THE RISING OF 1867--ARREST AND RESCUE OF KELLY AND DEASY--THE MANCHESTER
MARTYRDOM.
Although the Rising of 1867 had somewhat the character of "a flash in
the pan," there were some heroic incidents in connexion with it. With
one of the Fenian leaders, James Francis Xavier O'Brien, I was brought
into intimate connection many years after the Rising, when we were both
officials, he as General Secretary and I as Chief Organiser, of the Home
Rule organisation in Great Britain. When put upon his trial there was
evidence against him in connection with the taking of a police barrack,
he being in command of the insurgents. It was proved that he not only
acted with courage, but with a humanity that was commended by the judge,
in seeing that the women and children were got out safely before the
place was set on fire.
This, however, did not save him from being condemned to death--he was
the last man sentenced in the old barbarous fashion to be hanged, drawn
and quartered--this sentence being afterwards commuted to penal
servitude. Certainly, whether on the field or facing the scaffold for
Ireland there was no more gallant figure among the Fenian leaders than
James Francis Xavier O'Brien.
Few knew of his sterling worth as I did. For several years after his
return to liberty I was in close daily contact with this white-haired
mild-looking old gentleman--still tolerably active and supple,
though--who could blaze up and fight to the death over what he
considered a matter of principle. The most admirable feature in his
character was that, in all things you found him _straight_.
One of the Fenian chiefs I met in Liverpool was General Halpin, who, on
the night of the Rising, was in command of the district around Dublin.
The first of the insurgents who reached Tallaght, the place of
rendezvous on the night of the 5th of March, 1867, were received by a
volley from the police and dispersed. One party had captured the police
barracks at Glencullen and Stepaside, and disarmed the police, but on
approaching Tallaght, and hearing that all was over, they too dispersed.
While most of the Irish-American officers bore the marks of their
profession rather too prominently for safety against the observance of a
trained detective, General Halpin was the last man in the world anyone
would, from his appearance, take to be a soldier. He looked far more
like a comfortable Irish parish priest. And yet he was, perhaps, the
most thoroughly scientific soldier of all those that crossed the
Atlantic at this time.
Reading the evidence of Corydon in one of the trials, I find he
described Edmond O'Donovan as helping Halpin to make maps for use when
the Rising would take place. Knowing both men so well, I can say that
none better could be found for planning out a campaign. They were
thoroughly scientific men, and always anxious to impart their knowledge
to other Irishmen for the good of the Cause.
I remember Halpin one night, at what was a kind of select social
gathering, giving a number of us enthusiastic young men a lecture on the
construction of fortifications and earthworks.
We bade him farewell when he was leaving Liverpool after the Rising, and
thought he had got safely away to America, but, unfortunately, he was
identified at Queenstown in the outgoing steamer. He was arrested, put
upon his trial, and met the same fate as so many of his comrades.
Among the men I knew long ago, who afterwards became connected with
Fenianism, was Stephen Joseph Meany. He was for many years a journalist
in Liverpool, having been sub-editor of the "Daily Post" under Michael
James Whitty. He was an earnest and active Repealer and Young Irelander.
When I first came in contact with him he was starting the "Lancashire
Free Press," which, after passing through several hands and several
changes, of name, ultimately became the "Catholic Times," which was for
three years, when Father Nugent became the proprietor, under my
direction. Meany was a man of fine presence and handsome countenance, a
brilliant writer and an eloquent speaker. He went to America in 1860,
where he followed his original profession of journalism for several
years. He returned to this country again, and was arrested in 1867 on a
charge of Fenianism, and sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment.
Liverpool was flooded with refugees after the Rising, and it took us all
our time to find employment for them, or to get them away to America. We
had then in Liverpool a corps of volunteers known as "The Irish
Brigade." Whatever Nationalist organisation might exist in the town
always strongly condemned young Irishmen for joining the corps. All we
could urge against it, however, could not prevent our young men who were
coming over from Ireland at this time from joining the "Brigade" for the
purpose, they said, of learning and perfecting themselves in the use of
arms. Colonel Bidwell and the officers must have had a shrewd suspicion
of the truth, and there was a common remark in the town upon the
improved physical appearance of the "Brigade." This was, of course,
owing to the number of fine soldier-like young Irishmen who at this time
filled its ranks.
During the two years that followed the escape of Stephens, I met Colonel
Kelly several times in Liverpool. When I first saw him he would be about
thirty years of age. This is my remembrance of his personal appearance:
His forehead was broad and square, with the thick dark hair carefully
disposed about it. He had somewhat high cheek bones, and wore a pointed
moustache over a tolerably full beard. The general impression of his
face seemed to me slightly cynical, and he had a constant smile that
betokened self-possession and confidence. He sometimes wore a frock
coat, a light waistcoat buttoned high up, a black fashionable necktie,
and light well-made trousers. After surveying him in detail, you would
come to the conclusion that he was a man of daring enough to involve
himself in danger of life, and with sufficient address to extricate
himself from the peril. He was undoubtedly a man capable of winning the
confidence and even devotion of others, as was shown when, falling into
the hands of the Government, he was snatched from their grasp in the
open day on the streets of Manchester.
I met him some weeks after the Rising. The place of meeting reminded me
of the incident in one of Samuel Lover's stories--"Rory O'More"--to
which I have already alluded, for, in our later revolutionary movements,
as in 1798, projects of great importance had sometimes to be discussed
in public houses.
A few of the Liverpool men came to meet the leaders in a very humble
beer shop, kept by a decent County Down man, Owen McGrady, in one of the
poorer streets off Scotland Road. Here were met on this particular night
a notable company, which included, if I remember rightly, Colonel Kelly,
Colonel Rickard Burke, Captains Condon, Murphy, Deasy and O'Brien, all
American officers who had crossed the Atlantic for the Rising, and still
remained, hoping for another opportunity. There were about half a dozen
of the Liverpool men there. Of these I can remember a tall, fine-looking
young man, a schoolmaster from the North of Ireland, whom I then met for
the first time, my old school-fellow, John Ryan, and John Meagher, a
tailor, possessing the amount of eloquence you generally find in Irish
members of the craft. There was also present, if I remember rightly, Tom
Gates, of Newcastle.
Although the Rising had collapsed almost as soon as it commenced, the
determination to fight on Irish soil had by no means been given up by
the leaders in America. That was why the American officers on this side
remained at their posts, ready for active service at a moment's notice.
At the meeting we learned that there was at that moment an "Expedition,"
as it was termed, on the sea to co-operate with and bring arms for
another Rising in Ireland, should such be found practicable. It was
notorious that, notwithstanding all the efforts of active agents,
comparatively few arms had been got into Ireland. Indeed, my friend John
Ryan, who was in a position to know, estimated that there were not more
than a couple of thousands of rifles in Ireland at the time of the
Rising.
Let us see what became of the Expedition. This was, of course, what has
since become a matter of history--the secret despatch from New York of
the brigantine "Erin's Hope," having on board several Irish-American
officers, 5,000 stand of arms, three pieces of field artillery, and
200,000 cartridges. About the middle of May the vessel arrived in Irish
waters, agents going aboard at various points off the coast, including
Sligo Bay, which she reached on the 20th of May, 1867. By that time it
was found that the chances of another Rising were but slender, and the
"Erin's Hope" returned to America with her cargo, entirely unmolested
by the British cruisers, which were plentiful enough around the Irish
coast.
The expedition certainly proved that sufficient weapons to commence an
insurrection with could be thrown into Ireland, providing there was the
necessary co-operation at the time and places required.
I have often thought since of what became of those present in Owen
McGrady's beer house the night we met there to prepare for the reception
of the "Erin's Hope."
The arrest and rescue of Kelly and Deasy, two of these, in the following
September, and the fate of their gallant rescuers, formed the most
striking and startling chapter of Irish history during the nineteenth
century.
That such a scheme as the rescue of the two Fenian chiefs should be
successfully carried out, not in Ireland amid sympathisers, but in the
heart of a great English city, surrounded by a hostile population,
showed unexpected capacity and daring on the part of the revolutionary
organisation, and produced consternation in the British Government.
At this time the organisation of the Irish Revolutionary Brotherhood in
Great Britain had been placed in the hands of three of the
Irish-American officers, Captain Murphy, who had charge in Scotland,
Colonel Rickard Burke in the southern part of England, and Captain
Edward O'Meagher Condon in the northern counties.
Previous to the arrest of the two leaders on the morning of September
11th they, with Captain Michael O'Brien, had been staying with Condon,
upon whom now devolved the command, the capture of Kelly and Deasy
having taken place in his district.
He at once arranged for their food while in prison, for their defence in
the law courts, and for their rescue, in which latter enterprise he was
enthusiastically supported by the chief men of the Manchester circles.
But, whatever their good will and courage, they were deficient both in
money and arms for such a daring undertaking. Condon had, therefore, a
difficult task to accomplish. Money was soon raised, for our people are
ever generous and equal to the occasion when it arises. Daniel
Darragh--about whom I shall have more to say later--was sent to
Birmingham, where by the aid of William Hogan he purchased and brought
back with him sufficient revolvers to arm the volunteers for the rescue.
These last were picked men, the cream of the Manchester circles, and
there was some jealousy afterwards among many who had not been selected.
I need scarcely say that the utmost secrecy was required in connection
with such a perilous enterprise.
To Edward O'Meagher Condon belongs the credit of having organised,
managed, and carried out the Manchester Rescue, at the cost to himself,
as it turned out, of years of penal servitude, and almost of his life.
Though with the aid of Michael O'Brien and his Manchester friends he had
made all the arrangements, selecting the spot where the prison van was
to be stopped, assigning to every man his post, and providing for every
contingency, including the possibility of the rescuing party being taken
in the rear from Belle Vue prison, he wired for the assistance of
Captain Murphy and Colonel Burke, the message being that "his uncle was
dying."
Murphy was from home, but Burke came on to Manchester, and with Michael
O'Brien accompanied Condon on September 17th, the night before the
rescue, to meet the men chosen for the daring enterprise, when the arms
were distributed, each man's post on the following day allotted to him,
and the final arrangements made.
The two Fenian chiefs stayed with Condon that night, fighting their old
campaigns over again, e'er they retired to rest, not to meet again till
eleven years after the Manchester Rescue, when Condon and Burke came
across each other in New York, each having suffered in the interval a
long term of imprisonment, and it was the last night that Burke and
Condon passed on earth with Michael O'Brien, whose memory Irishmen, the
world over, honour as one of the "noble-hearted three"--the Manchester
Martyrs--who died for Ireland on the scaffold.
The secret of the intended rescue was closely guarded, and though the
Mayor of Manchester did get a warning wire from Dublin Castle, it
reached too late, and the birds had flown. When Kelly and Deasy were
brought before the city magistrates they were remanded. "They were,"
said the "Daily News," "placed in a cell with a view to removal to the
city jail at Belle Vue. At this time the police noticed outside the
court house two men hanging about whom they suspected to be Fenians, and
a policeman made a rush at one of them to arrest him, in which he
succeeded, but not until the man had drawn a dagger and attempted to
stab him, the blow being warded off. The other made his escape."
As to the incident just related, it seems that a patriotic but imprudent
man belonging to one of the Manchester circles had got to hear of the
intended rescue, and was indignant at being left out. His suspicious
conduct outside the court house drew the attention of the police--as we
have seen--with the result, as the paper said, that the authorities
became alarmed. Kelly and Deasy were put in irons on their removal, and
a strong body of police were sent with the van intended to take them to
Belle Vue Prison.
It was the custom for a policeman to ride outside the van, on the step
behind, but, on this occasion, owing to the incident just described,
Brett, the officer in charge, went _inside_ the van. The door was then
locked, and the keys handed to him through the ventilator.
It is certain that, up to this point, the Manchester police had no
suspicion of the intended rescue, and it was only the imprudent
behaviour of the man whom the police had arrested that caused additional
precautions to be taken. Certain it is that if the Manchester
authorities had had any information of the probability of an attempted
rescue there would have been a formidable escort of the police and
military.
With so much false swearing at the trials with regard to the facts of
the Manchester Rescue, it is important that the information given in
books for the benefit of the present and future generations of Irishmen
should be correct. It is serious that in some of our best books so
important a matter as the actual scene of the rescue is incorrectly
given. One book says: "The van drove off for the _County jail at
Salford_." In another description it is stated: "Just as the van passed
under the arch that spans Hyde Road at Belle Vue, a _point midway
between the city police office and the Salford Jail,_ etc." Following
this, one of our ablest writers, apparently quoting from the previous
descriptions, falls into the same error. I can readily understand how
these errors have arisen--the writers concerned have confounded the
place of the execution of the Manchester Martyrs, Salford Jail, with the
prison, Belle Vue, to which the prisoners were being taken on being
remanded.
The point chosen by Condon as the most suitable for the attack was
certainly where the railway bridge crosses Hyde Road, but if the van had
been going to Salford Jail it would have been in a totally different
direction.
Since writing the above, I find it still more necessary I should correct
the mis-statement as to the scene of the rescue, for the error seems to
be getting perpetuated. I find in one of the leading Irish-American
newspapers, in a description of the death of Colonel Kelly on February
5, 1909, the scene of the rescue is given as "_midway between the
police office and Salford Jail_." This is evidently taken from the
erroneous statement in the books I have referred to.
After this slight digression, may I resume my narrative.
At the police court a man appointed for the purpose took a cab in
advance of the van. When sufficiently close to them he waved a white
handkerchief as a signal to the men in ambush. Just as the van passed
under the railway arch two men with revolvers barred the way.
"Stop the van!" one cried. But the driver took no heed. A bullet fired
over his head and another into one of the horses effectually stopped the
van. At the sound of the shots the rest of the rescuers came from their
ambush behind the walls that lined the road, and from the shadow of the
abutments of the railway arch.
The police fled panic-stricken at the first volley fired over their
heads by the Fenians, for these wanted to release their chiefs without
bloodshed if possible. One portion of the assailants, carrying out a
pre-arranged plan, formed an extended circle around the van, and kept
the police and mob who had rallied to their assistance at bay, while a
second party set themselves to effecting an entrance to the van. This
was more difficult than had been expected, for had Brett ridden on the
step behind as usual the keys could readily have been taken from him.
The rescuing party were, however, equal to the occasion, and the
military precision with which the work was carried out displayed the
discipline of the men and the able direction of the leaders.
Indeed, the fullest testimony is borne to this by a great English
newspaper, the "Daily News," which, while showing the most intense
hostility to the men and their daring act, is thus compelled to
recognise the courage and discipline of the devoted band of
Fenians:--"The more astonishing, therefore, is it to read of the
appearance of the public enemy in the heart of one of our greatest
cities, organised and armed, overpowering, wounding and murdering the
guardians of public order, and releasing prisoners of state. There is a
distinctness of aim, a tenacity of purpose, a resolution in execution
about the Fenian attack upon the police van which is very impressive.
The blow was sudden and swift, and effected its object. In the presence
of a small but compact body of Fenians, provided with repeating
firearms, the police were powerless, and the release of Kelly and Deasy
was quickly effected."
An unfortunate accident was the killing of Brett, the policeman, by a
shot fired with the intention of breaking the lock of the van. A female
prisoner then handed out the keys on the demand of the Fenians outside,
and the door was quickly opened, and the two leaders brought out, their
safe retreat being guarded by their rescuers.
As Captain Condon had anticipated and provided for, some of the warders
from Belle Vue quickly came upon the scene, as it was but a short
distance across what were then brickfields from the prison to the scene
of action. But, when they saw the determined men who were guarding the
leaders' retreat, they, too, like the police, kept at a safe distance
from the Fenian revolvers, and devoted themselves to picking up any
stragglers who had got separated from the main body of Irishmen.
In this way a number of arrests were made, and, later on, Condon himself
was taken, but the main object had been accomplished, and Kelly and
Deasy got safely away, and, ultimately, as we shall see, out of the
country.
Following the rescue, there was a perfect reign of terror, the police
authorities striking out wildly in all directions to gather into their
net enough Irish victims to satisfy their baffled vengeance. There were
numerous arrests and no lack of witnesses to swear anything to secure
convictions. Every detail of the attack on the van while on the way from
the courthouse to the prison, and of the release of the prisoners was
sworn to with the utmost minuteness, as the witnesses professed to
identify one after another of the men in the dock, some of whom had no
connection or sympathy with the rescue at all.
In Liverpool, men whom I knew were arrested who were at work all that
day at the docks, and yet were sworn to by numerous witnesses as having
assisted in the attack on the van in Hyde Road, Manchester, the most
minute details being given.
I have mentioned a case of the kind in my "Irish in Britain." William
Murphy, of Manchester, a man whom I knew well, was convicted and sent
into penal servitude as having taken part in the rescue. On his
liberation I was surprised to learn from his own lips that, although he
would gladly have borne his part if detailed for the duty, he was not
present at the rescue of the Fenian leaders. With the authorities in
such a panic, it can readily be understood that it behoved any of us in
Lancashire who were in any way regarded as "suspects" to be ready with
very solid testimony as to where we were on the day in question.
In a recent letter I have had from Captain Condon--from whom
communications reach me from all parts of America, for he is constantly
travelling, holding as he does the post of Inspector of Public Buildings
in connection with the Treasury Department of the U.S.A.--he tells me
something about William Murphy that I never heard before. He says: "When
Allen, Larkin, O'Brien, myself, and the other men were sentenced, Digby
Seymour (one of the counsel for the prisoners) went down to a large cell
in the court house basement where all the others were kept together. He
urged them all to plead 'guilty' and throw themselves upon the mercy of
the court, declaring that, if they refused to do this all would be
convicted and executed.
"There was an instant's hesitation among the prisoners, but William
Murphy, who was later sentenced to seven years penal servitude,
addressed his comrades, urging them to stand fast together, imitate our
example, and die like men, rather than live like dogs, for as such they
would be regarded by all true Irishmen if they pleaded 'guilty.'
"To a man the whole twenty-two shouted out--'We will never plead
guilty!'
"And Seymour, baffled and irritated, went away without accomplishing his
purpose."
Of the men convicted for taking part in the rescue, five--Allen, Larkin,
O'Brien, Condon and Maguire--were sentenced to death. Condon was
reprieved, really on account of his American citizenship, and Maguire,
who was a marine, because the authorities discovered in time that the
evidence against him was false. A number of others were sent to penal
servitude for various terms.
The execution of Allen, Larkin and O'Brien, so far from striking terror,
but gave new life to the cause of Irish Freedom, and to-day, over the
world, no names in the long roll of those who have suffered and died for
Ireland are more honoured than those of the "Manchester Martyrs," while
the determination has become all the stronger that, in the words of our
National Anthem--founded on Condon's defiant shout in the dock of "God
Save Ireland!":--
On the cause must go
Amidst joy or weal or woe,
Till we've made our isle a Nation free and grand.
It is not generally known how Colonel Kelly got out of the country after
the rescue. He lay concealed in the house of an Irish professional man
for some weeks, and then, all the railway stations being closely and
constantly watched night and day, he was driven in a conveyance by road
all the way from Manchester to Liverpool.
It was a patriotic foreman ship-joiner, whom I knew well, who actually
got him away to America. My friend Egan had charge of the fitting up of
the berths aboard the steamer in which Colonel Kelly sailed. In emigrant
steamers the usual practice was for temporary compartments to be made
and taken down at the end of the voyage. I had fitted up such berths
myself, and therefore perfectly understood what my friend had done to
secure Colonel Kelly's escape when he described it to me afterwards at
my place in Byrom Street. Egan actually built a small secret
compartment, so constructed as to attract no notice, and when Kelly was
smuggled aboard at the last moment--he might be supposed to be one of
Egan's men--he was put into it and actually boarded up, sufficient
provisions being left with him, until the steamer got clear of British
waters, when he could come out with safety.
Deasy also made his way to America.
In speaking of the after-career of those assembled that night at
McGrady's, I have sufficiently accounted for Michael O'Brien.
Rickard Burke, who also assisted at the same gathering, was a remarkable
personality, and one of the most astute men I ever met. He was a
graduate of Queen's College, Cork, and an accomplished linguist. He was
a skilful engineer, and had served with distinction in the American
Civil War. When I knew him he was about thirty-five years of age, tall
and of fine presence. To him was deputed the work of purchasing arms
for the intended Rising in Ireland.
After many adventures, he fell into the hands of the police, was
convicted, and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. It was with the
idea of effecting his rescue that the Clerkenwell Prison wall was blown
up on December 13th, 1867, this insane plan causing the death and
mutilation of a number of people. Burke himself would probably have been
killed had he happened to be confined in that part of the jail that was
blown up.
While in Chatham prison he was reported as having lost his reason, and
was removed to Woking. The matter was brought before the House of
Commons by Mr. McCarthy Downing, who suggested that Burke's insanity had
been caused by his treatment in prison. He was released on Sunday, July
9th, 1871.
Captain Murphy, another of the company in our Scotland Road rendezvous,
whom I had often met before, was a gentlemanly, genial man of portly
presence, and an exceedingly pleasant companion. After some time he
found his way back to America.
Edward O'Meagher Condon was one of the American officers I most
frequently came in contact with in Liverpool, previous to and after the
Rising. Since his return to America, after his release from penal
servitude in 1878, we have frequently corresponded with each other. From
a report of a Manchester Martyr's Commemoration in a newspaper which
accompanied one of his letters, and conversations I had with him when I
was delighted to have him as my guest during his recent visit to this
country, I find he has just the same sanguine temperament as on that
night at McGrady's, when the chances of another Rising were being
discussed. In the report I refer to he says, "Had the Irish people been
furnished with the necessary arms and munitions of war, which ought and
could have been provided, they would have proved victors in the
contest."
I have no doubt but that, in propounding this view, he had in his mind
the probability there was at one point of England being embroiled in a
quarrel with America. None knew better than he, at the time, of the
enormous number of Irishmen in the American armies, on both sides,
during the Civil War who, with their military training, longed for the
task of sweeping English rule from the soil of Ireland. It will be
remembered that it was Condon who, when sentenced to death, concluded
his speech in the dock with the prayer, "God save Ireland!" the words
which have since become the rallying cry of the whole Irish race, and
have given us a National Anthem.
In his letters to me since his first return to America, I have been
gratified to hear that he always took a warm interest in my
publications. I am pleased, too, to find from the newspaper reports he
has sent me that he is, as ever, an eminently practical man, and
believes in using the means nearest to hand for the advancement of the
Irish Cause.
While giving his experiences in connection with the revolutionary
movement, he declares that no one can blame the Irish people for having
recourse to any means which may enable them to remain on their native
soil. They have, he says, to use whatever means have been left to save
themselves from extermination and Ireland from becoming a desert. He,
therefore, declares his sympathy with the later movements of the Irish
people--the Land League, the National League, and the United Irish
League, while never abandoning the principles of '98, '48 and '67.
I referred to two Liverpool men as being present at the meeting at
McGrady's. One of these, John Ryan, my dear old schoolfellow, one of the
rescuers of James Stephens, has been dead many years--God rest his soul!
He was a noble character, and would have risen to the top in any walk of
life, but though he had a good home--his father was a prosperous
merchant of Liverpool--he gave his whole life to Ireland. I often heard
from him of his adventures, for he always looked me up whenever he came
to Liverpool, and how, sometimes, he and his friends had to fare very
badly indeed.
It was most extraordinary that, while constantly Tunning risks, for he
was a man of great daring, he never once was arrested, though he had
some hair-breadth escapes. On one occasion, about the time of the
Rising, a good, honest, Protestant member of the Brotherhood, Sam
Clampitt, was taken out of the same bedroom in which he was sleeping
with Ryan, who was left, the police little thinking of the bigger fish
they had allowed to escape from their net, the noted Fenian leader,
"Captain O'Doherty." I forget his precise name at this particular time,
but it was a very Saxon one, for he was supposed to be an English
artist sketching in Ireland. Questioned by the police, he was able to
satisfy them of his _bona fides_. He had a friend in Liverpool, an old
schoolfellow like myself, Richard Richards--"Double Dick" we used to
call him--a patriotic Liverpool-born Irishman. He was an exceedingly
able artist, making rapid progress in his profession, and, about this
time, having some very fine pictures, for which he got good prices, on
the walls of the Liverpool Academy Exhibition. Richards supplied all the
trappings for the part that Ryan was playing, and also sent him letters
of a somewhat humorous character, which he sometimes read to me before
sending off. In these he was anticipating all sorts of adventures for
his friend in the then disturbed state of Ireland. As John Ryan had much
artistic taste, and was himself a fair draughtsman, and well up in all
the necessary technicalities, and as Richards' letters, which he always
carried for emergencies like this, were strong evidences in his favour,
he had not much difficulty in convincing the Dublin police he was what
he represented himself to be.
Some of Jack Ryan's reminiscences had their droll sides, for he had a
keen sense of humour. One of his stories was in connection with the
well-known old tradition of the Gaels--both Irish and Scottish--that
wherever the "_Lia Fail_" or "Stone of Destiny" may be must be the seat
of Government. There is some doubt, as is well known, as to where the
real stone now is. At all events, the stone which is under the
Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey is that which was taken from
Scone by King Edward, and that on which the Scottish monarchs were
crowned, having been originally brought from Ireland, the cradle of the
Gaelic race. The tradition is still, as it happens, borne out by the
fact that Westminster is _now_ the seat of Government.
Now two of John Ryan's Fenian friends, Irish-American officers, stranded
in London--a not unusual circumstance--just when affairs looked very
black indeed, conceived the brilliant idea of _stealing the stone_,
bringing it over to Ireland, and, once for all, settling the Irish
question. This, notwithstanding their oath to "The Irish _Republic_ now
virtually (virtuously some of our friends used to say) established," for
it did not seem to strike them that they were proposing to bring to
Ireland an emblem of royalty.
I never heard if they took any actual steps to accomplish their object.
Perhaps they were impressed by the mechanical difficulties, as I was
myself one day, when standing with David Barrett, an Irish National
League organiser, in Edward the Confessor's Chapel, in front of the
famous "_Lia Fail_." It is a rough-hewn stone, about two feet each way,
and ten inches deep. I was telling my friend the story of the plot to
carry off the "Stone of Destiny," and was making a calculation, based on
the weight of a cubic foot of stone, of what might be its weight.
"We'll soon see," said David, and, in a moment, he had vaulted over the
railing, and taken hold of a corner of the stone.
But, so closely is this national treasure watched, that instantaneously
a couple of attendants appeared, and broke up peremptorily our proposed
committee of enquiry. An archaeological friend of mine suggests that,
one day, when Ireland is making her own laws and able to enter on equal
terms into a contract with England, a reasonable stipulation would be
the restoration of that stone--unless the Scottish Gaels can prove a
stronger claim to it.
From John Ryan I heard of the mode of living of many of the Fenian
organisers and of the Irish-American officers,--very different from the
slanderous statements of their "living in luxury upon the wages of Irish
servant girls in America." John was of a cheery disposition, never
complaining, but always sanguine, and loving to look at the bright side
of things. Yet I could see for myself, each time I saw him, how the life
of hardship he was leading was telling upon his once splendid
constitution, and, I felt sure, shortening his days. John Ryan, I have
often said, is dead for Ireland, for though he did not perish on the
battlefield or on the scaffold, as would have been his glory, I most
certainly believe he would have been alive to-day but for the hardships
suffered in doing his unostentatious work for Ireland.
There is one other friend I mentioned as having been present that night
at Owen McGrady's--the school master. You will ask what became of him?
Almost the last time I spoke to him--not very long before these lines
were written--was in the inner lobby of the British House of Commons,
for he has been for many years a member of Parliament. Now some of my
most cherished friends are or have been members of Parliament, and I
would be sorry to think any of them worse Irishmen than myself on that
account. Their taking the oath of allegiance to the British sovereign
was a matter for their own consciences, but I never could bring myself
to do it. Mr. Parnell would, I know, have been pleased to see me in
Parliament, but he knew that I never would take the oath, and respected
my conscientious objections to swear allegiance to any but my own
country.
With the exception of a few, whose names I forget, I have accounted for
the whole of the company comprising the Council of War at McGrady's
public house. Summed up as follows, nothing in the pages of romance
could be more startling than the after fate of these men:--
CAPTAIN MICHAEL O'BRIEN.--Hanged at Manchester. R.I.P.
COLONEL RICKARD BURKE.--Sent to Penal Servitude--Returned to
America.
COLONEL THOMAS KELLY, CAPTAIN TIMOTHY DEASY.--Rescued from Prison
Van in Manchester.
CAPTAIN EDWARD O'MEAGHER-CONDON.--Sentenced to death for the
Manchester Rescues, but reprieved and sent to Penal
Servitude--Returned to America.
CAPTAIN MURPHY.--Returned to America. Died a few years since.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.--A Member of Parliament.
JOHN RYAN.--Dead--God rest his soul.