THE CONDITION OF IRELAND.—DISTURBED STATE OF THE COUNTRY.—DISAFFECTION
OF THE POPULACE.—FAILURE OF THE POTATOE CROP.—DISTRESS.—AGITATION BY THE YOUNG IRELANDERS.—DECLINE OF O’CONNELL.
Some notice has been taken of the condition of Ireland as leading to the dissolution of the Peel ministry. It is appropriate to resume here the thread of Irish history. The affairs of that country, politically and socially, became rapidly worse. From day to day the people of England were startled with tidings of fierce conflicts which faction waged, the disloyalty of the great majority of the people, the relentless cruelty with which the Ribbon Society exacted its victims, and the continued pressure of famine and sickness upon the physical life of the people. Ireland, so long conversant with misery, was still to taste the cup in all its bitterness. Everything meant for her good by the legislature brought with it some new form of evil, or aggravated some that existed. She had sought and obtained emancipation, but while her arms wore no longer a manacle, she still clanked her broken chain, and with it smote her benefactors or wounded herself. The removal of restrictions from commerce, effected by Sir Robert Peel, she regarded as an injury; the majority of Irishmen believed that the repeal of the corn laws was designed to enrich England at the expense of Ireland, and that it was the most fatal blow ever given to her agricultural and commercial prosperity. There were many enlightened Irishmen who advocated the repeal of the laws which made the food of the people dear;—of seven men who met in Manchester to form the anti-corn-law association, out of which sprang “the League,” at least two were Irishmen. Perhaps the man to whom that cause was originally indebted, more than to any other, was Archibald Prentice of the city just named, a native of Scotland; but among his earliest and most earnest coadjutors were Irishmen. The merchants of the three principal cities in Ireland—Dublin, Cork, and Belfast—favoured Sir Robert Peel’s law, especially those of the enlightened and enterprising town last named; but the Irish agriculturists, and the inhabitants of the country generally, resented it as a new Irish grievance! Lord George Bentinck did not misrepresent the feeling of the Irish people towards the free-trade movement, when he claimed the country, with some exceptions only, as on his side. Even the educational boon, so recently accorded by parliament, was regarded as a religious affront. “The Queen’s colleges” were denounced by Mr. O’Connell and the priests as “godless colleges.” In parliament he opposed, in Ireland he vituperated it.
A new phase of mischief gradually ripened during the year 1846. O’Connell had taught the people habits of political organisation, and while he had so wielded the masses thus organised as to prevent insurrection, he kept the government in continual alarm, lest some sudden outbreak should rend society and deluge the country with blood. The “agitator” professed to hold the doctrine of moral force in opposition to physical force; but while he proclaimed that the liberties of Ireland were “not worth the shedding of one drop of blood,” and in long letters and speeches declared that whoever committed crime was his enemy, and the enemy of Irish freedom, he palliated those crimes, when committed, defended the criminals, shifted the blame to the Protestants, the local authorities, the government, the law, or the Saxon; and so wrote and spoke as was calculated to lead the perpetrators of outrage to regard themselves as having an excuse for their crimes, in their own condition or that of their country. The general feeling of the disaffected in reference to Mr. O’Connell’s exhortations of peace was, that he was only sincere so far as expediency dictated; that he had no other objection to physical force than his conviction that the prospects of success did not warrant recourse to it. Accordingly, whilst a great display was made of carrying out his “moral force” policy, and his “pacificators” were the ostensible preservers of the peace,—taking the credit themselves, or claiming it for their chief, of preventing an open insurrection,—murder, incendiarism, assault, and religious persecution were carried out in detail. When any were arraigned, no scruples were entertained as to the means by which conviction might be prevented; perjury, intimidation, and assassination were among these instrumentalities. When convicted, the criminal was regarded as suffering for his religion and country, although the crime for which he was condemned was some cruel and cowardly assassination, or attempt to commit such. “The liberal press,” as the newspapers devoted to the agitation were designated, was filled with extenuations or denials of the culprit’s guilt, and the most vengeful attacks were made upon all who sought to enforce the laws, and preserve peace and life from the ruffian hands of the Ribbonmen, and “the moral force agitators.” Lord John Russell has often resorted to finesse in his parliamentary tactics which has not always done him honour, but he never erred in this respect more egregiously than when, withdrawing the Irish arms bill, he reported that the law had its unimpeded course, that juries did their duty, and that crime was effectually restrained. So far from juries doing their duty, it was difficult in the provinces to obtain convictions, where a portion of the jury were O’Connellites, if the person before them was arraigned for an agrarian offence, or an outrage against the persons of those who were loyal. Neither Whigs, nor Protestants who were politicians of a school yet more free, nor liberal Roman Catholics who respected the law, or enforced their rights as landlords, were spared by the secret societies, any more than the most rabid Tories or the most flaming Orangemen. A reign of terror prevailed through the country; the perpetrators of outrage were everywhere, and the popular masses sympathised with them. An illustration of the state of things then prevailing was afforded in the following paragraph from the Illustrated London News of the 21st of February, 1846:—
“On Friday (last week) Bryan Seery was executed at Mullingar. The conviction took place under the following circumstances:—Some time since Sir Francis Hopkins was shot at by a man in Westmeath; Sir Francis tried to seize the assassin, but he escaped; and afterwards Seery was captured. The sole witness to the prisoner’s identity with the assassin was the prosecutor: the defence was the common Irish defence—alibi, which was of course sworn to stoutly, as it always is in Ireland. One jury could not agree to the verdict, two Roman Catholics standing out against conviction: a second jury condemned the man: efforts to procure commutation of his sentence failed, and he was left for execution. Seery, at the place of execution, solemnly denied his guilt. A circumstance highly characteristic of the feeling of the public occurred. The morning was calm—the sounding of bugles and peeling of drums were heard in all directions: there was a perfect cessation of business in the town. About ten o’clock all the shops were closed, and not a single human being was to be seen in the streets—not one individual came in from the country. Thus the people determined to mark their opinion of this awful tragedy, for all regard Seery as a martyr. At eleven o’clock the military were paraded before the gaol, and not one human being appeared before the scaffold but themselves and the police. Even the magistrates of the county stayed away—not one of them appeared, except Mr. Uniacke, who walked up and down with Captain Despard. Under the imposing head of the ‘Mullingar Tragedy,’ the reporter of the Dublin Freeman furnishes that journal with a long and highly-coloured account of the interment of Bryan Seery. The melancholy spectacle took place on Sunday, in the presence of vast multitudes of the country people, whose numbers were estimated by the writer to amount to fifty thousand or sixty thousand souls.”
On other occasions the populace attended the execution of criminals in large numbers, and exhibited their sympathy by demonstrations of respect and of regret for their fate, speaking of them as “the blessed martyrs” for their religion, or their country, or both. An execution took place at Nenagh, in the county of Tipperary, early in June, which was thus noticed in a paper, neither unfavourable to the rights of the people, nor the exercise of the utmost clemency on the part of the government towards the misguided:—“Three men were executed at Nenagh on Friday (last week), pursuant to their sentences; two—namely, Patrick Hayes and Patrick Rice—for conspiring to murder the late Mr. Patrick Clarke; and one, named William Fogarty—for shooting at Mr. M’Donald, a steward in the slate quarries. An immense multitude collected to witness the scene. The three men were accompanied to the drop by Roman Catholic clergymen. They died after a brief struggle, having made no public confession of their crimes. A large police force of one hundred and fifty men, and a company of the 72nd depot, comprised the guard in attendance. All was quiet and peaceable, says a local paper, and nothing heard but the moanings of the friends of the culprits. After the usual time of hanging, the bodies were lowered into coffins, and given to the relations. The long respite obtained by these men whilst various points of law were urged in their favour, gave much additional interest to their cases.”
Executions did not, however, extinguish the prevalence of crime, nor were the precautions of the executive sufficient to wrest the weapon from the murderous hand. A Galway paper, in “the liberal interest,” recorded a murder near the junction of that county with the county of Clare, immediately after the execution at Nenagh, and various others of a similar character throughout the country. This atrocity was very much in character with those which disgraced the whole south and west of Ireland, and which, to a less extent, took place in the north and north-eastern portions of the land:—“We regret to state that, on the night of Thursday (last week), a barbarous murder was committed at a village near Woodford, in this county. The unfortunate object of the assassin’s vengeance was a man named Pat Hill. Two persons came into his house, and brought him out of his bed to a place about forty yards distant, and there inflicted no less than forty-two bayonet wounds on his person, besides a fracture of the skull. His wife, hearing his screams, went to his assistance, and, having begged for mercy, she was told by the heartless ruffians that if she did not go away, she would herself be treated in a like manner. Having completed their purpose, the miscreants, who are unknown, walked off, and their victim almost immediately expired. An inquest was held at Portumna, when a verdict of ‘Wilful murder’ was returned against persons unknown. Deceased was in rather comfortable circumstances, and bore a most excellent character.”
While disaffection, secret societies, fanatical intolerance, and wide-spread personal outrage cursed unhappy Ireland, the failure of the potato crop intensified every other form of evil to which the country was subjected. Very early in the year it was obvious to intelligent observers that the failure of 1845 would be exceeded in 1846. The distress developed itself very early. In February the Rev. W. B. Townend, rector of Aghadda, in the diocess of Cloyne, county of Cork, published a letter, in which he thus described the sufferings and the prospects of the people:—“In this part of Ireland we are in a frightful state—the humbler classes are all living on the contaminated potato; the sides of fields and gardens literally covered with rotten ones, thrown away. The detail of destruction is endless. That employment should be wanted for the people, while one-third of Ireland is as much waste as the woods in Canada, and the rest badly cultivated, not affording half labour, is a strange anomaly.”
Later in the year the Rev. J. B. Tyrwhitt, an English clergyman of the Established Church, settled in Keny, published an account of the sufferings and prospects of the people of the south and west of Munster, truly appalling. The reverend gentleman wrote in the celebrated Vale of Iverah, where the O’Connells held property, and exercised an almost absolute sway:—“The prospects of the people of this very poor barony, and all along from the River Kenmare, Sneem, Darrynane, to Cahirciveen, and thence towards Killorglin, is harrowing and startling. The whole potato crop is literally destroyed, while over a very wide surface the oat crop presents an unnatural lilac tinge to the eye; at the same time, in too many instances, the head is found flaccid to the touch, and possessing no substance. The barley crop, too, in many places, exhibits the effect of a powerful blight. In some places, also, where turnips have been grown, they present—as, indeed, has been the case in other parts of the county—a healthier exterior in top and skin, but, on being opened, are found deeply impregnated with a taint similar to that which has smitten the potato, to such an extent, that one cannot stand in the blackened fields without being overpowered by the offensive effluvia.”