“Why, of 16 whom he pardoned, and of 41 whose sentences he commuted in
the gaol of our own city, 13 were re-committed, and of these no fewer
than 10 were in due time transported. One of the latter, Mary Lynch,
was subsequently five times committed, and at last transported; Jeremiah
Twomey, _alias_ Old Lock, was subsequently six times committed, and
finally transported, while two others were twice committed. These are
a specimen of the persons whom his lordship delighted to honour. Of the
whole 57 (who were liberated between January, 1835, and April, 1839),
there were, at the time of their sentences being commuted, or themselves
discharged, 34 under sentence of transportation, and two under sentence
of death. In the county gaol, 47 prisoners experienced the benefit
of viceregal liberality. Of these 18 had been under sentence of
transportation, 11 of them for life; but how many of them it became the
duty of the government to introduce a second or third time to the notice
of the judge, or what was their ultimate destiny, we are, unfortunately,
not informed. The recorder, we observe, passed sentence of
transportation yesterday on a fellow named Corkery, who had some years
ago been similarly sentenced by one of the judges, but for whose release
his worship was unable to account. The explanation, however, is easy.
Corkery was one of the scoundrels liberated by Lord Normanby, and he has
since been living on the plunder of the citizens, on whom that vain and
visionary viceroy so inconsiderately let him loose.”
Now I detest figures, and, therefore, I won't venture to dispute the
man's arithmetic about the “ten in due time transported,” nor Corkery,
nor Mary Lynch, nor any of them.
I take the facts on his own showing, and I ground upon them the most
triumphant defence of the calumniated viceroy. What was it, I ask, but
the very prescience of the lord lieutenant we praise in the act? He
liberated a gaol full of ruffians, not to inundate the world with a host
of felons and vagabonds, but, simply, to give them a kind of day-rule.
“Let them loose,” cried my lord; “take the irons off--devil a long they
'll be free. Mark my words, that fellow will murder some one else before
long. Thank you, Mary Lynch, it is a real pleasure to me to restore you
to liberty;” and then, _sotto_, “you'll have a voyage out, nevertheless,
I see that. Open the gates--pass out, gentlemen highwaymen. Don't be
afraid, good people of Cork, these are infernal ruffians, they 'll all
be back again before six months. It's no consequence to me to see you
at large, for I have the heartfelt conviction that most of you must be
hanged yet.”
[Illustration: 250]
Here is the true defence of the viceroy, here the real and well-grounded
explanation of his conduct; and I hope when Lord Brougham attacks his
noble friend--which of course he will--that the marquis will hurl
back on him, with proud triumph, this irresistible mark of his united
foresight and benevolence.