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The Reverend Charles
Bunworth was rector of Buttevant, in the county of Cork, about the
middle of the last century. He 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 neighboring
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
reservation; 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 removal 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 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 had 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 understand 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; "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 falling 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 parlor, 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 outside 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 or 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?
Skeptical of supernatural 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 whence 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 bad 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.