ARTICLE OCR TRANSCRIBED

Unconvicted Felons—Trying to Manufacture Informers in Prison—A Trial in Jail—No Reporters Admitted — Goula, Informer — False Swearing—Indicted for the Assizes—No Bail. England Opens Letters of Counsel to Prisoners—Father John O'Sullivan Kenmare Gives Information to Dublin Castle—Dan O'Sullivan (Agreem) Convicted in Tralee—Lord Bandon in O'Mahony's Castle—Bishop Moriarty—Hell is Not Hot Enough—Bishop O'Dea in the Confessional—His Character of Jeremiah O'Donovan—Father Tim Murray—Dr. Doyle—Father John O'Brien—Shamrocks in the Dock—Escape of Neapolitan Prisoners—Judge Keogh, Back to Prison—Release from Prison.

In Cork Jail we were treated to all the severities of convict life. Had we been convicted felons our treatment could not be worse. The usual English tactics were resorted to for the purpose of weakening some of us and getting us to become informers on others to save ourselves. A warder would see me, pretend to be a secret sympathiser with me, tell me something very confidential, caution me for my life not to breathe a word of it to anyone unless I wanted to effect his ruin; thou he'd come next day and repeat confidence again, and by and by he'd whisper something very suspicious of the prisoner in the next corridor: "Did I know him well?" "Was I sure of him?" "Could there be anything wrong about him?" or "Was he in a position to do much harm if it could turn out that he was bad?" Then it would very confidentially transpire that that prisoner in the next corridor was day after day being taken to the Governor's private room and having interviews with detective and other agents of the English Government. This game was played on every one of thirty or forty of us who were arrested, and every one began to entertain ugly suspicions of every one else. This game is played by England every time any arrests are made in connection with political or agrarian movements in Ireland; it is England's way for making informers.

We were a few weeks in jail before we were told what crime or offense we were charged with. We were every day expecting to be brought face to face with our accusers in open court, but England did not want any open court, or face to face business with us. She came into the prison one day, opened court inside the prison gates, had her stipendiary magistrate from Dublin Castle presiding as judge to administer "impartial" justice by doing what Sir Matthew Barrington, the law adviser of the Castle, wanted done. It was an important case; Sir Matthew himself was there in person. All the prisoners were brought into a room, and the room was full of us. Sullivan Goula was brought among us, and there he stood shivering, side by side with the man who had been honored with England's knighthood. Tim Duggan was moving up close to the informer, the informer complained to Sir Matthew that the prisoner was looking threateningly at him and asked to be taken into another room till his evidence was required. Sir Matthew sent for extra police; they came and stood between Goula and the prisoners. No matter how bad and wicked a character I may be considered now, the adoration I received in youth was a moral and religious one. I had not till then realized the possibility that any man would go on a witness table, kiss the Book, invent a pack of lies and deliberately swear they were the truth, and do all this to put into jail and keep them there, men who never did him, or anyone belonging to him, hurt or harm. But there was that Goula before me, deliberately swearing that he saw me drilling three hundred men one night, and swearing to other things against me which he never saw and which I never did. All pure invention of his own; all false swearing. But no; it was not invention of his; the invention was Fitzmaurice's and Sir Matthew Barrington's. They had made up their minds to fasten their irons well on me, and they had made up the informer for the work.

This farce of a trial inside jail walls, to which no reporter for the press would be admitted, came to an end on Christmas eve. Denis O'Sullivan and William O'Shea, of Bantry, Mortimer Downing, Mortimer Moynahan, Daniel McCartie and I, of Skibbereen, were indicted for treason-felony, to be tried at the ensuing Assizes in March, and not to be released on bail. All the other prisoners, too, were indicted, but were let out on bail. Application was subsequently made to the Court of Queens Bench that we be released on bail. Dan McCartie, Mortimer Downing and Denis O'Sullivan were released; Morty Moynahan, William O'Shea and I were kept in.

McCarthy Downing, our attorney, kept us informed of the course of events by letter. At first his letters were opened by the governor of the jail before they were delivered to us. He wrote to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, who was representing, England in Dublin Castle, and protested against the opening of letters he wrote to his clients, and after a long correspondence on the subject it was acceded to him that his letters to us and our letters to him should pass unopened. But we found out that they were opened all the same. They were "steamed" and resealed; that we found out by missing an inclosure from a letter we received, and the enclosure was traced to Dublin Castle.

Goula had sworn against a number of men in Kerry, too, and several of them were indicted for trial at the Kerry Assizes in Tralee. The Tralee Assizes were to come on before the Cork Assizes, and the Kerry men were to be tried before our trial would come on. Propositions were made to us that if we formally pleaded "guilty," we would be released on our own recognizances, but this we refused to do. Our prosecutors know that all Goula swore against us was false; they knew we could break down his evidence in public court; our pleading guilty would be admitting a guilt we did not feel, would be putting a kind of brand of truth on the informer's lies and would be periling the safety of the Kerry men. Our attorney approved of our action; he submitted the proposal as made to him, without any advice of his own, and now that we had decided, he was glad we viewed the matter correctly and came to the decision he desired. On his way to the Kerry Assizes he visited us in jail and told us to be in good cheer, that he had evidence secured, which would be produced at Tralee, showing that Goula was swearing falsely in matters connected with the Kerry men, too; that Father John O'Sullivan, of Kenmare, was to come on the witness table in Tralee and swear Goula was a perjurer. Goula swore that before he became informer he had been at confession with Father O'Sullivan, and Father O'Sullivan was coming forward to swear he had never been at confession with him.

The Kerry Assizes came on; Daniel O'Sullivan (Agreem) was put on trial; Goula swore against him, but Father O'Sullivan never appeared as a witness. The first jury in the case disagreed; they were locked in for twenty-four hours. One man named Kenealy would not join the other eleven in bringing in a verdict of guilty. That jury was discharged. Then a jury was packed. Daniel O'Sullivan Agreem was convicted and sentenced to ten years' penal servitude. Father O'Sullivan never appeared as a witness at either of the trials, and we were mad with McCarthy Downing for not producing him. We brought him to account for it. He told us he had good and valid reasons for not producing the priest as a witness. The correspondence grew a little angry between us. We could not see what valid reasons he could have, and he told us he would let us know on his return to Cork. When he saw us next he told us that Father O'Sullivan, before the arrests, had given information to Dublin Castle of the existence of the illegal society in his parish and in other places, and now Dublin Castle threatened him that if be came on the witness table to swear Goula was a perjurer and thus spoil the government case, the government would produce the letters he wrote to Dublin giving information of the existence of the conspiracy. McCarthy Downing was in some hurry the morning he called to see us in Cork jail, he should go away immediately, but would call again in the evening; we asked him to leave us Father O'Sullivan's letters till he would return in the evening; he left them with us, Morty Moynahan copied them, and that is how I have them alive to-day. Father O'Sullivan, McCarthy Downing and Morty Moynahan are dead; I tell no lies of the dead, but I must tell the truth in what I write of the past, that Irishmen who work for Ireland's freedom in the present and the future may have the benefit of my experience in the road they have to travel. The thorny path I set out on is the path all Irishmen have to tread who are in earnest about freeing Ireland.

A pleasant thing it would be for peoples if they could get their rights from those who lord a mastery over them by the force of prayer and petition; if I could enjoy that pleasure of believing Ireland could gain her rights by each force, I would keep praying till doomsday before I would hurt the hair of a head of English man or woman. Yes, let the expression stand, "till doomsday," because till doomsday the praying should last before Ireland could be free.

In the latter end of 1858 a few priests; here and there spoke from their altars about a very dangerous society that was introduced into the country. Men were going around administering oaths and doing other things contrary to law and religion. That Sunday about the end of October or the beginning of November on which the text of the Gospel of the day tells us "give to Caesar what is due to Caesar," Father Beausang, in Skibbereen, preached on the bad people who were conspiring to take away from Caesar what belonged to him. Caesar's head may be on the coin of the realm, but the coin did not belong to Caesar, it belonged to the man who took it out or his pocket. While the priests preached, the police were listening, and when they went to their barracks they reported what they heard, and Dublin Castle had the reports by next mail. One sprite made himself so officious as to write direct to Lord Naas, the Irish Secretary at the Castle, giving information; that priest was Father John of Kenmare this is one of his letters:

My Lord—Having discovered in the latter part of the week that an extensive conspiracy wee being organized in this parish and was imported from Bantry and Skibbereen, I deemed it my duty at both masses on Sunday to denounce, in the strongest language, the wickedness and immorality of such a system and its evil consequences to society. Before evening I had the satisfaction of coining at a good deal of the workings of the system, and even got copies of the oaths' which I send at the other side for the information of the Government.

I was led to believe that 700 or 800 had been enrolled here, and some 3,000 in Skibbereen; the former I know to be a gross exaggeration, and I suppose the latter equally so. Before I came out on these deluded young men—the names of some of whom I have—I advised the magistrates of the facts and they, too, have probably advised with your lordship. I have the honor to be, &c.,

That is the same Lord Naas who was subsequently sent out to govern India for the English, and was slain by the Indians.

That letter, and the letters of A. M. Sullivan published in his Nation newspaper, and the altar preaching of a few of the priests, gave the Government men the alarm, and they made their preparations to squelch the rising rebellion against their rule. The leader of the English in the County of Cork is Lord Bandon. His name is Bernard, and the castle he occupies is called Castle Bernard. But if you are passing it by and talking in Irish to the Irish speaking people in the neighborhood, the name they will call the castle is Caislean ui Mhahoona—Castle O'Mahony. It belonged to the O'Mahonys, but in the time of the confiscation it came into the possession of the Bernards.

This Lord Bernard Bandon is lord lieutenant of the county, and he called in the City of Cork a private meeting of all the magistrates and landlords of the county. At that private meeting an address was sent to Dublin Castle warning the English authorities there that there was a dangerous conspiracy in the county against their rule, and calling on them to take measures to suppress it. Then a proclamation was issued by the Lord Lieutenant proclaiming the conspiracy and offering a reward of £200 to any member of it who would become an informer. They had the informer already in their hands and in training by the stipendiary, Fitzmaurice. The proclamation of reward was posted on every police barrack on Sunday night, and on Thursday night following the arrests were made in Skibbereen, Bantry, Kenmare, Killarney and other places.

After the arrests Father O'Sullivan seemed to be sorry somewhat, at least, he seemed to have some pity for the 'foolish boys' whom he had got under lock and key. He wrote this letter to the Chief Secretary at the castle:

My Lord—Since I forwarded to you copies; of the oaths that were being administered by the misguided young men, some ten or a dozen of whom were arrested here yesterday, I beg to assure you that I lost no opportunity of denouncing, both in public and private, the folly amid wickedness of their proceedings.

Nay, more, I refused to hear the confession or to admit to communion any one person who bad joined the society until they should come to me, "extra tribunal," as we technically term it, and there not only promise to disconnect themselves from the society, but also give the names of every person they knew to be a member. It was rather difficult to accomplish the latter, but I did ; and having thus come at the names of these deluded young men, I, either with their parents or with themselves, showed them the insanity of the course they had been following. Almost every one of those now under arrest have been last week at their Christmas confession and communion; and, though it I may be no legal evidence of their being innocent, to any one acquainted with the practice and discipline of our church, it is prima facie evidence of their having solemnly pledged themselves to disconnect themselves from the society.

I beg to assure your lordship that since the 3rd of October—the Sunday on which I first denounced this society—not even one single person has joined it; and, had the thing taken root or progressed, I would have been as ready to advise you of its progress as I was of its existence. So completely extinct has it been that more than once I proposed writing to you to remove the extra police force, seeing them perfectly unnecessary.

Under such circumstances, I make bold to ask your lordship to interfere with his Excellency- for the liberation of these foolish boys—for boys they are. They have got a proper fright, and I make no doubt that an act of well timed clemency will have inure effect in rendering them dutiful subjects hereafter than would the measures of the justice they certainly deserve.

If they be treated with kindness they will be thankful and grateful, and doubly so if the thing be done at once, and in a friendly and fatherly spirit ; but carry out the law, and you will, of course, vindicate it, but you certainly will have confirmed a set of young rebels in their hostility to her Majesty's Government. I have the honor, &c.

Then Father John writes to an old schoolmate of his, Pat Jeffers, who was a law partner of Sir Matthew Barrington, the Crown Prosecutor. He also writes to Sir Matthew and to Lord Naas. I give the three letters in the order of their dates:

MY DEAR PAT—It never occurred to me that the prosecutions of these young men here would come before you so soon; so I was waiting the approach of the Assizes to put before you the part I took in it. The moment I got hold of the existence of such a foolish conspiracy here I advised the magistrates of it, who could scarcely believe me.

I denounced it at both masses on the 3rd of October, and such a surprise was it on the congregation that they most unanimously voted me either mad or seeking to work upon the fears of Trench, who is still going to all and most unworthy lengths in opposing the convent.

Immediately after denouncing, a party name and gave me copies of the two oaths. I inclose you. I dreaded him, and to save myself I mentioned the facts to the magistrates. Trench at once sent to me for a copy and, feeling he only wanted to make a call at the Castle, I was inclined not to give it; but then, on the other hand, I feared to withhold it, as he would be but too glad to have so much to tell Lord Lanedowne and the Government.

The two Simpsons dined with me the same evening, and Richard advised me to send a copy to Lord Naas by next poet, but to withhold the copy for Trench until the post after, and then let Trench make a fool of himself by sending up his "Eureka" to the government. I did that, and see Lord Naas' reply. On the arrest of these young men I wrote to him a letter, a copy of which I send you, and if he has cause he will take my advice. Let him prosecute these lads, and the excitement that will follow will have no bounds. The people are already talking of giving them a public entry—of raising a subscription to defend them, and thus the excitement will be tremendous ; whereas, if "the brats" be sent home at once, all this will be anticipated. I beg of you to do what you can to carry out this view of it. The government may be quite satisfied that, since the 3rd of October, there has been a complete stop to it here; and if any of the unfortunate boys have moved in it since I am not to be understood as having the slightest pity or feeling for them. Say, if you please, what we ought to do, and do what you can for these poor, deluded boys. Would you advise me to write to Sir Charles Trevelyan, or to the Lord Lieutenant, or would you advise a public meeting or a memorial here? My dear Pat, &c.

KENMARE, December 17, 1858. DEAR SIR MATTHEW—I wrote to Pat Jeffers yester- day, and immediately after heard from Mr. Davis; he was on his way to meet you. Had I known so much I would have reserved my letter to Pat for you. About the first of October I had the first intimation of the movement of these blockheads. I denounced it at both masses on the 3rd, and before the evening of that day I had the satisfaction of getting copies of the oaths, which I at once forwarded to Lord Naas and for which I have his thanks.

I would stake my existence that from thenceforward not a single individual joined the society. I send you a copy of the letter I wrote to Lord Naas upon the arrest of these young lads, as conveying what I would impress upon you now; and I will only add to it that the less you make of the whole matter the more you will contribute to the peace of the country in general. Require heavy bail from them, and that bail they will get; but then you will elevate a pack of silly boys to be great patriots and attach a significance and importance to the whole matter it really does not deserve. Great sympathy for the young chaps exists here by reason of their youth, and if you go to any extremities with them, it will not only give great dissatisfaction to the people, but it will confirm the young fellows in their hostility to the Government, whether they be guilty or not. I beg of you, therefore, as you value the peace and welfare of the country, to let them out, either upon their own recognizances or upon very moderate bail, and you will find it to be the moat effectual stop to this very silly movement. I am, dear Sir Matthew, &c.,

KENMARE, December 26, 1858. My Lord—Now that an investigation has been had as to the nature and extent of the Phoenix Society, I venture to call your attention to a letter I took the liberty of writing to you on this day fortnight. I have jest read the evidence of the approver[1] Sullivan in the Cork Examiner, and he states "He had been at confession with me, and that I advised him to break the oaths." The man never confessed to me. I never exchanged a word with him. He is not a parishioner of mine at all! If all his evidence be as true as this much it is of little value.

Looking, therefore, at the unsupported evidence of this fellow, at the youth of the lads led astray by him, and, above all, at the fact of the society having been completely extinguished since I first denounced it on the 3rd of October, I venture again to ask your lordship to interfere with his Excellency for a free pardon for these foolish parishioners of mine, It will be the most perfect extinguisher he can possibly put on it,

If you call them up for trial a large subscription will be made up to defend them; for their youth, with the innumerable perjuries of the approver, has created much sympathy for them, and great excitement will be kept up here until the assizes. If they shall be acquitted a regular ovation will be the consequence, while a conviction cannot entail a very heavy sentence on such striplings. If his Excellency will graciously grant them a free pardon he will attach them faithful and beholden to her Majesty, and we shall hear no more of this absurd, wicked and foolish society. I am quite sure, also, that you must be aware that it was my active interference suppressed the society so immediately here; and, though I incurred much odium in the beginning, all parties now admit I was their best friend. This, I think, entitles me to some consideration on your part; and be assured that, if I had the slightest reason to think that a prosecution would tend more to the preservation of the peace and the dignity of the constitution than what I ask now, I would be the foremost in recommending it. I therefore confidently seek for a free pardon for the whole of my poor deluded parishioners; because, if the thing be done at all, it ought to be done in a free and generous making no distinctions or exceptions, because, without pronouncing on the guilt or the innocence of any of the parties, I am perfectly satisfied and convinced not one of them had the slightest connection with the society from the day I first denounced it. I have the honor, &c.,

"The brats" he calls the young men who had the courage to dare all the pains and penalties that England has ready for all in Ireland who dispute her power and mind how he chuckles to his friend Pat at the discomfiture of Trench, who thinks he is at the Castle with the information before Father John is there with it. Writing to Sir Matthew he says: "About the 1st of October I had the first intimations of the movement of these blockheads. I announced it at both masses on the 3rd, and before the evening of that day I had the satisfaction of getting two copies of the oaths, which I at once forwarded to Lord Naas, and for which I have his thanks."

The thanks of an English lord was not much for such an outrage upon the religion of the Irish people, because it was by an outrage upon their religion and upon the character of their clergy that Father O'Sullivan came by those secrets that he gave away to the English. He met in the confessional one of the men who were sworn in, he questioned him, he told the man to go out into the chapel yard and meet him there; the man went out, the priest went out after him, and in the chapel yard the priest got from the penitent a copy of the oath and afterward sent it to Dublin Castle. This was getting it "extra tribunal," as Father John "technically" termed it, but I never met any priest to whom I told the story to approve of technicality of that kind in connection with the duties of the Catholic confessional.

Sullivan Goula swore when swearing against us in Cork that he was at confession with Father O'Sullivan. Father O'Sullivan in that letter of December 26 to Lord Naas says: "The man never confessed to me. I never exchanged a word with him." McCarthy Downing told us Father John was ready to come on the witness table and swear that, and thus prove Goula a perjurer; but when Lord Naas and Sir Matthew threatened him that if he did it they would produce the whole of his letters and make him swear to them, that silenced the loyal priest. It was his bishop—Bishop Moriarty—that said "Hell is not hot enough nor eternity long enough" for the Fenians. God be good to them, both of them are dead.

Others are dead, too, who did their best when living to dissuade the young men from joining the movement, and to make those who had joined abandon it. To attribute any other motive to them than religious ones is a thing I cannot venture to do. I examine my conscience, I ask myself: "Can I honestly write down anything about Dr. O'Hea, Bishop of Ross, but what is patriotic?" My conscience answers "No," but it also says "Tell the truth." Bishop O'Hea, God be good to him, was very strong in the confessional against "the boys" who belonged to the society—he'd challenge them, he'd ask them if they belonged to the society, if they did not confess it as a sin that they did belong to it—and where be found out a member he tried to make him give up membership; if he would not give it up he turned him away from the confessional without giving him the blessings of religion. As I can speak from experience I may as well tell what that experience is; I hope I can tell it without leading any one to think I mean to do anything irreligious. To tell the truth and tell the story for truth's sake and for Ireland's sake is my purpose, and sorry I am I have such a story to tell as this:

Bishop O'Hea was the bishop of the diocese in which I lived; we lived in the same town—Skibbereen. Before he was made bishop he was parish priest of the town in which I was born—Ross. After I was evicted, and when I was leaving Ross, setting out to make my fortune in the world—which fortune is hardly made yet—I got this character from him: "Jeremiah O'Donovan is a smart, intelligent young lad; his conduct up to this has been good and correct; I recommend him as one who will prove honest and trustworthy.

I am sure he never recognized in the "young lad" to whom he gave that character when he was parish priest the young man who troubled him so much when be was bishop. He was bishop of our diocese when the Phenix Society was started in '56, and when the Irish Revolutionary Brotherhood was started in '58. Our people in Ireland are very religious find they attend to their Christmas and Easter religious duties very regularly. But when the oath bound society was started the "boys" began to fall out with some of the priests and with the bishop too. They found they could not go to their duty without giving up membership in the Brotherhood. I went to a funeral one day to Ross, some twelve miles distant front Skibbereen; on the market square of the town I met Father Tim Murray, who had been stationed in Skibbereen a short time previously ; it was the time of a jubilee, and Father Tim asked me if I did the jubilee yet. "Oh, no, Father Tim," said I, "I'm outside the pale of the church now." "How is that, Jerrie?" said he, "Well, we're trying to do something for the old cause; we're trying to raise the Irish Volunteers and the United Irishmen again, and the priests and the bishop in Skibbereen think it is going to upset the church we are, and they're turning the boys away from the confessional." "Oh, never mind that," said Father Tim; "I'll be in Skibbereen next week, helping them to finish the jubilee. Come to me and I'll not turn you away." Then he asked me up to the house to have a lunch with him. I went up and we had a further talk on the subject, Father Tim was in Skibbereen the following week and I went to my duty.

Shortly after that I went to the bishop. I confessed my sins, but never confessed that I belonged to any sinful society. When I told him I had done he began to question me. Did I belong to any secret society? I did not. Did I take an oath in connection with any society to which I belonged? I did. "I can't give you absolution for it." "I don't confess it as a sin and I don't seek absolution for it." "You must give it up." "I must not; I consider it my duty to be a soldier for my native land. If I ‘listed as a soldier or a policeman, and took an oath to fight for England, you would not tell me I should give it up. I consider it no sin to take an oath as a soldier for Ireland, and the priest I was with told me it was no sin."

"It is a sin and that priest participated in your sin, and go away from me, and do not come to me any more."

Saying that, he shut the slide of the confessional, and I walked away. That day week, I went to him again. As soon as he looked at me be said:

“It is not to you I come, my lord,” said I, “but to the confessional. I come to the tribunal of penance to confess my sins, and you there, as a minister of God, are bound to hear me.” He seemed vexed. I cannot now recall the many things he said, but in reply I said: “Dr. Doyle, Bishop of Kildare and Loughlin, says if a rebellion raged from Malin Head to Cape Clear, no priest or bishop in Ireland would fulminate a decree of excommunication against anyone engaged in it.”

"I know more about Dr. Doyle than you do," said be, "and go on with your confession."

I finished, and he told me to come to him again that day week. That day week I could not come to him; I was locked up in Cork Jail.

Bishop O'Hea and Father Tim Murray are dead to-day, God be good to them! If God in His mercy be as good to me when I leave this land forever, I will be happy, and God's mercy will be great.

An interview I had one time with Father John O'Brien, who is to-day living and officiating as a priest in the Parish of Ardfield, may be worth speaking of here; it will throw some light upon our subject, and my experience in America verifies much of what he said.

I was transacting some business about town one day, and when I came home I was told Father O'Brien called while I was out, and wished to see me at his house. Father O'Brien and I were black with each other; our families were related or connected with each other someway, but as he was severely down on the boys--scolding them and turning them away from him whenever they approached him on religion—he and I were hardly on speaking terms, and it surprised me that he should call to see me. It turned out that he didn't call at all; it was the 1st of April, and my people at home knowing the coolness between the priest and me, thought it would be a good joke to make an April fool of me by getting me to call upon him. Not giving the April day or the April fool a thought I walked up to the priest's house and rapped at the door. Kitty opened the door, and asking what I wanted, I told her: "I want to see Father O'Brien." "Come in here, Rossa," said he, standing at the head if the stairs. I went up, followed him into the sitting room, and sat down. He entertained me hospitably, had a long friendly talk for about two hours, discussed religion and politics, Ireland and England, Fenianism and secret societies in general, and when I thought it time to leave, he accompanied me to the door, telling me to call again and have a longer talk. As soon as my back was turned to the door I began asking myself "What in the world did he want me for?" And as soon as I entered my own door I was laughed at to the cry of "April fool." But the few hours' conversation I had with Father O'Brien made no fool of me, though he, like me with him, was, I suppose, wondering what particularly I wanted to see him for.

Discussing the subject of Fenianism that day, I asked him why he and other priests were turning men away from the confessional on account of belonging to the society, whereas I could go to the confession and not be turned away? The substance of his reply and explanation was this: "In matters of this kind we have a discretionary power, and we deal with men as we know them. The experience of the church with all secret societies is that they come generally to be used against the interests of the church and the interests of religion ; young men are initiated into them for patriotic purposes, and then designing men who have selfish aims generally grow into leadership and by degrees lead the masses to do things that are hostile to religion and hostile to patriotism—even lead them to do things that are hostile to the patriotic purposes for which the society was established. Your case is one of the cases where the father confessor is satisfied you see your way before you and cannot be led into hostility against the interests of religion, and be used his discretionary power in admitting you to the sacraments; but with others who be thinks can be led astray he acts differently and according to his judgment."

"That is all very well, Father O'Brien," said I, "but if you know the injury to religion that is done by this work of turning the young men away from the confessional you would use your influence to have it stopped. I must confess to you that I was getting cold myself toward the priests when I see them denouncing us for engaging in a work which I consider the holiest work on earth—that of getting rid of this English Government that has destroyed our language and our land, that has hunted our priests and robbed our people, and made education a penal offense. I learned nothing an my youth but that the Catholic priest was the embodiment of hostility to English rule in Ireland, and when I now see the Catholic priest joining in with England and cursing us for conspiring to beat down the Sassenagh robber, that love for the Catholic priest that was planted in my nature is shattered and shaken. It is part of my religion to work for the destruction of English rule in Ireland; if you take that part of my religion away I have not the whole of what my father and mother gave me, and I grow indifferent; you cannot be the priest of my people's religion."

Father O'Brien spoke long and earnestly in reply to what I said and in elucidations of the politico-religious Policy of the church—spoke of the three great principals—unity, liberty, charity, unity in essentials, liberty in non essentials and charity in all things; and after a very agreeable interview with him, which is as fresh in my memory to-day as the day it took place, bade him good by. It is in America I get experience of the truth of much of what Father O'Brien said about leadership and about designing men ruining the society for their own selfish aims and ends.

I was in jail when I ended my last chapter. I brought myself out of jail to explain the relations existing between the priests and ourselves; if anyone thinks I have taken too much liberty in speaking on the matter I punish myself by returning to prison.

The 17th of March St. Patrick's day, 1859, came on and Cork Assizes opened. We were ready for trial. William O'Shea, Mortimer Moynahan and I were brought from the prison to the Court House and escorted to the underground waiting room, convenient to the dock. Here we were visited by our attorney and counsel and counsel for the Crown, and propositions were made to us that if we pleaded guilty we would be let free, a mere formal recognizance of our own personal security for twenty pounds to appear when called would be taken, and that would be the last heard of the prosecution. We would not plead guilty and by and by we were led into the dock. On the bench before us sat the famous, or the infamous, Judge Keogh. Into the dock also came Patrick J. Downing, Morty Downing and Denis O'Sullivan, who had been out on bail. They brought some shamrocks into the dock with them and gave us some sprigs of the national emblem and we put them in the buttonholes of our coats. We were ready for trial, ready for fight, but no fight came. England's Attorney General stood up and asked for a postponement of those cases till the next assizes, as the Crown was not fully prepared at the present, Our counsel opposed the motion of postponement, but Judge Keogh did not seem to care much for the opposition; he granted the motion of the Attorney General and ordered the prisoners to be put back till the next assizes in August. Our counsel applied that we be let out on bail No, Judge Keogh decided that we be kept in without bail; and off, back to prison, we were taken. It was vexatious, but what were we to do? The stone walls were there around us, but it was no use to us knocking our heads against them. There was no case on which to prosecute us, no informers to swear against us — even the unfortunate fallen women of the streets would not come forward to swear they saw us out at night, and so corroborate the swearing of Goula regarding the nightly drillings. We were offered our liberty, and would not take it. Some of our people had no pity for us; they never considered what we considered, that one of our men, Daniel O'Sullivan Agreem, had been convicted and sentenced to ten years' transportation on Sullivan Goula's swearing and that our pleading "Guilty" to get out free would confirm his sentence and put the brand of truth on what Goula swore.

The three prisoners who had been out on bail were to be released on bail again. They came to jail with us, and it took a little time to renew the bail bonds While Patrick Downing was in our company he was telling us of the glorious night he had last night down in Cove[2],. A ship had arrived in the harbor having on board nine or ten Italians who had escaped from penal servitude. They had been condemned to life long imprisonment for political offenses in Italy and while being taken in chains to some penal settlement, they broke loose, seized the ship and brought her into the cove of Cork. Patrick met them, fraternized with them and they were up all night till clear day in the morning.

Mr Gladstone—we have all heard of Mr. Gladstone—he visited these same prisoners when those escaped men were in prison. He wrote a book on the horrible, terrible treatment King "Bomba" was giving his political prisoners in the Neapolitan prisons—these very same prisoners, Poeri, Guido and their companions, who had now escaped, and were now being feted in the Cove of Cork, with all England rejoicing that they were freemen under the English flag. And while all England was rejoicing at the escape of the political prisoners of another tyranny, England never gave a thought to the fact that her own tyranny had made political prisoners, too, and that her law, incapable of legally convicting them, had that very same day consigned them back to prison.

Gladstone cried down his eyes those times about the treatment those Neapolitans received in Neapolitan prisons, In his own prisons, in the prisons of England, and under his own administration as Prime Minister of England, I showed a commission of inquiry, of which Lord Devon was chairman, that Mr. Gladstone gave worse treatment to his own Irish political prisoners in England than King Bomba gave to the Italians in Naples.

The March Assizes of '59 passed off and left us in jail. Application was made to the Court of Queen's Bench, in Dublin, for our release on bail, and the application was refused. Propositions were again made to us coming on the Assizes in August that we plead guilty and be released, and we refused to plead guilty. The proposal was strengthened by the argument that some of the patriots of '98 pleaded guilty. We replied they were sorry for it afterward; that the precedent was a bad one and we would not follow it. Then we were greater than the men of '98? We were not, but the men of '98 pleaded "guilty" to stop the executions that were going on and to save the lives of innocent men. All promises made to them were broken. They were sent to Fort George, in Scotland, and were not released from there until some years after they had made their confessions.

The August Assizes came on. We were again taken down to the cellar under the dock. Again it was threatened upon us that our case would be postponed to the ensuing March Assizes, and that we'd be kept in jail unless we accepted liberty on condition of pleading guilty'. We refused to do so unless Dan O'Sullivan Agreem, who had been transported, would be released with us. A guarantee was given that he would be released, and we accepted the proposition. We were brought into the dock; there again before us was Judge Keogh in all his glory. The Attorney General said the Queen was inclined to be merciful to these deluded young men, etc., and would concede them their liberty on pleading guilty, and entering into their personal recognizances to appear for judgment when called upon.

I had like to break loose and say something, but McCarthy Downing shook his head at me, and Keogh, addressing the sheriff, said "The prisoners can now leave the dock."

[1] The term “approver” is an old term used in Chaucer for “informer” Sullivan Goula is to whom the priest is referring. Apparently “approver” is used in English law to define someone who upon being arrested for something implicates others. -mr

[2] “Cove” is the dock area of Cork City usually written “Cobh”.