Hit 
 
 
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 f 
 
>. THE 
 
 \ LIFE, TRIAL AND COiNVERSATiONS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT EMMET, ESQ. 
 
 Hea^icc of iijt Xrisi) KnsuiTection of 1803: 
 
 ALSO, THE 
 
 CELEBilATED SPEECH 
 
 MADE BY HIM ON THK OCCASION. 
 
 t) breitUie not liis name, let it sleep in the shade, 
 Where cold and uuhonoured his relics are laid ; * 
 tSad, silent, and ilark be the tears that we shed, 
 As the nisht dew that lulls un the grass o'er his, head 
 •But the night dew that falls, lliough in silence it weeps 
 Sshall brighten Avith vcrJure the grave where he sleeps 
 iVnd the tear that we stied, though in se'cret it rolls, 
 t?hall lung Keep his memory' green in our souls. — MooBi 
 
 Scereotijped from the last Dublin Edition. 
 
 NEW-YOr.K: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY KOBERT CDDDI^GTON 
 
 No, -sea BowEUY. 
 
 J 850. 
 

 2825 
 
THE UNINSCRIBED TOME OF EMMET. 
 
 *' Let my touib remaiu uniuscribed, and my memory in oblivion, 
 until other times ayd other men can do justice to my character." 
 
 <* Pray tell me," I said, to an old man who straj''d. 
 Drooping over the grave which his own hands had made, 
 " Pray tell me the name of the tenant who sleeps 
 'Neath yonder lone shade where the sad willow weeps ; 
 Every stone is engrav'd with the name of the dead. 
 But yon black slab declares not whose spirit is fled." 
 
 In silence he bow'd, then beckon'd me nigh. 
 
 Till we stood o'er the grave — tlien he said with a sigh, 
 
 *' Yes, they dare not to trace e'en a word on this stone, 
 
 To the memory of him who sleeps coldly alone ; 
 
 He told them — commanded — the lines o'er his grave, 
 
 Should never be traced by the hand of a slave ! 
 
 '*' He bade them to shade e'en his name in the gloom. 
 Till the morning of freedom should shine on his tomb, 
 * When the flag of my country at liberty flies, 
 Then— then let my name and my monument rise.' 
 You see they obey'd him — 'tis thirty-three years, 
 And they still come to moisten his grave with their tears. 
 
 *' He was young like yourself, and aspir'd to o'erthrow 
 The tyrants who fill'd his lov'd island with woe ; 
 They crush'd his bold spirit — this earth was confined. 
 Too scant for the range of his luminous mind." 
 He paus'd, and the old man went slowly away. 
 And I felt, as lie left me, an impulse to pray. 
 
 Grant, Heaven I I may see, ere my own days are dene, 
 A monumeni-rise o'er my country's lost son ! 
 And oh ! proudest task, be it mine to indite 
 The long-delay'd tribute a freeman must write; 
 'Till then shall its theme in my breast deeply dwell,' 
 *io peace to thy slnmbers, dear shade, fare thee well f 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE AND CONVERSATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT EMMET, ESQ. 
 
 There are few persons whose name has been 
 so hailed by the young and ardent, whose firm- 
 ness and patriotism has been more admired, and 
 whose character has produced a greater effect 
 upon society, than the subject of these pages. 
 
 Robert Emmet was born in Dublin, in the 
 year 1782, and was the son of Dr. Emmet, for 
 many years state physician in Dublin. He was 
 the youngest brother of Thomas Addis E^miet, 
 who, before the rebellion of 1798, had abandoned 
 a respectable situation at the Irish Bar, in order 
 to project and carry into execution, the schemes 
 of that day, for an Irish Republic, and of course, 
 separation from Great Britain. 
 
 Emmet was moulded in Nature's happiest 
 form for his destined service. He possessed the 
 physical qualities n^scessary for an accomplished 
 
 1* 
 
speaker, with high intellect to master and employ 
 knowledge, with imagination and feelings to 
 sway the passions and command the heart ; with 
 the power of incessant lp.bour to collect, discir 
 pline, and perfect the valued materials of a re\^o- 
 lutionary measure, he was eminently calculated 
 for the task which he had undertaken. And, 
 had success depended upon the worth and the 
 virtues of one man, Emmet would now have 
 been hai-led as the liberator of his country. 
 
 Early impressions are always the most lasting. 
 Emmet had his young mind filled with a detes- 
 tation of tyranny and injustice at an early ao-e, 
 by the virtue and patriotism of his private tutor' 
 the Rev. Mr. Lewes, who, though a minister of 
 the Established Church, was yet an enemy to 
 its monopolizing power and persecuting spirit 
 towards his Catholic fellow-subjects. 
 
 At the age of sixteen he entered Trinity Col- 
 lege. Here his progress in classical and mathe* 
 matical knowledge soon gained him honour and 
 reputation. But his heated spirit^'had been 
 worked up by the political enthusiasm in which 
 he had been early initiated. At the Historical 
 Society, of which he was a member, he expressed 
 his sentiments so freely on English influence in 
 Ireland, that he came under the suspicions of 
 Lord Chancellor Clare, who ultimately expelled 
 him from College, for denouncing, in a speech 
 he made, the English form of government, and 
 advocating that of a republic. 
 
 He had been sufliciently unguarded in his 
 conduct, while the disturbances of '98 existed, 
 to become an object of the vigilance of govern- 
 
^ent, and had found it prudent to reside abroad 
 so long as the habeas corpus act was suspended. 
 He fled to the Co.atinent, where an active cor- 
 respondence .was set on foot bj'- the French 
 government. Emmet, with the chiefs of the 
 preceding Irish Rebellion were summoned to 
 Paris. Consultations were held with them, and 
 the organization of another revolution was com- 
 menced and prosecuted with increasing dili- 
 gence. Nor was the then ruler of France, 
 (Buonaparte) inattentive, or remiss to forward, 
 by every means, in his power, thie project. To 
 Emmet was delegated the office of director and 
 mover of this aew attempt upon the British 
 dominion in Ireland. 
 
 On the expiration of the habeas corpus act, 
 he returned to Dublin, but thought it prudent, 
 for the forwarding of the revolution, to live pri- 
 vately. He took obscure lodgings at Harold's 
 iCross, under the assumed name ofHewit. Here 
 he held his meetings with his associates. These 
 people hailed with transport the oppportunity 
 of recommencing another attempt on subverting 
 British power in Ireland ! and while some spread 
 themselves over the country in every direction, 
 others fixed themselves in the metropolis. 
 
 During the first four months after Emmet's 
 arrival, nothing of his machinations transpired. 
 Soon after the King's Proclamation, on the 8th 
 of March, conceiving the moment of national 
 alarm at the renovation of hosilities, and a 
 threatened invasion, favourable to his projects, 
 he became more active in his preparations. The 
 whole of his family portion, which consisted of 
 
two thousand five hundred pounds, he devoted 
 to his enthusiasm. In the beginning of April, 
 he quitted his lodgings at Harold's Cross, with 
 the name of Hewi^ and in the new name of 
 Ellis he took the lease of a IjouSt, for which he 
 paid a fine of sixty-one guineas, in Butterfield 
 Lane, near Rathfarnhem. Here he harangued 
 his associates, and encouraged them by hopes 
 of a happy result to their labours. 
 
 'Liberty,' said he, ' is the child of oppression, 
 and the birth of the offspring is the death of the 
 parent ; while tyranny, like the poetical desert 
 bird, is consumed in flames ignited by itself, 
 and its whole existence is spent in providing 
 the means of self-destruction. We have a com- 
 plete exemplification of this in the past history 
 and present state of Ireland, where increase of 
 numbers and increase of intelligence, have been 
 the direct result of that system which too long 
 has ruled this kingdom. 
 
 'The relentless oppression of the English 
 Government forced the people into habits of 
 temperance — necessity made them abstemious, 
 and time reconciled them to their wholesome 
 esculent, which providentially came, like the 
 manna of the desert, to feed the sojourners in 
 the land of their fathers. 
 
 'When nature is easily satisfied, and the 
 necessaries of life procured with little labour 
 and care, increase of population will follow^ : be- 
 cause parents, who are pontented with their 
 own condition, will feel no uneasiness for their 
 offspring, who can, without any difficulty, pro- 
 cure a situation similar to their own. Emigra- 
 
9 
 
 lion froni siicli^a country was not to be e.xper! 
 ed ; for men whose modified wants were amply 
 satisfied at home, hadiio need to seek elsewhere 
 for wealth they did not desire, or distinctions 
 they did not value. Besides, Ireland has al- 
 ways had peculiar attractions in retaining- her 
 children : a Scotchman loves a Scotchman, but ' 
 an Hibernian loves the ofreen fields of his youth 
 and to enjoy these there are few privations to 
 which he will not cheerfully submit. The 
 eccentric humour, the boisterous mirth, the 
 ]Jnd and social intercourse, that characterize 
 the peasantry, likewise spread their charms, 
 and generally succeeded in subduing the' aspi-' . 
 ring notions of adventurers, and helped to retain 
 the people afhome. When to these were add- 
 ed the allurements of a more tender kind, and 
 when no restraint was placed upon the natural 
 instinct of man, wo must pot wonder that Ire- 
 land is blessed with a population \>ithout a 
 parallel in "Europe. 
 
 ' The base and cowardly co'Tdut,^ of the Irish 
 proprietors in deserting the country, though .at 
 the moment a grievance, was abolutely product- 
 ive "of good. Their large domains were par- 
 celled out to humble cottages; farms were di- 
 vided and subdivided; cabins every where rais- 
 ed their unostentatious roofs ; and every floor 
 was blessed with a numerous progeny. 
 
 ' Ireland has been forced into agriculture;* 
 
 * Agriculture. — ' The mother and nurse of a mili- 
 tary population, Ireland has been forced into this. It 
 was ihousht that she liad sunk under the arbitrary tyran- 
 ny of British I'nnnnpoiy. I, ft ih'^ prou.^ Briton rei^'rile 
 
10 
 
 and, this still farther tends to increase the pop* 
 uiation, and to give her that political impor- 
 tance she never could have acquired if the peo- 
 pie had been immured in mineral dungeons, or 
 coniined to the fetid vapours of a manufactur- 
 ing- bastile. Rural labour is not more condu- 
 cive to the health of the body, than it is benefi- 
 cial to the exercise of the mind ; and we always 
 find the agriculturist superior to the mechanic 
 not only in phj^sical strength, but in moral en- 
 ergy. The one is a natural soldier, who com- 
 mands respect, and exacts consideration ; while 
 the other is a mere animated machine, whose 
 ideas serve but as internal wheels to keep his 
 hands in motion. His frame is distorted, his 
 mind crippled, and his courage annihilated: but 
 the agriculturist is a man such as nature intend* 
 ed — fearless, aptive and resolute ; the air he 
 breathes ensures him health ; the ground he 
 tills supplies hjm with sustenance; and his oc- 
 cupations make him moral, hardy, and brave. 
 This is the copy of a million portraits, and they 
 are all found in Ireland. 
 
 ' The aspirations of civilized man after free- 
 dom are coeval with bis existence. His risrhts, 
 like the mountain torrent, may be diverted from 
 their original channel, but cannot be effectually 
 Impeded in their course. Dams may be raised 
 
 himself in the wholesome air of mines and workshops, 
 and become ossified in the strengthening attitudes oj 
 monotonous labour; while the degraded Irishman draws 
 health and number, and fierceness and force, and be- 
 ■<!omes loo nimble to be caught by his ciippled owner, 
 who hobbles after and threaten.'' witli his crutch. 
 
11 
 
 to stop the coming stream; but, if the congre* 
 gated waters cannot find another way to the 
 place of their destination, they will,burst through 
 every opposition, and overwhehn in destruction 
 all the works of lordly and presumptive man.' 
 
 ' But we find,' observed a bystander, ' that 
 very populous countries have continued in 
 slavery.' 
 
 ^'Numbers,' rejoined Emmet, ' whose minds 
 are more enslaved than their bodies may sub- 
 mit to injustice ; but numbers inspired with in- 
 telligence never can. ^ The Irish people are not 
 only shrewd, but informed; and for this good, 
 as well as for every other blessing they possess, 
 they are indebted to the folly and wickedness 
 of their governors, Divide et impera has long 
 been the maxim of those who oppressed us ; but 
 the result has been the reverse of their antici- 
 pations. The continued agitation, faction, and 
 discord, consequent upon such a system of 
 legislation, produced their moral effects, and, 
 like the vivid lightning, served to purify the 
 element they disturbed. The political whirl- 
 pool has drawn within its vortex every man in 
 Ireland ; discussion has been universally pro- 
 voked ; and the passions have been enlisted in 
 the general conflict. The human intellect has 
 heen propelled, vulgar errors corrected, and the 
 spirit of enquiry and investigation has gone 
 abroad. 
 
 ' To reason upon the political state of his 
 country, has long been, the propensity of the 
 Irish peasant ; and, from continually thinking 
 upon that subject, he has at length learned to 
 
think right. He not only knows his degraded 
 condition, but is well acquainted with the cause. 
 There is not a subject ponnfected with the 
 country, on which he cannot give an accurate 
 opinion ; he knows, as well as any man in the 
 Castle, the purpose of every measure of Gov- 
 ernment, whether it be to enrich a spend- 
 thrift nobleman by a job, or coerce the unfor- 
 tunate peasantry by an Insurrection Act. 
 
 ' I Ipiow my countrymen : I hav'e conversed 
 with them, and have found them practical philo- 
 sophers. Their sentiments are the pure em- 
 anations of acute minds, instructed in the school 
 of nature, and taught by adversity. They are, 
 in consequence, generally correct, and, without 
 any .great exertion of thought, are frequently 
 profound. How often have I seen them smile 
 at the abortive efforts of their friends, who en- 
 deavour to procure them redress in a constitu- 
 tional way, while, at the same time, they have 
 told me very pertinently, and very truly, that 
 they expected no concession from Government, 
 until they were able to insist on it !' 
 
 During this address, Emmet's fine manly 
 countenance Mowed with an enthusiastic ar- 
 dour, and he delivered himself with as much 
 animated fervency as if he were addressing a 
 numerous, but distracted assembh', which he 
 wished to persuade^ His words flowed with a 
 graceful fluency, and he combined his argu- 
 ments wdth all the ease of a man accustomed 
 to abstract discussions. 
 
 His amiable and esteemed character gave an. 
 elevating influence to the fame of the society 
 
13 
 
 of'whichhe was the leader — many ot whom, 
 though of equal talents and respectability, were 
 inferior in that fine sensibility of heart, and 
 constancy in friendship, which gained kim the 
 love and esteem of all who knew him. Nor 
 was it only for his bland manners and fine sen- 
 sibilities of heart, and constancy in friendship, 
 and firmness in principle ; he ranked amongst 
 the highest of its gifted sons, who display its 
 fertile genius and its social spirit, who intro- 
 duce the name of Ireland to the respect of the 
 world. 
 
 Commensurate with his value to relatives 
 and friends, and to his native city, was the 
 appalling sensation that pervaded his country 
 on the occasion of his lamented death. It is 
 not, then surprising that his removal in one 
 unexpected moment from this busy life's voca- 
 tions, to the oblivious silence of the tomb, should 
 produce, as it did, a general burst of sorrow, 
 and a common sense of bereavement. 
 
 Forty summers have closed around the Uni- 
 ted Irishmen since they made catholic emanic- 
 pation and parliamentary reform the leading 
 measures of their policy. They found all the 
 catholics of Ireland, the great majority of its 
 population, reduced by the operation of the 
 ferocious penal laws, to the condition of slaves, 
 in all things but being vendible, to the very 
 meanest of their protestant countrymen. Not 
 only did the British Government embrace every 
 ^severity that could w^aste the vigour of the na- 
 tion, but all the rights of humanity, and every 
 duty of life were sacrificed by its direction or 
 
14 
 
 connivance, provided only that this would pro* 
 mote the self interest, or gratify the rancour 
 of the favoured party. 
 
 There was a law of discovery, by which a 
 man who betrayed the confidence of his friend^ 
 if he w^ere catholic, possessed himself of that 
 friend's estate. There was a law which dis- 
 abled the catholic father to be guardian to his 
 own child, or to educate him. There was a 
 law which made the disobedience or apostacy 
 of the catholic child the means whereby to dis- 
 inherit his father. There was a law for rob- 
 bing a catholic of his horse on the highway, if, 
 when interrogated, he confessed his faith. 
 There was a law to prevent the eiducation of 
 catholic children, and to punish catholic teach- 
 ers as convicts ; to banish the catholic clergy, 
 and to hang them if they returned : to prevent 
 ^ catholics from purchasing or inheriting landed 
 . estates : from having arms for their defence : 
 to debar them from the profession of the law : 
 to prevent them from holding any office of trusty 
 honour or emolument, voting at elections, or 
 sitting in parliament. 
 
 The United Irishmen found their country 
 under government of those laws, and of perhaps 
 a hundred more, all conceived in the same spirit, 
 and all elaborated with consummate skill to 
 Tob, harass, and insult a defenceless people. 
 Those statutes, without parallel for their inhu- 
 manity, were framed against christians, under 
 pretence of securing the protestant religion. 
 They were enacted by the Irish protestants, 
 political protestants, than whom no sect has 
 
cried more loudly p.guinsL persecution, when 
 protestants were the martyrs. For all this the 
 protestant religion is not persecuting in its na- 
 ture. The crimes of the dominant party are 
 not justly chargeable upon the protestant relig' 
 ion, though committed in its name. They were 
 bitterly deplored by the United Irishmen of all 
 religions, and by none more than the subject 
 of this memoir, himself a member of the estab- 
 lished church, but no abettor of its injustice. 
 
 Through all this long persecution, the con- 
 duct of England wore a vizor of hypocrisy. It 
 was not the conversion of the Irish it desired, 
 but their spoliation, division and subjection. 
 Jf united in religion, they might unite for their 
 jvorldly interest, and a means of weakening 
 them by dissension would be lost. The Eng- 
 lish mission never had the merit of even being 
 honestly fanatical ; it was cold-blooded and 
 crafty. Its conduct was not feebly palliated by 
 the mistaken sincerity af blind zeal, which time 
 might soften and philosophy assuage. It hafl 
 the more terrestrial motives of insatiable rapac- 
 ity, the appetite for plunder, and the desire of 
 battening on the green pastures of Ireland. 
 This is the eating canker which neither time 
 nor reason ever cures, and which is now as de- 
 vouring, where it has the power, as at the first 
 hour. 
 
 After the laws had disfranchised four-fifths 
 of the population, all the emoluments of office, 
 all the wealth of the richest church in the 
 world, all the distinctions of power all the pomp, 
 qijcumstance, ^nd advantages of dominion, fell 
 
1() 
 
 into the lap of the favoured (e\v. These men 
 never wished to lessen the pretext of their 
 gains ; they never sought the conversion of 
 their helots by any means that ever made pro- 
 selytes to any cause. 
 
 The domesti.c spoliation of the catholics was 
 the share of the Irish protestants in this whole- 
 sale robbery. The spoliation of the Irish nation 
 was the part of England in this boundless 
 plunder : she took the whole trade, prosperity,, 
 and independence of Ireland, which the Irish 
 protestants freely surrendered for the license to 
 pillage and tyrannize at home. These wrongs 
 inflicted and endured, beofat mutual hatred and 
 frequent collision, and will account for the little 
 union among Irishmen, and the ferocity of char- 
 acter to be found in those districts where th-e 
 adverse parties came oftenest into contact. 
 
 This barter of a nation's rio-hts for the lucre 
 of a faction, is what was called the protestant 
 ascendancy in church and state. It was also 
 called, the British constitution. Against that 
 impious combination of treachery within,, and 
 tyranny from without, the United Irishmen 
 pointed their oath of union — "To forward a 
 brotherhood of affection, aopmmunityof rights^ 
 an identity of interestsh,«*aBa a union of power 
 among Irishmen of every religious persuasion.'* 
 It was this oath that was prosecuted as a felony^ 
 and for which frequent victims were sent to the 
 scaflbld. 
 
 Emmet did not live to behold the triumph of 
 the catholic cause, that happy accomplishment 
 of one of ihe orreat measures to which he deva 
 
17 
 
 ted fortune and life. But he saw, or thought 
 he saw, all the materials for a succesful strug- 
 gle for freedom, in the internal resources of his 
 beloved Ireland. In his moments of social ease 
 and retirement, he delig-hted to enumerate those 
 resources. A writer who seems to have known 
 him well, gives us the" following conversation 
 between Emmet and his friends while he was 
 maturing his measures for the coming contest. 
 
 ' I have seldom spent a happier hour in my 
 life, than I did that evening with Emmet. His 
 manners, his eloquence, and the sincerity, as 
 well as kindness, which breathed through every 
 thing he said, banished reserve on my part, 
 and we all conversed more like long-tried 
 friends than casual acquaintances. We talked 
 of literature, of London, and of politics. My 
 sentiments regarding Liberty — the goddess he 
 idolized — were warm j and, as I spoke with be- 
 coming abhorrence of tyranny, he seemed de- 
 lighted with my opinions. Befor-e we separa- 
 ted he made me promise to call on him that 
 night at his lodgings ; and when I did so, about 
 eight o'clock, I was agreeably surprised to find 
 the Exile there before me. After supper the 
 conversation took a political turn, and Emmet, 
 whose mind was then filled with the project of 
 liberating his country, began to expatiate on 
 the ease with which Ireland could throw off 
 the English yoke, and the benefits that would 
 ensue from such a measure.' 
 
 *Your enthusiasm, my friend,' said I, inter- 
 rupting him, ' carries you beyond the bounds 
 of probability 5 for, in anticipating a revolution 
 
 2* 
 
18 
 
 in this country, you forget that England calcu- 
 lates on the subjection of Ireland, and that she 
 is able to compel what it is her interest to de- 
 
 sire." 
 
 ' That she desires it,' he replied, ' I have no 
 doubt ; but that she is able to compel it, I un- 
 hesitatingly deny. The belief in England's 
 superior strength has too long prevailed in this 
 kingdom, but it is now, happily, beginning to 
 disappear. In comparing the two countries, 
 we must exclude from our calculation every 
 thing but physical strength alone, and then 
 the balance will be entirely in favour of Ireland j 
 for I believe it will be readily admitted that 
 she has the greater military population ; and 
 in a struggle for liberty, men only are valuable. 
 
 Mt is a matter of arithmetical calculation. 
 Ireland can, in the event of a well-organized 
 revolution, turn into the field between seven 
 and eight hundred thousand effective men — an 
 arm}'" certainly more numerous than any force 
 England could send as^ainst her.' 
 
 'Admitting your calculation to be correct,' I 
 returned, ' you are not to deny the superiority 
 of disciplined troops over rebel numbers. An 
 army of fifty thousand men would soon rout 
 your invincible phalanx.' 
 
 ' The time has passed, my dear sir,' he re- 
 joined, 'when such an exploded notion found 
 credei.ce among mankind. In a barbarous age, 
 when two armies drew up within gun-shot of 
 each other, each serving as an immoveable tar- 
 get for its opponent to fire at, such a belief was 
 :3atural, because he who possessed a musket 
 
19 
 
 had a fearful advanta?-e over the liian who had 
 not one. But modern times have a different 
 and more natural mode of warfare ; personal 
 prowess now, as in periods of antiquity, is like- 
 ly to be victorious ; and all necessary discipline 
 can be learned in a very few days. A man 
 does not necessarily acquire either superior 
 courage or address from the colour of his coat, 
 and a soldier with a fixed bayonet has no advan- 
 tage over a fierce peasant with a well-tempered 
 pike. Almost every victory of modern times 
 has been gained by coming to close action, and 
 that mode, to which a well-regulated army is 
 indebted for success, is as available to a deter- 
 mined band of freemen as to any hired troops 
 in Europe. 
 
 ' But, as different animals have different 
 modes of attack and defence, an insurgent army 
 has a discipline of its own, recommended by 
 reason, and sanctioned by experience. With 
 walled towns and close garrisons they have 
 nothing to do : the hills of their country serve 
 them as places of retreat ; marshes, rivers, and 
 lakes are theirbest bastions, while defiles afford 
 them opportunities of attack, and woods and 
 valleys serve them as places of ambush. 
 
 ' The face of nature solicits the oppressed to 
 regain their fredom ; and certainly, no country 
 ♦ on the globe has so many invitations to revolt 
 as our own. Scarcely a mile, from one extrem- 
 ity of the island to the other, in which an iios- 
 tile army could not be successfully harassed, 
 and, if needful, successfully opposed. To this 
 may be added, thav an Irish insurgent army 
 
20 
 
 would materially differ from a similar one m 
 any kingdom of Europe ; for nearly everj'^ 
 peasant, and certainly every man above the 
 rank of a peasant, is intimately acquainted with 
 the use, of fire-arms. Those near the sea-shore 
 (and those are a large portion) are excellent 
 marksmen ; while the inhabitants of mountains, 
 and the neighbourhoods of bogs, lakes and 
 marshes, are expert fowlers. The Wexford in- 
 surgents, in the late rebellion, gave a proof of 
 their abilities, and showed that the peasantry 
 of Ireland, when aroused, are nothing inferior 
 to the best disciplined troops in Europe.' 
 
 'I know it,' interrupted the Exile, ' for I wit- 
 nessed their skill in bringing down an enemy, 
 ani I must confess that, had they leaders of ex- 
 perience, they were nothing inferior, man for 
 man, to any force that might be brought against 
 them. 
 
 ' There is always a deficiency,' said I, ' in 
 some part, that renders every effort of the re- 
 mainder abortive. Out of a hundred revolts, 
 scarcely one has been successful.' 
 
 ' Pardon me,' said Emmet, ' if I set you right ; 
 for history furnishes us with few instances of 
 failure where a nation has been unanimous. It 
 is giving the enemies of man a new weight, to 
 add to the burden of oppression, by dignifying 
 pigmy insurrections and partial rebellions with 
 the name of open revolt. They should rather 
 be called sanguinary riots, and thus reduced 
 to their proper level : their ghosts might not bo 
 summoned from oblivious neglect to scare man- 
 )iiDd from an assertion of their rights. Instant 
 
^1 
 
 ces of national resuscitation are neither few 
 nor unfrequent. Tyranny was expelled from 
 Rome by the rebellion of the people ; and 
 Switzerland and the Netherlands are memorials 
 of successful revolts. In our own day, America 
 has shown us what a few thousand peasants 
 could accomplish when actuated by a love of 
 liberty. Ireland is superior in numbers to any 
 of these, equals them in address and courage, 
 and stimulated bv wronors oreater than have 
 been experienced by all these together. 
 
 ' Soldiers are but men, and generally the most 
 imbecile of men. Let the people be taught to 
 despise the glare and glitter of polished arms, 
 and the terror they are wont to inspire will be 
 converted into objects of ridicule and con- 
 tempt. — Happily an opinion prevails in Ireland, 
 that a soldier is an inferior mortal, and that 
 three hundred athletic peasants would be equal 
 to a regiment of a thousand men. I don't say 
 that this opinion is correct, but it must be ad- 
 mitted that, in case of a rising, it would be of 
 infinite service, as tending to inspire confidence 
 in the insurgents, and contempt for their ene- 
 mies — two things that materially conduce to 
 victory. 
 
 ' Leaders, in a harassing war, would be easi- 
 ly procured, for the sagacity of an unlettered 
 peasant might serve for the purpose. Who 
 does not remember the servant boy at Oulard, 
 whose advice was followed by the destruction 
 of a whole regiment \ — Great occasions pro- 
 duce great men, and generals are formed in the 
 jitudy as well as in the camp. The Catholics 
 
22 
 
 file not what they formerly were, — intelligence 
 is diffused, thousands of them are in the British 
 army, and every man of these would desert on 
 the first opportunity, for the amor patrice is not 
 extinguished by the imposition of the military 
 oath.' 
 
 Dow^n to the period of 1782, English acts of 
 parliament were suffered to bind Ireland. Mis- 
 government and poverty, the neglect of agricuU 
 ture, the prohibition of commerce, the abandon- 
 ment of manufactures were, during that period, 
 the portion of Ireland. But towards the end of 
 the American war, the volunteers emancipa- 
 ted their country from this bond;jge, and gave 
 it the means of being independent. The^;f[jim- 
 ple of America was before both'parties with all 
 the omens : hence the demands of the volun- 
 teers were prudentially conceded, and the glori- 
 ous revolution of 1782 was accompanied with- 
 out the loss of a drop of blood. The happy 
 consequence was the immediate liberation of 
 the commerce of Ireland from English restric- 
 tions. Her ensuing prosperity seemed miracu- 
 lous — so prompt, so general, so enriching ; and 
 her aptitude to prosper by a free trade became 
 known at the same time, to her rival and her- 
 self. 
 
 But the volunteers could not be always in 
 arms, and Ireland had no re'presentative assem- 
 bly to foster her prosperity during peace. Hers 
 was, alas ! a borough-parliament, composed 
 solely of the dominant faction, representing but 
 a small portion qf the inhabitants, and having 
 few feelinfrs or vyishes in unisron with the R}as8 
 '4>f the p^ple. ' ' 
 
•23 
 
 Every one soon perceived that all measures 
 of relief would be insecure, nay, illusory, unless 
 preceded or accompanied by a reform in the 
 parliament. The volunteers saw it, and endeav- 
 oured to reform ; but they excluded the Catho- 
 lics from their plan, and did not see (unhappy 
 effects of the ignorance of the time!) that this 
 alone would defeat their aim ; that they could 
 not erect an edifice of freedom on a foundatiort 
 of monopoly. Warned by these errors, the 
 United Irishmen altered the system of reform 
 fundamentally. They extended their base, and 
 established their plan upon three simple prin- 
 ciples, necessarily dependent upon each other, 
 arid containing the disease, the remedy, and the 
 mode of its attainment. The excess of English 
 influence was the disease, a reform in parlia- 
 ment the remedy, and the inclusion of the Ca- 
 tholics the mode of its attainiment. 
 
 Theobald Wolfe Tone had, of all others, the 
 greatest part in effecting this change of senti- 
 ment among the Protestants, to whose commu- 
 nion he belong^ed. He wrote the origfinal de- 
 claration for the Society of United Irishmen of 
 Belfast, find his powerful writings brought the 
 Presbyterians of the North very generally into 
 the system. 
 
 Emmet often heard him in strains of pure 
 and forceful eloquence expand, inculcate and 
 apply, for the benefit of his beloved country, 
 the political principles of the United Irishm.en- 
 
 Wherever men have had no means of legiti- 
 mate redress, we have seen them become then 
 own avengers, the worst government bt^ing £.!- 
 
- 24 
 
 ways marked by the greatest commotions. If 
 there be not an impartial administration of jus- 
 tice, the siletto takes place of the jury, and for 
 want of a g-overnment restricted and account- 
 able in Ireland, insurrection and civil war were 
 the resources of an exasperated people. Left 
 without the protection of a national parliament, 
 Ireland was always tj^rannically ruled, the 
 frame of society dislocated and broken, and her 
 numerous insurrections were the throes of 
 asfonized nature. 
 
 But from the moment the protestant reform- 
 ers recognised the principle that no reform was 
 practicable, efficacious, or just, which should 
 not equally include Irishmen of every religious 
 persuasion, the measure was feasible. It re- 
 ceived the assent of the whole nation, save only 
 the established church, and the oth^r depen- 
 dants of the British government. Its principle 
 recommended itself to the common sense of 
 mankind ; and the authority of America pro- 
 claimed its benefits. In a short time its way 
 was so far prepared by public opinion that even 
 its interested opponents anticipated its final 
 success. They determined, therefore, upon 
 the desperate expedient of leaving no parlia- 
 ment in Ireland for reform to better. They 
 hastened to buy from the borough-holders that 
 which a truly Irish parliament would not sell — 
 its own existence and the nation's independ- 
 ence. They hoped to extinguish in the aboli- 
 tion of the parliament, every chance of peace- 
 able and constitutional improvement. They 
 coLC-pired to transport it for life, mutilated and 
 
25 
 
 captive, into the British House ; to imprisott 
 beyond sea, in the abyss of English supremacy, 
 where its languishing, nerveless remains, doom- 
 ed to live in a perpetual minority, could never 
 more bring to its ill-fated country the bless- 
 ings of liberty, good government, or com- 
 merce.' 
 
 By the measures of a legislative union, Ire- 
 land reverts again to the same wretched state 
 as when bound by acts of the British parlia- 
 ment. On the misery of that state, the ablest 
 men who ever advocated her cause, even other 
 than United Irishmen, have exhausted eloquence 
 and invective, and the brightest page in her 
 history is the one which records the extorted 
 renunciation of that usurped power and plen- 
 ary right of self-government. The pitiful re- 
 presentation of Ireland in a foreign land can 
 but little avail her for her own benefit. She is 
 there in a minority of one to six. The six give 
 the law to the one, and with that one they have 
 nothing in common. They have other con- 
 stituents, who are a different people, who have 
 clashing interests, who have national antipathies 
 and who may • well feel contempt for the sub- 
 stitutes.of that parliament that traitorously sold 
 its country. Such are the legislators who have 
 bound Ireland in fetters. 
 
 The consequences are the same as heretofore : 
 discontent and remonstrance, and a proclama- 
 tion to all Europe, showing how easy it avouM 
 be to dismember the United Kingdom. No 
 loyalty will reconcile rational beings to pre- 
 serve an evil which thcv can rxchang*" for a 
 
 3 
 
26 
 
 good ; so that those who make Ireland poor and 
 enslaved, set before her, above all other men, 
 the advantages of separation. What can create 
 a desire for this remedy but ill-treatment 1 and 
 so long as this treatment lasts, how shaH that 
 desire discontinue 1 They stand in the relation 
 of cause and effect, and will for ever go on, or 
 cease together. 
 
 It was the opinion of Emmet, that the legisla- 
 tive union was a measure more suited to facili- 
 tate the despotism of the ministry than to 
 strengthen the dominion of England. Since 
 the abuse of power has always followed excess, 
 no less in nations than individuals, a restraint 
 upon human actions is salutary for all parties, 
 and the impediment that shall stop the career 
 of ministerial tyranny, will be found to work 
 best for the stability of the connexion. If this 
 operate to the good of Ireland, she will observe 
 it for its utility, an Irish parliament being then 
 its best preservative. If, on the contrary, it bs 
 made, as at present, to sacrifice the many for 
 the few, it will be viewed as a ciirse by the Irish 
 people — an evil that must be got rid of rather 
 than a good to be embraced and cherished. 
 
 At present we see those persons who deny a 
 parliament to Ireland on which to rest her peace 
 and happiness, self-poised and self-protected ; 
 v/e see them sedulous to change the state of the 
 question, and to represent the repeal of the 
 legislative union as a schism in the government. 
 They would limit the people of Ireland entirely 
 to England for benefits — Avhence, then, have 
 come their wrongs 1 An Irish parliament, on 
 
•27 
 
 the contrary, would be a bond of liberal con- 
 nexion ; it would settle every question of do- 
 mestic policj' at home, prevent strife and re- 
 crimination between both countries, secure to 
 the affairs of Ireland, a degree of attention which 
 however necessary, they do not and cannot ob- 
 tain among the weighty concerns of a different 
 people, in a foreign legislature. It would re- 
 move the old opprobrious evil of legislation with- 
 out representation ; for wherever this is partial 
 and foreign, it is inadequate : as relates to Ire- 
 land, it is worthless mockery. Why was a 
 •borough-constituency^ vicious, but because it 
 sent men to make laws for the people who did 
 not represent the people, who were returned by 
 a different body, and intent upon serving them- 
 selves and their employers. 
 
 The attributes of genius are not rare among 
 the countrymen of Emmet, and time is constant- 
 ly developing the resources of mind. The la- 
 bours of intellect press onward for distinction, 
 while names of high endowments are forced back 
 to make room for new reputation. They alone 
 will be remembered who have acted with an im- 
 pulsive power on ihe destinies of their country 
 and kind. Among- those who first tauorht how 
 to overthrow the misrule of Ireland, who exposed 
 its cause and prepared its cure, Emmet is dis- 
 tinguished. He had great influence in the adop- 
 tion of those measures which are still at issue 
 between Ireland and her foes, and which, in 
 part obtained, in part withheld, are determina- 
 tive of her future happiness, as they shall finally 
 iall or be signally successful. 
 
28 
 
 T|ie different ciepols of Dublin, u iiicli he hired,. 
 were, at his sole expense, furnished with mili- 
 tary pikes and handles, ammunition and clo- 
 thing. In one of these depots, nranpowder was 
 manufactured : in the others, timber was pro- 
 vided for constructing- pikes, and those already 
 made, and his other arms and stores were there 
 deposited. 
 
 It must be observed of the numerous persons 
 connected with those depots, that neither the 
 certainty of an ample reward, nor the wavering 
 instability common to men engaged in. dangei- 
 and dangerous designs, could draw the discov- 
 ery from the impenetrable recesses of their fi- 
 delity : an evident proof that the hearts of the 
 people were with the project ; or, perhaps it 
 was that the departments of the police of Dublin, 
 were all filled by men who had been deeply en- 
 gaged in the cruelties of the preceding rebel- 
 lion, and who, being on that account stigma- 
 tized and detested by the people, even those v/ho 
 were secretly inclined to give information, were 
 not willing to unbosom themselves to men 
 whom they regarded with so much horror. 
 
 We cannot resist the temptation to insert the 
 following narrative, as illustrative of the cruel- 
 ties and abominations committed daily, and 
 with impunity, upon the unfortunate people of 
 that dreadful period : 
 
 '' After walking about a mile, we came to o 
 neat thatched cabin, situated in a very seques- 
 tered valley. A river ran before it, and a few 
 aged trees shaded the simple roof. , The door 
 was open, and, on our entrance, a peasant rose 
 
29 
 
 to receive us. He smiled as lie handed me a 
 chair, and looked inquisitively at my companion. 
 
 "' Don't you recollect Mr. J V inquired 
 
 the exile. This interrogation was followed by 
 a momentary pause, during which Howlan seem 
 ed lost in reflection, after which he burst into 
 an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. 
 
 "'Oh! blud-an-ounze !' he repeated several 
 times, 'is this yourself — your own four bones 
 Avhole and sound after all \ Well, well, I knew, 
 I knew I should see you again, though I was 
 certain you were dead ; and many is the pater- 
 und-avi I said for your soul, though I believe 
 you are a Protestant. But where's the harm 
 in that 1 did not you fight like any Roman for 
 ould Ireland 1 and what more could a real true- 
 born Catholic do X Troth, some of them didn't 
 do as much, the spalpeens^ or weAvouldn't have 
 now to begin asfain.' 
 
 " ' So, so, Howlan,' said the Exile, ' you 
 haven't j-et learned to be loyal 1 ' 
 
 " ' Loyal !' repeated Mie hero of Oulard, ' no, 
 in troth, for it is not in my grain ; and faith, I 
 believe if I was paid for it, these stripes on my 
 back would not let me. Oh no, the crows will 
 get white feathers before Denis Howlan will 
 forgive the Orangemen— bad luck to them.' 
 
 " ' I recollect,' returned the Exile, 'a part of 
 your story, but the apprehensions I was under 
 wlien I first heard it, prevented me from attend- 
 ing to the whole. Was not your father mur- 
 dered 1 
 
 " ' Murdherd !' repeated Howlan ; ' ay, murd- 
 herd over and over again ; and wasn't I murd- 
 
30 
 
 herd myself 1 But,' he continued, ' I'll just tell 
 it all here to you both.' Then, drawing his 
 stool close to where we sat, he proceeded : — 
 
 " 'My father, (Lord be marciful to kis sowl 
 in glory !) kept a snug little farnn on the right- 
 hand side of the road that goes from Gorey to 
 Ferns j and, though I say it, there was not a 
 more sasty man in the county of Wexford. I, 
 myself, was the youngest of three sons and two 
 daughters, and the devil a more genteeler family 
 attended Mass of a Sunday than Paddy How- 
 lan's. My tAvo brothers were able strapping 
 fellows, and faith, there were worse boys in the 
 parish than myself. You may be sure we were 
 real Crappies, and why but we should for our 
 religion and country % 
 
 ** The winter before the Kebellion, the Yeo's* 
 were out every night, and dreadful work they 
 made of it — burning, whipping, and shooting. — 
 A poor Catholic couldn't live at all at all ; and, 
 as we expected that they would give us a call ; 
 we hid our pikes and guns in the ditches, and, 
 to be sure, appeared as innocent as lambs. I 
 shall never forget the 15th of November ; no, 
 never, while there is a drop of Irish blood in my 
 soul J for, when I think of it, my brain boils, and 
 my very flesh creeps, as if there was a blister 
 all over me. Well, as I was saying, on the 15th 
 of November, I was coming home from Ennis- 
 corthy market ; and being after taking a glass 
 of the creature with one friend or another, I was 
 pretty merry, and to make the road light, I was 
 einging ' The Victim of Tyranny ^^ and the ould 
 • A contemptuous name for Yeomen. 
 
:5i. 
 
 -fnare a-self was so pleased with the tune, that 
 she kept the track as straight as a die, though 
 the night was as dark as pitch. 
 
 " ' Just as I came to the top of the bougharten^ 
 that led down to our house, a fellow seized my 
 beast by the halter, and while you'd be lookmg 
 Tound you, a score of bayonets was ready to pop 
 into poor Denis. " Hallo !" said I, " what's 
 this V "You Popish rebel," cried the officer, 
 for it was a party of the North Cork, " what 
 song is that you were singing V^ 
 
 " Och, nothing at all," said I, " only new 
 words to an ould tune." 
 
 "Ah! then, by ," said he, " you shall 
 
 soon sing another tune, unless you tell us of all 
 the people you know to be United Irishmen." 
 
 " Faith, and that's what I can soon do," says 
 I, *' for I know nobody." The word wasn't 
 well out of my mouth, when he ran his sword 
 into my arm, saying, " That's a tickler to help 
 your memory." " Thank your honour," says 
 I, " but as ye are net Yeo's, I hope you will act 
 decent, and let a poor boy pass. My name is 
 Howlan, and never did any man an injury." — 
 ■*' Howlan !" cried the officer, " you are the very 
 man we want. Have you not two brothers V* 
 " Ay, and a father too," I answered, quite calm- 
 ly, though I was in a terrible pickle, with the 
 blood streaming down my arm. 
 
 " I was then bid to drive down to my father's 
 house, and they all kept quite close to me. The 
 family were all in bed, and I, foolish enough, 
 .called up my poor father, then seventy years of 
 Age, and jny two brothers. They came out into 
 
3*1 ' 
 
 the lawn in their shirts, for they were so 
 frighiened they foiT ot to put on their clothes, 
 and if they hadn't, they could not, for want of 
 time. 
 
 "'My father said he had no arms; and 
 when he protested, which was the truth, that 
 he was no united man, the sergeant knocked 
 him down with a pistol, and some of the sol- 
 diers began kicking of him while he lay on the 
 ground. My brothers, of course, (for what 
 Christian would turn informer X) refused to 
 confess anything, and accord inglj-, the eldest 
 was taken and tied to a car, and a drummer- 
 boy proceeded to flog him at a desperate rate, 
 while one of the party, to give him light, set 
 fire to the barn. As the flames mounted up to 
 the skies, I could see my brother's back, hackled 
 like a raw griskin, while the poor fellow re- 
 fused to jrratifv his murderers with a sing-le 
 groan. My mother rushed out, and falling on 
 her knees, beseeching the villains to forbear, 
 but, one of the soldiers gave her a kick in the 
 stomach, and stretched her on the pavement. 
 
 " ' Knowing how soldiers then treated young 
 girls, I made signs to my sisters, who had 
 come to the_ door, to shut it, and remain inside. 
 They did so, before the soldiers could prevent 
 them; and one of them having seen what I had 
 done, told the others, and in a minute there 
 were a dozen stabs in my body. My eldest 
 brother was then released, and the other tied 
 up in his place, when my father, who had re- 
 covered, rushed forward and seized the drum- 
 mer's arm. Poor man ! the savages had no pity 
 .^D his tears, and he received several stabs!' 
 
3^ 
 
 " Here Denis was overpqwei'ed by his feel- 
 ings, and after hastily wiping away one or two 
 natural drops from his cheek, continued. 
 
 " 'I was now questioned about united men, 
 and arms, and as I also refused to make any 
 discovery, they took and bound my hands be- 
 hind me, and then, taking the halter from the 
 mare's head, they placed it round my neck, and 
 raising the car up, hung me out of the back- 
 band. They were too cruel to let me die a 
 natural death, and so cut me down a few 
 minutes afore I went to Paradise. I can't tell 
 anything about that time, but my ould mother 
 told me that my face was as black as a pot, 
 and my tongue a handle long. The first thing 
 I recollect, after being hanged, was to see the 
 poor ould house in flames, the soldiers having 
 set fire to it, to get my sisters out, but they 
 were disappointed, as the girls had made their 
 escape while they w^ere hanging me. 
 
 " ' To make a long story short,' continued 
 Denis, ' my father, myself, and two brothers, 
 w^ere thrown into the cart, and marched ofi' to 
 Ferns. Next day my father died in the guard- 
 house ; and after a week's confinement, my 
 brothers and I were turned out w^ith pitched 
 caps upon our heads.* We had now no house, 
 
 * It is saiil that the North Cork Regiment were the in- 
 ventors — but they certainly were the intruders of pitch- 
 cap torture into the county of Wexford. Any person 
 having their hair cut short, (and therefore called a Crop- 
 py, by which appellation the soldiery designated a Uni- 
 ted Irishman) on being pointed out by som.e loyal neigh- 
 boar, was immediately seized and brought into a guard- 
 house, where caps either of coarse linen, or strong 
 
34i 
 
 JJO home, for ray father's life being the term of 
 the lease, the landlord had seized on our little 
 all, and so we went to service, as did my sis- 
 ters, my mother having died in a month after 
 my father. My brothers Avere long before they 
 recovered ; and for myself, I'll feel the effects 
 fOf that bloody night to the day of my death. 
 
 " The tale of this untutored peasant, told in 
 his own vulgar, but expressive language, pro- 
 duced a painful interest on my feelings, while 
 it excited my indignation to that degree of 
 frenzy, which made me instantly determine 
 upon the Quixotic resolution of finding out the 
 office under whose command the family of 
 Howlan had been tortured, and call him to an 
 account or, at least, expose him to the world. 
 Filled with this extravagant notion, I inquired 
 of Denis, as we walked along, where the North 
 Cork were now stationed. 
 
 " ' Lord bless your honour,' replied Denis, 
 ' there's not a man of them in the land o' the 
 living, for I was at the killing of them all my- 
 self — and quick work we made of it — on Ou- 
 lard Hill.' 
 
 ' Oh, I remember,' said I, ' Mr. J spoke 
 
 of your generalship there. How was that ^ 
 
 brown paper, besmeared inside with pitch, were kept nl- 
 ways ready lor service. Tlie unfortunate victim had 
 one of these, well heated, compressed on his head : and 
 when judged of a proper degree of coolness, so that it 
 could not easily be pulled off, the sufferer was turned 
 out amidst the horrid acclamations of the merciless tor 
 turer?, and to the view of vast numbers of people, whc 
 generally crowded to the guard-house door, attracJed by 
 Che afflicting cries of the lormented. 
 
35 
 
 ** * Why/ replied Denis, ' when I went to 
 sarvice, my master lived in the very parish with 
 Father Murphy, who, God bless him, coming 
 'one day through Ferns, saw theYeo's shooting 
 poor Catholics like dogs, trying how many ot' 
 tliem a musket-ball would sfO througfh at once ; 
 so in the evenins: he called his conorreofation 
 together in the chapel. It was as dark as bags, 
 and not a candle liorhtnins" to show us the wav 
 to say our prayers. We were all silent as 
 death, and you could hear a pin drop on the 
 floor while the pri«st was speaking. He toulcl 
 us 'twas better to die fighting for our religion 
 and country, than be butchered like sheep by 
 the Orangemen. He said what was Gospel, 
 atid faith we took his advice, and marched in 
 fine order after him, and he in the middle of 
 us to Oulard Hill, where we encamped for the 
 night. The Yeo's fled like murder at the sight 
 of us, for they are the greatest cowards in the 
 world, and sent the sogers to frighten us : but 
 faith, their day was passed, and once we burnt 
 the candle, we'd burn the inch. When the red 
 coats appeared, our faces were all manner of 
 colours, and many proposed to runaway. 'No, 
 no,' says I, ' the priest and God is with us, and 
 what have we to fear % Here is a ditch and 
 gravel hole, and lie in them till the sogers come 
 quite close, and when I cry out Erin go hragh^. 
 let every man start up, and use his pike. My 
 advijce was taken, and Father Murphy blessed 
 us all. The sogers come up, sure enough with 
 a fellow like a turkey cock strutting before 
 them on his horse, and when^ they came quite 
 
36 . 
 
 ii«ar the ditch, he went behind ihem, and we 
 could hear the words, " Ready, present, fire !'* 
 Pop, pop, pop, went their muskets ; but faith I 
 shouied out like a lion, Erin g;o bra^h* and it 
 would do your heart good to see what sport we 
 had. They weren't a breakfast for us, and* I 
 had the pleasure, thank God, of sticking my 
 pike into the rascally lieutenant, who murdered 
 myself and my father." 
 
 Government had, by the month of June, dis- 
 covered sufficient to quicken its diligence, and 
 the officers of the police appeared thencefor- 
 ward more alert and vigilant ; notwithstanding 
 which it was difficult to brinff them to believe 
 that the project of insurrection was on foot. 
 This state of delusion continued until the four- 
 teenth of July, the anniversary of the French 
 Revolution, which opened the eyes of many, 
 and excited a considerable degree of alarm. 
 Bonfires were publicly made in commemora- 
 tion of that event, and collections of people, ap- 
 parently strenuous and decided, formed and 
 partook in the festivity. On the sixteenth, the 
 depot of powder in Patrick Street blew up, in 
 Avhich there were two men nearly suffocated ; 
 one of whom, in throwing up the window, cut 
 the artery of his arm, and bled to death, the 
 other was taken prisoner. Emmet was so 
 alarmed at the discoveries this explosion would 
 lead to, that he quitted the house in Butter- 
 field-Lane, and took up his permanent residence 
 at the depot in Mass-lane. He there had a 
 ■mattrass to sleep on, that he might be present 
 
 •Hay's History ol'the Insurrection in Wexford. 
 
37 
 
 night and day to direct and animate the work 
 men. 
 
 The interval of the seven days ensuing after 
 the explosion, was employed by Emmet and his 
 sssociatcs either in deliberating on the propri- 
 ety of immediately flying to arms, or in con- 
 certing the most practicable mode of commen- 
 cing their operations. It was ultimately 
 agreed upon to seize the several depots and ar* 
 senals in the vicinity of Dublin ; and above all, 
 it was universally determined to gain posses- 
 sion of the castle, as, in that case, it was sup- 
 posed they could more decidedly influence the 
 public mind by having the seat of government 
 in their power. 
 
 As the day of attack approached, the greater 
 part of Emmet's adherents, contemplating their 
 danger, wished to defer the attempt. Emmet, 
 however, was peremptory in the opposite way 
 of thinking. He represented, with an impetu- 
 osity not to be resisted, that the militia was 
 about to be embodied ; that the country would 
 be placed every day in a more unassailable pos- 
 ture, and by its multiplied measures of defence, 
 become impregnable. 
 
 The reader will probably not be displeiE.cd 
 with the following extract from the pen of the 
 same writer whom we hare so often quoted, as 
 illustrative of the kind, generous, and unsus- 
 pecting character of Emmet, even under the 
 most difficult and trying circumstances. 
 
 * I learned from Denis that the conspirators 
 met in a valley not far from where we were, 
 and that he was hastening to join them : I sig- 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 nificd my readiness to attend him ; and, as 
 Denis was not a man of ceremony, he did not 
 stand long upon punctilios, but immediately 
 conducted me across a heathy and desolate hill, 
 towards the place of rendezvous. 
 
 ' The night had closed around us as we ap- 
 proached a mountain chasm, and, after scram- 
 bling through a rude aperture 'in a stupendous 
 rock, we found ourselves in a kind of natural 
 recess, formed by an amphitheatre of surround- 
 ins hills, whose overhano-in^: acclivities frowned 
 in gloomy horror upon the little valley. Bj'' 
 the lio-ht of the stars we could discern some 
 persons, who had entered before us, proceeding 
 towards the opposite side, and we accordingly 
 followed in their footsteps. We had not pro- 
 ceeded far when the voice of a person speaking 
 fell upon our ears, and I had not to listen long 
 before 1 recognized the deep, but harmonious 
 accents of my friend Emmet, as he addressed 
 th-^ people around him, who appeared to be 
 about the number of five hundred. His 
 harangue was on popular topics, of Irish griev- 
 ances, and he spoke with a fervency of manner 
 that showed him sincere in the sentiments he 
 uttered. When he concluded, Malachy took 
 his station, and proceeded to address the pea- 
 santry. I could not but observe in his speech, 
 superior ingenuity. Emmet was more elo- 
 qnent, but less artful; more impassioned, but 
 less logical. There was sincerity in every 
 word he uttered, and patriotism appeared to 
 predominate in every measure he recommended, 
 whilst humanity breathed throughout his dis 
 
course. But Malachy addressed himself di- 
 rectly to the passions, and so intimately blend- 
 ed religion with politics, that his auditors could 
 scarcely suppress the operation of their feel- 
 ings, and when he concluded, an involuntary 
 burst of applause followed. 
 
 ' Denis, who had listened with the utmost at- 
 tention to both speakers, now took me by the 
 liand, and led me into the throng, Malachy 
 cast his eye upon me, and instantly exclaimed, 
 'A Spy!' 
 
 * A Spy ! ' was re-echoed by a hundred voices, 
 and in a moment the deferential horror of all 
 present caused a circle to be formed around me, 
 every man being eager to get as far as possible 
 from what he considered the contagion of my 
 presence. 
 
 ' The indignation I felt at Malachy's imputa- 
 tion for a moment deprived me of speech, and 
 felt as if riveted to the place, when Emmet 
 kindly stepped fcrward and took me by the hand. 
 ' My friends,' said he, ' there is some mistake ; 
 Mr. K is a young man of liberal princi- 
 ples, and high notions of honour, and I am cer- 
 tain that he is incapable of betraying our secret, 
 much less acting as a spy upon our proceed- 
 ings.' — ' You do me but justice,' I replied, ' for 
 I came here this night to learn if your cause 
 was such as required or deserved the assistance 
 of a freeman's arm, and not basely to betray 
 my countrymen, for I trust those that surround 
 me will not refuse me the fraternal embrace be- 
 cause I was born in England, while my parents 
 nd heart were ever Irish." This remark eli- 
 
40 
 
 cited much applause, and I proceeded : ' I trust 
 that the person who has imputed such a base 
 motive to my presence here has mistaken me' — 
 
 ' You are right, Godfrey,' interrupted Mala- 
 -^hy, with the utmost familiarity, ' I did indeed 
 mistake you for another person.' 
 
 ' I thought as much,' said Emmet, and let us 
 now rejoice that our cause, the noblest in 
 which man was ever engaged, has received the 
 acquisition of a pure spirit, who feels indig- 
 nant at Qur wroncjs, and who burns to avensf© 
 them. 
 
 After this conference, niany of his partisans 
 slunk away, and declined all farther participa- 
 tion in the affair j others, however, and those 
 ihe majority, resolutely determined to follow 
 the fortunes of their beloved leader, and declared 
 that they would not desert him although they 
 advanced with the certainty of utter destruction 
 to themselves or their cause. The die was cast, 
 and all further reflection was repelled by the 
 ardour and firmness of resolution. 
 
 Fortune, on this occasion, not to be accused 
 of fickleness, seems never, from his first embark? 
 ing on this desperate adventure, to have been 
 for a single moment, auspicious to the devoted 
 Emmet. His negociation with Dwyer had 
 failed, and a plan, even more specious, and on 
 which he now grounded the most sanguine hopes 
 of success, proved equally fallacious. A part of 
 the plan of general attack determined upon, 
 was to force the batteries and stores at the 
 mouth of the harbour of Dublin, by the assist- 
 ance of thoFP working people from the counties 
 
41 
 
 of Wicklow and Wexford, who in the months of 
 Jane and July, repair in considerable numbers, 
 for the purpose of hay-making, to the neighbour- 
 hood of Dublin. The minds of this class of men 
 appeared by no means more softened, nor their 
 passions less alive to every motive of discon- 
 tent, whether real or imaginary, than they were 
 at the period of the rebellion in 1798, which 
 they had principally supported j and the daring 
 conduct of which had prepared and habituated 
 them for similar encounters ; their enmities 
 were fierce and vehement; their courage and 
 resolution undoubted ; it was therefore natural 
 that they should be selected as most useful and 
 valuable auxiliaries. For some time they had 
 manifested the most cordial concurrence ; but 
 on the 22d of July, the day before that appoint- 
 ed for action, they, for some cause unknown, 
 formally declared their abandonment of the 
 design. They did not, however, accompany 
 their refusal with any discovery of the plot. 
 
 For some days prior to the 23d of July, Em- 
 met passed entirely in his depot, reposing at 
 night on a mattress thrown upon the ground, 
 amid the implements of death which he had 
 there collected. 
 
 In a back house, recommended by its seclud- 
 ed and uninviting situation, were about a dozen 
 men at work ; some busy making cartridges, 
 while others were casting bullets ; some fabrica- 
 ting rockets, and others making pikes. The 
 heaps of muskets, and other warlike weapons, 
 scattered around, served to inspire a feeling of 
 awe in the gloomy mansion of incipient treason, 
 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 singularly contrasted with the thoughtless lev- 
 ity depicted upon the half-intoxicated counten- 
 ances of those engaged in preparing the instru- 
 ments of death. 
 
 My friend, on seeing all safe, could not con- 
 ceal his satisfaction ; and having distributed 
 some money amongst the men, he dismissed 
 them. As they withdrew, he bolted the door, 
 and throwing himself upon a rude seat, seemed 
 lost in the intensity of his feelings. I was not 
 less serious ; for the workmen, the arms, and 
 the gloom of the place, had deeply afTected my 
 spirits, and brought upon my mind a despond- 
 ing impression, not unmixed with sensations of 
 fear. 
 
 *' My friend," said Emmet, after a silence of 
 several minutes, " how ungrateful are mankind ! 
 how thoughtless are nations ! Tiie philosopher 
 is neglected, and the patriot unhonoured; yet, 
 without knowledge and liberty, how valueless 
 all the possessions of man ! How little do 
 those who profit by wisdom, or glory in the 
 possession of freedom, know of the student's 
 privations, or the conspirator's danger ! and 
 without study and treason, how few could be 
 either wise or free % Nations, exulting in the 
 enjoyment of their rights, but too often forget 
 those to whom they are indebted for the bless^ 
 ing. Englishmen continually boast of their 
 liberty, yet how many Britons are the names of 
 Sydney and Hampden as vague as those of 
 Gallitzin and William Tell 1 The sound is 
 familiar, bat it scarcely raises a single associa 
 tioQ. 
 
43 
 
 *' The hope of applause," I replied, " though 
 it may stimulate our exertions, should never be 
 allowed to direct our actions, and he that is 
 honoured by the discerning may readily dis- 
 pense with the plaudits of the vulgar-. 
 
 " True," he returned : " but those who bene- 
 fit mankind may at least expect gratitude ; and, 
 if the danger encountered by the patriot may 
 be allowed to enhance the debt, I know of none 
 who has so large a demand as the conspirator, 
 whose object is universal good. After once he 
 imparts his schemes to others, he lives in con- 
 tinual apprehension ; every stranger is an ob- 
 ject of suspicion ; every incident is pregnant 
 with danger. The mistakes of his friends may 
 ruin him, and a concealed enemy may lurk 
 amongst his associates ; for, as his designs 
 require numerous abettors, it is very dif- 
 iicult to select many men without including 
 some traitor ; and one informer is sufficient to 
 blast all his hopes — as a single spark will cause 
 the explosion of the largest powder magazine. 
 I have latterly felt so acutely the uncertainty 
 of my situation, that I am determined to hasten 
 the event of our plan ; for any conclusion 
 would be preferable to protracted suspense. 
 
 " I know not," I replied, " whether it is desi- 
 rable to persist in your scheme, for the reason- 
 ing of our friend, the Exile, never appeared to 
 me so rational as since I entered this depot of 
 Kebellion. A thousand thoughts start up in 
 my mind, which I can neither allay nor satis- 
 factorily account for. These scattered instru- 
 ments of destruction proclaim, that in the event 
 
4.4 
 
 of an insurrection, numbers must die; but how 
 many are to taste the bitterness of death defies 
 human calculation. Ourselves, too, may be 
 among the fallen, and, what is more, the cause 
 may be unsuccessful. 
 
 " All these," interrupted Emmet, " depend 
 upon events and circumstances, about which 
 we can know nothing positive ; 'tis for us only 
 to ascertain the probability of success, and to 
 persevere in the course which honour and duty 
 point cut. Enough for us to know, that Ire- 
 land requires the standard of revolt to be raised 
 by some one, and that neither defeat nor tri- 
 umph can add to or diminish our consciousness 
 of rectitude. Impediments may crowd the long 
 perspective before us, but beyond these are glory, 
 honours, and immortaiity — rewards, for obtain- 
 ing which no sacrifice is too great — no enter- 
 prize too dangerous. 
 
 " Let not," he continued, " my apprehensions, 
 too carelessly expressed, damp the ardor of 
 your soul, for the reasons which first induced 
 you to embark in this best of causes are the 
 same now as then, whatever arguments you 
 may have heard to the contrary. We are 
 young and unincumbered j defeat can neither 
 distress our friends nor ruin ourselves, for 
 what have we to lose but lifel And life is held 
 on so uncertain a tenure, that a thousand daily 
 accidents may deprive us of it, and that too so 
 suddenly and so soon as to leave our memory 
 without an accompanying deed to keep it afloat 
 ,on the stream of time. Admitting for an in 
 
45 
 
 slant that we shall (which Heaven forbid !) be 
 unsuccessful, think not that our endeavours 
 will be forgotten, or that our country will cease 
 to remember us. No, my friend, the tyrant 
 laws may condemn us, and tyrant authority 
 asperse and vilify our characters ; but rely on 
 it that Irishmen shall reverence the names of 
 K and Emmet while patriotism has admi- 
 rers, or Ireland a friend. Our country has 
 never been ungrateful, and so few have been 
 her benefactors, that she is prodigal of thanks 
 for even dubious favours. Of us she can have 
 but one opinion, for ingenuous enmity cannot 
 attribute any but laudable motives to our de- 
 signs. For Ireland I will spend my private 
 fortune, and for Ireland I shall, please God, 
 venture my life. Kosciusko is a name as be- 
 loved in Poland as that of Washington in 
 America. , 
 
 "|But reverse this gloomy picture, and look 
 — as humanity should ever look — upon the 
 bright side of things ; for defeat does not al- 
 ways terminate daring enterprises. Reflect 
 upon the consequences of success ; our enemies 
 vanquished, our arms triumphant, and Ireland 
 free ! Our names associated with the libera- 
 tors of nations, and ourselves overwhelmed 
 with the grateful benedictions of an emancipa- 
 ted people. Our youth will mcrease the general 
 wonder, and the means by which we shall 
 achieve such illustrious actions willaucrment the 
 pleasing amazement. Add to this the exalted sta 
 tions we shall occupy, and the joyful approbation 
 of our own bosoms ; and tell me, is not our pres- 
 
4<G 
 
 exit situation, taking all things into account, 
 one that misfht well be envied 1 Defeat can- 
 not deprive us of honor, nor death of glory ; 
 while success, if obtained, has in store for us 
 all those rewards which ever graced the most 
 fortunate of mankind. 
 
 " Opportunities for great actions," says the 
 moralist " occur but seldom, and surely he ill 
 deserves honour who lets the opportunity pass 
 when it presents itself. Glory has found us, 
 and let us embrace her ; the tide of our affairs 
 's at the flood, and let us embark upon the 
 waves of fortune : we are all attended, and 
 Heaven seems propitious. A thousand years 
 may pass, and a more favourable moment may 
 not again occur. 
 
 " What, still thoughtful 1 Oh, I see. Miss 
 
 J has whispered something into your ear 
 
 which has operated unfavourably upon your 
 mind. Well, I can excuse you, for a being of 
 such perfect loveliness might well disturb a 
 hermit's prayer, though I will not allow her to 
 divert a patriot's purpose." 
 
 " Then," said I, "you ,will not pardon Iovq 
 m a conspirator! " 
 
 " I can not only pardon it," he replied, " but 
 sincerely wish that the tender passion may be 
 always blended with the amor patrice, for he 
 that anticipates the commendation of a beloved 
 mistress, can never act dishonourably. My 
 friend," he continued, rising, and taking me by 
 the hand, " I, too, have one whose praise I wish 
 to merit, and whose exaltation, next to my 
 country, is the first wish of my heart. She is 
 
/* 
 
 7 
 
 kind, sjie is lovely, and Heaven only knows 
 how good !" — 
 
 " And yet," I interrupted, " you wonld fling 
 away this jewel, without having the untutored 
 Indian's apology, for you know its value." 
 
 " 1 know its value," he rejoined, " and, be- 
 cause I know it, I wish to place it where its 
 worth may be appreciated. - The stagnant vale 
 of inglorious ease is for those domestic ena 
 moured souls who are content to pass a life of 
 inactive worthlessness, and who wisii to enjoy 
 affection without having merited love. Mine i« 
 a higher ambition : I must make myself worthy 
 of the woman of my choice, and the glory which 
 shed its lustre on the husband shall reflect its 
 splendour on the wife. Heaven forbid that an 
 excusable passion should thwart the great de- 
 sign of my life, or cause me for an instant to 
 neglect my country's good, for the purpose of 
 promoting my own personal advantage. What 
 earthly possession could equal the glory of 
 havincr freed Ireland from foreis^n domination '? 
 and, though failure might partially obstruct its 
 rays, we never can be deprived of the conscious- 
 hees of having deserved it." 
 
 His magazine was by no means despicable. 
 It comprised the following warlike implements : 
 l-iSlbs of cannon powder, in bundles — eleven 
 boxes of fine powder — one hundred bottles filled 
 with powder, enveloped with musket balls, and 
 covered with canvass — two hundred and forty- 
 six hand grenades, formed of ink bottles, filled 
 with powder, and encircled Avith buck shot — 
 «ixty-two thousand rounds of musket ball car- 
 
48 
 
 tridgc — three bushels of musket balls — a quan- 
 tity of tow mixed with tar and gunpowder, and 
 other compustible matter, for throwing against 
 wood work, which, ^v;hen ignited, would cause 
 an instantaneous conflagration ; sky rockets, 
 and other signals, &c., and false beams filled 
 with combustibles ; with no less than twenty 
 thousand pikes. 
 
 This super abundance of ammunition is an 
 evident proof of Emmet having promises of 
 'iarge supplies of men, in which promises he 
 was fatally disappointed ; for, instead of having 
 a force of thousands at his command, he could 
 only muster a few hundred on the evening o£ 
 engagement. 
 
 On the ^orning of the appointed day for this 
 momentous enterprise, the Kildare men were 
 seen directing their hurried steps towards the 
 capital. They had collected about the depot in 
 Marshalsca-lane and Thomas-street, in unusua 
 crowds, when about five o'clock they were per 
 suaded by their officers to return home. This, 
 with the defection of the Wicklow and Wexford 
 labourers, would have deterred a less ardent 
 spirit than that of Emmet's from proceeding* 
 His, though damped, never quailed under the 
 danger that this disappointment was likely to 
 brinof on him and his followers. 
 
 Towards dusk he directed the distribution of 
 pikes amongst the waiting crowds in Thomas 
 street, and proceeded to make the necessary 
 arrangements for the contemplated attack. 
 
 On the night of the 22d, we assembled at the 
 depot, and, though every thing wore a gloomy 
 
4.9 
 
 aspect, resolved to persevere. The diflerent 
 leaders received their instructions ; some were 
 to assemble their forces in the Barley Fields, now 
 Mountjoy Square, some on the Coal Quay, and 
 others in different parts of the town. These 
 were to act only in case of seeing a third rocket, 
 which Emmet was to send up when he consid- 
 ered the time arrived for the commencement of 
 hostilities. Emmet, Malachy, Bryan, and I, 
 were to head the forces which were to attack 
 the castle. 
 
 Every thing being thus arranged, I bid my 
 companions farewell for the night, and returned 
 to my lodgings. I could sleep but little, and 
 when I awoke the next morning, the conscious- 
 ness of being on the eve of a great event, filled 
 my mind with gloomy apprehensions. To re- 
 flect, however, was now useless, and withcfut 
 giving my thoughts time to inform against my 
 purpose, I hurried to the depot, where I found 
 all in confusion. The place was thronged by 
 insurgents, who had arrived from the country, 
 and -whose presence served to obstruct the 
 workmen. Malachy and Emmet, with astonish- 
 ing firmness, gave directions 5 and I was hand- 
 ed the printed proclamation to read. 
 
 As I looked upon the expressive counten- 
 ances of the desperate and infatuated men 
 around me, I could not resist the gloomy pre- 
 science which the scene was calculated to im- 
 part. It was a moment I would not wish to 
 2fo throuorh aorain, there was so much of fore- 
 boding evil — so much of personal misfortune 
 to be apprehended — and so much toil and peril 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 which must be endured, whether the rebellion 
 triumphed or was crushed. My imagination, 
 like a prism, collected all the rays of evil from 
 probable discomfiture, and showed me, in ag- 
 gravated horror, all the dangers I had to en- 
 counter. However, to recede was now im- 
 possible, without incurring the imputation of 
 cowardice, or what was more intolerable, the 
 suspicion of my associates. Actual hostility 
 was preferable to either of these ; and, making 
 a virtue of necessity, I recalled the memory ot 
 those conspirators who had been successful, and 
 fortified my resolution by anticipating the same 
 fortune, though every thing around might have 
 taught a, rational man the extravagant folly of 
 hoping to subvert a powerful government with 
 a few hundred men, partially armed. These, 
 it is true, we thought, had only to raise the 
 standard of rebellion, and thousands were 
 ready to support it, but in future, who will 
 rely upon the promises of conspirators V 
 
 About six o'clock, Emmet, Malachy, one or 
 two others, and myself, put on our green um^ 
 form, trimmed with gold-lace, and selected our 
 arms. The insurgents, who had all day been 
 well plied with whiskey, began to prepare for 
 commencing an attack wpon the Castle ; and 
 when all was ready ; Emmet made an animated 
 address to the conspirators. At eight o'clock 
 precisely, we sallied out of the depot, and when 
 we arrived in Thomas Street, the insurgents 
 gave three deafening cheers. 
 
 The consternation excited by our presence 
 defies description. Every avenue emptied it?' 
 
51" 
 
 curious hundreds, and almost erery window 
 exhibited half a dozen inquisitive heads, while 
 peaceable shopkeepers ran to their doors, and 
 beheld with amazement a lawless band of awned 
 insurgents, in the midst of a peaceable city, an 
 hour at least before dark. The scene at first 
 might have appeared amusing to a careless 
 spectator, from the singular dubious character 
 which the riot wore j but when the rocket as- 
 cended, and burst over the heads of the people, 
 the aspect of things underwent an immediate 
 and wonderful change. The impulse of the 
 moment was self-preservation ; and those who, 
 a few minutes before, seemed to look on with 
 vacant wonder, now assumed a face of horror, 
 and fled with precipitation. The wish to es- 
 cape was simultaneous, and the eagerness with 
 w^hich the people retreated from before us im- 
 peded their flight, as they crowded upon one 
 another in the entrance of alleys, courtways, 
 and lanes; while the screams of women and 
 children were frightful and heart-rending. 
 
 " To the Castle !" cried our enthusiastic 
 leader, drawing his sword, and his followers ap- 
 pea^ed^ to obey ; but when we reached the Mar- 
 ket-house our adherents had wonderfully di- 
 minished, there not being more than twenty in- 
 surgents with us. 
 
 "Fire the rocket !" cried Malachj?-. 
 
 "Hold awhile" said Emmet, snatching the 
 match from the man's hand who was about ap- 
 plying it. " Let no lives be unnecessarily lost. 
 Kun back and see what detains the men." 
 
 Malachy obeyed ; and we remained near the 
 
52 
 
 Market-house, waiting their arrival until the 
 soldiers approached. 
 
 "Our cause is lost!" exclaimed Emmet, 
 snatchino; the rockets from the man's hand who 
 carried them, and trampling them under his 
 feet, he continued, " Let our friends at a dis- 
 tance escape comrades provide for your own 
 safety." ' 
 
 A skirmish now ensued, and we succeeded 
 in forcing our way into Francis-street, but had 
 not proceeded far before we saw another party 
 of soldiers advancinsr asrainst us from the 
 Coombe. 
 
 " This way sir!" cried a voice I had heard 
 before, and Denis Howlan seized my arms, and 
 pulled me into a street (Plunket-street ;) full of 
 old clothes shops. About a dozen doors down 
 w^e turned into a shop, Denis asked as we en- 
 tered, "Friend or foe V "Friend!" cried an 
 old man, hurrying us into a back parlour, and 
 then up stairs. " The roof, the roof," he whis- 
 pered ; and accordingly we made our exit 
 through a dorman window. In the gutter, be- 
 tw^een the houses, we found three men, who had 
 sought that place of safety ; and, having also 
 danger to apprehend, w^e took like them a re- 
 cumbent posture. 
 
 Throuorhout the niorht our ears were assailed 
 
 o o 
 
 with noises like those of a town suddenly at- 
 tacked — bells ringing — drums beating, and all 
 the clamor of war — while an occasional shot 
 announced that our danger was not over. My 
 companions sent up incessant prayers for the 
 safety of their enthusiastic leader, and, as I 
 
53 
 
 loved the man, I heartily joined in their obser- 
 vations. 
 
 It was during the progress of the insurgents 
 from the depot, that the attention of the rear 
 was diverted by the arrival of an equipage ; a 
 moment's enquiry satisfied the mob it was that 
 of the lord chief justice of Ireland. A halt was 
 instantly called, disorder and tumult prevailed ; 
 the heads of the advancing party immediately 
 returned upon their steps, and the massacre of 
 the venerable Lord Kilwarden was called for 
 and committed by some cold-blooded ruffians 
 amonsfst them ! 
 
 It is universally agreed that the murder of 
 this excellent man was the unpremeditated act 
 of a ferocious rabble ; but there are various ac- 
 counts of their probable motives in wantonly 
 sacrificing so upright and humane a judge to 
 their fury. A popular explanation of this is, 
 that the perpetrators mistook him for another 
 person. There is also an account which ad- 
 .mits the mistake in the first instance, but sub- 
 joins other particulars, which appear sufficiently 
 probable ; and as some of the facts, of which 
 there is no doubt, reflect the highest honour 
 upon Lord Kilwarden's memory, the whole 
 shall be here given. 
 
 In the year 1795, when he was attorney 
 general, a number of young men (all of whom 
 were between the ages of fifteen and twenty) 
 were indicted for high treason. Upon the day 
 appointed for their trial, they appeared in the 
 dock wearing shirts with tuckers and open col- 
 lars, in the manner usual with boys. When 
 
 5* 
 
54 
 
 the chief justice of ihe King's Bench, before 
 whom they were to be tried, came into court, 
 and observing them, he called out, " Well, Mr. 
 Attorney, I suppose you're ready to go on with 
 the trials of these tuckered traitors 1" The at- 
 torney-general was ready, and had attended for 
 the purpose ; but indignant and disgusted at hear- 
 ing such language from the judgment seat, he 
 rose and replied, " No, my lord, I am not ready ; 
 and (added he, in a low tone to one of the pris- 
 oner's counsel who was near him) if I have any 
 power to save the lives of these boys, whose ex- 
 treme youth I did not before observe, that man 
 shall never have the gratification of passing sen- 
 tence upon a singlfe one of those tuckered trait- 
 ors." He performed his promise, and soon 
 after procured pardons for them all, upon the 
 condition of their expatriating themselves for 
 ever j but one of them obstinately refusing to 
 accept the pardon upon that condition, he was 
 tried, convicted and executed. Thus far the 
 fact upon credible authorities ; what follows is 
 given as an unauthenticated report. After the 
 death of thi^ young man, his relatives, it is said, 
 readily listening to every misrepresentation 
 which flattered their resentment, became per- 
 suaded that the attorney-general had selected 
 him alone to suffer the utmost severity of the 
 law. One of these, (a person named Shannon) 
 was an insurgent on the 23d of July, and when 
 Lord Kilwarden, hearing the popular cry of ven- 
 geance, exclaimed from his carriage, " It is I 
 Kilwarden, chief justice of the King's Bench!" 
 *' Then !" cried out Shannon, " you're the man 
 
55 
 
 that / want !" and plung^ed a piUe into his lord- 
 ship's body. 
 
 It was at this period, it is asserted, that Mr. 
 Emmet, and the other leaders, who had been 
 somewhat more than an hour engaged in a task 
 far beyond their powers, retired in despair at 
 finding all command disregarded, all efforts to 
 produce subordination ineffectual ; and their far 
 vorite project of seizing the castle rejected for 
 the slightest opportunity that occurred of in- 
 dulging the predatory disposition of their asso- 
 ciates to rapine and murder. It has been urged 
 m their favour, that shocked and disgusted at 
 the murder of Lord Kilwarden, the chiefs in- 
 stantaneously came to the resolution of aban- 
 doning their unprincipled followers. 
 
 A detachment of the regular army coming up 
 now, ^commenced a brisk fire on the remaining 
 insurgents, and obliged them, after a short re- 
 sistance, to seek safety in flight. A party of 
 soldiers, stationed at the Coombe, under Lieu- 
 tenant Douglas, was attacked by the mob who 
 were retiring from Thomas-street, and made to 
 give way after a severe skirmish. At this at- 
 tack the bravery of a venerable old man shone 
 conspicuous ; his son was attacked and sorely 
 pressed by the bayonet of one of the soldiers, 
 and would inevitably have been sacrificed, had 
 not the parent, who saw his danger, stept in and 
 received the blow intended for the son. 
 
 The soldier suffered the fate he gave ; he was 
 piked instantaneously by the infuriate youth, 
 who retired with agonized feelings, leaving the 
 two bodids side by side, — sad mementos of the 
 
56 
 
 effects of bad laws and misgovernment. It was 
 never exactly known the numbers of lives lost 
 on this night ; it is supposed, however, there 
 could not be less than eighty, including the loss 
 on both sides. Emmet fled to the mountains ; 
 he arrived in time to prevent a contemplated 
 rising of the insurgents. Immediately after, he 
 and the other leaders in the conspiracy met in a 
 glen in the Wicklow mountains, to consult o-n 
 plans of future operations. 
 
 " We had just gained the ascent of a lofty 
 hill, on our way to the place of meeting, when 
 a shrill whistle, apparently not far distant, 
 brought us to a full stop, and in an instant, a 
 dozen men started up, as if by some magical 
 agency from the heath around us. " Your 
 name and business 1" demanded a gloomy-look- 
 ing figure who stood before us, wrapped up in 
 a great cloak. 
 
 " Our names and business 1" repeated Denis : 
 * maybe we've neather j what would you have 
 then r 
 
 "Your life!" replied our interrogator, apr 
 proaching us with a pistol in each hand. 
 "Hold!" exclaimed a man rushing between 
 us, "these are friends. You spalpeen^ don't 
 you know Denis Howlan V 
 
 " Faith, Captain Dwyer," said my compan 
 ion, with the utmost sang froid, " it just is 
 Denis Howlan himself, and this is a real friend 
 of Giniral Emmet, though it is not himselt 
 that's in it as he hasn't got on his own clothes." 
 
 " No matter for that," replied Dwyer, "hast- 
 »xk to the glen. The council are meeting, and 
 
57 
 
 i am here to prevent intruders — pass on — good 
 night — Babes* to your cover." 
 
 In the glen, as the outlaw had informed us, 
 we found several persons assembled ; and when 
 my name was announced, one of them advan- 
 ced from a circle formed round him, and seiz- 
 ed my hand — it was the unfortunate enthusiast, 
 Robert Emmet. His manner was most kind 
 and affectionate, and he congratulated me, with 
 every demonstration of sincerity, on my escape 
 from the slaughter of the preceding evening. 
 He lamented the fate of Malachy and Bryan, 
 and seemed deeply affected at the discomfiture 
 of his scheme. 
 
 I soon learned that my friend, with some 
 others, had escaped to these hills on Saturday 
 night, in time to prevent a contemplated rising 
 of the insurgents ; and had met, this evening, 
 the leaders in the conspiracy, to consult on 
 plans of future operations. Most of them re- 
 commended vigorous measures ; and strenuous- 
 ly advised an immediate attack on Wicklow, 
 Arklow, &c. stating that all the kingdom was 
 ripe for revolt. The time had passed for Em- 
 met to credit such sweeping assertions, and 
 though he did not contradict his friends, he 
 unhesitatingly condemned the having any fur- 
 ther recourse to hostilities. " For," said he, 
 " defeated in our first grand attempt, all .fur- 
 ther endeavours must be futile. Our enemies 
 
 * The rebel outlaws, who took up their abodes in the 
 mountains and fastnesses of Wexford and Wicklow, after 
 1798, ludicrously called themselves " The Babes of the 
 Wood. 
 
58 
 
 are armed ; our friends are dispirited ; and our 
 only hope is now in patience. The justice of 
 our cause must one day triumph, and let us 
 not indiscreetly protract the period by any pre- 
 mature endeavours to accelerate it. No doubt 
 1 could, in forty-eight hours, wrap the whole 
 kingdom in the flames of rebellion ; but as I 
 have no ambition beyond the good of my coun- 
 try, best study her interest, and the interest of 
 freedom, by declining to elevate my name upon 
 the ruin of thousands, and afford our tyrants an 
 apology to draw another chain around unhappy 
 Ireland. In revolts, the first blow decides the 
 contest, — we have aimed one, and missing the 
 mark, let us retire unobserved, and leave the 
 enemy ignorant of the hand that was raised for 
 their destruction. Impenetrable secrecy sur- 
 rounds all our measures ; the loss we have sus- 
 tained is inconsiderable ; and, unacquainted 
 with their own danger, and the extent of our 
 resources, the tyrants of Ireland will relapse 
 into false security, and afford us, perhaps, 
 sooner than we imagine, another opportunity to 
 attack the 'hydra of oppression. Let me, there- 
 fore, my friends, advise you to act with that 
 prudence which becomes men engaged in the 
 ofrandest of all causes, the liberation of their 
 country. Be- cautious, be silent, and do not 
 afford our enemies any ground for either tyran- 
 ny or suspicion ; but, above all, never forget 
 that you are United Irishmen^ sworn to promote 
 the liberty of your country by all the means in 
 your power. 
 
 " 1 have now relieved my bosom from a load 
 
59 
 
 of apprehension, and in preventing the revolt of 
 last night from assuming the form of rebellion, 
 I am conscious of having saved the lives of 
 thousands of my fellow-countrymen. Wheiv 
 the libeller of my name and intentions shall 
 charge the blood of yesterday to my memory, 
 I hope there will not be wanting some one to 
 recollect, that if a little has been shed through 
 my means, I have saved the effusion of one 
 hundred times as muclt, on which I might have 
 floated to a disreputable notoriety. 
 
 " Over my future destiny Fate has thrown a 
 veil which mortal eyes cannot penetrate. Should 
 I succeed in evading the pursuit of my enemies, 
 you may expect to see me once more armed in 
 the cause of Ireland ; but should I fall on the 
 scaffold, let not the coward or the knave intimi- 
 date you from again and again appealing to 
 Heaven in behalf of your rights and liberties by 
 appealing to my recent failure. Oh ! I beseech 
 you, as friends and fellow-patriots, to believe 
 me, and in the name of our common country I 
 charge you to transmit it to your children, that, 
 had I only one thousand pounds more, and 
 another thousand men, I had overthrown the 
 temple of despotism, and given liberty to Ire- 
 land. ^M-Y plan was an admirabile one, but there 
 was failure in every part, and from these de- 
 fects let future patriots learn to prevent similar 
 consequences. Our attempt will not be unpro- 
 ductive of good ; our government will learn 
 from it, that they will never be secure while 
 an Emmet is in existence, and the conspirator 
 will see, that tens of thou'^ands rany know his 
 
60 
 
 secret without even one beino^ found capable of 
 betraying it. Gentlemen, you will now look 
 to your own safety, and as for me, I shall do 
 the best I can to quit the country, in the hope 
 of again meeting you under more happy aus- 
 pices."/ 
 
 He spoke in a subdued and feeling tone, and 
 as he bade them all farewell, he appeared deep- 
 ly affected. After some hesitation, his advice 
 was acquiesced in, and the assembly began to 
 separate, two and three at a time. 
 
 Emmet was now pressed to make his escape 
 before government obtained information re- 
 specting his place of concealment ; an oppor- 
 tunity then offered of his doing so, as several 
 fishing smacks lay off the coast, the owners of 
 which were insurgents. He replied to his 
 friends who were pressing him : — 
 
 " I shall follow your advice in a few days ^ 
 but I cannot yet quit Ireland. Excuse my 
 obstinacy, but there is one to whom I must bid 
 an eternal farewell, before the terrors of govern-- 
 ment shall force me into exile. Why should I- 
 refuse to acknowledge the cause 1 for I am not 
 ashamed of a weakness that compels me to do- 
 an act of justice — to beg, and, if possible, to 
 obtain forgiveness from a woman whom I have 
 unintentionally injured — whom I have loved so 
 well, that I must once more see her, hear her, 
 and converse with her, though ten thousand 
 deaths awaited on the interview. You now see, 
 my friends, the cause of my not complying 
 with your advice, and though you should con- 
 demn my notions as extrtwagnnt, T cnnnot con' 
 sent to forego my resolution. 
 
61 
 
 The lady to whom poor Emmet was so en- 
 thusiastically attached, was the youngest daugh- 
 ter of the celebrated Curran ; and, if report may- 
 be credited, she w^as every way worthy of a 
 heart so fond, so gentle and so noble, as that of 
 Robert Emmet. 
 
 Emmet returned towards Dublin on this very 
 romantic business. To brinor about the wished- 
 for interview, he wrote several letters from his 
 lodgings at Harold's Cross, which he again 
 took on this occasion. 
 
 While anxiously expecting an answer to his 
 letter, the house he was in was suddenly sur- 
 rounded by police officers, headed by Major 
 Sirr, who, rushing into the apartment, seized 
 him as he was sittinor down to dinner. 
 
 Mr. Curran, in the case of Hevey v. Sirr, 
 thus characterizes this notorious individual: — 
 
 It was at this sad crisis (1798) that Major 
 Sirr, from an obscure individual, started into 
 notice and consequence. It is in the hot-bed 
 of public calamity that such inauspicious pro- 
 ducts are accelerated without being matured. 
 From being a town-major, a name scarcely legi- 
 ble in the list of public incumbrances, he be- 
 came all at once invested with all the real pow- 
 ers of the most absolute authority. 
 
 With this gentleman's extraordinary eleva- 
 tion began the story of the sufferings and ruin 
 of Hevey. A man was prosecuted by the state ; 
 Hevey, who was accidently present at the trial, 
 knowing the witness for the prosecution to be a 
 person of infamous character, mentioned the 
 eircum stance in court. He was sworn, and on 
 
 6 
 
6^ 
 
 His evidence the prisoner was acquitted. In A 
 day or two after, Major Sirr met Hevey in the 
 street, asked how he dared to interfere in his 
 business 1 and swore, by G — d, he would teach 
 him how to meddle with ' his people.' On the 
 following evening poor Hevey was dogged in 
 the dark into some lonelj' alley — there he wis 
 seized, he knew not by whom, nor what autho- 
 rity — his crime he soon learned : it was trea- 
 son he had committed against the majesty of 
 Major Sirr. He w^as immediately conducted to 
 a place of imprisonment in the castle yard, 
 called the provost. Of this mansion of misery, 
 Major Sandys was the keeper. Here Hevey 
 lay about seven weeks, he was at last discovered 
 among the sweepings of the prison. ' Hevey,' 
 said the Major, * 1 have seen you ride, a smart 
 bit of a mare — you can't use her here — you had 
 better give me an order for her.' Hevey, indue 
 ed by hopes and by fear, gave the Order. The 
 major accepted the order, saying, ' your cour- 
 tesy will not cost you much — you are to be sent 
 down to-morrow to Kilkenny, to be tried for your 
 life — you will most certainly be hanged, and 
 you can scarcely think that your journey to the 
 other world will be performed on horseback. 
 Hevey was accordingly transmitted to Kil- 
 kenny, tried by a court martial, and convicted 
 upon the evidence of a person under sentence 
 of death,' who had been allured by a proclama- 
 tion, offering a reward to any man who would 
 come forward and give any evidence against 
 the traitor Hevey. Lord Cornwallis read the 
 transmiss of Hevey's condemnation — his heart 
 
 • . 
 
63 
 
 recoiled from the detail of stupidity and bar- 
 barity. He dashed his pen across the odious 
 record, and ordered that Hevey should be forth- 
 with liberated. On his return to Dublin^ 
 Hevey met Major Sandys, and demanded his 
 mare : ' Ung-rateful villain,* says the Major, * is 
 this the gratitude you show to his majesty and 
 to me, for our clemency to you — you shan't get 
 possession of the beast.' Hevey brought an ac- 
 tion for the mare ; the major, not choosing lo 
 come into court and suggest the probable suc- 
 cess of a thousand actions, restored the pro- 
 perty. 
 
 Three years had elapsed since the deliverance 
 of Hevey — the public atmosphere has cleared — 
 the pirivate destiny of Hevey seemed to have 
 brightened, but the malice of his enemies had 
 not been appeased. On the 8th of September, 
 1801, Mr. Hevey was sitting in a public cofTee 
 house — Major Sirr was there — Mr. Hevey was 
 informed that Major Sirr had at that moment 
 said, that he (Hevey) ought to have been hang^ 
 ,ed. Mr. Hevey was fired at the charge ; he 
 fixed his eye on Sirr, and asked if he had dared 
 to say so'? Sirr declared that he had, and had 
 said truly. Hevey answered, that he was a 
 slanderous scoundrel. At the instant Sirr rush- 
 ed upon him, and assisted by three or four of 
 his satellites, who had attended him in disguise, 
 secured him, and sent him to the castle guar^, 
 desiring that a receipt might be given for the 
 villain. — He was sent thither. The oflicer of 
 the guard chanced to be an Englishman, but 
 lately arrived in Ireland — he said to the bailifTs, 
 
G4. 
 
 * If this was ill England, I should think this 
 gentleman entitled to bail, but I don't know 
 the laws of this country — however, I think you 
 had better loosen those irons on his wrists, or 
 they may kill him.' 
 
 Major Sirr, the defendant, soon arrived, went 
 into his office, and returned with an order which 
 he had written, and by virtue of which Mr. 
 Hevey was conveyed to his old friend and g'aol- 
 er, Major Sandys. Here he was flung into a 
 room of about thirteen feet by twelve — it was 
 called tlie hospital of the provost — it was oc- 
 cupied by six beds, in which were to lie four- 
 teen or fifteen miserable wretches, some of them 
 sinkino^ under contagious disorders. Here he 
 passed the first night without bed or food. The 
 next morninor his humane keeper, the major, 
 appeared. Mr. Hevey demanded why he was 
 so imprisoned, complained of hunger and asked 
 for the gaol allowance. Major Sandys replied 
 with a torrent of abuse, which he concluded by 
 saying, — ^your crime is your insolence to Major 
 Sirr; however, he disdains to trample on you, 
 — you may appease him by proper and contrite 
 submission ; but unless you do, you shall rot 
 where you are. 1 tell you this, that if govern- 
 ment will not protect us, by G — d, we will not 
 them. You will probably (for I know your in- 
 «olent and ungrateful hardiness) attempt to get 
 out by an habeas corpus, but in that you will 
 find yourself mistaken as much as a rascal de- 
 serves.' Hevey was insolent enough to issue 
 an habeas corpus, and a return was made on it, 
 
 * That Hevey was in custody under a warrant 
 
65 
 
 from General Graig, on a charge of high trea- 
 son.' That the return was a gross falsehood, 
 fabricated by Sirr, I am instructed to assert. 
 The judge, before whom this return was brought, 
 felt that he had no authority to liberate the un- 
 happy prisoner ; and thus, by a most inhuman 
 and malicious lie, my client was again remand- 
 ed to the horrid mansion of pestilence and 
 famine. Upon this, Mr. Hevey, finding that 
 nothing else remained, signed a submission 
 dictated by Sandys, was enlarged from confine- 
 ment, and brought the present action. 
 
 The jury awarded Mr. Hevey 150/. damages. 
 
 The unfortunate Emmet betrayed no tokens 
 of fear or perturbation, but evinced the same 
 calm and dignified aspect which ever distin- 
 guished this extraordinary young man. 
 
 A few days after, he wrote Mr. Curran the 
 following letter. 
 
 From Mr, Robert Emmet to John Philpot 
 Curran^ Esq. 
 
 " I did not expect you to be my counsel. I 
 nominated you, because not to have done so 
 might have appeared remarkable. Had Mr. — — 
 been in town, I did not even wish to have seen 
 you, but as he was not, I wrote to you to come 
 to me at once. I know that I have done you a 
 very severe injury, much greater than I can 
 atone for with my life ; that atonement I did 
 offer to make before the privy council, by plead- 
 ing guilty, if these documents were suppressed. 
 I offered, if I were permitted to consult some 
 
 6* 
 
66 
 
 persons, and if they would consent to an a»- 
 commodation for saving the lives of others, that 
 I would only require for my part of it the sup- 
 pression of those documents, and that I would 
 abide the event of my own trial. , This also 
 was rejected, and nothing but individual infor- 
 mation, (with the exception of names) would be 
 taken. My intention was, not to leave the sup 
 pression of those documents to possibility, but 
 to render it unnecessary for any one to plead 
 for me, by pleading guilty to the charge myself. 
 " The circumstances that I am now going to 
 mention, I do not state in my own justification. 
 When I first addressed your daughter, I ex- 
 pected that in another week my own fate would 
 be decided. I knew that in case of success, 
 many others might look on me differently from 
 what they did at that moment -, but I speak 
 with sincerity, when I say that I never was 
 anxions for situation or distinction myself, and 
 1 do not wish to be united to one who was. I 
 spoke to your daughter, neither expecting, nor, 
 in fact, under such circumstances, washing that 
 there should be a return "of attachment ; but 
 wishing to judge of her dispositions, to know 
 how far they might not be unfavourable or 
 disengaged, and to know what foundation I 
 might afterwards have to count on. I received 
 no encouragement whatever. She told me she 
 had no attachment for any person, nor did she 
 seem likely to have any that could make her 
 wish to quit you. I staid away till the time 
 had elapsed when I found that the event to 
 >vhirh I allude was to be postponed indefinitely. 
 
67 
 
 I returned by a kind of infatuation, thinking* 
 that to myself only was I giving pleasure or 
 pain. I perceived no progress of attachment 
 on her part, nor anything in her conduct to dis- 
 tinguish me from a common acquaintance. Af- 
 terwards I had reason to suppose that dis- 
 coveries were made, and that I should be obli- 
 ged to quit the kingdom immediately : and 
 I came to make a renunciation of any ap- 
 proach to friendship that might have been form- 
 ed. On that very day she herself spoke to me 
 to discontinue my visits ; I told her it was my 
 intention, and I mentioned the reason. I then, 
 for the first time, found I was unfortunate, by 
 the manner in which she was affected, that 
 there was a return of affection, and that it was 
 too late to retreat. My own apprehensions, 
 also, I afterwards found, were without cause, 
 and I remained. There has been much culpa- 
 bility on my part in all this, but there has also 
 been a great deal of that misfortune which 
 seems uniformly to accompany me. That I 
 have written to your daughter since an unfor- 
 tunate event has taken place, was an additional 
 breach of propriety, for which 1 have suffered 
 well ; but I will candidly confess, that I not 
 only do not feel it to have been of the same ex- 
 tent, but that I consider it to have been una- 
 voidable, after what had passed ; for though I 
 will not attempt to justify, in the smallest de- 
 gree, my former conduct, yet when an attach- 
 ment was once formed between us — and a sin- 
 cerer one never did exist — I feel that, pecu- 
 Jiarly circumstanced as I then was, to have left 
 
68 
 
 licr uncertain of my situation would neither 
 have weaned her affections, nor lessened her 
 anxiety 5 and looking upon her as one whom, it 
 I had lived, I hoped to have had my partner for 
 life, I did hold the removing her anxiety above 
 every other consideration. I would rather have 
 had the affections of your daughter in the back 
 settlements of America, than the first situation 
 this country could afford without them. I 
 know not whether this would be any extenua- 
 tion of my offence — I know not .whether it 
 will be any extenuation of it to know, that if I 
 had that situation in my power at this moment, 
 I would relinquish it to devote my life to her 
 happiness — Iknow not whether success would 
 have blotted out the recollection of what 1 have 
 done — but I know that a man, with the cold- 
 ness of death in him, need not ^e made to feel 
 any other coldness, and that he may be spared 
 any addition to the misery he feels not for him- 
 self, but for those to whom he has left nothing 
 but sorrow." 
 
 The original, from which the above has been 
 copied, is not signed or dated. It was written 
 in the interval between Mr. Emmet's convic- 
 tion and execution. 
 
 Upon the arrest of Mr. Emmet, some papers 
 were found upon his person, which shewed that 
 subsequent to the insurrection, he had corres- 
 ponded with one of Mr. Curran's family : a war- 
 rant accordingly followed, as a matter of course, 
 to examine Mr. Curran's house, where some of 
 Mr. Emmet's letters were found, which, to- 
 gether with the documents taken upon his per- 
 
69 
 
 son, placed beyond a doubt, his connection with 
 the late conspiracy, and were afterwards used 
 as evidence upon his trial. 
 
 At the instance of the attorney-general, Mr. 
 O'Grady, Mr. Curran accompanied hinn to the 
 privy council. Upon his first entrance, there 
 was some indication of the hostile spirit which 
 he had originally apprehended. A noble lord, 
 who at that time held the highest judicial situ- 
 ation in Ireland, undertook to examine him upon' 
 the transaction which occasioned his attend- 
 ance. To do this was undoubtedly his duty. 
 He fixed his eye upon i\Ir. Curran, and was pro- 
 ceeding to cross-examine his countenance, when 
 (as it is well remembered by the spectators of 
 the scene) the swell of indignation, and the 
 glance of stern dignity and contempt which he 
 encountered there, orave his own nerVes the 
 shock which he had meditated for another s, 
 and compelled him to shrink back in his chair, 
 silent and disconcerted at the failure of his rash 
 experiment. With this single exception, Mr. 
 Curran was treated with ^he utmost delicacy^ 
 
 A special commission was opened to try 
 Emmet and nineteen other prisoners in Dublin, 
 on the thirty-first of August, 1803, under Lord 
 Norbury, Mr. Finucane, and Barons George 
 and Daly. Mr. Standish O'Grady was the at- 
 torney general. 
 
 Of these nineteen, one was acquitted, and 
 another reprieved ; the rest were convicted and 
 executed on the evidence of various witnesses. 
 
 Amonofst the unfortunate men convicted 
 were some of the principle associates of Emmet 
 
70 
 
 in the 'insurrection. Mr. Russei was the son 
 of an officer of reputation in his majesty's ser- 
 vice, and who. having retired, enjoyed an hon- 
 ourable retreat in the situation of master of the 
 royal hospital for veterans at Kilmainham, near 
 Dublin. He was placed early in the army, and 
 served at Banker's Hill, and the subsequent 
 campaigns in North x\merica, After the peace, 
 he either retired on half pay, or his corps was 
 reduced. He was affectionate and tfender-heart-. 
 ed, and possessed every feeling and sentiment 
 of the gentleman. After the arrest of Emmet, 
 Russei introduced himself clandestinely into 
 Dublin, with a view to rescue his friend, if 
 possible, under favour of some commotion. 
 About two days after his arrival, it became 
 known that some person was mysteriously se- 
 creted in the immediate vicinity of the castle. 
 Information to this effect having been convey- 
 ed to Major Sirr, that officer proceeded to the 
 examination of a house in Parliament street, 
 where he v/as found, and to whom Mr. Russei, 
 though well armed, surrendered without resis- 
 tance. It was supposed that he was, in this 
 act, influenced by a religious scruple. He 
 was immediately transmitted to Down Patrick, 
 in the north of Ireland, where he was shortly 
 after brought to trial, and upon the clearest 
 evidence of his treason, convicted. — After his 
 trial, he manifested all that wildness of r^lijrious 
 enthusiasm, which had for some time formed 
 the prominent feature of his character. On 
 conviction, he addressed the court at great 
 length, an4 with remarkable firmness. He c[e-r 
 
clared his adherence to the political opinions 
 for which he was about to suffer, and touched, 
 in a tender point, the gentlemen of the county 
 of Down, by whom he was surrounded. These 
 gentlemen, although latterly become more 
 anxious to secure tneir property than to pre- 
 serve the circle of their liberties, had been fore- 
 most in the outcry for parliamentary reform 
 and political independence. Russel reminded 
 them of this circumstance, and declared that 
 he was doomed to suffer for endeavouring to 
 put into execution the lessons imbibed amongst 
 them. 
 
 A man of a different stamp was Dwyer This, 
 man, at the head of a gang of deserters and 
 banditti, had remained in arms from the period 
 of the rebellion of 1798, obstinately rejecting 
 repeatedly proffered mercy, and who dexter- 
 ously eluding all pursuit, had sustained him- 
 self under the protection of the almost inacces- 
 sible fastnesses of the Wicklow Mountains. 
 His party did not ostensibly exceed twenty, 
 but he was supposed to possess unbounded in- 
 fluence over the peasants of the district, so that 
 a large body, on any notable undertaking, was 
 within his means of command. Dwyer and 
 his band of outlaws afterwards submitted, on 
 the stipulation that their lives should be spared- 
 On Mr. Emmet's trial, the several facts aftd 
 circumstances alreadj'^ narrated, were fully 
 proved. He called no witnesses, and was 
 found guilty. Previous to the judge's charge 
 to the jury, Lord Conyngham Plunket, who 
 was then king's counsel, and conducted the 
 
72 
 
 prosecution against Mr. Emmet, made a speech 
 of considerable length, and in the severest tone 
 of legal and political asperity, detailed the con- 
 sequences that would affect all social order, 
 were such opinions as Emmet entertained al- 
 lowed to have any countenance from the mild- 
 ness of the laws, or the mistaken lenity, which 
 is often exercised by the authority vested in 
 the sacred person of majest^^ 
 
 When Mr. Emmet was put to the bar, and 
 called upon by Lord Norbury to offer what he 
 had to say why sentence of death and execution 
 should not be awarded asfainst him according: 
 to law, he rose with great firmness and com- 
 posure, and delivered a speech of remarkable 
 force and ability. His appeal to the memory 
 of his parent was most affecting: — "If the 
 spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the 
 cares of those who are dear to them in this 
 transitory life, oh ! ever dear and venerated 
 shade of my departed father, look down with 
 scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son, 
 and see if I have even for a moment, deviated- 
 from those principles of morality and patriot- 
 ism, which it was your care to instil into my 
 youthful mind, and for which I am now about 
 to offer up my life." 
 
 In remarking on the language of the counsel 
 for the crown, Mr. Emmet said, that " In their 
 early intimacy, he had actually inculcated into' 
 his mind those principles for which he was now 
 about to suffer." 
 
 The following is the copy of a letter froK> 
 Mr. Emmet to Mr. Richard Curran :— 
 
73 
 
 ''My dearest Richard : — 1 find i have but a 
 -few hours to live, but if it was the last moinetit, 
 and that the power of utterance was leaving 
 me, I would thank you from the bottom of my 
 heart for your generous expressions of affection 
 and forgiveness to me. If there was any one 
 in the world in whose breast my death may be 
 supposed not to stifle every spark of resent- 
 ment, it might be you. 1 have deeply injured 
 you — I have injured the happiness of a sister 
 that you love, and who was formed to give hap- 
 piness to every one about her, instead of having 
 her own mind a prey to afflictiou Oh ! Rich- 
 ard, 1 have no excuse to offer, but that I meant 
 the reverse : I intended as'lnuch happiness for 
 Sarah as the most ardent love could have given 
 her. I never did tell you how much I idolized 
 her : it was not with a wild or unfounded pas^ 
 sion, but it was an attachment increasing every 
 hour, from an admiration of the purity of her 
 mind, and respect for her talents. I did dwell 
 in secret upon the prospect of our union I did 
 hope that success, while it afforded the oppor 
 tunity of our union, might be the means of con= 
 firmins: an attachment, which misfortune had 
 called forth. I did not look to honours for my= 
 self; praise I would have asked from the lips 
 of no man ; but I would have wiahed to read in 
 the glow of Sarah's countenance, that her bus- 
 band was respected. 
 
 "My love, Sarah ! it wai. not thus that I 
 thought to have requitted your affections. I 
 did hope to be a prop round v/hieh y?)ur affec- 
 tions mi^ht have clunc-, and which would ne^'et 
 
 IT 
 
 « 
 
have been shaken, but a rude blast has snapped 
 it, and they have fallen over a grave. 
 
 "This is no time for affliction. I have had 
 public motives to sustain my mind, and I have 
 not suffered it to sink ; but there have been 
 moments in my imprisonment when my mind 
 was so sunk by grief on her account, that death 
 would have been a refuge. 
 
 " God bless you, my dearest Richard. I arr 
 obliged to leave off immediately. 
 
 Robert Emmet," 
 
 This letter was written at twelve o'clock oi* 
 the day of Mr. Emmet's execution, and the 
 firmness and regularity of the original hand- 
 writing contains a striking and affecting proof 
 of the little influence which the approaching 
 event exerted over his frame. The same 
 enthusiasm which allured him to his destiny, 
 enabled him to support its utmost rigour He 
 met his fate wnth unostentatious fortitude ; and 
 although few will be found bold enough to jus- 
 tify hi's projects since they were unsuccessful; 
 yet his youth, his talents, the great respecta- 
 bility of his connections, and the evident de- 
 lusion of which he w^as the victim, have excited 
 more general sympathy for his unfortunate 
 end, and more forbearance towards his memory, 
 than is usually extended to the errors or suf 
 ferings of political offenders. 
 
 What brought forth this wonderful effort ot 
 a young gentlepian, unaided and unsupported ^ 
 by any ra'tional system of organization, uncoun- 
 tenanced but by the humblest men in society, 
 
7,5 
 
 relying on his own great energies, and the 
 thousand circumstances which chance might 
 throw up on the surface of the political ocean 1 
 What animated the mind and spirit of Emmet, 
 night after night, and day after day 1 Whatl 
 His enemies will saj^ it was ambition, a hope 
 of personal aggrandizement, and a speculation 
 of personal exaltation, a sanguinary purpose to 
 raise himself on the ruins of all that was re- 
 spected and cherished in society. To such 
 enemies we will reply that, if ever an enthusiast 
 was animated with a pure and unadulterated 
 sentiment of the most disinterested anxiety for 
 the freedom of his native country — if ever there 
 was a human being who was ready to lay down 
 his life for the comfort and happiness of his 
 fellow-creatures — if ever there was a heart that 
 sincerelj'' sympathised with tlie sufferings of 
 mankind, o^ that would cheerfully devote itself 
 at the altar, if such a sacrifice could procure 
 the liberty of Ireland — Robert Emmet was that 
 man. 
 
 With an intellect of the highest order, elo- 
 quence powerful, commanding, and inexhausti- 
 ble j an integrity which no force could bend; 
 a spirit which no danger or suffering could in- 
 timidate ; born of parents who were the pride 
 and boast of their country ; the brother of 
 those men who in the birih-day of Ireland's 
 freedom, illuminated the political firmament, 
 and gave their country a hope that her freedom 
 would be immortal ; the witness of her fall, and 
 the spectator of her degradation, he gave him- 
 self up to t,be dreaffis of his own imagination, 
 
7o 
 
 aud thought he saw the liherfeies of his cotiritry 
 achieved before he had formed his plan to se- 
 cnre theju. With all the customary character- 
 istics of an enthusiast. He seemed to disdain 
 those humble calculations by which all human 
 objects are to be obtained. But Emmet achiev- 
 ed what no other man but himself would have 
 dared to attempt. With his single mind, and 
 sinarle arm, he orgranized thousands of his 
 countrymen, and besieged the government of 
 the country in their strongest position. 
 
 Mr. Emmet was e^j^ecuted on the day follow^ 
 ing that of his sentence, in Thomas-street, at 
 the head of Bridgefoot Street, opposite Cathe- 
 rine's church. 
 
 Robert Emmet, the lofty-minded patriot — the 
 amiable enthusiast — the warm-hearted friend, 
 and ardent lover is no more ! The liand of the 
 executioner extinguished the fire and energy or 
 that soul, which burned for his country's good j 
 and that tongue, of the purest and sublimest 
 eloquence, is now for ever mute. 
 
 He died as he lived, with heroic fearlessness, 
 and decent fortitude. The amiable, though en- 
 thusiastic Emmet, however, we hope has not 
 died in vain ; our rulers must learn from his 
 history that a people without confidence is a 
 moral Hydra, never to be deprived of the means 
 of doing: mischief. The head of one rebel- 
 lion is no sooner lopped off than another is 
 generated. The Hercules, who is to anni- 
 hilate the monster, can only be found in 
 those acts of wisdom and justice, which are to 
 reconcile the people ^o theii^ rulers, by making 
 iheni iVeeinpii. 
 
77 
 
 The fate of Robert Emmet demaiuleJ some- 
 thing more than tears, and unprofitable as these 
 may have been, we have continued to offer 
 them still to his memory. But let our private 
 sorrows pass ; history one day will do ^im jus- 
 tice ; we have thrown our mite in the scale in 
 which his reputation yet trembles ; and, inade- 
 quate as that may be, it is sincere and impar- 
 tial. All ye who knew him in " his hour of 
 pride," go and do likewise. 
 
 The following is extracted from a letter ad- 
 dressed to Mr. Rufus King from T. A. Emmet, 
 brother to Robert Emmet, on the subject of 
 Mr. King's interference with the British go- 
 vernment, as ambassador from the United 
 States, to prevent the Irish state prisoners of 
 "•798 from emigratinor to America i — 
 
 " Sir, — In the commencement of our negoci- 
 ation, Lord Castlereagh declared, as a reason 
 for acceding to government's possessing a ne- 
 gative on our choice, that it had no worse place 
 in view for our emigration than the United 
 States of America. We had made our election 
 to go there, and called upon him to have our 
 ao-reement carried into execution. In that dif- 
 ficulty, you, sir, afforded very effectual assis- 
 tance to the faithlessness of the British cabinet. 
 On the 16th of September, Mr. Marsden, then 
 Under Secretary, came to inform us that Mr. 
 King had remonstrated against our being per- 
 mitted to emigrate to America. This astonish- 
 ed us all. and Dr. MISeven very plainly 
 said that he considered this as a mere trick be- 
 tween Mr» King and the British Government. 
 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 This Mr. Marsden denied, and on being pressed 
 to know what reason Mr. Kinsf could have for 
 preventing us, who were avowed republicans, 
 from emigrating to America, he significantly- 
 answered, ' Perhaps Mr. King does not desire 
 to have republicans in America." Your inter- 
 ference was then, sir,, made the pretext of de- 
 taining us for four years in custody, by which 
 very extensive and useful plans of settlement 
 J within these states were broken up. ' The mis- 
 fortunes which you brought upon the objects of 
 your persecution were inca.lcukible. Almost all 
 of us wasted four of the best years of our lives 
 in prison. As to me, I should have brought 
 along with me my father and his family, inclu- 
 ding a brother, whose name perhaps even you 
 will not read without emotions of sympathy 
 and respect. Others nearly connected with me 
 would have come partners in my emigration. 
 But all of them have been torn from me. * I 
 have been prevented from saving a brother, 
 from receiving the dying blessings of a father, 
 mother, and sister, and from soothing their last 
 agonies by my cares ; and this, sir, by your un^- 
 warrantable, unprecedented, and unfeeling in- 
 terferencfe. Your friends, when they accuse 
 me of want of moderation towards you, are 
 wonderfully mistaken. They do not reflect, or 
 know, that I have never spoken of you without 
 suppressing, as I do now, personal feelings that 
 rise up» within me, and swell my heart with in- 
 dignation- and resentment. The step you took 
 was unauthorised by your own government. 
 Whether our conduct id Ireland was right or 
 
79 
 
 wrong, you have no justification for yours. 
 The constitution and laws of this country gave 
 you no power to require of the British govern- 
 ment that it should violate its faith, and with- 
 draw from us its consent to the place we had 
 fixed upon for our voluntary emigration , neither 
 the president nor you were warranted to pre- 
 vent our touching these shores. — These re- 
 marks I address, with all becoming respect, to 
 ' the first man in the country.' Yet in fact, sir, 
 I do not clearly see in what consists your su- 
 periority over myself. It is true you hava been 
 a resident minister at the court of St. James' ; 
 and, if what 1 have read in the public prints be 
 true, and if you be apprised of my near rela- 
 tionship and family connexion with the late Sir 
 John Temple, you must acknowledge that you/ 
 interference as resident minister at the court of 
 St. James's, against my being permitted to em- 
 igrate to America, is a very curious instance 
 of the caprice of fortune — but let that pass. 
 To what extent I ought to yield to you for tal 
 ents and information, is not for me to decide- 
 In no respect, however, do I feel your excessive 
 superiority. — My private conduct and character 
 are, I hope, as fair as yours — and even in those 
 matters which I consider' as trivial, but upon 
 which aristocratic pride is accustomed to stamp 
 a value, I should not be inclined to shrink from 
 competition. My birth certainly will not hum- 
 ble me by the comparison ; my paternal for- 
 tune was, probably, much greater than yours ; 
 the consideration in which the name I bear in 
 my native country was held, was as great as 
 
^ . so 
 
 yours is ever likely to be before i bad ;ia op- 
 portunity of contributing to its celebrity. 
 
 As to the amount of what private fortune I 
 have been able to save from the wreck of cal- 
 amity it is unknown to you or to your friends ; 
 but two things I will tell you : — I never was 
 indebted, either in the country from which I 
 came, nor in any other in which I have lived, 
 to any man, further than the necessary credit 
 for the current expenses of a family ; and am ^ 
 not so circumstanced that I should tremble 
 " for my subsistence" at the threatened dis- 
 pleasure of your friends. So much for the past 
 and present — now for the future. Circumstan- 
 ces which cannot be controlled, have decided 
 that my name must be embodied into history. 
 From the mannqr in which even my political 
 adversaries, and some of my contemporary his- 
 torians, unequivocally hostile to my principles, 
 already speak of me, I have the consolation of 
 reflecting, that when the falsehoods of the day 
 are withered and rotten, I shall be respected 
 and esteemed. — You, sir, will probably be for- 
 gotten, when I shall be remembered with hon- 
 our, or if^ peradventure, jT'our name should de- 
 scend to posterity, perhaps you will be known 
 only as the recorded instrument of part of my 
 persecutions, sufferings, and misfortunes. 
 
 Thomas Addis Emmet," 
 
 Kew-York, April 9, 1807. 
 
81 
 
 MISS CURRAN. 
 
 She 15? far from the land where her young hero sleeps. 
 
 And lovers are round her sisrhmo: ; 
 But coldly she turns from their saze and weeps, 
 
 For her heart in his grave is lying. 
 
 She sings the wild sons of her dear native plains, 
 Every note which he loved awaking; 
 
 Ah ! little they think who delight in her strains. 
 How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 
 
 •a* 
 
 He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, 
 They were all that to life had entwined him ; 
 
 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried. 
 Nor long will his love stay behind him. 
 
 Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
 When they make her a glorious morrow ; 
 
 They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, 
 From her own loved island of sorrow. 
 
 The eveninor before his death, Miss Curran 
 was admitted into his dunofeon to bid him her 
 eternal farewell. He was leaninir in a melan- 
 choly mood against the' window of the prison, 
 'and the heavy clanking of his chains smote 
 dismally on her heart. The interview was 
 bitterly affecting, and melted even the callous 
 soul of the jailor. As for Emmet himself, he 
 wept, and spoke little ; but as he pressed bis 
 beloved in silence to his heart, his countenance 
 betrayed his emotions. In a low voice, half 
 choked by anguish, he besought her not to 
 forget him ; he reminded her of their former 
 happiness, of the long past days of their child- 
 hood, and concluded by requesting her some- 
 times to visit the scenes where their infancy 
 was spent, and tho|^h the world might repeat 
 
82 
 
 his name with scorn, to cling to his memory 
 with affection. In parting, she turned round, 
 as if to gaze once more on her widowed love. 
 He caught her cj^e as she retired — it was but 
 for a moment — and as the door closed on him, 
 it informed her too surely that they had met 
 for the last time on earth, but that thev should 
 meet in a better world, where man could not 
 separate them. 
 
 She loved him with the disinterested fervour 
 of a woman's first and early love. When every 
 worldly maxim arrayed itself against him — 
 when blasted in fortune, and disofrace and dan- 
 ger darkened around his name, she loved him 
 the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, 
 then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even 
 of his foes, what must have been the agony of 
 her whose whole soul was occupied by his im- 
 age % Let those tell who have had the portal 
 of the tomb suddenly closed between them and 
 the being they most loved on earth — who have 
 sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold 
 and lonely world from W'hence all that was 
 most lovely and loving had departed. 
 
 To render her Avidowed situation more des- 
 olate, she had incurred her father's displeasure 
 by her unfortunate attachment, and was an 
 exile from her paternal roof. But could the 
 sympathy and offices of friends reached a spirit 
 B0 shocked and driven in by horror, she would 
 have experienced no want of consolation, for 
 the Irish are proverbially a people of quick and 
 generous sensibilities. 
 
 The most delicate snd cherishing attentronfj 
 
83 
 
 iverc paid hcf by families of wealth and distinc- 
 tion. She was led into society, and they tried 
 by all kinds of occupation and amuseme.nt to 
 dissipate her grief, and wean her from the 
 tragical story of her love. But it was all in 
 vain. 
 
 There are some strokes of calamity that 
 scathe and scorch the soul — that penetrate to 
 the vital seat of happiness — and blast it, never 
 again to put forth bud or blossom. She never 
 objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but 
 she was as much alone there as in the depths 
 of solitude. She walked about in a sad reverie, 
 apparently unconscious of the world around 
 her. She carried with her an inward woe that 
 mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, 
 and " heeded not the song of the charmer, charm 
 he never so wisely." 
 
 On the occasion of a masquerade at the Ro- 
 tunda, her friends brought her to it. There 
 can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness 
 more striking and painful than to meet it in 
 such a scene. To find it wandering like a 
 spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is 
 gay — to see it dressed out in the trappings of 
 nxirth, and looking so wan and wo-begone, as if 
 it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into 
 a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After 
 strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy 
 crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat 
 herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and 
 looking about for some time with a vacant air, 
 that shewed insensibility to the garish scene, 
 she began, with the caprioiousness of a sickly 
 
84. 
 
 heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an 
 exquisite voice but on this occasiou it was so sim- 
 ple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of 
 wretchedness, that she drew a crowd, mute and 
 silent around her, and melted every one into tears 
 
 The story of one so true and tender could not 
 but excite great interest in a country remark 
 for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart 
 of a brave officer who paid his addresses to her, 
 and thouorht that one so true to the dead could 
 not but prove affectionate to the living. She 
 declined his attentions, for her thouirhts were 
 irrevocably engrossed by the memory of hrr 
 former lover. — He, however, persisted in his 
 suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but hor 
 esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of 
 his worth, and her sense of her own destitute 
 and dependant situation, for she was existing 
 on the kindnes of friends. In a word, he at 
 length succeeded in gaining her hand, though 
 with the solemn assurance that her heart was 
 unalterably another's. 
 
 He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that 
 a chans^e of scene miffht wear out the remem- 
 brance. of early woes. She was an amiable and 
 exemplary wife, and made" an effort to be a 
 happy one ; but nothing could cure the silent 
 and devouring melancholy that had entered 
 into her very soul. She wasted away in a 
 slow but hopeless decline, and at length sunk 
 into the grave, the victim of a broken heart. 
 
 
 
 I 
 
85 . 
 
 ft 
 
 ffer sorrows arc numbered — no longer she weepf, 
 
 Every pang she endured is requited ; 
 With endless delight, and in silence she sleeps, 
 
 For in death with her love she's united. 
 
 Like Sidney he died, but his mem'ry shall live 
 In the bosoms of those who deplored him ; 
 
 Afld Pity her purest of dew-drops shall give 
 To the sorrows of those who adored him. 
 
 For he loved — was beloved — hut alas ! in his bloom. 
 The ordeal of fate here sore tried him ; 
 
 And his spirit took flight from this world of gloom, 
 To that gloi7 which here was denied him. 
 
 From regions of bliss — the high Heavens above, 
 Where sorrows can never invade him ; 
 
 He saw her distress, and he beckoned his love 
 To ascend, and with joy she obeyed him. 
 
 And she who is joined to the spirit she mourned, 
 Now in bliss, ' tis in vain to deplore her; 
 
 For her memory shall live in their bosoms inurned, 
 Who vowed even in death to adore her. 
 
 Whether hero, or lover, or else matters not, 
 " Other times — other men shall divine him ;'* 
 
 Let him rest with his love, by the world forgot, 
 We have hearts large enough to enshrine hioi. 
 
86 
 
 IvfY EMMET'S NO MORE. 
 
 Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of Erin, 
 
 Appeared on the cliff of a bleak rocky shore. 
 Loose in the winds flowed her dark streaming ringlets' 
 
 And heedless she gazed on the dread surge's roar. 
 I. cud rang her harp in wild tones of despairing, 
 
 The time passed away with the present compairing. 
 And in soul-thrilling strains deeper sorrow declaring. 
 
 She sang Erin's woes, and her Emmet's no more ! 
 
 " Oh, Erin ! my country, your glory's departed, 
 
 For tyrants and traitors have stabbed thy heart's core. 
 Thy daughters have laved in the streams of affliction. 
 
 Thy patriots have fled, or arc stretched in their gore. 
 Ruthless ruflians now prowl through thy hamlets forsaken 
 
 From pale hungry orphans their last morsels have 
 taken ; 
 The screams of thy females no pity awaken ,• 
 
 Alas .' my poor country, your Emmet's no more ! 
 
 ** Brave was his spirit, yet mild as the Brahmin, 
 
 His heart bled in anguish at the wrongs of the poor j 
 To relieve tlieir hard sufferings he braved every danger. 
 
 The vengence of tyrants undauntedly bore. 
 E'en before him the proud titled villains in power, 
 
 Were seen, though in ermine, in terror to cower. 
 But, alas ! he is gone — he has fallen a young flower. 
 
 They have murdered my Emmet — my Emmet's n<r 
 more !" 
 
87 
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT EMMET, 
 
 UPON AN 
 
 INDICTMENT FOR HIGH TREASON, 
 
 Held^ under a Special Commission^ at the 
 
 Sessions House, Green Street, on Monday, 
 
 19th of September, 1S03. 
 
 JUDGES PRESENT. LORD NORBURY, MR. BARON 
 
 GEORGE, AND BIR. BARON DALY. 
 MR. STANDISH o'gRADY, ATTORNEY GENERAL. 
 
 To the indictment, charging him with com- 
 passing the disposition and death of the king, 
 and conspiring to levy war against the king 
 within thereahn, Mr. Emmet pleaded not guilty 
 He was then given in charge. 
 
 The indictment was then opened, in sub- 
 stance, to the fallowing effect, by 
 
 THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL, 
 
 J^fy Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury : 
 
 It is my duty -to state, as concisely as I can, 
 die nature of the charge which has been pre- 
 
88 
 
 ferrod against the prisoner at iho bar, and also 
 the nature of the evidence which will be pro- 
 duced to substantiate the charge. It will re- 
 quire on your part the most deliberate consid- 
 eration ; because it is not only the highest 
 crime of which at all times the subject can be 
 guilty, but it receives, if possible, additional 
 agroravation when we consider the' state of 
 Europe, and the lamentable consequences which 
 revolution has already brought upon it. 
 
 Perhaps at former periods some allowance 
 miofht be made for the heated imasfination of 
 enthusiasts; perhaps an extravagant love of 
 liberty, might for a moment supersede a rational 
 understandino;, and misfht be induced, for want 
 of sufficient experience or capacity, to look for 
 that liberty in revolution. But it is not the 
 road to liberty. It throws the mass of the peo- 
 ple into agitation, only to bring the worst and 
 the most profligate to the surface. It originates 
 in anarchy, proceeds in bloodshed, and ends in 
 cruel and unrelenting despotism. 
 
 Therefore, Gentlemen, the crime of which 
 the prisoner stands charged, demands the most 
 serious and deep investigation, because it is in 
 its nature a crime of the blackest die, and 
 which, under all existing circumstances, does 
 not admit of a momentary explanation. 
 
 Gentlemen, the prisoner stands indicted 
 under a very ancient statute— the 25th of Ed- 
 ward III. — and the indictment is grounded on 
 three clauses. The first relates to compassing 
 and imaorinino- the death of the kincr — the sec- 
 ond in adhering- to his enemies — and the tliird 
 
89 
 
 in compassing- to levy war against him. The 
 two latter, namely, that of adhering to the 
 king-'s enemies, and that of compassing to levy 
 war, are so intelligible in themselves that they 
 do not require any observation upon them. 
 But the first admits of some technical consid- 
 erations, and may require on my part a short 
 explanation. 
 
 In the language of the law, compassing the 
 death of the king, does not mean or imply ne- 
 cessarily, any immediate attack upon his person. 
 But any conspiracy, which has for its object an 
 alteration of the laws, consiitution, and govern- 
 ment of the country by force, uniformly leads 
 to anarchy and general destruction, and finally 
 tends to endano^er the life of the kinsr. And, 
 therefore, where that design is substantiated, 
 and manifested by overt acts, whenever the 
 party entertaining the design, uses any means 
 to carry his traitorous intentions into execu-. 
 tion, the crime of compassing and imagining 
 the death of the king is complete. 
 
 Accordingly, gentlemen, this indictm.ent par- 
 ticularly states overt acts, by which the prisoner 
 disclosed the traitorous imaorination of his 
 heart — and, if it shall be necessary, those par- 
 ticular overt acts, and the applicability of the 
 evidence which will be produced to support 
 them, will be stated at large to you by the 
 the court, and therefore it will not be necessary 
 for me now to trespass upon the public time, 
 by a minute examination of them. 
 
 Gentlemen, having heard the charge against 
 the prisoner, you will naturally feel that your 
 
 8« 
 
duty will require an investigation into two dis- 
 tinct points : first, whether there has, or has 
 not existed, a traitorous conspiracy and rebel- 
 Jion for the purpose of ahering the law, the 
 constitution, and the government of the country 
 by force 1 — And, secondly, whether the prisoner 
 has in any, and in what degree, participated in 
 that conspiracy and rebellion 1 
 
 Gentlemen, I do not wish to undertake to 
 speak in the prophetic : but when I consider 
 the vigilance and firmness of his majesty's 
 government, the spirit and discipline of his 
 majesty's troops, and that armed valour and 
 loyalty which, from one end of the country to 
 the other, has raised itself for the purpose of 
 crushing domestic treason, and, if necessary, 
 of meeting and repelling a foreign foe, I do not 
 think it unreasonable to indulge a sanguinary 
 hope, that a continuance of the same conduct 
 upon the part of government, and of the same 
 exertions upon the part of the people, will long 
 preserve the nation free, happy and inde- 
 pendent. 
 
 Gentlemen, upon former occasions, persons 
 were brought to the bar of this court, implica- 
 ted in the rebellio»i, in various, though inferior 
 degrees. But if I am rightly instructed, we 
 have now brought to the bar /of justice, not a 
 person wha has been seduced by others, but a 
 gentleman to whom the rebellion may be traced 
 as the origin, the life, and soul of it. If I mis- 
 take not, it will appear that some time oefore 
 Christmas last, the prisoner, who had visited 
 foreign countries, and who for several months 
 
93 ^ 
 
 before had made a continental tour, embracing 
 France, returned to this cGuntry, full of those 
 mischievous designs which have been so fully 
 exposed. He came from that country, in which 
 he might well have learned the necessary effects 
 of revolution ; and therefore, if he be guilty of 
 treason, he embarked in it with his eyes open, 
 and with a previous knowledge of all its inevi- 
 table consequences. — But, notwithstanding, I 
 am instructed that he persevered in fomenting 
 a rebellion, which I will be bold to say, is un- 
 exampled in any country, ancient or modern. 
 A rebellion which does not complain of any ex- 
 isting grievances, which does not flow from any 
 immediate oppression, and which is not pretend- 
 ed to have been provoked by our mild and 
 gracious king, or by the administration employ- 
 ed by him, to execute his authority. No, gen- 
 tlemen, it is a rebellion which avows itself to 
 come, not to remove any evil which the people 
 feel, but to recal the memory of grievances, 
 wmich, if they ever existed, must have long 
 since passed away. 
 
 You will recollect, gentlemen, that in the 
 large proclamation there was a studied endeav- 
 our to persuade a large portion of the people 
 that they had no religious feuds to apprehend 
 from the establishment cf a new government. 
 But the manifesto upon which I am now about 
 animadverting has taken a somewhat different 
 course, and has revived religious distinctions 
 at the #very moment in which it expresses Sl 
 desire to extinguish them. 
 
 " Orangemen, add not to the catalogue of 
 
 i 
 
 r 
 
> 92 
 
 your follies and crimes, already have you been 
 duped to the ruin of the country, in the legisla- 
 tive union with its tyrant ; attempt not an op- 
 position ; return from the paths of delusion ; 
 return to the arms of your countrymen, who 
 will receive and hail your repentance. Country- 
 men of all descriptions, let us act with union 
 and concert; all sects. Catholic, Protestant, 
 Presbyterian, are equal and indiscriminately 
 embraced in the benevolence of our object." 
 I will not apply to this passage all the observa- 
 tions that press upon my mind, because I am 
 sincerely desirous that one feeling and one 
 spirit should animate us all. I cannot but la- 
 ment that there should be so many sectaries in 
 religion, but trust in God there will be found 
 amongst us but one political faith. But this 
 manifesto is equally unfortunate in every in- 
 stance in which it prescribes moderation. At- 
 tend to the advice by which it instigates the 
 citizens of Dublin: "In a city each street be- 
 comes a defile and each house a battery ; 
 impede-the march of your oppressors, charge 
 them with the arms of the brave, the pike, and 
 from the windows and roofs hurl stones, bricks, 
 bottles, and all other convenient implements, 
 on the heads of the satellites of your tyrant, 
 the mercenary, the sanguinary soldiery of Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Having thus roused them, it throws in a few 
 words of composure, " repress, prevent, and 
 discourage excesses, pillage, and intoxication ;" 
 and to ensure that calmness of mind which is 
 so necessary to qualify them for the adoption 
 
93 
 
 of this salutary advice, it desires tliat they will 
 "remember asrainst whom they fia-ht, their 
 oppressors for 600 years : remember their mas- 
 sacres, their tortures ; remember your murder- 
 ed friends, your burned houses, your violated 
 females." Thus affecting to recommend mod- 
 eration, every expedient is resorted, to, which 
 could tend to inflame sanguinary men to the 
 commission of sanguinary deeds. 
 
 Gentlemen, you must by this time be some- 
 what anxious to know the progress of the gene- 
 ral, who escaped the memorable action which 
 was to be fought, and the first place in which 
 I am enabled to introduce him to you, is at the 
 house of one Doyle, wdio resides near the 
 Wicklow mountains. There the general and 
 his companions took refuge, at the commence- 
 ment of the following week : they arrived there 
 at a late hour ; the general was still dressed in 
 his full uniform, with suitable lace and epaulets, 
 and a military cocked hat, with a conspicuous 
 feather. Two other persons were also decora- 
 ted in green and gold. From thence they pro- 
 ceeded to the house of Mrs. Bagnall, and re- 
 turned to the city of Dublin. What became of 
 the other persons is foreign to the present in- 
 quiry, but we trace the prisoner from those 
 mountains to the same house in Harold's Cross, 
 in which he formerly resided, and assuming 
 the old name of Hewit ; he arrived there the 
 Saturday after the rebellion. 
 
 Having remained a month in this conceal- 
 ment, information was had, and Major Sirr, to 
 whose activity and intrepidity the loyal citi- 
 
94 
 
 7.ens of Diiblin are under much obligation, did 
 confer an additional, and a greater one, by the 
 zealous discharge of his duty on this occasion. 
 He canie by surprise on the house, having, sent 
 a countryman to give a single rap, and the door 
 being, opened, the Major rushed in, and caught 
 Mrs. Palmer and the prisoner sitting down to 
 dinner; the former withdrew, and the Major 
 immediately asked the prisoner his name, and, 
 as if he found a gratification in assuming a 
 variety of titles, he said his name was Cunning^' 
 ham, that he had that day arrived in the house, 
 having been upon a visit with some friends in 
 the neighbourhood ; the Major then left him in 
 charge of another person, and went to inquire 
 of Mrs. Palmer concerning him ; she said he 
 was a very proper young man of the name of 
 Hewit, and that he had been in her house 
 about a month : the Major at this moment 
 heard a noise, and he found that the prisoner 
 was endeavouring to make his escape, and hav- 
 ing been struck with a pistol by the person 
 who had the custody of him, he was by that 
 means detained ; immediately further assistance 
 was called in from a neighbouring guard-house, 
 and an additional sentrj'^ was put upon him. 
 The Major then again proceeded further to in- 
 terrogate Mrs. Palmer, when the prisoner made 
 another effort, got into the garden through the 
 parlour window, but was at length overtaken 
 by the Major, who at the peril of his own life, 
 fortunately secured him. When the Major 
 apologized for the roughness with which he 
 vvas obliged td treat him, the prisoner replied, 
 " lill is fair m war." 
 
95 
 
 Gentlemen, you have the life of a fellow sub-* 
 ject in your hands, and by the benignity of our 
 laws, he is presumed to be' an innocent man 
 until your verdict shall find him guilty. 
 
 If upon the evidence you shall be so satisfied 
 that this man is guilty, you must discharge 
 your duty to your king, your country, and 
 to your God. If, on the other hand, nothing 
 shall appear sufficient to affect him, we shall 
 acknowledge that we have grievously offended 
 him, and will heartly participate in the common 
 joy that must result from the acquittal of an 
 honest man. 
 
 EXAMINATION OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Joseph Rawlins, Esq. being sworn, desposed 
 to a knowledge of the prisoner, and recollected 
 having been in his company some time in tiie 
 month of December last, when he understood 
 from him that he had been to see his brother 
 / at Brussels. On his cross-examination, the 
 witness said, that in conversations with him 
 on the subject of continental politics, the pris- 
 oner avowed that the inhabitants of the 
 Austrian Netherlands execrated Buonaparte's 
 government ; and from the whole of the prison- 
 er's conversation, the witness had reason to 
 believe, that he highly condemned Buonaparte's 
 conduct and government. 
 
 George Tyrrel, an attorney, proved the ex- 
 ecution, in the month of .lune last, of the lease 
 
9b 
 
 of a house in Bulterfield-lanc, Rath fur nham, 
 from Michael Frayne to the prisoner, who as- 
 sumed on the o-casion, the name of Ellis. 
 Mr. Tyrrel was one of the subscribing witnesses 
 to the lease, and a person named Dowdajl was 
 the other. 
 
 Michael Frayne, who leased the above-men- 
 tioned house to the prisoner, proved also to that 
 fact, and that he gave him possession of it on 
 the 23d of xA.pril preceding — that the prisoner 
 and Dowdall lived there in the most seques- 
 tered manner, and apparently anxious of con- 
 cealment. 
 
 John Fleming, a native of the county Kildare, 
 sworn : — deposed, that on the 23d of July, and 
 for the year previous thereto, he had been host- 
 ler at White Bull Inn, Thomas Street, kept by 
 a person named Dillon. The house was con- 
 venient to Marshal-lane, where the rebel depot 
 was, and to which the witness had free and 
 constant access, having been in the confidence 
 of the conspirators, and employed to bring 
 them ammunition and other things. He saw 
 the persons there making pike-handles, and 
 heading them with the iron part ; he also saw 
 the blunderbusses, firelocks, and pistols in the 
 depot, and saw ball-cartridges making there. — 
 Here the witness identified the prisoner at the 
 bar, whom he saw in the depot for the first 
 time, on the Tuesday morning after tho explo- 
 sion in Patrick-street — (that explosion took 
 place on Saturday, the 16th of July.) The 
 witness had opened the gate of the Inn yard, 
 which opened into Marshal-lane, to let out 
 
07 
 
 Quiorley, when he saw the pri^^oripr, accompani 
 cd by a person of the name of Palmer ; the lat 
 tcr got some sacks from the witness to convey 
 ammunition to the stores^ and the prisoner went 
 into the depot, where he continued almost con- 
 stantly until the evening of the 23d July, di- 
 recting the preparations for the insurrection, 
 and having the chief authority. He heard the 
 prisoner read a little sketch, as the witness 
 called it, purporting that every officer, non-com- 
 missioned officer and private,- should have 
 eqally everjr thing they got, and have the same 
 laws as in France. Beincr asked what it was 
 they were to share, theprisoner replied, " what 
 they got when they took Ireland or Dublin." 
 He saw green uniform jackets making in the 
 depot by different tailors, one of whom was 
 ' named Colgan. He saw one uniform in par- 
 ticular, a green coat, laced on the sleeves 
 and skirts, &c. and gold epaulets, like a 
 general's dress. He saw the prisoner take it 
 out of a desk one day and shew it to all present 
 (here the witness identified the desk, which 
 was in court,) he also saw the prisoner, at 
 different times, take out papers, and put papers 
 back into the desk ; there was none other in 
 the store. Quigley used, also, sometimes to 
 go to the desk. On the evening of the 23d of 
 July, witness saw the prisoner dressed in the 
 uniform above described with white waistcoat 
 and pantaloons, new boots and cocked hat, and 
 white feather. He had also a sash on him, and 
 was armed with a sword and case of pistols 
 The prisoner called for a bior coat, but he did 
 ' 9 
 
^ 98 
 
 not get it, to disi^uise his uniform, as he said^ 
 until he went to, the party that, were to attack 
 the castle. Quigley and a pei'son named Stafford 
 had uniforms like that of Emmet, but had only 
 one epaulet. Quigley had a white feather, 
 and Stafford a green one. Stafford was a ba- 
 ker in Thomas-street. About 9 o'clock the 
 prisoner drew his sword, and called out to 
 ^ come on, my boys ;" he sallied out of the de- 
 pot, accompanied by Quigley and Stafford, and 
 about fifty men, as well as he could judge, 
 armed with pikes, blunderbusses, pistols, &5c. 
 They entered Dirty-lane, and from thence in- 
 to Thomas-street. The prisoner was in the 
 centre of the party. They began to fire in 
 Dirty-lane, and also when they got into 
 Thomas-street. The witness was also with 
 the party. The prisoner went into the stores 
 by the name of Ellis. He was considered by 
 all of them as the general and head of the 
 business ; the witness heard him called by the 
 title of general. In and out of the depot, it 
 was said that they were preparing to assist the 
 French when they should land. Quigley went 
 into the depot by the name of Graham. 
 
 Terrence Colgan, the tailor named in the 
 foregoing evidence, sworn. Deposed, that on 
 the Sunday previous to the insurrection, he 
 came to town from Lucan, where he lived, and 
 having met with a friend, they went to Dillon's, 
 the White Bull Inn, in Thomas-street, and 
 drank, until the witness, overcome with liquor, 
 fell asleep, when he was conveyed in this state, 
 of insensibility into the depot, in Marshal-lane, 
 
99 
 
 and when he awoke the next morning, he was 
 set to work making green jackets and white 
 pantaloons. He saw the prisoner there, by 
 whose directions everything was done, and who, 
 he understood, was the chief. He recollected 
 seeing the last witness frequently in the depot 
 while he was there. He also saw the prisoner 
 often at the desk writing. The witness corro- 
 borated the general preparations of arms, am- 
 - munition, &;c. for the insurrection. 
 
 Patrick Farrel sworn. -Deposed, that as he 
 was passing through Marshal-lane, between the 
 hours of nine and ten o'clock on the evening^ oi 
 Friday, the 22d of July, he stopped before the 
 malt stores, or depot, on hearing a noise there- 
 in, which surprised him, as he considered it a 
 waste house. Immediately the door opened, 
 and a man came forth, who caught him, and 
 asked him what he was doinor there'? The 
 witness was then brought into the depot, and 
 again asked what brought him there, or had he 
 ever been there before 1 He said he had not. 
 They asked him if he knew Graham '] He re- 
 plied he did not. One of the persons then said 
 the witness was a spy, and called out to "drop 
 him immediately," by which the witness un- 
 derstood they meant to shoot him. They 
 brought him up stairs, and after some consul- 
 tation, they agreed to wait for some person to 
 come in, who would decide what should be 
 done with him. That person having arrived, 
 he asked the witness if he knew Graham 1 He 
 replied that he did not. A light was brought 
 in at the snme time, and the witness having 
 
100 
 
 looked about, was asked if he knew any one 
 there 1 He replied he knew Quigley. He 
 was asked where 1 He replied that he knew 
 him five or six 3'ears ago in the College of 
 Maynooth, as a bricklayer or mason. The 
 witness understood that Quigley was the peir- 
 son who went by the name of Graham. Here 
 the witness identified the prisoner as the per- 
 son who canie in and decided he should not be 
 killed, but he should be taken care of, and not 
 let out. The witness was detained there that 
 night and the whole of the next day, Saturday, 
 the 23rd, and was made to assist at the differ- 
 ent kinds of work. 
 
 He assisted in taking boards off a car j the 
 boards, he said, were made into cases, and 
 pikes put into them. These cases the witness 
 described as being made of the outside slabs of 
 a long beam, taken off about an inch or more 
 thick — four or five inches at each end of the 
 beam was cut off, the slabs were nailed to- 
 gether, and these pieces put in at the ends, so 
 that it appeared like a rough plank or beam of 
 timber. He saw several such cases filled with 
 pikes sent out. The witness stated that on the 
 evening of the 23rd, he saw three men dressed 
 in green uniforms, richly laced ; one of whom 
 was the prisoner, who wore two gold epaulets, 
 but the other two only one each. The prisoner 
 had also a cocked hat, sword, and pistols. 
 When the witness was helping out one of the 
 beams prepared for explosion, he contrived to 
 effect his escape. 
 
 On his cross-examination, in which the in- 
 
101 
 
 terrogatories were suggested by the prisoner, 
 the only thing remarkable in the evidence of 
 the witness was, that he heard a printed paper 
 read, part of which was, that nineteen counties 
 were ready to rise at the same time, to second 
 the attempt in Dublin. The witness also heard 
 them say, " that they had no idea as to French 
 relief, but would make it good themselves." 
 In answer to a question from the Court, the 
 »vitness said that he orave information of the 
 circumstance deposed in his evidence, the next 
 morning, to Mr. Ormsby in Thomas-street, to 
 whom he was Steward. 
 
 Serjeant Thomas Rice proved the Proclama- 
 tion of the Provisional Government, found in 
 the depot. 
 
 Colonel Spencer Thomas Vassal being sworn, 
 deposed that he was field officer of the day on 
 the 23rd of July j that having gone to the de- 
 pot in Marshal-lane, he found there several 
 small proclamations addressed to the citizens 
 of Dublin, and which were quite wet. He iden- 
 tified one of them. The witness also identified 
 the desk which the prisoner used in the depot. 
 Having remained about a quarter of an liour in 
 the depot, he committed to Major Greeville the 
 care of its contents. 
 
 Questioned by the Court. The witness said 
 that he visited the depot between three and 
 four o'clock on Sunday morning, it having been 
 much advanced in daylight before he was suf- 
 fered to go his rounds. 
 
 Alderman Frederick Darley sworn. Proved 
 having found in the depot a paper directed tp 
 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 ^:' Robert Ellis, Butterfield." Also a paper en^ 
 titled a ^' Treatise on the Art of War." The 
 latter had been handed, at the time, to Capt, 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Captain Henry Evelyn sworn. Deposed hav- 
 ing been at the rebel depot on the morning of 
 Sunday, the 23d of July, to see the things re- 
 moved to the barracks, and that he found a pa- 
 per there, which, being shewn to him, he iden- 
 tified. This paper was a manuscript draft of 
 the greater part of the Proclamation of the 
 Provisional Government, altered and interlined 
 in a great many places. 
 
 Robert Lindsay, a soldier, and Michael Cle- 
 ment Frayne, quarter-master-sergeant of the 
 38th regiment, proved the conveyance of the 
 desk (then in court) to the barracks j and the 
 latter identified a letter which he found therein. 
 The letter was signed, " Thomas Addis Em- 
 met," and directed to " Mrs. Emmet, Miltown, 
 Dublin," and began with, " My dearest Ro- 
 bert." It bore a foreign post-mark. 
 
 , Edward Wilson, Esq. recollected the explo- 
 sion of gunpowder which took place in Patrick 
 street, previous to the 23rd of July : it took 
 place on the 16th. He went there *and found 
 an apparatus for making gunpowder — was cer- 
 tain that it was gunpowder exploded. Proved 
 the existence of a rebellious insurrection, as 
 did also Lieut. Brady. The latter added, that 
 on examination of the pikes which he found in 
 Thomas-street; four were stained with blood on 
 the iron part, and on one or two of them, the 
 JDlood (extended half way up the handle. 
 
103 
 
 John Doyle, a farmer, being sworn, deposed 
 to the following effect : — That on the morning 
 of the 26th of July last, about two o'clock, a 
 party of people came to his house at Bally^ 
 mace, in the parish of Tallaght, seven miles 
 from Dublin. He had been after drinking, and 
 was heavy asleep ; they came to his bedside, 
 and stirred and called him, but he did not 
 awake at ouce ; when he did, and looked up, 
 he lay closer than before : they desired him to 
 take some spirits, which he refused ; they then 
 moved him to the middle of the bed and two 
 of them lay down, one on each side of him. 
 One of them said, " You have a French General 
 and a French Colonel beside you, what you 
 never had before." For some hours the wit- 
 ness lay between asleep and awake. When he 
 found his companions asleep, he stole out of 
 the bed, and found in the room some blunder- 
 busses, a gun, and some pistols. The number 
 of blunderbusses he believed were equal to the 
 number of persons, who on being collected at 
 breakfast, amounted to fourteen. Here he 
 identified the prisoner as one of those who were 
 in bed with him. 
 
 The witness then further stated that the 
 prisoner, on going away in the evening, put on 
 a coat with a great deal of lace and tassels, 
 (as he expressed it.) There was another per- 
 son in a similar dress ; they wore, on their de- 
 parture, great coats over these. The party 
 left his house between eight and nine o'clock 
 in the evening, and proceeded up the hill. The 
 next morning, .the witness found, under the 
 
104^ 
 
 table on which they breakfasted, one of the 
 «mall printed proclamations, which he gave to 
 John Robinson, the barony constable. 
 
 Rose Bagnal, residing at Ballynascorniey, 
 about a mile further up the hill from Doyle's, 
 proved that a party of men, fifteen in number, 
 and whom she described similar to that of the 
 preceding witness, came to her house on the 
 night of the Tuesday immediately after the in- 
 surrection. Three of them wore green clothes, 
 ornamented with something j'^ellow — she wa& 
 so frightened she coiild not distinguish exactly. 
 One of them was called a general. She was 
 not enabled to identify any of them. They left 
 her house about 9 o'clock on the following 
 night. 
 
 John Robinson, constable of the barony of 
 Upper Cross, corroborated the testimony of the 
 witness Doyle, relative to the small proclama- 
 tion, which he identified. 
 
 Joseph Palmer sworn. Deposed that he was 
 clerk to Mr. Colville, and lodged at his mother's 
 house, Harold' s-cross. He recollected the ap- 
 prehension of the prisoner, at his mother's 
 house, by Major Sirr, and that he did lodge 
 there the preceding spring, at which time, and 
 wben he was arrested, he went by the name of 
 ''Hewit. The prisoner came to lodge there the 
 second time about three weeks before this last 
 time, and was habited in a brown coat, white 
 waistcoat, white pantaloons, Hessian boots, and 
 a black frock. Those who visited the prisoner 
 - enquired for him by the name of Hewit. At 
 tlie time he was arrested there was a lable ob 
 
- 105 
 
 the door of the house, expressive of its inhab- 
 itants. It was written by the witness, but the 
 name of the prisoner was omitted, at his request 
 because he said he was afraid government 
 would take him up. 
 
 The prisoner, in different conversations with 
 the witness, exphiined why he feared to beta- 
 ken up. He acknowledged that he had been 
 in Thomas-street, on the nio-ht of the 23d of 
 July, and described the dress he wore on that 
 occasion, part of which were the w^aistcoat, 
 pantaloons, and boots already mentioned, and 
 particularly his coat, which he said was a very 
 handsome uniform. The prisoner had also a 
 conversation with the witness about a maofazine, 
 and expressed much ree:ret at the loss of the 
 powder in the depot. The proclamations were 
 likewise mentioned by the prisoner, and he 
 planned a mode of escape, in the event of any 
 attempt to arrest him, by going through the 
 parlour window into the back house, and from 
 thence into the fields. Here the witness was 
 shown a paper, found upon a chair in the room 
 in which the prisoner lodged, and asked if he 
 knew whose hand-writing it was ] He replied 
 that he did not know, but was certain that it 
 had not been written by any of his family, and 
 that there was no lodger in the house besides 
 tl|e prisoner. 
 
 The examination of this witness being closed, 
 extracts from the proclamation, (vide the At- 
 torney General's statement) addressed to the 
 iGitizens of Dublin, were read. 
 
 Major Henry Charles Sirr, examined, De- 
 
106 
 
 posed to the arrest of the prisoner as tcliows i 
 *' I went on the 25th of August, to the house of 
 one Palmer. I had heard there was a stransrer 
 Iq the back parlour. I rode, accompanied by a 
 man on foot : I desired the man to knock at the 
 door — he did, and it was opened by a girl. 
 I alig^hted, and ran in directly to the back par- 
 lour — I saw the prisoner sitting at dinner j the 
 woman of the house was there, and the girl 
 who opened the door was the daughter of the wo- 
 man of the house. I desired them to withdraw, 
 I asked the prisoner his name, he told me his 
 name was Cunninsfham. I crave him in charore 
 to the man who accompanied me, and went in^ 
 to the next room to ask the woman and her 
 dausrhter about him ; thev told me his name 
 was Hewit ; I went back and asked him how 
 lonsf he had been there \ He said he came that 
 morning. He had attempted to escape before I 
 returned, for he was bloody and the man said 
 he knocked him down with a pistol. I then 
 went to Mrs. Palmer, who said he had lodged 
 there for a month ; I then judged he was some 
 person of importance. When I first went in, 
 there w^as a paper on the chair,* which I put 
 
 * That paper was as follows : 
 
 '•'It may appear strange, that a person avowing himr 
 self to bean enemy of the present Government, and en- 
 gased in a conspiracy for its overthrow, should presume 
 10 suggest an oi^nion to that Government on any part 
 of its conduct, or coald hope that advice comijig from 
 such anthority, might be received with attention. The 
 writer of this, however, does not mean to ofl'er an opin- 
 ion on any point, on which he must of necessity, feel 
 ^iflTenih from any ot' those whom he addresses, and 
 
i07 
 
 mto my pocket ; I then went to the canal 
 bridge for a o^uard, havingr desired them to be 
 
 on which therefore his conduct might be donbted. Hi« 
 Intention is to confine himself entirely to those points 
 on which, however widely he may differ from them in 
 others, he has no hesitation in declaring, that, as a man, 
 he feels the same interest with the merciful part, and as 
 an Irishman, with at least the English part of the pres- 
 ent administration : and at the same time to communi- 
 cate to them in the most precise terms, that line of con- 
 duct which he may hereafter be compelled to adopt, 
 and which, however painful it must, under any circum- 
 stances be, would become doubly so if he was not con- 
 scious of having tried to avoid it by the most distinct 
 notification. On the two first of these points, it is hot 
 the intention of the undersigned, for the reason he has 
 already mentioned, to do more than state, what govern- 
 ment itself must acknowledge — that of the present con- 
 spiracy it knows (comparatively speaking) nothing. 
 That instead of creating terror in its enemies, or confi- 
 dence in its friends, it will only serve by the scantiness 
 of its information, to furnish additional grounds of in- 
 vective to those who are but too ready to censure it for 
 a want of intelligence, which no sagacity could have en- 
 abled them to obtain. That if it is not able to terrily 
 by a display of its discoveries, it cannot hope to crusL 
 by the weight of its punishments. Is it only now we 
 are to learn, that entering into conspiracy exposes ns 
 to be hanged ? — Are the ecaltered instances which will 
 now be brought forward necessary to exemplify the 
 statute ? If the numerous and striking examples which 
 have already preceded, Avere insufficient. — if govern- 
 ment can neither by novelty of punishment, nor the 
 multitude of its victims, impress us with terror, can it 
 hope to injure the body of a conspiracy so impenetrably 
 woven as the present, by cutting off a few threads from 
 the end of it. 
 
 "That with respect to the second point, no system 
 however ft may change the nature, can affect the pe- 
 riod of the contest that ]s to take place; as to which ihr 
 exertions of United Irishmen will be guided only bj 
 
108 
 
 in readiness as I passed ; I planted a senfry 
 over him, and desired the non-commissioned 
 officer to surround the house with sentries, 
 while I searched it ; I then examined Mrs. Pal- 
 mer, and took down her account of the prison- 
 er, during which time I heard a noise as if an 
 escape was attempted: I instantly ran to the 
 back part of the house, as the most likely part 
 for him to get out at. I saw him going off, 
 and ordered a sentinel not to fire, and then 
 pursued myself; regardless of my order, the 
 sentinel snapped, but his musket did not go off. 
 I overtook the prisoner and he said, " 1 surren- 
 der." I searched him, and found some papers 
 upon him. 
 
 "On the witness expressing concern at the 
 necessity of the prisoner's being treated so 
 roughly, he (the prisoner) observed, that "All 
 was fair in war." The prisoner, Avhen brought 
 
 their own opinion of the eligibility of the moment lor 
 effecting the emancipation of their country. 
 
 " That administration ^' 
 
 The following paper was found in the depot, in Em- 
 met's hand- writing : — 
 
 " I have little time to look at the thousand difficulties 
 which still lie between me and the completioii of my 
 wishes that those difficulties will likewise disappear I 
 liave ardent, and I tru^t, rational hopes ; but if it is not 
 to be the case, I thank God for having gifted me with a 
 sanguine disposition. To that disposition I run from 
 reflection, and if my hopes are without foundation — if a 
 precipice is opening under my leet, from which duty 
 will not suffer me to run back, I am grateful for that 
 sanguine disposition, which leads me to the brink and 
 throws me down, while my eyes are still raised to visions 
 of happiness, that my fanc^y formed in the air.'' 
 
10^ 
 
 to the castle, acknowledged that hia name was 
 Emmet. 
 
 Here the case closed on the part of the 
 crown, and the prisoner having declined to ea- 
 ter into any defence, either by witnesses or 
 his counsel, an argument arose between Mr. 
 McNally and Mr. Plunket, as to the latter*s 
 right to reply to evidence, when no defence 
 had been made. Lord Norburv said, that the 
 counsel for the prisoner could not by their si- 
 lence preclude the crown from that right, and, 
 therefore, decided in favour of Mr. Plunket. 
 
 Mr. Plunket then addressed the court to a 
 considerable length, and spoke to evidence in 
 effect, the same as the Attorney General. 
 
 Lord Norbury charged the Jury, minutely 
 recapitulating the whole of the evidence, and 
 explained the law. 
 
 The Jury, without leaving the box, pronounc- 
 ced the Prisoner — Guiky. 
 
 The judgment of the court having been pray- 
 ed upon the prisoner, the Clerk of the Crown, 
 in the usual form, asked him what he had to 
 say why sentence of death and execution should 
 not be awarded against him according to law, 
 Mr. Emmet addressed thp court as follows. 
 
 10 
 
110 
 
 MR, EMMETS REPLY. 
 
 Mt Lords, — I am ask^d, what have I to say 
 why sentence of death should not be pronounc- 
 ed on me, according to law 1 I have nothing 
 to say that can alter your predetermination, 
 nor that it will become me to say, with any 
 view to the mitigation of that sentence which 
 you are to pronounce, and I must abide by. 
 But I have that to say which interests me more 
 than lifcy and which you have laboured (as was 
 necessarily your office in the present circum- 
 stances of this oppressed country) to destroy 
 — I have much to say, why my reputaton 
 should be rescued from the load of false accusa- 
 tion and calumny which has been heaped upon 
 it. I do not imagine that, seated where you 
 are, your minds can be so free from impurity, 
 as to receive the least impression from what I 
 am going to utter. I have no hopes that I can 
 anchor my character in the breasts of a Court 
 constituted and trammelled as this is. I only 
 wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your 
 Lordships may suffer it to float down your 
 memories untainted by the foul breath of pre- 
 judice, until it finds some more hospitable har- 
 bour to shelter it from the storm by which it 
 is at present buffeted. 
 
 Were I only to suffer death, after being 
 adjudged guilty by your tribunal 1 should bow 
 in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me 
 without a murmur; but the sentence of the law 
 which delivers my body to the executionerp 
 
Ill 
 
 will, through the, ministry of that law, labour 
 in its own vindication, to consign my character 
 to obloquy ; for there must be guilt somewhere : 
 whether in the sentence of the Court or in the 
 catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man 
 in my situation, my Lords, has not only to en- 
 counter the difficulties of fortune, and the force 
 of power over minds which it has corrupted or 
 subjugated, but the difficulties of established 
 prejudice ; the man dies, but his memory' lives; 
 that mine may not perish — that it may live in 
 the respect of my countrymen — I seize upon 
 this opportunity to vindicate myself from 
 some of the charges alleged against me. 
 When my spirit shall be wafted to a more 
 friendly port — when my shade shall hcive joined 
 the bands of those martyred heroes who have 
 shed their blood on the scaffold and in the field, 
 in defence of their country and of virtue, this 
 is my hope — I wish that my memory and name 
 may animate those who survive me, while ^ 
 look down with complacency on the destructicn 
 of that perfidious government, which upholds 
 its dominion by blasphemy of the Most High j 
 which displays its power over man as over the 
 beasts of the forest ; which sets man upon his 
 brother, and lifts his hand in the name of God, 
 ao-ainst the throat of his fellow, who believes or 
 doubts a little more than the Government stand- 
 ard — a Government steeled to barbarity b^v the 
 eries of the orphans and the tears of the widows 
 rt'hich it has made. 
 
 [^Here Lord .N'm-h/nj interrvpfrjl Mr. Emmet 
 — inryivcrfh.if fhr w:?) and wicked enthu^ios/s 
 
J 1 
 
 o 
 
 ^ho felt as he'diJ^ were not equal to the accom* 
 pliskment of their wild design.^ 
 
 I appeal to the immaculate God — I swear by 
 the throne of Heaven, before whicb I must 
 shortly appear — by the blood of the murdereo 
 patriots who have gone before me, that mv 
 conduct has been, through all this peril and 
 through all my purposes, governed only by the 
 convictions which I have uttered, and by no 
 other view than that of their cure, and the 
 emancipation of )py country from the super in- 
 human oppression under which she has so long 
 and too patiently travailed ; and 1 confidently 
 and assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical 
 as it may, appear, there is still union and 
 strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest 
 enterprize. 
 
 Of this I speak with the confidence of inti- 
 mate knowledge, and with the coasolation that 
 appertaining to that confidence. Think not, my 
 Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of 
 'iving you a transitosy uneasiness ; a man who 
 never vet raised his voice to assert a lie, will 
 not hazard his character with posterity by as^ 
 gerting a falsehood on a subject so important 
 to his country, and on an • occasion like this. 
 Yes, my Lords, a man who does not wish to 
 have his epitaph written until his country is 
 liberated, will not leave a weapon in the power 
 of envy, ncr a pretence to impeach the probity 
 which he means to preserve even in the gravg 
 to which tyranny consigns him. 
 ^Hei'e he was again interrupted by the court. \ 
 ' A^ain I sav. that what I Imve spoken was 
 
i :o 
 
 not luLeucieu ior your Lordships, v. ho&e situa- 
 tion I commiserate rather than envy — my ex- 
 pressions were for my countrymen — if there is 
 a true Irishmen present, let my last words cheer 
 him in the hour of affliction. 
 
 [^Here he was again inteirwpted ; Lord JVor- 
 bury said he did not sit there to hear treason.^ 
 
 I have always understood it to be the duty 
 of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, 
 to pronounce the sentence of the law ; I have 
 also understood that judges sometimes think it 
 their duty to hear with patience, and to speak 
 with humanity ; to exhort the victim of the 
 laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, his 
 opinion of the motives by which he was ac- 
 tuated in the crime of which he was adjudged 
 guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty 
 so to have done, I have no doubt ; but where is 
 the boasted freedom of your institutions — where 
 is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and mild- 
 ness of your courts of justice, if an unfortunate 
 prisoner, whom your policy, and not your jus- 
 tice, is about to deliver into the hands of the 
 executioner, is not suffered to explain his mo- 
 tives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the 
 principles by which he was actuated. 
 
 My Lords, it may be a part of the system of 
 angry justice to bow a man's mind by humili- 
 ation to the proposed ignominy of the scaffold 
 — but worse to me than the proposed shame, 
 or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of 
 such foul and unfounded imputations as have 
 been laid against me in this court. You, my 
 Lord, are a Judge ; I am the supposed culprit , 
 
 10* 
 
114. 
 
 I am a man ; you are a man also ; by a revolu- 
 tion of power, we might change places, though 
 we never could change characters. If I stand 
 at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate 
 my character, what a farce is your justice ! If 
 I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my 
 character, how dare you calumniate it 1 Does 
 the sentence of death, which your unhallowed 
 policy inflicts upon my body, also condemn my 
 tongue to silence, and my reputation to re- 
 proach 1 Your executioner may abridge the 
 period of my existence, but whilst I exist I 
 shall not forbear to vindicate my character and 
 my motives from your aspersions ; and as a 
 man, to whom fame is dearer than life, I will 
 make the last use of that life in doing justice 
 to that reputation which is to live after me, 
 and which is the only legacy I can leave to 
 those I honour and love, and for whom I am 
 proud to perish. ^ 
 
 - "As men, my Lords, we must appear on the 
 great day at one common tribunal and it wiL 
 then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to 
 show a collective universe, who was engaged 
 in the most virtuous actions or actuated by the 
 purest motive — my country's oppressors, or 
 
 [^Here he was again interrupted^ and told to 
 listen to the sentence of the law.'] 
 
 ** My Lords, will a dying man be denied the 
 legal privilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes 
 of the community, of an undeserved reproach 
 thrown upon him during the trial, by charging 
 him with ambition, and attempting to cast 
 away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties 
 
115 
 
 of his country 1 Why did your Lordships in 
 suit me 1 or rather, why insult justice, in de- 
 manding of me why sentence of death should 
 not be pronounced against me 1 I know, my 
 Lord, that form prescribes that you should ask 
 the question — the form also implies the right 
 of answering. This, no doubt, may be dispen- 
 sed with, and so might the whole ceremony of 
 the trial, since sentence was already pronoun- 
 ced at the Castle, before your jury was em- 
 panelled. Your Lordships are but the priests 
 of the Oracle, and I submit — but I insist on the 
 whole of the forms. 
 
 [^Here Mi', Emmet paused^ and the Court de^ 
 sired him to proceed.'\ 
 
 " I am charged with being an emissary of 
 France. An emissary of France ! and for what 
 end 1 It is alleared that I wished to sell the in- 
 dependence of my country ! and for what end X 
 Was this the object of my ambition 1 and is 
 this the mode by which a tribunal of justice 
 reconciles contradictions \ No ! I am no emis- 
 sary ; and my ambition was to hold a place 
 among the deliverers, of my country — not in 
 power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the 
 achievement. Sell my country's independence 
 to France ! and for what 1 Was it for a changfe 
 of masters 1 No, but for ambition ! O, my coun- 
 try ! was it personal ambition that could in- 
 fluence me 1 Had it been the soul of my actions, 
 could I not, by my education and fortune — by 
 the rank and consideration of my family, have 
 placed myself among the proudest of my coun- 
 try's oppressors 1 My country was my idol j to 
 
ii6 
 
 it I sacrificed every selfish — every endear iiig 
 sentiment — and for it I nov/ ofler up my life. 
 O, God! No ! my Lord j I acted os an Irishman, 
 determined on delivering my country from the 
 yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyrann}', and 
 the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, 
 which is its joint partner and perpetrator in the 
 patricide, for the ignominy of existing with an 
 exterior of splendour and a conscious deprav- 
 ity j it was the wish of my heart to extricate 
 my country from this doubly-rivetted despotism. 
 I wished to place her independence beyond 
 the reach of any power on earth — I wished to 
 exalt her to that proud station in the world. 
 
 " Connection with France was, indeed, intend- 
 ed — but only as far as mutual interest would 
 sanction or require. Were they to assume any 
 authority inconsistent with the purest indepen- 
 dence, it wouid be the signal for their destruc- 
 tion ; we sought aid, and we sought it as we 
 had assurance we should obtain it — as auxili- 
 aries in war, and allies in peace. 
 
 " Were the French to come as invaders or 
 enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the people, 
 I should oppose them to the utmost of my 
 strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet 
 them on the beach, with a sword in one hand 
 and a torch in the other ; I would meet them 
 with all the destructive fury of war, and I 
 would animate my countrym.en to immolate 
 them in their boats, before they had contam- 
 inated the soil of my country. If they suc- 
 ceeded in landing, and if forced to retire before 
 superior discipline, I would dispute every inch. 
 
117 
 
 of ground, burn every blade Ox grass before* 
 ihem, and the last entrenchment of liberty 
 should be my grave. What I could not do 
 myself, if I should fall, I would leave as a last 
 charge to my countrymen to accomplish, be- 
 cause I should feel conscious that life, any 
 more than death, is unprofitable when a foreign 
 nation holds my country in subjection. 
 
 " But it was not as an enemy that the suc- 
 cours of France were to land. I looked, indeed, 
 for the assistance of France ; but I wished to 
 prove to France and to the world, that Irish- 
 men deserved to be assisted ; that they were 
 indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the 
 independence and liberty of their country. 
 
 " 1 wished to procure for my country the 
 guarentee which Washington procured for 
 America. To procure an aid which, by its ex- 
 ample, would be as important as its valour — 
 disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and 
 experience ; who would preserve the good, and 
 polish the rough points of our character ; they 
 would come to us as strangers and leave us as 
 friends, after sharing our perils and elevating 
 our destiny. These were my objects — not to 
 receive new taskmakers, but to expel old ty- 
 rants ; these were my views, and these only 
 became Irishmen. It was for these ends I 
 sought aid from France, because France, even 
 as an enemy, could not be more implicable than 
 the enemy already in the bosom of my country. 
 
 tHere he was interrupted by the Court. "^ 
 have been charged with that importance 
 in the efforts to emancipate my country, 'as to 
 
118 
 
 be considered the keystone of the combination 
 of Irishmen, or as your Lordship expressed it, 
 '* the life and blood of the conspiracy." You 
 do me honour over much ; you have given to 
 the subaltern all the credit of a superior. 
 There are meit engaged in this conspiracy, who 
 are not only superior to me, but even to your 
 own conceptions of yourself my Lord, before the 
 splendour of whose genius and virtues I should 
 oow with respectful deference, and who would 
 think themselves dishonoured to be called your 
 friend, and who would not disgrace themselves 
 by shaken your blood-stained hand. 
 
 \_Here he was again interrupted. '\ 
 
 " What, my Lord ! shall you tell me, on the 
 passage to that scaffold, v^fhich that tyranny 
 (of which you are only the intermediary ex 
 ecutioner) has erected for my murder, that 1 
 am accountable for all the blood that has and 
 will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed 
 against the oppressor — shall you tell me thi§, 
 and shall I be so very a slave as not to repel it 1 
 
 " I do not fear to approach the Omnipotent 
 Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole 
 life, and am I to be appalled and falsified by a 
 mere remnant of mortality here ! By you, too, 
 who, if ;t were possible to collect all the inno- 
 cent blood that you have caused to be shed, in 
 your unhallowed ministry, into one great reser- 
 voir, your Lordship might swim in it. 
 [Here the Judge interfered.'] 
 
 " Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge 
 me with dishonour ; let no man attaint my me- 
 mory, by believing that I could have engaged in 
 
119 
 
 nny cause but of my country's libei'ty and in- 
 dependence, or that I became the pliant minion 
 of power, in the oppression or the miseries of 
 my countrymen. The proclamation of the 
 Provisional Government speaks for our views ; 
 no inference can be tortured from it to counte- 
 nance barbarity or debasment at home, or sub- 
 jection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad ; 
 I would not have submitted to a foreign oppress- 
 or for the same reason that I would resist the 
 present domestic oppressor. In the dignity of 
 freedom, I would have fought on the threshold of 
 my country, and its enemy should only enter by 
 passing over ray lifeless corpse. And am I, wiio 
 lived but for my country, and who have subjectec 
 myself to the dangers of the jealous and watch- 
 ful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, 
 only to give my countrymen their rights and 
 my country her independence — am I to be 
 loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent 
 or repel it 1 No, God forbid ! 
 
 l^Here Lord Jf or bury told Mr. Emmet that his 
 sentiments and language disgraced his family and 
 education, but more particularly his father, Dr. 
 Emmet, who was a man, if alive, that would not 
 countenance such opinions. ~\ 
 
 " If the spirits of the illustrious dead partici- 
 pate in the concerns and cares of those who are 
 dear to them in this transitory life — O ever 
 dear and venerated shade of my departed 
 Father, look down with scrutiny upon the con- 
 duct of your suffering son j and see if I have, 
 even for a moment, deviated from those prin- 
 eiple* *»^ morality and patriotism which it wa3 
 
120 
 
 your care to instil into my youthful mind, and 
 for which I am now to offer up my life. 
 
 " My Lords, you are impatient for the sacri- 
 fice — the blood which you seek is not congeal- 
 ed by the artifical terrors that surround your 
 victim ; it circulates warmly and unruffled 
 through the channels which God created for 
 nobler purposes, but which you are bent to des- 
 troy, for purposes so grievous, that they cry to 
 Heaven. Be ye patient ! I have but a few 
 words more to say. I am going to my cold 
 and silent grave : my lamp of life is nearly ex- 
 tinguished : my race is run : the grave opens to 
 receive me, and I sink into its bosom ! I have 
 but one request to ask at my departure from 
 this world; it is the charity of its silence! 
 Let no man write my epitaph ; for as "no man 
 who knows my motives dare now vindicate 
 them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse 
 them. Let them and me repose in obscurity 
 and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, 
 until other times, and other men, can do justice 
 to my character. When my country takes her 
 place among the nations of the earth — then, 
 and not till then — let ray epitaph be written* 
 
 I HAVE DONE 
 
1-21 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LATE 
 
 PLAN OF INSURRECTION IN DUBLIN, 
 
 AMD THE CAUSE OF ITS FAILURE.* 
 
 The plan was comprised under three heads 
 — points of attack^ points of check, and lines of 
 defence. 
 
 The points of attack were three : — The 
 Pigeon House, the Castle, and the Artillery- 
 Barracks at Island Bridge. 
 
 The attack was to begin with the Pigeon 
 House, number of men 200. The place of as- 
 sembly, the Strand, between Irishtown and 
 Sandymount. The time, low water. The men 
 to divide into two bodies : one to cross by a 
 sand bank, between the Pigeon House and 
 Light House, where they were to mount the 
 wall ; the other to cross at Devonshire Wharf j 
 both parties to detach three men with blunder- 
 busses, and three with jointed pikes,- concealed, 
 who were to seize the sentries and gates for 
 the rest to rush in. Anotlier plan was formed 
 for high water, by means of pleasure, or fish- 
 ing boats, going out in the morning, one by 
 
 • Annexed to the copy from which the above has been 
 transcribed, is the following memorandum, in the hand- 
 writing of a gentleman who held a confidential situation 
 under the Irish government. — " The original of this pa. 
 per was delivered on the morning just b-^fore he was 
 brought out to execution, in order to be forwarded t» 
 his brother, Thomas Addis Emmetj at Paris," 
 
 U 
 
122 
 
 rtne, and rctiuning in the evening to the dock 
 at the Pigeon House, where they were to hind. 
 A rocket from this was to be the signal for the 
 other two, viz. ; 
 
 The Castle, the number of men 200. The* 
 place of assembly, Patrick-street depot. A 
 house in Ship-street was expected, also one 
 near the gate. A hundred men to be armed 
 with jointed pikes and blunderbusses, the rest 
 to support them, and march openly with long 
 pikes. To begin by the entrance of two- job 
 coaches, hackney coachmen, two footmen, and 
 ,six persons, inside, to drive in at the upper 
 gate into the yard^ come out of the coaches, 
 turn back and seize the guard, (or instead of 
 one of the job coaches, a sedan going in at the 
 same time, with two footmen, two chairmen, 
 and one inside ;) at the same moment a person 
 was, in case of failure, to knock at Lamprey's 
 door, seize it and let in others, to come down 
 by a scaling ladder from a window on the top 
 of the guard-house, while attacks were made 
 at a public house in Ship-street, which has 
 three windows commanding the guard-house, 
 a gate in Stephen-street, another at the Aungier- 
 Street, end of Great George' s-street, leading to 
 the ordnance, another at the new^ houses in 
 George' s-street, leading to the riding yard, and 
 another over .a piece of a brick wall near the 
 ' Palace-street gate. Scaling ladders for all 
 these. Fire-balls, if necessary, for the guard- 
 house of the upper gate. The Lord Lieutenant 
 and principal officers of government, together 
 with the bulk of artillery, to be sent off under 
 
123 
 
 an escort to the commander in Wicklow, in 
 case of being obliged to retreat. I forgot to 
 mention that the same was to be done with as 
 
 -much of the Pisfeon House stores as could be. 
 Another party with some artillery to come into 
 town along the quays, and take post at Carlisle 
 Bridore, to act accordincr to circumstances. 
 
 Island Bridge, 400 men. Place of assembly, 
 Quarry-hole opposite, and Burying ground. — 
 Eight men with pistols and one with a blunder- 
 buss, to seize the sentry walking outside, seize 
 the gates, some to rush in, s^ize the cannon 
 opposite the gate, the rest to mount on all sides 
 by scaling ladders ; on seizing this to send 
 two cannon over the bridge facing the barrack- 
 road. Another detachment to brinj? cannon 
 down James's-street, another towards Rath- 
 farnham as before. To each of the flank points, 
 when carried, reinforcements to be sent, with 
 horsey, &c. to transport the artillery. Island 
 Bridge only to be maintained ; a false attack 
 also thought of, after the others had been made 
 on the rear of the barracks, and if necessary, 
 to burn the hay stores in the rear. 
 
 Three rockets to be the signal that the at- 
 tack on any part was made, and afterwards -a 
 rocket of stars in case of victory, a silent one 
 of repulse. 
 
 Another poiilt of attack not mentioned : 
 Cork-street Barracks ; if the officer could sur- 
 
 j)rise it, and set fire to it j if not, to take post 
 in the house (I think in Earl-street, the street 
 at the end of Cork-street, leading to Newmar- 
 jket, looking down the street with musquetry. 
 
124 
 
 two bodies of plkemen in Earl-street,) to the 
 right and left of Cork-street, and concealed 
 from troops marching in that street. Another 
 in, I think, Marrowbone-lane, to take them in 
 rear. Place of assembly, fields adjacent, or 
 Fenton fields. 
 
 Points of Check. — The old Custom-house, 
 300 men, the gate to be shut or stopped with a 
 load of straw, to be previously in the street. — 
 The other small gate to be commanded by 
 musquetry, and the bulk of the 300 men to be 
 diiStributcd in Parliament-street, Crane-lane, 
 ind those streets falling into Essex-street, in 
 order to attach them if they forced out. The 
 jointed pikes and blunderbusses lying under 
 great coats, rendered all these surprises unsus- 
 pected ; fire balls, if necessary, and a beam of 
 rockets. 
 
 An idea also was, if money had been got, to 
 purchase RafTerty's cheese shop, opposite to it 
 to make a depot and assembly ; and to mine 
 under and blow up a part of the Custom-house, 
 and attack them in confusion, as also the Castle. 
 The miners would have been got also to mine 
 from a cellar into some of the streets through 
 which the army from the barracks must march. - 
 
 The assembly was at the Coal-quay. 
 
 Mary-street barracks, sixty men. A house- 
 painter's house, and one equally removed on 
 the opposite side, (No. 36, I believe,) whose 
 fire commands the iron gate of the barracks 
 without being exposed to the fire from it, to be 
 occupied by twenty-four blunderbusses ; the re- 
 mainder, pikemen, to remain near Cole's-lane 
 or to be ready in case of rushing out to attack 
 
them. Assembly, Cole's-lane market, or elso 
 detached from Custom-house body. 
 
 The corner house of Capel-street, (it was 
 Killy Kelley's,) commanding in Ormond-quay, 
 and Dixon, the shoemaker's (or the house be- 
 yond it,) which open suddenly on the flank of 
 the army, without being exposed to their fire, 
 to be occupied by blunderbusses. Assembly 
 detached from Custom-house body. 
 
 Lines of Defence. — Beresford-street has six 
 issues from Church-street, viz: Coleraine-street, 
 King-street, Stirrup-lane, Mary's-lane, Pill-lane, 
 and the Quay. These to be chained in the first 
 instance by a body of chainmen j double chains 
 and padlocks were deposited, and the sills of 
 the doors marked. The blockade to be after- 
 wards filled up J that on the Quay by bringing 
 up the coaches from the strand, and oversetting 
 them, together with the butchers' blocks from 
 Ormond-raarket. The houses over the chains 
 to be occupied with hand grenades, pisiols and 
 stones. Pikemen to parade in Beresford-street, 
 to attack instantly any person that might pene- 
 trate ; the number 200. Assembly, Smithfield 
 depot, where were 800 pikes for reinforcements. 
 The object was to force the troops to march to- 
 wards the Castle, by the other side of the 
 water, where the bulk of the preparations and 
 men to receive them were. 
 
 Merchant's Quay. In case the army, after 
 passing the Old Bridge, marched that way, 
 Wogan's house and a Birmingham warehouse 
 next to it to be occupied with musquetry, gre- 
 nades, and stones ; also, the leather crane at 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 Jiiif; Other end of the Quay ; a beam to be before 
 the crane, lying across the Quay, to be fired at 
 the approach of the enemy's column. A body 
 of pikemen in Winetavern-street, instantly to 
 rush on them in front ; another body in Cook- 
 street to do the same, five lanes opening on 
 their flank, and by Bride-street in their rear. 
 Another beam in Bridge-street, in case of ta- 
 king that route, ami then the Cook-street body 
 to rush out instantly in front ; a beam in Dirty- 
 lane ^ main body of pikemen in Thomas-street 
 to rush on them instantly on firing the beam 
 The body on the Quay to attack on rear; in 
 case of repulse, <^atherine's Church, Market 
 house, and two houses adjacent, that command 
 that street, occupied with musquetry. Two 
 rocket batteries near the Market house, abeam 
 before it, body of pikemen in Swift's-alley, and 
 that range, to rush on their flank, after the 
 heam was fired through Thomas-court, Vicar- 
 street, and three other issues ; the corner 
 houses of these issues to be occupied by stones 
 and grenadestj the entire of the other side of 
 the street to be occupied with stones, &c. the 
 flank of this side to he protected by a chain at 
 James' s-gate, and Guiness^s drays, &;c. the rear 
 of it to he protexjted from >Cook-street, in case 
 the officer there failed, by chains across Rains- 
 ford-street, Crilly's-Yard, Meath-street, Ash- 
 street, and Francis-street. The Quay body to 
 co-operate by the issues before mentioned, (at 
 the other side,) the chains of which would be 
 .opened by us immediatelJ^ In ease of further 
 I'^pulse, the houses at the corner of Cutpurse^^ 
 row. co;timandinff the lanes at each side of the 
 
127 
 
 Market-house, the two houses in High-street, 
 commanding that open, and the corner houses 
 of Castle-street, commanding Skinner-row, (now 
 ^Christ Church-place) tO be successively occu- 
 pied. In case of a final retreat, the routes tc 
 be three : Cork-street, to Templeogue, New- 
 street, Rathfarnham, and Camden-street depart- 
 ment. The bridges of the Liftey to be covered 
 six feet deep with boards full of long nails 
 bound down by two iron bars, with spikes 
 eighteen inches long, driven through them into 
 the pavement to stop a column of cavalry, or 
 even infantry. 
 
 The whole of this plan was given up by me 
 for the want of means, except the Castle and 
 lines of defence, for I expected 300 Wexford 
 men, 400 Kildare men, and 200 Wicklow, all 
 of whom had fought before, to begin the sur- 
 prises at this side of the water, and by the pre- 
 parations for defence, so as to give time for the 
 town to assemble. The county of Dublin was 
 also to act at the instant it be?an — the number 
 of Dublin people acquainted with it I under- 
 stood to be 4 or 5,000. I expected 2,000 to 
 assemble at Costigan's Mills, the grand place 
 of assembly. The evening before, the Wick- 
 low men failed, through their officer. The 
 Kildare men who were to act, (particularly 
 with me,) came in, and at five o'clock went ofl 
 again from the Canal-harbour, on a report that 
 Dublin would not act. In Dublin itself, it was 
 given out by some treacherous or cowardly per- 
 son, that it was .postponed till Wednesday. 
 The time of assembly was from six till nine, in 
 Btead of 2,000, there was eighty men assembled 
 
128 
 
 when we came to the Market-house they were 
 diminished to eighteen or twenty. The Wex- 
 ford men did assemble, I believe, to the amount 
 promised, on the. Coal-quay j but 300 men, 
 though they might be sufficient to begin on a 
 sudden, were not so, when government had 
 five hours' notice by express from Kildare. 
 
 Added to this, the preparations were, from 
 an unfortunate series of disappointments in 
 money, unfinished, and scarcely any blunder- 
 busses bought up. 
 
 The man who was to turn the fuzes and ram- 
 mers for the beams forgot them, and went off 
 to Kildare to bring men, and did not return till 
 the very day. The consequence was, that all 
 the beams were not loaded, nor mounted with 
 wheels, nor the train-bags, of course, fastened 
 on to explode them. 
 
 From the explosion in Patrick-street, I los 
 the jointed pikes which were deposited there y 
 and the day of action was fixed on before this, 
 and could not be changed. 
 
 I had no means of making up for their loss 
 but by the hollow beams full of pikes, which 
 struck me three or four days before the 23d 
 From the delays in getting the materials, they 
 were not able to set about them till the day 
 before ; the whole of that day and the next, 
 which ought to have been spent in arrangements, 
 was obliged to be employed in work. Even 
 this, from the confusion occasioned by men 
 crowding into the depot from the country, was 
 almost impossible. 
 
 The person who had the management of the 
 depot mixed, by accident, the slow matches that 
 
V29 
 
 was prepared, with what was not, and all our 
 labour went for nothing. 
 
 The fuzes for the grenades he had also laid 
 by where he forgot them, and could not find 
 them in the crowd. 
 
 The cramp irons could not be got in time 
 from the smiths, to whom we could not com- 
 municate the necessity of despatch ; and the 
 scaling-ladders were not finished (but one.) 
 Money came in at five o'clock, and the trusty 
 men of the depot, who alone knew the town, 
 were obliged to be sent out to buy up blunder- 
 busses, for the people refused to act without 
 some. To change the day was impossible, for 
 I expected the counties to act, and feared to 
 lose the adv^antage of surprise. The Kildare 
 men were coming in foi» three days ; and after 
 that it was impossible to draw back. Had I 
 another week ; had I one thousand pounds ; had 
 I one thousand men, I would have feared noth- 
 ing. There was redundancy enough in any 
 one part to have made up, if complete, for de- 
 ficiency in the rest ; but there was failure in 
 all — plan, preparation, and m^n. 
 
 I would have given it the respectability of 
 insurrection, but I did not uselessly wish to spill 
 blood : I gave no signal for the rest, and they 
 all escaped. 
 
 I arrived time enough in the country to pre- 
 vent that part of it which had already gone out 
 with one of my men, to disarm the neighbour- 
 hood from proceeding. I found that by a mis- 
 take of the messenger, Wicklow would not 
 rise that night — J sent off to prevent it from 
 doing so the next, as it intended. It offered 
 
130 
 
 -!-■ tise even after the defeat, if 1 wished it, 
 i'Ui I refused. Had it risen, Wexford would 
 have done the same. It began to assemble, 
 but its leader kept it back till he knew the fate 
 <rf Dublin, in the state Kildare was in, it 
 would have done the same. I was repeatedly 
 solicited by some of those who were with me 
 to do so, but I constantly refused. The more 
 remote counties did not rise, for Avant of 
 money to send them the signal agreed on. 
 
 I know how men without candour will pro- 
 nounce on this failure, without knowing one of 
 the oircumstances that occasioned it. They 
 will consider only that ihey predicted h ; 
 whether -its failure was caused by chance, or 
 by any of the grounds on which they made 
 their prediction, they will not care — they will 
 make no distinction between a prediction ful- 
 filled and justified — they will make no compro- 
 mise of errors — they will not recollect that they 
 predicted also that no system could be formed 
 — that no sejcrecy aor conli<lence could be re- 
 stored — that no preparations could be rnade — 
 that no plan could be arr^anged— that no day 
 could be fixed, without being instantly known 
 at the Gastle .; that government only waited to 
 let the conspiracy ripen, and crush it at their 
 pleasure j and that on these grounds only did 
 they predict it miscarriage. The very same 
 men that after success would have flattered, 
 will now calumniate. The very same men, 
 that would have made an offering of unlimited 
 sagacity at the shrine of victory, will not now 
 he content to take back that portion that belongs 
 ^/ right to theiiise)v<»s. hut would violate the 
 
m 
 
 winctuary of misfortune, and strip her of tl>a^ 
 covering fhSl candour would have left her. 
 
 R. E. 
 
 The following facts have come to our know=' 
 ledge, too late to be inserted in their proper 
 plhce. But we deemed them too interesting to 
 be altogether omitted. Indeed, every iiMjident 
 of his short, but virtuous life, however slight, 
 cannot fail to impart some degree of at least a 
 melancholy pleasure to every generous and 
 patriotic bosom. 
 
 ''One day, previous t& hit* triaf, ars the 
 governor was going his rounds, he entered 
 Emmet's room rather abruptly, and observing a 
 remarkable expression in his countenance, he 
 apologised for the interruption. He had a fork 
 afHxed to his little deal table, and appended to 
 it there was a tress of hair. ' You see,' said 
 he to his keeper, ' how innocently I have been 
 occupied: this little tress has been longde^r to 
 me, and I am plaiting it to wear m my bosom 
 on the day of my execution ' On the day of 
 that fatal event, there was found, sketched by 
 his own hand \\%h a pen and ink, upon that 
 very table, an admirable likeness of himself, 
 the head severed from the body which lay near 
 it, surrounded by the Bcaflbld, the axe and all 
 the paraphernalia of a high treason execution. 
 What a strange union of tenderness, enthusiasir. 
 and fortitude, do not the above traits of charac- 
 ter exhibit ! His fortitude indeed, r^v^z for- 
 eook him 5 on the night previous to his tleath. 
 he slept as soundly as ever ^ and when the fdta) 
 morninp- dawned, he arose, knelt down and 
 prayed, ordered some milk, .vhic---> hs drank, 
 
132 
 
 wrote two letters, (oae to his brother in 
 America, and the other to the secretary of 
 state, inclosing it,) and then desired the sheriffs 
 to be informed that he was ready. When they 
 came to his room, he said he had two requests 
 to make : one, that his arms might be left as 
 loose as possible, which was humanely acceded 
 to. " I make the other," said he, " not under 
 any idea that it can be granted, but that it may 
 be held in remembrance that I have made it. 
 it is, that I may be permitted to die in my green 
 uniform." This, of course, was not allowed 
 him — and the request seemed to have no other 
 object than to show that he gloried in the 
 cause for which he was to suffer. A remark- 
 able example of his power, both over himself 
 and others, occured at this melancholy moment. 
 He was passing out, attended by the sheriffs 
 and preceded by the executioner ; in one of the 
 passages stood the turnkey who had been 
 personally assigned to him during his imprison- 
 ment : this poor fellow loved him in his heart, 
 and the tears were streaming from his eyes in 
 torrents. Emmet paused for a moment j his 
 hands were not at liberty — he kissed his cheek 
 — and the man who had been for years the at- 
 tendant of 2L dungeon, habituated to scenes of 
 horror, and hardened against their operation, 
 fell senseless aX his feet. Before his eyes had 
 opened again upon this world, those of the 
 youthful sufferer had closed forever! 
 
 THE END. 
 

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