This letter enclosed £100. On hearing it read, poor Larkin burst into
tears; the other prisoners also were deeply affected. Surely, never
was act more noble! Never was woman's sex more exalted--never was
woman's mission more beautifully exemplified, than by this glorious
act of bravery, tenderness, and generosity.
Two days before the fatal 23rd, the calm resignation which the
condemned by this time enjoyed was once more cruelly disturbed, and
almost destroyed. Once again the government came to fill their hearts
with the torturing hope, if not, indeed, the strong conviction, that
after all, even though it should be at the foot of the gallows, they
would one and all be reprieved. _Another man of the five included in
the vitiated verdict was reprieved_--Shore was to have his sentence
commuted.
This second reprieve was the most refined and subtle torture to
men who had made up their minds for the worst, and who, by God's
strengthening gracs, had already become, as it were, dead to the
world. It rendered the execution of the remaining men almost an
impossibility. Maguire notoriously was innocent even of complicity
in the rescue--the verdict of the sworn jury, concurred in by the
"learned judge," to the contrary notwithstanding. But _Shore_ was
_avowedly a full participator in the rescue_. He was no more, no less,
guilty than Allen, Larkin, O'Brien. In the dock he proudly gloried in
the fact. What wonder if the hapless three, as yet unrespited, found
the wild hope of life surging irresistibly through heart and brain!
To the eternal honour of the artisans of London be it told, they
signalized themselves in this crisis by a humanity, a generosity, that
will not soon be forgotten by Irishmen. At several crowded meetings
they adopted memorials to the government, praying for the respite
of the condemned Irishmen--or rather, protesting against their
contemplated execution. These memorials were pressed with a devoted
zeal that showed how deeply the honest hearts of English working-men
were stirred; but the newspaper press--the "high class" press
especially--the enlightened "public instructors"--howled at, reviled,
and decried these demonstrations of humanity. The Queen's officials
treated the petitions and petitioners with corresponding contempt;
and an endeavour to approach the Sovereign herself, then at Windsor;
resulted in the contumelious rejection from the palace gate of the
petitioners, who were mobbed and hooted by the tradesmen and flunkeys
of the royal household!
In Ireland, however, as might be supposed, the respite of Shore was
accepted as settling the question: there would be no execution. On the
21st of November men heard, indeed, that troops were being poured into
Manchester, that the streets were being barricaded, that the public
buildings were strongly guarded, and that special constables were
being sworn in by thousands. All this was laughed at as absurd parade.
Ready as were Irishmen to credit England with revengeful severity,
there was, in their opinion, nevertheless, a limit even to that.
To hang Allen, O'Brien, and Larkin now, on the broken-down verdict,
would, it was judged, be a measure of outrage which even the fiercest
hater of England would frankly declare too great for her.
A few there were, however, who did not view the situation thus. They
read in the respite of Shore, _fear_; and they gloomily reflected that
justice or magnanimity towards the weak seldom characterizes those who
exhibit cowardice towards the strong. _Shore was an American._ By this
simple sentence a flood of light is thrown on the fact of respiting
him alone amongst the four men admittedly concerned in the rescue.
Shore was an American. He had a country to avenge him if legally
slaughtered on a vitiated verdict. To hang _him_ was dangerous; but
as for Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien, _they had no country_ (in the same
sense) to avenge them. America was strong, but Ireland was weak. If
it was deemed dangerous to sport with the life of the American, it was
deemed safe to be brutal and merciless towards the Irishmen. On these
the full arrear of British vengeance might be glutted.
But there were not many to discern, in the first flush of its
proclamation, this sinister aspect of Shore's respite. The news
reached Ireland on Friday, 22nd November, and was, as we have already
said, generally deemed conclusive evidence that the next day would
bring like news in reference to Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien.
Early next morning--Saturday, 23rd November, 1867--men poured into the
cities and towns of Ireland reached by telegraphic communication, to
learn "the news from Manchester." Language literally fails to convey
an idea of the horror--the stupefaction--that ensued when that news
was read:--
"_This morning, at eight o'clock, the three condemned Fenians, Allen,
Larkin, and O'Brien, were executed in front of Sulford Gaol._"
Men gasped in awe-struck horror--speech seemed denied them. Could it
be a dream, or was this a reality? Had men lived to see the day when
such a deed could be done? For the reason that incredulity had been
so strong before, wild, haggard horror now sat on every countenance,
and froze the life-blood in every heart. Irishmen had lain quiescent,
persuaded that in this seventh decade of the nineteenth century, some
humanizing influences would be found to sway that power that in the
past, at least, had ever been so merciless to Irish victims. But now!
Alas!--
In that dreadful hour the gulf between the two nations seemed widened
and deepened, until it gaped and yawned wide, deep, and dark as hell
itself. There was a scowl on every brow. Men went about--sullen,
moody, silent, morose--with clenched teeth and darkened faces,
terrible passions raging in their bosoms. For all knew that the
sacrifice of those three Irish patriots was a cold-blooded and
cowardly act of English policy, more than a judicial proceeding--an
act of English panic, cowardice, hate, and terror. All knew that
Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien would never have been hanged on the
evidence of those forsworn witnesses, and on the verdict of that jury
whose perjury or blunder was openly confessed and proclaimed, but for
the political aspirations and designs of which the rescue was judged
to be an illustration. Had their offence been non-political, they
would not have been held a day on such a verdict. They were put
to death for their political opinions. They were put to death for
political reasons. Their execution was meant to strike terror into
Irishmen daring to mutter of liberty. Had they been Americans, like
Shore, they would have been respited; but as they were Irishmen, they
were immolated.
The full story of how those patriots met their fate at the last
reached Ireland two days afterwards, and intensified a thousandfold
the national emotions. Men were alternately melted into tears
or maddened into passion as they read that sad chapter of Irish
martyrdom.
Even before the respite of Shore the government had commenced the most
formidable military preparations in view of the bloody act of State
policy designed for the 23rd. Troops were hurried by rail to all
the English cities and towns where an "Irish element" existed; and
Manchester itself resembled a city besieged. The authorities called
for "special constables," and, partly attracted by the plenteous
supply of drink and free feeding;[1] and partly impelled by their
savage fury against the "Hirish" or the "Fenians,"--suddenly become
convertible terms with English writers and speakers--a motley mass
of several thousands, mainly belonging to the most degraded of the
population, were enrolled. All the streets in the neighbourhood of the
prison were closed against public traffic, were occupied by police or
"specials," and were crossed at close intervals by ponderous wooden
barriers. Positions commanding the space in front of the scaffold were
strategetically scanned, "strengthened," and occupied by military. The
scaffold was erected in a space or gap made in the upper part of the
outer or boundary wall of the prison in New Bailey-street. The masonry
was removed to the width necessary for the scaffold, which was then
projected over the street, at the outer side of the wall. It was
approached or ascended from the prison yard below, by a long wooden
stair or stepladder, close alongside the wall on the inside. Against
the wall on the inner side, on either hand of the scaffold, were
erected platforms within about four feet below the wall coping.
These platforms were filled with soldiers, "crouching down," as the
reporters described, "with the muzzles of their rifles just resting on
the top of the wall." The space in the street immediately beneath the
scaffold was railed off by a strong wooden barrier, and outside this
barrier were massed the thousands of police, special constables, and
volunteers.
[Footnote 1: The Manchester papers inform us that the specials were
plentifully fed with hot pork pies and beer _ad libitum_, which seemed
to have a powerful effect in bringing in volunteers from the lower
classes.]
On Friday the doomed men took leave for the last time of the few
relatives allowed to see them. The parting of Larkin and his family
is described as one of the most agonizing scenes ever witnessed. Poor
Allen, although not quite twenty years of age, was engaged to a young
girl whom he loved, and who loved him, most devotedly. She was sternly
refused the sad consolation of bidding him farewell. In the evening
the prisoners occupied themselves for some time in writing letters,
and each of them drew up a "declaration," which they committed to the
chaplain. They then gave not another thought to this world. From that
moment until all was over, their whole thoughts were centred in the
solemn occupation of preparing to meet their Creator. In these last
hours Father Gadd, the prison chaplain, was assisted by the Very
Rev. Canon Cantwell and the Rev. Father Quick, whose attentions were
unremitting to the end. From the first the prisoners exhibited a deep,
fervid religious spirit, which could scarcely have been surpassed
among the earliest Christian martyrs. They received Holy Communion
every alternate morning, and spent the greater part of their time
in spiritual devotion. On Friday evening they were locked up for
the night at the usual hour,--about half-past six o'clock. In their
cells they spent a long interval in prayer and meditation--disturbed
ever and anon, alas! by the shouts of brutal laughter and boisterous
choruses of the mob already assembled outside the prison walls. At
length the fated three sought their dungeon pallets for the last
time. "Strange as it may appear," says one of the Manchester papers
chronicling the execution, "those three men, standing on the brink
of the grave, and about to suffer an ignominious death, _slept
as soundly_ as had been their wont." Very "strange," no doubt, it
appeared to those accustomed to see _criminals_ die; but no marvel to
those who know how innocent men, at peace with God and man, can mount
the scaffold, and offer their lives a sacrifice for the cause of
liberty.
Far differently that night was spent by the thronging countrymen of
Broadhead, who came as to a holiday to see the "Fenians" die. Early
on the preceding evening crowds had taken up their places wherever the
occupying bodies of military, police, or specials did not prevent; and
the pictures drawn of their conduct by the newspaper reporters, one
and all, are inexpressibly revolting. It was the usual English crowd
assembled to enjoy an execution. They made the air resound with
laughter at obscene jokes, shouts, cries and repartees; and chorused
in thousands [beneath the gallows!] snatches of "comic" ballads and
pot-house songs, varied by verses of "Rule, Brittania" and "God save
the Queen," by way of exultation over the Irish. Once or twice, in
the early part of the night, the police had to remove the mob from the
portion of the prison nearest the condemned cells, as the shouts and
songs were painfully disturbing the hapless men engaged at that moment
preparing for eternity.
Saturday, the 23rd November, dawned misty, murky, dull, and cold over
Salford. During the first hours after the past midnight the weather
had been clear and frosty, and a heavy hoar covered the ground; but as
daylight approached, a thick mist or fog crept like a pallid pall over
the waking city.
The condemned were roused from sound and tranquil slumbers about a
quarter to five o'clock. Having dressed, they attended Mass, Rev.
Canon Cantwell, Rev. Mr. Gadd, and Rev. Mr. Quick officiating. They
heard this, their last Mass, with a fervour and solemnity which no
words could describe. The Holy Sacrifice having been offered, the
condemned and the three priests remained in prayer and spiritual
exercises until seven o'clock, when the prisoners partook of
breakfast. "The last preparations," says an English eye-witness,
"were then begun. At twelve minutes to eight o'clock the executioner,
Calcraft, and his assistant, were introduced into the cell in which
the prisoners were placed, and the process of pinioning their arms
was gone through. The priests stood by the side of the unhappy men,
administering the consolations of religion, and exhorting them to
firmness to meet the last dreadful ordeal. The convicts, at this
time," continues the English reporter, "manifested a remarkable
fortitude. Not one of them flinched in the least."
The same eye-witness describes as follows the last act of the tragedy,
with a brief general sketch of which we commenced this narrative:--
"At a quarter to eight o'clock the interior court of the gaol
presented a strange and striking spectacle. Behind the wall in New
Bailey-street was erected the long staircase leading to the scaffold,
and by its side were platforms for the use of the military. The fog
was so dense, that objects could be but faintly distinguished at a
distance of thirty yards. Suddenly the words of military command
were heard, and a company of the 72nd Highlanders marched round
the Roundhouse, and took up a position in line at the foot of the
staircase. Simultaneously, small detachments of the same regiment
ascended to the platform, and crouched there, with their loaded rifles
slightly projecting over the prison wall. At almost the same moment
the heads of a line of soldiers arose above the parapet of the railway
viaduct. A line of warders was formed in the gaol court. The sentries
on duty ceased their walk; magistrates and reporters stood aside, and
a dead silence prevailed for a few moments, as a signal was given from
the corner of the Roundhouse. At three minutes past eight o'clock the
solemn voice of a minister repeating the litany of the Catholic Church
was heard, and the head of the procession became visible through a
thick fog, about thirty yards from the foot of the staircase. The
Rev. Canon Cantwell walked first by the side of Allen. The convict
was deadly pale; his eyes wandered alternately from the priest to the
individuals standing round, and then he uplifted his gaze, in a vain
endeavour to pierce the dense canopy which hung above him. He walked
with a tolerably steady step, and uttered the response, 'Lord, have
mercy upon us,' in a firm voice."
Next to him came Larkin, in whose appearance confinement and anxiety
of mind had wrought a striking change. His physical strength seemed
shaken, and he required to be assisted by one of the warders in
ascending the long wooden stair that led to the scaffold. Last of
all came O'Brien, whose noble, firm, and dignified bearing won the
approbation of everyone who beheld him. A partition running in the
line of the wall divided the scaffold into an outer and an inner
platform, a small door opening between them. Allen and O'Brien, and
their attendants, having reached the top of the stair, waited on the
inner platform until Larkin and the rest of the attendant warders and
officials came up. Then, all being ready, the door was flung open,
and the boy-martyr was first led out upon the drop. His face, which
was deathly pale, appeared working with the effects of strong mental
agony. The high priest of English rule over Irishmen, Calcraft, came
forward, placed the treacherous noose around Allen's neck, pulled a
thin white cap over his ashen face, and then stooped, and securely
tied his feet together. The pinioning of the arms, which had been done
in the cell, allowed his hands, from the elbows downward, sufficient
freedom to clasp on his breast a crucifix, which ever and anon, as he
spoke aloud the responses of the litany, the poor young fellow seemed
to press closer and closer to his heart.
Next O'Brien was led forth. On his fine manly face the closest
scrutiny could not detect a trace of weakness. He looked calmly
and sadly around; then, stepping up to where Allen stood capped and
pinioned, he clasped him by the hand, and kissed him affectionately on
the cheek, speaking to him a word or two not overheard. Then O'Brien
himself was placed by Calcraft on the drop, the rope was fixed upon
his neck, the cap was drawn on his face, and his feet were securely
bound.
Larkin was now brought out, and led directly to his place on the
left hand of O'Brien, who was in the middle. The sight of his two
brother-martyrs capped and pinioned, and with the fatal cord around
each neck, seemed to unman the poor fellow utterly. He stumbled on
touching an uneven plank on the scaffold, so that many thought he had
fainted; but it was not so, though he unquestionably was labouring
under intense agony of mind. O'Brien, firm and unshrinking to the
last, turned and looked at him encouragingly, and to him also spoke
a few words in a low tone.
Calcraft now disappeared from view, and the three men stood for a
moment before the multitude, their voices ringing out clearly in the
still morning air, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on us." Suddenly the click
of the bolts was heard; the three bodies sunk through the traps;
England's three halters strained, and tugged, and twitched
convulsively for a few moments, and the deed was done--her vengeance
was accomplished.
That afternoon, her functionaries bore to three grave-pits in the
prison-yard three lumps of lifeless clay, that a few short hours
before had been three of God's noblest creatures. Like carrion, they
were flung into those unconsecrated pits, and strewed with quicklime.
For this was British law. The wolf and the tiger leave some vestiges
of their victims; but a special ordinance of English law required even
the corpses of those martyred Irishmen to be calcined.
They had purposed addressing the crowd from the scaffold, but were
prevented from so doing by order of the government! They had each one,
however, committed to writing, as already mentioned, a last solemn
message to the world. These declarations of the dying men were
entrusted to the care of their confessor, who eventually gave them up
for publication. They created the most intense and painful sensation
in Ireland. They made more and more clear the, dreadful fact that
the hapless men had been cruelly sacrificed. Standing, as it might
be said, in the presence of their God and Judge, they one and all
protested their innocence, and declared the falseness of the evidence
on which they had been convicted. But not in querulous repining or
denunciation were these truths proclaimed, but in language and with
sentiments worthy of men who professed the faith preached by the
Crucified on Calvary. Every line breathed the purest humility, the
most perfect resignation, and the most intense devotion to God,
mingled with the most fervent love of country. Those men were all of
humble circumstances in life, and, with the exception of O'Brien, had
but slight literary advantages; yet the simple pathos, beauty, and
eloquence of their dying messages moved every heart. Poor Larkin was,
of all three, the least endowed with education, yet his letter has
been aptly described as "a perfect _poem_ in prose." here append those
memorable documents:--