XIII.
The Annual Convention to which I have made reference in connection with the Roche incident took place in Philadelphia, “the city of brotherly love,” in the month of December 1868. It was made the occasion of an immense demonstration, no less than 6000 armed and uniformed Fenian soldiers parading the streets. The convention itself was numerically a large one, and was attended by over 400 properly qualified delegates. The proceedings were of the usual kind. Brag and bluster were the order of the day. The determination to invade Canada once more was still upheld by the vote of the assembly, and the position of O’Neill and his colleagues was as fixed and satisfactory as ever—that of myself, of course, being included in this reference.
The report of the envoy to the sister organisation in Ireland—Daniel Sullivan, Secretary of Civil Affairs—was an interesting document, and contained full details of the Clerkenwell Explosion of the previous year. This was the attempt to blow up Clerkenwell Prison which Mr. Parnell subsequently described in reply to Mr. Gladstone—the old Mr. Gladstone, I mean, not the new one—as “a practical joke.” It was, however, as we in Philadelphia were to learn, anything but a practical joke. It was rather as cool and carefully planned a scheme as ever Fenianism indulged in to spite the British Government. If the attempt failed to accomplish all that was expected of it, it was yet very fruitful in drawing from Mr. Gladstone a confession about its effect being “to bring the Irish question within the range of practical politics,” which has ever since proved the most effective and popular argument advanced on behalf of dynamite in the United States.
About this time, John Boyle O’Reilly, a very well-known Irishman, late editor of the Boston Pilot, a poet and novelist, and author of a delightfully written novel, “Moondyne,” the material for which was obtained during his confinement in Australia as a Fenian prisoner, first arrived in New York, having succeeded in making his escape from the convict settlement at Freemantle. With his appearance came the idea of rescuing his fellow-prisoners. The proposal, first mooted in uncertainty, was eventually taken up with the greatest enthusiasm, and carried to a most successful conclusion. For the purpose a whaler was chartered by the organisation and fitted out at New Bedford, Massachusetts, with the ostensible object of whaling in the South Seas, but, in reality, for bringing the convicts off from Australia. The boat was partially manned by trusted men of the organisation, though, to keep up the deception, a certain number of well-known whalers’ men went to make up the crew. On arrival at Australia, some of the most trusted Fenians were landed with instructions to open up communication with the convicts, while the vessel cruised about on the high seas. It was not anticipated that the task set the men left on shore would be a difficult one, because the convicts were hired out as labourers during the day, and communication with them was not by any means a trying matter. As affairs turned out, it was quite easy. The men from the whaler, however, had not been landed more than a day or two, when they found that they were not the only persons arranging the convicts’ rescue. Two men—M‘Carthy and Gray—were already at work in this direction, having been sent out by the Supreme Council of the Fenian Brotherhood in Ireland, at the instigation, as he claimed to me subsequently, of Patrick Egan. M‘Carthy and Gray had, it appeared, already established communications with the convicts; and so, in order to expedite matters, the two sections of rescuers joined forces. On a given day, the plot was carried to a successful termination, and the rescued men were placed on board the whaler, which immediately set out for the States. Although an armed cruiser was immediately despatched to stop it, and some firing took place, the whaler succeeded in getting out of Australian waters and on the high seas in safety.