Authors: Marjorie Bowen
The mighty gales increased, shot with lightning, echoed by thunder. The whole country waited in silence. Men appeared to go about their daily tasks as usual, but there was not one of them who did not wait in either apprehension or hope for news of the French fleet.
The plans of the United Irishmen were complete. They had gained over eight thousand of the militia in Dublin, including a large number of the garrison of the Castle. There were those among them who thought that the moment was ripe, that the signal for a rising should have been immediately given. This was the opinion of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, but he was overruled by the civilians like Sheares and Bond, who considered that they should at least wait for news of the French fleet.
This came soon enough. During five days seven of the shattered frigates tossed in full view of the coast outside Bantry Bay, but unable because of the persistent gale of wind to effect a landing, while ten others were driven back. Yet how easy this landing might have been! This was impressed with the bitterest irony on the minds of those tormented by such agonising suspense, by the fact that during these four days no British sail came in sight and only a few troops were moved to meet the invaders.
The elements, however, served England better than could her own ships and men. Exhausted, battered, suffering from lack of provision, separated from their commander, the Frenchmen at length turned and battled their way back to Brest, all attempt at an invasion being, for some months at least, obviously abandoned.
Then, after the slackening of the storm and when all hope or fear (as it might be) from the invader was gone, came the news of the sudden death of Hoche (not without suspicion of foul play) sent in disheartened but not despairing messages from Tone and Lewine, who, unbeaten and implacable in their purpose, had returned to Paris to urge the fitting out of another fleet.
During these days of terrible strain and suspense the Castle gave no sign of fear or anger; it seemed to take no measures of defence. The Government offered neither conciliation nor unusual severity towards the people, arrested no one of the United Irishmen, appeared, indeed, unaware of the spirit of insurrection which was murmuring before their very eyes.
This sullen calm made some of the Irishmen uneasy. Campden had men upon his staff whom no one could believe to be fools; it was difficult to credit that Clare and Castlereagh had been so completely hoodwinked; that the iron hand and eagle glance of William Pitt was not even raised or turned towards Ireland. John Sheares said: ‘I feel as if there was a great invisible net over the whole island being drawn slowly closer and closer.’ He had pondered much on what Mr. Ogilvie had repeated of Lord Clare’s warnings about treachery, and he had consulted privately Lord Edward Fitzgerald as to who this possible traitor might be, yet could suspect no one even when going over all their members name by name…
Fitzgerald said: ‘We give too much thought to this; let us strike at once.’
The opinions on this matter were much divided, but those who were for venturing on rebellion without French aid, were supported by the arrival of the ardent leaders from the North, Lowry and Teeling. They were accompanied by a deputation of sergeants from the Clare, Kilkenny and Kildare militia, who waited upon the provincial council of Dublin with an offer to seize, in the name of the Union, the barracks and the castle, without requiring the aid or presence of a single citizen.
Fitzgerald was for instantly accepting this plan, but it was considered by the other members of the Dublin committee too daring. The executive decided, after a tedious and troubled discussion, that the affair was too difficult to be undertaken at this juncture, when all were disheartened by the disaster to the French fleet.
Alarmed and disgusted by this lack of action in the Dublin leaders, the Northerners fled to Hamburg, and the English Government, as if aware that at this moment there was disorganisation among the ranks of the conspirators, issued a proclamation promising a free pardon to any rebel who should come forward, give up his arms, and submit himself.
These blows to the cause were, however, in some manner recompensed by the assurances received from Irish agents in Paris that another expedition was being prepared and might with confidence be looked forward to in April.
Arthur O’Connor and some others set out for France to put the state of the United Irishmen before the Directory and to urge the setting out of another fleet.
But Edward Fitzgerald remained in Dublin, still urging action without waiting for foreign aid. There was a lull in affairs as there was in the weather. A sullen calm hung in the sky and bitter silence brooded in the island.
The first news that his friends received of Arthur O’Connor was that, with some Irish priests, he had been arrested at Margate with papers in his possession addressed to the French Directory and referring to the promised invasion of England.
It was learnt by Lord Edward in Mr. O’Connor’s own house, where he chanced to be, advising about the next issue of the official paper of the United Irishmen which Arthur O’Connor, so brilliantly talented, so able, so daring, edited.
Overwhelmed by this misfortune to his friend and to the cause, he had scarcely time to collect himself when soldiers entered accompanied by a magistrate, and, by order of the government, searched the establishment and seized all the printing materials and papers.
Lord Edward could do nothing to check what seemed to him an unwarrantable outrage, but he expressed his opinion with more warmth than prudence, and under the face of the magistrate offered the housekeeper, who was being rudely treated and greatly embarrassed by the seizure of her property, a place in his own house. The hated Town Major, Sirr, the head of a band of special police, informers, secret agents and spies, was present and spoke roughly to Fitzgerald:
‘You are very rash to be here, sir, even more rash to speak and defend this woman.’
‘Is it so rash and imprudent not to conceal one’s opinions,’ replied Fitzgerald hotly. ‘Are we indeed all become helots?’
‘You have been found on suspected premises. There is much against you, even to the neckcloth you wear,’ continued Sirr, but Fitzgerald impetuously interrupted him: ‘I take no warning. I do not deny that Mr. O’Connor was a friend of mine.’
‘It is rather dangerous,’ sneered the Town Major, ‘to say you are a friend of one who now lies in the Tower of London under a charge of high treason. Take care, my Lord, take care —’
‘My God, do you presume to warn me?’
‘Ay, I do. And I dare say you’ve had warnings from better men. Take care. Don’t presume too much on being the Duke of Leinster’s brother —’
‘Do you think I do? Stand out of my way — you and your rascally band of informers!’
‘As to that, my Lord, look rather among your own fine friends! Maybe there’s one of them, whom you hold dear enough, in the pay of the Castle.’
Lord Edward was about to reply violently to this jibe when the housekeeper flung herself between him and the police officer and passionately implored him to be silent.
‘My Lord! my Lord! I could not endure to think that it was this house and through my trouble you have become involved!’
*
That evening there was a hastily summoned meeting at the house of Oliver Bond. Fitzgerald spoke, and with more than usual authority, for he was able to urge on them the ill-consequences of their indecision in refusing the chance to seize the Castle when it had been offered them some while before, by the leaders from the North.
‘Our affairs,’ he declared, ‘have been hampered not only by ill-luck, such as the storm and the contrary winds, but by too much hesitation and reluctance for action on our own part. Surely it is now obvious to all of us, after the arrest of O’Connor and the sudden vigilance on the part of the government, that we must all act immediately and together, or be arrested and hauled off to prison as common malefactors?’
What was there to hope for, and what might be demanded save in terms of war? The suspension of Habeas Corpus Act, Carhampton’s transportation of untried prisoners, the free quarters of the military on the people, the burning of Roman Catholic houses and chapels, the atrocities of the Peep O’Day boys, who were protected by the government, the use of torture on the least suspicion of disaffection, all persuaded even moderate men that the only hope lay in an appeal to arms.
In the English House of Lords, Lord Moira had spoken passionately of the misgovernment of Ireland. Lord Fitzwilliam, the recalled Viceroy, had foretold rebellion — ‘Forty-five thousand men couldn’t keep the country down.’
The delegates agreed with grave resolution. Each had reached the point where he threw aside all hesitation; each knew that the rising had been organised with a thoroughness and a skill, largely owing to the talents and energy of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, that gave a guarantee of success even to the most cautious. A general staff had been formed, and to each county an adjutant-general had been sent to supply returns of the strength and state of the local force. There were reports to hand of the military positions in all the different districts of Ireland, and instructions, which Lord Edward had drawn up himself, were ready to be despatched to all these various officers. Every detail had been considered and carefully thought out. Lord Edward had, for instance, written: ‘Those in the maritime counties are charged, on the first appearance of a friendly force on the coast, to communicate the same in a most speedy manner to the Executive. They must then immediately collect their force and march forward with as many of the yeomanry and militia as possible. Each man to be provided with at least three days’ provisions and to bring on all they can of carts, draft horses, horses’ harness, horses to mount cavalry with three or four days’ forage, taking care to seize nowhere the property of a patriot where an enemy can be found to raise contribution.’ And every aspect of the rising received from him the same anxious attention, and as he proceeded to detail his plans, all felt their hopes rise. There was a determination about his person, his voice, his speech that heartened them all; and he, in his turn, was encouraged by their obvious faith and trust in him. He looked round the eager, anxious faces turned towards him and said, with a sigh and a smile: ‘I think, gentlemen, we cannot fail, we are so securely entrenched that the government cannot possibly reach us and once we have sprung our action all will be won in a single blow.’
The others agreed that his confidence seemed rather to be based on sober, well-founded hope than on wild or fanatic enthusiasm.
‘I am rather glad,’ continued Lord Edward, ‘that we are able to accomplish this without foreign aid. The fleet the Directory sent was too large for my approval. It will be a great thing if Ireland can free herself without the aid of these foreigners. For my part, I have no more wish to live under the French than under the English.’
As Lord Edward was leaving Bond’s house he was called by Mr. Thomas Reynolds, who came hurrying after him.
Fitzgerald had lately fallen into a great liking for this man, which was in direct contradiction with his early impression of him. He now thought there was a bold simplicity, a staunch fidelity about the fellow that marked him above his abilities, which were commonplace enough. His particular duty then was to act as provincial secretary for the County of Kildare and to bring up to Dublin the reports of the patriotic activities in that county.
He said in a low tone as he walked with Lord Edward through the cold, twilit streets, that he had not these reports quite ready, but hoped to be able to procure them in a day or so, and asked if he might wait on Lord Edward himself with them, instead of deferring this till the next meeting at Oliver Bond’s, which was planned for the twelfth of the present month.
‘So you may,’ replied Lord Edward, ‘breakfast with me on Friday, if you will. You know that I have moved my wife again from Leinster House, where my brother begged me to leave her to divert suspicions, so he said. Poor Leinster, I am sorry for him, and I feel in a way I deceive him, yet I am sure he will be mighty glad when all is over. His position at present is miserable.’
‘I hear they harry his estates, finding more traitors there than in any other part of Ireland,’ said Reynolds.
‘I fear I must lay that to my account. The government suspect our whole family. Well, it cannot be helped, a few weeks will alter all.’
The two men turned a corner, bowing their heads before the chill wind, turning their collars up, shoulder to shoulder in the dusk.
‘I am sorry about O’Connor,’ said Fitzgerald in his impulsive way. ‘That cuts one to the heart! He was imprudent, poor fellow. Why did he walk on foot behind his baggage from Margate to Dover, and offer such large sums on the way; and then to carry those papers with him! Castlereagh has gone to London — I don’t like that. My God, it would be terrible if they hanged O’Connor!’
‘He is to be tried at the Kent Assizes, is he not?’
‘Aye, don’t let us think of it. Perhaps if we’re successful before then we can make terms for his release. We part ways here, I think.’ He paused, and gave Reynolds his hand. ‘You’ll find me at Denzel Street. It is just possible I might send back my wife to Leinster House. My brother urges it and it might be wiser. The other place is always mine, and I shall be frequently there.’
Reynolds continued to keep his hand in that of Lord Fitzgerald, thus detaining him by the clasp on his wrist. The wind was blowing about them, stirring their hair and cloaks as they stood at the corner of the dark street.
‘Your Lordship never had any inkling of any possible traitor? That sticks in my mind. Lord Clare mentioned it. A Judas he would be, eh? He must keep very quiet — a clever fox!’
‘Reynolds, I never think of it.’
‘I suppose the government would give a very large sum for information — eh?’
‘Why, that’s a strange thing to say, Reynolds! I suppose they would spend an immense fortune to ferret out our secrets, but the Irish are a faithful race: though we have had to trust many of the baser sorts, I never had any fear.’
‘Nor I, my Lord,’ answered Reynolds smoothly, ‘but it is a wonderful thing, is it not, that for two years this conspiracy should have gone on, almost openly as it were, and no one spoken? Why, I was just thinking,’ and he half laughed in his deep collar, shuddering as the bitter wind lashed his face, ‘that if any information was given as to that next meeting at Bond’s, for instance, why, the whole chiefs of the conspiracy could be seized at once, and all our vast organisation powerless! You’ll be there, I suppose, my Lord, and the Sheares and Bond himself? Why, think of it, it makes me tremble in my heart.’
‘I don’t think of it,’ replied Fitzgerald. ‘I keep my mind on hopeful things. I don’t think of that any more than I think of the French being so near that they could have flung a biscuit on shore, then sailing away.’
He wrung Reynold’s hand and turned away into the dusk. The other young man remained at the corner of the street and watched him pass under the fluttering of lamps out of sight.
Thomas Reynolds seemed regardless of the cold and storm. He bit his chilled forefinger thoughtfully and his face settled into a smooth, implacable expression. Then, as if he suddenly realised the weather, he shook himself, drew his cloak more closely towards him, and turned not towards his own house, the handsome mansion in front of the silk warehouses, but down the narrow, dark alley, where he made his way with difficulty, avoiding the garbage and the filthy puddles between the cobbles.