Authors: Marjorie Bowen
In the spacious drawing-room of Mr. Oliver Bond, one of the wealthiest, most respected merchants in Dublin, who had already been fined and imprisoned for his bold stand against the government, the tall wax candles had been lit and the rich damask curtains drawn carefully, so that no thread of light would show from within.
About twenty gentlemen were gathered round the long, shining table on which were piles of paper, stand-dishes, quills, knives for sharpening them, slender engraved decanters and glasses.
Among the company were Mr. Thomas Reynolds, Mr. Arthur O’Connor, Mr. John and Mr. Henry Sheares, Mr. Thomas Addis Emmett, Mr. Lawless, Dr. M’Niven, Mr. Oliver Bond himself, Major Jackson, who had just arrived from Paris with messages from Mr. Wolfe Tone, and Mr. Emmett’s younger brother Robert, who was still at college.
There was nothing unlawful in the appearance of any of these men, who had been forced by an arbitrary law into changing from a peaceful society which had had, in the first instance, the blessing of the government, into a secret organisation which was becoming every day more and more like a conspiracy.
Each man, before entering into these dangerous affairs had counted the probable risk he ran, but these reflections had never been put forward in any open discussion and only the greater secrecy that accompanied each of their meetings showed that they were aware of their increasing danger.
These were usually held at the mansion of Mr. Oliver Bond, for this gentleman, liberal, cultured, generous, had a reputation for musical entertainments and literary evenings which formed a good excuse for the gathering together of so many people so frequently at his house.
The ladies of the establishment would always, when the United Irishmen met, give a concert of harp, spinet and singing. They were careful to leave the windows open so that some of the music could be heard in the streets; many members brought their wives with them, so that when they came and when they left, there was always feminine chatter, and a coming and going of sedan chairs, and boys in livery and link bearers which gave the whole proceeding an innocent air. But the ladies soon retired to an upper room and then, with the curtains drawn and the candles on the table, the men brought out their papers and discussed their projects which became, with every day, more daring.
The recall of Lord Fitzwilliam, the liberal-minded Viceroy, who was pledged to reform, the sending of Lord Campden, who though humane, was known to be weak, and sent as a mere figurehead to mask the actions of men like Lord Castlereagh, Secretary for Ireland, and Clare, the Lord Chancellor; the suppression of every journal except the government ones; the protection given to Orange Societies and their outrages, the terrible cruelties practised in all parts of the country on the Catholic peasantry, the hopelessness of obtaining legal redress from a corrupt parliament, all these had increased the firm resolve of these Irishmen to throw off English rule by force to a point when they, prudent, sober as they were, no longer counted the cost.
Rebellion was their simple objective; most of them were now reconciled to the necessity of obtaining French help, and this meeting was for the purpose of selecting a delegate to undertake the delicate and dangerous mission of going to Paris and putting the state of Ireland before the Directory.
Mr. Wolfe Tone was in the French capital, and none could have been more zealous or hardworking, but, since he had long been banished from Ireland, it was impossible for him to judge of affairs there as accurately as one fresh from Dublin. Lazare Carnot, President of the Directory, though sympathetic, wanted more information before he would send a fleet.
Mr. Oliver Bond, speaking as quietly as if he had been conducting some business transaction, put this question to the gentlemen present: ‘Who is to go to France?’
The young merchant leant slightly forward in his place and glanced down the line of intent, grave faces. He flushed as he repeated his question:
‘Who is to go to France?’
Mr. O’Connor and Major Jackson offered again to undertake this journey, so difficult, so perilous, so supremely important. Mr. John Sheares, who was in the chair, objected that these two gentlemen, passing so frequently between France and Ireland, would certainly come to be suspected. Since Lord Fitzwilliam’s recall the government had become in all departments a great deal more vigilant.
Arthur O’Connor admitted the force of this objection. ‘But who would you propose, Mr. Sheares? Carnot wants a military man — and one well versed in affairs here —’
‘Sir, I did think of Lord Edward Fitzgerald —’
At this name there was a little stir in the company; Mr. Reynolds exclaimed:
‘Lord Edward! He is not one of us! But it is true that in Paris, in ’92, he was a fervent republican —’
‘There has never been any doubt as to Lord Edward’s views, Mr. Reynolds — nor as to his loyalties — he has long known of our activities —’
‘But never taken part in them,’ put in Mr. Reynolds sharply.
‘He may do so now. I waited on him in Kildare and had some talk with him. He is now in Dublin and I have told him of this meeting.’
‘You expect him, then!’ asked Oliver Bond; his astonishment caused Mr. Sheares to smile.
‘Why not?’
‘It is a graver risk for him —’
‘For all of us, sir. And I have never heard any reflections on Lord Edward’s courage.’
‘He hung back in ’92,’ muttered Mr. Reynolds.
‘Did he? He was cashiered from the English army for that banquet at White’s —’
Mr. Reynolds shrugged, then carefully poured himself out a glass of sherry.
‘I don’t believe he’ll come,’ he said, his small deep-set eyes lively with interest. ‘I don’t believe that he’ll come.’
‘At least,’ remarked Oliver Bond, ‘he’s late.’
A servant entered and asked his master if he should bring in a gentleman who had given the password.
‘Do you know him, Higgins?’
‘Sir, it is Lord Edward Fitzgerald.’
*
As the young man greeted the company, most of whom were known to him, many thought that this Edward Fitzgerald had much more to lose than any of them, and did not seem to realise what it meant to risk everything on one throw. Some of them were inclined to think that he joined them out of light-heartedness, and some pitied him for joining them at all. They did not foresee any immediate menaces to life or property, but they believed that they might be embroiled in severe disturbances to their peace and their fortune; and if not desperate men, they were prepared to go to great lengths in the cause they had undertaken; they wondered if this son of a Duke, this brave young soldier, was a man whom it was fair to embroil in their affairs.
Mr. John Sheares, in particular, who had gone to Kildare to rouse him from his retreat, showed compunction and began urging the newcomer to think well what it meant for a Fitzgerald, at this moment in the nation’s affairs, to join the secret society of the United Irishmen.
Fitzgerald responded: ‘Your motives are good, and but for appalling tyranny in the country, your society would be open, your meetings public. I have no hesitation in joining you.’
As they did not reply to this, and he still read in their looks a hesitation, a compassionate reluctance, he spoke with an added firmness:
‘Nay! I read your kind thoughts. You know of my English connections. You think it may be very hard for me. You noted that in Paris in ’92 I gave up politics suddenly on my marriage.’
‘But we remember,’ said Mr. Sheares, ‘when your Lordship returned to Dublin, you spoke up in the House.’
‘My principles have never changed, nor my hopes and wishes,’ replied Fitzgerald, smiling, as he leant forward with that complete forgetfulness of self that so quickly evokes complete trust. ‘Most of you have wives and families. All of you have your comfortable homes and your pleasant fortunes, therefore you risk as much as I can, for no man can risk more than his all.’
No one answered for a while, and Fitzgerald looked from one to another, smiling; then his glance fell on Mr. Reynolds whom he had not met since the Paris days of ’92; but memory darted further back than that — to some depth of time when a boy had been building a fort in an Orangery and another boy had come prying in on him. Fitzgerald was amazed by his own sense of easiness in this encounter; for a second time the two men gazed at each other as if they were alone; then Reynolds said boldly:
‘I am glad to see you in this company, my Lord.’
With an eagerness that was from a desire to pledge himself to himself as much as to these other men, Fitzgerald asked if he might take the oaths as a member of the United Irishmen, though Mr. John Sheares urged: ‘They may in your case be waived, my Lord. They could give us no more security than your character affords, and might for you be an additional peril.’
But as Lord Edward insisted, the oaths were accordingly administered; there had been lately a great military activity in Dublin and the new town major, Sirr, and his squad of special police, had shown great diligence in rooting out disaffection against the government. So the ceremony of taking the oaths was kept secret. It was Mr. Henry Sheares, a milder-looking man than his brother, with red birthmarks on his chin, who explained to the new member the good reasons they had for what might seem a childish parade of secrecy.
‘A few years ago, sir, it was different. Then the Lord-Lieutenant himself might have joined us, but now we have been forced underground, and are considered dangerous. We, in particular, my brother and I, have against us the animosity of Lord Clare —’
‘I believe every loyal Irishman has that,’ interrupted Fitzgerald. ‘The man is implacable. He is devoted to the supremacy of the English and nothing will swerve him from his way.’
‘But he has against us a particular animosity,’ said John Sheares. ‘I have endeavoured to expose his tyrannies in the Press. He insulted me in the House once, claiming that I was a Jacobin, a French spy. Well, let all that go…what I would say to your Lordship is’ — he paused; the gentlemen looked earnestly at Fitzgerald who stood a little apart from them against the wall, smiling, and, as it seemed, carefree — ‘is this — I, and I believe Mr. O’Connor, possibly Major Jackson, are marked men — our acquaintance is dangerous —’
‘Do you think that I am in favour of the government, Mr. Sheares? Pray say no more — I have thought over all the consequences seriously enough.’
He ceased with an abruptness that seemed to forbid further discussion. Mr. Reynolds said:
‘Will your Lordship really take the oaths? It is not needful.’
‘Ay, indeed I will.’
Mr. Bond then put into Lord Fitzgerald’s hand a paper called ‘The Constitution,’ and explained it to him, afterwards administering the oaths on the Scriptures, while this document was held on his right breast with the Bible.
Mr. John Sheares explained that ‘The Constitution’ contained the declarations, the tests, the regulations, the names of various committees, and formed a certificate of admission into the society. Then: ‘Sir, so that you may recognise another United Irishman, you should accost him in this manner: ‘
I
know
U.
,’ and the person accosted, if initiated, will answer, ‘
I
know
N
.,’ and so on, each alternately repeating the remaining letters of the word until you had spelt ‘United Irishmen.’
For the lower ranks there was a form of examination in a series of questions which it was as well Lord Fitzgerald should know.
‘Are you straight?’
‘
I
am
.’
‘How straight?’
‘
As
straight
as
a
rush
.’
‘Grow on then, in truth, in trust, in unity, and sympathies.’
‘What have you in your hand?’
‘
A
green
bough
.’
‘Where did it first grow?’
‘
In
America
.’
‘Where did it bud?’
‘
In
France
.’
‘Where are you going to plant it?’
‘
In
the
crown
of
Great
Britain
.’
The badge or crest used by the society was either a harp without a crown, two hands clasped together, the shamrock and the harp surmounted by a star.
Their mottoes were ‘
Erin
go
bragh
’, ‘
The
Union
of
Irishmen;
Unite
and
be
free
’, ‘
The
day
sacred
to
liberties
’, ‘
The
Emerald
Isle
’, ‘
The
people
are
awake,
they
are
up,
the
morning
star
is
shining.
’ The colour of the society was green and their uniforms (rarely worn, but they could not forget they had been in the first place a military organisation) were also green, faced with black, white and yellow.
The whole heart of the meaning of the society lay in the first article of the Test, which was, as the heading of the paper read:
‘TO BE TAKEN IN THE AWFUL PRESENCE OF GOD,
‘
I do voluntarily declare that I will persevere in endeavouring to form a brotherhood of affection among Irishmen of every religious persuasion, and that I will also persevere in my endeavour to obtain an equal, full and adequate representation of all the people of Ireland.
‘
I do further declare that neither hope, fears, rewards nor punishments, shall ever induce me directly or indirectly to inform on or give evidence against any member or members of this or similar societies or of any act or expression of theirs done or made collectively or individually in or out of this society, in pursuance of this obligation.
’
*
Lord Edward Fitzgerald, having taken the oaths, Mr. Oliver Bond suggested that the Chairman, Mr. John Sheares, should read out some extracts from the proceedings of former meetings, that they might give the new member some idea of the work they had done, and of their principles.
This suggestion was adopted.
Mr. Sheares then took a sheet from among his papers and read out:
‘
The object of this institution is to make a United Society of the Irish nation; to make all Irishmen citizens, to make all citizens Irish. Nothing appearing to us more natural at all times, and at this crisis of Europe most seasonable, than that those who have common interests and common enemies — who suffer common wrongs, and lay claim to common rights, should know each other and act together.
‘
In our opinion ignorance has been the demon of discord which has so long deprived Irishmen, not only of the blessing of well-regulated government, but even the common benefits of civil society. Our design, therefore, in forming this society is to give an example which, when well followed must collect public will, and concentrate the public power into one solid mass; the effect of which once put in motion must be rapid, momentous and consequential.
‘
In thus associating, we have thought little about our ancestors and much of our posterity. In looking back, we see nothing on the one part but savage force succeeded by savage policy; on the other, an unfortunate nation “scattered and peeled, meted out and trodden down!” We see a mutual intoleration and a common carnage of the first moral emotions of the heart which lead us to esteem and place confidence in our fellow creatures. We see this and are silent. But we gladly look forward to brighter prospects — to a People united in the fellowship of freedom — to a Parliament, the express image of that People — to a prosperity established on civil, political and religious liberty — to a peace which rests on the right of human nature and leans on the arm by which these rights are to be maintained.
‘
Our principal rule of conduct must be to attend to those things with which we agree, to exclude from our thoughts those in which we differ.
‘
We agree in knowing what are our rights and in daring to assert them, the rights of men, their duty to God, we are in this respect of one religion. Our creed of civil faith is the same, we agree in thinking that there is not an individual among our millions whose happiness can be established on any foundation so rational and so solid as on the happiness of the whole community.
’
When he had finished, with a slight flush on his face, he glanced towards Lord Edward Fitzgerald. Then he folded up his papers and sat down amid low murmurs of approval. Fitzgerald thought of the conversation he had had with Tom Paine in the dirty, noisy restaurant in Paris in ’92.
‘How will you obtain your liberties — how will you even ask for them?’
‘In terms of war.’
There was, for a short space, silence in the room, as each man thought what it would mean to himself, to those dependent on him, and his fortunes, if their bold endeavours failed. Mr. Tom Reynolds, who was seated close to Lord Edward, leaned towards him and asked:
‘Is your Lordship satisfied?’
Fitzgerald answered aloud, so that all could hear.
‘I hope, gentlemen, that you will have cause to be satisfied with me.’
Mr. Bond rang the handbell, and, when the servant came, asked for more ink. As the door was opened, Fitzgerald heard the sound of a harp, Mrs. Bond was playing to her friends and the melody came faintly down the stairs. It seemed to Fitzgerald that he had heard it that day on the sunny terrace when he had first met Reynolds and Louise and an incredible melancholy that had no connection with any reality that he knew of, possessed him, like an enemy surprising a fortress. He heard his name.
‘Lord Edward — we have a proposal to make to you —’