Ribbonism was a secret society of Irish farmers and land workers that was formed in 1826 as a result of poor working conditions. Its members were called Ribbonmen and they sought justice against wealthy land owners. That is where the title of this story is derived.
The first installment for Confessions of a Reformed Ribbonman was first published in the January 23, 1830 issue of the Dublin Literary Gazette. The second installment followed on January 30th. It is one of the first examples of Irish Gothic literature. The editorial comments before the story state that the tale is true, and further that:
The source from which it is derived satisfies us of its authenticity. As affording an insight into the habits and secret actions of a very extraordinary set of wretches, some of whom are said even yet to disgrace the wilder parts of the country . . .
What makes this fiendish tale of revenge especially devious is that the "wretches" gather in a church by candlelight before launching out into the night. They swear on a Bible to follow through with their malevolent deed and tell no one afterwards. This tale contains a number of passages of horror. Consider the following passage, which is the most horrific:
The Captain approached him coolly and deliberately. " You will prosecute no one now, you bloody informer," said he; " you will convict no more boys for taking an ould rusty gun an' pistol from you, or for givin' you a neighbourly knock or two into the bargain." Just then from a window opposite him, proceeded the shrieks of a woman who appeared at it with the infant in her arms. She herself was almost scorched to death; but with the presence of mind and humanity of her sex, she was about to thrust the little babe out of the window. The Captain noticed this, and with characteristic atrocity, thrust, with a sharp bayonet, the little innocent, along with the person who endeavoured to rescue it, into the red flames, where they both perished. This was the work of an instant. Again he approached the man; "your child is a coal now," said he, with deliberate mockery, "I pitched it in myself on the point of this," showing the weapon, "and now is your turn," saying which he clambered up by the assistance of his gang, who stood with a front of pikes and bayonets bristling to receive the wretched man, should he attempt in his despair to throw himself from the wall. The Captain got up, and placing the point of his bayonet against his shoulder, flung him into the fiery element that raged behind him. He uttered one wild and piercing cry, as he fell back, and no more; after this nothing was heard but the crackling of the fire, and the rushing of the blast; all that had possessed life within were consumed, amounting either to eleven or fifteen persons.
This story can be faulted for the stilted, almost unreadable, Irish accents provided in its pages. It does, however, belong in this horror countdown, just high in the order. Have a great weekend!
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