ARREST OF MR. O'BRIEN, OF MESSRS. MEAGHER AND O'DONOHOE.--ARREST OF
TERENCE BELLEW MACMANUS.--CLONMEL SPECIAL COMMISSION.--TRIAL,
CONVICTION, SPEECHES AND SENTENCE OF THE REBELS.--WRIT OF
ERROR.--COMMUTATION OF SENTENCE.--TRANSPORTATION OF THE HEROES.
Before proceeding further with the details of my own wanderings, I wish
to follow out to its conclusion the fate of those whom we parted with at
Ballingarry, and were destined to see no more, though, in doing so, I
must anticipate the order of time, in which the events took place. My
task here is more difficult and painful than any detail of facts,
however gloomy. There are always in the reverses of the brave, some
glimpses of glory to reconcile us to the dark disasters on our way; but
when calumny pursues their path, gnawing, with ceaseless tooth, the
priceless jewel of their character, the historian must shudder to find
his labour beset by the filth and rubbish the viper has left behind. In
this instance, that lesson of Mr. O'Connell's which was the most fatal
in its influence, found many believers. It was said, and said
unscrupulously, that Mr. O'Brien and his followers were actual agents of
the British Government, suborned to precipitate the country into
revolution, for which they were to receive large possessions and
lucrative employment beyond the sea. It was the constant habit of Mr.
O'Connell, when any one proposed a course bolder than his own, to
suggest that he was doing the business of the enemy. He may have
adopted this course in his self-assumed character of Dictator, as the
surest and speediest means of clearing all obstructions out of his way.
Whatever his motive, it was an unworthy resource; for it supplied the
meanest minds with an example and a pretext for the gratification of
their own vile propensities. Their voice was heard, amid the silence of
mourning and death, when in an hour of universal dismay, John Mitchel
was borne from his loved fatherland; and still more audibly when the
dungeon closed on Smith O'Brien and his illustrious comrades. In the
latter instance, slander availed itself of an incident connected with
their arrest to justify its infamous conclusions. "If," it croaked,
"they were in earnest, why suffer themselves to be arrested so
easily?--Why come to the railway terminus?--Why parade on the high road
in front of a police barrack? In effect, why surrender?" But in Ireland
this was little heeded; nor should I deem it worthy of the least notice,
if it were not revived in the new world, under circumstances calculated
to give it credence and durability. At one time it is insinuated that
they "surrendered," such as "it was said they gave themselves up," and
immediately afterwards, in reference to the period or the fact, is to be
found "at the time of Mr. O'Brien's surrender." And again, in the same
breath, it is positively stated as a mere matter of course.
The propagator of this malignity knows it to be false. He knows also
that it serves the purpose of those who would charge the country's
truest and bravest with vilest treachery.
I shall pursue the theme no further. The truth is, Mr. O'Brien remained
among a people who were sorely stricken by terror. Their friends were
dead or scattered; and rumour, with a thousand tongues, multiplied the
most awful horrors which were said to be approaching them. Although they
received and sheltered Mr. O'Brien, he evidently saw that their
generosity cost them dearly, and that they were in the utmost alarm. His
own privations he could endure; but not the fear and suffering his
presence caused to others. This, and this only, determined him in the
first instance. He might also have hoped that if he could reach the
neighbourhood of his own home, he would be defended with desperate
fidelity. He was aware that Mr. Richard O'Gorman was in that district,
and he had been informed that he was followed by thousands. That he did
not seek to reach the county Limerick by some other means of
conveyance--by a car, on foot, or on horseback--may be a mistake of
judgment; but none would be free from peril: and had he escaped
detection at Thurles, there would not be the least danger, until he
reached Cahermoyle, as the rest of the journey would be entirely by
night. His sagacity may be questioned, perhaps, but it is extreme
villainy to question his purpose. He took that course only and solely
because he thought it the safest; and he had no more intention of
surrendering than I had when I crossed by the packet to Boulogne.
Mr. Meagher and Mr. O'Donohoe were arrested under circumstances over
which they had still less control. They were utterly unacquainted with
the country, and did not know, if they left the high road, but the first
house they might approach would be a police barrack. They had made every
attempt desperation could suggest to rouse the people, but in vain.
They were opposed by some, shunned by some, and from some they received
false counsel. They had exhausted the welcome of all who were inclined
to receive them, and they knew not one step of their way. Previously,
too, Mr. Meagher had peremptorily refused to avail himself of a mode of
escape provided for him and he equally peremptorily refused to listen to
any terms from Government, which did not include all his comrades. His
object, on the night he was arrested, was to make another trial at
Cashel, which he designed to approach by a circuitous route.
The 6th day of August was the date of Mr. O'Brien's arrest; the 13th of
August that of Messrs. Meagher and O'Donohoe, and the 7th of September
that of Mr. MacManus. Mr. O'Brien was taken at the Thurles railway
station; Messrs. Meagher and O'Donohoe, near Rathgannon, on the road
between Clonoulty and Holycross, about five miles from Thurles, and Mr.
MacManus on board the ship _N.D. Chase_, in the bay of Cove, on the 7th
of September. They were each conveyed to Kilmainham Jail, in the first
instance, where they remained until within a few days of the opening of
the special commission at Clonmel. This took place on Thursday, the 21st
of Sept., when the bills were found, but six days were allowed to Mr.
O'Brien and the rest of the prisoners to peruse the indictment, with
copies of which they were respectively furnished. On Thursday, the 28th,
the trial of Mr. O'Brien commenced; that of Mr. MacManus on the 9th of
October; that of Mr. O'Donohoe on the 13th, and that of Mr. Meagher on
the 16th.
Juries were empanelled in each case, from whose prejudice and bad faith
verdicts for high treason were expected, even though the evidence only
sustained a charge of common assault. Roman Catholics were, in the first
instance, scrupulously excluded; but after the first two verdicts one or
two were admitted, upon whose weakness of character, or genteel
aspirations, the Government might safely rely. It is but justice to say
that, according to the law expounded by the Bench, and the evidence
given on the table, any other verdict was not to be expected. But a jury
differently composed, a jury of Englishmen, with their country, their
liberties and their lives perilled to the last extremity by
misgovernment and maladministration of law, would have spurned the law
and the evidence, and relied on the great fundamental rights of humanity
so flagrantly outraged by the Government that then appeared as
prosecutors.
The scene presented by Clonmel excited much public surprise. Newspaper
correspondents magnified the sullen gloom that prevailed into popular
apathy or national cowardice, as suited the bent or purpose of their
employers. The truth was, the people exhibited during the trial a decent
and respectful forbearance. Empty parade or vociferous sorrow would only
mock the lofty purpose of the sufferers; and besides, the mortification
which rankled in the public heart was too deep for utterance. The hopes
of the people had been dashed, and they were stunned and stupefied by
their fall. But so far from being apathetic, nightly assemblages were
held to consider if, even in that extremity, something was not yet
possible to be done.
But, if there were a show of popular indifference on the streets, the
courthouse presented a very different spectacle. There everything
manifested an intense bitterness of purpose; the court, composed of the
two most unscrupulous partisans, Chief Justices Blackbourne and Doherty,
and the weakest or falsest political convert, Mr. Justice Moore,
simulated the uncontrollable emotions which an overweening loyalty awoke
in the bosom of the Catholic Attorney-General. So far were their
lordships swayed by the spirit of imitativeness, that the most polished
speakers, mistaking the incoherent jargon of the official for the broken
utterance of overwrought zeal and shocked loyalty, mimicked his
distempered language as the only befitting medium of expression for
disturbed feelings such as theirs. The simplest and most usual
facilities accorded to murderers and pickpockets on their trial were
rudely denied the counsel for the defence. The principles of law,
recognised in England as sacred, were scouted from the bench, and the
farce of trial proceeded through its different stages to the final
_denouement_ with perfect regularity, every one performing the part
assigned him with unerring accuracy.
Of the intrepid ability which struggled against this fearful combination
of bigotry, prejudice and passion, at the bar, on the bench and in the
box, I do not purpose to speak here. But I would be unfaithful to my
trust, and unjust to the rarest heroism, if I did not record the
fortitude and fidelity of O'Donnell, from whom the menaces of the crown,
or the frown of the bench, could not wring one word of evidence. In an
ordinary man, this would be singular intrepidity; but circumstanced
as O'Donnell was, it amounted to a Roman virtue. One brother of his, a
doctor, was in jail at Liverpool, charged with political felony; another
was hunted through the country, and another was in irons, involved in
the same charge as the illustrious accused; for them all he could
command his own terms, for much depended on his testimony; but though
doom were upon them, and a word of his could avert it, he refused to
speak. Honour be his. His integrity almost cancelled the shame and
darkness of those disastrous times.
[Illustration: The Widow McCormack's House, near Ballingarry]
I can add nothing to the testimony that established the fortitude,
manliness and dignity of the prisoners, as beyond precedent or example.
That their bearing, one and all, was truly noble, friends and foes took
pride in attesting.[11] It was a solemn and a glorious sight; and men,
through all time, will turn to that Clonmel dock to learn the
inestimable and imperishable value of sincere and lofty convictions and
a truly heroic soul.
Of the speeches that follow, it will be observed that Mr. O'Brien's was
delivered before the fate of his comrades was known. No man had ever
greater need of vindicating others if not himself. No man ever possessed
in a higher degree the capacity and strength to do so. He was satisfied
it was the last opportunity he would ever have on earth for
explanation. Yet, lest any sentiment of his might injuriously affect
those that were then, or might thereafter be on their trial, he forebore
to assert the principles of which he was there the martyr, and of which
he was more than ever proud. It was to the same unselfish sentiment he
yielded, when consenting to say, "Not guilty," to a charge he would have
felt the greatest glory in avowing.
I despair of conveying to my readers an adequate idea of the gloom and
horror of the scene in which those immortal words were spoken. Death,
near and terrible, was in the future. The recollection of ten days'
infamy peopled the present with ghastly images of evil. Vindictiveness
inexorable glared from the bench. The dust around the feet of the
speakers was laden with guilt. It would not rise to the briskest breeze,
beneath the clearest sky, in light summer air, so heavy had the tread of
murder been upon it. And oh, to think when they closed their eyes upon
this world, what deeper death they left their country ... Will no day of
vengeance come, O God! . . .
One of those benefits of the British constitution, which excites the
mortal envy of benighted "surrounding nations," is this, that the law
lies to the face of death, in the usual question addressed to the
condemned: "Whether he had anything to say why sentence of death and
execution should not be passed upon him?" when the most conclusive
reasons that ever innocence had to offer would be worse than vain. On
the morning of the 9th of October, 1848, this barbarous mockery was
addressed to William Smith O'Brien, and he answered thus:--
MR. O'BRIEN.--"My lords, it is not my intention to enter into
any vindication of my conduct, however much I might have desired
to avail myself of this opportunity of so doing. I am perfectly
satisfied with the consciousness that I have performed my duty
to my country--that I have done only that which, in my opinion,
it was the duty of every Irishman to have done, and I am now
prepared to abide the consequences of having performed my duty
to my native land. Proceed with your sentence." (Cheers in the
gallery.)
On the morning of the 23rd of the same month, the same formula was
repeated to Terence Bellew MacManus, Patrick O'Donohoe, and Thomas
Francis Meagher, who replied respectively as follows:--
MR. M'MANUS.--"My lords, I trust I am enough of a Christian and
enough of a man to understand the awful responsibility of the
question that has been put to me. My lords, standing on this my
native soil--standing in an Irish court of justice, and before
the Irish nation--I have much to say why the sentence of death,
or the sentence of the law, should not be passed upon me. But,
my lords, on entering this court, I placed my life, and what is
of much more importance to me--my honour--in the hands of two
advocates; and, my lords, if I had ten thousand lives, and ten
thousand honours, I would be content to place them under the
watchful and the glorious genius of the one and the high legal
ability of the other. My lords, I am content. In that regard I
have nothing to say. But I have a word to say, which no
advocate, however anxious, can utter for me. I have this to say,
my lords, that whatever part I may have taken through any
struggle for my country's independence--whatever part I may have
acted in that short career--I stand before your lordships now
with a free heart, and with a light conscience, ready to abide
the issue of your sentences. And now, my lords, perhaps this is
the fittest time that I might put one sentiment on record, and
it is this: Standing as I do between this dock and the scaffold;
it may be now, or to-morrow, or it may be never; but whatever
the result may be, I have this sentiment to put on record. That
in any part I have taken, I have not been actuated by animosity
to Englishmen. For I have spent some of the happiest and most
prosperous days of my life in England; and in no part of my
career have I been actuated by enmity to Englishmen, however
much I may have felt the injustice of English rule on this
island. My lords, I have nothing more to say. It is not for
having loved England less, but for having loved Ireland more,
that I stand now before you."
Mr. O'Donohoe confined himself to a few words concerning his trial.
MR. MEAGHER.--"My lords, it is my intention to say a few words
only. I desire that the last act of a proceeding which has
occupied so much of the public time should be of short duration.
Nor have I the indelicate wish to close the dreary ceremony of a
State prosecution with a vain display of words. Did I fear that
hereafter when I shall be no more the country I have tried to
serve would think ill of me, I might, indeed, avail myself of
this solemn moment to vindicate my sentiments and my conduct.
But I have no such fear. The country will judge of those
sentiments and that conduct in a light far different from that
in which the jury by which I have been convicted have viewed
them; and by the country, the sentence which you, my lords, are
about to pronounce, will be remembered only as the severe and
solemn attestation of my rectitude and truth. Whatever be the
language in which that sentence be spoken, I know that my fate
will meet with sympathy, and that my memory will be honoured. In
speaking thus, accuse me not, my lords, of an indecorous
presumption. To the efforts I have made in a just and noble
cause, I ascribe no vain importance--nor do I claim for those
efforts any high reward. But it so happens, and it will ever
happen so, that they who have tried to serve their country, no
matter how weak the effort may have been, are sure to receive
the thanks and the blessings of its people. With my country,
then, I leave my memory--my sentiments--my acts--proudly feeling
that they require no vindication from me this day. A jury of my
countrymen, it is true, have found me guilty of the crime of
which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not the slightest
feeling of resentment toward them. Influenced as they must have
been by the charge of the Lord Chief Justice, they could have
found no other verdict. What of that charge? Any strong
observations on it, I feel sincerely, would ill befit the
solemnity of this scene; but I would earnestly beseech of you,
my lord--you, who preside on that bench--when the passions and
the prejudices of this hour have passed away to appeal to your
conscience, and ask of it was your charge as it ought to have
been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and the
Crown. My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me,
and perhaps it may seal my fate. But I am here to speak the
truth, whatever it may cost. I am here to regret nothing I have
ever done--to retract nothing I have ever said. I am here to
crave with no lying-lip the life I consecrate to the liberty of
my country. Far from it: even here--here, where the thief, the
libertine, the murderer, have left their footprints in the dust;
here, on this spot, where the shadows of death surround me, and
from which I see my early grave in an unanointed soil opened to
receive me--even here, encircled by these terrors, the hope
which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I have
been wrecked, still consoles, animates, enraptures me. No I do
not despair of my poor old country, her peace her liberty, her
glory. For that country I can do no more than bid her hope. To
lift up this island--to make her a benefactor to humanity,
instead of being the meanest beggar in the world--to restore to
her her native Powers and her ancient constitution--this has
been my ambition, and this ambition has been my crime. Judged by
the law of England, I know this crime entails the Penalty of
death; but the history of Ireland explains this crime, and
justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal--you
(addressing Mr. MacManus) are no criminal--you (addressing Mr
O'Donohoe) are no criminal--I deserve no punishment--we deserve
no punishment. Judged by that history the treason of which I
stand convicted loses all its guilt, is sanctified as a duty,
will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my lord
I await the sentence of the court. Having done what I felt to be
my duty--having spoken what I felt to be the truth, as I have
done on every other occasion of my short career, I now bid
farewell to the country of my birth, my passion and my
death--the country whose misfortunes have invoked my
sympathies--whose factions I have sought to still--whose
intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim--whose freedom has been
my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the love
I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought, and spoke,
and struggled for her freedom--the life of a young heart, and
with that life, all the hopes, the honours, the endearments, of
a happy and an honourable home. Pronounce then, my lords, the
sentence which the law directs, and I will be prepared to hear
it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope to
be able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, to appear
before a higher Tribunal--a tribunal where a Judge of infinite
goodness, as well as of justice will preside, and where, my
lords, many--many of the judgments of this world will be
reversed."
The sentence of the court was then pronounced, as it had been previously
on Mr. O'Brien. It was in the following words:--
"That sentence is, that you Terence Bellew MacManus, you Patrick
O'Donohoe, and you Thomas Francis Meagher, be taken hence to the
place from whence you came, and be thence drawn on a hurdle to
the place of execution; that each of you be there hanged by the
neck until you are dead, and that afterward the head of each of
you shall be severed from the body, and the body of each divided
into four quarters, to be disposed of as her Majesty may think
fit. And may Almighty God have mercy upon your souls."
A writ of error was sued out principally on the ground that the
principles of constitutional law were violated. The House of Lords
finally quashed the error and confirmed the judgment. Meantime, the
country, or a great portion of the people, took the last step in the
direction of debasement by praying the Queen and the Lord Lieutenant for
a free pardon. The petitions were spurned; but her Majesty, yielding to
the powerful sentiment of abhorrence against the punishment of death for
political offences, commuted the sentence into transportation for life.
This final sentence was carried into effect on the 9th day of July,
1849, when the ship of war _Swift_ spread her sails and hoisted her
felon flag, bearing out to sea, and having on board the four illustrious
exiles.
Martin and O'Doherty had been conveyed to Cork on board the _Triton_,
on the 16th of June, whence they were sent to herd with common
malefactors on board the _Mount Stewart Elphinstone_--at the time
infested with the plague. This vessel remained off Spike Island while
the cholera was doing its ravages among her passengers, and finally put
to sea, with the patriots and pestilence, a few days before the
departure of the _Swift_.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: The following is from the _Freeman's Journal_:--An eminent
Queen's counsel, who was present during the awful ordeal, was heard to
give utterance to a sentiment so truthfully graphic that we record it in
full:--"Well," said he, his eyes full and his countenance flushed with
emotion, "never was there such a scene--never such true heroism
displayed before. Emmet and Fitzgerald, and all combined did not come up
to that--so dignified, so calm, so heroic. HE _is_ a hero."]