Although the debate had commenced at seven o'clock, none of the great
speakers on either side arose before eleven. Some fierce skirmishes had,
indeed, occurred; personalities and sarcasms the most cutting had been
interchanged with a freedom that showed that if shame were in a great
measure departed, personal daring and intrepidity were qualities still
in repute. The Ministerial party, no longer timid or wavering, took
no pains to conceal their sense of coming victory, and even Lord
Castlereagh, usually so guarded on every outward observance, entered the
House and took his seat with a smile of conscious triumph that did not
escape observation from either friends or opponents.
The tactics of the Treasury benches, too, seemed changed: not waiting,
as hitherto, to receive and repel the attack of the Opposition, they
now became themselves the assailants, and evinced, by the readiness and
frequency of their assaults, the perfect organization they had attained.
The Opposition members, who opened the debate, were suffered to proceed
without any attempt at reply, an ironical cheer, a well-put question,
some home-thrust as to former opinions, alone breaking the thread of an
argument which, even from its monotony, was becoming less effective.
Sir Henry Parnell, the late Chancellor of the Exchequer, and who had
been dismissed from office for his opinions on the Union, was the first
speaker; with a moderation, in part the result of his former position
with regard to those who had been his colleagues, he limited himself to
a strict examination of the measure in its bearings and consequences,
and never, even for a moment, digressed into anything like reflection on
the motives of its advocates. His speech was able and argumentative, but
evidently unsatisfactory to his party, who seemed impatient and uneasy
till he concluded, and hailed Ponsonby, who rose after him, with cheers
that showed their expectations were now, at least, more likely to be
realized.
Whether the occasion alone was the cause, or that catching the
excitement of his supporters, Ponsonby deviated from the usually calm
and temperate character he was accustomed to assume in the House, and
became warm and impassioned. Disdaining to examine the relative merits
or demerits of the proposed Bill, he boldly pronounced Parliament
incompetent to decide it, and concluded by declaring that, if carried,
the measure might endanger not only the ties of amity between the two
nations, but dissolve those of allegiance also. A loud burst of mingled
indignation and irony broke from the Treasury benches at this daring
flight, when the speaker, at once collecting himself, turned the whole
force of his attack on the Secretary. With slow and measured intonation,
he depicted the various stages of his political career, recalling to
memory the liberal pledges he had once contracted, and the various
shades of defection by which he had at last reached the position in
which he could “betray Ireland.”
None were prepared for the degree of eloquent power Ponsonby displayed
on this occasion; and the effect of such a speech from one habitually
calm, even to coldness, was overwhelming. It was not Lord Castlereagh's
intention to have spoken at this early hour of the debate; but,
apologizing for occupying the time of the House by a personality, he
arose, not self-possessed and at ease, but flushed and excited.
Without adverting for a second to the measure in debate, he launched
forth into a most violent invective on his adversary. With a vehement
passion that only his nearest friends knew him to possess, he exposed
every act of his political life; taunted him with holding opinions
liberal enough to be a patriot, but sufficiently plastic to be
marketable; he accused his very calmness as being a hypocritical
affectation of fairness, while in reality it was but the tacit admission
of his readiness to be bought; and at length pushed his violent sarcasm
so far that a loud cry of “Order!” burst forth from the Opposition,
while cheers of defiance were heard along the densely crowded ranks of
the Ministerial party.
From this moment the discussion assumed a most bitter character;
assertions and denials, uttered in language the most insulting, were
heard at every moment, and no speaker could proceed without some
interruption which demanded several minutes to subdue. More than one
member was seen to cross the floor and interchange a few words with
an adversary, the import of which, as he returned to his place, no
physiognomist need have doubted. It was not debate or discussion, it was
the vehement outpouring of personal and political hatred, by men whose
passions were no longer restrainable, and many of whom saw in this
the last occasion of their ever being able to confront their enemies.
Language that could not be uttered with impunity elsewhere, was heard at
every moment; open declarations were made that, the Bill once carried,
allegiance and loyalty were dissolved; and Sir Neil O'Donnell went so
far as to say that he regarded the measure as an act of treason, and
would place himself at the head of his regiment to oppose and annul it.
It was in a momentary pause of this bitter conflict that rumor announced
the arrival of the Knight of Gwynne and Bagenal Daly at the House. Never
were reinforcements more gladly hailed by a weakened and disabled army;
cheers of triumphant delight broke from the Opposition benches, answered
by others, not less loud and taunting, from the Ministerial side,
and every eye was turned eagerly towards the door by which they were
expected to enter.
To such a pitch of violence had partisanship carried the members on both
sides, expressions of open defiance and insult were exchanged in the
midst of this scene of tumult, nor was the authority of the Speaker able
to restore order for several minutes; when at last the doors were thrown
open, and Hickman O'Reilly entered, and walked up the body of the
House. Shouts of loud laughter now resounded from either side; such
an apparition at the moment was the most ludicrous contrast to that
expected, and a boisterous gayety succeeded to the late scene of
acrimony and intemperance.
The individual himself seemed somewhat puzzled at these unlooked-for
marks of public notice, and stared around him in astonishment, till his
eyes rested on the spot where Lord Castlereagh sat whispering with
Mr. Corry. Brief as was the glance, it seemed to have conveyed some
momentous intelligence to the gazer, for he became at first scarlet, and
then pale as death; he looked again, but the Secretary had turned his
head away, and Corry was coolly unfolding the plaits of a white cambric
handkerchief, and apparently only occupied with that object. At this
moment Hickman was standing with one foot upon the steps which led
towards the Treasury benches: he wheeled abruptly round, and walked
over to the other side of the House, where he sat down between Egan and
Ponsonby.
The cheers of the Opposition now burst forth anew, and with a deafening
clamor, while from back and cross benches, and everywhere within reach,
hands were eagerly stretched forth to grasp O'Reilly's. Never was
support less expected, never an alliance less speculated on, and
the cries of exultation were almost maddening. How long the scene of
tumultuous excitement might have lasted, it is difficult to say, when
Lord Castlereagh rose, with a calm dignity of manner that never in the
most trying moments forsook him. “He begged to remind the gentlemen
opposite that if these triumphant expressions were not indecorous, they
were at least premature; that the momentous occasion on which they were
met demanded all the temperate and calm consideration which they could
bestow upon it; that the time for the adoption of any course would
not be distant, and would sufficiently show to which side, with most
propriety, the expression of triumph belonged.”
The hint was significant; the foreshadowed victory was too plainly
and too palpably predicted to admit of a doubt, and a chilling silence
succeeded to the former uproar. The individual whose address this long
scene of tumult had interrupted was now suffered to proceed. He was a
law-serjeant, a man of inferior capacity and small professional repute,
whose advocacy of the Government plan had raised him to an unbecoming
and dangerous eminence at the Bar. Without the slightest pretensions as
a speaker, or one quality that should adorn a statesman, he possessed
other gifts scarcely less valuable at that day: he was a ready
pistol; he came of a fighting family, not one of whom did not owe some
advancement in life to a cool hand and a steady eye; and he occupied his
place in the Ministerial van by virtue of this signal accomplishment.
As incapable of feeling the keen sarcasm of his opponents as he was
of using a similar weapon, he was yet irascible from temperament,
and overbearing in manner, and was used by his party as men employ a
fire-ship,--with a strong conviction that it may damage more than the
enemy.
To cover the deficiencies of his oratory, as well as to add poignancy to
his personalities, it was the invariable custom of his friends to cheer
him vociferously at the end of every sentence which contained anything
like attack on the Opposition; and to this species of backing he was
indebted for the courage that made him assail men incomparably above him
in every quality of intellect.
Mr. Plunkett was now the object of his invective, nor was the boldness
of such a daring its least recommendation. Few of the Government side
of the House would have adventured to cross weapons with this master
of sarcasm and irony; none but the Serjeant Nickolls could have done so
without a strong fear of consequences. He, however, was unconcerned for
the result as it affected himself personally; and as for the withering
storm that awaited him, the triple hide of his native dulness was an
armor of proof that nothing could penetrate. From Plunkett he passed on
to Bushe, from Bushe to Grattan; no game flew too high for his shafts,
nor was any invective coarse enough to level at the great leaders of the
Opposition. If the overbearing insolence of his harangue delighted his
own party, it called down peals of laughter from his opponents, who
cheered every figurative absurdity and every illogical conclusion with
shouts of ironical admiration.
Lord Castlereagh saw the mischief, and would gladly have cut short the
oration; but the speaker was revelling in an imaginary victory, and
would listen to no suggestions whatever. Passing from the great names of
the Irish party, he launched forth in terms of insult towards the
county members, whom he openly accused of holding their opinions under
a mistaken hope that they were a marketable commodity, and that as
some stanch adherents of the Crown had reaped the honors due to “their
loyalty,” these quasi-patriots were only waiting for their price. The
allusion was so palpable that every eye was turned to where Hickman
O'Reilly sat, and whose confusion was now overwhelming.
“Ay,” continued the speaker, now carried beyond all self-restraint by
the evident sensation he had caused, “there are gentlemen opposite whose
confessions would reveal much of this kind of independence. I have my
eye on some of them,--men who will be Patriots if they cannot be Peers,
ready to put on the cap of liberty for the Mob if they cannot get the
coronet from the Crown. Many, too, are absent from this debate: they
stand out, perhaps, for high terms; they have got Peerages for their
wives, and now, like a hackney-coachman, not content with their fare,
they want 'something for themselves.' I heard of two such a while ago;
they even came as far as the lobby of this House, where they halted and
hesitated: a mitre or a regiment, a blue ribbon or a red one, would have
turned the scale, perhaps. Why are they not here now? I ask, what has
become of them?”
“Name! name!” screamed the Opposition, in a torrent of mad excitement,
while the Government party, outrageous at the blundering folly of the
whole harangue, endeavored to pull the speaker back into his seat. Never
was such a scene: one party lashed to madness by suspected treachery and
open insult; the other indignant at the stupidity of a man who, in his
attempts at attack, had raked up every calumny against his own friends.
Already, more than one hand was laid on his arms to press him down
into his seat, when he, with the obstinacy of thorough dullness, shook
himself free, and called out, “I 'm ready to name.”
Again the cries of “Name!” were shouted, mingled with no less vociferous
cries of “No, no!” and the struggle now had every appearance of a
personal one, when the Speaker, calling to order, asked if it was the
sense of the House that the Serjeant should gives the names he alluded
to.
“I 'll soon cut the matter short,” called out the Serjeant, in a voice
that resounded through every corridor of the House. “I mean the Knight
of Gwynne and Bagenal Daly.”
A cry of “Order! order!” now arose from all parts of the House, the
direct mention of any member by name being a liberty unprecedented.
“I beg to correct myself,” said the Serjeant. “I should have said the
honorable members for Mayo and Old Castle. I ask again, why are they not
here?”
“Better you had never put the question,” said a deep, low voice from
beneath the gallery; and at the same instant Bagenal Daly advanced along
one of the passages, and took his place at the table directly in front
of the Serjeant. A tremendous cheer now broke from the Opposition
benches, which the Ministerial party in vain essayed to return.
“I perceive, sir,” said the Serjeant, with an effort to resume his
former ease,--“I perceive I have succeeded in conjuring up one at least
of these truant spirits, and I cannot do better than leave him to make
his explanations to the House.”
With this lame, disjointed conclusion the learned Serjeant sat down; and
although the greatest exertions were made by his friends to cover this
palpable failure, the cries of derision drowned all other sounds, and
before they were silenced, a shout of “Daly! Daly!--Bagenal Daly!”
resounded through the building.
Daly arose slowly, and saluted the Speaker with a most deferential
courtesy. It was several minutes before the tumult had sufficiently
subsided to make his words audible; but when silence prevailed, he was
heard to regret, in terms of unaffected ease, that any circumstance
might occur which should occupy the time of the House by observations
from one so rude and unlettered as himself, nor would he now venture
on the trespass, were the occasion merely a personal one. From this
he proceeded to state that great emergencies were always occurring, in
which even the humblest opinions should be made known as evidencing the
probable impressions upon others as lowly circumstanced as he who now
addressed them.
“Such is the present one,” said he, raising his voice, and looking
around him with a glance of bold defiance. “You are about to take away
the right of self-government from a nation, and every man in the land,
not only such as sit here, sir, but every man to whose future ambition
a seat in this House may form a goal, every man has a deep interest in
your proceedings. It is a grave and weighty question, whose
conditions impose the conviction that we are unfit to legislate for
ourselves,--that we are too weak, or too venal, or too ignorant, or too
dishonest. To that conclusion you must come, or no other. Absence from
Ireland must suggest enlightenment on her interests; distance must lend
knowledge as well as enchantment, or an English Parliament cannot be
better than our own. I have listened attentively, but unconvinced, to
all arguments on this head; I have heard over and over again the long
catalogue of benefits to accrue to this country when the power of
realizing them herself has been wrested from her, and I have thought of
Lear and his daughters! It would seem to me, however, that the social
welfare and the commercial prosperity of a people are themes too vulgar
for the high consideration of our times. The real question at issue is
not whether a Parliament should or should not continue to sit here, but
what shall I, and others like me, benefit by voting it away forever?”
“Order! order!” called out several voices.
But Daly resumed: “I ask pardon. It is more parliamentary to put the
case differently, and I shall, under correction, do so. Well, sir,
we may benefit largely. I trust I am not disorderly in saying that
peerages, bishoprics, regiments, frigates, commissionerships, and Heaven
knows what more, will reward us when our utility to the State has met
the approval of an Imperial Parliament. I can well credit every promise
of such gratitude, and have only to ask in turn, Are these the arguments
that should sway us now? Is it because we are bungling legislators that
they wish for us in London?--is it because we are venal they seek our
company, because we are inefficient they ask for our cooperation? Are
they so supremely right-minded, honorable, and far-seeing that they need
the alloy of our dulness to make them mortal? And suppose such the case,
will it be gratifying to us to become the helots to this people? Will
our national pride be flattered because our eloquence is sneered at,
our law derided, our political knowledge a scoff, and our very accent a
joke? Do not tell me such things are unlikely; we are far weaker on the
point than we like to confess. For myself, I can imagine the sense of
shame--of deep, heartfelt, abasing shame--I should feel at seeing some
of those I see here rise in a British House of Commons to address that
body, while the rumor should run, 'He is the member for Meath or for
Wicklow.' I can picture to myself such a man: a man of low origin and
mean capacity; a man who carves his path in life less from his own
keen abilities than that others shrink from his contact, and leave him
unopposed in every struggle; a pettifogger at the Bar; a place-hunter
at the Parliament; half beggar, half bravo, with a petition for the
Minister, and a pistol for the Opposition. Imagine a man like this,
and reflect upon the feeling of every gentleman at hearing the rumor
announce, 'Ay, that's a learned Serjeant, a leader at the Bar of
Ireland.'”
The last words were delivered in a tone of direct personality, as,
turning towards where Nickolls sat, Daly threw at him a look of
defiance. The whole House arose as if one man, with cheers and
counter-cheers, and loud yells of insult, mingled with cries of “Order!”
Nor was it till after a long and desperate wordy altercation that the
clamor was subdued, and decorum at length restored. Then it was remarked
that Nickolls had left the House.
The Speaker immediately ordered the Serjeant of the House to place Daly
under arrest,--a measure which, however dictated by propriety, seemed to
call forth a burst of indignation from the Opposition benches.
“I hope, sir,” said Daly, rising with an air of most admirably feigned
humility,--“I hope, sir, you will not execute this threat,--the
inconvenience to me will be very great: I was about to pair off with the
honorable and learned member for Newry.”
The mention of the town for which the Serjeant sat in Parliament renewed
the laughter which now prevailed on both sides of the House.
“I cannot understand the mirth of the gentlemen opposite,” said Daly,
with affected simplicity, “without it be from their astonishment that
the Government can spare so able and so eloquent an advocate as the
honorable and learned gentleman; but let them reassure themselves and
look around, and, believe me, they'll find the Treasury benches filled
by gentlemen as like him as possible.”
The Speaker reissued the order to the Serjeant-at-Arms, and Daly now
came forward to the table and begged in all form to know the reason of
such severity. “If, sir,” said he, in conclusion,--“if I could believe
it possible that you anticipate any personal collision between myself
and any member of this House, I have only to say that I am bound over
in the sum of two thousand pounds to keep the peace within the limits of
this kingdom. I take out a license at two pounds fifteen to kill game,
it is true; but I 'd not pay sixpence for the privilege to shoot a
lawyer.”
The fact of the heavy recognizances to which Daly alluded was at once
confirmed by several members, and after a brief conversation with the
Speaker the matter was dropped.
It was, as may be supposed, a considerable time before the debate could
assume its due decorum and solemnity after an incident like this; for
although hostile collisions were neither few nor unfrequent, an insult
of so violent a character had never before been witnessed.
At length, however, order was restored, and another speaker addressed
the House. All had assumed its wonted propriety, when a messenger
delivered into Daly's hands a small sealed note; he glanced at the
contents and rose immediately. Lord Castlereagh's quick eye caught
the motion, and he at once called on the Speaker to interfere. “I have
myself seen a letter conveyed to the honorable member's hands,” said he;
“it requires no peculiar gift of divination to guess the object.”
“I will satisfy the noble lord at once,” said Daly; “there is the letter
I have received: I pledge my word of honor the subject is purely a
private one, having no reference whatever to anything that has passed
here.” He held out the letter as he spoke, but Lord Castlereagh declined
to peruse it, and expressed his regret at having made the remark. Daly
bowed courteously to him, and left the House.
“Well, Sandy,” said he, as soon as he reached the corridor, where his
faithful follower stood waiting his coming, “what success?”
“No sae bad,” said Sandy. “I 've got a wherry, ane of them Wicklow
craft; she's only half-decked, but she's a stout-looking sea-boat, and
broad in the beam.”
“And the wind, how's that?”
“As it should be,--west, or west wi' a point north.”
“Is there enough of it?”
“Enough! I trow there is,” said Sanders, with a grin; “if there be no a
blast too much. Hear till it now.” And, as if waiting for the remark,
a tremendous gust of wind shook the strong building, while the clanking
sound of falling slates and chimney-pots resounded through the street.
“There's music for ye,” said Sandy; “there came a clap like that when I
had a'maist made the bargain, and the carles would no budge without ten
guineas mair. I promised them fifty, and the handsel whatever your honor
liked after.”
“It's all right,--quite right,” said Daly, wishing to stop details he
never listened to with patience.
“It's a' right, I know weel enough,” said Sandy, querulously; “but it
wad no be a' right av ye went yersel'; they 'd have a gude penny, forbye
what I say.”
“And what say the fellows of this wind,--is it like to last?”
“It will blow hard from the west for three or four days mair, and then
draw round to the north.”
“But we shall get to Liverpool before noon to-morrow.”
“Maybe,” said Sandy, with a low, dry laugh.
“Well, I mean if we do get there. You told them I 'd double the pay if
we catch the American ship in the Mersey. I'd triple it; let them know
that.”
“They canna do mair than they can do: ten pounds is as good as ten
hundred.”
While this conversation was going forward, they had walked on together,
and were now at the entrance door of the House, where a group of four
persons stood under the shadow of the portico.
“Mr. Daly, I presume,” said one, advancing, and touching his hat in
salutation. “We have waited somewhat impatiently for your coming.”
“I should regret it, sir, if I was aware you did me the honor to expect
me.”
“I am the friend of Serjeant Nickolls, sir,” said the other, in a voice
meant to be eloquently meaning.
“For your sake, the fact is to be deplored,” answered Daly, calmly. “But
proceed.”
With a great effort to subdue his passion, the other resumed: “It does
not require your experience in such matters to know that the insult you
have passed upon a high-minded and honorable gentleman--the gross and
outrageous insult--should be atoned for by a meeting. We are here for
this purpose, ready to accompany you, as soon as you have provided
yourself with a friend, to wherever you appoint.”
“Are you aware,” said Daly, in a whisper, “that I am bound over in heavy
recognizances--”
“Ah, indeed!” interrupted the other; “that, perhaps, may explain--”
“Explain what, sir?” said Daly, as he grasped the formidable weapon
which, more club than walking-stick, he invariably carried.
“I meant nothing; I would only observe--”
“Never observe, sir, when there's nothing to be remarked. I was
informing you that I am bound over to keep the peace in this same
kingdom of Ireland; circumstances compel me to be in England to-morrow
morning,--circumstances of such moment that I have myself hired a vessel
to convey me thither,--and although the object of my journey is far from
agreeable, I shall deem it one of the happiest coincidences of my life
if it can accommodate your friend's wishes. Nothing prevents my giving
him the satisfaction he desires on English ground. I have sincere
pleasure in offering him, and every gentleman of his party, a passage
over--the tide serves in half an hour. Eh, Sandy?”
“At a quarter to twelve, sir.”
“The wind is fair.”
“It is a hurricane,” replied the other, almost shuddering.
“It blows fresh,” was Daly's cool remark.
For a moment or two the stranger returned to his party, with whom he
talked eagerly, and the voices of the others were also heard, speaking
in evident excitement.
“You have the pistols safe, Sandy?” whispered Daly.
“They 're a' safe, and in the wherry; but you 'll no want them this
time, I trow,” said Sandy, with a shrug of his shoulders; “yon folk
would rather bide where they are the night, than tak' a bit o' pleasure
in the Channel.”
Daly smiled, and turned away to hide it, when the stranger again came
forward. “I have consulted with my friends, Mr. Daly, who are also
the friends of Serjeant Nickolls; they are of opinion that, under
the circumstances of your being bound over, this affair cannot with
propriety go further, although it might not, perhaps, be unreasonable
to expect that you, feeling the peculiar situation in which you stand,
might express some portion of regret at the utterance of this most
severe attack.”
“You are really misinformed on the whole of the business,” said Daly.
“In the few words I offered to the House, I was but responding to the
question of your friend, who asked, I think somewhat needlessly, 'Where
was Bagenal Daly?' I have no regrets to express for any terms I applied
to him, though I may feel sorry that the forms of the House prevented
my saying more. I am ready to meet him now; or, as he seems to dislike
a breeze, when the weather is calmer. Tell him so; but tell him besides,
that if he utters one syllable in my absence that the most malevolent
gossip of a club-room can construe into an imputation on me, by G--d
I'll break every bone in his cowardly carcass! Come, Sandy, lead on.
Good evening, sir. I wish you a bolder friend, or better weather.” So
saying, he moved forward, and was soon hastening towards the North Wall,
where the wherry was moored.
“It's unco like the night we were wrecked in the Gulf,” said Sandy. “I
mind the moon had that same blue color, and the clouds were a' below,
and none above her.”
“So it is, Sandy,--there 's a heavy sea outside, I 'm sure. How many men
have we?”
“Four, and a bit o' a lad that's as gude as anither. Lord save us! there
was a flash! I wish it wud come to rain, and beat down the sea; we 'd
have aye wind enough after.”
“Where does she lie?”
“Yonder, sir, where you see the light bobbing. By my certie, but the
chiels were no far wrang. A bit fighting 's hard bought by a trip to sea
on such a night as this.”