THE OUTBREAK.--MR. O'BRIEN IN
CARRICK.--CASHEL.--KILLENAULE.--MULLINAHONE.--BALLINGARRY.--AFFAIR AT
KILLENAULE.--DEFEAT OF MR. O'BRIEN'S PARTY AT THE COMMON.--PERSONAL
ADVENTURES OF THE WRITER AND HIS COMRADE, UP TO THE DATE OF MR.
O'BRIEN'S ARREST
On the night of the 24th of July, I was awakened, where I was staying,
by a rapping at my window. I recognised the voice of my sister-in-law,
and learned from her, in a few seconds, how matters stood. Her
information, in brief, was this that: Messrs. O'Brien, Dillon and
Meagher had left Dublin on learning that the Habeas Corpus Act was
suspended; and that it was supposed their object was to throw themselves
on the courage of the country. This intelligence rested on the authority
of two trusted members of the council of the Confederation, Messrs.
James Cantwell, and P.J. Smyth. The fact was all which I then cared to
know. I parted from my sister in half-an-hour, and rode off in the
direction of Carrick-on-Suir, where I was certain Mr. O'Brien would
direct his way, whether he came alone or followed by his countrymen in
arms. 'Mid the lone silence of that journey, while there was leisure to
revolve all the difficulties and hazards of the future, the idea never
once occurred to me that, supposing my information correct, the step was
rashly taken. On such occasions, when centuries gather into moments,
some one overmastering feeling, hope or passion absorbs and controls the
whole understanding. That which was then present to my mind, and
occupied all its faculties, was the hope of satisfaction, or vengeance,
if you will, for so many ages of guilty tyranny. The tears, the burning
and blood of nearly one thousand years seemed to letter the eastern sky,
as day dawned upon my way. Apprehension, I had none. From earliest
childhood to that hour, I never met one Irishman whose hope of hope it
was not to deliver the country forever from English thrall. I had lived
amidst all ranks (at least in their characters of politicians), had
known the sentiments of all, from the most ignorant peasant to the very
highest official of government; and then or now, I would find it
difficult to say where hatred to English domination--English power in
Ireland is neither government nor dominion--reigned the most intensely.
Some men there are by nature cowards, and they would shrink from the
perils of national deliverance; but if any sentiment could be said to
live in natures so grovelling, the grudge against England, even though
too craven to make itself audible, constitutes the essence of their
mental vitality. Some there are, too, so selfish as to sell their own
and their families' honour for gold; but as they count their sordid
gains, if they fall short by a scruple, whether in fact or in
anticipation, the deficiency becomes a heap of hoarded spite against
England. One man of that class, whom I had known, will furnish a
conclusive example. Trusted and paid by the Whigs, he was a supreme West
Briton, who saw in his country but a prey for meaner cormorants;
distrusted and dismissed by the Tories, he would storm the Castle, even
with the baton of the English office from which, he had been discarded.
Others, also, of a loftier stamp, were reined in, in the path of
allegiance[B], by considerations more justifiable, yet more or less
cowardly in character.
[Illustration: Ballingarry, Slievenamon in the distance, 1848]
Some doubted the ability of their country to effect her redemption. Some
doubted the capacity, and perhaps the sincerity, of the chiefs. Some
were schooled in duplicity, and under the ermine, or under the privy
councillor's robe, carried fierce hearts, benumbed by mendicancy and
seared by shame. But the first flash of their country's liberty would
see them ranged at that country's side, repaying with the fiercest hate
the beggar crumbs which England had flung from the fragments of her
overloaded table. It is true enough that a long course of corruption,
beginning with the perjured peer and ending with the tidewaiter, had
created a class of conditional loyalists, with nine-tenths of which the
condition is always unfulfilled; while, in its very fulfilment, the
other one-tenth has found but bitterness, the "sauce piquante" of their
daily bread. But as a general rule, such a thing as a pure Irish
loyalist does not exist. Its possible existence presupposes an absurdity
in nature. An Irishman cannot become loyal to English domination,
without divesting himself of the last attribute of his nature, not as an
Irishman, but as a man.
The knowledge of this fact was my "base of operations." Ten thousand
armed men successful against a garrison of five hundred would produce a
more abundant crop of avenging warriors than the fabled dragon's teeth,
and that simultaneously through every square mile of the island. In ten
days there would be two millions of Irishmen in arms. It may well be
asked, what arms? But even instinct will reply, what arms would be
needed? England had in Ireland less than forty thousand men, and,
without hazarding the question, how many of them could she rely on, it
requires no consummate military genius to suggest how they could be
dealt with by a simultaneous rising of the country. The arms of her
enemies would then be hers. She would have time to form a regular army
to aid her undisciplined strength. England's position at home, where she
had not a soldier to spare; her condition abroad, where she was beaten
to the wall; and her relations with foreign powers would achieve the
rest. To a successful Irish revolution, a _coup-de-main_ is
indispensable; and a _coup-de-main_ would be incompatible with any
organised plan other than existed. It will be seen at once that for this
place details are unfit. The above sketch rather comprehends the bolder
outlines of an insurrection in action, and they suggest nothing to warn
the enemy as to future operations. The prospect they presented to me--a
prospect which long contemplation seemed to have realised into
fact--excluded from my mind the preliminary and intermediate
considerations of time, place, and other circumstances. There was but
one of any importance, the success of the commencement; and that seemed
beyond all question if, as I hoped, the neighbourhood of Carrick-on-Suir
were selected. As I approached that town in the grey of morning, and the
past and the future in burning recollection thronged on my brain, I
envied the destiny which God had awarded to its inhabitants, in breaking
the first link of the slavery of nearly twenty generations. This, alas,
was a dream. The people of Carrick had already, with shrinking hand,
marred their own immortal lot.
Arriving at the house of John O'Mahony, one of the truest of living
Irishmen, I heard what follows. On the previous day Messrs. O'Brien,
Dillon and Meagher had arrived at Carrick. Their arrival was unexpected,
sudden and startling. They had apprised no one of their approach; and no
counsel had been taken or decision come to. It is needless to say that
the crowd which gathered to see them, when the intelligence of their
arrival spread, came unarmed and unprepared. The speeches addressed to
them were brief, determined, and to this effect: "We learned," said the
chiefs, "that an act was passed authorising the Irish Government to
seize our persons without even the imputation of a crime. You have vowed
to strive with us in every extremity, and die with us if need be. We are
here to demand the redemption of your pledge, in the name of your
enslaved country. The hour has come when the truth of that country is to
be tested; and first among her children the trust of her honour is
committed to you." How much more might have been said, and how far short
of the passionate appeal made by the most gifted of men the above
language may fall, this is not the place to inquire. The crowd answered
with a loud shout. With the leaders of that crowd other thoughts were
busy. Some of them waited on the "Traitors"; others, and the most
influential, absented themselves. Among the latter was the Rev. Mr.
Byrne, who, up to that hour, had taken an advanced position among those
who were most forward in the cause of the country. Not a fortnight
before, he delivered a speech to nearly one hundred thousand persons in
the town of Carrick, pre-eminently insurrectionary in its tendency; and
he had acted more than once as controller and regulator of the violent
passions his own vehemence aroused. For this duty, which he effectively
discharged because of his known disloyalty, he received the public
approval of England's Prime Minister. From all these circumstances, the
responsibilities of his position were such as it would require great
hardihood of character to shrink from. It was reported at the time that
he did not rest content with abandoning a post which he had attained
with intense ambition, but exerted his utmost influence with the people
against an enterprise which he designated as rash, ill-designed, and
fraught with ruin to the town. This report has been repeated as a fact
by the present writer, and has not been contradicted by the Rev. Mr.
Byrne. But it is right to add that a very respectable gentleman, a
witness of that day's proceedings, has distinctly contradicted it. He
added that the Rev. Mr. Byrne remained a passive spectator; and he
defended the conduct of those who really influenced the people, on the
ground that the preparations seemed of their very nature to preclude the
possibility of success; and that it was the sacred duty of every man
capable of appreciating the position and resources of the people, the
difficulties of the enterprise and the consequences of failure, not
alone to Carrick but the entire island, at all hazards to prevent a
useless wreck and slaughter. The great argument relied upon by every one
was, why should Carrick be selected? The same question would apply
everywhere else; and if the consideration it involves were to avail,
there never could be a revolution. However, in Carrick it seems to have
prevailed. Other arguments, no doubt, were urged, such as want of
provisions, want of arms and want of ammunition. The moment of
indecision is the harvest of evil passions--avarice, selfishness,
cowardice cloud the intellect, and blast the destiny of man. There is
some doubt as to who principally superinduced this indecision and the
judgment which here ranks it with a faulty weakness and a fearful
fatality refuses to question the motives upon which it was based.
One singular fact, attested by all, deserves particular notice. It is
this: The other Roman Catholic clergymen of Carrick did not then
interfere. They had been always opposed, on other grounds, to the Irish
Confederation; but in that hour of fate they were silent.
Mr. O'Brien and his comrades left the town deeply disappointed, if not
in actual disgust and despair. They were ignorant of my absence from
Cashel and determined to join me there. When I had learned this, I was
thirty miles from that town and knew that they had arrived there during
the night, and had, long before then, taken some decisive course. My
hope was that the town was in their hands. But, before I could decide on
what it became me to do, a messenger arrived from Cashel, directing me
to remain where I was, and conveying an assurance that Cashel was by
that time captured. Mr. Meagher immediately followed, confirming the
intelligence. He was on his way to Waterford. We immediately determined
on scouring the country along the bases of Slievenamon and the
Slatequarry hills, which stretch into the county Kilkenny. During that
journey the enthusiasm of the people was measureless. At every forge,
pikes were manufactured, the carpenter was at work fitting the handles,
and the very women were employed in polishing and sharpening these
weapons on the rough mountain stones. We called at several villages, and
were surrounded by the young men and the aged, by matron and maid, and
from no lips did one sound of complaint, or discouragement, or fear
fall. Everywhere hope and resolution and courage lit up the hearts and
eyes of young and old. We rode, at least a distance of twenty miles, and
returned assured that there was not one man within that district who was
not then prepared and would not be armed ere night came. We appointed
the chapel of Ballyneal, within two miles of Carrick, as the place of
rendezvous, determined to act according to the intelligence which we
might receive from Cashel. Meantime deputations from Carrick waited upon
us, to assure us the people there would follow us notwithstanding any
advice they might have received. We agreed that we would not attack the
town, and required five hundred men for another enterprise. A short time
afterwards some directions were required, and I wrote one or two
sentences on a scrap of paper which was taken from the messenger by the
Rev. Mr. Byrne and torn. What his influencing motives might have been I
know not, nor do I care to inquire. My first impulse was immediately to
appear in the town and throw myself on the protection of the people. My
friend dissuaded me from this attempt and proposed to go into town
himself, which he could do without danger, to ascertain what would be
the probability of my proposal's success. After two or three anxious
hours, he returned, impressed with the conviction that such an attempt
would be fatal.
By this time crowds began to assemble at the place of rendezvous before
alluded to, and word was brought us that the Reverend Mr. Morrissey, the
parish priest of that place, was endeavouring to disperse them. Owing to
his character, there was not much to be apprehended from his influence
with the people. His associations had been with the aristocracy, and
most of his friendships and sympathies contracted at the fox-covert, or
on the "Stand House." This is mentioned, not in disparagement of the
man, but for the purpose of rescuing his Order from imputations
attaching to his conduct alone. The very fact of his interference would
suggest the conclusion that the course he recommended was opposed to the
general sentiments of his brethren; so we felt at this time. But we
mistook his influence with the people. It was reported to us that he
used certain arguments, incredible, because blasphemous. But the
argument which succeeded, and which all alike attested, was this, "that
he would put himself at the head of the people if they but waited three
weeks."
Influenced by this promise, the people had dispersed before my friend
arrived at the place of rendezvous. He returned to me sadly discouraged,
after a day and night of labour and agitation as intense as ever
strained the energies of man. I then determined to ride on to Cashel, to
learn the fate of Mr. O'Brien and his comrades. I was accompanied by two
young farmers, well armed. We arrived about midnight at Brookhill,
where I was made acquainted with all that had occurred at Cashel.
The history was more melancholy than our own. My absence was used as an
argument, sincere or pretended, against any effort in that town. Mr.
O'Brien, in ignorance of whom to apply to, took counsel with one man at
least, since accused of the darkest treachery. Others, from whom I had
different hopes, shrank from an encounter which, at other times, they
seemed to long for as the dearest blessing Heaven could bestow. There no
clergymen interfered--the people were left to act for themselves; but it
must be admitted that the actual people never had an opportunity of
proving their courage. A young friend of mine, who had all my trust, and
justified it by unshaken fidelity through many a trial, was despatched
to the country to procure assistance, but he applied to the wrong
source, and, deluded by the character of him to whom he had spoken,
returned under the mistaken conviction that from the country nothing was
to be expected.
This decided Mr. O'Brien and his friends. He had been joined at Cashel
by P.J. Smyth, and James Cantwell, now in the United States, by James
Stephens, now at Paris, and by Patrick O'Donohoe, now sharing the doom
of his chief. As an episode in this history, the fate of Mr. O'Donohoe
is singular and startling. He was much relied on by his friends in the
Confederation, and was entrusted with the dispatches to Mr. O'Brien. He
proceeded on his mission to Kilkenny, and there applied to one of the
clubs. He was known to none of the members, and became at once the
object of suspicion. It was, accordingly, determined to send him for
the rest of the journey, under arrest, and Stephens and another member
were appointed to that duty. They proceeded in execution of their
mission to Cashel, where Mr. O'Donohoe was warmly welcomed by Mr.
O'Brien, whose fate he thenceforth determined to share. Mr. Stephens
came to the same resolution; but the other guard of Mr. O'Donohoe,
refused to commit himself to fortunes which appeared so desperate. With
Messrs. Stephens and O'Donohoe, their very desperation acted as the most
ennobling and irresistible inducement. They clung to him to the last
with a fidelity the more untiring in proportion as his circumstances
portended imminent disaster and ruin.
Their departure from Cashel compelled a feeling of gloomier forebodings
and deeper despair than they had yet experienced. The darkest
consciousness that ever clouded the hopes of man began to darken upon
them. Where they expected that every man would make a fortress for them
in his very heart, they were almost abandoned. But their resolution
remained unchanged. They, therefore, resolved as a final resource to
take up their position in the most inaccessible part of the country. As
they proceeded through the hilly grounds, skirting the Tipperary
collieries, a crowd began to gather around them, and they saw what they
hoped would form the nucleus of an army. Braver hearts never beat
beneath a cuirass, but they were not armed, disciplined or even taught.
On that day they took the road to the village of Mullinahone, situate
about seventeen miles south-east of Cashel. As they entered Mullinahone,
the chapel bell was rung, and a crowd of some thousands collected.
Mr. O'Brien addressed them with the same brevity and force as at
Carrick-on-Suir, where his hopes were far brighter. The two clergymen,
Rev. Mr. Corcoran and Rev. Mr. Cahill, appeared by his side, and openly
resisted his advice. But, with the people, their influence totally
failed. Three thousand persons at least formed their bivouac that night.
Mr. O'Brien remained up with them most of the night. Notwithstanding the
disappointments of former trials, he once more entertained most sanguine
hopes of his country's resurrection. But, ere morning, the counsels of
the clergymen prevailed so far as to introduce discussion and disunion;
and next day he was abandoned by more than half his followers. Once more
the priests interfered and openly remonstrated against the course Mr.
O'Brien had proposed. They tried every means, entreaty, expostulation,
remonstrance, menace, but without any considerable effect; and Mr.
O'Brien left the town with a large multitude, directing his way to
Ballingarry. The village of Ballingarry is about four miles distant from
Mullinahone; and the inhabitants of the latter accompanied Mr. O'Brien
to the boundaries of the former parish, whose inhabitants in turn
assumed the duty of his escort and, if need be, of his defence. When the
cavalcade reached the village, they took up their position in the
chapel-yard, and summoned the neighbouring people by the ringing of the
chapel bell. A great number of people answered the signal, and Mr.
O'Brien explained to them his purpose and his hopes. He did not then
propose any plan of immediate offensive operations, but stated in
general terms that his object was to protect himself from arrest, while
the country would be engaged in organisation, and the crop coming to
maturity. An idea prevailed among the people that he only wished to be
protected for a time, and they seemed incapable of appreciating either
his object or his motives. I reached the spot as the assembly was
breaking up and the people retiring in small groups to their respective
districts, some four or five hundred who were partially armed, remaining
in the village. I was accompanied by Thos. D. Reilly, who made his way
to me on that morning. We had entered into arrangements with certain men
whom we met in the morning as to a joint movement, for which the
followers of Mr. O'Brien seemed but ill-adapted and prepared. Our first
care was to take counsel as to the future. We detailed mutually to each
other the respective circumstances which had shaped our movements so
far, and with which it was our duty then to contend. But one thing
seemed quite clear; namely, that the country demanded a delay of at
least a month. Although the sincerity of the motive on which this demand
was founded seemed questionable to many, there was no way of
counteracting its effect or denying its universality. The question then
was, how was the demand to be complied with without compromising our
liberty or the position we occupied? It was argued that the necessity of
our condition would justify any act which would reassure the minds of
the people in reference to the apprehension of starvation, which was so
sedulously inculcated, and that a proclamation should forthwith be
published confiscating the landed property of the country, and offering
it as the gage of battle and reward of victory, and another proclamation
directing the people to live at the expense of the enemy. This proposal
was resisted on the ground that it required an aggressive act on the
part of the Government to justify so sweeping a proceeding, which, if
attempted by us in our then position, would be regarded as an act of
mere plunder, unredeemed by any of the stern necessities of war. So
decided the majority. It was then proposed that we should scatter, and
take shelter individually as best we could until harvest time. But Mr.
O'Brien refused to hear counsel which involved, as its first principle,
the idea of becoming fugitives. A middle course was therefore decided
on. It could not fairly be said that the country had been tested, and we
were not, at the time, aware how far people at a distance were prepared
to second our efforts. The strength of the Government, too, seemed
paralysed. For miles on miles around, one solitary soldier or policeman
was not to be found. The small garrisons had been withdrawn, and all the
available forces stationed in the county had been concentrated in the
large towns. The idea of maintaining our position for a few weeks seemed
not at all improbable; and, meantime, we would have an opportunity of
organising the distant parts of the country, and of preparing those then
around us for active service. When men differ, a compromise is sure to
prevail. It did so on that occasion, and it was accordingly resolved,
that we should return to the neighbourhood of Carrick, wait the arrival
of the expected assistance from Waterford, and keep the neighbouring
garrison of Clonmel in awe, by signal-fires by night and scattered
parties by day. We immediately returned and rode most part of the night
on our way back. We slept a few hours at Brookhill and had interviews
next morning with men who, on the previous day, were in high heart and
hopes. We at once saw the effect that delay and indecision had produced
on their minds. Reports, the most contradictory and false, respecting
what Mr. O'Brien proposed and stated, had found their way among them,
and it took hours to reassure them. They again promised us to be ready,
however, and we proceeded across Slievenamon. On our journey we had
interviews with the leaders of clubs and of other bodies, and at each
step we found the difficulties of our position and the weakness of
public confidence fearfully increased. We still hoped that the arrival
of assistance which we expected from Waterford would restore unanimity
and confidence.
When we reached Kilcash, at the southern base of Slievenamon, we learned
that all hope of the expected assistance was at an end. Mr. Meagher had
returned; and having despatched O'Mahony to Mr. O'Brien, to request he
would once more return to the neighbourhood of the mountain, where he
either could be more safely concealed for a time, or a last desperate
effort could be made under better auspices, he waited several hours
after the time appointed for his return, and then departed towards the
direction of Borrisoleigh, in the northern riding of Tipperary,
accompanied by Mr. Maurice Leyne, with whom unhappily he fell in, and to
whose weak counsel, according to the information I received, much of his
subsequent ill fate was owing. The distance to Borrisoleigh could not be
less than forty miles. Mr. Meagher must have been persuaded by
O'Mahony's delay, that Mr. O'Brien had been driven from his position,
and perhaps captured, or he would not have undertaken so long a journey,
the sole motive of which could only be the hope of rousing, with the aid
of the Rev. Mr. Kenyon, that district of the country, so as to rescue
his chief or avenge him. It was then apparent that our position had
become desperate. We instantly proceeded to the house of our friend, who
recounted the particulars of his visit to Ballingarry, and its results.
He agreed in the propriety of going a second time to meet Mr. O'Brien,
and urging upon him the necessity of some decisive course. The startling
events of the two preceding days too clearly proved that his position
was not tenable, and that whatever might be resolved on, it was
indispensable to remove from Ballingarry. It was then night, and we were
all sorely taxed by long riding and want of rest. Not one of us was able
to mount, so we placed hay in a car on which we flung ourselves, and
trusted to the guidance of the boy who led the horse. We travelled about
nine miles in this way, one endeavouring to act as sentinel while the
others were asleep; but we found that unless we trusted to blind chance,
we could not continue our journey. So, half by force and half by
persuasion, we obtained liberty to stretch on a pallet in an empty room.
Mr. O'Brien was then snatching a little broken rest in a field, not four
miles away from us, without our being aware of the fact. In the morning
we learned that he remained there only while a car was procured at
Mullinahone, and then returned to the neighbourhood of the collieries.
He left Ballingarry on the advice contained in Mr. Meagher's message,
and, accompanied by some hundreds of his followers, proceeded towards
Carrick through the town of Mullinahone where for the third time he had
to encounter the open hostility of the Catholic clergymen, who on this
occasion had recourse to threats and even blows. Owing to their
interference, one-fourth of those who followed him so far, did not
accompany him outside the town. He was nearly deserted, when he changed
his resolution of falling back on his former position. When the car
arrived he proceeded directly to the town of Killenaule, which might be
said to be the head-quarters of the colliery. There he and his
companions entered the hotel, where they remained till morning. Early
that day the chapel bell was rung, and a great multitude flocked into
the town. They were, as usual in that quarter, miserably armed. But they
were enthusiastic, and the Catholic priests did not interfere. While the
bell was tolling, intelligence was received that a troop of dragoons was
approaching. The people immediately erected a barricade at the farthest
extremity of the principal street. It was constructed of empty carts and
baulks of timber. The moment the troop entered the street, a similar
barricade was constructed in the rear. The hotel was situated between
the two barricades. The officer in command made no demonstration of
active resistance; and as he approached the last barricade he was
surrounded by a great multitude. A few of the people were armed with
rifles and muskets, others with pitchforks, scythes and slanes, and
others had no weapons but stones. John Dillon stood at the barricade.
The officer asked why his passage was interrupted, and stated he was
only on an ordinary march. Mr. Dillon demanded whether his object was
to arrest Smith O'Brien? He said emphatically, No. Mr. Dillon then asked
if he would pledge his honour as a soldier, that he had no intention of
arresting Mr. O'Brien, adding, that if he did so, the troop would be
allowed to pass unmolested. He unhesitatingly pledged his honour, and
immediately the barricade was partially removed. Mr. Dillon took his
horse by the bridle and led him out of the town.
We were approaching Killenaule by another route when Mr. O'Brien and his
party left it by the high road to the collieries. We followed, and after
a race of some ten miles overtook them near Lisnabrock. Thence we
proceeded in cars to Boulagh, and thence to the Commons. This was on
Friday evening, the 28th day of July. We retired to an upper room in a
publichouse. There were then present Mr. O'Brien, Mr. Dillon, Mr.
Stephens, Mr. Cantwell, Mr. Meagher, Mr. O'Donohoe, Mr. Maurice Leyne,
Mr. Reilly, Mr O'Mahony and myself, with others whose names I cannot
mention, fourteen, as well as I remember, in all.[10] The same questions
that were discussed on the former day were again revived, and we, who
felt the necessity of the bold course we recommended then, were much
more convinced of it under the altered circumstances of our position.
The debate was long and warm, but Mr. O'Brien's objections were even
more immovable than ever. It will not be expected that all the proposals
of that evening should be reproduced here. Suffice it, therefore, to
add that as far as the principles by which Mr. O'Brien's conduct was
guided, he adhered to them the more steadfastly in proportion as ruin
became more inevitable. Many calumnies have been circulated respecting
that meeting. It has been said that the discussion was acrimonious and
the separation final. The truth is, there was not one word, even, of an
angry tone, and we separated just as on the former occasion, determined
to cope as best we could with a doom we were unable to avert. Often
afterwards it was a source of melancholy pleasure to some of his
comrades that he had not been induced to incur what he regarded as
guilt. The lofty consciousness of unerring rectitude which sustained his
fortitude could not fail to be chequered by the recollection of acts
which in his own estimation were not purely blameless. Had success
attended the suggested proposals, they would receive the world's
unqualified approval; while failure, explained through the medium of a
malicious law, and a warped and cowardly public opinion, would brand
them as iniquitous. But Mr. O'Brien's scrupulous sense of honour escaped
the hazards of such feeble probabilities; and in the hour of deepest
gloom his own unsullied conscience shed peace, light and glory on his
fate.
[Illustration: A Street in Ballingarry, 1848]
Some of his companions exulted in the morning scene at Killenaule. To
_seem_ able to capture a troop of her majesty's dragoons, they regarded
as a victory. But others, more thoughtful and correct, mourned over the
escape of the military, which was only to be justified on the ground
that the incongruous force around the feeble barricades, would be
unequal to the task. It is a singular thing that while Captain Longmore
utterly despaired of forcing his way, Mr. Dillon was fully conscious of
his inability to resist him. The latter assumed a superiority he was
unable to sustain, the former abjured a design which it was criminal
according to the civil, and cowardly according to the military code, not
to attempt the execution of Mr. Dillon, who led his horse, was a
proclaimed "traitor." So was Mr. O'Brien, whose presence was avowed; by
virtue of his allegiance, and still more, by virtue of his commission he
was bound to arrest them. To neglect it was cowardice, cognisable by a
court-martial and punishable by death. There could be but one
justification--utter inability to effect the service. The evidence,
then, that could alone satisfy a court-martial must directly contradict
that which Captain Longmore offered at the trial in Clonmel. But while
Mr. O'Brien viewed the conduct of Captain Longmore as cowardly
submission, it would be unjust to conclude that it imparted a single
shade of inflexibility to his principles or purpose. On the contrary,
they assumed their attributes of most rigid sternness as his fortunes
became clouded by a deeper gloom. He was averse to everything which bore
the stamp of desperation, or could possibly imply a shrinking from fate.
Of those who took part in the deliberations of that evening, Messrs.
Dillon, Stephens, MacManus and O'Donohoe resolved to continue with Mr.
O'Brien. There seemed a possibility, though a desperate one, that they
could baffle the enemy for the time the country required, and maintain
their position of open defiance, whilst we, in different parts of the
country, should keep up an appearance of force, so as to distract
attention and check any attempt to despatch a force from the garrison of
Clonmel. Meantime we were to endeavour to organise a force, and, if
strong enough, act on our own responsibilities and according to our own
principles. We left him about nine o'clock in the evening, after the
best dispositions available out of the number with us were made to
prevent surprise during the night. Soon after our departure he strongly
advised Mr. Dillon to leave for another part of the country. I proposed
to take up my post on Slievenamon, where I would be in the best position
to fulfil Mr. O'Brien's wishes; where, at all events, I could escape
arrest, in spite of any efforts to capture me, and where I expected, in
a few days, to rally a considerable force. Mr. Meagher said he would
take his stand on the Comeragh mountains, in the county of Waterford,
with similar views and purposes. Mr. Meagher and Mr. Leyne, with three
or four others, travelled together on a car. We dismissed ours, and
crossed the country. Next day we arrived once more at Brookhill, which
is within about one mile of Fethard, where we were able to procure a car
that brought Mr. Reilly as far as Kilkenny. The first care of us who
remained was to fulfil the commission assigned us. A young friend, of
whom mention has been already made, joined me that evening. He had been
two days in search of me, and was greatly exhausted by anxiety and
fatigue. Rumours of various kinds were rife. But, what was most
disheartening was that the courage of the people was fast subsiding. Men
who were most eager for deeds of any daring two days previously, began
to exhibit symptoms of hesitation, doubt, and even indifference. But a
far sadder disaster had elsewhere befallen. Mr. O'Brien, after a night
of anxious care, was still full of hope. He was even then engaged in
drawing up a manifesto, embracing, as far as possible in such a
document, the motives and causes which suggested and justified an armed
revolt, and the principles upon which it was to be conducted. Whether
the draft was destroyed or fell into the hands of the Government, is not
now clear, save in as far as the non-production of the paper at his
trial, is evidence that it never reached his persecutors. The leading
principle of his entire conduct was, that the property, the liberty, the
destiny of the island belonged to the entire people, and that the
institutions which guaranteed them should be the calm embodiment of the
nation's deliberate judgment, ascertained through the medium of a free
assembly, deriving its authority from universal suffrage. This was one
potent reason why he refused to assume, either as military leader, or as
the chief of a provisional government, the responsibility of an act
which could be regarded as the basis of the future government of
Ireland. He was scrupulously anxious that the great principles upon
which the future liberty of Ireland was to be based, should emanate from
the free will of the people, uncontrolled by dictatorial power or
personal prestige.
But Mr. O'Brien was not destined to accomplish the object of his
solicitude. About twelve o'clock on the morning of Saturday, the 29th
day of July, he was apprised of the approach of a body of police, under
command of Captain Trant. Simultaneously with the appearance of the
police, an indiscriminate crowd, composed for the most part of women
and boys with a few armed men, ranged themselves around him. They
occupied an eminence in front of the road by which the police
approached. Another road crossed this at right angles, and Captain
Trant, instead of leading his men directly against Mr. O'Brien's
position, denied along the cross-road to the right hand--that which led
to the Widow M'Cormick's. The motive of this manoeuvre was obvious.
Either from personal cowardice, or from cool judgment, he determined to
await further reinforcements, and, meantime, to secure some place of
shelter and defence. The crowd, with Mr. O'Brien, immediately rushed
from their position and hung fiercely on the policemen's rear. Captain
Trant ordered a retreat, or those under his command adopted that
precaution without his authority. The armed leaders among the people,
Messrs. MacManus, Stephens and Cavanagh, hesitated to fire on troops
flying for their lives. But they urged the pursuit so rapidly, that, by
the time the police took shelter in Mrs. M'Cormick's house, they were
hot upon their track. The crowd surrounded the house, and Mr. O'Brien,
approaching one of the front windows, called on Captain Trant to
surrender. The latter demanded half an hour to consider, which Mr.
O'Brien unhappily granted. Pending the half hour, the crowd became
furious and began to fling stones in through the windows. Some of the
men inside were knocked down by the stones, and the officer hurt. Seeing
that their own leaders could no longer control the people, and believing
the destruction of himself and his party to be inevitable, Captain Trant
gave orders to his men to fire, which presented his only chance of
escape. Mr. O'Brien immediately rushed between the people and the
window, on one of which he jumped up, and once more demanded the officer
to surrender. But the order to fire had been given and executed with
deadly effect. Two men fell dead, and several were badly wounded. The
crowd fell back; but Mr. O'Brien remained still in front of the house.
There were several windows in front and two small ones only in the rear;
parallel with the rear was a barn, in which there were two still smaller
windows. Messrs. Stephens and MacManus took possession of this house,
and, placing three or four sure marksmen inside for the purpose of
taking down any of the police who should appear at the back windows,
they proposed to burn the house in which the police took shelter. They
carried bundles of hay and placed them against the back door and roof.
The police seized on Mrs. M'Cormick's children, and held them up to the
windows, to terrify or appease the people. At this juncture the Catholic
clergymen appeared on the scene. Either, being appalled by the scene of
death before them, or being personally cowardly, or feeling that to
continue the conflict would be productive of useless slaughter, they
exerted themselves to the utmost to disperse the crowd. Whatever may
have been their motives, it is certain that, although Mr. O'Brien was in
the neighbourhood since the previous Wednesday, they had not in any way
interfered, and only came upon the scene to attend to the dying and the
dead. Mr. O'Brien and his comrades, finding themselves beset by this
unexpected difficulty, retired a short distance, to consider what was
best to be done. The people were again quickly forming around them, and
all were hurriedly preparing to storm the house, when a fresh body of
police was seen approaching from the opposite direction. This force
consisted of sixty men; the first only amounted to forty-five. Constable
Carroll rode on considerably in advance of his party. He found himself
suddenly surrounded, and was forced to surrender and dismount. He and
two others of the advance-guard were removed. But the main body
continued to approach rapidly; and Mr. O'Brien was not in a position and
had not strength to intercept their junction with the other body. His
friends pressed Mr. O'Brien to retreat, which he refused. Admitting,
fully, his inability to cope with these forces, he declined to avail
himself of the means of escape at his disposal. His comrades impressed
on him that his life belonged to the country; that another effort was
yet within the range of possibility, and that it was incumbent on him to
save himself for the final issue. By long and passionate entreaty, they
induced him to mount the police-officer's horse and retire. When he had
left, Messrs. Stephens and MacManus led off the remainder of their
party, without being pursued or molested.
After a short consultation, they determined to separate. Mr. Stephens
proposed to go on to Urlingford, where a large force was collecting, and
MacManus accepted the duty of bearing to us the intelligence of the
disaster, and taking chance with us for the future. He came up with Mr.
Meagher, Mr. O'Donohoe, and Mr. Leyne, who were then on their way to the
Comeragh mountains, but changed their purpose on hearing this sad
intelligence. They remained that night at the house of a man named
Hanrahan, near Nine-mile House, a small village on the high road from
Kilkenny to Cork.
I was all this time ignorant of what occurred. After Mr. Reilly had left
me, and I was joined by the young friend already mentioned, I summoned
as many of the farmers of the neighbourhood as I could collect, and it
was agreed that ten of them, who would represent each one hundred men,
should meet me next day, after divine service, at the wood of
Keilavalla, situate near the western base of Slievenamon. We were to be
joined by two others from the neighbourhood of Carrick-on Suir, from
which we were distant about ten miles. On that morning the news of Mr.
O'Brien's disaster spread far, and was, of course, exaggerated. I had
slept the previous night not far from the mountain, where I was watched
by two brothers named Walsh, who lived at Brookhill, but have since
removed to the United States. I gladly avail myself of this occasion to
attest their fidelity and bravery. At the time appointed, my friend and
I proceeded to the place of rendezvous. We remained for hours, and
remained in vain. At last one only of the ten arrived. He told us that
at the chapel the Rev. Patrick Laffan read the names of the proscribed
traitors for whose persons a reward was offered....
We continued on the mountain during the remainder of the day; and toward
evening about fifty men came up to us, who, one and all, expressed the
utmost indignation at what had happened. Once more our hopes revived. If
Mr. O'Brien could avoid arrest for a few weeks only, we expected that a
sense of shame would sting the country to desperate exertion.
After night-fall we descended, and slept at a farmer's house at the
southern base of the mountain, where we were most kindly entertained and
sedulously guarded. We there heard of the Ballingarry disaster. Next
morning we once more ascended Slievenamon, where we endeavoured to
dissipate the heavy hours and the still heavier consciousness at our own
hearts by firing at a mark. The day suddenly darkened, and we had to
seek shelter under rocks from a pitiless mountain shower. We had
dispatched a messenger to O'Mahony to demand an interview that evening;
and, after he had returned, we were invited to partake of some new
potatoes (then beginning to exhibit the blight), milk, eggs and butter.
I remember lying down in a bed, and getting so feverish that I believed
my doom was sealed. My noble young friend sat at my bedside, with a
rifle and two pistols, prepared to defend my rest with his life. The
illness was, however, but trifling and temporary, and the necessity of
acting enabled me at once to shake it off. After nightfall, we proceeded
to the appointed interview. We travelled in a common car, accompanied by
four others, all armed. Our haunt was a poor cabin on the roadside, near
a place called Moloch, in the neighbourhood of Carrick. There I bid my
faithful young friend good night, but was doomed not to see him
afterwards. Mr. O'Mahony and myself slept on some straw, but we had
scarcely closed our eyes when we learned that the cabin was surrounded
by the military and police. We were apprised of our perilous position
just in time to escape: this we effected, after a struggle, aided by
extreme darkness. We spent the remainder of the night in a field, where
I slept very soundly. At break of day we retired to a farmer's house
near the Suir, where, after partaking of some refreshments, we went to
bed, and slept, one or two hours. The breakfast scene of that morning is
not easily forgotten. Perhaps there is no place in the world where a
more substantial breakfast can be produced than at a comfortable Irish
farmer's. On this occasion the silent, watchful, anxious grace of our
young hostess, in her attentions, enhanced the flavour of the repast. It
is only by those who have partaken of such hospitality that the
speechless tenderness of the females among that class of farmers can be
appreciated. But on the occasion to which I refer, there was added to
the customary delicacy a deep anxiety for our fate. Save hushed words of
pressing and eloquent looks of sympathy, the meal passed off without
conversation; and we rose from the table to depart, as if conscious we
had exchanged our last earthly greeting. It was not so, however, and our
hostess shared much of our after fortune, and now shares our exile. Her
fate, too, is harder than ours. We are occasionally cheered by public
approval, by the sympathy and admiration of every lover of liberty,
whereas her name is never spoken. She has fallen from a position of
comparative affluence, lost her independence (I use the word in its
practical worldly sense), and is doomed to toil for her daily bread. Of
all the vicissitudes of fortune in which the attempt of which I write
resulted, there is not one that has given me more pain than that of
Margaret Quinlan, the lady (who has higher claims to that title?) to
whom I have alluded.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 10: The other four were Terence Bellew MacManus, John
Cavanagh, J.D. Wright (a T.C.D. student, afterwards a lawyer in
America), and D.P. Cunningham, afterwards a journalist in New
York.--Ed.]