Chapter 10

Gentlemen, in that fell spirit English law addressed itself to a dreadful purpose here in Ireland; and, mark you, that code prevailed down to our own time; down to this very generation. "Law" called on the son to sell his father; called on the flock to betray the pastor. "Law" forbade us to educate--forbid us to worship God in the faith of our fathers. "Law" made us outcasts--scourged us, trampled us, plundered us--do you marvel that, amongst the Irish people, law has been held in "disesteem?" Do you think this feeling arises from "sympathy with assassination or murder?" Yet, if we had been let alone, I doubt not that time would have fused the conquerors and the conquered, here in Ireland, as elsewhere. Even while the millions of the people were kept outside the constitution, the spirit of nationality began to appear; and under its blessed influence toleration touched the heart of the Irish-born Protestant. Yes--thank God--thank God, for the sake of our poor country, where sectarian bitterness has wrought such wrong--it was an Irish Protestant Parliament that struck off the first link of the penal chain. And lo! once more, for a bright brief day, Irish national sentiment was in warm sympathy and heartfelt accord with the laws. "Eighty-two" came. Irish Protestant patriotism, backed by the hearty sympathy of the Catholic millions, raised up Ireland to a proud and glorious position; lifted our country from the ground, where she lay prostrate under the sword of England--but what do I say? This is "sedition." It has this week been decreed sedition to picture Ireland thus.[C] Well, then, they rescued her from what I will call the loving embrace of her dear sister Britannia, and enthroned her in her rightful place, a queen among the nations. Had the brightness of that era been prolonged--picture it, think of it--what a country would ours be now? Think of it! And contrast what we are with what we might be! Compare a population filled with burning memories--disaffected, sullen, hostile, vengeful--with a people loyal, devoted, happy, contented; and England, too, all the happier, the more secure, the more great and free. But sad is the story. Our independent national legislature was torn from us by means, the iniquity of which, even among English writers, is now proclaimed and execrated. By fraud and by force that outrage on law, on right, and justice, was consummated. In speaking thus I speak "sedition." No one can write the facts of Irish history, without committing sedition. Yet every writer and speaker now will tell you that the overthrow of our national constitution, sixty-seven years ago, was an iniquitous and revolting scheme. But do you, then, marvel that the laws imposed on us by the power that perpetrated that deed are not revered, loved, and respected? Do you believe that that want of respect arises from the "seditions" of men like my fellow-traversers and myself? Is it wonderful to see estrangement between a people and laws imposed on them by the over-ruling influence of another nation? Look at the lessons--unhappy lessons--taught our people by that London legislature where their own will is overborne. Concessions refused and resisted as long as they durst be withheld; and when granted at all, granted only after passion has been aroused and the whole nation been embittered. The Irish people sought Emancipation. Their great leader was dogged at every step by hostile government proclamations and crown prosecutions. Coercion act over coercion act was rained upon us; yet O'Connell triumphed. But how and in what spirit was Emancipation granted? Ah there never was a speech more pregnant with mischief, with sedition, with revolutionary teaching--never words tended more to bring law and government into contempt--than the words of the English premier when he declared Emancipation must, sorely against his will, be granted if England would not face a civil war. That was a bad lesson to teach Irishmen. Worse still was taught them. O'Connell, the great constitutional leader, a man with whom loyalty and respect for the laws was a fundamental principle of action, led the people towards further liberation--the liberation, not of a creed, but a nation. What did he seek? To bring once more the laws and the national will into accord; to reconcile the people and the laws by restoring the constitution of queen, lords, and commons. How was he met by the government? By the nourish of the sword; by the drawn sabre and the shotted gun, in the market place and the highway. "Law" finally grasped him as a conspirator, and a picked jury gave the crown then, as now, such verdict as was required. The venerable apostle of constitutional doctrines was consigned to prison, while a sorrowing--aye, a maddened nation, wept for him outside. Do you marvel that they held in "disesteem" the law and government that acted thus? Do you marvel that to-day, in Ireland, as in every century of all those through which I have traced this state of things, the people and the law scowl upon each other? Gentlemen, do not misunderstand the purport of my argument. It is not for the purpose--it would be censurable--of merely opening the wounds of the past that I have gone back upon history somewhat farther than the solicitor-general found it advantageous to go. I have done it to demonstrate that there is a truer reason than that alleged by the crown in this case for the state of war--for unhappily that is what it is--which prevails between the people of Ireland and the laws under which they now live. And now apply all this to the present case, and judge you my guilt--judge you the guilt of those whose crime, indeed, is that they do not love and respect law and government as they are now administered in Ireland. Gentlemen, the present prosecution arises directly out of what is known as the Manchester tragedy. The solicitor-general gave you his version, his fanciful sketch of that sad affair; but it will be my duty to give you the true facts, which differ considerably from the crown story. The solicitor-general began with telling us about "the broad summer's sun of the 18th September" (laughter). Gentlemen, it seems very clear that the summer goes far into the year for those who enjoy the sweets of office; nay, I am sure it is summer "all the year round" with the solicitor-general while the present ministry remain in. A goodly golden harvest he and his colleagues are making in this summer of prosecutions; and they seem very well inclined to get up enough of them (laughter). Well, gentlemen, I'm not complaining of that, but I will tell you who complain loudly--the "outs," with whom it is midwinter, while the solicitor-general and his friends are enjoying this summer (renewed laughter). Well, gentlemen, some time last September two prominent leaders of the Fenian movement--alleged to be so at least--named Kelly and Deasy, were arrested in Manchester. In Manchester there is a considerable Irish population, and amongst them it was known those men had sympathisers. They were brought up at the police court--and now, gentlemen, pray attentively mark this. The Irish executive that morning telegraphed to the Manchester authorities a strong warning of an attempted rescue. The Manchester police had full notice--how did they treat the timely warning sent from Dublin; a warning which, if heeded, would have averted all this sad and terrible business which followed upon that day? Gentlemen, the Manchester police authorities scoffed at the warning. They derided it as a "Hirish" alarm. What! The idea of low "Hirish" hodmen or labourers rescuing prisoners from them, the valiant and the brave! Why, gentlemen, the Seth Bromleys of the "force" in Manchester waxed hilarious and derisive over the idea. They would not ask even a truncheon to put to flight even a thousand of those despised "Hirish;" and so, despite specific warning from Dublin, the van containing the two Fenian leaders, guarded by eleven police officers, set out from the police office to the jail. Now, gentlemen, I charge on the stolid vain gloriousness in the first instance, and the contemptible pusilanimity in the second instance, of the Manchester police--the valiant Seth Bromleys--all that followed. On the skirts of the city the van was attacked by some eighteen Irish youths, having three revolvers--three revolvers, gentlemen, and no more--amongst them. The valour of the Manchester eleven vanished at the sight of those three revolvers--some of them, it seems, loaded with blank cartridge! The Seth Bromleys took to their heels. They abandoned the van. Now, gentlemen, do not understand me to call those policemen cowards. It is hard to blame an unarmed man who runs away from a pointed revolver, which, whether loaded or unloaded, is a powerful persuasion to--depart. But I do say that I believe in my soul that if that had occurred here in Dublin, eleven men of our metropolitan police whould have taken those three revolvers or perished in the attempt (applause). Oh, if eleven Irish policemen had run away like that from a few poor English lads with barely three revolvers, how the press of England would yell in fierce denunciation--why, they would trample to scorn the name of Irishman--(applause in the court, which the officials vainly tried to silence). [Footnote C: For publishing an illustration in the _Weekly News_ thus picturing England's policy of coercion, Mr. Sullivan had been found guilty of seditious libel on the previous trial.]

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald--If these interruptions continue, the parties so offending must be removed.