the eighteenth century was not unlike that with which the entertaining
journal of Anna Greene Winslow, a small Boston schoolgirl contemporary,
makes us familiar. There was a separate school for English, another for
writing; in addition girls had to attend a sewing and knitting school.
In all these branches Mary became very proficient. Her needlework was
exquisite. She was fond of reading, and read only the best authors. Her
letters, some of which will be quoted in due course, are admirable. One
wishes, as one reads them and those of Elizabeth and Jane Emmet and
Matilda Tone, that the delightful art were revived by the teachers of
the girls of to-day.
Captain John McCracken, being a travelled man and an admirer of the
French nation, wished to have his children taught French. Belfast of
that day supplied, it would appear, no better teacher than an old French
weaver who had picked up his knowledge of English on the banks of the
Lagan, and thought it the correct thing to translate his native tongue
into the idiom of that classic region. Mary Anne used to relate
afterwards, with great enjoyment that his translation of _il faut_
always took the form, “_it be to be_.”
When Mary was in her teens the family left the house in High Street and
went to a larger one in Rosemary Street. Two of the boys, William and
John, married, but the family circle was not thus broken up for they
brought their brides to live under the paternal roof in the patriarchal
fashion of the period. So numerous were the inmates of the McCracken
home, after a time, that their friends referred to it as “Noah’s Ark,”
the appropriateness of the name being emphasised by the number of dogs,
and cats, and other pet animals, who shared with the humans, the
domicile.
One young man who was destined to leave an honoured name for his labours
in the cause of Irish music was for many years a member of the McCracken
household: Edward Bunting. He came to them in 1785 a young lad of
eleven, sent by his brother, Anthony, from Drogheda to become apprentice
to Mr. Ware, the organist of St. Anne’s Church, Belfast, and he remained
with them for upwards of forty years. This frank hospitality gives us a
pleasant insight into the spirit of the McCracken household. They were
all intensely musical, and many a delightful evening was spent around
“Atty’s” pianoforte when the McCrackens and Joys were reinforced by a
numerous troop of Neilsons, Simmses, McTiers, and so on.
Much as Mary loved all her brothers and sisters, she loved Harry best of
all. Was it to be wondered at? For the tall lad with his handsome,
high-bred face, his graceful person, his charm of manner, exercised a
remarkable fascination over all who came in contact with him. While yet
a schoolboy his companions adored him for his courage and spirit of
adventure, and admired his steadfastness and his unrivalled quickness of
perception. As he grew up he became a great favourite in society, for
which he possessed a very remarkable equipment of accomplishments. He
was a clever mimic, but while delighting his friends with his skill in
this direction, never allowed himself to wound the most sensitive
feelings. The same considerations governed the exercise of his rich gift
of humour.
The first break in “Noah’s Ark” took place when Harry left home to take
up his quarters on the Falls Road near the cotton factory. About the
same time the female members of the family, Mrs. McCracken, Margaret and
Mary Anne, commenced, on a somewhat more extended scale, the business of
muslin manufacturers, in which John McCracken had already been
interested since 1779.[86] Her grandniece informs us that “Mary was the
moving spirit of the business, and worked early and late. She has said
that so closely confined was she at times that, when going to the
post-office before breakfast, she felt inclined to leap and dance with
delight in the fresh morning air. Her chief object in trying to make
money was that she might have some of her own to give away as she
wished. She was of a very sanguine temperament and did not spare
herself, and to some extent she succeeded in her object; but, perhaps
the times were against her. She had much struggling and anxiety, and the
ultimate result was disappointing.”
Footnote 86:
An affidavit preserved in the McCracken MSS. proves that “the first
piece of muslin ever woven” in Belfast or its vicinage was woven by
Thos. Burnside for John McCracken in January, 1779.
Those were stirring times in which Mary McCracken grew to womanhood; and
even a duller mind, than that which was housed in the fragile form of
this little Belfast girl, must have been stimulated in the atmosphere of
great ideas, which was her daily breathing. She was five years old when
the Battle of Lexington was fought, and eleven when Cornwallis
surrendered at Yorktown; and the great battles for liberty that marked
the years from 1775 to 1781 were distant in space only from the rising
city on the Lagan, which followed their fortunes with an interest so
passionate. It was the war of liberation of their own flesh and blood
which the Belfast men knew was being waged across the dividing Atlantic.
It was the doctrines of civil and political freedom which had been borne
in the emigrant ships from Ireland that were vindicated at Bunker’s
Hill, at Trenton, at Princeton, at Saratoga. Is it to be wondered at,
that, young as she was, Mary McCracken followed the story of the
American War with a sympathy and understanding beyond her years? She was
nine years old when the “armed men” who had sprung forth on Ireland’s
soil from the sowed “dragon’s teeth” of England’s laws, formed in their
splendid ranks on the Falls Road—the first Volunteers of Ireland. Her
brother Frank was one of those who wore their gallant uniform. She was
twelve years old when the Volunteer Convention at Dungannon made certain
the granting of Grattan’s demands for the liberty of the Irish
Parliament. She was ripe enough to apprehend the lessons contained in
the failure of that Parliament and to trace it to its true origin. She
was nineteen when the great news came from Paris, and Liberty sprang
forth full armed to claim the world, from the mighty ruins of the
Bastille.
“Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive—
But to be young was very _heaven_!”
[Illustration:
THE CUP TOSSERS
Mary McCracken, as the old Gipsy, and one of the Teeling girls are
said to have sat for this picture by Crowley.
]
In 1790 there came to Belfast, as an officer in the 64th Regiment, a
young man who was destined to exercise a memorable influence on the fate
of Mary McCracken, and the brother who was so dear to her. She had just
completed her teens when Thomas Russell made his appearance in her
native city—and won for ever her faithful heart. Alas! that he never
suspected the treasure that was his! He himself was eating out his own
heart for the beautiful Bess Goddard; and when Miss Goddard married Mr.
Kington, Russell fell in love with Miss Simms. When he came to Belfast
in 1803 it was Miss Simms of whom he dreamt. Mary McCracken was for him
as a sister infinitely dear, a comrade infinitely staunch and true in
the great Cause. But she was nothing more; and with an unconscious
cruelty which only the blindness caused by his absorption in his own
hopeless passion for another can excuse, he made her the _confidante_ of
his love for Miss Simms.
It is through the eyes of Mary McCracken that we of to-day are permitted
to see Thomas Russell. So living and breathing is the portrait, for
which a woman’s love has mixed the colours, that though Russell has been
lying for one hundred and fifteen years in the grave which she made for
him in Downpatrick, it seems to us as if we might have passed him in the
streets to-day.
“A model of manly beauty, he was one of those favoured individuals whom
one cannot pass in the street without being guilty of the rudeness of
staring in the face while passing, and turning round to look at the
receding figure. Though more than six feet high, his majestic stature
was scarcely observed owing to the exquisite symmetry of his form.
Martial in gait and demeanour, his appearance was not altogether that of
a soldier. His dark and steady eye, compressed lip, and somewhat haughty
bearing were occasionally strongly indicative of the camp; but in
general the classic contour of his finely formed head, the expression of
almost infantile sweetness which characterised his smile, and the
benevolence that beamed in his fine countenance seemed to mark him out
as one who was destined to be the ornament, grace and blessing of
private life. His voice was deep-toned and melodious and though his
conversational powers were not of the first order, yet, when roused to
enthusiasm, he was sometimes more than eloquent. His manners were those
of the finished gentleman, combined with that native grace which nothing
but superiority of intellect can give. There was a reserved and somewhat
haughty stateliness in his mien, which to those who did not know him had
at first the appearance of pride; but as it gave way before the warmth
and benevolence of his disposition, it soon became evident that the
defect, if it were one, was caused by the too sensitive delicacy of a
noble soul; and those who knew him loved him the more for his reserve,
and thought they saw something attractive in the very repellingness of
his manner.”
We have already related in other _Memoirs_ of this series[87] some of
the memorable events which followed the arrival of Russell in Belfast:
the visit of Tone, which led to the foundation of the United Irishmen
(1791); the establishment of the _Northern Star_ (1792); the military
raids of 1793, etc.; the reception accorded to Tone and his family on
their way to America in 1795. In all these events the McCrackens, and
Mary in particular, were keenly interested. She was a diligent reader of
the _Star_, and it is recorded that after her recovery from a fever her
first exclamation was: “Oh! I have missed so many _Stars_!”
Footnote 87:
Principally those of Matilda Tone and Anne Neilson.
In September, 1796, Government, which had already marked with intense
displeasure the efforts made by young Protestant patriots like H. J.
McCracken, Lowry and Tennant, on the one hand, and Young Catholic
patriots like C. H. Teeling and his brother-in-law, John Magennis, on
the other, to allay the religious feuds then devastating Ulster, swooped
down on the most active agents of this policy of reconciliation. On the
same day as C. H. Teeling was arrested in Lisburn, Russell and Neilson
were arrested in Belfast. A month later Henry Joy McCracken was taken
up; and in the spring of the following year, his brother, William.
As soon as the prisoners received (through the efforts of Lord O’Neill)
permission to see their relatives, the McCracken girls, accompanied by
William’s wife, paid a visit to Dublin, to be near the brothers. We find
them again in Dublin the following year, when their influence, combined
with that of Mrs. Neilson, brought about a reconciliation between Harry
and Samuel Neilson, both whose tempers had suffered considerably from
the wear and tear of prison _régime_ and close confinement.
In the autumn of 1797 the McCrackens were released from Kilmainham.
Harry’s health was so much shaken by what he had undergone during his
imprisonment, that for some time his life was despaired of. But early in
the fatal year ’98, we find him as active as ever in organising the
Union. In February he went to Dublin on business connected with it, and
he remained there until the eve of the Rising in May.
It is a matter of history now that Henry Joy McCracken became
Commander-in-Chief of the Insurgent forces in the north only three or
four days before the outbreak, and only in consequence of the arrest of
Dickson, the original commander-in-chief, and the cowardice of the
gentleman appointed to replace him. All that one man could do to make
the most of a situation, even then desperate, was done by McCracken. But
it was of no avail. On June the 7th the battle of Antrim was fought and
lost; and Harry McCracken, and Jamie Hope and the faithful few who had
refused to lower the Banner of Green were on the hills “on their
keeping.”
And now it will be our privilege to hear Mary McCracken herself, tell
the end of Henry’s story in her own most moving words:
“Some days after the battle of Antrim, not having received any
intelligence of my brother, I set out in pursuit of him,
accompanied by Mrs. M.——, sister of John Shaw, of Belfast, who
wished to get some information respecting her husband and also a
brother of Mrs. Shaw. We went towards the White House and made
some enquiries in the neighbourhood. In the evening we joined J.
McG. at the country residence of Mr. John Brown, a banker, then
in England, whose gardener, Cunningham, had given shelter
occasionally to the wanderers. At nightfall this man took us to
a house near the Cave Hill, belonging to John Brier, whom I knew
a little, where we got a bed that night. In the morning I urged
Mrs. M. to return home, which she generously refused, although
she had gained the information she required. She insisted on
accompanying me. Her husband had got safe into Belfast,
disguised as a countryman with a basket of eggs, and was then
safe in Mr. Shaw’s house; he had been at the battle of Antrim
also. The next day we continued our search, and at last met with
Gawin Watt and another person, who promised to take us in the
evening to a place where we would get intelligence. The latter
took us to a smith’s house, on the lime-stone road to Antrim....
“In the back room of this man’s house we found about eight of
the fugitives in consultation as to what should be done. I
recommended them strongly to separate and return to their homes,
if they could with safety. They replied that there was something
in view, but in the event of its not taking place, they would
follow my advice. Three of the party undertook to escort us; we
travelled up hill, across fields, drains and ditches, for two
hours ... when we arrived at the Bowhill, where my dear brother
and six others (James Hope, one of the number) were sitting on
the brow of the hill, Henry seemed surprised and rejoiced at the
meeting, and after sitting with the party for a long time,
talking over their adventures and escapes, he conducted us to a
house where we were received in darkness, the woman of the house
not daring to light a candle, or make the fire blaze. I insisted
on Mrs. M. occupying the only chair for the remainder of the
night, while I took a low stool and rested my head on her lap.
My brother was to be with us at seven in the morning; we thought
that night very long, but when seven o’clock came, and no Harry
appeared, we became very uneasy.... He came at last, having
waited for the others till after two o’clock. We then set out on
our way home, and he accompanied us a little way, wishing to see
McG., whom we sent out to him.”
About ten days afterwards, Mary received a letter from Harry, and a
little later she had another meeting with him at the house of a poor
labourer, called David Bodle, near Cave Hill. Arrangements were made to
get the fugitive off to America under an assumed name, but on his way to
the coast he was captured.
“It was on Sunday afternoon, July 8th, my birthday, that we got
intelligence of Harry’s capture.... My father and I set off
immediately for Carrickfergus, and with difficulty obtained
permission to visit him; the officer, who accompanied us
politely standing at a distance, not to prevent our
conversation. Having desired me not to use any solicitations on
his account; and after expressing to me his wishes on many
matters, he desired me to tell my brother John to come to him.
My mother had sent him a favourite book of his, Young’s ‘Night
Thoughts,’ and I observed a line from it written on the wall of
his cell:
“‘A friend’s worth all the hazard we can run.’
“We remained all night in Carrickfergus, and tried the next
morning to see him again; but were not admitted. We saw him,
however, through the window of his cell, when he gave me a ring,
with a green shamrock engraved on the outside, and the words,
‘Remember Orr,’ on the inside, which he desired me to give to
his mother. Since her death it has remained with me. On the
16th, he was brought in a prisoner to Belfast, in the evening.
My sister and I immediately set out to try if we could see him.
He was then standing, with a strong escort of soldiers who were
drawn up on the middle of Castle place. We could not speak to
him there. He was then taken to the artillery barracks in Ann
Street.”
After a brutal refusal from Colonel Durham, the sisters at length
obtained, from the humanity of Colonel Barber, admission to their
brother. At this interview Harry requested that his cousins, Mrs. Holmes
and Miss Mary Toomb, should be called as witnesses on his behalf.
“I arose at six, and set out in a carriage for the place where
Miss Toomb was then staying with a lady, near Lisburn. I
endeavoured to keep up her spirits as well as I could, fearing
from the state of grief and anxiety she was in, she would be
unable to give evidence. She came with me, and on arriving in
town, July the 17th, I proceeded to the Exchange, where the
trial was just commenced. The moment I set my eyes on him I was
struck with the extraordinary serenity and composure of his
look. This was no time to think about such things, but yet I
could not help gazing on him; it seemed to me that I had never
seen him look so well, so full of healthful bloom, so free from
the slightest trace of care or trouble, as at that moment, when
he was perfectly aware of his approaching fate.
“I sat very near the table when the trial was going on. Colonel
Montgomery was President. The first witness called was Minis.
The other witness, James Beck, a poor miserable-looking
creature, swore that he had seen him at Antrim, and knew him by
a mark on his throat, which mark was not seen until his
neckerchief was taken off.”
James Hope learned afterwards from a soldier on guard that morning that
neither of the witnesses had ever set eyes on McCracken until that day,
when he was pointed out to them by an officer, who also told them of the
mark on his throat.
“Immediately preceding the examination of the witnesses, my
father, who was just recovering from a severe and tedious fit of
sickness, and who appeared to be sinking beneath the weight of
old age and affliction, was called aside by Pollock, who told
him that he had such evidence against his son as would certainly
hang him; that his life was in his hands, and that he would save
it, if my father would persuade him to give such information as
Pollock knew it was in his power to do, namely, who the person
was who had been appointed to command the people at Antrim, in
whose place he (McCracken) had acted. My father replied, that
‘he knew nothing, and could do nothing in the matter: he would
rather his son died than do a dishonourable action.’ The tyrant,
however, not content with the trial of his virtue, would torture
him still farther by calling Harry to the conference, and
repeated the same offer to himself, who, well knowing his
father’s sentiments, answered that ‘he would do anything which
his father knew it would be right for him to do.’ Pollock
repeated the offer, in which my father said, ‘Harry, my dear, I
know nothing of the business, but you know best what you ought
to do.’ Harry then said, ‘Farewell, father,’ and returned to the
table to abide the issue of the trial. After I left him, I was
told that Major Fox went up to him and asked him for the last
time if he would give information, at which he smiled, and said,
‘he wondered how Major Fox could suppose him to be such a
villain.’...
“After the examination of the witnesses, I rose and went forward
to the table; I stated what appeared to me to be unlike truth in
the evidence that had been given by the witnesses for the
prosecution, expressing a hope that they would not consider such
evidence sufficient to take away life; the testimony of one
witness impeaching the character and credit of the approver, on
whose statements the charge was mainly dependent for support.
“Harry had taken notes of the trial, and before its termination
said to me in a whisper, ‘You must be prepared for my
conviction’; all his friends could then do for him was to
endeavour to get his sentence commuted to banishment. Before the
close of the proceedings I hastened home with this intelligence,
and my mother went instantly to General Nugent’s house, and
requested an interview, but he refused to be seen. I returned to
the Exchange before my mother came back, but found that Harry
had been removed. I little expected that any efforts to save him
would be successful; but I felt I had a duty to perform—to
prevent misrepresentation, and to put it out of the power of his
enemies to injure his character while living, or his memory when
dead. I followed him to the artillery barracks, where I saw
Major Fox just going in, and asked his permission to see my
brother; he desired me to wait a little, but I followed him, and
when he came to the door of my brother’s cell, I remained behind
him at a few paces distance; the door of the cell was opened,
and I heard him say, ‘You are ordered for immediate execution.’
My poor brother seemed to be astonished at this announcement;
indeed he well might be, at the shortness of time allotted to
him; but seeing me falling to the ground, he sprang forward and
caught me. I did not, however, lose consciousness for a
single instant, but felt a strange sort of composure and
self-possession; and in this frame of mind I continued during
the whole day. I knew it was incumbent on me to avoid disturbing
the last moments of my brother’s life, and I endeavoured to
contribute to render them worthy of his whole career. We
conversed as calmly as we had ever done. I asked him if there
was anything in particular he desired to have done. He said, ‘I
wish you to write to Russell, inform him of my death, and tell
him that I have done my duty....’ He said he would like to see
Mr. Kelburne, who was our clergyman. I told him I feared that
Mr. Kelburne would be unable to come, but that if he wished to
see a clergyman, Dr. Dickson was then under the same roof, and
would come to him. He replied he would rather have Mr. Kelburne,
as it would gratify his father and mother. He, of course, was
sent for, but being confined to his bed by illness, it was a
considerable time before he made his appearance. In the meantime
Dr. Dickson was brought to him; they retired to the far end of
the room, when I observed Dr. Dickson take out his pocket book
and write something in it; he afterwards said that he never met
with any person whose mind was better prepared to meet death.
Mr. Kelburne soon after arrived, and when he did, he burst out
crying, and said, ‘Oh! Harry, you did not know how much I loved
you.’ Mr. Kelburne, after some time, endeavoured to assume
composure.... Harry, perceiving the effort at appearing more
concerned than he really was, looked at Dr. Dickson and smiled.
Mr. Kelburne knelt down, as I believe did all present, and
joined in prayer; he soon after retired, and wished me to
accompany him, which I refused.
“During the early part of the day Harry and I had conversed with
tranquillity on the subject of his death. We had been brought up
in a firm conviction of an all-wise and overruling Providence,
and of the duty of entire resignation to the Divine Will. I
remarked that his death was as much a dispensation of Providence
as if it had happened in the common course of nature, to which
he assented. He told me there had been much perjury on his
trial, but that the truth would have answered the same purpose.
After the clergymen were gone, I asked for a pair of scissors,
that I might take off some of his hair. A young officer who was
on guard went out of the room and brought a pair of scissors but
hesitated to trust them into my hand, when I asked him
indignantly if he thought I meant to hurt my brother. He then
gave them to me, and I cut off some of Harry’s hair which curled
round his neck, and folded it up in paper, and put it into my
bosom. Fox at that moment entered the room, and desired me to
give it to him, ‘as too much use had already been made of such
things.’ I refused, saying I would only part with it in death;
when my dear brother said, ‘Oh! Mary, give it to him; of what
value is it?’ I felt that its possession would be a mere
gratification to me, and not wishing to discompose him by the
contest, I gave it up.