Having deaths of relatives foretold by a banshee is traditionally said to be the dubious privilege of a few old Irish families, including the O’Briens and O’Connors.
But if the memoirs of Sir Jonah Barrington (1756-1834) can be believed – and that’s a big if – an exception may have been made once for a man named Robert Cuninghame.
Irish-born of Scottish stock, Cuninghame was a career soldier who fought in his 20s at the Battle of Culloden (1746), then rose to become commander-in-chief of the British army in Ireland, and to be made the first Baron Rossmore, before dying suddenly in the early hours of August 6th, 1801.
His demise at the age of 75 might have been considered unremarkable had it not later featured in Barrington’s bestselling memoirs, published in three-volumes from 1827 onwards.
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A lawyer, judge and politician, the author lived through remarkable times and left a highly entertaining, often racy, account of them, taking occasional liberties with the truth.
But, even for Barrington, the circumstances of Rossmore’s demise – his version of which is reproduced in the August 6th entry of the Victorian almanac Chambers Book of Days – were “the most extraordinary and inexplicable of my whole existence”.
He and Rossmore were neighbours in Co Wicklow at the time. The evening before the strange events, Barrington’s wife had met Rossmore at a social event in Dublin Castle, at which he invited the Barringtons to a party at his home next day.
The Barringtons retired to bed about twelve that night. Then, shortly before 2am, Barrington was awoken by a sound of “a very extraordinary nature”.
It resembled “neither a voice nor an instrument”, he recalled in his memoir. “It was softer than any voice, and wilder than any music, and seemed to float in the air.”
His heart beat violently as he listened. Later, “the sound became still more plaintive, till it almost died away in the air; when a sudden change, as if excited by a pang, altered its tone: it seemed descending. I felt every nerve tremble: it was not a natural sound nor could I make out the point whence it came.”
Lady Barrington had slept through it so far, but when he woke her, she rationalised the sound to be “an aeolian harp”. He disagreed. “[T]o that instrument it bore no similitude,” he wrote. “It was altogether a different character.”
They left their bed and went to a large window overlooking a small garden, from which the noises seemed to emanate. Then they called their maid, who heard them, too, “and was evidently much more affected than either of us”.
The eerie music lasted more than half an hour. Finally, “a deep, heavy, throbbing sigh seemed to issue from the spot and was as shortly succeeded by a sharp but low cry and by the distinct exclamation, thrice repeated, of ‘Rossmore! Rossmore! Rossmore!’”
Of his feelings on hearing this, even Barrington declared himself lost for words. The maid, meanwhile, “fled in terror from the window”. But as silence returned to the garden, the couple eventually returned to bed and tried to make sense of what had happened.
“Lady Barrington, who is not superstitious, as I am, attributed this circumstance to a hundred different causes and made me promise that I would not mention it next day at Mount Kennedy, since we should thereby be rendered laughing-stocks.”
After that, somehow, they fell asleep again. But as their maid could probably have told them, laughing-stocks or otherwise, they would not be attending any party next day.
Instead, Barrington was woken early by a servant bringing the news that their illustrious neighbour had died during the night.
Returning from Dublin Castle, Rossmore had gone to bed “in perfect health”. Then a passing footman heard noises from his room at 2.30am and, making inquiries, found the master in his death throes. Before help could be sought, “all was over”.
“I conjecture nothing,” Barrington’s account concluded. “I only relate the incident as unequivocally matter of fact. Lord Rossmore was absolutely dying at the moment I heard his name pronounced! Let sceptics draw their own conclusions ... but I am totally unequal to the task.”
According to Chambers, Barrington was “very much quizzed” about the story after publication, receiving many letters, “some of them abusing him as an enemy to religion”.
In the final volume of his memoirs, five years later, he returned to the subject, defending the veracity of his tale. He also promised to make further inquiries, but of a kind whose findings were unlikely to be published, then or since.
As he put it: “I absolutely persist ... as to the matters therein recited and shall do so to the day of my death, after which I shall be able to ascertain individually the matter of fact to a downright certainty, though I fear I shall be enjoined to absolute secrecy.”
