1843 - Daniel O'Connell

 

Daniel O’Connell

June 1843

Daniel O'Connell was to 19th Century Ireland what Barack Obama was to early 21st Century America. Both men inspired others through assembling huge crowds who would listen to soaring oratory focused on a positive vision for their country. Both men were essentially moderate centrists who were unable to address the fundamental issues affecting their country because they were structural, and not capable of easy reform.

In Ireland's case the end of the peasant way of life led to smaller and smaller plots of land, with a narrower and narrower range of crops. If the potato crop failed, famine was sure to follow. Ireland's population tripled between 1780 and 1850, but without political, economic and land reform there were only two avenues forward - political revolution or a rapid reduction in population. Daniel O'Connell argued that political revolution was possible through greater representation for Irish people in the British Parliament. He was elected as the first Irishman (since 1688) to a British Parliament in 1828 and was the leader of the push for Catholic Emancipation (the right to vote).

Daniel O'Connell would have been well-known to Edward Griffin. Firstly, he was known all over Ireland, but more importantly he was a Kerryman, from Cahersiveen, a town only fifty kilometres away from Castlemaine. He was from a wealthy Catholic family, and was regarded as a hero to landless cottiers like Edward Griffin, whose future in 1840s Ireland looked very bleak indeed.

Daniel O'Connell argued that the 1798 Act of Union which created the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland was a mistake, and pushed to establish an independent Ireland. However, he was reluctant to advocate force or violence to achieve it - he was a passive revolutionary. This explains the contradictions in his speeches - passionate speeches advocating "a country worth fighting for" at the same time as being "docile and submissive". Perhaps he was merely reflecting the Irish passivity in the face of authority, especially the Catholic Church.

"Monster Meetings" were organised all over Ireland in the early 1840s to push for repeal of the Union. They were attended by the largest crowds in Ireland's history. The closest one to Edward was held at Mallow in June 1843. The following is a fictional retelling of that meeting.

 

The narrow streets of Milltown were abuzz with the news. “Have you heard? He said it! Daniel O’Connell, he said it! There’ll be a Monster Meeting in Mallow!”

Edward Griffin made his way through the press of excited town dwellers, farmers, women and children, beggars and the occasional hoity-toity, on his way to the market. He was after two chickens to replace those which were killed by wild dogs the day before. Unfortunately, both were good layers, so he needed to get them from someone he could trust.

Anyway, Patrick Conlon said he wanted to talk to him.

That morning he had left his cottage and walked westwards down to White Gate Cross Roads, then turned left down past the ruins of the Kilgarrylander Parish Church, skirting the graveyard where his father Thomas and mother Mary were both buried, and on by the grand Keel House. It was a detached three bay house with white painted exposed rubble walls, and a slate roof. His landlord, Edward Rae lived here, when he was in Ireland, not swanning it across the water or in Dublin with his English chums. It was a typically windy rainy day, so the ferry crossing across the Maine promised to be choppy, but it was only a few hundred yards.

The road took him through Ardabaun and Cloonearagh townlands and got muddier and boggier the closer he got to the river. When he got there the ferryman was on the other side, but the tide was high so there was plenty of water to cross. At low tide, the mudflats made the journey impossible. As always, he could hear in the distance the sound of the surf coming up Dingle Bay and pounding the other side of Inch Beach, a full seven miles away. The wind carried the salty smell onto his nose and tongue.

Ten minutes later the ferry was nearby. “Micky, good to see ye.” “Ed, the same to ye.” He was the only passenger. Conversation was short – Micky’s daughter was getting married soon, and he was keen to let everyone know. “He’s from Tralee - got a trade. He’s a clockmaker,” Micky said proudly.

Edward got off on the other side at Tincally Point and called into the store there to buy some tobacco for his pipe. Then he forged onwards, past the smoking corn kiln and up the road, past Killeen House and its apple orchards, before turning left into Callanasfersy East townland and through Kilburn Wood. Eventually he emerged into patchy sunlight, and passed by Fort Agnes, said to have been built by the Danes. It is said that fairies can be seen inside the earthen walls in May and November. People say you can hear cups and saucers rattling at night, but Edward did not have time for such nonsense. On the other hand, he thought to himself, you never know…

The wind coming down from MacGillycuddy’s Reeks cut through his frieze coat and he looked forward to an ale at O’Reilly’s when he got to Milltown, which was fast approaching as the rain started up again. He made his way through the narrow streets, the smell of shit – animal and human – ever present. Beggars huddled under eaves. Their children hustled him, until they realised he was only one step above them, and gave up. When he got to the familiar alehouse in Bridge Street he was sodden. His muddy boots carried him expectantly inside.

There seemed to be a lot of people in town. He gazed out the window through the smoke at the parade of humanity before him – bespectacled old men patiently waiting for something unknown, cobblers touting business, millers, coopers (some he knew, some he did not) and the occasional Peeler – members of the newly formed Irish National Constabulary, set up by the English Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel. It was not long before the Peeler had work to do – one of the local pickpockets had found a worthy target, and the Peeler took off down Bridge Street chasing the felon. The target was left bereft in the middle of the narrow street, forlornly feeling the inside of his pockets, right in front of O’Reilly’s. Edward thought about assisting him, but it would be pointless – all the money he had was needed to get these chickens.

The door opened and three men walked in. Edward recognised Patrick Conlon but didn’t know the others. Patrick spotted Edward, and the three joined him. “Seamus, Tom, this is Edward.” It was clear Seamus was the leader of this group. They chatted about the weather, potatoes, caid football.

“Are ye goin’?” Seamus asked Edward.

“Where’s that then?”

“Mallow, in two weeks. Daniel O’Connell’s gonna have a Monster Meetin’ there. It’ll be huge.”

Edward wasn’t much one for politics, but, then again, all Irishmen, and especially Kerry men, are born into politics. Especially if it meant sticking it up the English. He knew Daniel O’Connell of course – he was a Kerry man himself, from Cahersiveen, and the most famous Irishman in the land. When he spoke, thousands listened, or tried to. And he knew the story too. 1798, Act of Union, Ireland becomes part of the United Kingdom. Irish voice in English Parliament, but Dublin Castle rules, doing England’s bidding. War against Napoleon of France, fully a quarter of Wellington’s soldiers are Irishmen, but as soon as we want a say we’re called traitors. English landlords never here, but up goes the rent anyway. Then they decide to evict thousands of cottiers so they can use the land for livestock instead of growing potatoes. It’ll happen here soon. Edward can feel his dander rising. This was an opportunity not to be missed.

“Too right I’m goin’. You?”

The talk flowed as easily as the ales. The four men had a lot in common – all cottiers, all on the verge of eviction, at the whim of absent, uncaring English landlords. Daniel O’Connell gave a voice to millions like them – the edge of starvation, patient beyond reasonableness, despairing ones, faced with a choice between a miserable life or a miserable death, and it was clear things were only going to get worse for Kerrymen like them – unless they stood up to fight. Their destiny was coming. And they all knew it. They just didn’t know what it was.

Edward probably paid too much for the two layers he picked up after he left O’Reilly’s that afternoon. But he didn’t care – the conversation in O’Reilly’s had filled him with more than fine ale. For the first time in a long time, he felt optimistic about the future, and he (and the young Catherine when they finally marry) were going to be alright.

 

“No,” said Timothy Sheehan curtly, when Edward asked him if he was coming as well. “The dray needs fixin’, an’ someone has to be here to stop the theivin’ ferals from stealin’ the ‘taters.”

That’s true, as night follows day, Edward thought to himself. Their crop was only a few weeks away from harvesting. Everyone knew that to leave a crop nearly ready to harvest for a few days was asking for the whole lot to be gone when you got back. People were starving. You couldn’t blame them, but you could throttle the bastards if you ever caught them. Someone had to stay. Anyway, the pigs and chickens needed to be fed, and wild dogs driven off.

 

Two weeks later Edward, Seamus, Patrick and Tom are making their way by horse and dray to Mallow.

The road took them from Milltown to Killarney, past Lough Leane. But it was clear and dry, and Edward had never seen anything as beautiful as Lough Leane that day. They rested overnight in lodgings in Killarney. ‘There’s a crowd in tonight,” said the landlady. “All’s a-goin’ to Mallow. Ye best be on yer way early in the mornin’.” They took her advice, bought some bread and cheese before leaving, and headed off towards Barraduff, Rathmore and Millstreet. Eventually they followed the Blackwater River valley all the way to Mallow. They took lodgings in Mill Street. Mallow was alive that night – thousands had come to hear from their hero, and revolution sat like a heavy cloud over the merry drinkers in Bridge Street, about to burst at any moment. Edward noticed their seemed to be a lot of troopers about as well, and wondered how many of their newfound friends were spies. The four men slept the sleep of Brian Boru that night.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! – what a crowd!

Edward had never seen such a throng. The weather held, and thousands crammed the field outside Mallow where Daniel O’Connell’s men had set up a stage to address the hordes. They waited patiently. Priests conducted Mass wherever they could find an empty space and the eager faithful pledged their obedience to the Church and to the holy communion of saints. In a short time they will pledge their allegiance to something different, someone who will tell them that their lot was not pre-ordained, and that if they act together they can have more of a paradise on this earth, and not have to wait till they move on to the next life. Tobacco smoke wafted across the heads of the men, women, beggars, sellers, priests, nuns and assorted hoi polloi who craned to see the great man. Children ran in and under the legs of the crowd as the crush intensified. A cry of “There he is!”, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea to allow Daniel O’Connell’s men to shepherd the hero of the day onto the stage. Edward climbed a tree, along with too many others, as one of the lower limbs collapsed. A comical phalanx of spectators rode the branch gently to the ground. Fortunately, no one was injured. Edward was on one of the higher ones. When he looked out he saw a sight to behold – people in every direction, all facing towards the stage, some standing, some at the back sitting down because there was no way they were going to be able to see their hero anyway. Some were further back, well beyond hearing range, enjoying this festival of Irishness, this statement for a better future. Banners proclaiming “We submit to no Saxon superiority” and “See the conquering hero comes”, and what seemed like hundreds of others, were held up for all to see.

Then the great man was there before them:

I accept with the greatest alacrity the high honor you have done me in calling me to the chair of this majestic meeting. I feel more honored than I ever did in my life, with one single exception, and that related to, if possible, an equally majestic meeting at Tara.

Ah, yes, Tara. Edward had heard of the Monster Meeting at Tara, the seat of Brian Boru himself. Daniel O’Connell went on:

I declare solemnly my thorough conviction as a constitutional lawyer, that the Union is totally void in point of principle and of constitutional force. I tell you that no portion of the empire had the power to traffic on the rights and liberties of the Irish people.

My friends, I want nothing for the Irish but their country, and I think the Irish are competent to obtain their own country for themselves.

At this point the crowd cheers. Edward notices that Tom, Patrick and Seamus have also scored good vantage points up a nearby tree. O’Connell goes on, then turns to a favourite topic:

Then there is the poor old Duke of Wellington, and nothing was ever so absurd as their deification of him in England.

Laughter from the crowd. The Duke of Wellington. England’s hero, forged on Irish blood.

The Duke of Wellington had troops at Waterloo that had learned that word, and there were Irish troops among them. Yes, the glory he got there was bought by the blood of the English, Irish, and Scotch soldiers—the glory was yours.

Down below Edward could see the crowd cheer wildly. They hadn’t forgotten the sacrifices of Irish soldiers for the English cause.

O my friends, it is a country worth fighting for—it is a country worth dying for; but, above all, it is a country worth being tranquil, determined, submissive, and docile for; disciplined as you are in obedience to those who are breaking the way, and trampling down the barriers between you and your constitutional liberty, I will see every man of you having a vote, and every man protected by the ballot from the agent or landlord. I will see labor protected, and every title to possession recognized, when you are industrious and honest. I will see prosperity again throughout your land—the busy hum of the shuttle and the tinkling of the smithy shall be heard again. We shall see the nailer employed even until the middle of the night, and the carpenter covering himself with his chips. I will see prosperity in all its gradations spreading through a happy, contented, religious land. I will hear the hymn of a happy people go forth at sunrise to God in praise of His mercies—and I will see the evening sun set down among the uplifted hands of a religious and free population. Every blessing that man can bestow and religion can confer upon the faithful heart shall spread throughout the land. Stand by me—join with me—I will say be obedient to me, and Ireland shall be free.

As he spoke the crowd had been respectfully silent, but Edward could feel the tension had risen to breaking point. Daniel O’Connell drove home the final nail -

“Are you slaves and are you content to be slaves?” the great man shouted. “No!” came the roar from the crowd, although the thousands at the back who couldn’t hear anyway roared as an echo as the words were relayed to them by marshals. Amazingly, Edward saw Peelers and troops right there in front of the stage. And Daniel O’Connell giving it to them as they watched. “We will not be slaves!” he roared above their heads. “We will not be slaves!” the crowd roared back. The English authorities knew they could do nothing now – but later..? Daniel O’Connell talked for half an hour, followed by some others, but once he had finished most people had started to wander off towards Mallow.

Edward had lost track of Patrick, Seamus and Tom, but they had agreed to meet back at Fitzpatrick’s pub in Main Street right opposite the Brewery at 7 pm if they got separated. It was packed, and the thirsty drinkers (alcohol was banned at the Monster Meeting – it was one of the conditions) had long ago spilled out onto Main Street, along with numerous beggars, pickpockets and even a few Temperance types. But the mood was euphoric! The four men eventually reunited, drowned their thirst, and made their way back to their lodgings.

Two days later, after a bumpy return which Edward mostly slept through, he returned to Corkaboy, and his ‘taters.

But he had seen the future – it was one where he was a free man, not a slave. It was possible, somehow.