LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES
OF
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
LIFE
OF
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY,
BY
JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE.
TOGETHER WITH HIS
COMPLETE POEMS AND SPEECHES,
EDITED BY
MRS. JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
INTRODUCTION BY HIS EMINENCE
JAMES CARDINAL GIBBONS,
ARCHBISHOP OF BALTIMORE.
NEW YORK:
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY,
104 & 106 FOURTH: AVENUE.
COPYRIGHT, 1891.
BY
MKS. JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
* All rights reserved.
THE MEKSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAUWAY, N. J.
INTRODUCTION.
THE best monument to a great and good man are the
works with which his hand and his head have enriched the
world.
More fittingly than by towering shaft of granite or of
marble will the name of John Boyle O Reilly be immortal
ized by this collection of his writings. On this, his ceno
taph, aere perennius, I dutifully, though sorrowfully, lay
this wreath of admiration for the genius of love for the
man.
Few men have felt so powerfully the dimnus afflatus
of Poesy ; few natures have been so fitted to give it worthy
response. As strong as it was delicate and tender, as sym
pathetic and tearful as it was bold, his soul was a harp of
truest tone, which felt the touch of the ideal everywhere,
and spontaneously breathed responsive music, joyous or
mournful, vehement or soft. Such a nature needed an
environment of romance, and romantic indeed was his
career throughout. In boyhood his imagination feasts on
the weird songs and legends of the Celt ; in youth his
heart agonizes over that saddest and strangest romance in
all history, the wrongs and woes of his mother-land, that
JSTiobe of the nations ; in manhood, because he dared to
wish her free, he finds himself a doomed felon, an exiled
convict in what he calls himself "the nether world "; then,
bursting his prison bars, a hunted fugitive, reaching the
haven of this land of liberty penniless and unknown, but
rising by the sheer force of his genius and his worth, till
the best and the noblest in our country vie in doing honor
to his name.
With surroundings and a career like these, a man of his
make could not but be a poet, and a poet he became of
truest mould ; wooed to the summits of Parnassus by his
love of the beautiful, his fiery spirit was calmed on its stilly
heights, and grew into that poise and restfulness and self-
v i INTRODUCTION.
control, without which poetry would lack dignity and
grace. No writer understood better than he that the face
and form of Poesy to be beautiful must be tranquil, that
violent movements rob her of her charm that even in the
tempest of her love or wrath her mien must breathe the
comeliness and harmony of the Divine.
This lesson of the Muses gave grace and charm to more
than his poetry, it gradually pervaded all the movement of
his life. Seldom did he lose sight of what he has himself
so beautifully expressed :
Nature s gospel never changes,
Every sudden force deranges,
Blind endeavor is not wise.
Many a time was he subjected to trials calling for super
human self-control, and seldom was he found wanting
under the test. Instances without number are related of
his generous magnanimity toward those who deserved it
least, of his patience under insult and injustice, of his
quickness to atone for any momentary, unguarded flash.
There was a rhythm and a harmony in all his life like to
that of his thoughts and of his style.
But in all this there was more than nature. The Divine
Faith, implanted in his soul in childhood, flourished there
undyingly, pervaded his whole being with its blessed influ
ences, furnished his noblest ideals of thought and conduct.
Even when not explicitly adverted to, Faith s sweet and
holy inspirations were there to shape his thought and direct
his life. They had made his mind their sanctuary before
its work began, and all its imagery during life instinctively
bore the impress of their presence.
Thus was he fitted to fulfill worthily the vocation of a
poet. For it is not aimlessly that Divine Providence
endows a human being with qualities so exceptional and
exalted.
The poet is one endowed with ken so piercing as through
the veil of sense to gaze upon the world of the ideal, and
through all ideals to penetrate to the archetypal ideal of
all things ; endowed with heart so sensitive as to thrill with
unwonted throbbings at this vision of the true, the beauti
ful, and the good ; endowed with speech so subtle that it
can fit itself to thoughts and emotions like these, so rhyth
mical and sweet that, falling on ears dulled by the hard
din of life, it may charm them, and lift up earthly minds
and hearts to thought and love of better things, the true
INTRODUCTION. Vll
poet realizes what O Reilly sung in one of his latest and
best productions :
Those who sail from land afar,
Leap from mountain-top to star ;
Higher still, from star to God,
Have the Spirit-Pilots trod,
Setting lights for mind and soul,
That the ships may reach their goal.
The vocation of the poet is close akin to that of the
priest, and it is not to be wondered at that during most of
his life our poet s nearest and dearest friends were clergy
men.
In his career as a journalist, the magnanimity and self-
control thus variously impressed upon him and infused
into him were especially manifested. Constantly obliged
to deal with burning questions, he usually handled them
with a conservative prudence scarcely to be expected in
one so vehement by nature.
Accustomed by long experience to have his most cher
ished convictions resisted and assailed, he met all oppo
nents with a chivalrous courtesy, as well as with a daunt
less courage, that instantly won respect, and often ended
by winning them over to his side.
No wonder, then, that he. far beyond the bulk of men,
verified his own touching lines :
The work men do is not their test alone,
The love they win is far the better chart.
Who can recall an outburst of grief so universal and so
genuine as that evoked by his all too early and sudden
death ? At the sad news numberless hearts in all the lands
which speak our English tongue stood still as in anguish
for the loss of a brother or a friend. In accents trembling
with the eloquence of emotion, countless tongues in our
own and in other climes have paid unwonted tribute to his
worth ; great thinkers and writers have lauded his genius ;
the lowly and unlettered are mourning him who was ever
humanity s friend.
The country of his adoption vies with the land of his
birth in testifying to the uprightness of his life, the useful
ness of his career and his example, the gentleness of his
character, the nobleness of his soul. The bitterest preju
dices of race and of creed seem to have been utterly con
quered by the masterful goodness of his heart and the
Viii INTRODUCTION.
winning sweetness of his tongue, and to have turned into
all the greater admiration for the man.
With all these voices I blend my own, and in their
name I say that the world is brighter for having possessed
him, and mankind will be the better for this treasury of
pure and generous and noble thoughts which he has left us
in his works.
fcX /
I ez^-t) , jf c
PREFACE.
THE following pages have been written in the scant
leisure of a busy life, made doubly so by the loss which
called them forth. They make no pretension to being a
critical study of their subject or a minute history of his
life. I have aimed to present, concisely and truthfully,
the leading events in a career as full of dramatic incident
and striking change as the pages of a romance ; letting the
story tell itself, wherever it has been possible, in the words
of its illustrious subject.
Having the advantages of access to his printed and
private papers, as well as of a close personal friendship of
twenty years, I have been able, I think, to draw a faithful
picture of John Boyle O Reilly as he was in public and
private. The picture has not been overcolored by the
hand of friendship. If there appear to be more of eulogy
than of criticism in the work, the fact is not to be
wondered at. It would be impossible for anybody who
knew John Boyle O Reilly intimately to think or write
of him in any other strain.
His public life and literary labors will be judged by pos
terity on their merits. I believe that the judgment will be
even more favorable than that passed by his contem
poraries. Of his personal character there can be but one
judgment. Those nearest him are best able to testify to
its unvarying heroism, tenderness, and beauty ; but no
earthly chronicler can ever tell the whole story of his
kindly thoughts and words and deeds. A few of them are
here recorded ; the greater number are written on the
hearts of the thousands whose lives he brightened and
blessed ; the whole are known only to the God whose mercy
gave such a life to the world whose inscrutable wisdom
recalled the gift so soon.
JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE.
ix
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION BY CARDINAL GIBBONS, . v
PREFACE, . . . ix
CHAPTER I.
Birthplace Childhood and Youth Early Apprenticeship Sojourn
in England Enlists in " The Prince of Wales Own " Conspiracy, Detec
tion, and Arrest " The Old School Clock," 1
CHAPTER II.
Trial by Court-martial A Prisoner s Rights before a British Military
Tribunal The Stories of Two Informers Found Gftilty and Sentenced to
Death Commutation of Sentence Mountjoy Prison How O Reilly Re
paid a Traitor, 22
CHAPTER III.
Solitary Confinement An Autobiographical Sketch Pentonville, Mill-
bank, Chatham, Dartmoor Three Bold Attempts to Escape Realities of
Prison Life The Convict Ship Hougoumont The Exiles and their Paper,
The Wild Goose, 48
CHAPTER IV.
Prison Life in Australia O Reilly Transferred from Fremantle to Bun-
bury Cruel Punishment for a Technical Offense Daring Plan to Es
cape Free at Last Under the American Flag, 69
CHAPTER V.
Narrow Escape from a "Bad" Whale He Feigns Suicide in Order
to Avoid Recapture at Roderique Transferred to the Sapphire off Cape of
Good Hope Arrival at Liverpool Takes Passage for America Lands at
Philadelphia, 84
CHAPTER VI.
Arrival in Boston Untoward Experience in a Steamship Office Pub
lic Lectures His Personal Appearance Characteristic Letters Employed
on The Pilot At the Front with the Fenians The Orange Riots in New
York O Reilly Sharply Condemns the Rioters A Notable Editorial, . 101
xi
Xll CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER VII.
Civilian Prisoners in Australia Set Free The Story of Thomas Has-
sett O Reilly s Narrative Poems His Love of Country and Denunciation
of Sham Patriots Death of His Father Speech for the Press His Mar
riage, and Home Life Pilot Burned Out in the Great Boston Fire The
Papyrus Club Founded, . . . 122
CHAPTER VIII.
His Public Life Editorial Condemnation of Bigotry He Speaks for
the Indian and the Negro " Songs of the Southern Seas " Death of Cap
tain Gifford Poem on the Death of John Mitchell Controversy with Dr.
Brownson His Poem for the O Connell Centenary O Reilly Becomes
Part Owner of the Pilot, 140
CHAPTER IX.
The Cruise of the Catalpa The English Government Rejects the Peti
tion of One Hundred and Forty Members of Parliament for the Pardon of
the Soldier Convicts John Devoy and John Breslin Plan their Rescue
Good Work of the Clan-na-Gael The Dream of O Reilly and Hathaway
Fulfilled The Catalpa Defies a British Gunboat, and Bears the Men in
Safety to America, . t 156
CHAPTER X.
Death of John O Mahony O Reilly s Tribute to the Head-Center
Prison Sufferings of Corporal Chambers He is Set Free at Last O Reilly
on Denis Kearney " Moondyne," and its Critics " Number 406," . . 174
CHAPTER XI.
Elected President of the Papyrus Club, and also of the Boston Press
Club Interesting Addresses Delivered Before Both Speech at the Moore
Centenary Letter to the Papyrus Club His Home at Hull Visit of Par-
nell to America Founding of the St. Botolph Club and the " Cribb
Club " Justin McCarthy Describes the Poet-Athlete Russell Sullivan s
" Here and Hereafter," 191
CHAPTER XII.
His Editorials and Public Utterances Honored by Dartmouth College
and Notre Dame The "Statues in the Block" "Ireland s Opportu
nity" "Erin" Tribute to Longfellow His Great Poem, "America,"
Read Before the Veterans The Phrenix Park Tragedy Death of Fanuy
Parnell " To Those Who Have Not Yet Been President," . . .204
CHAPTER XIII.
His Kindness to Young Writers Versatile Editorial Work Irish Na
tional Affairs Speech Before the League His Canoeing Trips A Papy
rus Reunion Death of Wendell Phillips, and O Reilly s Poem Presiden
tial Campaign of 1884 "The King s Men" Another Papyrus Poem
Touching Letter to Father Anderson, . 333
CONTENTS. Xlll
PAGE
CHAPTER XIV.
O Reilly ^ Case in the House of Commons Refused Permission to Visit
Canada Slander About "Breaking Parole" Refuted A Characteristic
Letter in 1869 His Editorial "Is it Too Late?" Bayard, Lowell, and
Phelps Another Speech in Faneuil Hall Hanging of lliel "In Bo
hemia" Farewell Poem to Underwood "Hanged; Drawn, and Quar
tered," 247
CHAPTER XV.
Article in North American Review, "At Last" Address Before the
Beacon Club of Boston Defense of the Colored Men The Five Dollar Par
liamentary Fund "The American Citizen Soldier" "The Cry of the
Dreamer " Another Characteristic Letter, ...... 272
CHAPTER XVL
" Boyle s Log" No Memory for Dates A Western Publisher s Offer
Speech of Welcome to Justin McCarthy Poem on "Liberty" He De
fends hi? Democracy "The Exile of the Gael" Speech at William
O Brien s Reception Crispus Attucks The British in Faneuil Hall, . 293
CHAPTER XVII.
Public Addresses Author s Reading The Irish Flag in New York
"Athletics and Manly Sport" Published His Cruise in the Dismal
Swamp Interesting Letters to E. A. Moseley Speech at the C. T. A. U.
Banquet Bayard, Chamberlain, and Sackville-West Presidential Elec
tion Poem on Crispus Attucks Death of Corporal Chambers Speech
for the Heroes of Hull, 310
CHAPTER XVIII.
Another Author s Reading, "A Philistine s Views "on Erotic Litera
ture Poem on the Pilgrim Fathers Another, " From the Heights," for
the Catholic University Attacked by La Grippe Hopes of Another Canoe
Cruise Brave Words for the Negro and the Hebrew "The Useless
Ones," his Last Poem Lecturing Tour to the Pacific Coast Definition of
Democracy Views on the Catholic Congress His Last Canoeing Paper
and Last Editorials A Characteristic Deed of Kindness His Death, . 333
CHAPTER XIX.
Profound Sorrow of the Nation and of the Irish People Tributes of
Respect to his Memory " A Loss to the Country, to the Church, and to
Humanity in General " Remarkable Funeral Honors Resolutions of Na
tional and Catholic Societies The Papyrus Club and the Grand Army of
the Republic " The Truest of all the True is Dead," . . . .354
XIV CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER XX.
The City of Boston Honors his Memory Great Citizens Meeting in
Treniont Temple Liberal Subscriptions to a Public Monument Memorial
Meetings in New York and Elsewhere The " Month s Mind " Eloquent
Sermon of Bishop Healy The Poet s Grave in Holyhood, . . . 366
CHAPTER XXI.
Early Traits of Character Letters from Prison His Religious Nature
Exemplified An Ideal Comrade Love of Nature and of Art His First
Poem His Lavish Charity and Kindness A Child s Tribute The End, . 375
POEMS.
PAGE.
THE WONDERFUL COUNTRY, .395
WHAT IS GOOD, 396
THE PILGRIM FATHERS, 397
FROM THE HEIGHTS, 405
MAYFLOWER, 407
CRISPUS ATTUCKS, 408
THE EXILE OF THE GAEL 414
THREE GRAVES 418
AN ART MASTER, 420
LIBERTY LIGHTING THE WORLD, ...... 420
THE PRESS EVANGEL, 423
THE USELESS ONES, 424
LOVE WAS TRUE TO ME 429
TO MY LITTLE BLANID, 430
WRITTEN UNDER A PORTRAIT OF KEATS 430
AN OLD PICTURE, 431
AT SCHOOL, 432
UNDER THE SURFACE, 433
CONSCIENCE, 433
TO MY DEAR OLD FRIEND, MR. A. SIIUMAN, ... 434
TO A. S. , ON HIS DAUGHTER S WEDDING 434
TWO LIVES 435
MY TROUBLES ! 435
VIGNETTES, 436
A MESSAGE OF PEACE, 437
A MAN 438
FOREVER, 441
MY NATIVE LAND, 441
A YEAR 443
THE FAME OF THE CITY, . 443
XVi CONTENTS.
PAOE
YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW, 444
IN BOHEMIA, 445
SONGS THAT ARE NOT SUNG 446
WENDELL PHILLIPS, 449
A SEED, 452
A TRAGEDY, 452
DISTANCE, .... 452
ERIN, 453
POET AND LORD, . 455
SPRING FLOWERS, .... 455
THE LOVING CUP OF THE PAPYRUS, 456
UNDER THE RIVER, 458
GRANT 1885, 458
AT BEST, 459
THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES 460
ENSIGN EPPS, THE COLOR-BEARER, 462
THE CRY OF THE DREAMER, 463
MY MOTHER S MEMORY 465
THE SHADOW, 465
AT FREDERICKSBURG, DECEMBER 13, 1862, ... 466
THE DEAD SINGER, 469
THE PRIESTS OF IRELAND, 471
A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN, 475
RELEASED, JANUARY, 1878, 476
JOHN MITCHEL, DIED MARCH 20, 1875, 478
A DEAD MAN, 479
A NATION S TEST, 481
LOVE, AND BE WISE, 486
WHEAT GRAINS, 487
THE PRICELESS THINGS, 489
THE RAINBOW S TREASURE, 491
A WHITE ROSE, 492
YES? 492
WAITING, 493
CHUNDER ALI S WIFE .494
A KISS, 496
JACQUEMINOTS, 496
THE CELEBES, 497
LOVE S SACRIFICE, , 497
CONTENTS. XV11
PAGE
HER REFRAIN, 499
GOLU, 499
LOVE S SECRET, 501
A PASSAGE, . 501
A LOST FRIEND 503
CONSTANCY, 503
THE TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP, 504
THE VALUE OF GOLD, 507
TO-DAY, 508
A BUILDER S LESSON, 509
THE KING S EVIL, 510
BONE AND SINEW AND BRAIN, 511
THE CITY STREETS, 513
THE INFINITE, 517
FROM THE EARTH, A CRY, 518
PROMETHEUS CHRIST, 522
UNSPOKEN WORDS, 525
STAR-GAZING, 526
A DISAPPOINTMENT, 528
THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK, 528
WITHERED SNOWDROPS, 530
A SAVAGE, 531
RULES OF THE ROAD, 532
LOVE IS DREAMING, 533
AMERICA 534
THE POISON FLOWER, 539
PEACE AND PAIN, 540
HIDDEN SINS, 541
THE LOSS OF THE EMIGRANTS, 542
TRUST, 543
THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD, 544
THE WELL S SECRET, 547
LIFE IS A CONFLUENCE 548
THE PATRIOT S GRAVE 549
THE FEAST OF THE GAEL, 553
MARY 555
THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES, 556
MULEY MALEK, THE KING 558
HEART-HUNGER, 562
Xviii CONTENTS.
PAGE
SILENCE, NOT DEATH 563
RESURGITE ! JUNE, 1877, 564
IRELAND 1882, 565
THE EMPTY NICHE, 568
MIDNIGHT SEPTEMBER 19, 1881, 570
THE TRIAL OF THE GODS . 572
DYING IN HARNESS, 574
DOLORES, 575
THE TREASURE OF ABRAM, .... ... 577
THERE IS BLOOD ON THE EARTH 580
LIVING, 582
MACARIUS, THE MONK, 583
THE UNHAPPY ONE 585
DESTINY, 588
A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS 588
AN OLD VAGABOND 592
THE STATUES IN THE BLOCK, 594
THE THREE QUEENS, 600
THE LAST OF THE NARWHALE, 604
THE LURE 609
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 610
UNCLE NED S TALE AN OLD DRAGOON S STORY, . . 616
UNCLE NED S TALE HOW THE FLAG WAS SAVED, . . 625
HAUNTED BY TIGERS, 635
THE WORD AND THE DEED, 641
WESTERN AUSTRALIA, 647
THE DUKITE SNAKE, 648
THE MONSTER DIAMOND, 653
THE DOG GUARD, 658
THE AMBER WHALE, 665
THE MUTINY OF THE CHAINS, 677
THE KING OF THE VASSE, 685
CONTENTS. XIX
SPEECHES.
PAGE
THE COMMON CITIZEN-SOLDIER 713
A PATRIOT S MONUMENT, .... .... 731
THE NEGRO-AMERICAN, 738
MOORE CENTENARY, 743
THE IRISH NATIONAL CAUSE 7*7
IRELAND S COMMERCIAL AND INDUSTRIAL RESOURCES, 758
ADDRESS ON HENRY GRATTAN 780
INDEX, 787
LIFE OF
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
BY JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE.
LIFE OF
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
CHAPTER I.
Birthplace Childhood and Youth Early Apprenticeship Sojourn in
England Enlists in "The Prince of Wales Own" Conspiracy,
Detection, and Arrest "The Old School Clock."
DROG-HEDA is a town with a history, and, as it is an
Irish town, the history is mainly a tragedy. Tradi
tion says that it was the landing place of the Milesians, the
last and greatest of the early invaders of Ireland. A more
enduring glory attaches to it as the place where St. Patrick
landed when he came down from the North country to
brave the power of the Druids, at the royal seat of Tara.
Its name, " Drochead-atha," signifies the Bridge of the
Ford, or, as it was Latinized, "Urbs Pontana." Danes
and Normans successively conquered and occupied the old
town. It lies on both sides of the river Boyne, about four
miles from its mouth, and two and one-half miles from Old-
Bridge, the scene of the famous battle between the forces
of King James and those of William of Orange.
Forty years before that disastrous fight, Drogheda had
suffered at the hands of a conqueror more ruthless than
Dane or Norman. In 1649 the English nation kept public
fast to invoke God s blessing upon Cromwell s forces,
"Against the Papists nnd others, the enemies of the Par
liament of England in Ireland." The Protector came with
the Bible i-n one hand and the sword in the other, not, as a
Mohammed, to offer the choice of religion or death, but in
the name of the one to inflict the other. He laid siege to
the town on September 2. At five o clock on the afternoon
l
2 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
of the 10th lie effected a breach, and, after being twice
repulsed, carried the place by assault. The defenders laid
down their arms, on promise of quarter, whereupon the
victors fell upon the defenseless people, massacring in cold
blood twenty-eight hundred men, women, and children.
Thirty persons were taken prisoners, to be eventually sold
as slaves in the Barbadoes. The horrible massacre lasted
during five days. The Irish vocabulary is not wanting in
maledictory forms, but its bitterest imprecation is "The
curse of Cromwell!" Banishment and confiscation were
the mildest punishments inflicted on the vanquished. The
Irish fought with desperate valor, but did not forget to be
generous, even to a merciless foe.
Conspicuous among them for generous and chivalrous
acts was one chieftain, O Reilly of Cavan, who not only
gave quarter to his enemy in battle, but even sent his
prisoners in safety within the English lines. The O Reillys
were lords of Cavan for over a thousand years. They
traced their descent from Milesius, through O Ragheal-
laigh, whose name is Anglicized into O Rahilly, O Rielly,
O Reilly, Rahilly, Raleigh, Ridley, etc. The derivation
of the name is uncertain, but the best authority says it is
from Radii, "a saying," and Eloach, learned," "skill
ful." The motto of the family is "Fortitude et prudentia,"
the crest being an oak tree with a snake entwined.
The O Reillys were powerful princes, and for ages held
the Anglo-Normans at bay, under
The supreme leader of fierce encounters,
O Reilly, lord of bucklers red.
Their chiefs were elected by their people, and crowned on
the hill of Seantoman, between the towns of Cavan and
Bally-baise, where Druidical ruins are still found. In
later times they chose the hill of Tullymongan, above the
town of Cavan, and adopted the tribal name of Muintir
Maolmordha, the people of Milesius, Milesius, or Miles,
being a favorite name in the family. One of them, "Miles
the Slasher," was probably the last of the regular chiefs.
He was a brave and skillful soldier, and did good service
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 3
tinder Owen Roe O Neil, at the battle of Benbnrb. The
family had its share of traditionary myths. In the County
Cavan, near the old seat of their sovereignty, there still
stands a tree on which one of their beloved chiefs was
hanged in an ancient "rising." It is withered and leaf
less tradition says it never bore foliage again after that
day. The fortune of war overcame this race of gallant
fighters. Many of them sought in foreign lands the career
denied them at home, and the name, illustrious for centu
ries, gained new renown in France, Spain, Austria, and the
wide domains of Spanish America. The O Reillys were
ever distinguished as soldiers, prelates, and scholars.
Four miles above the town of Drogheda, on the south
bank of the beautiful Boyne, in the center of a vast basin
of the most fertile and storied land in Ireland, stands
Dowth Castle, where John Boyle O Reilly was born, on
June 28, 1844. Within three hundred yards of it is the
Moat of Dowth, built in the pre-historic period. Four
miles to the west rises the hill of Tara, while three miles to
the north is the hill of Slane, where St. Patrick lit his
fire on Beltane night. One mile further to the north are
the majestic ruins of Mellifont Abbey ; and two miles down
the river an obelisk 150 feet high marks the spot where
King James lost his crown and the liberties of Ireland. A
mile to the east is the vast royal burying ground of Ross-
na-ree, the oldest and richest depository of Irish historical
treasures.
Dowth Castle dates back to the days of the English
Pale, and is said to have been built by Hugh De Lacy.
Early in the present century, Viscount Netterville, an
eccentric Irish- nobleman, bequeathed the castle and some-
of his lands for the charitable object of educating and
maintaining widows and orphans. The Netterville Institu
tion, as it was called, embraced also a National School,
built on its grounds, of which William David O Reilly was
the master for thirty-five years.
Here the young poet spent the first eleven years of his
life. The Castle lay about half a mile from the river, the
4 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
intervening ground being a rich, flat plain, known as the
Boyne Meadow. The river here is not over one hundred
feet wide, moderately rapid, and shallow. On the further
side the land rises sheer from the water, and is covered with
dark young fir trees. It was a favorite swimming ground
for the boys of the neighborhood, among whom none was
more daring or skillful than the handsome, rosy-cheeked,
curly-haired, and dark-eyed boy, whose home was in
Dowth Castle.
William David O Reilly, the father, was a fine scholar,
and an able educator. The boy was fortunate in having
parents who were both remarkable for literary culture and
talent. His mother, Eliza Boyle, was a near relative of the
famous Colonel John Allen, who distinguished himself in
the Rebellion of 98, and subsequently in the French Legion,
winning renown at the head of his regiment in the battle of
Astorga and in Napoleon s many later campaigns.
Mrs. O Reilly was a woman of rare intellectual gifts, com
bined with a generous, hospitable, kindly heart, which made
her beloved by the beneficiaries of the Institution. The
elder O Reilly and his wife came to Dowth Castle from Dub
lin ; they had five daughters and three sons, all of whom dis
played, in a lesser degree, the poetic qualities which at
tained full growth in the case of John Boyle O Reilly.
John was the second son of the family. He inherited
a good constitution, and from childhood was passionately
devoted to out-door sports. He swam the Boyne, and
roamed among the ruins and old underground passages of
the neighborhood, unconsciously absorbing the poetry and
romance whose atmosphere was all around. He was a
brave, good-humored lad, not easily made angry, and
quicker to resent an injury done a small playfellow than
one offered himself.- An unpublished sketch from his pen
has this autobiographical bit: "When I was about nine
years of age, some friend had gratified a craving which I
had then (and have not lost yet) to own a dog, by present
ing me with a brown, broad-backed, thick-legged, round-
bodied, spaniel puppy, about a month old. Its possession
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 5
was one of the delicious incidents, and is now one of the
delicious memories of my life. That little brown, fat dog,
that could not walk through the meadow, but had to jump
over every tangled spot, and miss five times out of six, and
fall and roll over when at last he succeeded, and have to be
taken up then and carried that little brown, fat dog, with
his napping ears and hard belly, and straight, short tail,
who wore the hair off his back with lying on it to play with
the big dogs, or with me ; who never could trot, he was so
fat and round ; who always galloped or walked like an Aus
tralian horse ; who was always so hungry that lie never
could take his milk quietly, but must gallop up to it, and
charge into it, and make himself cough, the possession of
that little brown spaniel puppy made me one of the hap
piest and proudest boys in Ireland."
With such parents, and such surroundings, the lad
assimilated knowledge, and imbibed the profounder learn
ing that is not found in books, that indefinable something
which makes all the difference between a scholar and a
poet. His education could not be said to have been com
pleted \yhen he left school. They, only, have nothing more
to learn who have nothing at all to teach in after life.
But he had a good education in having learned how to
handle the tools of knowledge, when, at about the age of
eleven, he left home to enter the printing oflice of the
Drogheda Argus, in the humble capacity of apprentice,
and on the still more humble salary of two shillings and
sixpence a week, which did not include board or lodging.
The circumstances under which he was induced to begin
the struggle of life at such a tender age were these : His
brother, William, two and a half years his senior, had been
bound as an apprentice in the Argus establishment. He
was a delicate youth, and after six months service was
obliged by ill-health to give up his place. John, then a
fine, manly little fellow, hearing his mother lament the
loss of the premium, which amounted to fifty pounds,
offered to take his brother s place, and the offer was ulti
mately accepted. His salary was increased at the rate of
C joiiisr BOYLE O REILLY.
sixpence a week every year, the Argus in this respect not
differing from other printing-offices in the country. A
certain stint of Avork had to be done in return, and extra
pay was allowed for all in excess thereof. Young O Reilly
was so apt a pupil that he very soon was in receipt of twice
his nominal wages. His parents, of course, provided for
whatever deficit might exist between his income and out
lay. The work was not hard, but the hours were long,
six to nine o clock before breakfast, ten to two before din
ner, and three to seven or eight before supper. The boy
was a prime favorite in the work-room, his handsome face,
courteous manners, and kindly disposition making him the
pet rather than the butt which the printer s "devil" often
is. He was full of good-humor and fun that was some
times mischievous, but never malicious. Probably his first
poetic effort (if it may be so called) was the New Year s
Day song written for the paper- carriers, and addressed to
their patrons, with a view to obtaining gratuities. Here,
as elsewhere, he was an omnivorous reader and an inces
sant dabbler in rhymes.
The death of the proprietor of the Argus discharged
the indentures of young O Reilly when he had served
nearly four years of his time.
While enjoying a period of enforced idleness at home,
the ship Caledonian, owned and commanded by his
uncle, Capt. James Watkinson, of Preston, England, came
to Drogheda, and loaded with a cargo of barley for Pres
ton. Capt. Watkinson was an Englishman, who had mar
ried a sister of Mrs. O Reilly. John accepted his invita
tion to make a voyage and visit to his aunt, Mrs. Wat
kinson, and accordingly set sail for Preston in August or
September, 1859.
At the suggestion of his relatives, he secured a situation
as apprentice in the office of the Guardian, then pub
lished in Cannon Street, Preston, ultimately graduating
from the printer s case to the reporter s desk. He learned
shorthand, and otherwise equipped himself for the busi-
n.ess of a journalist.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 7
Owing in part to its proximity to Ireland, and in part
to the fact that it has always kept the old Faith, Preston
is an English stronghold of Catholicity, with a large Irish
population, sustaining its original name of "Priest Town."
He took part in the trade procession of the Guilds in
September, 1862. This jubilee is one of the institutions of
Preston which dates back to the reign of Henry the Sec
ond, and is celebrated every twenty years. During its
progress, which lasts some ten days, the whole town
enjoys a holiday with daily processions and nightly illumi
nations, attracting thousands of visitors from all parts of
the country.
About a year after his arrival he became a member, and
later a non-commissioned officer, of Company 2, Eleventh
Lancashire Rifle Volunteers. He was an enthusiastic sol
dier, and an especial favorite in his company.
The three and a half years of his life in Preston were
among the happiest he was ever to know. Writing to a
friend in 1881, he said :
It is pleasant to be remembered kindly through nearly twenty years
of absence. To me every impression of Preston has kept its sharp out
line. Yet I have been very busy and very unsettled during that time.
.... But all the years and events fade when I think of dear old Pres
ton and I find myself on the Ribble in an outrigger, striking away
under Walton heights, or pulling a race with Mr. P between the
bi idges. . . .
Do you remember the day we went to Ribchester, and then walked
up along the river to Stonyhurst ? Somehow that day stands out as
one of the happiest and brightest in my life. I remember every inci
dent as if it were yesterday. Though I lived only a few years in Pres
ton, I love it and the friends I made there better than any I have since
known. In worldly way I have prospered ; and in literary repute I
stand well in this country. I am busy from morning till night. But
under all the changed appearances and surroundings the stream of my
old friendships and pleasures flows steadily along.
During all the time of his residence at Preston he dwelt
at the house of his aunt, at 81 Barton Terrace, Deepdale
Road, leading a quiet, studious life. During the winter
months he got up amateur theatricals. At Christmas he
8 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
prepared a splendid performance, with a stage erected in the
back parlor, and an audience of little children, with one or
two older friends from the Guardian office.
This happy, tranquil, care-free life, eminently congenial
to the poet, did not satisfy the aspirations of the youth who
was much more than a poet. Nevertheless, it was with
many a heartache and some tears that he obeyed a call
from his father to return home on the expiration of his term
of apprenticeship, and seek employment on some Irish
paper. There was something besides filial obedience im
pelling him when he left Presion, forever, about the end of
March, 1863. He had become deeply imbued with the
revolutionary principles, then so freely adopted by patriotic
Irishmen in all parts of the world. He dreamed of mak
ing his country free not merely independent of the Brit
ish connection, but absolutely free in short, a republic.
The Fenian movement was the crystallization of national
discontent and aspiration for liberty, which had remained
latent, but not dead, ever since the disastrous rising of
1798. O Connell had failed to secure the repeal of the
Union through agitation. The brilliant and daring spirits
of " Young Ireland " had appealed to force, in 1848. Noth
ing came of it but defeat and humiliation. Irish orators
liave fervently characterized the condition of their country
men as one of slavery. The phrase is unjust and misleading.
The slave-master has a personal, selfish interest in the wel
fare of his bondman. The death of a slave means pecun
iary loss to his owner ; the escape of one is something to be
prevented at any cost. It is business policy to keep the
unpaid worker well and strong. Unfortunately for the
wretched people of Ireland they were not slaves. When
they died by thousands in the dark year of famine, when
they fled the country by millions in the following years,
their masters were unmoved by the one calamity ; they
rejoiced at the other. The vacant places were filled less
expensively than by purchase at the auction-block. The
sharp goad of hunger sent its victims to the human mart
more surely than the slave-driver s whip. And political
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 9
economy, which knows no sentiment, had decided that cat
tle were more profitable dwellers on the soil than men and
women.
Ireland was "pacified." There was less discontent in
1860 than there had been twenty years before ; because
there were fewer men and women, by three millions, to be
discontei}ted. Order reigned in Ireland, as it had reigned
in Warsaw. And so the country was desperately ripe for
insurrection.
The Fenians had planned a far-reaching scheme of revo
lution. Popular discontent with misgovernment could be
relied upon as one agency ; for the Irishman is ever a rebel
against tyranny. Centuries of bitter experience have not
broken his spirit, nor checked his aspirations.
The American Civil War was another element. The
leaders counted on sympathy and aid from the people of
the North, sorely grieved by the conduct of England in
abetting the South. They counted on the more active sup
port of thousands of Irish-American soldiers who owed a
double debt of vengeance to the oppressors of their native
land and the enemy of their adopted country.
But their shrewdest expectation was based on the dis
affection which they hoped, and not in vain, to be able to
sow in the ranks of the British army itself. More than
thirty-one per cent, of the rank and file of that army, in
1860, were Irishmen.
The proportion of potential rebels was morally increased
when John Boyle O Reilly went over to Ireland, in May,
1863, to enlist as a trooper in the Tenth Hussars. One
does not weigh dangerous consequences against generous
impulses, at nineteen years of age. No more does he in
quire with minute casuistry into the exact moral values of
the deed. In entering the military service of the British
Government, with the object of overthrowing the monarchy,
he was guilty of treason, in the eye of the law.
But the penalty of treason, in any form, was death.
There is no higher penalty ; if there were it would have
t>een decreed for such offenses. Whether he plotted against
10 JOHN BOYLE o KEILLY.
the Crown within the ranks of the army, or defied its power
in open futile insurrection, the rebel s life was equally
forfeit. The government puts no premium upon open
hostility; it sets no special ban upon secret conspiracy.
George Washington would have been hanged as ruthlessly
as Robert Emmet had his scheme of treason failed.
As the event proved, the boldness of the conspirators
was their salvation. The government, terrified -at the extent
to which disloyalty had pervaded the ranks, dared not
be very severe in administering punishment. Rebellious
Sepoys might be blown from the cannon s mouth, but there
were too many Irishmen in the army to make such a measure
wise in dealing with Fenians.
Young O Reilly was not the man to weigh all these scru
ples or chances. Like Nathan Hale and Major Andre, he
risked his life, but not his honor, when he entered the
enemy s lines. He would have accepted their fate without a
murmur, as the fortune of war, but when he joined the Tenth
Hussars for the express purpose of recruiting the ranks of
republicanism, he was animated by no motive more complex
than that described by himself in after years : "They said
to us : Come on, boys, it is for Ireland, and we came."
Never did dark conspirator bear lighter heart than did
t?his brilliant boy when he donned the handsome uniform of
the Tenth. Valentine Baker was its colonel, then a brave,
dashing, petted soldier ; later a just victim of British pro
priety, and, later yet, the denationalized servant of the un
speakable Turk. "O Reilly was a good soldier/ testified
Baker at the trial of the rebellious Hussar. More than
once he had received petty promotion, which he always
took care to have canceled by some breach of discipline, for
he did not wish to owe over- much to the service.
The life of the trooper had many charms for him. He
loved its splendid glamour, being a soldier by inheritance
and instinct. He rejoiced in martial pastimes, and he
was young and comely enough to take a pleasure in the gay
trappings of a cavalryman. It delighted him, as he after
ward confessed, to go out of his way, when sent on a mes-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 11
sage of duty, in order to pass a certain great plate-glass
window, in which he could behold the dazzling proportions
of himself and his steed. But the boyish pride had in it
nothing to spoil his manliness. He coveted, and easily
won, the truer happiness of knowing that he was beloved
by his fellows. The qualities which had made him the
favorite of the printing-office and the Volunteer barracks,
which were destined to win the hearts of thousands in every
rank of life, in a strange land, gave him a high place in the
hearts of the rough troopers of the Tenth. By his personal
magnetism, as much as by the force of his eloquence, he
turned many a stout fellow from allegiance to the Queen,
to the more dangerous path of devotion to country.
Before coming to the abrupt close of his service as a
trooper in the "Prince of Wales Own," it is worth while
to dwell for a moment on the life which he loved so well.
Among his unpublished papers I find some interesting frag
mentary sketches of military life, which show what his
possibilities were had he possessed the leisure or inclination
to amplify them into pictures.
One is a delightful view of a passing regiment entitled :
THE PICKET OF DRAGOONS.
On a bright March morning 1 , about ten o clock, the loungers on the
quay along the river Liffey, that flows peacefully through the center of
Dublin, turned their indolent backs to the low wall and gazed at the
mounted picket of dragoons on its way to the " Castle." The soldiers
were going to relieve the picket from another cavalry regiment that
had been on guard since the day before. The picket was composed of
a sergeant, a corporal, and twelve troopers. The sun glittered on their
burnished bits, stirrups, and swords, and on the silk-like coats of their
well-groomed horses. They rode leisurely, in perfect order.
The sergeant, old, \vhite-mustached, red-nosed, and very corpulent,
rode in front, his right hand planted jauntily 011 his thigh, and his
wicked eye raking the sidewalk for female admiration, and glancing
into the large shop windows, where he caught a passing reflection of
his graceful self.
" Old Jock is in 110 hurry this morning," said one of the drummers,
with a low laugh, to the comrade next him. " Hurry ! old peacock ! "
grumbled the other ; "lie would like to parade here all day. Just
look ! " A lady who had been approaching on the almost deserted
12 JOHN BOYLE o llEILLY.
sidewalk had stopped a little ahead, with the evident intention of
taking a good look at the soldiers. Oh ! the subtle influence of the
sex. Every man in the picket sat a little straighter, and even the
horses seemed to curve their necks until their lips kissed the brazen
boss of the breastplate.
It was a sweet moment for the sergeant. He leaned forward, taking
the reins in his right hand a moment to pat the horse s neck with his
left white-gauntleted hand, which was next the sidewalk. Then he
sat easily back, right hand on thigh again, and blandly turned to beam
on the admiring divinity. Rare moment ! Only he who has worn
war-paint knows the meaning of it. The foam-fleck on the bit, the
shining color of the chain on the horse s neck, the reminding touch of
the hilt against the thigh, all these common, daily things are felt anew,
with a fresh significance known to the recruit, when they are mirrored
in the admiring, ignorant eyes of womanhood.
The Tenth Hussars were picked men, at least physically.
Morally and mentally they were also above the average,
which was not high, of the army. A youth like O lleilly,
full of generous impulses and lofty aspirations, would have
been strangely out of place among the men whom the latest
novelist has given to the world as representative British
soldiers. But the troopers of the Tenth were far above
snch ruthless swashbucklers. Types of the latter were to
be met with at the great military musters of Aldershot and
the Curragh. " Are Mulvaney and Learoyd and Ortheris
fair representatives of "the British private ?" was a question
put to the ex-private of Troop D, of the Tenth Hussars,
shortly after the appearance on the literary stage of these
Anglo-Indian musketeers. " They are not average sol
diers," he replied, " but they are not caricatures. I have
seen men fully as depraved as Mr. Kipling s hero, who
boasted of having put his foot through every one of the
Ten Commandments bet ween " reveille" and " lights out."
I met one at a review on the Curragh, who told me, with
out the slightest apparent thought of the atrocity of the
deed, how he and his comrades had once roasted a Hindoo
gentleman to death, out of pure, wanton savagery. He did
not consider it a crime to be ashamed of, nor a feat to boast
of. It was simply an incident in his campaign experience."
It would be a gross libel to say that the British army is
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 13
mainly, or even largely, made up of such truculent ruffians
as these, or that even the milder villainies chronicled by
Kipling are fairly characteristic of them. It is neverthe
less true that few men of good character enter the ranks,
unless impelled by stern necessity, or by such a higher
motive as that which sent O Reilly and scores of other
incipient rebels thither. Thirty years ago, the British
private soldier was looked upon as a moral outcast by even
the humblest of honest folk in civil life. Characteris
tically enough, the same people, as well as their " betters,"
had nothing but envious admiration for the commissioned
officer, whose morals were not a whit choicer than those of
the enlisted man. But that inconsistency of human nature
is as old as the noble trade of war itself.
There were good men as well as good soldiers, thousands
of them, in the rank and file. It was always the good men
and good soldiers among the Irishmen who were most
easily converted to the doctrines of Fenianism. This is one
of the commonest fruits of misgovernment.
O Reilly was a model soldier, quick to learn and punc
tual to obey the rules of military discipline. He was the
life of the barracks, infecting his comrades with something
of his own gay and cheery nature^. He was foremost in
every amusement, lightening the dullness of life in quarters
with concerts and dramatic performances, sometimes of his
own composition, a strong Nationalist tone pervading all
his work. Treasonable songs and ballads were chanted in
the quarters of troop D, and spread among the other com
panies. With boyish recklessness he embroidered rebel
devices on the under side of his saddle-cloth, and in the
lining of his military overcoat.
Yet when the Government, alarmed at the spread of
disaffection, sent its secret agents to investigate, the con
spirators hoodwinked and baffled all the minor spies, and
laughed in their sleeves at the dullness of Scotland Yard.
Treason continued to flourish, and, but for counter-treason,
might have flourished indefinitely. Talbot, the arch-
informer, was detailed to work up the case. He was a use-
14 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
ful agent of Government, a smooth, insidious scoundrel,
who ingratiated himself into the confidence of the most
wary, professing the warmest patriotic sentiments, and
carrying his deception even to the extent of assuming to be
a devout Catholic. As such he went to Confession and
Communion with pious punctuality.
This utterly depraved scoundrel deserves more than
passing mention. His other deserts he received when, in
open day, on a crowded Dublin street, he was shot dead by
an illegal agent of righteous retribution. In the year 1864,
under the assumed name of Kelly, and the disguise of a
zealous Catholic and patriot, he presented himself to the
Fenian conspirators at Clonmel, Tipperary, and showed so
much enthusiasm in the cause that he was speedily ap
pointed an officer and authorized to organize a "circle."
His zeal was so great that he made many converts among
young men who, but for his exhortations, would never
have dreamed of entering upon such a dangerous adven
ture. He personally administered the Fenian oath to a
large number of soldiers.
When the collapse came, the chief witness for the Gov
ernment was the oily "Mr. Kelly," water-bailiff of Clon
mel, alias Head Constable Talbot. This Government agent
was the lay figure from which Boucicault drew one of
his greatest studies, Harvey Duff, the informer in "The
Shaughraun."
Ten years after Talbot s betrayal of the Fenians, and
two years after the informer had gone to his account, one
of his victims wrote as follows in his paper, the Boston
Pilot :
"There is underlying the character of The Shaughraun,
one rigid and terrible line a line typical and national
hatred of an informer. Mr. Boucicault, an Irishman him
self, must have carefully studied the devilish character of
Talbot before he drew that of Harvey Duff. Here, too,
we find a man coward at heart, but confident and cun
ningwho wins the trust of the peasantry, and then swears
their lives away. Villainy added to villainy fills the trai-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 15
tor s cup at last, and the awful hour comes when the in
former cowers like a cur at the feet of the Shaughraun, and
gasps in terror at the cries of the country people coming
down the hillside in pursuit. Here stands out the rigid
line that subtends the character of laughter-loving, but
now terrible Conn. The drollery dies out of his face and
the light freezes in his eye. Seizing the kneeling wretch
by the throat, he laughs in his agonized face, as pitiless as
Fate.
" Listen to them, he cries, pointing to the hillside ;
look at them ! They are coming for you ! Do you see
that old man with the spade ? That s Andy Donovan,
whose son you sent to prison. And that old woman with
the hatchet? That s Bridget Madigan, whose boys you
sent across the sea. Pity ! you dog ! I ll have pity on
you, as you had pity on them !
On the one side was pitted the might, and money, and
influence of a great Empire ; on the other, the reckless
courage and uncalculating patriotism of the few and friend
less, but generous-hearted dreamers like Boyle O Reilly.
John Devoy, the indefatigable agent of the revolutionary
party, tells how he first met the young Hussar who was to
play such a prominent part in the after history of his coun
try :
k I met him first in October, 1865, and the circumstances
were characteristic of that troubled period of Irish history.
The Tenth was quartered at Island Bridge Barracks, in the
western outskirts of Dublin. There was a warrant for my
arrest as a Fenian at the time, and I could not go home or
attend to business. I had some acquaintance with the
army, through living near the Curragh camp, and, when all
the organizers for the army had been arrested or forced
to remain on their keeping, James Stephens, the chief
executive of the Irish republic that was to be, appointed
me chief organizer for the British army. The position
involved some risks, but I undertook it, and in a few months
laid up sufficient evidence to procure myself a sentence of
fifteen years penal servitude.
16 JOHN" BOYLE O REILLY.
"I succeeded very well with all the regiments of the
Dublin garrison except the Tenth Hussars, and I wanted to
do the best I could with it, on account of the location of
the barracks. The men were mainly English, but there
were about a hundred Irishmen among them. Those I
had met were mostly worthless, and I could make no head
way. At last a young veterinary surgeon from Drogheda,
named Harry Byrne, now dead all the men of that period
are dying off was introduced to me by Colonel Kelly, the
man afterward rescued in Manchester. He told me there
was a young fellow of his acquaintance in the Tenth who
would just fill the bill. In half an hour we were on our way
to Island Bridge on an outside car. We dismissed it some
distance away and went into the barracks. The regiment
had been stationed in Drogheda, and Byrne knew many of
the officers and sergeants through his profession. In the
barrack square we met a bluff, hearty sergeant major, an
Englishman of the best type, whom Byrne knew. He told
us O Reilly was on picket at the royal barracks. There
were heavy pickets of cavalry and infantry kept in readi
ness for emergencies at certain points in Dublin during these
exciting times. We went into the canteen and had a drink
and a chat with the old veteran, and he praised O Reilly to
the skies. He pronounced him the best young soldier in
the regiment, and evidently thought there was a great
future before him. I shouldn t wonder, said he, if in
five or six years that young fellow d be a troop sawjent
majah.
" We went to the royal barracks, not far away, and,
meeting some Fenian troopers of the Fifth Dragoon Guards,
were soon piloted to where the picket of the Tenth was
stationed. O Reilly was in the stable tightening his saddle
girths and getting ready to mount and start off to the
viceregal lodge with a dispatch for the lord lieutenant from
Sir Hugh Rose, the commander of the forces in Ireland.
Byrne had just time to introduce us, and O Reilly and I to
make an appointment for the next evening, when he brought
out his horse, sprang into the saddle, and was off. O Reilly
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 17
was then a handsome, lithely built young fellow of twenty,
with the down of a future black mustache on his lip. He
had a pair of beautiful dark eyes, that changed in expres
sion with his varying emotions. He wore the full-dress
dark blue hussar uniform, with its mass of braiding across
the breast, and the busby, with its tossing plume, was set
jauntily on the head and held by a linked brass strap,
catching under the lower lip.
" From that time till the following February, when we
were both arrested within a few days of each other, I saw
him almost every day. When on guard or picket duty he
never failed to communicate to me, through William Curry,
a furloughed corporal of the Eighty-seventh Foot, the
famous Faugh a Ballaghs, who could go in and out of
the barracks, every change worth knowing in the location
and strength of the guards and pickets. He brought in
some eighty men to be sworn in, had them divided into
two prospective troops, obtained possession of the key of
an unused postern gate, and had everything ready to take
his men, armed and mounted, out of the barracks at a given
signal. The signal never came, and all his and other men s
risks and sacrifices were thrown away through incompetent
and nerveless leadership."
It was time for the Government to exert itself, as fifteen
thousand British soldiers had been enrolled in the ranks of
the revolutionists. On the 15th of September, 1865, the
blow fell. The Irish People newspaper, which had been
for two years the organ of the physical force party, was
seized by the police, and its editors, Thomas Clark Luby,
John O Leary, and Jeremiah O Donovan Rossa, were put
under arrest. This action of the Government was wholly
unexpected on the part of the conspirators, who had, very
unwisely, foreborne to destroy hundreds of letters of an
incriminating nature from fellow-conspirators in all parts
of the country. The authorities, by one stroke, were thus
given the key to the whole revolutionary scheme. In the
following November, Charles Joseph Kickham, another
editor of The Irish People, was arrested, together with
18 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
James Stephens, the great "Head Center" of the Fenian
movement. Stephens escaped from Richmond prison be
fore he could be brought to trial. The man through whose
skill and daring he was rescued from the very lion s jaws
was John Breslin, o whom we shall hear again in a still
more audacious, successful exploit. By a curious coinci
dence, John Boyle O Reilly was one of the soldiers detailed
to guard the court room on the occasion of O Donovan
Rossa s trial. The famous "dynamiter" recognized his
former guard when they met, years afterward, in New
York.
O Reilly was looking out of the barrack windows at
Island Bridge, in the city of Dublin, on the afternoon of
February 12, 1866, when he saw one of his fellow-conspira
tors arrested and led to the guard-house. "My turn will
come next," he said quietly. His prediction was verified ;
he was arrested within forty-eight hours. As he traversed
the barrack -yard, in charge of a detective, his colonel met
him, and shaking his fist in the prisoners face, exclaimed,
"Damn you, O Reilly! you have ruined the finest regi
ment in the service." There was perhaps as much of regret
as of anger in the imprecation ; for Valentine Baker liked
the bright and handsome young Hussar, whom he had once
saved from an ignominious punishment, and the feeling
was reciprocated. Years afterwards, when their situations
were reversed, and O Reilly, prosperous and honored, read
of the shame that had come upon his old commander, he
was moved by genuine sorrow and sympathy for the fallen
soldier.
While he lay in Arbor Hill military prison, closely
guarded, as was each of the accused, pressure was brought
to bear upon him to inform against his comrades. He was
assured that others had secured immunity for themselves by
making a clean breast of their connection with the conspiracy.
Certain weak men to whom a similar assurance had been given
had, indeed, been duped into becoming informers. Isola-
ation, silence, the grim uncertainty that hung over all, and
especially the seed of suspicion so carefully sown, that he
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 10
who held out longest would suffer the worst, were argu
ments strong enough to weaken many a man who would
not have wavered if ordered to charge a battery. The
warden who had immediate charge of O Reilly was an old
soldier and an Englishman. As a loyal subject he hated
treason ; but, as a soldier, he bore no love for a traitor to
his fellows. As in duty bound he officially countenanced
the efforts of the authorities to secure evidence by any and
all means. One day, just before that fixed for the trial,
another official labored for the last time long and earnestly
to extort a confession from O Reilly, assuring him that
others had owned up and that it would be suicidal folly in
him to remain silent when he could secure pardon by tell
ing all he knew. The warden, who was present, threw in
an occasional perfunctory remark to the same effect. As
the prisoner continued obdurate, the official took his leave,
with a parting warning of the dread consequences. The
warden accompanied him to the door, adding his word of
advice: "Yes, you d better do as he says, O Reilly. It
will be better for you to save your own neck, my boy."
Then closing the door on the visitor and wheeling sharply
round, "And, damme ! I d like to choke you with my own
hands if you do ! "
Another interesting story of this period attaches to one
of the very few of his early poems which he judged worthy
of preservation in his collected work "The Old School
Clock." The manuscripts of that and some other verses
were discovered hidden in the ventilator of the cell occu
pied by a fellow-prisoner, after his trial and deportation to
England. It fell into the hands of Mr. Vere Foster, the
celebrated philanthropist, who sent copies to the young
poet s family, and took such an especial liking to "The Old
School Clock," that he printed it, with a picture of the old
and the new clocks, as described in the poem, on the back
of the National School copy-books, which were manufac
tured by him. The original clock was one which hung on
the wall of the Netterville schoolroom. On revisiting home,
while serving in the Tenth Hussars, O Reilly missed the old
joiiisr BOYLE O REILLY.
clock, its place being usurped, as lie tells in the poeiri, by 1
"a new-fashioned Yankee" intruder.
The fellow-prisoner was Captain James Murphy, a vete
ran of the American Civil War, who had been arrested,
while traveling in Ireland, on the false charge of being a
deserter from the British army. When Captain Murphy
was transferred from Arbor Hill, his person and clothing
were searched rigorously, but nothing contraband was
found, as he had hidden the poems, written in pencil, and
the following letter from their author, in the ventilator of
his cell :
MY DEAR OLD FELLOW : I have a good many more bits of poetry of
my own manufacture, but they are of a nature which would not serve
you were they discovered going to you. I also was cautioned about
this courier, but I think he is true. If you get this, and can depend on
any one to call, I ll give you a long letter and more poems. I wrote
" The Old Clock " to-day. If you can possibly give a copy of it to my
father, do. He or my brother will tell you all about the " Old Clock,"
etc. I was reminded of it by looking at the prison clock this morning.
Mr. Foster was compelled to withdraw the poem from
the copy-books, as the National School Board objected to
sanctioning the production, however innocent, of a Fenian.
Some years afterwards Mr. Foster visited America, and on
his return told the following interesting sequel to the inci
dent :
" On my arrival at Boston, I called on the proprietor of
the Pilot. He said : To-morrow morning I shall send a
young man from tins office to call on you. He will ques
tion you as to the object of your present visit to America,
and I will print a paragraph which may be the means of
bringing some of your old friends about you.
" Next morning a handsome young man of good address
called on me at my hotel, and after some conversation, I
asked him his name.
" l John Boyle O Reilly, said he.
" Are you the author of a little poem called "The Old
School Clock "?
" I am, he replied.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 21
"He didn t know that the poem had been found, and a
copy of it given, as he had desired, to his parents, whom I
had hunted up in Dublin, and at length found lodging in
the same street as myself, or that the poem had been pub
lished.
"I had but one copy with me, which he was greatly
delighted to possess. He entertained me at dinner, arid
showed me all over the city."
CHAPTER II.
Trial by Court-martial A Prisoner s Rights before a British Military
Tribunal The Stories of Two Informers Found Guilty and Sen
tenced to Death Commutation of Sentence Mount joy Prison-
How O Reilly repaid a Traitor.
ON Wednesday, June 27, 18GG, the eve of his twenty-
second birthday, his trial by court-martial began in
the mess-room of the Eighty- fifth Regiment at Royal Bar
racks. The charge was, "Having at Dublin, in January,
1866, come to the knowledge of an intended mutiny in
Her Majesty s Forces in Ireland, and not giving informa
tion of said intended mutiny to his commanding officer."
His fellow prisoners were Color-Sergeant Charles Mc
Carthy, Privates Patrick Keating, Michael Harrington,
Thomas Darragh, and Capt. James Murphy, the last named
being the American soldier who was charged with having
deserted from the British camp at Aldershot at a time
when, as he was happily able to prove, he was serving his
country in Western Virginia.
The court-martial was constituted as follows : Presi
dent, Colonel Sawyer, Sixth Dragoon Guards. Prose
cutor, Captain Whelan, Eighth Regiment, assisted by Mr.
Landy, Q. C. The Judge Advocate was advised by Mr.
Johnson. The prisoner was defended by Mr. O Loughlen,
advised by Mr. John Lawless, solicitor.
The other officers of the court were : Lieut. -Col. Maun-
sell, Major Drew, and Capt. Gladstone, Seventy-fifth Foot ;
Capt. Wallace and Lieut. Caryvell, Ninety-second Gordon
Highlanders ; Capt. Skinner, Military Train ; Capt. Kings
ton and Lieut. Garnett, Fifth Dragoons ; Capt. Barthorp,
Tenth Hussars ; Capt. Telford and Lieut. Meade, Sixtieth
Rifles ; Capt. Taylor, Eighty-eighth Foot ; Capt. Fox and
Ensign Parkinson, Sixty-first Foot.
23
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 23
The prisoner pleaded "not guilty." Capt. Wlielan,
the prosecutor, opened the case against Private O Reilly,
as follows :
" The enormity of the offense with which the prisoner is
charged is such that it is difficult to find language by
which to describe it. It strikes at the root of all military
discipline, and, if allowed to escape punishment which it
entails, would render her Majesty s forces, who ought to
be the guardians of our lives and liberty, and the bulwark
and protection of the constitution under which we live, a
source of danger to the state and all its loyal citizens and
subjects, and her Majesty s faithful subjects would become
the prey and victims of military despotism, licentiousness,
and violence. Our standing army would then be a terror
to the throne, and a curse, not a blessing, to the commu
nity ; but at the same time, as is the gr/ivity of the offense,
so in proportion should the evidence by which such a
charge is to be sustained, be carefully and sedulously
weighed. It will be for you, gentlemen, to say whether
the evidence which will be adduced before you, leaves
upon your mind any reasonable doubt of the prisoner s
guilt."
The prosecutor, in continuation, said that evidence
would be laid before them to show that the prisoner was
an active member of the Fenian conspiracy, and that he
had endeavored to induce other soldiers to join it.
The first witness called was LANCE-COKPORAL FITZ
GERALD, Tenth Hussars. He said :
I know the prisoner. I know Hoey s public house in Bridgeport
Street. I was in it in the month of November, 1865, with the prisoner.
He brought me there. I was introduced by the prisoner to a man
named Devoy. There were then present, Tierney, Rorreson, Bergin,
and Sinclair of the Tenth Hussars.
Prosecutor. Was there any conversation in. presence of the pris
oner ? If so, state what it was.
Prisoner. I object, sir, to that question. It relates to a conversa
tion previous to the date of the charge, and can have no reference to it.
The court ruled that the evidence was admissible, and the question
was put.
24 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Witness. Prisoner introduced me to Devoy and said : " This is Cor
poral Fitzgerald," and I spoke to him. Devoy said O Reilly had spoken
to him several times about me, and said he should like to get me. We
three sat down together and I asked Devoy who was carrying on this
affair. He said Stephens. I asked, were there any arms or ammunition.
He said there was, and they were getting lots every day from America.
I asked who were to be their officers. He said there would be plenty
of otficers. He said it was so carried on that privates did not know
their non-commissioned officers, nor they their officers. Devoy then
left the room and the prisoner went after him. After a few minutes
prisoner came and told me that Devoy wanted to speak to me. I went
down to the yard and found Devoy there. He said, " I suppose O Reilly
has told you what I want with you."
Prisoner. I respectfully object, sir. What the witness now states
to have taken place, was not in my presence.
Court decided that the answer should be given.
Witness. I said that I did not know. He said that it was for the
purpose of joining them he wanted me, and that there was an oath
necessary to be taken. *I said I would not take the oath, and he then
said that he would not trust any man that did not take the oath. We
then returned upstairs. Nothing further took place.
President. What did you mean by using the words, "This busi
ness " ?
Witness. I meant the Fenian conspiracy. When I went upstairs
I saw the prisoner, who bade me good-night. The next time I saw him
was one evening I met him in town coming from the barracks. Some
arrests took place that day, and I said, "This business is getting
serious." He said it was, and that my name had been mentioned at a
meeting a few nights before. I asked what meeting, and he said a
military meeting. I asked him who mentioned my name, and he said
he did not know exactly, but that it was a man of the Fifth Dragoon
Guards. He added, " If you come home to-night I will take you to a
similar meeting." I gave him no decided answer. I afterwards met
him in the barracks. This all occurred before the meeting at Hoey s, of
which I stated. When I met him in the barracks he asked me was I
going out. I replied that I was. He said, "Will you meet me at the
sign of the Two Soldiers ? " I said yes, and went there and waited
until O Reilly came in. He called for some drink, and after we drank
Ave left the house, but came back again to get my gloves, and he said,
" I want to introduce you to a person." I said that I had no time and
should go, but he said, " I shall not detain you a minute." I then went
with him to Hoey s public house. It was on that occasion that I had
the interview with Devoy of which I have given evidence.
Here the court adjourned for half an hour.
On its reassembling Corporal Fitzgerald continued his testimony :
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 25
The conversation of which I have last spoken took place either
toward the end of November or the beginning of December, 1865.
Prisoner never told me the object of the military meetings of which he
spoke. I know Pilsworth s public house, James s Street. I met prisoner
in that house on the 13th of January, 1866. There were with him
Denny, Mullarchy, Hood, Lof tus, Crosby, and Sinclair, all Tenth Hus
sars, and two deserters from Fiftli Dragoon Guards. They were in
civilian clothes. There was a man named Williams present, and also
Devoy. On that occasion I had no conversation with O Reilly, nor
with any other person in his hearing. I never had any further conver
sation with the prisoner about Feiiianism.
To the Court :
Prisoner never asked me the result of my conversation with Devoy.
On cross-examination by the prisoner, witness said :
When I was in Hoey s public house there were no soldiers of any
other regiment but the Tenth Hussars present. That was the only
time I met the prisoner at Hoey s. It was a few days after the con
versation which took place when I met the prisoner coming from the
barracks, that he introduced me to Devoy. I am twelve years in the
army. The prisoiier was in the army only three years.
To the Court :
I made no report to my commanding officer of my conversation with
Devoy or the other meeting at Pilsworth s. I never took the Fenian
oath.
The next witness, PRIVATE MCDONALD, Tenth Hussars, testified :
I know Pilsworth s house. I was there about Christmas last with
the prisoner. I went with him to the house. There were other per
sons there but I cannot say who they were. There were some civilians,
but I did not know their names. Since then I heard that Devoy was
one of them. The prisoner did not introduce me to any one on that
occasion. Any drink the soldiers had they paid for themselves. There
was no conversation relating to Fenianism in the presence of the
prisoner.
Here the President deemed it advisable to give the wit
ness a hint that his evidence was not satisfactory.
President. Remember that you are on your oath.
Witness. Prisoner was sitting near me for a quarter of an hour or
more ; he was not far away from me. He was sitting alongside me,
close as one person sits to another. I knew prisoner before that night.
I had some conversation with O Reilly while he was sitting by me. I
cannot now tell what it was about, but it was not about Fenianism.
Devoy was not sitting near me that night ; he was sitting at the same
table, but I did not speak to him, nor he to me. I know Fortune s
26 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
public house in Golden Lane. I have been once in that house with
O Reilly, but I cannot say in what month. It was after Christmas, I
think. There were some civilians and soldiers there ; the soldiers were
infantry men. Devoy was one of the civilians, but I knew no one
else s name.
Here the President again interjected a threatening hint.
President, Is it impossible to know an infantry man s name ?
Witness. I did not know their names.
President. What regiments did they belong to ?
Witness. Some of Sixty-first, some of Eighty-seventh ; there were no
other cavalrymen but prisoner and myself. The prisoner did not
introduce me to any one on that occasion. We were in Fortune s for
an hour and a half. I had no conversation with the prisoner on that
occasion ; the people who were there were talking to themselves and
I did not hear any conversation that night. Some of the civilians
treated me to some drink. Devoy treated both me and the prisoner.
I have met a man known by the name of Davis. He was not in
Fortune s that night. Devoy, prisoner, and myself all drank together
that night. After leaving Fortune s we went to Doyle s public house.
Devoy came with two other civilians and some infantry soldiers. I
was in Doyle s from half-past eight until after nine. In Doyle s we
were again treated to drink by the civilians and by Devoy ; it was he
asked us to go there. O Reilly was in the room when he asked me to
do so, but I could not say how near he was to us when Devoy was
speaking. I think prisoner might have heard Devoy speaking. When
Devoy asked us to go to Doyle s he said it was quieter than Fortune s.
In Doyle s we were not exactly sitting together, there were some civil
ians between me and Devoy. I do not know their names.
Here the Court adjourned to next morning.
McDonald s examination resumed :
When I was in Doyle s, pi-isoner was not sitting ; he was standing
between me and Devoy. He was in front of me. I had no conver
sation with the prisoner or with any person in his hearing. I was with
the prisoner in Barclay s public house about a fortnight after I was in
Doyle s with him. There were some soldiers and civilians there.
Devoy was there. I don t know any other names, but I know their
faces. They were the same men who had been at Doyle s. We
remained at Barclay s from seven till nine o clock. On that occasion I
had no conversation with the prisoner, I had no conversation in pres
ence of prisoner. I went to Barclay s with John O Reilly. The next
public house I was in with him was Hoey s, in Bridgeport Street, about
a week after. I went there with prisoner. Same civilians were there
that I met before, and some infantry soldiers. Prisoner did not remain ;
he went away after I went into the house. I had no conversation with
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 27
O Reilly that night. I afterwards, in the same month, went with
prisoner to Bergin s, James s Street ; remained there from half-past eight
to quarter-past nine ; did not know any persons present, they were all
strangers ; there were four infantry soldiers, one of them, I think, of
the Fifty-third. Prisoner was there the whole time ; there was no con
versation between prisoner and those present. There was singing.
President. No conversation !
Witness. None.
President. Public houses must be mortal slow places according to
your account.
Witness. Singing was in presence and hearing of prisoner. Pris
oner did not join in the singing ; he was sitting down ; we were both
drinking some beer. Some civilians asked us to drink, but we treated
ourselves. Prisoner told me. that he belonged to the Fenian brother
hood in Cahir. He told me so in conversation as we were coming
down from Island Bridge Barracks, in April, twelve months ago.
Cross-examined by Prisoner :
At Pilsworth s there were three or four sitting at the same table
with us and Devoy. When I said there was no conversation between
me and the prisoner at Fortune s I meant no conversation about
Fenianism. When Devoy asked me to go to Doyle s, prisoner might
not have heard him do so. We went upstairs at Barclay s. When I said
I had no conversation with the prisoner at Hoey s, I meant none about
Fenianism. I think I saw Corporal Fitzgerald at Hoey s one night,
but I can t tell the date. I never was in company with Fitzgerald at
Hoey s public house ; it is over twelve months and more since the
Tenth Hussars were quartered in Cahir ; I had no conversation with
prisoner in Pilsworth s about Fenianism. Strange civilians often asked
me to take a drink in public houses. I never was a Fenian. The
Tenth Hussars were quartered in Cahir for nine months.
To the Court :
The prisoner told me who Devoy was in Pilsworth s. I have known
the prisoner since he enlisted, three years ago. It was in Pilsworth s I
met the man called Davis, that was in January ; I never saw him
before or since. I cannot recollect the subjects of which we talked in
the various public houses.
To the Prisoner :
Was not in Hoey s when Fitzgerald was there. I cannot tell pris
oner s motive in asking me to go to the various publi* houses with him.
In Fortune s there were civilians present. We left it to go to Doyle s, as
we did not like to talk before them. There was nobody in the room at
Doyle s when we went in. There were seven or eight of us came from
Fortune s to Doyle s. I do not know who the civilians were that were
left behind.
28 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
President. Why were you so confidential with some of the civilians
you met at Fortune s for the first time, and not with all ? And what
was the mysterious conversation about ?
Witness. It was the civilians proposed to go to Doyle s and it was
they who held the conversation. I do not remember any of the songs
that were sung at Bergin s. Davis was a low-sized man whose hair was
cut like a soldier s. When the prisoner told me to go to the public
houses at night, he used to say, " Go to such a house and you will meet
John there, and tell him I am on duty."
President. Who was John ?
Witness. Devoy.
President. Then Devoy was a great friend of the prisoner ?
Witness. He appeared to be.
President. Now answer a direct question : Were the songs sung
Fenian songs ?
Witness. No, sir ; they were not.
Prisoner. Were the songs chiefly love songs ?
Witness. I don t know.
Prisoner. Did I ever tell you Devoy was an. old friend of my
family ?
Witness. No, he did not. John O Reilly never spoke to me about
Fenianism, and I never heard Fenian songs in his company.
President. Recollect what you say : Did you not swear that pris
oner told you he was a Fenian ?
Witness. He said he was one at Cahir.
President. How do you know what a Fenian song is ?
Witness. I don t know. I suppose they are Irish songs.
Prisoner. Did you not state to the President that I told you I had
been a member of the Fenian Brotherhood while I was at Cahir ?
Witness. Yes, that you had been a Fenian at Cahir.
The unprejudiced reader, accustomed to the rigid im
partiality of an American court, will be surprised at the
hardly concealed hostility of this court-martial president
toward his prisoner. Private MacDonald s testimony is so
favorable to the accused that it does not please the Court
at all. The President accordingly reminds him that he is
"under oath," sneers at his refusal to "identify" men
whom he does not know, and makes it generally clear to
succeeding witnesses that evidence tending to prove the
prisoner s innocence is not of the kind wanted in that
court.
The next witness was PRIVATE DENNIS DENNY, Tenth Hussars :
I remember the evening of the 1st January, last. I was in the " Two
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 29
Soldiers " public house with the prisoner. He told me that if I went
to Hoey s with him he would show me the finest set of Irishmen I
ever saw in my life. We went there and found a numher of civilians
assembled. The prisoner, after some time, took me out of the room and
told me that the Fenians were going to beat the English army arid
make this country their own. He ask me to take an oath to join the
Fenians. I answered that I had already taken an oath to serve my queen
and country and that was enough for me. I then came down and went
into the yard and he again asked me to be a Fenian. I told him no.
He then went away and a civilian came and said
Prisoner. I object to anything being put in evidence relative to a
conversation at which I was not present.
Court adjourned for half an hour to consider the objection.
On its reassembling, Private Denny continued :
After returning upstairs pi isoner was there and I saw him. I had
no conversation with him. I met O Reilly in Island Bridge Barracks
about a week before I was in Hoey s with him. I had then no conver
sation with him.
Cross-examined by Prisoner :
I am eight years in the Tenth Hussars. I had spoken before that
evening with the prisoner, but nothing about Fenianism. I cannot say
at what period of the day on the first of January this took place, but
it was in the evening, about seven or eight, I think. There was nobody
but the prisoner with me when I went to Hoey s. Lance-Corporal
Fitzgerald was not in our company. I never, so far as I know, was in
Fitzgerald s company at Hoey s. We went back to the "Two Soldiers "
that evening by ourselves. We went back to have a glass of beer. I
had been drinking before that evening. I was arrested at Island Bridge
Barracks and confined in the regiment cells at Richmond Barracks. I
was taken on duty to Dublin Castle in aid of the civil power.
Prisoner withdrew this last question.
Witness. I made no report to my superior officers of what took place
at Hoey s before my arrest. I was arrested on the 5th of March. I
made a statement of what took place before I was transferred to Rich
mond barracks. I was arrested on a charge of Fenianism and was for
two days in the cells at Island Bridge, during which time I was visited
by Provost-Sergeant Del worth. He did not tell me what I was charged
with. It was told to me by my commanding officer on 5th of March,
when I was arrested. I did not know O Reilly was arrested until he
spoke to me through the wall of the cells ; that was the first time I knew
lie was arrested. Sergeant Delworth came to visit me, but I cannot say
if it was before then that prisoner spoke through the wall to me. I was
only once at Hoey s public house that I am aware of that was on 1st
of January, 1866. I made no statement to the provost sergeant at all.
30 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
I made none while in the cells. I swear that the conversation at Hoey s
took place on 1st January, 1866.
By the Court :
Before prisoner told you that the Fenians were going to beat the
English army out of the country and make it free, had there been no
conversation about Feiiianism in presence of the prisoner ?
Witness. No.
President. What reason had you for not reporting this conversa
tion ?
Witness. I did not wish to get myself or any one else into trouble
by doing so.
The next witness was PRIVATE JOHN SMITH, Tenth Hussars :
I was in Hoey s with prisoner some time after Christmas, about 1st
January. 1866. I went there by myself ; no one took me. When I went
there I was directed into a room where I saw the prisoner. Room was
full of soldiers playing cards. There were some civilians there, but I
knew none of them but O Reilly. I since learnt that a man named
Doyle, of the Sixty-first, was there. I saw him just now outside this
room. Prisoner introduced me as a friend to a civilian.
Here Court adjourned to reassemble next morning, when Private
Smith continued his evidence :
I left the room with the civilian and he spoke to me.
The prisoner objected to the question and the objection was allowed.
Witness. I had some conversation with the civilian, but I do not
know if the prisoner was near enough to hear it. After I left the room
with the prisoner he said the movement had been going on some time,
but he did not say what movement. After that he I eturned into the
room, and when I went back I found him there. There was no con
versation louder than your breath among those who were in the
room. When I left the room with the civilian he asked me to do so.
When I left the room I went to the back of the house with him, but the
prisoner did not come out at all while we were there. It was on the
lobby that the prisoner told me that he had known of the movement
for some time. That was said before I went into the yard with the
civilian. There was no one else but the civilian present at the time
with us. The observation was made in the course of conversation
between me and the civilian. We were all standing on the lobby at
the time.
President. What was the conversation about, at the time the ob
servation was made ?
Prisoner. I beg to object to that question, sir. The witness has
already said that he cannot say whether I heard the conversation or
not.
The Judge- Advocate said that the question was a legal one. The
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 31
prisoner had introduced the civilian to the witness and the conversation
took place when the three were standing within a yard of one another.
The observation was part of the conversation.
Witness. I cannot say what the conversation was about. It was
the civilian that asked me to go down to the yard. I don t know
whether prisoner left before he asked me to go. About three days
after, I met the prisoner a-t Walshe s public house. No one took me
there. The house was full of soldiers. I did not know any of the
civilians, but there were some men of my regiment there.
President. Do you know the names of any of the soldiers ?
Witness. I did, but I cannot now recollect what their names
were.
Prisoner. I think that the witness said, sir, that Walshe s is a sing
ing saloon.
President. Is it a public house or a music hall exclusively ?
Witness. It is both ; none of the civilians present had been in Hoey s
when I was there ; the prisoner told me that he wanted to see me the
next night at Pilsworth s public house ; he said that he wanted to see
some friends and to bring me to them ; I met him as he appointed ;
there were two of the Sixty-first there when we got to Pilsworth s,
neither of whose names I know ; there was nobody else there during the
time we stopped ; the prisoner and I had some conversation, but I for
get what it was ; we left the room shortly after ; the only conversation
that took place was that we asked each other to drink ; O Reilly came
away with me, and we went to Hoey s ; it was the prisoner who asked
me to go there ; he said, "Perhaps we will meet the friends who
promised to meet us at Pilsworth s "; he told me that some of them were
the same that we had to meet at Hoey s before ; on our way he spoke
about different men who used to meet him at Hoey s ; he told
me that those he was in the habit of meeting there were Fenian
agents, and men from America, who had been sent here to carry on
business ; that is the purport of what the prisoner said ; nothing else
that I can recollect passed between us ; the prisoner told me the business
the American agents came to carry on ; Fenian business, he said, of
course.
President. Why, "of course" ? You give us credit for knowing
more than we do.
Witness. When we got to Hoey s we met the same civilian that we
had met there before, and some more strangers ; we stayed in Hoey s
about three-quarters of an hour ; I had no conversation there with the
prisoner ; we separated, I to play cards and he to talk with some
civilians ; there was none but ordinary conversation going on ; when
we left Hoey s we went back to Pilsworth s ; a civilian asked us both to
go to Pilsworth s along with some other soldiers ; some civilians were
there, Americans, I think ; I cannot remember what the conversation
32 JOHN BOYLE o llEILLY.
was about ; it was no louder than a whisper ; when we left we called
into a public house near the barracks ; we had some talk about the
civilians we had left.
President. It is not about the civilians you are asked, but about the
conversation.
Witness. I met prisoner without any appointment in Barclay s
public house in James s Street in about a week ; there were some sol
diers and civilians there. Among the soldiers was Private Foley, of
the Fifth Dragoon Guards. The civilians were those I had met at
Hoey s. I had no conversation with the prisoner. I left Barclay s first
that night. At Barclay s the prisoner was sitting at a table with some
soldiers and civilians. I had seen some of the civilians before at Hoey s,
I do not know the names of the civilians I met at Hoey s. The prisoner
never told me the object of " the movement." O Reilly never spoke to
me about "the movement," except what he said at Pils worth s and at
Hoey s.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner :
The night I went to Hoey s and Ellsworth s was, I think, in January.
I cannot say what time in January. It might have been in February.
I cannot say. I know Lance-Uorporal Fitzgerald ; he is in my troop.
1 know Private Denny, Tenth Hussars ; he is in my troop. I cannot
say if I was in his company on New Year s night ; I spent that night
partly in Mount Pleasant Square and partly at the " Bleeding House"
in Camden Lane. I am not able to say whether I ever saw Denny at
Hoey s. I was speaking to him fifteen minutes ago ; I am not able to
say if I spoke to him to-day or yesterday, about the trial ; I did speak
to him about it ; I have spoken to him about his evidence or he to me.
I don t know which. It was after I read the paper and I don t think
any one heard us.
Prisoner. Were you by yourself ? . . . . If the Deputy Judge
Advocate would be kind enough to read the last two questions and
replies.
The questions and replies were read over.
Prisoner. Do you not know whether you and Denny were by your
selves ?
President. You must know, in a matter that only occurred fifteen
minutes ago.
Witness. I only spoke to him as we were coming across here at two
o clock. When I was speaking to Denny, there were some other men
in the room, but I cannot say if we were by ourselves.
President. That makes the thing worse. When did you read the
newspaper this morning ? Did you talk to Denny then about the
evidence ?
Witness. About nine o clock, when I was preparing to come here,
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 33
I might have spoken to him. The paper was read. I spoke to him at
the bottom of the stairs. There were other men in the room at the time.
I again spoke to him when coming here at two o clock. I can read
"some" print, but not writing. I have never tried to read a paper. It
was Denny who read the paper this morning; he read it out for me.
President. What paper was it ?
Witness. The paper in Sackville Street.
President. That is the Irish Times.
Capt. Wlielan. Oh no, it is the Freeman s Journal !
Witness. When Denny read the paper, there were two men pres
ent; it was after this we had the conversation about the evidence.
Here the court adjourned, and having reconvened on the following
day, PRIVATE DENNIS DENNY was recalled and examined relative to a
statement made by Private Smith, the prisoner s witness, that they had
a conversation the previous day concerning the evidence he had given.
Witness. I had no conversation yesterday about the evidence with
Private Smith.
To the Prosecutor:
I was not aware that I read the paper yesterday in presence of
Smith. He may have been there when I was reading it. I have no
knowledge of having had any conversation with anybody about the
evidence of Smith. Before I was recalled into court I had no conversa
tion with any one relative to the evidence I had given previously. I
am not aware that I had any conversation with Private Smith with
reference to my evidence. I read a paper yesterday morning. I would
not swear what men were present. I cannot say if Smith was in the
room when I read it.
To the President :
I do not recollect a man who was in the room.
Prisoner. With your leave, sir, I would wish to ask Private Denny
a few questions in the absence of Private Smith.
President. Leave the room, Smith.
Private Denny to Prisoner. I did not buy the paper that I read.
I took it out of Private Robert Good s bed.
President. We have decided, prisoner, not to put these questions
yet. You will reserve them.
Prisoner. Very well, sir.
President (to witness). Were there any persons in the room ?
Witness. Four or five.
President. Were you reading aloud ?
Witness. No, sir ; I cannot read aloud, because I have to spell the
words.
President. Have you had no conversation with any one about
Smith since you read the paper ?
34 JOHN BOYLE o KEILLY.
Witness. I spoke to Lance-Corporal Fitzgerald, I now recollect,
about Smith.
President. What did you say about him ?
Witness. I was talking to him about the time Smith and I were
arrested. He might have been in the room when the paper was read
ing, but no one read aloud when I was in the room.
President. What did you and Smith talk about yesterday ?
Witness. I did not talk to him yesterday, unless I might have
spoken to him outside the door, while we were waiting.
President. If Private Smith swore yesterday that you had told him
your previous evidence, would it be true ?
Witness. No, sir.
PRIVATE SMITH (recalled). The two Sixty-first men we met at Pils-
worth s did not come to Hoey s. Private Denny never spoke to me
about Feniauism. I have often played cards for drink in public
houses. When the prisoner introduced me to the civilian at Hoey s it
was as a friend of his in the regiment. My regiment turned out for
the field yesterday at half-past seven. It was about nine o clock when
Denny made out the paper for me.
Court. If Denny swore that he did not read the paper aloud, would
he be swearing what was true ?
Witness. I say again that Denny read the paper aloud ; if he did
not I could not hear him.
President. You must answer " Yes or no."
Witness. It would not be true, sir.
To the Court :
I have heard Denny reading the newspaper aloud on other occa
sions; I do not know what part of the paper Denny read, but it was
about this trial; when speaking to Denny yesterday it was about
the trial; about his evidence and mine; when the prisoner introduced
me to the civilian at Hoey s, he merely said that I was a friend of his;
I cannot repeat the precise words used in introducing me; Denny and I
had only a few words about this trial when we spoke together yesterday.
President. The civilians to whom you were introduced you said yes
terday were Fenian agents; did they ever ask you to become a Fenian ?
Witness. They did .
President. As a rule did you always pay for your drink or were you
treated ?
Witness. As a rule I was treated.
President. Were those civilians that you met Americans and
Fenians ?
Witness. I was told so.
President. What were they talking about when the prisoner spoke
of the movement ?
LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 85
Witness. About the Fenians.
President. You said that a civilian asked you to go down to the
yard at Hoey s house ; did he assign any reason ?
Witness. He asked me to go with him; and said that he belonged
to the Fenians; arid wished me to join them.
President. Did you notice at any time that the prisoner had more
money than you would expect a soldier to have ?
Witness. No.
President. Did you take the Fenian oath ?
Witness. I did not ; I never was asked to take an oath or join the
Fenians in the prisoner s hearing.
Prosecutor. Was it after your interview with the prisoner on the
lobby at Hoey s that you were asked to take the oath ?
Witness. It was.
COLONEL BAKER, Tenth Hussars, being sworn, testified : I know
the prisoner. He never gave me any information of an intended mu
tiny in her Majesty s force in Ireland.
Prisoner. Did any private of the Tenth communicate with you in
reference to an intended mutiny, before the first of March ?
Col. Baker. No.
Prisoner. What character do I bear in the regiment ?
Witness. A good character.
COLONEL CASS, sworn and examined. I never received information
from the prisoner with reference to an intended mutiny. I believe his
character is good.
Head Constable Talbot, the notorious informer, was the
next witness. He was not called upon to furnish evidence
of the prisoner s direct complicity in the conspiracy, but
only of the fact that a conspiracy existed. He had testified
on the trial of Color-Sergeant McCarthy, that the latter had
agreed to furnish the Fenians with countersigns, barrack
and magazine keys, maps and plans of the Clonmel Bar
racks, and other aid necessary for the surprise of the gar
rison.
He also testified that not a single regiment in the service
was free from the same taint of rebellion, and that part of
the conspirators scheme was the enlistment of revolution
ary agents in the various branches of the British service.
O Reilly was such an agent.
His testimony was brief. In reply to a question by the
prisoner, he said :
36 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
My real name is Talbot, and I joined the constablery in 1846.
The arch-informer was succeeded by PRIVATE MULLAR-
CHY, Tenth Hussars.
In January last I was in a public house, in James s Street, with
the prisoner. He took me there to see a friend of mine, as he said
that about a fortnight or three weeks previously a young man was
inquiring after me. There were present there two civilians to whom
he introduced me as two of his friends, but whose names I don t know.
From the room we first entered we went into a larger one, where there
wei e three or four soldiers belonging to the Sixty-first Regiment and
Tenth Hussars, another civilian, and a young woman.
Prosecutor. Did you see the prisoner stand up and whisper to one
of the civilians ?
Witness. Yes, to the civilian sitting opposite to him. Very shortly
afterwards the prisoner left the room and did iiot return. I then had
a few words with the civilian to whom the prisoner had whispered.
Prosecutor. Did you see a book 011 that occasion ?
Witness. Nothing more than the book the civilian to whom the
prisoner introduced me had taken out of his pocket; the prisoner was
not then present. I had no conversation afterwards with the prisoner
as to what occurred in the public house, or about the friend of mine
of whom he spoke. I never ascertained who that friend was.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner :
Witness. I did ask you to go to the theater on the night in question.
I told you I had got paid my wages, that I was going to the theater, and
that I should like to go and see the friend of whom you had spoken.
Prisoner. Is that what you call my taking you to Pilsworth s.
President. We have not got as far as Pilsworth s yet, as far as I can
see.
Prisoner. Is that what you call my taking you to the public house
in James s Street ?
Witness. It is; I asked you to show me where this friend was, and
you said you would take me to the public house, which was the last
place where you had seen him.
To the Court :
I returned to the barracks at twelve o clock that night. The friend
of whom the prisoner spoke was a civilian, so he told me. The civilian
who spoke to me in the public house asked me if I was an Irishman and
I said I was. He asked me if I was going to join this society. I asked
what society. He said, the Fenian society. I did not know what that
was. Since I was in the public house with the prisoner no one spoke
to me of the evidence I was to give here or at this trial.
PRIVATE RORRESON, Tenth Hussars : I was in Private Bergin s com
pany at Hoey s public house in January last. On that occasion there
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 37
were present besides Private Bergin and myself a number of foot-
soldiers and two civilians, none of whose names I know. The pris
oner was also present, but I cannot say if he was in the room when I
entered or whether lie came in afterwards. I saw Lance-Corporal
Fitzgerald, of the Tenth Hussars, there too. He was in the prisoner s
company.
Prosecutor. Did you see anything occur on tliat occcasion between
prisoner and the civilians ?
Witness. I saw prisoner go up to Fi tzgerald, and immediately the
latter and the civilians went out. Previous to this I also saw him
whispering to the civilians. Any time he did speak it was in a whisper.
Prosecutor. Did you see the prisoner go out of the room on that
occasion ?
Witness. Yes ; the three of them left at the same time. I did not
see the prisoner go out of the room more than once. When the three
left they were absent for about tea or fifteen minutes, and they returned
one after the other. When they returned, one of them spoke to a foot-
soldier, said good-by to his comrade, and then left the room. There
was singing in the room that evening. A foot-soldier sung one of
Moore s melodies. I particularly remember the words of one of the
songs
We ll drive the Sassenach from our soil.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner :
1 have been at Hoey s since the occasion in question, but I cannot
say how often. I never saw Private Denny there.
Question. If Lance-Corporal Fitzgerald swore that on the occasion
in question there were no soldiers at Hoey s but those belonging to
Tenth Hussars, would he be swearing what was true ?
Witness. No, there were infantry there. I can t say that I was at
Hoey s with Lance-Corporal Fitzgerald in November last.
Here the court adjourned, and the examination of Private Rorreson
was resumed on the following day.
In reply to the Court :
The infantry soldiers were sitting alongside of me in Hoey s. There
were not thirty of the Sixty-first Regiment there. The civilians were
sitting at my right. I cannot say whether the soldiers came in first, or
whether they were in the room when I went in . I will not swear what
time the meeting took place; it was in January. No one spoke to me
about my evidence. I was not asked to become a Fenian at Hoey s.
Bergin spoke to me elsewhere of it, but never in the prisoner s presence.
Any time I ever went to Hoey s it was with Bergin, and the civilians
always paid for the drink. I never heard the names of the civilians,
but afterwai ds I heard one was named Devoy. I never heard the
names of the others. Devoy appeared to be a born Irishman. I never
38 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
heard any singing but on that occasion, and the prisoner took no part
in it. I think it was before the night in January that Bergin spoke to
me of being a Fenian, on the way to the barracks going home. We
had been in Hoey s ; the prisoner was there. Bergin had been speaking
of Fenianism on the way to the barracks. He said there was such a
thing " coining off."
President. What do you mean by such a thing coming off " ?
Witness. Like a rebellion breaking out.
Prisoner. When you say you since heard one of the civilians was
called Devoy, when did you hear it, and who told you ?
Witness. I cannot tell who told me; Bergin told me he was em
ployed at Guiness s, but I cannot say who told me his name.
Prisoner. I respectfully submit that all evidence given by the last
witness relative to Bergin should be expunged. I did not object during
his examination, as the questions were put by the Court, but I do
now.
The court did not accept this view of the case. In ad
mitting the hearsay evidence it indorsed the following
astounding propositions made by the Deputy Judge Advo
cate :
Deputy Judge Advocate :
It is too late to object. The prisoner should not have allowed the
examination to go on and taken his chance of something favorable to
him being elicited by it. For the rest, I submit that the acts or conver
sations of co-conspirators are admissible as evidence against each other,
even though one of them on his trial was not present at those acts or
conversations. All the matters of fact sworn to, show that the pris
oner and Bergin were participators in the Fenian plot. Therefore the
prisoner s objection is unsustainable, particularly after the examination
of the witness.
Having thus summarily disposed of the prisoner s few
nominal rights, the prosecution took hold of the case in the
good old-fashioned way, by putting on the stand an in
former of the regulation Irish character one who had
taken the Fenian oath in order to betray his comrades, and
excused himself for the perjury by saying, that, although
he had a Testament in his hand and went through the
motion of kissing it, he had not really done so. The testi
mony of this peculiarly conscientious witness is interest
ing, because it is typical. He can juggle with the Testa-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 39
ment, in the hope of cheating the Devil ; but when pressed
he owns up: ; Most decidedly I took the oath with the
intention of breaking it. I cannot see how that was per
jury." And again, "I told the truth on both trials, as far
as I can remember" Without further preface the reader
is introduced to the delectable company of
PRIVATE PATRICK FOLEY, Fifth Dragoon Guards. I know the pris
oner. I saw him in Hoey s public house about the 14th of January.
He was confined, and they were asking about him at Hoey s. The
waiter asked
Prisoner. I object to this evidence. I was not in the house when
the questions were asked.
The objection was admitted.
Witness. At the time I saw the prisoner at Hoey s, there were a
number of people there, principally civilians. Devoy was one, Wil
liams was another, and Corporal Chambers, who used at that time to
appear in civilian s clothes. Hogan and Wilson, both deserters from
Fifth Dragoon Guards, were also thei^e in colored clothes. There were
many others whose names I do not know. I took part in a conversa
tion that night, but I cannot say whether prisoner was present.
To the Court :
The prisoner spoke twice to me during January and February.
President. The question refers only to one occasion.
Witness. I spoke to the prisoner in February at Barclay s public
house. I do not know on what day. I went to the bar and found the
prisoner there. He asked me to drink. We both then went into a
room, and the prisoner sat at a table with some of his own men. The
conversation was among themselves, but it could be heard at the off
side of the room. It was on Fenianism and the probable fate of the
state prisoners who were on trial at that time. There was also some
thing said about electing a president as soon as they had a free repub
lic. They were all paying attention to what was being said, but I can
not tell if the prisoner said more than the remainder. Devoy was there,
and Williams. There were other civilians present whose names I do
not know. I had a previous conversation in January with the prisoner
at Hoey s, but I cannot remember what it was about. It was regarding
Fenianism, but I cannot tell the words made use of. I met the prisoner
at Waugh s public house some time toward the end of 1865. The civ
ilians I have mentioned were there and some soldiers. In all these
places the conversation was relating to Fenianism, but I cannot say if
they were in hearing of the prisoner, but everybody heard them.
Devoy was at Waugh s, I think. I frequently met Devoy in company
with O Reilly. I have heard Devoy speak in presence of the prisoner
40 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
about Fenianisra, but I cannot remember that lie said anything about
what was to be done in connection with it.
Prosecutor. Was there at any of these meetings of which you spoke,
and at which the prisoner was present, any conversation of an intended
outbreak or mutiny ?
Prisoner. I object to that question, because the witness has already
stated the substance of the conversations as far as he can remember.
The prosecutor had no right to lead the witness, and put into his mouth
the very words of the charge.
The prosecutor submitted that the question was perfectly fair and
legal.
The Deputy Judge Advocate ruled that the question should be so
framed as not to suggest the answer to it.
Witness. There was a conversation of an intended mutiny that was
to take place in January or the latter end of February. The prisoner
could have heard- the conversation that took place in Hoey s, in January,
and in Barclay s, in February. I reported to my colonel in February
the subject of the conversation.
Court adjourned for half an hour.
Cross-examination of Private Foley :
I can read and write. I took the Fenian oath. I did not call God to
witness I would keep it. I know the nature of an oath. It is to tell the
truth, and the whole truth. I had a Testament in my hand and I went
through the motion of kissing it, but I did not do so. I swore on two
previous occasions I took the Fenian oath. Most decidedly I took the
oath with the intention of breaking it. I cannot see how that was
perjury. I had to take the oath, in a way, or I would have known
nothing about the Fenian movement. I was examined on the trial of
Corporal Chambers. I was sworn on the trial to tell the whole truth.
I was sworn by the president. I told the whole truth on both trials, as
far as I can remember. I know Private Denny of Tenth Hussars by
appearance. I know Lance-Corporal Fitzgei ald of the Tenth, also
by appearance. I know Fitzgerald personally. I only knew him
at these places of meeting. I think I knew him in January. I
knew him to speak to him. I know Private Smith, Tenth Hussars, by
appearance. I know him only by speaking to him in the month of
February. I cannot say whether I ever saw Private Denny in Hoey s
public house or at Barclay s or Bailey s. I cannot say how often I was
at meetings in these houses in Februaiy. When I took the Fenian
oath, most decidedly I intended to become an informer. I kept no
memoranda of the meetings I attended, as I reported them all to my
commanding officer in the mornings after they took place. My reports
were verbal ones, and I never took down the names of those I met at
the meetings.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 41
Question. Have you met Corporal Fitzgerald at any of those meet
ings ?
Witness (to President) : I am very near tired, sir, answering ques
tions.
President. If you are tired standing, you may sit down.
Witness. I met Fitzgerald at Barclay s and at Hoey s, but I cannot
say how often ; prisoner was present when I saw Fitzgerald at Bar
clay s. I knew him personally at the time. I cannot say whether I
then spoke to him. At Corporal Charnbers s trial I was asked to state,
and did so, who were present at the meeting at Hoey s. I did name
the prisoner as having been there.
Court here adjourned for the day.
Cross-examination of Private Foley resumed, on July 5.
Lance- Corporal Fitzgerald was present on the occasion when I
said he was at Barclay s, at the time the conversation about Fenianism
took place.
LANCE-CORPORAL FITZGERALD was here confronted with the witness,
and stated that he did swear that he met the prisoner at Hoey s and at
Pilsworth s, but not at Barclay s. Private Foley would not be swear
ing what was true if he swore that he (Fitzgerald) made a speech on
Fenianism at Barclay s, or was present at a conversation there about
electing a president, " when we would have a free republic."
To the President :
I was never at Hoey s public house in the prisoner s company, but
I was there two or three days after his arrest, when a man named Wil
liams came up to the barracks and told me there was to be a Fenian
meeting at Barclay s. On the 13th of January, prisoner absented him
self, and on the 14th irist. (Sunday) he was taken from the barracks by
a detective policeman.
To the Prosecutor :
I have never made a speech on Fenianism to my recollection, at
Barclay s. I might have said things when I was drunk that I would
not answer for afterwards. I swear positively that I was never present
on any occasion when there was talk of electing a president of a repub
lic. I might have been present at such conversation and not know any
thing about it.
Prisoner contended that this evidence should have been given in
direct examination but was not admissible in cross-examination.
The prosecutor contended that the witness, who was recalled by the
prisoner, for the purpose of confronting him with another, was not
asked anything that was not perfectly fair and proper for the purpose
of eliciting the truth.
42 JOHN" BOYLE O^REILLY.
Deputy Judge Advocate ruled that the evidence was legal and
proper.
Witness to Prosecutor :
I never made a speech on Fenianism, to my recollection, at any
place. I might have said things when I was drunk that I would not
answer for afterwards. I was drunk every time I went there after
wards. I swear positively I was never present on an occasion when
there was a conversation about electing a president of a republic. I
might have been present at such conversation when drunk, and not
know anything about it.
The Court. Why was Williams sent to tell you of the Fenian meet
ing if, as you say, you had previously refused to become a Fenian ?
Witness. He was sent, I don t know by whom, but he used to go
round to Island Bridge and Richmond Barracks for that purpose.
PRIVATE FOLEY (re-examined by prosecutor) :
Having heard the evidence of Lance-Corporal Fitzgerald, I have not
the least doubt that I met him at Barclay s in February last. The
reason I did not, on Corporal Chambers s trial, mention prisoner as
being present at Barclay s in February, was that I had some doubts of
his name. I have now no doubt that he was present.
To the Prisoner :
I did mention your name to the prosecution about a fortnight ago.
This ended the examination of Informer Foley. He
was followed by a duller, but more malicious knave, Private
Meara, who boasted, with low cunning, that he had taken
the Fenian oath out of curiosity, and with the intention of
betraying his fellows ; repeated his own smart repartees,
and put into the mouth of the prisoner the wholly imaginary
atrocious promise, that he would hamstring the cavalry
horses in case of emergency. One can almost form a pic
ture of this ruffian from his own words. The official
report reads :
PRIVATE MEARA, First Battalion, Eighth Regiment, deposed : He
Avas a member of the Fenian Society and attended several meetings of
that body, at which were present other soldiers. He saw the prisoner
at a meeting in Hoey s public-house in January, in company with
Devoy and Williams, whom he knew to be Fenians, and with other
soldiers, as also with Baines, Rynd, and others. On that occasion he
saw a sketch of Island Bridge Barracks in the prisoner s hand, which
he was explaining to Devoy.
The President. You are asked what was said.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 43
Witness. Devoy said he wanted a few men out of the Hussars to
give them instruction what to do, and he wanted about ten men out of
each regiment in Dublin. The prisoner spoke of cutting the hamstrings
of the horses in the stables in case of any emergency. The conversa
tion then turned on a rising in the army and how the men would act.
I said the Irishmen in the army saw no prospect before them, and they
would be great fools to commit themselves. Devoy said they would
not be asked until a force came from America. I said it was all moon
shine, and that they were a long time coming. He told me I seemed
chicken-heai ted, and that they required no men but those who were
willing and brave. I told him I was as brave as himself, and that he
should not form soldiers in a room for the purpose of discussing
Fenianism. That is all the conversation I can remember on that
occasion.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner:
I was examined on Corporal Chambers s trial. I am not sure whether
I named you as one of the soldiers present on the occasion referred to
in my evidence. I took the Fenian oath, out of curiosity to see what
the Irish conspiracy or republic, as they called it, was. If any serious
consequences would arise I would have given information of the move
ment. I had an opportunity of seeing into the Fenian movement, and
I saw that nothing serious was going to happen. If there was I would
have known it days before, and then given information. I heard
Stephens himself say at Bergin s, that the excitement should be kept up
while aid from America was expected. In last March I made a state
ment affecting you.
This closed the case for the prosecution.
At the request of the prisoner the Court adjourned to Saturday,
July 7, to give him time to prepare his defense.
Court having assembled on that date, the prisoner requested that
some member of it be appointed to read his defense.
Lieutenant Parkinson, Sixty-first Regiment, was then requested to
do so.
The defense commenced by thanking the Court for the patient and
candid consideration which had been bestowed by the members through
out the trial, and stated that the prisoner had no doubt but that the
same qualities would be exhibited in consideration of the points which
would be submitted to them for his defense. The charge against him
was one involving terrible consequences, and he had no doubt the
greater would be the anxiety of the Court in testing the evidence
brought against him.
There was only one charge which the Court had to consider, and
that was: " Having come to the knowledge of an intended mutiny."
To sustain that charge the prosecutor should prove, first, that there
44 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
was a mutiny actually intended ; second, that he (the prisoner) had a
knowledge of that intention, and third, that he possessed that knowl
edge in January, 1866, and did not communicate it to his commanding
officer. The prosecutor was bound to prove each and every one of
those allegations, by evidence on which the court might safely act.
After referring to his services he asked the court to bear in mind his
good reputation, while considering the evidence against him, as it must
have observed that, from the character of some of the proofs upon
which the prosecutor relied, in conversations with no third person
present, and no date fixed, it was impossible to displace such testimony
by direct evidence.
The defense then pointed out various discrepancies between various
witnesses and the contradiction between the evidence of Privates Denny
and Smith, where Denny had clearly committed perjury. But even if
these men s evidence were true, it would not bring home to him one
fact to bear out the charge.
None of these witnesses can say that in his presence one word was
ever said respecting the designs or the plans of the Fenians, and it
only amounted to this, that one day, in a casual convei*sation, he said
to Smith that some persons they had met were Americans and Fenian
agents. In the whole evidence, which, in the cases of Foley and
Meara was that of informers, there was much to which the addition or
omission of a word would give a very different color to what it had
got. What was the amount of credit to be given to those men, when
it was remembered that they both took the Fenian oath, the one, as
he said, through curiosity, the other with the deliberate design of
informing ?
Meara s oath, 011 his own admission, had not been believed by a civil
court of justice ; and would this court believe it and convict a man of
crime upon such testimony ? He (the prisoner) asked the court to
reject this testimony and rely upon that of his commanding officer,
Col. Baker, who had deposed to his good character as a soldier. In
conclusion, the prisoner appealed to the Deputy Judge Advocate, to
direct the court that unless he had personal knowledge of an intended
mutiny in January, he was entitled to an acquittal. Guilt was never
to be assumed, it should be proved ; for suspicion, no matter how
accumulated, could never amount to the mental conviction 011 which
alone the court should act.
The defense having concluded, prisoner called Capt. Barthorp,
Tenth Hussars, who was a member of the court. In reply to questions
put, CAPT. BARTHORP said :
He was captain of the prisoner s troop, and had known him for
three years. His character was good .
MR. ANDERSON, Crown Solicitor, was sworn and examined by
HiS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 46
prisoner with regard to a portion of Private Meara s evidence on Cor
poral Chambers s trial, relative to the alleged meeting. Meara did not
mention, the prisoner as having been present at the alleged meeting,
when giving evidence at Chambers s trial : but on the present one he
swore that he was present.
In reply to the Prosecutor :
Deputy Judge Advocate said he could not state whether the meeting
of which Meara had deposed at Chambers s trial was the same men
tioned on this.
Prisoner. I would wish to ask the Deputy Judge Advocate a ques
tion which arises out of his answer : Did you not hear Private Meara
asked on my trial to name the persons he had met at the meeting which
he deposed to at Corporal Chambers s trial, and did he not do so ?
Deputy Judge Advocate. I did hear that evidence given; I did
hear him state the names.
ADJUTANT RUSSELL, Tenth Hussars, in answer to prisoner, said:
He (prisoner) was put under arrest on the 14th of February. The
prisoner was in hospital for several days in February, from 19th to
26th.
President. I do not wish to interrupt the prisoner, but I wish to
point out that these dates are all subsequent to the charge.
At this point court adjourned to eleven o clock Monday morning.
At the reopening of the court, Capt. Whelan (the prosecutor) pro
ceeded to answer the defense of the prisoner. His reply entered elabor
ately into the whole evidence that had been given, and commented on
the various points raised for the defense. Capt. Whelan defended
strongly the various witnesses from the charge brought against them
by the prisoner, of being informers, and insisted that they were all
trustworthy and credible, and that the discrepancies pointed out in the
defense were such as would naturally arise.
The Deputy Judge Advocate then proceeded to sum up the whole
evidence. In doing so, he said :
The court should bear .in mind that the existence of an intended
mutiny should be proved before the prisoner should be found guilty of
the charges upon which he was arraigned. The court should also bear
in mind that it was for it to prove charges and not for the prisoner to
disprove them. To experienced officers, like those composing the court,
it was not necessary for him (the Judge- Advocate) to state what the
law was, bearing on those charges. He might say, however, that if the
prisoner did come to the knowledge of an intended mutiny, it would
be for them to say whether the prisoner had given notice of any such
intended mutiny to his commanding officer. This, his commanding
officers state, he did not do; so that it became the subject of inquiry
whether any such mutiny was intended. They had the evidence of
46 jontf BOYLE O KEILLY\
Head Constable Talbot on that point, and they should attentively weigh
it. Assuming that it was intended, and that the prisoner was aware of
it and an accomplice in the design, they had then no less than eight
witnesses to prove that complicity. The Deputy Judge Advocate then
went minutely through the whole evidence, which he recapitulated in
a lucid manner, pointing out to the court where it was favorable for
the prisoner or bore against him.
The Judge Advocate concluded by saying : Now, on a calm and fair
review of the evidence, determining in favor of the prisoner every.
thing of which there was reasonable doubt, straining nothing against
him, is the court satisfied that the facts are inconsistent with any other
conclusion than the prisoner s guilt ? Is the court satisfied that the
Fenians intended mutiny as one of the essentials of that plot ?
Are they satisfied that the prisoner knew of that intention ? If you
are not satisfied that the evidence adduced for the prosecution has
brought home to the prisoner the charges on which he is indicted ; if
you can fairly and honestly see your way to put an innocent construc
tion on the prisoner s acts, it is your duty to do so.
" But, on the other hand, if the court has no rational doubt of the
prisoner s guilt, then it is bound, without favor, partiality, or affection,
to find their verdict accordingly. Eemember, though, that although
you may feel very great suspicion of the prisoner s guilt, yet if you are
not satisfied that the charge is proved home to him beyond rational
doubt, no amount of suspicion will justify conviction. Apply to your
consideration of the evidence, the same calm, deliberate, and faithful
attention and judgment which you would apply to your own most
serious affairs, if all you value most and hold most dear, your lives and
honor, were in peril. The law demands no more, and your duty will
be satisfied with no less."
At the conclusion of the Judge Advocate s address, the court was
made private, to consider their finding. After a short time it was
reopened, and
ADJUTANT RUSSELL, Tenth Hussars, was called to give testimony to
the prisoner s character. He said that it had been good during his
three years and thirty-one days of service.
The court was then again cleared and the result was not known
until officially promulgated by the Horse Guards.
On July 9, 1866, formal sentence of death was passed upon all the
military prisoners. It was only a formality. The same day, it was
commuted to life imprisonment in the cases of O Reilly, McCarthy,
Chambers, Keating, and Darragh. The sentence of O Reilly was
subsequently commuted to twenty years penal servitude.
Adjutant Kussell, referred to in the preceding report,
better known as Lord Odo Russell, had pleaded successfully
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 47
for leniency in behalf of the youthful prisoner. The first
step in execution of the sentence was taken on Monday
afternoon, September 3, in the Royal Square, Royal Bar
racks, in the presence of the Fifth Dragoon Guards, Sec
ond Battalion, Third Regiment, Seventy-fifth Regiment,
Ninety-second Highlanders, and Eighty-fifth Light Infan
try. The prisoner was then and there made listen to the
reading of his sentence, stripped of his military uniform,
clothed in the convict s dress, and escorted to Mountjoy
prison.
Before dismissing the story of his trial, I may here
relate a curious sequel, which occurred some six or seven
years later in the city of Boston. O Reilly had many
strange visitors in his newspaper office, but perhaps the
strangest of all was one of the two informers before men
tioned. This fellow, after O Reilly s conviction, found
himself so despised and shunned by his fellow-soldiers,
both English and Irish, that his life became unendurable.
He deserted the army and fled to America, where the story
of his treachery had preceded him. He was starving in
the streets of Boston when he met his former victim, and
threw himself upon his mercy. Almost any other man
would have enjoyed the spectacle of the traitor s misery.
O Reilly saw only the pity of it all, and gave the wretch
enough money to supply his immediate wants, and pay
his way to some more propitious spot.
CHAPTER III.
Solitary Confinement An Autobiographical Sketch Pentonville,
Millbank, Chatham, Dartmoor Three Bold Attempts to Escape-
Realities of Prison Life The Convict Ship Hougoumont The
Exiles and their Paper, The Wild Goose.
rptlREE characteristic poems were written by O Reilly
J- on the walls of his prison cell at this time: "The
Irish Flag," a short patriotic outburst; "For Life," com
posed on hearing that his comrade Color- Sergeant Mc
Carthy had received a life sentence, and "The Irish
Soldiers," this last having a foot-note appended as follows :
" Written on the wall of my cell with a nail, July 17, 1866.
Once an English soldier ; now an Irish felon ; and proud of
the exchange."
Of the three poems, the second is the best, though all
are so lacking in finish and strength that he wisely forebore
including any of them in his published volumes. It begins
with a strong stanza, suggestive of the poet s later and
better work, but its merit may be said to end there.
Of all charges guilty ! he knew it before ;
But it s now read aloud in the scarlet-clad square,
Formality s farce must be played out once more
May it sink in the heart of his countrymen there !
After a short detention at Mountjoy, O Reilly, Mc
Carthy, and Chambers were marched through the streets,
chained together by the arms, and shipped over to Eng
land, to begin their long term of suffering. They were at
first confined in Pentonville, where they were allowed but
one hour of exercise a day, the "exercise" consisting in
pacing to and fro in a cell without a roof. The rest of the
day they were locked up in their separate cells.
In a few days they were transferred to Millbank to
undergo a term of solitary confinement, preliminary to the
48
His LIFP:, PO&MS AND SPEECHES. 40
severe physical punishment ordained in their sentence.
Every reader of Dickens remembers the description in his
"American Notes," of the Eastern Penitentiary at Phila
delphia, and its " Solitary System." It was the same
system, in its absolute seclusion of the prisoner from his
fellows, as that which prevailed in Millbank. All that
Dickens says of the prison in Philadelphia applies equally
to Millbank :
"I hold this slow and daily tampering with the mys
teries of the brain to be immeasurably worse than any
torture of the body ; and because its ghastly signs and
tokens are not so palpable to the eye and sense of touch as
scars upon the ilesh ; because its wounds are not upon the
surface, and it extorts few cries that human ears can hear ;
therefore, I the more denounce it, as a secret punishment
which slumbering humanity is not roused up to stay. I
hesitated once, debating with myself, whether, if I had the
power of saying Yes or No, I would allow it to be
tried in certain cases, where the terms of imprisonment were
short ; but now, I solemnly declare, that with no rewards
or honors could I walk a happy man beneath the open sky
by day, or lie me down upon my bed at night, with the
consciousness that one human creature, for any length of
time, no matter what, lay suffering this unknown punish
ment in his silent cell, and I the cause, or I consenting to it
in the least degree."
The condemnation of the great novelist is sweeping, the
words which I have italicized above showing that he did not
measure the horror of the punishment by its duration.
Seif-satislied reformers have pooh-poohed his verdict as
that of a sentimentalist who had enjoyed no personal ex
perience of the system. That their experience of it had
been wholly impersonal also, made no difference in their
judgment of its merits. Other supporters of the system
have pointed triumphantly to the fact that the convict
Charles Langheimer, " Dickens 1 s Dutchman," as he was
called, Avhom the author of the "Notes" had described
dramatically among the victims of the system, served his
50 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
sentence of five years, and various other sentences after
wards, aggregating altogether some forty- two years, and
died in prison at last at the age of seventy. He became
such a confirmed jail-bird that on the expiration of one
term of imprisonment, he would immediately commit some
new theft, in order that he might be returned to his old
quarters. Which is a complete demonstration of the value
of the system, as a reformatory agent, in the eyes of its
worshipers.
Happily we are not without the evidence of better au
thorities on the subject than either the humane novelist,
who studied it as a mere visitor, or the poor debased and
brutalized "Dutchman," whom it so successfully unfitted
for a life of freedom. John Mitchell, the iron- willed
patriot, whom no physical torture could subdue, confesses
that when the door of his cell first closed on him, and he
realized the full meaning of "solitary confinement," he
flung himself upon his bed and "broke into a raging pas
sion of tears tears bitter and salt, but not of base lamenta
tion for my own fate. The thoughts and feelings that have
so shaken me for this once, language was never made to
describe."
Michael Davitt says :
The vagrant sunbeam that finds its way to the lonely occupant of a
prison cell, but speaks of the liberty which others enjoy, of the happi
ness that falls to the lot of those whom misfortune has not dragged
from the pleasures of life ; the cries, the noise, and uproar of London
which penetrate the silent corridors, and re-echo in the cheerless cells
of Millbank, are so many mocking voices that come to laugh at the
misery their walls inclose, and arouse the recollection of happier days
to probe the wounds of present sorrow.
A circumstance in connection with the situation of Millbank may
(taken with what I have already said on that prison) give some faint
idea of what confinement there really means. Westminster Tower
clock is not far distant from the penitentiary, so that its every stroke is
as distinctly heard in each cell as if it were situated in one of the prison
yards. At each quarter of an hour, day and night, it chimes a bar of
" Old Hundredth," and those solemn tones strike 011 the ears of the
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES.
lonely listeners like the voice of some monster singing the funeral dirge
of time.
Oft in the lonely watches of the night has it reminded me of the
number of strokes I was doomed to listen to, and of how slowly those
minutes were creeping along ! The weird chant of Westminster clock
will ever haunt my memory, and recall that period of my imprison
ment when I first had to implore Divine Providence to preserve my
reason and save me from the madness which seemed inevitable, through
mental arid corporal tortures combined.
That human reason should give way under such adverse influences
is not, I think, to be wondered at ; and many a still living wreck of
manhood can refer to the silent system of Millbank and its pernicious
surroundings as the cause of his debilitated mind.
It was here that Edward Duffy died, and where Rickard Burke and
Martin Hanly Carey were for a time oblivious of their sufferings from
temporary insanity, and where Daniel Reddin was paralyzed. It was
here where Thomas Ahern first showed symptoms of madness, and was
put in dark cells and strait-jacket for a "test " as to the reality of these
symptoms.
Davitt further avers that during all his confinement at
Millbank,
My conversation with prisoners, at the risk of being punished, of
course. and also with warders and chaplains, would not occupy me
twenty minutes to repeat, could I collect all the scattered words spoken
by me in the whole of that ten months. I recollect many weeks going
by without exchanging a single word with a human being.
Corporal Thomas Chambers says :
I was confined in a ward by myself, was never allowed to be near
other prisoners. Even in chapel I was compelled to kneel apart from
the others and had a jailer close to me. I was removed from one cell
to another every morning arid evening. All through the winter I was
forced to either sit on a bucket or stand up, but would not be allowed
to move about in my cell.
The cells, in which poor Chambers complained he was
not allowed to walk about, were not spacious, being nine
or ten feet long by about eight feet wide, with stone floors,
bare walls, and, for sole furniture, a bedstead of three planks
a few inches from the floor, and a water bucket which had
to serve as a chair when the prisoner was at work picking
oakum or coir. There was no fire ; walking in the cells
was prohibited ; and the scanty bed-clothing barely suf-
52 JOHN BOYLE o liEILLY.
ficed to keep the occupant from freezing. An hour s exer
cise in the yard was allowed every day, the only other
variation of the monotonous regime being the daily work of
washing and scrubbing his cell, which each prisoner had
to do immediately on getting up.
The food was in keeping with the lodgings ; sufficient to
sustain life, but nothing more.
The severest punishment of Millbank was the silence
and solitude, almost unbearable to anybody whose mind
was not exceptionally strong or exceptionally stolid.
O Reilly had the blessing and the curse of genius, an active,
vivid imagination. He found solace in his thoughts and in
the pages of "The Imitation of Christ," which he was al
lowed to read ; but he endured many hours of the keenest
anguish. At times his mind was abnormally active ; he
felt an exaltation of the soul such as an anchorite knows ;
he had ecstatic visions. Again, his vigorous physical
nature asserted itself, and he yearned for freedom, as the
healthy, natural man must ever do in confinement.
But he had made up his mind, on entering the prison,
to conquer circumstances, to preserve his brain and body
sound, and to bear with patience the ills which he could not
escape. He took an interest in studying the fellow prison
ers with whom he was forbidden to hold the slightest inter
course. The prohibition did not always avail, for human
ingenuity can ever circumvent the most rigid of rules. The
political convicts in the early days of their imprisonment
in Arbor Hill had devised a rude system of telegraphy by
tapping on the iron pipes running through all the cells. It
was a slow and cumbrous device, but time was then of
the least importance to them. There were also occasional
chances of exchanging a whisper as they filed to prayers, or
meals, or marched in the hour of daily exercise.
Among O Reilly s MSS. is the following fragment,
written several years ago a curious study of prison life
from the inside :
One meets strange characters in prison, characters which are at
once recognized as being natural to the place, as are bats or owls to a
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 53
cave. Prison characters, like all others, are seen by different men in
different lights. For instance, a visitor passing along a corridor, and
glancing through the iron gates or observation-holes of the cells, sees
only the quiet, and, to him, sullen-looking convict, with all the crime-
suggesting bumps largely developed on his shaven head. The same
man will be looked upon by the officer who has charge of him as one
of the best, most obedient, and industrious of the prisoners, which con
clusion he comes to by a closer acquaintance than, that of the visitor ;
although his observations are still only of exteriors. No man sees the
true nature of the convict but his fellow-convict. He looks at him
with a level glance and sees him in a common atmosphere. However
convicts deceive their prison officers and chaplains, which they do in
the majority of cases, they never deceive their fellows.
I was a convict in an English prison four years ago, and, before the
impressions then received are weakened or rubbed out by time, it may
be of interest to recall a few reminiscences. First, let me remove all
fears of those who are thinking that, where they least expect it, they
have fallen among thieves. I was not in the true sense of the word a
criminal, although -classed with them and treated precisely the same as
they were. My offense against the law was political. I had been a
soldier in a cavalry regiment, and had been convicted of being a repub
lican and trying to make other men the same ; and so, in the winter of
1867, it came about that I occupied Cell 32, in Pentagon 5, Millbaiik
prison, London, on the iron-barred door of which cell hung a small
white card bearing this inscription, "John Boyle O Reilly, 20 years."
Some people would think it strange that I should still regard that
cell in which I spent nearly a year of solitary confinement with
affection ; but it is true. Man is a domestic animal, and to a prisoner,
with "20 years" on his dooi , the cell is Home. I look back with
fond regard to a great many cells and a great many prisons in England
and Australia, which are associated to my mind in a way not to be
wholly understood by any one but myself. And if ever I should go
back to England (which is doubtful, for I escaped from prison in
Australia in 1869, and so permanently ended the 20 years), the first
place I would visit would be one of the old prisons. Remember, my
name and many a passing thought are scratched and written on many
a small place within those cells which I perfectly well recollect, and it
would be a great treat to go back some day and read them. And then,
during the time I was in prison, I got acquainted with thousands of
professional criminals, old and young, who will be the occupants of
the English jails for the next twenty years ; and I confess it would be
of great interest to me to go back and walk the corridor with all the
brimming respectability of a visitor, and stop when I saw a face I knew
of old, and observe how time and villainy had dealt with it.
54 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
I had been in prison about eight months all the time in solitary
confinement before I was brought "cheek by jowl "with the regu
lar criminals. I confess I had a fear of the first plunge into the sea
of villainous association ; but my army experience rendered the immer
sion easier for me than for many others who had been dragged to con
finement from the purity of a happy home. I was in separate confine
ment in Millbank, and I suppose it is necessary to explain, for the
benefit of those who never had the good fortune to live in a prison,
that separate confinement means that the convict so sentenced is to be
shut up in his cell with light work, sewing or picking coir, and to have
one hour s exercise per day, which consists in walking in single
file, with long distances between the prisoners, around the exercise
yard, and then turning an immense crank, which pumps water
into the corridors. The men stood at this crank facing each other,
and the man facing me was a perfect type of the brutal English
jail-bird. I had noticed the fellow in the chapel for three morn
ings previously, but this was the first day I had taken the regular exer
cise.
He was a man about thirty-five years of age, with- a yellowish- white,
corpse-like face, one of those faces on which whiskers never grow, and
only a few long hairs in place of a mustache. Of course he was closely
shaven, but I felt that that was the nature of his whiskers when
"outside." I had noticed, sitting behind this man as I did in chapel,
almost directly in the rear of him, that I could see his eyes. He had a
narrow, straight face, and there was a deep scoop, as it were, taken out
of each bone where the forehead joined the cheek, and through this
scoop I saw the eye from behind even more clearly than when standing
in front of the mail, for his brows overhung in a most forbidding
way.
We had marched, Indian file, from our cells on my first morning s
exercise, and had taken about three circuits of the yard when the
officer shouted in a harsh, unfriendly tone, the prison order, "Halt !
File on to crank, No. 1."
No. 1 turned toward the center of the yard, where ran the series of
cranks arranged with one handle for two men facing each other.
When I got to my place I was face to face with the Corpse-man, and
when he turned his head sideways, I saw his left eye through the scoop
in his cheekbone. The officers stood behind me. There were three of
them to the gang of twenty men, and their duty was to watch so that
no communication took place between the prisoners. I felt that the
Corpse-man wanted to talk to me, but he kept his hidden eyes on the
officers behind me and turned the crank without the movement of a
muscle of his face. Presently, I heard a whisper, "Mate," and I knew
it must be he who spoke, although still not a muscle seemed to move.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 55
I looked at him arid waited. He said again in the same mysterious
manner : " Mate, what s your sentence ? "
x- -jt # * *
Mill bank, which O Reilly in his "Moondyne" calls "a
hideous hive of order and commonplace severity, where the
flooding sunlight is a derision," was more terrible to a man
of his nature, in its grim regularit}^ than the old-fashioned
dungeon. It was pulled down in 1875.
On the expiration of their term of solitary confinement,
in April, 1867, O Reilly, Sergeant McCarthy, and Corporal
Chambers were sent to work with common criminals in the
prison brickyards at Chatham. They were chained together,
as before, and marched through the streets for the delecta
tion of the populace. At Chatham they occupied cells
known as "end cells," which receive ventilation from the
hall only, where the sanitary arrangements of the prison
are situated. The ordinary cells are ventilated from the
outside.
Here O Reilly and two others attempted to escape, and,
being recaptured, were put on bread and water for a month,
and, after that, chained together and sent to Portsmouth.
They were put into gangs, with the worst wretches, to do
the hardest of work. They had to wheel brick for machines.
Each machine will make a great many in an hour, and their
time and numbers were so arranged that from morning till
night they could rest only when the machine did. In
Portsmouth he again attempted to escape ; but failed, and
got thirty days more on bread and water.
He and his companions were next removed in chains to
Dartmoor a place that has associations with American
history. There, on April 6, 1815, occurred the infamous
massacre of American prisoners, shot down by their guards
because of an imaginary plot to break jail. Dartmoor is
the worst of all the English prisons. Only a man of
the strongest constitution can hope to survive the rigor
ous climate and unremitting hard labor of the dreary prison,
planted in the middle of the bleak Devonshire moor. Two
of the Irish convicts died of the hardships and cruelties there
56 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
endured by them. McCarthy and Chambers underwent
twelve years of torture in this and other prisons. They
were released in 1878 ; the former to die in the arms of his
friends within a few days ; the latter, less fortunate, to drag
out eleven years of broken health and unceasing pain.
Both had been typical specimens of manly strength when
they exchanged the British uniform for the convict s garb.
O Reilly, little given to talk of his own suiferings, could
not restrain his indignation when speaking of the studied
brutality inflicted upon his comrades. Writing of Cham
bers s death, which occurred on December 2, 1888, he thus
recalls the Dartmoor days :
Here they were set to work on the marsh, digging deep drains, and
carrying the wet peat in their arms, stacking it near the roadways for
removal. For months they toiled in the drains, which were only two
feet wide, and sunk ten feet in the morass. It was a labor too hard for
brutes, the half-starved men, weakened by long confinement, standing
in water from a foot to two feet deep, and spading the heavy peat out
of the narrow cutting over their heads. Here it was that Chambers
and McCarthy contracted the rheumatic and heart diseases which fol
lowed them to the end. McCarthy had left a wife and children out in
the world, whose woes and wanderings through all the years had racked
his heart even more than disease had his limbs. When at last the cell
door was opened, and he was told that he was free, the unfortunate
man, reaching toward his weeping wife, and his children grown out
of his recollection, fell dead almost at the threshold of the prison.
Chambers lingered till Sunday morning, his body a mass of aches
and diseases that agonized every moment and defied and puzzled all the
skill of the doctors. " They don t know what is the matter with me,"
he said with a smile, a few days ago, to a friend who called at the hos
pital to see him, "but I can tell them. They never saw a man before
who was suffering from the drains of Dartmoor."
Reilly paints the same dark picture again in a ficti
tious work, whose most striking feature is the truthful
sketch of prison life contributed by the ex-convict.
In 1884, in conjunction with Robert Grant, Fred. J.
S; imson (" J. S. Dale"), and John T. Wheelwright, he wrote
the clever, prophetical novel entitled, "The King s Men:
a Tale of To-morrow." It was a story of the reign of
"George the Fifth," and of the coming century. There
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 57
was plenty of humor, and a good deal of wisdom disguised
as humor, in the extravagant pictures drawn by the four
young authors. George the Fifth had fled from his rebel
lious subjects and taken refuge in America. The French
republic, "over seventy years old," and the common
wealths of Germany, thirty-three years old, the aristocratic
republic of Russia, and the other democratic governments
of the world were prosperous, as the British republic, also,
had been under " Donovan Rourke, the first president,
and his two famous ministers, Jonathan Sims and Richard
Lincoln." Some belated royalists plotted to overthrow the
republic and restore the monarchy. Their conspiracy
came to naught, and they were sent into penal servitude.
O Reilly thus sketches the fate of the conspirators :
It was part of the policy of Bagshaw s government thus to march
them through the streets, a spectacle, like a caravan of caged beasts, for
the populace. Geoffrey thought to himself, curiously, of the old tri
umphs of the Roman emperors he had read about as a school-boy.
Then, as now, the people needed bread and loved a show. But the
people, even then, had caught something of the dignity of power.
Silently they pressed upon the sidewalks and thronged the gardens by
the river. Not a voice was raised in mockery of these few men ; there
is something in the last extremity of misfortune which commands
respect, even from the multitude. And, perhaps, even then, the first
fruits of freedom might have been marked in their manner; and mag
nanimity, the first virtue of liberty, kept the London rabble hushed.
The convicts were sent to Dartmoor Prison, which is
graphically described by its old inmate. The picture is
accurate, barring the slight poetical license appropriate to
a fiction of the future :
In the center of its wide waste of barren hills, huge granite outcrop-
pings, and swampy valleys, the gloomy prison of Dartmoor stood
wrapped in mist, one dismal morning in the March following the Roy
alist outbreak. Its two centuries of unloved existence in the midst of
a wild land and fitful climate, had seared every wall-tower and gate
way with lines and patches of decay and discoloration. Originally
built of brown stone, the years had deepened the tint almost to black
ness in the lai-ger stretches of outer wall and unwindowed gable.
On this morning the dark walls dripped with the weeping atmos
phere, and the voice of the huge prison bell in the main yard sounded
distant and strange, like a storm-bell in a fog at sea.
58 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Through the thick drizzle of the early morning the convicts were
marched in gangs to their daily tasks; some to build new walls within
the prison precincts, some to break stone in the round yard, encircled
by enormous iron railings fifteen feet high, some to the great kitchen
of the prison, and to the different workshops. About one third of the
prisoners marched outside the walls by the lower entrance; for the
prison stands on a hill, at the foot of which stretches the most forsaken
and grisly waste in all Dartmoor.
The task of the convicts for two hundred yeai-s had been the recla
mation of this wide waste, which was called "The Farm." The French
prisoners of war, taken in the Napoleonic wars that ended with Waterloo,
had dug trenches to drain the waste. The American prisoners of the
War of 1812 had laid roadways through the marsh. The Irish rebels
of six generations had toiled in the tear-scalded footsteps of the French
and American captives. And all the time the main or "stock " supply
of English criminals, numbering usually about four hundred men, had
spent their weary years in toiling and broiling at "The Farm."
Standing at the lower gate of the prison, from which a steep road
descended to the marsh looking over " The Farm," it was hard to see
anything like a fair return for such continued and patient labor. Deep
trenches filled with claret-colored water drained innumerable patches
of sickly vegetation. About a hundred stunted fruit trees and as many
bedraggled haystacks were all that broke the surface line.
To the left of the gate, on the sloping side of the hill, was a quad
rangular space of about thirty by twenty yards, round which was built
a low wall of evidently great antiquity. The few courses of stones
were huge granite bowlders and slabs torn and rolled from the hillside.
There was no gateway or break in the square; to enter the inclosure
one must climb over the wall, which was easy enough to do.
Inside the square was a rough heap of granite, a cairn, gray with
lichens, in the center of which stood, or rather leaned, a tall, square
block of granite, like a dolmen. So great was the age of this strange
obelisk that the lichens had encrusted it to the top. The stone had
once stood upright; but it now leaned toward the marsh, the cairn
having slowly yielded on the lower side.
*****
Geoffrey, who had been employed in the office of the Governor of
the prison, and who had, on hearing this old monument was to be re
paired, volunteered 011 behalf of the three others to do the work, now
told the story of the old monument as he had learned it from the prison
records which he had been transcribing :
"In the wars of the Great Napoleon," Geoffrey said, "the French
prisoners captured by England were confined in hulks on the seacoast
till the hulks overflowed. Then this prison was built, and filled with
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES.
59
unfortunate Frenchmen. In 1812 the young republic of America went
to war with England, and hundreds of American captives were added
to the Frenchmen. During the years of their confinement scores of
these poor fellows died, and one day the Americans mutinied, and then
other scores were shot down in the main yard. This field was the
gi aveyard of those prisoners, and here the strangers slept for over half
a century, till their bones were washed out of the hillside by the rain
storms. There happened to be in Dartmoor at that time a party of
Irish rebels, and they asked permission to collect the bones and bury
them securely. The Irishmen raised this cairn and obelisk to the
Americans and Frenchmen, and now, after another hundred years, we
are sent to repair their loving testimonial."
" It is an interesting story," said Featherstone.
" A sad story for old men," said the Duke.
" A brave story for boys," said Mr. Sydney ; " I could lift this obe
lisk itself for sympathy."
They went on, working and chatting in low tones, till an exclama
tion from Sydney made them look up. Sydney was on top of the cairn,
scraping the lichens from the obelisk. The moss was hard to cut, and
had formed a crust, layer on layer, half an inch in thickness.
" What is it, my dear Sydney ? " asked the Duke.
" An inscription !" cried Sydney, scraping away. " An inscription
nearly a hundred years old. I have uncovered the year see, 1867."
"Ay," said Geoffrey, " that was the year the Irish were here."
Featherstone had gone to Sydney s assistance, and with the aid of a
sharp flint soon uncovered the whole inscription. It ran thus :
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THE
FEENCH AND AMERICAN PRISONERS
OF WAR,
Who died in Dartmoor Prison during the
Years 1811-16.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
Underneath were the words, " Erected 1867."
There is no fiction* in this last incident. O Reilly and
his fellow-prisoners actually erected such a cairn over the
bones of the massacred Americans, which the prison pigs
were rooting up.
60 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Again he recalls liis Dartmoor life in the letter from
"James Sydney," one of the royalist prisoners, who
remains behind in Dartmoor after his comrades have
escaped. The letter reads :
Since your escape I have been under the strictest surveillance, and
as I have recovered from my gout I have been set to work upon the
ignoble task of breaking stones into small bits with a hammer. I am
known as No. 5, and am called by no other name. Imagine me, who
found it so difficult to look out for Number One, having to care for
No. 5. Indeed, I should find" it well-nigh impossible were it not for
the assistance which I have from the warders and turnkeys, who look
after me with a touching solicitude. No physician could have kept me
to a regimen so suitable for my health as strictly as they. You remem
ber how I used to enjoy lying abed in the morning. What a pleasure
it was to wake up, to feel that the busy world was astir around you,
and lie half awake, half asleep, stretching your toes into cool recesses
of a soft, luxurious bed. But it made me idle, very idle. But now I
must be off my hard cot, be dressed and have my cot made up by half-
past five ; then I breakfast off a piece of bread, washed down with a pint
of unsweetened rye coffee, innocent of milk, drunk au naturel out of a
tin pail. And how I wish for my after-breakfast cigar and the Times,
as I put my hands upon a fellow-convict s shoulder and march in slow
procession to my task. The woi k of breaking a large piece of stone
into smaller bits with a hammer is not an intellectual one ; but it has
got me into tolerable training ; I have lost twenty pounds already, and
am, as we used to say at the university, as "hard as nails." I am
afraid that my old trousers, which my tailor used to let out year by
year, would be a world too large for my shrunk shanks now. I dine at
noon, as you remember, and for the first time in my life I do not dress
for dinner ; indeed, a white cravat and a dress coat would be inappro
priate when one sits down to bean porridge and boiled beef served in
the same tin plate. But I have a good appetite after my pulverizing of
the morning, and I am not compelled to set the table in a roar under
duress. I am surprised what good things I think of now that I am not
expected to and have no one to whom to say them. Jawkins would
double my salary could he get me out. Rye coffee is a poor substitute
for Chambertin, but it does not aggravate my gout. After dinner I
return to my stone-breaking, and feel with delight my growing biceps
muscle, and after my supper, which is monotonously like my breakfast,
I tackle the tracts which are left with me by kindly souls. They are of
a class of literature which I have neglected since childhood, having, as
you may remember, a leaning toward "facetiae." In fact, since my
great-aunt s withdrawal to another world, where it may be hoped that
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 61
the stones are more brittle and the coffee better, I have seen none. I
cannot say that I have been comforted by the tracts, but I have been
interested by them, and I spend the brief hours of leisure which are
vouchsafed to me in annotating- my editions.
Few who read this light and good-humored complaint
of the imaginary royalist conspirator cam have conceived
any idea of the horrors actually endured and silently for
given by its victim. I would gladly dismiss the painful
story, but other pens have told it all ; and the world that
knew John Boyle O Reilly as the refined, courtly gentle
man and the magnanimous Christian, should know also in
what a rough school he learned to be gentle through what
cruel tortures he learned to be merciful.
If Dartmoor had been deliberately chosen and systemati
cally conducted as an engine of torture, it could not have
better served its })urpose of breaking body and mind,
heart and soul. The prison cells were of iron, seven feet
long by four feet wide, and a little over seven feet high :
ventilated by an opening of two or three inches at the bot
tom of the door, some of them having a few holes for the
escape of foul air at the top of the cell walls. They were
oppressively warm in summer, and dismally cold in winter.
"Fresh* air came from the corridors, whence also came
the only light enjoyed by the inmates, through a pane of
thick, semi-opaque glass.
The food was so bad that only starving men, such as they
were, could stomach it. It was often too filthy even for
their appetites. "It was quite a common occurrence in
Dartmoor," says Michael Davitt, "for men to be reported
and punished for eating candles, boot-oil, and other repul
sive articles ; but, notwithstanding that a highly offensive
smell is purposely given to prison candles to prevent their
being eaten instead of burnt, men are driven by a system
of half-starvation into animal-like voracity, and anything
that a dog could eat is nowise repugnant to their taste. I
have even seen men eating but the heart sickens at the
relation of what Mr. Davitt has seen, and we cannot but
think with horror of such a degradation being set before
62 JOHN BOYLE O*KEILLY.
such men as these, before any creature made in God s
image and likeness.
The work was hard enough at best. It was wantonly
made more repulsive by the inhumanity of the jailers ; and
the jailers did not act without authority. The putrefying
bones refuse of* the prison had to be pounded into dust ;
and the place chosen for this offensive work was a shed on
the brink of the prison cesspool. The floor of the "bone-
shed," as it was called, was some three feet below the
outside ground, and on a level with the noisome cesspool.
The stench of this work-room and the foul air of the
cells, combined with the bad and insufficient food, tended
to undermine the health of the wretched prisoners ; for,
observe, they were set to work on the wet moors outside,
during the cold winter, and in the foul bone-shed during
the stifling summer days ! Siberia may have sharper
tortures, but none more revolting in cold, deliberate
cruelty, than those of Dartmoor.
There was other work, plenty of it, in the Dartmoor
institution, delving, building, and toiling in various ways.
The men were not allowed to be idle as long as they were
able to lift a hand or foot. When Davitt came out of Dart
moor, having entered prison a healthy man of normal
weight, he weighed 122 pounds. " Not, I think," he says,
."a proper weight for a man six feet high and at the age of
thirty-one."
McCarthy came out to die, and Chambers to linger a
wreck for the remainder of his wasted life.
In short, the political prisoners were systematically sub
jected to harsher treatment than the hardened criminals
with whom they were associated ; and this was done as a
iixed policy of the Government, to make treason odious.
Being men of natural refinement, they felt more keenly than
the common felon the indignity of having to strip and be
searched four times a day ; and, as they were unwise
enough to show this reluctance, the coarse warders of the
prison took an especial delight in inflicting it upon them.
O Reilly was a "good" prisoner ; that is, he took care
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 63
to save himself as far as possible from the indignities of
his condition by paying strict obedience to the prison rules ;
but he never despaired of effecting his escape, nor neglected
any promising opportunity to that end. During his Dart
moor term he made his third break for freedom.
The authorities were accustomed to station sentries at
certain elevated points on the moor, to watch the drain-
cutting parties of prisoners, and to signal the approach of
a fog which they could see rolling in from seaward. Upon
the signals being given, the warders would summon the
working parties in the drains and gather them all within the
prison walls. O Reilly was working in a gang of drain-
diggers in charge of one Captain Hodges. With him was
another Fenian ex-soldier, Michael Lavin, who tells an in
teresting story of his comrade s desperate break for liberty.
O Reilly had secretly made himself a suit of clothes from
one of the coarse sheets with which each prisoner was sup
plied, skillfully arranging his bundle of bedding so that the
sheet was not missed. He told Lavin one day that he had
made up his mind to escape. Accordingly, on the first ap
pearance of an opportune fog, he hid himself in the drain
when his fellow-prisoners obeyed the warders summons to
return to the prison yard. Before his absence was discov
ered he had made his way well out of the bounds. Search
was immediately instituted, but he evaded pursuit during
two days and nights.
Once he was so closely followed that he took refuge on
the top of an old house, and lay concealed behind the
smoke-stack until the guards had gone by. Thence he
dropped into a dyke communicating with the river, intend
ing at nightfall to swim the latter in the hope of making his
way to the seacoast. For a long time he lay thus hidden,
holding to the bank by one hand, while the guards patrolled
overhead without perceiving him. An officer stationed
some distance oif closely watched the place with a field-
glass. His suspicions were aroused by perceiving a ripple
on the water, and he communicated with the guards, who
thereupon discovered the fugitive and brought him back to
64 JOHN BOYLE o REILLlf.
prison. For this offense he was given twenty-eight days in
the punishment cells, his only nourishment being bread and
water, save on every fourth day, when full rations were
served. During all the time of his flight he had not eaten
an ounce of food.
Four months were spent by O Reilly in this dismal
prison-house. Then came the welcome order of transfer to
Portland, preparatory to transportation beyond the seas.
While any change from the living hell of Dartmoor could
not but be welcome to its inmates, the decree of transpor
tation did not apply to all of the Irish convicts. McCarthy
and Chambers were doomed to fret their souls away under
the great and petty tortures of their English dungeons.
For O Reilly there was the boon of banishment to the
furthest end of the earth, an inhospitable wilderness ; and
separation, probably forever, from the land of his birth and
love, from the comrades whom a community of suffering
had endeared to him. But it was a boon, for it was a
change, and any change was welcome to one in such a
plight as his. In an interview, published a few years ago,
he thus told of how the good news came to him :
In October, 67, there were in Dartmoor prison six convicts, who,
to judge from their treatment, must have been infinitely darker crimi
nals than even the murderous-looking- wretches around them. These
men were distinguished by being allotted an extra amount of work,
hunger, cold, and curses, together with the thousand bitter aids that
are brought to bear in the enforcement of English prison discipline.
At the time I now recall, three of those men were down in the social
depths indeed, with one exception, they were in prison for life ; and
even in prison were considered as the most guilty and degraded there.
This unusually hard course was the result of a dream they had been
dreaming for years, dreaming as they wheeled the heavy brick cars,
dreaming as they hewed the frozen granite, dreaming as they breathed
011 their cold fingers in the dark penal cells, dreaming in the deep
swamp-drain, dreaming awake and asleep, always dreaming of Lib
erty ! That thought had never left them. They had attempted to
realize it, and had failed. But the wild, stealthy thought would come
back into their hearts and be cherished there. This was the result,
hunger, cold, and curses. The excitement was dead. There was nought
left now but patience and submission. I have said that the excitement,
hw^ *"*"
AT , ,;> ^ aM-c^>
r^^ OJjuajZ rn y
tf ~&{*M ^
fyusniAw *f
// .
FAC SIMILE LETTER "WRITTEN IN PRISON ORIGINAL IN POSSESSION OF
MRS. MERRY OF LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.
HIS LIFE, POKMS AND SPEECHES. 65
even of failure, was dead ; but another and stronger excitement took
its place. A rumor went through the prison, in the weirdly mysteri
ous way in which rumors do go through a prison. However it came is
a mystery, but there did come a rumor to the prison, even to the dark
cells, of a ship sailing for Australia !
Australia ! the ship ! Another chance for the old dreams ; and the
wild thought was wilder than ever, and not half so stealthy. Down the
corridor came the footsteps again. The keys rattled, doors opened, and
in live minutes we had double irons on our arms, and were chained
together by a bright, strong chain. We did not look into each other s
faces ; we had learned to know what the others were thinking of with
out speaking. We had a long ride to the railway station, in a villain
ous Dartmoor conveyance, and then a long ride in the railway cars to
Portland. It was late at night when we arrived there, and got out of
harness. The ceremony of receiving convicts from another prison is
amusing and " racy of the soil." To give an idea of it, it is enough to
say that every article of clothing which a prisoner wears must at once
go back to the prison whence he came. It may be an hour, or two, or
more, before a single article is drawn from the stores of the receiving
prison, during which time the felon is supremely primitive. To the
prison officials this seems highly amusing ; but to me, looking at it
with the convict s eye and feelings, the point of the joke was rather
obscure.
Next day we went to exercise, not to work. We joined a party of
twenty of our countrymen, who had arrived in Portland one day before
us. They had come from Ireland had only been in prison for a few
months. They had news for us. One of them, an old friend, told me
he had left my brother in prison in Ireland, waiting trial as a Fenian.*
Many others got news just as cheering, A week passed away. Then
came the old routine, old to us, but new and terrible to the men from
Ireland, double irons and chains. This time there were twenty men
on each chain, the political prisoners separate from the criminals.
"Forward there ! and we dragged each other to the esplanade of the
prison. It was a gala day, a grand parade of the convicts. They
were drawn up in line, a horrible and insulting libel on an army,
and the governor, and the doctors of the prison and ship reviewed
them. There were two or three lounging in the prison yard that day,
who, I remember well, looked strangely out of place there. They had
honest, bronzed faces and careless sailor s dress, the mates and boat
swain of the Hougoumont, who had come ashore to superintend the
embarkation.
* This brother was William, the eldest of the family ; he died ere John had
made his escape.
66 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
The review was over. The troops Heaven forgive me ! formed in
columns of chains, arid marched to the steamer which was waiting to
convey them to the transport. Our chain was in the extreme rear.
Just as we reached the gangway to go on board, a woman s piercing
shriek rose up from the crowd on the wharf; a young girl rushed
wildly out, and threw herself, weeping and sobbing, on the breast of a
man in our chain, poor Thomas Dunne. She was his sister. She had
come from Dublin to see him before he sailed away. They would not
let her see him in prison, so she had come there to see him in his
chains. Oh ! may God keep me from ever seeing another scene like
that which we all stood still to gaze at; even the merciless officials for
a moment hesitated to interfere. Poor Dunne could only stoop his head
arid kiss his sister his arms were chained ; and that loving, heart-broken
girl, worn out by grief, clung to his arms and his chains, as they dragged
her away ; and when she saw him pushed rudely to the gangway,
she raised her voice in a wild cry: " Oh, God ! oh, God ! " as if reproach
ing Him who willed such things to pass. From the steamer s deck we
saw her still watching tirelessly, and we tried to say words of comfort
to that brother her brother and ours. He knew she was alone, and
had no friends in wide England. Thank God, he is a free man now in
a free country !
The steamer backed her paddles alongside the high ship and we went
on board, the criminals having gone first. Our chains were knocked
off on the soldier-lined decks, and we were ordered to go below. The
sides of the main hatchway were composed of massive iron bars, and,
as we went down, the prisoners within clutched the bars and looked
eagerly through, hoping, perhaps, to see a familiar face. As I stood in
that hatchway, looking at the wretches glaring out, I realized more
than ever before the terrible truth that a convict ship is a floating hell.
The forward hold was dark, save the yellow light of a few ship s lamps.
There were 320 criminal convicts in there, and the sickening thought
occurred to us, are our friends in there among them? There swelled
up a hideous diapason from that crowd of wretches; the usual prison
restraint was removed, and the reaction was at its fiercest pitch.
Such a din of diabolical sounds no man ever heard. We hesitated
before entering the low-barred door to the hold, unwilling to plunge
into the seething den. As we stood thus, a tall, gaunt man pushed his
way through the criminal crowd to the door. He stood within, and,
stretching out his arms, said: " Come, we are waiting for you." I did
not know the face ; I knew the voice. It was my old friend and com
rade, Keating.
We followed him through the crowd to a door leading amidships
from the criminal part of the ship. This door was opened by another
gaunt man within, and we entered. Then the door was closed and we
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 67
\vere with our friends our brothers. Great God ! what a scene that
was, and how vividly it arises to my mind now!
The sixty-three political prisoners on the Hougoumont
were the first lot that had been sent to Australia since the
Irish uprising of 1848, nor have any others been sent since
her voyage. Of these prisoners some fifteen had been sol
diers and were, therefore, classed and placed among the
criminals. This would have been a greater hardship but
for the fact that some of the soldiers in the ship s guard
belonged to regiments in which certain of the prisoners had
served, and, with comrade sympathy, alleviated their lot
as far as possible.
All but one or two of the guards were friendly to the ex-
soldiers, who were allowed to occupy the quarters of the
political prisoners by day, but forced to pass the night with
the criminals in the forepart of the ship. O Reilly was
made an exception, through the good-nature of the guards,
who always allowed him, though against the rules, to
sling his hammock in the compartment on the lower deck
below the cabin, where the political prisoners slept. He
received many kindnesses also from the ship s chaplain,
Father Delaney, who furnished the paper and writing
materials for a remarkable periodical entitled "The Wild
Goose." The name had a significance for Irishmen. The
soldiers of Sarsfield, who took service in the French and
other foreign armies on the failure of their country s
effort for liberty, were called "The Wild Geese." Many
a sad or stirring song has told the story of their exile, and
their valor. "The Wild Goose" was edited by John
Boyle O Reilly, John Flood, Denis B. Cashman, and J.
Edward O Kelly. It was a weekly publication, Mr. Cash
man writing the ornamental heading entwined with sham
rocks, and the various sub-heads, as well as contributing to
its contents. Saturday was publishing day. On Sunday
afternoon O Reilly read it aloud to his comrades as they
sat around their berths below decks. In its columns first
appeared his stirring narrative poem, " The Flying Dutch
man," written off the Cape of Good Hope. "We pub-
68 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
lislied seven weekly numbers of it," lie says. " Amid the
dim glare of the lamp the men, at night, would group
strangely on extemporized seats. The yellow light fell
down on the dark forms, throwing a ghastly glare on the
pale faces of the men as they listened with blazing eyes to
Davis s Fontenoy, or the Clansman s Wild Address to
Shane s Head ! Ah, that is another of the grand picture
memories that come only to those who deal with life s
stern realities ! "
Every night the exiles, Catholic and Protestant, for
there were men of both faiths in their ranks, joined in one
prayer, which ran as follows :
" O God, who art the arbiter of the destiny of nations,
and who rulest the world in Thy great wisdom, look down,
we beseech Thee, from Thy holy place, on the sufferings of
our poor country. Scatter her enemies, O Lord, and con
found their evil projects. Hear us, O God, hear the earnest
cry of our people, and give them strength and fortitude to
dare and suffer in their holy cause. Send her help, O Lord !
from Thy holy place. And from Zion protect her. Amen."
But if the political prisoners were able to forget their
misery for a time in this way, there was no such surcease for
the seething mass of crime that peopled the forward hold.
"Only those," says O Reilly in "Moondyne," "who
have stood within the bars, and heard the din of devils and
the appalling sounds of despair, blended in a diapason
that made every hatch-mouth a vent of hell, can imagine
the horrors of the hold of a convict ship."
The punishment cell was seldom empty ; its occupants as
they looked through its bars at the deck "saw, strapped
to the foremast, a black gaff or spar with iron rings, which,
when the spar was lowered horizontally, corresponded to
rings screwed into the deck. This was the triangle, where
the unruly convicts were triced up and flogged every morn
ing. Above this triangle, tied round the foremast, was a
new and very fine hempen rope, leading away to the encf of
the foreyard. This was the ultimate appeal, the law s last
terrible engine the halter which swung mutineers and
murderers out over the hissing sea to eternity."
CHAPTER IV.
Prison life in Australia O Reilly Transferred from Fremantle to Bun-
bury Cruel Punishment for a Technical Offense Daring Plan to
Escape Free at Last under the American Flag 1 .
AT length, the long and dreary voyage ended, and the
old Hougoumont dropped anchor in the roadstead of
Fremantle at three o clock in the morning of January 10,
1868. Her passengers could see, high above the little town
and the woodland about it, the great white stone prison
which represents Fremantle s reason for existence. It
was "The Establishment" ; that is to say, the Govern
ment ; that is to say, the advanced guard of Christian
civilization in the wild Bush. The native beauty of the
place is marred by the straggling irregularity of the town,
as it is blighted by the sight, and defiled by the touch, of
the great criminal establishment.
The first official function was the reading of the rules.
What struck O Reilly most in that long code was the start
ling peroration to the enumeration of so many offenses,
" the penalty of which is Death ! "
After this ceremony the prisoners were separated, the
sheep from the goats, the criminals going ashore first to
swell the population of four or five hundred of their kind
already there. Curiously enough, the arrival of the Hou
goumont was made the subject of a quasi-religious contro
versy in the settlement, the Protestants murmuring at the
arrival of so many political prisoners. They did not com
plain so much of the criminal convicts ; but their aversion
to the Irishmen was reconsidered on better acquaintance.
Father Lynch was the Catholic chaplain of Fremantle
prison, and one of the many w r ho took an immediate liking
to young O Reilly. Although the latter, like the other
69
70 JOHN BOYLE O EEILLY.
military convicts, had been separated from his fellows and
assigned to the gang of criminals, Father Lynch managed
to have him detailed as an assistant in the library. The
political prisoners who had not been soldiers were sent to
Perth, twelve miles away, to work in the road-gangs or
quarries.
One day, four weeks thereafter, O Reilly was sum
moned by the officer in whose immediate charge he was,
who said to him, " You will go down to the vessel (men
tioning her name), and deliver the articles named in this
bill of lading ; read it !"
O Reilly read it. It called for the delivery, in good
order and condition, of three articles ; to wit : One convict,
No. 9843, one bag, and one hammock or bed. O Reilly
was No. 9843 ; his destination was the convict settlement
of Bunbury, thirty miles along the coast, west of Fre-
mantle.
Arrived there he was assigned to one of the road parties
and began the dreary life of a convict, which, however, was
relieved from the utter woe of Millbank s solitary days, or
the revolting cruelties of Chatham and Dartmoor. Still it
was bad enough. Among the criminals with whom he was
forced to associate were some of the most degraded of
human kind, murderers, burglars, sinners of every grade
and color of vice. They were the poison flower of civiliza
tion s corruption, more depraved than the savage, as they
were able to misuse the advantages of superior knowledge.
They were the overflow of society s cesspool, the irreclaim
able victims of sin too often the wretched fruits of he
redity or environment. Happily for the young, generous,
clean- minded rebel, who had been doomed to herd with
this prison scum, God had given him the instincts of pure
humanity ; and ill-fortune, instead of blighting^ had nour
ished their growth. He looked upon his fellow-sufferers
with eyes of mercy, seeing how many of them were the
victims, directly or indirectly, of cruel, selfish, social condi
tions. In the Australian Bush he saw humanity in two
naked aspects : the savage, utterly ignorant of civilized vir-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 71
tues as of civilized vices ; and the white convict, stripped of
all social hypocrisies, revealing the worst traits of depraved
humanity. Both were "naked and not ashamed." For
the savages, so-called, he entertained a sincere and abiding
admiration. . "Why," he said, years afterwards, "I found
that those creatures were men and women, just like the
rest of us ; the difference between those poor black boys
and the men of the Somerset Club was only external. I
have good friends among those Australian savages, to-day,
that I would be as glad to meet as any man I know."
We know from his own "Moondyne," and other works,
how tenderly and how charitably he regarded even the
, lowest of his convict associates. It would be worth much
to a student of human nature could we know how they
regarded him. How strange a sojourner in their logging-
camps and prison cells must have been this young, hand
some, daring, generous, kindly poet, who wore their con
vict s garb, toiled beside them with axe and shovel, and
dreamed dreams, while they cursed their hard fate or
obscenely mocked at their enemy, Mankind !
He soon won the respect of the officer under whose
immediate charge he was, a man named Woodman, who,
appreciating O Reilly s ability, gladly availed himself of
his help in making out his monthly reports and other
clerical work. He also appointed him a "constable," as
those prisoners were called, who, for good conduct, were
detailed as aids to the officer in charge of each working
party. The constable wears a red stripe on his sleeve, as a
badge of his office ; he is employed to carry dispatches
from station to station, and is usually sent to conduct to
prison any convict on the road-gang who may prove refrac
tory or mutinous. The constables must not be confounded
with the ticket-of-leave men. They were under no legal or
moral parole ; on the contrary, they were held to the
strictest account, and punished more severely than ordi
nary criminals if they failed in their duties. O Reilly had
good reason to know this, as a slight involuntary breach of
the rules once brought down upon him a most heartless
72 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
and inhuman punishment. The story has a double interest,
both as showing the opportunities for malicious cruelty
possessed by even a subordinate prison officer, and the
infinite charity with which O Reilly was able to forgive an
atrocious wrong.
At one of the stations to which he was occasionally sent
with messages there was an overseer, warden, or watch-dog
of some sort, who chose to be an exception to all human
kind, by conceiving, at sight, a bitter dislike to young
O Reilly. On their very first meeting he looked hard at the
iiew-comer, and said :
" Young man, you know what you are here for " ; add
ing, with an oath, "I will help you to know it." From
that time on he watched his victim sharply, hoping to catch
him in some infraction of the many regulations governing
the convict settlement.
At last his time came. O Reilly, one day, was a few
minutes late in making his trip. He found the overseer
waiting for him, watch in hand. " You are late, so many
minutes," he said ; "you are reported." Among the pen
alties of being " reported," one was that the offender should
not be allowed to send or receive a letter for six months.
A few days after this incident, the overseer called O Reilly
into his office. He held in his hand a letter, heavily bor
dered in black, which he had just perused. O Reilly knew
that his mother, at home in Ireland, had been dangerously
ill for some time. The letter probably bore the news of her
death, but it might contain tidings of a less bitter loss.
Nobody in the place, except the overseer, knew its con
tents. He said: "O Reilly, here is a letter for you."
The prisoner said, "Thank you," and held out his hand
for it. The overseer looked at him for a moment, then,
tossing the letter into a drawer, said, " You will get it in
six months ! "
When at the end of six months he received the letter, he
found that it confirmed his worst fears. The mother whom
he had loved and idolized was dead.
Listening to this story, years afterwards, from the lips
HIS LIFE, POEMS AISTD SPEECHES. 73
of its victim, I asked him why he had never published the
name of the cold-blooded wretch, for the execration of hu
manity. He smiled and said that he did riot bear the fellow
any malice ; that a man who would do a deed of that kind
must be insane and irresponsible, a being toward whom
one could not cherish animosity. To a request that the
name might be given to somebody of less magnanimous
soul, he replied, " I do not know his name now ; I have
forgotten it." For that reason the name does not appear
in these pages.
But life in the Bush was not all made up of tragedy, or
even of misery. To the poet there was consolation, and al
most happiness, in the glorious open air, amid the grand
primeval trees, and the strange birds and beasts of the an
tipodes. The land about him lay at the world s threshold.
Strange monsters of pre-histoiic form still peopled the for
est, monsters of the vegetable as well as of the animal king
dom.
One incident will illustrate his love of nature, which,
curiously enough, found more frequent expression in his
prose than in his verse, and was still more a part of his life
than of his writings. For, while he passionately loved and
keenly enjoyed all the delights of communion with nature,
his joy and love were personal pleasures. They formed no
part of the sermon which it was his mission to preach. The
text of that sermon was Humanity. To that he subordi
nated every impulse of mere sentiment. This long preface
to a short story is excusable, because the criticism has been
made, and with justice, that O Reilly s poetry is strangely
wanting in the purely descriptive element. The only long
poem to which that criticism least applies is his " King of
the Vasse," in which are many wonderfully strong and
beautiful pictures of nature.
It happened that the road-gang with which he was
working, in following the course laid out by the surveyors,
came upon a magnificent tree, a giant among its fellows,
the growth of centuries, towering aloft to the sky and
spreading enormous arms on every side. The wealth of an
74 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
empire could not buy this peerless work of nature. The
word of an unlettered ruler of a convict gang was potent
enough for its destruction ; for it lay right in the middle of
the surveyed road. The order was given to cut it down.
Reilly argued and pleaded for its preservation, but in
vain. All that he could obtain was a reluctantly granted
reprieve, and appeal to a higher power. He went this
absurd poet in a striped suit to the commander of the dis
trict, and pleaded for the tree. The official was so amused
at his astounding audacity that he told his wife, who, being
a woman, had a soul above surveys and rights of way. She
insisted on visiting the tree, and the result of her visit was
a phenomenon. The imperial road was turned from its
course, and a grand work of nature stands in the West
Australian forests as a monument to the convict poet.
The scum of civilization amid which O Reilly was
anchored lay just above the depths of primitive savagery ;
there was no intermediate layer. But there was one im
measurable gulf between the naked savage and the branded
outcast of civilization. The savage was free. The white
man envied him, as one who drowns may envy him who
swims in the dangerous waves. The savage was free,
because he could live in the Bush.
There was no need of fetters or warders to prevent the
criminal s escape. Nature had provided a wall absolutely
impassable in the boundless Bush, in whose thorny depths
the fugitive was lost at the first plunge. Could he bury
himself in its recesses, and hide his trail from the keen
scent of the native trackers, employed as sleuth-hounds by
the Government, he would still be almost as helpless as a
traveler lost in the desert, or a mariner on a plank in mid-
ocean. He had no weapons with which to kill game ; he
was ignorant of the country and liable to perish of thirst
or hunger ; above all he had no definite goal in sight. The
pathless Bush lay before him, thousands of miles in one
direction, the wide, deserted Indian Ocean in the other.
He might eke out a precarious existence for a while in the
Bush, living a life lower than that of the lowest savage,
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 75
whose wood-craft could procure him a living ; but he had
no hope of freedom, near or remote. Of the two alterna
tives left him (outside that of penal servitude), suicide was
rather better than flight to the Bush.
So said the good priest, Father McCabe, when O Reilly,
consumed with the mad passion for liberty, told him his
crude plans of escape. Perhaps flight was worse than sui
cide, in an earthly sense, because its inevitable failure
carried with it a penalty, that of enrollment in the chain-
gangs. The horrors of this punishment are not to be
understood by free men. Something of them may be
gleaned from O Reilly s poem, "The Mutiny of the
Chains," in which he says :
Woe to the weak, to the mutineers !
The bolt of their death is driven ;
A mercy waits on all other tears,
But the Chains are never forgiven.
He had been a little over a year in the convict settle
ment before the long-sought opportunity came of break
ing his bonds forever. The story of his escape would
be deeply interesting had he been nothing more than a
mere adventurer like Baron Trenck, or a poor court intriguer
like Latude ; for the world we are all only prisoners under
a life sentence is ever stirred by the story of a bondman
breaking his fetters ; but a warmer sympathy is evoked by
the tale of this young hero of a romantic revolutionary
movement, this poet whose whole life was a poem.
The true account was not given to the world for many
years, as its premature publication would have entailed
serious consequences on some of the agents in Australia
through whose devotion and courage the young convict
had effected his escape. The first authentic story, as pub
lished with his sanction by his brother author and warm
friend, Mr. Alexander Young, of Boston, in the Philadel
phia Times of June 25, 1881, is as follows :
O Reilly had made preparations for his escape several months before
attempting it. He had told no one of his intention, because he had
76 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
witnessed so many failures that he decided the safest way was to trust
to himself alone. A chance occurrence led him to change his mind.
One day while in camp with a convict road party, he had a call from
the Rev. Patrick McCabe, a Catholic priest, whose "parish " extended
over hundreds of miles of wild Bush country, and whose only parish
ioners were convicts and ticket-of -leave men. This scholarly, accom
plished gentleman had at that time passed fifteen years in ministering
to the spiritual needs of convicts, upon whom he exerted a very benefi
cial influence. His days were almost wholly spent in the saddle,
riding alone from camp to camp, and the nights found him wrapped in
his blanket under the trees. He was kind to all men, whatever their
creed, and a sincere Christian worker. O Reilly, who had found him
a warm friend during his stay in the penal colony, thus bears witness
to .his usefulness : "He was the best influence ; indeed, in my time, he
was the only good influence, on the convicts in the whole district of
Bunbury." O Reilly told him his plans of escape as they walked
together in the Bush. "It is an excellent way to commit suicide,"
said the thoughtful priest, who refused to talk about or countenance it.
He mounted his horse to say good-by, and, leaning from the saddle
toward O Reilly, he said : " Don t- think of that again. Let me think
out a plan for you. You ll hear from me before long." Weeks and
months passed, and O Reilly never heard from him. It was a weary
waiting, but the convict, though tortured by the uncertainty which
kept him from working his own plan, and even hindered him from
sleep, still had confidence in his absent and silent friend and adviser.
O Reilly was exempt from the hardships of labor with the criminal
gang on the roads, but had charge of their stores and carried the war
den s weekly report to the Bunbury depot. While trudging along
with this report one day he reached a plain called the " Race Course."
As he was crossing it he heard a " coo-ee," or bush-cry. Looking wist
fully in the direction of the sound, he saw a stalwart man coming
toward him with an axe on his shoulder. There was a pleasant smile
on his handsome face as he approached O Reilly and said : " My name
is Maguire ; I m a friend of Father Mac s, and he s been speaking about
you." Having learned the importance of distrusting strangers in con
vict land, O Reilly said but a few words and those such as could not
reveal his relations with the priest. Observing his hesitation, the
stranger took a card from his wallet on which was a message addressed
to O Reilly in the handwriting of Father McCabe. This set at rest all
doubts and fears of the man s intentions. O Reilly eagerly listened to
what he had to say, for he had come to carry out the good priest s plan
of escape. He said he was clearing the race course, and would be at
work there fora month. In February it was then December Ameri
can whalers would touch at Bunbury for water, and he should arrange
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 77
with one of them to secrete O Reilly on board and take him out of
danger. This was cheering news, but, during the week which passed
before he again saw Maguire, O Reilly could hardly sleep for fear that
the man would shrink, when the time came, from the danger to his own
life of helping him to escape. But Maguire s hearty and confident
manner when he next saw him helped to dispel these fears. "You ll
be a free man in February," he said, " as sure as my name is
Maguire."
December and January passed away, and a wood-cutter chancing to
go to the convict-road camp mentioned the fact that three American
whaling barks had put into Bunbury. The news made O Reilly terribly
anxious lest the plan for his escape should fall through. He deter
mined to venture out by himself if he heard nothing from his friends.
On returning from the depot, to which he had carried his weekly
report, as usual, O Reilly found Maguire waiting for him at the race
course. "Are you readj" ? " were the faithful fellow s first words. He
then said that one of the whalers, the bark Vigilant, of New Bedford,
was to sail in four days and that Captain Baker had agreed to take
O Reilly on board if he fell in with him outside Australian waters, and
had even promised to cruise for two or three days and keep a lookout
for him. Maguire had arranged all the details of the escape. O Reilly
was to leave his hut at eight o clock in the evening of February 18, and
take a cut through the Bush on a line which was likely to mislead the
native trackers. He had obtained a pair of freeman s shoes, as the
mark left by the convict s boot could be easily traced. After leaving
the camp he was to push on through the Bush in a straight course
toward a convict station on the Vasse road. There he was to lie till he
heard some one on the road whistle the first bars of " Patrick s Day."
The plan was gone over carefully between Maguire and O Reilly, every
point being repeated till there could be no doubt of their mutual agree
ment. The two men then separated.
On the evening of February 18 O Reilly wrote a letter to his father
about his intended escape that night, and his purpose, if successful, to go
to the United States. Two months afterwards this letter found its way
into the Dublin newspapers. At seven o clock that evening the warden
of the convict party went his rounds and looked in upon all the criminals.
He saw O Reilly sitting in his hut as he passed on his return. Soon after
a convict came to the hut to borrow some tobacco and remained so long
that the host became very nervous. Fortunately the convict went
away before eight. As soon as he had gone O Reilly changed his boots,
put out the light, and started on his desperate venture through the
Bush.
Though the woods were dark the stai*s shone brightly overhead.
Before he had gone two hundred yards he was startled by discovering
78 JOHN BOYLE O BEILLY.
that a man was following him. It was a moment of terrible strain for
O Reilly, but with admirable nerve he coolly waited lor the fellow to
come up. He proved to be a mahogany sawyer named Kelly, whose
saw-pit was close to the fugitive s hut. He was a criminal who had been
transported for life. " Are you off ? " he whispered hoarsely. " I knew
you meant it. I saw you talking to Maguire a month ago, and I knew
it all." These words filled O Reilly with astonishment and alarm, so
that he could not speak. He felt that he was in the man s power. He
might have already put the police on his track, or he could do so the
next day. But the criminal showed a manly sympathy with the youth
who had risked so much for freedom. Holding out his hand to O Reilly
he gave him a strong grip, saying, with a quivering, husky voice :
" God speed you. I ll put them on the wrong scent to-morrow." The
fugitive could not speak the gratitude he felt, so, silently pressing the
manly hand, he pushed on again through the woods.
It was eleven o clock when he reached the. old convict station and
lay down beneath a great gum tree at the roadside. From his dusky
hiding-place he kept an anxious lookout for friends or foes. In about
half an hour two men rode by. They seemed to be farmers, but they may
have been a patrol of mounted police. Soon after, the sound of horses
coming at a sharp trot was heard by the fugitive. They stopped near
his resting place, and he heard "Patrick s Day" whistled in low but
clear tones. In an instant O Reilly ran up to the horsemen, who proved
to be Maguii e and another friend, M . They had another horse with
them, which O Reilly mounted, and then, without saying a word, the
three started off at a gallop for the woods. They rode 011 in silence for
several hours. At last, Maguire, who led the way, reined in his horse,
dismounted, and whistled. He was answered by another whistle. In
a few minutes three men came up, two of whom turned out to be cousins
of Maguire. The third man took the horses and galloped off, but not
till he had given O Reilly a warm shake of the hand, expressive of his
good wishes. The three men then formed in Indian file and, to prevent
the discovery of their number, the two behind covered the footprints of
the leader. After walking for about an hour they reached a dry swamp
near the sea.
O Reilly remained at this place with M , while the other men went
on. He was told that Bunbury was near by and that they had gone
for the boat. After waiting half an hour in anxiety lest the plan of
escape had been thwarted at the last moment, a light was seen about
half a mile away. This disappeared, only to flash out three more times.
It was the signal for O Reilly and his companion to go forward. They
went along the road till they came to a bridge where Maguire was wait
ing for them. The boat was all ready, but the tide being out they had
to wade knee-deep through the mud to reach the water. Maguire, who
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 79
led the way, was soon aboard with O Reilly. M meanwhile remained
on the shore, and, when appealed to by Maguire in a whisper to come
on," answered in a trembling voice : " No, I promised my wife not to
go in the boat. 1 This led one of Maguire s cousins, who had come
aboard before the others, to answer back in a sneering tone : "All
right, go home to your wife." Yet M did not deserve this taunt of
cowardice. He was brave enough when duty called him, as he after
wards showed.
The four men in the boat were careful to pull quietly till there was
no danger of their being overheard. Then they bent vigoi ously to the
oars, as if rowing for life. Little was said, but thoughts of what they
had at stake were all the deeper for not finding vent in words. By sun
rise the boat had got almost out of sight of land, only the tops of the
high sand-hills being visible. The course was a straight line of forty
miles across Geographe Bay. It had been arranged to lie in wait for
the Vigilant 011 the further shore, and row toward her as she passed the
northern head of the bay. After pulling strongly till near noon the
men began to feel the need of food and drink, which from some reason
or other had not been provided for their cruise. O Reilly, who had
eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, suffered dreadfully from thirst.
Accordingly the boat was run ashore through the surf and pulled high
and dry on the beach. The drenching which the men got in doing this
gave them temporary relief from thirst. But this soon became so in
tense that they wandered for hours through the dried swamps in search
of water. Hundreds of paper-bark trees were examined for the wished
for drink, but not a drop could be found. O Reilly became alarmed at
the burning pain in his chest, which seemed as if its whole inner sur
face were covered with a blister. As night was coming on they came
to a cattle-track, which led to a shallow and muddy pool. But the
water was too foul to drink, so they had to content themselves with
cooling their faces in it.
As the whaler would not put to sea till morning or, perhaps, the fol
lowing evening, O Reilly was in sore need of sustenance to keep up his
strength. Fortunately there was a man living in a log house a few
miles away whom the Maguires knew and thought well of. He was an
Englishman named Johnson, and lived on this lonely expanse of coast
with no neighbor nearer than forty miles, as keeper of a large herd of
buffalo cows. The three men started for his house, leaving O Reilly in
the Busli for safety, but promising that one should return with food and
drink as soon as he could get away unobserved. The poor sufferer
whom they left behind watched them winding in and out among the
sand-hills till they were lost to view. Then he lay down on the sand
in a shady spot and tried to sleep. But the terrible blistering pain in
his chest made it impossible for him to remain in a reclining position,
80 jonisr BOYLE O REILLY.
and lie was obliged to get up and walk about. Hours passed and his
friends did not return. O Reilly s sufferings at this time were the
worst he ever experienced. In his desperate straits his knowledge and
judgment of woodcraft served him in good stead. Recollecting that the
natives lived on freshly killed meat when they could get no water, he
sought for a tree with possum marks. This he soon found and on
climbing it secured a large possum by pulling it out of its hole by the
tail and striking its head against the tree. He then learned what his
subsequent experience confirmed, that this meat was the very best sub
stitute for water. Maguire returned at nightfall, bringing food and a
bottle of water. He remained but a short time, thinking it best to go
back to the Englishman s house to avoid exciting suspicion. Soon after
his departure, O Reilly made a bed with boughs and leaves oil the
sand, using the young branches of the peppermint tree in order to keep
away ants, snakes, and centipedes. He soon fell into a sound sleep and
did not awake till his friends called him the next morning. Yet all
this time he was in danger of being tracked by the police.
The party soon started for the beach, which was reached at about
nine o clock. One of the men was sent with a strong glass, which
Maguire had bi-ought, to the top of a high hill to keep a lookout for the
Vigilant. At about one o clock he came running down with the wel
come news that the vessel was steering north, with all sails spread. As
no time was to be lost the boat was quickly run out through the surf.
The men pulled cheerily toward the headland, for they were confident
of reaching it before the bark passed. They had rowed about a couple
of hours when she was seen steering straight toward the boat. The
men therefore stopped pulling and waited for her to come up. To their
intense disappointment she changed her course slightly when within
two miles of the boat, as if to avoid them. The men looked on amazed.
Maguire repeatedly said that Captain Baker had pledged his word to
take them on board, and he could not believe him mean enough to
break it. To settle the question one of the men stood up in the boat
and hailed the vessel loudly enough to be heard on board. There was
no answer. Again the man hailed her, his companions joining in the
shout. No sound came back, and the Vigilant seemed to be moving a
little further off. At last she brought up abreast of the boat, at about
three miles distant. As a last resort, Maguire fixed a white shirt on
the top of an oar and the men all shouted again. But the Vigilant
passed on, leaving the boat to its fate.
As the bark gradually receded in the distance, the bitterness of
O Reilly s disappointment was increased by the sense of danger. What
could now be done to save him was the thought of every one in the
boat, as she was put about and pulled slowly for the shore. Maguire
proposed that the boat should be hauled on to the beach and then
JUS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 81
O Reilly should be left in the Bush, as before, while the others went on
to Johnson s. It was necessary to trust the Englishman with the
secret and let him know the hiding-place of the fugitive, for his friends
were obliged to go home and arrange for his escape by one of the other
whale-ships. This plan was agreed to by the whole party as the best
way out of the difficulty. It was evening when they reached the shore.
As his three friends left O Reilly in the secluded sand valley they shook
him by the hand and told him to keep up a good heart. They promised
that one of them would come from Buiibury in the course of a week to
tell him when the whalers would sail. They also said that they should
communicate with old Johnson arid ask him to bring food and water
to the sand valley, which the old man did.
In his nervous desire to get away as soon as possible from the penal
colony, O Reilly brooded over Captain Baker s promise to cruise for his
boat if it was not sighted when the Vigilant came out. He thought
that the captain might not have seen the boat and might be still cruis
ing along the coast on the lookout for it. This idea made him eager to
row out again and take the chance of falling in with the vessel. But
the boat in which he had ventured before was too heavy for one person
to set afloat or row. He asked Johnson s boy, who came the third
night, in place of the old man, if his father had a boat. The lad said
there was an old dory at the horse range further up the coast, buried
in the sand. When the boy had gone O Reilly walked along the beach
for six or seven miles, and at last found the boat. The heat and dry
weather had warped her badly, but O Reilly pulled her carefully into
the water and fastened her by a rope of paper bark to a stake driven
into the sand, and went back to his hiding-place for the night.
Next morning he ventured out to sea in this frail craft, which he
had made water tight by the use of paper bark. In order to keep his
stock of meat from spoiling in the hot sun he let it float in the water,
fastened by a rope of paper bark to the stern of the boat. The light
craft went rapidly forward under his vigorous rowing, and before night
had passed the headland and was on the Indian Ocean.
That night on an unknown sea in a mere shell had a strange, weird
interest, heightened by the anxious expectations of the seeker for
liberty. O Reilly ceased rowing the next morning, trusting to the
northward current to bring him within view of the whale-ship. He
suffered a good deal from the blazing rays of the sun and their scorch
ing reflection from the water. To add to his troubles, the meat towing
in the water was becoming putrid, and he found that some of the pos
sums and kangaroo rats had been taken by sharks in the night.
Toward noon he saw a vessel under sail which he knew must be the
Vigilant and his hopes ran high, as she drew so near to the boat that
he could hear voices on her deck. He saw a man aloft 011 the lookout :
82 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
but there was no answer to the cry from the boat, and the vessel again
sailed off, leaving O Keilly to sadly watch her fade away into the night.
He afterward heard from Captain Baker that, strangely enough, the
boat was not seen from the ship.
Being refreshed by the dew and the cool night air, O Reilly bent to
the work of rowing back to shore. There was nothing to do but to get
to his hiding-place and await Maguire s return. He tugged at the oars
pretty steadily through the night, and when morning came he was
within sight of the sand-hills on the headland of Geographe Bay. He
reached land by noon and then walked on wearily to Johnson s, where
he arrived the same night. The fatigue and anxiety which he had
gone through had thoroughly exhausted him. He cared for nothing
but sleep, and this he could have without stint in the secluded sand
valley. There he remained for five days, when he was cheered by the
arrival of Maguire and M , who said that they had come to see him
through. This time Maguire brought a brief letter from Father
McCabe, asking O Reilly to remember him. He had arranged with
Captain Gifford, of the bark Gazelle, of New Bedford, one of the
whalers that were to sail next day, to take O Reilly on board. In
order to insure the fulfillment of this agreement the good Father had
paid the captain ten pounds to carry his friend as far as Java. Unfor
tunately there was one serious danger ahead. This was the presence
of a criminal convict, one of the worst characters in the penal colony,
Martin Bowman, or Beaumont, a ticket-of -leave man. This fellow had
discovered O Reilly s plan of escape and had threatened to reveal the
whole affair to the police if Maguire did not take him on board the
whale-ship also. As it was unsafe to refuse this demand, Bowman was
unwillingly included in the party.
Soon after daybreak the next morning the men went down to the
beach. Old Johnson and his boy were there to see them off. They got
afloat without delay, and rowed vigorously toward the headland, accord
ing to Captain Gifford s directions. By noon they saw the two whale-
ships under full headway. Toward evening they were hailed by one
of the vessels, and a voice shouted O Reilly s name and cried out :
" Come on board ! " The men were delighted at this call. They
pulled alongside and O Reilly was helped out of the boat by the strong
arms of Henry C. Hathaway, the third mate. He was warmly wel
comed by Captain Gifford, who gave him accommodations in his cabin.
Martin Bowman, the escaped criminal, was quartered in the forecastle
with the crew. As the boat pushed off from the ship, Maguire stood up
and cried : " God bless you ; don t forget us, and don t mention our
names till you know it s all over." M , also, who had so well
proved his courage, shouted a kind farewell, which moved the grateful
O Reilly to tears.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 8$
The official narrative is briefer. It is found in the
Police Gazette of the District of Western Australia in the
form of the following advertisement :
ABSCONDERS.
20 John B. O Reilly, registered No. 9843, imperial convict ; arrived
in the colony per convict ship Houcjoumont in 1868 ; sentenced to
twenty years, 9th July, 1866. Description Healthy appearance ; pres
ent age 25 years ; 5 feet 1\ inches high, black hair, brown eyes, oval
visage, dark complexion : an Irishman. Absconded from Convict Road
Party, Bunbury, on the 18th of February, 1869.
CHAPTER V.
Narrow Escape from a "Bad" Whale He Feigns Suicide in Order
to Avoid Recapture at Roderique Transferred to the Sapphire
off Cape of Good Hope Arrival at Liverpool Takes Passage for
America Lauds at Philadelphia.
DR. JOHNSON, who knew little about jails and less
about ships, said that "being in a ship is being in a
jail with a chance of being drowned." To the man who
had spent three years in penal servitude, the deck of the
Gazelle was the illimitable world of freedom. Captain
Gifford was a kindly man. In Henry Hathaway, O Reilly
found a loving friend and messmate, who gave the half of
his little state-room and the whole of his big heart to the
young Irishman. The friendship thus contracted on board
the Gazelle lasted throughout life. On O Reilly s part it
was reinforced by an undying sense of gratitude for his
freedom, twice conferred, and his life once saved, by the
generous American sailor.
Hathaway had what, to a noble nature, is the best of
reasons for loving O Reilly, the right of a benefactor. He
had helped him to escape from bondage, he was yet to
protect him from recapture, and he had saved him from
death itself.
Here is the story of the last-named good deed, as
modestly told by Hathaway, and as I have heard it con-
lirmed from the grateful lips of O Reilly.
NEW BEDFORD, Mass. , 1877.
MY DEAR FRIEND : According to your wish, I will now endeavor
to give you a brief account of what happened on the day when Mr.
O Reilly was with me in pursuit of a " bad " whale on the northwest
coast of Australia. I don t exactly remember the date, but think it
was in May, 1869. We lowered away our boats for whales, and
O Reilly was very anxious to go in my boat I told him that he had
84
L
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 85
better stay by the ship, but he insisted on going. I finally consented,
and he went. Mr. Hussey, in another boat, struck the whale first. I
noticed the whale, as soon as he struck him, make for Hussey s boat,
but didn t think at the time he was a bad one. We then started for
him, and just before we reached him he " settled," and the next thing
I saw was his back close to, our boat. I told Lambert, the boat-steerer,
to "give it to him." As soon as he struck him the whale raised his
flukes and struck our boat four successive times, knocking her to atoms.
The first time he struck her he stove her badly, and she began to fill.
I noticed O Reilly s head drop as though he was hurt. The rest of the
crew jumped into the sea away from the boat, and clung to their oars ;
I clung to the stern part of the boat, that being the only piece left large
.enough to hold a man up ; this, I think, was about ten feet long. I
missed O Reilly, and thought he must have drowned, as I knew he
was hurt. When the whale left us the men swam back to the shattered
boat. I remember saying, "O my God ! where is Mr. O Reilly ? " and
Bolter, who was close by my side, said, "There he is, on the other side,
under water." I looked, and sure enough, there he was, about two
feet from the surface of the water, bobbing up and down like a cork.
I threw myself over, and by clinging to the broken keel with my left
hand, reached him by the hair of the head with my right hand, and
hauled him on the stoven boat. I thought then he was dead, as the
froth was running from his nostrils and mouth ; but a thought struck
me, if he was dead he would have sunk : so I raised him up on my
shoulder. As I lay on the side of the boat, with his stomach across my
shoulder, I kept punching him as much as possible to get the salt
water out of him. It was several hours before he realized anything,
as the ship was about twelve miles from us to the windward, and we
lay on the stoven boat a long time before we were picked up by Mr.
Bryan, the fourth mate. The next day after this happened, as Mr.
O Reilly was lying in his bunk, suffering from the blow of the whale s
flukes, he said, " Oh, Hathaway, why didn t you let me go ?" I told
him to keep quiet that he would live to see better days ; but he
couldn t see it. We don t see far ahead, after all, do we ? The next
time we saw whales he came to me and said he would like to go with
me again. I told him, " No, he had got out of one scrape, and had
better rest contented." But he insisted on going, and I consented, as
he said he wanted revenge. We were lucky enough that day to get a
good big fellow, and I think he had his revenge, as we minced him up
pretty well. I think it was the death of that whale that suggested his
poem of " The Amber Whale."
What Hathaway modestly omits from this narrative is
the fact that, after bravely holding his friend so long above
86 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
water, in that heavy sea, the terrible strain overcame him
when relief arrived. He fainted away after seeing that
O Reilly was safe, and lay insensible for four hours.
Two months later the Gazelle put into the harbor of
Roderique, a small British island in the Indian Ocean, to
take in a supply of fresh water. O Reilly s escape had
been telegraphed to that and other quarters. Just before
sunset on the day of her arrival, a boat came alongside with
the Governor of the island and a guard of police on board.
Hathaway was on the ship s deck ; beside him stood
O Reilly.
" Have you a man on board named John Boyle O Reil-
ly ?" was the officer s first question. Hathaway knew no
body of that name, but, on the official s describing him,
remembered that a man answering such a description, but
named Brown, had been on board, and died two months
before in the Straits of Sunda. "Brown" was the name
by which O" Reilly went, on board the Gazelle.
The Governor thereupon demanded that the crew be
mustered for inspection, and the men were accordingly
drawn up in a row. One stowaway was promptly recog
nized as a fugitive from justice, and put under arrest, but
the officers found nobody answering to the description of
No. 9843. The convict Martin Bowman would have es
caped, too, but for his own savage conduct. Ever since his
arrival on the ship he had been the bully of the forecastle.
Among the sufferers from his brutality was a young
English sailor who could not lose so good a chance of get
ting rid of, and even with, his tormentor. The officers had
passed Bowman by when this young sailor, with a jerk of
his thumb and a knowing look, indicated him as a suspi
cious character. He was accordingly subjected to a closer
examination, recognized, put under arrest and taken to the
gangway. As he went over the side he turned to O Reilly,
and with a wicked leer said, " Good-by, shipmate." The
action and words were marked. O Reilly well knew what
they meant, that Bowman had singled him out so that
the officers would remember him, when, after reaching
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 87
shore, the convict should offer to compound for his own
absconding by giving up the other and more important
fugitive. *
As soon as the boat had departed Hathaway and O Reilly
held a council of war. Capt. Clifford was fortunately on
shore. It would have been a serious thing for him to risk
his ship, and perhaps his freedom, by protecting a fugitive
felon from recapture. O Reilly was desperate, but firm
in his determination not to be taken alive. He had ob
tained a revolver, and was prepared to sell his life dearly
rather than be taken back to the penal settlement and the
inevitable horrors of the chain-gang. Hathaway was deeply
stirred, but retained his coolness, as the Yankee sailor
does in every emergency.
"Leave this thing to me," he said, " and I think I can
study out some better way of settling it."
By this time it had become dark. The men were all be
low except the anchor watch. There was a kind of locker
under the cabin companion-way, which was used sometimes
by the steward to store dishes, etc. It was large enough to
hold a man, with some squeezing, and was covered by one
of the stair boards. The Dartmoor cells were more roomy,
but less comfortable.
Hathaway quickly formed his plan and unfolded it to
O Reilly. It was for the latter to walk aft with a small
grindstone, which happened to be at hand, lean over the
rail, and, at the first favorable opportunity, throw the
grindstone and his hat overboard, then slipping down the
companion-way take refuge in the locker.
Hathaway went forward and engaged the watch in talk,
standing so as to obstruct the view of O Reilly, at the same
time that he gave the watch instructions to keep a sharp
eye on the latter, who, he said, was desperate, and might
try to do away with himself; "for," he continued, "he
tried to kill himself in Australia, before we took him off."
* It may be worth noting here, that, in writing his * Moondyne," O Reilly
gave the name of Bowman to the villain of the story, even as he remembered
his generous friends, the Maguires, by name in the same book.
88 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Just then there was a loud splash in the water.
" What s that ? " exclaimed Hathaway. "It s O Reilly,"
cried the watch; "he has thrown himself overboard."
" Man overboard," was instantly shouted, and brought the
crew on deck. Four boats were lowered and searched the
water for an hour. They found only O Reilly s hat, though
one of the crew, with a sailors vivid imagination, swore
that he had caught a glimpse of a drowning man s face, and
knew it to be O Reilly s. When Hatha way s boat came
back from its fruitless quest, he found the second mate
leaning over the side, and crying bitterly: "He s gone,
poor fellow ! here s his hat. The men have just picked it
up. We ll never see him again."
Next morning there was grief on board the Gazelle. The
flag at half-mast brought out the captain in a shore boat
to learn the sad news. O Reilly s wet hat lay on the
hatch-way. Immediately afterward came the police boat
with the Governor, and Convict Bowman ready to identify
his prey. The unmistakable sincerity of the men s grief
satisfied the officials. On the evening of the same day the
Gazelle went to sea unmolested. As soon as they were
well clear of the land, Hathaway said to the captain (I
give his own story) :
" I guess I ll go below and get a cigar. I went and
hauled the step away, and there was O Reilly all in a heap.
I can see his face right before me now, white as chalk ; eyes
as black as night. He looked like a wild man.
" What now ? says he, trembling all over.
" Come out of that, says I.
" What do you mean? says he.
" Don t stop to ask questions, man, says I ; get out
of that and come up ; you re safe for this time. Land is
almost out of sight.
" He crawl ed out, and we went on deck together.
" Now, says I, go and shake hands with the captain.
"I went to the side of the ship and stood there smok
ing, and pretending to be scanning the horizon. I saw the
captain give one look at him, a kind of scared look. He
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 89
thought it was his ghost. Then he wrung O Reilly s hand,
and burst out crying, just like a baby.
" Pretty soon he looked at me. I never said a word.
" Did that fellow have anything to do with it? says
he."
Capt. Frederick Hussey, who was first officer of the
Gazelle at the time, expresses his belief that the Governor
was "not so badly fooled as we thought. When Bowman
was arraigned in court, he commenced to tell the story of
O Reilly, when the Governor commanded : Be silent, sir.
Again he attempted to speak, when the Governor arose and
said : If you speak again, I ll have you gagged. When
he saw our flag at half mast, he inquired the reason for it,
and ordered it down. I believe he wished to prevent div
ing or dragging for the body, for I have since heard that
his wife was a loyal Irish woman."
The much-abused word "loyal " is for once well applied,
if Capt. Hussey s information was correct as to the nation
ality of the Governor s wife.
The Gazelle s next landfall was to be made at the Island
of St. Helena, the prison-rock on which the British nation
chained, and tortured, and fretted to death the great sol
dier who had weakly trusted to their magnanimity. It was
not to be expected that the secret of O Reilly s identity
could be kept by the whole ship s crew, especially after
the Roderique episode ; so Captain Gilford reluctantly de
termined to part with his passenger ere reaching that port.
The American bark SappJiire, of Boston, bound from Bom
bay to Liverpool, commanded by Captain E. J. Seiders,
was spoken on July 29, off the Cape of Good Hope, and
agreed to give a passage home to seaman "John Soule,"
O Reilly having adopted for the nonce the name and papers
of a man who had deserted from the Gazelle. Honest sail
ors soon learn to trust one another, and Captain Seiders
was taken into the confidence of his countryman, repay
ing it by giving O Reilly a state-room in his cabin and treat
ing him with every kindness.
The generosity of Gilford did not stop with commend-
90 JOHN BOYLE o llEILLY.
ing the fugitive to Iris countryman ; all the ready money
that he had in his possession he put into O Reilly s hands
at parting, and when the young man, deeply touched by
such generous confidence, would have remonstrated, say
ing : "I may never reach America ; I may never be able to
repay you" the big-hearted sailor merely replied :
" If you never reach America, I shall be very sorry for
you ; if you are never able to repay me, I shall not be much
the poorer ; but I hope you will reach America, and I am
sure you will pay me if you can." His confidence was not
misplaced. Four years later O Reilly s first book of poems
was published, and bore this dedication :
TO
CAPTAIN DAVID E. GIFFORD,
Of the whaling bark Gazelle, of New Bedford,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
In February, 1869, I left the coast of Western Australia in a small
boat without a sail. Peculiar circumstances rendered it impossible
that I should return. My only path lay across the Indian Ocean. It
pleased God that my boat was seen from the masthead of the Gazelle,
commanded by Captain Gifford, who picked me up and treated me
with all kindness during a seven months whaling cruise. On parting
with me at the Cape of Good Hope he lent me twenty guineas to help
me on my way to America. One of the greatest pleasures this little
book can ever afford me is the writing of this dedication.
Captain Gifford never saw this grateful tribute. He
died ere the volume could reach him, but not ere his trust
in the author s gratitude had been amply justified.
O Reilly found it even a harder task to part with his
warm friend and messmate Hathaway. The two were
almost equal in years, with kindred buoyancy of spirits,
and a deeper undercurrent of* earnestness which made each
respect and love the other. Between them existed that
love, "passing the love of women," which only men of
noblest mould may feel or understand.
In the poet s well stocked library were many volumes,
the gifts of admiring friends of all degrees of life. Some
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 91
were autograph copies from men of world- wide fame ; but
the volume which he cherished most fondly was an old,
sea-flavored, weather-beaten manuscript book, the private
"log" of Henry Hathaway. A few months before his
death he showed it to me, with such a look of fond pride
and pleasure as only he could wear when testifying to the
love and tenderness of another. Truly it was a volume on
whose pages any man might be proud to be chronicled as
he is. A few extracts will show the character of this
singular record, which was begun three hours after the
parting of the friends and continued to the end of the
voyage :
Ship Gazelle, July 29, 1869.
DEAR OLD FELLOW :
I am now seated at the old donkey, where we ve sat side by side
for the last five months, more or less, and have been reading over some
of your pieces of poetry, and it makes me lonesome, although we have
not been parted as yet hardly three hours, and thank God we have
lived and parted as friends ; and thinking, perhaps, in after years you
would like to know the transactions of the remainder of this voyage, I
shall endeavor to write a little, once in a while, hoping it may prove
interesting to you. Most everybody on board is talking about you, and
they all wish you good luck in your undertaking, and all that I have
got to say is, " Good speed, and God bless you ! "
FRIDAY EVENING, July 30. Again I am seated, to add another line
or two. This morning there were six sails in sight, and I suppose the
Sapphire was one of the six. The old man told me this morning that
he thought you would go home with us yet. He says that if we get to
St. Helena first he will take you on board again, and as much as I
would like to have you here, I hope and trust that you are safe where
you are ; God bless you, old fellow ! Good-night !
SATURDAY EVENING, 31st. It is now blowing a gale from the west
ward, and the old ship is lying to under reefed foresail and close reefed
main topsail, and I have got the blues the worst kind, and am as home
sick as can be:
Friend after friend departs ;
Who hath not lost a friend ?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end. J. Montgomery.
TUESDAY EVENING, August 3. Yesterday I did not write, as it was
blowing a gale of wind ; but this evening, as it is fine weather, I will add
another line or two. Since this head wind commenced we have lost
92 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
about fifty miles of our course, but I think the prospects are good now
to get it back again, and perhaps a little more. Everybody on board
seems to be in good spirits to-day, except myself. There are four ships
in sight, and if either of them is the Sapphire I wish she would come
close to us, for I would really like to know how you are getting along.
I told Captain G. that I felt confident that you are all right with that
captain, as I liked the looks of him the moment I set eyes on him.
WEDNESDAY EVENING, 4th. Well, John, evening has once more
thrown her sable mantle around us, and I am seated once more in my
little nine-by-seveii to add another line to this puzzle. This is the
thirteenth anniversary of my seafaring life, and I hope (if God spares
my life) before the next thirteen expires, I shall be in better circumstances
than at present, although I suppose it is folly to think of the hereafter
(in regard to worldly things) ; yet it is but natural, if we have a mind of
our own, and wish to gain fame. There are but two sails in sight to-day,
and I think the old Sapphire is out of sight and I hope ahead of us, as
I wish you good speed. Lat. 34 deg. 50 min. S., long. 27 deg. 12 min. E.
THURSDAY, 5th. All this day fine breezes from the N.N. W. We are
now within about five degrees of longitude of the Cape, and I hope and
pray that this breeze will take us around, and I should like to arrive at
St. Helena one or two days ahead of you, so that you may come back
to us again, as I think you will be much safer here.
Everybody on board seems to be in good spirits, except Mr. Bryan,
and he has been groaning all day about his old friend, you know who it
is, therefore I will call no names. There is but one sail in sight to-day,
and he is close to us, and I think is an Englishman ; therefore I know
that the old Sapphire is out of sight. Good-night, old boy ! May the
good spirit that has watched over you so far still continue to do so.
Our latitude by observation is 35 deg. 33 min. , and longitude 23 deg.
37 min. E.
SATURDAY, 7th. To-day we have a fair wind again, and are scud
ding off at the rapid rate of about three knots per hour, but I think the
prospects are fair for a strong breeze to-night.
WEDNESDAY, llth. This has been a beautiful day, such a one as you
used to like when you were on board. The wind has been very light,
but fair. We find ourselves, by observation, about two miles from the
Cape, and I hope and trust we may pass it before morning. I have
thought a great deal about you to-day, and wonder how you are get
ting along, and something tells me that you are all right. God grant
that it is so, old fellow ; and may the Being whose ever watchful eye
is upon us watch over and comfort you in all your troubles ; and don t,
for Heaven s sake, John (whatever your troubles may be), give up
your evening practice. Good-night, old boy ! God bless you ! Our
latitude is about 35 deg. 45 min. S., and longitude 18 deg. 42 min. E.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 93
FRIDAY, 13th. The biggest part of this day we have had strong-
breezes from the W.S.W., and have been, steering by the wind on the
port tack, and heading from N.N.W. to N.W. by N. There is one
sail in sight astern of us, and I have wondered several times to-day
whether it is the Sapphire or not. I hope it is, and wish we could
have good weather to gain. Our latitude is 34 deg. 55 min. S., and
longitude 17 deg. 53 min. E., so, as you see, \ve have passed the Cape
of Good Hope.
SATURDAY, 14th. This has been a beautiful day, with light breezes
from the S.E., and we have been engaged sending aloft our mizzen top
sail and yards. There are two ships in sight, one of them close to us
and the other about fifteen, miles distant. The one that is close to us is
a large Englishman, that was close to us the day after you went on
board the Sapphire ; but the other we can t tell what he is, but I hope
it is the Sapphire ; if it is, I think we will get to St. Helena about the
same time. Our latitude is about 33 deg. 40 min. S., but the longitude I
have not yet ascertained.
SUNDAY, 15th. This has been another beautiful day, and we have
had a nice little breeze from the south. There is but one ship in sight,
and he is nearly out of sight ahead of us. Our latitude is 33 deg. S.,
and longitude 13 deg. 55 min. E.
MONDAY EVENING, 16th. All of this day we have had a strong
breeze from the south, and have made a good distance toward our
destination. There are two ships in sight, one astern, and the other on
the port quarter, but so far away that we cannot make out whether
either of them is the Sapphire, or not. Everybody on board
seems to be in good spirits to-day, as is generally the case when
we have a fair wind. Our latitude is 31 deg. 35 min. S., and longitude
12 deg. E.
WEDNESDAY, 18th. The fore part of this day we had beautiful
weather and light breezes from the S.E., and this afternoon we have
had a good breeze, and a thick fog, and everything looks as gloomy as
old boots. The same two ships that have been in sight for the last two
days are still in sight, two points on our starboard bow, and another one
on the port quarter. Lambert just came in and asked me if I did not
feel well, as he noticed I looked downhearted, and I had to turn him
off with, " Oh, well enough," but I have got the blues like smoke, so
Good-night ! Latitude 29 deg. 30 min. S., longitude about 9 deg. E.
MONDAY, 23d. I did not write yesterday, as I had the blues the
worst kind ; but this evening, as I feel a little better, I will scratch a
line or two. We have had strong breezes all day and the old ship is
trotting along about eight knots per hour. If this breeze lasts until
Friday, I think we will be at St. Helena. Every one on board is
enjoying good health, and most of us are in good spirits, and I hope
94 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
and pray that you are enjoying the same blessing-. Good-night, old
boy ! Latitude 21 deg. 50 min. S., longitude 1 deg. E.
THURSDAY, 26th. All of this day we have light airs and calms, and
have made but little distance. There are but two sails in sight to-day ;
one of them is the same one that we gained on the 20th. The land, by
our reckoning, is about sixty miles distant, and I hope that we will
come to anchor to-morrow. Everybody seems to be in good spirits to
day. I suppose it is because we are close to port, and I would give
considerable if it were New Bedford instead of St. Helena, and that you
were here with us ; but perhaps it is all for the best as it is, and I trust
God that it is, old fellow. Good-night and God bless you ! Our lati
tude is about 16 deg. 20 min., and longitude 5 deg. W.
SATURDAY, 28th. This morning we came at anchor, and we find
that the Sapphire has not been here as yet, and as everything is quiet
and no danger, I hope she will come in before we leave The
day that we came at anchor there were fifteen ships anchored here,
thirteen merchantmen, the whaling bark Ohio, and the old Gazelle :
and now, old fellow, as I cannot think of anything else to write that
will interest you, I will bid you adieu, and lay this book aside for the
present, for it makes me lonesome every time that I write in it. My
prayer is that the old Sapphire will have favorable winds and make a
speedy passage, and that you may be fortunate enough when you
arrive in England to get a ship bound direct to America. Good-by, old
fellow, and may God in his infinite mercy watch over and bless you !
NOVEMBER 9. Dear old fellow, it is my dog watch below, and I
have spent most of it in playing the flutina, and reading over some of
your poetry, but I will improve the few moments that are left me in
adding another line or two to this. I hope and pray, old boy, that
before this time you have sodded your hoof on Yankee shores, and I
wish that I were there with you (yet, Thy will be done, O God ! not
mine). The old man has been in here this evening, showing me some
abstract of a right whale voyage, and he has asked for my opinion
about going there, but I gave him no encouragement, knowing that if
we leave here we will lose our letters again. Oh, dear, I wish this
voyage was over ! I haven t had a letter from home for sixteen months,
and I have got the blues like old boots, so I will bid you a good-night,
and light a cigar and go on deck, and tramp, tramp, tramp away, and
build castles. Lat. 34 deg. S., long. 50 deg. W.
NOVEMBER 25. Again I am seated by my old donkey, with pen in
hand, to scratch another line or two. I have been reading to Mr.
Bryan a political piece which I found in an English paper, and I tell
you what, he is raving mad. He has got one of his old political fits on,
and I would that you might see him now. The piece is about a Mr.
Roebuck, an English orator, and, when I left Mr. Bryan on deck about
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 95
ten minutes ago, he was calling him every thing 1 that he could lay his
tongue to. It is four months to-morrow since you left us, and I hope
and trust that you are quietly settled down in Yankee town.* Since
you left we have not seen the spout of a sperm whale, which makes the
time naturally hang rather heavy. For pastime I have taken the rig
ging off from my little vessel, and am going to rig her again, and have
also made about half a dozen canes. By the way, I was looking at
your cane yesterday, and I must shortly polish it, and if I am unfor
tunate enough not to meet you again, I shall certainly send it to your
father as I promised you. The tress of hair is also safe, and if I do not
see you again I will do with it as I told you I would. The old man has
made his schooner for Jimmy, and has got her all rigged, and the sails
on. Mariano, Mr. Joseph, John Vitrene, Bill Malay, and the boy
Andrew are each building a vessel ; but I have seen none yet equal to
the one that poor Carpenter built, and which I have in my possession.
No doubt you often think of the night that we lost him, and of the
narrow escape that you had but a short time after, and I have been
thankful a great many times that I did not leave the boat, for if I had
you certainly would have perished. Now as it is about time to shorten
sail for the night, I will bid you good-night and go on deck. Long.
38 deg. 50 min. W., lat. 23 deg. 20 rnin. S.
SATURDAY, December 18 I often think of you and ask my
self if there is any doubt about your safety, and while others think
there is, Paterson, for instance, I think there is no doubt, old boy, but
you are on Yankee soil, and, with the help of God, I will soon be with
you; and I hope the time is not far hence when some of your old
friends from Australia will be with you, enjoying freedom instead of
bondage. Bondage, do I call it ! Worse than bondage, for the slave
in bondage has no one to scorn him but his master, while those gentle
men are suffering the scorn of a whole nation, and what is .it for ?
Just for upholding their rights. God bless them ! and may the time
soon arrive when they will have a helping hand to assist them in escap
ing.! There goes eight bells.
SUNDAY, January 30, 1870. Another week has passed away, and
the shades of evening are once more gathered over us. It is my dog
watch below, and I have been reading the Bible, and playing hymn
tunes on the nutina ; and now, as I have a few leisure moments before
going on duty, I will improve them in writing to you, hoping that, by
and by, when you come to peruse these pages, you may be interested,
for I know that you will want to know some of the proceedings of your
* O Reilly had then been just two days in the " Yankee town" of Philadelphia.
f O Reilly and Hathaway had even then planned, among their other air-
castles, the one which they were to carry out successfully seven years later of
rescuing the other forlorn captives in Australia.
96 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
old shipmates. The old man is as dry as ever, and once in a while he
repeats over his old whaling stories, but he always turns out to be the
hero himself, although he seldom speaks evil of any one. I have not
had a talk with him about you for a long time ; but, whenever I have,
he has always spoken well of you. Mr. Bryan is the same old stick,
and as hot in political affairs as ever, and is about as sick of this voyage
as I am. The remainder of the officers and all the crew are well ; some
appear to be content, while others look blue enough. It is about time
for me to go on deck; so I will offer up a prayer to the Maker of all
things for your success, and go to duty. Good-night.
SUNDAY EVENING, third month, sixth day. Once more I am seated
to pen another line or two. Since I last wrote, we have been engaged
fitting ship for home, arid I think we will start for home about the 20th
of this month. We have gained with two ships lately, and have got
papers as late as January 15. I am as homesick as old boots, and wish
for the time to fly. We are all as well as common, and I hope, old
fellow, that you are enjoying the same blessing. I hope things are
properly arranged by this time for the expedition that we were talking
about, for I will be ready in a short time to start on that errand of
mercy.* Good-night, old boy !
WEDNESDAY, fourth month, fifth day. It is my watch below and I
have been trying to sleep, but I find it impossible to do so, as I am con
tinually thinking about home and friends. We have been lying here,
within a thousand miles of home, for the last four or live days, with
head winds and calms, but I have no doubt but that it is all for the
best. The wind is fair now, but quite light. There are three sails in
sight, all homeward bound. May God speed the plow ! Good-by.
TUESDAY, fourth month, sixth day. I am once more seated in my
little eight-by-six, to add a few more lines to this puzzle, and I think
this must be the last, as I expect to be at home in a few days. We are
now off Cape Hatteras, and it is blowing a gale from the N.W., but I
hope it will soon change and give us a fair wind, for most of us have
got the blues like old boots. Yet it is all for the best. I hope that you
will correct the many mistakes which you will be likely to find in pe
rusing these pages, and excuse the hand-writing, for I have written it in
haste, doubting whether you would ever get it or not. And now, old
boy, I will bid you a good-night, and hope to find you safe and sound
in a few days. Our latitude by observation 35 deg. 20 min. N., and
longitude 70 deg. 5 min. W.
This same old log-book is rich in autograph treasures of
the boyish poet ; for he had rioted all over its pages while
* The " expedition " was that referred to in preceding note.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 97
on board the Gazelle. There, penciled in a bold, handsome
hand, is the first draft of his " Withered Snowdrops," with
several pages of his "Uncle Ned s Tales," and a rather
weak effusion which never grew any stronger, and which he
gravely introduces with the words : "The following little
poem is an exquisite bit of rubbish."
Over the nom de plume of " Old Blowhard, Mariner,"
he writes a lot of breezy fun, such as the following, which
will be enjoyed less for its humor than as an indication of
the author s light-heartedness and ready touch with the
spirit of his surroundings. It follows a serious signal code
in Hathaway s writing, and is entitled :
WHALING SIGNALS-LAST EDITION.
BY OLD BLOWHARD.
Flag at main Whales up.
Flag at mizzen Whales down.
Jib hauled up and down Can t see any ivhales.
Foretopsail hauled up and down Look out.
All the sails on the ship hauled up and down Whales somewhere.
Steward at the main Go farther off.
Steward waves his hat Whales all round the ship.
Lee clew of spanker boom hauled up Whales going to windward.
In another place he writes the following :
RULES TO BE OBSERVED BY WHALE SHIPS IN CASE OF
FIRE BY NIGHT.
1. When the officer on deck discovers that there is fire in the ship,
he will wait with patience until he sees the flames,- which will show him
exactly where the fh e is. He will then proceed at once to call the
cook.
2. He will call the captain and officers by shouting down the cabin :
" I think the ship is on fire."
3. He will then shake the reefs out of the foresail, and haul up the
bunt of the mizzen topmast staysail, at the same time letting the ship
luff about seventeen points.
4. He will then ring the bell, shout, and fire bomb-lances down the
cabin stairs, to bring every one to a sense of danger.
5. When the captain comes on deck, he will at once send two men
to each masthead to cry " Fire ! " then he will take off the fore and
98 joHtf BOYLE O KEILLY.
main hatches to give the wind a good chance of blowing out the fire.
He will also cast off the lashings from the casks on deck, and hoist the
weather clew of*the vise-bench to steady the ship.
6. The cooper s chest should be thrown overboard, as it might ex
plode.
7. The first and second officers should see that the port anchor be
taken in from the bow, carried aft, and thrown down the main hatch
way. It is easy to see the good effect this may have. If necessary, the
starboard anchor may be thrown down the fore hold.
8. The third and fourth officers, at the same time, will fire bomb-
lances down the lower hold, and when they have fired away all on
board, they will see that the crew extinguish the fire down there by
pouring buckets of Stockholm tar on the flames. They will also tar
the deck pot to prevent its catching fire.
9. The cook will throw the windlass overboard, and then capsize the
slush barrel in the waist, to prevent the men from slipping on the wet
decks.
10. The captain will cut away all the fore and main rigging, and,
when that is done, he will call the men down from aloft. They may
come down the flying jib-stay.
11. When the fire is nearly extinguished by these means, cut away
the masts and rig a jury mast at the end of the flying jib-boom.
12. Send five men and two officers to the wheel, and let her luff.
When she gets round so that the wind is dead ahead, then hoist the
spanker and let her scud.
13. Throw all the cargo overboard to make her light, and head for
home.
N. B. If those rules are carefully observed, it will be found that a
fire on board a ship is as harmless as if it were in a large gunpowder
magazine on shore.
DIMENSIONS OF VARIOUS PARTS OF A SHIP.
BY OLD BLOWHARD.
The main top-gallant cross-tree is twice as long as the flying jib-
boom.
The jib-boom should be half as long again as the steer oar of the
larboard boat. If the larboard boat has no steer oar, make the jib-boom
short accordingly.
The mainyai d, in all fast sailing vessels, should be about as long as
a rope.
The foreyard is half as long as the mainyard, and three times as
thick.
In large ships, where brown paper is used instead of canvas for top
sails, it is not necessary to lace the back-stays.
1IIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 99
The right bower anchor should be as heavy as a large stone, and
should always be kept warm. .
The chimney of the cook s galley should be eight times as long as
the spanker boom. In clipper ships this length may be doubled.
Mizzen top-gallant yard should be a little larger than a log of wood,
and heavy in proportion.
On board the Sapphire O Reilly fell in with another
passenger, an English gentleman named Bailey, who, on
learning his story, took a warm interest in the exile, and
aided him in securing passage for America, after arriving
at Liverpool, on October 13. Mr. Soule, for so O Reilly
was known to the crew, went into a safe retreat at that
port. Capt. Seiders and his mate, John Bursley, with the
assistance of a generous English family, provided him with
a secure hiding-place until he could obtain passage on an
American ship, homeward bound.
The opportunity was found in the ship Bombay, of
Bath, Maine. Captain Jordan made a place for him as
third mate of the Bombay. He would have opened his
heart and purse to any fugitive from tyranny. He was not
disposed to shut either against a victim of English injustice ;
for he was one of the many American shipmasters who had
been robbed and ruined by the Anglo-Confederate privateer
Alabama. Never did exile meet with warmer welcome to
freedom than O Reilly received from the great-hearted sea
men sailing under the flag of the United States. On the
evening of the second day after sailing from Liverpool,
Captain Jordan called O Reilly on deck, and told him they
were near the coast of Ireland, and would see it before the
sun went down. The sun was very low, and a heavy bank
of cloud had risen up from the horizon, and underneath it
the sun s rays fell down upon the sea,
"Where is the nearest part of Ireland?" he asked of
the pilot.
" There it is, sir ; under the sun."
Recalling this incident, in a lecture delivered at Music
Hall, Boston, in January, 1870, O Reilly said:
"They were sad words; Ireland was there, under the
100 JOHN BOYLE O llEILLY.
sun ; but under the dark cloud also. The rays of golden
glory fell down from behind the dark cloud fell down like
God s pity on the beautiful, tear-stained face of Ireland-
fell down on the dear familiar faces of my old home, on
the hill, the wood, the river, lighting them all once more
with the same heaven-tint that I loved to watch long ago.
Oh ! how vividly did that long ago rise up before me then !
the happy home, the merry playmates, the faces, the voices
of dear ones who are there still, and the hallowed words of
dearest ones who are dead, down on all fell the great
glory of the setting sun, lighting that holy spot that 1
might never see, a mother s grave, and lighting the heart
with sorrow-shaded devotion. Home, friends, all that I
loved in the world were there, almost beside me, there,
under the sun, and I, for loving them, a hunted, out
lawed fugitive, an escaped convict, was sailing away from
all I treasured, perhaps, forever."
After a safe and uneventful voyage he landed at Phila
delphia on the twenty-third day of November, 1869, just
two years from the date of his taking passage on the IIou-
goumont for the Australian penal colony. His first act
after landing was to make a votive offering to Liberty. He
presented himself before the United States District Court
and took out his first papers of naturalization.
CHAPTER VI.
Arrival in Boston Untoward Experience in a Steamship office Pub
lic Lectures His Personal Appearance Characteristic Letters
Employed on The Pilot At the Front with the Fenians The
Orange Riots in New York O Reilly sharply condemns the
Rioters A notable Editorial.
HE had not, so far as he knew, a single friend in all
America, but the Fenians had not forgotten him.
They had eagerly read the news of his escape, and were
advised, through their correspondents in England, of his
having taken passage on the Bombay. On the day after
her arrival, as he was working on the deck, a Fenian dele
gate came on board and accosted him, whereupon ensued
the following dialogue, as substantially told afterward:
"They tell me that Boyle O Reilly s on this ship."
"Yes."
"The poet?
"Yes."
"The man that got away from Australia ? "
"Yes."
His visitor had grown visibly excited. At last he
clutched O Reilly s sleeve, and asked :
"Where is he?"
"Here."
"But where?"
"I m the man."
His youthful appearance and unassuming manner were
so out of keeping with his romantic career that the dele
gate was inclined to set him down as an impostor, but, to
make sure, he invited the young man to meet some fellow
Fenians. O Reilly readily complied, going attired as he
was in his sailor clothes. The Fenians, before whom he
presented himself, cross- questioned him sharply, and were
101
102 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
so obviously incredulous that he grew a little impatient and
indignantly said :
" Gentlemen, I have not come here to ask any favor of
you nor to make inquiries about your personal affairs ; I
came at your request. I have answered your questions
truthfully. If you do not choose to believe me, I cannot
help it ; but as I did not seek this interview, I will take my
leave." The frankness arid independence of the youth told
with his inquirers, and they no longer doubted him.
The identification, however, did not prove of any great
service to him. Nor was this remarkable. Fenianism was
a losing all but a lost, cause. Its enthusiastic support
ers had given their money and their labors, as most of them
would have gladly given their lives, in its behalf. Natur
ally they were poor men ; he that hath the envied talent of
money-making seldom invests his cash in sentiment.
There was no field for his ambition in Philadelphia.
He went to New York, and was warmly received at the
headquarters of the Fenians in that city. By their invita
tion he delivered a lecture in the Cooper Institute, on the
16th of December, 18G9. John Savage presided, and the
platform was occupied by leading spirits of the Fenian
movement. Over two thousand j>eople greeted him with
enthusiastic applause, as he told of the sufferings and
wrongs endured by himself and his fellow prisoners. He
assured his hearers that the revolutionary movement had
permeated every branch of the British army. He then
modestly recounted the incidents of his escape, and told,
with eloquent gratitude, of the part taken in it by the
American captains of the Gazelle and Sappliire.
Successful as the meeting was, and gratifying to the
feelings of the young lecturer, it did not give him any
promise, either in his ambition to be of material service to
the Irish revolutionary cause, or in the more prosaic and
pressing need of earning his daily bread. He thought, as
a practical man, though a poet, that both ends might be
attained without the sacrifice of either, and he quickly saw
that New York did not offer any field for that ambition.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 103
He was advised to go to Boston, and accordingly did so,
arriving on the 2d of January, 1870, and bearing letters of
introduction to Mr. Thomas Manning and Dr. Robert
Dwyer Joyce ; he had no other friends or acquaintances in
all New England. Mr. Manning invited him to the hospi
tality of his house. Dr. Joyce, himself a rare poet, and a
genial, kindly man, took a warm interest in him from the
beginning.
One of the most prominent and ablest of the young
Irish- Americans of Boston at that time was Patrick A.
Collins, a lawyer just entering on his professional career,
an orator of mark, and a man of affairs with a promising
future. He was a friend of Joyce, and soon became a
friend of O Reilly. The two consulted earnestly over the
matter, and agreed that O Reilly was altogether too bright
a man to be wasted in the barren career of a public lecturer,
or the still less satisfactory field of politics. The first thing
to be done was to secure for him the comparative inde
pendence which conies from steady employment. The Bos
ton Manager of the Inman Line Steamship Company at that
period was an Irishman, Merrick S. Creagh, an intimate
friend of both Collins and Joyce.
On their recommendation, O Reilly was given a situa
tion as clerk in the company s office, filling the place with
perfect satisfaction to his employers for four or five weeks.
At the end of that time Mr. Creagh received a communica
tion from the general office at home in England, to the
effect that information had been received that he had in
his employment an escaped convict named O Reilly. The
company did not desire this young man retained any longer
in their service. Some zealous Briton had doubtless sent
this information across the Atlantic. Mr. Creagh could do
nothing but obey his orders.
In the mean time, O Reilly had made himself fairly
well known to his fellow-countrymen in Boston. He
lectured before a large audience in Music Hall, on Monday
evening, January 31, on "England s Political Prisoners,"
and won the immediate regard of his hearers. His hand-
104 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
some face and charming manner would have atoned for any
defects in his oratory, even with an audience more critical
and less sympathetic than his. The personality which was
to captivate thousands in after life, was reinforced by the
grace and enthusiasm of fervid youth.
Recalling him as he then was, the abiding memory of
him is that of his marvelously sweet smile, and his strik
ingly clear and frank gaze. The beauty of his face lay
chiefly in his eyes. The official advertisement of his escape
says that those eyes were brown, and prison descriptions
are generally more accurate than flattering. Almost any
body, looking at him less closely, would have said that his
eyes were black. As a matter of fact they were hazel, but
his dark skin, and jet-black eyebrows and hair, gave an
impression of blackness to the large, well -formed eyes
beneath. They were very expressive, whether flashing
Avitk. some sudden fancy, or glowing with a deeper,
burning thought, or sparkling with pure, boyish fun.
There was another expression, which they sometimes wore
at this period of his life, and which may be described, for
lack of a better word, as a hunted look not a frightened
or furtive, but an alert, watchful expression, which made it
easy to understand how he could have deliberately armed
himself, at Roderique, and again at Liverpool, with the
firm intention of surrendering his liberty only with his
life.
Yet with that determined look went the gay, good-
humored, fun-loving soul Avhich is the Irishman s one
gift from Pandora s box. Even in Liverpool, when a
fugitive for life and liberty, he could not resist the temp
tation of indulging his English friend s rather British sense
of humor by occasionally stopping a policeman on the
street, and asking to be directed to some imaginary destin
ation. " The idea of an escaped convict asking a bobby to
show him the way," furnished an innocent source of de
light to his companion, who, in his turn, supplied amuse
ment enough to O Reilly. No portrait ever made of him
does justice to that which was the great charm of his coun-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES.
tenance, its wonderful light and life. His eyes had the
depth, and fire, and mobile color of glowing carbuncle.
For the rest, he had the rich brown complexion, so
familiar in after years, a small black mustache, only half
concealing his iinely cut mouth, and revealing a set of
perfectly white, regular teeth.
His form was slight, but erect and soldier like. He
carried his head well raised, and a little thrown back.
He was a man whom not one would pass without a second
glance.
His lecture was successful, and he immediately received
invitations to repeat it in Providence, Salem, Lawrence,
and other towns. Precarious as were his means of support
at this time, he never parted with his independence, as the
following characteristic letter will show. It is dated :
BOSTON, February 23, 1870.
COLONEL JOHN O MAHONY:
Dear Sir : I am sorry that your letter has remained unanswered
until now. I was absent from Boston and did not receive it. Will
you, in returning- this check for ten pounds to the Ladies Committee
in Ireland, express my deep gratitude for their thoughtful kindness?
Of course, I cannot accept it. There are many in Ireland many who
suffer from the loss of their bread-winners in the old cause they want
it ; let them have it. It is enough more than enough for me to know
that I have been remembered in Ireland, and that still, in the old land,
the spirit of our cause and the energies of our people are living and
acting 1 . I remain, dear Colonel,
Very truly yours,
J. BOYLE O REILLY.
Less than two months later, we find him writing in this
cheerful strain to his aunt, in Preston, England :
"BOSTON PILOT" OFFICE,
FRANKLIN STREET, BOSTON, April 5, 1870.
MY OWN DEAR AUNT : How happy I was made by seeing your let
ter. I am truly glad that you and Willy and Uncle are so well. I
was thinking of you when I was in Liverpool. I dared not go to Pres
ton. It is strange how I love Preston I felt it then, and I feel it now.
I am a very fortunate fellow to pull clear through. I am likely to
106 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
become a prosperous man in America. I write for the magazines and
report for the Pilot, drill the Irish Legion, make speeches at public
meetings, lecture for charities, etc., etc. This course in the old coun
tries would soon make a fortune: and, after a time, here it will have
the same effect ; but, at present, all this must be done to establish a
reputation. I just manage to live as a gentleman. I have paid my
debts to the captains Avho brought me here. In a few years it will be
my own fault if I do not make a name worth bearing.
And how are all my friends in Preston? .... I am glad you liked
Mr. Bursley. He is a noble fellow. He knew who I was from the first
day I went on the ship Send on your pictures, Aunt, dear, I m
eager to see you all again.
Tell me all about the Preston people whom I knew. I will order
some cartes to-day. I don t like the style of the present ones they
will do for people I don t care about I am proud of Willy. He
will be a fine fellow a prosperous, able man, I know, whenever I see
him again. Does Uncle James go to sea yet? It s time he gave up;
he has lots of money made now. And do you sit down quietly and rest
yourself? or do you still go on with the old, old toil? Now, Aunt, you
must write me long, very long letters. A lady correspondent of your
ability and taste is invaluable to a literary man. Now, don t laugh
I m in earnest. Write often. I ll send you some papers. I lecture
to-night in a city called Quincy, near Boston. I have four lectures this
week. I inclose a ticket for one. I wish I could see you there. Good-
by, dear Aunt, Uncle, and Willy. I am, always,
Truly yours,
J. BOYLE O REILLY.
As lie had given sufficient evidence of his literary skill
and journalistic instincts, his steadfast friends, Mr. Collins
and Dr. Joyce, addressed themselves to the editor and pro
prietor of the Boston Pilot, an old established newspaper
devoted to the interests of Irish-American Catholics, of
whom it had been the recognized organ for more than thirty
years. Mr. Donahoe recognized the ability of the young
man and gave him a temporary engagement as reporter and
general writer on the Pilot. This was early in the spring
of 1870.
The moment was propitious, occurring as it did at the
time of the second Fenian invasion of Canada under the
leadership of General John O Neill. O Neill had made a
successful foray across the border, near Buffalo, in 1866, and
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 107
had everything his own way with the Canadian militiamen,
until the United States forces under General Grant, cutting
off his supplies and reinforcements, compelled him to
retreat. In June, 1870, he made his second attempt at the
conquest of Canada by way of St. Albans, Vt. O Reilly
went with the invaders to the front as "war correspon
dent" of the Pilot.
Coincidently with the date of his first bulletin in that
brief and inglorious campaign, in the Pilot of May 28,
1870, there appeared a little poem, written by him in prison
and entitled " Pondering." It is interesting for its hopeful
spirit, if not for its poetic worth.
Have I no future left to me ?
Is there no struggling ray
From the sun of my life outshining
Down on my darksome way ?
Will there no gleam of sunshine
Cast o er my path its light ?
Will there no star of hope arise
Out of this gloom of night ?
Have I gainst Heaven s warnings
Sinfully, madly rushed ?
Else why were rny heart-strings severed ?
Why was my love-light crushed ?
Oh, I have hopes and yearnings
Hopes that I know are vain ;
And the knowledge robs Life of beauty,
And Death of its only pain.
On May 28, he wrote his first dispatch as a special
correspondent from the "seat of war." On the 30th he
telegraphed from St. Albans, Vt. : "I have just been
arrested by the United States marshal. I shall not have a
hearing until to-morrow."
His first dispatches and letters were terse summaries of
the events which he had witnessed. On the following week
appeared his full report, as follows :
Your reporter left Boston on Tuesday evening, 26th inst., en route
for St. Albans, Vt., and having provided himself with divers morning
108 JOHN BOYLE o KEILLY.
papers had his imagination inflated to extreme tightness before his
second cigar was finished. Each paper had distinct ,and detailed
accounts of thousands of men and trains of war material ; and so pre
cise were they in their statements, that even the officers commanding
were named. These statements were all false. There were no thou
sands of men moving on St . Albans, nor on any other point, as the
sequel shows. The best way to give a correct idea of the numbers
of the Fenian "armies," is simply to state what was seen by a man who
was there.
At six o clock on the morning of the 25th, I arrived in St. Albans.
There were about sixty Fenians on the train forty from Boston under
command of Major Hugh McGuinness, and about twenty who were
taken in at the various stations. When the train arrived at St. Albans
these men passed quietly through the town, and proceeded to the front,
beyond Franklin, which is seventeen miles beyond St. Albans. Along
the road between St. Albans and Franklin were scattered groups of
men, principally hurrying to the front, but some, even at that early
stage, turning their faces and steps homewai d, and excusing their
cowardice by tales of mismanagement and discontent. However, these
dispirited ones grew fewer as we went on, the hurrying men seeming
to lose their weariness as they neared the front. About ten o clock we
arrived in the village of Franklin, and found the solitary street filled
with wagons and teams of every description, and a large crowd of men,
composed principally of citizens, attracted by curiosity. For the first
time, we saw the uniformed Fenians here in very considerable num
bers. The uniform was a capital one for service, and, in mass, most
attractive, a green, cavalry jacket, faced with yellow, army blue pan
taloons, and a blue cap with green band.
General O Neill commanded in person. He walked up and down
the road conversing with his chief of staff, Gen. J. J. Donnelly,
observing the occupation of the men, and now and then making some
remark to aid a waverer in his choice of two rifles with perhaps equally
bright barrels. Gen. O Neill was dressed in a light gray suit, and
wore a staff-sword and spurs. His horse, a small bay, stood by the
roadside, held by a green-coated orderly. When informed of the
arrival of the United States Mai shal, he merely smiled and continued
his walk. He said to your reporter that he meant to fight, and he
would have a fight. Among the officers present was Major Daniel
Murphy, of Bridgeport, Conn., in command of a very fine body of men.
Major Murphy had his men formed up on the road, and minutely
inspected them to see if every man s equipment was complete. He
looked a fine, soldierly fellow, and throughout the whole day, and
since then, no officer or man deserves higher notice than he for con
spicuous bravery or clear-headed projects. Capt. Wm, Cronan, of
ills LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 109
Burlington ; Vt., also commanded a splendid company, in perfect uni
form and equipment. His men had asked to be given the front in the
advance on the enemy, and their request was granted. They were
in line farther on the road, going through their manual and platoon
drills, and showing by their motions that they were well disciplined
soldiers. Another company, under command of Capt. J. J. Monahan,
was still nearer the Canadian front. Col. Humphrey Sullivan, of
Boston ; Col. Brown, of Lawrence, Mass. ; Major Chas. Carlton of Bur
lington, Vt. ; Capt. John Fitzpatrick, of Bridgeport, Conn. ; Capt. Carey
of Fort Edward, and many others were also present. Of the above-
named officers the name of Capt. John Fitzpatrick should be espe
cially mentioned for personal bravery, shown in the course of the day.
General O Neill told your reporter that he knew that the Canadians
had taken up a position, and were prepared for him in force. He said he
meant to draw their fire, and find their strength and position ; and then
he would know whether a project he entertained was feasible or not.
At eleven o clock, Gen. George P. Foster, United States Marshal
for Vermont, arrived at the encampment. The guard which the
Fenians had posted had orders to stop all carriages and traffic on the
road ; and according to orders the Fenian sentinel told the marshal to
"halt." Gen. Foster immediately told Gen. Donnelly that this must
not continue, as they were breaking the laws of the United States.
The guard was accordingly withdrawn, and the teams were allowed to
pass. General Foster then formally ordered O Neill to desist from his
"unlawful proceeding." The order was coolly received by Gen.
O Neill, who then, in a low tone, spoke a few words to Gen. Donnelly.
Donnelly went forward and ordered the men to "fall in." In a few
minutes the entire Fenian force was in column of fours, with fixed
bayonets and shouldered rifles, ready for their general to give the
word " Advance ! "
General O Neill, putting himself at the head of his troops, addressed
them.
The line of road which the column had to march was narrow and
hilly. The distance to the line was about a mile, but the Canadian
front would not be visible until they had ascended the last hill, at the
base of which ran a small brook. About eighteen rods on the Ameri
can side of the brook was a post marking the boundary line. The
troops marched steadily and well, b^ut they certainly did not think that
they would be engaged as soon as they were. Gen. Foster, the United
States Marshal, who had driven over the line and visited the Canadian
forces, now returned, meeting the Fenians on their advance. He told
them as soon as they cleared the hill the Canadians would fire on them.
Many teams were on the road, but at this news they disappeared very
quickly. The Fenians were in good spirits, and when they heard the
110 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
fight was so near, they flung down their knapsacks and took off their
great coats to be ready for it. Up to this time everything was orderly
and soldierly. The men kept their places, and the officers held them
in strict command. Col. Brown, who had no definite command,
shouldered a breech-load ing rifle, and went forward with Cronan s
skirmishers. Geri. O Neill rode at the head of the column, which
presented a fine appearance, with its steady line of bayonets and the
green flag in the front.
As soon as the column had reached the brow of the hill overlooking
the line, Capt. Cronan s and Capt. Gary s companies were sent forward
by the road as skirmishers, with orders to deploy when they had reached
the base of the hill where stood Alvah Richards s farm-house. This
house is about fifty rods from the line. On the Canadian side of the
line, for about five hundred yards, the ground is flat, and then rises
abruptly into a steep, rocky hill, on which the Volunteers were strongly
posted. From Richards s farm on the west side of the road, rose another
abrupt hill covered with trees. On this side O Neill had determined to
take position, and, while his men were under cover, draw the fire of
the enemy, and find their exact position. His object was to make a
flank movement on the Canadian right, and advance on Cook s Cor
ners, a village about two miles to the west.
Capt. Cronan s company advanced steadily to Richards s farm, and
on passing it, dashed with a cheer ; along the road to the bridge.
When the first files had crossed the line, and before the company could
deploy, the Canadians opened a heavy fire on them. Almost at the
first discharge, Private John Rowe, of Burlington. Vt., was shot
through the head, and fell dead in the center of the road. The Fenian
troops, without deploy ing, returned the fire for a short time, and then fell
back in rear of Richards s house, where General Donnelly commanded
a reserve of about fifty men. The Canadians then turned their fire on
the troops, which were taking up positions on the hill. The men were
filing over the exposed ground between the road and the hill, when the
heaviest firing of the day was opened on them. Francis Carraher fell
by the roadside, shot through the groin, and, in an instant after, Lieu
tenant Edward Hope went down in the field, and Mr. O Brien fell dead,
with a Canadian bullet through his heart. When the troops gained the
hill, they got the order to advance to the front and open fire. They ad
vanced, but before they had reached the position which General O Neill
wished them to occupy, they fell back again under the close, steady fire
of the Canadians. The Fenians also kept up a steady fire, but all the
energies of their officers could not get them to advance. .Major Mur
phy, Col. Sullivan, and Capt. Fitzpatrick did all that brave men could
do to inspire the men with confidence. It was evident then that the
troops were too few to achieve anything. The men felt that they had
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. Ill
no support to fall back upon, and that even if they drove the Canadians
back, they were too weak to hold a position against any considerable
force. Gen. O Neill, who had been in their front under the hottest fire,
cheering and rallying the men, then formed them up under cover and
addressed them.
After some ineffective attempts by the officers to rally the men and
lead them to the position on the hill which O Neill wanted, the men
fell back in rear of the hill.
This was virtually the end of the fighting. The Canadians still kept
up a close fire on the hill, and the road leading to Alvah Richards s
house, where they knew that General Donnelly, with the reserve, was
posted. The bullets of the volunteers swept every approach to the
house, and Donnelly determined to hold it until night, and then
evacuate.
The news of Gen. O Neill s arrest * was a crushing blow to Gen.
Donnelly and Col. Brown. Donnelly was so much affected that he
walked away from his men some fifty yards, and bowing his face in
his hands cried bitterly for several minutes. He returned to his men,
calm and collected, and told them he would hold the place until night.
At about half-past three, a flag of truce was observed coming from
the Canadian lines, and Gen. Donnelly ordered his men at once to
cease firing. The volunteers who carried the flag came down to the
line, and General Donnelly went to meet them. At first they asked
Donnelly if he did not want to take away the body of Howe, which lay
in the center of the road about ten rods on the Canadian side of the
line. They proposed some conditions to Gen. Donnelly, which your
reporter, who accompanied him, could not hear. Gen. Donnelly drew
himself up, proudly, and said : Sir, go back and say that on those
conditions I will never treat with you." He then turned and walked
back to the farm-house, and the Canadians returned to their lines, the
body of Rowe remaining on the road where he had fallen.
The Fenian troops on the hill, under command of Maj. Murphy, fell
back to the old encampment, where a reinforcement of about fifty men
had arrived from New York. They held a council of war, when the
majority of officers decided to go to Malone, N. Y., but before doing so
they would move to the assistance of Gen. Donnelly.
At six o clock the solitary field-piece which represented the "parks
of artillery " of the Fenians, was brought into position on the hill over
looking Richards s farm. Col. McGuinness of Boston directed its opera
tions. The piece was loaded with round shot, and three or four missiles
* O Neill was arrested by the United States Marshal near the house of Farmer
Richards. He turned the command over to O Reilly, who was also in turn
arrested. Both were released after a brief detention.
JOHN fcoYLE O REILLY.
were sent whizzing into the Canadian lines. This was done to draw the
attention of the volunteers from the farm-house, and so enable Donnelly
and his men to escape. Gen. Donnelly immediately took advantage of
the ruse, and led his men, by the left, into the low ground, where, after
a short distance, he would be under cover. The Canadians, however,
saw the movement, and opened a tremendous fire on the retreating men.
Maj. Charles Carleton, of Burlington, a brave and handsome young
officer, was wounded, a bullet passing through his leg, but his men
carried him off. Another man was shot badly in the foot. When
nearly out of range, a bullet struck Gen. Donnelly above the hip, pass
ing into his body. Some time afterward two gentlemen who were re
turning from the Canadian side in a carriage brought Gen. Donnelly
to the Franklin House, where he now lies. The report of his death is
incorrect. A physician, who saw him on Saturday afternoon, says he
is progressing favorably.
In the evening the men deserted the encampment and strayed off
toward St. Albans, utterly demoralized and disheartened.
On the next morning, when your reporter visited the encampment,
not a vestige of the immense quantity of stores was left not even the
empty boxes or broken cartridge tins remained. All was gone. Ah,
me ! ah, me ! all was "gobbled up" !
The citizens here all feel for the poor fellows who are thus left des
titute in their towns. It is a universal theme of wonder that the men
are so respectful and well-conducted. They may be seen in groups of
from ten to a hundred, sitting on the side path or lying under the trees ;
and, if a question be asked them, they invariably answer it cheerfully
and politely. A United States officer yesterday asked a Fenian officer
how in the world they kept their men, disorganized as they were, in
such splendid order, and the Fenian major only smiled sadly, and
went over among his poor boys.
It is a grand truth, spoken of here by every citizen, and your re
porter is very proud to write it, that not one outrage, of any sort what
ever, has been committed by a Fenian, either in St. Albans or Malone.
When the " thousands " of Fenians who had been sent to Malone
(by telegraph) had arrived there, they numbered about 400 or 500.
This was the strength on the morning of the 27th, when the attack, or,
rather, the attempt at an attack was made by the Fenians. For two days
previously their camp had been pitched in the enemy s country, but on
the evening of the 27th, when "General" Starr took command, he
wisely recrossed the line to the safe side, fearing the proximity of a
fight, and, like all the other "generals," I suppose not knowing what
to do with the spreading wings of the army under his command, in
case of a breach of the peace. Taking a mean from all the conflicting
accounts, the troops under his command, 011 the morning of the 27th,
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 113
numbered 450 men. Rumor in the Fenian camp had swelled the Cana
dian force to about 4000 men and three regiments of cavalry. Although
the poor fellows believed this, and believed, also, that the Canadians
had artillery, they were not disheartened. They were older and stead
ier soldiers than the men who had been engaged at Richards s farm, and
they were eager for a fight and sanguine of results, even against supe
rior numbers. They were in uniform, and armed with the breech
loader. In passing, we may remark that this weapon is, perhaps, as
good a service rifle as any in the world, and the cartridge supplied was
of the best material.
About nine o clock, A.M., the advance commenced. A strong skir
mish line was thrown out, and the men acted in a steady, soldierly
manner. The Canadian troops were posted strongly 011 elevated
ground, with good shelter, and their skirmishers well advanced. There
were fears among the Fenian ranks of the much talked of American
guns, but, if they were there, they were silent. The skirmishers had
not passed the line twenty rods when the Volunteers opened fire,
which was steadily answered by the Fenians for a short time. Their
main body had not reached the line when the Canadian troops were
seen advancing. The Fenian skirmish line fell back in first-rate order.
The Canadians then fired some heavy volleys, and made so rapid an
advance that it was thought they meant to cross the line. This, how
ever, they did not do. They followed the retiring Fenians to the line,
sent some triumphant bullets whizzing after them, took three prison
ers, wounded two men slightly, and fell back, to indulge in mutual
admiration on account of their victory.
Your reporter is sorry to have to write it, but this is what the Fenian
officers (not the men) call " the fight at Trout River."
As soon as the direful strife was over, " Generals " Starr, O Leary,
and several other generals (we use the word general as a mean there
might have been a colonel, and there probably was a field-marshal)
ordered their carriages, which, like prudent soldiers, they had kept in
readiness, in case of failure, and left the men to look after themselves,
they starting for Malone. There they held a council of war a favor
ite occupation of Fenian officers, it would seem. A great Bashaw of
their organization, and, of course, a general, named Gleason, was here,
holding a court at the Ferguson House. He vociferously expressed his
" disgust " with affairs in general, and interlarded said expression with
Munchausen assertions of what could be done, were things after his
way of thinking, and especially of what he himself could do.
Along the road from Malone to Trout River the poor, disheartened
fellows came straggling. Unlike the men at Richards s farm, they kept
their rifles and equipments, and, notwithstanding the intense heat of
the day, great numbers of them still carried their knapsacks and great
114 joiitf BOYLE O REILLY.
coats. When they gathered in large groups they imitated their officers
so far as to express disgust at existing generalities, and especially were
they disgusted with the man of the Munchausen proclivities.
Your reporter drove out to Trout River, where the encampment had
been formed, and a repetition of the scene at Hubbard s Corner was
presented an immense quantity of military stores, piled there await
ing the men who were not coming; hundreds of young men grouped
around in utter disorder ; very little noise or bustle for so large a gath
ering, and when the voices of the men were heard in passing through
the camp, their tenor was an emphatic and stern condemnation of their
officer s. Many of the men, in describing the events of the day to your
reporter, burst into tears at what they termed their disgrace, arid said
that they only wanted a man to lead them, and they would go any
where with him. Judging from the military physique of the greater
number, there can be no doubt that, with qualified officers, these men
would prove that they did not merit the name they now feared cow
ards. The officer in command, when Starr and O Leary went away,
was Maj. Lindsey, but his men declared that they had no confidence
in his ability to lead them.
Sitting on a log by the roadside we saw a group of officers, among
whom were Col. W. B. Smith, of Buffalo, and Maj. Robert Cullen,
both, we believe, brave and accomplished soldiers. Their faith in the
success of the movement was gone, as the men were hopelessly demor
alized; Col. Smith had arrived that morning. He had started from
Norfolk, Westchester County, for Trout River, 011 Tuesday, in com
mand of 280 men from Buffalo, armed and equipped. His command
formed an escort for a train of 130 wagons, loaded with arms, ammu
nition, and provisions. He had accompanied the wagons to within
seven miles of Trout River camp. When the state of affairs existing
there became known it was deemed best to send the wagons back to the
places from which they came, and where they have been held in secret
by friends of the Brotherhood. It was reported that the Government
had seized six of the wagons, but the remainder had disappeared.
On the afternoon of the 27th a number of the demoralized Fenians
were addressed by Surgeon Donnelly, of Pittsburgh, Pa. He urged
them to march to the front again, and by a sudden and unexpected
attack they might retrieve in part, at least, their former defeat. He
said that he was not a soldier, but if they could not find one to lead
them, he would lead them again across the lines, and would do all he
could to guide them to success. About forty men fell into rank and
followed him for some distance, but, rightly appreciating their insig
nificance, they melted away among the demoralized crowd again.
On the 27th, and following day, men continued to arrive in Malone
from various places. They met with a sorry reception from the mass
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. Il5
of weary men who crowded the depot ; but, as a rule, they expressed
their disbelief in the statements of failure, and would go to the front
and see for themselves ; arid go they did, and came back sadder and
wiser men.
Immediately after Gen. O Neill s arrest at St. Albans,
O Reilly had attempted to assume the command verbally
delegated to him by the former, but the men were demor
alized, and one officer, to whom he had issued a command,
refused with an oath to obey. Another, who had seen real
lighting, was so chagrined with the insubordination of his
comrades, that he broke his sword, and so surrendered his
brief commission. Among the trustworthy friends of
O Reilly in this wretched fiasco was Mr. (now Rev.) P. B.
Murphy, who had with him attended an enthusiastic rally
at the Sherman House in Boston, and had gone forward
full of bright anticipations. He and Mr. Chas. E. Hurd,
representing the Boston Journal, saw the ignominious end
of the campaign, and the arrest of O Reilly and Maj.
McGfuinness, both of whom were released after a detention
of a day or two.
The Fenian leaders had been egregiously misled by
lofty promises of support from various quarters. O Neill
was undoubtedly an honest man, but his followers, equally
honest, were for the most part untrained and undisciplined
raw recruits ; some were so unacquainted with warfare
that they did not know how to load their guns ! They
were brave enough, unskilled as they were, to have over
come the forces confronting them, had they been well
handled and assured of reinforcement. The United States
Government would not have been very sorry had they
been able to carry out their scheme of invasion successfully ;
but, as it was, it interposed at the proper time and ended
the tragical farce.
O Reilly s correspondence from Canada was his first ex
tended work on the Pilot. It created a marked impression
both on account of the writer s revolutionary antecedents,
and because of the frankness with which he had criticized
the whole ill-judged and ill-managed undertaking. Still
116 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
more frank and daring was his criticism of some of his
countrymen in the matter of the Orange riots in New York
a month later.
On the 12th of July, the Orangemen of that city held a
picnic, and paraded the streets with insulting flags and
music, to which they added, on entering the Irish quarter,
delicate shouts of, " To hell with the Pope," " Croppies lie
down," etc. The natural, if not justifiable, consequence
ensued ; and some three or four men were killed and
several others wounded. It is almost impossible for an
American to understand the bitter anger with which Irish
Catholics resent these taunts from the party of Protestant
ascendency, or the tragic memories of two hundred years
of persecution which they evoke. O Reilly was born on
the banks of the Boyne, ill-fated scene of Irish disaster ; he
had suffered every insult, torture, brutality, that his ene
mies could inflict, as punishment for the crime of patriot
ism. If any man would have been justified in feeling the
bitterness of party spirit to the uttermost, it would have
been he.
Instead of extenuating or defending the action of those
Irish Catholics, who had resented the insults of the Orange
men, he looked upon the whole affair with the eyes of a
patriot, ashamed of the disgrace which his countrymen of
either class had brought upon their name. In the Pilot
of July 23, he wrote this strong and scathing rebuke :
Events have at intervals occurred in the history of this country
which have justly called up a blush of shame on the faces of patriotic
Irishmen ; but we doubt if they ever have received so great a reason
for deep humiliation as during the past week. On the 12th of July the
"American Protestant Association," in other words, the Orange
Lodges of New York, had advertised their intention of celebrating the
anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne. Accordingly on that morning,
with colors flying and bands playing, they paraded to the number of
3000, and marched to the scene of their celebration, Elm Park. On the
line of march they lost no opportunity of goading to intensity the bitter
feelings of their Catholic fellow-countrymen whom they passed. This
resulted in a general banding of the laborers of the vicinity, who set
upon the Orangemen with sticks and stones, which were answered by
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 117
them with pistol bullets. A terrible melee was the consequence, in
which four lives were lost, and numbers endangered.
Is not this cause for deep humiliation ? Earnest men have labored
for years to remove that bitter old taunt of our enemies " You cannot
unite." Patient workers have tried to teach the world, and even our
selves, that this reproach was not the truth. This is the reward of
their labor. Our own people, in a strange land, have insultingly turned
on their benefactors and flung their labor in their faces. Oh, what a
national degradation is this ! We talk of patriotism and independence!
We prate and boast of our " national will " ! What evidence is this ?
What are we to-day in the eyes of Americans ? Aliens from a petty
island in the Atlantic, boasting of our patriotism and fraternity, and
showing at the same moment the deadly hatred that rankles against
our brethren and fellow-countiymen. Why must we carry, wherever
we go, those accursed and contemptible island feuds ? Shall we never
be shamed into the knowledge of the brazen impudence of allowing our
national hatreds to disturb the peace and the safety of the respectable
citizens of this country ? Must the day come when the degrading
truth cannot be muffled up, that the murderous animosity of Irish
partyism lias become a public nuisance in almost every corner of the
world ? We cannot dwell 011 this subject. We cannot, and we care
not to analyze this mountain of disgrace, to find out to which party the
blame is attached. Both parties are to be blamed and condemned ; for
both have joined in making the name of Irishmen a scoff and a by
word this day in America.
Thus, almost his first word as a journalist was one of re
buke to the wretched spirit of faction which has ever been
the bane, and shame, and ruin of Ireland. So also, the
last words that he ever permed for the Pilot, after twenty
years of untiring service as the guide and friend and coun
selor of his people, were in condemnation of the foolish,
futile, dangerous dissensions among men who, enlisted in
the service of their country, would forget the enemy be
fore them, to turn their arms against one another.
A year after the Orange demonstration of 1870, the same
organization again paraded in New York, and again another
disgraceful riot ensued. In the Pilot of July 29, 1871,
O Reilly wrote these wise and temperate words concern
ing "The Orange Parade and Other Parades."
On both sides of the question there have been made about enough
wild and. intemperate assertions, charges, and countercharges. Let us
118 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
now try to clear away the vapor from the subject and look at it in its
nakedness, not through mere curiosity, but with a view to the removal
of the bitter feelings which are kept living in this country by parades.
We do not speak to either party in the late riots we have neither
Orange subscribers nor rowdy readers : but we speak to the great class
the Irish in America who are made to bear the blame and the shame
of the disgraceful proceedings that have marked the 12th of July in
New York for two years past.
After reviewing the comments of the press on the riots
the article continues :
But let us return to the main consideration. How is a recurrence
of this disaster to be avoided ? Let us look at the matter all round, and
with coolness ; other people look at it so, and we should also. It will
help us to examine fairly, if we remember that a few months ago we
the Catholics of America held monster meetings of a semi-religious
nature, whereat we protested strongly against the Italian occupation of
Rome an usurpation which appears just in the eyes of many of our
Protestant fellow-citizens. And later, on the 16th of June last, we
celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of Pius IX. in many cities,
with immense processions, in which we carried the Papal colors. We
were not interfered with on either occasion. With this as a stand
point let us proceed. Let us, in the first place, express our firm convic
tion that the action of many of the Irish-American journals is both in-
considei ate and unwise. If the Irish people will act judiciously on this
matter, they will not widen still more the temporary gulf that a few
scheming politicians have placed, or attempted to place, between them
and the natives of this country. The intemperate course of a part of
the Irish-American press tends to widen that gulf. The question is,
Do we or do we not defend the New York rioters ? As Irish- American
Catholic citizens, we answer, we condemn the rioters, and ignore them
both as Irishmen and Catholics. By making ourselves responsible for
their acts, which we do by a vain attempt to justify them, we give the
200 Orangemen who walked in New York the satisfaction of knowing
that they have destroyed all friendly feeling between Irish Catholics
and native Americans ; in a word, we play into their hands, and give
them more than they could ever have hoped for.
It may appear very strange to some of us that all men do not see at
once that the Orangemen have no right to parade. They cannot be
citizens of this country so long as they remain citizens of England, to
which their oath as Orangemen binds them. But the Irish people here
could talk with more weight on this subject if they could show that
more than a tithe of their own number evinced such an interest in the
welfare of the Commonwealth as to secure the power of a vote. Such
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 119
a time as this is too serious for flattery. It may be outside the track of
Irish-American journals to say harsh things to their readers, or venture
to attack old beliefs. But there are things to be said on this question
that must be said some time ; and it is better that a friendly hand should
pull down our old rookeries than that an enemy s torch should be ap
plied to them. Plain talk is like spring medicine unpalatable, but
necessary.
If the Orangemen determine to parade, they have a right to parade ;
that is, they have as much right to parade with orange scarfs and ban
ners, as a Fenian regiment has with green scarfs and sunbursts. But,
it may be that neither party has a right to parade ; that they have
simply been tolerated by the authorities. If it be found that such tol
eration is detrimental to public security, we think that every reflecting
Irish -American citizen will at once say that both processions should be
proscribed. The very ablest defenders of the rnob say that they do not
quarrel with the Orangemen simply because they are Protestants.
What do they quarrel with them for ? They have no right to quarrel
with them for their colors, for the Fenian Legion of St. Patrick, organ
ized with a view to make war on England, flaunts the green flag of
Ireland in the faces of thousands of Englishmen in New York City.
Really, we are almost forced to the conclusion that the whole ground
of objection consists in the fact that the Orangemen play, " Croppies Lie
Down." We admit that this is, and should be considered, an insulting
tune by the Irish people ; and we should deeply regret to see them lose
their detestation of it. But, let us ask, is it sufficient cause to warrant
a violation of the law and a sacrifice of life ?
We have written this article with a most oppressive feeling of its
necessity. Thousands of people who are too intelligent to put their
individual opinions against the decree of the State of New York, still
allow their sympathy to run away with them, and thus leave it in the
power of their enemies to say that they are in all things in unison with
the New York mob. This is a sad mistake. Certain it is that the
Orange procession is not a pleasant sight to any Irish Catholic, how
ever unprejudiced ; but it is just as certain that the Irish Catholics of
this country, as a body, condemn all breach of the law in attacking an
Orange procession, just as honestly as they would condemn a i-iotof any
other criminal nature.
There are two ways of getting rid of this apple of discord. The first
is, by an agreement between the general Irish population and the
Orangemen foregoing all right to parade, and expi essing their deter
mination never to hold processions for Irish political objects alone.
This we may rest assured, will not be easily agreed to. The second one
is the best, and the one that must come in the end, when America, tired
out and indignant with her squabbling population, puts her foot down
120 JOHN BOYLE O BKILLY.
with a will and tells them all Germans, French, Irish, Orange "You
have had enough now. There is only ONE flag to be raised in future in
this country and that flag is the Stars and Stripes."
Such bold and frank expressions elicited, as might have
been expected, comments of approbation as well as of cen
sure. The unpartisan press commended the honesty and
courage of the young journalist. Some of his countrymen
criticized his sharp rebuke of hot-headed Irishmen, who
had allowed their natural indignation against the oppres
sors of their native country to make them forget their duty
to the land of their adoption. To one such critic he replied
as follows, defending the right of an honest man to change
his opinion, or, as he expressed it, "It is better to be
Right than Stubborn."
On our third page will be found a letter signed " Corcoran," pur
porting to be an expression of Fenian dissatisfaction with our editorial
on the New York riot. When we wrote that editorial we were fully
aware that it would not be acceptable to certain people in the com
munity. But we knew that therein we expressed the opinions of the
calm, rational, and respectable Irish Catholics of America. Least of all
did we expect dissatisfaction from the Fenians, whose temperate action
in New York, during the excitement immediately preceding the riot,
won for them the well-merited praise of every class in the community.
We must, as a friend, remind the writer of this letter that his asser
tion that we "sneer at the Sunburst" is extremely unjust and he
knows it. Boasting is not our trade, but none of them all loves the
Sunburst better than we do. The writer also says, "The Pilot has
entirely changed its tone on Fenianism, and, from being friendly,
adopted directly the opposite course."
The Pilot has done no such thing. The Pilot is as true a friend to
all organizations aiming at Ireland s good, now, as it ever has been,
and ever shall be. Still, we must reserve our right to criticise unfav
orably as well as the opposite. It is said that "there has been no
change in the circumstances of Ireland, nor in the principles or policy
of the Fenian Brotherhood," but that all the change has been in our
selves. This is incorrect. There has been a very great change in the
circumstances of Ireland since the Fenian Brotherhood was a great
organization, and, whether in its policy or not, there has been a vast
change in the organization. On the column next to that in which is
" Corcoran s " letter, is something that tells of a change in Ireland, and
something well worthy of every intelligent Irishman s consideration,
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 121
We don t believe in that ignorant old prejudice that sneers at every
man who changes his opinions. There is much of Ireland s bane in the
habit. The man who has the courage to honestly change his opinions
is the best man. If convinced that we were pursuing a wrong course,
or that a better one was open, we would change every day in the year.
The world is all change. Every thinker is a changer every discovery
is a change. Only an ignorant or thoughtless person can believe
that a man who changes is a bad man ; such a belief would sink the
world in stagnation in a day. Our friends may rest assured that, with
God s assistance, we shall never change from the Right or turn our
back on the Truth : but in all debatable questions our motto is " It is
better to be Right than Stubborn."
CHAPTER VII.
Civilian Prisoners in Australia Set Free The Story of Thomas
Hassett O Reilly s Narrative Poems His Love of Country and
Denunciation of Sham Patriots Death of his Father Speech for
the Press His Marriage, and Home Life Pilot Burned Out in
the Great Boston Fire The Papyrus Club Founded.
IN addition to his daily editorial work, O Reilly filled
several engagements to lecture during this and subse
quent years. His first lecture, after the collapse of the
Fenian invasion of Canada, was given in Liberty Hall, New
Bedford, .Mass., on the 20th of June, 1870, for the benefit
of Captain Gifford of the Gazelle. The Captain and Mr.
Hathaway occupied seats on the stage, and heard the story
of their kindness told with all the eloquence of gratitude,
and received with all the enthusiasm of an Irish audience.
On the 29th of October, he lectured in Boston Music
Hall, for the benefit of the Engineer Corps of the Ninth
Regiment, and again, on December 11, for the benefit of
St. Stephen s Church, Boston. During all this time, amid
professional and public cares, he found leisure for constant
study, for the rewriting and revising of some of his earlier
poems, and for a ceaseless, active interest in the fate of his
fellow-prisoners. To the end of his life, any man who had
worn the badge of honor as a penal convict, for his devotion
to Ireland, held a lien on the affection and good services of
Boyle O Reilly. In the early part of 1870, the British
Government granted conditional pardon to such political
convicts in Australia as had been civilians at the time of
their offence. The act of clemency carried little with it, be
yond the mere boon of liberty. Their prison doors were
opened, and they were turned loose to make what use they
122
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 123
might of their only capital, freedom. Thanks to the kind
ness of Irish residents in the colony, they were provided
for, and aided in making their way, some to their homes in
Ireland, and others to the Mecca of all aspirants for
liberty the United States.
Eight civilians and fifteen military prisoners were ex
empted from the amnesty. One of these, writing to the
more fortunate man who had amnestied himself, said : "It
is my birthday as I write this, and I know I am turning it
to the best account by writing to such a dear old friend.
Who knows, perhaps I may be able to spend the next one
with you ; if not, then we will hope for the following one.
At all events, we must not despair. I would count the
time I spend here as nothing if I could only see the factions
in America and elsewhere all united in one grand organi
zation. This is a something to hope for. Let such a thing
once become un fait accompli, and then it is but a little
more time, a little more patience, and what k The thought
sends a thrill through my whole frame like an electric
shock." "Poor fellow!" commented O Reilly, in the
Pilot, "how much pain is he not saved by the rigor which
excludes news from the prison. That sweet old dream of
unity can bear him up under all clouds of fate, giving a
young and talented man, like the writer of the above letter,
patience to write calmly If not next year, perhaps the
following. We must not despair ! To him who would
breed dissension among Irishmen, are not those words of
this imprisoned man as terrible as the Mane, Thecel,
Phares which chilled the heart of the Assyrian?"
One of the Hougoumonf s life convicts, Thomas Hassett,
rightly despairing of amnesty, made his escape from the road
party early in June, and, like O Reilly, penetrated through
the bush to the sea, taking refuge on board ship at Bun-
bury. There he was recaptured, on the very threshold of
freedom, and sentenced to three years hard labor in the
chain-gang at Swan River, with six months solitary confine
ment. Hassett was a remarkably daring man. He, with
James Wrenn and other Fenians, had served through two
124 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
campaigns in the Papal Brigade. Returning to Ireland he
joined the Twenty-fourth Infantry, and immediately began
organizing a revolutionary movement. He was doing sen
try duty at the Royal Hospital, Dublin, in December, 1865,
when he received timely warning that a guard had arrived
at the picket room to arrest him. O Reilly tells the pic
turesque sequel as follows :
" Private Hassett walked off his post, and, shouldering
his rifle, proceeded confidently through the streets of
Dublin, in which a soldier with arms is never questioned.
It was ten o clock at night, and it so happened that Hassett
knew of a certain meeting of organizers and other boys on
their keepin, which was being held that evening. Thither
he bent his steps, reached the house, and, knowing how it
was done, gained admission. The rebels sat in council up
stairs : faces grew dark, teeth were set close, and revolvers
grasped when they heard the steady stamp on the stairs,
and the ground arms, at their door. A moment after, the
door opened and the man in scarlet walked into the room
all there knew him well. With full equipments, knapsack,
rifle, and bayonet, and sixty rounds of ammunition, Hassett
had deserted from his post, and walked straight into the
ranks of rebellion. He was quickly divested of his military
accoutrements ; scouts went out to a neighboring clothing
store, and soon returned with every requisite for a full-
fledged civilian. The red coat was voted to the fire, and
the belt and arms were stored away with a religious hope in
the coming fight for an Irish Republic. The next evening
one more was added to the group of strangely dressed men
who smoked and drank their pots o porter in a certain
house in Thomas Street. The new-comer was closely shaven
and had the appearance of a muscular Methodist minister.
The men there were all deserters, and the last arrival was
Hassett. Vainly watching for the coming fight, the poor
fellows lived in mysterious misery for several weeks. It is
hard to realize here now the feeling that was rife in Dublin
then. At last one of the deserters was recognized in the
streets by the military informer, Private Foley, of the
HiS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 125
Fifth Dragoons, tracked to the rendezvous, surrounded by
the police, and every one captured."
Hassett and his comrades were not forgotten, as we shall
see in relating the romantic story of their rescue by the
American whaling bark Catalpa, in 1876.
The partial amnesty was extended also to certain Fenian
prisoners in Ireland, including John Flood, Thomas Clarke
Luby, John O Leary, O Donovan Rossa, John Devoy,
O Meagher Condon, and others, who arrived in New York
in January, 1871.
During this year, the Uncle Ned s Tales, and other early
poems were reprinted in the Pilot, and attracted a good
deal of attention to their author. There was an element of
strength underlying their occasional crudities, which gave
promise of something better in the young poet. The
appearance of his " Amber Whale," " Dukite Snake," and
other narrative poems confirmed that promise. They were
original in conception and dramatic in form. Although he
was to achieve his greater, enduring fame in a far different
field of poetry, his first popular success was made as a
writer of narrative verse. The popular taste is not to be
despised ; for, undoubtedly, the versified story is the natu
ral poem if anything so artificial in form as a poem can
be said to have a natural character. The world loves a
story ; and it is the bard s chronicle, from the tale of Troy
Town, down to the latest ballad, that is committed to mem
ory when loftier and more elevated flights of the Muse are
admired and forgotten. In this respect the world of twenty
years ago was very like the world of two thousand years ago.
It craved for something new, and the demand created a sup
ply of brilliant young writers, who brought novel wares to
the literary market. Bret Harte and Joaquin Miller came
from California with widely differing, but equally striking,
lyrics of wild life. John Hay and Will Carleton struck
other notes of the people s heart. There was a renaissance
of natural poetry.
O Reilly, fresh from a newer, stranger land of songless
birds and scentless flowers, sung not of birds, nor of tiowers,
126 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
but of mankind. The setting of his stories was doubly
foreign the social, as well as geographical antipodes. The
dullest reader could not fail to see that the story, however
fanciful it might be, bore the stamp of truth to nature, and
that the teller spoke only of what he himself had seen, or
felt, or been. The " Dukite Snake" might be as unreal as
the phoenix ; but the Bush and its inmates were taken from
the life. The "Amber Whale" was redolent of the sea-
nobody but a sailor-man could have given its nautical flavor
and technical lore with such perfect fidelity.
These long narrative poems were not distinguished for
analysis or character study. They were anything but sub
jective. They gave no hint of the philosophical quality
which was to mark his later verse ; but they were pictur
esque, dramatic, virile, and achieved their only purpose,
that of telling a strong story in direct, forcible fashion.
He had not as yet learned the finer art of pruning away
extraneous matter, and presenting a powerful tale in a
terse, concrete form, as he afterward could do with such a
story as that of " Ensign Epps."
The "Dukite Snake "appeared in the Christmas supple
ment of the Boston Journal for 1871. O Reilly wrote but
once over a pseudonym. It was a short poem contributed,
I think, to the Boston Traveler, and signed with the pun
ning name "Boilea.u.
Shortly after the publication of the "Amber Whale"
in the New York Tribune, the author received a tempting
offer from Horace Greeley to join the staff of that paper.
The proffered salary was large compared with that which
he was then receiving; but it was met by a counter offer
from the proprietor of the Pilot, which induced him,
wisely, to remain where he was. He was making a repu
tation in the American city which was the literary center-
of the country. The circle of his personal friendship was
large, and steadily growing. More than all, he was in a
position to be of incalculable service to the cause of his
native country ; and it is the simplest of truths to say that
this consideration would have outweighed, at any period of
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 127
his life, every prospect of personal gain or literary honors.
Love of country was with him not merely a strong senti
ment, it was the ruling passion, to which he would have
sacrificed any and every other ambition or possession.
It was in this spirit of absolutely unselfish patriotism
that he sharply arraigned the demagogues and self-seekers
who endeavored to mislead his countrymen by posing as
Irish- American leaders."
"If the Irish people in this country," he said, "were
to utter one prayer with more devotion than another, we
think it should be, Save us from our leaders ! The
consideration of the mysterious union between an acknowl
edged impostor, imbecile, or fire-eater, and the people who
are affected by his words and acts, is full of interest to any
one who looks beneath the surface at men and things. The
authority of the demagogue, or, rather, the toleration with
which people bear his noisy assumption of authority,
springs from some metaphysical mystery far beyond the
ken of common mortals.
" We have noticed in one of the most prominent of the
demagogic journals, lately, an editorial call for An Irish-
American Party, for which the dangerous demagogue says
the necessity is forced upon us. We can tell him that
the day is surely coming when the necessity of punishing
the author of such criminal folly will be forced upon the
Irish people of America. Day after day we see sheets
called Irish- American journals filled with such blatant
nonsense or suicidal advice. Thank Heaven, these produc
tions are not very numerous, nor do they compete in influ
ence with our respectable Irish-American press. But their
existence is a sore, which will spread, as all sores do, if
neglected. The Irish people should keep their eyes on
these fellows who sway the passions of the most ignorant
portion of the community. On every occasion that arises,
it is the duty of Irish- American Catholics, in view of their
own respectability, to protest shortly and decisively against
these would-be representative Irish leaders, or Irish
newspapers."
128 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
It would be hard for the most critical of native Ameri
cans to find fault with the Americanism of the foregoing
advice, or with the editoral appeal to his fellow-country
men, in the following issue, to " Think it out" to reflect
and reason, before indorsing every well-meant, but ill-
directed, project proposed to them.
The cause of Home Rule, then being discussed in Ire
land, received his earnest support, as " a greater effort for
political equality than any that Ireland has yet seen, not
even excepting the agitation of Daniel O Connell." The
Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Fenian movement
had done admirable service for the Irish cause, but the
Home Rule movement was distinctly of home origin. Then
says O Reilly: "Why in the name of wonder is it that
the Irish in America who profess to have such intense
sympathy with Ireland s politics, are so silent or so ignorant
of this great but quiet movement? Surely the people in
Ireland have greater rights to decide what sort of govern
ment Ireland wants than the Irish people in America. Those
who have left the motherland may love her as well as those
who have remained ; but the people there have more right
to choose their government than the people here to choose
it for them. There is a great deal that wants consideration
in this question, and we earnestly advise our Irish- American
journals, politicians, and people to quietly THINK IT OUT !"
Again, he excoriates the blatant demagogue who asks for
support in American politics, on the ground that, " He s a
friend to an Irishman.
Of all the offensive saying s that are habitually uttered in this coun
try, we are of opinion that this sentence is, or should be considered, the
most offensive. And yet it has evidently originated from the very
people it should insult. The Irish people have introduced it ; they use
it daily in their criticisms on public men ; and it is no wonder that it
should have become a plank in the platform " of every one who seeks
for Irish favor. If the phrase were used in England, or in any
country where men were debarred from equality, we should commend
it as a healthy rallying cry. But in this republic, where men, if they
only will, can be "free and equal," the word becomes a confession of
inferiority, an utterance of acknowledged childishness that should be
HIS LIFE, POEMS AKD SPEECHES. 129
resented by every man of the Irish race as an insult. " He s a friend to
an Irishman ! " The poor, helpless Irishman ! The rrtan who is not
allowed to vote; the man who can t look after his affairs; the man who
has riot sense to judge who is the best man to be elected; in a word, the
poor, blind foreigner, who stands all alone with every man s hand
against him, is expected to rally to this call, and support the man who
is " a friend to an Irishman ! " What does it mean, this worn-out rant?
Are we debarred from equality? Have we not got the ballot? Have
we not got reason enough to judge as American citizens what American
citizen we should vote for ? There are certain men to whom this char
acter is commonly given, and with some justice. In the days of old
bad feeling, when we were not so strong that we could walk entirely
alone, we did want friends, and the men who showed the brotherly feel
ing then should not be forgotten now. But the idea of allowing every
new candidate for office, every raw youth from the country, every cun
ning fellow who aspires to anything, between the offices of President of
the United States and that of policeman, to bid for the Irish vote by
sending it out in large letters, "He s a friend to an Irishman," is simply
an insult, and should be resented accordingly.
There was need just then of a public censor like this
young man, who had no selfish or political ends to gain,
and who struck boldly and untiringly at everything openly
or secretly inimical to the welfare of his race. He broke no
lances against wind-mills. When he saw an abuse, he
attacked it with all his might, and never abandoned the
fight until the abuse was ended. The " comic " Irishman of
stage and novel was mercilessly criticised by him, at the same
time that he recognized where the responsibility primarily
lay. "We do not dream," he said, in speaking of a par
ticularly offensive performance by a troop of so-called
"Hibernian Minstrels," " that the people who have estab
lished them will remove them ; these people are too igno
rant or too selfish. But they depend on the public, and
the Irish- American public, for support. Let us laugh at
the good-natured attempts of Englishmen or Americans to
portray Irish humorous character ; but if we want to see
the truth, let us do it ourselves and do it truthfully. But
this copying of the worst attempts of people who do not
understand the Irish character, and this exaggeration by
our own people of the most offensive misrepresentations of
130 JOHN BOYLE O K-EILLY.
the others, is unworthy of rational and respectable beings.
No wonder that people who do not know us, who only see
us as we represent ourselves on tlie stage, should judge us
harshly and wrongly. It is in the power of every person,
and of every family, especially of Irish extraction, to do
something toward the removal of this evil by refusing sup
port to these vulgar libel ers of our national character."
In February of this year (1871), O Reilly received the
sad news of the death of his father, who had survived his
beloved wife but two years. He was buried beside her
in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, the following inscription
being placed on his coffin plate :
WILLIAM DAVID O REILLY,
Aged sixty-three years.
Died February 17, 1871.
DECEASED WAS FATHER OF
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY,
A good Irish Soldier.
Convicted by English court-martial, and self-amnestied
by escaping from Western Australia to America.
May the brave son live long, and may the
remains of the noble father rest
in peace !
O Reilly s place was soon allotted him among the jour
nalists of Boston. He appreciated the grave responsibili
ties of his profession as few men have done. Replying to
a toast for the Press at a banquet given to the Irish Band
which attended the great Peace Jubilee at Boston, in July,
1872, he said :
To me, at times, the daily newspaper has an intei est almost pathetic.
Very often we read the biography of a man who was born, lived,
worked, and died, and we put the book on our shelves out of respect
for his memory. But the newspaper is a biography of something greater
than a man. It is the biography of a Day. It is a photograph, of
twenty-four hours length, of the mysterious river of time that is sweep
ing past us forever. And yet we take our year s newspapers, which
contain more tales of sorrow and suffering, and joy and success, and
ambition and defeat, and villainy and virtue, than the greatest book
ever written, and we give them to the girl to light the fire. It is a
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 131
strange fact that nobody prizes a newspaper for its abstract value until
it is about a century out of date. It would seem that newspapers are
like wine ; the older they are, the more valuable. If we go into a library
piled with books, old and new, we may find it hard to select one to suit
our taste. But let a man lay his hand on a newspaper of a hundred
years ago, with its stained yellow pages and its old-fashioned type, and
he is interested at once. He sits down and reads it all through, adver
tisements and news and editorials only, fortunately for the people of
the olden times, there were very few editorials written then. And why
does he do this ? Because he recognizes the true nature of the news
paper. He sees in the yellow paper and small page what he probably
fails to see in his splendidly printed daily or weekly newspaper of to
day. He realizes as he reads that the newspaper is indeed the truest
biography of a day. Its paragraphs and articles are a mosaic of men s
daily actions ; and his heart feels the touch of the wonderful human
sympathy that makes us brethren of the men of all climes and all ages.
But I will not generalize further. I was led into this train of thought
by a something that I know will be interesting to every man here, and
to thousands of those who are not here. A short time ago I held in my
hand a Boston paper printed seventy-six years ago. It was the first
daily paper ever printed in Boston please to remember, the first daily
paper ever printed in Boston. It was called the Boston Daily Advertiser,
a name which has a highly respectable representative to-day. And
why, gentlemen, did this old paper interest me ; and why do I say it
will interest you to hear of it ? Because the editor of this paper, the
first daily of Boston, was an Irishman ; and not only an Irishman by
birth, but a man who was a fugitive from his native land, because he
had been a friend of Napper Tandy, and a United Irishman. This
talented Irish exile, whose name was John Burke, had been expelled
from Trinity College, Dublin, because the Government found that he
was the author of a series of articles on republicanism which had
appeared in the Dublin Evening Post. Buckingham tells us, in his
" Reminiscences," that the paper published by this Irishman was one of
unusual ability, moderation of language, and broadness of view. I will
read you a short extract from his opening address, which will touch
many a heart here to-night, and which will show what sort of man was
this John Burke :
" I call you fellow-citizens ! for I, too, am a citizen of these States.
From the moment a stranger puts his foot on the soil of America, his
fetters are rent to pieces, and the scales of servitude which he had con
tracted under European tyrannies fall off ; he becomes a free man ;
and though civil regulations may refuse him the immediate exercise of
his right, he is virtually a citizen ; .... he resigns his prejudices on
the threshold of the temple of liberty ; they are melted down in the
132 JOHN fi
great crucible of public opinion. This I take to be the way in which
all men are affected when they enter these States ; that I am so will be
little doubted when it is known how much I am indebted to their
liberality ; I shall give better proof of it than words ; there is nothing
that I would not resign for your service but my gratitude and love of
liberty."
These words were written seventy-six years ago by an Irishman, and
although men of our race, and of the religious belief of our majority, have
lived down many prejudices and many injustices since then, there still
remains a mountain to be removed by us and our descendants. But
with the help of an enlightened and unprejudiced press, we can succeed
where our forerunners failed ; and to the daily press of Boston
especially to that able paper which bears the name of the first of the
family I offer the words of John Burke, the first editor of a daily paper
in Boston.
Such was O Reilly, the editor, lecturer, and rapidly
growing leader of the Irish- American people. In private
life he was an earnest student, yet, at the same time, one
who could and did relax with boyish abandon. His bach
elor s den on the top floor of a lodging-house in Stamford
Street became the nightly resort of a group of young men
of kindred tastes. Dr. Robert Dwyer Joyce, the Irish poet,
was the oldest member of the nameless club, to which also
gathered Charles E. Ilurd, the scholarly journalist ; Edward
Mitchell, Dr. Dennett, and two or three other congenial
spirits, to smoke and read and discuss, and sometimes dis
member, the newest works from their own and other pens.
Out of this informal coterie grew the almost equally
informal, but famous literary and social organization, the
"Papyrus Club," of which more anon.
He had been over two years and a half in Boston when
he vacated his bachelor s den, and took upon himself the
responsibilities of married life. In the Pilot of August 24,
1872, appeared the modest announcement: "Married, on
Thursday, August 15, the Feast of the Assumption, in St.
Mary s Church, Charlestown, by Rev. George A. Hamilton,
Mr. John Boyle O Reilly, of Boston, to Miss Mary Murphy,
of Charlestown." The romance of love thus happily culmi
nating had existed for over two years. The young poet first
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 133
heard of his future wife through reading a little story writ
ten by her in The Young Crusader, a very successful
juvenile magazine edited by Rev. William Byrne, the pres
ent Vicar-General of Boston. Something in the little story
took his fancy ; he made inquiries about the writer, whose
tiom de plume was "Agnes Smiley," and sought and
obtained an introduction to her. A mutual love soon grew
up between them. Miss Murphy was born in Charlestown on
the 5th of May, 1850. Her parents were John Murphy, who
was born in County Fermanagh, Ireland, in 1823, and died
in Charlestown June 28, 1861, and Jane Smiley, born in
County Donegal, Ireland, 1830, who came to Charlestown
in early life, and still lives, a widowed mother with her wid
owed daughter.
O Reilly and his bride made a brief wedding trip through
New Hampshire and Maine, and on returning began the
joys and cares of domestic life at their home on Winthrop
Street, Charlestown. There were born to them four daugh
ters : Mollie, on May 18, 1873 ; Eliza Boyle, July 25, 1874 ;
Agnes Smiley, May 19, 1877, and Blanid, June 18, 1880. In
naming the children, the first was called after her mother,
the second after the poet s own mother, the third by the
pretty name to which such tender associations were at
tached, and the fourth after the heroine of Dr. Joyce s
Irish epic. The following letter, written two years later,
gives a charming picture of the quiet, happy home which he
had made for himself in a strange land :
THE "PILOT" EDITORIAL ROOMS,
September 7, 1874.
MY DEAR AUNT CRISSY :
It was like listening to you and looking at you, to read your kind
letter. It has made me so happy and yet so sad that I do not know
which feeling is uppermost. J know you were pleased to see my poor
book ; but what would my own dear patient mother have felt when she
saw me winning praise from men ? Thank God! I have her picture
the girls and Edward were kind enough to send it to me and I have it
grandly framed, and hung in our parlor. My little Mollie loves to kiss
it, and I can only allow her to kiss the frame for fear of injuring the
picture. Mary loves to look at it as much as I do, and she loves you,
134 JOHN BOYLE o liEILLY.
dear Aunt, from your one or two letters. Please write her a letter as
soon as you can. She is getting strong again, from the birth of our
second baby our Eliza Boyle O Reilly. Is it not strangely touching
to see this new generation ivith the old names springing up in a new
land, and cherishing as traditions all that we knew as facts? Somehow,
I feel as old as you and Uncle James. It seems so long since I was a
boy that I really do not, cannot, accept young men or their ways of
thinking. It gives me the sincerest pleasure to know that Uncle James
is doing so well. He has a good book-keeper when he has you; but I
am sure he knows that God has blessed him with that greatest of all
blessings a good wife. Willy s good fortune is as dear to me as if he
were my own brother. I always knew he would be a clever chemist,
and I am sure he is. Please God, sometime, when the Government lets
me, I shall walk into his shop and ask for a bottle of medicine. He
would never know the bearded man, with streaks of gray, from the
thoughtless boy he knew long ago. Nobody in England would know
me but you : you could see the Boyle in me.
It will please you, I know, to know just how I am doing. I inclose
a lot of extracts from the leading papers of America, which will show
you that I do not lack literary reputation. My position in Boston
which is the chief city in this country for literature and general cul
ture is quite good. I am chief editor of the Pilot which is the most
influential Catholic paper in America, probably in the world. My
salary is $3,000 a year (2 a day); $4,000 next year. Besides, I write
when I please for the leading magazines and literary papers which
also adds to my income. Of course, $3,000 a year does not represent its
equivalent in English money in England. Everything is sold at a
higher rate here. However, Mary, who is a wonderful manager, has
saved a few thousand dollars (I give her all the money), and we are pre
pared for a rainy day. My health is excellent. I have just returned
from a vacation, which I spent in the glorious Southern States of Mary
land and Virginia. I visited Baltimore and Washington, and had an
invitation to stay with the President of the Jesuit University, at George
town. I do not know what you think of America, Aunt, but it may
surprise you to hear that the cities here are far greater and grander than
those in the Old World, always excepting London for size, of course.
Washington is the most magnificent city I ever saw. But what do you
care for America! Give my love to all, and believe me, dear Aunt,
to be,
Always your affectionate nephew,
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
The great fire of Boston, beginning on Saturday even
ing, November 9, wiped out of existence the richest portion
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 135
of the business quarter, destroying eighty-five million
dollars worth of property. The large granite building
owned and occupied by the Pilot, on Franklin Street, was
entirely consumed. As soon as possible, new quarters
were taken on Cornhill, in the building of Rand & Avery,
which, by a strange fatality, was also burned to the ground
eleven days later. Nothing daunted, the Pilot resumed
business again at No. 360 Washington Street. A little im
patience was excusable in it when called upon to announce,
early in the following June, that the paper had been burnt
out for the third time on May 30. " When a fire comes to
Boston nowadays," it said, " it comes looking round all the
corners for its old friend the Pilot. It is evident that the
fire has a rare appreciation of a good newspaper and a good
companion to pass a brilliant hour Nevertheless,
we do not want to appear too light-hearted on this occa
sion : it might lead people to think that a fire was not of
much account anyway. Of course we are used to being
burnt out, and it does not affect us much after the first
mouthful of smoke and cinders. But when it comes to
three times in seven months, we protest. We are not sala
manders ; the oldest phoenix of them all would get sick of
such a gaudy dissipation. For the remainder of our lives
in Boston we want the fire to let us severely alone."
The Pilot s stock was totally destroyed in this last fire,
and though it was well insured the loss was hard to bear,
following the greater preceding calamities. By these Mr.
Donahoe had been made poorer to the extent of $350,000, a
loss which, with other reverses, ultimately brought on
financial failure. The friends of the paper showed their
timely good feeling by doing their utmost for it in its hour
of adversity ; some old subscribers paying arrears of fifteen
years or more, others subscribing for ten years in advance,
and a few requesting to have their names put down as sub
scribers "for life."
O Reilly s " Wail of Two Cities" (Chicago and Boston)
appeared in the number of the Pilot issued immediately
after the great fire of November 9, 1872.
136 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
The Papyrus Club was the outcome of a reception given
by the newspaper men of Boston to Henry M. Stanley, the
famous African explorer, on Saturday afternoon, Decem
ber 14, 1872. About thirty of Stanley s fellow- journalists
assembled at the Parker House, W. B. Smart, President
of the Boston Press Club, presiding, and John Boyle
O Reilly delivering the address of welcome. He paid a
tribute to the " reportorial " profession, and especially to
the representative of it, "a man. a young man, trained
only as all present had been, who had yet been able to
lead an expedition ^into the heart of Africa, and succeed
where the Old World, with all its resources, had failed."
After the formal reception and dinner, half a dozen of the
young newspaper men present continued the post-prandial
exercises at a then famous old chop-house known as "Billy
Park s," in Central Court, on Washington Street, in the
rear of Jordan & Marsh s dry -goods establishment. The
march of commerce has wiped out the hostelry, and built
over the Court, but it was on that night, and in "Billy
Park s " Tavern, that the Papyrus Club was born. Its
christening did not take place until some weeks later.
The men who met that night at Park s were O Reilly,
Stanley, Edward King, Charles Eyre Pascoe, William A.
Hovey ("Causeur"), Francis H. Underwood, first editor
of the Atlantic Monthly, Alexander Young, the historian,
and W. W. Messer, Jr. The second meeting of the club
occurred on the following Saturday at the same place. Its
object, as stated in the newspaper reports at the time, was
that of "organizing the leading writers of the daily, weekly,
and periodical press of the city in a club, for the purpose
of promoting better acquaintance, one with another, and
affording headquarters to which gentlemen of reputation
in literature and art may be invited while on visits to
Boston."
At this meeting, besides those who had attended the
first, were present, Geo. M. Towle, the historian ; N. S.
Dodge, and Benjamin Woolf, who gave the club its name.
Jt was quickly organized, with N. S. Dodge as president.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 137
and Charles E. Pascoe as secretary. Its early history is
shrouded with some of the mystery appropriate to all great
institutions. O Reilly was one of the executive committee.
A printed call, dated February 26, 1873, says :
The Papyrus Club having at its last meeting effected a complete
organization, it is very desirable that at its next dinner, which will take
place at Park s Hotel, on Saturday, March 1, every person who has
heretofore been connected with the movement to establish the club
should be present.
I am requested by the president and members of the executive com
mittee to suggest that the opportunity will be a favorable one for pre
senting the names of persons who desire to join the club, and that it
will materially add to the pleasure of the occasion, and afford members
an opportunity to vote intelligently upon the admission of candidates,
if gentlemen see fit to bring with them, as their guests, those whose
names they intend proposing.
As it is necessary that exact information as to the number to be pres
ent should be in the hands of the caterer for the evening prior to Friday,
the 28th inst., you are requested to inform Mr. Benjamin Woolf, Globe
office, by note or otherwise, and not later than Thursday, 27th inst.,
whether you intend to participate, and if so, whether a guest will
accompany you.
As the organized existence of the club will in a great measure date
from the meeting in question, it is hoped that every member will make
an effort to be present.
Very respectfully yours,
CHAS. F. PASCOE,
Secretary.
Among the other early members of the club were J.
Cheever Goodwin, Nat. Childs, Geo. F. Babbitt, Robert G.
Fitch, Henry M. Rogers, Edgar Parker, Edwin P. Whipple,
Dr. George B. Loring, E. A, Sothern ("Lord Dundreary"),
Benjamin H. Ticknor, T. B. Ticknor, Howard M. Ticknor,
James R. Osgood, George M. Baker, Dr. W. S. Dennett,
William T. Adams ("Oliver Optic"), Dr. R. D. Joyce,
Lambert Hollis, Dr. F. A. Harris, William M. Hunt, the
famous artist, and several other men distinguished in art
and literature.
It goes without saying that none of the members were
blessed with worldly wealth. At first the club was a pure
138 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
democracy, unfettered by law or precedent, the only
authority ever invoked by the kindly ruler, President
Dodge, consisting in a vague threat to "name" any mem
ber whose boisterousness exceeded the bounds of decorum.
The dinner was simple, consisting of chops, steaks, or
joints, its austerity being mitigated by beer.
In due time, as the club prospered, an attempt was
made, which never wholly succeeded, to introduce evening
costume. The president had always appeared thus arrayed,
and it was voted, by way of compromise, tliat his dignified
"swallow-tail" should be considered the "club coat."
At an early stage in its career the club voted to increase
its membership and finances, simultaneously, by admitting
a certain number of gentlemen, not exceeding one third of
the whole, as "non-literary members." There was a hazy
expectation that wealth would thence flow into the coffers
of the club, which should be thereby enabled to build a
house and live up to its reputation. Bonds were to be
issued, but those securities were never listed on the Stock
Exchange. When it came to the election of "non-literary"
millionaires, the club insisted on choosing candidates pos
sessed of qualities not usually concomitant with wealth.
The non-literary members chosen were "good fellows" to
a man : the literary members were of the same character
ipso facto. On one historic evening there were elected
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, William Dean Howells, Charles
Gaylord, and Dr. George B. Loring. Such non-literary
men as E. E. Rice, of "Evangeline," George Roberts, W.
A. Means, F. V. Parker, and a score of others, did not
detract from the gayety of the genial Bohemian crowd.
There was something more than mere pleasure asso
ciated with those meetings. As George M. Towle has well
said : "Pleasant as are its literary features, its habit of hos
pitality to prominent strangers, its brilliant ladies nights, its
occasional music and fitful eloquence, to me its most grate
ful use is the freedom, the enlivenment, and I may per
haps even add, the affectionateness of its social sphere.
I suppose most of us feel a kindlier interest in a man when
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 139
we know he is a Papyrus man. I think we are more ready
to help him when he is trouble, to regret his calamities, to
rejoice in his good fortune. I think any Papyrus man
who has suffered some worldly grief may come here to this
board in the absolute certainty that he will be surrounded
by such an atmosphere of brotherly sympathy and encour
agement as will enable him to carry away revived spirits
and renewed hopes. These genial customs, these monthly
greetings, soften the harshness of life, encourage the kind
liness, tolerance, and generosity of feeling which serve us
in good and noble stead in our daily battles with the outer
world."
CHAPTER VIII.
His Public Life Editorial Condemnation of Bigotry He Speaks for
the Indian and the Negro " Songs of the Southern Seas" Death
of Captain Gilford Poem on the Death of John Mitchell Contro
versy with Dr. Brownson His Poem for the O Comiell Centenary
O Reilly Becomes Part Owner of the Pilot.
TpARLY in February, 1873, the Orangemen of Boston,
P^ with the flexible loyalty which has ever distinguished
the order, became suddenly and vociferously American,
and announced their intention of celebrating Washington s
birthday by a parade. Whether they paraded or not is a
matter only of small-beer chronicles. O Reilly, true to his
principles of tolerance and conciliation, wrote :
Last year the Orange and Green were twined 011 the Pilot building,
on Franklin Street. Will the Orangemen carry both colors in their
precession ? Come, now, that s the way to kill bad feeling. Don t let
a few sore-headed bigots keep us apart. No matter if we do differ in
religious belief : that is no reason why we should be enemies and ready
to fly at each other s throat. The best Irishmen in our country s
history were North of Ireland Protestants. Twine the flags they are
both Irish. The Orange is the oldest national color. Let us be sensi
ble, friends on both sides, and not carry our island bickerings into the
view of America s friendly cities.
He was just as prompt to condemn the introduction of
foreign issues into American politics by Catholics as by
Protestants.
Announcements had been made in various papers that a
convention of a proposed "Irish" party would be held at
Cleveland, O., in July of the same year. Quoting these
announcements O Reilly commented:
We do not know the men who have originated the idea, or those who
have called this convention ; we do not know their purposes, save what
we learn from such notices as the above. But we know that, whoever
140
HIS LIFE, POEMS ANt> SPEECHES. 141
they are, they are men of worthless account, unknown and uninspected,
and we have no fear that their influence will corrupt the mass of our
people. They belong and appeal to that portion of the Irish in America
of which true Ireland has least reason to be proud. But no matter how
small the snake that wriggles through your garden, the only safe way
is to take a switch and break its back.
The Irishmen who would form or join such an order as that described
above, stand in the same relation to us as the members of the~O. A. P.
or O. U. A. M., or any other order of Know-nothings in the country;
nay, the Irishman who would join such a party is even more our enemy
than they are, for not only does he adopt their shameful course, but he
throws the discredit of his conduct on the people to whom he belongs.
The Irishman who would proscribe a native American, and the native
American who would proscribe an Irishman, are guilty of the same
crime against the principles of the Constitution. But the Irishman is
guilty of more than the other : when he joins a secret society he is recre
ant to his religion ; when he joins a prescriptive society he is recreant to
his citizenship.
******
All that was good and beautiful in our dear native island, we should
cherish forever. We have her faith and her honor to preserve and to
make respected. We have sympathy with her trials and her efforts to
be free. But we cannot, as honest men, band together in American
politics under the shadow of an Irish flag.
******
We do not know whether this Cleveland Convention is designed to
affect Irish or American politics. The heads of it have taken care not
to let us know anything of their movements. But we shall follow their
track with a lantern at all times; and we advise our people in Cleve
land and elsewhere to treat them as a pack of miserable Know-nothings.
Reviewing the editorial work of John -Boyle O Reilly
during twenty years, and understanding, as only newspaper
men can understand, the difficulties under which such work
is performed, especially the necessity which it involves of
deciding quickly on matters, often of gravest importance,
the unerring instinct with which O Reilly decided rightly in
almost every case is little short of marvelous. The editor
of the ordinary weekly paper is supposed to have abun
dance of leisure for forming and expressing his opinions.
Such was not the case with O Reilly. He preferred writing
his articles at the last moment ; he was as scrupulous as the
most enterprising of " night editors " in getting the latest
142 JOHN BOYLE o KEILLY.
news, and in supplying the final editions of his paper with
everything of importance chronicled up to the moment of
going to press.
Yet, reading through those editorials of twenty years,
with the light of subsequent events to guide, I am amazed
at the sureness of his instinct, the accuracy of his judg
ment, and the terse vigor of his pronouncements on every
event of more than ephemeral interest. His political fore
casts were often as erroneous as those of other editorial
prophets ; but his instincts never once failed on a definite
question of right and wrong. There he was infallible.
When the treacherous murder of General Canby by the
Modoc Indians, in the lava beds of Oregon, aroused a
clamor for vengeance throughout the country, he took the
part of the poor savages who had no newspaper organ to
advocate their cause, saying :
We have too much and too old a sympathy with people badly gov
erned, to join in this shameful cry for Modoc blood. We grant that
they have committed murder, and that they are unstable, treacherous,
and dangerous. Who would not be so, with the robberies and out
rages of generations boiling in their blood? If they are ignorant and
debased they cannot be cured by corn whisky and fire-arms ; arid these
the only mission-books they have received from our government or our
settlers.
He was a Democrat, imbued with the best spirit of his
party, but he was never a blind partisan. On the negro
question he stood beside his friend, Wendell Philipps, on
the platform of Daniel O Connell. Here is one of his early
pleas in behalf of the Southern negro, written at a time
when the rascally rule of the carpet-baggers in the South
had made even the Republicans in the North lose much
of their sympathy for the freedmen.
.... The destiny of the colored American is one of the big prob
lems to be worked out in the life of this Republic. The day is fast com
ing when this man s claim cannot be answered by a jest or a sneer. The
colored American of to-day may not be equal to his position as an
enfranchised man. He has still about him something of the easy sub
mission and confessed inferiority of a race held long in ignorance and
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 143
bondage. But this man s children and grandchildren are coming, and
they are receiving the same education in the same schools as the white
man s children. In all things material before God and man, they will
feel that they are the white man s equal. They are growing above the
prejudice, even before the prejudice dies : and herein is the opening of
the problem. . . .
The year 1873 saw the practical inception of the move
ment for Irish Home Rule. O Reilly, wise from experience,
advised the Fenians to give the new scheme a fair hearing.
"They.," he said, "had done their work. Their move
ment, whatever its faults, aroused the national sentiment
and forced the people into the study of their country s posi
tion. Nobody in the world has clearer grounds of objec
tion to Fenianism than we have : we have known it all
through, root and branch, its faults, its weaknesses, and its
virtues : but we are not quite sure that had it not been at
all, there would be no such hopeful movement as there is
in Ireland to-day."
He, of all men, might have been justified in declaring war
to the knife against the oppressors of his native land, but
he did not think of his own wrongs when the best interests
of his country were to be considered. He sincerely es
poused the cause of Home Rule, and urged the wisdom
and charity of forgetting past grievances. " That measure
once attained," he said : " Let both neighbors combine for
every neighborly purpose, and pull together, if need be,
against the rest of the world, as good neighbors should ;
but let each give up, once for all, the arrogant, mischievous
pretension of lording it over the hearthstone and dictating
the domestic economy of the other. Thus will be combined
national freedom with national strength."
Thenceforward, and to the end of his life, he remained
an unwavering advocate of the pacific policy, an unshaken
believer in its ultimate success. In his sanguine way he
made, in 1886, one of the predictions which failed of fulfill
ment, that Home Rule would be achieved in the year 1889.
He had not reckoned on the treachery of Chamberlain, and
the selfish ambition of the English Unionists.
144 JOIIiST BOYLE O REILLY.
In March, 1873, the Catholic Union of Boston was
founded, with Theodore Metcalf as President, and John
Boyle O Reilly as Recording Secretary. He remained a
member of the organization until his death.
Two interesting events marked this year in the poet s
life. The first, a pleasant one, was the appearance of his
book of poems, " Songs of the Southern Seas," published
by Roberts Bros., of Boston. The second, a sad one, was
the death of the man to whom that book was gratefully
dedicated. Captain David R. Gifford died on board his
ship, off Malie, Seychelle Islands, on August 26, without
having seen the tribute paid him by the Irish exile whom
he had befriended.
The "Songs" were favorably received by American
readers. Most of them had appeared in the weekly or
monthly publications of the country. Two had first seen
the light in the Dar7c Blue Magazine, of Oxford Univer-
versity, England, where the new contributor was welcomed,
until his political status became known, when the magazine,
like a loyal Conservative, declined to accept further con
tributions from the rebel poet. The press and scholars of
America, having no such scruples, took his work at its just
value, and their verdict was indorsed in due time by the
best critics of England. The modesty of the young poet,
and the spontaneous and unconventional spirit of his verse,
won immediate appreciation and praise. Edwin P. Whip-
pie, profound scholar and judicious critic, commended the
" Occasional Poems " in the book as " very tender, fanci
ful, earnest, individual, and manly, claiming nothing which
they do not win by their inherent force, grace, melody, and
sweet reasonableness, or, it may be at times, their passion
ate unreasonableness. Nobody can read the volume with
out being drawn to its author. He is so thoroughly honest
and sincere that he insists that his imaginations are but
memories." The versatility of his work invited compari
sons, which were seldom aught but favorable, with many
older and more distinguished poets. " There is the flow of
Scott in his narrative power, and the fire of Macaulay in
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 145
his trumpet-toned tales of war," said the Chicago Inter-
ocean. "The Dog Guard/ leaves an impression on the
mind like Coleridge s Ancient Mariner, " said the Boston
Advertiser. R. H. Stoddart, in Scribnefs Monthly,
wrote: "William Morris could have spun off the verse
more fluently, and Longfellow could have imparted to it
his usual grace ; still, we are glad it is not from them
but from Mr. O Reilly that we receive it He is as
good a balladist as Walter Thornbury, who is the only
other living poet who could have written The Old Dra
goon s story. The Atlantic Monthly commended espe
cially the discretion with which inanimate nature is subor
dinated to human interest in the "King of the Vasse" :
" The Australian scenery, and air, and natural life ar.e every
where summoned around the story without being forced
upon the reader. Here, for instance, is a picture at once
vivid and intelligible which is not always the case with
the vivid pictures of the word painters There are
deep springs of familiar feeling (as the mother s grief for
the estrangement of her savage- hearted son), also, touched
in this poem, in which there is due artistic sense and enjoy
ment of the weirdness of the motive ; and, in short, we
could imagine ourselves recurring more than once to the
story, and liking it better and better. The Dog Guard is
the next best story in the book, a horrible fact treated
with tragic realism, and skillfully kept from being merely
horrible."
The "Songs of the Southern Seas" were subsequently
incorporated in a volume, published in 1878 and entitled,
"Songs, Legends, and Ballads," which reached a seventh
edition, and will have attained its eighth in the present
compilation.
It was dedicated as follows :
TO
MY DEAR WIFE,
WHOSE RARE AND LOVING JUDGMENT HAS BEEN A STANDARD
I HAVE TRIED TO REACH.
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
146 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
On Saturday morning, May 16, 1874, occurred the great
flood at Mill River Valley, Hampshire County, Mass.,
caused by the breaking of a mill-dam. Four villages were
swept away and nearly two hundred lives lost in the ca
lamity. Collins Graves, a milkman, mounted his horse and
spurred through the villages, warning the inhabitants and
saving hundreds of lives. O Reilly s ringing ballad, " The
Ride of Collins Graves," inspired by this incident, has
taken a permanent place in the literature of heroic verse.
In the Pilot of July 11, of the same year, O Reilly
printed a poem of about sixty lines, into which he had com
pressed all the pent-up fierce democracy of his nature. In
it he reaches his highest point of thought, if not of expres
sion. It is the poem, "Bone and Sinew and Brain." His
figures are bold and strikingly original ; Manhood is its
theme Manhood, and its corelative, Womanhood before
which all else must give way in the battle for the survival
of the fittest. Inveighing like a Hebrew prophet against
the effeminacy of the time, and the cant of the " march of
mind,"
Till the head grows large and the vampire face,
Is gorged on the limbs so thin
and still more fiercely against " the sterile and worthless
life" of the childless woman, he cries out :
Ho, white-maned waves of the Western Sea
That ride and roll to the strand !
Ho, strong- winged birds never blown a-leo
By the gales that sweep toward land !
Ye ai-e symbols both of a hope that saves,
As ye swoop in your strength and grace,
As ye roll to the land like the billowed graves
Of a suicidal race.
You have hoarded your strength in equal parts ;
For the men of the future reign
Must have faithf ul souls and kindly hearts,
And bone and sinew and brain.
On the 20th of March. 1875, John Mitchell, the sturdy
Irish patriot, breathed his last at Dromolane, County Down,
Ireland. O Reilly s poem on the dead patriot was pub-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 147
lished in the following week. It contains tliis striking
figure, among others :
Dead ! but the death was fitting :
His life to the latest breath,
Was poured like wax on the Chart of Right,
And is sealed by the stamp of Death !
Within twenty days Ireland lost three of her most loyal
sons, John Mitchell, John Martin, and Sir John Gray. Of
them O Reilly wrote : "All three were Protestants: and
their death draws attention to the truth that no people in
the world are so utterly without religious bigotry as the
Irish. These three Protestants were the most beloved and
trusted men in Ireland, and by the Irish Catholics and
Protestants throughout the world. The only question Ire
land asks her public men is A.re you true to my cause ?
England has tried with inhuman cunning to put the wedge
between Protestant and Catholic in Ireland : she planted
the seeds of Orangeism and Ribbonism, and watched and
watered them to make them grow. But, thank God ! the
weed of religious hate will not spread on Irish soil. It is
never the difference of religion that makes the bad blood ;
it is the taint of English money and English sympathy.
To this broad-minded editor nothing was more odious
than the narrow bigotry which would array sect against
sect, especially when displayed by Catholics. In this year,
1875, the Lord Mayor of Dublin, Mr. Peter Paul McSwiney,
issued a circular calling for the formation of an "Irish
Catholic party," saying : "To make a united Ireland, our
motto must be Faith and Fatherland. The Irish Catho
lics indignantly repudiated the bigoted appeal, which
O Reilly stigmatized as "Catholic Know-nothingism."
He crossed swords with a foeman more worthy of his
steel when Dr. Orestes A. Brownson, a convert to Catho
licity, and, as converts sometimes are, one rather more
zealous than discreet, took exception to the Pilots honor
able praise of the Irish Protestants who had served their
country with a loyalty that redeems their class from the
148 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
disgrace even of Orangeism. O Reilly s answer to Browri-
son is eloquent with the indignation of a man who had
suffered from intolerance enough to detest it in every
form. He says :
Dr. Brownson angry Dr. Brownson in reviewing an unfortunate
book by a clever Irishman (Shelton McKenzie), steps off the path to take a
howl in the primeval savagery of his nature. Of course, the first Irish
head he meets he is looking for Irish heads is the Pilot s; after that
come the Irish generally and with the full force of his ancient Know-
nothingism, the Doctor " goes for " them. He says :
" Mr. McKenzie is a man of considerable literary ability and reputa
tion, and, though a Protestant, we believe a genuine Irishman. Per
haps, we ought not to say though a Protestant, for our poetical friend
of the Boston Pilot a high authority in such matters assured the
public, not long since, that the truest and best Irishmen going are
Protestants. Why, then, complain of Protestant ascendancy, and
denounce the Irish parliament, of 1800, that sold the Irish nationality
for British gold, every member of which was a Protestant ? Grattan,
Flood, Plurikett, Curvan. and a few others, were, no doubt, able and
eloquent, and regarded Ireland as their country, but they were power
less against the mass of their Protestant countrymen ; and we have
never seen, and never expect to see, any good come to Catholic Ireland
from following Protestant and infidel leaders. We have much more
confidence in the Catholic bishops and clergy than in Protestant and
infidel head centers. We have no confidence in those Catholics even
who sink the religious in the national question, for no nation can be
really free and independent that is not Catholic.
Protestant Irishmen are for us neither more nor less than the
Protestants of any other nationality ; and Catholic Ireland has suffered
far more from Protestant Irishmen than from Englishmen. Our
interest is in Catholic Ireland ; and Irish politics, save so far as they
affect the Church, are no more to us than the politics of any other foreign
nation. We have very little respect for those Irish patriots who think
they can serve their country by leaving their religion in abeyance and
acting under the lead of its enemies. If the Boston Pilot insists in glory
ing in our element, let it visit our prisons, penitentiaries, almshouses,
etc. ; above all, let it look into the reports of our police courts and mark
the frequency with which our element is brought up for drunken
ness, and husbands of the same element for brutally beating and kick
ing their wives, not seldom even to death. It may also count the
street arabs, belonging to the same element that swarm in our cities
and live only by begging and stealing chiefly by stealing. There it
can find our element, as also in the emigrants from remote Irish dis-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 149
tricts, who have never been instructed in the first principles of religion
and morality, and hardly know how to bless themselves."
To this intemperate onslaught O Reilly replied :
A good deal of this is true, we are sorry to say ; no one ever denied
it. A good deal of it is untrue ; and the remainder is discreditable to
Doctor Brownson. First, "our poetical friend of the Pilot " never said
that " the truest and best Irishmen going are Protestants "; but he did
say, not once but often, and he says it again, that a great many of the
best Irishmen the men whose memories are respected by their country
men the world over, were Protestants. Dr. Brownson knows enough
about Ireland to pick out from the end of the last century the names of
four Protestants who loved their country. Perhaps he thinks there
were no more. We, being Irish and knowing something about the
subject, take the liberty of presenting the doctor with a list of twenty
times four Protestant Irishmen from the same period e Ireland s his
tory, whose names will be revered by millions of Catholics when Dr.
Brownson and his Review are forgotten :
CHURCH OF ENGLAND PROTESTANTS. Thomas A. Emmet, barrister ;
Arthur O Connor, barrister ; Roger O Connor, barrister ; Thomas Rus-
sel, John Chambers, Mathew Dowling, Edward Hudson, Hugh Wilson
William Dowdall, Robert Hunter, Matthew "Keogh, Joseph Holt
Thomas Corbett, William Corbett, Hon. Simon Butler, A. H. Rowan
James Napper Tandy, Lord Edw. Fitzgerald, Henry Sheares, barrister ;
John Sheares, barrister; Oliver Bond, Leonard McNally, B. B. Har
vey, barrister; William Weir, John Allen,* Thomas Bacon, Anthony
Perry, Theobald Wolf Tone, Barthol Tone, Thomas Wright, Wm.
Livingstone Webb, William Hamilton, Richard Kernan, James Rey
nolds, M.D., Deane Swift, barrister ; Robert Emmet.
PRESBYTERIANS. William Tennant, M.D., Robert Simms, Samuel
Neilson, George Gumming, Rev. Mr. Warwick, Joseph Cuthbert, Rev.
W. Steele Dickson, William Drennan, M.D., William Orr, Samuel
Orr, William Putnam McCabe, Rev. William Porter, Henry Monroe,
James Dickey, attorney ; Henry Haslett, William Sampson, barrister ;
Henry Joy McCracken, Rev. Mr. Barber, William Sinclair, J. Sinclair,
Rev. Mr. Mahon, James Hope, Robert McGee, M.D., Gilbert Mcllvain,
Robert Byers, Henry Byers, Rev. Mr. Birch, Rev. Mr. Warde, S. Ken
nedy, Robert Hunter, Robert Orr, Rev. Mr. Smith, Rev. Mr. Sinclair,
* Here O Reilly makes a curious lapse, according to the testimony of a rela
tive of his own, and, like himself, a direct descendant of Patrick Allen ; of whom
the John Allen above mentioned was the grandson and a steadfast Catholic ; in
fact, the Colonel Allen of Napoleon s army, referred to in Chapter I, of this
biography.
150 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
Hugh Grimes, William Kean, Rev. Mr. Stevelly, James Burnside,
James Green, Rowley Osborne, Mr. Turner, Rev. Mr. McNeil, William
Simms, John Rabb, Rev. Mr. Simpson, Israel Milliken.
It may interest Dr. Brownson to know that eighteen of the above
named Protestants loved Ireland so well that they were hanged for
their affection. It was to these men, when speaking to Irishmen who
understood him, that " our poetical friend" alluded.
Shall Irishmen forget these men because they were Protestants ?
Dr. Brownson says he takes no interest in anything but Catholic poli
tics and Catholic leaders. In the name of God he is preaching the
devil s own doctrine the old English doctrine of dissension. Are the
Catholic citizens of this country to repudiate the deeds of all Protestant
Americans, and scout the memory of the Protestant Washington ? Are
Irish Catholics, at Dr. Brownson s bidding, to forget the name and fame
of such a Protestant Irishman as Edmund Burke, who was addressed
by Pope Pius VI. as a "noble man "and a benefactor to the world?
Dr. Brownson, we suppose, would reject the services of Warren and
Putnam at Bunker Hill because they were Protestants ; he would de
pose Washington, Clay, Henry, and the others from their high place
in the national memory ; he would reject Grant, Sherman, and Thomas,
because they were Protestants, and fling Sheridan after them because
he was only a middlii>g Catholic. Dr. Brownson mixes too much re
ligion in his politics. His intolerant meddling can bring nothing but
discredit on Catholicity. He has made a reputation for literary pugil
ism by knocking his own straw men to smithereens ; but now, in his
old age, he forgets himself and strikes at living men, with other results.
When Dr. Brownson says that Ireland suffered more from Protestant
Irishmen than from England he is doting. Irishmen know better.
They remember whole centuries of wrong
"Strongbow s force, and Henry s wile,
Tudor s wrath, and Stuart s guile,
Iron Staff oi d s tiger jaws,
And brutal Brunswick s penal laws ;
Not forgetting Saxon faith,
Not forgetting Norman scaith,
Not forgetting William s word,
Not forgetting Cromwell s sword."
Such a spirit as that shown by Dr. Brownson in this article is scanda
lous and abominable.
As to the Irish in the prisons, and the Irish children in the peni
tentiaries, it comes with a bad grace from a converted Anglo-American
Protestant to cast them in our teeth. They were prepared for prison
and penitentiary by English law that enforced generations of ignorance
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 151
on Ireland. There is no blame attached to the Irish "street arabs "
for their poverty, not an atom. Nobody but an exasperated and im
potent old man would scoff at them. God help them, and God pity
their forefathers, who lived under the penal laws, who could not help
leaving after them a legacy of poverty and crime !
When Brownson" 1 s Jteview passed out of existence in
the following October, with some sharp denunciations of
the Pilot, in its valedictory, O Reilly, always generous to
a foenian, wrote :
Farewell, stanch and fearless old man ! You have done a large
labor, and have done it in full manhood and good faith. Those who
objected shall be the first to praise. Your life has been a success, as
every life must be that follows principle through light and darkness."
Not mockingly do we write these words of respect, but with all sincerity,
admiring an individualized, noble nature. Not in any belittling spirit
do we say that the death of Brownsoris Review reminds us of the last
hour of the old pagan bard converted by St. Patrick !
" I give glory to God for our battles wpn
By wood or river, by bay or creek;
For Norn a who died ; for my father Conn ;
For feasts and the chase on the mountain bleak.
I bewail my sins, both known and unknown,
And of those I have injured forgiveness seek.
The men that were wicked to me and mine
(Not quenching a wrong, nor in war nor wine)
I forgive and absolve them all, save three,
And may Christ in his mercy be kind to me."
Nobody could better appreciate a vigorous antagonist
than Dr. Brownson himself, of whom a characteristic anec
dote is told, during his early life, when he was a Unitarian
minister. Being in a bookstore on a certain occasion, he
had a controversy with Mr. Trask, the famous anti-tobacco
apostle. Mr. Brownson became irritated at some remark of
Mr. Trask, and promptly knocked him down. The by-stand-
ers protested earnestly, and Mr. Brownson as promptly
made a hnmble and complete apology for his loss of self-
control. The apology was accepted and the conversation
resumed, but Mr. Trask overdid his magnanimity by say
ing, once or twice afterward, l I forgive you." At last
152 JOHN BOYLE o RKILLY.
Brownson became enraged a second time and said, " I have
knocked you down and I have apologized for it. If you say
anything more about forgiving me, I will knock you down
again." Dr. Brownson should not have been so severe on
the Irish people, with whom, as this anecdote shows, he had
a very kindred spirit. Another good anecdote was told of
him by the late Bishop Fitzpatrick. Brownson had a mar
velous memory, and a corresponding fluency in presenting
facts with which his mind was so richly stored. Added to
this was "a certain dogmatic way of enlightening the com
pany on every subject. The Bishop, who was known to
have been fond of a quiet joke, agreed with the rest to take
him, for once, off his guard. They decided to study well
some subject which Brownson would be least apt to think
of, and accordingly fixed on Iceland. At the next gather
ing they caused the conversation gradually to slide into Ice
land, directing it in a manner to set forth all their knowl
edge of the subject,- and quietly ignoring the doctor as one
out of his latitude. The latter, however, soon broke the
ice, set them right on various points, and wound up with an
elaborate array of facts. He afterward disclosed that he had
recently been studying an extensive work on the subject,
just issued ; and the company despaired ever after of over
shadowing Brownson on any subject whatever." The ven
erable controversialist died in April, 1876, heartily re
gretted even by those with whom he had broken lances in
many a sharp encounter.
On the 6th of August, 1875, the centenary of O Council s
birthday was celebrated by the Irish people throughout the
world. In Dublin it was especially commemorated by the
inauguration of a noble statue to the Liberator from the
hand of the Irish sculptor, John Henry Foley, R.A. The
celebration in Boston was a notable event. Wendell Phil
lips was the orator, and John Boyle O Reilly the poet.
Fully four thousand people crowded Music Hall ; Patrick
Donahoe presided. Governor Gaston, William Lloyd Gar
rison, General Banks, Charles Francis Adams, Jr., and lead
ing clergymen of all denominations, with white and colored
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 153
citizens, occupied the platform. Whittier, who could not
attend in person, sent a letter in which he recalled the fact
that:
"More than thirty years ago, in an elaborate and care
fully prepared paper, I defended him from the unjust attacks
of some of my countrymen , and I have seen no reason
since to retract a word of the very high praise which I then
awarded him.
"He was a consistent Christian reformer. To use his
own words, He hated all tyranny and intolerance, social,
political, or ecclesiastical. By birth and conviction a faith
ful member of the ancient Church, he asked nothing for
Catholics which he was not ready to ask for Protestants.
He was no reactionist. He believed it his privilege to co-op
erate with Divine Providence in making the world better
and happier ; and held with his brother religionist, Lamar-
tine, that to oppose the progress of civilization and human
ity was to sin against the Holy Ghost. His philanthropy
was logical, and therefore universal."
The oration of Phillips was worthy of orator and sub
ject. O Reilly s poem was entitled "A Nation s Test."
Nothing truer has been said in panegyric of the great
Liberator than is conveyed in these four lines :
Races and sects were to him a profanity :
Hindoo, and negro, and Celt were as one ;
Large as Mankind was his splendid humanity,
Large in its record the work he has done.
The poet was unconsciously foreshadowing the world s
verdict on his own life. On October 20 of this year he
read his grand poem "Fredericksburg," at the inaugura
tion of the armory of the Second Regiment, Illinois
State Guards, Chicago, taking as his text the words of
General Meagher "The Irishman never fights so well as
when he has an Irishman for his comrade. An Irishman
going into the field has this as the strongest impulse and
his richest reward, that his conduct in the field will reflect
honor on the old land he will see no more. He therefore
wishes that if he falls it will be into the arms of one of the
154 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
same nativity, that all may hear that he died in a manner
worthy of the cause in which he fell, and of the country
which gave him birth."
O Reilly s reputation as a poet was fully established by
this time. The Atlantic Monthly for December, 1875,
contained his poem " Macarius the Monk." Scribner* s for
the same month had " The Last of the Narwhale," a nauti
cal story in his old vigorous vein.
All this time, amid the press of daily editorial duties,
the manifold calls of public life, and the steady pursuit of
literature, O Reilly had time to listen to any story of wrong
done to the humblest of his countrymen, and to espouse the
cause of the wronged man until the injustice was repaired.
Was it a sailor refused enlistment in a government ship
"because he was an Irishman," or a victim, half of circum
stances and half of prejudice, like Thomas Cahill, extra
dited from Ireland on a false charge of murder in Massa
chusetts, or a shop boy confronted with the offensive
shibboleth, "No Irish heed apply "O Reilly was ever
ready to take up as a personal quarrel the cause of the in
jured one. And when he did so, the quarrel did not end
until the offender had amply repented. He literally fol
lowed his own creed of the brotherhood of mankind, and
carried out his mission of helping the helpless ones among
his brothers.
Early in February, 1876, Mr. Donahoe s misfortunes
forced him to suspend. He had lost a fortune in the fires
of 1872. The failure of insurance companies prevented his
partial recovery from that disaster. He had, furthermore,
indorsed heavily for a friend, who failed in business, leav
ing him responsible for the sum of $170,000. The paper
was prosperous, but its gains were insufficient to meet those
tremendous losses. Property which he held had sadly de
preciated in value, and business depression prevailed every
where, until the shrinkage on his real estate left no equity
beyond the mortgage. He was indebted to the extent of
$300,000, of which some $73,000 was due to poor depositors.
In this crisis he was compelled to make an assignment.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES, 155
The trustees of the property decided that the Pilot should
be kept intact, and accordingly disposed of it by sale to the
Archbishop of Boston, and John Boyle Reilly. In an
nouncing this transfer the Pilot made the further gratify
ing announcement:
" The Most Rev. Archbishop Williams and Mr. O Reilly,
the future proprietors, hope to be enabled to prevent this
terrible loss from falling too heavily on the poor people.
With continued success for the Pilot, the purchasers intend
to pay the depositors every dollar on their books."
This voluntary obligation was carried out to the letter,
the $73,000 being paid, in ten annual installments, to the
depositors.
CHAPTER IX.
The Cruise of the Catalpa The English Government Rejects the Peti
tion of One Hundred and Forty Members of Parliament for the
Pardon of the Soldier Convicts John Devoy and John Brcslin
Plan their Rescue Good Work of the Clan-na-Gael The Dream
of O Reilly and Hathaway Fulfilled The Catalpa Defies a British
Gunboat, and Bears the Men in Safety to America.
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY was now (1876), in his thirty,
second year, happily blest with wife and children, enter
ing on the sure road of literary fame and worldly prosperity.
Under such conditions the shrewd man becomes conservative,
the selfish man ungrateful, the weak man cowardly. But
"the wise of Bohemia" thank God "are never shrewd."
They do not become conservative, in the sense of abandon
ing the generous aspirations of their youth. Wiser he
certainly grew with advancing years and responsibilities.
He recognized, albeit with sufficient humility, that he
stood as a representative of his countrymen in the eyes of
a friendly but critical people. He perceived, also, and
profited by, the mistakes of his ardent youth.
But he never used this clearer vision to see the errors of
another with unkind eyes. He passed no harsh judgment
on those who honestly differed with him as to the best
method of righting the wrongs of his countrymen. He
never faltered in comrade loyalty to the associates of his
revolutionary days.
Six of those fellow rebels, less fortunate than himself,
still wore the convict s garb, and toiled in the penal gangs
of Western Australia.
Let it be set down to the credit of the Fenian cause,
especially to that much abused body, the Clan-na-Gael,
that half a score of years of change, discouragement, and
156
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 157
defeat had not sufficed to make these forlorn men forgotten
by their comrades. John Devoy, the whilom organizer of
treason in the British army ; John Breslin, the rescuer of
James Stephens from Richmond Prison, and several other
bold spirits on both sides of the Atlantic, remembered the
men in bondage, held clandestine communication with
them, and patiently awaited the chance of proving their
devotion in the most practical way. O Reilly was not a
member of the Clan ; but the Clan trusted him, as every
body did.
To him in due time came John Devoy with a scheme so
audacious and romantic as to seem wildly impossible.
Not only was the plan extravagant in its conception, but
for its execution it needed the confidence and assistance of
thousands of men belonging to a race who are said to be
unable to keep a secret, and incapable of conspiring with
out betraying. Nevertheless, five thousand men of the Clan-
na-Gael were taken into the confidence of the plotters. A
large amount of money was needed, and it had to be raised
by the contributions of these thousands. The plot was
known to them for more than a twelvemonth, yet never a
whisper of it reached any but friendly ears.
The plan, in brief, was to buy a ship, man her with
hardy fellows who did not fea,r the consequences, and, sail
ing to Western Australia, rescue the life prisoners from
their captivity. It meant, at the least calculation, an out
lay of twenty thousand dollars, a voyage of thirty thousand
miles, a forlorn hope, and a possible gibbet at the end.
O Reilly proposed an amendment and it was adopted.
It was to buy a whaling vessel, and send her ostensibly on a
whaling cruise, thus averting the suspicion which would be
sure to attach to a ship of any other description cruising in
Western Australian waters. There was one man in all the
world best fitted to give counsel and aid in such an enter
prise, O Reilly s old-time benefactor and friend, Captain
Henry C. Hathaway, of New Bedford, Mass. He had retired
from the perilous adventures of his youth, and, giving
hostages to Fortune, had begun to receive the favors of
158 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Fortune in return ; only his loyalty and courage had not
changed with years. He entered into the plan with zeal,
bringing to the council the best attributes of an American
sailor, a warm heart and a cool head.
In the Pilot of May 27, 1876, appeared an editorial
entitled, "Who are the Irish Political Prisoners?" It
answered that, " There are seventeen Irishmen still in prison
for the attempted revolution of 66 and 67. The leaders
and organizers of that movement have been long at liberty,
pardoned by the British Government. The men still con
fined were not leaders in the revolutionary movement, and
the cruelty of their imprisonment was all the more inhuman
when their subordinate position was considered. Thirteen
of the seventeen prisoners were soldiers in the English army,
and in a few months these men will have completed their
tenth year in prison. The other four, Michael Davitt,
John Wilson, Edward O Meagher Condon, and Patrick
Meledy, were civilians.
U 0f the thirteen soldiers, ten were privates, one a
corporal, and two color-sergeants. Five or six other sol
diers were condemned but are now free some by pardon,
one by escape from Western Australia, and one by the
hand of the great emancipator Death. The article goes
on to say that among these soldiers were four especially
distinguished, Color-Sergeant Charles Heapy McCarthy, a
brave soldier who had served for thirteen years, and wore
two medals for bravery in the Indian mutiny ; Color-Ser
geant Darragh, who was on the rolls for a commission for
brave service during the Chinese war, and was a Protestant
and an Orangeman ; Corporal Thomas Chambers, confined
in England, and Private James Wilson, in Western Austra
lia, intellectually the best men of the military prison
ers. Patrick Keating, of the Fifth Dragoons, had died in
Western Australia.
One hundred and forty members of Parliament, includ
ing Mr. Bright, Mr. Plimsoll, Mr. Mundella, Mr. Fawcett,
and many others of the ablest men of the House, presented
a petition for the pardon of these men on the occasion of
HIS LIFP], POEMS AND SPEECHES. 159
the Queen s accession to the title of Empress of India. It
was rejected.
The next news of the unpardoned prisoners was con
tained in a cable message from London, dated June 0, 1876.
" A dispatch from Melbourne, Australia, states that all
the political prisoners confined in Western Australia have
escaped on the American whale-ship Catalpa."
Commenting on this fact, the Pilot of June 17 said :
"To one devoted man, more than to any other, the whole
affair is creditable. He it was who, with the pitiful letters
received from the prisoners in his hand, excited the sym
pathy of Irish conventions and individual men. The
event proves the truth and devotedness of the man. We
have asked him for permission to publish his name, but he
will not allow us until the men are absolutely safe." That
man was John Devoy.
Among Devoy s first confidants were John Kenneally
and James McCarthy Fennell, two political prisoners who
had been released in 1869. The Clan-na-Gael convention at
Baltimore, in 1874, appointed as a committee to carry out
the project, John Devoy, John W. Goff, Patrick Mahon,
James Reynolds, and John C. Talbot. The dangerous role
of active agent in the case was assigned to John Breslin,
associated with whom was Thomas Desmond of San Fran
cisco. The two sailed from that port for Sydney, New
South Wales, September 13, 1875, arriving on October
16, and at once placing themselves in communication
with friends of the prisoners. One of these was John King,
another J. Edward Kelly, an ex-prisoner, who died after
ward in Boston. Sympathizing miners in New Zealand,
canvassed by the friends of King, contributed $4000, which
proved very timely at an important crisis of the enterprise.
Two other agents sent out by the revolutionary organization
in Ireland also appeared on the scene. They were Denis
F. McCarthy of Cork, Ireland, and John Walsh of Dur
ham, England. They had $5000 capital with them, and
w^ere surprised and delighted on learning that a much more
feasible scheme had been planned by the Americans. They
160 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
volunteered their assistance and were assigned the duty of
cutting the telegraph wires after the escape should be
effected. King was given the post of rear guard, to ride
behind the rescued prisoners and notify them in case of
pursuit. Breslin and Desmond, under the respective aliases
of "Mr. Collins" and " Mr. Jones," arrived at Fremantle
in November, 1875. They traveled, one first and the other
second class, and did not appear to be acquainted with each
other. Both men were well supplied with funds, and both
showed good taste in horse flesh ; regularly, once a week, or
of tener, during the summer season, between November and
April, hiring carriages and driving about the suburbs of
the town. " Mr. Collins" appeared to be a capitalist, and
interested himself in studying the resources of the country
with a view to investment. The Governor of the place
showed him the only lion in Fremantle, the great penal
institution, which Mr. Collins" visited more than once
during his stay. During one of his visits he conveyed a
letter to the six political prisoners, and soon after met James
Wilson, with whom he arranged the details of the escape.
Wilson was to have his party ready on a certain day, with
a pass to take them through the sentry lines, after achiev
ing which they would find horses, weapons, and allies. The
medium of communication was William Foley, ex-private
of the Fifth Dragoon Guards. He had been found guilty of
complicity in the Fenian movement and sent to Western
Australia, where ill-treatment, insufficient food, and hard
work shattered his strong constitution long before the
expiration of his seven years sentence. Just before the
rescue was effected he was sent to England by his friends ;
thence he traveled to New York, where he died of his
sufferings on the 1st of November following.
In the mean time the bark Catalpa, purchased by the
Clan-na-Gael men, had sailed from New Bedford, the 29th
of April, 1875. It was commanded by Captain Anthony, a
native of Nantucket, and a cool, brave man. His first
officer, Smith, was an American, of Scotch parentage ; only
one Irishman was among the crew, which was purposely
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 161
Selected by Captain Hathaway to consist of Malays, Kana
kas, and Portuguese negroes, with one or two whites. It
was necessary that the ship should present in every respect
the appearance of a genuine whaler. Captain Anthony had
a roving charter, "To go where I liked, stay as long as I
pleased, and return home when I got ready. I was to be at
Australia in the spring of 1876 to co-operate with Fenian
agents for the release of six prisoners confined at Fre-
mantle."
The Catalpa cruised for a year, cax>turing one whale in
the North Atlantic, from which $11,000 were realized, and
on the 1st of March, 1876, arrived at Bunbury, Western
Australia. Captain Anthony s story is as terse as a log
book : "We cleared at Teneriife on the 10th of November
for River La Platte and other places beyond the seas ; did
not go to the river, but sailed direct for Bunbury on the
west coast of Australia, arriving the last of March. The
day after arrival, received a telegram from Fremantle,
signed J. Collins, as followed : Any news from New Bed
ford? When are you going to Fremantle. I answered,
No news from New Bedford ; shall not go to Fre
mantle.
Two days later "Collins" came from Fremantle and
took lodgings in the hotel at which Captain Anthony was
staying. He was introduced to the latter, who invited him
on board his ship. There Breslin and Anthony studied the
chart of the coast and decided upon their plans. The next
day the coasting steamer Georgette stopped at Bunbury on
her way to Fremantle. Anthony and Breslin went as
passengers ; the former, as a fellow sailor, made acquain
tance with the Captain of the Georgette, who gave him all
the information he desired in regard to the course taken by
vessels in those waters, the soundings, etc. On arriving at
Fremantle they were surprised to find a British gunboat in
the harbor, and decided to defer operations until her depar
ture. Anthony remained at Fremantle five days, driving
with Breslin over the twenty-three miles of road between
that place and Rockingham, which was to be their point of
162 JOHfr
departure. At Rockingham they planted stakes to mark
the spot at which Anthony s whaleboat was to land in the
night for the prisoners. Before parting they arranged a
cipher code for telegraphing. " When the ship was ready
for sea," continues Captain Anthony, " I telegraphed the
fact to Collins, stating that I should leave the next day.
The next day there was a fierce storm and I could not
leave, but I thought I would get away in time to carry out
the plans, and so did not communicate with Collins. The
day following I found that I could not get away ; attempted
to telegraph to Collins, but it was Good Friday, and the
telegraph offices were not open. Found the female opera
tor, who said that the office could not be opened unless it
was a case of life or death. Told her it was more important
than either, and she decided to send the message. As good
luck would have it, the office at Fremantle was open, and
the dispatch was received. Saturday morning I telegraphed
to Collins, I shall certainly leave Bunbury for the whaling
ground to-morrow ; I suppose you and your friends start
for York on Monday morning.
" York is a small village, and according to our cipher it
was to mean Bunbury. Collins telegraphed back I
wish you flood luck ; I wish you would strike oil ; au
revoir.
The Catalpa sailed on Saturday afternoon, and on Sun
day noon was thirty miles southwest of Rottennest light
house, when Captain Anthony, with six of his best men,
started in his whaleboat for the shore. The boat was
manned with a third mate, two Portuguese, two Malays,
and a native of St. Helena. "None of them," says Cap
tain Anthony, "knew my errand, nor did any one on
board the ship except my mate, who was informed when the
ship was six months out ; told the boat s crew I was going
to Fremantle for an anchor to supply the place of one that
was broken in the gale at Bunbury. I kept it a secret
from my boat s crew, for their own good, knowing that
there was a great chance of our being caught, and feeling
that in such a case their ignorance would clear them."
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 163
(There is a good deal of unassuming chivalry in this last
simple statement.)
The boat arrived at the Rockingham shore at eight
o clock Sunday evening. At daylight next morning they
saw a party of five men working at a jetty about a quarter
of a mile away.
"One of them came down and began questioning me;
told him the same as I had told the men, that I was bound
to Fremantle for an anchor to supply the place of one
broken ; had got so far and had stopped to rest. He did
not appear satisfied, and intimated that we were deserters.
Convinced him that we were not by showing him that I
was master of the ship. On inquiry, I found that the men
at work at the quay went there to load timber on the
steamer Georgette, which was hourly expected to take it
on board. Things now looked slightly squally ; my boat s
crew began to grow uneasy at remaining so long on shore
without any apparent object. I told them to obey my
orders and no harm would come to them. I told them,
also, that when I gave the order to man the boat and pull
off, they must do it in a hurry. This seemed to cause them
more uneasiness than before ; but it was now after ten
o clock, and I knew the men would be alongside soon."
Leaving Captain Anthony and his uneasy miscellaneous
crew for the moment, we will let John Breslin take up his
story. The following is his graphic narrative :
At 7 o clock A.M., I went to Albert s stables and found the pair of
horses I wanted, and a nice light four-wheeled trap already harnessed
up and waiting. I told the hostler to let them stand for about twenty
minutes, and then went and told Desmond to get his horses harnessed
up and be ready to leave at 7.30 A.M. I had arrangea with Desmond
for him to leave Fremantle by a side street, which, after a few turns,
took him on to the Rockingham road, while I drove up High Street, as
if going to Perth, turning sharp round by the prison and on to the
same road. King, being well mounted, was to remain after we started,
for a reasonable time, and then to follow and let us know if the alarm
was given. At 7.30 A.M. I drove slowly up the principal street, and,
turning to the right, walked my horses by the warden s quarters and
pensioners barracks. The men were beginning to assemble for parade,
164 JOHN BOYLE o ltEILLY.
I had arranged with our men that I would have the traps in position
on the road at a quarter to eight, and would remain so, the nearest one
being within five minutes run of the prison, until 9 o clock A.M. Being
ahead of my time, I drove slowly along the Buckingham road, and
Desmond, coming up shortly after, drove by me. Coming to a shaded
part of the road, we halted, and having divided the hats and coats,
three of each to each trap, I commenced to drive back to Fremantle,
Desmond following ; time, five minutes to eight. A few moments
after, I saw three men in the prison dress wheel round and march down
the Rockingham road. Driving up to them, I found the men were
Wilson, Cranston, and Harrington. I directed them to pass on and
get into the trap with Desmond and drive away. Desmond wheeled
his horses around and they were only seated and ready to start when
the other three came in sight, and on driving up to them I found one
man carrying a spade, and another a large tin kerosene can. As soon
as I came near enough to be recognized, he who carried the spade flung
it with vim into the bush, and the holder of the kerosene can bestowed
a strong kick upon it in good football fashion. I found the men were
Darragh, Hogau, an:l Hassett. I now had all the men I wanted, and
felt glad. My horses got restive and refused to wheel around. Darragh
caught one by the head, but he jibed and kicked so I was afraid he
would break the harness. I told Darragh to let him go, and, whipping
both of them up smartly, they started fairly together, and when I got
them on a wider part of the road they wheeled around nicely. I now
drove back and took up my men. Desmond was already well out of
sight, and King shortly after rode up and told me all was quiet when
he left.
With regard to the method or plan of communication between the
prisoners themselves, it may be well to state that their good conduct
and length of imprisonment had entitled them to the rank of constable,
which enabled them to communicate with each other with greater ease
and freedom than the other prisoners. Wilson and Harrington worked
in the same party at the construction of harbor works in Fremantle.
Hogan was a painter by trade, and on the morning of the escape was
employed painting the house of Mr. Fauntleroy, outside the prison
walls. CranstonAvas employed in the stores, and as messenger occa
sionally. Darragh was clerk and attendant to the Church of England
chaplain, and enjoj ed considerable facilities for communicating with
the other prisoners, and on the morning of the escape took Hassett with
him to plant potatoes in the garden of Mr. Broomhole, the clerk of
works for the convict department.
After breakfast on the morning of the 17th of April, all the political
prisoners were engaged outside the prison wall. Cranston passed out
as if going on a message, and, having overtaken the warder who was
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 165
marching the working party in which Wilson and Harrington worked,
showed him a key, and to.!d him he had been sent to take Wilson and
Harrington to move some furniture in the Governor s house, which
was the nearest point to where they expected to meet me. The warder
told Wilson and Harrington to go with Cranston, and they marched
off. Darragh took Hassett, as if going to work, in the same direction,
and was joined by Hogan, who made an excuse for temporary absence
to the warder who had charge of him. Both parties met at the Rock-
ingham road.
I now drove on, letting King fall behind, and in half an hour was
close behind Desmond. We held 011 without accident or incident until
we reached the Rocking Hotel, when Somers, the proprietor, who knew
me, called out to know what time the Georgette was expected to be at
the timber jetty. I told him the Georgette was at the jetty in Freman-
tle when I left, but I did not know when she would be at Rockingharn.
At 10.30 A.M. we made the beach and got aboard the whale-boat. The
men had been instructed to stow themselves in the smallest possible
space, so as not to interfere with the men at the oars, and in a few mo
ments all was ready and the word was given to shove off. Under the
powerful strokes of the whalemen the boat had made two miles out to
sea before the mounted police, who had promptly taken the alarm, had
arrived at the spot to recover the horses and wagons used in the escape.
In the mean time the wind and sea had arisen, the boat s
course was dead to windward, and the ship invisible below
the horizon. Presently the wind changed a little and the
crew hoisted a small sail. They soon sighted the ship and
were fast overhauling her when a squall struck them, carry
ing away their mast and sail. They pulled wearily ahead
for two hours longer ; then set the jib on an oar. The
heavily laden boat continually shipped seas over the stern,
keeping the men engaged in baling her out. So they
worked all through the stormy night, hungry, tired, and
soaking wet. At daylight they sighted the ship again and
tried to signal her, but in vain. Fortunately for them
selves, as it proved, their little boat was not visible in the
waste of waters, for the Government steamer Georgette came
presently out of Fremantle harbor, steering straight for
the Catalpa. The men in the boat took in the small jib
which they had hoisted and again resumed their work at
the oars. The Georgette was seen to go out to the Catalpa,
166 JOHN BOYLE o llEILLY.
parley awhile with her, then steam in toward the shore,
making a complete circuit around the boat without perceiv
ing it.
Another enemy was also in sight, the coast-guard boat,
which went out toward the Catalpa as the Georgette came
back from her, thus intending to head off the fugitives
wherever they might be. The men in the whaleboat again
hoisted their little sail and made for the ship, which at last
sighted and bore down toward them. As it did so, the
coast-guard boat also discovered the boat and made sail
in the hope of intercepting it. So close was the race that
the Catalpa, reaching the boat first, did not wait for the
passengers to swarm up the sides, but lowering the falls,
grappled it fore and aft, and hoisted boat, men, and all on
board.
Immediately Breslin and his men went below, where
they armed themselves, with the full determination not to
be taken alive. The coast-guard boat drew off after wit
nessing the escape and identifying several of the prisoners.
" We have not done with you yet," shouted the inspec
tor of the water police, as Captain Anthony, turning to
Breslin, said, "What now, Mr. Collins?" "Put to sea,"
was the answer, and the captain thundered out, " Bout
ship ; put to sea."
At 6.30 on the following morning the Catalpa was over
hauled by the Georgette, which fired a shot across her
bows.
The captain of the Georgette spoke through his trumpet,
"Heave to."
Captain Anthony answered, " What for ? "
The- steamer replied, " You have six Crown prisoners on
board."
Anthony answered, " I have no prisoners here."
" May I come on board ? " was the next question from
the Georgette.
Anthony quickly sent back the answer, "No, sir."
"I see the prisoners on the deck," came from the
steamer
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 16,7
Captain Anthony ordered his men to stand up to show
there were no prisoners there (the prisoners were at this
time below).
Colonel Harvest, who was in command of the troops,
then spoke to the Catalpa: " You are amenable to British
laws. Heave to, or I ll blow your mast out."
"I know no British laws," said the captain of the
whaler.
"I have telegraphed to your Government, and I find
you are amenable to me," said Harvest.
Anthony replied, "I m bound for sea ; I cannot wait."
Colonel Harvest then shouted, "I ll give you fifteen
minutes to surrender. May I come on board, sir?"
"No, sir!" said Anthony, so decidedly as not to be
mistaken.
During the altercation between the bark and the steamer,
" Collins " called the men, and said, " What had we better
do, men ? "
They replied resolutely, " Sink or swim, no surrender ! "
The mate, Mr. Smith, then deliberately said, "By -
we ll sink under that flag before we ll give it up."
He got his rifles, whale lances, and harpoons ready, and
also some heavy logs to sink any boat coming alongside ;
the whale-guns were loaded, and every man had fifty
rounds of rifle and pistol cartridges, and stood ready.
After an interval Colonel Elarvest again asked : " May
we come on board ?"
Then Anthony s clear voice again rang out, but louder
than before, " No, sir ! "
" Collins " observed by this time that the Georgette was
following up the Catalpa and trying to hedge her in to the
land. He communicated his suspicions to the captain,
who cried out, " Bout ship, keep off to sea."
The Catalpa 1 s sails filled, and her bow was directed
amidships of the Georgette. As she gathered way, the
police boat, being in some danger of being cut in two,
backed hastily out. Then, after following the Catalpa a
short distance, she swung around slowly and went home
168 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
to report the failure of a very vain attempt, that of beating
an American in the national game of " bluff."
There was one incident of this daring enterprise which
completed its dramatic intensity. The soldier convicts in
Fremantle numbered one more than those who were rescued.
That one was purposely left behind, because of an act of
treachery which he had attempted against his fellows ten
long years before. He was tried with the others, by court-
martial, and found guilty of treason ; but before his sen
tence received the approval of the Comrnander-in-Chief he
had offered to divulge the names of certain of his comrades
not yet arrested, though implicated in the Fenian con
spiracy. His offer was not accepted. The Government
punished him for his treason, and his comrades, half a
score of years afterward, punished him more cruelly for
the treason which he had contemplated against them.
There was also an interesting sequel to the affair. The
city marshal of New Bedford, some time in. August,
received a formidable document bearing the following
address :
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES.
169
ON PUBLIC SERVICE ONLY.
Via San Francisco and Sidney.
The Officer in charge of Police Department,
New Bedford,
Massa chusetts,
United States America.
Police Department.
The contents were as follows :
POLICE DEPARTMENT,
CHIEF OFFICE, PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA,
SIR :
April 18, 1876.
James Darrasfh, 9707, life sen
tence, 2d March, 1866, aged
42, Fenian, absconded from
Fremantle, 8:30 a.m., April
17, 1876.
Martin Hogan, 9767, sentence,
life, August 21, 1886, aged 37,
Fenian, absconded asabove.
Michael Harrington, 9757, life
sentence, July 7, 1866, 48
years, Fenian, absconded,
as above.
Thomas Hassett, 9758, life
sentence. August 15, 1866,
ag-e 36, Fenian, etc.
Robert Cranston. 9702, life
sentence, June 26, 1866, Fe
nian, absconded, etc.
James Wilson, 9915, life sen
tence, August 20, 1836, age 40,
absconded, etc.
N. B. Martin Hogran s
marks include the letter I)
on his left side ; so do those
of Michael Harrington,
Thomas Hassett, aud James
Wilson.
I beg to inform you that on the 17th inst.
the imperial convicts named in the margin ab
sconded from the convict settlement at Fre
mantle in this colony, and escaped from the col
ony in the American whaling bark Catalpa, G.
Anthony, master. This bark is from New Bed
ford, Massachusetts, U. S. A. The convicts were
taken from the shore in a whale-boat belong
ing to the Catalpa, manned by Captain An
thony and six of the crew. The abettors were
Collins, Jones, and Johnson.
I attach a description of each of the abscon-
ders, and have to request that you will be good
enough to furnish me with any particulars you
may be able to gather concerning them.
I have the honor to be, sir,
Your obedient servant,
M. A. SMITH, Supt. of Police.
To the Officer in charge of the Police Department,
New Bedford, Massachusetts, U. S. A.
170 JOHN BOYLE o REILLY.
Now, the officer in charge of " Police Department, New
Bedford, Massachusetts, U. S. A.," at this period was one
Henry C. Hathaway, the same who had rescued John
Boyle O Reilly from captivity and who had helped to lit
out the Catalpa. It is surmised that he did not show any
undue zeal in aiding the Australian authorities to recover
possession of the fugitives.
The Catalpa arrived at New York on Saturday, August
19. Five days later she came into the port of New Bed
ford, a great crowd assembling on the wharves to welcome
her with cheers and booming of cannon. Next day a
public reception was given to the heroes. John Boyle
O Reilly was the orator of the occasion. The following sum
mary of his speech was published at the time. He said it
was with no ordinary feelings that he was there. That he
owed to New Bedford no ordinary debt, and would gladly
have come a thousand miles to do honor to the New Bedford
whalemen. Seven years of liberty and a bappy home in a
free country were his debt of gratitude, and when the close
of his sentence came, in 1886, his debt to New Bedford
might be grown too heavy to bear.
"They were there," he said, " to do honor and to show
their gratitude to the man who had done a brave and won
derful deed. The self sacrifice and unfailing devotion of
him who had taken his life in his hand and beached his
whaleboat on the penal colony, defying its fearful laws,
defying the gallows and the chain-gang, in order to keep
faith with the men who had placed their trust in him this
is almost beyond belief in our selfish and commonplace
time.
" There are sides to this question worth looking at. To
Irishmen it was significant in manifold ways, one of which
was that these men, being soldiers, could not be left in prison
without demoralizing the Irishmen in the English army,
who would not forget that their comrades had been forsaken
and left to die in confinement when the civilian leaders of
the movement had been set free. But the spirit that
prompted their release was larger and nobler than this, and
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 171
its beauty could be appreciated by all men, partaking as it
did of the universal instinct of humanity to love their race
and their native land.
"England said that the rescue was a lawless and dis
graceful filibustering raid. Not so ; if these men were
criminals the rescue would be criminal, but they were politi
cal offenders against England, not against law, or order,
or religion. They had lain in prison for ten years, with
millions of their countrymen asking their release, imploring
England, against their will to beg, to set these men at
liberty. Had England done so it would have partially dis
armed Ireland. A generous act by England would be
reciprocated instantly by millions of the warmest hearts in
the world. But she is blind as of old ; blind, and arrogant,
and cruel. She would not release the men ; she scorned to
give Ireland an answer. She called the prisoners cowardly
criminals, not political offenders
" When the ship sailed and was a long time at sea,
doubts and fears for the safety of the enterprise were sure
to come, but Captain Hathaway said once and always,
the man who engaged to do this will keep that engage
ment, or he wont come out of the penal colony.
After describing some of his experiences in the penal
colony, Mr. O Reilly pointed to the bronzed and worn face
of Mr. Hassett, one of the rescued prisoners, and said :
" Look at that man sitting there. Six years ago he escaped
from his prison in the penal colony and lied into the bush,
and lived there like a wild beast for a whole year, hunted
from district to district, in a blind, but manful attempt to
win his liberty. When England said the rescue was illegal,
America could answer, as the Anti-Slavery men answered
when they attacked the Constitution, as England herself
answered in the cause of Poland : We have acted from a
higher law than your written constitution and treaties the
law of God and humanity. It was in obedience to this
supreme law that Captain Anthony rescued the prisoners,
and pointed his finger at the Stars and Stripes when the
English vessel threatened to fire on his ship.
172 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
"The Irishman," concluded Mr. O Reilly "who could
forget what the Stars and Stripes have done for his country
men, deserves that in the time of need that flag shall for
get him."
In the Pilot he gave the following sketch of the daring
leader of the Catalpa exploit :
JOHN J. BEESLIN THE MAN OF TWO RESCUES.
Out of all the incidents of the so-called "Fenian Movement," the
most brilliantly daring have been two rescues of prisoners namely,
that of the Chief Organizer, James Stephens, from Richmond Prison,
Dublin, in 1865, and of the six military prisoners from Western Australia
last April. These two rescues are in many ways remarkable. Unlike
almost every other enterprise of Fenianism, they have been completely
successful ; and, when completed, have been commented on in the same
way, as " well done." Every other attempt or proposal has fallen,
through or ended with loss. The rescue of Kelly and Deasy from the
police van in Manchester was successful so far as the release of the
prisoners went ; but it was bought with the lives of Allen, Larkin, and
O Brien, and the nine years misery of Condon. The proposed attack
on Chester Castle was discovered and prevented by the English govern
ment. The seizure of the Pigeon House Fort, with its armory, at Dub
lin, never emerged from the stage of dreamland. The attempt to blow
up Clerkenwell Prison, London, to release Rickard Burke, was a dis
astrous failure, by which nothing was accomplished, by which many
suffered, the lives of several poor working people were sacrificed, and
the wretched lodging-house homes of others destroyed.
But the rescue of James Stephens, even while the government was
gloating over his capture, was as unexpected and thorough as if the
man had vanished in smoke. No one suffered from it at least from
English law no one was arrested ; neither the government nor the
public ever knew how or by whom it was accomplished. The man or
men who did the work claimed no recompense either of money or
notoriety. Two thousand pounds reward failed to elicit the slightest
clew. The thing was cleverly, cleanly, bravely done, and those who
knew of it knew how to keep the secret.
The recent rescue of the six military prisoners from the penal colony
of West Australia was performed in a similar manner, as to daring,
silence, and complete success. Looking back on it, no one can say that
aught was forgotten or left to chance. With admirable deliberation
every inch of the train was laid, every spoi adic interest was attended
to, and the eventful rescue was carried out to the prearranged letter
with scientific precision. As in the escape of Stephens, no trail re-
Itis LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 173
mained ; no one left in the trap ; no price paid in human life or suffer
ing. It was a clean thing from beginning to end ; it was " well done."
They have a resemblance, these two rescues, and so they ought to
have for the same mind planned and the same hands carried both to
a conclusion.
In both these desperate undertakings, John Breslin was the man
in the gap." In both John Devoy was his careful, patient, fore
thoughtful fellow- worker. Such men are not paid in words, they are
of that mold that draw their reward from the inner consciousness of
achievement. But there is a public good in upholding the deed of
bravery, modesty, and devotion ; there is the highest teaching in silent,
manly purpose ; and Mr. Breslin and Mr. Devoy must pardon us for
criticising their work without their consent. John J. Breslin has lived
in Boston for many years. A man of few words, of small acquaint
ance, earning his bread in unassuming ways few knew, and to few
were shown, the culture and refinement behind the modest exterior. In
thought and appearance eminently a gentleman ; in demeanor dignified
and reserved ; in observance, rather distrustful, as if disappointed in his
ideal man ; somewhat cynical, perhaps, and often stubbornly prejudiced
and unjust ; a lover of and a successful worker in literature, such is
an outline of a character that may indeed be called extraordinary, of
a man who, if he break down the barrier of reserve that has hitherto
hedged him round, has it in his hands to win brilliant distinction in
any public career he may select.
The Irish nationalists, owners of the bark Catalpa,
disposed of the vessel in a generous and highly creditable
way. Mr. John Devoy, of New York, and Mr. Reynolds
of New Haven, Conn., in whose name the Catalpa was
entered, visited New Bedford in February, 1877, and pre
sented the vessel, as she stood, with her whaling inventory,
to the three men who best deserved her, namely, John E.
Richardson, the agent ; George S. Anthony, the captain,
and Henry C. Hathaway, the Chief of Police, whose fidelity
and sagacity had so much to do with the success of the
rescue. Devoy and Reynolds also settled with the crew on
most liberal terms. The total expense of the expedition
was about $25,000.
CHAPTER X.
Death of John O Mahony O Reilly s Tribute to the Head-Center
Prison Sufferings of Corporal Chambers He is Set Free at Last
O Reilly on Denis Kearney "Moondyne," and its Critics
"Number 406."
CatalpGb rescue was as gallant and chivalrous a
-L deed as ever loyal knights had dared for suffering
comrades. There was not a taint of sordid or selfish pur
pose in it, from beginning to end. Any nation might be
proud of the sons who had so boldly conceived and so
shrewdly carried it to success ; but the world has no laurels
for the heroes of a defeated cause. Fenianism in Ireland
had been a tragedy : in America it was a wretched farce.
And the world looking at the stricken gladiator, turned
its thumbs downward.
Among the men whom disaster had crushed and sad
dened was John O Mahony, the once famous Head-Center.
He came of revolutionary stock, his ancestors having been
concerned in every rising against the English for genera
tions. His father and uncle were rebels in 98 ; he him
self had to fly the country on the failure of the insurrection
of 48. He organized the Fenian Brotherhood in 1860.
Although hundreds of thousands of dollars had passed
through his hands, he died absolutely poor, on the 7th of
February, 1877. When, the news of his mortal illness in
New York became known. O Reilly paid this just tribute
to the dying enthusiast, who had suffered that bitterest
penalty of failure, unjust reproach and undeserved dis
trust.
John O Mahony was the first " Head-Center " of the Fenian move
ment in America, and he is the Head-Center still in its decadence. He
watched beside its cradle ; he rose with it in its sudden strength ; he
174
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES.
Was its head when it assumed the extraordinary attitude of a foreign
national government with headquarters in New York ; its copious
stream of gold passed through his hands ; the scores of thousands of its
builders, looking to their Center, beheld and believed in the rapt face,
the solemn figure, and the streaming hair of their chosen leader. He
was not merely the guide or fabricator of Fenianism. He, more than
any man alive or dead, was the spirit and subtending principle of the
movement. Its single-heartedness and devotion were his, no matter
whose its narrowness and shortcoming. Stephens was the " Chief Or
ganizer," but John O Mahony was the " Head-Center." His whole life
and aspirations were bound up in one word Fenianism. It was he who
christened the movement with this title, which was objectionable to
most of its members. Only of late years, when they saw that the world
knew them only by this name, did they accept the ancient word im
posed on them by their leader.
The fate of too many Irish leaders followed O Mahony. Dissen
sions came, and doubts, and divisions ; the walls crumbled, the floors
shook, and the antique figure descended in sorrow from its place in
the Moffat mansion. The aim of the movement was broken ; other
minds than O Mahony s entered in and were averse to the old style.
As Young Ireland departed from O Connell and followed the brilliant
youths of the Sword, so Fenianism swerved from O Mahony and half
its supporters faced toward Canada. Col. William R. Roberts, a natu
ral leader of men, sanguine, intellectual, eloquent, replaced O Mahony
in their hearts. Lower and lower went his Fenianism, till the only
men who clung to it in a practical way were a few severe or simple
natures, those who stand by a solitary idea for a lifetime, whose grasp
and hope ai-e coeval with their existence. With these was John
O Mahony. The gilded palaces were gone ; and he was the same
antique Fenian still. Years went by, and the name of the man was
rarely mentioned ; and when spoken, even in assemblies of Irishmen,
too often the taint of suspicion was said or insinuated, and left uncon-
tradicted. The money sent to him in the heyday of Fenianism was
remembered, and the old charge was made he had duped the people.
If any man who made this charge had met John O Mahony in New
York for the past seven years, he would have begged the old man s
pardon. A tall, gaunt figure the mere framework of a mighty man ;
a large, lusterless face, with deep-sunken, introverted eyes ; faded,
lightish hair, worn long to the shoulders ; an overcoat always but
toned, as if to hide the ravages of wear and tear on the inner garments ;
something of this, and something too of gentleness and knightlihood,
not easily described, were in the. awkward and slow-moving figure,
with melancholy and abstracted gaze, so well known to the Irishmen
of New York as John O Mahony, the Head-Center.
176 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Leaving aside the faults and failures of Fenianism for the sake of
its honest and sacrificial patriotism, and for the sake of poor John
O Mahony, whose whole life was a sacrifice, we say that this man s
existence and work, though both were darkened by disappointment,
were on the whole of good service to Ireland. Unquestionably the
movement of 1865-66 kindled the dead wood of Irish nationality.
There was sore need of a toi-ch and a hand to fire the stubble. There
was actual danger of national death in Ireland. The new generation
had been brought up under a system of apparent lenity, and educated
in " national schools," cunningly designed to make Irish children West
Britons. It may be that 110 patriotic light from above, no open politi
cal teaching could avert the danger. Be that as it may, the light came
from below it was carried in secret through the country, from town to
town, by James Stephens. The peasant and mechanic lit their lamps
at the sacrificial flame and carried it years after, in loving care,
though it scorched them to the bone, in English dungeons. He organ
ized Periiauism on this continent ; and all of him that was in it was
pure and devoted and good.
The life of a good and pure man a life held in his hand and daily
offered up with pagan simplicity for one unselfish object for his
country can never do that country aught but good. We do not think
he was a great man : we never thought him a wise man ; but that he
was a faithful and unflinching son and servant and slave to Ireland, no
one who knew him will deny above his grave. God send more men as
lovable and unselfish as he ! A gentleman born and bred, he chose
to live in poverty, putting all things aside that might interfere with his
dream of a free Ireland. He never stained his white hand with one
unworthy coin from the treasury of Fenianism.
O Mahony was the incarnation of his cause, sincere,
honest, unselfish, and uncalculating not wise as the world
judges, but wiser, perhaps, than he or the world knew, in
cherishing a dream :
For a dreamer lives forever,
But a toiler dies in a day.
The body of the dead chieftain was borne to Ireland and
buried in Dublin, being followed to the grave by thousands
of his mourning countrymen.
There were other Fenians less fortunate than the dead
O Mahony, in that their graves held living men. Sergeant
McCarthy and Corporal Chambers, O Reilly s fellow-
prisoners in Pentonville, Chatham, Portsmouth, and Dart-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 177
moor, still wore the felon s garb and chains. O Connor
Power moved in the House of Commons, on June 5, for an
inquiry into the treatment of the political prisoners, and
presented a communication from Michael Davitt, who had
then been in prison for seven years, detailing some of the
hardships which himself and his comrades had endured.
McCarthy was then within a year of the release which was
to come to him only through the clemency of death. Davitt
gave a minute account, as follows, of the indignities and
cruelties heaped upon poor Chambers :
Corporal Chambers, for five months during which he was
in custody before trial, .was treated far worse than a convict. I make
every allowance for the prejudice of the members of the court-martial
in daily expectation of Fenian disturbances, but having found him
guilty of treason, why not shoot him ? It would have been mercy
itself compared with sending him to herd with the common thief and
murderer. Perhaps a living example is required. Therefore, my poor
comrades, the military men, were not included in the amnesty five and
a half years ago, though the leaders of Fenianism and men who had
borne arms against the government in 1867 were. Well, if they are
intended as an example to their countrymen in the army, they may
also serve as an example to their countrymen out of the army when
England wants Irish soldiers again. Imprisonment for the term of
his natural life/ signed by her most gracious Majesty. So ran his
sentence, and he was removed from the Irish jails, where there is some
humanity, to the English jails, where humanity and the Ten Com
mandments are set aside by the "Abstract of Prison Rules." Those
rules, ambiguous and elastic as they are, are stretched and tortured in
every way, in order to inflict extra punishments on us, or deprive us
of the few privileges granted to the ordinary convict. On the 4th of
June, 1868, he was told by the director that the Secretary of State had
ordered him to be treated with greater severity than an ordinary
prisoner. This order is still in force, although he has several times
petitioned the Secretary of State about the injustice of it, and begged
for an inquiry. He lias always received "no grounds " for an answer.
Nor would they produce him before the Inquiry Commission in 1870.
Nor is he allowed a visit, although he applies within the rules. The
last quibble is that he must give proof that those whom he applies to
see him are blood relatives. Not a word about proof is mentioned to
the thieves when they ask for a visit. He has very little better fortune
with his letters. Thus every possible means are taken to prevent us
178 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
from exposing the horrors of the last ten years. The prison regulations
say that the authorities are to instill into the minds of convicts sound
moral and religious principles " very nice to read, but if the authorities
have neither moral nor religious principles themselves, how then ? In
June or July, 1868, Chambers received "no grounds" as an answer to
a petition that he had sent to the Secretary of State, begging to be
allowed to attend to his religious obligations, a privilege of which he
was deprived by a "moral and religious" director for six months. At
present he is daily driven in and out of chapel by officers brandishing
bludgeons, and shouting like cattle-drovers ; even in chapel he is not
quite free from their rudeness. Dozens of times those officers have
stripped him naked in presence of thieves, and subjected him to insults
too disgusting to describe. He is made to open his clothes five times a
day while an officer feels over his body. He has been several times
separated from other political prisoners although our being together
was within the rules and forced to associate with picked ruffians. He
has been for six months in constant contact with lunatics. He has been
forced to mop out filthy dens of dirt with a small piece of a rag, to carry
a portable water-closet on the public road and across the fields for the
use of common malefactors. He has often been sick, but, except on a
few occasions, was not taken to hospital. On one occasion he was sent
to the dungeons for applying for relief after he had met with a severe
hurt by falling from the gangway of a building. Last year, while laid
up with rheumatism, they kept him sixteen days on ten ounces of food
daily, two months on half diet, and then put him out of hospital far
worse than when he was taken in. He is weekly forced to act as char
woman to a lot of very dirty creatures. He has had punishment diet
(sixteen ounces of bread and water), penal class diet, and dungeons
dark, cold, wet, and dirty in abundance, A smile, a movement of the
lips aye, even a glance of the eye is often condemned as a crime in
Dartmoor. We have been frequently insulted by thieves and even
struck by them. Chambers has been held by a jailer while another jailer
was ill-using him. Worthy sons of worthy sires, who shot down the
poor prisoners of war here ! Their scattered bones were collected lately,
and " Tis good to die for one s country" written over them. When
Chambers s sentence of imprisonment for the term of his natural life is
brought to a close by unnatural means, the jailers will write " No. 36,
Felon Chambers," over him. No fine epitaph shall mark his murdered
bones. Nevertheless, the only difference between the French and
American prisonei-s and him is that while they were shot down, he will
be slowly tortured to death. * N
In December of this year O Reilly received a "letter"
from Chambers, i.e., a printed document in which the
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 179
prisoner had been allowed to write exactly four words, or
live, if we include the word "friend."
The following is the letter, with the prisoner s part of
the -composition italicized :
WOKING PRISON, ENGLAND, November 29, 1877.
Dear Friend. I was transferred from Dartmoor on the 26th inst.,
and am now in this prison ; I am in ivorse health, and if I do not for
feit the privilege I shall be allowed to write a longer letter afterward,
and then receive one from you in reply.
T. CHAMBERS.
This is the answering message of cheer sent in the happy
Christmas time, and gratefully preserved by the receiver as
long as he lived. When both sender and receiver had
passed away, a loyal comrade, Mr. James Wrenn, to whom
Chambers had bequeathed it, brought me the paper. It
was well worn with many readings, for this terrible "rebel,"
who had been so severely punished, was the simplest and
kindliest of men, and loved O Reilly with the trustful love
of a dog or a child :
BOSTON, U. S. A., December 22, 1877.
John Boyle O Reilly
to
Corporal Thomas Chambers, Sixty-First Foot; in prison.
MY DEAR OLD FRIEND : I cannot go to my home to-night without
writing to you and actually saying the words, "May you have a happy
Christmas, dear boy," as happy as you may have in your sad surround
ings.
Your last letter was more a grief to me than a pleasure. I see your
familiar hand in only four hearty words. I am glad, however, that
the prison authorities allowed you to have my letter. I feared that it
would go the unknown road of many previous ones.
Eleven years ago and what a long lifetime it seems we were both
young and enthusiastic boys, and I am impressed to-day, somehow,
with the vast changes worked on men by time ; you in your prison, and
I in the world, have both equally changed. When ten more years
have passed we shall botli look back with pleasure yes, as sure as you
live, old friend at the dark shadow.* When your time comes, as it
*The ten years had become eleven when O Reilly closed the dead eyes of
the dear comrade, whom he was soon to follow.
180 JOHN BOYLE o EEILLY.
surely will before long-, the revulsion of feeling will in itself be so deep
a joy that whole years of suffering will be swallowed up.
I grieve to hear of your declining health. Dear Tom, a stout heart
keeps a man healthy. Bear up ; remember you have a hearty welcome
in the home of one friend, I might say of very many, and now, at the
eleventh hour, do not despond nor sink. You must come to us, rugged
and strong; come a boy, to begin the world anew, and to work out
your manly way in the New World.
I know that if I were to write news it would break the prison rules
and nullify my letter, and I must confine myself to mere words, but
believe me, there is a heart behind every sentence.
I do not believe you will be long a prisoner, but, long or short, hus
band your health for the time of delivery. When you write me, I
trust in God you will tell ni you are gaining strength. I wish I might
write you a newspaper full.
Sincerely yours,
J. B. O REILLY.
578 Washington Street, Boston, U. S. A.
This letter was indorsed :
To the Governor of Woking Prison :
SIR : I respectfully beg that this letter be handed to the person to
whom it is addressed. His health may be affected by despondency
which a friendly message may arrest or dispel. I have tried to avoid
breaking your rules or discipline.
Respectfully,
J. B. O REILLY.
On the 27th of August, 1877, Mr. John O Kane, a schol
arly gentleman who had been assistant editor of the Pilot
for some years, died of pneumonia, at the age of forty years.
He left one son, Daniel P. O Kane, whom Mr. <J Reilly took
into the office and made his confidential clerk. " Dan "
it seems impossible to speak of him save by the familiar
name by which he was known and loved was an amiable,
kindly youth, warmly devoted to his chief and dearly loved
in return. The fatal seeds of consumption were in his sys
tem, and developed such alarming symptoms in the year
1890 that he was forced to give up his work on the Pilot
and go to the Boston City Hospital for treatment. His de
clining health was the cause of heartfelt grief to O Reilly.
While the latter was away on his lecturing tour on the
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 181
Pacific Coast, lie telegraphed to the writer from San Fran
cisco for news of the sick lad. It was one of those little
things which, somehow, find lodgment only in big hearts.
Dan survived his chief but one week ; the strong, lusty man
died, after all, before his frail protege.
In this year, 1877, O Reilly was called upon to write an
obituary notice of another great journalist, Samuel Bowles,
founder and editor of the Springfield Republican. His
eulogy of the dead editor may be fitly applied to himself,
even as his warning against overwork is sadly prophetic of
his own fate :
Mr. Bowles was a born editor a comprehencler of facts, a compeller
of circumstances. Mr. Bowles had the clearest perception of what was
of immediate interest; and his readers were spared the trouble of sifting
the chaff to find the grain of daily wheat. He trained his young- men
so admirably that his whole paper Was a mosaic of equal excellence,
every paragraph having- the mint-stamp of journalism. He dies of the
great American disease, overwork. The brain had too much to do;
like a patient beast of buixlen. it obeyed the untiring will, laboriously
breasting the collar, till at last the tension grew rigid; the ceaseless
pressure had worn the line something snapped the strained attention
lost its aim the whole oi ganism collapsed the toil was done forever
the editor was stricken down with paralysis of the brain ! Is there a les
son in this story? Who heeds? Pshaw! there is no time to moralize.
Slacken the traces for a minute, till the funeral passes then to work
again. Time is very short. Strong men love vigorous labor. And
wives and children, ah, well ! they mu & fall back on the insurance
companies.
Writing in the last month of the year 1890, it is not hard
to understand the pain and chagrin with which Irish patri
ots, thirteen years ago, confessed the utter failure of Isaac
Butt s parliamentary efforts to secure Home Rule for his
country. But the inefficient leader was supplanted and a
new one chosen, and Ireland God help her ! saw another
dawn breaking in the east. Mr. Butt was hopelessly ami
able :
"Whenever a motion trenching on Irish nationality was
brought forward," wrote O Reilly, "it was beaten with
nothing short of contumely. Still not a severe word from
182 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Mr. Butt. As soon as one bill was squelched, he smilingly
sat down to draw up another, and courteously awaited its
extinction. It was plain that such a character was badly
suited for his place ; but the country waited and trusted
that at the right moment their chosen leader would
rise up in virtuous indignation, and for the sake of Ire
land s very manhood utter a statesman s reproof and pro
test.
" There is no such mettle in Isaac Butt, we are sorry to
believe. He has been tried and found wanting. The coun
try is disappointed and sick of him. He has been deposed
and supplanted by a younger and bolder man The
actual policy of the new leader it is not easy to foreshadow ;
but it will doubtless be a vigorous one. The young blood
of Ireland will assuredly be with him, and the old blood
that has not stagnated. The peace policy has been misun
derstood by Irish leaders like Butt. To these it means
peace at any price peace in legislative action as well as in
arms. They do not see that peace everywhere means decay.
If Ireland does not fight in the field, she must fight all the
harder in the British Parliament. She has never received
anything from England for the humble asking. These
young and strong men, disgusted with the decent humility
of Isaac Butt when his face was slapped and his country
sneered at, have adopted a more virile course. They know
the lesson of Irish history : The best prophet of the Future
is the Past."
Never did Ireland need the comfort of a prophet of good
more sorely than she does to-day.
On January 5, 1878, a special cable dispatch an
nounced that three of the Irish political prisoners, viz.,
McCarthy, Chambers, and O Brien, who had been confined
since 1866, were set at liberty. O Reilly wrote for this oc
casion his poem " Released : "
Haggard and broken and seared with pain,
They seek the remembered friends and places;
Men shuddering turn, and gaze again
At the deep-drawn lines on their altered faces.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 183
She offers a bribe Ah, God above !
Behold the price of the desecration :
The hearts she has tortured for Irish love
She brings as a bribe to the Irish nation !
We know her our Sister! Come on the storm !
God send it soon and sudden upon her :
The race she has scattered and sought to deform
Shall laugh as she drinks the black dishonor.
To his fellow-soldier and friend. Corporal Chambers, he
sent this wise and kindly letter of welcome to freedom :
BOSTON, U. S. A., February 6, 1878.
DEAR CHAMBERS :
I shall not weary you with many words just now. Welcome, my
dear, dear old fellow, welcome a thousand times. You mention a long
letter you wrote me in November; I never received it, or any other
real letter from you during the eight years that I have written to you.
When you have time to sit down and write me at length, do so.
McCarthy s death was a great shock to me; God rest the poor mur
dered old fellow.
I sent you a book the other day ; I shall publish another in a month
or two and shall send that also. Tell me precisely how you are situated
and what you propose doing.
I beg of you to avoid the kindly-meant demonstrations in your honor,
either at home or here, should you come here. It is frothy excitement;
there is nothing of it left after a few weeks. It has a good moral effect,
perhaps; but the same effect can be better secured in another way.
You will have to look around now for the means of earning a good
livelihood. Pardon my prosaic suggestions, Tom, but I have seen so
many men lionized that I have learned to fear the effect on them and
to regret it on the behalf of those who make the noise.
Should you decide to come to America, come straight to me, and I
will put a stouter chain on you than ever you saw in Dartmoor.
O Reilly had written a noble poem for the O Connell
Centenary in the year 1875. The hundredth birthday of
another, and even more beloved, because more unfortunate,
Irish patriot, Robert Emmet, was celebrated on March 4,
1878. The exercises at Tremont Temple, Boston, consisted
of an oration by Mr. Anthony A. Griffin, of New York, and
a poem, "The Patriot s Grave," by John Boyle O Reilly,
184 JOHN BOYLE REILLY.
who succeeded in drawing an original thought from the
touching, but well-quoted, demand of Emmet, "Let no
man write my epitaph."
Tear down the crape from the column! Let the shaft stand
white and fair!
Be silent the wailing music there is no death in the air!
We come not in plaint or sorrow no tears may dim our sight:
We dare not weep o er the epitaph we have not dared to write.
*******
He teaches the secret of manhood the watchword of those
who aspire
That men must follow freedom though it lead through hlood
and fire ;
That sacrifice is the bitter draught which freemen still must
quaff
That every patriotic life is the patriot s epitaph.
The lesson of Emmet s life, as read by O Reilly, who
much resembled him, was this :
A life such as his is never wasted. Often it is the price that is paid
for justice. Despots never concede a right until it is forced from them.
All that Ireland has ever gained was the fruit of effort. England has
given nothing voluntarily. She resisted Catholic emancipation till
Wellington saw that to refuse longer would be to invite revolution.
The brilliant Forty-eight movement prepared the way for further con
cessions. Fenianism produced Disestablishment and Land Eeform.
Not one single step has Ireland taken toward enlarged rights without
forcing her way. Not a single step has she been allowed to take till
England had fully realized the danger of resisting. Generosity is a vir
tue that England has never known, and one for which the world will
never make the mistake of giving her credit. Ireland has received
nothing from her till she was compelled to give it. To the example of
Emmet much of what has been gained is due.
In the summer of this year, the laboring people of
America were stirred by a crusade against capital, led by an
Irish-American, Dennis Kearney of San Francisco, a noisy
agitator, who had more than a kernel of right to his bushel
of chaff, but his strength lay in denunciation, his weakness
in lack of constructive -ability. When he came to Boston
to harangue the people, some short-sighted conservatives
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 185
wished to have him silenced. Wiser counsels prevailed.
He was allowed full freedom of speech and he talked him
self out. O Reilly, who refused no man a hearing, de
manded only a coherent formulation of his principles by
Kearney. In a cogent editorial of August 17, he wrote :
Because the Pilot is a workingman s paper, because eighty per cent,
of our readers are in the truest sense "honest, horny-fisted sons of
toil," we feel bound to ask Dennis Kearney two questions : First.
Does he believe that profanity and abuse are argument ? Second.
Where are the facts or issues upon which he came to the East to agitate
the workingmen ?
The workingmen of this country need wise leaders. There are half
a score of burning questions for their consideration and action. Has
Dennis Kearney any message to deliver on any of these subjects ? The
workingmen are all divided on their issues. In another column we
give sixty remedies proposed by workingmen to the Hewitt Committee,
ranging all the way from the abolition of labor and property to the
abolition of money and government. On which of these, or on what
else are the workingmen to agree ?
Let us say to Dennis Kearney that he had, and has still, if he have
brain and principle, a rare and splendid opportunity. There is no
grander fame than that of a trusted leader of workmen. This is the
country for the production of such leaders. Labor is free, and respected,
and enfranchised. Turn to the study, man, before it is too late. Seize
the deep wishes and hopes; take hold of the strong lines; be wise, and
powerful, and gentle. Be faithful, arid able to lead the masses to better
laws and greater happiness. Be Rienzi, if you can ; be Masaniello, if you
fail ; but for the honor of toil, be even a decent Wat Tyler or Jack Cade.
Remember, Kearney, it is no enemy who speaks. Every word we
say here will reach the eyes or ears of a million workingmen.
In their name, for their interests, we condemn your intemperate
course. You commit a crime when your furious and blind utterances
hold up the cause of Labor to derision.
On the 30th of November, 1878, O Reilly began a serial
story in the Pilot, entitled " Moondyne Joe," the latter part
of the name being dropped after the issue of the following
February 1. It was published in book form, under its new
title, by Roberts Bros., in 1880, and has reached twelve
editions. The book, " Dedicated to all who are in prison,"
since so widely read and generally admired, evoked on its
appearance some remarkably harsh criticisms from ultra
186 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Catholics, who objected to what they called its pagan spirit.
It was not enough that the author had imbued his hero
with the principles of Catholic Christianity, his critics were
dissatisfied because the artist had failed to label his work
in large letters. They were unquestionably sincere, and
unquestionably narrow in their judgment. No better
answer to such strictures could be given than this of the
author himself, replying to the question :
IS MOONDYNE " A BAD BOOK ?
Mr. J. A. McMaster, editor of the New York Freeman s Journal,
says that when he had read " Moondyiie " he threw it down, saying to
one that admired the author, and had been charmed with the story :
"That is a bad book!" "Why? "cried the guileless one, "was it
wrong for me to have read it? " " Oh, not a bit ! It is a weird romance
of impossible characters, and set off with keen and quick perception of
nature. It is faultless in regard to those sickly, twaddling love passages
that offend in plenty of stories passed off as Catholic. The poison in
this book finds nothing in you to take hold of, because you do not
understand it. It is worse than pagan. Under the glamour borrowed
from the results of Christian civilization, it breathes out principles that
are not un-Christian only, but anti-Christian! "
This is a grave charge for one Catholic editor to make against
another ; but it loses in effect when we remember that he who makes it
is given to such startling accusations, and has from time to time
hurled condemnation on bishops, priests, and laymen, indiscriminately,
and has himself received numerous serious reproofs for his unruly and
aggressive disposition. We admire and respect Mr. McMaster s faith
and intention; but we have very little regard for his perception, judg
ment, and temper. He speaks to the author of " Moondyne " as to a
friend, and he pays him the respect of saying that he handles him
roughly because he knows he can bear it. But the proof of friendship
is the deed, not the word. Mr. McMaster refers to the serpent in Eden
(which, by the way, he boldly says was not a serpent, "as vulgar
stories tell "), saying :
"He deluded our poor dear old foolish grandmother Eve and
terribly she did penance for it. But he deluded her, and his cry was
precisely that of Boyle O Reilly s Moondyne, Away with Law!
Liberty ! Liberty of the colt of the wild ass ! Mankind ! Yes, Man
kind is older than the Birth of Jesus Christ! If Jesus Christ will be
come a republican we will adopt him ! If not
One would think, on reading these shocking words, that they were
from Boyle O Reilly s book ; that this was actually the cry of " Moon-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 187
dyne," and the dreadful spirit of the work. It is not so; God forbid!
Those words are wholly McMaster s, evolved from the phantasy of an
excited brain and a hatted of republicanism, for he believes firmly that
republicanism is anti-Christian and damnable. Here are Moondyne s
words (page 119, first edition), which Mr. McMaster has so horribly
misrepresented :
" Society could have a better existence with better laws. At present
the laws of civilization, especially of England, are based on and framed
by Property Human laws should be founded on God s law and
human right, and not 011 the narrow interests of land and gold."
These are widely different words from those used by McMaster, and
have a wholly different meaning. On what can good law be ultimately
founded, if not on " God s law and human right ? "
Hasty and harsh and unjust judgment is not proof of good will; yet
we are willing to believe that Mr. McMaster means every friendly word
he has written. That " Moondyne should be mistaken fora pagan
does not seem to be possible ; but from the testimony of friendly critics
we are willing to conclude that his silence on the matter of creed may
be misconstrued. It was not the author s intention that " Moondyne "
should be so mistaken : it was directly opposite to his intention. To
demand of a Catholic author that his chief character shall be a Catholic
is absurd. A novelist must study types as they exist. The author of
" Moondyne " made a study of a man who might be typical of the Penal
Colony, evolved by the pressure of unjust laws on erring but human
lives. To have put a Catholic or Protestant preacher in the position
might have pleased some ; but he saw fit to put the man there who
actually belonged to the place. The leading traits of " Moondyne "
were mainly studied from the life. The author had before him a strong,
virtuous, silent man, cognizant of all the wrongs of the law, sympa
thetic with all the suffering, saying nothing, but doing, so far as his
power enabled him, the full duty of a wise, honest, and Christian man.
He saw the injustice of existing laws, and he foretold the day- when all
human codes should be tested, not by the needs of a government, but
by the expressed and immutable law of God.
There is not, could not be, an anti-Christian word in " Moondyne."
If there were, it should not stand one moment. The words put up and
knocked down by Mr. McMaster are not in "Moondyne." They are
his own.
Mr. McMaster calls on the author of "Moondyne" to submit to
authority. It is impertinent to speak so to one who has not rebelled
against authority, who respects the law and the author as profoundly
as the editor of the Freeman. We must remind Mr. McMaster, in a
friendly but firm way, that he is not "authority," nor must all who
dare to write a book submit to him for approval.
188 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
The book which had provoked criticism on account of
imaginary theological defects might well have been expected
to show faults of a literary character ; for it was composed
from week to week to meet the printer s demand for copy.
Oftentimes the copy was written while the press was wait
ing. Literary polish was scarcely to be looked for under
such circumstances, and yet the story abounds with pas
sages of beauty and strength. The narrative flows smoothly,
and the evolution of character is equally worked out from
beginning to end.
In " Moondyne," O Reilly revealed his inner self as the
dreamer of an ideal social condition in which Kindness was
to be the only ruler. It is easy to understand how only one
who had come through the ordeal of convict life unscathed
could have built the air-castle of reform in which the ex-
convict "Moondyne," or " Wyville," should be an all-
powerful but benignant autocrat. O Reilly, witnessing the
harsh yet ineffectual prison discipline when the mutinous
"Chains" were quelled into temporary submission at the
cannon s mouth, must have often let his boyish fancy carry
him to a time when, invested with full power, he should be
able to dismiss the soldiers and surprise the convicts as his
own comptroller-general does. Mr. Wyville confronts the
convicts and calls out the names of twelve men to whom, as
a reward for previous good conduct, he grants full pardon.
To others he bears the glad news of material reductions in
their sentences. Then addressing the astonished throng,
he says :
" Men ! we have heard the last sound of mutiny in the Colony."
Mr. Wyville s voice thrilled the convicts like deep-sounded music ;
they looked at him with awe-struck faces. Every heart was filled with
the conviction that he was their friend ; that it was well to listen to
him and obey him.
" From this day, every man is earning his freedom, and an interest
in this Colony. Your rights are written down, and you shall know
them. You must regard the rights of others as yours shall bo regarded.
This law trusts to your manhood, and offers you a rewai d for your
labor; let every man be heedful that it is not disgraced nor weakened
by unmanly conduct. See to it, each for himself, and each helping his
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 189
fellow, that you return as speedily as you may to the freedom and inde
pendence which this Colony offers you."
Among the wai-ders, opposition disappeared the moment the gold
band of the deputy s cap was seen under the Comptroller s foot.
Among the convicts, disorder hid its wild head as soon as they realized
that the blind system of work without reward had been replaced by one
that made every day count for a hope not only of liberty, but inde
pendence.
In a word, from that day the Colony ceased to be stagnant and
began to progress.
Quite unconsciously lie invested " Moondyne," not only
with his own mental characteristics, but even with his phys
ical features :
In strength and proportion of body the man was magnificent a
model for a gladiator. He was of middle height, young, but so stern
and massively featured, and so browned and beaten by exposure, it was
hard to determine his age. A large, finely-shaped head, with crisp,
black hair and beard, a broad, square forehead, and an air of power and
self-command, this was the prisoner, this was Moondyne Joe.
Moondyne, masquerading later on as Mr.Wyville, is still
Reilly, in person and dress :
He was dressed in such a way that one would say he never could be
dressed otherwise. Dress was forgotten in the man. But he wore a
short walking or shooting coat, of strong, dark cloth. The strength
and roughness of the cloth were seen,, rather than the style, for it
seemed appropriate that so strangely powerful a figure should be
strongly clad.
His face was bronzed to the darkness of a Greek s. His voice, as he
spoke on entering the room, came easily from his lips, yet with a deep
resonance that was pleasant to hear, suggesting a possible tenderness
or te>vor that would shake the soul. It was a voice in absolutely per
fect accord with the striking face and physique.
Finally, Moondyne s prison number was " 406," a num
ber to which two or three odd coincidences had given a certain
half -superstitious significance. I think it was the number
borne by the author in one of his several prisons, but of
this I am not sure. O Reilly spoke of it more than once.
It was the number of the room assigned him in the first
hotel at which he stopped in America. Ten years later, on
190 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
visiting New York, he was given a room, with the same
number, in another hotel.
In his scrap book, written on a sheet of hotel note paper,
under the date of February 24, 1880, is an unfinished poem,
in blank verse, entitled :
"406."
I do not know the meaning of the sign,
But bend before its power, as a reed bends
When the black tornado fills the valley to the lips.
Three times in twenty years its shape has come
In lines of fire on the black veil of mystery ;
At first, tho strange, it seemed familiar,
And lingered on the mind as if at rest ;
The second time it flashed a thrill came, too,
For super-nature spoke, or tried to speak ;
The third time, like a blow upon the eyes,
It stood before me, as a page might say :
" Read, read, and do not call for other warning."
I do not know, O Mystery, the word
Is lost on senses too impure. I stand
And shrink subdued before the voice that speaks, .
And know not that its word is light or gloom.
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
The fancy seems to have been nothing more than a fancy
born of three singular coincidences. Most men of vivid
imagination are apt to look for presentiments in coinci
dences, and to laugh with satisfaction, as lie did, when the
foreboding proved to be false.
CHAPTER XL
Elected President of the Papyrus Club, and also of the Boston Press
Club Interesting 1 Addresses Delivered before Both Speech at the
Moore Centenary Letter to the Papyrus Club His Home at
Hull Visit of Parnell to America Founding of the St. Botolph
Club and the " Cribb Club" Justin McCarthy Describes the
Poet-athlete Russell Sullivan s "Here and Hereafter."
O REILLY had the distinction of holding the office of
president in two organizations during the year 1879,
the Papyrus Club and the Boston Press Club ; he was
elected to the former on the 4th of January. In his inau
gural address he said :
To be made the president of this club would be an honor to any lit
erary man in the country. The charm of the Papyrus is that it is
essentially an ideal club. The charm of the club to its members will
be proportionate to our enthusiasm to work for this ideal ; this is our
pride. Dining, wining, the patronage of millionaires and politicians,
the gorgeous service and elaborate style, are as vapor and mud beside
the beauty of standing up for our independent, brotherly, anti-shoddy,
aesthetic, and ideal Papyrus. Better for us the expression of a single
thought, or the admiration of a high ideal, than all the gold-plated
enjoyment of other orders of clubs.
Two years before, at the dinner of the Papyrus, on Feb
ruary 3, Mr. William A. Hovey presented the club with a
beautiful crystal loving cup. O Reilly wrote for the
occasion his beautiful poem, "The Loving Cup of the
Papyrus."
For brotherhood, not wine, this cup should pass ;
Its depths should ne er reflect the eye of malice ;
Drink toasts to strangers with the social glass,
But drink to brothers with this loving chalice.
The first " ladies night " of the Papyrus Club was held
on February 22, 1879, during his presidency, and was one
191
192 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
of the most brilliant in the club s history. O Reilly s
opening address was in his best vein, and ran as follows :
Like one called upon to sing who is almost certain to strike the
wrong note of accompaniment, I rise to speak for the Papyrus to-night.
The right word fitly spoken is a precious rarity. Could I gather the
thoughts that ti-emble to-night toward the lip of every member of the
club, I should assuredly speak a sweet word of our own gratification,
and of welcome to our distinguished guests.
On this, our annual ladies night, it seemed right to this club, com
posed of men who work in or who love literature and art, to make a
public testament of our respect for those who have won eminence in
these branches, our gifted writers and sweet singers whom all men
honor, because they can make the thing that is not, as the thing
that is."
To express this appreciation and respect, we invited to our dinner a
few of those chosen ones. We welcome them with cordial warmth,
with pleasure and with pride. In bringing together even so many as
are here of the brightest and sweetest flowers of our time and country,
we feel that we have done something honorable to the Papyrus, and
beseeming the intellectual renown of Boston.
We are proud to say that their presence is a compliment to us and
to Boston. A hundred years ago, everbody patronized distinguished
literary people, and in doing so displeased and degraded them. To
day, the distinguished literary people patronize everybody else, and in so
doing delight and elevate them so that no questions can be raised as to
whom the natural right of patronage belongs.
Perhaps some future historian of literature, seeking for the period
of the change, will stop at the record of this reception, to read over the
names of our guests, and he will write it down that the Papyrus
belonged completely to the new order of things.
The author is no longer " one whom the strong sons of the world
despise." The tables are turned on " the strong sons " so heavily that
one kind-hearted poet, looking down from his secure seat on the heights,
is moved to apologize or plead for the million, " whose work is great
and hard while his is great and sweet." You all know the tender lines
of that gentle heart that is with us to-night :
"A few can touch the magic string,
And noisy fame is proud to win them ;
Alas, for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them ! "
But there is something particular to be said about our guests some
cunning word to establish reciprocity between them and us ; and I
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 193
know not where to find nor how to say it. It is related of the Egyptians,
as a social custom, that the head of the house always left his seat and
gave it to an honored guest. Following out the Egyptian symbolism
of the Papyrus it would give me much pleasure to vacate this uneasy
chair in favor of Dr. Holmes or Mr. Stedman, whose fertile fancies
would flash ideas where others could find only prosy sentences.
But the word is still to be said: "These twenty times beginning I
have come to the same point and stopped." You know the story of the
Danish astronomer, Tycho Brahe, who, after many years spent with
students, at length found himself in a great domed hall, called upon to
address the most eminent astronomers of Europe. The roof of the hall
was painted like the sky at night. The astronomers sat expectant, and
Tycho Brahe stood before them silent. At length one old man said:
" Why don t you begin, Tycho ? " "I don t know where to begin for
these. 1 1 "Begin as if we were students," said another. Tycho raised
his wand and pointed to a star. " That," he said, "is the third star in
the claw of the Scorpion ; this is Sirius ; here is Arcturus, and yonder
are the Pleiades." "O, that is tiresome." said the old man. "Well,
then," said Tycho, "since you all know their places and names as well
as I, let me introduce you, brethren, in one word to the Stars ! "
I stand here in the very blaze of the galaxy, "tangled in the silver
braid " of the Pleiades. Tycho might have foreseen through these
centuries the use I should make to-night of his general introduction.
The note we wished to strike at this dinner was one that mayor may
not have been struck before; its sounding is certainly not too common
as it will be namely, that sex is forgotten in literary distinction ; that,
if in no other profession, at least in literature and art, bright minds
cease to be classed as men and women, and are seen only in the rich
neutral light of authorship.
To-night we have with us several ladies whose names are nationally
and internationally known and honored. We, who read their books,
are delighted to have an opportunity of reading their faces, to thank
them for coming to us, some from great distances, and to say to them
how proud we are of their pure and honorable fame.
Another great Irish centenary, that of the birthday of
Thomas Moore, was commemorated in Boston on the 29th
of May, by a banquet at the Parker House, Oliver Wendell
Holmes reading with genuine feeling a grand poem in
memory of the Irish bard. Among the other guests dis
tinguished in literature, were John T. Trowbridge, George
Parsons Lathrop, Dr. Robert Dwyer Joyce, William
Winter, Francis H. Underwood, William A. Hovey, and
194 JOHN BOYLE o KEILLY.
James T. Fields. O Reilly presided, and delivered the
eloquent address which is published among his speeches in
the present volume.
O Reilly was never so winsome as when making an off
hand speech at his club, giving free rein to the fun which
found such infrequent expression in his written work, and
piling hyperbole upon exaggeration, until the orator him
self would break down in a merry laugh at the work of his
own fancy. A typical utterance of this kind was his
answer to somebody who had challenged some startling
assertion of his, saying, " That is not right, that is Irish."
"Sir," replied O Reilly, assuming an air of Johnsonian
dogmatism, "it is better to be Irish than right ! "
In half fanciful, half serious mood he glorified the
newspaper profession, in his presidential address, at the
dinner of the Boston Press Club, in Young s Hotel, on
November 8, 1879 :
GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS CLUB : It is a pleasant duty to congrat
ulate men who have feasted after a laborious campaign ; who have
wiped their swords and broken bread together as cheerfully and lov
ingly as if their hands had never penned a hard word or reeked in a
contemporary s reputation.
To-night we occupy a unique and consoling position. We alone
are the unreported. We speak as we feel, and we don t tremble for
to-morrow. Throughout the year we set down the words and deeds of
the public, but on this day of our own meeting we shut out the public.
We are, and I say it after due consideration, we are a privileged
class.
We are reminded by meetings like this that there is no profession so
complete and rounded as ours, and none so far-reaching in its scope.
We have 110 hangers-on that do not come into the general circulation.
He who has no relation to type, except to read what he buys, is indeed
a hopeless outsider, belonging wholly to the unregenerate. From the
smallest printer s devil up to Horace Greeley, the chain is unbroken.
The rawest youth who pens a police report is one end of a line which
extends, still vibrating, until it becomes radiant in the editorial room of
the Atlantic Monthly ; and which goes beyond, still growing finer,
uniting such essences as Whittier, Holmes, and Longfellow, and van
ishing into utter sublimation in the neighborhood of Concord.
All who teach are ours. The priests of all future dispensations shall
be members of the press. Ours is the newest and greatest of the pro-
iris LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 195
fessions, involving wider work and heavier responsibilities than any
other. For all time to come, the freedom and purity of the press are
the test of national virtue and independence.
No writer for the press, however humble, is free from the burden of
keeping his purpose high and his integrity white.
The dignity of communities is largely intrusted to our keeping ;
and while we sway in. the struggle or relax in the rest-hour, we must
let no buzzards roost on the public shield in our charge.
Reunions like this are necessary and wholesome. They are very
pleasant, and yet they have one side shaded _with sadness. Looking
down this board we miss some well-remembered faces of past years.
Our profession changes its units as rapidly as an army in the field. It
is a machine always in strong re volution ; its pieces are violently tried,
and many drop out unable or unwilling to bear the ceaseless strain.
Some of our old members die, and are transported to that Nirvana
where the angels are not allowed to use their wings for quills where
there are no nights, and, therefore, neither morning nor evening
papers.
And then there is that other and more perplexing change which we
see come over our living members, who change their papers, or whose
papers change their principles. It is necessary to meet in this fashion
once a year, to assure ourselves that whatever else changes, the hearts
of our men do not, but still beat in kindly and brotherly sympathy and
good-will.
As I stand here to-night, I am struck with the prevailing character
istics of the faces around the board -they are unlike the faces of any
other professional gathering. They are dissimilar among themselves
as the pebbles of the sea, but have lines of similarity, lines that are
typical of our observant, reflective, shrewd, sagacious, persistent, enter
prising, humbug-hating, and yet modest calling.
I am reminded by this prevalence of types (I do not mean to pun) of
the experiment of an English scientist in making a typical portrait,
not of a man, but of a class. He visited the great prison of Millbank,
in London. He found that the convicts are photographed on entering,
and that all photographs are made under similar circumstances ; that
is, each convict sits before the camera at the same distance and in
precisely the same position so that the photographs are equal in size,
and if a dozen were taken in a pack, and the portrait on top pierced
through the right eye with a wire, it would also pierce the right eye of
those below. The scientist took with him a lot of these photographs
for experiment. He proposed to make a negative from them. It takes,
say sixty seconds, to make a good negative from one picture. Well, he
placed one in position, and opened his camera ; in six seconds he
dropped another in front of it ; in six seconds more another; in six
196 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
seconds more another ; and so on, till he had used up ten photographs
in the sixty seconds. He then had a portrait made from the ten, which
was unlike any one of them. It was that of a typical criminal ; lines
which were common to all the faces were deeply impressed, while those
which were individual were not emphasized.
Now, suppose we should take the photographic portraits of the
men around this table, and from them select ten, and from these ten
make a typical portrait. What a noble presentment that would be!
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal
To give the world assur-ance of a man.
This noble type brings me to the summit-house of my powers.
There being no farther height to climb, no more exalted possibility
than this great typical face of the press, I must pause. I would ask
you, however, to become the camera, and let all who speak to-night be
the slides that go to make up the negative. Arid if you do this, you
will each carry round with you for the coming year, in the busy streets
and noisy places, an ideal of strength and beauty that will be joyful
and consoling.
His term of office as president of the Papyrus Club
ended on the 3d of January, 1880, He was succeeded by
Vice-President George M. Towle, the well-known historian
and essayist. O Reilly was absent in New York on elec
tion night, and sent the following letter, in which raillery
and kindness are blended in such admirable proportions,
like vinegar and oil, that the result is the most graceful
of sauces to the palate :
January 3, 1880 .
To the Papyrus Club.
GENTLEMEN: I am grieved (no lesser word will do) at my enforced
absence from the club to-night. I wanted to cast my vote, solid and
early, for " Towle and the Constitution." I wanted to drink the wine
of the country of the treasurer. I wanted to move a timely vote that
Towle should be restrained from meddling with our chief instrument,
the constitution, which he now has in his power even to carry home
with him, by virtue of his office. Friends, I am with you in spirit (you
are in spirits; I am in New York). May oui* loving-cup mean "all
that its name implies," as it moves " in love s festoons, from lip to lip."
(I quote from Hovey, from memory.)
And now, dear boys, under this veneer of light words lies a well of
deep feeling that I almost fear to tap. Face to face with you I could
HIS LIFE, POEMS AXD SPEECHES. 197
say my say, as boldly as Bogers, as eloquently as Young. But in
leaving the head of your board, where you have allowed my crude
ruling to pass for a year, I must say to one and all, from my heart,
Thank you for your kindness and courtesy. The more I learn of par
liamentary law, the deeper becomes my affection for those who sat
silent and heard my wonderful rulings. To Towle, and Crocker, and
Scaife, especially, this consideration is doubly endearing. What they
must have suffered I shall only know when I study Hoyle.
The only consolation I draw from my year of office is this the
Papyrus has not declined in vigor or promise. Its face is full to the
front. For this, I earnestly thank, aiid ask you to thank, the gentle
men who compose the executive committee.
And now I retire to a private station at the end of the table, left side
from the president, near Joyce and Harris, and those who, with
kindred blood, rejoice in anarchy.
Farewell my official distinction ! Henceforward I carry a musket,
at the end of the table, left side, near Joyce. Good night, and a Happy
New Year to the Papyrus !
Faithfully and affectionately,
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
In the summer of 1879, O Reilly bought the house in
Hull, Boston Harbor, which was to be thenceforth his sum
mer residence, and in which he died. It was a very old
house, perhaps the oldest in Massachusetts. It was built
in 1644 by Rev. Marmaduke Matthews, the pastor of Nan-
tasket, and was used as a parsonage by some of his succes
sors. An English revenue officer, Lieutenant William
Haswell, occupied it prior to the Revolution. His claim
to remembrance rests on the fact that he was the father of
Susanna Haswell, afterward Mrs. Rowson, well known in
England and America, as actress, author, and editor, and
best known by her novel of Charlotte Temple. O Reilly
bought the property from Amos A. Lawrence, it being then
known as the Hunt estate. In 1889, the old house became
uninhabitable by reason of general debility and decay, and
he had the falling structure demolished, and set about
building a new and handsome house on the old site. The
plans were made by his wife and carried out under their
joint supervision, with careful attention to every detail.
In the front yard stood an old cannon rescued from some
198 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
forgotten wreck in the early days of Hull. In another
place was a sun-dial made by one of the poet s admirers.
He planted his little estate with wild vines and creepers
gathered by himself in the woods of Hingham, bordering
his garden walks with sea-worn pebbles and boulders that
he had gathered on the beach. He took a pathetic interest
in beautifying the home which he had built for himself, in
which he was to die.
The year 1880 opened for Ireland as the year 1890 did,
with famine, actual or impending. Charles Stewart Par-
nell, the young leader of the Irish party, visited America
to seek help for his suffering countrymen, and support for
their leaders in Parliament. He arrived at New York on
January 2, and was met by delegates from all parts of the
United States. On the day following his arrival he was
presented with an address from natives of his own county,
Meath. Mr. John D. Nolan, the chairman of the committee
of Meath men, recognized O Reilly among the Boston dele
gates, and immediately called that delegation to order, and
said :
FELLOW MEATH MEN: I notice that Mr. John Boyle O Reilly has
entered the room. He is a native of the County Meath, a fervent Irish
man, an author of recognized ability, who has passed into not only the
literature of America, but of the \voi ld. He is a journalist, and a recog
nized leader among our countrymen. He is a representative Irishman
in every sense of the word, and I move that he be selected to deliver
this address to Mr. Paruell, instead of myself.
The motion was unanimously carried. Mr. O Reilly
thanked the men of Meath, and read the address. ParnelFs
reply was a just tribute to the fidelity of the priests and
people of Meath under every trial.
The distress in Ireland evoked, as it has always done,
the profound sympathy and substantial aid of the Ameri
can people. In addition to the other relief organizations
the New York Herald inaugurated a fund of its own, head
ing the contributions with a subscription of $100,000, and
inviting Mr. Parnell to become a member of the committee
for its distribution. The invitation was accepted on con-
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 199
dition that Parnell should be allowed to appoint a proxy
during his necessary absence in America. This condition
the H er aid refused to accept, saying, "What we desired
was his (Parnell s) personal services."
" Certainly," commented O Reilly ; " why, not only the
Herald, but the English government would give $100,000
to send back the man who has dared to answer the one,
and hold the other up to shame in this country. It would
be worth a million dollars to England to stop Parnell s
mouth in America The week he sailed from Ireland,
England officially denied that there was a famine, or danger
of one, in Ireland."
The fact that the Herald had persistently endeavored
to discredit the mission of Parnell in America, and had
taken the landlord s side in the political contest, made its
charity, generous as it was, seem like a contribution from
the gift-bearing Greeks. " If he (Mr. Bennett) was wrong
before," wrote O Reilly, "he does not become right by
giving a hundred thousand dollars to the famine fund,
especially if he hands it over for distribution to the English
official committee. Mr. Bennett s paper has been the voice
of the landlords who have caused this famine. He cannot
argue himself right by the brutal force of wealth. If the
Irish people had reason to detest his policy, they cannot
sell their principles for a hundred thousand or a hundred
million dollars. Nevertheless," he continues, " we await
further action before we judge the motives of the man who
indorses his belief with a gift forty times as great as that
of the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland."
On the 3d of January, 1880, the St. Botolph Club of
Boston was established on the model of the famous Cen
tury Club of New York. O Reilly was one of the original
members, among whom were included the leading authors,
artists, and other men of distinction in the city. It was a
much more imposing club than the Papyrus, starting with
a house of its own and a list of 260 members. Its success
was assured from the beginning, for it possessed the happy
combination, so seldom found, of brains and money.
200 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
In the same year another club was founded, possessing,
in addition to these two, a third valuable attribute, that
of muscle. The " Cribb Club," named after the famous
English boxer, Tom Cribb, was organized on November 27.
Its number of members was limited to twenty-five active
and one hundred and twenty-five honorary or associate
members. O Reilly belonged to the former. The officers
of the club consisted of a " Boss" and an executive com
mittee of three. Mr. E. C. Ellis was the first "Boss,"
and John Boyle O Reilly the second. During the admin
istration of the latter, the title was changed to the more
dignified one of president, and honorary members of the
club were classed as active. The Cribb Club, founded for
the encouragement of the "manly art," was one of the most
exclusive in the exclusive city of Boston, numbering among
its membership men distinguished in art, literature, and
statesmanship. They were strong, brave, honorable men,
who loved the natural virtue of courage as much as they
hated the cowardly custom which has made the use of
the knife and pistol a reproach to the American name.
Reilly had all the qualifications to win him popularity
in the company of courageous gentlemen. Here is how
the athletic side of his nature appealed to the admiration
of refined and scholarly Justin McCarthy :
Although he is not more than common tall, he has the breadth and
the thews of a Viking of the days when Olaf Tryggveson dwelt by the
Liffey in Dublin town and wooed and won the fair daughter of an Irish
royal house. He excels in all manly arts and accomplishments in a way
that we are almost afraid to chronicle, so like a hero of romance the
list would make him seem.
Who among amateurs can ride better, row better, walk better ? above
all, who can box better ? If such a man is red-hot in his enthusiasm for
the brawn and biceps of a famous pugilist, it is not with the sham enthu
siasm of the dandies of old Rome who pinched the muscles of gladiators
with slim feminine fingers. In the society of the physically strong,
of the physically skillful, Boyle O Reilly is among his peers, and if he
finds a man stronger or more skillful than himself it is scarcely wonder
ful if he accords him his highest admiration.
It is one of the curious privileges of John Boyle O Reilly to be uni
versally liked. That he should be liked by his own people is only
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 201
natural. He is one of the brightest ornaments of the Irish race abroad ;
he lives in exile for his service to his country; he has enriched its na
tional literature with exquisite prose and yet more exquisite verse; he
renders daily service to the national cause. That such a man should be
popular with his own countrymen is scai-cely surprising. But Boyle
O Reilly s popularity is not limited to the children of his own race.
Strangers come to Boston, strangers often enough hostile, if not to Ire
land, at least to Ireland s national cause and the men who guide and
direct it. The strangers meet John Boyle O Reilly and they come away
with a common tale enthusiastic praise, unqualified admiration of the
exiled Irishman. It has happened time and again that travelers in New
England meeting elsewhere, and running over their joint stock of rec
ollections, have each begun to speak with warmth of the man they
most admired of all they met, and to find immediately that the name of
Boyle O Reilly was on both their lips.
Once a very gifted man, a stranger to Boston, met one day a friend,
a distinguished Bostonian. Said the stranger to the Bostonian: "I
have just met the most remarkable, the most delightful man in all the
world." "I know whom you mean," said the Bostonian, " you mean
John Boyle O Reilly." And the Bostonian was right, of course.
And here, from the pen of a rare poet and novelist, Mr.
T. Russell Sullivan, is a versified tribute to the best loved
son of Papyrus, the first contribution of the author after
his admission to the club :
HERE AND HEREAFTER.
When the youngest of all is the oldest,
When the bell for our Prexy shall toll:
When death s optic transfixes the boldest,
When the iron has entered our soul ;
When adversity s saccharine uses
Shall no longer watch over our gold,
And w T hen Howard takes tea with the muses,
Leaving Tennyson out in the cold ;
With earth s greatest grown sadder and wiser,
Old palaces let to new lodgers,
Albert Edward, Gambetta, the Kaiser,
All dust with ex-President Rogers ;
Still the dark dial hand shall go flitting
Till the smallest wee numbers shall chime
Round some dinner committee, left sitting,
On mv honor, twelve hours at a time.
202 JOHN BOYLE o llEILLY.
While our youngsters or theirs, as it may be
Gather here when a banquet is toward,
All as merry as we are shall they be,
And the saddle shall smoke on the board.
And the mirth shall wax deeper and broader
Round the cup we have emptied and filled,
Till the hammer shall knock down disorder,
And the shriek of the hawk shall be stilled.
Then the dusty Papyrus leaves turning,
Says some juveiiile bard of the time:
" Let us pick out a brand from the burning 1 ,
Let us see what these roosters called rhyme ! "
Drawn apart from those time-honored pages
By the hand of good fortune alone,
Falls a leaf of the earlier ages
By the only O Reilly our own.
And the voice of the scoffer that reads it
Takes a tremulous turn in our cause ;
More expressive the silence that heeds it
Than the loudest and wildest applause.
Then the cherub that once was O Reilly,
On his cloud in the mystical land,
Shall aslant from his halo peep slyly,
And his harp shall slide out of his hand.
He shall linger a moment to listen,
Looking down from perpetual joys,
And a tear on his eyelids shall glisten
As benignly he whispers : " Dear boys ! "
December 4, 1880.
This apostle of muscular Christianity could forgive an
injury, no matter how grievous ; but an insult lie resented
promptly with pen or hand, as occasion seemed to require.
Such an occasion presented itself one day in the fall of
1874, when a fellow, who had sought the Pilot s counte
nance in aid of a certain object for which he was canvassing,
resented the editor s refusal by circulating some slanders
about him. When he next called at the Pilot office,
O Reilly demanded an explanation and retraction. The
HIS LIP n E, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 203
fellow denied the story ; but on being asked to put his
denial in writing, he quibbled and shirked the act ; "upon
which," says the Pilot, ingenuously, "Mr. O Reilly gave
him a sound thrashing and kicked him out of the editorial
rooms. When Mr. - speaks about the Pilot in
future, people will understand his motive."
O Reilly, ever a loyal Democrat, waged gallant war for
his party s ticket in the presidential election of 1880.
When the contest ended in the enemy s favor he took the
defeat manfully, like the gladiator that he was, and
acknowledged it in the next issue of his paper under the
caption,
WHIPPED.
Well, we made a great fight. That is enough for honest Democrats.
We fling wo reproach on the victors. We wrestled, and have been
thrown. Curs whine ; we don t.
There is no decadence of Democratic health when a tremendous
struggle has wavered long in the balance. The conti oversy of the
campaign has been terrible ; but it has been magnificent. Out of the
seething vortex the country comes tired, but cleansed. The victors
breathe hard ; they have had a lesson of fire. Centralization has not
yet been killed never will be killed till the Democrats elect their
President ; but Garfield does not attempt the policy of Grant.
Great principles and parties are solidified and strengthened by
defeat. Why has the Democratic party failed to carry the country ?
It is disgraceful to say that the national will has been decided by
corruption. It certainly has been influenced by the rapacity and
deliberate wickedness of the office-holding organization. But this
must always be true of a national election. Outside of this are the
people and the people have elected Garfield.
******
And now, let us draw breath and return to business. The country
is Republican for four years moi-e; but it is safe. There is no room for
wild exultation in the other camp. Every thew was strained before we
were thrown. The victor respects the vanquished. We are all one
people just a leetle more than half on the other side this time.
But the grand old Democratic principles still live ; and next time
we WONT be whipped.
And they were not.
CHAPTER XII.
His Editorials and Public Utterances Honored by Dartmouth College
and Notre Dame The " Statues in the Block " " Ireland s Oppor
tunity " " Erin " - Tribute to Longfellow His Great Poem,
"America," Read before the Veterans The Phoenix Park
Tragedy Death of Fanny Parnell " To those \vho have not yet
been President."
IN April, 1881, died the great Tory Prime Minister of
England, Benjamin Disraeli, less well known as Lord
Beaconsfield. Through all his life, from the day when he
first brought down upon his rash head the caustic scorn of
O Connell, to the end of his glittering career, he had been
the enemy of the Irish cause, not from any bigotry, he
was not sincere enough to be a bigot, but because such
was the policy favored by the Tory party. O Reilly thus
summed up the character of the greatest of modern political
charlatans :
The place of an able political showman is made vacant in England
by the death of Lord Beaconsfield. It was peculiarly his own, and it
probably will not be filled again as he filled it. A showman, whether
political or otherwise, needs more than common talent to achieve great
success. Benjamin Disraeli certainly possessed a high order of talent,
and it is equally certain that his success was of no common sort. He
employed the arts and tricks of the charlatan ; but it was the hand of a
master that used them.
It was a great thing for a man inheriting the disadvantages of race,
and at least nominally of creed, which beset Disraeli at the begin
ning of his career, to conquer in spite of them. England was still full
of intolerance toward Jews when the son of the Jew, Isaac Disraeli,
began to attract attention. He had to fight his way against that
intolerance, and he fought it well. The barriers which obstructed his
progress were overcome, one after another, by persistent, undeviating
effort. The obscure son of the Jew, whose only claim to distinction
204
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 205
was that he wrote the "Curiosities of Literature, " advanced by sure
degrees, till he gained the place of Prime Minister of England.
jf. * * * * *
Some other man will step into his place as a party leader. The same
"ideas" which constituted his policy will, no doubt, continue to com
mand approval in the Tory ranks. Although he occupied an important
position in it, the world goes on to-day just as it would if Benjamin
Disraeli had never taken part in its affairs. That he possessed signal
ability is not to be denied. He gained by it a place on the roll of English
statesmen. He tried to do much for mere power. It cannot be said
that he did anything for humanity. The world is none the better for
the part he played in it for nearly fifty years.
O Reilly s place in literature had been safely assured
by this time ; it was recognized by two great centers of
learning almost simultaneously. At the thirty-seventh
annual commencement exercises of the University of Notre
Dame, Indiana, on June 21, 22, and 23, 1881, he received
the degree of Doctor of Laws ; in the same week, he was
elected an honorary member of the Phi Beta Kappa, of
Dartmouth College, before which he read his poem of "The
Three Queens." In April of the same year he published
his second volume of poems, through Roberts Bros., " The
Statues in the Block," dedicated " To the Memory of Eliza
Boyle, my Mother." The little volume of only 110 pages
ran through four editions. It contained some of the most
finely finished and musical verses that he ever wrote ;
among them "Her Refrain," "Love s Secret," "Wait
ing," "The Well s Secret," a nd that most tender and
melodious of all his songs, " Jacqueminots." In it also
appeared his powerful denunciation of social wrong,
"From the Earth, a Cry," "Prometheus-Christ," and his
most dramatic Australian poem, "The Mutiny of the
Chains. "The Statues in the Block," his best effort in
blank verse, and the poem which gave the book its title,
contained two lines which were the author s favorites, for
he most frequently quoted them when requested to write an
autograph sentiment :
When God gives to us the clearest sight,
He does not touch our eyes with love but sorrow.
206 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
The new volume added to the poet s already great fame ;
on all sides it received the highest praise. The technical
faults of his earlier work had been pruned and polished
away, without impairing the strength of his verse. His
head was not turned by the praise he had won. He was
keenly delighted to receive the admiration of his fellow-
men, but he was no churl, hugging to his bosom the prizes
of fame. No man was quicker to recognize merit in
another, and to extend encouragement and praise to every
promising aspirant in literature. To young poets he was
esx^ecially kind and considerate ; the Pilot being the
theater on which a score of bards, afterward more or less
distinguished, made their first bow. Transatlantic poets,
chiefiy Irish, also sought his counsel and friendship,
usually making their first American reputation through the
columns of his paper. Oscar Wilde wrote him : "I esteem
it a great honor that the first American paper I appeared
in should be your admirable Pilot. 1 T. W. Rolleston,
Douglas Hyde, Lady Wilde, Katherine Tynan, William
B. Yeats, and a dozen other Irish poets were regular con
tributors to the Pilot. He paid his writers well, never
withholding the guerdon, dearest to the poetic soul, of
generous helpful praise. He was the kindliest of critics,
for he was utterly incapable of saying a harsh word con
cerning a book whose offenses were only literary. He
would not give undeserved praise, but he mercifully with
held deserved condemnation. AVhen a book submitted to
him for review was absolutely outside the pale of toleration,
he preferred to let it die of its own demerits instead of
putting it out of pain. He was totally devoid of that ten
der literary conscience, which impels its owners to flay
alive the criminal who has rushed into print without a per
mit from Parnassus.
O Reilly at this period looked much older than his
years. A well-known picture represents him with the
long hair and full beard, which he wore from 1874 to 1880.
It was some throat trouble, probably a legacy of the old
Dartmoor drains, that compelled him to wear a beard for
HIS LlFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 207
several years. When he shaved it off in 1880, and clipped
his flowing locks, he looked five years younger. Dr. Edgar
Parker, the portrait painter, made a fine picture of him in
the latter aspect ; it hangs in the library of O Reilly s
house in Charlestown, where also is a striking bust of him
by John Donoghue.
In October, 1881, the strained relations of Gladstone and
Parnell reached a crisis. Mr. Gladstone had the Irish
chieftain and other nationalist leaders arrested and
imprisoned in Kilmainham jail. The arrest was as arbi
trary as their subsequent release was illogical ; the attempt
to intimidate the Irish people recoiled upon its authors.
"The precedent of O Connell s arrest, with the conse
quent decay of the repeal movement," wrote O Reilly,
"may be remembered by the English government. But
the world has changed since then ; the very contrary will
be the result rio\v. The millions of expatriated Irishmen,
three times as numerous as the population of Ireland, send
to the men in the gap a courage and firmness that will
defy all pressure.
" The world is so united nowadays that every thrill cir
culates. Things can no more be done in a corner. Nations
cannot in these times be strangled in secret. When Eng
land strikes Ireland with a sword to-day, or fells her to
the earth and manacles her, throat and limb, humanity
looks on and amid that humanity are millions of strong,
indignant men who belong by blood to the suffering
country.
* # x * # *
" England may imprison every public representative in
Ireland. She may break up every public meeting of the
Land League. Very well. Then she drives the people to
secret organization she plays into the hands of the revolu
tionists."
In January, 1882, there appeared in the American
Catholic Quarterly Remew a thoughtful article by
O Reilly, entitled "Ireland s Opportunity Will it be
Lost V In a few sentences he reviewed the various efforts
208 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
of Irish nationalists in recent times the Young Ireland
rising in 48, the Repeal movement of O Connell, the Fe
nian revolutionary scheme, and, lastly, the Land League,
" conceived in the brain of an Irish political prisoner in a
Dartmoor cell, Michael Davitt, a man of great natural
power, with a conscientious hunger for thoroughness of
work and understanding, who admitted to his own heart
that Irish movements had failed to affect England because
they had first failed to enlist Ireland." Referring to the
famine of 1880 and the coercive policy of the Government,
he said :
The arrest of Parnell and the other leaders and even the lawless
shattering of the Land League in Ireland by armed and ruffianly force,
have been futile work for the English Government. The arrest of Par-
nell differs from the arrest of O Connell, because there are now, in this
country alone, more organized Irish societies, and twice as many Irish
men as there are in Ireland.
And every thousand Irishmen exercising in America the power of
their moral force are a leaven to be heeded more by English statesmen
than the armed rebellion of the same men or their fathei s in Ireland.
The Land League has succeeded. It has compelled the passage of a
law that will lower rents, more or less. It has raised the Irish question
into cosmopolitan attention. It has crystalized the national sentiment
of the Irish people and their descendants in America, Australia, Canada
and other countries. But above all its good results, it has nationalized
the Irish farmers, traders, priests and well-to-do classes, and they stand
now ready and waiting for the next act in the national drama.
It is time for the cui tain to rise again. When the Land League,
aided fearfully by the famine, began its agitation, its timeliness and
force were acknowledged by all Irish parties. The Home Rulers vir
tually subsided, giving the newcomers their place. The Revolutionists
looked on with unfriendly eyes, at first fearing that the land movement,
which only aimed at a detail, would disti-act attention from the National
idea. But as they watched, they saw that the new agitation was raising
the farmers and tradesmen into activity, and after a time the Land
League was left alone in the field to work out its purpose as best it
could.
Now, it must be asked and answered : Where does the Land League
propose to end ?
Mr. Parnell s object for the organization, expressed more than a year
ago, was the expropriation of Irish landlords which means the pur
chase of the land by the government and its re-sale on easy terms to the
LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 209
Irish farmers. Ireland does not want this to-day, and would be most
unwise to accept it. If England during the past two years had had
statesmen of first-rate quality, she would have speedily offered this
settlement ; and had the people of Ireland accepted her offer, they would
now find themselves more inextricably bound to Great Britain than
ever the act of Union bound them.
If the English Government purchase the land from the landlords
and resell it to the farmers of Ireland, the world s opinion will hold
these men bound to their contract. The legitimate outcome of the Land
League is therefore not national. It was never meant to be national.
On the contrary, it would be the doom of Irish nationality, at least for
a full generation, until the debt of the farmers to the English Govern
ment had been repaid.
Some, and many, will say that Ireland even in the case of such a
sale would owe England nothing, in view of the centuries of wrong
and robbery. This is doubtless true in equity ; but why make a con
tract at all? It will not help matters any way. Better to preserve the
integrity of the Irish farmer, even though he should starve. If the
present 630,000 tenant farmers, augmented by at least a million move,
as they would be, were to agree to buy from England the land of Ire
land, meaning to break the bargain by a revolution next year, their
conduct would be, in the mildest judgment of other nations, deceitful
and discreditable.
It is not necessary to do this. For the best interests of Ireland it
must not be done.
" But," it will be said by some Irishmen, " the Land League means
to abolish rent altogether. 1 It means no such thing. It has never said
so, nor has it ever so intended. Such a proposition is absurd, so far at
least as the present Irish question is concerned. It is a social theory
which no country has yet accepted. No sensible person expects poor
Ireland, struggling for very life, to voluntarily burden herself also
with a socialistic mill-stone that would probably sink the United
States.
Therefore, if the Land League has only one legitimate purpose, and
if Ireland has reason to reconsider that purpose, it is time to look ahead
and take new bearings.
The aim of Ireland in doing this is fortunately assisted by time and
tradition. The year 1882 is the centennial of the Irish Pai liament ob
tained by the agitation of Henry Grattan. The progressive issue of the
land agitation is a demand for a government of Ireland by the Irish
themselves.
Circumstances never worked more fortuitously to an end than here.
The Land League has accomplished its work so far as it can safely and
wisely be accomplished. The whole people are aroused. The English
JOHN BOYLE O REILLY.
Government, at its wit s end, is apparently ready to listen to a proposi
tion from Ireland that will restore peace without dismembering the
empire. The present Prime Minister and many other leading English
men have clearly so expressed themselves, and without damnatory criti
cism by any English class or party.
Ireland in 1882 ought to agitate for and demand her own govern
ment. No matter by what name the movement is called, whether
Home Eule, Repeal or Federation. The result will be practically the
same. The natural resources of the country will be w r orked and cher
ished by its own people. The official life will no longer be an alien and
inimical network spread over the island. The insolent presence of sol
diery and armed constablery will disappear. The dignity of a people
upholding a nationality they are proud of will take the place of the
servile helplessness of an almost pauper population.
We do not fear for Ireland s future in a federal union with England.
Nature has given the lesser country inestimable advantages. The anti
trade laws passed by England in the last century are proof that even
then she feared mercantile and manufacturing competition with Ireland.
The intelligence of commerce will steer its merchant ships into Ireland s
southern and western ports, to avoid the dangers of the fatal English
Channel. The unrivaled water power of the rivers from whose tum
bling streams even the flour mills have disappeared will drive the
wheels of manufacture into competition with Lancashire.
If the landlords of Ireland are to be bought out and we see no other
way for the farmers to become proprietors, unless the government drive
the people into revolution it is better that they should be bought out
by an Irish rather than an English Parliament.
And if, after a fair trial of the Federal union, it were found that
Ireland suffered by the bond, that she was outnumbered in council,
harassed and injured by imperial enactments, that in fact it was an
unequal and unbearable contract, then still there remains the ultimate
appeal of an oppressed people separation even by the sharp edge of
violence.
The next step for Ireland is obviously not revolution. She has been
for the past four years a model to the world of intelligent, peaceful
agitation. Her people have pursued their legal purpose with marvelous
patience, tenacity and temper. They have not broken the law, under
terrible excitements and constant presence of the flaunted arrogance
and ruffianism of unnecessary militaiy power. They have achieved
the greatest of all triumphs in compelling their powerful opponent
either to yield or 10 break all the laws that it had itself invented to
oppress and hamper the weaker country.
A people with such political intelligence and fertility need not fear
federation with England. If Ireland can beat her even under present
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 2ll
disadvantages, she will assuredly hold .her own under a fairer relation
ship.
The men who recently issued a Home Rule manifesto in Ireland
were undoubtedly right. They struck the proper note exactly ; but
they did it with uncertain hand, for their utterance has already faded
into silence, though it met with no serious opposition.
The people of Ireland are to-day without a national policy. The
splendid Land League organization goes on grinding, but it is not
grinding toward nationality. Its great-hearted work for the present
winter is to protect the evicted families of farmers who refuse to pay
rent because England has outraged even her own laws. But Ireland
cannot go on forever fighting with all her forces against a minor evil.
If she go on for six months longer, England will open her eyes to her
opportunity, and bind Ireland in new hemp by the sale of the country
to the farmers.
The late Irish-American Convention in Chicago might well have
started the national proposition. Had that meeting spoken for an
Irish Government in Ireland, with the Union repealed, and a federal
union substituted, Ireland would have answered like one man. That
meeting did not so speak because a few men antagonized the Home Rule
idea, and declare that they will have nothing less than utter separation
from England, with a republican and socialistic government for Ireland.
To obtain these two objects, Ireland must fight England with arms.
She must seize all the strong places, at present occupied by fifty thou
sand armed men. She must, in one month, put in the field an army of
at least one hundred thousand men, equipped with engineers and artil
lery ; England in the same time will land on her shores at least that
number of soldiers. She must establish a fleet, to keep herself from
suffocation, if not starvation. And she must fight out a desperate con
flict for existence, without a hope of borrowing fifty dollars in foreign
markets on her national promissory note.
What sensible Irishman favors this policy ? What earnest revolu
tionist is prepared to wait until all this can be done before Ireland
obtains a Parliament of her own ?
The sooner Ireland in America speaks on this point the better.
Many earnest Irishmen, among the leaders in Ireland, firmly believe
that Irish -Americans are all blood-and-thunder radicals. One of the
ablest of the leaders now in prison, recently wrote the writer that the
belief is widespread in Ireland that the Irish-Americans will have noth
ing less than absolute "no rent " and ultimate revolution.
Such a belief is utterly wrong. Even the revolutionary party in
America condemn as absurd the "No Rent " proposition. This party,
too, sees that Irish Home Rule in no way conflicts with their own
more consummate settlement.
212 JOHN BOYLE O KEILLY.
Another, and a very grave reason for an expression of policy, is
that the best intelligence, both in Ireland and America, will withdraw
from a movement that either cloaks its ultimate purpose, or has none.
Already the Land League has suffered deep loss by the vagueness of its
drift. One American bishop has publicly uttered his disapproval of an
organization which he could not understand ; and the Catholic clergy
generally have, it is believed, a secret and a growing feeling in regard
to the Land League, that they are dealing with an occult and uncer- .
tain organism.
To allow so great an organization to collapse through blind manage
ment and lack of purpose would be calamitous. To fight the landlords
and support the evicted tenants is not a national policy- it is not
enough. When the land question is settled, the question of an Irish
Government for Ireland will be no nearer a solution than at present.
A demand for Home Rule by the Irish people, supported by their
representatives in Parliament, will obtain sympathy in all countries,
and particularly in America. The Land League has demonstrated its
necessity to the world. It will give life to the magnificent organiza
tion which now has nothing to do but raise money. It will receive
instant and thorough approval and support from the Catholic hierarchy
and priests, both in Ireland and Amei ica, and from intelligent and
conservative men, who have hitherto avoided all Irish national move
ments.
Unless this demand is made, and soon made, the Land League
organization will dwindle into insignificance, and an opportunity such
as Ireland lias not seen for a century will be lost.
This frank treatment of the Irish question won the
approval of the author s countrymen, with very few ex
ceptions. The extreme nationalists appreciated the sin
cerity of his words, even while they did not agree with his
policy. A few they were very few denounced the article
as " traitorous." Of these O Reilly said in the Pilot:
The Irish people are too deeply in earnest to be quite calm when
their national sentiments are on the table. We do not regret the heat,
because by it we perceive the earnestness. The man who wants to be
treated with gloves should never leap into a crowd of enthusiastic
strugglers. Some of the pei sonalities and angry expressions called out
by the article are absurd, and the writers either are, or will soon be,
ashamed of them. Out of all, one or two only were unjust or offen
sive ; and these Mr. O Reilly can well afford to pass, not, however,
without regret that any Irishmen could be found to so easily disrespect
themselves and others.
HIS LIFE, POEMS AND SPEECHES. 213
At the St. Patrick s Day dinner of the Charitable Irish
Society of Boston, in this year, O Reilly read his poem,
" Erin," with its tender Irish words of endearment :
What need of new tongues ! sure the Gaelic is clearest,
Like nature s own voice every word ;
"Ahagur ! acushla ! savourneen!" the dearest
The ear of a girl ever heard.
The death of Longfellow, in March, 1882, evoked this
tribute from his brother poet :
Why should we mourn for the beautiful completion of a beautiful
life. He died in the later autumn of his grand life. It is well that he
was spared the winter. The spreading tree went down in full leafage
and rich maturity. We have not seen any signs of decay; and inevi
table decay is sadder than death . Our Longfellow s death, like his life,
was a noble and quiet poem It was and will remain an illus
tration of the permanent appreciation of mankind for the beautiful,
un-trade-like, spiritual work of the poet. When he succeeds in reach
ing men s hearts, all other successes are as nought to the poet s. All
other honors, emoluments, distinctions, are chips and tinsel compared
with the separated and beloved light which surrounds him in the eyes
and hearts of the people.
The admiration of O Reilly for Longfellow was sincere
and abiding, for the gentle American poet had been his
warm friend and admirer. To another friend, the genial
essayist, "Taverner," of the Boston Post, lam indebted
for the following anecdote 
