"the surest way to prevent seditions is to take away the matter of them."—lord bacon.
through the whole of 1880 parnell was determinedly organizing the land league throughout ireland, and during the winter, doubtless encouraged by the enormous distress that prevailed over the whole country, the force and power of the league grew with a rapidity that surpassed even the expectations of parnell and his party. all through the vacation parnell and his followers held meetings in carefully calculated areas of ireland, and in his speeches parnell explained the meaning and wide-reaching scope of the league's agitation, i.e. that tenant farmers were to trust in their own combination alone and "should give no faith to the promises of the english ministers."
during the early session that year parnell had introduced a bill called "suspension of ejectments bill," and this first pressed upon the house the necessity of dealing with the irish landlord troubles. parnell's party urged this bill with so united a front that mr. gladstone was obliged to consider the main substance of it, and he agreed to insert a clause in the "relief of distress bill" which would deal with impending evictions of irish tenants. but the speaker of the house held that the interpolation of such a clause would not be "in order," and the chief secretary for ireland (mr. forster) then, by mr. gladstone's direction, brought in his "disturbances bill," {79} which was to all practical purposes parnell's bill under another name.
in the course of the debate on this bill mr. gladstone himself said that "in the circumstances of distress prevalent in ireland (at that time) a sentence of eviction is the equivalent of a sentence of death." these absolutely true words of gladstone's were used by parnell very many times during his land league tours both in speeches and privately, and many times he added—as so often he did to me at home—bitter comment upon the apathy of the english government, upon the curious insensibility of the english law-makers, who knew these things to be true in ireland and yet were content to go on in their policy of drift, unless forced into action by those who saw the appalling reality of the distress among the irish poor that was so comfortably deplored in london.
in this connexion parnell used to say that the fundamental failure in the english government of ireland was: first, the complete inability of the ministers in power to realize anything that was not before their eyes; and, secondly, their cast-iron conviction that ireland was the one country of the world that was to be understood and governed by those to whom she was little but a name.
in all this time of trouble and eviction parnell went backwards and forwards between england (eltham) and ireland as occasion required, and so successful were his efforts in spreading the agitation and linking up the league that the government became uneasy as to the outcome of this new menace to landlordism. finally parnell and fourteen of his followers were put on trial, charged with "conspiracy to impoverish landlords." parnell, of course, went over to ireland for these "state trials," but he considered the whole thing such a farce, in that it was {80} an impotent effort of the government to intimidate him, that he could not take it seriously in any way. no jury (in ireland) would agree to convict him he was well aware, and he attended the trials chiefly, he said, for the "look of the thing," and to give the support of his presence to his colleagues. incidentally he told me on one occasion that he had considerably hurried the jury when he was very anxious to catch a train in time for the night mail to england (eltham) by "willing" them to agree (to disagree) without the long discussion of local politics with which all self-respecting irish jurors beguile the weary ways of law. he observed that here, in the question of how far an unconscious agent can be "willed" into a desired action, he had discovered another and most entrancing study for us when we had more time to go into it thoroughly.
talking of the land league's procedure against the interests of the irish landlords, i may, i think, here pertinently remind those who have, among so many other accusations, brought against parnell the charge of self-seeking in regard to money matters, that parnell himself was an irish landlord and of very considerable estates, and that this land campaign (really, of course, directed against eviction), meant, to all practical purposes, the loss of his rents, and that not only for a time, as in other cases, but, with the very generous interpretation put upon his wishes by the "chief's" tenants, for all time—or rather for all his lifetime. captain o'shea also had certain estates in ireland, and naturally, not being in sympathy with parnell's policy, but being at heart a thorough whig and a strong advocate for mr. shaw, the ex-leader of the irish party, he was furious at the league's anti-landlord work, and refused to have any hand in it. he considered {81} that hapless as was the plight of those who had to pay in rent the money they did not possess, that of the landlord whose rent was his all was but little to be preferred.
during this period the stories of the evictions brought home to me by parnell himself made my heart sick, and often he sat far into the night at eltham speaking in that low, broken monotone, that with him always betokened intense feeling strongly held in check, of the terrible cruelty of some of the things done in the name of justice in unhappy ireland. how old people, and sometimes those sick beyond recovery, women with the children they had borne but a few hours before, little children naked as they had come into the world, all thrust out from the little squalid cabins which were all they had for home, thrust out on the roadside to perish, or to live as they could. i in my english ignorance used to say: "why did they not go into the workhouse or to neighbours?" and parnell would look wonderingly at me as he told me that for the most part such places were few and far between in ireland, and "neighbours," good as they were to each other, were in the same trouble. there were instances where a wife would beg, and with none effect, that the bailiffs and police should wait but the little half-hour that her dying husband drew his last breath; and where a husband carried his wife from her bed to the "shelter" of the rainswept moor that their child might be born out of the sight of the soldiers deputed to guard the officials who had been sent to pull their home about their ears. and, remembering these and so many other tales of some of the 50,000 evictions that he afterwards calculated had taken place in ireland, i have never wondered at the implacable hatred of england that can never really die out of the irish heart.
{82}
on december 4th, 1880, he wrote to me from dublin:
i was exceedingly pleased to receive your letters; to say the truth, i have been quite homesick since leaving eltham, and news from you seems like news from home.
the court refused our application to-day for a postponement of the trial (of the land league), but this we expected, and it does not much signify, as it turns out that we need not necessarily attend the trial unless absolutely directed to do so by the court.
you will also be pleased to hear that the special jury panel, of which we obtained a copy last night, is of such a character as in the opinion of competent judges to give us every chance of a disagreement by the jury in their verdict, but we cannot, of course, form an absolute conclusion until the jury has been sworn, when we shall be able to tell pretty certainly one way or the other.
since writing captain o'shea it does not look as if i could get further away from ireland than london, as paris is inconvenient from its distance.
i have no letter from him yet in reply to mine.
and again on the 9th:—
i returned from waterford last night, and shall probably get through all necessary work here by saturday evening so as to enable me to start for london on sunday morning. i do not know how long i can remain in london, but shall run down and see you on monday, and perhaps my plans will be more fixed by that time.
i have decided not to attend any more meetings until after the opening of parliament, as everything now can go on without me.
kindly inform captain o'shea that the meeting of irish members will be in dublin on the 4th january.
on december 12th of that year mr. parnell wrote from avondale to say that the jury panel was to be struck on the following monday for the prosecution of the land league.
{83}
... and it will be necessary for me to see it before giving final directions.
i have consequently postponed my departure till monday evening.
i have come here to arrange my papers and find a number which i should not like to destroy, and which i should not like the government to get hold of in the event of their searching my house in the troublous times which appear before us. may i leave them at eltham?
and the next day:—
i have just received a note from healy, who is to be tried at cork on thursday, saying that his counsel thinks it of the utmost importance i should be present.
this is very hard lines on me, as i had looked forward to a little rest in london before my own trial commences; but i do not see how it can be helped, as healy's is the first of the state trials, and it is of the utmost importance to secure an acquittal and not merely a disagreement. i shall leave cork on thursday night and arrive in london friday evening, and shall call to see you at eltham saturday. your letters, one directed here and the others to morrison's, reached me in due course, and i hope to hear from you again very soon.
parnell, now, always made my house his headquarters in england, and on his return from ireland after the trials came down at once as soon as he had ascertained that i was alone.
there were times when he wished to keep quiet and let no one know where he was; and, as it became known to the government that mr. parnell frequented my house a good deal, it was somewhat difficult to avoid the detectives who were employed to watch his comings and goings.
on one occasion in 1880 he was informed privately that his arrest for "sedition" was being urged upon the government, and that it would be well to go abroad for a short time. i think his enigmatic reply, "i will {84} disappear for a few weeks," must have puzzled his informant. he came down to me at night, and when i answered his signal at my sitting-room window, and let him in, he told me with a deprecating smile that i must hide him for a few weeks. as i sat watching him eat the supper i always had ready for him at 3 a.m. i felt rather hopeless, as he was a big man, and i did not see how he could be hidden from the servants. he said the latter must not know he was there, as they would talk to the tradespeople, and they to the government men. he did not wish to be arrested until later on, when it might be more useful than not.
then he awaited suggestions, and at length we decided that a little room opening out of my own must be utilized for him, as i always kept it locked and never allowed a servant into it—except very occasionally to "turn it out." it was a little boudoir dressing-room, and had a sofa in it.
mr. parnell was then still feeling ill and run down, and enjoyed his fortnight's absolute rest in this room. none of the servants knew that he was there, and i took all his food up at night, cooking little dainty dishes for him at the open fire, much to his pleasure and amusement. he spent the time very happily, resting, writing "seditious" speeches for future use, and reading "alice in wonderland." this book was a favourite of his, and i gave it to him with the solemnity that befitted his grave reading of it. i do not think he ever thought it in the least amusing, but he would read it earnestly from cover to cover, and, without a smile, remark that it was a "curious book."
in all this fortnight no one had the least idea that he was in the house, and the only comment i ever heard upon {85} my prisoner's diet was that "the mistress ate much more when she had her meals served in her sitting-room."
at the end of this fortnight he had arranged to go to paris on some land league business, and wanted me to go to see him off. he had brought certain political correspondence from avondale and london and placed it in my charge, and this i kept in a box in this little private room, where i hid them. but there were two papers that he did not wish left even here, and, fearing arrest, could not carry on him. for these he had a wide, hollow gold bracelet made in paris, and after inserting the papers he screwed the bracelet safely on my arm; there it remained for three years, and was then unscrewed by him and the contents destroyed.
the winter of 1880 was terribly cold, and as i let him out of the house in the bitterly cold morning i wished he did not consider it necessary to go to paris by such a roundabout route as he had chosen.
however, we drove off to lewisham that morning, quite unobserved; from thence we went by train to new cross, and drove by cab to london bridge. at vauxhall we started for lowestoft; for mr. parnell had arranged to go to paris via harwich. i was anxious about him, for the cold was intense, and the deep snow over the large dreary waste of salt marshes seemed reflected in his pallor. our train slowly passed through the dreary tract of country, feet deep in its white covering, and we could see no sign of life but an occasional seagull vainly seeking for food, and sending a weird call through the lonely silences.
i wrapped parnell up in his rugs as he tried to sleep. i loathed the great white expanse that made him look so ill, and i wished i had him at home again, where i could {86} better fight the great fear that so often beset my heart: that i could not long keep off the death that hovered near him. a lady and gentleman in the carriage remarked to me—thinking he slept—that my husband looked terribly ill, could they do anything? and i noticed the little smile of content that flitted over his face as he heard me briskly reply that, no, he had been ill, but was so much better and stronger that i was not at all uneasy. it was the cold glare of the snow that made him look so delicate, but he was really quite strong. he hated to be thought ill, and did not see the doubt in their faces at my reply.
arrived at lowestoft i insisted upon his resting and having a good meal, after which he felt so cheered up that he decided to return to london with me, and go to paris by the usual route the next day!
we had a new irish cook at this time, from county tipperary, and her joy exceeded all bounds when she learnt that the irish leader was really in the house and she was to cook for him. i had to ask mr. parnell to see her for a moment, as she was too excited to settle to her cooking. directly she got into the room ellen fell down on her knees and kissed his hands, much to his horror, for, although used to such homage in ireland, he disliked it extremely, and he told me with some reproach that he had expected to be quite free from that sort of thing in my house.
at christmas he tipped my servants generously, and indeed ellen and the parlourmaid mary vied with each other in their attention to his comfort. the enthusiasm of the cook was so great that she bought an enormous gold locket, and, having inserted a portrait of mr. parnell in it, wore it constantly. mary, not to be outdone, thereupon bought a locket of identically the same design, and {87} wore it with an air of defiance, when bringing in tea, on new year's day.
this was against all regulations, and i said laughingly to mr. parnell that he was introducing lawlessness into my household. he answered, "leave it to me," and when mary appeared again he said gently to her, "mary, that is a magnificent locket, and i see you are kind enough to wear my portrait in it. mrs. o'shea tells me that ellen has bought one also, but i just want you and ellen not to wear them outside like that, for mrs. o'shea lets me come down here for a rest, and if people know i'm here i shall be worried to death with politics and people calling." so mary promised faithfully, and ellen came running in to promise too, and to threaten vengeance on "the others" if absolute silence was not observed. the lockets went "inside," and only a tiny bit of chain was allowed to show at the throat in evidence of homage continued, though hidden.
meanwhile, events were fusing in ireland. parnell had gone over there immediately after christmas. from dublin he wrote:—
dublin,
monday evening, december 27, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i have been exceedingly anxious all day at not receiving your promised telegram to hear how you got home; trust i may have something to-morrow morning that it is all right.[1]—yours in haste, c. s. p.
morrison's hotel,
tuesday, december 28, 1880.
my dearest wife,—you will be delighted to learn that everything is proceeding first-rate so far.
the jury sworn to-day cannot possibly convict us, and there is a very fair chance of an acquittal. i do not think {88} the government will attempt to prevent me from being present at the opening of parliament, though i am not quite sure yet whether it will be prudent for me to leave until wednesday evening. so far as i can see there is no necessity for the presence of any of the traversers; one of them, gordon, who has broken his leg, has not appeared at all, and his absence has not been even mentioned or noticed.
i was immensely relieved by your letter this morning. you must take great care of yourself for my sake and your and my future.—yours always, c. s. p.
i have wired and written to madrid[2] explaining situation lest my observations at yesterday's meeting as to doubt of my being in parliament, intended to throw dust in eyes of government, might be literally interpreted.
dublin,
thursday, december 30, 1880.
my dearest love,—your letters have reached me quite safely, and you cannot tell how much pleasure they give me. i fear i was very foolish to allow you to come with me the day of my departure; i felt sure it would do much harm, and until your first letter arrived i was in a continual panic lest some dreadful disaster had happened.
that my poor love should have suffered so much makes my heart very sore, and she must take great care of herself for the sake of our future....
i enclose letter from w.s.[3]—yours always affectionately, c. s. p.
will send you photo to-morrow.
dublin,
january 3, 1881.
my dearest wifie,—was most delighted on return this morning from avondale to find your three letters and telegrams. i think it would make you happy and more contented during my absence if you knew how i watched for your letters, and how often i read and re-read them.
i felt very much tempted to run over and spend the new year and sunday with you, but feared you might not be alone.
{89}
it pains me very much that my own love was unhappy about that stupid thing in the freeman on thursday. an old and ugly woman with whom i was very slightly acquainted, but who wanted to put herself en evidence, perched herself just behind me, and got a gentleman sitting next to her to hand me down a slip of paper, on which was written some message of congratulation. i only rewarded her with a stare, did not even bow or smile, and certainly sent no communication of any kind in reply. that was all. i will ask my own dearest to believe in me while i am away, and never again to feel unhappiness from want of confidence.
i have made all arrangements to leave by mail on wednesday morning, and shall be with my own wifie on wednesday evening about eight.—yours, c. s. p.
mr. parnell held the party meeting in dublin on january 4th, and returned to me on january 5th, in time for the meeting of the house (on 6th january, 1881), not having thought it necessary to remain in ireland till the termination of the trials—a circumstance which, curiously enough, was not publicly remarked upon. we spent some days together at eltham, and i took mr. parnell to see my aunt, who was much charmed with him. his quiet manners and soft, clear voice pleased her greatly, as also did his personal appearance. she took his arm, and paced up and down the tapestry room with him, while she told him how she was introduced to o'connell in the old days, when her husband, benjamin wood, was m.p. for southwark. she had met o'connell at the house, and heard what was said to have been one of his greatest speeches. she said, "i much prefer your voice, mr. parnell, for daniel o'connell's enunciation was startling to me."
though such a great age, my aunt had still a very pretty round arm, and as she always wore the net sleeves of her youth, fastened with old-fashioned bracelets, mr. parnell noticed this, and commented upon the fact to me. {90} the old lady was much gratified when i told her of this. she enlisted his sympathy by telling him that she had to pay ￡500 a year in order to keep her beautiful old grounds intact, as the crown desired to sell the place for building lots, and she was determined to die in the old house she had lived in for over fifty years.
the state trial ended on january 25th, 1881, the foreman of the jury stating: "we are unanimous that we cannot agree," as mr. parnell had assured me they would. he was in court and loudly cheered as he hastened off to catch the boat to england.
