Chapter I: Part 1

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Yours truly,
H. Le Caron]

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS

IN

THE SECRET SERVICE

_The Recollections of a Spy_

BY

MAJOR HENRI LE CARON

With Portraits and Facsimiles

“No citizen has a right to consider himself as belonging to himself;
but all ought to regard themselves as belonging to the State, inasmuch
as each is a part of the State; and care for the part naturally looks
to care for the whole.”
—ARISTOTLE.

Third Edition

LONDON

WILLIAM HEINEMANN

1892

[_All rights reserved_]

INTRODUCTION.

It has seemed good in the sight of many people that I should place on record, in some permanent and acceptable form, the story of my eventful life. And so I am about to write a book. The task is a daring one—perhaps the most daring of the many strange and unlooked-for incidents which have marked my career of adventure. I approach it with no light heart, but rather with a keen appreciation of all its difficulties.

To cater, and cater successfully, for the reading public of this _fin de siècle_ period is an undertaking which fairly taxes all the powers of resource and experience of the most brilliant writers of our time. And I am in no sense a practised writer, much less a professional _litterateur_. I have spent my life working at too high a pressure, and in too excited an atmosphere, to allow of my qualifying in any way for the rôle of author.

Nor am I handicapped in this way alone. I am, unfortunately for my purpose, deprived of the most important of collaborators a writer ever called to his aid—the play of imagination. For me there is no such thing as romance to be indulged in here. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth is what I have set myself to tell regarding all those matters with which I shall deal. There are many things, of course, to which I may not refer; but with respect to those upon which I feel at liberty to touch, one unalterable characteristic will apply all through, and that will be the absolute truthfulness of the record.

This may seem strange language coming from one who, for over a quarter of a century, has played a double part, and who to-day is not one whit ashamed of any single act done in that capacity. Men’s lives, however, are not to be judged by the outward show and the visible suggestion, but rather by the inward sentiments and promptings which accept conscience at once as the inspirer of action and arbiter of fate. It is hard, I know, to expect people in this cold prosaic age of ours to fully understand how a man like myself should, of his own free will, have entered upon a life such as I have led, with such pureness of motive and absence of selfish instinct as to entitle me to-day to claim acceptance at the bar of public opinion as an honest and a truthful man.

Yet such is my claim. When years ago, as these subsequent pages will show, I was first brought into contact with Fenian affairs, no fell purpose, no material consideration prompted me to work against the revolutionary plotters. A young man, proud of his native land and full of patriotic loyalty to its traditions, I had no desire, no intention to do aught but frustrate the schemes of my country’s foes. When, later on, I took my place in the ranks of England’s defenders, the same condition of mind prevailed, though the conditions of service varied.

And so the situation has remained all through. Forced by a variety of circumstances to play a part I never sought, but to which, for conscientious motives, I not unwillingly adapted myself, I can admit no shame and plead no regret. By my action lives have been saved, communities have been benefited, and right and justice allowed to triumph, to the confusion of law-breakers and would-be murderers. And in this recollection I have my consolation and my reward. Little else indeed is left me in the shape of either the one or the other. There is a popular fiction, I know, which associates with my work fabulous payments and frequent rewards. Would that it had been so. Then would the play of memory be all the sweeter for me. But, alas! the facts were all the other way. As I will show later, in the Secret Service of England there is ever present danger, and constantly recurring difficulty, but of recompense, a particularly scant supply.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

_PORTRAITS._

MAJOR HENRI LE CARON _Frontispiece_

ALEXANDER SULLIVAN _To face p._ 62

PATRICK EGAN ” 160

“NUMBER ONE”—P. J. TYNAN ” 168

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL ” 178

_FACSIMILES._

THE OATH OF ALLEGIANCE 16

A FENIAN TWENTY-DOLLAR BOND 27

MY COMMISSION AS MAJOR IN THE ARMY OF THE IRISH REPUBLIC 54

PATRICK EGAN’S LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 234

ALEXANDER SULLIVAN’S CHEQUE FOR THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS 264

ALEXANDER SULLIVAN’S LETTER _Appendix III._

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE SECRET SERVICE.

I.

Of my early youth little that is very interesting or exciting can be told. A faded entry in the aged records of the ancient borough of Colchester evidences the fact that a certain Thomas Beach, to wit myself, came into this world some fifty and one years ago, on the 26th day of September 1841. My parents were English, as the American would phrase it, “from far away back,” my grandfather tracing his lineage through many generations in the county of Berkshire. The second son of a family of thirteen, I fear I proved a sore trial to a careful father and affectionate mother, by my erratic methods and the varied outbursts of my wild exuberant nature. My earliest recollection is of the teetotal principle on which we were all brought up, and the absence of strong drink from all our household feasts. The point is a trivial one, but not unworthy of note, as it supplies the key to some of my successes in later life, in keeping clear of danger through intoxication, when almost all of those with whom I dealt were victims to it. When others lost their heads, and their caution as well, I was enabled, through my distaste for drink, to benefit in every way.

Living in a military town as I did, and coming into daily contact with all the pomp and circumstance of soldiering, it was but natural that the glory of the redcoat life should affect me, and that, like so many other foolish boys, I should feel drawn to the ranks. Of course I wanted to enlist, and what wonder that for me life held no nobler ambition and success, no grander figure than that clothed with the uniform of the bold drummer-boy. All my efforts, however, were naturally of no avail, and I found the path to glory blocked at every point. The fever, nevertheless, was upon me, and my want of success only made me the more determined to achieve my object in the long run. Home held no promise of success, and at home I decided I would no longer remain. So it came about that one fine morning, when little more than twelve years of age, I packed my marbles, toys, and trophies, and in the early light slipped quietly out on to the high-road _en route_ for that Mecca of all country boys—the great glorious city of London!

I had run away from home in grim earnest. Not for very long, however. Fortunately for me—unfortunately as I thought in those young days—I committed a grave blunder in tactics. Meeting one of my school-fellows on the journey, I was foolish enough to inform him of my proceeding and intention, and in this way my anxious parents were soon put upon my track, and my interesting and exciting escapade was brought to an ignominious conclusion. I had, however, tasted of the sweets of adventure, and it was not very long before I made another attempt to rid myself of the trammels of home life. Here again I was fated to meet with defeat, but not before I had made a distinct advance upon my first effort, for two weeks were allowed to elapse before I was discovered on this occasion. The natural consequences attended these attempts of mine, and soon I was written down as the black sheep of the family, from whom no permanent good could ever be expected.

The idea of keeping me longer at school was quite given up, and in order the better to tie me down, I was apprenticed for a period of seven years to Mr. Thomas Knight, a Quaker, and well-known draper in my native town. The arrangement suited me not at all. Nothing could be more uncongenial than a life worked out in the solemn atmosphere of a staid and strict Quaker’s home, where the efforts to curb my impulsive nature resulted in increasing bitterness of spirit on my part every day. In eleven months it was conceded on both sides that the continuation of the arrangement was distinctly undesirable, and so I was free once more. A short residence with my parents followed; but the old promptings to wander afar were too strong for me, and once more, for the third and last time, I broke away, and reached London at last, in the month of May 1857.

Through the kindness of relatives, employment was secured for me in a leading business house; but my stay there was of short duration. With my usual facility for doing everything wrong at this period of my existence, I happened to accidentally set fire to the premises, and was politely told that after this my services could not be properly appreciated. I was not long out of employment, and strangely enough, through the agency of one of the gentlemen whose house had suffered through my carelessness, I was later on enabled to obtain a much better situation than I had held in their house.

From London I subsequently made my way to Bath, and from Bath to Bristol, always in search of change, though everywhere doing well. When in Bristol, however, I was struck down with fever, and reduced to a penniless condition. Then came the idea of returning to London, which I duly carried out, walking all the way. My foolhardiness proved almost fatal, for ere I got to the metropolis, my illness came back upon me, and I was scarce able to crawl to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in search of relief.

My stay at St. Bartholomew’s was not a very long one. Horrified at the terrible death of a patient lying next to me, and fearful that, if I remained, something equally horrible might be my fate, I managed to obtain possession of my clothes and to leave the institution. Thoughts of home and mother decided my return to Colchester, and thither I immediately proceeded to make my way on foot. Again the fever attacked me, and once more I had to seek the friendly shelter of an hospital, this time taking refuge in the Colchester and East Essex Institution. Here I remained till I was permanently recovered, after which I entered the service of Mr. William Baber of the town. However, my efforts to lead a sober conventional life were all in vain. The wild longing for change came back in renewed strength, and in a little while I had left London altogether behind and journeyed to Paris _viâ_ Havre.

II.

I am amused as I look back now upon the utter recklessness and daring of this proceeding of mine. I knew not a soul in France; of the language, not a word was familiar; and yet somehow the longing to get away from England and to try my luck on a new soil was irresistible. One place was as good as another to me, and Paris seemed rather more familiar than the other few centres of activity with the names of which I was then acquainted. And so to Paris I went. It was my good fortune to hit upon an hotel kept by an Englishwoman in the Faubourg St. Honoré, and here I tarried for a time while my little stock of money lasted. This was not by any means a long period, and soon I found myself reduced once more to a condition of penury, having in the interval gained little but an acquaintance with the principal thoroughfares and their shops, and a slight knowledge of the language, to which latter I was helped in no inconsiderable degree by a wonderfully retentive memory.

Things were at a very low ebb for me indeed, when help came from an entirely unexpected quarter. Happening one Sunday to pass by the English Church in the Rue d’Aguesseau, of which, by the way, the Rev. Dr. Forbes was at that time chaplain, I was attracted by the music of the service then proceeding, and entered the little unpretentious place of worship. Here I joined heartily in the service, with the order and details of which I was perfectly familiar, having already sung in the choir of my native town. My singing and generally strange appearance attracted the attention of a member of the church, with whom I formed an acquaintance. We left the church together—not however before I had promised my assistance in the choir—and at his request I breakfasted with my English friend at one of the _crêmeries_ in the Faubourg. Now, as then, a respected citizen of Paris, I am happy to number this countryman among the truest and most steadfast of my friends.

We passed the day together, attending the remaining two services at the church, and in the hours we spent in each other’s company I told him my history and my needs. Warm-hearted and impulsive, he immediately suggested that I should vacate my room and share his lodging, even going the length of advancing me money to enable me to do so. Before a week had passed, he had capped his goodness by securing a situation for me; and I found myself at length comfortably installed in the house of Withers, _à la Suissesse_, 52 Faubourg St. Honoré. Through his influence also I became a paid member of the church choir, and in a very short time I was the recipient of the friendship and confidence of Dr. Forbes and his wife, from both of whom I received very many kindnesses. Thanks to them, I was very soon enabled to better my position, and to change to the house of Arthur & Co., where matters improved for me in every way. There then succeeded some of the happiest days of my life. Freed from care and anxiety, with all the necessaries of life at my control, and a fund of boyish spirits and perfect health, I was without a trouble or a dark hour, happy and contented in my daily task.

So the weeks and months came and went without discovering any change in my position, till an unlooked-for incident once more brought the wild mad thirst for change and excitement back to me, and sounded the death-knell of my quiet life. On the 9th April 1861, the shot was fired at Fort Sumpter which inaugurated the war of the Rebellion of the United States. That shot echoed all over the world, but in no place was the effect more keenly marked than in the American colony in Paris, which even in these early days was a very numerous one.

Arthur’s, the place of business of which I speak, was one of the most favoured of the American resorts, and here the excitement raged at fever heat, as little by little the news came over the sea. Those were not the days of the cable, flashing the news of success or defeat simultaneously with its occurrence, and picturing in vivid phrase and description every incident and climax of warfare, till almost the figures move before us, and our eyes and ears are deadened by the smoke and sound of shot. The tidings came in snatches, and the absence of completeness and detail only served to give the greater impetus to discussion and imagination.

There was no more excited student of the situation than myself; and very soon, of course, I was fired with the idea of playing a part in the scenes which I was following with such enthusiasm and zest. Friends and associates, many of them American, were leaving on every hand for the seat of war; and at last, throwing care and discretion to the winds, I took the plunge and embarked on the _Great Eastern_ on her first voyage to New York.

I reached that city in good time, and without delay enlisted in the Northern Army, in company with several of my American associates from Paris. In connection with my enlistment there occurred a circumstance, trivial in itself at the moment, yet fraught with the most important consequences in regard to my after-life. This was the taking to myself of a new name and a new nationality. I had no thought of remaining in America for any length of time—at the outset, indeed, I only enlisted for three months, the period for which recruits were sought—and, regarding the whole proceeding more in the light of a good joke than anything else, I came to the conclusion that I should not cause anxiety to my parents by disclosing my position, and decided to sustain the joke by playing the part of a Frenchman and calling myself Henri le Caron. So came into existence that name and character which, in after years, proved to be such a marvellous source of protection and success to me personally, and of such continued service to my native country, whose citizenship I had, by my proceeding, to resign.

As subsequent events proved, however, I was not to carry out my original idea of returning. The three months came and went, and many more followed in their wake, till five years had passed and left me still in the United States’ service. The life suited me. I made many friends; soldiering was a pleasant experience; and I was particularly fortunate in escaping its many mishaps. I had no care for the morrow, and, happily for me, I found my morrows to bring little if any care to me. Only on one occasion was I seriously wounded. This was when, during an engagement near Woodbury, Tennessee, I had my horse killed under me by a shell, my companion killed at my side, and myself wounded by a splinter from the explosive, which laid me up for about a month.

Interesting and animated as was my career as a soldier, I must not delay to deal with it too fully in detail, but must hurry on to that subsequent life of mine in America, which possesses the greatest interest for the public at large. I shall, however, before leaving it, run over very shortly the different stages of my soldiering experience. The facts may be interesting to the many people in this country and America who are familiar with the history of the American war of the Rebellion. I enlisted as a private soldier on August 7, 1861, in the 8th Pennsylvanian Reserves, changing therefrom to the Anderson Cavalry, commanded by Colonel William J. Palmer. Here I remained for a year and ten months, serving through the Peninsula campaign of the army of the Potomac, including the battles of Four Oaks, South Mountain, Antietam, and Williamsport, all of which were fought under the command of General George B. MacClellan.

In October 1862, I joined, with my regiment, the Western Army, under General William S. Rosencranz, and participated in the advance from Louisville, Nashville, and Murfreesboro’, including the engagements at Tullahoma and Winchester, and ending with the capture of Chattanooga and Chicamanga in September of the same year. The failure of Rosencranz at Chicamanga closed his career. He was succeeded by General George H. Thomas, who remained in command up to the end of my service in the army. By this time I had obtained a warrant as a noncommissioned officer, and was principally engaged in scouting duty. On the command in which I served being ordered to the relief of General Burnside at Knoxville, I left Chattanooga, then in a state of siege and semi-famine, and reaching Knoxville, I took part during the whole of the winter of 1863 in the East Tennessee campaign against the rebel General Longstreet, my engagements including Strawberry Plain, Mossy Creek, and Dandridge. I was fortunate enough to be recommended for a commission in 1864, and, after my examination before a military board, was gazetted Second Lieutenant in the United States Army in the month of July of that year. For the next twelve months I was exclusively employed in scouting duty, in charge of a mounted company, serving in this capacity under General Lovel L. Rousseau in West Tennessee. In December 1864, being attached to General Stedman’s division of the Army of the Cumberland, I was present at the battle of Nashville, and took part in all the engagements through Tennessee and Alabama, being promoted in the course of them to the rank of First Lieutenant.

During 1865 I was appointed upon detached service of various descriptions, filling amongst other positions those of Acting Assistant-Adjutant-General and Regimental Adjutant. At the close of the war I joined the veteran organisations of the Army of the Cumberland, and the Grand Army of the Republic, and held the appointment therein of Vice-Commander and Post-Surgeon, ranking as Major.

Long ere this I had, of course, given up all idea of returning to France, and had communicated my whereabouts and position to my parents, much to their anxiety and dismay.

Tragedy and comedy blended together in strange fellowship in our experiences of those days; and, as I write, a couple of amusing examples of this occur to me. It was in 1865, when engaged on scouting duty in connection with the guerilla warfare carried on by irregular bands of Southerners, that I received the following order:—

“HEAD-QUARTERS, THIRD SUB-DISTRICT, MIDDLE TENNESSEE,
“ACTING ASSISTANT-ADJUTANT-GENERAL’S OFFICE,
“KINGSTON SPRINGS, TENN., _May 17, 1865_.

“SIR,—The following despatch has been received:—

“NASHVILLE, _May 16, 1865_.

“Brig.-Gen. Thompson.

“In accordance with orders heretofore published of the Major-Gen.
Commanding Dept. of Cumberland, Champ Fergusson and his gang of
cut-throats having refused to surrender, are denounced as outlaws,
and the military forces of this district will deal with and treat
him accordingly.

“By Command of Major-Gen. Rousseau,
“(Signed) H. C. WHITLEMORE,
“Capt. and A.A.A.G.”

This, of course, meant sudden death to any of the band who might come within range of our rifles. The men, indeed, were nothing less than murderers and robbers, carrying on their devilish work under the plea of fighting for Southern independence. It was not long before an opportunity was afforded me of coming in contact with a specimen of the class, and it is on this meeting that one of my anecdotes will turn.

A few days after, when riding ahead of my troop, in company with a couple of my men, in order to “prospect” the country, with a view to finding suitable accommodation for our wants, I came to a well-built farmhouse a few miles from the Duck River. As we approached the front, my attention was attracted by an armed man, in the well-known butter-nut grey uniform of the enemy, escaping from the back in a very hasty and suspicious manner. Reading his true character in a moment, I shouted to him to halt, at the same time directing my troopers to “head him off” right and left. Disregarding our cries, he started off in hot haste, while we pursued him in equally hurried fashion. The chase was a hard and a stern one, his flight being only broken for a moment to allow of his discharging his carbine at me. Not desiring to kill him, I saved my powder, and in the end ran him to earth, and stunned him with a blow from the butt-end of my revolver.

When my companions arrived, we proceeded to examine our prisoner, and found, on stripping him of his grey covering, that underneath he wore the unmistakable blue coat of our own regiment, with the plain indication of a corporal’s stripes having been torn therefrom. As we had a few days previously discovered the stripped, bullet-riddled body of a brave corporal of ours, who had been murdered by some of these scoundrels, we at once concluded that this was one of his assassins, and my troop, coming up at this point, dealt him scant mercy, and filled his body with their bullets ere consciousness returned. A search of his pockets revealed his identity, his pocket-book containing some two hundred dollars in bills, and an oath of allegiance to the U.S. Government, which he had doubtless used many times to save his wretched life. The following is a _facsimile_ of the original document, which I have kept through all these years—the stains being those of the man’s blood:—

Making our way back to the house, we discovered two weeping women, and half-a-dozen small children. A single question elicited the fact that the elder of the two was the mother, while subsequent inquiries proved that the dead man was the notorious William M. Guin, a nephew of ex-U.S. Senator Guin, of California, and one of the leaders of as notorious a gang of cut-throats as ever operated in the South-West. Our custom was to burn the houses of any persons found harbouring these guerillas, but the heartrending entreaties of the wretched women and children caused me to leave them unmolested. Some time afterwards, when peace was finally declared, I was quartered at Waverley, in the same vicinity, and often met the unfortunate mother, who knew me as “the man who killed her boy,” though, as she told me, she never blamed me, having often warned her son that he would come to a bad end.

And now for the other side of the picture. During these operations, my men were principally mounted on horses captured from the citizens, who were invariably rebels; and as our habit was to take every available animal when found, the methods adopted to hide them in caves, ravines, and swamps were sometimes very remarkable. Upon one of my expeditions at the time, in the direction of Vernon, on the Duck River, I came across a fine black horse, which I speedily confiscated to the use of “Uncle Sam.” My prize, however, did not long remain in my possession, for in a few days my quarters were invaded by a deputation of the fair sex, who presented me with the following amusing appeal:—

I.
“We write in good spirits to you,
For our glad expectations we hope to find true,
That you’ll act as a gentleman always should do,
And with a request from the ladies comply
Which a fame would attain you that never should die;
While we’ll think of you ever with kindness sincere,
And say of you what it would please you to hear,
And wish for you always a life long and free
From grief and visitation that sometimes will be.

II.
“Now, what must you do these good wishes to gain,
And make us rejoice that we asked not in vain?
Well, a something ’twill be a great boon to obtain
To us who now ask—and a kindness most true
And most earnestly wished for—but to you
It will be what they tell us a victory is—
Quite easy to “Grant,” and we hope you’ll grant this.

III.
“We once (not long since) had a favourite here,
Obedient and gentle, deservedly dear;
He was patient, obeying our will without force,
And he seemed like a friend, though he was but a horse.
How much we esteemed him we never can say,
And Dixie we named him. You took him away!
And sadly and truly we’ve missed him since then—
Oh, captain, do give us poor Dixie again.
If you have conquered _one_ Dixie, be generous here;
Return us the other we all count so dear,
And we’ll say Captain Le Caron (and hold it so too)
Is the very best soldier that ever wore blue.
Your country is famed both in prose and in song;
To its sons truth and justice are said to belong—
Good principle, honour, with bravery too;
Prove now to us, captain, that this is quite true.
Let us have our old friend—you have better by scores,
But to us none so dear can e’er stand at our doors;
None other can seem half so good or so wise,
So worthy our care as he was in our eyes.
You _must_ be enlightened, be generous too;
Give us back our poor Dixie,
Do, captain, please do.
Just say we may have him, that welcome word say,
And your petitioners will evermore pray.

“MARY BARR.
“CYNTHIA BARR.
“POLLY HASSELL.
“MARY L. G., _a sympathiser_.

“VERNON, TENNESSEE,
“_July 1865_.

“To Captain Le Caron.”

I naturally pursued the only course which a soldier could, and surrendered the horse. Strange to say, one of my lieutenants afterwards surrendered his affections and future happiness to one of these fair damsels, and still lives with her as his wife, surrounded by a charming family, away out in central Kansas.

III.

In the midst of all my soldiering, I wooed and won my wife. She is the principal legacy left me of those old campaigning days of mine, as bonny a wife and as sympathetic and valuable a helpmate as ever husband was blessed with in this world. Many years have gone by since we first met away in Tennessee, where she, a bright-eyed daring horsewoman, and I, a happy-go-lucky cavalry officer, scampered the plains together in pleasant company. Little thought either of us then what the future years held in store. Yet when these years came, and with them the anxious moments, the uncertain intervals, and the perilous hours, none was more brave, more sympathetic than she. Carrying the secret of my life close locked up in that courageous heart of hers, helping me when need be, silent when nought could be done, she proved as faithful an ally and as perfect a foil as ever man placed like me could have been given by Heaven. A look, a gasp, a frightened movement, an uncertain turn might have betrayed me, and all would have been lost; a jealous action, a curious impulse, and she might have wrecked my life; a letter misplaced, a drawer left open, a communication miscarried, and my end was certain. But those things were not to be. Brave, affectionate, and fearless, frequently beseeching me to end this terrible career in which each moment of the coming hours was charged with danger if not death, she tended her family lovingly, and faced the world with a countenance which gave no sign, but a caution which never slumbered.

I had not to wait for these later years, however, to prove her readiness and resource. These had been shown me long ere marriage was dreamt of by either of us, and when, in one of the most exciting episodes of my military career, she gave me my freedom and my life. For our wooing was not without its romance. Our first meeting was quite a casual one. An officer in charge of a party of thirty, engaged in scouting duty, I stopped my little troop one night, in the winter of 1862, at a house some fifteen miles from Nashville, Tennessee, in order to rest our horses and prepare our supper. We selected the house, and stopped there without any prearrangement. This, however, was in no way extraordinary. It was quite the common practice to stop _en route_ and buy hospitality from the residents. The house was the property of my wife’s uncle, and here she lived. While our supper was being prepared, we chatted agreeably together, and the time swept pleasantly along, We were in fancied security, and gave no thought to immediate danger. In a moment, however, all was confusion. The house was suddenly surrounded by a band of irregular troops, calling themselves Confederates, but in reality nothing more or less than marauders, and soon the fortunes of war were turned against us.

Half my little command, fortunately, escaped, owing to their being with the horses at the time of the enemy’s approach, and so enabled to take to flight. The other half, however, with myself, were not so fortunate. We were in the house, surprised, and immediately taken prisoners. A large log smoke-house was improvised for a prison, and in this my comrades and myself were placed, tortured with indignation and hunger, as the riotous sounds which followed proclaimed to us that our captors were partaking of the supper which had been originally intended for ourselves. Our position altogether was anything but a happy one. Death was very near. Irregular troops like those with whom we had to deal seldom gave quarter. If we escaped immediate death, it would be only to be brought within the Southern line to be condemned to a living death in prison.

We sat and pondered; and as the probabilities of the future loomed heavily and darkly before us, the sounds of revelry in the adjoining house gradually died away. Our captors, filled with the good things provided for us, gradually dropped to sleep, and soon nothing was heard but the measured movement and breathing of the guard stationed at our door. In a little time, however, there was perfect silence, and our watchful ears detected the absence of our sentry’s person. Curious but silent we anxiously waited, and soon heard the withdrawal of the bolt by some unknown hand. Opening the door, we found the pathway clear. My brave Tennessee girl, finding the gang of irregulars all steeped in heavy slumber, had decoyed our guard away on pretence of his obtaining supper, and returning, had unbolted our prison-house, prepared to face the consequences when the sleeping ruffians awoke. Through her action our safety was assured, and after walking fifteen miles, we reached camp in the morning to join our comrades, who had given us up for lost.

This happened on Christmas Eve 1862; and it was not until April 1864—sixteen months afterwards—that I again met the girl who had done so much for me, and who was subsequently to become my wife.

The house in which these exciting events had taken place had meantime been totally destroyed by the ravages of war, and she was now living with her aunt in Nashville itself. I was stationed in camp, there awaiting my examination before a board of officers for further promotion, and here occurred the most eventful engagement in which I ever took part, where, conquering yet conquered, I ignored all the articles of war and subscribed to those of marriage, entering into a treaty of peace freighted with the happiest of results.

IV.

The war was now over and done, a thing of the past. I was situated in Nashville with my wife and family, and with my savings, happy in the enjoyment of the moment, and the pleasant reminiscences of the past. Henri le Caron, the agent of the British Government in the camps of American Fenianism, did not exist, and I had not the shadow of a conception as to what the future held in store for me. The future indeed troubled me not one whit. Looking back, as I do now, upon all that has happened since then, I am filled with astonishment as great and sincere as that which affected the world when I first told my story in its disjointed way before the Special Commission. It may be that I am somewhat of a fatalist—I know not what I may be called—but my ideas, strengthened by the experience of my life, are very clear on one point. We may be free agents to a certain extent; but, nevertheless, for some wise purpose matters are arranged for us. We are impelled by some unknown force to carry out, not of our own volition or possible design, the work of this life, indicated by a combination of circumstances, to which unconsciously we adapt ourselves. In such a manner did I become connected with Fenianism and the Irish Party in America. For I never sought Fenianism; Fenianism rather came to me.

I use the phrase Fenianism as one that is familiar, and requires no explanation from me. All the world must surely know by this that almost from time out of mind there has existed in America a body of discontented and rebellious Irish known as Fenians, who, working in harmony with so-called Nationalists in this country, seek the repeal of the Union between Great Britain and Ireland. It will, however, be necessary for me to say something about the position of Fenianism at this time—I speak, of course, of the year 1865—in order that what follows may be quite clearly understood.

Fenianism at this period was in a rather bad way. Its adherents in America and Ireland were divided into two hostile camps, and its most recent effort had been of a very poor and depressing character. In fact, the division of forces had been brought about by the failure of this selfsame effort, an attempt at the emancipation of Ireland, which is known as “the ’65 movement.” It was organised by the Fenians in Ireland and America, under the direction of James Stephens; and for the purpose of its development very many officers and men crossed to Ireland from American soil. The attempted rising, however, proved, like almost all Fenian efforts, a fiasco. It was found that Stephens had wofully misrepresented the state of affairs at home, both as regards preparation and enthusiasm; and those who had come from America returned to their homes, disgusted and indignant at the way in which they had been sold.

In the result disaffection quickly spread, and the organisation in America broke up into hostile camps, the majority, under the leadership of Colonel W. R. Roberts, revolting from the leadership of Stephens and Mahoney, and declaring their belief that “no direct invasion or armed insurrection in Ireland would ever be successful in establishing an Irish Republic upon Irish soil, and setting her once more in her proper place as a nation amongst the nations of the earth.” Not content, however, with the situation, the seceders met in convention in September 1865 in Cincinnati, and formed themselves into what was known for the next eventful five years of its existence as the Senate Wing of the Fenian Brotherhood. They scoffed at the idea of invading Ireland successfully, but by no means advocated a policy of inaction. They simply sought to change the base of operations. “The invasion of Canada” became their cry; and with this as their programme they succeeded in gaining the allegiance of some thousands of the disaffected Irish, whose support was attracted by the familiar device of a _de facto_ civil and military Irish Government upon paper, framed upon the model of the United States. A good deal of money was subscribed, and with funds so obtained ammunition was purchased and shipped along the Canadian border.

The methods of obtaining money were many and varied, but none was more successful than the issue of Fenian bonds. The following is a reproduction of a twenty-dollar bond in my possession. These bonds were given in exchange for ready money to the many simple souls who believed in the possibility of an Irish republic, and who were quite ready to part with their little all, in the belief that later on, when their country was “a nation once again,” they would be repaid with interest. Very many of the persons displaying this credulity were Irish girls in service in the States, and thus came into vogue the sneering reference to the agitation being financed by the servant-girls of New York.

A curious feature of the intended invasion was the publicity given to the design, and, more remarkable still, the action, or rather want of action, of the United States Government in regard to it. This latter, indeed, was the subject of very angry comment at the time on the part of Englishmen resident in the States. It certainly seemed strange, and passing all comprehension, that the United States Government, although in full possession of the facts, and quite peaceful in its relations with England, could have permitted the organisation of a raid upon a portion of English possessions without movement or demur on their part of any kind whatever. Yet such is the deplorable fact. From the commencement of the preparations till five days after the Fenians had crossed at Black Rock, the government of President Andrew Johnson did nothing whatever to prevent this band of marauders from carrying out their much-talked-of invasion.

Let it not be thought that I exaggerate or draw on my imagination. I do not. If evidence in support of my statement be needed, it is to be found in the speeches made from public platforms, in open meetings, fully reported throughout the country at the time.

It was during this period that I was brought into close acquaintance with Fenianism and its workings. Strangely enough, it was my army associations which formed the medium. Through an old companion-in-arms, the man O’Neill mentioned above, by whose side I had served and fought, I learnt, at first casually, and in broken conversation, what was transpiring in the circles of the conspiracy. Indignant as I was at learning what was being done against the interest of my native country, I knew not how to circumvent the operations of the conspirators, and did nothing publicly in the matter. Without my own knowledge, however, I was to become one of the instruments for upsetting all these schemes. Writing as I regularly did to my father, I mentioned simply by way of startling news the facts I learned from O’Neill. My letters, written in the careless spirit of a wanderer’s notes, were destined to become political despatches of an important character. Without reference to me, my father made immediate and effective use of them. Startled and dismayed at the tidings I conveyed, he, true Briton that he was, could not keep the information to himself, but handed over my letters immediately to John Gurdon Rebow, the sitting member for Colchester.

Mr. Rebow, fully concurring with my father as to the importance of my news, proposed that he should, without delay, communicate with the Government of the day, to which my father agreed. In this way my first connection with the Government was brought about. So keenly alive to the position of affairs did the Home Secretary show himself, that he, as I learnt subsequently, in the most earnest way requested my father to correspond with me on the subject, and to arrange for my transmitting through him to the Government every detail with which I could become acquainted. This I did, and continued so doing until the raid into Canada had been attempted, and attended with failure.

V.

Before proceeding further, I had perhaps better give some idea of what the raid was like. The details should prove of interest, if for no other purpose than that of contrast with those of the second attempted invasion, of which I shall have to speak more fully later on. This, which was the first invasion of Canada by the Fenian organisation, took place upon the morning of the 1st of June 1866. As I have already stated, the design had been flourished in the face of government and people for six months previously. All this time active preparations were proceeding, and thousands of stands of arms, together with millions of rounds of ammunition, had been purchased from the United States Government and located at different points along the Canadian border; while during the spring of the year, military companies, armed and uniformed as Irish Fenian soldiers, were drilled week by week in many of the large cities of the United States.

No opposition was offered to the proceedings; indeed, John F. Finerty, the editor of the _Chicago Citizen_, in a public speech made by him at Chicago so late as February 5, 1886, declared with great glee that Andrew Johnson, the then President of the United States, openly encouraged the movement for the purpose of turning it to political account in the settlement of the Alabama claims. Be the blame whose it may, however, the result was not unsatisfactory. The attempt proved a complete failure. The Fenians were driven out of Canada, sixty of them killed and two hundred taken prisoners, with the loss of but six lives in the Canadian ranks. All the same, however, the unsatisfactory condition of things I speak of existed, while, to make matters worse, not a single one of the defeated invaders was called to account by the United States for the violation of the Neutrality Laws.

The whole affair, viewed from any but an imaginative Fenian standpoint, was of a ludicrous character. The time for the operation was chosen by the Fenian Secretary for War, General T. W. Sweeny, then commanding the 16th United States Infantry stationed at Nashville, Tennessee. A particular route had been selected, but when the amount of funds came to be questioned, the original idea of carrying the men by steamer to Goodrich, Canada, had to be abandoned for the less romantic but more economical process of crossing the Niagara River in flat boats with a steam tug called into requisition. Under the command of General John O’Neill, and a number of other gentlemen of high-sounding ranks, and distinctly Irish patronymics, the raid actually came off on the morning of the 1st of June, when about 3 A.M. some 600 or 800 Irish patriots, full of whisky and thirsting for glory, were quietly towed across the Niagara River to a point on the Canadian side called Waterloo!

At 4 A.M. the Irish flag was planted on British soil by Colonel Owen Starr, commanding the contingent from Kentucky, one of the first to land. Unfortunately no Canadian troops were in the vicinity, and O’Neill’s command, which had by the next day decreased to some 500, marched upon and captured Fort Erie, containing a small detachment of the Welland battery. Matters, however, were not long allowed to go in favour of the invaders. In a very little time the 22nd Battalion of Volunteers of Toronto—a splendid band of citizen-soldiers—appeared upon the scene, and at Ridgeway, a few miles inland, there occurred a fair stand-up fight, in which the Fenians in the end got the worst of the day’s work. Ridgeway has frequently since been claimed by the Fenian orators as a glorious victory, but without justification. It is true that at first, flushed with their almost bloodless victory at Fort Erie, the Fenians advanced fiercely upon their opponents, and for the moment repulsed them; but in the end the Canadians triumphed, and succeeded in putting the invaders to flight, driving them back to Fort Erie a frenzied, ungovernable mob, only too thankful to be taken as prisoners by the United States war steamer _Michigan_, and protected from total annihilation at the hands of the, by this time, thoroughly aroused and wrathful Canadian citizens.

The following extracts from the official report made by General O’Neill to Colonel William R. Roberts, President of the Fenian Brotherhood, though very highly coloured, admits the defeat:—

“Here truth compels me to make an admission I would fain have kept
from the public. Some of the men who crossed over with us the night
before (_i.e._, the morning of the 1st of June) managed to leave
the command during the day, and re-crossed to Buffalo, while others
remained in houses around the fort marauding. (Real Irish patriots
these!) This I record to their lasting disgrace.

“On account of this shameful desertion, and the fact that arms had
been sent out for 800 men, I had to destroy 300 stand to prevent
them from falling into the hands of the enemy....

“At this time I could not depend upon more than 500 men, one-tenth
of the reputed number of the enemy, which I knew was surrounding
me—rather a critical position.

“Thus situated, and not knowing what was going on elsewhere,
I decided that the best course was to return to Fort Erie and
ascertain if crossings had been made at other points; and, if so, I
was content to sacrifice myself and my noble little command for the
sake of leaving the way open.

“I returned to the old fort (Erie), and about six o’clock sent word
to Captain W. J. Hynes, and his friends at Buffalo, that the enemy
would surround me with 5000 men before morning, fully provided
with artillery; that my little command, which had by this time
considerably decreased, could not hold out long; but that, if a
movement was going on elsewhere, I was perfectly willing to make
the old fort a slaughter-pen, which I knew would be the case the
next day if I remained.

“Previous to this time, some of the officers and men, realising the
danger of their position, availed themselves of the small boats
and re-crossed the river; but the greater portion of them—317,
including officers—remained until 2 A.M., June 3rd, when all,
except a few wounded men, went safely on board a large scow
attached to a tug-boat, and were hauled into American waters.

“Here they were hailed by the United States steamer, which fired
across their bows and demanded their surrender. With this request
we complied, not because we feared the twelve-pounders or the still
more powerful guns of the _Michigan_, but because we respected the
authority of the United States.”!!!

Thus fought the Irish patriots of 1866. Thus ended the first Fenian raid upon Canada. Not a glorious achievement, by any means. Quite the reverse, in fact. Even the leader of the expedition himself has to subscribe to failure and defeat. And yet there have been, and are to-day, men who boast of all this as a glorious victory, and proudly vaunt the statement that they were present at and participated in it.

Lucky it was that the movement was thus defeated at its very start. If it had not, the consequences might have been very different indeed. The news of the temporary victory at Fort Erie had a wonderful effect, and by the 7th of June not less than 30,000 men had assembled in and around Buffalo. The defeat of their comrades, however, and the tardy issue of Andrew Johnson’s proclamation enforcing the Neutrality Laws, left them no opening, and so the whole affair fizzled out in the most undignified manner. Undignified indeed it was for all parties concerned. The prisoners were, without a single exception, released on their own recognisances, and sent home by the United States authorities; while the arms seized by the United States Government, through General Meade, commanding in Buffalo, were returned to the Fenian organisation, only to be used for the same purpose some four years later.

VI.

Meantime the conditions of peace, in purely American matters, had set in, and the army was reduced to a nominal footing. I took advantage of the state of affairs to settle down to a civilian style of life. The first question that called for thought and care was my future vocation in life. The father of a family, it became necessary for me to look out for some means of obtaining a settled income. Acting under the advice of an old comrade, now a Senator of Illinois, I finally determined to study medicine, and set to work in this direction without delay.