Chapter III: Part 3

What brought forth this wonderful effort of a young gentleman, unaided and unsupported by any rational system of organization, uncountenanced but by the humblest men in society, relying on his own great energies, and the thousand circumstances which chance might throw up on the surface of the political ocean? What animated the mind and spirit of Emmet, night after night, and day after day? What? His enemies will say 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 respected 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 sincerely sympathised with the sufferings of mankind, or 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, eloquence powerful, commanding, and inexhaustible; an integrity which no force could bend; a spirit which no danger or suffering could intimidate; born of parents who were the pride and boast of their country; the brother of those men who in the birth-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 himself up to the dreams of his own imagination, and thought he saw the liberties of his country achieved before he had formed his plan to secure them. With all the customary characteristics of an enthusiast, he seemed to disdain those humble calculations by which all human objects are to be obtained. But Emmet achieved what no other man but himself would have dared to attempt. With his single mind, and single arm, he organized thousands of his countrymen, and besieged the government of the country in their strongest position.

Mr. Emmet was executed on the day following that of his sentence, in Thomas-street, at the head of Bridgefoot Street, opposite Catherine’s church.

Robert Emmet, the lofty-minded patriot—the amiable enthusiast—the warm-hearted friend, and ardent lover is no more! The hand of the executioner extinguished the fire and energy of that soul, which burned for his country’s good; 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 enthusiastic 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 rebellion is no sooner lopped off than another is generated. The Hercules, who is to annihilate the monster, can only be found in those acts of wisdom and justice, which are to reconcile the people to their rulers, by making them freemen.

The fate of Robert Emmet demanded something 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 him justice; we have thrown our mite in the scale in which his reputation yet trembles; and, inadequate as that may be, it is sincere and impartial. All ye who knew him in “his hour of pride,” go and do likewise.

The following is extracted from a letter addressed to Mr. Rufus King from T. A. Emmet, brother to Robert Emmet, on the subject of Mr. King’s interference with the British government, as ambassador from the United States, to prevent the Irish state prisoners of 1798 from emigrating to America:—

“Sir,—In the commencement of our negociation, Lord Castlereagh
declared, as a reason for acceding to government’s possessing a
negative 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 agreement carried into
execution. In that difficulty, you, sir, afforded very effectual
assistance 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 permitted to emigrate to
America. This astonished us all, and Dr. M Neven very plainly said
that he considered this as a mere trick between Mr. King and the
British Government. This Mr. Marsden denied, and on being pressed to
know what reason Mr. King 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 interference was then, sir, made the pretext of
detaining us for four years in custody, by which very extensive and
useful plans of settlement within these states were broken up. The
misfortunes which you brought upon the objects of your persecution
were incalculable. 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, including 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 unwarrantable, unprecedented, and unfeeling
interference. 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
indignation and resentment. The step you took was unauthorised by your
own government. Whether our conduct in Ireland was right or wrong, you
have no justification for yours. The constitution and laws of this
country gave you no power to require of the British government that it
should violate its faith, and withdraw from us its consent to the
place we had fixed upon for our voluntary emigration; neither the
president nor you were warranted to prevent our touching these
shores.—These remarks 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 superiority over myself. It is true you have been a
resident minister at the court of St. James’; and, if what I have read
in the public prints be true, and if you be apprised of my near
relationship and family connexion with the late Sir John Temple, you
must acknowledge that your interference as resident minister at the
court of St. James’s, against my being permitted to emigrate 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 talents 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 humble me by the comparison; my paternal fortune
was, probably, much greater than yours; the consideration in which the
name I bear in my native country was held, was as great as yours is
ever likely to be before I had an opportunity of contributing to its
celebrity.

“As to the amount of what private fortune I have been able to save
from the wreck of calamity it is unknown to you or to your friends;
but two thingy 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 displeasure of your friends. So much
for the past and present—now for the future. Circumstances which
cannot be controlled, have decided that my name must be embodied into
history. From the manner in which even my political adversaries, and
some of my contemporary historians, 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 forgotten, when
I shall be remembered with honour, or if, peradventure, your name
should descend to posterity, perhaps you will be known only as the
recorded instrument of part of my persecutions, sufferings, and
misfortunes.

THOMAS ADDIS EMMET.”

_New-York, April 9, 1807._

MISS CURRAN.

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild song 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.

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 evening before his death, Miss Curran was admitted into his dungeon to bid him her eternal farewell. He was leaning in a melancholy 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 his 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 childhood, and concluded by requesting her sometimes to visit the scenes where their infancy was spent, and though the world might repeat 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 eye 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 they 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 disgrace and danger 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 image? 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 whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed.

To render her widowed situation more desolate, 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 so 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 and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement 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 Rotunda, 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 mirth, 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 capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice but on this occasion it was so simple, 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 thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover.—He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her 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 kindness 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 change of scene might wear out the remembrance 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.

Her sorrows are numbered—no longer she weeps,
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;
And Pity her purest of dew-drops shall give
To the sorrows of those who adored him.

For he loved—was beloved—but alas! in his bloom,
The ordeal of fate here sore tried him;
And his spirit took flight from this world of gloom,
To that glory 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 him.

MY 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.
Loud 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 are stretched in their gore.
Ruthless ruffians 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;
To relieve their hard sufferings he braved every danger,
The vengeance 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 no more!”

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, 1803._

JUDGES PRESENT.—LORD NORBURY, MR. BARON GEORGE, AND MR. BARON DALY.
MR. STANDISH O’GRADY, ATTORNEY GENERAL.

To the indictment, charging him with compassing the disposition and death of the king, and conspiring to levy war against the king within the realm, Mr. Emmet pleaded not guilty. He was then given in charge.

The indictment was then opened, in substance, to the following effect, by

THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL,

_My Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury_:

It is my duty to state, as concisely as I can, the nature of the charge which has been preferred against the prisoner at the bar, and also the nature of the evidence which will be produced to substantiate the charge. It will require on your part the most deliberate consideration; because it is not only the highest crime of which at all times the subject can be guilty, but it receives, if possible, additional aggravation when we consider the state of Europe, and the lamentable consequences which revolution has already brought upon it.

Perhaps at former periods some allowance might be made for the heated imagination of enthusiasts; perhaps an extravagant love of liberty, might for a moment supersede a rational understanding, and might 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 people 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 Edward III.—and the indictment is grounded on three clauses. The first relates to compassing and imagining the death of the king—the second in adhering to his enemies—and the third 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 considerations, 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 necessarily, any immediate attack upon his person. But any conspiracy, which has for its object an alteration of the laws, constitution, and government of the country by force, uniformly leads to anarchy and general destruction, and finally tends to endanger the life of the king. 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 execution, the crime of compassing and imagining the death of the king is complete.

Accordingly, gentlemen, this indictment particularly states overt acts, by which the prisoner disclosed the traitorous imagination of his heart—and, if it shall be necessary, those particular overt acts, and the applicability of the evidence which will be produced to support them, will be stated at large to you by 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 duty will require an investigation into two distinct points: first, whether there has, or has not existed a traitorous conspiracy and rebellion for the purpose of altering the law, the constitution, and the government of the country by force?—And, secondly, whether the prisoner has in any, and in what degree, participated in that conspiracy and rebellion?

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 independent.

Gentlemen, upon former occasions, persons were brought to the bar of this court, implicated in the rebellion, in various, though inferior degrees. But if I am rightly instructed, we have now brought to the bar of justice, not a person who 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 mistake not, it will appear that some time before Christmas last, the prisoner, who had visited foreign countries, and who for several months before had made a continental tour, embracing France, returned to this country, 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 inevitable consequences.—But, notwithstanding, I am instructed that he persevered in fomenting a rebellion, which I will be bold to say, is unexampled in any country, ancient or modern. A rebellion which does not complain of any existing grievances, which does not flow from any immediate oppression, and which is not pretended to have been provoked by our mild and gracious king, or by the administration employed by him, to execute his authority. No, gentlemen, 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, which, if they ever existed, must have long since passed away.

You will recollect, gentlemen, that in the large proclamation there was a studied endeavour to persuade a large portion of the people that they had no religious feuds to apprehend from the establishment of 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 a desire to extinguish them.

“Orangemen, add not to the catalogue of your follies and crimes, already have you been duped to the ruin of the country, in the legislative union with its tyrant; attempt not an opposition; return from the paths of delusion; return to the arms of your countrymen, who will receive and hail your repentance. Countrymen 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 observations that press upon my mind, because I am sincerely desirous that one feeling and one spirit should animate us all. I cannot but lament 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 instance in which it prescribes moderation. Attend to the advice by which it instigates the citizens of Dublin: “In a city each street becomes 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 England.”

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 of this salutary advice, it desires that they will “remember against whom they fight, their oppressors for 600 years: remember their massacres, their tortures; remember your murdered friends, your burned houses, your violated females.” Thus affecting to recommend moderation, 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 somewhat anxious to know the progress of the general, 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, who resides near the Wicklow mountains. There the general and his companions took refuge, at the commencement 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 decorated in green and gold. From thence they proceeded to the house of Mrs. Bagnall, and returned to the city of Dublin. What became of the other persons is foreign to the present inquiry, 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 concealment, information was had, and Major Sirr, to whose activity and intrepidity the loyal citizens of Dublin are under much obligation, did confer an additional, and a greater one, by the zealous discharge of his duty on this occasion. He came 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 Cunningham, 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 having 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 sentry was put upon him. The Major then again proceeded further to interrogate 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 was obliged to treat him, the prisoner replied, “all is fair in war.”

Gentlemen, you have the life of a fellow subject 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 heartily 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 the 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 prisoner avowed that the inhabitants of the Austrian Netherlands execrated Buonaparte’s government; and from the whole of the prisoner’s conversation, the witness had reason to believe, that he highly condemned Buonaparte’s conduct and government.

George Tyrrel, an attorney, proved the execution, in the month of June last, of the lease of a house in Butterfield-lane, Rathfarnham, from Michael Frayne to the prisoner, who assumed on the occasion, the name of Ellis. Mr. Tyrrel was one of the subscribing witnesses to the lease, and a person named Dowdall was the other.

Michael Frayne, who leased the above-mentioned house to the prisoner, proved also to that fact, and that he gave him possession of it on the 23d of April preceding—that the prisoner and Dowdall lived there in the most sequestered manner, and apparently anxious of concealment.

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 hostler at White Bull Inn, Thomas Street, kept by a person named Dillon. The house was convenient 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 the explosion 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 Quigley, when he saw the prisoner, accompanied by a person of the name of Palmer; the latter got some sacks from the witness to convey ammunition to the stores, and the prisoner went into the depot, where he continued almost constantly until the evening of the 23d July, directing 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-commissioned officer and private, should have equally every thing they got, and have the same laws as in France. Being asked what it was they were to share, the prisoner 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 particular, 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 big coat, but he did not get it, to disguise his uniform, as he said, until he went to the party that were to attack the castle. Quigley and a person 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 baker 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 depot, accompanied by Quigley and Stafford, and about fifty men, as well as he could judge, armed with pikes, blunderbusses, pistols, &c. They entered Dirty-lane, and from thence into 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, 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 corroborated the general preparations of arms, ammunition, &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 of Friday, the 22d of July, he stopped before the malt stores, or depot, on hearing a noise therein, 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 doing there? The witness was then brought into the depot, and again asked what brought him there, or had he ever been there before? He said he had not. They asked him if he knew Graham? He replied 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 understood they meant to shoot him. They brought him up stairs, and after some consultation, 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? He replied that he did not. A light was brought in at the same time, and the witness having looked about, was asked if he knew any one there? He replied he knew Quigley. He was asked where? He replied that he knew him five or six years ago in the College of Maynooth, as a bricklayer or mason. The witness understood that Quigley was the person who went by the name of Graham. Here the witness identified the prisoner as the person who came 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 different kinds of work.

He assisted in taking boards off a car; 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 together, 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 interrogatories 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 witness said that he gave 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 Proclamation 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; that having gone to the depot in Marshal-lane, he found there several small proclamations addressed to the citizens of Dublin, and which were quite wet. He identified one of them. The witness also identified the desk which the prisoner used in the depot. Having remained about a quarter of an hour 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 suffered to go his rounds.

Alderman Frederick Darley sworn. Proved having found in the depot a paper directed to “Robert Ellis, Butterfield.” Also a paper entitled a “Treatise on the Art of War.” The latter had been handed, at the time, to Capt. Evelyn.

Captain Henry Evelyn sworn. Deposed having been at the rebel depot on the morning of Sunday, the 23d of July, to see the things removed to the barracks, and that he found a paper there, which, being shewn to him, he identified. 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 Clement Frayne, quarter-master-sergeant of the 38th regiment, proved the conveyance of the desk (then in court) to the barracks; and the latter identified a letter which he found therein. The letter was signed, “Thomas Addis Emmet,” and directed to “Mrs. Emmet, Miltown, Dublin,” and began with, “My dearest Robert.” It bore a foreign post-mark.

Edward Wilson, Esq. recollected the explosion 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 certain 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 blood extended half way up the handle.

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 Ballymace, 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 once; 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 witness lay between asleep and awake. When he found his companions asleep, he stole out of the bed, and found in the room some blunderbusses, 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 person in a similar dress; they wore, on their departure, 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 table on which they breakfasted, one of the small printed proclamations, which he gave to John Robinson, the barony constable.

Rose Bagnal, residing at Ballynascorney, 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 insurrection. Three of them wore green clothes, ornamented with something yellow—she was so frightened she could 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 proclamation, 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 apprehension of the prisoner, at his mother’s house, by Major Sirr, and that he did lodge there the preceding spring, at which time, and when 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 the time he was arrested there was a label on the door of the house, expressive of its inhabitants. 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, explained why he feared to be taken up. He acknowledged that he had been in Thomas-street, on the night of the 23d of July, and described the dress he wore on that occasion, part of which were the waistcoat, 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 magazine, and expressed much regret 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 the prisoner.

The examination of this witness being closed, extracts from the proclamation, (vide the Attorney General’s statement) addressed to the Citizens of Dublin, were read.

Major Henry Charles Sirr, examined. Deposed to the arrest of the prisoner as follows: “I went on the 25th of August, to the house of one Palmer. I had heard there was a stranger in 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 alighted, and ran in directly to the back parlour—I saw the prisoner sitting at dinner; the woman of the house was there, and the girl who opened the door was the daughter of the woman of the house. I desired them to withdraw. I asked the prisoner his name, he told me his name was Cunningham. I gave him in charge to the man who accompanied me, and went into the next room to ask the woman and her daughter about him; they told me his name was Hewit; I went back and asked him how long 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 was a paper on the chair,[6] which I put into my pocket; I then went to the canal bridge for a guard, having desired them to be in readiness as I passed; I planted a sentry over him, and desired the non-commissioned officer to surround the house with sentries, while I searched it; I then examined Mrs. Palmer, and took down her account of the prisoner, 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, “I surrender.” 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, when brought to the castle, acknowledged that his name was Emmet.”

Here the case closed on the part of the crown, and the prisoner having declined to enter 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 Norbury said, that the counsel for the prisoner could not by their silence 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, pronounced the Prisoner—Guilty.

The judgment of the court having been prayed 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 the court as follows.

_MR. EMMET’S REPLY._

MY LORDS,—I am asked, what have I to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me, according to law? 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 life, and which you have laboured (as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country) to destroy—I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation 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 prejudice, until it finds some more hospitable harbour 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 I 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 executioner, 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 encounter 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 have 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 I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious government, which upholds its dominion by blasphemy of the Most High; 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, against the throat of his fellow, who believes or doubts a little more than the Government standard—a Government steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows which it has made.

[_Here Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet—saying, that the mean and
wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did, were not equal to the
accomplishment of their wild design._]

I appeal to the immaculate God—I swear by the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear—by the blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before me, that my 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 my country from the superinhuman oppression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed; and I 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.