The Life Story of an Old Rebel | Page 7

Glasgow. "JOHN MURPHY, Liverpool."
It will be noticed that of the twelve Irish counties represented above,
six are in the province of Ulster, three in Connaught, and three in
Leinster, so that the Hibernians appear to have had their stronghold in
the Northern province and the adjoining counties in Connaught and
Leinster. This is exactly as one might expect, seeing the necessity for a
defensive organisation against the Orangemen of Ulster. The Order
took deep root in Glasgow and Liverpool on account of the
convenience of access by sea from Ireland to these cities.
I was too young to have known John Murphy, who signed the letter for
the Liverpool Hibernians, but, from what I knew of these afterwards, it
is likely that he was a dock labourer. As I will show, these men, over
and over again, to my own knowledge, gave splendid proofs of their
courage and love of creed and country. Their love of learning, too, has

been equal to that of their fathers in the days when our country was
"The Island of Saints and Scholars." Some of these poor men may not
have had much learning themselves, but they made great and noble
sacrifices that their children should have it. I noted with interest in the
Irish papers recently that the name of the Secretary of the Hibernian
Order at the Bridge of Mayo, County Down, was "Brother Denvir."
Our country sent over to Liverpool, besides sterling Nationalists, as
bitter a colony of Irishmen--I suppose we can scarcely deny the name
to men born in Ireland--as were, perhaps, to be found anywhere in the
world. These were the Orangemen. If there was one place more
obnoxious to them than another it was the club room of the Hibernians
in Crosbie Street. But though in their frequent conflicts with the
"Papishes" they wrecked houses and even killed several Irishmen--for
they frequently used deadly weapons against unarmed Catholics--they
were never able to make a successful attack on McArdle's. One of my
earliest experiences was being on the spot on the occasion of a
contemplated assault on the Hibernian club room on the day of an
Orange anniversary. This was in 1843.
Parallel to Crosbie Street, where the club room was situated, was
Blundell Street, where my uncle, Hughey Roney, lived in a house
immediately behind McArdle's--the back door of the one house facing
the back door of the other. This side of the street, with the whole of
Crosbie Street, has long since been absorbed by the railway company
before mentioned.
I cannot imagine why my mother chose this particular day to take me to
see our relatives, except it was the inveterate longing which her early
surroundings and training had given her to assist at the "batin' of an
Orangeman," or why I should have been the chosen one of the family to
come, unless it was that she thought I was the one most after her own
heart in her warlike propensities. However this may have been, there
we were in the first-floor front room of my Uncle Hughey's. Every
room, from cellar to garret, was crowded with stalwart dock
labourers--at that time these were almost to a man Irish--prepared to
support another contingent of Hibernians who garrisoned McArdle's in

a similar manner. Hearing outside the cry--"he Orangemen!" I looked
out of the window and up the street, and there, sure enough, was a
strong body of them marching down, armed with guns, swords, and
ship carpenters' hatchets. At once the word was passed to the
contingent in Crosbie Street to be prepared to meet the threatened
attack.
Nearer and nearer the Orangemen came. They had got within some
thirty yards of Roneys when, between them and the object of their
attack, out of Simpson street, which at this point crosses Blundell Street
at right angles, there intervened the head of a column of police, under
the Liverpool Chief Constable, an Irishman, Michael James Whitty.
There was a desperate engagement, but, notwithstanding their
murderous weapons, the Orangemen were utterly routed, flying before
the disciplined charge of the police, who freely used their batons on
their retreating opponents.
A few words about Michael James Whitty, who led the charge with
right good will, may not be inappropriate here. Many years afterwards,
when we were both engaged in the profession of journalism, I had the
pleasure of making his acquaintance through my reviewing in the
"Catholic Times" a very able book of his, a "Life of Robert Emmet."
He asked Mr. Thomas Gregson, his private secretary, a friend of mine:
Who had written this review? Upon hearing who it was, he asked Mr.
Gregson to bring us together. When we met, he told me how pleased he
was with my review, and that there was somebody on the "Catholic