The Wearing of the Green written by A.M. Sullivan

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"The Irish were denied the right of bringing actions in any of
the English courts in Ireland for trespasses to their lands, or
for assaults or batteries to their persons. Accordingly, it was
answer enough to the action in such a case to say that the
plaintiff was an Irishman, unless he could produce a special
charter giving him the rights of an Englishman. If he sought
damage against an Englishman for turning him out of his land,
for the seduction of his daughter Nora, or for the beating of
his wife Devorgil, or for the driving off of his cattle, it was
a good defence to say he was a mere Irishman. And if an
Englishman was indicted for manslaughter, if the man slain was
an Irishman, he pleaded that the deceased was of the Irish
nation, and that it was no felony to kill an Irishman. For this,
however, there was a fine of five marks payable to the king; but
mostly they killed us for nothing. If it happened that the man
killed was a servant of an Englishman, he added to the plea of
the deceased being an Irishman, that if the master should ever
demand damages, he would be ready to satisfy him."

That was the egg of English law in Ireland. That was the seed--that
was the plant--do you wonder if the tree is not now esteemed and
loved? If you poison a stream at its source, will you marvel if down
through all its courses the deadly element is present? Now trace from
this, its birth, English law in Ireland--trace down to this hour--and
examine when or where it ever set itself to a reconciliation with the
Irish people. Observe the plain relevancy of this to my case. I, and
men like me, are held accountable for bringing law into hatred and
contempt in Ireland: and in presenting this charge against me the
solicitor-general appealed to history. I retort the charge on my
accusers; and I will trace down to our own day the relations of
hostility which English law itself established between itself and the
people of Ireland. Gentlemen, for four hundred years--down to
1607--the Irish people had no existence in the eye of the law; or
rather much worse, were viewed by it as "the King's Irish enemie."
But even within the Pale, how did it recommend itself to popular
reverence and affection? Ah, gentlemen, I will show that in those
days, just as there have been in our own, there were executions and
scaffold-scenes which evoked popular horror and resentment--though
they were all "according to law," and not be questioned unless by
"seditionists." The scaffold streamed with the blood of those whom
the people loved and revered--how could they love and revere the
scaffold? Yet, 'twas all "according to law." The sanctuary was
profaned and rifled; the priest was slain or banished--'twas all
"according to law," no doubt, and to hold law in "disesteem" is
"sedition." Men were convicted and executed "according to law;" yet
the people demonstrated sympathy for them, and resentment against
their executioners--most perversely, as a solicitor-general,
doubtless, would say. And, indeed, the State Papers contain accounts
of those demonstrations written by crown officials which sound very
like the solicitor-general's speech to-day. Take, for instance, the
execution--"according to law"--of the "Popish bishop" O'Hurley. Here
is the letter of a state functionary on the subject:--

"I could not before now so impart to her Majesty as to know her
mind touching the same for your lordship's direction. Wherefore,
she having at length resolved, I have accordingly, by her
commandment, to signify her Majesty's pleasure unto you touching
Hurley, which is this:--That the man being so notorious and ill
a subject, as appeareth by all the circumstances of his cause he
is, you proceed, if it may be, to his execution by ordinary
trial of him for it. How be it, in case you shall find the
effect of his course DOUBTFUL by reason of the affection of such
as shall be on his jury, and by reason of the supposal conceived
by the lawyers of that country, that he can hardly be found
guilty for his treason committed in foreign parts against her
Majesty. Then her pleasure is you take A SHORTER WAY WITH HIM,
by martial law. So, as you may see, it is referred to your
discretion, whether of those two ways your lordship will take
with him, and the man being so resolute to reveal no more
matter, it is thought best to have no FURTHER TORTURES used
against him, but that you proceed FORTHWITH TO HIS EXECUTION in
manner aforesaid. As for her Majesty's good acceptation of your
careful travail in this matter of Hurley, you need nothing to
doubt, and for your better assurance thereof she has commanded
me to let your lordship understand that, as well as in all
others the like, as in the case of Hurley, she cannot but
greatly allow and commend YOUR DOINGS."

Well, they put his feet into tin boots filled with oil, and then
placed him standing in the fire. Eventually they cut off his head,
tore out his bowels, and cut the limbs from his body. Gentlemen,
'twas all "according to law;" and to demonstrate sympathy for him and
"disesteem" of that law was "sedition." But do you wonder greatly
that law of that complexion failed to secure popular sympathy and
respect? One more illustration, gentlemen, taken from a period
somewhat later on. It is the execution--"according to law,"
gentlemen; entirely "according to law"--of another Popish bishop
named O'Devany. The account is that of a crown official of the
time--some most worthy predecessor of the solicitor-general. I read
it from the recently published work of the Rev. C.P. Meehaun. "On the
28th of January, the bishop and priest, being arraigned at the King's
Bench, were each condemned of treason, and adjudged to be executed
the Saturday following; which day being come, a priest, or two of the
Pope's brood, with holy water and other holy stuffs"--(no sneer was
that at all, gentlemen; no sneer at Catholic practices, for a crown
official never sneers at Catholic practices)--"were sent to sanctify
the gallows whereon they were to die. About two o'clock, p.m., the
traitors were delivered to the sheriffs of Dublin, who placed them in
a small car, which was followed by a great multitude. As the car
progressed the spectators knelt down; but the bishop sitting still,
like a block, would not vouchsafe them a word, or turn his head
aside. The multitude, however, following the car, made such a dole
and lamentation after him, as the heavens themselves resounded the
echoes of their outcries." (Actually a seditious funeral
procession--made up of the ancestors of those thirty-thousand men,
women, and children, who, according to the solicitor-general,
glorified the cause of murder on the 8th of last December.) "Being
come to the gallows, whither they were followed by troops of the
citizens, men and women of all classes, most of the best being
present, the latter kept up such a shrieking, such a howling, and
such a hallooing, as if St. Patrick himself had been gone to the
gallows, could not have made greater signs of grief; but when they
saw him turned from off the gallows, they raised the _whobub_ with
such a maine cry, as if the rebels had come to rifle the city. Being
ready to mount the ladder, when he was pressed by some of the
bystanders to speak, he repeated frequently _Sine me quaeso_. The
executioner had no sooner taken off the bishop's head, but the
townsmen of Dublin began to flock about him, some taking up the head
with pitying aspect, accompanied with sobs and sighs; some kissed it
with as religious an appetite as ever they kissed the Pax; some cut
away all the hair from the head, which they preserved for a relic;
some others were practisers to steal the head away, but the
executioner gave notice to the sheriffs. Now, when he began to
quarter the body, the women thronged about him, and happy was she
that could get but her handkerchief dipped in the blood of the
traitor; and the body being once dissevered in four quarters, they
neither left, finger nor toe, but they cut them off and carried them
away; and some others that could get no holy monuments that
appertained to his person, with their knives they shaved off chips
from the hallowed gallows; neither could they omit the halter
wherewith he was hanged, but it was rescued for holy uses. The same
night after the execution, a great crowd flocked about the gallows,
and there spent the fore part of the night in heathenish howling, and
performing many Popish ceremonies; and after midnight, being then
Candlemas day, in the morning having their priests present in
readiness, they had Mass after Mass till, daylight being come, they
departed to their own houses." There was "sympathy with sedition" for
you, gentlemen. No wonder the crown official who tells the
story--same worthy predecessor of Mr. Harrison--should be horrified
at such a demonstration. I will sadden you with no further
illustrations of English law, but I think it will be admitted that
after centuries of such law, one need not wonder if the people hold
it in "hatred and contempt." With the opening of the seventeenth
century, however, came a golden and glorious opportunity for ending
that melancholy--that terrible state of things. In the reign of James
I., English law, for the first time, extended to every corner of this
kingdom. The Irish came into the new order of things frankly and in
good faith; and if wise counsels prevailed then amongst our rulers,
oh, what a blessed ending there might have been to the bloody feud of
centuries. The Irish submitted to the Gaelic King, to whom had come
in the English crown. In their eyes he was of a friendly, nay of a
kindred race. He was of a line of Gaelic kings that had often
befriended Ireland. Submitting to him was not yielding to the brutal
Tudor. Yes, that was the hour, the blessed opportunity for laying the
foundation of a real union between the three kingdoms; a union of
equal national rights under the one crown. This was what the Irish
expected; and in this sense they in that hour accepted the new
dynasty. And it is remarkable that from that day to this, though
England has seen bloody revolutions and violent changes of rulers,
Ireland has ever held faithfully--too faithfully--to the sovereignty
thus adopted. But how were they received? How were their expectations
met? By persecution, proscription, and wholesale plunder, even by
that miserable Stuart. His son came to the throne. Disaffection broke
out in England and Scotland. Scottish Protestant Fenians, called
"Covenanters," took the field against him, because of the attempt to
establish Episcopalian Protestantism as a state church. By armed
rebellion against their lawful king, I regret to say it, they won
rights which now most largely tend to make Scotland contented and
loyal. I say it is to be regretted that those rights were thus won;
for I say that even at best it is a good largely mixed with evil
where rights are won by resorts of violence or revolution. His
concessions to the Calvanist Fenians in Scotland did not save
Charles. The English Fenians, under their Head Centre Cromwell, drove
him from the throne and murdered him on a scaffold in London. How did
the Irish meanwhile act? They stood true to their allegiance. They
took the field for the King. What was the result? They were given
over to slaughter and plunder by the brutal soldiery of the English
Fenians. Their nobles and gentry were beggared and proscribed; their
children were sold as white slaves to West Indian planters; and their
gallant struggles for the king, their sympathy for the royalist
cause, was actually denounced by the English Fenians as "sedition,"
"rebellion," "lawlessness," "sympathy with crime." Ah, gentlemen, the
evils thus planted in our midst will survive, and work their
influence; yet some men wonder that English law is held in
"disesteem" in Ireland. Time went on, gentlemen; time went on.
Another James sat on the throne; and again English Protestant
Fenianism conspired for the overthrow of their sovereign. They
invited "foreign emissaries" to come over from Holland and Sweden, to
begin the revolution for them. They drove their legitimate king from
the throne--never more to return. How did the Irish act in that hour?
Alas! Ever too loyal--ever only too ready to stand by the throne and
laws if only treated with justice or kindliness--they took the field
for the king, not against him. He landed on our shores; and had the
English Fenians rested content with rebelling themselves, and allowed
us to remain loyal as we desired to be, we might now be a
neighbouring but friendly and independent kingdom under the ancient
Stuart line. King James came here and opened his Irish parliament in
person. Oh, who will say in that brief hour at least the Irish nation
was not reconciled to the throne and laws? King, parliament, and
people, were blended in one element of enthusiasm, joy, and hope, the
first time for ages Ireland had known such a joy. Yes--

We, too, had our day--it was brief, it is ended--
When a King dwelt among us--no strange King--but OURS.
When the shout of a people delivered ascended,
And shook the green banner that hung on yon towers,
We saw it like leaves in the summer-time shiver;
We read the gold legend that blazoned it o'er--
"To-day--now or never; to-day and for ever"--
Oh, God! have we seen it to see it no more!

(Applause in court). Once more the Irish people bled and sacrificed
for their loyalty to the throne and laws. Once more confiscation
devastated the land, and the blood of the loyal and true was poured
like rain. The English Fenians and the foreign emissaries triumphed,
aided by the brave Protestant rebels of Ulster. King William came to
the throne--a prince whose character is greatly misunderstood in
Ireland: a brave, courageous soldier, and a tolerant man, could he
have had his way. The Irish who had fought and lost, submitted on
terms, and had law even now been just or tolerant, it was open to the
revolutionary _regime_ to have made the Irish good subjects. But what
took place? The penal code came, in all its horror to fill the Irish
heart with hatred and resistance. I will read for you what a
Protestant historian--a man of learning and ability--who is now
listening to me in this court--has written of that code. I quote
"Godkin's History," published by Cassell of London:--

"The eighteenth century," says Mr. Godkin, "was the era of
persecution, in which the law did the work of the sword more
effectually and more safely. Then was established a code framed
with almost diabolical ingenuity to extinguish natural
affection--to foster perfidy and hypocrisy--to petrify
conscience--to perpetuate brutal ignorance--to facilitate the
work of tyranny--by rendering the vices of slavery inherent and
natural in the Irish character, and to make Protestantism almost
irredeemably odious as the monstrous incarnation of all moral
perversions."

Gentlemen, in that fell spirit English law addressed itself to a
dreadful purpose here in Ireland; and, mark you, that code prevailed
down to our own time; down to this very generation. "Law" called on
the son to sell his father; called on the flock to betray the pastor.
"Law" forbade us to educate--forbid us to worship God in the faith of
our fathers. "Law" made us outcasts--scourged us, trampled us,
plundered us--do you marvel that, amongst the Irish people, law has
been held in "disesteem?" Do you think this feeling arises from
"sympathy with assassination or murder?" Yet, if we had been let
alone, I doubt not that time would have fused the conquerors and the
conquered, here in Ireland, as elsewhere. Even while the millions of
the people were kept outside the constitution, the spirit of
nationality began to appear; and under its blessed influence
toleration touched the heart of the Irish-born Protestant. Yes--thank
God--thank God, for the sake of our poor country, where sectarian
bitterness has wrought such wrong--it was an Irish Protestant
Parliament that struck off the first link of the penal chain. And lo!
once more, for a bright brief day, Irish national sentiment was in
warm sympathy and heartfelt accord with the laws. "Eighty-two" came.
Irish Protestant patriotism, backed by the hearty sympathy of the
Catholic millions, raised up Ireland to a proud and glorious
position; lifted our country from the ground, where she lay prostrate
under the sword of England--but what do I say? This is "sedition." It
has this week been decreed sedition to picture Ireland thus.[C] Well,
then, they rescued her from what I will call the loving embrace of
her dear sister Britannia, and enthroned her in her rightful place, a
queen among the nations. Had the brightness of that era been
prolonged--picture it, think of it--what a country would ours be now?
Think of it! And contrast what we are with what we might be! Compare
a population filled with burning memories--disaffected, sullen,
hostile, vengeful--with a people loyal, devoted, happy, contented;
and England, too, all the happier, the more secure, the more great
and free. But sad is the story. Our independent national legislature
was torn from us by means, the iniquity of which, even among English
writers, is now proclaimed and execrated. By fraud and by force that
outrage on law, on right, and justice, was consummated. In speaking
thus I speak "sedition." No one can write the facts of Irish history,
without committing sedition. Yet every writer and speaker now will
tell you that the overthrow of our national constitution, sixty-seven
years ago, was an iniquitous and revolting scheme. But do you, then,
marvel that the laws imposed on us by the power that perpetrated that
deed are not revered, loved, and respected? Do you believe that that
want of respect arises from the "seditions" of men like my
fellow-traversers and myself? Is it wonderful to see estrangement
between a people and laws imposed on them by the over-ruling
influence of another nation? Look at the lessons--unhappy
lessons--taught our people by that London legislature where their own
will is overborne. Concessions refused and resisted as long as they
durst be withheld; and when granted at all, granted only after
passion has been aroused and the whole nation been embittered. The
Irish people sought Emancipation. Their great leader was dogged at
every step by hostile government proclamations and crown
prosecutions. Coercion act over coercion act was rained upon us; yet
O'Connell triumphed. But how and in what spirit was Emancipation
granted? Ah there never was a speech more pregnant with mischief,
with sedition, with revolutionary teaching--never words tended more
to bring law and government into contempt--than the words of the
English premier when he declared Emancipation must, sorely against
his will, be granted if England would not face a civil war. That was
a bad lesson to teach Irishmen. Worse still was taught them.
O'Connell, the great constitutional leader, a man with whom loyalty
and respect for the laws was a fundamental principle of action, led
the people towards further liberation--the liberation, not of a
creed, but a nation. What did he seek? To bring once more the laws
and the national will into accord; to reconcile the people and the
laws by restoring the constitution of queen, lords, and commons. How
was he met by the government? By the nourish of the sword; by the
drawn sabre and the shotted gun, in the market place and the highway.
"Law" finally grasped him as a conspirator, and a picked jury gave
the crown then, as now, such verdict as was required. The venerable
apostle of constitutional doctrines was consigned to prison, while a
sorrowing--aye, a maddened nation, wept for him outside. Do you
marvel that they held in "disesteem" the law and government that
acted thus? Do you marvel that to-day, in Ireland, as in every
century of all those through which I have traced this state of
things, the people and the law scowl upon each other? Gentlemen, do
not misunderstand the purport of my argument. It is not for the
purpose--it would be censurable--of merely opening the wounds of the
past that I have gone back upon history somewhat farther than the
solicitor-general found it advantageous to go. I have done it to
demonstrate that there is a truer reason than that alleged by the
crown in this case for the state of war--for unhappily that is what
it is--which prevails between the people of Ireland and the laws
under which they now live. And now apply all this to the present
case, and judge you my guilt--judge you the guilt of those whose
crime, indeed, is that they do not love and respect law and
government as they are now administered in Ireland. Gentlemen, the
present prosecution arises directly out of what is known as the
Manchester tragedy. The solicitor-general gave you his version, his
fanciful sketch of that sad affair; but it will be my duty to give
you the true facts, which differ considerably from the crown story.
The solicitor-general began with telling us about "the broad summer's
sun of the 18th September" (laughter). Gentlemen, it seems very clear
that the summer goes far into the year for those who enjoy the sweets
of office; nay, I am sure it is summer "all the year round" with the
solicitor-general while the present ministry remain in. A goodly
golden harvest he and his colleagues are making in this summer of
prosecutions; and they seem very well inclined to get up enough of
them (laughter). Well, gentlemen, I'm not complaining of that, but I
will tell you who complain loudly--the "outs," with whom it is
midwinter, while the solicitor-general and his friends are enjoying
this summer (renewed laughter). Well, gentlemen, some time last
September two prominent leaders of the Fenian movement--alleged to be
so at least--named Kelly and Deasy, were arrested in Manchester. In
Manchester there is a considerable Irish population, and amongst them
it was known those men had sympathisers. They were brought up at the
police court--and now, gentlemen, pray attentively mark this. The
Irish executive that morning telegraphed to the Manchester
authorities a strong warning of an attempted rescue. The Manchester
police had full notice--how did they treat the timely warning sent
from Dublin; a warning which, if heeded, would have averted all this
sad and terrible business which followed upon that day? Gentlemen,
the Manchester police authorities scoffed at the warning. They
derided it as a "Hirish" alarm. What! The idea of low "Hirish" hodmen
or labourers rescuing prisoners from them, the valiant and the brave!
Why, gentlemen, the Seth Bromleys of the "force" in Manchester waxed
hilarious and derisive over the idea. They would not ask even a
truncheon to put to flight even a thousand of those despised
"Hirish;" and so, despite specific warning from Dublin, the van
containing the two Fenian leaders, guarded by eleven police officers,
set out from the police office to the jail. Now, gentlemen, I charge
on the stolid vain gloriousness in the first instance, and the
contemptible pusilanimity in the second instance, of the Manchester
police--the valiant Seth Bromleys--all that followed. On the skirts
of the city the van was attacked by some eighteen Irish youths,
having three revolvers--three revolvers, gentlemen, and no
more--amongst them. The valour of the Manchester eleven vanished at
the sight of those three revolvers--some of them, it seems, loaded
with blank cartridge! The Seth Bromleys took to their heels. They
abandoned the van. Now, gentlemen, do not understand me to call those
policemen cowards. It is hard to blame an unarmed man who runs away
from a pointed revolver, which, whether loaded or unloaded, is a
powerful persuasion to--depart. But I do say that I believe in my
soul that if that had occurred here in Dublin, eleven men of our
metropolitan police whould have taken those three revolvers or
perished in the attempt (applause). Oh, if eleven Irish policemen had
run away like that from a few poor English lads with barely three
revolvers, how the press of England would yell in fierce
denunciation--why, they would trample to scorn the name of
Irishman--(applause in the court, which the officials vainly tried to
silence). [Footnote C: For publishing an illustration in the _Weekly
News_ thus picturing England's policy of coercion, Mr. Sullivan had
been found guilty of seditious libel on the previous trial.]

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