Captain Michael O'Brien.—Hanged at Manchester. R.I.P.Colonel Rickard Burke.—Sent to Penal Servitude —Returned to America.Colonel Thomas Kelly, Captain Timothy Deasy.—Rescued from Prison Van in Manchester.Captain Edward O'Meagher-Condon.—Sentenced to death for the Manchester Rescues,but reprieved and sent to Penal Servitude—Returned to America.Captain Murphy.—Returned to America. Died a few years since.The Schoolmaster.—A Member of Parliament.John Ryan.—Dead—God rest his soul.
Captain Michael O'Brien.—Hanged at Manchester. R.I.P.
Colonel Rickard Burke.—Sent to Penal Servitude —Returned to America.
Colonel Thomas Kelly, Captain Timothy Deasy.—Rescued from Prison Van in Manchester.
Captain Edward O'Meagher-Condon.—Sentenced to death for the Manchester Rescues,but reprieved and sent to Penal Servitude—Returned to America.
Captain Murphy.—Returned to America. Died a few years since.
The Schoolmaster.—A Member of Parliament.
John Ryan.—Dead—God rest his soul.
If it were for nothing else, it will be sufficient fame for T.D. Sullivan for all time that he is the author of "God Save Ireland." He had no idea himself, as he used to tell me, that the anthem would have been taken up so instantaneously and enthusiastically as it was.
A National Anthem can never be made to order. It must grow spontaneously out of some stirring incident of the hour. Never in those days were our people so deeply moved as by the Manchester Martyrdom. There is no grander episode in all Irish history. The song of "God Save Ireland," embodying the cry raised by Edward O'Meagher Condon, and taken up by his doomed companions in the dock, so expressed the feelings of all hearts that it was at once accepted by Irishmen the world over as the National Anthem.
I sympathise with the ground taken up by our friends of the Gaelic League that a National Anthem should be in the national tongue. That objection has to some extent been met by the very fine translation of "God Save Ireland" into Gaelic by DanielLynch. This appeared in one of my publications, and is the version now frequently sung at Irish patriotic gatherings.
With regard to the objection that the air—"Tramp, tramp, the boys are marching"—to which T.D. wrote the song is of American origin, I was under the impression that Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore, the famous Irish-American bandmaster, was the composer of it, and that, therefore, we could claim the air of "God Save Ireland" as being Irish as well as the words. To place the matter beyond doubt, Gilmore himself being dead, I wrote to his daughter, Mary Sarsfield Gilmore, a distinguished poetical contributor to the "Irish World," to ascertain the facts. I got from her a most interesting reply, in which she said, "I am more than sorry to disappoint you by my answer, but my father wasnotthe composer of the air you mention."
I have heard it suggested that McCann's famous war song "O'Donnell Aboo!" should be adopted as our National Anthem instead of "God Save Ireland," and I have heard of it being given as afinaleat Gaelic League concerts.
Without doubt it is a fine song, and the air to which it is generally sung is a noble one. A distinguished Irish poet tells me he is of opinion that "what will be universally taken up as the Irish National Anthem has never yet been written." My friend may be right, but let us see what claim "O'Donnell Aboo!'"—song or air—has upon us for adoption as our National Anthem.
To do this I must go back in my narrative to thetime when I made the acquaintance of Mr. Michael Joseph McCann, its author. This was a few years before "God Save Ireland" was written, and over twenty years after "O'Donnell Aboo!" appeared in the "Nation."
A party of young Irishmen from Liverpool engaged the Rotunda, Dublin, for a week. They called themselves the "Emerald Minstrels," and gave an entertainment—"Terence's Fireside; or the Irish Peasant at Home." I was one of the minstrels. The entertainment consisted of Irish national songs and harmonized choruses, interspersed with stories such as might be told around an Irish fireside. There was a sketch at the finish, winding up with a jig.
At my suggestion, one of the pieces in our programme was "O'Donnell Aboo!" which first appeared in the "Nation" of January 28th, 1843, under the title of "The Clan-Connell War Song—A.D. 1597," the air to which it was to be sung being given as "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu," This was the name of the boat song commencing "Hail to the Chief," from Sir Walter Scott's poem of "The Lady of the Lake." This was published in 1810, and set to music for three voices soon afterwards by Count Joseph Mazzinghi, a distinguished composer of Italian extraction, born in London.
As "Roderigh Vich Alpine" was the air given by Mr. McCann himself as that to which his song was to be sung, we, of course, used Mazzinghi's music in our entertainment.
One night—I think it was our first—at the closeof our entertainment in Dublin, a gentleman came behind to see us. It was Mr. McCann. He was pleased, he said, we were singing his song, but would like us to use an air to which it was being sung in Ireland, and whichhe had put to it himself. He also told us he had made some alterations in thewordsof the song, and was good enough to write into my "Spirit of the Nation" the changes he had made. This copy is the original folio edition, with music, published in 1845. It was presented to me by the members of St. Nicholas's Boys' Guild, Liverpool. I have that book still, and value it all the more as containing the handwriting of the distinguished poet. (I should say, however, that most of my friends do not consider the alterations in the song to be improvements.)
The measure and style of "O'Donnell Aboo!" were evidently imitated from Sir Walter Scott's boat song. Besides this strong resemblance, there is the fact that Mr. McCann gave as the air to which his song was to be sung, "Roderigh Vich Alpine," part of the burden of Sir Walter's song.
But not only is there a resemblance in the words and general style, but in the music. Indeed, it seems to me that most of the fine air of "O'Donnell Aboo!" as it is now sung is based on Mazzinghi's music—either that for the first, second, or bass voice, or upon the concerted part for the three voices at the end of each verse.
Another fact is worthy of mention. Since meeting Mr. McCann I have often noticed in Irish papers that when the air, as adapted by him, was playedat national gatherings, it was often given by the name of Scott's song and Mazzinghi's composition. And when Mr. Parnell was in the height of his popularity and attended demonstrations in Ireland, the air used to be played as being applicable to the Irish leader, and given in some papers as "Hail to the Chief," while others described the same air as "O'Donnell Aboo!"
But if we cannot claim as an original Irish air McCann's song as it is now sung, the same critical examination which brings out its resemblance to Mazzinghi's music, also shows that the Italian composer most probably got his inspiration from the music of the Irish or Scottish Gaels, as being most suitable for his theme. So that, perhaps, we may take the same pride in the present air as our island mother might in some of her children who had been on theshaughraunfor a time, but had again come back to the "old sod."
It may be that even before the era of Irish independence some inspired poet may write, to some old or new Irish melody, a song which, by its transcendent merits, may spring at once into the first place. But until that happens, or till "we've made our isle a nation free and grand" I think we may very well rest content with "God Save Ireland."
It has been suggested to me that it might form an interesting portion of these recollections if I were to give some account of how we came to start the "Emerald Minstrels," and what we did while that company was in existence. I may say without hesitation that we got our inspiration from theteaching of Young Ireland and the "Spirit of the Nation." We called our entertainment "Terence's Fireside; or The Irish Peasant at Home."
We had most of us been boys in the old Copperas Hill school, then in the Young Men's Guild connected with the church, and some of us members of the choir. At the Guild meetings on Sunday nights, the chaplain, Father Nugent, an Irishman, but, like most of ourselves, born out of his own country, used to delight in teaching us elocution, and encouraging us to write essays, besides putting other means of culture in our way.
After a time he founded an educational establishment, the Catholic Institute, where, when he left Copperas Hill, many of us followed him and joined the evening classes. About this good priest I shall have more to say in this narrative, and, though he was no politician, I don't think any man ever did so much to elevate the condition of the Irish people of his native town, and make them both respectable—in the best sense—and respected, as Father Nugent.
We started the "Emerald Minstrels" at a time when there was a lull in Irish politics; our objects being the cultivation of Irish music, poetry and the drama; Irish literature generally, Irish pastimes and customs; and, above all, Irish Nationality.
Father Nugent's training from the time we were young boys had been invaluable. We numbered ten, the most brilliant member of our body, and the one who did most in organising our entertainments, being John Francis McArdle. Besides our main objects, already stated, we considered we weredoing good work by elevating the tastes of our people, who had, through sheer good nature, so long tolerated an objectionable class of so-called Irish songs, as well as the still more objectionable "Stage Irishman."
Some items from the programme will give an idea of our entertainment. We opened with a prologue, originally written by myself, but re-cast and very much improved by John McArdle. I may say that we two often did a considerable amount of journalistic work in that way in after years. I can just remember a little of the prologue. These were the opening lines:—
Sons of green Erin, we greet you this night!And you, too, her daughters—how welcome the sight!We come here before you, a minstrel band,To carol the lays of our native land.
There was one particularly daring couplet in it, the contribution of John McArdle:—
In your own Irish way give us one hearty cheer.Just to show us at once that you welcome us here.
Had mine been the task to speak these lines, I must inevitably have failed to get the required response, but in the mouth of the regular reciter they never once missed fire. This was Mr. Barry Aylmer. He afterwards adopted the stage as a profession, and became recognised as a very fine actor, chiefly in Irish parts, as might be expected. He also travelled with a very successful entertainment of his own, and it is but a short time sincehe informed me that he spoke our identical "Emerald Minstrel" prologue in New York and other cities in America, adapting it, of course, to the circumstances of the occasion. I found that during the many years which had elapsed since I had previously seen him until I met him again quite recently he had been a great traveller, not only in this country and America, but also in South Africa and Australia.
We had a number of harmonized choruses, including several of Moore's melodies, Banim's "Soggarth Aroon," "Native Music," by Lover; McCann's "O'Donnell Aboo!" and others. "Killarney," words by Falconer, music by Balfe, was sung by James McArdle, who had a fine tenor voice. Richard Campbell was our principal humorous singer. He used chiefly to give selections from Lover's songs, and one song written for him by John McArdle, "Pat Delany's Christenin'."
John had an instinctive grasp of stage effect. A hint of the possibilities of an idea was enough for him. On my return from the Curragh I told him of how I had heard the militia men and soldiers singing the "Shan Van Vocht" on the road. He decided that this should be ourfinale, the climax of the first part of our minstrel entertainment.
We had a drop scene representing the Lower Lake of Killarney. When it was raised it disclosed the interior of the living room of a comfortable Irish homestead, with the large projecting open chimney, the turf fire on the hearth, and the usual pious and patriotic pictures proper to such an interior—Terence's Fireside.
Ours was a very self-contained company. Each had some special line as singer, musician, elocutionist, story teller or dancer.
John Clarke was our chief actor. He excelled in "character parts," and, when well "made up" as an old man made a capital "Terence" in the first part of the entertainment, besides giving a fine rendering of Lefanu's "Shemus O'Brien" between the parts.
In the miscellaneous part there was a rattling Irish jig by Joseph Ward and Barry Aylmer. The latter, being of somewhat slight figure and a good-looking youth, made a bouncing Irish colleen. These two made a point of studying from nature, not only in their dancing, but in their acting and singing, so that their performances were always true to life, without an atom of exaggeration. They were always received with great enthusiasm, particularly by the old people, who seemed transported back, as by the touch of a magic wand, to the scenes of their youth.
We finished the evening with a sketch, written by John McArdle, called "Phil Foley's Frolics"—he was fond of alliteration. Noticing that Joseph Ward had made a special study of the comfortable old Irishvanithee, and had many of her quaint and humorous sayings, he added to the characters a special part for him—"Mrs. Casey,"—to which he did full justice. Indeed, so incessant was the laughter that followed each sally, that he and Barry Aylmer, who was the Phil Foley, sometimes found it difficult to get the words of thedialogue in between. We had another sketch, "Pat Houlahan's Ghost," which used to go very well.
The first part of the entertainment, showing old Terence in the chimney corner and the others singing songs and telling stories, almost necessitated our sitting around in a semi-circular formation. This gave us much the appearance of a nigger troupe. To depart from this somewhat, we occasionally introduced a trifling plot. We made it that one of the sons of the house entered while the family were engaged in their usual avocations, having unexpectedly returned from America. Then came the affectionate family greeting, and the bringing in of the friends and neighbours, who formed a group sitting around the turf fire, making a merry night of it.
The services of the "Emerald Minstrels" were in great demand, and were always cheerfully given for Catholic, National and charitable objects.
While our own people mostly furnished our audiences, our entertainment was appreciated by the general public. The best proof of this was that Mr. Calderwood, Secretary of the Concert Hall, Lord Nelson Street, gave us several engagements for the "Saturday Evening Concerts," in which, from time to time, Samuel Lover, Henry Russell, The English Glee and Madrigal Union, and other well-known popular entertainers, appeared. Mr. Calderwood told us he was well pleased to have in the town a company like ours, upon whom he could always rely for a successful entertainment.
I have referred to Michael Breslin in speaking of his brother John. Michael was not suspected of any complicity with the revolutionary movement until after the rising on the 5th of March, 1867, when he found it prudent to get out of the country.
He was, as the saying is, "on his keeping," and stayed with me at my father's house in Liverpool for a short time, until he found a favourable opportunity of getting away to America. This was by no means an easy task, as all the ports were closely watched, and as, like his brother John, he was a fine handsome man, of splendid physique, and well known, of course, to the Irish police, it required all his caution successfully to run the gauntlet; but this eventually he did.
The next I heard from him was that he was coming to Paris to a conference between the representatives of the two parties of American Fenians—what were known as the Stephens and Roberts wings. Michael Breslin was sent as a representative of the Stephens party. There were prominent members of theI.R.B. in this country, also friends of Breslin, who were anxious that the two parties should join. I wrote to him on their behalf, asking him to work towards that end. For greater safety the letters for Breslin were sent under cover through my cousin, Father Bernard O'Loughlin, Superior of the Passionist Fathers in Paris. He, of course, knew nothing of the nature of the communications he was handing to Breslin, who did his best to bring about the desired unity; but his action was repudiated by his principals in America.
He came over to England, and had a narrow escape from falling into the hands of the police. When William Hogan was arrested in Birmingham, charged with supplying the arms used in the Manchester Rescue, Michael Breslin was in the house at the time. Questioned by the police, he described himself as a traveller in the tea trade for Mr. James Lysaght Finigan, of Liverpool. As he had his proper credentials (samples, etc., from James Finigan, who, anticipating an emergency of this kind, had given them for this express purpose), he was allowed by the police to go on his way.
James Lysaght Finigan was a good type of the Liverpool-born Irishman, educated by the Christian Brothers. With other members of his family he was at the time engaged in the tea trade; but he was of an adventurous disposition, and afterwards served in the French Foreign Legion in the Franco-Prussian War. Later still he became a member of the Irish Party in the House of Commons.
In connection with Breslin's narrow escape, thesequel, as regards our friend Hogan, is worth relating. Those who ever met William Hogan will agree with me that a more warm-hearted and enthusiastic Irishman never lived. He was a good-looking man, of imposing presence—a director of an Insurance Company, for which he was also the resident manager in Birmingham. Living in that town, he was of great assistance to the various agents entrusted with the task of procuring arms for the revolutionary movement. It speaks much for his sagacity that a man of his impulsive and generous temperament should so long have escaped arrest in connection with such hazardous undertakings. Hogan, however, like Shemus O'Brien, "was taken at last."
Some of the revolvers brought from Birmingham by Daniel Darragh, which had been used at the Hyde Road action, had been picked up from the ground afterwards by the police. It was for supplying these that Hogan was put upon his trial. The maker of the revolvers was brought from Birmingham, and put in the witness box. He swore that a revolver produced was one of his own make, which he had sold to the prisoner. Thus, fortunately for Hogan, the whole case against him turned on this point—not a very strong one, as it was obviously possible for the Crown witness to be mistaken.
Hogan's counsel produced a similar revolver, and asked the witness if he could identify it as his manufacture? The witness unhesitatingly did so. The counsel, when his turn came, called another witness—a decent-looking man of the artizan class. The barrister handed him the revolver.
"Do you recognise it?" he asked.
"I do—I made it myself."
The Court was astonished. The prosecuting counsel asked:—
"How do you know it is yours?"
"By certain marks on it," the man replied, and these he proceeded to describe. As the description was found to be correct, and as the other witness, who had sworn thathehad made the weapon, had not described any such marks, the case against Hogan broke down, and he was acquitted.
A few days afterwards he called on me, and explained how the thing had happened. When he was arrested, his friends in Birmingham, having still on hand some of the revolvers he had purchased, had an exact copy of one of them made by a gunsmith whom they could trust, with instructions to put his own private marks upon it, which he could afterwards identify. It was this weapon that had deceived the witness for the prosecution to such an extent that he wrongly swore to it as being his own manufacture.
Daniel Darragh, who was also put upon his trial for supplying the weapons for the Manchester Rescue, was not so fortunate as his friend Hogan, for he was convicted. He was sent into penal servitude on April 15th, 1869, but, being in delicate health, did not long survive, for he died in Portland Prison on June 28th of the following year. William Hogan, as the fulfilment of a sacred duty, broughtthe body of his friend home to Ireland, to be buried among his own kith and kin, in the Catholic cemetery of Ballycastle, Co. Antrim; and Edward O'Meagher Condon, when recently visiting this country, considered it a no less sacred duty to visit the grave.
It will be seen that William Hogan, with all his acuteness, had a very narrow escape from falling into the hands of the law and suffering its penalties. Still, it has been my experience, that men like him, who have stood their ground, following their usual legitimate occupations, were always less liable to be molested than what might be termed birds of passage, such as Rickard Burke, Arthur Forrester, or Michael Davitt.
Such, I consider, was the case of my friend, John Barry, when he was a resident in Newcastle-on-Tyne, in connection with an incident which he related to me a short time since. Some arms were addressed to him "to be called for," under the name of "Kershaw," a well-known north-country name, not at all likely to be borne by an Irishman. By some means the police got wind of the nature of the consignment, and the arms were held at the station, waiting for Mr. Kershaw to claim them. But it was a case of plot and counterplot; and when John was actually on the way to the railway station, he was warned in time by a railway employé, an Irish Protestant member of the I.R.B., and did not finish his journey. As "Kershaw" did not turn up, the case of arms was sent off to London to be produced at a trial then impending.
John Barrywas at that time a commercial traveller, and, strangely enough, on one of his trips, he found himself in the same railway carriage with two detectives who were in charge of the arms on their way to the metropolis. John, as everybody acquainted with him knows, "has the music on the tip of his tongue;" the racy accent acquired in his childhood in his native Wexford. But he can put it off when the occasion requires it; and the two police officers were quite charmed with the social qualities of the genial commercial "gent" who was their fellow-traveller, never suspecting him to be an Irishman. They chatted together in the most agreeable manner, making no secret of their mission to London, and letting drop a few facts which proved useful to the counsel for the defence in the subsequent trial. Reaching London, they asked the commercial "gent" to spend a social evening with them and some of the witnesses in the case, which had some connection with the arms intended for "Mr. Kershaw." He could not do so, he said, as he had a previous engagement—which happened to be with Arthur Forrester and some witnesses on the other side. But, he continued, he would be glad to see them on the following day. Where could he see them? At Scotland Yard; and at Scotland Yard, accordingly, he met them, where they showed him, as an evidence of the desperate characters they had to deal with—his own case of arms!
They told him of the pleasant evening he had missed, the only drawback being, they said, thatone of the witnesses, named Corydon, got drunk and was very troublesome.
This reminds me of another case, in connection with which I, at the time, fully expected to be arrested. The reader can form his own conclusion, but my impression was, and is, that I owed my safety to a gentleman I shall now introduce. Detective Superintendent Laurence Kehoe, of Liverpool, was a very decent man in his way. He was by no means of the type of John Boyle O'Reilly or the Breslins, who have shown that in the British army and in the police force there have been men, mostly compelled by adverse circumstances, who have for a time worn the blue, or green, or scarlet coat of Britain without changing the Irish heart beneath.
No; Larry (as he was generally called) was nothing of the kind. Still, I believe he faithfully did his duty according to his lights, in the service in which he was engaged. He was a conscientious Catholic, and a son of his is a most respected priest in the diocese of Liverpool. He was a kind-hearted, charitable man, always ready to do a good turn, particularly for a fellow-countryman. If an Irish policeman called his attention to some poor waif of an Irish child who had lost its parents, or was in evil surroundings—having parents worse than none, or in danger of losing its faith—Laurence Kehoe would take the matter in hand. He would not always go through the formality of bringing the case of such child under the notice of the managers of one or other of the Catholic orphanages. When I was Secretary of Father Nugent's Boys' Refuge,he brought one of these waifs to the Brother Director, and claimed admittance for him. The place was full, the Brother said—it could not be done. Without another word Kehoe left the child on the doorstep, and simply saying, "Good-night," left Brother Tertullian sorely perplexed, but with no alternative but to take the child in.
Now, Laurence Kehoe must have known that I was a notorious suspect—for it was his duty to know—but we were good friends, never, however, talking politics by any possible chance. I cannot, of course, state for certain how it was, but the reader, from what I am going to describe, may possibly come to the conclusion that Detective Superintendent Kehoe may have shut both eyes and ears in my particular case.
To Rickard Burke was entrusted the critical and dangerous task of buying and distributing arms for the revolutionary movement.ExitRickard Burke, in the usual way, through the prison gate.EnterArthur Forrester, who, in due course, found his way also—though but for a short time—within prison walls. Then, following in quick succession, came Michael Davitt, engaged in the same task as Burke and Forrester.
Forrester was a young man of great eloquence, and, like his mother and sister, a poet. Mrs. Ellen Forrester's "Widow's Message to her Son" is, I think, one of the finest and most heart-stirring poems we possess. I have often listened with pleasure to Arthur Forrester, when he used to come to address the "boys" in Liverpool. On one of those occasionsMichael Davitt was with him, a modest, unassuming young man, with but little to say, although he was to make afterwards a more important figure in the world than his friend. Forrester was a young fellow full of pluck, and made a desperate resistance when, a boy, he was first arrested in Dublin.
One night, just before Christmas, 1869, he left fifty revolvers with me. Early next morning I read in a daily paper that he had been arrested the previous night in a Temperance Hotel where he had been staying. There were no arms found upon him or among his belongings. He had left them with me;—indeed, as I read the account of his arrest, they were still in my possession. You may depend upon it I quickly got them into safer hands than my own. Some compromising documents were found in Forrester's possession, including a certain letter with which Michael Davitt's name was connected. This same letter was brought forward in evidence some years afterwards, in the famous "TimesForgeries Commission," with a view to showing that the Irish leaders had incited to murder. As I expected, I was not long without a visit from Laurence Kehoe's lieutenants. Horn and Cousens, detective officers, called upon me to make enquiries about the revolvers which, they said, "Arthur had left with me." I need scarcely say they gained nothing by their visitation. I fully expected that the matter would not end here, and that I was likely to find myself in the dock along with Forrester.
The same evening I had a visit from my sister-in-law, Miss Naughton. She had a friend, a Miss Cameron, who was sister to the wife of Lawrence Kehoe. Miss Cameron lived in the house of the Detective Superintendent, along with her sister, Mrs. Kehoe. In the middle of the previous night—Miss Cameron told Miss Naughton—her room being on the same landing as Kehoe's—she heard him called, and a man's voice saying:—
"We've taken Forrester. Shall we go to Denvir?" There was a pause; then Kehoe said, "No," adding some words to the effect that he did not think that I was implicated.
I dare say, after the manner of some pious people I know, he had persuaded himself that such was the case. After he had worked out his full term in Purgatory (for he is dead many years, God rest his soul!), I don't think St. Peter can have kept the Heavenly gates closed on Larry Kehoe for whatever he said about me that night. Nay, let us hope that it was even put down to his credit.
Forrester's explanation, when he was arrested, as to his employment was that he was a hawker. He had his licence, all quite regular, to show. Under this he could sell his revolvers. There was nothing illegal in that, unless a connection were established with the revolutionary movement.
This, it appeared, they were not able to make out; but he was kept in custody, evidently with a view to gain time to establish such a connection. In fact, his case was the same as Davitt's, who took up the work of procuring and distributing arms, after Forrester had become too well known to the policein connection with it. Davitt, too, had a hawker's licence; and, at first, there was really no evidence to connect him with the Fenian movement. The farce was gone through of bringing Corydon to identify him—not a very difficult task in the case of a one-armed man—though this was the first time Corydon had ever seen Davitt.
The evident explanation of Forrester being kept in custody, and remanded, as he was, from day to day, without being charged with any offence, was that a similar connection might be established, to prove which a little perjury would not stand in the way.
Michael Davitt, who had not yet come under the notice of the police, came to me, along with Arthur Forrester's mother, on hearing of the arrest. They had tea with us, and, I need scarcely say, were warmly welcomed in our little family circle, those in the house who were but small children then being in after years proud to remember that they had had such noble characters under their roof.
Mrs. Ellen Forrester was a homely, sweet-looking, little North of Ireland woman. She was a native of the County Monaghan, and, at this time, about forty years of age. Her maiden name was Magennis. Her father was a schoolmaster, which would, no doubt, account for her literary tastes. Songs and poems of hers appeared in the "Nation" and "Dundalk Democrat." She was quite young when she came to England, and settled first in Liverpool, and then in Manchester. She married Michael Forrester, a stonemason, and had five children. It was quiteevident there was a poetic strain in the Magennis blood, for two of her daughters, and her son Arthur, inherited the gift, which her brother Bernard also possessed. She produced "Simple Strains" and (in conjunction with her son Arthur) "Songs of the Rising Nation," and other poems. She was a frequent contributor to the English press, her work being much appreciated.
Arthur Forrester, whose release we were trying to effect, was, at this time, only nineteen years old, though he looked much older. Besides the poetic strain which he inherited from his mother, he must also have had that fiery and unconquerable spirit which displayed itself in the determined resistance he made against the police who came to arrest him in 1867, in Dublin, where he had found his way for the projected rising. He was a young Revolutionist truly—being then only seventeen. He was not long kept in prison that time, there being no evidence to connect him with Fenianism, nor, indeed, was there now, when he had fallen into the hands of the police in Liverpool, though they were doing their best to manufacture some.
His warlike proclivities seem to have been ever uppermost, as will be seen later, where we find him joining the French "Foreign Legion" during the Franco-Prussian War. Besides the "Songs of the Rising Nation" in connection with his mother, he produced "An Irish Crazy Quilt," prose and verse, and was a frequent contributor to the "Irish People" and other papers over the signature of "Angus" and "William Tell."
It is too bad of me to be keeping poor Arthur in durance vile while I am going into these particulars; but I want to show what kind of people these Forresters were, and what the rebelly Ulster Magennis strain in their blood let them into.
Together, Davitt and I called upon several Liverpool Irishmen to get bail for Forrester. There was no difficulty—we could easily get the necessary security; but, name after name, good, substantial bail, was refused by the police on one pretence or another.
Ultimately, on Christmas Eve, when the prisoner was again brought before the stipendiary magistrate, Mr. Raffles, a very just and high-minded man, Dr. Commins, barrister, acting for Forrester, claimed that no charge, but a mere matter of suspicion, being forthcoming against him, the bail offered should be accepted. The magistrate agreed to accept two sureties of £100 each, "to keep the peace for one year," and Arthur Forrester was released.
It is interesting to know that while one of the bails was William Russell, a patriotic Irishman, having an extensive business, the other was Arthur Doran, a wholesale newsagent. He was a decent Irishman, of Liverpool birth, who took no part in politics. He had been induced to go bail by one of the greatest scoundrels Ireland ever produced—Richard Pigott, Doran being an agent for Pigott's papers, the "Irishman" and "Flag of Ireland." Let this one good act, at all events, be put down to Pigott's credit.
To return to Forrester. After such a close shaveas he had in Liverpool, with the eyes of the police now upon him, his occupation was gone, and Michael Davitt took up the work. I am afraid that Davitt's visit to Liverpool on this occasion brought him under the notice of the police, and may probably have led to his arrest a few months afterwards.
This took place on May 14th, 1870, at Paddington Station, London, with him being arrested also John Wilson, a Birmingham gunsmith. Davitt had £150 in his possession, and Wilson had fifty revolvers, it being suggested that the gunsmith was about to deliver the weapons in exchange for the money. So far—Davitt having a hawker's licence, as in the case of Forrester—this would have been perfectly legitimate. What was wanted by the authorities was evidence to show a connection with the Fenian conspiracy. They really had no such evidence, but as Davitt was a marked man, and as it was necessary to have him removed, Corydon was brought to identify him, and, of course, had no difficulty, when a number of men were brought into the corridor, in picking out the one-armed man from among them.
At the trial Corydon swore, among other things, that Davitt took part in the Chester raid. Now, Michael himself told me afterwards that Corydon had never seen him before he "identified" him in prison; and that though he really was at Chester, Corydon could not have known this. Michael Davitt and John Wilson were convicted of treason-felony. As showing the man's noble character, it should not be forgotten that the Irishman made an earnestappeal for the Englishman, declaring that Wilson knew nothing of the object for which the weapons were wanted, and asking that whatever sentence was to be passed on the gunsmith might be added to his own. This was quite worthy of Davitt's chivalrous and unselfish nature, and I can well imagine his tall and commanding figure in the dock, with his strongly marked features and dark, bright eyes—while utterly defiant of what the law might do to himself—making this appeal for the man who stood beside him. Davitt was, on July 11th, 1870, sentenced to fifteen years, and Wilson to seven years penal servitude.
Michael Davitt will appear in these pages as the founder of another organisation, the results of which seem likely to make the Irish people more the real possessors of their own soil than they have ever been since the Norman invasion.
About this time I had started a printing and publishing business in Liverpool, and commenced to realise what I had long projected as a useful work for Ireland. This was the issue of my "Irish Library," consisting chiefly of penny books of biographies, stories, songs, and stirring episodes of Irish history.
In their production and afterwards, when I continued the issue of these booklets in London, I had valuable assistance from various friends, including Rev. Father Ambrose, Rev. Father O'Laverty, Michael Davitt, Daniel Crilly, T.D. Sullivan, Timothy McSweeney, Hugh Heinrick, William J. Ryan, Francis Fahy, William P. Ryan, AlfredPerceval Graves, Michael O'Mahony, John J. Sheehan, Thomas Boyd, Thomas Flannery, John Hand, James Lysaght Finigan, and other well-known writers on Irish subjects. Some of the penny books were from my own pen, in addition to which I wrote "The Brandons," a story of Irish life in England, and other books, of which my most ambitious work was "The Irish in Britain."
Before concluding the section of my Recollections connected with Fenianism, I must re-introduce John Breslin, the rescuer of James Stephens.
Though the episode I am about to describe took place some six years after the commencement of the constitutional Home Rule agitation, I think it well, as it was connected with Fenianism, for the sake of compactness, to introduce it here.
My excuse for introducing it as part ofmyrecollections will be seen further on.
It will be remembered that John Breslin, when a warder in Richmond Prison, was the man who actually opened the door of James Stephens's cell, and, with the aid of Byrne, another warder, helped the Head Centre over the prison wall, and left him in charge of John Ryan and other friends outside.
It was no wonder, then, that, when a similar perilous and even more arduous undertaking was projected, John Breslin should be the man chosen as the chief instrument to carry it out.
This was the rescue of six military Fenians from Freemantle, in Western Australia, which was ultimately effected on Easter Monday, 17th April, 1876.
The enterprise was projected in America, amongits most active promoters being John Devoy. Associated with him were John Boyle O'Reilly (himself an escaped Fenian convict) and Captain Hathaway, City Marshal of New Bedford. An American barque, of 202 tons, theCatalpa, was bought, and converted into a whaler, but was intended to be used in carrying off the convicts. She was ready for sea in March, 1875. It was more than a year before she took the prisoners away from Australia, and a further four months before she reached New York with the rescued men. The ship was taken out by Captain S. Anthony, an American, to whom was confided the object of the mission. The only Irishman on board among the crew was Denis Duggan, the carpenter, a sterling Nationalist, to whom also was made known the mission on which they were bound.
As John Breslin was now in America, obviously he was the man of all others to entrust with the command of the daring project of carrying off the prisoners. Happily he was available for the work, and entered into it heartily. He sent me the narrative of the rescue himself—through his brother Michael—on his return to America, after having successfully accomplished his mission.
He and Captain Desmond sailed from San Francisco on the 13th of September, 1875, and reached Freemantle on 16th of November. They were not long in opening up communications with the prisoners, so as to be in readiness for the arrival of theCatalpa. In the meantime two more men joined the expedition—John King, who brought a supplyof money from New Zealand, which was most useful, and Thomas Brennan, who arrived at the last moment, just as theCatalpaappeared off the coast, and had got into communication with Breslin.
Everything being arranged, it was determined to carry off the following prisoners—Martin Harrington, Thomas Darragh, James Wilson, Martin Joseph Hogan, Robert Cranston, and Thomas Henry Hassett. They were at work outside the prison walls, or at other employment equally accessible, when they were taken away in two traps from Freemantle, about nine o'clock in the morning of the 17th of April, 1876. By the time the news of their flight, and of the direction they had taken, was known in the prison, the party had reached Rockingham, and were on the sea in the whale-boat which was to take them to theCatalpa.
The gunboatConflict, which was usually stationed at King George's Sound, was telegraphed for by the authorities, but it was found that the wires had been cut the previous night, and by the time they were repaired the vessel had gone on a cruise.
After some hours' delay, the governor engaged the passenger steamerGeorgetteto go in pursuit. It was nine o'clock that evening before she left Freemantle. The police boat was cruising about also, looking for the whaler and her boat. TheGeorgettecame up with theCatalpaabout 8 o'clock on the following (Tuesday) morning. A demand to go on board and search the barque was refused. As it was found there was a short supply aboard theGeorgette, she returned to Freemantle to coal, leavingthe police boat to watch theCatalpa, and to look out for the whale boat containing the rescued men, which had not yet appeared, although, as it turned out, not far off at the time. The boat had been vainly searching for theCatalpaall night, and had only now discovered her. The party in the boat had actually seen theGeorgetteoverhauling theCatalpa, and had yet themselves remained undiscovered. In order to keep clear of falling into the hands of theGeorgettethey stood off from the ship, and it was about half-past two o'clock in the afternoon before the boat containing the rescued men approached theCatalpaagain. They then saw the police boat making for the ship at about the same distance from her on the land side as the whale boat was to the seaward. The men scrambled aboard just as the police boat was coming up on the other side.
Breslin says:—"As soon as my feet struck the deck over the quarter rail, Mr. Smith, the first mate, called out to me, 'What shall I do now, Mr. Collins (this was the name Breslin went by); what shall I do?' I replied, 'Hoist the flag, and stand out to sea;' and never was a manœuvre executed in a more prompt and seamanlike manner."
The police boat did not attempt to board the vessel, but made its way back to Freemantle to report. There theGeorgettehad been fully coaled and provisioned, and had taken aboard, in addition to the pensioners and police, a twelve-pounder field-piece. At 11 o'clock the same night (Tuesday) she steamed out once more. At daylight on thefollowing morning she came up with theCatalpaagain, and fired a round shot across her bows. After some parleying, Captain Anthony being prompted by Breslin, theGeorgettehailed that if theCatalpadid not heave to, the masts would be blown out of her.
"Tell them," said Breslin to the captain, "that's the American flag; you are on the high seas; and if he fires on the ship, he fires on the American flag."
Preparations were made to give the armed party on theGeorgettea warm reception should they attempt to board the whaler. But the pursuers had a wholesome fear of coming into conflict with a vessel sailing under the Stars and Stripes, and, after some further parleying, left theCatalpato pursue her homeward voyage unmolested.
I was fortunate enough to get the account ofbothexpeditions—for there were two—for the rescue of the military Fenians in each case direct from the man having the command.
I have already given John Breslin's account, which, it will, perhaps, be remembered I published at the time as a number of my penny "Irish Library."
I had the pleasure of hearing John Walsh, who had charge of the expedition from this country, relating the part he and his friend bore in assisting the Irish-American rescuers. He told the story at a very select gathering in Liverpool, at which I was present. On the 13th of January, he said, two men, of whom he was one, left this country with money and clothing to carry out the rescue. They landed on the 28th of February at KingGeorge's Sound, whence a sailing vessel took them to Freemantle.
They soon got into communication with the two men who had come from America, and had been on the spot since November, 1875—John Breslin and J. Desmond, the latter of whom worked as a coach-builder at Perth. Walsh and his friend offered their co-operation to the men from America in any capacity, and arrangements were made accordingly. They lent the Americans arms, and they cut the telegraph wires from Perth to King George's Sound, where a man-of-war was stationed.
It will be seen from Breslin's account that this was why the man-of-war was not available to deal with theCatalpa; for when the telegraphic communication was restored, it was found that the gunboatConflicthad left on a cruise.
Walsh and his friend were on the ground on the morning when the prisoners started to escape, and if a fight took place, they were to fight and fly with their friends. If there was no fight, they were to remain behind. If theCatalpafailed, they were to fly to the bush, with the exception of some who were to remain behind to succour those in the bush.
John Walsh described how, when the rescued men were being driven in two traps from Freemantle to Rockingham, to be taken on the whale-boat to theCatalpa, which was lying off the coast awaiting them, he and his friend started with them, and remained behind to stop pursuit. He also described the attempt to recapture the escaped men, as told in Breslin's narrative, and how the attempt failed.
My own connection with this incident was that the funds, or some part of them, for John Walsh's expedition passed through my hands between their collection and their distribution.
On Monday, August 21st, 1876, while we were holding the Annual Convention of the Home Rule Confederation of Great Britain, in the Rotunda, Dublin, the joyful news reached us that theCatalpa, having on board the rescued men and their rescuers, had safely reached New York. The news was received with the wildest enthusiasm. The terrible strain of the last four months had passed, and we were relieved from the constant dread that, after the gallant rescue, the men might again fall into the hands of the enemy.
A few more words about the Breslins before finishing this chapter. Michael went back to America after his escape from arrest in Birmingham. I have corresponded with him from time to time ever since. A letter of mine to Michael, written after he finally went to America, came back to me in a very curious manner. A gentleman came into my place of business in Liverpool one day, and presented to me, as an introduction, a letter I had sent to my friend about a month previously. I was somewhat suspicious about this. I told him there was nothing to show that my letter had ever been in Breslin's hands at all. The gentleman agreed that I was right, and said he would merely ask to be allowed to leave his luggage for a short time.
I got a careful watch kept on his movements in Liverpool, but nothing more suspicious was reportedthan that he had been seen to enter a Catholic church, where he had gone to Confession.
My friend William Hogan was in my place when my messenger returned, and when he heard this, exclaimed, in his usual impetuous style—"He's a spy!"
The deduction might not seem obvious, but, doubtless Hogan had in his mind one or two of the worst cases of the anti-Fenian informers, who made a parade of great piety a cloak for their treachery.
The gentleman returned and reclaimed his luggage, and I heard nothing further of him for about a month afterwards, when I had a letter from Michael Breslin, saying that his friend, whom I had treated with such suspicion and such scant hospitality, was Mr. John B. Holland, the famous submarine inventor. He was, I believe, in this country in connection with his invention.
It may be asked, after all, what did Fenianism do for Ireland? To those who ask the question I would answer that no honest effort for liberty has ever been made in vain. If Fenianism did nothing else, it kept alive the tradition and the spirit of freedom among Irishmen, and handed them on to the next generation. In so far as the men who took part in it were unselfish, were whole-souled lovers of their country, and prepared to risk life and liberty for their country's sake—and I think with pride of the thousands of such men I knew or knew of—then the whole Irish race was ennobled and lifted up from the mire of serfdom.
But it did more than merely make martyrs. Its strength, its spontaneity, and the devotion of itsadherents were such that they undoubtedly awakened not merely some alarm, but also some sense of justice in England.
Gladstone admitted that what first prompted him to set in motion the movement for the disestablishment of the Irish Church was "the intensity of Fenianism." But the result did not end there. For many an Englishman was moved to the belief that surely there must be something wrong with a system which provoked such a movement, something not wholly bad about a cause for which men went with calm, proud confidence to the felon's cell or the scaffold. And, even to-day, England—with all her secret service facilities—does not know one-half of the danger from which she escaped; nor can I repeat much of what I myself could say of Fenianism in England.
There are men who have made large fortunes in business; there are eminent men in many of the professions, whose former connection with Fenianism is unsuspected, who, at the time, if the call had been made upon them, would cheerfully have thrown aside their careers and taken their places in the ranks.
Once again "a soul came into Ireland," and men were capable then of high enterprises which to-day seem to belong to another age.
Even for myself, I have many times marvelled how light-heartedly in those days I took the risks of conspiracy—how little it troubled me that there were dozens of men who bore my liberty, and perhaps my life, in their hands. But I never doubted them—and I was right!
It now becomes my business to record the formation and progress of another organisation—one which appealed to me precisely on the same grounds as Fenianism, namely, first, that it was based on justice; and, secondly, that it was practicable.
This was the constitutional movement for what was known as Home Rule. My principles have never altered, and I can see nothing inconsistent in my adapting myself to changed conditions. I and those who thought like me were driven into Fenianism because it seemed likely to achieve success, and what was call "constitutional agitation" seemed hopeless. Now the position was reversed. On the one hand Fenianism had collapsed, and on the other there seemed a prospect, partly owing to the change wrought by Fenianism, that a constitutional movement might succeed.
This constitutional movement had been going on for some six years previous to the rescue of the military Fenians, having been inaugurated at a meeting in the Bilton Hotel, Dublin, on the 19th May, 1870, five days after the arrest of Michael Davitt, and his disappearance for a season from the stage of Irish history.
In the pages which are to follow I shall have occasion to introduce some of those who took part in that first Home Rule gathering in Dublin. It was a hopeful beginning, as there were assembled men who were of various creeds and politics—Catholics, Protestants, Fenian sympathisers, Repealers, Liberals, and Tories—but all of whom had in view the happiness and prosperity of their common country. There they established the "Home Government Association of Ireland," the first resolution passed being:—