DECEMBER 7TH, 1874: Some 27 years after his death, Daniel O'Connell's final year and conviction for sedition was recalled by a fellow barrister (whose identity is not clear from the newspaper) in this piece published inThe Irish Times on this day in 1874.
At the time I made his acquaintance, the political fortunes of O’Connell were on the decline, and that formidable agitation which for so many years convulsed Ireland had received its quietus by the State trials of 1846. Sir Robert Peel, who hated the agitator with all the bitter animosity of a cold nature, was at the head of affairs . . . which, after a long trial, resulted in the conviction of O’Connell – his sentence to two years’ imprisonment and to a fine of 500l . . . I saw him on the morning he received his sentence. He came alone into the little robing room where I used to keep my wig and gown, donned his professional habiliments – his robes and his bar wig. As he exchanged for this the curly nutty-brown “jasey” he usually wore, I observed his head was entirely devoid of hair. He was as bald as the first Cæsar.
When the Chief Justice Pennefather pronounced sentence – he had been the agitator’s personal enemy and professional rival through his whole career – I noticed a bitter smile flit over the old man’s face. O’Connell then retired through a side door where Colonel Browne, the Chief Commissioner of Police, was waiting to receive him. Browne told me that he had his own carriage drawn close up to the outer door, into which he handed the State prisoner. Crowds of frieze-clad peasants lined the quays; an angry scowl was upon every face; and an infuriated multitude surged through the streets of the metropolis. The morning was gloomy; thick flakes of snow were beginning to fall, deep execrations filled the air as the popular favourite was borne slowly away . . .
Observing this state of affairs, and that the angry mob was pressing close upon the carriage, Colonel Browne told me he felt the emergency of the situation. He took out a case of loaded pistols cocked and laid them upon his knee. When O’Connell saw this, he smiled. “A wise precaution,” he said, “but useless. If I were only to raise my hand you would be in eternity”; and these words which he uttered were full of significant meaning. When its passions are roused a Dublin mob is very terrible. It took a Chief Justice out of his carriage once, and tore him to pieces on the spot. One word from O’Connell on that morning would have caused a revolution.
Formidable military precautions had been taken – the troops were under arms, cannons were so placed as to command the thoroughfares – but I do believe that if the signal had been given, the whole country would have arisen; and to annihilate an entire nation by grape-shot would not have been an easy matter. The prisoner was conveyed in safety to Kilmainham, but for many days afterwards the prison was surrounded by an infuriated throng. There never, I believe, lived in the history of any country a man who had the same extraordinary hold over the affections of an entire nation as O’Connell had over the Irish. He was the greatest popular leader ever known. No one who reads these pages can, I apprehend, form any adequate idea of what those monster meetings were which this man called together and inflamed with his fiery, vigorous eloquence. From the summit of some hill, where the tribune took up a commanding position you could have seen – thousands deep – the serried and compact ranks of vigorous men (the stature of the Irish peasant usually averages six feet), whose eager upturned faces vibrated with every emotion called forth by the impassioned orator. These were the manner of men this tribune led.
They believed every word which fell from his lips, and they would have followed him to the cannon’s mouth, or to the gates of a place which is unmentionable.
The full article is at http://url.ie/2zry and access to the entire Irish Timesarchive is free until December 13th at www.irishtimes.com/archive.