The Dock and the Scaffold | Page 7

midst became known to the
majority of its inhabitants. Swiftly the tidings flew throughout the big
city, till the whisper in which the rumour was first breathed swelled
into a roar of astonishment and rage. Leaving their houses and leaving
their work, the people rushed into the streets, and trooped towards the
newspaper offices for information. The rescue of Colonel Kelly and
death of Sergeant Brett were described in thousands of conflicting
narratives, until the facts almost disappeared beneath the mass of
inventions and exaggerations, the creations of excitement and panic,
with which they were overloaded. Meanwhile, the police, maddened by
resentment and agitation, struck out wildly and blindly at the Irish.
They might not be able to recapture the escaped Fenian leaders, but
they could load the gaols with their countrymen and co-religionists;

they might not be able to apprehend the liberators of Colonel Kelly and
Captain Deasey, but they could glut their fury on members of the same
nationality; and this they did most effectually. The whole night long the
raid upon the Irish quarter in Manchester was continued; houses were
broken into, and their occupants dragged off to prison, and flung into
cells, chained as though they were raging beasts. Mere Irish were set
upon in the streets, in the shops, in their homes, and hurried off to
prison as if the very existence of the empire depended on their being
subjected to every kind of brutal violence and indignity. The yell for
vengeance filled the air; the cry for Irish blood arose upon the night-air
like a demoniacal chorus; and before morning broke their fury was to
some extent appeased by the knowledge that sixty of the proscribed
race--sixty of the hated Irish--were lying chained within the prison cells
of Manchester.
Fifteen minutes was the time occupied in setting Kelly free--only
fifteen minutes--but during that short space of time an act was
accomplished which shook the whole British Empire to its foundation.
From the conspiracy to which this daring deed was traceable the
English people had already received many startling surprises. The
liberation of James Stephens and the short-lived insurrection that filled
the snow-capped hills with hardy fugitives, six months before, had both
occasioned deep excitement in England; but nothing that Fenianism
had yet accomplished acted in the same bewildering manner on the
English mind. In the heart of one of their largest cities, in the broad
daylight, openly and undisguisedly, a band of Irishmen had appeared in
arms against the Queen's authority, and set the power and resources of
the law at defiance. They had rescued a co-conspirator from the grasp
of the government, and slain an officer of the law in the pursuit of their
object. Within a few minutes' walk of barracks and military depôts,--in
sight of the royal ensign that waved over hundreds of her Majesty's
defenders, a prison van had been stopped and broken open, and its
defenders shot at and put to flight. Never had the English people heard
of so audacious a proceeding--never did they feel more insulted. From
every corner of the land the cry swelled, up for vengeance fierce and
prompt. Victims there should be; blood--Irish blood--the people would
have; nor were they willing to wait long for it. It might be that, falling

in hot haste, the sword of Justice might strike the innocent, and not the
guilty; it might be that, in the thirst for vengeance, the restraints of
humanity would be forgotten; but the English nature, now thoroughly
aroused, cared little for such considerations. It was Irishmen who had
defied and trampled on their power; the whole Irish people approved of
the act; and it mattered little who the objects of their fury might be,
provided they belonged to the detested race. The prisoners, huddled
together in the Manchester prisons, with chains round their limbs,
might not be the liberators of Colonel Kelly--the slayers of Brett might
not be amongst them; but they were Irishmen, at any rate, and so they
would answer the purpose. Short shrift was the cry. The ordinary forms
of law, the maxims of the Constitution, the rules of judicial procedure,
the proprieties of social order and civilization, might be outraged and
discarded, but speedy vengeance should, at all hazards, be obtained: the
hangman could not wait for his fee, nor the people for their carnival of
blood; and so it was settled that, instead of being tried at the ordinary
Commission, in December, a Special Commission should be issued on
the spot for the trial of the accused.
On Thursday, the 25th of October, the prisoners were brought up for
committal, before Mr. Fowler, R.M., and a bench of brother magistrates.
Some of the Irishmen arrested in the first instance had been
discharged--not that no one could be found to swear