Part 15

Neilson considered that the Government’s breach of faith towards him absolved him from his engagement to them—and from this time forth he threw himself, with a feverish energy his debilitated frame could ill support, into the service of the Union. According to his own statement, “he was very active in procuring that the vacancies caused by the arrest at Bond’s should be filled up, attended several committees belonging to the union, delivered some messages from Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and together with his Lordship, was stopped by a patrol near Palmerstown, and liberated after being a short time in custody, owing to the ignorance of the officer respecting our persons.” A Northern delegate reported at a provincial meeting in Belfast that Neilson “was riding almost night and day, organising the people; and scarcely any person knew where he slept.”

During the time between March the 12th and Lord Edward’s arrest on May the 19th, Neilson constantly visited his Lordship at his various places of concealment. Miss Moore long afterwards told Dr. Madden that “no matter how depressed Lord Edward was, the appearance of Neilson always brightened him up.”

On the day Lord Edward was arrested at Murphy’s, Neilson visited him and told him that he had seen a party of soldiers pass up the street. He dined with Lord Edward and, according to Murphy, as soon as the dinner was over hurried away, as if a sudden recollection had occurred to him, leaving the door open behind him. Through this door an hour later entered Major Sirr and his party. “Lord Edward’s arrest following so immediately Neilson’s exit, his restlessness during dinner, his ‘fidgety’ demeanour at the moment of leaving the house, and the strange circumstance of the door being found open by Major Sirr, were circumstances that caused Neilson’s conduct to be freely canvassed; and those who were in the secret of the treachery which really led to the capture of the prisoner took care to let suspicion light and rest on those whom it was thought desirable to bring into odium with their own party. Neilson and Murphy were made the scape-goats of the infamy of the memorable F. H. whose initials have finally been identified with the name of Francis Higgins, one of the worst men of the worst period of our history.”

It makes our heart bleed for poor Anne Neilson and her children when we think of this terrible imputation being cast on him whose only fault was that he loved his country before all else!

On the night of May the 23rd, that fixed for the general rising, Neilson was re-arrested outside Newgate, where he was reconnoitring, with a view to leading an attack on this Irish Bastille, and inaugurating the projected Irish Revolution after the French model, by the liberation of Lord Edward and the other chiefs imprisoned in it. Unfortunately Neilson was too well known to the prison authorities for his presence in the neighbourhood not to excite suspicion. He was taken prisoner by a file of soldiers after a desperate resistance and lodged in gaol in a pitiable condition of body, but his mind more determined to resist tyranny than ever. Grattan told his son that when Neilson was taken, his clothes were torn off him, his body wounded all over by the soldiers hacking at him, he was cut and scarred in upwards of fifty places, and was only saved by the number of his assailants.

On June the 26th, bills of indictment were sent up for high treason against Samuel Neilson, the two Sheareses, John McCann, William Michael Byrne, and Oliver Bond. Counsel were named by all the prisoners except Neilson, who refused to name any. We find in the Life of Grattan by his son a graphic description of the scene in court to which Neilson was brought heavily ironed. “When brought into court the noise of his entrance was like the march of men in irons. He was called on to plead, and asked if he had anything to say; he replied in a stentorian voice, ‘No! I have been robbed of everything—I could not fee counsel; my property—everything has been taken from me,’ and he turned away. But he came again to the front of the dock, and said, ‘For myself I have nothing to say; _I scorn your power, and despise that authority that it shall ever be my pride to have opposed_; but I may say—not that I value it—why am I kept with these weighty irons on me, so heavy that three ordinary men could scarcely carry them? Is it your law that I should be placed in irons, and in such irons?’”

The execution of the Sheareses took place on July 14th, that of McCann on the 19th. In order to save the lives of Byrne and Bond, Neilson with some others of the State prisoners consented to enter into terms with Government. Byrne, in spite of these negotiations, was executed on July 28th, and Oliver Bond died, under very suspicious circumstances, after having been respited.

The circumstances attending Bond’s death, and the chagrin caused by the Government’s perfidy with regard to the compact (which they not only broke in the most flagrant manner, but represented, in their account of it to the public, in a way most injurious to the prisoners’ honour) had a very bad effect on poor Neilson. He was literally at death’s door when the word came from the Castle on March the 18th, 1799, that the State prisoners were to be deported to an unknown destination on the following morning.

John Sweetman’s diary gives a most harrowing account of Neilson’s condition during the journey to Fort George. He got delirious on the very night the _Ashton Smith_, with the prisoners aboard, sailed from Dublin Bay. The prisoners had to take two hours’ watches by his bedside to restrain his violence. Dr. MacNevin, as a medical man, warned the Captain of the likely consequences if something were not done for the unfortunate patient, and a petition was sent for leave to have him landed at Belfast, where the boat put in to take more prisoners. But it was all in vain.

Fortunately Neilson’s condition improved after a day or two, and his unfortunate companions were spared at least acute anxiety on his account. They had plenty of discomforts to put up with, without that. A heavy gale came on as they approached Ailsa, and presently it increased to a rank storm. “The sea broke clear over us, and poured into the hold; several of the berths were drenched with water. Mine was completely flooded by the bilge-water, which came up between the timbers and through the ceiling. All the trunks were knocked about, and most of the crockery broken. The hold exhibited a most confused scene.” Later on they were nearly ship-wrecked.

From Greenock the prisoners were conveyed by coach to Fort George, which they reached on April 9th, having been eleven days on the sea-journey and ten days on the land journey.

Dr. Dickson’s narrative gives us a graphic description of the first impressions of Fort George. “Our entrance might be called solemn. The very aspect of the place made it so to me, who had never before seen a regular fortification. A numerous guard was drawn out, and a multitude assembled—which included a great part of the rank and fashion of the country. Through them and the guards our coaches drove to a stair, up which we were conducted to the rampart, and thence along a wooden bridge, thrown across the street on our account, to the third floor of the garrison, and shown into a spacious room where we found an uncommonly large grate filled with a blazing coal fire.

“We had not enjoyed this many minutes, when Lieutenant-Colonel Stuart (the lieutenant-governor), the fort-major, and some other officers made their appearance. Panting as we were with anxiety to know our fates, their minds did not seem to be much more at ease than ours. After a few polite inquiries concerning our journey, health, accommodations, etc., the lieutenant-governor, taking a paper from his pocket, said: ‘Gentlemen, it is necessary that I should read to you the orders I have received from Government; though I assure you to me a very painful task.’ That he felt it such was evident from the tremulous voice and interrupted breath with which he performed it. On perceiving the indignation which these orders excited, expressed by every countenance, and hearing it from one tongue: ‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘as a _servant of government_ I cannot hear reflections on _government_. I own I cannot reconcile your appearance and these orders—yet I must obey them. However, it shall be your own fault if ever they are executed with severity.’ On this, he and the other gentlemen retired seemingly, and as I believe really, affected with our situation.

“Soon after, our table was handsomely laid out and a good dinner of _five dishes_ served up. We had two servants to attend us. Our allowance of drink was one dozen of porter, one of ale, and ten bottles of port. And we were informed that we might have tea in the evening, or a cold supper with a bottle of porter or ale for each, as we should choose.

“After dinner, twenty rooms, between sixteen and eighteen feet square each, were allotted to us by ballot, sixteen of which were laid with brick over the boarden floor. On taking possession we found them clean, airy, dry, well plastered and ceiled, with windows sufficiently large, well glazed and secured on the outside with iron bars. In each room was a neat four-posted bed with good curtains, palliasse, mattress, sheets, one under and three upper blankets, a cotton coverlet, bolster, pillow, a rush-bottomed chair, and small oaken table; a bottle and basin, fire-irons, coal-box, candlestick, snuffers and extinguisher—all entirely new and good in their kind. To these were afterwards added a bell on the outside of each door, with two pulls on the inside, one at the fireplace and one at the bed, that in case of sickness, fire, or alarm, our keepers might be roused, and assistance procured. Four invalids were exempted from duty, for our service, and allowed double pay; two to make our beds, keep our rooms clean, and do other services; and the other two to keep our knives, forks, spoons, etc., as they ought to be, bring our provisions from the inn and attend at table. Each of us had a captain’s allowance of coal and candle, nor did we burn a dipped candle except for one fortnight during my residence in the fort. For our health equal provision was made.”

The prisoners were allowed to exercise on the ramparts, and from that point of vantage they were entertained “with a widely extended scenery, as variegated, wildly great and rudely picturesque, as water, moor, mountain cultivated fields, one large handsome town, several villages, a few gentlemen’s seats, some good farm-houses, thriving plantations of great extent, Culloden _with all its recollections_, a considerable succession of trading and other vessels, a constant paddling of ferry and fishing boats, and a long and lofty ridge of the Scottish Alps at a distance, exposing their bare heads and naked shoulders to the pitiless storms, could present to an eye accustomed to tame and temperate regions.”

The Governor, who was of royal Stuart blood, treated his prisoners with every consideration. On his own responsibility he allowed the relaxation, or removal of the several restrictions imposed on them by the Duke of Portland, at the instigation of Castlereagh, and obtained on his own initiative various privileges and comforts for them. Thus when the fine weather came in May they were allowed to bathe. Permission to subscribe to certain newspapers was accorded them, and they were also permitted to buy books. Gradually the restraints that were placed on their intercourse were removed, and they had the liberty of each other’s apartments, and permission to amuse themselves as they pleased, within the bounds prescribed, from eight in the morning till nearly nine in the evening.

But the most precious privilege accorded them was the permission to have some of their family with them. Roger O’Connor was the first to enjoy this privilege, and it was next availed of by Thomas Addis Emmet. It was probably kind Mrs. Emmet, who suggested to Samuel Neilson that he should apply for leave to have his little son with him, promising to “mother him like one of her own children.” An opportunity was found when the wife and niece of Mr. Cuthbert, one of the other prisoners, travelled to Fort George, and William Neilson arrived, in their charge, some time in July, 1801.

The letters addressed by Samuel Neilson to his wife and children from Fort George, and carefully preserved by the tender piety of his daughters, exhibit him, as a husband and father, in a very favourable light. He is deeply concerned about his children’s education, of which he would make religion the foundation, and a certain stoicism and the unflinching acceptance of life’s sternest realities, the backbone. Even when he was in Newgate, awaiting his fate, which seemed then likely to be that of the Sheareses, McCann and Bond, the direction of the children’s education is of supreme interest to him. “Oh, let me entreat you once more to rear them hardily, to do everything in the house in turn. To William, reading, writing, English well—no other language nor dancing; to the girls the same, with knitting and sewing, but no tambour nonsense. Let their dresses be plain and homely, befitting their state; and of all things labour to form their minds by curbing pride and inciting to virtue and industry, not by scolding and whipping or cajoling, but by _emulation_, which is by far the safest and surest incentive to exertion.” He warns his wife to guard them against foolish fears, whether of “ghost and fairies and hobgoblins,” or of fever. The remedy he proposes against either is the inculcation of a perfect trust in God. “Let then the children learn that God alone is present everywhere, and that darkness is subjected to his power.” And again: “impress upon them without ceasing this great truth—that Providence cares for all its creatures.” One loves to quote the educational maxims he lays down for his children for their soundness, and universal applicability:

“There is no part of education more essential than that which gives an early knowledge of the world; but above all it is necessary to keep the young mind _employed_, not to forced tasks or unreasonable attention, but to something (either of utility or amusement, and these can easily be united) so that the mind be not left to wander, and to become familiarised with the frivolity that is the fashion of the age; for that will certainly cause it to take a wrong direction. I hope you are also fully sensible that the only useful control is that over _the feelings_, not that which arises from _personal dread_.”

“With respect to the spiritual direction of our children, I hope you will bear in mind this important lesson, that you will yourself educate our children in the true principles of Christianity, which believe me are not to be acquired by a mere _Sunday show_. No! they are to be instilled in the life and conversation, and that only by precept and example.... Continue to teach them a love of _truth_ and _Christianity_, with an utter abhorrence of falsehood and hypocrisy. There is a maxim of an ancient heathen author, which my father recommended to me when I was a boy; it had a great effect on my mind at the time, and is worth your teaching them; it is thus translated:

“Be this your wall of brass, no _guilt_ to know Nor let one _crime_ sit blushing on your brow.”

His letters to his children are charming in their simplicity and tenderness. Here is one of them:

“My dear Children,—I am extremely delighted with your very great progress in writing, and am only anxious on that subject that you will not forget what you have been taught. But my great and increasing care is about your progress in the acquisition of industrious habits. It should be a first principle with people that they should actually _earn_ whatever they _enjoy_. Writing is good and reading is good, but no learning should entitle a person to live by the fruit of another’s industry. Your mother will help you to apply this principle. State your objections to it, if you have any, in your next letter; and show me, if you can, why one part of the community should live by the labours of another.”

The longing for his children which had tried to satisfy itself with the sight of their framed likenesses above his mantelpiece, the record of their ages and heights on his wall, was stilled at last on the joyful day which brought him William. The boy’s presence was not procured without sacrifice on his father’s part. The prisoners were allowed a certain amount of wine every day at dinner. This, Neilson saved, and sold privately to some of the prisoners at 3_s._ 6_d._ per bottle which paid for William’s diet, “having agreed for it at £15 per annum.” “I don’t feel the slightest inconvenience from this privation,” he assures his wife, “and though it looks a little awkward to sit at table while others are taking their glass, yet my fellow-prisoners cannot but esteem me the more for the motive; indeed I feel a good deal pinched about the usual expenses of mending, washing, paper, quills, etc., _not having at present a crown in the world_. But then I do not owe a farthing to anyone, and I have learned to make a little go a long way.” From a letter addressed by Neilson to the Governor we learn that he covered the expense of washing, etc., by going without supper. When we remember that Neilson had become addicted, during the convivial days of his political life and the weary days of his imprisonment in Kilmainham and Newgate, to spirituous drink, we realise the extent of the sacrifice he made to secure the presence of his little son.

That little lad’s story of the days spent by him with his father in Fort George can be told by no one so well as himself. We must bear in mind that the writer of the following letters was only eight years old.

The first letter is to his mother and announces his safe arrival in Fort George:

“My dear Mother.—I like this place very well. My father is very well, as are the rest of the prisoners.

“I had the pleasure of seeing a little dog and a hare. Mr. Wilson had the hare, and Mr. Cormick the dog. We had a very pleasant voyage, only Monday, which was a little stormy. Mrs. Cuthbert and Miss Park took great care of me. Mrs. Emmet will be as kind to me as if I was her own child. My father had a pretty little bed and arm-chair ready for me.”

The next letter is dated a week later:

“My dear Mother—I am sorry to tell you that Mrs. Cuthbert has been very ill ever since the day I came here. My arm is almost stout, and Dr. MacNevin says it will be as well as ever. I bathe a little every morning, at first I was afraid to dive, but now I am growing bolder. I am counting with Mr. Dowling in the morning, reading and grammar with Doctor Dickson, in the middle of the day, and writing and reading with my father, who is also beginning to teach me geography, in the afternoon. I play in the evening with Robert Emmet and his sisters; sometimes I sup at their mother’s, and sometimes in our own room, on bread and milk. I go to bed at nine, and rise before eight o’clock. Father sits an hour later than me. My love to my sisters.”

A letter to his sister Anne who was with Sophia in Dublin (probably at Mrs. Bond’s), comes next in order of time, and we learn from it that he knew his father from his picture, and that he bathes every morning at eight o’clock. He conveys a message from John Sweetman to Sophia who was evidently an old favourite of the genial brewer.

By the middle of September William is quite settled down in his new quarters, and extremely happy in them. “Everything here is agreeable, and my father takes great care of me. The little Emmets are fine play-fellows, but I am ten hours at my education, and I think it not long. I sleep very sound all night, and in the morning my father awakes me to my lessons. He says I am in a fair way of being a good scholar.... I get my copies from Mr. Dowdall, who sends his best respects to you. Tell John we have got no bag-pipes yet, nor any errand-going dogs.”

We next hear of William’s performance on the flute at a concert given by the children in Mrs. Emmet’s room, with Mr. and Mrs. Emmet, Neilson, John Sweetman, Dr. MacNevin and the boy’s self-appointed music-master, Cormick, as the appreciative audience:—

“My dear Mother. We had a concert on Friday evening, when Robert Emmet and I played several tunes together, and we had the approbation of the whole company. I am reading Erasmus in Latin with Dr. Dickson, and I am in the rule of five of fractions and tare and tret with Mr. Dowling. My father assists me in everything.”

Poor William fell ill towards the New Year, but sickness had its alleviations in Fort George for a little boy whom everybody idolised. It meant all kinds of petting from Jane Park and Mrs. Cuthbert, and gifts of jellies and fruit and sweetmeats from Mrs. Emmet. Nor was that all, as witness the following letter from the convalescent to his sisters:—

“My dear Sisters.—I suppose you have heard that I was sick; but I am sure you will be happy to hear that I am perfectly recovered. When I was ill my little pigeon used to play about me like my little cat; it is very fond of me. Dr. Dickson who was so kind as to teach me Latin, has left us; but Mr. Dowling is good enough to supply his place, and to continue my arithmetic also. I can now play twenty-one tunes on the flute, and Mr. Cormick gives me those which will be most agreeable to my mother. I have just begun trigonometry with Mr. Russell. I read history and biography in English with Mr. Emmet. With my father geography, and a little of everything except writing, which he thinks will be best deferred for some time. Robert Emmet is my schoolfellow in all classes.”

Some of the State prisoners were liberated about this time, including as we learn from William’s letter above, Dr. Dickson. A subsequent letter to his mother indicates his regret, even in the midst of the fine sliding the long-continued frost afforded him, for Mr. Simms (another of those liberated) with whom he used to play “tig.” His father tries to supply the loss of Mr. Simms by playing “shinney” with his little son, and the latter makes himself useful to the prisoners by keeping a weekly account of the washing sent out, and checking it when it comes back. And so the days pass.

Anxious days they are for the father whose future is so uncertain. It is clear that with the coming of the long-expected peace the remainder of the prisoners will be sent away from Fort George. But whither? And what is best to be done with William?

Finally, on the last day of May, 1802, word comes that the prisoners are to be sent to Hamburg. Thence it is Neilson’s intention to depart for America. But will he bring William with him, or send him home to his mother? The boy himself cannot bear the idea of parting with his father: “he has been in tears this hour past because I won’t promise to take him with me.”

The final decision is to send back William to his mother, and the son of one of the prisoners, Mr. Chambers, returning, one of these days, to Belfast, poor William was torn from his father and sent back to his mother and sisters.

He was to see his father once more. Braving all dangers, Samuel Neilson stole back to Ireland, for one last glimpse of its dear shores, and accompanied by faithful Jamie Hope, rode from Dublin to Belfast, to see his beloved wife and children, ere he bade them farewell for ever.