IX.
In the midst of all these exciting incidents of prison life, I received a telegram from O’Neill in New York, as follows: “Come at once, you are needed for work.” To comply was to surrender my pleasant and interesting position, and to lose for the moment all chance of pursuing my medical study. On the other hand, however, the opportunity of doing good service to my native land presented itself. I did not hesitate. Communicating immediately with the “Warden” or Governor, I resigned my position, much to his disgust. He sought an explanation. I could give none. He offered an increased salary. I was unable to explain why even this could not tempt me, and so I left in a way which was misunderstood, and under circumstances which, by the very reason for their existence, could not be appreciated.
Hurrying to New York, I soon presented myself in person to O’Neill at the headquarters of the Fenian Brotherhood, then situated in the mansion at 10 West Fourth Street. Here I found the President of the Brotherhood, surrounded by his staff of officials, transacting the duties of their various positions with all the pomp and ceremony usually associated with the representatives of the greatest nations on earth. I was not long left in suspense as to what was required of me. Commissioned at the very outset as Major and Military Organiser of the Irish Republican Army (at a salary of sixty dollars per month, with seven dollars per day expenses), I was instructed to proceed to the Eastern States in company with a civil organiser, in order to visit and reorganise the different military bodies attached to the rebel society. To my unhappy amazement, I learned that I was, while engaged on this work, to address public meetings in support of the cause, and my miserable feelings were accentuated by O’Neill’s desire that I should accompany him, the very evening of my arrival, to a large demonstration being held at Williamsburg, a suburb of Brooklyn. I was in a regular mess, for if called on to speak—as I feared—I should be found absolutely ignorant of Irish affairs. There was nothing for it, however, but to keep a brave face, for I had undertaken my work, and in its lexicon there was no such word as fail.
The evening came, and with it our trip to Williamsburg. On arrival there, in the company of O’Neill and some brother officers, I found several thousands of persons assembled. We were greeted with the greatest enthusiasm, and given the seats of honour to the right and left of the chairman. My position was a very unhappy one. I was in a state of excessive excitement, for I greatly feared what was coming. Seated as I was next to O’Neill, I could hear him tell the chairman on whom to call, and how to describe the speakers; and, as each pause took place between the speeches, I hung with nervous dread on O’Neill’s words, fearing my name would be the next. The meeting proceeded apace; some four or five of my companions had already spoken, and I was beginning to think that, after all, the evil hour was postponed, and that for this night at least I was safe. Not so, however. All but O’Neill and myself had spoken, when, to my painful surprise, I heard the General call upon the chairman to announce Major Le Caron. The moment was fraught with danger; my pulses throbbed with maddening sensation; my heart seemed to stop its beating; my brain was on fire, and failure stared me in the face. With an almost superhuman effort I collected myself, and as the chairman announced me as Major M‘Caron, tickled by the error into which he had fallen, and the vast cheat I was playing upon the whole of them, I rose equal to the occasion, to be received with the most enthusiastic of plaudits.
The hour was very late, and I took advantage of the circumstance. Proud and happy as I was at being with them that evening, and taking part in such a magnificent demonstration, they could not, I said, expect me to detain them long at so advanced an hour. All had been said that could be said upon the subject nearest and dearest to their hearts. (Applause.) If what I had experienced that night was indicative of the spirit of patriotism of the Irish in America—(tremendous cheering)—then indeed there could be no fears for the result. (Renewed plaudits.) And now I would sit down. They were all impatiently waiting, I knew, to hear the stirring words of the gallant hero of Ridgeway, General O’Neill—(thunders of applause)—and I would, in conclusion, simply beg of them as lovers of liberty and motherland—(excited cheering)—to place at the disposal of General O’Neill the means (cash) necessary to carry out the great work on which he was engaged. This work, I was confident, would result in the success of our holy cause, and the liberation of dear old Ireland from the thraldom of the tyrant’s rule, which had blighted and ruined her for seven hundred years.
These last words worked my hearers up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and amidst their excited shouts and cheers I resumed my seat, with the comforting reflection that if it took so little as this to arouse the Irish people, I could play my rôle with but little difficulty. And as time passed on, and my experience widened, the justice of the reflection was fully assured. With a little practice and scarce any labour, save that necessitated by the use of a pair of scissors and some paste, I succeeded in hoodwinking the poor and deluded, together with the unprincipled, blatant, professional Irish patriots.
Before, however, starting on my travels as organiser, I had an experience which went far to justify all I had previously thought and heard as regards the part played by Andrew Johnson in connection with the first Canadian raid. I recall the incident as important, as showing to what extremes American political exigencies have carried men in catering for the Irish vote in America. About American politics generally I shall have something to say later on; but as this matter fits in chronologically here, I think it better to deal with it now. Johnson, it must be remembered, was not by any means a man above suspicion. In 1868, so great was the disaffection with his administration of the Presidency, that he was impeached, though unsuccessfully, by the Senate.
ALEXANDER SULLIVAN
It was in this year—1868—that, at O’Neill’s request, I accompanied him to the White House to have an interview with Johnson. O’Neill and he had been personal friends from ’62, when Johnson had acted as Military Governor in Tennessee. The precise object of our visit was the securing of Johnson’s influence in the return of the arms to the Fenian Brotherhood, previously seized by the American Government. It will be remembered that I mentioned, some pages back, that every gun taken by the United States Government, after the first raid in 1866, was returned to the Fenian organisation by this government under a promise, only made to be broken, that they should not be used in any unlawful enterprise; and in consideration of certain worthless bonds.
Our reception at the White House was a cordial one, O’Neill’s distinctly so. During the conversation the President used some remarkable words. So strange did they sound in my ears, that they impressed themselves upon my memory, and are even now fresh in my recollection.
“General,” said Johnson, addressing O’Neill, “your people unfairly blame me a good deal for the part I took in stopping your first movement. Now I want you to understand that my sympathies are entirely with you, and anything which lies in my power I am willing to do to assist you. But you must remember that I gave you five full days before issuing any proclamation stopping you. What, in God’s name, more did you want? If you could not get there in five days, by God, you could never get there; and then, as President, I was compelled to enforce the Neutrality Laws, or be denounced on every side.”
Such was the language used, such the position assumed, and such the apology tendered to the Fenian leader of 1868 by the President of the United States Government. Can any comment of mine point the moral and adorn the tale of all this better than the incident itself can do when left in its naked and startling significance? I think not.