The Sister of Henry Joy McCracken
Mary Anne McCracken (1770-1866)[[84]]
“I have been coming all the night long
Like a little lamb in the midst of a great flock of sheep
And how should I find my little brother but he dead before me.”
—The Keen for Fair-Haired Donough.
[84]. Authorities: Madden’s “United Irishmen” (Vol. II., Second Series, First Edition, 1843); Robert M. Young, “Historical Notices of Old Belfast,” 1896.
“I THINK of all human loves that of a Sister is the most abiding and unselfish. In a mother’s love there is a kind of identification with her child, his triumphs, his defeats, which by the reflection on herself takes away the absolute disinterestedness. Conjugal love is more intense, but for that reason more intermittent. But there’s not a trace of self in that earnest wistful gaze which a beloved sister casts after the poor young fellow who has just gone out from the sanctity of home-life into the world’s arena; nor a thought of self in the way the silent heart broods over shattered hopes, and takes back to its sanctuary the broken relics of the idol, once worshipped, now, alas! only to be protected from the gaze of a scornful world.”[[85]]
[85]. “Under the Cedars and the Stars,” p. 192.
Alas! Alas! That it should have been of two French women Canon Sheehan was thinking, and not of our own Mary Anne McCracken, when he paid tribute, thus nobly, to a sister’s love as “of all human loves, the most abiding and unselfish.” It might have been her story, and not that of some alien Laura Balzac or Madame Perrier, that was told in those moving words. It is her image, at all events, that comes before our eyes when Canon Sheehan pictures “the earnest wistful gaze” with which a loving sister follows the brother of her heart, as he passes from the holy shelter of the home to the “world’s arena.” How often did that gaze follow young Henry Joy McCracken as he rode forth from the door of the old house in Rosemary Street on his perilous journeys with Charles Teeling among “the Defenders”! What sister ever loved a brother like this heroic country-woman of ours? When the Cause was lost at Antrim and the broken remnants of the Spartan band were making a last stand on “the hallowed hills,” it was she who braved all dangers to steal forth to him and bring him succour of comfort and hope. It was she who walked with him to the scaffold; who received his poor mangled form into her arms; whose woman’s resourceful bravery held, as it were, the gates of death apart, while the surgeons tried to snatch back his soul from beyond them. It was she who accompanied his body to the grave, and heard the first shovelful of earth fall on his coffin—before she turned back to take up new duties and new sacrifices. Then in the dark days when men veritably “feared to speak of ’Ninety-Eight, and blushed at the name,” it was she who treasured the memory of the dead, and held fast to the hopes and ideals for which they had laid down their lives. And at last when, in the fullness of time, one came who made it his life-work to tell their story truly to the world, she was there with her rich store of memories to help in that great work. Again and again Dr. Madden quotes Mary Anne McCracken as his authority for some of the facts he states, or incidents he relates, and his tribute to her personality is that of one who was brought into most intimate relations with her. “The name of Mary McCracken,” he writes, “has become associated in the north with that of her beloved brother. The recollection of every act of his seems to have been stored up in her mind, as if she felt the charge of his reputation had been committed to her especial care.... In that attachment there are traits to be noticed indicative not only of singleness of heart, and benevolence of disposition; but of a noble spirit of heroism, strikingly displayed in the performance of perilous duties, of services rendered at the hazard of life, at great pecuniary sacrifices, not only to that dear brother, but at a later period to his faithful friend, the unfortunate Thomas Russell. Perhaps to those who move in the busy haunts of life, and become familiarised with the circumscribed views and actions of worldly-minded people, the rare occurrence of qualities of another kind, which seem to realise the day-dreams of one’s early years, an excellence of disposition devoid of all selfishness, devoted to all goodness, capable of all sacrifices, and constant in all trials—that shakes not in adversity, and becomes insensible to fear where the safety of friends and kindred is in question, in one who seems to be utterly unconscious of her own nobleness of mind, may appear worthy of admiration.”