The Viceroys of Ireland

by Charles Kingston O'Mahony

The appointment of Earl Spencer was not pleasing to Mr. Forster, and he sent in his resignation, his ostensible reason being the proposed suspension of the Coercion Act, which had enabled the Irish executive to imprison Parnell. Forster, however, was more concerned with his own status. Lord Spencer would retain his seat in the Cabinet, which meant that the Chief Secretary's position would be of less importance than hitherto. The Prime Minister accepted the resignation without more than the expected and usual formal expressions of regret. Lord Frederick Cavendish was selected to succeed him, and on the same day the viceroy and the Chief Secretary crossed the Channel. This was the fatal May 6, 1882. Lord Spencer was sworn in at Dublin Castle, and during the afternoon he was engaged in 'that grim apartment in Dublin Castle, where successive Secretaries spend unshining hours in saying "No" to impossible demands and hunting for plausible answers to insoluble riddles.' At five o'clock the Viceroy started to ride to Phoenix Park, and at six Lord Frederick Cavendish followed. In the Park he was overtaken by Mr. Burke, the Under-Secretary, and a few minutes later both men were foully murdered within sight of the Viceregal Lodge.

The Phoenix Park murders

Lord Spencer wrote the following account of his knowledge of the murders—a statement inspired by a report that he had actually witnessed the affray and innocently regarded it as an unimportant scuffle:

'It is said that I saw the murder. That is not so. I had asked Cavendish to drive to the Park with me. He said he would not; he would rather walk with Burke. Of course, if he had come with me it would not have happened. I then rode to the Park with a small escort—I think, my aide-de-camp and a trooper. Curiously enough, I stopped to look at the polo-match which Carey described, so that he and I seem to have been together on that occasion. I then turned towards the Viceregal Lodge. The ordinary and more direct way for me to go was over the very scene of the murder. Had I so gone the murders would not probably have been committed. Three men coming up would have prevented anything of that kind. But I made a slight detour, and got to the lodge another way. When I reached the Lodge I sat down near the window and began to read some papers. Suddenly I heard a shriek which I shall never forget. I seem to hear it now; it is always in my ears. This shriek was repeated again and again. I got up to look out. I saw a man rushing along. He jumped over the palings, and dashed up to the Lodge shouting: "Mr. Burke and Lord Frederick Cavendish are killed!" There was great confusion, and immediately I rushed out; but someone of the household stopped me, saying that it might be a ruse to get me out, and advising me to wait and make inquiries. Of course, the inquiries were made, and the truth soon discovered. I always deplore my unfortunate decision to make that detour, always feeling that if I had gone to the Lodge by the ordinary way the murders would have been prevented. I have said that I did not see the murder, but my servant did. He was upstairs, and saw a scuffle going on, but, of course, did not know what it was about.'

No political crime produced as great a sensation as these senseless and stupid murders. The news came to London late in the evening, when Ministers were dining out. The Home Secretary was attending a dinner-party at the Austrian Embassy when a messenger hurried in to tell of the dreadful calamity, and very soon all his colleagues were in possession of the dreadful tidings.

Another Coercion Act

The murders meant the end of the policy of conciliation, and the House of Commons gave a ready assent to another Coercion Act. Parnell wrote to Gladstone offering to resign his seat, but the premier was not the person to judge members of the House of Commons. With perfect courtesy he acknowledged the feeling that had prompted the Irish leader's letter, though he must have known that if there had been no Land League there would have been no Phoenix Park murders.

It is one of the most difficult of tasks to write familiar history in an original manner. The worthless lives of the assassins paid the penalty of the law, and a crude justice was meted out to Carey, the informer, who was shot dead by O'Donnell on board the liner which was taking him to safety. O'Donnell was brought back from South Africa and executed, but the punishment of the actual murderers was a small part of the after-effects of the whole disastrous episode.

It was not long before the party of progress by murder and revolution cast off the sackcloth it had donned on the deaths of Mr. Burke and Lord Frederick Cavendish. The viceroy, with his back against the wall, was compelled to fight for his own life as well as for the existence of law and order. The Parnellites, confident in their well-established reputation for obstruction and their followers' capacity for riot, looked forward to the day when they could dictate terms to one of the great political parties in England. The granting of an extended franchise in 1884 had cleared the way for an all-Nationalist Ireland. The Liberal party was, as usual, blindly handing to their opponents weapons to be used for the destruction of Liberalism.