The Manchester Martyrs: THE DOCUMENTED STORY OF THE MANCHESTER MARTYRS

Feargus O'Connor, the son of Roger O'Connor, a United Irishman, was born in 1796. When Feargus O'Connor was twenty-four he inherited an estate in County Cork. Although a Protestant, O'Connor was a reforming landlord and denounced tithes and the power of the Church.

In 1832 O'Connor's participation in the anti-tithe agitation in Ireland led to his arrest but the authorities did not prosecute him. Later that year, O'Connor, with the help of Daniel O'Connell, the leader of the Irish Radicals, was elected MP for County Cork in the General Election after advocating the repeal of the Act of Union, abolition of tithes, universal suffrage and the secret ballot.

Soon after arriving in the House of the Commons O'Connor attempted to replace O'Connell as leader of the Irish Radicals. O'Connell felt betrayed by O'Connor and the two men became enemies. In 1835 O'Connor was unseated for failing to meet the property qualifications. He tried to stand for Oldham after the death of William Cobbett, but he split the Radical vote and the seat was won by the Tories.

O'Connor now toured the country making speeches advocating annual parliaments, universal suffrage, the ballot, equal representation, and the abolition of the property qualification. O'Connor's message was particularly popular with the handloom weavers who were suffering severe economic distress in the 1830s.

In November 1836, O'Connor joined the London Working Mens' Association. The following year he moved to Leeds where he established a weekly paper, the Northern Star, that supported the reform of Parliament. The newspaper was a great success and by the spring of 1839 was selling over 48,000 copies a week.

O'Connor became active in the Chartist movement. However, he was critical of leaders such as William Lovett and Henry Hetherington who advocated Moral Force. O'Connor questioned this strategy and began to make speeches where he spoke of being willing "to die for the cause" and promising to "lead people to death or glory". In a speech in Manchester he gave a date, 29th September, 1839, for violent action if Parliament did not grant the six points of the Charter. O'Connor's speeches outraged Lovett and Hetherington and he was excluded from the platform of a mass meeting organised by the London Working Men's Association.

Daniel O'Connell was born in Cahirciveen, County Kerry, on 6th August 1775. The O'Connell family were members of the Irish Catholic aristocracy in Ireland. Although Daniel's family were fairly wealthy, discriminatory legislation denied the O'Connell family status, opportunity and influence. In 1791 Maurice O'Connell, the head of the O'Connell clan, adopted Daniel and paid for him to attend the best Catholic colleges in Europe. This included periods at St. Omer and Douai.

In 1794 O'Connell enrolled in Lincoln's Inn, London and two years later transferred to the King's Inn, Dublin. While in London O'Connell became interested in politics. He read a great deal and was influenced by the ideas of radicals such as Tom Paine, Jeremy Bentham and William Godwin. By the time he qualified as a lawyer in 1798 O'Connell was fully committed to religious tolerance, freedom of conscience, democracy and the separation of Church and State.

In Ireland O'Connell developed a reputation for his radical political views. He became involved with the United Irishmen, a group that had been inspired by the French Revolution. During the 1798 insurrection, O'Connell feared he would be arrested by the English authorities and went into hiding in Kerry. Despite his radical views, O'Connell opposed the insurrection. He argued that the Irish people "were not sufficiently enlightened to hear the sun of freedom" and that the insurrection had decreased rather than increased the desire for Irish liberation. Instead of rebellion, O'Connell advocated using the machinery of Parliament to obtain political and religious equality.

For the next ten years O'Connell ceased to be active in politics and concentrated on developing his law practice. It was not long before O'Connell was the most successful and famous barrister in Ireland. Gradually he returned to politics and by 1815 he was acknowledged as the leader of the Catholic Emancipation movement.

In 1823 O'Connell, Richard Lalor Sheil and Thomas Wyse formed the Catholic Association. O'Connell turned it into a mass organisation by inviting the poor to become associate members for a shilling a year. Catholic priests were encouraged to advertise the Catholic Association and were employed as recruiting agents.

The Catholic Association campaigned for the repeal of the Act of Union, the end of the Irish tithe system, universal suffrage and a secret ballot for parliamentary elections. Although O'Connell rejected the use of violence he constantly warned the British government that if reform did not take place, the Irish masses would start listening to the "counsels of violent men".

By 1826 the Catholic Association began supporting candidates in parliamentary elections. They had some spectacular victories, including O'Connell defeating C. E. Vesty Fitzgerald, President of the Board of Trade, in a County Clare by-election. However, as a Catholic, O'Connell was not allowed to take his seat in the House of Commons.

Radical MPs such as Sir Francis Burdett and Joseph Hume, had been arguing for some years that Parliament should bring an end to anti-Catholic legislation. After O'Connell's victory, even Tories such as Sir Robert Peel and the Duke of Wellington began arguing for reform. They warned their Conservative colleagues that here would be civil war in Ireland unless the law was changed. In 1829 the British Parliament passed the Roman Catholic Relief Act, which granted Catholic Emancipation and enabled O'Connell to be elected as representative for Kerry in 1830. However, the government also outlawed the Catholic Association and eliminated the traditional forty-shilling freehold suffrage in Ireland.

In the 1830s Daniel O'Connell became a major figure in the House of Commons. He was active in the campaigns for prison and law reform, free trade, the abolition of slavery and Jewish emancipation. He was also a prominent figure in the campaign for universal suffrage. After the disappointment of the 1832 Reform Act, British Radicals adopted the tactics that had been used by O'Connell successfully in Ireland. Organizations such as the Chartists used O'Connell's methods of organizing and applying the pressure of public opinion while implying that if this was not successful, the movement might resort to violence.

O'Connell had a major influence on MPs. Of the105 Irish MPs, 45 loyally supported O'Connell, including Feargus O'Connor, who was later to become one of the main leaders of the Chartist movement. O'Connell's control over this group enabled him to exert considerable pressure on the government. In 1835 O'Connell and fellow Catholic MPs agreed to support Lord Melbourne and his Whig government in return for significant Irish reforms. Although the Whig government passed the Tithe Commutation Bill and the Irish Municipal Reform Act, O'Connell thought this was inadequate. He was also totally opposed to the passing of the Irish Poor Law and when the Whigs refused to change it, O'Connell withdrew his group's support for the government.

In 1841 O'Connell became the first Catholic Lord Mayor of Dublin. After completing his year in office, O'Connell announced he now intended to concentrate of achieving the repeal of the Act of Union. On the 1st January 1843, O'Connell pledged that he would achieve repeal before the end of the year. Once again O'Connell suggested that if Parliament did not take action it faced the possibility of civil war. However, very few MPs in the House of Commons supported the repeal of the Union, and therefore O'Connell was not in a strong negotiating position.

Sir Robert Peel, the Prime Minister, decided to go on the offensive. He outlawed a proposed large meeting to discuss repeal at Clontarf. Despite the fact that O'Connell suggested that his followers should accept this decision and obey the law, he was arrested and charged with sedition. O'Connell was found guilty and sentenced to a year in jail. On appeal, the Law Lords reversed the decision, and O'Connell left prison as a hero in the fight for freedom of speech. However, over the next few years O'Connell was unable to make much progress in his fight to have the Act of Union repealed.

In 1845 O'Connell was unable to persuade Parliament to take quick action to deal with the Irish Famine. O'Connell now came under attack from the Young Ireland movement and leading members began describing his tactics as ineffective.

In 1846 the Young Ireland group broke away from O'Connell's Repeal Association. O'Connell was now a sick man and in March 1847 he decided on a pilgrimage to Rome. When he reached Paris he was greeted by a large crowd of radicals who wished to pay tribute to the man they described as the "most successful champion of liberty and democracy in Europe". Daniel O'Connell never completed his journey and died while in Genoa on 15th May, 1847. As requested, O'Connell's heart was buried in Rome and his body in Dublin

In 1852 about 50 Irish MPs were pledged to oppose any government which would not grant tenant right. The Conservatives under Lord Derby made some attempt to meet their wishes by introducing a Bill recognising the principle of retrospective compensation and offering loans for improvement. The tenant-right group introduced a measure of its own which Derby refused to accept, so the 50 voted against him. Since it was a minority government, their action delayed settlement for 20 years and broke up the tenant-right organisation because the leaders quarrelled among themselves.

Between 1854 and 1858, the Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny occupied the attentions of the various governments, and Ireland was all but forgotten. Agrarian outrages continued in Ireland, but no-one in England noticed. After the tenant right societies collapsed, secret societies continued to stir up resistance.

In 1856 James Stephens, the ablest of the young leaders and who had been wounded in the troubles of 1848, took advantage of the unconditional pardon given by Britain. He returned to Ireland and began organising rebellion. The conspiracy was uncovered and was broken up, but in 1858: the Fenian Brotherhood was founded in America and spread throughout the USA. The name "Fenian" comes from the Gaelic word "Fianna" meaning 'armed force', which had been used to defend Ireland in legendary times. The oath of the Fenians was as follows:

I, A.B., do solemnly swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will do my utmost, at any risk, while life lasts, to make Ireland an Independent Democratic Republic; that I will yield implicit obedience, in all things not contrary to the law of God, to the commands of my superior officers; and that I shall preserve inviolable secrecy regarding all transactions of the secret society that may be confided to me. So help me God! Amen. (J. O’Leary, Recollections of Fenians and Fenianism (1896) I p. 120)

In 1860, Cardwell, the Irish Secretary in Palmerston's ministry introduced two Bills for Ireland:

to give tenants the right to compensation for improvements carried out with the landlord's consent. This proposal was so complicated that few people used it
to simplify the assignment of tenancies. This assumed that the landlord and tenant could bargain on equal terms over rents: they could not and did not, because landlords could easily find tenants, but land was not so easily come by.

Both of them failed to have any effect in Ireland.

In 1865, at the end of the American Civil War, there were several thousands of men in America trained in modern warfare and with money, who wanted to fight for Irish independence. They were led by James Stephens (who had fled to America after the failure of his conspiracy in 1856) and O'Donovan Rossa. In May 1866, 1,200 Fenians 'invaded' Canada. The Canadian government broke up the raiders and shot six of the leaders. Stephens was deposed as the leader of the Fenians and wilder men took over. In 1867, the Fenians transferred their activities to England.

on 11 February 1867, 1,500 "strangers" appeared in Chester, where a large arms store was kept. The mayor telegraphed for help and by the afternoon a company of the 54th Regiment had arrived from Manchester. By 12 February a battalion of Scots Guards had arrived from London. The "strangers" promptly disappeared.
in the spring of 1867 an attack was made on a police barracks in Ireland - again in a search for weapons - but the lack of a competent leadership and heavy snow-storms prevented a large-scale rising.
in September 1867 two leading Fenians were arrested in Manchester. They were set free by 50 armed men while they were being taken to prison. In the struggle, a policeman was killed. Eventually 29 of the 50 attackers were arrested; five were tried for murder and three of them were hanged.

The sentences caused outrage in Ireland and the men became known as the "Manchester Martyrs" and national heroes. As a result of the hangings, demonstrations against Britain occurred.

on December 13 1867: an attempt to rescue two Fenians from Clerkenwell gaol took place. A barrel of gunpowder was exploded against the outer wall of the prison, killing 12 and injuring about 120 others, most of them innocent passers-by on the outside of the prison.

This outrage ruined the Fenian movement as such:

public opinion in Britain and Ireland supported the government in the suppression of armed violence and insurrection
the Irish peasantry had no wish for rebellion, so the Fenians had little support from them
the Catholic Bishops warned priests to keep clear of the Brotherhood, so the Fenians had little support from the Church, almost a pre-requisite for success in Ireland
the Fenian leaders failed to get anything like the support that O'Connell had received

It might still have been possible for the Irish question to be solved, if agrarian reform and the religious problem had been solved.

Fenianism drew the attention of people in England to the grievances of the Irish - including Gladstone, who feared that delay in bringing about reform was dangerous. However, between 1866 and 1867, parliament was concerned with and was occupied by the new Reform Bills.

In 1868, Gladstone became Prime Minister for the first time and turned his attention to the "Irish Question".

The Fenian Rising of 1867 (Irish: Éirí Amach na bhFiann, 1867) was a rebellion against British rule in Ireland, organised by the Fenian Brotherhood.
After the suppression of the Irish People newspaper, disaffection among Irish radical nationalists had continued to smoulder, and during the latter part of 1866 Irish Republican Brotherhood leader James Stephens endeavoured to raise funds in America for a fresh rising planned for the following year. However the rising of 1867 proved to be poorly organised. Some outbreaks in the south and west of Ireland brought the rebellion to a close. Most of the leaders in Ireland were arrested, but although some of them were sentenced to death, none were executed. A series of raids into Canada by U.S.-based supporters also accomplished little.

Chester raid

The revolt's organisers had hoped to benefit from considerable support among Irish nationals living in England. In concert with the Irish rebellion, a bold move on the part of the Fenian circles in Lancashire who had been active in the Radical and reform movements that culminated in the Peterloo Massacre in Manchester August 16th. 1819 had been concerted in co-operation with the movement in Ireland which was the first Irish attack on the British soil of the British Government and its establishment. An attack was to be made on Chester, the arms stored in the castle were to be seized, the telegraph wires cut, the rolling stock on the railway to be appropriated for transport to Holyhead, where shipping was to be seized and a descent made on Dublin before the authorities should have time to interfere. This scheme was frustrated by information given to the government by the informer John Joseph Corydon, one of Stephens' most trusted agents.

Manchester Martyrs

On September 11, 1867, Colonel Thomas J. Kelly, "Deputy Central Organizer of the Irish Republic," was arrested in Manchester, where he had gone from Dublin to attend a council of the English "centres" (organisers), together with a companion, Captain Timothy Deasy. A plot to rescue these prisoners was hatched by Edward O'Meaher Condon with other Manchester Fenians; on September 18, while Kelly and Deasy were being conveyed through the city from the courthouse, the prison van was attacked by Fenians armed with revolvers, attempting to effect the release of the prisoners from the van. In the scuffle police-sergeant Brett, who was seated inside the van, was accidentally shot dead, by a bullet fired at the door of the van in the process of trying to open it. The three Fenians, who were later executed, were remembered as the "Manchester Martyrs."

Clerkenwell explosion

In the same month, November 1867, Richard Burke, who had been employed by the Fenians to purchase arms in Birmingham, was arrested and imprisoned in Clerkenwell Prison in London. While he was awaiting trial a wall of the prison was blown down by gunpowder in order to effect his escape. The explosion caused the death of twelve people, and injured one hundred and twenty others.
This act, for which Fenian Michael Barrett would suffer the death penalty, powerfully influenced William Ewart Gladstone in deciding that the Anglican Church of Ireland should be disestablished as a concession to Irish disaffection.

Manchester Martyrs

Portraits of the Manchester martyrs – William O'Brien, William O'Mera Allen and Michael Larkin – in a shamrock

The Manchester Martyrs were Fenians, members of the Political Organisation, the Irish Republican Brotherhood executed for killing a policeman during a prison van escape. William O'Mera Allen, Michael Larkin, and William O'Brien were hanged in Manchester, England on 23 November 1867. These men were caught having participated in the successful rescue of two leaders of the Brotherhood, Colonel Thomas J. Kelly and Captain Timothy Deasy. The rescue took place near the bridge on Hyde Road, on the borders of West Gorton and Ardwick, to the immediate southeast of Manchester City Centre.

The text reads as follows: 'Colonel Kelley, who with Captain Deasey of Fenian notoriety was apprehended at Manchester September 11th 1867, was remanded until the 18th, again remanded and on the way to the prison in the prison van were rescued by a number of Fenians, when Sergeant Brett was shot thro' the head. A number of the Fenians were subsequently arrested and committed for Trial. A special Commission was appointed to try them, and five of their number were sentenced to death, two of them subsequently reprieved, one a free pardon, the other transported for life, The other three left for execution, viz. Allen Gould and Larkin. - November 23/1867. Mr Justice Blackburn and Mr Justice Mellor tried the case.'

Victorian 'mug-shot' album compiled by Denbighshire County Constabulary [vol. 1, folio 36] - Colonel Kelley, the Irish Fenian activist.

THE MANCHESTER SPECIAL COMMISSION

The Special Commission for the trial of the twenty-six Fenian prisoners charged with being concerned in the murder of Police Sergeant Brett, was formally opened on Saturday by
Mr. Justice Blackburn and Mr. Justice Mellor.
All Manchester and Salford and the surrounding towns fell the strangeness of the circumstances which have led to the Commission, and hardly know what to really think of Fenians. Now that the first shock of the think has been got over, they are beginning to recognize in the Fenian organization something beyond mere desire to commit outrages. I was speaking on Thursday to Mr. Ridgway, one of the principal witnesses of the rescue on Hyde-road, and he said, "I believe Allen and his party had no desire to commit murder, if they could have rescued Kelly or Deasy without sacrificing life. They might have shot several of us if they were intent on committing outrages."
This feeling is now growing up here, and for the sake of Irish character in general, it is better that this should be so. It is, after all, preferable to have it understood as an incident in a political offence, than to have it set forth as the mere murderous propensities of "the Irish." On Saturday evening the discussion in the Manchester Anthenaeum was upon the following:- "What is the cause of Fenianism?" many crude and ill-considered notions were put forth on the matter, but one member, the son of Irish parents, tried in a very fair and reasonable speech to correct many erroneous notions held of the Irish. Thus the Fenian question crops up every where in this great business city at present.

Strangeways - New Bailey Prison

The Fenian prisoners are held in custody in the New Baily prison in Salford, and a guard of over 200 soldiers is quartered in the gaol, and armed police move up and down outside of it. If they had guarded Kelly and Deasy half as well, they would have had no necessity to guard Allen and his associates, and the Commission in Green-street, Dublin, would now be trying the former instead of a Special Commission in Manchester trying the latter. The Manchester Examiner advocates a postponement of the trials, in order to give longer time to the accused to prepare their defense. The Crown has hitherto refused any punishment.
The principal prisoner is William O'Meara Allen. he is twenty years of age only, and about five feet ten inches high. H is long-featured, pale, fleshless, high cheek-bones, beardless, but with a great head of black curly hair. He is entirely a Celt in every feature. He has very small eyes, deeply set, with next to no eyebrows. He is a joiner by trade and has worked in many leading shops in this city and in Salford. He is an excellent billiard player, and was well known at most of the many billiard rooms here. William Gould, his companion, is about thirty years of age, five feet nine and a half inches high, a clerk, and well educated. He is very handsome looking. His features are round and full just the reverse of Allen's. He is also perfectly beardless, with a good head of yellowish fair hair. Michael Larkin is a tailor, thirty-two years of age, five feet six inches high, with as the Americans say, "a goatee" on the point of his chin.
There are many hundred or rather thousands of workers now idle in Manchester, with mills stopped, owing to bad trade and crowds of these assemble at the New Bailey, to try and catch a glimpse of the prisoners whenever they are being moved about. The want of employment here at present will cause great crowds about the courts in Salford where the judges sit.

MONDAY, SECOND DAY-

The twenty-six prisoners charged with the murder of Police-sergeant Brett were brought from the New Bailey Gaol to the Assize Courts, at eight o'clock this morning, under a strong escort of the 8th Hussars and the 72nd Highlanders, who remained in the building until the close of the proceedings. Arrangements for the maintenance of order were very complex. The public were admitted to the court with the same facility as at ordinary assizes. Precisely at ten o'clock Justice Blackburn and Mellor took their seats and the usual formality of swearing in the grand jury was gone through. Mr. Justice Blackburn, in charging the jury, said the special commission only differed in that it was confined to such crimes as arose out of, or related solely to the outrage recently perpetrated in that county. Having described the attack on the police van, his lordship said the grand jury would see a variety of crimes had been committed beside the assaulting of the police when in the execution of their duty. There were shots fired, which, although most of them had not taken fatal effect, was in itself a great crime; but the chief crime was the causing the death of policeman Brett, and it was this crime which the grand jury would have specially to consider. He need hardly say that each of these different crimes implicated the whole of the persons charged-that the persons guilty of the crime of murder would be guilty of the other crimes; yet each crime would be brought forward separately, and ???? must be found in accordance with the evidence bearing on each case; but he would repeat the main point was the murder of Brett. There was but one shot that was fatal, and but one man could have fired that shot, yet every one who aided in the attack was equally guilty of the crime of murder with the person who fired the shot. It was not for the grand jury to direct their attention to the consideration of which individual prisoner was guilty of that act, but whether they were convinced from the evidence that the prisoners were aiding in the act which resulted in the murder of Brett, although they did not individually fire the fatal shot. He must explain that it was not necessary, in order to constitute the crime of murder, that the main object should be to kill a particular individual. Murder was killing by malice aforethought, as it was called, but it was not essential that there should be the intention to kill one particular man. The law had always been so laid down, and common sense said that it must be so. When men associated for the perpetration of an unlawful act involving violence, which it must be known will be dangerous to human life, if death ensued from that violence that was the crime of murder, although there might be no wish to kill the particular individual man was was slain in the present case. The grand jury could not doubt that every man concerned in the act, whether in shielding those who made the attack or actually breaking open the van, or in the act of stopping the van, was party to the unlawful design of rescuing those prisoners. Then, the fact of the death of Brett showed that there was the intention to use violence. It was scarcely possible that any man could have joined in that attack in doubt as to whether resistance would be made on the part of the police. Further than that, when it was found that these parties were armed with firearms, the evidence was additionally strong against them. A man did not commonly use a pistol merely to ward off a blow from himself; its possession could, therefore have only been with the intention of doing injury to others. Again, there was the fact that after the discharge of the firearms, the prisoners still continued to attack the police. He did not mention this a s a matter of law, but as a matter of practical common sense. There were a considerable number of prisoners who were not taken on the spot, but at different periods afterwards. In those cases there was the possibility, of course, that the witness might be mistaken, as to their identity, but the grand jury had only to consider whether the men should be put on their trial. If they thought the evidence against any one of the prisoners was too slight, or if they were not satisfied that there was no reasonable ground for putting him on his trial, then, so far as regarded that individual, they would not find a bill. It was of great importance to the prisoners, and it was also a point of great importance to the public interest that the evidence should be dispassionately considered in each case without either weakness in favour of the prisoners or any feeling of passion as against them.
The grand jury retired for upwards of an hour, and on their return into court it appeared that they found a true bill against

William O'Meara Allen,
Michael Larkin,
William Gould,
Thomas Maguire,
and Edward Shore
for murder.
The prisoners were then brought up into the dock, and severally pleaded not guilty. They were not handcuffed.
On the application of Mr. Digby Seymour, Q.C. and Mr. Sarjeant O'Brien, the counsel for the defence, the judges consented to the postponement of the case until next morning, in order to allow the leading counsel a little more time for consultation.

A SCENE IN COURT

Manchester, Tuesday Evening- This court proceeded with the trial of five men against whom the grand jury found a true bill on Monday. Their names are
Allen,
Larken,
Gould,
Maguire
and Shore.
In reply to an application for the removal of the trail to their Central Criminal Court, London.
Mr. Justice Blackburn said that as this was a special commission, the application could not be entertained.
While the jury was being empannelled, Mr. Roberts, the attorney, took objection to several of the special jurors as the names were called over. The judge cautioned him that this was not his province. Mr. Roberts persisted in his objections. His Lordship in a determined tone said- Officer, take that man into custody.
Mr. Digby Seymour appealed on behalf of Mr. Roberts. An officer of the court requested Mr. Roberts to move. Mr. Digby Seymour again appealed to his Lordship, and ultimately Mr. Roberts was allowed to remain, on condition that he did not further interfere. The jury were then empannelled.
The Right Hon. the Attorney-General having opened the case for the crown, a number of witnesses were examined who spoke to each and all of the prisoners as being prominently engaged in the outrage.
During the day the grand jury found true bills for wilful murder, also for felony and misdemeanour against
Martin,
Nugent,
Coffey,
Bacon,
Brennan,
Scally,
Boylan,
Fetherstone,
Wilson,
Henry
Maguire,
Murphy,
Kelly,
Brophy,
Ryan,
Carroll,
Moorhouse,
O'Brennan,
Chambers,
Johnson,
Martin,
Reddan
and Kennedy.
Manchester, Wednesday Night.- There was much less excitement both inside and outside the courts to-day. The trial of the five men arraigned on Monday was resumed this morning, and continued till the rising of the court. The evidence for the prosecution has not yet concluded.
The Transatlantic steamers Scotia and Erin were searched thoroughly at Queenstown on Monday, it being suspected that some Fenian leaders had secreted themselves on board. The search, however, was fruitless.
The grand jury afterwards took into their consideration the cases of the other prisoners.

THE TRIAL OF THE FENIANS AT MANCHESTER

On Friday the trial of
John Carroll,
Charles Moorehouse,
and Daniel Redden,
for riot and misdemeanor was proceeded with, and the evidence having concluded, the jury, after an absence of town hours, convicted all the prisoners. The authorities have not relaxed any of the precautions surrounding the removal of prisoners to and from the court-house. They are still escorted, as heretofore, by infantry and cavalry; and so severe have been the duties entailed upon the 57th and 72nd Regiments, in providing the necessary guards to the court, the gaols, &c., that the men, it is stated, d not get more, on the average, than two nights rest a week, and are obliged during a greater part of that time to take their food cold.
On Saturday morning a batch of prisoners were brought for trial before Mr. Justice Blackburn. Their names are
Thomas Scally,
Michael Joseph Boylan,
Henry Wilson,
Michael Kennedy,
Michael Maguire,
William Murphy
and Patrick Kelly.
Mr. Pickering, Q.C., on behalf of the crown, intimated that he intended to offer no evidence against Boylan, Maguire and Kelly.
Mr. Justice Blackburn - Then they must be discharged at once.
Mr. Ernest Jones, who was supported by Mr. Cottingham, made an application that the cost of the witnesses for the prisoners, who had been discharged, should be allowed.
Mr. Justice Blackburn said the application would require some consideration.
The trial of the prisoners was then proceeded with. In the course of the day it was intimated by the prosecution that they would not press the charge against Wilson, and the judge therefore ordered him to be discharged from custody. The witnesses for the defence were part heard when the court adjourned.

MANCHESTER, TUESDAY

The labours of the special commission are fast drawing to a close. This morning the last batch of Fenian prisoners were placed in the dock. Their names are -
Wm. Martin,
John Francis Nugent,
Patrick Coffey,
John Bacon,
William John Brophy,
John Brennan
and Timothy Featherstone.
Mr. Pickering, Q.C., announced that the prosecution intends to proceed against two of the prisoners only, Brennan and Featherstone, and on the suggestion of the judge, he entered a nolle prosequi against the other five, who were discharged so far as the present indictment. The two prisoners then stood indicted for riot.
A good deal of evidence was taken. The judge reading his former notes, and the different witnesses confirming them, the trials were brought to a conclusion at eight o'clock this evening, when the jury, after a quarter of an hour's consultation convicted both prisoners. These, and the five previously convicted of misdemeanour, were then placed in the dock, and each of the seven were sentenced to five year's penal servitude. The only prisoner who attempted to speak was Murphy, who protested that he was convicted solely on account of the newspapers found in his possession.
The court adjourned.
As John Francis Nugent, one of the discharged prisoners mentioned above, was leaving the court he was apprehended by head-constable Thomas Welby of the Irish Constabulary, on the Lord Lieutenant's warrant, charging him with treason-felony. Nugent was one of those concerned in the rising in the north of Ireland, in Drogheda, in March last, and only escaped from the police on that occasion by jumping from a window when they were on the point of arresting him. He was now handcuffed and taken to the Albert-street station, preparatory to his removal to Dublin later in the day.

THE ESCAPE OF KELLY AND DEASY

The New York sun has the following: Captain Deasy gives a humorous account of his escape from Liverpool. Having packed up his trunk with the aid of Colonel Kelly, and disguised himself so as to defy detection, he proceeded on board the steamship City of Paris, in company with the colonel, the latter dressed as a porter, and carrying the traps on his back in the most approved fashion of the fraternity. As soon as they reached the deck of the vessel, and passed the long lines of detectives without attracting attention, Captain Deasy gave Colonel Kelly a shilling for his trouble, but the assumed porter refused to accept such a small amount for so much work, whereupon the regular porters were called upon to act as referees, and decided that the ill used confrere was entitled to eighteen pence at least. Kelly was so demonstrative that the police threatened to arrest him if he did not accept the shilling and go away, which he thought it better to do, after exchanging a knowing look with his quondam employer. At Queenstown the captain put on a careless exterior and passed round among the detectives, discoursing freely about the emigrants, and making inquiries generally respecting the objects of the wretched Fenians in keeping up such hopeless crusade against her Britannic Majesty. In the course of conversation as a matter of course, the daring rescue of Kelly and Deasy was alluded to and condemned. One of the detectives remarked that he'd be ____ if they would get away from him if he had them once in his clutches. In connexion with the escape a very interesting letter had been transmitted to the Irish People by the man who planned the rescue. he says that Colonel Kelly and Captain Deasy were returning from a private meeting when they were suddenly pounced upon by four policemen, and dragged off before they could draw their revolvers and show fight. When the arrest was made known to the officials of the Fenian Brotherhood, a vigilance committee was instantly appointed to prevent their identification by Corydon. Men were posted at the railway station, the jail, and all the places where the informer was likely to pass through, but by some chance, owing to the want of identity, he was permitted to enter the jail. The arrangements for the removal of the prisoners to jail were duly chronicled at the Fenian headquarters, and eleven trusty men, well armed with revolvers, were detailed to frustrate them. The moment the van left the courthouse a cab shot out of the adjoining street containing the commander-in-chief of the party. It drove along in front at a rapid pace until a point was gained where the object could be carried out with facility. Not one of the men who did the work was captured. As soon as Kelly and Deasy arrived at a given place they parted company, and took temporary refuge in the house of an old Irishwoman. Kelly disguised himself in a few minutes, started out by another door and mixed with the crowd. An omnibus passed along just at the moment and he got into it in presence of half a dozen policemen, who were in the act of arresting two men on the top of the vehicle, believing them to have been connected with the rescue. Further on he encountered another batch of policemen, and waited to learn full particulars of the affair from them. Later in the evening of the same day Kelly and Deasy returned again to Manchester, and took up their quarters at the house of a tried friend. Another correspondent from the same city, also a Fenian, says that Colonel Kelly has concluded to remain in Liverpool.

THE MANCHESTER TRAGEDY

The earnest and persevering efforts made to save the lives of the Fenian prisoners at Manchester having unfortunately failed of success, the last sentence of the law was carried out on Saturday morning at eight o'clock on the three prisoners Allen, Gould and Larkin. the crowd was very much smaller than was anticipated and all was quiet. Extensive arrangements had been made by the authorities to insure the peace being preserved. No attempt, however, was made to disturb it, and the number of those who assembled to witness the sad scene was much fewer than was expected. The mayors both of Manchester and the adjoining borough of Salford issued notices urging the people to abstain from being present on the occasion and all the Catholic clergy impressed similar advice on their flocks. We give the following details which will be read with melancholy interest.

THE CONDEMNED MEN

The boat and train which brought me here yesterday morning also conveyed the sister and cousin of Allen, and two sisters-in-law of Larkin. When I got to the prison at ten o'clock I found these poor women seeking admission for the last time to those ill-fated and unhappy men. Inside the iron gate set Larkin's wife and children - mere babes. They were soon joined by his affected mother and a more heart-tearing scene I never witnessed. Words have no power to convey the blank despair - the wild but speechless mercy of these poor women. They were possessed by that dumb, hopeless grief, whose expression was the big unhidden tear that rolled down the wan and emaciated face. But the eloquent and ominous silence twas broken by the presence of young Allen's almost distracted affianced whose low piteous cry and frequent bursting sob compelled the sympathy of all, and made even strangers turn swag. For reasons I daresay unknown, and certainly never to be explained, this miserable band were refused even the hope of admission, and after clinging to those iron bars for hours, they were sent away by authority. Subsequently a message was sent to Allen's mother that she would be allowed in, and his sister, cousins and his youthful betrothed were denied that last interview for which they had come so far. Of Larkin's relatives, his mother, his wife and baby child were permitted to see him. Larkin's mother was greatly excited in the corridors and she approached the cell in which lay her unfortunate son; but she and her companions in misery were soothed by the Rev. McGadd, who had been in continual and immediate attendance on the men since their conviction. He told them to allay their fears, and quiet the expression of their sorrow- that their unfortunate relatives had received in meek submission the never-failing consolations of religion. The reverend father administered the Holy Communion to his charges every alternate morning for the past ten days.

LETTER OF THE MARCHIONESS OF QUEENSBURY

I happened to meet at the jail, yesterday morning, a young gentleman who was the bearer of good news to these unhappy men and their afflicted relatives. He came from the Dowager Marchioness of Queensbury, of ancient Catholic lineage. he was the bearer of a letter to Father Gadd, in which the noble lady enclosed £100 to be distributed as his reverence should deem proper. Subjoined is the letter, which is certainly one of the most beautiful ever written-

"My Dear Friends

It may be that these few lines may minister some consolation to you on your approaching departure from this world. I send you by the hands of a faithful messenger some help for your wife, or wives and children in their approaching irreparable loss, and with the assurance that as long as I live they shall be cared for to the utmost of my power. Mr. M'Donnell, the bearer of this for me, will bring me their address and the address of the priest that attended you.
"It will also be a comfort for your precious souls to know that we remember you here at the altar of God, where the daily remembrance of that all-glorious sacrifice on Calvary for you all is not neglected.
"We have daily Mass for you here, and if it be so that it pleases the good God to permit you thus to be called to himself on Saturday morning, the precious body and blood of our Lord and Saviour, and our Friend, will be presented for your before God at eight o'clock on that day, that blood as precious which cleanses from all sin. May your last words and thoughts be Jesus. Rest on Him who is faithful and willing and all powerful to save; rest on Him and on his sacrifice on that Cross for you, instead of you, and her him say - 'To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.' Yet will we remember your souls constantly at the altar of God after your departure, as well as those whom you leave in life.
"Farewell, and may Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners, save us all, and give you His last blessing upon earth, and an eternal continuance of it in Heaven.

"CAROLINE QUEENSBURY.
"Ventnor, Isle of Wight."

Father Gadd immediately communicated the contents of the letter to the condemned and their families. They were deeply grateful. The Dowager Marchioness of Queensbury, is a daughter of the present Sir William Clayton, Bart. Her mother was heiress of Colonel O'Donel, eldest son of Sir Neil O'Donel, Bart. of the county of Mayo. Her husband, while still a young man, killed himself in 1858, by accident, when out shooting. One of her sons lost his life two years ago when ascending Mount Blanc.

NIGHT - THE STREETS

About ten o'clock large crowds began to gather in the streets immediately in the neighbourhood of the scaffold, but the outer barrier arrested all further progress, and then these Englishmen sat down. The peculiar characteristic of the nation was fully displayed by the lively disputes concerning the purchase of hot potatoes which were being cooked in enormous quantities by machines resembling fire-engines. Around these were squatted those chattering, swearing, obscene; but eating assemblages to be found nowhere but in England. Wrangles and jokes were settled and laughed at, and politics and Fenianism warmly and energetically discussed. Cans of beer and lumps of cheese; hot potatoes and squares of bacon; steaming pies and odorous onions- hodge-podges of marvellous and heterogeneous confusion were discussed and consumed with a gusto that only the eve of an execution can bring to the enlightened Englishman. Females sat in these gatherings, and joined in these disgusting festivals as confidently as if that were the scene for woman. Young lads and girls sported in high glee in front of the glaring gas jet that told of the beer-cellar and youthful lips rang out the ready oath that spoke the culture of degraded parents. A strong contrast was found in the stolid, stupid, besotted mass that leaned against the barricade; it stirred not, breathed not, spoke not- but patiently awaited the chance of improving their position, and with unruffled and bovine quiet, stayed out the weary night to witness the strangulation of three human beings. Just before the barricade a wall of policemen prevented the possibility of entrance. Those who had tickets forced a difficult way through the crowd that hoarsely shouted in reckless blasphemy, or roared a line of drunken song, or warmly disputed the possession of food, or hotly quarrelled for the right to drink, and were then blocked by that immovable barrier of stolid savages through whose compact gathering passage was impossible. It was pleasant - if one could be pleasant then - to know that "the mere Irish" were not of these brawlers, that the never failing charge of riotous uproar must this night be laid to the account of the uncouth sons of Lancashire. I learned on inquiry that the Catholic clergy had inculcated peace and moderation to their people and especially requested them to absent themselves from Salford and its neighbourhood during the night of the execution. This commendable injunction was strictly obeyed and there was no Irish element in the motley crew whose ugly shadow was thrown in grotesque outline across the feebly lighted streets. At last I made my way to the Albert Hotel, a house standing almost fifty yards from the scaffold on the opposite street. I had learned that 'the fourth estate,' was there and there only; and soon I found myself in presence of some fifty press-men from every port of the United Kingdom. At intervals during the night we dropped out in couples to see the streets, but there was a general cluster when a Manchester gentleman brought in a copy of an anonymous letter which had been received by Calcraft the Executioner, with the pithily illiterate rejoinder of that worthy man! - "If you hang any of the gentlemen condemned to death at the New Bailey Prison, it will be worse for you; you will not survive afterwards." Calcraft immediately sent the note to the visiting justices of the jails, with this comment - " I have received the enclosed letter. It seems a serious job. I hope you will look after it that I shall get home safe again." It seems that the executioner was in some say worried; and in truth if preparation could ease his mind, he must have been content. About twelve o'clock the police entered every house, and took the name and address of all persons who did not permanently reside therein. It is rather lucky Mr. Calcraft was not shot, or else we might all have been put on trial on the capital charge in that "constructive" spirit which marks the administration of recent law. About two o'clock the fog was dense and bitterly cold. An hour later; vocalism became popular, and the ringing tones of "John Brown" from a hundred throats pierced the thick "blanket" of the night." And thus, in eating, and drinking, and singing, and dancing ,and talking, and swearing, and marching, did these Englishmen hail the morn whose first light heralded coming and certain death to three men hard-by.
There is little to add respecting the prison life of the condemned. Clinging to hope at first, they believed for some days after sentence was passed that they would not be hanged. The assurances which they received from without, however, dispelled this feeling a few days ago, and since Wednesday the men have been fully resigned to their fate. The parting interviews of Allen and Larkin with their friends took place on Friday; and after their final severance from earthly ties, the doomed men devoted themselves with increased fervour to their religious duties. They were locked up at the usual hour - about half-past six o'clock. Strange as it may appear; the three men, standing on the brink of the grave, about to suffer an ignominious death, slept as soundly as had been their wont.
At a quarter to five o'clock on Saturday morning, Mr. Holt, the warder in charge, went to their cells and awoke them.
The priests in attendance, the Rev. Canon Cantwell and the Rev. Fathers Quick and Gadd, celebrated mass at half-past five, and administered the holy communion.
After partaking of the sacred rite, the convicts spent their time in prayer until nearly seven o'clock, when they breakfasted. The last preparations were then begun. At twelve minutes to eight o'clock, the executioner and his assistant, Armstrong, were introduced into the cell in which the convicts were placed, and the process of pinioning their arms was gone through. The priests stood by the side of the unhappy men, administering the consolations of religion, and exhorting them to firmness to meet the last dread ordeal. The convicts at this time manifested a remarkable fortitude. Not one of them flinched in the least.
They had severally expressed an intention to address the crowd from the scaffold, but at the urgent entreaty of the priests they abandoned that intention.
At a quarter to eight o'clock the interior court of the gaol presented a strange and striking spectacle. Behind the wall in New Bailey-street was erected the long staircase leading to the scaffold, and by the side were platforms for the tise of the military. The fog was so dense that objects could be but faintly distinguished at a distance of thirty yards. Suddenly the worlds of military command were heard and a company of the 72nd Highlanders marched round the Roundhouse and took up a position in line of the foot of the staircase. Simultaneously small detachments of the same regiment ascended to the platform, and crouched there, with their loaded rifles slightly projecting over the prison wall. At almost the same moment the heads of a line of soldiers arose above the parapet of the railway viaduct. A line of warders was formed in the gaol court. The sentries on duty ceased their walk; magistrates and reporters stood aside, and a dead silence prevailed for a few moments, as a signal was given from the corner of the Roundhouse. At three minutes past eight o'clock the solemn voice of a minister repeating the litany of the Roman Catholic Church was heard; and the head of the procession became visible through a thick fog, about thirty yards from the foot of the staircase. The Rev. Cantwell walked first, by the side of Allen. The convict was deadly pale; his eyes wandered alternately from the priest to the individuals standing round and then he uplifted his gaze in a vain endeavour to pierce the dense canopy which hung above him. He walked with a tolerably steady step, and uttered the response, "Lord, have mercy upon us." in a firm voice. As he ascended the staircase he seemed to summon all his courage, and he succeeded so far as to be able to confront the crowd with an unshrinking countenance. Next to him came Larkin, in whose appearance confinement and anxiety of mind had wrought a striking change. He walked with difficulty and required the support of the warders as he mounted the staircase. He seemed to join mechanically in the responses; and as he neared the head of the stirs he gave one hasty glance at the black beams overhead and seemed about to faint.
Gould was the last, and he met his fate firmly. Joining in the responses with a steady voice, and keeping his eyes upward, after one glance at the group assembled below, he mounted the steps without hesitation and took his place upon the drop.

THE EXECUTION

As the moment drew nigh there was a stillness in the crowd that might be felt. The jail clock rang out eight in sharp cold tones, and the units were repeated by the anxious multitude. At the moment the cap of the officer commanding the Third highlanders inside the jail appeared above the wall, and soon the gleaming guns moved briskly towards the scaffold. At two minutes past the hour the door was opened and Allen appeared. By those who looked up and saw that young but distorted face, it will never be forgotten. he stepped firmly on the drop, his wan and convulsed countenance raised to the sky; in his pinioned hands he clasped the cross, and in agonizing tones fervently cried, "Jesus, have mercy on us; Jesus, have mercy on us." Calcraft was by his side instantly, quickly drew the close-fitting white cap over his head, and threw the noose round his neck. Allen continued to pay loud and fast. The executioner just touched his hand and turned to receive Gould who boldly stepped on, raised his bound hand, and laid it on Allen's; he then kissed him on the cheek, and immediately joined in prayer. At this moment Larkin stepped on and looked collected, but almost immediately reeled, staggered, and fell with bent knee and helpless body slightly against Gould and fainted in the arms of a warder. Gould turned and looked on Larkin, who was held up while Calcraft with rapid hand adjusted the cap and noose. A dull crash was heard, and the three ropes sprung to their utmost length. Allen's was perfectly still, Gould's quivered for a moment, Larkin's had a rotary motion, and then all was still. The clergymen continued to repeat the prayers for the dead, standing uncovered over the suspended corpses. For three quarters of an hour the prayers were repeated, and then all retired. At seven minutes past nine the door was re-opened and Calcraft appeared to remove the bodies. He looked a comely old man, with a large, flowing white beard. He wore a velvet travelling cap and stood right firmly on the scaffold. With one hand he held the single portion of the rope, while, with the other, he undid the knot which ran round the beam. he then held in his two hands the rope from which was suspended the body; and so on to the end of his foul work. He was assisted by a young man who is practicing this vile trade in Chester ,and who is styled in a Manchester paper, " a manly fellow."
At half-past nine the huge crowd began to melt - the deed was done - the law was revenged - the sight was over. And every man went into his place.

AFTER THE EXECUTION

The Times says - "When at nine o'clock the bodies were cut down, hardly any persons but those on duty round the spot were present. The remains of the culprits were at once carried down the ladders leading from the scaffold, and taken across the prison yard into a little soil, where they were laid on benches. The straps which had bound them were then removed. and the surgeon came and certified formally as to their deaths. Singularly enough, as far as the expression of their features might be judged, Allen seemed to have suffered most, through he died earliest and apparently without a struggle. The features of Larkin, who jerked the scaffold itself in his convulsive struggle, were as placid as though he had merely fallen asleep. The remains of Gould, too, showed equal signs of tranquility in death as those of Larkin. The hands were opened wide; those of Larkin were merely folded together; but with Allen, who had apparently never moved, the finger nails seemed almost dug into the flesh. About the middle of the day the bodies were buried, without form or ceremony, in the jail passage where Burrows the murderer is laid, the only murderer - indeed, the only other criminal- that has ever suffered death in Salford jail.

PROFESSION AND RECEPTION - On the festival of the Presentation, the Convent of our Lady of Mercy in Ardee was the scene of an interesting and edifying demonstration, the profession and reception of two young ladies. The Most Rev. Dr. Kieran, Primate of all Ireland, officiated on the solemn occasion. the young lady professed was Miss Pally, of the county of Down and the lay sister was Miss Mary Callan, youngest daughter of Mr. Thomas Callan, of Shanlis.
LAUNCH OF THE STEAM-SHIP "MULLINGAR" - On Wednesday this magnificent steamer was successfully launched from the building-yard of the enterprising firm of Messrs. Walpole, Webb and Bewley, Northwall. She has been built for the City of Dublin Steampacket Company.
Lady Esmonde, widow of the late Right Hon. Sir Thomas Esmonde, whose death is recorded, has bequeathed the sum of £30,000 to the board of Trinity College as Trustee, for the purpose of building and endowing a classical school in the county of Waterford.
A man named Thomas Francis was arrested on Monday morning at New-street, on suspicion of being a Fenian Centre, and he was conveyed under the Lord Lieutenant's warrant to Kilmainham Prison.

BREAD RIOTS AT BELFAST

On Saturday evening a serious bread riot occurred here, and although it lasted but for a comparatively short time, there was a considerable amount of damage done. A few weeks ago the journeymen bakers of the town made a demand for higher wages, and threatened to go on strike if their employers did not grant it. After some consultation, the master bakers decided to give an increase, and about the same time they raised the price of bread. This course excited general dissatisfaction among the working classes and proposals were freely mooted in the newspapers and elsewhere for the establishment of one or more bakeries on the co-operative principle to enable householders to purchase bread at a cheaper rate. the employers in several of our large foundries and mills held meetings, at which resolutions were unanimously passed condemning the increase in the price of bread as unjust and oppressive, and pledging the people not to purchase any more bread from the bakers until they could obtain it a lower rate. No general public meeting however, was held and yesterday afternoon, when a large assembly of persons met at Carlisle Circus, a piece of waste ground on the Antrim road, to consider what steps should be taken to reduce the present tariff. The meeting lasted about an hour, and on breaking up portions of the crowd attacked the model bakery. Not more than two or three panes were broken when a small force of constabulary arrived, and drew up in front of the building. The crowd then rushed down the road and did not halt till they came to the bakery of Mr. Trueman, T.C., having broken the glass in the windows, they made a sweep of all the biscuits, confectionary, &c, exposed for sale. By this time all the constabulary in town were on duty, and the mayor and resident magistrates were most active in their exertions to preserve the peace. A cry was then raised, "To the public bakery!" (in Church-street) and accordingly to the public bakery they went. A volley of stones through the windows announced their arrival here. Thereupon some one inside fired among them. They then went to the steam bakery, a large establishment belonging to Marsh & Co. and having smashed the glass, took all the bread they could get.

THE MANCHESTER TRAGEDY

Contrary to our most recent hopes and prayers, those of the Fenian prisoners at Manchester - Allen, Larkin and Gould (or O'Brien) have been put to death, nominally for the murder of Sergeant Brett, but really for the successful rescue of the Fenian leaders Colonel Kelly and Captain Deasy. The political scaffold has thus, after the lapse of half a century, been once more raised in England.
It is well understood, and will be dearly remembered hereafter, that these men were put to a horrible death because they were Irishmen and because they strove to the best of their knowledge and power to win their country's independence. Had that country been England - and not Ireland, their reward had been, not the gallows, but the Spectator tells us "something very like admiration and sympathy." It is not a question for discussion - blood is thicker than water, and millions of Irishmen feel that a great public crime has been committed, not the less odious because of its base hypocrisy. Had those men or any others been tried, convicted, and hanged for treason, the curse of the British government, however cruel and unwise, would at all events have been straightforward. But public hypocrisy has ever been a great British talent, and in this case the utmost advantage has been made of it. The common sense of the world will, however, scout with contempt the false pretence that three men were executed for murder. Mankind indeed will be apt to characterise by the foul name of murder, not the casual death of the policeman, but the deliberate and dastardly slaughter of the Fenian victims. At all events Irishmen and have but one feeling regarding this odious crime, and all who have committed, advised, abetted, or rejoined at it. Nor is it a feeling that will quickly pass away.
In that miserable five minutes on the scaffold of Manchester a deed was done that has sundered Englishmen and Irishmen for this generation.
"There rolls between us a great sea of blood."
In one day the political relations between the two countries have retrograded half a century. Ireland cannot forgive that wanton and cruel bloodshed. England must account for the lives of these three men, humble though they were. Millions who know nothing of Fenianism feel for these men as if they were their own kindred foully murdered. God knows we do not exaggerate. Men who resisted with their whole strength the Fenian movement - priests who denounced it from the altar - have shed hot and bitter tears over this deed of blood. Could it be otherwise while they had the hearts of Irishmen in their bosoms?
The government have committed a great - a fearful- an irreparable mistake.
The problem of Irish disaffection and Irish misery, always difficult, they have made well night hopeless.

WILLIAM PHILIP ALLEN

Subjoined is a brief sketch of the life of this unfortunate young man previously to his departure for England. The circumstances of his untimely fate, will, we presume, render the few facts here submitted interesting to the reader. W.P. Allen was born in April, 1848, in a well-known village near the town of Tipperary, and was about three years old when his parents removed to Bandon, in this county, where he was brought up in the Protestant faith, which his father professed, while his mother was a good Catholic. At Bandon he was a constant attendant at the training school conducted under the auspices of the Hon. Mr. Bernard, for the education of young men designed to fill the office of district parochial teachers, at the same time, however, attending the morning and evening schools conducted in the same town by Catholic masters, under whom he learned the branches of algebra and drawing, being remarkably proficient in the latter acquirements. While at school young Allen made himself conspicuous by his intelligence and application - these qualities attracting the notice of many persons of station. Allen was from his childhood of thoughtful and studious habits, very imaginative, exceedingly gentle in his disposition and a great favourite with his companions, to whom his pleasing manners endeared him. On the occasion of the visit of some Catholic missionaries to Bandon, Allen frequented the sessions and religious exercises which marked the mission and his natural acuteness, aided by the teaching of his pious mother, convincing him of the error of the creed in which he had been hitherto reared, he became a convert to the true religion and was received by the Rev. P.P. of Bandon into the bosom of the church. This was about four years ago, and since his reception Allen has been a strict and exemplary Catholic. His only sister, now married, and living in this city, influenced by the arguments of her brother, followed his happy example and became also a Catholic, his four brothers, among them a brother Joe, for whom the poor fellow entertained a particular affection, being still Protestants. Allen was, while yet a youth, bound apprentice to Mr. Preston, a respectable master carpenter and timber merchant in Bandon, but from circumstances of a painful nature, which it is charity now to refrain form publishing, but in which the young convert's faith was at stake, he felt himself compelled to leave his master before the expiration of his time, and coming well recommended to this city, was employed by Mr. Barry M'Mullen, with whom he remained for six months, when he once more returned to Bandon, whence he proceeded to Manchester, on the invitation of some near relatives of his residing in that city. The following affecting letter, which has been entrusted to us for publication, was entrusted by Allen to his aunt in Manchester, with directions to forward it to his sister in this city:

Manchester, Nov 18, '67

DEAR SISTER, BROTHER-IN-LAW, AND BROTHERS

I am sure you will regret to be hearing out of a prison dungeon from me; but it cannot be helped. There are a great many changes in the world, and we must all put up with our share. Next Saturday is the day of my execution; also three others. I will be gone only a few days before the longest liver of you all; it is nothing , dear sister, to look into it. I hope you do not forget praying for me, and for those that are in with me. It is hard, dear sister, brother-in-law and brothers, to be suffering for a charge a person is not guilty of. I am quite reconciled to the will of God, whatever my fate may be. I received Holy Communion this morning, thank God, and am in very good spirits. There is nothing in the world that a person should be sorry for leaving it. Tell my brothers to mind their duty to God and always pray for me and all that are in with me. I am very sorry, dear sister, I had not the pleasure of seeing James before leaving this world and also your daughter. I think I have a slight knowledge of James, if I do not make a mistake. I hope if I do not see him here, I will see him and you all, please God, in heaven. Remember my words, dear friends - there is no use in grieving at all. It does not make the thing any better, and injures your own health, although I am quite sure there will be many thousands that never saw me or any of the other prisoners in their lives, that will regret our deaths; and many a tear will flow from parties with whom I never was in my life. I am about to leave the world and I do not think I have enemies in it, except those that swore my life away for blood money. I forgive them from the bottom of my heart, and may God receive them. Farewell sister, brothers, and brother-in-law, niece also. It has crossed my mind not to forget Miss Clancy, and my grandmother, tell them to pray for us also.

No more at present from your affectionate and ever loving brother.

W.P. ALLEN

P.S. - Remember me to father and mother and aunt. Send this to my sister in Cork as soon as you receive it. Keep up your hearth and never forget praying for me. Remember me to all friends. I send you 1,000 kisses each and 2,000 to my brother Joe.

MICHAEL O'BRIEN, ALIAS GOULD

Michael O'Brien was born near Ballymacoda, the birthplace of the ill-fated Peter Crowley. O'Brien having reserved a good average education, served his apprenticeship in the establishment of Messrs. Arnott, Grant, and Co., and afterwards spent some time at the Queen's Old Castle. He left that firm for America, where most of his friends reside, some of them in affluent circumstances. O'Brien seized with the pervading ardour of the time, joined the Northern army, and served with distinction through several campaigns. When the regiment to which he was attached was disbanded at the conclusion of the war, he returned to Liverpool, where he got into trouble in connexion with the Fenian movements. The accusation then brought against him fell to the ground and he came to this city, where he obtained employment at the Munster Arcade, where he remained till Shrove Tuesday night when he disappeared and was not hears of again till he turned up at Manchester on the recent melancholy occasion. It will be remembered that on the trial of Co. F.X. O'Brien, who was tried and convicted at the last special commission in this city, frequent reference was made to another Col. O'Brien, who is supposed to have been identified with the deceased. At that trial also a receipt was produced for certain arms taken from the residence of Mr. George Wyse, Newcastle, signed "F. Lomax, Colonel Irish Republic, Sough Cork Infantry." At the trial a man named Kemn swore this signature was the handwriting of Mr. F.X. O'Brien, but the prosecution declared it was not, and it is now supposed the receipt was signed by Michael O'Brien. The Irish police were on the track of deceased since March, but without result. It is supposed that he formed the fourth in the party at Kilclooney Wood, which was completed by Peter Crowley, M'Clure and Kelly on the memorable 18th of September. Deceased was a person of genteel appearance and attractive manners.

LETTER FROM ALLEN

The following letter, the last it is understood that was written by the ill-fated Allen, previous to his execution last Saturday, has been forwarded to us and will, were are sure, be perused with a painful interest:-

Salford, New Bailey Prison, Nov. 22

Manchester, Nov 18, '67

Salford, New Bailey Prison, Nov. 22

TO YOU MY LOVING AND SINCERE DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT HOGAN

I suppose this is my last letter to you at the side of the grave. O! dear uncle and aunt, if you reflect on it, it is nothing. I am dying a horrible death - I am dying for Ireland, dying for the land that gave me birth, dying for the Island of Saints, and dying for liberty. Every generation of our countrymen is suffering, and where is the Irish heart could stand by unmoved? I should like to know what trouble, what passion, what mischief could separate the true Irish heart from its own native isle. Dear uncle and aunt, it is sad to be parting you all at my early age; but we must all die some day or another. A few hours more and I will breathe my last, and on English soil! Oh, that I could be buried in Ireland! what a happiness it would be to all my friends and to myself, where my countrymen could kneel on my grave! I cannot express what joy it afforded me when I found, Aunt Sarah, that you were admitted here. Dear uncle, I am sure it was not a very pleasant place I had to receive you and my aunt; but we must put up with all trials until we depart this life. I am sure it will grieve you very much to have me in such a place on the evidence of such characters that swore my life away; but I forgive them, and may God forgive them.

I am dying, thank God, an Irishman and a Christian.

Give my love to all my friends;

same from your affectionate nephew,

W.P. ALLEN.

P.S. - Pray for us. Good bye, and remember me. Good bye, and may heaven protect you - the last wish of your dying nephew.

W.P. ALLEN.

THE "ERIN'S HOPE" SALUTING THE GREEN FLAG.
"God Save Ireland."
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THE DOCK AND THE SCAFFOLD:
THE MANCHESTER TRAGEDY
AND
THE CRUISE OF THE JACKNELL.
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"Far dearer the grave or the prison Illum'd by one patriot's name,
Than the trophies of all who have risen On liberty's ruins to fame."
MOORE
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DUBLIN:
A.M. SULLIVAN, ABBEY STEEET.
1868.
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[pg 5]
THE DOCK AND THE SCAFFOLD.
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The 23rd day of November, 1867, witnessed a strange and memorable scene in the great English city of Manchester. Long ere the grey winter's morning struggled in through the crisp frosty air—long ere the first gleam of the coming day dulled the glare of the flaming gas jets, the streets of the Lancashire capital were all astir with bustling crowds, and the silence of the night was broken by the ceaseless footfalls and the voices of hurrying throngs. Through the long, dim streets, and past the tall rows of silent houses, the full tide of life eddied and poured in rapid current; stout burghers, closely muffled and staff in hand; children grown prematurely old, with the hard marks of vice already branded on their features; young girls with flaunting ribbons and bold, flushed faces; pale-faced operatives, and strong men whose brawny limbs told of the Titanic labours of the foundry; the clerk from his desk; the shopkeeper from his store; the withered crone, and the careless navvy, swayed and struggled through the living mass; and with them trooped the legions of want, and vice, and ignorance, that burrow and fester in the foetid lanes and purlieus of the large British cities: from the dark alleys where misery and degradation for ever dwell, and from reeking cellars and nameless haunts, where the twin demons of alcohol and crime rule supreme; from the gin-palace, and the beer-shop, and the midnight haunts of the tramp and the burglar, they came in all their repulsiveness and debasement, with the rags of wretchedness upon their backs, and the cries of profanity and obscenity upon their lips. Forward they rushed in a surging flood through many a street and byway, until [pg 6] where the narrowing thoroughfares open into the space surrounding the New Bailey Prison, in that suburb of the great city known as the Borough of Salford, they found their further progress arrested. Between them and the massive prison walls rose piles of heavy barricading, and the intervening space was black with a dense body of men, all of whom faced the gloomy building beyond, and each of whom carried a special constable's baton in his hand. The long railway bridge running close by was occupied by a detachment of infantry, and from the parapet of the frowning walls the muzzle of cannon, trained on the space below, might be dimly discerned in the darkness. But the crowd paid little attention to these extraordinary appearances; their eyes were riveted on the black projection which jutted from the prison wall, and which, shrouded in dark drapery, loomed with ghastly significance through the haze. Rising above the scaffold, which replaced a portion of the prison wall, the outlines of a gibbet were descried; and from the cross-beam there hung three ropes, terminating in nooses, just perceptible above the upper edge of the curtain which extended thence to the ground. The grim excrescence seemed to possess a horrible fascination for the multitude. Those in position to see it best stirred not from their post, but faced the fatal cross-tree, the motionless ropes, the empty platform, with an untiring, insatiable gaze, that seemed pregnant with some terrible meaning, while the mob behind them struggled, and pushed, and raved, and fought; and the haggard hundreds of gaunt, diseased, stricken wretches, that vainly contested with the stronger types of ruffianism for a place, loaded the air with their blasphemies and imprecations. The day broke slowly and doubtfully upon the scene; a dense yellow, murky fog floated round the spot, wrapping in its opaque folds the hideous gallows and the frowning mass of masonry behind. An hour passed, and then a hoarse murmur swelled upwards from the glistening rows of upturned faces. The platform was no longer empty; three pinioned men, with white caps drawn closely over their faces, were standing upon the drop. For a moment [pg 7] the crowd was awed into stillness; for a moment the responses, "Christ, have mercy on us," "Christ, have mercy on us," were heard from the lips of the doomed men, towards whom the sea of faces were turned. Then came a dull crash, and the mob swayed backwards for an instant. The drop had fallen, and the victims were struggling in the throes of a horrible death. The ropes jerked and swayed with the convulsive movements of the dying men. A minute later, and the vibrations ceased—the end had come, the swaying limbs fell rigid and stark, and the souls of the strangled men had floated upwards from the cursed spot—up from the hateful crowd and the sin-laden atmosphere—to the throne of the God who made them.
So perished, in the bloom of manhood, and the flower of their strength, three gallant sons of Ireland—so passed away the last of the martyred band whose blood has sanctified the cause of Irish freedom. Far from the friends whom they loved, far from the land for which they suffered, with the scarlet-clad hirelings of England around them, and watched by the wolfish eyes of a brutal mob, who thirsted to see them die, the dauntless patriots, who, in our own day, have rivalled the heroism and shared the fate of Tone, Emmett, and Fitzgerald, looked their last upon the world. No prayer was breathed for their parting souls—no eye was moistened with regret amongst the multitude that stretched away in compact bodies from the foot of the gallows; the ribald laugh and the blasphemous oath united with their dying breath; and, callously as the Roman mob from the blood-stained amphitheatre, the English masses turned homewards from the fatal spot. But they did not fall unhonoured or unwept. In the churches of the faithful in that same city, the sobs of mournful lamentation were mingled with the solemn prayers for their eternal rest, and, from thousands of wailing women and stricken-hearted men, the prayers for mercy, peace, and pardon, for the souls of MICHAEL O'BRIEN, WILLIAM PHILIP ALLEN, and MICHAEL LARKIN, rose upwards to the avenging God. Still less were they forgotten at home.
Throughout the Irish land, from [pg 8] Antrim's rocky coast to the foam-beaten headlands of Cork, the hearts of their countrymen were convulsed with passionate grief and indignation, and, blended with the sharp cry of agony that broke from the nation's lips, came the murmurs of defiant hatred, and the pledges of a bitter vengeance. Never, for generations, had the minds of the Irish people been more profoundly agitated—never had they writhed in such bitterness and agony of soul. With knitted brows and burning cheeks, the tidings of the bloody deed were listened to. The names of the martyred men were upon every lip, and the story of their heroism and tragic death was read with throbbing pulse and kindling eyes by every fireside in the land. It is to assist in perpetuating that story, and in recording for future generations the narrative which tells of how Allen, O'Brien, and Larkin died, that this narrative is written, and few outside the nation whose hands are red with their blood, will deny that at least so much recognition is due to their courage, their patriotism, and their fidelity. In Ireland we know it will be welcomed; amongst a people by whom chivalry and patriotism are honoured, a story so touching and so enobling will not be despised; and the race which guards with reverence and devotion the memories of Tone, and Emmett, and the Shearses, will not soon surrender to oblivion the memory of the three true-hearted patriots, who, heedless of the scowling mob, unawed by the hangman's grasp, died bravely that Saturday morning at Manchester, for the good old cause of Ireland.

Early before daybreak on the morning of November 11th, 1867, the policemen on duty in Oak-street, Manchester, noticed four broad-shouldered, muscular men loitering in a suspicious manner about the shop of a clothes dealer in the neighbourhood. Some remarks dropped by one of the party reaching the ears of the policemen, strengthened their impression that an illegal enterprise was on foot, and the arrest of the supposed burglars was resolved on. A struggle ensued, during which two of the suspects succeeded in escaping, but the remaining pair, after offering a determined resistance, [pg 9] were overpowered and carried off to the police station. The prisoners, who, on being searched, were found to possess loaded revolvers on their persons, gave their names as Martin Williams and John Whyte, and were charged under the Vagrancy Act before one of the city magistrates. They declared themselves American citizens, and claimed their discharge. Williams said he was a bookbinder out of work; Whyte described himself as a hatter, living on the means brought with him from America. The magistrate was about disposing summarily of the case, by sentencing the men to a few days' imprisonment, when a detective officer applied for a remand, on the ground that he had reason to believe the prisoners were connected with the Fenian conspiracy.

The application was granted, and before many hours had elapsed it was ascertained that Martin Williams was no other than Colonel Thomas J. Kelly, one of the most prominent of the (O'Mahony-Stephens) Fenian leaders, and that John Whyte was a brother officer and co-conspirator, known to the circles of the Fenian Brotherhood as Captain Deasey.

Of the men who had thus fallen into the clutches of the British government the public had already heard much, and one of them was widely known for the persistency with which he laboured as an organiser of Fenianism, and the daring and skill which he exhibited in the pursuit of his dangerous undertaking.
Long before the escape of James Stephens from Richmond Bridewell startled the government from its visions of security, and swelled the breasts of their disaffected subjects in Ireland with rekindled hopes, Colonel Kelly was known in the Fenian ranks as an intimate associate of the revolutionary chief.
When the arrest at Fairfield-house deprived the organization of its crafty leader, Kelly was elected to the vacant post, and he threw himself into the work with all the reckless energy of his nature.
If he could not be said to possess the mental ability or administrative capacity essential to the office, he was at least gifted with a variety of other qualifications well calculated to recommend him to popularity [pg 10] amongst the desperate men with whom he was associated. Nor did he prove altogether unworthy of the confidence reposed in him. It is now pretty well known that the successful plot for the liberation of James Stephens was executed under the personal supervision of Colonel Kelly, and that he was one of the group of friends who grasped the hand of the Head Centre within the gates of Eichmond Prison on that night in November, '65, when the doors of his dungeon were thrown open. Kelly fled with Stephens to Paris, and thence to America, where he remained attached to the section of the Brotherhood which recognised the authority and obeyed the mandates of the "C.O.I.R." But the time came when even Colonel Kelly and his party discovered that Stephens was unworthy of their confidence. The chief whom they had so long trusted, and whose oath to fight on Irish soil before January, '67, they had seen so unblushingly violated, was deposed by the last section of his adherents, and Colonel Kelly was elected "Deputy Central Organiser of the Irish Republic," on the distinct understanding that he was to follow out the policy which Stephens had shrunk from pursuing. Kelly accepted the post, and devoted himself earnestly to the work. In America he met with comparatively little co-operation; the bulk of the Irish Nationalists in that country had long ranged themselves under the leadership of Colonel W.R. Roberts, an Irish gentleman of character and integrity, who became the President of the reconstituted organization; and the plans and promises of "the Chatham-street wing," as the branch of the brotherhood which ratified Colonel Kelly's election was termed, were regarded, for the most part, with suspicion and disfavour. But from Ireland there came evidences of a different state of feeling. Breathless envoys arrived almost weekly in New York, declaring that the Fenian Brotherhood in Ireland were burning for the fray—that they awaited the landing of Colonel Kelly with feverish impatience—that it would be impossible to restrain them much longer from fighting—and that the arrival of the military leaders, whom America was expected to supply, [pg 11] would be the signal for a general uprising. Encouraged by representations like these, Colonel Kelly and a chosen body of Irish-American officers departed for Ireland in January, and set themselves, on their arrival in the old country, to arrange the plans of the impending outbreak. How their labours eventuated, and how the Fenian insurrection of March, '67, resulted, it is unnecessary to explain; it is enough for our purpose to state that for several months after that ill-starred movement was crushed, Colonel Kelly continued to reside in Dublin, moving about with an absence of disguise and a disregard for concealment which astonished his confederates, but which, perhaps, contributed in no slight degree to the success with which he eluded the efforts directed towards his capture. At length the Fenian organization in Ireland began to pass through the same changes that had given it new leaders and fresh vitality in America. The members of the organization at home began to long for union with the Irish Nationalists who formed the branch of the confederacy regenerated under Colonel Roberts; and Kelly, who, for various reasons, was unwilling to accept the new regime, saw his adherents dwindle away, until at length he found himself all but discarded by the Fenian circles in Dublin. Then he crossed over to Manchester, where he arrived but a few weeks previous to the date of his accidental arrest in Oak-street.

The arrest of Colonel Kelly and his aide-de-camp, as the English papers soon learned to describe Deasey, was hailed by the government with the deepest satisfaction. For years they had seen their hosts of spies, detectives, and informers foiled and outwitted by this daring conspirator, whose position in the Fenian ranks they perfectly understood; they had seen their traps evaded, their bribes spurned, and their plans defeated at every turn; they knew, too, that Kelly's success in escaping capture was filling his associates with pride and exultation; and now at last they found the man whose apprehension they so anxiously desired a captive in their grasp.
On the other hand, the arrests in Oak-street [pg 12] were felt to be a crushing blow to a failing cause by the Fenian circles in Manchester. They saw that Kelly's capture would dishearten every section of the organization; they knew that the broad meaning of the occurrence was, that another Irish rebel had fallen into the clutches of the British government, and was about to be added to the long list of their political victims.

It was felt by the Irish in Manchester, that to abandon the prisoners helplessly to their fate would be regarded as an act of submission to the laws which rendered patriotism a crime, and as an acceptance of the policy which left Ireland trampled, bleeding, and impoverished. There were hot spirits amongst the Irish colony that dwelt in the great industrial capital, which revolted from such a conclusion, and there were warm, impulsive hearts which swelled with a firm resolution to change the triumph of their British adversaries into disappointment and consternation.

The time has not yet come when anything like a description of the midnight meetings and secret councils which followed the arrest of Colonel Kelly in Manchester can be written; enough may be gathered, however, from the result, to show that the plans of the conspirators were cleverly conceived and ably digested.
On Wednesday, September 18th, Colonel Kelly and his companion were a second time placed in the dock of the Manchester Police Office. There is reason to believe that means had previously been found of acquainting them with the plans of their friends outside, but this hypothesis is not necessary to explain the coolness and sang froid with which they listened to the proceedings before the magistrate. Hardly had the prisoners been put forward, when the Chief Inspector of the Manchester Detective Force interposed. They were both, he said, connected with the Fenian rising, and warrants were out against them for treason-felony. "Williams," he added, with a triumphant air, "is Colonel Kelly, and Whyte, his confederate, is Captain Deasey." He asked that they might again be remanded, an application which was immediately granted. The prisoners, who imperturbably bowed [pg 13] to the detective, as he identified them, smilingly quitted the dock, and were given in charge to Police Sergeant Charles Brett, whose duty it was to convey them to the borough gaol.
The van used for the conveyance of prisoners between the police office and the gaol was one of the ordinary long black boxes on wheels, dimly lit by a grating in the door and a couple of ventilators in the roof. It was divided interiorly into a row of small cells at either side, and a passage running the length of the van between; and the practice was, to lock each prisoner into a separate cell, Brett sitting in charge on a seat in the passage, near the door. The van was driven by a policeman; another usually sat beside the driver on the box; the whole escort thus consisting of three men, carrying no other arms than their staves; but it was felt that on the present occasion a stronger escort might be necessary. The magistrates well knew that Kelly and Deasey had numerous sympathisers amongst the Irish residents in Manchester, and their apprehensions were quickened by the receipt of a telegram from Dublin Castle, and another from the Home Office in London, warning them that a plot was on foot for the liberation of the prisoners. The magistrates doubted the truth of the information, but they took precautions, nevertheless, for the frustration of any such enterprise. Kelly and Deasey were both handcuffed, and locked in separate compartments of the van; and, instead of three policemen, not less than twelve were entrusted with its defence. Of this body, five sat on the box-seat, two were stationed on the step behind, four followed the van in a cab, and one (Sergeant Brett) sat within the van, the keys of which were handed in to him through the grating, after the door had been locked by one of the policemen outside. There were, in all, six persons in the van: one of these was a boy, aged twelve, who was being conveyed to a reformatory; three were women convicted of misdemeanours; and the two Irish-Americans completed the number. Only the last-mentioned pair were handcuffed, and they were the only persons whom the constables thought necessary to lock up, the [pg 14] compartments in which the other persons sat being left open.
At half-past three o'clock the van drove off, closely followed by the cab containing the balance of the escort. Its route lay through some of the principal streets, then through the suburbs on the south side, into the borough of Salford, where the county gaol is situated. In all about two miles had to be traversed, and of this distance the first half was accomplished without anything calculated to excite suspicion being observed; but there was mischief brewing, for all that, and the crisis was close at hand. Just as the van passed under the railway arch that spans the Hyde-road at Bellevue, a point midway between the city police office and the Salford gaol, the driver was suddenly startled by the apparition of a man standing in the middle of the road with a pistol aimed at his head, and immediately the astonished policeman heard himself called upon, in a loud, sharp voice, to "pull up." At the spot where this unwelcome interruption occurred there are but few houses; brick-fields and clay-pits stretch away at either side, and the neighbourhood is thinly inhabited. But its comparative quiet now gave way to a scene of bustle and excitement so strange that it seems to have almost paralysed the spectators with amazement. The peremptory command levelled at the driver of the van was hardly uttered, when a body of men, numbering about thirty, swarmed over the wall which lined the road, and, surrounding the van, began to take effectual measures for stopping it. The majority of them were well-dressed men, of powerful appearance; a few carried pistols or revolvers in their hands, and all seemed to act in accordance with a preconcerted plan. The first impulse of the policemen in front appears to have been to drive through the crowd, but a shot, aimed in the direction of his head brought the driver tumbling from his seat, terror-stricken but unhurt; and almost at the same time, the further progress of the van was effectually prevented by shooting one of the horses through the neck. A scene of indescribable panic and confusion ensued; the policemen scrambled hastily to the ground, [pg 15] and betook themselves to flight almost without a thought of resistance. Those in the cab behind got out, not to resist the attack, but to help in running away; and in a few minutes the strangers, whose object had by this time become perfectly apparent, were undisputed masters of the situation. Pickaxes, hatchets, hammers, and crow-bars were instantly produced, and the van was besieged by a score stout pairs of arms, under the blows from which its sides groaned, and the door cracked and splintered. Some clambered upon the roof, and attempted to smash it in with heavy stones; others tried to force an opening through the side; while the door was sturdily belaboured by another division of the band. Seeing the Fenians, as they at once considered them, thus busily engaged, the policemen, who had in the first instance retreated to a safe distance, and who were now reinforced by a large mob attracted to the spot by the report of firearms, advanced towards the van, with the intention of offering some resistance; but the storming party immediately met them with a counter-movement. Whilst the attempt to smash through the van was continued without pause, a ring was formed round the men thus engaged, by their confederates, who, pointing their pistols at the advancing crowd, warned them, as they valued their lives, to keep off. Gaining courage from their rapidly-swelling numbers, the mob, however, continued to close in round the van, whereupon several shots were discharged by the Fenians, which had the effect of making the Englishmen again fall back in confusion. It is certain that these shots were discharged for no other purpose than that of frightening the crowd; one of them did take effect in the heel of a bystander, but in every other case the shots were fired high over the heads of the crowd. While this had been passing around the van, a more tragic scene was passing inside it. From the moment the report of the first shot reached him, Sergeant Brett seems to have divined the nature and object of the attack. "My God! its these Fenians," he exclaimed. The noise of the blows showered on the roof and sides of the van was increased by the shrieks of the female prisoners, who rushed frantically [pg 16] into the passage, and made the van resound with their wailings. In the midst of the tumult a face appeared at the grating, and Brett heard himself summoned to give up the keys. The assailants had discovered where they were kept, and resolved on obtaining them as the speediest way of effecting their purpose. "Give up the keys, or they will shoot you," exclaimed the women; but Brett refused. The next instant he fell heavily backwards, with the hot blood welling from a bullet-wound in the head. A shot fired into the key-hole, for the purpose of blowing the lock to pieces, had taken effect in his temple. The terror-stricken women lifted him up, screaming "he's killed." As they did so, the voice which had been heard before called out to them through the ventilator to give up the keys. One of the women then took them from the pocket of the dying policeman, and handed them out through the trap. The door was at once unlocked, the terrified women rushed out, and Brett, weltering in blood, rolled out heavily upon the road. Then a pale-faced young man, wearing a light overcoat, a blue tie, and a tall brown hat, who had been noticed taking a prominent part in the affray, entered the van, and unlocked the compartments in which Kelly and Deasey were confined. A hasty greeting passed between them, and then the trio hurriedly joined the band outside. "I told you, Kelly, I would die before I parted with you," cried the young man who had unlocked the doors; then, seizing Kelly by the arm, he helped him across the road, and over the wall, into the brick-fields beyond. Here he was taken charge of by others of the party, who hurried with him across the country, while a similar office was performed for Deasey, who, like Colonel Kelly, found himself hampered to some extent by the handcuffs on his wrists. The main body of those who had shared in the assault occupied themselves with preventing the fugitives from being pursued; and not until Kelly, Deasy, and their conductors had passed far out of sight, did they think of consulting their own safety. At length, when further resistance to the mob seemed useless and impossible, [pg 17] they broke and fled, some of them occasionally checking the pursuit by turning round and presenting pistols at those who followed. Many of the fugitives escaped, but several others were surrounded and overtaken by the mob. And now the "chivalry" of the English nature came out in its real colours. No sooner did the cowardly set, whom the sight of a revolver kept at bay while Kelly was being liberated, find themselves with some of the Irish party in their power, than they set themselves to beat them with savage ferocity. The young fellow who had opened the van door, and who had been overtaken by the mob, was knocked down by a blow of a brick, and then brutally kicked and stoned, the only Englishman who ventured to cry shame being himself assaulted for his display of humanity. Several others were similarly ill-treated; and not until the blood spouted out from the bruised and mangled bodies of the prostrate men, did the valiant Englishmen consider they had sufficiently tortured their helpless prisoners. Meanwhile, large reinforcements appeared on the spot; police and military were despatched in eager haste in pursuit of the fugitives; the telegraph was called into requisition, and a description of the liberated Fenians flashed to the neighbouring towns; the whole detective force of Manchester was placed on their trail, and in the course of a few hours thirty-two Irishmen were in custody, charged with having assisted in the attack on the van. But of Kelly or Deasey no trace was ever discovered; they were seen to enter a cottage not far from the Hyde-road, and leave it with their hands unfettered, but all attempts to trace their movements beyond this utterly failed. While the authorities in Manchester were excitedly discussing the means to be adopted in view of the extraordinary event, Brett lay expiring in the hospital to which he had been conveyed. He never recovered consciousness after receiving the wound, and he died in less than two hours after the fatal shot had been fired.
Darkness had closed in around Manchester before the startling occurrence that had taken place in their midst [pg 18] became known to the majority of its inhabitants. Swiftly the tidings flew throughout the big city, till the whisper in which the rumour was first breathed swelled into a roar of astonishment and rage. Leaving their houses and leaving their work, the people rushed into the streets, and trooped towards the newspaper offices for information. The rescue of Colonel Kelly and death of Sergeant Brett were described in thousands of conflicting narratives, until the facts almost disappeared beneath the mass of inventions and exaggerations, the creations of excitement and panic, with which they were overloaded. Meanwhile, the police, maddened by resentment and agitation, struck out wildly and blindly at the Irish. They might not be able to recapture the escaped Fenian leaders, but they could load the gaols with their countrymen and co-religionists; they might not be able to apprehend the liberators of Colonel Kelly and Captain Deasey, but they could glut their fury on members of the same nationality; and this they did most effectually. The whole night long the raid upon the Irish quarter in Manchester was continued; houses were broken into, and their occupants dragged off to prison, and flung into cells, chained as though they were raging beasts. Mere Irish were set upon in the streets, in the shops, in their homes, and hurried off to prison as if the very existence of the empire depended on their being subjected to every kind of brutal violence and indignity. The yell for vengeance filled the air; the cry for Irish blood arose upon the night-air like a demoniacal chorus; and before morning broke their fury was to some extent appeased by the knowledge that sixty of the proscribed race—sixty of the hated Irish—were lying chained within the prison cells of Manchester.
Fifteen minutes was the time occupied in setting Kelly free—only fifteen minutes—but during that short space of time an act was accomplished which shook the whole British Empire to its foundation. From the conspiracy to which this daring deed was traceable the English people had already received many startling surprises. The liberation of James Stephens and the short-lived [pg 19] insurrection that filled the snow-capped hills with hardy fugitives, six months before, had both occasioned deep excitement in England; but nothing that Fenianism had yet accomplished acted in the same bewildering manner on the English mind. In the heart of one of their largest cities, in the broad daylight, openly and undisguisedly, a band of Irishmen had appeared in arms against the Queen's authority, and set the power and resources of the law at defiance. They had rescued a co-conspirator from the grasp of the government, and slain an officer of the law in the pursuit of their object. Within a few minutes' walk of barracks and military depôts,—in sight of the royal ensign that waved over hundreds of her Majesty's defenders, a prison van had been stopped and broken open, and its defenders shot at and put to flight. Never had the English people heard of so audacious a proceeding—never did they feel more insulted. From every corner of the land the cry swelled, up for vengeance fierce and prompt. Victims there should be; blood—Irish blood—the people would have; nor were they willing to wait long for it. It might be that, falling in hot haste, the sword of Justice might strike the innocent, and not the guilty; it might be that, in the thirst for vengeance, the restraints of humanity would be forgotten; but the English nature, now thoroughly aroused, cared little for such considerations. It was Irishmen who had defied and trampled on their power; the whole Irish people approved of the act; and it mattered little who the objects of their fury might be, provided they belonged to the detested race. The prisoners, huddled together in the Manchester prisons, with chains round their limbs, might not be the liberators of Colonel Kelly—the slayers of Brett might not be amongst them; but they were Irishmen, at any rate, and so they would answer the purpose. Short shrift was the cry. The ordinary forms of law, the maxims of the Constitution, the rules of judicial procedure, the proprieties of social order and civilization, might be outraged and discarded, but speedy vengeance should, at all hazards, be obtained: the hangman could not wait for his fee, nor the people for their carnival of [pg 20] blood; and so it was settled that, instead of being tried at the ordinary Commission, in December, a Special Commission should be issued on the spot for the trial of the accused.
On Thursday, the 25th of October, the prisoners were brought up for committal, before Mr. Fowler, R.M., and a bench of brother magistrates. Some of the Irishmen arrested in the first instance had been discharged—not that no one could be found to swear against them (a difficulty which never seems to have arisen in these cases) but that the number of witnesses who could swear to their innocence was so great, that an attempt to press for convictions in their cases would be pertain to jeopardize the whole proceedings. The following is a list of the prisoners put forward, the names being, as afterwards appeared, in many cases fictitious:—
William O'Mara Allen, Edward Shore, Henry Wilson, William Gould, Michael Larkin, Patrick Kelly, Charles Moorhouse, John Brennan, John Bacon, William Martin, John F. Nugent, James Sherry, Robert McWilliams, Michael Maguire, Thomas Maguire, Michael Morris, Michael Bryan, Michael Corcoran, Thomas Ryan, John Carroll, John Cleeson, Michael Kennedy, John Morris, Patrick Kelly, Hugh Foley, Patrick Coffey, Thomas Kelly, and Thomas Scally.
It forms no part of our purpose to follow out the history of the proceedings in the Manchester court on the 25th of September and the following days: but there are some circumstances in connection with that investigation which it would be impossible to pass over without comment. It was on this occasion that the extraordinary sight of men being tried in chains was witnessed, and that the representatives of the English Crown came to sit in judgment on men still innocent in the eyes of the law, yet manacled like convicted felons. With the blistering irons clasped tight round their wrists the Irish prisoners stood forward, that justice—such justice as tortures men first and tries them afterwards—might be administered to them. "The police considered the precaution necessary," urged the magistrate, in reply to the scathing denunciations of the unprecedented outrage which fell from the lips of Mr. Ernest Jones, one of [pg 21] the prisoners' counsel. The police considered it necessary, though within the courthouse no friend of the accused could dare to show his face—though the whole building bristled with military and with policemen, with their revolvers ostentatiously displayed;—necessary, though every approach to the courthouse was held by an armed guard, and though every soldier in the whole city was standing to arms;—necessary there, in the heart of an English city, with a dense population thirsting for the blood of the accused, and when the danger seemed to be, not that they might escape from custody—a flight to the moon would be equally practicable—but that they might be butchered in cold blood by the angry English mob that scowled on them from the galleries of the court house, and howled round the building in which they stood. In vain did Mr. Jones protest, in scornful words, against the brutal indignity—in vain did he appeal to the spirit of British justice, to ancient precedent and modern practice—in vain did he inveigh against a proceeding which forbad the intercourse necessary between him and his clients—and in vain did he point out that the prisoners in the dock were guiltless and innocent men according to the theory of the law. No arguments, no expostulations would change the magistrate's decision. Amidst the applause of the cowardly set that represented the British public within the courthouse, he insisted that the handcuffs should remain on; and then Mr. Jones, taking the only course left to a man of spirit under the circumstances, threw down his brief and indignantly quitted the desecrated justice hall. Fearing the consequences of leaving the prisoners utterly undefended, Mr. Cottingham, the junior counsel for the defence, refrained from following Mr. Jones's example, but he, too, protested loudly, boldly, and indignantly against the cowardly outrage, worthy of the worst days of the French monarchy, which his clients were being subjected to. The whole investigation was in keeping with the spirit evinced by the bench. The witnesses seemed to come for the special purpose of swearing point-blank against the hapless men in the dock, no matter at what cost to truth, and to [pg 22] take a fiendish pleasure in assisting in securing their condemnation. One of the witnesses was sure "the whole lot of them wanted to murder everyone who had any property;" another assured his interrogator in the dock that "he would go to see him hanged;" and a third had no hesitation in acknowledging the attractions which the reward offered by the government possessed for his mind. Men and women, young and old, all seemed to be possessed of but the one idea—to secure as much of the blood-money as possible, and to do their best to bring the hated Irish to the gallows. Of course, an investigation, under these circumstances, could have but one ending, and no one was surprised to learn, at its conclusion, that the whole of the resolute body of stern-faced men, who, manacled and suffering, confronted their malignant accusers, had been committed to stand their trial in hot haste, for the crime of "wilful murder."
Of the men thus dealt with there are four with whose fate this narrative is closely connected, and whose names are destined to be long remembered in Ireland. They have won for themselves, by their courage, constancy, and patriotism, a fame that will never die; and through all future time they will rank beside the dauntless spirits that in days of darkness and disaster perished for the sacred cause of Ireland. Great men, learned men, prominent men they were not—they were poor, they were humble, they were unknown; they had no claim to the reputation of the warrior, the scholar, or the statesman; but they laboured, as they believed, for the redemption of their country from bondage; they risked their lives in a chivalrous attempt to rescue from captivity two men whom they regarded as innocent patriots, and when the forfeit was claimed, they bore themselves with the unwavering courage and single-heartedness of Christian heroes. Their short and simple annals are easily written, but their names are graven on the Irish heart, and their names and actions will be cherished in Ireland when the monumental piles that mark the resting-places of the wealthy and the proud have returned, like the bodies laid beneath them, to dust.
[pg 23]
William Philip Allen was born near the town of Tipperary, in April, 1848. Before he was quite three years old his parents removed to Bandon, County Cork, where the father, who professed the Protestant religion, received the appointment of bridewell-keeper. As young Allen grew up, he evinced a remarkable aptitude for the acquirement of knowledge, and his studious habits were well known to his playmates and companions. He was a regular attendant at the local training-school for the education of teachers for the Protestant schools of the parish, but he also received instruction at the morning and evening schools conducted under Catholic auspices, in the same town. He was not a wild boy, but he was quick and impulsive,—ready to resent a wrong, but equally ready to forgive one; and his natural independence of spirit and manly disposition rendered him a favourite with all his acquaintances. The influence and example of his father did not prevent him from casting a wistful eye towards the ancient faith. His mother, a good pious Catholic, whose warmest aspiration was to see her children in the fold of the true church, encouraged this disposition by all the means in her power, and the result of her pious care shortly became apparent. A mission, opened in the town by some Catholic order of priests, completed the good work, which the prayers and the example of an affectionate mother had commenced; and young Allen, after regularly attending the religious services and exercises of the mission, became so much Impressed with the truth of the lectures and sermons he had listened to, that he formally renounced the alien religion, and was received by the respected parish priest of the town into the bosom of the Catholic Church. His only sister followed his example, while his brothers, four in number, remained in the Protestant communion. The subject of our sketch was apprenticed to a respectable master carpenter and timber merchant in Bandon, but circumstances highly creditable to the young convert induced the severance of the connection before his period of apprenticeship was expired, and we next find him working at his trade in Cork, where he remained for [pg 24] some six months, after which he returned to Bandon. He next crossed over to Manchester, at the request of some near relatives living there. Subsequently he spent a few weeks in Dublin, where he worked as builder's clerk; and finally he revisited Manchester, where he had made himself numerous friends. It was in the summer of '67 that Allen last journeyed to Manchester. He was then little more than nineteen years old, but there is reason to believe that he had long before become connected with the Fenian conspiracy. In his ardent temperament the seeds of patriotism took deep and firm root, and the dangers of the enterprise to which the Fenians were committed served only to give it a fresh claim upon his enthusiastic nature. When Colonel Kelly quitted Dublin, and took up his quarters in Manchester, Allen was one of his most trusted and intimate associates; and when the prison door grated behind the Fenian leader, it was Allen who roused his countrymen to the task of effecting his liberation. Allen had by this time grown into a comely young man of prepossessing appearance; he was a little over the middle height, well shaped, without presenting the appearance of unusual strength, and was always seen neatly and respectably dressed. His face was pale, and wore a thoughtful expression, his features, when in repose, wearing an appearance of pensiveness approaching to melancholy. His eyes were small, the eyelids slightly marked; a mass of dark hair clustered gracefully over a broad pale forehead, while the absence of any beard gave him a peculiarly boyish appearance. Gentle and docile in his calmer moments, when roused to action he was all fire and energy. We have seen how he bore himself during the attack on the prison van, for he it was whom so many witnesses identified as the pale-faced young fellow who led the attack, and whose prophetic assurance that he would die for him, greeted Colonel Kelly on regaining his freedom. During the magisterial investigation he bore himself firmly, proudly, and, as the English papers would have it, defiantly. His glance never quailed during the trying ordeal. The marks of the brutality of his cowardly captors were [pg 25] still upon him, and the galling irons that bound his hands cut into his wrists; but Allen never winced for a moment, and he listened to the evidence of the sordid crew, who came to barter away his young life, with resolute mien. The triumph was with him. Out of the jaws of death he had rescued the leader whose freedom he considered essential to the success of a patriotic undertaking, and he was satisfied to pay the cost of the venture. He had set his foot upon the ploughshare, and would not shrink from the ordeal which he had challenged.
Amongst the crowd of manacled men committed for trial by the Manchester magistrates, not one presented a finer or more impressive exterior than Michael O'Brien, set down in the list above given as Michael Gould. Standing in the dock, he seemed the impersonation of vigorous manhood. Frank, fearless, and resolute, with courage and truth imprinted on every feature, he presented to the eye a perfect type of the brave soldier. He was tall and well-proportioned, and his broad shoulders and well-developed limbs told of physical strength in keeping with the firmness reflected in his face. His gaze, when it rested on the unfriendly countenances before him, was firm and undrooping, but a kindly light lit his hazel eyes, and his features relaxed into a sympathising and encouraging expression, as often as he glanced at Allen, who stood behind him, or bent his gaxe upon any of his other fellow-prisoners. O'Brien was born, near Ballymacoda, County Cork, the birthplace of the ill-fated and heroic Peter Crowley. His father rented a large farm in the same parish, but the blight of the bad laws which are the curse of Ireland fell upon him, and in the year 1856, the O'Briens were flung upon the world dispossessed of lands and home, though they owed no man a penny at the time. Michael O'Brien was apprenticed to a draper in Youghal, and earned, during the period of his apprenticeship, the respect and esteem of all who knew him. He was quiet and gentlemanly in manners, and his character for morality and good conduct was irreproachable. Having served out his time in [pg 26] Youghal, he went to Cork, and he spent some time as an assistant in one of the leading drapery establishments of that city. He afterwards emigrated to America, where some of his relatives were comfortably settled. Like many of the bravest of his fellow-countrymen, the outbreak of the civil war kindled a military ardour within his bosom, and O'Brien found himself unable to resist the attractions which the soldier's career possessed for him. His record throughout the war was highly honourable; his bravery and good conduct won him speedy promotion, and long before the termination of the conflict, he had risen to the rank of lieutenant. When his regiment was disbanded he recrossed the Atlantic, and returned to Cork, where he again obtained employment as assistant in one of the large commercial establishments. Here he remained until the night before the Fenian rising, when he suddenly disappeared, and all further trace was lost of him, until arrested for participation in the attack upon the prison van in Manchester.
Close by his side in the dock stood Michael Larkin, an intelligent-looking man, older looking than most of his fellow-prisoners. The following are a few facts relating to his humble history:—
"He was," writes a correspondent who knew him, "a native of the parish of Lusmagh, in the south-western corner of the King's County, where for many generations his ancestors have been residents on the Cloghan Castle estate (then in the possession of the O'Moore family), and where several of his relatives still reside; and was grandson to James Quirke, a well-to-do farmer, who was flogged and transported in '98 for complicity in the rebellion of that time, and whose name, in this part of the country, is remembered with pleasure and affection for his indomitable courage and perseverance in resisting the repeated allurements held out by the corrupt minions of the crown to induce him to become a traitor to his companions and his country. But all their importunities were vain; Quirke steadily persevered in the principles of his gallant leader, Robert Emmett. Larkin's father was a respectable tradesman, carrying on his business for [pg 27] many years in his native parish; he removed to Parsonstown, where he contrived to impart to his son Michael, a good English education, and then taught him his own profession. When Michael had attained a thorough knowledge of his business, he was employed till '58 at Parsonstown; he then went to England to improve his condition, and after some time he married, and continued to work on industriously at his business till May, '67, when he visited his native country to receive the last benediction of his dying father. He again returned to England with his wife and family, to resume his employment. After some time he was arrested for assisting to release two of his fellow-countrymen from bondage. I cannot attempt to enumerate the many good qualities of the deceased patriot: the paternal affection, exhibited from the earliest age; the mildness and affability of manner, good temper, affectionate and inoffensive disposition; his sobriety and good moral conduct—endeared him to all who had the pleasure and honour of his acquaintance. Throughout his whole life he was remarkable for his 'love of country,' and expressions of sincere regret for the miserable condition of many of his countrymen were ever on his lips. He was, in the true sense of the idea, a good son, an affectionate husband and father, and a sincere friend."
On Monday, October 28th, the three Irishmen whose lives we have glanced at were placed at the bar of the Manchester Assize Court, and formally placed on their trial for wilful murder. With them were arraigned Thomas Maguire, a private belonging to the Royal Marines, who was on furlough in Liverpool at the time of Kelly's liberation, and who was arrested merely because he happened to be an Irishman, and who, though perfectly innocent of the whole transaction, had been sworn against by numerous witnesses as a ringleader in the attack; and Edward O'Meagher Condon (alias Shore), a fine-looking Irish-American, a citizen of the State of Ohio, against whom, like his four companions, true bills had been found by the Grand Jury. It would take long to describe the paroxysms of excitement, panic, and [pg 28] agitation that raged in the English mind within the period that intervened between the committal of the prisoners and the date at which we are now arrived. Nothing was heard of but the Fenians; nothing was talked of but the diabolical plots and murderous designs they were said to be preparing. The Queen was to be shot at; Balmoral was to be burned down; the armouries had been attacked; the barracks were undermined; the gas works were to be exploded, the Bank blown up, the water poisoned. Nothing was too infernal or too wicked for the Fenians, and every hour brought some addition to the monstrous stock of canards. North and south, east and west, the English people were in a ferment of anxious alarm; and everywhere Fenianism was cursed as an unholy thing to be cut from society as an ulcerous sore—to be banned and loathed as a pestilence—a foul creation with murder in its glare, and the torch of the incendiary burning in its gory hand. Under these circumstances, there was little chance that an unprejudiced jury could be empanelled for the trial of the Irish prisoners; and their counsel, seeing the danger, sought to avent it by a motion for the postponement of the trials. The Home Secretary was memorialed on the subject, and the application was renewed before the judges in court, but the efforts to obtain justice were fruitless. The blood of the British lion was up; with bloodshot eyes and bristling mane he stood awaiting his prey, and there was danger in trifling with his rage. Even Special commissicns were voted slow, and a cry arose for martial law, Lynch law, or any law that would give the blood of the victims without hindrance or delay. So the appeal for time was spurned; the government was deaf to all remonstrance; British bloodthirstiness carried the day, and the trials proceeded without interruption.
We have not patience to rehearse calmly the story of these trials, which will long remain the reproach of British lawyers. We shall not probe the motives which led to the appointment of two such men as Justice Mellor and Justice Blackburne as Judges of the Commission, but history will be at no loss to connect the [pg 29] selection with their peculiar character on the bench. Nor shall we analyze the speeches of the Attorney-General and his colleagues, in which the passions and prejudices of the jury were so dexterously appealed to. The character of the evidence demands more study. The witnesses consisted of the policemen present at the attack, the prisoners who were locked with Kelly and Deasey in the van, and the bystanders who saw the affray or assisted in stoning the prisoners before and after they were captured. They swore with the utmost composure against the four prisoners. Allen was identified as one of the leaders, and he it was whom most of the witnesses declared to have fired through the door. On this point, indeed, as on many others, there was confusion and contradiction in the evidence: some of the witnesses were sure it was O'Brien fired through the door; others were inclined to assign the leading part to Condon; but before the trial had gone far, it seemed to be understood that Allen was the man to whom the death of Brett was to be attributed, and that the business of the witnesses was to connect the other prisoners as closely as possible with his act. On one point nearly all of the witnesses were agreed—whoever there might be any doubt about, there could be none concerning Maguire. Seven witnesses swore positively to having seen him assisting in breaking open the van, and some of them even repeated the words which they said he addressed to them while thus engaged. On the evening of Friday, November 1st, the trials terminated. It was past five o'clock when Judge Mellor concluded his charge. The court was densely crowded, and every eye was strained to mark the effect of the judge's words upon the countenances of the prisoners; but they, poor fellows, quailed not as they heard the words which they knew would shortly be followed by a verdict consigning them to the scaffold. Throughout the long trial their courage had never flagged, their spirits had never failed them for an instant. Maguire, who had no real connection with the other four, and who knew that the charge against him was a baseless concoction, did, indeed, betray traces of anxiety [pg 30] and bewilderment as the trial progressed; but Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Condon went through the frightful ordeal with a heroic display of courage to which even the most malignant of their enemies have paid tribute.
The judge has done, and now the jury turned from the box "to consider their verdict." An hour and twenty minutes they remained absent; then their returning tread was heard. The prisoners turned their eyes upwards; Maguire looked towards them, half hopefully half appealingly; from Allen's glance nothing but defiance could be read; Larkin fixed his gaze on the foreman, who held the fatal record in his hand, with calm resolution; while a quiet smile played round O'Brien's lips, as he turned to hear the expected words.
"Guilty!" The word is snatched up from the lips of the foreman of the jury, and whispered through the court. They were all "guilty." So said the jury; and a murmur of applause came rolling back in response to the verdict. "Guilty!" A few there were in that court upon whom the fatal words fell with the bitterness of death, but the Englishmen who filled the crowded gallery and passages exulted at the sound: the vengeance which they longed for was at hand.
The murmur died away; the sobs that rose from the dark recesses where a few stricken-hearted women had been permitted to stand were stifled; and then, amidst breathless silence, the voice of the Crown Clerk was heard demanding "if the prisoners had anything to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced on them."
The first to respond was Allen. A slight flush reddened his cheeks, and his eyes lit up with the fire of enthusiasm and determination, as, advancing to the front of the dock, he confronted the Court, and spoke in resolute tones as follows:—
"My Lords and Gentlemen—It is not my intention to occupy much of your time in answering your question. Your question is one that can be easily asked, but requires an answer which I am ignorant of. Abler and more eloquent men could not answer it. Where were the men who have stood in the dock—Burke, Emmett, [pg 31] and others, who have stood in the dock in defence of their country? When the question was put, what was their answer? Their answer was null and void. How, with your permission, I will review a portion of the evidence that has been brought against me."
Here Mr. Justice Blackburne interrupted. "It was too late," he said, "to criticise the evidence, and the Court had neither the right nor the power to alter or review it. If," he added, "you have any reason to give why, either upon technical or moral grounds, the sentence should not be passed upon you, we will hear it, but it is too late for you to review the evidence to show that it was wrong."
"Cannot that be done in the morning, Sir," asked Allen, who felt in his heart how easily the evidence on which he had been convicted might be torn to shreds. But the Judge said not. "No one," he said, "could alter or review the evidence in any way after the verdict had been passed by the jury. We can only" he said in conclusion, "take the verdict as right; and the only question for you is, why judgment should not follow."
Thus restricted in the scope of his observations, the young felon proceeded to deliver the following patriotic and spirited address:—
"No man in this court regrets the death of Sergeant Brett more than I do, and I positively say, in the presence of the Almighty and ever-living God, that I am innocent, aye, as innocent as any man in this court. I don't say this for the sake of mercy: I want no mercy—I'll have no mercy. I'll die, as many thousands have died, for the sake of their beloved land, and in defence of it. I will die proudly and triumphantly in defence of republican principles and the liberty of an oppressed and enslaved people. Is it possible we are asked why sentence should not be passed upon us, on the evidence of prostitutes off the streets of Manchester, fellows out of work, convicted felons—aye, an Irishman sentenced to be hung when an English dog would have got off. I say positively and defiantly, justice has not been done me since I was arrested. If justice had been done me, I would not have been handcuffed at the preliminary investigation in Bridge-street; and in this court justice has not been done me in any shape or form. I was brought up here, and all the prisoners by my side were allowed to wear overcoats, and I was told to take mine off. What is the principle of that? There was something in that principle, and I say positively that justice has not been done me. As for the other prisoners, they can speak for themselves with regard to that matter. And now [pg 32] with regard to the way I have been identified. I have to say that my clothes were kept for four hours by the policemen in Fairfield-station, and shown to parties to identify me as being one of the perpetrators of this outrage on Hyde-road. Also in Albert-station there was a handkerchief kept on my head the whole night so that I could be identified the next morning in the corridor by the witnesses. I was ordered to leave on the handkerchief for the purpose that the witnesses could more plainly see I was one of the parties who committed the outrage. As for myself, I feel the righteousness of my every art with regard to what I have done in defence of my country I fear not. I am fearless—fearless of the punishment that can be inflicted on me; and with that, my lords, I have done. (After a moment's pause)—I beg to be excused. One remark more. I return Mr. Seymour and Mr. Jones my sincere and heartfelt thanks for their able eloquence and advocacy on my part in this affair. I wish also to return to Mr. Roberts the very same. My name, sir, might be wished to be, known. It is not William O'Meara Allen. My name is William Philip Allen. I was born and reared in Bandon, in the county of Cork, and from that place I take my name; and I am proud of my country, and proud of my parentage. My lords, I have done."
A sign of mingled applause and admiration rose faintly on the air, as the gallant young Irishman, inclining his head slightly to the Court, retired to make way at the front, of the bar for one of his companions in misfortune. But his chivalrous bearing and noble words woke no response within the prejudice-hardened hearts of the majority of his auditors; they felt that the fearless words of the fearless youth would overbear all that his accusers had uttered, and that the world would read in them the condemnation, of the government and of the people whose power he so bravely defied.
Michael Larkin spoke next. He looked a shade paler than on the first day of the trial, but no want of resolution was expressed in his firm-set face. He gazed with an unquailing glance round the faces eagerly bent forward to catch his words, and then spoke in distinct tones as follows:—
"I have only got a word or two to say concerning Serjeant Brett. As my friend here said, no one could regret the man's death as much as I do. With regard to the charge of pistols and revolvers, and my using them, I call my God as a witness that I neither used pistols, revolvers, nor any instrument on that day that would deprive the life of a child, let alone a man. Nor did I go there on purpose to take life [pg 33] away. Certainly, my lords, I do not want to deny that I did go to give aid and assistance to those two noble heroes that were confined in that van—Kelly and Deasey. I did go to do as much as lay in my power to extricate them out of their bondage; but I did not go to take life, nor, my lords did anyone else. It is a misfortune there was life taken, but if it was taken it was not done intentionally, and the man who has taken life we have not got him. I was at the scene of action, when there were over, I dare say, 150 people standing by there when I was. I am very sorry I have to say, my lord, but I thought I had some respectable people to come up as witnesses against me; but I am sorry to say as my friend said. I will make no more remarks concerning that. All I have to say, my lords and gentlemen, is that so far as my trial went and the way it was conducted, I believe I have got a fair trial. So far as my noble counsel went, they done their utmost in the protection of my life; likewise, my worthy solicitor, Mr. Roberts, has done his best; but I believe as the old saying is a true one, what is decreed a man in the page of life he has to fulfil, either on the gallows, drowning, a fair death in bed, or on the battlefield. So I look to the mercy of God. May God forgive all who have sworn my life away. As I am a dying man, I forgive them from the bottom of my heart. God forgive them."
As Larkin ceased speaking, O'Brien, who stood to the right of him, moved slightly in advance, and intimated by a slight inclination to the Court his intention of addressing them. His stalwart form seemed to dilate with proud defiance and scorn as he faced the ermine-clad dignitaries who were about to consign, him to the gibbet. He spoke with emphasis, and in tones which seemed to borrow a something of the fire and spirit of his words. He said:—
"I shall commence by saying that every witness who has sworn anything against me has sworn falsely. I have not had a stone in my possession since I was a boy. I had no pistol in my possession on the day when it is alleged this outrage was committed. You call it an outrage, I don't. I say further, my name is Michael O'Brien. I was born in the county of Cork, and have the honour to be a fellow-parishioner of Peter O'Neal Crowley, who was fighting against the British troops at Mitchelstown last March, and who fell fighting against British tyranny in Ireland. I am a citizen of the United States of America, and if Charles Francis Adams had done his duty towards me, as he ought to do in this country, I would not be in this dock answering your questions now. Mr. Adams did not come though I wrote to him. He did not come to see if I could not find evidence to disprove the charge, which I positively could, if he had taken the trouble of sending or coming to see what I could do. I [pg 34] hope the American people will notice that part of the business. [The prisoner here commenced reading from a paper he held in his hand.] The right of man is freedom. The great God has endowed him with affections that he may use, not smother them, and a world that may be enjoyed. Once a man is satisfied he is doing right, and attempts to do anything with that conviction, he must be willing to face all the consequences. Ireland, with its beautiful scenery, its delightful climate, its rich and productive lands, is capable of supporting more than treble its population in ease and comfort. Yet no man, except a paid official of the British government, can say there is a shadow of liberty, that there is a spark of glad life amongst its plundered and persecuted inhabitants. It is to be hoped that its imbecile and tyrannical rulers will be for ever driven from her soil, amidst the execration of the world. How beautifully the aristocrats of England moralise on the despotism of the rulers of Italy and Dahomey—in the case of Naples with what indignation did they speak of the ruin of families by the detention of its head or some loved member in a prison. Who have not heard their condemnations of the tyranny that would compel honourable and good men to spend their useful lives in hopeless banishment."
The taunt went home to the hearts of his accusers, and, writhing under the lash thus boldly applied, Judge Blackburne hastened, to intervene. Unable to stay, on legal grounds, the torrent of scathing invective by which O'Brien was driving the blood from the cheeks of his British listeners, the judge resorted to a device which Mr. Justice Keogh had practised very adroitly, and with much success, at various of the State trials in Ireland. He appealed to the prisoner, "entirely for his own sake," to cease his remarks. "The only possible effect of your observations." he said, "must be to tell against you with those who have to consider the sentence. I advise you to say nothing more of that sort. I do so entirely for your own sake." But O'Brien was not the man to be cowed into submission by this artful representation. Possibly he discerned the motive of the interruption, and estimated at its true value the disinterestedness of Judge Blackburne's "advice." Mr. Ernest Jones in vain used his influence to accomplish the judge's object. O'Brien spurned the treacherous bait, and resolutely proceeded:—
"They cannot find words to express their horror of the cruelties of the King of Dahomey because he sacrificed 2,000 human beings yearly, but why don't those persons who pretend such virtuous [pg 35] indignation at the misgovernment of other countries look at home, and see if greater crimes than those they charge against other governments are not committed by themselves or by their sanction. Let them look at London, and see the thousands that want bread there, while those aristocrats are rioting in luxuries and crimes. Look to Ireland; see the hundreds of thousands of its people in misery and want. See the virtuous, beautiful, and industrious women who only a few years ago—aye, and yet—are obliged to look at their children dying for want of food. Look at what is called the majesty of the law on one side, and the long deep misery of a noble people on the other. Which are the young men of Ireland to respect—the law that murders or banishes their people, or the means to resist relentless tyranny and ending their miseries for ever under a home government? I need not answer that question here. I trust the Irish people will answer it to their satisfaction soon. I am not astonished at my conviction. The government of this country have the power of convicting any person. They appoint the judge; they choose the jury; and by means of what they call patronage (which is the means of corruption) they have the power of making the laws to suit their purposes. I am confident that my blood will rise a hundredfold against the tyrants who think proper to commit such an outrage. In the first place, I say I was identified improperly, by having chains on my hands and feet at the time of identification, and thus the witnesses who have sworn to my throwing stones and firing a pistol have sworn to what is false, for I was, as those ladies said, at the jail gates. I thank my counsel for their able defence, and also Mr. Roberts, for his attention to my case."
Edward Maguire spoke next. He might well have felt bewildered at the situation in which he found himself, but he spoke earnestly and collectedly, nevertheless. He had had an experience of British law which, if not without precedent, was still extraordinary enough to create amazement. He knew that he had never been a Fenian; he knew that he never saw Colonel Kelly—never heard of him until arrested for assisting in his liberation; he knew that while the van was being attacked at Bellevue, he was sitting in his own home, miles away; and he knew that he had never in his life placed his foot in the scene of the rescue; yet there he found himself convicted by regular process of law, of the murder of Constable Brett. He had seen witness after witness enter the box, and deliberately swear they saw him take a prominent part in the rescue. He saw policemen and civilians coolly identify him as a ringleader in the affair; he had heard the Crown lawyers [pg 36] weave round him the subtle meshes of their logic; and now he found himself pronounced guilty by the jury, in the teeth of the overwhelming array of unimpeachable evidence brought forward in his defence. What "the safeguards of the Constitution" mean—what "the bulwark of English freedom," and "the Palladium of British freedom" are worth, when Englishmen fill the jury-box and an Irishman stands in the dock, Maguire had had a fair opportunity of judging. Had he been reflectively inclined, he might, too, have found himself compelled to adopt a rather low estimate of the credibility of English witnesses, when they get an opportunity of swearing away an Irishman's life. An impetuous man might have been goaded by the circumstances into cursing the atrocious system under which "justice" had been administered to him, and calling down the vengeance of Heaven on the whole nation from which the perjured wretches who swore away his life had been drawn. But Maguire acted more discreetly; he began, indeed, by declaring that all the witnesses who swore against him were perjurers—by vehemently protesting that the case, as regarded him, was one of mistaken identity; but he shortly took surer ground, by referring to his services in the navy, and talking of his unfailing loyalty to "his Queen and his country." He went through the record of his services as a marine; appealed to the character he had obtained from his commanding officers, in confirmation of his words: and concluded by solemnly protesting his perfect innocence of the charge on which he had been convicted.
While Maguire's impressive words were still ringing in the ears of his conscience-stricken accusers, Edward O'Meagher Condon commenced to speak. He was evidently more of an orator than either of those who had preceded him, and he spoke with remarkable fluency, grace, and vigour. The subjoined is a correct report of his spirited and able address:—
"My Lords—this has come upon me somewhat by surprise. It appeared to me rather strange that upon any amount of evidence, which of course was false, a man could have been convicted of [pg 37] wilfully murdering others he never saw or heard of before he was put in prison. I do not care to detain your lordships, but I cannot help remarking that Mr. Shaw, who has come now to gloat upon his victims, alter having sworn away their lives—that man has sworn what is altogether false; and there are contradictions in the depositions which have not been brought before your lordships' notice. I suppose the depositions being imperfect, there was no necessity for it. As to Mr. Batty, he swore at his first examination before the magistrates that a large stone fell on me, a stone which Mr. Roberts said at the time would have killed an elephant. But not the slightest mark was found on my head; and if I was to go round the country, and him with me, as exhibiting the stone having fallen on me, and him as the man who would swear to it, I do not know which would be looked for with the most earnestness. However, it has been accepted by the jury. Now he says he only thinks so. There is another matter to consider. I have been sworn to, I believe, by some of the witnesses who have also sworn to others, though some of them can prove they were in another city altogether—in Liverpool. Others have an overwhelming alibi, and I should by right have been tried with them; but I suppose your lordships cannot help that. We have, for instance, Thomas, the policeman, who swore to another prisoner. He identified him on a certain day, and the prisoner was not arrested for two days afterwards. As for Thomas, I do not presume that any jury could have believed him. He had heard of the blood-money, and of course was prepared to bid pretty high for it. My alibi has not been strong, and unfortunately I was not strong in pocket, and was not able to produce more testimony to prove where I was at exactly that time. With regard to the unfortunate man who has lost his life, I sympathize with him and his family as deeply as your lordships or the jury, or anyone in the court. I deeply regret the unfortunate occurrence, but I am as perfectly innocent of his blood as any man. I never had the slightest intention of taking life. I have done nothing at all in connection with that man, and I do not desire to be accused of a murder which I have not committed. With regard to another matter, my learned counsel has, no doubt for the best, expressed some opinions on these matters and the misgovernment to which my country has been subjected. I am firmly convinced there is prejudice in the minds of the people, and it has been increased and excited by the newspapers, or by some of them, and to a certain extent has influenced the minds of the jury to convict the men standing in this dock, on a charge of which—a learned gentleman remarked a few nights since—they would be acquitted if they had been charged with murdering an old woman for the sake of the money in her pocket, but a political offence of this kind they could not. Now, sir, with regard to the opinions I hold on national matters—with regard to those men who have been released from that van, in which, unfortunately, life was lost, I am of opinion that certainly to some extent there was an excess. Perhaps it was unthought, but if those men had been in other countries, occupying [pg 38] other positions—if Jefferson Davis had been released in a northern city, there would have been a cry of applause throughout all England. If Garibaldi, who I saw before I was shut out from the world had been arrested, was released, or something of that kind had taken place, they would have applauded the bravery of the act. If the captives of King Theodore had been released, that too would have been applauded. But, as it happened to be in England, of course it is an awful thing, while yet in Ireland murders are perpetrated on unoffending men, as in the case of the riots in Waterford, where an unoffending man was murdered, and no one was punished for it. I do not desire to detain your lordships. I can only say that I leave this world without a stain on my conscience that I have been wilfully guilty of anything in connexion with the death of Sergeant Brett. I am totally guiltless. I leave this world without malice to anyone. I do not accuse the jury, but I believe they were prejudiced. I don't accuse them of wilfully wishing to convict, but prejudice has induced them to convict when they otherwise would not have done. With reference to the witnesses, every one of them has sworn falsely. I never threw a stone or fired a pistol; I was never at the place, as they have said; it is all totally false. But as I have to go before my God. I forgive them. They will be able to meet me, some day, before that God who is to judge us all, and then they and the people in this Court, and everyone, will know who tells the truth. Had I committed anything against the Crown of England, I would have scorned myself had I attempted to deny it; but with regard to those men, they have sworn what is altogether false. Had I been an Englishman, and arrested near the scene of that disturbance, I would have been brought as a witness to identify them; but being an Irishman, it was supposed my sympathy was with them, and on suspicion of that sympathy I was arrested, and in consequence of the arrest, and the rewards which were offered, I was identified. It could not be otherwise. As I said before, my opinions on national matters do not at all relate to the case before your lordships. We have been found guilty, and, as a matter of course we accept our death as gracefully as possible. We are not afraid to die—at least I am not."
"Nor I," "Nor I," "Nor I," swelled up from the lips of his companions, and then, with a proud smile, Condon continued:—
"I have no sin or stain upon me; and I leave this world at peace with all. With regard to the other prisoners who are to be tried afterwards, I hope our blood at least will satisfy the cravings for it. I hope our blood will be enough, and that those men who I honestly believe are guiltless of the blood of that man—that the other batches will get a fair, free, and a more impartial trial. We view matters in a different light from what the jury do. We have been imprisoned, and have not had the advantage of understanding exactly to what this excitement has led. I can only hope and pray [pg 39] that this prejudice will disappear—that my poor country will right herself some day, and that her people, so far from being looked upon with scorn and aversion, will receive what they are entitled to, the respect not only of the civilized world, but of Englishmen. I, too, am an American citizen, and on English territory I have committed no crime which makes me amenable to the crown of England. I have done nothing; and, as a matter of course, I did expect protection—as this gentleman (pointing to Allen) has said, the protection of the ambassador of my government. I am a citizen of the State of Ohio; but I am sorry to say my name is not Shore. My name is Edward O'Meagher Condon. I belong to Ohio, and there are loving hearts there that will be sorry for this. I have nothing but my best wishes to send them, and my best feelings, and assure them I can die as a Christian and an Irishman; and that I am not ashamed or afraid of anything I have done, or the consequences, before God or man. They would be ashamed of me if I was in the slightest degree a coward, or concealed my opinions. The unfortunate divisions of our countrymen in America, have, to a certain extent, neutralized the efforts that we have made either in one direction or another for the liberation of our country. All these things have been thwarted, and as a matter of course we must only submit to our fate. I only trust again, that those who are to be tried after us, will have a fair trial, and that our blood will satisfy the craving which I understand exists. You will soon send us before God, and I am perfectly prepared to go. I have nothing to regret, or to retract, or take back. I can only say, GOD SAVE IRELAND."
Again were the voices of his companions raised in unison. "God save Ireland!" they cried defiantly, in chorus. "God save Ireland!" The cry rung through the packed justice-hall, and fell on the ears of its blood-thirsty occupants like the voice of an accusing angel. "God save Ireland," they said; and then the brave-hearted fellows gazed fiercely around the hostile gathering, as if daring them to interfere with the prayer. "God save Ireland!"—from the few broken-hearted relatives who listened to the patriots' prayer the responsive "Amen" was breathed back, and the dauntless young Irishman continued:—
"I wish to add a word or two. There is nothing in the close of my political career which I regret. I don't know of one act which could bring the blush of shame to my face, or make me afraid to meet my God or fellow-man. I would be most happy, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to die on the field for my country in defence of her liberty. As it is, I cannot die on the field, but I can die on the scaffold, I hope, as a soldier, a man, and a Christian."
[pg 40]
And now the last was spoken. As true Irishmen and as true patriots they had borne themselves. No trace of flinching did they give for their enemies to gloat over—no sign of weakness which could take from the effect of their deathless words. With bold front and steady mien they stood forward to listen to the fatal decree their judges were ready to pronounce. The judges produced the black caps, with which they had come provided, and then Justice Mellor proceeded to pass sentence. No person, he said, who had witnessed the proceedings could doubt the propriety of the verdict, which, he insisted, was the result of "a full, patient, and impartial investigation." He made no distinction. "I am perfectly convinced," he said, "that all of you had resolved, at any risk, and by any amount of dangerous violence and outrage, to accomplish your object; and that, in fact, Charles Brett was murdered because it was essential to the completion of your common design that he should be." The stereotyped words of exhortation to repentance followed, and then the judge concluded:—
"The sentence is that you, and each of you, be taken hence to the place whence you came, and thence to a place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you shall be dead, and that your bodies be afterwards buried within the precincts of the prison wherein you were last confined after your respective convictions; and may God, in His infinite mercy, have mercy upon you."
With quiet composure the doomed men heard the words. They warmly shook hands with their counsel, thanked them for their exertions, and then, looking towards the spot where their weeping friends were seated, they turned to leave the dock. "God be with you, Irishmen and Irishwomen!" they cried and, as they disappeared from the court, their final adieu was heard in the same prayer that had swelled upwards to heaven from them before—
"GOD SAVE IRELAND!"
[pg 41]

"GOD SAVE IRELAND!"
[pg 42]
Scarcely had the Manchester courthouse ceased to echo those voices from the dock, when the glaring falseness of the verdict became the theme of comment amongst [pg 43] even the most thoroughgoing Englishmen who had been present throughout the trial.
Without more ado, down sate some thirty or forty reporters, who, as representatives of the English metropolitan and provincial press, had attended the Commission, and addressed a memorial to the Home Secretary, stating that they had been long accustomed to attend at trials on capital charges; that they had extensive experience of such cases, from personal observation of prisoners in the dock and witnesses on the table; and that they were solemnly convinced, the swearing of the witnesses and the verdict of the jury to the contrary notwithstanding, that the man Maguire had neither hand, act, nor part in the crime for which he had been sentenced to death. The following is the petition referred to:—
We, the undersigned members of the metropolitan and provincial Press, having had long experience in courts of justice, and full opportunity of observing the demeanour of prisoners and witnesses in cases of criminal procedure, beg humbly to submit that, having heard the evidence adduced before the Special Commission, on the capital charge preferred against Thomas Maguire, private in the Royal Marines, we conscientiously believe that the said Thomas Maguire is innocent of the crime of which he has been convicted, and that his conviction has resulted from mistaken identity. We, therefore, pray that you will be pleased to advise her Majesty to grant her most gracious pardon to the said Thomas Maguire.
This was a startling event; it was a proceeding utterly without precedent. Nothing but the most extraordinary circumstances could have called it forth. The blunder of the jury must have been open, glaring, painfully notorious, indeed, when such an astonishing course was adopted by the whole staff of the English Press.
It was most embarrassing. For what had those newspaper reporters seen or heard that the jurors had not seen and heard?—and yet the jurors said Maguire was guilty. What had those reporters seen or heard that the judges had not seen and heard?—and yet the judges said they "fully concurred in the verdict of the jury." The reporters were not sworn on the Evangelists of God to give a true deliverance—but the jurors were. [pg 44] The reporters were not sworn to administer justice—were not dressed in ermine—were not bound to be men of legal ability, judicial calmness, wisdom, and impartiality—but the judges were. Yet the unsworn reporters told the government Maguire was an innocent man; while judge and jury told the government—swore to it—that he was a guilty murderer!
What was the government to do? Was it to act on the verdict of newspaper reporters who had happened to be present at this trial, and not on the verdict of the jury who had been solemnly sworn in the case? Behind the reporters' verdict lay the huge sustaining power of almost universal conviction, mysteriously felt and owned, though as yet nowhere expressed. Everyone who had calmly and dispassionately weighed the evidence, arrived at conclusions identical with those of the Press jury, and utterly opposed to those of the sworn jury. The ministers themselves—it was a terribly embarassing truth to own—felt that the reporters were as surely right as the jurors were surely wrong. But what were they to do? What a frightful imputation would public admission of that fact cast upon the twelve sworn jurors—upon the two judges? What a damning imputation on their judgment or their impartiality! Was it to be admitted that newspaper reporters could be right in a case so awful, where twelve sworn jurors and two judges were wrong?
And then, look at the consequences. The five men were convicted in the one verdict. There were not five separate verdicts, but one indivisible verdict. If the (jurors') verdict were publicly vitiated—if the government confessed or admitted that verdict to be false—it was not one man, but five men, who were affected by it. To be sure the reporters' jury, in their verdict, did not include Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Shore; but was it to be conveyed by implication that omission from the reporters' verdict of acquittal was more fatal to a man than inclusion in the verdict of guilty by a sworn jury? Might not twenty, or thirty, or forty men, quite as intelligent as the reporters, be soon forthcoming to testify as forcibly of Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Shore, as the [pg 45] Press-men had testified of Maguire? Was it only reporters whose judgment could set aside the verdict of sworn jurors, endorsed by ermined judges? But, in any event, the five men were convicted by the one verdict. To cut that, loosed all—not necessarily in law, perhaps, but inevitably as regarded public conscience and universal judgment; for there was not in all the records of English jurisprudence a precedent for executing men on a verdict acknowledged to have been one of blunder or perjury. Clearly, if the jurors were to be told by the government that, in a case where life and death hung on the issue, they had been so blinded by excitement, passion, or prejudice, that they declared to be a guilty murderer a man whose innocence was patent even to unofficial lookers-on in court, the moral value of such a verdict was gone—ruined for ever; and to hang anyone on such a verdict—on that identical verdict, thus blasted and abandoned—would, it was pointed out, be murder, for all its technical legality; neither more nor less, morally, than cool, deliberate, cold-blooded murder.
Everybody saw this; but everyone in England saw also the awkward difficulty of the case. For, to let Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Shore go free of death, in the face of their admitted complicity in the rescue, would baulk the national demand for vengeance. It was necessary that some one should be executed. Here were men who, though they almost certainly had had no hand in causing, even accidentally, the death of Brett, dared to boast of their participation in the affray in the course of which that lamentable event unhappily occurred—that rescue which had so painfully wounded and humiliated English national pride. If these men were saved from execution, owing to any foolish scruples about hanging a possibly—nay, probably—innocent man along with them, a shout of rage would ascend from that virtuous nation amongst whom Charlotte Winsor, the professional infant-murderess, walks a free woman, notwithstanding a jury's verdict of wilful murder and a judge's sentence of death.
So, for a time it seemed that, notwithstanding the [pg 46] verdict of the reporters, the government would act upon the verdict of the jury, and assume it to be correct. No doubt Maguire might be innocent, but it was his misfortune to be included in an indivisible verdict with other men, who, though perhaps as guiltless as he of wilful murder, were surely guilty of riot and rescue, aggravated by the utterance of the most bitter reflections on the British Constitution, which all men know to be the "envy of surrounding nations." If they were not guilty of the crime laid against them on the trial, they were guilty of something else—they had outraged British pride. It was necessary they should die; and as Maguire's verdict was not separate from theirs, he must die too, rather than that they should escape.
But after a while the idea gained ground in England that this would be rather too monstrous a proceeding. Maguire's utter innocence of any participation whatsoever in the rescue was too notorious. The character of the witnesses on whose evidence he was convicted became known: some were thieves, pickpockets, or gaol-birds of some other denomination; others were persons palpably confused by panic, excitement, passion, or prejudice. True, these same witnesses were those who likewise swore against Allen, Larkin, O'Brien and Shore. Indeed, a greater number swore against Maguire than against some of the others. Nevertheless, the overwhelming notoriety of the jury's blunder or perjury, in at least his case, became daily more and more an obstacle to his execution; and eventually, on the 21st of November, it was announced that his conviction had been cancelled, by the only means existing under the perfect laws of Great Britain—namely, a "free pardon" for a crime never committed. The prison doors were opened for Maguire; the sworn jurors were plainly told in effect that their blunder or perjury had well-nigh done the murder of at least one innocent man. The judges were in like manner told that shorthand-writers had been more clear-headed or dispassionate to weigh evidence and judge guilt than they. The indivisible verdict had been openly proclaimed worthless.
[pg 47]
The news was received with a sense of relief in Ireland, where the wholesale recklessness of the swearing, and the transparent falseness of the verdict had, from the first, created intense indignation and resentment. Everyone knew and saw that, whatever might have been the participation of those men in the rescue of Colonel Kelly, they had not had a fair trial; nay, that their so-called trial was an outrage on all law and justice; that witnesses, jurors and judges, were in the full fierce heat of excitement, panic, and passion—much more ready to swear evidence, to find verdicts, and to pass sentences against innocent men than they themselves were, perhaps, conscious of while labouring under such influences. The public and official recognition of the falseness and injustice of the Manchester verdict was therefore hailed with intense satisfaction.
Maguire was at once liberated; Allen, Larkin, Shore, and O'Brien were still detained in custody. It was universally concluded that, notwithstanding the abandonment by the Crown of the verdict on which they had been sentenced, they, because of their admitted complicity in the rescue, would be held to imprisonment—probably penal servitude—for a term of years. Considerable astonishment was excited, some days subsequently to Maguire's pardon, by a statement that, in the case of the other prisoners included in the verdict, "the law should take its course." No one credited this declaration for an instant, and most persons felt that the Crown officials were indulging in an indecent piece of mockery. Amidst this universal incredulity, however—this disdainful and indignant disbelief—the prisoners' solicitor, Mr. Roberts, vigilant and untiring to the last, took the necessary steps to pray arrest of execution pending decision of the serious law points raised on the trial. Some of the most eminent counsel in England certified solemnly that these points were of the gravest nature, and would, in their opinion, be fully established on argument before the judges; in which event the conviction would be legally quashed, independently of the substantial abandonment of it as false and untenable by the Crown in Maguire's case.
[pg 48]
The first idea of the merest possibility—the faintest chance—of the remaining four men being executed on the vitiated verdict, arose when it became known that the judges, or some of them, had informally declared to the government (without waiting to hear any argument on the subject) that the points raised by the prisoners' counsel were not tenable, or were not of force. Mr. Roberts was officially informed that the sentence would infallibly be carried out. By this time barely a few days remained of the interval previous to the date fixed for the execution, and the strangest sensations swayed the public mind in Ireland. Even still, no one would seriously credit that men would be put to death on a verdict notoriously false. Some persons who proposed memorials to the Queen were met on all hands with the answer that it was all "acting" on the part of the government; that, even though it should be at the foot of the scaffold, the men would be reprieved; that the government would not—dare not—take away human life on a verdict already vitiated and abandoned as a perjury or blunder.
The day of doom approached; and now, as it came nearer and nearer, a painful and sickening alternation of incredulity and horror surged through every Irish heart. Meanwhile, the Press of England, on both sides of the Channel, kept up a ceaseless cry for blood. The government were told that to let these men off, innocent or guilty, would be "weakness." They were called upon to be "firm"—that is, to hang first, and reflect afterwards. As the 23rd of November drew near, the opinion began to gain ground, even in England, that things had been too hastily done—that the whole trial bore all the traces of panic—and that, if a few weeks were given for alarm and passion to calm down, not a voice would approve the Manchester verdict. Perceiving this—perceiving that time or opportunity for reflection, or for the subsidence of panic, would almost certainly snatch its prey from vengeance—a deafening yell arose from the raving creatures of blood-hunger, demanding that not a day, not an hour, not a second, should be granted to the condemned.
[pg 49]
Still the Irish people would not credit that, far towards the close of the nineteenth century, an act so dreadful durst be done.
During all this time the condemned lay in Salford gaol, tortured by the suspense inevitably created by Maguire's reprieve. Although every effort was made by their friends to keep them from grasping at or indulging in hope, the all-significant fact of that release seemed to imperatively forbid the idea of their being executed on a verdict whose falseness was thus confessed. The moment, however, that the singular conduct of the judges in London defeated the application of Mr. Roberts, they, one and all, resigned themselves to the worst; and while their fellow-countrymen at home were still utterly and scornfully incredulous on the subject, devoted their remaining hours exclusively to spiritual preparation for death upon the scaffold.
It was now that each character "rushed to its index." It was now—within the very shadow of death—in the most awful crisis that can test the soul—that these men rose into the grandeur and sublimity of true heroism. They looked death in the face with serene and cheerful composure. So far from requiring consolation, it was they who strove most earnestly to console the grieving friends they were leaving behind; imploring of them to exhibit resignation to the will of God, and assuring them that, ignominious as was death upon the gallows, and terrible as was the idea of suffering such a fate unjustly, it was "not hard to die" with a clear and tranquil conscience, as they were dying, for the cause of native land.
It may be questioned whether the martyrology of any nation in history can exhibit anything more noble, more edifying—more elevating and inspiring—than the last hours of these doomed Irishmen. Their every thought, their every utterance, was full of tenderness and holiness—full of firmness and cheerful acceptance of God's will. The farewell letters addressed by them to their relatives and friends—from which we take a few—amply illustrate the truth of the foregoing observations. Here is O'Brien's last letter to his brother:—
[pg 50]
New Bailey Prison, Salford,
Nov. 14th, 1867.
My dear brother—I have been intending to write to you for some time, but having seen a letter from a Mr. Moore, addressed to the governor of this prison, and knowing from that that you must be in a disagreeable state of suspense, I may therefore let you know how I am at once. With reference to the trial and all connected with it, it was unfair from beginning to end; and if I should die in consequence it will injure my murderers more than it will injure me. Why should I fear to die, innocent as I am of the charge which a prejudiced jury, assisted by perjured witnesses, found me guilty of? I will do judge and jury the justice of saying they believed me guilty of being—a citizen of the United States, a friend to liberty, a hater of relentless cruelty, and therefore no friend to the British government, as it exists in our beautiful island. I must say, though much I would like to live, that I cannot regret dying in the cause of Liberty and Ireland. It has been made dear to me by the sufferings of its people, by the martyrdom and exile of its best and noblest sons. The priest, the scholar, the soldier, the saint, have suffered and died, proudly, nobly: and why should I shrink from death in a cause made holy and glorious by the numbers of its martyrs and the heroism of its supporters, as well as by its justice? You don't, and never shall, forget that Peter O'Neill Crowley died only a short time since, in this cause.
"Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illum'd by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all who have risen
On liberty's ruins to fame."
I should feel ashamed of my manhood if I thought myself capable of doing anything mean to save my life, to get out of here, or for any other selfish purpose. Let no man think a cause is lost because some suffer for it. It is only a proof that those who suffer are in earnest, and should be an incentive to others to be equally so—to do their duty with firmness, justice, and disinterestedness. I feel confident of the ultimate success of the Irish cause, as I do of my own existence. God, in His great mercy and goodness, will strengthen the arm of the patriot, and give him wisdom to free his country. Let us hope that He, in His wisdom, is only trying our patience. The greater its sufferings, the more glorious will He make the future of our unfortunate country and its people.
The shriek of the famine-stricken mother and the helpless infant, as well as the centuries of misery, call to heaven for vengeance. God is slow, but just! The blood of Tone, Fitzgerald, Emmett, and others has been shed—how much good has it done the tyrant and the robber? None. Smith O'Brien, McManus, and Mitchel suffered for Ireland, yet not their sufferings, nor those of O'Donovan (Bossa) and his companions, deterred Burke, McAfferty, and their friends from doing their duty. Neither shall the sufferings of my companions, nor mine, hinder my countrymen from taking their [pg 51] part in the inevitable struggle, but rather nerve their arms to strike. I would write on this subject at greater length, but I hope that I have written enough to show you that if a man dies for liberty, his memory lives in the breasts of the good and virtuous. You will also see that there is no necessity for my father, mother, sisters or relations fretting about me. When I leave this world it will be (with God's help) to go to a better, to join the angels and saints of God, and sing His praises for all eternity. I leave a world of suffering for one of eternal joy and happiness. I have been to Holy Communion, and, please God, intend going shortly again. I am sorry we cannot hear Mass; the good priest is not allowed to say it in this prison.
Give my love to my father and mother, to Mary, Ellen, John Phillips, Tim, Catherine, uncles, aunts, and cousins.
Farewell.
From your affectionate brother,
MICHAEL O'BRIEN (alias William Gould).
The following is one of Allen's letters to his relatives, written the day before his execution:—
Salford, New Bailey Prison, Nov. 23rd, 1867.
TO YOU, MY LOVING AND SINCERE DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT HOGAN,
I suppose this is my last letter to you at this side of the grave. Oh, dear uncle and aunt, if you reflect on it, it is nothing. I am dying an honourable death: I am dying for Ireland—dying for the land that gave me birth—dying for the Island of Saints—and dying for liberty. Every generation of our countrymen has suffered; and where is the Irish heart could stand by unmoved? I should like to know what trouble, what passion, what mischief could separate the true Irish heart from its own native isle. Dear uncle and aunt, it is sad to be parting you all, at my early age; but we must all die some day or another. A few hours more and I will breathe my last, and on English soil. Oh, that I could be buried in Ireland! What a happiness it would be to all my friends, and to myself—where my countrymen could kneel on my grave. I cannot express what joy it afforded me, when I found Aunt Sarah and you were admitted. Dear uncle, I am sure it was not a very pleasant place I had to receive you and my aunt; but we must put up with all trials until we depart this life. I am sure it will grieve you very much to leave me in such a place, on the evidence of such characters as the witnesses were that swore my life away. But I forgive them, and may God forgive them. I am dying, thank God! an Irishman and a Christian. Give my love to all friends; same from your ever affectionate nephew,
W.P. ALLEN.
Pray for us. Good bye, and remember me. Good bye, and may heaven protect ye, is the last wish of your dying nephew,
W.P. ALLEN.
[pg 52]
Larkin was the only one of the condemned four who was married. There were to weep his fall, besides his aged parents, a devoted wife and three little children—all young; and it redounds rather to his honour, that though flinching in nowise, lacking nought in courageous firmness, home ties were painfully strong around his heart. With him it was anguish indeed to part for ever the faithful wife and the little ones who used to nestle in his bosom. Ah! he was never more to feel those little arms twining round his neck—never more to see those infant faces gazing into his own—never more to part the flaxen curls over each unfurrowed brow! Henceforth they would look for his coming and hearken for his footfall in vain! They would call upon him, and be answered only by the convulsive sobs of their widowed mother. And who would now fill his place for them, even as bread-winner? Mayhap, when he lay in the grave, these cherished little ones, for whom he would draw the life-blood from his heart, would feel the hunger-pangs of orphanage in squalid misery and obscurity! But no. If such a thought approached Larkin's heart, it was at once repelled. Assuredly, he had more faith in his countrymen—more faith in the fidelity and generosity of his race—than to believe they would suffer one of those orphans to want loving, helping, guiding hands. As he himself said, he was not, after all, leaving them fatherless; he was bequeathing them to Ireland and to God.
And the Father of the Fatherless, even on the instant, raised up a friend for them—sent an angel missioner of blessed comfort to give poor Larkin, even on the brink of the grave, assurance that no pang of poverty should ever wound those little ones thus awfully bereaved. One day the confessor met the prisoners with beaming face, holding in his hand a letter. It was from the Dowager Marchioness of Queensbury, to the condemned Irishmen in Salford gaol, and ran as follows:—
MY DEAR FRIENDS—
It may be that those few lines may minister some consolation to you on your approaching departure from this world. I [pg 53] send you by the hands of a faithful messenger some help for your wife, or wives, and children, in their approaching irreparable loss, and with the assurance that so long as I live they shall be cared for to the utmost of my power.
Mr. M'Donnell, the bearer of this for me, will bring me their address, and the address of the priest who attends you.
It will also be a comfort for your precious souls, to know that we remember you here at the altar of God. where the daily remembrance of that all-glorious sacrifice on Calvary, for you all, is not neglected.
We have daily Mass for you here; and if it be so that it please the good God to permit you thus to be called to Himself on Saturday morning, the precious body and blood of our Lord and Saviour and our Friend will be presented for you before God, at eight o'clock, on that day—that blood so precious, that cleanses from all sin. May your last words and thoughts be Jesus. Rest on Him, who is faithful, and willing and all-powerful to save. Rest on Him, and on His sacrifice on that Cross for you, instead of you, and hear Him say, "To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise." Yet will we remember your souls constantly at the altar of God, after your departure, as well as those whom you leave in life.
Farewell! and may Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners, save us all, and give you His last blessing upon earth, and an eternal continuance of it in heaven.
CAROLINE QUEENSBURY.
This letter enclosed £100. On hearing it read, poor Larkin burst into tears; the other prisoners also were deeply affected. Surely, never was act more noble! Never was woman's sex more exalted—never was woman's mission more beautifully exemplified, than by this glorious act of bravery, tenderness, and generosity.
Two days before the fatal 23rd, the calm resignation which the condemned by this time enjoyed was once more cruelly disturbed, and almost destroyed. Once again the government came to fill their hearts with the torturing hope, if not, indeed, the strong conviction, that after all, even though it should be at the foot of the gallows, they would one and all be reprieved. Another man of the five included in the vitiated verdict was reprieved—Shore was to have his sentence commuted.
This second reprieve was the most refined and subtle torture to men who had made up their minds for the worst, and who, by God's strengthening gracs, had already become, as it were, dead to the world. It [pg 54] rendered the execution of the remaining men almost an impossibility. Maguire notoriously was innocent even of complicity in the rescue—the verdict of the sworn jury, concurred in by the "learned judge," to the contrary notwithstanding. But Shore was avowedly a full participator in the rescue. He was no more, no less, guilty than Allen, Larkin, O'Brien. In the dock he proudly gloried in the fact. What wonder if the hapless three, as yet unrespited, found the wild hope of life surging irresistibly through heart and brain!
To the eternal honour of the artisans of London be it told, they signalized themselves in this crisis by a humanity, a generosity, that will not soon be forgotten by Irishmen. At several crowded meetings they adopted memorials to the government, praying for the respite of the condemned Irishmen—or rather, protesting against their contemplated execution. These memorials were pressed with a devoted zeal that showed how deeply the honest hearts of English working-men were stirred; but the newspaper press—the "high class" press especially—the enlightened "public instructors"—howled at, reviled, and decried these demonstrations of humanity. The Queen's officials treated the petitions and petitioners with corresponding contempt; and an endeavour to approach the Sovereign herself, then at Windsor; resulted in the contumelious rejection from the palace gate of the petitioners, who were mobbed and hooted by the tradesmen and flunkeys of the royal household!
In Ireland, however, as might be supposed, the respite of Shore was accepted as settling the question: there would be no execution. On the 21st of November men heard, indeed, that troops were being poured into Manchester, that the streets were being barricaded, that the public buildings were strongly guarded, and that special constables were being sworn in by thousands. All this was laughed at as absurd parade. Ready as were Irishmen to credit England with revengeful severity, there was, in their opinion, nevertheless, a limit even to that. To hang Allen, O'Brien, and Larkin now, on the broken-down verdict, would, it was judged, be a measure of outrage [pg 55] which even the fiercest hater of England would frankly declare too great for her.
A few there were, however, who did not view the situation thus. They read in the respite of Shore, fear; and they gloomily reflected that justice or magnanimity towards the weak seldom characterizes those who exhibit cowardice towards the strong. Shore was an American. By this simple sentence a flood of light is thrown on the fact of respiting him alone amongst the four men admittedly concerned in the rescue. Shore was an American. He had a country to avenge him if legally slaughtered on a vitiated verdict. To hang him was dangerous; but as for Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien, they had no country (in the same sense) to avenge them. America was strong, but Ireland was weak. If it was deemed dangerous to sport with the life of the American, it was deemed safe to be brutal and merciless towards the Irishmen. On these the full arrear of British vengeance might be glutted.
But there were not many to discern, in the first flush of its proclamation, this sinister aspect of Shore's respite. The news reached Ireland on Friday, 22nd November, and was, as we have already said, generally deemed conclusive evidence that the next day would bring like news in reference to Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien.
Early next morning—Saturday, 23rd November, 1867—men poured into the cities and towns of Ireland reached by telegraphic communication, to learn "the news from Manchester." Language literally fails to convey an idea of the horror—the stupefaction—that ensued when that news was read:—
"This morning, at eight o'clock, the three condemned Fenians, Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien, were executed in front of Sulford Gaol."
Men gasped in awe-struck horror—speech seemed denied them. Could it be a dream, or was this a reality? Had men lived to see the day when such a deed could be done? For the reason that incredulity had been so strong before, wild, haggard horror now sat on every countenance, and froze the life-blood in every heart. [pg 56] Irishmen had lain quiescent, persuaded that in this seventh decade of the nineteenth century, some humanizing influences would be found to sway that power that in the past, at least, had ever been so merciless to Irish victims. But now! Alas!—
In that dreadful hour the gulf between the two nations seemed widened and deepened, until it gaped and yawned wide, deep, and dark as hell itself. There was a scowl on every brow. Men went about—sullen, moody, silent, morose—with clenched teeth and darkened faces, terrible passions raging in their bosoms. For all knew that the sacrifice of those three Irish patriots was a cold-blooded and cowardly act of English policy, more than a judicial proceeding—an act of English panic, cowardice, hate, and terror. All knew that Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien would never have been hanged on the evidence of those forsworn witnesses, and on the verdict of that jury whose perjury or blunder was openly confessed and proclaimed, but for the political aspirations and designs of which the rescue was judged to be an illustration. Had their offence been non-political, they would not have been held a day on such a verdict. They were put to death for their political opinions. They were put to death for political reasons. Their execution was meant to strike terror into Irishmen daring to mutter of liberty. Had they been Americans, like Shore, they would have been respited; but as they were Irishmen, they were immolated.
The full story of how those patriots met their fate at the last reached Ireland two days afterwards, and intensified a thousandfold the national emotions. Men were alternately melted into tears or maddened into passion as they read that sad chapter of Irish martyrdom.
Even before the respite of Shore the government had commenced the most formidable military preparations in view of the bloody act of State policy designed for the 23rd. Troops were hurried by rail to all the English cities and towns where an "Irish element" existed; and Manchester itself resembled a city besieged. The authorities called for "special constables," and, partly attracted [pg 57] by the plenteous supply of drink and free feeding;1 and partly impelled by their savage fury against the "Hirish" or the "Fenians,"—suddenly become convertible terms with English writers and speakers—a motley mass of several thousands, mainly belonging to the most degraded of the population, were enrolled. All the streets in the neighbourhood of the prison were closed against public traffic, were occupied by police or "specials," and were crossed at close intervals by ponderous wooden barriers. Positions commanding the space in front of the scaffold were strategetically scanned, "strengthened," and occupied by military. The scaffold was erected in a space or gap made in the upper part of the outer or boundary wall of the prison in New Bailey-street. The masonry was removed to the width necessary for the scaffold, which was then projected over the street, at the outer side of the wall. It was approached or ascended from the prison yard below, by a long wooden stair or stepladder, close alongside the wall on the inside. Against the wall on the inner side, on either hand of the scaffold, were erected platforms within about four feet below the wall coping. These platforms were filled with soldiers, "crouching down," as the reporters described, "with the muzzles of their rifles just resting on the top of the wall." The space in the street immediately beneath the scaffold was railed off by a strong wooden barrier, and outside this barrier were massed the thousands of police, special constables, and volunteers.
Footnote 1: (return)
The Manchester papers inform us that the specials were plentifully fed with hot pork pies and beer ad libitum, which seemed to have a powerful effect in bringing in volunteers from the lower classes.
On Friday the doomed men took leave for the last time of the few relatives allowed to see them. The parting of Larkin and his family is described as one of the most agonizing scenes ever witnessed. Poor Allen, although not quite twenty years of age, was engaged to a young girl whom he loved, and who loved him, most devotedly. She was sternly refused the sad consolation of [pg 58] bidding him farewell. In the evening the prisoners occupied themselves for some time in writing letters, and each of them drew up a "declaration," which they committed to the chaplain. They then gave not another thought to this world. From that moment until all was over, their whole thoughts were centred in the solemn occupation of preparing to meet their Creator. In these last hours Father Gadd, the prison chaplain, was assisted by the Very Rev. Canon Cantwell and the Rev. Father Quick, whose attentions were unremitting to the end. From the first the prisoners exhibited a deep, fervid religious spirit, which could scarcely have been surpassed among the earliest Christian martyrs. They received Holy Communion every alternate morning, and spent the greater part of their time in spiritual devotion. On Friday evening they were locked up for the night at the usual hour,—about half-past six o'clock. In their cells they spent a long interval in prayer and meditation—disturbed ever and anon, alas! by the shouts of brutal laughter and boisterous choruses of the mob already assembled outside the prison walls. At length the fated three sought their dungeon pallets for the last time. "Strange as it may appear," says one of the Manchester papers chronicling the execution, "those three men, standing on the brink of the grave, and about to suffer an ignominious death, slept as soundly as had been their wont." Very "strange," no doubt, it appeared to those accustomed to see criminals die; but no marvel to those who know how innocent men, at peace with God and man, can mount the scaffold, and offer their lives a sacrifice for the cause of liberty.
Far differently that night was spent by the thronging countrymen of Broadhead, who came as to a holiday to see the "Fenians" die. Early on the preceding evening crowds had taken up their places wherever the occupying bodies of military, police, or specials did not prevent; and the pictures drawn of their conduct by the newspaper reporters, one and all, are inexpressibly revolting. It was the usual English crowd assembled to enjoy an execution. They made the air resound with [pg 59] laughter at obscene jokes, shouts, cries and repartees; and chorused in thousands [beneath the gallows!] snatches of "comic" ballads and pot-house songs, varied by verses of "Rule, Brittania" and "God save the Queen," by way of exultation over the Irish. Once or twice, in the early part of the night, the police had to remove the mob from the portion of the prison nearest the condemned cells, as the shouts and songs were painfully disturbing the hapless men engaged at that moment preparing for eternity.
Saturday, the 23rd November, dawned misty, murky, dull, and cold over Salford. During the first hours after the past midnight the weather had been clear and frosty, and a heavy hoar covered the ground; but as daylight approached, a thick mist or fog crept like a pallid pall over the waking city.
The condemned were roused from sound and tranquil slumbers about a quarter to five o'clock. Having dressed, they attended Mass, Rev. Canon Cantwell, Rev. Mr. Gadd, and Rev. Mr. Quick officiating. They heard this, their last Mass, with a fervour and solemnity which no words could describe. The Holy Sacrifice having been offered, the condemned and the three priests remained in prayer and spiritual exercises until seven o'clock, when the prisoners partook of breakfast. "The last preparations," says an English eye-witness, "were then begun. At twelve minutes to eight o'clock the executioner, Calcraft, and his assistant, were introduced into the cell in which the prisoners were placed, and the process of pinioning their arms was gone through. The priests stood by the side of the unhappy men, administering the consolations of religion, and exhorting them to firmness to meet the last dreadful ordeal. The convicts, at this time," continues the English reporter, "manifested a remarkable fortitude. Not one of them flinched in the least."
The same eye-witness describes as follows the last act of the tragedy, with a brief general sketch of which we commenced this narrative:—
"At a quarter to eight o'clock the interior court of the [pg 60] gaol presented a strange and striking spectacle. Behind the wall in New Bailey-street was erected the long staircase leading to the scaffold, and by its side were platforms for the use of the military. The fog was so dense, that objects could be but faintly distinguished at a distance of thirty yards. Suddenly the words of military command were heard, and a company of the 72nd Highlanders marched round the Roundhouse, and took up a position in line at the foot of the staircase. Simultaneously, small detachments of the same regiment ascended to the platform, and crouched there, with their loaded rifles slightly projecting over the prison wall. At almost the same moment the heads of a line of soldiers arose above the parapet of the railway viaduct. A line of warders was formed in the gaol court. The sentries on duty ceased their walk; magistrates and reporters stood aside, and a dead silence prevailed for a few moments, as a signal was given from the corner of the Roundhouse. At three minutes past eight o'clock the solemn voice of a minister repeating the litany of the Catholic Church was heard, and the head of the procession became visible through a thick fog, about thirty yards from the foot of the staircase. The Rev. Canon Cantwell walked first by the side of Allen. The convict was deadly pale; his eyes wandered alternately from the priest to the individuals standing round, and then he uplifted his gaze, in a vain endeavour to pierce the dense canopy which hung above him. He walked with a tolerably steady step, and uttered the response, 'Lord, have mercy upon us,' in a firm voice."
Next to him came Larkin, in whose appearance confinement and anxiety of mind had wrought a striking change. His physical strength seemed shaken, and he required to be assisted by one of the warders in ascending the long wooden stair that led to the scaffold. Last of all came O'Brien, whose noble, firm, and dignified bearing won the approbation of everyone who beheld him. A partition running in the line of the wall divided the scaffold into an outer and an inner platform, a small door opening between them. Allen and O'Brien, and [pg 61] their attendants, having reached the top of the stair, waited on the inner platform until Larkin and the rest of the attendant warders and officials came up. Then, all being ready, the door was flung open, and the boy-martyr was first led out upon the drop. His face, which was deathly pale, appeared working with the effects of strong mental agony. The high priest of English rule over Irishmen, Calcraft, came forward, placed the treacherous noose around Allen's neck, pulled a thin white cap over his ashen face, and then stooped, and securely tied his feet together. The pinioning of the arms, which had been done in the cell, allowed his hands, from the elbows downward, sufficient freedom to clasp on his breast a crucifix, which ever and anon, as he spoke aloud the responses of the litany, the poor young fellow seemed to press closer and closer to his heart.
Next O'Brien was led forth. On his fine manly face the closest scrutiny could not detect a trace of weakness. He looked calmly and sadly around; then, stepping up to where Allen stood capped and pinioned, he clasped him by the hand, and kissed him affectionately on the cheek, speaking to him a word or two not overheard. Then O'Brien himself was placed by Calcraft on the drop, the rope was fixed upon his neck, the cap was drawn on his face, and his feet were securely bound.
Larkin was now brought out, and led directly to his place on the left hand of O'Brien, who was in the middle. The sight of his two brother-martyrs capped and pinioned, and with the fatal cord around each neck, seemed to unman the poor fellow utterly. He stumbled on touching an uneven plank on the scaffold, so that many thought he had fainted; but it was not so, though he unquestionably was labouring under intense agony of mind. O'Brien, firm and unshrinking to the last, turned and looked at him encouragingly, and to him also spoke a few words in a low tone.
Calcraft now disappeared from view, and the three men stood for a moment before the multitude, their voices ringing out clearly in the still morning air, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on us." Suddenly the click of the bolts was heard; [pg 62] the three bodies sunk through the traps; England's three halters strained, and tugged, and twitched convulsively for a few moments, and the deed was done—her vengeance was accomplished.
That afternoon, her functionaries bore to three grave-pits in the prison-yard three lumps of lifeless clay, that a few short hours before had been three of God's noblest creatures. Like carrion, they were flung into those unconsecrated pits, and strewed with quicklime. For this was British law. The wolf and the tiger leave some vestiges of their victims; but a special ordinance of English law required even the corpses of those martyred Irishmen to be calcined.
They had purposed addressing the crowd from the scaffold, but were prevented from so doing by order of the government! They had each one, however, committed to writing, as already mentioned, a last solemn message to the world. These declarations of the dying men were entrusted to the care of their confessor, who eventually gave them up for publication. They created the most intense and painful sensation in Ireland. They made more and more clear the, dreadful fact that the hapless men had been cruelly sacrificed. Standing, as it might be said, in the presence of their God and Judge, they one and all protested their innocence, and declared the falseness of the evidence on which they had been convicted. But not in querulous repining or denunciation were these truths proclaimed, but in language and with sentiments worthy of men who professed the faith preached by the Crucified on Calvary. Every line breathed the purest humility, the most perfect resignation, and the most intense devotion to God, mingled with the most fervent love of country. Those men were all of humble circumstances in life, and, with the exception of O'Brien, had but slight literary advantages; yet the simple pathos, beauty, and eloquence of their dying messages moved every heart. Poor Larkin was, of all three, the least endowed with education, yet his letter has been aptly described as "a perfect poem in prose." here append those memorable documents:—
[pg 63]

DECLARATION OF WILLIAM PHILIP ALLEN.

I wish to say a few words relative to the charge for which I am to die. In a few hours more I will be going before my God. I state in the presence of that great God that I am not the man who shot Sergeant Brett. If that man's wife is alive, never let her think that I am the person who deprived her of her husband; and if his family is alive, let them never think I am the man who deprived them of their father.
I confess I have committed other sins against my God, and I hope He will accept of my death as a homage and adoration which I owe his Divine Majesty, and in atonement for my past transgressions against him.
There is not much use in dwelling on this subject much longer; for by this time I am sure it is plain that I am not the man that took away the life of Sergeant Brett.
I state this to put juries on their guard for the future, and to have them inquire into the characters of witnesses before they take away the lives of innocent men. But then, I ought not to complain. Was not our Saviour sold for money, and His life sworn away by false witnesses? With the help of the great God, I am only dying to a world of sorrow to rise to a world of joy. Before the judgment seat of God there will be no false witnesses tolerated; everyone must render an account for himself.
I forgive all the enemies I ever may have had in this world. May God forgive them. Forgive them, sweet Jesus, forgive them! I also ask pardon of all whom I have injured in any way.
In reference to the attack on the van, I confess I nobly aided in the rescue of the gallant Colonel Kelly and Captain Deasey. It is well known to the whole world what my poor country has to suffer, and how her sons are exiles the world over; then tell me where is the Irishman who could look on unmoved, and see his countrymen taken prisoners, and treated like murderers and robbers in British dungeons?
May the Lord have mercy on our souls, and deliver Ireland from her sufferings.

God save Ireland!

WILLIAM PHILIP ALLEN.

DECLARATION OF MICHAEL LARKIN.

Men of the World
I, as a dying man, going before my God, solemnly declare I have never fired a shot in all my life, much less the day the attack was made on the van, nor did I ever put a hand to the van. The world will remember the widow's son's life that was sworn away, by which he leaves a wife and four children to mourn a loss. I am not dying for shooting Brett, but for mentioning Colonel Kelly's and Deasey's names in the court. I am dying a patriot for my God and my country, and Larkin will be remembered in time to come by the sons and daughters of Erin.
Farewell, dear Ireland, for I must leave you, and die a martyr for [pg 64] your sake. Farewell, dear mother, wife, and children, for I must leave you all for poor Ireland's sake. Farewell, uncles, aunts, and cousins, likewise sons and daughters of Erin.
I hope in heaven we will meet another day.
God be with you.
Father in heaven, forgive those that have sworn my life away.
I forgive them and the world.

God bless Ireland!

MICHAEL LARKIN.

DECLARATION OF MICHAEL O'BRIEN.

I have only to make these few remarks. I did not use a revolver or any other firearm, or throw stones, on the day that Colonel Kelly and Captain Deasey were so gallantly rescued. I was not present too, when the van was attacked. I say this not by way of reproach, or to give annoyance to any person; but I say it in the hope that witnesses may be more particular when identifying, and that juries may look more closely to the character of witnesses, and to their evidence, before they convict a person to send him before his God. I trust that those who swore to seeing me with a revolver, or throwing stones, were nothing more than mistaken. I forgive them from my heart, and likewise, I forgive all who have ever done me or intended to do me any injury. I know I have been guilty of many sins against my God; in satisfaction for those sins I have tried to do what little penance I could, and having received the sacraments of the Church, I have humbly begged that He would accept my sufferings and death, to be united to the sufferings and death of His innocent Son, through whom my sufferings can be rendered acceptable.
My Redeemer died a more shameful death, as far as man could make it, that I might receive pardon from Him and enjoy His glory in Heaven. God grant it may be so. I earnestly beg my countrymen in America to heal their differences, to unite in God's name for the sake of Ireland and liberty. I cannot see any reason, even the slightest, why John Savage should not have the entire confidence of all his countrymen. With reference to Colonel Kelly, I believe him to be a good, honorable man, unselfish, and entirely devoted to the cause of Irish freedom.

MICHAEL O'BRIEN.

So ends the story of the memorable events which gave three new names to the list of Ireland's martyrs; so closes the sad and thrilling record which tells how Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien died. Over the neglected plot in which their calcined remains are lying no stone stands inscribed with their names—no emblem to symbolize their religion or their nationality. But to that gloomy spot the hearts of the Irish people will ever turn with affectionate [pg 65] remembrance; and the day will never come when, in this the land that bore them, the brave men whose ashes repose within it will be forgotten.

Thomas J. Kelly (Irish nationalist)
Thomas J. Kelly (January 6, 1833 - February 5, 1908[1]) was an Irish revolutionary and leader of the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB).
The son of a farmer, Patrick Kelly, and Margaret Divilly,[2] Thomas Kelly was born in Mountbellew, County Galway, in 1833. After serving an apprenticeship in the printing trade in Loughrea, he emigrated to the United States in 1851, where he worked as a printer in New York. In New York he joined the National Guard and received basic military training.[3] He later joined the Emmet Monument Association, an Irish-American Irish republican group.[4]
In 1857, Kelly went to Nashville, Tennessee, where he soon afterwards started the Nashville Democrat, which supported the presidential campaign of Stephen A. Douglas in the Presidential election of 1860. Following the outbreak of the American Civil War, Kelly, a supporter of the Union, was forced to leave Nashville.[citation needed]
He enlisted in the 10th Ohio Infantry for three months, and then re-enlisted for an additional three years. He served in Company “C”, where his military knowledge and ability was soon recognized and he was promoted to Sergeant. By the end of the summer of 1861 he was functioning as First Sergeant of Company “C”. Although shot in the jaw at the Battle of Carnifex Ferry in Western Virginia, 10th September 1861, he volunteered to return to duty before the end of the year. Part of his jaw and three teeth were destroyed by a bullet that lodged in the muscles of the left side of his neck, from which it was removed surgically. It has been suggested that the goatee beard, which appears in all of his pictures was grown to hide what could have been a disfiguring scar.[5]
Kelly was commissioned in January 1862, and later seconded to the staff of Major General George Henry Thomas (later “The Rock of Chickamauga”) of the XIV Corps, United States Army of the Cumberland, as a Signal Officer. He was promoted to Captain on 17th March 1863, becoming Chief Signal Officer. During this period his regimental commander requested his reassignment back to the 10th Ohio, in order that he might take command of one of the regiment’s manoeuvre battalions.[6] General Thomas refused the request, writing that he could not spare Kelly from his duties. On 30th April 1863, Kelly was administratively transferred, on the books of the 10th Ohio from Company “C” to Company “I”, while continuing to serve at XIV Corps Headquarters. General Thomas’s need for Kelly’s services was trumped by a new Army regulation requiring that all officers of the Signal Corps have university degrees by the following February. This being the case (although too late for battalion command), Kelly again requested transfer back to his regiment. On 19th August 1863 he was ordered to return to the "Bloody Tenth" as Captain, Company “I”, from which he was mustered out with the rest of the 10th Ohio on 17 June 1864. [7]
After the end of the war, Kelly learned about the establishment of the IRB and later joined the movement in New York. The Fenian Brotherhood later dispatched him to Ireland as an envoy to meet with IRB leader James Stephens. He returned to New York in April 1866. He became Deputy to Stephens [the Irish leader of the Fenians] in May 1866, and brought about Stephens' downfall later in the year.[8]
After Stephens was disposed as IRB leader in December 1866, Kelly, as "Deputy Central Organiser of the Irish Republic", took control of the organisation. Kelly participated in helping Stephens escape from Richmond Jail. He also planned the raid on Chester Castle, scheduled for 11 February 1867, which proved abortive.[9]
Kelly played an important role in the failed Fenian Rising of 1867 and was arrested.[10] He later escaped, and in August 1867, called a secret IRB convention at Manchester, where he was declared Chief Organiser of the Irish Republic (COIR), in succession to Stephens.
Kelly was wanted by the British authorities, and for a time managed to evade capture. But on September 11, 1867, Kelly, along with Timothy Deasy, was arrested in Manchester for loitering. Though they gave false names, they were soon identified and charged with more serious offenses. [11] Seven days later, Kelly and Deasy were being transferred from the courthouse to the county jail on Hyde Road, Manchester, when about thirty supporters attempted to free them. During the attack, a policeman was killed, but Kelly and Deasy managed to escape. Three men arrested in connection with the attack were later executed, and thereafter known as the Manchester Martyrs. Both Kelly as Deasy escaped to the United States and were never recaptured. Kelly later obtained employment in the New York custom-house.[12]
He was later associated with the Irish Revolutionary Brotherhood in New York. In 1871, he was secretary to the committee which welcomed the "Cuba Five", a group of released Fenian prisoners, to New York.[13]
He died at his residence, 31 East 130th St. in New York, on 5 February 1908.[14] He and his wife, Anna Frances (nee Dunne) (May 1860 - September 1913) are buried in Woodlawn Cemetery, NY.[15]
Timothy Deasy was a Captain in the Irish Republican Brotherhood.

He was captured during their abortive uprising in 1867. He was released with a fellow IRB prisoner Colonel Thomas J. Kelly (Irish nationalist) by an attack on a prison van in Manchester. He escaped, but three of his rescuers were executed for their part in the rescue, during which a policeman was killed.

Michael Barrett (Fenian)

Michael Barrett (executed 26 May 1868) was a County Fermanagh-born member of the Fenians. He came originally from the townland of Drumnagreshial in the Ederney area of County Fermanagh.
He was the last man to be publicly hanged in Great Britain for his part in the Clerkenwell bombing. The bombing killed a dozen bystanders. Many people were severely injured in the blast. Newspaper reports recounted the grievous injuries of those mutilated for weeks afterwards. Barrett was alleged to have laid the charge in a wheelbarrow outside the wall of Coldbath Fields Prison in the belief that it would bring down the prison wall and enable Fenian prisoners to escape.

Background

The Fenians were one of the most important revolutionary movements to challenge the British Empire in the 19th century. It dominated Irish popular politics in the 1860’s and defied the anathemas of the Catholic Church and the condemnations of middle–class nationalists who advocated milder approaches.
Thousands of young Irishmen in both Ireland and Britain were recruited into its ranks. One of these was 27–year old Michael Barrett.
The Clerkenwell explosion
The Clerkenwell bombing was the most serious action carried out by the Fenians in Britain and sparked hostility against the Irish community which took years to abate. It arose from the arrest in November 1867 of Richard O’Sullivan–Burke, a senior Fenian arms agent and the mastermind behind the sensational ‘prison–van rescue’ at Manchester a few months earlier. He was incarcerated in Clerkenwell Prison and on December 13 an attempt to rescue him was made by blowing a hole in the prison wall. The explosion was seriously misjudged; it demolished not only a large section of the wall, but also a row of tenement houses opposite. Twelve people were killed and over fifty injured.
The disaster had a traumatic effect on British working–class opinion. Karl Marx, then living in London, observed:
“The London masses, who have shown great sympathy towards Ireland, will be made wild and driven into the arms of a reactionary government. One cannot expect the London proletarians to allow themselves to be blown up in honour of Fenian emissaries.”
The Radical, Charles Bradlaugh, condemned the incident in his newspaper The National Reformer as an act “calculated to destroy all sympathy, and to evoke the opposition of all classes”.
The day before the explosion, the Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, banned all political demonstrations in London in an attempt to put a stop to the weekly meetings and marches that were being held in support of the Fenians. He had feared that the ban might be challenged, but the explosion turned public opinion very much in his favour.
Arrest and trial
Months earlier, Barrett had been arrested in Glasgow for illegally discharging a firearm and allegedly false evidence was used to implicate him in the Clerkenwell prison explosion which occurred the previous December.[citation needed].
In court, he produced witnesses who testified that he had been in Scotland on the date of the incident. The main case against him rested on the evidence of Patrick Mullany (a Dubliner who had given false testimony before and whose price was a free passage to Australia) who told the court that Barrett had informed him that he had carried out the explosion with an accomplice by the name of Murphy. The jury was out for two hours and in spite of the lack of corroboration pronounced Barrett guilty.
One of the trial lawyers, Montague Williams, wrote:
“On looking at the dock, one’s attention was attracted by the appearance of Barrett, for whom I must confess I felt great commiseration. He was a square–built fellow, scarcely five feet eight in height and dressed like a well–to–do farmer. This resemblance was increased by the frank, open, expression on his face. A less murderous countenance than Barrett’s I have not seen. Good humour was latent in his every feature and he took the greatest interest in the proceedings.”

Speech From The Dock

Before he was sentenced Barrett spoke from the dock. He delivered an impressive and emotive speech, which questioned the inconsistencies of the case especially the witnesses who had appeared before him. Barrett finished his speech from the dock with...
"... I am far from denying, nor will the force of circumstances compel me to deny my love of my native land. I love my country and if it is murderous to love Ireland dearer than I love my life, then it is true, I am a murderer. If my life were ten times dearer than it is and if I could by any means, redress the wrongs of that persecuted land by the sacrifice of my life, I would willingly and gladly do so..."
[1]
The next day the Daily Telegraph reported that he
“...delivered a most remarkable speech, criticising with great acuteness the evidence against him, protesting that he had been condemned on insufficient grounds, and eloquently asserting his innocence”.

Sentence

Following the sentence, many people, including a number of Radical MPs, pressed for clemency. In Fermanagh, Barrett’s aged mother trudged several miles in the snow to appeal to the local Unionist MP, Captain Archdale, a staunch Orangeman, who, predictably, rejected her.
Barrett was executed outside the walls of Newgate Prison on 26 May 1868 before a crowd of two thousand who booed, jeered and sang Rule Britannia and Champagne Charlie as his body dropped.
On May 27, following the execution, Reynold’s News commented:
“Millions will continue to doubt that a guilty man has been hanged at all; and the future historian of the Fenian panic may declare that Michael Barrett was sacrificed to the exigencies of the police, and the vindication of the good Tory principle, that there is nothing like blood”.
Prior to its transfer to the City of London Cemetery, Michael Barrett’s remains lay for thirty–five years in a lime grave inside the walls of Newgate Prison. When the prison was demolished in 1903 it was taken to its present resting place. Today the grave is a place of Irish pilgrimage and is marked by a small plaque.

Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Martin Pettit and PG Distributed
Proofreaders

[Transcriber's note: The spelling inconsistencies of the original are
retained in this etext.]

THE

"WEARING OF THE GREEN,"

_OR_

THE PROSECUTED FUNERAL PROCESSION.

* * * * *

Let the echoes fall unbroken;
Let our tears in silence flow;
For each word thus nobly spoken,
Let us yield a nation's woe;
Yet, while weeping, sternly keeping
Wary watch upon the foe.

_Poem in the_ "NATION."

DUBLIN:

A.M. SULLIVAN, ABBEY STREET.

1868.

THE

PROSECUTED FUNERAL PROCESSION.

* * * * *

The news of the Manchester executions on the morning of Saturday, 23rd
November, 1867, fell upon Ireland with sudden and dismal disillusion.

In time to come, when the generation now living shall have passed away,
men will probably find it difficult to fully realize or understand the
state of stupor and amazement which ensued in this country on the first
tidings of that event; seeing, as it may be said, that the victims had
lain for weeks under sentence of death, to be executed on this date. Yet
surprise indubitably was the first and most overpowering emotion; for,
in truth, no one up to that hour had really credited that England would
take the lives of those three men on a verdict already publicly admitted
and proclaimed to have been a blunder. Now, however, came the news that
all was over--that the deed was done--and soon there was seen such an
upheaving of national emotion as had not been witnessed in Ireland for a
century. The public conscience, utterly shocked, revolted against the
dreadful act perpetrated in the outraged name of justice. A great billow
of grief rose and surged from end to end of the land. Political
distinctions disappeared or were forgotten. The Manchester Victims--the
Manchester Martyrs, they were already called--belonged to the Fenian
organization; a conspiracy which the wisest and truest patriots of
Ireland had condemned and resisted; yet men who had been prominent in
withstanding, on national grounds, that hopeless and disastrous
scheme--priests and laymen--were now amongst the foremost and the
boldest in denouncing at every peril the savage act of vengeance
perpetrated at Manchester. The Catholic clergy were the first to give
articulate expression to the national emotion. The executions took place
on Saturday; before night the telegraph had spread the news through the
island; and on the next morning, being Sunday, from a thousand altars
the sad event was announced to the assembled worshippers, and prayers
were publicly offered for the souls of the victims. When the news was
announced, a moan of sorrowful surprise burst from the congregation,
followed by the wailing and sobbing of women; and when the priest, his
own voice broken with emotion, asked all to join with him in praying the
Merciful God to grant those young victims a place beside His throne, the
assemblage with one voice responded, praying and weeping aloud!

The manner in which the national feeling was demonstrated on this
occasion was one peculiarly characteristic of a nation in which the
sentiments of religion and patriotism are so closely blended. No stormy
"indignation meetings" were held; no tumult, no violence, no cries for
vengeance arose. In all probability--nay, to a certainty--all this would
have happened, and these ebullitions of popular passion would have been
heard, had the victims not passed into eternity. But now, they were gone
where prayer alone could follow; and in the presence of this solemn fact
the religious sentiment overbore all others with the Irish people. Cries
of anger, imprecations, and threats of vengeance, could not avail the
dead; but happily religion gave a vent to the pent-up feelings of the
living. By prayer and mourning they could at once, most fitly and most
successfully, demonstrate their horror of the guilty deed, and their
sympathy with the innocent victims.

Requiem Masses forthwith were announced and celebrated in several
churches; and were attended by crowds everywhere too vast for the sacred
edifices to contain. The churches in several instances were draped with
black, and the ceremonies conducted with more than ordinary solemnity.
In every case, however, the authorities of the Catholic church were
careful to ensure that the sacred functions were sought and attended for
spiritual considerations, not used merely for illegitimate political
purposes; and wherever it was apprehended that the holy rites were in
danger of such use, the masses were said privately.

And soon public feeling found yet another vent; a mode of manifesting
itself scarcely less edifying than the Requiem Masses; namely, funeral
processions. The brutal vengeance of the law consigned the bodies of
Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien to dishonoured graves; and forbade the
presence of sympathising friend or sorrowing relative who might drop a
tear above their mutilated remains. Their countrymen now, however,
determined that ample atonement should be made to the memory of the dead
for this denial of the decencies of sepulture. On Sunday, 1st December,
in Cork. Manchester, Mitchelstown, Middleton, Limerick, and Skibbereen,
funeral processions, at which thousands of persons attended, were held;
that in Cork being admittedly the most imposing, not only in point of
numbers, but in the character of the demonstration and the demeanour of
the people.

For more than twenty years Cork city has held an advanced position in
the Irish national struggle. In truth, it has been one of the great
strongholds of the national cause since 1848. Nowhere else did the
national spirit keep its hold so tenaciously and so extensively amidst
the people. In 1848 Cork city contained probably the most formidable
organization in the country; formidable, not merely in numbers, but in
the superior intelligence, earnestness, and determination of the men;
and even in the Fenian conspiracy, it is unquestionable that the
southern capital contributed to that movement men--chiefly belonging to
the mercantile and commercial classes--who, in personal worth and
standing, as well as in courage, intelligence, and patriotism, were the
flower of the organization. Finally, it must be said, that it was Cork
city by its funeral demonstration of the 1st December, that struck the
first great blow at the Manchester verdict, and set all Ireland in
motion. [Footnote: It may be truly said set the Irish race all over the
world in motion. There is probably no parallel in history for the
singular circumstance of these funeral processions being held by the
dispersed Irish in lands remote, apart, as pole from pole--in the old
hemisphere and in the new--in Europe, in America, in Australia;
prosecutions being set on foot by the English government to punish them
at both ends of the world--in Ireland and in New Zealand! In Hokatika
the Irish settlers--most patriotic of Ireland's exiles--organized a
highly impressive funeral demonstration. The government seized and
prosecuted its leaders, the Rev. Father Larkin, a Catholic clergyman,
and Mr. Wm. Manning, editor of the _Hokatika Celt_. A jury, terrified by
Fenian panic, brought them in "guilty," and the patriot priest and
journalist were consigned to a dungeon for the crime of mourning for the
dead and protesting against judicial murder.]

Meanwhile the Irish capital had moved, and was organizing a
demonstration destined to surpass all that had yet been witnessed. Early
in the second week of December, a committee was formed for the purpose
of organizing a funeral procession in Dublin, worthy of the national
metropolis. Dublin would have come forward sooner, but the question of
the _legality_ of the processions that were announced to come off the
previous week in Cork and other places, had been the subject of fierce
discussion in the government press; and the national leaders were
determined to avoid the slightest infringement of the law or the least
inroad on the public peace. It was only when, on the 3rd of December,
Lord Derby, the Prime Minister, replying in the House of Lords to Lord
Dufferin, declared the opinion of the crown that the projected
processions were not illegal, that the national party in Dublin decided
to form a committee and organize a procession. The following were Lord
Derby's words:--

"He could assure the noble lord that the government would continue to
carry out the law with firmness and impartiality. The Party
Processions Act, however, did not meet the case of the funeral
processions, the parties engaged in them having, by not displaying
banners or other emblems, kept within the law as far as his
information went."

Still more strong assurance was contained in the reply of the Irish
Chief Secretary, Lord Mayo, to a question put by Sir P. O'Brien in the
House of Commons. Lord Mayo publicly announced and promised that if any
new opinion as to the legality of the processions should be arrived
at--that is, should the crown see in them anything of illegality--_due
and timely notice would be given_ by proclamation, so that no one might
offend through ignorance. Here are his words:--

"It is the wish of the government to act strictly in accordance with
the law; _and of course ample notice will be given either by
proclamation or otherwise_."

The Dublin funeral committee thereupon at once issued the following
announcement, by placard and advertisement:--

GOD SAVE IRELAND!
A PUBLIC FUNERAL PROCESSION

In honour of the Irish Patriots
Executed at Manchester, 23rd November,
Will take place in Dublin
On Sunday next, the 8th inst.

* * * * *

The procession will assemble in Beresford-place, near the Custom
House, and will start from thence at the hour of twelve o'clock noon.

* * * * *

No flags, banners, or party emblems will be allowed.

* * * * *

IRISHMEN

Assemble in your thousands, and show by your numbers and your orderly
demeanour your sympathy with the fate of the executed patriots.

* * * * *

IRISHWOMEN

You are requested to lend the dignity of your presence to this
important National Demonstration.

By Order of the Committee.

JOHN MARTIN, Chairman.
J.C. WATERS, Hon. Secretary.
JAMES SCANLAN, Hon. Secretary.
J.J. LALOR, Hon. Secretary.
DONAL SULLIVAN, Up. Buckingham-street, Treasurer.

The appearance of the "funeral procession placards" all over the city on
Thursday, 5th December, increased the public excitement. No other topic
was discussed in any place of public resort, but the event forthcoming
on Sunday. The first evidence of what it was about to be, was the
appearance of the drapery establishments in the city on Saturday
morning; the windows, exteriorly and interiorly, being one mass of crape
and green ribbon--funeral knots, badges, scarfs, hat-bands, neckties,
&c., exposed for sale. Before noon most of the retail, and several of
the wholesale houses had their entire stock of green ribbon and crape
exhausted, it being computed that _nearly one hundred thousand yards_
had been sold up to midnight of Saturday! Meantime the committee sat _en
permanance_, zealously pushing their arrangements for the orderly and
successful carrying out of their great undertaking--appointing stewards,
marshals, &c.--in a word, completing the numerous details on the
perfection of which it greatly depended whether Sunday was to witness a
successful demonstration or a scene of disastrous disorder. On this, as
upon every occasion when a national demonstration was to be organized,
the trades of Dublin, Kingstown, and Dalkey, exhibited that spirit of
patriotism for which they have been proverbial in our generation. From
their ranks came the most efficient aids in every department of the
preparations. On Saturday evening the carpenters, in a body, immediately
after their day's work was over, instead of seeking home and rest,
refreshment or recreation after their week of toil, turned into the
_Nation_ office machine rooms, which they quickly improvised into a vast
workshop, and there, as volunteers, laboured away till near midnight,
manufacturing "wands" for the stewards of next morning's procession.

Sunday, 8th December, 1867, dawned through watery skies. From shortly
after day-break, rain, or rather half-melted sleet, continued to fall;
and many persons concluded that there would be no attempt to hold the
procession under such inclement weather. This circumstance was, no
doubt, a grievous discouragement, or rather a discomfort and an
inconvenience; but so far from preventing the procession, it was
destined to add a hundred-fold to the significance and importance of the
demonstration. Had the day been fine, tens of thousands of persons who
eventually only lined the streets, wearing the funeral emblems, would
have marched in the procession as they had originally intended; but
hostile critics would in this case have said that the fineness of the
day and the excitement of the pageant had merely caused a hundred
thousand persons to come out for a holiday. Now, however, the depth,
reality, and intensity of the popular feeling was about to be keenly
tested. The subjoined account of this memorable demonstration is
summarised from the Dublin daily papers of the next ensuing publication,
the report of the _Freeman's Journal_ being chiefly used:--

As early as ten o'clock crowds began to gather in Beresford-place,
and in an hour about ten thousand men were present. The morning had
succeeded to the hopeless humidity of the night, and the drizzling
rain fell with almost dispiteous persistence. The early trains from
Kingstown and Dalkey, and all the citerior townlands, brought large
numbers into Dublin; and Westland-row, Brunswick, D'Olier, and
Sackville-streets, streamed with masses of humanity. A great number
of the processionists met in Earlsfort-terrace, all round the
Exhibition, and at twelve o'clock some thousands had collected. It
was not easy to learn the object of this gathering; it may have been
a mistake, and most probably it was, as they fell in with the great
body in the course of half an hour. The space from the quays,
including the great sweep in front of the Custom-house, was swarming
with men, and women, and small children, and the big ungainly crowd
bulged out in Gardiner-street, and the broad space leading up
Talbot-street. The ranks began to be formed at eleven o'clock amid a
down-pour of cold rain. The mud was deep and aqueous, and great pools
ran through the streets almost level with the paths. Some of the more
prominent of the men, and several of the committee, rode about
directing and organizing the crowd, which presented a most
extraordinary appearance. A couple of thousand young children stood
quietly in the rain and slush for over an hour; while behind them, in
close-packed numbers, were over two thousand young women. Not the
least blame can be attached to those who managed the affairs of the
day, inasmuch as the throng must have far exceeded even their most
sanguine expectations. Every moment some overwhelming accession
rolled down Abbey-street or Eden-quay, and swelled the already
surging multitude waiting for the start. Long before twelve o'clock,
the streets converging on the square were packed with spectators or
intending processionists. Cabs struggled hopelessly to yield up the
large number of highly respectable and well-attired ladies who had
come to walk. Those who had hired vehicles for the day to join the
procession were convinced of the impracticable character of their
intention; and many delicate old men who would not give up the
design, braved the terrors of asthma and bronchitis, and joined the
rain-defying throng. Right across the spacious ground was one
unmoving mass, constantly being enlarged by ever-coming crowds. All
the windows in Beresford-place were filled with spectators, and the
rain and cold seemed to have no saddening effect on the numerous
multitude. The various bands of the trade were being disposed in
their respective positions, and the hearses were a long way off and
altogether in the back-ground, when, at a quarter to twelve, the
first rank of men moved forward. Almost every one had an umbrella,
but they were thoroughly saturated with the never-ceasing down-pour.
As the steady, well-kept, twelve-deep ranks moved slowly out, some
ease was given to those pent up behind; and it was really wonderful
to see the facility with which the people adapted themselves to the
orders of their directors. Every chance of falling in was seized, and
soon the procession was in motion. The first five hundred men were of
the artisan class. They were dressed very respectably, and each man
wore upon his left shoulder a green rosette, and on his left arm a
band of crape. Numbers had hat-bands depending to the shoulder;
others had close crape intertwined carefully with green ribbon around
their hats; and the great majority of the better sort adhered to this
plan, which was executed with a skill unmistakably feminine. Here and
there at intervals a man appeared with a broad green scarf around his
shoulders, some embroidered with shamrocks, and others decorated with
harps. There was not a man throughout the procession but was
conspicuous by some emblem of nationality. Appointed officers walked
at the sides with wands in their hands and gently kept back the
curious and interested crowd whose sympathy was certainly
demonstrative. Behind the five hundred men came a couple of thousand
young children. These excited, perhaps, the most considerable
interest amongst the bystanders, whether sympathetic, neutral, or
opposite. Of tender age and innocent of opinions on any subject, they
were being marshalled by their parents in a demonstration which will
probably give a tone to their career hereafter; and seeds in the
juvenile mind ever bear fruit in due season. The presence of these
shivering little ones gave a serious significance to the
procession--they were hostages to the party who had organized the
demonstration. Earnestness must indeed have been strong in the mind
of the parent who directed his little son or daughter to walk in
saturating rain and painful cold through five or six miles of mud and
water, and all this merely to say "I and my children were there." It
portends something more than sentiment. It is national education with
a vengeance. Comment on this remarkable constituent was very frequent
throughout the day, and when toward evening this band of boys sang
out with lusty unanimity a popular Yankee air, spectators were
satisfied of their culture and training. After the children came
about one hundred young women who had been unable to gain their
proper position, and accepted the place which chance assigned them.
They were succeeded by a band dressed very respectably, with crape
and green ribbons round their caps. These were followed by a number
of rather elderly men, probably the parents of the children far
ahead. At this portion of the procession, a mile from the point, they
marched four deep, there having been a gradual decline from the
front. Next came the bricklayers' band all dressed in green caps, a
very superior-looking body of men. Then followed a very imposing
well-kept line, composed of young men of the better class, well
attired and respectable looking. These wore crape hat-bands, and
green rosettes with harps in the centre. Several had broad green body
scarfs, with gold tinsel shamrocks and harps intertwined. As this
portion of the procession marched they attracted very considerable
attention by their orderly, measured tread, and the almost soldierly
precision with which they maintained the line. They numbered about
four or five thousand, and there were few who were not young, sinewy,
stalwart fellows. When they had reached the further end of
Abbey-street, the ground about Beresford-place was gradually becoming
clear, and the spectator had some opportunity afforded of glancing
more closely at the component parts of the great crowd. All round the
Custom-house was still packed a dense throng, and large streams were
flowing from the northern districts, Clontarf, the Strand, and the
quays. The shipping was gaily decorated, and many of the masts were
filled with young tars, wearing green bands on their hats. At
half-past twelve o'clock, the most interesting portion of the
procession left the Custom-house. About two thousand young women, who
in attire, demeanour, and general appearance, certainly justified
their title to be called ladies walked in six-deep ranks. The general
public kept pace with them for a great distance. The green was most
demonstrative, every lady having shawl, bonnet, veil, dress, or
mantle of the national hue. The mud made sad havoc of their attire,
but notwithstanding all mishaps they maintained good order and
regularity. They stretched for over half a-mile, and added very
notably to the imposing appearance, of the procession. So great was
the pressure in Abbey-street, that for a very long time there were no
less than three processions walking side-by-side. These halted at the
end of the street, and followed as they were afforded opportunity.
One of the bands was about to play near the Abbey-street Wesleyan
House, but when a policeman told them of the proximity of the place
of worship, they immediately desisted. The first was a very long way
back in the line, and the foremost men must have been near the
Ormond-quays, when the four horses moved into Abbey-street. They were
draped with black cloths, and white plumes were at their heads. The
hearse also had white plumes, and was covered with black palls. On
the side was "William P. Allen." A number of men followed, and then
came a band. In the earlier portion of the day there were seen but
two hearses, the second one bearing Larkin's name. It was succeeded
by four mourning coaches, drawn by two horses each. A large number
of young men from the monster houses followed in admirable order. In
this throng were very many men of business, large employers, and
members of the professions. Several of the trades were in great
force. It had been arranged to have the trade banners carried in
front of the artisans of every calling, but at the suggestion of the
chairman this design was abandoned. The men walked, however, in
considerable strength. They marched from their various
committee-rooms to the Custom-house. The quay porters were present to
the number of 500, and presented a very orderly, cleanly appearance.
They were comfortably dressed, and walked close after the hearse
bearing Larkin's name. Around this bier were a number of men bearing
in their hands long and waving palms--emblems of martyrdom. The
trades came next, and were led off by the various branches of the
association known as the Amalgamated Trades. The plasterers made
about 300, the painters 350, the boot and shoemakers mustered 1,000,
the bricklayers 500, the carpenters 300, the slaters 450, the sawyers
200, and the skinners, coopers, tailors, bakers, and the other
trades, made a very respectable show, both as to numbers and
appearance. Each of these had representatives in the front of the
procession, amongst the fine body of men who marched eight deep. The
whole ground near the starting place was clear at half-past one, and
by that time the demonstration was seen to a greater advantage than
previously. All down Abbey-streets, and in fact throughout the
procession, the pathways were crowded by persons who were practically
of it, though not in it. Very many young girls naturally enough
preferred to stand on the pathways rather than to be saturated with
mud and water. But it may truly be said that every second man and
woman of the crowds in almost every street were of the procession.
Cabs filled with ladies and gentlemen remained at the waysides all
day watching the march. The horses' heads were gaily decorated with
green ribbons, while every Jehu in the city wore a rosette or a crape
band. Nothing of special note occurred until the procession turned
into Dame-street. The appearance of the demonstration was here far
greater than at any other portion of the city. Both sides of the
street, and as far as Carlisle-bridge, were lined with cabs and
carriages filled with spectators who were prevented by the bitter
inclemency of the day from taking an active part in the proceedings.
The procession was here grandly imposing, and after Larkin's hearse
were no less than nine carriages, and several cabs. It is stated that
Mrs. Luby and Miss Mulcahy occupied one of the vehicles, and
relatives of others now in confinement were alleged to have been
present. One circumstance, which was generally remarked as having
great significance, was the presence in one line of ten soldiers of
the 86th Regiment. They were dressed in their great overcoats, which
they wore open so as to show the scarlet tunic. These men may have
been on leave, inasmuch as the great military force were confined to
barracks, and kept under arms from six o'clock, a.m. The cavalry were
in readiness for action, if necessary. Mounted military and police
orderlies were stationed at various points of the city to convey any
requisite intelligence to the authorities, and the constabulary at
the depot, Phoenix Park, were also prepared, if their services should
be required. At the police stations throughout the city large numbers
of men were kept all day under arms. It is pleasant to state that no
interference was necessary, as the great demonstration terminated
without the slightest disturbance. The public houses generally
remained closed until five o'clock, and the sobriety of the crowds
was the subject of the general comment.

From an early hour in the morning every possible position along the
quays that afforded a good view of the procession was taken advantage
of, and, despite the inclemency of the weather, the parapets of the
various bridges, commencing at Capel-street, were crowded with
adventurous youths, who seemed to think nothing of the risks they ran
in comparison with the opportunities they had of seeing the great
sight in all its splendour. From eleven until twelve o'clock the
greatest efforts were made to secure good places The side walks were
crowded and impassable. The lower windows of the houses were made the
most of by men who clutched the shutters and bars, whilst the upper
windows were, as a general rule, filled with the fair sex, and it is
almost unnecessary to add that almost every man, woman, and child
displayed some emblem suitable to the occasion. Indeed, the
originality of the designs was a striking feature. The women wore
green ribbons and veils, and many entire dresses of the favourite
colour. The numerous windows of the Four Courts accommodated hundreds
of ladies, and we may mention that within the building were two
pieces of artillery, a plentiful supply of rockets, and a number of
policemen. It was arranged that the rockets should be fired from the
roof in case military assistance was required. Contrary to the
general expectation, the head of the procession appeared at
Essex-bridge shortly before twelve o'clock. As it was expected to
leave Beresford-place about that time, and as such gigantic
arrangements are seldom carried out punctually, the thousands of
people who congregated in this locality were pleasantly disappointed
when a society band turned the corner of Mary-street and came towards
the quays, with the processionists marching in slow and regular time.
The order that prevailed was almost marvellous--not a sound was heard
but the mournful strains of the music, and the prevalent feeling was
expressed, no doubt, by one or two of the processionists, who said in
answer to an inquiry, "We will be our own police to-day." They
certainly were their own police, for those who carried white wands
did not spare themselves in their endeavours to maintain order in the
ranks. As we have mentioned already, the first part of the procession
reached Capel-street shortly before twelve o'clock, and some idea of
the extent of the demonstration may be formed from the fact that the
hearses did not come in view until a quarter-past one o'clock. They
appeared at intervals of a quarter of an hour, and were received by a
general cry of "hush." The number of fine, well-dressed young women
in the procession here was the subject of general remark, whilst the
assemblage of boys astonished all who witnessed it on account of its
extent. The variety of the tokens of mourning, too, was remarkable.
Numbers of the women carried laurel branches in addition to green
ribbons and veils, and many of the men wore shamrocks in their hats.
The procession passed along the quays as far as King's-bridge, and it
there crossed and passed up Stevens'-lane. The windows of all the
houses _en route_ were crowded chiefly with women, and the railings
at the Esplanade and at King's-bridge, were crowded with spectators.

About one o'clock the head of the procession, which had been
compressed into a dense mass in Stevens'-lane, burst like confined
water when relieved of restraint, on entering James's-street, where
every window and doorstep was crowded. Along the lines of footway
extending at either side from the old fountain up to James's-gate,
were literally tented over with umbrellas of every hue and shade,
held up as protection against the cold rain that fell in drizzling
showers and made the streetway on which the vast numbers stood ankle
deep in the slushy mud. The music of the "Dead March in Saul," heard
in the distance, caused the people to break from the lines in which
they had partially stood awaiting the arrival of the procession,
which now, for the first time, began to assume its full proportions.
As it moved along the quays at the north side of the river, every
street, bridge, and laneway served to obstruct to a considerable
extent its progress and its order, owing to interruption from
carriage traffic and from the crowds that poured into it and swelled
it in its onward course. In the vast multitudes that lined this great
western artery of the city, the greatest order and propriety were
observed, and all seemed to be impressed with the one solemn and
all-pervading idea that they were assembled to express their deep
sympathy with the fate of three men whom they believed had been
condemned and had suffered death unjustly. Even amongst the young
there was not to be recognised the slightest approach to levity, and
the old characteristics of a great Irish gathering were not to be
perceived anywhere. The wrong, whether real or imaginary, done to
Allen, O'Brien, and Larkin, made their memory sacred with the
thousands that stood for hours in the December wet and cold of
yesterday, to testify by their presence their feelings and their
sympathies. The horsemen wearing green rosettes, trimmed with crape,
who rode in advance of the procession, kept back the crowds at either
side that encroached on the space in the centre of the street
required for the vast coming mass to move through. On it came, the
advance with measured tread, to the music of the band in front, and
notwithstanding the mire which had to be waded through, the line went
on at quiet pace, and with admirable order, but there was no effort
at anything like semi-military swagger or pompous demonstration.
Every window along the route of the procession was fully occupied by
male and female spectators, all wearing green ribbons and crape, and
in front of several of the houses black drapery was suspended. The
tide of men, women, and children continued to roll on in the
drenching rain, but nearly all the fair processionists carried
umbrellas. It was not till the head of the vast moving throng had
reached James's-gate that anything like a just conception could be
formed of its magnitude, as it was only now that it was beginning to
get into regular shape and find room to extend itself. The persons
whose duty it was to keep the several parts of the procession well
together had no easy part to play, as the line had to be repeatedly
broken to permit the ordinary carriage traffic of the streets to go
on with as little delay as possible. The _cortege_ at this point
looked grand and solemn in the extreme because of its vastness, and
also because of all present appearing to be impressed with the one
idea. The gloomy, wet, and cheerless weather was quite in keeping
with the funeral march of 35,000 people. The bands were placed at
such proper distances that the playing of one did not interfere with
the other. After passing James's-gate the band in front ceased to
perform, and on passing the house 151 Thomas-street every head was
uncovered in honour of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who was arrested and
mortally wounded by Major Sirr and his assistants in the front
bedroom of the second floor of that house. Such was the length of the
procession, that an hour had elapsed from the time its head entered
James's-street before the first hearse turned the corner of
Stevens'-lane. In the neighbourhood of St. Catherine's church a vast
crowd of spectators had settled down, and every available elevation
was taken possession of. At this point a large portion of the
streetway was broken up for the purpose of laying down water-pipes,
and on the lifting-crane and the heaps of earth the people wedged and
packed themselves, which showed at once that this was a great centre
of attraction--and it was, for here was executed the young and
enthusiastic Robert Emmet sixty-four years ago. When Allen, O'Brien,
and Larkin were condemned to death as political offenders, some of
the highest and the noblest in the land warned the government to
pause before the extreme penalty pronounced on the condemned men
would be carried into effect, but all remonstrance was in vain, and
on last Saturday fortnight, three comparatively unknown men in their
death passed into the ranks of heroes and martyrs, because it was
believed, and believed generally, that their lives were sacrificed to
expediency, and not to satisfy justice. The spot where Robert Emmet
closed his young life on a bloody scaffold was yesterday regarded by
thousands upon thousands of his countrymen and women as a holy place,
and all looked upon his fate as similar to that of the three men
whose memory they had assembled to honour, and whose death they
pronounced to be unjust. It would be hard to give a just conception
of the scene here, as the procession advanced and divided, as it
were, into two great channels, owing to the breaking up of the
streetway. On the advance of the _cortege_ reaching the top of
Bridgefoot-street every head was uncovered, and nothing was to be
heard but the measured tread of the vast mass, but as if by some
secret and uncontrollable impulse a mighty, ringing, and enthusiastic
cheer, broke from the moving throng as the angle of the footway at
the eastern end of St. Catherine's church, where the scaffold on
which Emmet was executed stood, was passed. In that cheer there
appeared to be no fiction, as it evidently came straight from the
hearts of thousands, who waved their hats and handkerchiefs, as did
also the groups that clustered in the windows of the houses in the
neighbourhood. As the procession moved on from every part of it the
cheers rose again and again, men holding up their children, and
pointing out the place where one who loved Ireland, "not wisely but
too well," rendered up his life. When the hearse with white plumes
came up bearing on the side draperies the words "William P. Allen,"
all the enthusiasm and excitement ceased, and along the lines of
spectators prayers for the repose of the soul of the departed man
passed from mouth to mouth; and a sense of deep sadness seemed to
settle down on the swaying multitude as the procession rolled along
on its way. After this hearse came large numbers of females walking
on bravely, apparently heedless of the muddy streets and the
unceasing rain that came down without a moment's intermission. When
the second hearse, bearing white plumes and the name of "Michael
O'Brien" on the side pendants, came up, again all heads were
uncovered, and prayers recited by the people for the everlasting rest
of the departed. Still onward rolled the mighty mass, young and old,
and in the entire assemblage was not to be observed a single person
under the influence of drink, or requiring the slightest interference
on the part of the police, whose exertions were altogether confined
to keeping the general thoroughfare clear of obstruction. Indeed,
justly speaking, the people required no supervision, as they seemed
to feel that they had a solemn duty to discharge. Fathers were to be
seen bearing in their arms children dressed in white and decorated
with green ribbons, and here, as elsewhere, was observed unmistakable
evidence of the deep sympathy of the people with the executed men.
This was, perhaps, more strikingly illustrated as the third hearse,
with sable plumes, came up bearing at either side the name of
"Michael Larkin;" prayers for his soul's welfare were mingled with
expressions of commiseration for his widow and children. At the
entrance to Cornmarket, where the streetway narrows, the crushing
became very great, but still the procession kept its onward course.
On passing the shop of Hayburne, who, it will be remembered, was
convicted of being connected with the Fenian conspiracy, a large
number of persons in the procession uncovered and cheered. In the
house of Roantree, in High-street, who was also convicted of
treason-felony, a harp was displayed in one of the drawingroom
windows by a lady dressed in deep mourning, and the procession loudly
cheered as it passed on its route.

Standing at the corner of Christchurch-place, a fine view could be
had of the procession as it approached Winetavern-street from
High-street. The compact mass moved on at a regular pace, while from
the windows on either side of the streets the well-dressed citizens,
who preferred to witness the demonstration from an elevated position
rather than undergo the fatigues and unpleasantness of a walk through
the city in such weather, eagerly watched the approach of the
procession. Under the guidance of the horsemen and those whose wands
showed it was their duty to marshal the immense throng, the
procession moved at an orderly pace down Winetavern-street, which,
spacious as it is, was in a few minutes absolutely filled with the
vast crowds. The procession again reached the quays, and moved along
Wood-quay and Essex-quay, and into Parliament-street, which it
reached at twenty minutes to two o'clock. Passing down
Parliament-street, and approaching the O'Connell statue, a number of
persons began to cheer, but this was promptly suppressed by the
leaders, who galloped in advance for some distance with a view to the
preservation of the mournful silence that had prevailed. This was
strictly enjoined, and the instruction was generally observed by the
processionists. The reverential manner in which the many thousands of
the people passed the statue of the Liberator was very observable. A
rather heavy rain was falling at the time, yet there were thousands
who uncovered their heads as they looked up to the statue which
expressed the noble attitude and features of O'Connell. As the
procession moved along through Dame-street the footways became
blocked up, and lines of cabs took up places in the middle of the
carriageway, and the police exercised a wise discretion in preventing
vehicles from the surrounding streets driving in amongst the crowds.
By this means the danger of serious accident was prevented without
any public inconvenience being occasioned, as a line parallel to that
which the procession was taking was kept clear for all horse
conveyances. Owing to the hour growing late, and a considerable
distance still to be gone over, the procession moved at a quick pace.
In anticipation of its arrival great crowds collected in the vicinity
of the Bank of Ireland and Trinity College, where the _cortege_ was
kept well together, notwithstanding the difficulty of such a vast
mass passing on through the heart of the city filled at this point
with immense masses of spectators. Oil passing the old
Parliament-house numbers of men in the procession took of their hats,
but the disposition to cheer was suppressed, as it was at several
other points along the route. Turning down Westmoreland-street, the
procession, marshalled by Dr. Waters on horseback, passed slowly
along between the thick files of people on each side, most of whom
displayed the mourning and national symbols, black and green. The
spacious thoroughfare in a few minutes was filled with the dense
array, which in close compact ranks pressed on, the women, youths,
and children, bearing bravely the privations of the day, the bands
preceding and following the hearses playing the Dead March, the
solemn notes filling the air with mournful cadence. The windows of
the houses on each side of the street were filled with groups of
spectators of the strange and significant spectacle below. With the
dark masses of men, broken at intervals by the groups of females and
children, still stretched lengthily in the rere, the first section of
the procession crossed Carlisle-bridge, the footways and parapets of
which were thronged with people, nearly all of whom wore the usual
tokens of sympathy. Passing the bridge, a glance to the right, down
the river, revealed the fact that the ships, almost without
exception, had their flags flying half mast high, and that the
rigging of several were filled with seamen, who chose this elevated
position to get a glimpse of the procession as it emerged into
Sackville-street. Here the sight was imposing. A throng of spectators
lined each side of the magnificent thoroughfare, and the lofty houses
had their windows on each side occupied with spectators. Pressing
onwards with measured, steady pace, regardless of the heavy rain, the
cold wind, and the gloomy sky, the procession soon filled
Sackville-street from end to end with its dense dark mass, which
stretching away over Carlisle-bridge, seemed motionless in the
distance. The procession defiled to the left of the site of the
O'Connell monument at the head of the street, and the national
associations connected with this spot was acknowledged by the large
numbers of the processionists, who, with uncovered heads, marched
past, some expressing their feelings with a subdued cheer. The
foremost ranks were nearing Glasnevin when the first of the hearses
entered Sackville-street, which, at this moment, held a numberless
throng of people, processionists, and spectators, the latter, as at
all the other points of the route, exhibiting prominently the sable
and green emblems, which evidenced their approval of the
demonstration. The hearses slowly passed along, followed by the
mourning carriages, the bands playing alternately "Adeste Fidelis"
and the "Dead March," and then followed the deep column of the
processionists, still marching onwards with unflagging spirit,
thousands seeming to be thoroughly soaked with the rain, which was
falling all the morning. Sackville-street was perhaps the best point
from which to get a correct notion of the enormous length of the
procession, and of the great numbers that accompanied it on its way
without actually entering the ranks. The base of the Nelson monument
was covered with spectators, and at the corners of Earl-street and
Henry-street there were stationary crowds, who chose these positions
to get a good view of the great display as it progressed towards
Cavendish-row. Through this comparatively narrow thoroughfare the
procession passed along into North Frederick-street and
Blessington-street, and thence by Upper Berkeley-street to the
Circular-road. Along this part of the route there were crowds of
spectators, male and female, most of whom wore the crape, and green
ribbons, all hurrying forward to the cemetery, the last stage of the
long and fatiguing journey of the procession. As the first part of
the array passed the Mater Misericordiæ Hospital, and came in sight
of the Mountjoy Prison, they gave a cheer, which was caught up by
those behind, and as file after file passed the prison the cheers
were repeated. With unbroken and undiminished ranks the procession
pressed on towards Glasnevin; but when the head had reached the
cemetery, the closing section must have been far away in the city.
The first part of the procession halted outside the gate of the
cemetery, the spacious area in front of which was in a few moments
completely filled by the dense masses who came up. A move then became
necessary, and accordingly the procession recommenced its journey by
passing through the open gates of the cemetery down the pathways
leading to the M'Manus grave, followed by some of the bands playing
the "Adeste Fidelis." As fast as the files passed through others
marched up, and when, after some time the carriage containing Mr.
John Martin arrived, the open ground fronting the cemetery was one
enormous mass of the processionists, while behind on the road leading
up to this point thousands were to be seen moving slowly forward to
the strains of the "Dead March," given out by the bands immediately
in front of the hearses.

MR. MARTIN'S ADDRESS.

On the arrival of the procession at the cemetery Mr. Martin was
hailed with loud applause. It being understood he would make some
observations, the multitude gathered together to hear him. He
addressed the vast multitude from the window of a house overlooking
the great open space in front of the cemetery. On presenting himself
he was received with enthusiastic cheering. When silence was obtained
he said:--

"Fellow-countrymen--This is a strange kind of funeral procession
in which we are engaged to-day. We are here, a vast multitude
of men, women, and children in a very inclement season of
the year, under rain and through mud. We are here escorting three
empty hearses to the consecrated last resting place of those who die
in the Lord (cheers). The three bodies that we would tenderly bear to
the churchyard, and would bury in consecrated ground with all the
solem rites of religion, are not here. They are away in a foreign and
hostile land (hear, hear), where they have been thrown into
unconsecrated ground, branded by the triumphant hatred of our enemies
as the vile remains of murderers (cries of 'no murderers,' and
cheers). Those three men whose memories we are here to-day to
honour--Allen, O'Brien, and Larkin--they were not murderers (great
cheering). [A Voice--Lord have mercy on them.] Mr. Martin--These men
were pious men, virtuous men--they were men who feared God and loved
their country. They sorrowed for the sorrows of the dear old native
land of their love (hear, hear). They wished, if possible, to save
her, and for that love and for that wish they were doomed to an
ignominious death at the hands of the British hangman (hear, hear).
It was as Irish patriots that these men were doomed to death
(cheers). And it was as Irish patriots that they met their death
(cheers). For these reasons, my countrymen, we here to-day have
joined in this solemn procession to honour their memories (cheers).
For that reason we say from our hearts, 'May their souls rest in
peace' (cries of Amen, and cheers). For that reason, my countrymen,
we join in their last prayer, 'God save Ireland' (enthusiastic
cheering). The death of these three men was an act of English policy.
[Here there was some interruption caused by the fresh arrivals and
the pushing forward.] I beg of all within reach of my voice to end
this demonstration as we have carried it through to the present time,
with admirable patience, in the best spirit, with respect, silence
and solemnity, to the end (cheers, and cries of 'we will'). I say the
death of these men was a legal murder, and that legal murder was an
act of English policy (cheers)--of the policy of that nation which
through jealousy and hatred of our nation, destroyed by fraud and
force our just government sixty-seven years ago (cheers). They have
been sixty-seven sad years of insult and robbery--of
impoverishment--of extermination--of suffering beyond what any other
subject people but ours have ever endured from the malignity of
foreign masters (cheers). Nearly through all these years the Irish
people continued to pray for the restoration of their Irish national
rule. They offered their forgiveness to England. They offered even
their friendship to England if she would only give up her usurped
power to tyrannise over us, and leave us to live in peace, and as
honourable neighbours. But in vain. England felt herself strong
enough to continue to insult and rob us, and she was too greedy and
too insolent to cease from robbing and insulting us (cheers). Now it
has come to pass as a consequence of that malignant policy pursued
for so many long years--it has come to pass that the great body of
the Irish people despair of obtaining peaceful restitution of our
national rights (cheers). And it has also come to pass that vast
numbers of Irishmen, whom the oppression of English rule forbade to
live by honest industry in their own country, have in America learned
to become soldiers (cheers). And those Irish soldiers seem resolved
to make war against England (cheers). And England is in a panic of
rage and fear in consequence of this (loud cheers). And being in a
panic about Fenianism, she hopes to strike terror into her Irish
malcontents by a legal murder (loud cheers). England wanted to show
that she was not afraid of Fenianism--[A Voice--'She will be.'] And
she has only shown that she is not afraid to do injustice in the face
of Heaven and of man. Many a wicked statute she has framed--many a
jury she has packed, in order to dispose of her Irish political
offenders--but in the case of Allen, O'Brien, and Larkin, she has
committed such an outrage on justice and decency as to make even many
Englishmen stand aghast. I shall not detain you with entering into
details with which you are all well acquainted as to the shameful
scenes of the handcuffing of the untried prisoners--as to the
shameful scenes of the trial up to the last moment, when the three
men--our dearly beloved Irish brethren, were forced to give up their
innocent lives as a sacrifice for the cause of Ireland (loud cheers);
and, fellow-countrymen, these three humble Irishmen who represented
Ireland on that sad occasion demeaned themselves as Christians, as
patriots, modestly, courageously, piously, nobly (loud cheers). We
need not blush for them. They bore themselves all through with a
courage worthy of the greatest heroes that ever obtained glory upon
earth. They behaved through all the trying scenes I referred to with
Christian patience--with resignation to the will of God--(hear,
hear)--with modest, yet proud and firm adherence to principle
(cheers). They showed their love to Ireland and their fear of God
from the first to the last (cheers). It is vain for me to attempt to
detain you with many words upon this matter. I will say this, that
all who are here do not approve of the schemes for the relief of
Ireland that these men were supposed to have contemplated; but all
who love Ireland, all generous, Christian men, and women, and
children of Ireland--all the children growing up to be men and women
of Ireland (hear, hear)--all those feel an intense sympathy, an
intense love for the memories of these three men whom England has
murdered in form of law by way of striking terror into her Irish
subjects. Fellow-countrymen, it is idle almost for me to persist in
addressing weak words of mine to you--for your presence here
to-day--your demeanour all through--the solemn conduct of the vast
multitude assembled directly under the terrorism of a hostile
government--say more than the words of the greatest orator--more than
the words of a Meagher could say for you (cheers). You have behaved
yourselves all through this day with most admirable spirit as good
Irishmen and women--as good boys and girls of holy Ireland ought to
be (cheers), and I am sure you will behave so to the end (cries of
yes, yes). This demonstration is mainly one of mourning for the fate
of these three good Irishmen (cheers), but fellow-countrymen, and
women, and boys, and girls, it is also one of protest and indignation
against the conduct of our rulers (hear, hear, and cheers) Your
attendance here to-day is a sufficient protest. Your orderly
behaviour--your good temper all through this wretched weather--your
attendance here in such vast numbers for such a purpose--avowedly and
in the face of the terrorism of the government, which falls most
directly upon the metropolis--that is enough for protest. You in your
multitudes, men, women, and children, have to-day made that protest.
Your conduct has been admirable for patience, for good nature, for
fine spirit, for solemn sense of that great duty you were resolved to
do. You will return home with the same good order and
inoffensiveness. You will join with me now in repeating the prayer of
the three martyrs whom we mourn--'God save Ireland!' And all of you,
men, women, and boys and girls that are to be men and women of holy
Ireland, will ever keep the sentiment of that prayer in your heart of
hearts." Mr. Martin concluded amid enthusiastic cheering.

At the conclusion of his address, Mr. Martin, accompanied by a large
body of the processionists, proceeded to the cemetery, where Mr.
Martin visited the grave of Terence Bellew M'Manus. The crowds walked
around the grave as a mark of respect for the memory of M'Manus. Mr.
Martin left the cemetery soon after, end went to his carriage; the
people gathered about him and thanked him, and cheered him loudly.
The vast assemblage dispersed in the most orderly and peaceful
manner, and returned to their homes. They had suffered much from the
severity of the day, but they exhibited to the end the most
creditable endurance and patience. In the course of an hour the roads
were cleared and the city soon resumed its wonted quiet
aspect.[Footnote: In consequence of some vile misstatements in the
government press, which represented the crowd to have not only
behaved recklessly, but to have done considerable damaged to the
graves, tombs, shrubs, and fences in the cemetery, Mr. Coyle,
secretary to the Cemetery Board, published in the _Freeman_ an
official contradiction, stating that not one sixpence worth of damage
had been done. It is furthermore worthy of note, that at the city
police offices next morning not one case arising out of the
procession was before the magistrates, and the charges for
drunkenness were one-fourth below the average on Mondays!]

Of the numbers in the procession "An Eye-witness," writing in the
_Freeman_, says:--

The procession took one hour and forty minutes to pass the Four
Courts. Let us assume that as the average time in which it would pass
any given point, and deduct ten minutes for delays during that time.
If, then, it moved at the rate of two and a-half miles per hour, we
find that its length, with those suppositions, would be three and
three-quarters miles. From this deduct a quarter of a mile for breaks
or discrepancies, for we find the length of the column, if it moved
in a continuous line, to be three and a-half miles. We may now
suppose the ranks to be three feet apart, and consisting of ten in
each, at an average. The total number is therefore easily obtained by
dividing the product of 3-1/2 and 5,280 by 3, and multiplying the
quotient by 10. This will give as a result 61,600 which, I think, is
a fair approximation to the number of people in the procession alone.

Even in the columns of the _Irish Times_ a letter appeared giving an
honest estimate of the numbers in the procession. It was signed
"T.M.G.," and said:--

I believe there was not fewer than 60,000 persons taking part in the
procession on Sunday. My point of observation was one of the best in
the city, seeing, as I could, from the entrance to the Lower Castle
Yard to the College Gates. I was as careful in my calculation as an
almost quick march would allow. There were also a few horsemen, three
hearses, and sixty-one hired carriages, cabs, and cars. A
correspondent in your columns this morning speaks of rows of from
four to nine deep; I saw very many of from ten to sixteen deep,
especially among the boys. The procession, took exactly eighty
minutes to pass this. There were several thousand onlookers within my
view.

Of the ladies in the procession the _Freeman's Journal_ bore the
following testimony, not more generous than truthful:--

The most important physical feature was not, however, the respectable
dress, the manly bearing, the order, discipline, and solemnity of the
men, but the large bodies of ladies who, in rich and costly attire,
marched the whole length of the long route, often ankle deep in mud,
utterly regardles of the incessant down-pour of rain which deluged
their silks and satins, and melted the mourning crape till it seemed
incorporated with the very substance of the velvet mantles or rich
shawls in which so many of the fair processionists were enveloped. In
vain did well-gloved hands hold thousands of green parasols and
umbrellas over their heads as they walked four and five deep through
the leading thoroughfares yesterday. The bonnets with their 'green
and crape' were alone defensible, velvets and Paisleys, silks and
satins, met one common fate--thorough saturation. Yet all this and
more was borne without a murmur. These ladies, and there were many
hundreds of them, mingled with thousands in less rich attire, went
out to cooperate with their fathers, brothers, and sweethearts in
honouring three men who died upon the ignominious gallows, and they
never flinched before the torrents, or swerved for an instant from
the ranks. There must be some deep and powerful influence underlying
this movement that could induce thousands of matrons and girls of
from eighteen to two and-twenty, full of the blushing modesty that
distinguishes Irishwomen, to lay aside their retiring characteristics
and march to the sound of martial music through every thoroughfare in
the metropolis of this country decked in green and crape.

The Dublin correspondent of the _Tipperary Free Press_ referred to the
demonstration as follows:--

Arrived in Sackville-street we were obliged to leave our cab and
endeavour, on foot, to force a way to our destination. This
magnificent street was crowded to repletion, and the approaches to
Beresford-place were 'black with people.' It was found necessary,
owing to the overwhelming numbers that assembled, to start the
procession before the hour named for its setting forth, and so it was
commenced in wonderful order, considering the masses that had to be
welded into shape. Marshals on foot and on horseback proceeded by the
side of those in rank and file, and they certainly wore successful in
preserving regularity of procedure. Mourning coaches and cabs
followed, and after each was a procession of women, at least a
thousand in number. Young and old were there--all decked in some
shape or other with green; many green dresses--some had green
feathers in their hats, but all had green ribbons prominently
displayed. The girls bore all the disagreeability of the long route
with wonderful endurance; it was bitterly cold--a sleety rain fell
during the entire day, and the roads were almost ankle deep in
mud--yet when they passed me on the return route they were apparently
as unwearied as when I saw them hours before. As the procession
trooped by--thousand after thousand--there was not a drunken man to
be seen--all were calm and orderly, and if they were, as many of them
were--soaked through--wet to the skin--they endured the discomfiture
resolutely. The numbers in the procession have been variously
estimated, but in my opinion there could not have been less than
50,000. But the demonstration was not confined to the processionists
alone; they walked through living walls, for along the entire route a
mass of people lined the way, the great majority of whom wore some
emblem of mourning, and every window of every house was thronged with
ladies and children, nearly all of whom were decorated. All semblance
of authority was withdrawn from sight, but every preparation had been
made under the personal direction of Lord Strathnairn, the
commander-in-chief, for the instant intervention of the military, had
any disturbances taken place. The troops were confined to barracks
since Saturday evening; they were kept in readiness to march at a
moment's notice; the horses of the cavalry were saddled all day long,
and those of the artillery were in harness. A battery of guns was in
the rere yard of the Four Courts, and mounted orderlies were
stationed at arranged points so as to convey orders to the different
barracks as speedily as possible. But, thanks to Providence, all
passed off quietly; the people seemed to feel the responsibility of
their position, and accordingly not even an angry word was to be
heard throughout the vast assemblage that for hours surged through
the highways of the city.

The _Ulster Observer_, in the course of a beautiful and sympathetic
article, touched on the great theme as follows:--

The main incidents of the singular and impressive event are worthy of
reflection. On a cold December morning, wet and dreary as any morning
in December might be, vast crowds assembled in the heart of Dublin to
follow to consecrated ground the empty hearses which bore the names
of the Irishmen whom England doomed to the gallows as murderers. The
air was piercingly chill, the rain poured down in torrents, the
streets were almost impassable from the accumulated pools of mingled
water and mud, yet 80,000 people braved the inclemency of the
weather, and unfalteringly carried out the programme so fervently
adopted. Amongst the vast multitude there were not only stalwart men,
capable of facing the difficulties of the day, but old men, who
struggled through and defied them; and, strangest of all, 'young
ladies, clothed in silk and velvet,' and women with tender children
by their sides, all of whom continued to the last to form a part of
the _cortege_, although the distance over which it passed must have
taxed the strongest physical energy. What a unanimity of feeling, or
rather what a naturalness of sentiment does not this wonderful
demonstration exhibit? It seems as if the 'God save Ireland' of the
humble successors of Emmet awoke in even the breast of infancy the
thrill which must have vibrated sternly and strongly in the heart of
manhood. Without exalting into classical grandeur the simple and
affectionate devotion of a simple and unsophisticated people, we
might compare this spectacle to that which ancient Rome witnessed,
when the ashes of Germanicus were borne in solemn state within her
portals. There were there the attendant crowd of female mourners, and
the bowed heads and sorrowing hearts of strong men. If the Irish
throngs had no hero to lament, who sustained their glory in the
field, and gained for them fresh laurels of victory, theirs was at
least a more disinterested tribute of grief, since it was paid to the
unpretending merit which laid down, life with the simple prayer of
'God save Ireland!' Amidst all the numerous thousands who proceeded
to Glasnevin, there was not, probably, one who would have sympathised
with any criminal offence, much less with the hideous one of murder.
And yet these thousands honoured and revered the memory of the men
condemned in England as assassins, and ignominiously buried in
felons' graves.

This mighty demonstration--at once so unique, so solemn, so impressive,
so portentous--was an event which the rulers of Ireland felt to be of
critical importance. Following upon the Requiem Masses and the other
processions, it amounted to a great public verdict which changed beyond
all resistance the moral character of the Manchester trial and
execution. If the procession could only have been called a "Fenian"
demonstration, then indeed the government might hope to detract from its
significance and importance. The sympathy of "co-conspirators" with
fallen companions could not well be claimed as an index of general
_public opinion_. But here was a demonstration notoriously apart from
Fenianism, and it showed that a moral, a peaceable, a virtuous, a
religious people, moved by the most virtuous and religious instincts,
felt themselves coerced to execrate as a cowardly and revolting crime
the act of state policy consummated on the Manchester gibbet. In fine,
the country was up in moral revolt against a deed which the perpetrators
themselves already felt to be of evil character, and one which they
fain would blot for ever from public recollection.

What was to be done? For the next ensuing Sunday similar demonstrations
were announced in Killarney, Kilkenny, Drogheda, Ennis, Clonmel,
Queenstown, Youghal, and Fermoy--the preparations in the first named
town being under the direction of, and the procession about to be led
by, a member of parliament, one of the most distinguished and
influential of the Irish popular representatives--The O'Donoghue. What
was to be done? Obviously, as the men had been hanged, there could be no
halting halfway now. Having gone so far, the government seemed to feel
that it must need go the whole way, and choke off, at all hazards, these
inconvenient, these damnatory public protests. No man must be allowed to
speak the Unutterable Words, which, like the handwriting on the wall in
the banquetting hall of Belshazzar, seemed ever to be appearing before
the affrighted consciences of Ireland's rulers. Be it right or be it
wrong, be it justice or be it murder, the act must now be upheld--in
fact, must not be alluded to. There must be _silence_ by law, on what
had been done beneath the Manchester gallows-tree.

But here there presented itself a difficulty. Before the government had
any idea that the public revulsion would become so alarmingly extensive,
the responsible ministers of the crown, specifically interrogated on the
point, had, as we have seen, declared the funeral processions not to be
illegal, and how, now, could the government interpose to prevent them?
It certainly was a difficulty which there was no way of surmounting save
by a proceeding which in any country constitutionally governed would
cost its chief authors their lives on impeachment. The government,
notwithstanding the words of its own responsible chiefs--_on the faith
of which the Dublin procession was held, and numerous others were
announced_--decided to treat as illegal the proceedings they had but a
week before declared to be _not_ illegal; decided to prosecute the
processionists who had acted on the government declarations; and decided
to prevent, by sabre and cannon--by slaughter if necessary--the further
processions announced in Killarney, Clonmel, Kilkenny, and elsewhere!

On the evening of Thursday, the 12th December, Dublin city was flung
into the most intense excitement by the issue of the following
Government Proclamation:--

* * * * *

BY THE LORD LIEUTENANT AND COUNCIL OF IRELAND.

A PROCLAMATION.

ABERCORN.

Whereas it has been publicly announced that a meeting is to assemble
in the city of _Kilkenny_, and that a procession is to take place
there on Sunday, 15th day of December instant:

And whereas placards of the said intended meeting and procession have
been printed and circulated, stating that the said intended
procession is to take place in honour of certain men lately executed
in Manchester for the crime of murder, and calling upon Irishmen to
assemble in thousands for the said procession:

And whereas meetings and processions of large numbers of persons have
been already held and have taken place in different parts of the
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland under the like pretence,
at some of which, and particularly at a meeting and procession in the
city of Dublin, language of a seditious and inflammatory character
has been used, calculated to excite discontent and disaffection in
the minds of her Majesty's subjects, and to create ill-will and
animosity amongst them, and to bring into hatred and contempt the
government and constitution of the country as by law established:

And whereas the said intended meeting and procession, and the objects
of the persons to be assembled, and take part therein, are not legal
or constitutional, but are calculated to bring into hatred and
contempt the government of the United Kingdom as by law established,
and to impede the administration of justice by intimidation, and the
demonstration of physical force.

Now we, the Lord Lieutenant and General Governor of Ireland, by and
with the advice of her Majesty's Privy Council in Ireland, being
satisfied that such meetings and processions as aforesaid can only
tend to serve the ends of factious, seditions, and traitorous
persons, and to the violation of the public peace, do hereby caution
and forewarn all persons whomsoever that they do abstain from
assembling at any such meeting, and from joining or taking part in
any such procession.

And we do hereby order and enjoin all magistrates and officers
entrusted with the preservation of the public peace, and others whom
it may concern, to aid and assist the execution of the law, in
preventing the said intended meeting and procession, and in the
effectual suppression of the same.

Given at the Council Chamber in Dublin, this Twelfth day of
December, 1807.

RICHARD C. DUBLIN.
A. BREWSTER, C.
MAYO.
STRATHNAIRN.
FRED. SHAW.
R. KEATINGE.
WILLIAM KEOGH.
JOHN E. WALSH.
HEDGES EYRE CHATTERTON.
ROBERT R. WARREN.

Everybody knew what this proclamation meant. It plainly enough announced
that not only would the further demonstrations be prevented, but that
the Dublin processionists were to feel "the vengeance of the law"--that
is the vengeance of the Manchester executioners. Next day the city was
beset with the wildest rumours as to the arrests to be made or the
prosecutions to be commenced. Everyone seemed to conclude of course that
Mr. John Martin, Mr. A.M. Sullivan, and the Honorary Secretaries of the
Procession Committee, were on the crown prosecutor's list; but besides
these the names of dozens of gentlemen who had been on the committee, or
who had acted as stewards, marshals, &c., at the funeral, were likewise
mentioned. On Saturday it became known that late on the previous evening
crown summonses had been served on Mr. J.J. Lalor, Dr. J.C. Waters, and
Mr. James Scanlan, requiring them to attend on the following Tuesday at
the Head Police Office to answer informations sworn against them for
taking part in an "illegal procession" and a "seditious assembly." A
summons had been taken out also against Mr. Martin; but as he had left
Dublin for home on Friday, the police officers proceeded after him to
Kilbroney, and "served" him there on Saturday evening.

Beside and behind this open move was a secret castle plot so utterly
disreputable that, as we shall see, the Attorney-General, startled by
the shout of universal execration which it elicited, sent his official
representative into public court to repudiate it as far as _he_ was
concerned, and to offer a public apology to the gentlemen aggrieved by
it. The history of that scandalous proceeding will appear in what
follows.

On Monday, 16th December, 1867, the Head Police Office, Exchange-court,
Dublin, presented an excited scene. The daily papers of the day report
the proceedings as follows:--

At one o'clock, the hour appointed by the summons, the defendants
attended in court, accompanied by their professional advisers and a
number of friends, including Alderman Plunkett, Mr. Butler, T.C.; the
Rev. P. Langan, P.P., Ardcath; A.M. Sullivan, T.C.; T.D. Sullivan,
J.J. Lalor, &c. Mr. Dix and Mr. Allen, divisional magistrates,
presided. Mr. James Murphy, Q.C., instructed by Mr. Anderson,
represented the crown. Mr. Heron, Q.C., and Mr. Molloy appeared for
J.J. Lalor. Mr. Crean appeared for Dr. Waters. Mr. Scallan appeared
as solicitor for J.J. Lalor and for Dr. Waters.

It was generally understood, on arrival at the Head-office, that the
cases would be heard in the usual court up stairs, and, accordingly,
the defendants and the professional gentlemen waited in the court for
a considerable time after one o'clock. It was then stated that the
magistrates would sit in another court down stairs, and all the
parties moved towards the door for the purpose of going there. Then
another arrangement was made, that the change would not take place,
and the parties concerned thereupon returned to their places. But in
a few minutes it was again announced that the proceedings would be in
the court down stairs. A general movement was made again by
defendants, by counsel, by solicitors, and others towards that court,
but on arriving at the entrances they were guarded by detectives and
police. The benches, which ought to have been reserved for the bar
and solicitors, and also for the press, were occupied by detectives,
and for a considerable time great difficulty was experienced in
getting places.

Mr. George M'Dermott, barrister, applied to the magistrates to assign
a place for the members of the bar.

Mr. Dix--I don't know that the bar, unless they are engaged in the
cases, have any greater privilege than anyone else. We have a
wretched court here.

Mr. M'Dermott said the bar was entitled to have room made for them
when it could be done.

Mr. W.L. Hackett--All the seats should not be occupied by policemen
to the exclusion of the bar.

Mr. Scallan, solicitor, who spoke from the end of the table,
said--Your worships, I am solicitor for one of the traversers, and I
cannot get near my counsel to communicate with him. The court is
filled with detectives.

Mr. Molloy--My solicitor has a right to be here; I want my solicitor
to be near me.

Mr. Dix--Certainly; how can men defend their clients if they are
inconvenienced.

An appeal was then made to the detectives who occupied the side bar
behind the counsel to make way.

Mr. Murphy, Q.C., said one was a policeman who was summoned. Mr.
Dix--The police have no right to take seats.

The detectives then yielded, and the professional gentlemen and the
reporters were accommodated.

Mr. Dix then called the cases.

Mr. Molloy--I appear with Mr. Heron, Q.C., on behalf of J.J. Lalor.

Mr. Crean--I appear for Dr. Waters.

Mr. John Martin--I appear on behalf of myself.

Mr. Crean--I understand there is an impression that Dr. Waters has
been summoned, but he has not.

Mr. Dix--If he appears that cures any defect.

Mr. Crean--I appear on his behalf, but I believe his personal
attendance is necessary.

Mr. Dix--Does anyone appear for Mr. Scanlan?

There was no answer.

Mr. Murphy, Q.C.--I ask whether Dr. Waters and Mr. Lalor appear in
court.

Mr. Molloy--My client Mr. Lalor, is in court.

Mr. Crean--I believe my client is not in court.

Mr. Murphy, Q.C.--I will prove the service of the summons against Dr.
Waters. If there is any defect in the summons it can be remedied. I
will not proceed against any person who does not appear.

Mr. Dix--Am I to take it there is no appearance for Dr. Waters or Mr.
Scanlan?

Mr. Crean--I appear for Dr. Waters. I believe he is not in court. It
was stated in the newspapers that he was summoned, but I am
instructed he has not been summoned at all.

Mr. Murphy, Q.C., then proceeded in a careful and precise address to
state the case for the crown. When he had concluded, and was about
calling evidence, the following singular episode took place:--

Mr. Dix--You only proceed against two parties?

Mr. Murphy--I shall only proceed against the parties who
attend--against those who do not attend I shall not give evidence.

Mr. John Martin--If I am in order I would say, to save the time of
the court and to save the public money, that I would be very glad to
offer every facility to the crown. I believe, Sir, you (to Mr.
Murphy) are the crown?

Mr. Murphy--I represent the crown.

Mr. Martin--I will offer every facility to the crown for establishing
the facts both as to my conduct and my words.

Mr. A.M. Sullivan--I also will help you to put up some one, as you
seem scarce of the accused. I have been summoned myself--

Mr. Dix--Who are you?

Mr. Sullivan--My name is Alexander M. Sullivan, and, meaning no
disrespect to either of the magistrates, I publicly refuse even to
be sworn. I was present at the funeral procession--I participated in
it openly, deliberately, heartily--and I denounce as a personal and
public outrage the endeavour to degrade the national press of this
country by attempting to place in the light of--

Mr. Dix--I cannot allow this. This is not a place for making
speeches. I understand you are not summoned here at all.

Mr. Murphy--He is only summoned as a witness.

Mr. Dix--When you (to Mr. Sullivan) are called on will be the time to
hear you, not now.

Mr. Sullivan--I ask your worship, with your usual courtesy, to hear
me while I complain publicly of endeavouring to place the editor of a
national journal on the list of crown witnesses in this court as a
public and personal indignity--and as an endeavour to destroy the
influence of that national press, whose power they feel and fear, but
which they dare not prosecute. I personally complain--

Mr. Murphy--I don't know that this should be permitted.

Mr. Sullivan--Don't interrupt me for a moment.

Mr. Dix--Mr. Sullivan wants to have himself included in the summons
and charge.

Mr. Murphy--That cannot be done at present.

Mr. Sullivan--With one sentence I will conclude.

Mr. Murphy--I don't intend to have you called as a witness--

Mr. Sullivan--It is an endeavour to accomplish my imprisonment for
contempt, when the government "willing to wound, afraid to strike,"
know that they dare not accuse me as a Fenian--

Mr. Dix--You are not here as a Fenian.

Mr. Sullivan--For a moment. Knowing well, your worship, that they
could not get in all Ireland a jury to convict me, to secure my
imprisonment openly and fairly, they do this. I now declare that I
participated in that funeral, and I defy those who were guilty of
such cowardice as to subpoena me as a crown witness (applause).

Mr. Crean--I perceive that my client, Dr. C. Waters, is now in court.
In order to facilitate business, I shall offer no further objection;
but, as a matter of fact, he was not summoned.

Then the case proceeded, the police giving their evidence on the whole
very fairly, and testifying that the procession was one of the most
peaceable, orderly, solemn, and impressive public demonstrations ever
seen in Dublin. Against Mr. Martin it was testified that he marched at
the head of the procession arm-in-arm with Mr. A.M. Sullivan and another
gentleman; and that he delivered the memorable speech at the cemetery
gate. Against Dr. Waters and Mr. Lalor it was advanced that they were
honorary secretaries of the funeral committee, and had moreover acted,
the former as a marshal, the latter as a steward in the procession. It
was found, however, that the case could not be closed that day; and
accordingly, late in the evening, the magistrates intimated that they
would adjourn over to next morning. Suddenly from the body of the court
is heard a stentorian voice:--

Mr. Bracken--I am summoned here as a crown witness. My name is Thomas
Bracken. I went, heart and soul into that procession (applause)--

Mr. Anderson, junior--I don't know this gentleman.

Mr. Bracken--I am very proud that neither you nor any one like you
knows me (applause).

Mr. Dix--I cannot hear you.

Mr. Bracken--I have been brought here as a crown witness away from my
business, and losing my time here.

Mr. Donal Sullivan--I am another, and I avow myself in the same way.

Several voices--"So am I."

Mr. Bracken--I want to know why I should be taken from my business,
by which I have to support my family, and put me before the eyes of
my countrymen as a crown witness (applause)? I went heart and soul
into the procession, and I am ready to do the same to-morrow, and
abide by the consequences (applause). It is curious that the
government should point me out as a crown witness.

Mr. Murphy--I ask for an adjournment till to-morrow.

Mr. Dix--It is more convenient to adjourn now.

Mr. Martin--I don't want to make any insinuations against the
gentlemen who represent the crown, nor against the police, but I
mention the fact, in order that they may relieve themselves from the
odium which would attach to them if they cannot explain it. This
morning a paragraph appears in one of the principal Dublin daily
papers, the _Irish Times_, in which it is said that I, John Martin,
have absconded; I must presume that the information was supplied to
that paper either by the crown representatives or by the police.

Mr. Murphy, Q.C.--It is right to state, so far as I am informed, that
an endeavour was made to serve Mr. Martin in Dublin. When the
summonses were issued he was not in Dublin, but had gone down to the
country, either to his own or the house of his brother, or--

Mr. Ross Todd, who sat beside Mr. Martin, here jumped up and said,
"To his own house, sir, to his own house"--

Mr. Murphy--Very well. A constable was sent down there, and saw Mr.
Martin, and he reported that Mr. Martin said he would attend
forthwith.

Mr. Dix--And he has done so?

Mr. Murphy--I have no other knowledge. It was briefed to me that Mr.
Martin said he would attend forthwith.

Mr. Martin--I am glad I have given the representatives of the crown
an opportunity of making that statement. But I cannot understand how,
when the representatives of the crown had the information, and when I
told the constables I would attend--as I have done at great
inconvenience and expense to myself--I cannot understand how a
newspaper should come to say I had absconded.

Mr. Murphy--I cannot understand it either; I can only tell the facts
within my own knowledge.

Mr. Molloy said it seemed very extraordinary that witnesses should be
summoned, and the crown say they were not.

Mr. Sullivan wished his summons to be examined. Did the magistrates
sign it?

Mr. Dix--Unless I saw the original I could not say.

Mr. J.J. Lalor--Sir John Gray has been summoned as a witness, too. It
is monstrous.

Sir John Gray, M.P.--I wish to state to your worship the unpleasant
circumstances under which I find myself placed. At an advanced hour
on Saturday I learned that the crown intended to summon as witnesses
for the prosecution some of the gentlemen connected with my
establishment. I immediately communicated with the crown prosecutor,
and said it was unfair towards these gentlemen to have them placed in
such an odious position, and that their refusal to act as crown
witnesses might subject them to serious personal consequences; I said
it would not be right of me to allow any of the gentlemen of my
establishment to subject themselves to the consequences of such
refusal, as I knew well they would all refuse. I suggested, if any
unpleasant consequences should follow, they should fall on the head
of the establishment alone (applause). I said "summon me, and deal
with me." I am here now, sir, to show my respect for you personally
and for this court; but I wish to state most distinctly that I will
never consent to be examined as a crown witness (applause).

Mr. Anderson, jun., here interposed.

Sir John Gray--I beg your pardon. I am addressing the bench, and I
hope I won't be interrupted. Some of my family are going to-night to
England to spend the Christmas with my son. I intend to escort them.
I will not be here to-morrow. I wish distinctly to state so. If I
were here, my respect for you and the bench, would induce me to be
present, but I would be present only to declare what I have already
stated, that I would not consent to be sworn or to give any evidence
whatever in this prosecution. I think it right to add that I attach
no blame whatever to the police authorities in this transaction. They
have, I am sure, performed their duty in this case with that
propriety which has always characterised their conduct. Neither do I
attach any blame to the crown prosecutor. I simply desire to state,
with the most profound respect for the bench and the court, that I
will not be a witness (loud applause).

Mr. Anderson--We don't intend to examine Sir John Gray, but I wish to
say that if the police believed any one could give important
evidence, it is a new proposition to me that it is an indignity upon
a man to summon him as a crown witness--

Mr. A.M. Sullivan--I say it is an indignity, and that the crown
solicitor should not seek to shift the responsibility on the police,
who only do what they are told.

Mr. Anderson--I am not trying to shift anything.

Mr. Sullivan--You are. You are trying to shift the responsibility of
having committed a gross indignity upon a member of parliament, upon
myself, and upon many honest men here.

Several persons holding up summonses said "hear, hear," and "yes."

Mr. Sullivan--This I charge to have been done by Mr. Anderson as his
base revenge upon honest men who bade him defiance. Mr. Anderson must
answer for this conduct. It is a vile conspiracy--a plot against
honest men, who here now to his face tell him they scorn and defy him
(applause).

Mr. Dix--I adjourn the case till one o'clock to-morrow.

The proceedings were then adjourned.

So far have we quoted from the _Freeman's Journal_. Of the closing scene
_Saunders's News-Letter_, grieving sorely over such a fiasco, gives the
following account:--

The adjournment of the court was attended with a scene of tumult and
disorder that was rarely, or never, witnessed in a police court, in
presence of the magistrates and a large number of police--both
inspectors and detectives. The crowd of unwilling witnesses who had
been summoned to give evidence against the defendants, clamorously
protested against being brought there as crown witnesses, avowed that
they were present taking part in the procession, and loudly declared
that they would not attend at any subsequent hearing of the case. The
latter part of the case indeed was marked with frequent interruptions
and declarations of a similar kind, often very vociferously uttered.
The proceedings terminated amid the greatest and unchecked disorder.

In plain words, "Scene I, Act I," in what was meant to be a most solemn,
awe-inspiring government function, turned out an unmistakable farce, if
not a disastrous break down. Even the government journals themselves,
without waiting for "Scene II.," (though coming off immediately) raised
a shout of condemnation of the discreditable bungle, and demanded that
it should be forthwith abandoned. Considering the course ultimately
taken by the government, these utterances of the government organs
themselves, have a serious meaning and are of peculiar importance. The
ultra-orange _Evening Mail_ (Tuesday, 17th December,) said:--

THE POLICE-COURT SCENE.

The scenes of yesterday in the Dublin police-court will cause an
astonished public to put the question, is the government insane? They
suppress the processions one day, and on the next proceed with
deliberation to destroy all possible effect from such an act by
inviting the magistrates' court to be used as a platform from whence
a fresh roar of defiance may be uttered. The originators of the
seditious demonstrations are charged with having brought the
government of the kingdom into hatred and contempt; but what step
taken, or word spoken or written, from the date of the first
procession to the last, brought the government into anything like the
"contempt" into which it plunged itself yesterday? The prosecutions
now instituted are in themselves an act of utter weakness. We so
declared when we imagined that they would be at least rationally
conducted; but what is to be said now? It is literally impossible to
give any sane explanation of the course taken in summoning as a crown
witness one who must have been known to be prepared to boast of his
participation in the procession. Mr. Sullivan boldly bearded the
prosecutors of his brethren. It was a splendid opportunity for him.
"I was present (he said) at that funeral procession. I participated
in it, deliberately and heartily. I call this a personal and public
outrage, to endeavour to drag the national press of this country--".
Timid and ineffectual attempts were made by the magistrate to protect
his court and position from insult, but Mr. Sullivan had the field,
and would hold it. "He might help the crown to put some one else up,"
he said, "as they are scarce, perhaps, in accused." The summoning of
him was, he resumed, an "attempt to destroy the national press, whose
power the crown feels and fears, but which they dare not prosecute."
Mr. Sullivan was suffered to describe the conduct of the crown
prosecutors at another stage as an "infamous plot." The government
desired "to accomplish his imprisonment; they were willing to wound
but afraid to strike." "They knew (he added) that they would not get
a jury in all Ireland to agree to convict me; and I now characterise
the conduct of the crown as base and cowardly." Another witness, in a
halting way, entered a like protest against being supposed to have
sympathy with the crown in the case; and the net result was a very
remarkable triumph for what Mr. Sullivan calls the "national
press"--a title wholly misapplied and grossly abused. Are we to have
a succession of these "scenes in court?"

_Saunders's News-Letter_ of the same date dealt with the subject as
follows:--

The first step in what appears to be a very doubtful proceeding was
taken yesterday by the law advisers of the crown. We refer to the
prosecution instituted against the leaders and organisers of the
Fenian procession which took place in this city on Sunday, the 8th
instant, in honour of the memories of the men executed at Manchester
for murder. As to the character of that demonstration we never
entertained any doubt. But it must be remembered that similar
demonstrations had taken place a week previously in London, in
Manchester, and in Cork, and that not only did the authorities not
interfere to prevent them, but that the prime minister declared in
the House of Lords that they were not illegal. Lord Derby doubtless,
intended to limit his observations to the violition of the Party
Processions Act, without pronouncing any opinion as to the legality
or illegality of the processions, viewed under another aspect, as
seditious assemblies. But his language was calculated to mislead,
and, as a matter of fact, was taken by the Fenian sympathisers as an
admission that their mock funeral processions were not unlawful. It
is not to be wondered at, therefore, however much to be deplored,
that the disaffected portion of the population should have eagerly
taken advantage of Lord Derby's declaration to make a safe display of
their sympathies and of their strength. They were encouraged to do so
by the toleration already extended towards their fellows in England
and in Cork, as well as by the statement of the prime minister. Under
these circumstances the prosecution of persons who took part in the
Dublin procession, even as organisers of that proceeding, appears to
us to be a matter of doubtful policy. Mr. John Martin, the leader of
the movement, stands in a different position from his companions.
They confined themselves to walking in the procession; he delivered
an inflammatory and seditious speech, for which he alone is
responsible, and which might have been made the subject of a separate
proceeding against him. To do Mr. Martin justice, he showed no desire
to shirk the responsibility he has incurred. At the police-court,
yesterday, he frankly avowed the part he had taken in the procession,
and offered to acknowledge the speech which he delivered on that
occasion. If, however, the policy which dictated the prosecution be
questionable, there can be no doubt at all as to the objectionable
manner in which some of the persons engaged in it have
acted--assuming the statement to be true that Mr. Sullivan,
proprietor and editor of the _Nation_ newspaper, and Sir John Gray,
proprietor of the _Freeman's Journal_, have been summoned as crown
witnesses. Who is responsible for this extraordinary proceeding it is
at present impossible to say. Mr. Murphy, Q.C., the counsel for the
crown, declared that he did not intend to examine Mr. Sullivan; Mr.
Anderson, the son of the crown solicitor, who appears to be entrusted
with the management of these prosecutions, denied that he had
directed the summonses to be served, and Mr. Dix, the magistrate,
stated that he had not signed them. Tot Mr. Sullivan produced the
summons requiring him to attend as a witness, and in the strongest
manner denounced the proceeding as a base and cowardly attempt on the
part of the government to imprison for contempt of court, a
"national journalist" whom they dared not prosecute. Sir John Gray,
ill less violent language, complained of an effort having been made
to place some of the gentlemen in his employment in the "odious
position of crown witnesses," and stated that he himself had been
subpoenaed, but would decline to give evidence. We have not concealed
our opinion as to the proper way of dealing with Mr. Sullivan. As the
weekly disseminator of most exciting and inflammatory articles, he is
doing much to promote disaffection and encourage Fenianism. In no
other country in the world would such writing be tolerated for a day;
and, assuredly it ought not to be permitted in Ireland in perilous
and exciting times like the present. But if Mr. Sullivan has offended
against the law, let him be proceeded against boldly, openly, and
fairly. He has, we think, a right to complain of being summoned as a
witness for the crown; but the government have even more reason to
complain of the conduct of their servants in exposing them by their
blunders to ridicule and contempt. It is too bad that with a large
and highly-paid staff of lawyers and attorneys the government
prosecutions should be conducted in a loose and slovenly manner. When
a state prosecution has been determined upon, every step ought to be
carefully and anxiously considered, and subordinate officials should
not be permitted by acts of officious zeal to compromise their
superiors and bring discredit on the administration of the law.

The Liberal-Conservative _Irish Times_ was still more outspoken:--

While all commend the recent action of the government, and give the
executive full credit for the repression by proclamation of
processions avowedly intended to be protests against authority and
law, it is generally regretted that prosecutions should have been
instituted against some of those who had taken part in these
processions. Had these menacing assemblages been held after the
proclamations were issued, or in defiance of the authorities, the
utmost power should have been exerted to put them down, and the
terrors of the law would properly have been invoked to punish the
guilty. But, bearing in mind the fact that these processions had been
declared by the head of the government--expressing, no doubt, the
opinion entertained at that time by the law officers of the crown,
that these processions were "not illegal"--remembering, too, that
similar processions had been already held without the slightest
intimation of opposition on the part of government; and recollecting,
also, that the proclamation was everywhere implicitly obeyed, and
without the least wish to dispute it, we cannot avoid regretting that
the government should have been advised, at the last hour, to
institute prosecutions of such a nature. Once, however, it was
determined to vindicate the law in this way, the utmost care should
have been taken to maintain the dignity of the proceedings, and to
avoid everything calculated to create annoyance, irritation, or
offence. If we except the moderate and very able speech of Mr.
Murphy, Q.C., there is no one part of the proceedings in the
police-court which merits commendation. Some of the witnesses utterly
broke down; opportunity was given for utterances not calculated to
increase respect for the law; and disloyal sentiments were boldly
expressed and cheered until the court rang again. Great and serious
as was the mistake in not obtaining an accurate legal opinion
respecting the character of these meetings at the first, and then
prohibiting them, a far greater mistake is now, we think, committed
in instituting _these retrospective prosecutions_. For this mistake
the law officers of the crown must, we infer, be held responsible.
Were they men of energy and vigour, with the necessary knowledge of
the world, they would not have suffered the executive to permit
processions first, and then prohibit them, and at the same time try
men for participating in what had been pronounced not to be illegal.
We exonerate the attorney-general from the error of summoning to give
evidence persons who openly gloried in the part they had taken in
these meetings. To command the presence of such witnesses was of the
nature of an offence. There was no ground, for instance, for
supposing that Mr. Sullivan would have played the informer against
the friends who had walked with him in the procession--such is not
his character, his feeling, or his sense of honour. The summoning of
those who had moved with, and as part of, the multitude, to give
evidence against their fellows, was not only a most injudicious, but
a futile expedient, and naturally has caused very great
dissatisfaction and annoyance. The circumstance, however, proves that
the prosecutions was instituted without that exact care and minute
attention to all particulars which are necessary in a case of this
kind.

Even the _Daily Express_, the, all-but subsidised, if not the secretly
subsidised, organ of the ultra-orange section of the Irish
administration, had to own the discomfiture of its patrons:--

Are our police offices to become a kind of national journals court?
Is the "national press of Ireland" then and there to bid for the
support immediately of the gallery, and more remotely of that portion
of the population which is humourously called the Irish Nation? These
speculations are suggested by a curious scene which took place at the
inquiry at the police office yesterday, and which will be found
detailed in another column. Mr. Sullivan, the editor of the _Nation_,
seized the opportunity of being summoned as a witness, to denounce
the government for not including him in the prosecution. He
complained "of endeavouring to place the editor of a national journal
on the list of crown witnesses in this court as a public and
personal indignity," and as an endeavour to destroy the influence of
the national press. It is certainly an open avowal to declare that
the mere placing of the name of the editor of a "national" journal
upon the list of crown witnesses is an unparalleled wrong. But Sir
John Gray was still more instructive. From him we learn that a
witness summoned to assist the crown in the prosecution of sedition
is placed in an "odious position." Odious it may be, but in the eyes
of whom? Surely not of any loyal subject? A paid informer, or
professional spy, may be personally odious in the eyes of those who
make use of his services. But we have yet to learn how a subject who
is summoned to come forward to assist the government fills an odious
position in the opinion of his loyal fellow-subjects. We should
rather have supposed him to be entitled to their gratitude. However
that may be, Sir John Gray came gallantly to the rescue of several
"gentlemen connected with his establishment," whom, he was informed,
the government intended to summon as witnesses. This, he knew, they
would all refuse. "I suggested, if any unpleasant consequences should
follow, that they should fall on the head of the establishment
alone." He called upon the authorities to summon him. We do complain
of our police-courts being made the scenes of open avowals of
determination to thwart, or, at least, not to assist the government
in their endeavours to prosecute treason and sedition. We can imagine
no principle on which a subject could object to assisting the crown
as a witness, which, if followed to its logical consequences, would
not justify open rebellion. It is certainly a dangerous doctrine to
preach that it is allowable, nay, even praiseworthy in a subject to
refuse to give evidence when called upon to do so by the crown. There
is a disposition too prevalent in this country to regard the law as
an enemy, and opposition to it, either by passive obstruction or
active rebellion, as a praiseworthy and patriotic act. Can we wonder
at this when we hear opposition to constituted authority openly
preached by the instructors of "the nation," and witness the
eagerness of the "national press" to free itself from the terrible
suspicion of coming to the assistance, even involuntarily, of the
government in its struggle with sedition and treason?

It was amidst such an outburst of vexation and indignation as this, even
from the government journals themselves, that the curtain rose next
morning on Act II. in the Head Police Office. A very unique episode
commenced the proceedings on this day also. At the resumption of the
case, Mr. Murphy, Q.C., on behalf of the crown, said:--

Mr. Sullivan and some other gentlemen complained yesterday of having
been served with summonses to give evidence in those cases. I am
directed by the attorney-general to state that he regrets it, and
that it was done without his authority. He never gave any directions
to have those persons summoned, nor was it done by anyone acting
under his directions. It occurred in this way. General directions
were given to the police to summon parties to give evidence in order
to establish the charge against those four gentlemen who are summoned
for taking an active part in the procession. The police, in the
exercise of their discretion thought it might be necessary to summon
parties who took part in the procession, but there was no intention
on the part of those aiding on behalf of the crown to summon parties
to give evidence who themselves took part in the procession, and I am
sorry it occurred.

Mr. Dix--I may mention that a magistrate when signing a summons knows
nothing of the witnesses. If they were all living in Jamacia he
merely signs it as a matter of form.

Mr. A.M. Sullivan--I thank your worship and Mr. Murphy, and I think
it will be seen that had your worship not allowed me yesterday to
make the protest I did, the attorney-general would not have the
opportunity of making the disclaimer which it became the dignity of
the government to make. The aspect of the case yesterday was very
adverse towards Sir John Gray, myself, and other gentlemen. Although
my brother signed his name to the notice, he was not summoned as
principal but as a witness, but if necessary, he was determined to
stand side by side in the dock with Mr. Martin.

Mr. Allen--I am very glad of the explanation, because I was blamed
for allowing persons making speeches here yesterday. I think if a man
has any ground of complaint the sooner it is set right the better.

Mr. Sullivan--I have to thank the bench.

Mr. Allen--I am glad that a satisfactory arrangement has been come to
by all parties, because there is an objection entertained by some
persons to be brought into court as witnesses for the crown.

Mr. Sullivan--Especially a public journalist.

Mr. Allen--Quite so.

Mr. Heron then proceeded to cross-examine the witness.

It was elicited from the government reporter, that, by a process which
he called "throwing in the vowels," he was able to make Mr. Martin's
speech read sufficiently seditious. Mr. D.C. Heron, Q.C., then addressed
the court on behalf of Mr. J.J. Lalor; and Mr. Michael Crean, barrister,
on behalf of Dr. Waters. Mr. Martin, on his own behalf, then spoke as
follows:--

I admit I attended the procession. I admit also that I spoke words
which I consider very grave and serious words upon that occasion. For
my acts on that occasion, for the sense and intention of the words I
spoke on that occasion, I am perfectly willing to be put upon my
country. Not only for all my acts on that occasion--not only for the
words which I spoke on that occasion; but for all my acts or all the
words I either spoke or wrote, publicly or privately, upon Irish
politics, I am perfectly willing to be put upon my country. In any
free country that has real constitutional institutions to guarantee
the liberty of the subject--to guarantee the free trial of the
subject charged with an offence against either the state or his
neighbour, it would be quite absurd to expect a man could be put upon
his country and convicted of a crime for doing that and using such
words as the vast majority of his fellow-countrymen approve. In this
case I believe that a vast majority of my fellow-countrymen do not
disapprove of the acts I acknowledge on that occasion, and that they
sympathise in the sentiment of the words I then spoke. Therefore the
mere fact that a prosecution is preferred against me for that act,
and for those words, is the expression of an opinion on my part that
this country does not at present enjoy real constitutional
institutions, guaranteeing a free trial--guaranteeing that the man
accused shall be really put upon his country. Therefore it is absurd
to think that any twelve honest men, my neighbours, put upon their
oaths, would declare that to be a crime which it is probable that, at
least, four-fifths of them believe to be right--right both
constitutionally and morally. I am aware--we are all aware--that the
gentlemen who represent the crown in this country, have very powerful
means at their disposal for obtaining convictions in the form of law
and in the form of justice, of any person they think proper to
accuse; and without meaning either to sneer or to joke in this
matter, I acknowledge the moderation of the gentlemen who represent
the government, since they chose to trouble themselves with me at
all. I acknowledge their moderation in proposing to indict me now for
sedition, for the language which they say I used, because it is
possible for them, with the means at their disposal, to have me
convicted for murder, or burglary, or bigamy (laughter). I am sorry
to say what seems like a sneer, but I use the words in deep and
solemn seriousness, and I say no more than I am perfectly ready to be
tried fairly or foully (applause in court).

The magistrates reserved their decision till next day; so that there
might be decent and seemly pause for the purpose of looking up and
pondering the legal precedents, as the legal fiction would have it; and
on next day, they announced that they would send all the accused for
trial to the next Commission at Green-street, to open on the 10th
February, 1868. The several traversers, however, were required to enter
merely into their own recognizances in £500 each to appear for trial.

In this police court proceeding the government, confessedly, were
morally worsted--utterly humiliated, in fact. So far from creating awe
or striking terror, the prosecution had evoked general contempt, scorn,
and indignation. To such an extent was this fact recognised, that the
government journals themselves, as we have seen, were amongst the
loudest in censuring the whole proceeding, and in supporting the general
expectation that there was an end of the prosecution.

Not so however was it to be. The very bitterness of the mortification
inflicted upon them by their "roll in the dust" on their first legal
encounter with the processionists, seemed to render the crown officials
more and more vindictive. It was too galling to lie under the public
challenge hurled at them by Mr. Bracken, Mr. O'Reilly, and Mr. Sullivan.
After twelve days' cogitation, government made up its mind to strike.

On Saturday, 28th December, 1867--just as everyone in Ireland seemed to
have concluded that, as the Conservative journals said, there was "an
end of" the foolish and ill-advised funeral prosecutions--Mr. Sullivan,
Mr. Bracken (one of the funeral stewards), Mr. Jennings, of Kingstown
(one of the best known and most trusted of the nationalists of
"Dunleary" district). Mr. O'Reilly, (one of the mounted marshals at the
procession), and some others, were served with citations to appear on
Monday the 30th, at the Head Police Office, to answer charges identical
with those preferred on the 16th against Mr. Martin, Dr. Waters, and Mr.
Lalor.

Preliminary prosecution No. 2 very much resembled No. 1. Mr. Murphy,
Q.C. stated the crown case with fairness and moderation; and the police,
as before, gave their evidence like men who felt "duty" and "conscience"
in sore disagreement on such an occasion. Mr. Jennings and Mr. O'Reilly
were defended, respectively, by Mr. Molloy and Mr. Crean; two advocates
whose selection from the junior bar for these critical and important
public cases was triumphantly vindicated by their conduct from the
first to the last scene of the drama. Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Bracken, and the
other accused, were not represented by counsel. On the first-named
gentleman (Mr. Sullivan) being formally called on, he addressed the
court at some length. He said:--

Please your worship, had the officials of the crown adopted towards
me, in the first instance, the course which they have taken upon the
present occasion, and had they not adopted the singular course which
they pursued in my regard when I last appeared in this court, I
should trouble you with no observations. For, as one of the 50,000
persons who, on the 8th of December, in this city, publicly,
lawfully, and peacefully demonstrated their protest against what they
believed to have been a denial of law and an outrage on justice, I
should certainly waste no public time in this preliminary
investigation, but rather admit the facts as you perceive I have done
to-day, and hasten the final decision on the issues really knit
between us and the crown. What was the course adopted by the crown in
the first instance against me? They had before them, on the 9th, just
as well as on the 29th--it is in evidence that they had--the fact
that I, openly and publicly, took part in that demonstration--that
sorrowful and sad protest against injustice (applause). They had
before them then as much as they had before them to-day, or as much
as they will ever have affecting me. For, whatever course I take in
public affairs in this country, I conceal nothing, I take it
publicly, openly, and deliberately. If I err, I am satisfied to abide
the consequences; and, whenever it may suit the weathercock judgment
of Lord Mayo, and his vacillating law advisers, to characterise my
acts or my opinion as illegal, seditious, heretical, idolatrous, or
treasonable, I must, like every other subject, be content to take my
chance of their being able to find a jury sufficiently facile or
sufficiently stupid to carry out their behests against me. But they
did not choose that course at first. They did not summon me as a
principal, but they subpoenaed me as a witness--as a crown
witness--against some of my dearest, personal, and public friends.
The attorney-general, whose word I most fully and frankly accept in
the matter--for I would not charge him with being wanting in personal
truthfulness--denied having had any complicity in the course of
conduct pursued towards me; but where does he lay the responsibility?
On "the police." What is the meaning of that phrase, "the police?" He
surely does not mean that the members of the force, who parade our
streets, exercise viceregal functions (laughter). Who was this person
thus called the "police?" How many degrees above or below the
attorney-general are we to look for this functionary described as
"the police," who has the authority to have a "seditious" man--that
is the allegation--a seditious man--exempted from prosecution? The
police cannot do that. Who, then? Who was he that could draw the
line between John Martin and his friend A.M. Sullivan--exempt the
one, prosecute the other--summon the former as a defendant and
subpoena the latter as a crown witness? What was the object? It is
plain. There are at this moment, I am convinced--who doubts
it?--throughout Ireland, as yet unfound out, Talbots and Corridons in
the pay of the crown acting as Fenian centres, who, next day, would
receive from their employers directions to spread amongst my
countrymen the intelligence that I had been here to betray my
associate, John Martin (applause). But their plot recoiled--their
device was exposed; public opinion expressed its reprobation of the
unsuccessful trick; and now they come to mend their hand. The men who
were exempted before are prosecuted to-day. Now, your worships, on
this whole case--on this entire procedure--I deliberately charge that
not we, but the government, have violated the law. I charge that the
government are well aware that the law is against them--that they are
irresistibly driven upon this attempt to strain and break the law
against the constitutional right and liberty of the subject by their
mere party exigencies and necessities.

He then reviewed at length the bearing of the Party Processions Act upon
the present case; and next proceeded to deal with the subject of the
Manchester executions; maintaining that the men were hanged, as were
others before them, in like moments of national passion and frenzy, on a
false evidence and a rotten verdict. Mr. Sullivan proceeded:--

It is because the people love justice and abhor injustice--because
the real crime of those three victims is believed to have been
devotion to native land--that the Catholic churches of Ireland
resound with prayers and requiem hymns, and the public highways were
lined with sympathising thousands, until the guilty fears of the
executioners proclaimed it illegal to mourn. Think you, sir, if the
crown view of this matter were the true one, would the Catholic
clergy of Ireland--they who braved fierce and bitter unpopularity in
reprehending the Fenian conspiracy at a time when Lord Mayo's organ
was patting it on the back for its 'fine Sardinian spirit'--would
these ministers of religion drape their churches for three common
murderers? I repel as a calumnious and slanderous accusation against
the Catholic clergy of Ireland this charge, that by their mourning
for those three martyred Irishmen, they expressed sympathy, directly
or indirectly, with murder or life-taking. If an act be seditious, it
is not the less illegal in the church than in the graveyard, or on
the road to the cemetery. Are we, then, to understand that our
churches are to be invaded by bands of soldiery, and our priests
dragged from the altars, for the seditious crime of proclaiming
aloud their belief in the innocence of Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien?
This, sir, is what depends on the decision in this case, here or
elsewhere. All this and more. It is to be decided whether, in their
capacity of Privy Councillors, the judges of the land shall put forth
a proclamation the legality or binding force of which they will
afterwards sit as judges to try. It is whether, there being no
constitution now allowed to exist in the country, there is to be no
law save what a Castle proclamation will construct, permit, or
decree; no mourning save what the police will license; no
demonstration of opinion save whatever accords with the government
views. We hear much of the liberties enjoyed in this country. No
doubt, we have fine constitutional rights and securities, until the
very time they are most required. When we have no need to invoke
them, they are permitted to us; but at the only time when they might
be of substantial value, they are, as the phrase goes, "suspended."
Who, unless in times of governmental panic, need apprehend
unwarranted arrest? When else is the _Habeas Corpus_ Act of such
considerable protection to the subject? When, unless when the crown
seeks to invade public liberty, is the purity and integrity of trial
by jury of such value and importance in political cases? Yet all the
world knows that the British government, whenever such a conflict
arises, juggles and packs the jury--

Mr. Dix--I really cannot allow that language to be used in this
court, Mr. Sullivan, with every disposition to accord you, as an
accused person, the amplest limits in your observations. Such
language goes beyond what I can permit--

Mr. Sullivan--I, at once, in respect for your worship, retract the
word juggle. I will say the crown manipulates the jury.

Mr. Dix--I can't at all allow this line of comment to be pursued--

Mr. Sullivan--With all respect for your worship, and while I am ready
to use any phrase most suitable for utterance here, I will not give
up my right to state and proclaim the fact, however unpalatable, when
it is notoriously true. I stand upon my rights to say, that you have
all the greater reason to pause, ere you send me, or any other
citizen, for trial before a jury in a crown prosecution at a moment
like the present, when trial by jury, as the theory of the
constitution supposes it, does not exist in the land. I say there is
now notoriously no fair trial by jury to be had in this country, as
between the subject and the crown. Never yet, in an important
political case, have the government in this country dared to allow
twelve men indifferently chosen, to pass into the jury-box to try the
issue between the subject and the crown. And now, sir, if you send
the case for trial, and suppose the government succeed by the juries
they are able to empanel here, with 'Fenian' ticketed on the backs of
the accused by the real governors of the country--the Heygates and
the Bruces--and if it is declared by you that in this land of
mourning it has become at last criminal even to mourn--what a victory
for the crown! Oh, sir, they have been for years winning such
victories, and thereby manufacturing conspiracies--driving people
from the open and legitimate expression of their sentiments into
corners to conspire and to hide. I stand here as a man against whom
some clamour has been raised for my efforts to save my countrymen
from the courses into which the government conduct has been driving
them, and I say that there is no more revolutionary agent in the land
than that persecution of authority which says to the people, "When we
strike you, we forbid you to weep." We meet the crown, foot to foot,
on its case here. We say we have committed no offence, but that the
prosecution against us has been instituted to subserve their party
exigencies, and that the government is straining and violating the
law. We challenge them to the issue, and even should they succeed in
obtaining from a crown jury a verdict against us, we have a wider
tribunal to appeal to--the decision of our own consciences and the
judgment of humanity (applause).

Mr. Murphy, Q.C., briefly replied. He asked his worship not to decide
that the procession was illegal, but that this case was one for a
court of law and a jury.

On this occasion it was unnecessary for Mr. Dix to take any "time to
consider his decision." All the accused were bound over in their own
recognizances to stand their trials at the forthcoming Commission in
Green-street court, on the 10th of February, 1868.

The plunge which the crown officials had shivered so long before
attempting had now been taken, and they determined to go through with
the work, _a l'outrance_. In the interval between the last police-court
scene described above, and the opening of the Green-street Commission,
in February, 1868, prosecutions were directly commenced against the
_Irishman_ and the _Weekly News_ for seditious writing. In the case of
the former journal the proprietor tried some skilfully-devised
preparatory legal moves and manoeuvers, not one of which of course
succeeded, though their justice and legality were apparent enough. In
the case of the latter journal--the _Weekly News_--the proprietor raised
no legal point whatsoever. The fact was that when he found the crown not
content with _one_ state prosecution against him (that for the funeral
procession), coming upon him with _a second_, he knew his doom was
sealed. He very correctly judged that legal moves would be all in
vain--that his conviction, _per fas aut ne fas_, was to be
obtained--that a jury would be packed against him--and that consequently
the briefest and most dignified course for him would be to go straight
to the conflict and meet it boldly.

On Monday, 10th February, 1868, the commission was opened in
Green-street, Dublin, before Mr. Justice Fitzgerald and Baron Deasy.
Soon a cunning and unworthy legal trick on the part of the crown was
revealed. The prosecuted processionists and journalists had been
indicted in the _city_ venue, had been returned for trial to the _city_
commission by a _city_ jury. But the government at the last moment
mistrusted a city jury in this instance--even a _packed_ city jury--and
without any notice to the traversers, sent the indictments before the
_county_ grand jury, so that they might be tried by a jury picked and
packed from the anti-Irish oligarchy of the Pale. It was an act of gross
illegality, hardship, and oppression. The illegality of such a course
had been ruled and decided in the case of Mr. Gavan Duffy in 1848. But
the point was raised vainly now. When Mr. Pigott, of the _Irishman_, was
called to plead, his counsel (Mr. Heron, Q.C.) insisted that he, the
traverser, was now in custody of the _city_ sheriff in accordance with
his recognizances, and could not without legal process be removed to the
county venue. An exciting encounter ensued between Mr. Heron and the
crown counsel, and the court took till next day to decide the point.
Next morning it was decided in favour of the crown, and Mr. Pigott was
about being arraigned, when, in order that he might not be prejudiced by
having attended pending the decision, the attorney-general said, "he
would shut his eyes to the fact that that gentleman was now in court,"
and would have him called immediately--an intimation that Mr. Pigott
might, if advised, try the course of refusing to appear. He did so
refuse. When next called, Mr. Pigott was not forthcoming, and on the
police proceeding to his office and residence that gentleman was not to
be found--having, as the attorney-general spitefully expressed it, "fled
from justice." Mr. Sullivan's case, had, of necessity, then to be
called; and this was exactly what the crown had desired to avoid, and
what Mr. Heron had aimed to secure. It was the secret of all the
skirmishing. A very general impression prevailed that the crown would
fail in getting a jury to convict Mr. Sullivan on any indictment
tinctured even ever so faintly with "Fenianism;" and it was deemed of
great importance to Mr. Pigott's case to force the crown to begin with
the one in which failure was expected--Mr. Sullivan having intimated his
perfect willingness to be either pushed to the front or kept to the
last, according as might best promise to secure the discomfiture of the
government. Mr. Heron had therefore so far out-manoeuvered the crown.
Mr. Sullivan appeared in court and announced himself ready for trial,
and the next morning was fixed for his arraignment. Up to this moment,
that gentleman had expressed his determination not only to discard legal
points, but to decline ordinary professional defence, and to address the
jury in his own behalf. Now, however, deferring to considerations
strongly pressed on him (set forth in his speech to the jury in the
funeral procession case), he relinquished this resolution; and, late on
the night preceding his trial, entrusted to Mr. Heron, Q.C., Mr. Crean,
and Mr. Molloy, his defence on this first prosecution.

Next morning, Saturday, 15th February, 1868, the trial commenced; a jury
was duly packed by the "stand-by" process, and notwithstanding a charge
by Justice Fitzgerald, which was, on the whole one of the fairest heard
in Ireland in a political case for many years, Mr. Sullivan was duly
convicted of having, by pictures and writings in his journal the _Weekly
News_, seditiously brought the crown and government into hatred and
contempt.

The government officials were jubilant. Mr. Pigott was next arraigned,
and after an exceedingly able defence by Mr. Heron, was likewise
convicted.

It was now very generally concluded that the government would be
satisfied with these convictions, and would not proceed with the funeral
procession cases. At all events, it was universally regarded as certain
that Mr. Sullivan would not be arraigned on the second or funeral
procession indictment, as he now stood convicted on the other--the press
charge. But it was not to be so. Elate with their success, the crown
officials thought they might even discard their doubts of a city jury;
and on Thursday morning, 20th February, 1868, John Martin, Alexander M.
Sullivan, Thomas Bracken, and J.J. Lalor,[A] were formally arraigned in
the _city_ venue. [Footnote A: Dr. Waters, in the interval since his
committal on this charge, had been arrested, and was now imprisoned,
under the Suspension of the _Habeas Corpus_ Act. He was not brought to
trial on the procession charge.]

It was a scene to be long remembered, that which was presented in the
Green-street court-house on that Thursday morning. The dogged
vindictiveness of the crown officials, in persisting with this second
prosecution, seemed to have excited intense feeling throughout the city,
and long before the proceedings opened the court was crowded in every
part with anxious spectators. When Mr. Martin entered, accompanied by
his brother-in-law, Dr. Simpson, and Mr. Ross Todd, and took his seat at
the travelers' bar, a low murmur of respectful sympathy, amounting to
applause, ran through the building. And surely it was a sight to move
the heart to see this patriot--this man of pure and stainless life,
this man of exalted character, of noble soul, and glorious
principles--standing once more in that spot where twenty years before he
stood confronting the same foe in the same righteous and holy
cause--standing once more at that bar whence, twenty years before, he
was led off manacled to a felon's doom for the crime of loving Ireland!
Many changes had taken place in the interval, but over the stern
integrity of _his_ soul time had wrought no change. He himself seemed to
recall at this moment his last "trial" scene on this spot, and, as he
cast his gaze around, one could detect on his calm thoughtful face
something of sadness, yet of pride, as memory doubtless pictured the
spectacle of twenty years ago.

Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Bracken, and Mr. Lalor, arrived soon after, and
immediately the judges appeared on the bench the proceedings began.

On their lordships, Mr. Justice Fitzgerald and Mr. Baron Deasy,
taking their seats upon the bench,

Mr. Smartt (deputy clerk of the crown) called upon John Martin,
Alexander M. Sullivan, John J. Lalor, and Thomas Bracken, to come and
appear as they were bound to do in discharge of their recognizances.

All the traversers answered.

Mr. Smartt then proceeded to arraign the traversers under an
indictment charging in the first count--"That John Martin, John C.
Waters, John J. Lalor, Alexander M. Sullivan, and Thomas Bracken,
being malicious, seditious, and ill-disposed persons, and intending
to disturb the peace and tranquillity of the realm, and to excite
discontent and disaffection, and to excite the subjects of our Lady
the Queen in Ireland to hatred and dislike of the government, the
laws, and the administration of the laws of this realm, on the 8th
day of December, in the year of our Lord, 1867, unlawfully did
assemble and meet together with divers other persons, amounting to a
large number--to wit, fifteen thousand persons--for the purpose of
exciting discontent and disaffection, and for the purpose of exciting
her Majesty's subjects in Ireland to hatred of her government and the
laws of this realm, in contempt of our Lady the Queen, in open
violation of the laws of this realm, and against the peace of our
Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity." The second count charged that
the defendants intended "to cause it to be believed that the three
men who had been duly tried, found guilty, and sentenced, according
to law, for murder, at Manchester, in England, had been illegally and
unjustly executed; and to excite hatred, dislike, and disaffection
against the administration of justice, and the laws of this realm,
for and in respect of the execution of the said three men." A third
count charged the publication at the unlawful assembly laid in the
first and second counts of the false and seditious words contained in
Mr. John Martin's speech. A fourth and last count was framed under
the Party Processions' Act, and charged that the defendants "did
unlawfully meet, assemble, and parade together, and were present at
and did join in a procession with divers others, and did bear, wear,
and have amongst them in said procession certain emblems and symbols,
the display whereof was calculated to and did tend to provoke
animosity between different classes of her Majesty's subjects,
against the form of the statute in such case made and provided, and
against the peace of our Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity."

The traversers severally pleaded not guilty.

The Attorney-General, the Solicitor-General, Dr. Ball, Q.C.; Mr.
Charles Shaw, Q.C.; Mr. James Murphy, Q.C.; Mr. R.H. Owen, Q.C.; and
Mr. Edward Beytagh, instructed by Mr. Anderson, Crown Solicitor,
appeared to prosecute.

Mr. Martin, Mr. Sullivan, and Mr. Bracken were not professionally
assisted.

Mr. Michael T. Crean, instructed by Mr. John T. Scallan, appeared for
Mr. Lalor.

And now came the critical stage of the case. _Would the crown pack the
jury?_ The clerk of the crown began to call the panel, when--

John Keegan was called and ordered to stand by on the part of the
crown.

Mr. Sullivan--My lord, have I any right to challenge?

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald--You have Mr. Sullivan, for cause.

Mr. Sullivan--And can the crown order a juror to stand by without a
cause assigned?

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald--The crown has a right to exercise that
privilege.

Mr. Sullivan--Well, I will exercise no challenge, for cause or
without cause. Let the crown select a jury now as it pleases.

Subsequently George M'Cartney was called, and directed to stand by.

Patrick Ryan was also ordered to stand by.

Mr. Martin--I protest against this manner of selecting a jury. I do
so publicly.

J.J. Lalor--I also protest against it.

Thomas Bracken--And I also.

The sensation produced by this scene embarrassed the crown officials not
a little. It dragged to light the true character of their proceeding.
Eventually the following twelve gentlemen were suffered by the crown to
pass into the box as a "jury"--[Footnote: Not one Catholic was allowed
to pass into the box. Every Catholic who came to the box was ordered to
"_Stand by_."]

SAMUEL EAKINS, Foreman.
WILLIAM DOWNES GRIFFITH.
EDWARD GATCHELL.
THOMAS MAXWELL HUTTON.
MAURICE KERR.
WILLIAM LONGFIELD.
JOSEPH PURSER.
THOMAS PAUL.
JAMES REILLY.
JOHN GEORGE SHIELS.
WILLIAM O'BRIEN SMYTH.
GEORGE WALSH.

The Solicitor-General, Mr. Harrison, stated the case for the
prosecution. Next the police repeated their evidence--their description
of the procession--as given before the magistrates, and the government
short-hand writer proved Mr. Martin's speech. The only witnesses now
produced who had not testified at the preliminary stage were a
Manchester policeman named Seth Bromley, who had been one of the van
escort on the day of the rescue, and the degraded and infamous crown
spy, Corridon. The former--eager as a beagle on the scent to run down
the prey before him--left the table amidst murmurs of derision and
indignation evoked by his over-eagerness on his direct examination, and
his "fencing" and evasion on cross-examination. The spy Corridon was
produced "to prove the existence of the Fenian conspiracy." Little
notice was taken of him. Mr. Crean asked him barely a trivial question
or two. Mr. Martin and Mr. Sullivan, when asked if they desired to
cross-examine him, replied silently by gestures of loathing; and the
wretch left the table--crawled from it--like a crippled murderer from
the scene of his crime.

This closed the case for the crown, and Mr. Crean, counsel for Mr.
Lalor, rose to address the jury on behalf of his client. His speech was
argumentative, terse, forcible, and eloquent; and seemed to please and
astonish not only the auditors but the judges themselves, who evidently
had not looked for so much ability and vigour in the young advocate
before them. Although the speeches of professional advocates do not come
within the scope of this publication, Mr. Crean's vindication of the
national colour of Ireland--probably the most telling passage in his
address--has an importance which warrants its quotation here:--

Gentlemen, it is attempted in this case to make the traversers
amenable under the Party Processions' Act, because those in the
procession wore green ribbons. Gentlemen, this is the first time, in
the history of Irish State Prosecutions which mark the periods of
gloom and peril in this country, that the wearing of a green ribbon
has been formally indicted; and I may say it is no good sign of the
times that an offence which has been hitherto unknown to the law
should now crop up for the first time in this year of grace, one
thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight. Not even in the worst days of
Lord Castlereagh's ill-omened regime was such an attempt as this made
to degrade the green of Ireland into a party colour, and to make that
which has long been regarded as a national emblem the symbol of a
faction. Gentlemen, there is no right-minded or right-hearted
man--looking back upon the ruinous dissensions and bitter conflicts
which have been the curse and bane of this country--who will not
reprobate any effort to revive and perpetuate them. There is no
well-disposed man in the community who will not condemn and crush
those persons--no matter on what side they may stand--who make
religion, which should be the fountain and mother of all peace and
blessings, the cause of rancour and animosity. We have had,
unhappily, gentlemen, too much of this in Ireland. We have been too
long the victims of that wayward fate of which the poet wrote, when
he said:--

"Whilst our tyrants join in hate,
We never joined in love."

But, gentlemen, I will ask of you if you ever before heard, until
this time, that the green of Ireland was the peculiar colour of any
particular sect, creed, or faction, or that any of the people of this
country wore it as the peculiar emblem of their party, and for the
purpose of giving annoyance and of offering insult to some other
portion of their fellow-countrymen. I must say that I never heard
before that Catholic or Protestant, or Quaker or Moravian, laid claim
to this colour as a symbol of party. I thought all Irishmen, no
matter what altar they bowed before, regarded the green as the
national colour of Ireland. If it is illegal to wear the green, all I
can say is that the Constabulary are guilty of a constant and
continuing breach of the law. The Lord and Lady Lieutenant will
probably appear on next Patrick's Day, decorated with large bunches
of green shamrock. Many of the highest officials of the government
will do the same; and is it to be thought for one moment that they,
by wearing this green emblem of Ireland and of Irish nationality, are
violating the law of the land. Gentlemen, it is perfectly absurd to
think so. I hope this country has not yet so fallen as that it has
become a crime to wear the green. I trust we have not yet come to
that pass of national degradation, that a jury of Irishmen can be
found so forgetful of their country's dignity and of their own as to
brand with a mark of infamy a colour which is associated with so many
recollections, not of party triumphs, but of national glories--not
with any sect, or creed, or party, but with a nation and a race whose
children, whether they were the exiled soldiers of a foreign state,
or the soldiers of Great Britain--whether at Fontenoy or on the
plains of Waterloo, or on the heights of Fredericksburgh, have nobly
vindicated the chivalry and fame of Ireland! It is for them that the
green has its true meaning. It is to the Irishman in a distant land
this emblem is so dear, for it is entwined in his memory, not with
any miserable faction, but with the home and the country which gave
him birth. I do hope that Irishmen will never be ashamed in this
country to wear the green, and I hope an attempt will never again be
made in an Irish court of justice to punish Irishmen for wearing that
which is a national colour, and of which every man who values his
country should feel proud.

When Mr. Crean resumed his seat--which he did amidst strong
manifestations of applause--it was past three o'clock in the afternoon.
It was not expected that the case would have proceeded so far by that
hour, and Mr. Martin and Mr. Sullivan, who intended each to speak in his
own behalf, did not expect to rise for that purpose before next day,
when it was arranged that Mr. Martin would speak first, and Mr. Sullivan
follow him. Now, however, it was necessary some one of them should rise
to his defence, and Mr. Martin urged that Mr. Sullivan should begin.

By this time the attendance in court, which, during the
Solicitor-General's speech and the crown evidence, thinned down
considerably, had once more grown too great for the fair capacity of the
building. There was a crush within, and a crowd without. When Mr.
Sullivan was seen to rise, after a moment's hurried consultation with
Mr. Martin, who sat beside him, there was a buzz, followed by an anxious
silence. For a moment the accused paused, almost overcome (as well he
might have been) by a sense of the responsibility of this novel and
dangerous course. But he quickly addressed himself to the critical task
he had undertaken, and spoke as follows:--[Footnote: As Mr. Sullivan
delivered this speech without even the ordinary assistance of written
notes or memoranda, the report here quoted is that which was published
in the newspapers of the time. Some few inaccuracies which he was
precluded from correcting then (being a prisoner when this speech was
first published), have been corrected for this publication.]

My lords and gentlemen of the jury--I rise to address you under
circumstances of embarassment which will, I hope, secure for me a
little consideration and indulgence at your hands. I have to ask you
at the outset to banish any prejudice that might arise in your minds
against a man who adopts the singular course--who undertakes the
serious responsibility--of pleading his own defence. Such a
proceeding might be thought to be dictated either by disparagement of
the ordinary legal advocacy, by some poor idea of personal vanity, or
by way of reflection on the tribunal before which the defence is
made. My conduct is dictated by neither of these considerations or
influences. Last of all men living should I reflect upon the ability,
zeal, and fidelity of the Bar of Ireland, represented as it has been
in my own behalf within the past two days by a man whose heart and
genius are, thank God, still left to the service of our country, and
represented, too, as it has been here this day by that gifted young
advocate, the echoes of whose eloquence still resound in this court,
and place me at disadvantage in immediately following him. And
assuredly I design no disrespect to this court; either to tribunal in
the abstract, or to the individual judges who preside; from one of
whom I heard two days ago delivered in my own case a charge of which
I shall say--though followed by a verdict which already consigns me
to a prison--that it was, judging it as a whole, the fairest, the
clearest, the most just and impartial ever given to my knowledge, in
a political case of this kind in Ireland between the subject and the
crown. No; I stand here in my own defence to-day, because long since
I formed the opinion that, on many grounds, in such a prosecution as
this, such a course would be the most fair and most consistent for a
man like me. That resolution I was, for the sake of others, induced
to depart from on Saturday last, in the first prosecution against me.
When it came to be seen that I was the first to be tried out of two
journalists prosecuted, it was strongly urged on me that my course,
and the result of my trial, might largely affect the case of the
other journalist to be tried after, me; and that I ought to waive my
individual views and feelings, and have the utmost legal ability
brought to bear in behalf of the case of the national press at the
first point of conflict. I did so. I was defended by a bar not to be
surpassed in the kingdom for ability and earnest zeal; yet the result
was what I anticipated. For I knew, as I had held all along, that in
a case like this, where law and fact are left to the jury, legal
ability is of no avail if the crown comes in with its arbitrary power
of moulding the jury. In that case, as in this one, I openly,
publicly, and distinctly announced that I for my part would challenge
no one, whether with cause or without cause. Yet the crown--in the
face of this fact--and in a case where they knew that at least the
accused had no like power of peremptory challenge--did not venture to
meet me on equal footing; did not venture to abstain from their
practice of absolute challenge; in fine, did not dare to trust their
case to twelve men "indifferently chosen," as the constitution
supposes a jury to be. Now, gentlemen, before I enter further upon
this jury question, let me say that with me this is no complaint
merely against "the Tories." On this as well as on numerous other
subjects, it is well known that it has been my unfortunate lot to
arraign both Whigs and Tories. I say further, that I care not a jot
whether the twelve men selected or permitted by the crown to try me,
or rather to convict me, by twelve of my own co-religionists and
political compatriots, or twelve Protestants, Conservatives, Tories,
or "Orangemen." Understand me clearly on this. My objection is not to
the individuals comprising the jury. You may be all Catholics, or you
may be all Protestants, for aught that affects my protest, which is
against the mode by which you are selected--selected by the
crown--their choice for their own ends--and not "indifferently
chosen" between the crown and the accused. You may disappoint, or you
may justify the calculations of the crown official, who has picked
you out from the panel, by negative or positive choice (I being
silent and powerless)--you may or may not be all he supposes--the
outrage on the spirit of the constitution is the same. I say, by such
a system of picking a jury by the crown, I am not put upon my
country. Gentlemen, from the first moment these proceedings were
commenced against me, I think it will be admitted that I endeavoured
to meet them fairly and squarely, promptly and directly. I have never
once turned to the right or to the left, but gone straight to the
issue. I have from the outset declared my perfect readiness to meet
the charges of the crown. I did not care when or where they tried me.
I said I would avail of no technicality--that I would object to no
juror--Catholic, Protestant, or Dissenter. All I asked--all I
demanded--was to be "put upon my country," in the real, fair, and
full sense and spirit of the constitution. All I asked was that the
crown would keep its hand off the panel, as I would keep off mine. I
had lived fifteen years in this city; and I should have lived in
vain, if, amongst the men that knew me in that time, whatever might
be their political or religious creed, I feared to have my acts, my
conduct, or principles tried. It is the first and most original
condition of society that a man shall subordinate his public acts to
the welfare of the community, or at least acknowledge the right of
those amongst whom his lot is cast, to judge him on such an issue as
this. Freely I acknowledge that right. Readily have I responded to
the call to submit to the judgment of my country, the question
whether, in demonstrating my sorrow and sympathy for misfortune, my
admiration for fortitude, my vehement indignation against what I
considered to be injustice, I had gone too far and invaded the rights
of the community. Gentlemen, I desire in all that I have to say to
keep or be kept within what is regular and seemly, and above all to
utter nothing wanting in respect for the court; but I do say, and I
do protest, that I have not got trial by jury according to the spirit
and meaning of the constitution. It is as representatives of the
general community, not as representatives of the crown officials, the
constitution supposes you to sit in that box. If you do not fairly
represent the community, and if you are not empanelled indifferently
in that sense, you are no jury in the spirit of the constitution. I
care not how the crown practice may be within the technical letter of
the law, it violates the intent and meaning of the constitution, and
it is not "trial by jury." Let us suppose the scene removed, say, to
France. A hundred names are returned on what is called a panel by a
state functionary for the trial of a journalist charged with
sedition. The accused is powerless to remove any name from the list
unless for over-age or non-residence. But the imperial prosecutor has
the arbitrary power of ordering as many as he pleases to "stand
aside." By this means he puts or allows on the jury only whomsoever
he pleases. He can, beforehand, select the twelve, and, by wiping
out, if it suits him, the eighty-eight other names, put the twelve of
his own choosing into the box. Can this be called trial by jury?
Would not it be the same thing, in a more straightforward way, to let
the crown-solicitor send out a policeman and collect twelve
well-accredited persons of his own mind and opinion? For my own part,
I would prefer this plain-dealing, and consider far preferable the
more rude but honest hostility of a drum-head court martial (applause
in the court). Again I say, understand me well, I am objecting to the
principle, the system, the practice, and not to the twelve gentlemen
now before me as individuals. Personally, I am confident that being
citizens of Dublin, whatever your views or opinions, you are
honourable and conscientious men. You may have strong prejudices
against me or my principles in public life--very likely you have; but
I doubt not that though these may unconsciously tinge your judgment
and influence your verdict, you will not consciously violate the
obligations of your oath. And I care not whether the crown, in
permitting you to be the twelve, ordered three, or thirteen, or
thirty others to "stand by"--or whether those thus arbitrarily put
aside were Catholics or Protestants, Liberals, Conservatives, or
Nationalists--the moment the crown put its finger at all on the
panel, in a case where the accused had no equal right, the essential
character of the jury was changed, and the spirit of the constitution
was outraged. And now, what is the charge against my
fellow-traversers and myself? The solicitor-general put it very
pithily awhile ago when he said our crime was "glorifying the cause
of murder." The story of the crown is a very terrible, a very
startling one. It alleges a state of things which could hardly be
supposed to exist amongst the Thugs of India. It depicts a population
so hideously depraved that thirty thousand of them in one place, and
tens of thousands in various other places, arrayed themselves
publicly in procession to honour and glorify murder--to sympathise
with murderers as murderers. Yes, gentlemen, that is the crown case,
or they have no case at all--that the funeral procession in Dublin on
the 8th December last was a demonstration of sympathy with murder as
murder. For you will have noted that never once in his smart
narration of the crown story, did Mr. Harrison allow even the
faintest glimmer to appear of any other possible complexion or
construction of our conduct. Why, I could have imagined it easy for
him not merely to state his own case, but to state ours too, and show
where we failed, and where his own side prevailed. I could easily
imagine Mr. Harrison stating our view of the matter--and combatting
it. But he never once dared to even mention our case. His whole aim
was to hide it from you, and to fasten, as best such efforts of his
could fasten, in your minds this one miserable refrain--"They
glorified the cause of murder and assassination." But this is no new
trick. It is the old story of the maligners of our people. They call
the Irish a turbulent, riotous, crime-loving, law-hating race. They
are for ever pointing to the unhappy fact--for, gentlemen, it is a
fact--that between the Irish people and the laws under which they now
live there is little or no sympathy, but bitter estrangement and
hostility of feeling or of action. Bear with me if I examine this
charge, since an understanding of it is necessary in order to judge
our conduct on the 8th December last. I am driven upon this extent of
defence by the singular conduct of the solicitor-general, who, with a
temerity which he will repent, actually opened the page of Irish
history, going back upon it just so far as it served his own purpose,
and no farther. Ah! fatal hour for my prosecutors when they appealed
to history. For assuredly, that is the tribunal that will vindicate
the Irish people, and confound those who malign them as sympathisers
with assassination and glorifiers of murder--

Solicitor-General--My lord, I must really call upon you--I deny that
I ever--

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald--Proceed, Mr. Sullivan.

Mr. Sullivan--My lord, I took down the solicitor-general's words. I
quote them accurately as he spoke them, and he cannot get rid of them
now. "Glorifiers of the cause of murder" was his designation of my
fellow-traversers and myself, and our fifty thousand fellow-mourners
in the funeral procession; and before I sit down I will make him rue
the utterance. Gentlemen of the jury, if British law be held in
"disesteem"--as the crown prosecutors phrase it--here in Ireland,
there is an explanation for that fact, other than that supplied by
the solicitor-general; namely, the wickedness of seditious persons
like myself, and the criminal sympathies of a people ever ready to
"glorify the cause of murder." Mournful, most mournful, is the lot of
that land where the laws are not respected--nay, revered by the
people. No greater curse could befall a country than to have the laws
estranged from popular esteem, or in antagonism with the national
sentiment. Everything goes wrong under such a state of things. The
ivy will cling to the oak, and the tendrils of the vine reach forth
towards strong support. But more anxiously and naturally still does
the human heart instinctively seek an object of reverence and love,
as well as of protection and support, in law, authority, sovereignty.
At least, among a virtuous people like ours, there is ever a yearning
for those relations which are, and ought to be, as natural between a
people and their government as between the children and the parent. I
say for myself, and I firmly believe I speak the sentiments of most
Irishmen when I say, that so far from experiencing satisfaction, we
experience pain in our present relations with the law and governing
power; and we long for the day when happier relations may be restored
between the laws and the national sentiment in Ireland. We Irish are
no race of assassins or "glorifiers of murder." From the most remote
ages, in all centuries, it has been told of our people that they were
pre-eminently a justice-loving people. Two hundred and fifty years
ago the predecessor of the solicitor-general--an English
attorney-general--it may be necessary to tell the learned gentleman
that his name was Sir John Davis (for historical as well as
geographical knowledge[B] seems to be rather scarce amongst the
present law officers of the crown), (laughter)--held a very different
opinion of them from that put forth to-day by the solicitor-general.
Sir John Davis said no people in the world loved equal justice more
than the Irish even where the decision was against themselves. That
character the Irish have ever borne and bear still. But if you want
the explanation of this "disesteem" and hostility for British law,
you must trace effect to cause. It will not do to stand by the river
side near where it flows into the sea, and wonder why the water
continues to run by. Not I--not my fellow-traversers--not my
fellow-countrymen--are accountable for the antagonism between law and
popular sentiment in this country. Take up the sad story where you
will--yesterday, last month, last year, last century--two centuries
ago, three centuries, five centuries, six centuries--and what will
you find? English law presenting itself to the Irish people in a
guise forbidding sympathy or respect, and evoking fear and
resentment. Take it at its birth in this country. Shake your minds
free of legal theories and legal fictions, and deal with facts. This
court where I now stand is the legal and political heir, descendant,
and representative of the first law court of the Pale six or seven
centuries ago. Within that Pale were a few thousand English settlers,
and of them alone did the law take cognizance. The Irish nation--the
millions outside the Pale--were known only as "the king's Irish
enemie." The law classed them with the wild beasts of nature whom it
was lawful to slay. Later on in our history we find the Irish near
the Pale sometimes asking to be admitted to the benefits of English
law, since they were forbidden to have any of their own; but their
petitions were refused. Gentlemen, this was English law as it stood
towards the Irish people for centuries; and wonder, if you will, that
the Irish people held it in "disesteem:--[Footnote B: On Mr.
Sullivan's first trial the solicitor-general, until stopped and
corrected by the court, was suggesting to the jury that there was no
such place as Knockrochery, and that a Fenian proclamation which had
been published in the _Weekly News_ as having been posted at that
place, was, in fact, composed in Mr. Sullivan's Office. Mr. Justice
Deasy, however, pointedly corrected and reproved this blunder on the
part of Mr. Harrison.]

"The Irish were denied the right of bringing actions in any of
the English courts in Ireland for trespasses to their lands, or
for assaults or batteries to their persons. Accordingly, it was
answer enough to the action in such a case to say that the
plaintiff was an Irishman, unless he could produce a special
charter giving him the rights of an Englishman. If he sought
damage against an Englishman for turning him out of his land,
for the seduction of his daughter Nora, or for the beating of
his wife Devorgil, or for the driving off of his cattle, it was
a good defence to say he was a mere Irishman. And if an
Englishman was indicted for manslaughter, if the man slain was
an Irishman, he pleaded that the deceased was of the Irish
nation, and that it was no felony to kill an Irishman. For this,
however, there was a fine of five marks payable to the king; but
mostly they killed us for nothing. If it happened that the man
killed was a servant of an Englishman, he added to the plea of
the deceased being an Irishman, that if the master should ever
demand damages, he would be ready to satisfy him."

That was the egg of English law in Ireland. That was the seed--that
was the plant--do you wonder if the tree is not now esteemed and
loved? If you poison a stream at its source, will you marvel if down
through all its courses the deadly element is present? Now trace from
this, its birth, English law in Ireland--trace down to this hour--and
examine when or where it ever set itself to a reconciliation with the
Irish people. Observe the plain relevancy of this to my case. I, and
men like me, are held accountable for bringing law into hatred and
contempt in Ireland: and in presenting this charge against me the
solicitor-general appealed to history. I retort the charge on my
accusers; and I will trace down to our own day the relations of
hostility which English law itself established between itself and the
people of Ireland. Gentlemen, for four hundred years--down to
1607--the Irish people had no existence in the eye of the law; or
rather much worse, were viewed by it as "the King's Irish enemie."
But even within the Pale, how did it recommend itself to popular
reverence and affection? Ah, gentlemen, I will show that in those
days, just as there have been in our own, there were executions and
scaffold-scenes which evoked popular horror and resentment--though
they were all "according to law," and not be questioned unless by
"seditionists." The scaffold streamed with the blood of those whom
the people loved and revered--how could they love and revere the
scaffold? Yet, 'twas all "according to law." The sanctuary was
profaned and rifled; the priest was slain or banished--'twas all
"according to law," no doubt, and to hold law in "disesteem" is
"sedition." Men were convicted and executed "according to law;" yet
the people demonstrated sympathy for them, and resentment against
their executioners--most perversely, as a solicitor-general,
doubtless, would say. And, indeed, the State Papers contain accounts
of those demonstrations written by crown officials which sound very
like the solicitor-general's speech to-day. Take, for instance, the
execution--"according to law"--of the "Popish bishop" O'Hurley. Here
is the letter of a state functionary on the subject:--

"I could not before now so impart to her Majesty as to know her
mind touching the same for your lordship's direction. Wherefore,
she having at length resolved, I have accordingly, by her
commandment, to signify her Majesty's pleasure unto you touching
Hurley, which is this:--That the man being so notorious and ill
a subject, as appeareth by all the circumstances of his cause he
is, you proceed, if it may be, to his execution by ordinary
trial of him for it. How be it, in case you shall find the
effect of his course DOUBTFUL by reason of the affection of such
as shall be on his jury, and by reason of the supposal conceived
by the lawyers of that country, that he can hardly be found
guilty for his treason committed in foreign parts against her
Majesty. Then her pleasure is you take A SHORTER WAY WITH HIM,
by martial law. So, as you may see, it is referred to your
discretion, whether of those two ways your lordship will take
with him, and the man being so resolute to reveal no more
matter, it is thought best to have no FURTHER TORTURES used
against him, but that you proceed FORTHWITH TO HIS EXECUTION in
manner aforesaid. As for her Majesty's good acceptation of your
careful travail in this matter of Hurley, you need nothing to
doubt, and for your better assurance thereof she has commanded
me to let your lordship understand that, as well as in all
others the like, as in the case of Hurley, she cannot but
greatly allow and commend YOUR DOINGS."

Well, they put his feet into tin boots filled with oil, and then
placed him standing in the fire. Eventually they cut off his head,
tore out his bowels, and cut the limbs from his body. Gentlemen,
'twas all "according to law;" and to demonstrate sympathy for him and
"disesteem" of that law was "sedition." But do you wonder greatly
that law of that complexion failed to secure popular sympathy and
respect? One more illustration, gentlemen, taken from a period
somewhat later on. It is the execution--"according to law,"
gentlemen; entirely "according to law"--of another Popish bishop
named O'Devany. The account is that of a crown official of the
time--some most worthy predecessor of the solicitor-general. I read
it from the recently published work of the Rev. C.P. Meehaun. "On the
28th of January, the bishop and priest, being arraigned at the King's
Bench, were each condemned of treason, and adjudged to be executed
the Saturday following; which day being come, a priest, or two of the
Pope's brood, with holy water and other holy stuffs"--(no sneer was
that at all, gentlemen; no sneer at Catholic practices, for a crown
official never sneers at Catholic practices)--"were sent to sanctify
the gallows whereon they were to die. About two o'clock, p.m., the
traitors were delivered to the sheriffs of Dublin, who placed them in
a small car, which was followed by a great multitude. As the car
progressed the spectators knelt down; but the bishop sitting still,
like a block, would not vouchsafe them a word, or turn his head
aside. The multitude, however, following the car, made such a dole
and lamentation after him, as the heavens themselves resounded the
echoes of their outcries." (Actually a seditious funeral
procession--made up of the ancestors of those thirty-thousand men,
women, and children, who, according to the solicitor-general,
glorified the cause of murder on the 8th of last December.) "Being
come to the gallows, whither they were followed by troops of the
citizens, men and women of all classes, most of the best being
present, the latter kept up such a shrieking, such a howling, and
such a hallooing, as if St. Patrick himself had been gone to the
gallows, could not have made greater signs of grief; but when they
saw him turned from off the gallows, they raised the _whobub_ with
such a maine cry, as if the rebels had come to rifle the city. Being
ready to mount the ladder, when he was pressed by some of the
bystanders to speak, he repeated frequently _Sine me quæso_. The
executioner had no sooner taken off the bishop's head, but the
townsmen of Dublin began to flock about him, some taking up the head
with pitying aspect, accompanied with sobs and sighs; some kissed it
with as religious an appetite as ever they kissed the Pax; some cut
away all the hair from the head, which they preserved for a relic;
some others were practisers to steal the head away, but the
executioner gave notice to the sheriffs. Now, when he began to
quarter the body, the women thronged about him, and happy was she
that could get but her handkerchief dipped in the blood of the
traitor; and the body being once dissevered in four quarters, they
neither left, finger nor toe, but they cut them off and carried them
away; and some others that could get no holy monuments that
appertained to his person, with their knives they shaved off chips
from the hallowed gallows; neither could they omit the halter
wherewith he was hanged, but it was rescued for holy uses. The same
night after the execution, a great crowd flocked about the gallows,
and there spent the fore part of the night in heathenish howling, and
performing many Popish ceremonies; and after midnight, being then
Candlemas day, in the morning having their priests present in
readiness, they had Mass after Mass till, daylight being come, they
departed to their own houses." There was "sympathy with sedition" for
you, gentlemen. No wonder the crown official who tells the
story--same worthy predecessor of Mr. Harrison--should be horrified
at such a demonstration. I will sadden you with no further
illustrations of English law, but I think it will be admitted that
after centuries of such law, one need not wonder if the people hold
it in "hatred and contempt." With the opening of the seventeenth
century, however, came a golden and glorious opportunity for ending
that melancholy--that terrible state of things. In the reign of James
I., English law, for the first time, extended to every corner of this
kingdom. The Irish came into the new order of things frankly and in
good faith; and if wise counsels prevailed then amongst our rulers,
oh, what a blessed ending there might have been to the bloody feud of
centuries. The Irish submitted to the Gaelic King, to whom had come
in the English crown. In their eyes he was of a friendly, nay of a
kindred race. He was of a line of Gaelic kings that had often
befriended Ireland. Submitting to him was not yielding to the brutal
Tudor. Yes, that was the hour, the blessed opportunity for laying the
foundation of a real union between the three kingdoms; a union of
equal national rights under the one crown. This was what the Irish
expected; and in this sense they in that hour accepted the new
dynasty. And it is remarkable that from that day to this, though
England has seen bloody revolutions and violent changes of rulers,
Ireland has ever held faithfully--too faithfully--to the sovereignty
thus adopted. But how were they received? How were their expectations
met? By persecution, proscription, and wholesale plunder, even by
that miserable Stuart. His son came to the throne. Disaffection broke
out in England and Scotland. Scottish Protestant Fenians, called
"Covenanters," took the field against him, because of the attempt to
establish Episcopalian Protestantism as a state church. By armed
rebellion against their lawful king, I regret to say it, they won
rights which now most largely tend to make Scotland contented and
loyal. I say it is to be regretted that those rights were thus won;
for I say that even at best it is a good largely mixed with evil
where rights are won by resorts of violence or revolution. His
concessions to the Calvanist Fenians in Scotland did not save
Charles. The English Fenians, under their Head Centre Cromwell, drove
him from the throne and murdered him on a scaffold in London. How did
the Irish meanwhile act? They stood true to their allegiance. They
took the field for the King. What was the result? They were given
over to slaughter and plunder by the brutal soldiery of the English
Fenians. Their nobles and gentry were beggared and proscribed; their
children were sold as white slaves to West Indian planters; and their
gallant struggles for the king, their sympathy for the royalist
cause, was actually denounced by the English Fenians as "sedition,"
"rebellion," "lawlessness," "sympathy with crime." Ah, gentlemen, the
evils thus planted in our midst will survive, and work their
influence; yet some men wonder that English law is held in
"disesteem" in Ireland. Time went on, gentlemen; time went on.
Another James sat on the throne; and again English Protestant
Fenianism conspired for the overthrow of their sovereign. They
invited "foreign emissaries" to come over from Holland and Sweden, to
begin the revolution for them. They drove their legitimate king from
the throne--never more to return. How did the Irish act in that hour?
Alas! Ever too loyal--ever only too ready to stand by the throne and
laws if only treated with justice or kindliness--they took the field
for the king, not against him. He landed on our shores; and had the
English Fenians rested content with rebelling themselves, and allowed
us to remain loyal as we desired to be, we might now be a
neighbouring but friendly and independent kingdom under the ancient
Stuart line. King James came here and opened his Irish parliament in
person. Oh, who will say in that brief hour at least the Irish nation
was not reconciled to the throne and laws? King, parliament, and
people, were blended in one element of enthusiasm, joy, and hope, the
first time for ages Ireland had known such a joy. Yes--

We, too, had our day--it was brief, it is ended--
When a King dwelt among us--no strange King--but OURS.
When the shout of a people delivered ascended,
And shook the green banner that hung on yon towers,
We saw it like leaves in the summer-time shiver;
We read the gold legend that blazoned it o'er--
"To-day--now or never; to-day and for ever"--
Oh, God! have we seen it to see it no more!

(Applause in court). Once more the Irish people bled and sacrificed
for their loyalty to the throne and laws. Once more confiscation
devastated the land, and the blood of the loyal and true was poured
like rain. The English Fenians and the foreign emissaries triumphed,
aided by the brave Protestant rebels of Ulster. King William came to
the throne--a prince whose character is greatly misunderstood in
Ireland: a brave, courageous soldier, and a tolerant man, could he
have had his way. The Irish who had fought and lost, submitted on
terms, and had law even now been just or tolerant, it was open to the
revolutionary _regime_ to have made the Irish good subjects. But what
took place? The penal code came, in all its horror to fill the Irish
heart with hatred and resistance. I will read for you what a
Protestant historian--a man of learning and ability--who is now
listening to me in this court--has written of that code. I quote
"Godkin's History," published by Cassell of London:--

"The eighteenth century," says Mr. Godkin, "was the era of
persecution, in which the law did the work of the sword more
effectually and more safely. Then was established a code framed
with almost diabolical ingenuity to extinguish natural
affection--to foster perfidy and hypocrisy--to petrify
conscience--to perpetuate brutal ignorance--to facilitate the
work of tyranny--by rendering the vices of slavery inherent and
natural in the Irish character, and to make Protestantism almost
irredeemably odious as the monstrous incarnation of all moral
perversions."

Gentlemen, in that fell spirit English law addressed itself to a
dreadful purpose here in Ireland; and, mark you, that code prevailed
down to our own time; down to this very generation. "Law" called on
the son to sell his father; called on the flock to betray the pastor.
"Law" forbade us to educate--forbid us to worship God in the faith of
our fathers. "Law" made us outcasts--scourged us, trampled us,
plundered us--do you marvel that, amongst the Irish people, law has
been held in "disesteem?" Do you think this feeling arises from
"sympathy with assassination or murder?" Yet, if we had been let
alone, I doubt not that time would have fused the conquerors and the
conquered, here in Ireland, as elsewhere. Even while the millions of
the people were kept outside the constitution, the spirit of
nationality began to appear; and under its blessed influence
toleration touched the heart of the Irish-born Protestant. Yes--thank
God--thank God, for the sake of our poor country, where sectarian
bitterness has wrought such wrong--it was an Irish Protestant
Parliament that struck off the first link of the penal chain. And lo!
once more, for a bright brief day, Irish national sentiment was in
warm sympathy and heartfelt accord with the laws. "Eighty-two" came.
Irish Protestant patriotism, backed by the hearty sympathy of the
Catholic millions, raised up Ireland to a proud and glorious
position; lifted our country from the ground, where she lay prostrate
under the sword of England--but what do I say? This is "sedition." It
has this week been decreed sedition to picture Ireland thus.[C] Well,
then, they rescued her from what I will call the loving embrace of
her dear sister Britannia, and enthroned her in her rightful place, a
queen among the nations. Had the brightness of that era been
prolonged--picture it, think of it--what a country would ours be now?
Think of it! And contrast what we are with what we might be! Compare
a population filled with burning memories--disaffected, sullen,
hostile, vengeful--with a people loyal, devoted, happy, contented;
and England, too, all the happier, the more secure, the more great
and free. But sad is the story. Our independent national legislature
was torn from us by means, the iniquity of which, even among English
writers, is now proclaimed and execrated. By fraud and by force that
outrage on law, on right, and justice, was consummated. In speaking
thus I speak "sedition." No one can write the facts of Irish history,
without committing sedition. Yet every writer and speaker now will
tell you that the overthrow of our national constitution, sixty-seven
years ago, was an iniquitous and revolting scheme. But do you, then,
marvel that the laws imposed on us by the power that perpetrated that
deed are not revered, loved, and respected? Do you believe that that
want of respect arises from the "seditions" of men like my
fellow-traversers and myself? Is it wonderful to see estrangement
between a people and laws imposed on them by the over-ruling
influence of another nation? Look at the lessons--unhappy
lessons--taught our people by that London legislature where their own
will is overborne. Concessions refused and resisted as long as they
durst be withheld; and when granted at all, granted only after
passion has been aroused and the whole nation been embittered. The
Irish people sought Emancipation. Their great leader was dogged at
every step by hostile government proclamations and crown
prosecutions. Coercion act over coercion act was rained upon us; yet
O'Connell triumphed. But how and in what spirit was Emancipation
granted? Ah there never was a speech more pregnant with mischief,
with sedition, with revolutionary teaching--never words tended more
to bring law and government into contempt--than the words of the
English premier when he declared Emancipation must, sorely against
his will, be granted if England would not face a civil war. That was
a bad lesson to teach Irishmen. Worse still was taught them.
O'Connell, the great constitutional leader, a man with whom loyalty
and respect for the laws was a fundamental principle of action, led
the people towards further liberation--the liberation, not of a
creed, but a nation. What did he seek? To bring once more the laws
and the national will into accord; to reconcile the people and the
laws by restoring the constitution of queen, lords, and commons. How
was he met by the government? By the nourish of the sword; by the
drawn sabre and the shotted gun, in the market place and the highway.
"Law" finally grasped him as a conspirator, and a picked jury gave
the crown then, as now, such verdict as was required. The venerable
apostle of constitutional doctrines was consigned to prison, while a
sorrowing--aye, a maddened nation, wept for him outside. Do you
marvel that they held in "disesteem" the law and government that
acted thus? Do you marvel that to-day, in Ireland, as in every
century of all those through which I have traced this state of
things, the people and the law scowl upon each other? Gentlemen, do
not misunderstand the purport of my argument. It is not for the
purpose--it would be censurable--of merely opening the wounds of the
past that I have gone back upon history somewhat farther than the
solicitor-general found it advantageous to go. I have done it to
demonstrate that there is a truer reason than that alleged by the
crown in this case for the state of war--for unhappily that is what
it is--which prevails between the people of Ireland and the laws
under which they now live. And now apply all this to the present
case, and judge you my guilt--judge you the guilt of those whose
crime, indeed, is that they do not love and respect law and
government as they are now administered in Ireland. Gentlemen, the
present prosecution arises directly out of what is known as the
Manchester tragedy. The solicitor-general gave you his version, his
fanciful sketch of that sad affair; but it will be my duty to give
you the true facts, which differ considerably from the crown story.
The solicitor-general began with telling us about "the broad summer's
sun of the 18th September" (laughter). Gentlemen, it seems very clear
that the summer goes far into the year for those who enjoy the sweets
of office; nay, I am sure it is summer "all the year round" with the
solicitor-general while the present ministry remain in. A goodly
golden harvest he and his colleagues are making in this summer of
prosecutions; and they seem very well inclined to get up enough of
them (laughter). Well, gentlemen, I'm not complaining of that, but I
will tell you who complain loudly--the "outs," with whom it is
midwinter, while the solicitor-general and his friends are enjoying
this summer (renewed laughter). Well, gentlemen, some time last
September two prominent leaders of the Fenian movement--alleged to be
so at least--named Kelly and Deasy, were arrested in Manchester. In
Manchester there is a considerable Irish population, and amongst them
it was known those men had sympathisers. They were brought up at the
police court--and now, gentlemen, pray attentively mark this. The
Irish executive that morning telegraphed to the Manchester
authorities a strong warning of an attempted rescue. The Manchester
police had full notice--how did they treat the timely warning sent
from Dublin; a warning which, if heeded, would have averted all this
sad and terrible business which followed upon that day? Gentlemen,
the Manchester police authorities scoffed at the warning. They
derided it as a "Hirish" alarm. What! The idea of low "Hirish" hodmen
or labourers rescuing prisoners from them, the valiant and the brave!
Why, gentlemen, the Seth Bromleys of the "force" in Manchester waxed
hilarious and derisive over the idea. They would not ask even a
truncheon to put to flight even a thousand of those despised
"Hirish;" and so, despite specific warning from Dublin, the van
containing the two Fenian leaders, guarded by eleven police officers,
set out from the police office to the jail. Now, gentlemen, I charge
on the stolid vain gloriousness in the first instance, and the
contemptible pusilanimity in the second instance, of the Manchester
police--the valiant Seth Bromleys--all that followed. On the skirts
of the city the van was attacked by some eighteen Irish youths,
having three revolvers--three revolvers, gentlemen, and no
more--amongst them. The valour of the Manchester eleven vanished at
the sight of those three revolvers--some of them, it seems, loaded
with blank cartridge! The Seth Bromleys took to their heels. They
abandoned the van. Now, gentlemen, do not understand me to call those
policemen cowards. It is hard to blame an unarmed man who runs away
from a pointed revolver, which, whether loaded or unloaded, is a
powerful persuasion to--depart. But I do say that I believe in my
soul that if that had occurred here in Dublin, eleven men of our
metropolitan police whould have taken those three revolvers or
perished in the attempt (applause). Oh, if eleven Irish policemen had
run away like that from a few poor English lads with barely three
revolvers, how the press of England would yell in fierce
denunciation--why, they would trample to scorn the name of
Irishman--(applause in the court, which the officials vainly tried to
silence). [Footnote C: For publishing an illustration in the _Weekly
News_ thus picturing England's policy of coercion, Mr. Sullivan had
been found guilty of seditious libel on the previous trial.]

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald--If these interruptions continue, the parties
so offending must be removed.

Mr. Sullivan--I am sorry, my lord, for the interruption; though not
sorry the people should endorse my estimate of the police. Well,
gentlemen, the van was abandoned by its valiant guard; but there
remained inside one brave and faithful fellow, Brett by name. I am
now giving you the facts as I in my conscience and soul believe they
occurred--and as millions of my countrymen--aye, and thousands of
Englishmen, too--solemnly believe them to have occurred, though they
differ in one item widely from the crown version. Brett refused to
give up the key of the van, which he held; and the attacking party
commenced various endeavours to break it open. At length one of them
called out to fire a pistol into the lock, and thus burst it open.
The unfortunate Brett at that moment was looking through the keyhole,
endeavouring to get a view of the inexplicable scene outside, when he
received the bullet and fell dead. Gentlemen, that may be the true,
or it may be the mistaken version. You may hold to the other, or you
may hold to this. But whether I be mistaken therein, or otherwise, I
say here, as I would say if I stood now before my Eternal Judge on
the Last Day, I solemnly believe the mournful episode to have
happened thus--I solemnly believe that the man Brett was shot by
accident, and not by design. But even suppose your view differs
sincerely from mine, will you, can you, hold that I, thus
conscientiously persuaded, sympathise with murder, because I
sympathise with men hanged for that which I contend was accident, and
not murder? That is exactly the issue in this case. Well, the rescued
Fenian leaders got away; and then, when all was over--when the danger
was passed--valour tremendous returned to the fleet of foot
Manchester police. Oh, but they wreaked their vengeance that night
on the houses of the poor Irish in Manchester! By a savage razzia
they soon filled the jails with our poor countrymen seized on
suspicion. And then broke forth all over England that shout of anger
and passion which none of us will ever forget. The national pride had
been sorely wounded; the national power had been openly and
humiliatingly defied; the national fury was aroused. On all sides
resounded the hoarse shout for vengeance, swift and strong. Then was
seen a sight the most shameful of its kind that this century has
exhibited--a sight at thought of which Englishmen yet will hang their
heads for shame, and which the English historian will chronicle with
reddened check--those poor and humble Irish youths led into the
Manchester dock in chains! In chains! Yes; iron fetters festering
wrist and ankle! Oh, gentlemen, it was a fearful sight; for no one
can pretend that in the heart of powerful England there could be
danger those poor Irish youths would overcome the authorities and
capture Manchester. For what, then, were those chains put on untried
prisoners? Gentlemen, it was at this point exactly that Irish
sympathy came to the side of those prisoners. It was when we saw them
thus used, and saw that, innocent or guilty, they would be
immolated--sacrificed to glut the passion of the hour--that our
feelings rose high and strong in their behalf. Even in England there
were men--noble-hearted Englishmen, for England is never without such
men--who saw that if tried in the midst of this national frenzy,
those victims would be sacrificed; and accordingly efforts were made
for a postponement of the trial. But the roar of passion carried its
way. Not even till the ordinary assizes would the trial be postponed.
A special commission was sped to do the work while Manchester jurors
were in a white heat of panic, indignation, and fury. Then came the
trial, which was just what might be expected. Witnesses swore ahead
without compunction, and jurors believed them without hesitation.
Five men arraigned together as principals--Allen, Larkin, O'Brien,
Shore, and Maguire--were found guilty, and the judge concerning in
the verdict, were sentenced to death. Five men--not three men,
gentlemen--five men in the one verdict, not five separate verdicts.
Five men by the same evidence and the same jury in the same verdict.
Was that a just verdict? The case of the crown here to-day is that it
was--that it is "sedition" to impeach that verdict. A copy of that
conviction is handed in here as evidence to convict me of sedition
for charging as I do that that was a wrong verdict, a bad verdict, a
rotten and a false verdict. But what is the fact? That her Majesty's
ministers themselves admit and proclaim that it was a wrong verdict,
a false verdict. The very evening those men were sentenced, thirty
newspaper reporters sent up to the Home Secretary a petition
protesting that--the evidence of the witnesses and the verdict of the
jury notwithstanding--there was at least one innocent man thus marked
for execution. The government felt that the reporters were right and
the jurors wrong. They pardoned Maguire as an innocent man--that
same Maguire whose legal conviction is here put in as evidence that
he and four others were truly murderers, to sympathise with whom is
to commit sedition--nay, "to glorify the cause of murder." Well,
after that, our minds were easy. We considered it out of the question
any man would be hanged on a verdict thus ruined, blasted, and
abandoned; and believing those men innocent of murder, though guilty
of another most serious legal crime--rescue with violence, and
incidental, though not intentional loss of life--we rejoiced that a
terrible mistake was, as we thought, averted. But now arose in
redoubled fury the savage cry for blood. In vain good men, noble and
humane men, in England tried to save the national honour by breasting
this horrible outburst of passion. They were overborne. Petitioners
for mercy were mobbed and hooted in the streets. We saw all this--we
saw all this; and think you it did not sink into our hearts? Fancy if
you can our feelings when we heard that yet another man out of five
was respited--ah, he was an American, gentlemen--an American, not an
Irishman--but that the three Irishmen, Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien,
were to die--were to be put to death on a verdict and on evidence
that would not hang a dog in England! We refused to the last to
credit it; and thus incredulous, deemed it idle to make any effort to
save their lives. But it was true; it was deadly true. And then,
gentlemen, the doomed three appeared in a new character. Then they
rose into the dignity and heroism of martyrs. The manner in which
they bore themselves through the dreadful ordeal ennobled them for
ever It was then we all learned to love and revere them as patriots
and Christians. Oh, gentlemen, it is only at this point I feel my
difficulty in addressing you whose religious faith is not that which
is mine. For it is only Catholics who can understand the emotions
aroused in Catholic hearts by conduct such as theirs in that dreadful
hour. Catholics alone can understand how the last solemn declarations
of such men, after receiving the last sacraments of the Church, and
about to meet their Great Judge face to face, can outweigh the
reckless evidence of Manchester thieves and pickpockets. Yes; in that
hour they told us they were innocent, but were ready to die; and we
believed them. We believe them still. Aye, do we! They did not go to
meet their God with a falsehood on their lips. On that night before
their execution, oh, what a scene! What a picture did England present
at the foot of the Manchester scaffold! The brutal populace thronged
thither in tens of thousands. They danced; they sang; they
blasphemed; they chorused "Rule Britannia," and "God save the Queen,"
by way of taunt and defiance of the men whose death agonies they had
come to see! Their shouts and brutal cries disturbed the doomed
victims inside the prison as in their cells they prepared in prayer
and meditation to meet their Creator and their God. Twice the police
had to remove the crowd from around that wing of the prison; so that
our poor brothers might in peace go through their last preparations
for eternity, undisturbed by the yells of the multitude outside. Oh,
gentlemen, gentlemen--that scene! That scene in the grey cold
morning when those innocent men were led out to die--to die an
ignominious death before that wolfish mob! With blood on fire--with
bursting hearts--we read the dreadful story here in Ireland. We knew
that these men would never have been thus sacrificed had not their
offence been political, and had it not been that in their own way
they represented the old struggle of the Irish race. We felt that if
time had but been permitted for English passion to cool down, English
good feeling and right justice would have prevailed; and they never
would have been put to death on such a verdict. All this we felt, yet
we were silent till we heard the press that had hounded those men to
death falsely declaring that our silence was acquiescence in the deed
that consigned them to murderers' graves. Of this I have personal
knowledge, that, here in Dublin at least, nothing was done or
intended, until the _Evening Mail_ declared that popular feeling
which had had ample time to declare itself, if it felt otherwise,
quite recognised the justice of the execution. Then we resolved to
make answer. Then Ireland made answer. For what monarch, the loftiest
in the world, would such demonstrations be made, the voluntary
offerings of a people's grief! Think you it was "sympathy for murder"
called us forth, or caused the priests of the Catholic Church to
drape their churches? It is a libel to utter the base charge. No, no.
With the acts of those men at that rescue we had nought to say. Of
their innocence of murder we were convinced. Their patriotic
feelings, their religious devotion, we saw proved in the noble, the
edifying manner of their death. We believed them to have been
unjustly sacrificed in a moment of national passion; and we resolved
to rescue their memory from the foul stains of their maligners, and
make it a proud one for ever with Irishmen. Sympathy with murder,
indeed! What I am about to say will be believed; for I think I have
shown no fear of consequences in standing by my acts and
principles--I say for myself, and for the priests and people of
Ireland, who are affected by this case, that sooner would we burn our
right hands to cinders than express, directly or indirectly, sympathy
with murder; and that our sympathy for Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien is
based upon the conviction that they were innocent of any such crime.
Gentlemen, having regard to all the circumstances of this sad
business, having regard to the feelings under which we acted, think
you is it a true charge that we had for our intent and object the
bringing of the administration of justice into contempt? Does a man,
by protesting, ever so vehemently, against an act of a not infallible
tribunal, incur the charge of attempting its overthrow? What evidence
can be shown to you that we uttered a word against the general
character of the administration of justice in this country, while
denouncing this particular proceeding, which we say was a fearful
failure of justice--a horrible blunder, a terrible act of passion!
None--none. I say, for myself, I sincerely believe that in this
country of ours justice is administered by the judges of the Irish
Bench with a purity and impartiality between man and man not to be
surpassed in the universal world. Let me not be thought to cast
reflection on this court, or the learned judges before whom I now
stand, if I except in a certain sense, and on some occasions,
political trials between the subject and the crown. Apart from this,
I fearlessly say the bench of justice in Ireland fully enjoys and is
worthy of respect and homage. I care not from what political party
its members be drawn, I say that, with hardly an exception, when
robed with the ermine, they become dead to the world of politics, and
sink the politician in the loftier character of representative of
Sacred Justice. Yet, gentlemen, holding those views, I would,
nevertheless, protest against and denounce such a trial as that in
Manchester, if it had taken place here in Ireland. For, what we
contend is that the men in Manchester would never have been found
guilty on such evidence, would never have been executed on such a
verdict, if time had been given to let panic and passion pass
away--time to let English good sense and calm reason and, sense of
justice have sway. Now, gentlemen, judge ye me on this whole case;
for I have done. I have spoken at great length, but I plead not
merely my own cause but the cause of my country. For myself I care
little. I stand before you here with the manacles, I might say, on my
hands. Already a prison cell awaits me in Kilmainham. My doom, in any
event, is sealed. Already a conviction has been obtained against me
for my opinions on this same event; for it is not one arrow alone
that has been shot from the crown office quiver at me--at my
reputation, my property, my liberty. In a few hours more my voice
will be silenced; but before the world is shut out from me for a
term, I appeal to your verdict--to the verdict of my
fellow-citizens--of my fellow-countrymen--to judge my life, my
conduct, my acts, my principles and say am I a criminal. Sedition, in
a rightly ordered community, is indeed a crime. But who is it that
challenges me? Who is it that demands my loyalty? Who is it that
calls out to me, "Oh, ingrate son, where is the filial affection, the
respect, the obedience, the support, that is my due? Unnatural,
seditious, and rebellious child, a dungeon shall punish your crime!"
I look in the face of my accuser, who thus holds me to the duty of a
son. I turn to see if there I can recognise the features of that
mother, whom indeed I love, my own dear Ireland. I look into that
accusing face, and there I see a scowl, and not a smile. I miss the
soft, fond voice, the tender clasp, the loving word. I look upon the
hands reached out to grasp me--to punish me; and lo, great stains,
blood red, upon those hands; and my sad heart tells me it is the
blood of my widowed mother, Ireland. Then I answer to my
accuser--"You have no claim on me--on my love, my duty, my
allegiance. You are not my mother. You sit indeed in the place where
she should reign. You wear the regal garments torn from her limbs,
while she now sits in the dust, uncrowned and overthrown, and
bleeding, from many a wound. But my heart is with her still. Her
claim alone is recognised by me. She still commands my love, my duty,
my allegiance; and whatever the penalty may be, be it prison chains,
be it exile or death, to her I will be true" (applause). But,
gentlemen of the jury, what is that Irish nation to which my
allegiance turns? Do I thereby mean a party, or a class, or creed? Do
I mean only those who think and feel as I do on public questions? Oh,
no. It is the whole people of this land--the nobles, the peasants,
the clergy the merchants, the gentry, the traders, the
professions--the Catholic, the Protestant, the Dissenter. Yes. I am
loyal to all that a good and patriotic citizen should be loyal to; I
am ready, not merely to obey, but to support with heartfelt
allegiance, the constitution of my own country--the Queen as Queen of
Ireland, and the free parliament of Ireland once more reconstituted
in our national senate-house in College--green. And reconstituted
once more it will be. In that hour the laws will again be reconciled
with national feeling and popular reverence. In that hour there will
be no more disesteem, or hatred, or contempt for the laws: for,
howsoever a people may dislike and resent laws imposed upon them
against their will by a subjugating power, no nation disesteems the
laws of its own making. That day, that blessed day, of peace and
reconciliation, and joy, and liberty, I hope to see. And when it
comes, as come it will, in that hour it will be remembered for me
that I stood here to face the trying ordeal, ready to suffer for my
country--walking with bared feet over red hot ploughshares like the
victims of old. Yes; in that day it will be remembered for me, though
a prison awaits me now, that I was one of those journalists of the
people who, through constant sacrifice and self-immolation, fought
the battle of the people, and won every vestige of liberty remaining
in the land. (As Mr. Sullivan resumed his seat, the entire audience
burst into applause, again and again renewed, despite all efforts at
repression.)

The effect of this speech certainly was very considerable. Mr. Sullivan
spoke for upwards of two hours and forty minutes, or until nearly a
quarter past six o'clock. During the delivery of his address, twilight
had succeeded day-light; the court attendants, later still, with silent
steps and taper in hand, stole around and lit the chandeliers, whose
glare upon the thousand anxious faces below, seemed to lend a still more
impressive aspect to the scene. The painful idea of the speaker's peril,
which was all-apparent at first amongst the densely-packed audience,
seemed to fade away by degrees, giving place to a feeling of triumph, as
they listened to the historical narrative of British misrule in Ireland,
by which Irish "disesteem" for British law was explained and justified,
and later on to the story of the Manchester tragedy by which Irish
sympathy with the martyrs was completely vindicated. Again and again in
the course of the speech, they burst into applause, regardless of
threatened penalties; and at the close gave vent to their feelings in a
manner that for a time defied all repression.

When silence was restored, the court was formally adjourned to next day,
Friday, at 10 o'clock, a.m.

The morning came, and with it another throng; for it was known Mr.
Martin would now speak in his turn. In order, however, that his speech,
which was sure to be an important one, might close the case against the
crown, Mr. Bracken, on the court resuming, put in _his_ defence very
effectively as follows:--

My lords--I would say a word or two, but after Mr. Sullivan's grand
and noble speech of last evening, I think it now needless on my part.
I went to the procession of the 8th December, assured that it was
right from reading a speech of the Earl of Derby in the newspapers.
There was a sitting of the Privy Council in Dublin on the day before,
and I sat in my shop that night till twelve o'clock, to see if the
procession would be forbidden by government. They, however, permitted
it to take place, and I attended it fully believing I was right. That
is all I have to say.

This short speech--delivered in a clear musical and manly voice--put the
whole case against the crown in a nut-shell. The appearance of the
speaker too--a fine, handsome, robust, and well-built man, in the prime
of life, with the unmistakable stamp of honest sincerity on his
countenance and in his eye--gave his words greater effect with the
audience; and it was very audibly murmured on all sides that he had
given the government a home thrust in his brief but telling speech.

Then Mr. Martin rose. After leaving court the previous evening he had
decided to commit to writing what he intended to say; and he now read
from manuscript his address to the jury. The speech, however, lost
nothing in effect by this; for any auditor out of view would have
believed it to have been spoken, as he usually speaks, _extempore_, so
admirably was it delivered. Mr. Martin said:--

My lords and gentlemen of the jury--I am going to trouble this court
with some reply to the charge made against me in this indictment.
But I am sorry that I must begin by protesting that I do not consider
myself as being now put upon my country to be tried as the
constitution directs--as the spirit of the constitution
requires--and, therefore, I do not address you for my legal defence,
but for my vindication before the tribunal of conscience--a far more
awful tribunal, to my mind, than this. Gentlemen, I regard you as
twelve of my fellow-countrymen, known or believed by my prosecutors
to be my political opponents, and selected for that reason for the
purpose of obtaining a conviction against me in form of law.
Gentlemen, I have not the smallest purpose of casting an imputation
against your honesty or the honesty of my prosecutors who have
selected you. This is a political trial, and in this country
political trials are always conducted in this way. It is considered
by the crown prosecutors to be their duty to exclude from the
jury-box every juror known, or suspected, to hold or agree with the
accused in political sentiment. Now, gentlemen, I have not the least
objection to see men of the most opposite political sentiments to
mine placed in the jury-box to try me, provided they be placed there
as the constitution commands--provided they are twelve of my
neighbours indifferently chosen. As a loyal citizen I am willing and
desirous to be put upon my county, and fairly tried before any twelve
of my countrymen, no matter what may happen to be the political
sentiments of any of them. But I am sorry and indignant that this is
not such a trial. This system by which over and over again loyal
subjects of the Queen in Ireland are condemned in form of law for
seeking, by such means as the constitution warrants, to restore her
Majesty's kingdom of Ireland to the enjoyment of its national
rights--this system, of selecting anti-Repealers and excluding
Repealers from the jury box, when a Repealer like me is to be tried,
is calculated to bring the administration of justice into disesteem,
disrepute, and hatred. I here protest against it. My lords and
gentlemen of the jury, before I offer any reply to the charges in
this indictment, and the further development of those charges made
yesterday by the learned gentleman whose official duty it was to
argue the government's case against me, I wish to apologise to the
court for declining to avail myself of the professional assistance of
the bar upon this occasion. It is not through any want of respect for
the noble profession of the bar that I decline that assistance. I
regard the duties of a lawyer as among the most respectable that a
citizen can undertake. His education has taught him to investigate
the origin, and to understand principles of law, and the true nature
of loyalty. He has had to consider how the interests of individual
citizens may harmonise with the interests of the community, how
justice and liberty may be united, how the state may have both order
and contentment. The application of the knowledge which he has
gained--viz., the study of law to the daily facts of human
society--sharpens and strengthens all his faculties, clears his
judgment, helps him to distinguish true from false, and right from
wrong. It is no wonder, gentlemen, that an accomplished and virtuous
lawyer holds a high place in the aristocracy of merit in every free
country. Like all things human, the legal profession has its dark as
well as its bright side, has in it germs of decay and rotten foulness
as well as of health and beauty; but yet it is a noble profession,
and one which I admire and respect. But, above all, I would desire to
respect the bar of my own country, and the Irish bar--the bar made
illustrious by such memories as those of Grattan and Flood, and the
Emmets, and Curran, and Plunket, and Saurin, and Holmes, and Sheil,
and O'Connell. I may add, too, of Burke and of Sheridan, for they
were Irish in all that made them great. The bar of Ireland wants this
day only the ennobling inspirations of national freedom to raise it
to a level with the world. Under the Union very few lawyers have been
produced whose names can rank in history with any of the great names
I have mentioned. But still, even the present times of decay, and
when the Union is preparing to carry away our superior courts, and
the remains of our bar to Westminster, and to turn that beautiful
building upon the quay into a barrack like the Linen Hall, or an
English tax-gatherer's office like the Custom House, there are many
learned, accomplished, and respectable lawyers at the Irish bar, and
far be it from me to doubt but that any Irish lawyer who might
undertake my defence would loyally exert himself as the lofty idea of
professional honour commands to save me from a conviction. But to
this attack upon my character as a good citizen and upon my liberty,
my lords and gentlemen, the only defence I could permit to be offered
would be a full justification of my political conduct, morally,
constitutionally, legally--a complete vindication of my acts and
words alleged to be seditious and disloyal, and to retort against my
accusers the charge of sedition and disloyalty. Not, indeed, that I
would desire to prosecute these gentlemen upon that charge, if I
could count upon convicting them and send them to the dungeon instead
of myself. I don't desire to silence them, or to hurt a hair of their
wigs because their political opinions differed from mine. Gentlemen,
this prosecution against me, like the prosecutions just accomplished
against two national newspapers, is part of a scheme of the ministers
of the crown for suppressing all voice of protest against the Union,
for suppressing all public complaint against the deadly results of
the Union, and all advocacy by act, speech, or writing for Repeal of
the Union. Now I am a Repealer so long as I have been a politician at
all--that is for at least twenty-four years past. Until the national
self-government of my country be first restored, there appears to me
to be no place, no _locus standi_ (as lawyers say), for any other
Irish political question, and I consider it to be my duty as a
patriotic and loyal citizen, to endeavour by all honourable and
prudent means to procure the Repeal of the Act of the Union, and the
restoration of the independent Irish government, of which my country
was (as I have said in my prosecuted speech), "by fraud and force,"
and against the will of the vast majority of its people of every
race, creed, and class, though under false form of law, deprived
sixty-seven years ago. Certainly, I do not dispute the right of you,
gentlemen, or of any man in this court, or in all Ireland, to
approve of the Union, to praise it, if you think right, as being wise
and beneficent, and to advocate its continuance openly by act,
speech, and writing. But I naturally think that my convictions in
this matter of the Union ought to be shared by you also, gentlemen,
and by the learned judges, and the lawyers, both crown lawyers and
all others, and by the policemen and soldiers, and all faithful
subjects of her Majesty in Ireland. Now, gentlemen, such being my
convictions, were I to entrust my defence in this court to a lawyer,
he must speak as a Repealer, not only for me, but for himself, not
only as a professional advocate, but as a man, and from the heart. I
cannot doubt but that there are very many Irish lawyers who privately
share my convictions about Repeal. Believing as I do in my heart and
conscience, and with all the force of the mind that God has given me,
that Repeal is the right and the only right policy for Ireland--for
healing all the wounds of our community, all our sectarian feuds, all
our national shame, suffering, and peril--for making our country
peaceful, industrious, prosperous, respectable, and happy--I cannot
doubt but that in the enlightened profession of the bar there must be
very many Irishmen who, like me, consider Repeal to be right, and
best, and necessary for the public good. But, gentlemen, ever since
the Union, by fraud and force and against the will of the Irish
people, was enacted--ever since that act of usurpation by the English
parliament of the sovereign rights of the queen, lords, and commons
of Ireland--ever since this country was thereby rendered the subject
instead of the sister of England--ever since the Union, but
especially for about twenty years past, it has been the policy of
those who got possession of the sovereign rights of the Irish crown
to appoint to all places of public trust, emolument, or honour in
Ireland only such as would submit, whether by parole or by tacit
understanding, to suppress all public utterance of their desire for
the Repeal of the Union such as has been the persistent policy
towards this country of those who command all the patronage of Irish
offices, paid and unpaid--the policy of all English ministers,
whether Whig or Tory, combined with the disposal of the public
forces--such a policy is naturally very effective in not really
reconciling, but in keeping Ireland quietly subject to the Union. It
is a hard trial of men's patriotism to be debarred from all career of
profitable and honourable distinction in the public service of their
own country. I do not wonder that few Irish lawyers, in presence of
the mighty power of England, dare to sacrifice personal ambition and
interest to what may seem a vain protest against accomplished facts.
I do not wish to attack or offend them--as this court expresses it,
to impute improper motives to them--by thus simply stating the sad
facts which are relevant to my own case in this prosecution, and
explaining that I decline professional assistance, because few
lawyers would be so rash as to adopt my political convictions, and
vindicate my political conduct as their own, and because if any
lawyer were so bold as to offer me his aid on my own terms, I am too
generous to permit him to ruin his professional career for my sake.
Such are the reasons, gentlemen of the jury and my lords, why I am
now going through this trial, not _secundum artum_, but like an
eccentric patient who won't be treated by the doctors but will quack
himself. Perhaps I would be safer if I did not say a word about the
legal character of the charge made against me in this indictment.
There are legal matters as dangerous to handle as any drugs in the
pharmacopoeia. Yet I shall trouble you for a short time longer, while
I endeavour to show that I have not acted in a way unbecoming a good
citizen. The charge against me in this indictment is that I took part
in an illegal procession by the provisions of the statute entitled in
the Party Processions' Act. His lordship enumerated seven conditions,
the violation of some one of which is necessary to render an assembly
illegal at common law. Those seven conditions are--1. That the
persons forming the assembly met to carry out an unlawful purpose. 2.
That the numbers in which the persons met endangered the public
peace. 3. That the assembly caused alarm to the peaceful subjects of
the Queen. 4. That the assembly created disaffection. 5. That the
assembly incited her Majesty's Irish subjects to hate her Majesty's
English subjects--his lordship did not say anything of the case of an
assembly inciting the Queen's English subjects to hate the Queen's
Irish subjects, but no such case is likely to be tried here. 6. That
the assembly intended to asperse the right and constitutional
administration of justice; and 7. That the assembly intended to
impair the functions of justice and to bring the administration of
justice into disrepute. I say that the procession of the 8th December
did not violate any one of these conditions--1. In the first place
the persons forming that procession did not meet to carry out any
unlawful purpose--their purpose was peaceably to express their
opinion upon a public act of the public servants of the crown. 2. In
the second place the numbers in which those persons met did not
endanger the public peace. None of those persons carried arms.
Thousands of those persons were women and children. There was no
injury or offence attempted to be committed against anybody, and no
disturbance of the peace took place. 3. In the third place the
assembly caused no alarm to the peaceable subjects of the
Queen--there is not a tittle of evidence to that effect. 4. In the
fourth place the assembly did not create disaffection, neither was it
intended or calculated to create disaffection. On the contrary, the
assembly served to give peaceful expression to the opinion
entertained by vast numbers of her Majesty's peaceful subjects upon a
public act of the servants of the crown, an act which vast numbers of
the Queen's subjects regretted and condemned. And thus the assembly
was calculated to prevent or remove disaffection, and such open and
peaceful manifestations of the real opinions of the Queen's subjects
upon public affairs is the proper, safe, and constitutional way in
which they may aid to prevent disaffection. 5. In the fifth place the
assembly did not incite the Irish subjects of the Queen to hate her
Majesty's subjects. On the contrary, it was a proper constitutional
way of bringing about a right understanding upon a transaction which,
if not fairly and fully explained and set right, must produce hatred
between the two peoples. That transaction was calculated to produce
hatred. But those who protest peaceably against such a transaction
are not the party to be blamed, but those responsible for the
transaction. 6. In the sixth place the assembly had no purpose of
aspersing the right and constitutional administration of justice. Its
tendency was peaceably to point out faults in the conduct of the
servants of the crown, charged with the administration of justice,
which faults were calculated to bring the administration of justice
into disrepute. 7. Nor, in the seventh place, did the assembly impair
the functions of justice, or intend or tend to do so. Even my
prosecutors do not allege that judicial tribunals are infallible. It
would be too absurd to make such an allegation in plain words. It is
admitted on all hands that judges have sometimes given wrong
directions, that juries have given wrong verdicts, that courts of
justice have wrongfully appreciated the whole matter for trial. When
millions of the Queen's subjects think that such wrong has been done,
is it sedition for them to say so peaceably and publicly? On the
contrary, the constitutional way for good citizens to act in striving
to keep the administration of justice pure and above suspicion of
unfairness, is by such open and peaceable protests. Thus, and thus
only, may the functions of justice be saved from being impaired. In
this case wrong had been done. Five men had been tried together upon
the same evidence, and convicted together upon that evidence, and
while one of the five was acknowledged by the crown to be innocent,
and the whole conviction was thus acknowledged to be wrong and
invalid, three of the five men were hanged upon that conviction. My
friend, Mr. Sullivan, in his eloquent and unanswerable speech of
yesterday, has so clearly demonstrated the facts of that unhappy and
disgraceful affair of Manchester, that I shall merely say of it that
I adopt every word he spoke upon the subject for mine, and to justify
the sentiment and purpose with which I engaged in the procession of
the 8th December. I say the persons responsible for that transanction
are fairly liable to the charge of acting so as to bring the
administration of justice into contempt, unless, gentlemen, you hold
those persons to be infallible and hold that thay can do no wrong.
But, gentlemen, the constitution does not say that the servants of
the crown can do no wrong. According to the constitution the
sovereign can do no wrong, but her servants may. In this case they
have done wrong. And, gentlemen, you cannot right that wrong, nor
save the administration of justice from the disreputation into which
such proceedings are calculated to bring it, by giving a verdict to
put my comrades and myself into jail for saying openly and peaceably
that we believe the administration of justice in that unhappy affair
did do wrong. But further, gentlemen, let us suppose that you twelve
jurors, as well as the servants of the crown who are prosecuting me,
and the two judges, consider me to be mistaken in my opinion upon
that judicial proceeding, yet you have no right under the
constitution to convict me of a misdemeanour for openly and peaceably
expressing my opinion. You have no such right; and as to the wisdom
of treating my differences of opinion and the peaceable expression of
it as a penal offence--and the wisdom of a political act ought to be
a serious question with all good and loyal citizens--consider that
the opinion you are invited by the crown prosecutors to pronounce to
be a penal offence is not mine alone, nor that of the five men herein
indicted, but is the opinion of all the 30,000 persons estimated by
the crown evidence to have taken part in the assembly of the 8th of
December; is the opinion besides of the 90,000 or 100,000 others who,
standing in the streets of this city, or at the open windows
overlooking the streets traversed by the procession that day,
manifested their sympathy with the objects of the procession; is the
opinion, as you are morally certain, of some millions of your Irish
fellow-subjects. By indicting me for the expression of that opinion
the public prosecutors virtually indict some millions of the Queen's
peaceable Irish subjects. It is only the convenience of this
court--which could not hold the millions in one batch of traversers,
and which would require daily sittings for several successive years
to go through the proper formalities for duly trying all those
millions; it is only the convenience of this court that can be
pretended to relieve the crown prosecutors from the duty of trying
and convicting all those millions if it is their duty to try and
convict me. The right principles of law do not allow the servants of
the crown to evade or neglect their duty of bringing to justice all
offenders against the law. I suppose these gentlemen may allege that
it is at their discretion what offenders against the law they will
prosecute. I deny that the principles of the law allow them, or allow
the Queen such discretion. The Queen, at her coronation services,
swears to do justice to all her subjects according to the law. The
Queen, certainly, has the right by the constitution to pardon any
offenders against the law. She has the prerogative of mercy. But
there can be no pardon, no mercy, till after an offence be proved in
due course of law by accusation of the alleged offenders before the
proper tribunals, followed by the plea of guilty or the jurors'
verdict of guilty. And to select one man or six men for trial,
condemnation, and punishment, out of, say, four millions who have
really participated in the same alleged wicked, malicious, seditious,
evil-disposed, and unlawful proceeding, is unfair to the six men, and
unfair to the other 3,999,994 men--is a dereliction of duty on the
part of the officers of the law, and is calculated to bring the
administration of justice into disrepute. Equal justice is what the
constitution demands. Under military authority an army may be
decimated, and a few men may properly be punished, while the rest are
left unpunished. But under a free constitution it is not so. Whoever
breaks the law must be made amenable to punishment, or equal justice
is not rendered to the subjects of the Queen. Is it not pertinent,
therefore, gentlemen, for me to say to you this is an unwise
proceeding which my prosecutors bid you to sanction by a verdict? I
have heard it asked by a lawyer addressing this court as a question
that must be answered in the negative--can you indict a whole nation?
If such a proceeding as this prosecution against the peaceable
procession of the 8th December receives the sanction of your verdict,
that question must be answered in the affirmative. It will need only
a crown prosecutor, an attorney-general, and a solicitor-general, two
judges, and twelve jurors, all of the one mind, while all the other
subjects of the Queen in Ireland are of a different mind, and the
five millions and a half of the Queen's subjects of Ireland outside
that circle of seventeen of her Majesty's subjects, may be indicted,
convicted, and consigned to penal imprisonment in due form of law--a
law as understood in political trials in Ireland. Gentlemen, I have
thus far endeavoured to argue from the common sense of mankind, with
which the principles of law must be in accord, that the peaceable
procession of the 8th of December--that peaceable demonstration of
the sentiment of millions of the Queen's subjects in Ireland--did not
violate any of the seven conditions of the learned judge to the grand
jury in defining what constitutes an illegal assembly at common law;
and I have also argued that the prosecution is unwise, and calculated
to excite discontent. Gentlemen, I shall now endeavour to show you
that the procession of the 8th of December did not violate the
statute entitled the Party Processions' Act. The learned judge in his
charge told the grand jury that under this act all processions are
illegal which carry weapons of offence, or which carry symbols
calculated to promote the animosity of some other class of her
Majesty's subjects. Applying the law to this case, his lordship
remarked that the processions of the 8th of December had something of
military array--that is, they went in regular order with a regular
step. But, gentlemen, there were no arms in that procession, there
were no symbols in that procession intended or calculated to provoke
animosity in any other class of the Queen's subjects, or in any human
creature. There were neither symbol, nor deed, or word intended to
provoke animosity, and as to the military array--is it not absurd to
attribute a warlike character to an unarmed and perfectly peaceful
assemblage, in which there were some thousands of women and children?
No offence was given or offered any human being. The authorities were
so assured of the peacefulness and inoffensiveness of the assemblage
that the police were withdrawn in a great measure from their ordinary
duties of preventing disorders. And as to the remark that the people
walked with a regular step, I need only say that was done for the
sake of order and decorum. It would be merely to doubt whether you
are men of common sense if I argued any further to satisfy you that
the procession did not violate the Party Processions' Act, such as it
is defined by the learned judge. The speech delivered on that
occasion is an important element in forming a judgment upon the
character and object of the procession. The speech declared the
procession to be a peaceable expression of the opinion of those who
composed it upon an important public transaction, an expression of
sorrow and indignation at an act of the ministers of the government.
It was a protest against that act--a protest which those who
disapproved of it were entitled by the constitution to make, and
which they made, peaceably and legitimately. Has not every individual
of the millions of the Queen's subjects the right to say so say
openly whether he approves or disapproves of any public act of the
Queen's ministers? Has not all the Queen's subjects the right to say
altogether if they can without disturbance of the Queen's peace? The
procession enabled many thousands to do that without the least
inconvenience or danger to themselves, and with no injury or offence
to their neighbours. To prohibit or punish peaceful, inoffensive,
orderly, and perfectly innocent processions upon pretence that they
are constructively unlawful, is unconstitutional tyranny. Was it done
because the ministers discovered that the terror of suspended habeas
corpus had not in this matter stifled public opinion? Of course, if
anything be prohibited by government, the people obey--of course I
obey. I would not have held the procession had I not understood that
it was permitted. But understanding that it was permitted, and so
believing that it might serve the people for a safe and useful
expression of their sentiment, I held the procession. I did not hold
the procession because I believed it to be illegal, but because I
believed it to be legal and understood it to be permitted. In this
country it is not law that must rule a loyal citizen's conduct, but
the caprice of the English ministers. For myself, I acknowledge that
I submit to such a system of government unwillingly, and with
constant hope for the restoration of the reign of law, but I do
submit. Why at first did the ministers of the crown permit an
expression of censure upon that judicial proceeding at Manchester by
a procession--why did they not warn her Majesty's subjects against
the danger of breaking the law? Was it not because they thought that
the terrors of the suspended habeas corpus would be enough to prevent
the people from coming openly forward at all to express their real
sentiments? Was it because they found that so vehement and so general
was the feeling of indignation at that unhappy transaction at
Manchester that they did venture to come openly forward--with perfect
peacefulness and most careful observance of the peace to express
their real sentiments--that the ministry proclaimed down the
procession, and now prosecute us in order to stifle public opinion?
Gentlemen of the jury, I have said enough to convince any twelve
reasonable men that there was nothing in my conduct in the matter of
that procession which you can declare on your oaths to be "malicious,
seditious, ill-disposed, and intended to disturb the peace and
tranquility of the realm." I shall trouble you no further, except by
asking you to listen to the summing up of this indictment, and, while
you listen to judge between me and the attorney-general. I shall read
you my words and his comment. Judge of us, Irish jurors, which of us
two are guilty:--"Let us, therefore, conclude this proceeding by
joining heartily, with hats off, in the prayer of those three men,
'God save Ireland.'" "Thereby," says the attorney-general in his
indictment, "meaning, and intending to excite hatred, dislike, and
animosity against her Majesty and the government, and bring into
contempt the administration of justice and the laws of this realm,
and cause strife and hatred between her Majesty's subjects in Ireland
and in England, and to excite discontent and disaffection against her
Majesty's government." Gentlemen, I have now done.

Mr. Martin sat down amidst loud and prolonged applause.

This splendid argument, close, searching, irresistible, gave the _coup
de grace_ to the crown case. The prisoners having called no evidence,
according to honourable custom having almost the force of law, the
prosecution was disentitled to any rejoinder. Nevertheless, the crown
put up its ablest speaker--a man far surpassing in attainments as a
lawyer and an orator both the Attorney and Solicitor-General--Mr. Ball,
Q.C., to press against the accused that technical right which honourable
usage reprehended as unfair! No doubt the crown authorities felt it was
not a moment in which they could afford to be squeamish or scrupulous.
The speeches of Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Martin had had a visible effect
upon the jury--had, in fact, made shreds of the crown case; and so Mr.
Ball was put up as the last hope of averting the "disaster" of a
failure. He spoke with his accustomed ability and dignity, and made a
powerful appeal in behalf of the crown. Then Mr. Justice Fitzgerald
proceeded to charge the jury, which he did in his own peculiarly calm,
precise, and perspicuous style. At the outset, referring to the protest
of the accused against the conduct of the crown in the jury challenges,
he administered a keen rebuke to the government officials. It was, he
said, no doubt the strict legal _right_ of the crown to act as it had
done; yet, considering that this was a case in which the accused was
accorded no corresponding privilege, the exercise of that right in such
a manner by the crown certainly was, in his, Mr. Justice Fitzgerald's
estimation, _a subject for grave objection_.

Here there was what the newspaper reporters call "sensation in court."
What! Had it come to this, that one of the chief institutions of the
land--a very pillar of the crown and government--namely, _jury-packing_,
was to be reflected upon from the bench itself. Monstrous!

The charge, though mild in language, was pretty sharp on the
"criminality" of such conduct as was _imputed_ to the accused, yet
certainly left some margin to the jury for the exercise of their opinion
upon "the law and the facts."

At two o'clock in the afternoon the jury retired to consider their
verdict, and as the judges at the same moment withdrew to their chamber,
the pent-up feelings of the crowded audience instantly found vent in
loud Babel-like expressions and interchange of comments on the charge,
and conjectures as to the result. "Waiting for the verdict" is a scene
that has often been described and painted. Everyone of course concluded
that half-an-hour would in any case elapse before the anxiously watched
jury-room door would open; but when the clock hands neared three,
suspense intense and painful became more and more visible in every
countenance. It seemed to be only now that men fully realized all that
was at stake, all that was in peril, on this trial! _A conviction in
this case rendered the national colour of Ireland for ever more an
illegal and forbidden emblem_! A conviction in this case would degrade
the symbol of nationality into a badge of faction! To every fevered
anxious mind at this moment rose the troubled memories of gloomy
times--the "dark and evil days" chronicled in that popular ballad, the
music and words of which now seemed to haunt the watchers in the
court:--

"Oh, Patrick, dear, and did you hear
The news that's going round?
The shamrock is by law forbid.
To grow on Irish ground.
No more St. Patrick's day we'll keep--
His colour can't be seen,
For there's a bloody law again
The Wearing of the Green."

But hark! There is a noise at the jury-room door! It opens--the jury
enter the box. A murmur, swelling to almost a roar, from the crowded
audience, is instantly followed by a deathlike stillness. The judges are
called; but by this time it is noticed that the foreman has not the
"issue-paper" ready to hand down; and a buzz goes round--"a question; a
question!" It is even so. The foreman asks:--

Whether, if they believed the speech of Mr. Martin to be in itself
seditious, should they come to the conclusion that the assemblage was
seditious?

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald answers _in the negative_, and a thrill goes
through the audience. Nor is this all. One of the jurors declares there
is no chance whatever of their agreeing to a verdict! Almost a cheer
breaks out. The judge, however, declares they must retire again; which
the jury do, very reluctantly and doggedly; in a word, very unlike men
likely to "persuade one another."

When the judges again leave the bench for their chamber, the crowd in
court give way outright to joy. Every face is bright; every heart is
light; jokes go round, and there is great "chaff" of the crown
officials, and of the "polis," who, poor fellows, to tell the truth,
seem to be as glad as the gladdest in the throng. Five o'clock
arrives--half-past five--the jury must suavely be out soon now. At a
quarter to six they come; and for an instant the joke is hushed, and
cheeks suddenly grow pale with fear lest by any chance it might be evil
news. But the faces of the jurymen tell plainly "no verdict." The judges
again are seated. The usual questions in such cases: the usual answers.
"No hope whatever of an agreement." Then after a reference to the
Solicitor-General, who, in sepulchral tone, "supposes" there is "nothing
for it" but to discharge the jury, his lordship declares the jury
discharged.

Like a volley there burst a wild cheer, a shout, that shook the
building! Again and again it was renewed; and, being caught up by the
crowd outside, sent the tidings of victory with electrical rapidity
through the city. Then there was a rush at Mr. Martin and Mr. Sullivan.
The former especially was clasped, embraced, and borne about by the
surging throng, wild with joy. It was with considerable difficulty any
of the traversers could get away, so demonstrative was the multitude in
the streets. Throughout the city the event was hailed with rejoicing,
and the names of the jurymen, "good and bad" were vowed to perpetual
benediction. For once, at least, justice had triumphed; or rather,
injustice had been baulked. For once, at least, the people had won the
day; and the British Government had received a signal overthrow in its
endeavour to proscribe--

"THE WEARING OF THE GREEN."

* * * * *

For one of the actors in the above-described memorable scene, the
victory purchased but a few hours safety. Next morning Mr. A.M. Sullivan
was placed again at the bar to hear his sentence--that following upon
the first of the prosecutions hurled against him (the _press_
prosecution), on which he had been found guilty. Again the court was
crowded--this time with anxious faces, devoid of hope. It was a brief
scene. Mr. Justice Fitzgerald announced the sentence--six months in
Richmond Prison; and amidst a farewell demonstration that compelled the
business of the court to be temporarily suspended, the officials led
away in custody the only one of the prosecuted processionists who
expiated by punishment his sympathy with the fate of the Martyred Three
of Manchester.

END.

Aftermath of the explosion

After the explosion he advocated the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act in Britain, as was already the case in Ireland. Greater security measures were quickly introduced. Thousands of special constables were enrolled to aid the police and at Scotland Yard a special secret service department was established to meet the Fenian threat. Although a number of people were arrested and brought to trial, Michael Barrett was the only one to receive the death sentence.
Queen Victoria urged that in future, instead of being brought to trial, Irish suspects should be ‘lynch–lawed’ on the spot[citation needed].
It should be mentioned that the disaster at Clerkenwell had one positive result; it concentrated British political minds on the seriousness and urgency of the 'Irish question'. Within days of the explosion, the Liberal leader, William Ewart Gladstone, then in opposition, announced his concern about Irish grievances and said that it was the duty of the British people to remove them. Later, he said that it was the Fenian action at Clerkenwell that turned his mind towards Home Rule. When Gladstone discovered at Hawarden later that year that Queen Victoria had invited him to form a government he famously stated, "my mission is to pacify Ireland."
References
1. ^ Quinlivan P, Rose P. Fenians in England, 1865-72
Further reading
• McConville, Seán. Irish Political Prisoners, 1848-1922: Theatres of War. London: Routledge (UK), 2003. ISBN 0-415-21991-4
• Quinlivan P, Rose P. Fenians in England, 1865-72 Calder Publications Ltd, 1983.
• Ranelagh, John O'Beirne. A Short History of Ireland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. ISBN 0-521-46944-9
• Richter, Donald C. Riotous Victorians. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1981. ISBN 0-8214-0618-3
• Roby, Kinley E. The King, the Press and the People: A Study of Edward VII. London: Barrie & Jenkins, 1975. ISBN 0-214-20098-1
• Swift, Roger. Irish Migrants in Britain, 1815-1914: A Documentary History. Cork: Cork University Press, 2002. ISBN 1-85918-236-4

Background

Kelly and Deasy were both Fenians who played important roles in the failed Fenian Rising of 1867. Kelly had been declared the chief executive of the Irish Republic at a secret republican convention, and Deasy commanded a Fenian brigade in County Cork. Wanted men throughout Britain and Ireland, both were arrested on a vagrancy charge in September.[1]
On 18 September 1867, both men were being transferred from the courthouse to the county gaol on Hyde Road, Manchester. They were handcuffed and locked in two separate compartments inside a police van escorted by a squad of 12 mounted policemen. The van contained six prisoners in all.[notes 1] As it passed under a railway arch, a man darted into the middle of the road, pointed a pistol at the driver and called on him to stop. At the same time, a party of about 30 men leapt over a wall at the side of the road, surrounded the van and seized the horses, one of which they shot. The unarmed police offered little resistance and soon fled.[3][4]

The scene of the fatal incident on Hyde Road, Manchester

The rescuers, after a vain attempt to burst open the van with hatchets, sledgehammers, and crowbars, called upon Police Sergeant Brett, who was inside the van with the prisoners, to open the door. Brett refused to give up his keys. One of the rescuers placed his revolver at the keyhole of the van to blow the lock, at the same moment Brett put his eye to the keyhole to see what was going on outside. The bullet passed through his eye into his brain and killed him. The door was opened when one of the women prisoners took the keys from Brett's pocket, and passed them through the ventilator to the Fenians outside.[5] Kelly and Deasy escaped, never to be recaptured.[6] Brett was the first Manchester police officer ever to be killed on duty.[7]

Trials

On Thursday 25 October, the prisoners were brought up for committal, before Mr. Fowler, R.M. Some of those arrested had already been discharged, not because no one could be found to swear against them,[8] but because of the number of witnesses who could swear to their innocence.[9]

Monument in Kilrush

When asked if they had anything to say before sentence was passed, each of the accused made a closing speech. Allen stated his innocence, and that he regretted the death of Sergeant Brett, but that he was prepared to "die proudly and triumphantly in defence of republican principles and the liberty of an oppressed and enslaved people".[10]
Larkin said he felt that he had received a fair trial, and that his counsel had done everything they could in his defence. He ended by saying: "So I look to the mercy of God. May God forgive all who have sworn my life away. As I am a dying man, I forgive them from the bottom of my heart. May God forgive them."[11]

A commemoration plaque at the site of the incident on Hyde Road, Manchester

O'Brien claimed that all of the evidence given against him was false, and that as an American citizen he ought not to be facing trial in a UK court. He then went on at length to condemn the British government, the "imbecile and tyrannical rulers" of Ireland, until he was interrupted by the judge, who appealed to him to cease his remarks: "The only effect of your observations must be to tell against you with those who have to consider the sentence. I advise you to say nothing more of that sort. I do so entirely for your own sake."[12]
One of their co-accused, O'Meagher Condon, also made a speech, during which he exclaimed, "God save Ireland!" At this, all the accused repeated "God save Ireland!"[13]
William O'Mera Allen, Michael Larkin, William [Gould] O'Brien, Thomas Maguire and O’Meagher Condon, were found guilty and sentenced to death, again crying "God save Ireland" from the dock after sentence was pronounced.[14] Maguire was pardoned and discharged and O’Meagher Condon's sentence was commuted on the eve of his execution. O'Brien, Larkin, and Allen were publicly hanged.[15]
Public hanging

The monument in St Joseph's Cemetery, Moston, Manchester
The public hanging of Allen, Larkin and O'Brien took place on Saturday 23 November 1867, on a scaffold erected on the prison walls facing New Bailey Street, before an enormous crowd. The Times reported that "the mob were quite and orderly".[16] The executions gave rise to an enormous outburst of feeling among Irish communities the world over.[17] According to Christy Campbell, Ireland drenched itself in martyred indignation.[18] One unexpected effect of the excutions was the narrowing of the rift between the Catholic church and the Fenians. Cardinal Cullen instructed his priests to pray for the dead men, and to say masses privately for them. Bishop Moriarty of Kerry, however, having once declared: "when we look down into the fathomless depth of this infamy of the heads of the Fenian conspiracy, we must acknowledge that eternity is not long enough, nor hell hot enough to punish such miscreants",[19] prohibited such displays in his parish.[20]
Monuments

Symbolic grave of the Manchester Martyrs, Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin
Monuments erected in their honour stand in Limerick, Kilrush, County Clare, Clonmel, Tipperary, Birr, County Offaly, Ennis, County Clare, Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, and St Joseph's Cemetery, Moston, Manchester. There is a monument to Sergeant Brett in St Ann's Church, Manchester.[21]

The monument in St Joseph's Catholic Cemetery in Moston, North Manchester was designed by J.Geraghty and unveiled in November 1898. The work was commissioned by the Manchester Martyrs Central Memorial Committee. The stone monument stands just over 6 metres (20 ft) high and takes the form of a Celtic cross.The corners are decorated with figures symbolical of Unity, Justice, Literature, and Art. (Literature and Art have been removed from their plinths and are now on the grass at the rear of the monument). On three sides of the pedestal are medallion portraits of Allen, Larkin and O'Brien (the Manchester Martyrs). These were originally surmounted by figures of the Irish wolfhound, but these have also been removed. The fourth space is filled in with an Irish harp, and on the front of the cross is a figure of Erin, armed with sword and shield. On the reverse is an Irish round tower. Rusticated base with Irish coats of arms at each corner. The site of this monument has been the scene of several disturbances as it has been the tradition for Republican symathisers to parade here at the anniversary of the deaths of those hanged. The monument has suffered from several attacks to its structure as well as acts of vandalism and is now in a poor condition. It is listed as "at risk" by The Public Monument and Sculpture Association National Recording Project.[22]
Effects

Mural depicting the Manchester Martyrs in Belfast
The events of the rescue became known by the majority of the local populace as the "Manchester Outrages".[23] The rescue inspired many to join the Irish cause for independence, and was also the inspiration for the song "God Save Ireland", Ireland's unofficial national anthem until it was replaced by "Amhrán na bhFiann" ("The Soldier's Song"). The events were important in shaping physical force Irish republicanism, the strand of Irish nationalism later represented by the Provisional Irish Republican Army. The events also – several years later – served to bring the parliamentary nationalists of the Irish Parliamentary Party under new leader Charles Stewart Parnell closer to the physical force men – Parnell told the Commons "there was no murder" – and so helped create the conditions for the New Departure and the Irish National Land League and the subsequent "Land War" struggle against landlordism.
Notes
1. ^ One was a twelve year old boy who was being conveyed to a reformatory, three women
References
Notes
1. ^ Ó Broin 1971, p. 193.
2. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, p. 337.
3. ^ Ó Broin 1971, p. 194.
4. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, p. 338.
5. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, p. 340.
6. ^ Ó Broin 1971, p. 193.
7. ^ Greater Manchester Police 1989, p. 16.
8. ^ According to the O'Sullivan, this was "a difficulty which never seems to have arisen in these cases"
9. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, pp. 344–345.
10. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, pp. 357–360.
11. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, pp. 360–361.
12. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, pp. 361–364.
13. ^ O'Sullivan 1945, pp. 366–370.
14. ^ Ryan 1945, p. 24.
15. ^ Ó Broin 1971, p. 202.
16. ^ Campbell 2002, p. 77.
17. ^ Ó Broin 1971, p. 202.
18. ^ Campbell 2002, p. 77.
19. ^ Irish Times, 19 Feb 1867
20. ^ Ó Broin 1971, p. 202.
21. ^ Worthington 2002, p. 39.
22. ^ Manchester Martyrs' Memorial, Public Monument and Sculpture Association, . Retrieved on 25 April 2008
23. ^ Kidd 1993, p. 174.
24. The Politics of Irish Literature
From Thomas Davis to W.B. Yeats
25. by Malcolm Brown
Chapter Fourteen
The Agony of Fenianism
IN THE TWELVE since Stephens fled from Ireland, the balance of forces had altered radically in the Fenians' disfavor. The government was now alert and prepared. The garrison was reinforced. Corroborating Devoy's analysis of the disaffection of the Irish soldiers, the government had removed the Irish regiments and replaced them with safe English and Scottish units. Informers had been successfully planted inside the Fenian high command, both in Ireland and America, so that the English now controlled the element of surprise. Meanwhile the Fenians' absolute strength had diminished. Because of police raids and confiscations the number of available rifles was smaller than it had been a year earlier. The veteran American soldiers who were to provide expert field command were now jailed or deported. The army available to Fenian generals was reduced back to a mass of untrained irregulars, to "men who are insubordinate by temperament, without organization, without any framework," said General Cluseret, who added, "This sort of thing wears out life quickly."
All these facts were general knowledge. At one end of the spectrum, Dr. Cullen, recently made Ireland's first cardinal, wrote an American bishop just at this time: "The Fenians are not all so strong as they were last year." At the opposite end, Devoy, who to the end of his life thought it shameful not to have risen in February 1866, argued that a rising in February 1867 was "foredoomed." The new Fenian directory was not deterred by these judgments, but pressed forward toward immediate insurrection, come what might, and even with the certainty of losing. Devoy in jail got a message from the high command: "The fight will be in about three weeks, but we'll be badly beaten."
"The day" was set for February 12, 1867, then changed to March 5. The countermanding order was intercepted by the police at Cahirciveen, O'Connell's old home village in west Kerry, so that it failed to reach the local centers. There the Fenians rose on the wrong date, captured the police barracks, and in rummaging through the police records, discovered the order to delay action. So instructed, they then returned to their homes, leaving the terrorized gentry, most of them clansmen of the Liberator, barricaded with their silver plate behind sandbags in the hotel. A premature rising was also pressed forward in Chester. Captain MacCafferty had devised a plan to raid the Chester arsenal for rifles, then to seize the ships in the harbor and set sail across the Irish Sea to Dublin. On the incorrect date all his forces converged on Chester Castle as instructed, and MacCafferty set out by train from Manchester to take command of the raid. Along the way his train was sidetracked while one trainload after another filled with troops passed through, also headed for Chester. His adjutant, a long-time Fenian named Corydon, had been discovered by the police to be a homosexual and had been persuaded to turn informer.
On the eve of the correct day for the rising, a blizzard settled down over the British Isles, bringing the heaviest snowfall in memory. In the storm a general insurrection was unthinkable, and only here and there did the centers respond. At Cork four thousand men came out with their fifty rifles and their one American officer, attacked four police barracks, and were repulsed. In Dublin three thousand men attempted to converge at Tallaght, south of the city. A police ambush awaited them there; and as they fled back toward Dublin, hundreds were arrested at the bridges over the canal. Fenians in Limerick, Clare, Louth, and Waterford had local successes. The most vital single spot in the Fenian battle plan was at Limerick Junction near Tipperary. An American named Godfrey Massey was placed in charge of that sector. As he stepped off the train from Cork, he was arrested-by prior arrangement with the police, according to his military superiors. The charge was unproved, though Massey's claims to high rank in the Confederate army were shown to be fraudulent, and he did become the most cooperative witness for the government prosecutor in the Fenian trials that followed. Briefly told, the story of the Fenian insurrection of 1867 was defeat on all fronts and total collapse within forty-eight hours. The amateur Smith O'Brien had been four times longer in the field.
II
The surprise of the insurrection was not that it was so weak, but that it had occurred at all. Why did the leaders call the men out? Why did the men respond? Even if Massey was a provocateur, it seems doubtful that provocation was required to set the directory in motion. Captain MacCafferty, for one, needed no urging. He was made ofthe same stuff as Tolstoy's Dolokhov, a killer never quite himself unless he could smell burning gunpowder. But Kelly, the commander in chief, appears to have believed that the blow on Irish soil would open the way for some form of American diplomatic support. He had stationed men in Washington to call on President Andrew Johnson with a demand for recognition at the cabled news of the first shot, and he was crushed by the report that Johnson had discourteously turned them away.

The dominant motive for the rising was more probably a feeling among the Fenians, both high and low, that the movement could not depart gracefully without some unequivocal gesture to honor its bold promises and to fix its defeated principles unmistakably in the record of history. Like Emmet and Rossa in Green Street Courthouse, they thought it unmanly to go down without a scene. Stephens had talked forevermore about the difference between the "spouters" and the doers, but the difference had never been acted out. Until it was, the Fenians were denounced by their own words as spouters of an especially contemptible breed. If Stephens was not sensitive to that logic, his successors were. Such at least was their reply to Cluseret when he pleaded with them to abandon an enterprise in which there was not one chance in a hundred, or in twenty hundred, of success. "My dear General," he reported them saying, "we are not under the smallest illusion as to what awaits us; but the word of an Irishman, once given, is sacred. Stephens has pledged us to this undertaking without consulting us, but we will keep our word, even though he may not keep his; and the people will know that, if there are some men who deceive them, there are others who know how to die for them."
This explanation might touch the sensibility of many Irishmen, but for Bishop Moriarty, it was only oil on the flames of his wrath. On the subject of his displeasure at the rising in Kerry he preached a sermon that immortalized him. He noted with surprise (and relief) that the rank-and-file revolutionists had observed the rights of persons and private property, leaving untouched all the big houses of the district and giving way to the sin of covetousness only in the single case of Dr. Barry's horse, which some irregular had commandeered and neglected to return. The fear of "rapine and plunder," spread abroad by the clergy - His Lordship of Kerry in the lead - on the authority of O'Keeffe's letter to the Irish People, was quite evidently unfounded. About the leaders, though, he could not be so charitable. He took note that they were what would be called today "foreign agitators," proving that even the most inapposite mutations of modern political warfare can be found in the Irish arena. "Thank God, they are not our people," said Moriarty. He was particularly disappointed that the lists of those arrested and awaiting trial for capital crimes did not contain the name of James Stephens, foremost of those "criminals of far deeper guilt - the men who, while they send their dupes into danger, are fattening on the spoil in Paris and New York - the execrable swindlers who care not how many are murdered by the rebel or hanged by the strong arm of the law, provided they can get a supply of dollars either for their pleasures or their wants."
The core of Bishop Moriarty's sermon centered upon the sin of the revolutionary gesture. The fixed policy of the Church, as I have explained, was to condemn all revolutions a priori on the postulated improbability of success. "We are not believers in the chances of rebellion," declared the bishop. But the success of the rising in his diocese was not just improbable, it was absolutely unthinkable. It was unforgivable. To describe the degree of its depravity, he coined the memorable hyperbole known to all readers of Joyce, Sean O'Casey, and Brendan Behan: "I preached to you last Sunday on the eternity of Hell's torments. Human reason is inclined to say-'it is a hard word, and who can bear it?' But when we look down into the fathomless depth of this infamy of the heads of the Fenian conspiracy we must acknowledge that eternity is not long enough nor hell hot enough to punish such miscreants." For these words Lord John Russell, the author of the Ecclesiastical Titles Act, expressed warmest appreciation on the floor of the House. The natural Irish response was anger, and even the anti-Fenians found objections in Moriarty's presuming to slam a theological door that, by first principles, must always remain open. The unkindest criticism came from the least expected source: Cardinal Cullen thought the sermon "foolish and exaggerated" and likely to cause mischief; and he wondered whether Moriarty ought not to be "called to an account for it."
The cardinal's unaccustomed tact and composure was founded in part on his discovery that the Fenians actually had succeeded in driving a wedge between the clergy and the Irish people, as O'Leary claimed. Moriarty's attempt to analyze the Fenian movement into swindlers and their dupes was wishful thinking; Stephens' fall showed the rank and file running ahead of their leaders. The Church would need to exercise diplomacy, understanding, and patience to repair the breach. Cullen also sensed that the Fenian military threat had spent itself, and that he could afford to relax and turn his energies elsewhere for the coming era of peace. If a person calculated according to the regular calendar of Irish rebellions-one every half-century-the next scheduled insurrection date did not fall due until 1917.
III
The obsequies for Fenianism were still somewhat premature. The myth of the American ironclad had never yet materialized, but now it did so. After the collapse of the March 1867 rising, Kelly wrote a frantic letter to New York, pleading for help of some sort, any sort: "What do our countrymen in America want? Will they wait until the last man shall be slaughtered before sending aid? . . . Fit out your privateers."' In response, the New York Fenians got possession through mysterious city-hall channels of a ship called the Jacmel Packet, not an ironclad but a brigantine of 138 tons that had been impounded by the port authorities. She was loaded with a great number of piano boxes bearing a Cuban destination but containing in actuality seven thousand rifles for Ireland, leftovers from the Canadian campaigns. Six weeks after the collapse of the March rising, fifty fighting men boarded her secretly at Sandy Hook and she slipped out to sea. She sailed due south for twenty-four hours, then changed her course to east. On Easter Sunday, after two weeks at sea, the captain rechristened the ship Erin's Hope and opened sealed orders directing him to proceed with his cargo to Sligo. He ran up the flag of the Republic of Ireland, a golden sunburst on an emerald field, the same flag that the Ulysses Sinn Fein "citizen" in a rapture of Joycean pedantry scorned as a historical solecism.
The Erin's Hope sailed into Sligo Bay six weeks out of New York. Colonel Burke, the Birmingham arms buyer, had been assigned to meet the ship and direct the unloading, but he failed to make contact. The ship sailed about for two days looking for Burke, and finally two men were put ashore to find him. He was located at last and came aboard with the message that there was no force available to unload the rifles or to use them if they could be unloaded. The crew then fell into dispute as to what should be done. One group recommended that they capture the town of Sligo, whose most famed poetic voice and holiday visitor, at age two, had just been removed by his parents to live at Regents Park, London. Burke was able to persuade the crew to abandon their commando project. Then half the crew decided to go ashore, scatter, and do what they might for Ireland, with the result that all but two were arrested within the day. The rest, after having sailed unmolested up and down the coast of Sligo and Donegal for a full week, turned westward with the seven thousand rifles still aboard and sailed back to New York.
The cruise of the Erin's Hope invites the commentator to light ironic effects, for the adventure did have the tone of musical-comedy piracy. It represented a picturesque example of the extravagant headlong squandering of Irish forces-by the leaders and the led with equal good cheer - that gave a certain point to Bishop Moriarty's strictures. But it is not hard to imagine the Erin's Hope in another setting where the comedy would vanish. The exploit proved it easy for a Fenian privateer to pass through the Royal Navy patrols off the Irish coast, carrying armament enough to have tipped the balance at some other stage of the war. Seven thousand rifles in hand would have made a great difference in September 1865, at the time of O'Leary's arrest, or after Stephens' jailbreak in November 1865. In 1867 the Cork Fenians were willing to make a try at insurrectionwith no more than fifty rifles. The Erin's Hope was two years too late, something of a marvel of mistiming.
IV
Even after the failure of the Erin's Hope mission the Fenians were not silenced. While the organization in Ireland was being battered to pieces by the police, the stragglers retreated into the Irish ghettoes of the English industrial midlands. Kelly called a meeting of the survivors in Manchester in the late summer of 1867 and set about trying to rebuild the organization.
During the Manchester convention three hundred Fenians were able to meet and deliberate in safety; but shortly after it adjourned, Kelly and a companion, Michael Deasy, fell into the hands of the police. The Fenians in Manchester decided that they must attempt a rescue, and Ricard Burke was given the responsibility of devising a plan of attack. Kelly and Deasy had been taken from Manchester jail to court for arraignment, and on their return journey to jail, the police van was attacked at a railroad overpass. The Fenians shot the lead horse to halt the van and then attempted to break open the locked door to free the prisoners. One of the raiding party was supposed to have brought a crowbar but had forgotten, and the door could not be opened. At last another raider shot the lock off with his revolver. In smashing the lock, a bullet penetrated the door and killed a police guard inside, one Sergeant Brett. An infuriated English crowd, closing in around the van, was held off with pistol shots fired over their heads. In the commotion the van door opened, allowing Kelly and Deasy to escape. The Fenians then began to withdraw, the crowd in pursuit. The two prisoners vanished, but the crowd ran down a rear guard of three raiders who lagged behind to delay the hue and cry. At nightfall the streets of Manchester filled with mobs of anti-Irish rioters, and a posse of special constables roamed about arresting hundreds of Irishmen as suspects. The hundreds were in time reduced to twenty-eight, then to five who stood trial and were convicted of murder, and at last to the three of the rear guard-William Allen, Michael Larkin, and Michael O'Brien-who were hanged on November 23, 1867, in front of Salford jail in Manchester.
These young men, the youngest nineteen, are the celebrated Manchester martyrs, one of the crowning exhibits of Irish patriotic symbology. Their apotheosis has puzzled some historians, who see their case as one of ordinary crime and ordinary criminals: the three were guilty of murder and were hanged, so who is to complain? Excellent English scholars put the word "martyrs" in inverted commas, just as they use the same typography for the word "betrayal" in discussions of Keogh and Sadleir. Their point would be, no doubt, that respect for the law is essential to the fabric of order, to preserve society from anarchy. As a matter of fact, Irish legal advocates were more zealous than anyone in their respect for English law, and they particularly honored its decorums and "technicalities" favoring a defendant.
The causes celebres of Irish justice arose when the crown prosecutor, under the pressure of advanced motives of statecraft, found a need to override the troublesome judicial guarantees in order to insure a verdict of guilty. jury rigging, as in the O'Connell and Mitchel trials, was a familiar experience. In the Manchester case there was a strong presumption that witnesses were suborned, for the defendants were apparently not involved in firing the fatal shot. The melee following the attack on the van confused the eyewitnesses, so that the prosecution found itself faced with a paucity of evidence, and treasured any it could get. In any event, the key witnesses were whores and jailbirds, and the prisoners who were convicted had been marked in the jail line-up, apparently for bounty seekers to spot them.
In their zeal for justice, the Manchester police built up a hanging case, also, against one Maguire, a marine of few words and no opinions who happened to possess an Irish name and to be in the neighborhood during the attack on the van. Newspapermen in the courtroom came to the conclusion that he could have had no conceivable connection either with the raid or with Fenianism. They made a representation to the home secretary that Maguire was an innocent man, that is, was convicted on perjured evidence. On their recommendation, he was immediately pardoned and released. Yet the evidence that convicted Maguire was precisely the same evidence that condemned Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien. The implied attitude in the home secretary's discrimination was that Maguire had shown no animosity to the authority of the queen and deserved to live, while the rest took pride in their Irish attitudes and deserved to die. From the home secretary's viewpoint, the defendants seemed to be unduly distressed about the state evidence being tainted, for they openly proclaimed the very treason to which the witnesses, perjured though they might be, had testified.
To be sure, the demeanor of the three condemned men in court was unapologetically Fenian. They sketched out before the courtroom the ethical anatomy of the principle by which one stood his ground: the morality of "the man in the gap," the man who refuses to "sell the gap," the ethic Yeats later formulated in the verses of "The Black Tower":
. . . he's a lying hound:
Stand we on guard oath-bound!
The first prisoner noted in his closing statement that by being forced to stand in police line-up in irons, he had been marked for the bounty hunters to identify and had therefore been unjustly condemned. But he added, in the Fenian style: "As for myself, I feel the righteousness of my every act with regard to what I have done in defense of my country. I fear not. I am fearless-fearless of the punishment that can be inflicted against me; and with that, my lords, I have done." Michael Larkin, the next man condemned, objected that all the witnesses against him were wanting in respectability, though there were more than a hundred persons present at the raid from whom honorable witnesses ought to have been available to the prosecution. But he was moved to add: "I believe as the old saying is a true one, what is decreed a man in the page of life he has to fulfill, either on the gallows, drowning, a fair death in bed, or on the battlefield." The last man took note that the government tempted witnesses with "blood money," cash rewards for testimony. However that might be, he said, "we have been found guilty, and, as a matter of course, we accept our death as gracefully as possible. We are not afraid to die-at least I am not." And his companions responded, "Nor I," and "Nor I." He concluded: "I have nothing to regret, or to retract, or take back. I can only say, God save Ireland." And again his companions responded, "God save Ireland." A scattering of Irish spectators took up the response and it ran to the back of the courtroom, followed by a second wave murmuring "Amen." The judge then put on his black cap, praised the fairness of the court, declared it his own sincere conviction that Sergeant Brett was murdered by premeditation of the prisoners, and passed sentence.
V
What Englishmen thought the most heinous of crimes - namely, treason - Irishmen looked upon as the loftiest of callings. Irish morality not only exonerated the Manchester three, for they had intended no harm to the unfortunate Sergeant Brett, but it exalted them to the highest glory, just as societies in all ages have honored above other men a rear guard doomed and destroyed. The terror of the Manchester hangings therefore taught Irishmen no lesson in loyalty. Lost on them was the pedagogic message Matthew Arnold sent across the Irish Sea, that "a government which dared not deal with a mob . . . simply opened the floodgates to anarchy." Popular outrage was magnified by the pageantry in which judge and hangman marched them through the ghastly stages to extermination. The day of execution, November 23, became a sort of Irish May Day. P. S. O'Hegarty's Sinn Fein sensibility could never pass that day on the calendar without visualizing the "three Irishmen swinging by their necks in Manchester prison." In seven centuries of the Englishman's rule in Ireland, the Manchester affair was the most damaging miscalculation of statecraft, bar one.
At first, Irishmen could not imagine the Manchester court giving out sentences of more than ten or fifteen years; or, when the death sentences were pronounced, that they would ever be carried out. Then Maguire, the marine, was released, leaving four men under death sentence. A couple of days before the scheduled executions, one of these - the same who had forgotten the crowbar - was reprieved by the intervention of Charles Francis Adams, the American ambassador. Only then did it suddenly occur to the onlookers that the other three could not be saved. On the morning of November 23, crowds stood about the Irish newspaper offices, waiting, as the dispatches came in by telegraph telling first of the arrival of the military with fixed bayonets; then of the gathering of the crowd of Manchester citizens, some curious, some in holiday mood and singing "Rule Britannia"; and at last the somber word itself, followed shortly by the report that the bodies had been buried in quicklime inside the jail yard, an action interpreted throughout Ireland as a calculated religious indignity.
According to the testimony of A. M. Sullivan: "I never knew Ireland to be more deeply moved by mingled.feelings of grief and anger." A fullorchestrated nationwide political wake began on the instant. Cardinal Cullen watched while his weeping priests were swept into the national mourning on the next Sunday after the executions. It was the MacManus affair all over again, he said. He dared not block the expression and compromised by issuing an order that all prayers and Masses for the Manchester three must be private in order, as the Sullivans put it, "to ensure that the sacred functions were sought and attended for spiritual considerations, not used merely for illegitimate political purposes."
All over Ireland there were mock funeral processions. In Limerick onefourth of the population turned out. In Dublin three empty black coffins were labeled "Allen," "Larkin," and "O'Brien" in large white lettering, and brass bands played the funeral march from Saul as the procession moved along the MacManus route to Glasnevin. Dr. George Sigerson, a witness, estimated that thirty thousand people marched in the procession. A. M. Sullivan put the number at sixty thousand, larger than the MacManus funeral itself. He was a witness too, and his estimate may have been inflated by self-importance, for at the head of the procession, beside John Martin the old Van Diemen's Land veteran, marched A. M. Sullivan himself. Four days later the viceroy issued a proclamation forbidding funeral processions in Ireland, having discovered, as Dr. Sigerson said, that the government's "strange belief" that the Manchester executions would have "a deterrent effect on the Irish people has not been justified by the result."
VI
A popular ballad appeared, written by T. D. Sullivan, aiming to interpret the Manchester affair and mold it into permanent and universal shape. He took his tune from "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," as appropriate to the kinship between Fenianism and the American Union soldiers. To get the flavor, the reader must carry the tune:
Girt around with cruel foes, still their courage proudly rose,
For they thought of hearts that loved them, far and near,
Of the millions true and brave, o'er the ocean's swelling wave,
And the friends in holy Ireland, ever dear.
"God save Ireland," said they proudly; "God save Ireland," said they all. . . . Sullivan's ballad seemed to have everything. He had asserted the doctrinaire Fenian formula of the sainthood of the battle casualty. He had caught the running echo of the antiphonal response, "God save Ireland!" that had sent through the court during the prisoners' valedictory speeches "that strange sensation as though the hair of one's head stood up." He had sounded the motif of solidarity, uniting the victims to the millions at home and "o'er the ocean's swelling wave."
Sullivan had also borrowed Michael Larkin's courtroom thoughts about the "page of life." But at the heart of Larkin's words, in the observation that every man has his fate to fulfill "either on the gallows, drowning, a fair death in bed, or on the battlefield" - there Sullivan misconstrued his source. The list of the four chances he reduced back to only two, confusing Larkin's point with another idea alien to it. The refrain concluded:
. . . "God save Ireland," said they all,
"Whether on the scaffold high, or the battle-field we die,
Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall!"
Intentionally or from want of clarity, Sullivan's either-or appeared to make patriotic death mandatory. The purpose of the episode was no longer to protect the retreat of the main force at the railroad overpass in Manchester. Now the object was to die for Erin, and as for the forms that death could take, "what matter"? To some observers it seemed odd that the apotheosis of the virtues of physical force should be advanced by the most conspicuous spokesman of the Irish moral force party, and odd, too, that the Fenians' most dogged opponent should be combined in the same person with their poet laureate. But against the background of the Sullivans' intellectual history, his motive could readily be understood as a transformation of Fenian insurrection into a lost cause, most deeply lamented. The Fenians' poet laureate was, more properly speaking, their undertaker.

Manchester Martyrs

Home

The Manchester Martyrs rest to date in a mass grave, with all other remains transferred and cremated from Strangeways Prison. Ideally, the NGA and their relatives would like to honour them with reburial in Ireland. So far, problems of authenticating these remains after 139 years have stalled this, but we continue to keep a watching brief and maintain contact with the relevant authorities.

THE MANCHESTER MARTYRS

The National Graves Association has a special connection with the Manchester Martyrs – two of our founders were involved in the rescue of Col. Kelly and Capt. Deasy in September 1867, which led to the executions of Allen, Larkin and O’Brien. These three young men were among the participants in the Manchester Rescue and were arrested in a round up of numerous members of the Irish community. Allen, Larkin and O’Brien were part of the post-Famine Irish Diaspora.

Col. Kelly was the head of the revolutionary Irish organisation, the Fenians, at the time. He was arrested with his aide de champs, Timothy Deasy. His identification by an informer led the Manchester Fenians to decide on the prison rescue. Detention without trial was in operation at the time in Ireland, where the 1867 rising had failed. The rescue was successful, Kelly and Deasy made their escape to America, but unfortunately a Manchester policeman was killed. He had refused to hand out the keys and was accidentally hit when the Fenians shot open the lock of the prison van. This led to anti-Irish panic in England and the trials of five suspected Irishmen. (Anti-Irish prejudice was rampant in 19th century England, where poor Irishmen accepted bad pay and accommodation, depressing English wages. There was also considerable bigotry against Catholics.)

In the end, the British press campaigned to get one of the condemned men pardoned, as the evidence on which he had been sentenced to death obviously didn’t stand up, another had his sentence commuted as an American citizens. Only Allen, Larkin and O’Brien were hanged in front of the New Bailey prison in Salford, Manchester. The tainted evidence at their trial, the anti-Irish hysteria at the time, and their own courageous conduct made them patriotic heroes from America to Australia. Their cry: God save Ireland! became the refrain of a popular ballad. ‘God save Ireland’ was the unofficial national anthem until overtaken by the ‘Soldier’s Song’ after 1916.

The Manchester Martyrs were buried in quicklime in Strangeways Prison, which for Irish people was the final indignity. Efforts to defuse the situation by allowing them a dignified burial were rebutted by the British authorities. It had always been the wish of their families and the Irish people to bury them at home, but for over 100 years all efforts have failed. During the 1880s there were even rumours that the Irish might attack the prison to remove their remains by force. The NGA has kept a watching brief for over ten years and learned that their cremated remains left Strangeways Prison some time ago with those of others executed. They rest in a mass grave in Blackley Cemetery Plot number C.2711 Manchester. The Association is actively involved in resolving the issue of their last resting place. We can state that, at the very least, we are making steady progress towards a monument marking their grave. If possible, and this is not easy after over 125 years, we hope to bring them home to a dignified Christian burial in the Manchester Martyrs’ Plot in Glasnevin.

Who were the Fenians? What were they doing in England?

The Fenians (correctly: Irish Republican Brotherhood) had been founded in 1858 and had staged an unsuccessful rising in March 1867. As one could be imprisoned without trial in Ireland at that time, the surviving revolutionaries retreated to England, hoping to revive the organisation. Col. Thomas Kelly was in charge and was arrested after a convention in Manchester. The local Fenians decided to rescue Kelly and his companion Deasy. They attacked the prison van and freed the pair, who got safely away to America after a series of adventures.

Although neither Larkin, Allen and O’Brien had fired the fatal shot nor had they had any intention to kill anybody, they were hanged as accessories to the death of the police sergeant. They should, at worst, have been tried for manslaughter. Charles Stewart Parnell demonstrated this when he shouted in the British House of Commons that he would never believe that a murder had been committed in Manchester.

Well into the 20th century, Irish people deplored the miscarriage of justice in the case of the Manchester Martyrs and saw it as a reason to work for an independent, more just Irish state.

Cenotaph of the Manchester Martyrs

We are all familiar with the story of the noble-hearted three, who perished on the scaffold, at Salford Jail, on Saturday, 23rd November, 1867.

The Irish people showed their love and respect for the brave men who faced the wrath of England to rescue their brother Fenians from her grasp, in the famous rescue from the prison van, of Colonel Kelly and Capt. Deasy, on the 18th September, 1867. When the news of their execution reached Ireland, solemn funeral processions were held, and three coffinless hearses proceeded to Glasnevin Cemetery, followed by 60,000 mourners. Allen was a native of Tipperary, O'Brien came from Ballymacoda, Co. Cork, and Larkin from Lusmagh, Offaly.

Though their bodies rest in an English jail yard, they are immortalised for ever. "God Save Ireland" shall perpetuate their memory while words are spoken or songs are sung

The Politics of Irish Literature From Thomas Davis to W.B. Yeats
by Malcolm Brown

Part I: The Peculiar Irish Setting

1. History and Poetry: Some Irish Paradoxes

2. Thomas Davis' Ireland

Part II: Young Ireland

3. O'Connell and Davis in Partnership

4. The Nation's First Year

5. The Retreat from Clontarf

6. Black '47

7. '48 and Insurrection

8. Beside the Sickbed: Carlyle, Duffy, Dr. Cullen

9. John Mitchel after '48