A FENIAN CONFERENCE AT PARIS--THE REVOLVERS FOR THE MANCHESTER
RESCUE--MICHAEL DAVITT SENT TO PENAL SERVITUDE.
I have referred to Michael Breslin in speaking of his brother John.
Michael was not suspected of any complicity with the revolutionary
movement until after the rising on the 5th of March, 1867, when he found
it prudent to get out of the country.
He was, as the saying is, "on his keeping," and stayed with me at my
father's house in Liverpool for a short time, until he found a
favourable opportunity of getting away to America. This was by no means
an easy task, as all the ports were closely watched, and as, like his
brother John, he was a fine handsome man, of splendid physique, and well
known, of course, to the Irish police, it required all his caution
successfully to run the gauntlet; but this eventually he did.
The next I heard from him was that he was coming to Paris to a
conference between the representatives of the two parties of American
Fenians--what were known as the Stephens and Roberts wings. Michael
Breslin was sent as a representative of the Stephens party. There were
prominent members of the I.R.B. in this country, also friends of
Breslin, who were anxious that the two parties should join. I wrote to
him on their behalf, asking him to work towards that end. For greater
safety the letters for Breslin were sent under cover through my cousin,
Father Bernard O'Loughlin, Superior of the Passionist Fathers in Paris.
He, of course, knew nothing of the nature of the communications he was
handing to Breslin, who did his best to bring about the desired unity;
but his action was repudiated by his principals in America.
He came over to England, and had a narrow escape from falling into the
hands of the police. When William Hogan was arrested in Birmingham,
charged with supplying the arms used in the Manchester Rescue, Michael
Breslin was in the house at the time. Questioned by the police, he
described himself as a traveller in the tea trade for Mr. James Lysaght
Finigan, of Liverpool. As he had his proper credentials (samples, etc.,
from James Finigan, who, anticipating an emergency of this kind, had
given them for this express purpose), he was allowed by the police to go
on his way.
James Lysaght Finigan was a good type of the Liverpool-born Irishman,
educated by the Christian Brothers. With other members of his family he
was at the time engaged in the tea trade; but he was of an adventurous
disposition, and afterwards served in the French Foreign Legion in the
Franco-Prussian War. Later still he became a member of the Irish Party
in the House of Commons.
In connection with Breslin's narrow escape, the sequel, as regards our
friend Hogan, is worth relating. Those who ever met William Hogan will
agree with me that a more warm-hearted and enthusiastic Irishman never
lived. He was a good-looking man, of imposing presence--a director of an
Insurance Company, for which he was also the resident manager in
Birmingham. Living in that town, he was of great assistance to the
various agents entrusted with the task of procuring arms for the
revolutionary movement. It speaks much for his sagacity that a man of
his impulsive and generous temperament should so long have escaped
arrest in connection with such hazardous undertakings. Hogan, however,
like Shemus O'Brien, "was taken at last."
Some of the revolvers brought from Birmingham by Daniel Darragh, which
had been used at the Hyde Road action, had been picked up from the
ground afterwards by the police. It was for supplying these that Hogan
was put upon his trial. The maker of the revolvers was brought from
Birmingham, and put in the witness box. He swore that a revolver
produced was one of his own make, which he had sold to the prisoner.
Thus, fortunately for Hogan, the whole case against him turned on this
point--not a very strong one, as it was obviously possible for the Crown
witness to be mistaken.
Hogan's counsel produced a similar revolver, and asked the witness if he
could identify it as his manufacture? The witness unhesitatingly did so.
The counsel, when his turn came, called another witness--a
decent-looking man of the artizan class. The barrister handed him the
revolver.
"Do you recognise it?" he asked.
"I do--I made it myself."
The Court was astonished. The prosecuting counsel asked:--
"How do you know it is yours?"
"By certain marks on it," the man replied, and these he proceeded to
describe. As the description was found to be correct, and as the other
witness, who had sworn that _he_ had made the weapon, had not described
any such marks, the case against Hogan broke down, and he was acquitted.
A few days afterwards he called on me, and explained how the thing had
happened. When he was arrested, his friends in Birmingham, having still
on hand some of the revolvers he had purchased, had an exact copy of one
of them made by a gunsmith whom they could trust, with instructions to
put his own private marks upon it, which he could afterwards identify.
It was this weapon that had deceived the witness for the prosecution to
such an extent that he wrongly swore to it as being his own manufacture.
Daniel Darragh, who was also put upon his trial for supplying the
weapons for the Manchester Rescue, was not so fortunate as his friend
Hogan, for he was convicted. He was sent into penal servitude on April
15th, 1869, but, being in delicate health, did not long survive, for he
died in Portland Prison on June 28th of the following year. William
Hogan, as the fulfilment of a sacred duty, brought the body of his
friend home to Ireland, to be buried among his own kith and kin, in the
Catholic cemetery of Ballycastle, Co. Antrim; and Edward O'Meagher
Condon, when recently visiting this country, considered it a no less
sacred duty to visit the grave.
It will be seen that William Hogan, with all his acuteness, had a very
narrow escape from falling into the hands of the law and suffering its
penalties. Still, it has been my experience, that men like him, who have
stood their ground, following their usual legitimate occupations, were
always less liable to be molested than what might be termed birds of
passage, such as Rickard Burke, Arthur Forrester, or Michael Davitt.
Such, I consider, was the case of my friend, John Barry, when he was a
resident in Newcastle-on-Tyne, in connection with an incident which he
related to me a short time since. Some arms were addressed to him "to be
called for," under the name of "Kershaw," a well-known north-country
name, not at all likely to be borne by an Irishman. By some means the
police got wind of the nature of the consignment, and the arms were held
at the station, waiting for Mr. Kershaw to claim them. But it was a case
of plot and counterplot; and when John was actually on the way to the
railway station, he was warned in time by a railway employé, an Irish
Protestant member of the I.R.B., and did not finish his journey. As
"Kershaw" did not turn up, the case of arms was sent off to London to be
produced at a trial then impending.
_John Barry_ was at that time a commercial traveller, and, strangely
enough, on one of his trips, he found himself in the same railway
carriage with two detectives who were in charge of the arms on their way
to the metropolis. John, as everybody acquainted with him knows, "has
the music on the tip of his tongue;" the racy accent acquired in his
childhood in his native Wexford. But he can put it off when the occasion
requires it; and the two police officers were quite charmed with the
social qualities of the genial commercial "gent" who was their
fellow-traveller, never suspecting him to be an Irishman. They chatted
together in the most agreeable manner, making no secret of their mission
to London, and letting drop a few facts which proved useful to the
counsel for the defence in the subsequent trial. Reaching London, they
asked the commercial "gent" to spend a social evening with them and some
of the witnesses in the case, which had some connection with the arms
intended for "Mr. Kershaw." He could not do so, he said, as he had a
previous engagement--which happened to be with Arthur Forrester and some
witnesses on the other side. But, he continued, he would be glad to see
them on the following day. Where could he see them? At Scotland Yard;
and at Scotland Yard, accordingly, he met them, where they showed him,
as an evidence of the desperate characters they had to deal with--his
own case of arms!
They told him of the pleasant evening he had missed, the only drawback
being, they said, that one of the witnesses, named Corydon, got drunk
and was very troublesome.
This reminds me of another case, in connection with which I, at the
time, fully expected to be arrested. The reader can form his own
conclusion, but my impression was, and is, that I owed my safety to a
gentleman I shall now introduce. Detective Superintendent Laurence
Kehoe, of Liverpool, was a very decent man in his way. He was by no
means of the type of John Boyle O'Reilly or the Breslins, who have shown
that in the British army and in the police force there have been men,
mostly compelled by adverse circumstances, who have for a time worn the
blue, or green, or scarlet coat of Britain without changing the Irish
heart beneath.
No; Larry (as he was generally called) was nothing of the kind. Still, I
believe he faithfully did his duty according to his lights, in the
service in which he was engaged. He was a conscientious Catholic, and a
son of his is a most respected priest in the diocese of Liverpool. He
was a kind-hearted, charitable man, always ready to do a good turn,
particularly for a fellow-countryman. If an Irish policeman called his
attention to some poor waif of an Irish child who had lost its parents,
or was in evil surroundings--having parents worse than none, or in
danger of losing its faith--Laurence Kehoe would take the matter in
hand. He would not always go through the formality of bringing the case
of such child under the notice of the managers of one or other of the
Catholic orphanages. When I was Secretary of Father Nugent's Boys'
Refuge, he brought one of these waifs to the Brother Director, and
claimed admittance for him. The place was full, the Brother said--it
could not be done. Without another word Kehoe left the child on the
doorstep, and simply saying, "Good-night," left Brother Tertullian
sorely perplexed, but with no alternative but to take the child in.
Now, Laurence Kehoe must have known that I was a notorious suspect--for
it was his duty to know--but we were good friends, never, however,
talking politics by any possible chance. I cannot, of course, state for
certain how it was, but the reader, from what I am going to describe,
may possibly come to the conclusion that Detective Superintendent Kehoe
may have shut both eyes and ears in my particular case.
To Rickard Burke was entrusted the critical and dangerous task of buying
and distributing arms for the revolutionary movement. _Exit_ Rickard
Burke, in the usual way, through the prison gate. _Enter_ Arthur
Forrester, who, in due course, found his way also--though but for a
short time--within prison walls. Then, following in quick succession,
came Michael Davitt, engaged in the same task as Burke and Forrester.
Forrester was a young man of great eloquence, and, like his mother and
sister, a poet. Mrs. Ellen Forrester's "Widow's Message to her Son" is,
I think, one of the finest and most heart-stirring poems we possess. I
have often listened with pleasure to Arthur Forrester, when he used to
come to address the "boys" in Liverpool. On one of those occasions
Michael Davitt was with him, a modest, unassuming young man, with but
little to say, although he was to make afterwards a more important
figure in the world than his friend. Forrester was a young fellow full
of pluck, and made a desperate resistance when, a boy, he was first
arrested in Dublin.
One night, just before Christmas, 1869, he left fifty revolvers with me.
Early next morning I read in a daily paper that he had been arrested the
previous night in a Temperance Hotel where he had been staying. There
were no arms found upon him or among his belongings. He had left them
with me;--indeed, as I read the account of his arrest, they were still
in my possession. You may depend upon it I quickly got them into safer
hands than my own. Some compromising documents were found in Forrester's
possession, including a certain letter with which Michael Davitt's name
was connected. This same letter was brought forward in evidence some
years afterwards, in the famous "_Times_ Forgeries Commission," with a
view to showing that the Irish leaders had incited to murder. As I
expected, I was not long without a visit from Laurence Kehoe's
lieutenants. Horn and Cousens, detective officers, called upon me to
make enquiries about the revolvers which, they said, "Arthur had left
with me." I need scarcely say they gained nothing by their visitation. I
fully expected that the matter would not end here, and that I was likely
to find myself in the dock along with Forrester.
The same evening I had a visit from my sister-in-law, Miss Naughton.
She had a friend, a Miss Cameron, who was sister to the wife of Lawrence
Kehoe. Miss Cameron lived in the house of the Detective Superintendent,
along with her sister, Mrs. Kehoe. In the middle of the previous
night--Miss Cameron told Miss Naughton--her room being on the same
landing as Kehoe's--she heard him called, and a man's voice saying:--
"We've taken Forrester. Shall we go to Denvir?" There was a pause; then
Kehoe said, "No," adding some words to the effect that he did not think
that I was implicated.
I dare say, after the manner of some pious people I know, he had
persuaded himself that such was the case. After he had worked out his
full term in Purgatory (for he is dead many years, God rest his soul!),
I don't think St. Peter can have kept the Heavenly gates closed on Larry
Kehoe for whatever he said about me that night. Nay, let us hope that it
was even put down to his credit.
Forrester's explanation, when he was arrested, as to his employment was
that he was a hawker. He had his licence, all quite regular, to show.
Under this he could sell his revolvers. There was nothing illegal in
that, unless a connection were established with the revolutionary
movement.
This, it appeared, they were not able to make out; but he was kept in
custody, evidently with a view to gain time to establish such a
connection. In fact, his case was the same as Davitt's, who took up the
work of procuring and distributing arms, after Forrester had become too
well known to the police in connection with it. Davitt, too, had a
hawker's licence; and, at first, there was really no evidence to connect
him with the Fenian movement. The farce was gone through of bringing
Corydon to identify him--not a very difficult task in the case of a
one-armed man--though this was the first time Corydon had ever seen
Davitt.
The evident explanation of Forrester being kept in custody, and
remanded, as he was, from day to day, without being charged with any
offence, was that a similar connection might be established, to prove
which a little perjury would not stand in the way.
Michael Davitt, who had not yet come under the notice of the police,
came to me, along with Arthur Forrester's mother, on hearing of the
arrest. They had tea with us, and, I need scarcely say, were warmly
welcomed in our little family circle, those in the house who were but
small children then being in after years proud to remember that they had
had such noble characters under their roof.
Mrs. Ellen Forrester was a homely, sweet-looking, little North of
Ireland woman. She was a native of the County Monaghan, and, at this
time, about forty years of age. Her maiden name was Magennis. Her father
was a schoolmaster, which would, no doubt, account for her literary
tastes. Songs and poems of hers appeared in the "Nation" and "Dundalk
Democrat." She was quite young when she came to England, and settled
first in Liverpool, and then in Manchester. She married Michael
Forrester, a stonemason, and had five children. It was quite evident
there was a poetic strain in the Magennis blood, for two of her
daughters, and her son Arthur, inherited the gift, which her brother
Bernard also possessed. She produced "Simple Strains" and (in
conjunction with her son Arthur) "Songs of the Rising Nation," and other
poems. She was a frequent contributor to the English press, her work
being much appreciated.
Arthur Forrester, whose release we were trying to effect, was, at this
time, only nineteen years old, though he looked much older. Besides the
poetic strain which he inherited from his mother, he must also have had
that fiery and unconquerable spirit which displayed itself in the
determined resistance he made against the police who came to arrest him
in 1867, in Dublin, where he had found his way for the projected rising.
He was a young Revolutionist truly--being then only seventeen. He was
not long kept in prison that time, there being no evidence to connect
him with Fenianism, nor, indeed, was there now, when he had fallen into
the hands of the police in Liverpool, though they were doing their best
to manufacture some.
His warlike proclivities seem to have been ever uppermost, as will be
seen later, where we find him joining the French "Foreign Legion" during
the Franco-Prussian War. Besides the "Songs of the Rising Nation" in
connection with his mother, he produced "An Irish Crazy Quilt," prose
and verse, and was a frequent contributor to the "Irish People" and
other papers over the signature of "Angus" and "William Tell."
It is too bad of me to be keeping poor Arthur in durance vile while I
am going into these particulars; but I want to show what kind of people
these Forresters were, and what the rebelly Ulster Magennis strain in
their blood let them into.
Together, Davitt and I called upon several Liverpool Irishmen to get
bail for Forrester. There was no difficulty--we could easily get the
necessary security; but, name after name, good, substantial bail, was
refused by the police on one pretence or another.
Ultimately, on Christmas Eve, when the prisoner was again brought before
the stipendiary magistrate, Mr. Raffles, a very just and high-minded
man, Dr. Commins, barrister, acting for Forrester, claimed that no
charge, but a mere matter of suspicion, being forthcoming against him,
the bail offered should be accepted. The magistrate agreed to accept two
sureties of £100 each, "to keep the peace for one year," and Arthur
Forrester was released.
It is interesting to know that while one of the bails was William
Russell, a patriotic Irishman, having an extensive business, the other
was Arthur Doran, a wholesale newsagent. He was a decent Irishman, of
Liverpool birth, who took no part in politics. He had been induced to go
bail by one of the greatest scoundrels Ireland ever produced--Richard
Pigott, Doran being an agent for Pigott's papers, the "Irishman" and
"Flag of Ireland." Let this one good act, at all events, be put down to
Pigott's credit.
To return to Forrester. After such a close shave as he had in
Liverpool, with the eyes of the police now upon him, his occupation was
gone, and Michael Davitt took up the work. I am afraid that Davitt's
visit to Liverpool on this occasion brought him under the notice of the
police, and may probably have led to his arrest a few months afterwards.
This took place on May 14th, 1870, at Paddington Station, London, with
him being arrested also John Wilson, a Birmingham gunsmith. Davitt had
£150 in his possession, and Wilson had fifty revolvers, it being
suggested that the gunsmith was about to deliver the weapons in exchange
for the money. So far--Davitt having a hawker's licence, as in the case
of Forrester--this would have been perfectly legitimate. What was wanted
by the authorities was evidence to show a connection with the Fenian
conspiracy. They really had no such evidence, but as Davitt was a marked
man, and as it was necessary to have him removed, Corydon was brought to
identify him, and, of course, had no difficulty, when a number of men
were brought into the corridor, in picking out the one-armed man from
among them.
At the trial Corydon swore, among other things, that Davitt took part in
the Chester raid. Now, Michael himself told me afterwards that Corydon
had never seen him before he "identified" him in prison; and that though
he really was at Chester, Corydon could not have known this. Michael
Davitt and John Wilson were convicted of treason-felony. As showing the
man's noble character, it should not be forgotten that the Irishman made
an earnest appeal for the Englishman, declaring that Wilson knew
nothing of the object for which the weapons were wanted, and asking that
whatever sentence was to be passed on the gunsmith might be added to his
own. This was quite worthy of Davitt's chivalrous and unselfish nature,
and I can well imagine his tall and commanding figure in the dock, with
his strongly marked features and dark, bright eyes--while utterly
defiant of what the law might do to himself--making this appeal for the
man who stood beside him. Davitt was, on July 11th, 1870, sentenced to
fifteen years, and Wilson to seven years penal servitude.
Michael Davitt will appear in these pages as the founder of another
organisation, the results of which seem likely to make the Irish people
more the real possessors of their own soil than they have ever been
since the Norman invasion.
About this time I had started a printing and publishing business in
Liverpool, and commenced to realise what I had long projected as a
useful work for Ireland. This was the issue of my "Irish Library,"
consisting chiefly of penny books of biographies, stories, songs, and
stirring episodes of Irish history.
In their production and afterwards, when I continued the issue of these
booklets in London, I had valuable assistance from various friends,
including Rev. Father Ambrose, Rev. Father O'Laverty, Michael Davitt,
Daniel Crilly, T.D. Sullivan, Timothy McSweeney, Hugh Heinrick, William
J. Ryan, Francis Fahy, William P. Ryan, Alfred Perceval Graves, Michael
O'Mahony, John J. Sheehan, Thomas Boyd, Thomas Flannery, John Hand,
James Lysaght Finigan, and other well-known writers on Irish subjects.
Some of the penny books were from my own pen, in addition to which I
wrote "The Brandons," a story of Irish life in England, and other books,
of which my most ambitious work was "The Irish in Britain."