stitching, was then lying on the table, was born in Leinster House in
October, 1794, and was christened Edward Fox Fitzgerald. While his wife
and little son are gaining strength to travel, Lord Edward has been down
at Kildare, two or three times, making all things “snug” for the
delightful winter he promises himself there. He has laid in a generous
provision of turf—two fine big clumps which look both “comfortable and
pretty.” He has paled in his little flower garden before the hall door
with a lath paling like the cottage, and filled it with roses and sweet
briar, honeysuckle and Spanish broom. He has got his flower-beds all
ready for their destined occupants. “The little fellow,” the proud
father thinks, “will be a great addition to the party.” “I think,” he
goes on, giving us a glimpse of his ideal of a happy life (and making us
realise how hard a sacrifice his own fate demanded of him), “that when I
am down there with Pam. and the child, of a blustery evening, with a
good turf fire and a pleasant book, coming in, after seeing my poultry
put up, my garden settled—flower-beds and plants covered for fear of
frost—the place looking comfortable, and taken care of, I shall be as
happy as possible; and sure I am I shall regret nothing but not being
nearer my dearest mother, and her not being of our party.”
In 1796 Lord Edward became a “United Man,” and from that period the
little cottage in Kildare was seldom without guests. Chief among these
was Lord Edward’s parliamentary colleague, Arthur O’Connor, but Lady
Lucy Fitzgerald who spent a considerable time with her brother and
sister-in-law after their return from Hamburg in October, 1796, mentions
many others: Jackson, Oliver Bond, MacNevin, Father Connolly—and the
sinister figure of Hughes, who, unknown to them all, was a government
spy.
The visit to Hamburg to which we have alluded, took place in May, 1796,
and its supposed object was to give Pamela an opportunity of visiting
Madame de Genlis, who was then living in Hamburg, as a guest of M.
Matthiessen, who had married her niece, and Pamela’s schoolmate,
Henrietta de Sercey. Lord Edward and Arthur O’Connor went really as
agents of the United Irishmen to negotiate with the French Government
for a French expedition to assist the Irish in freeing themselves from
the yoke of England. The Matthiessens’ house in Hamburg became a centre
of Irish political activities, and we learn from Froude and Fitzpatrick
that the long unsuspected spy, Samuel Turner, got much of the
information, for which he was pensioned by the English Government, by
his frequentation of that house.
It was at Hamburg, Pamela’s second child, her little daughter, Pamela,
was born. She had left her boy with his grandmother in London, and when
Lord Edward’s business was done, and they were in the English capital
again on their way home to Ireland, little Eddie was given to the
Duchess “for her very own.”
Was his father clearing the decks for action? It would seem so. Two
months after his return to Ireland the French were in Bantry Bay.
In February of 1797, Arthur O’Connor was arrested for his address to the
Electors of Antrim, and was lodged in Newgate. From this time Lord
Edward was indefatigable in his activities. He was one of those who
believed—as did the greater number of the Northern leaders—that the time
had come “to rise,” without waiting any longer for the French aid, which
had been such a rotten crutch to them. But the Dublin leaders,
influenced by the more cautious counsel of men like John Keogh and
MacCormick, were dead against the attempt. The moment passed—and affairs
hastened to their tragic end.
In February, 1798, Arthur O’Connor who had been liberated from his
captivity in Birmingham Tower, Dublin Castle, after six months stay
there, was again arrested with Father Quigley at Margate, on his way to
France, on a political mission. Among O’Connor’s papers were found
documents incriminating Lord Edward. But the Government were loth from
his family and political connections to proceed against him. Even Lord
Castlereagh entreated his aunt, Lady Louisa Connolly, to get him to
leave the country, and much pressure was put on Pamela to influence him
to seek safety in flight.
It was in vain. Lord Edward refused to desert his post; and whatever
remained to be endured he would endure it even to the end.
We must leave him for a time, passing from hiding place to hiding place
between the fatal March 12th when the other leaders were captured, until
May the 19th, when he himself was run to earth at Murphy’s, while we
turn to the poor little frightened wife, who with no kind friend near at
hand to console her, lonely and desolate in a foreign land, with her
little helpless child, must bear her woman’s burden, and go through her
woman’s hour of mortal anguish all alone. After Lord Edward went “on his
keeping” she found it desirable to leave Leinster House for a less
conspicuous lodging in Denzille Street, whither she went with no other
companion than her maid and Lord Edward’s black servant, the faithful
Tony. Once or twice Lord Edward managed to see her. Once the maid, going
into Lady Edward’s room, found him sitting in the firelight with her,
and both of them weeping over little two-year-old Pamela who had been
roused from her cot that her father might see her.
In April, Pamela’s third child, a little girl called Lucy, was
born—prematurely, as Moore informs us, owing to a fright caused the poor
mother by the risk run by her husband in order to see her again. It has
been asserted, somewhere, that so high was the political feeling of the
period that no doctor could be found to attend Lady Edward. For the
honour of Ireland it is pleasing to be able to contradict this
assertion, on the unassailable authority of Lady Sarah Napier. Lady
Moira “mothered” the desolate creature, and saw that as far as nurse and
doctor went, there was nothing to be desired.
When Pamela recovered, her kind friend took her to Moira House, and it
was there the news of Lord Edward’s capture on May the 18th reached her.
Three days later, Government ordered Lady Edward to leave Ireland. The
order, which it was not possible for her to disobey, caused her the most
heartbreaking distress. But she was spared, then at least, the grief of
knowing that Lord Edward’s wounds were fatal.
We know from Charles H. Teeling that she made her way into Newgate, in
spite of Lord Castlereagh’s refusal—and we know that it was the same
chivalrous, romantic boy who took on himself the perilous duty of
escorting her. He had known Lady Edward in the happy days when the eager
young band of patriots gathered in Kildare Lodge, and his brother, poor
Bartle, saw in Lady Lucy (as so many have seen her in the loved form of
some fair, living woman) the realisation of his dreams of Kathleen Ni
Houlihan. The sense of chivalry and romance which was for so much in the
heart of young Charles Teeling made the lad one of the most devoted
knights whom Pamela’s fascination enlisted in her service. “Formed to
charm every heart, and command every arm that had not been enlisted in
the cause of Ireland”—it is thus, thirty years after, he remembers her.
“Ireland was her constant theme, and Edward’s glory the darling object
of her ambition. She entered into all his views; she had a noble and
heroic soul, but the softer feelings of her sex would sometimes betray
the anxiety with which she anticipated the approaching contest, and as
hopes and fears alternately influenced her mind, she expressed them with
all the sensibility characteristic of her country. In the most sweet and
impressive tone of voice, rendered still more interesting by her foreign
accent, and imperfect English, she would, with unaffected simplicity,
implore us to protect her Edward. ‘You are all good Irish,’ she would
say; ‘Irish are all good and brave, and _Edward is Irish_—your Edward
and my Edward,’ while her dark brilliant eye, rivetted on the manly
countenance of her lord, borrowed fresh lustre from the tear which she
vainly endeavoured to conceal. These were to me some of the most
interesting moments I have experienced, and memory still retraces them
with a mingled feeling of pleasure and pain.”
* * * * *
It was the kind-hearted Duke of Richmond, the uncle of Lord Edward, who
had the sad office of breaking to Pamela the news of her husband’s death
in Newgate on June the 4th. “I went immediately to Harley Street,” he
writes to Mr. Ogilvie, “and brought Lady Edward here (to Whitehall)
trying to prepare her in the coach for the bad news, which I repeatedly
said I dreaded by the next post. She, however, did not take my meaning.
When she got here, we had Dr. Moseley present, and by degrees we broke
to her the sad event. Her agonies of grief were very great, and violent
hysterics soon came on. When the Duke of Leinster came in, she took him
for Edward, and you may imagine how cruel a scene it was. But by
degrees, though very slow ones, she grew more calm at times; and
although she has had little sleep, and still less food, and has nervous
spasms, yet I hope and trust her health is not materially affected....
She is as reasonable as possible, and shows great goodness of heart in
the constant enquiries she is making about my sister, Lady Lucy, and
Mrs. Lock.”[83]
Footnote 83:
_Née_ Cecilia Ogilvie, daughter of the Duchess of Leinster by her
second marriage.
After some months under the Duke of Richmond’s hospitable roof at
Goodwood, it was decided, after a family consultation, that Pamela
should join the Matthiesens at Hamburg. Leaving her son with the Duchess
of Leinster, and baby Lucy with Lady Sophia at Thames Ditton, she set
off with her little daughter Pamela and reached Hamburg on August 13th,
1798. The action of Government, in passing the posthumous Act of
Attainder against her husband had left her penniless, and a small sum,
to which each member of the Fitzgerald family was to contribute his or
her mite was promised her by her people-in-law for her own and little
Pamela’s support. This sum was, it would appear, not very punctually
paid (the Duchess explained that at the time they could barely keep
themselves), and, perhaps, it was owing to her financial embarrassment
that Pamela took the unfortunate resolution of marrying Mr. Pitcairn,
the American Consul at Hamburg. The marriage turned out unhappily, and
the parties soon separated.
After that Pamela, leaving Hamburg, spent a year in Vienna. Finally she
settled in France, first at Montaubon and afterwards in Paris, where she
died in great poverty, but amidst the most consoling manifestations of
Our Dear Lord’s tenderness, for this poor little wandering lamb of His
flock, who after her straying, had come back to its sheltering fold.
The niece of Madame de Genlis, Madame Ducrest, then a struggling music
teacher in Paris, to whom Pamela out of her own slender resources had
found means to be kind, came to nurse the poor sick woman. Her first
care, when she saw the danger, was to send for a holy priest, M. L’Abbé
de la Madeleine. “He came. His zeal, his persuasive eloquence, the
simple unction of his exhortations did far more for her peace of soul
than we had dared to hope. He inspired our dear invalid with a true joy
at quitting this world, where she had suffered so much.”
The numbered moments of her life passed rapidly and now _the_ hour had
come. Sister Ursula, the Sister of Charity, who shared with Madame
Ducrest the office of nurse, began to recite the prayers for the
departing soul. “The sufferer even then replied aloud: insensibly her
voice became broken and feeble, and at length the words became
unintelligible, though her lips still moved in prayer. Very soon her
eyes, which were raised to Heaven, grew dull, her hands grasped
convulsively the crucifix which she held, and in a few moments she was
no more.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE SISTER OF HENRY JOY McCRACKEN
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Sister of Henry Joy McCracken
MARY ANNE MCCRACKEN (1770-1866)[84]
“I have been coming all the night long
Like a little lamb in the midst of a great flock of sheep
And how should I find my little brother but he dead before me.”
—_The Keen for Fair-Haired Donough._
Footnote 84:
_Authorities_: Madden’s “United Irishmen” (Vol. II., Second Series,
First Edition, 1843); Robert M. Young, “Historical Notices of Old
Belfast,” 1896.
“I THINK of all human loves that of a Sister is the most abiding and
unselfish. In a mother’s love there is a kind of identification with her
child, his triumphs, his defeats, which by the reflection on herself
takes away the absolute disinterestedness. Conjugal love is more
intense, but for that reason more intermittent. But there’s not a trace
of self in that earnest wistful gaze which a beloved sister casts after
the poor young fellow who has just gone out from the sanctity of
home-life into the world’s arena; nor a thought of self in the way the
silent heart broods over shattered hopes, and takes back to its
sanctuary the broken relics of the idol, once worshipped, now, alas!
only to be protected from the gaze of a scornful world.”[85]
Footnote 85:
“Under the Cedars and the Stars,” p. 192.
Alas! Alas! That it should have been of two French women Canon Sheehan
was thinking, and not of our own Mary Anne McCracken, when he paid
tribute, thus nobly, to a sister’s love as “of all human loves, the most
abiding and unselfish.” It might have been her story, and not that of
some alien Laura Balzac or Madame Perrier, that was told in those moving
words. It is _her_ image, at all events, that comes before _our_ eyes
when Canon Sheehan pictures “the earnest wistful gaze” with which a
loving sister follows the brother of her heart, as he passes from the
holy shelter of the home to the “world’s arena.” How often did that gaze
follow young Henry Joy McCracken as he rode forth from the door of the
old house in Rosemary Street on his perilous journeys with Charles
Teeling among “the Defenders”! What sister ever loved a brother like
this heroic country-woman of ours? When the Cause was lost at Antrim and
the broken remnants of the Spartan band were making a last stand on “the
hallowed hills,” it was she who braved all dangers to steal forth to him
and bring him succour of comfort and hope. It was she who walked with
him to the scaffold; who received his poor mangled form into her arms;
whose woman’s resourceful bravery held, as it were, the gates of death
apart, while the surgeons tried to snatch back his soul from beyond
them. It was she who accompanied his body to the grave, and heard the
first shovelful of earth fall on his coffin—before she turned back to
take up new duties and new sacrifices. Then in the dark days when men
veritably “feared to speak of ’Ninety-Eight, and blushed at the name,”
it was she who treasured the memory of the dead, and held fast to the
hopes and ideals for which they had laid down their lives. And at last
when, in the fullness of time, one came who made it his life-work to
tell their story truly to the world, she was there with her rich store
of memories to help in that great work. Again and again Dr. Madden
quotes Mary Anne McCracken as his authority for some of the facts he
states, or incidents he relates, and his tribute to her personality is
that of one who was brought into most intimate relations with her. “The
name of Mary McCracken,” he writes, “has become associated in the north
with that of her beloved brother. The recollection of every act of his
seems to have been stored up in her mind, as if she felt the charge of
his reputation had been committed to her especial care.... In that
attachment there are traits to be noticed indicative not only of
singleness of heart, and benevolence of disposition; but of a noble
spirit of heroism, strikingly displayed in the performance of perilous
duties, of services rendered at the hazard of life, at great pecuniary
sacrifices, not only to that dear brother, but at a later period to his
faithful friend, the unfortunate Thomas Russell. Perhaps to those who
move in the busy haunts of life, and become familiarised with the
circumscribed views and actions of worldly-minded people, the rare
occurrence of qualities of another kind, which seem to realise the
day-dreams of one’s early years, an excellence of disposition devoid of
all selfishness, devoted to all goodness, capable of all sacrifices, and
constant in all trials—that shakes not in adversity, and becomes
insensible to fear where the safety of friends and kindred is in
question, in one who seems to be utterly unconscious of her own
nobleness of mind, may appear worthy of admiration.”
The little maid, whose long life of ninety-six years was to witness such
strange happenings, was born in High Street, Belfast, on July the 8th,
1770. Her father, John McCracken, was captain and part owner of a vessel
trading between Belfast and the West Indies. He was of Scottish descent,
his family having settled in Ireland when the Covenanters were fleeing
from Claverhouse. They settled at Hill Hall near Lisburn, and here John
McCracken was born. At an early age he formed a strong attachment to a
charming young girl of Huguenot descent called Anne Joy, only daughter
of Francis Joy, a conveyancer, and notary public, who, a pioneer in many
things, is perhaps best remembered as the founder of the _Belfast
Newsletter_ in 1737. Captain McCracken is described by Madden as “a man
of polished manners, whose sincerity of disposition and integrity of
principles caused him to be generally respected and esteemed.” It was
noted of him by his daughter, as a proof of his integrity, that in the
days when smuggling was regarded as a very venial offence, Captain
McCracken would not smuggle nor allow his sailors to do so, “as he
considered a custom-house oath as binding on conscience as any other.” A
still more striking instance of his integrity and his children’s
reliance on it, was furnished on the occasion of Harry’s trial when he
was offered his son’s life on condition that he induced the latter to
disclose the name of the leader, whose place the prisoner had taken in
the Rising. He told the tempter, Pollock, that “he would rather his son
died than that he should do a dishonourable action.”
That steadfast character of John McCracken’s, which he transmitted to
his children, was, it may be, a heritage from his mother—a stern old
Covenanting lady, very strict in her religious beliefs, and most
uncompromising in her principles. Her grandchildren, who had a keen
sense of humour, used to relate with much zest, the damper put on their
youthful enjoyment of Christmas by seeing their venerable grandmother
seated ostentatiously at her spinning-wheel, her whole being one
vehement protest against the Christmas observances and festivities. They
were all in considerable awe of her, and when she uttered maledictions
they felt certain they would come to pass. On one occasion, in 1763,
Captain McCracken, having occasion to spend some time in Liverpool, to
superintend the construction of a new vessel, brought his young wife
with him, leaving their two children, Francis and Margaret, in the care
of Grandmother McCracken. The venerable lady, who did not approve of
“gadding about,” fervently prayed that her flighty daughter-in-law
“might get a scare before coming back.” “And in truth I did, my dears,”
the latter would say, as she told the story to her children afterwards,
“my husband not wishing me to return on the new and untried vessel, sent
me home before him. The ship was wrecked on the South Rock near
Ballywalter, and we were only saved by getting into the boat; and I had
to wade a long distance in shallow water, with a weight of two hundred
guineas in my pocket.”
If the grandmother was stern and forbidding, and inspired more fear than
love in the children of the household, their sweet mother was quite the
reverse. She was “remarkable for a uniform cheerfulness of temper, and
benevolence of mind that endeared her to young people as well as to the
aged.” With this sweetness of disposition she passed on to her children
as a further portion of their heritage from the Joys, an alert and
enterprising habit of mind, keen to see, and seize new opportunities;
and that steadfastness of the Joys, which, for all its Gallic urbanity,
was at least the equal of the McCracken’s. Anne Joy’s father, in
addition to his pioneer work in the newspaper world, was also a pioneer
in the linen manufacture. In 1749 he established at Randalstown “a
complete new mill for dressing flax ... which will dress 14℔. of flax in
an hour, fit for the heckle.” He was keenly interested in politics, and,
when an old man, confined to his couch by a disease in his leg, had
himself conveyed to Antrim, on the occasion of an election, to vote for
Rowley and O’Neill, the popular candidates. His son, Robert, meeting him
there, said: “What brought you here, Sir?” “The good of my country,” was
the reply. The side for which he voted was triumphant, but the day that
the members were chaired he died.
His two sons, Robert and Henry, were remarkable men. It was they, who,
with Captain John McCracken and Thomas MacCabe (“the Irish Slave”)
introduced the cotton industry into Belfast—and with it laid the
foundations of the present prosperity of that city. Young Henry Joy
McCracken, who had an extraordinary gift for mechanics and was as clever
with his hands as any prestidigitator, was sent to England and Scotland
to ferret out the carefully guarded mechanical secrets of the British
cotton manufacturers—and accomplished his mission in a manner which will
furnish an exciting chapter in Irish industrial history—when it comes to
be written. Belfast of to-day has little thought to spare for the
“United Men”—but it should not forget what it owes to Henry Joy
McCracken—to him who died for the cause which so many in Belfast to-day
are sworn to destroy: “a brotherhood of affection, an identity of
interests, a communion of rights, and a union of power among Irishmen of
all religious persuasions.”
To Henry and Robert Joy, Belfast owed likewise the “Old Poorhouse,” the
first shelter devised for Belfast’s poor. The little Joys and McCrackens
were early interested in the poor old men and women, and especially in
the children; and, as they grew up, they were active workers in their
behalf—getting up dances, and concerts and collections for the
institution. It was partly in the design of procuring funds for the Poor
House (as well as to give employment to the linen weavers during periods
of depression in their own trade) that the Joys first turned their
attention to the cotton trade. The managers of the Poor House rejected
the offer made by Robert Joy to instal the new machinery (which Harry
McCracken’s cleverness had made it possible to erect in Ireland), and to
carry on the manufacture of cotton as a regular part of their routine,
and a means of making the institution self-supporting. They allowed,
however, the children to go to work in the mill which the firm of Joy,
MacCabe and McCracken presently established.
Come of such strains as has been indicated, both on the paternal and
maternal side, is it any wonder that the children of John and Anne
McCracken should have been endowed with uncommon gifts both of body and
mind and soul? They were a numerous tribe—but, as was so usual with
these large eighteenth-century families, only a certain proportion of
them survived the ordeals of childhood. Of these, four were boys:
Francis, William, Henry Joy, and John; and two were girls: Margaret and
Mary Anne. The latter was the youngest but one, of the family, and was
ten years the junior of her sister.
Mary Anne was considered delicate in her youth, and it was feared she
was in consumption. On this account she was kept on a low diet—an
astonishing treatment, to our modern notions. But the treatment seems to
have been successful; for in her hale and hearty old age she could
remark in her humorous way: “I have been a long time consuming away.”
She was an active child, and she used to tell her grandnieces with much
pride how she accomplished the feat of hopping on one leg right across
High Street three times without stopping.