O'CONNELL IN LIVERPOOL--TERENCE BELLEW MACMANUS AND THE REPEAL HALL--THE
GREAT IRISH FAMINE.
O'Connell, when passing through Liverpool on his way to Parliament,
always made the Adelphi Hotel his headquarters, and used to hear Mass
not far off at the Church of St. Nicholas, or, as it was more generally
called, "Copperas Hill Chapel," where I used to serve as an altar boy. I
must have been a very small boy at the time when I first remember the
Liberator coming to Mass at our Church, for, on one occasion, on
stretching up to the altar to remove the Missal it was so difficult for
me to reach that I let it fall over my head.
Without being by any means what is termed a "votheen," O'Connell was a
faithful and devout son of the Catholic Church. During the many years
when he was passing through Liverpool, going to and returning from
Parliament, and on other occasions when he came to Irish gatherings in
the town, he attended Mass daily whenever possible, and frequently
approached Holy Communion.
O'Connell spoke several times from the balcony of the Adelphi Hotel.
From my earliest days I was an earnest politician, and one of my most
cherished remembrances is of having been brought by my father to one of
these gatherings. The Liberator addressed a great multitude, who filled
the whole square in front, and overflowed into the adjoining streets. My
recollection of him on this occasion is that of a big man, in a long
cloak, wearing what appeared to me some kind of a cap with a gold band
on it. This must have been the famous "Repeal Cap" designed by the Irish
sculptor, Hogan, who, when investing O'Connell with it at the great
gathering at Mullaghmast, said: "Sir, I only regret this cap is not of
gold."
As in our later Irish movements, we frequently had meetings in one or
other of the Liverpool theatres. O'Connell was, as often as his
attendance could be secured, the central figure, and drew enormous
gatherings. At one of these meetings at the Royal Amphitheatre there was
an attempt by an armed body of Orangemen to storm the platform, on which
were all our leading Irishmen. Among the most active of these was
Terence Bellew MacManus, who had all his lifetime been a devoted
follower and admirer of O'Connell. On this particular night, which was
long before the unfortunate split into "Old Ireland" and "Young
Ireland," he had a fine opportunity of displaying his "physical force"
proclivities in defence of the "moral force" leader.
The Orange attack was of short duration. They were simply cleared out as
if by an irresistible whirlwind. We have always been able to hold our
own in Liverpool, when it came to physical encounters against all
comers. We have generally had some organisation or another--whether
constitutional or unconstitutional--but, apart from this, the nature of
the employment of our working-men, especially in O'Connell's time,
brought them together in such a way that large numbers of them knew each
other, and could act together in case of emergency.
MacManus, who had command of the stewards on the night of the attack,
knew a number of men like Mick Digney, who was what was called a
"lumper"--that is, a contractor in a small way who took work in the
"lump" and employed men for loading and unloading ships. Digney and
other friends would find their way for consultation and the making of
the necessary arrangements beforehand on occasions like this to
MacManus, whose place of business--he was an extensive forwarding
agent--was one of those half-offices, half-warehouses, which used to be
in North John Street.
Another class of men who were reliable for such occasions were the
bricklayers' labourers. Of course, it is different now--and a sure sign
that our people are rising in the social scale--but in those years, and
long afterwards, I never knew a bricklayers' labourer who was not an
Irishman.
The frequent mention at these gatherings of a sterling Irishman I knew
well in after years, Patrick O'Hanlon, reminds me of two friends of my
father of the same name who belonged to another class of men, the
wood-sawyers, who, at that time, were mostly Irish. They had not
exactly the same name as Patrick, for it was not so customary to use the
O' or Mac in those days as it has since become. Not that Hughey and Ned
Hanlon did not know that they were entitled to the honourable Gaelic
prefix, but, with the good nature which is rather too characteristic of
Irishmen sometimes, those who had preceded them had allowed other people
to drop the O' in using their name, until it became rather difficult to
resume it.
Needless to say that Hughey and Ned Hanlon, John Green, Mike Doolan, and
other wood-sawyers were at the Royal Amphitheatre among MacManus's
volunteers. The Hanlons, in particular, were fine lathy men, without an
ounce of spare flesh, but they had sinews of iron. Hughey used to come
to our house with other neighbours every week to hear the "Nation" read,
and the songs in it sung to the accompaniment of Harry Starkey's or my
Uncle John's fiddle. The Hanlons were North of Ireland men, and Hughey
often used to proudly tell us that the O'Hanlons were the Ulster
standard-bearers.
At that time, besides the Amphitheatre, where during those years several
Irish demonstrations were held, a popular place for our gatherings was
the Adelphi Theatre (previously the "Queen's"), which was in somewhat
better standing then than afterwards, though it, too, has had within its
walls most of the Irish leaders of the last half century.
I remember one occasion in particular when O'Connell was, of course, the
hero of the day, which impressed itself upon my youthful mind the more
forcibly on account of the presence on the platform of Jack Langan--of
whom I have already spoken--a warm-hearted and generous supporter of the
great Dan, and the Cause of Repeal. Indeed, we boys regarded the Irish
champion boxer with the admiration we would have bestowed upon Finn
MacCool or some other of the ancient Fenians, could they have appeared
in bodily form amongst us.
Little we then thought that we should be welcoming on the same platform
the Fenians of our own days.
That meeting in the Adelphi has also been frequently brought back to my
mind since, because for a long time the "leading man" in the stock
company at that theatre was Edmond O'Rourke (stage name Falconer), a
sterling Nationalist, with whom I made a closer acquaintance in later
years.
I was often brought by my father to the weekly gatherings in the Repeal
Hall, Paradise Street, where, among the speakers on the Sunday nights I
can best remember were Terence Bellew MacManus, Patrick O'Hanlon, Dr.
Reynolds, George Smyth, and George Archdeacon.
MacManus and Smyth (the latter of whom I knew well in after years),
besides being prominent workers in O'Connell's agitation for Repeal of
the Union between Ireland and Great Britain, took active parts in the
"Young Ireland" movement. Dr. Reynolds was another of the Young
Irelanders. So also was Archdeacon, who, in addition, still showed his
belief in physical force by his connection with Fenianism, for which he
suffered imprisonment.
Young as I was, I shall never forget the days of the Famine, for
Liverpool, more than any other place outside of Ireland itself, felt its
appalling effects. It was the main artery through which the flying
people poured to escape from what seemed a doomed land. Many thousands
could get no further, and the condition of the already overcrowded parts
of the town in which our people lived became terrible, for the wretched
people brought with them the dreaded Famine Fever, and Liverpool became
a plague-stricken city. Never was heroism greater than was shown by the
devoted priests--English as well as Irish--in ministering to the sick
and dying. So terrible was the mortality amongst them that several of
the churches lost their priests twice over. Our own family were nearly
left orphans, for both father and mother were stricken down by the
fever, but happily recovered.
It will not be wondered at that one who saw these things, even though he
was only a boy, should feel it a duty stronger than life itself to
reverse the system of misgovernment which was responsible.
There was, no doubt, a good deal of English sympathy for the
famine-stricken people, and there were some remedial measures by
Parliament--totally inadequate, however, but I am afraid that the
"Times" and "Punch," two great organs of public opinion, but too
faithfully represented the feelings of many of our rulers. The "Times"
actually gloated over what appeared to be the impending extinction of
our race. Young as I then was, but learning my weekly lessons from the
"Nation," I can remember how my blood boiled one day when I saw in a
shop window a cartoon of "Punch"--a large potato, which was a caricature
of O'Connell's head and face, with the title--"The Real Potato Blight."
At the time of the Rising of 1848 I was commencing my apprenticeship
with a firm of builders, who were also my father's employers. They were
successors to the firm through whose agency he had been sent to Ireland
as clerk of the works, just previous to my birth there. It was the
custom of the firm, when a boy came to commence his apprenticeship to be
a joiner, to keep him in the office for a time as office boy. I was
employed in the office at the time of the Rising, but one of the
partners in this firm of builders, who was also an architect, seeing
that I had had a good education, and, through attending evening classes
at the Catholic Institute and Liverpool Institute, had a considerable
knowledge of mathematics and architectural drawing, gave me employment
which was more profitable to the firm and congenial to me than that of
an ordinary office boy or junior clerk. Besides helping in the ordinary
clerical work in the office, I was put to copying and making tracings of
ground plans, elevations and sections of buildings, and working drawings
for the use of the artizans, besides assisting in surveying. I was about
three years employed in this way before entering into the joiners'
workshop. The firm was most anxious that I should remain in the office
altogether, and I have often thought since that my father made a
mistake in insisting that I should learn the trade of a joiner, which
he considered a more certain living than that of an architect or
draughtsman, unless one had influential connections.
It was from the upper window of the office where I was at the work I
have described that I could see the men belonging to our firm drilling
as special constables in the school yard opposite, in anticipation of
trouble in connection with an Irish Rising.
The authorities were evidently preparing for a formidable outbreak in
Liverpool, for there was a large military camp at Everton--a suburb of
the city--and three gunboats in the river ready for action, in case any
part of the town fell into the hands of the Irish Confederates. Special
constables, as in the case of our own firm, were being sworn in all over
the town, and the larger firms were putting pressure upon their
employees to be enrolled. Indeed, some 500 dock labourers were
discharged because they would not be sworn in. My father declined to be
a special constable, but suffered no further from this than becoming a
suspect--his services being too valuable to be dispensed with by his
employers.
He was a genuinely patriotic Irishman, steadfast in his political creed,
though unostentatious in his professions, being more a man of action
than of words. My mother, as I think I have already sufficiently
indicated, was, on the other hand, more demonstrative. I think she must
have had a positive genius for conspiracy. Whatever the movement was she
must have a hand in it. On one occasion--I forget exactly what it
was--some compromising documents had to be got out of the way for the
time being. In those days sloops used to come over from Ireland with
potatoes, and the cargoes used to be sold on the quay at the King's
Dock. She often bought a load of potatoes here to supply a small general
shop which she kept to help out my father's earnings. It was under such
a load of potatoes that she had brought home that she concealed the
dangerous documents.
It was in June, 1848, in the columns of the "Nation" that I first met
with the name of Bernard MacAnulty. In after years I worked in
successive national movements with him, and ever found him a dear friend
and most active and enthusiastic colleague. As showing that he was a man
of advanced proclivities, I may mention that he wrote to the "Nation"
suggesting the formation of the "Felon Repeal Club" in
Newcastle-on-Tyne. From then up to the last day of his life he was the
same generous whole-souled Irishman he had been from the beginning. His
stalwart frame and pleasant, genial face were well known during the
whole of the Home Rule movement, in which I was thrown into frequent
contact with him, when we were both members of the Executive of the Home
Rule Confederation of Great Britain.
He was a North man, from the County Down, a successful merchant--having
started life as a packman--in Newcastle-on-Tyne, and so won the respect
of all classes that he was elected a member of the Town Council, in
which he served with great credit. The northern Catholic, who is so
often a pure Celt, is sometimes credited with having acquired some of
the qualities of his Presbyterian neighbours of Lowland Scots
extraction. But this is only on the surface, and Bernard MacAnulty was a
typical example of this. No braver or more generous Irishman ever
breathed, and he had a fund of humour which would have done credit to
the quickest-witted Connaughtman or Munsterman that ever lived. Though
the Ulster accent is generally regarded as a hard one, I never thought
it was so with my friend. Perhaps this is owing to my partiality as a
County Down man, which, though born in Antrim, I always consider myself,
Down being the native place of my people from time immemorial. I have
always thought that the people born and reared, as Bernard was, among
the Mourne Mountains and their surroundings have anything but an
unmusical accent.
In connection with the Fenian movement my dear old friend was a strong,
active, and generous sympathiser. His purse was always available for
every good National object, whether "legal" or "illegal," and I know as
a fact that many a good fellow "on the run" found shelter under his
roof, and never went away empty-handed.