This letter was written at twelve o’clock on the day of Mr. Emmet’s
execution, and the firmness and regularity of the original hand-writing
contains a striking and affecting proof of the little influence which
the approaching event exerted over his frame. The same enthusiasm which
allured him to his destiny, enabled him to support its utmost rigour. He
met his fate with unostentatious fortitude; and although few will be
found bold enough to justify his projects since they were unsuccessful,
yet his youth, his talents, the great respectability of his connections,
and the evident delusion of which he was the victim, have excited more
general sympathy for his unfortunate end, and more forbearance towards
his memory, than is usually extended to the errors or sufferings of
political offenders.
What brought forth this wonderful effort of a young gentleman, unaided
and unsupported by any rational system of organization, uncountenanced
but by the humblest men in society, relying on his own great energies,
and the thousand circumstances which chance might throw up on the
surface of the political ocean? What animated the mind and spirit of
Emmet, night after night, and day after day? What? His enemies will say
it was ambition, a hope of personal aggrandizement, and a speculation of
personal exaltation, a sanguinary purpose to raise himself on the ruins
of all that was respected and cherished in society. To such enemies we
will reply that, if ever an enthusiast was animated with a pure and
unadulterated sentiment of the most disinterested anxiety for the
freedom of his native country—if ever there was a human being who was
ready to lay down his life for the comfort and happiness of his
fellow-creatures—if ever there was a heart that sincerely sympathised
with the sufferings of mankind, or that would cheerfully devote itself
at the altar, if such a sacrifice could procure the liberty of
Ireland—Robert Emmet was that man.
With an intellect of the highest order, eloquence powerful, commanding,
and inexhaustible; an integrity which no force could bend; a spirit
which no danger or suffering could intimidate; born of parents who were
the pride and boast of their country; the brother of those men who in
the birth-day of Ireland’s freedom, illuminated the political firmament,
and gave their country a hope that her freedom would be immortal; the
witness of her fall, and the spectator of her degradation, he gave
himself up to the dreams of his own imagination, and thought he saw the
liberties of his country achieved before he had formed his plan to
secure them. With all the customary characteristics of an enthusiast, he
seemed to disdain those humble calculations by which all human objects
are to be obtained. But Emmet achieved what no other man but himself
would have dared to attempt. With his single mind, and single arm, he
organized thousands of his countrymen, and besieged the government of
the country in their strongest position.
Mr. Emmet was executed on the day following that of his sentence, in
Thomas-street, at the head of Bridgefoot Street, opposite Catherine’s
church.
Robert Emmet, the lofty-minded patriot—the amiable enthusiast—the
warm-hearted friend, and ardent lover is no more! The hand of the
executioner extinguished the fire and energy of that soul, which burned
for his country’s good; and that tongue, of the purest and sublimest
eloquence, is now for ever mute.
He died as he lived, with heroic fearlessness, and decent fortitude. The
amiable, though enthusiastic Emmet, however, we hope has not died in
vain; our rulers must learn from his history that a people without
confidence is a moral Hydra, never to be deprived of the means of doing
mischief. The head of one rebellion is no sooner lopped off than another
is generated. The Hercules, who is to annihilate the monster, can only
be found in those acts of wisdom and justice, which are to reconcile the
people to their rulers, by making them freemen.
The fate of Robert Emmet demanded something more than tears, and
unprofitable as these may have been, we have continued to offer them
still to his memory. But let our private sorrows pass; history one day
will do him justice; we have thrown our mite in the scale in which his
reputation yet trembles; and, inadequate as that may be, it is sincere
and impartial. All ye who knew him in “his hour of pride,” go and do
likewise.
The following is extracted from a letter addressed to Mr. Rufus King
from T. A. Emmet, brother to Robert Emmet, on the subject of Mr. King’s
interference with the British government, as ambassador from the United
States, to prevent the Irish state prisoners of 1798 from emigrating to
America:—
“Sir,—In the commencement of our negociation, Lord Castlereagh
declared, as a reason for acceding to government’s possessing a
negative on our choice, that it had no worse place in view for our
emigration than the United States of America. We had made our election
to go there, and called upon him to have our agreement carried into
execution. In that difficulty, you, sir, afforded very effectual
assistance to the faithlessness of the British cabinet. On the 16th of
September, Mr. Marsden, then Under Secretary, came to inform us that
Mr. King had remonstrated against our being permitted to emigrate to
America. This astonished us all, and Dr. M Neven very plainly said
that he considered this as a mere trick between Mr. King and the
British Government. This Mr. Marsden denied, and on being pressed to
know what reason Mr. King could have for preventing us, who were
avowed republicans, from emigrating to America, he significantly
answered, ‘Perhaps Mr. King does not desire to have republicans in
America.’ Your interference was then, sir, made the pretext of
detaining us for four years in custody, by which very extensive and
useful plans of settlement within these states were broken up. The
misfortunes which you brought upon the objects of your persecution
were incalculable. Almost all of us wasted four of the best years of
our lives in prison. As to me, I should have brought along with me my
father and his family, including a brother, whose name perhaps even
you will not read without emotions of sympathy and respect. Others
nearly connected with me would have come partners in my emigration.
But all of them have been torn from me. I have been prevented from
saving a brother, from receiving the dying blessings of a father,
mother, and sister, and from soothing their last agonies by my cares;
and this, sir, by your unwarrantable, unprecedented, and unfeeling
interference. Your friends, when they accuse me of want of moderation
towards you, are wonderfully mistaken. They do not reflect, or know,
that I have never spoken of you without suppressing, as I do now,
personal feelings that rise up within me, and swell my heart with
indignation and resentment. The step you took was unauthorised by your
own government. Whether our conduct in Ireland was right or wrong, you
have no justification for yours. The constitution and laws of this
country gave you no power to require of the British government that it
should violate its faith, and withdraw from us its consent to the
place we had fixed upon for our voluntary emigration; neither the
president nor you were warranted to prevent our touching these
shores.—These remarks I address, with all becoming respect, to ‘the
first man in the country.’ Yet in fact, sir, I do not clearly see in
what consists your superiority over myself. It is true you have been a
resident minister at the court of St. James’; and, if what I have read
in the public prints be true, and if you be apprised of my near
relationship and family connexion with the late Sir John Temple, you
must acknowledge that your interference as resident minister at the
court of St. James’s, against my being permitted to emigrate to
America, is a very curious instance of the caprice of fortune—but let
that pass. To what extent I ought to yield to you for talents and
information, is not for me to decide.—In no respect, however, do I
feel your excessive superiority.—My private conduct and character are,
I hope, as fair as yours—and even in those matters which I consider as
trivial, but upon which aristocratic pride is accustomed to stamp a
value, I should not be inclined to shrink from competition. My birth
certainly will not humble me by the comparison; my paternal fortune
was, probably, much greater than yours; the consideration in which the
name I bear in my native country was held, was as great as yours is
ever likely to be before I had an opportunity of contributing to its
celebrity.
“As to the amount of what private fortune I have been able to save
from the wreck of calamity it is unknown to you or to your friends;
but two thingy I will tell you:—I never was indebted, either in the
country from which I came, nor in any other in which I have lived, to
any man, further than the necessary credit for the current expenses of
a family; and am not so circumstanced that I should tremble “for my
subsistence” at the threatened displeasure of your friends. So much
for the past and present—now for the future. Circumstances which
cannot be controlled, have decided that my name must be embodied into
history. From the manner in which even my political adversaries, and
some of my contemporary historians, unequivocally hostile to my
principles, already speak of me, I have the consolation of reflecting,
that when the falsehoods of the day are withered and rotten, I shall
be respected and esteemed.—You, sir, will probably be forgotten, when
I shall be remembered with honour, or if, peradventure, your name
should descend to posterity, perhaps you will be known only as the
recorded instrument of part of my persecutions, sufferings, and
misfortunes.