EXAMINATION OF WITNESSES.
Joseph Rawlins, Esq. being sworn, desposed to a knowledge of the prisoner, and recollected having been in his company some time in the month of December last, when he understood from him that he had been to see his brother at Brussels. On his cross-examination, the witness said, that in conversations with him on the subject of continental politics, the prisoner avowed that the inhabitants of the Austrian Netherlands execrated Buonaparte’s government; and from the whole of the prisoner’s conversation, the witness had reason to believe, that he highly condemned Buonaparte’s conduct and government.
George Tyrrel, an attorney, proved the execution, in the month of June last, of the lease of a house in Butterfield-lane, Rathfarnham, from Michael Frayne to the prisoner, who assumed on the occasion, the name of Ellis. Mr. Tyrrel was one of the subscribing witnesses to the lease, and a person named Dowdall was the other.
Michael Frayne, who leased the above-mentioned house to the prisoner, proved also to that fact, and that he gave him possession of it on the 23d of April preceding—that the prisoner and Dowdall lived there in the most sequestered manner, and apparently anxious of concealment.
John Fleming, a native of the county Kildare, sworn:—deposed, that on the 23d of July, and for the year previous thereto, he had been hostler at White Bull Inn, Thomas Street, kept by a person named Dillon. The house was convenient to Marshal-lane, where the rebel depot was, and to which the witness had free and constant access, having been in the confidence of the conspirators, and employed to bring them ammunition and other things. He saw the persons there making pike-handles, and heading them with the iron part; he also saw the blunderbusses, firelocks, and pistols in the depot, and saw ball-cartridges making there.—Here the witness identified the prisoner at the bar, whom he saw in the depot for the first time, on the Tuesday morning after the explosion in Patrick-street—(that explosion took place on Saturday, the 16th of July.) The witness had opened the gate of the Inn yard, which opened into Marshal-lane, to let out Quigley, when he saw the prisoner, accompanied by a person of the name of Palmer; the latter got some sacks from the witness to convey ammunition to the stores, and the prisoner went into the depot, where he continued almost constantly until the evening of the 23d July, directing the preparations for the insurrection, and having the chief authority. He heard the prisoner read a little sketch, as the witness called it, purporting that every officer, non-commissioned officer and private, should have equally every thing they got, and have the same laws as in France. Being asked what it was they were to share, the prisoner replied, “what they got when they took Ireland or Dublin.” He saw green uniform jackets making in the depot by different tailors, one of whom was named Colgan. He saw one uniform in particular, a green coat, laced on the sleeves and skirts, &c. and gold epaulets, like a general’s dress. He saw the prisoner take it out of a desk one day and shew it to all present (here the witness identified the desk, which was in court,) he also saw the prisoner, at different times, take out papers, and put papers back into the desk; there was none other in the store. Quigley used, also, sometimes to go to the desk. On the evening of the 23d of July, witness saw the prisoner dressed in the uniform above described with white waistcoat and pantaloons, new boots and cocked hat, and white feather. He had also a sash on him, and was armed with a sword and case of pistols. The prisoner called for a big coat, but he did not get it, to disguise his uniform, as he said, until he went to the party that were to attack the castle. Quigley and a person named Stafford had uniforms like that of Emmet, but had only one epaulet. Quigley had a white feather, and Stafford a green one. Stafford was a baker in Thomas-street. About 9 o’clock the prisoner drew his sword, and called out to “come on, my boys;” he sallied out of the depot, accompanied by Quigley and Stafford, and about fifty men, as well as he could judge, armed with pikes, blunderbusses, pistols, &c. They entered Dirty-lane, and from thence into Thomas-street. The prisoner was in the centre of the party. They began to fire in Dirty-lane, and also when they got into Thomas-street. The witness was also with the party. The prisoner went into the stores by the name of Ellis. He was considered by all of them as the general and head of the business; the witness heard him called by the title of general. In and out of the depot, it was said that they were preparing to assist the French when they should land. Quigley went into the depot by the name of Graham.
Terrence Colgan, the tailor named in the foregoing evidence, sworn. Deposed, that on the Sunday previous to the insurrection, he came to town from Lucan, where he lived, and having met with a friend, they went to Dillon’s, the White Bull Inn, in Thomas-street, and drank, until the witness, overcome with liquor, fell asleep, when he was conveyed in this state, of insensibility into the depot, in Marshal-lane, and when he awoke the next morning, he was set to work making green jackets and white pantaloons. He saw the prisoner there, by whose directions everything was done, and who, he understood, was the chief. He recollected seeing the last witness frequently in the depot while he was there. He also saw the prisoner often at the desk writing. The witness corroborated the general preparations of arms, ammunition, &c. for the insurrection.
Patrick Farrel sworn. Deposed, that as he was passing through Marshal-lane, between the hours of nine and ten o’clock on the evening of Friday, the 22d of July, he stopped before the malt stores, or depot, on hearing a noise therein, which surprised him, as he considered it a waste house. Immediately the door opened, and a man came forth, who caught him, and asked him what he was doing there? The witness was then brought into the depot, and again asked what brought him there, or had he ever been there before? He said he had not. They asked him if he knew Graham? He replied he did not. One of the persons then said the witness was a spy, and called out to “drop him immediately,” by which the witness understood they meant to shoot him. They brought him up stairs, and after some consultation, they agreed to wait for some person to come in, who would decide what should be done with him. That person having arrived, he asked the witness if he knew Graham? He replied that he did not. A light was brought in at the same time, and the witness having looked about, was asked if he knew any one there? He replied he knew Quigley. He was asked where? He replied that he knew him five or six years ago in the College of Maynooth, as a bricklayer or mason. The witness understood that Quigley was the person who went by the name of Graham. Here the witness identified the prisoner as the person who came in and decided he should not be killed, but he should be taken care of, and not let out. The witness was detained there that night and the whole of the next day, Saturday, the 23rd, and was made to assist at the different kinds of work.
He assisted in taking boards off a car; the boards, he said, were made into cases, and pikes put into them. These cases the witness described as being made of the outside slabs of a long beam, taken off about an inch or more thick—four or five inches at each end of the beam was cut off, the slabs were nailed together, and these pieces put in at the ends, so that it appeared like a rough plank or beam of timber. He saw several such cases filled with pikes sent out. The witness stated that on the evening of the 23rd, he saw three men dressed in green uniforms, richly laced; one of whom was the prisoner, who wore two gold epaulets, but the other two only one each. The prisoner had also a cocked hat, sword, and pistols. When the witness was helping out one of the beams prepared for explosion, he contrived to effect his escape.
On his cross-examination, in which the interrogatories were suggested by the prisoner, the only thing remarkable in the evidence of the witness was, that he heard a printed paper read, part of which was, that nineteen counties were ready to rise at the same time, to second the attempt in Dublin. The witness also heard them say, “that they had no idea as to French relief, but would make it good themselves.” In answer to a question from the Court, the witness said that he gave information of the circumstance deposed in his evidence, the next morning, to Mr. Ormsby in Thomas-street, to whom he was Steward.
Serjeant Thomas Rice proved the Proclamation of the Provisional Government, found in the depot.
Colonel Spencer Thomas Vassal being sworn, deposed that he was field officer of the day on the 23rd of July; that having gone to the depot in Marshal-lane, he found there several small proclamations addressed to the citizens of Dublin, and which were quite wet. He identified one of them. The witness also identified the desk which the prisoner used in the depot. Having remained about a quarter of an hour in the depot, he committed to Major Greeville the care of its contents.
Questioned by the Court. The witness said that he visited the depot between three and four o’clock on Sunday morning, it having been much advanced in daylight before he was suffered to go his rounds.
Alderman Frederick Darley sworn. Proved having found in the depot a paper directed to “Robert Ellis, Butterfield.” Also a paper entitled a “Treatise on the Art of War.” The latter had been handed, at the time, to Capt. Evelyn.
Captain Henry Evelyn sworn. Deposed having been at the rebel depot on the morning of Sunday, the 23d of July, to see the things removed to the barracks, and that he found a paper there, which, being shewn to him, he identified. This paper was a manuscript draft of the greater part of the Proclamation of the Provisional Government, altered and interlined in a great many places.
Robert Lindsay, a soldier, and Michael Clement Frayne, quarter-master-sergeant of the 38th regiment, proved the conveyance of the desk (then in court) to the barracks; and the latter identified a letter which he found therein. The letter was signed, “Thomas Addis Emmet,” and directed to “Mrs. Emmet, Miltown, Dublin,” and began with, “My dearest Robert.” It bore a foreign post-mark.
Edward Wilson, Esq. recollected the explosion of gunpowder which took place in Patrick street, previous to the 23rd of July: it took place on the 16th. He went there and found an apparatus for making gunpowder—was certain that it was gunpowder exploded. Proved the existence of a rebellious insurrection, as did also Lieut. Brady. The latter added, that on examination of the pikes which he found in Thomas-street, four were stained with blood on the iron part, and on one or two of them, the blood extended half way up the handle.
John Doyle, a farmer, being sworn, deposed to the following effect:—That on the morning of the 26th of July last, about two o’clock, a party of people came to his house at Ballymace, in the parish of Tallaght, seven miles from Dublin. He had been after drinking, and was heavy asleep; they came to his bedside, and stirred and called him, but he did not awake at once; when he did, and looked up, he lay closer than before: they desired him to take some spirits, which he refused; they then moved him to the middle of the bed and two of them lay down, one on each side of him. One of them said, “You have a French General and a French Colonel beside you, what you never had before.” For some hours the witness lay between asleep and awake. When he found his companions asleep, he stole out of the bed, and found in the room some blunderbusses, a gun, and some pistols. The number of blunderbusses he believed were equal to the number of persons, who on being collected at breakfast, amounted to fourteen. Here he identified the prisoner as one of those who were in bed with him.
The witness then further stated that the prisoner, on going away in the evening, put on a coat with a great deal of lace and tassels, (as he expressed it.) There was another person in a similar dress; they wore, on their departure, great coats over these. The party left his house between eight and nine o’clock in the evening, and proceeded up the hill. The next morning, the witness found, under the table on which they breakfasted, one of the small printed proclamations, which he gave to John Robinson, the barony constable.
Rose Bagnal, residing at Ballynascorney, about a mile further up the hill from Doyle’s, proved that a party of men, fifteen in number, and whom she described similar to that of the preceding witness, came to her house on the night of the Tuesday immediately after the insurrection. Three of them wore green clothes, ornamented with something yellow—she was so frightened she could not distinguish exactly. One of them was called a general. She was not enabled to identify any of them. They left her house about 9 o’clock on the following night.
John Robinson, constable of the barony of Upper Cross, corroborated the testimony of the witness Doyle, relative to the small proclamation, which he identified.
Joseph Palmer sworn. Deposed that he was clerk to Mr. Colville, and lodged at his mother’s house, Harold’s Cross. He recollected the apprehension of the prisoner, at his mother’s house, by Major Sirr, and that he did lodge there the preceding spring, at which time, and when he was arrested, he went by the name of Hewit. The prisoner came to lodge there the second time about three weeks before this last time, and was habited in a brown coat, white waistcoat, white pantaloons, Hessian boots, and a black frock. Those who visited the prisoner enquired for him by the name of Hewit. At the time he was arrested there was a label on the door of the house, expressive of its inhabitants. It was written by the witness, but the name of the prisoner was omitted, at his request because he said he was afraid government would take him up.
The prisoner, in different conversations with the witness, explained why he feared to be taken up. He acknowledged that he had been in Thomas-street, on the night of the 23d of July, and described the dress he wore on that occasion, part of which were the waistcoat, pantaloons, and boots already mentioned, and particularly his coat, which he said was a very handsome uniform. The prisoner had also a conversation with the witness about a magazine, and expressed much regret at the loss of the powder in the depot. The proclamations were likewise mentioned by the prisoner, and he planned a mode of escape, in the event of any attempt to arrest him, by going through the parlour window into the back house, and from thence into the fields. Here the witness was shown a paper, found upon a chair in the room in which the prisoner lodged, and asked if he knew whose hand-writing it was? He replied that he did not know, but was certain that it had not been written by any of his family, and that there was no lodger in the house besides the prisoner.
The examination of this witness being closed, extracts from the proclamation, (vide the Attorney General’s statement) addressed to the Citizens of Dublin, were read.
Major Henry Charles Sirr, examined. Deposed to the arrest of the prisoner as follows: “I went on the 25th of August, to the house of one Palmer. I had heard there was a stranger in the back parlour. I rode, accompanied by a man on foot: I desired the man to knock at the door—he did, and it was opened by a girl. I alighted, and ran in directly to the back parlour—I saw the prisoner sitting at dinner; the woman of the house was there, and the girl who opened the door was the daughter of the woman of the house. I desired them to withdraw. I asked the prisoner his name, he told me his name was Cunningham. I gave him in charge to the man who accompanied me, and went into the next room to ask the woman and her daughter about him; they told me his name was Hewit; I went back and asked him how long he had been there? He said he came that morning. He had attempted to escape before I returned, for he was bloody and the man said he knocked him down with a pistol. I then went to Mrs. Palmer, who said he had lodged there for a month; I then judged he was some person of importance. When I first went in, there was a paper on the chair,[[6]] which I put into my pocket; I then went to the canal bridge for a guard, having desired them to be in readiness as I passed; I planted a sentry over him, and desired the non-commissioned officer to surround the house with sentries, while I searched it; I then examined Mrs. Palmer, and took down her account of the prisoner, during which time I heard a noise as if an escape was attempted: I instantly ran to the back part of the house, as the most likely part for him to get out at. I saw him going off, and ordered a sentinel not to fire, and then pursued myself; regardless of my order, the sentinel snapped, but his musket did not go off. I overtook the prisoner and he said, “I surrender.” I searched him, and found some papers upon him.
“On the witness expressing concern at the necessity of the prisoner’s being treated so roughly, he (the prisoner) observed, that “All was fair in war.” The prisoner, when brought to the castle, acknowledged that his name was Emmet.”
Here the case closed on the part of the crown, and the prisoner having declined to enter into any defence, either by witnesses or his counsel, an argument arose between Mr. McNally and Mr. Plunket, as to the latter’s right to reply to evidence, when no defence had been made. Lord Norbury said, that the counsel for the prisoner could not by their silence preclude the crown from that right, and, therefore, decided in favour of Mr. Plunket.
Mr. Plunket then addressed the court to a considerable length, and spoke to evidence in effect, the same as the Attorney General.
Lord Norbury charged the Jury, minutely recapitulating the whole of the evidence, and explained the law.
The Jury, without leaving the box, pronounced the Prisoner—Guilty.
The judgment of the court having been prayed upon the prisoner, the Clerk of the Crown, in the usual form, asked him what he had to say why sentence of death and execution should not be awarded against him according to law, Mr. Emmet addressed the court as follows.
MR. EMMET’S REPLY.
My Lords,—I am asked, what have I to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me, according to law? I have nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that it will become me to say, with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are to pronounce, and I must abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have laboured (as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy—I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity, as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hopes that I can anchor my character in the breasts of a Court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hospitable harbour to shelter it from the storm by which it is at present buffeted.
Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur; but the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, labour in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy; for there must be guilt somewhere: whether in the sentence of the Court or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, my Lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the difficulties of established prejudice; the man dies, but his memory lives; that mine may not perish—that it may live in the respect of my countrymen—I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port—when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold and in the field, in defence of their country and of virtue, this is my hope—I wish that my memory and name may animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious government, which upholds its dominion by blasphemy of the Most High; which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest; which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand in the name of God, against the throat of his fellow, who believes or doubts a little more than the Government standard—a Government steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows which it has made.
[Here Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet—saying, that the mean and wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did, were not equal to the accomplishment of their wild design.]
I appeal to the immaculate God—I swear by the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear—by the blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before me, that my conduct has been, through all this peril and through all my purposes, governed only by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of their cure, and the emancipation of my country from the superinhuman oppression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed; and I confidently and assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest enterprize.
Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the consolation that appertaining to that confidence. Think not, my Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitosy uneasiness; a man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie, will not hazard his character with posterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so important to his country, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my Lords, a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated, will not leave a weapon in the power of envy, nor a pretence to impeach the probity which he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns him.
[Here he was again interrupted by the court.]
Again I say, that what I have spoken was not intended for your Lordships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy—my expressions were for my countrymen—if there is a true Irishmen present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of affliction.
[Here he was again interrupted; Lord Norbury said he did not sit there to hear treason.]
I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law; I have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with patience, and to speak with humanity; to exhort the victim of the laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, his opinion of the motives by which he was actuated in the crime of which he was adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt; but where is the boasted freedom of your institutions—where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and mildness of your courts of justice, if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy, and not your justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated.
My Lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man’s mind by humiliation to the proposed ignominy of the scaffold—but worse to me than the proposed shame, or the scaffold’s terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this court. You, my Lord, are a Judge; I am the supposed culprit, I am a man; you are a man also; by a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts upon my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence, but whilst I exist I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and my motives from your aspersions; and as a man, to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honour and love, and for whom I am proud to perish.
“As men, my Lords, we must appear on the great day at one common tribunal and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe, who was engaged in the most virtuous actions or actuated by the purest motive—my country’s oppressors, or——
[Here he was again interrupted, and told to listen to the sentence of the law.]
“My Lords, will a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved reproach thrown upon him during the trial, by charging him with ambition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his country? Why did your Lordships insult me? or rather, why insult justice, in demanding of me why sentence of death should not be pronounced against me? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you should ask the question—the form also implies the right of answering. This, no doubt, may be dispensed with, and so might the whole ceremony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the Castle, before your jury was empanelled. Your Lordships are but the priests of the Oracle, and I submit—but I insist on the whole of the forms.
[Here Mr. Emmet paused, and the Court desired him to proceed.]
“I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France! and for what end? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my country! and for what end? Was this the object of my ambition? and is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions? No! I am no emissary; and my ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country—not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country’s independence to France! and for what? Was it for a change of masters? No, but for ambition! O, my country! was it personal ambition that could influence me? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my education and fortune—by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of my country’s oppressors? My country was my idol; to it I sacrificed every selfish—every endearing sentiment—and for it I now offer up my life. O, God! No! my Lord; I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, which is its joint partner and perpetrator in the patricide, for the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendour and a conscious depravity; it was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly-rivetted despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any power on earth—I wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world.
“Connection with France was, indeed, intended—but only as far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Were they to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest independence, it would be the signal for their destruction; we sought aid, and we sought it as we had assurance we should obtain it—as auxiliaries in war, and allies in peace.
“Were the French to come as invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the people, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other; I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war, and I would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil of my country. If they succeeded in landing, and if forced to retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last entrenchment of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do myself, if I should fall, I would leave as a last charge to my countrymen to accomplish, because I should feel conscious that life, any more than death, is unprofitable when a foreign nation holds my country in subjection.
“But it was not as an enemy that the succours of France were to land. I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France; but I wished to prove to France and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted; that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and liberty of their country.
“I wished to procure for my country the guarantee which Washington procured for America. To procure an aid which, by its example, would be as important as its valour—disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and experience; who would preserve the good, and polish the rough points of our character; they would come to us as strangers and leave us as friends, after sharing our perils and elevating our destiny. These were my objects—not to receive new taskmakers, but to expel old tyrants; these were my views, and these only became Irishmen. It was for these ends I sought aid from France, because France, even as an enemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy already in the bosom of my country.
[Here he was interrupted by the Court.]
“I have been charged with that importance in the efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or as your Lordship expressed it, “the life and blood of the conspiracy.” You do me honour over much; you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy, who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself my Lord, before the splendour of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think themselves dishonoured to be called your friend, and who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand.
[Here he was again interrupted.]
“What, my Lord! shall you tell me, on the passage to that scaffold, which that tyranny (of which you are only the intermediary executioner) has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor—shall you tell me this, and shall I be so very a slave as not to repel it?
“I do not fear to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life, and am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here! By you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your unhallowed ministry, into one great reservoir, your Lordship might swim in it.
[Here the Judge interfered.]
“Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonour; let no man attaint my memory, by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but of my country’s liberty and independence, or that I became the pliant minion of power, in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional Government speaks for our views; no inference can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity or debasment at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad; I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor for the same reason that I would resist the present domestic oppressor. In the dignity of freedom, I would have fought on the threshold of my country, and its enemy should only enter by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights and my country her independence—am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent or repel it? No, God forbid!
[Here Lord Norbury told Mr. Emmet that his sentiments and language disgraced his family and education, but more particularly his father, Dr. Emmet, who was a man, if alive, that would not countenance such opinions.]
“If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory life—O ever dear and venerated shade of my departed Father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son; and see if I have, even for a moment, deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my life.
“My Lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice—the blood which you seek is not congealed by the artificial terrors that surround your victim; it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous, that they cry to Heaven. Be ye patient! I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave: my lamp of life is nearly extinguished: my race is run: the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom! I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world; it is the charity of its silence! Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times, and other men, can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth—then, and not till then—let my epitaph be written. I HAVE DONE.
ACCOUNT OF THE LATE
PLAN OF INSURRECTION IN DUBLIN,
AND THE CAUSE OF ITS FAILURE.[[7]]
The plan was comprised under three heads—points of attack, points of check, and lines of defence.
The points of attack were three:—The Pigeon House, the Castle, and the Artillery Barracks at Island Bridge.
The attack was to begin with the Pigeon House, number of men 200. The place of assembly, the Strand, between Irishtown and Sandymount. The time, low water. The men to divide into two bodies: one to cross by a sand bank, between the Pigeon House and Light House, where they were to mount the wall; the other to cross at Devonshire Wharf; both parties to detach three men with blunderbusses, and three with jointed pikes, concealed, who were to seize the sentries and gates for the rest to rush in. Another plan was formed for high water, by means of pleasure, or fishing boats, going out in the morning, one by one, and returning in the evening to the dock at the Pigeon House, where they were to land. A rocket from this was to be the signal for the other two, viz.:
The Castle, the number of men 200. The place of assembly, Patrick-street depot. A house in Ship-street was expected, also one near the gate. A hundred men to be armed with jointed pikes and blunderbusses, the rest to support them, and march openly with long pikes. To begin by the entrance of two job coaches, hackney coachmen, two footmen, and six persons, inside, to drive in at the upper gate into the yard, come out of the coaches, turn back and seize the guard, (or instead of one of the job coaches, a sedan going in at the same time, with two footmen, two chairmen, and one inside;) at the same moment a person was, in case of failure, to knock at Lamprey’s door, seize it and let in others, to come down by a scaling ladder from a window on the top of the guard-house, while attacks were made at a public house in Ship-street, which has three windows commanding the guard-house, a gate in Stephen-street, another at the Aungier-Street, end of Great George’s-street, leading to the ordnance, another at the new houses in George’s-street, leading to the riding yard, and another over a piece of a brick wall near the Palace-street gate. Scaling ladders for all these. Fire balls, if necessary, for the guard-house of the upper gate. The Lord Lieutenant and principal officers of government, together with the bulk of artillery, to be sent off under an escort to the commander in Wicklow, in case of being obliged to retreat. I forgot to mention that the same was to be done with as much of the Pigeon House stores as could be. Another party with some artillery to come into town along the quays, and take post at Carlisle Bridge, to act according to circumstances.
Island Bridge, 400 men. Place of assembly, Quarry-hole opposite, and Burying ground.—Eight men with pistols and one with a blunderbuss, to seize the sentry walking outside, seize the gates, some to rush in, seize the cannon opposite the gate, the rest to mount on all sides by scaling ladders; on seizing this to send two cannon over the bridge facing the barrack-road. Another detachment to bring cannon down James’s-street, another towards Rathfarnham as before. To each of the flank points, when carried, reinforcements to be sent, with horses, &c. to transport the artillery. Island Bridge only to be maintained; a false attack also thought of, after the others had been made on the rear of the barracks, and if necessary, to burn the hay stores in the rear.
Three rockets to be the signal that the attack on any part was made, and afterwards a rocket of stars in case of victory, a silent one of repulse.
Another point of attack not mentioned: Cork-street Barracks; if the officer could surprise it, and set fire to it; if not, to take post in the house (I think in Earl-street, the street at the end of Cork-street, leading to Newmarket, looking down the street with musquetry, two bodies of pikemen in Earl-street,) to the right and left of Cork-street, and concealed from troops marching in that street. Another in, I think, Marrowbone-lane, to take them in rear. Place of assembly, fields adjacent, or Fenton fields.
Points of Check.—The old Custom-house, 300 men, the gate to be shut or stopped with a load of straw, to be previously in the street.—The other small gate to be commanded by musquetry, and the bulk of the 300 men to be distributed in Parliament-street, Crane-lane, and those streets falling into Essex-street, in order to attach them if they forced out. The jointed pikes and blunderbusses lying under great coats, rendered all these surprises unsuspected; fire balls, if necessary, and a beam of rockets.
An idea also was, if money had been got, to purchase Rafferty’s cheese shop, opposite to it, to make a depot and assembly; and to mine under and blow up a part of the Custom-house, and attack them in confusion, as also the Castle. The miners would have been got also to mine from a cellar into some of the streets through which the army from the barracks must march.
The assembly was at the Coal-quay.
Mary-street barracks, sixty men. A housepainter’s house, and one equally removed on the opposite side, (No. 36, I believe,) whose fire commands the iron gate of the barracks without being exposed to the fire from it, to be occupied by twenty-four blunderbusses; the remainder, pikemen, to remain near Cole’s-lane or to be ready in case of rushing out to attack them. Assembly, Cole’s-lane market, or else detached from Custom-house body.
The corner house of Capel-street, (it was Killy Kelley’s,) commanding in Ormond-quay, and Dixon, the shoemaker’s (or the house beyond it,) which open suddenly on the flank of the army, without being exposed to their fire, to be occupied by blunderbusses. Assembly detached from Custom-house body.
Lines of Defence.—Beresford-street has six issues from Church-street, viz: Coleraine-street, King-street, Stirrup-lane, Mary’s-lane, Pill-lane, and the Quay. These to be chained in the first instance by a body of chainmen; double chains and padlocks were deposited, and the sills of the doors marked. The blockade to be afterwards filled up; that on the Quay by bringing up the coaches from the strand, and oversetting them, together with the butchers’ blocks from Ormond-market. The houses over the chains to be occupied with hand grenades, pistols and stones. Pikemen to parade in Beresford-street, to attack instantly any person that might penetrate; the number 200. Assembly, Smithfield depot, where were 800 pikes for reinforcements. The object was to force the troops to march towards the Castle, by the other side of the water, where the bulk of the preparations and men to receive them were.
Merchant’s Quay. In case the army, after passing the Old Bridge, marched that way, Wogan’s house and a Birmingham warehouse next to it to be occupied with musquetry, grenades, and stones; also, the leather crane at the other end of the Quay; a beam to be before the crane, lying across the Quay, to be fired at the approach of the enemy’s column. A body of pikemen in Winetavern-street, instantly to rush on them in front; another body in Cook-street to do the same, five lanes opening on their flank, and by Bride-street in their rear. Another beam in Bridge-street, in case of taking that route, and then the Cook-street body to rush out instantly in front; a beam in Dirty-lane; main body of pikemen in Thomas-street to rush on them instantly on firing the beam. The body on the Quay to attack on rear; in case of repulse, Catherine’s Church, Market house, and two houses adjacent, that command that street, occupied with musquetry. Two rocket batteries near the Market house, a beam before it, body of pikemen in Swift’s-alley, and that range, to rush on their flank, after the beam was fired through Thomas-court, Vicar-street, and three other issues; the corner houses of these issues to be occupied by stones and grenades, the entire of the other side of the street to be occupied with stones, &c. the flank of this side to be protected by a chain at James’s-gate, and Guiness’s drays, &c. the rear of it to be protected from Cook-street, in case the officer there failed, by chains across Rainsford-street, Crilly’s-Yard, Meath-street, Ash-street, and Francis-street. The Quay body to co-operate by the issues before mentioned, (at the other side,) the chains of which would be opened by us immediately. In case of further repulse, the houses at the corner of Cutpurse-row, commanding the lanes at each side of the Market-house, the two houses in High-street, commanding that open, and the corner houses of Castle-street, commanding Skinner-row, (now Christ Church-place) to be successively occupied. In case of a final retreat, the routes to be three: Cork-street, to Templeogue, New-street, Rathfarnham, and Camden-street department. The bridges of the Liffey to be covered six feet deep with boards full of long nails bound down by two iron bars, with spikes eighteen inches long, driven through them into the pavement to stop a column of cavalry, or even infantry.
The whole of this plan was given up by me for the want of means, except the Castle and lines of defence, for I expected 300 Wexford men, 400 Kildare men, and 200 Wicklow, all of whom had fought before, to begin the surprises at this side of the water, and by the preparations for defence, so as to give time for the town to assemble. The county of Dublin was also to act at the instant it began—the number of Dublin people acquainted with it I understood to be 4 or 5,000. I expected 2,000 to assemble at Costigan’s Mills, the grand place of assembly. The evening before, the Wicklow men failed, through their officer. The Kildare men who were to act, (particularly with me,) came in, and at five o’clock went off again from the Canal-harbour, on a report that Dublin would not act. In Dublin itself, it was given out by some treacherous or cowardly person, that it was postponed till Wednesday. The time of assembly was from six till nine, instead of 2,000, there was eighty men assembled, when we came to the Market-house they were diminished to eighteen or twenty. The Wexford men did assemble, I believe, to the amount promised, on the Coal-quay; but 300 men, though they might be sufficient to begin on a sudden, were not so, when government had five hours’ notice by express from Kildare.
Added to this, the preparations were, from an unfortunate series of disappointments in money, unfinished, and scarcely any blunderbusses bought up.
The man who was to turn the fuzes and rammers for the beams forgot them, and went off to Kildare to bring men, and did not return till the very day. The consequence was, that all the beams were not loaded, nor mounted with wheels, nor the train-bags, of course, fastened on to explode them.
From the explosion in Patrick-street, I lost the jointed pikes which were deposited there, and the day of action was fixed on before this, and could not be changed.
I had no means of making up for their loss but by the hollow beams full of pikes, which struck me three or four days before the 23d. From the delays in getting the materials, they were not able to set about them till the day before; the whole of that day and the next, which ought to have been spent in arrangements, was obliged to be employed in work. Even this, from the confusion occasioned by men crowding into the depot from the country, was almost impossible.
The person who had the management of the depot mixed, by accident, the slow matches that was prepared, with what was not, and all our labour went for nothing.
The fuzes for the grenades he had also laid by where he forgot them, and could not find them in the crowd.
The cramp irons could not be got in time from the smiths, to whom we could not communicate the necessity of despatch; and the scaling ladders were not finished (but one.) Money came in at five o’clock, and the trusty men of the depot, who alone knew the town, were obliged to be sent out to buy up blunderbusses, for the people refused to act without some. To change the day was impossible, for I expected the counties to act, and feared to lose the advantage of surprise. The Kildare men were coming in for three days; and after that it was impossible to draw back. Had I another week; had I one thousand pounds; had I one thousand men, I would have feared nothing. There was redundancy enough in any one part to have made up, if complete, for deficiency in the rest; but there was failure in all—plan, preparation, and men.
I would have given it the respectability of insurrection, but I did not uselessly wish to spill blood: I gave no signal for the rest, and they all escaped.
I arrived time enough in the country to prevent that part of it which had already gone out with one of my men, to disarm the neighbourhood from proceeding. I found that by a mistake of the messenger, Wicklow would not rise that night—I sent off to prevent it from doing so the next, as it intended. It offered to rise even after the defeat, if I wished it, but I refused. Had it risen, Wexford would have done the same. It began to assemble, but its leader kept it back till he knew the fate of Dublin. In the state Kildare was in, it would have done the same. I was repeatedly solicited by some of those who were with me to do so, but I constantly refused. The more remote counties did not rise, for want of money to send them the signal agreed on.
I know how men without candour will pronounce on this failure, without knowing one of the circumstances that occasioned it. They will consider only that they predicted it; whether its failure was caused by chance, or by any of the grounds on which they made their prediction, they will not care—they will make no distinction between a prediction fulfilled and justified—they will make no compromise of errors—they will not recollect that they predicted also that no system could be formed—that no secrecy nor confidence could be restored—that no preparations could be made—that no plan could be arranged—that no day could be fixed, without being instantly known at the Castle; that government only waited to let the conspiracy ripen, and crush it at their pleasure; and that on these grounds only did they predict it miscarriage. The very same men that after success would have flattered, will now calumniate. The very same men, that would have made an offering of unlimited sagacity at the shrine of victory, will not now be content to take back that portion that belongs of right to themselves, but would violate the sanctuary of misfortune, and strip her of that covering that candour would have left her.
R. E.
The following facts have come to our knowledge, too late to be inserted in their proper place. But we deemed them too interesting to be altogether omitted. Indeed, every incident of his short, but virtuous life, however slight, cannot fail to impart some degree of at least a melancholy pleasure to every generous and patriotic bosom.
“One day, previous to his trial, as the governor was going his rounds, he entered Emmet’s room rather abruptly, and observing a remarkable expression in his countenance, he apologised for the interruption. He had a fork affixed to his little deal table, and appended to it there was a tress of hair. ‘You see,’ said he to his keeper, ‘how innocently I have been occupied: this little tress has been long dear to me, and I am plaiting it to wear in my bosom on the day of my execution.’ On the day of that fatal event, there was found, sketched by his own hand with a pen and ink, upon that very table, an admirable likeness of himself, the head severed from the body which lay near it, surrounded by the scaffold, the axe and all the paraphernalia of a high treason execution. What a strange union of tenderness, enthusiasm and fortitude, do not the above traits of character exhibit! His fortitude indeed, never forsook him; on the night previous to his death, he slept as soundly as ever, and when the fatal morning dawned, he arose, knelt down and prayed, ordered some milk, which he drank, wrote two letters, (one to his brother in America, and the other to the secretary of state, inclosing it,) and then desired the sheriffs to be informed that he was ready. When they came to his room, he said he had two requests to make: one, that his arms might be left as loose as possible, which was humanely acceded to. “I make the other,” said he, “not under any idea that it can be granted, but that it may be held in remembrance that I have made it, it is, that I may be permitted to die in my green uniform.” This, of course, was not allowed him—and the request seemed to have no other object than to show that he gloried in the cause for which he was to suffer. A remarkable example of his power, both over himself and others, occurred at this melancholy moment. He was passing out, attended by the sheriffs and preceded by the executioner; in one of the passages stood the turnkey who had been personally assigned to him during his imprisonment: this poor fellow loved him in his heart, and the tears were streaming from his eyes in torrents. Emmet paused for a moment; his hands were not at liberty—he kissed his cheek—and the man who had been for years the attendant of a dungeon, habituated to scenes of horror, and hardened against their operation, fell senseless at his feet. Before his eyes had opened again upon this world, those of the youthful sufferer had closed forever!”
THE END.
[1]. Agriculture.—‘The mother and nurse of a military population, Ireland has been forced into this. It was thought that she had sunk under the arbitrary tyranny of British monopoly. Let the proud Briton regale himself in the wholesome air of mines and workshops, and become ossified in the strengthening attitudes of monotonous labour; while the degraded Irishman draws health and number, and fierceness and force, and becomes too nimble to be caught by his crippled owner, who hobbles after and threatens with his crutch.’
[2]. A contemptuous name for Yeomen.
[3]. It is said that the North Cork Regiment were the inventors—but they certainly were the intruders of pitchcap torture into the county of Wexford. Any person having their hair cut short, (and therefore called a Croppy, by which appellation the soldiery designated a United Irishman) on being pointed out by some loyal neighbour, was immediately seized and brought into a guard-house, where caps either of coarse linen, or strong brown paper, besmeared inside with pitch, were kept always ready for service. The unfortunate victim had one of these, well heated, compressed on his head: and when judged of a proper degree of coolness, so that it could not easily be pulled off, the sufferer was turned out amidst the horrid acclamations of the merciless torturers, and to the view of vast numbers of people, who generally crowded to the guard-house door, attracted by the afflicting cries of the tormented.
[4]. Hay’s History of the Insurrection in Wexford.
[5]. The rebel outlaws, who took up their abodes in the mountains and fastnesses of Wexford and Wicklow, after 1798, ludicrously called themselves “The Babes of the Wood.”
[6]. That paper was as follows:
“It may appear strange, that a person avowing himself to be an enemy of the present Government, and engaged in a conspiracy for its overthrow, should presume to suggest an opinion to that Government on any part of its conduct, or could hope that advice coming from such authority, might be received with attention. The writer of this, however, does not mean to offer an opinion on any point, on which he must of necessity, feel differently from any of those whom he addresses, and on which therefore his conduct might be doubted. His intention is to confine himself entirely to those points on which, however widely he may differ from them in others, he has no hesitation in declaring, that, as a man, he feels the same interest with the merciful part, and as an Irishman, with at least the English part of the present administration: and at the same time to communicate to them in the most precise terms, that line of conduct which he may hereafter be compelled to adopt, and which, however painful it must, under any circumstances be, would become doubly so if he was not conscious of having tried to avoid it by the most distinct notification. On the two first of these points, it is not the intention of the undersigned, for the reason he has already mentioned, to do more than state, what government itself must acknowledge—that of the present conspiracy it knows (comparatively speaking) nothing. That instead of creating terror in its enemies, or confidence in its friends, it will only serve by the scantiness of its information, to furnish additional grounds of invective to those who are but too ready to censure it for a want of intelligence, which no sagacity could have enabled them to obtain. That if it is not able to terrify by a display of its discoveries, it cannot hope to crush by the weight of its punishments. Is it only now we are to learn, that entering into conspiracy exposes us to be hanged?—Are the scattered instances which will now be brought forward necessary to exemplify the statute? If the numerous and striking examples which have already preceded, were insufficient,—if government can neither by novelty of punishment, nor the multitude of its victims, impress us with terror, can it hope to injure the body of a conspiracy so impenetrably woven as the present, by cutting off a few threads from the end of it.
“That with respect to the second point, no system however it may change the nature, can affect the period of the contest that is to take place; as to which the exertions of United Irishmen will be guided only by their own opinion of the eligibility of the moment for effecting the emancipation of their country.
“That administration....”
The following paper was found in the depot, in Emmet’s hand-writing:—
“I have little time to look at the thousand difficulties which still lie between me and the completion of my wishes that those difficulties will likewise disappear I have ardent, and I trust, rational hopes; but if it is not to be the case, I thank God for having gifted me with a sanguine disposition. To that disposition I run from reflection, and if my hopes are without foundation—if a precipice is opening under my feet, from which duty will not suffer me to run back, I am grateful for that sanguine disposition, which leads me to the brink and throws me down, while my eyes are still raised to visions of happiness, that my fancy formed in the air.”
[7]. Annexed to the copy from which the above has been transcribed, is the following memorandum, in the hand-writing of a gentleman who held a confidential situation under the Irish government.—“The original of this paper was delivered on the morning just before he was brought out to execution, in order to be forwarded to his brother, Thomas Addis Emmet, at Paris.”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
- Re-indexed footnotes using numbers and collected together at the end of the last chapter.