the newly instituted Society of United Irishmen, which at that time, had
perfectly “constitutional” objects: Catholic Emancipation and
Parliamentary Reform. But in the eyes of the Lord Clares and others of
the Ascendancy the advocating of the most moderate measures of reform
was “treason.” During all the brothers’ professional career, the enmity
of Lord Clare, which was first that of an unsuccessful rival in love of
Henry’s, pursued them, and as they, in their turn, put no restraint on
the language they used with regard to the Lord Chancellor, every day
that passed fanned the flame.
It was only after the arrest of the chief leaders of the United Irishmen
on March 12th, 1798, that the Sheareses became prominent in the
organisation. John Sheares was appointed to the Directory, and given
special charge of operations in Cork. In April the brothers went circuit
in the South-West, and were present at a memorable dinner-party in the
house of Bagnal Harvey, Bargey Castle. Another guest was (unfortunately
for the majority of those present) Sir Jonah Barrington. By some curious
presentiment—which he took good care should be verified by immediately
communicating with Mr. Secretary Cooke—he _knew_ that a tragic fate was
reserved for most of the guests. An excellent prophet was Sir Jonah—of
the same “authentic class” as Major Sirr[29]—every member of that jovial
dinner-party (with the exception of himself, a certain barrister and Mr.
Hatton) was executed within three months!
Footnote 29:
“There are two sorts of prophets—one that derives its source from real
or fancied inspiration, yet are sometimes mistaken; the other class
composed of persons who prophesy what they are determined to bring
about themselves; of this second, and by far the most authentic class
was Major Sirr.”—Curran’s “Speech in Hevey’s Trial.”
With Sir Jonah Barrington and other “honourable” gentlemen of his class
drawing up “for their own amusement,” lists of those among their fellow
guests at friendly dinner parties “whom they considered likely to fall
victims” to the coming disaster, and these lists finding themselves
wafted by some marvellous agency from Wexford Bridge to the office of
Mr. Secretary Cooke in Dublin Castle—it is not to be supposed that
Government was in ignorance of the movements and designs of the
Sheareses. They were carefully watched and “set,” but they were left at
large for some time, according to Madden, “to allow the premature
explosion of the rebellion to take place, for the same reason that Lord
Edward was left at large after the arrests at Bond’s for several weeks,
during which time Messrs. Hughes and Reynolds (the informers) visited
him in his places of concealment, at Cormick’s in Thomas Street, and at
Dr. Kennedy’s in Aungier Street.”
At length the time was ripe for their destruction. Government had found
the proper tool.
On Thursday, May 10th, Captain John Warneford Armstrong took a little
jaunt to town from his camp at Lehaunstown and called—as he was in the
habit of doing—at Byrne’s, the bookseller’s, in Grafton Street. Though
Captain Armstrong wore the king’s uniform, he was, if his conversation
was any indication, by no means a fanatical adherent of a militarist and
royalist government. He talked republicanism; and was a diligent reader
of republican and deistical books, like Paine’s “Age of Reason” and
“Common Sense.”
During one of his many conversations with Byrne the names of the
Sheareses cropped up, and Byrne, completely deceived by the Captain’s
specious professions, proposed to make them known to each other. In the
afternoon of May the 10th, Captain Armstrong was seated in Byrne’s shop
when Henry Sheares came in, and Byrne immediately made the introduction.
Henry, however, was unwilling to enter into any conversation with the
Captain and shortly afterwards made an excuse to leave him.
Presently entered John, with his head full of plans for the Rising,
which was fixed for the 23rd of the month. One of his greatest objects
was to gain over the soldiers, and when Captain Armstrong was made known
to him by the unsuspecting Byrne “as a true brother on whom he might
depend,” it is not to be wondered at, if John looked on this meeting as
the direct answer to his ardent prayers. The Captain professed to be as
eager as John to secure the soldiers for the good cause, and after some
preliminary discussion it was arranged to meet at the brother’s house in
Baggot Street the following Sunday.
At eleven o’clock on Sunday, May 13th, Captain Armstrong saw the
brothers as arranged; at this interview he got from them the names of
some soldiers in his regiment who were known to be United Irishmen.
On Wednesday, May 16th, Captain Armstrong called once more at the house
of his victims but found neither of them at home. A second call about
six o’clock in the evening was more fruitful. He was shown in to John in
the library, and learned from him that he was on the eve of his
departure for Cork to organise the Rising there, and that his friend,
Surgeon Lawless, would take his place in Dublin and consult and advise
with Armstrong as to the matters they had in hand. It would appear that
poor Henry Sheares was on his guard against Armstrong for at this
interview he did not appear.
On the morning of the following day Armstrong was again in Baggot
Street, and made the acquaintance of Surgeon Lawless, who according to
the Captain, “informed him that he had lately attended a meeting of
deputies from almost all the militia regiments in Ireland, at which
meeting there were two of his (the Captain’s men).” At this interview
Captain Armstrong found, what he had hitherto sought in vain, evidence
to implicate Henry Sheares “in the knowledge of the military
organisation” of the United men.
After each interview with his victims Armstrong, according to his own
evidence, “returned to the camp and communicated the business that
passed to Colonel L’Estrange and Captain Clibborn.” Sometimes he
communicated it to Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Cooke. It was Lord
Castlereagh who persuaded him to go to the house of the Sheareses. “He
would not,” he told Dr. Madden himself, “have gone there if he had not
been thus urged to do so. It was wrong, he believed—indeed, he felt it
was wrong to have gone there and to have dined with them. _It was the
only part of the business he had any reason to regret._”
* * * * *
Early in the morning of Monday, May 21st, the day following the pleasant
dinner-party at which Armstrong had been so hospitably entertained, the
inhabitants of Baggot and Pembroke Streets, and the neighbouring
Squares, were startled by seeing a party of military take possession of
the front and rear entries to the house of Mr. Henry Sheares. A loud
rapping at the door roused the inmates, and procured for the police
magistrate in charge of the party, Alderman Alexander, and the Chief
Constable, Mr. Atkinson, the entrance they demanded “in the king’s
name.” Alexander made his way to the library, where he was presently
joined by Mr. Henry Sheares. The master of the house was immediately
made cognisant of the object of this early visit, and informed that his
papers must be searched. Henry Sheares, who was perfectly easy in mind
as to this, in the consciousness of having no treasonable papers in his
possession, acquiesced without protest. The search was nearly ended,
without anything incriminating having been found, when Henry Sheares
directed the Alderman’s attention to a small writing box, belonging to
his brother, which lay unlocked on the study table.
In this box was found a scrawled production, all blots and erasures,
which John Sheares, who had the dramatic temperament developed in the
highest possible degree, had passed the time in writing, after the rest
of the household had gone to bed the previous night. It was written in
the character of one addressing the Irish people after a successful
rising, and on its evidence, supported by the perjured “parole” of
Armstrong, not only John Sheares who wrote it, but Henry, who was asleep
when it was written, and as innocent of its contents as his little
child, whom Armstrong had fondled the evening before, were launched into
eternity.
“Can such things be, and not awaken the vengeance of an eternal God?”
What were the feelings of the poor ladies, old Mrs. Sheares and her
daughters when all this was going on? Was their privacy respected while
the house was being searched for John and more “incriminating”
documents? Was Henry allowed to bid them farewell before he was marched
off to the Castle, and to whisper to them that there was no need for
anxiety? Did any dim foreboding warn them as they saw him leave the home
he loved so well, and where they had all been so happy that _never,
never more_ should he enter it again?
Later in the same day John Sheares was arrested by Major Sirr at the
home of Surgeon Lawless. Lawless, himself, having received timely
warning from Surgeon General Stuart, had made his escape on the previous
Saturday.
The two brothers, after examination at the Castle, were committed to
Kilmainham and here they lay in close confinement until they came up for
trial on July the 4th. A postponement was secured until July the 12th.
Then the trial was hurried on with the most indecent haste.
The truth was that Lord Clare was in terror of his enemies escaping from
his hands—for the most powerful influences were at work for their
rescue, and the evidence against Henry Sheares was not sufficient, as
the common phrase goes, “to hang a dog on.” Miss Maria Steele used her
influence with her devoted admirer, Captain Horatio Cornwallis, nephew
of the Lord Lieutenant, to secure the brothers’ pardon; and to his
nephew’s pleading, supported by that of Julia Sheares, Lord Cornwallis,
“anxious that his first act in Ireland should not be a sanguinary one,”
was about to yield, when Lord Clare, who was present, intervened. All
day long on July 13th, while the trial dragged its weary length through
the hot and crowded court, Sarah Sheares, poor Henry’s wife, sat in a
sedan-chair at Lord Clare’s hall door; when at length she saw him, she
fell at his feet on the steps of his door, clasping his knees and
begging her husband’s life from his hands. It was all in vain.
And what of the mother all these dreadful weeks? They had not dared to
tell her that Henry was in any danger. They told her that he had been
advised to keep away, and would return when all was safe again. For
John’s fate she was in some measure prepared, but she hoped, with all
her mother’s heart, that it might be averted. A heart-breaking incident
was related to Dr. Madden by a relation of the Sheareses:
“The Earl of Shannon was a relation and intimate friend of old Mrs.
Sheares, and the day of her sons’ execution, of which she was then
ignorant, his lordship went to see her. A most melancholy scene, as may
be supposed, occurred between them. She threw herself on her knees to
implore his mediation for her younger son, at the time not knowing that
her son Harry was implicated, or had been imprisoned, having been told
that he had been advised to keep out of the way for some time, and was
actually expecting him home that evening. The Earl left the house, not
being able to tell her that they had _been both executed that morning_.”
When poor heart-broken Julia, poor widowed “Sally” could bear no longer
to hear her ask, “_When_ will Harry come back,” they burst into a storm
of weeping and then the desolate mother knew that no son had been spared
to her out of the calamity that had swept them all away. For a time they
feared her reason would give way before the shock of that knowledge.
Her two daughters—for Sarah’s devotion was not less ardent than that of
Julia—took the poor old mother far away from the scene of her
sufferings, and made a new home for her in Clifton, England. Here she
passed the short and sad remainder of her days—grieving ever for those
she had lost, having no joy but in the thought of death which would give
them back to her once more. Some time in 1803, the same year which
witnessed the death of her fellow mourner, Elizabeth Emmet, she passed
through “the strait and narrow gate”—and stood with her beloved amid the
multitude “clothed with white robes, and (having) palms in their hands,
before the throne and in the sight of the Lamb.” For she and the sons,
who welcomed her, had indeed “come out of great tribulation, and _had_
washed their robes and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Mother of the Teelings
MARY TEELING (_née_ TAAFFE—1753[?]-1830[?])[30]
“He will not be seen on a swift young horse
Clearing a road over fosse and fence,
His comeliness is forever changed,
On his majesty has fallen a mist.”
—_Lament for Oliver Grace._
Footnote 30:
_Authorities_: “Memoir of Bartholomew Teeling,” by (his nephew)
Bartholomew Teeling, Jun., B.L. in Madden’s “United Irishmen,” Third
Series, Vol. I. (Dublin, 1846); Charles Hamilton Teeling’s “History of
the Irish Rebellion of 1798,” “A Personal Narrative,” and Sequel to
same; Unpublished Correspondence of the Teeling Family; “The
Teelings,” by Albi Norman (article in _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for
October, 1905).
“I MUST now say a word or two of the excellent mother of Bartholomew
Teeling—not so much because of the well-formed opinion that almost all
distinguished men inherit their characteristics rather from the mother
than from the father, as because I myself have the liveliest
recollection of the amiable and endearing qualities of this venerated
being; of her ardent piety; of her active benevolence; of her cheerful
spirit; and her most graceful presence.
“Whilst she was still a child, she had been seen by him who was to be
her husband, and who, struck with her girlish beauty, had resolved ‘to
wait for her.’ She, consequently, at the very earliest age, united her
fate to his; and at the end of fifty years, during which they journeyed
together through all the vicissitudes of life—
“‘In all their wanderings round this world of care,
In all their griefs, and they had had their share.’
The romance of this early attachment continued fresh and unabated. The
contrast, perhaps, of her bright and buoyant spirit with the stern and
unbending one of the haughty politician ... was more calculated to give
endurance to their love than the most perfect similarity could have
done; and to the last hour of her existence, she was the pride and idol
of her family.
“It was matter of astonishment how she contrived, after the severe
trials she had met with, to push the badge of grief away from her, in
the society of those she loved, and to enter into the sports of her
grandchildren, as mirthful as the youngest of them. She was proud of her
high birth, and used to recount to her grandchildren the bright deeds of
her ancestors—the loyal efforts of the noble commander of the Irish
forces; of the unhappy Charles; and the heroic defence of her castle, by
the Lady Cathleen, against the ruthless Cromwell and his adventurers.
“But she scarcely ever touched upon the untimely fate of her own sons,
slaughtered or scattered over the world. Once only did I hear her
mention her gallant son, or allude to his dark fate, and then came a
gush of anguish, which showed, indeed, the sources of her grief were far
from being dried up, and, under a bright exterior, how much of
heart-rending suffering she had put up within her bosom; but, as I have
already said, she turned from her own woes to alleviate those of others,
and to spread joy around.
“By rich and poor, she was admired and she was loved. I have been told,
by those whom I myself saw adorn the most brilliant circles of the
metropolis of the empire, that in childhood they were taught to regard
her as a model of grace and excellence; and I speak a fact, which will
be testified by thousands, when I say, that in the hearts of all the
poor of the neighbourhood, in which she resided, her memory remains
enshrined, and that children born since her death have been taught to
love it, and in their dear petitions to give her name a place.”[31]
Footnote 31:
Extract from “Memoir of Bartholomew Teeling,” by his nephew, and
namesake, in Madden’s “United Irishmen,” Third Series, Vol. I. (First
Edition, 1846).
Is it true, as men say, that the woman by whose cradle the kind,
gift-bearing fairies have laid that most rare and precious gift called
“charm,” is immortally dowered? Mary Teeling was an old woman, and one
who had drained to its dregs the cup of life’s bitterest sorrows—when
(knowing it not) she sat for the portrait which her grandson has left us
of her; and she had been many years in her grave, when it was finished
and hung in its place in the gallery of portraits collected by Dr.
Madden of the men and women who gave their all for Ireland in ’98. But
from the canvas there comes forth, stealing into the heart of each of
us, the same charm which, in her radiant girlhood, won the devotion of
her stately young lover, and in her beautiful old age made captive his
little grandson. Neither age had power to wither, nor death to destroy,
the gift which was hers to draw all hearts under her sweet sway.
We would fain know something of the training and education which,
fostering her innate charm, made the mother of Bartholomew and Charles
Teeling such an exquisite type of the Irish Catholic gentlewoman. “A
nation is what its women make its men”; and if we want boys in the
Ireland of the future like the gallant boy, who on his noble grey
charger galloped alone against the cannon of Park’s Hill, and saved the
fortunes of the day at Carricknagat, or like that other gallant boy, his
younger brother, who rode forth—a lad of seventeen—on a yet more
perilous quest: to slay unaided the dragon of Orangeism, we must take
care to provide “mothers of men” like her who bore these young heroes.
And not alone for the men they will make, will Ireland need such women.
She will want them for their own dear selves; and she will want them,
whatever be her destiny—whether she is to enter at last on the reward of
her long sorrows, or whether she must tread the roadway of thorns yet a
little longer. If the future of our land is to be one of peace and
prosperity she will need in her homes women to “look well to the paths
of their house,” as Mary Teeling did in the days of her prosperity amid
the elegance and comforts of the home in Lisburn which her husband’s
wealth had enabled him to provide for his family, exercising the sweet
and lovely rule of the mistress of a Catholic home, training her
children to the noblest ideals of life and conduct, directing her
servants with gentle authority, practising a gracious hospitality,
“opening her hands to the needy, and stretching out her hands to the
poor.” And if, on the other hand, the whole price is not paid yet, and
the era of persecution is to open again—ah! then it is that Ireland will
need her Mary Teelings to stand by their husbands’ side while “they
suffer persecution for justice’ sake,” as she did by Luke Teeling’s
during the long years of his martyrdom; keeping in the midst of all
misfortunes, loss of home and children, of wealth and ease, the same
exquisite sweetness of nature and charm of manner which made her in
happier days the delight of her friends, “the pride and idol of her
family.”
* * * * *
It has seemed worth while to go to some pains to discover, if possible,
the details of an education which “in the dead vast and middle” of the
Penal night, produced a type of womanhood, presenting nothing less than
the “fine flower” of Catholic culture. “Who shall find a valiant woman?”
Have we not found her—with every exquisite trait of her immortal
prototype reproduced—in this dear Irish lady, whose radiant personality,
and high-bred grace, no less than her sweetness, and saintliness, and
charity, survive, through her grandson’s portrait of her, even the
destruction of the tomb? “Far and from the uttermost coast would be the
price of her,” whatever land produced her. If it were France during the
age when the education of girls was considered a subject of sufficient
importance for the grave debates of a King’s Council Chamber, or a
brilliant treatise from a learned and saintly prelate’s pen;[32] or
Italy, in the days when wealthy and powerful princes like those of
Mantua co-operated with great teachers and scholars like Vittorino da
Feltre in the foundation of the schools, where the Cecilia Gonzagas won
their culture; or Germany in the years when illustrious humanists like
Celtes and Reuchlin were proud of the share they had taken in forming
the minds of women like Caritas Pirckheimer—if it were any of these
lands or these ages that claimed the “price of her” it would be a matter
of small wonder. But let us try to realise that it was Ireland in the
middle of the eighteenth century, when education was, for Catholics, a
thing banned and barred by statute. In other countries little Catholic
boys and girls were enticed to their books by every loving and ingenious
device. Great statesmen, great churchmen, great scholars gave their best
thought to the subject of their education. In the Ireland into which
little Mary Taaffe was born about 1753, “statesmen” also _had_ given
their thought to the subject of education for Catholic children—but the
legislation which was the result amounted simply in Lecky’s famous
phrase, to “universal, unqualified and unlimited proscription.”
Footnote 32:
Witness the interest of Louis XIV in Madame de Maintenon’s foundation
of St. Cyr, and Fénélon’s treatise on “L’Education des Filles.”
Nevertheless Catholic parents managed to get their children educated,
and the nation which its lawgivers doomed to ignorance and degradation
produced, by some miracle, scholars like Charles O’Connor of Belanagare
and high-bred, charming women like her whose life-story we are now
studying. How was it accomplished? What a stirring and splendid chapter
the full answer to that question would add to the history of human
endeavour! How one longs for the coming of the long-delayed historian of
the Irish people who shall tell, in all its fullness, the story of how
they educated their children during the Penal Days.
For the boys we know in part how it was done. They were smuggled off to
the Continent with other forbidden “cargoes,” and at the great colleges
in Spain, and France and the Low Countries found “bourses” provided by
the pious generosity of their wealthier countrymen, or were supported by
remittances from home which no threatened penalty could prevent their
devoted parents from sending.[33] Or a tutor was provided for them in
some hunted bishop, perhaps, or friar, who found safety in the lowly
disguise of a gardener or farm-servant working on their father’s
place,[34] or who came there for a time, as one of the Bishops of
Clogher is recorded to have made the rounds of his diocese, in the
character of a wandering harper. Or they would get a course of lessons
from some of the numerous scribes, who perambulated the country,
stopping for a season at the houses of the gentry of the old race, and
copying out manuscripts for them—Keating’s History of Ireland,[35] tales
of the Red Branch and the Fenians, pseudo-historical accounts of the old
families—as Sean MaGauran did for Brian Maguire.[36]
Footnote 33:
The statute dealing with their case runs thus: “In case any of his
Majesty’s subjects of Ireland shall _go_ or send any person to any
public or private Popish school, in parts beyond the seas, in order to
be educated in the Popish religion, and there be trained in the Popish
religion, or shall send money or other thing towards the maintenance
of such person gone or sent, and trained as aforesaid, or as a charity
for relief of a religious house, every person so going, sending or
sent, shall, on conviction, be disabled to sue, in law or in equity,
or to be guardian, executor, or administrator, or take a legacy or
deed of gift, or bear any office, and shall forfeit goods and chattels
for ever, and lands for life.”—7th William III, ch. 4, s.), 1694.
Footnote 34:
See “Religious Songs of Connacht,” _passim_.
Footnote 35:
It is instructive to note the dates of the MSS. of Keating in the
British Museum. The larger number were written during the Penal Days.
Footnote 36:
See “Maguires of Fermanagh,” edited by Fr. Dinneen, p. 140.