The Tailor and the Shipwright

by Robert Westphal

  In the wake of the American War of Independence and the French Revolution, a fervour for full independence from England was at its peak in all parts of the country. The ruling class in Ireland, the Ascendancy, were Protestants. They held many seats in the Irish Parliament. No Catholic could sit in the Irish Parliament and all legislation still had to be passed through London.

  The Tailors’ Guild Hall had also been a meeting place for local members of another group called the Society of United Irishmen. The society’s watchword was ‘rebellion’. Members included Roman Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists and some from the Ascendancy. They openly put forward policies of democratic reforms and Catholic emancipation. After France declared war on Great Britain in 1793, this organisation was forced underground but by 1797 it nevertheless had over 200,000 members.

  The French Legislative Council had said they ‘want the Irish to proclaim independence of their island’ and would help in the laudable enterprise, and in August 1798 they sent soldiers to help the Irish rebels, who were actively clashing against British forces. Eventually the leaders of the rebellion were arrested and executed in raids across the entire country. The rebellion appeared crushed. However, guerrilla activities continued.

  Tommy was aware, through informers, that his name, at his former address at Bridge Street, had been mentioned in a March 1793 letter associated with the rebellion. It stated he had given evidence at a hearing and had ‘taken a test’ to officially join the forty members of the United Irishmen connected with violent proceedings against Messrs Simon Butler, Oliver Bond and James Napper Tandy. Thomas, like many Catholic Irishmen, had attended some of the Society’s gatherings, often giving moral, verbal and financial support.

  The wagon lurched. Tommy quickly grabbed at the cage that enclosed him to avoid being thrown about. Just another pothole.

  His thoughts turned to more recent events, those of the day this nightmare had started.

  It was early February, mid-afternoon, and winter was still firmly entrenched. Thomas had, as usual, put matches to the candles in the shop and again stoked the fire, intent on a long afternoon of sewing. Daylight had almost gone, giving way to the flickering light.

  A well-dressed stranger stood momentarily outside the shop. His thick coat shielded him from the biting winds as he shook off raindrops with a shrug. He pushed open the door and entered. Tommy remembered hearing the tinkle of the small bell above the door.

  After exchanging greetings, the man said, ‘Clinch is my name. I am in urgent need of a new suit. In three days! Can you accommodate such a request?’

  ‘That I can, Mr Clinch,’ said Thomas. ‘Before we take measurements and discuss designs, would you care to choose your fabric from these swatches? If there be one to your liking, we can make a purchase from Mr Lloyd, the woollen draper, just a few doors down. You’ll not find finer than Mr Lloyd’s fabrics.’

  After making a selection, the pair proceeded to the premises of Mr Lloyd, where the expensive dark blue woollen cloth Clinch had chosen was laid out on a table.

  ‘Perfect,’ began Clinch. ‘This banker’s draft will cover the cloth and I will pay for the tailoring on completion of the suit.’ He handed the draft to Thomas. Without glancing at it, Thomas passed it to Lloyd.

  Lloyd, an astute businessman, was not inclined to hand over the fabric until the draft had been cashed and so suggested the pair wait while he quickly went to the local bank.

  Without saying a word, Clinch also left the shop. Thomas tried to follow him but he had disappeared into the afternoon crowd.

  The bank draft was found to be fraudulent and Clinch was soon arrested, gaoled and remanded to Dublin’s Provost Prison.

  When Clinch came to trial, the authorities became aware that Thomas had introduced Clinch to Lloyd and had not come forward as a witness for the Crown. He was, therefore, considered to have some involvement in the matter and in due course was himself arrested.

  Disbelief and anger at his arrest had been his initial reaction. Was this just unlucky or had this injustice been orchestrated due to his involvement with the United Irishmen? Was it a life sentence for his involvement with the independence movement or seven years for his association with the fraudulent bank draft?

  With transportation as his sentence, Thomas realised questions such as these would never satisfactorily be answered. He would never know and neither would the authorities – no records were kept.

  He saw the reality of his future would be vastly different to anything he had previously imagined. He had no knowledge of this place called New South Wales, a land that had only recently been settled by the British. As well, he had no conception of what was before him, the conditions he would encounter and how far he would travel. All he knew was that he was about to be wrenched from his city, his girls, friends, his church and his business, perhaps forever.

  He clung to the idea that he could argue his sentence was only seven years and at the end of that term he could return to his beloved Dublin. But would the authorities agree with him? He found consolation in the fact that his sister was prepared, in his absence, to raise his girls and assume management of the shop. But would he survive? Could he earn enough money in New South Wales to pay for a fare home? So much uncertainty.

  The wagon finally jolted to a stop. It had reached its destination, New Geneva Barracks, Waterford, Ireland some 100 miles south of Dublin.

  New Geneva Barracks was a temporary holding centre for rebels waiting for death or transportation. It was run by the British Military. Since the 1798 Rebellion the previous year, the grounds had also been used as an internment camp. Tommy was aware from the stories relayed at his local public house that New Geneva Barracks was notorious for its atrocious conditions and ill treatment of prisoners, its overcrowding, filth and damp. He was not looking forward to his interment there.

  But Tommy was determined to survive all his captors could throw at him. Once on the ship there would be no easy way back to his home and his daughters. The only course of action was to beseech the authorities for mercy. To this end he penned a petition that read:

  To his Excellency the most noble Charles, Marquis of Cornwallis, Lord Lieutenant General and Governor General of His Majesty’s Kingdom of Ireland.

  The Humble Petition of Thomas O’Neil, formally [sic] a prisoner in Dublin Harbour but at present confined in New Geneva Barracks; most humbly showeth that prisoner is removed from his present much embarrassed situation to lay his case before his Excellency.

  Petitioner Is by trade a tailor. Some time back a man by the name of Clinch came to the petitioner’s dwelling in Francis Street in the county of Dublin and requested petitioner go with him to purchase the making of a suit of wearing apparel, at the same time giving petitioner a draught to get change of it what they purchase as petitioner has witness to prove. They went to Mr Lloyd woollen Draper of Francis Street, a neighbour of the Petitioner to buy what they wanted but the draught having been feloniously come by. Clinch was arrested and lately tried by the Civil Laws and for the want of prosecution was acquitted but some fresh charges of a criminal nature being laid against said Clinch he was remanded to the Provost Prison in Dublin where he is at present confined. Petitioner would have gone forward the day of the trial but he being deterred by threats held out against him was in danger of his life.

  Petitioner has lived a number of years in Francis Street and always bore the best of characters as is herein certified by inhabitants of said street, of being a strict, honest, sober and industrious man. Petitioner has three motherless infants who must invariably perish should their fond and tender father be detained in prison. Petitioner therefore most humbly Implores Your Excellency will take his case into your wise and humane consideration by restoring him to his innocent offspring’s [sic] peaceful abode and honest industry. Your Petitioner as in duty bound will ever pray.

  Thomas included character references from friends and neighbours, Laurence and Mark Nugent, Edward Gitterman, N. Bourke, Dennis Mullen and Mic
hael Dempsey, who all signed the following letter of support:

  We, the undersigned, do certify that we know Thomas O’Neil, tailor, for a number of years to be strictly honest, sober, an industrious man wholly devoid of any bad principle and believe him to be entirely innocent of any criminal matter which might be laid to his charge and given unto our hands this 26th day of April, 1799.

  On Thomas’s request, his sister delivered the petition and character references to the authorities. However, they had no effect and the sentence of transportation stood.

  Surely, thought Thomas, this is political and has more to do with the insurrection in Ireland than any believed guilt on his part.

  Acts of violence in the New Geneva Barracks were frequent and savage. Floggings and torture were regularly meted out by the authorities to gain information from the prisoners. Nothing in his life experience had prepared Thomas for this environment.

  There were no beds. Bedding consisted of straw thrown on a floor that housed a variety of vermin. It was a hard and uncomfortable sleeping surface for a man nearing fifty, used to the comforts of life and a comfortable bed and thick mattress.

  The convicts yearned for the escape to a transport ship from this living hell. It had to be better.

  2.

  Voyage of the Friendship

  WATERFORD HARBOUR, JULY 1799

  After three months, Thomas and 132 other male prisoners were transferred to Waterford Harbour. Here they were boarded onto the ship, Friendship, one of many ships moored on the mile-long quay. She was a relatively new ship, weighing 340 tons and measuring 118 feet in length. She would sail to New South Wales with a larger ship, the 558-ton Minerva.

  The time spent in New Geneva Barracks had taken a toll on the prisoners. They had aged, lost weight, hope and all dignity. They had been brought on board in leg irons but these were unnecessary. Strength had left them. Tommy was pleased just to get some fresh air and be in a new environment. He surveyed the scene, taking in the captain and his men.

  Captain Hugh Reid carried out an inspection of the convicts as they boarded. As a group of men he noted that they looked poorly. They were led downstairs to the prisoners’ hold.

  By the 15 July 1799 the ship was ready and the order was given to weigh anchor and sail to Cork. Upon arrival, Captain Reid was to receive instructions from Admiral Kingsmill, who commanded that station.

  Friendship arrived in Cork after three days sailing expecting a short stay. Ten days later, however, fever broke out among the prisoners. It was assumed it had been brought with the convicts from the Barracks. Several died, but none were close mates of Tommy, who stayed healthy. Still, it was shocking. He and the rest of the convicts were moved to another vessel while Friendship was whitewashed and fumigated. New clothing was issued to all. In total, Friendship remained in Cork for thirty-seven days.

  Minerva, however, had been moored in the harbour for almost a year. Her departure had been hampered by the Irish rebellion. Of the initial 206 prisoners listed to sail on this vessel, including 26 female convicts, 6 had died and 9 had been relanded during the long wait. Three convict children, several passengers and 201 men of the New South Wales Marine Corps were waiting to embark.

  At Cork, Thomas made one last, desperate attempt to avoid transportation. On 16 August he sent a petition to the Commander-in-Chief of Ireland, Lord Cornwallis, which initially restated his earlier petition but elaborated on his reasons for not coming forward as a witness. He wrote:

  I was told the Villain was an agent for making of robbed notes, and if I’d go to my own place I’d be sent to Newgate in his stead. I quit for awhile until he was taken by a friend of mine. I came with a full intent to lodge examinations against him, but he craftily sent people to intimidate me with threats I’d be either shot or piked If I’d go forward against him my Lord. I then quit for fear of my life, as I knew several about Dublin to be murdered. I therefore implore Your Excellency’s mercy to either enlist in the Militia in Ireland or England, as I was never a rebel, or grant my release as Your Lordship thinks most meets, and your poor prisoner will ever pray.

  Thomas added the names of those who would ‘give a character of him’. This included Aldborough, Irish peer and politician the Honourable Benjamin O’Neil, and the Honourable C. C. John Stratford, both politicians descended from the English Stratford family, Morley Saunders Esq., and Councillor Moor, Queen’s Bridge, as well as all the shopkeepers in Francis Street.

  He finished:

  I remain Your Excellency’s most distressed prisoner on board the ‘Friendship’ commanded by Captain Read [sic], Cove Cork. Waiting your Lordships [sic] mercy.

  This petition also failed.

  While the ship was held in port, Captain Reid took the opportunity to address the convicts.

  ‘I hope to carry you all safely to Port Jackson. Although some of the prisoners remain sickly I aim to have you there as fit and well as possible. Therefore, every indulgence consistent with propriety will be shown. By messes you will be admitted on deck in irons during the day. I have asked that the rations provided by the government be stowed in different parts of the prison area. I have learned from my previous trip to New South Wales that this should prevent abuses. The provisions will be weighted by their own messes. In turn, I have advised the surgeon he is to distribute tea, sugar and other little comforts as he sees fit, particularly to those who are sick.’

  Tommy felt a surge of hope and reassurance on hearing these words from the captain.

  ‘We will be sailing in convoy for protection. We have cannons aboard if needed. Be prepared for rough seas. We intend to stop at three ports, God willing. We will supplement our supplies at Madeira Island, St Helena and the Cape. I intend to have a smooth voyage and to treat you kindly. I would like to avoid any physical violence. My dear wife has agreed to accompany me on this voyage and I am confident it will be a safe passage.’

  Following his failed petitions, Tommy was resigned to completing the journey to New South Wales. As one of the older men incarcerated on the ship, Tommy felt he could be vulnerable to the illnesses that had followed them from the Barracks. Although the ship had been cleaned and fumigated with gunpowder and vinegar, he believed there were still those on board who were not well. Would the fever return? Hopefully not, as he might not be so lucky next time. But he had listened to the captain’s speech and understood the authorities were doing their best to contain the infection.

  Tommy knew the majority of the convicts in his mess by first name, having been incarcerated with them in New Geneva Barracks. While looking for companions to help pass the long days ahead and as a key to survival, Thomas considered his choices. If he were to take ill someone would need to aid in his recovery.

  ‘Tommy, this is bloody unfair,’ a fellow called Barney Kearns opined one night. ‘The Honourable Judge Day, at Mullingar Assizes, whilst sentencing me to transportation recommended that I be pardoned due to my good character and large and helpless family.’ Barney had been sentenced to life for being found in possession of a ‘few yards of cotton’. He walked with a limp. Barney was leaving a wife and six children and, like Thomas, had sent petitions and pleas for mercy to the authorities.

  ‘What, Barney? How come you’re here then?’ Tommy responded.

  ‘The Mullingar gaoler! Even though I passed him four guineas, he and his wife still sent me for transportation. If I get my hands on that damn man again it’ll be his last breath!’

  Following a pause Barney continued, ‘You know, the wife and six kids walked all the way from Mullingar to New Geneva, pleaded for mercy to no effect. Bloody crook system, if you ask me!’

  Tommy enjoyed Barney’s company. He was a straight shooter and loved telling jokes. Time passed more quickly and you could have a good laugh when you were with him.

  Tommy also developed a rapport with Darby Carbery, a tailor like himself and a little older. James Dixon, from Wexford, and of a similar age, also joined this small group. He and Darby had both been convicted o
f being rebels and given life sentences in the previous year but James still staunchly protested his innocence. James was a Catholic priest and, like Tommy, did have some money to help smooth the transition into his new homeland.

  Rumour had it that twelve of the ship’s prisoners were men of considerable fortune, including John Brennan, who was at one time a sheriff of Wexford, Francis Lysaght, who had journeyed to the ship in his own carriage, and Daniel MacCallum, who was an apothecary, known for his medical skills. These three, and the others, had been shipped for taking part, or being suspected of taking part, in the Irish uprising.

  Eleanor Reid, the captain’s wife, noted in her diary that ‘their untameable discontent plunged them into the vortex of rebellion’. They had surrendered themselves under the amnesty that Lord Lieutenant Cornwallis had put in place. None had faced trial and consequently had no sentence. They were state prisoners, not convicts, and on reaching New South Wales they were to be treated as free settlers. They would be served wine on board and treated with respect by the crew. Therefore, during preparations in Cork, a considerable quantity of wine was allowed on board for the private use of these self-exiles. Eleanor Reid noted in her diary that this wine was ‘a great comfort, and no doubt saved some lives amongst them’.

  Just prior to departure Thomas, and each of the other convicts in turn, was called to the chief mate and asked to relinquish all money and valuables they had on hand. Thomas begrudgingly passed over the money his sister had given him at their last meeting. His deposit was duly noted. He felt sure he would never see it again but he had no choice but to hand it over.

  On 24 August the signal to sail was made from His Majesty’s ship Dryad and repeated by the frigate Révolutionnaire, both of whom were to escort the two convict ships into the Atlantic Ocean. A large fleet bound for the Americas and the West Indies joined them.