When the Irish Invaded Canada

by Christopher Klein

  The Amnesty movement gained strength in 1870 as more revelations surfaced about the poor treatment of the Fenian inmates. Prime Minister Gladstone, who had condemned the treatment of political prisoners by the Kingdom of Italy, found the moral high ground quickly crumbling beneath him. After an official commission led by Lord Devon released a damning report on the torture of the Fenian prisoners on December 16, 1870, a notice conveyed by the lord mayor of Dublin arrived for Rossa from 10 Downing Street.

  * * *

  Faced with the awful truths of the Devon Commission report, Prime Minister Gladstone granted Rossa and forty other political prisoners held in British jails and Western Australia a “royal clemency.” Fenians who had been arrested while serving in the British military, however, were exempt from the decree.

  Rossa and the other political prisoners were granted their release on one condition: They would have to stay out of the United Kingdom for the duration of their sentences, a geographic banishment that included Ireland. If they set foot on Irish soil, they could be rearrested. In the case of Rossa, who had his sentence commuted, it meant a twenty-year exile. For prisoners such as the Civil War veteran Thomas F. Bourke, it meant banishment for life.

  The Fenians might have been liberated from prison, but they weren’t truly free. What the British called a “conditional pardon,” the old Fenian firebrand John Mitchel called a “sham amnesty.” Many Irish viewed the pardons as just another forced exile, little different from those endured by the refugees who fled the Great Hunger or the convicts transported to Australia. The Fenian prisoners “were not released to freedom,” John Savage said, “but forced into banishment.”

  Rossa emerged from Chatham Prison, to which he had been transferred, on January 7, 1871. After taking a train to London and then Liverpool, he, Devoy, and three other Fenians boarded the transatlantic Cunard steamship Cuba. Before braving the ocean crossing, the Cuba slipped into Cork Harbor to pick up mail and family members of the Fenians. Rossa could remember his youthful days when this port was called Cobh, but the British had even taken that away from the Irish, rechristening it Queenstown when the monarch visited in 1849.

  Rossa stared out at his beloved homeland, his cherished County Cork, for the first time in nearly six years. “There she lay before us, with her hopes and the high hopes of our youth blasted,” he recalled. He wanted to embrace Ireland and tread its soil once again, but as a stipulation of his release he could only gaze at Erin. It proved one final cruel torture administered by the British.

  Rossa had at first considered Australia a new home, to “evade the factions of Fenianism in the United States.” However, in Australia he would still be living under a British flag, which would not be a good career move for an aspiring Fenian leader bent on rebellion.

  There really was only one natural place for Rossa and his fellow Fenians to go.

  * * *

  Shortly after the sun set on January 19, the Antelope shoved away from Manhattan’s Castle Garden, where so many exiles from Ireland had first entered the United States, and crept into the frigid waters of New York Harbor. Huddled in their great coats to protect from the chill, some of Irish America’s foremost leaders, such as Mitchel and William Roberts, stood on the deck of the steamboat and swept the dark horizon with an eyeglass in search of salvation. For so long Ireland had looked west to its exiled children in America to save them from the British. Now the Fenians looked east for the arrival of leaders who could save them from themselves.

  The release of the British prisoners had engendered greater excitement than the freeing of O’Neill and his Fenian raiders three months earlier, and Irish Americans hoped that the arrival of the Fenians aboard the Cuba, nicknamed the Cuba Five, would spark a burst of Irish pride that could unify their numerous factions.

  The passengers aboard the Antelope were eager to greet the Cuba Five on behalf of Tammany Hall, which had raised more than $20,000 for a welcome reception. Not long after their departure, the Irishmen heard a cacophony of gunshots and cheers from other boats in the harbor as a blazing blue light emerged from the darkness and the Cuba entered view. The band aboard the Antelope struck up “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the crew launched fireworks into the sky. The steamship’s big paddle wheel furiously churned through the harbor’s murky waters as the Tammany Hall reception committee charged toward the light to welcome the exiles to their new home.

  Aboard the Cuba, Rossa peered out at the shoreline where Celtic hands held blazing torches aloft. Thundering cannons and Irish airs serenaded the Fenians as they arrived in a city so Irish that it was nicknamed New Cork.

  Having pocketed £7 playing poker with his fellow exiles, Rossa felt that good fortune had accompanied him on the transatlantic voyage. When he scanned the latest New York newspapers, brought aboard the steamer by the pilot who would coax it into port, he began to question his luck.

  * * *

  Across the chop of New York Harbor, the race was on. Along with the Antelope, the U.S. Treasury Department cutter Bronx and the New York Board of Health steamer Andrew Fletcher, carrying the city’s health officer and members of the Knights of St. Patrick, rushed to be the first to greet the Cuba as it halted off the coast of Staten Island awaiting quarantine inspection.

  The Bronx arrived first, and Thomas Murphy, the Republican collector of the port of New York, lugged his heavy frame up the ladder of the Cuba. Still trying to catch his breath, Murphy offered an official welcome from the U.S. government. He informed Rossa that the exiles could board his government ship to be taken to the quarters he had arranged for them at the plush Astor House.

  Murphy’s reception, however, was interrupted by the Irishmen who had just arrived from the Antelope and the Andrew Fletcher. Rossa was swept away into the steamship’s saloon, where the Young Irelander Richard O’Gorman delivered a competing welcome on behalf of the Democratic leaders of New York City. O’Gorman informed the Cuba Five that Tammany Hall had secured rooms for them at the Metropolitan Hotel on Broadway and planned a grand procession in their honor at which time they would receive the money that had been donated for their benefit. Rossa’s heart sank. “I saw immediately that the question of our reception had grown into a party fight,” he recalled.

  After O’Gorman concluded his speech, the indignant general Francis Frederick Millen, who had accompanied Murphy, jumped onto a chair and began to shout. “Are you the United States, sir?” the city’s health commissioner barked at Millen, the leader of the Legion of St. Patrick, the United Irishmen’s military adjunct. “No, but I desire to save the men from being made the tools of Tammany tricksters,” retorted the general.

  The parties traded vulgarities. Shouting turned to shoving, and a brawl nearly ensued. Rossa was seldom ruffled, but the political circus being performed before his eyes left even him shaken.

  Murphy apologized to Rossa for the behavior of the Tammany men. “I am pained at what you have witnessed here tonight,” he said. “The national government come to receive you, and a faction that has been for years degrading the character of our race steps in to create disturbance. The Irish people are glad of your release; they are honest, but they have got into the hands of a party of thieves and swindlers, who on every important occasion strive to use them against the interests of the country, and, as you see here tonight, to our common disgrace.”

  When Dr. John Carnochan, a city health officer and cog in the Tammany Hall machine, attempted to keep the Cuba in quarantine to prevent the exiles from leaving with Murphy on the federal revenue cutter, the Cuba Five had had enough.

  “Gentlemen,” Rossa told the greeters, “my companions think as I do, that the matter of this public reception requires some consideration, and we would like to consult about it.” The exiles retired to an inner cabin where a purser stood guard to keep the Americans out. When the Cuba Five emerged, Rossa read a hastily crafted address to both factions.

  “We desire th
at all Irishmen should be united. It is painful to us tonight to see so much disunion amongst yourselves,” he said. “For what your reception concerns us as individuals we care little compared to what we feel about it in connection with the interest of Irish independence, and as you have not united cordially to receive us, we will not decide on anything until the arrival of our brothers.” The Cuba Five announced they would stay on board the ship for the night and go to their own private hotel the following day, delaying any public welcome until their comrades traveling aboard the Russia arrived in New York City a few days hence.

  American Fenians had hoped that the Cuba Five might be able to unify them, but their partisan and factional divisions were laid bare before the exiles could even set foot on American soil. They had managed to turn a triumphal moment into a fiasco. Fenians were left wondering whether there was anything the Cuba Five would be able to do to heal them. Perhaps they were beyond saving.

  * * *

  After quarantine officials released the steamship the following afternoon, the Cuba Five boarded a tender to Jersey City and ferried into New York City. A throng of well-wishers waiting at the foot of Cortlandt Street enveloped the exiles, who were ushered into a coach and escorted through the streets of Manhattan by General Millen and the Legion of St. Patrick, who were bedecked in green coats, blue trousers, and black hats topped with plumes.

  Having declined the posh quarters procured by the federal government and Tammany Hall, the Cuba Five lodged in more modest accommodations at Sweeney’s Hotel near the Five Points neighborhood. Atop the hotel, a grand green banner with an Irish harp waved from the highest flagstaff beckoning the city’s Irish.

  Three thousand callers clogged the lobby, barroom, and parlors of the hotel. The United Irishmen treasurer, Richard McCloud, presented Rossa with a $1,000 donation and read a lengthy address. “You have set a noble example, and one which will not fail to be imitated until the white slavery of Ireland will be as dead as the black slavery of America,” McCloud told the exiles.

  Day after day, reception after reception, delegations from across the East—some bearing money, but more often delivering wordy addresses—flowed through Sweeney’s Hotel. Even the Sabbath brought no rest for the weary, who were still weakened from their imprisonment. Rossa’s calloused hands, already resembling a “Pittston miner” from his years of captivity, according to The New York Herald, grew swollen and sore from all the shaking. To the Cuba Five, it must have appeared that Irish America was doing its best to literally fulfill the traditional Gaelic greeting of “céad míle fáilte”—meaning “a hundred thousand welcomes.”

  Although they sought to avoid being drawn into American party politics, the exiles feared they could not decline Tammany Hall’s offer to stage a parade in their honor without appearing ungracious. A reluctant Rossa accepted, although he told city aldermen, “We do not wish by our presence here to seem to be favoring one political party as opposed to another. This I wish to have clearly understood.”

  St. Patrick’s Day arrived five weeks early; New York transformed into an emerald city on February 9. Men wearing green neckties and shamrocks in their lapels walked arm in arm with young ladies in green dresses. “God Save Ireland” banners waved from building windows. Even the horses hauling streetcars laden with passengers wore Irish flags fastened to their heads.

  An estimated 300,000 people stood on the sidewalks of New York to honor the Cuba Five and the nine exiles who had arrived subsequently on the Russia. The Sixty-Ninth Regiment, Ancient Order of Hibernians, Emmet Guards, United Irishmen, and Fenian Brotherhood all marched south from Tammany Hall on Fourteenth Street, past Mayor Abraham Oakey Hall at the City Hall reviewing stand, and back uptown to Madison Square.

  Near the head of the procession, a horse with buckling legs struggled to bear the weight of the Tammany Hall boss, William Tweed, who had proclaimed himself grand marshal. (By the end of the year, Rossa would be so disgusted with Tweed that he ran unsuccessfully against him on the Republican ticket for the New York Senate.)

  For at least a few hours, the Irish had come together as one. Serenaded by a band playing “The Wearing of the Green,” the Irish exiles managed to keep their shoes clean as they rode in carriages over the mucky parade route. There would be plenty of mudslinging to follow.

  * * *

  Several weeks after the grand parade through Manhattan, the celebration of the Fenian exiles continued in the nation’s capital, much to the consternation of the British, who did not approve of the open arms given to men they still considered criminals. After a welcome resolution introduced by Congressman Benjamin Butler passed the House by a wide 172-to-21 margin, the exiles called on the White House on February 22.

  President Ulysses S. Grant stood on the steps of the executive mansion and greeted thirteen of the exiled prisoners as they were introduced by Thomas F. Bourke, who had become a spokesman for the group. The president, a man of few words, only shook their hands, saying, “Glad to see you.”

  The outpouring that greeted the Fenian exiles energized the Irish nationalists in the United States, and even after experiencing the discord among Irish Americans firsthand, Rossa still thought it possible to create a union. However, he knew enough that persuading the existing organizations to surrender their autonomy under a single executive would be impossible.

  Instead, Rossa and his fellow prisoners proposed the creation of an Irish confederation, which would serve as an overarching umbrella organization on top of the existing groups. In an address released from Sweeney’s Hotel on March 13, the exiles assured existing nationalist organizations that they would remain autonomous in their own affairs but would be required to send a quarter of their revenue to the confederation’s central treasury, which would be controlled by a central council with representation from each member organization. Ultimate authority would rest with a five-person directory picked from among the recently released Fenian prisoners, with Rossa as its inaugural chairman.

  The United Irishmen enthusiastically embraced the idea and immediately agreed to transfer their power and authority to the exiles. Calls arose for the Fenian Brotherhood to join the confederation and give up its name to become part of the United Irishmen. “A bright hope is better than a sad memory. Fenian, to strange ears, is a word of mean sound,” editorialized The Pilot, “which the Irish revolutionists will do well to bury with all the honors due to its venerable antiquity.”

  For all its supporters, there was at least one Fenian in the United States who would never consent to any such plan.

  * * *

  Although still without an official position, John O’Mahony had slowly regained power inside the organization he founded thirteen years earlier, and he wasn’t about to see the Fenian Brotherhood usurped by the Irish Confederation and the next generation of revolutionaries. O’Mahony remained skeptical of the exiles’ stated intention of cooperating with the Fenian Brotherhood. He believed they wanted to swallow it whole.

  O’Mahony would not be a party to the extermination of his brainchild, let alone the eradication of the Fenian name that had become synonymous with Irish republicans around the world. When the Fenian Brotherhood leaders convened in New York on March 21 to consider the proposal to join the Irish Confederation, O’Mahony called the special convention to order and then delivered an impassioned plea. “Some may think that there is but little in a name—that an organization, like the rose, would smell as sweet under any other designation,” he said. “After all the concessions we have offered, I believe that to surrender the name at this crisis would be to surrender the cause of Ireland….

  “We would be unworthy of the holy cause in which we are engaged were we to consent to have the brand of infamy affixed upon the glorious name of Fenianism, which, however reviled by enemies today, will be revered by future generations of Irishmen,” O’Mahony said.

  John Savage also voiced his opposition to the plan, berating Rossa
and his fellow exiles as undemocratic for seeking to lead an organization without an election. “The exiles have not been elected by anybody, but have assumed to themselves the management of Irish revolutionary affairs in the United States,” the Fenian chief executive groused.

  The Irish Confederation unity plan had the unintended consequence of cementing the union between the Savage wing and John O’Neill. Summoned from Boston to speak at the convention, the former president of the Fenian Brotherhood received a warm ovation as he told the delegates that he hoped they would never change their name.

  “I am tonight, gentlemen, a Fenian,” O’Neill told the convention. “Why should the men who were Fenians here, who went to Ireland as Fenians, who boasted of being Fenians, who were convicted as Fenians, liberated as Fenians, and received and feted and feasted in this country as Fenians, and nothing else, why should these men repudiate Fenianism?” The Fenian Brotherhood soundly rejected the proposal to join the Irish Confederation. Additionally, they adopted a measure to replace its chief executive with a twenty-one-member elected executive council, to which O’Neill was nominated.

  Rossa and his fellow exiles discovered that the fractures in Irish America were just too cavernous to bridge. The same infighting that plagued the Fenian Brotherhood dragged down the Irish Confederation, before its eventual collapse in 1873. Rather than elevating the Irish in America, the exiles became engulfed in their chaos.

  * * *

  As the Irish nationalists continued to bicker, the United States and Great Britain entered a new phase of cooperation, marking the beginning of a special relationship that would make the two countries the closest of allies in the following century and beyond.