Chapter II: Part 2

While so engaged, I paid my first visit to Europe in the autumn or “fall” of 1867, and once more met my father and mother in the flesh. My letters regarding Fenian matters were naturally a topic of interesting conversation between us, and my father with much pride showed me the written acknowledgments he had received for his action in the matter. Poor old father! Never was Briton prouder than he of the service he had been enabled to do his country—services unpaid and as purely patriotic as ever Englishman rendered. No payment was ever made—none was asked or expected—for whatever little good I had been enabled to accomplish up to this time. Matters, however, were now to develop in a new and unexpected way. Mr. Rebow expressed a desire to see me, and, accompanied by my father, I visited him at his seat, Wyvenhoe Park. He subsequently visited me on several occasions at my father’s house, and had many chats on the all-absorbing topic of Fenianism. Learning from me that the organisation was still prosperous and meant mischief—my friend O’Neill having succeeded Colonel Roberts as president—he gained my consent to enter into personal communication with the English Government. In a few days I received through him an official communication requesting me to attend at 50 Harley Street. To Harley Street I went, and there met two officials, by whom a proposition was made that I should become a paid agent of the Government, and that on my return to the United States I should ally myself to the Fenian organisation, in order to play the _rôle_ of spy in the rebel ranks. I knew that this proposal was coming. I had thought over the whole matter carefully, and I had come to the conclusion that I would consent, which I did. My adventurous nature prompted me to sympathy with the idea; my British instincts made me a willing worker from a sense of right, and my past success promised good things for the future.

I returned, therefore, to the States in the Government service; and, taking advantage of an early meeting with O’Neill in New York, I proffered him my services as a military man in case of active warfare. O’Neill, delighted at the idea, promised me a position in the near future, and I returned to my home in the West, pledged to help the cause there meantime.[1]

And now a few words as to O’Neill. Taking the prominent part he did in Fenian affairs at this time, he certainly proved a very interesting personality. General O’Neill, Irish by birth, was born on the 8th of March 1834, in the town of Drumgallon, parish of Clontifret, Co. Monaghan. He emigrated when young with his family to the United States, and settled at Elizabeth, New Jersey. Enlisting in the 2nd U.S. Cavalry as a private soldier in 1857, he was engaged in fighting Indians in the Far West for some three years. Upon the breaking out of the War of the Rebellion, he was commissioned as lieutenant in the 5th Indiana Cavalry. From this he received promotion in the 15th U.S. Coloured Infantry, with which regiment he continued to the end of the war. Resigning his command at the conclusion of hostilities, he commenced business as a United States Claim Agent in Nashville, Tennessee, where, it will be remembered, I was stationed with my regiment for a long time after the cessation of active operations.

When freed from the discipline of his military service, O’Neill—ardent Fenian that he was—threw himself heart and soul into the Irish rebel movement in the States. He raised and commanded the Tennessee contingent in the movement upon Canada in 1866, taking command of the entire expedition by reason of his seniority of rank and his proved knowledge of military tactics. I have already quoted his report of the termination of this “invasion.”

At the Cleveland Convention of September 1867, he was elected a senator of the Fenian Brotherhood; and on the 31st of December 1867, owing to the resignation of Colonel W. R. Roberts, he was elected President of the Brotherhood.

In personal appearance O’Neill was a very fine-looking man. Nature had dealt kindly with him. Within a couple of inches of six feet in height, possessing a fine physique and a distinctive Celtic face, he combined an undoubted military bearing with a rich sonorous voice, which lent to his presence a certain persuasive charm. He had one fault, however—a fault which developed to the extremest point when he attained the presidency of the Fenian Brotherhood. This was his egotism. He was the most egotistical soul I ever met in the whole course of my life. In his belief, the Irish cause lived, moved, and had its being in John O’Neill; and this absurd self-love contributed to many disasters, which a more even-headed leader would never have brought about.

VII.

On my return to my Western home, I lost no time in commencing my double life. I organised a Fenian “circle” or camp in Lockport, Illinois, and took the position of “centre” or commander of it, thus becoming the medium for receiving all official reports and documents issued by O’Neill, the contents of which documents were, of course, communicated by me to the Home Government. I went to work with a will, and was soon in the very thick of the conspiracy, organised a military company for the Irish Republican Army, and eventually attended the Springfield Convention in the position of a delegate.

While so engaged, I entered the Chicago Medical College, and commenced my medical studies in earnest. I was much assisted in this direction by the kindly help of an old friend, Dr. Bacon, who had been attached to my regiment in war times as surgeon. He was then surgeon to the Illinois State Penitentiary, and through him I obtained the position created at this time of Hospital Steward, or, in other words, Resident Medical Officer in that institution. There was a comfortable salary attached to the office, which I found to be in every sense a useful post. Although, as matters turned out, I was only to spend some few months there, I gained even in this short time a vast amount of experience in almost every branch of medical study.

Life, indeed, in the Illinois Penitentiary gave me experience in many ways. It brought me for the first time into direct contact with many of the evils which then affected official administration. Things, of course, are different now, though it must be confessed still anything but perfect; but when compared with the usages of olden times, the shortcomings of the present system are of no account whatever. At the time of which I speak, money could accomplish everything, from the obtaining of luxuries in prison to the purchase of pardon and freedom itself. Everything connected with the prison administration was rotten to the core. Corruption was in every place. The penitentiary contained some fifteen hundred prisoners, and the whole management of affairs affecting these men was vested in three Commissioners, as they were styled, whose proceedings were of the most flagrant and jobbing character. So great did the scandals of their doings become at one period, that one of the three had to abscond; but so demoralised was the condition of affairs that no attempt was made to arrest and bring him back. These three men had no object save that of gaining money. They were the proprietors of a general shop inside the prison, from which the prisoners purchased luxuries at usurious rates; and the work of the prisoners themselves was let out to contractors, who paid heavily for the privilege of remaining undisturbed in their monopoly. Everything was turned to money. In one case I knew of a prisoner, failing to win his cause on appeal, and having thereby to undergo a period of seven years’ imprisonment, being offered his release for a sum of 10,000 dollars, which offer he refused, stating in the most business-like way that he would only give 7000. This was not considered satisfactory, and so the negotiations fell through.

No popular idea of prison life now indulged in at all fits in with the actual condition of affairs five-and-twenty years ago. Money was useful for the purpose of commerce in the Commissioners’ interest, and therefore was allowed free circulation amongst those confined. Those who could afford it, and whose cases were not finally decided—appeals were constantly being heard—were allowed to board at the Governor’s table, to wear their own clothes, and in every way conduct themselves as if in a private house. In those days the prisoners were not shaved—they wore their hair and whiskers as they pleased. Those who could not afford to live the lives of gentlemen had the store to go to for petty luxuries; and so, no matter how matters turned, the Commissioners were the gainers. The Governor, or Warden, as he was called, was their nominee, dependent upon them for office; and everything was governed by their wishes and desires.

In such a vast assembly of criminals there were many whose characters and careers formed subjects for very interesting study to me. I was fortunate in being connected with the prison at a time when some more than usually clever and facile scoundrels were temporarily resident there. Towering head and shoulders over the whole crowd was that king of forgers, Colonel Cross, perhaps the most daring, successful, and expert penman of our time. About forty years of age at this period, a man of fine commanding presence, splendid diction, and gentlemanly demeanour, Cross attracted me from the first day I was brought into contact with him. The son of one of the most prominent Episcopalian clergymen in the United States, he was possessed of a wide classical education, and discoursed with intelligence and wondrous fluency on theology, medicine, and every kind of science.

He was no ordinary criminal. Even in prison he commanded admiration from his fellows, and I was often amazed to see how respectful were the salutations accorded him as he moved about. He boasted, I learned afterwards with truth, that he had never robbed a poor man; and, strange being that he was, he had borne almost all the cost of the education of his brother’s children. Indeed, at the time I met him, he was educating in the most expensive manner a poor little girl whom, in a moment of generous caprice, he had adopted as his daughter.

When I was first brought into contact with him, Cross had his case before the courts on appeal, and, pending the decision, he was living in the most expensive way in prison, boarding at the Governor’s table, dressing in the most fashionable way, and smoking the best of cigars. Having no work to do, he interested himself in the affairs of his fellow-prisoners; and so clever and capable was he, and so great a knowledge of law did he possess, that he succeeded in preparing the cases of many of them for appeal in such a way as to allow of their regaining their liberty.

I had not been in the prison very long before he appealed to me to take him as my assistant in the hospital; and attracted by the man as I was, I acceded to his request, to discover subsequently that I had a most valuable attendant, whose knowledge of medicine was both extensive and practical.

VIII.

The career of Cross would supply material for a most exciting novel. He always went in for “big things,” as he phrased it. Nothing troubled him more than the fact that he was then undergoing punishment for a small affair which he contemptuously referred to as being too paltry altogether for association with him. Perhaps the “biggest thing” he ever did was the forgery of a cheque for £80,000 in Liverpool, and his escape with the booty. Like many other talented criminals, if he had but turned his ability to proper account, he would undoubtedly have won a place and name in the foremost ranks of honest men to-day. He planned his enterprises with the most consummate care, and worked them out for months before reaching the final stage. An illustration of his method was very well afforded by his forgery on the Park National Bank of New York.

Determining to commit a forgery on this bank, he set to work to obtain the needful introduction and guarantee for his accomplice, who should eventually present the forged cheque. He, by the way, never presented a forged cheque himself—this was always the work of an accomplice. In order, therefore, to obtain the introduction to the bank, he opened some business with a certain firm of brokers in Wall Street who happened to “deposit” at the particular bank in question. In this way he ran up an account for a respectable sum, to obtain the repayment for which he one day went to the office in Wall Street accompanied by one Simmons, the accomplice in the future forgery. The cheque—a draft for twelve hundred dollars—was duly drawn, when Cross asked his friend Simmons to go to the bank to cash it, requesting in a free-and-easy way that the broker might send one of his clerks with him to identify Simmons, he being a stranger. No suspicion was indulged in—there was no ground for such, and the request was willingly complied with. Simmons, coached by Cross beforehand, had a hundred-dollar bill in his pocket, the use for which will be apparent in a moment. When the clerk and he reached the bank, the necessary introduction took place; and in reply to the usual question how he wished the money, Simmons replied, “In hundred-dollar bills.” As the clerk counted the notes, Simmons drew his bill out of his pocket, and mixing all up as he stood aside to check his payment, he recalled the clerk’s attention by the announcement that he had given him thirteen instead of twelve bills. The clerk indignantly protested he had made no mistake. Simmons, playing the _rôle_ of honest man, became distressed, the manager was appealed to, one of the notes eventually received back, and Simmons retired, the recipient of most fulsome thanks, his character and reputation fully established in the minds of the banking officials. Of course the clerk was one hundred dollars to the good at the end of the day, but Simmons’ claim to honesty in no way suffered by the fact, as no one for a moment thought of a plot.

Content to lose the hundred-dollar bill, in the promise of things to come, Cross continued his legitimate traffic with the brokers, Simmons, on the most friendly terms at the bank, cashing the cheques, which increased in amount as the time passed. Months had passed, and nothing of an illegal nature had been attempted, when at the end of the fifth month a genuine cheque for thirty dollars was by Cross changed to 30,000, and cashed by Simmons without the slightest hesitation or suspicion at the bank, both Cross and he escaping with the booty.

Many and varied as were Cross’s tricks with his pen, none was more daring or successful than that which led to his escape from Sing-Sing Prison, that famous home of criminals in New York. Obtaining through outside agency a printed and properly headed sheet of note-paper and envelope from the Governor of the States’ Office at Albany, he actually forged the order for his own release, had it posted formally from Albany, and, on its receipt, obtained his freedom without provoking the slightest suspicion or inquiry.

I am glad to say that Colonel Cross still lives, and is now working out an honest existence under another name in the north-west of America.

My life at the Illinois Penitentiary was crowded with incidents, and little leisure was left me. Where real sickness did not exist, shamming and malingering in their most ingenious phases were resorted to. I was amazed at the talent brought to bear upon their attempts to escape work by those with whom I had to deal. Some of the methods adopted were simply marvellous in their conception and execution. A more quick-witted lot of men it has never been my fate to meet. Every twist and turn of daily life was subordinated to the needs of the trickster, and not one single daily incident seemed to be without its possibility of application, either to assist in the attempt to shirk work or to escape from imprisonment altogether. Nothing in this way impressed me more than the case of a man known as Joe Devine, an eminent hotel sneak thief, some two-and-thirty years of age, and of very distinguished appearance.

It happened that one afternoon about five o’clock a negro prisoner died of consumption. It was the practice to bury the dead immediately the coffin was made ready; but, owing to the fact that the coffin in this case was not ready till after the prison gates had been locked for the night, the burial had to be postponed till the following morning.

Under the circumstances, I arranged that the coffin with the body enclosed should remain for the night in the prison bath-room. This Joe Devine of whom I speak happened to be in charge of the bath-room at this period, and it therefore became his duty to see that proper arrangements were made for the disposal of the coffin for the night. Early the next morning, as was customary, Devine and some of his fellow-prisoners were allowed out of their cells some little time before the others, in order to prepare the bath-room and other places for their use. With assistance Devine unscrewed the coffin, took the dead negro out, and concealed himself in his place, not, however, before he had worn down the thread of the screws in the lid, so that they could be thrust out with a heavy push from the inside. The time for the funeral arrived in due course, and the coffin was removed in a little cart accompanied by two prisoners whose time was nearly expired, and who were therefore trusted outside the gates of the prison (being known by the name of “trusties”), together with the clergyman of the jail.

Nothing happened till the grave was reached, when Devine, presumably concluding that it would be dangerous to remain longer where he was, burst the lid of the coffin and jumped out, immediately starting off at a run. The clergyman and “trusties” being too horrified to offer any resistance, he escaped without molestation. The first I heard of the matter was on the return of the clergyman and the “trusties” with the news that the man had come to life; but, as they explained in their horrified way, he was white, not a nigger! The roll was called, and Devine was missing; so we concluded he was the white man in question. We then set to work to find the corpse of the poor negro. For two hours the prisoners searched up and down without any result. Eventually, however, the body was discovered underneath a pile of towels in one of the box-seats of the bath-room, the corpse being doubled up in two, the head and feet meeting, in order to permit of its being concealed in its narrow hiding-place.

Another escape equally effective, for the moment at least, was that of a man known as Bill Forester, a notorious bank robber, and one of the suspected murderers of Nathan the Jew, whose death in New York created a profound interest at the time. Forester, fortunately for himself, selected as his medium of exit one of the many boxes employed by Mack & Co., contractors for shoe-making, who employed some four hundred of the convicts. Surrounded and hedged in between boots and shoes, in one of the large boxes used for their transport, Forester passed through the prison gates in one of Mack’s vans, and not till he had got a distance of a mile and a half from the jail did he venture to emerge from his hiding-place. His liberty, however, proved to be only of a temporary character, for, caught in another State a little later, the enterprising burglar was again arrested, and carried back to the Penitentiary to complete his term of imprisonment.

His method had many imitations. None was more novel or disastrous than that employed by a fellow-convict whose name I cannot at the moment recall. This poor fellow hit upon the ingenious idea of getting out of durance vile inside a load of horse-manure, and when the load was half-way packed, he lay at full length with a breathing space arranged, while the remainder of the loading was completed. His intention, of course, was to be freed from his uncomfortable position within an hour, when the manure would be discharged at the quay adjoining the prison. To his horror, however, he discovered, when the cart reached the quay, that a gang of fellow-convicts were engaged unloading a boat under the charge of armed wardens or sentries. To attempt escape meant instant death, and there he lay for hours with the heavy weight of the upper portion of the cart’s load pressing upon him. Six o’clock came and with it the return of the men and sentries to prison. Through the long weary hours of the night the poor fellow lay, unable now to move from the consequences of his continued prostration in the manure; and when the morning arrived he was found but too willing a captive. He was immediately placed under my charge, but his recovery proved by no means a rapid affair.

IX.

In the midst of all these exciting incidents of prison life, I received a telegram from O’Neill in New York, as follows: “Come at once, you are needed for work.” To comply was to surrender my pleasant and interesting position, and to lose for the moment all chance of pursuing my medical study. On the other hand, however, the opportunity of doing good service to my native land presented itself. I did not hesitate. Communicating immediately with the “Warden” or Governor, I resigned my position, much to his disgust. He sought an explanation. I could give none. He offered an increased salary. I was unable to explain why even this could not tempt me, and so I left in a way which was misunderstood, and under circumstances which, by the very reason for their existence, could not be appreciated.

Hurrying to New York, I soon presented myself in person to O’Neill at the headquarters of the Fenian Brotherhood, then situated in the mansion at 10 West Fourth Street. Here I found the President of the Brotherhood, surrounded by his staff of officials, transacting the duties of their various positions with all the pomp and ceremony usually associated with the representatives of the greatest nations on earth. I was not long left in suspense as to what was required of me. Commissioned at the very outset as Major and Military Organiser of the Irish Republican Army (at a salary of sixty dollars per month, with seven dollars per day expenses), I was instructed to proceed to the Eastern States in company with a civil organiser, in order to visit and reorganise the different military bodies attached to the rebel society. To my unhappy amazement, I learned that I was, while engaged on this work, to address public meetings in support of the cause, and my miserable feelings were accentuated by O’Neill’s desire that I should accompany him, the very evening of my arrival, to a large demonstration being held at Williamsburg, a suburb of Brooklyn. I was in a regular mess, for if called on to speak—as I feared—I should be found absolutely ignorant of Irish affairs. There was nothing for it, however, but to keep a brave face, for I had undertaken my work, and in its lexicon there was no such word as fail.

The evening came, and with it our trip to Williamsburg. On arrival there, in the company of O’Neill and some brother officers, I found several thousands of persons assembled. We were greeted with the greatest enthusiasm, and given the seats of honour to the right and left of the chairman. My position was a very unhappy one. I was in a state of excessive excitement, for I greatly feared what was coming. Seated as I was next to O’Neill, I could hear him tell the chairman on whom to call, and how to describe the speakers; and, as each pause took place between the speeches, I hung with nervous dread on O’Neill’s words, fearing my name would be the next. The meeting proceeded apace; some four or five of my companions had already spoken, and I was beginning to think that, after all, the evil hour was postponed, and that for this night at least I was safe. Not so, however. All but O’Neill and myself had spoken, when, to my painful surprise, I heard the General call upon the chairman to announce Major Le Caron. The moment was fraught with danger; my pulses throbbed with maddening sensation; my heart seemed to stop its beating; my brain was on fire, and failure stared me in the face. With an almost superhuman effort I collected myself, and as the chairman announced me as Major M‘Caron, tickled by the error into which he had fallen, and the vast cheat I was playing upon the whole of them, I rose equal to the occasion, to be received with the most enthusiastic of plaudits.

The hour was very late, and I took advantage of the circumstance. Proud and happy as I was at being with them that evening, and taking part in such a magnificent demonstration, they could not, I said, expect me to detain them long at so advanced an hour. All had been said that could be said upon the subject nearest and dearest to their hearts. (Applause.) If what I had experienced that night was indicative of the spirit of patriotism of the Irish in America—(tremendous cheering)—then indeed there could be no fears for the result. (Renewed plaudits.) And now I would sit down. They were all impatiently waiting, I knew, to hear the stirring words of the gallant hero of Ridgeway, General O’Neill—(thunders of applause)—and I would, in conclusion, simply beg of them as lovers of liberty and motherland—(excited cheering)—to place at the disposal of General O’Neill the means (cash) necessary to carry out the great work on which he was engaged. This work, I was confident, would result in the success of our holy cause, and the liberation of dear old Ireland from the thraldom of the tyrant’s rule, which had blighted and ruined her for seven hundred years.

These last words worked my hearers up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and amidst their excited shouts and cheers I resumed my seat, with the comforting reflection that if it took so little as this to arouse the Irish people, I could play my _rôle_ with but little difficulty. And as time passed on, and my experience widened, the justice of the reflection was fully assured. With a little practice and scarce any labour, save that necessitated by the use of a pair of scissors and some paste, I succeeded in hoodwinking the poor and deluded, together with the unprincipled, blatant, professional Irish patriots.

Before, however, starting on my travels as organiser, I had an experience which went far to justify all I had previously thought and heard as regards the part played by Andrew Johnson in connection with the first Canadian raid. I recall the incident as important, as showing to what extremes American political exigencies have carried men in catering for the Irish vote in America. About American politics generally I shall have something to say later on; but as this matter fits in chronologically here, I think it better to deal with it now. Johnson, it must be remembered, was not by any means a man above suspicion. In 1868, so great was the disaffection with his administration of the Presidency, that he was impeached, though unsuccessfully, by the Senate.

It was in this year—1868—that, at O’Neill’s request, I accompanied him to the White House to have an interview with Johnson. O’Neill and he had been personal friends from ’62, when Johnson had acted as Military Governor in Tennessee. The precise object of our visit was the securing of Johnson’s influence in the return of the arms to the Fenian Brotherhood, previously seized by the American Government. It will be remembered that I mentioned, some pages back, that every gun taken by the United States Government, after the first raid in 1866, was returned to the Fenian organisation by this government under a promise, only made to be broken, that they should not be used in any unlawful enterprise; and in consideration of certain worthless bonds.

Our reception at the White House was a cordial one, O’Neill’s distinctly so. During the conversation the President used some remarkable words. So strange did they sound in my ears, that they impressed themselves upon my memory, and are even now fresh in my recollection.

“General,” said Johnson, addressing O’Neill, “your people unfairly blame me a good deal for the part I took in stopping your first movement. Now I want you to understand that my sympathies are entirely with you, and anything which lies in my power I am willing to do to assist you. But you must remember that I gave you five full days before issuing any proclamation stopping you. What, in God’s name, more did you want? If you could not get there in five days, by God, you could never get there; and then, as President, I was compelled to enforce the Neutrality Laws, or be denounced on every side.”

Such was the language used, such the position assumed, and such the apology tendered to the Fenian leader of 1868 by the President of the United States Government. Can any comment of mine point the moral and adorn the tale of all this better than the incident itself can do when left in its naked and startling significance? I think not.

X.

I entered with a will upon my duties as travelling organiser, and was alike successful in winning the confidence of almost every Fenian with whom I was brought into contact, and in obtaining the most important information and details for the Home Government. Matters had meantime proceeded apace, so that when the Philadelphia Convention of 1868 was held, O’Neill’s determination to invade Canada a second time was ratified without a dissentient voice. I was now promoted to the rank of Inspector-General, and was from time to time sent along the Canadian border to locate the arms and ammunition. The situation was becoming critical where British interests were concerned; and, in order to grapple with the pressure of the moment, I was placed in direct communication with Lord Monck, then Governor-General of Canada. I paid a visit to Ottawa, and when there, planned a system of daily communication with the Chief Commissioner of Police in Canada, Judge J. G. M‘Micken, with whom, from this date to the total disruption of the Fenian organisation in 1870, I acted in concert and in the most perfect harmony.

I cannot speak too highly of the treatment I received at Judge M‘Micken’s hands. Comparatively young in years as I was then, distinctly youthful in Secret Service experience, I found him ever ready and willing to help me, meeting me at a moment’s notice, placing everything at my disposal, and watching over my safety and my interests with a fatherly care which I shall ever recall with thoughts of the keenest appreciation. Equally pleasant and agreeable was my connection with the Home Government. Many changes had taken place since my visit to England, and those with whom I had first had communication had disappeared from this work to give place to Mr. Anderson, with whom alone I had to deal from this time forward. I shall have a good deal to say about Mr. Anderson further on, and therefore I shall only delay here to repeat what I have said above, that with England as with Canada my connection was of the most satisfactory and pleasant character.

XI.

It was during the autumn of 1868 that, in the course of my travels on behalf of the organisation, I first met Alexander Sullivan. Alexander Sullivan is a well-known man to-day, but if by any chance his identity has to be marked, little else need be mentioned beyond the words, “The Cronin affair.” He was a young man then, but then as now he was the same Alexander Sullivan, clever, unscrupulous, careful only of himself, subordinating everything to his personal ambition, using Irish politics as a stepping-stone to advancement in American affairs, and reckless who or what suffered if but he did succeed.

The “Arch Fiend” of Irish-American politics, as he has been dubbed, and the alleged chief conspirator in the brutal murder of Dr. Cronin, is no ordinary man; he is an individual with a history, and that not by any means a creditable one. The son of a British pensioner, born in Canada some forty-five years ago, he left that country under a cloud, and settled down in Detroit, where he started a boot-and-shoe store in the Bresler Block, Michigan Avenue. On the night of the 12th May 1868 a fire totally destroyed his shop and its contents. The occurrence had its suspicious features, and Sullivan was arrested on a charge of arson. Although the over-insurance of his goods and other questionable proceedings were proved at the trial, he gained his liberty through an alibi, sustained by the evidence of Margaret Buchanan, a teacher in the public school of Detroit, who afterwards became his wife. A man, as I have said, of stirring ambition, he had from the outset of his career in Detroit taken a prominent part in political affairs, and his status as an Irish leader (he was then a State “Centre” for Michigan) lent his position and views a certain importance. He took an active part in the then pending national campaign upon the side and in the interests of General Grant and Schyler Colfax, who in that year were nominated as the respective Republican candidates for President and Vice-President of the republic.

It was at this time that Sullivan commenced his political tricks in the manipulation of the Irish vote in American party interests, and it was in consequence of his action in this respect that I was first brought into contact with him. Previous to this date, the Irish vote had been almost exclusively Democratic; but, from the loud and frequent complaints which reached headquarters, Sullivan was found to be using his influence in the organisation for political purposes, and seeking to bring about a change of policy in the organisation itself, which threatened a serious schism amongst our members.

I was despatched by the President to Detroit in order to investigate the case, and if possible settle the difficulty. I found ample proof of Sullivan’s guilt of the charges alleged against him, and, after repeated interviews between us, he agreed that the best thing he could do would be to hand in his resignation as State “Centre” of the Brotherhood, which he accordingly did. My intercourse with him at this time left no doubt on my mind as to his great ability. His line of defence was an exceedingly clever one, and is well worth recording here, as showing how in these early days Sullivan had carefully mapped out his policy in regard to Irish affairs, and their connection with American matters. He contended that, in all he had done, he had had the best interests of Ireland at heart. He did not, he said, consider that the Irish people in America had ever occupied the position in the body politic to which they were fairly entitled. The Irish vote, argued he, had been hitherto solidly cast for the Democratic party. Only a division of that vote would cause them to be a potent power in politics. With that position and influence to which they were entitled assured to them, they could make terms with the American Government for the cause of Ireland.

The history of the past twenty years shows how cleverly Sullivan worked out these views of his, and gained acceptance for them at the hands of his fellow-patriots. The pity of it is, however, that in the result Ireland has gained not at all, while Irish patriots like Sullivan and Egan have filled their pockets and reaped their harvests in Chili and elsewhere.

Sullivan’s immediate reward was his appointment as United States Collector of Internal Revenue at Santa Fé, New Mexico. His resignation of his official position in the Brotherhood had come too late; his work bore fruit in the Presidential election, the vote was split, and so he earned his wage. It is worthy of note that this was the first time the Irish vote was split, and that Sullivan was the primary cause of it. Ever since the vote has so remained, to the advantage of the Irish leaders of both sides, who, in the scramble for office, barter the adhesion of their followers in the public market-place.

Santa Fé, however, did not hold Sullivan long. His shady methods compelled him to make an inglorious exit; and so he was to be found in the year 1873 working with his wife, _née_ Buchanan, in a reporting capacity on Chicago newspapers.

Here for the present, however, I must leave Sullivan. I have dealt thus fully with the man at this early stage, because of the strange influence he from this time forth wielded over Irish politics in America; and in order to properly represent his character, I have somewhat anticipated events in his life which are far ahead of the time with which I am at present dealing. I have done so advisedly, for Sullivan will play a large part in the chapters to which I must now proceed. Where his personality will not thrust itself upon the scene, his shadow will darken every act and incident. From this time onward, for a period of twenty years, I used the man as my dupe. Feeding his vanity, assisting his ambition, helping him in the hundred and odd ways in which it was possible for me to do, I gained his friendship and his confidence to such an extent, that no man in the whole course of my career in the Secret Service proved a more valuable, albeit an unconscious, ally than he.

XII.

Before continuing my narrative, I will stop to relate one of the few cases in which I was forced into a very narrow place, and faced with the near possibility of complete exposure. The incident is useful as illustrating the dangers by which I was surrounded, and the requirements of the position in which I was placed. At a council of war held in Troy House, Troy, New York, in the month of November 1868, I came in contact with John Roche, well known as one of the shining lights of Irish nationality in that city. Roche was one of those hypercritical and over-suspicious individuals who were constantly recognising British detectives in every stranger whom they met. He had been, I discovered, originally a resident of Montreal, and as I had been instructed by O’Neill to visit and study the enemy’s country, I indicated to Roche my desire of ascertaining the names of a few reliable brothers whom I could visit. The truth was that the Canadian Government were at this time particularly anxious to find out the extent of the organisation which they knew existed in several of their large cities, notably Montreal, Kingstown, and Toronto; and I thought this a good opportunity of getting some useful hints.

Roche furnished me with the names of several leading members. Unluckily for me, I foolishly wrote the particulars down in a note-book in his presence. The act, in his opinion, was a suspicious one. He watched me closely, and evidently conceived the idea that my patriotism was of a very incautious character, if not worse. On the eighth of the following month, at the Annual Convention held in the Masonic Hall, Philadelphia, to which he was a delegate, I found his suspicions solidified in the form of a set of charges against me, imputing carelessness, dangerous conduct, and suspicious acts. My friends, and they were legion, together with myself, indignantly denied the allegations, and virtuously demanded an inquiry, which was granted, and a committee was appointed to lay the charges. Roche was duly heard, injured innocence was largely _en evidence_ on my part, and very quickly a unanimous verdict was reported back to the Convention, asserting that the charges were scandalous and without the slightest foundation, it being fully demonstrated by the following letter that I was authorised to visit and acquaint myself with the other side, as I represented to Roche:—

“HEAD-QUARTERS FENIAN BROTHERHOOD,
“NO. 10 WEST FOURTH STREET,
“NEW YORK, _October 23, 1868_.

“P. O. BOX 5141.
“HENRY LE CARON,
“Care of Capt. T. O’Hagan,
“Ogdensburg, N.Y.

“DEAR SIR AND BROTHER,—Yours of the 20th and 21st came duly to
hand and are perfectly satisfactory.

“I think it better not to commence equalising goods just yet; I
will write you again on the matter.

“It would be highly beneficial to us for you to avail yourself of
every opportunity to study the country on both sides of the line
for future emergencies.

“Everything here is going on satisfactorily.

“Yours fraternally,
“JOHN O’NEILL,
“_Pres. F.B._”

I did not, however, deem it prudent to let matters rest even here, feeling that my ultimate success in the interests of the Government depended upon absolute confidence on the part of the ruling powers. Accordingly I sat down and immediately wrote out my resignation as an officer of the Irish Republican Army, giving this want of confidence as my reason, and couching my letter in indignant terms. As I hoped and anticipated, my letter brought the following welcome response, which placed me on a surer footing than ever, and brought me into even more confidential relations with the head of the organisation than I had hitherto enjoyed:—

“WAR DEPARTMENT, FENIAN BROTHERHOOD,
“NO. 10 WEST FOURTH STREET,
“NEW YORK, _December 29, 1868_.

“P. O. Box 5141,
“Major H. LE CARON,
“Box 1004,
“Chicago, Ill.

“MAJOR,—Your letter tendering your resignation as an officer of
the I.R.A. came duly to hand, but I delayed answering until such
time as I could submit it to the President, who was out of town,
as without his instructions I could give you nothing definite in
reply. He now directs me to say that it is his wish you should
remain an officer of the organisation, and that if you require a
leave of absence for a month or more, you can have it. He further
says he hopes it will not be long before the opportunity you refer
to may be granted. Your services have been thoroughly appreciated
both by him and the officials of both Departments, civil and
military, therefore you should not notice the inuendoes or taunts
of parties who cannot value your services. If the officers of the
organisation who have been vilified and calumniated were to resign
on that account, some of its best officers would not now be at
their post. The ‘Patriot’s meed is bitter;’ they must bear with
much, even from those who should be the first to defend and sustain
them.

“Personally, I would advise you to act on the suggestions of the
President, and hope you will.

“The President will write you in a few days. Whatever course you
may decide upon pursuing in this matter, you shall always carry
with you the best wishes of

“Your friend and brother,
“J. WHITEHEAD BYRON,
“_Col. & A.A.G., F.B._”

I got thus safely out of my awkward position, and learnt one good lesson. I never kept a pocket-book again.

XIII.

The Annual Convention to which I have made reference in connection with the Roche incident took place in Philadelphia, “the city of brotherly love,” in the month of December 1868. It was made the occasion of an immense demonstration, no less than 6000 armed and uniformed Fenian soldiers parading the streets. The convention itself was numerically a large one, and was attended by over 400 properly qualified delegates. The proceedings were of the usual kind. Brag and bluster were the order of the day. The determination to invade Canada once more was still upheld by the vote of the assembly, and the position of O’Neill and his colleagues was as fixed and satisfactory as ever—that of myself, of course, being included in this reference.

The report of the envoy to the sister organisation in Ireland—Daniel Sullivan, Secretary of Civil Affairs—was an interesting document, and contained full details of the Clerkenwell Explosion of the previous year. This was the attempt to blow up Clerkenwell Prison which Mr. Parnell subsequently described in reply to Mr. Gladstone—the old Mr. Gladstone, I mean, not the new one—as “a practical joke.” It was, however, as we in Philadelphia were to learn, anything but a practical joke. It was rather as cool and carefully planned a scheme as ever Fenianism indulged in to spite the British Government. If the attempt failed to accomplish all that was expected of it, it was yet very fruitful in drawing from Mr. Gladstone a confession about its effect being “to bring the Irish question within the range of practical politics,” which has ever since proved the most effective and popular argument advanced on behalf of dynamite in the United States.

About this time, John Boyle O’Reilly, a very well-known Irishman, late editor of the _Boston Pilot_, a poet and novelist, and author of a delightfully written novel, “Moondyne,” the material for which was obtained during his confinement in Australia as a Fenian prisoner, first arrived in New York, having succeeded in making his escape from the convict settlement at Freemantle. With his appearance came the idea of rescuing his fellow-prisoners. The proposal, first mooted in uncertainty, was eventually taken up with the greatest enthusiasm, and carried to a most successful conclusion. For the purpose a whaler was chartered by the organisation and fitted out at New Bedford, Massachusetts, with the ostensible object of whaling in the South Seas, but, in reality, for bringing the convicts off from Australia. The boat was partially manned by trusted men of the organisation, though, to keep up the deception, a certain number of well-known whalers’ men went to make up the crew. On arrival at Australia, some of the most trusted Fenians were landed with instructions to open up communication with the convicts, while the vessel cruised about on the high seas. It was not anticipated that the task set the men left on shore would be a difficult one, because the convicts were hired out as labourers during the day, and communication with them was not by any means a trying matter. As affairs turned out, it was quite easy. The men from the whaler, however, had not been landed more than a day or two, when they found that they were not the only persons arranging the convicts’ rescue. Two men—M‘Carthy and Gray—were already at work in this direction, having been sent out by the Supreme Council of the Fenian Brotherhood in Ireland, at the instigation, as he claimed to me subsequently, of Patrick Egan. M‘Carthy and Gray had, it appeared, already established communications with the convicts; and so, in order to expedite matters, the two sections of rescuers joined forces. On a given day, the plot was carried to a successful termination, and the rescued men were placed on board the whaler, which immediately set out for the States. Although an armed cruiser was immediately despatched to stop it, and some firing took place, the whaler succeeded in getting out of Australian waters and on the high seas in safety.

XIV.

The year 1869 saw O’Neill still at the helm of Fenian affairs, and large sums of money rolling in to the coffers of the organisation; although, as always the case with Irish movements, dissensions reigned within the ranks. The Stephens section, now presided over by John Savage, who had succeeded John O’Mahony, was constantly attacking the Senate wing, and many and bitter were the feuds which raged. In my position as Inspector-General of the Irish Republican Army, I was fully engaged in my old work of inspecting the companies, and directing the location of arms along the Canadian country for coming active operations. In this way I distributed fifteen thousand stands of arms and almost three million rounds of ammunition in the care of the many trusted men stationed between Ogdensburg and St. Albans. Some thousands of these guns were breech-loaders, which had been re-modelled from United States Government “Springfields” at the arms factory, leased, and “run” by the organisation at Trenton, New Jersey. The depôt from which the bulk were packed and shipped was “Quinn and Nolan’s” of Albany. Quinn was a United States Congressman and Senator of the Fenian Brotherhood; and Nolan, that very Mayor Nolan so prominently mentioned by Mr. Parnell in his evidence as one of the eminently conservative (!) gentlemen who received him in America. Constantly the recipient of compliments for the admirable way in which I discharged my duty, I was now promoted to the office of Assistant Adjutant-General, with the rank of Colonel; and my new position enabled me not only to become possessed of the originals of every document, plan of proposed campaign, &c., but also specimens of the Fenian army commissions and uniforms of the time, which of course I conveyed to the officials of the Canadian Government.

Successful as I was in evading detection through all this work, those assisting me in my Secret Service capacity were not always destined to share in my good luck. This was particularly the case on one occasion. I was at the time shipping arms at Malone, N.Y., and attended, on behalf of the Canadian Government, by one of the staff of men placed at my disposal for the purposes of immediate communication and the transit of any documents requiring secrecy and despatch, as well as for personal protection, should such prove necessary. This man, John C. Rose, was one of the most faithful and trusted servants of the Canadian administration, and for months he followed me along the whole border. Though stopping at the same hotels, and in constant communication with me, no suspicion was aroused, until his identity was disclosed by a visitor from the seat of Government at Ottawa to G. J. Mannix, the head-centre of that Gibraltar of Fenianism, Malone. Men were immediately set to watch him without my knowledge, and the fact of his being found always in my wake on my visits to and return from several towns led to the belief that he was spying upon my actions. A few nights after this belief had been formed, poor Rose, on his return from sending a despatch from the post-office, was waylaid, robbed, and brutally beaten, and subsequently brought back to the hotel in as sorry a plight as I ever saw. I was immediately advised by my Fenian friends as to the dangerous character of this mutual enemy of ours, as he was termed; and though shocked and embittered by the treatment accorded to the poor devoted fellow, I had, for politic reasons, to applaud their cowardly assault, and to denounce my brave friend, who was bearing all his sufferings in silence and with a splendid spirit. For months poor Rose was quite prostrated, and through this act of my brother Fenians, I was deprived of the services and co-operation of as faithful and capable an ally as ever was given me.

In the winter of 1869, the Fenian Senate announced the completion of the arrangements for the invasion; and in the month of December the Ninth Annual Convention was called in New York. In connection with this convention, I was called upon to perform a little act which served to more closely knit the bonds of friendship between O’Neill and myself, and, if possible, to obtain for me an even larger share of his confidence than I had hitherto enjoyed. O’Neill, as was customary in Irish revolutionary circles, had, in his capacity of leader, been making free with the funds of the organisation. In a word, he had been spending for personal purposes monies received from the circles or camps. Professor Brophy, the Treasurer, one of the few honest deluded Irish patriots of the time, refused to cook the accounts in order to cover the President’s delinquencies. The books had to be submitted to the Convention, and O’Neill was in a frightful difficulty. In his embarrassment he came to me, and, to my surprise, made a clean breast of the whole matter. The opportunity was too good a one to be lost. I advanced the money, and took his note of hand, thus saving his reputation before the Convention.

Need I say that money was never repaid me. Surely not! The only memento which I have of my dollars is O’Neill’s note of hand, which, as a curiosity, I have preserved to this date. It is certainly an interesting document, so I give it here.

“NEW YORK, _April 19, 1870_.

“$364, 41/100.

“Received from Colonel H. le Caron, three hundred and sixty-four
dollars and 41/100, borrowed money, to be returned whenever
demanded.

“JOHN O’NEILL.
“_Pres. F.B._”