Dark Rosaleen (33 page)

The cheering in Abbey Street could be heard all the way to St Stephen's Green. O'Brien and Meagher were immediately arrested but they were not, as expected, charged, convicted and transported to Botany Bay. Instead, to the surprise and disgust of all England, they were released on bail and O'Brien, breaking his bail conditions, promptly left for France for the meeting with his young rebellious counterparts in Paris.

Irish newspapers were now daily printing the full texts of public speeches up and down the country calling for insurrection. Unsigned pamphlets, detailing the easiest and quickest ways to kill English soldiers, were being handed out on the streets under the very eyes of the police and the soldiers themselves. And nothing was done to stop them. Only
The London Times
found space in its columns to protest.

In the wake of this Irish rebellion, English leniency, call it generosity, is hardly to be expected. The course of English benevolence is frozen by Irish insult. In no other country have men made treason and then come begging for sympathy from their so-called oppressors.

‘What is happening, Kate? We push and they retreat. We go one step forward and they step back. What game is Russell playing?'

Following the attacks and murders of the landlords, Coburn had expected an immediate and brutal reaction. None came.

‘Why is it, Kate? What are they planning? Could I walk in the streets of Dublin today and not be taken? Are they fools? Or are we?'

‘They are not fools, Daniel. They are simply waiting.'

‘Waiting for what?'

‘For nothing to happen.'

‘For nothing? Nonsense! It is happening. It's all around us. The landlords live in terror. Those who haven't left are making ready. O'Brien is in Paris, Meagher and Duffy are out there with the others and Father Kenyon is moving among the young priests. There's a swell of support across the country and it's rising.'

‘Maybe the English don't think so. Maybe they think that only we believe it. Remember they've seen this all before and remember what they did to the people who fought them the last time.'

‘There's not an Irishman who doesn't remember '98.'

‘Perhaps they're just biding their time.'

‘For what? What are they waiting for?'

‘They do not want to make a martyr of you. If they catch you, if they catch us both, we will hang. You've said that yourself. With the two of us convicted of treason, they will have no choice. Maybe they're wondering what might happen if we hang. Whether Ireland will then find its courage.'

‘How simple you make it sound, Kate. So, shall we surrender ourselves and then not live to see Ireland rise?'

‘Perhaps I know the English mind better than you, Daniel. Don't you see? They have to keep us alive. Our deaths could just be the spark that ignites. Russell cannot have that happen until he is ready. Why do you think we have been left to ride so freely? The English are calling Russell a coward. I don't think so. I think he has a plan. He is waiting.'

‘And must we play his waiting game? How can we do that? I've read that revolutions rise to a peak and you grab it at the hour or you lose it forever. Ours is rising fast. The people are preparing themselves, just waiting for our call.'

‘Daniel, I love you. I love every part of everything you dream of, everything you are fighting for. But …'

‘But what, Kate? Speak.'

‘You talk of our people readying themselves. You and I have spent a year with them, speaking to them, rallying them. I've stood by your side and watched their faces as you spoke, heartened by their cheering. But every day, Daniel, every day, I have watched them grow thinner and weaker and hungrier and the crowds have dwindled and the cheering has grown fainter. Hunger has drained them. If they have no food in their stomachs, where's their fight? Russell knows it. Trevelyan knows it. They all know it.'

‘My God! Is that what it's all about? Is that what you believe? Has that been their plan from the start? To starve us slowly into submission?'

‘No! Not in the beginning, Daniel. I don't believe it was. I won't believe it. My father would never have been an accomplice to anything so vile. It has just become so. I remember Tom Keegan telling me of O'Connell's monster meeting at Clontarf when a million men there could have taken on the English troops and beaten them.'

‘And so they will again, Kate.'

‘No, Daniel. Clontarf's men were fit and healthy, not men already beaten. People have had their courage starved out of them.'

‘Then what we have to do we must do soon. The longer we wait, the fewer our chances. We cannot be puppets of Russell.'

‘Is it not already too late, Daniel?'

‘Too late? Is that what you think, Kate?'

‘I don't know what I think. None of us know.'

‘Exactly, Kate. How can we know for sure? So we must gamble. I read once that revolutions are like the throwing of a dice. Nothing is certain until the end. If we're not prepared for the risk, if we're not ready to lose and die, then we are not the people to ask others to follow us. Kate, you cannot be with me if you doubt me.'

‘I will not leave you, Daniel. I could never do it. That first day at Dromoland you said we would ride to the gallows together. I agreed to the terms and I've not changed. Nor will I.'

There was no declaration by either side. Civil war does not begin by proclamation or by any curt exchange. Like a smouldering sheaf of straw, it takes only the random breeze to set it ablaze. Was it the sensational headlined story in
The London Times
that twenty thousand Irishmen armed with guns and pikes had taken the towns of Kilkenny, Clonmel and Carlow, blowing up railway lines and setting railway stations and post offices aflame? Was it the report that thousands of British troops had been mobilised and were rapidly embarking on warships in Holyhead bound for Dublin? Did one or both excite and encourage men to believe rebellion was already under way? But both reports were untrue. Fiction. Hoaxes. There were no fires in Kilkenny or Clonmel or Carlow and no British troops had left any of their garrisons that week. But the spark had been struck and the Irish were about to be propelled once again in bloody contest against their English masters.

Coburn planned to split his command four ways. Immediately O'Brien returned from Paris with the expected pledge of support from the French revolutionaries, he would tour the south to recruit and organise, taking in Tipperary, Cork and all of Kerry. Meagher and Duffy would rally support along the counties east of the Shannon as far north as Meath. He and Kate would ride west to Clare and Galway and Connaught. Father Kenyon would canvas those young priests who had already secretively pledged the support of their parishes. All that was lacking now was the call to fight and the weapons to fight with.

Prime Minster Russell knew otherwise. The information he was receiving told a very different story. As his predecessor William Pitt had done so cunningly in the 1798 rebellion, he had sent his own secret agents across the Irish Sea to mingle and listen. Those agents confirmed the surge of support for Coburn and his men and that there was a popular movement for rebellion. They reported that the Young Irelanders were being feted wherever they went and that there was much enthusiasm among the crowds. But the agents added vital addendum to their reports. They wrote that the rebels were grossly exaggerating the numbers attending their rallies, that support for them was ragged and spiritless, that there was no organisation in place, no headquarters, no preparations, no plan. And crucially, that the rebels had very few weapons and no stores of ammunition.

Russell then sent his agents a question that would decide his next move. He asked them if the mass of Irish were physically fit to fight. Were they collectively strong enough, man on man, to endure a lengthy war? He received their prompt and unanimous reply. The Irishmen were not strong. They would not stand and struggle for long. They would soon die from exhaustion. Their hunger would kill more than the Redcoats' rifles.

It was what the Prime Minister had wanted to hear, what he long expected. He would delay no longer. It was time for his planned offensive. Ireland was again about to be reminded of the futility of opposing England.

The fifteen thousand troops that he had promised Clarendon immediately set sail for Dublin. The Hussars with field artillery were sent to Mayo, five thousand troops were dispatched to Clonmel and another battalion to Limerick. The Enniskillen Dragoons were brought up from Newbridge to Dublin and two squadrons of Light Dragoons reinforced the garrison guarding Dublin Castle. The 75th Regiment, at the ready, bivouacked in nearby Phoenix Park. Moving columns of riflemen, light artillery and cavalry, able to move rapidly, were ready to scour the countryside. The fleet, anchored off Lisbon, was ordered to sail immediately to Cork and three warships, the
Dragon
, the
Merlin
and the
Medusa
were anchored off Waterford. Two more were within short-shelling range of Wexford. The Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo and of Irish birth from County Meath, volunteered to advise the government on further troop displacements.

The suspension of
habeas corpus
was rushed through Parliament. Dublin, Cork, Waterford and Drogheda were put under virtual martial law. Irish civilians were no longer allowed to own weapons of any kind and anyone found carrying one was summarily sentenced to one year's hard labour. If a landowner or government official was murdered, all men in the surrounding district between the ages of sixteen and sixty were expected to actively assist the police in the arrest of the murderer. Anyone resisting or failing to cooperate would be sentenced, without trial, to a minimum of two years' penal servitude. Over one hundred and twenty people were arrested on various charges on the first night.

There was worse news from O'Brien. He returned from France but not with the much hoped-for pledge of support in his pocket. The exuberant reign of liberalism and idealism there had been short-lived. Having deposed their king, the Republicans were now fighting each other and barricades had once again been erected in the streets of the capital. The Archbishop of Paris, crossing no man's land in an attempt to mediate, had been shot dead.

The Vatican took notice. Pope Pius IX immediately issued a Papal Prescript forbidding his flock to involve themselves in matters of State and politics. In a separate edict he directly accused the Irish clergy of ‘giving provocation to murder.' Father Kenyon, the Patriot Priest, was summoned by his bishop, severely reprimanded for his support of the Young Irelanders and suspended. That same day he came to Coburn and told him he was returning to his parish and would remain there, obediently silent.

‘I am condemned by my own Church, Daniel. I have no option. I cannot help you.'

‘Father, you have twenty parishes under your wing. That's over a thousand men and boys and I need them all. You've given me a list of a dozen priests who you say will follow us. I need everyone one of them too. Most of all I need you.'

‘Do you not understand, Daniel? We priests are now forbidden by our Pope, our Holy Father, to involve ourselves. Do you expect me to disobey him? If I thought we had a glimmer of a chance, I would face the wrath of God for my love of Ireland. But I will not lead my people in an act of mass suicide. You talk of rebellion, but go to the towns and villages, raise the green flag and see how many gather round it. See how little spirit there is left out there.'

‘We can't surrender now.'

‘This is not surrender. This is being wise. Go into hiding. Plan it better. Pick your time. You cannot beat the English now. They're too strong and too many. They're everywhere. Give way for a while.'

‘I'm damned if I will.'

‘You're damned if you don't. This is a bootless struggle.'

‘Then I'll struggle on without you.'

‘You're a fool, Daniel. You'll be drowned in blood.'

‘Goodbye, Father.'

‘No! Not goodbye, not yet. I'll be with you in the shadows watching and praying. That's as much as I can do. The moment you are really in need, I'll be there.'

Father Kenyon wet his forefinger and made the sign of the cross on Coburn's forehead. Then he left for Tipperary to watch and wait and help feed his starving parishioners.