by Leon Uris
The Churchill crusade became spectacular beyond expectations. Monster rallies in Belfast's Ulster Hall and through the eastern counties ignited short-fused passions. Back in England sentiment mounted for the Ulsterman's cause. Staunch members of the Liberal Party who had favored Irish Home Rule were being shaken, their solid ranks wavering. Churchill pressed his advantages. His exit from Belfast signaled three days of rioting against the Catholic areas of the city.
Moving inland aboard Weed's private Red Hand Express, Lord Randolph found a magic key at Lurgan with a battle cry he repeated to adoring throngs in Portadown, Armagh and Dungannon.
"Home Rule will not come to you like a thief in the night," he repeated to the boiling Protestant masses. “I pledge that in this, your darkest hour, you will not be wanting for hundreds of thousands of English hearts and English hands who will cast their lot with you and share your fate. I say to you with pride, humility and resoluteness, ULSTER WILL FIGHT AND ULSTER WILL BE RIGHT!"
As Churchill's campaign hit full stride, ULSTER WILL FIGHT AND ULSTER WILL BE RIGHT blared from the newspapers throughout the United Kingdom. Roger joined the bandwagon in time for a rally at Ballymena and studied it with detached deliberateness. Churchill's wizardry had galvanized the entire span of the society, gentry and common man alike. After the meeting Roger locked in with his father-in-law and Churchill at the Castle of Lord Taggart-Royce, the Baron of Ballymena, where he made a plea that the final appearance should take place at Derry's walls. It was, after all, the most sacred symbol of the Orange/Protestant/Crown presence and what could better spell a triumphant finale? It seemed logical enough and Churchill agreed.
"We have certain unique problems out there," Roger continued, after having gained his first request. "Thinned out population, communications lag and a sense of isolation …"
"I believe we call it siege mentality," Sir Frederick interrupted.
"Quite," Roger agreed. "What I should like to accomplish is an earth-shaking show of our determination to hold the west. It would be most profitable to call a special meeting at Hubble Manor in advance of the main rally. We could assemble all the leaders of the three counties to get them organized and heated up, that sort of thing."
Churchill had come to lean on Sir Frederick for advice, and cast a curious look in his direction. Once again Weed was impressed by his son-in-law’s astuteness. It would be quite a feat to gather all the men of power and persuasion inside Hubble Manor and in one fell swoop see Roger take over political leadership of western Ulster. Roger would achieve in a single stroke what it had taken him years to accomplish in Belfast.
All right lad, Weed thought, you’re foxing me but I’ll get a price. Blowing long of his cigar, he tooled up his answer. “Aside from Roger’s vested interest, the idea makes sense. The west definitely needs a power base and a single strong leader of the new Unionist Party. Family considerations aside, Roger and Caroline are definitely the people to carry it out.”
Men of ambition understood men of ambition. Mutual backscratching was in order. “Only one thing I would insist upon,” Sir Frederick said. “To assure the success of the meetings, I would like to have the Reverend O. C. MacIvor as one of the principal speakers.”
For the first time in their relationship, Sir Frederick thought he saw Roger wince, and he gloried in it.
“Rather raucous chap, I thought,” Churchill said, “but he does cast a brand of magic on the crowd, I’ll say that for him.”
“Aye, and the best meetings you’ve had were with him. Well, what do you say, gentlemen?”
“Quite all right with me,” Lord Randolph said.
“Roger?”
“Lovely … just lovely …” Roger said.
Viscountess Caroline plunged into preparations, although the workings of Hubble Manor were still strange to her. She gathered in the necessary army of cooks, servants, grounds keepers, carpenters, painters and stable hands. The Manor, and particularly the Long Hall, was cleared of mustiness and brightened up as much as time would permit. Tents for housing and receptions were repaired and a trainload of food run in from Belfast along with an orchestra, singers and actors for entertainment.
Roger girded himself for his new role by setting aside his long-standing distaste for the Orange Society. Invitations in the form of veiled summonses went to every Grand Master in the three counties. In a masterstroke Lord Roger made every Protestant minister an automatic member of the new Unionist Party and they too were advised to attend.
With preparations continuing at breakneck speed, the Viscount and Viscountess Coleraine traveled to Cookstown to personally escort Lord Randolph into the west.
*
After “God Save the Queen” and the invocation, Viscount Hubble moved almost timidly from the head table to the rostrum, facing a throng of over six hundred persons. Above them from the open rafters hung a gigantic Union Jack at one end of the hall. This was matched by a gigantic Ulster flag at the other. Behind Roger a gigantic sign spanned the width of the hall, reading: ULSTER WILL FIGHT AND ULSTER WILL BE RIGHT.
Sir Frederick observed all of the preparations and the moment of truth with a twinge of envy. The speed and purpose of the partnership of Roger and his daughter had spiraled them to the forefront. The new Viscountess’ debut had utterly dazzled the grim collection of Ulstermen.
But Sir Frederick had no inkling of the coup his son-in-law had in store. Lord Roger had almost shyly approached the lectern and gave formal welcome in such as manner as if to say, “It’s a great day for you common folk because we’re all in this together.”
As Roger began to cite Hubble Manor’s long history of sackings Weed saw him staking the claim of leadership based on old-line permanence. So far, so good. Then came Roger’s first shocker. He calmly stated it was Lord Churchill’s idea to hold the climaxing meeting of the tour in the historic Long Hall. In placing exaggerated importance on Hubble Manor he was establishing himself as the center of western Ulster’s universe.
For although they had gathered in common purpose Roger left no doubt but that he and the gentry were the good fathers, protectors and leaders of the Protestant masses.
“I have been asked and humbly accept the honor of assuming leadership of the Unionists in the west.”
It was neither Churchill’s idea to hold the meeting here nor anyone’s idea to place young Roger on the Unionist Executive but no one was about to break the unity of the gathering by negating his bold thrust for power and it passed without comment.
Yet Sir Frederick wondered if Roger and Caroline were in it together and what limits they might go to if they set their minds to it.
"It is my extreme pleasure to introduce the first of the speakers who will address you on the matter of economic severance from England. He certainly needs no introduction to me because he is my father-in-law, and certainly none to you, for who in Ulster has not heard of Sir Frederick Murdoch Weed?"
As Roger finished a glowing tribute, Sir Frederick squashed out his cigar and took a final sip from the glass that contained gin and not water in full sight of several dozen temperance ministers. He hunched and growled his way to the rostrum, covering his chagrin at Roger's coup, shaking Roger's hand to portray the unity of east and west, of Ulster's wealth, power and ascendancy, the captains of the ship.
"Let us not," Sir Frederick commenced, "entertain a single illusion about the consequences of Home Rule. It would mean the death blow to the Protestant ascendancy in Ireland. We came to Ulster, your forefathers and myself," he said, identifying mightily with the common folk as Roger had done before him, "and created a veritable Eden from despicable clay. You've only to look at the ignorance and squalor of the other three provinces of Ireland to see who has done what here. Now these selfsame backward people led by Parnell and his alehouse politicians and the Pope's brass band have the utter cheek to say that they, who can't rule themselves, are going to rule Ulster."
"Never!"
"No surrender."
"Ulster will fight!
"
"God save Ulster!"
Half the crowd straggled to their feet but Frederick Murdoch Weed waved them down. Scanning their numbers, he saw men recently bathed and cleansed at holy altars all shining with goodness.
"Our good life, yours and mine," he continued, "has been created through superior intelligence, traditions of hard work, loyalty and purpose. That alien Dublin force without industrial ability is poised to deliver a death blow!"
Roger received pulsations. He looked up. His radiant, beautiful wife stood in one of the small side doorways. They smiled to each other and indicated mutual approval of the great event. Each new moment was building their own might and the first sweet taste of glory together was enthralling.
"Can you for a single moment," boomed Sir Frederick, "conjure in your minds a picture of a Dublin Parliament in the hands of Irish peasants? The commercial markets, the trade privileges, the tariff concessions we now enjoy as a member of the United Kingdom would vanish overnight and we would find ourselves in direct competition with England.
"Now, gentlemen, envision them in Dublin in their Parliament . . . envision them looking up to the border at Ulster's wealth. Who do you think is going to be taxed until bled white? We will! We in Ulster will pay the passage for those three miserable provinces!"
The men in the Long Hall became stricken. All of those easily tingled nerve ends out there vibrated and perspiration popped and the handkerchiefs to wipe that perspiration might have been taken for little white flags of surrender somewhere else. But not in the Long Hall.
"With a Dublin Parliament, not a single farm or estate would ever again be safe. The land for which your forefathers bled would be legislated to keep you in a grip of permanent serfdom. Home Rule would gerrymander voting boundaries in such a manner that Protestant Ulster would be made politically impotent. Home Rule would mean that not a single loyal Protestant would be employed in a government that would be stuffed with tens of thousands of their sort . . . bleeding payrolls and relief rolls with your tax money. You and your wives and little children would be confronted with a police force of their sort. You would be faced with their legal system and I don't have to tell you what kind of protection and justice you'd get from them! Is this the kind of Ulster your forefathers dreamed of when they came and tried to bring light to the heathen?"
Sir Frederick paused in deference to his own mounting passion, mopped up his perspiration and glanced at his notes. He would now, he thought to himself, swat them squarely in the gonads.
His voice dropped from its bull range to a sincere tremble. "As a man," he began his finale, "employing thousands of our loyal people, I have pondered heavily for many a long hour in the throes of a recurring nightmare. Within days after a Dublin Parliament begins Home Rule they would be writing laws of parity to replace loyal Protestants in every factory in the province. Decent . . . loyal . . . God-fearing men would have generations of steadfast, abiding, unswerving obedience repaid by throwing them into the gutters. Before I would throw Protestant men out of work, I'd see my yard close first. I have made this position totally clear to every member of Gladstone's party. Democratic Ulster must remain free, with the help of God and our noble Queen!"
Dr. Maclvor prayed silently to himself to denote he was in exclusive communication with the beyond, clasping his hands together and nodding as that big voice from out there came through to him. Actually, he was biding time and smarting to himself. Sir Frederick had captured much of the thunder of the moment.
"Our great benefactor, Sir Frederick Weed, has told you what's going to happen to your lands and your jobs. I'm going to tell you what's going to happen to your souls. Oh, Gawd! Do not forsake us! We are alone and it is night and we are in the midst of hostile savages!"
"Amen!"
"Jesus save us!"
Jaws and fists clenched. New perspiration found its way out after the old.
"Home Rule," cried the preacher, "means Rome rule!" He repeated it three times in the event someone might not have heard.
"And Rome rule means that the first act of a papist riddled Dublin Parliament will be to enact a tithe which you will have to pay from your sweat and honest labors into the coffers of the Catholic Church. A tithe for treasures to be stuffed into the Vatican vaults! A tithe for the building of ornate cathedrals over the length and breadth of Protestant Ulster! A tithe to pay for gold and silver priestly vestments!"
A portrait of horror was continued of schools being taught by priests and nuns, of colleges being taken over by Jesuits and little Protestant children being forced to kneel in pagan rituals. Graphic depictions of the harlot of Rome, that scarlet woman who would devour Protestant flesh like maggots, wrung them limp.
Lord Randolph Churchill had never heard the equal of the three speeches. He realized that he had come to Hubble Manor and Londonderry as the foil of a Hubble-Weed power play. He had been neatly boxed in by a trio of Ulster roughnecks. Although they were all using one another in the common pursuit of personal ambition, he made a note to be wary of this crowd and not let them suck on the Crown so blatantly. They were no gentlemen at all and God knew what lengths they would go to to keep their dirty little province British. It occurred to him frighteningly, as he surveyed the mob, that they'd bring over the whole British Army if need be, to save themselves under the guise of loyalty. Lord Randolph thanked his sponsors and, realizing the place was emotionally drained, keyed his remarks to soft, teary sincerity.
"I came to Ulster with saddened heart but I return to England feeling a great lifting. I am saddened to see Ulstermen drilling in the fields at night with wooden rifles in preparation for the defense of their God, their Queen and their liberty. Yet I am heartened that tens of dozens, nae, hundreds, of British officers have pledged to me that they will come forth and lead you in battle, if need be.
"It is my most profound prayer that the resounding of our voices will be heard in every corner of England and the Gladstonians will think mightily of the gravity and consequence of legislating an evil act of Home Rule. And I pray that your children and my own dear little sons, Winston and Jack, shall never be cursed with an Irish problem in their lives."
While Lord Roger and Sir Frederick gloated in their triumph, Churchill, the arch-Englishman, speaking with full English pomp, moved the place to patriotic tears. "Parnell has brought repugnant men into the sacred realm of Westminster. Men who are as foreign in their ways as Chinamen or niggers. Men who are completely dominated by him and who are dedicated to the destruction of the British Empire. You, gallant comrades in Ulster, stand on the forwardmost rampart of our great imperial adventure and you must not falter. I charge you to hold the walls just as you held the walls at Derry. There are two Irelands in spirit, in religion and in reality. The Ireland which is loyal to the Crown must remain in the Empire." Holding a hand aloft as though it were a full cup in a toast, he ended on a note of poetry. "Sail on, oh, ship of state . . . sail on, oh, Union great . . . shall Ulster from Britain sever? By the God who made us, never!"
*
Impact of Lord Randolph Churchill's sweep of Ulster reverberated throughout Britain. The press mounted a vitriolic campaign against the treachery of Parnell as the House of Lords closed ranks in preparation to veto any Home Rule attempt. Besieged Orangemen found vocal allies in England and zealous brethren in Presbyterian Scotland.
Anti-Irish sentiment, which was always close to the surface, erupted in England as public indignation swelled over the thought that loyal British subjects in Ulster were about to be sold out to the beastly Irish.
The Orangemen added threat on threat so that the possibility of a civil war in Ireland heightened the pressure.
At last the unity of the Liberal Party was shattered. In the end, ninety of Gladstone's backbenchers crossed the line to vote with the Conservatives to defeat a watered down Home Rule Bill. The final vote was 341 to 311.
Gladstone's government fell. Randolph Churchill, the chief architect of that fall, was rewarded with the post of Chan
cellor of the Exchequer and leader of the Conservatives in Commons.
The Orange card had been played.
END OF PART TWO
PART THREE
The Booley House
CHAPTER ONE
JUNE 1885
A week to the day that Kilty Larkin was put to rest, Tomas showed up at the O'Neill cottage in the wee hours of the morning with his three children.
"Finola's time has come," he said.
Mairead, who kept a calendar in her head for over two dozen pregnant women, frowned. "She's more than a month early. It must have been the excitement of Kilty's wake."
Fergus corralled the children into the sleeping place in his byre, settled them down and groped into his clothing. "I'll be right over to sit with you," he said to Tomas, as he had on all the other occasions. He grabbed his glink board and followed a few minutes after his wife.
As the hours dragged Tomas became uneasy. Bad experiences in the past were recalled with each sharp cry from the bedroom. Mairead was usually in and out with wry comments but this morning she never left the bedroom. By dawn both men had dozed, then crashed into hard sleep. Tomas was pried awake by a sharp shaking.
"Tomas . . . Tomas. . ." Mairead repeated.
"Aye?" he groaned.
"It's not to frighten you but we are having problems. I think you'd best send to town for Dr. Cruikshank." The rarity of the command from the midwife who had delivered tens of dozens of children without aid sent him spilling to his feet.
"What's wrong?"
"The baby is coming out wrong. I take it that the cord is around its neck. If we force it out, it may strangle and God knows it won't stay in much longer."
