Chapter II: Part 2

We have not patience to rehearse calmly the story of these trials, which will long remain the reproach of British lawyers. We shall not probe the motives which led to the appointment of two such men as Justice Mellor and Justice Blackburne as Judges of the Commission, but history will be at no loss to connect the selection with their peculiar character on the bench. Nor shall we analyze the speeches of the Attorney-General and his colleagues, in which the passions and prejudices of the jury were so dexterously appealed to. The character of the evidence demands more study. The witnesses consisted of the policemen present at the attack, the prisoners who were locked with Kelly and Deasey in the van, and the bystanders who saw the affray or assisted in stoning the prisoners before and after they were captured. They swore with the utmost composure against the four prisoners. Allen was identified as one of the leaders, and he it was whom most of the witnesses declared to have fired through the door. On this point, indeed, as on many others, there was confusion and contradiction in the evidence: some of the witnesses were sure it was O'Brien fired through the door; others were inclined to assign the leading part to Condon; but before the trial had gone far, it seemed to be understood that Allen was the man to whom the death of Brett was to be attributed, and that the business of the witnesses was to connect the other prisoners as closely as possible with his act. On one point nearly all of the witnesses were agreed--whoever there might be any doubt about, there could be none concerning Maguire. Seven witnesses swore positively to having seen him assisting in breaking open the van, and some of them even repeated the words which they said he addressed to them while thus engaged. On the evening of Friday, November 1st, the trials terminated. It was past five o'clock when Judge Mellor concluded his charge. The court was densely crowded, and every eye was strained to mark the effect of the judge's words upon the countenances of the prisoners; but they, poor fellows, quailed not as they heard the words which they knew would shortly be followed by a verdict consigning them to the scaffold. Throughout the long trial their courage had never flagged, their spirits had never failed them for an instant. Maguire, who had no real connection with the other four, and who knew that the charge against him was a baseless concoction, did, indeed, betray traces of anxiety and bewilderment as the trial progressed; but Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Condon went through the frightful ordeal with a heroic display of courage to which even the most malignant of their enemies have paid tribute.

The judge has done, and now the jury turned from the box "to consider their verdict." An hour and twenty minutes they remained absent; then their returning tread was heard. The prisoners turned their eyes upwards; Maguire looked towards them, half hopefully half appealingly; from Allen's glance nothing but defiance could be read; Larkin fixed his gaze on the foreman, who held the fatal record in his hand, with calm resolution; while a quiet smile played round O'Brien's lips, as he turned to hear the expected words.

"Guilty!" The word is snatched up from the lips of the foreman of the jury, and whispered through the court. They were all "guilty." So said the jury; and a murmur of applause came rolling back in response to the verdict. "Guilty!" A few there were in that court upon whom the fatal words fell with the bitterness of death, but the Englishmen who filled the crowded gallery and passages exulted at the sound: the vengeance which they longed for was at hand.

The murmur died away; the sobs that rose from the dark recesses where a few stricken-hearted women had been permitted to stand were stifled; and then, amidst breathless silence, the voice of the Crown Clerk was heard demanding "if the prisoners had anything to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced on them."

The first to respond was Allen. A slight flush reddened his cheeks, and his eyes lit up with the fire of enthusiasm and determination, as, advancing to the front of the dock, he confronted the Court, and spoke in resolute tones as follows:--

"My Lords and Gentlemen--It is not my intention to occupy much of your time in answering your question. Your question is one that can be easily asked, but requires an answer which I am ignorant of. Abler and more eloquent men could not answer it. Where were the men who have stood in the dock--Burke, Emmett, and others, who have stood in the dock in defence of their country? When the question was put, what was their answer? Their answer was null and void. How, with your permission, I will review a portion of the evidence that has been brought against me."

Here Mr. Justice Blackburne interrupted. "It was too late," he said, "to criticise the evidence, and the Court had neither the right nor the power to alter or review it. If," he added, "you have any reason to give why, either upon technical or moral grounds, the sentence should not be passed upon you, we will hear it, but it is too late for you to review the evidence to show that it was wrong."

"Cannot that be done in the morning, Sir," asked Allen, who felt in his heart how easily the evidence on which he had been convicted might be torn to shreds. But the Judge said not. "No one," he said, "could alter or review the evidence in any way after the verdict had been passed by the jury. We can only" he said in conclusion, "take the verdict as right; and the only question for you is, why judgment should not follow."

Thus restricted in the scope of his observations, the young felon proceeded to deliver the following patriotic and spirited address:--

"No man in this court regrets the death of Sergeant Brett more than I do, and I positively say, in the presence of the Almighty and ever-living God, that I am innocent, aye, as innocent as any man in this court. I don't say this for the sake of mercy: I want no mercy--I'll have no mercy. I'll die, as many thousands have died, for the sake of their beloved land, and in defence of it. I will die proudly and triumphantly in defence of republican principles and the liberty of an oppressed and enslaved people. Is it possible we are asked why sentence should not be passed upon us, on the evidence of prostitutes off the streets of Manchester, fellows out of work, convicted felons--aye, an Irishman sentenced to be hung when an English dog would have got off. I say positively and defiantly, justice has not been done me since I was arrested. If justice had been done me, I would not have been handcuffed at the preliminary investigation in Bridge-street; and in this court justice has not been done me in any shape or form. I was brought up here, and all the prisoners by my side were allowed to wear overcoats, and I was told to take mine off. What is the principle of that? There was something in that principle, and I say positively that justice has not been done me. As for the other prisoners, they can speak for themselves with regard to that matter. And now with regard to the way I have been identified. I have to say that my clothes were kept for four hours by the policemen in Fairfield-station, and shown to parties to identify me as being one of the perpetrators of this outrage on Hyde-road. Also in Albert-station there was a handkerchief kept on my head the whole night so that I could be identified the next morning in the corridor by the witnesses. I was ordered to leave on the handkerchief for the purpose that the witnesses could more plainly see I was one of the parties who committed the outrage. As for myself, I feel the righteousness of my every art with regard to what I have done in defence of my country I fear not. I am fearless--fearless of the punishment that can be inflicted on me; and with that, my lords, I have done. (After a moment's pause)--I beg to be excused. One remark more. I return Mr. Seymour and Mr. Jones my sincere and heartfelt thanks for their able eloquence and advocacy on my part in this affair. I wish also to return to Mr. Roberts the very same. My name, sir, might be wished to be, known. It is not William O'Meara Allen. My name is William Philip Allen. I was born and reared in Bandon, in the county of Cork, and from that place I take my name; and I am proud of my country, and proud of my parentage. My lords, I have done."

A sign of mingled applause and admiration rose faintly on the air, as the gallant young Irishman, inclining his head slightly to the Court, retired to make way at the front, of the bar for one of his companions in misfortune. But his chivalrous bearing and noble words woke no response within the prejudice-hardened hearts of the majority of his auditors; they felt that the fearless words of the fearless youth would overbear all that his accusers had uttered, and that the world would read in them the condemnation, of the government and of the people whose power he so bravely defied.

Michael Larkin spoke next. He looked a shade paler than on the first day of the trial, but no want of resolution was expressed in his firm-set face. He gazed with an unquailing glance round the faces eagerly bent forward to catch his words, and then spoke in distinct tones as follows:--

"I have only got a word or two to say concerning Serjeant
Brett. As my friend here said, no one could regret the man's
death as much as I do. With regard to the charge of pistols
and revolvers, and my using them, I call my God as a witness
that I neither used pistols, revolvers, nor any instrument on
that day that would deprive the life of a child, let alone
a man. Nor did I go there on purpose to take life away.
Certainly, my lords, I do not want to deny that I did go to
give aid and assistance to those two noble heroes that were
confined in that van--Kelly and Deasey. I did go to do as much
as lay in my power to extricate them out of their bondage; but
I did not go to take life, nor, my lords did anyone else. It
is a misfortune there was life taken, but if it was taken it
was not done intentionally, and the man who has taken life
we have not got him. I was at the scene of action, when there
were over, I dare say, 150 people standing by there when I
was. I am very sorry I have to say, my lord, but I thought I
had some respectable people to come up as witnesses against
me; but I am sorry to say as my friend said. I will make no
more remarks concerning that. All I have to say, my lords and
gentlemen, is that so far as my trial went and the way it was
conducted, I believe I have got a fair trial. So far as my
noble counsel went, they done their utmost in the protection
of my life; likewise, my worthy solicitor, Mr. Roberts, has
done his best; but I believe as the old saying is a true one,
what is decreed a man in the page of life he has to fulfil,
either on the gallows, drowning, a fair death in bed, or
on the battlefield. So I look to the mercy of God. May God
forgive all who have sworn my life away. As I am a dying man,
I forgive them from the bottom of my heart. God forgive them."

As Larkin ceased speaking, O'Brien, who stood to the right of him, moved slightly in advance, and intimated by a slight inclination to the Court his intention of addressing them. His stalwart form seemed to dilate with proud defiance and scorn as he faced the ermine-clad dignitaries who were about to consign, him to the gibbet. He spoke with emphasis, and in tones which seemed to borrow a something of the fire and spirit of his words. He said:--

"I shall commence by saying that every witness who has sworn
anything against me has sworn falsely. I have not had a stone
in my possession since I was a boy. I had no pistol in my
possession on the day when it is alleged this outrage was
committed. You call it an outrage, I don't. I say further,
my name is Michael O'Brien. I was born in the county of Cork,
and have the honour to be a fellow-parishioner of Peter
O'Neal Crowley, who was fighting against the British troops at
Mitchelstown last March, and who fell fighting against British
tyranny in Ireland. I am a citizen of the United States
of America, and if Charles Francis Adams had done his duty
towards me, as he ought to do in this country, I would not be
in this dock answering your questions now. Mr. Adams did not
come though I wrote to him. He did not come to see if I could
not find evidence to disprove the charge, which I positively
could, if he had taken the trouble of sending or coming to see
what I could do. I hope the American people will notice that
part of the business. [The prisoner here commenced reading
from a paper he held in his hand.] The right of man is
freedom. The great God has endowed him with affections that
he may use, not smother them, and a world that may be enjoyed.
Once a man is satisfied he is doing right, and attempts to do
anything with that conviction, he must be willing to face all
the consequences. Ireland, with its beautiful scenery, its
delightful climate, its rich and productive lands, is capable
of supporting more than treble its population in ease and
comfort. Yet no man, except a paid official of the British
government, can say there is a shadow of liberty, that there
is a spark of glad life amongst its plundered and persecuted
inhabitants. It is to be hoped that its imbecile and
tyrannical rulers will be for ever driven from her soil,
amidst the execration of the world. How beautifully the
aristocrats of England moralise on the despotism of the
rulers of Italy and Dahomey--in the case of Naples with what
indignation did they speak of the ruin of families by the
detention of its head or some loved member in a prison. Who
have not heard their condemnations of the tyranny that would
compel honourable and good men to spend their useful lives in
hopeless banishment."

The taunt went home to the hearts of his accusers, and, writhing under the lash thus boldly applied, Judge Blackburne hastened, to intervene. Unable to stay, on _legal grounds_, the torrent of scathing invective by which O'Brien was driving the blood from the cheeks of his British listeners, the judge resorted to a device which Mr. Justice Keogh had practised very adroitly, and with much success, at various of the State trials in Ireland. He appealed to the prisoner, "entirely for his own sake," to cease his remarks. "The only possible effect of your observations." he said, "must be to tell against you with those who have to consider the sentence. I advise you to say nothing more of that sort. I do so entirely for your own sake." But O'Brien was not the man to be cowed into submission by this artful representation. Possibly he discerned the motive of the interruption, and estimated at its true value the disinterestedness of Judge Blackburne's "advice." Mr. Ernest Jones in vain used his influence to accomplish the judge's object. O'Brien spurned the treacherous bait, and resolutely proceeded:--

"They cannot find words to express their horror of the
cruelties of the King of Dahomey because he sacrificed 2,000
human beings yearly, but why don't those persons who pretend
such virtuous indignation at the misgovernment of other
countries look at home, and see if greater crimes than those
they charge against other governments are not committed by
themselves or by their sanction. Let them look at London,
and see the thousands that want bread there, while those
aristocrats are rioting in luxuries and crimes. Look to
Ireland; see the hundreds of thousands of its people in misery
and want. See the virtuous, beautiful, and industrious women
who only a few years ago--aye, and yet--are obliged to look at
their children dying for want of food. Look at what is called
the majesty of the law on one side, and the long deep misery
of a noble people on the other. Which are the young men of
Ireland to respect--the law that murders or banishes their
people, or the means to resist relentless tyranny and ending
their miseries for ever under a home government? I need not
answer that question here. I trust the Irish people will
answer it to their satisfaction soon. I am not astonished at
my conviction. The government of this country have the power
of convicting any person. They appoint the judge; they choose
the jury; and by means of what they call patronage (which is
the means of corruption) they have the power of making the
laws to suit their purposes. I am confident that my blood
will rise a hundredfold against the tyrants who think proper
to commit such an outrage. In the first place, I say I was
identified improperly, by having chains on my hands and feet
at the time of identification, and thus the witnesses who have
sworn to my throwing stones and firing a pistol have sworn to
what is false, for I was, as those ladies said, at the jail
gates. I thank my counsel for their able defence, and also Mr.
Roberts, for his attention to my case."

Edward Maguire spoke next. He might well have felt bewildered at the situation in which he found himself, but he spoke earnestly and collectedly, nevertheless. He had had an experience of British law which, if not without precedent, was still extraordinary enough to create amazement. He knew that he had never been a Fenian; he knew that he never saw Colonel Kelly--never heard of him until arrested for assisting in his liberation; he knew that while the van was being attacked at Bellevue, he was sitting in his own home, miles away; and he knew that he had never in his life placed his foot in the scene of the rescue; yet there he found himself convicted by regular process of law, of the murder of Constable Brett. He had seen witness after witness enter the box, and deliberately swear they saw him take a prominent part in the rescue. He saw policemen and civilians coolly identify him as a ringleader in the affair; he had heard the Crown lawyers weave round him the subtle meshes of their logic; and now he found himself pronounced guilty by the jury, in the teeth of the overwhelming array of unimpeachable evidence brought forward in his defence. What "the safeguards of the Constitution" mean--what "the bulwark of English freedom," and "the Palladium of British freedom" are worth, when Englishmen fill the jury-box and an Irishman stands in the dock, Maguire had had a fair opportunity of judging. Had he been reflectively inclined, he might, too, have found himself compelled to adopt a rather low estimate of the credibility of English witnesses, when they get an opportunity of swearing away an Irishman's life. An impetuous man might have been goaded by the circumstances into cursing the atrocious system under which "justice" had been administered to him, and calling down the vengeance of Heaven on the whole nation from which the perjured wretches who swore away his life had been drawn. But Maguire acted more discreetly; he began, indeed, by declaring that all the witnesses who swore against him were perjurers--by vehemently protesting that the case, as regarded him, was one of mistaken identity; but he shortly took surer ground, by referring to his services in the navy, and talking of his unfailing loyalty to "his Queen and his country." He went through the record of his services as a marine; appealed to the character he had obtained from his commanding officers, in confirmation of his words: and concluded by solemnly protesting his perfect innocence of the charge on which he had been convicted.

While Maguire's impressive words were still ringing in the ears of his conscience-stricken accusers, Edward O'Meagher Condon commenced to speak. He was evidently more of an orator than either of those who had preceded him, and he spoke with remarkable fluency, grace, and vigour. The subjoined is a correct report of his spirited and able address:--

"My Lords--this has come upon me somewhat by surprise.
It appeared to me rather strange that upon any amount of
evidence, which of course was false, a man could have been
convicted of wilfully murdering others he never saw or heard
of before he was put in prison. I do not care to detain your
lordships, but I cannot help remarking that Mr. Shaw, who has
come now to gloat upon his victims, alter having sworn away
their lives--that man has sworn what is altogether false; and
there are contradictions in the depositions which have not
been brought before your lordships' notice. I suppose the
depositions being imperfect, there was no necessity for it.
As to Mr. Batty, he swore at his first examination before the
magistrates that a large stone fell on me, a stone which Mr.
Roberts said at the time would have killed an elephant. But
not the slightest mark was found on my head; and if I was to
go round the country, and him with me, as exhibiting the stone
having fallen on me, and him as the man who would swear to
it, I do not know which would be looked for with the most
earnestness. However, it has been accepted by the jury. Now he
says he only thinks so. There is another matter to consider.
I have been sworn to, I believe, by some of the witnesses who
have also sworn to others, though some of them can prove they
were in another city altogether--in Liverpool. Others have an
overwhelming _alibi_, and I should by right have been tried
with them; but I suppose your lordships cannot help that.
We have, for instance, Thomas, the policeman, who swore to
another prisoner. He identified him on a certain day, and
the prisoner was not arrested for two days afterwards. As for
Thomas, I do not presume that any jury could have believed
him. He had heard of the blood-money, and of course was
prepared to bid pretty high for it. My _alibi_ has not been
strong, and unfortunately I was not strong in pocket, and was
not able to produce more testimony to prove where I was at
exactly that time. With regard to the unfortunate man who
has lost his life, I sympathize with him and his family as
deeply as your lordships or the jury, or anyone in the court.
I deeply regret the unfortunate occurrence, but I am as
perfectly innocent of his blood as any man. I never had the
slightest intention of taking life. I have done nothing at
all in connection with that man, and I do not desire to be
accused of a murder which I have not committed. With regard to
another matter, my learned counsel has, no doubt for the best,
expressed some opinions on these matters and the misgovernment
to which my country has been subjected. I am firmly convinced
there is prejudice in the minds of the people, and it has been
increased and excited by the newspapers, or by some of them,
and to a certain extent has influenced the minds of the jury
to convict the men standing in this dock, on a charge of
which--a learned gentleman remarked a few nights since--they
would be acquitted if they had been charged with murdering
an old woman for the sake of the money in her pocket, but a
political offence of this kind they could not. Now, sir, with
regard to the opinions I hold on national matters--with regard
to those men who have been released from that van, in which,
unfortunately, life was lost, I am of opinion that certainly
to some extent there was an excess. Perhaps it was unthought,
but if those men had been in other countries, occupying other
positions--if Jefferson Davis had been released in a northern
city, there would have been a cry of applause throughout all
England. If Garibaldi, who I saw before I was shut out from
the world had been arrested, was released, or something of
that kind had taken place, they would have applauded the
bravery of the act. If the captives of King Theodore had
been released, that too would have been applauded. But, as
it happened to be in England, of course it is an awful thing,
while yet in Ireland murders are perpetrated on unoffending
men, as in the case of the riots in Waterford, where an
unoffending man was murdered, and no one was punished for it.
I do not desire to detain your lordships. I can only say that
I leave this world without a stain on my conscience that I
have been wilfully guilty of anything in connexion with the
death of Sergeant Brett. I am totally guiltless. I leave this
world without malice to anyone. I do not accuse the jury,
but I believe they were prejudiced. I don't accuse them of
wilfully wishing to convict, but prejudice has induced them
to convict when they otherwise would not have done. With
reference to the witnesses, every one of them has sworn
falsely. I never threw a stone or fired a pistol; I was never
at the place, as they have said; it is all totally false. But
as I have to go before my God. I forgive them. They will be
able to meet me, some day, before that God who is to judge us
all, and then they and the people in this Court, and everyone,
will know who tells the truth. Had I committed anything
against the Crown of England, I would have scorned myself had
I attempted to deny it; but with regard to those men, they
have sworn what is altogether false. Had I been an Englishman,
and arrested near the scene of that disturbance, I would
have been brought as a witness to identify them; but being an
Irishman, it was supposed my sympathy was with them, and on
suspicion of that sympathy I was arrested, and in consequence
of the arrest, and the rewards which were offered, I was
identified. It could not be otherwise. As I said before, my
opinions on national matters do not at all relate to the case
before your lordships. We have been found guilty, and, as
a matter of course we accept our death as gracefully as
possible. We are not afraid to die--at least I am not."

"Nor I," "Nor I," "Nor I," swelled up from the lips of his companions, and then, with a proud smile, Condon continued:--

"I have no sin or stain upon me; and I leave this world at
peace with all. With regard to the other prisoners who are to
be tried afterwards, I hope our blood at least will satisfy
the cravings for it. I hope our blood will be enough, and that
those men who I honestly believe are guiltless of the blood
of that man--that the other batches will get a fair, free,
and a more impartial trial. We view matters in a different
light from what the jury do. We have been imprisoned, and
have not had the advantage of understanding exactly to what
this excitement has led. I can only hope and pray that this
prejudice will disappear--that my poor country will right
herself some day, and that her people, so far from being
looked upon with scorn and aversion, will receive what they
are entitled to, the respect not only of the civilized world,
but of Englishmen. I, too, am an American citizen, and on
English territory I have committed no crime which makes me
amenable to the crown of England. I have done nothing; and, as
a matter of course, I did expect protection--as this gentleman
(pointing to Allen) has said, the protection of the ambassador
of my government. I am a citizen of the State of Ohio; but
I am sorry to say my name is not Shore. My name is Edward
O'Meagher Condon. I belong to Ohio, and there are loving
hearts there that will be sorry for this. I have nothing but
my best wishes to send them, and my best feelings, and assure
them I can die as a Christian and an Irishman; and that I
am not ashamed or afraid of anything I have done, or the
consequences, before God or man. They would be ashamed of me
if I was in the slightest degree a coward, or concealed my
opinions. The unfortunate divisions of our countrymen in
America, have, to a certain extent, neutralized the efforts
that we have made either in one direction or another for
the liberation of our country. All these things have been
thwarted, and as a matter of course we must only submit to our
fate. I only trust again, that those who are to be tried after
us, will have a fair trial, and that our blood will satisfy
the craving which I understand exists. You will soon send us
before God, and I am perfectly prepared to go. I have nothing
to regret, or to retract, or take back. I can only say, GOD
SAVE IRELAND."

Again were the voices of his companions raised in unison. "God save Ireland!" they cried defiantly, in chorus. "God save Ireland!" The cry rung through the packed justice-hall, and fell on the ears of its blood-thirsty occupants like the voice of an accusing angel. "God save Ireland," they said; and then the brave-hearted fellows gazed fiercely around the hostile gathering, as if daring them to interfere with the prayer. "God save Ireland!"--from the few broken-hearted relatives who listened to the patriots' prayer the responsive "Amen" was breathed back, and the dauntless young Irishman continued:--

"I wish to add a word or two. There is nothing in the close
of my political career which I regret. I don't know of one act
which could bring the blush of shame to my face, or make me
afraid to meet my God or fellow-man. I would be most happy,
and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to die on the
field for my country in defence of her liberty. As it is,
I cannot die on the field, but I can die on the scaffold, I
hope, as a soldier, a man, and a Christian."

And now the last was spoken. As true Irishmen and as true patriots they had borne themselves. No trace of flinching did they give for their enemies to gloat over--no sign of weakness which could take from the effect of their deathless words. With bold front and steady mien they stood forward to listen to the fatal decree their judges were ready to pronounce. The judges produced the black caps, with which they had come provided, and then Justice Mellor proceeded to pass sentence. No person, he said, who had witnessed the proceedings could doubt the propriety of the verdict, which, he insisted, was the result of "a full, patient, and impartial investigation." He made no distinction. "I am perfectly convinced," he said, "that all of you had resolved, at any risk, and by any amount of dangerous violence and outrage, to accomplish your object; and that, in fact, Charles Brett was murdered because it was essential to the completion of your common design that he should be." The stereotyped words of exhortation to repentance followed, and then the judge concluded:--

"The sentence is that you, and each of you, be taken hence to
the place whence you came, and thence to a place of execution,
and that you be there hanged by the neck until you shall be
dead, and that your bodies be afterwards buried within the
precincts of the prison wherein you were last confined after
your respective convictions; and may God, in His infinite
mercy, have mercy upon you."

With quiet composure the doomed men heard the words. They warmly shook hands with their counsel, thanked them for their exertions, and then, looking towards the spot where their weeping friends were seated, they turned to leave the dock. "God be with you, Irishmen and Irishwomen!" they cried and, as they disappeared from the court, their final adieu was heard in the same prayer that had swelled upwards to heaven from them before--

"GOD SAVE IRELAND!"

Scarcely had the Manchester courthouse ceased to echo those voices from the dock, when the glaring falseness of the verdict became the theme of comment amongst even the most thoroughgoing Englishmen who had been present throughout the trial.

Without more ado, down sate some thirty or forty reporters, who, as representatives of the English metropolitan and provincial press, had attended the Commission, and addressed a memorial to the Home Secretary, stating that they had been long accustomed to attend at trials on capital charges; that they had extensive experience of such cases, from personal observation of prisoners in the dock and witnesses on the table; and that they were solemnly convinced, the swearing of the witnesses and the verdict of the jury to the contrary notwithstanding, that the man Maguire had neither hand, act, nor part in the crime for which he had been sentenced to death. The following is the petition referred to:--

We, the undersigned members of the metropolitan and provincial
Press, having had long experience in courts of justice, and
full opportunity of observing the demeanour of prisoners and
witnesses in cases of criminal procedure, beg humbly to submit
that, having heard the evidence adduced before the Special
Commission, on the capital charge preferred against Thomas
Maguire, private in the Royal Marines, we conscientiously
believe that the said Thomas Maguire is innocent of the crime
of which he has been convicted, and that his conviction has
resulted from mistaken identity. We, therefore, pray that
you will be pleased to advise her Majesty to grant her most
gracious pardon to the said Thomas Maguire.

This was a startling event; it was a proceeding utterly without precedent. Nothing but the most extraordinary circumstances could have called it forth. The blunder of the jury must have been open, glaring, painfully notorious, indeed, when such an astonishing course was adopted by the whole staff of the English Press.

It was most embarrassing. For what had those newspaper reporters seen or heard that the jurors had not seen and heard?--and yet the jurors said Maguire was guilty. What had those reporters seen or heard that the judges had not seen and heard?--and yet the judges said they "fully concurred in the verdict of the jury." The reporters were not sworn on the Evangelists of God to give a true deliverance--but the jurors were. The reporters were not sworn to administer justice--were not dressed in ermine--were not bound to be men of legal ability, judicial calmness, wisdom, and impartiality--but the judges were. Yet the unsworn reporters told the government Maguire was an innocent man; while judge and jury told the government--_swore_ to it--that he was a guilty murderer!

What was the government to do? Was it to act on the verdict of newspaper reporters who had happened to be present at this trial, and not on the verdict of the jury who had been solemnly sworn in the case? Behind the reporters' verdict lay the huge sustaining power of almost universal conviction, mysteriously felt and owned, though as yet nowhere expressed. Everyone who had calmly and dispassionately weighed the evidence, arrived at conclusions identical with those of the Press jury, and utterly opposed to those of the sworn jury. The ministers themselves--it was a terribly embarassing truth to own--felt that the reporters were as surely right as the jurors were surely wrong. But what were they to do? What a frightful imputation would public admission of that fact cast upon the twelve sworn jurors--upon the two judges? What a damning imputation on their judgment or their impartiality! Was it to be admitted that newspaper reporters could be right in a case so awful, where twelve sworn jurors and two judges were wrong?

And then, look at the consequences. The five men were convicted in the one verdict. There were not five separate verdicts, but one indivisible verdict. If the (jurors') verdict were publicly vitiated--if the government confessed or admitted that verdict to be false--it was not one man, but five men, who were affected by it. To be sure the reporters' jury, in _their_ verdict, did not include Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Shore; but was it to be conveyed by implication that omission from the reporters' verdict of acquittal was more fatal to a man than inclusion in the verdict of guilty by a sworn jury? Might not twenty, or thirty, or forty men, quite as intelligent as the reporters, be soon forthcoming to testify as forcibly of Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Shore, as the Press-men had testified of Maguire? Was it only _reporters_ whose judgment could set aside the verdict of sworn jurors, endorsed by ermined judges? But, in any event, the five men were convicted by the one verdict. To cut that, loosed all--not necessarily in law, perhaps, but inevitably as regarded public conscience and universal judgment; for there was not in all the records of English jurisprudence a precedent for executing men on a verdict acknowledged to have been one of blunder or perjury. Clearly, if the jurors were to be told by the government that, in a case where life and death hung on the issue, they had been so blinded by excitement, passion, or prejudice, that they declared to be a guilty murderer a man whose innocence was patent even to unofficial lookers-on in court, the moral value of such a verdict was gone--ruined for ever; and to hang _anyone_ on such a verdict--_on that identical verdict, thus blasted and abandoned_--would, it was pointed out, be murder, for all its technical legality; neither more nor less, morally, than cool, deliberate, cold-blooded murder.

Everybody saw this; but everyone in England saw also the awkward difficulty of the case. For, to let Allen, O'Brien, Larkin, and Shore go free of death, in the face of their admitted complicity in the rescue, would baulk the national demand for vengeance. It was necessary that some one should be executed. Here were men who, though they almost certainly had had no hand in causing, even accidentally, the death of Brett, dared to boast of their participation in the affray in the course of which that lamentable event unhappily occurred--that rescue which had so painfully wounded and humiliated English national pride. If these men were saved from execution, owing to any foolish scruples about hanging a possibly--nay, probably--innocent man along with them, a shout of rage would ascend from that virtuous nation amongst whom Charlotte Winsor, the professional infant-murderess, walks a free woman, notwithstanding a jury's verdict of wilful murder and a judge's sentence of death.

So, for a time it seemed that, notwithstanding the verdict of the reporters, the government would act upon the verdict of the jury, and assume it to be correct. No doubt Maguire might be innocent, but it was his misfortune to be included in an indivisible verdict with other men, who, though perhaps as guiltless as he of wilful murder, were surely guilty of riot and rescue, aggravated by the utterance of the most bitter reflections on the British Constitution, which all men know to be the "envy of surrounding nations." If they were not guilty of the crime laid against them on the trial, they were guilty of something else--they had outraged British pride. It was necessary they should die; and as Maguire's verdict was not separate from theirs, he must die too, rather than that they should escape.

But after a while the idea gained ground in England that this would be rather _too_ monstrous a proceeding. Maguire's utter innocence of any participation whatsoever in the rescue was too notorious. The character of the witnesses on whose evidence he was convicted became known: some were thieves, pickpockets, or gaol-birds of some other denomination; others were persons palpably confused by panic, excitement, passion, or prejudice. True, these same witnesses were those who likewise swore against Allen, Larkin, O'Brien and Shore. Indeed, a greater number swore against Maguire than against some of the others. Nevertheless, the overwhelming notoriety of the jury's blunder or perjury, in at least his case, became daily more and more an obstacle to his execution; and eventually, on the 21st of November, it was announced that his conviction had been cancelled, by the only means existing under the perfect laws of Great Britain--namely, a "free _pardon_" for a crime never committed. The prison doors were opened for Maguire; the sworn jurors were plainly told in effect that their blunder or perjury had well-nigh done the murder of at least one innocent man. The judges were in like manner told that shorthand-writers had been more clear-headed or dispassionate to weigh evidence and judge guilt than they. The indivisible verdict had been openly proclaimed worthless.

The news was received with a sense of relief in Ireland, where the wholesale recklessness of the swearing, and the transparent falseness of the verdict had, from the first, created intense indignation and resentment. Everyone knew and saw that, whatever might have been the participation of those men in the rescue of Colonel Kelly, they had not had a fair trial; nay, that their so-called trial was an outrage on all law and justice; that witnesses, jurors and judges, were in the full fierce heat of excitement, panic, and passion--much more ready to swear evidence, to find verdicts, and to pass sentences against innocent men than they themselves were, perhaps, conscious of while labouring under such influences. The public and official recognition of the falseness and injustice of the Manchester verdict was therefore hailed with intense satisfaction.

Maguire was at once liberated; Allen, Larkin, Shore, and O'Brien were still detained in custody. It was universally concluded that, notwithstanding the abandonment by the Crown of the verdict on which they had been sentenced, they, because of their admitted complicity in the rescue, would be held to imprisonment--probably penal servitude--for a term of years. Considerable astonishment was excited, some days subsequently to Maguire's pardon, by a statement that, in the case of the other prisoners included in the verdict, "the law should take its course." No one credited this declaration for an instant, and most persons felt that the Crown officials were indulging in an indecent piece of mockery. Amidst this universal incredulity, however--this disdainful and indignant disbelief--the prisoners' solicitor, Mr. Roberts, vigilant and untiring to the last, took the necessary steps to pray arrest of execution pending decision of the serious law points raised on the trial. Some of the most eminent counsel in England certified solemnly that these points were of the gravest nature, and would, in their opinion, be fully established on argument before the judges; in which event the conviction would be legally quashed, independently of the substantial abandonment of it as false and untenable by the Crown in Maguire's case.

The first idea of the merest possibility--the faintest chance--of the remaining four men being executed on the vitiated verdict, arose when it became known that the judges, or some of them, had informally declared to the government (without waiting to hear any argument on the subject) that the points raised by the prisoners' counsel were not tenable, or were not of force. Mr. Roberts was officially informed that the sentence would infallibly be carried out. By this time barely a few days remained of the interval previous to the date fixed for the execution, and the strangest sensations swayed the public mind in Ireland. Even still, no one would seriously credit that men would be put to death on a verdict notoriously false. Some persons who proposed memorials to the Queen were met on all hands with the answer that it was all "acting" on the part of the government; that, even though it should be at the foot of the scaffold, the men would be reprieved; that the government would not--_dare not_--take away human life on a verdict already vitiated and abandoned as a perjury or blunder.

The day of doom approached; and now, as it came nearer and nearer, a painful and sickening alternation of incredulity and horror surged through every Irish heart. Meanwhile, the Press of England, on both sides of the Channel, kept up a ceaseless cry for blood. The government were told that to let these men off, innocent or guilty, would be "weakness." They were called upon to be "firm"--that is, to hang first, and reflect afterwards. As the 23rd of November drew near, the opinion began to gain ground, even in England, that things had been too hastily done--that the whole trial bore all the traces of panic--and that, if a few weeks were given for alarm and passion to calm down, not a voice would approve the Manchester verdict. Perceiving this--perceiving that time or opportunity for reflection, or for the subsidence of panic, would almost certainly snatch its prey from vengeance--a deafening yell arose from the raving creatures of blood-hunger, demanding that not a day, not an hour, not a second, should be granted to the condemned.

Still the Irish people would not credit that, far towards the close of the nineteenth century, an act so dreadful durst be done.

During all this time the condemned lay in Salford gaol, tortured by the suspense inevitably created by Maguire's reprieve. Although every effort was made by their friends to keep them from grasping at or indulging in hope, the all-significant fact of that release seemed to imperatively forbid the idea of their being executed on a verdict whose falseness was thus confessed. The moment, however, that the singular conduct of the judges in London defeated the application of Mr. Roberts, they, one and all, resigned themselves to the worst; and while their fellow-countrymen at home were still utterly and scornfully incredulous on the subject, devoted their remaining hours exclusively to spiritual preparation for death upon the scaffold.

It was now that each character "rushed to its index." It was now--within the very shadow of death--in the most awful crisis that can test the soul--that these men rose into the grandeur and sublimity of true heroism. They looked death in the face with serene and cheerful composure. So far from requiring consolation, it was they who strove most earnestly to console the grieving friends they were leaving behind; imploring of them to exhibit resignation to the will of God, and assuring them that, ignominious as was death upon the gallows, and terrible as was the idea of suffering such a fate unjustly, it was "not hard to die" with a clear and tranquil conscience, as they were dying, for the cause of native land.

It may be questioned whether the martyrology of any nation in history can exhibit anything more noble, more edifying--more elevating and inspiring--than the last hours of these doomed Irishmen. Their every thought, their every utterance, was full of tenderness and holiness--full of firmness and cheerful acceptance of God's will. The farewell letters addressed by them to their relatives and friends--from which we take a few--amply illustrate the truth of the foregoing observations. Here is O'Brien's last letter to his brother:--

New Bailey Prison, Salford,

Nov. 14th, 1867.

My dear brother--I have been intending to write to you
for some time, but having seen a letter from a Mr. Moore,
addressed to the governor of this prison, and knowing from
that that you must be in a disagreeable state of suspense, I
may therefore let you know how I am at once. With reference
to the trial and all connected with it, it was unfair from
beginning to end; and if I should die in consequence it will
injure my murderers more than it will injure me. Why should I
fear to die, innocent as I am of the charge which a prejudiced
jury, assisted by perjured witnesses, found me guilty of? I
will do judge and jury the justice of saying they believed
me guilty of being--a citizen of the United States, a friend
to liberty, a hater of relentless cruelty, and therefore
no friend to the British government, as it exists in our
beautiful island. I must say, though much I would like to
live, that I cannot regret dying in the cause of Liberty and
Ireland. It has been made dear to me by the sufferings of its
people, by the martyrdom and exile of its best and noblest
sons. The priest, the scholar, the soldier, the saint, have
suffered and died, proudly, nobly: and why should I shrink
from death in a cause made holy and glorious by the numbers
of its martyrs and the heroism of its supporters, as well as
by its justice? You don't, and never shall, forget that Peter
O'Neill Crowley died only a short time since, in this cause.

"Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illum'd by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all who have risen
On liberty's ruins to fame."

I should feel ashamed of my manhood if I thought myself
capable of doing anything mean to save my life, to get out
of here, or for any other selfish purpose. Let no man think
a cause is lost because some suffer for it. It is only a
proof that those who suffer are in earnest, and should be an
incentive to others to be equally so--to do their duty with
firmness, justice, and disinterestedness. _I feel confident
of the ultimate success of the Irish cause, as I do of my
own existence._ God, in His great mercy and goodness, will
strengthen the arm of the patriot, and give him wisdom to
free his country. Let us hope that He, in His wisdom, is only
trying our patience. The greater its sufferings, the more
glorious will He make the future of our unfortunate country
and its people.

The shriek of the famine-stricken mother and the helpless
infant, as well as the centuries of misery, call to heaven
for vengeance. God is slow, but just! The blood of Tone,
Fitzgerald, Emmett, and others has been shed--how much good
has it done the tyrant and the robber? None. Smith O'Brien,
McManus, and Mitchel suffered for Ireland, yet not their
sufferings, nor those of O'Donovan (Bossa) and his companions,
deterred Burke, McAfferty, and their friends from doing their
duty. Neither shall the sufferings of my companions, nor mine,
hinder my countrymen from taking their part in the inevitable
struggle, but rather nerve their arms to strike. I would write
on this subject at greater length, but I hope that I have
written enough to show you that if a man dies for liberty, his
memory lives in the breasts of the good and virtuous. You will
also see that there is no necessity for my father, mother,
sisters or relations fretting about me. When I leave this
world it will be (with God's help) to go to a better, to join
the angels and saints of God, and sing His praises for all
eternity. I leave a world of suffering for one of eternal joy
and happiness. I have been to Holy Communion, and, please God,
intend going shortly again. I am sorry we cannot hear Mass;
the good priest is not allowed to say it in this prison.

Give my love to my father and mother, to Mary, Ellen, John
Phillips, Tim, Catherine, uncles, aunts, and cousins.

Farewell.

From your affectionate brother,

MICHAEL O'BRIEN (_alias_ William Gould).

The following is one of Allen's letters to his relatives, written the day before his execution:--

Salford, New Bailey Prison, Nov. 23rd, 1867.

TO YOU, MY LOVING AND SINCERE DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT HOGAN,