Joseph Rawlins, Esq. being sworn, desposed to a knowledge of the
prisoner, and recollected having been in his company some time in the
month of December last, when he understood from him that he had been to
see his brother at Brussels. On his cross-examination, the witness said,
that in conversations with him on the subject of continental politics,
the prisoner avowed that the inhabitants of the Austrian Netherlands
execrated Buonaparte’s government; and from the whole of the prisoner’s
conversation, the witness had reason to believe, that he highly
condemned Buonaparte’s conduct and government.
George Tyrrel, an attorney, proved the execution, in the month of June
last, of the lease of a house in Butterfield-lane, Rathfarnham, from
Michael Frayne to the prisoner, who assumed on the occasion, the name of
Ellis. Mr. Tyrrel was one of the subscribing witnesses to the lease, and
a person named Dowdall was the other.
Michael Frayne, who leased the above-mentioned house to the prisoner,
proved also to that fact, and that he gave him possession of it on the
23d of April preceding—that the prisoner and Dowdall lived there in the
most sequestered manner, and apparently anxious of concealment.
John Fleming, a native of the county Kildare, sworn:—deposed, that on
the 23d of July, and for the year previous thereto, he had been hostler
at White Bull Inn, Thomas Street, kept by a person named Dillon. The
house was convenient to Marshal-lane, where the rebel depot was, and to
which the witness had free and constant access, having been in the
confidence of the conspirators, and employed to bring them ammunition
and other things. He saw the persons there making pike-handles, and
heading them with the iron part; he also saw the blunderbusses,
firelocks, and pistols in the depot, and saw ball-cartridges making
there.—Here the witness identified the prisoner at the bar, whom he saw
in the depot for the first time, on the Tuesday morning after the
explosion in Patrick-street—(that explosion took place on Saturday, the
16th of July.) The witness had opened the gate of the Inn yard, which
opened into Marshal-lane, to let out Quigley, when he saw the prisoner,
accompanied by a person of the name of Palmer; the latter got some sacks
from the witness to convey ammunition to the stores, and the prisoner
went into the depot, where he continued almost constantly until the
evening of the 23d July, directing the preparations for the
insurrection, and having the chief authority. He heard the prisoner read
a little sketch, as the witness called it, purporting that every
officer, non-commissioned officer and private, should have equally every
thing they got, and have the same laws as in France. Being asked what it
was they were to share, the prisoner replied, “what they got when they
took Ireland or Dublin.” He saw green uniform jackets making in the
depot by different tailors, one of whom was named Colgan. He saw one
uniform in particular, a green coat, laced on the sleeves and skirts,
&c. and gold epaulets, like a general’s dress. He saw the prisoner take
it out of a desk one day and shew it to all present (here the witness
identified the desk, which was in court,) he also saw the prisoner, at
different times, take out papers, and put papers back into the desk;
there was none other in the store. Quigley used, also, sometimes to go
to the desk. On the evening of the 23d of July, witness saw the prisoner
dressed in the uniform above described with white waistcoat and
pantaloons, new boots and cocked hat, and white feather. He had also a
sash on him, and was armed with a sword and case of pistols. The
prisoner called for a big coat, but he did not get it, to disguise his
uniform, as he said, until he went to the party that were to attack the
castle. Quigley and a person named Stafford had uniforms like that of
Emmet, but had only one epaulet. Quigley had a white feather, and
Stafford a green one. Stafford was a baker in Thomas-street. About 9
o’clock the prisoner drew his sword, and called out to “come on, my
boys;” he sallied out of the depot, accompanied by Quigley and Stafford,
and about fifty men, as well as he could judge, armed with pikes,
blunderbusses, pistols, &c. They entered Dirty-lane, and from thence
into Thomas-street. The prisoner was in the centre of the party. They
began to fire in Dirty-lane, and also when they got into Thomas-street.
The witness was also with the party. The prisoner went into the stores
by the name of Ellis. He was considered by all of them as the general
and head of the business; the witness heard him called by the title of
general. In and out of the depot, it was said that they were preparing
to assist the French when they should land. Quigley went into the depot
by the name of Graham.
Terrence Colgan, the tailor named in the foregoing evidence, sworn.
Deposed, that on the Sunday previous to the insurrection, he came to
town from Lucan, where he lived, and having met with a friend, they went
to Dillon’s, the White Bull Inn, in Thomas-street, and drank, until the
witness, overcome with liquor, fell asleep, when he was conveyed in this
state, of insensibility into the depot, in Marshal-lane, and when he
awoke the next morning, he was set to work making green jackets and
white pantaloons. He saw the prisoner there, by whose directions
everything was done, and who, he understood, was the chief. He
recollected seeing the last witness frequently in the depot while he was
there. He also saw the prisoner often at the desk writing. The witness
corroborated the general preparations of arms, ammunition, &c. for the
insurrection.
Patrick Farrel sworn. Deposed, that as he was passing through
Marshal-lane, between the hours of nine and ten o’clock on the evening
of Friday, the 22d of July, he stopped before the malt stores, or depot,
on hearing a noise therein, which surprised him, as he considered it a
waste house. Immediately the door opened, and a man came forth, who
caught him, and asked him what he was doing there? The witness was then
brought into the depot, and again asked what brought him there, or had
he ever been there before? He said he had not. They asked him if he knew
Graham? He replied he did not. One of the persons then said the witness
was a spy, and called out to “drop him immediately,” by which the
witness understood they meant to shoot him. They brought him up stairs,
and after some consultation, they agreed to wait for some person to come
in, who would decide what should be done with him. That person having
arrived, he asked the witness if he knew Graham? He replied that he did
not. A light was brought in at the same time, and the witness having
looked about, was asked if he knew any one there? He replied he knew
Quigley. He was asked where? He replied that he knew him five or six
years ago in the College of Maynooth, as a bricklayer or mason. The
witness understood that Quigley was the person who went by the name of
Graham. Here the witness identified the prisoner as the person who came
in and decided he should not be killed, but he should be taken care of,
and not let out. The witness was detained there that night and the whole
of the next day, Saturday, the 23rd, and was made to assist at the
different kinds of work.
He assisted in taking boards off a car; the boards, he said, were made
into cases, and pikes put into them. These cases the witness described
as being made of the outside slabs of a long beam, taken off about an
inch or more thick—four or five inches at each end of the beam was cut
off, the slabs were nailed together, and these pieces put in at the
ends, so that it appeared like a rough plank or beam of timber. He saw
several such cases filled with pikes sent out. The witness stated that
on the evening of the 23rd, he saw three men dressed in green uniforms,
richly laced; one of whom was the prisoner, who wore two gold epaulets,
but the other two only one each. The prisoner had also a cocked hat,
sword, and pistols. When the witness was helping out one of the beams
prepared for explosion, he contrived to effect his escape.
On his cross-examination, in which the interrogatories were suggested by
the prisoner, the only thing remarkable in the evidence of the witness
was, that he heard a printed paper read, part of which was, that
nineteen counties were ready to rise at the same time, to second the
attempt in Dublin. The witness also heard them say, “that they had no
idea as to French relief, but would make it good themselves.” In answer
to a question from the Court, the witness said that he gave information
of the circumstance deposed in his evidence, the next morning, to Mr.
Ormsby in Thomas-street, to whom he was Steward.
Serjeant Thomas Rice proved the Proclamation of the Provisional
Government, found in the depot.
Colonel Spencer Thomas Vassal being sworn, deposed that he was field
officer of the day on the 23rd of July; that having gone to the depot in
Marshal-lane, he found there several small proclamations addressed to
the citizens of Dublin, and which were quite wet. He identified one of
them. The witness also identified the desk which the prisoner used in
the depot. Having remained about a quarter of an hour in the depot, he
committed to Major Greeville the care of its contents.
Questioned by the Court. The witness said that he visited the depot
between three and four o’clock on Sunday morning, it having been much
advanced in daylight before he was suffered to go his rounds.
Alderman Frederick Darley sworn. Proved having found in the depot a
paper directed to “Robert Ellis, Butterfield.” Also a paper entitled a
“Treatise on the Art of War.” The latter had been handed, at the time,
to Capt. Evelyn.
Captain Henry Evelyn sworn. Deposed having been at the rebel depot on
the morning of Sunday, the 23d of July, to see the things removed to the
barracks, and that he found a paper there, which, being shewn to him, he
identified. This paper was a manuscript draft of the greater part of the
Proclamation of the Provisional Government, altered and interlined in a
great many places.
Robert Lindsay, a soldier, and Michael Clement Frayne,
quarter-master-sergeant of the 38th regiment, proved the conveyance of
the desk (then in court) to the barracks; and the latter identified a
letter which he found therein. The letter was signed, “Thomas Addis
Emmet,” and directed to “Mrs. Emmet, Miltown, Dublin,” and began with,
“My dearest Robert.” It bore a foreign post-mark.
Edward Wilson, Esq. recollected the explosion of gunpowder which took
place in Patrick street, previous to the 23rd of July: it took place on
the 16th. He went there and found an apparatus for making gunpowder—was
certain that it was gunpowder exploded. Proved the existence of a
rebellious insurrection, as did also Lieut. Brady. The latter added,
that on examination of the pikes which he found in Thomas-street, four
were stained with blood on the iron part, and on one or two of them, the
blood extended half way up the handle.
John Doyle, a farmer, being sworn, deposed to the following effect:—That
on the morning of the 26th of July last, about two o’clock, a party of
people came to his house at Ballymace, in the parish of Tallaght, seven
miles from Dublin. He had been after drinking, and was heavy asleep;
they came to his bedside, and stirred and called him, but he did not
awake at once; when he did, and looked up, he lay closer than before:
they desired him to take some spirits, which he refused; they then moved
him to the middle of the bed and two of them lay down, one on each side
of him. One of them said, “You have a French General and a French
Colonel beside you, what you never had before.” For some hours the
witness lay between asleep and awake. When he found his companions
asleep, he stole out of the bed, and found in the room some
blunderbusses, a gun, and some pistols. The number of blunderbusses he
believed were equal to the number of persons, who on being collected at
breakfast, amounted to fourteen. Here he identified the prisoner as one
of those who were in bed with him.
The witness then further stated that the prisoner, on going away in the
evening, put on a coat with a great deal of lace and tassels, (as he
expressed it.) There was another person in a similar dress; they wore,
on their departure, great coats over these. The party left his house
between eight and nine o’clock in the evening, and proceeded up the
hill. The next morning, the witness found, under the table on which they
breakfasted, one of the small printed proclamations, which he gave to
John Robinson, the barony constable.
Rose Bagnal, residing at Ballynascorney, about a mile further up the
hill from Doyle’s, proved that a party of men, fifteen in number, and
whom she described similar to that of the preceding witness, came to her
house on the night of the Tuesday immediately after the insurrection.
Three of them wore green clothes, ornamented with something yellow—she
was so frightened she could not distinguish exactly. One of them was
called a general. She was not enabled to identify any of them. They left
her house about 9 o’clock on the following night.
John Robinson, constable of the barony of Upper Cross, corroborated the
testimony of the witness Doyle, relative to the small proclamation,
which he identified.
Joseph Palmer sworn. Deposed that he was clerk to Mr. Colville, and
lodged at his mother’s house, Harold’s Cross. He recollected the
apprehension of the prisoner, at his mother’s house, by Major Sirr, and
that he did lodge there the preceding spring, at which time, and when he
was arrested, he went by the name of Hewit. The prisoner came to lodge
there the second time about three weeks before this last time, and was
habited in a brown coat, white waistcoat, white pantaloons, Hessian
boots, and a black frock. Those who visited the prisoner enquired for
him by the name of Hewit. At the time he was arrested there was a label
on the door of the house, expressive of its inhabitants. It was written
by the witness, but the name of the prisoner was omitted, at his request
because he said he was afraid government would take him up.
The prisoner, in different conversations with the witness, explained why
he feared to be taken up. He acknowledged that he had been in
Thomas-street, on the night of the 23d of July, and described the dress
he wore on that occasion, part of which were the waistcoat, pantaloons,
and boots already mentioned, and particularly his coat, which he said
was a very handsome uniform. The prisoner had also a conversation with
the witness about a magazine, and expressed much regret at the loss of
the powder in the depot. The proclamations were likewise mentioned by
the prisoner, and he planned a mode of escape, in the event of any
attempt to arrest him, by going through the parlour window into the back
house, and from thence into the fields. Here the witness was shown a
paper, found upon a chair in the room in which the prisoner lodged, and
asked if he knew whose hand-writing it was? He replied that he did not
know, but was certain that it had not been written by any of his family,
and that there was no lodger in the house besides the prisoner.
The examination of this witness being closed, extracts from the
proclamation, (vide the Attorney General’s statement) addressed to the
Citizens of Dublin, were read.
Major Henry Charles Sirr, examined. Deposed to the arrest of the
prisoner as follows: “I went on the 25th of August, to the house of one
Palmer. I had heard there was a stranger in the back parlour. I rode,
accompanied by a man on foot: I desired the man to knock at the door—he
did, and it was opened by a girl. I alighted, and ran in directly to the
back parlour—I saw the prisoner sitting at dinner; the woman of the
house was there, and the girl who opened the door was the daughter of
the woman of the house. I desired them to withdraw. I asked the prisoner
his name, he told me his name was Cunningham. I gave him in charge to
the man who accompanied me, and went into the next room to ask the woman
and her daughter about him; they told me his name was Hewit; I went back
and asked him how long he had been there? He said he came that morning.
He had attempted to escape before I returned, for he was bloody and the
man said he knocked him down with a pistol. I then went to Mrs. Palmer,
who said he had lodged there for a month; I then judged he was some
person of importance. When I first went in, there was a paper on the
chair,[6] which I put into my pocket; I then went to the canal bridge
for a guard, having desired them to be in readiness as I passed; I
planted a sentry over him, and desired the non-commissioned officer to
surround the house with sentries, while I searched it; I then examined
Mrs. Palmer, and took down her account of the prisoner, during which
time I heard a noise as if an escape was attempted: I instantly ran to
the back part of the house, as the most likely part for him to get out
at. I saw him going off, and ordered a sentinel not to fire, and then
pursued myself; regardless of my order, the sentinel snapped, but his
musket did not go off. I overtook the prisoner and he said, “I
surrender.” I searched him, and found some papers upon him.
“On the witness expressing concern at the necessity of the prisoner’s
being treated so roughly, he (the prisoner) observed, that “All was fair
in war.” The prisoner, when brought to the castle, acknowledged that his
name was Emmet.”
Here the case closed on the part of the crown, and the prisoner having
declined to enter into any defence, either by witnesses or his counsel,
an argument arose between Mr. McNally and Mr. Plunket, as to the
latter’s right to reply to evidence, when no defence had been made. Lord
Norbury said, that the counsel for the prisoner could not by their
silence preclude the crown from that right, and, therefore, decided in
favour of Mr. Plunket.
Mr. Plunket then addressed the court to a considerable length, and spoke
to evidence in effect, the same as the Attorney General.
Lord Norbury charged the Jury, minutely recapitulating the whole of the
evidence, and explained the law.
The Jury, without leaving the box, pronounced the Prisoner—Guilty.
The judgment of the court having been prayed upon the prisoner, the
Clerk of the Crown, in the usual form, asked him what he had to say why
sentence of death and execution should not be awarded against him
according to law, Mr. Emmet addressed the court as follows.
_MR. EMMET’S REPLY._
MY LORDS,—I am asked, what have I to say why sentence of death should
not be pronounced on me, according to law? I have nothing to say that
can alter your predetermination, nor that it will become me to say, with
any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are to pronounce,
and I must abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more than
life, and which you have laboured (as was necessarily your office in the
present circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy—I have much
to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false
accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine
that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity, as
to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no
hopes that I can anchor my character in the breasts of a Court
constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost
I expect, that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories
untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more
hospitable harbour to shelter it from the storm by which it is at
present buffeted.
Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your
tribunal I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me
without a murmur; but the sentence of the law which delivers my body to
the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, labour in its
own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy; for there must be
guilt somewhere: whether in the sentence of the Court or in the
catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, my Lords,
has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of
power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the
difficulties of established prejudice; the man dies, but his memory
lives; that mine may not perish—that it may live in the respect of my
countrymen—I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some
of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a
more friendly port—when my shade shall have joined the bands of those
martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold and in the
field, in defence of their country and of virtue, this is my hope—I wish
that my memory and name may animate those who survive me, while I look
down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious government,
which upholds its dominion by blasphemy of the Most High; which displays
its power over man as over the beasts of the forest; which sets man upon
his brother, and lifts his hand in the name of God, against the throat
of his fellow, who believes or doubts a little more than the Government
standard—a Government steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans
and the tears of the widows which it has made.
[_Here Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet—saying, that the mean and
wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did, were not equal to the
accomplishment of their wild design._]
I appeal to the immaculate God—I swear by the throne of Heaven, before
which I must shortly appear—by the blood of the murdered patriots who
have gone before me, that my conduct has been, through all this peril
and through all my purposes, governed only by the convictions which I
have uttered, and by no other view than that of their cure, and the
emancipation of my country from the superinhuman oppression under which
she has so long and too patiently travailed; and I confidently and
assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is
still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest
enterprize.
Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the
consolation that appertaining to that confidence. Think not, my Lords, I
say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitosy
uneasiness; a man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie, will
not hazard his character with posterity by asserting a falsehood on a
subject so important to his country, and on an occasion like this. Yes,
my Lords, a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his
country is liberated, will not leave a weapon in the power of envy, nor
a pretence to impeach the probity which he means to preserve even in the
grave to which tyranny consigns him.
[_Here he was again interrupted by the court._]
Again I say, that what I have spoken was not intended for your
Lordships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy—my expressions
were for my countrymen—if there is a true Irishmen present, let my last
words cheer him in the hour of affliction.
[_Here he was again interrupted; Lord Norbury said he did not sit there
to hear treason._]
I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner
has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law; I have also
understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with
patience, and to speak with humanity; to exhort the victim of the laws,
and to offer, with tender benignity, his opinion of the motives by which
he was actuated in the crime of which he was adjudged guilty. That a
judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt; but
where is the boasted freedom of your institutions—where is the vaunted
impartiality, clemency, and mildness of your courts of justice, if an
unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy, and not your justice, is about
to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to explain
his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by
which he was actuated.
My Lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man’s
mind by humiliation to the proposed ignominy of the scaffold—but worse
to me than the proposed shame, or the scaffold’s terrors, would be the
shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid against
me in this court. You, my Lord, are a Judge; I am the supposed culprit,
I am a man; you are a man also; by a revolution of power, we might
change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at
the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce
is your justice! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my
character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which
your unhallowed policy inflicts upon my body, also condemn my tongue to
silence, and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the
period of my existence, but whilst I exist I shall not forbear to
vindicate my character and my motives from your aspersions; and as a
man, to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that
life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and
which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honour and love, and for
whom I am proud to perish.
“As men, my Lords, we must appear on the great day at one common
tribunal and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show
a collective universe, who was engaged in the most virtuous actions or
actuated by the purest motive—my country’s oppressors, or——
[_Here he was again interrupted, and told to listen to the sentence of
the law._]
“My Lords, will a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating
himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved reproach thrown
upon him during the trial, by charging him with ambition, and attempting
to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his country?
Why did your Lordships insult me? or rather, why insult justice, in
demanding of me why sentence of death should not be pronounced against
me? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you should ask the
question—the form also implies the right of answering. This, no doubt,
may be dispensed with, and so might the whole ceremony of the trial,
since sentence was already pronounced at the Castle, before your jury
was empanelled. Your Lordships are but the priests of the Oracle, and I
submit—but I insist on the whole of the forms.
[_Here Mr. Emmet paused, and the Court desired him to proceed._]
“I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France!
and for what end? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence
of my country! and for what end? Was this the object of my ambition? and
is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles
contradictions? No! I am no emissary; and my ambition was to hold a
place among the deliverers of my country—not in power, nor in profit,
but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country’s independence to
France! and for what? Was it for a change of masters? No, but for
ambition! O, my country! was it personal ambition that could influence
me? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my education and
fortune—by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself
among the proudest of my country’s oppressors? My country was my idol;
to it I sacrificed every selfish—every endearing sentiment—and for it I
now offer up my life. O, God! No! my Lord; I acted as an Irishman,
determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and
unrelenting tyranny, and the more galling yoke of a domestic faction,
which is its joint partner and perpetrator in the patricide, for the
ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendour and a conscious
depravity; it was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this
doubly-rivetted despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the
reach of any power on earth—I wished to exalt her to that proud station
in the world.
“Connection with France was, indeed, intended—but only as far as mutual
interest would sanction or require. Were they to assume any authority
inconsistent with the purest independence, it would be the signal for
their destruction; we sought aid, and we sought it as we had assurance
we should obtain it—as auxiliaries in war, and allies in peace.
“Were the French to come as invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes
of the people, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. Yes,
my countrymen, I would meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand
and a torch in the other; I would meet them with all the destructive
fury of war, and I would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their
boats, before they had contaminated the soil of my country. If they
succeeded in landing, and if forced to retire before superior
discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, burn every blade of
grass before them, and the last entrenchment of liberty should be my
grave. What I could not do myself, if I should fall, I would leave as a
last charge to my countrymen to accomplish, because I should feel
conscious that life, any more than death, is unprofitable when a foreign
nation holds my country in subjection.
“But it was not as an enemy that the succours of France were to land. I
looked, indeed, for the assistance of France; but I wished to prove to
France and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted; that
they were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and
liberty of their country.
“I wished to procure for my country the guarantee which Washington
procured for America. To procure an aid which, by its example, would be
as important as its valour—disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science
and experience; who would preserve the good, and polish the rough points
of our character; they would come to us as strangers and leave us as
friends, after sharing our perils and elevating our destiny. These were
my objects—not to receive new taskmakers, but to expel old tyrants;
these were my views, and these only became Irishmen. It was for these
ends I sought aid from France, because France, even as an enemy, could
not be more implacable than the enemy already in the bosom of my
country.
[_Here he was interrupted by the Court._]
“I have been charged with that importance in the efforts to emancipate
my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of
Irishmen, or as your Lordship expressed it, “the life and blood of the
conspiracy.” You do me honour over much; you have given to the subaltern
all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy,
who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of
yourself my Lord, before the splendour of whose genius and virtues I
should bow with respectful deference, and who would think themselves
dishonoured to be called your friend, and who would not disgrace
themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand.
[_Here he was again interrupted._]
“What, my Lord! shall you tell me, on the passage to that scaffold,
which that tyranny (of which you are only the intermediary executioner)
has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that
has and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the
oppressor—shall you tell me this, and shall I be so very a slave as not
to repel it?
“I do not fear to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the
conduct of my whole life, and am I to be appalled and falsified by a
mere remnant of mortality here! By you, too, who, if it were possible to
collect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your
unhallowed ministry, into one great reservoir, your Lordship might swim
in it.
[_Here the Judge interfered._]
“Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonour; let no
man attaint my memory, by believing that I could have engaged in any
cause but of my country’s liberty and independence, or that I became the
pliant minion of power, in the oppression or the miseries of my
countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional Government speaks for
our views; no inference can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity
or debasment at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from
abroad; I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor for the same
reason that I would resist the present domestic oppressor. In the
dignity of freedom, I would have fought on the threshold of my country,
and its enemy should only enter by passing over my lifeless corpse. And
am I, who lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the
dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the
grave, only to give my countrymen their rights and my country her
independence—am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent
or repel it? No, God forbid!
[_Here Lord Norbury told Mr. Emmet that his sentiments and language
disgraced his family and education, but more particularly his father,
Dr. Emmet, who was a man, if alive, that would not countenance such
opinions._]
“If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and
cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory life—O ever dear
and venerated shade of my departed Father, look down with scrutiny upon
the conduct of your suffering son; and see if I have, even for a moment,
deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism which it was
your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to
offer up my life.
“My Lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice—the blood which you seek
is not congealed by the artificial terrors that surround your victim; it
circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created
for nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so
grievous, that they cry to Heaven. Be ye patient! I have but a few words
more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave: my lamp of life is
nearly extinguished: my race is run: the grave opens to receive me, and
I sink into its bosom! I have but one request to ask at my departure
from this world; it is the charity of its silence! Let no man write my
epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let
not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in
obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times,
and other men, can do justice to my character. When my country takes her
place among the nations of the earth—then, and not till then—let my
epitaph be written. I HAVE DONE.
ACCOUNT OF THE LATE
PLAN OF INSURRECTION IN DUBLIN,
AND THE CAUSE OF ITS FAILURE.[7]
The plan was comprised under three heads—_points of attack_, _points of
check_, and _lines of defence_.
The points of attack were three:—The Pigeon House, the Castle, and the
Artillery Barracks at Island Bridge.
The attack was to begin with the Pigeon House, number of men 200. The
place of assembly, the Strand, between Irishtown and Sandymount. The
time, low water. The men to divide into two bodies: one to cross by a
sand bank, between the Pigeon House and Light House, where they were to
mount the wall; the other to cross at Devonshire Wharf; both parties to
detach three men with blunderbusses, and three with jointed pikes,
concealed, who were to seize the sentries and gates for the rest to rush
in. Another plan was formed for high water, by means of pleasure, or
fishing boats, going out in the morning, one by one, and returning in
the evening to the dock at the Pigeon House, where they were to land. A
rocket from this was to be the signal for the other two, viz.:
The Castle, the number of men 200. The place of assembly, Patrick-street
depot. A house in Ship-street was expected, also one near the gate. A
hundred men to be armed with jointed pikes and blunderbusses, the rest
to support them, and march openly with long pikes. To begin by the
entrance of two job coaches, hackney coachmen, two footmen, and six
persons, inside, to drive in at the upper gate into the yard, come out
of the coaches, turn back and seize the guard, (or instead of one of the
job coaches, a sedan going in at the same time, with two footmen, two
chairmen, and one inside;) at the same moment a person was, in case of
failure, to knock at Lamprey’s door, seize it and let in others, to come
down by a scaling ladder from a window on the top of the guard-house,
while attacks were made at a public house in Ship-street, which has
three windows commanding the guard-house, a gate in Stephen-street,
another at the Aungier-Street, end of Great George’s-street, leading to
the ordnance, another at the new houses in George’s-street, leading to
the riding yard, and another over a piece of a brick wall near the
Palace-street gate. Scaling ladders for all these. Fire balls, if
necessary, for the guard-house of the upper gate. The Lord Lieutenant
and principal officers of government, together with the bulk of
artillery, to be sent off under an escort to the commander in Wicklow,
in case of being obliged to retreat. I forgot to mention that the same
was to be done with as much of the Pigeon House stores as could be.
Another party with some artillery to come into town along the quays, and
take post at Carlisle Bridge, to act according to circumstances.
Island Bridge, 400 men. Place of assembly, Quarry-hole opposite, and
Burying ground.—Eight men with pistols and one with a blunderbuss, to
seize the sentry walking outside, seize the gates, some to rush in,
seize the cannon opposite the gate, the rest to mount on all sides by
scaling ladders; on seizing this to send two cannon over the bridge
facing the barrack-road. Another detachment to bring cannon down
James’s-street, another towards Rathfarnham as before. To each of the
flank points, when carried, reinforcements to be sent, with horses, &c.
to transport the artillery. Island Bridge only to be maintained; a false
attack also thought of, after the others had been made on the rear of
the barracks, and if necessary, to burn the hay stores in the rear.
Three rockets to be the signal that the attack on any part was made, and
afterwards a rocket of stars in case of victory, a silent one of
repulse.
Another point of attack not mentioned: Cork-street Barracks; if the
officer could surprise it, and set fire to it; if not, to take post in
the house (I think in Earl-street, the street at the end of Cork-street,
leading to Newmarket, looking down the street with musquetry, two bodies
of pikemen in Earl-street,) to the right and left of Cork-street, and
concealed from troops marching in that street. Another in, I think,
Marrowbone-lane, to take them in rear. Place of assembly, fields
adjacent, or Fenton fields.
POINTS OF CHECK.—The old Custom-house, 300 men, the gate to be shut or
stopped with a load of straw, to be previously in the street.—The other
small gate to be commanded by musquetry, and the bulk of the 300 men to
be distributed in Parliament-street, Crane-lane, and those streets
falling into Essex-street, in order to attach them if they forced out.
The jointed pikes and blunderbusses lying under great coats, rendered
all these surprises unsuspected; fire balls, if necessary, and a beam of
rockets.
An idea also was, if money had been got, to purchase Rafferty’s cheese
shop, opposite to it, to make a depot and assembly; and to mine under
and blow up a part of the Custom-house, and attack them in confusion, as
also the Castle. The miners would have been got also to mine from a
cellar into some of the streets through which the army from the barracks
must march.
The assembly was at the Coal-quay.
Mary-street barracks, sixty men. A housepainter’s house, and one equally
removed on the opposite side, (No. 36, I believe,) whose fire commands
the iron gate of the barracks without being exposed to the fire from it,
to be occupied by twenty-four blunderbusses; the remainder, pikemen, to
remain near Cole’s-lane or to be ready in case of rushing out to attack
them. Assembly, Cole’s-lane market, or else detached from Custom-house
body.
The corner house of Capel-street, (it was Killy Kelley’s,) commanding in
Ormond-quay, and Dixon, the shoemaker’s (or the house beyond it,) which
open suddenly on the flank of the army, without being exposed to their
fire, to be occupied by blunderbusses. Assembly detached from
Custom-house body.
LINES OF DEFENCE.—Beresford-street has six issues from Church-street,
viz: Coleraine-street, King-street, Stirrup-lane, Mary’s-lane,
Pill-lane, and the Quay. These to be chained in the first instance by a
body of chainmen; double chains and padlocks were deposited, and the
sills of the doors marked. The blockade to be afterwards filled up; that
on the Quay by bringing up the coaches from the strand, and oversetting
them, together with the butchers’ blocks from Ormond-market. The houses
over the chains to be occupied with hand grenades, pistols and stones.
Pikemen to parade in Beresford-street, to attack instantly any person
that might penetrate; the number 200. Assembly, Smithfield depot, where
were 800 pikes for reinforcements. The object was to force the troops to
march towards the Castle, by the other side of the water, where the bulk
of the preparations and men to receive them were.
Merchant’s Quay. In case the army, after passing the Old Bridge, marched
that way, Wogan’s house and a Birmingham warehouse next to it to be
occupied with musquetry, grenades, and stones; also, the leather crane
at the other end of the Quay; a beam to be before the crane, lying
across the Quay, to be fired at the approach of the enemy’s column. A
body of pikemen in Winetavern-street, instantly to rush on them in
front; another body in Cook-street to do the same, five lanes opening on
their flank, and by Bride-street in their rear. Another beam in
Bridge-street, in case of taking that route, and then the Cook-street
body to rush out instantly in front; a beam in Dirty-lane; main body of
pikemen in Thomas-street to rush on them instantly on firing the beam.
The body on the Quay to attack on rear; in case of repulse, Catherine’s
Church, Market house, and two houses adjacent, that command that street,
occupied with musquetry. Two rocket batteries near the Market house, a
beam before it, body of pikemen in Swift’s-alley, and that range, to
rush on their flank, after the beam was fired through Thomas-court,
Vicar-street, and three other issues; the corner houses of these issues
to be occupied by stones and grenades, the entire of the other side of
the street to be occupied with stones, &c. the flank of this side to be
protected by a chain at James’s-gate, and Guiness’s drays, &c. the rear
of it to be protected from Cook-street, in case the officer there
failed, by chains across Rainsford-street, Crilly’s-Yard, Meath-street,
Ash-street, and Francis-street. The Quay body to co-operate by the
issues before mentioned, (at the other side,) the chains of which would
be opened by us immediately. In case of further repulse, the houses at
the corner of Cutpurse-row, commanding the lanes at each side of the
Market-house, the two houses in High-street, commanding that open, and
the corner houses of Castle-street, commanding Skinner-row, (now Christ
Church-place) to be successively occupied. In case of a final retreat,
the routes to be three: Cork-street, to Templeogue, New-street,
Rathfarnham, and Camden-street department. The bridges of the Liffey to
be covered six feet deep with boards full of long nails bound down by
two iron bars, with spikes eighteen inches long, driven through them
into the pavement to stop a column of cavalry, or even infantry.
The whole of this plan was given up by me for the want of means, except
the Castle and lines of defence, for I expected 300 Wexford men, 400
Kildare men, and 200 Wicklow, all of whom had fought before, to begin
the surprises at this side of the water, and by the preparations for
defence, so as to give time for the town to assemble. The county of
Dublin was also to act at the instant it began—the number of Dublin
people acquainted with it I understood to be 4 or 5,000. I expected
2,000 to assemble at Costigan’s Mills, the grand place of assembly. The
evening before, the Wicklow men failed, through their officer. The
Kildare men who were to act, (particularly with me,) came in, and at
five o’clock went off again from the Canal-harbour, on a report that
Dublin would not act. In Dublin itself, it was given out by some
treacherous or cowardly person, that it was postponed till Wednesday.
The time of assembly was from six till nine, instead of 2,000, there was
eighty men assembled, when we came to the Market-house they were
diminished to eighteen or twenty. The Wexford men did assemble, I
believe, to the amount promised, on the Coal-quay; but 300 men, though
they might be sufficient to begin on a sudden, were not so, when
government had five hours’ notice by express from Kildare.
Added to this, the preparations were, from an unfortunate series of
disappointments in money, unfinished, and scarcely any blunderbusses
bought up.
The man who was to turn the fuzes and rammers for the beams forgot them,
and went off to Kildare to bring men, and did not return till the very
day. The consequence was, that all the beams were not loaded, nor
mounted with wheels, nor the train-bags, of course, fastened on to
explode them.
From the explosion in Patrick-street, I lost the jointed pikes which
were deposited there, and the day of action was fixed on before this,
and could not be changed.
I had no means of making up for their loss but by the hollow beams full
of pikes, which struck me three or four days before the 23d. From the
delays in getting the materials, they were not able to set about them
till the day before; the whole of that day and the next, which ought to
have been spent in arrangements, was obliged to be employed in work.
Even this, from the confusion occasioned by men crowding into the depot
from the country, was almost impossible.
The person who had the management of the depot mixed, by accident, the
slow matches that was prepared, with what was not, and all our labour
went for nothing.
The fuzes for the grenades he had also laid by where he forgot them, and
could not find them in the crowd.
The cramp irons could not be got in time from the smiths, to whom we
could not communicate the necessity of despatch; and the scaling ladders
were not finished (but one.) Money came in at five o’clock, and the
trusty men of the depot, who alone knew the town, were obliged to be
sent out to buy up blunderbusses, for the people refused to act without
some. To change the day was impossible, for I expected the counties to
act, and feared to lose the advantage of surprise. The Kildare men were
coming in for three days; and after that it was impossible to draw back.
Had I another week; had I one thousand pounds; had I one thousand men, I
would have feared nothing. There was redundancy enough in any one part
to have made up, if complete, for deficiency in the rest; but there was
failure in all—plan, preparation, and men.
I would have given it the respectability of insurrection, but I did not
uselessly wish to spill blood: I gave no signal for the rest, and they
all escaped.
I arrived time enough in the country to prevent that part of it which
had already gone out with one of my men, to disarm the neighbourhood
from proceeding. I found that by a mistake of the messenger, Wicklow
would not rise that night—I sent off to prevent it from doing so the
next, as it intended. It offered to rise even after the defeat, if I
wished it, but I refused. Had it risen, Wexford would have done the
same. It began to assemble, but its leader kept it back till he knew the
fate of Dublin. In the state Kildare was in, it would have done the
same. I was repeatedly solicited by some of those who were with me to do
so, but I constantly refused. The more remote counties did not rise, for
want of money to send them the signal agreed on.
I know how men without candour will pronounce on this failure, without
knowing one of the circumstances that occasioned it. They will consider
only that they predicted it; whether its failure was caused by chance,
or by any of the grounds on which they made their prediction, they will
not care—they will make no distinction between a prediction fulfilled
and justified—they will make no compromise of errors—they will not
recollect that they predicted also that no system could be formed—that
no secrecy nor confidence could be restored—that no preparations could
be made—that no plan could be arranged—that no day could be fixed,
without being instantly known at the Castle; that government only waited
to let the conspiracy ripen, and crush it at their pleasure; and that on
these grounds only did they predict it miscarriage. The very same men
that after success would have flattered, will now calumniate. The very
same men, that would have made an offering of unlimited sagacity at the
shrine of victory, will not now be content to take back that portion
that belongs of right to themselves, but would violate the sanctuary of
misfortune, and strip her of that covering that candour would have left
her.