he could find them, he would crush them without a thought. Bloody papists!

Part One

The Abduction

Chapter One

A Closer Look

There is something about Mary. Mary Pike, the young, incredibly wealthy heiress who was abducted late at night on July 22nd, 1797, by a middle-aged knight and a gang of armed, masked men, hoping he could force her to marry him. The knight was Henry Brown Hayes.

His wife, Elizabeth (née Smyth) of Ballynatray, Youghal died leaving him with four children. He had a few others on the side. As you do. He was a militia officer but, had been court-martialled and dismissed for attacking his commanding officer, Lord Doneraile. He actually punched him in the face!

He also had serious gambling debts, a quick temper and an empty purse. A successful abduction would solve many of his problems. If he could marry a wealthy woman, he would own all her property and her money. That was the law in those days. He decided to abduct Mary Pike and make her stay the night in his house at Vernon Mount and, try to force her to marry him.

Abductions, in Ireland, were common but dangerous. Abductions occur throughout history and around the world but, there were situations particular to Ireland, which made abductions more common in the 18th century. In particular, in Ireland, dispossessed Catholics could acquire property by abducting and marrying a wealthy woman. The religious element added considerable fuel to the controversy. Laws were introduced to make abduction a hanging offence but, such laws were mainly aimed at Catholics! Assisting with an abduction was considered to be equally worthy of hanging. In this case, Henry Brown Hayes was a landowner himself and he wasn’t a Catholic.

Once a woman was abducted, her reputation was at stake. Virginity was a prized commodity. If she didn’t marry her abductor, she might find it difficult to marry anyone else. It was a major gamble for the abductor but, needs must! Hayes deluded himself into thinking any woman would accept the title of Lady Hayes.

Mary Pike’s father died leaving her the sole heir to his money. It was a huge amount of money, bringing Mary, it was said, about £20,000. The following April 1797 she came of age. Fair game. Eligible. There were non-stop callers to the family home. She moved to her uncle’s house, probably just to get away for a while. She wasn’t getting on well with her mother. The uncle was Cooper Penrose, living in Woodhill, a large beautiful mansion off what is now called Lover’s Lane, just outside Cork city.

Late one dark, stormy night, a caller told the Penrose household that Mary Pike’s mother was dying. This wasn’t unexpected news. Mary Pike’s mother was always dying. Always. But… you never know. This might be the one time. By the way, the mother did survive the night and lived for several years after the incident. Mary rushed for home but, was stopped on the way by an armed, masked gang. One of them identified her in her carriage, pulled her out and put her in a waiting carriage.

She was dragged off to Vernon Mount, outside Cork, the home of Henry Brown Hayes where, some form of marriage ceremony was performed in a language she did not understand.

She did recognise her kidnapper. He was the unwanted guest who had wangled an invitation to dinner a few weeks previously at Woodhill. He was Henry Brown Hayes.

Mary refused to accept the marriage, even threw the wedding ring he forced on her finger to the floor. She was dragged upstairs and he behaved very rudely towards her…

We don’t know exactly what that phrase behaved rudely means but, it suggests a failed attempt at rape. The cock would not crow that morning M’Lud, the judge was told. Even the dogs in the street knew what that meant. The little poems and doggerel of the time, like Merrily Kissed the Quaker, prove that it was considered to be worthy of comment. Mary was rescued and Henry fled the country.

The account has been told by many people but really, they are telling the tale of Henry Brown Hayes, her abductor, whose story is far more interesting than hers. He is front page, national tabloid news. Mary is, at best, a minor character in a big play. She is, what French journalists call, one of the chats écrasés – a bit of roadkill; an unfortunate consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; barely worthy of comment. Because she is a detail, there is little fact checking. One historian suggests she was raped, another says she may have had a child as a result of the rape. The dogs in the street say she was not raped. Some say she welcomed the abduction; she was retarded, ugly, vindictive. Take your pick!

Mary made a complaint about the abduction, naming Henry Brown Hayes as the perpetrator. She also accused him of intending to defile her. He was declared an outlaw by the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and the Privy Council. Mary’s actions were not appreciated. She doggedly and without a "particle of humanity pursued her quarry, a gallant gentleman who had only been engaged in boyish capers". She outlawed him! The italics are used to quote from published comments on the story.

Many people viewed abductions as some sort of admirable demonstration of love, by someone not in a position to pursue a normal suit. Many abductions, one feels, had some tacit acceptance by the female of the proceedings. Mary, God help us, was "supposedly not the most attractive" lady to grace this earth so, it was really a romantic action to sweep the young maiden off her feet, carry her away to live happily ever after. But the ungrateful girl did not appreciate what was being done for her. It was a man’s world. In the various accounts of the incident, there is no trace of any sympathy for Mary Pike. In fact, she is negatively perceived in the story.

In Mary Pike’s case, there was a Government reward but Mary, it is said, "doubled it" – even publicly encouraged people to kill her kidnapper. Other accounts say Cooper Penrose offered the reward. He didn’t. She didn’t offer any reward initially – her uncle, Richard Pike, did.

And the "esteemed but unfortunate" Henry returned to Cork and walked freely around the streets of Cork with a huge reward on his head and, nobody would hand him in. Surely even the most ungracious of females would accept that everybody was on his side and nobody on hers. He was an important man, a former sheriff of the town. His brother-in-law was the Mayor of Cork. No jury of his peers would convict him; he was certain of this. So certain was he that he wrote to Mary Pike, challenging her to take him to court, confidant that his peers would stand by him. Mary Pike would have to agree to face him in court. She didn’t have to. As someone who absconded when the indictment was issued, he was considered guilty and declared an outlaw. Mary Pike picked up the gauntlet and faced him in court.

His legal team believed they would win – how could anyone prove their client himself kidnapped Mary if they were all masked and, more importantly, how could anyone prove intent to defile? He might have known about the abduction but, could it be proved he was actually one of the gang? Mary Pike’s legal team tried to have the case heard in Dublin but this was overruled. Her legal team had argued that there was a substantial possibility of jury bias in Cork. The judge would not tolerate such an affront to British justice. Overruled!

The defence team were so confident at the trial that they offered no defence to the charge. There is a little more to it than that but, it will be explained later.

While awaiting trial in prison, Henry was nominated to replace a deceased member of the Cork Corporation, his friend Henry Puxley, former Lord Mayor of Cork. This was seen as a public affirmation of his innocence. Another good omen. He stood confidently in the dock, one legitimate son on one side and an illegitimate son on the other. A good family man. He smiled at Mary Pike. He gave a little wink. It was the wink of a man confident the gods were on his side. She shuddered.

Mary Pike’s barrister was John Philpot Curran. He defended the Sheares brothers and other prominent United Irishmen. Curran was a very popular figure among the largely Catholic population ever since he represented an elderly Catholic priest, in a case against a landlord, Lord Doneraile, of which more later. Hayes also knew Lord Doneraile – he was his commanding officer in the militia and, he was court-martialled for belting him in the jaw. Small world!

Going into court, to prosecute Henry, where the judge was Robert Day, the very popular barrister was surrounded by well-wishers – one of whom hoped he would win the day. Curran quipped back "If I do, you will lose the