comprehend what all this meant, and being still hungry I said,
“But won’t you let me finish my dinner?” “No,” was the sharp
reply; “come.” “For what reason?” quoth I, indignantly. “Why am I
arrested?” “You are a Fenian,” came the reply, the words falling
clearly and distinctly on the hushed room, where those present began
to show signs of anger and indignation towards me. I hurried out with
my captors, and was taken to a room adjoining the ticket-office,
there to have demanded of me my luggage and my keys, with everything
on my person. I had no luggage save a hand-bag, yet I had with me
documents which would reveal everything, if made public. My position
was dangerous—distinctly dangerous. The prospect before me was
that of disclosure and imprisonment amongst a strange people, where
I had no friend. Prompt action was called for, and so I asked the
mayor for a few minutes’ private conversation. Suspicious, and yet
curious, he brought me into the ticket-office, where we were left
alone. Here I told him the exact situation. It was true, I said, that
I was a Fenian, but also a Government agent. I was even then on my
way to Ottawa to see Judge M‘Micken. To delay or expose me would mean
serious difficulty for the Government. Let him send me on to Ottawa
under guard, if he liked, and then he would prove my statements true.
Did he want immediate proof, then here were my papers, and there a
telegram to Judge M‘Micken, advising him of my coming, which he
himself would despatch.
My manner must have impressed him, for he decided to adopt my
suggestion, and send me on by the same train in which I had been
travelling (which had not yet gone, all this occupying but a few
minutes), under the escort of a lieutenant who, with his Canadian
regiment, was then returning from the scene of the invasion.
The details of my arrest as a Fenian quickly spread amongst my
fellow-passengers, and travelled before me on the route, and the
reception I met with along my journey was most disagreeable. For
safety’s sake, the lieutenant transferred me to the care of a
sergeant and couple of soldiers, and the carriage in which we
travelled was the sole point of attraction in the train. Crowding
round this carriage, the infuriated Canadians would hiss and hoot
me, while their cries of “Hang him,” “Lynch him,” gave me a very
uncomfortable idea of what would happen to me if left alone amongst
them. So careful were my guardians of me, that they would not even
allow me to have the window raised, so that I might smoke, fearing
that in some way I might take advantage of the open window to escape.
This was really a serious grievance with me, for they could not
possibly have inflicted a greater deprivation than that in the matter
of smoking. All through my life, even down to the present time, I
have been a great smoker, sometimes consuming as many as sixteen
cigars in the day, a statement which will probably puzzle some people
who hold that tobacco ruins the nerves.
On reaching Prescott Junction, I found that the news of my
capture—of course my name and rank never transpired—had created
such a sensation that a special correspondent of the _Toronto Globe_
had travelled to meet me, in order to find out who and what I was,
and everything about me. He was doomed to be disappointed, however,
for I could not be got to speak. When, eventually, we arrived at
Ottawa, I found my telegram to Judge M‘Micken had brought his
representative to the station, and by him, myself and my guards were
immediately conveyed to the police-office, where the Commissioner was
awaiting us. Pretty certain of my safety now, I was quite prepared
to smile, and really did laugh when brought into the presence of my
friend the judge. Not so he, however. With proverbial soberness and
solemnity he heard the details of my capture, received possession
of my person, and gave a formal receipt for my custody. Armed with
this, my guardians left, and then the old man’s genial kindly nature
asserted itself. By his instructions I remained in his office till
nightfall, when, in a cab under cover of the darkness, I accompanied
him to the club to take up my quarters there for the night.
In the club the Fenian prisoner of a few hours previously was made
a most welcome guest, and had an exceedingly good time. My identity
being known to some of the officers who crowded the club-house after
their return from Franklin, I found myself quite the hero of the
hour, and had most interesting chats over the experiences of the
raid on both sides of the fight. Amongst the pleasant people whose
acquaintance I then made was Dr. Grant, the physician to Prince
Arthur, who was in Ottawa at that time.
With the following day came arrangements for my departure for home,
and it was decided that, in order to avoid travelling over the
same line again, I should be driven during the night to Ann Prior
terminus—a distance of some forty miles from Ottawa—from which
place I could take a branch line to my destination. Fortunate though
I thought myself, my troubles were not at an end. This trip of mine
to Ottawa was a chapter of misfortunes. As I was on the point of
starting, I discovered that I had not sufficient money to bring me
home. Accordingly, Judge M‘Micken had to supply me with the needful
funds. This, however, did not prove by any means an easy thing to
do. A cheque was duly drawn, but of course I could not cash it,
and the judge had to have recourse to a friend. The amount was a
large one—three hundred and fifty dollars—and it was beyond the
resources of the club at the moment. The services of the club porter
therefore had to be utilised for the purpose of obtaining the money.
Here, unknown to us, seed was being sown which was to bear evil
fruit. The porter knew, of course, that I was the Fenian prisoner,
although nothing more; and, gossip that he was, he let out the
secret a little later. It became public property; and the Canadian
press published the fact that an important Fenian had been in Ottawa
immediately after the raid, and received a very large sum of money
from the Government official with whom he was in communication,
adding that the Fenians must have been nicely duped all through. This
was bringing danger very, very near to me again; yet, marvellous
to relate, suspicion never rested upon me in connection with the
paragraph. I drove from Ottawa in the night, got safely home, and was
never troubled further by my eventful visit. But, for a long time, I
treasured very unchristian-like feelings towards that porter.
XVIII.
With the fiasco at Pigeon Hill, and the equally inglorious
termination of the musters at other points of the Canadian border,
there died out altogether the idea of attacking and seizing any
portion of Canada. O’Neill, after some confinement, was brought to
trial, and sentenced to six months’ imprisonment, and the Fenian
organisation literally went to pieces for the time. I had no thought
of its ever reviving again, and so turned my attention once more to
my medical work, which I had had to completely neglect from the time
of my leaving Joliet and attaching myself to O’Neill’s staff.
I had scarcely resumed my studies, however, when a visit from O’Neill
on his release showed me that there was still some fight left in
himself and his comrades. He came to me as a matter of fact to enlist
my co-operation in some work of a distinctly active character.
In explanation of the position of affairs, he laid before me the
originals of several letters to him from the Rev. W. B. O’Donohoe,
a young priest of Manitoba, who was at the time acting as secretary
for the notorious Riel. The correspondence gave all the details
of a contemplated uprising of the half-breeds in the North-West
against the Dominion authorities, and stated, to my amazement and
disgust, that he—this young priest—had received permission from his
Archbishop—Tasché—to throw off his ecclesiastical garments and take
a part therein.
In conclusion, O’Neill’s assistance and co-operation in the attempt
was sought, and as he put it, “anything to cripple the enemy” being
his motto, he was only too eager for the fray. He had one great
difficulty, however, and that was the want of arms. Knowing that a
quantity remained in hiding since the second raid, he had sought to
obtain possession of them, but had been referred to me as the person
who had deposited them with their present custodians, and without
whose permission they could not be given up. I cheerfully agreed to
let him have 400 breech-loaders and ammunition, and accompanied him
to the points where they were, for the purpose of their delivery, but
not before I had surreptitiously obtained the use of the documents,
and sent copies to both the Home and Canadian Governments with full
information as to what was _sur le tapis_.
O’Neill, in company with a trusted confederate, J. J. Donnelly,
fitted out his expedition, and on the 5th day of October 1871, after
crossing the line at Fort Pembina, was arrested with his party,
and all his war material seized, in consequence of the information
supplied by me. Riel, thus deprived of the expected assistance,
surrendered at Fort Garry to Lord Wolseley without firing a shot.
O’Neill and his party having been turned over to the United States
authorities, were, four days afterwards, tried and acquitted. Strange
as it appears, these men, captured on Canadian soil, were, by some
egregious blunder, handed over to the United States authorities, and
by them acquitted on the ludicrous technicality that the offence was
not committed on American, but Canadian soil.
Subsequently O’Neill came back to me and made my life a burthen.
Discredited and disheartened, he took to drink and went entirely to
the dogs, bringing to the verge of starvation an affectionate but
heart-broken wife, who, once a sister of mercy, had nursed and grown
to love him in a hospital where he was confined, and, disregarding
all her vows, had in the end married him. Drifting slowly downward
through disgrace and drink, O’Neill, the once brilliant, if
egotistical, Irishman met a lone and miserable death.
XIX.
On resuming my studies, I decided to enter the Detroit College of
Medicine, and so, taking my family with me, I settled down there.
There were many reasons for my change of residence, not the least
important of which was that connected with the unpopularity which
I found attached to me in my old home after my return from the
Canadian affair. O’Neill had many opponents, and by these opponents
I was attacked in company with O’Neill, and the others engaged in
the affair, for having ruined the organisation by the premature
“invasion” which had taken place. Therefore, I thought it better to
remove to another quarter where this state of feeling did not exist,
and where my Irish record would be of service to me in the future. As
far as Detroit was concerned, I fixed upon it because of the desire
of Judge M‘Micken that I should become acquainted with, and obtain
as much information as I could about, Mackay Lomasney—whose name
will be familiar in connection with the London Bridge explosion—and
others just settled down there.
Lomasney was, in the eyes of the authorities, an important man;
and his subsequent career, terminating with the attempt to blow
up London Bridge, in which he lost his own life, fully justified
their estimate. He had been engaged in the ’65 and ’67 movements
in Ireland, had been charged with the murder of a policeman and
acquitted, but sentenced to twelve years’ penal servitude for his
work as a rebel, and, with others whose names will appear later,
had been amnestied in the year 1870. He had now settled down in
Detroit as the proprietor of a book-store; and as he was known to
be a most active revolutionist, much curiosity was felt as to what
he was actually doing. I formed a very pleasant acquaintance with
Mackay Lomasney, and found him a most entertaining man. The future
dynamitard was at this time about twenty-eight years of age. Though
of youthful appearance, his face was a most determined one, and
the way in which it lent itself to disguise truly marvellous. When
covered with the dark bushy hair, of which he had a profusion, it
was one face; when clean-shaven, quite another, and impossible of
recognition. Acting, as he constantly did, as the delegate from the
American section to the Fenians at home, this faculty of disguise
proved of enormous service, and may very well have had disastrous
effects on police vigilance. I have seen Lomasney both shaved, on
his return from Ireland, and unshaved, in his American life; and in
all the men I have ever met, I never saw such a change produced by
so easy a process. I may dismiss Mackay Lomasney from this point
of my story by saying that, beyond his activity in connection with
the establishment of the Irish Confederation, his movements gave
little ground for apprehension, and, as far as the Confederation was
concerned, its development proved of very little account.
But, if the Confederation was to accomplish little, the men who with
Lomasney took part in its initiation were not without their claims to
attention. Foremost amongst them were two bearing names destined to
be familiar in latter-day politics. These were O’Donovan Rossa and
John Devoy. As both will be found constantly strutting across the
stage of Irish-American affairs from this date, I will pause here to
refer to them in some little detail.
Jeremiah O’Donovan—the “Rossa” was, he claims, added in early years
as the outward and visible sign of the alleged fact of his being
directly descended from the Princes of Rossa—was, at the time of
his arrival, one of the most popular men amongst the Irish in the
United States. Sentenced to imprisonment for life for taking part
in the ’65 movement, he had, according to general rumour, undergone
the severest of sufferings and indignities in the British dungeons.
A strong current of sympathy set in in his favour in consequence,
and as both in public and private he lost no opportunity of dilating
upon his grievance, the sentiment was in no sense allowed to waver or
grow weak. The man whose name was to be so closely associated with
dynamite and devilry in later years, did not at this time suggest by
his appearance the possession of any undue ferocity. His face, though
determined, was yet not without its kindly aspect, while his love for
the bottle betrayed a jovial rather than a fiendish instinct. His
fierceness, indeed, lay altogether in speech. Voluble and sweeping in
his language, he was never so happy as when pouring out the vials of
his wrath on the British Government.
Devoy, the notorious author of the “New Departure,” was at once
seen to be a man of weighty influence. Forbidding of aspect, with
a perpetual scowl upon his face, he immediately conveyed the idea
of being a quarrelsome man, an idea sustained and strengthened by
both his manner of speech and gruffness of voice. Experience of
Devoy’s character only went to prove the correctness of this view.
Quarrelsome and discontented, ambitious and unscrupulous, his
friendships were few and far between; and had it not been for his
undoubted ability, and the existence of those necessities which link
adventurers together, he could never have reached the prominent place
which he subsequently attained in the Fenian organisation.
With their fellow-prisoners who had been amnestied, General Thomas
F. Bourke, Thomas Clarke Luby, Edmond Power, and Henry S. Meledy,
together with James J. O’Kelly, late M.P. for Roscommon, but then
a struggling reporter on a New York paper, Rossa and Devoy brought
the Irish Confederation into existence, and formed its first
“directory” or executive. They indulged in the wild hope of being
able to gather in all the scattered Irish under one banner, and
to put an end once and for all to the dissensions and divisions
which had so disastrously affected Irish affairs in the past. They
were disappointed. Not by their unaided efforts was this to be
accomplished. Indeed, the Confederation was never popular. It was
regarded as a sort of close corporation “run,” as we say in the
United States, in the interest of the exiles, and, as a consequence,
was jealously viewed by the rank and file. Every effort that could
be made to bring about a fusion was tried by these men, but without
success. Even Stephens himself was brought over from France and put
at the head of affairs; but his name had lost its charm, and he had
to return to Paris a discredited man.
XX.
While my Fenian friends struggled on in this way, I looked after
my own affairs. Completing my studies and business in Detroit, I
moved myself and my family to Wilmington, where I settled down to
make a home and secure an income. I was now a fully fledged M.D.,
and so I immediately commenced practising at Braidwood, a suburb
of Wilmington. Success attended my start, my Irish connection and
record bringing me an amount of patronage almost beyond my powers of
attention. I had given up all idea of anything definite happening
in the way of Fenian affairs, and turned my attention to local
politics. Here, of course, my Irish friends were again of use.
Failing to obtain a seat on the School Board, for which I had been
nominated, I succeeded in getting an appointment on the Board of
Health. The office was really a sinecure, with one hundred dollars a
year attached. Not content with it, I gained the much more lucrative
appointment of Supervisor of Braidwood, attached to which was a daily
fee of 2½ dollars, and travelling allowances when engaged on town
business. Anybody acquainted with the American political system, even
to a moderate extent, will know how paying such offices can be made.
Meantime I had joined the Medical Society of my State, and assisted
in founding the State Pharmaceutical Society. My activity did
not even stop here, and, in addition, I took a very active part
in bringing about much-needed legislation on the question of the
practice of medicine. In these days there was no such thing as a
State law regulating the practice of medicine or pharmacy, and I—let
me frankly confess it—as much for the sake of popularity as anything
else, spared no pains, even going to the extent of “lobbying” in
Springfield, the State capital, in the interest of legislation on
these matters, in which I was very successful.
Little as I imagined it then, events were at this time shaping
themselves to an end which, frequently attempted, had never yet been
wholly accomplished by the aspiring leaders of the Irish in America.
This was the bringing together of all Irishmen at home and abroad
into one vast and perfect organisation. The hour was coming, and
with it the men. Born in comparative poverty and insignificance, but
under an impressive name, the association now being formed, the great
Clan-na-Gael of the future, was destined to be a powerful, rich,
and far-reaching organisation, healthy of limb and strong of hand,
fated to leave its heavy mark upon the pages of this half-century’s
history. From small beginnings have come great results.
Away back towards the end of the sixties, there came into existence
one of those temporal societies, an off-shoot of the permanent
conspiracy known under the name “Knights of the Inner Circle,” which
was joined by many Irish conspirators, myself amongst the number.
With its members there became associated, in the latter end of 1869,
some three hundred members of the “Brian Boru” Circle of the Fenian
Brotherhood in New York City, who, in consequence of a political
quarrel over electioneering matters, seceded from their original
body; and by these men, acting in concert with others under the name
of the “United Irishmen,” what were really the first camps of the
Clan-na-Gael were established.
The V.C. (the cypher was arranged on the plan of using the
alphabetical letters immediately following those intended to be
indicated) had for its object the same intention which governed the
inception and development of all Irish conspiracy in America—the
freedom of Ireland from English control by armed force. It was,
however, to differ from its predecessors insomuch as, unlike them,
it was to be of an essentially secret character. P. R. Walsh of
Cleveland, Ohio, known as “the Father of the Clan,” was the apostle
of this new condition of things, and he, with others of shrewd and
far-seeing minds, argued with great success, that if one lesson more
important than another was to be learnt from the past history and
miserable fiascos of the movement, it was that no possible success
could be achieved with a revolutionary organisation working in
the open day. The Irish people, reasoned these priests of the new
faith, had not judgment enough to manage their schemes for freedom.
They revealed their secrets to the heads of their Church; they were
dictated to by these heads; they feared to obey their non-clerical
leaders; and so were thwarted the best schemes of the most active
workers. A revolutionary movement must be secret and unscrupulous,
and, to be successful, they could not enter on the contest for
freedom with the yoke of the Church around their neck.
Language like this reads strangely indeed in the light of latter-day
revelations, and the knowledge the world now has of Clan-na-Gael
priests and their work. But at the time it was not without its
appropriateness and significance. The priests at the period of which
I write were, neither in Ireland nor America, the priests of these
subsequent years. Then, as in those days of old, when religion was
paramount and priestly control salutary and effective, the ban of
the Church was not merely a phrase dangerous in sound, it was a
living dread reality, fearful in its consequences in the eyes of
those who in their lives worked out that grand old characteristic
of the Irish people, faith in their Church and reverence toward its
rulers. It was reserved for the coming years to bring to the view of
a startled public a people reckless and defiant of priestly control,
because of the teachings of their atheistic and communistic leaders,
and the self-surrender of all their higher and priestly functions by
those who were content to be led by, rather than to lead those whose
consciences were their charge and their responsibility.
XXI.
The arguments were well put, and what was more, they were well timed.
They proved successful. Everything appeared in favour of the new
move; and the re-establishment of the Fenian organisation in Great
Britain on a more compact secret basis, under the title of the _Irish
Republican Brotherhood_, was one of the many satisfactory features of
the moment. Matters, however, moved slowly; and, although actually
established in 1869, it was not until the year 1873 that the movement
became in any way general. Then it was that, merging almost all
other societies in itself, the Clan, now known as the V.C. or United
Brotherhood, established subordinate bodies or “Camps,” as they were
called, almost simultaneously in all the leading centres of the
United States. Secrecy was the text preached in every direction.
Every member was bound by the most solemn of oaths to keep secret all
knowledge of the order and its proceedings which might come to him,
under penalty of death. A Masonic form of ritual was adopted; grips,
passwords, signs, and terrorising penalties were decided upon; and
all the pomp and circumstance of mystery, so dear to the Irish heart
and so effective in such a conspiracy, were called to the aid of
those who now inculcated this new doctrine.
Undoubtedly, there was no secret made amongst its members as to the
treasonable character of the organisation. The official printed
Constitution set forth the truth of the matter in no uncertain
way. “The object,” it stated, “is to aid the Irish people in the
attainment of the complete and absolute independence of Ireland, by
the overthrow of English domination: a total separation from that
country, and the complete severance of all political connection
with it; the establishment of an independent republic on Irish
soil, chosen by the free votes of the whole Irish people, without
distinction of creed or class, and the restoration to all Irishmen of
every creed and class of their natural privileges of citizenship and
equal rights. It shall prepare unceasingly for an armed insurrection
in Ireland.”