Loudly across the dark flowing tide of the Liffey, rolled the cheers of
welcome and rejoicing that burst from Conciliation Hall on that
memorable day in January, '44, when William Smith O'Brien first stood
beneath its roof, and presided over a meeting of Repealers. Many a time
had the walls of that historic building given back the cheers of the
thousands who gathered there to revel in the promises of the Liberator;
many a time had they vibrated to the enthusiasm of the Irishmen who met
there to celebrate the progress of the movement which was to give
freedom and prosperity to Ireland; but not even in those days of monster
meetings and popular demonstrations had a warmer glow of satisfaction
flushed the face of O'Connell, than when the descendant of the Munster
Kings took his place amongst the Dublin Repealers. "I find it
impossible," exclaimed the great Tribune, "to give adequate expression
to the delight with which I hail Mr. O'Brien's presence in the
Association. He now occupies his natural position--the position which
centuries ago was occupied by his ancestor, Brian Boru. Whatever may
become of _me_, it is a consolation to remember that Ireland will not be
without a friend such as William Smith O'Brien, who combining all the
modern endowments of a highly-cultured mind, with intellectual gifts of
the highest order, nervous eloquence, untiring energy, fervid love of
country, and every other high qualification of a popular leader, is now
where his friends would ever wish to see him--at the head of the Irish
people." Six weeks before, a banquet had been given in Limerick to
celebrate O'Brien's adhesion to the national cause, and on this
occasion, too, O'Connell bore generous testimony to the value and
importance of his accession. "His presence," said the Emancipator, in
proposing Mr. O'Brien's health, "cannot prevent me here from expressing
on behalf of the universal people of Ireland, their admiration and
delight at his conversion to their cause. Receive the benefactor of
Ireland, as such a benefactor should be received. It is certain that our
country will never be deserted as long as she has William Smith O'Brien
as one of her leaders."
[Illustration: KEVIN I. O'DOHERTY. THOMAS F. MEAGHER. TERENCE B.
McMANUS]
There was much to account for the tumult of rejoicing which hailed Smith
O'Brien's entry within the ranks of the popular party. His lineage, his
position, his influence, his stainless character, his abilities, and his
worth, combined to fit him for the place which O'Connell assigned him,
and to rally round him the affection and allegiance of the Irish people.
No monarch in the world could trace his descent from a longer line of
illustrious men; beside the roll of ancestry to which he could point,
the oldest of European dynasties were things of a day. When the towering
Pyramids that overlook the Nile were still new; before the Homeric
ballads had yet been chanted in the streets of an Eastern city; before
the foundations of the Parthenon were laid on the Acropolis; before the
wandering sons of Æneas found a home in the valley of the Tiber, the
chieftains of his house enjoyed the conqueror's fame, and his ancestors
swayed the sceptre of Erie. Nor was he unworthy of the name and the fame
of the O'Briens of Kincora. Clear sighted and discerning; deeply endowed
with calm sagacity and penetrating observance; pure minded, eloquent,
talented and chivalrous; he comprised within his nature the truest
elements of the patriot, the scholar, and the statesman. Unfaltering
attachment to the principles of justice, unswerving obedience to the
dictates of honour, unalterable loyalty to rectitude and duty; these
were the characteristics that distinguished him; and these were the
qualities that cast their redeeming light round his failings and his
errors, and wrung from the bitterest of his foes the tribute due to
suffering worth. If nobility of soul, if earnestness of heart and
singleness of purpose, if unflinching and self-sacrificing patriotism,
allied to zeal, courage, and ability, could have redeemed the Irish
cause, it would not be left to us to mourn for it to-day; and instead of
the melancholy story we have now to relate, it might he given to us to
chronicle the regeneration of the Irish nation.
William Smith O'Brien was born, at Dromoland, County Clare, on the 17th
of October, 1803. He was the second son of Sir Edward O'Brien, and on
the death of his kinsman, the last Marquis of Thomond, his eldest
brother became Baron of Inchiquin. He was educated at Harrow and Trinity
College, Cambridge; but his English education, however much it might
have coloured his views during boyhood, did not seriously affect his
innate love of justice, or warp the patriotic feelings which were
developed in his earliest years. The associations into which he was
cast, the tone of the society in which he moved, the politics of his
family, and the modern traditions of his house, combined to throw him
into the ranks of the people's enemies; and that these influences were
not altogether barren of results is proved by the fact that O'Brien
entered Parliament in 1826 as an Anti-Repealer, and exerted himself to
prevent the return of O'Connell at the memorable election for Clare. But
O'Brien was no factious opponent of the national interests; even while
he acted thus, he had the welfare of his country sincerely at heart; he
steered according to his lights, and when time and experience showed the
falseness of his views, he did not hesitate to renounce them. To this
period of his political career Mr. O'Brien often adverted in after life,
with the frankness and candour that distinguished him. "When the
proposal to seek for a Repeal of the Act of Union was first seriously
entertained," said O'Brien, "I used all the influence I possessed to
discountenance the attempt. I did not consider that the circumstances
and prospects of Ireland then justified the agitation of this question.
Catholic Emancipation had been recently achieved, and I sincerely
believed that from that epoch a new course of policy would be adopted
towards Ireland. I persuaded myself that thenceforth the statesmen of
Great Britain would spare no effort to repair the evils produced by
centuries of misgovernment--that the Catholic and Protestant would be
admitted to share on equal terms in all the advantages resulting from
our constitutional form of government--that all traces of an ascendancy
of race or creed would be effaced--that the institutions of Ireland
would be gradually moulded so as to harmonise with the opinions of its
inhabitants, and that in regard of political rights, legislation for
both kingdoms would be based upon the principle of perfect equality."
Fourteen years had elapsed from the date of Catholic Emancipation, when
O'Brien startled the aristocrats of Ireland by renouncing his allegiance
to their party, and throwing himself heart and soul into the vanguard of
the people. He told his reasons for the change in bold convincing words.
He had seen that his expectations of justice were false and delusive.
"The feelings of the Irish nation," he said, "have been exasperated by
every species of irritation and insult; every proposal tending to
develop the sources of our industry--to raise the character and improve
the condition of our population, has been discountenanced, distorted, or
rejected. Ireland, instead of taking its place as an integral portion of
the great empire, which the valour of her sons has contributed to win,
has been treated as a dependent tributary province; and at this moment,
after forty-three years of nominal union, the affections of the two
nations are so entirely alienated from each other, that England trusts
for the maintenance of their connection, not to the attachment of the
Irish people, but to the bayonets which menace our bosoms, and the
cannon which she has planted in all our strongholds."
The prospects of the Repeal movement were not at their brightest when
O'Brien entered Conciliation Hall. In England, and in Ireland too, the
influence of O'Connell was on the wane, and with the dispersion of the
multitudes that flocked on that Sunday morning in October, 1843, to
listen to the Liberator on the plains of Clontarf, the peaceful policy
which he advocated received its death blow. Over O'Connell himself, and
some of the most outspoken of his associates, a State prosecution was
impending; and the arm of the government was already stretched out to
crush the agitation whose object they detested, and whose strength they
had begun to fear. The accession of O'Brien, however, the prestige of
his name, and the influence of his example, was expected to do much
towards reviving the drooping fortunes of the Association. Nor was the
anticipation illusory. From the day on which O'Brien became a Repealer,
down to the date of the secession, the strongest prop of the
Conciliation Hall was his presence and support; he failed indeed to
counteract the corrupt influences that gnawed at the vitals of the
Association and ultimately destroyed it; but while he remained within
its ranks, the redeeming influence of his genius, his patriotism, and
his worth, preserved it from the extinction towards which it was
hastening.
At an early date the penetrating mind of O'Brien detected the existence
of the evil which was afterwards to transform Conciliation Hall into a
market for place hunters. "I apprehend," said he, in a remarkable speech
delivered in January, '46, "more danger to Repeal from the subtle
influence of a Whig administration, than from the coercive measures of
the Tories." And he was right. Day by day, the subtle influence which he
dreaded did its blighting work; and the success of those who sought the
destruction of the Repeal Association through the machinery of bribes
and places was already apparent, when on the 27th of July, 1846,
O'Brien, accompanied by Mitchel, Meagher, Duffy, and others arose in
sorrow and indignation, and quitted the Conciliation Hall for ever.
Six months later the Irish Confederation held its first meeting in the
Round Room of the Rotundo. Meagher, Mitchel, Doheny, O'Brien, O'Gorman,
Martin, and McGee were amongst the speakers; and amidst the ringing
cheers of the densely thronged meeting, the establishment was decreed of
the Irish Confederation, for the purpose--as the resolution
declared--"of protecting our national interests, and obtaining the
Legislative Independence of Ireland by the force of opinion, by the
combination of all classes of Irishmen, and by the exercise of all the
political, social, and moral influence within our reach." It will be
seen that the means by which the Confederates proposed to gain their
object, did not differ materially from the programme of the Repeal
Association. But there was this distinction. Against place-hunting, and
everything savouring of trafficking with the government, the
Confederates resolutely set their faces; and in the next place, while
prescribing to themselves nothing but peaceful and legal means for the
accomplishment of their object, they scouted the ridiculous doctrine,
that "liberty was not worth the shedding of a single drop of blood," and
that circumstances might arise under which resort to the arbitration of
the sword would be righteous and justifiable. In time, however, the
Confederates took up a bolder and more dangerous position. As early as
May, 1846, Lord John Russell spoke of the men who wrote in the pages of
the _Nation_, and who subsequently became the leaders of the
Confederation, "as a party looking to disturbance as its means, and
having separation from England as its object." The description was false
at the time, but before two years had elapsed its application became
more accurate. A few men there were like Mitchel, who from the birth of
the Confederation, and perhaps before it, abandoned all expectation of
redress through the medium of Constitutional agitation; but it was not
until the flames of revolution had wrapped the nations of the Continent
in their fiery folds--until the barricades were up in every capital from
Madrid to Vienna--and until the students' song of freedom was mingled
with the paean of victory on many a field of death--that the hearts of
the Irish Confederates caught the flame, and that revolution, and
revolution alone, became the goal of their endeavours. When Mitchel
withdrew from the Confederation in March, 1848, the principles of
constitutional action were still in the ascendancy; when he rejoined it
a month later, the cry "to the registries," was superseded by fiery
appeals summoning the people to arms. In the first week of April, the
doctrine which John Mitchel had long been propounding, found expression
in the leading columns of the _Nation_:--"Ireland's necessity," said
Duffy, "demands the desperate remedy of revolution." A few weeks later,
the same declaration was made in the very citadel of the enemy's power.
It was O'Brien who spoke, and his audience was the British House of
Commons. With Messrs. Meagher and Hollywood, he had visited Paris to
present an address of congratulation on behalf of the Irish people to
the Republican government; and on taking his seat in the House of
Commons after his return, he found himself charged by the Ministers of
the Crown, with having gone to solicit armed intervention from France on
behalf of the disaffected people of Ireland. O'Brien replied in a speech
such as never was heard before or since within the walls of the House of
Commons. In the midst of indescribable excitement and consternation, he
proceeded to declare in calm deliberative accents--"that if he was to be
arraigned as a criminal, he would gladly endure the most ignominious
death that could be inflicted on him rather than witness the sufferings
and indignities he had seen inflicted by the British legislature on his
countrymen. If it is treason," he exclaimed, "to profess disloyalty to
this House and to the government of Ireland, by the parliament of Great
Britain--if that be treason, I avow it. Nay, more, I say it shall be the
study of my life to overthrow the dominion of this Parliament over
Ireland." The yells and shouts with which these announcements were
received shook the building in which he stood, and obliged him to remain
silent for several moments after the delivery of each sentence; but when
the uproar began to subside, the ringing tones of O'Brien rose again
upon the air, and with the stoicism of a martyr, and the imperturable
courage of a hero, he proceeded. "Irish Freedom," he said, "must be won
by Irish courage. Every statesman in the civilized globe looks upon
Ireland as you look upon Poland, and upon your connection as entirely
analogous to that of Russia with Poland. I am here to-night to tell you,
that if you refuse our claims to legislative independence, you will have
to encounter during the present year, the chance of a Republic in
Ireland."
O'Brien returned to Ireland more endeared than ever to the hearts of
his countrymen. And now the game was fairly afoot. Government and people
viewed each other with steady and defiant glare, and girded up their
loins for the struggle. On the one side the Confederate clubs were
organized with earnestness and vigour, and the spirit of the people
awakened by a succession of stirring and glowing appeals. "What if we
fail?" asked the _Nation_; and it answered the question by declaring
unsuccessful resistance under the circumstances preferable to a
degrading submission. "What if we _don't_ fail?" was its next inquiry,
and the answer was well calculated to arouse the patriots of Ireland to
action. On the other hand the authorities were not idle. Arm's Bills,
Coercion Acts, and prosecutions followed each other in quick succession.
Mitchel was arrested, convicted, and sent to Bermuda. Duffy, Martin,
Meagher, Doheny, O'Doherty, and M'Gee were arrested--all of whom, except
Duffy and Martin, were shortly afterwards liberated. Duffy's trial was
fixed for August, and this was the time appointed by the Confederates
for the outbreak of the insurrection. There were some who advocated a
more prompt mode of action. At a meeting of the Confederates held on
July 19th, after the greater portion of the country had been proclaimed,
it was warmly debated whether an immediate appeal to arms should not be
counselled. O'Brien and Dillon advocated delay; the harvest had not yet
been reaped in; the clubs were not sufficiently organized throughout the
country, and the people might easily conceal their arms until the hour
arrived for striking a decisive blow. Against this policy a few of the
more impetuous members protested. "You will wait," exclaimed Joe
Brennan, "until you get arms from heaven, and angels to pull the
triggers." But his advice was disregarded; and the meeting broke up with
the understanding that with the first glance of the harvest sun, the
fires of insurrection were to blaze upon the hill tops of Ireland, and
that meanwhile organization and preparation were to engross
the attention of the leaders. On Friday, July 21st, a war
directory--consisting of Dillon, Reilly, O'Gorman, Meagher, and Father
Kenyon was appointed; and on the following morning O'Gorman started for
Limerick, Doheny for Cashel, and O'Brien for Wexford, to prepare the
people for the outbreak.
It was war to the knife, and every one knew it. The forces of the
government in Ireland were hourly increased in Dublin--every available
and commanding position was occupied and fortified. "In the Bank of
Ireland," says one who watched the progress of affairs with attentive
gaze, "soldiers as well as cashiers were ready to settle up accounts.
The young artists of the Royal Hibernian Academy and Royal Dublin
Society had to quit their easels to make way for the garrison. The
squares of old Trinity College resounded with the tramp of daily
reviews; the Custom House at last received some occupation by being
turned into a camp. The Linen Hall, the Rotundo, Holmes' Hotel,
Alborough House, Dycer's Stables, in Stephen's-green--every institution,
literary, artistic, and commercial, was confiscated to powder and
pipe-clay. The barracks were provisioned as if for a siege; cavalry
horses were shod with plates of steel, to prevent their being injured
and thrown into disorder by broken bottles, iron spikes, or the like;
and the infantry were occupied in familiarizing themselves with the art
of fusilading footpaths and thoroughfares. Arms were taken from the
people, and the houses of loyal families stocked with the implements of
war."
But the national leaders had calculated on the preparations of the
government; they knew the full measure of its military power, and were
not afraid to face it; but there was one blow which they had not
foreseen, and which came on them with the shock of a thunderbolt. On the
very morning that O'Brien left for Wexford, the news reached Dublin that
a warrant had been issued for his arrest, and that the suspension of the
_Habeas Corpus_ Act was resolved on by the government. "It appears
strangely unaccountable to me," was Meagher's reflection in after years,
"that whilst a consideration of our position, our project, and our
resources was taking place; whilst the stormy future on which we were
entering formed the subject of the most anxious conjecture, and the
danger of it fell like wintry shadows around us; it seems strangely
unaccountable to me that not an eye was turned to the facilities for the
counteraction of our designs which the government had at their disposal;
that not a word was uttered in anticipation of that bold astounding
measure--the suspension of the _Habeas Corpus_ Act--the announcement of
which broke upon us so suddenly. The overlooking of it was a fatal
inadvertance. Owing to it we were routed without a struggle, and were
led into captivity without glory. We suffer not for a rebellion, but a
blunder."
The few of the Confederate leaders at large in Dublin at the
time--Duffy, Martin, Williams, and O'Doherty were in Newgate--held a
hurried council, and their plans were speedily formed. They were to join
Smith O'Brien at once, and commence the insurrection in Kilkenny. On the
night of Saturday, July 22nd, M'Gee left for Scotland to prepare the
Irishmen of Glasgow for action; and Meagher, Dillon, Reilly, M'Manus,
O'Donoghue, and Leyne started southwards to place themselves in
communication with O'Brien. A week later the last of the national papers
was suppressed, and the _Nation_ went down, sword in hand as a warrior
might fall, with the words of defiance upon its lips, and a prayer for
the good old cause floating upwards with its latest breath.
O'Brien was in bed, when Meagher and Dillon arrived at Balinkeele where
he was stopping. The news of the suspension of the _Habeas Corpus_ Act,
and of the plans formed by the Confederates were speedily communicated
to him. O'Brien manifested no surprise at the intelligence. He quietly
remarked that the time for action had arrived; and that every Irishman
was now justified in taking up arms against the government; dressed
himself, and set out without losing an hour to inaugurate his hazardous
enterprise at Enniscorthy. As the train drove along, the three friends
occupied themselves with the important question where should they begin
the outbreak. Wexford was mentioned, but the number of Confederates
enrolled there were few, and the people were totally unprepared for a
sudden appeal to arms; New Ross and Waterford were ruled against,
because of the effectual assistance the gunboats stationed in the river
could render the garrison of those towns. Against Kilkenny none of those
objections applied; and the more they discussed the subject the more
convinced did they become that the most fitting cradle for the infant
genius of Irish liberty was the ancient "city of the Confederates."
"Perfectly safe from all war steamers, gunboats, and floating batteries;
standing on the frontiers of the three best fighting counties in
Ireland--Waterford, Wexford, and Tipperary--the peasantry of which could
find no difficulty in pouring to its relief; possessing from three to
five thousand Confederates, most of whom were understood to be armed;
the most of the streets being narrow, and presenting on this account the
greatest facilities for the erection of barricades; the barracks lying
outside the town, and the line of communication between the powerful
portions of the latter and the former being intercepted by the old
bridge over the Nore, which might be easily defended, or, at the most,
very speedily demolished; no place," says Meagher, "appeared to us to be
better adapted for the first scene of the revolution."
Towards Kilkenny they therefore took their way, haranguing the people in
soul-stirring addresses as they proceeded. At Enniscorthy and at
Graigue-na-mana their appeals were responded to with fervent enthusiasm;
they called on the people to form themselves into organized bodies, and
prepare to co-operate with the insurgents who were shortly to unfurl
their banner beneath the shadow of St. Canice's; and the crowds who hung
on their words vowed their determination to do so. But in Kilkenny, as
in every town they visited, the patriot leaders found the greatest
disinclination to take the initiative in the holy war. There as
elsewhere the people felt no unwillingness to fight; but they knew they
were ill prepared for such an emergency, and fancied the first blow
might be struck more effectively elsewhere. "Who will draw the first
blood?" asked Finton Lalor in the last number of the _Felon_; and the
question was a pertinent one; there was a decided reluctance to draw it.
It is far from our intention to cast the slightest reflection on the
spirit or courage of the nationalists of 1848. We know that it was no
selfish regard for their own safety made the leaders in Wexford,
Kilkenny, and elsewhere, shrink from counselling an immediate outbreak
in their localities; the people, as well as the men who led them, looked
forward to the rising of the harvest moon, and the cutting of their
crops, as the precursors of the herald that was to summon them to aims.
Their state of organization was lamentably deficient; anticipating a
month of quiet preparation, they had neglected to procure arms up to the
date of O'Brien's arrival, and a few weeks would at least be required to
complete their arrangements. In Kilkenny, for instance, not one in every
eight of the clubmen possessed a musket, and even their supply of pikes
was miserably small. But they were ready to do all that in them lay; and
when O'Brien, Dillon, and Meagher quitted Kilkenny on Monday, July 24th,
they went in pursuance of an arrangement which was to bring them back to
the city of the Nore before the lapse of a week. They were to drive into
Tipperary, visit Carrick, Clonmel, and Cashel, and summon the people of
those towns to arms. Then, after the lapse of a few days, they were to
return at the head of their followers to Kilkenny, call out the clubs,
barricade the streets, and from the Council Chambers of the Corporation
issue the first Revolutionary Edict to the country. They hoped that a
week later the signal fires of insurrection would be blazing from every
hill-top in Ireland; and that the sunlight of freedom, for which so many
generations of patriots had yearned, would soon flood glebe and town,
the heather-clad mountains, and pleasant vales of Innisfail. _Diis
aliter visum_; the vision that glittered before their longing eyes
melted away with the smoke of the first insurgent shot; and instead of
the laurel of the conqueror they were decked with the martyr's palm.
On arriving in Callan the travellers were received with every
demonstration of sympathy and welcome. The streets were blocked with
masses of men that congregated to listen to their words. A large
procession, headed by the temperance band, escorted them through the
town, and a bonfire was lit in the centre of the main street. They told
the people to provide themselves at once with arms, as in a few days
they would be asked to march with the insurgent forces on Kilkenny--an
announcement that was received with deafening applause. After a few
hours' delay the three compatriots quitted Callan, and pursued their
road to Carrick-on-Suir, where they arrived on the some evening and
received a most enthusiastic reception. They addressed the excited
multitude in impassioned words, promised to lead them to battle before
many days, and called on them to practice patience and prudence in the
interval. On the following day they quitted Carrick, and took their way
to Mullinahone, where the people gathered in thousands to receive them.
The number of men who assembled to meet them was between three and four
thousand, of whom about three hundred were armed with guns, pistols, old
swords, and pitchforks. The gathering was reviewed and drilled by the
Confederates; and O'Brien, who wore a plaid scarf across his shoulders,
and carried a pistol in his breast pocket, told them that Ireland would
have a government of her own before many weeks.
On the evening of Tuesday, July 25th, the Confederate leaders arrived in
Mullinahone, where they slept. On the following morning they addressed
the people, who flocked into the town on hearing of their arrival. And
here it was that O'Brien himself dealt the death blow of the movement.
The peasantry, who came from their distant homes to meet him, were left
the whole day long without food or shelter. O'Brien himself gave what
money he had to buy them bread; but he told them in future they should
provide for themselves, as he could allow no one's property to be
interfered with. Hungry and exhausted, the men who listened to him
returned at night to their homes; they were sensible enough to perceive
that insurrection within the lines laid down by their leaders was
impossible; the news that they were expected to fight on empty stomachs
was spread amongst the people, and from that day forward the number of
O'Brien's followers dwindled away.
On July 26th, O'Brien and his party first visited the village of
Ballingarry, where he was joined by M'Manus, Doheny, Devin Reilly, and
other prominent members of the Confederation. They took a survey of the
village and its neighbourhood; addressed the crowd from the piers of the
chapel gate, and slept in the house of one of the village shopkeepers.
Next day they returned to Mullinahone and thence to Killenaule, where
they were received with every demonstration of welcome and rejoicing.
Bouquets fell in showers upon O'Brien; addresses were read, and the
fullest and warmest co-operation was freely promised by the excited
crowds that congregated in the streets.
The exact position which the Confederates had now assumed towards the
Crown and government, is deserving of a moment's attention. Up to the
last they carefully distinguished between resisting the acts of the
government and disputing the sovereignty of the queen. They regarded the
suspension of the _Habeas Corpus_ Act as unconstitutional in itself; and
when O'Brien told her Majesty's Ministers in the House of Commons, that
it was they who were the traitors to the country, the Queen, and the
Constitution, he did but express the opinions that underlay the whole
policy of the Confederation. Even the passing of the _Habeas Corpus_
Suspension Act was not quite sufficient to exhaust their patience; in
order to fill the measure of the government's transgressions and justify
a resort to arms against them, it was necessary in the opinion of
O'Brien and his associates, that the authorities should attempt to carry
into operation the iniquitious law they had passed; the arrest of
O'Brien was to be the signal for insurrection; meanwhile, they were
satisfied with organizing their forces for the fray, and preparing for
offering an effective resistance to the execution of the warrant,
whenever it should make its appearance. It was therefore that when at
Killenaule, a small party of dragoons rode up to the town they were
suffered to proceed unmolested; at the first notice of their coming, the
people rushed to the streets and hastily threw up a barricade to
intercept them. Dillon commanded at the barricade; beside him stood
Patrick O'Donoghue, and a young man whose career as a revolutionist, was
destined to extend far beyond the scenes in which he was then sharing;
and whose name was one day to become first a terror to the government of
England, and afterwards a by-word and a reproach amongst his countrymen.
O'Donoghue and Stephens were both armed, and when the officer commanding
the dragoons rode up to the barricade and demanded a passage, Stephens
promptly covered him with his rifle, when his attention was arrested by
a command from Dillon to ground his arms. The officer pledged his honour
that he did not come with the object of arresting O'Brien; the barricade
was taken down; and the dragoons passed scatheless through the town.
Another opportunity had been lost, and the hearts of the most resolute
of O'Brien's colleagues sunk lower than ever.
On Friday, O'Brien and his followers returned to Ballingarry, where they
held a council on the prospects of the movement. It was clear that the
case was a desperate one, that the chance of successful resistance was
inevitably lost, and that nothing now awaited them--should they persist
in their enterprise--but ruin and death. Only a couple of hundred men,
wretchedly armed or not armed at all, adhered to their failing fortunes;
and throughout the rest of the country the disaffected gave no sign. But
O'Brien was unmovable; he would do his duty by his country, let the
country answer for its duty towards him.
The collision came at last. On Saturday morning, July 29th, the
constabulary of Thurles, Kilkenny, Cashel, and Callan received orders to
march on the village of Ballingarry, for the purpose of arresting Smith
O'Brien. On the previous day the government had issued a proclamation,
declaring him guilty of treasonable practices, by appearing in arms
against the Queen, and offering a reward of £500 for his apprehension;
on the same day, £300 was offered for the arrest of Meagher, Dillon,
and Doheny. Fired with the ambition of capturing the rebel party with
his own forces, and winning for himself a deathless fame, Sub-Inspector
Trant marched out in hot haste from Callan, at the head of forty-six
policemen, and directed his steps towards Ballingarry, where it was
known to him that O'Brien was still stopping. Between twelve and one
o'clock they arrived at Farrenrory, within three miles of the village of
Ballingary. On arriving at this point the police found that effective
measures had been adopted to dispute their further progress. Across the
road before them a barricade had been thrown up, and behind it was
arrayed a body of men, numbering from three to four hundred. Fearing to
face the insurgent forces, the police turned off to the right, and
rushed towards a slate house which they saw in the distance. The people
saw the object of the movement, and at once gave chase; but the police
had the advantage of a long start, and they succeeded in reaching the
house and barring the door by which they entered, before their pursuers
came up.
The die was cast, and the struggle so long watched for, and sighed for,
had come at last. But it came not as it had been depicted by the tribune
and poet; the vision that had flashed its radiancy before the eager eyes
that hungered for the redemption of Ireland, differed sadly from the
miserable reality. The serried ranks of glittering steel, the files of
gallant pikemen, the armed columns of stalwart peasants, pouring through
gap and river course, the glimmering camp fires quivering through the
mist, the waving banners, and the flashing swords--where were they now?
Where were the thousands of matchless mould, the men of strength and
spirit, whose footfalls woke the echoes one month before in a hundred
towns as they marched to the meetings at which they swore to strike down
the oppressor? Only a few months had passed since two thousand
determined men had passed in review before O'Brien at Cork; scarcely six
weeks since, similar sights were witnessed from the city of the Shannon
to the winding reaches of the Boyne. Everywhere there were strength,
and numbers, and resolution; where were they now in the supreme hour of
the country's agony? A thousand times it had been sworn by tens of
thousands of Irishmen, that the tocsin of battle would find them
clustered round the good old flag to conquer or die beneath its shadow.
And now, the hour had come, the flag of insurrection so often invoked
was raised; but the patriot that raised it was left defenceless: _he_ at
least kept his word, but the promises on which he relied had broken like
dissolving ice beneath his feet.
Around O'Brien there clustered on that miserable noontide, about four
hundred human beings--a weak, hungry, and emaciated looking throng for
the most part; their half naked forms, browned by the sun, and hardened
by the winter winds--a motley gathering; amongst whom there were scores
of fasting men, and hundreds through whose wretched dwellings the, wind
and rain found free ingress. They were poor, they were weak, they were
ignorant, they were unarmed! but there was one, thing at least which
they possessed--that quality which Heaven bestowed on the Irish race, to
gild and redeem their misfortunes. Of courage and resolution they had
plenty: they understood little of the causes which led to the outbreak
in which they participated; of Smith O'Brien or his associates few of
them had heard up to their appearance at Ballingarry; but they knew that
it was against the forces of the British government and on behalf of
Ireland's independence they were called on to fight, and in this cause
they were ready to shed their blood. Such was the party whom O'Brien
gazed upon with a troubled mind on that eventful day. Even the attached
companions who had so far attended him were no longer by his side;
M'Manus, O'Donoghue, and Stephens were still there; but Meagher, Dillon,
Doheny and O'Gorman had left at break of day to raise the standard of
insurrection in other quarters. Of the men around him not more than
twenty possessed firearms, about twice that number were armed with pikes
and pitchforks; the remainder had but their naked hands and the stones
they could gather by the wayside.
On the other side were forty-seven disciplined men splendidly armed,
and ensconced moreover in a building possessing for the purpose of the
hour the strength of a fortress. It stood on the brow of a hill
overlooking the country in every direction; it consisted of two storeys
with four windows in each, in front and rere; each gable being also
pierced by a pair of windows. There were six little children in the
house when the police entered it. Their mother, the Widow M'Cormick
arrived on the spot immediately after the police had taken possession of
her domicile, and addressing O'Brien she besought him to save her little
ones from danger. On O'Brien's chivalrous nature the appeal was not
wasted. Heedless of the danger to which he exposed himself he walked up
to the window of the house. Standing at the open window with his breast
within an inch of the bayonets of the two policemen who were on the
inside, he called on them to give up their arms, and avoid a useless
effusion of blood. "We are all Irishmen, boys" he said, "I only want
your arms and I'll protect your lives." The reply was a murderous volley
poured on the gathering outside. Some half drunken person in the crowd
it appears had flung a stone at one of the windows, and the police
needed no further provocation. The fire was returned by the insurgents,
and O'Brien seeing that his efforts to preserve peace were futile,
quitted the window and rejoined his companions. For nearly two hours the
firing continued; the police well sheltered from the possibility of
injury fired in all about 220 rounds, killing two men and wounding a
number of others, amongst them James Stephens who was shot in the thigh.
Long before an equal number of shots were fired from without, the
ammunition of the insurgents was exhausted, and they could only reply to
the thick falling bullets with the stones which the women present
gathered for them in their aprons. It was clear that the house could not
be stormed in this way; and M'Manus, with half-a-dozen resolute
companions, rolled a cartload of hay up to the kitchen door with the
intention of setting fire to it and burning down the house. But O'Brien
would not permit it; there were children in the house, and their
innocent lives should not be sacrificed. In vain did M'Manus entreat him
for permission to fire his pistol into the hay and kindle the ready
flames, O'Brien was inexorable; and the first and last battle of the
insurrection was lost and won. The Rev. Mr. Fitzgerald, the priest of
the parish, and his curate, Father Maher now appeared on the spot, and
naturally used their influence to terminate the hopeless struggle, a
large force of constabulary from Cashel soon after were seen
approaching, and the people, who now saw the absolute uselessness of
further resistance broke away to the hills. The game was up; the banner
of Irish independence had again sunk to the dust; and O'Brien, who had
acted throughout with preternatural coolness, and whose face gave no
more indications of emotion than if it had been chiseled in marble,
turned from the scene with a broken heart. For a length of time he
resisted the entreaties of his friends and refused to leave the spot; at
last their solicitations prevailed, and mounting a horse taken from one
of the police he rode away.
From that fatal day down to the night of Saturday, August 5th, the
police sought vainly for O'Brien. He slept in the peasant's hut on the
mountain and he shared his scanty fare; a price which might well dazzle
the senses of his poverty-stricken entertainers was on his head, and
they knew it; over hill-side and valley swarmed the host of spies,
detectives, and policemen placed on his track; but no hand was raised to
clutch the tempting bribe, no voice whispered the information for which
the government preferred its gold. Amongst those too who took part in
the affray at Ballingarry, and who subsequently were cast in shoals into
prison, there were many from whom the government sought to extract
information. Bribes and promises of pardon were held up before their
eyes, menaces were freely resorted to, but amongst them the government
sought vainly for an informer. Many, of them died in captivity or in
exile; their homes were broken up; their wives and children left
destitute and friendless; but the words that would give them liberty
and wealth, and terminate the sufferings of themselves and their
families were never spoken. Had O'Brien chosen to escape from the
country like Doheny, O'Gorman, Dillon and other of his friends, it is
probable he might have done so. He resolved however on facing the
consequence of his acts and sharing the fate of the Irish rebel to the
bitter end.
The rain fell cold and drearily in the deserted streets of Thurles on
the night which saw the arrest of William Smith O'Brien. Away over the
shadowy mountains in the distance, the swimming vapours cast their
shroud, wrapping in their chilling folds the homes of the
hunger-stricken prostrate race that sat by their fireless hearths. The
autumn gale swept over the desolate land as if moaning at the ruin and
misery that cursed it, and wailing the dirge of the high hopes and
ardent purposes that a few short weeks before had gladdened the hearts
of its people. Calmly and deliberately with folded arms O'Brien walked
through the streets, and entered the Thurles Railway Station. He wore a
black hat, a blue boat cloak, in which he was rather tightly muffled,
and a light plaid trousers; in his hand he carried a large black stick.
He walked to the ticket office and paid his fare to Limerick; then
wrapping himself up in his cloak and folding his arms, again he walked
slowly along the platform awaiting the arrival of the train. He had
resolved on surrendering himself for trial, but he wished to pay one
last visit to his home and family. That gratification however was denied
him, he was recognised by an Englishman named Hulme, a railway guard; in
an instant he was surrounded by police and detectives, and torn of with
brutal violence to gaol. That same night an express train flashed
northwards through the fog and mist bearing O'Brien a prisoner to
Dublin. In the carriage in which he was placed sat General M'Donald, a
Sub-Inspector of Constabulary and four policemen. On entering the train
a pistol was placed at O'Brien's head, and he was commanded not to speak
on peril of his life. Disregarding the injunction, he turned to M'Donald
and asked him why he was so scandalously used. The General "had a duty
to perform," and "his orders should be obeyed." "I have played the game
and lost," said O'Brien, "and I am ready to pay the penalty of having
failed; I hope that those who accompanied me may be dealt with in
clemency; I care not what happens to myself."
On Thursday, September 28th, he was arraigned before a Special
Commission on a charge of high treason at Clonmel. The trial lasted ten
days, and ended in a verdict of guilty. It excited unprecedented
interest throughout the country, and there are many of its incidents
deserving of permanent record. Amongst the witnesses brought forward by
the crown was John O'Donnell, a comfortable farmer, who resided near
Ballingarry. "I won't be sworn," he said on coming on the table, "or
give evidence under any circumstances. You may bring me out and put a
file of soldiers before me, and plant twenty bullets in my breast, but
while I have a heart there I will never swear for you." He expiated his
patriotism by a long imprisonment. Nor was this a solitary instance of
heroism; Richard Shea, a fine looking young peasant, on being handed the
book declared that "he would not swear against such a gentleman," and he
too was carried off to pass years within a British dungeon. But their
sacrifices were unavailing; of evidence there was plenty against
O'Brien; the police were overflowing with it, and the eloquence and
ability of Whiteside were powerless to save him from a verdict of
guilty.
The papers of the time are full of remarks on the firmness and
self-possession displayed by O'Brien throughout the trial. Even the
announcement of the verdict failed to disturb his composure, and when
the usual question was asked he replied with calmness and deliberation:
"My lords, it is not my intention to enter into any vindication of my
conduct, however much I might have desired to avail myself of this
opportunity of so doing. I am perfectly satisfied with the
consciousness that I have performed my duty to my country--that I
have done only that which, in my opinion, it was the duty of every
Irishman to have done; and I am now prepared to abide the
consequences of having performed my duty to my native land. Proceed
with your sentence."
A deep murmur, followed by a burst of applause filled the court as the
noble patriot ceased speaking. Stepping back a pace, and folding his
arms on his breast, O'Brien looked fixedly at the judge, and awaited the
sentence of the court. Amidst the deepest sensation, Chief Justice
Blackburne proceeded to discharge his task. O'Brien was sentenced to be
hanged, beheaded, and quartered. "During the delivery of the sentence,"
says a writer of the period, "the most profound agitation pervaded in
the court; as it drew towards the close, the excitement became more
marked and intense; but when the last barbarous provisions of the
sentence were pronounced, the public feeling could only manifest itself
by stifled sobs and broken murmurs of sympathy for the heroic man, who,
alone, was unmoved during this awful scene, whose lips alone did not
quiver, whose hand alone did not tremble, but whose heart beat with the
calm pulsation of conscious guiltlessness and unsullied honour."
Nine months later (July 29th, 1849), the brig "Swift" sailed from
Kingstown harbour, bearing O'Brien, Meagher, M'Manus, and O'Donoghue
into exile. In the month of November the vessel reached Hobart Town,
where "tickets of leave" were offered to those gentlemen on condition of
their residing each one within a certain district marked out for him,
and giving their parole to make no attempt at escape while in possession
of the ticket. Messrs. Meagher, M'Manus, and O'Donoghue accepted these
terms; Mr. O'Brien refused them, and was consequently sent to an island
off the coast called Maria Island, where he was placed in strict custody
and treated with great severity. The news of the indignities and the
sufferings to which he was subjected, outraged the feelings of the Irish
people in the neighbouring country, and ere long his sympathisers in
Tasmania laid a plan for his escape. They hired a vessel to lie off the
coast on a particular day, and send a boat on shore to take off the
prisoner, who had been informed of the plot, and had arranged to be in
waiting for his deliverers. This design would unquestionably have
succeeded but for the treachery of the captain of the ship, who, before
sailing to the appointed spot, had given the government information of
the intended escape and the manner of it. What occurred on the arrival
of the vessel we shall relate in the words of Mr. Mitchel, who tells the
story in his "Jail Journal" as he heard it from Mr. O'Brien himself:
"At last as he wandered on the shore and had almost given up all hope of
the schooner, the schooner hove in sight. To give time for her approach
he walked into the woods for a space, that he might not alarm his
guardian constable by his attention to her movements. Again he sauntered
down towards the point with apparent carelessness, but with a beating
heart. San Francisco was to be his first destination; and beyond that
golden gate lay the great world, and home, and children, and an
honourable life. The boat was coming, manned by three men; and he
stepped proudly and resolutely to meet them on the shore. To be sure
there was, somewhere behind him, one miserable constable with his
miserable musket, but he had no doubt of being able to dispose of that
difficulty with the aid of his allies, the boatmen. The boat could not
get quite close to the beach, because they had to run her into a kind of
cove where the water was calm and unencumbered with large tangled weeds.
O'Brien, when he reached the beach, plunged into the water to prevent
delay, and struggled through the thick matted seaweed to the boat. The
water was deeper than he expected, and when he came to the boat he
needed the aid of the boatmen to climb over the gunwale. Instead of
giving him this aid the rascals allowed him to flounder there, and kept
looking to the shore, where the constable had by this time appeared with
his musket. The moment he showed himself, the three boatmen cried out
together, 'We surrender!' and invited him on board; where he instantly
took up a hatchet--no doubt provided by the ship for that purpose, and
stove the boat. O'Brien saw he was betrayed, and on being ordered to
move along with the constable and boatmen towards the station, he
refused to stir--hoping, in fact, by his resistance, to provoke the
constable to shoot him. However, the three boatmen seized on him, and
lifted him up from the ground, and carried him wherever the constable
ordered. His custody was thereafter made more rigorous, and he was
shortly after removed from Maria Island to Port Arthur station."
To this brief narrative the following "note" is appended in the work
from which we have just quoted:--
"Ellis, the captain of the schooner, was some months after seized at San
Francisco by Mr. M'Manus and others, brought by night out of his ship,
and carried into the country to undergo his trial under a tree,
whereupon, if found guilty, he was destined to swing. M'Manus set out
his indictment; and it proves how much Judge Lynch's method of
administering justice in those early days of California excelled
anything we know of law or justice in Ireland--that Ellis, for want of
sufficient and satisfactory evidence then producible, was acquitted by
that midnight court, under that convenient and tempting tree."
Port Arthur station, to which Mr. O'Brien was removed from Maria Island,
was a place of punishment for convicts who, while serving out their
terms of transportation, had committed fresh offences against the law.
After a detention there for some time, Mr. O'Brien, whose health was
rapidly sinking under the rigours of his confinement, was induced, by
letters, from his political friends to accept the ticket-of-leave and
avail of the comparative liberty which they enjoyed. The government, on
his acceptance of their terms, placed him first in the district of New
Norfolk, and subsequently in that of Avoca, where he remained until the
conditional pardon, already mentioned in these columns, was granted in
1854. He then left Australia, went on to Madras, where he made a stay of
about a month; from thence he went to Paris and on to Brussels, where he
was joined by his wife and children. He next made a tour in Greece, and
was in that country when the unconditional pardon, which permitted him
to return to his native land, was granted in the month of May, 1856,
immediately after the close of the Crimean war. On Tuesday, July 8th,
1856, Mr. O'Brien stood once more upon his native soil after an exile of
eight years. The news of his arrival was joyfully received by his
fellow-countrymen, who welcomed him with every mark of respect and
affection whenever he appeared among them. Thence-forward Mr. O'Brien
took no active part in Irish politics, but he frequently offered advice
and suggestions to his countrymen through the medium of letters and
addresses in the _Nation_. In February, 1859, Mr. O'Brien made a voyage
to America, and during the ensuing months travelled through a great
portion of that country. After his return to Ireland he delivered, in
November, 1859, an interesting series of lectures on his tour, in the.
Mechanics' Institute, Dublin. On July 1st, 1863, he lectured in the
Rotundo, Dublin, for the benefit of a fund which was being raised for
the relief of the wounded and destitute patriots of the Polish
insurrection. In the early part of the year, 1864, the health of the
illustrious patriot began rapidly to fail, and he was taken by his
friends to England for a change of air. But the weight of many years of
care and suffering was on him, and its effects could not be undone. On
the 16th of June, 1864. at Bangor, the noble-hearted patriot breathed
his last. His family had the honoured remains brought to Ireland for
interment in the old burial-ground of his fathers. On Thursday morning
at an early hour they reached Dublin on board the "Cambria" steamer. It
was known that his family wished that no public demonstration should be
made at his funeral, but the feelings of the citizens who desired to pay
a tribute of respect to his memory could not be repressed. In the grey
hours of the morning the people in thousands assembled on the quays to
await the arrival of the remains, and two steamers, which had been
chartered for the purpose, proceeded, with large numbers on board, some
distance into the harbour to meet the approaching vessel. All along the
way, from the North Wall to the Kings-bridge railway station, the hearse
bearing the patriot's body was accompanied by the procession of
mourners, numbering about 15,000 men. At various stages of the journey
similar scenes were witnessed. But the end was soon reached. In the
churchyard of Rathronan, Co. Limerick, they laid him to rest. The green
grass grows freshly around the vault in which he sleeps, and has long
filled up the foot-prints of the multitude who broke the silence of that
lonely spot by their sobs on the day he was buried; the winter gales
will come and go, and touched by the breath of spring, the wild flowers
will blossom there through succeeding years; but never again will a
purer spirit, a nobler mind, a patriot more brave, more chivalrous, or
more true, give his heart to the cause of Ireland, than the
silvered-haired, care-burthened gentleman whom they bore from Cahirmoyle
to his grave on the 24th day of June, 1864.
* * * * *