Ballingarry, Slievenamon in the distance, 1848
Some doubted the ability of their country to effect her redemption. Some doubted the capacity, and perhaps the sincerity, of the chiefs. Some were schooled in duplicity, and under the ermine, or under the privy councillor's robe, carried fierce hearts, benumbed by mendicancy and seared by shame. But the first flash of their country's liberty would see them ranged at that country's side, repaying with the fiercest hate the beggar crumbs which England had flung from the fragments of her overloaded table. It is true enough that a long course of corruption, beginning with the perjured peer and ending with the tidewaiter, had created a class of conditional loyalists, with nine-tenths of which the condition is always unfulfilled; while, in its very fulfilment, the other one-tenth has found but bitterness, the "sauce piquante" of their daily bread. But as a general rule, such a thing as a pure Irish loyalist does not exist. Its possible existence presupposes an absurdity in nature. An Irishman cannot become loyal to English domination, without divesting himself of the last attribute of his nature, not as an Irishman, but as a man.
The knowledge of this fact was my "base of operations." Ten thousand armed men successful against a garrison of five hundred would produce a more abundant crop of avenging warriors than the fabled dragon's teeth, and that simultaneously through every square mile of the island. In ten days there would be two millions of Irishmen in arms. It may well be asked, what arms? But even instinct will reply, what arms would be needed? England had in Ireland less than forty thousand men, and, without hazarding the question, how many of them could she rely on, it requires no consummate military genius to suggest how they could be dealt with by a simultaneous rising of the country. The arms of her enemies would then be hers. She would have time to form a regular army to aid her undisciplined strength. England's position at home, where she had not a soldier to spare; her condition abroad, where she was beaten to the wall; and her relations with foreign powers would achieve the rest. To a successful Irish revolution, a coup-de-main is indispensable; and a coup-de-main would be incompatible with any organised plan other than existed. It will be seen at once that for this place details are unfit. The above sketch rather comprehends the bolder outlines of an insurrection in action, and they suggest nothing to warn the enemy as to future operations. The prospect they presented to me—a prospect which long contemplation seemed to have realised into fact—excluded from my mind the preliminary and intermediate considerations of time, place, and other circumstances. There was but one of any importance, the success of the commencement; and that seemed beyond all question if, as I hoped, the neighbourhood of Carrick-on-Suir were selected. As I approached that town in the grey of morning, and the past and the future in burning recollection thronged on my brain, I envied the destiny which God had awarded to its inhabitants, in breaking the first link of the slavery of nearly twenty generations. This, alas, was a dream. The people of Carrick had already, with shrinking hand, marred their own immortal lot.
Arriving at the house of John O'Mahony, one of the truest of living Irishmen, I heard what follows. On the previous day Messrs. O'Brien, Dillon and Meagher had arrived at Carrick. Their arrival was unexpected, sudden and startling. They had apprised no one of their approach; and no counsel had been taken or decision come to. It is needless to say that the crowd which gathered to see them, when the intelligence of their arrival spread, came unarmed and unprepared. The speeches addressed to them were brief, determined, and to this effect: "We learned," said the chiefs, "that an act was passed authorising the Irish Government to seize our persons without even the imputation of a crime. You have vowed to strive with us in every extremity, and die with us if need be. We are here to demand the redemption of your pledge, in the name of your enslaved country. The hour has come when the truth of that country is to be tested; and first among her children the trust of her honour is committed to you." How much more might have been said, and how far short of the passionate appeal made by the most gifted of men the above language may fall, this is not the place to inquire. The crowd answered with a loud shout. With the leaders of that crowd other thoughts were busy. Some of them waited on the "Traitors"; others, and the most influential, absented themselves. Among the latter was the Rev. Mr. Byrne, who, up to that hour, had taken an advanced position among those who were most forward in the cause of the country. Not a fortnight before, he delivered a speech to nearly one hundred thousand persons in the town of Carrick, pre-eminently insurrectionary in its tendency; and he had acted more than once as controller and regulator of the violent passions his own vehemence aroused. For this duty, which he effectively discharged because of his known disloyalty, he received the public approval of England's Prime Minister. From all these circumstances, the responsibilities of his position were such as it would require great hardihood of character to shrink from. It was reported at the time that he did not rest content with abandoning a post which he had attained with intense ambition, but exerted his utmost influence with the people against an enterprise which he designated as rash, ill-designed, and fraught with ruin to the town. This report has been repeated as a fact by the present writer, and has not been contradicted by the Rev. Mr. Byrne. But it is right to add that a very respectable gentleman, a witness of that day's proceedings, has distinctly contradicted it. He added that the Rev. Mr. Byrne remained a passive spectator; and he defended the conduct of those who really influenced the people, on the ground that the preparations seemed of their very nature to preclude the possibility of success; and that it was the sacred duty of every man capable of appreciating the position and resources of the people, the difficulties of the enterprise and the consequences of failure, not alone to Carrick but the entire island, at all hazards to prevent a useless wreck and slaughter. The great argument relied upon by every one was, why should Carrick be selected? The same question would apply everywhere else; and if the consideration it involves were to avail, there never could be a revolution. However, in Carrick it seems to have prevailed. Other arguments, no doubt, were urged, such as want of provisions, want of arms and want of ammunition. The moment of indecision is the harvest of evil passions—avarice, selfishness, cowardice cloud the intellect, and blast the destiny of man. There is some doubt as to who principally superinduced this indecision and the judgment which here ranks it with a faulty weakness and a fearful fatality refuses to question the motives upon which it was based.
One singular fact, attested by all, deserves particular notice. It is this: The other Roman Catholic clergymen of Carrick did not then interfere. They had been always opposed, on other grounds, to the Irish Confederation; but in that hour of fate they were silent.
Mr. O'Brien and his comrades left the town deeply disappointed, if not in actual disgust and despair. They were ignorant of my absence from Cashel and determined to join me there. When I had learned this, I was thirty miles from that town and knew that they had arrived there during the night, and had, long before then, taken some decisive course. My hope was that the town was in their hands. But, before I could decide on what it became me to do, a messenger arrived from Cashel, directing me to remain where I was, and conveying an assurance that Cashel was by that time captured. Mr. Meagher immediately followed, confirming the intelligence. He was on his way to Waterford. We immediately determined on scouring the country along the bases of Slievenamon and the Slatequarry hills, which stretch into the county Kilkenny. During that journey the enthusiasm of the people was measureless. At every forge, pikes were manufactured, the carpenter was at work fitting the handles, and the very women were employed in polishing and sharpening these weapons on the rough mountain stones. We called at several villages, and were surrounded by the young men and the aged, by matron and maid, and from no lips did one sound of complaint, or discouragement, or fear fall. Everywhere hope and resolution and courage lit up the hearts and eyes of young and old. We rode, at least a distance of twenty miles, and returned assured that there was not one man within that district who was not then prepared and would not be armed ere night came. We appointed the chapel of Ballyneal, within two miles of Carrick, as the place of rendezvous, determined to act according to the intelligence which we might receive from Cashel. Meantime deputations from Carrick waited upon us, to assure us the people there would follow us notwithstanding any advice they might have received. We agreed that we would not attack the town, and required five hundred men for another enterprise. A short time afterwards some directions were required, and I wrote one or two sentences on a scrap of paper which was taken from the messenger by the Rev. Mr. Byrne and torn. What his influencing motives might have been I know not, nor do I care to inquire. My first impulse was immediately to appear in the town and throw myself on the protection of the people. My friend dissuaded me from this attempt and proposed to go into town himself, which he could do without danger, to ascertain what would be the probability of my proposal's success. After two or three anxious hours, he returned, impressed with the conviction that such an attempt would be fatal.
By this time crowds began to assemble at the place of rendezvous before alluded to, and word was brought us that the Reverend Mr. Morrissey, the parish priest of that place, was endeavouring to disperse them. Owing to his character, there was not much to be apprehended from his influence with the people. His associations had been with the aristocracy, and most of his friendships and sympathies contracted at the fox-covert, or on the "Stand House." This is mentioned, not in disparagement of the man, but for the purpose of rescuing his Order from imputations attaching to his conduct alone. The very fact of his interference would suggest the conclusion that the course he recommended was opposed to the general sentiments of his brethren; so we felt at this time. But we mistook his influence with the people. It was reported to us that he used certain arguments, incredible, because blasphemous. But the argument which succeeded, and which all alike attested, was this, "that he would put himself at the head of the people if they but waited three weeks."
Influenced by this promise, the people had dispersed before my friend arrived at the place of rendezvous. He returned to me sadly discouraged, after a day and night of labour and agitation as intense as ever strained the energies of man. I then determined to ride on to Cashel, to learn the fate of Mr. O'Brien and his comrades. I was accompanied by two young farmers, well armed. We arrived about midnight at Brookhill, where I was made acquainted with all that had occurred at Cashel.
The history was more melancholy than our own. My absence was used as an argument, sincere or pretended, against any effort in that town. Mr. O'Brien, in ignorance of whom to apply to, took counsel with one man at least, since accused of the darkest treachery. Others, from whom I had different hopes, shrank from an encounter which, at other times, they seemed to long for as the dearest blessing Heaven could bestow. There no clergymen interfered—the people were left to act for themselves; but it must be admitted that the actual people never had an opportunity of proving their courage. A young friend of mine, who had all my trust, and justified it by unshaken fidelity through many a trial, was despatched to the country to procure assistance, but he applied to the wrong source, and, deluded by the character of him to whom he had spoken, returned under the mistaken conviction that from the country nothing was to be expected.
This decided Mr. O'Brien and his friends. He had been joined at Cashel by P.J. Smyth, and James Cantwell, now in the United States, by James Stephens, now at Paris, and by Patrick O'Donohoe, now sharing the doom of his chief. As an episode in this history, the fate of Mr. O'Donohoe is singular and startling. He was much relied on by his friends in the Confederation, and was entrusted with the dispatches to Mr. O'Brien. He proceeded on his mission to Kilkenny, and there applied to one of the clubs. He was known to none of the members, and became at once the object of suspicion. It was, accordingly, determined to send him for the rest of the journey, under arrest, and Stephens and another member were appointed to that duty. They proceeded in execution of their mission to Cashel, where Mr. O'Donohoe was warmly welcomed by Mr. O'Brien, whose fate he thenceforth determined to share. Mr. Stephens came to the same resolution; but the other guard of Mr. O'Donohoe, refused to commit himself to fortunes which appeared so desperate. With Messrs. Stephens and O'Donohoe, their very desperation acted as the most ennobling and irresistible inducement. They clung to him to the last with a fidelity the more untiring in proportion as his circumstances portended imminent disaster and ruin.