On a gloomy evening in the early part of May, 1866, and while astute politicians were struck with the formidable aspect of Fenianism in both hemispheres, a solitary soldier, in the muddy, red jacket of a private in the English army, might be seen hastily wending his way across a bridge which led from one of the most important strongholds in Canada, to a town of considerable pretensions, that lay directly opposite, and to which he was now bending his steps. Although the weather, from the season of the year, might be presumed to be somewhat genial, yet it was raw and gusty; and as the pedestrian was without an overcoat, the uncomfortable and antagonistic shrug of his shoulders, as the chill, fitful blast swept past him, was quite discernible to any eye that happened to catch his figure at the period. Soon, however, he left the bridge and river behind him, and, stepping on terra firma, turned hastily down one of the unpretending streets of the town, and entered a restaurant, out of the drinking saloon of which, several narrow passages led to small convivial apartments, or rather compartments, in which the landlord, or “mine host” professed to work culinary miracles, of every possible shade, in the interest of his patrons. The establishment, although not the most fashionable in the place, was still regarded as respectable, and was, consequently, the frequent resort of many well-to-do tradesmen, and others, who, after the cares of the day had been laid by, generally repaired thither to slake their thirst with a flowing tankard, or indulge in “a stew,” a quiet game of billiards or a cigar, as the case might be. From the description of the various pictures which adorned or decorated the bar-room, the nationality of the proprietor was easily discerned. Just over a goodly and shining away of handsome mirrors that, inside the counter, reflected a maze of graceful bottles, cut glass and various ornaments appropriate to the profession, hung a large map of Ireland, very beautifully gotten up: while on either side of it, a neat, gilt frame, enclosing a most excellent likeness of Daniel O’Connell and Robert Emmet, respectively, harmonized in every relation with the map itself. Around the walls of the room, and throughout the whole establishment, kindred prints and paintings were somewhat profusely scattered; presenting unmistakable evidences, that the proprietor hailed from the Emerald Isle, and had no inclination, whatever, to disguise the fact from either his customers or the world.
At the period that the soldier entered the premises, there were some half dozen persons seated in the bar; each discussing his favorite beverage or enjoying his peculiar “weed.” Among these there was one individual, however, whose appearance was singularly striking, and who was taking part in the general conversation with an easy flippancy and keenness of observation that showed he was a person of no ordinary information or experience. There was something about him, nevertheless, that, notwithstanding all his efforts to be attractive, was strangely repellent. His small, grey eyes, thin, blue lips and hooked nose, gave an expression to his countenance which was far from prepossessing; while his soft, low, purring chuckle of a laugh, whenever he made a point in his favor through some facile observation that interfered with the deductions of those around him, evoked the idea, that he was some huge, human mouser that was congratulating himself on having disposed of some unfortunate and unsuspecting canary. He was, withal, shapely, and had an air of refinement about him, the most decided, and, quite beyond the ordinary run of saloon habitues. His complexion though somewhat dark and out of keeping with the color of his eyes, was yet pure; while his teeth were remarkably white and brilliant, and apparently as sharp as lancets. In height he was about five feet ten inches; and in age, somewhere in the vicinity of thirty. He was dressed in plain gray clothes; and, from all one might gather from his external appearance, was a person in comfortable circumstances. He was unknown not only to “mine host,” but to every one present; having, as he informed them in the ordinary flow of conversation, but just arrived in town, where he had business to transact which might detain him for a few days, or possibly longer. This information had been volunteered before the arrival of the soldier; so that when the latter had taken his seat, he was literally a greater stranger as to the name or intentions of the hook-nosed gentleman than any one present—the former having been communicated to the landlord as Philip Greaves, and the latter, as already intimated, quite freely disclosed during the natural flow of the conversation in which he had taken and still took part.
Perhaps there were no two beings on earth so dissimilar in every relation, as were he and the red coat who now ensconsed himself in one of the chairs, and accepted the invitation to take a friendly glass with the stranger. He, humble as the rank he bore in the service, was a young man of most prepossessing appearance and excellent address. His figure, although slight, was beautifully symmetrical and finely knit. In stature he was about five feet eleven inches, and was apparently as agile as a leopard. The whole volume of his heart was laid open in his broad, manly brow and clear dark eyes; and his laughter rang out now and then, at the brilliant wit or searching sarcasm of his neighbor, in such pure and joyous tones, as to be infectious even amongst those who were paying but little attention to what had provoked it. He could not have numbered more than twenty-five or twenty-six summers; and it was almost painful, in the presence of such manly beauty and so light a heart, to dwell on the fact, that the possessor of both, was in absolute slavery, how carelessly soever he wore his shackles. While both these individuals differed the one from the other to the extent already mentioned, the proprietor of the saloon, in turn, presented an appearance as dissimilar to that of either of his customers as did that of the one to the other. He was a man of herculean proportions, and blessed with as commonplace features as you could find in a day’s walk. Every fibre of his frame bespoke the most gigantic strength, while his full, round face glowed with the most refreshing health, and presented at the same time as stolid an expression as could well be imagined in connection with his vocation. Still, there was something in his keen, gray eye and about his mouth, that bid you beware of taking the book by the cover; while an odd word of the conversation that now and then reached his ear, called up a strange expression of intelligence which swept across his features with the speed of light, and then left them as quiescent and apparently unintellectual as before. This individual whom we shall name Thomas O’Brien, or Big Tom, as his friends were wont to call him, although never regarded as being over brilliant, there were those who averred that he not only possessed a fund of good, common sense, but who stated further, that he was a man of great influence not only among the soldiers in the fort, but among many of his countrymen both in town and out of it. Tom spoke very slowly and always in an oracular manner; nor were his movements behind his bar of a very demonstrative character; as no press of custom, whatever, seemed to possess the power of accelerating his motions or inducing him to exceed the steady formula that he appeared to have adopted in relation to serving his customers; still he possessed the jewel of honesty and urbanity as an offset to all this; and, like most large men, was, on the whole, of a kind and excellent temper. When seen standing by the river or in any elevated position, he conveyed the idea of a sort of human lighthouse, or a chimney on fire, so fiercely red was the tremendous shock of hair that covered his towering head. He was still a young man, and, like the soldier, unmarried; although the heart of the latter had gone forth and was in the safe keeping of a charming young cousin of “mine host,” who had emigrated to America some time previously, and who now resided with her friends in the city of Buffalo. Tom had preceded his relatives by some years, and had sojourned, up to the period of their landing, in the United States also; but taking a sudden notion, as it would seem, he pulled up his stakes, and, like other adventurers, settled down, apparently haphazard, in the town in which he now lived; and where he had already been upwards of two years; having bought out the “Sign of the Harp,” as we shall call it, with all its appointments, from another Son of the Sod, who had made up his mind to go West.
Before the soldier, whom we shall name Nicholas, or Nick Barry, had finished his glass, Greaves entered into conversation with him in relation to the strength of the fort, and the nationality of the regiment that garrisoned it; observing, at the same time, that, of course, as usual, a fair sprinkling from the Emerald Isle was to be found among them.
“Yes,” said Barry, “go where you may throughout the empire, and whenever you meet a red coat you will be right in four cases out of six in putting it down as belonging to an Irishman; that is, provided its precise color and texture are like mine; but you would not be so safe in applying the same rule wherever you chanced to encounter the clear, bright flash of the genuine scarlet.”
“And why?” returned Greaves, with an inquiring air which seemed to be quite at sea upon the subject; although up to that moment, his conversation was such as to lead one to infer that he could scarcely be in the dark upon a subject so generally understood.
“Because,” said Nick, “the Irish are only fit to do the fighting; and that’s always done, you know, by the rank and file.”
This reply, although not over satisfactory to the interrogator, seemed to afford infinite amusement to Big Tom, who, with a perfect sledge hammer of a laugh, exclaimed when Barry had finished:
“Well done Nick, and the divil a betther could it be said if I said it myself.”
This unusual and lively demonstration on the part of O’Brien, seemed to attract the notice of Greaves, who, with the utmost good humor, observed, while glancing in the direction of the bar:
“From Ireland, too, I’ll bet my head!”
“Seven miles out of it,” returned Tom with a slight twinkle of his eye, “and, of coorse, a gintleman so larned as you will be able to tell where that is.”
“Well, for the life of me,” observed Greaves, “I cannot divine what you are at, with your ‘seven miles out,’ but as I’m an Englishman, I suppose that accounts for it.”
“He means by what he has said,” interrupted Barry, “that he is from Connaught, which, for some reason or other, is regarded as seven miles out of Ireland.”
“For some raison or other did you say,” returned Tom. “Faith and its raison enough there is for that same; for it was to Connaught that Cromwell and the rest of the blaggards banished or confined the Irish hayros that gave the Sassenach such throuble in oulden times, and that’s the raison, you know, that the sayin, ‘to h—l or Connaught,’ first got a futtin in the world, and that Connaught is regarded as bein seven miles out, by the people who know the ins and outs of it.”
This was delivered in a quiet, oracular manner from which there was no appeal; so the conversation continued to flow in a kindred channel—Barry observing that the regiments then stationed in Canada were largelyadulterated, as he humorously termed it, with the Irish element, which, during such times of commotion, was considered by England safer abroad than at home.
“How is that?” said Greaves, casting a searching glance towards the speaker. “I should fancy that the British soldier was safe, and true to the crown whether at home or abroad; although I am free to confess, that the Irish, as a nation, have much to complain of.”
“And how can you separate the man from the nation; and if a people are oppressed and wronged as a whole, are they not oppressed and wronged individually?” replied O’Brien.
“The inference is reasonable,” returned the other; “but as England seems sensible that something ought to be done for the amelioration of the condition of Ireland no doubt the two nations will soon settle down in the bonds of amity and love, and, in a better state of things, forget all their bickerings and heartburnings.”
“There was a payriod,” retorted Tom, “when England could have done somethin to appase Ireland, but that payriod is past and gone forever! Durin the airly days of O’Connell, the repale of the Union and the abolition of the Church Establishment would have worked merricles. These measures would have done away with absenteeism, an unjust and gallin taxation, and would have given Ireland the conthrol, in some degree at laste, of her own local affairs. If the Act of 1782 previntin England from intherfarin in any degree in those affairs was revived, it would have given the Irish a chance to build up their manufactures and recruit their ruined thrade and commerce. It would have recalled the landlord to his estates, from forrin parts, and re-inthroduced a native parliament that understood the wants and wishes of the people, and that was intherested in carryin them out, and givin the masses an opportunity of developin their resources and turnin their soil to account, that is acre for acre more fertile than that of England, to-day. It would have gathered home from the four winds of the earth the scatthered wealth that has followed the absentee to distant lands and made Dublin and Cork and every city in the counthry alive with min and wimmin, that were able to pathronise Irish manufactures, aye, and pay for them too. All this it would have done and a thousand times more; but as I have already said, the chance has been thrown away by England, never to be recovered by her durinsecula seculorum; for now the light of American freedom has fallen upon Ireland, and, pointed out what ought to be her thrue standin, and the insufficiency of what she once would have been satisfied with. In the broad effulgence of its glory, the people of Ireland now persave that so if long as they attached any importance to the mere accident of birth, or bent the knee to hereditary monarchy, they were but walking in the valley and shadow of death. The great moral spectacle of American freedom built upon the broad and imperishable basis of the voluntary and intelligent consint of a whole people, has so upset their household gods and desthroyed the prestige of kingcraft in their eyes, that they now look forward to the total overthrow of monarchical institutions in their midst, and the establishment, on their shores, of a Republic in every particular the counterpart of that which now commands the admiration of the world, across the lines there, and which is gradually sappin the foundation of British rule on this side of the lakes, as well as litherally swallowin us up unknownst to ourselves. This is how the case stands now; so that we can aisily persave, that England has lost the power and opportunity of conciliatin the Irish race; bekase they have no longer a feelin or sintiment in common with her.”
These observations, which were made with a degree of ease and eloquence regarded as totally foreign to Tom, actually electrified his hearers, and drew a compliment from Greaves; while Barry, who knew a good deal of him, was so astonished at his sudden and earnest volubility, he could not resist the temptation of assuring him that he was an honor to his country, if not to humanity at large. The other three or four individuals present joined in the sentiment, so that, for the time being, O’Brien was no ordinary personage in their minds, while a quiet wink from one to the other seemed to place it beyond a shadow of doubt, that, in their estimation, Big Tom knew more than he ever got credit for.
When the conversation again began to flow freely, the gentleman, with the hooked nose, turned it imperceptibly upon Fenianism, and the rumored intention of the Organization, in the United States, to make a descent upon Canada at no distant day. At this point, O’Brien put in a word or two, to the effect, that he was not so sure of the propriety of the Brotherhood invading the Province, as its inhabitants were not in any way answerable for the wrongs which had been inflicted by England upon Ireland. Here Barry observed, that although he was not competent to speak on the matter, and had no desire to endorse or countenance such an invasion, he regarded a Fenian attack upon Canada fully as justifiable as an assault of the same character upon England, or any other portion of her majesty’s dominions. The empire, he contended, was a unit and no part of it could be assailed, that did not possess, in relation to Ireland, just as inoffensive people as the Canadians were. Fenianism, he presumed, did not pretend to make war upon individuals, but upon a government, in any or all of its ramifications, that was alleged to be oppressive and an enemy to civil and religious freedom; and so long as any people chose to endorse the acts of such a government by defending them, and adhering to the flag under which they were said to have been committed, so long were they amenable to the party who assumed to be aggrieved in the premises, as aiders and abettors of the offence.
This position was so reasonable and so logical that there was but little room for dispute upon the subject. And hence the absurdity of certain squeamish gentlemen who, before and since the invasion of 1866, have denounced a descent upon Canada as not so justifiable as an attack upon the more central parts of the empire, from the assumed fact, that the Canadians are in no way chargeable with the wrongs inflicted by the British Government upon Ireland. Such an argument to a military man, or astute politician, would be the very height of absurdity. The outworks are always stormed and taken before the citadel falls; nor are those who occupy or defend them regarded with any personal ill feeling by the assailing party, and are only enemies in so far as they choose to espouse the cause and defend, at the point of the sword, the acts and existence of a government held to be corrupt and oppressive. From the difference in population and other circumstances, there are a greater number of inoffensive persons in England, in relation to Irish grievances, than there are in Canada; so that, adopting the very style of argument used by those gingerly or subsidized cavillers, there are more causes for justifying a descent, at any time, upon the latter than upon the former country. The truth is, the masses or people of any country are, for the most part, inoffensive on the whole, and are merely wielded by governments with a view to maintaining a power for good or evil, having in many cases themselves no very clear idea of the grounds upon which the field may have been taken; and laying down their arms at a moment’s notice, without being concerned as to the expediency or justice of a cessation of hostilities. In truth, even amid armies thundering down upon each other at the word of command, there are necessarily thousands of unoffending persons who entertain not a single feeling of animosity against their opponents individually, and who are but simply the exponents of an idea that their rulers deem necessary to maintain at the point of the bayonet; although they themselves may not sympathize with it to any extent whatever. So that it is apparent, that the invasion of Canada was never undertaken with a view to despoiling or injuring the peopleper seof that country; but for the simple purpose of making a descent upon a point of the British empire most accessible to the arms of the Republic of Ireland on this continent, in the hope of establishing a basis that would enable Irish Nationalists to operate successfully against a government that had for seven hundred years subjected their country, name and race, to every injustice and persecution known to the history of crime. Such are the contingencies of war, that the innocent are dragged into the vortex by the guilty, and that those who choose to adopt a flag and are found armed in its defence, are constructively the enemies of the invaders, and according to the usages of all nations amenable in the field for the conduct of their rulers. Whatever may be said to the contrary, then, by English sympathizers or weak-kneed patriots, so long as Canada is a portion of the British empire, so long is she a legitimate point of attack for the enemies of that empire, and no description of special pleading can make it otherwise. And here we would advise the people of the New Dominion to look into this matter and weigh the consequences of being influenced by any seeming or real hostile attitude to the government of the United States, or the mighty hosts which are now gathering in battle array in the cause of Irish freedom. England is fallen! Her power and prestige are gone forever! The star of Irish liberty has already emerged from the clouds that have so long lain piled up along the horizon of the land of the enslaved Celt, and no power on earth can obscure its growing Lustre, until it blazes forth in the full meridian, splendor of Irish nationality and independence! Let our neighbors, therefore, we say, not be betrayed into raising a puny arm against the tremendous force that cannot fail to be exerted ere long in this connection, or their redemption from the British yoke and their consequent absorption by the great American Commonwealth may be reddened with more blood than the circumstances of the case really require.
When Barry had finished his few observations on this topic, Greaves, in further pursuance of the subject, and with the apparent view of gathering the tone of Canadian opinion upon it, observed, that if all the Irish population of the Provinces were as true to the sentiment of the independence of their country, as O’Brien and his military friend, there might be some reason for apprehending that the intended invasion of the Canadas by the Fenian organization of the United States, would tend to more alarming results to England than were anticipated by the friends of that country; remarking, in addition, that the Irish element must be very large in her majesty’s Canadian possessions, if one might judge from the recent St. Patrick’s Day demonstration throughout them, and the various St. Patrick’s Societies to be found scattered from one end of the colony to the other; all of which were, no doubt, more or less tinged with opinions and aspirations similar to those held by the two individuals who had just spoken.
“Oh, yes,” rejoined Big Tom, “there are St. Patrick Societies in abundance, but let me inform you, that instead of bein national associations, as they purport to be, they are the very sthrongholds of England in this country, and, with scarce an exception, the deadliest opponents to the very indepindence that we have benn jist spakin about. For the most part, they are filled chock full of a pack of miserable toadies to the governmint, which manages to gather into them a pack of rottin, ladin Irishmin who can make speeches, dhrink ‘the day and all who honor it,’ sing ‘God save the Queen,’ and talk English blatherskite about the glory of the impire, the army and navy, and everythin else in the world save and except the wrongs of poor, ould Ireland, and the way to redhress them. Why, sir, barrin a word dhropped here and there, you’d think it was in an Orange Lodge you were, if you happened to step in on one of those societies while engaged in celebrating, as they call it, the anniversary of their pathron Saint; for it’s nothin you’d hear but ‘Rule Britannia,’ ‘The Red, White and Blue,’ and kindhered sintiments, and if a chap did happen to give ‘The harp that wanst,’ why, its the sweet, soft air they’d be admirin, and the poethry of Tom Moore, rather than the low wail for vingeance that was smothered in the heart of the song itself. What could you expect from sich a St Patrick’s Society as that of Toronto, with a gintleman at its head with the freedom of an English city in his breeches pocket, and a desire to emulate English statesmen and English institutions in his heart! Look, also, at the able and larned Irishman who stands at the head of the University of that same methropolis of the West, and whose eloquence so mystifies his faithlessness to Ireland as to confuse you, and almost lade you captive, until, on cooler deliberation, you find that his response to ‘the toast of the evenin,’ is naither more nor less than a superb burst of oratory, robed in green and goold, but with a heart as purely English as that which throbbed within the breast of the renegade Wellington or the late wily Lord Palmerston. Oh, no! the St. Patrick Societies of America, and of every other portion of the globe, are simply whited sepulchres, or false beacons erected or fosthered by the English governmint to mislade the unsuspectin portions of our race from the allagiance due to their own counthry, by studiously inculcatin sintimints and ideas favorable to English supremacy, which can be paraded before the world as the thrue expression of the Irish people, in relation to the red that governs them, and their willinness to remain as they are, part and parcel of the impire. Sich min as the two I have jist mintioned do more to perpetuate the thraldom of our country than the most unfrindly and subtle statesman that exists on the other side of the Atlantic to-day; bekase they are powerful inemies, by their example in our own camp, and bekase there are those amongst us who are aisily led, and who consequintly fall a victim to their influence and example.”
“Sure, we all know, that the Scotch thricksther at the head of the govermint here, could do but little if it was not for such people as Ogle R., George. L., Darcy and ‘the docther,’ as he is called in Toronto; and thus it is, that although the three Toronto gintlemen that I now name, are, I honestly believe, deservedly respected and esteemed in every other relation of life, they belong body and sowl to the English sintimint of the counthry; and if the most favorable opportunity was offered them to-morrow, would never raise a helpin hand to place the green above the red. But, as this is dhry work, and as I have not had sich a bout at it since I opened here, come, one and all, and let us wet our whistles, for I see you have jist made spy-glasses of your tumblers.”
Although delivered in a style somewhat uncouth, there was a great deal of truth and native eloquence about these observations of O’Brien. There is no doubt but the St. Patrick Societies of this continent, and perhaps of the world, are characterized, in no ordinary degree, by the spirit and design to which he alluded. In so far as those belonging to the British empire are concerned, he was right, almost without an exception; for it must be admitted, that these societies are, for the most part, filled with pseudo patriots, who discard all revolutionary theories, and are of the opinion, that the independence of their country, if they ever cast a glance in that direction, ought to be achieved in the most lady-like manner, and with “white kids.” Look, for instance, at some of the members of these associations and kindred bodies in New York and in various other parts of the Union, and analyze the spirit which finds expression in their observance of the anniversary of Ireland’s tutelar Saint. From the moment that the cloth is removed, until the last of the company gyrates out of the room to his carriage, we have nothing but a war of eloquence between rival politicians who are candidates for municipal or other lucrative honors, or a subtle bid for Irish support through some adroit manoeuvre, by which an adversary is, for the time being, thrown into the shade. To be sure, Mr. Richard This or Mr. John That, may occasionally give us a taste of his research and learning, in a re-hash from the “Annals of the Four Masters,” or from some of the leading periodicals of the day; and we may, in addition, be treated to anoriginalpoem touching Ireland from some of the various up-hill-workers of the Muses, with whom the great mercantile centre abounds; but as to anything practical relative to the amelioration of the wretched condition of the country in whose name they assemble upon such occasions, that is simply out of the question; all parties, as a general thing, satisfying themselves with a hacknied and stereotyped enumeration of her wrongs, and the usual bland denunciations of her oppressors.
And here we give an illustration of St. Patrick Societies under their most patriotic aspect; for the power of speech which characterizes, this great Commonwealth, and our total immunity from English persecution, enable the spirit which actuates these societies, beneath the skull and cross bones of St. George, to be a little more patriotic here, in its language at least, than it dares to be in any portion of the dominions of England. Still, its positive antagonism to Irish independence, under the British flag, is scarcely more reprehensible than its negative influence in the same direction under the Stars and Stripes; so that Ireland, suffering at their hands alike, might with every degree of justice place them in the same category.
After all, it is the masses that free a nation, and thank God for it. A leader may in vain look for a host to follow him, but a host never in vain for a leader, and hence the defection of a few prominent men from the great, Irish national idea which now so moves this continent, and commands the attention of the world, amounts to but little save sorrow at the stigma it casts upon our race. The rank and file of our people are true to the spirit that fired the O’Neill’s and the Geraldines of old; and this being the case, the freedom of Ireland is secured beyond any possible contingency—England is brought to bay at home and abroad. The mighty embodiments of Irish power and patriotism, yclept Fenianism, stalks forth through the empire with an uplifted glaive in its hand, and no one can say how soon or where the swift stroke of destruction shall fall. Its presence fills with gloomy alarm every nook and corner of the land, and paralyzes all the energies of the oppressor. Through its overwhelming influence, the most cherished institutions of the usurper are being overthrown, and the crown and mace all but converted into baubles. It has destroyed the power and prestige of a hereditary aristocracy, and thrown, in a measure, the whole government of the land into the hands of Commoners. The privileged classes, no longer oracular, recede before it, and a great democratic idea occupies the ground upon which they stood—in short, illuminated and impelled by the glorious spirit and impulses which moved the immortal founders of this grand Republic of the West, it has gone forth to avenge and to conquer, and to build up upon the shores of the Old World such a grateful monument to the genius of American freedom, as shall, from its lofty summit, pour its radiance over the darkest valleys of Central Europe, until the frozen grasp of despotism yields to its magic touch and the chains shall fall from the bleeding limbs of millions, who on emerging from the valley and shadow of death into the pure sunlight of liberty, shall sing paeans in honor of the great American people who first taught humanity to the nations of the earth.
When all present had done justice to O’Brien’s proffered “treat,” and when Greaves seemed to be moved to a friendly view of Irish nationality, in a gap in some desultory conversation that happened to occur casually, this latter worthy asked whether he could be accommodated with a room at “The Harp,” while he remained in town, as he was a stranger in a great measure, and having accidentally, as he said, made the acquaintance of one he believed to be an agreeable landlord. Tom replied in the affirmative; for, in connection with the saloon business, he kept a few boarders and had, besides, ample accommodation for more than one occasional guest. Soon then, Greaves, who was to send the following morning to the railroad station for his luggage, picked up a small traveling bag by his side, asked to be shown to his room, as he professed to be somewhat tired, and bidding the company “good night,” while shaking hands with Barry, disappeared with Tom down the long passage which led to his sleeping apartment on the floor above.
When O’Brien returned to the bar, half a dozen more of his usual customers had dropped in to exchange a kindly word with him, and taste his newest “on tap.” Before reaching the counter, however, and just as he was passing Barry, he whispered something in the ear of the latter, which seemed to arrest his attention, and to which he appeared to answer with a significant nod and peculiar expression of countenance. Barry being off duty, and having received permission to remain in town all night, paid no regard to the nine o’clock drums and fifes audible from the garrison; and although quite an abstemious young fellow, he made himself sufficiently social with the new comers, most of whom were acquaintances. The remainder of the evening was passed in the usual bar-room style; although the conversation for the most part, turned upon the wrongs of Ireland and the mode of redressing them. Now that Greaves had retired, there appeared to be less restraint upon the few who had been a witness of the observations he had made upon the subject, for they one and all seemed to flow into the common channel of sympathy, so largely occupied by O’Brien in this connection. In addition, one of them ventured to remark, that although Greaves pretended to be an Englishman, he was evidently no such thing; for on more than one occasion, he gave utterance to expressions that were not only purely Irish, but tinged with a genuine Irish accent and native peculiarity, that no mere accident could account for, and which was, without doubt, the genuine thing itself peeping out at the elbows of a foreign dress. This idea seemed to find favor with O’Brien, although Barry was not impressed with its correctness, from the fact, no doubt, of his constant intercommunication with the English and Irish element that was so jumbled up in his company.
As it became later, the party began to drop off, until about twelve o’clock, up went the shutters and round went the heavy key in the bar-room door—all having disappeared at the latter period, save Barry and one of his most intimate friends who seemed loath to leave, and inclined to take another glass. No sooner then, were the doors and windows securely fastened, and the gas extinguished, than both these parties accompanied by Tom with a bed-room lamp in his hand, proceeded to a small and comfortable apartment which was sacred to the foot of every individual who was not a tried friend of O’Brien. Here all three seated themselves beside a comfortable coal fire that burned brightly in the grate: when Tom, on extinguishing the lamp, after having lit the jet of gas that hung in the centre of the room, exclaimed:—
“Nick, my name’s not Tom O’Brien, or we have got the divil up-stairs!—but what he’s up to it’s hard to say: although I thought it was jist as well to let him take up his quarthers here, seem that I’ll be able to keep an eye on him—now that the times are becomin sarious.”
“Certainly,” replied Barry, “his appearance is far from prepossessing, but you know, Tom, it’s not always safe to judge a man by this criterion.”
“That’s thrue,” returned the other, “but didn’t you hear the fella how he wanted to sift you about the Irish sintiment of the garrison, as well as lade us out upon the feelins of the Irish in gineral throughout the Province?”
“I did, of course,” answered Nick, “but really thought that the gentleman, being a stranger, was simply asking for information’s sake only, and had no ulterior object in view.”
“I agree with you, O’Brien,” interrupted the third party, who was named Burk, and who had been in the saloon during the period Greaves was present, “there can be nothing good in so cunning a face; but what is the real news to-night, and have you heard from New York or Buffalo?”
“I have harde from both places,” returned Tom, “and everythin looks well; but how are things here, and are you all prepared to assist the invading army when they cross the lines; and what number of men can we fairly count upon?”
“It has, I believe, been ascertained beyond a shadow of doubt,” replied Burk, “that there are upwards of one hundred thousand men throughout the Provinces who would at once rush to arms if they found the flag of the Irish Republic firmly planted at any one point within our borders; while it is known or believed, that more than twice that number would follow in their wake, if Toronto was once in the hands of the invaders. In fact, Toronto and Montreal once taken, the day is ours, for we should have the French almost to a man, no matter what Monsieur George Etienne or Master John Alexander may say to the contrary. Canada is evidently tired of British rule, and is only kept from kicking over the traces by a pack of government officials who hold the purse strings, and a subsidized press that destroys the homogeneity of the people, by making them doubt each other, and impressing every man disaffected to the Crown, with the idea that every other individual Colonist, or nearly so, is opposed to him. In this way, the sentiment of independence which underlies the nine tenths of our population is obstructed and embarrassed, and one man prompted to look with distrust upon another, although both may entertain precisely the same sentiments in relation to the desirability of throwing off the British yoke. As to how the army stands, Nick here can tell you more about that than I can.”
“The army,” said Barry, “is just as you might expect it to be. The Irish who compose it in part, are, as you know, not British soldiers from choice, but from necessity. They had no resource between starvation and a red coat; so that their oath of allegiance to the English Crown may be said to have been exacted from them under pain of death. For ages, their country had been devastated and plundered by the power that now holds them in special thrall, and the means of existence wrested from them through the inhuman exactions of a tyrannical government. Their name and race had been banned, their humble homesteads razed to the ground, and their families scattered, naked and hungry, throughout the length and breadth of the land, or exiled to foreign shores. The stranger had stolen in on their hearthstone, robbed them of their lands, goods and chattles, usurped their powers of local legislation, and then closed every door to preferment against them, leaving them without a hope or a crust for the future, on their own shores. Under this horrible pressure, thousands of them necessarily gave way and fell victims to those gaunt recruiting sergeants of the government—Hunger and Rags. Unable to earn wherewithal to keep body and soul together at their own doors, or within their own borders, and perceiving that the commerce, the manufactures and all the native resource of their country were crushed to the earth, beneath the relentless heel of the oppressor, they fell into the pit-fall dug for them by an accursed perjurer and traitor, and, in obedience to the first law of nature, assumed her livery, and swore allegiance to her flag. But think you that either God or man attaches the slightest importance to an oath exacted under such circumstances? Here am I, Nick Barry, now in the service of the usurper, and driven into it with tears in my eyes and rebellion in my heart, and do you suppose that I regard my oath as other than an additional incentive to plot the downfall of the infamous tyrant and robber who hounded me into swallowing it, and who, to-day, keeps the girl I love out of her mother’s property, that, on a mere technicality, was laid hold of, and thrown into chancery, by a villainous and traitorous relative, long in the secret service of the government at home, when he found the poor, young thing an orphan, and without a wealthy friend in the world to back her, and that too, upon a claim that hadn’t a leg to stand upon, as everybody knew? My soldier-life, and his continued absence in England, prevented my meeting the villain before he died; but as he has left the suit to his son, who, I learn, is no better than he was himself, and is also a great hanger on about the Castle of Dublin, I am in hopes of one day or other meeting this same gentleman, who purports to represent the old villain in this case, when, no matter how the chancery suit may go, I shall hold him to a severe reckoning for the injustice and hardships to which she has been so long subjected through their joint instrumentality. But why should she complain any more than Tom there, whose father’s side of the house, once powerful and wealthy, in the west of Ireland, have been all but beggared through the same infamous government, and their accursed agents, who had plundered them of every acre they possessed, and exiled the bravest and best of them to these distant shores?”
These few observations were made with an earnestness and vehemence that showed how fierce and hostile the blood that boiled in the veins of the speaker. Nor was there any appeal from the inexorable logic of his remarks. From the inhuman manner in which England has, for seven centuries preyed upon the vitals of Ireland, and plundered and expatriated her children, the latter are morally absolved from all allegiance or fidelity to her, no matter what the circumstances of their plighted faith. No man should be bound by oaths or obligations, to maintain the supremacy or defend the interests of a tyrant, exacted under an inhuman pressure or in the presence of such an alternative as the poor Irish recruit is subject to, namely, that of enlisting or starving. How can any Irish soldier, possessed of a single spark of pride or patriotism, and wearing the queen of England’s livery to-day, be other than the deadly enemy of the representative of a people who have laid his country waste, murdered his kindred and left him and millions of his race without a roof to cover them on their own native shores? How can he gaze with any degree of enthusiasm or pleasure upon the blood-stained rag that waved over Mullaghmast, that was perjured at Limerick, and that endorsed with its baleful glare all the demoniacal atrocities of the Penal Laws? “Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God”—therefore the children of Ireland who have been so long trodden in the dust under the feet of an usurper, are but obeying the dictates of heaven and of humanity, when, by every means within the boundaries of civilization, they endeavor to encompass not only their own redemption from the bonds of the oppressor, but the total destruction of his power in every connection. Ireland owes no allegiance to England. For seven hundred years she has been crying out against the colony of foreign bayonets that have kept her in bondage and reduced her to beggary. For one single hour, throughout the whole of that long period, she has never voluntarily accepted the condition of her thraldom, or bowed submissively beneath the British yoke. She therefore cannot be regarded in the light of a conquered nation, but must be looked upon as still engaged in the deadly and mortal contest, whose first field was fought long years ago, between the Anglo-Norman freebooters and the Fenians of Cuan-na-Groith, or the Harbor of the Sun, when Strongbow, at the instance of the second Henry, made an unprovoked descent upon her shores.
“Yes,” replied Tom, when Barry had finished, “both I and mine have felt the cruel fangs of the despoiler; but, sure, where is the use of singlin out ourselves, when the whole of the thrue native Irish—which manes the nineteenth twintieths of the kingdoms-are jist as badly off. The quarrel is not yours nor mine, nor the grievances naither. Both belong to every man, woman and child possessed of a pure dhrop of Irish blood in their veins; for all have suffered alike, as far as that is consarned. And, now, all that has to be done on the head of it, is jist to wait the nick of time that we are all expectin, and then, with one well directed and united blow, dash the tyrant to the ground on this side of the Atlantic, and thrust to Providence, the sympathy of the great American people and our own sthrong arms and hearts for the rest.”
“Quebec and the fort beyond there,” observed Burk, “may give us some trouble; but further than this, from what has been ascertained of the Province generally, there is little to be apprehended. The intimate business relations and the intermarriages between the Canadians and the people of the United States, will exercise a most powerful influence in the case, while the manner in which both the English and Canadian Governments fomented the recent civil war on the other side of the lines, cannot fail to have embittered the American people against the British Flag, wherever it is to be found. The treacherous attack of England upon the existance of the Republic, in subsidizing the South with arms and money, and in destroying, as she did for a considerable period, the American carrying trade, through the instrumentality of pirates built and fitted out in her own ship-yards and docks, will now afford the American government an opportunity of paying her off in kind, through permitting Fenianism to pursue its course without interruption, until the Provinces become part and parcel of the Union, when they have served as a basis of operation for the purpose of fitting out expeditions against the arch enemy of Ireland and of human freedom, and contributed to the final redemption of that oppressed country from the bonds in which it has so long lain. Surely, what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander; and if England, through the House of Commons, cheered the Alabama when her destructive qualities were described before that body by Mr. Laird, and, after having built the pirate, sent her out to make war upon the North when it was in sore trouble—surely, I say, America will not be over anxious to throw obstructions in the way of any party who may take in hand the chastisement of such an infamous power, no matter what the grounds of the quarrel. But when it comes to be understood that for the last ninety years, and up to a very recent period, England has been the deadly defamer and the secret or avowed enemy of America and American institutions—when it comes to be understood, that the statesmen, the business men and the wives and daughters of the citizens of the American Commonwealth, ever since the immortal Washington won the day for the oppressed of the whole world, have been subjected to the sneers and jibes of the English aristocracy and press, and held up to the ridicule of despotic Europe—when this comes to be understood, I repeat, in connection with the fact, that the cause of Ireland is the cause of human liberty and of republican institutions, there will be but little fear of America stepping out of her way to uphold the skull and cross-bones of St. George, either on this or on the other side of the Atlantic ocean, or, in fact, in any portion of the globe.”
“Nor will the clear-sighted children of the Republic be cajoled into a friendly attitude towards this blood-thirsty dastard, because that, in the feebleness and fear that have now overtaken her, she essays to gloze over the infamous acts of which she stands convicted before the nations, and assumes an air of friendship towards them. Had the Union fallen, through her infernal machinations, not a city throughout her dominions but would have blazed with joyful illuminations at the result; while her government would again introduce the impressments of 1812. Even when the slightest reverse was suffered by the arms of the North, the news was heralded throughout the whole of England with tokens of the most intense satisfaction; while both her people and statesmen took a fiendish delight in referring to the Commonwealth as “the late United States!” All this, I say, will influence, and ought to influence, America in favor of the independence of Ireland, and prevent the American people from regarding the present pusillanimous blandishments of John Bull as other than simply the result of cowardice, and an attempt to propitiate a great power that had survived his infernal machinations, and now looms up a just and mighty avenger before him. So long then, as England is permitted to hold Ireland, that is battling for her rights, in chains, or to taint permanently the pure atmosphere of this free continent, so long will the Stars and Stripes shine with subdued lustre, and the memory of the immortal heroes of ‘76 be but half honored, by those who are pledged to defend it to the death in the sight of both God and man.”
“As to Quebec and the other garrisons down this way,” observed Barry, “when Hamilton and Toronto are in the hands of the Army of the Irish Republic, they will be easily managed. None of the strongholds are proof against Irish sympathizers, in their vicinity. This I know to be true. Every genuine Irishman within easy hailing distance of the garrison at Quebec, has more than one tried friend within its walls; and so of the other strongholds along the St. Lawrence and lakes. But supposing, for argument’s sake, that any of those forts should take it into its head to stand a siege, where would it be when invested with such an army as Fenianism can now put into the field, composed of thousands upon thousands of veterans who are still grim with blood and smoke from the terrible fields of the South? What, too, would your militia do, with their holiday legs and maiden swords, against the men who fought at Cold Harbor, Gettysburg or Bull Run? Why the one-fourth of the force which it is said Fenianism has at its command, would sweep Canada like a tornado from Sanwich to Gaspe, and be recruited every yard of the road, besides; while the instant one signal victory was won by them, the government of the United States would at once acknowledge them as belligerants. This, I believe, is the true state of the case; and if the Fenian organization across the lines, and here amongst us, possess honest, brave and competent leaders, the overthrow of England in the Provinces cannot fail to be achieved; for, after all, she has no secure footing in the hearts of the masses, and enjoys nothing but a mere official existence here, under the protection of her guns, and through the instrumentality of a corrupt government and a hireling press. But as it is getting well up in the small hours, and as I feel I need some rest, I think I’ll take another tumbler, if you only join me, and then turn in.”