| RECEIPTS, &c. | ||||
| Total receipts by Irish World up to May 31, 1881 | $88,306 | 32 | ||
| Received by trustees from other sources | 1,603 | 50 | ||
| Interest | 1,072 | 50 | ||
| Profits on Exchange | 471 | 25 | ||
| ———— | ||||
| $91,453 | 57 | |||
| ————— | ||||
| EXPENSES, &c. | ||||
| Purchase of bonds | $31,488 | 87 | ||
| Lent per F.C. to S.C. for tools | 10,000 | 0 | ||
| Lent to F.C. | 5,875 | 0 | ||
| Irish volunteers | 1,000 | 0 | ||
| J. J. O’Mahony’s burial | 2,030 | 0 | ||
| O’D. Rossa’s defalcations | 1,321 | 90 | ||
| Old submarine vessel | 4,042 | 97 | ||
| New submarine vessel | 23,345 | 70 | ||
| Miscellaneous expense | 321 | 4 | ||
| Lent Dr. Carroll | 860 | 0 | ||
| Luby and Burke | 100 | 0 | ||
| Cheques dishonoured | 78 | 68 | ||
| Reception, Condon and Meledy | 249 | 79 | ||
| Allowed A. Ford on old money, Rossa’s not cashed | 41 | 90 | ||
| Irish World overcharged | 5 | 4 | ||
| Subsidising foreign newspapers (J. J. O’Kelly) | 2,000 | 0 | ||
| Land League trial (Davitt) | 1,532 | 0 | ||
| Special to O’Kelly | 177 | 63 | ||
| Author, New Departure | 1,003 | 90 | ||
| Stolen by messenger of Irish World | 27 | 50 | ||
| Reception of Parnell | 165 | 0 | ||
| ———— | ||||
| $85,666 | 92 | |||
| ————— | ||||
| ASSETS. | ||||
| Balance in bank | $5,745 | 82 | ||
| Balance on hands | 40 | 83 | ||
| ———— | ||||
| $5,786 | 65 | |||
| ———— | ||||
XL.
I have found this subject of Irish secret conventions so interesting to the many people who have talked with me about Clan-na-Gael affairs since my appearance in the witness-box that I almost think I might venture on some slight description of the modus operandi of these gatherings without wearying the reader. Like all proceedings from which the general public are shut out, a Clan-na-Gael assembly becomes interesting in proportion to the amount of secrecy by which it is attended. Not indeed that a Clan-na-Gael Convention is anything very exciting or terrible after all. It possesses none of the weird features of that scene in which our three old friends of Macbeth figure. It is on the contrary very Irish—very Irish indeed. But what it is and what it is not can best be demonstrated by some few details by way of description; and so, transforming my gentle reader for the nonce into a V.C. delegate, I will take him with me for a flying visit to the Clan Convention of 1881 in the club-room of the Palmer House, Chicago.
As we pass along down the corridor to the iron doors of the club-room, we find our passage barred by two stalwart Irishmen. They are members of the local camp, stationed as sentinels to prevent the entry of the unauthorised. We have already presented our credentials and been intrusted with the necessary passwords, and on giving the outside password to these guardians of the door, we are duly admitted. On the other side, however, we are brought face to face with another couple of trusted Gaels, and to them we have to give the inside password. ’Tis done, and, freed now from further question, we enter the charmed assembly. What a sight! What a babel of voices and a world of smoke! You can scarce see for the clouds which curl and roll round you as the breath of fresh air is admitted by the opening door, while, as for hearing, your ears are deafened by the din and clatter of many tongues and stamping feet. Yes, we are at last in the Irish Parliament, as it is grandly termed, in full session. These are the hundred and sixty odd delegates of the great V.C., sworn “to make Ireland a nation once again,” who are now assembled in the year of grace 1881 to clamour for dynamite as the only means of achieving their patriotic ends.
Let us sit down in the corner and study the scene with attention. It partakes, on the first view, more of the character of a “free and easy” entertainment than a grave portentous gathering of conspirators; but you must not judge by first appearances or outward characteristics. It is the way these men have of doing their business, and the dread character of their work is in no way affected by the almost ludicrous phases of the preliminary performance. Always you must remember that you are dealing with Irishmen, who in their wildest and most ferocious of fights still retain that substratum of childishness of character and playfulness of mood, with its attendant elements of exaggeration and romance, which make it as difficult for an ordinary House of Commons member to rightly understand his Irish colleague when he launches forth in description or invective, as it is for the civilised foreigner to know where the actual grievance now comes in.
Well, we are seated, and we must proceed to make the most of our time. And so I hurry on with my description. That is the chairman seated over there on the platform, with his two secretaries in attendance. The permanent presiding officer, as he is termed, is on this occasion no other than our friend Wm. J. Hynes, the gentleman who received his start in Chicago politics as a professional juryman through the instrumentality of Alexander Sullivan, and who since that time has put together flesh as well as riches, and is now one of the strongest-looking men here, possessed of that which, if he had no other qualification, would yet constitute a strong claim for the office of chairman—a voice capable of rising above the din caused by fifty excited patriots all yelling with their greatest might. Seated round in semi-circular fashion are the different delegates who, in the language they love so well, may be described as the flower of Irish-American patriotism. They are a funny crowd, as lolling with arms akimbo, and thumbs resting in their waistcoat arm-holes, they hang their feet on the chairs in front, which for comfort’s sake are tilted to an angle of some 40 or 45 degrees, and puff their cigars—on such an occasion there is nothing so vulgar as a pipe indulged in—high up into the air, changing their position now and again in order to have a pull at those interesting-looking black bottles, or to disrobe themselves of coat or waistcoat, the better to cool their heated frames.
But hark! there is a row on now. Listen to the oaths and foul epithets which fill the air. These two patriots to our left have apparently disagreed about something and, want to fight it out. See how they jump to their feet, kick the chairs about, throw a curse across the floor at the chairman as he seeks to stop their rowdy proceedings, and enter into grips with each other. Watch how friends hurry up on either side, and note the general confusion which now reigns. The business of the Convention of course is brought to a standstill, but not for long. See, all is quiet again now. These incidents are of hourly occurrence, and the fun of it all is that these two combatants will be drinking whisky in the most amicable way out of the same black bottle in less than a quarter of an hour’s time. Do you notice these few men hurrying in with handkerchiefs to their lips? Thirsty souls! They have been taking advantage of the interval to pay a visit to the bar.