IRISH EEBELS 
 
 ENGLISH PRISONS: 
 
 A Record of Prison Life. 
 
 Bff 
 
 ODONOVM ROSSA, 
 
 <• » ■ 
 
 New Yoek : 
 
 P. J. KEJSTEDY, 
 
 EXCELSIOR CATHOLIC PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
 
 5 Barclay Street. 
 
 1899. 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY CHAPTER-1882. 
 
 "United Irishman" Office, 
 New Yokk, Jan., 1882. 
 Ten years have rolled over my head since I wrote the last 
 chapter of this book, and that chapter shows I had already in 
 America got into trouble and into unpopularity with the Irish 
 people, all on account of my having become acquainted with 
 General Eyan in connection with Irish revolutionary affairs. He 
 offered me his sword and his services to fight for Ireland when 
 called upon, and fight bravely I believe he would, as bravely as 
 he since fought and fell battling for the freedom of another op- 
 pressed people in Cuba. But the unpopularity that visited me 
 then on account of riding in General Ryan's carriage at the Com- 
 munist funeral is little or nothing compared to that which visits me 
 now on account of my not riding in the chariot that is to ride 
 rough-shod over landlordism, and all other agencies of English 
 tyranny in Ireland, " without striking a blow," as the saying is, or 
 as the Land League poet sings : 
 
 " Land for the landless people, 
 Land without striking a blow ! " 
 
 I am sorry I cannot believe in getting liberty for Ireland so 
 softly and sweetly, and I am sorry that I forfeit the esteem of any 
 of my people on account of my firm adherence to the principles of 
 my life, and the principles of all Irish patriots — that it is "by 
 the blows alone men strike in their strength, the chains of the 
 tyrant can be broken." 
 
 England is at her tyrant work in Ireland now as ever ; her 
 Habeas Corpus Act is again suspended — for the fiftieth time dur- 
 ing this century — her jails are filled with our people ; her soldiers 
 and police shoot down men, women, and children ; her janizaries 
 break into newspaper offices, smash up type and machinery, and 
 carry off to prison every one they catch on the premises. 
 
 And what remedy, and what resistance ? None — none what- 
 ever, save the appeals of the leaders in prison, and out of prison, 
 to follow on the agitation on the line of "passive resistance," to 
 "keep the peace," and not to "break the law." It looks like 
 
 taking a leaf out of O'Connell's 4 bopk, and cannot be better described 
 
 j? j j^ >f"| 
 
 k*.J £sa' ij* \J 
 
ii Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 than by a passage from a leaf of John Mitchel's book, "The 
 Last Conquest of Ireland " ; 
 
 "The people believed in O'Connell's power, wisdom, and truth. From his 
 prison he sent weekly messages to the Repeal Association announcing that the 
 independence of the country was never so certain ; that he rejoiced to be im- 
 prisoned for Ireland ; above all, that he implored the people to be peaceful 
 and patient. Peaceful and patient they were. . . . They kept the ' peace ' 
 as their Liberator bade them, and the land was never so fiee from crime, lest 
 they should give * strength to the enemy.' " 
 
 The leaders of the Land League movement in Ireland are in 
 prison to-day. From their prison they issue a manifesto to pay 
 "no rent" — a manifesto which John Mitchel in '48 said would be 
 a good one to issue to ensure a general resistance and general 
 "rising" of the Irish people against the enemy; but when no 
 fight is meant now, when the leader says the man is a liar who 
 says there is any fight behind his movement, I can't see my way to 
 the freedom of Ireland through that movement. The treasurer of 
 the movement has to take up his residence in Paris, and he writes 
 and telegraphs from there to America that the landlords of Ireland 
 are completely under the feet of the tenantry. And notwithstand- 
 ing such writing and telegraphing, the Irish papers and telegrams 
 bring us the news daily that evictions are taking place in every 
 county of Ireland. 'Tis sad. It would not be sad if the revolu- 
 tionary element of Ireland and America had preserved itself 
 intact these few years past, and had been preparing and prepared 
 for the present crisis ; for never in Irish history had the spirit of 
 resistance to landlord law in Ireland been so general, and the 
 uprising of one county, with one victory over the army of exter- 
 minators, would be likely to bring every county in Ireland to its 
 feet. As I write the trouble is thick, and so is the darkness ; I 
 cannot see the way out of it ; all I can say is, "God save Ireland!" 
 
 Eleven years have elapsed since I left English prisons. 1 have 
 during those eleven years endeavored to follow up the other years 
 of my life, but find there are as many pains and purgatories to be 
 encountered here in the advocacy of an effective policy for Ire- 
 land's freedom as are to be met with in Ireland or England. The 
 less said on this head, perhaps, the better ; I may feel myself a 
 man face to face with the enemy, and find himself only a pigmy 
 in patriotism side by side with Irishmen three thousand miles away 
 from that enemy. For the purpose of furthering the aim of my 
 life, I have, since I came to America, sought admission to every 
 society having an Irish name or an Irish object in view. I have 
 been refused admission to some because of my character as an 
 Irish revolutionist ; I have acquired membership in others, and 
 am working to-day as one of the Council of the Fenian Brotherhood 
 and one of the Council of the United Irishmen ; and I have been 
 expelled from one Irish society, and branded by that expulsion as 
 
Supplementary Chapter — 1882. iii 
 
 * a traitor to Ireland/' because I would not give up association 
 with the Fenian Brotherhood. And this society, the council of 
 which expelled me, claims to be the ultra-Irish revolutionary 
 society of America. Wonders will never cease ! 
 
 With the history Irishmen have, or ought to have, by heart, it is 
 surprising how easy it is to lead them to expect redress for their 
 grievances from the Parliament of England — from that Parliament 
 that has so often cajoled and deceived them, that Parliament whose 
 proper function is to rivet the chains by which they are held in 
 bondage. I don't know is it innate slavery, the slavery engen- 
 dered in the Irish blood during seven hundred years of subjection — 
 I don't know what it is ; but there it is again at the very present 
 day — the people "agitating" for their rights, and sending good 
 men to the London Parliament to get them. It is, to my mind, 
 the evading and avoiding of what alone will ever get Irish rights 
 from England — that is, fight and preparation for it. 
 
 All English statesmen and historians tell us that it is fight alone 
 will compel England to give up Ireland. The ablest living one — 
 James Anthony Froude — came to America seven or eight years 
 ago and told us England was never going to give up her hold of 
 Ireland until she was beaten to her knees. I was listening to him 
 saying the words. I believe him, but I also believe the Irish people 
 are able to beat England to her knees, if they will only act like 
 men and meet England with her own weapons — meet her with 
 what she now terms "the resources of civilization." 
 
 Father Tom Burke came to lecture after Froude, and I heard 
 him. I was listening to him say that when Macaulay's artist stood 
 sketching the ruins of St. Paul's, with the New-Zealand er stand- 
 ing on the broken arch of London Bridge, then might there be a 
 hope for Ireland's freedom. That, in plain words meant, that 
 when London was burned to ashes Ireland would be free. The 
 words struck a chord in my own mind and made music, and I have 
 been trying to beat time to that music since. I say very plainly 
 and emphatically that, if the destruction of London is to be the 
 price of Irish freedom, the Irish people should pay that price for 
 it. Let justice be done, though the heavens should fall. 
 
 If Irishmen will wage a successful war against England, they 
 will have to fight England with her own weapons. Two years ago 
 England had a war in Kaffirland and Zulnland, and to bring the 
 natives to their knees — not alone to their knees, but to their 
 graves — England, with dynamite and other destructive "resources 
 of her civilization," as Gladstone calls them, blasted them in the 
 very caves and caverns of the mountains in which they sought re- 
 fuge. Two years ago, when Gladstone was out of office, and in op- 
 position to the Disraeli ministry, he said, speaking of Ireland, that 
 an act of eviction was an act of war, was tantamount to a sentence 
 of death. Now, under his own ministry this very da} 7 , those " acts 
 
iv Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 of war," those "sentences of death/' are executed in every county 
 in Ireland, and if the indignation and retaliation of the Irish peo- 
 ple would set London and other English cities ablaze, not alone 
 would the whole Irish race all over the world rejoice, but the 
 world itself and the victim spirits of the English-oppressed na- 
 tions of the earth would shout " Halleluiah ! " from the heavens. 
 
 This may look like tall talk, but it is no taller than I have been 
 trying to act during my "banishment from Ireland. England has 
 proclaimed war against me ; she makes me an outcast on the 
 world, and forbids me to tread my native land, and I have made no 
 peace with England. I am at war with her, and, so help me God ! 
 I will wage that war against her till she is stricken to her knees or 
 till I am stricken to my grave. What if I have become an Ameri- 
 can citizen ? American citizenship does not imply that I am to 
 renounce my sympathy for any of the tyrant- stricken peoples of 
 the earth or withhold my assistance from them ; and of all those 
 oppressed peoples the Irish people are the most sorely stricken 
 and are cursed with the most cruel tyranny. I can never be 
 known only as an Irishman — I don't want ever to be known but as 
 an Irishman — but even were I a thoroughbred or a thoroughborn 
 American, no law, human or divine, could or would prevent me 
 from giving my sympathy and assistance to the Irish people, or to 
 any other people battling for their freedom. 
 
 A hundred years ago America fought for independence against 
 the oppressor of the nations, and in the commencement of that 
 fight she appealed to Ireland for assistance, and got it. In July, 
 1775, the first Continental Congress met in Philadelphia, and 
 issued an appeal for assistance to the Irish nation. Here are some 
 of the words of that appeal : 
 
 ' ' We are desirous of possessing the good opinion of the virtuous and hu- 
 mane. We are particularly desirous of furnishing you with the state of our 
 motives and objects, the better to enable you to judge of our conduct with ac- 
 curacy, and determine the merits of the controversy with accuracy and pre- 
 cision. . . . You had ever been friendly to the rights of mankind, and 
 we acknowledge with pleasure and gratitude that your nation has produced 
 patriots who have nobly distinguished themselves in the cause of humanity in 
 America." 
 
 And in that war of hers, America got from Irishmen the aid she 
 asked, and in every war since, America got from Irishmen the aid 
 she deserved ; so much so that there is as much Irish blood ferti- 
 lizing the tree of liberty in America to-day as there is of the blood 
 of any other people. 
 
 A few months ago the newspapers of America contained tele- 
 grams to the effect that the English Government had made a de- 
 mand on the American Government for the extradition of O'Dono- 
 van Rossa. It was a rather queer demand, considering that Eng- 
 land paid my passage from an English convict prison to New York, 
 
Supplementary Chapter — 1882. v 
 
 and that she kept me in chains till she put me on board a steamer 
 in Liverpool, and then presented me with a parchment paper, 
 ordering that 1 do not return to England, Ireland, or Scotland 
 during a period of twenty years. If Irishmen will turn their at- 
 tention from " agitation" to "the resources of civilization," Til 
 be back to Ireland — in spite of England — before the twenty years 
 are up, if God spares me life. 
 
 The fight goes bravely on as I write ; Irishmen are coming to 
 learn that England has to be stricken to her knees before she 
 will surrender anything she once gets possession of. "If it 
 was only a barren rock in the middle of the trackless ocean," 
 said Lord Palmerston forty years ago, " that England got pos- 
 session of by force, she will never surrender it unless by force." 
 That's England. " If I could grasp the fires of hell," said John 
 Mitchel, " I'd seize them and hurl them into the face of my coun- 
 try's enemy." That's Ireland ; and Irishmen will win if they 
 grasp the "fires" — for England is the most inflammable country 
 in the world. 
 
 I will put on record here the policy of action that will eventually 
 bring England to her knees. That policy is laid down by a Catho- 
 lic priest ; it has been acted upon by Irishmen during the past two 
 years as far as means would permit, and is creating considerable 
 alarm in England. 
 
 .Resources of Civilization — What Irishmen can do— The Policy and 
 Programme op Action as laid down by a Catholic Priest, and adopted 
 by the United Society op the Fenian Brotherhood, the Advanced Na- 
 tionalists, and the United Irishmen. 
 
 The freedom of Ireland imports the reduction of England to a position 
 much inferior to that which she has occupied for centuries. It very probably 
 would entail the loss of her Asiatic and African possessions, and the total sepa- 
 ration from her of all her colonies. Such a consummation would be a catas- 
 trophe from even the speculative contemplation of which England must recoil 
 with horror. By consenting to Ireland's freedom, England would commit sui- 
 cide. England is pre-eminently the hypocrite, the robber, the perjurer, the 
 murderer, the pirate of the universe ; but her well-educated leaders have always 
 been remarkable for their perspicacity, and for their devotion to the interests 
 of a country that has shed enough innocent blood to drown in one great sea 
 all the English on this planet. 
 
 These reflections make it plain that England cannot consent to Ireland's 
 freedom, and that violence alone must establish that freedom, if it is to exist. 
 These propositions I consider axiomatic. Where and how should that violence 
 be applied ? Nothing would please England more than an attempt by Ireland 
 to fight her as one free nation contends in arms with another free nation. Ire- 
 land's discomfiture would be swift, certain, and complete, and her insanity 
 would give the pirate's atrocities the semblance of measures of justice and ne- 
 cessity. But to locate the struggle on Irish soil would be to cause England's 
 joy to overflow, and to make Ireland's ruin irremediable. Ireland is not a free 
 nation, and is therefore not subject to the laws which should regulate the con- 
 duct of a free nation in its belligerent relations to its antagonist. When that an- 
 tagonist is England, Ireland should understand that the situation demands such 
 methods as are justifiable when a captive is endeavoring to rescue his property, 
 
vi Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 bis liberty, and his life from his piratical captor. England is longing for a war 
 in Ireland. Prudent Irishmen will not gratify her craving. England, if at- 
 tacked abroad, can scarcely be injured, because she forces her subject nations 
 to fight her battles and pay all the expenses of military operations; if attacked 
 at home, she is very destructible. The products of her soil are incapable of 
 supporting more than a small part of her population; the gold and silver which 
 she has stolen from every nation that has been cursed with her always baleful 
 influence, the bonds of the nations which have been under the necessity of bor- 
 rowing some capital purloined by her from them and others, the machinery 
 which brings her a great part of such of her wealth as is not acquired by free- 
 booting and piracy, her immense stores of all kinds for her fleets and armies, 
 and her nearly incredible quantity of merchandise are clustered in large, com- 
 pact, inflammable cities. For their defence against a judicious invader her 
 navy would be useless, and her army would vainly oppose a destroyer that fears 
 no ammunition. Her cities invite destruction. The loss of them would so 
 cripple England as to leave her unable to take care of herself, and much more 
 unable to overpower any other country. To place her in this position neither 
 drum nor color, neither cannon nor sabre, neither camp nor ship, neither sol- 
 dier nor sailor is requisite; a few honest, earnest, obedient men, under the 
 orders of one intelligent, judicious commander, could, in a few days, anni- 
 hilate a very great part of the aggressive and defensive resources of pirate 
 England. It might not tend to discourage the invaders to know that Eng- 
 land has never been invaded without being conquered. The Romans in- 
 vaded and conquered England; the Angles and Saxons invaded and con- 
 quered England; the Danes invaded and conquered England; the Normans 
 invaded and conquered England; the Dutch invaded and conquered England; 
 a very few years ago a half-dozen Irishmen invaded and conquered England. 
 There was only one man killed in the invasion, and he perished by accident, 
 yet England was so terrified that in utter helplessness she broke up her eccle- 
 siastical garrison in Ireland, and made it plain to all who had eyes to see that 
 the violence had been applied in the proper place, and that a greater degree of 
 it would have compelled the abolition of the military garrison. Violence in 
 Ireland had always hurt the Irish and exhilarated the English. England had 
 for centuries repelled the assaults of popes, cardinals, archbishops, bishops, 
 priests, casuists, and polemics upon that ecclesiastical garrison ; she had listen- 
 ed for cycles of years, with amused contempt, to the frothy invectives of en- 
 thusiastic blunderers, who thought that talking in the English Parliament 
 would turn the English banditti in Ireland inlo philanthropists; she despised 
 their amalgamated forces and flouted them by augmenting the strength of the 
 garrison. A half dozen men who had not fame, title, position, or influence, 
 who did not affect to be orators, whom no pious man of prominence would 
 countenance, let alone bless, forced England in a few minutes, and at the ex- 
 pense of a few cents, to destroy that garrison. After that the man who cannot 
 see that violence should be applied in England must be blind indeed ; he who 
 doubts its good effect there cannot be convinced. 
 
 Ignorance is impotence. There never was a nation better acquainted with 
 this fact than England, and she has used it to make Ireland totally incapable 
 of resistance. She has not only darkened the intellects of the Irish people, by 
 cunningly reducing them to a state of gross and universal ignorance, but she 
 has thereby made it easy for impostors to delude their consciences. The Irish- 
 man's property is in slavery, his body is in slavery, his intellect is in slavery, 
 his conscience, in the matter of his country, is in slavery. England thoroughly 
 understands that the emancipation of the Irish intellect and conscience would 
 very promptly terminate the thraldom of his property and of his body. Unable 
 to keep the Irishman of the present day wholly illiterate, she represents the 
 history of his own country as a farrago of nonsense and barbarity, and diverts 
 him from all inquiry about Irish matters to the study of her annals, which, 
 
Supplementary Chapter — 1882. , vii 
 
 though filthy with swinish lust and bloody with the gore of millions of inno- 
 cent victims, she teaches him to regard as the inspirers of noble thoughts and 
 the prompters of glorious achievements. With enforced ignorance where it 
 may be maintained and these pestilent falsehoods, which, where it cannot ex- 
 ist, serve her purposes even better, she draws strength from those who should 
 blast her vigor and turns those who should be implacable enemies into admir- 
 ing auxiliaries. Victoria was crowned on the 28th day of June, 1837. Is there 
 an omen in this convention's opening on the anniversary of her coronation ? 
 As a necessary part of the proceedings on this occasion, she took an oath to 
 uphold the doctrine " that the sacrifices of Masses, in which it was commonly 
 said that the priest did offer Christ for the quick and the dead, to have a re- 
 mission of pain or guilt, were blasphemous fables and dangerous deceits." The 
 predecessors of this woman used to rip up the abdomens of pregnant Irish- 
 women, take out the infants, toss them up and catch them on pikes, throw the 
 children and the entrails of the disembowelled creatures into the fire before their 
 dying eyes, and when roasted give them to the dogs. They used to kill Irish- 
 men by pulling them by the necks a little above the ground, ripping them up, 
 and tearing out their hearts and entrails. They quartered their bodies and 
 fixed the heads and quarters on poles to strike terror into the survivors. This 
 is peculiarly horrible, but to this woman's predecessors' most delicious and un- 
 mistakably English method of slaughtering innocent Christians they some- 
 times made it more amusing and more English by cutting off the members of 
 the victims piecemeal. All this they did to prove to the Irish " that the sacri- 
 fices of Masses, in which it was commonly said that the priest did offer Christ for 
 the quick and the dead, to have remission of pain or guilt, were blasphemous 
 fables and dangerous deceits." 
 
 The morose harridan who swore this oath, and now rules England and tor- 
 tures Ireland, has discovered that hanging, ripping, disembowelling, and quar- 
 tering are ways entirely too slow for the extirpation of the Irish people ; she 
 perceives that the result can be reached much more expeditiously by means of 
 famine, and that by employing that unbloody but unerring agency she can 
 slay more Irish in a week than her predecessors slew in a year, while she avoids 
 the odium of their system, and in the midst of her commission of unprovoked 
 murders hears herself styled by the teachers of her victims a gracious lady. 
 This Jezabel, whose garments are continually dripping with the innocent blood 
 of murdered Irishmen, whose property she enjoys, has bought with the profits 
 of that property the souls and consciences of some of the leaders among Ire- 
 land's teachers, and one of them went so far as to blaspheme God, and to de- 
 clare that he had not provided punishment enough for such as would disturb 
 her possession. Ignorance, deluded by oily rogues, excused the blasphemy as a 
 mere exaggeration, and believes that the condemnation, with this slight re- 
 serve, was intensely patriotic and edifyingly Christian. Such ignorance should 
 be removed ; while it exists Ireland must writhe in agony. A nation is an 
 aggregation of individuals, and no nation can become or remain free in which 
 self-reliance is not a national characteristic. England has always labored with 
 extreme earnestness and persistence, and with some success, to eradicate this 
 quality from the Irish character. She is daily repeating to the Irish people 
 what she has been saying to them for centuries, that there is some radical and 
 fatal imperfection in their character, and that by reason of it they are incapable 
 of autonomy. She and her hirelings are never weary of putting forward tnis 
 calumny. Her dupes, some of whom are zealous Irish patriots, believe it, and 
 lament what they suppose to be the irreparable misfortune of their countrymen. 
 England, her hirelings, and her dupes, point to the divisions among them as 
 irrefragable proof to their insulting theory. When we know England to be a 
 professional perjurer it is not difficult to regard her as a virulent liar. The 
 world has for centuries been astonished at the unfaltering attachment to theif 
 principles of the Irish people, whom the combined hatred of England's rulers 
 
yiii Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 and her Parliaments, venting* itself in horrible and uninterrupted massacres 
 and in famines organized to dishearten them with more speed and less expense, 
 has completely failed to wrench from their traditions. No other nation on 
 earth has been so crucially tested, no other nation on earth has given such proof 
 of devotion to principles. Devotion to principles is the strongest possible bond 
 of union ; hence we may conclude that England's assertion that the Irish 
 character has an irrepressible tendency to disunion is an abominable but pecu- 
 liarly English falsehood. 
 
 The perseverance of the Irish people in trying to recover their liberty is 
 another demonstration of the profligacy of the English traducers. That there 
 are dissensions among the people of Ireland is not wonderful ; that they are 
 not a thousand times as great and as numerous is prodigious. England has 
 for centuries been sowing them with all the might of her sovereigns, her 
 Parliaments, her armies, her preachers, her orators, her writers, her hire- 
 lings, her allies, her dupes ; she has omitted no crime, spared no money, wav- 
 ered before no hardship to attain success, yet England screams to-day for help 
 against those whom she pretends to mock as incapable of anything but dis- 
 sension. 
 
 The Germans slaughtered one another, with the aid of foreigners, often, for 
 thirty consecutive years ; the French have horrified mankind with their inter- 
 necine wars ; the other continental nations have drenched their soil with the 
 blood of their countrymen ; in these United States immense consanguineous 
 armies have shed rivers of blood, brothers not rarely meeting in deadly con- 
 flict ; the surface of England herself was for centuries scarlet with the blood of 
 civil war ; yet she tells us that those melancholy spectacles are not evidence of 
 incompetence. The Irish have not spilled their proportion of blood in civu 
 strife ; nevertheless England and her hirelings and her dupes assure us that 
 they are more given to bloody dissensions than their neighbors, and are there- 
 fore unfit for freedom. This monstrous error, unremittingly inculcated by 
 England, causes honest Irish hearts to question the wisdom of violent proceed- 
 ings to recover Irish liberty. Its removal would substitute courage for fear, 
 resolution for indecision, confidence for faint-heartedness. 
 
 Ireland, enlightened and virtuous, cannot be kept in slavery. God save 
 her ! 
 
 The clergyman who wrote that for the Society of United Irish- 
 men is a parish priest officiating in the United States ; he is an 
 exemplary man and a man of peace, but he knows that Ireland 
 can never free herself from England without war, and he advo- 
 cates the warfare that will be the most destructive to England and 
 least hurtful to Ireland. 
 
 O'Connell, too, was a man of peace, but he in his indignation 
 would sometimes cry out that " they who would be free themselves 
 must strike the blow." And one time, at a banquet in Cork City 
 in 1843, in the presence of priests and people he said : 
 
 "Suppose some penniless, shoeless Irishman, who made his way across the 
 Channel on the deck of a steamer, found himself in Manchester or St. Giles, 
 and collected a number of Irishmen about him, and one would ask him, 
 « What news ? ' to which he would reply : ' Your father was cut down by a 
 dragoon, your mother was shot by a policeman, or your sister' — but I will not 
 say what has befallen her— let this happen, and I will ask Peel how many fires 
 would blaze out in the manufactories of England ? " 
 
 The very thing that has happened in Ireland this very year— a police- 
 man drove his bayonet through the body of Ellen MacDonagh & 
 
Supplementary Chapter — 1882. ix 
 
 Belmullet. The manufactories of England did not blaze yet to 
 any great extent ; I hope they will soon, and keep blazing till 
 England is convinced she is going to lose more than she is going 
 to gain by holding Ireland. When she will be convinced of that, 
 Ireland will be free. 
 
 I have written more than I intended to write. It is difficult to 
 write at all on Irish affairs at such a crisis as the present ; but as I 
 have to speak I must speak my mind. I like very much to be 
 popular, to be with the crowd, to join in the hurrah of " Land 
 without striking a blow " ; but popularity is out of the question 
 with me there : — I believe it is 
 
 " By the blows alone that men strike in their strength 
 The chains of the tyrant can be broken," 
 
 and I always act up to my belief. I cannot run with the hare and 
 hold with the hound. 
 
 I thought this book of my prison life was going to make a for- 
 tune for me, or for my family after I was dead, and I preserved as 
 my property the plates and copyright of it so far; but now Z have 
 to sell that property, and the purchaser, P. J. Kenedy, requests 
 me to add another chapter to it. This is the chapter ; and as 
 the book is going to live longer than myself, I will print in it 
 some articles from the United Irishman of the issue of the week in 
 which I am writing this, that the men of the future may judge 
 how the battle of Ireland in America was going on in the year 
 1882. 
 
 JAW-BREAKERS. 
 
 'Twas a coal-torpedo at first, which was a very simple thing ; 'twas an in- 
 fernal machine, secondly, that blew up the Doterel; then 'twas nothing at all — 
 'twas all spontaneous combustion that blew her up, and no one was to blame. 
 But the ghost of that Doterel is still haunting the minds of the English min- 
 isters, and that ghost cannot be " laid " while the " vengeance " of the Irish 
 Skirmishers lives. The inquiry about the destruction of the Doterel seems 
 not to be ended yet, and all the jawbreakers in the dictionary of " modern 
 science " are brought into use to account for what smashed the jaws of the 
 Doterel. One telegram yesterday says it was xerotine siccatine did it, and the 
 Tribune this morning says : 
 
 u The statement of the survivors of the British sloop-of-war Doterel, blown 
 up in the Straits of Magellan in April last, which the commander-in chief at 
 Portsmouth has forwarded to the Admiralty, shows that heuotime siccative, 
 similar to that which exploded on board the flagship Triumph on the Pacific 
 station recently, was the cause of the disaster." 
 
 Will our professor enlighten us on the subject of " xerotine siccatine " and 
 "heuotime siccative" ? or can he instruct the skirmishing students on those 
 ship-breakers ? 
 
 After writing the foregoing, Robert White, of Carrick-on-Suir, asked us if 
 we saw an "interview" that appears in the Sun this morning. He handed it 
 to us, and we may as well show it to our readers ; 
 
x Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 "XEROTINE SICCATINE — MR. o'DONOVAN ROSSA INTERVIEWED CONCERNING AN 
 
 ALLEGED POWERFUL EXPLOSIVE. 
 
 " The British gunboat Doterel blew up on April 26, soon after dropping 
 anchor in the harbor of Punta Arenas. The vessel was sunk and the greater 
 part of the crew lost their lives. Not long a<ter the news of the explosion had 
 been received O'Donovan Rossa told a reporter of the Sun that he had been 
 informed that friends of Ireland had so placed explosives in the hold of the 
 Doterel that her explosion was merely a question of time. A despatch from 
 London, printed on Thursday, said : 
 
 " ' The statement of the survivors of the British sloop-of-war Doterel, blown 
 up in the Straits of Magellan in April last, which the commander-in-chief at 
 Portsmouth has forwarded to the Admiralty, shows that xerotine siccatine, 
 similar to that which exploded on board the flagship Triumph on the Pacific 
 station recently, was the cause of the disaster.' 
 
 " A reporter of the Sun asked Mr. Rossa what this xerotine siccatine was. 
 
 " 'Oh ! that's the new name for it,' said Mr. Rossa ; 'it is a terrible ex- 
 plosive. ' 
 
 " 'Of what nature ?' 
 
 " * I won't say anything about that. It is — what do you call it ? ' 
 
 " ' Siccatine.' 
 
 " • Siccatine ; yes, and it will make the English sicker yet.' 
 
 " ' You have known it for some time ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh ! yes ; but I won't say anything.' 
 
 11 'Is it a powder ?' 
 
 " ' No ; it comes in bottles. I have the recipe.' 
 
 "Mr. Rossa took out a large envelope marked ' Receipts for Skirmishers,' 
 and read a letter, couched in mysterious language, in which the writer says 
 * the medicine will act in five minutes or six hours as desired.' 
 
 " ' This siccatine,' said Mr. Rossa, ' can be put in a bottle, and is safe unless 
 the bottle is cracked ; then it explodes and burns. The Skirmishers in Eng- 
 land and Ireland have other materials besides bombs and torpedoes. The Eng- 
 lish knew from the first that this explosive was used, and they sought to hide 
 the fact. This siccatine is a terrible thing — worse than this,' and Mr. Rossa 
 showed a small iron bomb." 
 
 XEROTINE SICCATINE. 
 
 We have it at last ; xerotine is the name of it. It was xerotine siccatine 
 blew up the Doterel last April, and not a coal torpedo, as reported by the first 
 Commission of Inquiry. Here is the latest : 
 
 "xerotine siccatine. 
 
 " London, Jan. 18, 1882. 
 " The statements of the survivors of the British sloop-of-war Doterel, blown 
 up in the Straits of Magellan in April last, which the commander-in-chief at 
 Portsmouth has forwarded to the Admiralty, show that xerotine siccatine, 
 similar to that which exploded on board the flagship Triumph on the Pacific 
 station recently, was the cause of the disaster." 
 
 Now we are in a position to prove that xerotine siccatine was not "the 
 cause of the disaster," and if England will appoint a third commission, and 
 get permission from President Arthur to have that commission sit in New 
 York, well summon evidence to show that it was not xerotine siccatine struck 
 the blow— provided that England pay all the expenses. The Irish people will 
 yet make her pay dearly for the tyrant game she is playing in Ireland now — 
 pay her and sicken her with something more bitter than xerotine siccatine. 
 
Supplementary Chapter — 1882. xi 
 
 " FENIAN DYNAMITE. 
 
 "\Via French Atlantic Cable to the Herald.] 
 
 " London, Jan. 15, 1882. 
 
 " Referring to the explosion of an infernal machine on board the steamship 
 Oxenholme, the Daily News' New York correspondent has telegraphed the fol- 
 lowing: 
 
 " ' O'Donovan Rossa says he is not surprised to hear this. Irishmen in Eng- 
 land and Ireland are determined to blow up anything English at every oppor- 
 tunity. He has no doubt that the machines were put on board at Liverpool 
 with intent to destroy the vessel, but he has no direct knowledge of these par- 
 ticular machines, because he cannot tell when the men in Ireland intend to 
 strike. "We send them money," he adds, "and means to work with, and 
 they use them as they think best. We will continue to use the machines till 
 England does Ireland justice. This is only one instance. The Doterel was 
 another. I know that the Doterel was blown up by an infernal machine." ' 
 
 ' ' SOMETHING DECENT AMERICANS DO CARE FOR AND SOMETHING THEY DON'T. 
 
 "It will be observed from one of our special cable despatches that the 
 American correspondent of the London Daily News is striving to propagate 
 the impression in Great Britain that that Irish knave, O'Donovan Rossa, is a 
 person of large influence in the United States. But it is safe to affirm that 
 there are not a dozen decent persons in this country outside of Tammany and 
 kindred circles who ever would hear of the blatherskite's bluster but for the un- 
 due prominence which this correspondent and fellows of his sort give it. No 
 respectable part of this community cares what Rossa says. It is of no conse- 
 quence, and the man himself is undeserving even of notoriety until, like Gui- 
 teau, he meets his fate some day at the end of a hangman's rope, when it will 
 be the duty of the press to print a report of the execution as news. That such 
 will be his fate, if he does not accomplish a cowardly evasion of justice, we 
 cannot doubt, and we think that he deserves it as richly as Guiteau does. But 
 while no decent persons here care what O'Donovan Rossa says, they do care 
 that reputable British newspapers like the Daily News should permit their 
 American correspondents to cable such trash to them." — New York Herald. 
 
 That's a terrible rigmarole of abuse the New York English organ-grinder 
 flings at us; but the abuse of a prostitute doesn't trouble us We think the 
 English press of America used to say a hundred years ago that George Wash- 
 ington was a scoundrel, deserving of the hangman's rope, and England em- 
 ployed Hessians and Indians to get at his scalp. 
 
 One thing is certain, O'Donovan Rossa can't do much ; but he, and a few 
 Irishmen with him, scattered here and there throughout the world, are trying 
 to demonstrate to the Irish race the possible way to persuade England it will 
 be to her interest to give up Ireland, 
 
 If O'Donovan Rossa had money enough to back his advice he would advise 
 the Irish race, that are scattered throughout the world by England ' with a 
 vengeance," to burn up everything that an English flag covered as soon as they 
 set eyes upon it. 'Tis the way to bring England to her knees, and 'twill be 
 done yet — just as soon as the Irish people give up their humbug and delusions 
 and turn their attention to the practical way of getting rid of a tyrant that is 
 to them the curse of God as well as of the devil. 
 
 Oh ! yes. We see by the telegrams this morning we are writing that there 
 are hints thrown out that Gladstone is disposed to introduce th.s session of 
 Parliament a measure of home rule for Ireland that will " astonish the na- 
 tives." We thoroughly understand this game of carry the fool further; it is 
 not Gladstone's home rule we want, but none of Gladstone's rule, and we'll 
 have that before five years if the Irishmen who are now wasting their energies 
 
xii Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 on Parliamentary agitation will only turn a little of their attention and assist- 
 ance to the skirmishing work. 'Tis of that Gladstone is afraid. 
 
 THE LAND LEAGUE IN BOSTON— PATRICK A. COLLINS. 
 
 "South Boston, Jan. 23, 1882. 
 "At a public meeting of the Irish National Land League, held at Cale- 
 donia Hall, in this city, on Jan. 20, Mr. P. A. Collins made a stirring address, 
 and claimed that no man was working for the cause of Ireland any faster or 
 farther than he was prepared to go, but that he must see his way and if he 
 could not see it, then he must at least feel it, and that no amount of criticism 
 iould drive him from his position. He further stated, in answer to proposi- 
 tions to change the name and tactics of the organization, that it would be the 
 utmost folly and cowardice to desert the Land League flag and set up another 
 standard in its place and at a time when the leaders were in prison ; that we 
 should wait until they were released or they issued another manifesto setting 
 forth the course to be pursued, and closed with a glowing tribute to his friend, 
 O'Donovan Rossa, who through good report and ill kept the old flag flying 
 still. He believed in 'the resources of civilization.' He agreed perfectly with 
 General Sherman when he said, during the rebellion, that war was horrible, 
 cruel — nay, it was hell itself. The speaker claimed that when two nations 
 were at war, as in the case of Ireland, where the tyrant deprives the people oi 
 free speech, free press, and denies them the use of arms, that the weaker was 
 legally entitled to use every resource which science and chemistry could afford 
 them, and that it was perfectly legitimate for the Irish people to use all means 
 in their power to win back liberty and independence. 
 
 " Felix O'Frieke." 
 
 There is hardly an incident in the life of the Land League movement that 
 does not remind us of something we met long, long ago in the old land and 
 in the old work. The correspondent who sends us the report of that Land 
 League meeting in Boston gives us his name and address, and we presume 
 everything reported in it is correct. 
 
 P. A. Collins says we stick to the old flag and keep it flying. We do. But 
 we are growing weak and weary; the tide is too strong against us, and it is 
 very possible that the crowd who are rushing to get a free Ireland from Eng- 
 land without striking a blow — rushing in a direction opposite to the direction 
 toward which we are creeping — will trample us under foot. We give Mr. P. 
 A. Collins and many others in the Land League credit for believing that we 
 must have some fight with England before she will give up Ireland ; and when 
 some of these strong men cannot afford to come to the support of the flag that 
 we are growing too weak to sustain gallantly, it does not look well for Ireland's 
 hopes, or our hopes of freedom by the aid of her exiled children, whom England 
 cleared out with a vengeance. 
 
 But what stories are these P. A. Collins's words put into our head? Oh! yes ; 
 Mr. Collins must " see his way." Ah! if we could all see our way to Ireland's 
 freedom we would all rush toward the goal ; but England and England's arts 
 darken the way ; we aim at spreading the light, but our light is not strong 
 enough to pierce through the many delusions in which the kernel of Irish inde- 
 pendence is enmeshed. P. A. Collins " must see his way." Yes ; twenty 
 years ago we were as "foolish" as we are to-day — yes, thirty years ago — 
 and we are as " foolish " to-day about Ireland as we ever were. But twenty 
 years ago McCarthy Downing, who died last year a member of Parliament, 
 lived in the same city with us — Skibbereen. He sent for us on some business 
 connected with our imprisonment in '58 and '59, and he asked us if we wouldn't 
 have "sense" ; that we had a wife and four young children (just as we haw 
 
Supplementary Chapter — 1882. xiii 
 
 to-day) to look after. He said he would "be a man," too, " if lie could see hia 
 way," and he said he would " be the first man to handle a pike if he thougJU it 
 would be of any use." Isn't that P. A. Collins to a T ? And McCarthy 
 Downing is dead, God rest him ! and Ireland isn't free ; we hope we will never 
 have that to say of P. A. Collins. 
 
 We have another of those stories to tell, and to make it agreeable to P. A. 
 Collins we'll bring another lawyer into it. William Lane O'Neill, of No. 181 
 Broadway, is one of the most brilliant lawyers in New York City to-day. We 
 were a guest twenty odd years ago at the house of his father, who was a great 
 missionary of temperance, and a worthy man in every way, and we thought to 
 return him the compliment of his hospitality by making him a guest of our 
 confederation. But Mr. O'Neill wanted "to see his way." He accompanied 
 us to the Cork and Bandon Railway station. He stood opposite a house in 
 course of erection. "Look there," said he ; "the man who has undertaken u 
 build that house knows what he has to provide in order to complete i 
 You see the timber, wood, and stone, and labor are all calculated and provided 
 for. In the building of your house have you calculated and provided all those 
 things, and laid your plans on a solid foundation ? Show me that you have 
 and all is right." We couldn't show him any such thing. We were only 
 laboring on a mission to provide the material necessary to success ; it is men 
 that provide material, and it was men we wanted ; if we had everything that 
 was necessary to ensure success, we would have every one in Ireland with 
 us, and even the Cullens and Moriartys singing '' Te Deuras " with us ; even 
 the ghost of Tommie Moore himself would jump for joy ; for he tells us to 
 
 " Blame not the bard " 
 
 for not worrying himself too much about his country's slavery, and calls oi. 
 Us to 
 
 "Mark how he'd feel " 
 
 if a vista but gleamed of her freedom. Yes, Tommie Moore himself would be 
 "as good a man as any when the time came," and " the first man to handle a 
 pike if he thought it would be of any use " P. A. Collins and others like him 
 in the Land League must do better, or they'll die as Moore and McCarthy 
 Downing died — in Irish slavery. 
 
 The English governor? forbid myself to enter England, Ireland, 
 or Scotland, and as they know my teaching is the teaching that 
 will bring England to her knees, they also forbid my newspaper to 
 enter their dominions. Several of my agents over the water tell 
 me their papers are seized and confiscated by the Government, and 
 the following telegram is published in the New York papers : 
 
 "TWO TONS WEIGHT OF O'DONOVAN ROSSA'S PAPER SEIZED. 
 
 " London, Jan. 27. — The Customs authorities to-day seized two tons of the 
 United Irishman newspaper on its arrival at Folkestone. The paper is pub- 
 lished in New York City, under the editorial management of O'Donovan 
 Rossa." 
 
 The work that England fears most is the work that Irishmen 
 should practise and study most. England dreads secret organiza- 
 tion, and dreads that the Irish people will carry the war into 
 England. I believe in the efficacy of both to make England do 
 justice to Ireland. I believe with John Mitchel that for all 
 
xiv Supplementary Chapter — 1882. 
 
 Ireland's wrongs, her artificial famines, her packed juries, her 
 perjured judges, her grinding landlords, there is but one sole 
 remedy — the edge of the sivord. 
 
 And with Mitchel's teaching before our eyes, and O'Connell's 
 failure before our eyes, here we are back again into the rut of 
 "moral force," and "parliamentary agitation," and, wonder of 
 wonders! here are the men who are "gone with a vengeance" — the 
 men who, it was prophesied, would return with a vengeance — here 
 they are expending their energies on the effort to reason England 
 out of Ireland, to show her up to the world as a monster of in- 
 justice, and to make her so much ashamed of herself that she will 
 come to her knees and cry " Peccavi." As well reason with a 
 tiger that has his fangs in the body of his prey. 
 
 The most painful thing to me in finishing this chapter is to see 
 by the papers that evictions are taking place in every county in 
 Ireland, which is a sure indication that England's work is going on 
 successfully. England wants to exterminate us ; and while we 
 submit to the process peacefully and without retaliation, the land 
 ;s dead, no matter how loud the " agitation" may be in it. John 
 Mitchel, after describing an eviction, says in his "Last Conquest 
 of Ireland " : 
 
 "It is but fair to tell that sometimes an ejecting landlord or agent was 
 shot by desperate houseless men. What wonder ? There were not half 
 enough of them shot. If the people had not been too gentle, forgiving, and 
 submissive, their island could never have become a horror and scandal to the 
 earth." 
 
 God be good to you, Mitchel ! 
 
 I have now finished my chapter. Things must change, the peo- 
 ple must change, for if nothing else will kill the delusion that 
 possesses them, English trueulence will kill it. I will try and 
 follow up the thorny path of life I have so far trodden. My 
 faith is strong. It is possible I will write another book, if I live 
 long. I see no one writing the history of Fenianism — no one 
 who knows anything about it ; and, dead or alive, I would be 
 angry at seeing the history of that work written by one who knew 
 nothing about it. 
 
 As secretary of the Eenian Brotherhood, I have at present pos- 
 session of all the papers of the Fenian Brotherhood, and the 
 Council will give me permission to use them. Outside of Mr. 
 Stephens, I know as much about the movement in England, 
 Ireland, and Scotland for the past twenty-five years as any other 
 man living. Mr. Kenedy, the publisher, has made me an offer 
 for the book, and Til write it. 
 
PEEFAOE. 
 
 The following article is from the L nd m Spectator. It is a review of the report oi Lord 
 Devon's Commission of Ii quiry into our treatment in prison, It is an English adm.*sior 
 that the English Governmmt treated us shan efully. I reprinr, it here as a kind of preface^ 
 even though a more suitable place for it may be found in another part « f the book — O'Doho- 
 van Rossa. 
 
 [From the London Spectator.] 
 
 It is a sorry admission to be obliged to make, but it is the 
 t m th — and we believe that the policy, no less than the daty, 
 of those who seek to reconcile the people of England and the 
 people of Ireland is to state the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth, on all questions at issue between them 
 — it is the truth, then, we are sorry to say, that the complaints 
 so angrily and persistently made in Ireland for the last three 
 years, regarding the treatment of Fenian prisoners detained in 
 English jails, have been, if not literally maintained, certainly in 
 their substance justified. Those statements, advanced in the 
 House of Commons by members of Parliament, and in memo- 
 rials addressed to the Government by Irish municipalities, in 
 the most formal and serious manner, in which such charges 
 could be raised, have been met by the ministers especially re- 
 sponsible and by the prime minister himself, with an indignant 
 and categorical denial. At last, however, on the occasion when 
 Mr. Gladstone promised to " liberate" these prisoners in the event 
 of a cessation of the aggrarian disturbances which prevailed in 
 
n PREFACE. 
 
 three or four Irish counties last March, he also consented to the 
 appointment of a commission to inquire into the charges brought 
 against the prison officials. That commission has reported, and 
 its report justifies some of the worst charges advanced against 
 the administration. It is a simple matter of fact that in one 
 case, the case of O'Donovan Kossa, punishment was carried to 
 the extent of torture — torture of a novel kind, certainly, but 
 quite as brutal as the boot, and protracted with a vindictive 
 pertinacity unprecedented, we hope and believe, in this century 
 on this side of the equator. 
 
 Mr. Gladstone saw a great many shocking things in the 
 prisons of Naples, and he recorded them in terms and in a tone 
 which thrilled the hearts of all civilized men. But if it had been 
 his lot to see one Italian prisoner, one of Poerio's rougher and 
 less cultivated comrades, who, for an act of insubordination to 
 his jailor, had, without further warrant than that official's will, 
 had his hands manacled behind his back, except at the hour of 
 meals and the hours of sleep, for thirty-four continuous days, in 
 what words would he not have painted that long agony of 
 artificial paralysis and unmanning ignomony ! How he would 
 have described the exquisite torture of depriving a being made 
 in God's image, for the coarse offence of a moment's fury, 
 through more than one whole month, in the full heat of the 
 Neapolitan midsummer, of the use of his hands, of the organs, 
 that is to say, which, after his brain, are the most active, intelli- 
 gent, and indispensable agents of his life ! Consider the incessant 
 series of services which the cunning of a man's hand renders to 
 him in the course of one whole day, and then imagine the state 
 of a man shut up alone in a cell for thirty -four successive days> 
 and those the thirty-four hottest days of the year, with his hands 
 pinioned at the loins ! A man in such a state is at the mercy of 
 the meanest insect in creation. The wasp may fasten on his 
 
PREFACE. ill 
 
 eyelid, or the bug burrow in his ear, and he cannot help himself. 
 If tears flow from his eyes he cannot brush them off. The sense 
 of personal filth, which is the sorest trial of prolonged and relax- 
 ing illness, is enforced on a man in the full vigor of an unusually 
 robust constitution, at the time of a year when the air of a cell is 
 like the air of an oven. Suppose such a man to be suddenly 
 attacked with sickness, that he burst a blood vessel, that he has a 
 fit, that he vomits violently, that he is attacked by cholera, how is 
 he to summon help ? He may be too weak to cry so that his 
 voice shall pierce walls and bars, or to ring the bell, if indeed a 
 bell be provided, with his teeth. It is here that the spirit of 
 torture which originally suggested such a punishment as handcuff- 
 ing behind the back most distinctly reveals itself. A man hand- 
 cuffed in front would be equally secured from doing violence to 
 himself or others — and for such a reason only, it is manifest, 
 ought handcuffing or the strait-waistcoat to be employed on the 
 prisoners of a country pretending to consider itself Christian and 
 civilized — but handcuffing in front does not reduce a man to 
 such a condition that, where his state is not like that of a cripple, 
 it is more or less like that of a corpse. We wonder what may 
 become the favorite attitude of a man whose hands are strapped 
 behind his back for many hours a day, and many days together. 
 The ingenious violence that is done to some of the most delicate 
 and complex nerves, muscles and vessels in the body is such that 
 he can hardly escape incurring the liability to aneurism, or 
 anachylosis, or some form of paralysis. Poerio was chained. But 
 a man who is chained can at least lie down or sit down with 
 tolerable ease. A man who is handcuffed behind the back can 
 only lie down on his breast, and that in a form peculiarly inju- 
 rious to the lungs and heart. Unless his cell happens to be 
 purposely provided with a low stool, he cannot, we imagine, sit 
 down without very great discomfort. Kneeling is of the few 
 
It PREFACE. 
 
 bodily adjustments possible to him, the one that, perhaps, can be 
 longest endured, kneeling with one shoulder leaned against a wall, 
 varied by walking backwards and forwards, and counting the few 
 possible paces, and trying to multiply them into miles ; we dare 
 say that is the way O'Donovan Kossa dodged mortal disease, and 
 kept his reason during those thirty-four days. This miserable 
 man was not a minister of State, like Poerio, but he was, so far as 
 the will of one of the greatest of the Irish shires could so make 
 him, a member of the British Parliament. This charge of torture 
 was made. It was denied again and again, but it was a true 
 charge ; and the people of Tipperary marked their sense of its 
 truth by sending the name of O'Donovan Kossa to the head of the 
 poll at the next election. This was a turbulent and ungracious 
 manifestation of opinion, no doubt ; but there was much more 
 excuse for it than we thought at the time. That the provocation 
 given by O'Donovan Eossa was of a very gross character, and that 
 he was a most difficult subject to manage, need hardly be said. 
 Prison discipline must be maintained over political offenders as 
 well as over pickpockets. Flog, if necessary ; if it be still more 
 necessary, introduce martial law into our prisons and shoot But 
 let whatever punishment is inflicted on any man, however guilty 
 or unworthy, who bears the character of a British subject, be a 
 punishment according to the spirit as well as the letter of English 
 law, and according to the custom of the Courts of the United 
 Kingdom. If a police magistrate at Bow-street were to take it 
 upon himself to order a thief thirty times convicted before him 
 to be handcuffed behind the back for thirty days, how long would 
 the Chancellor allow such a magistrate to hold a seat on the 
 bench ? Shall it be tolerated that the governor of a jail is to use 
 the power that is given him for the purposes of restraint until the 
 punishment inflicted becomes by accumulation one of the most 
 truculent forms of torture ever employed? I£> it be necessary 
 
PREFACE. T 
 
 let us return to severe penalties ; but let such methods of punish- 
 ment, even in regard to our Irish political prisoners, be inflicted 
 only after an act of Parliament has been passed for the purpose. 
 We hanged the governor of an island for employing torture in the 
 last century. Have we so degenerated as to allow the governor 
 of a jail to use it under Queen Victoria ? Unfortunately this case, 
 though by far the worst, is not the only case in which charges 
 brought against the administration of the prisons were substan- 
 tiated to the satisfaction of the commissioners. The governor of 
 Portland, Mr. Clifton, charged O'Donovan Eossa, on the ground 
 of an intercepted paper, " with an attempt to carry on a love 
 intrigue by letter" with the wife of another prisoner. The paper 
 in question was addressed to " Mrs. Mary Moore, for Mrs. 0'D.," 
 and was evidently intended for O'Donovan Rossa's own wife. 
 The governor, however, chose to regard the insertion of the words 
 "for Mrs. O'D." as "a subterfuge," and took occasion to inform 
 the prisoner Moore of the relations which he believed existed 
 between O'Donovan Eossa and Mrs. Moore. The commissioners 
 having gone into the case carefully, at O'Donovan Rossa's request, 
 hold him "clear from the imputation of any endeavor to carry on 
 a love intrigue" and regret that the governor acted under " mis- 
 apprehension." They find, moreover, that the governor neglected 
 until he was brought before them after an interval of four years, to 
 compare the letter incriminated by him with Mrs. O'Donovan 
 Eossa's letter to which it was a reply. Had he done so, they add, 
 " such a comparison could not have failed to prevent him from 
 harboring such a suspicion, or communicating it to others." It is 
 well for Mr. Clifton that he does not form such suspicions, and 
 communicate them to others outside the walls of his jail. Were 
 he to do so, he might find that his "misapprehension" might not 
 be so lightly regarded by a jury of British husbands. In estimat- 
 ing O'Donovan Eossa's want of respect for the majesty which 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 clothes the person of a British jail governor, we submit that this 
 wholly unfounded charge against his moral character deserves 
 some slight consideration. Who can wonder that such a charge 
 should work like madness on the brain of such a man as this 
 O'Donovan Eossa ? In all that we read of him we discern the 
 elements of an essentially Southern temperament — a nature capa- 
 ble of sudden fits of fury, but not the less capable of generous 
 and noble conduct. Had Mr. Gladstone met a lazarone of such a 
 type in the prison at Naples, so tortured in the body and in the 
 soul, manacled by the back for a month, morally dishonored in 
 the face of evidence for four long years, he might well have said 
 u Ecce homo ! Such is the manner of man such a system as exists 
 in Naples naturally produces." A soft word had power to do with 
 this dogged Irish rebel what manacles could never have done. The 
 Commissioners drily record that " an opportune appeal to his bet- 
 ter feelings by Captain Du Cane in October, 1868, proved more 
 effectual than a long previous course of prison discipline ; and, 
 with one exception, in the December of that year, he has not since 
 been subjected to any further punishment." 
 
 The Commissioners, we regret to add, find that grave charges 
 brought by other convicts were well founded. They find that, 
 having arrived at Pentonville in mid-winter, they were at once 
 deprived of the flannels which they had been supplied with in the 
 Irish prison from which they came. The report that O'Connell, 
 suffering from disease of the aorta, or heart (medical authorities 
 differ on the point whether it is his heart or his aorta that is 
 affected; but he is, besides, subject to "nervous paralysis of the 
 head," and he has steadily declined in weight to the extent of 
 twenty pounds since his imprisonment) was put on bread-and- 
 water diet in close confinement seven times, being evidently "unfit 
 to undergo such discipline." Five of this prisoner's letters were 
 suppressed. The Commissioners think the letters ought to have 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 been forwarded, erasing such parts as the authorities considered 
 >bjectionable. The prisoner, Mulcahy, a man of good family and 
 emarkable talents (he was one of the principal writers of the Irish 
 People), while suffering from spitting of blood, was kept to hard 
 labor at Portland, and the hard labor was stone-dressing ; but it 
 was also proved to involve the practice of carrying large slabs of 
 stone on the back. After about three weeks of this work the 
 spitting of blood ended in haemorrhage from the lungs. The 
 Commissioners think that this prisoner was, on the whole, " not 
 fit for hard lnbor." Mulcahy, it is added, " was never reported for 
 misconduct, nor ever punished," unless, indeed, carrying slabs of 
 stone on the back when a man is spitting blood is to be considered 
 punishment. In the cases of the other prisoners who came before 
 the Commissioners, some complaints were substantiated, some held 
 not proven ; but taking a general view of the whole report, we 
 must not hesitate xo say, that the case of the Fenian prisoners 
 against the authorities has been, on the whole, established ; that 
 at least one of those prisoners was treated with a degree of barbar- 
 ity which it is grievous to contemplate ; that they were all 
 subjected to inconsiderate and unnecessary severity ; that the con- 
 duct of the officials incriminated by the report calls for further 
 action on the part of the government ; that by some of these 
 officials the government was misled so as to make untrue state- 
 ments in Parliament ; that the facts of the case, as revealed by 
 the report, deprive the amnesty of the claim to be considered in 
 any degree as " an act of pure clemency ;" and that it is impolitic, 
 and indeed, impossible to maintain the principle, for the first 
 time applied in the case of these prisoners, that political offenders 
 should be submitted to the same usage as burglars and footpads. 
 
DET3I CATION. 
 
 TO THE IRISH CONYICTED FELONS, 
 
 1863-1870. 
 
 Friends : 
 
 To you and to your memories I dedicate this book. Represent 
 ing, as you do, the different parts of Ireland — even its exiled 
 children — I hold you as the truest representatives of its people, their 
 aspirations, and their aims. Scattered, as you are, over the world 
 — sharing what seems to be the common heritage of our race — with 
 some still bound in the enemy's bonds, and others in the embrace 
 of the grave, I collect you here to offer you this humble tribute of 
 my esteem and remembrance. 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 Jer. O'Donovan Rossa. 
 
 TO 
 
 Sentence, Birthplace, 
 
 Michael O'Brien Death Co. Cork. 
 
 Michael Larkin. Death Co. Galway. 
 
 Wm, Philip Allen Death Co. Cork. 
 
 Michael Barrett Death. __ .Cork. 
 
 John McClure Death— Life Dobbs Ferry, N.Y. , America 
 
 Thomas Francis Bourke. .Death— " Fethard, Co. Tipperary. 
 
 Patrick Doran .Death — " Dublin. 
 
 John McCafferty Death— " Sandusky, O., America. 
 
 Edward Kelly Death — " _. Cork. 
 
 Edw. O'Meagher Condon. Death — " .Mitchelstown, Cork. 
 
 Wm. P.ThompsonDarragh] D ^^ f ) e (died [ Ballycastle, Antrim. 
 
 Patrick Melady. _ .Death — Life Dublin. 
 
 James F. X O'Brien Death— " Waterford. 
 
 Thomas Cullin ane Death — " Ireland. > 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Sentence. Birthplace. 
 
 John O'Brien .Life (still in prison).. .London. 
 
 Sergeant M'Carthy ..Life (still in prison)e..Fermoy, Cork. 
 
 TJiomas Chambers Life (still in prison). . .Ireland. 
 
 James Darragh Life (still in prison) Ireland. 
 
 James Wilson .Life (still in prison). _ .Ireland. 
 
 Martin Hogan Life (still in prison) Ireland. 
 
 Patrick Keating Life (still in prison) Ireland. 
 
 Thomas Hassett Life (still in prison). . .Ireland. 
 
 Michael Harrington Life (still in priron) Ireland. 
 
 Robert Cranston .Life (still in prison) Ireland. 
 
 James Keiley Life (still in prison) Ireland. 
 
 Thomas Clark Luby 20 years _ _ .Dublin. 
 
 John O'Leary. 
 Michael Sheehy. 
 
 Michael Cody 
 
 John Shine 
 
 .20 
 .20 
 .20 
 .20 
 
 Edmond Power 15 
 
 John F. Kearns 15 
 
 John Flood 15 
 
 John Devoy.. 15 
 
 Edward Duffy 15 
 
 Patrick F. Lennon 15 
 
 Patrick Loman 15 
 
 Patrick Walsh 15 
 
 William G. Halpln 15 
 
 Rickard O'S. Burke... 15 
 
 James M'Coy ...15 
 
 Thos. Delaney. 15 
 
 "Pagan" O'Leary. _ 7 
 
 Wm. Mackey Lomasney 12 
 
 Denis Dowling Mulcahy._10 
 C. Underwood O'Connell.10 
 
 Bryan Dillon 10 
 
 Thomas Baines. 10 
 
 Daniel Bradley 10 
 
 Mortimer Mori arty 10 
 
 George F. Connolly 10 
 
 John Lynch 10 
 
 Cornelius Dwyer Keane._10 
 
 William F. Roantree 10 
 
 Edw. Pilsworth St. Clair. 10 
 
 George Brown 10 
 
 Thos. M'Carthy Fennell.. 10 
 
 John Warren 15 
 
 Charles J. Kickham 14 
 
 John Boyle O'Rielly 20 
 
 Aug. Ellicott Costello..12 
 
 James O'Connor. 10 
 
 Chris. Manus O'Keefe 10 
 
 William Moore Stack 10 
 
 Patrick Barry 10 
 
 John Haltigan. _ 7 
 
 Michael O'Regan... 7 
 
 Terence Byrne 7 
 
 John Coghlan 7 
 
 William O' Sullivan 5 
 
 Edward Btttler 5 
 
 Tipperary. 
 
 " __ Cashel, Co. Tipperary. 
 
 " Dublin. 
 
 " (still in prison .Ireland. 
 
 " -Tralee Kerry. 
 
 " ..Cork. 
 
 " Baldoyle, Dublin. 
 
 " _ Naas, Kildare. 
 
 " (died in prison). Bally hadereen, Mayo. 
 
 " Dublin. 
 
 " _ ...Ireland. 
 
 " Charleville, Co. Cork. 
 
 " _. Co. Meath. 
 
 " _ Dunmanway, Cork. 
 
 " (still in prison) _ Ireland. 
 
 " (still in prison). Ireland. 
 
 " .Macroom, Cork. 
 
 " Fermoy, Co. Cork. 
 
 " _ Redmondsto'n, Tipperary. 
 
 " _ .Frankfort, Kings Co. 
 
 " (dead) Cork City. 
 
 " -. .Co. Sligo. 
 
 " _ Cork City. 
 
 " Kerry. 
 
 " Dublin. 
 
 " (died in prison). Cork. 
 
 " Skibbereen, Cork. 
 
 " - ..Leixlip, Kildare. 
 
 " Warwick. 
 
 " Glenowrin, Co. Down. 
 
 " Kilballyowen, Co. Clare. 
 
 " _- Clonakilty, Cork. 
 
 " - Mullinahone, Tipperary. 
 
 " .DowthCo., Meath. 
 
 " - Killimore, Co. Gal way. 
 
 " Glen of Imael,Co. Wicklow 
 
 " ..Ireland. 
 
 " _ .Tralee, Kerry. 
 
 " - .Co. Cork. 
 
 " Kilkenny. 
 
 " - ...Rosscarberry, Cork. 
 
 " _ .Dublin. 
 
 " - Cork. 
 
 " Kilmallock, Limerick. 
 
 " Dublin. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Sentence. Birthplace. 
 Andrew Kennedy 5 years Nenagh, Tipperary. 
 
 Hugh Francis Brophy 10 
 
 Thomas Duggan. ___10 
 
 Michael Moore 10 
 
 John Kenealy .10 
 
 John Bennett Walsh 7 
 
 Denis Cashman 7 
 
 Jeremiah Ahern _. 7 
 
 David Commins 7 
 
 Simon Downey.. _ 7 
 
 Denis Hennessey 7 
 
 Eugene Lombard 7 
 
 Morgan Mc Sweeny. 7 
 
 Joseph Noonan... ... 7 
 
 Patrick Reardon 7 
 
 John Sheehan 7 
 
 Eugene Geary _ 7 
 
 Patrick Mears 10 
 
 Peter Maughan 10 
 
 Patrick S. Doran 7 
 
 Bartholomew Moriarty 7 
 
 Henry Shaw Mulleda 7 
 
 Patrick Ryan 5 
 
 Martin Hanly Carey 5 
 
 William Murphy 5 
 
 John Carroll 5 
 
 Charles Moorehouse 5 
 
 Daniel Reddest 5 
 
 Thomas Scally 5 
 
 John Brennan 5 
 
 Timothy Fe atherstone 5 
 
 James Walsh 5 
 
 Stephen Joseph Meany 15 
 
 Michael Stanley 10 
 
 John B. S. Casey 5 
 
 Thomas Daly 5 
 
 Patrick Dunne 5 
 
 James Flood 5 
 
 Maurice Fitzglbbon 5 
 
 Thomas Fog arty 5 
 
 Luke Full am 5 
 
 Laurence Fullam ._ 5 
 
 John Goulding 5 
 
 Patrick Leahy 5 
 
 Patrick Mat 5 
 
 Michael Noonan 5 
 
 Jeremiah O'Donovan 5 
 
 Cornelius O'Mahony 5 
 
 James Reilly. 5 
 
 Robert Wall. 5 
 
 — Davitt 14 
 
 — Wilson 7 
 
 Pat. J. Hayburne 2 
 
 David OConnell.. 2 
 
 Er ward Fitzgerald 2 
 
 John O'Clohissy 2 
 
 George Hopper 2 
 
 " _ Dublin. 
 
 " Ballincollig, Cork. 
 
 " ..Dublin. 
 
 " _ .Gleannlara, Co. Cork. 
 
 " Ireland. 
 
 " Waterford. 
 
 " _ .Ireland. 
 
 " _ .Ireland. 
 
 " _ Ireland. 
 
 " _ _ -Kilmallock, Co. Limerick 
 
 " ___Cork. 
 
 " _ ..Ireland. 
 
 " .Ireland. 
 
 " Kilmallock, Limerick. 
 
 " Kilmallock, Co. Limerick. 
 
 " __ ..Ireland. 
 
 " _ ..Ireland 
 
 " Moate, Westmeath 
 
 " _ .-Kilmacow, Co. Kilkenny. 
 
 " _ _ .Ireland. 
 
 " Naas, Kildare. 
 
 " .Merthyr Tydvil. 
 
 " (dead)-. __Eyrecourt, Co. Galway. 
 
 " Cork. 
 
 " .Ireland. 
 
 " __ Ireland. 
 
 " -.-Dunleary, Dublin. 
 
 " _ Ireland. 
 
 " Ireland. 
 
 " Ireland. 
 
 " __ Ireland. 
 
 " Ennis, Clare. 
 
 " Dublin. 
 
 " ..Mitchelstown, Cork. 
 
 " Kilmallock, Co. Limerick. 
 
 " Dublin. 
 
 " _ ..Dublin. 
 
 „ - -. Kilmallock, Co. Limerick. 
 
 " Kilfeacle, Tipperary. 
 
 " ..Drogheda, Co. Meath. 
 
 " Drogheda, Co. Meath. 
 
 " - Ireland. 
 
 " _ Ireland. 
 
 " .Slane, Co. Meath. 
 
 " Kilmallock, Co. Limerick, 
 
 " - Coolfliuch, Cork. 
 
 " Macroom, Cork. 
 
 " --- Ireland. 
 
 " Ireland. 
 
 " (still in prison) .Ireland. 
 
 " (still in prison) -Ireland. 
 
 " --.- ..Dublin. 
 
 " .Tipperary. 
 
 " Tipperary. 
 
 " -- ..Dublin. 
 
 " -Dublin. 
 
4 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Sentence. 
 
 William Cu±titT 2 years. . 
 
 Gunner Flood 2 " _. 
 
 Joseph Tompkins 1| " .. 
 
 James Tompkins l| " 
 
 Joseph Brown l| " .. 
 
 John Watson l| " _. 
 
 Edwin Forrester l| " _. 
 
 James Clancy Life -- 
 
 Birthplace 
 
 Kildare. 
 
 Ireland. 
 
 ....Dublin. 
 ....Dublin. 
 
 Dublin. 
 
 ....Dublin. 
 
 Ireland. 
 
 Waterford. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I.... Page 1. 
 
 Introduction — A View of Ireland — A Semi-Political and Semi-Religiou* 
 Chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER II.... Page 5. 
 
 Ireland's Suffering — Providence — Famine — Our Fathers' Crimes — '98 and 
 '48 — Protestants and Catholics — Egotism — The Phoenix Society — Mr. Ste- 
 phens' Visit to Skibbereen — Joining the Revolutionary Society, May ,'58 — Amer- 
 ican Aid — Drilling — Police Hunts — Too Fast for the Irish Americans — Arrests 
 December, '58 — Extra Police — Meeting with William O'Shea, Tim M'Carthy, 
 Jerry Cullinane, and Denis 0' Sullivan — Bantry Prisoners — Lodged in Cork 
 Jail. 
 
 CHAPTER III.... Page 9. 
 
 Oakum and Solitary Confinement — Black Bread and Leek Porridge — Eat- 
 ing in the Dark — Mock Trial in Prison — False Swearing about Drilling, etc. — 
 " Marching in Military Order " — Patrick's Day in the Dock — Sent Back to 
 Prison Again — Plead Guilty — Jury Packing — Lord O'Hagan — Patriotism of 
 the Irish Bar a Sham — First Working of the Revolutionary Movement in '58 — 
 Mortimer Moynahan — " Steeped to the Lips in Treason " — Centres and Circles 
 — Opposition of the Clergy — Absolution Refused — The Jubilee — The Bishop 
 and Dr. Doyle — Give to Csesar What's Due to Caesar — The Police Spy System 
 —Altar Denunciation — Rev. Mr. O'Sullivan's Information to the Government, 
 and Mr. Sullivan's (of the "Nation") Note of Warning— The Evil Effects of 
 Curiosity. 
 
 CHAPTER IV... .Page 19. 
 
 A Glance Over Six Years— Eviction — Fidelity of the People — " Shoneen" 
 Snobbery — The Patriotic Bishop O'Hea — Rifles and Pikes — English Hypocrisy 
 — Surrender — Polish Demonstration and Prince of Wales' Illumination — Tear- 
 ing Down the English Flag where there was not much Danger in the Way — 
 Threats — The "Irish People" Newspaper Denunciations — Calumnies — A 
 Hard Job for any of the " Fratres Feniores " to Get Married — No Absolution 
 — Father Leader and his Gross Insult, which Ended in Marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER Y.-.-Page 32. 
 Seizure of the " Irish People " — Arrest and Search for Papers — The Bally- 
 bar Races — Story Telling — Little Jealousies — Ordered off to America — In 
 Court — Nagle and the Detectives — Richmond Prison — Religion and Routine — 
 Stripping — My Cell — My Board and Lodging — My Wife's Visit and Dr. 
 Cullen's Slanders — " Mad Dog " and Barry the Crown Prosecutor — The Lower 
 Castle Yard — Preliminary Examinations — High Treason and Hanging-— 
 Stephens' Escape — Seizure of my Defence Papers — The Trial — The Packed 
 Jury — The Packed Bench — Keogh and Fitzgerald — Conviction and Sentence 
 for Life — Search for my Treasonable Documents. 
 
 CHAPTER VI ....Page 72. 
 
 Convicted — The Black Van and the Cavalr}" — Mountjoy Convict Prison- 
 Dressing, Registering, Shaving and Photographing— Sympathetic Tears — For- 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 bidden to Write — A Bed, but no Sleep — My Government Acquaintance — The 
 Convicts' Priest — Religious Books — A Blinker Pew in Chapel — Feeling My 
 Pulse and Fit for a Journey — Meet the Convicts O'Leary, Luby, " Pa^an," 
 Moore and Haltigan — Tight Irons — Departure — More Sympathizing Tears, 
 and a Few Opinions on "Peelers" and other British Pensioners — Old Dun- 
 leary— The Convict Ship— " Respectable" People— A Word of My Com- 
 panions — The " Pagan " and His Work — Soldiers and Arms. 
 
 CHAPTER VII- .. -Page 82. 
 In England — Christmas Eve — London — Pentonville Prison — Stripped of 
 Flannels — Clothes Searched — Naked — Cell and Cell Furniture — Solitary Con- 
 finement — Cold and Hunger — Christmas Fair — My Trade and Occupation — 
 Reading the Rules— Forbidden to Write — The Doctor — Airing or Exercise in 
 the Refractory Yard — My Library — The Prison Directions — Dreams of Happi- 
 ness. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII- --.Page 97. 
 
 Arrival in Pentonville Prison, London — Stripped — Deprived of Flannels — 
 Fixed in my Quarters — Bed and Board, Etc. 
 
 CHAPTER IX - . . _ Page 124. 
 
 Lodged in Portland — Boots and Books — New Cells — Rain Down — 
 Director Fagan from Cork — His Letter Regarding us — No Catholic or Irish 
 Warders to Have Charge of Us — The Broad Arrow — "Amulets or Charms" 
 — The Wash-House — Stationary Tubs and Soap Suds — Dodging About for a 
 Clean Job of Work— Pumping and Picking Linen — Denis Dowling Mulcahy 
 Our Priest — His Sermons and P-alms — A Sunday in Portland — Parade and 
 Salaams— Oil and Blacking— "Orderlies" and Slop— The Evil Eye— For- 
 bidden to Walk or Stretch in My Cell — Bread and Water — Dietary Table. 
 
 CHAPTER X_._.Pagb 134. 
 Removed from the Wash-house and Sent to the Quarries — Nobbling — 
 I Become a Quarry man — "Reported" and "Degraded" — Tried and Con- 
 demned Without Witnesses — Privy Cleaning — Rain Down in Our Cells — 
 Earning Marks — Eighteen Months in Prison After Death — Cannot Speak 
 High or Low — " Do You Defy the Prison Authorities" — Pat Barry's Jugglery 
 and Punishment — Donald Bane, the Scotchman, and His Razor — ""Can- 
 not You Fellows Shave Each Other" — Michael O'Regm Joked and Charles 
 Kickham Shoved by Cunning — William Roantree's Illness — Martin Hanly 
 Carey Breaks a Finger, and the Doctor Makes Him Work with One Hand — 
 I Trv to be as Good as an English Gentleman Convict and Tear My Clothes — 
 " Mutiny "—I'd " Suck Another Man's Blood "—Michael O'Regan and the 
 Prison Priests. 
 
 CHAPTER XI Page 150. 
 
 yisits — Demands for Visitors' Expenses— Devils — My Wife and Child in 
 Prison — My Memorandum Book — My Wife's Poems— My Letter — Fear of 
 Publicity— Compromise with the Governor — My Love Letters on a Slate — 
 Determination to write Surreptitious Letters — Convict Lynch — His Gift of 
 Pen, Ink, and Paper — " Conspiracy" to Break Prison — Michael Moore's Fail- 
 u . e _Lii U; rh Brophy's Failure — Myself a Hypocrite — Lynch Detected in Carry- 
 ing my Letter — Punishment of Him and Me — Try again — My Amour in Prison 
 — Brings Bread and Water and Endless Punishments on Me — Jerry O'Dono- 
 vtn. of Blarney — Rev. Mr. Zanetii — The Devil— Ireland's Soggarth Aroon — 
 Zanetti Giving Evidence before the Commission — The Evil Eye — A Petition on 
 " Think Well on It," and what came of it — Writing in the Dark — Cat's Eyes 
 — My Memorial to the S-cretary of State — Jillen Andy 
 
 CHAPTER XIII ... Page 205. 
 My Carriage in Waiting — My Breakfast— Fight for my Dinner — Journey 
 to Millbank Prison, London— Thoughts of Escape— Supper— Reception Ward 
 
CONTENTS. 7 
 
 —Installed in Office— Tailoring and Theft— Letter Writing— Scrubbing Floor— 
 Parap Handle and Crank — Punished for not doing Two Things at the Same 
 Time — Oakum Picking and Picking Coir. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV.... Page 225. 
 Association with English Convicts — Working the Pump — Irish and Eng- 
 lish Poverty and the Priest — Eating a Warder — Getting Bread at Prayers — 
 Task: Work — Wetting Coir — Punished for obeying Orders — Lying Warders 
 aud JGanibier — Extensive Seizure— All my Writing and Writing Material 
 Captired — Change of Quarters and Bread and Water— Bully Power's attempt 
 to Bu»ly Me — Separation from other Prisoners — The Soldier Prisoners — Tele- 
 graphing through the Walls— Honor amongst Thieves — A "Cedar" Lost and 
 my Sfarch for it — Johnny O'Brien and the Irish Republic — My Prison Poet — 
 Turntyour Face to the Wall — New Confederates — The Red Blood of Ireland 
 will Ifise in England — Reflections — The Road to Freedom Dangerous — Lord 
 MacaiVLay's New Zealander — Swallowing an Ink-Bottle — Stealing Paper — John 
 Devojf and other New-Corners— Swallowing Power's Pencil— Skeleton Weight. 
 
 \ CHAPTER XV ... . Page 238. 
 
 Wag's Visit — Lies about Letters — Knox and Pollock — A Castlebar Man 
 Stealing Ink for Me — Stealing Paper — A Narrow Escape — My Love Letter and 
 the Sham Inquiry — Lying Again — Lord Devon's Commission — Writing 
 amongst Fleas — Punished for having my Task Work Done before Time — Re^ 
 fuse to go to Punishment Cell — A Terrible Choking and Dragging — I Barricade 
 my Door — It is Broken in — Four Months' Cells — Meeting John Devoy — Taken 
 111— Dr. Pocklington— My Body covered with Boils— Effects of Low Diet and 
 Confinement — Meditated Mutiny and Outbreak — The Devil Visits Me — Reflec- 
 tions on " Burke and Froude" — My Books Taken Away and Returned Again 
 — I Threaten to Destroy Cell and Muffle my Gaslight — Volunteering to Western 
 Australia — Manchester Rescue — Soldiers Guarding Us — Out of " Punishment" 
 and in it Soon Again — Meeting James Xavier O'Brien — Patrick Lennon — 
 Stripped Naked Every Day — Breaking Spy-Hole and Door — Handcuffs, Bloody 
 Wrists, and Dark Cells — Throttling and Threatening — Eating " on All Fours" 
 —Break my Spoon and Wooden Dish— Stuff the Key-Hole and Have a Little 
 Fun, and Get More Bread and Water for it. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. ...Page 258. 
 Christmas Day or " Bread and Water " — Telegraphing to John Devoy — 
 An Archbishop on Stephens' Escape — Sowing Distrust — The Handwriting on 
 the Wall— The Bible in the Blackhole— A Thief Feeds Me ; his Letter and his 
 Present— A Stem of a Dhudeen— Refuse to have my Picture Taken, except the 
 Queen send3 for it — Manchester Murphy and Michael O'Brien — A Night on the 
 Hills of Connaught — " Fenianism " and " Ribbonism " — Edward Duffy meet- 
 ing with his Mother — Application to see him Dying Refused— Preaching — A 
 Wail — Meditated Mischief — A Change for the Better only a Preparation for 
 one for the Worse — Journey to Chatham Prison. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII... .Page 272. 
 Reception in Chatham — I Must Learn Drill or go to " Jilligum " — Asso- 
 ciation with Thieves— Stone Breaking— Wheeling Rubbish— Yoked to a Cart 
 —Light Work, Light Wages and Light Diet—" Cos" and " Jobbler "—Pratt 
 —A Prison Spy— I Smash my Window— Refuse to pay Salaams— Rev. Mr. 
 Duke, Protestant Chaplain— A Cedar— Cosgrove Punished and Degraded on 
 my Account— I Learn the Prison " Slang"— Bearla gar na Saor— Made an 
 Accessory to Theft—" Snotty's" Presbyterianism— " I'll Make Some one pay 
 for this yet"— "Ah, Get Out "—" Insolence and Irreverence" at Chapel- 
 Richard O'Sullivan Burke and Henry S. Mulleda— An Escape from Having my 
 Neck Cracked— I " Strike"— Throw my Hammer over the Wall— Five Ward- 
 ers hold me Salaaming to the Governor— He'd Treat me -with Contempt — My 
 Resolution, my Prayer and my " Salute " t<> ihe Governor— Satisfaction— Hands 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 Tied Behind my Back 35 Days— Bloody Wrists— "Blood for Blood "—The Pur 
 suit of Knowledge under Difficulties — Father O'Sullivan — The Destruction of 
 Popery in 1866 — A Book out of Date — Director Du Cane — Giving Tit for Tat — 
 I Break up the Special Party— "Jobbler's " Good-bye— The Thieves' Kind- 
 ness — Flogging Prisoners — Meet Rick Burke and Harry Mulleda — My Sen- 
 tence Read — Released from Irons. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII- ... Page 293. 
 My New Cell — The Music of the Waters — Handcuffs and Blackhole Again 
 —Break My Model Water-Closet, My Bell-Handle, My Table, etc.— Gambier's 
 Visit and Hypocrisy — Deprived of My Bed and Bible — Verse-Making — My 
 Readings and My Wife's — Deprived of Bed and Body Clothes — A Struggle — 
 Knocked Down, Stripped, Leaped Upon, and Kicked — A Reprieve — Meet Hal- 
 pin, Warren, and Costello — A Strike Against Clipping and Stripping — A Fam- 
 ily Quarrel — " Erin's Hope " and Her Heroes — Grass Picking — Rick Burke and 
 Harry Mulleda — Wood-Chopping — Warren Chops a Finger — Detected Letter 
 — Wrongfully Imprisoned Ten Days — O'Hara's Letter — Kept from Chapel — 
 Extraordinary Precautions — Ludicrous Position at Prayers — Release of Cos- 
 tello and Warren — Arrival of John M'Clure, John Devoy, and Captain O'Con- 
 nell— Brick- Cleaning in a Refrigerator — The Cup of Halpin's Affliction Flown 
 Over — His Illness and the Doctor's Indifference. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX.... Page 311. 
 
 New Arrivals — John M'Clure — American-born Irishmen, and Irish-born 
 " Sprallareens " — New Work — Stocking Mending — " Fox and Geese " — Lies of 
 Bruce, the Secretary of State — Superstition and the Bible — Hal pin " Joining 
 the Service in a Good Time" — He Strikes Work, and Keeps his Hair on his 
 Head— Mr. O'Connell's Sore Foot and Dr. Burns—" I Don't Like to be Here 
 at All," and Warder Browne — The Tipperary Election and the Terror of the 
 Authorities — John Mitchells Remarks — Visit from McCarthy Downing, M. P. 
 — Colonel Warren and Patrick's Day — The Soldier Prisoners — Mr. Blake, M. 
 P., and Australia — Mr. Pigott's and John F. O'Donnell's Visit — Mr. A. M. 
 Sullivan — His Opinion on the " Coup D'Etat," and My Opinions on Him, and 
 on His " Story of Ireland " — Ireland Over the Water. 
 
 CHAPTER XX.... Page 328. 
 A Chapter of Letters— The Belmont Fund— T. F. Donovan, Wm. R. 
 Roberts — Maurice and Kate SpPlane — Courtship After Marriage — Love and 
 War — My Wife's Letter to Mr. Gladstone and His Reply — Her Letters to Me 
 and My Replies — Apprehensions of Both of Us Committing Suicide — A Ro- 
 mance of Real Life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI.... Page 361. 
 The Commission of Inquiry — Lord Devon Chairman — Examination of 
 Directors, Governors, Warders and Prisoners — Official Falsehoods — Mr. Bruce, 
 the Hon. Secretary of State, a Convicted Liar — The Commissioners Agree in 
 Their Report, but the " Doctors Differ." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII.... Page 415. 
 
 One of the Commissioners in Irons — Letters — Mr. Gladstone and Mr. 
 Bruce — Mr. M'Carthy Downing — "Amnesty" — Banishment by " Victoria, by 
 the Grace of God " — A Private Letter and My Reply — Leaving Chatham and 
 Leaving Halpin Behind — The Cuba — Forbidden to Touch Irish Soil in the 
 Cove of Cork — Arrival in New York — A General Jubilee of Welcome — I 
 Must be a Tammany Man or Cease to be an Irishman — I Rebel Against This, 
 and Sacrifice my Popularity to my Independence — Irish-American Politicians 
 and American Politics — Collector Murphy — Emigration — Tammany Wal 
 Cries; "Grant and Murphy," "Murphy and Grant" — I Commit Political 
 Suicide with the Irish People by Running Against Tweed, and Kill Myseli 
 Entirely by Becoming a Commune. and Joining Tennie Claflin. 
 
O'DbNouN Eossa's Prison Life. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Jktroduction — A Yiew of Ireland — A Semi-political and Semi- 
 religious Chapter. 
 
 Some persons have the gift of writing agreeably upon disagree- 
 able subjects, and it would take one of these gifted people to make 
 an interesting and pleasant book out of a very unpleasant kind of 
 life — that is, prison life in England. 
 
 I don't presume to think it is generally believed that prison-life 
 in England is worse than prison-life anywhere else ; indeed, I be- 
 lieve the opinion prevails that it is better. Englishmen labor very 
 zealously to put themselves in a favorable light before the world, 
 and if they cannot do so by showing any superior merit in them- 
 selves, they will attempt it by pointing out the demerit in others. 
 They pry into nearly all the prisons of the world ; opportunities are 
 afforded them for learning how the inmates are treated, and I admit 
 that they have done good in many cases by throwing light upon 
 deeds of darkness. But all this time their own prisons are closed to 
 every curious inquisitor ; no foreigner can enter an English prison 
 and ask a convict how he fares. It is here that the genius of this 
 people displays itself in showing up the barbarity of other civilized 
 people and drawing a sanctimonious veil over its own. 
 
 As this book may fall into the hands of readers who know little 
 of Ireland and its wrongs, it may not be amiss to say something of 
 the cause of my imprisonment. To those who know anything of 
 history it is known that for seven hundred years Ireland is cursed 
 with as cruel a government as ever cursed the earth. In the twelfth 
 century the Normans had succeeded in conquering England, and 
 coveting Ireland, they laid their schemes to conquer that too. They 
 were intensely Catholic, but in the pursuit of conquest they never 
 hesitated, in any country, to ravage convents and monasteries ; but 
 in several cases they were religious enough to endow these institu- 
 tions also, when doing so would further their ends, or when an ob- 
 ject was to be attained by showing the church that they were turn- 
 ing the plunder of their neighbors to a holy use. 
 
 The English interest was always able to persuade Rome that the 
 Irish were bad Catholics, and that they required reformation. At 
 the present day, when England is Protestant, it is able to do this, 
 and to get Bulls and Bescripts denunciatory of my countrymen. 
 
2 O Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 Seven hundred years ago an English king making such a represen- 
 tation to the Pope of Rome, received from him authority to possess 
 Ireland for the purpose of improving the morals of its people, and 
 during these seven hundred years has the Irish people been waging 
 a fierce fight against the efforts England has been making to "im- 
 prove " them off the face of the land. England always brought in 
 the name of religion to aid her in the conquest. At first professing 
 Catholicity, she had her English priests in Ireland proclaiming that 
 it was no sin to kill an Irishman, and one of them went so far as to 
 declare before a council that he would celebrate Mass on a Sunday 
 morning, after killing one, without making it an act of confession. 
 
 Then came the Reformation, and she commenced to persecute 
 the Irish Catholics and root out the whole race, because they would 
 not become Protestant, for she thought that, by becoming Protestant, 
 they may become less Irish or more English. For a time the words 
 Protestant and English were synonymous ; also the words Irish 
 and Catholic, and hence arose that curse of religious antagonism 
 which, for three centuries, blighted the prospects of our people for 
 independence. The English interest was represented by Protest- 
 antism principally, and the interest of nationality by Catholicism — 
 so much so that Catholic Irishmen came to feel that, in fighting 
 against Protestantism, they were fighting against England, and, in 
 fighting for Catholicity, they were fighting for Ireland. The priest 
 was the person most sought after, most persecuted by the English, 
 and the most loved, most looked to, and most protected by the Irish. 
 He became the guide and the controller of their action, and he was 
 ever faithful in defending and leading the people to defend the inter- 
 ests of the Church. The faith and the spirit of liberty in the people 
 were not crushed, and, in the growing enlightenment of the present 
 century, England — for the purpose of maintaining her dominion — 
 has thought proper to change her policy. She now patronises the 
 Church, hugs to her bosom its dignitaries, and trusts that they — 
 having influence over the people — will keep them from rebellion. 
 Some of those dignitaries have labored hard to do this in the move- 
 ment for which I was imprisoned. It is in times of peace that the 
 Church flourishes, and, in the interest of the Church, many will not 
 blame the clergy. Few will blame them, too, for opposing a re- 
 bellion where the necessary means of success would not be fore- 
 calculated ; but, where I could be at issue with them would be in 
 the matter of their opposition to us while providing the means, and 
 few will deny that we had that opposition in Ireland during the 
 past thirteen years. There was no diocese in Ireland where the 
 men who were organizing means to fight England, were not de- 
 nounced from the altars and sent away from the confessionals un- 
 shriven. It is right also to add that there was no diocese in which 
 there were not many priests to bless the laborers and wish God- 
 speed to the work ; but the tongues and hands of these clergymen 
 ft were tied " as they themselves would say, by the higher ecclesi- 
 
(J Donovan Rosso 1 s Priso7i Life. 3 
 
 astics, while the " bad priests," as we called them, were allowed full 
 scope to denounce us and brand us as infidels before we were any 
 way unfaithful. 
 
 In making these observations wholly regarding the action of 
 Catholics toward the independence of Ireland, I must not be un- 
 derstood as excluding the efforts of other religious people in that 
 direction. During the last century many Protestants and Presby- 
 terians were sent to the scaffold and the convict-ship for daring to 
 maintain that they, as Irish-born men, should have an independent 
 Ireland; and in the late revolutionary movement we had a blending 
 of all the sects for liberty. This was as disagreeable to the bigots 
 as to the English enemy. A union of creeds does not seem desira- 
 ble to Church or State, and both united in assailing those who were 
 bringing it about as traitorous and disreputable. The State had 
 some reason to attack them, but the Church had very little ; for 
 those who were banded together to fight for civil and religious lib- 
 erty would be the first to stand in defence of their faith if any foe 
 threatened their altars. The Catholic members of the organization 
 found themselves, at the outset, denounced by Catholic priests; and 
 this gave birth to a strange feeling in the breasts of young men who 
 grew up looking upon a priest as the embodiment of hostility to 
 England. They considered that in resolving to battle for the rights 
 of their native land, they had taken a noble resolution, and, in 
 swearing to do so they did not feel, between themselves and their 
 God, that they had committed a sin. But finding themselves con- 
 demned, nay damned, for this act, afforded them food for reflection, 
 and what wonder if some of them disregarded the denunciations 
 and labored on ? I did. I saw that the time was gone when the 
 priest and the people were as one persecuted. I saw that the priest 
 was free and comparatively happy, while the people were still en- 
 slaved, and decidedly miserable. The tradition that my boyhood 
 received of fighting for my religion in fighting for my country, and 
 in fighting for my country I was fighting for my religion, was broken; 
 for here I had sworn to fight for Ireland, and I was set upon as an 
 enemy of Catholicity. The calumny is kept up ; but I can afford to 
 live it down. The politico-religious faith of my fathers is taken to 
 pieces, and as the Irish head of the Church believes that in fighting 
 for Ireland now I am not fighting for Catholicity, I must presume, 
 on the other hand to believe that in fighting for Catholicity I am 
 not at all fighting for Ireland. I don't put my country before my 
 God ; but I put it before religious ascendency of any denomination. 
 The Church has many defenders, and needs my aid as little as she 
 need fear my hostility ; Ireland has few, and I am beginning to 
 fear they will not be able, unless aided more earnestly than they 
 have been, to work out her immediate salvation. 
 
 I do not write my book as a champion of religion, or as one who 
 would assail it. I write neither as a Catholic nor as a Protestant. 
 I come before the public merely as an Irishman, wishing to see my 
 
4: O Donovan Eossd Prison Life. 
 
 country free for all religious denominations ; and wishing to see, 
 for the purpose of overcoming them, all the obstacles that stand in 
 the way of its freedom. If I speak of the interference of religious 
 people in its political concerns, it is not from choice, but from ne- 
 cessity. I hold it absolutely impossible for any one to speak truly 
 of the movements of the people towards independence if he ignores 
 the religious elements that are set in motion to sway the people to 
 one side or the other. Religion and politics are as yet in Ireland 
 inseparable. I should like to see the man who could give a history 
 of the one without touching on the other. I could not do so ; and 
 j,s I am going to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I 
 am not going to attempt such a story; but I will "nothing extenu- 
 ate or aught set down in malice." 
 
 As this professes to be an account of my prison life, I ought, 
 perhaps, to have you, my readers, inside the prison walls long ago, 
 but I do not think it improper to have a little chat with you before- 
 hand, so that you may understand the cause of my imprisonment 
 and judge whether or not I was deserving of it. If I was, I sup- 
 pose I will have very little of your sympathy in connection with 
 my suffering. But it is not for sympathy I write ; and as to my 
 suffering, it may not be much more in prison than the suffering of 
 many who were out of prison. In order to achieve anything men 
 must be prepared for suffering, and if they are not, and do not dare 
 it, they will lag behind. Men must be ready to brave all they will 
 hear from me, within and without the prison, if they mean to free 
 Ireland ; and if the words of my experience be of no use to the 
 present generation, they may be to the next or the one after the 
 next. I will end this chapter with a quotation : "Providence, in 
 order to accomplish its desires in all things, requires a lavish ex- 
 penditure of courage, of virtues, and of sacrifices — in a word, of 
 man himself; and it is only after an unknown number of unrecorded 
 labors, after a host of noble hearts have succumbed in discourage- 
 ment, believing the cause to be lost, it is only then that the cause 
 triumphs." We, it seems, ha^e not made sacrifices enough yet ; 
 but from the amount of discouragement we have had, we would be 
 warranted in believing in our triumph being immediate if we had 
 faith in the writer of the quotation. 
 
CHAPTER n. 
 
 Ireland's Suffering — Providence — Famine — Our Fathers' Crimes 
 — '98 and '48 — Protestants and Catholics — Egotism — The 
 PHcorrt Socdsty — Mr. Stephens' Visit to Skibbereen — Joining 
 the Revolutionary Society, May, '58 — American Aid — Drilling 
 — Police Hunts — Too Fast for the Irish Americans — Arrests 
 December, '58 — Extra Police — Meeting with "William O'Shea, 
 Tim McCarthy, Jerry Cullinane and Denis O'Sullivan — Bantry 
 Prisoners — Lodged in Cork Jail. 
 
 In the face of all that Ireland has suffered and all the sacrifices she 
 has made to attain her liberty, I cannot attach much importance 
 to the concluding sentences of the last chapter. I do not attribute 
 the misfortune of our slavery to Providence ; as little do I attribute 
 the "famine " of '47 to that Power. We are bound down by Eng- 
 land. She has the stren gth to rob us of the produce of our soil 
 till we are reduced to famine diet, and I should be thinking very 
 ill of our people, and very ill of our Creator, if I attributed our 
 state to anything else but a temporal tyranny, living and acting in 
 this world in which we live. 
 
 What have our fathers done out of the way that they should be 
 scourged with a rod of iron for seven hundred years ? What have 
 they done against God or man more than England has done, that 
 we, their children, should be sown broadcast over the wastes of the 
 world — many of us to perish unheard of and unknown — nay, desir- 
 ous, alas ! not to be known ? It may be irreligious to doubt this 
 " will of God " in our bondage, but I would rather be considered so 
 than do violence to my own feelings in my opinions of His justice. 
 
 Within the last century our country has been full of adventure 
 in resistance to her opppressor ; but we have not had the prepara- 
 tion necessary to resist successfully. 
 
 In '98 we had some brave fighting; but many of us acted timidly 
 while a few of us were fighting bravely. For instance, the County 
 of Wexford was up in arms, and the other thirty-one counties of 
 Ireland remained looking on — standing on the fence to see how 
 the fight would go. If successful, they would come in with a help- 
 ing hand, and with their hurrahs, when neither were wanting; bat 
 they didn't or wouldn't come in the nick of time, and the Wexford 
 men were overpowered, Had their action been imitated by the 
 men of every other county in Ireland, we would to-day have a dif- 
 
6 O 1 Donovan Rossrfs Prison Life. 
 
 ferent story to chronicle, and we would have no necessity to keep 
 appealing to our people to act in concert and to work unitedly. 
 
 In '48 there was another uprising, and another failure, in conse- 
 quence principally of not having arms to put into the hands of the 
 people, who sprung forward to use them. It is noteworthy, in 
 view of the efforts of the enemy to perpetuate religious dissensions 
 amongst us, and to make the word Protestant synonymous with 
 the word Englishman, that the men who were most prominent, and 
 who suffered most in the advocacy of the cause of Irish indepen- 
 dence during the periods I speak of, were Protestants; and it is but 
 equal justice to the Catholic portion of the community to state that 
 they respected these men and reverenced their memories more than 
 they did men of their own creed. The names of Tone, and Fitz- 
 gerald, and Emmet, and Davis, and Mitchel, and O'Brien will live 
 as long in the future, and be as dear to Irishmen, as any other 
 names in their history. 
 
 After the English government had crushed the movement in 
 '48, Ireland appeared spiritless and politically dead. Charles Gavan 
 Duffy left the country in '54, saying he left the cause of freedom a 
 corpse on the dissecting table. But, like the seed put into the 
 ground, it must only have been rotting to produce new life ; for a 
 few years after we find it in vigorous existence again, and the au- 
 thorities putting forth all their strength to overcome it. My own 
 experiences now commence, and, like all writers who have anything 
 to say of movements in which they took part, I must become a bit 
 of an egotist. I can not tell the rest of this story without saying 
 something of the writer of it. It is no matter to you, kind reader, 
 whether I like to talk of myself or not ; the thing has to be done in 
 order to carry out my arrangements, and I am not going to shrink 
 from my duty, even though the doing so might be a relief to me. 
 
 In the month of May, 1858, one of my companions called into 
 my residence in Skibbereen and asked me to take a walk with him, 
 as he had something of importance to communicate to me. I went 
 out, and during our ramble up the Steam-mill road he informed 
 me that on the preceding evening he had received a note of 
 introduction from a stranger, given to him by a mutual friend 
 in Bandon. The stranger told him that the Irishmen in America 
 had resolved to aid us at home in achieving the independence of 
 Ireland, and the aid was to consist of arms and of men. If we had 
 a certain number of men sworn to fight, there would be an equal 
 number of arms in Ireland for these men when enrolled, and an 
 invading force of from five to ten thousand before the start. The 
 arms were to be in the country before the men would be asked to 
 stir ; they would not be given into their hands, but they were to 
 be kept in hiding-places until the appointed time, when every 
 Centre could take his men to the spot and get the weapons. 
 As soon as we had enrolled the men willing to fight we were to get 
 military instructors to teach us how to do so as soldiers. I jumped 
 
O l 'Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 7 
 
 at the proposition of "joining ;" and next day I inoculated a few others 
 whom I told to go and do likewise. The stranger who came to the 
 town that May evening was Mr. Stephens, and I was promised an 
 introduction to him in a short time if I would work well. We had 
 a society in Skibbereen at this time called the Phoenix National and 
 Literary Society. It was a revolutionary one, though not oath- 
 bound, and we were contemplating affiliations in connection with 
 it in the neighboring towns around at the time I speak of. We 
 gave it the name Phoenix to signify that the nation was to rise 
 again from its ashes. We had about one hundred members, and 
 before a month had elapsed from the day of Mr. Stephens' visit 
 we had over ninety of them enrolled in the new movement. 
 
 Before the autumn months had passed away we had the whole 
 district of country in a blaze, and in October we had a drill-master 
 sent to us from Dublin. He had served a period in the American 
 army, and well and truly he did his work amongst us, despite all 
 the police watchings and huntings. One night we were on a 
 mountain side, another night in the midst of a wood, another in a 
 fairy fort, and another in a cellar. We had outposts on every oc- 
 casion, who signaled to us of any approaching danger, and in the 
 darkness of the nights many things were signalled as dangers 
 which were quite harmless ; and we had many adventures in scat- 
 tering which were subjects for our amusement at the next meeting. 
 In Loriga wood one evening the sentry gave us the signal to scatter, 
 and we ran in the direction opposite to that from which we appre- 
 hended the danger. I was the second m*m; he who was before me 
 got up on a ditch and made a leap to cross a large dyke at the 
 other side of it, but he slipped and didn't get across clear. As he 
 lay at the other side I leaped upon him, the next man leaped upon 
 me, and before a minute nine or ten of us were sprawling in the 
 dyke. In these drillings we departed from the programme of 
 organization, for we brought more men together than ought to be 
 known to each other, and this we had to do to keep them in good 
 humor, for when it was known the military instructor was in the 
 district, every company was calling out for his attendance, and as 
 he couldn't be everywhere we had only to bring the men every- 
 where to where he was. The first man who learned the art 
 from him and became his assistant, and his substitute when he was 
 gone, was Colonel P. J. Downing, now of Washington. It is said 
 that people in America are a fast people, and the Irish there are 
 not exempted from the benefit of the expression; but in Ireland, 
 when it was a question of uniting to fight against England, we 
 were too fast for our brothers across the Atlantic, for we had the 
 men ready to fight before they had given us the arms to do so. 
 
 The Government took alarm and they took measures to have a 
 number of us arrested and cast into prison. About four o'clock on 
 the morning of the 5th of December I was roused out of bed, and 
 I found my house surrounded by police. I was taken to the station, 
 
8 O 1 Donovan Rosso 1 s Prison Life. 
 
 and there I met some twenty others of my acquaintance. Many of 
 them had left my house only a few hours before, for we were sit- 
 ting up doing the honors to one of our company, Dan M'Cartie, 
 who was leaving town next morning to discharge the duties of 
 brewer in Ballinasloe, and, as we met in the police barrack, we 
 commenced joking at the ominous appropriateness of the last song 
 sung by Mortimer Moynahan : — 
 
 "Hurra for the wild wintry weather, 
 
 While the nights pass so gaily along, 
 As we sit by the fire altogether, 
 
 And drown the loud tempest in song. 
 Hurra ! let the peals of our laughter 
 
 Arise and he heard far away, 
 Our lives may be gloomy hereafter — 
 
 Then let us be glad while we may. 
 
 "Hurra for the wild wintry weather — 
 
 The summer has bright leafy bowers ; 
 But, 'tis thus, round the fire altogether, 
 
 Young and old spend their happiest hours. 
 Hurra ! let us all swell the chorus 
 
 'Till it rise and be heard far away ; 
 Perhaps some dark cloud gathers o'er us — 
 
 Then let us be glad while we may." 
 
 A number of extra police had been sent from Dublin to Skib- 
 bereen two months before our seizure. These were on duty every 
 night in all parts of the suburbs of the town, and, though we were 
 on duty too, they never, by any chance, surprised us at our drill- 
 ings. The night of the arrests the police of the surrounding vil- 
 lages were drafted into the town. The authorities were terribly 
 alarmed ; they apprehended that we had arms and that we would 
 resist, when we had very few weapons and didn't dream of fighting 
 till we got the orders. Each of us was handcuffed between two 
 policemen going from Clonakilty to Bandon, or, to express myself 
 more clearly, two policemen were handcuffed to every one of us. 
 In the Bandon prison we met some men from Bantry, arrested on 
 the same charge as we were, and on their way to Cork Jail. We 
 were huddled into cells flooded with water at nine o'clock in the 
 evening having been travelling all day under rain, and having 
 received neither food nor drink, and now we wouldn't get a bed nor 
 bread. Next morning we found ourselves in Cork Jail, awaiting 
 evidence on a charge of conspiracy. 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 Oakum and Solitary Confinement — Black Bread and Leek Por- 
 ridge — Eating in the Dark — Mock Trial in Prison — False 
 Swearing about Drilling, etc. — "Marching in Military Or- 
 der " — Patrick's Day in the Dock — Sent Back to Prison Again 
 — Plead Guilty — Jury Packing — Lord O'Hagan — Patriotism of 
 the Irish Bar a Sham — First Working of the Revolutionary 
 Movement in '58 — Mortimer Moynahan " Steeped to the Lips 
 in Treason" — Centres and Circles — Opposition of the Clergy 
 — Absolution Refused — The Jubilee — The Bishop and Dr. 
 Doyle — GrvE to Cesar What's Due to Cesar — The Police Spy 
 System — Altar Denunciation — Rev. Mr. O' Sullivan's Informa- 
 tion to the Government, and Mr. Sullivan's (of the "Nation") 
 Note of Warning — The Evil Effects of Curiosity. 
 
 In Cork Jail we were lodged in separate cells, and got oakum to 
 pick. We asked were we obliged to work before we were convicted, 
 and we were told we should work unless we paid for our mainte- 
 nance. Half a dozen of the men made arrangements to get their 
 own food, and the rest of us thought we would inure ourselves to 
 hardships; but we could not eat the fare we got, and this, with the 
 solitary confinement imposed, starved us out of our resolution " to 
 suffer and be strong." The bread was made from rye wheat; it 
 had the appearance of brown hand-turf, and you could squeeze the 
 water out of it. The porridge was about the same color, but it 
 was flavored with leeks, which made it disgusting to look at, for, 
 when you drew your spoon out of the bowl, you drew up one of 
 these leeks half a foot long, and unless you had gone through a 
 course of starvation — as I had gone through in the English prisons 
 — your stomach would refuse to receive it as food. One of the 
 prisoners said he could manage to eat it in no way but by keeping 
 his eyes closed while at it. 
 
 After being a week in this prison, we were told that the charge 
 would not be ready against us for a week. The second week 
 passed by, and then we learned the cause of our arrest. We were 
 led into a room in the prison, where sat four gentlemen awaiting 
 us. Two of them were stipendiary magistrates, and the others, 
 Sir Matthew Barrington, and his assistant, crown prosecutors. We 
 were told there was a charge of conspiracy against us, and that 
 one of the conspirators, seeing the wickedness of our project, and 
 
10 G Donovan Eossas Prison Idfe. 
 
 regretting his part in it, had come forward to give evidence. In a 
 word, they had an informer to swear against us. He was brought 
 into the room, and most of us recognized him as one we had seen 
 before; his name was Dan Sullivan Goula. He swore that he saw 
 me drilling three hundred men on a by-road, within a mile ot 
 Skibbereen, one night at ten o'clock. He swore he saw me another 
 night drilling some twenty men in a room in the town, but every- 
 thing he swore was false ; he never saw me drilling these men, nor 
 did these drillings ever take place; but he saw me in the room 
 with the twenty men, and he swore against every one of these 
 twenty that they were present the night of the three hundred. 
 This was for the purpose of having every one arrested who could 
 prove the falsehood, and he was instructed to swear this way by 
 one of the stipendiary magistrates, Fitzmaurice. This gentleman 
 had a great character for breaking up what are called Ribbon so- 
 cieties in the North of Ireland, and for getting informers amongst 
 them, and a few weeks before the arrests in Skibbereen he was sent 
 to that town on special duty. One of the prisoners, named Tim 
 Duggan, hearing how Goula was telling lies of him in his presence, 
 made a move as if to approach him; the informer cried out that 
 Duggan was going to strike him, and the prisoner was threatened 
 with all kinds of punishment if he attempted to intimidate the wit- 
 ness from giving evidence. We were represented by a very clever 
 solicitor, Mr. McCarthy Downing, who is now member of Parlia- 
 ment for Cork, and it is but justice to him to say that throughout 
 these cases he did us invaluable service in defeating the attempts 
 of the Government to suborn more witnesses against us. He de- 
 manded that the gentlemen of the press should be allowed into the 
 prison, to be present at the proceedings, but his demand was re- 
 fused, while at the same time the slavish writers of the Anglo-Irish 
 journals were obeying the behests of the Crown, and representing 
 that all kinds of horrible things were being brought to light con- 
 cerning this horrible conspiracy. 
 
 According to English law, the evidence of an informer, uncor- 
 roborated, is insufficient to detain men in prison, and the meanest 
 shifts were resorted to to get other evidence. The police had been 
 watching after us for months, and could adduce nothing illegal 
 against us ; but now they were threatened by this Fitzmaurice that 
 if they did not make informations to corroborate Goula they would 
 be deprived of their situations. This was after the first week of 
 our imprisonment, as I since learned from some of the policemen 
 who swore against myself, and before the end of the second week 
 a dozen of them had sworn something against us. One young 
 " peeler " swore that he saw Denis Downing marching through the 
 streets of Skibbereen "in military order;" and when our solicitor, 
 in cross-examination, asked him who was walking with the prisoner, 
 he answered: " No one but himself!" So that walking through the 
 town with an independent tread was considered by this protector 
 
G > Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 11 
 
 of the law as something that would corroborate the informer in 
 what he swore about the drilling. 
 
 All the men arrested were released on bail except myself and 
 five others. We were condemned to remain in prison to await trial 
 at the March assizes. The March assizes came, and we were ready 
 for trial; but the Government would not try us. They brought us 
 into the court on Patrick's Day, '59, and ordered us to be sent back 
 to prison again to await trial at the assizes of the following July. 
 Our counsel asked if we would not be admitted to bail, and they 
 were told not. Back we went to prison, and remained there till 
 July, and then they would not try us, but threatened us with an- 
 other postponement of trial till the succeeding March unless we 
 pleaded guilty to the charges against us, in which case we would 
 get our freedom. We had been refusing to do this since the first 
 assizes, because we knew that we could disprove the evidence of 
 the informer. Our prosecutors knew this, too, and though they 
 were eager for our conviction, they doubted their success before 
 the public court, even with a packed jury. They had tried Daniel 
 O'Sullivan (Agreem) with a packed jury in Tralee, and had him 
 sentenced to ten years' penal servitude ; and now, as a last resource 
 of getting their ends of us, they offered to release Agreem if we 
 would plead guilty, and to this we consented. 
 
 It is not easy to get the better of your enemy when he has you 
 under lock and key. The English law presumes that every man 
 is innocent until he is proven guilty; but in political cases in Ire- 
 land the practice is quite the contrary, for every man is treated as 
 guilty until he proves himself innocent. We were eight months in 
 prison, and it would never tell for the justice of the great nation 
 that she had subjected us to imprisonment so long, with the Ha- 
 beas Corpus Act un suspended, unless she could show that we were 
 criminals; therefore, it was necessary to get us to put in the plea 
 in vindication of the justice of our incarceration. Perhaps we 
 were wrong in relieving the Government from this odium; but we 
 relieved ourselves from imprisonment, and also relieved him who 
 was committed for ten years. We were to appear for judgment on 
 this plea of guilty — if we were ever guilty of a repetition of the 
 charge against us; but we were to get fourteen days' notice to ap- 
 pear, and during these fourteen days we were at liberty to leave 
 the country if we liked. I want this to be remembered when I 
 come to speak of my trial before Judge Keogh in 1865. We were 
 released from prison in July, 1859, and the authorities were so 
 mean as to keep Dan O'Sullivan (Agreem) in jail till November, 
 though his immediate release was promised to us. 
 
 Talking of jury packing, I am reminded of what late Irish pa- 
 pers bring under prominent notice — that is, Lord O'Hagan's advo- 
 cacy of the bill for that purpose now passing through the English 
 Parliament. He was our counsel at these Phoenix trials; and in 
 the defence of Dan O'Sullivan he spent eight or ten hours in de- 
 
12 O Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 nunciation of the packing of juries against his client. But Lord 
 O'Hagan, the great Catholic champion, is now on the English side 
 of the House, and the Irish and their claims to anything like jus- 
 tice or fair play may go to Jericho. When I hear these Irish law- 
 yers at their law dinners prate of the patriotism of the Irish bar, 
 I feel that I have heard the most sublime humbug that man ever 
 listened to. Dowse, who made a most patriotic speech in defence 
 of John O'Leary, was next year prosecuting John O'Leary's com- 
 panions and denouncing his principles. 
 
 As information that might temper future action in Ireland may 
 be drawn from my experience of the proceedings that led to my 
 imprisonment in 1858, and from the manner in which this informer 
 Goula turned up, I may be allowed to trespass upon my reader's 
 attention a little while I relate what may be of interest to him 
 should he ever desire to do anything for Irish freedom in the way 
 of %ht. 
 
 I lived in the most southern town of Ireland, and with the as- 
 surances given us of a struggle in the immediate future, and the 
 belief that all Ireland was working towards its success, we resolved 
 not to be backward, and we worked with all our energies in getting 
 recruits for the Irish revolutionary army. He who did most in ex- 
 tending the work through the district was a young man named 
 Mortimer Moynahan, who is now battling with the world in the 
 great city of New York. He was manager in the office of Mr. 
 M'Carthy Downing. This attorney used to attend every sessions 
 in every town in the district; he did the largest business of any 
 lawyer in the circuit, and used to take Moynahan with him as an 
 assistant. Every client had to approach the big man through 
 Mortimer's hands, who marked out all who had any sort of Irish 
 spirit in them, and swore them into the revolutionary movement at 
 night when the business of the law was over ; so that he was work- 
 ing legally by day and illegally by night. When Attorney-General 
 Whiteside was prosecuting him, a few months afterwards, he de- 
 scribed him to the jury as " one who was steeped to the lips in tiea- 
 son." Before we were six months at work we had the organization 
 started in every corner of the south of Cork and in a part of Kerry. 
 The man who swore me in was first appointed Centre of a circle 
 comprising 820 men, which gave him the direction of those men; 
 then I grew big enough to be appointed another Centre; then 
 Moynahan, and then two others for the remoter country districts 
 around. Fenians in America may talk of the aid they have given 
 the men at home ; but I can tell them that the men at home spent 
 out of their own pockets, in working up the organization, more 
 money than the Fenian Brotherhood collected altogether. The 
 first check we met was from the Catholic clergy. Our men came 
 to us telling that they were driven away from the confessionals, and 
 would not get absolution unless they gave up the oath. 
 
 We asked them did they think they committed a sin in taking 
 
C Donovan Rosso 1 s Prison Life. 13 
 
 an oath to fight for their country's freedom, and when they said 
 they did not, we told them to tell the priests that they came to 
 confess their sins and not their virtues, and to ask the priests if 
 they had sworn to fight for England against Ireland, would they not 
 get absolution ? The priests were getting vexed with us, and we 
 were getting vexed with the priests. The most amusing stories 
 were afloat of how simple country boys argued with their clergy 
 on the subject of fighting for Ireland. A pastor one day told his 
 penitent that the society was illegal, when the penitent softened 
 his confessor's heart to give him absolution by exclaiming: " Yerra, 
 father, what do I care about their illegal ? I care more about my 
 sowl." 
 
 In July, 1858, there was a Jubilee in our place. The young 
 men were going to their duty, and the priests were discharging 
 their duty in sending them away without the Sacraments. I found 
 myself some twelve miles from home one day, and meeting a priest, 
 who knew me, he asked : 
 
 " Jerry, did you do the Jubilee yet ?" 
 
 " No, Father," said I, " there's no Jubilee for me ; I'm outside 
 the pale of the Church." 
 
 " How is that ?" said he. 
 
 I told him, and he replied : 
 
 " Ah, that's no sin. I'll be in Skibbereen on Saturday, assisting 
 the other priests ; come to me, and we'll have no difficulty about 
 the matter." 
 
 I did go to him, and he was as good as his word. The Skib- 
 bereen priests and the Skibbereen bishop were still persistent in 
 opposing us, and I determined to have a talk with his lordship, 
 whom newspapers love to style the patriotic Bishop of Ross. 
 
 I went to confession to him and told my sins, after which he 
 asked me if I belonged to an oath- bound society, and I said I did. 
 
 "Then," said he, " I can't give absolution." 
 
 " Oh, my lord," said I, " I don't seek absolution for that ; I was 
 at confession since I joined the society and got absolution ; the 
 priest told me that such a thing was no sin." 
 
 "It was a sin," said he, "and that priest participated in it; 
 and go away from me and don't come any more." 
 
 I went away, but that day week I went to him again, and, as I 
 knelt down in the confessional, the first words he said were : 
 
 " Didn't I tell you not to come any more to me ?" 
 
 " My lord," said I, " it is not to you I come but to the confes- 
 sional. I came here to confess my sins to God, through you ; and 
 you cannot refuse to hear me." 
 
 " You should have more humility in the confessional," he replied. 
 
 To make a long story short we got talking on the political 
 question. I remarked that Dr. Doyle said, that if a rebellion raged 
 from Malin Head to Cape Clear, no priest would fulminate a decree 
 
14 (J Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 
 
 of excommunication against any one engaged in it ; when the 
 bishop hastily said — 
 
 " Ah, I know more about Dr. Doyle than you do ; and go on 
 with your confession." 
 
 I did as he directed, and we parted amicably. He told me to 
 come again to him in a week, but I was in Cork jail before the week 
 elapsed. The bishop was true about Dr. Doyle, for I read his life, 
 by Fitzpatrick, in prison, and if I had read it before I would not 
 quote the great doctor in defence of oath-bound societies, or of any 
 societies aiming at the destruction of British rule in Ireland. 
 
 Some of the priests took occasion to denounce our work from 
 the altars, too. I was at Mass that Sunday, at the end of Oc- 
 tober or the beginning of November, when the Gospel of the day 
 contains a recommendation to give to Caesar what is due to Caesar, 
 and Father Beausang laid hold of it to show that we should give 
 tribute to England, and denounced the wicked men who were in 
 his parish administering oaths for the purpose of doing work in 
 opposition to the text. I have ever considered, and will ever con- 
 sider, this preaching a perversion of the text. "Give to Caesar 
 what is due to Caesar" was said to confound those who were devis- 
 ing schemes to accuse Christ of some offence. The coin that was 
 shown Christ did not belong to Caesar, and it was not given to 
 Caesar, whose image was on it, but to the man from whom it was 
 received. If Dr. Anderson was charged to-morrow as a man of 
 doubtful loyalty, if he was asked if it were lawful to pay tribute to 
 Victoria, and if he asked a coin of the realm and made use of simi- 
 lar words as the Bible contains, he would not give or send the coin 
 to Victoria, but to the person who showed it to him. If the British 
 flag floats in Ireland, and if the impress of British dominion is on 
 the land, nevertheless it is not English nor England's by right ; it 
 is Irish and belongs to the Irish, and it will be theirs yet if they 
 act like men and repudiate the political teachings that would edu- 
 cate them as slaves. 
 
 England's police system in Ireland is one vast spy system. More 
 than half of these police are Catholics, and some of them have to 
 attend every Mass in every chapel on Sundays. The priest speaks 
 of a secret oath-bound society to his parishioners ; the policeman 
 goes to his barrack, and his first duty is to make a report of what 
 the priest said and send it off to Dublin Castle. I may safely say 
 that it was through this channel that the authorities had any cer- 
 tainty of the spread of revolutionary work. Then the newspapers 
 took up the cry; and, in accord with the newspapers giving what 
 information they could glean by exchanging confidences with friends 
 and by all other means, some priests were giving private informa- 
 tion to the Cast]/ . 
 
 I have in my possession evidence to convince any one that one 
 priest gave information, and I will give that evidence. I am not 
 going to tell how we got possession of it ; that can only be told 
 
O Donovan Bossas Prison Life. 15 
 
 •when the secret workings of our machinery can be made known. 
 I know the correspondence is genuine. I know how it came 
 into our possession. I know that this priest who wrote it was 
 not condemned by his bishop for doing so ; but that will not 
 be wondered at when it is known that hislordship is the charitable 
 Kerry gentleman who said, "that hell was not hot enough nor 
 eternity long enough for those Irishmen" who were giving so much 
 trouble to England. 
 
 Father O'Sullivan, of Kenmare, does not deny this correspond- 
 ence ; indeed, I believe he justifies it. I, a few weeks ago, saw 
 communications between him and the editor of the Dublin Nation 
 on the subject of giving first information. The priest was, I think, 
 first in private, but the paper was first in public. Both, no doubt, 
 satisfied themselves that they were doing the best thing they could 
 do, but I blamed the layman more than the priest, fur something 
 more was expected from him. He professed himself a fighting 
 man for Ireland if there were fighting means. We were trying to 
 organize the means, and we thought he should not be the man to 
 come forward and expose us. If his house was on fire, and if his 
 friends rushed into clanger to save his furniture or his family, he 
 should not be the first to pitch stones at them and knock them off 
 the walls. He considered the movement would destroy or involve 
 Ireland more than it would redeem it, and he must have liberty of 
 opinion. I considered, and still consider, that Ireland will never 
 be free from English rule unless by a secret oath-bound conspiracy 
 in the British Islands, but a more unscrupulous one than the one 
 we had. Here is the priest's correspondence, and a pretty piece 
 of business it is : 
 
 "Kenmare, October 5, 1858. 
 
 " My Lord — Having discovered in the latter end of the week 
 that an extensive conspiracy was being organized in this parish, 
 and was imported from Bantry and Skibbereen, I deemed it my 
 duty at both Masses on Sunday to denounce, in the strongest lan- 
 guage, the wickedness and immorality of such a system, and its 
 evil consequences to society. Before evening I had the satisfaction 
 of coming at a good deal of the workings of the system, and even 
 got copies of the oaths, which I send at the other side for the in- 
 formation of the Government. 
 
 " I was led to believe that 700 or 800 persons had been enrolled 
 here, and some 3,000 in Skibbereen : the former I know to be a 
 gross exaggeration, and I suppose the latter equally so. Before I 
 come out on these deluded young men — the names of some of whom I 
 have — I advised the magistrates of the facts, and they, too, have 
 probably advised with your lordship. — I have the honor to be, &c, 
 
 "John O'Sullivan. 
 "Right Hon. Lord Naas, M.P." 
 
16 O Donovan BosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 " Kenmare, December 11, 1858. 
 
 " My Lord — Since I forwarded to you copies of the oaths that 
 were being administered by the misguided young men, some ten 
 or a dozen of whom were arrested here yesterday, I beg to assure 
 you that I lost no opportunity of denouncing, both in public and 
 private, the folly and the wickedness of their proceedings. 
 
 " Nay, more, I refused to hear the confession or to admit to 
 communion any one person who had joined the society until they 
 should come to me, 'extra tribunal,' as we technically term it; and 
 there, not only promise to disconnect themselves from the society, 
 but also give the names of every person they knew to be a member. 
 It was rather difficult to accomplish the latter, but I did ; and 
 having thus come at the names of these deluded young men, I, 
 either with their parents or with themselves, showed them the in- 
 sanity of the course they had been following. Almost every one 
 of those now under arrest have been last week at their Christmas 
 confession and communion; and, though it maybe no legal evidence 
 of their being innocent, to any one acquainted with the practice and 
 discipline of our Church, it is prima facie evidence of their having 
 solemnly pledged themselves to disconnect themselves from the 
 society. 
 
 " I beg to assure your lordship that since the 3rd of October — 
 the Sunday on which I first denounced this society — not even one 
 single person has joined it ; and, had the thing taken root or pro- 
 gressed, I would have been as ready to advise you of its progress 
 as I was of its existence. So completely extinct has it been that 
 more than once I proposed writing to you to remove the extra 
 police force, seeing them perfectly unnecessary. 
 
 " Under such circumstances, I make bold to ask your lordship 
 to interfere with his Excellency for the liberation of these foolish 
 boys — for boys they are. They have got a proper fright, and I 
 make no doubt that an act of well timed clemency will have more 
 effect in rendering them dutiful subjects hereafter than would the 
 measure of the justice they certainly deserve. 
 
 " If they be treated with kindness they will be thankful and 
 grateful, and doubly so if the thing be done at once, and in a 
 friendly and fatherly spirit; but carry out the law, and you will, of 
 course, vindicate it, but you certainly will have confirmed a set of 
 young rebels in their hostility to her Majesty's Government. — I 
 have the honor, &c, 
 
 " John O'Sulliva*. 
 
 " Right Honorable Lord Naas, M.P." 
 
 The next letter is to a school-fellow of his, who was partner to 
 Sir Matthew Barrington, the Crown prosecutor. Mind how he 
 talks of the 'brats"; 
 
> 0' Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 17 
 
 " Kenmare, December 16, 1858. 
 
 " My Dear Pat— It never occurred to me that the prosecution of 
 these young men here would come before you so soon ; so I was 
 waiting the approach of the Assizes to put before you the part I 
 took in it. The moment I got hold of the existence of such a 
 foolish conspiracy here I advised the magistrates of it, who could 
 scarcely believe me. 
 
 " I denounced it at both Masses on the 3rd of October, and such 
 a surprise was it on the congregation that they most unanimously 
 voted me either mad or seeking to work upon the fears of Trench, 
 who is still going to all and most unworthy lengths in opposing 
 the convent. 
 
 "Immediately after denouncing, a party came and gave me 
 copies of the two oaths I enclose you. I dreaded him, and to save 
 myself I mentioned the facts to the magistrates. Trench at once 
 sent to me for a copy, and, feeling he only wanted to make a call 
 at the Castle, I was inclined not to give it ; but then, on the other 
 hand, I feared to withhold it, as he would be but too glad to have 
 so much to tell Lord Lansdowne and the Government. 
 
 " The two Simpsons dined with me the same evening, and 
 Richard advised me to send a copy to Lord Naas by next post, but 
 to withhold the copy for Trench until the post after, and then let 
 Trench make a fool of himself by sending up his "Eureka" to the 
 Government. I did that, and see Lord Naas's reply. On the arrest 
 of these young men I wrote to him a letter, a copy of which I send 
 you, and if he has sense he will take my advice. Let him prosecute 
 these lads, and the excitement that will follow will have no bounds. 
 The people are already talking of giving them a public entry — of 
 raising a subscription to defend them, and thus the excitement will 
 be tremendous; whereas, if the brats be sent home at once, all this 
 will be anticipated. I beg of you to do what you can to carry out 
 this view of it. The Government may be quite satisfied that, since 
 the 3rd of October, there has been a complete stop to it here; and 
 if any of the unfortunate boys have moved in it since, I am not to 
 be understood as having the slightest pity or feeling for them. Say, 
 if you please, what we ought to do; and do what you can for these 
 poor, deluded boys. Would you advise me to write to Sir Charles 
 Trevelyan, or to the Lord Lieutenant, or would you advise a public 
 meeting and a memorial here ? — My dear Pat, &c, 
 
 "John O'Sullivan. 
 
 "P. D. Jeffers, Esq." 
 
 "Kenmare, December 17, 1858. 
 " Dear Sir Matthew — I wrote to Pat Jeffers yesterday, and im- 
 mediately after heard from Mr. Davis; he was on his way to meet 
 you. Had I known so much I would have reserved my letter to 
 Pat for you. About the 1st of October I had the first intimation of 
 the movement of these blockheads. I denounced it at both Masses 
 
18 O Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 on the 3rd, and before the evening of that day I had the satisfac- 
 tion of getting copies of the oaths, which I at once forwarded to 
 Lord Naas, and for which I have his thanks. 
 
 " I would stake my existence that from thenceforward not a 
 single individual joined the society. I send you a copy of the letter 
 I wrote to Lord Naas upon the arrest of these young lads, as con- 
 veying what I would impress upon you now ; and I will only add 
 to it that the less you make of the whole matter the more you will 
 contribute to the peace of the country in general. Require heavy 
 bail from them, and that bail they will get ; but then you will ele- 
 vate a pack of silly boys to be great patriots, and attach a signifi- 
 cance and importance to the whole matter it really does not deserve. 
 Great sympathy for the young chaps exists here by reason of their 
 youth ; and if you go to any extremities with them, it will not only 
 give great dissatisfaction to the people, but it will confirm the young 
 fellows in their hostility to the Government, whether they be guilty 
 or not. I beg of you, therefore, as you value the peace and welfare 
 of the country, to let them out, either upon their own recognizances 
 or upon very moderate bail, and you will find it to be the most 
 effectual stop to this very silly movement. — I am, dear Sir Matthew, 
 &c, " John O'Sullivan. 
 
 " Sir Matthew Barrington, Bart., Tralee." 
 
 " Kenmare, December 26, 1858. 
 
 " Mr Lord — Now that an investigation has been had as to the 
 nature and extent of the Phcenix Society, I venture to call your atten- 
 tion to a letter I took the liberty of writing to you on this day fort- 
 night. I have just read the evidence of the approver Sullivan in 
 the Cork Examiner, and he states * he had been at confession with 
 me, and that I advised him to break the oaths.' The man never 
 confessed to me. I never exchanged a word with him. He is not a 
 parishioner of mine at all! If all his evidence be as true as this 
 much it is of little value. 
 
 " Looking, therefore, at the unsupported evidence of this fellow, 
 at the youth of the lads led astray by him, and, above all, at the 
 fact of the society having been completely extinguished since I first 
 denounced it on the 3rd of October, I venture again to ask your 
 lordship to interfere with his Excellency tor a free pardon for these 
 foolish parishioners of mine. It will be the most perfect extin- 
 guisher he can possibly put on it. 
 
 " If you call them up for trial a large subscription will be made 
 up to defend them; for their youth, with the innumerable perjuries 
 of the approver, has created much sympathy for them, and great 
 excitement will be kept up here until the assizes. If they shall be 
 acquitted a regular ovation will be the consequence, while a con- 
 viction cannot entail a very heavy sentence on such striplings. If 
 his Excellency will graciously grant them a free pardon he will at- 
 tach them faithful and beholden to her Majesty, and we shall hear 
 
O Donovan Rosso! s Prison Life. 19 
 
 no more of this absurd, wicked, and foolish society. I am quite 
 sure, also, that you must be aware that it was my active interference 
 suppressed the society so immediately here; and, though I incurred 
 much odium in the beginning, all parties now admit I was their 
 best friend. This, I think, entitles me to some consideration on 
 your part; and be assured that, if I had the slightest reason to think 
 that a prosecution would tend more to the preservation of the peace 
 and the dignity of the constitution than what I ask now, I would 
 be the foremost in recommending it. I therefore confidently ask 
 for a free pardon for the ivhole of my poor, deluded parishioners ; 
 because, if the thing be done at all, it ought to be done in a free and 
 generous spirit, making no distinctions or exceptions, because with- 
 out pronouncing on the guilt or the innocence of any of the parties, 
 I am perfectly satisfied and convinced not one of them had the 
 slightest connection with the society from the day I first denounced 
 it. — I have the honor, &c, 
 
 "John O'Sullivan. 
 "The Eight Hon. Lord Naas, M.R" 
 
 This information, or this oath, which the priest sent to Dublin 
 Castle, was obtained under the following circumstances : A young 
 man went to confession to the Eev. Mr. O'Sullivan, and the priest 
 ascertaining that his penitent belonged to the society, asked him 
 out into the chapel yard, where he questioned him again, and ex- 
 tracted from him a copy of the oath. This was — to use the words of 
 the priest — getting the information extra tribunal ; but I doubt that 
 there are many priests or laymen who will approve of the use made 
 of what was so obtained. 
 
 When the Castle authorities got the first information in October 
 they set to work to get an informer, and they succeeded in getting 
 one in Kenmare. They sent him to Skibbereen in order that he 
 might be able to make the acquaintance of some men there, and 
 swear against them. We, in Skibbereen, knew he was coming to 
 see us, and the friends in Kerry told us to be cautious of him, that 
 he was a suspected individual, and got into the society by one who 
 did not know him well. This informer went once to a fair in Bantry, 
 some 20 miles from home ; he was sworn in Bantry, much to the 
 annoyance of his neighbors, who would never have trusted him so 
 far, but now that he was in, they had to make the best of it. When 
 he came to Skibbereen a number of our young men went to see him 
 through curiosity — all to pass an opinion as to his honesty or per- 
 fidy — and he swore informations against every one to whom he got 
 introduced. But all he swore was false, and his employers knew 
 it. They will never scruple to carry out their ends by falsehood, 
 and here we are not able to meet them. They did not care how 
 they got us to prison so they had us there. They knew that they 
 could then have the better of us. They worked hard to get crimi- 
 natory evidence against us and failed, hence our release without 
 trial after eight months. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 h glance oyer slx years eviction fidelity of the people— ' 
 
 "Shoneen" Snobbery — The Patriotic Bishop O'Hea — Rifles and 
 Pikes — English Hypocrisy — Surrender — Polish Demonstration 
 and Prince of Wales' Illumination — Tearing Down the English 
 Flag where there was not much Danger in the Way — Threats — 
 The "Irish People" Newspaper Denunciations — Calumnies — A 
 Hard Job for any of the " Eratres Eeniores" to Get Married — 
 No Absolution — Father Leader and his Gross Insult, which 
 ended in Marriage. 
 
 My release from one prison in 1859 until my re-entrance into 
 another in 1865 runs over a period of six years — full of incident and 
 adventure sufficient to make a book in itself. 
 
 It will not do to make one book within another. I can make a 
 second one, if, after reading the first, my readers judge that I am 
 any hand at all at book-making, so I will devote no more than one 
 chapter now to my knowledge of the movement during the half- 
 dozen years I speak of. 
 
 While I was in prison landlordism played some pranks with my 
 family. The ownership of my residence and place of business was 
 disputed by two parties ; the man from whom I had the house 
 rented lost the lawsuit, and the other, getting a court order to take 
 immediate possession, ejected my family; and when I came out of 
 prison I found the old house at home gone, and the inmates in a 
 strange one. My business was suspended, and I set to work to put 
 the wheels in motion again, but it was a difficult job to bring as 
 much water to my mill as it had before. Then, landlords them- 
 selves and rich people traded with me; now, the poor people 
 and the peasantry alone stuck to me. It is believed that the lower 
 you descend into the bowels of the earth the hotter you will find 
 it; and it is said, side by side with this, that the lower you go 
 amongst an oppressed people the warmer you will find them, the 
 truer and the more ready to make sacrifices for freedom, friend or 
 fatheland. 
 
 I believe this to be true. I know the Irish people now, at least 
 in Ireland, for it is not so easy to know them in America; and I 
 would trust my life in anything for Ireland to the poorest of them 
 sooner than I would to the richest. I travelled England, Ireland 
 and Scotland in connection with the revolutionary movement; I 
 
(J Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 21 
 
 met the poorest of our people in the small villages and in the large 
 cities; I whispered " treason" and "rebellion" to them night after 
 night for years. I was three months awaiting trial in Dublin 
 prisons; any amount of money would have been given to any one 
 who would come forward to swear that I was seen in such and 
 such a place on such an occasion, and though I could count by 
 thousands the numble people I had met, not one of them came 
 forward to take the English bribe. I would not run the same 
 gauntlet amongst the rich. How often have I been told by some 
 of my well-to-do friends, who knew what 1 was at, that I would 
 find these people selling me; and how often have I contemned their 
 vaticinations. How often have I told them that it would be well 
 for them if they were willing to do as much for Ireland as the men 
 they were despising; and how often to the sneering expression of 
 "what have they to lose?" have I replied, "they have their lives, 
 which are dearer than anything you could lose." 
 
 But then "it was not respectable !" but why did not the "respec- 
 table people commence it, or come into it, and make it respectable? 
 It is the very same thing to-day in the city of New York. The "re- 
 spectables" won't do anything with the " ragamuffins" who are will- 
 ing to do something for Ireland, but they have no objection in the 
 world to shake hands and make high-fellow-well-met with them — 
 nay, to condescend to fling them a few bones when fat meat is wanted 
 for our more respectable cousins, and when the poor man's vote will 
 help to get it. This fat meat idea came into my head while think- 
 ing that it may be time for me, as the French say, to return to my 
 mutton. 
 
 I recommenced my pursuits, political and commercial, a few 
 months after my release from prison, and I found it much more 
 difficult to be successful in the legal than in the illegal one. To 
 transact the political business I could meet the people anywhere, 
 but to do the commercial matters the people had to come to my 
 house, which many were afraid to do for a time, in the fear that 
 their landlords would be down on them for having any association 
 with such a desperate character; for, of course, the stock-in-trade lies 
 were told of us, that we were going to massacre landlords, and 
 overturn altars. And some of the ministers of the altars did their 
 parts too, if it is proper to think so from the fact of the " patriotic' 
 Bishop O'Hea's challenging a man and his wife in the confessional 
 for frequenting my house. The man told me that he was chal- 
 lenged, and told me that his wife told him that she was challenged. 
 They both live still; I am not going to tell their names. I did not 
 hear that any others were put through a similiar operation, but I 
 suppose there were others. It is well for a man to suffer for his 
 sins in this world ; better than in the next. I might have been a 
 greater sinner than the ordinary run of mortals around; I know I 
 am not a lesser one; but certainly I did not show much more 
 scandal than many others who had not the ire of the Church on 
 
22 O Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 
 
 them. Perhaps it is a very great crime to teach the people to be 
 independent of priests in politics ; this I did do, and this I will 
 do as long as the priests oppose any organization of means to rid 
 Ireland of English rule, and I believe no organization will do it that 
 will not be oath-bound and secret in and about Ireland, and that will 
 not avail of all and every means that is deemed necessary to attain 
 the object. 
 
 One branch of my business was the spirit trade, or as I am writ- 
 ing in America, the liquor trade. Licenses for this are renewed 
 every year, and at each renewal the police came forward to have 
 mine annulled. They put me to trouble, expense and annoyance. 
 I always apjiealed to a superior court, and as no charge of keeping 
 an irregular house could be urged against me I came away with my 
 license. 
 
 The authorities had frightened the simple portion of the com- 
 munity by our arrest, and I found the people under the impression 
 that if any kind of military weapon was found with them they 
 would be sent to jail. It was hard to disabuse them of this, and I 
 took a practical method of doing it. 
 
 I was in possession of an Enfield rifle and bayonet, a sword and 
 an old Croppy pike, with a hook and hatchet on it, formidable enough 
 to frighten any coward, and these I hung up in a conspicuous 
 part of my store; yet this would not even satisfy some that I 
 could keep these articles with impunity, and I had many a wise 
 head giving me advice. But when I have satisfied myself 
 that a thing is right, and that I make up my mind to do it, 
 I can listen very attentively to those who, hi kindness, would advise 
 me for the purpose of dissuading me from a course inimical, per- 
 haps, to my own interests, while at the same same time I can be 
 firm in my resolve to go on as soon as my adviser is gone. The 
 arms remained in their place, and on fair- days and market-days it 
 was amusing to see young peasants bringing in their companions 
 to see the sight. "Fheagh ! fheagh ! Look ! look ! " would be the 
 first exclamation on entering the shop; and never did artist survey 
 a work of art more composedly than would some of those boys, 
 leaning on their elbows over the counter, admire the treasured wea- 
 pons they longed to use one day in defence of the cause of their 
 fatherland. 
 
 At the end of a few years the people were fully persuaded that 
 they could keep arms in defiance of the police. It would answei 
 the ends of government very well, if the authorities by keeping the 
 people scared, could keep them unarmed without the passing of 
 arms acts and other repressive measures, that look so very ugly to 
 the world. If England could keep her face clean — if she could 
 carry the phylacteries — if she could have the Bible on her lips and 
 the devil in her deeds, without any of the devil's work being seen, 
 she would be hi her glory. 
 
 My pikes were doing great mischief in the community it seems, 
 
C Donovan Rossofs Prison Life. 23 
 
 and rumors were going around that others were getting pikes, too. 
 Tim Duggan, whom I spoke of as being in Cork jail, was employed 
 in my shop. Tim should be always at some mischief, and, taking 
 down the pikes one day to take some of the rust off them, no place 
 would satisfy him to sit burnishing them but outside the door. This 
 he did to annoy a very officious sergeant of police, named Brosnahan, 
 who was on duty outside the store. Next day I was sent for by 
 my friend McCarthy Downing, who was Chairman of the Town Com- 
 missioners, and magistrate of the town. lie told me that the magis- 
 trates were after having a meeting, and had a long talk about what 
 occurred the day before. Brosnahan represented that not alone was 
 Tim Duggan cleaning the pikes, but showing the people how they 
 could be used with effect — what beautiful things they were to frighten 
 exterminating landlords and all other tools of tyranny. Mr. Downing 
 asked me would I deliver up the arms, and I said certainly not. 
 He said the magistrates were about to make a report to the Castle of 
 the matter. I said I did not care what reports they made; the law 
 allowed me to hold such things, and hold them I would until the 
 district was proclaimed. 
 
 "Now," added he, "for peace sake, I ask you as a personal favor 
 to give them up to me, I will keep them for you in my own house, 
 and I pledge you my word that when you want them I will give 
 them to you." 
 
 " Well" replied I, " as you make so serious a matter of it you 
 can have them." 
 
 I went home, I put my pike on my shoulder, and gave another 
 to "William (Croppy) McCarthy. It was a market day, and both of 
 us walked through the town and showed the people we could cany 
 arms, so that we made the act of surrender as glorious as possible 
 to our cause, and as disagreeable as it could be to the stipendiaries 
 of England. 
 
 These are small things to chronicle but it is in small things that 
 the enemy shows a very wary diligence to crush us. Inch by inch 
 she pursues us, and no spark of manhood appears anywhere in the 
 land that she has not recourse to her petty arts to extinguish it. 
 
 In the spring of 1863, the Poles were struggling against their 
 tyranny, and we conceived the idea of having a meeting of sympathy 
 for them in Skibbereen, and carried it out. We prepared torch- 
 lights and republican banners, and we issued private orders to 
 have some of our best men in from the country. The authorities 
 were getting alarmed, and they issued orders to have a large force 
 of police congregated in. the town on the appointed night. During 
 the day the " peelers," as I may inoffensively call them, were pour- 
 ing in, and as they passed by the several roads the peasantry 
 crowded in after them. The rumor went around that we were to be 
 slaughtered, and men from the country came in to see the fun. 
 The town was full of " peelers " and peasants, and to have another 
 stroke at the big fellows we got handbills struck off, calling upon 
 
24 O Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 the people not to say an offensive word to any of the police, that 
 they were Irishmen, like ourselves, and only obliged from circum- 
 stances to appear our enemies. We posted these bills and employed 
 boys to put them into the hands of the police. There were six 
 magistrates in the town, and the stipendiary one, O'Connell — a 
 member of the " Liberator's " family — was in command of the 
 forces. They thought to intimidate us from carrying out the pro- 
 gramme of our procession, and we felt bound to maintain the 
 confidence of our people by proceeding according to our announce- 
 ment. They recognized in our meeting of sympathy for the Poles 
 a meeting of organized hostility against England ; they knew that 
 bringing the masses together and allowing them to see their strength 
 and union would create confidence, and that is what they wanted to 
 kill. And, to be candid, it was necessary for us to humor the pecu- 
 liarities of our people some way. They are ever ready to fight, 
 ever impatient for the " time," and when the time is long coming 
 they are drooping and restless without stimulants. 
 
 The officers of arrangement moved from the committee-rooms. 
 The committee were armed with wands and marched in front, 
 towards the place where the vast assembly of people were formed 
 in line of procession, with the torches in their hands. 
 
 The wives of the police and the police themselves had been sent 
 to the mothers of some of the young men on the committee, telling 
 them that the police had orders to fire on us; and the mothers im- 
 plored us, on their knees, to give up our project. We went on; and, 
 as we proceeded to move, the magistrates came in front of us, with 
 the police behind them, and stopped the route of our march. The 
 Castle agent, O'Connell, addressing himself to Brosnahan, asked — 
 
 " Who are the leaders of this tumult ?" 
 
 And the police sergeant answered — 
 
 "Here, they are, sir; Dan M'Cartie, Mortimer Moynahan, Jerry 
 Crowly, Con Callaghan, O'Donovan Bossa, James O'Keeffe, &c." 
 
 O'Connell — "I order this assembly to disperse." 
 
 Committee — " For what ? " 
 
 " For it is disturbing the peace of the town." 
 
 " It is you who are disturbing the peace of the town. We are 
 peaceful citizens met here to demonstrate our sympathy for a peo- 
 ple struggling against tyranny. Do you say we have no right to do 
 so, or that we must not walk the streets ? " 
 
 " You are meeting in an illegal manner ; I will now read the 
 Biot Act, and if you do not disperse before fifteen minutes you have 
 only to take the consequence." 
 
 He read the Biot Act ; after which we asked — 
 
 " What do you see illegal in our procession ? " 
 
 " That red flag," pointing to an equilateral triangle banner. 
 
 The Committee — "Take that flag down. Now, Mr. O'Connell 
 do you see anything else illegal ?" 
 
 O'Connell — " Those transparencies with the mottoes." 
 
O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 25 
 
 Committee — "Take those transparencies away. Do you see 
 anything else illegal, Mr. O'Connell ? " 
 
 " Those torchlights." 
 
 Committee — " Put out those torchlights. Do you see anything 
 else illegal?" 
 
 "You had better disperse." 
 
 Committee — "Do you tell us, now, that you come here with 
 your authority and your armed force to tell us that we must not 
 walk through the streets of Skibbereen ? " 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 The committee ordered the band to play up " Grarryowen " and 
 to march on. The boys did so ; the magistrates moved aside ; the 
 police behind them opened way, and the procession marched twice 
 through the streets, and ended the demonstration with the reading 
 of an address. 
 
 The marriage of the Prince of "Wales in '63 came on in a few 
 nights after we had the Polish sympathy meeting in Skibbereen, 
 and some of the loyal people of the town illuminated their houses. 
 There was a public news-room in the Prince of Wales' Hotel, and 
 as the loyalists paid the proprietor £1 for lighting the house, those 
 of them who belonged to the news-room held a private meeting 
 and passed a resolution that the windows of that room should be 
 illuminated too. So they were ; but some of the Committee of the 
 Polish procession were members of the news-room, and when they 
 heard that it was burning with loyalty, they went to the room, 
 called a meeting, pointed to one of the rules which excluded politics 
 from the house, and denounced those who held a hole-and-corner 
 meeting to introduce them there that day. A crowd was outside 
 the hotel, listening to the fight inside, and cheered and groaned ac- 
 cording as the several speakers spoke. One of the loyalists said it 
 was a mob meeting. " Then we may as well have mob law," said 
 I ; and, making for the windows, I tore down the transparencies, 
 the fil-dols and the English banners, and threw them into the 
 street. 
 
 Some one may ask what has this to do with prison life ? Well, 
 not much, perhaps ; but it has to do with the movement for which 
 we were put in prison. That movement generated a spirit of 
 manhood in the land which the enemy could not crush, and cannot 
 crush if we do not prove ourselves dastards. Acts of hostility, 
 similiar to those I speak of, were occuring everywhere; and, if the 
 people had only arms to back their spirit, they would do something 
 worthy of them. The Gladstones know this, and use all their in- 
 genuity to keep the dangerous weapons from the people, lest — as 
 one of them said lately — the people would hurt themselves. But, 
 " beg, borrow, or steal" them, we must have arms before we can 
 have our own again. 
 
 After those occurrences in Skibbereen the stipendiary of the 
 Castle, O'Connell, and Potter the Inspector of Police, came to me 
 
26 O Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 one day and told me they had instructions to give me notice that if 
 I did not cease from disturbing the community I would be called 
 up for sentence, pursuant to the conditions of my plea of guilty. 
 I told them they should first show that I violated any of those con- 
 ditions; that they should prove me guilty of t\e practices of drill- 
 ing and the other things sworn against me at the time of my im- 
 prisonment; and that while, to their eyes, I was acting within their 
 own law, I did not care about their threats. 
 
 Some time after I received an invitation from James Stephens to 
 come to Dublin and act as manager of the Irish People newspaper, 
 which was about to be started. I accepted the position, and we 
 were not a month at work when we experienced a most active op- 
 position to the sale of the paper from some of the priests. As 
 manager of the business department I can safely say that there was 
 not a county in Ireland in which we had not some clergyman de- 
 nouncing our principles. I travelled the whole country from that 
 little lake on the top of Fair Head in the north, to that deep pool 
 that sleeps in the bosom of the mountains round Loughine in the 
 south ; from the Hill of Howth in the east, to Croagh Patrick in the 
 west ; and north, south, east and west we had some one to assail us 
 as enemies of our race and name. It was just as Michael Doheny 
 said when he was hunted: 
 
 " Thy faith was tried, alas! and those 
 
 Who periled a'l for thee 
 Were cursed and branded as thy foes, 
 
 Acushla gal machree." 
 
 Our agents were bullied, and when bullying would not do, were 
 threatened with hell and damnation; where both failed the trade of 
 the man was threatened ; and I know one district in Waterf ord 
 where a priest was in league with the magistrates to refuse spirit 
 licenses to publicans who sold the Irish People newspaper ; and the 
 Centre for Kilkenny told me that the penance enjoined in con- 
 fession on some of his circle of accqaintance was that they should 
 not read the Irish People. 
 
 Perhaps some of those priests ought not to be blamed for de- 
 nouncing our paper if they believed many of the things they said 
 of ourselves. A priest of Ballycastle, a little town on the north 
 coast, near Rathlin Island, in preaching to his congregation one 
 day, in 1864, said, while denouncing our paper and our society, 
 that the opinions some of us held on marriage were that if a man 
 did not like his wife he could put her away and take another, and 
 put the second away and take a third ; and that one of us had car- 
 ried out his opinions so vigorously on that matter that he was at 
 that time taking a trial of the ninth wife. A few weeks after the 
 reverend gentleman said this I was at Mass in his chapel, and, on 
 my way to M'Donald's Hotel, my companion — Mr. Darrragh, who 
 
O Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 27 
 
 died in Portland Prison — told me this story of the gentleman I saw 
 celebrating Mass. 
 
 When I was on this trip in the North of Ireland, I was instruct- 
 ively amused in the town of Ballymena at something which may be 
 learned from the following anecdote: 
 
 One of the most active workers in the town had been going about 
 with me to some of his friends in the mountains between Ballymena 
 and Cushendal, and he never showed any symptoms of fear or con- 
 cern lest any particular individuals should see him walking with 
 such a suspicious-looking stranger as I was, till one morning that 
 we were going to Bandalstown to see some fellow-laborers in the 
 cause. We were walking up and down the platform of the railway 
 station awaiting the train; policemen and detectives w T ere on duty 
 there, and magistrates were walking around, too. He was telling 
 me w T ho was this man, and that man; there was a relative of "Fin- 
 ola's," and here w^as a cousin of William Orr's, when all of a sudden 
 he bounded away from me and ran behind a railway wagon. The 
 train was about starting when, coming toward me, I asked him 
 what was the matter. 
 
 "Ah," said he, "didn't you see Father Lynch coming up; he 
 knows me well, for he has been at me about the paper and the or- 
 ganization; knowing that you were a stranger he would immediate- 
 ly suspect what we were about, and I thought it better he should 
 not see us together." 
 
 This was a sad reflection to me all the way to Randalstown, to 
 think that this Irishman defied all the myrmidons of English rule 
 while working for Ireland, and only quailed before him who should 
 be Ireland's truest friend. While living in Dublin many stories 
 came to my ear about the efforts some of the priests were making 
 to arrest the progress of our work. Some of them might not be 
 thought worthy of credence, and I myself pitched upon one, which 
 I held in my mind as a little exaggerated, and that was that certain 
 priests refused to marry men who were connected with the revolu- 
 tionary movement unless they "gave it up." 
 
 I do not know whether a desire to test the truth of this had any- 
 thing to do with getting into my head, about this time, the idea 
 of marrying, but the notion got there; and, as it was associ- 
 ated in my mind with the picture of a pretty poetess, I could 
 not put it or the image of the little woman out of my head. 
 Indeed, to be candid, I did not try to do so, but, on the contrary, 
 cultivated her acquaintance up to securing her consent to marry me. 
 She lived in the South of Ireland and I lived in Dublin. I should 
 take with me a license from the priest of my parish. The Rev. Mr. 
 O'Hanlon lived within a few perches of the office of the Irish Peo- 
 ple. I went to see him, and took George Hopper with me. He 
 introduced my business to the clergyman, and the clergyman, after 
 satisfying himself that I was a marriageable man, proceeded to 
 write my license. Alter writing a few words he stopped and said : 
 
28 O Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 " I must make this license informal." 
 
 " How is that, father ?" said I. 
 
 " Why," said he, "you haven't been at confession." 
 
 " But I am ready to go to confession to you." 
 
 " Oh, I could not hear your confession, now that I know you/' 
 
 " Couldn't you hear a confession of my sins ?" 
 
 Priest — " I could ; but as I know you belong to the Irish People 
 I should ask you certain questions, which you should answer, and 
 which would make it impossible for me to give you absolution." 
 
 " And does belonging to the Irish People put a man outside the 
 sacraments of the Catholic Church ?" 
 
 Priest — "There is no use arguing the question Mr. O'Donovan. 
 My hands are tied by this paper here, and by my instructions from 
 Archbishop Cull en." And then he proceeded to read the printed 
 paper referred to, in which the fratres Feniores were talked of 
 side by side with the Freemason/m^res and the fratri Carabonari. 
 
 " Well, Father, said I," " you had better make out a license as 
 best you can, and if it be in order to say so, you can state that I 
 offered to go to confession to you and that you couldnt't hear 
 me." "Yery well," replied he. And taking the scrap of paper 
 from him when he had done, I shook hands with him, and bade 
 him sfood-b^e. 
 
 I took the train for the south of Ireland, and I began to reflect 
 that I was going into the diocese of the Bishop of Ross, and into 
 the Parish of Father Leader, both of whom knew me well, and 
 both of whom I knew, from previous experience, would place every 
 possible ecclesiastical and lay obstacle in the way of my " making 
 myself happy." I thought to myself I had better stop in Cork and 
 try to make the matter all right there before I got to Clonakilty. 
 I did stop and I strolled into a chapel near the Northgate-bridge, 
 under the shadow of the Bells of Shandon. There was no 
 priest there ; but I learned that by going up to a convent, which 
 was at the back of the chapel, I could see a priest. I went up and 
 was introduced to a Dominican Father. Dressed in his white 
 woollen robe, he sat down and I knelt at his feet. I ended, per- 
 haps badly, perhaps not in the proper spirit ; anyway, it was with 
 a desire to conform to the education of my youth and " the custom 
 of the country." And ending, I said : " That is all, Father," when 
 he immediately asked : 
 
 " Do you belong to any secret society?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Do you belong to any society in which you took an oath ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "What is the object of it?" 
 
 "To free Ireland from English rule." 
 
 "You must give it up." 
 
 " I must not." 
 
 The old fight went on for ten or fifteen minutes. I got up from 
 
O 1 Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 29 
 
 my knees and asked him if lie would give me a certificate stating 
 that I had been to confession to him, but that he could not give 
 me absolution. 
 
 "That I could not do," said he, " without your permission." 
 '*I give you permission," said I; " nay, I ask you to state the 
 reason why you would not give it to me ? I am no way ashamed 
 of it before man or afraid of it before God, and if all my other 
 sins were forgiven I could face him fearlessly on the last day with 
 nothing to account for but that for which the Church excommuni- 
 cates me." 
 
 After hard pressing I got the certificate from him, and I left the 
 chapel thinking I would leave myself and my sins to the mercy of 
 God in the future, and that it would be a long time again before I 
 would trouble such priests. 
 
 I went to Clonakilty. I met the little poetess. Her father very 
 reluctantly consented to our marriage, and, after consenting, I told 
 him the difficulties that may be put in our way by Father Leader. 
 He went to the priest, paid him the marriage money, but in view 
 of my advice to him he was cautious enough at first not to tell him 
 who the intended husband was. He called the second time for the 
 " permit" to the curate to marry us, and learning that I was the 
 happy man, he asked him to go back and bring him my license. 
 The license was brought him, and he immediately pronounced it 
 informal, and said I should be sent to the- bishop. The bishop 
 lived some twenty miles away, and I told my father-in-law that I 
 had to leave for England the next day, and that unless I got mar- 
 ried without delay I should leave Clonakilty without doing so, and 
 only asked him get back the marriage money from the priest, and 
 to bring himself and his daughter to Cork to get us married. The 
 priest told him to bring both of us up to him; and when this was 
 announced to me, I told both of them that unless they were firm 
 in telling the priest they would adopt the above course, in view of 
 the necessity that obliged me to leave Ireland immediately, that 
 we could not get the better of Father Leader, and both agreed to 
 be firm in the matter. 
 
 "When we reached the priest, he questioned me as to my license, 
 my residence in Dublin, and my residence in Skibberecn. He said 
 I had lived my life in Skibbereen; that my family was there now; 
 that it was from that parish I should have my license ; that the 
 one I had was informal and of no use ; that I should go to the 
 Bishop, and that it was entirely out of his power to marry me, as 
 things stood. To this I replied that I had lived in Dublin for the 
 past eighteen months; that it was my recognized residence; that 
 if the license was informal it was no fault of mine, as I had made 
 every effort to harmonize things with the requirements of the 
 church; that I had no time to go to see the Bishop, as I was leav- 
 ing Ireland the following day, and if he could not marry me I 
 should have to go to Cork to get mariied. 
 
30 O Donovan Rosscls Prison Life. 
 
 " What !" Do you think that Miss Irwin would give such scan- 
 dal in this parish as to leave it with a strange man, without get- 
 ting married V 
 
 " I am not a strange man in this country. I want no scandal 
 in connection with me. I want to get married, and if you put dif- 
 ficulties in the way, I hope Miss Irwin will assist me to overcome 
 them." 
 
 Mr. Irwin — I believe if you don't marry Mary Jane that she 
 will go to Cork to get married. I have given my consent to the 
 marriage, and if you will not marry them, I will permit her to 
 go." 
 
 Father Leader — " That matter rests with Miss Irwin herself. 
 And now, Miss Irwin, I ask you — you who have received a convent 
 education — will you cast such a reflection upon those holy nuns 
 who instructed you ? Will you give such scandal to the girls of 
 this parish as to leave it with a strange man without being married 
 to him ? I now ask you would you leave it without being married 
 if I did not marry you !" 
 
 Miss Irwin — " I would !" 
 
 Father Leader (addressing himself to me) said : 
 
 " Oh ! whatever be your hostility to our poor old Mother Church, 
 that has protected us and promises to protect us through all ages 
 — whatever you do to create disrespect of the ministers of our holy 
 religion, and to corrupt society, leave us — do leave us one thing : 
 leave us the virtue of our women." 
 
 By Jove, didn't I feel this to be hard ? But the man who said 
 it was a priest, and there was no strength in my arm. He is dead, 
 aNd God be merciful to him; but my wife and her father are alive 
 to bear witness to the truth of what I say. We got an order to 
 the curate of the parish to marry us, and "if ive don't live happy 
 that you may." 
 
 The following poem is part of the labors of my prison life. 
 From it, it may truthfully be inferred, that the lady and I " made 
 the match" without the knowledge of her parents; that when they 
 heard of it they decided it was an unwise undertaking; that by 
 .their advice she wrote to me, saying that the matter was at an end, 
 and not to w^rite any more ; but I threatened her with a breach of 
 promise case, and that or the visitation of my ghost in case of my 
 dying of a broken heart, frightened her into re-changing her mind : 
 
 THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER. 
 
 A dutiful daughter won ruy heart, 
 And after winning it, cruelly said, 
 
 I write to tell you that we must part, 
 
 For papa and mamma won't have us wed. 
 
0' Donovan Rossds Prison Life, 31 
 
 Mamma asked me last night to sing, 
 
 As we sat in the parlor after tea ; 
 But as I played, she noticed the ring — 
 
 Then I told the truth, when she questioned met 
 
 She said she liked you well as a friend, 
 And wished none better than she wished you. 
 
 And telling papa — he said it could end 
 In nothing but ruin to the two. 
 
 He knew you were never inclined to save ; 
 
 He knew you were never a miser, nor poor ; 
 He knew that all you could hope to have 
 
 Would keep a wife, but would keep no more 
 
 That cares come on in a year or two, 
 
 Which young people marrying never see ; 
 And 'twould be as much as you could do 
 
 To get us both bread, butter and tea. 
 
 That half the miseries of this life 
 
 Were caused by people who rashly wed ; 
 That he was to blame who took a wife, 
 
 Unprepared for others, who'd cry for bread f 
 
 I never saw papa so troubled before ; 
 
 I never before saw mamma cry. 
 I told them I'd think of our marriage no more. 
 
 For they know more of the world than L 
 
 Then papa said he would write a letter, 
 
 To tell you the matter was at an end ; 
 But mamma thought I might write the letter, 
 
 And send the ring in it — which I send. 
 
 As this is my last — I'll say adieu ; 
 
 I never looked into the future before • 
 What papa and mamma say is true. 
 
 Good bye ! good bye. Don't write any more. 
 
 This is the letter that causes the smart ; 
 
 This is the letter that nurses the pain ; 
 This is the letter that pierces the heart ; 
 
 This the letter that burns the brain. 
 
 Bright dreams of Paradise, where have you gone ? 
 
 Odors of fairy bowers, where have you flown ? 
 Cupid plucked summer flowers, where are you strewn f 
 
 A. ui I lost, am I left in the world alone ? 
 
g2 0' Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 I can't rest, I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't pray — 
 
 Can do nothing but drink — oh I I would'nt much grieve 
 
 If death vould but come in a natural way, 
 But God in His mercy ordains that I live. 
 
 I'm like a wreck on a sea-washed rock, 
 
 That every wave heaves to and fro; 
 I'm like a lightning-stricken oak 
 
 With its source of life all charred below. 
 
 All mankind should pity and come to my aid; 
 
 For the race would die out if some men hadn't spirit 
 To marry until they had fortunes made — 
 
 "With odds against having an heir to inherit. 
 
 Will anything alter the state of my mind ? 
 
 I find myself tempted to go on a spree — 
 Or go making verses — I'm strongly inclined 
 
 To appeal through the Press for sympathy. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Sezurz or the "Irish People" — Arrfst and Search for Paper? 
 — the Ballybar Races — Story Telling — Little Jealousies- 
 Ordered off to America — In Court — Nagle and the Detec- 
 tives — Richmond Prison — Religion and Routine — Stripping — 
 My Cell — My Board and Lodging — My Wife's Visit and Dr. 
 Cullen's Slanders — " Mad Dog " and Barry the Crown Pros- 
 ecutor — The Lower Castle Yard — Preliminary Examinations 
 — High Treason and Hanging — Stephens' Escape — Seizure op 
 my Defence Papers — The Trial — The Packed Jury — The 
 Packed Bench — Keogh and Fitzgerald — Conviction and Sen- 
 tence for Life — Search for my Treasonable Documents. 
 
 On the evening of the 15th of September, 1865, as I was talk- 
 ing to some friends in No. 82 Dame street, Dublin, Mr. Patrick 
 Kearney rushed in and said the Irish People was seized, exclaiming, 
 " What are we to do ?" He had fight in his eye, and I saw that the 
 most welcome words to him would be instructions to resist the po- 
 lice. But, with very few arms, I knew we could not fight that 
 night; and I told Paddy Kearney, who had a number of fighting 
 men at his command, that we had nothing for it but to keep quiet, 
 and that I would go up to the office. I was expecting that this 
 swoop would be made, and always taking precautions to keep no 
 papers about me, I searched my pockets, and gave a few business 
 receipts and a small pistol to Mike Moynahan. I lived across the 
 street, and when I left my residence an hour before, I left my wife 
 packing up her trunks. I was under orders from Mr. Stephens to 
 go to America, and I was taking my wife to the south of Ireland 
 next morning. I had always given her instructions to destroy any 
 papers connected with the organization that she may find about 
 the house, but there was one document that I told her to preserve, 
 and this she sewed into the leather lining of her pocket-book. The 
 thought struck me that it was better to destroy that too. I told 
 the boys about me that I would run over to speak a word to my 
 wife, and then go to the Irish People office; but as I was going 
 across the street two detectives pounced on me and said I was 
 their prisoner. Each had clutched a shoulder of me, and they were 
 so excited that their nervous tremor kept shaking me. 
 
34 'Donovan Rosso 1 s Prison Life. 
 
 " All right, gentleman," said I, "but you need not be so much 
 afraid, or grasp me so tight. 
 
 One of them stuck his hand into the side pocket of my coat 
 and pulled out nothing; the other followed suit; and then they 
 conducted me through the Lower Castle Yard to Chancery-lane 
 Police Station. I was the first in. They took me to the searcher, 
 turned my pockets inside out, and found no treasure but my money, 
 which they returned to me. By and bye others were brought in, 
 and by twelve o'clock we had a company of about twenty, amongst 
 whom was Captain Murphy, who kept us alive by proclaiming him- 
 self "a citizen of Boston," and protesting against his illegal arrest. 
 At twelve o'clock, George Hopper, John O'Clohissy, myself and a 
 fourth party were huddled into a privy and kept there till twelve 
 o'clock next day. The compartment was about seven feet square 
 — a receiving cell for a drunken man or woman ; the lid was broken 
 off the closet; we had no bed, no room to stretch or walk about; 
 so that our first night's imprisonment did not open under very 
 encouraging auspices. But I had many a worse night since — many 
 a one to which the first was a paradise. 
 
 When my two guardians had secured me they made for my resi- 
 dence, and turned everything upside down in search of papers. They 
 took a lot of old Irish manuscripts belonging to Nicholas O'Kear- 
 ney, a Gaelic scholar, lately deceased. These they took away, and 
 I never saw them since. I had a revolver, and they took it 
 with them too, though, at the time, it was perfectly legiti- 
 mate property. James O'Connell O'Callaghan was in the house 
 when the detectives arrived. He came to tell my wife that I was 
 arrested, and, asking her were there any dangerous papers around, 
 she said not, except one she had in a safe place. He told her, how- 
 ever safe the place was, that it was safer to put it in the fire ; so 
 she ripped open the pocket-book and burned the treasure. It was 
 a letter of James Stephens', and I may as well tell the story of its 
 preservation here as anywhere else. 
 
 I had many letters trom him during the course of four or five 
 years ; but this was the only one that cost me an unpleasant 
 thought, and made me fear that I was about to lose his friend- 
 ship. Some one may ask why I should fear to lose the friend- 
 ship of such a man, and I say for the simple reason that I liked 
 him ; that I believed he was going the right way to free 
 Ireland; and I saw him working in the direction through all kinds 
 of difficulties and under circumstances that would paralyze the 
 spirit of an ordinary man. I worked with him, or under him, if 
 people will have it so. I believe I have even since been looked 
 upon by some of my friends as too friendly to him, and par- 
 ticularly since his failure this prejudice follows me. I am told by 
 friends that I believed in him with a religious belief, nntf did every- 
 t\ :ng that he wished done. It is true I wns oV^die^t. bnt»bi*» obe- 
 dience never degenerated into subserviency. I did everything I 
 
O 1 Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 35 
 
 was told; but James Stephens never told me to do anything that 
 my heart was not in, and my own judgment did not tell me was 
 promotive of the cause of Irish independence. I did many things 
 without his instructions; but with them or without them, I am not 
 ashamed of anything I did in connection with the revolutionary 
 movement in Ireland, England and Scotland. 
 
 The nature of the document my wife had hid, and which James 
 O'Callaghan made her destroy before the detectives came in, will be 
 learned from the following narrative : 
 
 In the first week of September, 1865, the races of Ballybar were 
 to come off near Carlow. The men in the organization availed them ■ 
 selves of gatherings of this kind to meet and discuss all questions 
 affecting their interests. At the previous races I had been with 
 Mr. Stephens himself, at Ballybar, and now the Carlow men wrote 
 to Dublin, asking that some one should be sent down, and that 
 Rossa was the person they wished to meet. On this occasion I 
 should ask to be relieved if delegated to go, for I was a short time 
 before at the Navan and Trim races ; I was tired of running about, 
 and my wife was beginning to look even blacker than she does look 
 at my being out nearly every night. I received a letter in the Irish 
 People office, and it being my duty to forward it to the Boss, I did 
 so. In the evening I got a note asking " why should those Carlow 
 men attempt to dictate to him the proper party to be sent down ? 
 they should be taught that they could not do that, and it was for 
 him to determine who was the fittest party to meet them." I could 
 not go, and he bade me write to them to tell them so, and told my- 
 self to be in read ness to start for America on the following Friday. 
 
 If he had learned that I had written to the Carlow men, asking 
 them to write for me, he might be justified in sending me such a 
 letter. I had been to America in July; I was asked to go again in 
 August; but I, by permission, delegated the commission to another. 
 
 I was a new married man, I was not yet tired of my wife, and I 
 wished to show her that I had something in me besides those ram- 
 bling propensities which the exigencies of the occasions created, and 
 which, from the memories of those times, she still imagines I am 
 largely possessed of. 
 
 In deference to my own wishes and to hers I did not go in 
 August, but now I saw there was nothing for me but to go. I took 
 the letter to her and told her she may see it was not a matter of 
 choice now ; that from what she could read, in the tone of it, she 
 could see that my sphere of usefulness was closed in Ireland. My 
 easily-earned, unmerited, and worthless popularity was getting me 
 into a scrape. I fancied Mr. Stephens showed signs of a little jea- 
 lousy, and I, having something perhaps of the nature of woman in 
 me, felt hurt and pained at seeing this passion aroused in my 
 p artner, when I had not an impure or disloyal thought in my head, 
 and when he had little cause from me^and less danger. I told my 
 
36 G? Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 wife to preserve the letter, and this is the one she burned the night 
 she was packing up to go home preparatory to my going to America. 
 
 About twelve o'clock the day after our arrest we were taken out 
 of our privy, locked up into one of the black vans, and conducted 
 to a police office. Vast numbers of people were in the streets, and 
 the detectives found in the crowd that surrounded the van as we 
 were coming out, many whom they suspected of connection with 
 us, and arrested them. About thirty of us were in the dock, and 
 I saw around me the proprietor, the editor and sub-editors, the 
 printers, porters and reporters of the Irish People. The authorities 
 had burst open the premises, seized all the papers and materials, 
 and had them carted off to the Castle, had taken possession of the es- 
 tablishment, and left police in charge of it. They tore up the boards, 
 arrested every man that came to inquire after anything about the 
 concern, and refused admittance to our wives. They seized Mr. 
 O'Leary's bank book, laid an embargo upon the money in the 
 hank, and refused to allow Mr. O'Leary to draw it until his 
 
 jisel made a motion in court for it. They knew that 
 in this they were acting illegally, and refused to act 
 otherwise without obliging us to have recourse to their own law to 
 make them do so. 
 
 The prosecuting counsel, Mr. Barry, appeared in court, and, 
 addressing a stipendiary magistrate who sat on the bench for the 
 special occasion, charged the prisioners in the dock with conspiracy, 
 made some observations as to our fell designs against Church and 
 State, priests and landlords, and wound up by saying that the ends 
 of justice demanded that we be sent to prison for a week, without 
 disclosing the evidence against us, as other parties were implicated 
 who were not yet in the hands of justice. The evidence was 
 so voluminous that it would require a little time to arrange it. The 
 magistrate granted what he asked, and we were remanded for a 
 week. 
 
 The prosecutor left the court; we were delayed in the dock 
 about an hour, and here something occurred that set me thinking 
 about the informer, Nagle, who was also a prisoner. The detec- 
 tives were around us. I knew some of them, and I asked if they 
 would not allow my wife in, who was outside the door. I was told 
 it couid not be done. I heard Nagle make a similar request, and 
 the detectives went out and brought in Mrs. Nagle, who remained 
 talking to her husband over the rails for some minutes. A bad 
 thought came into my head, not about the woman, but the man; 
 but I banished it in a moment, and set the favor down to the de- 
 tective's personal friendship for him. To be suspicious is not char- 
 acteristic of our people. We consider every man honest until he 
 plays the rogue with us at our expense, and I am seriously think- 
 ing of going on the opposite tack of thinking every one a rogue 
 until I prove him an honest man, at least I'll try and study myself 
 
(J Donovan RossoJs Prison Life. 37 
 
 into the disposition if I get time to study in this busy New York, 
 or if I can change this bad part of my good nature. 
 
 Into the black van again, amidst the encouraging huzzas of the 
 crowd ; up towards Richmond Prison ; the big black gate opens ; 
 the cars rumble over the pavement ; we are taken out, and we find 
 ourselves locked in. I am taken into a large hall, and in a line 
 with my companions we are registered as inmates, and all goes on 
 smoothly until we come to the religious part of the business. Mr. 
 O'Leary, Mr. Luby and myself are in the room together. I am asked 
 what my religion is, and I say I am an Irish Catholic. They have 
 no such denomination on their books, and I must register myself as 
 a Roman Catholic. I was Irish, not Roman, but this would not do ; 
 there was the printed heading of Roman Catholic on the register, 
 and I should sign my name under that. I offered to go to the 
 chapel, but they would not let me go to church or chapel unless I 
 signed the register, and this I refused to do. Mr. O'Leary adopted 
 a similar course, and I think Mr. Luby. We were left in our cells 
 while the others were at prayers, and then it was industriously cir- 
 culated to our prejudice that we refused to be of any religion, which 
 so far corroborated the slanders that were uttered against us, and 
 will be ever uttered against every people who dare to do anything 
 against an established tyranny. 
 
 The next part of the performance was to strip me naked, take my 
 clothes aside, and turn the pockets of them inside out. An in- 
 ventory of my stock was taken. My pocket-book, my pencil or my 
 knife would not be returned to me. I was shown into a flagged 
 cell, seven feet by six, which contained no furniture but a stool, and 
 a board stuck into one of the corners of the wali to serve me as a 
 table. I was told I would be allowed to pay for my board, but if I 
 did not pay I should work. Mr. O'Leary occupied the cell next to 
 me. The jailor communicated between us, and we agreed to pay for 
 our maintenance. No such luxuries as wine or porter or spirituous 
 liquor of any kind would be allowed us if we desired to indulge in 
 them — not even tobacco or snuff. We got one hour's exercise every 
 day in the open air, and the most rigid precautions were taken le»t 
 we should have any conversation during this hour. We were made 
 to walk six paces apart, and ordered always to keep our faces to 
 the front. This was treating us to convict life before we were con- 
 victed. I often thought to kick against it, but I did not like to 
 make myself singular in company or to set a bad example. 
 
 The time of remand passed by, and we were preparing to go to 
 the court to hear what was to be sworn against us ; but the court 
 visited us in prison, in the person of a magistrate, who informed us 
 that we were remanded for another week ; and when that week was 
 passed we were taken into the Lower Castle Yard to be confronted 
 with our accusers. 
 
 My wife was allowed to see me in the presence of the governor 
 of the prison, and at our interview we were obliged to speak loud 
 
SS (J Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 enough for him to hear what we said. She told me of all the ter- 
 rible things that the papers were saying about us. Archbishop 
 Cullen himself came out in a pastoral against us, and aided the 
 Crown work by abusing the prisoners. Our natural enemies were 
 bad enough ; but when the sanctity of the Catholic Church 
 corroborated the slanders of the English enemy, we were 
 pretty badly off. 
 
 When the head of the Catholic Church in Ireland said that " we 
 proposed nothing less than to destroy the faith of our people, to seize the 
 property of those who had any, and to exterminate the gentry and the 
 Catholic clergy" I suppose it must be true ; but / don't believe one' 
 word of it. England's work was done, however innocently or re- 
 ligiously the holy man did it. This is one paragragh of his pas- 
 toral, and not the worst one : 
 
 " If the charges lately made against the originators of the move- 
 ment had been made known, every one would have been filled with 
 alarm at their introduction into the country ; for they are said to 
 have proposed nothing less than to destroy the faith of our people 
 by circulating works like those of the impious Voltaire, to preach up 
 Socialism, to seize the property of those who have any, and to ex- 
 terminate both the gentry of the country and the Catholic clergy. 
 Whatever is to be said of such fearful accusations — which we hope 
 are only founded on vague report — it is too certain that the man- 
 agers of the Fenian paper, called the Irish People, made it a vehicle 
 ot scandal, and circulated in its columns most pernicious and 
 poisonous maxims. Fortunately they had not the wit nor the 
 talents of Voltaire ; but, according to appearances, they did not 
 yield to him in anxiety to do mischief, and in malice. And hence, 
 it must be admitted, that for suppressing that paper the public 
 authorities deserve the thanks and gratitude of all those who love 
 Ireland, its peace and its religion." 
 
 Here was the cry of " mad dog " raised against us with a ven- 
 geance ; and what wonder that after this the pious Catholic and 
 Crown prosecutor Barry would follow up the slander at the pre- 
 liminary investigation for the benefit of the public indigdation. 
 Here are some of his words, as reported : 
 
 " The design, as manifested from their writings, both public and 
 private, as will be proved in evidence upon the trial — the design 
 took the form, not as on former occasions of a somewhat similar 
 character, not of a mere revolutionary theory, not some theoreti- 
 cal scheme of regeneration by substituting one government for 
 another ; but it partook of the character of Socialism in its most 
 pernicious and wicked phase The lower classes were taught to be- 
 lieve that they might expect a redistribution of the property, real 
 and personal, of the country. They were taught to believe that 
 the law by which any man possessed more property than another 
 was unjust and wicked ; and the plan of operation, as will be found 
 to have beeu suggested, is horrible to conceive. The operations of 
 
O Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 39 
 
 this revolution, as it is called, were to be commenced by an indis- 
 criminate massacre — by the assassination of all those above the 
 lower classes, including the Roman Catholic clergy (here the prison- 
 oners, O'Donovan Rossa and O'Leary, looked at each other and 
 smiled), against whom their animosity appears from their writings to 
 be especially directed, by reason of the opposition which those 
 clergymen thought it right, as Christian ministers, as Irishmen, and 
 as men of pence and honor, to give to the projects in question." 
 
 The Lower Castle Yard is one of the strongholds of the English 
 in Dublin. With all their power and pretence of greatness they 
 were afraid to take us into one of their ordinary courthouses, and 
 went through the farce of trying us with closed doors, refusing to 
 admit our wives and sisters who were outsidfi the gates. There- 
 porters of the press were, however, admitted with the express pur- 
 pose of giving publicity to the calumnies and the terrible things with 
 which Barry, the prosecutor, assailed us ; but which he was never 
 able to establish. It was necessary to paint us hlack, in order to 
 j ustify the illegality of the arrests, the illegal seizure of the Irish 
 People, and the tyranny and despotism that characterized every act 
 of the Executive regarding us. When England was fighting in 
 India, the English papers, in order to justify the attrocities, at- 
 tributed all kinds of demon tricks to the barbarous Sepoys. 
 Women were sawn across between deal boards, who were after- 
 wards seen in England, without the sign of a saw's tooth in them. 
 When it was thought the Irish were going to fight, Hugh Rose, 
 who operated in India, was pent to Ireland ; and to pave the way for 
 his process of pacifying Ireland, it was necessary to tell horrible tales 
 of the blood-thirsty Irish. These same tales will ever be told in the 
 English interest whenever an enemy is battling against England. 
 The things that are " expedient" for England to do are diabolical 
 when done by others. She must have a monopoly of all means 
 necessary to her ends, and she would scare others away from her 
 own practices, lest they should meet her on equal terms. 
 
 She will tar and feather, blast and burn, dislocate and disem- 
 bowel, blow from the cannon's mouth, assasinate and murder, as it 
 suits her purpose; but I suppose this is as little as she ought to be 
 allowed to do for protecting other nations from such practices by 
 her denunciation of them. Barry denounced the men who medi- 
 tated imbruing their hands in the blood of pious priests and lenient 
 landlords; but the men could not open their lips because they were 
 represented by counsel, and this counsel was bound, under penalty 
 of severe reprimand, to act with due decorum and not interrupt the 
 counsel for the Crown while making a statement, which he should 
 get credit for having evidence to sustain. 
 
 I took the precaution to tell the counsel not to consider himself 
 engaged for me, that I would conduct my own defence and now and 
 again I pleased myself by saying something that displeased the 
 bench. I never like to have my tongue tied when I hear people 
 
40 (J Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 telling lies of me, and when I see them pretending to administer 
 justice to me by endeavouring to cut my throat. 
 
 This was the first time we saw N"agle come forward to swear 
 against us. He had been employed folding papers in the Irish 
 People office, and he had, he said, engaged with the detectives 
 eighteen months previously to give information. He had very little 
 to swear, but the Government do not want much once they want 
 victims. The machinery of their law can accomodate itself to every 
 necessity that arises, or to any demand made upon it, whether to 
 convict an innocent ''rebel" or to acquit a criminal loyalist. 
 
 It was one of the beautiful things connected with our treatment 
 that, whereas, we were charged with conspiracy, and that the evi- 
 dence against any one of us could be legally urged to convict all, 
 though all may be unacquainted with the individual and the acts of 
 the individual in question, not one of us would be allowed to com- 
 municate with the other before those preliminary investigations. 
 My deeds were evidence against John O'Leary and Thomas Clarke 
 Luby ; but Thomas Clarke Luby or John O'Leary would not be 
 allowed to speak to me about means of defence, which accounts for 
 such passages as these in the report of our trials: 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa, addressing the Court, continued — " This is the 
 way the Irish People has been seized, and the way we have been 
 treated. Yesterday we wanted to have an hour's conversation in 
 the presence of an officer of the prison, and we sent this message 
 to the Governor : 
 
 "Richmond Prison, Sunday, October 1, 1865. 
 " Sir : In taking measures to prevent us from speaking or com- 
 municating with each other, the Government, we consider, are pre- 
 cluding us from the meaus of defence. We were before the Crown 
 Prosecutors yesterday, and many things came under our notice that 
 demand our consideration for a short time before we are taken be- 
 fore them to-morrow again. "We ask that we maybe allowed to 
 mfer during an hour or so. Did the matter rest with yourself 
 <ve may expect you would see the justice of granting our request ; 
 but if Government has given orders to the contrary, of course we 
 cannot expect it. 
 
 John O'Leary, 
 O'Donovan Rossa, 
 T. C. Luby, 
 James O'Connor, 
 George Hopper." 
 
 " Well, the Governor sent a message saying that he could not 
 grant our request himself, but would send a copy of our communi- 
 cation to the authorities; and, that if they gave him liberty he 
 would give us the opportunity we asked. Under these circum- 
 stances I think we were treated very harshly. If we were charged 
 with murder, or the assasination with whic- Mr, Barry opened his 
 
0' Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 41 
 
 statement, we could not be worse treated than we are. We defy 
 you to prove us criminals. We defy you to bring evidence to show 
 that we were in association with this Nagle or Petit." 
 
 We would not be allowed to consult with each other. We were 
 taken before the paid magistrate, Mr. Stronge, who had his instruc- 
 tions in his pocket how to dispose of us. He and the counsel on all 
 sides were very anxious that the prisoners would keep their mouths 
 shut, but the prisoners were not inclined to do so, as the following 
 extracts from the papers of the time testify : 
 
 Mr. Stronge — "I consider it to be my duty to commit the five 
 prisoners — Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, C. Manus O'Keefe, Thomas 
 Clarke Luby, John O'Leary, and James O'Connor for trial on a 
 charge of high treason. It is my duty to ask them if they wish to 
 say anything in reference to the charge. They are not obliged to 
 say anything unless they desire to do so. Whatever they say will 
 be* taken down in writing, and may be used as evidence against 
 them on their trial. I may remind them — what, indeed, may al- 
 most be looked on as an impertinence in me to say — that they are 
 represented by very able and judicious counsel, and it is for them 
 to consider whether it would be wise for them to say anything." 
 
 Mr. O'Leary asked to be permitted to make a statement. 
 
 Mr. Sidney, Q.C. — " It is right to say that any statement he 
 makes is not made with my concurrence. 
 
 Mr. O'Leary — " Certainly. When first we appeared before this 
 court, Mr. Barry said the Government was not proceeding against 
 us from any fear of the so-called Fenians ; but, as well as I could un- 
 derstand him, because certain weak-minded persons, I suppose in- 
 cluding my Lords Bandon and Fermoy — were afraid. Now, I do 
 not care to enter into any detail as to the manner in which the Gov- 
 ernment has treated us since our arrest; but I may say that a Gov- 
 ernment which has been so very spiteful must be somewhat afraid." 
 
 " O'Donovan Rossa said he supposed there was no use applying 
 to be admitted to bail. As regarded the Irish People office, which 
 had been seized, he understood that guards had been sent to the 
 office, who received all the letters and transmitted them to the Gov- 
 ernment." 
 
 Mr. Barry, Q.C. — " I believe letters are anticipated." 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " They are received and sent to the Govern- 
 ment. This, I say, is more despotic than the conduct of the Rus- 
 sians in Poland, or the Austrians in Italy." 
 
 Mr. Stronge said they were charged with being guirty of the 
 high crime of treason; and the newspaper publication, and every- 
 thing connected with a conspiracy — every weapon wielded by those 
 persons, was seized by the Government. They were charged with 
 conspiring to upset and overthrow* the Government of the country, 
 and it was not likely the Government would allow them to continue 
 to avail themselves of the weapons by which they sought to over- 
 throw it, He was really surprised that O'Donovan complained of 
 
$% O Donovan Rossa s Prison Life. 
 
 being deprived of those weapons; the complaint, he thought, was 
 quite unreasonable. 
 
 Mr. Luby — " I must say you said any government in Europe 
 would behave precisely — " 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " I did not. I said any government at either side 
 of the Atlantic." 
 
 Mr. Luby said that during the present century, not since 1803, 
 had any government adopted so harsh a measure, except where 
 martial law was proclaimed. 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " You are now committed on the informations 
 made before me." 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " We have not seen the informations on which 
 we were arrested." 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " You cannot refer to them; they were not resorted 
 to here. They have not been seen. They are not essential." 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " I understand you circulate reports that you 
 got information from the American government ?" 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " I cannot discuss that question with you." 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " I think I can speak upon Mr. Barry's speech, 
 though you may desire to shut me up." 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " Do you deny this charge or not ?" 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " I beg your pardon, sir; I want to make an 
 observation with regard to Mr. Barry's opening statement. You 
 can tell me I shall not if you wish." 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " I don't want to shut you out from making an ob- 
 servation." 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " Or explanation. He charged the parties 
 connected with this — the parties charged here — with holding the 
 opinion that no man had a right to hold more property than 
 another. I deny that he could prove it by any article in the paper. 
 And then, talking about massacre and irreligion, and articles con- 
 nected with it, and priests and their assassination, it is certainly a 
 novel thing in the history of the world to have an English Crown 
 prosecutor coming here to preach such things to the Irish people." 
 
 Mr. Luby — " Those statements were mere platitudes, intended for 
 the constituency of Dungarvan." 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " Mr. Barry brings matters forward that he 
 has got since we were arrested, and he says : ' Under these circum- 
 stances, it was impossible for the Government to forbear' — that is, 
 that it was impossible for the Government to forbear making the 
 late seizure after getting evidence which they did not get till after 
 they made that seizure. I do not expect justice here. This is a prison. 
 I would ask you to go back with me, if your imagination can go back 
 so far, to Poland, and imagine a correspondent writing from there 
 to the Times newspaper such a letter as this, headed, 4 Seizure of a 
 Newspaper.' I will read it for you." 
 
 Mr. Stronge — " Is this by way of defence ?" 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa — " It is." 
 
(J Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 43 
 
 The prisoner then read the following allegorical letter, which was 
 manifestly intended to put his own case and that of his fellow 
 prisoners in what he imagined to be the most forcible manner. 
 
 " Warsaw, September 30. 
 
 "On the night of the 15th instant, the Russian authorities 
 marched a company of police and a division of their spies to Par- 
 liament street, and halted at the office of the Polish People news- 
 paper. The officers in command demanded admission, and, the 
 doors not being opened, they gave orders to have them broken. A 
 search was made through the house, and none of the officials being 
 found, all locks were broken, and books, papers, printing materials, 
 and all matters portable were taken to the Russian garrison. 
 While the police were inside the house, a company of spies were 
 posted outside, who arrested and conveyed to prison every sus- 
 picious person who was attracted to the spot through curiosity or 
 interest. Before next day nearly all connected with the establish- 
 ment — from the porter to the proprietor — had been arrested; many 
 who never entered the place had also been lodged in prison. It was 
 fortunate for the inhabitants that no individual had resisted arrest, 
 as the commander of the city had all the military under arms, with 
 rifles loaded and capped, in case of any resistance. 
 
 " A guard of police was left in charge of the office. They receive 
 all letters and communications coming there, and transmit them to 
 the Kussian Governor. It is thought that the authorities expected 
 to seize information which would lead them to the capture of a large 
 amount of military stores, as the Polish exiles in America have been 
 talking of an army of liberation for Poland, and of sending war 
 material into the country. Simultaneous with this proceeding, 
 orders have been issued to the Russian officials throughout Poland 
 to seize every military-looking man wearing American boots; to have 
 him searched and detained until the Governor is communicated 
 with, and his will made known regarding the prisoner. In further- 
 ance of these orders, large bodies of police are stationed at the 
 frontier, on the American side ; and every returning emigrant found 
 in possession of a pistol, a military book, or any memento of the 
 American war, is put under arrest. The Russian Government, some 
 time ago, gave the Poles a kind of constitution The present pro- 
 ceeding is in violation of that — in fact, it is a complete revocation 
 of it. The Governor of Poland, who must be a Russian, has, through 
 his press, circulated a report that this despotic seizure of a news- 
 paper, and all men and materials belonging to it, was made on in- 
 formation received from the American Government ; but this is 
 doubted by many, as some forty men are now in prison a fortnight, 
 and it is known that two of the Russian magistrates are in daily 
 communication with the spies and professional swearers, who are 
 always at hand for use. Indeed, it is known that one of the latter 
 left St. Petersburg a few weeks ago, telling an acquaintance of his 
 that he was going to Warsaw to do a bit of business. Though it is* 
 
4A O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 a principle of law in many countries that a man charged with a crime 
 is presumed innocent until proved guilty, it is different in Warsaw. 
 The moment a man is arrested on a political charge he is presumed 
 guilty and treated accordingly. Though he might not be brought 
 before the public tribunals for four, eight, or twelve months, there 
 is no bail taken for his appearance; he is sent back to his dungeon 
 and treated as the caprice of the Governor of Poland may suggest. 
 The men in this case have been in solitary confinement all hours of 
 the day and night, save two. During one of these they leave their 
 cells in the morning to wash, and the other, at noon, to walk about 
 a small yard. This time the guards are doubled on them to prevent 
 their talking, and they must keep a certain distance from each other. 
 They are also prevented from having any communication with the 
 outside world. 
 
 "They are to be removed from one prison to another to-day, in 
 order to appear before the officials who have been preparing the 
 charge against them. The prisons in Warsaw are generally governed 
 by the Municipal Council of the city; but it is the privilege of the 
 Russian Governor to take the government of them into his own 
 hands, which he generally does on occasions of this kind. The 
 newspaper writers of Poland would be loud in their denunciations 
 of such despotism if they saw the English Government acting this 
 way in Ireland, or the Austrian Government in Hungary; but Rus- 
 sian influence and patronage blinds them to every act of tyranny in 
 their own unfortunate country." 
 
 You should see how the paid officials were biting their lips as I 
 was reading this. They attempted to silence me a few times, but I 
 persisted in my right to defend myself in the manner most pleasing 
 to me. Before we came to this court it was, of course, decided by 
 the authorities that we were to be sent back to prison again, and 
 back we were sent, to await trial on some future occasion. 
 
 One day the Sheriff of the County came to the prison, and I, 
 with some others, were brought before him. He unfolded his parch- 
 ment, and gave us notice that the charge of Treason Felony against 
 us at first was withdrawn, and that we were to be tried on the 29th 
 of November for High Treason. On this occasion I experienced 
 that ugly sensation which men fond of the world are supposed to 
 experience when they, in health, are told they must die. 1 
 hanged myself on that day, and what harm if I say that I did not 
 like the operation, and that I felt myself a bit of a coward. I went 
 through the whole ceremony in imagination, and survived it ; and 
 if the reality of the performance had to be gone through afterwards, 
 I believe I would have gone through it well, even though it would 
 have killed me. The scare was past; I had died, and I felt able to 
 go through the rest defiantly. Always make up your mind for the 
 worst and you will be able to go through anything that comes your 
 way in a better manner. 
 
 Day by day, for two months in Richmond Prison, we were put 
 
0> Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 45 
 
 through the same routine of solitary confinement and an hour's 
 solitary exercise in the open air, save and except that, instead of 
 being exercised with my companions walking five yards apart around 
 a ring, I was put into a separate yard and exercised by myself. 
 
 During the first fortnight an attorney named Ennis had been 
 attending upon us. He had a large business in the police courts 
 and feared this would be injured by continuing to be our solicitor. 
 While with us he did the best he could, but if the magistrates in the 
 courts he pleaded in took it into their heads to be adverse to the 
 success of his suits, they could ruin his reputation and himself in a 
 short time, and we thought it was only reasonable to allow him, at 
 his own request, to withdraw from our defence. He told us the best 
 attorneys we could employ, and we were about writing to some of 
 them when I received a letter from Councellor P. J. Smyth, now 
 member of Parliament for Westmeath, offering us his professional 
 assistance. On this particular subject our jailers gave me permis- 
 sion to consult Mr. O'Leary in their presence, and he decided I may 
 write to Mr. Smyth accepting his kind offer. I wrote, and in a few 
 days after I had a reply from him stating that he called to see us 
 and was refused admission at the prison gate. I thought this was a 
 monstrous thing. I sent for the governor and asked for an explan- 
 ation, and I was told that the authorities would not allow Mr. 
 Smyth to have any communication with us ; he was a suspicious 
 character, not considered very favorable to the maintenance of 
 English rule in Ireland, I suppose. He sent me word again, saying 
 as he was denied permission to assist us himself, he would recom- 
 mend to us the assistance of Mr. John Lawless, an attorney on whom 
 we could rely. I wrote in accceptance of it, and Mr. Lawless was 
 introduced to u?. 
 
 The time of James Stephens' release from prison came, and as 
 much has been said of that by many, I may have a word to say 
 about it too. It has been stated in a "Life of James Stephens," 
 published in America, by some one that was intimately acquainted 
 with him, that the basis of his escape from Richmond was an agree- 
 ment with a jailer to effect it for a sum of £300. Now, I do not 
 believe one word of this ; but I believe that the men who effected 
 his escape, and who could as easily effect the escape of the whole of 
 us at the time, were men who would not move one inch in the matter 
 for mercenary motives ; and I am able to state that they got no 
 money, or made no money agreement for his release. 
 
 The day before that of his escape, one of the prison officers, in pass- 
 ing my cell, whispered to me, " The little man will be out to-morrow 
 night." " Are you sure of it ?" asked I. " Certain," replied he, 
 and added, " Have you any message to send him ?" to which I an- 
 swered, "No." 
 
 Next day our attorney, Mr. Lawless, visited us, and as the time 
 of trial was approaching, it was deemed necessary that Mr. Stephens 
 and Mr. Duffy should meet Mr. O'Leary, Mr. Luby and me. The 
 
46 (J Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 
 
 solicitor made the application to the Governor of the prison, and 
 the Governor allowed Mr. Duffy to be brought to our consultation 
 room, which was Mr. Luby's cell ; but Mr. Stephens would not be 
 allowed to approach us. We remained in conversation for half an 
 hour. Duffy whispered to me that Stephens was going* out that 
 night. I whispered it to John O'Leary, and, as we were parting, 
 Mr. Lawless said he would renew his application for an interview 
 between Stephens and us next morning. "We said the meeting was 
 absolutely necessary, inasmuch as our trials were to come off on the 
 following Monday. 
 
 We shook hands and parted. In my cell I could not help dwell- 
 ing on the meditated escape. I thought I could keep awake all 
 night, and keep my ears open to hear the least noise ; but the 
 powers of sleep stole a march upon me, and kept me entranced in 
 the midst of soldiers and jailers and United Irishmen, till the real 
 jailers came to my cell about three o'clock in the morning, and woke 
 me by the noise they made in opening my door to see if I was safe. 
 The alarm was given, and the question now with me was — " Did he 
 escape, or was he caught in the attempt ?" 
 
 The noise and bustle, and the continual running of jailers 
 about the wards could not enable me to decide one way or another, 
 and, knocking violently at my iron gate, I told the officer who was 
 passing by that this noise was preventing me from sleeping, and 
 that I should report it to the Governor in the morning. One word 
 borrowed another; my keeper's observations told me something 
 wonderful had happened, and I concluded the bird had flown. 
 
 At eight o'clock next morning Mr. Lawless visited and inform- 
 ed us of the terrible news of Mr. Stephens' escape, at which I 
 opened my eyes and mouth in amazement. We talked of the com- 
 ing Commission, and of the propriety of having no counsel to de- 
 fend us in case the Crown packed the juries and persisted in pur- 
 suing towards us a course against which our counsel were battling. 
 This was agreed on between Mr. O'Leary, Mr. Luby and myself. 
 A part of the programme was that counsel were to throw up their 
 briefs if certain just things were not allowed by the judges; but 
 this they could not agree to do when things came to a crisis, and 
 the project of no defence was given up. 
 
 Thomas Clarke Luby was the first man tried, or rather convict- 
 ed, for political trial in Ireland is a farce. John O'Leary was the 
 next ; and the putting of them through the portals of twenty years' 
 penal servitude occupied four days for each. I was called up after 
 them, and as I was placed in the dock, the usual question was put, 
 if I was ready for trial, to which my counsel answered "Yes." "I 
 beg your pardon, gentlemen," said I, at which the counsel started, 
 opened their eyes, and adjusted their spectacles. " My lords," con- 
 tinued I, addressing myself to the judges; and here the gentle- 
 men of the long robes looked at me forbiddingly, as if I should not 
 speak. " My lords, I had papers prepared for my counsel con- 
 
U Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 47 
 
 nected with my defence, and these have been seized by Mr. Price, 
 the Governor of Kilmainham prison, and would not be returned 
 to me. It is reasonable for me to suppose that there are some 
 channels of communication between Kilmainham prison and the 
 Castle of Dublin, and I suspect that these papers have been put 
 into the hands of the Crown prosecutors. I now ask for them, 
 and I am not prepared to go on with my trial until I get them." 
 There was a kind of murmur in the court. My counsel looked as 
 if they were relieved from the imprudence of my talking. Judge 
 Keogh asked where was the Governor of Kilmainham, and, as he 
 was not present, it was ordered he be sent for. The work of the 
 law was brought to a stand-still; prosecutors and judges looked at 
 each other a moment, and the question was asked, "What are we 
 to do my lord ?" and the lord decided that the prisoner O'Donovan 
 Rossa be put back, and another prisoner be brought forward. The 
 Attorney-General and the Solicitor-General, and the host of assist- 
 ant generals that were around, held a consultation, and then ad- 
 dressed the court to the effect that as the case of Michael Moore 
 was a short one, they would put him on trial; but he was not 
 brought down to court that day, and the van would have to be 
 sent for him. There would have to be a delay of an hour or so, 
 and during this time the court took a recess. 
 
 I was taken back to the waiting apartment, and told my story 
 to Charles Kickham, Charles O'Connell and James O'Connor, who, 
 with me, were selected as the most deserving victims after Thomas 
 Clarke Luby and John O'Leary. I told them I had other plans in 
 my head that would keep them from being convicted at this Com- 
 mission anyway, and we had a laugh over the matter. Michael 
 Moore was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude next day, and I 
 was again brought forward. 
 
 I got my papers in open court from Governor Price. Judge 
 Keogh administered to him a rebuke, and told him it was quite 
 improper for him to make any use of the papers of any prisoner, 
 but this impropriety afterwards appeared to have been legalized, if 
 we may judge so from the number of times during the succeeding 
 trials that Governor Price seized upon manuscripts of prisoners to 
 have their handwriting identified and sworn to, on many occasions, 
 I believe, before Judge Keogh himself. 
 
 When I was put forward a second time, and asked if I was now 
 ready for trial, I showed that it was necessary for me to have wit- 
 nesses who were mentioned in these papers of mine that were 
 seized. Mr. Price had them in his possession a week, and during 
 this week I could do nothing towards preparing for my defence. 
 
 The judges and the prosecutors could not get over the reason- 
 ableness of my demand. The black van was put into requisition 
 again. I was put back; there was a repetition of the recess; and 
 another short case was got in — John Haltigan, the printer of the 
 Irish People. It was now Friday evening, and I thought I had a 
 
48 (? Donovan Rosso' s Prison Life. 
 
 fair field to keep the court engaged till Thursday, when the judges 
 were advertised to open the Commission in Cork city. Kick- 
 ham, O'Connell, O'Connor, and myself were brought to the Court 
 on Saturday morning. Mr. Haltigan was sentenced to seven years, 
 before one o'clock, and a third time I was brought into the dock. 
 The High Sheriff came into us a few times during the forenoon, 
 and, in the blandest tones, wished to know from me if I were 
 ready for trial that day. I knew he was sent by the " big wigs" to 
 worm me; but, while I was very civil in answering his questions, I 
 made the answers convey as little as possible, and kept my mind 
 to myself, which all men — and, indeed, all women, too — ought to 
 do in critical times, if they have any mind worth keeping. 
 
 The judges asked me now if I were ready for trial, and when I 
 said yes there was a rustling of papers and a pleasant appearance 
 of business upon every face, except the faces of those who were sure 
 that my doom was already sealed. 
 
 One official proceeded to call the jury panel, and one by one, 
 as names were called whose owners could not be relied upon to 
 bring in a verdict of guilty, the jurors were told to " stand aside." 
 My counsel were challenging on my behalf, and I was twenty times 
 on the point of telling them to desist — to withdraw, and leave me 
 to my fate; but " propriety," or awful respect for "the majesty of 
 the law" prevented me. I was most anxious to assert and vindicate 
 the right of every man who was called there to act there — in a 
 word, I was mad to have something to say to this jury-packing, 
 when I was to be packed off myself by it; but my tongue was tied 
 by my having counsel to act for me, and this was making me feel 
 uncomfortable with myself. 
 
 The jury was duly packed, the first witness was called and put 
 through, the second witness was examined and cross-examined, my 
 discontent was growing, and before the closing of the day's work, 
 when I attempted to say something and was silenced, I resolved to 
 throw up my counsel and to commence my own defence on Monday 
 morning. 
 
 Again when I stood before the judges, and when they and the 
 lawyers were proceeding, in the usual legal form, to " try" me, I 
 handed in a paper requesting the counsellors to withdraw from 
 my defence. The newpaper report of the trial says that — 
 
 " Pierce Nagle was sworn, and was about to be examined by the 
 Solicitor-General, when the prisoner interrupted the proceedings 
 by saying that he wished to address a few words to the court. 
 
 " Judge Keogh said that the interruption could not be permitted. 
 If the prisoner had anything to say he should communicate it 
 through his counsel. 
 
 "Mr. Dowse said that counsel had no control over what the 
 prisoner wished to say. He understood that he wished to inform 
 the court that he did not desire to be defended by counsel. 
 
 " The Prisoner — I have seen the course the Crown has adopted in 
 
O Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 49 
 
 proceeding with my trial. I heard the jury being called, and I 
 heard the words " stand by" to thirty or forty gentlemen. What 
 did that mean ? It meant that the Crown was determined — 
 
 " Judge Keogh — We cannot permit this. 
 
 " The Prisoner — I believe this trial is a legal farce, and I won't be 
 a party to it by being represented by counsel. 
 
 Mr. Dowse said they were quite ready to conduct the prisoner's 
 defence, but, under the circumstances, they would at once with- 
 draw. 
 
 " Judge Keogh — I have to express my regret that the prisoner 
 has not left himself in the hands of the able counsel who has hither- 
 to defended the prisoners. 
 
 " The Prisoner — I fully concur with your lordship with regard to 
 the ability of the counsel. I want to know what are the papers 
 and documents on which the Crown will rely for my conviction. 
 
 " The examination of Nagle was being again proceeded with when 
 Judge Keogh suggested lhat Mr. Lawless should take a seat near 
 the prisoner, so as to be able to assist him with the documents. 
 
 "The Prisoner — I don't want the assistance of Mr. Lawless at all, 
 I only want the documents." 
 
 But if I did not want the assistance of counsel Judge Keogh 
 wanted I should have it; for in having it I was precluded from 
 being anything in the play but a silent, foolish-looking spectator. 
 "His lordship" quickly silenced me as above when I was going to 
 tell him I would do my own defending, and now he ordered Mr. 
 Lawless to sit by my side to instruct me. I said I did not want 
 his instruction, but it was no use. Mr. Lawless took his place con- 
 venient to me, and I commenced to cross-examine Nagle. 
 
 He was swearing to my handwriting in an account book; Chabot, 
 an expert was also after having been examined as to it, and as I was 
 to have this latter gentleman examined again I was putting Nagle 
 through every line of the writing. There was also in the book the 
 handwriting of James O'Connor, Dan Downing and Con O'Mahony. 
 The expert and the informer swore contradictory things — what one 
 pronounced mine another pronounced another's, and I had great 
 fun with Judge Keogh in the length of time I kept Nagle at the 
 handwriting of the different entries. His lordship repeatedly asked 
 had I not examined enough, and I repeatedly said "no " At 
 length he decided I should go no further, and I decided that I 
 wo aid, because that when any book or paper was put in evidence 
 against a prisoner, it was the prisoner's legal right to go through 
 the whole book or paper if he desired. I asked that Chabot and 
 other witnesses be put out of court while any witness was under 
 examination. They were put out, but I afterwards learned that 
 some of them were placed so that they could hear what was going on. 
 
 Going back to the newspaper reports — 
 
 " The Prisoner asks — As I intend to examine Mr. Nagle as to the 
 handwriting and the signature, and as there was an expert here, 
 
50 O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 I wish that lie would be put out of court, and also any witness you 
 intend to examine in corroboration of what he says. 
 
 Judge Keogh — Certainly. Is Mr. Chabot here ? 
 
 The Solicitor-General — He is not in court. He is in the office, 
 my lord. 
 
 Judge Keogh — See that all the Crown witnesses are kept out 
 of court. | 
 
 Prisoner — And those detectives that the Crown intend to es4l 
 amine, so far as they have to do with the corroboration. 
 
 Judge Keogh — They have nothing to do with the case. 
 
 Prisoner — Oh they have, my lord. 
 
 Judge Keogh — I don't think they have." 
 
 All the papers of the Irish People office were seized. The Gov- 
 ernment selected as many of them as would tell against us; but 
 there were others there that would explain and clear away many 
 things, and these I wanted to get for my defence, but could not get 
 them. I contended that I should have for my use as many of the 
 documents as did not contain matter which the Crown could urge 
 as criminatory against us. The judge quibbled and lied in saying 
 that " all the documents required by the prisoner should be forth- 
 coming at the proper time;" for though the prisoner was four days 
 on trial he never got one of them. Here is the passage : 
 
 " The prisoner stated that there were certain letters found at the 
 Irish People office which he would wish to see, particularly a busi- 
 ness letter which would explain charges against him now. 
 
 Judge Keogh — You will have any letters that you require, or that 
 were produced by the Crown. 
 
 The prisoner observed that he had heard Smollen stato the 
 other evening that there were letters found in the Irish People 
 office which might not be of use to the Crown, but which might be 
 of use to the prisoner. 
 
 Judge Keogh intimated that all documents required by the 
 prisoner would be forthcoming at the proper time. 
 
 Nagle was one time discharged from the Irish People office by 
 James O'Connor. He applied to Mr. Luby to be taken back. Mr. 
 Luby had him restored ; and as I was cross examining the inform- 
 er as to the state of his conscience in swearing away Mr. Luby's 
 liberty, he felt a bit puzzled, and hesitated before giving me a reply. 
 I repeated the question two or three times to no effect, when the 
 court was startled from its solemnity, and myself somewhat re- 
 freshed, by what the following describes : 
 
 " Prisoner. — Do you believe in your conscience that in swearing 
 against Mr. Luby, who treated you so kindly, you did anything 
 that you must answer for to Almighty God some day 1 
 " (The witness hesitated for some time.) 
 " A voice in the Gallery — Answer. 
 " Mr. Justice Keogh — Who spoke in the gaH«F7 ? 
 " Crier — This is the gentleman, my lord. 
 
O Donovan Rosscis Prison Life. 51 
 
 " Mr. Justice Keogh — Let that person be removed from Court 
 instantly, and do not allow him in again." 
 
 The fight with the judges as to my right to have Nagle's opin- 
 ion on every item of my private account book is described pretty 
 accurately in the papers of the time. My object was to examine 
 Chabot after Nagle on the same items and to show the jury, or at 
 least the public, the contradictions of the two witnesses, but I was 
 not allowed to carry out my object. 
 
 " Judge Keogh again interposing, told the prisoner he thought 
 the line of cross-examination he was following was not calculated 
 to serve him. He had been reluctant to interrupt him, because he 
 desired to afford him every opportunity or cross-examining the 
 witness." 
 
 " The prisoner, however, continued his cross-examination of 
 the witness in relation to the book. 
 
 The witness mentioned other articles which he believed to be in 
 the handwriting of the prisioner. The first ten entries are in the 
 prisoner's handwriting; also, the thirteen last entries on same 
 page. 
 
 The prisoner was continuing to cross-examine the witness when 
 
 Judge Keogh said — I have allowed the greatest possible latitude 
 — an extravagant latitude — to the examination. Only a portion of 
 this book has been put in evidence by the Crown. You have gone 
 through a large number of entries, in it, merely asking the witness 
 questions as to the handwriting of these entries. The Court think 
 that you have gone far enough in this line of cross-examination, and 
 I cannot allow the public time to be wasted with it. 
 
 The Prisoner — When a book or any writing has been put in as 
 evidence once, I believe the whole of the book or writing can be 
 examined. I believe this, my lord. 
 
 Judge Keogh — If at any time you (the prisoner) during the 
 trial, wish to put any relevant question with regard to this book 
 you can have the witness recalled. But I now, once again, tell 
 you that I will not allow the public time to be wasted by irrelevant 
 questions. 
 
 Prisoner — The public time is mine as well as yours, my lord. 
 (To the witness) — Look at that writing. 
 
 Judge Keogh — Don't look at that writing. 
 
 Prisoner — Do you see that entry about the Midland Kail- 
 way ? 
 
 Judge Keogh — State the question to the Court you wish to put, 
 and not to the witness. 
 
 Prisoner — I am bound to examine the witness myself. 
 
 Judge Fitzgerald — I beg your pardon. My brother and myself 
 are both satisfied that this is a new attempt to waste the public 
 time, and we cannot permit it to be continued. 
 
 Prisoner — Well, I am not satisfied. Twenty years is a long 
 
52 O Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 
 
 time, and I want to spend a couple of days as best I can. I want 
 to get the rule of the court in writing. 
 
 Judge Keogh — You have already heard the rule of the court, 
 and we will not allow it to be carried on a moment longer. 
 
 The prisoner again essayed to put to the witness several ques- 
 tions in refereuce to entries in the book, when Judge Keogh inter- 
 posed by saying that if the prisoner did not put relevant questions 
 the witness should retire." 
 
 At another stage of the proceedings it was necessary for me to 
 have those papers which Judge Keogh, a few days previously, said 
 I should have ; but on my applying for them I found I could not get 
 them. The judge got out of this part of the business by saying he 
 had made the order, and that is all he could do. Possibly the 
 Crown Counsel, in the meantime, examined the documents, and, 
 finding that they would be useful to me, held them back. 
 
 " Mr. Charles Chabot was examined by Mr. Barry as to whether 
 or not several documents produced to him were in the handwriting 
 of the prisoner, and also as to whether or not his handwriting was 
 attached to the deed, and to certain checks. 
 
 The prisoner said he could not cross-examine this witness with- 
 out the aid of certain documents which had been seized at the Irish 
 People office. 
 
 Judge Keogh — Do you decline to proceed with your cross-exam- 
 ination now? 
 
 Prisoner — I don't decline to proceed with my cross-examination; 
 but you have seized papers belonging to me which I require. 
 
 Judge Keogh told the prisoner he was entitled to ask the wit- 
 ness any questions he thought proper now that were relevant to his 
 defence. Any documents that the Crown had they were ready to 
 produce. 
 
 The Solicitor-General — We are, my lord. 
 
 The prisoner said that there were documents in the Irish People 
 office that were now in the possesion of the Crown, and which were 
 necessary for the purpose of cross-examining the witness. 
 
 Mr. Lawless said that the documents the prisoner referred to 
 were those named in the order made by his lordship on Thursday 
 night. Notwithstanding that order these documents had not been 
 given up to him (Mr. Lawless). 
 
 Judge Keogh said he could only make the order. 
 
 The prisoner said he referred to the documents sworn by the 
 detective as being still in the Irish People office. 
 
 Judge Keogh — The constable swore that he left a heap of papers 
 and letters in the Irish People office ; but they could have no con- 
 nection with the examination of the present witness. 
 
 Prisoner — I know that they can have connection with the exam- 
 ination of this witness, and I want them. 
 
 Judge Keogh — You must go on with the cross-examination of 
 the witness, or he will be allowed to retire." 
 
'Donovan Bossd's Prison Life. 53 
 
 And here is another passage, showing how I was shut up: 
 
 " The prisoner then examined the witness at considerable length 
 as to the interviews he had with Nagle, until 
 
 Judge Keogh again interposed, and stated that it was trifling 
 with justice to be occupying the time of the court in that manner. 
 
 Hour by hour and day by day the battle went on ; and, reading 
 over the proceedings of the trial now in order to get extracts to 
 illustrate some remembrances I have of it, I am tempted to give 
 more than I intended. It may be stale to many who read the papers 
 at the time; but how many youngsters are grown up since to whom 
 it may be intereresting? Besides, if this book is ever read by any 
 one after my day — and where is the book-writer who does not think 
 his book will live ? — these lengthy passages about my trial may not 
 be the most uninteresting portion of it to the reader who reads 
 me — dead. 
 
 After the examination of many witnesses, the papers say : 
 
 " The prisoner then proceeded to address the- jury. He said it 
 was hard for him to say anything to them. No overt act had been 
 charged against him, and no criminal act had been proved against 
 him. When he heard the Attorney-General, on last Saturday, tell 
 thirty gentlemen to * stand aside,' he considered that he (the At- 
 torney -General) looked upon them as persons who would not bring 
 in a verdict of guilty; and he also took it for granted that when the 
 jury was sworn the Attorney-General looked upon those sworn as 
 men who would bring in the verdict. That observation was not com- 
 plimentary to the jury, but he could not help it. As to trial by 
 jury, it might be the jury's duty to give a verdict of guilty, but it 
 was also their duty to protect the prisoner from tyranny. The Exec- 
 utive Government were taking harsh measures against them. As 
 they had outraged all law, and had recourse to dark courses of des- 
 potism, the jury should protect the prisoners, and not condemn a " 
 man to penal servitude when nothing that was wrong was proved to 
 have been done. If a man should say that Ireland, Hungary, or 
 Poland should be free — but they could not be free unless they 
 fought for freedom — would he be guilty of ' treason-felony V A 
 judge might feel it his duty to tell them that if a man said so, he 
 should be found guilty; but, in that case, trial by jury was a mere 
 bulwark of tyranny instead of the safeguard of liberty. 
 
 " The great crime against him, he said, were the words * Jer' 
 and ' Rossa,' and having known Stephens, O'Mahony, O'Leary, and 
 Luby, whom he felt it an honor to know. Having then alluded to 
 Mr. Justice Fitzgerald's address to the jury in one of the cases dis- 
 posed of, in which his lordship said that the-documents found with the 
 prisoner at Queenstown disclosed the object of his mission to America, 
 the prisoner continued to observe that no matter who it was had made 
 the address to the jury, there was never such a jumbling statement 
 made, nor one more devoid of foundation or contrary to evidence. 
 The testimony of Nagle and Dawson the previous day showed there 
 
54 O Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 
 
 was evidence to prove he could not have lost those documents at all. 
 
 " He would now read an extract from a speech of Mr. Potter on 
 the subject of the Jamaica massacres and the execution of Mr. Gor- 
 don. The prisoner read the passage, which was to the effect that 
 in order to justify the massacre of the black population in Jamaica, 
 calumnies were published of them representing them as contem- 
 plating hideous crimes. The same course was adopted during the 
 Indian Mutiny; the soldiers were worked up to the perpetration of 
 acts of cruel barbarity by accounts of insurgent crimes, but it turned 
 out that many of the accounts were false, and he (Mr. Potter) took 
 it the same was now the case in Jamaica. He (the prisoner) told 
 the jury the same was the case with regard to the statements made 
 about Fenianism in Ireland. On this subject he read an article 
 from the Irish People newspaper. In this article it was stated that 
 conquest was always accompanied by calumny. The conqueror was 
 never contented with his victory, but represented his slave as a dog 
 in order that he might flog him like a dog. Their English masters 
 loudly proclaimed that the Irish were no better than savages — that 
 what appeared oppression of them was simple justice. The Eng- 
 lish even affirmed that their Irish slaves were not human beings. 
 They denied the claim of the Irish to humanity, the better to re- 
 duce them to the condition of beasts. Forty of the Cromwellian 
 soldiers were actually found to swear that a number of the Irish 
 killed at Cashel were found to have tails. The jury were sitting 
 there for no other purpose than that of the Attorney- General 
 pointing out to them the prisoners who had tails. The Irish Peo- 
 ple newspaper had striven to put an end to religious differences, 
 and unite all religions against England. The beautiful policy of 
 the English Government has been to use religion for the purpose 
 of conquest. It was amusing to see how the Government could 
 get Dr. Cullen and Dr. Trench, and all the doctors to abuse the 
 Fenians. 
 
 He (Kossa) wrote a letter to Sir Robert Peel last week about 
 procuring him proper facilities for a trial, and suggested to him 
 that he should resign his situation if he had not the power of cor- 
 recting these things — and, by-and-bye, he did resign. The prison- 
 er then proceeded to read the following extracts from his letter : 
 
 "I am keeping you too long, Sir Robert; but ere I let you go 
 I'll take you to have a look at the Piece that has been prepared for 
 the end of the Play. Judge Keogh is to try us. Well, you know 
 — or, if you don't, you will know — that the Irish People, since its 
 commencement, has been writing down agitation, and has been 
 writing up Judge Keogh as the sample of the benefits derived by 
 the Irish people from tenant leagues, parliamentary agitation, and 
 episcopal politics." 
 
 " Of the many allusions to his lordship throughout the journal 
 here is a specimen from the number of March 26, 1864: 
 
 "'Mr. Justice Keogh (what a curious combination of words!) 
 
(J Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 55 
 
 ipeaks of cowardly men who, in their closets, wrote violent and 
 inflammatory stuff which led others into such acts as were sub- 
 jects of these investigations, but who themselves shrank from join- 
 ing in the dangerous practices they led others into. 
 
 " ' It must have been rather refreshing for the learned judge's au- 
 dience to hear him coming out in the appropriate character of Cen- 
 sor morum. But has the high-flying moralist never heard of men 
 who spoke violent and inflammatory stuff, and swore rhetorical 
 oaths which they never kept ? Has he never heard of men who 
 now sit in the high places of the land who were once, if not the 
 accomplices, at least the intimate associates, of forgers and swind- 
 lers ? But it is a waste of time to bandy words with Mr. Justice 
 Keogh. To be sure, he is a judge — but so was Jeffreys, so was 
 Macclesfield, and so was Norbury. 
 
 " ' Now, you know Judge Keogh is not an angel, much less a 
 saint. Indeed he has as little chance of canonization as you or I 
 have, so long as Dr. Cullen is considered an authority in the Cath- 
 olic Church, for the archbishop has denounced us all severally in 
 several pastorals. The judge is only a human being like either of 
 ourselves, subject to all the little irritating annoyances which afflict 
 human beings, and subject to be impressed with dislike of those 
 who treat him with contempt. Selecting him as the judge to try 
 the persons connected with the Irish People may be quite in accord 
 with the rest of the proceedings, but it cannot tend much to im- 
 press people with a feeling of respect for the administration of just- 
 ice. But as it is law the government seems most desirous to ad- 
 minister, there is no doubt but in selecting Judge Keogh to admin- 
 ister it to us, they have selected the most proper person. The two 
 points which I present for your executive consideration, Sir Robert, 
 are the restrictions here, and the admission to bail, on either or 
 both of which I shall be most happy to hear from you, and remain, 
 your obedient servant, 
 
 " ' Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa.' " 
 
 The prisoner then went on to read extracts from articles which 
 appeared in several newspapers pending the trial of the prisoners, 
 and which, he alleged, had been published to prejudice them in the 
 minds of the jurors. 
 
 [The reading of the articles occupied more than an hour and 
 three-quarters.] 
 
 Having concluded, the prisoner said — If there was any gentle- 
 man connected with the Continental press in court he begged that 
 he would take down the words from the London Times of the 14th 
 November last: — "Treason is a serious thing; and these men are 
 undoubtedly guilty of it." He thought the publication of those 
 articles in Dublin sufficient to justify any court in removing the 
 trials from Dublin. He would now read the affidavit that had been 
 made for the purpose of the motion. Mr. Lawless had gone for » 
 copy of it. 
 
56 'Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — I cannot allow it to be read. We have 
 given you very considerable latitude indeed. I may say to you at 
 once that everything you have read is irrelevant to the case, and 
 wholly beyond the bounds of all evidence. But, as you are un- 
 defended, we have given you every possible latitude. If counsel 
 appeared for you here, and attempted to do what you have done, 
 we would not permit it for one moment. You have now occupied 
 two hours in reading those articles, and we cannot now allow you 
 to read the affidavit, which would be only a repetition of everything 
 that you have gone over. Proceed to address the jury. It is un- 
 necessary to wait for the affidavit. 
 
 Prisoner — I will ask no concession from your lordships but what 
 the law allows me. Give me the pamphlet of the Chicago 
 Convention. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Certainly; give him the pamphlet. 
 
 [The pamphlet in question was handed to the prisoner.] 
 
 Prisoner — Give me whatever other books have been given in 
 evidence. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — There is only this account book. 
 
 Prisoner — Was there not a drill-book ? 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh— I believe so. 
 
 Prisoner — Let me have it. 
 
 Detective Officer Dawson brought in a copy of the drill-book, and 
 placed it on the ledge of the dock. 
 
 Prisoner — Am I not entitled to read all those books produced 
 against me ? 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Anything material to the issue you are en- 
 titled to read; but you may as well understand, once for all, that 
 you will not be allowed to fritter away the time of the court, or oc- 
 cupy the time of the court, jury, and public, to make a defence 
 when you are not making any. 
 
 Prisoner — The time of the public has been given to try me. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — You will go on until every human being 
 will have seen that you have got every latitude; but when you have 
 gone so far as that no human being in the community can say but 
 that you have got the utmost possible latitude — latitude never 
 given to prisoner before — then I will stop you. 
 
 Prisoner — There never was before such a trial as mine, either in 
 the judges trying me or 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Proceed now. 
 
 Prisoner — I will read the pamphlet. Garbled extracts have been 
 read against me, and I am entitled to show they do not bear the 
 interpretation put upon them. 
 
 The prisoner then proceeded to read the pamphlet. Having 
 gone through about twenty pages, the foreman of the jury (Mr. 
 Vaughan) said — 
 
 I am requested by the jury to state that if the prisoner would 
 r> «trk any portions of the pamphlet which he thought bore upon the 
 
0' Donovan RossaJs Prison Life, 57 
 
 case for his defence, they would give them the same consideration 
 as if he had read them. 
 
 A Juror — What he is doing now is greatly against him. 
 
 Prisoner — I am reading the pamplet to show that it has nothing 
 to do with me. 
 
 A Juror — We are quite willing to sit here as long as it may be 
 necessary to fully and fairly investigate the case, but we can con- 
 sider this pamphlet in our room. 
 
 Another Juror — Occupying so much time in reading what does 
 not concern the case is enough to stir up an armed insurrection 
 amongst the persons in court (a laugh.) 
 
 Prisoner — I am entitled to read it. 
 
 A Juror — Only a portion of the book is in evidence. 
 
 Prisoner — I don't see how the book can be considered in con- 
 nection with me at all. You can only blame the Crown for putting 
 in such books against me, but as they are in I will read them. 
 
 A Juror — We are only making a suggestion to you. 
 
 Prisoner — Do you think the book has anything to do with me ? 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — You cannot question the jury. I may tell 
 you that in point of strict law you are entitled to read it — every 
 line of it — if you choose. 
 
 Prisoner — If the Crown withdraw the pamphlet I will give it up. 
 
 The prisoner then proceeded to read through the pamphlet, 
 which consisted of about eighty octavo pages of small print, and 
 which contained all the proceedings of the Chicago Convention, the 
 constitution of the organization, and the statutes by which the 
 members were bound. Having concluded, he said: 
 
 Now, gentlemea, I will not further occupy your time ; but 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Before you go further, it is scarcely neces- 
 sary to remark to the public press the grave responsibility that 
 would attach to the publication of that document which the prisoner 
 has read, under the pretext that it would form a necessary portion 
 of his defence. 
 
 Prisoner — I have used the document to show Shat there was 
 nothing in it which could concern me. Are there any other pam- 
 phlets proved in evidence ? 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — No. 
 
 Prisoner — There is a drill-book. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — There is; but only the finding of it in the 
 Irish People office has been proved. None of it has been read in 
 evidence. 
 
 Prisoner — Is it not right to show the jury the nature of the 
 book ? The book has been produced by the Crown to influence 
 .he jury. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — You can make any observation on that 
 book you please. 
 
 Prisoner — Have you seen this book, gentlemen ? 
 
 A Juror- -We have not. 
 
58 G Donovan liossas Prison Life. 
 
 Prisoner — Then I submit I have a right to show them what sort 
 of a book it is. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Proceed with your address. 
 
 Prisoner — Two volumes of the Irish People have been produced 
 in evidence. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — That is quite a mistake. The volumes have 
 not been given in evidence; but certain articles in them have been 
 proved, the particulars of which were furnished to your solicitor. 
 
 Prisoner — I understand that all the articles were put in. The 
 crown counsel having quoted in a garbled manner several articles, 
 I think that I am entitled to read them all. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh said the prisoner was entitled to read all the 
 articles which had been read in evidence, and also all articles which 
 tended to explain or qualify them. 
 
 Prisoner — I submit that as I am charged with publishing this 
 paper, I have a right to show all the articles to the jury that they 
 may judge from all the publications what sort of a paper it is. I 
 don't mean, of course, to read the advertisements (a laugh) ; I only 
 mean to read what is necessary for my defence. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — You will proceed with your address to the 
 jury, but you will understand that it shall not degenerate into ab- 
 solute abuse. 
 
 The prisoner said that in opening the case the Attorney- General 
 had referred to a copy of the first publication of the Irish People, 
 to show that he was the manager of it. In that paper was an 
 article headed "Isle, Race and Doom." Was he to be precluded 
 from reading that article ? 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — It is quite competent for the Attorney-Gen- 
 eral to show that you were manager of the paper without per- 
 mitting you to read all the articles. 
 
 Prisoner — The jury cannot tell what the paper is unless they hear 
 it read. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Well, sir, proceed at once. You have been 
 addressing the court for four-and-a-half hours, and you shall have 
 every further opportunity, but there is a limit to all things. 
 
 The court then adjourned, and on resuming the prisoner re- 
 peated his request with reference to the court allowing him to read 
 the whole of the articles which had appeared in the Irish People. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh said he could not allow any such thing. He 
 might read those articles which had been used against him, and 
 other portions of these publications which might go to explain the 
 articles relied on by the Crown. 
 
 The prisoner then asked the Crown to withdraw the charge of 
 assassination made against him by Mr. Barry, and then he would 
 content himself with alluding to the articles put in evidence. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Proceed with your address to the jury, sir. 
 
 The prisoner said that he should show that the charge was 
 false, and also that the charges made against them by the Dublin 
 
G Donovan Eossas Prison Life. 5 9 
 
 press, which, he said, prejudiced the public against them, were 
 false. 
 
 (The prisoner then read several articles from a file of the Irish 
 People newspaper.) He was proceeding to read one, headed, " Eng- 
 land on Ireland," when 
 
 The Attorney-General said — This is not an article in the in- 
 dictment. 
 
 Judge Keogh — I have looked through the article an 1 "ead some 
 of it as it appears in the same paper and bearing — the article 
 read; but it does not qualify that article. You can look at it, and 
 if you like you can read it, but you will see whether it prejudices 
 your case. 
 
 Prisoner — I am glad you have the paper, at all events. 
 
 Judge Keogh — I have the paper. 
 
 The prisoner then proceeded to read the article, which was, he 
 said, written in reply to English articles abusing Ireland. In re- 
 plying to these they were to be excused for getting up a little spirit. 
 They — the jury — would say the same themselves. If their coun- 
 try were run down by Englishmen they may likely themselves 
 become somewhat plucky, and say something that, perhaps, the 
 judge would say was treason-felony. He would now read an arti- 
 cle headed " Tall Talk." In the paper of November 28 — 
 
 Judge Keogh — We have looked carefully over the article and 
 find that it has no reference to the case. 
 
 Prisoner — Then you will not allow me to read it ? 
 
 Judge Keogh — No. 
 
 The prisoner said he would read the article headed " Bane and 
 Antidote." 
 
 Judge Keogh said it was not mentioned in the indictment. 
 
 The prisoner said he wished to read it for the purpose of show- 
 ing that it was not right to be tried before his lordship. 
 
 Judge Keogh — That at once settles the question. You cannoi 
 read it. 
 
 Prisoner — Well, I will read the article of the 5th of December. 
 
 Judge Keogh — We cannot allow you to read it. 
 
 The prisoner then referred to an article entitled u National 
 Self -Reliance," which, he said, ridiculed the idea of inviting for- 
 eigners to come here and invade the country. That was one of 
 the charges against him. That article stated that if fifty thousand 
 French or Irish-American soldiers landed in Ireland, and that the 
 people were not prepared for them, they would be swept into the 
 sea by the British troops in less than three months. That was 
 true and he believed it. 
 
 Judge Fitzgerald said that he had read an article headed " A 
 Retrospect," in which the spirit of the other article was a great 
 deal exaggerated. He should tell him that they would not allow the 
 court to be the means of spreading articles which were treasonable, 
 and certainly seditious. 
 
60 O Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 The Prisoner — The English jurors who are here for my protec- 
 tion — 
 
 Judge Fitzgerald said it could not be read. 
 
 The prisoner said he could not consider it right to have a pack- 
 ed bench trying him. 
 
 The Attorney-General protested against this court being made 
 the medium for the dissemination of treasonable doctrines. It 
 should not be allowed in a court of justice. 
 
 Judge Keogh- — The prisoner is entitled to make any observation 
 on them he pleases, and he is merely reading them. 
 
 The prisoner said he had a right either to read them or make 
 observations on them, according as it pleased him. 
 
 Judge Fitzgerald said he wished to mention that he trusted 
 the good sense of the press would indicate to them the propriety 
 of not publishing these articles in any paper. 
 
 Prisoner — I will read all the articles in the indictment. I will 
 claim my right to read every article in that indictment. 
 
 The prisoner then read the article headed " The Approaching 
 Crisis," observing, en passant, that he would read to-morrow the 
 articles which would explain those that he was now reading. After 
 reading some more articles, he proposed to read from the Irish Peo- 
 ple " John O'Mahony's Letter to Bishop Duggan." 
 
 Their lordships ruled that this could not be read, as it was not 
 in evidence. 
 
 The Prisoner — Am I not charged in connection with John 
 O'Mahony ? 
 
 Judge Keogh — You have heard the ruling of the Court. 
 
 The Prisoner — Oh, very well; we will return to it again. He 
 then commenced to read an article headed the "Chicago Fair," 
 when 
 
 Mr. Lawless, solicitor, who sat near him, observed to him that 
 in reading these articles he was making the speech of the Solicitor- 
 General. 
 
 The Prisoner — So I am, and my own speech, too. Having read 
 a number of articles, he came to one in which there was a passage 
 that every man had an object to accomplish, namely, to make 
 " every cultivator of the soil the proprietor in fee simple of the 
 lands and houses of his fathers," and this, he contended, did not 
 mean to deprive any man of his land. He proposed to read an 
 article on " Military Books," in answer to a correspondent. 
 
 Judge Keogh — We have looked through this article, and we 
 would be only making this court of justice a means of propagating 
 treason if we permitted that article to be read. We cannot allow it. 
 
 The prisoner urged that he ought to be allowed to read it. 
 
 Judge Keogh — You have heard the order of the court. We 
 cannot allow that article to be read. 
 
 The prisoner having read the article " Priests in Politics," he 
 
'Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 61 
 
 expressed a wish to read the letter signed " A Munster Priest," on 
 which article he said that letter was written. 
 
 Judge Keogh asked him for what purpose he proposed to read 
 that letter? 
 
 The prisoner said he wished the jury to understand the article. 
 
 Judge Keogh said he might read the letter in question. 
 
 The prisoner proceeded to read the letter, when he was inter- 
 rupted by Judge Keogh, who said: You have read enough of this 
 letter, purporting to have been written by a priest, to show the na- 
 ture of it; but we really think that to allow you to continue to read 
 it would be propagating the worst kind of treason. I will act upon 
 my own responsibility, and will not allow the further reading of 
 that letter. 
 
 The Prisoner — "What use is it for me, then, to try to explain 
 these articles. 
 
 Judge Keogh — There has not been the slightest attempt from 
 the beginning to the end of your address, now of seven hours and 
 a half's duration, to qualify, pare down, or soften a single article; 
 but, on the contrary, everything has been addressed to the jury to 
 exaggerate them. 
 
 The Prisoner — If this was treason, why was it not prosecuted 
 before ? 
 
 Judge Keogh — Proceed now; I won't allow it to be read. 
 
 The Prisoner — I say it is my right 
 
 Judge Keogh — The ruling of the court is that it shall not be 
 read. 
 
 The Prisoner — You gave me liberty to read the letter. 
 
 Judge Keogh — I gave you liberty to read it to explain the 
 article; but I now perceive that it is quite inadmissible. 
 
 The Prisoner — You change about; you rule one thing now and 
 another thing alterwards. 
 
 Judge Keogh — If you don't proceed I will terminate your right 
 to address the jury, and that peremptorily. 
 
 The prisoner, on coming to an article on the Cork trials, said he 
 claimed his right to read it. 
 
 Judge Keogh — It has nothing whatever to say to the charge. 
 
 The Prisoner — Oh, yes; there is something about Cornelius 
 O'Keane brought up here. 
 
 Judge Keogh — That does not make it admissible as evidence. 
 
 The prisoner then proceeded to refer to an article headed, "The 
 Regeneration Scheme," and said before he read the article it would 
 be better for him to read the letter by Dr. Moriarty first. 
 
 Judge Keogh — We will not allow any such thing to be done. 
 
 The Prisoner — But the Attorney-General charges me in his 
 speech with — 
 
 Judge Keogh — Proceed with your address. We won't allow it 
 to be read. 
 
62 O Donovan RossaJs Prison Life. 
 
 The Prisoner — Very well, I will go on now, but I reserve my 
 right to read these things before I am done. 
 
 The prisoner then proceed to read the article, and, on coming 
 to the passage about the freedom of Hungary, said it was not to 
 free a country that was a crime, but to attempt to free a country and 
 not to be successful, that was the crime. Now, he said, after read- 
 ing that he had a perfect right to read the letter about Dr. Moriarty. 
 Judge Keogh — Proceed, now, sir, with the next document. 
 The prisoner then read an article headed " Peace in America." 
 At the conclusion he said: 
 
 It is now six o'clock, my lord, and I suggest that we close for 
 this evening. 
 
 Judge Keogh — Oh, certainly not. The Court will proceed. 
 The Prisoner — I am now speaking for eight hours, my lord, and 
 the Court closes every other evening at six o'clock. 
 The jury intimated a desire to proceed. 
 Judge Keogh — What is the wish of the jury? 
 The foreman said to proceed. 
 Judge Keogh — Proceed now, sir. 
 
 The Prisoner — Why, it is like a '98 trial — a regular Norbury case ? 
 Judge Keogh — Proceed, sir. 
 
 The prisoner then proceeded to read other articles, and on com- 
 ing to one in which allusion was made to the advancement of 
 "Keoghs, Monahans and Sadliers," said — "And now, gentlemen, I 
 will address you a few words. I say that indictment has been 
 brought against me, and that man (Judge Keogh) has been placed 
 upon that bench to try me; and if there is one amongst you with 
 a spark of honesty in his breast, he will resent such injustice. That 
 article has been brought against me in the indictment; and do you 
 all believe that that man on the bench (Judge Keogh) is a proper 
 man to try me ? He has been placed there to convict me. There, 
 let the law now take its dirty course," said I, and saying it, I flung 
 on the table the large volume of the Irish People out of which I 
 was reading. 
 
 The prosecuting counsel were quite unprepared for my sudden 
 stop, and when I declined to take any more part in the proceedings 
 they and the judges decided that they would adjourn the court 
 until next day. 
 
 The last day of my appearance in court was Wednesday, the 
 13th of December; the judges were advertised to open the Com- 
 mission in Cork on the 14th, and I felt satisfied in having occupied 
 them the time I intended. As the Evening Mail said, in justifica- 
 tion of the legality of my course, "the Crown's game was a fast 
 one, but mine was a slow one," and I had a right to take it as it 
 pleased me. This is the closing scene : 
 
 " His lordship next called the attention of the jury to a letter 
 which had some reference to Paris. Now, he had a notion of his 
 own that conspiracies of this kind would be dealt with in a very 
 
(J Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 63 
 
 different way in that capital. The Frenchman would clutch at 
 once with a strong hand all those who dare interfere with his au- 
 thority. 
 
 The Prisoner — That is a nice address to a jury. 
 
 The learned judge went on to say that he was sure military 
 schools would not be allowed to be established in Paris. The 
 prisoner stated, and it was not an unusual circumstance, that he 
 assumed the name of O'Donnell going out to America, because he had 
 many friends there, and did not want to be bothered with their in- 
 vitations. He also said he had business transactions with the ex- 
 port of whisky from Messrs. "Wyse & Murphy, Cork. 
 
 The Prisoner — I have the papers. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh said there was nothing inconsistent in the 
 prisoner having business transactions of the kind. He came home 
 on the 21st of July; he landed that day at Queenstown. The date 
 was important. On the 22d of July the bills of exchange and the 
 letters were found at the terminus of the Kingstown Railway. The 
 evidence showed conclusively that it was not the prisoner who 
 dropped these documents. 
 
 The Prisoner — Mr. Justice Fitzgerald said in his charge it was." 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh said it was impossible the prisoner could have 
 dropped them. The jury, however, had it that the prisoner went 
 out to America by the name of O'Donnell, and in the letter in ques- 
 tion O'Mahony speaks of his regret at parting with O'Donnell, and 
 requesting him to be sent back " in view of cordial and prompt 
 action." 
 
 The Prisoner — Suppose it was O'Donovan Rossa that was alluded 
 to, but that he did not act upon the letter — did not go back but re- 
 mained in Dublin, as the police proved — have you nothing to say 
 to the jury upon that ? 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — That is a very proper observation. 
 
 Prisoner — Yes, I think it is. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Certainly, gentlemen, you have a right to 
 regard that observation of the prisoner ; but, of course, you must 
 also take into account the letters relating to the prisoner's departure 
 for America; that he went by the instructions of Stephens under the 
 circumstances stated. 
 
 Mr. Lawless — Your lordship will remember that Nagle said he 
 saw the prisoner's name over a house in New York. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Yes, that is so, in 1863; but I do not think 
 it has much bearing on the case. 
 
 Judge Keogh having read and observed upon other letters then 
 referred to page 5 of the account book, in which, among other en- 
 tries in the prisoner's handwriting, was one that he had given 
 " £25 to J. Power," that was Stephens, to travel. 
 
 The Prisoner — On that page there are payments to Cherry and 
 Shields, of Sackville-street, to Alexander, of Mary's-abbey, and 
 other people. 
 
64 O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 Judge Keogh said that was certainly the fact. The prisoner 
 himself directed Nagle's attention to another item, which had not 
 been used by the crown. An entry of £3 7s. lid., and 10s. 9d. for 
 postage on Chicago papers kept in the Post-office. 
 
 The prisoner said the explanation of that entry was this, that 
 the paper not being registered at first, the papers addressed to 
 Chicago were kept in the Post-office, and after some months they 
 were all got in a bundle, and those were the sums paid upon them. 
 
 Judge Keogh said that was a natural and very proper explana- 
 tion, and he was delighted the prisoner interrupted him to make 
 that explanation. 
 
 The Prisoner — As I said before, if I could get the papers the 
 Crown have kept, I could explain a great many other things and 
 
 The Attorney-General interposed, and said he objected to the 
 prisoner being allowed to address the jury in this way. 
 
 Judge Keogh said the prisoner could not be allowed to repeat 
 statements over and over. He then proceeded to tell all about 
 Robespierre and the revolution of his day. One word as to these 
 abominable articles. He was glad to see the spirit of the real public 
 journalism of this city which did not report the articles the prisoner 
 read here yesterday in the expectation that they would be published 
 — they did not allow them to go forward to contaminate the moral 
 atmosphere of this country. " Every man a sovereign and the rulers 
 the servants of the people," the great constitution of America was 
 founded by Washington and maintained by Madison and Adams, 
 and its Senate was adorned by the eloquence and unrivalled abili- 
 ties of Webster and Henry Clay. Gentlemen, I send these papers 
 to your box. If you believe that that wild confederacy existed, and 
 that the prisoner at the bar was a member of that confederacy, you 
 ought unhesitatingly to find him guilty. Let there be no words 
 bandied about assassination in actual or massacre in general. I 
 leave this case to your arbitration ; I believe whoever reads these 
 trials in a calm and tranquil spirit, will say that if we have erred 
 at all it has been on the side of indulgence to the accused ! 
 
 The Prisoner — You have told them to convict me. 
 
 Clerk of the Crown — Remove the prisoner. 
 
 The jury retired at half-past one o'clock. 
 
 THE VERDICT. 
 
 At thirty-five minutes past two o'clock the jury returned into 
 court, and the prisoner was again brought into the dock. 
 
 Mr. Geale — You say that he is " guilty" on all the counts. 
 
 The Attorney-General — I have now to ask your lordships to 
 pronounce judgment on the prisoner, and in doing so I have to 
 refer you to an entry on the calendar, by which it appears that this 
 prisoner was arraigned and pleaded " guilty " in July, 1859, at the 
 Cork Assizes, to an indictment of a character precisely similar to 
 the present — an indictment of treason-felony. He at first pleaded 
 " not guilty," but afterwards withdrew it, and was released on the 
 
CP Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 65 
 
 condition that he would appear when called upon to receive sen- 
 tence. Having regard to the lapse of time, I thought it more fair 
 and constitutional not to call the particular attention of the court to 
 that entry, and ask the court to pass sentence without a trial, but to 
 allow the present case to take its course. I think it right now to 
 call attention to the record of the former conviction by the Clerk 
 of the Crown for Cork. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — Has the prisoner anything to say ? You 
 pleaded guilty to a similar indictment at the Summer Assizes of '59. 
 
 Prisoner — My lord, that is a small matter. I have to say I was 
 arrested in '59, and charged with an offence, but everything that 
 Was sworn against me was false. I believe Mr. Whiteside was 
 Attorney- General under the Derby Government, and through our 
 attorney we were told that if we pleaded guilty, Dan O'Sullivan 
 ( Agreem), who had been transported, would be released. We would 
 not do so until July, when there was a change of government, and 
 on the second day of the assizes we were discharged. You can add 
 anything you like to the sentence you are going to pass on me if it 
 is any satisfaction to you. 
 
 Mr. Geale — Jeremiah O'Donovan Eossa, you have been indicted 
 and found guilty of compelling her Majesty to change her measures, 
 and stir up and incite foreigners to invade this country. What have 
 yau to say why sentence should not be passed upon you ? 
 
 The Prisoner — With the fact that the government seized papers 
 connected with my defence and examined them — with the fact that 
 they packed the jury — with the fact that the government stated 
 they would convict— with the fact that they sent Judge Keogh, a 
 second Norbury, to try me — with these facts before me, it would be 
 useless to say anything. 
 
 The observations of the prisoner created a profound sensation, 
 to which audible expression was given in court. 
 
 Mr. Justice Fitzgerald — We will retire now for a few minutes. 
 
 After a short absence, their lordships came into court, when 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh passed sentence as follows : — Jeremiah O'Don- 
 Dvan Rossa, you have, after a most patient trial, been found guilty 
 by a jury of your countrymen of the offence which is charged against 
 you in this indictment. You have been found now twice guilty of 
 the same offence — once upon your own confession nearly six years 
 ago — and now by a verdict of your countrymen. We have investi- 
 gated and considered the details of the evidence as affects your 
 case, and we have contrasted them with the degrees of guilt by 
 which your co-conspirators were affected. We have considered 
 whether there could be a distinction drawn between your case and 
 those of the others who have been tried, but the more we have done 
 so, the more we have been bound to arrive at the conclusion on the 
 evidence that has been brought before us that you entertained those 
 criminal designs at a period long antecedent to them. On the oc- 
 casion on which you pleaded guilty the indictment to you must have 
 
66 'Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 entertained those designs — and that is so far back as 1859. You 
 may have entertained them immediately after your liberation from 
 custody — there is no evidence of that — but you certainly, on the 
 clearest evidence, have been connected with these transactions so 
 far back as the year 1863. 
 
 The Prisoner — Ah ! I am an Irishman since I was born. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — We have on the clearest evidence that, so 
 far back as 1863, you were the most trusted of the friends in this con- 
 spiracy of James Stephens and John O'Mahony. No unprejudiced 
 man who has listened to these proceedings can arrive at any other 
 conclusion than that the jury were imperatively coerced to find the 
 verdict which they have arrived at. I shall not now waste words 
 by trying to bring any sense of the crime of which you have been 
 found guilty to your mind. 
 
 The Prisoner — You need not. It would be a useless task for 
 you to try. 
 
 Mr. Justice Keogh — But it is our duty — and the public interest 
 require it — that a man who once experienced the clemency of the 
 Crown, and who afterwards violated his good faith, and proceeds 
 again to conspire against the institutions of this country, shall not 
 have again the opportunity presented to him of entertaining such de- 
 signs and projects. We could have drawn no distinction favorable 
 to you as between your case and that of the prisoners Luby and 
 O'Leary, who have been convicted of a similar offence ; and our at- 
 tention having been called by her Majesty's Attorney-General to 
 this plea of guilt entered on your behalf in the year 1859, for the 
 identical same offence of which you have been found guilty here to- 
 day, we have no discretion left except to pass upon you the sentence 
 of the court — that you be kept in " penal servitude for the term of 
 your natural life." 
 
 The Prisoner — All right, my lord. 
 
 Mr. Geale (Clerk of the Crown) — Put him back. 
 
 The prison officers, who were assisted by a large force of police, 
 pressed the prisoner from the front of the dock. As he turned 
 round he saluted some friends in the gallery, and, with a smile, 
 proceeded by the underground passage from the dock." 
 
 There were many comments adverse and otherwise on the course 
 I pursued in court. There is no necessity for me to give the opin- 
 ions of the flunkeys, of the constitutional agitators, and of the ad- 
 mirers of that palladium of British Liberty — trial by jury. They 
 all agreed that I had acted disreputably, shown myself a fool, a 
 madman, or a man of inordinate vanity. I, myself, do not believe 
 that I was either mad, foolish, or disreputable ; but I may be a bit 
 vain, for who is there who has not some little mixture of foible or 
 frivolity in that compound of passions that go to make up his hu- 
 man nature ? If men that I respect — men that have suffered for the 
 cause for which I suffered — approve of my action, it is all that I de- 
 
O Donovan Rosso! s Prison Life. 67 
 
 sire, and it is to me worth all the praise or censure that the lick- 
 spittles of England or the enemies of Ireland could favor me with. 
 
 John Mitchel, who can write as well as any other man, wrote as 
 follows: 
 
 " Paris, December 22, 1865. 
 
 "Your readers must have followed with intense interest the re- 
 ports of the trials (as they were called) in Ireland. Our poor friends 
 who have been called upon this time to stand before courts and 
 juries have all behaved nobly; but to my mind the conduct of 
 O'Donovan Rossa was the noblest of all. 
 
 " It was very imprudent in him to take this course, and, in fact, 
 it brought on him a sentence for life, instead of twenty years. But 
 at any rate, he did the thing that was right, ard just, and manly." 
 
 The Evening Mail, a Protestant journal, that occasionally 
 gleams with a ray of Irish nationality, came out thus : 
 
 "the trial of o'donovan rossa — 'crown clemency.' 
 
 " We do not think the crown lawyers excercised a wise discre- 
 tion, either as regards their own convenience and character or the 
 public service, in bringing O'Donovan Rossa to a new trial at the 
 present Commission. These gentlemen, however, thought otherwise. 
 and they must not now object to such criticism as their conduct of 
 the case may seem to require. This, we must say, appears to us ill 
 calculated to secure the ends aimed at by these prosecutions. 
 When the prisoner undertook to defend himself it would, in our 
 opinion, have been at once the shortest and the wisest course to 
 have permitted him to do so with the fullest latitude, as to means 
 and time, within the limits of the law. 
 
 " In our opinion, therefore, it was imprudent, as well as some- 
 what ungenerous, to refuse any of the papers which he represented 
 necessary for his defence. His argument that, when out of ail those 
 seized at the Irish People office a certain selection only had been put 
 in evidence for the prosecution, there was a presumption that the 
 remaining might be evidence for the prisoner, was at least plausi- 
 ble; yet the Crown lawyers resisted it, and did not, until the last 
 moment, if at all, place the papers actually referred to in the indict- 
 ment in the hands of the prisoner's solicitor. 
 
 " We must say, also, that some portions of the prisoner's cross- 
 examination of witnesses objected to seemed to us to be perfectly 
 relevant, and to display considerable insight and acumen. We may 
 mention, as an example, his cross-examination of the informer Nagle 
 upon an account-book, which was supposed to be a blind ' starting' 
 (as Nagle termed it) of new evidence for the prosecution, but which 
 turned out afterwards to be very skillfully designed to break down 
 the testimony as to the handwriting of the expert, Chabot. A good 
 deal has been said about the time occupied by the prisoner's de- 
 fence, and the expedients he resorted to for the purposes of delay ; 
 but he answered the criticism when he reminded the Court that the 
 
68 O* Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life, 
 
 time belonged to him for defence as indefeasibly as it belonged to 
 the Crown for prosecution. It must be recollected, too, that if the 
 game of the Crown lawyers was the short one, his was the long one, 
 and that he was as fully justified in playing out his to the best of 
 his ability as they were in playing off theirs." 
 
 The Irishman said : 
 
 " The public interest in the Fenian trials, which had begun to 
 flag, were revived by the unexpected announcement that O'Donovan 
 Rossa would defend himself. The innovation naturally excited as 
 much horror among the gentlemen of the long robe as the intrusion 
 of the shoe-strings into the ante-chamber of Louis XVI. created in 
 the mind of the court usher. That the determination was a com- 
 paratively wise one, however, could scarcely be doubted by any im- 
 partial spectator of the vapid farces presented by the learned counsel 
 for the previous prisoners under the name of defences. We say com- 
 pirativt-ly, for probably it would have been the wisest of all for 
 Luby and O'Leary to plead guilty at first, as they virtually did at 
 last. Nevertheless, the acuteness, vigor, and even good humor 
 wiih which the prisoner conducted his case yesterday contrasted 
 very strongly with the quibbling hair-splittings and irrelevancies 
 of the professional lawyers." 
 
 And the London Times, in mortified admiration at the spirit dis- 
 played by the prisoners in general exclaimed : " It would seem that 
 self-reliance, self-confidence, patriotism, and even justice, were con- 
 fronting the judge and the informers at the bar." 
 
 And so they were. 
 
 I was transported for life, and, looking over every thing that was 
 urged against me, I fail to see anything that the law could honestly 
 urge against anyone as an offence. The prosecutors urged that I 
 was intimately acqu inted with John O'Leary and Thomas Clarke 
 Luby, and that I was the trusted friend of John O'Mahony and 
 James Stephens, to which I replied that I was proud of their friend- 
 ship and acquaintance. 
 
 It was urged against me that I was the treasurer of a fund sub- 
 scribed for the defence of Cornelius Dwyer Keane, a man who was 
 awaiting trial on a charge of swearing in men, and I showed that it 
 was perfectly legal to see about the defence of prisoners, and that the 
 law itself provided counsel for a man who had no means to provide 
 it himself. 
 
 It was urged against me that I went to America in June and came 
 back from America in July, and I asked where was the treason in 
 that ? But then they had documents which were lost and fouud in 
 Kingstown, from which they attempted to show that my journey was 
 in connection with treasonable designs. One of the judges, in charging 
 the jury in Mr. Luby's trial, went so far as to say that it was I who 
 lost these documents, but I proved by their own detectives, who 
 were watching me these days, that I was on my way from Cork to 
 Dublin at the time those papers were found. 
 
G 1 Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 69 
 
 There was an entry in my private account book, which I kept in 
 the Irish People office of two pounds to Denis Hayes, for Stephens. 
 This Stephens was a young son of mine, and I gave Denis Hayes two 
 pounds to buy clothes for him. But Jndge Keogh, in charging the 
 jury, told them to look upon this money as paid to James Stephens 
 and criminatory of me. The Irish People was not registered at 
 first for transmission abroad, and the newspapers were all detained 
 in the post office without our getting notice of it, till a friendly 
 clerk came and told me. We got the paper registered. It cost 
 five pounds to restamp all the numbers that were directed to Chi- 
 cago. I had this entered on my book as " Postage paid on Chicago 
 papers," and Judge Keogh told the jury to look upon this as post- 
 age that I paid for distributing the Fenian pamphlet of the Chicago 
 Convention. 
 
 A fellow named Petit came from England to the office of the 
 Irish People to entrap me. I was on my guard, though he had a 
 letter of introduction. His telling me that he was sent over 
 by the friends in England to drill men in Ireland was sufficient for 
 me, as I knew we had hundreds of men already who could act as 
 drill-instructors if they w T ere needed. This Petit swore against me, 
 and in his informations he stated that while he was in the room 
 with me I took Charles Kickham into a corner of it and commenced 
 whispering to him something which he (Petit) could not hear. 
 This was one of the informations on which I was prosecuted; but 
 they would not bring Petit forward, because they learned that 
 Charles Kickham was very deaf and could not be spoken to, less 
 whispered to, without using an ear-trumpet. Nagle also made 
 informations against me, which were false. They were read 
 against us at the preliminary investigations. I had made arrange- 
 ments to show the perjuries of the fellow. The Crown prosecutors 
 must have learned this from the seizure of my defence papers; and 
 when I came to examine the informer on his original informations, 
 Judge Keogh coolly told me that these were not put in evidence 
 against me. 
 
 I was baffled every way by their jugglery; but I baffled them a 
 little, too. A counsellor named Coffey, who was engaged for my 
 defence when I was in prison in '59, was now acting barrister. He 
 was on circuit through the country, and everywhere he held his 
 sessions he was trying to frighten the people by telling them that 
 the Government had twenty informers to swear against us, whereas 
 they were at their wits' end to get one at all, outside of Nagle. 
 
 They got a person named G-illis to swear against Michael Moore 
 at the preliminary trial, but by the time the Commission came on 
 he refused to swear according as they desired, and they sentenced 
 him to five years' penal servitude. 
 
 Few men had travelled as much of the organization as I, few 
 men were so generally known in it; the authorities knew this, and 
 they were mad that I had gone through so much without their b&- 
 
70 0" Donovan Rossas Prison Life. 
 
 ing able to catch up any traces of my work that they could bring 
 against me. 
 
 They thought I should have papers somewhere to be seized, and 
 they searched everywhere. They invaded the house of my father- 
 in-law, who lived two hundred miles from Dublin, they turned his 
 furniture upside down, turned the drawers inside out, and even 
 went up the chimneys, without getting anything but soot. The 
 only one thing they could bring legally against me was my signa- 
 ture to legal documents as publisher of the Irish People. On this 
 they held me responsible for everything published in the paper. I 
 signed this document in their own courts, in presence of their 
 own witnesses, and they brought it forward against me to convict 
 me of conspiracy. I told them that under a Russian despot or a 
 French tyrant justice would be satisfied and vengeance appeased 
 by the punishment of the proprietor or the editor, or any one re- 
 sponsible party; but English vengeance was a horse of another 
 color — it should even ride rough-shod over the printers who dared 
 to set such treasonable type. 
 
 They also seized the used up correspondence that was thrown 
 into the waste-basket and prosecuted the writers; they seized the 
 books that contained the names of the subscribers — things that we 
 could not avoid having — and these subscribers they put into prison. 
 
 On the 24th of June, '65, I left the Cove of Cork for New York. 
 I took with me dispatches from James Stephens to John O'Mahony. 
 When I arrived on the 5th of July I learned that Mr. P. J. Meehan 
 and Mr. P. W. Dunne were going to Ireland on business con- 
 nected with the organization. They were to examine into things 
 on the other side, and were to report faithfully. A meeting of the 
 Council of the Fenian Brotherhood was held at the house of Mr. 
 William R. Roberts, at which I attended and heard read those 
 despatches which I brought. This is not the place to tell what 
 passed there. Mr. Meehan and Mr. Dunne were to sail on the 12th, 
 and as I had my business done I determined to sail with them. 
 John O'Mahony wanted to keep me in New York, as he said many 
 inquiries were made about Ireland which he could not answer, and 
 my being in the office would do much good. I told him I would 
 not stay for any consideration, as I had no instructions on that 
 head. He asked me to remain for a month, during which time he 
 would write to Stephens and have a reply, but this I would not do. 
 I was strongly of opinion that there was to be a fight in Ireland. 
 Now, I do not say that I was mad to be first in that fight; perhaps 
 in cool blood I would think myself safer out of it, but I was anxious 
 to stick up to my own expressions and to what people expected 
 from me, and that was not to be safely out of the way when there 
 was any danger around. 
 
 General Wolfe once told his mother that he thought the good 
 opinion others had of him would biing him to an early grave, for he 
 felt himself inferior to what was thought of him by his friends. 
 
C Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 71 
 
 Yet to act up to their estimate of him, he thought that in case of 
 danger he would have to be superior to himself, be first in the fight 
 and first to fall, and thus predicted to himself an early death, which 
 he had at Quebec. I have not extraordinary fighting courage, nor 
 would I feel warranted in rushing into dangers because my friends 
 may think I would do so, but when I commit myself to a thing I 
 like to act up to it. I knew I had committed myself to be in the 
 fight in Ireland, and I would not give it to any one to say that I 
 had been safely in America while it was going on. 
 
 John O'Mahony told me that as I would not stay he would give 
 me a note that would send me back as soon as I handed it to 
 Stephens. But I told him I would not be the bearer of any note 
 that I considered complimentary to myself, and refused to take it. 
 
 "Then," said he "I will send it by the others, and Patrick will 
 take it down." 
 
 I was on board the Cuba when Patrick J. Downing came along- 
 side on the tender, handed me the note, which I handed to P. J. 
 Meehan. Something has been said of John O'Mahony having re- 
 fused to pay my passage back to Ireland, and that it was P. J. 
 Meehan paid it, part of which is true and part false. John 
 O'Mahony did not refuse to pay my passage; but it was stated to 
 me by P. W. Dunne, in O'Mahony's presence, that the party going 
 to Ireland had engaged one passage more than they wanted, and 
 that I would fit in there. And after I gave Colonel Downing's 
 message to P. J. Meehan he took me to the purser of the ship and 
 paid for my passage. This money, of course, I looked upon as 
 Fenian money, for I knew that Mr. Meehan was the bearer of funds 
 to Ireland. 
 
 Going into the Cove of Cork I told Mr. Meehan that as I left Ire- 
 land in a troublous state, and not knowing but there may be a 
 rigorous search on landing, it would be well for him to give those 
 papers he had to his sister or Mrs. Dunne, who accompanied us. 
 He told me they were all right, that he had sewed them up between 
 the soles of one of his carpet-slippers. Next day he lost these 
 papers in Kingstown, where he went to deliver them to James 
 Stephens. Pursuant to the caution given him, and his own prompt- 
 ings, he thought it better not to have those papers in any pocket 
 of his, and he fastened them with a pin, as he told us, inside the 
 waist of his drawers. The pin slipped out, and the letters slipped 
 away unknown to him. The charge has been made against him 
 that he lost these documents intentionally, and much contention 
 has, I understand, been in America about them. All I say is, that 
 the matter was discussed at a Council meeting in Dublin, that I 
 gave it as my opinion that he lost them honestly, and that I have 
 no evidence since to warrant me in changing that opinion. Parties 
 may say what they please of Mr. Meehan on other matters; it is 
 only right for me to say so much of him on this. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Convicted — The Black Yan and the Cavalry — Mountjoy Con- 
 vict Prison — Dressing, Registering, Shaving, and Photograph- 
 ing — Sympathetic Tears — Forbidden to Write — A Bed, but no 
 Sleep — My Government Acquaintance — The Convicts' Priest — 
 Religious Books — A Blinker Pew in Chapel — Feeling my Pulse 
 and Fit for a Journey — Meet the Convicts O'Leary, Luby, 
 " Pagan," Moore and Haltigan — Tight Irons — Departure — 
 More Sympathetic Tears, and a few Opinions on " Peelers " 
 and other British Pensioners — Old Dunleary — The Convict 
 Ship — " Respectable " People — A Word of my Companions — 
 The "Pagan" and his Work — Soldiers and Arms. 
 
 Now I am a convicted felon, and I am to experience the benefits 
 of those institutions which England has established to civilize those 
 who are so barbarous as not to appreciate the many blessings to be 
 derived from her " glorious British Constitution," and from a 
 peaceful and obedient resignation to her benign laws. 
 
 Five minutes after the condemnation I was ushered unto the 
 black van, in fact it had been waiting for me two hours, the horses 
 ready harnessed and the soldiers equipped, to escort me to Mount- 
 joy Prison. Before I went in I shook hands with the police who 
 had been keeping watch over me in court for the previous fifteen 
 days, and I will not deny that they looked as if they were sorry for 
 me. The van rattled through the streets, the soldiers galloped at 
 each side of it with sabres drawn, and in less than half an hour 
 the world closed upon me, and the first light of a very dark life 
 dawned upon me inside the portals of Mountjoy. The soldiers 
 were lounging about the entrance yard ; they ran to the steps as- 
 cending the doomed palace as the cortege approached. I came out, 
 and, with as kind a look as I could give, and as light a step as I 
 could take, I passed through them. I always go in for being civil 
 to those who can help myself or my country; and, if I don't get 
 anything by showing my better nature, why, then, I go in for being 
 otherwise. 
 
 I was ushered into a room, my clothes were prepared for me, 
 I was divested of everything I wore belonging to a free man, and, 
 after examining my naked body — to be sure that I had nothing 
 concealed — I got my outfit. It consisted of a shirt, a flannel draw- 
 
O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 73 
 
 ers and waistcot, a grey vest, jacket and trowsers, a pair of stock- 
 ings, a pair of shoes and a cap. This was not a complete outfit. 
 I was short a pocket handkerchief and a neck-tie, but orders were 
 issued that I was not to have these. 
 
 I am sure that in the certificate of conviction sent with me to 
 prison a " bad character " was sent with it in consequence of the 
 course I pursued at my trial, if I may call it a trial. After being 
 dressed I was taken into the registry office. My height I believe 
 was five feet nine inches and a half, my hair was fair, my eyes were 
 blue, my mouth and nose were — well, I will not say what they were 
 — I always thought I had a handsome mouth and nose, at least I 
 thought others thought I had, but my admirers on this occasion 
 were people of very little taste, and their opinion on these things 
 is not worth much to those interested in such matters; however, 
 they wound up with describing my features as " average," and sent 
 me from their department to the next manipulator. He escorted 
 me to my cell, and giving his commands to two others, they came, 
 one holding a candle and the other a razor. The first gentleman 
 told me " sit down on that stool there," and drawing a scissors out 
 of his pouch he commenced clipping away at my beard. Whenever 
 lie had occasion to say "hold up your head," "turn your head this 
 way," or "turn your head that way," he said it in as gruff a voice 
 as he could command, and I obeyed in silent admiration of the 
 power that I was now subject to. While using the scissors on my 
 face he scarred me a little. He asked did he hurt me, and I said, 
 " Oh, governor, never mind." The man with the razor next came 
 on, and as he moved, my eyes fell on the face of the man who 
 was holding the candle, and they began to swim in their sockets. 
 It was the first time I got soft during my imprisonment ; but 
 when I saw the tears streaming down the cheeks of this Irish- 
 hearted jailer who was holding the candle, I could not restrain my 
 own from starting. 
 
 After being shaven I was led to have my picture taken. The 
 photographer had a large black-painted pasteboard prepared, with 
 my name painted across it in white, and, pinning it across my 
 breast, he sat me in position. I remained sitting and looking ac- 
 cording to instructions till he had done, and he never had the man- 
 ners to tell — what artists never failed to tell me — that I made an 
 exceedingly good picture . The rules are read to me, and I see 
 that one of them says that I can write a letter on reception into 
 prison. I ask for pen, ink and paper, and I am told that I cannot 
 have the benefit of that rule, that there are special instructions in 
 my case, and that I cannot write until there are special orders. 
 The first day of my imprisonment, here are these special instruc- 
 tions to treat us exceptionally. I would not grumble or wonder if, 
 as political prisoners, it were exceptionally better; but no, it was 
 exceptionally worse than the worst criminals of society. I respect- 
 fully demanded that I be allowed to write to a member of parliament 
 
74 G 1 Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 about the illegal conduct of the judges at my trial. No, no; I 
 could not write, and I may as well put the thought of doing so out 
 of my head. 
 
 I went into prison determined to bear all things patiently, 
 determined to obey in everything, as I conceived that the dignity 
 of the cause of liberty required that men should suffer calmly 
 and strongly for it ; but the more obedient and humble I was, the 
 more my masters showed a disposition to trample upon me — the 
 more they felt disposed to give us that annoyance which had no 
 other object but to torment us. 
 
 I have often asked myself what was the motive of worrying us 
 as they did, and — waiving the question of killing us or driving us 
 mad — I see no other object in view but that of making us so tired 
 of our lives that we would beg for mercy, or beg to be let alone; 
 and that would be a great thing for the English Government to 
 have to show to the world, that here were those Irish revolution- 
 ists, who were so stubborn in the dock, now on their knees. The 
 Irish in America, and the Irish all the world over, would feel hum- 
 bled, and, if our own spirit would allow it, it might be as well that 
 we had given them reason to do so, in view of the little good we 
 appear to have done outside Ireland by doing differently. 
 
 My cell was about ten feet by seven. It contained a water- 
 closet, a table, a stool, a hammock-bed made like a coffin and about 
 two feet broad at the top, a salt box, a tin box, a tin pint, and a 
 spoon. I got a pound weight of oakum to pick the first day, and 
 I picked about two ounces of it, which was not bad for a beginner. 
 I went to bed at eight o'clock, and, immediately after, I was roused 
 Up and ordered to put out my clothes through the trap door. This 
 also was something that was not required of ordinary prisoners; 
 but in consequence of the flight of James Stephens from them, 
 they were afraid the fairies would fly away with us. Every fifteen 
 minutes of the night the trap-door of my cell was opened by two 
 officers; one of them held a bull's-eye lantern towards my head, 
 and if he did not see my face he kept calling me until I put in an 
 appearance. Then there were two soldiers outside my cell window 
 who kept calling " all right " to each other every half hour. 
 
 This continued night after night. For ten nights I was here 
 I never got an hour's sleep. I read of some Eastern tyrants 
 that tortured their prisoners by preventing them from sleeping, 
 and I experienced that torture under the government of these 
 sanctimonious people who denounce it to the world when it is in- 
 flicted by any one but themselves. 
 
 My breakfast was gruel and milk; my dinner and supper bread 
 and milk; and two days in the week we got meat for dinner. I 
 got an hour's exercise in the open air each day, and in this matter 
 I was treated exceptionally also. The ordinary prisoners were ex- 
 ercised in companies, but I was exercised alone, save that in the 
 ring in which I walked there was a goat tied by a rope to a stake. 
 

 (y Donovan Rosscis Prison Life. 75 
 
 Two warders and a soldier kept guard, and the goat seeing 
 I was so lonely seemed to take compassion on me ; for as I 
 approached the part of the circle where he was tethered he would 
 I run towards me and butt gently with his head as if he desired 
 to make my acquaintance. Sometimes I had to catch him by the 
 horns to put him off my course, for I could not step off a flag 
 which was about eighteen inches wide and ran around inside the 
 iron -railed enclosure. The warders ordered me to go round with- 
 out having anything to do with the goat ; they would order the 
 , goat, too, but the genial little soul seemed to despise them and 
 their regulations; he did not care for the rules and would be re- 
 fractory by running to meet me, so that they put him out of the 
 yard altogether. 
 
 The second day of my residence in Mountjoy my cell-door 
 opened, and who came in but an Irish priest. I was only a short 
 time out of the world, and yet I well recollect how delighted I was 
 to see any one belonging to it, and to see a priest, too; for, perhaps, 
 the dormant tradition of my younger days was revived, that it was 
 in periods of darkness and difficulty the Irish priest clung to the 
 Irish people, and I felt as if I could forget the past, if the pastor 
 could do so, and be friends for the future. 
 
 He told me his name was Father Cody, and that he was a Kil- 
 kenny man. 
 
 Then," said I, "you have the honor of belonging to James 
 Stephen's county." 
 
 We had some half an hour's talk, much of which I do not now 
 remember. He looked at the oakum I had to pick, and told me I 
 need not worry myself with it at first, but do a little. He 
 asked me had I any books, and I said no. Then he told me he 
 would get me some, and going out, he brought me in a new Testa- 
 ment, a Prayer-Book, and the Lives of the Saints, and "Think 
 Well of It." I got no secular book, and if I did I could not do 
 much with it, as my mind was not sufficiently calmed down for 
 study. The priest asked what induced me to take the defiant 
 course I did at my trial, and I said I saw myself doomed, and 
 thought I might as well have the value of my money out of them 
 as be standing in apparent awe, silently looking on at the farce 
 of giving me a trial. As he was about to leave he said : 
 
 " Well, on my word, I'm so disappointed in you." 
 
 " How is that, Father ?" said I. 
 
 " Why," replied he, "I thought, and we all thought here, that 
 you were crazy, or that you were one who had some kind of un- 
 governable temper that no reason could control." 
 
 I smiled at the words. He bid me adieu for that day, saying 
 he would call next day again. The door closed, and I found my- 
 self in the congenial society of my own thoughts. 
 
 I knew that Pagan O'Leary, and Mr. Luby, and Mr. O'Leary, 
 and Mr. Haltigan, and Mr. Moore had preceded me to Mountjoj 
 
76 O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 Prison, but I never could get a sight of them. For the hour 
 during which I was exercised, I strained my eyes in every di- 
 rection that I could give a squint, but I never got a glance at one 
 of them. I was taken to chapel on Sunday, but I was put into a box 
 which had blinkers at each side of it; I could see only the backs 
 of the other prisoners. I believe my companions were placed in 
 similar boxes alongside of me. These compartments are arranged 
 for very refractory characters, and before we had time to acquire 
 any prison reputation at all we were ushered into them. 
 
 It was on Christmas Eve, the eleventh day of my conviction, 
 that at four o'clock in the morning, the bull's-eye patrol ordered 
 me to get out of bed; he threw my clothes in through the trap- 
 door, and told me to dress in a hurry. He handed me a piece of 
 bread and a pint of milk, and told me to waste no time in eating 
 my breakfast. 
 
 "What is all this about, Governor?" said I. 
 
 " Never mind what it is about," answered he ; " do what you're 
 told and ask no questions." 
 
 While I was engaged in carrying out that part of the order 
 which related to my breakfast, the door was opened and three or 
 four persons, dressed in men's clothes, came into my cell. One of 
 them — that was not Dr. M'Donnell, who always spoke very civilly 
 to me — felt my pulse and pronounced me fit for a journey. Out 
 they went without any ceremony, and left me thinking that I was 
 going somewhere, but whereto was the puzzle. A few minutes 
 after I was ushered into one of the large halls and placed along- 
 side of five other men. I could not take a good look at them, 
 as I was adhering to the orders always to look to my front and 
 never turn my head sideways. I thought I would become a splen- 
 did prisoner, and get a most excellent character for myself by obe- 
 dience to the rules and adherence to the precepts. When I was a 
 young man a young girl once flattered me by saying I had the hap- 
 py gift of making myself amiable in every society in which I mix- 
 ed. This was at a time of life when my mind was susceptible of 
 impression, and she made this impression on it — so much so that I 
 never go into any company without thinking that I can make my- 
 self very agreeable, and never know till I am told afterwards by 
 some acquaintance, more candid than she of my early days, how 
 very ridiculous I make myself. This feeling of mine followed me 
 into prison, and did not forsake me for years. Not until I had 
 been worn down to a skeleton, and the old flesh worn off my bones, 
 and the old thoughts worn out of my mind did I come to learn thai 
 all the arts of my nature could not make me agreeable company. 
 My jailers could never see in me the gift that the arch little girl 
 flattered into me. All my efforts to be amiable were of no avail. 
 I found that I had been cheating myself, and I had to change my 
 tactics. But I will come to this by and bye. 
 
 When ranged alongside the other prisoners I took advantage 
 
O* Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 77 
 
 of the officer's eyes being off of me to open my ear wide and whis- 
 per to the man next to me, " where are we going ?" He replied, " I 
 don't know." I knew his whisper. I looked at him, cried out, 
 " Luby;" he replied, " Kossa," and we had a shake hands. The offi- 
 cer frowned at us, but I got a little courage, and I thought it was 
 not much harm to look at Mr. O'Leary, and the Pagan, and the 
 others, giving them a nod of recognition, though it was with diffi- 
 culty I recognized them. The handcuffs came ; Luby was next 
 to me ; they were fitted on him first and then I was tied to him. 
 His hand was very small, and I told the jailer that the irons were 
 too small for my hand, but he was in a hurry and could get no 
 others, so I had to suffer to feel my wrist bound in an iron that 
 was crushing the bones of it. 
 
 The order came lor us to move, and we were conducted into the 
 " black van." Six jailers were put in with us. We were ail locked 
 up; the wheels rumbled over the pavements of Dublin; the cavalry 
 galloped alongside, and on we went for an hour or more, not 
 knowing to what quarter of the world we were bound. The irons 
 were tormenting me, and as the horses stopped I remarked that it 
 was not at all necessary for my safety to bind me so tight. One 
 officer said he could do nothing in the matter; he turned the bull's 
 eye of his lantern to look at my hand, and as the light fell on the 
 face of another jailer beside me, I saw the tears streaming down his 
 cheeks. I know the man's name, and I know the name of the other 
 man whose sympathy showed itself in his eyes while I was being 
 shorn, but it would not do to mention names here; these men may 
 be jailers still, and I am not going to injure them. What I wit- 
 nessed in them only tended to confirm an opinion I long entertain- 
 ed — that a red coat, a green jacket, or a jailer's livery may cover as 
 Irish a heart as any in Ireland. If we had any kind of a decent 
 fight many of these would have wavered in that allegiance which 
 the poverty of their pockets alone forced them into, and turn to that 
 allegiance which they sucked in with their mother's milk; and I for 
 one do not blame them for not being the first to start into rebellion, 
 nor will I have a hard word to say even to those who, in the Eng- 
 lish service, were my captors and my prosecutors. They may live, 
 they may even die in the enemy's service and doing the enemy's 
 work, but I will give them credit for wishing to serve their country, 
 or wishing they had a country to serve. That these will not be the 
 first to commence hostilities to England I am confident, and I am 
 just as certain that the comfortable and well-to-do classes will not 
 be the first either. 
 
 In Ireland the United Irishmen were not considered respectable 
 by the " respectables," because it wa* the poor people worked up 
 the society. It commenced below and worked its way upwards to 
 a position of respect; it did not commence above and work down, 
 for the snobbery above could not condescend to communicate with 
 the masses. Snobbery had something to lose, and said thai the 
 
78 s Donovan Eossas Prison Life 
 
 " mob' that were risking their lives had nothing to lose and aimed 
 at getting possession of what snobbery possessed. 
 
 The movement was not respectable, said our " respectable" folk, 
 and they never tried to make it so by coming into it themselves. 
 
 The same thing had been said in America of the Fenian 
 movement, and the " respectable" Irish patriots there never set 
 to work themselves to establish what, according to their views, 
 would be a respectable movement. They can complain and cavil 
 very well at what they dislike, and make their disliking an excuse 
 for their inaction, but they never do anything else It is useless to 
 be wasting words upon such folk; their existence does not commence 
 in our day or in our nation; they have existed in all times and 
 amongst all peoples, and we will have to do our work without them; 
 nay, against them, for they will permit nothing to be done or own 
 nothing is go- d that is not done by themselves. 
 
 When I speak of the poor people having to fight the battles of 
 every country, I am not to be understood as saying that we had 
 none to fight the battle for Irish independence bnt those "who had 
 nothing to lose." The snobs, the shoneens in Ireland who could be 
 so grand as to drive a one-horse gig, though they could hardly 
 afford to pay for the c ats the staggeen of a horse would eat, would 
 sneer at the independent farmer or mechanic — though he could buy 
 him out of house and home, his staggeen and his gig into the bar- 
 gain, and quadruple his brains, too — working for the cause of Ire- 
 land. The misfortune is, here and there, that fallen fortunes are not 
 respectable; and, though we can afford to talk and sing of the mar- 
 tial deeds o f Fion MacCumhail and the chivalrous glories of Brian 
 the Brave, we cannot afford to do anything practical in emulation 
 of them: that would entail labor, and, perhaps a little sacrifice, 
 and we need not undergo this while we can purchase the name of 
 patriot and make profit by it in a cheaper manner. 
 
 This morning of my removal from Ireland, when I was taken 
 out of the " black van," I looked around me to see where I was, and 
 I found myself on the pier of Old Dunleary. The steamer was be- 
 fore me, ready to sail for England, and between me and the steamer 
 were two rows of soldiers, between whom I and my companions 
 wended our way to the ship. It was a dark December morning, 
 and the appearance the redcoats presented through the mist told 
 us it was considered an occasion of the greatest importance. Arrived 
 at the boat, I had the honor to be helped on board by the Dublin 
 detectives who had arrested us. They were there to see us off, and to 
 see whatever else would be interesting to them in the prosecution of 
 their labors for " maintenance ot law and order." 
 
 The ship sa.led. The day was breaking as we were parting 
 from that land whose soil we were to tread no more, unless against 
 the will and power of those whose rule has been a curse to it for 
 centuries. I had my feelings on the occasion, but I kept them in 
 
Cf Donovan Hossas Prison Life. 79 
 
 ny breast, where I always — well, nearly always — keep them, when 
 I can do no good by keeping them elsewhere. 
 
 I was about an hour at sea when I thought it was time for me 
 to make a little noise about those irons that were crushing my hand. 
 
 My wrist was quite swollen. I showed it to the jailers and I 
 asked if I could not have some relief now that we were safe out of 
 Ireland. The Deputy-Governor of Millbauk Prison came, with six 
 of his jailers, to the Irish shore to take charge of us, and I asked if 
 I could not see the officer in command, in order that now, as we 
 were going to a free country, I might be supplied with freer irons. 
 
 Whenever I felt sore or sad about my treatment in the hands of 
 those people I always made it a point never to make my sorrows 
 known; and as well as I could I laughed and joked away many 
 things that were galling to me, and that were meant to be so. 
 This annoyed my masters more than anything else, and my own 
 friends could not understand how it was becoming in me to be gay 
 under such very serious and solemn circumstances; and to this dis 
 position of mine I believe I owe the fact of my wife not being a 
 widow to-day, for had I given way to passion on every indignity 
 being heaped upon me, I would have burned myself up long ago. 
 On the occasion of my asking for "' freer irons as we were going to t 
 free country," I was reminded by one of my companions that it was 
 a most unsuitable time far a display of wit. This put a damper 
 upon me. I don't know that it wasn't it made me sea-sick, for I be- 
 gan discharging my stomach immediately ; indeed it may have 
 put some grave manhood in me also, for I demanded that I should 
 seethe superior officer immediately, or I would try and get some- 
 thing to break the irons. Captain Wallack came, examined my 
 hand, said the handcuffs were a little tight, had me untied and 
 chained to Michael Moore, and having released Pagan O'Leary 
 from Mr. Moore, he had him tied to my partner, Mr. Luby. 
 
 I cannot land on the chores of England for a few hours, and as 
 I have spoken of my companions here, I may occupy the rest of the 
 voyage in speaking a little more of them. 
 
 I have spoken of the name of O'Leary twice, and it is necessary 
 to be understood that I speak of two distinct characters 
 that have sometimes been confounded one with the other. 
 Pagan O'Leary is not John O'Leary, nor is John O'Leary the 
 Pagan. It would not be easy to find two men more different from 
 each other, or any man more ready than either, each in his own 
 way, to risk life in an honest, earnest endeavor for Irish independ- 
 ence. John O'Leary was editor of the Irish People. The two other 
 writers of it were Charles J. Kickham and Thomas Clarke Luby. 
 They were three men whose acquaintance, whose friendship, and 
 whose esteem any man may feel proud to have, and I would feel 
 proud to be worthy of. If I would say that at the time I was work- 
 ing with them I loved Kickham, admired Luby and reverenced 
 O'Leary, I would be saying what I thought of them, and thinking 
 
80 O Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 this is all the clue that I can give my readers here as to the charac* 
 ters of the men. My pen is too poor to do them justice; they still 
 live, and I hope will live to do something worthy of their ambition 
 to serve their country. 
 
 The Pagan is a soldier, and I do not know that he aspires to be 
 anything else. But he has also a capacity for other work, if we 
 may judge from his labors in Ireland. He had gone from America 
 to Ireland three times to fight, and three times he had not got the 
 chance of firing a shot. He was arrested at Athlone in November, 
 '64, and charged with attempting to swear English soldiers into 
 Irish revolutionists. It was urged at his trial that he had been 
 traveling through Ireland and corrupting the army, and he was 
 sentenced to seven years' penal servitude. He had a wonderful in- 
 fluence over these soldiers, and if his work and that of others who 
 worked in the same department had been vigorously utilized in '65 
 we might have a different story to tell to-day. 
 
 The Pagan did not cease his work in prison ; he made friends 
 there too ; and some of them proposed to Edward Duffy and my- 
 self to effect his escape before conviction. We communicated the 
 proposal to " The Captain," and he decided that it would bring 
 the strength of our organization too much under the notice of the 
 Government, and that it was better policy to leave one man to suffer 
 than to make an alarm and give the Government grounds for adopt- 
 ing repressive measures which would interfere with the steps we 
 were taking to relieve the national suffering. 
 
 The Pagan was in Mountjoy Prison before my arrest, and I at- 
 tempted to get at seeing him, but was not able to succeed. One day 
 I found myself in possession of a ticket giving permission to visit 
 the place of his confinement, and proceeded there with my plans 
 arranged to try and get a word or a whisper with him by hook or 
 by crook. I found myself and Cornelius Dwyer Kane and a few 
 others inside the prison walls, and a few officers detailed to show 
 us round. We went to look at the chapel, and, as it was there I 
 had meditated to sound my purpose, I asked the guide about the 
 several religious denominations, and told a tale of an institution I 
 knew that gave protection to a man once who wo aid not belong to 
 any religion unless there was a Pagan temple in the place. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " we have just such another case here." 
 
 "Here in Dublin!" said I, in amazement. 
 
 " Here in this very prison," replied he. 
 
 And then he proceeded to tell me about the Pagan's refusal to 
 belong to any religious denomination; but when they kept punish- 
 ing him for the offence he at length consented to attend the Roman 
 Catholic place of worship. 
 
 " Is he out of his mind ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know, for I have not much communication with 
 him ; but I suppose he is." 
 
C? Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 81 
 
 " And do you allow him to associate with the other prisoners V 
 " Oh, no; he is in a separate cell by himself. I will show it to 
 you by and by when we are passing." 
 
 " By Jove, I should like to have a peep at such an odd character." 
 On we went. I had my mind fixed on that cell where the Pagan 
 was confined, and one of my hands was playing with a few silver 
 crowns I had in my pocket, when a prison bell rang, and the Gov- 
 ernor sent word to us that as some of the prisoners were about to 
 go to prayers he was obliged to ask us out ; but if we came at a 
 more propitious hour he would be very happy to afford us longer 
 time for observation. We left without having attained our object, 
 and I did not enter Mountjoy Prison again till I entered it a convict. 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 In England — Christmas Eve — London — Pentonville Prison — 
 Stripped of Flannels — Clothes Searched — Naked — Cell and 
 Cell Furniture — Solitary Confinement — Cold and Hunger — 
 Christmas Fare— My Trade and Occupation — Reading the Rules 
 — Forbidden to Write — The Doctor — Airing or Exercise in the 
 Refractory Yard — My Library — The Prison Directions — 
 Dreams of Happiness. 
 
 The telegraph, must have carried the news that we were bound 
 for " the land of the brave and the free," for, as the ship approached 
 Holyhead, the pier was crowded with spectators. The company of 
 soldiers, who accompanied us from Ireland, were drawn up on the 
 quay, and we ran the gauntlet between them to the railroad carriage 
 that was in waiting for us. After a few hours we arrived at Chester. 
 One of our keepers was called out by the officer in command, and 
 coming back, he brought a meat-pie and divided it between us. 
 My two hands were bound to those at each side of me; they would 
 not unbind me while I was eating, and whenever I put my hand to 
 my mouth the hand of some one of my companions had to accom- 
 pany it. Not alone for eating they would not loose my hands, but 
 they would not loose them for anything else. It is some hundreds 
 of miles from Holyhead to London. Our journey took from four 
 o'clock in the morning to eight o'clock in the evening. One might 
 think that once we were in England our masters would have no 
 scare about our safe keeping; but no, the scare never left them, and 
 they never left us to the ordinary vigilance to which other convicts 
 were left, though they were continually telling us that there was no 
 difference between us aud them. These people preach very much 
 to others about propriety and decency of behaviour, while they out- 
 rage every principle of both in their treatment of those whom they 
 hold as their enemies. When we went to the closet on board the 
 steamboat, the sentinel kept opening the closet- door every half- 
 minute lest we should attempt an esccape through the pipes or 
 through the port-hole, and they would not for any consideration 
 allow us off the railroad car while we were on the journey from 
 Holyhead to London. 
 
 It was Christmas eve, and at every station we could see the filled 
 hampers that were being taken to their homes by the merry people 
 
0' Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 83 
 
 of " merry England," who were going to have a happy Christmas. 
 How could it be helped if we had sad thoughts at the reflection 
 that those near and dear to us were to have a poor time of it. 
 Some very nicely regulated minds can derive pleasure under any 
 circumstances from seeing people happy, but I confess that on this 
 occasion my equanimity was not much improved by witnessing the 
 gaiety of a Christmas time that I could but very poorly enjoy. 
 How often in prison did I feel inclined to bear testimony to that 
 truth the poet sings — 
 
 " That a sorrows' crown of sorrow is remembering happier things." 
 
 I have no doubt that, as another poet sings, the memories of 
 the pleasant past are always pleasant when you are in a position to 
 repeat the enjoyment, but locked up in prison, and debarred from 
 all the world's enjoyment, the recollection of the jolly times I had 
 spent in the past did not come to me with any soothings for the 
 gloomy present. 
 
 Our train arrived at Euston-square Station, London, about 8 
 o'clock in the evening, and there was a little army of jailers and 
 policemen waiting for us on the platform. They had with them 
 two of those vans which are kept for transferring criminals from 
 the courts to the prisons, and into these we were ushered. So close a 
 place of confinement I was never in. The compartments were 
 about two feet square, and I was locked up in one of these after 
 having been unbound from the others and getting a whole pair of 
 handcuffs to myself. The horses galloped through the streets of 
 London, and I got no glimpse of light again till I was taken out of 
 my coop when inside the gates of Pentonville prison. As I was as- 
 cending the steps to the front door of my future residence one of 
 the jailers that was in waiting to receive me caught hold of me by 
 the shoulder, and, as he clutched me, said, " Get up, Paddy." Talk 
 as you may of bearing imprisonment properly, and with that sub- 
 mission which becomes a man, you cannot talk my blood into cool- 
 ness or good behavior under certain provocations; it will get hot 
 and rush to the head, as it did when the fellow addressed me with 
 his "G-et up, Paddy." My first impulse was to stop his tongue 
 with a blow, and my being a convict, or my being in prison, or my 
 being in the midst of my enemies, would not have prevented his 
 getting it, if I were not manacled. 
 
 The governor of the prison took a look at us as we stood in one 
 of the large halls, and having examined the papers that were 
 brought with us, gave us over to the petty officers to be put through 
 and located. We were ordered to strip as we stood in line, and I 
 threw off my shoes, my jacket, trousers and vest. Thinking this 
 much was enough, I stopped, and one of the surveyors cried out, 
 " Why don't you strip ?" I asked him had I not taken off as much 
 as was necessary, and he said, " No, take off those stockindgs an 
 
84 Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 that shirt," and in a short time the six of us stood naked on the 
 flags. 
 
 There we were in a row, quite naked before the gaze of these 
 officials, and then commenced that examination of us which cannot 
 well be described, but which left au impression on our minds never 
 to be effaced. These English people speak of their sense of 
 decency — nay, they have laws in the interest of morality that punish 
 wanton exposure of the person, but such gross ruffianism as at- 
 tended our entrance into a residence in the civilized city of London 
 is something that should be put an end to, even in a convict prison. 
 
 I had been blessing my stars on account of the removal from 
 Ireland to England, for now I thought that the fears of our masters 
 were removed, I could have rest and liberty to write to my family, 
 I gave the English credit for their magnanimity and for their desire 
 to treat us decently when their scare was over, but "if Hive to be as 
 old as Methuselah" they'll never have such credit from me again. 
 The first practical experience I had in England of their dark 
 designs regarding us was in the dressing of us. They took our 
 Irish clothes away when they had stripped us, and opposite to 
 where we stood were six little parcels, placed each about three feet 
 apart from its neighbors, which turned out to be our six suits of 
 clothes. Number one in the line of prisoners took number one of 
 the parcels, number two two, and so on until we were all sup- 
 plied. The first thing I looked for were the flannels, bufc I 
 looked for them in vain. I asked where was the inside clothing, 
 and was told there was none. I remarked that I had got 
 flannels in Ireland, that I had just taken them off, and I asked 
 that if new ones were not given to me I may be supplied 
 with the old ones, but all to no use. Our reception had been pre- 
 pared for us, and the doctor of the prison had decided that we 
 were to have no flannels at reception. This was the most cruel 
 treatment, for it was mid-winter and the snow was covering the 
 ground. To give any idea by words of the cold I experienced, is 
 what I could not do, and when hunger came with cold it is surpris- 
 ing that so many of us lived the time through. 
 
 When the six of us were dressed we were led to our cells, 
 and no two of us were placed in the same ward of the prison. I 
 asked the warder, who had charge of me if I could not have a 
 warm drink of some kind, as I felt fatigued, and cold and thirsty. 
 He said he would get me my supper in a few minutes, and that is 
 all he could do. He lit the gas, and, putting the k^y in the door 
 before he shut me in, said he would be back in a few minutes. The 
 few minutes passed, and back he came with a piece of bread an i 
 piece of cheese. "Officer," I said, "where is the warm drink?' 
 ' Warm drink !" exclaimed he, as if in surprise at my presumption, 
 " there is y- ur warm drink," pointing to a water tap that was fixed 
 over the water closet which the cell contained, "there is your pint 
 and you have everything in your cell that is necessary for you. I 
 
(J Donovan RossaJs Prison Life. 85 
 
 am going to leave you now for half-an-hour while you are eating 
 your supper, at the end of that time I will be back, and let you 
 bave your body-clothes made up in a bundle to put outside the 
 door as well as every moveable article of furniture you have in 
 your cell, for there is nothing to be left with you during the night 
 that can be taken away from you." " All right, governor," said I, 
 "I'll try to do the best I can for you." He turned his big key upon 
 me, and I turned my attention to my supper and my bed. I took 
 the tin vessel and turned the tap and drank a pint of cold water. 
 I filled again and finished a second pint. The bread and cheese 
 remained untouched for want of appetite, and then I proceeded to 
 make my bed. That consisted of a board seven feet by three, with 
 a few other boards about eight inches high nailed on the head by 
 way of a pillow; a mattress about half an inch thick, not quite so 
 hard as the board, two sheets, a blanket and a rug. I made my 
 bed, and it was making a hard bed for myself, but I suppose I had 
 been at that a long time. I took off my body-clothes and folded 
 them up nicely, according to instructions, so as to have them ready 
 to put outside the door when the officer came. The table, the pint, 
 the timber plate, the timber spoon, the timber salt cellar, the towel, 
 the soap, the stool, and the Bible were the only moveable articles 
 in my cell, and these I had arranged in proper order to put out- 
 side the door when the orders came. I always liked to get the 
 character of being a good boy. I am terribly weak in desiring chat 
 every one that I have anything to do with should have a good 
 opinion of me, and be thoroughly pleased with me, and on this oc- 
 casion I had worked so diligently to make a good impression upon 
 my keeper that I was a quarter of an hour standing undressed in 
 my bedroom before the door was unlocked. I put out my furni- 
 ture article after article, and every article I put out was counted 
 and noted by the guardians. The name of one of them was Web- 
 ber, and some way or other getting a civil word from him I com- 
 menced talking to him about an Englishman named Webber whom 
 I knew at Skibbereen. He spoke rather civilly, and I thought if 
 he was to be my keeper I could get along pretty well with him, but 
 he was not left long in charge of me. My light was put out, my 
 door was locked. I lay on my bed, and tried to warm myself by 
 wrapping the clothes tightly around me, but all to no purpose. I 
 could do nothing better than shiver the whole night through. Six 
 o'clock in the morning came, my door was opened, I got a lamp to 
 light my gas, took my clothes and my furniture, and commenced 
 the day's work. But except dressing and eating there was no work 
 to be done this day, for it was Sunday. I got my breakfast, which 
 consisted of a pint of cocoa and eight ounces of bread; the drink I 
 swallowed greedily, but I could not touch the food. Dinner hour 
 came at twelve o'clock. I got eight ounces of bread and four 
 onnces of cheese, but my stomach refused to receive either of 
 mem. Supper followed at five — this came in the shape of six 
 
86 O Donovan Rossa's Prison Life: 
 
 ounces of bread and a pint of porridge, and that was our Sunday 
 course at Pentonville while we remained there. At half-past seven 
 o'clock the bell rang to prepare for bed, the previous night's oper- 
 ation had to be gone through — my little room was gutted of its 
 contents, my body clothes were laid outside, and I was left nothing 
 but that comfortless bed and board. To sleep here was nearly as 
 impossible as in Dublin. It is true I was weary and wanted sleep, 
 but the intense cold I felt kept me shivering and shaking. How- 
 ever, if the cold was bad when first you went to bed and tried to 
 go to sleep, it was far worse when, after a few hours of uneasy 
 slumber, you awoke still shivering and shaking with the terrible 
 prospect of shivering and shaking for several hours before the time 
 to get up and get back your clothes. In the way of mere physical 
 discomfort I do not know that I ever experienced anything worse 
 than these early morning hours in Pentonville. 
 
 Doubtless, what I went through afterwards was far worse as re- 
 gards bodily pain; but then I had become as it were wedded to 
 suffering. But I must let the future speak for itself. What I have 
 here to speak of is the horrible sensation of cold in the morning 
 in those cheerless Pentonville cells. It was not so much the inten- 
 sity of the cold, for probably the cold was not so intense, as the 
 abominable feeling of always awaking cold, and the hopeless and 
 helpless feeling that there was no prospect of going to sleep again, 
 and no possible way of getting warm till the bell rang and you 
 were allowed to get up and put on your clothes. The remembrance 
 of these physical sufferings is, as a general rule, excessively fugi- 
 tive and short-lived — you are hungry, thirsty, hot or cold, and you 
 feel sharply and forget quickly; but I do not think I shall ever for- 
 get those Pentonville mornings. Few people would find the occu- 
 pation of blackening a floor a very pleasant one; but I can assure 
 my readers that I felt very positive pleasure in scrubbing my cell 
 until I brought back the warmth to my benumbed body, and the 
 power of active thinking to my half torpid brain. 
 
 To brighten this black floor required vigorous exertion with the 
 two brushes that were supplied to each of us, and though I went to 
 the work with a wiii, for the purpose cf bringing the blood into cir- 
 culation, when the job was done an exhaustion ensued, for which a 
 healthy man would be laughed at if he was working in company ; 
 but my readers must always bear in mind that English prison dis- 
 cipline would not allow us more food or clothes than was barely 
 necessary to sustain life, and when I was not able to eat this food 
 during the first days of my residence in London, matters went 
 pretty hard with me. 
 
 Some mornings, hard as I worked at the floor — which was made 
 from a composition of some black stuff* — and willing as I was to 
 work for my own purpose, I could not please my warder. He kept 
 continually telling me that I should put more elbow grease on it. 
 When he spurred me I took the spur and brushed the harder. 
 
O* Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 87 
 
 Seeing, I suppose, that I was a rather tractable individual, 
 and willing to do my best, he one morning put his hand in hia 
 pocket, and pulling out a piece of something like shoemaker's heel 
 ball, said, "Here, rub this to the floor, and brush it well off after- 
 wards, and you will have less trouble in bringing on the polish. 
 I am not allowed to give this to the prisoners, and you will take 
 good care not to use too much of it at a time." I thanked him, and 
 showed by the life I put into the scrubbing-brush as he stood look- 
 ing at me that I appreciated his kindness. 
 
 The second day I spent at Pentonville was Christmas Day. My 
 Christmas breakfast was eight ounces of bread and three-quarters of 
 pint of cocoa. MyChristmas dinner was four ounces of meat, five ounces 
 of bread, and one pound of potatoes; and my supper seven ounces of 
 bread and a pint of porridge. The dinner was given to me in a tin 
 having two compartments, in one of which was the meat and in 
 the other the potatoes. The porridge and the cocoa were measured 
 into my own pint, which, with every th.ng else I used, was to be 
 brightened up after each meal. I was allowed a knife, a plate, and 
 a spoon. The knife was a bit of tin about four inches long and an 
 inch and a-half wide. The snoon was a timber one, substantial 
 enough by its thickness to fill my mouth, and the plate was timber 
 also. 1 had a comb and a brush about two inches long and one in 
 width; but as I never saw the like of this brush before, and did not 
 know whether it was intended for a hair brush or a nail brush, I 
 seldom or ever used it. I had two leather knee caps to wear when 
 I was polishing the floor, and these, with my stool and table, con- 
 stituted my household furniture. 
 
 In one corner of the cell was a kind of open cupboard fixed in 
 the walls, on which my bed-clothes were to be placed, nicely folded 
 to a regulated height and breadth. My towel was also to be folded 
 np in a particular manner with my bit of soap in the middle of it, 
 and open to the view of the " principal," who came in every morning 
 to see if everything was in order. It took me an hour to fold 
 these things, and if they were not folded so as to please the 
 officer, he pulled them off the shelf and threw them about the 
 floor, ordering me to go at them again. A man does not like to 
 have any of his handiwork treated with contempt, and when I 
 thought I had my cell made up in the nicest manner possible, it 
 tested my patience to see this gentleman come and toss everything 
 upside down. Indeed, I believe he did it for the very purpose of 
 testing it, and I made up my mind that that was to be proof 
 against every irritation. 
 
 My gas burner had a little brass tip, and this was to be kept 
 brightly burnished. The water-pipe, turned one way, flowed into 
 my wasning basin, which was also of brass, and turned another way 
 it flowed into a close stool which was fixed in my narrow and 
 badly-ventilated apartment; all the brasses connected with closet, 
 and tap and washing apparatus had to be kept shining bright: tile 
 
88 O Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 timber cover of the close stool, tlie table, the stool, the plate and the 
 spoon had to be kept nearly white as snow. 
 
 Christmas day passed rather heavily on my hands. It was one 
 of those dark London foggy days, and my window being made of 
 thick semi-transparent glass, which sunlight will not penetrate, and 
 that will let in as little daylight as possible, it may be imagined 
 that I had a gloomy time of it. 
 
 At night my ribs and my hips felt the proximity of the hard 
 board, so much so that after a time the skin on those parts of my 
 body on which I was accustomed to lie became quite rough, and 
 I found that in the kind of sleep I got I learned to roll mechanically 
 from side to side every fifteen minutes or so without waking. I 
 have not thoroughly got rid of the habit yet. I have read of a saint 
 who, when he was in the flesh, was obliged to lie upon iron spikes, 
 and so accustomed did he become to lying on such a bed, that when 
 he was relieved from the necessity of doing so he could not sleep 
 upon a softer one, and went back to his iron couch for repose. It 
 is here that I find myself lacking the virtues that go to make a saint. 
 I never sigh after the clawr bug dale of my procrustean bed, nor 
 would I ever care to go back to it. Yet it has not such terrors for 
 me as that I would not run the risk of embracing it again with a 
 fair chance of success in the attainment of the object of my ambi- 
 tion — a chance that will come with better auspices when better 
 spirits come, or broader or better views come into the minds of 
 those who profess to be working to bring it about, and then it is not 
 the bed of an English prison I would risk, but that of a prison from 
 which there is no earthly release. 
 
 Tuesday morning, the 26th December, '65, dawned npon me ; 
 the bell rang to get out of bed at six o'clock, the little trap door 
 was opened, and a little lamp was handed to me to light my gas 
 with, and my breakfast followed. There was an air of business, or 
 a noise of business in the whole concern just now, that I did not 
 notice either of the preceding two days. It was the first working 
 day since we came, and there was a pretty busy time of it in in- 
 stalling us in office. At nine o'clock I was conducted from my 
 apartment to the centre of the large hall of the prison. By-and-by 
 I saw John O'Leary approach me, and one after one my companions 
 appeared from different parts of the prison till the six of us stood 
 in line. The deputy-governor, a gentleman named Farquharson — 
 if etiquette will allow me to call him a gentleman — made his ap- 
 pearance with the rules and regulations in his hand. In the bustle 
 of preparation to do some important business, John O'Leary whis- 
 pered to me "This is hell." "Yes," said I, "hell open to sinners;" 
 and a hellish-looking place it was, this prison of her Britannic Ma- 
 jesty, with all the spirits that had liberty to pass to and fro, having 
 the gloomy, grizzly air of the unfortunate little devils that we are 
 told keep watch and ward in the dark corridors of the prison of his 
 satanic majesty. 
 
O Donovan Rossd s Prison Life. 89 
 
 We were marched into line, and being called to attention, Far- 
 quharson stood opposite, and commenced to read the rules. 
 Our caps were off, our hands and feet in the military position, and 
 if one may judge by our motionless behavior, we were as attentive 
 as possible. Here, as in Mountjoy, one of the rules declared that 
 every prisoner could write a letter on reception, and here, as in 
 Mountjoy, this rule was set aside for our benefit, for when I asked 
 to write, I was told that I could not do so until special instructions 
 came in my case. I was beginning to get cured of the notion that 
 we were brought to England for the purpose of receiving generous 
 treatment, and I began soon to realize that these great peo- 
 ple positively brought us to their country for the purpose of 
 having us more surely under their thumb, and being better able to 
 persecute us without fear of exposure, besides having the pleasure 
 of witnessing their victims undergoing their tortures, and fretting 
 under the wanton annoyances to which they subjected them. We 
 were to be as ordinary prisoners — no difference between us and any 
 other convicts — yet, the ordinary rules were set aside, and special 
 instructions received to treat us worse than the thieves and mur- 
 derers of England. 
 
 When the rules were read for us, we were measured and weighed, 
 and I heard the officer cry out, " Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa five- 
 nine-and-a-half, eleven-eight." The "eleven-eight" told me I had 
 lost some twenty pounds of my flesh since I left the world. Back 
 to our cells again, every warder taking his own prisoner with him, 
 my door was locked, and no sooner locked than opened again with, 
 the order to strip off e /erything but my trowsers and shoes. I 
 obeyed orders. "Here now," says my guardian, pulling down my 
 bed that was nicely folded, tossing it about the floor and keeping 
 the rug in his hand, " take this and put it about you." I did so. 
 He stood at the door and directed his eyes to a particular part of 
 the prison; the signal came, and pointing to me with his club to go 
 on before him, I advanced. "Forward," "Look to your front," 
 "To the left," "Eight," "Look to your front/' "To the right," 
 and thus he drove me through the corridors and around the corners 
 until he cried " Halt" opposite a cell, which contained a loom and 
 an individual dressed in civilian's clothes. In I went, and the indi- 
 vidual ordered me to take off the rug. He felt my pulse, examined 
 my chest, and went at me like a doctor of the establishment, and 
 as I had made up my mind to have a word with that gentlemen when 
 I met him, I asked if I might ask him a question, and his reply was 
 yes. " Are you the medical officer of the establishment ?" " Yes." 
 And getting this affirmative reply, I said, " Doctor, when I arrived 
 at this prison I was stripped of the flannels I had and got none in 
 exchange. I asked for some, and was told that you had ordered 
 none for us; I feel intense cold, and I make an application to you 
 for more clothing." 
 
 " I cannot give you any more than you have." 
 
90 O Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 "Very well. I have discharged my duty to myself in making 
 the application." 
 
 "That will do. 
 "Right about face," cried my jailer, at the instant, as if he knew 
 that the " that will do" of the doctor was the signal that I was 
 polished off; and in a few minutes I was locked up in my cell 
 and dressed myself. By-and-by the door was again opened and the 
 order again given to prepare for exercise. I stepped outside the 
 door, and as the order was given to open my jacket, to open my waist- 
 coat, to take of my shoes, to take off my cap to unbutton my braces, to 
 extend my hands, and keep my feet apart, I did each in turn, and 
 the warder, as the prison phraseology has it, "rubbed me down" — 
 that is, he put his two hands at the back of my neck, and felt the 
 collars all around; he slipped his hands inside my unbuttoned 
 braces, till his fingers met behind my back, then he manipulated 
 every inch of my body, front and rear; he seized one arm of mine 
 between his hands, and felt it down to the tips of my fingers; he 
 did the same to the other; then he laid hold of a leg and searched 
 along till he came to the big toe, and after repeating the procees on 
 the second leg, he finished by rubbing his palms over my cropped 
 skull. "Button up;" "forward;" look to your front," "to the right," 
 "to the left," "halt." I stood, and while the gate was opening, I 
 took a side squint and saw Pagan standing about thirty yards be- 
 hind me; his officer had ordered him to halt, lest he should come too 
 near me. I saw by the precautions taken to keep us from getting a 
 look at any other prisoner that the orders regarding us here must 
 be very stringent, and that they were special and exceptionally 
 severe, even in the manner of giving us the hour's exercise. In 
 this prison all the convicts on first reception are exercised, or rather 
 aired, in one large yard. Here there are three circles, one within 
 another, the arc of each being a flagging about eighteen 
 inches wide. The convicts walk on these flags, and in three differ- 
 ent places between each circle there are raised pathways, on which 
 the officers walk, and have a view of the whole ring. The prison- 
 ers walk about four paces apart, and if one of them is detected 
 attempting to pass a whisper or a sign of recognition to another he 
 is immediately sent into his cell and held under report for puuish- 
 ment. I did not get my hour's airing in this yard; the place I was 
 taken to was one specially built and meant for the taming of refrac- 
 tory characters, and before they gave us any trial, or even a chance 
 to become refractory, they treated us as such. A man's clothes or 
 cell furniture are not taken from him at night unless he has at- 
 tempted to escape or to break his prison; a man is not sent into the 
 coach-wheel for his airing unless he has been sent back from an- 
 other prison to be kept in solitary confinement all hours, in doors as 
 well as out of doors, but none of these preliminaries to punish- 
 ment seemed to be required in our case. 
 
 It was taken for grant ed that we wer e bad, and we got the bene- 
 
Q Donovan Rosso: s Prison Life. 91 
 
 fit of what the worst state of things would allow. To make you 
 thoroughly understand what the coach-wheel yard is, you may 
 imagine a large wheel, 100 feet in diameter, lying on the ground, it 
 has fifty spokes, and on every spoke there is built a wall ten feet 
 high. Between every two of these walls one of us is confined for 
 an hour each day. The rim of the wheel is an iron grating, around 
 which the Governor walked occasionally and obliged us to give him 
 a military salute. Toward the centre of the wheel a door enters or 
 opens from every compartment, and within the stock or the hub of 
 the wheel is a room in which the officer keeps a watch upon the 
 convicts. 
 
 If the victim of the law stoops to pick up a pretty pebble, or 
 stops to scratch a word on one of the bricks, he is challenged im- 
 mediately, and it is surprising the number of people who risk the 
 challenge, if one may judge from the number of scratches on the brick 
 wall, which is alive with observations of all 'dnds. One stone bears the 
 record of the conviction of " Stepeney Joe," and the unmentionable 
 offence for which he was convicted ; another tells how the pig was sent 
 back to Portland and the piggish crime he committed; a third 
 brings the news how "the Prince's gal" after the Prince was "lag- 
 ged" went to live with "Crow;" a fourth informs the solitary public 
 that the governor is a brute, and so on to any number and every 
 variety of running commentary upon things in general. 'Twas a 
 recreation in solitude to read the evidence of live beings being 
 around, even though you did not see them, it was the dead wall 
 speaking to you, and though the language had not the chastity of 
 death about it, still it brought you more cheer than if there were 
 no traces of life to be seen. You came to read "cheer up" — 
 " cheer up," so often, or, at least, I came to read it, that I felt my- 
 self growing sympathetic towards the writers. During my time in 
 prison my masters sought to punish me by putting me in close asso- 
 ciation with them, and I as often kicked against it ; but let me here 
 confess the truth, I would choose their society before the society of 
 my own thoughts in dark solitude; and if I often spurned it and 
 went back to the loneliness of my cell and the poverty of bread 
 and water, I did it more in opposition to the authority that would 
 degrade an Irish " rebel " to herd with its criminals than from any 
 choice I had for my own company. If you who shudder at the 
 thought of contact with the vilest of human beings test the strength 
 of your horror and contamination by two or three years' solitary 
 confinement, you may change a little. The sight of a human face, 
 no matter how deformed, and the sound of a human tongue, no mat- 
 ter how vile, is a gladsome thing to me, if I am any considerable 
 length of time out of reach of either. 
 
 " I like the Frenchman, his remark was good, 
 How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude, 
 But give me still a friend in my retreat 
 Whom I may whisper — ' Solitude is sweet.' " 
 
92 G 1 Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 When the first hour's exercise was over in the refractory prison- 
 er's yard, I was ordered to my cell, with every precaution taken that 
 I should not see any one else on my way to it. One of the prison 
 schoolmasters calls, and says it is necessary to classify me, in 
 order to give me suitable reading. He tells me to read a little 
 for him, then he puts me down as No. 3, and he leaves me a book 
 about birds' nests. I thought I should be blessed in getting some- 
 thing to feed my mind on, but what he gave me was of little use. 
 Class 3 was a class of very moderate attainments, and he thought 
 there was no use giving me heavy matter to read. I suppose that, 
 in going through the exercise he gave, the cold made me shiver and 
 stutter, and made him judge I had learned my primer. I was sup- 
 plied with a set of religious books, consisting of a " Garden of the 
 Soul," a "Think Well on It," a "Poor Man's Catechism," and a 
 "New Testament." The schoolmaster also gave me a grammar 
 and an arithmetic, which, with the religious books, I could keep al- 
 ways with me, and told me the other book would be changed once 
 every fortnight. He left me a slate and pencil, and said I would 
 get one hour's schooling every week, and he wonld call to see what 
 progress I was making, but this schooling we did not receive until 
 we were about six weeks in the prison. After the schoolmaster was 
 gone a most important individual visited me in the shape of a Prison 
 Director. He was accompanied to the cell by the Governor and 
 three of the warders, and the moment the door turned on its 
 hinges, the three sub-officers cried out, one after another, " Atten- 
 tion, attention, attention !" I stood to my feet, my cap was on my 
 head when the key was turned in the door, and I left it on. I was 
 ordered to take it off, and I did. The Governor told me I should 
 never wear my cap while in my cell; that I should always keep it 
 hanging on the bell-handle, and [that [it was only given to me to 
 be worn out of doors. I said that my head was shaven so close, and 
 my clothing was so light, that I felt intense cold and felt more com- 
 fortable with my cap on. The Director said I had as much clothing 
 as the regulations allowed — that, if more was necessary, the doctor 
 would order it for me, but that the discipline of the prison should 
 be maintained before every thing else. The big man's name was 
 Gambier, and he and I became afterwards very much acquainted 
 with each other. 'Twas no social acquaintance, but one in a line of 
 business. It was his duty to order the infliction of punishment, 
 and mine to go before him to hear the indictment against me. He 
 was a tall, smooth-tongued old gentleman of about seventy, with 
 very white hair, a glass eye, and a large red, jolly-looking nose, 
 which I could never look at without thinking of the good old times 
 of Irish whisky punch and jolly company. He could order you fifty 
 lashes on the bare back and twenty-eight days on bread and water, 
 in the most pathetic tones of regret that your bad behavior and the 
 necessity of maintaining discipline called for it; and you'd think his 
 
CP Donovan* jfioosdt Prison Life. 93 
 
 glass eye, as well as his unglazed one, was swimming in tears over 
 your misery. 
 
 Captain Gambier gave orders to put me to tailoring, and told me 
 the more obedient I was and the more industrious, the better it 
 would be for myself. I asked him if I could not write that reception 
 letter, which the rule on that card — pointing to the regulations on 
 the wall — says every prisoner is entitled to write on his arrival. 
 He said he had no power to allow me to write, but that, no doubt, 
 a time would come when I would be allowed. 
 
 Some fifteen minutes after this party left me, an officer brought 
 me needle and thread, a thimble and scissors, and told me to prac- 
 tice stitching on a piece of jacket stuff he laid on the table. "Sew 
 it all round, and when you have one circle of stitches made make 
 another circle an inch farther in, and so on until you have the whole 
 piece sewed up. When you have practice enough to enable you to 
 stitch pretty well, I will give you a jacket to make; but stop, I 
 must cut this thread shorter." " Why, Governor," said I, " 'tis 
 short enough already ?" " That's no matter," said he, " I must obey 
 my orders," and he cut my skein of housewife thread to about twelve 
 inches in length. This was lest I should have thought of manufac- 
 turing any of it into a rope for escape. 'Twas an annoyance to be 
 threading my needle after every few stitches, but 'twas foolish of 
 me to get annoyed at trifles of this kind. My time belonged to 
 my owners, and if they set me threading needles all day, I could 
 not grumble ; 'twas not about my work they cared, but about 
 worrying me. 
 
 Tuesday's dinner was four ounces of meat, five ounces of bread, 
 and a pound of potatoes. My appetite had not come to me yet, 
 and I did not feel at all in good humor. I had seven or eight 
 small loaves of bread accumulated in my cupboard ; the officer told 
 me that was against the regulations, and I should either eat them or 
 have them removed, as the law did not allow more than one day's 
 bread to remain in the cell of any prisoner. I told him I could not 
 eat it, and on his asking me if I would permit him to take it away, 
 I replied; " of course, yes." As he was counting the loaves, I said, 
 " where, Governor, is Mr. Webber. I have not seen him since the 
 first night ?" Did you know Mr. Webber ?" he inquired. I answered 
 " No, but I knew an English namesake of his." " Well," added he, 
 you won't see Mr. Webber here for awhile again." From the few 
 words that were heard to pass between Webber and me the first 
 night it was feared we knew each other; he was advising me to 
 keep quiet, to do everything I was told, and that in a short time I 
 would get used to the place. I thought he spoke kindly and I 
 thanked him; but some other officer listening made a story of it, 
 and he was removed. 
 
 The history of one day — Vitam continet una dies — contains the 
 history of nearly every day of prison life ; the same cheerless food; 
 the same solitary confinement ; the same dreary monotony ; except 
 
94 Q Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 that if you grew discontented with any of these things you could 
 have a change for the worse in dark cells, bread and water, hand- 
 cuffs, or anything that way you desired to choose as a variety ; and 
 I grew into such a state of mind that to get a change, even from bad 
 to worse, was a kind of relief to me. 
 
 The rising at six was the same every day of the week ; the 
 breakfast of eight ounces of bread and three-quarters of a pint of 
 cocoa was the same; the polishing of the floor, the making up of the 
 bed, the searching before getting the hour's airing, with an ad- 
 ditional hour every second day; and the same searching when re- 
 turning to your cell; the eternal stitch, stitch, stitch, with the spy 
 stealing around in soft slippers, spying in occasionally to see if he 
 could catch you idle, and report you; the supper of seven ounces of 
 bread and one p^u' of porridge at six o'clock; the hour and a-halfs 
 work afterwards till you prepared your bed and had your furniture 
 to put outside the door, and your clothes packed up to put out at 
 eight, when the gas was turned off, and you were left to twist and 
 turn to ease your ribs till morning. 
 
 'Twas all the same in everything, except the dinner, and in this 
 there were four changes a week. Two days there was a quarter of 
 a pound of beef; two days a quarter of a pound of mutton. One 
 day, Thursday, a flour pudding that would take the stomach of an 
 ostrich to digest. One day, Wednesday, a pint of soup, without 
 any solid meat, and Sunday four ounces of cheese for dinner, with- 
 out meat or drink, unless you chose to drink water. 
 
 You were supposed to be at work from breakfast hour in the 
 morning until half-past seven in the evening, except that you had 
 one hour for dinner; and if you were in a mood for study this left 
 you fifty-five minutes to read, for with the . ravenous appetite you 
 were sure to get, if you were not in a dying state, you could devour 
 all the food you had in less than five minutes. After the first three 
 days my appetite returned to me, and my craving for food be- 
 came intense; it was the greatest imaginable pleasure to me to 
 have enough to eat. Many a day and many a night I regretted 
 having allowed the warder to take away those six little loaves of 
 bread that accumlated in my cell after my arrival; and often did I 
 say to myself what a fool I was. For four years this feeling of 
 hunger never left me, and I could eat rats and mice if they came 
 in my way, but there wasn't a spare crumb in any of these cells to 
 induce a rat or mouse to visit it. 
 
 In reading books of battle and adventure when I was a little 
 fellow I never could realize to myself that any condition of exist- 
 ence would make me eat dead horses and dead cats, such as besieged 
 armies were described as eating, but my prison life did away with 
 the boyish notion, and I do not now wonder at any story of canni- 
 balism when the stomach craved food. I used to creep on my 
 hands and knees from corner to corner of my cell to see if I could 
 find the smallest crumb that might have fa*' en '*^a me when I was 
 
O Donovan RosscCs Prison Life, 95 
 
 eating my breakfast or dinner some hours previously. "When I had 
 salt in my cell I ate it for the purpose of assisting me to drink 
 water to fill my stomach. It was often a question of deep consid- 
 eration for me whether water contained any nutrition, and the fact 
 that the people who tried to break my spirit by starving me left an 
 unlocked water-tap in my cell made me decide in the negative. 
 
 I do not think I had one hour of calm, easy sleep during these 
 years — that is, if it be true that sleep to be calm and refreshing 
 must be unaccompanied by dreams. My whole prison life was a 
 life of dreams, and the night portion of them was not the pleasant- 
 est. Well, some of them were pleasant enough, till the awaking 
 brought me the bitter disappointment — a disappointment intensi- 
 fied by the knowledge that I had no possible chance of realizing in 
 my sober senses the imaginary pleasures which the vision had given 
 me. Well do I remember in awakening from these dreams the 
 efforts I made to snooze myself back in order that the god of 
 sleep might vonchsafe to me a continuance of the dreamy pleasure 
 that was escaping from me, and often did I, on fully awakening, 
 smile at these endeavors to cheat the devil out of his due, or, in 
 other words, to cheat the British Government out of the measure 
 of punishment they had exacted from me. 
 
 The platefuls of bread and butter that I ate some nights would 
 be alarming to any physician, were he to see me eat them, and as 
 for hams of bacon, there would be no keeping account of them. My 
 mind must have received impressions of punch and mulled porter 
 somewhere,for I found myself indulging in one or the other occa- 
 sionally, till the sound of a bell, or the clanking of keys dashed 
 the pewter or the tumbler out of my hand. 
 
 Hunger had one time brought me to view things in such a philo- 
 sophical manner, that if when eating my eight ounces of bread I 
 found a beetle or a ciarogue cracking between my teeth, instead of 
 spitting out in disgust what I was chewing, I would chew away 
 with the instinctive knowledge that nature had provided for the 
 carrying away of anything that was foul and the retaining of what 
 was nutritious from what I swallowed. So much had the feeling 
 of hunger taken possession of me, that, day by day, I found myself 
 regretting that I did not eat more of the good things of the world 
 when I was in society, and my teeth would water at the recollection 
 of a leg of lamb or mutton. This is not to be wondered at when it 
 is understood that starvation was a part of my punishment, and 
 that I had experienced the sobering influences of bread and water 
 for a period of five hundred and sixty days, during the first three or 
 four years of my imprisonment. 
 
 I did not pretend to my persecutors that I felt the least incon- 
 venience from all they were putting me through ; but I suppose 
 they knew very well that I could not but feel miserable. Their 
 business was to make me so, and make me beg for peace or mercy, 
 and my part of the game was not to give them the satisfaction of 
 
96 O Donovan IZossa's Prison Life. 
 
 letting them see that I cared about their punishment. I had all 
 along a secret feeling of defiance that sustained me when they were 
 illtreating me. It did not show itself on the surface, for I was habit- 
 ually polite, except on two or three occasions, that their outrages 
 got the better of me; then the spirit broke out and pitched them 
 and their rules and regulations to the devil. I had a feeling that I 
 would have to succumb to the ordeal in the long run, and I took a 
 resolution I would make my death as dear to them as possible ; that 
 they were treating me, and should treat me, in a manner that would 
 disgrace them if it were known ; and then my efforts were directed 
 to make it known, or to leave such evidence on record as would 
 have a chance of coming to light at a coroner's inquest. As, in 
 making these remarks, I am going before my time, I think I had 
 better pull myself up, and in another chapter go regularly through 
 my course at Pentonville. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Arrival in Pentonville Prison, London — Stripped — Deprived 
 of Flannels — Fixed in my Quarters — Bed and Board, Etc. 
 
 On the Wednesday after my arrival in Pentonville I was in reg- 
 ular working order ; the master tailor who examined my stitching 
 thought I did it very well, and brought me a waistcoat to make. 
 The principal officer of the ward brought me a button and told me 
 to sew it on the breast of my jacket just opposite my heart, and 
 when this was done he handed me a round little board on which 
 was painted the number 26. A leather strap was nailed to it, and 
 he told me to attach it to the button and never to take it off. This 
 26 was the number of my cell, and it was to be my name in prison. 
 I was newly christened, and the name of Rossa was to be heard no 
 more. 'Twas 26 here and 26 there and 26 everywhere. The gov- 
 ernor of the jail and the deputy-governor visited 26 every day, and 
 the number was ordered to stand to attention and stood erect. The 
 jailer that accompanied the deputy-governor told 26 several times 
 that besides standing to attention he should salute the superior 
 officers by raising his hand to his uncovered head : 26 listened 
 patiently, but he always seemed to forget the instructions when the 
 superior officers came, for when the orders were given to stand to 
 attention, he stood with his hands rigidly fixed to his sides. For 
 this he was often reprimanded, but they did not inflict any further 
 punishment for the dereliction of duty. 
 
 A bell rang at eight o'clock every morning, and I heard the 
 whole prison moving, but did not know for a time what was up. 
 I made bold enough to ask an officer what was the matter, and I 
 was told it was going to prayers. " And cannot you take me to 
 prayers?" said I. " No," he answered ; "there is no service in the 
 prison for Catholics ; Millbank is the place for that." When the 
 Governor came round I begged leave to ask him a question, and he 
 gave me permission. " I understand, Governor," said I, " that the 
 prison rules accord religious service to all convicts, and how is it 
 that I am kept from chapel ?" " We have no Roman Catholic ser- 
 vice here," he answered ; " but I understand the Directors of the 
 Prison are taking measures to have a priest visit you." Friday 
 came, and I got my dinner of four ounces of mutton with a pint of 
 the water in which it was boiled. I asked what was my religious 
 registration in the prison, and I was told it was Roman Catholic. 
 Then I asked if I could not have a fish dinner or some dinner other 
 
98 O Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 than a meat one on Friday, and I was told I could not. " You'll be 
 very glad before long to eat that on a Friday," said the officer, 
 shutting the door in my face, and it was very true for him. But I 
 did not eat it that day, and when he came round for my tins after 
 dinner I put the meat and soup outside the door. " Can't you keep 
 the meat," said he, " and eat it to-morrow ?" " No," I said ; " I 
 should eat it to-day if I kept it in my cell ;" and smiling at me he 
 shut the door more gently than he did before. 
 
 Whatever part of the faith of my fathers I had lost, I had up to 
 this retained the practice of abstaining from meat on Friday. I 
 believe if I had not been put to prison I would have through life 
 adhered to this abstinence — not, perhaps, so much from religious 
 scruples on the matter as from feelings of respect for the memory of 
 the father and mother that reared me a Catholic, or for some hal- 
 lowed recollections of the Catholic associations of early home and 
 its surroundings. This was one link of the chain that I was not 
 going to give up, even though Cardinal Cullen had visited me with 
 the major excommunication of "bell, book and candle light," but 
 though clinging to it, it would, I suppose — if his Eminence ha<3 just 
 grounds for excommunicating me — be only clinging to a straw. 
 
 I was shaved three times a week by one of the warders. The 
 ordinary prisoners, as I afterward learned, were allowed to shave 
 themselves, but the razor was never entrusted into my hands while 
 I remained in this prison. It was a most unwelcome job to the. 
 warder, also ; one of them would go through it pretty smoothly, but 
 two or three others of them would give me an awful scraping. Occa- 
 sionally a convict takes it into his head to release himself from 
 prison by cutting his throat ; and so many of them took it into 
 their heads lately to cheat the Government in this matter, that the 
 authorities had decided to abolish the use of razors altogether, and 
 now the prisoner's beard is clipped with a scissors once a month. 
 
 I got a bath once a week. The water was warm, but very dirty. 
 The bathing pool was a long trough, over whieh were erected sheds 
 to prevent the prisoners communicating, but there was nothing to 
 prevent the water in which the prisoners at each side of me were 
 washing themselves from flowing in to me. Our legs could touch 
 each other under the sheet iron that kept us apart, and I hardly 
 ever took a bath that I hadn't some unfortunate fellow thrusting his 
 leg into my compartment for the purpose of picking up, or rather 
 of kicking up an acquaintance. 
 
 I chanced one day to get next Charles J. Kickham in one of 
 these places ; I saw him as I was passing the door of his crib. I 
 entered mine, stripped off with all the haste I could, jumped into the 
 trough, and stuck one of my legs as far as I could into his compart- 
 ment, poking it about until I touched him. I spoke to him as in- 
 telligibly as I could with my big toe, and he seemed to understand 
 me, for he gave it a shake hands ; to do this he must have dived 
 
O ^ Donovan Bossa's Prison Life, 99 
 
 down a bit, so I drew back my foot, and, taking another dive, 
 thrust my hand in and caught his ; but he gave me such a squeeze 
 as would have made me scream, if my head were not under water, 
 or if the fear of calling the officer's attention were not before my eyes. 
 The next day I came to bathe I thought it was Kickham that I saw 
 again in the same place, and I endeavored to renew the acquaint- 
 ance. There was somewhat of a repetition of the previous day's work. 
 I dressed in a hurry, and as the officer had his back turned I got out 
 and cried, " Keady ;" but before I spoke I had snatched at the hand 
 of the other man who was dressing. He grasped mine affectionate- 
 ly, but as our eyes met I saw it was not Kickham I had, but some 
 poor fellow that was blind of an eye, and in possession of a most i 
 pugnacious-looking face. At this period I was getting my hour's air- 
 ing in the ring with the ordinary prisoners, and the new acquaint- 
 ance never lost sight of me. It amused me often in passing him, to 
 notice how amiably he would try to look at me, and what an expres- 
 sion of friendship would beam in that solitary eye which his head 
 contained. I reciprocated the look as well as I could. I suppose 
 he was a thief, but that is no matter — he was certainly a prisoner 
 and a human being, and here we stood upon equal terms. 
 
 I took advantage of one of the Governor's visits to my cell to 
 renew my application to be allowed to write, but he had not the 
 authority to permit me. I asked him " could I write to the Secre- 
 tary of State," and he said " that was a matter I could bring before 
 the Directors." I wished to know how, and was informed that they 
 met in the prison once a week, and any prisoner could, on applica- 
 tion to the Governor, have his name put down to see them. " Then, 
 Governor," I said, " you'll please take my name," and the Governor 
 told me it was out of order to take it on that occasion — that I 
 should tell my officer, and my officer would take me before him 
 next day, and he would make the order to have me see the Direct- 
 ors, if my business was legitimate. So far so good. I gave my 
 name to my officer, my officer took me to my Governor, my Gov- 
 ernor heard my application to write to my Secretary of State, and 
 put my name down to see my Directors, and when my Directors 
 came I was conducted into their august presence. There were about 
 nine of them in the room ; they gazed at me as I entered and took 
 my position in front of a large table* in obedience to the order of 
 " Stand to attention." 
 
 I swept my eyes around till they rested on Captain Gambier — 
 the old gentleman who sat at the one end of the table in the posi- 
 tion of Chairman. The officer who conducted me in cried out: 
 " Treason-felony convict, Number 26, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, 
 penal servitude for life," and as he ended, the Chairman asked blunt- 
 ly : " What do you want ?" " To write a letter to my wife." 
 " We cannot permit you. Do you want anything else ?" " To 
 write a letter to Mr. Stansfield, Member of the English Parlia* 
 ment." 
 
100 0* Donovan Bossd's Prison Life. 
 
 a We cannot permit you. Do you want anything else ?" 
 
 " To write a letter to the Secretary of State." 
 
 " Granted. Do you want anything else ?" 
 
 " Can you give me any information regarding the religious 
 service which the rules say all prisoners must attend, for I can see 
 nothing of the kind in this establishment ?" 
 
 We have made arrangements to have a priest visit you, and he 
 will give you any information that is necessary on the matter. Do 
 you want anything else ?" 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " Number 26, right-about face," and right-about I faced and 
 marched toward my cell in obedience to orders. 
 
 A few days after, the door of my cell was thrown open and in 
 came a priest. I was very glad to see him. " 'Twas a cure for 
 sore eyes" to see any one or anything that had not the color of the 
 prison, and as the holy father closed the door behind him, I felt 
 myself growing big with joy that I had some one I could speak 
 a word to. 
 
 But I was soon chilled by the cold, icy words of this disciplin- 
 arian. My readers may expect that I was not long speaking to him 
 before I asked him something about Ireland, and as soon as I did 
 he promptly told me that I was not to ask him anything that did 
 not appertain to his prison duties. The conversation turned back 
 on religion again, and again I offended by asking some irrelevant or 
 irreverent question. Father Zanetti stamped on the ground and 
 told me that his honor was at stake, and not to be trespassing upon 
 it. A third time I offended by asking him could he tell me any- 
 thing that he might have seen in print about my wife and children, 
 and a third time he told me that I must not ask him any questions 
 about the world or anything in it. He told me he would bring 
 books from his prison, and do everything else for us he could con- 
 sistent with his duty. A fourth tLne I offended by asking him 
 if he would convey a remembrance from me to my fellow-prisoners, 
 and he left me, carrying with him, no doubt, the opinion that I was 
 a very refractory prisoner. The next Thursday he visited me, and 
 while my mind was yet wholly troubled about the world, he would 
 have me turn all my thoughts to religion. I told him candidly that 
 I could not as yet get my mind to travel in his groove, that it was 
 too much impressed with the troubles of this world to turn suddenly 
 toward the next, and that I would rather hear something which it 
 was in his power to tell me about Ireland than anything he could 
 say to me about hell or Heaven. "Father," said I to him, smriingly, 
 " this is my hell, and you refuse to give me a glimpse of Heaven." 
 He smiled and shook his head. I turned the conversation to the 
 state of my library, asking him what he could do lor me in the way 
 of books. He would see about that and tell his man in Millbank to 
 make out a list of books from the Catholic library in order that 
 they may be forwarded to Pentonville for us ; he would try to have 
 
O Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 101 
 
 each of us get one of them every fortnight, in addition to the one 
 we were getting, and I became quite elated at this, because the 
 little book I had was worthless. 
 
 Before he left me this time he made another attempt to turn 
 my thoughts to religion, and I told him I was put outside of the 
 pale of the Church by some of the priests of the Church. " How is 
 that ?" said he. " Simply that I have been refused the sacraments, 
 that I have been turned away from the confessional, for the reason 
 that I have pledged myself to assist in freeing Ireland from English 
 rule." 
 
 " Oh, you are mistaken, that is not the reason. The reason is 
 that you belong to a secret society, whose leaders are in league 
 with Mazzini and the heads of the wicked societies of the Conti- 
 nent." 
 
 " I think you are mistaken, Father Zanetti ; as far as I know, 
 and I think I ought to know something on the matter, the society 
 in Ireland was not in communication with any of those people or 
 any of those societies you speak of, and if your information as to 
 the wickedness of the Continental societies are only as reliable as 
 what you say of our society in Ireland, I do not think much of it." 
 
 " Are you a secret society condemned by the Church ?" 
 
 " It is said we are, but I strongly doubt the justice of the con- 
 demnation. The Church knows our object, and we have no bond 
 of secrecy in the oath. It is purely a military organization, and 
 the Church ought not to condemn an Irishman for taking an oath 
 to fight for the freedom of his native land ; it does not condemn an 
 Irishman who swears to fight for England, and necessarily for the 
 enslavement of his country." 
 
 "But England is an established government, and you would 
 not be justified in opposing it unless there were extreme oppres- 
 sion, and that you had the necessary means of success." 
 
 " There is no question of the oppression, and as to the means of 
 success, we were only organizing them with the intention of not 
 fighting till we had them, when some of the clergy set their faces 
 against us." 
 
 " Well, we'll have a talk on that some other time, and now let 
 me ask you to be prepared to go to your duty the next day I come 
 round." 
 
 He was in good humor now, and I said to him — 
 
 " I don't know about that, Father ; if I were to think, as some 
 of my friends and relations think, I'd hardly believe you to be a 
 priest at all." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " Simply because they consider a priest is one to administer 
 comfort and consolation in every situation of life, and if I could 
 tell them I asked you a question about my family, and that you 
 refused to answer me while able to do so, they wouldn't believe 
 
102 O Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 it of a Catholic priest, and would be inclined to tell me that you 
 were not one." 
 
 He shook his head, as much as to say, " You're cute, but you 
 won't get a thing out of me," shook hands with me. and saying he 
 would bring me a book next week, departed. The next week came, 
 and with it came his reverence, bringing the book. It was a double- 
 columned volume ol Lingard's History of England, and I hugged 
 it to my bosom on seeing the large amount of reading that was in 
 it. I parodied for it the old Irish song in praise of whiskey, where 
 the lover of it, embracing the bottle, exclaims : 
 
 Mo bhean agus mo leanbh thu, 
 Mo mhathair agus m'athair thu, 
 Mo chota more iss mo rappar thu, 
 Iss ni scarra may go bragh leath. 
 
 My darling wife and child are you, 
 My mother and my father, too, 
 My big great coat and wrapper new, 
 And I will never part you. 
 
 Father Zanetti told me that he had made arrangements with 
 Canon Oakley to say Mass for us every Wednesday and Sunday, 
 and, as he himself would come every Thursday to visit us, the week 
 would be pretty well broken. Should any one notice that I speak 
 too often of the priests or of the ministers, let them understand that 
 they were the only Christians I met in my prison life, and the only 
 persons to break its monotony. I could see no other man who had 
 not the prison livery on him, and, as for seeing a woman, the Lord 
 bless you ! I was for about two years at one time without laying my 
 eyes upon the face of an angel, and nearly three years without hear- 
 ing the voice of one. 
 
 The day the priest brought me the History of England, I had a 
 long talk with him again on my religious duties. He urged me, 
 now that I was imprisoned for life, that I could do nothing in the 
 outside world, and that I may as well give up the oath and become 
 a good Catholic. 
 
 " And Father," said I, " can I not be a good Catholic unless I 
 give up the oath ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I fear I'll never become a good Catholic." 
 
 " If you were on your dying bed, wouldn't you give it up ?" 
 
 "I would not." 
 
 " And you'd damn your soul for eternity ?" 
 
 " I don't believe that God would damn my soul for that ; if all 
 my other sins were forgiven but that of swearing to fight for the 
 liberty of my country, I would face my Creator with a light heart." 
 
 " But how can your other sins be forgiven when you will not 
 avail of the graces God offers you through His Church and His 
 ministers ?" 
 
CDonovan Bosses Prison Life. 103 
 
 " I have only to trust to God entirely, when I find that the sacra- 
 ments of the Church have been denied to me for doing that which 
 I believe to be the noblest and the most sacred thing a man can do." 
 
 " Well, I am sorry for you ; your heart is better than your head ; 
 I will pray for you, and I ask you, as a special request, to pray for 
 me." 
 
 I saw immediately that this was for the purpose of getting me 
 into a praying mood, and as he pressed me to promise him, I did so. 
 He then told me that in these prisons they did not alter the prison 
 fare on Friday's for Catholics, but that the church had given them 
 permission to eat meat on those days, and that no fasts need be ob- 
 served. I did not tell him, nor did I tell you yet, I believe, that I 
 had been a " Friday dog " for the past two weeks. Hunger and re- 
 flection in solitary confinement had got the better of my scruples, 
 or rather of my pride, in sticking to this practice of the old faith of 
 my fathers. The first Friday I put out my meat, the second Fri- 
 day I kept it in my cell and ate it on Saturday. I did not think 
 there was much merit in doing this, and the third Friday I " broke 
 the pledge " quite deliberately by eating the four ounces of mutton 
 and drinking the pint of mutton water with which it was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 It may be proper that I should call this broth or soup, in ac- 
 cordance with discipline, but inasmuch as I am now outside of its 
 controlling influence, I use the expression mutton water. It had 
 barely the taste of the meat, unless, indeed, you were fortunate 
 enough to come in for a chance of getting a pint from " the top of 
 the pot," and I smile now at thinking of the haste with which I 
 would run to my canteen when the door was shut to see what luck I 
 had. The bill of fare says that your dinner for Friday is to be one 
 pint of soup made from four ounces of mutton "boiled in its own 
 liquor," together with this four ounces or what remains of it ; every 
 hundred pints of water and every hundred quarters of a pound of 
 meat to be flavored and seasoned with a few ounces of onions and 
 pepper and salt, and this was more savory to me at that time than 
 the most spicy dish that could be set before me now at Jude's or 
 Delmonico's. 
 
 The meals were given to the ordinary prisoners through a trap- 
 door. This was about eight inches square. It was locked outside, 
 and when the turnkey opened it he thrust it in and laid the vessel 
 thereon. 
 
 If the prisoner was not ready to take it off" the moment it was 
 laid on, and shut the trap at the same time, he subjected himself to 
 a report, and a report is always the foreruuner of punishment. In 
 giving the meals to me and my fellow-prisoners our doors were al- 
 ways opened, and two officers were present. This was lest any one 
 officer, approaching us by himself, would give us information, or lay 
 himself open to be corrupted. They nailed up our traps one day, 
 and every stroke of the hammer on my door struck me as being a 
 
104 G Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 fastener on me. Those great English people would not even trust 
 their English jailors with us without making them act as spies upon 
 each other. That is the very thing that would corrupt an Irish- 
 man ; his blood would rise mountain high if it was plainly set be- 
 fore him every day that he would not be trusted in the discharge of 
 his duty ; but the Englishman bore it throughout with the most 
 Christian resignation, and took it all as a matter of course. And 
 even among the best Irishmen this sensitiveness of theirs works mis- 
 chief often. In political organizations say, something is necessary 
 to be done that it is not necessary to tell to more than one or two, 
 but, by-and-by, the thing spreads, it comes to the ears of Mike 
 Fitzgarald, and Mike Fitzgerald immediately demands of some 
 authority why he wasn't told of it as well as Jim O'Brien — was 
 not he as well to be trusted ? — didn't he work as long, and didn't 
 he do as much work as any one else ? — to say that anything 
 should be done now without telling him of it, when others were told. 
 And so the grumbling goes on, to the infinite injury of all harmory 
 and good order. 
 
 One Sunday morning my door was opened, and my officer told 
 me to prepare for chapel. I told him I was prepared for anything, 
 and he ordered me to bring my prayer-book and my stool. " Now, 
 forward ; march." And on I marched through halls, around cor- 
 ners, down stairs, and along dark passages, till I found myself 
 halted opposite a little altar. It was in the basement of the build- 
 ing, where the dark cells are located. 
 
 Two large dykes were dug along the sides of the dark hall for 
 the purpose of laying pipes in them, and the prisoners were sitting, 
 each on his own stool, about one yard apart between the two 
 mounds of earth that were thrown up. A warder with his club in 
 hand stood in the door of each of the dark cells, and if a side squint 
 was noticed from one of us, the gentleman who noticed it shook his 
 stick at the oflender. 
 
 The priest came out of one of the dark cells that was near the 
 altar ; his eyesight was bad, and he had to be led by the hand by 
 his clerk along the boards that crossed the dyke. It was a meet 
 chapel — or would be — for Irish rebels of the olden time ; those who 
 were hunted for adhering to their religion or to their country when 
 the cause of religion and the cause of country were one ; the cave in 
 the rock ; and the light glittering on the priest's garments and 
 brightening the darkness, were here to awaken the traditions that 
 our youthful memories had stored. My eyes were fixed on the 
 prayer-book, according to discipline, but my mind was fixed else- 
 where, and I was rambling through the graveyards that grow 
 around the old abbeys of the old land, when the warder punched 
 me in the side with his club to make me aware that I should not 
 be kneeling when all the others were standing, and the priest read- 
 ing the Gospel. I was the last man that was taken into the cave, 
 and when Mass was over I was the first man taken out. The officer 
 
C Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 105 
 
 made a motion with his club toward the rear. I took up my stool 
 and marched away, without having seen the face of one of my 
 companions. 
 
 Sunday was to me the gloomiest day of any of the week. On 
 other days I kept myself occupied, or tried to do so, by counting 
 every stitch I put along the back of a waistcoat, every stitch I put 
 along the front, inside and outside ; every stitch I put around the 
 collar, and around the waist ; the button and button-hole stitches 
 were counted too, and I figured a sum total of the number of 
 stitches I put in every waistcoat made by me. This was the way I 
 provided myself with mental exercise, a sort of exercise that was 
 very much needed — more needed, perhaps, in solitary confinement 
 than physical exercise. 
 
 While I was taking my hour's airing one day, some one came 
 into my cell and took away one of my library books. I made a 
 noise about it, as if it was stolen, and that I wished to get out of 
 trouble by reporting it, and was told that it was taken away by 
 orders, because the Ihw did not allow a prisoner to have more than 
 one library book, and as the priest had given me one a few days ago 
 — contrary to regulations — the matter should be corrected by taking 
 it away. Here was bad new T s again, but it was a change in affairs, 
 and. I think, every change in prison life, whether for bad or good, 
 tends to promote health — that is, if the change for the worse is not 
 a very wicked one. I know that for the variety the change af- 
 forded in a monotonous existence,! often sacrificed what imprisoned 
 people would consider a happier state, but as I am yet only in the 
 first months of a course of five or six years, I will keep the particu- 
 lars that suggest these thoughts till I ^row older in my career. 
 
 That Sunday, when I came from chapel without being able to see 
 the faces ot my companions, I grew very gloomy. The book was 
 gone, my needle and thimble were gone, and I had no stitches to 
 count. The day was a dark, gloomy one, and the cell, which was a 
 darkened one, was darker than usual. On some foggy days gas has 
 to be lit in these cells to give the prisoners light enough to work. 
 God's sunlight is artificially kept out in order to punish the crim- 
 inals, and among these England classed us, and into the criminal 
 cells she stuck us. Suicide and lunacy form a very large item in 
 the effect of England's treatment of her convicts, and I don't won- 
 der at it. I am Writing now of a very dark day in prison ; I found 
 myself out of all resources, and I had nothing for it but to go on 
 verse making. " The poet and madman nearly are allied," and if you 
 wish you can believe that I was on the road to distraction when I 
 made such verses as the following. However, don't be too hard on 
 me if you see no brilliancy or bright idea in them — remember what 
 I am telling you about the gloom that enveloped me even on the 
 sunniest day : 
 
106 O Donovan Rossas Prison Life, 
 
 I have no life at present, my life is in the past ; 
 
 I have none in the future, if the present is to last ; 
 
 Tbe "Dead Past " only, mirrors now the memories of life, 
 
 The fatherland, the hope of years, the friend, the child and wife. 
 
 Then am I dead at present ? Yes, dead while buried here — 
 Dead to the wife, the child and friend, to all the world holds dear ; 
 Dead to myself, for life it- death to one condemned to dwell 
 His life-long years in exile in a convict prison cell. 
 
 Though dead unto the present, I live in the "Dead Past," 
 
 And thoughts of dead and living things crowd on me thick and fast; 
 
 E'en when reason is reposing they revei in my brain, 
 
 And I meet the wife, the child and friend, in fatherland again. 
 
 The goddess on her tbrone resits — the cherished dreams are fled— 
 Were they but phantoms of the past to show the past is dead? 
 Past, Present, Future, what to me ! — how little man can see — 
 Am I dead unto the world ? — or the world dead to me ? 
 
 God only knows. I only know that which to man He gives, 
 The love of Liberty and Truth— the soul, the spirit lives ; 
 And though its house of clay be bound by England's iron hand, 
 It freely flies to wife and child, and friend and fatherland. 
 
 I wrote this pacing my cell in a diagonal line from one corner 
 to the other. By taking that course I made my line of march 
 about one pace longer. I did not give a right- about nor a left- 
 about face when I wanted to turn round, for I found that 
 would put a megrim in my head, but I went straight for one of my 
 diagonal corners, and when I had reached it I paced right straight 
 back again, heels foremost, and when I had a couplet of my beauti- 
 ful poem composed I halted to pencil it down on my slate. 
 
 Twice a week the searching officers came into my cell and turned 
 everything upside down and inside out, looking for something and 
 finding nothing. I had to strip to the buff in their presence, and 
 when they examined me quite naked they left me to dress up again 
 and to arrange my things in the nicest order. 
 
 I managed to keep in my cell two little bits of slate, each about 
 an inch square, but it would not be nice to tell where I hid them. 
 I kept them for the purpose of communicating with my friends, an d 
 we held communication in this manner. We were all exercised- in 
 that yard which I called the coach- wheel, where I could learn, by 
 throwing pebbles over the wall into the compartment that was next 
 to me, and getting a pebble thrown back in return, that there was 
 some one there. I threw a bit of slate with a few words scratched 
 on it. At the first throw it would contain my name, with the words, 
 " Who are you ?" and, if he was any one I knew, we kept throwing 
 backward and forward while the hour lasted. I watched to see when 
 the officer's eyes were off me to write a few words, and I suppose 
 the same instinct that guided me guided my correspondent. The 
 Pagan was the person I fell in with the oftenest, and he was at a 
 disadvantage, inasmuch as he could not read well without his spec- 
 
G 1 Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 107 
 
 tacles. Sometimes he would take my bit of slate to his cell with 
 him, and it might be three or four days or a week before I could 
 strike him again and have a reply. In taking in my tablet and bring- 
 ing it out I hid it in my neck-tie, just opposite the apple of the throat. 
 This was the only spot that used to escape the fingers of the jailor 
 in searching me. If he found my treasure it would be high treason, 
 and I do not know to how many days' bread and water it would 
 subject me. 
 
 All the prisoners got one hour " at school " every week. During 
 this hour the cell door was left open, and the schoolmasters perambu- 
 lated the wards, calling in to every cell to see how the scholars were 
 progressing, and to loosen any knotty question that might impede 
 their progress. This hour's schooling was not conceded to us until 
 we were a month in prison. My door was unlocked and thrown 
 wide open, and left open without any one coming into my cell. 
 This was an extraordinary occurrence with me. What can it mean, 
 thouo-ht I, and not understanding what it did mean I remained sit- 
 ting on my stool stitching away for the dear life. In about a quar- 
 ter of an hour a respectable-looking old man came in asking, 
 " Why are you not at school ?" 
 
 " At school," said I, starting up and making for the door. 
 
 u Stop, stop," said he, laying hold of me, "where are you 
 going ?" 
 
 " Going to school," said I. " Where is it ?" 
 
 "This is your school," said he, "you are not to leave your cell. 
 Where is your slate ? Are you able to do any figures ?" 
 
 I told him I could do a little, and, laying hold of the slate which 
 lay on the little table, he asked, " What figures are these ?" 
 
 " They are the number of stitches I put in the little waistcoat I 
 made." 
 
 " Are you obliged to keep an account of them ?" 
 
 " No, but 1 keep the account for mental exercise." 
 
 Turning the other side of the slate he asked, "What sort of a 
 sum is this ?" 
 
 " That is a sum in interest." 
 
 " Certainly not, this sum is not worked by any rule in interest. 
 What £42 7s is this at the foot ?" 
 
 " That is the amount of interest a hundred pounds will bring in 
 one year by Loan Bank interest in Ireland." 
 
 " You must be wrong, no bank interest is so high as that ; how 
 do you make it out ?" And saying this he sat down on my stool, 
 and I bent down alongside to show him. 
 
 " That first item of one hundred pounds is the banker's, and he 
 lends it to a hundred poor struggling people — a pound each. For 
 lending the pound, each gives him one shilling, which gives him a 
 return of five pounds the first day ; he lends this five pounds again 
 and gets five shillings more, which he keeps in his bank till that 
 day week. He has now, as you see, one hundred and five pounds 
 
108 O Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 at interest, which is to be paid back to him at a shilling a week 
 from each of his debtors. The next pay day he gets one hundred 
 and five shillings, which, with the five shillings he has in stock, 
 makes £5 10s. ; he lends five pounds of this and gets five shillings' 
 interest, which he adds to the ten shillings and keeps in his bank, as 
 he has not a full pound to lend. He gets in a hundred and ten 
 shillings next week, and he lends six pounds, keeping eleven shil- 
 lings in his bank, and so on till at the end of the year he has, as far 
 as I can make out, £42 Vs. interest on his £100." 
 
 " But do you tell me that kind of work is in operation in Ire- 
 land ?" 
 
 " Yes, and in very many places, and the poor are glad to have 
 the benefit of it." 
 
 "Well, God help the poor people;" and suddenly turning the 
 conversation as if he did not want to dwell on it, he asked, " How 
 are you off for books ?" 
 
 " Very badly. " I get but very poor books from the libra- 
 rian ; little things that are not worth reading, and which I can 
 read in one day. I am obliged to have recourse to such exercises 
 as you see on that slate for the purpose of keeping my mind 
 engaged." 
 
 " What class are you in ? Is this your card ? Third class?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, I'll put you in a better class, and the officer will have to 
 give you better books." 
 
 I thanked him; we had a few words more, the bell rang, the 
 hour for school was up, he bid me good evening, and when the 
 librarian came round the next day he looked at my card and gave 
 me a better book than he was in the habit of giving me. 
 
 Shortly after this improvement in my condition, the door was 
 thrown open another day, and another strange gentleman entered, 
 announcing himself as the chaplain of the prison, and after asking 
 me if I had a wife and children, where they were, how they were 
 situated, and how I felt about them, he opened a book and showed 
 me a letter lying open in it. 
 
 " Ob, that's my wife's writing, sir." 
 
 " Yes, it is. I have got this letter to give you, and you're to get 
 a leaf of paper to write a letter in reply." 
 
 I thanked him as kindly as a happy convict could, and he bade 
 me adieu, hoping I'd get along well. 
 
 I have the letter before me now, and, to put a little variety into 
 this dull writing of mine, I think I may as well let you read it. 
 There is never much novelty in reading private letters that are in- 
 tended for the public ; but this that I am going to give was never 
 intended for the press, and will be a kind of break in what I am go- 
 ing through. Besides, I don't care to make this prison life one 
 dark gloomy chapter of all its ills and annoyances. I mean to <*\$ 
 through it on paper with ihe_s_ame light heart that I tried to go 
 
C Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 109 
 
 through it with on the ground. If I painted the devil here as black 
 as he is, which I cannot do, because I lack the ability, and if I kept 
 my readers all the time on bread and water, on chains, dark cells 
 and solitary confinement, I may in America be making converts to 
 that apathy which exists among " repectable," well-to-do Irishmen, 
 who don't want to sacrifice anything or run any risk for the cause 
 of oppressed Ireland. 
 
 But I won't do that ; I'll make prison life as entertaining and as 
 interesting as possible for them, and I'll break the monotony of it 
 now by giving my wife's letter. 
 
 The Government brands come first, and they run: "No. 3411 ; 
 Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa ; A. 2. 27; H. F., Deputy-Governor, 
 F. F. P." 
 
 " 17 Middle Mountjoy street, Wednesday Night. 
 
 " My Love, my Darling Husband : I could not write to you 
 before, my mind was so unsettled by a few disappointments, and it 
 would have been too bad to vex you with a desponding letter. 
 Indeed, Cariss, my conscience accused me of having indulged pri- 
 vately in very unhappy feelings. I wish you could have power to 
 look into my heart and give me absolution. Some day you may 
 listen to my confession, and pity all the weaknesses I wouldn't own 
 to any one else in the .world but you. You know I would not give 
 my " confidence " to any friend, and my thoughts are sometimes 
 more than I can calmly bear alone. I get credit for bearing up 
 well, but I feel myself a hypocrite after. These few days a better 
 spirit than usual is uppermost with me ; I am hopeful again, or I 
 should not have taken a pen to write to you. I could not write to 
 you any way but truly as I feel. I could not tell you I was happy, 
 or even resigned, if I did not believe in being so, and I was not so 
 a week ago, though to day I am. 
 
 " Now, Cariss, about the children. The last, I suppose, I may 
 put first, the wee one, tha"-, makes me sigh for you at every time 1 
 feel its presence. I don't know whether I'm most happy or most 
 miserable about it. 'Tis all I have of you, and if things turn out 
 badly it will be the only thing I'll care to hold my life for. The 
 rest are well. I sent money to Mrs. Healy, as she sent me a mes- 
 sage that she had seen or heard nothing of the money Denis O'Don- 
 ovan says he sent to a friend for the children's use. Father Lucy 
 or Mulcahy, I don't know which, was saying something about 
 adopting one of them. Murty Downing offered to take two. I do 
 not think well of either offer. I was to see Father Cody to-day, 
 and he advised me to leave them as they were for awhile. I'll have 
 to do so I'm afraid. It seems the office was not in debt to you 
 more than £75. I got £20 of that three weeks ago ; could get no 
 more since, but 'tis no matter, as I did not decide on any school for 
 the boys yet. I have not got your clothes from Kilmainham; the 
 Governor has no amiable feelings for you, and puts me to the 
 trouble of applying for an order at the opening of the Commission 
 
110 (y Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 here. Shall I write to Denis O'D. and ask to whom he sent that 
 missing money. 1 think I will. I spent an unhappy Christmas at 
 Mr. Hopper's, in Kingstown, and dined here at my lodgings in 17 
 Middle Mountjoy street on Christmas Day. I thought of you all 
 night, and cried myself to sleep and dreamland near morning. Two 
 years ago I sat in a circle of father, mother, brothers, sisters and 
 friends, and I did not dream of you. One year ago I sat with you* 
 and forgot home and family in your smiles, and this year I sat 
 alone and heartweary, with strange faces in the place of those I had 
 loved, and wondered what would the next year bring — more joy 
 or more sorrow ? Papa sent me a present of fowl for New Year's 
 Day, so I gathered my friends to eat them. Mrs. Luby and the 
 O'Learys, Maria Shaw and Mrs. Burke, my brother and other gen- 
 tlemen came. The evening passed very agreeable to all. Poor Mrs. 
 Luby looked absent and sad at times, and I looked round the room 
 and found no place for eye or heart to rest on ; but all the rest were 
 in great spirits. The entertainment cost me a little, but it served a 
 good purpose. They will not forget this New Year's Day if we 
 meet to celebrate the next, and God grant we will, my love. 
 
 I was dreaming a few nights ago you had come out of prison, 
 and imagination even painted you without that beard I was so fond 
 of. I dropped a few tears specially for that the night you were con- 
 victed. Eily is after coming in, and she tells me Mr. Lawless set 
 them right about that money due to you. I have heard other news 
 also that pleases me. Good by, my own. I don't know whether 
 this letter will reach you ok I'd write more. All our friends send 
 love to you^ Fondly as ever, your wife, 
 
 Mollie J." 
 
 You have read the letter once, hut I read it twice, and three 
 times, and four times, and had not done reading it when the cell- 
 door opened and two officers entered. One of them held in his 
 hand a leaf of paper and the other carried a pen and ink. " Here," 
 said the gentleman who had the paper, " is material for you to 
 write a letter in reply to one you have received, but I am instructed 
 to tell you that if you write anything about the way you are situ- 
 ated, about the work you are at, or about the prison officers, your 
 letter will be suppressed." "Then what am I to write about?" 
 said I. " There is the paper for you," said he, laying the leaf upon 
 the table, " and there is the pen and ink for you," taking them from 
 the other officer and putting them alongside of the leaf, " you must 
 know the rules and regulations, and if you do not write according 
 to the instructions you have received, you have only to take the 
 consequences." " Gu voarih Dhia urruing" answered I, " what do 
 you say ?" " What's that he says," cried one and the other, as if 
 I had said something awful. " Oh," said I, " I'm only paying God 
 help us, as there seems to be nobody else to help us around here." 
 "You'd better mind the rules and regulations," chimed in both, walk- 
 ing away and shutting the door after them. 
 
O Donovan Rossds Prison 2dp HI 
 
 ./' 
 
 I wrote my letter and sent it to the Governor £as ^^JMikmnp, 
 In four days after, he sent for me and told me there VJQiX) u\70 pao~ 
 sages in it that should be expunged, or the letter suppressed One 
 of them was that in which T asked my wife to try and get me per- 
 mission to write to an English Member of Parliament about the 
 manner in which I was tried, and the other was that in which I told 
 her to write me a reply as soon as she could. I told the Governor 
 that he might erase both passages, and he said that would make 
 the matter all right. 
 
 We had some conversation on the irrelevancy of asking a reply 
 to the letter. I argued that the rules gave me the right of receiv- 
 ing an answer to every letter I wrote ; but he told me that I should 
 take the letter I was after receiving as the answer to the letter I 
 was now writing. In this manner I was cheated out of hearing 
 more fully from my family, and many of my fellow-prisoners were 
 treated simriarly, as I learned from them when we met in Portland, 
 the next prison we were sent to. 
 
 I noticed on Sunday, at mass, that we had a larger congregation 
 than usual. I was located in my usual position, butl found a man 
 at each side of me, and others behind me. I gave a squint, and 1 
 recognized the man at my right to be James O'Connor. I knew 
 that the new recruits were from Ireland, and I was itching to know 
 who they were. When the priest prayed loud, I pretended to be 
 accompanying him, but, instead of uttering prayers to God, I mut- 
 tered to James — " Where is Stephens ? Are they going to have a 
 fight? How many of ye came ? Who are those behind me?" — 
 and James kept answering my prayers, till the officer by his side, 
 noticing something, laid hold of him by the shoulder and conducted 
 him back to the end of the congregation. 
 
 I learned from O'Connor that Stephens remained in Dublin for 
 months after he was taken out of Richmond Bridewell ; that a fight 
 was expected ; that fourteen or fifteen of them had come to Penton- 
 ville ; that the men behind me were Kickham, Brophy, Mulcahy, 
 Kenealy, Roantree, Carey, Brian Dillon, John Lynch, Charley 
 O'Connell, John Duggan, Jerry Donovan, of Blarney, " The Galtee 
 Boy," and " some others," as he styled others whom he knew I did 
 not know personally. He made his syllables as short as possible, 
 and he gave me no surnames where he was aware I would recognize 
 the names without them. 
 
 Returning to my cell, a prisoner impeded my passage at the foot 
 of the stairs which I was to ascend. His jacket, his waistcoat, his 
 braces were loosened and his arms extended, as the officer was 
 searching him preliminary t d his entering the cell, for we used to 
 be put through this search going to chapel and coming from chapel 
 — in fact every time that we were leaving our cell or entering it. 
 Looking at the prisoner I recognized him as Kickham, and had I 
 acted on impulse I would have rushed at him and embraced him be- 
 fore the officers could have arrested me. I did not do so, and when 
 
112 (T Donovan HosscCs Prison Life, 
 
 I entered my cell I got sick; 1 had checked the natural course of my 
 feelings, they became stagnant somewhere, and I felt most uncom- 
 fortable until I found relief by bursting into tears. They flowed, 
 and I let them flow for some ten minutes, but they did not come 
 until some verses of Kickham's came into my head as I was walking 
 madly about my cell, and thinking of the unnatural combinations 
 that sent such men as he into penal servitude. He, an Irish Catho- 
 lic ; yes, as true a one as any priest or bishop that ever denounced 
 the cause for which he suffered ; ay, as full of faith, as pious and as 
 moral too. 1 should like to have Kickham's mind, I should tike to 
 have Kickham's faith, for I'd like to have the mind and the faith of 
 such a good and gifted man, but I fear I can never have either. His 
 verses of the Soggarth Aroon came into my mind on this occasion I 
 am speaking of ; I repeated them in whispers as I paced my cell ; 
 they revived memories of olden times ; memories rather of youth- 
 ful days. I felt the hard, unnatural state of things that placed 
 some of the Irish priests in antagonism to those who were ready to 
 risk all for the purpose of freeing Ireland. I felt that we were 
 wronged, bitterly wronged, and, as I was reflecting upon that curse 
 which came to divide priests and people in this cause, rage or some 
 other passion began to burn me. The tears started into my eyes, 
 and I let them flow freely for the first time since I entered prison. 
 This was a relief to me, and I make no apologies for putting in my 
 book those verses that strike so deep into my soul whenever I read 
 or repeat them : 
 
 SOGGARTH AROON. 
 
 Cold is the cheerless hearth, 
 
 Soggarth, aroon, 
 Sickness, and woe, and death, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 Sit by it night and day, 
 Turning our hearts to clay, 
 Till life is scarce left to pray, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
 Yet still in our cold heart's core, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 One spot for evermore, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 Warm we've kept for you — 
 Warm, and leal, and true — 
 For you, and old Ireland, too, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
 For sickness or fnmine grim, 
 
 Sogg rth aroon, 
 This bright spot couLi never dim, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 Despair ca e wi h deadly chill, 
 Our last fainting hope to kdl, 
 But the twin love we cherished stilly 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
(J* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 113 
 
 Has poor Ireland nothing left, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 This last wound her heart has cleft, 
 
 Soggarth aroon ; 
 Ah ! well may her salt tears flow, 
 To think — ob, my grief and woe ! — 
 To think 'twas you struck the blow, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
 We crouch 'neath the tyrant's heel, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 "We're mute while his lash we feel, 
 
 Soggarth aroon ; 
 And, pining in dull despair, 
 His wrongs we, like cowards, bear, 
 But traitors we never were, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
 And " stags" you would make us now, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 You'd stamp on the bondman's brow, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 Foul treason's red-burning brand, 
 Oh, doomed and woe-stricken land, 
 Where honor and truth are banned, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
 To those dark days we now look back, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 When the bloodhound was on your track, 
 
 Soggarth aroon, 
 Then we spurned *he tyrant's gold, 
 The pass then we never sold, 
 We are still what we were of old, 
 
 Soggarth aroon. 
 
 Passages in this poem can be better understood when I say that 
 lome priests were telling the people from the altars to deliver up to 
 the police any one they found attempting to enroll men in the 
 revolutionary movement. 
 
 When I went to chapel next Sunday I was more fortunate than 
 usual in getting a position favorable for observation. I was placed 
 under the stairs, the officers behind me could not see my head, and 
 when I found the eyes of the others off me I managed to get a look 
 at those who were around. I could not for the world make out who 
 Denis Dowling Mulcahy and Hugh Brophy were, though I was in- 
 timately acquainted with them in Dublin. The clipping of their 
 hair and beard made such a change in their appearance that I never 
 recognized them until I got a chance of getting a whisper with 
 Hugh, and a chance of getting in the next compartment in the ex- 
 ercise yard with John Kenealy one day, when he told me who 
 Denis was, by throwing our bits of slate to one another over the 
 wall that divided us. By-and-bye I found that Mulcahy had been 
 trying to convey the latest news to us by scratching upon the walls, 
 
114 Q* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 A few words were written on one brick, which, taken by themselves, 
 meant little or nothing ; but a few bricks further on I found a few 
 words more which made a connection. In this way I learned there 
 was no fight in Ireland, or likely to be ; but that there was lots of 
 fightiug in America, and likely to continue from the number of 
 leaders and plans they had to free Ireland. I suppose my spirits 
 sank a little, but others had as much reason to be low spirited as I, 
 and I thought I would " never say die." I imagined, for the Irish-} 
 Americans, what a splendid thing it would be, and how easily we 
 could free Ireland if we had rifles and cannon of three thousand 
 miles range ; then we, or they rather, might take some spot to 
 plant our artillery on, and blow England to atoms — that is, if the 
 American Government would allow them. When I say this I am 
 not sneering at those who would strike at England through Canada, 
 nor am I approving of diverting from Irishmen in Ireland the aid 
 that was contributed to assist them in a revolutionary struggle 
 there, when men risked their lives to strike at England anywhere. 
 I am not going to be hard on them, and particularly when the 
 Canadian prisons chain at this hour the liberties of many such men. 
 I would strike her everywhere I could, but I would rather strike her 
 on her own soil than anywhere else outside of Ireland, for it is on 
 her own soil that she would feel the blows most severely. The 
 Manchester affair and the Clerkenwell affair and the Chester affair 
 struck more terror into English statesmen than any affairs I know ; 
 and if she apprehended a repetition on a somewhat larger scale of 
 these things every year till Ireland were free she might be more 
 disposed to loosen her grasp of the old land. If the tables were 
 turned and that we were the domineering power, England, having 
 the element in Ireland that we have in her, would not scruple doing 
 anything to attain her ends, and would have burnt or blown us up 
 long ago. I have conceived these notions since I entered prison ; at 
 least they have been cultivated there by the treatment I received 
 and by the spirit displayed toward me and my fellow-prisoners. I find 
 myself in that state of mind that I wouldn't scruple doing anything 
 to destroy the power of such an enemy, and that is no more than 
 meeting England with her own weapons. She will say this is 
 vicious and diabolical, which I admit it is ; but if you go to fight 
 the devil you may as well put your hoofs and horns on at once. I 
 remember that in the September of '65 I was entrusted with a doc- 
 ument for James Stephens by a delegate from the United Irishmen 
 of a part of England. The substance of it was that in case of a 
 rising in Ireland it was probable England would send all her troops 
 to crush it ; and they sought permission to be allowed to give Eng- 
 land as much trouble at home as would frighten her and oblige her 
 to keep all her soldiers to protect herself Permission was also 
 sought to form a Vigilance Committee who would have the special 
 care of any traitors that might turn up,but Mr. Stephens refused both 
 applications ; he meant to fight England on honorable terms, and 
 
(J Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 115 
 
 in observance of all the rules of civilized warfare, which England 
 would not do with him, and never did with any country she laid 
 claim to. After reading the paper he handed it to me remarking, 
 " that is a most curious document, and would be interesting for 
 preservation, only for the danger of it." " What am I to do with 
 it," said I. "Do what you like with it," said he, and as my stand- 
 ing instructions were to destroy all dangerous papers that passed to 
 me except such as I was told to preserve, I took a match off the 
 mantelpiece of the room in which we met. and, striking a light, burnt 
 them to oblivion in his presence. 
 
 I knew he'd like to have them preserved, and I'd like to preserve 
 them myself, but as he didn't tell me do so I did my duty in de- 
 stroying them. 
 
 The letter which I got from my wife was a kind of load to me to car- 
 ry, as I could not communicate the news of it to any one else. It is 
 said that sorrows are halved and pleasures doubled by sharing them 
 with another, and I suppose it was the desire to increase my happi- 
 ness that made me desirous to get a chance of passing the letter to 
 one or more of my companions. I took it with me to exercise every 
 day for a week without noticing that any of my friends were lo- 
 cated within a stone's throw of me. At last I found by my sound- 
 ing that the Pagan was alongside, and tying a bit of a slate to the 
 paper I threw it over the wall. I got the slate back again with the 
 words "all right" written on it, and I felt as happy as a prince that 
 I had been able to let him take a peep at the outside world. I ran 
 a great risk in trying to communicate in this manner, but the reliei. 
 I felt in doing what I desired to do had always a greater influence 
 over me than the fear of any punishment that might come from de- 
 tection. If I was sure of being detected I mightn't do the thing, 
 but where there is a way or a chance to succeed in any undertaking 
 my cautionary bumps are not yet strongly enough developed to pre- 
 vent me from making a trial. More cold-blooded, more prudent, or 
 more wise men would see they had all means necessary to suc- 
 cess before they took up any adventure, and where they could not 
 grasp all the means they would not attempt anything. Such men 
 would never free a fallen land, or never free themselves out of prison 
 had they been imprisoned for its sake. In saying this I hold that 
 we ourselves contributed more than any one else to our release by 
 the efforts we made to make our treatment known to the world. 
 England would do us to death if it were possible to do it secretly. 
 She kept punishing us for the efforts we were making to expose her, 
 and increased her precautions to hide us from the world, according 
 as she discovered any attempt on our part to reach the public. We 
 succeeded at length, at least Dennis Dowling Mulcahy and a few 
 others did, in unmasking the hypocrites who were proclaiming that 
 we were feasted on roast beef and mulled porter, at the same time 
 that they had us manacled in the darkest of their black holes and 
 were starving us on bread and water. A cry of indignation arose 
 
116 Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 that burst the prison gates for some of us ; for the tyrants felt 
 they were being degraded brfore the eyes of the world ; but they 
 were mean enough to hold others on the miserable and false pretext 
 that tney were not political offenders. These are the soldiers, and 
 the men arrested in England on charges of transmitting arms to 
 Ireland and rescuing men in Manchester who were charged with 
 promoting revolution in Ireland. 
 
 It was eight or ten days before the Pagan could get a chance of 
 throwing me back my letter, and during that time I fell in with John 
 Kenealy, Brian Dillon and John Lynch, and had some correspond- 
 ence with them over the wall. When I had all the latest news that 
 they had brought from Ireland, the burden of our telegraphs were 
 made up of cold and hunger. We felt both intensely, and when 
 the doctor visited us, as he did once or twice a week, I thought there 
 could be no crueller mockery of my state than his asking me if I 
 used to eat all my food. I applied to him a couple of times, when 
 he visited me, for flannels and for more food. I did not do this in a 
 supplicating tone. I told him that as a political prisoner I had a 
 right to a sufficiency of coarse food and clothing, that I asked him 
 for them as a matter of right, and if the authorities would not give 
 them that I would apply to have my friends be permitted to supply 
 me. He'd say I had as much food and clothing as the prison regu- 
 lations would permit, and no additional food or clothing from any 
 one outside the prison was ever allowed to a prisoner. This was his 
 invariable reply, and I invariably told him I made the applica- 
 tion not expecting to succeed, but in order that I should have noth- 
 ing to upbraid myself with in case my health failed under this pro- 
 cess of cold and starvation, 
 
 I awoke from my dreamy sleep one morning about the 1st of 
 March and found myself utterly prostrated. For three days I was 
 laid up with an attack of dysentery. The doctor ordered me medi- 
 cine, which the medicine man brought me three times a day. Orders 
 were issued that I be kept in my cell altogether; that I get no 
 airing or exercise, but I would not be allowed to stay in bed or ab- 
 stain from work. An ordinary prisoner would, as far as I have 
 since learned, be sent to hospital under similar circumstances, but 
 there was no hospital for me there or thereafter when seized with 
 any illness. The doctor ordered me a flannel waistcoat when he 
 saw how I was affected. Probably he thought my blood was cooled 
 enough by this time. I asked him if he would not afford me draw- 
 ers with the waistcoat, and he said he would see, but a sight of them 
 I never saw. 
 
 Another rhange came to me about this time. One morning 
 when I was ordered out ior my exercise, I, instead of being first 
 sent to the refractory place, found myself ordered into the large 
 yard where all the thieves were tramping around each other in con- 
 centric circles. 
 
 Here I found myself in the midst of company, not very select 
 
(y Donovan Rossa?$ Prison Life. 117 
 
 company, indeed, yet behaving themselves pretty decently. It was 
 a change, maybe, for the better, and the variety of features and 
 forms to look upon made it interesting. I had no society before; I 
 couldn't get a look at the fa<e of a prisoner ; but now I found my- 
 self in a new life, and the question was, whether to take it or kick 
 against it. I was thinking that if I were t<> be separated fro •. my 
 companions and associated at any time with these very hard charac- 
 ters, I would rebel; but here there was no assoei tio'n as yet. 
 I had to walk five paces distant from my neighbor. 1 dared not 
 speak to him, nor dared he speak to me, and on this occasion I 
 thought I might as well take the world as it came. I saw Charles 
 Kickham, md John Lynch, and Br:an Dillon, and the Pagan, and 
 Michael Moore, and Thomas Duggan, and others in the same cr wd, 
 but no two of our men were allowed near each other; four or five 
 thieves were always between them. We often had a wink at 
 each other in turning the circles at certain places. The 
 first circle was about twenty yards in diameter, the second thirty, 
 the third forty, and so on. The man in the inner ring made more 
 circuits than the man in the ring next to him. So that if we did 
 not strike upon each other when we entered the yard at first, we 
 were sure to pass each other repeatedly during the hour. The 
 warders, on mounds raised between th>' circles and overlooking the 
 men, kept vigilant watch over al!, and hid their eyes upon us par- 
 ticularly. The Pagan was one time noticed giving me a salute by 
 rubbing his finger down along his nose. I was noticed doing the 
 same, and both of us were told that if we did not keep our hands 
 by our sides, we would be sent in and put under report. 
 
 I saw Kickham pulled up one time for having his hands behind 
 his back, with one stuck into the sleeve of the other to protect them 
 from the cold. This was forbidden; one should always walk with 
 his hands by his side, a id on cold frosty mornings, you may see 
 every man on the field with i shoulders and his hands shrugged 
 up in the effort to make the 1 -ves of his jacket cover the tips of 
 his fingers. Brian Dillon made signs to me one day which put me 
 in bad spirits. Whenever I passed I could notice that he pointed 
 to the ground, and the information I drew from it was that he was 
 sinking into his grave. 
 
 John Lynch set me thinking another day ; he gave me a regular 
 puzzle, by giving a little jerk to his hand, as if he was throwing a 
 stone ; and I at length remembered that day was the 10th of March, 
 that it was the anniversary of the Prince of Wales's marriage, three 
 years before, when the people of Cork broke the windows that were 
 illuminated, and John was tried for being one of the people. As 
 we were passing a^am I returned the jerk, giving a look of intelli- 
 gence. He whispered, " Oh, Rossa, the cold is killing me," and it 
 did kill the poor fellow. I missed him from the ground 
 a few days after. H ■' sank under the treatment of the assassins 
 at Pentonville, or rather under the treatment especially ordered 
 
118 O* Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 for us by the State authorities, he was sent to Woking Hospi- 
 tal, and from there, in a few months after, to the prison graveyard. 
 €rod rest his soul ! is all I can say for him, and I suppose it would 
 be wrong and useless for me to pray to God to blast that assassin 
 regime which crushed it out so soon. I don't pray much, but if I 
 believed in its efficacy in this latter direction, I would pray noon 
 and night and morning. God will not send down fire from heaven 
 to do for us what He ordains man shall do for himself, but which, 
 in the abasement of the noble soul He has given us, we are too 
 cowardly to do. Indeed, some of us are blasphemously base enough 
 to find excuses for not doing our duty by indirectly charging the 
 author of our being with being the author of our degradation. " It 
 is God's will." It is from Him comes all temporal authority; it is 
 He has established British rule in Ireland, an I given us Cromwells. 
 I simply say I don't believe one word of it. I can't believe it. 
 Neither can I believe that it is His hand is scattering us over the 
 world. What have our ancestors done that should entail upon us 
 the curse of the Jews? What has the Island of Saints done that 
 its children should be the outcasts of society, the pariahs of the 
 world, the servants of the servants of men ? Look at our men 
 when they come to this great America ; have not they to begin life, 
 the best of them, the most intelligent of them, and certainly the 
 most virtuous of them, by becoming, what we are sneeringly called, 
 the "hod carriers," the hewers of wood and the drawers of water? 
 Look at our women, the virtuous daughters of our virtuous peas- 
 antry ; have they not to commence life in this country, have they 
 not to make their first start as " the servants of the servants of 
 men ?" And of men and women, how many of them are lost, moral- 
 ly and physically, before they emerge from the probationary state? 
 How few of these become rich and respectable compared to the 
 many who live and die poor and unhappy, much unhappier than 
 they would live and die in the old land ? 
 
 And there is England that has been cursed by Popes and pre- 
 lates these hundreds of years fattening upon our ruin, and we, " the 
 chosen people," enslaved and degraded by the accursed. The chosen 
 and the elect of olden times were blessed and promised to be blessed 
 with the fat of the land — that is, the blessing that all people with- 
 out distinction of creed, class, race or caste seem to prize most, and 
 I could wish to heaven that some curse or blessing would send it to the 
 people of Ireland in Ireland, for nowhere else through the wide, 
 wide world could they enjoy it better. I learned some way or 
 another at my mother's knee (I am not going to say that I was 
 taught it), that the poor were the heirs of heaven and the rich the 
 heirs of hell, and that if the state of both were different here so 
 would it be different hereafter. The tables were to be turned en- 
 tirely. I think some opinion or feeling of this kind prevailed 
 among the peasantry of my neighborhood. I don't say it was that 
 made them poor or kept them poor, at the same time that I think it 
 
CP Donovan Rosso* s Prison Life, 119 
 
 might have tended to make them contented and peaceable under land- 
 lord and all other oppression. To suffer in this world was a passport 
 to a blissful reward in the next. I still hope it is, and indeed 
 partly believe it if we suffer in an effort to upraise 
 our fallen native land, or suffer in any effort to relieve the 
 sufferings of our fellow-man ; but when I grew up and saw 
 that the ministers of all religions were more desirous to associate 
 with the heirs of hell than with the heirs of heaven, the prejudices, 
 as I may so say, of my youth passed away, and I tried to become 
 rich, but some stain seemed to remain that prevented me, and pre- 
 vents me still, and will, I fear, ever prevent me. But, any way, I 
 Bee no virtue in poverty or slavery, nor do I see that any one else, 
 lay or cleric, sees it either. If possible, I will try to get out of both, 
 and if I cannot succeed, it maybe as happy a thing as I can do to 
 return to the old idea, and that reminds me that I ought to return 
 to my story. 
 
 Well, the days rolled on — but no, they didn't roll on, they 
 dragged their slow length along in snail-creep fashion, and as for 
 the nights, they wer very little better. The thoughts that troubled 
 me during the day I tried to count out of my head by count- 
 ing the stitches I put into the clothes I was making, but when the 
 gas was turned off, and when sleep would not come, I could not 
 keep myself from counting over the memories of the past, the friends 
 and the friends' meetings of bygone days. I do not know that it 
 made me anything happier to think of these things. I do not know 
 that I could, under such circumstances, sing — 
 
 " Long, long be my heart with such memories filled." 
 
 Indeed, as far as I can judge, I think it would be well if my 
 mind became blank, and that it retained no impression of life only 
 what it received since I came into prison. It seems to me that memo- 
 ries of past pleasures do not tend to happiness, unless you are in a 
 position of repeating them should an opportunity offer. If it is im- 
 possible for you to repeat them, if you are a pauper, or a prisoner, 
 or a fallen unfortunate character any way, the memory of what you 
 were or what you enjoyed as a virtuous man or a freeman brings 
 more of pain with it than pleasure. So at least, I often thought, 
 and, I believe, felt, those nights that I lay down on my hard bed 
 after my day's communion with my needle and thread. I could 
 make no approach to sleep till about twelve o'clock, then, in my 
 dreamy sleep, felt myself turning to ease my limbs till half past 
 four, which was the usual length of my doze. 
 
 Some two months after I wrote the " petition " to the Secretary 
 of State, asking him for permission to write to an English member 
 of Parliament, the governor sent for me and told me my prayer 
 was refused. I wish I had a copy of this petition to put before my 
 readers. I dare say it was not considered humble enough, like 
 
120 CP Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 another I wrote afterwards in Portland. I managed to retain a 
 copy of this, and I intend giving it in its place when I am some 
 <dght months longer in prison. 
 
 When coming from Mass one Wednesday morning I chanced to 
 strike upon Mr. Charles Underwood O'Connell. We were ordered 
 out of the chapel one by one and had to keep some twelve paces 
 apart while walking along the passages and corridors; each of us 
 carried his stool between his hands ; Charley turned a corner and 
 seeing no one in sight, he, as I rounded the same corner, turned his 
 face toward me, and in a spasmodic whisper said : " I was dreaming 
 about you these two nights past, and you'll shortly hear some im- 
 portant news." 
 
 Sitting down in my cell I commenced stitching away without 
 counting my stitches this time. Charley's dreams chimed in so 
 ominously w T ith day dreams of my own that I could not help dwell- 
 ing on what he told me, and as I played with my thoughts I was 
 startled from my reverie by the turning of the key in the lock. My 
 keeper entered and said " come on." " Where now ?" " Never 
 mind," said he, " but obey orders." On I marched till I was halted 
 opposite the door of the Governor's room. " Throw your cap down 
 there," and down I threw my cap. " Why do you throw it down 
 that way ?" " Didn't you tell me throw it dowm." " Silence," and 
 here I obeyed orders. The door was opened from the inside, and 
 the man outside, in a voice that startled me, roared out "Forward." 
 
 In a second I stood before the Governor, and he sat before me 
 holding a letter in his hand. Just as I was in position, my accom* 
 panying guardian again bawled out, " Number Thirty-four eleven 
 A Two Twenty-seven Convict Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Life," 
 and the Governor in response to that, addressing me, said: 
 
 "I have sent for yon to tell you that I have received a letter 
 from your wife, but, inasmuch as no letter is due to you, I cannot 
 give it into your hands, yet, as the news it contains is of a family 
 nature, and as the prison rules give us a discretionary power to 
 communicate to prisoners any information similar to what this let- 
 ter contains, I am able to inform you that on the 30th of April your 
 wife was delivered of a son, that she is not yet strong enough to be 
 out of bed, and that the child is to be christened James Maxwell, 
 after the names of her father and brother," and, addressing my 
 keeper, he added, " that will do." The keeper gave the order of 
 " right about face," and as I raised my hand to him to signify that 
 I wished to speak a few words with the Governor, he raised his club 
 and ordered me to keep my hands by my side. 
 
 The Governor asked what did I want, and I asked him if he'd 
 be pleased to allow me read the letter ; he said he could 
 not give me possession ot it, but on asking him to read it 
 for me, he did, and I thanked him. I then inquired if I 
 would be allowed to write to my wife, and I was told 
 I would not; that the prison rules allowed a prisoner only 
 
O* Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 121 
 
 one letter every six months. I told him I had only written one let- 
 ter since my conviction, that I was about five months a convict, 
 and that under the circumstances of my wife being ill I might be 
 allowed to write my second letter a month in advance. He in- 
 formed me that could not be — that I should wait until six months 
 after the date of my last letter before I could write again. " But I 
 was three months in prison before I was allowed to write that first 
 letter which I ought to be permitted to write on my entrance," He 
 couldn't help that ; every letter must count from the writing of the 
 previous one, and I could not write for four months longer. I was 
 saying something about this being worse than the treatment of an 
 ordinary thief or pickpocket, but before I had finished he motioned 
 his hand to the keeper, who then roared out his " right about face," 
 and the other warders present making a move toward me, I thought 
 discretion the better part of valor and faced the door. In a mo- 
 ment after, I found myself locked up in my cell, and I am not sure 
 now whether this event of the birth of a sixth son, which makes 
 every father rejoice, was not a subject rather of grief than joy to me. 
 I paced my cell, unmindful of the rules and regulations that forbade 
 me to do so during working hours, but I was soon startled from my 
 meditations by a voice through the keyhole of my door crying out, 
 " What are you doing there ? Stop that walking instantly and go 
 to your work." 
 
 I sat down upon my little stool, the Bible and the prayer-book 
 and the other religious book lay on the little table before me, and 
 instead of praying as a good man ought to do, I dwelt upon the 
 hypocrisy of these people that supplied me with such books and 
 trampled under foot all the principles of religion they contained. 
 Here was my wife delivered of a child seven months after I had 
 been taken away from her, and they would not allow me to write a 
 line to her! No, I did not pray on the occasion, but I felt it would 
 be a relief to me if I could curse, and if the high authorities who 
 ordered this treatment toward me were within my reach, I do not 
 know that I would not have pitched their Bible in their face and 
 hurled a malediction at them with it. 
 
 I have read many stories of the conversion of prisoners confined 
 in solitary cells in the prisons of America and England, through the 
 discipline of allowing them no other book but a Bible while under 
 punishment, but the practice seemed unnatural to me, and I could 
 never realize tnat equanimity necessary for solid or permanent 
 reformation of the mind through the same agency that tortured 
 the body to bring it about. 
 
 I used to read five chapters of my Bible every day, and I made 
 a shift one time to steal a Bible, when, for increased punishment, it 
 was decreed that I should not get a book or Bible tor six months, 
 but I well remember that once I could have torn the book in fritters 
 to express my sense of their abuse of it when they starved me on 
 "bread and water" for twenty-eight days in a darkened cell, in 
 8 
 
122 'Donovan Rosso/ s Prison Life. 
 
 which they specially built a privy, leaving it without a cover, 
 end never leaving me in the open air for one hour during that time. 
 I had nothing but the Bible allowed, and I could think of nothing 
 but the hunger that gnawed my vitals and the stench that was thick 
 about me in the warm July days. Yes, I would have torn up that 
 Bible to express my sense of their abuse of it, only that I was sure it 
 would be the first thing they would use in public against me to show 
 what a hopelessly irreligious and desperate character I was. The 
 thoughts tha^". occur to a man in his prison life are a part of the world's 
 history, and if men who have been confined for years would or could 
 give what passes through their minds, philanthropists and those in- 
 terested in the reformation of criminals and their proper treatment 
 would have a better guide to lead them than all the advice that 
 could be given on this head by theorists and philosophers who study 
 human nature outside prison walls. 
 
 Father Zanetti came to me a day or two after I heard the news 
 of my getting a young son, and I spoke of the heartlessness of my 
 jailors. Patience, obedience and resignation were his panacea for 
 all the ills of life, and he enjoined me to cultivate them as diligent- 
 ly as I could. He put several questions to me that he never before 
 touched upon, asked if I didn't feel my chest sinking, my breath get- 
 tin^ short, and my legs getting weak. I said " Yes " to all. When 
 he was gone, I began to think what it meant, and I concluded 
 there was something in the wind that denoted a change of climate. 
 The following Sunday Canon Oakley, in preaching his sermon to 
 us, touched also upon something new, and when he had ended, I 
 gave a significant look at one of my companions sitting next to me. 
 An officer saw me, raised his stick, and threatened that if he caught 
 me again turning my head aside, it would be worse for me. After 
 the priest withdrew, he commenced badgering me again, telling me 
 if I did not conduct myself properly, he would make me. I was 
 very near breaking out and telling him to keep his tongue to him- 
 self, and to conduct himself then any way he thought proper. He 
 annoyed me so much that when I went to my cell I made a resolu- 
 tion that I would not quietly stand such abuse again. Indeed, so 
 disgusted was I with myself for listening quietly to it, that I re- 
 solved I would take a look the very next Sunday and giye him a bit 
 of my mind if he attacked me. But that next Sunday never came 
 to us in Pentonville, for on Wednesday morning, at six o'clock, we 
 were taken out of our cells and marshalled into line on the same 
 spot as the night we entered. The scales were there before us, and 
 one by one, as we stepped on and off, a record was taken of our 
 weight. I had reduced eight pounds since I came to London, but 
 others had fared worse. Cornelius Keane, Michael O'Reagan and a 
 few more had each reduced as much as thirty pounds. The chains 
 and the handcuffs were brought into requisition. I found myself 
 tied in a chain that held eight of us. It ran through the handcuffs, 
 and a lock attached each of us to a particular part of the chain, so 
 
O'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 123 
 
 that neither of us could slip away from his position. In this man- 
 ner we were ushered into a van that was in waiting for us in the 
 courtyard of the prison. Eight more of us were put into a second 
 one, the remainder into a third, the gates opened and we had a 
 drive through the streets of that gr^at city, London. 
 
 Having arrived at the station of the railroad that was to lead us 
 to another prison, detectives and policemen were there in readiness 
 to conduct us to our carriages. The three chainfulls of us were es- 
 corted into one car, and the jailers who ha 1 charge of us took their 
 seats in our midst. One old fellow had charge of the escort ; he 
 held the papers and orders connected with us. but he was as grum 
 as a statue, and we could not get a word out of him. The train 
 moved away from the station, and, addressing the commander-in- 
 chief, I said — "Governor, where can we be going to now ? "He only 
 shook his head ; another officer cried " hush ;" a third said there 
 was no speaking allowed ; one of the prisoners observed that we 
 certainly ought to be allowed to speak a few words now, a second 
 seconded the motion ; Denis Dowling Mulcahy debated the ques- 
 tion with the jailers, who were threatening to report us when we 
 arrived at our destination. At length the final arrangement was 
 come to that we may talk a little while the train was in motion, but 
 we were to keep a silent tongue in our head during the time it 
 remained at every station. 
 
 Our guardians carried with them two or three canvass bags, 
 and the contents of these turned out to be bread and cheese for 
 dinner. 
 
 Orders had been given that we were not to be allowed out of the 
 cars till we reached the end of our journey, which we did about 
 three o'clock in the evening. 
 
 The prison vans were in waiting for us at the Portland terminus, 
 accompanied by the necessary amount of guards. I sat in front on 
 the first one, and, as it was moved out, a drunken soldier staggered 
 towards us and said, " God knows, my poor fellows, I pity ye." 
 The jailer roared out, " Get away out of there or I'll have you 
 under arrest immediately," and the poor unfortunate, looking 
 sympathetically, turned his back upon us. Twenty minutes after- 
 wards we were safely lodged inside the walls of Portland Convict 
 Prison. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LODGED IN PORTLAND BOOTS AND BOOKS NEW CELLS RAIN 
 
 DOWN DIRECTOR PAGAN FROM CORK HIS LETTER REGARDING 
 
 US NO CATHOLIC OR IRISH WARDERS TO HAVE CHARGE OF US 
 
 THE BROAD ARROW " AMULETS OR CHARMS " THE WASH-HOUSE 
 
 STATIONARY-TUBS AND SOAP SUDS DODGING ABOUT FOR A 
 
 CLEAN JOB OF WORK PUMPING AND PICKING LINEN DENIS 
 
 DOWLING MULCAHY OUR PRIEST HIS SERMONS AND PSALMS A 
 
 SUNDAY IN PORTLAND PARADE AND SALAAMS OIL AND BLACK- 
 ING " ORDERLIES " AND SLOP THE EVIL EYE FORBIDDEN TO 
 
 WALK OR STRETCH IN MY CELL BREAD AND WATER DIETARY 
 
 TABLE. 
 
 Having arrived inside the gates of the establishment,we stood side 
 by side in the waiting-room of the prison. Our chains were un- 
 loosed, our names were called, and as we answered we were told 
 to strip. This we did in the presence of the company ; and, leaving 
 our clothes behind us, we marched into the ba h-room. After going 
 through our ablutions, we found new clothes ready for us, and, 
 being dressed, we were ordered back to the hall from which we 
 came. The old clothes had vanished. If we had anything con- 
 cealed in them, these were the precautions taken to deprive 
 us of the contraband article. Our names were again 
 called, and, as we answered, each of us got three religious books 
 and a library book. This latter was o be changed once a fort- 
 night, and the religious ones were to be permanent stock. Two 
 school-books were also allowed, which could be changed every 
 three months. Some of us took a grammar and arithmetic, others 
 a dictionary and Mensuration, and more a Euclid and class book. 
 Such books as Euclids and Mensurations would not be allowed to 
 us when we got to the London prison, lest they should teach us 
 anything that would facilitate our escape. 
 
 We were lodged in basement cells which were never before 
 occupied. They were in size 7 feet by 3£, and separated from 
 one another by corrugated iron. The flooring was of flags, 
 the ventilators and windows of cast iron, so that we were sur- 
 rounded by no very warming influences. Taking with that the 
 fact that when it rained the water poured down into these cells, so 
 
O* Donovan Boasts Prison Life. 125 
 
 much so that I had often to leave my hammock at night and huddle 
 myself into a corner, it can be understood that, however we were 
 boarded, we were not very comfortably lodged. 
 
 I have before me now the report of five Commissioners who in- 
 quired into our treatment in the Summer of 1870, and I take from it 
 a few questions and answers in corroboration of what I say of this 
 " rain down." Of course the prison officials make the shower as 
 light as they can. 
 
 Doctor Lyons, one of the Commissioners, asks — " Is it possible 
 that rain water could have got in and flooded these cells and wetted 
 the bed clothes and beds ?" 
 
 Mr. Clifton — " It is quite possible that in the extraordinary 
 heavy gales we have here, and the building being built of wood, 
 that there is water sifting through the wood, and it very often hap- 
 pens that a man's blankets may get damp in the night, or slightly 
 wet in a few of the cells that are exposed to the west and south 
 winds. And on these occasions that the treason-felony prisoners 
 have complained to me that these cells were flooded, I visited the 
 cells myself, and there were signs of there being moisture and wet 
 in the places, and the blankets were slightly wet." 
 
 Doctor Lyons — " While the cells were in that imperfect condi- 
 tion did you happen to direct that the prisoners should be removed 
 to other cells ?" 
 
 Mr. Clifton — " I had no other cells to send them to at the time, 
 unless I located them with the other prisoners, which I knew would 
 be so distasteful to them." 
 
 To me who knew how very little these jailers accommodated 
 matters to our tastes or our distastes, it was amusing to hear the 
 Governor of Portland say he did not remove us from wet cells 
 because he should put us in the society of thieves, " and that would 
 be distasteful to us." It may be interesting, to give the in- 
 structions that followed us to Portland, and to observe that these 
 instructions were written by an Irishman and a Catholic, by the son 
 of a man who was champion of Catholicity and " Emancipation," 
 and an associate of Daniel O'Connell's — William Fagan, Member of 
 Parliament for Cork. And men like him got an " Emancipation " 
 which left us enslaved. It freed themselves from the disabilities 
 which prevented them from filling Government positions — it with- 
 drew their support from the cause of nationality — the cause of the 
 people at large, and opened a way for the Keoghs and the O'Hagans 
 to arrive at a position where they could become the oppressors of 
 their own race instead of remaining with the people and discharging 
 their duty as the assertors or the champions of their country's inde- 
 pendence. Not alone is the " lamp that lights them through dig- 
 nity's way caught from the flame where their country expires," but 
 they are very glad to set the country in flames and their fellow- 
 countrymen in chains in order to find favor with the enemies of 
 Irish liberty. 
 
126 (J Donovan llossas Prison Di/'e. 
 
 Mr. Clifton, the Governor of Chatham Prison, is further ques- 
 tioned by Lord Devon as to the instructions he received regarding 
 us. He says he received no instructions until he wrote for them; 
 and till he got an answer he put us in the wash-house : — 
 
 " Her Majesty's Prison, Portland, ) 
 Governor's Office, May 15, 1866. \ 
 Sir : I have the honor to acquaint you that I received yesterday 
 twenty-four Irish treason-felony convicts from Pentonville Prison, 
 pursuant to warrant dated 5th inst., but I have not yet been fur- 
 nished with the instructions as to their treatment referred to in the 
 circular letter ot the 9th inst. The Secretary of the Board of Direc* 
 tors intimated to me that they were coming, and merely stated that 
 instructions would be forwarded. Pending further orders respecting 
 them, I have employed them in the wash-house. — I have the honor 
 to be, sir, your most obedient servant, 
 
 George Clifton. 
 To Wm. Fagan, Esq. 
 
 A few days afterwards, Mr. Clifton says, I received the letter 
 back with this memorandum in it : 
 
 " Mr. Clifton — I regret that my absence at Chatham prevented 
 me issuing instructions to you on the subject. They are to be lo- 
 cated in the last lot of new cells, passed by me as fit for occupation 
 at my last visit. 
 
 (Those are the cells, my lord, that you visited in D hall; they 
 were just then completed, and never occupied before. ) They are 
 to be worked in a separate party at labor equal to their ability, 
 both as regards their strength and knowledge, and are to be kept 
 and exercised by themselves on all occasions, and full marks to be 
 awarded to them for their labor, except in cases of proved miscon- 
 duct, and they are to be worked by Protestant officers — English, in 
 whom you have full confidence — and they are not to be employed 
 in the domestic duties of the prison, except as regards their own 
 cells or halls. You must, therefore, locate them on the works in a 
 secure position, where too much attention will not be drawn to their 
 isolation, at the same time in such a position where the safe custo- 
 dy or the officer's honesty will not be tampered with. Due pro- 
 vision will be made for a Roman Catholic priest's attendance, but 
 until one is nominated there will be no objection to one of the pris- 
 oners reading prayers to the others. 
 
 William T. Fagan." 
 
 May U 181)6. 
 
 There was a public works prison in Portsmouth where there 
 was a Catholic chaplain, but that would not do for us. Portland 
 was a place where a priest's foot never polluted the soil, and 
 there could be no sympathetic influence there to imperil our safe 
 keeping. These people as you see by the instructions from a Cath- 
 
[Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 127 
 
 olic director, would not trust an Irish Protestant near us. No; he 
 must have the English brand upon his Protestantism to make it 
 orthodox when the guardianship of Irishmen was in question. I 
 believe this Mr. Fagan got charge of us at first, for the very reason 
 that the Government intended to treat us shamefully, ai/d if any 
 of their bad work came out on them they would say, " why, we have 
 treated these prisoners like pet lambs: what other proof of our 
 kind intentions towards them can you desire than that we have 
 given the principal charge of them to an Irishman and a Catholic, 
 William T. Fagan ?" Mr. Fagan would possibly be a good Irish- 
 man and a good Catholic if an Irish Catholic Government were 
 giving him the same salary as he is getting now. He is paid for 
 working for the English, and he is doing their work well, like many 
 other pious, patriotic Irishmen, which is all that I need say of him 
 at present. 
 
 The day after our coming to Portland, we were taken to the 
 shoe store to be fitted in shoes and boots. The shoes for Sunday 
 and cell wear, and the boots for public works. But, weren't they 
 boots ? Fully fourteen pounds in weight. Those that my youthful 
 imagination figured in reading of the seven leagued ones of " Jack 
 the Giant Killer" were nothing to them. I put them on and the 
 weight of them seemed to fasten me to the ground. It was not 
 that alone, but the sight of the impression they left on the gutter 
 as you looked at the footprints of those who walked before you, 
 struck terror to your heart. There was the felon's brand of the 
 " broad arrow " impressed on the soil by every footstep. It was 
 not enough to have it branded on several parts of your cap, your 
 shirt and vest, your stockings, jacket and trowsers, but the nails in 
 the soles of your boots and shoes were hammered in in an arrow 
 shape, so that whatever ground you trod you left traces that Gov- 
 ernment property had traveled over it. " I'll put the " broadar 
 upon you," was an expression in use long and many years ago at 
 John Cushan's school. It was the threat of a beating that would 
 leave a mark which could never be effaced, and I never realized 
 the force of this " broadar " till I recognized it in the broad arrow 
 that brands everything animate and inanimate belonging to prison 
 life. The handle of the cat-o'-nine-tails, that opens the poor con- 
 vict's back is marked with it, as well as the Bible that the minister 
 reads to soothe him when he is groaning in his cell after the 
 scourging. You see it on your comb, on your tin pint, on your tin 
 knife, and if it does not enter into your soul, it at least finds its 
 way into your mouth branded on the bowl of your timber spoon. 
 
 It took about two hours to fit the whole of us in boots and shoes, 
 and during this time we were walked about the yard, and allowed 
 to speak to each other two by two, This was the first sunny 
 glimpse we got of prison life; to be allowed to walk about and hear 
 each other's voice, and hear the news that O'Connor, and Carey and 
 Mulcahy and the others, brought, who were in the world three months 
 
126 C Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 later than some of us, were things to us the value of which a free 
 man cannot appreciate. I heard O'Leary say it would be grand if 
 this kind of prison life continued. We did not know what dispo- 
 sition was to be made of us, and of course had our speculations on 
 the matter, but the question was soon put outside the pale of the spec- 
 ulative sciences. When we were all foot-fitted, orders were given 
 to halt and draw up in double line. Then the Governor came in 
 front, and to the cry of " hats off," each of us uncovered. He made 
 a short address, hoping we would have good conduct, as he in- 
 tended to maintain with the utmost strictness the discipline of the 
 prison — that he could be mild or severe according as it was neces- 
 sary — that he had not as yet received instructions regarding the 
 work we were to be put at, but until he received them he would 
 send us to the wash-house — that the " amulets " or " charms," 
 which were yesterday taken from us, would be held by him until 
 further orders, as he could not permit a prisoner to hold anything 
 that the rules did not allow. I thought some of my companions more 
 religious than I would resent the allusion to the crosses and scapu- 
 lars they wore ; but, as they did not, I did not like to become the 
 champion of the insulted Faith. I asked the Governor if I could 
 write a letter to my family, as the prison rules state every convict 
 can write one on reception, and he informed me that was a privi- 
 lege not permitted in our case — that we could not write until there 
 was a special permission from the authorities, and here again we 
 were in this matter treated worse than the English thieves and 
 throttlers. 
 
 Next day we were taken to the wash-house, and the labor of our 
 convict life in Portland commenced. I did not like the smell of 
 the place; but what is the use in saying I didn't like things? 
 There were the stationary tubs full of dirty suds and dirty clothes, 
 and feeling I would rather have a hand in anything than a hand in 
 them, I "mouched" round to see if any thing better would turn up. 
 I laid hold of the handle of a pump, and commenced pumping 
 away as hard as I could. A large water trough had to be filled. 
 I kept at my work for half-an-hour, by which time the tank 
 was full, and as I turned about, wiping the sweat off my face with 
 my check handkerchief, I saw I had gained my point. All 
 the stationary tubs were engaged, and I was detailed to fill the 
 tank whenever it was empty. W T hen this was done my duty was 
 to sort the linens. The broken garments were to be picked out from 
 the unbroken ones and sent to the menders, and the good articles 
 were to be made up into kits, each consisting of a shirt, a hand- 
 kerchief, a pair of stockings, and a flannel drawers and a waist- 
 coat. Every Saturday night every prisoner got his bundle, and 
 every second week the bundle was minus the flannels, the prison- 
 ers getting a change of these only once a fortnight. Occasionally, 
 I had half-an-hour or so taking clothes into the drying-room and 
 bringing them out; so that my labor in the wash-house was a lit» 
 
O } Donovan fiossa?s Prison Life, 129 
 
 tie diversified, just what suited me, for of all things I cannot bear in 
 prison life, or in any life, it is to be kept plodding away ding-dong 
 from morning till night at any one occupation. The first week in 
 Portland I made myself a variety of employments, but I had not 
 such a good chance afterwards, while in Portland or anywhere 
 else. 
 
 Sunday came, the bells rang for religious service, we heard the 
 parades and the trampings to church, but there was no devotion 
 for us unless we chose to be devout in our cells, where there was 
 no great temptation to be otherwise unless we got into a bad vein 
 of getting discontented with the condition and grumbled at the 
 Fates that offered such hard fare. 
 
 "We came to Portland bringing with us our registers of " Ro- 
 man Catholic," and as there was no priest in prison the Governor 
 informed us that one of ourselves would be allowed to offici- 
 ate on Sundays until a clergymen was appointed. He was in- 
 formed that in the Catholic Churcli a layman could not do service 
 for a clergyman, could not say Mass, could not hear confessions, 
 could not give communion, could not do anything that a priest 
 could do for a congregation. He then suggested that one of us 
 might read prayers or a chapter of the Bible in the hall outside of 
 our cells, and as we preferred that to remaining locked up we con- 
 sented, and made Denis Mulcahy our chaplain. He knelt at the 
 end of the hall on a stool, with his books on a table before him, and 
 repeated aloud for us the morning and evening prayers, a litany, 
 and a chapter of the Bible. It is but justice to say that in the latter 
 devotion he selected those parts of the Scripture which harmonized 
 best with our positions. It was pleasing to me to hear him read 
 from the Holy Book denunciations of tyrants and oppressors, per- 
 jnrers and liars, and sympathy for their victims, with curses and 
 punishments for liars and perjurers, and blessings for all who suf- 
 ferred pesecution for justice sake. 
 
 Jt was the most treasonable preaching ever I heard, and we had 
 it Sunday after Sunday for eight weeks till the priest came, a Rev. 
 Mr. Poole, Englishman, but priested in Ireland, at All Hollow's 
 College, Dublin, and I wish the college joy of him for anything of 
 Irish life they infused into him. 
 
 As I am speaking of Sunday, I may as welJ give an account of 
 how we spent that day in Portland. The evening previous we had 
 to make preparations for the proper observance of the Sabbath. 
 We stopped work and came into our cells an hour and a-half earlier 
 than usual. Our first preparation was in the bath house, where we 
 got rid of as much as we could of the soil and moil of our week's 
 work. Back in our cells two of us were detailed as " orderlies," 
 and the duties belonging to an orderly's office were to take the 
 sack full of kits and lay one kit down at every cell door, to take the 
 empty sack and go round again to take the soiled linen, the prison- 
 er when giving back every article opening it out, turning it back and 
 
130 0^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 front to show there was no unnecessary tear in it ; to take the oil 
 and the oil-brush, the blacking and the blacking-brushes to every 
 cell-door, to sweep the hall, and last, though not least, to go about 
 collecting the slops. 
 
 With the oil and the oil-brush the convict smeared his large 
 seven-leagued boots, and there is a special watch kept on him 
 while doing this, for many hungry men have been known to drink 
 this oil. With the blacking and the blacking-brush the shoes are 
 polished, and polished brightly too, for if the " shine" is not on at 
 parade in the morning it is a black mark for the convict and for the 
 officer who has charge of the squad. Often have I been obliged to 
 
 fo a second time over my shoes in order to have them pronounced 
 t for inspection. It is true I often tried to get off with giving 
 them a " Scotch lick," for cleaning shoes in a narrow cell with 
 the door locked and very bad ventilation became odious to me. 
 Taking the dried gutter off them, putting on the blacking, and then 
 working up the " shine," made the air redolent with blacking and 
 Portland stone, and so much did it become impregnated with 
 particles of these, that I could feel them cracking between my 
 teeth. While oiling the boots the door was left open, and you had 
 to do the work standing in the doorway, facing outwards. If you 
 got the oil inside your door you might drink it, but there was no fear 
 of your drinking the blacking. When you got your boots done you 
 shut the door; and, by-and-bye, the orderlies came and put the shoe 
 brushes and blacking under the door. When you had used them 
 you returned them in the same manner. 
 
 The usual time for rising is five o'clock, but on Sunday the 
 bell rang at six and when another rawg at a quarter past six 
 you were to be up and dressed. Two being detailed as orderlies, the 
 slops are collected by these commissioned gentlemen going round 
 from cell to cell with the bucket. " Doors closed," and at that 
 word of command orderlies and all others are shut in. In a half-an- 
 hour breakfast comes, and the orderlies are out again. Each prison- 
 er put out his pint and plate the last time his door was open; and 
 now the vessels are there waiting for ten ounces of bread and three 
 quarters of a pint of cocoa — the bread often sour and the cocoa often 
 sickening. One orderly holds the cocoa-can, the other holds the 
 pint and plate, and the officer measures out the stuff. Then the 
 orderlies lay hold of the bread-basket, and the officer Jays hold of 
 'the loaves, placing one at every door. If a prisoner had the distri- 
 bution of these loaves it would be his fortune while in office. He 
 would be the prince of the ward. Tweed, in the Seventh Ward of 
 New York, when he was in his glory, would be nothing to him. 
 He might put a man on the " pipes " or put a man on the " Boule- 
 vard," who would be his henchman on election day. But what was 
 he to the man who had it in his power to make choice of one or 
 two hungry men, to whom he would give crusty loaves or loaves 
 carrying half an ounce more than other loaves, where all the men 
 of the ward were starving? 
 
(J Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life. 131 
 
 Such abuses crept into English prison life in the imperfect stage 
 of its discipline ; but now that is all changed. No prisoner can 
 give out bread or measure drink ; everything must be distributed 
 impartially by an impartial officer, and there are no more quarrels 
 amongst convicts on the grounds of such a one giving the other the 
 worst loaf in the basket. Our breakfasts taken on Sunday morning, 
 we are ordered to the parade. Before we got the priest we all 
 stood at our door with our caps off. The Governor passed by, look- 
 ing at each of us in turn. It was a stare from head to foot to see if 
 our scalps were bare enough and our boots bright enough. After 
 the chaplain came, we were marshalled at a respectful distance 
 from another gang of English convicts. As the Governor appeared, 
 to the order of " Rear rank, two paces backward," a pathway was 
 made between our lines, through which pathway he sometimes 
 passed, and other times he passed in front. In sleet or in sun our 
 caps had to be kept off during this inspection. One day the Dep- 
 uty-Governor, Major Hickey, was the parade master. He had 
 passed one party, and as he was on the way to the next gang, I, at 
 the right of the line, seeing he had passed me, put on my cap. He 
 turned and asked why I did that without orders, telling me 
 to uncover again, and I obediently did so ; but I was watching 
 after that to give the fellow a hit. I did so in a letter, " a petition," 
 I wrote to the Secretary of State, and he was very gentlemanly to 
 me afterwards. I never got any peace from these people till I 
 treated them with contempt, and I never did this till I saw that 
 nothing reasonable would satisfy them, and that the more I showed 
 an obedient disposition the more disposed they showed themselves 
 to annoy me. 
 
 The inspection being over, we were led to chapel — led and 
 driven — for one officer went before us and another came behind. 
 We were in our cells again about half-past eleven, and at twelve 
 dinner was distributed. This was 12 oz. of bread, 4 oz. of cheese, 
 and a pint of water; and the orderlies, having done their duty, 
 were locked in like the rest of us. One officer remained on watch. 
 He walked about in slippers, and sometimes, if your eye was fixed 
 on the spy-hole, you could see the outside blinker of it "slowly mov- 
 ing aside, and then an eye glaring in at you. 'Twas an ugly sight, 
 as ugly a one as remains to me of my prison remembrance. Talk 
 what you will of beautiful eyes, but the eyes of an angel would look 
 repulsive to me in such a position. I don't know was it an innate 
 detestation of spying that affected me so uncomfortably at this 
 spectacle ; but the eye of a serpent or of a lion fixed on me within 
 my cell would not, I think, make me feel worse than that eye fixed 
 on me from without. To me it was the all-seeing eye ; but I was 
 certain that for me also it had in it more of the devil than the Di- 
 vine. 
 
 When the officers came back from dinner we were taken to the 
 chapel for evening prayers, and after chapel we were taken to exer- 
 
132 O* Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 cise, as we had two hours in the open air every Sunday. Cells after 
 exercise, and supper at five o'clock, consisting of six ounces of bread 
 and a pint of gruel, supposed to have in it two ounces of oatmeal. 
 You remain in, your cell till half-past seven o'clock, the hour for 
 preparing to retire, and in this space of seven feet by three and 
 a-half you are at perfect liberty to amuse yourself any way you like, 
 save and except that you are not to make any noise, that you are 
 not to walk about, and that you are not to take your hammock off 
 your shelf, nor to sling it to stretch upon. Walking about my cell 
 during dinner hour a rap came to my door. I saw the eye at the 
 spy-hole and heard a voice cry, " What are you dancing there for?" 
 " I'm not dancing, I'm only walking to keep my blood in circula- 
 tion." "You are making a noise in your cell, and you can't do 
 that ; you'll have to keep quiet." I sat down on my hard stool, 
 fully persuaded it was a hard place to live in. 
 
 Another of my Sunday experiences is that I was located on the 
 side of the hall where all the cells are dark. Here there is no 
 chance of reading, and after some meditation on my situation, I took 
 down my hammock and stretched on it. The eye immediately 
 detected me, and ordered me to replace the hammock. I said that 
 in a dark cell where I could not read or walk I might reasonably be 
 allowed to stretch, and next day I was sentenced to twenty-four 
 hours' bread and water for my insolence and insubordination. 
 
 At half-past seven on Sunday evenings the orderlies are out, the 
 doors are opened one by one, and the slops are collected. Shut in 
 again, another bell rings at a quarter to eight, up to which time you 
 are not to touch your bed. Then you set to work to fix your ham- 
 mock, undress yourself, and be in bed when the eight o'clock bell 
 rings, and all lights are extinguished except those in the body of the 
 hall. 
 
 So much for a Sunday. And now as I have spoken of the diet- 
 ary of one day here, I may as well give the scale for all the days of 
 the week in Portland. I have it before me in the report of the 
 Commissioners of Inquiry, and I may say it looks very nice and spicy 
 in print ; but were you to see it in reality and feed upon it for any 
 time, you would think it " flavored and thickened " with something 
 more than " as above." 
 
 PORTLAND, PORTSMOUTH, DARTMOOR, PARKHTTRST, AND WORKING DIET- 
 ARIES FOR CONVICTS AT PUBLIC WORKS HARD LABOR. 
 
 BREAKFAST. 
 
 Three-quarters pint cocoa, containing half oz. cocoa, two oz. milk, 
 half oz. molasses ; (bread see below.) 
 
 DINNER. 
 
 Sunday — Four oz. cheese, bread. 
 
 Monday and Saturday — Five oz. of beef without bone, and after 
 being cooked with its own liquor, flavored with half oz. onions, and 
 thickened with ^th oz. flour and any bread and potatoes left on the 
 
CP Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 
 
 ^evious day, and three-quarters oz. pepper per cent, one lb. potatoes ; 
 bread. 
 
 Tuesday and Friday — One pint soup, containing eight oz. shins 
 of beef, one oz. pearl barley, two oz. fresh vegetables, one oz. onions, 
 one lb. potatoes ; bread. 
 
 Wednesday — Five oz. mutton without bone, and after being 
 cooked with its own liquor, flavored and thickened as above, one lb. 
 potatoes ; bread. 
 
 Thursday — One lb suet pudding, containing one and a half oz. 
 suet, eight oz. flour, six and a half oz. water ; one lb. potatoes ; 
 bread. 
 
 SUPPER. 
 
 Ona pint of gruel, containing two oz. oatmeal, half oz. molasses or 
 salt. 
 
 Bread per week, 168 oz. each — week day, 23 oz. each; Sunday, 
 30 oz. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 REMOVED FROM THE WASH-HOUSE AND SENT TO THE QUARRIES—* 
 
 NOBBLING 1 BECOME A QUARRTMAN "REPORTED" AND " DE* 
 
 GRADED " TRIED AND CONDEMNED WITHOUT WITNESSES PRIVY 
 
 CLEANING — RAIN DOWN IN OUR CELLS EARNING MARKS EIGH- 
 TEEN MONTHS IN PRISON AFTER DEATH CANNOT SPEAK HIGH 
 
 OR LOW "DO YOU DEFY THE PRISON AUTHORITIES" PAT BARRY'S 
 
 JUGGLERY AND PUNISHMENT DONALD BANE, THE SCOTCHMAN, 
 
 AND HIS RAZOR " CANNOT YOU FELLOWS SHAVE EACH OTHER " — ■ 
 
 MICHAEL O'REGAN JOKED AND CHARLES KICKHAM SHOVED BY 
 
 GUNNING WILLIAM ROANTREE'S ILLNESS MARTIN HANLY CAREY 
 
 BREAKS A FINGER, AND THE DOCTOR MAKES HIM WORK WITH ONE 
 
 HAND 1 TRY TO BE AS GOOD AS AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN CCNVICT 
 
 AND TEAR MY CLOTHES " MUTINY " fD " SUCK ANOTHER MAN'S 
 
 BLOOD " MICHAEL o'REGAN AND THE PRISON PRIESTS. 
 
 After a week an order came to take us away from the wash- 
 house. We were to be sent to work in the quarries; and in 
 obedience to the mandates of Mr. Fagan — "You must therefore 
 locate them on the works in a secure position, where too much 
 attention will not be drawn by their isolation," we were placed in 
 a little valley in view of the Governor's office. He had his spy- 
 glass on us whenever it pleased him, and all diligence was shown in 
 the carrying out of the instruction to place the cherished convicts 
 " in such a position where their safe custody or the officers' honesty 
 will not be tampered with." Mr. Clifton, in his evidence before 
 the Commissioners, says (page 67): — "And as soon as these in- 
 structions came down, they were removed to a spot on the public 
 works which you can see from the windows." Oh ! weren't these 
 people careful of us ! and frightened lest some invisible power 
 would run away with us ! " They are to be worked by Protestant 
 officers, English, in whom you have the fullest confidence," and yet 
 the " officers' honesty " was to be watched. 
 
 The little valley was within about 300 yards of the main prison ; 
 it opened towards the building, which was the only view we had, 
 as on all other sides it was surrounded by high grounds, on which 
 were constructed railroads and tramways. We dare not ascend 
 any of these and take a view of the sea, or the island, or the other 
 prisoners working beyond. We had, however, an opportunity of 
 occasionally seeing some of those as they were taken to hospital or 
 
(7 Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 135 
 
 to the dead-house on stretchers, after being maimed or killed or 
 having committed suicide on the works. The first day in the 
 quarries we occupied ourselves in erecting blocks on which we 
 were to dress stones. The blocks were to be three yards part, and 
 I found Luby, O'Leary, and myself on the angles of a triangle. 
 As I turned myself round I found myself at the apex of another 
 triangle, having Denis Dowling Mulcahy and James O'Connor for 
 its base, and so on with each of the others. It was at this time 
 about the middle of May, and we were obliged to work with our 
 jackets off. Some cold days came, and the sea wind blowing in, 
 seemed to cut through me; yet the prison regulations and dis- 
 cipline made it summer season, and we had to work as all others 
 worked. Mr. Clifton says, " I can produce the Secretary of State's 
 reply, in which they were to be treated as other convicts." Our 
 first work was making " nobblers," a nobbier being a stone with 
 five sides dressed and one rough side. When the workman had 
 his rough stone filed down into a nobbier he laid it by his block, 
 called his companion, and both taking the handbarrow, went to 
 the quarry for another rough stone. On one of these trips I laid 
 hold of a sledge, and to warm myself commenced sledging away 
 at a large rock, while my mate was •' keebling," that is, knocking 
 the large rough corners off an embryo nobbier. " I think, Rossa," 
 said Gunning, the officer, " you'd make a good quarryman, and 
 you'd better stay here with Brophy." " All right, governor," said 
 I, " anything you like ;" for I like variety, and as every one of the 
 laborers had to call a few times a day to the quarry, I had an op- 
 portunity of having a word with each in turn. Hugh Brophy and 
 myself were getting on splendidly till the first of my misfortunes 
 came on me in the shape of a " Report," and come it did like a 
 thunderclap, without the preliminary of a flash of lightning. We 
 got up at five o'clock in the morning, had our breakfast at half-past 
 five, and were in the quarries at six. 'Twas a long, wea**y day, and 
 I always had a splendid appetite for my meals. When you come 
 into dinner you enter your cell, shut the door, and the orderlies of 
 the day are called out, and they lay at the door a canteen contain- 
 ing the dinner. The orderlies are then sent in, and the warder 
 opens door after door, each prisoner taking in his dinner, and the 
 officer taking care not to open one door till the other is shut. 
 Opening my door this day in question, and stooping down to 
 lay hold of the tin, he roared out, " Leave that there; stand out- 
 side here, and turn your face to the wall." I obeyed. Michael 
 Moore's cell was next to mine, and opening his door, Mike, as hun- 
 gry as myself, bowed towards the canteen, and Gunning ordered 
 him to leave it there, and turn his face to the wall. If we 
 hadn't food for the stomach we had at least food for specu- 
 lation. As all the dinners were taken in, and all the doors 
 locked, the officer coming towards me, cried, " About face, two 
 paces forward, march," and we obeying, he followed behind, giving 
 
136 & Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 all the orders that were necessary to send us around corners and 
 through halls till he had each of us locked in a darkened 
 cell. The officer in charge of this dark abode came to me 
 an<l demanded my boots, my braces, my necktie, my handkerchief, 
 and my cap, taking them away, locking my door, and leaving me 
 asking myself what the deuce can all this mean ? But I wasn't left 
 long in doubt ; it was a " Report;" my door was opened, and I heard 
 the order " Forward." " My boots, governor," I said ; ' ; Nevermind 
 your boots," said he, "forward march," and on I went through the 
 nagged hall in my stocking yamps, and my two hands having hold 
 of my trousers to keep it from tripping me. " Halt, right face, 
 forward." I entered by a door that another officer opened, and 
 found myself before the judgment seat of the Governor, with a strong 
 iron railing between him and me, and two officers at each side of it. 
 The judge reads from a large book before him — "Treason-felony 
 convict, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, No. 34, you are charged with 
 speaking to the prisoner in the cell convenient to you." "When, Gov- 
 ernor?" "Yesterday evening, at seven o'clock." "Who is to prove 
 the charge, Governor? " " Do you deny the charge ?" " I only ask 
 who is to prove it: You certainly are not going to convict a man in 
 England without some one giving evidence." Governor, addressing 
 one of the offieers, "Where is the patrol?" Officer, putting his 
 hand to his head, "He is off duty to-day, sir." Governor, address- 
 ing me, " The patrol who was on duty outside your window yester- 
 day evening heard you. Do you deny the charge?" "I admit 
 or deny nothing." 
 
 Governor — " As this is your first offence, I will not punish you 
 severely, but as the discipline of the prison must not be despised, I 
 order you to be degraded, and I fine you 84 marks ; you must not 
 speak or make any noise in your cell while in this prison." " But 
 can I speak at all ?" " Yes ; you can speak to your companions 
 while at labor, but you must speak so loud that the officer in charge 
 of you can hear you, lest you should be planning anything." I 
 bowed my acknowledgements, and to the orders of " about face," 
 " forward," " left face," "forward," " halt;" "left face," "forward," 
 I kept moving and entered my dark cell again. The door was 
 locked, — by-and-by it was opened and I was handed my dinner, but 
 I had to eat it without knife, or plate, or table, as this was one of 
 the punishment cells in the punishment ward of the prison. 
 
 The bell rang at one o'clock, the door was opened, I was told to 
 dress and get ready for labor. I took my boots and in them found 
 my handkerchief, stock, cap and braces. Moore and myself were 
 being marched off when we heard the cry of " stop," " stop ;" the 
 officer in charge of us cried " halt," and the other on coming up 
 handed each of us a jacket, saying, "here, give me the jackets you 
 have on and wear these till evening," and, having made the change, 
 we went out and fell in with the rest of the party as they were going 
 to work after dinner. 
 
O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 137 
 
 I had one pleasant piece of news to communicate when we ar- 
 rived in the " pleasant valley," and that was what the Governor told 
 me, that we could speak while at work, but loud enough for the offi- 
 cers to hear us, lest we should be planning anything. We indulged 
 in the privilege much to the mortification of the officers in charge of 
 us, for a great part of their recreation consisted in checking any of 
 us who seemed inclined to carry on a conversation with his neigh- 
 bor, but now they were checked themselves, and they appeared to 
 regard it as a curtailment of their authority. Men like to have 
 power over other men. We are all tyrants and need to be held in 
 check by some power outside of our own wills. It was a great 
 thing for those ignorant jailers to bring men like us to account 
 every hour of the day, to shut our mouths or allow our tongues to 
 wag at their will. As we were in the height of our glee at this 
 change in our affairs, Gunning cried out, " See, see, two of yous men 
 will have to come and clean out the privy here," and in obedience 
 to his command the two who were first on his list went at the work. 
 Once every three weeks this unpleasant duty was performed by two 
 of us. Gunning, speaking to me one day, told me I was one of the 
 two who should empty the closet next Monday, and I said I would 
 see something about it first. When I went to the cell that evening 
 I called the officer and told him to take down my name to see the 
 Governor next day, and next day at dinner hour I was taken before 
 him. " Governor." I said, "the officer in charge of us told me yes- 
 terday that I should clean a privy next Monday and I desire to 
 know from you if that is work expected from me ?" His reply 
 was " Certainly, yes," to which I answered, " All right, Governor," 
 and turned away. VVhen I went out Gunning said, " You went to 
 the Governor to know if you would be made to clean the closet, but 
 now instead of having two of you to clean it once every three weeks, 
 I will make yous clean it every Monday morning," to which I 
 answered, " All right, Governor." But at the same time I was 
 nursing a determination to refuse point plank to do such work when 
 Monday morning came. I told my companions I would refuse, and 
 some of them remonstrated with me. Mr. Luby observed that obe- 
 dience and subordination were more than anything else in accord 
 with the dignity of the cause of our imprisonment, and in this I 
 agreed with him. John Mitchell submitted to the prison discipline, 
 he said, and did his work like any other convict, but I could never 
 realize to my mind John Mitchell's shoveling the dung out of a 
 privy, and I know I never did it myself without wishing that the 
 Prime 'Minister of England and the Secretary of State were within 
 the reach of my shovel. There was no satisfaction to me in hurling 
 my indignation at an humble underling of a warder. John 
 O'Leary's argument at length persuaded me to go back of my de- 
 termination, and it harmonized most with my own feelings. It 
 was, that some four or six of our party had cleaned the closet before 
 me, and my refusing to do it would look as a reflection on their 
 spirit or a presumption of my own superiority. 
 
138 (? Donovan Eossa's Prison Life. 
 
 I wished I had been away from the party, and in a position 
 where I could pursue the bent of my own inclinations without the 
 risk of hurting the feelings of any one I cared about, but I had to 
 take the world as it came, and when Monday came had to clean the 
 privy. I did it, cursing under my teeth, and two years afterwards 
 the memory of this indignity came on strongly, with that of others, 
 to urge me to commit the very undignified act of throwing the 
 water from my slop-pail through the bars of my prison chamber 
 right into the face of the Governor of Chatham Prison when he 
 stood outside the door calling on me to give him a salute, at the 
 very same time that he was starving me on bread and water. 
 
 If corroboration be needed of our being obliged to do this dirty 
 work it is to be found in page 58 of the report of the Commission- 
 ers of Inquiry. Mr. Clifton, the Governor of Portland Prison, is 
 under examination, and here are a few questions and answers as 
 given in the book: 
 
 " You tell off a certain number of prisoners as orderlies ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What have they to do ? " 
 
 " Clean the privies ; carry water inside and put it at the prisoners' 
 doors; clean and wash the steps leading from the landings." 
 
 " Are they expected to clean the privies ? " 
 
 " They take it by turns and wash them out." 
 
 " How are the privies in the works outside cleaned ? " 
 
 " Once a week two prisoners belonging to the party empty them 
 at a spot where the manure is subsequently carted by a contractor." 
 
 So much for this part of the degradation. Now let me return to 
 that degradation which was ordered for Michael Moore and me for 
 speaking in our cells. 
 
 When we returned from labor that evening our jackets were re- 
 turned to us, and we found that the regular badges had been torn 
 off the sleeves and others put on, which branded us as refractory. 
 I forget now what was the degrading color of the badge, but I 
 know that Mike's and mine were different from all the others. We 
 were mangy sheep, and we should lead three months of the most 
 regular life before we could get rid of our scabs. The partitions 
 between our cells were made of corrugated iron, and in the one 
 between Michael Moore and me there was a slit alongside the wall 
 through which you might pass a silver shilling. We occasionally had 
 a whisper through this, and the spy outside our window must have 
 heard us through the ventilator on the occasion for which we were 
 degraded and fined eighty four marks each, which is equivalent to 
 fourteen days' imprisonment, and I will explain how. When a con- 
 vict is sentenced to a term of imprisonment, every day of the term 
 is put down against him as six marks. He is then told that if he is 
 obedient and works hard he can earn eight marks a day. Thus, if 
 his term of imprisonment be twenty days, he can work out his 120 
 marks in fifteen days. But he may be working fourteen days, and 
 
CP Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 139 
 
 earning eight marks a day, and his officer may report him for look- 
 ing at another prisoner, or for some imaginary offence, when he is 
 fined as many marks as will put him back to his original sentence. 
 I had a few words with the Governor of Portland one day about 
 these same marks. I was then about ten months under his guardian- 
 ship, and being before him for punishment, he wound up some- 
 what as follows : 
 
 " I have been looking over your many punishments and your very 
 bad character on the books, and with the number of days on bread 
 and water, I see you have been fined three thousand two hundied 
 and eighty-five marks, which is adding eighteen months to your 
 imprisonment." 
 
 " What, Governor," cried I, " do you really mean to tell me that 
 you are going to keep me a year and a half in prison without bury- 
 ing me after I'm dead ? " 
 
 " What does he mean ? " (addressing the officers.) Putting their 
 hands to their heads, they all answered, " Don't know, sir." 
 
 " I mean that I am transported for life, and how can eighteen 
 months he added to that ? " 
 
 " Well, if you don't care about earning your remission, if you 
 don't care about your wife and your children, I can't help you. 
 Take him away." And away I was taken to the abode of " bread 
 and water." A fortnight after we got permission to speak, and to 
 speak loud, the Governor stood over us on the railroad track, and, 
 in our presence, brought the officers to account for permitting us to 
 talk so high, and then the annoyance commenced in earnest. If we 
 talked low we subjected ourselves to reproof and threatened report, 
 and so worried was I at length that on Gunning checking me one 
 day I said to him : " See, officer, I have had warning, and threats, 
 and admonitions enough from you. I know the rules and regula- 
 tions, you know them too, and when you see me infringe them just 
 report me to the Governor, let him punish me, but let you keep 
 your tongue off me." Next day I was reported, and got my first 
 dose of twenty-four hours' " bread and water," that is eight ounces 
 of bread at half-past five in the morning, with a pint of water ; and 
 eight ounces at half-past five in the evening, with the pint of water. 
 No dinner, no bed at night, no open-air exercise by day, no stool or 
 other seat in your cell ; all solitary confinement, and this is what, in 
 prison parlance, is called " bread and water." 
 
 The first step on the road to misfortune, like the first in sin, is 
 seldom retraced, and my first dose on "bread and water" soon 
 brought others after it. " We'll tame you as we tame lions in Eng- 
 land," is a common expression of jailers to their sulky captives. 
 When I saw this starvation process resorted to in my case, my 
 whole nature arose in arms, and I felt that even against prison gov- 
 ernment I could be a rebel too. It was measuring me by the same 
 rule as that by which they measured their thieves and pickpockets ; 
 and though we were wearing the same jackets, I had inside of mine 
 
140 O'Donovxn Rosses Prison Life. 
 
 some kind of Irish pride which made me wi^h to have the authorities 
 learn they were mistaken in supposing that the application of this 
 rule to Irish revolutionists was to have the same effect upon them 
 as upon the garrotters and Sodomites of England. 
 
 Again and again was I reported for speaking too loud while at 
 work, and bread and water followed each report, till at length 
 orders came that we were not to speak high or low. Warder Gun- 
 ning having read these orders to us one morning in the quarry, I 
 asked him how long they were to last ? and he told me I must not 
 be impertinent. In an hour's time a courier from the prison came 
 out to him and, after going back, we were informed that the order 
 issued in the morning was relaxed to the extent that we were al- 
 lowed to speak regarding our work. Every two men had hammers, 
 and keebles, and sledges between them ; one could ask the other for 
 a tool, or ask help in lifting a stone, or anything necessary about 
 the work. " Governor," I said, " can I say to my comrade, this 
 work is rather hard ? " and his reply was, " I have told you to-day 
 before that you must not be insolent." By-and-by an officer called 
 a " principal," who wears a gold band on his cap, came the rounds, 
 and we saw Gunning summon O'Leary before him, then Luby was 
 summoned ; I came next. Gunning's charge was — " Mr. Warren, 
 this convict, O'Donovan Rossa, has used gross insolence two times 
 to-day before me ; he is defying the rules and regulations and giv- 
 ing a bad example to all the party." 
 
 Rossa — " Mr. Gunning, will you please tell the Principal what I 
 said and did to warrant your making such a charge ? " 
 
 Gunning — " He asked me, sir, in a very insulting tone, how long 
 would the order last that enforced silence, and he asked me if he 
 could not say to another prisoner, that the work was hard." 
 
 Principal Warren — "Why, this is regular mutiny. You will 
 have to give up your impudence and insolence to the officers of this 
 prison or suffer for it." 
 
 Rossa — " Governor, I have no desire to be insolent or impudent 
 to any officer ; the prison rules do not allow me to be so, nor do 
 they allow any officer to be insolent or impudent to me." 
 Principal — " Send him into the punishment cells." 
 Gunning — " Here, Mr. Blaney, take Rossa into the cells." 
 On I marched with Warder Blaney, but as at this time I was 
 stripped to my shirt I was called back to put on my jacket and 
 waistcoat, which were lying by my block. I was dressed and on 
 the march again, when Warren told me to come back and stay at 
 my work till dinner time, when I could be reported after going in. 
 Warren went away, and after he was gone I proceeded to tell what 
 he had said to me to W T illiam Roantree, who was working near by. 
 Gunning approached and 6aid: 
 
 " Rossa, do you persist in defying the rules and regulations of 
 this prison ? " 
 \ Rossa — " That's an improper question, Governor." 
 
CPDonovan Bosses Prison Life. 141 
 
 Gunning — " Answei me, do you persist in defying the prison 
 rules?" 
 
 Rossa — " The question is illegal, and I won't answer it." 
 Gunning — " Do you defy the prison authorities ? " 
 Rossa — " You know your duty. If I am violating any rule 
 report me to the Governor, but don't be trying to frighten the life 
 out of me by screeching that way at me." 
 
 I worked till dinner-hour, but I got no dinner. I was reported 
 for " showing a mutinous disposition," and got my blood a little 
 cooled by getting hard bed and board for a few days. When I 
 came to the quarries again I found some of my friends had been 
 making provision for me. Patrick Barry had brought out a loaf of 
 bread, and the difficulty was, how to have it passed to me, and how 
 I could eat it ? He ran danger in bringing it out, and I would run 
 danger in taking it in ; for, going out and coming in, every one of 
 us was closely searched. At length Barry and I found ourselves 
 together in the quarry. We seized an opportunity when Gunning's 
 eyes were on some others of the party, and, presto ! quick as a 
 lightning flash the loaf changed hands. The next moment my hand 
 was up as a signal to go to the closet, and the loal wasn't seen 
 since. But Pat Barry got into trouble that day himself. Blaney, 
 the sub-officer, got talking to me. He was a smart little fellow, and 
 was trying to worry me into an admission of saying something I 
 didn't say. I was explaining, and Barry observing "that's just 
 what Rossa said," Blaney immediately pounced upon him for in- 
 terfering, reported him for insolence, and got him put on bread and 
 water. 
 
 The petty tricks resorted to at this time to annoy us are beyond 
 description. Gunning would come into my cell one day and in- 
 struct me to keep my spoon resting against my timber salt-cellar at 
 about an angle of 45 degrees, and Donald Bane would come the 
 next day and scold me for not having the spoon laid on the top of 
 the salt-cellar. There was no use in my saying, " Governor, the 
 other officer told me yesterday to keep it the other way." " Never 
 mind what the other officer says ; you're always to obey the last 
 order;" and if I said another word there was a peremptory order 
 of " Silence." This Donald Bane was a burly Scotchman, about six 
 feet two, and proportionately stout. He spoke as roughly as he 
 could, for the purpose of enforcing discipline, and, as I didn't like 
 his growl, I thought I'd have a bit of fun with him occasionally. 
 We were shaved every Wednesday and Saturday evening, Donald 
 being the superintendent. In Pentonville the razor was never al- 
 lowed into my own hand, as the barbering was always done by a 
 warder ; but here they were not so particular. Donald came about 
 with half-a-dozen razors, gave one to the prisoner, who gave it back 
 again when he had done, at which time the officer would inspect the 
 face and neck to see if they were perfectly smooth. It vvas always 
 a kind of torture to me to shave under my chin, and with the spirit 
 
142 (J Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 of human nature, I thought as I was scraping away one evening 
 that there was no legitimate reason why I should be my own tor- 
 turer. I didn't make a clean shave of it, and giving out my razor, 
 Donald said, "Here, let me look at you, hold up your head," and as 
 I obeyed orders he roared out, " What ! do you call that shaving ? " 
 " No ; I call that holding up my head." 
 
 "Take that razor again, and go into your cell." I took the 
 razor, went into my cell, shut the door, laid the razor upon the little 
 table till Donald came round in a quarter of an hour's time. " Are 
 you done with that razor?" "Yes, long ago." "Let me look at 
 you now." " Here." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Do you mean to tell me that you shaved 
 yourself again since I gave you that razor last?" 
 
 " I don't mean to tell you any such thing." 
 
 " What did I give you the razor for ? " 
 
 " I am sure I can't say ; you told me take it and I obeyed 
 orders." 
 
 " Here, now, take that razor again and shave your neck, or if you 
 don't I'll make you do it." 
 
 " Oh, Governor ! I shaved my neck as well as I could. It is al- 
 ways a torture to me to do that part of my shaving, and I can't do 
 it any better." 
 
 " But you must do it." 
 
 " Oh ! there is no use in my trying ; if you don't consider I am 
 shaven according to discipline, you are at perfect liberty to shave 
 me in order." « 
 
 " What ! me shave you ! " 
 
 "Yes; the officers in Pentonville shaved us regularly." 
 
 "Then I tell you that you'll get no officer to shave you here, 
 and now take that razor again and have yourself properly cleaned 
 when I call in ten minutes." 
 
 " 111 take the razor, Governor, but inasmuch as I have shaved as 
 well as I could this evening, you may as well take it with you, 
 unless you are prepared to carry out the prison discipline yourself." 
 
 He looked at me steadily for a moment or so and I looked at 
 him ; then ordering me to shut my door we parted for that evening, 
 but next day he had me taken before the Governor on a charge of 
 refusing to shave and giving gross insolence. 
 
 Governor — " What have you to say to the charge ? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 " Did you refuse to shave ? " 
 
 "No; I did shave." 
 
 " Why didn't you shave your neck better ? " 
 
 "I shaved it as well as I could. This shaving is one of the 
 prison punishments. To me it is a kind of torture, and I don't like 
 to see myself the agent of my own punishment. I believe if the 
 regulations were properly carried out that a razor would never be 
 allowed into the hands of a convict. I have shaved myself as well 
 
O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 143 
 
 as I could, and if you don't like how I enforce the discipline on my- 
 self I am willing to submit myself to a closer application of it at 
 the hands of the officer." 
 
 Governor — " Cannot you fellows shave each other ? " 
 "I cannot shave myself according to your liking, and I have 
 never attempted to shave anyone else, nor can I do it." Bane got 
 instructions to ask if there was any one in our party who could 
 shave the others. Michael Moore and Pat Dunne con ented to try, 
 and after that I submitted myself to their manipulations. 
 
 "You, fellows," was not a very unusual expression with this 
 Governor Clifton in addressing us, or, at least, in addressing me, 
 and this studied insult, instead of making me feel my degradation, 
 made me only feel more disposed to despise the meanness of the 
 man. 
 
 When the orders came that we were not to speak on the works, 
 Gunning had us to remove our blocks two yards further apart than 
 they were previously, and, thinking I was too comfortably situated 
 with Hugh Brophy, he took me away from the quarrying and 
 placed me in an isolated position, with Cornelius Manus O'Keeffe 
 and Thomas Clarke Luby, at the other two corners of our triangle. 
 O'Keeffe was just after being sent to Portland ; he had as great a 
 desire for talking as any one else, and would often try to reach me 
 by a whisper. I could not hear, and I occasionally alarmed him by 
 asking, in an ordinary tone of voice, what he was saying, or trying 
 to say. This brought Gunning's attention upon me, and it was 
 then he used to demand if I persisted in defying the rules and regu- 
 lations. O'Keeffe was a good Irish scholar, and I tried to draw 
 him out by giving him a word of Gaelic, which was high treason to 
 the jailers. They prohibitad us from speaking in our mother 
 tongue even on the days when we were allowed to talk. They 
 called it " slang." I believe it was Thomas Duggan, of Ballancol- 
 lig, that was severely reprimanded once for speaking Irish, and 
 threatened with severe punishment if he repeated the offence. 
 
 But if their ire was raised at our speaking what they could not 
 understand, their wit was aroused occasionally at our Irish names. 
 "Regan," cried Gunning one day, as he wanted to challenge 
 Michael O'Regan about something. Mike never raised his head, 
 but kept picking away with his hammer till the officer, approach- 
 ing, stood before his block demanding if he did not hear his 
 name called ? To which the prisoner answered " No." " Is not 
 your name Regan ?" " No ; my name is O'Regan." " Oh ! then 
 I suppose I must make amends for that?" said Gunning, walking 
 away about ten paces, and, turning round, he called "O'-O'Re- 
 gan," and told Mike whenever he forgot the " O" in future 
 to remind him, and he'd put it on on the double the next 
 time. About the time I speak of Charles Kickham was in a very 
 infirm state of health. Five days after he came to the prison he 
 was sent to the hospital. Two weeks, afterwards he was sent to 
 
144 O* Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 the quarries in a very weak condition with running sores on hia 
 neck; he was so weak he could hardly stand. I believe I have 
 stated previously that as he leaned against a ledge of rock, 
 while I was dressing a large stone for him, Gunning seized him 
 by the shoulder and made him stand up straight, telling him he 
 should not rest that way during hours of labor. But I am going 
 to speak of something now regarding him that stirred my own 
 blood a little. We were coming from dinner and had to march 
 to the quarry with military step. One officer was walking by the 
 side of the front men and another by the side of the rear. I was 
 behind Kickham, and I did not know where I was till I saw Gun- 
 ning rush at him, and giving him a shove, staggered him four or 
 five paces out of the ranks. He then laid hold of him and drag- 
 ged him to the rear. The reason of all this was, I suppose, that 
 Kickham was not keeping the step, and Gunning wanted to 
 arrange matters without calling a " halt." Charles Kickham was 
 taken to the hospital again after a few weeks, and that was the last 
 I saw of him. 
 
 There was a shed convenient to the place where we worked, and 
 when it rained hard we were taken there for shelter till the shower 
 was over. All the gangs have similar sheds, and the large bell 
 of the prison rang us a notice to make for shelter whenever the rain 
 was considered too heavy. Hearing the bell one day, and all of us 
 being anxiously waiting for it, as we were wet through, we made 
 for the shed, and the officer ordered us back to our blocks again. 
 He kept us there for over ten minutes ; then he gave the order 
 " Break off," and when we were in the shed he said no matter for 
 what reason the bell rang we were never to leave our work until 
 we got orders from him. He himself had oil-clothes on, and we 
 wore our thin suit of convict grey. 
 
 William F. Roantree was one of the second next men to me 
 in the quarry, and he was in a very precarious state of health 
 for some time. He put his hand into his boot one day, and when 
 he drew it out it was full of blood ; not spotted with it, but as he 
 slanted the palm of his hand the blood streamed off. Afflicted with 
 hemorrhoids, he was in this state for three months before he was 
 allowed to rest in the hospital. He was then declared invalided, 
 and removed to the invalid station at Woking. 
 
 Martin Hanly Carey was sledging another day, and as he was 
 drawing the stroke the iron flew off the handle of the sledge. 
 Carev knocked his hand against the rock and broke one of his 
 nngers. He was taken to the hospital. The doctor wanted to 
 amputate his finger, but Carey would not allow him, in conse- 
 quence of which the doctor would not allow him to remain in the 
 hospital. Martin Hanly was sent out to work the next day with 
 his hand in a sling. He was seated on a heap of stones in a 
 corner of the field, a hammer was given to him, and he was kept 
 there breaking stones day after day for six weeks before he could 
 »se the injured hand. 
 
(J Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 145 
 
 When Carey wanted a barrow of large stones I waited on him 
 for the first two or three days, but the officers seeing that I took 
 advantage of this for the purpose of having a whisper, I was for- 
 bidden to approach him in future, and some one else was commis- 
 sioned to keep the invalid supplied with work. Carey, one of 
 these days, overheard the Governor telling the warder to report 
 some of us for idleness, and next day we were taken before this im- 
 partial judge to be sentenced to our several terms of bread and 
 water. 
 
 Occasionally there seemed to be a necessity for punishing 
 us to show that the rules were administered with rigor, and the 
 discipline vigorously carried out. Every adverse wind that blew 
 from Ireland brought us a kick or a bark, or deprived us of a bit o£ 
 our daily bread. Possibly, too, that some English philanthropists 
 were saying we were treated with milk-and-honey kindness, and 
 that, consequently, it was no wonder sedition was rife in Ireland 
 as there were no terrors for the rebels. 
 
 All my punishments hitherto had been for talking, but when I 
 was brought up for idleness the Governor read me a lecture, and said 
 " there were educated gentlemen working in the next quarries to me 
 who dressed seven stones a day, whereas we dressed but one or two 
 each. These men he spoke of were brought up gentlemen, and 
 never did a day's work till they came to prison ; I should learn to 
 work as well as they did, or, if I didn't, should take the consequences. 
 The discipline of the prison should be maintained." 
 
 " Governor," said I, " as you cannot put me in the category of 
 your English educated gentlemen, you must excuse me for not en- 
 tering into competition with them in the amount of convict labor 
 to be done." I got my dose of bread and water, and when it was 
 taken I came to the quarry with a resolution which no one could 
 understand but myself, and which I did not care to explain to 
 any one. 
 
 I went to my block, took my pick in hand, and hammered 
 away for the dear life at my stone. In less than an hour I had 
 it finished. I took another and dressed it in about the same 
 time, and as I was at the third I saw some of the boys look at 
 me now and again to see what was the matter. One of the pris- 
 oners helped another in taking the dressed stone to the pile, and in 
 going from that to the quarry for a rough one. The passage way 
 was a path through the party of workers, and going for my fourth 
 stone one would whisper as I was passing him by, "Rossa, are you 
 mad?" another, "are you crazy?" another, "what the devil ails 
 you ?" To all of which I never spoke a word, but smiled, till I was 
 passing John O'Leary, who never minced matters, but always came 
 out with what he thought suitable , and when he said " Mr. O'Don- 
 ovan, that is a very poor way of showing your vanity," I replied, 
 "I agree with you, Mr. O'Leary; but you must agree with me that 
 we are in a yery poor place," Gunning roared out, " Stop that talk- 
 
146 O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 ing there." I hurried with my fourth stone to my block, and hur- 
 ried to have it dressed as soon as possible. Our average work every 
 day was about a stone and a half, or two, and when Gunning saw 
 that I was likely to break this average, he seemed to be getting 
 into good humor. Approaching mo, he said, smilingly, " Rossa, 
 you're getting on well to-day." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Gunning ; I want to show myself a gentleman con- 
 vict." 
 
 " Oh, I see you remember what the Governor said to you." 
 
 " Yes, Mr, Gunning; I want to show the Governor that I can do 
 as much work any day as one of his English gentlemen." 
 
 " Hallo ! what's that I see there ?" (pointing to a large hole in the 
 hip of my trousers, for I had placed the handle of the pick against 
 my side while working, in order to lessen the weight of it while in 
 my hands, and the friction or action of the tool tore a large hole in 
 my pants.) 
 
 " Oh ! that's from hard work, Mr. Gunning." 
 
 " But you must work without tearing your clothes ; you must 
 not allow the handle of the pick to rest that way on your hip." 
 
 " If I tore the flesh off my bones, Mr. Gunning, I mean to show 
 the Governor that I can do as much work as any of his English gen- 
 tlemen he has here." 
 
 " Now, you'd better stop that or I'll have to report you." 
 
 " You may report me or do anything you please, but I'm deter- 
 mined to work away as hard as I can till I have the seven stones 
 dressed." And dressed they were before the day ended. 
 
 Coming out from dinner the next time, we were halted in front 
 of the Governor's office and ordered to dress up in lines. He came 
 out and read for us a letter from the Board of Directors giving 
 him permission to allow us to write oftener than the other prisoners 
 if we kept ourselves free of reports; but inasmuch as the reporting 
 was in his hands and the hands of his officers, the privilege availed 
 us but little. If I wanted to write I should, to entitle me to consi- 
 deration, be two months without a report, and I was never allowed 
 to have such a clear record as that. Two weeks afterwards we were 
 halted in the same place and another letter was read revoking the 
 last one, and stating that we were to be treated as ordinary con- 
 victs. After the letter was read the first day Gunning drew the 
 Governor's attention to the hole in my trousers. " Hard work, 
 Governor," I said. " But you must not work with your pick this 
 way," said he, placing his cane on his hip, and moving it with both 
 hands as if he was striking at a stone. Then he gave the officer 
 instructions to report me if he saw me doing it again, and we got 
 our marching orders to the quarry. 
 
 I quieted down to my average labor of a stone and a half, and 
 Gunning noticing this, brought me to account. I asked him, " Did 
 he want me to tear my trousers again." He said " he did not, but 
 now that I had shown I could work I should work." " I have 
 
O* Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 147 
 
 shown," I said, " that an Irishman in any position in life can do as 
 much as an Englishman, and that is all I care to show, or care to 
 do here." " Come on with me, then," and on I went till we stood 
 opposite the heap of nobblers. " Where are the seven stones you 
 dressed yesterday?" " Here is one, and here is one, and here is an- 
 other," and so on till I pointed out the seven to him. " Now, take 
 every one of them and pile them up in front of your block, place 
 three in a line first, put two on them, and put the other two on 
 top." I obeyed orders, and by-and-by I had my pile before me. 
 The boys christened it "Rossa's folly," but I met their jokes by 
 appealing to Gunning to use his authority to make them look upon 
 it as a monument to my industry. I could hardly restrain my 
 laughter at the serious way he would take applications of this kind 
 from me. I pretended to be in earnest, and it was amusing to see 
 the look he'd give when I'd ask him to prevent Pat Dunne and 
 Tom Duggan from laughing at my monument whenever they passed 
 it. " It was hard enough to be threatened with bread and water 
 for doing so much work one day, but to be laughed at by my com- 
 rades was a thing I could not stand, and I would take the first 
 opportunity I could get of running away from the prison." " What ! 
 — what ! — what's that you said, Rossa ? running away from the 
 prison, is it ? Don't you know that's mutiny ?" " Mutiny or no 
 mutiny, Governor, I wish I could see a chance of getting off; I 
 don't like to be here at all." 
 
 Some of my friends would gravely bring me to account for 
 joking on such a serious state of affairs as ours ; it did not comport 
 with the dignity of our position to trifle with it or look upon it 
 lightly. One would occasionally remark that convict life seemed 
 quite agreeable to my nature, and I suppose my nature must be 
 kind to me, as it moulds my head to rest lightly upon whatever 
 pillow the vicissitudes of fortune place under it. I felt the pains 
 and penalties of convict life as much as many of my companions, 
 but I would not give my enemies the satisfaction to see that I did 
 feel them ; and it gave me pleasure to see how disappointed and 
 enraged they were at my smiling and joking at punishments which 
 they know bring a man to the verge of the grave, and in the grave 
 I would be to-day, perhaps, had I carried myself through the tor- 
 turing annoyances of prison with that gravity which is consonant 
 with dignity and a life of death. There is no better way of fright- 
 ening away a fairy than to laugh at it. The man or the woman 
 who can do that in presence of a Leanawn Shee or a ghoul will 
 never be possessed by either. 
 
 " Let me play the fool with mirth and laughter, 
 So let wrinkles come — 
 And let my visage rather heat with wine, 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans." 
 
 We had not much wine in our time to heat us, but it was better 
 to try and get the blood do what it could in that line than to be 
 groaning or croaking where there was no one to pity us. 
 
148 O* Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 
 
 A day or two after the monument of my industry was raised I 
 was in the quarry looking for a stone. 
 
 " Here," said Gunning, " take that" — pointing to a large round 
 one about two hundred pounds weight. Hugh Brophy lifted the 
 barrow with me, and as he ascended a step of the quarry the block 
 rolled back upon me and threw me down. 1 escaped with getting 
 a cut hand, and as I was dressing the wound, the jailer cried : 
 
 " Come, Rossa, you're loitering too long about that pin scratch. 
 Catch hold of that barrow again, and take your stone to the block." 
 
 " Rossa won't do any such thing, governor ; he is not bound to 
 work beyond his strength, and that stone is too heavy for him. 
 Your starvation diet doesn't leave a man much strength." 
 
 James Flood came to remove the stone with Brophy, and as 
 they moved off, I walking alongside of them, Gunning again cried: 
 
 " Rossa, you're a man that would suck another man's blood." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it ; but you yourself look like one 
 who'd do it. I don't think you're warranted in using such language 
 to me in the discharge of your duty, and I'll go to the Governor to- 
 morrow to ask if you are." 
 
 To-morrow came, and instead of my having a charge against 
 Gunning, he had a charge against me for idleness, and I had some 
 days on bread and water before I came out again. When I was 
 before the Governor I told him I had a charge against the officer, 
 and he told me I could make no charge while I was under report. 
 It was a week before I could get clear enough to tell Mr. Clifton 
 what Gunning said to me, and then the satisfaction I got was to 
 have the Governor tell me, " I was not to be too sensitive." 
 " Nothing could make me more degraded than I was," and " Did 
 we think the officers were to take off their caps to us." " I think it 
 is quite improper to have such language used towards prisoners," I 
 replied. " You have no right to think here," added he, " you are a 
 convict and must have no will of your own." " Bah !" said I, with 
 as much contempt as I could put into a look, and the signal was 
 given to have me oft to " chokey," the convict's name for his place 
 of purgatory. 
 
 When Director Fagan came to the prison I went before him, and 
 told him what the Governor said and what Gunning said to me, and 
 both officer and master denied that they had ever said what I have 
 stated. Next day Gunning was removed from the charge of our 
 party and a new officer put in his place. 
 
 The first day I met this Mr. Fagan in Portland I had not the 
 least idea he was an Irishman. I didn't even know his name, 
 and whatever I had to see him about I said in the course of conver- 
 sation, " Governor, if in bringing us from Ireland to England the 
 Government contemplate effecting a change in us, they ought to 
 know that it is not by starvation an Irishman can be changed into 
 an Englishman." I don't know what he said at the time, but when 
 I learned he was an Irishman I thought he should think my words 
 
O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 149 
 
 were meant to insult him unprovokedly, and nine months after- 
 wards I told him I understood he was an Irishman, that I did not 
 know it when I met him at first, and if I did I would not make use 
 of some observations he heard from me regarding Englishmen and 
 Irishmen. He told me he did not remember I said anything offen- 
 sive, and I replied it might look so if I knew he was an Irishman. I 
 was this time under punishment for refusing to pick oakum. He 
 asked why I was not doing my work, and I asked him why I 
 was not getting my food. " But you're under punishment." " That's 
 the very reason that I consider it wrong to ask me to work," I re- 
 plied ; and then asking if he could hear a charge against the Gover- 
 nor for defaming my character, he said he could not, as I was under 
 report, and, turning away from my cell, the door was closed. 
 
 It was not much relief to anyone to lose Gunning but to me. 
 Russell came in his place, and though he was not so insolent, he 
 was every bit as well able to worry us. It was he, who, when the 
 rain-bell rang to have us go into the shed for shelter ordered us 
 back again until the orders came from his tongue, and kept us under 
 the shower until Ave were wet through. However, my nose was not 
 so much kept to the grinding-stone as under Gunning, and I removed 
 " Rossa's folly" to the general pile without Russell's asking me to 
 leave the monument stand. Then I could help this man or that man 
 to bring a stone from the quarry which I could not do with Gunning, 
 as he had detailed one to travel with me, and I had no chance of a 
 word with anyone else. In one of these recreative hours when I 
 used to be holding a chisel while another was hammering at it to 
 split a rock, I fell in with Michael O'Regan, and he commenced 
 telling me his woes. The burden of them was that Father Zanetti 
 would not give him absolution, that Father Poole would not give it 
 either unless he gave up the organization, and as he meant to stick 
 to Ireland it was too bad that he could not go to his duty for seven 
 years. This fidelity to Ireland and the old faith at the same time 
 must have touched some sentimental chord of mine. An Irish 
 peasant, speaking of something he feels bitterly, can put more pathos 
 into a simple story than some of the greatest orators can, and Mike's 
 account of what he was suffering from the English priests putting 
 his duty to his country in opposition to his faith, affected me so 
 much that I threw the chisel out my hand and walked away from 
 him towards my block. It was the second time that I got soft in 
 prison, and from the same train of thought. 
 
 Michael O'Regan came to Ireland in '64, on a message from John 
 O'Mahony, and remained in expectation of the fight. He went to 
 the southern coast of Ireland, where he was born, and commenced 
 bringing the men together. He was arrested and sentenced to 
 seven years' penal servitude on a charge of swearing in some navy 
 men, in Castletownsend, who belonged to Queen Victoria's revenue 
 cruiser. His brother, Patrick, came to Ireland a few years before, 
 but finding that things were not ready for a fight, went back to 
 
150 ' Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 America and died. Mike and Pat told the mother one day in New 
 York that they would go to Ireland to help the boys there and 
 leave their youngest brother, John, at home to take care of her. 
 4 No," said she, " I was able to take care of myself long before ye 
 were any help to me. I am strong enough still to do so, and John 
 must go too, for he will do more good helping ye than helping me." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 VISITS DEMANDS FOR VISITORS EXPENSES DEVILS MY WIFE AND 
 
 CHILD IN PRISON MY MEMORANDUM BOOK MY WIFE'S POEMS 
 
 — MY LETTER FEAR OF PUBLICITY COMPROMISE WITH THE 
 
 GOVERNOR MY LOVE LETTERS ON A SLATE DETERMINATION TO 
 
 WRITE SURREPTITIOUS LETTERS CONVICT LYNCH HIS GIFT OF 
 
 PEN, INK, AND PAPER " CONSPIRACY " TO BREAK PRISON 
 
 MICHAEL MO ORE'S FAILURE HUGH BROPHY'S FAILURE MYSELF 
 
 A HYPOCRITE LYNCH DETECTED IN CARRYING MY LETTER 
 
 PUNISHMENT OF HIM AND ME TRY AGAIN MY AMOUR IN 
 
 PRISON BRINGS BREAD AND WATER, AND ENDLESS PUNISH- 
 MENTS ON ME JERRY o'DONOVAN, OF BLARNEY REV. MR. 
 
 ZANETTI THE DEVIL IRELAND'S SOGGARTH AROON ZANETTI 
 
 GIVING EVIDENCE BEFORE THE COMMISSION THE EVIL EYE A 
 
 PETITION ON "THINK WELL OF IT," AND WHAT CAME OF IT 
 
 WRITING IN THE DARK CAT'S EYES MY MEMORIAL TO THE 
 
 SECRETARY OF STATE. 
 
 Visits from our friends to us were something which the author- 
 ities availed themselves of for the purpose of giving us much an- 
 noyance. Every convict is allowed one every six months, but if 
 the officers choose to have him on their books as ill-conducted he 
 may never be allowed to see the face of a friend from the outside 
 world. My wife had been writing from Ireland to know if she 
 would be permitted to see me, and the Governor told me one day 
 
O* Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 151 
 
 that as a favor to her, not to me, he was going to grant her per- 
 mission to come. I told this to my friends, and we thought it would 
 be well if some others availed of her coming for the purpose of 
 having their visit from her, in order that we might glean as much 
 news as we could. Martin Ilanley Carey saw the Governor on the 
 subject, and told him the only friend he cared to see was his 
 mother, but as she was old, and could not come to Portland without 
 much inconvenience and expense, he would be obliged if the " visit " 
 which the rules allowed him w r as granted by allowing him to see 
 Mrs. O'Donovan. She could convey to his mother, who lived in 
 Eyrecourt, County Galway, anything he had to say. The Governor 
 said he would consult the Directors, and in a few days after Carey 
 was sent for, and told that the authorities would not allow him to 
 see my v>ife. I had given some trouble about these visits some 
 time before, for I had applied to the Governor to know if the ex- 
 penses of our friends would be paid when they came to see us. 
 " Certainly not," said the Governor, " why should you expect such ?" 
 " I don't expect it at all," I said. " Then why do you ask ?" 
 "Because I desire to learn how justly the Government mean to act 
 by us. If they left us in Ireland where we were convicted our 
 friends could see us without much expense or inconvenience : they 
 adopt an extraordinary course in bringing us to England ; and it is 
 only fair and just that they should pay the expenses of our visitors 
 from Ireland and back again." 
 
 " The Government can do what they please with you." 
 
 " I know they can ! But when ordinary prisoners are convicted 
 in Ireland they are not brought to England ; we should have the 
 benefit of the convict law as it stands in Ireland, and if the Govern- 
 ment cannot afford to keep us there, where our friends could easily 
 see us when the regular visits were due, they ought to pay their ex- 
 penses to England as they paid ours." 
 
 " The Government are treating you too kindly and considerately. 
 Twenty years ago you'd have been hanged." 
 
 " It might be better we were hanged, and certainly it was 
 through no merciful consideration for us that we were not. No 
 political prisoners have ever been treated in any country as we are 
 treated by the English." 
 
 " You are treated too well ; you have put back the prosperity of 
 Ireland twenty years ; thousands of moneyed people have fled from 
 it, and you don't know what ruin you have brought on the 
 country." 
 
 Here I laughed outright, and asked him if he would not, as a 
 matter of justice, place my application before the authorities. He 
 said he would, and sent for me in a few days to tell me the Directors 
 had refused to pay the expenses of our visitors from Ireland. 
 
 These kind of things varied the monotony of my prison life, and 
 afforded me amusement, too. Any of my friends did not know but 
 that I was serious in this matter of applying for the expenses, and 
 
152 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 when I would say I was in high hopes of having them granted, and 
 what a grand thing it would be to be putting the Government to 
 the cost of four or five hundred pounds a-year for bringing over all 
 our friends, some of the party would say that they, for their part, 
 would not take a penny of the money, and that they would go to 
 the Governor right off and tell him so. To this I'd reply there was 
 no necessity to be in a hurry in the matter ; they could have 
 patience until they'd see how my application would succeed, and 
 they should understand I did not make it for any one but myself, 
 and for my part the more expense I could put the Government to 
 the more I liked it. Many fell in with this view, but the " dignity," 
 "honor," or "humor" involved in the question was very soon de- 
 cided by the announcement of the refusal. 
 
 I was sent for to the Deputy's office one evening to put the name 
 and address of my wife on the visiting ticket. As I was writing an 
 officer came in and reported that a certain prisoner had been very 
 idle all day, and asked what would be done with him. The Prin- 
 cipal looked towards me and said, " If a man will not work, neither 
 let him eat ;" but, added he, looking at the officer, " as he has a 
 good character give him another chance, and don't put him under 
 report this time." There was no punishment, no torture inflicted on 
 a prisoner that these officers could not back with a quotation from 
 the Bible. " The Devil can quote Scripture for his purpose," and if 
 devils do really " go about like roaring lions seeking whom they 
 may devour," I had the honor of seeing some of them in English 
 prisons, not in the lowest grade of office either, but like the old 
 fellow himself, high in authority. 
 
 For days and weeks after sending the ticket I was expecting the 
 visit, and at the end of a month I had nearly given it up, when one 
 day while I was at dinner my door was opened, and I was told, 
 " Come on." " Where now ?" I asked. " Ask no questions," said 
 the officer, " but come on." I was taken to the door of the room 
 where I was examined the first day, and as I entered I saw my wife, 
 and in her arms the baby I never saw before. 
 
 I hesitated before approaching her, because I heard that in the 
 visiting places there were panels or partitions between the parties. 
 Discipline was so much in my mind that I stood there till she or I 
 would go behind a separating barrier ; or perhaps I had pride enough 
 to keep me from making an advance that they had in their power to 
 repel. The officer who was standing by her side said, "You can 
 come up here and speak to your wife for twenty minutes, but if you 
 tell her anything relating to matters inside the prison, or if she tells 
 you anything relating to outside matters, I must end the visit. I 
 sat down and took the baby in my lap, but the little fellow did not 
 seem to know me, though he was then three months old. Indeed, 1 
 think his mother hardly knew me. It was the first time she saw me 
 since I was shorn, shaved, and dressed in convict fashion. She felt 
 my hands, which were as rough as oyster-shells, and my face had 
 
(? Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 153 
 
 been baked to the color of an earthenware crock. For the first few 
 minutes I kept talking to the son all the time, thinking what in the 
 world could I say to the mother, and I think we parted without 
 saying much. There was the jailer right beside us, and my tongue 
 was paralyzed. At the end of twenty minutes Mr. Bulwer, the 
 Deputy Governor, entered, and said in consideration of my never 
 seeing the child before he would extend the time ten minutes longer. 
 I had messages from William Roantree, James O'Connor, Denis 
 Mulcahy, and several others, but when I attempted to say anything 
 of any other prisoner I was told I should confine myself to my own 
 case. As we were parting I recollected 1 had a few notes scratched 
 on a bit of slate in my pocket, and as I took it out the officer 
 seized it. The wife vanished, and I went to work with a heavier 
 heart than ever. I had a load on it I could not unburthen, and I 
 felt it weighing me down. 
 
 Not many days elapsed before I got into a scrape with the 
 Governor. He told me he was away from home the day my wife 
 came, and if he was in the prison he would not allow her to see me 
 in consequence of my bad conduct, and the Deputy-Governor tres- 
 passed too much upon his discretionary power in allowing me to see 
 her in the reception-room instead of in the ordinary-place. I told him 
 he need not feel very much discomforted on account of any happi- 
 ness or consolation my wife's visit brought me, and I was very sorry 
 if Captain Bulwer's kindness subjected him to any reproof. The 
 Deputy was one of the most gentlemanly of the officers that I met 
 in prison. I never spoke two words to him, he always did his duty, 
 but in doing it he never gave that haughty, contemptuous look that 
 others would give, and never wantonly wounded our feelings by any 
 impudent remarks. I suppose if he is still in authority it will not 
 serve him to have me say this, but I must speak the truth of all I 
 came across in my prison life. The schoolmasters of Portland Prison 
 were also gentlemanly in the discharge of their duty. The mistake 
 made by those who charge themselves with the reformation of con- 
 victs is to give them in charge to brutes, instead of to men with 
 human or humane feelings. 
 
 A kind word or a wanton insult to the biggest criminal will have 
 much the same effect on him as on us in penal servitude. The opinion 
 seems to prevail with English jailers that kind words are thrown 
 away upon their prisoners, and the only way to keep them up to the 
 discipline is to lash and abuse them into it. I found these tactics 
 resorted to in our case, and if for nothing else but to show they 
 would fail, and that we had something in us better than the 
 thieves and murderers they classed us with, I determined that there 
 was one man who would go to his grave before he gave them the 
 satisfaction of seeing they could lash him into submission by insult, 
 chains, and bread and water. 
 
 As I have not said much about the visit of my wife, and as 
 there is very little poetry in this narrative of mine, let me be par- 
 
154 O' -Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 doned for giving a little of her description of meeting me in Port- 
 land. I should wish she had written more flatteringly of me, but I 
 suppose she does not consider me so ugly now. 
 
 A Visit to my Husband in Prison. 
 Mat, 1866. 
 
 Within the precincts of the prison bounds, 
 
 Treading the sunlit courtyard to a hall, 
 Roomy and unadorned, where the light 
 
 Thro' scieenless windows glaringly did fall. 
 
 Within the precincts of the prison walls, 
 
 With rushing memories and bated breath ; 
 With heart elate and light swift step that smote 
 
 Faint echoes in this house of living death. 
 
 Midway I stood in bright expectancy, 
 
 Tightly I clasped my babe, my eager sight 
 Restlessly glancing down the long, low room 
 
 To where a door bedimmed the walls' pure white. 
 
 They turned — the noi seless locks ; the portal fell 
 With clank of chain wide open, and the room 
 
 Held him— my wedded love. My heart stood still 
 With sudden shock, with sudden sense of doom. 
 
 My heart stood still that had with gladsome bound 
 Counted the moments ere he should appear — 
 
 Drew back at sight so changed, and shivering waited, 
 Pulselessly waited while his steps drew near ! 
 
 Oh ! for a moment's twilight that might hide 
 The harsh tanned features once so soft and fair ! 
 
 The shrunken eyes that with a feeble flash 
 Smiled on my presence and his infant's there ! 
 
 Oh. ! for a shadow on the cruel sun 
 That mocked thy father. Baby, with his glare ; 
 
 Oh ! for the night of nothingness or death 
 Ere thou, my love, this felon garb should wear ! 
 
 It needed not these passionate, pain-wrung words, 
 
 Falling with sad distinctness from thy lips, 
 To tell a tale of insult, abject toil, 
 
 And day-long labor hewing Portland steeps! 
 
 It needed not, my love, this anguished glance, 
 
 This fading fire within thy gentle eyes, 
 To rouse the torpid voices of my heart, 
 
 Till all the sleeping heavens shall hear their cries. 
 
 God of the wronged, and can Thy vengeance sleep t 
 And shall our night of anguish know no day? 
 
 And can Thy justice leave our souls to weep 
 Yet, and yet longer o'er our land's decay! 
 
 Must we still cry— "How long, O Lord, how long?" 
 
 For seven red centuries a country's woe 
 Has wept the prayer in tears of blood, and still 
 
 Our tears to-night for fresher victims flow! 
 
(y* Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 155 
 
 And flow it seems they must for still fresher victims again, 
 befo c the soil is watered enough to produce a race of men able to 
 strike the tyrant down. 
 
 When my wife reached home she sent me a photograph of her- 
 self and baby, and a few days after its arrival in the prison the 
 governor sent for me and said he should return it again. I observed 
 it was a very harmless thing to allow me to keep ; but, no, it would 
 not be allowed, the prison rules did not permit it, the discipline 
 should be maintained, and my photograph returned. " However," 
 added he, " as you seem to be improving in your conduct lately I'll 
 allow you to look at the picture before I return it." I took it out 
 of his hand, and taking the look, gave it back to him. I afterwards 
 learned that the thieves were allowed photographs, but, then, these 
 were thieves of good character, and unfortunately for me I was in 
 bad repute. 
 
 I find in my wife's book of poems, one on the return of the pho- 
 tograph to her, and I will give that, too, a place in my Prison Life. 
 
 "the returned picture. 
 
 " [In 1863, while my husband was confined in Portland Convict 
 Establishment, I sent to him a likeness of mine and baby's, taken 
 specially for him, as he had never seen the child, its birth occurring 
 after his conviction and sentence. The following week I was re- 
 turned the carte, with a polite note from the Prison Governor, to 
 inform me that " Prison rules did not allow convicts the possession 
 of likenesses."] 
 
 Refused admission ! Baby, Baby, 
 
 Don't you feel a little pain? 
 See, your picture with your mother's, 
 
 From the prison back again? 
 They are cruel, cruel jailers — 
 
 They are heartless, heartless men! 
 
 Ah! you laugh my little Flax Hair! 
 
 But my eyes are full of tears; 
 And my heart is sorely troubled 
 
 With old voices in my ears; 
 With the lingering disappointment 
 That is shadowing my years! 
 
 Was it much to ask them, Baby — 
 
 These rough menials of the Queen? 
 Was it much to ask them, give him 
 
 This poor picture, form and mien 
 Of the wife he loved, the little son 
 
 He never yet had seen? 
 
 Ah! they're cruel, cruel jailers, 
 
 They are heartless, heartless men! 
 To bar the last poor comfort from 
 
 Your father's prison pen ; 
 To shut our picture from the gates 
 
 And send it home asrainl 
 
156 0' r Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 Cruel, cruel jailers, and heartless, heartless men are they truly 
 without question, and especially so when their captives are Irish- 
 men who would rid their country of English rule. 
 
 Time passed on, and the day came around again when I was 
 allowed to write a letter. This, of course, was written to my wife. 
 1 had a mother in America, and I was anxious to send her a line, 
 but these humane English would not, for any consideration at this 
 time, extend to me the privilege of an extra letter. They would 
 not even give me a scrap of paper on which I would write a few 
 lines to enclose in my wife's to the old woman on the brink of the 
 grave. I made a special application for it to the Governor, and he 
 refused me. 
 
 My letter was written ; it had been given in a few days ; the 
 Governor sent for me, and when I was regularly placed in the 
 " stand-to attention " attitude before him, he said — 
 
 " You will not cease complaining ; what is the use of your writ- 
 ing these letters ? You know I cannot send them out." 
 
 " Governor, have you read my letter ? I think you must be mis- 
 taken. I have certainly uttered no word of complaint, and I don't 
 think I have infringed on any of the rules in anything I have said 
 in that letter." 
 
 • " I haven't read it ; I couldn't read it, the writing is so small. 
 Your letters take up more of my time than all the other prisoners', 
 and you have written between the lines, which is a thing specially 
 forbidden by the instructions." 
 
 " Well, that is a thing you might excuse me for, seeing that I 
 have only one leaf of paper, and having such a large family, and so 
 much to say ; I can read that letter in five minutes for you, and if 
 you notice anything objectionable in it, as I go on, I will scratch it 
 out." 
 
 " Here, then, read it." 
 
 I commenced reading, and I ended reading without his objecting 
 to anything, and, as I finished, I said — 
 
 " Now, Governor, you see that there is nothing objectionable in 
 
 it." 
 
 " There is no use, I can't allow that letter to be published." 
 
 "Published!" cried I in amazement. "Why, Governor, sure 
 the letter is for my wife." 
 
 " Oh, but your wife publishes your letters." 
 
 " Publish my private letters ! you don't mean to tell me she does 
 that ?" 
 
 " I do, and more than that ; when these people come visiting 
 here they publish all they can learn about the prison, and bring a 
 lot of trouble upon me." 
 
 " I am very sure that I would not write such a letter as that to 
 my wife if I thought she would publish it, and I am sure she would 
 not." 
 
 " Weil, if you write on the head of that letter that it is private, 
 and not to be published, I will x>ass it." 
 
O^D&novan fossa's Prison Life, 157 
 
 " Oh, certainly, Governor, that's what I will willingly do." 
 
 I got a pen and wrote the following words, which I copy from 
 the original letter now before me : — 
 
 " Do not, love, make such letters as this public. I do not write 
 for such a purpose. 'Tis rather delicate, this letter, too, as all my 
 letters to you must needs be." 
 
 Then comes the printed instructions on the face of the paper in 
 these words — 
 
 " Convict Establishment, Portland, 
 near Weymouth. 
 
 " Convicts are permitted to write and to receive letters and visits 
 periodically according to the class which they may attain by good 
 conduct, as follows, viz. : third class every six months ; second 
 class every four months, and first class every three months. All 
 letters must be prepaid. Matters of private importance to a con- 
 vict may be communicated at any time by letter (prepaid) to the 
 Governor, who will inform the convict thereof if expedient. 
 
 " In case of any misconduct the above privileges may be for- 
 feited for the time. 
 
 " All letters of an improper or idle tendency, either to or from 
 convicts, or containing slang or other objectionable expressions, will 
 be suppressed. The permission to write or receive letters is given 
 to the convicts for the purpose of enabling them to keep up a con- 
 nection with their respectable friends, and not that they may hear 
 the news of the day. Inquiries will be made as to the character of 
 persons with whom convicts correspond, and if the result is not 
 satisfactory the correspondence will be stopped. 
 
 " All letters are read by the Governor or chaplain, and must be 
 legally written, and not crossed. 
 
 " Neither clothes, money, nor any other articles are allowed to 
 be received at the prison for the use of convicts, except though the 
 Governor. Persons attempting otherwise to introduce any article 
 to or for a convict are liable to fine or imprisonment, and the con- 
 vict is liable to be severely punished. 
 
 " Neither money nor stamps must be inclosed, as they will not 
 be received. 
 
 "No visits allowed on Sundays. 
 
 " The convict's writing to be confined to the ruled lines of these 
 two pages. In writing to the convict direct to No. 5364." 
 
 The 5364 is in writing. Then there is, with several other brands, 
 the autograph of " George Clifton," without which the letter could 
 not pass out of prison ; and, finally, here is the letter itself, which 
 you may have the curiosity to read in order to see what kind of a 
 thing a convict's letter is : — 
 
 " August 26, 1866. 
 
 " My Love — I am in doubt whether*k is better to scold you, or 
 to coax you into sending me what I desire from you at present, and 
 what I have been disappointed in getting. Scolding might be the best 
 
158 : * Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 if you were as much afraid of my voice now as before, but as possibly 
 you would place the proper value on my growling at you from my cage, 
 I had better give it up and see what I can do the other way. Then, 
 as it was partly by scolding I came into the happy possession of you 
 (unhappily for you now), I would like to continue it, but, perhaps, 
 you are a much wiser and sadder woman than you were two years 
 ago, and not so easily frightened. I will not scold you, Mollis. I 
 fear I am not a good hand at coaxing, so I will only ask you coldly, 
 though lovingly ask you, to send me a very, very long, long, letter 
 — six, ten, twenty sheets of paper, what to you ! You often gave 
 me so much when I was not in so much want. What matter if they 
 must necessarily be sorrow-laden. I have accompanied you in 
 sunny hours, and cannot I have your company when the rain is fall- 
 ing fast. No political news, all about yourself — how you met the 
 world since, and particularly when you went to Carbery. Who 
 were kind to you and who were cold to you, &c. Did the children 
 realize their position ? did they say anything of me ? what hap- 
 pened you every day, hour, and minute ? for in so much of your 
 life am I interested. If you say you have nothing to write a long 
 letter about, I say write about nothing and that will be something to 
 me. What can I lose, or what can you if your letter be read by 
 others ? The governor of the prison must read it, but if it gives no 
 political information or bright expectation, it might be deemed 
 of little interest to any other authority. How many, many things I 
 had to say which I forgot, and many more, as you heard the chief 
 warder say, I would not be allowed to speak of, all too many in the 
 short space of half-an-hour. When you left I felt I had relieved 
 myself very little of my burthen, and then it grew heavier. A little 
 punishment awaited me that day, and I thought I was being taken 
 to receive it when you took me by surprise. I was — to give you a 
 very vicious simile — stricken somehow as a bird is by the gaze of a 
 serpent. Thatfs certainly more like scolding than coaxing. Well, 
 anyway, Mollis, I was only fascinated by you, exclusive of the baby. 
 All you said and all I forgot to say came before me when you were 
 gone. I did not ask about our fifth son. I must needs speak of him 
 in the fifth person, lest the mention of his name might interfere with 
 the tranmission of this. You know the record of it in my account 
 book was used to my prejudice by the judge. Regarding the four 
 eldest, it is not pleasant that your father has the keeping of them 
 when he has plenty company of his own ; but if my brothers or 
 mother sent money for them I would rather they would remain with 
 him for a while than be separated. I often applied for leave to write 
 to my mother — she might die any day, and then I'd feel so sorry that 
 she did die ; perhaps thinking she was forgotten by me. [ will 
 go to the Governor to-morrow again, and if successful will enclose 
 a note for her, also one for the children. You said some one was 
 going to take one of them, and Miss O'Dowd, the lady of the curls, 
 another. Ned strove to make you jealous one time by telling you I 
 
O ''Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 1 59 
 
 looked at those carls, because he is a jealous dog himself. T forgot 
 to ask you about him, and if John had been ejected out of 
 Coolavin, or if his brother Andy abandoned, as I advised him, the 
 prosecution against Finn the agent. I am allowed to write now as 
 a letter would be due to me if I remained the usual time in Penton- 
 ville. I might have had two visits there for my good conduct, 
 which good conduct I was not good enough to have here. I had 
 the misfortune to incur prison discipline punishment for the first 
 time, twice the week of your visit. Such is tolerably supportable 
 and preferable to punishment by harsh words. I often expressed a 
 preference for it if I violated a rule, but never got it till then. It is 
 the duty of an officer to speak to, and bring a prisoner to order, and 
 the prisoner's duty to be silent or respectful ; but if anything is 
 said to which an officer cannot reply, he may end by saying — ' You 
 are insolent,' impertinent,' or worse. I offended and I got punished, 
 which entails forfeiture of all privileges ; but the Governor is pleased 
 to restore them to me again, as he has changed the officers and 
 considers I have got into a better disposition and do more work, 
 He tells me he answers letters of inquiry from you as to my 
 health ; this, he need not have done — any kindness to you from any 
 one, I think more of than anything regarding myself. You ought 
 to keep a record of such things for me, that they may appear before 
 me if I ever live again. You see that though my life is forfeited to 
 the laws, I cannot banish 'hope, that parasite of woe.' As regards 
 my general health, I believe it has been good save what I told you 
 about my eves. I h ,d two fits. I conquered the first. I got it by 
 my being deprived of flannels the 2 2d December. I shivered it off, 
 together with any expectations I had of fair treatment. This day 
 fortnight war foggy ; I arose next morning with sore throat. I went 
 to the doctor, he could not see what I felt, and I have been trying 
 to get the better of a severe cold since ; I think I'll succeed. Write 
 yourself, and pu one from each of the children with your own — 
 their own handwriting and dictation that I may see them naturally. 
 If money be contributed by Itishmen for the maintenance of the fami- 
 lies of the men imprisoned I am not so proud as to feel any pain of 
 mind that mine are to be so cared for, but I would fling a contribu- 
 tion in the face of anyone who would tender it as charity. You 
 are one of the trustees of money now, and I refer to this as I am 
 anxious that when you are withdrawing from such trusteeship, you 
 will be able to have your accounts satisfactorily shown. Our ene- 
 mies always make money a handle to hurl slander. 
 
 " The Governor says, as you had a visiting ticket from the State 
 Secretary, yon might try again. I would rather you would get 
 liberty to write oftener. If you could get liberty for me to state 
 all regarding my trial, 'twould be well. Our Catholics here are 
 banned too ; perhaps 'tis only reasonable that Irishmen should re- 
 nounce the crimes for which they are made English convicts before 
 they are allowed sacraments by Anglo-Roman priests. I asked to 
 
160 C Donovan Rosso* s Prison Life. 
 
 be allowed to absent myself from priest's services. Refused. You 
 wrote a defensive letter after my trial; you used the word ' charity' 
 for the fund ; some were hurt. Do you write to Mrs. Keane and 
 Mrs. Duggan, Ballincollig ? You ought. Have you anyone to 
 rock the cradle while you write ? — Yours, love, ever fondly and 
 faithfully, 
 
 " Jer. O'Donovan Rossa." 
 
 Some readers of this letter may wonder at my publishing that I 
 applied for permission to absent myself from the priest's service. 
 Indeed a few of my friends suggest that it may not be " prudent " 
 to publish it ; but I never care to act the hypocrite. I felt so indig- 
 nant at finding those English priests persecuting our Catholics 
 inside the prison walls, that I thought I would show them what I 
 thought of their work. 
 
 I knew if I were allowed to absent myself from service the priest 
 would call upon me for an explanation, and I would have an oppor- 
 tunity of giving him a bit of my mind. My application was refused. 
 It stands on record on the books of the prison, and may be exhumed 
 at some future day to show what a refractory character I was. It 
 certainly would have been brought forward had I succumbed to the 
 prison discipline, and had any question been raised about my ill- 
 treatment at a coroner's inquest. 
 
 After three or four weeks I got a reply from my wife. She 
 asked me some questions about monetary matters, and she wrote 
 a special letter to the Governor asking him to allow me to answer 
 them. He sent for me, and said he could not allow me write, but 
 if I wrote the answers to the questions on a slate, and sent it to 
 him, he would have them copied and sent off. I did so, and, on 
 asking him a month afterwards if they were transmitted, " No," 
 said he, " I could not be sending your love letters to your wife ; 
 besides, it would lessen your punishment." I went back to my cell, 
 and determined that, right or wrong, by fair play or by foul, I 
 would never stop until I found some means of reaching the world, 
 and getting out an account of our treatment. I became very civil 
 to the warders who had charge of our party, in the hope that I 
 could get so far into their favor as to give me the appointment of 
 going to the well for water, and going to the gravel pit for gravel, 
 which those who were making the altar wanted to smoothen the 
 table. I tried to make myself humorous, and to make myself every- 
 thing that was necessary to my purpose, and I succeeded in the long 
 run. 
 
 One of the warders accompanied me always to the well and to 
 the gravel pit. These places were not within view of the Gover- 
 nor's window. Other warders would come there with other pris- 
 oners. The officials seemed as anxious to have a word with one 
 another as the prisoners. They chatted away on their own subjects, 
 and gave me an opportunity of whispering what I wanted to my 
 
0' * Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 161 
 
 chums. I was promised writing material and conveyance for what 
 I wrote, and I became the funniest fellow in the world to my 
 warders. 
 
 Just at the same time we fell in at chapel with a good fellow 
 named Lynch; he was a Francis street Dublin man, but sentenced 
 in Bolton for seven years. He gave us writing material, and I 
 went to work to break the law for the first time by writing a 
 " surreptitious letter. " 
 
 Lynch told us he could get this conveyed to the outer 
 world lor three pounds, and that out of the sum we could get ten 
 ehilings' worth of tobacco imported. It was such a novel thing to 
 get tobacco here, and as some of my friends desired to have a taste 
 of it, I gave the order for it, with an order on my wife for three 
 pounds. But as I feared that letters addressed to " Mrs. O'Donovan 
 Rossa " would be opened in the post office, I directed this one to the 
 mother of Michael Moore, and on the cover of the envelope I wrote 
 in very small writing the words " For Mrs. O'D." Michael Moore 
 kept watch for me during the dinner hours while I wrote. He 
 lay down on the floor of his cell, and under his door there was 
 as much space as would enable him to see through the hall. Some- 
 times the slippered officer who kept watch outside would go upstairs 
 to have his peep at those who were in the cells above us. That was 
 my time for scribbling, but as Moore would see the jailer coming 
 down he'd give me a signal and I'd stop. 
 
 I kept watch for Moore for many hours in a similar position, and 
 while he was engaged in work far more dangerous than writing 
 " surreptitious " letters. He was trying to break a hole in the wall 
 of his cell large enough to admit him into the yard, through which 
 hole he and I meditated an escape. Hugh Brophy and Martin 
 Hanley Carey were in the two next cells, and if Mike found he 
 was able to do his work, they were to operate about the place where 
 the iron partition divided their cells, and the four of us were to 
 fight our way. We did not intend any harm to man or mortal, but 
 after we made our way into the yard we had agreed if any man 
 came upon us before we had scaled the wall by the aid of sheets, 
 &c, there was nothing for it but to throttle him into quietness in 
 case we could not avoid his notice otherwise. Michael Moore stole 
 — yes — the thief actually stole a small steel chisel out of our tool 
 box on the works, and the thief was the more criminal inasmuch as 
 he was the prisoner most trusted with the distribution and collec- 
 tion of the implements. I don't know where he hid the chisel when 
 he was bringing it into his cell ; but I know when he had it there 
 he gave me the signal to lie down on the flags and keep my 
 eye on the hall. I heard him scraping away for an hour, at the end 
 of which time he gave another signal to get up, and then through 
 the little slit that was in the partition he whispered to me that he 
 thought the work would be all right ; he had made a hole large 
 enough already to hide the chisel j then he shut it up and plastered 
 
162 'Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 the surface with the whiting he had for brightening his tins. The 
 color was very much like the whitewash on the walls, and no dis- 
 tinction could be discerned when standing at the door, as he had 
 shaded the spot by the arrangement of some of his cell furniture. 
 Brophy, Carey, I, and a few others supplied him with all the 
 whiting; we got, and day after day for a fortnight he worked 
 at the hole in the wall, and I kept my ear on the floor and my eye 
 to the stairs. He did not, like Baron Trenck, blow away the rubbish 
 through a quill, but he tied it up in the tail of his shirt and made 
 away with it in the quarry. At the end of a fortnight he was half- 
 way through the wall and we were half way to freedom, for of 
 course it never entered our heads to fail once we got out ; we were 
 to die game rather than come back to our cells again. But, woe of 
 woes ! as my ear was to the flag I heard Mike give a groan. I gave 
 a cough, and he answered it by the signal to come to the slit in the 
 partition. His agonized whisper was — " O God ! Rossa, 'tis all np 
 with us ; the stones in the middle of the wall are all fastened to one 
 another by stout links of iron, and it is impossible to remove these ; 
 we must give it up ; lie down again until I shut the hole," and with 
 a bronach heart I took my recumbent position. 
 
 Hugh Brophy and I had another scheme of escape a short time 
 before this a As we quarried a large piece of rock one day we dis- 
 covered a large hole under it, which appeared to be a cave. It 
 escaped the officers' detection, and as the stone was removed we 
 covered the hole. We took five or six into our confidence, who 
 were to keep the jailers engaged one day while we examined the 
 discovery. We found it was a fissure between the rocks, and did 
 not extend far, and would do no more than answer for a hiding 
 place. For three or four days after, our friends were sparing their 
 bread and brin^ins; it to hide in the hole till there was sufficient there 
 to support Hugh and me for two or three days. We were to enter, 
 the others were to cover us up and make the floor of the quarry 
 just the same as all around, leaving a few air-holes, which could not 
 be detected except by the closest search. We were to have a few 
 ropes stolen from the tool-box, and if we escaped detection for a few 
 days, the friends were to whisper through the air-holes that it was 
 supposed we had got into the country ; then we were to emerge at 
 night and make a raft ; launch it on the sea below, paddle our canoe 
 across the bay to the land, which appeared about three miles distant. 
 When the day came that we were to enter the cave we found that 
 two of us could not get room in it by any kind of stuffing, and we 
 had to pronounce the project hopeless. The hole was open, and we 
 had not time to shut it before we saw the Governor approaching 
 from the prison and coming on the path towards us. Quick as 
 thought I pulled up a leg of my trousers, took a rough stone and 
 rubbed it hard along the calf from the knee to the ankle ; went into 
 the hole, and gave a roar that shook the quarry. The little bird 
 that sat hatching, her eggs in a hole a few yards from us ran out of 
 
O' 'Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 163 
 
 her nest. The boys and the officers ran towards me, and as the 
 Governor came up he asked, " Why is Rossa sitting there ? " " It 
 seems, sir," said Gunning, " his leg got into that hole and got 
 scratched a little." I was taking off my boot, and I gave a black 
 look at both of them, as much as to say is that all the pity you have 
 for me after escaping with my life ? 
 
 The letter winch I spoke of as having written to my wife came 
 t*> be delivered, and I had my plans laid to pass it to Lynch at 
 chapel one Sunday morning, but the fir>.t attempt of mine to reach 
 the world " surreptitiously " turned out to be a failure, and brought 
 upon me an endless amount of punishment. When I took my 
 position in the chapel I found Lynch was two seats behind me and 
 not at my side of the stool. 
 
 I passed the paper to Patrick Dunne, who was transported on a 
 charge of attempting to swear in soldier* on the Pigeon-house-road, 
 Dublin. He used to do his bit of prison life in as jolly a spirit as 
 possible, and in doing anything else that was not in perfect harmony 
 with the rules and regulations, he did it in as sly a way as it could 
 be done. But on this occasion a principal officer, who was on watch 
 at the back of the congregation, saw some movement on the part 
 of Lynch, and on leaving the chapel, as I afterwards heard, he was 
 arrested and stripped. I was in my cell that Sunday evening, the 
 door was opened about five o'clock, and the warder said " Com.e 
 on." On I went towards the dark cells, and looking behind me as 
 I was entering, I saw Lynch folio wing in charge of another officer. 
 I had to strip to the buff; my clothes were searched inch by inch, 
 and seam by seam, myself was then searched, nothing was found 
 on me, and I remained in suspense till twelve o'clock next day, 
 when I was taken in deshabille before the Governor. 
 
 " You are charged with endeavoring to get a letter out of prison 
 surreptitiously to the wife of another prisoner. What have you to 
 say ? " 
 
 " The charge is not properly recorded." 
 
 " Do you mean to dictate to me how I am to discharge my 
 duties." 
 
 " I do not, but I mean to say that the charge, as you have it 
 recorded on the books, is a false one." 
 
 " Do you deny the writing ? " (holding up the letter.) 
 
 " I admit or deny nothing, but I ask you to take down what I 
 have said." 
 
 Governor (motioning to the officers) — "Take him away, and I'll 
 postpone his case till I hear from the Board of Directors." 
 
 And the Board of Directors being heard from, I was sentenced 
 to three days on bread and water, and fined as many marks as 
 would add a few months to my imprisonment. 
 
 At work on the quarries again I learned from Michael Moore, one 
 afternoon, that the Governor had been serious when he charged me 
 with "writing to the wife of another prisoner," and whether he 
 
164 O' Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 believed or not I was holding a love intrigue with the wife of 
 Moore, he endeavored to make others believe it. I first looked 
 upon the matter as a joke, but when I came to have it corrected 
 on the prison books, lest it might remain on record and be 
 brought forward at some time to defame my character — for this is 
 a trick that England plays on dead enemies — I found the 
 thing turned out to be no joke at all to me, unless a hard bed at 
 night, and starvation in solitary confinement by day, be considered 
 an agreeable kind of pastime. 
 
 Michael Moore made application to the Governor to be allowed 
 to write to his wife, and the Governor asked him if he knew that 
 there was another man in the prison in communication with her. 
 
 " What?" said Moore, in astonishment. 
 
 " Oh," said the Governor, " I would not have mentioned the 
 matter to you only I thought you knew something about it." 
 
 The prisoner insisted on his right to know all, and the Governor 
 told him I had been detected in sending a letter surreptitiously 
 to his wife. Moore affected the greatest indignation, and kept it 
 up till he came out to work, and demanded an explanation from 
 me. As we were at this time forbidden to speak, and as the neces- 
 sity for explaining away the charge seemed paramount to the 
 necessity of maintaining silence, I, regardless of the jailer's 
 admonition, kept talking to Moore, and the more I talked the more 
 Moore grew dissatisfied. In this manner we cheated the English 
 Government out of an evening s conversation. When the officers 
 went to headquarters that evening they reported that Moore and 
 Rossa had like to have a fight on the works, and I demanded to be 
 allowed to see the Governor next day, to know why he had been 
 telling fasehoods of me to my fellow-prisoners. Next day came, 
 and I was taken to the door of the judgment chamber. I found 
 Mr. Luby, Con Keane, Thomas Duggan, and three or four others 
 waiting for a hearing. I was called in first, and asked the Governor 
 by what authority he told Mr. Moore that I was detected in cor- 
 respondence with his wife, and he told me by the authority of a 
 letter he had in his possession. 
 
 " Cannot you look at that letter, and see on the corner of the 
 envelope the words — 'For Mrs. O'D?' Cannot you also see that 
 it is addressed to Mrs. Mary Moore ? Now, if you look at your 
 books, and find the record of the letters Mr. Moore has received 
 from and written to his wife and mother, you will learn that his 
 wife's name is Kate, and that it is his mother who is called Mary. 
 If you read the body of the letter you will find allusion to my 
 children, and Mrs. Moore has no children. 1 ask that you correct 
 this charge on the books, and also correct any erroneous reports you 
 have made regarding it." 
 
 Governor — " I'll do no such thing." I believe all these things 
 were subterfuges. I am fully persuaded the letter was for Moore's 
 wife, and I told the Secretary of State so, and I told the Board of 
 "directors so." 
 
O' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 165 
 
 " Then you told them what was false." 
 
 Here he ordered me to be taken to the cells ; the door was opened, 
 and as the jailers were approaching me I stood, looking firmly at 
 him, and said — " You're a mean creature, and you've shown noth- 
 ing but meanness in our treatment since we came into your hands." 
 Then I was laid hold of, and turned towards the door, where I saw 
 my companions awaiting their call, and with very little ceremony 
 I was shoved through the hall and tossed into a darkened cell. 
 
 Next day at twelve o'clock, I was charged with gross insolence 
 to the Governor, calling him " a mean man," and ever so many 
 etceteras. What had I to say ? " Governor, you have been 
 slandering me, and placing on record charges against me in 
 Government offices, false charges which may be exhumed for the 
 defamation of my character when I am dead. I suppose you can do 
 what you please with me while I am living, but your torture should 
 end there." 
 
 Governor — " I did not, until I got back your letter yesterday, 
 see the words ' for Mrs. O'D ' on the corner of the letter ; but they 
 were written so small that no one could see them unless his atten- 
 tion was particularly directed to them. If you had acted respect- 
 fully when coming before me, and given your answers in a proper 
 manner, you would have fared differently. I will not punish you 
 now further than fining you forty-two marks. That will do " (ad- 
 dressing the officers to remove me). 
 
 " Governor, won't you correct the charge on the books and your 
 report to the Secretary of State ? " 
 
 " You are getting off very easily." 
 " Will you give me permission to write to the Secretary of State 
 on the matter ? " 
 
 " I cannot do so. You can see the Director." 
 
 " Then I will thank you to put my name down to see the Director 
 when he comes." 
 
 "Granted." 
 
 This was all very well. I went to work, and felt sure when the 
 Director came I could satisfy him the letter was written to my wife, 
 and that he would correct the erroneous reports made regarding it, 
 but there are many tricks in trade, and the Governor of a convict 
 prison is not without a few in his line of business. The day before 
 the Director came I was reported for talking while at work, and the 
 day he was in the prison I was on bread and water, and, being 
 under punishment, I had forfeited my privilege of making my com- 
 plaint to the gentleman. It is a part of his duty to visit every 
 prisoner in the cells ; my door was opened, I stood to attention, 
 and seeing Mr. Fagan standing outside I proceeded to tell my story. 
 I was told I was forbidden from making any complaint while under 
 punishment, and that the next time the Director would come he 
 would, if I was in good standing, go into my case. But the next 
 time he came I was in punishment too, and the time after and every. 
 
166 O"* Donovan Rosscv's Prison Life, 
 
 time till I left the prison of Portland. I knew Mr. Fagan had 
 already examined into the charge of intrigue, and that he had seen 
 it was a piece of bungling on the part of the Governor, and he cer- 
 tainly allowed the Governor to have recourse to the trick of having 
 me on bread and water every time he visited the prison, so as to 
 prevent him from making an official report. When this light 
 dawned 0.1 me I made all possible efforts to communicate "sur- 
 reptitiously " with the outer world, and after various attempts, 
 failures, subterfuges, and punishments, succeeded. 
 
 Lynch, in whose possession my letter was found, got three days 
 on bread and water, twenty-five days on penal class diet, and lost 
 three months of the remission he had previously earned. He was 
 to leave the prison a few months after he had the misfortune of 
 falling in with me; but I met him twelve months afterwards in 
 Millbank, and he told me they kept reporting him time after 
 time until they took away every day he had earned, and he had to 
 work out his whole term of seven years. When he came to chapel 
 after the twenty-eight days on bread and water he passed me 
 another lead pencil, and told me, in a note the package contained, 
 that he'd have paper, envelopes, a writing pen, and an ink bottle for 
 me on next Sunday. 
 
 Some one employed on the works had heard of his being in 
 communication with me, and of his suffering punishment without 
 "squealing" upon the person who furnished the writing material, 
 and some one else made an offer to him to supply the needful and 
 act as postman for a consideration, which consideration I of course 
 readily consented to have provided. Suuday came ; I was on the 
 look-out, and the writing material came safely into my possession. 
 I had two sheets of paper, two envelopes, and a darling little glass 
 ink bottle, three inches long and one inch in diameter. 
 
 When I entered my cell and opened my parcel I was delighted ; 
 but the joy was not of long duration,, for the fear of detection soon 
 chased it away, as the question arose, " Where in the world am I to 
 hide them ? " English convicts are allowed to wear an article of 
 clothing called a shirt ; it has, as I may say, two tails, and in the 
 front one of these I tied my treasure. The hour for exercise came, 
 and I chose for my comrade on this occasion Jerry O'Donovan, of 
 Blarney, as I intended to make him my storekeeper and general 
 agent in the nefarious business I had on hand. Jerry had one of the 
 best characters ; he was pretty free from "reports," and the warders 
 considered him very quiet and guileless. Not alone was he from 
 Blarney, but he had blarney, with all its rich raciness, on his 
 tongue ; in his manner that openness and pride of being Irish, and 
 working for Ireland, characteristic of the true Irish peasant ; and in 
 his heart that love of faith and freedom, with hatred of those who 
 would trample on t-ither, which is " the salt of our soil," and, indeed, 
 the salt of any soil. 
 
 Faith and Freedom, did I say? yes$ but in Jerry's case, or in 
 
0' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 167 
 
 those who had to deal with Jerry's case, the two were made to 
 clash, and the pursuit of freedom, as Jerry pursued it, was antagon- 
 istic to his profession of faith as the Rev. Mr. Zanetti professed or 
 propounded it. The priest was for a long time urging the prisoner 
 to give up the oath he had sworn to free Ireland, and to return to 
 the fold ; Jerry could not see thatvhis renunciation of his duty to 
 poor old Ireland was at all necessary to his salvation, and refusing 
 to yield to the arguments and solicitations of the holy father, the 
 rev. gentleman with his knuckles tapped him on the forehead three 
 times, saying — " It is in, in, in there you have the devil in you." 
 Some people may consider this very profane — not of me but of the 
 priest — but let them not mind it ; he was an Englishman, the son of 
 an Italian, and had not a drop of Irish blood in his veins. I can 
 only laugh at the ridiculous nonsense of such people when they 
 preach loyalty to England, and threaten damnation because we are 
 not loyal. I can listen to an Iiish priest, for he is supposed to have 
 as much interest in the country as I have ; but when an English 
 priest comes forward to denounce me for undertaking any danger 
 or sacrifice that may be between me and Ireland's independence, I 
 care very little for what he says. I have learned long ago what 
 some of my countrymen seem to want to learn yet, that every 
 priest is not an Irishman. No man can find his way to my heart 
 more easily than the good priest, the soggarth aroon, who silently 
 prays, for he cannot publicly speak for the overthrow of English 
 rule in Ireland, and who, if Ave had a fight on our native soil, would 
 obey the voice of God, as many an Irish priest would, calling upon 
 him through his feelings to rush to the battle's front rather than the 
 voice of Cullens or Cardinals calling upon him to denounce the 
 " rebels " in the name of " the Church." To show how accommo- 
 dating our Father Zanetti was to the Government, and how h<* could 
 reconcile the requirements of the State with the obligations of the 
 Church, I will quote a little from his evidence before the Commis- 
 sion of Inquiry. The Commissioners, thinking it would, perhaps, 
 work a greater reformation on prisoners to allow them to go to 
 church than to keep them from it while under punishment, ques- 
 tioned the priest thus : — 
 
 " Question No. 13,194 — Do you recollect a prisoner of the name 
 of Patrick Ryan, a treason-felony convict, being here ? I have not 
 a distinct recollection, my lord, of Patrick Ryan. 
 
 " 13,194 — He makes a statement to us, and I should like to know 
 whether what he represents has been brought under your notice or 
 not. He says that he was employed to work the pump. He is 
 asked the question — ' Did you ever object to work any one day in 
 the week?' And his answer is — 'I objected to it once, sir, and 
 that was on a Sunday that I was to receive the Blessed Sacrament, 
 and the officer told me I could not, that it would be better for me 
 to work at the pump, that it would do me more service.' Do you 
 recollect hearing that there was any difficulty thrown in the way of 
 
168 O^ Donovan Bosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 the prisoners receiving the Sacraments in cases of being employed 
 at work ? I no not, my lord ; but now that mention is made of it, 
 I have some recollection of some prisoner, but who the prisoner was 
 I cannot recollect — making a difficulty of working the pump on 
 Sunday, and stating an objection he had — but whether he was going 
 to Communion or not I cannot remember. I stated to the prisoner 
 — I cannot remember who it was — that it was a work of necessity ; 
 that the water had to be supplied to the prison, and that, conse- 
 quently, the prisoners had to work on Sunday, that it was not an 
 unnecessary but a necessary work, and that, therefore, he should do 
 what he was told and should work at the pump like the rest. 1 
 cannot say whether it was Ryan or not, but I remember the question 
 distinctly. 
 
 " 13,209 — If the authorities of the prison, without a positive 
 necessity, prevent prisoners under punishment and infirmary 
 patients from hearing Mass on Sundays, are they not only depriv- 
 ing them of a privilege, but compelling them to forego a duty? I 
 should not classify the two together. I should think it most desir- 
 able that prisoners in the infirmary, who are sufficiently well to 
 attend the service of the church, should attend service; but with 
 respect to the prisoners that are in punishment, I should consider 
 that the object that the authorities had of rendering that prisoner's 
 punishment more heavy would satisfy me in regard of the obliga- 
 tion under which he was placed. 
 
 " 13,210 — Do I understand you to say that you can justify the 
 depriving prisoners of Mass as a means of making their punish- 
 ment more heavy ? The authorities believe it is necessary, and 1 
 accept their declaration that it is necessary for the efficacy of the 
 punishment, and, in that point of view, I think that it is a justifi- 
 able resource. 
 
 "13,212 (Dr. Lyons) — Do you think it desirable or necessary 
 that a change should be made in the disciplinary arrangement, so 
 as to allow prisoners under punishment and infirmary patients to 
 attend Mass on Sundays ? I should think it desirable if it could be 
 effected without disparagement to the essential discipline of the 
 prison, to allow prisoners in the infirmary to attend Mass, and if 
 the authorities consider that to allow prisoners to go to Mass would 
 not be a diminution of punishment, I should likewise desire that 
 they should go to Mass; but I am willing to accept their declara- 
 tion that it would be a considerable diminution of the punishment 
 of the prisoners to allow them to go to Mass." 
 There is Father Zanetti for you. 
 
 The Sunday I took my hour's exercise with Jerry O'Donovan, of 
 Blarney, I passed my writing material to him, and made arrange- 
 ments for its safe keeping. He was to cut up the pencils in pieces 
 about an inch and a-half long, to keep one bit on his person, to- 
 gether with a sheet of the paper, and hide the rest on the works. I 
 made up my mind for detection a second time, and made provision 
 for a supply of pen and paper to carry on the game again after I 
 had gone through my punishment. 
 
0* Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 169 
 
 Indeed, I made provision to carry it on while under punishment, 
 for I took the lead out of one of the pieces of pencil and breaking 
 it up into small bits, I hid these in the seams of my jacket and 
 trousers. So strict was the watch kept, upon me now, that I had no 
 chance of writing in my ordinary cell any hour between rising and 
 retiring. The " eye" seemed to be ever at the spy-hole during the 
 breakfast hour, the dinner hour, and the hours between six and 
 eight in the evening. As I stretched on my hammock at night, I 
 racked my brain for some means of writing, and I found two. One 
 was to talk on the works deliberately, with the intention of being 
 sent into the punishment cells. On entering these there is a strict 
 search. You can take no contraband article in with you, and you 
 can find nothing within. You are quite safe here, and, consequently, 
 the eye is not so often on you as elsewhere. I thought that I could 
 carry my bits of pencils in with me, that I could sit with my back 
 to the door, and using the sole of my slipper for a table, write my 
 story upon my closet paper. Sitting in this position, I was too low 
 for the eye at the spy-hole to see me, and if the door was to be un 
 locked by a surprise, I was too lazy, too sulky, or too fast asleep, to 
 get up before I had my pencil and paper stowed away in the seams 
 of my clothes. The other plan was to sit up in my hammock all 
 night, and write away as well as I could. I had as much light from 
 the gas in the hall as would enable me to see the paper ; but then I 
 hadn't much stationery, and if I attempted to write close, I might 
 write one line over the other. Communicating my projects to my 
 friends, Martin Hanley Carey told me he had a book in his ceil 
 which did not belong to his registry. It was a religious little 
 treatise called, " Think Well On't," and it was not even stamped 
 with the prison brand. Some one of the officers left it with him 
 by mistake ; it had large margins to every leaf, and he said I could 
 write as much as I desired on it. I took it and gave Jerry orders 
 to have the pen and ink ready. But he had been making further 
 preparations to assist me. He showed me a little tin article he found 
 in the quarry, which he intended to fashion into an ink-bottle. 
 I told him it looked ^ike a leprechaun's teapot, and that there 
 might be luck in it. It would hold about a thimble full, and before 
 evening he had some of the ink conveyed into it from the glass 
 bottle. Taking it into my cell that evening, and getting safely as 
 far as bed hour, I, when the door was locked for the night, gave 
 Jerry the signal to pass me the writing-pen through a small hole 
 that we made in the corrugated iron partition that divided us. I 
 commenced to write, and the officer on guard commenced his parade 
 through the hall. He wore slippers, and everything was so still 
 I could hear his footfall as he approached my cell. I then used 
 to lie back. If he peeped in he could see me, and if I remained 
 writing he could hear the scratching of the pen on the book. If by 
 any mischance I made such a noise as might attract attention, I 
 commenced to snore for a minute or two, and if no one came I 
 
170 O ^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 arose to my work again. Night after night I continued my labors, 
 sleeping during my dinner and supper hours. When I commenced 
 my work I could see little more than the leaf I was writing on, but 
 before I had all finished my sight was sharp enough to see that I 
 was writing in straight lines. I don't know was it, that like the 
 cat, I was learning to see in the dark. Nature, perhaps, had sym- 
 pathy with me, and came to my assistance. I used up all the paper 
 I had, made up my parcels with the proper directions on them, and 
 consulted with Jerry O'Donovan and some others, how we were to 
 hide them until we got an opportunity of passing them out. We 
 decided upon keeping them hid in the wall of the shed in which 
 those worked who were making the stone altar, and into which we 
 went for shelter when it rained. I had two letters written, and on 
 the " Think Well On't " I had copied from memory a petition I was 
 after writing to the Secretary of State. When some of my friends 
 heard I was writing a petition, they began to wonder, and were 
 on thorns to know what I was petitioning for ; but I could not tell 
 them, or tell myself. I am bound to do my best to clear myself 
 with you, and as I am giving everything that came across me, I 
 will give a sample of an Irish felon's petition to his English captors. 
 It was one of the ways that came into my head to get an ac- 
 count of our treatment before the public. A convict, if he is a 
 well-conducted one, has the privilege of writing a petition every 
 year to the Secretary of State, but after my Portland one, the 
 authorities were not very willing to indulge me with the privilege; 
 in fact, they refused it to me repeatedly on the grounds of my 
 being a bad character. My idea was that I would write to the 
 Secretary of State, and that I would manage also to write a copy 
 surreptitiously in the hope of getting it out. In case of failure I 
 had it in my mind to have it communicated to some of the visitors 
 that I had written an account of our ill-treatment to the Ministry, 
 and then some Irish member of the English House of Commons 
 might be able to come at it through the interpellation of Parlia- 
 ment. At the Commission of Inquiry into our ill-treatment in 
 1870 I called for this memorial to refresh my memory and got it. I 
 managed to transfer it to Captain John McClure, and, as we were 
 allowed pen and ink during the Commission, he took a copy of it 
 on waste paper the day I was under examination. This copy I suc- 
 ceeded in hiding till my release. I brought it with me to America, 
 and will hold it with the certainty of being able sell it for a very 
 high price a few centuries hence. 
 
 To the Hon. Spencer Horatio Walpole, Sec'y of State. — The pe- 
 titon of Jer. O'Donovan Rossa. 
 Humbly Showeth — That your attention is solicited to the fol- 
 lowing : — In the early part of this year I wrote to Sir George Grey 
 requesting permission to state particulars connected with my trial 
 to an English M. P. I showed that instructions which I had from 
 
C Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 171 
 
 my counsel on paper were seized in prison, that papers explanatory 
 ol several things urged against me were in the hands of the Crown 
 and would not be given to me ; that in charging the jury summoned 
 for my conviction, the judge over-charged them and distorted many 
 innocent matters to my prejudice, as he had to admit when I ven- 
 tured to interrupt him on more than one occasion. Many other things 
 1 n tVrred to, that you may see on reference to my letter to your pre- 
 deccssor, which I suppose he has left after him. About the time of 
 my conviction Englishmen were making some noise about a Mr. 
 Guidon, of Jamaica, who was hanged, without having, as it was 
 thought, " a fair trial" I said to myself (I had no one else to speak 
 to) that if Mr. Gordon, instead of being hanged, had been trans- 
 ported or imported to England for life, he would be allowed to state 
 his case to a lawyer or a member of Parliament. I fancied that a 
 white Irishman might be as dear to a justice-loving Englishman as 
 a colored West Indian. I did not know then that there was in the 
 same prison with me, No. 5,369, who was arrested amongst your- 
 selves in London, on Christmas week, taken to the proclaimed part 
 of the United Kingdom (Ireland), far away from the locality 
 where he was said to have offended and away from his witnesses ; 
 brought the following week before a General Commission in Cork 
 and sent back to London, where he had lived for the previous 
 twenty years, after having received a sentence of twelve years' 
 penal servitude. 
 
 Sir George Grey refused my request. I do not insinuate to you 
 that this refusal had anything to do with his loss of office ! I will 
 only repeat the request now. If you grant it with any other reason- 
 able one the letter may contain, may you hold the distinguished posi- 
 tion of Secretary of State as long as you like it ; if you do not grant 
 it, you have only to hold the office as long as you can ! 
 
 Macaulay says of Englishmen, that it is not one of their beset- 
 ting sins to persecute their enemies when they get them into their 
 power. The historian may be right, though 1 do not recollect that 
 he brought forward any enemy qualified to speak in proof of hia 
 assertion. I say he may be right, having in view that there is an 
 exception to every rule, and coupling it with the fact, that in the 
 same book he says of my countrymen, " that they were the most 
 hated and despised enemies of his — hated, because they were ene- 
 mies for live centuries, and despised because they were conquered, 
 enslaved, and despoiled enemies." Of my experience, while in the 
 power of Englishmen, I will give you a brief sketch. Should it 
 contain anything unpleasant to you, don't take it up personally, or 
 consider me personally disrespectful ; but do not wonder if you 
 should find me falling into the sin of contemning British magnan- 
 imity when I am told by the Governor of my prison that my treat- 
 ment is in accordance with the special orders of the Secretary oi 
 State. It is no harm to let you know what this treatment is, and 
 give you time to approve or disapprove of it before I make up my 
 
172 C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 mind that so much miserable meanness springs from such a source. 
 As a man thinks of many things in solitary confinement, I, trans- 
 ported from Ireland to England for life, think it possible I may yet 
 become an English citizen, particularly as you think it advisable at 
 present that every independent, honest-minded man should be sent 
 and kept out of Ireland. I can imagine myself having an interest 
 already in seeing that the honor of England is maintained — upon 
 English ground at least. No matter how we use the Bible and 
 the bullet in aid of our mission to civilize the world — no matter how 
 we plant penal colonies — no matter how we run men into prison, or 
 blow them from the cannon's mouth in other countries, let us not stain 
 the liberty hallowed heather of our own land — let us not blight the 
 grass which grows ever green over the graves of the English mar- 
 tyrs, whose blood enriches the soil, by bringing amongst us, for the 
 purpose of visiting with a vile persecution and worrying to death, 
 men who at least are not matricides, or parricides, and who, at 
 most, are guilty of the desire to manage their own affairs — a very 
 heinous crime, no doubt, when we consider how many wise and 
 philanthropic English noblemen and gentlemen are anxious to do 
 the thing lor them. Let us not — but hold ! it is possible my imagi- 
 nation has trespassed too far upon my citizenship, and carried me 
 too far on the liberal side to be pleasing to you ; too far entirely — 
 before I am out of the probation class of that process which is 
 , deemed necessary for the civilization of Irish political prisoners — 
 to render me agreeable to any stern advocate of the " right divine." 
 I will beg pardon, break the illusion, and commence my small 
 sketch. With a view to making it as entertaining as possible I asked 
 the Governor if I would be allowed pen, ink and paper in my cell 
 for a day or a Sunday to write " according to the regulations." I 
 thought I might get facilities suited to the dignity of my corre- 
 spondent ; but no, I can have only thirty or forty minutes, or an 
 occasional evening after my day's labor, three or four days apart — 
 in fact, no more than if I were writing to my wife or mother. 
 What wonder then if I am in bad humor, or if I cannot write eo as 
 to engage you pleasantly. However, I will strive to conquer all 
 disadvantages, and will do my best to interest you. I dare say you 
 have in your library some volume relating to the prisons of Europe 
 and pictures of European despotism. I can only promise you as full 
 and as truthful a chapter of torturing annoyances as you can find in 
 any of these. If the dark cruelties be absent take into account the ex- 
 tremely high degree of your civilization ; and if in any ofyour alms- 
 houses, as your own writers say, " you kill so slowly that none could 
 call it murder," think what it can be in a gaol. Take in your hand, 
 for instance, " Silvio Pelico," and compare as I carry you along. He, 
 I believe, was connected with a journal in Italy ; I was connected 
 with a newspaper in Ireland. In order to have it legally registered 
 I had to appear in a court of law, and sign a document in presence 
 of witnesses. Charged with belonging to a secret society, a con- 
 
0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 173 
 
 gpiracy, this document was the only evidence against me relied upon 
 by my prosecutors, and the only legal evidence they had at all to 
 make me guilty. I was sentenced to penal servitude for the remain- 
 der of my days. Thus transported to a new life, the first light of it 
 darkened upon me in Mount joy Prison, Dublin, on the 13 th Decem- 
 ber, 1865. My hair and beard were shorn, my clothes taken from 
 me. I got the felon's dress, and, with my name pinned across my 
 breast, my photograph was taken. Here I noticed the absence of 
 the customary compliments from the artist of my making a good 
 picture, &c. The rules for my guidance were read. I pitched upon 
 one which allows every convict to write a letter upon reception. I 
 asked for pen, ink, and paper, to write to my wife. I could not 
 have them. I referred to the rule, and was told that was for the 
 ordinary criminals. I was put in my cell, got oakum to pick, and 
 one hour's solitary exercise every day. During the ten nights I lay 
 here, I got a little experience of the torture inflicted in other coun- 
 tries upon prisoners by forbidding sleep to them. Guards were 
 calling to each other every half hour outside my cell. The door of 
 this contained a trap, through which I got my food. It was fas- 
 tened with a chain and bolt, and opened every fifteen minutes by 
 two officers, who held a bull's-eye lantern and shot the light from it 
 full in my face. If I covered my head to avoid the annoyance, they 
 called upon me until I showed my face before they would shut the 
 trap. 
 
 On the morning of the 21st, I saw some of my fellow prisoners 
 for the first time. We were put in a van, and when we got out of 
 it I found myself in Kingstown, going on board a steamer for Eng- 
 land. The irons were fastened so tightly upon me that my hands 
 were already colored and swollen, and the pain was reminding me 
 too forcibly that I was a prisoner. The poem of the convict came 
 prosaically to my mind, and I began to realize that — 
 
 "Wave after wave was dividing 
 Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever." 
 
 Altogether, I was getting so disgusted with the voyage, that I 
 began to discharge my stomach. I asked for the officer in charge of 
 us. I showed him the state of my hands from the tightness of the 
 bands, and as we approached nearer to free England he gave me 
 freer irons. I found myself getting into a London prison about 
 eight o'clock in the evening. I thought that in the capitol of a 
 great nation I would be allowed many things forbidden elsewhere, 
 and it was some consolation to me to think I could write to my 
 wife next day. I felt fatigued, cold, and thirsty, and I asked if I 
 could have a drink of some kind, but there was to be no drink for a 
 while. We were stripped of the clothiug we got in Ireland, and 
 supplied with the Pentonville dress. We got flannels in Ireland, 
 and we got none here; we asked for them, and were told we could 
 not get them, as the doctor had so ordered. A warder directed me 
 
174 0* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 to my cell and brought me a piece of bread and cheese. I told him 
 I did not want anything to eat, but wanted a drink. He showed 
 me a pint and a water pipe, and told me the cell contained every 
 other necessary that w T as deemed requisite for me — that he would 
 leave the gas lighting for half an hour, during which time I should 
 eat my snpper, make my bed, and have every article of my clothing, 
 except my shirt, made up in a bundle, to be put outside my cell 
 door during the night. I drank a few pints of water. I made my 
 bed upon a board V feet by 3, raised at the head by another board 
 for a pillow. 1 had for a bed, a mattress about half an inch thick, 
 and not altogether as hard as the board. The warder came in due 
 time, and I put out my clothes and every moveable article in my 
 cell, except that comfortless bed. The sufferings of these days was 
 intense. In the cold month of December, and on such an occasion, 
 it was cruel to deprive us of flannels wdiich we were accustomed to 
 wear. Will you find anything like it in the prison life of Silvio 
 Pelico ? Some of the men who were treated in a similar manner 
 died. 
 
 No. 5,365 tells me that he was present when Mr. Lynch w T as 
 deprived of his flannels, and heard him tell the warder that unless 
 he got them he would be dead in three months. He, alas ! spoke 
 but too truly, but of course he died in the manner Coleridge says — 
 " Killed so slowly that none could call it murder." 
 
 For three days after my arrival in London I could eat nothing, 
 and the officer removed the bread that accumulated. The first time 
 I saw the doctor, I asked him w r ould he be pleased to allow me flan- 
 nels, and he would not. The Director visited me, and left an order 
 that I be made a tailor of. I asked him could I w r rite to my family; 
 He said — No. To Mr. Stansfield? No; but I could petition the Sec- 
 retary of State if I liked. A few weeks after I did petition him, with 
 the aforementioned result. I did not petition to be allowed to 
 write to my wife, as I felt ashamed to let the Secretary of State see 
 that I thought he could be so small and mean as to deny me a right 
 and privilege accorded to the meanest pickpocket. At length I 
 was handed a letter from my wife, but it was a fortnight in the 
 prison before I got it, and I received one leaf of paper to write a 
 reply. I was told that if I stated anything regarding the prison, or 
 the officers, or the work, or the treatment, that my letter w r ould be 
 suppressed. 
 
 Three days afterwards the Governor sent for me, and told me 
 he had to erase what related to my asking my solicitor to get per- 
 mission for me to write to an English member of Parliament. No 
 reply to that letter w r as allowed, as the authorities decided that the 
 note of inquiry I received should answer for the reply to a prisoner's 
 letter, and thus several of us were cheated out of hearing about 
 family affairs. This was distressingly painful to me, as I had five chil- 
 dren,whose estate was confiscated in my arrest. I represented matters 
 to the Governor, but it was of no avail ; he should govern according to 
 
'Donovan fiossas Prison Life. 175 
 
 his instructions. For the first two months in Pentonville Prison, so 
 far as our exercise and putting out our cell furniture at night were 
 concerned, we were treated like prisoners who had attempted to 
 break prison, but at the commencement of the third month we were 
 sent to exercise with the other prisoners. Some of them were placed 
 between every two of us, and all walked four paces apart in circles, 
 and in silence. The doctor one day ordered me a llannel waistcoat. 
 I suppose he thought my blood was getting cool enough. He 
 often asked me if I was able to eat my food, which looked like 
 mockery to one who as often had reason to tell him he felt half 
 starved, and he always took my answer as indicative of good 
 health. I often thought what a capital chairman he'd make for 
 your board of health in Ireland. An orderly always preceded the 
 Governor and Deputy Governor in their visits to me, and I had to 
 stand to attention with my cap off, but for the Deputy I was 
 ordered to add the additional salute of raising my hand to my head. 
 Why the Governor did not requide this koo-tooing I do not know : 
 perhaps he was enough of the gentleman. 
 
 For not raising the hand to the bare head in this prison, Mr. 
 O'Connor w r as put into a dark cell for three days on sixteen ounces 
 of bread and plenty of water each day. Deprivation of food is a 
 prominent feature in all punishment. On the 9lh of May I was 
 taken to the Governor's office and told that my wife had given 
 birth to a son on the 30th April, but I could not write to her until 
 six months after the date of my last letter, and I rejoiced in the 
 evuit as well as circumstances would permit. 
 
 On the 14th May we were mustered for Portland, and we 
 noticed the absence of five of our number. They were broken 
 down in health, ajd had been sent to the invalid station of Woking. 
 We were weighed, and we learned that some of us had lost as 
 many as 20 lbs. That some of these are not yet sent to 
 the half-way house of death I attribute to their strong-natured 
 powers of endurance, but a little time here is able to work the de- 
 sired examples. We arrive in Portland in the evening. After 
 several applications for sufficient paper to write to you I am allowed 
 three sheets to do so. I have not spare time to let you know many 
 particulars of out- treatment, and must content myself with giving 
 you as much as will enable any clear-headed individual to see 
 the animus towards us. Could I, by my escape from prison, a( : 
 ford you that satisfaction which Dr. Johnson says all people ex 
 perience at the escape of rebels, and were I never to live in Eng. 
 land again, I should form but a very indifferent opinion of thu 
 manhood of the country were I to judge of it from what I have 
 seen in this part. Armed authority earns for itself the reputation 
 of coward, when it ill-treats a party bound hand and foot and de- 
 livered into its charge. The majority of our masters may not con- 
 sider the prison rules severe enough for us, and may volunteer a 
 little extra duty. I admit that there are exceptions — men who do 
 
176 ''Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 their part without making every word and look convey an insult 
 and a sneer. But, perhaps, they are not thus discharging the 
 duty expected from them when in contact with us. Let it, how- 
 ever, be hoped that these exceptions represent a rule. 
 
 To be told that we are no better than Sodomites and thieves — 
 that nothing could make us more degraded than we are — that not 
 alone in this world should we be punished but in the next — that it 
 is not easy to kill us, &c, may be nothing — but to be told that we 
 are liars, that we are bloodthirsty, that we are like a lot of old 
 women, that we are better fed than when we fed ourselves, &c, is 
 enough to quicken the blood, even though it be poverty-stricken by 
 bad and insufficient nourishment. A word from us in reply is 
 called insolence and punished as such. This is what you will not 
 find in Silvio Pelico. His enemy never took a cowardly advantage 
 of his helplessness to insult him in his suffering. On the contrary, 
 he says he got kind words and looks of sympathy everywhere in 
 his enemy's country. Yet have we borne all without an ill-word 
 to any one. The sacredness of the cause of liberty and fatherland 
 requires that men should suffer calmly and strongly for it — that 
 cause which I will do you the justice to think you admire when 
 represented by a Hugo, a Kosciusko, a Kossuth, a Garibaldi, or any 
 aoble spirit outside the British dominion. Excuse this inconsistency 
 of my expressing myself somewhat like a freeman. You know I 
 am in a land where even the air of the prison is liable to be affected 
 with the taint of liberty. I am not allowed to speak ; I am told 
 that even I have no right to think. What wonder, then, if my 
 thoughts overflow a little when allowed to write. On our arrival in 
 Portland the rules were read for us, and these rules de- 
 clared that prisoners could write a letter upon recep- 
 tion. I asked could we write, and I was told we could not. 
 The Governor told us he could be kind or severe according as it 
 suited the due discharge of his duty. Some of the men had religious 
 emblems, crosses, sacred hearts, &c, momentoes from fond sisters, 
 dear or departed mothers. These amulets or cnarms, he said, he 
 should retain until further orders. Next day we were taken to the 
 laundry, and until the 19th were kept washing the clothing of other 
 prisoners. We were then sent to the quarries, where we are at 
 present. Mr. Kickham was affected with scrofulous ulcers, and was 
 sent to hospital the second day. After four or five weeks he was 
 brought among u^, lodged in one of our dark flagged cells, and sent 
 with us to the quarry at stone dressing. He unhappily is near- 
 sighted and very deaf, and carries an ear-trumpet to enable a per- 
 son to eon verse with him; but a warder (I'm afraid I'll slip into 
 saying jailor sometime) lias a way of his own of making himself 
 understood. " Keebling " a stone, this sick gentleman sat or leaned 
 upon a ledge of rock while I was preparing it for him ; the officer 
 laid hold of him and shook him up, saying loudly, " He was not 
 allowed to rest during working hours." He was another day in the 
 
O^ Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 177 
 
 ranks, and not marching with military precision, the warder, while 
 we were in motion, gave him a violent push out of the ranks, and 
 staggered him some paces aside. We are transported on a charge of 
 striving to learn in our own country what you oblige us to practice 
 in this, under pain of punishment — that is, military drill. It is the 
 only thing in which you are kind and just to us — instructing us 
 here in what you forbade us at home, and what may be of use to 
 us some day. Mr. Kickham sank under the system ; the ulcers 
 opened ; he sent for the doctor, who sent him to the hospital. He 
 grew fit for the invalid station, and we have not heard of him 
 since. Mr. Roantree had hermorrhoids and the blood used to stream 
 into his shoes while at work. Making frequent representations of 
 his condition to the doctor and Governor without effect, he so 
 labored during three months until a representation to the Director 
 got him sent to the hospital. Here he became seriously ill from the 
 loss of blood, &c, and he now fears he is doomed to the half-way 
 house. Mr. Duggan went to the doctor, he got a pill and was told 
 it would eure him, and not to come any more. He was kept at 
 work ; two days after he was not able to work, and is now in 
 hospital. Mr. Carey was kebling a stone one day, the iron flew off 
 the handle, and he got the middle finger of his right hand broken ; 
 the doctor talked of amputation, and the patient would not 
 have it so. He was sent to the quarry with the sore hand in a 
 sling and spent six weeks breaking stones with the one hand till 
 the other got well. Many of the men were ill from time to time, 
 and wore off their illness without medicine rather than go before a 
 doctor, who thought fit to insult everyone of us who visited him. 
 Several of us were under medical treatment, and receiving extra 
 nourishment leaving Pentonville, one of them, Mr. Keane, reduced 
 two stones there, and being a very tall man, looks very much ema- 
 ciated. He is bilious, and like others, cannot use gruel for supper. 
 This I know, as I am occasionally in the hall serving out meals, 
 cleaning boots, and collecting slops. He told the doctor of his 
 state, and was informed there could be no special rules forhim; 
 that he was getting as much food as any other man in the j>roba- 
 tion class, and remarked that we were all sick in Pentonville. Mr. 
 O'Leary occupied the next cell to Mr. Keane, and handed him a 
 loaf of bread one day, for which both got punished, and the bread 
 was confiscated to the State. I had occasion to visit the doctor my- 
 self — him who appears to belong to the " Jemimar" family. I am not 
 strong-sighted, the glare of the sun on the white stone I am ham- 
 mering on nine or ten hours every day, and the particles that fly off 
 affect my eyes painfully ; but the medical gentleman could see 
 nothing the matter with them. I deemed it well to tell so much, 
 and no more, to the Prison Director, without making any complaint 
 against the doctor or anyone else. I was taken to the infirmary on 
 the Director's order, but the janitor there would not admit me. 
 Both doctors shortly appeared, examined my eyes and held a con- 
 
178 0' ] Donovan BosscCs Prison Life, 
 
 sultation. Then one of them, addressing me angrily, said — "You 
 made a complaint against us to the Director, but I cannot see any- 
 thing the matter with your eyes; and turning to the warder, he 
 said, " take him away, and I'll give a certificate to the Governor 
 that will settle the matter." 
 
 We have been told by the Director that we were sent here before 
 the usual time for the good of our health. I thank whoever con- 
 ceived the charitable design, but to us it seems to have miscarried,! 
 as cuts and scratches incidental to us at work healed up quickly 
 when we came to Portland, but now they fester and grow angry. 
 
 Though you abolished your star chamber in the reign of your 
 First Charles, what I am going to state now would make it appear 
 that the root of it is in the land still, and shoots out occasionally in 
 your convict prisons. 
 
 Mr. Moore and I were taken to the punishment cells one day, 
 shortly after our arrival here. I was stripped of my shoes, and led 
 through a long flagged hall, to a room where sat the Governor. He 
 read from a report book a charge against me of speaking in my cell 
 at a certain hour on a certain day. There was no accuser before 
 me except the book. The Governor asked, " had I anything to say 
 in reply." I said " nothing," but that it was possible I did speak, 
 as I had not lost the use of my tongue. He fined me 24 marks, and 
 ordered my clothes to be branded with a mark of degradation, and 
 my companion fared likewise. 
 
 My cell is seven feet long and four feet broad, and not at all 
 formed like the dungeon of the Sicilian tyrant, Dionysius. 'Tis 
 true that the rain comes down on me sometimes, and to escape it I 
 am obliged to lay on the flags ; but the sonnd of the voice does not 
 go out by the road the rain comes in. No, there is a small iron 
 grating at the end of a hole opening into the yard, and it is at this 
 hole the eaves-dropper outside listens. 
 
 On a Sunday, when I am cooped up in this small cell all day, I 
 am not allowed to walk in it. My officer tells me that it is making 
 a noise, and noise is not allowed. 1 am not permitted to sling the 
 canvas of my hammock and stretch upon it. I did this once in a 
 darkened cell when I had not light enough to read, and I got 
 twenty-four hours punishment diet for it. 
 
 The Governor told us we could speak while at work, but that we 
 should speak loud enough for the officer to hear us, lest we should 
 be planning anything; and this same Governor, in a few weeks 
 afterward, and in my presence, called the warders to account for 
 allowing us to speak too loud ; and these instructions afforded the 
 warders agreeable exercise for a time in checking us for speaking 
 either too high or too low. Then an order came one morning we 
 were not to speak a word at all, upon any pretence whatsoever. 
 The day this order was issued, an inspecting officer came round ; 1 
 was called before him, and was called to account for asking the war- 
 der, " How long did he think these instructions would last ? " I 
 
O** Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 179 
 
 said it looked to me quite a harmless question. He said the order 
 given was wrong, in so far as it was not forbidden to ask for an 
 implement or anything relating to the work. I told him I wished 
 to know to what extent I could go in speaking to another prisoner? 
 if I could say, "Prisoner, this is hard work." He immediately said 
 I was impertinent, and I replied that the prison rules did not per- 
 mit me to be impertinent to him, nor him to be impertinent to me. 
 He ordered me to be taken to the punishment cells, and on my way 
 in he ordered me to be brought back again. 
 
 There is a temporary water-closet near the quarry, and I was 
 told one day I should empty it out the next day. I asked the Gov- 
 ernor if this was work expected from me, and he told me it cer- 
 tainly was. The officer in charge learning I had this conversation 
 with the Governor, and knowing that the job was a disagreeable 
 one, said he would make two of us clean it out every Monday 
 morning in future, though it was cleaned only once every three 
 weeks before, and he kept his word with us. 
 
 I was carrying a stone on a barrow once. I fell and cut my hand 
 and the doctor plastered it up. A few days afterwards the warder 
 ordered me to remove a very large stone, and when the front man 
 was ascending a step of the quarry the stone rolled back and 
 knocked me down. The warder commenced scolding me, and, see- 
 ing another prisoner come to take away the stone, he said, " I was 
 such a man as would suck another man's blood." I asked permis- 
 sion to see the Governor that evening to know if there was any re- 
 dress for this course of daily insult. If you think there is I refer you 
 to another fruitless effort to find it made by Mr. Mulcahy a few 
 days ago. I was not allowed to make my report to the Governor 
 for a week, and in the meantime I was punished by being put on 
 bread and water on a charge of idleness, insolence and disobedience 
 of orders. As regards the idleness they said I was generally idle ; 
 the disobedience of orders consisted in talking while there was a 
 general order not to talk, and the insolence was that when the 
 warder, believing he heard me talk, asked me did I defy the rules ? 
 I told him I could not answer what I considered a very improper 
 question, but when I violated any of the rules he could get me 
 legally punished, which I preferred to being abused. When I saw 
 the Governor I reported the warder for using towards me language 
 wantonly provoking, and the Governor told me " I could have 
 no will of my own here ; that it was my duty to answer every ques- 
 tion put to me ; that I was not sent here to be too sensitive ; that 
 nothing could make me more degraded than I was; that if I 
 knew the serious consequences of bringing a false charge against an 
 officer — 78 days' punishment — I wouid be slow to do it; that Mr. 
 Gunning's character was too well established in the prison for any 
 charge of mine to affect it, and that he had written for permission 
 to be allowed to divide us among the English convicts." This con- 
 trasted rather strangely with the rule that the Governor must at all 
 
180 O' 'Donovan Itossa's Prison Life. 
 
 times be willing to receive the report of a prisoner against an 
 officer. 
 
 We are paraded every Sunday, and stand to " attention," cap in 
 hand, while the inspector is passing. Five Sundays ago an officer 
 called Major Hickey inspected us, and I, as usual, put on my cap 
 after he had passed me by some paces. Then he turned sharply 
 around, and ordered me to take off my cap again whilst he was 
 passing the line of English prisoners that stood some distance 
 away. I have noticed that there is no order given to put on caps, 
 but the prisoners put them on after the inspector passes by. 
 When this gallant officer shows such a zeal in humiliating the 
 enemies of his country, I wonder that he seeks them or allows his 
 sword to rust in such a place as a convict prison. 
 
 Another time we are at work while it is raining, and the bell 
 
 rings, as a notice to all prisoners to go under the sheds. We 
 
 happen to move towards our shed before the officer commands us to 
 
 do so, and he orders us back again, keeping us till we are well wet, 
 
 -while he himself is protected with waterproof over-clothing. 
 
 There are nine articles of tin furniture in each cell, which are to 
 be kept bright and dry at all times. When very wet weather comes 
 we are kept in our cells. The furniture is put outside the cell-door, 
 and, with whiting and brick-dust, gets the benefit of the otherwise 
 idle time. The order for absolute silence being in force, I was 
 reported for talking at my work a few weeks ago, and by a new 
 regulation I am, in consequence of this report, shut up in my cell, 
 and obliged to dust and clean these. I experienced this four times 
 only yet, and the air becomes so impure that I can feel it cracking 
 between my teeth. And speaking to each other is also to be used 
 as a pretext to deprive us of seeing our friends from the outer world, 
 of receiving and writing letters in future. It looks as if the autho- 
 rities wished to try how much we will bear. I don't know but that 
 it is entirely illegal to prevent us from speaking, if speaking is 
 allowed on the public works i;i Ireland. 
 
 It was allowed here and there at the time of my conviction, and 
 I should have the benefit of the law as it stood then. 
 
 Would you please to consult the very able and zealous Judge 
 Keogh, who convicted me, on this point. I rather think his 
 humanity would incline him to giving me the humaner sentence 
 of making my life a short one if he thought my mouth was to 
 be locked up for ever, and that I would not be allowed to speak to a 
 fellow-prisoner, even in praise of the beauties of the system under 
 which we labor, of the benefits of trial by jury in Ireland, or of any 
 other blessing of the glorious British Constitution. 
 
 When I applied to the Governor for this paper to write to you I 
 told him, in reply to a question, that I was going to state something 
 to you regaiding our treatment, he said, " I do what I can for you 
 fellows, and I consider you are very well treated ; too well, con- 
 sidering the enormity of your crime, for you did more to injure your 
 
O' Donovan Bosscts Prison Life. 181 
 
 country than can be repaired for a long time, as your own people 
 admit. You caused thousands of moneyed people to leave Ireland, 
 and twenty years ago you'd have been hanged." 
 
 I said to hang us might have been the better for us, and that it 
 was rather difficult to hear the natural voice of our own people in 
 Ireland lately. 
 
 Only think of a Russian or Austrian jailer telling his Polish or 
 Italian prisoner that he was the ruin of his country when the Gover- 
 nors proclaimed martial law and frightened away a few timid set- 
 tlers. This kind of observation may be annoying to some tempera- 
 ments, but as it excites my risibility somewhat, and helps to make 
 the digestive organs do the very difficult work they have to do, I 
 mind it but little. 
 
 Now I will present to you another feature of your Christian 
 humanity. My mother is living in America, and I asked the Prison 
 Director ior permission to write to her, and could not get it. When 
 writing to Ireland some time ago, I told the Gevern- <r that, as my 
 mother was very old and not likely to live long, it was painful tome 
 to think that she might die thinking that she was forgotten by her 
 son. To ease my mind on the matter I asked for the smallest scrap 
 of paper on which to write a few lines te enclose to her in the letter 
 to my wife, and it would not be given to me. 
 
 My wife took my children to the home of her father, and she, in 
 writing to me, enclosed a letter from him, which would not be given 
 to me, because, as the Governor said, it contained political para- 
 graphs. I asked to have these paragraphs obliterated. 
 
 Several of the prisoners' letters were suppressed because they 
 contained accounts of our treatment. 
 
 I had a visit from my wife of twenty minutes' duration, and we 
 were told that the interview would be terminated if my wife 
 attempted to tell me anything ot the political world outside, or if I 
 told her anything of my treatment inside the prison walls. 
 
 As a general rule, all punishment is inflicted for the purpose of act- 
 ing as a deterrent of crime, and when any authority inflicts punish- 
 ment which it is either afraid or ashamed to have known, it is sup- 
 posed to mean persecution. But I must bear in mind that in governing 
 Irishmen you are not supposed to act in accordance with any known 
 rule. Mr. Gladstone wrote a pamphlet on prisons in Naples, in 
 which he showed that the policy of Neapolitan tyranny required 
 that the political prisoners be subjected to the same treatment as 
 vagabond ones. This, surely, is seeing the mote in a neighbor's eye 
 and blind to the beam in our own. Should you give Mr. Gladstone 
 my card, witli a view of his paying me a vl>it in Portland, I will 
 show him as bad a state of things as he saw in Naples, and if he make 
 a fair inquiry on oath, I will venture to convince him that political 
 prison rs are treated somewhat worse than thieves and murderers in 
 England! Or perhaps you would send the editor of Public Opinion, 
 or a Philo-Hibernian such as Lord Cranbourne, or, better still, a phi* 
 
182 O'Donooan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 lanthropist such as Lord Carnarvon, and I'll engage he'll go back 
 with tears streaming down his cheeks. Do send some one of them, 
 and for the temporal and eternal welfare of mankind in general, and 
 the liberation of all oppressed peoples in particular, petitioner will, 
 as in duty bound, ever pray. 
 
 Jer. O'Donovan Rossa. 
 
 Petitioner will add a postscript as he has been favored with an 
 additional sheet of paper. It is some three weeks since he 
 commenced this petition, and now that the routine of writing 
 is ended he wishes you to understand that he is not so un- 
 reasonable as to expect or desire any other treatment than that 
 he is receiving, so long as the happiness of the English people 
 and the interest of the Empire demand that he be "civilized" 
 after the fashion of his friends at Woking, or after the fashion of 
 Mr. Roebuck's New Zealanders. To attend to these interests is 
 your duty; to suffer and be strong while life is left is the duty of 
 petitioner. Petitioner was allowed to receive a letter from his wife 
 six weeks ago ; she asked some questions relating to debts and 
 matters connected with the maintenance of herself and children, and 
 she hoped the humanity of the authorities would allow a reply. The 
 Governor told petitioner to write on a slate what he had to say, and 
 he now tells petitioner he could not send the reply, as it would be 
 lessening the prisoner's punishment. 
 
 " And this is in a Christian land where men oft kneel and pray, 
 the vaunted home of liberty," — where every man deprived of it is 
 furnished with a Bible. 
 
 My petition was in the hands of the authorities two months be- 
 fore they vouchsafed me an answer. One Christmas Eve 1 was 
 called out of my punishment cell and ushered into the presence of 
 the Governor. Two English convicts were placed in position by my 
 side, and the three of us having been called, according to our num- 
 bers, were told that our petitions had been duly considered, and 
 that there were seen no grounds for granting what we required. I 
 was half ways into a sentence telling the Governor that I did not 
 recollect requiring anything particularly, when he shut me up by 
 waving his hand to the officer, saying " that will do." The officer 
 took hold of my shoulder, and gave me a turn towards the door, 
 sympathetic with his order of " right about face." I had some fun 
 with one oi the schoolmasters when I commenced writing this peti- 
 tion. I think I spent three or four weeks at it, as I was allowed to 
 write only two evenings in the week, and about an hour each even- 
 ing. The schoolmaster took the paper away after I had done with 
 it, and as he brought it after I had done the first hour's writing he 
 said I should have to change the whole thing, as it was written 
 quite out of order. I affected ignorance, and asked him to- explain. 
 He said that those petitions had to be written in the third person 
 singular, that I had departed from that regulation and written in 
 the first person : I should put a " he " or a " petitioner " in any 
 
0' 'Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 183 
 
 place where I had an " I." The schoolmaster was a very nice little 
 man, a perfect gentleman, as civil and as kindly spoken in anything 
 he had to do with us as it was possible for man to be. I did not 
 like to be trifling with him, and I told him plainly that I had used 
 the "he" in that part of the petition which asked anything — viz., in 
 the first line, " The petition of Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Humbly 
 sheweth, That your attention is requested to the following." All I 
 wanted from the Secretary of State was attention to my story, and 
 that story I had to tell in a narrative style. I spoke to the school- 
 master as respectfully as I could, and he very politely said, " Oh, 
 very well, very well, you possibly know best what to do. I don't 
 pretend to instruct you, but to discharge my duty. Go on as you 
 please." I thanked him, and finished my writing without his hav- 
 ing anything more to say to me. I did not relax my efforts to o-et 
 this petition into the world, and lest the copy of it which I had 
 written in the " Think well on It " should be seized, I set to work 
 at writing another copy of it on closet-paper. I used to write four 
 or five sheets every evening, and pass them to Jerry O'Donovan 
 next morning to have them placed in the hiding-hole. 
 
 One evening that I was asked to shave I commenced to pare my 
 pencil with the razor. I took a furtive glance towards the door, 
 and there I saw the eye at the spy-hole. I kept looking at it, hold- 
 ing the razor in one hand and the pencil in another, and it kept 
 staring at me. Immediately the key turned in the lock, and Warder 
 Russell stood before me, asking — " What are you doing there ? " 
 " Only putting a point on this bit of pencil with a razor." " And is 
 that the use you make of the razor ? " "I have nothing else to 
 point my pencil with." " And who allows you a pencil ? Where 
 did you get that pencil." " Oh, that's a thing I am not allowed to 
 tell you." " Give me that razor and pencil out of your hands." 
 He took them, went out, locked the door, opened it a minute after 
 with two or three other warders, and ordered me to come on. 
 I went with them. They took me into an unoccupied cell at the 
 other side of the hall and gave me orders to strip, which orders 
 I obeyed. They searched my clothes inch by inch, and found noth- 
 ing till they came to the pocket of the jacket, out of which they 
 drew three or four sheets of the paper I had been writing on. 
 " What's this ? " asked the discoverer. " Don't you see," said 
 I, " that is my closet paper." " But what is this written on it ? " 
 " Oh, you can make that out by your ' larnin '." 
 Orders were issued to march me off to the punishment cells, and 
 there I was lodged till I was taken before the Governor next day. 
 I was charged with misusing the razor and paper given me, with 
 having forbidden articles im my possession, and with many other 
 things connected with these offenses, such as insolence, impudence, 
 disobedience, and insubordination. Asked what I had to say, I said 
 I would give my reply in writing ; as I would not get writing mate- 
 rials, I said nothing, and the Governor told me this was such a 
 
184 O** Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 serious case lie would not adjudicate upon it himself, but send it be- 
 fore the Directors, and send me into the punishment cell on light 
 diet until they were heard from. After three or four days, I was 
 sentenced to seventy-two days on bread and water, and an order 
 from the Directors read to me to the effect that I was not to be sup- 
 plied weekly with the regular supply of waste paper, but was to re- 
 ceive some from the officer every time it was necessary " for purposes 
 of nature." Such was the delicate way they put it. The reader 
 may not consider my feelings in detailing matters of this kind, and 
 may not entirely believe me when I say I could never approach 
 one of those officers to ask him for the paper which he every day got 
 for me without feeling a kind of humiliation that I was the occasion 
 of having the discharge of such a duty put upon any ft llow-being. 
 I took the scraps of paper to my cell, and wrote upon them as much 
 as I could of my petition with the little three-eight bits of lead that 
 escaped detection in the seams of my clothes. I had no seat or table 
 in those punishment cells, and if I stood or sat anywhere only in one 
 position the officer looking through the spy-hole would see me. 
 That position was sitting on the floor with my back to the door, and 
 how to write here, without a book or a table to lay the paper on, was 
 the question. " Necessity is the mother of invention." My shoes 
 were taken from me, but instead of them I got a pair of old slippers. 
 I planted one of those on my knees ; the sole of it turned up- 
 wards answered me for a table, and thuswise I wrote what got 
 out into the world, and brought on the sham inquiry by the 
 sham commissioners, Knox and Pollock. I was at work again 
 with my companions, but our masters determined that we should 
 have no peace. The Governor called to the quarry, and saying he 
 heard some talking amongst us as he was approaching, brought the 
 officers to account for allowing us the privilege of speech. We went 
 to dinner, and after returning to work, Jones, one of the officers, said 
 he should report seven or eight of us next day. Some of us asked 
 him if he had orders to do so, and he was honest enough to say he 
 had. Luby, O'Leary, O'Connor, Kenealy, and a few others, told 
 him to take down their names, and he did so. I had no occasion to 
 tell him, for when there was a report wanted and ordered I knew 
 that I would get the honor of being in the crowd. This Jones was 
 a very honest fellow, honest towards us and towards his em- 
 ployers. He was a Welshman, and a military pensioner. He got 
 into a difficulty, on account of which he lost his situation. A pris- 
 oner and an officer had some altercation on the works ; they came 
 to blows ; the prisoner got the better of the officer. Jones, who was 
 in charge of a gang of men near by, ran to the officer's rescue, and 
 made the prisoner prisoner, but as he did not use his sword on the 
 captive and cut him down instead of tying him up, he was given to 
 understand that he was not fit for his situation, and had better 
 resign, which he did. Before he left the prison he told us the cir- 
 cumstances one Sunday that he had us out at exercise, observing, 
 
) Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 185 
 
 " I thought it enough to do my duty by saving the officer without 
 killing the prisoner." Thinking that he was in a disaffected or dis- 
 gusted state of mind at his being thus treated, I suggested the ad- 
 visability of testing him to see if he would take out a letter from me 
 if I wrote one. Mike Moore approached him on the question, and 
 he proved faithful to his employers. He would take out- a verbal 
 word of remembrance from any one of us to any of our friends, he 
 would tell them of the state of our health, or anything that way, 
 but he did not think it would be honorable for him to do the other 
 thing. We respected his scruples and did not press him. Just then 
 we were in communication with some invisible agent who offered to 
 act as a medium between us and the outer world. Our shoes were 
 left in our cells every working day, and Cornelius Dwyer Keane 
 found a note in one of his on a Saturday evening. This note stated 
 that the writer had some sympathy with us, and would convey any 
 message to our friends, and deliver us anything received from them. 
 Con's shoes would be the post-office, and he would call there next 
 day for a reply. A requisition was made on him for a pencil, and 
 the order was left in the shoe ; next day it was gone, and the day 
 after the pencil was placed in the post-office. I suggested that the 
 papers I had written should be given to him, but I was overuled 
 by the few others who were in the secret. Any publicity would 
 cause renewed vigilance, and, perhaps, bring about a change of all 
 the officers about our ward, and it was feared our unknown agent 
 may be taken out of our reach. It was decided to get in some 
 tobacco and money first, before we did anything in the way of get- 
 ting an account of our treatment published, and I had to acquiesce. 
 But trouble came hot and heavy on me a few days after, and con- 
 tinued for a few years. I was taken out of the society of my friends, 
 and never heard how they fared with their postmaster. 
 
 The report that Jones said was against seven or eight of us did 
 not come on the day he stated ; it was delayed a few days, and then 
 John O'Leary, Thomas Clarke Luby, John Kenealy, Cornelius 
 Keane, James O'Connor, and a few others with myself were taken 
 barefooted before the Governor and charged with speaking while at 
 work. Some of them got off with a reprimand and the loss of a few 
 " marks." John O'Leary, Thomas Clarke Luby, and John Ken- 
 neally got each twenty-four hours on bread and water, and James 
 O'Connor and myself were sentenced to seventeen days on bread and 
 water, with the additional punishment that when this time had expired 
 we were not to be allowed to work with our own party, but sent 
 into another gang. The seventeen days passed ; we were taken from 
 our cells and conducted into a yard where we never stood before. 
 A gang of about forty prisoners were drawn up in line. James was 
 placed at one end of it and I at the other. We were marched off to 
 the quarries, and when the order was given to "break off" for 
 work, James and I sloped towards each other with the intention of 
 having our blocks near each other. Immediately that we did, the 
 
180 O* Donovan Eoxsa's Prison Life. 
 
 officer in command called me to a block in one corner of the field, 
 and told me to work there. I then saw him go to James and take 
 him to the other corner which was farthest away from mine and fix 
 him there. That was defeating our desire to have a word with each 
 other, and I growled in spirit. My first thought was to throw down 
 my hammer and pitch their work to the devil, but second thoughts 
 came on, and brought with them the probability of there being 
 gome means to be fo.md amongst these English prisoners whereby I 
 might be able to carry out my design of communicating with the 
 world. They were hard characters most of them, thieves, garotters, 
 and every class of criminal that grows in English society. When 
 the warder had given instructions to James, he returned to give me 
 mine. He toid me I was to speak to no other prisoner on the 
 works ; w r hen I wanted instructions I was to ask him for them- 
 When I wanted help to lift a stone on the block, the prisoner next 
 to me would help me, and when he wanted help to remove his stone 
 I was to help him. The first evening passed off pretty well, and in 
 Bpite of all the warder's vigilance I got a chance to make a few 
 inquiries as to whether I could get anything taken out to the world 
 or brought in from it. I was told yes, and I made up my mind to 
 work quietly amongst these till I could accomplish my purpose. 
 One of them asked me if I'd like a chew of tobacco, and on my 
 whispering yes, he said to stick close by him as we were leaving 
 work that evening, and he would pass it to me. I did so, and he 
 kept his word. What he gave me would sell for two loaves of 
 bread in the prison, but the poor fellow never asked me for fee or 
 reward for it, and, moreover, promised me a bigger plug to-morrow. 
 It was about the size of a shirt button, and I kept it between my 
 fingers as I was going into the prison. I intended to get some 
 means of passing it to John O'Leary, but instead of being taken to 
 my cell, I was taken right straight to the bath-house, in order to 
 bathe. I stripped with an officer looking at me, and as he had his 
 head one side, I let the bit of tobacco fall on the floor. When I 
 was in the bath he took hold of my clothes and searched them ; his 
 eye fell on the black thing on the floor, and he picked up my bit of 
 tobacco. After examining it he ordered me to dress immediately, 
 and conducted me to a punishment cell. I was left there till dinner 
 hour next day, and then sentenced to seventy-two hours on bread 
 and water, on a charge of having tobacco in my possession. I 
 came out after my three days and three nights, and was surprised 
 to learn that my new associates were aware of what had happened 
 to me. They had opportunities of learning things that political 
 prisoners had not, and many of them knowing that I must be 
 hungry, had been making provision to feed me. One of them 
 spared a loaf, another of them spared a loaf and a piece of meat, 
 and another brought a piece of a pudding for me. The whisper 
 was passed to me to ask leave to go to the closet, and to go there 
 quickly after another man came out. I went and found the loaf of 
 
O' Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 187 
 
 bread and piece of meat which, I am not ashamed to say, I ate, and 
 if I had a slack belly coming out to work that morning, I had a full 
 one going in that evening. There was one Irishman in the party, 
 he was from Blackpool, and was undergoing a sentence of seven 
 years for striking an officer of his in the English army. He was a 
 fine hearty fellow about six feet, with an innocent, honest looking 
 face. He took occasion to come to the water tub for a drink as I 
 went there for the same purpose. I did not see him till I heard 
 the whisper, •' God help you, I'll bring you out a loaf to-morrow." 
 As I turned away I looked into his face to see who spoke, and the 
 tears were streaming down his cheeks as they stream down mine 
 now at the recollection of these little acts of kindness from men 
 who were brandtd as the vilest characters in creation. Yet I re- 
 fused to work amongst them, but that refusal was dictated by a 
 desire to resent the acts of a Government that would make no dis- 
 tinction between political and other prisoners. They classed us as 
 they classed their criminals, and, as many of these often said to me, 
 they treated us worse. They would make us feel degradation, 
 putting us in association with them, and however humility may 
 become a man in any position of life, I had the rashness to trample 
 it under foot when these mean English legislators required it from 
 me under the circumstances I speak of. 
 
 The man who was detailed to help me in the party was not a very 
 agreeable-looking companion ; he had a very ill-looking countenance, 
 and, to add to the unfortunate fellow's misfortune, he was blind of an 
 eye. He wanted me to assist him to put a stone on his block, and 
 when he addressed me with " Here, mate, give us a hand with 
 this," I laid my hammer on the block, and, addressing the warder, 
 said, "Here, governor, I don't think I'll do anymore work to-day." 
 " What's that you say ?" roared he. " I think you heard me," said 
 I. " Do you mean to say you're not going to work ?" " I do." 
 " Then, I tell you that you will have to work ; take that hammer in 
 your hand." " No," said I, putting as much of the growl into the 
 monosyllable as I could. He turned away from me and sent for a 
 superior officer. Donald Bane came, and much the same kind of 
 words passed between him and me. Seeing it was no use to be at 
 me, he ordered me into punishment cells, where I was duly stripped 
 and searched. At dinner hour I was brought before the Deputy- 
 Governor, Major Hickey. He told me the Governor was absent, 
 and he hoped that I would get on quietly in his absence ; he asked 
 me to go to work, and I refused unless he sent me to my own 
 party ; he said he had no alternative but to give me twenty-four 
 hours on bread and water. Next day I was sent out again and 
 learned the agreeable intelligence that one of the prisoners was in 
 communication with parties who would send out any communica- 
 tions we had to give. I had very little written but what was in the 
 hands of my friends in the other quarry, which I could not get then, 
 and I determined to set to work immediately to write more. I was 
 
188 C* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 put in possession of paper and pencil, which I tried as well as 
 possible to conceal. I struck work again for the purpose of getting 
 into the punishment cell, where, alone, I had an opportunity of 
 writing. The little bits of pencil and the few scraps of paper I had 
 escaped scot-free, and on the sole of my slipper, while on bread and 
 water, I wrote something which I passed to James O'Connor when 
 I came out. James passed it to the prisoner, and I heard nothing 
 about it till Knox and Pollock came to me in Millbank Prison eight 
 months afterwards on a Commission of Inquiry, and gave me to un- 
 derstand that this last thing I speak of as having written had 
 got into the press. 
 
 [copyright secured.] 
 Here is the letter as I find it printed in the Dublin Irishman, but 
 I supply a few sentences that my wife could not make out when 
 she was copying it for the paper. It was addressed to the London 
 /Star, but that journal would not, it seems, publish it : 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE DUNGEON REVELATIONS OF PRISON LIFE. 
 
 [" Every philanthropic work that issues from the English press 
 repeats the name of Howard as one of England's glories, because 
 Howard did much to expose the wretched state of prisoners of his 
 day. Following his example, Mr. Gladstone indignantly denounced 
 the Neapolitan system of prison discipline. Englishmen pride them- 
 selves on their sympathy with the sufferings of political prisoners. 
 Unhappily theirs is a telescopic vision which sees the motes in Boris- 
 boola Gha, but not the beams in England. We commend the sub- 
 joined revelations of prison life to English philanthropists, to Mr. 
 Gladstone, and Mr. Dickens — have they ever read anything more 
 exquisitely sad of its kind ? We commend it to Mr. Blake and Mr. 
 Bagwell, the only two of the Irish members in whose hearts one 
 spark of humanity seems to abide, one thought courageously de- 
 livered in words, for these homeless imprisoned fellow men. Above 
 all things, we appeal to every man who has a heart to mark this : 
 Mr. O'Donovan Rossa has written the revelation to a London 
 Liberal paper (whose liberalty has suppressed it) for one express 
 and sacred purpose — to clear his name, as a husband and a father, 
 from an imputation as cruel as it was unutterably stupid and improb- 
 able. Under cover to another prisoner's mother he attempts to send a 
 letter to his own wife ; it is intercepted, and he, a man with a life 
 sentence over him, is accused of writing to intrigue with that other 
 prisoner's wife. Moreover, this slander is whispered about and told 
 to that prisoner. Therefore, outraged in his most sacred feelings as 
 a husband and a father, and finding it impossible to obtain redress 
 from the officials, O'Donovan Rossa appeals to the hearts and public 
 opinion of Englishmen and Irishmen. In doing so, in making this 
 appeal, to protect his honor — the honor of a father before his family 
 — he may have become liable to punishment. We ask Mr. Gladstone 
 and Earl Derby if they are willing to bear the responsibility of this 
 
O' 'Donovan Hossa?s Prison Life. 189 
 
 —we ask, is there no member in Parliament to speak a word for 
 humanity's sake ? " — Dublin Irishman.] 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE STAE. 
 
 Sie — I commenced this scroll on the 19th of January, hut whether 
 I am ever to finish it, or whether it will ever reach your hand, I 
 cannot say at present. The first days I came here I could have 
 written a very interesting account of prison life — if my cares and 
 occupation permitted — at least there was plenty material to make an 
 interesting sketch of in the hands of those English philanthropists 
 who do so much good by holding open some of the continental 
 prisons, and allowing the English people to take a peep at the polit- 
 ical victims within. 
 
 Every week, since my removal here, has only increased the 
 material and lessened my ability to discharge in a creditable man- 
 ner my duty of correspondent. I call it a duty, because it is in- 
 cumbent on some one to enlighten the English people as to the 
 treatment of political prisoners at Portland, and I have a life 
 interest in the matter. Time, and paper, and the vigilance of my 
 goalers oblige me to be brief and almost to confine myself to the 
 detail of one particular occurrence which, falsely charged in the 
 prison director's book to the Secretary of State, affects my moral 
 character, and urges me to hazard every risk to set myself right. 
 
 On the 26th October I finished a letter to the Secretary of State, 
 in which I gave him an idea of the wanton insult we were daily 
 subject to. At a future time the rulers might say — " Oh, we knew 
 nothing of all this ; it was all done by the governor of the prison, 
 and we have dismissed him." 
 
 Mr. Gladstone wrote a pamphlet showing that Neapolitan politi- 
 cal prisoners were treated in the same manner as thieves and mur- 
 derers. I offered to show Mr. Gladstone, or any one else sent, that 
 Irish political prisoners are treated worse than thieves and mur- 
 derers in England. 
 
 About the end of October I was told that for a trifling compen- 
 sation, as, under present circumstances, a letter would be forwarded 
 to my family, and seeing that I was prohibited from writing to or 
 hearing from my wife, I availed of the offer. Being supplied with 
 writing materials on the 4th of November, I prepared a copy oi 
 the letter to the Secretary of State, and a letter to my wife, both 
 addressed as follows : 
 
 " Mrs. Mary Moore, Denzille street, Dublin, for Mrs. O'D." I did 
 not address directly to Mrs. O'Donovan, as I had some fear of post- 
 office interference. 
 
 My correspondence was arrested ; I was ushered into a .punish' 
 ment cell, and next day, stripped of cap, jacket, handkerchief, boots 
 and belt, was ushered into the Governor's presence, I was deter- 
 mined to take the punishment due to the offense as graciously as 
 possible ; but I was rather surprised to find myself called on to 
 
100 0? Donovan 7?oi-sa?j Prison DJfe. 
 
 w 
 
 answer to a charge of " being detected in an endeavor to carry on 
 an intrigue with the wife of another prisoner." In answer to 
 " Have you anything to say ? " I replied that the accusation was 
 wrong, and if he produced the letters he would see it was necessary 
 to change the charge when it was not properly taken down. He 
 told me " I was not to dictate to him.' 1 " nor to instruct him in the 
 discharge of his duties," and " did I deny or admit the charge." I 
 said, " as it stands I deny it." He finally said. " Can you deny your 
 letter to the Secretary of State ? " and on my saying, " I admit or 
 deny nothing so far," he satisfactorily said, " That will just do me," 
 and wrote that as my reply while I protested. He told me the case 
 was postponed to the next day. I thought it was to afford him time 
 to look over the letters. The governor told me afterwards that 
 "the board of directors had seen my letter to Mrs. Moore, and 
 knew from it what kind of character I was." If the board of directors 
 did see the letter in question, and if they did not see in every sen- 
 tence that it was written to my wife, I would give very little for 
 their brains. 
 
 When I asked Mr. Clifton to look at the superscription and he 
 would see " for Mrs. O'Donovan," he said " that was, he believed, 
 merely a subterfuge." He told me he himself had written the re- 
 port to the Secretary of State and Board of Directors, charging me 
 with endeavoring to carry on an intrigue with the wife of a fellow- 
 prisoner, Mr. Moore. 
 
 I would take it for granted, that Mr. Clifton having on record 
 in his book the letters to Mr. Michael Moore from his wife and 
 mother, would know that my letter to " Mrs. Mary Moore " was 
 addressed to Mr. Moore's mother, who, I learned, occasionally saw 
 Mrs. O'Donovan. The name of Michael Moore's wife is Catherine, 
 and she does not live with her mother-in-law. 
 
 The day's postponement of my case was merely time for the 
 Governor to consider my sentence, which happened to be seventy- 
 two hours in solitary confinement on bread and water. This means 
 eight ounces of bread and a pint of water at five o'clock, morning 
 and evening. There is no light or even seat allowed. This 1 did 
 not deem too hard for the offence, but for one thing or another 
 arising out of it. Thirty-four days and nights in the cells on bread 
 and water and low diet, with the cold of the season, have been pro- 
 ductive of the natural, may I say the intended result, on the body 
 at least, and the flesh on my hands is visibly turning into corrup- 
 tion. 
 
 I asked the doctor if he would consider it unreasonable that I'd 
 be put to work indoors, in a shed, anywhere out of the frosty air, at 
 the same time showing my hands. He said they were not bad 
 enough yet. 
 
 When a prisoner is in punishment the Governor and doctor come 
 to him once a day, to ask if he has any complaint. The person is 
 ordered " to stand to attention," and give the salute of raising the 
 
O' 'Donovan JRosscfs Prison Life. 191 
 
 hand to the uncovered head. I " stood to attention " for both 
 gentlemen the first day, and the second, but the herald preceded the 
 Governor the next day, and reminded me that I had not given the 
 salute on the former occasions, and that Mr. O'Connor got three 
 days' bread and water in a dark cell for neglecting this, one time. 
 
 When the Governor came I went through all the manoeuvres. 
 He asked me had I any complaint, and I replied that I complained 
 the Governor falsified a charge against me ; that he refused to 
 correct it, and that he refused to receive my reply on examination. 
 He would not take it down. I reminded him that one of the rules 
 was that he should be at all times willing to receive any charge 
 from a prisoner, but he turned away contemptuously, saying, " You 
 can see our Director if you like." I thought this a poor return for 
 my abject " koo-too-ing," and I began to consider what was the 
 object of obliging me to go through this operation in a place where 
 civility and patience are as much as might be expected from me 
 It was not necessary for any purpose of discipline, for I was alone; 
 when not alone, discipline is necessary, and I have not refused in 
 presence of others to obey such orders. While undergoing punish- 
 ment in solitary confinement, I began to think these salaams meant 
 nothing more than my humiliation, and with that came into my 
 mind all the vile words of wanton insult heaped on me from time to 
 time by Director and Governor, such as — " Do you think I can be- 
 lieve you convicts ?" " I do whal I can for you fellows." " You're 
 better fed than when you fed yourselves." " Not alone in this 
 world should you be punished, but in the next." " Thirty years ago 
 you'd have been hanged." " You were not sent here to be too sensi- 
 tive." " Nothing can make } t ou more degraded than you are." 
 The latter observation was used by the Governor when I went be- 
 fore him on the following occasion : I fell under a barrow of stones 
 one day and lacerated one of my fingers, when the officer abused 
 me, and ended by saying, " I w T as such a man as would suck another 
 man's blood." I went before the Governor to know if this language 
 towards me was in the order of the officer's duty. When I spoke 
 to the Director about it, he said it was " frivolous." The doctor's 
 visit found me in the humor of these rebellious thoughts. I was 
 stretched upon my clar bog dael (soft deal board), with the Bible in 
 my hand, which every cell contains, when the door opened and the 
 officer cried, " Stand to attention and salute the doctor." I sat up 
 and said, " I beg your pardon, officer, but if the doctor is anxious to 
 see me on my legs, he will come in and help me on them, as he 
 seems willing enough to help me off them. I suppose, doc! or, you 
 are aware that this treatment is somewhat akin to that which Cole- 
 ridge says, ' Kills so slowly that none call it murder.' " He said if 
 T studied common sense instead of Coleridge it might be better for 
 me. When I was taken before the Governor next day, I was 
 charged with gross insolence to the doctor ; expressions were put 
 into my mouth that I did not make use of, and when I told the 
 
192 O' * Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 exact words that passed, the Governor replied, " I know very well 
 what you said ; but I will not be putting down your phillipic? 
 here." 
 
 " Then," said I, " yow know what I said, and you put in the 
 charge what you know I did not say." 
 
 " I'll have you punished for insolence if you do not confine your- 
 self to the charge. Have you anything to say as to why you did 
 not salute the doctor ?" 
 
 "I have, if vou take it," I rejoined. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Whenever I have been taken before the doctor of this prison 
 I have been treated with insult. On the present occasion I cannot 
 understand paying salaams to a doctor who daily called to see if I 
 were progressing favorably under treatment which he knew, if in- 
 vestigated, was calculated to break down my health." 
 
 " This has nothing to do with the charge." 
 
 Then, to make a long story short, 1 told him his book was 
 nothing more than a lie, and I was sent back to bread and water. 
 
 Next day, when he came round, I told him such treatment 
 merited nothing but contempt. For this I got three additional 
 days' bread and water, in a cell darker than night, and the succeed- 
 ing day I was sent out to work. 
 
 I learned that the Governor had been talking to others about my 
 writing to Mrs. Moore ; and having a wife and six children, the 
 possibility of such a report getting into print was not pleasant to 
 me, I sent for the priest, and he, by his manner, made me suspect 
 that he even believed it. The Governor, on being asked by Mr. 
 Moore for permission to write to his mother, remarked : " Moore, 
 do you know there is another man in the prision carrying on a 
 correspondence with your wife ?" I sent for the priest again, and 
 it was twelve days before he came. I begged him to do something 
 that would bring on an investigation of the charge, as I was anxious 
 to shield my moral character from defamation. I laid hold of my 
 Bible to give him my last letter from my wife, in order that he might 
 compare it with the arrested letter, but it had been taken out of my 
 cell. I got it afterwards from the warder. I suppose my not 
 having the letter confirmed the priest's suspicions, as, though I 
 asked^him to call next day, he did not come until I sent for him 
 again. 
 
 When the Director came I was, with others, brought from my 
 work, and when waiting outside his office I was led away again, 
 the Director refusing to see me, as the Governor subsequently 
 told me. 
 
 One day, when I was out of punishment, I renewed my appli- 
 cation to the Governor to correct this intrigue affair on the books. 
 He would do nothing. Then I asked him to put on record a charge 
 against himself of defaming my character. 
 
 He would not let me write to the Board of Directors or to the 
 
0' 'Donovan J2ossa?s Prison Life. 193 
 
 Secretary of State, and I ended my charge by saying lie had belied 
 me, and treated me in a mean manner. This was in the hearing of 
 some of my fellow-prisoners, who were waiting to see the Governor 
 He ordered me into a punishment cell, and I had nothing to do but 
 to take my punishment, and pray for patience and forbearance. 
 
 On the 24th of December I got three days' bread and water and 
 fourteen days on low diet, for talking to Mr. Keane while at work. 
 He was let off with a reprimand. This, with other things, reminds 
 me of what one of the officers said to Mr, Moore one time of me — 
 " The course Rossa pursued at his trial will not serve him here." 
 Yet I could not say that my fellow-prisoners are not treated as 
 badly as I. Recently I created a necessity for being ordered seven- 
 teen days in the cells, by saying to an officer who worried me, that 
 " while God leaves me the use of my tongue, all the rulers of 
 the kingdom would not prevent me from speaking when I thought 
 proper." A prison rule prevents us speaking under various circum- 
 stances, but not while at work ; and we were told once that we 
 should speak loud enough for the officer to hear, lest we should be 
 planning something. 
 
 Mais nous avons change tout cela! for we are now not allowed 
 to speak high or low. 
 
 It seems that our tormentors were not at all pleased by our 
 affecting to take our punishment lightly. It also seemed to have 
 become necessary for some object that we should be represented on 
 the books of the prison as " refractory." Reports had to be got up 
 against us by the officers, and the Governor can specially order us 
 to be reported, as he admits he does, in order to make up his books. 
 
 The three first of the seventeen days' punishment I had for 
 talking while I was at work, the Governor visited to know if I had 
 a complaint. I had a complaint each day. The last was against 
 the Director, for neglect in the discharge of his duties. All to no 
 purpose. The succeeding day I made up my mind not to notice 
 him, and on the 3d and 5th of January I was arraigned for treating 
 him with contempt, and in answer to " what have you got to say ?" 
 I said, " In coming to ask me have you any complaint, and in re- 
 fusing to take a complaint from me, you make a mockery of your 
 duties. Under these circumstances I am ordered to pay you 
 salaams. I will only say that I am your prisoner, and with my 
 body it seems you have power to do what you please, but my mind 
 and soul is not yours, and I refuse to pay you the required salaam." 
 He'd not take down a single word I said, but ordered me forty-eight 
 hours' bread and water. I was already " doing " the fourteen days' 
 punishment, this time getting twenty ounces of bread and some 
 gruel ; but he stopped this, and put me on the new sentence, which, 
 in constitutional England, looks odd, before the expiration of the 
 original seventeen days. 
 
 Some Englishmen have written very humorously on a Turkish 
 system of punishment, which, after a man is bastinadoed, obliges 
 nim to salute and return thanks to the rmnishing officer. 
 
194 O'* Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 " I don't know but that thirty days of this punishment is as de- 
 structive to man's health as fifty bastinado strokes. Obliging the 
 man to salute his punisher is, in the civilized world, deemed barba- 
 rism, but in England 'tis only " dscipline." Besides, there is in 
 England a doctor to superintend the ruin of a man's health. I 
 could understand being obliged to take off our caps to the statue 
 of the Lord Lieutenant every day, if it were placed in our path to 
 the quarries, or to kneel to an effigy of his if placed in our way. 
 This Herman Gessler did at Alforl, and imprisoned Tell for not 
 saluting it. I can't bring myself to reli-h these salaams to my 
 jailers while they are starving me. 
 
 Having another visit irom the Director, I asked him to bring in 
 the Governor and receive my explanation, as I was anxious to clear 
 my character of the charge of carrying on an intrigue here. He 
 said "it should be done in the regular manner, and as I was under 
 punishment, he could not do anything that day." "Then," said I, 
 " according as it suits the Govornor I can be in these cells every 
 time you visit the prisoners. And are these false reports against 
 me to the Board of Directors and Secretary of State to remain < n 
 record in the public offices of the kingdom?" He could not help 
 that," he told me, " he only thought there could be no desire to 
 punish me it I had not violated the rules." I thought differently, 
 and to show him by one small instance the animosity I experienced, 
 told him that I had occasionally on my slate some notes fr-m a 
 book allowed to me, and the officer used to come and blot them out. 
 He asked why I did not report the matter to the Governor. I 
 said the Governor must be a party to it. I told him the officer 
 kept a cell on the lighted side of the hall vacant for five weeks 
 sooner than let me into it, and the Governor said it was serving me 
 right. There were no windows in one side of this hall we occupy d, 
 and when a man in a window cell was sent to hospital or to 
 "the cells," the practice w T as to send from the dark side the 
 man who had the lowest number on the list. I w T as that man, and 
 when Mr. Mulcahy was removed to Ireland a lighted cell wag made 
 vacant, it was kept vacant rather than allow me into it. We are 
 now in a hall containing punishment cells. Up against the window 
 is a sheet of peforated metal, which helps to secure the felon and 
 exclude the sunlight. When I am allow r ed a book on Sunday, I 
 might, at least, be allowed as much daylight as would enable me 
 to read it, but I am not. The Irish political prisoner in England 
 must content himself with seeing the excellence of the English 
 convict system in print, but feeling none of it. 
 
 To add to my punishment, I am sent to work amongst a gang 
 of English felons, aw r ay from my own party. James O'Connor is 
 sent with me, but we are put at opposite ends of the gang, lest we 
 should have a chance of exchanging a sympathetic word or look 
 with each other. 
 
 The day 1 w r as sent amongst these English convicts I refused t<7 
 
O' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 195 
 
 work with them, and I intended to take the starving process in 
 preference, but coming up for judgment, and finding the Governor 
 was absent and the Deputy Governor was acting in his place, and 
 being told by him that he was " sorry to punish me, but that no 
 alternative was left him, he should follow the orders left regarding 
 me by the Governor," I changed my mind. I got two days' bread 
 and water and no bed. I went to work next day among them, and 
 determined to get this fugitive letter out and write to my wife, 
 and by so turning the tables on them a little, treat the Government 
 and the Governor as they deserve. My mother lives in America. 
 She is old ; and I would not even be allowed to write one letter to 
 her. I have six children. My father-in-law, at the time he wrote 
 to me, in last September, had five of them, and the part of the 
 letter relating to the children would not even be read for me. My 
 wife asked me questions as to debts due to me, and hoped I would 
 be allowed to answer them. The Governor told me to write on my 
 slate what I had to say. I did, and a month afterwards he said 
 "I could not be sending your love letters." But these are small 
 things, and as I could fill a volume with such trifling annoyances, 
 I will stop. I remember, at a hotel one night, meeting three Eng- 
 lish tourists, Messrs. Fitzgerald, and Lord, and Ledward of Man- 
 chester, and talking politics with them. Mr. Ledward said the 
 Irish were despised because they did not fight for their freedom, 
 and I partly agreed with him. If I could have told him how Eng- 
 land treated her political prisoners' he would have been insulted. 
 I suppose nature comes to the assistance of man when he suffers for 
 what he belives a true and holy principle — liberty — and that the 
 mind sustains the body in its sufferings. 
 
 1 ' Eternal Spirit of the chainless mind 
 Brightest in dungeons — Liberty thou art ; 
 For there thy habitation is the heart — 
 The heart which love of thee alone can bind ! 
 And when thy sons to fetters are consigned, 
 To fetters and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
 Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
 And freedom's fame finds wings on every wind !" 
 
 If you find this an unconnected letter, you will not wonder. It 
 is harder to write here than on a battle-field, for my ears must be 
 open to every lightest tread, and my attention forced from my 
 subject and fixed upon those who are watching me. — I remain, sir, 
 yours, O'Donovan Rossa. 
 
 P.S. — Four additional days' bread and water. Some of my 
 fellow-prisoners have reduced two stone weight ; I have not 
 weighed myself lately, but even forty days of our " lightening pro- 
 cess " in the cell, since the 4th November, makes me feel light- 
 bodied, and light-hearted too, thank God. I wish you would call 
 for a copy of the " letter to Mrs. Moore ;" I do not recollect what 
 it contains, but I know my feelings towards my wife, and I venture 
 
196 O' * Donovan Bossd's Prison Life. 
 
 to say, the man in authority who, after reading it, could write an 
 official report to the effect that it was intended for any other man's 
 wife, is a fool or a rogue. One word more to show how sharply 
 the wind blows here. There is a temporary water closet on the 
 quarry where the Irish felons work ; at first it was cleared every 
 three weeks. One day they told me I should do it next. Seeing 
 the Govenor, I asked was this work expected from me, he said 
 " yes ;" the officer learning this, and knowing it was a disagreeable 
 task, said he'd make two of us clear it every Monday morning in 
 future, and he has been as good as his word." 
 
 When I had this written and delivered it to the prisoner for 
 transmission, I determined to go on the " strike " again by refusing 
 to work amongst the thieves. I was now very much emaciated 
 and reduced in strength. The weather was intensly cold, and I 
 felt as if every blast of wind was cutting through me. Whatever 
 little flesh was on my hands seemed to be rotting off them. I re- 
 member that one morning I saw the doctor, and showing him the 
 sores on my hands, asked him if he could not get me work indoors. 
 Looking at them his reply was — " No, they are not bad enough 
 yet. I will order you a pair of gloves." And being taken to the 
 officer who had charge of such articles, I got two jane mittens that 
 covered the hands. They had thumb " fingers " only, all the other 
 fingers were free to play together as they protruded from the large 
 holes at the end of my fashionable gloves. As I got them from 
 the officer and fitted them I smiled, and asked, " What's the price ?" 
 and he good-humoredly said, " Oh, never mind, we'll charge them 
 to your account." One morning, in making up my bed, I abstracted 
 the single blanket and wrapped it round my body inside my shirt. 
 I felt very comfortable for a couple of days, but the third day it 
 was discovered, and I had my twenty-four hours on bread and 
 water for " converting the property of the prison to improper uses." 
 Next morning when I went to work I thought it was easier to 
 stand anything than what I was suffering from cold. I laid my 
 hammer on the block and made up my mind that this would be the 
 last time I would work in the party. I don't know how many 
 days I had been in punishment before something occurred that 
 called for a new change of tactics on the part of my masters. The 
 papers which my companions had concealed in the shed in which 
 they worked were by some agency discovered ; they found the 
 wall torn down one day when they went out from dinner, and the 
 next morning James O'Connor and I were marched out to work in 
 company with them. All this time the whole of them were work' 
 ing inside the shed, but James and I would not be allowed in; we 
 were ordered to place two blocks some twenty yards outside, and 
 there we were kept in the cold blast, looking at the others under 
 shelter. My first impulse was to kick against this, but the friends 
 told me the papers were discovered, and I worked on till dinner 
 time, knowing that something was to turn up. And so it did. 
 
O l 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 197 
 
 James O'Connor and I had been away from this place for about a 
 month, and the object of bringing us back there now was to legally 
 identify me with placing the papers there. 
 
 When dinner-hour came I was brought before the bar of justice, 
 and charged with destroying prison property, with converting 
 prison property to improper use, with having an ink-bottle and 
 pens and pencil concealed in the prison, and with many other 
 things that made an indictment as long as was made against me 
 before conviction. I was asked what I had to say, and I said 
 "Nothing." This was so serious a case that the Governor said he 
 would not decide the punishment himself, but would send the 
 matter before the Board of Directors, and until they were heard 
 from I should remain in prison — in the punishment cells. In three 
 days an answer came that the Governor was to mete out to me the 
 extreme measure of the law, which was three days on bread and 
 water and twenty-five days on punishment diet. Then there were 
 special orders which were read to me from the Directors. One was 
 that I be deprived of the use of all books, including the Bible, for 
 six months. I had defaced prison property. I had written on a 
 " Think Well On It," and on a prayer-book, but had I a lair trial I 
 would have beaten them on this head, for whereas all books in the 
 prison are branded with the prison mark, the ones I had used were 
 not branded at all ; there was no evidence of their being prison 
 property, and all the books supplied to me had been found correct, 
 as marked on my card. But fair play for an Irishman in prison, or 
 out of prison, is out of the question. Twenty-eight consecutive 
 days was the biggest dose of bread and water I had yet, and the 
 time hung pretty heavily on my hands, with nothing to read and 
 very little to eat. I wrote another surreptitious letter, ready 
 to avail of any opportunity that offered for sending it out. 
 These very considerate people gave me work to do 
 while on bread and water: they put a pound of oakum 
 into my cell in the morning, and I left it there all day with- 
 out picking a thread of it, and in the evening they took it out 
 again. I refused to pick unless they gave me the regular labor 
 diet to eat, and every second day they deprived me of the pint of 
 stirabout and the pound of potatoes which a man gets while on 
 what is called " punishment diet." This I told the Governor was 
 quite unconstitutional. He should not bring in a second sentence 
 to encroach on the first one until the twenty-eight days were up, 
 but he told me he could do what he liked when I would not work. 
 One day he came to my cell with the doctor and Deputy-Governor, 
 the door was opened, and he asked me the usual question — " Had I 
 anything to say to him ?" " Yes," said I, " I want you to place on 
 your books a report against the Governor for not allowing 
 me to see the Director the last time he was here, though I was 
 not under punishment." " I'll do no such thing," said he. 
 *' Well," added I, " you're a mean, contemptible creature, and 
 
198 0' * Donovan JZossa's Prison Life. 
 
 I suppose I'll have to suffer being the sport of such a silly fool.' 1 
 " What's that he says ? What's that he says ? " turning to the doc- 
 tor. " Sport of a fool," said the doctor, turning on his heel, and 
 away the three of them walked. Next day came the usual charge 
 of " gross insubordination," and the usual sentence of punishment. 
 I did not leave out of my head the book record of " writing to 
 another man's Avife," nor did I cease making efforts to have it 
 altered. I saw the priest and minister — that is, the Catholic and 
 Protestant chaplains. I explained to them all I thought necessary, 
 and they, as far as I know, took no steps to see me justified. Indeed, 
 from something that happened, I would not wonder if the Rev. Mr. 
 Poole had made up his mind that the charge was true. I kept my 
 wife's letters in a large Bible that I had in my ordinary cell before 
 the sentence was passed of depriving me of the Bible, and it hap- 
 pened that while I was in the punishment cells the oflicer in charge 
 of the other cells took my letters out of the book. I told the 
 Catholic chaplain one day that I would show him these letters, and 
 that he could compare them with the surreptitious one alleged to be 
 written to Moore's wife. I was to be off of punishment next day, 
 and he was to call to my ordinary cell at dinner-hour. He did call. 
 I took the Bible to give him the letters, and they were not in it. I 
 looked confused, and he looked as if he considered me guilty. He 
 went away, saying he would call again, and did not call. I did not 
 see the priest for some time, and I thought I would have recourse to 
 the plan of preparing a charge against him, in the hope of bringing 
 about an investigation that would clear me of the charge of carry- 
 ing on a love intrigue. I asked the Governor to take it ; he asked 
 me what it was, and I said — " I am registered here as a Catholic. 
 A charge is made against me affecting the morality of my char- 
 acter ; the charge is false. It is the priest's duty to protect me in 
 this matter. I have brought the case before him, and he has done 
 nothing. I charge him with neglect of duty." "I won't take the 
 charge," said he, and the door was locked. Next day the priest 
 came into my cell, and appeared rather angry that I should offer 
 such a charge against him. I tried to show him that I meant no 
 harm — not.ing more than to do something which would bring about 
 an inquiry that would give me an opportunity of clearing myself. 
 He took it quite serious, and would not have any explanation I 
 could make as satisfactory, and I told him in the end that if he took 
 it so seriously he may, and that I did consider it was his duty to 
 protect his congregation when their moral character was assailed, 
 and to take some steps to help a prisoner to repel calumnies such as 
 were hurled at me. We parted and I did not see our priest since. 
 
 Twenty-eight days on bread and water in solitary confinement is 
 a long time. No book to read, no "kitchen" with your food but 
 water, and very little food at that ; no one to speak to, no face to 
 look at but the face of a jailer, yet I had to manage as best I could 
 to pass the time. Books that [ had read when I was a little boy 
 
O'Donomn Bossa's Prison Life. 199 
 
 came to my assistance, and I smile at thinking of the silly things a 
 person will do, or at least I did, to kill time. I think it was in 
 "Schinderhannes, the Robber of the Rhine," that I read of one Karl 
 Benzel dancing with the chains around his feet, and when I used to 
 be lying on the bare boards pinched with hunger and shivering with 
 cold, Karl Benzel would come into my mind, and I'd jump up and 
 go through that ten shillings' worth of dance which I learned from 
 Thady O', till I could barely give a shuffle from sheer exhaus- 
 tion. Then I'd stretch again and go about making verses. It was 
 in this mood and with such poetic surroundings that I strung to- 
 gether some rhymes about Jillen Andy. I made one verse one day, 
 and kept it in my memory till the next day, when I made another, 
 and when I had the story of " Jillen " I kept tacking on some other 
 verses to it till I had a string of twenty-two or three, and then 
 I entertained myself by reciting them in my cell. The warder 
 would cry out, " Drop that noise," and I'd keep going on. He'd 
 put his eye to the spy-hole and I'd keep declaiming, taking no 
 notice of his attentions. I claimed that that cell was my house, 
 that every man's house was his castle, and so long as I did not 
 make as much noise as would wake the children next door I had 
 a reasonable right to enjoy myself as best I could. I made up 
 my mind for the worst. I saw there was no use in trying to reason 
 them into fair treatment, and I felt considerably relieved and 
 strengthened when I made up my mind to cease to try. But now 
 about " Jillen Andy.'' I often asked Charles Kickham, when we 
 were on the Irish People, to poetise this story of " Jillen." I knew 
 there was no one living man could clothe it in Irish feeling as he 
 could, but he put the task back on myself. My genius did not lie 
 that way. But as idleness is the mother of mischief, I fell into the 
 sin of spoiling a very fine subject for a poem by making verses on it 
 when I had nothing else to do in prison. Jillen Andy lived at the 
 other side of the street in Rosscarberry when I was a child. Her 
 husband, Andy Hayes, was a linen weaver and worked for my father 
 ere I was born. He died, too, before I came into the world, but 
 when I did come I think I formed the acquaintance of Jillen as soon 
 as I did that of my mother. Jillen was left a widow with four help- 
 less children, and all the neighbors were kind to her. The eldest 
 of the sons 'listed, and the first sight I got of a red coat was 
 when he came home on furlough. The three other sons were 
 Charley, Thade, and Andy. When I was about the age of twelve 
 Charley was looking at Lord Carberry's hounds hunting one day. 
 Going through some lonesome " airy " place he got a " puck " from 
 one of the fairies. He came home lame, his leg swelled a* "big as 
 a pot." It had to be amputated by Doctor Donovan and Doctor 
 Fitzgibbon, and he went about on crutches till he died in the year 
 '65. Andy 'listed, and died in Bombay, and Thade and his mother 
 fell victims to the famine legislation of '47. Thade met me one 
 day, and spoke to me as I state in the following lines. I went to 
 
200 C Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 the graveyard with him. I dug, and he shovelled up the earth till 
 the grave was about two feet deep. Then he talked about its being 
 deep enough, that there would be too great a load on her, and that 
 he could stay up and " watch " her for some time. By-and-by we 
 saw four or five men coming in the church-gate with a door on their 
 shoulders bearing the coffinless Jillen. She was laid in the grave. 
 Her head did not rest firmly on the stone on which it was pil- 
 lowed, and as it would turn aside and rest on the cheek when I 
 took my hands away from it, one of the men asked me to hand 
 him the stone. I did so, and covering it with a red spotted 
 handkerchief, he took out of his pocket, he gave it to me again, 
 and I settled Jillen's head steadily on it. Then I was told to 
 loose the strings, to take out a pin that appeared, to lay her 
 apron over her face, and come up. To this day I can see how 
 softly the man handled the shovel, how quietly he laid the earth 
 down at her feet, how the heap kept rolling and creeping up 
 until it covered her head, and how the big men pulled their hats 
 over their eyes. 
 
 JILLEN ANDY. 
 
 " Come to the graveyard if you're not afraid, 
 
 I'm going to dig my mother's grave, she's dead, 
 And I want some one that will bring the spade, 
 
 For Andy's out of home, and Charlie's sick in bed." 
 
 Thade Andy was a simple spoken fool, 
 With whom in early days I loved to stroll, 
 
 He'd often take me on his back to school, 
 And make the master laugh himself, he was so droll. 
 
 In songs and ballads he took great delight, 
 And prophecies of Ireland yet being freed, 
 
 And singing them by our fireside at night, 
 I learned songs from Thade before I learned to read. 
 
 And I have still " by heart " his " Colleen Fhune," 
 His " Croppy Boy," his " Phoenix of the Hall," 
 
 And I could "rise " his " Rising of the Moon," 
 If I could sing in prison cell — or sing at all. 
 
 He'd walk the " eeriest " place a moonlight night, 
 
 He'd whistle in the dark — even in bed. 
 In fairy fort or graveyard, Thade was quite 
 
 As fearless of a ghost as any ghost of Thade. 
 
 Now in the dark churchyard we work away, 
 The shovel in his hand, in mine the spade, 
 
 And seeing Tha:le cry I cried myself that day, 
 
 For Thade was fond of me and I was fond of Thade. 
 
O* Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 201 
 
 But after twenty years why now will such 
 
 A bubbling spring up to my eyelids start ? 
 Ah ! there be things that ask not leave to touch 
 
 The fountain of the eyes or feelings of the heart. 
 
 " This load of clay will break her bones I fear, 
 For when alive she wasn't over strong. 
 "We'll dig no deeper, I can watch her here, 
 A month or so, sure nobody will do me wrong." 
 
 Four men bear Jillen on a door — 'tis light, 
 
 They have not much of Jillen but her frame 
 Ho mourners come, for 'tis believed the sight 
 
 Of any death or sickness now begets the same. 
 
 And those brave hearts that volunteer to touch 
 
 Plague-stricken death are tender as they're brave, 
 They raise poor Jillen from her tainted couch, 
 
 And shade their swimming eyes while laying her in the grave. 
 
 I stand within that grave, nor wide nor deep, 
 
 The slender, wasted body at my feet, 
 What wonder is it if strong men will weep 
 
 O'er famine-stricken Jillen in her winding-sheet. 
 
 Her head I try to pillow on a stone, 
 
 But it will hang one side, as if the breath 
 Of famine gaunt into the corpse had blown, 
 
 And blighted in the nerves the rigid strength of death. 
 
 * Hand me that stone, child." In his hands 'tis placed, 
 Down-channelling nis cheeks are tears like rain, 
 The stone within his handkerchief is cased, 
 And then I pillow on it Jillen' s head again. 
 
 ** Untie the nightcap string," " Unloose that lace," 
 " Take out that pin," " There, now, she's nicely — rise, 
 But lay the apron first across her face, 
 
 So that the earth won't tonch her lips or blind her eyes." 
 
 Don't grasp the shovel too tightly — there make a heap, 
 Steal down each shovelfull quietly — there, let it creep 
 
 Over her poor body lightly ; friend, do not weep, 
 Tears would disturb old Jillen in her last long sleep. 
 
 And Thade was faithful to his watch and ward, 
 
 Where'er he'd spend the day, at night he'd haste 
 With his few sods of turf, to that churchyard, 
 
 Where he was laid himself before the month was past. 
 
 Then Andy died a soldiering in Bombay, 
 
 And Charlie died in Ross the other day, 
 Now, no one lives to blush because I say, 
 
 That Jillen Andy went uncoffined to the day. 
 
 E'en all are gone that buried Jillen, save 
 
 One banished man who dead alive remains, 
 The little boy that stood within the grave, 
 
 Stands for his country's cause in England's prison chains. 
 
202 (J Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 How oft in dreams that burial scene appears, 
 Through death, eviction, prison, exile, home, 
 
 Through all the suns and moons of twenty years — 
 And oh ! how short these years compared with years to coma. 
 
 Some things are strongly on the mind impressed, 
 
 And others faintly imaged there, it seems ; 
 And this is why, when reason sinks to rest, 
 
 Phases of life do show and shadow forth in dreams. 
 
 And this is why in dreams I see the face 
 
 Of Jillen Andy looking in my own, 
 The poet-hearted man — the pillow-case, 
 
 The spotted handkerchief that softened the hard stone. 
 
 Welcome th^se memories of scenes of youth, 
 That nursed my hate of tyranny and wrong, 
 
 That helmed my manhood ira the path of truth, 
 And help me now to suffer calmly and be strong. 
 
 And suffering calmly is a trial test, 
 
 When at the tyrant's foot and felon-drest, 
 When State and master jailer do their best, 
 
 To make you feel degraded, spiritless, opprest. 
 
 When barefoot before Dogberry, and when 
 He mocks your cause of 'prisonment, and speaks 
 
 Of "Thieves," "State orders," "No distinctions"— then 
 Because you speak at work — hard bread and board for week*. 
 
 Or when he says, " Too well you're treated, for 
 Times were you'd hang ; " " You were worse fed at home ; " 
 ** You can't be more degraded than you are ; " 
 " You should be punished alf<o in the world to come." 
 
 When sneer, and jeer, and insult follow fast, 
 And heavenward you look, or look him down, 
 
 He rages and commands you to be classed 
 And slaved amongst the slaves of infamied renown. 
 
 When England — worthy of the mean and base, 
 Smites you when bound, flings outrage in your face, 
 
 When hand to hand with thieves she gives you place, 
 To scoff at freedom for your land and scattered race. 
 
 To suffer calmly when the cowardly wound, 
 From wanton insult, makes the veins to swell 
 
 With burning blood, is hard though doubly bound 
 In prison within prison — a blacker hell in hell. 
 
 The body starved to break the spirit down, 
 That will not bend beneath the scourging rod ; 
 
 The dungeon dark that pearls the prisoner's crown, 
 And stars the suffering that awakens Freedom's God. 
 
0'Donova?i Rosso? 8 Prison Life, 203 
 
 Thus all who ever won had to endure, 
 
 Thus human suffering proves good at last, 
 The painful operation works the cure, 
 
 The health-restoring draught is bitter to the taste. 
 
 'Tis suffering for a trampled land, that suffering 
 
 Bears heavenly fruit, and all who ever trod 
 In Freedom's path, found heavenly help when offering 
 
 Their sacrifice of suffering to Freedom's God. 
 
 It was to Michael O'Regan the Governor said " he was better fed 
 than when he fed himself;" to John Haltigan he said, " not alone in 
 this world should we be punished but in the next;" and to myself, 
 " that I could not be more degraded than I was." I must have given 
 an awfully black look at him when he told me this, if my face any 
 way indicated the contempt that was in my mind. I think now that 
 this effort to degrade us, or to make us feel degraded, kept up 
 my spirits wonderfully; there was a kind of a revolt of the mind, 
 it became insurgent, rose up in arms and resolved to support the 
 body. 
 
 While I was composing the foregoing verses I made an attempt 
 to steal a Bible. I was changed once a week from one punishment 
 cell to another, either for a change of air or as a precaution against 
 escape. The warder opened my door one morning, ordered me to 
 strip, searched myself and searched my clothes; and when I had put 
 on my shirt he said, "Take the rest in your hands and go into No. 
 14." I went in ; my eyes fell on a Bible that lay on the window, 
 and, quick as lightning, I laid hold of it, and put it under the gutta- 
 percha chamber vessel, which, with a gutta-percha pint, is the only 
 article of furniture in a punishment cell, save and except that Bible, 
 which at the time was forbidden to me. By-and-by the officer came 
 to see if I was duly installed in my new stall, and to lock the door 
 more firmly than I shut it by slamming it out, and allowing the 
 spring to catch me in. He left my cell without noticing anything 
 amiss, and I cannot well give an idea of the delight I felt in thinking 
 that I had something to help me to kill time. I sat down on the floor 
 with my back to the door, read for about an hour, when I was 
 startled by hearing the key turn in the lock. The officer came in, 
 looked around and asked, "Isn't there a Bible in this cell?" to 
 which I grumblingly replied, " There ought to be one there, if the 
 prison rules were carried out." " Have you a Bible en your per- 
 son ?" " I have not. " " Now if you have you had better not put 
 yourself to the trouble of stripping again," and saying this he drew 
 his hands all over my person, and was leaving the cell with a look 
 of despair, when giving the gutta-percha a kick my hidden treasure 
 appeared and disappeared with him. 
 
 I think my reader and myself have had enough of Portland 
 Prison by this time, and I may as well shift my quarters ; indeed, 
 
204 CP Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 it becomes a matter of necessity with me, as this closing scene 
 will show. 
 
 I was under punishment ; I refused to work, and refusing I got 
 bread and water every second day, and penal class diet every other 
 day. I refused to go before the Governor to hear this sentence 
 of " bread and water" pronounced against me, as he refused to take 
 down my words in reply to this question of" What have you got to 
 say in regard to this charge of idleness ?" I told him it was a mock- 
 ery to be bringing me before him and asking me this question, 
 when he would not record my reply, and I said, "This will be the 
 last time I'll make my appearance in your presence. You can order 
 your starvation process to go on as much as it will suit the interests 
 of the Government, but leave me at peace in my cell." "I will not, 
 but I'll make you come before me every time it suits me. The 
 second next day, at the dinner hour, my cell door opened and I was 
 ordered before the Governor, in order that I may hear him order I 
 was to get no dinner. I refused to go. Two, three, four, and five 
 officers came ; they dragged me outside the door, I laid hold of the 
 iron railings, they could not unloose me ; the commander of the 
 forces cried out for the chain handcuffs ; one of the officers ran down 
 stairs, and there was a cessation of hostilities till he came up again. 
 The handcuffs were put on, they pulled the long chain, but, 
 unless they pulled off my arms, they could not pull me away 
 from the rails. In as imperative a tone as I could command I cried 
 out, " Here, you man with that key, I order you to open these irons 
 instantly." He obeyed, when I showed him that I had one of the iron 
 bars in my embrace. I was tied again ; the five or six of them laid 
 hold of the long chain and pulled. I saw resistance was useless ; I 
 walked down the stairs after them, and they led me in monkey 
 fashion into the presence of his Majesty the Governor. He had been 
 listening to the noise, and with the dignity of ignorance he asked, 
 " Why is this man in chains ?" Then there was a long charge of my 
 insubordination and insolence, and mockery of the prison authority. 
 I was asked what I had to say, and I said nothing. I was sent back 
 to my cell and got no dinner that day. 
 
 At this time I was every second day on bread and water. I got 
 my eight ounces of bread at half-past five in the morning, and I 
 kept this without eating until dinner hour, as I felt it lonesome to 
 Aear the dinner bell ring and have nothing to eat. You may talk 
 poetically or metaphorically, or any way you like, of having your 
 teeth water for a thing, but I often experienced the reality when I 
 heard these bells ring, and I knew that the whole prison was eating 
 while I had nothing to eat. 
 
 Two days had passed since I was led in chains before the Gov- 
 ernor. At dinner hour my door was opened, and I was asked to 
 come on. I refused to go, but on being told that it was not to go 
 before the Governor I consented. I was taken before the clerk of 
 the establishment $ a list of the clothes in which I was convicted was 
 
C Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 205 
 
 read out for me ; and on being asked was that correct, I answered 
 " yes." I was told to sign the book and I did. Let not my rea- 
 ders think, as I thought, that I was going to get these clothes. No, 
 it meant only a change of quarters for me. An order had come to 
 convey me to Millbank Penitentiary to undergo a second term of 
 solitary confinement, as my first term of solitary confinement did 
 not seem to have answered the desired end. I was a " refractory " 
 prisoner, and I had to be properly broken in before I could associ- 
 ate with Public Works convicts. 
 
 As soon as I had signed the book I was taken back to my cell 
 and ordered to strip. I obeyed, and was led naked into another cell, 
 where another suit of clothes was prepared for me. They brought 
 me a dish of water in which to wash my feet before I dressed my- 
 self in the new shoes and stockings of my new suit, for I was to go 
 as clean as possible to my new prison, so that my condition may cast 
 no reflection on the discipline of the prison I had left. When I had 
 dressed I was told to hurry on, and I asked if I was to get no 
 dinner before I left ? None. Then I said, " 1 certainly am not 
 going on a journey without my breakfast." " Come on, come on, 
 and drop that kind of talk, the carriage is waiting at the gate for 
 you." "My carriage must wait until I get my breakfast," said I, 
 "and you may as well take it easy." "Didn't you get your break- 
 fast at half-past five o'clock this morning ?" " Yes, but like the 
 Irishman who sometimes took dinner for tea, I take breakfast for 
 dinner, and my loaf of bread is still untouched in my cell." One of 
 them went in and brought me out the eight-ounce roll. I was 
 asked in a softer tone than usual to put it in my pocket and I could 
 eat it in the carriage, as they were in a hurry to catch the train. 
 I obliged them in this, but they would not tell me where I was 
 going to. " Let me take this drink of water," I said, making a 
 move towards my cell, for I had left one treasure there which I was 
 exerting my wits to get at. There was tied up in the corner of my 
 shirt one of those " surreptitious " letters that I had treasured as a 
 reserve in case a chance offered to get it into the world, but I had 
 to leave it in its hiding place, as the officers followed me into the 
 cell, and I never heard of the treasure since. Two or three 
 times I meditated throwing it over the wall, and take chance to 
 have some sympathetic or mercenary friend find it ; but the sur- 
 prise came, and I was spirited away, leaving my week's labor be- 
 hind me. 
 
 As I was passing from the punishment ward, I came in view of 
 the place where the Irish party worked. I stood, and very seriously 
 asked "Pontius Pilate," who was conducting me, if he would not 
 let me down to bid good-bye to my friends. He put his hand on 
 my shoulder, saying — "Come on, now ; I thought you had no friends 
 anywhere," and I turned my back on that party of twenty-four, who 
 are scattered now in every part of the world, and many of them in 
 their graves. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 MY CARRIAGE IN WAITING MY BREAKFAST FIGHT FOR MY DINNER — - 
 
 JOURNEY TO MILLBANK PRISON, LONDON THOUGHTS OF ESCAPE 
 
 SUPPER RECEPTION WARD INSTALLED IN OFFICE TAILOR- 
 ING AND THEFT LETTER WRITING — SCRUBBING FLOOR PUMP 
 
 HANDLE AND CRANK PUNISHED FOR NOT DOING TWO THINGS AT 
 
 THE SAME TIME OAKUM PICKING AND PICKING COIR. 
 
 When I went outside the prison gate, I found my carriage wait- 
 ing lor me, and I stepped into it without bidding good-bye to the 
 Governor and Deputy Governor, who were waiting to see me off. 
 My tw r o keepers came in after me ; the horses started, and 
 I pulled my loaf of bread out of my pocket, and commenced to eat 
 my breakfast. It did not take long to finish it, as my appetite was 
 particularly good at this time. We were at the railway station 
 some twenty minutes before the train arrived that was to convey us. 
 My keepers marched me down the platform, and kept me standing at 
 a distance from all the other travelers. A restaurant was near by, 
 and hearing them talk of dinner I asked for mine. "What," 
 said White, the head officer, " didn't you have your dinner coming 
 down in the coach ?" " No, that was my breakfast, and I'll have to 
 get my dinner now as I am travelling." " I don't think you will, 
 for I have orders to give you nothing to eat." " Well, that isn't 
 fair. I left the prison after the bell ringing for dinner. I got none, 
 and now I am taken on a journey without any food." " We can not 
 help that, we must go by our orders." " Orders or no orders, if I 
 have far to go, and that I get no food, I am not going to stand it 
 quietly, now that I am outside the prison Avails." Then there was a 
 movement, so that I could see the pistols. The whistle of the train 
 was heard. White went into the restaurant, and returned with a 
 parcel ; he and Green conducted me into a compartment of the rail- 
 road car ; as others were coming in, they wanted to stop them, re- 
 quiring a compartment for ourselves three alone ; but as room was 
 wanted we had to make some for others, the conductor saying 
 " another car would be put on at the next station, and we could have 
 a compartment of our own." When we left the island of Portland 
 and arrived at Weymouth station, this arrangement was made, and 
 as the train moved White unloosed his parcel, the contents of which 
 turned out to be what are called soda cakes. He spilled them out 
 on the seat, and, after eating some of them, said, " Rossa, you can 
 have a few of these if you like." " Thank you, governor," said I, 
 
O y Donovan Rossctfs Prison Life. 207 
 
 and handing me six of them I took them. Each was about the size 
 of a penny, and it wasn't like making two bites of a cherry, I could 
 make one bite of the six, so ravenously hungry was I, but decency 
 prevailed on me to eat moderately, and I demolished them one after 
 one. Four more of them remained on the seat, staring at me for 
 half an hour, and perhaps I staring at them, till White said, " Per- 
 haps, Rossa, you could make room for these two," and I did make 
 room for them. 
 
 By no act of mine could I get out of them where they were taking 
 me, but after traveling for about four hours we stopped at a station 
 where there was a delay of twenty minutes for refreshment, and I 
 could guess from the buzzing around that we were bound for Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Wanting to stand on my legs and look around, I induced them 
 to let me go to the water-closet. When we came back to the plat- 
 form the carriage had moved away in order to come back on another 
 track. The passers-by stared at me, no doubt thinking I was some 
 notorious burglar or thief. They might have admired my gray dress, 
 my knee breeches, and blue stockings, that showed of! my lank, lean 
 legs to genteel advantage. I noticed a few giving sympathetic 
 looks as they passed by. I thought they may be Irish, and I 
 looked inquiringly at them, but as I did so I was ordered by my 
 keepers to turn my face the other way, and obeying orders had to 
 turn my back on my beholders. 
 
 White, the superior officer, went into the refreshment-room, and 
 after a little delay there, came out with a glass of water in his hand. 
 Holding it out to me, he said, " Here, you may be thirsty, and I am 
 sorry I cannot give you anything better." I thanked h m, and after 
 drinking the water, gave him back the glass, which he carried into 
 the refreshment-room. As I was alone with one officer, I thought 
 what a chance there was of " going on the run," if 1 had any w T ay 
 of getting my hands out of the irons. Even with my hands tied I 
 am sure I would have made the start, only a thought came into my 
 head that I would have a better opportunity of darting off when I 
 landei L on the station in London, and I made up my mind that I'd make 
 the attempt at escape when I arrived there, come what would of it. 
 There is no use in your saying "What a foolish idea it was," " How 
 silly of him to think of such a thing." I did think of it and would 
 take action on the thought only precautions were taken that 
 made it impossible. You. wise, sensible reader, if you were in my po- 
 sition, might find your wisdom degenerating into the "lolly" I 
 allude to. I know that I never found myself unpossessed of it, if 
 any chance presented itself of getting out of my cage. The great 
 hardships within made the outside danger appear very little. 
 
 The train that moved away from the station put back, and I was 
 ordered into it. 
 
 " What !" said I, "do you really mean to say that you'll take me 
 away from this place without giving mo my dinner?" " We can't 
 
208 (J Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 give you any dinner." " Then I can't go." " Oh, you must." " No, 
 not willingly." One of them put his hand gently on my shoulder, 
 saying, " Come on, there is no use giving us any trouble ; we would 
 give you your dinner if we could." With his hand on my shoulder 
 we walked toward the carriage. I sat down inside, the two officers 
 with me, a crowd collected about the window, and as I had an audi- 
 ence, amongst whom might be some one to send the story to Ireland, 
 I kept inveighing against the inhumanity of starving me in prison, 
 and taking me from Portland to London without giving me a bit to 
 eat. White seemed to be giving way and said, " Well, I think I 
 mi^ht venture to get you some bread and meat ;" but as he laid his 
 hand on the door to go out the bell rang for the train to go off. Just 
 then a little girl with a basket on her arm, who was amongst the 
 listeners, cried out, " Cakes, cakes." "Here, here," said White. 
 He put his hand in the basket and took out two ; put the other hand 
 in his pocket and took out a penny. He gave the money to the 
 little girl and gave me the cakes. As I took them into my manacled 
 hands, whatever blood was in my body seemed to rush into my face. 
 I felt it ; I felt the thrill through my whole frame. I know there 
 was some impulse toward throwing them into his face, or throwing 
 them out the window, but another impulse counteracted that, in the 
 thought that the man was acting against his orders ; that there was 
 some kindness in the act, and the last thing I could do would be to 
 hurt the feelings of a man who did not mean to hurt mine. I sup- 
 pose if my blood was ever hot, it was somewhat cooled down at 
 this time, I ate the cakes, and never spoke a word till I reached 
 London, meditating on that escape of mine. 
 
 Various were the thoughts that passed through my mind, and 
 many were the plans. Assistance should be had somewhere, and I 
 knew it would come if I could get a chance of making myself known. 
 There is no railway station in London that there are not Irishmen 
 about it, who at that time would risk their own liberty to obtain 
 mine. What do we care about getting others into difficulties so long 
 as we can manage to get out of our own. We men are terribly our- 
 selves first, and all the world afterwards. I had in my mind that 
 night, that as soon as I landed on the platform I would make a 
 " bolt ;" I would run some way ; the best way would be along the 
 railway track if I could get on to it ; for there I would be most 
 sure of meeting with the most hard-working Irishmen, the poorest, 
 the truest, and those who had least to lose. I thought I might get 
 some one to recognize my character by crying out " Cowihr, 
 cowihr /" " Ireland," "Rossa ;" one or either, or all together ; but all 
 these thoughts were put out of my head by a new move on the part 
 of my keepers. The train was slackening speed, coming into 
 London; White said, "There is the prison," as we were passing 
 Millbank, and saying so, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled 
 out a pair of handcuffs. As they shone in the gaslight I read in 
 them my death warrant, and as White tied one part of the manacle 
 
O 3 Donovan Rosso? s Prison Lifi, 209 
 
 on my wrist above the other iron that was on it, and tied the other 
 part of it on one of Green's wrists my spirits fell to Zero. 
 
 Here was I, bound to one of my jailers, so that if any attempt 
 was made at a rescue two of us should be taken away, or the hand 
 of one of us should be torn off, if the irons could not be broken. 
 
 The train stopped ; we came out ; went into a carriage ; and when 
 we came out again I found myself inside the walls of Millbank prison, 
 London. It was after eight o'clock, and the prisoners were in bed. 
 The officers had retired, but a few were in special waiting for me. I 
 was given up to the man who had charge of the reception ward, and 
 as White was delivering me over, he said to my new guardian, 
 " Rossa had no dinner, and if you have any, give it to him." Mill- 
 bank : " I have no dinner; the only thing left for him is a nine ounce 
 loaf for his supper. 
 
 White — " You may have something extra, for he had nothing to 
 eat all day, and if you have, give it to him." Millbank: "I have no 
 dinner for him. Well, I will try, but I fear there is nothing left, 
 unless some porridge may have remained in some of the tins." 
 White and Green bade me " Good night." 
 
 Millbank shut me up in my cell, which contained a table and 
 stool, and six or seven tin cans. By-and-by the door was opened, 
 and my new guardian appeared with a large tin can, out of which 
 the porridge was measured to the prisoners. " Here," said he, 
 "put a few of those tins on the table." I took hold of the whole 
 six or seven, and he cried out, " Stop, stop, I don't think there is 
 much in it." He filled one pint, he filled two, and his tin kettle 
 was drained before he had the third full. " Here," said he, " take 
 that, and you'll be a long time here before you get so much again." 
 I ate my nine ounces of bread and drank my three pints of por- 
 ridge, all the while thinking of the kind Christian government that 
 went to the expense of telegraphing from Portland to Millbank to 
 give me nothing but bread and water when I arrived, in order to 
 carry out the day's discipline under which I labored when I left 
 Portland. I got my bed and spread it out on the flags. I asked if 
 I could not have a board to put between the stone and the half-inch 
 thick mattress. No ; that was a reception cell, and I could have no 
 other accommodation. The old song, " My lodging is on the cold 
 ground," came into my head, but worse than that was to come after. 
 
 I did not close my eyes that night — well, literally I did close 
 them in order to force myself into a sleep, but all to no purpose. 
 The chances that presented itself of making an attempt at escape at 
 the refreshment station would not leave my mind ; it was one of 
 those chances that never return, and I kept upbraiding myself with 
 folly for not embracing it. Time was when to escape from the 
 myrmidoms of the land was held unworthy of brave men, but that 
 was before the myrmidons laid hands on you. In the revolutionary 
 school in Ireland it was taught by the principal master that no 
 man should run away before he was caught, for in a crisis there 
 
210 0* Donovan Rossats Prison Life. 
 
 may be a general skedaddle which would bring on general de- 
 moralization by the Government circulating that such and such 
 men were to be arrested. These tactics were adopted, too, by the 
 Government, but, to the credit of the men, most of them stood 
 their ground. I believe the history of the world has not on record 
 a country for size and population that produced more devoted men 
 than Ireland produced for the last dozen years — men ready to risk 
 life and liberty for their country's freedom. Nor is there any man 
 in history that I have read of, in a population of five or six millions, 
 who had so many men as Mr. James Stephens had ready to do his 
 bidding in the cause of freedom — willing to venture their lives in 
 the execution of any project he deemed necessary for the independ- 
 ence of his country. How all these men are scattered ! How all the 
 hopes that grew with the labors of their early years are blighted, it 
 is painful to see this fourth day of December, 1873. To blame this 
 principal master I have referred to, I will not ; one thing alone will I 
 put on record regarding him, and it is, that as iae representative of 
 Buch men as I speak of, I would like he had shown more " pluck ;" I 
 would like when he had publicly promised to be in Ireland at a cer- 
 tain time to fight — that he had appeared there, albeit a man did not 
 accompany him, and even though it cost him his liberty or life. It 
 may be unreasonable to expect this, but only a nobleman in mind 
 will see that something like it was due to the characters of the men 
 who were committed with him in the revolutionary movement in 
 Ireland. 
 
 The morning after my arrival in Millbank I was put through the 
 initiatory process of prison citizenship. My height, weight, and 
 color were taken. I was examined by the doctor, registered on the 
 books, and orders were given to put me tailoring. The cell I was 
 placed in was a particularly gloomy one ; it was situated in an angle 
 of the pentagon, just behind the chapel, and convenient to the offi- 
 cers' room, within the ward. When I occupied it I looked at my 
 furniture, my tin pint and plate came up for inspection, as I occa- 
 sionally used one of these articles, when burnished up, for a looking 
 glass. On the bottom of the pint I found engraved the words, 
 " The Artful Dollier," and my heart leaped as if I was shaking 
 hands with Denis Dowling Mulcahy himself. This was the name 
 we called him in Portland, and this was his own writing also. Then, 
 this was the cell Denis occupied when he was in Millbank, and this 
 was the pint he took his porridge from. Hadn't I company ? Yes, 
 I had — in that pint that recalled the memory of a friend whenever 
 I used it. 
 
 At a quarter to eight o'clock the bell ordered us to make down 
 our beds, and I made mine. At eight a warder went round to see 
 if every prisoner was in his cell, and to turn off the gas. He passed 
 mv cell without putting out the light, and, thinking he had made a 
 mistake, I gave a halloo alter him. He came back with his, "What's 
 the matter with you ?" " Don't you see, governor, you havu't put 
 
O' } Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 211 
 
 out the gas." " Never you mind that ; that gas is to be left light- 
 ing all night, and make no more noise." The burner was only about 
 two feet from the head of my bed, and, as the light was glaring on 
 my eyes, I could not sleep. I thought I would devise something 
 to shade my face. I had a water bucket in my cell, which had to 
 serve the treble purpose of scrubbing tub, of washing basin, and of 
 stool. I took this and planted it by the head of my bed. I then 
 took a large card, about three feet long, by two feet broad, on 
 which were printed the rules and regulations. I made it to stand on 
 the bucket, against the wall, between the burner and the bed-head, 
 so as to screen my face from the light. By-and-bye, the night watch 
 looked in, and roared out, " What have you done there ?" " Oh ! 
 governor, I could not sleep with that gas-light staring me in the 
 face, and I put the card up as a screen." " Take that card away at 
 once." " Oh ! now, governer, what harm is it doing ?" " I cannot 
 see your head; take it down at once, 1 tell you." "If I took it 
 down I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink, and then I wouldn't be 
 able to work to-morrow." " Take down that card instantly, I tell 
 you." " I will not." " Then, I'll soon let you see that you will," 
 and I heard his slippered feet falling heavily in the hall as he moved 
 away. In about five minutes I heard the tramp of several men ap- 
 proaching ; they halted opposite my cell, and big Power, the head 
 warder, speaking to me through the slit in the wall, ordered me to 
 take down that card. " Put out the light, and I'll take it away." 
 " That cannot be done, but the card must be taken down." " What 
 harm is it doing, governor ?" "That's none of your business* 
 put that card in its place instantly, I tell you." " Oh ! for good- 
 ness sake, give me some rest, and let me go to sleep." "Go off for 
 the keys." Off the officer went. " Here, come back awhile," and 
 back he came. " See, Rossa, the keys of the prison are given up 
 for the night, and if you don't take down that card we will have to 
 open the door and take it away from you. Once the keys are given 
 over for the night, we cannot get them without a great deal of 
 trouble, and you may as well save us that, for we must take away 
 the card, if you don't." " Well, anything to save trouble," and, 
 taking away the card, I said, "but couldn't you lower that gas a 
 little?" " See, turn off a little of that gas ; a little lower; a little 
 higher ; there, there, that will do," and away they walked. 
 
 As I was doing my share of the "orderly " work next mornino- 
 I noticed hanging on the wall a card, on which was my name. 
 Opposite was written: " This prisoner to be well watched, and the 
 gas to be left lighting in his cell all night." When I went to my 
 cell I began thinking, and thought I must be a desperate character. 
 Friends ask me, now that I am in the world, " Had I any thought 
 at all of release when I was in prison ?" It is said, " Hope springs 
 eternal in the human breast," but the springs of my hope were 
 nearly always dried up by continually witnessing these sio-ns of 
 special anxiety regarding me. I don't know what my masters must 
 
212 (J Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life, 
 
 have taken me for. If they were not fond of me, they were par- 
 ticularly careful of me. Hoping anything from these people, and 
 acting so as not to have that hope frustrated, would make me their 
 slave — would wear me off my feet. No. I kept myself a free man 
 in prison ; while they had my body bound in chains, I felt that I 
 owed them no allegiance, that I held my mind unfettered — that I 
 was not their slave. 
 
 In this prison of Millbank the prisoners have to do the sweep- 
 ing and cleaning in turn, and every morning, in every ward, five or 
 six are taken out of their cells for an hour or so to put the corridor 
 in order. I was detailed for service once, but this, it seems, afforded 
 me too much liberty, and an order was jessed that I was to be 
 passed over for this service in future. 
 
 "I was to be treated like any other prisoner " — that was the stereo- 
 typed phrase towards me on every occasion of an interview with 
 the Director, the Governor, the Deputy-Governor, and with every 
 other Governor down to the smallest of these small officials. Yet 
 they managed by their petty acts to deprive me of every little 
 privilege that the convict system accords to its children. My school 
 hour twice a week was confiscated before I was a month in Millbank, 
 and every other privilege that they could confiscate. They 
 pressed so closely on me this time — they screwed me down so 
 tightly that I guessed something was up. I told them they 
 had better screw me into a little needlecase for the Governor to 
 carry in his pocket. Something had scared them. You could see 
 alarm in the countenance of every man in authority. I write now 
 in the light of the world, and I see that on the 7th of March, 1867, 
 there was a " rising; " in Ireland. England did not know where it 
 would stop, or whether it would confine itself to Ireland or branch 
 into England. She was terrified. The movement was a secret one, 
 and with all her spies she knew little about it. If she could grasp 
 the whole of it, if she could realize its extent, if it was a large, 
 grand, and powerful constitutional agitation, she could take " con- 
 stitutional " means to meet the emergency ; but she did not know 
 when, where, or how she was to be struck, and hence the alarm. A 
 similar terror seized the English Government in December of the 
 same year, 1867, when an attempt was made to blow up Clerken- 
 well Prison in London. Horse, foot, and artillery were brought 
 inside the prison walls, and kept there day and night for months. 
 Cannon were placed on the prison square, and every preparation 
 was made in the heart of London to meet an attack from those 
 Irish revolutionists. 
 
 I did not escape scot free, for shading my face from the light 
 with the "rules and regulations." Next day I was charged with 
 the offence in presence of the Governor. This man's name was 
 Morish, a big, stand-off, important kind of person, with the air of a 
 disciplinarian. He read me a lecture, and, when he came to speak 
 of my coming to his prison with such an exceedingly bad character, 
 
^ Donovan Rosso) s Prison Life. 213 
 
 I gave a kind of smile that made him pause, and pronounce a sen- 
 tence of " 42 marks." I had added a year and a half in Portland to 
 my sentence of life, by the forfeiture of marks, and here was another 
 week put on me. If things go on in this way, thought I, there is 
 poor chance of getting out of prison, either in this world or the 
 next. 
 
 Shortly after this first interview of mine with the Governor, two 
 officers came into my cell and ordered me to strip. I was stripped 
 the day before, which I took, as a matter of course, as part of my 
 initiation into the secret masonry of Millbank ; but, coming the day 
 after to make me repeat the humiliation, was quite out of order, and 
 I asked, " What's up now ?" " No matter what's up, but obey 
 orders — strip." I took off my jacket and trousers, and shoes and 
 stockings, and shirt and wrapper, every one of which they examined 
 and felt inch by inch. I stood before them with the flannel drawers 
 still on me. " Strip off that drawers." " Will you please allow me 
 to put on the shirt before I take off the drawers ?" " No, take off 
 that drawers ; we will have to see you stripped naked." I obeyed 
 orders again. I turned round ; I opened my mouth ; I extended 
 my arms and legs. They discharged their duty to the letter of the 
 law, threw me back my clothes, and locked the door. 
 
 For three months, day after day, two of these officers came and 
 put me through the same process. I felt it more than anything 
 connected with my prison life ; and when the supervision came so 
 close upon me, that, when taking a bath, a jailor had to stand over 
 me, I have no words to describe my feelings of shame. I am not 
 very sensitive, nor very thin-skinned, nor very refinedly fashioned, 
 but I owe to some early association the possession of some very 
 strong prejudices against my fellow-man looking at me in a state 
 of nature. When I was at school, and heard the boys telling sto- 
 ries of how men were stripped naked when they enlisted for sol- 
 diers, I imagined it the most awful thing that could be done and 
 there was little fear of my ever becoming a soldier. I once and 
 again reminded some of the authorities that this daily stripping of 
 me conflicted a little with the prison rule, which says, " The Gov- 
 ernor and officers must be at all times disposed to cultivate senti- 
 ments of morality and propriety of behavior in the prisoners ;" but 
 the demands of " discipline," or the Government demands regarding 
 m^, required that all rules and regulations be set aside, in order to 
 reduce me to some required standard. 
 
 After three months or four, a crisis came, in which I refused to 
 submit to the daily stripping. The clothes were then torn off me 
 by five or six officers ; but I will postpone telling the particulars of 
 the adventure, until I come to it in the due course of my narrative. 
 I believe I broke off when I was saying something about my school- 
 ing. I was always fond of wandering from that, but now I'll return 
 to it. 
 
 When I was in Millbank a few days, one morning the door of 
 
214: , Do?wvan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 my cell was thrown open, and an old man walked in, handed me a 
 leaf of ruled paper and a writing pen, and walked out again. Then 
 a prisoner who was out as acting orderly came to the door with 
 about twenty little brown stone ink-bottles on a board. " Here, 
 here, hurry on, take one." " What is it for?" asked I. " School, 
 school, school ; you're at school now," and after taking my ink-bottle 
 he hurried on to the scholar next door. 
 
 I don't know is it that evil associations corrupt men, or is it that 
 every man has something of the thief in him, and only requires to be 
 placed in certain straitened circumstances to have the faculty de- 
 veloped ? — but true as I write, the first thought that came into my 
 head was to steal one of those little brown stone bottles, ink, and 
 cork, and all, and pen, to boot. I had a kind of foreboding that my 
 gnardians would not leave me long at school, and I made up my 
 mind not to leave another opportunity pass without making an 
 attempt to avail myself of writing material to help me to educate 
 myself. " Self-help " was one of the books the prison library circu- 
 lated, and I determined to profit by its teachings, even though 
 learning, treated as I was, might be termed " The pursuit of know- 
 ledge under difficulties." 
 
 The first day of my schooling, rather the first hour, for it was 
 one hour in each of two days of the week, was occupied in writing 
 my " Jillen Andy " verses on the leaf of paper I got. The school- 
 master came in a second time and told me I could write whatever I 
 liked on the paper, and he would return to take it from me when the 
 hour was up, but he told me afterwards that I should not write 
 verses on my paper ; I should write like other prisoners, copy lines 
 or passages from my school books or Bible. 
 
 Chance gave me a second day at school, and also gave me an 
 opportunity of retaining my ink bottle when the school was breaking 
 up. I also became possessed of a steel pen by such a ruse as this. 
 I noticed that when the schoolmaster came round to give me a pen 
 he had a number of them in his hand, some of which were without 
 nibs. When he left my cell I drew out the nib and put it on the 
 floor, where the shadow from the leg of the table hid it. When he 
 came round by-and-by he saw me idle, and asked " why I was not 
 writing ? " I took up the pen handle that lay on the table, and 
 holding it towards him remarked quite innocently that it was not 
 easy to write with that. Had he made any fuss about giving me 
 one with a nib in it, I could have made a little fuss, too, in looking 
 for it and found it on the floor. But he said nothing, only " thought 
 he gave me a good pen," and handed me another. 
 
 Being tailoring this time, I had some black thread, which I tied 
 to the neck of the bottle, and the other end to one of the bars of my 
 window. The roofing of the chapel rose to within about a foot of 
 the window, and a gutter ran along it to carry off the rain. In the 
 gutter the bottle lay hid for about three months before it was dis- 
 covered. Whenever I wanted to use it I hauled in my line, and hav- 
 
0^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 215 
 
 ing used it, put it back to the resting place. I found a bit of a hip- 
 pen, and fashioned it into a pen-handle, tying my nib to it with my 
 black thread, and this I kept concealed between the gas-pipe and 
 
 the wall. 
 
 I applied for permssion to write my reception letter, but the gov- 
 ernor would not grant it. I reminded him of the rule that said, 
 that every person on being received into the prison, could write a 
 letter, and he reminded me that that applied only to men of good 
 character — not to men who had been sent back from public work 
 for bad character. He said I could repeat the application to the 
 Director if I wished, and doing so, he allowed me to write the let- 
 ter, but hoped t would confine myself to legitimate matter. The 
 time for writing was during the school hour, and I had not my let- 
 ter finished the first day. I knew well that it would never pass the 
 consorship, as I was telling all about the treatment I received, and I 
 managed to write two copies on my waste paper before I gave ic out 
 of my hands the second school day. I intended sending these copies 
 surreptitiously if an opportunity offered. The next day the Director 
 came he sent for me and told me he could not let that letter pass, 
 but he would give me a chance to write another. I thanked him 
 and wrote just the same as I had written before. Again he sent for 
 me and remonstrated with me for repeating my offence, ending, 
 however, with the offer of another chance, which I accepted. I was 
 by this time wide awake to some of their trickery. If I refused to 
 write they would put my refusal on record, and thus gain a strong 
 point against me in that battle with public opinion to which I was 
 determined to bring them, if at all possible. If I wrote out a letter, 
 stating nothing of my treatment, while they were treating me in a 
 manner calculated to bring me to an early grave, they, in case I 
 died, and that any question was raised about my ill-treatment, 
 would cry out, " It is all false. Look at his last letter to his wife ; 
 see if there is a word in it about ill-treatment " Acting, with the 
 doom of death starting me in the face, I, every time I was allowed 
 to write a letter to my wife, wrote of my prison life. For three 
 years they kept suppressing these letters, during which time she 
 never heard from me. The reflection that she might imagine I did 
 not care about writing to her was painful enough to me, but I had 
 put everything into the fight, and I made up my mind to sacrifice 
 everything before I would play into the hands of such a hypocriti- 
 cal, heartless, merciless enemy as I had to deal with. I tied up the 
 two copies of my letter, each separately, in as small parcels as I 
 could. One of them I had in my straw mattress, and the other in a 
 hole I scooped out in a corner of the cell. This I filled up again 
 so as that it would never be noticed unless a person went looking 
 for unnoticeable holes. 
 
 The time came when I was to lose my schooling, and I lost it in 
 this manner. An English convict, born in Kilkenny, occupied a cell 
 next to mine. He was then there under the name of Scott, but he 
 
216 O' } Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 told me that was not his right name. This he wished to be *ept a 
 secret, as he did not want Kilkenny folks to know anything aoout 
 him or his whereabouts. He was only lately convicted, and as we 
 stood inside our open doors in the morning, waiting to have our 
 numbers called to take our buckets of fresh water, he whispered me 
 many stories of the war in Ireland, all of which I greedily swallowed. 
 Not being able to use his food at first, nearly every morning he'd 
 manage to throw a piece of bread into my cell as he passed by it. 
 When I learned that he could tell me everything about Ireland and 
 the " boys " there, I neglected my schooling, to stand near my door 
 and have a whisper with him. 
 
 Brown, the officer, used to be up in the centre of the ward occa- 
 sionally, where he had a view of two corridors, but he put on slip- 
 pers one day, and creeping softly down, stole a march on Scott and 
 me as we were whispering to each other from inside our doors. We 
 were startled from our tete-a-tete by his roaring out, " Put out your 
 brooms and shut those doors," and having taken away my writing 
 material, I shut my door. He opened it again and asked, " Why 
 haven't you put your broom out ? " " Where am I to put it ? " 
 " Put it outside your door," and putting it out he locked me in. 
 The putting out of your broom or sweeping-brush was to signify to 
 all persons passing by that you were under report and awaiting 
 sentence, and many a time my broom was out. When the Gov- 
 ernor sat to pass judgment, 1 was taken to the corridor, where 
 the offenders are drawn up in line, four paces apart, with their 
 faces turned to the wall. My turn came. I was conducted into the 
 court and charged with talking to Scott during school hour. Asked 
 what I had to say, I said I'd give my reply in writing, and as 1 
 wouldn't get paper, I'd say nothing. The sentence passed on me 
 was, that I get no more schooling while in prison ; but Scott was 
 not deprived of his schooling, though it was he did all the talking. 
 His sentence was a fine of 42 marks and a reprimand. Didn't 1 
 feel lonesome every day afterwards when I heard the school bell ring, 
 and the doors opening, and my door kept locked ! Yes, I did, and 
 concluded that my schooling was forfeited, not so much for punish- 
 ment, but as a precaution against my getting writing materials into 
 my hands. When the school bell rang, I put away my work and 
 took my slate and pencil to figure away the hour in solitary con- 
 finement. I was one day so occupied, when I heard some one at 
 my door asking, " Why is this man idle ? " The w r arder opened 
 the door, and Captain Wallack, the Deputy-Governor, asked, " Why 
 aren't you at work ? " " Oh, Governor, this is school hour." " You 
 have been deprived of school, and you must keep to work." "Well, 
 I don't know, I have been often told I am to be treated like any 
 other prisoner ; the other man, who was reported with me, has not 
 been deprived of his schooling. I think I may fairly be allowed 
 such privilege as you allow your thieves and pickpockets, and I 
 think it quite illegal to deprive me of what the law says every pris 
 
0* Donovan "Bosses. Prison Life. 217 
 
 oner must have." " You must not be impertinent here." " The 
 prison rules do not allow me to be impertinent to any one, nor do 
 they allow any one to be impertinent to me." "Put out your 
 broom," and out the broom went for another report. This Captain 
 Wallack was very civil to me from that out ; he acted quite gentle- 
 manly, and I treated him quite respectfully. It came within the 
 sphere of his duty to pass sentence of bread and water on me a few 
 times, while the Governor was absent, but he did it without any 
 extra judicial observations. It was illegal to deprive me of school- 
 ing, but what did they do to correct this illegality, do you think ? 
 The Board of Prison Directors held a meeting, and decided that su- 
 periorly educated prisoners — those who were in the fourth class — 
 should get no more schooling, and I was immediately put down as 
 a fourth class man ; rather, I should say, I was promoted to it to 
 finish my education, for when I was admitted to Pentonville, some 
 fifteen months before, I could graduate no higher than second class. 
 If this does not prove that I took care of my schooling, it shows 
 that I had some interest to shove me on. 
 
 Our cells had to be scrubbed twice a week. You had to go on 
 your knees, but you had strong leather knee-caps to protect your 
 trousers from the flags. Part of the process of scrubbing was to 
 give the cell a finishing touch by rubbing the flags with a kind of 
 soft, white stone, so that when the cell dried it had a nice chalky 
 appearance. This, to my mind, was dirtying the cell instead of 
 cleaning it, for the air was always impregnated with the dust aris- 
 ing from the floor. As I had no instructions at first, I used the 
 stone as a kind of soap, and I gave my finishing stroke by washing 
 it all off. The Deputy Governor, passing by one day, said my cell 
 was very dirty, and I was ordered to scrub it again. I got my 
 bucket of water, my scrubbing-brush, and my soap-stone, and went 
 to work, though I had scrubbed it that morning before. By-and- 
 by, Brown, the ward officer, came in, and said it was dirty still, and 
 asked me to go over it again, and at it I went. In another hour's 
 time he came in, said it was not white enough yet, and told me to 
 give it the finishing touch with the stone, and not to wash off the 
 powder, so a third time I tied on my knee-caps and went to work. 
 Just as I had finished the bell rang for exercise, and I got my hour 
 in the open air. Then the dinner bell rang, and I had my hour for 
 dinner. After that the master tailor came in, and asked me to show 
 him the work I had done all day. " Well," I said, " I have been 
 hard at work, but I have not done much tailoring." Early in the 
 morning he gave me some canvas bags to make, and I had only 
 about a foot of stitching done when I was ordered to re-scrub the 
 cell. Having gone over the work three times, with the exercise 
 hour and dinner hour coming after, I had no time to do the tailor's 
 work. He laid hold of the bag I had been sewing, took out his tape 
 line and measured my stitching. It was only fourteen inches. 
 " And this is all the work vou have done since morning, fourteen 
 inches of stiehing?" 
 
218 (? Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 " I have done other work, for Mr. Brown made me scrub the 
 cell three times, and then the exercise hour came and then the din- 
 ner hour, so that I had no time to do any of the work you gave 
 me." 
 
 "You should have scrubbed your cell like other prisoners, in the 
 morning before breakfast, and you must get on like other prisoners. 
 I must have my work done, and I tell you, you'll soon find yourself 
 on bread and water if you don't conduct yourself properly here." 
 
 " I am conducting myself properly ; if you think I am not, you 
 can report me. I prefer it to your abuse." 
 
 " Put out your broom," and out rny broom went again, to show 
 I was under report and awaiting punishment. 
 
 I was taken before the Governor. The tailor was present to 
 charge me with idleness ; he had the canvas bag with him to show 
 that I had done only fourteen inches of stitching from eight o'clock 
 in the morning till half-past one in the evening. I was asked what 
 I had to say in reply, and I said nothing, as I would not get pen 
 and ink and paper to put my words on record. 
 
 I forget now whether the sentence was marks or bread and water, 
 but there was an addition made to it that the tailoring work be 
 taken from me and that I be put at the punishment work of the 
 prison, which was picking coir, and every day that I did not do 
 the task-work of twenty ounces, I got twenty-four or twice twenty- 
 four hours' bread and water. 
 
 At this time all my fingers were bandaged by the doctor. I 
 had been so reduced from hunger and cold in Portland that I came 
 to Millbank with the flesh rotting off my hands. I could use the 
 needle pretty well, for it did not require much bending of the 
 fingers; but when I came to pick the coir I found it required 
 the exercise of all my fingers, and, failing to do my task-work, at 
 first, I succeeded in getting bread and water and no bed at night. 
 
 If ever man felt cold, I felt it one of these nights. It was about 
 the 27th of March, 1867, and I had no bed or bed-clothes but a 
 light rug. I would not be allowed to walk about the cell ; I had 
 to remain stretched with this rug around me. It was a shivering 
 and chattering of teeth all night through. "When I looked out 
 through the hole in the wall in the morning, the house-tops were 
 covered with snow. During the winter season — that is, between 
 the 29th of September and the 25th of March — the prisoner under 
 punishment gets a rug and a blanket, but from the 25th of March 
 to the 29th of September he gets a rug only. The cell has no win- 
 dow, but there is a hole about two feet long and three inches wide 
 to admit a little light, and as my bed-board was under the hole, I 
 found the snow had been drifting in on me all night. 
 
 I heard the prison clock strike two. To sleep was impossible, 
 and I got up to walk about the cell. 1 wore my punishment 
 slippers, and in a minute I heard a voice at the door — " Stop that 
 walking, and go to bed." " I have no bed." " Well, He down, 
 
(? Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 219 
 
 and don't be making noise." I sat on the board, and communed 
 with myself how to kill time. I took off my slippers, and com- 
 menced walking as lightly as I could in my stocking vamps. The 
 watch heard my footfalls, and tapped at the door again, with his, 
 " Didn't I tell you to stop that walking ? If you don't go to bed, 
 I'll report you in the morning " — and rather than be reported, I 
 went " to bed," and shivered away the hours until daybreak. 
 
 The "rising" in Ireland was on the 7th of March, 1867, and 
 immediately after, there was such a hubbub about me that I guessed 
 there must be something up in the outer world. I was in Millbank 
 a fortnight, and night and day I, the same as every other prisoner, 
 occupied the same cell. But now it was different. When the hour 
 came for going to bed I was taken out of my cell, led through a 
 corridor, then through a few corridors more, and into a cell where 
 I slept all night, with the gas lighting. In the morning I was con- 
 ducted back to my working cell, and this continued night and day 
 for months till the scare wore away, when they had crushed the 
 rebellion in Ireland. They were not sure that they were not to 
 have a rising in London, and they took these precautions regarding 
 me, lest I should be taken away by force. If I was left during 
 night in the cell which I occupied all day, some officer might tell 
 the boys outside the particular cell I slept in, on the ground floor, 
 or it was more secure to have me in the top of the prison, with as 
 many gates, and bars, and bolts as possible between me and my 
 sympathizers outside. They must have been awfully scared that 
 time, and they must have considered me an awfully important 
 personage. 
 
 What I regretted much in this change was, that I lost my bed 
 in which was concealed one of my letters. The mattress and bed- 
 clothes were taken out of my day cell, and I never saw them more. 
 This having happened, I said it was better to make an attempt to 
 send out the other, which was hid in the hole, than to be waiting 
 for a better opportunity, which may never come. I did not know 
 but I might be changed altogether from that cell, and thus loose 
 both my letters. The next day that I was scrubbing my cell I 
 broke my scrubbing stone and ground down a piece of it to about 
 an inch square. 1 took out my letter and enclosed the stone in it 
 to make it heavy, so that I could throw it over the prison from the 
 exercise yard. I knew there was a road running outside, but I had 
 not much hope of succeeding in getting it out there. There was a 
 garden between the prison and the road, and I calculated if it fell 
 there, some prison officer or prisoner may find it, who, for the con- 
 sideration that I had stated on the envelope, would send it to its 
 destination. I then had recourse to my ink-bottle that was hanging 
 from the window, and I addressed a note to the finder, telling him 
 to send this to a certain place, and he would get a certain sum of 
 money. I folded it up tidily, hid it away on my person, and went 
 out to exercise when the bell rang. This exercise consists in walk- 
 
220 CP Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 ing around the yard for a half hour, and in working at the pump 
 for another half hour. 
 
 While I was walking about with the party, the principal officer 
 opened the door, and called me, saying, " I want to search you ; 
 open your jacket and waistcoat." I did so. " What is this ?" 
 "That's one of the six bags I got to make." "And why did you 
 bring it out of your cell ?" " I felt cold, and I put it around my 
 waist to keep me warm." "Take it off instantly." I took it off; 
 he took it in, and I was allowed to continue my exercise. I had 
 my letter in my pocket all the time, and, for a wonder, he did not 
 put his hand in it. I knew there was not much time to spare, if I 
 wanted to try my luck in throwing it over the prison, and I made 
 up my mind to try it immediately. Brown, the officer, generally 
 stood at the gate leading into the pumping yard, and, as the prison- 
 ers walk around the shed that covers it, the pump comes between 
 the officer and every prisoner, while the latter is going a distance of 
 two or three paces. At this spot I made up my mind to fling away 
 my parcel. Getting it ready in my hand, I, when I came to the 
 place, threw it with all my might. High into the air I saw it go, 
 but my eyes did not follow it, for the officer's eyes were immedi- 
 ately on me ; but in a second or two I heard the noise of something 
 falling on the roof. I turned my eyes upwards, and saw my letter 
 fall back into the yard. The prisoner behind me gave a groan, and 
 the one before me gave a curse. The wonder is that the keeper did 
 not hear the noise or notice anything wrong. The letter fell into a 
 corner where cinders were kept. I saw it as I passed by. The snow 
 was on the ground, and there was my treasure on the top of it. I 
 should get out of the ranks to take it, and this looked impossible to 
 do without the officer seeing me. The order came to have us go 
 into our cells. I had only one turn more around the yard. Was I 
 to leave my treasure there and go in ? No ; I would take it. The 
 officer would, of course, see me, and make a run for me, but I would 
 have it thrown over the house before he could catch me ; and, as I 
 was passing the spot, I stepped aside and took up the letter. Step- 
 ping into the ranks again, I looked to see if Brown was after me, 
 but he didn't see the move at all, and, as soon as I entered my cell, 
 I placed my treasure in its hiding place. Immediately after, I was 
 ordered to put out my broom, and, when the judge sat, I was ordered 
 twenty-four hours on bread and water, for destroying the property 
 of the prison and converting it to improper use. The destruction 
 consisted in my having put a few stitches in the bag, to keep it tight 
 around my waist. 
 
 The next day that I went to exercise I succeeded in throwing my 
 letter over the building without being noticed. The prisoner behind 
 me observed, " It can't have gone beyond the garden ; they'll find it 
 and play the devil with you." But it seems it was never found, for 
 I never heard anything of it from that day to this. 
 
(P Donovan J2ossa?s Prison Life. 221 
 
 I did not forget their punishing me for not doing the tailoring, 
 and scrubbing the floor at the same time, and I asked the Governor 
 to put down my name to see the Director when next he would visit. 
 He came the following Thursday, and I was brought into his pres- 
 ence. His name was Captain Gambier, and I became very familiar 
 with him afterwards. That is, I often came before him in his judi- 
 cial capacity, and he would speak to me so sweetly that I began to 
 look upon him as a father. But all his fatherly attentions were be- 
 stowed upon me in the way or corrections. While pronouncing 
 sentences on me that he knew should bring me on my knees — while 
 he would be writing " bread and water," he would be saying, " God 
 knows I pity you. I am sorry for you." " Four months' solitary 
 confinement on punishment diet, and the first twelve days on bread 
 and water; that will do, take him off." He had a glass eye, and this 
 used to look at me as if it was shedding tears in sympathy with his 
 pitying words, while the other gloated with satisfaction that he had 
 me in his toils, and that it w T as only a matter of time, in the working 
 of his machinery, to make me anything he desired. It would not 
 do to break a man down, or break him up suddenly. It should be 
 done on English humanitarian or disciplinarian principles — " done 
 so slowly that none could call it murder." 
 
 I never could give this Captain Gambier an ill word, for the reason 
 that he always spoke civilly to me. He'd polish up the ugliest dose 
 he could give with his crocodile w< <rds, and I believe that I vexed 
 him as much as any prisoner he ever met, for I never lost my temper 
 with him, and I always caught him quietly wherever I found him 
 tripping. 
 
 A week or so after the tailor's complaint against me I went 
 before him and represented that one officer set me to work in the 
 morning — that another officer came and put me at other work, 
 and that the first man came and reported me for not doing his 
 business while I was attending to the second man's orders. I 
 told him the whole story as printed in the preceding pages, and 
 asked him to send for the officers. The Governor, who was pre- 
 sent, said he at the time asked me what I had to say, and I 
 said nothing. "Do you hear that?" said Gambier. "I do," 
 said I. u And why didn't you make known to the Governor 
 what you make known to me now ?" " The Governor had his 
 officers to make the truth known to him. You know that the 
 word of a prisoner cannot be taken against the word of a warder. 
 Rice, the tailor, reported me for idleness. Brown, my warder, 
 knew I was doing other work, I was not idle, and that I was 
 reported for idleness. It struck me that there was some State 
 necessity to have me punished, and made a bad character on 
 your books, and I made up my mind to let the law take its 
 course and offer no obstacle to the fulfilment of its requirements." 
 " Then you are yourself to blame, and you evidently wanted a 
 cause of complaint." I smiled, and said, " Oh, Governor, I don't 
 
222 (J Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 want to complain at all, but in the blindness of your anxiety to 
 punish me I may have a desire to see how far you will go." 
 This expression of his about my " wanting a cause of complaint " 
 belongs peculiarly to English statesmanship in the Government of 
 Ireland. How often have I seen it stated in the English press 
 that the Irish were more in want of a cause of complaint than 
 anything else. About a fortnight after this adventure with 
 Gambier I was before him about something else, and on his 
 remarking that he had no desire whatever to punish me ; that I 
 was treated with every consideration, leniency, and justice ; I re- 
 minded him of the tailor-scrubbing report, asking him did he call 
 that justice. " Oh, that was your own fault, you refused 
 to give an explanation. You said you wanted to have a 
 grievance." " I said I wanted to have a grievance ?" " Yes, I 
 have it here entered in the book." " I said no such thing. God 
 knows you did." " God knows, and you know, I did not. I said 
 I wanted to see how far you would go in the blindness of your 
 rage to punish me." 
 
 This, I think, was the time I came before him to ask for an in- 
 crease of diet, and he refused it. I then asked that my friends may 
 be permitted to send me as much coarse food as was sufficient to 
 sustain nature, and this was entirely out of the question. " "Well, 
 now, Governor," said I, " I am surprised at that ; England would 
 not have a sufficiency of coarse food refused to the political pri- 
 soners of any other nation ;" to which he replied, " England has 
 no political prisoners now-a-days ; you are here no more than any 
 other prisoner, and you are treated like every other prisoner." I 
 again smiled, saying, " Ah ! Governor, I think you're a little mis- 
 taken ; you don't keep the gas burning in the cell of every other 
 prisoner all night, nor do you strip every prisoner naked, regularly, 
 once a day ; you don't take every other prisoner through wards, 
 and towers, and corridors, from his day-cell, to sleep in another cell 
 at night ; nor do you punish every other prisoner for not doing two 
 
 jobs of work at the same time ; you don't " " Now, now, that 
 
 will do ; there is no use in your going on with these frivolous com- 
 plaints. I can't grant your application for more bread — ' Refused,' " 
 and as he was writing the word refused opposite my application, I 
 was marched out of the room. 
 
 " England has no political prisoners now-a-days." " We were 
 no more than any other convicts." This was constantly dinned 
 into our ears, until it became " expedient " for the English Govern- 
 ment to offer us banishment instead of imprisonment ; then she 
 suddenly discovered that those of us whom she decided upon re- 
 leasing were political prisoners. But she holds to her lying still in 
 the case of the convicted Irishmen who were in the English army, 
 and in the case of Irishmen who were charged with buying arms in 
 England. It is perfectly legal for any man to buy arms in Eng- 
 land, but when an Irishman buys them, and when any one swears 
 
^Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 223 
 
 that they were bought with the intention of having them sent to 
 Ireland to be used there by rebels, the purchasers are sent into 
 penal servitude. Such political prisoners are confined in England 
 to-day, and the English Government is holding them behind the lie 
 that they are not political prisoners. As I write these lines in 
 New York an English historian named Froude is lecturing in the 
 city on the question of Ireland and England. He admits he came 
 over with the view of inducing Americans to take the side of 
 England. There is another celebrated lecturer in the city, a 
 Dominican Friar, the Rev. Thomas Burke, who is talking against 
 Froude, and what I notice in both is that while talking of the 
 700 years' fight between England and Ireland, and while appeal- 
 ing to the American people, both of them ignore the fact that 
 England holds in her prisons to-day forty or fifty Irishmen whose 
 offence is that they are charged with entertaining a desire to 
 fight for Irish independence if they could get the chance, and that 
 England holds these men behind that lie — that they are not political 
 prisoners. It is no wonder that Froude should forget this in ap- 
 pealing to the American people to be favorable to England, and to 
 see little but justice in her treatment of Ireland, but I do not like 
 that the priest should forget it. I think the strongest point he 
 could make against this Froude before the American people would 
 be to show how these men were detained and tortured in English 
 prisons while the historian was appealing for American sympathy 
 for England against Ireland. But what I like or dislike in the 
 matter is nothing ; the priest says he is not a revolutionist, and it 
 is in the interest of revolution I speak. I am sure Froude is not a 
 revolutionist either, and men who rot in prison on the charge I 
 speak of eight years after their conviction, may rot there for all the 
 two eloquent gentlemen care, while they are calling on America to 
 decide between England and Ireland. Froude says he would clasp 
 the hand of Ireland if she had gained her independence, and I be- 
 lieve there is no priest in Ireland who would rather see that 
 independence than Father Burke. I don't know any priest in 
 Ireland that would object to it if gained, but I don't know many 
 laboring to gain it. Notwithstanding that I say this, I believe 
 there are very many of them would fight for it if we had the fight- 
 ing material in the field, but it is not their business to bring it 
 there. The moral I would have Irishmen draw from these observa- 
 tion is this: English historians cannot be Irish revolutionists. 
 Neither can Irish priests be Irish revolutionists openly or actively. 
 Whatever they are in their hearts, they must on their tongues be 
 peaceable. They cannot counsel, originate, or organize a fight. 
 
 It is strange what feelings possess a man sometimes. I am vain 
 enough to think this 27th October, 1872, that I am writing words 
 that may be read after I am dead, and may be a lesson to boys 
 whose blood burned about Ireland as mine did when I was younger 
 than I am to-day, though it is dispiriting to think the lesson may 
 
224 O' * Donovan Rosso 1 s Prison Life. 
 
 be needed after my time. And if I am before my God when these 
 words are read, and if I will have been judged for writing them, I 
 will not be suffering anything for writing with malice or ill-will 
 against the priests or against the people of Ireland, for God is just, 
 and does not punish for an offence what the mind does not contem- 
 plate as such. I believe that in the late struggle in the old land 
 we have had much opposition and little aid from the priesthood 
 of Ireland. The majority of them are rebels at heart; the minority 
 pro-English. But in consequence of the discipline or of the gov- 
 ernment of the Church, this minority could speak, and did speak; 
 the majority could not speak, and had to remain silent. One pro- 
 English priest in a district could denounce us of a Sunday at Mass ; 
 six priests, rebels at heart, in the same district, had to keep silent ; 
 hence prevailed the opinion that the Church was against the liberty 
 of Ireland. We were denounced as atheists and infidels, which we 
 were not, and if any of us were " unfaithful " there was nothing 
 helped to make us so more than the action of the priests who for- 
 bade us the sacraments, sent us away from the confessional, and 
 threatened us with hell and damnation, because we had taken the 
 oath to fight for the liberty of our native land. These gentlemen 
 teach, " Your God first and your country second," which preaching 
 I accept, but the action they took against our movement looked to 
 me as telling us that being true to our country was being false to 
 God, and this I will not accept. To such I may lawfully say, " Yes, 
 my God first, my country second, and you third." 
 
 If Ireland was peopled by no one but holy nuns and priests, if 
 it was an island of saints, I do not believe that England would give 
 it its freedom on the score of its sanctity alone. 
 
 I know how imprudent it is of me to speak at all of a priest, un- 
 less I speak in praise of him ; but prudence or imprudence is out of 
 the question with me when the truth has to be told, and when we 
 are face to face with one of the many difficulties that have to be 
 considered and overcome in the struggle against England. I know 
 how easy the names of " Infidel " and " Atheist " can be hurled and 
 whispered around, and I have experience myself of how easily the 
 youthful mind is impressed with a terrible opinion of the man to 
 whom such names are attached. When I approached manhood, I 
 became possessed of nine or ten volumes of the Nation newspaper, 
 and it was my political library for a year or two. I became familiar 
 with Davis, Meagher, Mitchell, and the other Irishmen, who left 
 their footprints on the sands of that time, and I well remember how 
 sorry I felt that these men were " Infidels." I used to say, what a 
 pity it is, little dreaming that I, in my own day, was to bf* the vic- 
 tim of denunciations similar to those which were hurled at the '48 
 men. And, perhaps, there are growing up in Ireland to-day youths 
 burning with that hereditary love of land, and hatred of its foe, 
 who, reading the clerical condemnation of the '65 ^aen, feel about 
 myself as I felt for Meagher and Mitchell twenty years ago. When 
 
C* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 225 
 
 they see a Catholic Bishop saying that " Hell was neither hot 
 enough nor deep enough for us," what wonder is it if, with their 
 sympathy wLh us in the cause we would serve, they may then pity 
 us that we'd serve it to our ^wn damnation. These reflections may 
 be as unpleasant to others as they are to me, and to get rid of them 
 I will end this chapter and begin a new one 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ASSOCIATION WITH ENGLISH CONVICTS — WORKING THE PUMP —IRISH 
 
 AND ENGLISH POVERTY AND THE PRIEST EATING A WARDER — ■ 
 
 GETTING BREAD AT PRATERS TASK WORK WETTING COIR 
 
 PUNISHED FOR OBEYING ORDERS LYING WARDERS AND GAM- 
 BIER EXTENSIVE SEIZURE ALL MY WRITING AND WRITING MA- 
 TERIAL CAPTURED CHANGE OE QUARTERS AND BREAD AND 
 
 WATER BULLY POWER'S ATTEMPT TO BULLY ME SEPARATION 
 
 FROM OTHER PRISONERS THE SOLDIER PRISONERS TELEGRAPH- 
 ING THROUGH THE WALLS HONOR AMONGST THIEVES A 
 
 " CEDAR " LOST AND MY SEARCH FOR IT JOHNNY O'BRIEN AND 
 
 THE IRISH REPUBLIC — MY PRISON POET TURN YOUR FACE TO 
 
 THE WALL NEW CONFEDERATES THE RED BLOOD OF IRELAND 
 
 WILL RISE IN ENGLAND REFLECTIONS THE ROAD TO FREEDOM 
 
 DANGEROUS — LORD MAC AULA y's NEW ZEALANDER — SWALLOWING 
 AN INK-BOTTLE — STEALING PAPER — JOHN DEVOY AND OTHER 
 
 NEW-COMERS SWALLOWING POWER'S PENCIL SKELETON 
 
 WEIGHT. 
 
 On my arrival in Millbank I made an effort to get dissociated 
 from the English convicts, but it was a fruitless one. After a time, 
 however, the authorities had to change their tactics and dissociate 
 me from them of their own accord; then their efforts were to keep 
 me away from them altogether. I went to Captain Gambier one 
 day with this application : " Governor, during my hour's exercise 
 I am put working the pump in company with your murderers and 
 thieves, and I ask to be relieved of their companionship." " Cer- 
 
226 O^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 lainly not, you are no more than any other prisoner here, and you 
 must take your exercise the same as others." "Well, what do you 
 sav if I refuse to take exercise at all, and remain in my cell during 
 the hour? I don't want such exercise." "You cannot do that; 
 we have to attend to your health, and you will have to obey the 
 orders laid down by the doctor, or be punished." " Then, you will 
 not allow me to remain in my cell, or remain separate in the yard 
 during exercise." " No." " Very well, that is all I want to see you 
 about." " Right about face, forward," and out I marched. 
 
 Working the pump was not unpleasant in its way; it tended to 
 develop the muscles, and it gave me a lot of thievish information. 
 Thirty of us were in the gang, and fifteen of us stood at each side 
 of the crank, facing each other. We laid hold of the iron bars hand 
 after hand; the officer cried " On," we worked; our bodies bent, 
 our heads came together at every revolution of the iron, and a 
 whisper of some kind passed. Those professionals could whisper 
 without moving a lip or a muscle of the face, and I took much 
 interest in listening to their stories. They all trusted me ; they 
 knew I wouldn't " stag;" and while I was with them I learned how 
 several celebrated burglaries were committed, who committed them 
 and what was done with the " swag." This was a reception prison, 
 and new hands coming in were in great demand for news. I wanted 
 news from them, too, and when I could not get near a new importa- 
 tion, those who could would learn as much as possible from him 
 about Ireland, and come alongside of me next day and tell me how 
 they were going on there. Will I say it ? Yes. Nearly half these 
 men were of Irish parents, and their crimes were traceable to poverty 
 and whisky — two things which the Irish people could well afford to 
 get rid of, and which are a curse to any people they afflict. 
 
 I was working on the pump one day, and the man facing me was 
 whispering a story about Chatham Prison. He said " It was the 
 hungriest place he was ever in; they felt half-starved and the work 
 was very hard. Many of us," said he, " struck work for more food, 
 but that only brought us more hunger, for the whole of them didn't 
 stick out. I told them there was no chance of getting an increase 
 until we killed a 'screw' and ate him. I offered to kill him if the 
 others would help me to eat him, but the whole of them would not 
 agree to that, and I got so disgusted with them that I was glad to 
 be sent away. You see, there would be no use in us killing him 
 unless we ate him, and until one of those ' Blokes ' is eaten they'll 
 keep starving us." I looked at the fellow as much as to say, are you 
 serious, and I believe he was. He became a great friend of mine, 
 would do anything at all for me. When I'd be after spending a few 
 days on bread and water he'd slope his way till he'd get alongside 
 of me on the pump, and then he'd keep giving me sympathy by 
 cursing my tormentors as wickedly as he could. 
 
 " They want to kill you. Can't they let you alone as they let 
 us." Another curse, and so on, till he'd wind up by saying, " you 
 
0' 'Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 227 
 
 must be very hungry. I'll bring you my breakfast loaf to chapel 
 to-morrow." " No, no." " Yes I will, and by heavens if you get 
 me into any trouble by not taking it quickly when I pass it to you 
 I'll have your life." To-morrow morning would come, he'd be seated 
 on the same stool with me and live or six others between us. The 
 officer in charge of us would turn his head, and the loaf would be 
 turned from one to another till it reached me. There was no alter- 
 native but to be as quick as another in taking and hiding it, other- 
 wise the whole party might get into trouble. 
 
 Some people ask me to-day how I was able to stand all the "br ead 
 and water " I got, but I tell you that I was supported by those un- 
 fortunate convicts. And I suppose the authorities themselves won- 
 dered that their starvation process was not having the desired effect. 
 Barrett, the son of a Bandon man, knew two masons named Mur- 
 ray that I knew in Dunmanway, and he not alone should have me 
 take bread from him, but^ as he was ward cleaner, he would steal 
 pens and pencils, and scrape up bits of white paper for me. Mur- 
 phy, a Ballincollig man, who was sentenced to five years on a charge 
 of manslaughter, told me he saw me at a certain time at the house of 
 Tim Donoghue, from Ross, in London, and I was there. It was Bar- 
 rett's uncle who was killed in the fight for which Murphy was sen- 
 tenced, and when Barrett came to know this, Murphy had to be 
 sent into another party, as they could not live in peace. When he 
 left he had one of my surreptitious letters, as he was expecting to 
 be sent to another prison, and he said he Mould try and pass it into 
 the outside world as he was passing through it, but I did not hear 
 of either since. 
 
 We got a bath once a fortnight, and were taken to it during the 
 time we were at exercise. There were four troughs, with holes in 
 the side boards to let the water pass through all. Four men were 
 called, and when they had bathed and dressed, four more, and so 
 on till all were done. Whether by accident or design, it scarcely 
 ever happened that I was one of the first called, and I never had 
 clean water more than once or twice. The dirty soap suds would 
 scum the surface. Some of the officers in charge would make me 
 strip and go in, but others of them would not press me, contenting 
 themselves with having me wash my feet. This was the only mat- 
 ter remedied by Knox and Pollock. After their visit, and my rep- 
 resentation to them on this head, I got clean water every time I 
 bathed. 
 
 I could not forget Gambier, and I had to come before him again 
 to bring the conduct and the contrary orders of his officers under 
 his notice. When I was punished repeatedly for not doing my 
 task-work every day, the two officers that came to strip me began 
 talking to me while they were searching my clothes, asking me 
 why I was not picking my quantity of coir. I told them I was 
 doing my best, but the little cords were so small and hard that it 
 was a difficult task. The principal officer said — 
 
228 0"* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 " We have a man, Murphy, in another ward, and he can do his 
 work in three hours. When he gets his bundle of coir, he puts it 
 into his bucket of water, lets it soak there awhile, then takes it 
 out and tramples it till he has it softened and torn asunder." 
 Saying this, he took hold of my bundle of coir and put it into my 
 water-bucket. He told me to squeeze the water out of it, and when 
 I laid it on the floor, he trampled on it in the Murphy fashion for a 
 few minutes. I went at it alter him, and I found that his prepara- 
 tory process made the performance of my task easier. But there is 
 a sequel to this story, and here it is. Next week I was placed 
 under report on a charge of wetting my coir, and, as well as I re- 
 member now, I think I let the charge go on without making any 
 reply to it ; but the following week I went before my friend Capt. 
 Gambier, and charged the Governor with punishing me for acting 
 in obedience to orders. I then told how Cooper, a principal, and 
 another principal, whose name I forget, gave me the instructions 
 about wetting the coir. The two were sent for, and denied every 
 word of it. I asked Cpoper if he did not tell the story about 
 Murphy, and I asked the other if he did not trample on the coir, 
 and they put on an indignant face to think they should say or 
 do such things. I think I was getting mad myself to think I was 
 foiled this way, and, as a last resource, I said to the Director — ■ 
 " Why, Mr. Brown, the ward officer, was present, and I ask you, 
 Captain Gambier, to send for this man, and not let him know what 
 he is wanted for till he is in your presence." 
 
 Brown was sent for, and his evidence corroborated mine. Then 
 the Governor brought him to account, why he allowed coir to be 
 wet in his ward, and his reply was, that he had no one coir-picking 
 but me, and the coir I got was next to impossible to pick without 
 wetting. Then Power, the head warder, came in with his say, and 
 said he was twenty-five years in that prison, and never saw a bit of 
 coir wet there, which, to my mind, was a big lie, because I learned 
 from the prisoners that the practice was general; however, as 
 charges had to be trumped up against me, practice or precedent 
 was nothing. I told Captain Gambier to bear in mind that not 
 alone was 1 put on punishment work when no other prisoner in my 
 ward was on it, but I got work that was next to impossible to do, 
 and that I was punished, in doing it, for acting according to the di- 
 rections of the officers. " It is all your own fault," said he ; " why 
 didn't you tell the Governor when the charge was preferred against 
 you?" " No," said I, " I have a desire to have a thorough expe- 
 rience of how you conduct those model prisons of your, and I have 
 no wish to interfere with the requirements of the law in my case." 
 " I see you are getting into a very bad spirit, and instead of im- 
 proving it is getting worse you are. , God knows I am sorry for 
 you." " You may, but be very sure the present style of treatment 
 will never improve me." And so ended this interview with my 
 polished Director. 
 
O* Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 229 
 
 In May, '67, a change came over the spirit of my dream, but my 
 reader may be sure it was no change for the better. I was at my 
 Sunday's exercise and working at the pump, at a crank, in an isolated 
 corner between two walls, for by this time they had put me away 
 into this punishment corner, thinking I was deriving some informa- 
 tion or consolation from the whisperings of the other convicts when 
 mixed up with them while pumping. It was Sunday, and while the 
 crank was going round I heard an order " Halt," and when the halt 
 was made the call of "Rossa," I looked behind and saw two officers 
 motioning to me to " come on." They conducted me to my cell and 
 ordered me to strip. " What's up now, Governor?" "You know 
 well what's up," said one of them, " and we want you to strip." I 
 went through the process and nothing was found on my person or in 
 my clothes. " Put out your broom." I obeyed orders, and when 
 they locked the door I began to ask myself what the deuce can it 
 mean ? I made for the window and, woe of woes, there was no black 
 thread tied to the bar — my ink-bottle was gone. I went to the slit 
 under my bed board and my two steel nibs were gone. I searched 
 between the gas pipe and the wall and my writing pen was gone ; I 
 went to another hole in the corner of my cell and the letter I had 
 concealed there was gone. There was a general seizure — a clear 
 sweep had been made of all my treasured articles. While meditat- 
 ing on the misfortunes that await humanity, and the " bread and 
 water " that was in store for me, my cell was opened and in marched 
 big Power with four or five jailers. "Tell me where you got 
 that ink-bottle ? " The way he stood before me, and the author- 
 itative tone in which he put the question, stirred my bad blood, and, 
 moving close to him, looking up into his face, I said, with as much 
 opposition as I could put into my tone, " I will not tell you where 
 I got that ink-bottle." He came in with his guards to bully me, but 
 he quailed down immediately and sneaked out, telling the officers to 
 take me on. I was taken to another cell in another part of the prison, 
 and kept there till further troubles removed me again. 
 
 When I was summoned to the bar of justice on the charge of hav- 
 ing ink-bottles, pens, and letters concealed, I was much amused at 
 listening to Power's complaint as to the insult I offered to himself. 
 " When I asked him, sir, where he got the ink-bottle, you should 
 see the way he swelled up to me as if he would bully me from doing 
 my duty. If I was the commonest man in England he could not 
 speak to me worse than he did. I am twenty -five years in this 
 prison and I never got such an insult. I never came across a more 
 refractory prisoner." I smiled at the compliment. I was ordered 
 seventy-two hours on bread and water, and it was further ordered 
 that I be not allowed to approach any other prisoner, that I be ex- 
 ercised in a separate yard, and that I be taken to chapel in a separate 
 manner. So that this was forcing them to do what I asked them to 
 do at first — to separate me from the other prisoners. My whole 
 fight was, to force them to recognize a difference between us politi- 
 
230 O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 cal prisoners and the ordinary convicts, and they were obliged to 
 do so in the end. 
 
 I don't know how it came to pass that all my property was seized 
 in my cells. I had two of these cells — a day one and a night one. 
 The night one happened to be situated in the ward where were con- 
 fined ten or twelve of the Irishmen who were convicted when they 
 were on English soldier service in Ireland. 
 
 After going to bed one night I heard some tapping on the wall 
 at the foot of my bed. Hallo, said I, this is a signal from some 
 one, and I set about thinking how to answer it. I turned my bed 
 upside down — that is, I changed my head to my feet, and I signaled 
 in reply. The gas was burning in my cell, and the watch, on com- 
 ing round, seeing how I had transposed myself, cried out, " What 
 are you doing that way ; can't you sleep as every one else sleeps ?" 
 " Now, Governor, what's the use in kicking up a noise ; don't you 
 know that every one else has no light in his cell. If you put out 
 the gas I will change myself, but I could not sleep well the other 
 way, as the light was full in my face." He seemed to be satisfied, 
 and walked away. I got a chance of signaling a few sentences 
 through the wall, and I learned that the man in the next cell to me 
 was one of the Irish soldiers. We formed a signal to recognize each 
 other at the chapel next morning, and made arrangements to 
 have a long talk next evening, before we went to bed, as I got into 
 this cell half an hour before bed-time, and during that half hour the 
 officers were so busy locking up we could have any amount of con- 
 versation unknown to them. But mind, the conversation was to be 
 through the wall, and it was not such a wall as Pyramus andThisbe 
 had, with a slit in it, through which the lovers could kiss each 
 other, but a strong stone and brick one, built to keep prisoners se- 
 cure, and keep them apart. But stone walls will not prevent souls 
 from communicating, and prisoners invented a scheme by which they 
 could cheat their jailers out of this forbidden consolation^ I learnt 
 this, and through it I became acquainted with Augustine Elligot 
 Costello andRickard O'Sullivan Burke before I ever saw their faces. 
 I met John Devoy through stone walls, when the authorities were 
 resorting to all tricks to keep me from meeting any one. But these 
 adventures are a year and a-half in advance of Keating's acquaint- 
 ance. I will not give the details until I come to them in the due 
 order of time. 
 
 Next morning, at chapel, I recognized my acquaintance by the 
 signal given to me the night before. He, with ten or twelve com- 
 panions, were sitting three stools behind me. That night I had a 
 long talk with him. I learned that his name was Keating, and he 
 belonged to Clare; that he was in the Carbineers a long time; that 
 he escorted Thomas Clarke Luby to prison, and also had the unde- 
 frired honor of escorting John Mitchel on his way to penal servitude 
 in '48 ; that Foley, who belonged to his party, used to make up my 
 cell every morning after I left it, and that any message I left in it 
 
O* Donovan Iiossa?s Prison Life. 231 
 
 would be found by him and attended to. I told him to tell Foley 
 to look behind the card that was hanging on the wall and he would 
 find a letter from me, which they were to get into the world if they 
 could. It was one of the reserves I had in case a chance offered of 
 passing it out, and I placed it behind the rules and regulations that 
 hung on the wall. That was to be the post-office between me and 
 the soldiers ; but the anthorities made a seizure of all my post- 
 offices, and I do not know was it here or in the other cell they made 
 the first discovery. Possibly it was Li this one, as a principal officer 
 goes around every day on a tour of inspection; if he only touched 
 my card the letter would fall down, and then a general search would 
 be ordered to discover my writing materials. This is the only way 
 I can account for the detection — either that or another prisoner in 
 one of the cells under us might have been listening while we were 
 rapping, and have given information. 
 
 I lost the society of the soldiers, and I did not see any of them 
 after that. My cell was changed, my place in the chapel was 
 changed, my place of exercise was changed, and — most wonderful 
 change of all — my closet-paper was changed to old rags. 
 
 I think I may claim the honor of driving Gambier, Stopford, Du 
 Cane, Fagan, and seven or eight other prison directors, to their wits- 
 ends. They never had such a case before ; they never had to contend 
 with such a persistent effort on the part of a prisoner to make his 
 treatment known. Here they were, twelve men, versed in every ap- 
 pliance requisite to break the most unruly into discipline, having 
 power to starve him into quiet, eternal repose if he could not be 
 brought under any other way. Only think of these cool calculators 
 — representatives of the power that would open all the other prisons 
 of the world to the gaze of humanity — sitting down in council, dis- 
 cussing the measures that were to bo adopted to prevent me from 
 making known how they were treating me, and gravely deciding 
 that I was to have no more waste paper for " purposes of nature," 
 but that the warder in charge of me was to supply me with old rags 
 as a substitute. 
 
 In my new cell the most vigilant watch was kept over me, yet 
 all the watches in the world could not keep the sympathy of the 
 other prisoners from me, and their sympathy brought me relief. 
 When a man is in such difficulties as make it patent to all around 
 him that there is no possible return to be made for any assistance 
 given to him, you cannot imagine his feelings when he finds his 
 fellow-man so noble as to give him a helping hand. And when this 
 helping hand is extended by those whom society regards as the 
 vilest of its component parts, how noble must the noblest of them 
 be if man had a fair field for the exercise of his humanity. But, 
 after all, there may be as noble elements of human nature in the 
 thieves I met in Millbank as in the Lords and Commons of England- 
 Had the lords been born and reared as the thieves were, and had the 
 
232 0' } Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 thieves been born lords, I would bet " my bottom dollar " that we'd 
 have as good thieves and as good lords as we have at present. 
 
 My " character " seemed to follow me to my new quarters, and my 
 new neighbors seemed to know all about me. They knew that paper 
 and pencil, pen and ink were things much desired by me, and as 
 they were sweeping and scrubbing the hall in the morning they 
 would linger outside my door to whisper consolation to me through 
 the slit in the wall. " Cheer up, Rossa, we'll stand to you." He'd 
 pass by, and another would approach whispering, " Do you want a 
 cedar V" I did not know at the time what a cedar was, but as I was 
 in the want of everything that creation contained, I whispered back 
 the reply, " yes," and immediately a splendid lead pencil three or 
 four inches long was hurled in through the slit. Where in the 
 world was I to hide it! The stripping naked and the searching of 
 the cell was to come on by-and-bye. 
 
 I should find a hiding place or be detected. There was a slit 
 between my bed-board and the wall; when I probed it with my tin 
 knife I could find no bottom, but, as I could find no other place, I 
 decided on trying this. Where was I to get a bit of thread ? Yes, 
 there was the towel ; I drew a couple of threads out of it, and, 
 twisting them into one, tied it to my pencil and let it down into the 
 hole. I found bottom, and then I hitched the end of my line to a 
 splinter [ fashioned on the edge of the board. This was the first 
 morning I came into my new cell ; the report against me came on 
 that day, and I had my three days' bread and water in a punish- 
 ment cell. When I came back the first thing I did was to run to 
 my hiding-place and see if the "cedar" was all right; but, alas, it 
 was gone. I could not find the end of the string, and the pencil lay 
 in the black hole below. How was I to recover it ? Yes, there was 
 one chance, and I would try it. Next morning I brought in a 
 bucket-full of water to scrub my cell ; I threw some of it into the 
 hole to see if my cedar would float up. It did not come at the first 
 attempt, and when the waters had subsided I filled the hole a second 
 time. 'Twas no use. I kept working at that hole till I had used 
 up all my bucket of water; no pencil made its appearance. I gave 
 up the search in despair and prepared myself for consequences, as I 
 knew the water was to turn up somewhere. I dried my cell and 
 went to work at picking my coir. In about an hour or so the water 
 had moistened matters, and it began to ooze out from under my 
 bedstead. My cell was soon flooded, and the warder came and 
 asked what was the matter. " By Jove, Governor, I spilled my 
 pail of water to-day, and some of it must have gone down that 
 slit there between the bedstead and the wall." That was truth ; I 
 did spill the water, and I took very good care that some of it went 
 down the slit. I never told these gentlemen a lie, but I never told 
 them the whole truth either. I was ordered to dry up my cell, 
 and, as the water kept running out all day, I had to keep drying it 
 up all day. Next morning I was ordered temporarily into another 
 
0"* Donovan Rossds Prison Life, 233 
 
 cell, and when I came back to my own I found the slit had been 
 plastered up with cement, and not a hole had been left anywhere 
 that as much as a pin's point could enter. 
 
 I whispered my misfortune to my neighbors, and I was not long 
 without another pencil. The greatest difficulty I had was in mak- 
 ing them understand that I was in want of as much paper as would 
 enable me to let them know in writing what I wanted. At last 
 they threw me in some brown paper, and next morning I had a note 
 written, telling what I needed. In course of time, we established a 
 post-office in the water-closet, and every morning regularly, for 
 weeks, I found letters there. It was here I got anything like 
 an account of what had occurred in the world since I left it. It was 
 here I first learned how everything had failed ; how all the hopes 
 of early years had been disappointed. Johnny O'Brien was in an- 
 other part of the ward ; he had a chance of calling at my post-office, 
 and he gave me a detailed account of bow thin s went on. He was 
 a druo-o-ist's clerk in London ; he left his situation ; went to Ireland 
 and enlisted in a regiment there, in order to teach love of country 
 to the Irishmen who were in it. When the trouble came, he was 
 put in prison, got some kind of a trial, and was sentenced to penal 
 servitude for life. His sentence was read to him in presence of the 
 regiment, and when all the ceremonies of " degradation " were gone 
 through, he gave a hurrah for "the Irish Republic." He was a 
 well-educated, handsome young fellow, about 21 years of age. At 
 the time I met him in Millbank, he told me he would be allowed to 
 rejoin his regiment if he recanted and volunteered for India ; but he 
 would not do it. He is still in prison in England. I met him two 
 years afterwards in Chatham, and learned that he was all along sub- 
 jected to unusually severe treatment. Murtagh and Kavanagh, two 
 other soldiers of the same regiment, were sentenced with him, one 
 to five, and the other to seven years. These are out of prison now, 
 but O'Brien is still in, the Prime Minister of England meanly refus- 
 ing to look upon him as a political prisoner. 
 
 There was a poet in this crowd of neighbors I got into, and one 
 day I found in the post-office verses from him. They were written 
 in the heroic style. I mean in the style that made a hero of me. 
 The poet begged of me to preserve them as a memento of him, but 
 the first thing I did after reading them was to burn them with 
 the gas that was burning in my cell at early morning — for to pre- 
 serve these verses would be certain destruction to me. 
 
 They were written by an Englishman, and taking all things into 
 consideration, they were not very badly written. I was lauded as 
 a man who was suffering for his country, and who even in prison 
 was trying to carry on the fight against the enemy. 
 
 When my gang was taken out to get their hour's exercise I was 
 allowed to walk a respectable distance behind them, but on no con 
 sideration was I allowed so near the last man as to be able to hear 
 a whisper from him. I cheated the warder sometimes as we were 
 
234 O 1 * Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 passing through a winding tower down into the lower yard. The 
 last man would loiter behind about the middle of the stairs ; I'd 
 step fast to catch what he had to whisper or give to me, while the 
 jailer was locking the tower gate. 
 
 We had to pass through a small yard, in which I was left in 
 charge of an officer, while the others were taken to the general exer- 
 cise ground. When the hour was up my party had to pass through 
 again, and I had to go in after them, but lest any signal should 
 pass between us, I had to turn my face to the wall while they were 
 
 f entering, the officer standing between me and them, so that I would 
 not be able to have even a squint at them. At a particular time 
 a very imperious officer was my supervisor, and he issued his orders 
 in such an impudent tone that I one day refused to turn my face to 
 the wall. He caught hold of me and turned me around, and as 
 soon as his hands were off I returned to the front. He caught 
 me again, and I said, " Take your hands off me." " Turn your face 
 to the wall." " I will not." " You must." " I tell you I will not; 
 you can report me, but you are not allowed to assault me; I am to 
 be treated here like any other prisoner, and 1 see no one else turn- 
 ing his face to the wall during exercise." He let go his hold of me, 
 but, of course, reported my disobedience to his superiors. 
 
 In this little yard was a shed, in which men finished the mats 
 that were made in the cells, and outside the shed three or four men 
 occasionally worked, packing the oakum that was picked. These 
 men saw my row with the officer, and it must have brought me 
 some of their sympathy, because, in a few days after, as I was pac- 
 ing around, I thought I heard the whisper, " Do you want any- 
 thing?" The man who gave the whisper had his back turned to 
 me, and soon as I was again passing near to where he stood, I trod 
 the ground lightly, and kept my ears open. Sure enough, there it 
 was again — "Do you want anything?" — and the next time I was 
 passing I whispered, " A cedar." Then, for five or six times that I 
 went around, we gave question and answer, and it was arranged 
 that I go to the closet after him next day, and I would get a mes- 
 
 ■ sage from him in a certain corner of it. I went, and found a letter, 
 a pencil and paper. He could get me anything I wanted for a little 
 money, and next day I wrote back, giving him an order for three 
 pounds, payable when presented to a friend in London. I wrote 
 this order so that the three pounds could not be changed to a higher 
 figure, and it was returned to me with a request that I would sign 
 my name on a blank leaf of paper that was given. I gave an excuse 
 for not doing this, and before our negotiations were ended I got into 
 trouble, out of which I was not released for six or eight months. 
 
 As I was shaving, I cut my neck, and the blood flowed freely on 
 the flags. There was a little pool of it, and the circumstance bring- 
 ing to my mind some story of a Duke of Burgundy wounded on a 
 battle-field, exclaiming in French — " See how flows the red blood of 
 Burgundy" — I took hold of my slate pencil, and dipping it in the 
 
O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 235 
 
 blood, I wrote on the door of my cell these words — " Le sang rouge 
 d'lrlande coule en Angleterre " — " the red blood of Ireland flows in 
 England." 
 
 As I had done shaving, and before I had wiped the blood off 
 the door, the officer came to take me to exercise, and while I was 
 out, the writing was discovered. I was ordered in from exercise 
 before my hour was up, and when I came in I was ordered to put 
 out my broom. 
 
 Next day I was taken before the Governor, and while all the offi- 
 cers around looked daggers at me, and trembled with horror at the 
 terrible import of my prophecy, I was charged with writing on my 
 door, in letters of blood — 
 
 " The red blood of Ireland will rise in England." 
 
 " What have you to say to this charge ?" 
 
 " I say it is false." 
 
 " What ?" " I sav it is false." 
 
 " Do you mean to say those words were not written on your 
 door?" "I do." 
 
 Then the evidence was taken how one officer went to search my 
 cell, and how he saw the writing ; how he went for another officer ; 
 how these two went for head warder Power; and how he decided 
 that, as the writing was in Latin, it was better send for a school- 
 master ; how the schoolmaster came and went for another school- 
 master ; how, in the end, three or four of the schoolmasters together 
 translated the Latin, and how the translation was finally entered on 
 the report book. 1 told them the translators or some one else gave 
 the words a most malicious turn, and I asked that the sentence be 
 taken down as it was written on the door, but the Governor would 
 make no change. He said I acted wrong in writing anything, and 
 would give me forty-eight hours on bread and water. 
 
 When the forty-eight hours were up, I put my name down to see 
 the Director, and when he came, I applied to him to change the re- 
 cord of that report against me. My words were quite innocent — 
 " the red blood of Ireland flows in England " — but when they 
 changed that into "the red blood of Ireland will rise in England," 
 they must have a very great desire to misrepresent me. I asked 
 why the original words were not copied, but all the satisfaction I 
 got was to be told that I had no right to write them at all. 
 
 I have no doubt but that this terrible prophecy of the red blood 
 of Ireland rising in England was sent before a Cabinet Council, and 
 that it did its business in supporting some argument in favor of co- 
 ercive measures to crush the " rebels " in Ireland and England. 
 
 I was coming from chapel one morning, and, being left in a cor- 
 ner of the passage till all the other men would pass to their several 
 wards, I saw a man pass me whom I was sure I knew. I was taken 
 to my exercise ground, where I kept thinking and thinking who 
 tb«t man could be. It was a puzzle to me for a few days, when, 
 
236 ] * Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 looking at him in chapel again, I recognized him as Edmond Power. 
 I set my wits to wbrk to communicate with him, and, having suc- 
 ceeded, I learned that a number were lately convicted and were now 
 fellow-boarders of mine — John Devoy, St. Clair, John Warren, John 
 M'Cafterty, Tom Bourke, Augustine Costello, Edward Duffy, Ste- 
 phen Joseph Meany, Patrick Walsh, Denis Cashman, etc. I kept 
 my eyes open, and bye-and-bye I got into communication with Cos- 
 tello, who told me his adventure of how he and others came in a 
 small craft from America to Ireland. This craft was three weeks 
 on the coast of Ireland. She first made Sligo Bay, and, not being 
 met there to her satisfaction, she came around to Dungarvan, landed 
 her men, and made her way back to America in safety. It was new 
 news for me to hear, and I made the most out of Costello till the 
 fates put us out of each other's reach. 
 
 Power prayed at chapel three or four stools away from me, but 
 there was soon a cordon of communication established between us 
 and bulletins passed regularly. I got a parcel one morning about 
 the size of a marble. As prayers were ended, and I was leaving my 
 seat Power's eyes and mine met, and I saw him put his finger into 
 his mouth ; this I took to mean that I was to keep the message in 
 my mouth, so that if I was suddenly seized upon I could swallow it. 
 I knew there was danger somewhere around, and, as I got into the 
 exercise yard, I made a signal to go to the water-closet. When 
 there I opened my parcel, which contained a bit of lead-pencil and 
 a note, in which I was informed that in consequence of some dis- 
 covery there was the closest search going on, that he (Power) was 
 stripped three times the preceding day, and that I was to keep the 
 bit of pencil safe for him. I destroyed the note after reading it, 
 and I secured the pencil in the collar of my shirt, near to where it 
 buttoned, so that, if taken by surprise, I would, when unbuttoning, 
 have the best chance of being able, unnoticed, to pass the little par- 
 cel into my mouth. 
 
 I was not allowed much time for reflections, for immediately two 
 officers appeared on the ground. " Rossa, come on this way." The 
 way led into the tower, and there they ordered me to strip. " Well, 
 well, this is the newest thing yet — stripping in such a place as this; 
 what in the world is up now, that you could not take me to my cell 
 and strip me there ?" And as I was talking I commenced stripping 
 with a hearty good will, so as to keep them engaged and make them 
 less watchful. I had the jacket, trowsers, and waistcoat given to 
 them in less than a minute, and as I was unbuttoning my shirt-col- 
 lar the bit of pencil passed, as the jugglers say, " by a slight turn 
 of the wrist," from its hiding-place into my mouth. It would not 
 do to keep it there, for the mouth was to be examined too. I had 
 to swallow it. The first effort failed, and I found I had to give it 
 time to moisten before it would go down. The searchers found 
 nothing, or noticed nothing, and I this time escaped my merited 
 share of bread and water. 
 
O* Donovan Rossds Prison Life* 237 
 
 The chief medical officer of the establishment was a Dr. Gover, 
 and I thought I would have a trial of him on the question of the 
 starvation of an Irish political prisoner in an English prison. One 
 day that he came around on his examination tour I represented to 
 him that I was not supplied with a sufficiency of coarse food, a thing 
 which I thought no civilized nation refused to its political prisoner. 
 After some conversation on my punishments, and on the weight I 
 lost on account of them, he decided he would have me weighed, 
 and if I was reducing in weight he would consider my application. 
 Now, you must knoAV it was next to impossible I could reduce in 
 weight since I came to Millbank, for I was so reduced coming there, 
 from the cold and hunger I experienced in Portland, that I could 
 not go down much further. 
 
 I was a mere skeleton of skin and bone. The first day Dr. Gover 
 weighed me I turned the scale at 145 pounds and three-quarters ; 
 the next time it was 145, and the third time 146. Dr. Gover said 
 he would be very happy to give me more food, but, as this was 
 about my weight coming to Millbank, I had reduced nothing under 
 his charge, and, as there was so much particularity about my treat- 
 ment, he should allow the discipline to take its course ; but some 
 months after, I think, he put a veto on my getting further punish- 
 ment, which was in a short time again re-vetoed by Captain Gam* 
 bier, my genial director. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WIPE'S VISIT — LIES ABOUT LETTERS — KNOX AND POLLOCK — A CAS- 
 TLEBAR MAN STEALING INK FOR ME STEALING PAPER A NAR- 
 ROW ESCAPE MY LOVE LETTER AND THE SHAM INQUIRY 
 
 LYING AGAIN LORD DEVON'S COMMISSION WRITING AMONGST 
 
 FLEAS PUNISHED FOR HAVING MY TASK WORK DONE BEFORE 
 
 TIME REFUSE TO GO TO PUNISHMENT CELL A TERRIBLE CHOK- 
 ING AND DRAGGING 1 BARRICADE MY DOOR — IT IS BROKEN IN 
 
 FOUR MONTHS' CELLS MEETING JOHN DEVOY TAKEN ILL 
 
 DR. POCKLINGTON MY BODY COVERED WITH BOILS EFFECTS 
 
 OF LOW DIET AND CONFINEMENT MEDITATED MUTINY AND 
 
 OUTBREAK THE DEVIL VISITS ME REFLECTIONS ON " BURKE 
 
 AND FROUDE " MY BOOKS TAKEN AWAY AND RETURNED AGAIN 
 
 1 THREATEN TO DESTROY CELL AND MUFFLE MY GASLIGHT 
 
 VOLUNTEERING TO WESTERN AUSTRALIA MANCHESTER RESCUE 
 
 SOLDIERS GUARDING US OUT OF " PUNISHMENT " AND IN IT 
 
 SOON AGAIN MEETING JAMES XAVIER O'BRIEN PATRICK LEN- 
 
 NON STRIPPED NAKED EVERY DAY BREAKING SPY-HOLE AND 
 
 DOOR HANDCUFFS, BLOODY WRISTS, AND DARK CELLS THROT- 
 TLING AND THREATENING EATING " ON ALL FOURS " BREAK 
 
 MY SPOON AND WOODEN DISH — STUFF THE KEY-HOLE AND HAVE 
 A LITTLE FUN, AND GET MORE BREAD AND WATER FOR IT. 
 
 I was taken out of my cell one day, and led through corridors I 
 never traveled before. Something new must be up now, thought I, 
 and true for me, because as I was ushered into a place that resem- 
 bled a menagerie for wild beasts, a door opened, and my wife stood 
 before me. But we had to keep a respectful distance from each oth- 
 er, as two strong wire screens separated us. She was in one com- 
 partment with big Power accompanying her ; I was in the other 
 with my guardian, and we had twenty minutes to talk across the di- 
 viding space with these two listening, and the head warder inter- 
 rupting the conversation whenever I touched upon the treatment I 
 was receiving. 
 
 My wife was going to America to earn a livelihood there; she 
 wrote to the Governor of the prison, asking him to tell me she was 
 coming to see me before she sailed, but he never told me a word of 
 it; she took me completely by surprise, and this was what the au- 
 thorities desired, so that I could have no story prepared for her. 
 She told me she wrote a letter to Portland six months before, in- 
 
0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 239 
 
 forming me of her intention to emigrate. I never heard of such a 
 letter, and Power said it never came to the prison, but six months 
 afterwards I learned they were telling me lies about it. I was ask- 
 ing the Deputy-Governor some questions about the suppression of 
 my letters ; he referred to this one that came with me from Port- 
 land, and after several applications to the Director he allowed me 
 to have a part of it to read and be given back again. The bare 
 twenty minutes was allowed for my wife's visit. There was no 
 chance of having a shake hands at parting. Her last words were — 
 to have hope, and not to let my spirits sink. It puzzled me to know 
 why she would speak this way, particularly as she spoke the words 
 with a firmness that indicated there was some reason to have a hope. 
 She now tells me she was at the time fully confident of being able 
 to succeed in having me stolen out of prison. She had borrowed a 
 hundred pounds to effect my release ; she had the money with her. 
 She had impressions on wax of the keys that opened several of the 
 doors which stood between me and the world, but in consequence 
 of the many removals of me from one cell to another, the men who 
 were assisting could not get command of all that was necessary. 
 She had to give up the endeavor ; paid back the money, and went 
 to America. 
 
 She told me there was to be a Commission of Inquiry concerning 
 our treatment, but she was immediately ordered to give me no in- 
 formation on that subject. The public might want to have a little 
 light thrown on the matter, but it was absolutely necessary to keep 
 me in the dark, so that I would not be prepared for what was com- 
 ing. Everything was to come on me by surprise, so as to disconcert 
 me, and render me unable to defeat " the ends of justice." 
 
 And didn't this Commission of Knox and Pollock take me by 
 surprise ? — and wasn't I disconcerted ? Yes, truly ; and often have 
 I laughed at the position it caught me in, and the escape I had from 
 detection while committirg the most heinous crime of writing on 
 forbidden paper with forbidden pen and ink. 
 
 One morning at chapel, while the priest was repeating the litany, 
 and the prisoners responding aloud, I heard a voice behind address- 
 ing a few words to me at every response, and I cocked my ears to 
 allow as much as possible of the whisper to enter. " Have mercy 
 on us," cried the congregation. " I'll get you paper," cried the voice 
 behind me. "Have mercy on us," — "and pen and ink." "Have mercy 
 on us," — " our baker can send the letter," and so on, the prisoners in 
 our neighborhood responding louder and louder, w T hen they noticed 
 we were communicating. When I was leaving the chapel, I took a 
 glance at the man that was whispering to me, and next morning I 
 noticed he was two or three seats back of me. By-and-by, 
 when the responses were being given, w r ord was passed to me to 
 " get ready," and in the bustle of rising from our knees, something 
 was passed to me which I covered with my check pockethandker- 
 . chief. After getting to my cell, I opened my parcel; it consisted 
 
240 ^Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 V 
 
 of a letter, a writing pen, a sheet of paper and envelope, and a piece 
 of thick flannel rag saturated with ink. My first move was to put 
 out the red end of my signal "board through the slit in the wall, to 
 signify that I wanted to go to the water closet, and in my hiding- 
 place there I secured all I got except the letter, which I brought 
 !>ack to my cell to read. The writer was a Castlebar Irishman; he 
 had heard of the straits I was in for writing material, and he had 
 made arrangements with a fellow-prisoner who worked in the bake- 
 house to get a letter conveyed out for me. He would keep me sup- 
 plied with ink, because he got schooling, and when the ink-bottle 
 was left with him to write, he could steal the ink into the flannel 
 rag. 
 
 At this time I had in my hiding-place an abundant supply of fine 
 white paper — five or six sheets of it, but this I stole myself. In 
 going to chapel I was taken out of my cell and made to stand in a 
 corner till all the other prisoners had passed. The warder stood in 
 view of me, but I stood in view of the warder also, and when he 
 turned his head aside I turned my eyes to take observations. I noticed 
 on the shelf a large book in which he kept an account of the work. 
 I opened it, one-half of my body and one hand in view of the offi- 
 cer, while the other hand was preparing to commit a theft. I saw 
 the book was not paged, and that I could take sheets out of it with- 
 out the loss being noticed. I was the last to go into the chapel 
 from my ward, and the first to come back. My cell was near the 
 corner where the book lay ; the officer kept his eyes on me till I 
 turned the angle ; I was then to enter my cell and shut the door 
 before the other prisoners would pass ; but one morning, as I passed 
 this angle, I paid my respects to the account-book, and, quick as 
 lightning, tore out five or six sheets. 
 
 Having shut my cell-door, I took a fit of coughing in order to 
 make a noise while I was tearing the paper into a convenient size, 
 and when all was right, I put out my signal-board to get to my 
 hiding-place. 
 
 About a week after my wife's visit, I was in full blast writing 
 away in my cell, about ten o'clock in the morning, which was the 
 hour I found myself subject to the least observation. My tin pint 
 contained a squeeze of ink out of the flannel rag ; I had my pen in 
 hand, scrawling for the dear life on a leaf of paper laid on my slate, 
 when tramp, tramp, I heard the approach of officers. I stuck my 
 paper and writing-pen inside the waist of my breeches; the keys 
 turned in the locks, the doors were thrown open, and big Power 
 cr'ed, " Come on, come on." "Wait now, governor," said I, " till I 
 ■o to the water-closet." "No, no, you can't; we are in a great 
 i try." " Well, then, if you are in a hurry, the quickest manner 
 \ u can get on with me is to let me have my way a little; so you 
 may as well let me go to the closet." They did let me, but they 
 stood at the door of it, and I had no chance of further concealing 
 the pen and paper I had on my person. I was led into the Gov- 
 
C Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 241 
 
 ernor's room ; the warders withdrew, and I stood at the bar before 
 two gentlemen who sat inside. They introduced themselves to me 
 as Messrs. Knox and Pollock, and informed me they were commis- 
 sioned to ask me some questions regarding my prison life. 
 
 I questioned them as to how they were appointed, and what 
 were the circumstances that called for their inquiry. They would 
 not tell me; but I was not long under examination before I saw 
 that something I had written got into the world, and caused a little 
 trouble. They questioned me principally on Governor Clifton of 
 Portland, and my letter "to another man's wife," and I found out 
 that Mr. Clifton had gone back of his words, and had been telling 
 them lies. I asked, if this was to be a fair and honest search after 
 truth, that I be brought face to face with Mr. Clifton; that the 
 Portland prison books be produced, together with the correspond- 
 ence, and I would convince them my words were true and his false. 
 
 They had examined Mr. Clifton, they said, but he was now out 
 of town; they would, however, see him again, and may call to see 
 me in a week's time, but I never saw them since. I was for about 
 four hours under their examination, and as I saw the proceedings 
 coming to a close, I made a move to adjust the pen and paper that 
 were still inside the waist of my breeches. I saw they were getting 
 alarmed when they noticed me fumbling with my hands. 
 
 I really believe, from their frightened looks, that they appre- 
 hended I had some concealed weapon with which I was about to 
 assault them, and to allay their fears I told the truth ; that I was 
 caught writing, and got no time to properly conceal my pen, which 
 was distracting my attention all the time I was talking to them. 
 They said I may regard anything that may pass between them and 
 me, as if it passed between the priest and myself at confession ; 
 they would not tell on me ; but I did not much mind at the time 
 whether they w r ould or not, for I was certain that the ink I left in 
 the pint would be discovered in the cell by some warder, and that I 
 was in for the punishment anyway. But for a wonder, it escaped 
 observation, and I escaped that day with all my munitions of war. 
 
 These gentlemen, Knox and Pollock, were extremely polite to 
 me ; you'd think butter would not melt in their mouth, so sweet 
 were they. I thought I gave them every satisfaction We parted 
 apparently on the best of terms, and yet in their report they, in a 
 peculiarly English fashion, cut my throat as if they had never given 
 me a kind word. 
 
 Here are some extracts from it : 
 
 " We now come to the main grievance — namely, that the Gover- 
 nor had charged treason-felony convict J. O'D. Rossa with writing a 
 love-letter to the wife of another convict, Michael Moore. As a fact 
 quite unconnected with this occurrence, the convict, Michael Moore, 
 asked for permission to write a letter to his wife. The Governor, 
 wishing to know whether Moore had any participation with Rossa's 
 letter, replied, ' This is very strange, only a day or two ago Mossa 
 
242 O' } Donovan Rosso? 8 Prison Life. 
 
 tried to pass out a letter to your wife? He said nothing to him about 
 love-letters or any such thing ; Moore flew into a passion, and Mr. 
 Clifton was convinced from his manner that he had nothing to do 
 with Rossa's letter, and so the thing passed oft. The book and 
 letter were forwarded to the Directors in London. A few days 
 afterwards, when the Governor saw Rossa in his office, Rossa charged 
 him in the most insolent terms with having accused him of writing a 
 love-letter to Mrs. Moore. Mr. Clifton replied that he had told 
 Moore he had written a letter to Mrs. Moore, but said nothing about 
 a love-letter, adding words to the effect that he did not mind telling 
 him (Rossa) his own opinion, that when a man writes a letter to 
 another man's wife, begins with the words ' my love,' fills it with 
 expressions of strong devotion, signs it with his name, and forwards 
 it in a surreptitious way, the facts had an awkward look. 
 
 " Mr. Clifton expressly added, in speaking to Rossa, ' A reason 
 the more which makes me think this was never intended for your 
 wife is, that I have far too high an opinion of Mrs. O'Donovan Rossa 
 to think for a moment she would aid you in infringing the prison 
 rules.' " 
 
 That passage from Knox and Pollock's report, referred to the 
 funny charge made against me of writing a love-letter to another 
 man's wife. They, on examination of the papers, could not but 
 have seen that it was the silliest charge ever made. Yet, these sham 
 inquirers having only the one object of whitewashing the Govern 
 ment, will not say a word in favor of the truth. They say, " Mrs. 
 CD. will scarcely stand for Mrs. 0' Donovan Rossa, and the further 
 explanation that Mrs. Moore loas Moore's mother, not his wife, 
 sounds unsatisfactory" while they had the book record before them, 
 showing that Moore's wife's name was Kate, and his mother's 
 Mary. 
 
 " On June the 3d we visited Millbank Prison, and as our sole ob- 
 ject there was to converse with treason-felony convict J. O'D. Rossa, 
 we need not dwell at any length upon the arrangements of the 
 prison. 
 
 " Rossa himself admitted that he had nothing particular to com- 
 plain of, except that he had on various occasions been reported for 
 punishment unjustly, as he conceived. He complained that every- 
 one was unjust to him ; it is but fair to add that everyone complained 
 of him in turn. He had the most ingenious contrivance for conceal- 
 ing fragments of paper, for hanging ink-bottles out of his cell win- 
 dow by wires, and obviously managed by hook or by crook to main- 
 tain tolerably active relations with the external world. He has 
 driven matters at last to this point that he has been remitted as a 
 thoroughly unmanageable subject from Portland to Millbank, and 
 at Millbank the authorities are obliged to keep him, even at hours of 
 exercise, apart from his fellows. A short time since, he concocted a 
 letter, stuffed full of the most absurd accusations against every- 
 body, and contrived, no one knows how, to convey it to another con- 
 
O' Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life, 243 
 
 vict who was about to be removed. The letter was to be dropped 
 on the railway, and was addressed to the editors of any one of three 
 or four papers. It contained the story of his wrongs, and was to 
 set the country in a blaze. We could not but regret, as we saw this 
 fine active young man before us in the prime of manhood, and in 
 strong, vigorous health, that such energies of mind and body had 
 been misapplied, and that the end of all was a convict's cell, and a 
 duel between himself and the authorities, whether they could retain 
 him in prison, or he could set them at defiance and effect his escape. 
 His letter contained the usual farrago of falsehood and exaggera- 
 tion. He said in it that he had been denied the privilege of writing 
 to his poor mother in America ; it turned out that he had never asked 
 permission to do so at all. He complained to us that he had been 
 reported for abstracting at the tailor's work a portion of cloth 
 and concealing it beneath his jacket ; it turned out that he had done 
 so, but he said he had not intended to hide it ; he had just put it out 
 of the way for temporary purposes. The convict Rossa is a danger- 
 ous man and must remain the object of increasing anxiety and vigi- 
 lance to the authorities. The senior warder at Millbank, a man of 
 no mean experience in convict life, said that in the whole course of 
 his career he had never met with the equal of this most unfortunate 
 man, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa. He has no ill-usage to complain 
 of; no severity but of his own making. He must mend his ways or 
 abide his fate." 
 
 We have the honor to be your obedient servants, 
 
 " Alexander A. Knox, 
 " George D. Pollock." 
 
 The falsehood and misrepresentation in the foregoing are wonder- 
 ful. I told them I had no complaints — that I scorned to make com- 
 plaints about anything I was made to endure, but would make every 
 endeavor to let the public know the truth, and they turn this into — ■ 
 " Rossa himself admitted that he had nothing particular to complain 
 of." 
 
 " A short time back he concocted a letter stuffed full of the most 
 absurd and unfounded accusations against everybody, and contrived, 
 no one knows how, to convey it to another convict who was about 
 to be removed. The letter was to be dropped on a railway." 
 
 Everything in that letter was as true as that Knox and Pollock 
 were false ; and look at the justice of these two English " gentle* 
 men " making such a report to the public, while they never a-ked 
 me a question as to whether the accusation in the letter was true or 
 false. They took the words of my jailers, or took their own words, 
 to suit their own purposes. 
 
 " He said in it that he had been denied the privilege of writing 
 to his poor mother in America ; it turned out that he never had 
 asked to do so at all." Good Heavens ! how these people can lie. 
 I had asked this permission as often as there are fingers and toes on 
 me. I had even begged a small scrap of paper from Governor Clif- 
 
244 O'* Donovan Hossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 ton, in which I would write a few words to my mother, and enclose 
 it in a letter I was writing to my wife, and he would not give it to 
 me. 
 
 They say I told them I had put the tailor's cloth away 
 " for temporary purposes," when what I told them was, that I put it 
 around my waist when shivering with the cold. But they would 
 not admit in their report that I said anything about feeling cold, for 
 some of our men died from the effects of it, and that was one of the 
 things Knox and Pollock had to whitewash. 
 
 There is no use in wasting any more of my time with these 
 worthies ; I believe them to be willful liars, even though they are 
 English Commissioners and big English " gentlemen." 
 
 After this Commission was over the authorities commenced " to 
 put the screws on me" in earnest. Every day and night I was 
 worried in one way or another. The cell in which they lodged me 
 at night was full of fleas, though it is but justice to say that my 
 prison life in England was otherwise pretty free from attacks of this 
 kind of minor vermin. In this particular cell I got out of bed one 
 June morning about three o'clock. I could not sleep, and having 
 my writing materials with me, I planted myself with my back to the 
 door, in a position that the watchman could not see me. It was not 
 iong till he appeared, and cried out through the slit : 
 
 " Where are you ?" 
 
 " Here," said I, standing up, holding a prayer-book in my hand, 
 as if I was reading it. 
 
 " Go to bed." 
 
 " I prefer sitting up." 
 
 " But you can't sit up ; this is Sunday morning and you can't be 
 out of bed before six o'clock." 
 
 " Well, I know that, but I cannot sleep with the fleas." 
 
 " I do not care about the fleas ; you must go to bed or be re- 
 ported." 
 
 "Very well, then, I'll go to bed." 
 
 And to bed I went, taking my writing material with me, and 
 making every exertion I could to finish my letter. I wrote under 
 the blanket, and had the clothes so arranged that if he stole a march 
 on me and looked in through the slit he could but see, before I saw 
 him, that I was only hunting the fleas. 
 
 But now came the turning point of my life, the winter of my dis- 
 content, the gross injustice that made my whole soul rise in arms 
 against them, and pitch their discipline and themselves to the devil. 
 They punished me for working too fast ; they gave me forty-eight 
 houis on bread and water, because I had my task-work finished be- 
 fore the appointed time. I got twenty ounces of coir to pick each 
 day. The officer gave it to me to pick at four o'clock in the eve- 
 ning, and took it away from me at the same hour next day. In 
 giving it to me a cord was tied abut it, and in giving it out I bound 
 it in the same cord, so that he could place it tidily on the scales to 
 
^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 245 
 
 be weighed. I had my bundle made up at fifty minutes past thr^e, 
 and, feeling quite at ease with myselfand every one else, I stretched 
 on my bare bed board with a book in my hand, but I was immedi- 
 ately startled by the voice of big Power, roaring out : 
 
 " What are you doing there ?" 
 
 " Reading." 
 
 " Reading ! Why arn't you at work ?" 
 
 " Oh, Governor," said I good-humoredly, and thinking I had 
 him on the hip this time, "my work is done." 
 
 He opened the door and called Percival, the ward officer, and 
 brought him to account for allowing me to be idle. "No man should 
 be idle in that prison. I should keep my work on hands till the regu- 
 lar hour, or, if I had it done before that hour Ishouid ask for more," 
 and he wound up his declamation in favor of law and order by order- 
 ing me to "put out my broom." 
 
 Next day I was taken before the Governor and charged whh 
 idleness. Power told his story and I told mine. The judge was a 
 man with whom I had very little influence ; he said it was a serious 
 breach of discipline, and sentenced me to the darkened cell for two 
 days. I asked him to appeal the case to the Director, but he would 
 not do any such thing. 
 
 "Then said I, 'Til not go to the dark cell, nor will I do anything 
 else in obedience to your rules and regulations while you treat me 
 so outrageously." 
 
 " Take him off," and off I was taken. As I was passing the tower 
 that led to the punishment ward the officer cried " To your left." 
 
 " No," said I, emphatically, for I was in a rage, " I'll go right 
 straight to my own cell." 
 
 They let me walk into my ordinary cell, shut the door, and came 
 back by-and-bye with big Power and four or five others. I required 
 them to use no more force than to lay hands on me ; that done I 
 would walk quietly with them, but I would not yield obedience 
 to a simple order. The six or seven of them came into the celL 
 Power ordered me out. I said " No," and the instant the words 
 escaped my lips, Cooper and Brown sprung at me and seized me by 
 the throat. They clutched me so tight that I could not even relieve 
 myself by a screech. I was thrown down and dragged into the 
 lobby. The hands were released from my throat, and Beresford, 
 seeing that this gave him an open for a blow at my head, raised his 
 club to strike, but Power caught him by the arm saying, " Don't 
 strike him yet." They turned me, face foremost to the ground, then 
 caught my hands and legs and dragged me on. Did'tmy arm joints 
 catch it ? By Jove, I felt as if they were twisted out of me. When 
 I was laid opposite the door of the dark cell, I was ordered to strip, 
 and I refused. The whole of them went at me, and as I resisted 
 they had a little trouble. A civilian, who was working as a plumber 
 in the ward, came to their assistance ; at last the clothes were torn 
 off, and I lay on the flags naked. Their work was done and I 
 
246 O' Donovan Rosso? § Prison Life. 
 
 crawled into my quarters, they throwing the tattered garments in 
 after me. The forty-eight hours passed and when I returned to my 
 cell I was ordered to " put out my broom again." " Put it out 
 yourself if you want it," said I, and out they put it. Next day 
 I was asked to go before the Governor, and I refused to go. Power 
 came, but he could not come into my cell, as 1 had placed my bucket 
 in a corner between the door and the wall. " I'll soon make you 
 come," said he walking away, and in a minute I heard a tramp as if 
 a regiment was coming. I had a massive earthenware chamber 
 vessel, and as I heard them coming, I smashed it on the flags, and 
 put my towel around a few large pieces of it. The bucket would 
 allow the door to open just as wide as would admit a man's head, 
 and, as sure as I write, if I could get a chance at the head of that 
 Brown or Cooper, who lacerated my throat a few days before, I 
 would give either or both of them the benefit of my loaded towel. 
 But neither Brown nor Cooper was brought this time, and I would 
 not strike anyone else. Chief Warden Handy would parley with 
 me, but all to no purpose. I would not take away the bucket. He 
 would put his head in, but I would warn him not to press further. 
 At last he got enraged, and cried out — 
 
 " Knock him down if he attempts to strike anyone." 
 
 " Now," said I, " You keep away, too, and if you want to get a 
 chance of knocking me down, bring Brown or Cooper up here." 
 
 Some warders that were brought from other wards would take a 
 peep at the wild animal inside through the spy-hole, and catching 
 hold of my pint of water I said — 
 
 " Now, if any one else stares at me through that slit, I'll dash 
 this water in his face. An Englishman's house is his castle, and I 
 am not going to have mine invaded with impunity." 
 
 Captain Wallack, the Deputy-Governor, came, but all to no pur- 
 pose. As a last resource, they sent for the priest, and, as I would 
 not let him in except on condition of exacting a promise from all 
 the others that none of them would enter until he had gone out 
 again, and I had perfected my barricades, he went away, and they 
 sent for the blacksmith of the establishment, who came with a sledge 
 and crowbar. He battered away at the door and broke it into 
 smithereens, and, as he had torn it on° its hinges, I cried out : 
 
 " Hold on now, Governor! that will do; I think I may as well 
 make an honorable surrender," and, taking the bucket away, I let 
 them come in. A few of them caught me by the collar and gave a 
 little chucking, but it was not much, as the Deputy-Governor was 
 present. In a few minutes I stood before my judge, and was charged 
 with resisting and assaulting six officers in the discharge of their 
 duty, three days before. The Governor said he would refer it to 
 the Director, as it was so serious a charge. I was brought back 
 and lodged in the cell next to the broken one ; but they took away 
 the bucket that was in it, lest I should raise another barricade. My 
 broom was out for three or four davs, till the Director came, and as 
 
O^ Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 247 
 
 I was led into the place where we stand till we are called to go be- 
 fore him I saw one man there with his face turned to the wall. I 
 had to pass him and stand three yards below, with my face turned 
 to the wall too ; but, instead of passing him by, I grasped him by 
 the hand and cried, " Hallo, Devoy, is that you — how are you?" 
 "Oh, pretty well; how are you?" The officer interfered, and as I 
 was taking my position I said, " This is the place to civilize a fel- 
 low, isn't it ?" " Never mind, we'll have a day for this yet." " Why, 
 I think you did not know me at first." " Know you," said he, 
 laughing ; " why, I don't know who you are yet." " Not know 
 Rossa?" "Great God! are you Rossa?" and by this time the 
 officer was dragging me down to another ward to separate us. 
 
 Here was John Devoy, who knew me for years, who parted from 
 me two years before, not recognizing me now. I thought he would 
 know me boiled in porridge, but I suppose I was this time consider- 
 ably "boiled down." 
 
 My turn came to go before the Director, and when at the bar of 
 justice the indictment was read against me — "I had resisted the 
 officers in the discharge of their duty." " I assaulted them." " I 
 refused to be stripped." "I refused to do anything." "What had 
 I to say to the charge ?" 
 
 " Governor," said I, " will you please ask those officers if either 
 of them can show you any of the signs of my assault ?" Neither of 
 them could, but all said I was extremely violent, and would assault 
 violently were I not restrained. 
 
 " Now, Governor," added I, pointing to my neck, which was 
 covered with scabs, as they had torn the flesh off of it in the chok- 
 ing they gave me four days before, " look at this and you can see 
 marks of assault." 
 
 " Oh," replied he, " that is what you have to expect here when 
 you resist the officers in the discharge of their duty." 
 
 Being asked again what I had to say to the charge, I said I'd 
 give my reply in writing, and writing materials for such a purpose 
 were out of the question. 
 
 Gambier spoke of my increasing bad conduct, and I spoke of 
 his increasing persecution, in punishing me for idleness when I had 
 performed all the task work assigned to me. Then they harped 
 again upon the string that was tying my bundle of coir; big Power 
 growling out, " No, sir, he didn't pick that string." 
 
 " Ah, trash," said I, " don't be going on with such nonsense. 
 You all seem to be in a great fix to get excuses for starving me, 
 but I'll relieve you of that difficulty in future, for it will be a long 
 time again before I pick a string, or do a stroke of work for you." 
 "I'll see that you will," said Gambier, as he ordered to have me 
 taken away. I was conducted to a punishment cell, and the Deputy- 
 Governor followed and informed me of my punishment. It was four 
 months solitary confinement in a darkened cell, on penal class diet r 
 with the first twelve days on bread and water, together with which 
 
24:8 C Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 I was obliged to pick oakum, but for these four months I never 
 picked a thread of it. The bundle was put in every morning, and 
 it remained untouched till evening, when it was put outside my cell 
 door, where it remained till the next day dawned, to get another 
 day's lodging inside, and so on till the end of my four long months. 
 
 No " kitchen " with your food, no milk, no meat, no tea, no coffee ; 
 you were very fortunate if you got enough of salt to make " dip" 
 for your " pratees" and porridge. 
 
 The first twelve days on bread and water brought me two very 
 severe attacks of something like cholera. The first of them seized 
 me in the middle of the night ; the watchman hearing me groaning 
 and vomiting asked if he would call the doctor. " You need not 
 mind," said I, "your doctors know very well that this treatment is 
 meant to break down my health, and I am not going to give them 
 any trouble." He, however, reported the case, as by-and-by the 
 doors were opened, and in walked Doctor Pocklington, having only 
 his pants and shirt on him. He said he would send me something 
 to stop the retching, and change my diet for a few days. I got hot 
 milk for breakfast and supper, and rice pudding for dinner, or rather 
 as dinner, for the pudding was the only dinner I got. It was very 
 nice and sweet, and great was my regret that I could not keep this 
 on my stomach; it was so seldom I got anything nice, that I 
 sorely lamented the loss of it. 
 
 I think it was three days this diet continued ; I was somewhat re- 
 covered then, and the bread and water commenced again, and 
 again came a relapse of my illness, which clung to me for four or 
 five days. Doctor Pocklington was as kind as man could be. I 
 don't know what his feelings towards me were, but I feel kindly to- 
 wards him for the promptness with which he came to see me those 
 nights, and from the fact that I never heard an unpleasant word, 
 nor saw an unpleasant look from him those twelve months that I was 
 in Millbank prison. 
 
 After the twelve days the four months' punishment diet com- 
 menced, and coming to the end of the time I found my body cover- 
 ed with small pustules, like little boils. Not an inch of me was 
 free from them, and they looked very ugly with their white heads. 
 
 At their first appearance I showed them to the doctor, and he 
 said it was the natural result of the food I was getting, of confine- 
 ment in a darkened cell, and of want of exercise. A fortnight af- 
 terwards, as the officers were stripping me, one of them named 
 Cooper opened his eyes in wonder at the appearance of my skin. 
 
 " What," said he, " did you not show them to the doctor?" 
 
 I told him I did, but as the doctor said it was only the natural 
 result of my punishment, I thought I might as well let nature take 
 its course. 
 
 "When the doctor comes round next show them to him again." 
 
 " Indeed I will not," said I. 
 
 "Then," added he, " I will have to make a report of the case." 
 
O' } Donovan Rossafs Prison Life. 249 
 
 He did report it, and I was taken to Dr. Gover's office, and or- 
 dered to strip, and after this chief doctor looking at my condition, 
 he ordered me to dress and be taken to my cell. 
 
 I afterwards learned that the Medical Department had a fight 
 with the Directory Department about my treatment. Gambier 
 wanted to continue my punishment up to the requirements of dis- 
 cipline, no matter what became of my health, and after the four 
 months had expired I believe I would have got more bread and 
 water for not working during the time only the doctors inter- 
 fered. 
 
 I know Doctor Gover told me he was trying to keep me oh* 
 of punishment, and hoped I would assist him by good behavior, to 
 which I replied " that I needed to be treated only like any other 
 prisoner, to act like any other." I have nothing harsh to say of the 
 doctors of Millbank; they gave me a glatss of magnesia three times 
 a day to help me to digest my punishment diet ; they acted like gen- 
 tlemen ; but I have something different to say of the doctors else- 
 where. 
 
 i? or the first three or four days I had company in the punish- 
 ment ward, as John Devoy and St. Clair had been undergoing a 
 sentence of four months in penal class when I came to be classed 
 with them. This they had got on a charge of attempting to break 
 through their cells ; and they did make such an attempt ; but, as in 
 unsuccessful revolutions, got punished because they did not succeed. 
 When the Director asked John Devoy was he sorry for his offence, 
 John told him he was sorry that he failed. He was undergoing 
 this four months, and seemed not to be yet satisfied that he had had 
 a fair trial of himself in the way of escaping, for one day he attacked 
 two warders who were superintending him while he was sweeping 
 his cell ; he knocked one down with a blow of the brush handle ; 
 the second blow was warded off by the other's club ; the brush han- 
 dle broke ; the officer ran to give the alarm, and John seeing the 
 cause was lost again, commenced to dress the wound of the officer 
 he had knocked down, and allowed the wounded man to have the 
 credit of locking him up before the others came. It was when he 
 was brought before the Director for this offence that I met him in 
 the passage way and shook hands with him. 
 
 We had daring spirits in Millbank prison about this time, and 
 with the means of communication we had, we were forming a plan 
 to seize upon the officers' armory and make a fight. It was a des- 
 perate idea ; but with all that had been ever said about the Irish 
 never making a decent fight, but always making fiascos, we had 
 pledged ourselves that in this affair we were to fight to the death. 
 In case of any sudden alarm that would interfere against our escape, 
 we were to leave a mark after us, by burning up everything that 
 we could burn, London itself if possible, so that these English gov- 
 ernors would have a lesson given them regarding the propriety of 
 bringing Irish political prisoners to London in order to herd them 
 with their thieves. 
 
250 0" Donova.x Hoszds Prison Life. 
 
 I know that I counselled the most extreme measures; my spirit 
 was galled, and I was ready to make any sacrifice, even that of 
 life, for the sake of revenge. If I could lay the city in ashes I would 
 do so, even though my bones were reduced to ashes with it. 
 
 General TTalpin was in a part of the prison that we could not 
 easily reach when we were speculating on this mutiny, and before 
 w T e could communicate w T ith him thoroughly, Clerkenwell was blown 
 up ; soldiers were brought to guard us, and other changes were 
 made that obliged us to give up the project. 
 
 In consequence of John Devoy having used his broom in the 
 scuffle with the officers, the handles were cut off of all the brooms 
 in the prison, and in sweeping your cell you had nothing to lay 
 hold of but the stump that held the tuft of hair. 
 
 In the month of July the weather was very warm, and the air 
 of those cells was almost unbearable. To give us a little ventila- 
 tion, the trap doors w T ere left open during the day. This w T as cus- 
 tomary every Summer, but John Devoy, and St. Clair and I de- 
 stroyed the custom by availing of it for the purpose of whispering 
 'new r s to each other w 7 hen we thought the warders were absent. 
 
 I discovered one day that an officer was playing eaves-dropper as 
 John and I w T ere talking. I heard him slingeing down closer to my 
 door, and as it was necessary to make his presence known I cried 
 aloud, " John, there is some fellow here alongside of my door listen- 
 ing." By-and-bye all our trap doors were closed, and we lost the 
 iittle current of air and little conversation we were enjoying. 
 
 It was about this time that the devil took it into his wicked head 
 to notice I was in prison, and pay me a visit. He did it in the shape 
 of womankind. You need not imagine that the woman came into 
 my cell, or that I saw the devil there, and hurled my ink-bottle at 
 him as Martin Luther is said to have done when he w 7 as in prison ; 
 but if what theologians say about the old gentleman be true, he was 
 with me to a certainty — albeit, I have not much faith in the possi- 
 bility of his getting out of hell. 
 
 Father Burke says — "The devil understands every age better 
 than anybody else, after the Almighty God. He tries to entrap the 
 young men into secret societies, to make them swear away their 
 manhood and liberty by secret oaths, and make them pledge them- 
 selves — puts an obligation on them — the fulfillment of which would 
 involve crime or imorality, perhaps even bloodshed and murder." 
 With the latter part of this sentence I have nothing to do further 
 than to say I look upon it as mere Cullen clap-trap in so far as 
 it relates to secret societies amongst Irishmen against England, but 
 with the former part of it I must have a little connection. 
 
 " The devil understands every age better than anybody else 
 after Almighty God." Well, I suppose it is my duty to believe it 
 on such authority, even though I am very chary about putting the 
 devil on anything at all like an equality with God. I believe in 
 God, but I defy the devil, and I cannot at all bring myself to give 
 
(J Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 251 
 
 his satanic majesty the omnipotent power and omnipresence I give 
 my Creator. I find it hard to believe the devil can be everywhere, or 
 that he has power to circumvent the Lord in the purposes for which 
 He made man. Passing all that by, and getting into the phraseol- 
 ogy of the times, let me say that the devil came into my prison cell 
 in the shape of a woman, and never ceased worrying me for three or 
 four years. Why he did not lay siege to me the first few years I do 
 not know. Perhaps it was that my mind was occupied with the 
 hopes and fears attending upon a fight in Ireland, and when that 
 was pronounced a dead failure the ground lay fallow and the weeds 
 sprung up. 
 
 But certain it is that "the Old Boy" did attack me, and never 
 more vigorously than when I was in the most miserable condition. 
 On starvation diet, and in a black-hole cell, where not a ray of light 
 could enter, the old fellow would scroodge his way in to remind me 
 how pleasant it would be, even there, to have female company. 
 
 Unlike some of the saintly men of old, who were similarly as- 
 sailed in their solitude, I had no virgin snow nor spiked girdle to 
 embrace. My comforter for a time was an algebraic question or a 
 proposition of Euclid, which I took to bed with me and worked 
 away at till I fell asleep ; but, as if my jailers knew that I helped 
 myself in this manner, they took my Euclid and my Algebra from 
 me on the plea that I could have no books because I would not 
 work while on punishment. 
 
 The devil, seeing, I suppose, how I was fighting him, must have 
 gone to Gambier and instigated him to deprive me of the books. 
 But I did not give up the fight so easily. I told the jailers if I did 
 not get my school-books I'd give them no peace — I'd break every- 
 thing I could — in other words, I'd keep away the devil by playing 
 the devil with everything. I gave them a few days to consider. 
 During this time Father Zanetti told me that Gambier was talking 
 to him about school-books, and asking him whether I would be 
 more incorrigible with them than without them, to which the 
 priest replied that he supposed it would not make me worse to 
 get them. Next morning I took the cover of my bucket and I 
 made one big stroke at the thick bull's-eye that was built into 
 the wall to let in the gaslight. The officer immediately made 
 his appearance, demanding what I was about. "What about my 
 Euclid and Algebra?" said I; "if I don't get them I'll knock this 
 spyglass of yours into triangles." He told me to stop awhile, and 
 in a few minutes he came back with the books. 
 
 I had played them another trick the night before. They were 
 treating me as bad as they could treat me, and in my case there 
 could hardly be any change for the worse, and, if there could, it 
 should be a change that would bring me some variety, and, conse- 
 quently, some improvement ; then, I had no reason to fear anything 
 from them. Even in this punishment cell, from which they shut out 
 the light by a strong perforated iron blind, they should keep my 
 
252 O^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 gaslight burning all aight. When the prison was locked up, and 
 the extra officers had retired, I got out of my bed, and with my 
 clothes I stuffed the bull's-eye so that a ray of light could not enter. 
 The officers, on noticing the darkness, made an alarm, and four or 
 five of them came parleying with me immediately after. I wanted 
 no nio-ht-light ; they would not allow me the daylight, and I did 
 not want their gas when I wanted to sleep. I should be treated 
 like any other prisoner, and when they took away my books I would 
 take away their lights, to assimilate my treatment to that of other 
 prisoners. The end of it was I unmuffled the bull's-eye on the 
 promise that they would ask next day if my books were to be re- 
 stored to me, and restored they were. 
 
 It was while I was undergoing these four months' punishment 
 on bread and water that a proposition was made to me of volunteer- 
 ing to Western Australia. Yes, "volunteering:" that is the word. 
 The Government were so kind now as to condescend to pretend to 
 give me a will of my own. 
 
 The door of my cell was thrown open one dar, and Governor 
 Morish stood outside the gate with paper and pencil in hand— 
 
 " I have come to know if you will volunteer to go to the penal 
 settlements of Western Australia ?" 
 
 " Volunteer, did you say, Governor ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " To go there as a prisoner, and be a prisoner when I get there ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I will do no such thing." 
 
 " Why, all the other prisoners are going." 
 
 " That's no matter to me. You, I suppose, can send me too if 
 you like, or do anything you please with me, but I'll do no volun- 
 teering for you." 
 
 " But the Government will not send you otherwise." 
 
 " Then I'll remain here with the Government. I prefer to receive 
 their tortures and starvation in the heart of England than in the 
 wilds of Western Australia. If you are taking down names you 
 can put me down as not volunteering. I am a prisoner, and in the 
 hands of the authorities. They can do what they _ please with me ; 
 but whatever they do must be at their own responsibility." 
 
 " Then I am to put you down as not desiring to go ?" 
 
 " It is not a question at all of my desiring to go or not to go. I 
 know well the authorities care very little about my desires. They 
 will study their own convenience, not mine. I do not know what 
 their motives are in sending me to Australia ; but when you tell me 
 I am to be a prisoner there, I prefer to be near you here, where I 
 can make my wants known, than thousands of miles away from you 
 — away amongst the savages, where there may beorders to ' civi 1 - 
 ize' me in the fashion that you are doing it here in London. No, 
 Governor, I will give the authorities no excuse. Put me down as 
 
0' 'Donovan Bosstfs Prison Life, 253 
 
 saying, e I am in the hands of the authorities ; they can do with me 
 what they please, but I will do no volunteering anywhere.' " 
 
 He penciled something on his paper, walked away, and the 
 warder shut the door. 
 
 Any change of life at this time to me would be a God-send, and 
 I was hoping I would be sent to Australia ; but I would not give 
 them the satisfaction of volunteering to go there. If anything hap- 
 pened to us, they would say we volunteered, and, for my part, I did 
 not want to put it in their power to say this. I felt a kind of pleasure 
 in seeing them treat us brutally in England, and I could not enjoy 
 this feeling, under similar treatment, in the Antipodes. 
 
 But, as I guessed, my desires in the matter were nothing. In a 
 few days the Government doctor came and inspected me, and in a 
 few days more it was officially announced to me that I w~as to be sent 
 to the penal colony of Western Australia. I got a sheet of paper to 
 write the farewell letter to my wife. I wrote, but it was pronounced 
 unfit to be let out. I wrote a second, against which the same sen- 
 tence was pronounced, and then I learned some way that the Aus- 
 tralians were sent off and I was left behind. 
 
 The secret of this is, that between the time the Governor first 
 spoke to me about going and the time of the ship's sailing, Colonel 
 Kelly and Captain Deasy were rescued from the police in Manches- 
 ter. This changed the mind of the Government, and it was con- 
 sidered as well to keep some of us in England as send us out of it. 
 
 I cannot put out of my mind the vexation that entered it on 
 account of the manner in which Father Zanetti met me one day, 
 when I asked him a question as to whether John O'Leary and 
 Thomas Clarke Luby were sent off or not. They were in Portland, 
 a distance of some two hundred miles, and more unsurpassable bar- 
 riers of locks and keys and stone walls divided us. I would feel 
 more lonesome if I heard they had gone further away from me. I 
 asked the priest to grant me one request, one day he came into my 
 cell. " What was it ? " " To tell me if O'Leary and Luby were 
 sent to Australia." He stamped his foot upon the floor in a rage, 
 saying: "Don't be asking me such questions; don't you know my 
 honor is pledged, and that I cannot answer you?" That was the 
 last question I ever asked this scrupulously honorable man, who was 
 a perfect type of the union of Church and State — a priest of God and 
 a priest of the English Convict Government, too. 
 
 My four months' penal class in penal servitude had expired, and 
 I was taken down to my ordinary cell. If I got coir to pick again 
 I would refuse to pick it, but they brought skeins of coir cord 
 and asked me to keep winding them into balls. There was no talk 
 of task work, and I went on pretty comfortably for some weeks. I 
 went to chapel every morning, and there I got acquainted with 
 James Xavier O'Brien. There was no formal introduction, such as 
 "Mr. O'Brien, Mr. O'Donovan; Mr. O'Donovan, Mr. O'Brien," but 
 the prisoners who sat between us communicated to me who he was 
 
254: : 'Donovan Rosso? s lPrison Life. 
 
 and to him who I was, and then we looked at each other and slyly 
 nodded. In course of time we came to pass letters to each other, 
 and he was instructing me in many things about the "movement" 
 in Ireland. 
 
 One time that himself or his cell was searched, a letter of mine 
 was found, and it brought me to misfortune again.^ My name was 
 not signed to it, yet that was no matter, as it contained evidence to 
 show that none but myself could be the writer. I had stated that 
 I applied for a visit and got permision ; that I sent a ticket to 
 Richard Pigott and a lady friend, and that Gambier, the Director, 
 was " as hvDOcriticallv civil as possible in granting it." I was 
 
 And so," 
 
 . » 
 
 brought before Gambier ; he held the letter before him. " 
 said he, " you say I was hypocritically civil !" " Now, governor 
 said I, " you want to make me admit it was I wrote that letter. I 
 avail of my legal privilege, and will admit or deny nothing. You 
 prove your case; but this you may be sure of — that if what 
 you hold in your hand was written by me it contains nothing but 
 the truth." "Then I will stop your visit, the ticket of which has 
 been sent to Mr. Pigott !" " Oh ! you may do anything you please." 
 And orders were immediately given to write to Dublin that I had 
 forfeited the privilege granted to me of a visit. I was taken away, 
 but, instead of being taken to a punishment cell, I was taken into 
 the yard to take my hour's exercise. I concluded that I had 
 escaped this time without getting bread and water ; for once s 
 prisoner offends against discipline, there is nothing for him but the 
 restraint of " durance vile " until he passes through the purgatory 
 that washes that stain. 
 
 It is wonderful how these people, with all their hatred of Catho- 
 licity, have introduced into their prison punishment the very dogmas 
 of the creed. They sneer at purgatory, absolution, and indulgences, 
 and at wiping away the stain that remains after sin, after the sin 
 itself is atoned for ; but they retain the very essentials of the creed in 
 the management of their convict system. Here is an instance. A bit 
 of lead pencil is found secreted in my cell ; I am sentenced to three 
 days' bread and water, and am fined 84 marks. I pass over my 
 three days' bread and water, and the 84 marks add 14 days to my 
 imprisonment. A visit is due to me every six months, and a month 
 after the report I ask for my visiting ticket as it is due. The books 
 are looked over, the stain of sin is found against me. I am re- 
 ported and punished for having a bit of pencil, and must remain 
 three months purging myself of that stain before I can obtain any 
 privilege. I must remain two months after it without writing a 
 letter, even though my writing time was due that day I was re- 
 ported. I can, if I wish, apply to the Director to grant the indul- 
 gence, but he can, if he wish, refuse it. 
 
 From the day I entered this prison until the day I was punished 
 for having my work done ten minutes before the time, I was stripped 
 naked every noon time. I then "struck" against stripping daily, 
 
O' Donovan Ilossa?s Prison Life, 255 
 
 and the practice was given up. I gained a point here, but it was 
 not gained without suffering and sacrifice, and I believe England 
 will never surrender anything to anyone who is not ready to put 
 these into practice against her. 
 
 The day my letter was found with O'Brien I was stripped three 
 times. I went through the process without resistance, because I 
 knew I had nothiug contraband about me, and I was anxious to 
 learn what was up. Nothing was found in my place to warrant a 
 charge against me. I was taken before the Governor and charged 
 with some of my writing being found in the cell of another person. 
 Being asked what I had to say, I said, " Nothing."' I was put into 
 a darkened cell to await the Director's decision, and after three days 
 I was taken out and told he had ordered that I be kept from Mass 
 and morning prayers during the rest of my time. I was four days 
 in my ordinary cell winding my balls of twine, and as the officers 
 came around I kept twitting them about introducing the old Irish 
 penal laws into prison, and protested against the illegality of keep- 
 ing me from chapel when I was not supposed to be under punish- 
 ment. If I was to be persecuted, I demanded it in a disciplinary 
 form. At six o'clock the morning of the fifth day my doors were 
 opened and I was ordered to come out. Out I came, and was con- 
 ducted to a punishment cell. " What is this for?" said I. "What 
 is my offence, and what is my punishment ?" But I would not be 
 told. Breakfast came, and I got my eight ounces of bread and my 
 pint of water. Again I asked for an explanation, and was told I 
 would know soon enough. I was getting a little wrathy. The reg- 
 ulations declare that before a prisoner is put under punishment, he 
 must be told the duration of it, and the offence. Sir John Davies 
 says there is no people in the world who more love to be treated 
 legally than the Irish. I suppose I have some of this national feel- 
 ing, and though it was English law I was under, I felt this time I 
 had not the benefit of it, and that I was being treated illegally. 
 
 When the officer said you will know soon enough, I determined 
 I would, and said " that I will." I laid my bread and water on my 
 bed board. I took off one of my slippers, and with the heel of it I 
 smashed the spy-hole of the door. The alarm being given, a half a 
 dozen warders were on the spot immediately. I was placed in 
 handcuffs and conducted to another cell. No sooner were they 
 gone, than I gave the trap-door a kick, and it gave way, with all 
 the surrounding irons that were fastening it. I then put out my 
 handcuffed hands, drew back the bolt, and opened in the door. The 
 man in charge, hearing the noise, made towards me, and ordered 
 me to shut the door. " I prefer it open," said I. He put in his 
 hand to pull out the door, but I was further in than he, and had 
 more power to keep it open. He shook his club at me, and I told 
 him he may as well keep quiet, that I wanted a little air, and would 
 keep the door open as long as I could. Stamping his foot, and bob- 
 bing his head at me at every word, he emphatically shouted, "Shut 
 
256 G* Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 — that door — I say." "I will not — shut — that door — I say." He 
 went off, and soon returned with a principal officer, who unlocked 
 the gate. The first fellow dashed in, caught me by the throat, 
 pinned me to the wall, and raised his club to strike me. My hands 
 were tied. I could do nothing but cry out, " Coward," and he did 
 not let the blow fall. I was mad. I lost my temper for the first 
 time, and when he had loosened his grasp of my throat, I foolishly 
 swore, "By heavens, I'll make you pay for this yet." Yes; for a 
 fortnight afterwards, if I caught that man where I could fling him 
 down the stone stairs, I could deliberately murder him. I say de- 
 liberately ; for I had made up mind to do it in order to be tried for 
 the offence in open court, where I would have an opportunity of ex- 
 posing the treatment I was receiving. I forget the officer's name ; 
 it was something like Agden ; but if I could catch him or Brown or 
 Cooper on a stairs, any time during a few months that I was in the 
 humor, I would fling them over the bannisters. 
 
 I am not boasting or " blowing " now. I am only writing my 
 prison life, and showing my reader the state of mind I was in. One 
 time more, while I was in prison, did I lose my temper, so far as to 
 wish I had a weapon I could fight with. I did not care what odds 
 were against me, I would strike. It was when the warders kicked 
 and leaped upon me in Chatham. 
 
 After breaking the trap door, I was put into the blackhole cell 
 for twenty- four hours. 
 
 It was an underground cellar, the time of the year was about 
 the 20th of December, and it was piercingly cold. 
 
 I got a rug and blanket, but no mattress. When I turned from 
 one side to another the clothes turned with me, and I could not ar- 
 range them, as my hands were tied. To add to my comfort, I was 
 longer than the width of the cell, and I could not get a full stretch 
 of my legs. When the morning dawned — or rather when my break- 
 fast of bread and water came, for there was no dawn of day in this 
 hole — I felt one of my wrists \ery sore, and I told the warders to 
 tell the doctor I wanted to see him, as the irons were unnecessarily 
 tight. 
 
 The doctor came, and when I raised my wrists up to the lantern 
 I found them covered with blood. " Oh, sir," said one of the jailers, 
 " he has been only using violence to himself, airA the doctor pro- 
 nounced the irons not unnecessarily tight. I must have slept some- 
 thing during the night, and in my twisting and turning, cut my 
 hands. 
 
 The funniest thing in the world is walking in those cells. 
 When I was a " gr:enhorn " in them I'd find my nose or my fore- 
 head bobbing against the wall. My eyes were no use to me, and I 
 soon learned to use my elbows instead of them. When I stood up 
 to take my walk I placed my back to the door and my elbow to the 
 wall, paced forward with my head thrown backward, and back- 
 ward with my head thrown forward, always taking soundings with 
 my elbow. 
 
C Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life. 257 
 
 I was told my punishment this time was six days on bread and 
 water, and twenty-one days on penal class diet, for writing a letter 
 to James O'Brien. The blackhole cell is truly a black one, where 
 no ray of sunlight ever enters ; the punishment cell, a darkened 
 one, where a perforated metal sheet keeps out the full light. When 
 I knew my sentence, my passion was over, and I got into good 
 humor. I made a most solemn address to the officers one day 
 in these words: "Now, governors, I am here a political pris- 
 oner in England ; by all the laws of civilization, and by all the 
 rights of man, I am entitled to as much coarse food as will sustain 
 life, and to an ordinary prison ceil that will admit God's daylight. 
 I know it is not in my power to command the food, but I can do 
 something to get myself light ; and to take all preliminary steps 
 towards the maintenance of peace, I ask you to take away that iron 
 blind before I proceed to do it myself." The officers smiled at 
 each other. " Then, you won't do it ?" " Now, you had better 
 keep quiet." " Then, if you won't, it's my duty to go to work at 
 it," and laying hold of my wooden spoon, proceeded to delve out 
 little bits of cement till the spoon broke. It was left with me to 
 eat a pint of stirabout that is given every fourth day to a prisoner 
 on bread and water. The pint of stirabout coming, I asked for a 
 spoon, and was told the Governor had issued an order that I should 
 get no more spoons while I was in prison, because I broke the 
 spoon I got. The doors were locked, and 1 was left in the dark- 
 ness with my hands tied and my pint of stirabout. I put the dish 
 to my mouth, but it was not running stirabout, it was thick, and 
 would not come near my hungry lips. Oh, no, it should not escape 
 me that way. I was determined it should find its way to the black- 
 hole, and I found there was no way to get it down but to lay the 
 dish on the floor, and lay myself resting on my knees and elbows. 
 You may call this eating " on all fours " if you like, but it is the 
 way I had to take my dinner that day, and when I had it taken, I, 
 to mark the circumsiance in my memory, turned the bowl upside 
 down and leaped upon it, and broke it into pieces. Having done 
 this, I found myself laughing at an idea that entered my head, and, 
 as I enjoy a joke at all times, I proceeded to perpetrate a practical 
 one now. 
 
 The officers visited me every two hours during the day and night. 
 They opened the three doors and entered the cell to see if I was 
 dead or alive. I thought it would be a good thing if, when they 
 came again, I could make them stay with me till my time was up. 
 It was this made me laugh, and it is better to laugh at misfortune 
 any day than to cry at it ; so, taking a piece of the broken dish, I 
 broke it into smaller pieces with my teeth, and commenced stuffing 
 the keyhole of the inner iron gate. It was fully loaded when my 
 friends came to look after me. " What is the matter ? — this key 
 won't work ; show here the lantern," said Beresford, and as he 
 looked, he cried, " Well, well, to be sure." 
 
258 O'* Donovan Rossa's Prison Life. 
 
 Awls, and wires, and corkscrews, and gimlets were got before 
 they could get out all my little wooden sparables. They spent 
 eight hours at the work, while I kept begging of them to go away 
 and let me live in peace. When the door was opened, my time was 
 up, and I was taken back to my blind cell. 
 
 When the twenty-seven days were passed, I got twenty-eight 
 days more for breaking my dish and spoon, and breaking the wall, 
 and writing on it ; then I got fourteen days for something else, so 
 that from the 20th of December till the 24th day of February — the 
 day I was taken from Millbank to Chatham — I was on bread and 
 water. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAT OX " BREAD AND WATER " TELEGRAPHING TO JOHN 
 
 DEVOY AN ARCHBISHOP ON STEPHENS' ESCAPE SOWING DIS- 
 TRUST THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL THE BIBLE IN THE 
 
 BLACKHOLE A THIEF FEEDS ME ; HIS LETTER AND HIS PRESENT — j 
 
 A STEM OF A DHUDEEN REFUSE TO HaVE MY PICTURE TAKEN, 
 
 EXCEPT THE QUEEN SENDS FOR IT MANCHESTER MURPHY AND 
 
 MICHAEL O'BRIEN — A NIGHT ON THE HILLS OF CONNAUGHT — • 
 
 " FENIANISM " AND " RIBBONISM " EDWARD DUFFY MEETING 
 
 WITH HIS MOTHER APPLICATION TO SEE HIM DYING REFUSED 
 
 PREACHING A WAIL MEDITATED MISCHIEF A CHANGE FOR THE 
 
 BETTER ONLY A PREPARATION FOR ONE FOR THE WORSE JOUR- 
 NEY TO CHATHAM PRISON. 
 
 The several incidents and reminiscences of the past few months 
 of my prison purgatory will comprise this chapter. The punish- 
 ment referred to in the last one commenced on Christmas week, and 
 on Christmas day I found myself on bread and water. The bell 
 rang for dinner. I heard the doors opening, and I began asking 
 myself was it possible that these Christian people, who were so 
 strong on the Bible, would leave me on Christmas day without my 
 dinner? That was the very thing which was possible. Discipline 
 
O' Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 259 
 
 proved stronger than the Christian spirit. My door was passed, and 
 I was left to dine upon my hungry thoughts. I did not fare very 
 sumptuously or very pleasantly, and, as I had nothing to feed upon, 
 I set my wits to work to get something to do. I wanted occupa- 
 tion — something to take my mind away from the dinnerless reflec- 
 tions. I had an iron screw in my pocket that I picked up when I 
 kicked open the trap-door some days before, and with this I set to 
 work to take down my metal blind, and, though I kept at it till I 
 sweated, I did not make much progress. I lay down on my bed 
 board exhausted ; I rapped on the wall to know if there was any 
 prisoner within hearing with whom I could hold a conversation and 
 kill time. I got a response from a cell underneath me, and I asked 
 the signal question: "Who are you?" to which I got the re- 
 sponse of a J and an O, and a H, and an N", and a D-E-V-O-T — 
 " John Devoy." I signalled back " Kossa," and both of us rapped a 
 Te JL eum on the wall before we commenced conversation. Hungry 
 as I was at the time, I would rather have made this acquaintance 
 than the acquaintance of the best Christmas dinner I ever saw. 
 
 We talked till the time John had to go to evening prayers, but 
 there were no evening prayers for me, as I was undergoing punish- 
 ment. When he returned we talked again till bed-time, when he 
 was changed to another cell. Next morning he was brought back, 
 and we renewed our acquaintance. Our conversation was all about 
 Ireland and the " movement." He was one of the men that took 
 James Stephens out of prison ; it was into his arms he was received 
 wlien he slipped off the prison wall, and I got the full history of the 
 affair from him. It is strange to find it industriously circulated in 
 America that James Stephens was taken out of prison with the 
 connivance of the English Government. I have heard it time 
 after time, and so have many others. A friend was telling me he 
 was one evening in the society of some gentlemen, lay and clerical, 
 where the question came up. An archbishop asserted that Mr. 
 Stephens was let out by the Government. The friend made some 
 observation, which would imply that he held a contrary opinion, 
 when the right rev. gentleman silenced him by some such observa- 
 tion as this : " Don't contradict me, sir ; I have reason to know 
 what I say is true." The good bishop was imposed upon by some 
 one in the interest of England. It is our enemy's business to circu- 
 late the canting falsehood that, " if you put one Irishman on the 
 spit, you'll get another to turn him," or that you cannot get an 
 Irishman at all whom English gold will not purchase to betray his 
 country. James Stephens was taken out of prison by men who 
 were true to Ireland ; and, whatever can be said of him in other 
 respects, this, at least, may be said of him, that he is as free from 
 the taint of English gold, and as unlikely to be corrupted by it, as 
 any man who has ever spoken of his name. 
 
 For three or four weeks I was, to my infinite delight, allowed to 
 remain in this particular cell over John Devoy's. I had the four 
 
260 (? Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 walls of it covered with writing, and as they apprehended I would 
 disfigure in a similar manner every cell I went into, they thought it 
 better to allow me remain in the one I was. It was amusing to 
 see the inspectors come in and take notes of the handwriting on 
 the wall. 
 
 " This is the land of Bible hypocrites, where they starve and 
 worry men to death under medical superintendence, so that none 
 may call it murder." 
 
 " We will not kill those Irish rebels publicly, but starve them 
 privately." 
 
 Then in another corner they would read : " With one hand they 
 reach to me the Bible, and with the other the bit of bread that 
 starves me slowly." 
 
 And this was literally true. When a prisoner was put on bread 
 and water, the Bible followed him to his punishment cell, and if he 
 was changed from one cell to another, the Bible followed him. One 
 time that I was taken to the blackhole, Cooper brought my Bible 
 in his hand, and as he was about to lock me in, I said, "Aren't you 
 going to give me my Bible ?" " Why, sure you have no light to 
 read it." " But can't you leave me one of those lanterns ?" " I wish 
 I could. Your Bible loill be left here outside the door till your time 
 is up, and then it will be taken to your other cell," and saying so, I 
 saw him lay down the book at a corner of the gate. 
 
 I could feel more satisfaction had they carried the farce so far as 
 to allow me keep the book in the blackhole. But the worst of 
 it was, they never told how long or how short I was to be kept in 
 this place, and I was too much on my dignity to ask them, for by 
 evincing any solicitude on the subject I would be giving them the 
 satisfaction of seeing I felt their treatment. 
 
 I was as quiet as a lamb during the time I was holding com- 
 munication with Devoy, but they occasionally tried my temper by 
 taking my pint of stirabout from me and putting me on bread and 
 water, because I would not work unless I got the ordinary prison 
 diet and ordinary cell. 
 
 " Stop that knocking, there ; what are you doing that for ?" 
 they'd often cry out, as they would catch me telegraphing to John 
 Devoy, and I'd tell them I was trying to strike up " Garry owen " 
 on the wall, as I had no other way of killing time. Whenever I 
 noticed myself watched I tried to turn the knocking into the playing 
 of a tune. 
 
 At last I was removed from this cell, and finding myself located 
 where I had no communication with any one, I amused myself by 
 repeating all the pieces of poetry my memory could supply me 
 with. 
 
 " Stop that noise, there ! " 
 
 " What's that you say ? " said I, as I was thus interrupted going 
 through one oi Davis' poems. 
 
 " Stop that noise there, I say." 
 
CPDonovan Rosses Prison Life. 261 
 
 " Oh, by Jove, I won't. I'm making no noise that disturbs any 
 one else." 
 
 Next morning I was taken before the Governor and charged 
 with making noise and swearing in my cell. There it was, down in 
 the Governor's book, that when I was told to stop that noise I vehe- 
 mently swore out, "By Jesus, I won't." I told the Governor it 
 was an expression I never used in my life. But explanations were 
 out of the question ; I should not say, " By Jove," or anything else, 
 in my cell, and had to take my punishment. I asked him to remove 
 the expression " By Jesus " from the record, as not belonging to me, 
 but all to no use ; there it had to remain, to show visitors, directors 
 and others, what a desperate character I was. 
 
 I soon got a comrade in the cell next to me. He was after es- 
 caping from Portsmouth prison, and was after being recaptured ; he 
 was sent alongside of me to indulge in six months' penal class. 
 He could " knock " on the wall, and we became great friends. One 
 day I was sentenced to bread and water ; when I came back from 
 the governor, he knocked, and asked me " what luck ?" I told him ; 
 then I heard his bell ring ; he was allowed to the closet, and when 
 he came back he ordered me to go to the closet immediately, and 
 take a loaf that he left there ; if I didn't the officer would find it f 
 and he would get " dosed," as he said. I obeyed orders, and as 1 
 was returning from the closet I had the loaf in my pocket. Before 
 I entered my cell, two officers met me, who were coming to take 
 me to another cell to spend my term of bread and water. I had to 
 go with them and strip outside the door. I was questioned why I 
 had this bread in my pocket, and I told them " for safety." They 
 broke it in two halves and threw it in after me. When I had dressed 
 myself, I took my bread, and to my surprise I found a piece of brown 
 paper sticking out of one of the pieces. How it escaped detection 
 I do not know. I read the note ; the writer told me I should not 
 starve while he had a bit of bread to spare, and every day they 
 would put me on bread and water, he'd leave a loaf for me in the 
 same place where he left this. His father was from near Limerick, 
 he said, and was evicted by the landlord ; himself was born in Eng- 
 lan I, and he offered his family wrongs as an excuse for his own con- 
 duct towards the people that legislated him and them into ruin. 
 
 He told me he wrote this letter with a pen that he made out of 
 the sprig of a broom, and he got his ink out of a bit of coal that he 
 powdered and mixed with water. This was different to the receipt 
 John Devoy gave me for getting ink. It was to be produced at the 
 expense of my blood ; but the question was, from what part of the 
 body could the most copious supply be drawn with the least degree 
 of pain, and after many experiments he learned it was in wounding 
 a particular spot inside the nostrils. 
 
 Nugent's term of punishment had expired before mine, and again 
 I was without a companion. He was a very active person, and 
 could do more work in cleaning and keeping things in order than 
 
262 O y Donovan 22odm's Prison Life. 
 
 many others. For this reason he was detailed with another prisoner 
 to keep all the wards and corridors in order, an officer superintend- 
 ing both of them. I got an hour's exercise every penal class day in 
 a small yard set apart for refractory prisoners. A door shuts you 
 in, and in this there is a round hole through which an officer can 
 look to see are you " all right." I was pacing round this coop 
 when a whisper of "Iiossa" came through the hole. I appioached 
 and saw my late penal class companion and another prisoner stand- 
 ing to attention; the two of them looking as innocent as angels. 
 
 They were opposite the door, they did not move a muscle of the 
 face, or give a wink to me, and I knew the officer's eyes were on 
 them. I took another turn around and gave another peep, when 
 Nugent pouted out his lips to signify that he had something in his 
 mouth for me. What could it be ! Oh, of course, a bit of lead 
 pencil. I watched the hole and shortly saw something drop in from 
 the tips of two lingers. I made for it, and what was it do you 
 think ? A bit of the stem of an old pipe. He had been sucking 
 consolation out of it, and now he parted with his treasure and gave 
 it to me to suck. The market value of this bit of a dhudeen was 
 two loaves of bread, but I could pay nothing for it, yet here was 
 its possessor giving me a clear surrender of it without any expecta- 
 tion of fee or reward, besides his running the risk of being detected 
 in transferring the property and suffering more therefor. There is 
 "honor among thieves," and noble traits of character too, and this 
 is one of the instances of it. 
 
 The English people have lately cried out against the ill-treat- 
 ment of political prisoners in France, and the London Times sent a 
 commissioner to Oberon, who found out that the prisoners had one 
 cause of complaint against the Government in the fact that the to- 
 bacco supplied to them was not as good as it ought to be. Eng- 
 land would never think of asking herself how she treated her politi- 
 cal prisoners as regards tobacco. Oh, no ! 
 
 '"Tis you're the sinner always — she's the saint." 
 
 Tobacco for her prisoners is a thing out of the question — " 'tis a 
 nuisance," "'tis an injury to them," and three days is the lightest 
 punishment that is given to a prisoner, as was given to myself, for 
 being found in possession of as much of it as would weigh a barley- 
 corn. 
 
 " Come on, come on," said Warder Power to me one day as he 
 opened my door. On I went, and was brought through the square 
 in which tie soldiers were on parade. I was soon landed in a room 
 which turned out to be the photographic department of the estab- 
 lishment. The artist had his glasses ready, and sat me down on a 
 chair opposite the picturing instrument. As soon as he had fixed 
 me in position, and taken his hands off, he made for the machine and 
 I stood up. 
 
 " What do you stand up for?" said he. 
 
O' * Donovan I?ossa?s Prison Life, 263 
 
 " What would I sit down for ?" said I. 
 
 " To take your picture." 
 
 " My picture ?" 
 
 " Yes ; sit down there again," and he made toward me to place 
 me in my position. 
 
 " Now, wait awhile ; who wants my picture ?" 
 
 " We want it ; sit down." 
 
 " You ? Do you know I have a wife ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean I have a wife, and you have made her awfully jealous 
 of me by circulating a report that I was holding an intrigue with 
 another man's wife. I don't want to make matters worse than they 
 are now by sending my picture into the world ; if my wife saw me 
 with any other woman, it may cause a separation for life." 
 
 " Why, what a foolish man you are ; don't you know that these 
 photographs are for the prison authorities, and that they do not 
 leave the prison ?" 
 
 " Oh, I could not rely upon that, and my mind would be un- 
 easy. The prison authorities have the original, and I will give them 
 permission to come and look at me whenever they please." 
 
 " Come now, come now, and don't be so foolish ; you will only 
 be bringing additional trouble on yourself," and here he gently laid 
 hands on me to coax me into the chair. 
 
 " Oh, no, governor, no ; there is no trouble to me like trouble of 
 mind, and if I allowed you to take my picture I could not help 
 thinking it would get into the hands of other women, and that my 
 wife would hear it." 
 
 " Then you absolutely refuse to allow your picture to be taken ?" 
 
 " Unless I see that it is absolutely wanted, and that I have guar- 
 tees it will not be improperly used." 
 
 Here three or four of them pressed me to sit down. I sat down, 
 and as soon as they had their hands off me I stood up and replied 
 to their persuasion thus — " See now, governors, there is no use press- 
 ing me further ; there is only one condition on which I will allow 
 my picture to be taken, and that is this — that the Queen write to 
 me for it, and promise she will not let it out of her own possession." 
 
 I was taken back to my cell, and the next day I was again taken 
 to the photographer, with the same result as before. Clerkenwell 
 Prison was after being blown down this time ; alarm reigned every- 
 where around. Soldiers were brought into the prisons, our rescue 
 was apprehended, and our photographs were wanted for the detec- 
 tives in case we were taken away ; but as I was this time undergo- 
 ing all the tortures they could inflict upon me, I knew they could not 
 treat me worse, and I would not give them the satisfaction of letting 
 them make a picture of me. 
 
 A change now came ; I was sent from one side of the pentagon 
 to another, and my new cell was somewhat of an improvement 
 upon those I had before. It had no iron blind, but had a 
 
264 (? Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 small window containing two panes of glass, and away out of 
 my reach, near the ceiling, nine feet high. The warder opened 
 it in the morning to give me fresh air, and many an anxious wish I 
 had to indulge myself with a look at the world outside. I'd leap 
 and catch the sill and strain myself, but light as my body was it 
 was too heavy a weight for my hands to sustain, and I'd drop down 
 after a few seconds. Bringing all my wits to work on the situation, 
 I was at last able to attain the height of my ambition, and have 
 not only a look into the world, but a whisper with an old acquaint- 
 ance. I piled up on one another all the things I could lay hold of. 
 My gutta-percha pot was the foundation stone, at meal time my stir- 
 about dish was next, then my gutta-percha pint, and my jacket and 
 vest on top of these, each folded up so as to aftord me as much 
 height as possible, and on top of all I placed on the edge a timber 
 plate which was a resident of the cell and was not removed when I 
 entered, though I had no use of it. It was as nice a feat as you 
 could well imagine, to see me plant my toes on the rim of this plate 
 and keep hanging to the sill for a quarter of an hour at a time while 
 holding a conversation with a prisoner in another cell. My hands 
 would get tired and then I'd lean on the structure underneath more 
 heavily than I ought ; the pile would totter to its base. My first 
 attempt to open up communications proved a success, but a melan- 
 choly success, from the information it brought me. When I had 
 raised myself to the position that I could see the windows of the 
 other cells, I strongly whispered — " Is there any one there ? " After 
 three or four repetitions of this, a whisper came back, " Who are 
 you ? " " Rossa." " Rossa ? Surely ? " " Oh, yes, who are you ? " 
 " Murphy of Manchester. I met you there, don't you recollect, in 
 '64?" Then we had some words as to how and where we met, 
 which I cannot tell here. I remembered him very well, and asked 
 what brought him here ? 
 
 " Why," said he, " don't you know ? " 
 
 " No," said I, " how could I know ? " 
 
 " Did not you hear of the three men that were hung at Man- 
 chester ? " 
 
 " No ; who were they, or what about ? " 
 
 "Didn't you hear of Kelly and Deasy being rescued?" 
 
 " No, no ; what Kelly and Deasy ? " 
 
 " Colonel Tom Kelly and Captain Tim Deasy." 
 
 " Is it Tom Kelly that was in Dublin ? " 
 
 " Yes. He and Deasy were arrested in Manchester, and we res- 
 cued them. One of the police was shot, and three men were hanged 
 for it, and seven transported. You must have known one of them 
 that was hanged, Michael O'Brien, of Cork." 
 
 These last words staggered me ; the pile that was under my feet 
 fell ; I clung to the window-sill, and asked — " Is it Mike O'Brien? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you knew him ; he belonged to the National Reading' 
 room there, and went to America, and came back to light." 
 
CP Donovan BosscCs Prison Life. 265 
 
 I heard no more, but dropped to the ground. Here was Mika 
 O'Brien dead — hanged ! Mike O'Brien ! one of my oldest friends 
 in the organization, one of the truest and one of the noblest ; as 
 artless as a child, as devoted as a lover, and as courageous as a lion. 
 Dead — hanged ! 'Twas too bad. I first made his acquaintance in 
 Cork in '59 ; I met him at the Crown Hotel, and was introduced to 
 him by a relative of mine, Denis Downing, both of whom were 
 then doing business in the establishment of Sir John Arnott. Denis 
 was arrested in Skibbereen in '58 on a charge of being connected 
 with the Phoenix Society. The movement was then in its infancy, 
 and Denis was in his infancy, too — 16 years of age. A year or two 
 after his release from prison, he came to America ; went into the 
 war there ; raised himself to the rank of captain ; lost a leg at the 
 battle of Gettysburg ; was marshalled into the regular army after 
 the war, and stationed in Washington ; got into ill health ; got 
 leave of absence to Ireland, and died there. Mike O'Brien came to 
 America, too, and hearing that Denis Downing was in the war, made 
 towards him. Denis's brother Patrick, now Colonel Downing, of 
 Washington, also imprisoned in '58, was commanding in the 42 d 
 Tammany regiment. Mike O'Brien met the brother; they were 
 going into a fight ; he should go with them ; and providing himself 
 with arms, went into the engagement as a volunteer, and came out 
 of the battle without a wound. 
 
 I met him in New York in '63. One day he said to me, " Rossa, 
 I must get more knowledge of the use of arms. I'll never be able 
 to do much if I do not know how to fight. I'm determined to 
 learn more than I know at present, and I have made up my mind to 
 join the 13th New Jersey." 
 
 " Now, don't be foolish. What good are you to Ireland if you're 
 killed ?" 
 
 " There is no use of talking. I have made up my mind to this 
 thing, and I will go. Will you come and see me off?" 
 
 There was no use parleying. I went and saw him off. I saw him 
 take the oath, the recruiting sergeant tempting myself by saying I 
 would make a splendid soldier. I saw him on the train that took 
 the recruits to the regiment's headquarters, and that is the last I 
 saw of Mike O'Brien. Oh, God ! to have that man hanged as a 
 criminal. Yes, he was one, but as noble a one as Emmett, as Tone, 
 or Fitzgerald, or any one who died for the cause of country. 
 
 Murphy whispered to me that Captain M'Cafferty and St. Clair, 
 and a few others I knew, were in the pentagon, and within my hear- 
 ing. I did not know any of them but St. Clair, and I felt timid 
 about calling their names, lest they might be doing the role of 
 maintaining a good prison character, and averse to doing anything 
 against the regulations. I whispered their names a few times, and 
 as I got no response I did not trouble them further. I knew St. 
 Clair. I met him in London in '64. He had then the character of 
 being imprudent, in so far as he used to march his men in military 
 
266 0' 'Donovan fiossa's Prison Life. 
 
 order through the streets. He was in penal clsss with John Devoy 
 and myself on a charge of attempting to break the prison, and when 
 Murphy told me he was somewhere in the vicinity I called his 
 name. 
 
 He heard me ; he was at the other side of the pentagon, and instead 
 of whispering across when he recognized me he bawled out a con- 
 gratulation on our meeting. It drew the attention of the officers 
 upon us, and got our quarters changed. 
 
 In my next cell Mike O'Brien's death preyed upon my mind for 
 a few days, and as I lay on my bed board one morning, when the 
 prisoners were coming from chapel, one of them put his lips to the 
 ventilator and whispered, "Duffy is dead." "Duffy is dead !" Ned 
 Duffy dead ! Another of the confessors of the faith. The man who 
 gave me the whisper was Lynch, who was detected in Portland 
 prison in trying to pass ont the letter to my wife, which I had di- 
 rected in the care of Mrs. Moore. He was then within a few months 
 of being released, but in consequence of being detected in trying to 
 assist me the authorities laid it on to him ; the warders kept report- 
 ing him for imaginary offences ; he lost all the remission he had pre- 
 viously earned, and had to work out the whole term of his sentence. 
 He was now in Millbank preparatory to being released ; and learn- 
 ing that I was in the same ward, put himself in communication with 
 me. 
 
 I had traveled the West of Ireland with Ned Duffy, and we 
 had many a strange adventure. We found ourselves one night 
 traveling through bogs and brakes somewhere in that triangle of 
 ground within the three towns of Ballaghadereen, Boyle, and Bal- 
 lymote. 
 
 The meeting place was on a hill within view of some rocky em- 
 inences that are full of caves. I think they are called the Keish 
 Mountains. Our guide on the occasion was Shemus Andy. 
 
 We were to meet four or five hundred men, but there was some 
 mistake made in the naming of the place, for we only met about 
 half of them, the other half having assembled on a hill some three 
 miles distant. This we discovered after we had ended our business 
 about midnight. 
 
 Our men knew that the boys from the other district must be 
 somewhere, and a few of them shouted a peculiar call ; then there 
 was dead silence, and in the stillness of the night a reply was heard 
 from a place three miles distant. Our men then gave a general 
 shout of parting, which was immediately returned, and we broke 
 up, scattering in different directions. 
 
 A very serious question was to be determined this night. An- 
 other certain society was in the district, and the members of it were 
 averse to the Society of United Irishmen being introduced. Our 
 men were beaten at fairs and markets, and on the highway, when- 
 ever they were met by the others. This had been going on for a 
 few years ; but now that the United Irishmen had got strong enough 
 
(? Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 267 
 
 to command respect, and to overpower the others, some of them 
 wanted permission to force the other party to join them — to actu- 
 ally beat them into the ranks of the Irish revolutionary army. Ned 
 Duffy and I would not allow it ; we counselled peace, and told them 
 their forbearance in their strengtli would have a better effect, that 
 it was better to use persuasion than force, that there were many 
 good men at the other side, and instanced the case of themselves, 
 who were bitterly hostile to joining at first, but who were now ar- 
 dent workers in the good cause. There was nothing preventing 
 any one of them from being a member of both societies. There 
 was, however, one difference — that the other was got up to defend 
 the people from aggression, while ours had the object of making 
 war on the aggressors and destroying their rule in the country. 
 We admitted to our brotherhood all Irishmen, of every class and 
 creed, who would swear to fight for the independence of their na- 
 tive land ; they admitted to theirs only members of a particular 
 creed. They were sectarian and defensive against the enemy ; we 
 were national and agressive — organizing our means to fight. 
 
 All seemed pleased with our interview, and it was satisfactory 
 to learn shortly afterwards that the two societies were working har- 
 moniously together. 
 
 Edward Duffy was this time — March, '65— in delicate health ; 
 yet he traveled night and day, and was up late and early. His 
 heart was in his work, and to see it prospering sustained him. One 
 night we were passing by his mother's house. " Hold," said he to 
 the driver, "there is light in the window; they are up yet, and we'll 
 go in." The mother kissed him, saying, " Eddy, won't you stay 
 with me to night ?" 
 
 " No, mother, I have to be in Balla at a certain hour." 
 "Oh, you'll kill yourself." 
 "Not yet awhile, mother. Good-bye." 
 
 They kissed each other again, we mounted our jaunting-car and 
 went to meet the boys, who had word of our coming. 
 
 I had a look at Edward Duffy once while I was in Millbank. It 
 was the time I was allowed to go to chapel, and I saw him one 
 Sunday morning going to Communion. I would give anything to 
 have his eye catch mine, but he never raised his head going to the 
 altar or coming from it. He had somewhat of a stoop in his car- 
 riage, and looked as if the treatment was bending him to the ground. 
 When his last days were approaching, an officer of the prison told 
 me that Duffy would like very much to have a talk with me ; there 
 was no way of having it by signals, as he was in hospital, and I in 
 punishment ; but I said to myself I would do all in my power to 
 gratify a dying wish of his, and I had my name taken down by the 
 officer to see the Director the next day he would visit the prison, 
 and when he came I was brought before him. 
 
 " Well, what do you want now?" 
 
 "There is a prisoner here named Edward Duffy; he knows my 
 family, and as he is only lately arrived" 
 
V68 (? Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 " How do you know that ?" 
 
 " Oh, Governor, I knew it, and"- 
 
 " Is it permission to see him you want ?" 
 
 " Yes, he" 
 
 " Certainly not, you can't see any other prisoner here ; it is against 
 the rules ; that will do." 
 
 The " that will do" was addressed to the officers, and they im- 
 mediately gave me the order of right-about-face. But I stood and 
 pressed my appeal, thus — " I beg pardon, one moment. It is six 
 months ago since I had a visit. There is one due to me now, and 
 you sent a ticket to Mr. Pigott the other day, but stopped it again. 
 Now, if you let me see Edward Duffy in the presence of the officers, 
 I will not ask another visit for six months." 
 
 " You cannot see Edward Duffy — it is out of the question, and 
 there is no visit due to you, for you have forfeited it by your bad 
 conduct." 
 
 I again got the order to march out, and if my morals would al- 
 low me to curse, I could say, mentally at least, " Oh, sweet bad luck 
 to you." 
 
 Within my own memory, the English newspapers made a great 
 sensation of a story about two comrades, Poles, who were confined 
 in a prison in St. Petersburg; one of them was dying, and expressed 
 a wish to see the other and would not be allowed ; he died with- 
 out this little consolation being vouchsafed to him, and the English 
 press was horrified at " the Russian barbarity." But here was an 
 identically similar case — occurring in the heart of London, under 
 the nose of the Queen, and under the nose of her Ministers, Lords, 
 and Commons, and under the nose of all the pious Tract and Bible 
 Societies that send missioners to humanize barbarous Russians and 
 inhuman savages. In the eyes of England it was not, perhaps, a 
 similar case, inasmuch as she conceded to the Poles the right to 
 rebel, while she considers the Irishman who rebels against such a 
 pious, paternal government as hers, unworthy of the name or treat- 
 ment of a human being. 
 
 Wasn't I raging with passion at the hypocrisy of those Pharisees 
 the Sunday Edward Duffy lay in the prison dead-house, to hear one 
 of those missioners from the tract societies preaching outside my 
 cell door. I candidly admit that I was more inclined to curse than 
 to pray. The punishment prisoners get no religious service. They 
 are not allowed to chapel, and on Sunday one of these itinerant 
 Scripture-readers is allowed into prison to preach to them. The 
 cell doors are opened, and the gates left closed. My door and gate 
 both were left shut in consequence of my being registered as a 
 Catholic, but I heard the preaching. 
 
 Ned Duffy's death, following close upon the news of Mike 
 O'Brien's, threw me into a melancholy mood, and for days I lay 
 stretched on the flat of my back traveling, with my eyes closed, 
 through the ups and downs of life, and the queer ways of the 
 
O ) Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life, 269 
 
 world. I got my bed at night, and when I could not sleep I turned 
 my thoughts to rhyming. Let not the critics be hypercritical at my 
 coming in here with the few verses I made — 
 
 NED DUFFY. 
 
 The world is growing darker to me — darker day by day, 
 The stars that shone upon life's path are vanishing away, 
 Some setting and some shifting, only one that changes never, 
 'Tis the guiding star of liberty that blazes bright as ever. 
 
 Liberty sits mountain high, and slavery has birth 
 In the hovels, in the marshes, in the lowest dens of earth ; 
 The tyrants of the world pitfall-pave the path between, 
 And o'ershadow it with scaffold, prison, block and guillotine. 
 
 The gloomy way is brightened when we walk with those we love, 
 The heavy load is lightened when we bear and they approve ; 
 The path of life grows darker to me as I journey on, 
 For the truest hearts that travelled it are falling one by one. 
 
 The news of death is saddening even in festive hall, 
 But when 'tis heard through prison bars, 'tis saddest then of all, 
 Where there's none to share the sorrow in the solitary cell, 
 In the prison, within prison — a blacker hell in hell. 
 
 That whisper through the grating has thrilled through all my veins, 
 " Duffy is dead !" a noble soul has slipped the tyrant's chains, 
 And whatever wounds they gave him, their lying books will show, 
 How they very kindly treated him, more like a friend than foe. 
 
 For these are Christain Pharisees, the hypocrites of creeds, 
 With the Bible on their lips, and the deVil in their deeds, 
 Too merciful in public gaze to take our lives away, 
 Too anxious here to plant in us the seed of life's decay. 
 
 Those Christians stand between us and the God above our head, 
 The sun and moon they prison, and withhold the daily bread, 
 Entomb, enchain, and starve us, that the mind they may control, 
 And quench the fire that burns in the ever living soul. 
 
 To lay your head upon the block for faith in Freedom's God, 
 To fall in fight for Freedom in the land your fathers trod ; 
 For Freedom on the scaffold high to breath your latest breath, 
 Or anywhere 'gainst tyranny is dying a noble death. 
 
 Still sad and lone was yours, Ned, 'mid the jailers of your rare, 
 With none to press the cold white hand, with none to smooth tk« face; 
 With none to take the dying wish to homeland friend, or brother, 
 To kindred mind, to promised bride, or to the sorrowing mother. 
 
 I tried to get to speak to you before you passed away, 
 As you were dying so near me, and so far from Castlerea, 
 But the Bible-mongers spurned me off, when at their office door 
 I asked last month to see you — now I'll never see you more. 
 
 If spirits once released from earth could visit earth again, 
 You'd come and see me here, Ned, but for these we look in vain ; 
 In the dead-house you are lying, ana I'd "wake" you if I could, 
 But they'll wake you in Loughlin, Ned, in that cottage by the wood 
 
270 O' ^ Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 For the mother's instinct tells her that the dearest one is dead — 
 That the gifted mind, the noble soul, from earth to heaven is fled, 
 As the girls rush towards the door and look towards the trees, 
 To catch the sorrow-laden wail, that's borne on the breeze. 
 
 Thus the path of life grows darker to me — darker day by day, 
 The stars that flashed their light on it are vanishing away, 
 Some setting and some shifting, but that one which changes never, 
 The beacon light of liberty that blazes bright as ever. 
 
 I had completed my poetry and my fourteen days' punishment at 
 the same time, and I was in the expectation of being allowed the 
 light and diet of an ordinary cell ; but no, that was not for me yet. 
 I was hauled up before the Director and got fourteen days more 
 for not doing any work the previous fourteen. 
 
 Brooding over this subject of perpetual punishment, I thought it 
 was better to bring it on hot and heavy, and as they were worry- 
 ing me, I made up my mind to have the satisfaction of worrying 
 them. When Gambier was giving me this last sentence an army 
 officer was standing by him with his sword drawn. He was in com- 
 mand of the soldiers who were guarding the prison, and these were 
 all round the pentagon in which I and the other Irish prisoners were 
 confined. When I got my hour's exercise that day, I resolved to 
 break all the windows of the officers' residences that I could. These 
 were common glass and within easy distance of me. As I walked 
 around my little yard I picked up every piece of mortar and pebble 
 that was large enough to do execution, and threw them into one 
 corner. 
 
 As I was to go about it at all, I resolved to do the thing well •, 
 it would be mean and petty to break only one or two panes, and t 
 was making preparations to make a clean job of it. I would make 
 a noise, anyway, and I thought by this act I would be helping an 
 exposure of our treatment, for many of the soldiers knew me and 
 would speak of the matter outside, the officers would tell their 
 wives, and so forth. All these things passing through my mind led 
 me to the act, but I never committed it, as I was arrested in my 
 preparations. It was necessary to resort to some means to prevent 
 the officers from rushing in immediately after I had broken the first 
 pane, and I proceeded to stuff the keyhole with little pebbles. As 
 I was doing this I was noticed and my game was spoiled. I was 
 taken to my cell, and the next time I got exercise there was not a 
 pebble in the yard, and the officer stood at the door. 
 
 About seven days of these fourteen had passed when I found 
 myself taken to a first-class punishment cell, and I got four ounces 
 of meat for dinner. I got porridge for supper with my bread, and 
 in the morning three-quarters of a pint of cocoa. I asked the offi- 
 cer what it meant, and he could not tell me. I was getting the 
 regular working diet, and yet they wouid not put me in a regular 
 working cell or let me go to chapel. But here is what it meant, as 
 I barned a few weeks afterwards. 
 
0' * Donovan Bosso'b Prison Life. 271 
 
 This very day that the change was made in my condition in 
 Millbank, another change was made in the condition of nine prisoners 
 in Chatham, but while my change was for the better, theirs was for 
 the worse. They were nine men of "good character;" they were 
 within a year or so of their liberation ; they had earned all their 
 remission and conformed quietly to the requirements of discipline. 
 
 Yet were they, this^ day I speak of, taken from their ordinary 
 cells, where they had plenty of light and a hammock-bed to lie on, 
 and placed in the punishment cells, where they had little light and 
 were compelled to lie on the hard boards. The change was a 
 mystery to them, but they dared not complain, as they, each of 
 them, would risk the loss of the few years' remission they had earned 
 by "good conduct." 
 
 There were ten punishment cells in the ward in which they were 
 located, and the puzzle to them was, till I came, why it was that 
 the tenth was left vacant. This .vas left for me to occupy a week 
 after, and these men were thus ill-treated to pave the way for my 
 further ill-treatment, and to render it impossible for me to say 
 I had been treated exceptionally. Such mean dodging, such petty 
 subterfuges were resorted to for the purpose of tormenting me, I 
 can give no idea of; and when you bear in mind that the dodgers 
 were English Prime Ministers, Secretaries of State, and Prison Di- 
 rectors, you may well say England is capable of anything. 
 
 The last week I had was a pleasant one, as I could look out of 
 my window and see the prisoners exercising. John Devoy was in a 
 corner cell two stories below me, and we conld speak to each other 
 without raising our voices very high. We were whispering one 
 morning during breakfast hour, and we noticed there was some 
 unusual stir. We saw a few prisoners taken from this yard, a few 
 from that, and we decided there was a transfer of convicts to 
 the Public Works. As we were making speculations as to 
 when a change would come for us my door was opened ; I was 
 ordered out ; and irons were ready for me. In a minute's time I was 
 bound and on my way to a coach which was in waiting. Big Power 
 and two other big warders entered the carriage with me, each of 
 them wearing a belt in which were stuck a short sword and revolver. 
 The prison gate opened before us; we drove through London for 
 half an hour, and I found myself transferred to a railroad carriage. 
 The four of us had a compartment to ourselves ; big £ ower feeling 
 he had me well secured began to get jolly, and talked about ray skill 
 in providing myself with writing material. 
 
 " Rossa, you can write with anything ; but now we are 
 going to a place where they make the closest search possible, 
 and if you have anything about you, just fling it out through the 
 window, and don't give it to them to say that we didn't do our 
 duty." 
 
 " Ah, Governor, there's no fear but you did your duty by me. 
 but if you did it by your own colsoLucc I don't envy you ; I h*vt» 
 
272 0^ Donovan Rosso) 8 Prison Life. 
 
 nothing about me that will bring you into trouble, but where are we 
 going to, may I ask ?" 
 
 " You'll soon know," and as he spoke the train slackened speed. 
 I heard " Chatham " cried out ; I was conducted to the platform, 
 where other armed men shook hands with my traveling companions ; 
 two coaches were obtained, and in another half hour I found myself 
 inside the gates of Chatham Prison, and never saw the outside of 
 them till three years after, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 RECEPTION IN CHATHAM 1 MUST LEAEN DEILL OR GO TO " JILLI- 
 
 GUM " ASSOCIATION WITH THIEVES STONE BREAKING WHEEL- 
 ING RUBBISH YOKED TO A CART LIGHT WORK, LIGHT WAGES, 
 
 AND LIGHT DIET " COS " AND " JOBLER" PRATT A PRISON SPY 
 
 1 SMASH MY WINDOW REFUSE TO PAY SALAAMS REV. MR. 
 
 DUKE, PROTESTANT CHAPLAIN A CEDAR — COSGROVE PUNISHED 
 
 AND DEGRADED ON MY ACCOUNT 1 LEARN THE PRISON " SLANG " 
 
 BEARLA GAR NA SAOR MADE AN ACCESSORY TO THEFT 
 
 SCOTTY's" PRESBYTERIANISM "I'LL MAKE SOME ONE PAY FOR 
 
 "SCOTTY's" PRESBYTERIANISM "f 
 
 THIS YET" "AH, GET OUT" "INSOLENCE AND IRREVERENCE" 
 
 AT CHAPEL RICHARD O'SULLIVAN BURKE AND AND HENRY S, 
 
 MULLEDA — AN ESCAPE FROM HAVING MY NECK CRACKED — I 
 "STRIKE" — THROW MY HAMMER OVER THE WALL — FIVE WARD- 
 ERS HOLD ME SALAAMING THE GOVERNOR He'd TREAT ME 
 
 WITH CONTEMPT MY RESOLUTION, MY PRAYER, AND MY " SA- 
 LUTE " TO THE GOVERNOR SATISFACTION HANDS TIED BEHIND 
 
 MY BACK 35 DAYS BLOODY WRISTS " BLOOD FOR BLOOD " 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES FATHER 
 
 O'SULLIVAN THE DESTRUCTION OF POPERY IN 1866— A BOOK 
 
 OUT OF DATE DIRECTOR DU CANE GIVING TIT FOR TAT — 
 
 I BREAK UP THE SPECIAL PARTY " JOBLER's " GOOD-BYE — THE 
 
 THIEVES' KINDNESS FLOGGING PRISONERS MEET RICK BURKE 
 
 AND HARRY MULLEDA MY SENTENCE READ RELEASED FROM 
 
 IRONS. 
 
 My new guardians conducted me to the wing of the building I 
 was to have my apartments in, and as soon as I entered one of them 
 cried out, "Turn your face to the wall" My blood stirred, but I 
 
C* Donovan Rosso? $ Prison Life, 27;3 
 
 pulled the rein and kept it down to its accustomed motion. Bye- 
 and-bye I was measured, weighed, stripped, searched, bathed, re- 
 dressed, shaven, shorn, and entered on the books. Principal Warder 
 Alison got special charge of me, and, as a matter of course, he 
 should read me a lecture. He told me I came here with a pretty 
 bad character, but he hoped I would become an altered man, and I 
 told him I considered myself pretty well altered already. 
 
 " You should see," said I, " what a handsome man I was when 
 I was in the world." And you, reader, should see the confused 
 look he gave. The words entirely disconcerted him in the lec- 
 ture he was giving me, and he changed the subject to that of 
 "Drill." 
 
 " Do you know your drill ?" 
 
 * Drill," cried I, with an alarmed look, as I darted a pace back. 
 " What do you mean by drill ?" 
 
 "Did they drill you in Millbank?" 
 
 " Oh, Governor, you may say they did ; I hope you are not going 
 to drill me so here." 
 
 " See, Rossa, what I mean is this — this is a military prison, and 
 you have to pay particular attention to the military orders given, 
 and be very particular in obeying them. We are more exact about 
 that than anything else, and any negligence of duty on your part 
 will be punished severely." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that I'll be punished here if I don't 
 know my drill ?" 
 
 "Certainly, yes." 
 
 " Why, Governor, that's the very thing I'm transported for — for 
 trying to learn my drill." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean that when I and my friends were on trial, the English 
 Government brought up people to swear against us that we were 
 guilty of the crime of trying to learn drill, and are you going to tell 
 me now that I am to be punished further here in England if I don't 
 know it?" 
 
 " Now, I tell you that you'll have to obey orders here, or, if you 
 do not, there's a place convenient called Jilligum, and you'll very 
 soon find your way to it," and saying this he marched me off to my 
 cell. 
 
 It was ten feet by seven. I saw my bedstead nailed to the 
 ground, and the pillow of it raised four inches high ; the bedclothes 
 were folded, and lay on a thin straw mattress which was also fold- 
 ed. My table was a small board imbedded in an angle of the wall, 
 and my stool was two feet high, the trunk of a tree, fastened to 
 the floor alongside of the table. 
 
 There was again that detestable metal screen to darken my 
 abode, with the little holes in it to admit as much light as would 
 enable me to see my misery. 
 
274 O^ Donovan Rosea? s Prison Life. 
 
 My dinner was brought to me and I ate it with avidity, and af- 
 ter dinner I was taken out to have an hour's exercise. Warder 
 Thompson had charge of me, and gave me a broom to sweep up the 
 exercise yard. Prisoners when at exercise here get nothing to do, 
 and I knew this task was given to me to try my temper. I swept 
 away, and as the officer asked me some question I asked him in re- 
 turn, pc inting towards them, " Are not those punishment cells ?" 
 He shook his head, as much as to say, " I cannot answer such a 
 question." 
 
 I got a sheet of paper the second day to write the reception let- 
 ter. I wrote it to my wife, and next day I was told the letter would 
 not be allowed to pass as I spoke about my treatment. The third 
 day I was sent to work with the nine thieves I have already spoken 
 of ; the youngest of them was twenty-six, and the oldest seventy. 
 They worked previously with all the other prisoners in a place 
 called Mary's Island, outside the prison walls. 
 
 In the morning we were sent wheeling rubbish from one yard to 
 another ; each had his wheelbarrow, and if I did not fill up mine as 
 full as the rest, Thompson would make me take the shovel again 
 and lay more on. We were allowed to talk moderately. They 
 were all anxious to know who or what I was. " Scotty" was my 
 chief interlocutor, and after a few hours questioning me, he in 
 his broad Scotch exclaimed to the others as we were shovelling the 
 earth into our barrows — " Noo I haw it, heece a bawd characthoor, 
 and we're sent here to keep ham coompany." I smiled, and they all 
 promised to do what they could for me, advising me to keep quiet. 
 
 After dinner we were sent breaking stones, the ten of us in a 
 row ; each could speak to the man next to him, but it was against 
 orders to extend the conversation farther. 
 
 I thought I was going to get on very well here, but such a 
 thought was soon driven out of my head. My first impulse when 
 put amongst the thieves, was to kick against association with them 
 — and when I act on first impulses I generally act right. But on 
 this occasion I had a little curiosity to learn what could be learned 
 from these men, and when I found them telling me to " cheer up," 
 and giving me words of sympathy, I determined to give them a 
 trial and see if I could turn my position to any advantage. 
 
 I was not long stone-breaking when I noticed the officer's 
 special attention attracted toward me. I am kiotach, that is left- 
 handed, and working with my hammer in that hand the officer or- 
 dered me to use the other. I told him I could not, and he told me 
 I should ; that I would have to work there the same as any other 
 prisoner. This looked strange to me, and I was Jioping it was not 
 an indication that the screws were to be put on here, too ; but it 
 was hoping against hope. I saw two left-handed men come into the 
 party two months afterwards, and this warder never interfered with 
 their using the hammers with their left hands. 
 
 It was awkward to me at first to use my right hand ; sometimes 
 
O^ Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 275 
 
 I'd strike the block instead of the stone ; and more times I'd strike 
 the round loop of hoop iron with which I held the stone in a fixed 
 place. 
 
 " Jobler," who worked near me, told me to strike easier until I 
 became more dexterous. " Your stroke is too light," cried Thomp- 
 son. I looked up to see to whom he was speaking ; it was to me, 
 and I said nothing, but hammered away. Ten minutes afterward 
 " your stroke is too light " sounded on my ears again. I raised my 
 eyes and said nothing but resumed work. 
 
 Jobler whispered, " Say nothing, but work away, he's on you," 
 and away I worked, knowing that Jobler's was the best advice I 
 could get under the circumstances. 
 
 But what is the use of following good advice if you are in the 
 hands of a master who will not be pleased with the best of good 
 work or good conduct from you. 
 
 " Your stroke is too light," came on again, and Jobler whispered, 
 " God help you, Rossa." 
 
 " Your stroke is too light," " your stroke is too light," " your 
 stroke is too light," came on four, five, six and seven times without 
 my opening my lips ; at last, in as quiet and mild a tone as I could 
 command, I replied, " Oh, officer, the wages are rather light, too." 
 
 " You're done for," " you're done for," whispered Jobler, as he 
 struck his hammer successively on the stone. 
 
 The principal officer coming round soon after, Thompson had a 
 conversation with him, and " Rossa " was called. I looked, and the 
 irate-looking magnate motioned to me with his sword to advance. 
 I went forward and received a lecture. I, in giving an explanation, 
 raised my hand to illustrate the action of the hammer ; the principal 
 immediately raised his sword as if he would strike, and ordered me 
 to keep my hands by my side. This raised the devil in me, and to 
 the next observation he made about my " insolence and imperti- 
 nence," 1 replied in as scornful a tone as possible — " The prison rules 
 do not permit me to be insolent to any officer, nor do they permit 
 any officer to be insolent to me." Saying this I gave him as black 
 a look as I could ; he turned on his heel, telling Thompson to report 
 me when we went into supper, and I returned to my " light stroke." 
 
 That evening when I entered my cell the first thing I did was to 
 unbosom a few scraps of old newspaper which Pratt passed to me 
 during the day. 
 
 I was reading about two brothers named Desmond who were on 
 trial in connection with that new gunpowder plot of Clerkenwell. 
 The key turned in my door, I stuck the paper inside the waist of my 
 trousers ; Alison and another officer entered, and ordered me to 
 strip. Here was I caught the first day of my noviciate in Chatham, 
 and there is no doubt but that preparations were made to catch me, 
 as Pratt who gave me the scraps of newspaper was afterwards 
 hunted out of the party as being a spy on them. When I went out to 
 work after being ten day3 on bread and water in dark cells, on telling 
 
276 0\ "Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 about what Pratt gave me, Cosgrove, who was " orderly " the eve- 
 ning of the stripping, remembered that Alison went into Pratt's cell 
 before he came into mine to strip me. 
 
 I Avas put under " report," stripped of shoes, handkerchief, cap, 
 stock, and braces, and next day at twelve o'clock I was led into the 
 presence of a slimy-eyed, sneaky-voiced gentleman, and charged 
 with "idleness" and "insolence," and having prohibited articles in 
 my possession. I asked him if it was insolence to tell the officer 
 when he was worrying me with my stroke being too light, that 
 "the wages were light too," and he said, "Certainly, yes." I was 
 sentenced to forty eight hours on bread and water, fined a number 
 of marks, and forfeited my right to write another letter instead of 
 the one which was suppressed two days before. Taken back to my 
 cell I looked about, and, seeing my punishment gutta-percha pint, I 
 laid hold of it, and dashing it against the thick gaslight pane, 
 knocked the glass and the pint into smithereens. This was acting 
 on first impulse, which, as I said before, was acting right. You 
 might not have acted so, but every man's mind is his kingdom, and 
 I believe I, in troublesome times, retained control of mine by al- 
 lowing to my subjects — first impulses — self-government, or a little 
 of the management of their own affairs. 
 
 The noise of the breaking glass brought on the warders immedi- 
 ately, and in a few minutes I found myself lodged in one of the 
 blackholes. Here I spent my forty-eight hours with scanty food 
 by day und scanty clothes by night. I was again put under report 
 for breaking my cell and my pint, and was sentenced to 72 hours 
 on bread and water. I was satisfied that I deserved this punish- 
 ment and I went through it quietly, save that I refused to pay any 
 salaams to the Governor and other officers when they came to visit. 
 " Doctor," said I to Doctor Burns, as he visited me in one of his 
 rounds, " do not think that by refusing to pay salaams I mean any 
 personal disrespect. I do not, but I cannot be paying my respects 
 to an authority that is starving me." " Oh," said he, " I don't 
 mind, but the discipline of the prison has to be maintained." 
 
 I was lying on the flat of my back another time when Deputy- 
 Governor Hardy visited me. I was undergoing a hard Lenten fast, 
 with very little prospect of an Easter day coming on, and, as the 
 lantern w T as held into the blackhole, in my grim humor, I said, 
 " Governor, is there any chance at all of getting eggs for breakfast 
 here," and I am reported for being insolent to the Deputy, and ask- 
 ing him for an " extra breakfast." That is the way my jailors took 
 jokes. 
 
 The Prototant chaplain, the Rev. Mr. Duke, visited me daily, and 
 endeavored to reason me ii to " propriety." He spoke very kindly, 
 and asked me if I would not grant him a favor. I said I would, if 
 it was in my power, and then he asked me to conform to the custom 
 of the prison in the matter of standing to attention when the Gov- 
 ernor called. I told him I would, and I stood in the middle of 
 
^ Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 277 
 
 my cell, with my hands by my side, the next time Captain Powell 
 appeared. I thought this settled matters, and that I would be sent 
 out to work when the three days were up ; but no, the outraged 
 authority had to be vindicated, and I got three days more for " gross 
 insolence and insubordination." 
 
 Then I was sorry that I had made the promise to the chaplain, 
 but as I made it I kept it, and at the end of ten days I found myself 
 stone-breaking at the side of " Jobler." 
 
 While I was in confinement. Cosgrove became possessor of a lead 
 pencil, which he hid in his cell for me. He tied a bit of thread to it, 
 hitched the thread in a corner of his ventilator, and then let the 
 " cedar " fall in through one of the small holes. 
 
 One day, as we were coming from dinner, we were halted in the 
 hall ; nine or ten officers were detailed into the ward, then we were 
 stripped to the buff, but nothing was found. 
 
 I told my story about the piece of newspaper Pratt gave me, 
 and then Cosgrove swore out — that that scoundrel Pratt was a spy 
 in the party. 
 
 He knew that Cosgrove had the pencil, he gave information to 
 Alison, and that is the reason we were searched. Cosgrove did not 
 escape ; he was called away from us an hour after dinner, his cell 
 having been searched closely, and the pencil found. 
 
 He got forty.eight hours on bread and water ; was degraded for 
 two months, and lost some of his remission. " Degradation " and 
 loss of remission to him was something. He was in the first class, 
 and had roast meat for dinner and tea for supper, now he had to be 
 satisfied with such fare as I had — boiled meat, and gruel instead of 
 tea for supper. 
 
 It was funny to me to see all the other prisoners getting tea in 
 the evening, while I was brought a pint of cold gruel. I was a 
 solitary bad character till Cosgrove was reduced to my level, and 
 then there were two pints of gruel brought into the ward. Cos- 
 grove asserted that his pencil could not be found only that some 
 one gave information. He charged Pratt with being the in- 
 former, and also charged him with the worse offence of betraying a 
 stranger and a persecuted man by giving me a newspaper and then 
 telling Alison I had it. He cursed him to hell and damnation, and 
 threatened he would have his life. 
 
 None of the party would speak to Pratt after that ; he com- 
 plained to the Governor he was afraid of his life, and he was taken 
 away from us. Though any of these prisoners were not allowed to 
 associate with the others, they were even kept in a separate corner 
 by themselves when they went to the Protestant Chapel, yet they 
 managed by signs to commuuicate to the others that Pratt was a 
 blackleg, and such a cry was raised against him that he had to be 
 sent to another prison. 
 
 There was sent to us in Pratt's place a little dark-featured man, 
 who was a pattern-maker from Bradford, and was undergoing a 
 
278 O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 long sentence for burglary. He bad learned three or four languages 
 in prison, and was otherwise very intelligent. One day he asked 
 Jobler to change seata with him, in order that he might speak to 
 me. Jobler did so, and immediately Thompson brought the two of 
 them to account. They told him it was commonly done, and they 
 never saw it prevented before, but he peremptorily ordered them to 
 take their own places and stay there. 
 
 Jobler's name was William Crane. He belonged to Hampstead, 
 London ; told me he saw John Sadlier dead on the Heath, but did 
 not believe he was John Sadlier at all. He entertained me with 
 stories about the Derby and other great races, where thieves would 
 attend in organized gangs ; told me how watches were " prigged," 
 and how other robberies were committed, but hoped I would never 
 divulge any of those secrets of the profession if I ever chanced to 
 get into the world. 
 
 He and the others would often talk in professional slang, and 
 the secret of that he would not tell me, but, from my constantly 
 listening and observing the result of the conversation, I at last hit 
 upon the key, and he was very much surprised when one day I told 
 him something in slang. 
 
 Cosgrove was the recognized head of the party ; he was as well 
 built and as handsome a man as one would wish to see ; he served 
 in the English militia, and was now serving her Majesty on account 
 of committing a burglary in Nottingham. He was the only man of 
 the party I made freedom with. I used to call him " Cos," but 
 used to " mister" the others whenever I had any occasion to speak 
 to them. Our work inside the walls was varied. We piled brick, 
 piled timber, emptied lime carts, and all the other carts that brought 
 material into the yard. 
 
 If " Cos" ever caught me behind a pile, out of the officer's view, 
 he'd go on with tricks of jugglery, and he often made mo laugh 
 heartily at pretending to swallow stones and bricks. He one day 
 made me accessory to an attempt at theft. We were tearing down 
 an old shed, in which one of the officers had an office. " Cos " and 
 I were on the top of the shed, tearing the boards, and Jobler and 
 Andrews were taking them away ; he saw a coat belonging to one 
 of the warders hanging below in the office. 
 
 " By Gollies," said he, "there may be a pencil or a piece of to- 
 bacco ii that." He signaled to Jobler, and, telling him to be on 
 the watch on one side, told me to keep an eye on the other, and 
 cough if Thompson was coming around. He then jumped down, and 
 was up in a minute again, cursing the old coat because there was 
 nothing in the pockets. 
 
 These three months of my prison life were not at all uninterest- 
 ing, and I had plenty of variety, because there was not a week 
 passed that I had not a day or two on bread and water. 
 
 Besides the punishment that came to me from the desire of the 
 authorities to keep me in hot water, I gave myself three days in the 
 
O' 'Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 279 
 
 cells every month. This was as a kind of protest against working 
 in association with thieves — a kind of compromise to keep myself 
 all right between my convict duty and my conviction. 
 
 As I was by myself I did not fear I was showing a bad example; 
 but if any more of my fellow treason-felony prisoners came after me 
 it would be stated by the authorities that I was in association with 
 English prisoners, and never refused to work with them. 
 
 The authorities did a very wrong thing in the way they acted 
 when I was kept in the cells. 
 
 While the prisoners were never allowed outside the wall that 
 surrounded the building when I worked with them, every day that 
 I was kept in punishment they were taken out. They were thus 
 given to understand that their rigorous treatment was owing 
 to my presence, and if relieved of me they were relieved of 
 the extra vigilance and confinement that made the time more than 
 usually miserable. Several of them applied to the Governor to 
 be sent back to the ordinary part of the prison, and only one 
 succeeded. 
 
 This was " Scotty," and he went a cunning way about it. When 
 all other resources failed, he suddenly discovered that he was a 
 Presbyterian, and that he should by right attend the Presbyterian 
 service instead of the Episcopalian. He sent for the Presbyterian 
 clerg yman, and told him he wished to attend his own place of 
 worship in future. 
 
 These nine men were taken to the Protestant Church every 
 morning, and closely watched, lest they should have any communi- 
 cation with any of the other prisoners. To take " Scotty " by him- 
 self to another congregation would require another guard, and it 
 was easier to remove him from the party than have so much 
 trouble He was, therefore, sent away and a Protestant taken in 
 his place. 
 
 I was breaking stones one day, along with the youngest man of 
 the party, and Thompson challenged both of us for being rather 
 idle. 
 
 He kept talking to the Englishman a long time, and evidently 
 worried him much. The latter never said a word, but when Thomp- 
 son moved off he turned his head to me and said : " By Christ, I'll 
 make some one pay for this yet." That is, when his time was up, 
 and when he'd go out into the world, he would have satisfaction off 
 of society for the humiliation he was subjected to in prison. 
 
 And I found this was not an uncommon thing in the minds of 
 convicts. 
 
 'Tis a sad kind of reformation, but it is not to be wondered at, be- 
 cause the first element of discipline to be learned by these prisoners 
 is that manhood is to be trampled under foot, and that you are not 
 to have any mind or will of your own no more than the brute with 
 the bit in his mouth, whose movements are guided by the driver 
 pulling the reins. 
 
280 ''Donovan Bosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 I did not take the officer's Teproofs as silently as the Englishman. 
 I told him if he did not consider I was doing enough of v/ork he 
 could report me to the Governor, but I did not want his abuse. 
 
 Next day I got two days on bread and water for my " insolence." 
 I asked the Governor if he really considered what I said " insolence," 
 and he said he had not the least doubt of it. 
 
 Following close on this, I was " insolent " again under the fol- 
 lowing circumstances : — 
 
 When we leave our beds in the morning, the officer lights the 
 gas, and leaves it lighting until the breakfast is served. When the 
 gas is turned off, there may be light enough in an ordinary cell, but 
 in our punishment cells there is very little light. I made a special 
 application to the Governor on this head, and he gave me to under- 
 stand the gas would be left burning in our cells after it was 
 turned off in the rest of the prison. Next morning, when the gas 
 was turned off, and darkness came across the page of the book I was 
 reading, I rung the bell, and the officer coming, asked what I wanted. 
 " I want a light," said I. 
 
 : " You have the same light as any other prisoner." " I have not, 
 for I am in a dark cell." 
 
 "You have the same light as any other prisoner in the ward." 
 
 " That is nothing. This is a punishment ward, and as we are not 
 supposed to be under punishment, we ought to be allowed as much 
 light as would enable us to read, as all the prisoners are allowed." 
 
 " Now, you had better shut up, and not be making noise, or if 
 you do not, you'll soon find yourself in a darker cell." Then he 
 moved away, and as he was going down stairs, he kept talking at 
 me, "as if I was better than any other prisoner, and as if he didn't 
 know who I was," &c, to all of which I said — " Ah, get out." 
 
 Next day I was up before the Governor, charged with this " inso- 
 lence," and Snell, the officer, denied he ever said a word to me, 
 and that my hurling the " get out" at him was quite unprovoked. 
 I asked the Governor if he would examine the prisoners next to 
 me, for they all heard the fellow scolding, but the Governor said 
 he could not take the word of a prisoner against that of an officer, 
 and I got my forty-eight hours for my " insolence." 
 
 " Irreverence at chapel" was another of the heinous crimes put 
 on record against me on those prison books. Two strange men 
 were taken before me to chapel one Sunday. They came out of my 
 ward, and they turned out to be Harry S. Mulleda and Ricard 
 O'Sullivan Burke, who were convicted on a charge of purchasing 
 arms in England. The chapel door was not open as we arrived at 
 it. Rick Burke attempted to give a look at me some four paces 
 behind him, and he was immediately ordered to look to his front. 
 
 Our chapel this time was a hall of the prison, with cells at each 
 side. Every prisoner brought his own stool with him, but we had 
 no stools, and we had to take them out of the adjacent cells. When 
 I was placed in position I found myself in a line of one, removed at 
 
O^ Donovan Hossofs Prison Life. 281 
 
 a respectful distance from the line of five or six. Sitting behind me 
 were the two strangers. How to get a look at their faces was the 
 question, and getting it was the " irreverence." I was sitting on 
 my stool while the priest was preaching. When I had to kneel 
 down, I had to move backwards, keeping my face towards the 
 altar ; but, instead of doing this, I gracefully turned around the 
 stool, so that my sight would sweep over the faces of the two men 
 behind me. I did not recognize either of them. When I went 
 back to my cell I was ordered to put out my broom, and the next 
 day I was ordered the two days' punishment for looking at my 
 friends. 
 
 " Jobler " tried to know for me who were the two new prisoners. 
 He used to scrub the passage-way outside of the cells, and, getting 
 a chance for whispering, he questioned them as to who and 
 what they were. He had the news for me the next time I went to 
 work, and then I said it was time for me to make up my mind to 
 stop working altogether in my party. They were sent on to Chat- 
 ham for the purpose of drafting them into my gang after they had 
 done a little probation, and I thought I would not set them the ex- 
 ample of working in it. An accident had like to happen me one 
 day. I was very near getting my neck broken, and I availed my- 
 self of the event to go before the Governor and ask him to give me 
 work in my cell, or anywhere that I would not be in association 
 with the special class selected for my company. This was my ap- 
 plication : " Governor, I was yesterday yoked to a cartload of 
 stones. A noose of the rope was drawn over my neck, while two 
 prisoners were detailed to the back of this cart to prevent it from 
 heeling over. But it did heel over ; the shaft of it flew high in the 
 air, and the rope which was around my breast was suddenly jerked 
 away from me. It was a wonder it did not hitch on my neck; had 
 it done so, it would have ended my troubles with the Government; 
 in a manner that would be quite satisfactory to you all. I deem it 
 quite out of order to place me at labor in any position where my 
 life is endangered, and I now ask to be removed from this party. I 
 will pick oakum, or do anything that you require of me, in my 
 cell." 
 
 Governor — " I cannot place you at any other work. I am act- 
 ing under particular instructions regarding you, and nothing is left 
 optional with me to do in your case ; if you wish, I will lay your 
 application before the Directors, but more I cannot do." 
 
 "Very well, Governor, I will wait till their decision can be 
 known." 
 
 Captain Da Cane, Chairman of the Board of Directors, visited 
 the prison a few days after, and I was brought into his presence. I 
 told my story, and asked to be changed. He could not do it as he 
 was acting under the instructions of the Secretary of State, but he 
 would do what he could to give me protection, and this is what 
 he did : He ordered the prisoners to be seated four yards apart 
 
282 (? Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 when they were breaking stones, and ordered that they should not 
 speak to each other; and, also, when it was necessary to draw 
 stones, that I be left to my work, the others going to draw the cart. 
 
 The prisoners were mad at being kept so far apart, and prevented 
 from killing time by conversation, and some of them began to look 
 black at me as being the cause of their discomfort. One magnani- 
 mous fellow said if he were in my place he'd fling himself down 
 the stairs or commit suicide some other way rather than be keeping 
 nine innocent men in perpetual torment. 
 
 On the morning of June the 1st we were placed at work, sur- 
 rounding a large heap of small round stones that must at one period 
 of their lives have been washed by sea or river water ; we were not 
 allowed to sit down, but were permitted to place one knee on a 
 stone and strike at the small stones with our hammers. It was not 
 a very agreeable position to be working in, and I had previously 
 made up my mind to make a final " strike" that morning, and bid 
 farewell to my companions. Warder Thompson and a principal offi- 
 cer were standing on a pile of wood that overlooked the pile of 
 stone, when I stood up, and asking "Jobler" if he thought I could 
 throw that hammer over the prison wall from where I stood ; while 
 he was looking at me in amazement I gave the hammer a fling with 
 all my might. 
 
 The warders approached, and, asking what I did that for, I told 
 them I wanted the hammer no more as I had finished my work in 
 that place. 
 
 Next day the war commenced in earnest, and I got three days 
 on bread and water. I told the Governor I would work no more in 
 the party, and he told me I should. I told him I would pay him no 
 more salaams, and he told me I should. I told him, another time, it 
 was not to him I meant to be so disrespectful, but to the Government 
 that was sending him his orders to treat me in such a manner, and he 
 told me he would treat me with contempt. The three days passed by, 
 and then I got three days more for not saluting the Governor and 
 for not having my tins bright enough. When these had passed, I 
 got a repetition of the dose, and they kept repeating it day after 
 day until the 17th of June, I refusing to work among the thieves 
 and refusing to salaam the Governor. 
 
 On the 15 th I told him I would not come into his presence any 
 more, that it looked too much like a farce to be bringing me before 
 him day after day to ask me what I had to say, when at the same 
 time he would not record anything I said, and lie told me I should 
 come. Next day I refused to go, and five or six warders came into 
 my cell and dragged me into his "judication room," as they called 
 it. When I entered, they let go their hold of me, and I rested 
 against the wall with my hands crossed, and one leg across the 
 other. 
 
 I was ordered to stand to attention for the Governor, and I 
 made no movement otherthan to keep standing against the wall. 
 

 O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 283 
 
 I was laid hold of, and brought forward to the rails. One officer 
 caught my left hand and held it down by my side, another caught my 
 ri^ht; another came behind and settled my heels and toes in posi- 
 tion, and then caught me by the shoulders and straightened me 
 up. I smiled, and said to the Governor it would be worth his 
 while to have a picture of this taken for the edification of those 
 English people who are so fond of picturing foreign customs and 
 manners. The three or four men who had hold of me kept me in 
 position till the Governor had passed his sentence of 48 hours' bread 
 and water, and I then told him I would take the first opportunity I 
 could get #f practically protesting against this use of physical force 
 to make me pay salaams to him. 
 
 I went to my cell, and was raging at the thought of these 
 people laying hands on me for such a purpose, and of there being no 
 ways or means to get myself avenged of them. The Rev. Mr. O'Sul- 
 livan, the Catholic chaplain, came in, and the tears rolled down his 
 cheeks as he counselled me to bear all patiently, and offer my suffer- 
 ings to God as satisfaction for my sins. " Father," said I, 
 " do not talk to me that way ; there is no use in my thinking this 
 offering would be worth anything in the sight of God, because it is 
 very unwillingly I undergo what I suffer, and I would not undergo 
 it if I could. If I offer anything to God, it must be something that 
 I voluntarily suffer — something that I feel the loss of, or that will 
 really be a sacrifice. I will not be a hypocrite to God by making 
 Him an offering of what is worth nothing — what I would not wish 
 to have to offer, and what I would gladly avoid having. ' The priest 
 left my cell, and, as he did, a thought flashed across my mind and 
 brought with it an opportunity of making an offering to God, and 
 also of paying to the Governor such a compliment as would afford 
 me human satisfaction. I fell on my knees in the middle of my cell 
 and repeated these words: "Oh, Almighty and Eternal God, I offer 
 Thee, in satisfaction for my sins, the punishment and suffering that 
 will come to me on account of this act which I contemplate commit- 
 ting to-morrow." I got up off my knees and felt relieved. The 
 load was off my heart already. I had my satisfaction; for I had 
 determined when the Governor came for his salute to-morrow to 
 have my slop-pail full of water, and to pitch it right into his face, and, 
 once I had made up my mind to do it, it was done. Next morning, 
 when I took my pail to the water-tank, I brought it back to my cell 
 half-full. 
 
 Twelve o'clock came. I heard the Governor going his rounds, 
 and, as he was approaching my cell, I crouched in a corner to bring 
 him as near my gate as possible. The inside door was unlocked and 
 thrown in, then an iron gate stood locked between me and the 
 parties outside, and I was supposed to "stand to attention" in the 
 iriddle of my cell. The officer outside cried, "Attention ; salute the 
 Governor." The Governor looked through the bars to see where I 
 was and as he did, he got my salute right full into his face. It was 
 
284 O' 'Donovan Rosstfs Prisan Life. 
 
 the fairest shot I ever saw, and while the water was streaming down 
 his clothes — " That," said I, " is the salute I owe you ;" and then lay- 
 ing hold of the timber door, I slammed it with a force that shook 
 the building. " Oh, sir, 'tis clean water," said Brown, condoling 
 with him, and he was truly at the time a fit subject for condolence. 
 
 I do not pride myself at having done this act ; I once thought I 
 could not be guilty of it, but prison life changes a man, and the 
 treatment I received changed me into doing many things I thought 
 myself incapable of when in the world. But I should have some 
 satisfaction at the time for the indignities heaped on me, and if I 
 could make the Secretary of State or the Prime Minister of England 
 the recipient of the salute I gave the Governor, it would have in- 
 creased my peace of mind. Their treatment of the Irish political 
 prisoners was wanton and uncalled for. It was not a political neces- 
 sity to associate us with thieves and murderers; it was to show their 
 affected contempt of us and of our cause, and to try and force us into 
 feeling degraded. While I would humbly apologize to the individual 
 whose lot it was to become the recipient of such an indignity, I 
 would tell the authorities that treated us as I have been descri- 
 bing that the salute was richly deserved, and that " it was 
 only the reflex of the treatment I was receiving." This I told 
 them when I was in their toils — when Capt. Du Cane, in passing 
 sentence upon me, said it was a brutal act. I had made up my 
 mind to fight it out with them, because I had pledged the punish- 
 ment that was to come of it as an offering, and I would say or do 
 nothing to mitigate the amount. 
 
 The day of the assault I remained in my cell, as cool as a cu- 
 cumber, and I was allowed to rest there quietly too; but next 
 morning, about ten o'clock, Principal Warder Alison, with two other 
 warders, came and told me they had orders to put me in handcuffs. 
 " Here, then," said I to Alison, who had the irons, holding out my 
 hands. He took hold of one, another took hold of another; they 
 brought them behind my back and bound them there. I said noth- 
 ing or did nothing on the occasion that would warrant any violence, 
 yet they were disposed to be very rude if they got any excuse. 
 
 At twelve o'clock Brown and Douglas brought me my dinner. 
 They took off the irons, and I thought they were going to leave 
 them off until I had dined, but that would be too generous a thing ; 
 they tied my hands in front and left me to eat as best I could. 
 
 As soon as I had eaten they came into my cell and unbound me, 
 but only for the purpose of carrying my hands back and putting 
 the manacles on behind. At two o'clock I was taken out of my 
 cell, and my irons were taken off. My shoes, my cap, my stock, 
 my handkerchief, and my braces were laid before me, and I was 
 ordered to dress myself. 
 
 I did so ; my hands were again tied behind my back, and I was 
 led into the yard to take an hour's exercise, a special officer having 
 charge of me. The hour being up, my hands were untied, and, giv- 
 
O Donovan RnsscCs Prison Life 285 
 
 ing up my shoes, braces, stock, cap, and handkerchief, I gave my 
 hands to the warders to have them again tied behind my back. At 
 six o'clock I got my supper; my hands were again brought to the 
 front, and, after having supped, were taken to the rear. 
 
 At forty-five minutes past seven the handcuffs were taken away 
 altogether, and I was left in peace till morning. At fifteen minutes 
 past five, next morning, my hands were tied behind my back ; half 
 an hour afterwards they were untied and tied in front, in order to 
 allow me to take my breakfast, and, having taken it, they were 
 bound behind and kept there till dinner time or the hour's exercise, 
 according as either came first. 
 
 This is a history of one day's tyinor and untying. It continued 
 day after day for thirty-five days, and before a week of the time 
 had passed I could count eight bloody marks on my wrists. I got 
 these from the bitter, vindictive spirit of two of the warders — Brown 
 and Thompson. Whenever these came to change the irons they al- 
 ways made the "dogs" bite by allowing the spring part of them to 
 rest on my hands when handcuffing me. I showed my hands to 
 Doctor Burns ; he asked Principal Warder Allison, who was pres- 
 ent, " How could that happen ?" " Oh, sir," said he, " that will 
 happen to the most careful officer. I have often 'nipped' a man my- 
 self, and could not help it." " I see, I see," said Dr. Burns, and 
 there was no more about it, only that Thompson and Brown nipped 
 away every chance they got. These two were consummate scoun- 
 drels. "Ah," said I to Thompson one day, " you're a mean wretch," 
 as he was unbuttoning my trousers from my vest, after having 
 bound my hands behind my back. I had no braces, and I had no 
 hands to keep my trousers from slipping off, as I walked about my 
 cell. I gnawed two holes with my teeth in the front of my vest, 
 and to these I buttoned my trousers. Brown reported me for tear- 
 ing my clothes ; the vest was taken away, and I got it back imme- 
 diately after with two little patches sewn in where I had made the 
 button-holes. I gnawed away at it again, and made two holes more, 
 and the next time that my hands were changed to the front I but- 
 toned myself. Thompson came to change the irons behind, and no- 
 ticing my trousers buttoned, he went to the trouble of unbuttoning 
 it. I was afraid that to torment me they would resort to the trick 
 of cutiing the buttons out altogether. My body clothes were taken 
 from me every night and placed outside my cell door, and every 
 morning I took them in. Thompson opened the door one morning, 
 and as I was stooping to take them up, he kicked them into my face. 
 Now, there is no use in my friends or my enemies saying I had not 
 patience ; I had. Thompson had his club, but at the time I did not 
 much care for that. I could throttle him before he could use it, 
 but it could never be proved that I did not make an unprovoked 
 assault upon him, and the other warders would be up immediately 
 and beat me to death or next door to it ; for, in consequence of the 
 assault I committed on the Governor, the whole of them at this time 
 were anxious to get any excuse to have at me. 
 
286 O' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 When they were puttiug on the irons, after dinner once, they 
 gave me a very wicked bite, and the blood flowed so freely that it 
 dropped on the floor. I could lay the forefinger of one hand on the 
 wound that was made in the wrist of the other, and, with my back 
 turned to the door, I wrote these words — " Might I not cry out 
 * blood for blood.'" 
 
 Father O'Sullivan came in soon afterwards, and seeing the blood 
 writing, he exclaimed : " Oh ! that is terrible, you'll only make mat- 
 ters worse for yourself. Wipe it out, I ask you." 
 
 " No, Father O'Sullivan, I'll let it stand and take the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 " No, no, you must wipe it out before it is seen." 
 
 "I will not." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll do it," and so saying he drew from his pocket 
 a white handkerchief. I thought it too bad to let him soil it, and I 
 promised to clear the thing away as soon as he left the cell. 
 
 The Established Church was yet established in these prisons, and 
 was the source of much annoyance to me in the way of books. I 
 was very often under punishment and on probation for punishment 
 — that is, I was a day under half-and-half treatment until my sen- 
 tence was passed, and during this day I was not allowed to have 
 my ordinary library book, but received one from the penal class li- 
 brary In Chatham all these penal class books were what I would 
 term " Souper" books ; all tending to show Catholics the errors of 
 their ways, and many of them showing to a certainty when Cathol- 
 icity or Popery was to come to an end. During the thirty-five days 
 I was in irons I was in this probation class, and I was annoyed that 
 I could get no book to read but these bigoted things. I got hold 
 of one of them one day. It was authored by a Rev. Mr. Jones, and 
 written in the year 1848. He had a chapter in elucidation of the 
 prophecies of Daniel, and he showed there as clear as nind that 
 Popery was to come to an end — was to be finally wiped off the face of 
 the earth in the year 1866. I was reading this in my prison cell in 
 the year 1868, and I was after seeing the new appointment of 
 a priest to Chatham Prison since I came there, in thej^ce of the fact 
 that there never was a Catholic chaplain appoinftpr to the prison 
 before my arrival. y 
 
 No matter though we suffer and scatter, w^-are truly " spread- 
 ing the faith " and strengthening it, and, whatever little consolation 
 Irish revolutionists may draw therefrom, let the religious Irish re- 
 joice that " out of evil cometh good," and let them also feel less bit- 
 terly towards us, bad people, who are at least considered worthy of 
 being made the instruments of that good. 
 
 I sent for the Protestant chaplain — the Rev. &/. Duke — and he 
 came immediately. 
 
 "Mr. Duke," said I, "you had never a regul»* Roman Catholic 
 chaplain in this prison till this year ?" 
 
 " No," said he ; " what of jt ?" 
 
O* Donovan Rosso? s Prison Zifc. 287 
 
 "Does it not look as if Catholicity was growing' instead of de- 
 caying?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; what are you coming at ? v * 
 
 " Well, Mr. Duke, here it is. I am registered as a Catholic, 
 and, in consequence of the established regulations of the prison, I 
 can get no book to read when I am awaiting punishment but one 
 abusing Catholicity and predicting its downfall. I don't wish you 
 to think me bigoted, but I think I hold now in my hands a book 
 that will warrant you in giving me something secular to read, as I 
 am in a bad frame of mind for religious training. This is a book 
 written in '48 by the Rev. Mr. Jones, and explaining the prophecies 
 of Daniel. He explains that Popery must come to an end in 1866 ; 
 this is 1868, and, with what is before your eyes and mine, you will 
 readily admit that the book is two years out of date, and should 
 not be in any library. Here is the passage." 
 
 He read it and said, " I'll try and send you a few books out of 
 the regular library, from which you can choose one." As he was 
 going away I said, " Mr. Duke, will you please leave me that until 
 I get the other ?" " Oh, no," said he ; " I'll take this with me, and 
 send you the schoolmaster as soon as I can see him." He kept his 
 word, and I chose from the books the schoolmaster brought 
 D'Aubigne's " History of the Reformation." 
 
 "The history of the world is the annals of the Government of 
 the Sovereign King." 
 
 That, I remember well, is one passage in the preface of the book, 
 and it set me thinking — thinking of all the things that could be 
 charged to God, if everything that the tyrants and scoundrels of 
 this earth committed was His work. I won't believe it even though I 
 be damned a thousand times over for disbelieving — damned by peo- 
 ple in this world I mean — not by God. I can reconcile to my views 
 of the Godhead, " the falling of the sparrow," and the falling or 
 numbering of " the hairs of the head," for I believe God omniscient 
 as well as omnipotent, and I believe He has established laws for the 
 regulation of the universe, and not alone do sparrows and hairs fall, 
 but men and women fall when they clash with those laws, and then 
 I believe God will bring them to account how they have spent their 
 time, hoping he will have mercy on all — none being in more need of 
 it than myself. 
 
 I kept D'Aubigne in my cell until the irons were taken off me. 
 The book was a large one, and though I had not plenty of reading 
 for the time, still the schoolmaster brought me no other book that I 
 could read. Not that he did not bring me some books that I would 
 rather have than re-read the History of the Reformation, but they 
 were more newly bound, and would not lie quietly on my block 
 without shutting up, or the leaves turning over before I wanted 
 them to turn. 
 
 D'Aubigne was an old volume, and a little hacked, and when 1 
 laid it open on the block and turned over a leaf with the aid of my 
 
288 } Donovan Bossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 tongue and lips, it remained open until I had it read and chose to 
 turn over another. There was no position in which I could read 
 only by laying the book on my stump-of-a-tree-stool, then turning 
 my gutta-percha pot upside down, and sitting on it with the stump 
 of a tree between my legs. Not having the use of my hands, I used 
 my tongue and lips instead of them, in managing the book. 
 
 It was a hot Summer and it was hard to pass the day without a 
 stretch. I should lie on one of my hands whatever way I lay down, 
 and I felt my arms pretty unmanageable at first. 
 
 But, by-and-by, they got used to the pressure on them. I fell 
 asleep a few times and. woke with the arm that was under me entire- 
 ly benumbed, no feeling in it, and could not stir a finger. The 
 weight of the body on the hand had stopped the circulation of the 
 blood, but by rubbing it to the wall, and to the body for some time, 
 sensation and motion were soon restored. 
 
 The days were so warm, and the heat so oppressive in my cell, 
 that I thought it would be a relief to me to leave my jacket off, and 
 allow myself to be handcuffed in my shirt sleeves, and thus I pre- 
 sented my hands to Brown one morning when he came with the irons. 
 
 " Where is your jacket ?" 
 
 " There it is on the block." 
 
 " Put it on." 
 
 " I think my hands would be more free without it, and the days 
 are so very warm that I think 1 will leave it oft to-day." 
 
 " You must wear vour full dress. Put on your jacket, I say." 
 
 "I will not, I say." 
 
 He put on the irons, and at dinner time when the Deputy-Gov- 
 ernor, Mr. Hardy, came around, he reported me to him for the of- 
 fence, and the insolence I gave him. 
 
 Captain Hardy said jeeringly, "You had better take off your 
 ipants, too, and go naked," to which I replied — 
 
 " You would like, perhaps, to have such a thing to report against 
 me, and it seems you want it, when you leave me nothing to keep up 
 my pants with, and when you loose them when I manage to tie them 
 to my vest." This seemed to be quite a proper answer for him, as 
 he aud his accompanying officers left the cell without making anoth- 
 er observation. I believe the authorities thought about this time it 
 was useless to be trying to civilize me to the level of their convict 
 worthies. 
 
 This salute I gave the Governor was caucused and counciled over, 
 and the "Ring" mast have said to themselves " there is no use in 
 our being at this man ; we are only getting ourselves into disgrace 
 and difficulties daj after day; we must try some other course." A 
 week after the "salute," Jobber, who was in the next cell to me, 
 knocked on the wall ; I knocked m return and listened. 
 
 "Good-bye, Rossa; remember me and Cos." 
 
 I was rapping back something w/ien I heard the doors unlocked, 
 and the whole party marching our. with bag and baggage. 
 
0' 'Donovan Horn's Prison Life. 289 
 
 "Good-bye, Rossa; remember me and Cos." 
 
 The tears started into my eyes — they even went further than 
 my eyes, and I let them flow. You that have never been in my 
 position can never know the feelings that started them — perhaps I 
 could not well analyze them myself; but there they were, let moral - 
 izers, and philosophisers, and kleptologisers say what they will of it. 
 
 These men treated me with kindness. When I met them, after 
 spending days on bread and water, "Cos" and " Job] er" would 
 have arrangements made with a few others of the party whom they 
 trusted to give me their dinner bread as we were going up the stairs. 
 I would not take it, and then " Cos," being orderly, would slip his 
 meat out of his tin and throw it in through the bars of my gate as 
 he was filling water into my can, and this would be done at the 
 risk of the officer seeing him, and, if seen, he would lose three 
 months of his remission, and be reduced from roast beef and tea to 
 boiled beef and porridge for a few months more. 
 
 Fourteen days of the thirty-five had passed, and, as I had eaten 
 my dinner, the irons were not put on as usual. I was thinking if 
 the torture could be at an end when the door opened and I was con- 
 ducted to the "judication" room, where sat in the seat of judgment 
 Captain Du Cane, the Chairman of the Directors. 
 
 He read the charge for me, and asked me what I had to say. I 
 said that when I was brought before Captain Harvey, the day after 
 I committed the offence, he told me I would get a sheet of paper to 
 make out my defence for the Director. I got no sheet of paper 
 since. 
 
 " You can't have it. Have you any reply to make ?" 
 
 " I'll make no reply except on paper." 
 
 " Do you admit the offence ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly — yes." 
 
 " I am sorry to see that instead of improving, you are only 
 getting worse." 
 
 " And worse I'll be getting while you're getting worse." 
 
 " This act of yours is a most brutal one." 
 
 "It is only just the reflex of the treatment I am receiving." 
 
 " That will do," he said, addressing my conductors, who con- 
 ducted me back to my cell. 
 
 I was left for an hour with my hands free, and I thought a 
 new sentence had been passed and the irons laid away. But that 
 was not so ; they came as soon as Du Cane had settled his business, 
 and the doubt as to what my punishment was to be was perplexing. 
 Next morning I heard the triangle being placed outside my cell 
 window where the prisoners were always flogged, and as I heard 
 the whistle of the lash strings in the air, and heard the victim's cries 
 as his back was cut, I was nerving myself to go through the same 
 operation. 
 
 I was prepared for anything, and though I never much liked 
 flogging, I felt some sort of satisfaction at thinking these people 
 
290 C Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life, 
 
 would flog me. I knew the act would both degrade them, and 
 stimulate Irishmen to greater exertion to be avenged. 
 
 Du Cane had decreed my sentence that day, but it was twenty- 
 one days afterwards before it was announced to me, during which 
 time I was kept in irons, though 1 was as quiet as a lamb. 
 
 I say this because there is a prison ordinance which says that 
 irons are only to be continued on a prisoner while he continues to 
 be violent, and that in no case are they to be kept on longer than seven- 
 ty-two hours without a special order from a Director. When Captain 
 Du Cane was questioned by the Devon Commission, as to why these 
 irons were kept on me for thirty-five days without any extra order, 
 he got out of the dilemma by saying that the seventy- two hours 
 meant consecutive hours, and that the order had not been violated, 
 inasmuch as I never had them on at a time for more than fourteen 
 consecutive hours. In a word, he admitted squarely that a coach- 
 and-four could be run through the ordinance, and that the irons 
 could have been kept on me for a life-time, so long as they were taken 
 off at night, without violating a letter of the law, though he admit- 
 ted the spirit of it might be violated. 
 
 When I come to speak of this Commission at length, I will give 
 some of Du Cane's quibbling evidence. 
 
 Here is a copy of his judgment sent to Colonel Henderson, whom 
 Du Cane succeeded as Chairman of the Board of Prison Directors, 
 when the other was appointed to the command of the London police 
 force : 
 
 ^Defence of prisoner Hossa" 
 
 " Declines to make any defence except in 'writing" 
 
 Sentence on prisoner. 
 
 " Colonel Henderson — The prisoner is without doubt guilty of 
 the very foul and insubordinate conduct alleged in the charge. The 
 Governor of the Chatham Prison is, as is well known, as temperate 
 and judicious a person as it is possible to find ; the officers in the 
 immediate charge of the department in which the prisoner is, are 
 selected lor their judgment and fidelity; nevertheless, he is, as stated 
 in the evidence, and as his misconduct sheet shows, constantly com- 
 mitting acts of insubordination and resistance towards his officers, 
 and every available punishment has been tried in his case, without 
 effect, nor does kindness have any better effect upon him [oh, Holy 
 Moses, what kindness I got from them]. He would in the ordi- 
 nary course be punished for the offence he has committed by flog- 
 ging, but it is thought that this punishment should not be inflicted 
 without special authority. If it should not be thought advisable to 
 inflict it, I can only suggest that he be sentenced to twenty-eight 
 days' punishment diet in close confinement, and be placed in the 
 penal class for six months; also, that to prevent the chance of his 
 repeating outrages of this description on the officers of the prison 
 who are obliged to visit him, all moveable articles and utensils are 
 
C Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 291 
 
 removed from his cell, and whatever is necessary being made a fix- 
 ture, and that he be kept in handcuffs in the day time. It is for 
 consideration whether the prisoner should be allowed to remain in 
 this prison after having committed such an outrage on the Governor, 
 especially if it was decided that the severe punishment for such of- 
 fences shall not be inflicted.— Signed, "E. F. Du Cane, 1.7, '68." 
 
 And then Colonel Henderson, taking a week to consider and to 
 consult the Ministry whether the prisoner should be flogged or not, 
 
 writes : 
 
 "I am unwilling to resort to corporal punishment in the casenof 
 this man, whose conduct savors of imbecility, except in the last re- 
 source. Carry out the Director's punishment, twenty-eight days' 
 punishment diet in close confinement and six months' penal class, 
 and remove all moveable articles from his cell. — Signed, 
 
 " E. G. \Y. Henderson, 7.7, '68." 
 
 These people would be only too glad to flog me if they could carry 
 out the " discipline " unknown to the world, but they knew the story 
 would get abroad and do them more mischief than they could do me 
 good. Not a fortnight passed by me in this prison that the shrieks 
 of flogging the unfortunates did not make my flesh creep. 
 
 The first three or four strokes generally brought piercing wails, 
 but, after that, till the two or three dozen were given, I heard no 
 more, though I heard the whips slashing against the naked back. 
 An odd case may arise where a prisoner would utter no cry, and 
 this person would be a hardened wretch in the estimation of the 
 jailers, while his fellow-prisoners would look upon him as a hero. 
 
 I managed a few times, by putting my fingers in the holes of my 
 iron blind, and drawing myself up, to have a look at the ceremony 
 of flogging. There was the triangle — three bars of iron coming to- 
 gether at the top and extended and stuck into the ground at the 
 bottom. 
 
 The prisoner's hands were lashed above, and, I suppose, his feet 
 — which I could not see — were tied below. The two doctors, the 
 Governor, the Protestant chaplain, and several warders stood around. 
 The prisoner was naked to the waist. A burly jailer swayed the cat- 
 o'-nine tails — nine pieces of hard cord tied to a stick about a foot 
 and a half long. Every stroke he gave he drew the cords through 
 his hand to clean away the flesh or blood that may be on them, and 
 also to make them even for the next stroke. A principal warder 
 cried out aloud " one, two, three," and so on, till a dozen were 
 counted ; then, to relieve the first man, an assistant flogger took the 
 lash, and began at " thirteen," going on till he came to " twenty- 
 four," when the other took his turn, and became relieved again at 
 " thirty-six," if the victim was to get more than three dozen. 'Twas 
 an ugly sight, suitable only for ugly people. Wasn't my whole flesh 
 creeping and cursing one day as I saw an unfortunate fellow tied up 
 with his head hanging on his shoulder as they were slashing away 
 at him, while the high officials were looking on with umbrellas over 
 
292 O"* Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 their heads and mats under their feet to protect them from catching 
 cold or catching any other discomfort from the drizzling rain ! 
 
 Du Cane tells Henderson that the Governor of my prison " was as 
 temperate and judicious a person as it was possible to find." Of 
 course he was ! Where could you get a Governor of an English 
 convict prison who was not so ? 
 
 And the officers around me were "selected for their judgment 
 and fidelity." Undoubtedly. And what did that mean ? Simply 
 that they were such officers as would be faithful to their masters' 
 behests, and would give no quarter to the prisoner. Du Cane's sen- 
 tence also decrees that the prisoner is to be kept in irons during the 
 daytime, and here was left an open to keep me in irons for seven 
 months, but that was not done, for the day the bread and water 
 commenced the placing me in irons ended. 
 
 About a week after Du Cane's visit I was changed from cell No. 
 6 to No. 13, and next day, when I got my hour's exercise, I saw 
 two large holes broken in the wall of No. 6. It occurred to me they 
 were making some preparations for my permanent location there 
 and I was right, for as I was passing my guardian officer he was 
 talking to Principal Warder Alison. Both of them were looking at 
 the holes, and Alison said, in a self-satisfied tone, loud enough for 
 me to hear, " I think he will be brought to his senses now." 
 They were building an iron closet in the cell, and otherwise making 
 it iron proof; but you must wait for its thorough description until I 
 come to occupy it. 
 
 While the changes were making, I, as I said before, was lodged 
 in No. 13, where I spent a most agreeable time. The two cells over 
 me were occupied by Rick Burke and Harry Mulleda, and I was 
 not long in making their acquaintance. 
 
 As we could converse with each other by knocking on the wall, 
 I kept myself occupied all day by sitting upon my gutta-percha pot 
 and telegraphing on the brick with my knuckles, and, when they 
 got sore, with the knob of my handcuffs. The two above me had 
 to work; they were laboring for their daily bread, and I had to en- 
 gage each of them in turn, so as to give one time to pick his oakum 
 while the other was giving me news. 
 
 I bad about a fortnight of this life, when No. 6 was duly finished, 
 and my Lenten season commenced. Deputy-Governor Hardy and 
 Alison, and two other officers, entered No. 13 one evening, the Dep- 
 uty holding in his hand a large sheet of foolscap, which he began to 
 read, and as he began, he stopped, saying — " Had we not better 
 read it in the other cell ?" " Yes, sir, yes." And turning to me, 
 Alison gave the order to '• Come on," and as we stood in my old — 
 but now new — quarters, Hardy proceeded to read my sentence. I 
 have not the exact words, but this is the substance. I was to be 
 kept in that cell, and never let out of it, for twenty.eight days. I 
 was to get eight ounces of bread and a pint of water at half-past 
 five in the morning, and the same at six in the evening, and every 
 
O' Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 293 
 
 fourth day I was to have a dinner consisting of a pint of stirabout, 
 a pound of potatoes, and a quarter of an ounce of salt. I was to be 
 allowed no books, except the Bible, and my clothes were to be taken 
 from me every night, and given to me every morning. " You may 
 take off the handcuffs now," said Hardy to Alison, as he finished 
 reading. c I was unbound ; they made a free man of me, and when 
 they left, I proceeded to examine the new improvements in my old 
 habitation. 
 
 chapter xvm. 
 
 MY NEW CELL — THE MUSIC OF THE WATERS — HANDCUFFS AND BLACK- 
 HOLE AGAIN BREAK MY MODEL WATER-CLOSET, MY BELL-HAN- 
 DLE, MY TABLE, ETC. GAMBIER'S VISIT AND HYPOCRISY DE- 
 PRIVED OF MY BED AND BIBLE— VERSE-MAKING MY READINGS 
 
 AND MY WIFE'S — DEPRIVED OF BED AND BODY CLOTHES A 
 
 STRUGGLE KNOCKED DOWN, STRIPPED, LEAPED UPON, AND 
 
 KICKED — A REPRIEVE — MEET HALPIN, WARREN, AND COSTELLO 
 A STRIKE AGAINST CLIPPING AND STRIPPING A FAMILY QUAR- 
 REL " ERIN'S HOPE " AND HER HEROES GRASS PICKING RICK 
 
 BURKE AND HARRY MULLEDA WOOD-CHOPPING WARREN CHOPS 
 
 A FINGER DETECTED LETTER — WRONGFULLY IMPRISONED TEN 
 
 DAYS o'HARA's LETTER KEPT FROM CHAPEL EXTRAORDINARY 
 
 PRECAUTIONS — LUDICROUS POSITION AT PRAYERS RELEASE OF 
 
 COSTELLO AND WARREN ARRIVAL OF JOHN m'cLURE, JOHN 
 
 DEVOY, AND CAPTAIN O'CONNELL BRICK-CLEANING IN A RE- 
 FRIGERATOR THE CUP OF HALPIN'S AFFLICTION FLOWN OVER 
 
 HIS ILLNESS AND THE DOCTOR'S INDIFFERENCE. 
 
 My cell was a model one, and, as the jailers left, I lay down on 
 my guard-bed and took a survey. The thick pane of glass that was 
 stuck in the wall to allow me a little gaslight was protected on the 
 inside by a plate of perforated iron worked into the wall, and also 
 another plate protected the spy-hole. My guard-bed was changed 
 from lying across the cell to lying on a line with the door, and, as 
 the ventilator was on a level with my shoulders when I lay down, 
 I found it very unpleasant at night. __ The bed was changed in order 
 
294 O* Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 to make room for the erection of a water-closet, which was the 
 beauty of my habitation. It had no cover, and the seat was a thick 
 stone flag, while all the other surroundings were iron. It was made, 
 and the whole cell was made, to resist any attempts of mine to break 
 it ; but, after a few weeks, I made a breach in the fortress. 
 
 The ordinary mortar with which the prison was built had been 
 chiselled out from the bricks to the depth of an inch, and burglar- 
 proof cement inserted instead. New pipes had been laid, and a 
 water-tap placed inside my cell, which I could turn when I wanted 
 to let the water run. This tap was one thing which I was allowed 
 control of, and after a little reflection I proceeded to make the best 
 possible use of it. It was a patent one, and, turning it as far back 
 as I could, I took a stretch, and as the water spouted away I imag- 
 ined myself on the banks of a purling stream. In half an hour or so 
 the warders discovered there was something wrong; they had 
 no water in the ward, and the waste was traced to my cell. They 
 came in, and Alison, making for the tap, asked why I let the water 
 run. I told him to keep the closet all right ; he kept turning and 
 turning, but could not turn it to the proper grade. He then pro- 
 nounced the tap out of order, and sent for the engineer. This gen- 
 tleman came, and pronounced the machinery all right. As soon as 
 they were outside the door I let the water run again, and they re- 
 turned again. Alison threatened all kinds of punishment, and 
 I told him they were doing their big best already, but in 
 spite of all, I intended to enjoy myself, and as there was a fine 
 old Irish song called the music of the waters I would enjoy as rnuch 
 as I could of it by allowing that w r ater to run till the river ran dry. 
 Half an hour passed and Alison made his appearance with a pair of 
 handcuffs. " ]STow r ," said he, "we'll quieten you," and, tying my 
 hands behind my back, I was led into the blackhole. I was kept 
 there for two days and two nights, and when brought back to num- 
 ber six I found the tap had been changed from the inside to the 
 outside, and when I wanted water I had to ring the bell, when a 
 warder would come and let it run for a few seconds. 
 
 English prison law declares that a prisoner is not to be put in 
 irons unless he is violent ; and some people are so good-natured as 
 to believe this law is obeyed to the letter. There was not much vio- 
 lence in turning a water-tap and talking of the music of the waters, 
 but Lord Devon's Commission will not have it so. Here is what 
 they have to say of an offence of such a " grave character" : " The 
 actual statement w T as that he was manacled for 35 days. It is to be 
 observed that having been released from handcuffs at 2 p. m., July 
 20, he was, for a further offence of a grave character committed in 
 the interval, replaced in manacles on the same day at 4:15 p. m , and 
 they were not finally removed until noon on the 22d." 
 
 When the handcuffs were removed this time I told Alison I'd 
 break the closet if he did not put a cover on it, and he defied me to 
 do so. I had no weapon, but,, looking around, my eyes rested on 
 
C Donovan Rosses Prison Life. 295 
 
 the bell-handle, and I made an effort to break it ; 'twas no use try- 
 ing to do so with my naked hands 3 but I thought there may be a bettei 
 chance by taking off my jacket and twisting it about the knob. 
 
 When this was done, I gave a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull 
 together, when the bell handle and myself sprawled upon the floor. 
 I knew the jailers would be in on me soon, and as the doors were 
 opening I hurled the piece of iron against the closet basin, and 
 knocked a piece of it off 
 
 This was one breach made in the fortification. I got the black- 
 hole again for a few days, and when I came back I had a bell-handle 
 that could not be broken ; but 1 repeated my resolution to break 
 the closet. I found a bit of the smashed crockery, and with this I 
 scraped away some cement and pulled out a piece of brick, with 
 which I made another breach in the citadel before I was detected. 
 My next adventure was to pull my table out of the wall, and I 
 showed them pretty clearly that I could knock their cell into a 
 cocked-hat in less than no time. After a fortnight's warfare of this 
 kind Gambier, the Director, visited the prison, and he came into 
 me, accompanied by half-a-dozen warders. They made motions as if 
 they would protect him from an assault, but he very blandly said, 
 " Oh, never rnina — llossa won't hurt me." 
 
 He then told me, in his silveriest tones, that he was very glad to 
 have some very good news for me — that my wife was doing very 
 well in America, that he saw newspapers with accounts of her read- 
 ings, and that he met my attorney, Mr. Lawless, a short time ago, 
 who told him to tell me my children were all right, too. As he 
 was talking this way he laid hold of my arm, and my whole frame 
 trembled at feeling him touch me with a butcher's hand. His 
 fingers could not find much between them but skin and bone, and, 
 with all his kind words, he left the prison that day, having given 
 orders that I was to get no bed that night. 
 
 Up to this I got my bed at half-past seven o'clock every even- 
 ing, but as I was in general insurrection, I refused to take it away 
 evt ry morning to the bath-room, on the plea that my bed was taken 
 out of my cell during the day for the purpose of punishing me, and 
 that it was not right for me to be the agent of my own punishment. 
 Sometimes I'd remain lying down until the warders would come and 
 pull the bed from under me. The Deputy-Governor was continu- 
 ally threatening, that unless I removed my bed in the morning 1 
 would not get it at night, but the threat was never carried out until 
 Gitmbier came, and that night and the night after I lay in the black- 
 hole without anything to cover me. But worse than that has to 
 come on yet, when I come to the time that they not alone deprived 
 me of my bed, but deprived me of my body clothing also. 
 
 They acted illegally in depriving me of the bed, and when I had 
 two nights' experience of this deprivation, I took it on the third 
 night when Alison offered it to me, on condition of my promising to 
 carry it out in the morning. 
 
296 O^ Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life, 
 
 I maintained that they were lowering themselves and their dig- 
 nity in exacting any promises from me, that discipline required my 
 punishment whenever I offended, and no parleying was in order. 
 We also compromised about the cell. I was to abstain from assault- 
 ing the closet, on conditions that disinfectants were thrown into it a 
 few times a day, and Douglas got a large bottle of the stuff, which 
 he used whenever I required it. 
 
 During these twenty-eight days on bread and water I got no 
 books, but they were so liberal as to allow me to retain my Bible, 
 and so little thankful was I to them for this, that it often came into 
 my mind to tear the book in pieces, in order to show my contempt 
 for their hypocritical regard for it, when they were treating me in all 
 other ways in a wholly unchristian spirit. 
 
 But if I tore the book they would use that act against me — they 
 would tell the people in the world that I did such an outrageous thing, 
 and did it in the spirit of irreligion ; and the religious folk, Catholic 
 as well as Protestant, English as well as Irish, who had been always 
 opposed to revolution or " Fenianism," would hail this as something 
 to harp upon in sustainment of the calumnies they had always hurl- 
 ed against those connected with the movement. Thoughts of this 
 kind restrained me, or I would have destroyed the book in order to 
 save it from the desecration that came upon it by living in a place 
 where it was used as if in mockery and derision of all its teachings. 
 
 About a month after this time, the authorities, thinking I was de- 
 riving some consolation from "the Word," decided that that was to 
 be taken away from me, too. Captain Hardy and Alison came into 
 my cell. The former asked the latter if I was yet refusing to work. 
 He said, "Yes;" then the Deputy, pointing to the book, said: 
 " Why is he allowed books, then ?" " Oh, sir," says Alison, "that 
 was a mistake of mine ; it is my fault. I should not have allowed 
 him any books while he refused to work" — and taking hold of the 
 Bible, he walked away with it. 
 
 The following verses, strung together during those cold nights 
 and hungry days in the blackhole, will show how much my mind was 
 filled with their Bible hypocrisy : 
 
 My prison chamber now is iron lined, 
 
 An iron closet and an iron blind. 
 
 But bars, and bolts, and chains can never bind 
 
 To tyrant's will the freedom-loving mind. 
 
 Beneath the tyrant's heel we may be trod, 
 We may be scourged beneath the tyrant's rod, 
 But tyranny can never ride rough-shod 
 O'er the immortal spirit-work of God. 
 
 And England's Bible tyrants are, O Lord ! 
 Of any tyrants out the crudest horde, 
 Who'll chain their Scriptures to a fixture board 
 Before a victim starved, and lashed, and gored. 
 
O* Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 297 
 
 They tell such tales of countries far away, 
 How in Japan, and Turkey, and Cathay, 
 A man when scourged is forced salaams to pay, 
 While they themselves do these same things to-day. 
 
 The bands, the lash, the scream, the swoon, the calm, 
 The minister, the Biole, and the psalm, 
 The doctor then the bloody seam^ to balm, 
 "Attention, 'tention," now for the salaam. 
 
 I don't salaam them and their passions roll, 
 Again they stretch me in the damp blackhole, 
 Again they deal to me the famine dole, 
 To bend to earth the heaven-created soul. 
 
 Without a bed or board on which to lie, 
 Without a drink of water if I'm dry, 
 Without a ray of light to strike the eye, 
 But all one vacant, dreary, dismal sky. 
 
 The bolts are drawn, the drowsy hinges creak, 
 The doors are groaning, and the side walls shake, 
 The light darts in, the day begins to break, 
 Ho, prisoner ! from your dungeon dreams awake. 
 
 Attention, " 'tention," " 'tention," now is cried, 
 The English master jailer stands outside, 
 And he's supposed to wear the lion's hide, 
 But I will not salaam his royal pride. 
 
 "Rossa, salute the Governor," cries one, 
 The Governor cries out — " Come on, come on," 
 My tomb is closed, I'm happy they are gone, 
 Well — as happy as I ever feel alone. 
 
 Be calm, my soul, let state assassins frown, 
 'Tis chains and dungeons pearl a prisoner's crown, 
 'Tis suffering draws God's choicest blessings down, 
 And gives to freedom's cause its fair renown. 
 
 Secret instruction from the authorities to the prison governor. ) 
 
 That we are base assassins, he says so, 
 
 And liars and hypocrites, 'tis well to know 
 
 That he's at least an unrepenting foe, 
 
 To cast him out as far as we can throw, 
 
 Is now our bounden duty. This we owe 
 
 To England's Majesty. Then keep him low, 
 
 Yet treat him doctorly — be sure and slow, 
 
 Leaving no record anywhere to show 
 
 That aught but nature gave the conquering blow, 
 
 And once cast out from this our heaven below, 
 
 What care we if to heaven above he go ! 
 
 English writers are fond of turning into ridicule Eastern magis- 
 trates, who require a prisoner, after being bastinadoed, to return 
 thanks to the man who beats him. When an English prisoner is re- 
 leased from the triangle, he is hurried to his cell, the doctor follows 
 
298 CP Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 him to balm his wounded body, and the clergyman to psalm his 
 wounded soul. As each of them enters the warders call out, " At- 
 tention !" and if the victim is able at all to stand he is obliged to 
 come on his legs and pay a salute to the gentlemen. The practice is 
 to be laughed at in heathen Turkey, but is nothing more than "dis- 
 cipline " in Christian England. 
 
 When my twenty-eight days' bread and water had expired, the 
 six months' penal class diet commenced, and they gave me oakum to 
 pick in my cell, and an hour in the open air every day. I took the 
 % hour, but I did not pick the oakum, on the grounds that it was against 
 my principle while undergoing punishment, and for not working 
 they took away my hour's exercise from me, and put me back every 
 alternate day, and sometimes two days at a time, on bread and 
 water. They capped the climax of their punishment now, when, 
 besides putting me on bread and water in the black hole for forty- 
 eight hours, they decreed that I was to get no bed at night, and that 
 I was to be stripped of my body clothes. 
 
 Alison came to my cell at locking-up hour, and asked me to 
 put out my clothes. " I will not," said I, " unless I get a bed." 
 
 " You can get no bed ; that is the order, and we must get out 
 your clothes." 
 
 " That is assassination work, and I will be no party to it. I will 
 not give my clothes." 
 
 " But you must give your clothes, and we will soon see that you 
 must." 
 
 Saying which he walked off, and returned accompanied by warders 
 Hibbert and Giddings. 
 
 The foregoing conversation was repeated, and when I definitely 
 said, " No, I will not give them," the three of them rushed at me. 
 I tried to keep them away by holding them at arm's length, but 
 made no attempt whatever at striking them, and they struck my 
 hands with their clubs to make me let go my hold whenever I 
 caught one of them. I was soon overpowered and lying on the 
 ground, with Hibbert's knee upon my neck. You might have 
 seen a butcher trying a pig for the measles; it was in exactly the 
 same manner that Hibbert took charge of my head and neck while 
 Alison and Giddings were pulling the breeches off me. It was ne- 
 cessary to turn me from one side to the other, and necessary for 
 Hibbert to take his knee off my neck while this was doing ; but, as 
 I was on the flat of my back, he gave a leap, and, with his knee 
 ioremost, came down on my chest. It was a treacherous, murder- 
 ous act. The air shot up my throat as it would through the neck 
 of a full-blown bladder if you leaped on it. The sudden compres- 
 sion of the chest caused this, and the blade-bones must have been 
 very strong and elastic to bear such a strain. 
 
 When they had stripped me they were leaving the cell, and I 
 proceeded to raise myself from the floor, but Hibbert, who was the 
 last going out, turned back and gave me a kick which threw me in 
 
0' 'Donovan IZossds Prison Life. 299 
 
 against the wall and cut me in several places. I was so excited, 
 that I think I should have shown myself a fighting man that night 
 if I could lay hold of any weapon to strike with. 
 
 My door was locked, and in a minute or two they came and 
 opened the trap to see how I fared. " Ah, you assassin dogs !" cried 
 J, as v laid hold of my gutta-percha pot and flung it at the lamp; 
 but the hole of the trap-door being too small to allow it to go out, 
 I seized three little loaves of bread which I had as a reserve against 
 hanger and hurled them one by one at my enemies. 
 
 You will, perhaps, say I could not be very hungry when I 
 had bread to use as bullets, but I was this time experiencing the 
 natural effects of protracted starvation — a loss of appetite. W^hen 
 I got my little loaf of bread in the morning I had no extraordinary 
 mind to eat it, and, having a lively recollection of the hunger I ex- 
 perienced at previous times, I left the bread uneaten as long as I 
 could, in case one of the ravenous attacks came on. 
 
 All that night of the assault I felt my chest sore — felt sore m 
 different parts of my body, and heart-sore, too. Rick Burke and 
 Harry Mulleda were in the cells over me ; they heard the noise and 
 kept rapping to know what was the matter, and when I was com- 
 posed enough I answered them. We kept knocking for half the 
 night, and their sympathy was a balm for the wounds of the flesh 
 as well as of the spirit. 
 
 In the morning I sent for the doctor, and when he brought me 
 from the blackhole into the light of the hall-way I saw my chest 
 black and blue and swollen. I got some liniment to rub to it, and 
 by degrees the soreness and swelling went away. 
 
 As soon as Alison, and Giddings, and Hibbert saw I was under 
 medical treatment on account of their assault, they entered on the 
 books a charge against me to the effect that I had assaulted them in 
 the discharge of their duty, and this charge remained for two months 
 on record before I was called upon to answer it; then Captain Du 
 Cane, the Chairman of the Board of Directors, came to the prison, 
 and I was brought before him to make my defence. 
 
 He asked me what I had to say, and I said nothing, but smiled. 
 " Now," said he, " could not you get on in prison like any other of 
 your fellow-prisoners ? They are all doing well — every one of them 
 — and when I was telling some of them in Portland, the other day, 
 how foolish you were for yourself, they were sorry for you." 
 
 This was all soft sawder in my eyes, and I said at once that 
 things were going to take a new turn, but I would not say anything 
 to interfere with the course they thought proper to pursue towards 
 me. My reply was, " When have I been treated like any other of 
 my fellow-prisoners? Have I not been separated from them in 
 Portland and sent to work amongst thieves ? Have I not been 
 separated from them in Millbank and sent to work amongst thieves ? 
 Have I not been sent here, and a special party of thieves prepared 
 for me, who were treated exceptionally severe, so that I, working 
 
300 O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 amongst them, could not be able to say I was not treated like 
 others ?" 
 
 "But if I give you a chance now, will you promise to do 
 better ?" 
 
 " I cannot promise anything ; but if I am treated like a human 
 being I have no disposition to give trouble to any one." 
 
 " Well, let us forget the past, and to turnover a new leaf; I will 
 remit the rest of your punishment, and send you out to work to- 
 morrow with Halpin, and Warren, and Costello." 
 
 " Do you tell me that Halpin, and Costello, and Warren are here, 
 Captain Du Cane," said I in surprise. 
 
 " Yes ; and I am now going to give you an opportunity of chang- 
 ing your conduct." 
 
 " Well, Governor, it will be a change anyway to be sent to work 
 with them." 
 
 I knew well that Halpin, Warren and Costello were in the prison, 
 because I had seen them through the holes in my blinds the first 
 Sunday they came, as they were exercising in the yard outside my 
 window, and I was mad at the sight, too, for they were walking 
 around one after the other some four yards apart, instead of being 
 exercised in couples, and allowed to talk as all the other prisoners 
 were. I thought they should have pluck enough to kick against 
 such treatment, and I was vexed at seeing them submit so tamely 
 with all their " Yankee notions." But they did strike afterwards, and 
 Warren and Halpin often made me laugh at the way they kicked 
 against the discipline, so that I was repaid for the chagrin I experi- 
 enced on first seeing them. And at the time Du Cane was speaking 
 to me, they were on the strike, having refused to work under the 
 petty irritating annoyance of the warders. 
 
 I had been holding telegraph communication with Costello dur- 
 ing the previous fortnight. He got laid up with a sore leg, and the 
 doctor, instead of sending him to hospital, sent him into the cell 
 next to mine, so that I had an opportunity of learning through the 
 wall all that was going on. I had an opportunity before that also, 
 because when I found these friends in the same ward with me, I 
 managed to get myself into the blackhole, so as to be in the neigh- 
 borhood of their cells. Costello was the first that my telegraph 
 communication reached ; he was over my blackhole ; he had a lot 
 of news for me about my wife giving readings in America, and as 
 she and I had had no communication for a few years, I made the 
 blackhole my favorite abode. I managed to do this by giving read- 
 ings myself. As soon as my forty-eight hours in the underground 
 cellar had passed, I was taken up to my No. 6, and as soon as I was 
 there I commenced giving a recitation lrom Davis, or some other 
 poet, when I was immediately pounced upon for making a noise, and 
 taken down again. This was what I wanted, and before I got tired 
 of hearing what Costello had to say of my wife, they got tired or 
 got ashamed of keeping me so long in the blackhole. It looked 
 
O' 'Donovan fiossa's Prison Life. 301 
 
 as if they gave me up as a bad job, for in the end I could not get 
 myself sent to the dungeon any more. I might dance, sing, or re- 
 cite, and they would not notice me, and then i in my turn got tired 
 of declaiming and singing. I felt that I had the victory over their 
 " discipline," and I was so magnanimous as to ask for oakum to pick, 
 and when I commenced to pick it they gave me a library book to 
 read. 
 
 The morning after Du Cane was speaking to me, I was sent out 
 to work in company with Augustine Elliott Costello, and we were 
 given in charge to Warder Pepper. He took us to the tool-box, and 
 gave us two shovels, two pick-axes, and two wheelbarrows, and then 
 sent us to wheel a heap of broken stones up along a deal board 
 on top of another heap. When Costello and I broke ranks after be- 
 ing marched out, we shook hands and spoke, " You're Costello, I sup- 
 pose ?" " Yes, and you're Rossa ?" — to which I nodded assent. 
 Then we had — " How are you ?" " Glad to meet you," and all that 
 kind of thing all round. " Where are Colonel Warren and General 
 Halpin ? The Director told me I was to be sent to work with them 
 and you." " Oh, they struck work some days ago. The three of us 
 were breaking stones here till I got sick. Then they struck, and are 
 now in the cells." "By Jove, that looks like a breach of contract. 
 The Director told me I was to be working in company with them, 
 and now they are not working at all." 
 
 Here Costello laughed, and Pepper chimed in a word, saying he 
 thought Halpin and Warren would come out when they found I was 
 out. This Pepper, it seems, had been worrying Halpin and Warren 
 in the fashion in which Thompson had been worrying me. 
 
 " Their stroke was too light," and he kept telling them they 
 should strike harder, till at length they threw down their hammers, 
 and refused to strike any more. It was intensely cold at the time, 
 coming on November, and sitting on a pile of stones all day long 
 was not the very pleasantest occupation. Warren, Halpin, and Cos- 
 tello were separated when tiiey came to the prison. One was sent 
 to work with one gang of thieves, another with another, and the 
 third with a third; but the three kicked against this, and the 
 concession was made of allowing them tc work by themselves. 
 
 I worked so hard the first day I came out that Costello asked 
 ue if I was going to be a driver on him. 
 
 I was reduced to a skeleton and as pale as a ghost, and that is 
 no wonder, for I was in close dark confinement since the 1st of June. 
 To counteract the effects of the cold on me, I ran the wheelbarrow 
 up the hill as fast as I could, but I soon exhausted my little strength, 
 and after an hour or so Costello's reproofs were not necessary to 
 make me go easy. 
 
 Halpin an-1 Warren came out to work the second or third morn- 
 ing after Costello and I commenced our labors. 
 
 People talk of prison life as if there was no brightness in it, but 
 that is all moonshine. There is no condition in life in which man 
 
302 O Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 meeting his fellow-man — of kindred spirit — will not feel rejoiced. I 
 will not grow so fervid as to say that the moment of my meeting 
 Warren and Halpin in prison was "the happiest moment of my life," 
 but this I will say, that meeting them was a great pleasure to me. 
 
 Colonel Warren and Captain Costello were amongst the volun- 
 teers that came to Ireland in the "Jackmel" or "Erin's Hope." 
 They landed in Waterford, and were arrested the first day they set 
 foot on Iiish soil. 
 
 The fact that this small ship was three or four weeks on the 
 coast of Ireland fully demonstrates that a number of men and arms 
 could be landed in that country in spite of the vigilance of the Eng- 
 lish navy. Her commander, in making his official report when he 
 took her back to America, says : " During eighteen of the twenty- 
 four days I was in British waters, I was sought for by the English 
 fleet stationed there, and in proof of their vigilance (!) and efforts I 
 give the loss of the three following vessels — lost in hunting for us — 
 taken from the English Naval Register: The Lapwing, first-class 
 gunboat, lost in Killala Bay ; the Revenge, also a first-class gun- 
 boat, lost on Daunt's Rock ; and the third, a second-class gunboat, 
 foundered in a gale of wind off Cape Clear. And yet there is no 
 point of the coast at which I stopped during this time but where I 
 could land any amount of men and arms were there preparations 
 made to take them from me, and the military officers that were on 
 board will affirm this statement. — John F. Kavanagh" 
 
 The following is the muster-roll of this little ship, and as they 
 all, with one exception, are worthy of honorable mention, I will 
 hand them down to everlasting posterity in this little book : 
 
 Brigadier-General James E. Kerrigan, Infantry, commanding 
 military detachment. 
 
 Brigadier-General W. J. Nagle, Infantry, second in command. 
 
 Brigadier-General John Warren, Infantry, third commanding. 
 
 Brigadier-General George Phelan, Cavalry. 
 
 Colonel S. R. Tresilian, Engineers, first colonel. 
 
 Colonel Philip Dougherty, Infantry. 
 
 Colonel Patrick Devine, Cavalry. 
 
 Lieutenant-Colonel James Prendergast, Infantry. 
 
 Captain D. J. Buckley, Cavalry. 
 
 Captain M. J. Green, Infantry. 
 
 Captain J. J. Hasley, Zouaves. 
 
 Captain P. J. Kain, Artillery. 
 
 Captain J. E. Fitzsimons, Infantry. 
 
 Captain J. M. Buckley, Infantry. 
 
 Captain Andrew Leonard, Infantry. 
 
 Captain A. E. Costello, Infantry. 
 
 Captain W. Millen, Infantry. 
 
 Captain Timothy Horan, Infantry. 
 
 Lieutenant W. J. Downing, Zouaves. 
 
C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 303 
 
 Lieutenant Robert Kelly, Zouaves. 
 Lieutenant M. J. Fitzgibbons, Artillery. 
 Lieutenant W. E. Nugent, Infantry. 
 Lieutenant M. W. Walsh, Artillery. 
 Lieutenant A. Downing, Cavalry 
 Lieutenant J. P. Murray, Infantry. 
 Lieutenant P. Roach, Artillery. 
 Lieutenant P. O'Connor, Cavalry. 
 Lieutenant P. Nugent, Zouaves. 
 Lieutenant P. Crogan, Zouaves. 
 Lieutenant J. O'Connor, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant Daniel Lee, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant Lawrence Doyle, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant Michael Fitzgerald, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant John Rooney, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant William Sheehan, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant James Coffee, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant John Mangin, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant John O'Brien, Zouaves. 
 Second Lieutenant J. O'Shea, Zouaves. 
 
 List of officers and crew of the brig " Erin's Hope :" 
 
 Captain John F. Cavanaugh, commanding. 
 
 Lieutenant William Sweetman, Irish coast pilot. 
 
 Ensign Henry O'Neill, second officer. 
 
 Thomas Hardy, seaman. 
 
 John O'Connor, seaman. 
 
 Andrew White, seaman. 
 
 James Lawless, seaman. 
 
 John Mullen, ship's cook and steward. 
 
 John O'Connor, ordinary seaman, cabin boy. 
 
 The whole strength of the military and naval force on the vessel 
 mustered fifty. 
 
 Warren and Costello were released from prison some three months 
 after I fell in with them. They were convicted for words they had 
 spoken and acts they had done in America, and it was their case 
 brought the attention of the United States to the monstrous injustice 
 of having American citizens punished in England for what is said 
 or done by them in America. This law has since been changed, and 
 now no citizen of the United States can be imprisoned in England on 
 account of his political conduct in America. 
 
 General Halpin came over to Ireland in 1865. I met him in New 
 York in the July of that vear, and I met him often afterwards in 
 Dublin. 
 
 The informer swore at his trial that he heard me giving him in- 
 structions in the office of the Irish People, but this swearing was 
 
304 0} s Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 false, as Halpin never visited the office, and I never gave Kim any 
 instructions. He kept away from it intentionally and by advice, to 
 keep away the suspicion that would attach to him by association 
 with the very dangerous characters who frequented that place. 
 
 Costello, Warren, Halpin and I, having never met together before, 
 met now for the first time, and it was not a very unpleasant meet- 
 ing either. We chatted and laughed the weary hours away, save 
 on odd occasions, when we'd go over the past, and speak of our fail- 
 ures and its causes. But as the fight was a heritage of our race, 
 and as we were still in the land of the living, we determined to carry 
 it on, " now and for evermore." Even in prison we held it to be our 
 duty to "never say die." 
 
 The four of us were sent weeding the yards. We got bits of 
 hoop iron to root up the blades of grass and other blades that grew 
 around, and as we began to grumble at the pains that came in our 
 back from being kept continually stooping, we were furnished with 
 little boards on which to rest one knee while we scraped all around 
 us. Warren and Halpin thought they might as well sit on the 
 boards as kneel on them, and they did so. Pepper remonstrated, 
 but they thought they could do as much work sitting as kneeling, 
 and they remained sitting. When I saw they were allowed to 
 do so without getting punished, I sat down myself, and the four 
 of us worked this way for some weeks, each taking a ridge of 
 about four feet and picking it from one end of the yard to the other. 
 We had a very fine time of it so far as sitting down was concerned, 
 but those Yankee spirits could not rest contented ; they began to 
 grumble at the cold, with their fingers and toes getting frost bitten 
 and benumbed. I felt the cold too, and that pretty sharply, for I 
 had not much flesh on my bones, and I did not care how much I 
 could nurse the discontent of the others, but I was a good boy my- 
 self. I had done my share of the striking, and while my masters 
 let me alone I would let them alone. 
 
 Warren was the fir-t to strike, then Halpin, but the jailers did 
 not strike at them; they et them have their way. 
 
 The use of razors havii g been abolished for some time, in conse- 
 quence of the many suicides committed, our beards were allowed to 
 grow for a month or two, and when some of us would be giving the 
 moustache a twirl the barber would come on with his scissors to take 
 the saucy curl out of it. Warren protested against this, and refused 
 to put himself into the hands of the scissors man. He alleged that he 
 expected his release shortly, and did not want to go into the world 
 naked. Halpin also protested, and after both of them getting some 
 bread and water they were allowed to go to work, carrying their hair 
 and beards with them. Costello then refused to allow his black curly 
 locks, and the lew huirs of a moustache he had, to be interfered with. 
 I delivered my head into their hands and they kept shearing me for 
 some time, while the others were permitted to carry their hair as 
 they liked. Another part of the discipline was to strip us naked 
 
O' 'Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life, 305 
 
 once a week, and Warren kicked against this. The officers came to 
 his cell one day, and threatened to use force to undress him, but he 
 said he would use all the force he could to keep himself from inde- 
 cent exposure. He suggested that if they wanted to search his 
 clothes they could do so on the day when he was taking his weekly 
 bath, and while they could see him naked then, it was quite unne- 
 cessary to subject him to the humiliation in his cell. The authori- 
 ties availed themselves of this suggestion, and as all the others, ex- 
 cept myself, refused to be stripped, an order was issued that the 
 weekly naked search was to take place while each of us was bathing. 
 I saw there was a great change in our jailers' demeanor towards us. 
 
 The least resistance to an order before this was to be punished 
 with the utmost severity, but now it was against their will — or, 
 rather, against their policy — to put us on bread and water. " The 
 field was fought and won," and, as I saw there were no more bat- 
 tles in view, I became the most obedient man of the party, and the 
 authorities, for their own purposes, gave me the character of being 
 the quietest man in the prison. 
 
 Rick Burke and Harry Mulleda, who were undergoing their nine 
 months' term of probation, were sent out to us, and our work was 
 changed from grass-picking to wood-splitting. We were taken into 
 an old shed where lime was stored, and, after each of us fixing a 
 block for himself, we were supplied with small hatchets. 
 
 A pile of wood lay convenient, and, after having sawn this into 
 pieces about nine inches long, our duty was to cut it up into splin- 
 ters about an inch square and tie it into bundles. This occupation 
 was pleasant enough unless you gave your fingers a touch of the 
 hatchet, which occasionally happened to us all round. 
 
 Colonel Warren chopped a piece off one of his fingers once, and, 
 instead of our crying at his misfortune, some of us, not thinking he 
 had given himself so wicked a stroke, were cruel enough to laugh 
 at him, which did not at all please him. On the whole, we made 
 ourselves as jolly as possible, and, as we were allowed to joke and 
 tell stories, we passed the time pretty pleasantly. 'Twas a paradise 
 to me compared with the life I had previously led, and I look back 
 now with a kind of affectionate longing for the stories and the prison 
 society of Rick Burke and Halpin. 
 
 Warder Pepper had sole charge of us, but soon something oc- 
 curred that brought him an assistant. It seems he was not consid- 
 ered watchful enough, inasmuch as a written communication in- 
 tended for the outside world had been found in the prison, and it 
 bore evidence of belonging to us. Rick Burke was the writer of 
 it, but I was immediately pounced upon and charged with the au- 
 thorship. I was asked what I had to say in reply to the charge of 
 writing that letter, and I said I would give my reply in writing. I 
 was kept during ten days in solitary confinement awaiting the de- 
 cision of the Board of Directors, and then I was released and ad- 
 mitted to the companionship of the wood-choppers, after being in- 
 
306 (? Donovan Rosso* s Prison Life. 
 
 formed the Directors did not consider there was evidence enough to 
 convict me. 
 
 The six of us were taken to chapel every morning, and we were 
 accommodated with two stools near the altar rails. Two warders 
 guarded us, one sitting on each stool, having his legs spraddled 
 across the end of it, and looking at his three men. Another stool 
 was left vacant behind us, and back of that were the rest of the 
 prisoners. A partition about six feet high ran up through the chapel 
 dividing it into two parts, and at the other side of it seats were ar- 
 ranged similar to those we sat upon. The man next to the partition 
 in one front seat could, when he knelt down, whisper to the man next 
 to the partition on the other side, and by availing ourselves of this 
 possibility we opened up communications. I sometimes held con- 
 versations here with Johnny O'Brien when the priest was reciting 
 the litanies, and we were supposed to be responding aloud. A man 
 named O'Hara, and a few other Irishmen, belonged to the party, occu- 
 pied the front seat, and they made arrangements to supply us with 
 pen, ink and paper as well as to forward whatever we wrote to our 
 friends. The material was given to us ; Rick Burke wrote the letter, 
 and it was safely passed into the hands of our correspondents at 
 chapel. One of them whose time was up, and who was about to be re- 
 leased, hid it in a photograph which he was allowed to keep in prison. 
 He told his secret to some one else, who informed on him ; his pic- 
 ture was broken, the concealed letter was found, and the unfortunate 
 man, losing his remission, was obliged to spend the whole term of his 
 sentence in prison. 
 
 O'Hara wrote to me some months ago, and as his letter tells 
 pretty clearly the story of this incident of prison life, I give a copy 
 of it here : 
 
 Barkisland, near Halifax, Yorkshire, ) 
 England, Dec. 15, 1872. j" 
 Mr. O'Donovan Rossa. — My Dear Sir : The writer takes the 
 opportunity of communicating these few lines, hoping to find you 
 in good health, as it leaves me at present, thank Providence for His 
 clemency to me. 
 
 My dear sir, I am after getting my discharge from the bleak and 
 barren shore of " Terra Del Fuego," after serving five long years 
 there. I read the Irish People previous to my incarceration, which 
 was on the 9th of December, 1867. I Was sent to Millbank, and 
 there I got acquainted with A. Costello and poor Captain Warren. 
 The writer happened to be in the singing class every morning, and 
 w r as in the habit of carrying messages from A. Costello to Warren 
 through a friend of mine. Once I wrote to Costello a letter, worked 
 with black thread, in lieu of black lead. I was sent to Chatham in 
 1 868, and there I saw you, Costello, and some others. My heart bled 
 when I heard of the treatment you were undergoing. I spoke to a 
 fellow prisoner about you, and he told me the authorities would not 
 let you write home to your dear friends. But he told me that he 
 
CP Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 307 
 
 was going to be discharged in a fortnight, and that he could take a 
 note out for you, providing he could get one from you. 
 
 I asked him how he could manage to do it, and he told me that 
 he could put it in the inside of his mother's portrait, which portrait 
 he would get a few hours before being searched. So my heart leaped 
 with joy at the thought of getting a letter out of the prison. At 
 that time I used to go up to the front seat to sing every morning, 
 and of course you and your other brother sufferers were at the front 
 seat also at the other side of the partition. But when we knelt 
 down we could see each other. So next morning I took jolly good 
 care to get next to the partition when we knelt down to pray. _ The 
 partition divided me from poor Burke, and I told him as brief as 
 possible how things were, and he told me that you would be in his 
 place next morning, as he would tell you all about it, So I saw you 
 next morning, and gave you a little bit of black lead pencil and 
 some paper I tore out of my geography. You returned me that 
 paper about the 22d of November, 1868, with some closet paper. 
 It was to R. Pigott, Esq. I gave this paper to this Roger Rogers. 
 But unfortunately he told a villain of the name of Witicam, who 
 communicated with the prison authorities, and the result was that 
 I was dragged out of my cell on a Sunday night, and taken to the 
 Governor's office, and stripped to the skin, and got another suit of 
 clothes, and was taken to the separate cells. All the time they were 
 taking me I wanted to know what it was for. They told me I knew 
 all about it. So they locked me up. 
 
 The next day I was brought before the Governor and charged 
 with clandestinely corresponding with Fenians. Of course I denied 
 all about it, so I was sent back to my cell to wait for the Director ; 
 but next day I was brought before him again for dirty tins and got 
 three days' bread and water. 
 
 Captain Harvey, the Deputy- Governor, came to see me every 
 day, with four or five officers, and made me stand to attention, of 
 course. I used to ask him what I was here for, and he told me I 
 knew all about it. He would say every morning, "Come, O'Hara, 
 I want you to make it simple and clear and get out of it." But I 
 had the one tale — I had nothing to make clear or simple. I knew 
 very well they could do nothing to me ; they found nothing on me. 
 
 But Rogers paid dearly for not keeping his own counsel. They 
 found the note on him, and, of course, they would punish him for it. 
 
 So I had the old parson at: .me, likewise Captain Fagan, to tell 
 all about it ; but I told them I knew nothing about it, and, if I did, 
 I would swing like Barrett did in May, at Newgate, before Iwould 
 sell my poor unfortunate countrymen. So they left me in my cell 
 to undergo punishment. 
 
 I remember seeing some of the State prisoners exercising on 
 Monday, the 14th of December, 1?68, in the yard, when their atten- 
 tion was drawn to a place in the corner of the yard where three un- 
 fortunates were after getting the whip. I was doing three days for 
 
308 O' ] Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 not finishing my oakum. I happened to look through the venti* 
 lator. When I saw some State prisoners walking around the yard 
 I could not help giving vent to my feelings by shouting through the 
 holes in the sheet-iron to " cheer up." I had no sooner shouted than 
 in comes the principal officer and caught me. He said, " All right, 
 O'Hara." I got another dose of three days ; so I went on like that 
 for twenty-nine days before I was sent to Portsmouth. I was not 
 long there till Harvey was made Governor; then I was in for it. 
 To wind up, sir, I had to do every day of my sentence, which ex- 
 pired on the 5th of this month. 
 
 I was convicted of " manslaughter " on the 6th of December, 
 1867, so I thought to let you know all about that case. 
 
 Father O'Sullivan used to visit me often. I hope, dear sir, that 
 you will excuse this writing, and send me a reply as soon as you 
 can make it convenient. 
 
 Give my respects to Costello. I hear that poor Warren is dead ; 
 the Lord have mercy on him. No more at present from your affec- 
 tionate friend, John O'Hara. 
 
 This discovery that we had writing materials alarmed the 
 authorities, and they set their wits to work to counteract our 
 efforts to get our case before the public. How I can smile at 
 the hypocrisy of those English legislators when I find them talk- 
 ing of those dark dungeons and the hideous deeds of the prisons 
 of other nations, while theirs is open to the public, and every- 
 thing done is above board. What did they do now, do you 
 think ? Simply this : they kept us from religious service nine or 
 ten days, during which time they were making a doorway in the 
 gable end of the chapel. When it was finished we were admitted 
 through it in charge of the warders, and place! in the next corner. 
 Then while the service continued our keepers sat on the stools in 
 front of us, their backs turned towards the altar, and their faces 
 turned towards us. A properly regulated mind, or a very religious 
 person might pray under such circumstances, but I candidly confess 
 that I could not show much signs of devotion with these gentlemen 
 <ooking straight into my face. 
 
 And, then, when any of our party went to Communion there was 
 (fluch a parade as turned the whole eyes of the chapel towards them. 
 
 The communicants amongst the other prisoners, who were up 
 half the length of the chapel from us, were allowed to approach the 
 altar without any of the warders stirring from their seats; but 
 when one of our party went up one of the warders followed him 
 through the chapel, and stood over him with his club or his sword 
 drawn while he was receiving the Sacrament, then gave him the 
 "right about face," and followed him down again in the same 
 fashion. 
 
 It was the most ridiculous exhibition of English official fear ever 
 witnessed, and would be ludicrous were it not in connection with 
 religion. 
 
''Donovan Rosscfz P* ison Life. 309 
 
 And more than that, when on Gwd Friday there is a ceremony 
 of kissing the cross, every oihe*- *?#i*o&er left his seat and went up 
 to the altar; but, regarding us. urde.rs wen; issued that we should 
 not go up, but that the priest should come down, and down through 
 the chapel he would come to us. 
 
 Then when we were leaving or going to chapel, or going or 
 coming from work, one of the three officers would go as a herald be- 
 fore us, and, when he turned a corner, if he saw any one in sight he 
 would turn back and order us to halt, and go forward again and 
 order the others to retreat or get out of view. It often afforded us 
 amusement to see the fix they were in occasionally. Our vidette 
 would come in view of a brigade of cooks, a brigade of dish-washers, 
 a brigade of tray-carriers, and several other brigades that had to de 
 ploy in the yard through which we had to pass before and after meal 
 times. Doors had to be reopened, and steps had to be retraced, but 
 sometimes this strategic genius failed, and the whole party could 
 not disperse in conseqiu nee of some avenue having been shut up and 
 the key-holder gone. Then, after a council of war, it would be de- 
 cided that those remaining on the field should turn their faces to the 
 wall and do us the honor of turning their backs upon us as we passed 
 their lines. 
 
 If England had treated us rightly she would not be so scared at 
 having our treatment known. 
 
 Her first policy was to mix us up with her criminals ; to rub us 
 up close to them, so as it were that we should feel degradation. 
 
 Now we had changed all that to such an extent that she would 
 not allow one of them to look at us, so much afraid was she that 
 some sign or signal would be given to convey to the world an ac- 
 count of her assassin treatment of us. We had all along been fight- 
 ing against being associated with thieves and murderers, at least I 
 had been, and had forced her, in spite of her teeth, to keep us sep- 
 arated. 
 
 During the time the door was being broken in the gable 
 end of the chapel we had some slight skirmishing against the disci- 
 pline. The priest would visit us every morning after he gave the reg- 
 ular service ; our doors were opened and we were ordered to come 
 into the hall to pray. Halpin, Warren, and Burke and Costello re- 
 fused to leave their cells. They said it was a mockery of religion to 
 pray where three open water-closets were conveniently in view, and 
 while there was the ordinary chapel for all the prisoners. 
 
 I came out and knelt down, and Henry Mulleda came out. 
 I think Costello and Rick Burke left their doors open and knelt 
 down in their cells while the priest prayed outside, but Warren and 
 Halpin would not give any countenance to this exceptional treat- 
 ment, and slammed out their doors as soon as the warders opened 
 them. This continued for ten or eleven days, when the chapel was 
 ready to receive us, and then we were led there and kept there in 
 the fashion I have already described. _ 
 
310 C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 In January, 1869, Augustine Costello was taken away from us, 
 and on the 4th of March John Warren got his marching orders. 
 We had not as much as a good-bye with them. The six of us went 
 into dinner one day, and we came out without Costello. During 
 dinner hour he was removed from his own cell to one under mine. 
 I heard the clank of chains, and by-and-by, hearing some knocking 
 on the wall, I learned that he was in irons and going to be taken 
 somewhere. There happened to be a writ of error in his case. He 
 was taken to Dublin, and two months after he was released from 
 prison. 
 
 We were working at brick-cleaning one morning when a warder 
 called out, " Warren, come on this way." Warren went on, and 
 that was the last we saw of him. 
 
 Cleaning bricks was far more unpleasant work than splitting 
 wood, and much colder, for we had to handle them in frost and 
 snow. 
 
 Besides this, we were located in a shed of corrugated iron that 
 was specially built for us, and so constructed that we could not get 
 a sight of any one passing through the yard. It faced the high wall 
 of the prison, so that not a ray of sunshine could enter to soften the 
 rigor of the cold, and here we were kept clipping the old mortar off 
 of bricks from day-dawn until nightfall. Halpin called it the re- 
 frigerator, and, if you were hard-hearted enough to laugh at a free 
 American citizen bound down to his best behavior in an English 
 prison because of his conduct in America, you could laugh at Halpin 
 hopping from one foot to another to warm his toes, while his hands 
 beat time with his brick-chopper ; but he did not stand it long. 
 Laying down his chopper one morning, he turned to the warder and 
 said: 
 
 " Mr. Mabbot, the cup of my affliction has flown over." 
 
 " What do you mean, Halpin ?" 
 
 " I mean to do no more of this work. This refrigerator is 
 enough to kill a saint. You can send me into the cells." 
 
 " What's the use in being in those cells ? Might you not as 
 well stay as you are and try and spend your time as well as you 
 can?" 
 
 " No, I can't spend any more time this way. You will please 
 send me in." 
 
 " I don't like to be reporting you. If you feel cold take an oc- 
 casional run up and down on those boards in front of the shed, 
 and that will warm you, but don't be going into those cells." 
 
 This was a great concession. A short time ago Halpin's words 
 would have been a gross breach of discipline, severely punishable, 
 but he "joined the service in a good time," as Mabbot afterwards 
 said, and his bad conduct was winked at on this occasion. We 
 prevailed on him to take a little bit of a run to warm himself; 
 then each of us took a similar exercise, and Halpin remained in oui 
 company. 
 
(J Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 311 
 
 He had caught a severe cold in another prison, and was this 
 time affected with a very bad cough. At night and all through 
 the night, we could hear it echoing through the wards. The doctor 
 sent him to hospital, but his doing this seemed to interfere with the 
 existing orders to keep us at all times to ourselves, and not let us in 
 view of any other prisoners. An iron screen was put outside on his 
 hospital cell window ; but this did not seem to meet the requirements 
 of the authorities, and Halpin was sent back to us after a few days. 
 During the three winters he was in Chatham this cough attacked him, 
 and this Dr. Burns, who was charged with torturing and paralyz- 
 ing Daniel Reddin, would not give him any hospital treatment other 
 than allowing him an hospital spittoon in his cell, in order that he 
 might judge how the cough progressed, from the increase or decrease 
 of the quantity of blood thrown up. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 NEW ARRIVALS JOHN M'CLURE AMERICAN-BORN IRISHMEN, AND 
 
 IRISH-BORN " SPRALLAREENS " NEW WORK STOCKING-MENDING 
 
 " FOX AND GEESE " LIES OF BRUCE, THE SECRETARY OF 
 
 STATE SUPERSTITION AND THE BIBLE -HALPIN "JOINING THE 
 
 SERVICE IN A GOOD TIME " HE STRIKES WORK, AND KEEPS 
 
 HIS HAIR ON HIS HEAD MR. o'cONNELL's SORE FOOT AND DR. 
 
 BURNS " I DON'T LIKE TO BE HERE AT ALL," AND WARDER 
 
 BROWNE THE TIPPERARY ELECTION AND THE TERROR OF THE 
 
 AUTHORITIES JOHN MITCHEL'S REMARKS VISIT FROM m'cARTHY 
 
 DOWNING, M. P. COLONEL WARREN AND PATRICK'S DAY THE 
 
 SOLDIER PRISONERS MR. BLAKE, M. P., AND AUSTRALIA MR, 
 
 PIGOTT'S AND JOHN F. o'DONNELL's VISIT MR. A. M. SULLIVAN 
 
 HIS OPINIONS ON THE " COUP D'ETAT," AND MY OPINIONS ON HIM, 
 AND ON HIS " STORY OF IRELAND " IRELAND OVER THE WATER. 
 
 When we came in from the refrigerator, one evening, we found 
 that three additional cells of our ward were occupied, and, by 
 knocking on the walls, discovered there were new arrivals from 
 Millbank. Next morning I was orderly, and, as I was on my 
 rounds, I had a shake hands with John Devoy and Captain Charles 
 Underwood O'Connell. I did not know the other arrival, as I had 
 
312 O' } Donovan Rosea? s Prison Life. 
 
 never met him, but he turned out to be John M'Clure, who was ar- 
 rested fighting by the side of O'Neill Crowley, at Kilclooney Wood, 
 and sentenced to be hanged. 
 
 This John M'Clure was born in America, of Irish parents, and, 
 having served in the American army, he came to Ireland to fight. 
 He was the most unpretentious of any one of the men that came 
 over ; he was unassuming, quiet, and inoffensive, but that did not 
 prevent him from doing as much fighting as any of them. Whether 
 he was put, or put himself, in the way of it, I cannot say. Many 
 Irishmen, passing judgment upon the American-born sons of our 
 countrymen, will say they are no good for anything connected with 
 the Irish cause; but if they could be judged by John M'Clure, I 
 only wish that all Irishmen in and out of Ireland were born and 
 reared as he was, so that the cowards and sprallareens of our race 
 may grow up brave and decent men. And nowhere do this coward- 
 ice and meanness spring into more luxurious growth than in Amer- 
 ica. The man who was a slave at heart in the old land, when he 
 comes here finds himself rid of those necessities that educated him 
 into subserviency at home. 
 
 But what use does he make of his adventitious freedom? Does 
 he avail of it to further the cause that he was afraid to touch in the 
 old land ? No : he becomes a blatant, parading patriot ; a kind of 
 buailumskehj beating the bushes and wearing green scarfs and rib- 
 bons to show there is no man braver than he ; but to make his ac- 
 tion here consistent with his conduct there, he is the first to sneer at 
 any practical work in the line of what is known as Fenianism ; he 
 will have much sympathy with the " poor servant-girls who have 
 been cheated out of their hard-earned dollars," and he will denounce 
 the " swindlers and vagabonds who have cheated the people," as a 
 knavish excuse for his doing nothing for the people's cause. 
 
 M'Clure, Halpin, Devoy, Burke, O'Connell, Mulleda and myself 
 worked for a few days in the refrigerators ; but then one of the di- 
 rectors visited the prison, and arrangements were made that we be 
 kept at work inside in our punishment ward. The Governor had 
 his adjudication room here, and over this court-house was a small 
 room, about twelve by eight, into which we seven were put, with 
 two warders in charge of us. Our occupation was mending the 
 stockings of all the other prisoners ; these were given to us after 
 being washed, but after we turned them inside out such a quantity 
 of sand and dust escaped from them as nearly suffocated us. Nine of 
 us were cooped up in this small space ; the Summer came on in a few 
 months, and, after repeated protests to the doctor and Governor, 
 we got them to take down a partition that divided us from another 
 small room, which change made the quarters more airy and less dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 Halpin struck work, and refused to darn any more stockings in 
 consequence of being refused the privilege of some letters and visits 
 which tie rules accorded to ordinary prisoners. He got three days 
 
CP Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 313 
 
 on bread and water for the first refusal, but that did not prevent 
 him from laying down his darning-needle again when the warder 
 handed it to him on the fourth morning. We thought his punish- 
 ment was to continue for such a gross offense, but it did not ; the 
 authorities were by this time pretty tired and sick of their attempts 
 to civilize us by ill-treatment, and they let Halpin alone. Every 
 morning his needle and thread were handed to him ; he graciously 
 received them from the hands of the warder, and as graciously laid 
 them down on the stool as soon as he got them. Then he occupied 
 his time and amused us by telling stories all clay long. His bad and 
 idle example had an evil influence on myself, and I suggested that 
 we would invent something else to kill time. It would be pleasant 
 if we had a draught-board, but, as we had not, we fashioned one 
 by making a " fox and-geese " on the stool, and we made men out 
 of bits of coal and scraps of paper. 
 
 An attack was made upon me on account of playing with Hal- 
 pin, but I never heeded it. I worked a little and played a little ; I 
 did not like to appear to be too daring, or to be playing drafts in 
 defiance of the rules, and as we heard the Governor or other supe- 
 rior authority coming up-stairs, I would say, "Now, Hal, let us draw 
 a veil over our infirmities," and one of us would spread his handker- 
 chief over the fox and geese. Of course, all this was reported to 
 the authorities, but as they winked at our delinquency, we winked 
 at the warder's orders to "stop that game." When going to din- 
 ner we hid our "men" in a stocking, and coming back we would 
 sometimes find them stolen away, but as we had always bits of coal, 
 or thread or paper about us, we would make new men, Halpin jo- 
 cosely grumbling about the trouble the "thieves" were profitlessly 
 putting him to. 
 
 This game Vas a great recreation to me. The pain that trou- 
 bled me in the back became very intense at times. It became more 
 and more lively according as I allowed my mind to dwell on any 
 of the serious matters that affected me in the world, and I had no 
 escape from suffering but to fly away with my thoughts to some- 
 thing trifling. Either that or something hostile to the powers that 
 governed us : but while they let us alone I was content to let them 
 alone, and live a life of peace. 
 
 State Secretary Bruce, when questioned about this time as to my 
 ill-treatment in prison, said in his place in Parliament, that I was 
 now the quietest man in the prison, and hoped that that would sat- 
 isfy Sir John Gray and the other inquirers. Here is the passage as 
 I find it reported in the Irishman of June 12f.h, 1869 : 
 
 "Another statement is that his appearance is quite changed, and 
 that he has suffered very much from his confinement. Since he be- 
 came an inmate of Chatham Prison his weight has increased from 
 163J to 1 71 lbs. (Laughter.) His general health is now stated to 
 be good, and he is reported to have the appearance of a man who is 
 in excellent health. After what I have given of this unfortunate 
 
314 O } Donovan Itussas Prison Life, 
 
 man's career [looking over his speech, I find he was after telling 
 twenty-four direct lies of me], it is a real pleasure to say that since 
 September, 1868, the date of his last offence, his conduct has greatly 
 improved, and he has not incurred any punishment. Captain Du 
 Cane, in visiting the prison, told liossa that his conduct had been 
 outrageous and disgraceful [yes, and Rossa returned him the com- 
 pliment], and that he was astonished that a man of his position 
 should have been guilty of it. Since then not only had Donovan 
 behaved well and received no punishment, but Captain Powell said, 
 ' Of all the Fenian prisoners now under confinement he is the best 
 behaved.' I trust that this statement of itself will be considered 
 satisfactory by my honorable friend. 
 
 "Sir John Gray was understood to express his satisfaction with 
 the statement which had been made." 
 
 This was an easy way to get rid of a vexatious question ; but, 
 while I was the quietest man in the prison when playing a game of 
 " Bohea " with Halpin, I had my eyes open to the necessity of let- 
 ting the outside world know there was a time when Mr. Bruce gave 
 me very little chance of keeping quiet, and when he and all his 
 agents were disposed to be very cross to me. 
 
 I joked occasionally with the officers on the change of treatment, 
 and it is notorious that we always had the strictest — the most "re- 
 liable" ones, as the Governor said — placed over us. Andrews, who 
 was never knowm to smile in the presence of a convict, would laugh 
 at our stories and tell us laughable superstitious ones when he 
 found the rules relaxed in our regard. He was an old Englishman, 
 but he w r as as full of old superstition as any old woman I ever kntw. 
 He himself cured w T arts and evils, and warded off many impending 
 misfortunes by manipulating brambles and bushes, and burying bits 
 of meat and cloth. 
 
 When I was working with the thieves I listened long one day as 
 three of them were talking of the Bible, and I was surprised to learn 
 that their faith in it was of a nature that some would call supersti- 
 tious., Old Mr. //est, who was one of the three, said he read a part 
 of the Bible every day, and did not think he would have any luck 
 if he didn't. The young fellow, who swore " by Christy he would 
 make some one pay outside for the way he was treated in prison," 
 said he did not read, but as he kept it in his cell he had the benefit 
 of it, and in that belief he always kept a Bible among his clothes in 
 a trunk when he w T as in the world. The third, who w\as a sailor, 
 told a similar story, and then several cases were adduced where the 
 Bible in a man's trunk saved him from danger, and where many 
 mothers put the Holy Book in their children's trunks when prepar- 
 ing for a voyage or a long journey. One story w T as told of the es- 
 cape of a man that must have been miraculous. He w T as no sailor 
 and could not sw r im, yet he was washed ashore, while numbers of 
 hardy seamen and expert swimmers were drowned. When he com- 
 municated with home he learned that his mother had, unknown to 
 
(J Donovan Rosses Prison Life. 315 
 
 him, put a small Bible in a corner of his trunk, and it was that 
 saved him. When this belief is so strong in the minds of the Eng- 
 lish Protestant peasantry, I wonder that they cast so much ridicule 
 on the belief that Catholics have in the protecting agency of scap- 
 ulars, Agnus Deis, and other religious emblems of their faith. I rea- 
 soned this with those thieves, with a A r iew to make them more toler- 
 ant, for they had very strange ideas about Irish principles — so 
 strange that they thought our movement was nothing more than a 
 conspiracy among the Catholics to kill Protestants. I thought it well 
 to make so free with them as to correct this notion of theirs, and when 
 they found I was so tolerant in my religious opinions as to allow peo- 
 ple who differed from me a chance of going to Heaven, they pro- 
 nounced me a fair man, and "Fenianism" a different thing from 
 what they thought it. I should not mind to spend another year 
 of my life in prison, if the authorities gave me the run of the twelve 
 or fourteen thousand convicts they hold in England. Even though 
 they are thieves and Thugs, they, in their way, represent a certain 
 opinion, and it would be worth while to disabuse them of the preju- 
 dices against Irish independence that are instilled into them by our 
 enemies — and by theirs in a certain sense. 
 
 It was well understood in our prison that any warder placed in 
 charge of us was on the way to promotion if he traveled that way 
 to the satisfaction of his masters. Since my arrival in Chatham, the 
 fellow that had drawn the blood from my hands, and the fellow that 
 had torn the clothes off my limbs, and kicked and trampled me in 
 the blackhole, had received the reward of their faithful services. 
 Pepper and Mabbott, who were with us before Andrews — the pish- 
 ogue man — had received those yellow bands on their caps which in- 
 dicated their promotion to the rank of principals. In Mabbott' s and 
 Andrew's time the test of faithful service was not so much to worry 
 us about work as to keep us so much to ourselves, and so far from 
 getting a look at anyone else as would render it impossible for any- 
 one outside the prison to know anything about us. These were the 
 times the Government were lying in Parliament about our treatment, 
 and sending down their Commissioners to the prison to manufacture 
 lying reports to be read in Parliament concerning us. After Mab- 
 bott was promoted from our charge he got the privilege of calling 
 to inspect us every day. At one of those visits he asked Halpin 
 didn't he resume work yet, and, on getting a reply in the negative, 
 I smilingly said : 
 
 " Halpin must have some friend here, Mr. Mabbott, that is sav- 
 ing him from punishment. If it was I was to strike work that way, 
 how soon you'd order me off to the dark cells." 
 
 " Ah, Rossa, Halpin joined the service in a good time." 
 
 On Sundays, before we went to chapel, we were paraded for in- 
 spection by the doctor, and some of our company were already get- 
 ting so rebellious as to refuse to take, off their caps when this gen- 
 tleman appeared. Halpin and Captain O'Connell commenced the 
 
316 O* Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 fun and kept it going for a few Sundays ; some one or two joined 
 in, but I always obeyed the order of " Hats off" till the whole of us 
 came to an understanding that it should not be obeyed, and that if 
 they commenced giving us bread and water for our disobedience we 
 should stand it to the point of starvation rather than uncover our- 
 selves for this gentleman. Next Sunday, when the doctor appeared, 
 he stood before us and Alison cried, " Hats off," but the hats re- 
 mained on. "Hats off!" again roared he, in a voice that made my 
 body tremble, but not a hat of the seven stirred. I was glad in my 
 heart at this spirited stand of the caubeens. The doctor and his 
 attendants wheeled off, we were wheeled into chapel, and I had 
 much difficulty in muffling my laughter during prayers when think- 
 ing of the ridiculous figure the officials cut in presence of our rebel- 
 lious bonnets. And you should see how proudly and defiantly those 
 "hats" stood. If you had only one laugh in the world you should 
 give it on looking at the one that Captain O'Connell commanded. He 
 had it so firmly pressed on his head that it nearly covered his ears, 
 and you would think the hat and head were inseparable — one could 
 not be taken off without the other. There had been several previous 
 skirmishes with the doctor, in some of which he would appeal to me, 
 as being "a reasonable man." This was amusing, considering the 
 time I had previously given them. 
 
 Warren and Halpin refusing to have their hair cut, Alison di- 
 rected the doctor's special attention to their heads at one of these 
 special parades, and the doctor said to me, pointing to Halpin's 
 crop, "Now, Rossa, you're a reasonable man (he saw my head 
 cropped to the scalp), don't you think he has too much hair on ?" 
 
 I smiled the reply. " Ah, doctor, you must excuse me for not 
 giving an opinion on the question." 
 
 Captain O'Connell elicited from him the strangest admission I 
 ever heard a medical man make. 
 
 He was lamed from the heavy boots he wore, and he asked Dr. 
 Burns if he would allow him to wear his Sunday shoes, instead of 
 the working-day boots ? 
 
 " No," said the doctor, " unless your leg is sore." 
 "My leg is ,so sore that I cannot well walk with these heavy 
 boots." 
 
 " Can you show me a sore — is there a hole in it ?" 
 " No ; but I am sure it will get sore if I am obliged to wear the 
 boots." 
 
 " Well, when you can show me a sore in it I'll try and cure it." 
 " But is not prevention better than cure, doctor ?" 
 " Yes ; but in some cases we are not allowed to prevent." 
 He actually made use of these very words ; and, it appears, he 
 spoke in the spirit of those who order the government of these Eng- 
 lish prisons — the be-praised model prisons of the world. The " dis- 
 cipline" is sure to work a refractory prisoner into a premature 
 death, and the disciplined doctor will not interfere with the course 
 
} Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 317 
 
 of punishment until he sees there is no recalling the victim from 
 the grave. Then he will take him to the hospital and do what he 
 can to smooth the last few paces of his journey. An inquest is 
 held, and evidence is given to prove that the man had beef -tea, and 
 mutton-chop, and chicken, and chicken-broth, and every delicacy 
 that could be given beneficially to the man's health, but there is 
 nothing to show how his health was destroyed. f 
 
 Darragh, of Ballycastle, a friend of mine, who died in Portland 
 Prison, was "sat upon" by twelve of these prison pensioners, and 
 Roupel, the forger, who was an hospitnl nurse, was brought for- 
 ward to prove that before he died he had everything he wished to 
 have. The public little knew the foul work behind this bright 
 picture. 
 
 "The public like to be deceived," says some old writer, and so it 
 seems, when the world regards these English prisons as models of 
 perfection, and those who manage them the most humane and kind 
 creatures in creation. 
 
 There was one officer named Brown who never missed an op- 
 portunity of annoying me. He was one of those who made the 
 handcuffs bite me when putting them on, and now that there must 
 have been special orders to let us alone, he could not refrain from 
 issuing orders to me which he knew I would not obey. After sup- 
 per every evening you have in winter times two or three hours in 
 your cell before you are allowed to go to bed. During this time I 
 read, and, to make myself a little comfortable, I laid my mattress 
 on the floor, and pillowed it up against the block. It was a most 
 luxurious seat, and, with my back thus cushioned and turned to the 
 gaslight, I was quite at home. 
 
 But Brown would not let me enjoy myself in peace. He was on 
 night duty, and he'd open my door and order me to settle up my 
 bed in its proper place. My only reply to him would be, "Ah, Gov- 
 ernor, I don't like to be here at all." 
 
 " Do you hear me telling you to put up your bed ?" 
 
 " Ah, Governor, I don't like to be here at all." 
 
 " Don't you know that the rules forbid you to lay down vour bed 
 till the bell rings ?" 
 
 " Ah, Governor, I don't like to be here at all." 
 
 After giving him this answer a couple of times, if he continued 
 worrying me, I remained silent till he got tired, and shut the door. 
 Next night he'd come again repeating the same thing, and receiving 
 the same return. 
 
 If I spoke insolently to this fellow he'd be only too glad, for 
 then he could make a big report against me, and insolently he de- 
 served to be spoken to ; but as I was otherwise allowed to live in 
 peace I did not want to rouse myself up on account of the officious- 
 ness of this small creature, and I therefore treated him with my 
 sovereign convict contempt. I had great fun with him one morning 
 when I was on the black books. My. sleeping place the night before 
 
318 O "Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 was the blackhole, and when he came in the morning to ask me to 
 put out the mattress and blankets I told him the night was not 
 passed yet, and that I would stay in bed till daybreak. 
 
 " Get up out of that, I say, and put out your bed at once." 
 
 " Now, the best thing you can do is to let me sleep the night in 
 peace." 
 
 " Don't you see it is day — did n't you hear the bell ring ?" 
 
 " If it is day, why have you that lantern in your hand ? Don't 
 you see there is no light here ?" 
 
 " Get up, or I'll report you at once." 
 
 " You may report me as much as you like, but I will not get up 
 until it is day." 
 
 When a prisoner refuses to obey orders in this part of the prison, 
 three or four officers have to be brought to force him into his duty, 
 and the required number could not be got together until about ten 
 o'clock, so that I cheated them out of three or four hours of punish- 
 ment. Then they came into my cell, and when I would not get out 
 of bed " till daybreak," they pulled the mattress clean from under 
 me. 
 
 In November, '69, it was made manifest to us that something 
 extraordinary had occurred in the world which called for the most 
 extreme vigilance regarding us. The exercise we got in the open 
 air every day was not given to us in the usual place, nor was it 
 given in the same place to us any two consecutive days. One time 
 we were taken into a small yard behind the hospital, to get one hour's 
 airing. Another time into a passage-way, between two buildings, 
 and occasionally into a small enclosure between two gates and two 
 high walls, where the walking around produced a megrim in the 
 head. Halpin suggested that we would unwind ourselves every five 
 minutes, and we acted on the suggestion, trying to counteract the 
 dizzying effect of the circular motion, by making a right about face, 
 and walking the contrary way around, until another change be- 
 came necessary. The secret of our being treated this way was that 
 the Tipperary election had taken place ; the rebel spirit there had 
 chosen me as its representative, and a rumor had gone abroad that 
 I and my companions were to be rescued. 
 
 Hence the prison authorities were in the greatest alarm. They 
 could not even bring themselves to trust their own employees, and, 
 lest any warder could be able to tell the attacking party where the 
 prisoners could be found exercising any particular day, our exercise 
 ground was changed every day. 
 
 The Government were really alarmed, and they took all possible 
 precautions to secure us. They put extra locks upon our doors at 
 night, and extra guards around our cells. If the citadel were be- 
 sieged we could not have been more vigilantly surrounded. 
 
 This was ridiculous ; but those who mean to fight England may 
 take one or two lessons from it — first, as regards acting on her fears, 
 and the measures that are necessary to strike terror into her, and, 
 
O* Donovan Rossa's Prison Life, 319 
 
 secondly, as to the precautions and provisions that are requisite for 
 protection against surprise and defeat. 
 
 In spite of all the arts resorted to to keep us in the dark, we had 
 a line of wires laid down that kept us pretty well acquainted with 
 what was going on in the world, and we knew of the Tipperary 
 election before it was officially made known to us in the following 
 manner : 
 
 The Governor of the prison sent for me, and, holding a sheet »>f 
 paper in his hand, said, " I am instructed to inform you by the 
 Secretary of State that the county of Tipperary has elected you a 
 member of Parliament ; but I am also desired by him to tell you 
 that that is in no way to change your prison treatment." 
 
 I affected a little surprise, and, after some humorous observations, 
 I told him he may as well take down my name to see the Director in 
 order that I may ask that gentleman to have me transferred to Mill- 
 bank Prison, so that I would be convenient to the House of Com- 
 mons, and be able to attend to my Parliamentary duties at night 
 after picking my bit of oakum during the day. 
 
 The Director came, and I joked with him also on the matter. 
 " Now," said he, " take my advice and don't have anything to say 
 to the authorities. You are getting on well lately, and you should 
 do nothing to injure yourself if they were disposed to consider your 
 case favorably. If you take my advice, you will keep silent." As he 
 seemed to speak kindly, I spoke seriously, and, thanking him, said 
 I would take the matter quietly. The Government were annoyed 
 enough at what had occurred without my trying to annoy them more. 
 With the officers I assumed the influence of a live member of Parlia- 
 ment. I was to have some of the good ones promoted, and the bad 
 ones reduced to a probation of convict life. 
 
 John Devoy was to have a tide-waitership from me if my constit- 
 uents permitted me to take any such favors. 
 
 One or two of my companions took the matter seriously, and 
 thought I would be really taken before the House. They kept dis- 
 cussing what I was to do — whether I would take the oaths, or re- 
 fuse to take them ; become a member, or continue a rebel. 
 
 If this were worth a serious thought — if I were taken before the 
 House, I think I would be found talking Irish to them, and it they 
 would not understand me — why ! let them get an interpreter. 
 
 I was an Irishman, represented an Irish county, and had a right 
 to be heard in the language of my country. This may be a new 
 idea for the members who are now discussing what is the best thing 
 for them to do in the House ; whether to vote or not to vote, whether 
 to go there or remain away altogether. Let them speak Irish, and 
 insist on speaking it in the House. That may be thought ridiculous, 
 but it is not a bit more ridiculous than to think the votes of a 
 hundred Irish members can get an independent Irish Government 
 against the votes, and the prejudices, and the interests of five or six 
 hundred English and Scotch members. If a London Parliament 
 
320 C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 ever grants the " Home Rule " to Irishmen, it will be just such 
 another sham as the "Tenant Right" she grants to Irish tenants. 
 This Tipperary election was, to my mind, the grandest thing of the 
 kind that ever occurred in Ireland. The Clare election was nothing 
 to it as a protest against foreign rule. Here, the great and popular 
 freeman, O'Oonnell, was chosen by the people ; he was amongst 
 the people and addressed them, but Tipperary chose a man who 
 was condemned to imprisonment for life, who was dead in law, 
 and who was subjected to every indignity England could heap 
 upon him in his living grave. There was no compliment intended 
 to me in this matter. I felt myself no better, nor did the people 
 consider me better, than any one else. The whole movement was a 
 protest against Ei. gland, and a defiance to her Ministry and minis- 
 tration. Either of the prisoners was as worthy of being chosen as 
 I; yet, there is no reason why I should not feel proud of being the 
 elect — of being considered the most ill-treated and most defiant of 
 the convicted felons. John Mitchel says : " A great event has be- 
 fallen in Irish history. Tipperary has just done a wiser and a bolder 
 deed than her sister county of Clare achieved forty years ago. 
 That Clare election won, to be sure, what was called Catholic 
 Emancipation, for the Claremen elected the disqualified Catholic, 
 O'Connell, to represent them in Parliament. Now the Tipperary- 
 men have elected the disqualified felon, O'Donovan Rossa, in his 
 convict cell — have elected, amongst all those imprisoned comrades, 
 the very one whom England most specially abhors — because he de- 
 fied and denounced the most loudly her government, her traitor 
 judges, and her packed juries — elected him as the most fit and 
 proper person to represent them." 
 
 Just so. I may well feel proud before my countrymen of having 
 such a commendation from so veteran a hater of English rule in Ire- 
 land as John Mitchel, and so may Tipperary. 
 
 In December, '69, our company came to be reduced by the re- 
 moval from amongst us of Rick Burke. He had been taking medi- 
 cine for the previous week, and was visibly falling away. In the 
 end he seemed to imagine that poison had been administered to him 
 in the drugs, and he was spirited away from us one morning with- 
 out one knowing where he was taken. A few days before his re- 
 moval, Dr. Burns, in my presence, told him that possibly what the 
 matter with him was that he was mentally troubled on account of 
 his crime. Rick told him he was not, and the doctor told him he 
 should be. This was the kind of medicine we occasionally got from 
 these doctors. It was hard for a man to keep his patience with them, 
 and only for the large stock of it we had on our hands, we were sure 
 to run short oftener than we did. 
 
 Having learned that M'Carthy Downing of Skibbereen was re- 
 turned to the English Parliament from Cork, I thought it would be 
 well to have a visit from him, and I applied to the Director for a 
 ticket, which I got, and sent him. My idea was to get him to speak 
 
C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 321 
 
 in Parliament about having my letters to my wife suppressed. The 
 Government would then state that this was done because I had told 
 falsehoods in them, and if I could have the letters produced and 
 read, I would have attained my object of having the treatment made 
 known. Mr. Downing visited me about the 24th of March, 1869, 
 and [ told for what purpose I sent for him. He seemed to be full of 
 the idea of getting us amnestied, and appeared to be very much dis- 
 pleased at a speech that Colonel Warren had made at a banquet in 
 Cork, on Patrick's Day, as it irritated the Government, and inter- 
 fered with our release. He wished I would express my disapproval 
 of Warren's action, but this I would not do. I said Warren was 
 accountable for his own acts, and if he said or did anything wrong, 
 the law would take hold of him. We had an idea before Warren 
 left us that this would be the state of things if he were released. 
 People would fetter him outside, because we were fettered inside, 
 and we distinctly told him in the refrigerator one day, to tell our 
 friends not to be deterred from any work they thought proper to do 
 in the cause, by a fear that it would tend to keep us in prison. Eng- 
 land would keep us in for ever if she thought that by doing so she 
 could keep Ireland from saying or doing anything hostile against 
 her. In the same way would she hold the soldiers she still holds in 
 chains were she confident that keeping them would keep Ireland and 
 Irishmen quiet. 
 
 At M'Carthy Downing's visit he asked me if I would promise to 
 leave the country, if released from prison. This was a ticklish 
 question to me. I told him I was sensitive as to anything being 
 said about my seeking my release on any conditions, or about his 
 seeking it for me. 
 
 I told him if a choice was given me of going to Siberia, and being 
 my own master, 1 would prefer to go there to remaining where I 
 was, but that I would promise nothing. After a lengthened conver- 
 sation on the matter, I said if he gave me a leaf of paper I would 
 give him a reply to his question in writing, and the Deputy -Gover- 
 nor consenting to give the paper, I wrote as follows: 
 
 " Mr. Downing, in answer to your question as to whether I 
 would leave the country or not if released from prison, I reply that 
 I would, and also with the understanding that if found in Ireland 
 or England again, without the permission of the British Govern- 
 ment, I render myself liable to be recommitted to prison." 
 
 I would not promise not to return, and the saving clause I had 
 in this was, that if I did return it could not be said I broke my 
 word. 
 
 Mr. Downing said I might make up my mind that whoever 
 would be released unconditionally, I would not. He put the writing 
 in his pocket-book, promising he would make no dishonorable use 
 of it, and I believe he never did ; but when I learned, a year after- 
 ward, that he showed it to my father-in-law, I was afraid it would 
 bear such a construction as that I sent for Mr. Downing for the 
 
322 0' Donovan Rossa' ] s Prison Life. 
 
 purpose of getting him to intercede for my release, and I wrote to 
 him to return me the paper. He did so, and I kept it in my cell. 
 When the Government officials asked me if I would leave the coun-, 
 try if pardoned, the reply I gave was to send them this very leaf of 
 paper. 
 
 Mr. Downing paid me a second visit a few months alter his first, 
 and brought with him another member of Parliament, Mr. Blake, of 
 Waterford. This interview was solicited on their part, as questions 
 had been raised in the House of Commons about my hands being 
 tied behind my back for thirty-five days. 
 
 Mr. Downing said I never told him this, which was true, but 
 it was not to tell it I sent for him. I sent for him that he might 
 ask for my suppressed letters in Parliament, which would tell that 
 story and other stories besides. 
 
 The question again came up of my leaving the country, and Mr. 
 Blake talked of my going to Australia. He said he had some very 
 influential friends there, and that he would give me letters of intro- 
 duction to them. I thanked him ; but I was so suspicions at the 
 time as to think he was speaking with a knowledge of where the 
 Government wished me to go, and that the friends to whom he 
 would give letters would be also Government friends. But when a 
 man with the patriotic Irish name of Gavan DutFy is dubbed a Sir 
 Charles by Queen Victoria, and held by patriotic Irishmen to be an 
 Irish patriot still, I suppose I will be looked upon as over squeamish 
 in imagining the possibility of my falling into any hands that would 
 mould the future of my life to anything different or antagonistic to 
 what the past of it has been. I did not say I would go to Australia 
 then. I said my wife and some of my children Avere in America, 
 and it was probable, if I had a choice of going anywhere, I would 
 go towards them. 
 
 Mr. Blake and Mr. Downing questioned me on the subject of hav- 
 ing my hands tied for thirty-five days, and I told them it was true. 
 
 The Deputy-Governor was present, and he did not deny it. Mr. 
 Bruce, the Secretary of State, said I " was only tied for a part of a 
 day." 
 
 Mr. Downing asked the Deputy if he cculd see the record books, 
 and the Deputy said "Yes." 
 
 But, on reflection, he considered he would be acting improperly 
 in showing them in the absence of the Governor, and begged to be 
 excused. 
 
 These records subsequently showed that I was bound day after 
 day_for the time mentioned. But at one time they were taken out 
 of the prison and kept in London in order to prevent a detection of 
 the falsehoods of the Secretary of State and his agents. When I 
 am writing on the Commission of Inquiry I will go fully into the 
 matter. 
 
 I had a visit from Mr. Richard Pigott and Mr. John O'Donnell, 
 and it was that let the cat out of the bag. Through many inter- 
 
0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 323 
 
 ruptions of the Deputy-Governor who presided at our interview, I 
 was enabled to tell them as much as would enable them to make a 
 noise when they got home. Mr. Pigott's object in visiting me was 
 to ascertain if I was willing to give evidence in a case of libel which 
 was brought against him by Mr. A. M. Sullivan, editor of the Nation. 
 This was the second time the Irishman was prosecuted on account 
 of the publication of a letter of mine concerning Mr. Sullivan. I 
 consented to give any evidence I could in the case, and in a few 
 months afterwards a commissioner, accompanied by Mr. A. M. Sul- 
 livan, with attorney and counsel for both sides, came to the prison 
 to examine and cross-examine me. 
 
 Mr. Luby tells me Mr. Pigott's attorney, Mr. Lawless, 
 thought I went back of my charges on this occasion, but I do not 
 know how that could be thought. I think I was pretty positive in 
 adhering to them. 
 
 I was asked if I ever had any personal ill-will against Mr. Sulli- 
 van, and I should conscientiously say I never had, and to other 
 questions replied that I knew himself and his family ; that his father 
 was a respected man, and it was with pain I felt it my duty to write 
 harshly of his son. I was asked if I considered Mr. Sullivan to be 
 an honest man, and I answered that I believed him to be a better 
 man in his heart than in his paper, for I had in my mind the necessi- 
 ties that make a newspaper man say and do many things when he is 
 iu with men and parties that are in with the English government 
 and support his paper, which he would not say or do were he inde- 
 pendent of them and had no paper. 
 
 I knew Mr. Sullivan, and took notice of him when he was a 
 young man and I a growing boy. He had a good reputation in his 
 native town, Bantry, and I heard him talk one day in a manner that 
 made me like him. But when he became a newspaper man, he 
 talked quite the opposite way on the same subject. I don't believe 
 his mind changed a bit, but his necessities did. 
 
 It was just after the coup cPetat in Paris when that tyrant liber- 
 ticide, the late Napoleon, perjured himself, shot the people down, 
 and killed the Republic he was sworn to uphold. I was a clerk in 
 the hardware store of William Clarke, of Bantry, he sent me up 
 to the Poor Law Union to look after some contracts, and I stood 
 in the waiting-room awaiting orders. Five or six men were talking 
 of Napoleon, and one of them denounced the scoundrel in the most 
 scathing language, asserting that he himself would not have the 
 least scruple in blowing out his brains, and would do it at the mo- 
 ment if he had the chance. I was too young at the time to say 
 anything, but I tell you it added a little to my pride to find Sandy 
 Sullivau holding the same opinion as myself. I never could read 
 his articles in the Nation in praise of this same Napoleon, without 
 thinking of that Bantry Boardroom, and without having a holy 
 horror of becoming a newpaper man. I had a presentiment some 
 way that my becoming so would be my ruin, and sure enough it was. 
 
324 C Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 But withal it did not change one opinion of mine. I hold them 
 now the same as I did those " twenty golden years ago," and if \ 
 live those twenty more that I am banished from the old land, may 
 God grant that the old spirit will live too. 
 
 Another word about the editor of the Nation. It is surprising 
 to see with what persistency he has stuck to maligning "Fenian- 
 ism" and those connected with it, except a few friends of his, such 
 as P. J. Meehan and Colonel Roberts, who would begin the fight in 
 Canada instead of Ireland. He has written a story of Ireland for 
 school-boys, but I trust few of the rising generation will pay 
 much attention to the two last chapters of it. " The politics oi 
 despair " is what he calls fighting for Irish independence, and he 
 says "it may be deplored that a considerable portion of the Irisq 
 people have lent a ready ear to them." 
 
 " We were in a mood to hearken to any proposal, no matter 
 how wild, and to follow any man, no matter who he might be, prom^ 
 isi.ig to lead us to vengeance." 
 
 " Our policy was strenuously reprehended by every one of the 
 '48 leaders" — which is scarcely true, for Michael Doheny, and 
 Thomas Francis Meagher, and John Mitchel gave some counte- 
 nance to it — "and reprehended by the Catholic clergy universally." 
 
 This is somewhat false. I know Catholic clergymen who did 
 not reprehend it, and Mr. Sullivan knows them too. One of those, 
 known to both of us, wrote to me when I was elected for Tipperary, 
 but I was never told of the arrival of his letter till I was leaving 
 prison ; it was handed to me then, and as the following passage is 
 underscored by the authorities to show it was under their consider- 
 ation, I give it in full : 
 
 "December 21, '69. 
 
 " You remember Father Leader, how he read from the altar, in 
 1850, a long list of the evictions perpetrated by Tom Marmion. A 
 history of these evictions appears on the papers of to-day in the 
 form of letters from Father Davis and Father Troy. We are mak- 
 ing great strides towards tenant right. Farmers will not be con- 
 tented now with anything short of fixity of tenure at fair rents, but 
 this is more than they will get until our rulers are better educated. 
 Dr. O'Hea is in Rome attending the E. Council. The opening scene 
 in St. Peter's, the splendor of the ceremonies, was magnificent be- 
 yond description. There are 800 bishops and mitred abbots. Put 
 out of your mind the idea that they are to deliberate on the con- 
 demnation of Fenianism. You oight to know that the opinions of 
 Dr. Moriarty are neither general nor well received among the Irish 
 clergy. Every day renders it less likely that they ever will be. The 
 current seems drifting rather in a direction quite the reverse ! / " 
 
 Every one knows the priests who denounced the movement, but 
 Mr. Sullivan had no necessity to know the good priests, nor am I 
 going to " inform" on them, nor even tell him the writer of the let- 
 ter I have quoted from. 
 
G* Donovan Basso's Prison Life. 325 
 
 This anti-revolution historian further says — "The first leaders 
 of the conspiracy were not men well recommended to Irish confid- 
 ence." 
 
 I hope the schoolboys who read this will not believe a word of 
 it. To my mind it is false history. They were as well known and 
 as well trusted in their several localities as ever the historian was 
 before he was an anti-revolutionist, and he was known and trusted 
 then. 
 
 "And in the venemous manner in which they assailed all who 
 endeavored to dissuade the people from their plot, they showed they 
 had not alone copied the forms, but imbibed the spirit of the conti- 
 nental secret societies." 
 
 This should read — "And in the venomous manner in which they 
 assailed me — A. M. Sullivan — because /exposed their 'plot,' &c." 
 
 The use of the words "plot" and "continental secret societies" 
 show he is familiar with the phraseology of our prosecutors. 
 
 " Up to 1864 the Fenian enterprise made comparatively little head- 
 way in Ireland. In America, almost from the outset, it secured large 
 support." 
 
 This is entirely false. It was quite the other way, and if the 
 men in Ireland had trusted to themselves instead of relying on 
 the " large American support," things might also be another way 
 to-day. 
 
 " There was up to the last a fatuous amount of delusion maintain- 
 ed by the ' Head Centre' at this side of the Atlantic, James Stephens, 
 a man of marvellous subtlety and wonderful powers of plausible im- 
 position; crafty, cunning, and quite unscrupulous as to the employ- 
 ment of means to an end." 
 
 This is a splendid fling at a fallen enemy of his, whom the enemy 
 of Ireland has banished beyond reaching him. To be " quite un- 
 scrupulous as to the employment of means to an end," is what any 
 man must be who expects to fight England successfully. That will 
 be no more than fighting her with her own weapons, and those who 
 learn a true story of Ireland must learn this. Saying w r hich, I take 
 my leave of Mr. Sullivan and Ids petty, spiteful story. 
 
 Looking back at my prison life, and reading over some verses I 
 made while we were mending stockings, I am struck with the freedom 
 of thought we managed to indulge in while the body was closely 
 confined. 
 
 I would be afraid here now to speak the opinions that are found 
 in the following lines. I entertained them when 1 was in prison, 
 and might entertain them still if I was in Ireland. But here in 
 America, where our Irish are less religious than at home, they are, 
 as if to compensate for their falling oflf, more bigoted ; and where 1 
 am less known than in the old land, a fanatic paper here could on the 
 strength of the stray words in these rhymes get up a cry of "Com- 
 munist" or "Infidel" against me that would get holy people to exe- 
 crate me. 
 
326 C Donovan IZoxxaa Prison -L'fo. 
 
 Nevertheless, as they were my opinions when I was free to hold 
 them, at a time that I had no fear of the world's prejudices depriving 
 me of my daily bread, I give them here : 
 
 Here's a health to the victims of tyranny's wrong, 
 Here's a health to the weak who're oppressed by 'the strong, 
 Here's a health to the men, he their cieeri what it may, 
 Who can say " G-od Save Ireland" wherever they pray. 
 
 And let them kneel to God above, 
 
 In church or chapel, kirk or grove, 
 
 Here's heart and hand, and hope and love, 
 For Ireland, over the water. 
 
 Our long suffering mother is ravished by knaves, 
 And, dishonored, bhe weepingly nurses us slaves, 
 The tyrants have made us a hell upon earth, 
 And we labor in chains, while they revel in mirth. 
 
 We'd hardly be more sorely tried, 
 
 More scattered through the world wide, 
 
 Had Christ by us been crucified 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
 But we're told our misfortunes are owing to our guilt, 
 That we're paying for the blood which our forefather's spilt, 
 That England to us is t ie heaven-sent stroke, 
 And we strike against God when we strike at her yoke. 
 v This teaching finds us blood-red graves, 
 In lands beyond the salt sea waves, 
 And leaves us crouching, cringing slaves- 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
 It is said, and I think 'tis byMachiavel, 
 
 That tyrants in teaching the Bible excel, 
 
 In order the better to plunder the poor, 
 
 And make them submit to the wrongs they endure. 
 
 And thus they offer us the Word, 
 
 They tell us pray and trust the Lord, 
 
 And then the}^ rob with tire and sword 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
 To our ruthless invaders the creed mattered nought, 
 They made heaven subserve every conquest they sought, 
 And the Catholics sent by the Popes for our pence, 
 Just hit us as hard as the Puritan saints. 
 
 Since Adrian's grant, 'tis fraud, 'tis force, 
 
 'Tis Bulls, 'tis bayonets, footaud horse, 
 
 'Tis Cullen's or 'tis Cromwell's curse 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
 Can the creeds that love freedom and manhood elsewhere, 
 
 Be fruitful of nothing but slavery there ? 
 
 Will the ''Protestant Boys" never give us a hope, 
 
 But hugging their fetters, afraid of a Pope ? 
 
 Our Pagan sires our strifes would shun, 
 
 Thev saw their heaven through the sun, 
 
 Their God smiled down on every one 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 397 
 
 Our children of Roman and Protestant birth 
 Proclaim our disgrace through the brothels of earth, 
 Yet the preachers preach on, we have nothing to do 
 But to ' ' carry the Cross " and ' ' give Csesar his due." 
 
 Christ never said 'twas Caesar's coin, 
 
 The land is ours, then let us join 
 
 Our hearts and hands across the Boyne, 
 For Ireland, over the water. 
 
 But the bigots start up to prevent the embrace, 
 
 And the phantoms of faction are flung in our face, 
 
 " To hell with the Pope"—" Hell with William the Third," 
 
 Then like devils we fight " for the love of the Lord." 
 
 The world's contempt rewards our pains, 
 
 We're slaves, and with our very chains 
 
 We batter out each other's brains 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
 This creed of dissension is nursed in the land, 
 While the creed of our martyrs is prisoned and banned — 
 Sheares, Crowley, Fitzgerald, Lynch, Duffy, and Tone, 
 Emmett, Larkin, and Orr died for Ireland alone. 
 
 For Freedom's cause at Freedom's shrine. 
 
 This was the creed of Mike O'Brien, 
 
 Let it be yours as well as mine, 
 For Ireland, over the water. 
 
 And then for a struggle to end in success — 
 When the Keoghs will protect us and Cullens will bless, 
 For 'tis but for failure that "rebels " are damned, 
 That scaffolds are mounted and prisons are crammed. 
 
 Come North and South our land to save, 
 
 Can't we be Irish, true and brave, 
 
 And neither Rome's nor Englands's slave 
 In Ireland, over the water. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A. CHAPTER OP LETTERS THE BELMONT FUND T. F. DONOVAN, WM. R„ 
 
 ROBERTS MAURICE AND KATE SPILLANE COURTSHIP AFTER 
 
 MARRIAGE LOVE AND WAR MY WIFE'S LETTER TO MR. GLAD- 
 STONE AND HIS REPLY HER LETTERS TO ME AND MY REPLIES 
 
 APPREHENSIONS OF BOTH OF US COMMITTING SUICIDE A RO- 
 MANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 If a prisoner is interestingly married, the outside world knows 
 very little how much the thoughts of his prison life are occupied by 
 his wife. The chapter of letters before me now reveals a troubled 
 existence in all the moods and tenses of intense suffering. It was 
 a question with us in Ireland whether men who had committed 
 themselves to the cause of revolution should marry at all. I know 
 many who had put off "the happy day" until the war would be over, 
 but I was not one of them. I married when the work was hottest, 
 and the day after I married I started for England and Scotland to 
 meet the men in several towns who were calling for some one 
 from headquarters to visit them. A few months after returning I 
 was sent to Connaught with Edward Duffy, and spent a month there. 
 After returning from Connaught I was sent to America, and when I 
 came back, my wife, who left her father's house again and came to 
 Dublin, must have had very serious doubts as to whether I intend- 
 ed spending a " honeymoon" at all or not. She had very little of 
 my company during the few months preceding my arrest. I was 
 out of house all day, and, in the excitement of the times, let me con- 
 fess that I was oftener out at night than I need be, so that, looking 
 at my married life, it is not to be wondered at that the memories of 
 a wife, now widowed, troubled and friendless, should speak bitterly 
 to me of her condition. 
 
 The letters I will give in this chapter were never written for 
 publication, and, perhaps, never ought to be published. They are 
 essentially private letters, but as some things in them are calculated 
 to give a lesson to " patriots," I don't mind letting the " patriots" 
 see them. 
 
 There are a number of Irishmen in America who parade and 
 pic-nic, and pipe and play in honor, or in the name of the Irish cause, 
 and the men who suffer death and imprisonment for it are immor- 
 talized in song and speech in every one of their festive gatherings. 
 
(J Donovan Hossds Prison Life. 329 
 
 Yet the wives and the children of those martyred or suffering men 
 may be starving for bare want of the common necessaries of life for 
 all the paraders or the pic-nickers may care. 
 
 I, in prison, should have been spared the pain of thinking 
 my wife or children were neglected, and so should the men in prison 
 still, be spared that pain, and if Irishmen here were what they ought 
 to be — if their professions of love for the cause of the old land were 
 to have corresponding action — they would have some society to 
 provide for the widows and orphans of those who fall fighting for it. 
 Irish-American patriots cannot fight for Irish independence in Amer- 
 ica, and if they don't assist and encourage those who mean to fight 
 for it in Ireland and England, they do nothing. 
 
 Here is my wife's first letter from America. Let the men of 
 the Irish societies read it — the Fenians and the Clan-na-gael included 
 — and ask themselves are they doing anything even yet, only "en- 
 acting the L huge humbugs' that have been in course of enaction from 
 time to time ?" 
 
 6 Dominick Street, New York City, U. S. A., July 19, '67. 
 To Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, from his wife, M. J. O'D. Rossa : 
 
 My Dear Husband : I sit down to write to you in a graver mood than usual. 
 'Twas only to-day I read the full report of the Commissioners who investigated the 
 prisoners' treatment, and I must confess to a feeling of vexation and annoyance that 
 you should make yourself so conspicuous amongst men who are supposed to be as 
 sensitive of their condition as you, by the number of complaints you make and by 
 the number made against you. What is the use of bringing so many successive pun- 
 ishments on yourself by impotent defiance of a rule that holds you in its grasp ? Who 
 can assist you ? or what end is to be gained ? It seems so boyish a temper you have 
 become possessed of that I should fail to recognize it in the report, if I did not mark 
 the irritation of your feelings in our interview at Millbank, and the manner in which 
 you " took up " every word uttered by the warders. 
 
 Before you come to the end of this letter you will come to conclusions regarding 
 the advisability of submitting to any and every discipline of your prison, and of pass- 
 ing in silence the wrongs you or your friends are powerless to avenge. I believe the 
 Government is using a short-sighted policy in preventing State prisoners from hearing 
 how affairs go on in the world outside. I am sick in my soul of the " huge humbugs" 
 that have been in course of enaction from time to time ; of the duplicity, the 
 treachery, the heartlessness, the folly that have characterized the past two years in 
 the history of Ireland ; the only redeeming feature being the self-sacrifice of a num- 
 ber of honest men who are called zealots and enthusiasts, and well-intentioned fools, 
 for their pains, by half the world. 
 
 I speak and will speak as I have never spoken before to you. It is necessary per- 
 haps that you should have some incentive to act in a more rational manner. O'Leary 
 is aproud, sensitive, high-spirited man ; so also is Luby. Yet, with admirable dignity, 
 they hold up their heads and take no insult from creatures who are beneath ttieir 
 contempt. This is wise in every sense. They have less reason to be far-seeing and 
 politic than you, for think what reasons have you? Need I set before you the fact 
 that you have six sons — four of them in my father's house — and likely to remain there 
 if the poor man can keep a house over them, for I have failed in getting any pro- 
 vision for them here. Need I remind you that you have a wife — a sorely wronged girl 
 whom you took in her inexperience and world-ignorance, whom you afterwards with 
 open eyes left unprovided for, and who is at present drudging away her life at 
 writing for a pittance, and wearing away her heart at yearning for the infant who 
 finds a mother at the other side of the great ocean ? Ah, Rossa, Rossa, look out and 
 think of these things — think which has most trouble, you who took it on yourself 
 and drew it on me, or I, who, depending on your love to do ail that was just to me, 
 find myself a married woman without a husband, a child without a parent, and a 
 mother without a child. Steeped to the lips in poverty and misery and labor of 
 heart and head ; far from home and in the midst of friends who are hollow, and 
 
330 0** Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 
 
 strangers who are suspicious and critical of my youth — who suffers most? who has 
 most reason of complaint ? I against you, or you against the authorities ? 
 
 Is there any hope before me? I see none except whatever arises from the writ 
 of error or the politic clemency of the Crown. Towards the expenses of that writ 
 of error, let me tell you, the American people, after four weeks of the publishing of 
 Miss Mulcahy's petition, have given not a single cent. That speaks volumes. The fam- 
 ilies have joined in an appeal and noihing goes home in answer to it, and the West of 
 Ireland is famine-stricken again and America sends no relief there. 
 
 The policy of the Government will, I have no doubt, even if the writ of error fail, 
 order your release on conditions after a little time— always considering you have set 
 up no obstacle to its mercy in your own bearing and deportment. Your whole con- 
 duct is defiantly in opposition to your captors, it is said. I ask you again, what is the 
 use? You are the conquered, not the conqueror, and true valor is best displayed in 
 gracefully accepting your defeat. If you escaped to-morrow I solemnly tell you 1 
 would not live with you unless you atoned to me for the past by minding your own 
 family and your own affairs for the future. You told me before our marriage that I 
 could "simulate and dissimulate." Well, you were right. Every day after that 25th 
 of October opened my eyes wider to the madness of our union, but I loved you and 
 I would not pain you by showing my unhappiness. I looked to the future, disbeliev- 
 ing all your talk of prisons and battle-fields, and I hoped for the life I had coveted 
 after your Fenian business was past and gone. Philosophy came to my aid, and I 
 patiently bore what few wives would bear unreproachfully, and I simulated happi- 
 ness while my heart was sore,- to make you happy. After this continue to act against 
 your own interest, if you love it and me so little as to feel inclined to act so. You 
 would never know this much I have written if I did not think it necessary to tell you, 
 lest, mistaking my mind still, you plunge yourself and me into more misery yet. 
 What is the use of my life if it is to be no more than a distant accompaniment to your 
 protracted sufferings, and where do you think will the strength come from that is to 
 help me to bear it? Strength comes of suffering, men say, but times 
 
 " My spirit swoons away in hopeless gloom !" 
 
 Up to this time I have in public taken firm hold of the chalice of bitterness you 
 filled for me, and I have drank it down with brave eyes and unflinching breath ; but 
 if the draught be deeper and deeper still, my breath may fail, my courage strangle 
 me, or my strength desert me. Save me if you can. I have one good angel far across 
 the water that looks through the eyes of my child, my bright little boy. This angel 
 smiles on me through my sleep, and stretches two tiny hands across the sea, lisping 
 my name, and with tiny feet tries to tread the waves that divide me from him and the 
 sunlight, and the fresh spray gleams on his shining child-hair and over the little 
 ruddy face. While this angel lives on earth a firm anchor holds me to life, but if he 
 goes — my heart sickens, and I pray God spare me so deep a grief and leave me my one 
 object to live for. So far my letter can be of little comfort to you, but I cannot in 
 honesty make it pleasanter. You will be angry, I daresay wounded, but I must be 
 satisfied with that too. If you understand me you will believe me that one pain I 
 give is at the cost of ten, twenty, to myself, for I find it easier to take than to give pain 
 or trouble. 
 
 Here I must break off, but — by-and-by I shall recommence and tell you of my voy- 
 age out, my reception here, and what I do since. 
 
 Ever affectionately, your wife, M. J. 
 
 Friday Evening. 
 
 Some day I may be sorry for having written this letter. I am sorry for writing 
 it now, but I don't see how it could be avoided. When you write do not reproach me 
 for the words I have said. I do not deserve reproach, and I feel so wronged that any- 
 thing harsh you would say to me would have a contrary effect to what you would in- 
 tend. A constant falling drop will wear away a stone, and such a drop has been 
 secretly falling on my heart — which is not stone — for the last few years. It is worn 
 very thin, so thin that another hard stroke would break it. 
 
 It would be as well it did break at once and end the struggle ; but 3*et a spirit 
 of wild defiance sustains it in its despair — a violent outcry against the injustice 
 that would make you, who have enjoyed everything enjoyable in the world, be the 
 means of sending me, to w.iom the earth's greenness bas borne no fruit of pleasure yet, 
 heartbroken to the grave. I won't and I can't die while I can live for choosing life. 
 
 What a strange perversity of fancy keeps ringing in my head your lines in 
 answer to my " Forget me, Rossa." Can you remember them? Can you remember 
 t^at poem they were an answer to, or a sequel to? When I left you, after that inter- 
 view at Millbahk, I went t<> Dublin and straight from there to Clonakilty. I told you 
 Mr. Pigott offered me money for my passage to America, and I took it, trusting to be 
 
O' 'Donovan fossa's Prison Life. 331 
 
 able to pay it back as soon as I should arrive here. I have not been able to do so ; 
 but as that incapacity and its reason enter in the details of my business here I will 
 let it pass till you know of the journey that preceded it. 
 
 I reached Clonakilty unexpectedly to Papa ; was received with open arms 
 by the familj', and expected to remain some time. I had my passage engaged, and 
 only two days at my disposal. That dear child of mine clung to my neck the whole 
 time, and would not take his de r little arms away, and he waked me in the mornings 
 kissing and patting my cheeks with his rosy fists. Oh, the pain of parting with him. 
 I had been away a month from him, and had only these two days to be with him be- 
 fore leaving him — perhaps for years or forever. Mamma was distracted at my com- 
 ing to a country where there is neither kith nor kin of mine. My father came with 
 me to Queenstown. The morning I left, your letter to my father came. I can't say that 
 either he or I appreciated the arguments you drew to satisfy his mind that what is is 
 best as far as I am concerned. I know of no qualities my misfortunes have developed 
 except my strength of endurance, and every woman is endowed with a share of that. 
 I wrote verses before I married ; it would have been better for me had I never written. 
 Whatever the qualities are you think creditable that have been developed in suffer- 
 ing, I would, with all my heart, have preferred they should forever lie dormant, if 
 so I could lead a pleasant and happy life, and escape my present and past misery. 
 On the 30th of May I was put on board the City of Paris, and the last sight of my 
 father is stamped as with mordaunt on my memory, with a grey, careworn look over 
 his face, a wan shadow on his lips, and lights of suppressed anguish in his eyes. I 
 know as well as if I followed him that he went back to the boarding-house on the 
 beach, and locked the sitting-room door I had left, and sat down to the table with his 
 head between his arms to cry out the agony of his fatherly heart ! 
 
 It chokes me, this memory. My poor, poor father ! I was known on hoard, and 
 very khdly treated. There were American families, returning from a tour on the 
 Continent, and the}" made the voyage pleasant to me. A Frenchman, who had been an 
 artist, was my good angel. The first day of the voyage, when I was so sea-sick that 
 after crawling on deck I had to lay down beside a lady, a ward of his, who was sick 
 too, and covered up in rugs and furs, he brought me lemons and ice-water, and 
 folded all the spare rugs he c uld find round me, and so I spent the first day after the 
 evening we started from Queenstown. 
 
 The following day I was able to sit up, and the next I was looking about for some- 
 thing to employ my hands or my mind on. The Frenchman gave me pencil and 
 paper, and I sketched roughly a few of the faces on board. The artist was much 
 pleased, and every other day I sat at one side of him, his ward on the other, and 
 much to the amusement of our fellow-voyageurs we caricatured all who staid quiet 
 anywhere in our vicinity. Then chance brought out my fortune-telling propensities. 
 and I had all the ladies and their escorts on board, including three Church of England 
 clergymen, come begging me tell their fortune. To the end of the voyage I had not a 
 moment to spare. The doctor wanted his likeness taken, with an autograph, and T gave 
 him both ; and the artist wanted my likeness, and I sat for it ; and the stewardess even 
 wanted her fortune told. There was a good library on the ship — a small one — but some 
 good books — and I read, at intervals, " Hard Times," and some other pleasant stories. 
 Other times the Frenchman translated German legends from a beautiful little book he 
 had. In the nights, after supper, we all gathered aft the vessel, and watched the balls 
 of phosphoric fire that rolled in myriads from the white wake of foam. Then, nearing 
 land, there were pleasant promenades, in the starry evenings, up and down the deck. 
 I will for a long time remember the kind words, the gentle advice, a fine old gentle- 
 man from Louisville gave me. I say " old," but he wasn't old ; he was light-hearted 
 as a boy, generous and cheery and gentlemanly. His sister and his niece were with 
 him, and the great interest they all took in me arose from the fact of my being at 
 Roscrea School with a cousin of theirs, Gertrude Hackett. They were extremely 
 kind to me, and left me addresses and invitations to their places, whenever, if ever, 
 I should be in their vicinity. I could have gone with that family as governess to Mr. 
 C.'s daughters, but that is something I have many chances of doing. I won't go into 
 any family till I know a little more of America. The last day of our voyage was a 
 stormy one ; we were in sight of land, and had to put to sea again with the land 
 swell. Then, in the evening, we got into Sandy Hook. 'Twas Sunday, and we all had to 
 stay on hoard till next day. I felt very lonely as the tender reached'the Custom-House. 
 At sea I had been free from trouble — I had breathed ; but with the first step on dry land 
 my cares and perplexities returned. I had been said many affectionate adieus by the 
 new friends of my voyage. They seemed to be all friends, and I looked sadly after 
 them as, group by group, they passed away, and I was left alone. The Frenchman 
 saw my luggage safe and ordered me a carriage, then said good-by and took off his 
 charge in another direction. I was just seeing my things safe in the carriage when 
 Tim Donovan came up, and asked me if a Mrs. 'Donovan had come over in the City 
 
332 (J Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 of Paris? He stepped into the carriage with me, and we drove to Mrs. Healy's, where 
 I remained one week, and was very kindly treated. It was not pleasant to me to live 
 in any house on sufferance, not even in my father's house ; and finding I was putting 
 the family to inconvenience, I left Brooklyn and went to board with an American family 
 in Thirteenth street and Second avenue. To do this I should, of course, have money, 
 so I engaged myself to the Irish People newspaper, to supply them weekly with 
 poems or stories, under my name (yours), at a salary of $10 a week, equal to £l 10s. 
 of our money at present. This is very trifling to live on here, and as for sparing any- 
 thing out of it! ! Och, hone ! as Joan said. 
 
 I couldn't get the money even to pay back to Mr. Pigott, and that frets me. My 
 hopes are thrown to pieces concerning the whiskey money. I couldn't get a cent of it. 
 Denis Donovan says the duty, and leakage, and storage, ate it up. I would mention to 
 you the names of many men who called on me all with big professions, none with 
 material aid, but 'twould make a big list, and the authorities might see it objec- 
 tionable. Of course I told them of the reason of n^ journey, all about the children, 
 &c, but civility and a welcome to the hospitality of their house was all I could get 
 from the warmest of your friends here. 
 
 " Twas very hard the children should be in such a bad way." " 'Twas wonder- 
 ful they wern't seen to," — " awful charge for a young woman," &c, &c, without end, 
 but everybody's business is nobody's business, and I got lots of advice and pity, but no 
 assistance. The boarding-house in Thirteenth street I found too expensive for my light 
 purse, so I moved over here to Dominick street, an humble neighborhood, and a 
 house more hoim-like to me, as they are Clonaklity people who rent it, and they 
 knew my father before I was born. James is here, but his neck troubles him very 
 much. Prison food brought on an ulcer in it. Poor boy, he, too, is the victim of " hard 
 times." All I could do or all he could do, couldn't get him a situation, such a world 
 of hypocrisy and hollowness is it ! Just as to me, he was made ever so many prom- 
 ises of employment, but his patrons forgot their words. I met a brother of yours 
 here. He said your mother and all belonging to you in this country enjoyed good 
 health. If you choose to write to your family next, I shall be satisfied to waive my 
 claim to a letter. 
 
 I was at Patrick Downing's place in Newark, and if his circumstances would ad- 
 mit I believe I might expect he would help your children. He is a spirited, generous 
 fellow, but his family is increasing and he has not made his fortune yet. I like him 
 well. Denis Sullivan of the Irish People has treated me kindly. Him, too, I believe to 
 be sincere, but his circumstances are not too flourishing. 
 
 Col. Denis F. Burke and his family have shown me much friendship, but they are 
 only recovering fr.>m the reverses suffered through connection with Fenianism. Their 
 kindness is limited to hospitality and the best of good wishes. 
 
 I write as much as I can, and presently I shall see if I can't get in on other papers 
 or periodicals besides the Irish People. 
 
 Mr. Meehan promised to get me into a fancy store as saleswoman, if I chose to go 
 into business. I will write and look round me awhile. I may presently be able to 
 send for your children, and they will be taken to trades or business here without fee. 
 
 I may go down to St. Louis to be near these cousins of mine. All the places in the 
 world are the same to me. I have no tie to any part, but I think it would be pleasant 
 to live near relatives. I don't think I have any more to say, only I got a letter from 
 my father and one from Tim since I came here, and I wrote home once. You 
 will wonder why I did not write long before this. I just wished to know what I'd have 
 to say to you from here. I'm six weeks in the country now. The first week I thought 
 'twas a splendid place, and the second I grew suspicious <>f big promises; the third I 
 felt cynical and bitter, and so on every day adding to m3 r heart-sickness, and winding 
 in <>n myself as if I were a spool of silk that had witlessly unrolled and was being 
 shrunk up again by the motion of the world and its frost. I expect you'll write 
 me, when you do write, in a cold strain, to punish me for having different opinions 
 from yours on several points in this letter. I'd say " forgive," but I don't feel I have 
 done anything to be forgiven. I have not room to argue, you see, and must only sign 
 myself fondly and truly 
 
 Your wife, M. J. 
 
 One passage of this letter vexed me somewhat. I did not like 
 that my wife should think of me in such a manner as it suited the 
 English Government to represent me to the world. Knox and Pol- 
 lock would not bring me face to face with my accusers ; they would 
 do nothing to do me justice j their duty was to whitewash the Gov- 
 
0** Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 333 
 
 eminent and blackwash me ; and to be asked "if I could not act in 
 a rational manner," or " act like Mr. Luby, or Mr. O'Leary," was 
 something that annoyed me, when I had no chance of explaining or 
 replying. 
 
 1 was allowed pen and paper to write to my wife, and when I 
 had written the letter it would not be let out, because it contained 
 the explanation 1 thought proper to give. To nurse my wrath 
 would be only to burn myself up, and as there was no use at all 
 in my committing such a suicide, I began to grow callous regarding 
 what the world, or the wife, or the warders should think of me. 
 Some one tells us, when misfortune hits us hard, the best way to 
 bear it is to hit hard at something else in return, and I will allow 
 my experience to indorse the wisdom of the counsel. 
 
 A year and a half elapsed before I heard from my wife again. 
 During this time I wrote two or three letters to her; but, as I 
 harped on the same strings, they were again suppressed. Her 
 prospects, during this time, were growing brighter, and her letter 
 is not so gloomy as the last. She had been turning her talents to 
 some account in earning an independent livelihood, and was begin- 
 ning to entertain the foolish notion of getting me out of prison by 
 going to law with the devil, when she would have earned a sufficient 
 amount of money to employ counsel. 
 
 She puts me into a corner when she says, " Tell me have you really 
 grown so indifferent regarding what I may think or feel at your 
 silence, that you make no effort to win the good-will of your jailers, 
 or the favors extended to your companions in misery ?" 
 
 At the time I received this letter my jailers were hitting me 
 pretty hard. It was just after they had been chaining and tramp- 
 ling me under foot, and I was not in the humor to write very 
 kindly of them, or very forgetfully of their treatment. I wrote, 
 but this letter shared the fate of the others. Another was sup- 
 pressed when I tried, six months after ; but the next half-yearly let- 
 ter was allowed to pass. 
 
 Utica, N. Y., December 13, 1868. 
 My Dear Love : I do not know why I write to you to-night unless it is that I feel 
 more than unusually " lonely and alone," and memory has been preaching to me little 
 serm: >ns fr< m your life and mine. I have not been fit to write to you for a long, long time. 
 My heart is in the state of a dormant volcano — by avoiding thoughts of you or my 
 child I avoid an eruption ; by reflecting a moment on my more than three years' 
 widowhood and my far-away baby, my soul is shaken to its deepest depths — my heart 
 convulsed to the core with discontent. Well, I will not talk of that now. I am taking 
 the only measures my judgment can approve to mend the faults of fortune, and have 
 now at least a partial certainty of success. It would be a l<>ng story to tell you, 
 how I came to adopt the profession of elocution. If you ever get free, or if I ever 
 again unrestrainedly meet you without warders by to listen to and comment on my 
 confessions, I'll give you the history of these three long j r ears, years as long as ordi- 
 nary lifetimes, years that I never ex.ected human endurance could outlive. The 
 little raft of resolution that floated in from the wreck of my fortune three or four 
 years ago, has run steadily on the waves of life. It will soon, I hope, be strong enough 
 to bear you up too. To depart from i arallels, I have been giving public readings for 
 gome months, and intend continuing to do so till I have acquired a sufficient sum of 
 money to justify me in engaging counsel to re-oi >en your case and appeal it to the House 
 of Lords You need not think I am " begging " in your name ; even if I could descend 
 
334 <y Donovan Rossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 to that, people's hearts are closed, and I'd be losing time in trying to open them. 1 
 am earning honestly my income and have gone through a careful training, have 
 studied my role scrupulously, so that at least no one could call me an amateur reader 
 or a very inferior one. 
 
 I am excessively impatient to have a line from you. How do I know but you 
 have mentally buried me and caused a resurrection of your dead loves? If what the 
 Governor said was true about your breaking the rules so often, you certainly did not, 
 or do not, care to write to me. I don't mean to write a long letter until I know. Tell 
 me any ideas you may have yourself as to how I could serve you, and tell me have you 
 really grown so indifferent regarding what I may think or feel at your silence that you 
 make no effort to win the good will of your jailers, or the favors extended to your com- 
 panions in misery ? 
 
 I cannot tell you any home news, as I had not a letter for some time, nor any 
 answer to my two last, and they told me in their last that baby had the whooping 
 cough. Denny wants me to bring him out here. I am writing to him by this mail to 
 get ready for the journey. John is bound to Mr. Lawless, and the two next are at 
 school, I believe, and boarding with Mrs. Duff; I'm not sure. I have no direct way of 
 knowing, as my success in the New World seems to have made me some bitter female 
 enemies at home, and not having ever had many Dublin friends dear enough to cor- 
 respond with, I'm not always posted on matters occ tiring there. I enclose my like- 
 ness, aken a month ago. I wonder, if you were out and free now, would you love me 
 as well as you d d four years ago. I am changed, Cariss — harder, imperious, self- 
 willed and irritable at t mes. I should love you better now if you have not been 
 spoiled in prison. There is no man living, if I were free to choose, I could love better. 
 Comparison wth all t e best men in Ireland or America would not injure you; on the 
 contrary, you appear brghter in the scale. But there were some po nts in your 
 character the li tie woman of '6S bore most patiently. I would not promise the same 
 forbearance from the matured, self-willed and exigeant woman of '68. But I suppose 
 there's time enough to settle the question when you are out of prison. 
 Faithfully and affectionatelj T , your wife, 
 
 MARY J. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 Chatham Prison, November 2d, 1869. 
 
 Well, Mollis, what's the matter with you? It looks as if " absence makes the 
 heart grow fonder" was to be knocked into smithereens by us ; that is, if we are to 
 judge by our correspondence, or rather by the absence of yours, for I have made 
 some efforts to convey to you at least an assurance of your engaging a fair share of 
 " my thoughts by day a.d my dreams by night," as the old love-letters say. But my 
 efforts have failed, my letters have not reached you; you begin to fear that I have 
 forgotten you, and you cease to write. Your father tells me these are your fears. 
 
 Your own letter of the 13th Dec, '68, tells me so too. I cannot tell you how much 
 I would admire the stand-off dignity of sue h a passage in your letter as this, were I not 
 so intimately concerned in it : " If what the Governor said was true about your breaking 
 the rules so often, you certainly did not, or do not, care to write to me. I don't mean to 
 write you a long letter until I know ;" and as I haven't been able to let you know, you 
 haven't written me either a long or a short letter since. Neither can I now let you 
 know if what the Governor said was true or not. It is for trying to do such things as this 
 that six or seven letters which I wrote for you have been suppressed, and I mean to 
 let the authorities have it all their own way now, and say nothing particular of the 
 past, which would prevent this from reaching you. Your memory is not so bad 
 as not to recollect I told you at that Millbank visit to write to me every two 
 months whether you heard from me or not, and you have written once in two years. 
 Our short married life perhaps did not afford you time enough to know me thorough- 
 ly, and probably you may incline to think that my true character is that given 
 by my enemies; yet I do not believe this is so. But why do I say it? Just to give 
 you a bit of a scolding. Should fate place us together again, I should like my happi- 
 ness to be such as it has been, but you would have to do some great penance to atone 
 for your distrust of my affection. 
 
 " How do I know but you have mentally buried me and caused a resurrection of 
 your dead loves ?" I recollect your giving me a touch of this once before in the world. 
 I suppose the thought disturbs all men and women who marry " relicts." I have 
 been thinking how to meet this poser of yours, and I could not find a better way than 
 that of asking you, Would your affection for your first-born be divided if he had a 
 little brother? But enough of this now. Your father has, I dare say, sent you my 
 letter,. and I am expecting an answer from you every day, consequent upon the 
 receipt of that by you. From the way things were going when I saw you at Mill- 
 bank I thought I would have to give myself a little ease j!by paying little atten. 
 
) Donovan Rosses Prison Life. 335 
 
 tion to regulations, which seemed to me to have no aim but .my annoyance, and a 
 month or so after I saw you I let a little of this gas escaped which was burning within 
 me. One day I had my task of work done some ten minutes before the appointed 
 time, and, waiting to have the officer arrive with a fresh lot, I took a book in my 
 hand. 1 was seen in this position by that jolly gentleman who superintended our in- 
 terview, and I was punished for idleness. This was the last straw on the camel's back, 
 and I pitched their rules and regulations to Jericho for a time. Of course, the laws 
 had to be enforced and Iliad to take the consequence. But I felt relieved, and" the fever 
 burning atthe core " burned less fiercely. Only for I relieved myself this way I would 
 undoubtedly have consumed nryself away — eaten myself. It was a sanitary measure on 
 my part, one necessary to preserve, or atleastto prolong, my life. I had notthatdevo- 
 tion either for my country or for my wife that Judy Flanagan's lover had for her, 
 when he professed himself willing to " die for her sake." I would rather live for my 
 loves — you and your rival. You understand I have in my mind your poem of "He 
 told me l.e loved another bes de." Mr. Fagan, the Director, told me "they would 
 probably allow m? to get tho.se poems of yours if the book was sent, but your father 
 has, it seems, lost the two copies of them which came to Ireland. If you would come 
 to Ireland as your father expects about Christmas, you may desire to see me. I have 
 spoken to t e D rector about the matter ; he says there would be no difficulty placed 
 in ) T our way. Only that you would take it as an encouragement on my part, I would ask 
 to have a ticket sent to } r ou, but really I do not wish you should incur any ex- 
 pense in doing so. A look at me for twenty minutes would do you no g >od. Don't 
 think by my saying this I have lost any of my beauty or affection. No, Mollis. Hal 
 and John Devoy say I am as handsome as I was the day you fell in love with me, 
 and I don't f el any loss or iminution of the other quality if you would only be rea- 
 sonable. And I am sure I teas very fond of you, but I admit, as I said in the suppres- 
 sed letters, that I had a very queer way of showing it. I also admit there woul I be 
 room to make you feel happier, in my conduct towards you from the altar to the 
 prison, bat you would fail in any effort of a similar nature towards me. I have often 
 reflected when feeling the dreariness of solitary confinement, how much of it I gave 
 you in Dublin, and how uncomplainingly you endured it I recollect you were sick 
 one Sunday ; I got some medicine for you ; I then went out and left you alone till din- 
 ner hour. This was almost cruel, and you took it as a matter of course that I had to 
 be out and never grumbled. I understood that I was trespassing rather too much on 
 a w fe's priv l.-ges at the time. Your " feigningto be happy to make me so " had the 
 desired effect, and made me fonder of you too. Whether I am ever to return you the 
 compliment, God alone knows. I got the letter you wrote to me after your arrival in 
 America, and the poem wherein you allule to your " fossilheart." I got aphotograph 
 that accompanied your last letter. I have it fixed on the back of the door — a queer 
 place you will say — but my habits here are such that I keep my door ever shut when 
 at home, and t eji you are looking over the whole house and its sole occupant. I think I 
 addressed you a couple of times with the salutation, " Ah, you are dead — Mollis." The 
 four boyssentme aphoiograpliofthem, too. Ihave itnotinmy cell, but I can occasion- 
 ally get a look at it upon application. Croum is not himself in it, but the others I recog- 
 nize. Mr. Lawless asked me if I would signify to him my approval of your sending those 
 boys to school to Belgium, and I told him I had already signified to you, repeated- 
 ly, that they were at your disposal if you could do anything for them. But I cannot un- 
 derstand the matter. There is s mething in it to be explained. Can you enlighten 
 me ? You cannot have as much money as would insure the continuance of such a 
 course cf education. Public funds cannot be so plentiful as to obtain for all the chil- 
 dren of my fellow-sufferers such attention, and I do not like for mine more than others 
 can have. Of course, I would like them to have a good education, but with the loss of 
 my ability to do a father's part I surrender the right to speak in affairs that depend 
 on finances. From your father I learn that the squabbles of party have brought you 
 into the ugly circle of contention, too. This I regret as much as I regret anything. 
 I should wish you had kept outside all those disputes. Perhaps you deemed it ne- 
 cessary to secure audiences to adopt a party ; if so, it is deplorable. But when you 
 are on your own resources I must give you liberty of opinion, and cannot be thin- 
 skinned on the subject of my wife becoming a manly character. As to disputes regard- 
 ing your father's treatment of the children, I suppose those are what you allude to in 
 your letter of last December. When you become a public speaker or reader you enter 
 that life which excites animadversion, and you must make up your mind to take all the 
 disagreeable 1 ess of te position with a strong mind. Let me know all you can. Send 
 me a copy of the worst things that 1 ave been said of you. In your letter of July, '67, 
 you Slid a few thines which were hard, such us asking why I could not conduct my- 
 self in prison like Mr. Luby, Mr. O'Leary, and others, who were high-spirited men. 
 Tney (the hard things) might not be so hard if I could tell you why, but when my 
 mouth was sealed the most painful thing to mo w. s to find myself spoken to iu this 
 
336 ^Donovan Rosses Prison Life. 
 
 manner. I have no objection that you would open the sorrows of your heart to me, 
 and ^f you wish to reproach me with neglect of the worldly welfare of my family 
 that is all fair enough, but have nothing to say about my -prison conduct \ you .can 
 have only one side of the story. You have not 3 r et had replies to things you asked 
 me three years ago when I was in Portland. Well, some of them remained in my 
 mind, and I will strike them off here. 
 
 Tne unpleasantness between you and Denis 'Donovan — I was to blame for that. 
 I, in Richmond, led you to think that he owed me money, as I wished to have, through 
 him, what was due to me in the office ; and the Governor of the prison being watch- 
 ing every word that dropped from me, after the arrests that time, I was notable to 
 convey to you what was the exact thing I meant. Den. acted kindly towards me — I 
 connot forget that. I did not get the letter he sent you, and I must scold him for 
 writing to you so harshly as he did. If anything remained to be settled between us 
 it could not be more than a few dollars. The amount due to me at the office, when 
 that was pounced upon, was £75 or so ; and if that was not paid to you, privately or 
 personally, it has been paid fourfold by the public in the maintenance of my children 
 since, and that is the way I would wish you to look at it. From your father's letters 
 to Halpin and Warren I learned much about you, when I could learn nothing directly 
 myself. 
 
 I suppose you have met Col. Warren since his release. We would be more lively 
 if we had him amongst us, but I dare say he prefers to be out. I believe tl e last 
 words I said to another companion, named Costello, were to write my remembrance 
 to you, if he got himself outside the prison walls at any time. Do not waste money, 
 if you have any to spare, by attempting to get me out of prison by an appeal to the 
 House of Lords. You may as well, as I said to your father, throw your purse into 
 the deep, and say, " See, Cariss, what I do for love of you." 
 
 By-the-by, Mollis, I have, these months past, been looking over Italian, and I 
 think of you, of course, when I meet your words. I cannot study hard. About this 
 time twelve months I felt some disagreeableness, up to that unknown to me — a pain 
 in the spine, which became more active whenever I became more studious or con- 
 templative. I bothered the doctor for the first three or four months about it, but he 
 seemed to think nothing of it. I suppose he, in the enlightenment of his profession, 
 only sees in it the natural consequence of this discipline, and I have ceased to be 
 uneasy at its recurrence. Only for it I could enjoy this place now, as I have got some 
 books lately which were not available before. 
 
 The Protestant Chaplain has kindly lent me his own Irish Bible, with the permis- 
 sion of the priest. Both are Irishmen, and if permitted to speak oft em it would be 
 kindly. They grace the names ©f O'Sullivan and Duke, and hail from Cork and Kerry. 
 The priest is from Castletown Berehaven. 1 have read a German grammar this year 
 also, but the other three years of my time go for nothing. Your father says you were 
 in Boston, preparing for a tour to Canada. That is Warren's locality, and if you did 
 not call to see him, he, I am sure, called to see you. Be must have made a great 
 " spread " in Cork last Patrick's Day. I had a visit a few days after from Mr. Down- 
 ing, and he seemed to think that Colonel Warren played the deuce with our prospect 
 of freedom. Other visitors after followed up in the s^ me strain. But to us this is all 
 moonshine. I think I said to one of my visitors, who asked my opinion on the matter, 
 that if Mr. Warren acted illegally the law was at hand to call him to account, and as 
 to what he would say out of prison injuring us in prison, we were in the hands of 
 magnanimous Englai d, etcetera, and so forth. If our masters cannot manufacture 
 better excuses than such as that they are losing their genius. I believe it is Gibbon 
 says that an enemy respects you in proportion as you arouse his fears. Setting out 
 from this, we try to flatter ourselves a little, " and suck up as much honey as we can 
 out of this vinegar life." It would appear that we are not altogether the despicable, 
 worthless characters which our enemies would represent us. The censors of my let- 
 ter ought not object to that word " enemy" being used by me. Tie world has ever 
 used it to express the relations that exist between the conqueror and his victim. I 
 should dearly wish to see all Irishmen and Englishmen in the position of friei ds. Tell 
 me everything, big and little, about yourself— your pecuniary resources, income and 
 expenditure, etc. I suppose you are aware that I am now located with strangers, I 
 
 may say — that is, I lave none of the old companions of '65. 
 
 ********* 
 
 The three first came here from America. I wish we had O'Leary and Luby 
 amongst us, now that we are allowed to talk somewhat, but then my wis h es 
 could not be realized without depriving others of the pleasure of t ! eir com- 
 pany. We are at in-door work all Summer, and only for t ! e cloud of dust 
 around us, it would be more agreeable in Winter than out-door labor. We are 
 mending stockings which, supposed to be clean, are anything but that — at least they 
 do kick up a dust amongst us. We bear with each others' infirmities pretty tolerably, 
 
O"* Donovan Rosso? 8 Prison Life. 337 
 
 The only question we cannot agree upon is — how far God interferes or interferes not in 
 the government of the petty things of earth ? One points 10 the passage in Scripture 
 which says that God delivers one people over to another in punishment of their sins, 
 and another, to put a crusher on ILm, says : "Now, can you tell me if any of our Mile- 
 sian ancestors were present and assisted the Jews at the Crucifixion of Christ?" 
 Then the subject can go no farther, and we take an hour's exercise. Someway, I 
 cannot write here without feeling s ; ck. The restraint, the effort to avoid some things 
 and seek other things, agrees not with my present constitution. People like to be 
 quoted, and as want of space obliges me to conclude now, I will do so with one of 
 your expressions, and say, "I wdl no ; , write you a long letter until I know," &c. 
 You will" have seen my letter to your father ere you receive this, and I have said in 
 that something for you which needs not repetition here. Give my remembrance 
 to all my friends. Good by, Mollis. God bless you. Be strong. 
 
 Yours affectionately, as ever, 
 
 JER. O'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 In the month of February, 1870, a few months after writing this 
 letter, I had a visit from my wife. There was much talk in the 
 newspapers about an amnesty, and friends had been telling her that 
 we were very stubborn in prison, and would listen to no terms of 
 release ; that the Ministry could not be the first to knock under, and 
 that it only needed an approach from the prisoners' friends, with a 
 request for release, to get a favorable answer from Mr. Gladstone. 
 
 When I heard my wife was coming on such a mission as this I 
 felt a little trouble-minded. The authorities had been trying during 
 four or five years to reduce me to the level of a thief or pickpocket, 
 and I had been trying to show them they could never succeed. I could 
 write a "petition " myself, and did write some, but to have any one 
 else write or say anything for me is what I would not allow ; and 
 when one so near to me as my wife was to write or speak in the mat- 
 ter it would, of course, be taken for granted that she spoke with au* 
 thority, and, though I had some opinion of her ability to state her 
 case honorably, I could not divest myself of a very uncomfortable 
 anxiety lest anything should be said that would give my enemies 
 satisfaction. 
 
 When we met in Chatham I grumbled some doubts as to the pro- 
 priety of her interfering with " the cause of justice," and she gave me 
 every promise and assurance she would do or say nothing that 
 wasn't Irish and manly. How far she lias kept that promise may be 
 judged by the following, which I copy from a scrap-book of hers : 
 
 SKETCH OF MY LIFE SINCE 1867— MRS. O'DONOVAN ROSSA— Part HI. 
 
 There is no reason why I should not tell the terms I was prepared to make for my 
 husband's release. They were honorable enough to meet the approval of the most 
 unbending patriot, and I supposed them complaisant enough also to meet the views of 
 the reputedly merciful Premier. They are contained in the letter copied here which 
 when Mi-. Gladstone refused to see me, I laid in Mr. Motley's hands to be by his kind* 
 ness personally delivered to Mr. Gladstone. 
 
 COPY OF MY PROPOSITION TO THE PREMIER REGARDING THE RELEASE OF MY HUSBAND. 
 
 London, 15th Feb'y, 1870. 
 To the Rt. Hon. W. E. Gladstone, M. P. : 
 
 Sir: You have denied me the favor of a personal interview, and I feel deeply dis- 
 appointed at that denial. I have traveled more than 3,000 miles in mid-winter for the 
 sole purpose of pleading a cause which you will not hear — the cause of a husband, to 
 whom, were he a sinner against any other government than that of England, or natiye 
 
338 ' } Donovan Rossa?8 Prison Life. 
 
 of any other sod than that of Ireland, I have no doubt your ready sympathy would 
 flow, in recognition of his sacrifices and sufferings for principle and liberty. 
 
 This is not the tone iu which I should be advised by a practiced advocate to ad 
 dres you, but I am not a practiced advocate, only a young Irishwoman and Bossa's 
 wife, who, even in the depth of her humility and disappointment, cannot find it in her 
 heart to say anything unworthy of her husband or of the cause that he endeavored 
 to advance. 
 
 On the other hand, I have no wish to write a single word in vindication of my 
 husband's conduct in anything which the law under which he suffers has condemned. 
 It would be unbecoming in me to advance anything, even in my husband's favor, 
 wbich it would be contrary to your duty to entertain; nor dare I hope that any 
 words of mine could convince you of the justice, the wisdom, and the policy of releas- 
 ing my husband from confinement, if your sense of State necessity has suggested an 
 opposite course. But, as far as I can gather from the expressions that have pro- 
 ceeded from your Government on various occasions, it would appear that your reso- 
 lution in the matter is founded not upon the necessity of inflicting further punishment 
 upon the political prisoners still remaining in confinement, but upon the danger that 
 would result to the public peace by setting them at large. I cannot deny, even to 
 my own mind, that there may be some reason in this view of the case ; but I anxiously 
 hope that I have found a solution of the difficulty, which I venture to submit to your 
 sense of generosity and justice. 
 
 In my recent visit to my husband at Chatham I solicited and obtained from him 
 the assurance, that to regain his personal liberty he would be w lling to submit to any 
 terms, not inconsistent with his personal honor and character, that the Government 
 might propose. He would consent to leave these islands forever under penalty of 
 arrest and forfeiture o( his pardon in case of his return without permission. He 
 would prefer to go to America because I have made that country my home ; but if the 
 Crown should insist that exile to any other part of the globe should be the price of 
 his freedom, he is still willing to accept the condition, and I am willling to share it. 
 
 These terms were extended to Mr. Hamilton Rowan and several others impli- 
 cated in the insurrection of 1798 by the government of that day, and they were not 
 found to have endangered the peace of the country. It is to be hoped that justice has 
 not grown more unrelenting, or the quality of England's mercy more strained, since 
 that period. "Whatever danger might be apprehended in the release of my husband 
 and his fellow prisoners in this country, their influence could not contribute a 
 feather's weight to the balance of good and evil throughout the world, and to what- 
 ever part of the world you may assign us a resting place we are ready to take our 
 way. 
 
 In submitting this proposal to your consideration. I entreat you to bear in mind 
 that I anxiously, though patiently, await the result ; and while feeling miserably un- 
 equal to the task of influencing your judgment on such a subject, I yet humbly 
 address my prayers to God that He may show you some way by which you can rec- 
 oncile your desire to be merciful with "your sterner sense of state policy and state 
 justice. 
 
 I have the honor to be, sir, your most obedient servant, 
 
 MARY J. O'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 P. S. — I am about to visit my relatives in Ireland, and trusting a communication 
 may reach me there from you, I append my Irish address, 
 
 MRS. 'DONOVAN ROSSA, 
 Strand House, Clonakilty Co., Cork, Ireland. 
 
 mb. Gladstone's reply. 
 
 11 Carlton House Terrace, S. W., 18 March, 1870. 
 
 Madam : Circumstances not under my own control compelled me to announce in 
 the House of Commons last night, at very short notice, what I should have preferred 
 to communicate to you in the first instance individually and privately — this, namely, 
 that we are forbidden by considerations of public duty to allow any further release of 
 political prisoners until we can procure such a change in the condition of Ireland as 
 shall afford a greater degree of peace and security to the people of that country, now 
 in several parts of it exposed to violence, distracted by alarm, and apprehensive of a 
 dissolution of man3 r of the ties by which soc ety is bound together. 
 
 During the interval since I wrote to you I have made inquiry to learn whether 
 there were any particulars which would enable the Government to draw a line in 
 favor of your husband without injustice to others, but I grieve to say I have been un- 
 able to discover any particulars of such a character. 
 
C Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 339 
 
 fou will be well al»le to appreciate the gravity of the considerations which 
 have weighed upon my mind and the minds of my colleagues and I hope you may 
 join with us at least in earnestly desiring the arrival of better days. 
 
 I remain, Madam, your very faithful servant, 
 
 W. E. GLADSTONE. 
 Mbs. O'DonovanRossa. 
 
 I have nothing to say to this reply of Mr Gladstone's, but I was 
 so uneasy at my wife having anything to say that I wrote her this a 
 few days after she had visited rue : 
 
 Friday, February 18th, 1870, 1 
 Chatham Prison. \ 
 My Dear Wife: Now that your visits and yourself are gone, the afterthoughts 
 come to remind me of how often I interrupted you, and how a few times I made re- 
 marks which you did not appear to take as I meant. With a view that you may fully 
 understand me, I have asked and received permission to write to you. In the solitude 
 of this cell I can arrange myself in better order to convey my thoughts than under 
 the bewildering influence of your presence during those angel visits. I did notlet you 
 tell me thro' what channel you got a letter from Mr. Fish to Mr. Motley, requesting him 
 to use his good offices in my favor, or who or what put this idea into your head — not the 
 idea of releasing me, but that of having a friendly interference thro' this means which 
 would promote your object. When you told me at your first interview that Mr. Motley 
 promised you an interview with Mr. "Gladstone, and when I said that I did not see how 
 you could honorably interfere, I fancied your brow darkened a little, and I thought I 
 may as well let you have your experience, as you were confining yourself to what I 
 stated in my letter to your father regarding what passed between me and McCarthy 
 Downing. When I questioned the propriety of your interference, it resulted from 
 supposing that Mr. Gladstone was not disposed to countenance my release on condi- 
 tions of leaving the country, with an understanding that I was liable to be recommitted 
 to prison if found afterwards in England or Ireland without the permission of the 
 British Government; and I have a serious objection to see you in the position of offer- 
 ing what there was no intention of accepting. This I believe is the substance oimy 
 reply to Mr. Downing last March, when he asked me if I would leave the country, and 
 told me the Government would never release me unless I did. I sent for him to see if he 
 would — as he could in a legitimate manner — clear the way for my suppressed letters to 
 reach you ; but he turned upon this subject, and thinking he had some intimation from 
 some authority to interfere, I felt no hesitation in replying to him, and was particular 
 to put my words in writing. He visited me again in July, and told me he made no use 
 yet of the paper I gave him ; that he held it as private, tho' I told him I did not be- 
 grudge the world to know it. I felt myself in a false position, for I unwittingly laid 
 myself open to have it said that I had given Mr. Downing a private authoriza- 
 tion to intercede for my release, and I then wrote to your father directing him to 
 withdraw the paper from Mr. Downing. You have got that letter of mine to your 
 father, and as you tell me that your letter to Mr. Gladstone contains nothing more 
 than what I have stated to Mr. Downing, I have no fear that the honor of old Ireland 
 is compromised by what you have done. Yet you say that having signified to some of 
 my friends in America your intention of paying me a visit and making an endeavor to 
 know if my release could be obtained by my going there, they seemed to think that 
 I should not leave prison on such conditions. By Jove, they are spunkey. I would like, 
 too, to act spiritedly if I could see any object to be obtained by it ; but when my blood' 
 is not up to the mark I cannot act. I have met hundreds of men who would die for 
 Ireland, but I have often lamented my own deficiency in this respect. I could never 
 work myself up to more than a resolution to risk life, and then even permeated with 
 a strong hope and desire of living. Nature does much for many. I am weak, and 
 whatever I may think of leaving Ireland before conviction, once I find myself in Eng- 
 land with 9549 on my arm I find myself also holding the opinion that I do nothing 
 dishonorable or demoralizing by getting rid of the badge, if my masters allow me the 
 choice of doing so by leaving the country. Doing such a thing as this would not, I 
 think, be deemed improper in the Frenchman, the Italian, the Pole, or any other 
 nationality in chains. "But," as the poet asks, "Where is the nation can rival 
 old Erin," &c, &c. You told me you were going home and coming to London again 
 in a fortnight's time, I did not ask you what engagements were bringing you back, 
 and I can only guess that it is in furtherance of my release. If so, I do not approve 
 of it. You say that tho' the Government may be disposed to let me go by leaving the 
 country— as is the opinion of some of your friends— that it would he beneath the dig. 
 
340 O' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 nity of a government to propose such a thing to a prisoner ; and if I were willing to 
 avail of the conditional liberty, it may be above the dignity of my position to make it 
 known; and here between the two you make a place for yourself, and, as a wife, claim 
 a right to interest yourself. While you do nothing more unreasonable than this, I can 
 not place a veto upon your interference. You have written to Mr. Gladstone, and he 
 it is to be presumed, will give you a reply, and if that does not meet your proposal I 
 am decidedly averse to your proceeding further. Perhaps, now that my friends 
 would compliment me with parlimentary honors, the most polite way for me to put it is, 
 that I do not wish you should seek any influence to embarrass the Minister by press- 
 ing him to do what he does not intend doing. When you told me my election 
 was annulled by Parliament, but that some of the Irish members were of opinion that 
 the proceeding was illegal and were to have lawyers' advice on the matter, you 
 seemed not to catch the spirit in which I said that the issue was of little concern to 
 me. I meant that any honor conferred on me was that conferred by the people of 
 Tipperary, and any compliment or meaning their vote conveyed was not changed to 
 me by a vote of the House of Commons. Of course if the verdict of my peers in Tipper- 
 ary were to set aside the verdict of a Dublin jury, the decision that my election was 
 legal, and that as the choice of the constituency I should be allowed freedom of action, 
 would not be a matter of little concern to me, tho' circumstances might not contribute 
 to my enjoyment of that very select society to which Tipperary would introduce me. 
 You let me know once that you had your share of what you called " wife pride." Is 
 it strong still— strong enough to aid you in your hard struggle thro' life ? Summon it 
 to your assistance in this emergency. In one of your poems you ask, " Eut who can 
 love and be wise?" Some of the ancient poets say it is a faculty not even given to the 
 Gods, and with your knowledge of this weakness which accompanies affection, I have 
 rather a firm trust that you will " suffer calmly and be strong." 
 
 Our countrymen seem not to be uninterested in our fate, and I am satisfied to let 
 that be decided by the issue of those events over which I have no control. I 
 recommended you not to spend any time at home beyond what you intended. 
 I did this apprehensive of that sickness of heart to you which is caused by de- 
 ferred hope. The Minister may not answer you decisively, and some of his admirers 
 may suggest to you an unendurable waiting. The wisdom of a Solon advised Gover- 
 nors to keep the people always expecting something, and the people, afraid of losing 
 that something, would be sure to do nothing. Do not, Mollis, waste your energies in 
 this manner, by feeding at the feet of the British Lion on hopes which may be vain. 
 Do not, on the other hand, imagine that I hurry you to America, thoroughly approving 
 of the career awaiting you there. It is some satisfaction to me to know that, thrown 
 on your own resources, you can obtain an honorable livelihood, but, however much 
 your ability and success in public reading may have pleased me, you must grant me 
 the possession of a little husband pride, and that it is not without its alloy of humilia- 
 tion when I see you " on the stage." But we cannot have the roses without the 
 thorns. I do not know if all husbands feel as I do, but I will confess that my soul is 
 sometimes shaken at seeing a wife that I am rather fond of in a position of life where 
 the most exemplary conduct also requires a shield of the most guarded behavior to 
 protect her from the idle tongue of society. In my parting letters I told you not to 
 tread the ground heavily, to meet the world with as light a heart as you could afford 
 to carry, and I repeat it now, for I have never doubted but that you would fight the 
 hard battle with all safety to your honor and mine. Mr. Fagan visited the prison on 
 Wednesday, and I asked him permission to write two letters to you— one now, and one 
 in reply to one you promised to write to me, and he granted my application. I then 
 spoke of your intention to visit London ere you departed for America, and your ex- 
 pressed intention to try to see me again, and he was good enough to tell the Governor 
 to admit you if you came. I have said before that I am averse to your coming to London 
 if you have no business but to try to get possession of me. I do not presume to have 
 a right or authority to issue peremptory commands to you, and in anything I say do 
 not understand that I am speaking peremptorily. I resign the title to speak so with 
 my inability to provide for you, and with the necessity that obliges you to have re- 
 course to your own resources for maintenance. You have entitled yourself to a cer- 
 tain ! : berty of action, to a right to use your own mind instead of mine in anything 
 you think proper to do, bearing in mind that any liberty which would restore you to 
 me without a name unsullied, such as when you were torn from me, would be a liberty 
 which I could not well enjoy. Our short married life furnishes the most precious gem 
 to my " Sorrow's crown of sorrow," and any visions of the future that steal upon »ne 
 through these prison bars are woven in with you. If the visions are not to be real- 
 ized, why then— life is short, the shuttle flies fast, and the silken thread will come to 
 an end nearly as soon as the rougher one that has had experience of the hackle. A 
 few moments only between the Minister and me, the Queen and you, all to receive 
 whatever — let us hope — the mercy of God is pleased to visit us within a world different 
 
^ Donovan Bosscts Prison Life. 341 
 
 from this. Do not imagine I want to nut a sad thought into your mind. Some 
 friend of mine was friendly enough to give you to understand I cared very little 
 for my domestic associations, and this perhaps tended to nourish that cold, hard feel- 
 ing towards me, which the absence of my letters had, as you said in yours, planted in 
 your heai't. What can I get to express my feelings on this head? Well, only this : 
 That if the spiritual heads of our three creeds, the Popes of England, Rome and Scot- 
 land were to visit me in my cell and say, "Rossa, in the blessedness of union, the 
 mysteries of the future have been revealed to us, and in the fullness of spiritual au- 
 thority we come to offer you a choice of two things : one is, an immediate translation 
 to the paradise of the next life with an eternity of bliss, and the other, a restoration 
 to your wife and children with a darkness thro' which no human eye can penetrate, 
 which will you choose?'' I would say, " By your Majesties' leave, the poor little woman 
 might go distracted at hearing that, with my own free will, I left her a lone widow ; 
 I'll go to see her, and trust to the mercy of Heaven to lead us thro' the darkness into 
 light." 
 
 It surprised me to learn you had no communication with Mr. Lawless about 
 sending the children to school to Belgium. Last July he told me you wanted my 
 
 f>ermission to have it done. I told him you ought to know, you were at full 
 iberty to act in matters of that kind, but could not see how you were to ensure a 
 permanency, and he did not enlighten me. This I now see was part of the movement 
 that got you to interfere in that lawsuit, and I hope you will profit by the knowledge 
 of it. Young Tim's opinion of me, as seen by his letter, is not a very flattering one ; for 
 his mother's sake I will not think any thing harder of him. I suppose legal zeal is 
 held to excuse everything. I read James Cody's letter and yours ; both contain some 
 mistakes. He says that I got ten per cent, interest for money I lent the Irish people. 
 I thought that any Callan man would not think so of me. I do not approve of your 
 thinking to provide for the children who are in Dublin; you could not assure anything 
 permanent. National sympathy is more enduring, and as it has taken the children of 
 imprisoned Irishmen under its charge, I would be expressing a false pride if I said 
 I felt much humiliation at mine being so provided for. 
 
 I miss three poems from your book, the Landscape, the Marriage, and an un- 
 finished one which contained, to my mind, a beautiful decription of Glengariff scenery. 
 The editor considered the Marriage good, and intended to publish it, but as you say 
 you almost forget the reality, I must not wonder at your loss of the poetry of it. I do 
 not know that you would now write "What care I?" Whatever I am prepared to con- 
 cede to you in the way of superiority, Mollis, there is one thing which I cannot con- 
 cede, and that is the faculty of your loving me as much as I do you. Rid myself of 
 this presumption and do not again fall into the heresy of thinking of me as you have 
 done, of believing what every one is pleased to say of me. Write and tell me as much 
 as you can what you intend doing, &c, &c. The poem " In the Prison," contains a 
 hard line: " Shall base desertion of my country-friend." John Devoy is one of my com- 
 panions here, and one of those who was led to adopt the course that brings him under 
 this line, and if you asked me to point out a few men who would lose their heads be- 
 foye betraying country or friend, the first, perhaps, I would pick out, would be John 
 Devoy. Change this line if you bring out a second edition. Of course you will re- 
 member me to alPmy friends. I wonder Donchadh has not answered my letter to 
 him. Good-bye. May God bless and strengthen you. Tim grew wonderfully big, en- 
 tirely out of proportion with that moustache of his. I suppose all your brothers and 
 sisters have moved forward also. If you would not be jealous, I would desire particu- 
 lar remembrance to Isabella. I suppose your little son has grown big, too. 
 
 Yours, dear Mollis, ever fondly, 
 
 JER. 'DONOVAN ROSS A. 
 
 Strand House, Clonakilty, County Cork, April 27th, 1870. 
 
 My Dear Ross a : You are annoyed with me, naturally and justly, for my seeming 
 negligence in writing to you. I do not know what excuse to form, for I am ignor- 
 ant of any that ought to be sufficient to exonerate me from my guilt of procrastina- 
 tion. I have put off from day to day the letter I intended to write you, each night 
 thinking " I will surely write to-morrow," and each morrow finding me either begin- 
 ning a letter doomed to remain unfinished, or so engrossed with the usual occupa- 
 tions of my position as a servant of the public that no time remained to write. Now 
 I am home for a week or two with a tiresome throat affection, I have neither business 
 nor fatigue to prevent the fulfillment of this little duty, and so I begin. 
 
 What do you suppose I have been doing all day? — cleaning an old broken picture 
 of vours ('twas broken in Cork the da\* you last sailed for America), and dispatching 
 it with voluminous directions and an exact description of the color of your eyes, 
 hair, beard and complextion to an eminent artist, that he mav get me a decent oil 
 painting from it, to console me, now that Mr. Gladstone refuses to give me the 
 
342 O' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 original. And if you only knew where that little Cork picture has been all the time ! 
 Do you remember any young lady who would feel so deep an interest in you that she 
 would not scruple to bribe a servant to steal it from my unoccupied room at home 
 for her ; and after " illegal " possession of it for a couple of years, would find her con- 
 science — quickened in view of a journey to the other side of the Atlantic — urging 
 her to disgorge her unlawfully-gotten property, and lace the ocean after restitution? 
 Do you know where you might look for such a person ? I won't tell you her name ; 
 but it is a fact that the little picture, after a mysterious disappearance of several 
 years, has turned up very much the worse for wear, and we at home have gathered 
 the information that one of the servants pilfered it, originally, for a romantic young 
 lady of your acquaintance; that said young lady treasured it ever since; and that 
 some time ago, as she was making up her spiritual accounts prior to her departure 
 for America, the picture became a skeleton of dread to her conscience, and she had 
 it conveyed back to the family mansion — whence it has gone on a fresh journey to- 
 day. Now, isn't it quite refreshing to any masculine vanity the prison has not worn 
 off you, that you can still hold your ground in the feminine heart despite of time 
 and absence and newer suitors? I have heard men say, with an earnestness that ad- 
 duced honesty, they envied you even in prison. But the world is very ill-advised and 
 envious altogether, for I am positive there are many women who would gladly ex- 
 change positions with me. Very few types remain of that famous old " Miller of the 
 Dee," who envied and was envied by nobody. 
 
 About two weeks ago I met Robert Eagar, at the Limerick Junction. I wouldn't 
 have known him, but he came up and introduced himself. He was on his way to 
 England, and wanted to know how he could get to see you. I gave him all the in- 
 formation in my power, and promised to write myself 1o Mr. Fagan to request that he 
 may be admitted to see you. Now, don't get mad if I acknowledge I never wrote 
 since till to-day; but then there is one extenuating circumstance : Mr. Eagar told me 
 he would be a month in London, and any time before its expiration would do to get 
 the pass, so I did not endanger any chance he has of seeing you. Papa told you in 
 his letter about Mr. Gladstone's refusal to set you at liberty. I gave Mr. Moore no 
 authority to return thanks to the Premier, for I considered I had nothing to thank 
 him for — merely a civil and exceedingly diplomatic letter, after several weeks' wait- 
 ing in suspense. My only consolation is, that neither in the tone nor wording of mv 
 letter of proposition was there anything I could regret or that you could wish re- 
 moved. Let that satisfy you; your honoris safe in my hands as in your own heart. 
 I do regret one step, and only one, I took since we were separated; that is the law- 
 suit against the Belmont-O'Mahoney Fund, into which your Cousin Tim hurried me. 
 If he had not happened to stand in such relationship to you, I should have been less 
 easily led. It is the only action in which I have suffered other people to entirely in- 
 fluence or direct my course or to cast a shade over my own judgment. You will 
 laugh to vourself, and say lam growing very self-opinionated: I have doubts some- 
 times as to the advisability of getting so strong-minded — in view, you know, of some 
 day being again called upon to " obey." I think vou will lead a dreadfully unhappy life 
 with me, for I have entirely lost that amiable dependency and timidity of provoking 
 reproof which, I think, constituted my charm for you in old times. 
 
 Lest I forget it, I will mention here that I happpned to be a fellow traveler of Mr. 
 McCarthy Downing, on Saturday evening, from the Limerick Junction to Cork. 
 Twas so late on reaching the city I went to the Victoria Hotel for the night, and had 
 only just finished supper when Mr. Downing sent up to know if I would see him. I 
 went down stairs and met my fellow traveler; found he, like myself, had had to break 
 his journey to home in Cork, and that we would be as far as Bandon together on Sun- 
 day morning. He showed me that document you gave him some months since, but did 
 not offer to give it to me, and I did not like to ask it, though I told him you regretted 
 having written it. I was not at first agreeably impressed by Mr. Downing. I thought 
 he looked and spoke like a man who had a big opinion of himself and a little one of 
 everybody else; who would be prone to look at people and things through rather 
 dark and narrow glasses; but my opinion improved on Sunday morning when I heard 
 him bring forth the most convincing arguments, and pour them overwhelmingly on a 
 "loyal" Bandon physician who "couldn't see what in the world the people were 
 continually complaining about." From that moment, when his pale grev eye dilated 
 and lighted to his subject, while he mourned the exodus caused by the Coercion Bill, 
 and inveighed against the short-sighted policv that led to it, I began to admire and like 
 him, and was really sorrv when the Bandon Terminus was reached and our roads 
 separated. The doctor proposed to go look for a horse ard car to bring me home, 
 and he selected an exceedinglv skittish, wild creature, that had to be held while I 
 got on the car. Such a drive to Clonakilt- ! The dav was a delightful one ; the hedges 
 are all in their earliest summer dress of snowy-blossomed blackthorn, tender-bud- 
 ding hawthorn, and long green grasses embosoming little purple violets and pale 
 
C Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 343 
 
 fragrant primroses ; meadows thickly starred with daisies ; fields in even brown 
 furrows and corn-plats, with the young emerald blades shooting half a hand above 
 the ground; then the singing of birds and the gleaming of the river, that, like a 
 thread of silver in the sun, winds along a portion of the road homewards; the pure 
 fresh air, the clear, mild sky — all made up a living picture riot to be forgotten. T en- 
 joyed my drive, even though it was a lonely one, and I very much enjoyed the wild- 
 ness of the horse, whose frequent " vagaries " m de it a clever feat for anybody to 
 hold a seat on the car behind him. ' Fwas Easter Sunday, and on arriving at the old 
 house I found Papa and Tim were at the Island keeping the day. Mamma, who is, 
 poor woman, but a shadow of her former self, was pleasantly surprised to see me. 
 Will had gone off on his first voyage (he has taken a fancy to the sea and lately 
 studied navigation). My sister Isa has grown to be a young woman ; Alf is a hardy 
 little man, and all the rest have grown so that you would not recognize them. James 
 Maxwell has grown as tall and much stouter than Chroum was when you last saw 
 him, and he is as like Denny, your eldest, as if he were a twin brother of h s. This 
 brings me to the subject I suppose second nearest to your heart — the fortunes of your 
 boys. Denny, as I told you when at Chatham, is vry like yourself in appearance 
 and disposition, and I am inclined to hope much that is good from his ripening years. 
 Jack I have heard nothing of lately, further than that he is still studying law with 
 Mr. Lawless and begins to consider himself quite a young man. Jeremiah, who was 
 always very quiet, good-natured and not over bright, is showing quite an unexpected 
 aptitude to learn; in fact, is getting the name of "a genius." He is at St. jar- 
 lath's College, Taum. 
 
 I was at Mullinahone the week before last and learnt the dumb alphabet, in order 
 to talk to poor Charles Kickham. He is apparently in the enjoyment of pretty good 
 health, though he complains of weakness and inability to pursue as arduously as he 
 would wish his literary occupations. He is engaged at present on a serial story, en- 
 titled " Knocknagow; or the Homes of Tipperary," for the New York Emerald. I 
 stayed at his place in Mullinahone. Some of the Kossa and Kickham Election Com- 
 mittee were also present with the ladies of their families, and we — sat up all night 
 and went to bed at sunrise ! Mr. Kickham monopolized me from the time I entered 
 the house till I went to the Lecture Hall, and from my return to sunrise ; you'd have 
 been awfully jealous if you could only see the amount of attention he lavished on 
 me, and how compl iis;mtly I received and returned it. He came as far as Carrick with 
 me when I started for Waterford, and — kissed me before all the people nt the station, 
 coming away! Now, don't you feel very much aggrieved ? You need not, my dove — 
 a million kisses from any other would not be sweet as one from you. (I had better 
 qualify that assertion by saying "I think" at the commencement of it, for I have 
 not put the belief to test, and if I ever do it may not stand trial !) 
 
 Saturday, coming from Waterford, I was for awhile alone in one of the first-class 
 carriages; but at one station, a gentleman who had frequently passed where I sat, 
 entered and took a seat. I was buried in a new book, and did not feel myself called 
 upon to notice that anybody was making efforts to disengage my attention from it. 
 At last I was interrupted by a polite interrogation as to whether I was not Mrs. O'D. 
 Rossa ; I bowed and resumed the page. Several questions followed, to each of which. 
 I answered yes or no, and then again turned to my book At last — I forget his name, 
 though he told it to me — my vis-a-vis said he had been " anxious to contribute to the 
 fund for relief of the prisoners; lie understood J was collecting for them, and" — 
 here he produced a sovereign. I told him he h?J. been misinformed ; I was not trav- 
 eling for that purpose, but simply as a Readev, but I would give him the address of 
 the Treasurer for the Relief Committee. " Oh, no, he would prefer I should receive 
 it and send it." I do not know will you understand what sort of pang it was that 
 shot through vaj heart ! wounded pride or dignity it may have been, for I knew in 
 my soul that man under-estimated me, and that I was being put through the indig- 
 nity of a trial which I should aggravate by appearing to see through, so I quietly and 
 ste idily met the bold gaze of the intruder (he had very handsome e3^es,too,Cariss!) ; 
 assured him I could not depart from my usual practice, and wrote for him the num- 
 ber of the Committee Rooms and the Treasurer's address. I thanked him, too. for t e 
 interest he expressed in your fate (though I didn't believe one word he had uttered), 
 and then I took up my book as a bar to all further conversation. He left at the next 
 station, with not quite so jaunty an air as he had worn on his entrance. 
 
 You were anxious I should write everything befalling me : that is one incident of 
 my travels, and many more I might give you of something of the same character, but 
 I doubt if they would be worth recording; unless, indeed, the absence of news would 
 make any trifle acceptable to a prisoner, especially if it relate to one he loves. 
 
 It is close on one o'clock a. m. There was a fire in the grate some time since, 
 but I hav^ just discovered 'tis dead out ; the room is consequently rather chilly, and I 
 shall have to bid you " good night'Vor " good morning "—soon, lest I retard, by ae« 
 
344 'Donovan Bosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 quiring fresh cold, the recovery of my throat. I am using iodine for it, and some 
 horrid medicine that tastes like rank, seaweed. The iodine is colorless, an improve- 
 ment in " physics," which I have the honor of being the first to test. A very clever 
 Tipperary physician, hearing me express a reluctance to use the usual iodine because 
 of its dyeing properties and the saffron tint 'twould give my neck, set his wits to 
 work to devise a remedy or a substitute ; the result is, he has compounded an 
 iodine wash equally effective and perfectly colorless and uncoloring. I have had to 
 come home to use it and the medicine, and they are really doing me a great deal of 
 good. 
 
 Well, it is so late, I must tear myself away from my talk with you. Good night, 
 my dove — no, 'tis good morning. I may dream, but I hope I shall go to sleep without 
 thinking of you. I am not so philosophic as not to be made unhappy by dwelling on 
 what is beyond my reach. " If only land or sea," the old song says, "had parted him 
 and me, I would not now in tea^s be wailing." Land and sea, and stronger than both 
 in their disuniting properties — prison walls — arise between us. It must seem strange 
 and exasperating to you, who always managed to have your own way in everything, 
 that the force oi your will, and all its concentration of power, are powerless to level 
 the walls of Chatham, or to bring you one step closer to any object you desire. It 
 is — for the time — disheartening to me, that the object for which I strained all my 
 powers is still at such an aggravating distance from me. Possibly we are blind to 
 what is best for us. lam quite certain, though, that however beneficial they may 
 prove to the country and the world at large, viewed in a personal light my trials are 
 not conducive to my own proper salvation. I can't grow contented. 
 
 Oh! I'll have to wind up now; so good-bye, and a hundred kisses, from your 
 affectionate wife, MARY J. O'D. ROSSA. 
 
 Thursday, 21st April. 
 
 This morning the morning papers bring the intelligence of the sudden death of 
 George Henry Moore. Great public regret is felt and expressed for his untimely end, 
 and I am saddened very much to think that Ireland and the prisoners have lost so 
 faithful a friend and so good an advocate in the British Parliament. Of the few who 
 are generous enough to see the interest of the country before their own, or too inde- 
 pendent to sell their sense of right, Mr. Moore was the most generous and the most 
 fearless. It does seem as if we are doomed, and Heaven and the dark powers have 
 formed a league against the welfare of this unfortunate land. 
 
 I do not know but I may be intringing on my privilege by writing anything that 
 could be construed into political news; however, as you were before this allowed to 
 hear the news of your election for Tipperary, you may be allowed now to hear the 
 reason you were not re-nominated, as I was informed by the Election Committee. It 
 was credibly stated that the Sheriff would not accept your name again, taking, it 
 was supposed, his cue from the action of Parliament. To prevent Mr. Heron's re- 
 turn Kickham was at once nominated, and his name could not be refused. Unfortu- 
 nately, Tipperary was so sanguine of success again it did not put out its lull force in 
 the second election, and Mr. Heron, it is said, has fraudulently secured a seat in the 
 House. 
 
 When I read in Cashel a short time ago, about thirty young men, with the Tip- 
 perary Band, came all the way by car to be present and lend me their assistance. It 
 caused quite a commotion in the " City of the Kings." The resident magistrate, 
 who, it appears, is an excessively timorous man, had the constabulary out in full 
 force. " Like an eagle in a dove-cot, he — fluttered the Volges in Corioli!" might be 
 applied to the advent of your little wife, backed by the Tipperary Band, in Cashel. I 
 enjoyed immensely the trepidation of the local authorities and the immense enthu- 
 siasm of the people. The priests are somewhat unfavorable to me — don't know why ; 
 but in Cashel they absolutely went round amongst their lady parishioners to prevent 
 their attendance. I had not a paying audience in Cashel, for it seems the greater 
 number of voters for you were found there, and all these told the door-keeper they 
 had a right to free tickets. S me of the scenes on the lobby were most amusing. 
 0''e mountaineer, with the remnant of a black eye, pointed to it as a corroborative 
 proof of his assertion that he had fought for you ; and another showed a. dilapidated 
 coat-skirt, made ragged in the same cause. Of cou> se : 11 these claimants got p> ss- 
 poits. During th^ interim, you should have heard the house singing songs in your 
 praise! ev^ry verse ending with an assertion that they'll never be satisfied till their 
 "Hero" is released to them. Several others also, in tribute to you, were sung by 
 your " co'stitue "ts" aid chorused by the whole house, standing 'Twas the 
 strangest, the wildest, and vet most orderly meeting of a mass of enthusiasts that I 
 hav« ever witnessed. On Sunday I went to last Mass, and found, when 'twas over, 
 the congregation were waiting to give me an ovation on my return to the hotel. 
 .(By the way, that hotel is kept by a niece of Col. Doheny's.) The gallery stairs in 
 
O } Donovan RoascCs Prison Life. 345 
 
 the chapel were lined with people, and as I stood on the first landing and looked over 
 the eager heads of a double line of people down the steps, spreading out into the 
 sunny, tree-shadowed chapel yard, filling it densely, then swelling in still stronger 
 numbers outside the gate and down and up the ancient street, my heart swelled to 
 my throat with a feeling that was not vanity or mere personal gratification. While I 
 paused, and felt my eyes fill with tears of national pride and gratitude, a tremendous 
 cheer rang up within and without the sacred building ; it was echoed and re-echoed 
 down the street, and, as I passed with much (motion down the steps and out into the 
 chapel-yard and street, every head was uncovered ; the people fell back to give me 
 a passage, and, while, those near enough seized my bands and fervently kissed and 
 pressed them, the whole mass of my c ^untry-pe-ple there murmured a blessing and 
 a hope for tbe future of Ireland, of you and of me. I could not tell you how I was 
 affected. The people cheered me to the hotel, and remained outside a short time in 
 groups and knots, talking. Afterwards I went to see the Abbey and Cormac's Castl9 
 on the Rock, and another surprise awaited me there. The young men of the town 
 had been watching for my visit, and as the guide unlocked the massive gateway of 
 the castle, the voice of a multitude of people met ma from within, crying, " Welcome 
 to the Rock of Cashel!" and immediately an amateur band, composed of con- 
 certinas, cornopeans and accordeons, struck up "God save Ireland." 'Twas really 
 a scene you might imagine taken from a fairy story. We stood in a grass-grown 
 court-yard, very extensive, partially surrounded by the castle battlements and the ivied 
 walls of King Cormac's Chapel. Through pointed archways and deep mullioned 
 windows at one side, and over the ruined fosse and embankments at the other, the 
 beautiful, grassy pasture land swelled and opened under the sun, and glimpses of 
 silver rivers and rivulets met our admiring eyes; up the winding stairs of the 
 castle to the very top we went, and up there the cheering from 
 below again greeted my appearance. You have been at Cashel, I suppose, 
 and looked from King Cormac's tower over the seven fair counties that lift 
 their faces round. Then I need not describe them. On leaving the chapel of the 
 rock, the guide indulging in a sudden fit of sympathetic romance and enthusiasm with 
 the people, made me stand on an elevated slab at the end of the nave, and there im- 
 pressively told me that I stood on the very spot on which King Cormac was solemnly 
 crowned. I stopped off at once rather confused, but not before the delighted foilow- 
 ers had made the chapel ring again and again with their approving shouts. I believe 
 with all their pretended republicanism of feeling, they'd have crowned me there and 
 then as really as they crowned me in their hearts, if ihey only had the power. 
 
 I am writing, I believe, in a more egotistical strain than I ever indulged in before ; 
 but I must do so in order to give you the faintest idea of the romantic devotion of the 
 people. It is also gratifying to me, inasmuch as it is proof to me of the advanced 
 spirit of the people. Liberty is the goddess they adore ; you are her devoted martyr ; 
 me they take as a personification of the cause you suffer for. They invest me with 
 all the virtues and brilliancies their affectionate hearts can devise ; they put me 
 clothed in these garments of their own weaving on a pedestal, and there they bow 
 down voluntarily and pay tribute to their beloved goddess through me. It is an 
 insecure height to have reached, and I often tremble lest the adulous breath of the 
 people come sometime to my dizzy head in gusts too strong for my safety, that like 
 an unfastened statue on a facade, I shall be blown down some day by a strong wind or 
 an adverse wind. " Hope and pray," say the chaplains. I don't pray a great deal. I 
 think you have more opportunities for praying and you can do both our shares, while 
 I will do all the hoping for you. Perhaps, though, that prayer would be a sort of 
 ballast to the barque that hope would inordinately lighten. There is at least a little 
 reason in the idea, and I ought to put it in practice. 
 
 Here have I written forty-four pages, and I really seem to have told yon nothing, 
 and to be only now in condition to begin. I am not usually so prosy, for I believe in 
 business-like letters. I am afraid, too, the Directors will be alarmed at the length of 
 this and procrastinate the reading of it as long as I have done the writing. I hope 
 with all my heart they won't detain it from you, and I hope you will forgive the de- 
 lay I made in despatching it. It does seem cruel to keep you in suspense, for of 
 course you have no way of getting any outside information. But one is not apt to 
 remember that always. The whole family send love to you, and with wishes for 
 your health and resignation, I remain, my dear Rossa, ever your affectionate wife, 
 
 MARY J. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 The Fenian factions in America had dragged my wife into their 
 contentions. The " Belmont fund " was claimed by John O'Mahony, 
 and she was urged hy the opposing faction, and strongly advised by 
 
34:6 0** Donovan Rosso) s Prison Life. 
 
 a lawyer cousin of mine, to put in a claim on my behalf for some 
 of it. 
 
 It was painful to me to learn this, but I was quite powerless to 
 prevent it. There was the usual amount of newspaper scandal in 
 connection with the affair, and it is painful even now to read in the 
 newspapers of the time such passages as the following regarding 
 me: 
 
 "He (Rossa) lent £300, at 10 per cent, interest, for the purpose 
 of sustaining the paper. That loan, however, was duly paid to 
 htm, with interest, out of the proceeds of the Chicago Fair. This 
 I hive learned from Mr. James Stephens and others, who had per- 
 sonal knowledge of the fact." 
 
 The writer of this took the side of John O'Mahony, and under- 
 took to prove I had no claim whatever on the fund, and there 
 he was right ; but when he says I was to get or got ten per 
 cent, interest or any interest for any money I lent the Irish People, 
 or that I was paid principal and interest out of the proceeds of the 
 Chicago Fair, he says more than is known to me, or known to James 
 Stephens, or known to any others " who had personal knowledge of 
 the fact." As the man who wrote this is dead, I would not refer to 
 it but that I prize my Irish reputation somewhat, and to find my 
 name mentioned in connection with "10 per cent. " on the advance 
 of a trifle of money to forward the cause is as painful to me as it is 
 foreign and false to my character. And yet the writer of the para- 
 graph — James Cody, of Callan — was as truthful, as true, and as self- 
 sacrificing a worker in Ireland as the movement produced. It only 
 shows what unjust things are possible to be said when friends fall 
 out. 
 
 The next letter in order is that of my lawyer friend, Timothy F. 
 Donovan. His arguments to secure my co-operation or "silence" 
 did not lack the necessary force, but I doubt that I wouldn't have 
 spoiled his case had I the liberty of speech. 
 
 202 B'way, Sept. 3, 1869. 
 
 My Dear Cousin: By my suggestion your wife a short time ago commenced 
 legal proceedings to obtain out of a fund now in the custody of our Courts the 
 amount due you for yo it outlay ar.d services expended on the Irish People newspaper. 
 The proceeds of the suit are to be applied to the education of your children, under 
 the directory of a guardian, to be appointed by the Court. I may here state that 
 your best friends in this city have warmly advised this proceeeding, and under their 
 direction the matter is being pushed. The suit would never have been brought, were 
 it not that its successful termination is assured beyond a doubt. Buta clique, headed 
 by O'Mahony, are striving to obtain it for division among themselves. He has made 
 his newspaper here the vehicle of a most villainous attack on your wife, with intent 
 to break her down in her readings before the public — in fact, to steal away her bread, 
 because she has foiled him, and stopped the money from going into his pocket. It is 
 the fixed determination to apportion this fund to the children of the prisoners for 
 their education and nourishment, and for that purpose your friends have put in a 
 claim for your children to obtain your quantum. It is necessary, therefore, that you 
 keep aloof in this matter. Do not give a negative or an affirmative expression either 
 way, relative to the case — and this becomes the more important, as your wife's success 
 in her readings may in a great measure depend upon her triumph in that case. 
 
(J Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 347 
 
 Therefore, keep up a steady silence about it; and please to return to me an authori- 
 ty to comnence in your name all suits I may deem necessary to recover for your 
 children your worldly goods— a mere expression to that effect will suffice. All the 
 folks deploring your bad fate, and hoping to see you free once more, send their love 
 to you. Yours, most truly, 
 
 T. F. DONOVAN. 
 To J. 'Donovan Ross a. 
 
 My Love: I send you back this ugly letter of mv cousin's. There is the lawyer 
 on the face of it. How you engaged in this Belmont-O'Mahony lawsuit, influ- 
 fluenced by any one who could use such contemptible reasons to influence me, is 
 what I cannot understand. If this is the only thing you regret since we parted, I sup- 
 pose I may pass it over. But even though it may tend to make you self-opinionated, 
 let it be a caution to you to beware of acting again on the advice of others against 
 your own inclination. If you are much led by others, it is ten to one but you will be 
 led astray. 
 
 As to your losing the lesson of obedience, in view of our re-union, I have not yet 
 lost all confidence in my own powers of making you unlearn if you be stubborn. Yes 
 —while you are left to your own resources for support, trust yourself alone. 
 
 You say that in America the party who befriended vou most, of the factions, 
 was the Roberts party. I must tell you Mr. Roberts did "not make the most favor- 
 able impression upon me. I heard him say that he would have nothing to do with 
 Fenianism if he knew there were so many difficulties to overcome. He tendered his 
 resignation then and there. The Councif pressed him, begged him to hold on, and it 
 has often surprised me since to hear with what tenacity he has held on through such 
 a sea of difficulties. 
 
 It is not often that tears start to my eyes, but I felt the woman in me at witness- 
 ing this scene. I said to myself, "This man will never do." Let it be acting, or 
 what it be, he aroused a prejudice in my mind, and if I had heard any time since, 
 that he withdrew from Irish politics I would have more confidence in him. 
 
 You could have sent me your correspondence with Gladstone. Your letter did 
 not contain one word to show me that you received the one I wrote en regie (I sent 
 this to her "surreptitiously") three days after your visit. You said you spent an 
 evening at Mr. Moore's, in London. I don't know did he remember that it was your 
 husband he met at Moore Hall, on one occasion. I liked him immensely well, and 
 regret his death much. This spinal affection is troubling me. If I leave you entirely- 
 then, 
 
 "A place in your memory, dearest." 
 
 Yours, ROSSA. 
 
 I am publishing the last letter under protest from my wife. She 
 says there is no man in America who acted more friendly or more 
 honorably towards her than William R. Roberts, and she grumbles 
 at my expressing a weak thought about him at any time. But I 
 am writing my prison life, and her likings or dislikings must not 
 alter the record of anything I wrote or did. When Fenians and 
 all my political connec+ions seemed to care little whether mv 
 wife had a friend or a home in the City of New York, she found 
 both with old-country neighbors of ours, Maurice and Kate 
 Spillane. 
 
 Anxiety of mind and depression of spirits brought on an illness 
 that rendered her unable to write, and her medical adviser said she 
 should have rest and country air to save her life. Mrs, Spill ,ne 
 was making preparations to afford her these, when Mr. Roberts 
 learning the circumstances, sent his wife and his carriao-e for her 
 and took her to his house on the Bloomingdale road, where she 
 was treated for a few months with the greatest attention and kind- 
 ness. This is an obligation that I have no way of requiting and 
 for which I must ever feel indebted ; but as most of my indebted- 
 
348 C Donovan Rosses Prison Life. 
 
 ness comes from trying to serve Ireland, I cannot allow any of it 
 to suppress a thought that was written when thinking of Ireland's in- 
 terests. It is in the dark days of a nation's distress that the truest 
 of her sons cling closest to her, and those who are ashamed to as- 
 sociate their names with her fallen fortunes, or who are scared away 
 by dangers and difficulties from giving their assistance, are not the 
 men fitted to raise her to a position of national independence. 
 
 In the Summer of 1870 the Governor of the prison informed us 
 that a Parliamentary Commission was appointed to inquire into our 
 treatment, and we could have the help of counsel to prepare 
 our case. We immediately communicated with our friends, and 
 when we learned the help of counsel was only a thing of nothing, 
 that the Commission was to be a secret one, and no counsel allowed 
 to appear, my companions pronounced the inquiry a sham and de- 
 cided to take no part in it. I decided on taking a contrary course, 
 and made up my mind to give evidence. My case was somewhat 
 different from that of the others. I knew the truth or falsehood 
 of matters that affected me were some of the principal questions in 
 dispute, and I had such confidence in my ability to prove the truth 
 of what the Secretary of State said was false that I was sure I could 
 stick the lies down their throat if I got any fair play. 
 
 If I followed the example of the others and refused to give evi- 
 dence, it would be a victory for the Government, for they would be 
 only too glad to have it in their power to say that the reason I re- 
 fused to go on with my case was because I was unable to substan- 
 tiate my allegations. 
 
 I came to the conclusion to employ my wife as counsel. The 
 authorities consented to allow her to consult with me; but they 
 never gave her the permission to come till the day the Commission 
 opened, though she came to London and remained there a fortnight 
 appealing for the visiting order. When she returned to Clonakilty 
 the visiting order followed her there, and then some advisers put it 
 into her head that it was wrong for me to take a different course 
 from the other prisoners, and she grumbled about coming. 
 
 The following letters passed between us before she came, and 
 then during the visiting hours for six or seven days, between the 
 several sittings of the Commission, we were put into a glass-room 
 for consultation, with an officer looking on outside the glass door — j 
 for fear we should commit suicide : 
 
 Strand House, Clonakilty, July 7th, 1870. 
 
 My Bear Rossa: The printed letters, which I enclose you, will, if you are per- 
 mitted to read them, explain why I am not present at Chatham. I can easily see 
 how your disbelief in the honesty of the Inquiry, combined with your anxiety to 
 talk unreservedly with me, have induced you to grasp at the offer of interviews 
 held out to you so late, and to write wishing me to return. I have not done so; I 
 will not do so, and — as Mr. Bult remarked — " wash my hands of the Commission*' and 
 ail the false privileges the Commission can grant. 
 
 Even while I can understand another man putting aside all considerations but the 
 satisfaction of meeting his wife, I cannot understand it in you, who have, since I first 
 knew you, held public interest far in advance of mine or your own gratification. To tak« 
 
O 1 Donovan fossa's Prison Life. 349 
 
 advantage of this permission " to assist you in preparing your statement for the 
 Commission of Inquiry," w^en the inquiry was already about to be inaugurated 
 at Chatham— to take advantage of it merely for the satisfaction of an ordinary inter- 
 view, when we know that the fact would be brought against us to prove that the 
 Government " gave fair means of preparation, which were availed of, and in their 
 barrenness of corroborative result to the prisoner's complaints, made another proof of 
 the innocence of the Government!"— this I would look upon as selling one's right, 
 like Esau, for a mess of pottage— as putting one's character in pawn for an equivocal 
 reward. 
 
 Do not fear for me. To endure has become second nature to me. I remember 
 at school my class-mistress sometimes gravely rebuked me for the fact that if I were 
 notheading her list, I would surely be found carelessly at the very bottom. This has fol- 
 lowed me still. I want no compromises, no mediums. " All or nothing ;" "Saint or 
 sinner;" " Caesar or nobody," have grown instinctively to be my watchwords. So I 
 will have all my husband or none of him, and I will have all its promises from the 
 crown or none of them ; and as I cannot have the peaceful wedded life I hoped for 
 once, why I can make up my mind to lead a strong single one. Don't, therefore, 
 abate or alter, after so long endurance, any of your principles, beliefs or inspirations 
 through compassion for me. I had asked Mr. Butt to take my order for interviews 
 with you, if the orders were granted in reasonable time. They were not granted in 
 reasonable time, and I would not insult him by offering it on Monday. 
 
 It is impossible for me, my dear husband, to enter into private or particular 
 family matters, as you would wish, in my letters to you. I can but tell you what 1 
 would permit my greatest foes to know, lest at some time I find the Government 
 making use of my information to you against you or myself. Besides, you cannot 
 help me in anything. If I wish your presence you cannot come to me; if I wish 
 your advice, before you could give it me the need for it would have passed away. 
 We are not' one, but two very distinct people, while English law stands between 
 us, and we might as well recognize the fact, submit to it, and be content with our 
 position until Providence will send a full and perfect change. Oceans could not so 
 effectually divide us as your prison discipline, nor even could death so completely 
 cut off communication, for in death the spirit is surely cognizant of the acts and 
 prayers and wishes of those it loves. I have no doubt the Government will presently 
 make important concessions, not only in favor of the prisoners but of the country for 
 which thev suffer. I can wait for these concessions, which must come, and that with^ 
 out my snatching at the small bait, in offering which the Goverment hopes to get the 
 prisoners' friends to hold the whitewash pail while it (the Government) whitens its 
 own dark acts. 
 
 My letter must needs be a short one to-day, as I wish to send it with as little 
 delay as possible. I received yours from London yesterday. When I think of all the 
 indignities I was put through in the capital of Great Britain, by British officials, 1 
 feel as if I could curse like a dragoon— only I'm trying to be a saint. " Forgive y out 
 enemies, do good to them that hate you, <mdpray for all that persecute and calum- 
 niate you!" Truly a hard rule to follow, yet none of us should cavil at it, for, 
 knowingly or unknowingly, we have wronged, hated, persecuted and calumniated 
 some other members of the human family, and we would gladly see those we have 
 wronged, &c, ready to love, do good and pray for us, in return for our evil. 
 
 I enclose a likeness I had taken in London, in one of my stage dresses ; one of 
 Babe's also. I have been contributing every week to the Irishman, but can't put 
 my hand on any of the verses this moment. I may find them before post hour. 
 Meantime, with love from all at home to you, and kindest regards and good wishes to 
 General Halpin, to McClure and all your fellow-prisoners, 
 
 I remain, my dear Rossa, your affectionate wife, 
 
 MARY J. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 P. S.— I could not get, a copy of Messrs. Knox and Pollock's Report. Mr. Pigott 
 hasn't it, and I don't know who has, but Mr. Butt thinks the Commissioners had, or 
 could get it. 
 
 I found some poems: "Ross Carberry;" "My Mother's Grave;" "A Protest;" 
 "Prayer of Manasses," and "Shall We Tell Him So, My Boy?" I enclose them for 
 you. Babe's likeness is miserable ; he wouldn't be quiet, and was awfully frightened 
 at being put in the middle of the gallery alone. Thought he was about to be shot at 
 through the machine, I believe. 
 
 Chatham Prison, Saturday, 5 P. M., July 9, 1870. 
 
 My Dear Wife: I have just received your letter of the 7th. It is some ease of 
 
 mind to me to hear from you, and it is a pleasure to me to hear that you are so strong. 
 
 Well, I did surely anticipate the pleasure of having a history of your life from you, 
 
 besides any information you could give me as to the course I would adopt at this 
 
350 O* Donovan Eossa's Prison Life. 
 
 inquiry. But I must tell you that, independent of any advice you or any one els© 
 could give me, I determined to pursue a certain course, and though your letter may 
 lead me to think that you would disapprove of it, still I will not alter my mind. That 
 course is to give evidence before the Commission, if they see there is anything rele- 
 vant to their inquiry contained in a part statement which I laid before them on Mon- 
 day, the 4th. I did not make this statement as a complaint. I only stated simply mat- 
 ters that I experienced by virtue of prison discipline, and left it to them to examine 
 me or not as to the truth of what I stated. 
 
 I was led to adopt this course by thinking that the most of what I stated to them 
 were matters that were, one way or another, canvassed and contradicted in the 
 world, and whatever your opinion or my opinion of the Commission be, I concluded 
 that I would not leave it in the gentlemen's power to say that my refusal to give 
 evidence was proof that these statements could not be substantiated. 
 
 After a conversation with the gentlemen, and my expressing a willingness to be 
 examined if they desired, the decision was : that they would take the paper I gave 
 them as a part statement ; that they would not go into my examination until they 
 would come again on Tuesday, the 19th ; that every day till then I could have my 
 wife's assistance in preparing my case (that is if my wife came) , and that then I could 
 give them the rest of my statement if I wrote any more. Here is a paragraph of 
 your letter: " Even while I could understand another man putting aside all considera- 
 tions but the satisfaction of meeting his wife, I cannot understand it in you, who have, 
 since I first knew you, held public interest far in advance of mine or your own grati- 
 fication, to take advantage of this permission to assist you in preparing your state- 
 ment for the Commission of Inquiry," when the inquiry was already about to be 
 inaugurated at Chatham — to take advantage of it merely for the satisfaction of an 
 ordinary interview, &c, &c. This I would look upon as selling one's right, like Esau, 
 for a mess of pottage, or as putting one's character in pawn for an equivocal reward." 
 In your mind, as seen in these lines, you overvalue me and you undervalue me. 
 Where you think too highly of me is where you think I have made much sacrifice of 
 my happiness, convenience, or gratification for " public interest," and where you think 
 too little of me is where you think that I would now put aside all considerations for 
 the satisfaction of meeting my wife — where you think that / think so little of public 
 interest as to sacrifice it merely for the satisfaction of an ordinary interview. 
 
 Well, I am not so much in alarm as you are in these matters. I will pursue the 
 course I have indicated, if the authorities do what they have stated they will do, and 
 I have no fears as to doing wrong or as to " injuring the public interests." 
 
 I cannot see, suppose nothing else but the "public interest" is concerned, how a 
 history of my prison lftfe to you would not counterbalance the advantage the Govern- 
 ment would derive b/~ saying that I had 3 T our assistance in preparing my case. How- 
 ever, ye outside kno,/ the world and ye must judge. Before I knew the offer would 
 be made us of having an interview with our friends, I had applied for a private visit 
 from you, and it was refused. I then applied for an ordinary visit, and it was granted, 
 and now that I can have a private visit the public interest will not permit you to avail 
 of it. This is rather hard. 
 
 It puts me in a very peculiar position, for if you know my mind, you know that 
 I cannot at any future time, with any face, under these circumstances, go before a 
 Director and ask him for a public or a private visit from you. He might say to me, 
 " How do you know that your wife wants to see you? " 
 
 I am really pleased, Mollis, that you are so strong — that that sickness of expec- 
 tation and " hope deferred " is left you, and that you have made up your mind for the 
 worst, for it is only thus that you can act for the best. 
 
 I was in much suspense till I got your letter — but it is not a letter — it is only a 
 note, and, therefore, by post return, write a long letter; and as it seems to me that 
 you write under a misapprehension of the time for visiting me being past, and seem 
 to be unaware that there is over a week yet, I would wish you to be final on this 
 point, and it would be well that you would, by the car-driver, send a telegraph to 
 Bandon for the Governor of the prison, saying whether you will come or no. 
 
 As I allude to this I will expect you to do it, and then I will make up my mind. 
 I did not get the printed letters nor the poems, nor the photographs. I must, I 
 suppose, wait till I can see Mr. Fagan. 
 
 When did you go home ? Why did you not tell me ? Did you go by Dublin ? 
 I have permission to write, while the Commission sits, on matters connected 
 with it. 
 
 I wrote to Mr. Pigott and Mr. Downing, M. P., already, and you can tell them— 
 your father and Mr. P. at least — they may keep on writing to me, if they have any- 
 thing to say or send. 
 
 " Don't, therefore, abate or alter, after so long endurance, any of your principles, 
 beliefs, or inspirations, &c." 'Tis funny to see .you writing these words to me. if s you 
 
CP Donovan Rosso* s Prison Life. 351 
 
 are acting in this matter on your own advice. 'Tis so different from the threatening 
 notice you sent me from America of not living with me if I neglected my family in 
 future ; but I am glad that you are at last strong. 
 
 Yours, dear Mollis, ever fondly, 
 
 JER. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 Sunday Mokning — 5 O'Clock — July 10, '70. 
 
 Mr Dear Wife : After having slept on your letter, or rather after having spent the 
 night awake on it, I write a more brief and more decisive note than the long " do-as° 
 you-please " one which I wrote upon its receipt last evening. 
 
 If I have ever made sacrifices for public interests, I have liked to see my way, 
 and I cannot, in this matter, see how your visiting me now is to injure public interests. 
 
 I do not intend to injure public interests. I have no fear that anything I will ask 
 you to do will injure them, and I ask you to come. 
 
 I like to get my will to accompany me in any direction. To serve public inter- 
 ests against my inclination is what I have not done, or cannot do. If I strive to ac- 
 commoda'e one to the o'her, my friends and public interests should make some allow- 
 ance for the weaknesses of poor human nature and the selfishness inseparable from 
 man. 
 
 There is one condition, and one alone, on which I tell you stay; and that condition 
 is, that all the visiting friends of all the prisoners have agreed to avail not of the permis- 
 sion to visit until this Commission has done its duty, and that no prisoner is to have a 
 visit from anyone. If you have entered into such a compact as this, I will so far yield 
 to the public opinion as to tell you hold to it. If you have not, I will not allow you to 
 be swayed by any other advice than mine — not even by your own — and I ask you, 
 with any authority you concede to me as a dead husband, to come. 
 
 Apart from public reasons, there are two other excuses for not coming, which I 
 will hold equally valid. They are: the absense of anv desire, on your part, to see 
 me, or have a long private conversation with me, and tne absence of money necessary 
 to defray the expenses of coming. 
 
 I do not know, Mollis, but that there is some of the husband pride breaking out 
 here, for I think I feel a little humiliation at being obliged to say to my companions, 
 when I meet them by-and-by, at nine o'clock, "Oh, my wife wouldn't come." 
 
 I am to go through this inquiry whether j-ou come or not, and your advice or as- 
 sistance might not change the course I have struck out for myself, and that course I 
 have determined with a view to public more than personal hv erests. 
 
 I only feel that I could go through it with a lighter heart if you could have cheer- 
 fully responded to my call. Equanimity, evenness, or peace of mind, is what alone has 
 preserved my health in prison sc far, and I must cultivate this, " for what is the world 
 to me if my wife is a widow," and you must assist me if you are not otherwise 
 disposed. 
 
 If you are coming, telegraph from Bandon to the Governor to tell me. If you are 
 not, send the unwelcome message also by lhe first car-driver that passes for Bandon. 
 Attend to this, for I had two or three days' work struck out for you. 
 
 I got from the authorities six of my suppressed letters to you, twenty sheets of 
 "memorials" to the Secretary of Staie, and I had lhese for you to copy in large 
 hand, for the Commission. 
 
 I will have 1o go at them myself if you do not come, and writing has become most 
 unpleasant to me, as it painfully awakens this affection of the spine. The time is 
 getting short, therefore telegraph. Remember to all. I got nothing but your letter. 
 
 Yours, dear Mollis, ever faithfully, 
 
 JER. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 During our interviews at this Commission, to which I will de- 
 mote the next chapter, you may be sure we talked very little 
 about the inquiry or about the case I was to make out. I had 
 all that settled before my wife came, and we spent the hours to- 
 gether getting and giving an account of our lives and all that con- 
 cerned us in life. It was as curious a position as ever a married 
 couple were seen in, to see us sitting in this glass house with Prin- 
 cipal Warder King as sentry outside the glass door; and was it not 
 a curious place for her to reproach me with ingratitude because I 
 never wrote a line of poetry for her since we were married ? When 
 
352 'Donovan Rosso' s Prison Life. 
 
 I went to my cell that evening I wrote the following lines, and 
 made her very agreeable next day by presenting them to her when 
 we met in the morning : 
 
 A single glance, and that glance the first, 
 And her image was fixed in my mind and nursed ; 
 And now it is woven with all my schemes, 
 And it rules the realm of all my dreams. 
 
 One of Heaven's best gift-* in an earthly mould, 
 With a figure Appelles might paint of old — 
 All a maiden's charms with a matron's grace, 
 And the blossom and bloom of the peach in her face. 
 
 And the genius that flashes her bright black eye 
 Is the face of the sun in a clouded sky ; 
 She has noble thoughts — she has noble aims — 
 And the»e thoughts on her tongue are sparkling gems.. 
 
 With a gifted mind and a spirit meek 
 She would right the wronged and assist the weak ; 
 She would scorn dangers to cheer the brave, 
 She would smite oppression and free the slave. 
 
 Yet a blighted life is my loved one's part, 
 And a death-cold shroud is around her heart, 
 For winds from the "clouds of fate" have blown 
 That force her to face the hard world alone. 
 
 And a daughter she of a trampled land, 
 With its children exiled, prisoned, banned ; 
 And she vowed her love to a lover whom 
 The tyrant had marked for a felon's doom, 
 
 And snatched from her side ere the honeymoon waned : 
 In the dungeons of England he lies enchained ; 
 And the bonds that bind him "for life" a slave 
 Are binding his love to his living grave. 
 
 He would sever the links of such hopeless love, 
 Were that sentence "for ever" decreed above : 
 For the pleasures don't pay for the pains of life — 
 To be living in death with a icidoioed wife. 
 
 A single glance, and that glance the first, 
 And her image was fixed in my mind and nursed, 
 And now she's the woof of my worldly schemes, 
 And she sits enthroned as the queen of my dreams 
 
 Chatham Prison, July, 1870. 
 
 "The longest days must have an end, 
 And the dearest friends must part." 
 
 And so it was with us. Our six or seven days' communion 
 -with each other came swiftly to an end, and stone walls and prison 
 •bars again divided us. Without a word of preface I will close this 
 
0^ Donovan Rosscts Prison Life. 353 
 
 chapter with the following two letters. What ingratitude ! to write 
 to me in such a strain after making such a sweet poem for her : 
 
 London, 178 Stamford St., ) 
 
 Waterloo Bridge, August 9th, 1870. ) 
 My Dear Rossa : I know it is very ungrateful of me to have kept you in supense 
 all this time. I have no excuse to offer for myself only one that makes my delin- 
 quency worse, i. e., I hated to write. 
 
 I reasoned and argued with my disinclination, but I could get no answer from it 
 but " Let me alone, I am miserable ; bury Chatham — fly from it, forget it, for all my 
 wretchedness lies there." So I groaned and turned my face farther away from that 
 fortified town by the sea, and each day I said, " I will forget it yet to-day, and to-mor- 
 row I will force myself to write to him." It seems cruel to write in such a strain to 
 you, especially as I know there are depths in me you have never sounded, and would 
 not be able to understand — depths of capacity for suffering from reflections which 
 would bring no suffering to you. Since I last saw you, I have sat for hours and hours 
 with locked hands, closed lips and vacantly fixed eyes, actually blank with the load 
 of invisible misery I seem to be carrying. It is grown to be a disease with me, this 
 fearful weight of melancholy. It so overwhelms my soul that I cannot see in the 
 future any circumstance that could reanimate me — anything that could bring me per- 
 manent joy. 
 
 " 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek alone 
 The blush which fades so fast, 
 But the tender bloom of heart is gone, 
 Ere youth itself be past." 
 
 No ; I am so changed, so hardened, so disenchanted of my life, so utterly dead of 
 heart and bare of hopes, that if the prisons poured forth their occupants to- 
 morrow, I should be capable of no more than the general public rejoicement, for I am 
 dead while I live. Life is not what I had hoped — it is bare, cold, wretched reality. It 
 is not good for me to see you or to write to you. What is the use of concealing that the 
 farther in soul and bod}- 1 am away from Chatham the less unhappy I have ever been. 
 Do not blame me. I cannot sit down to write to you without having my passive mel- 
 ancholy turned into active anguish. I am blameable if you will— I am weak, I am 
 cruel, I am ungenerous, I am anything you choose to call me in anger. I do not de- 
 fend myself. I have no reason for the fit of despondency which has increased from 
 time to time on me — I know no cause unless it is madness — but I know it is exaggerated 
 and intensified to a degree in which I cannot control my words when I collect my 
 thoughts to write to you or to v'sit you. 
 
 It is a cruel thing to say it, but I would to God you had never seen me— that I had 
 died at school, or gone into the grave with that fair young cousin of mine at whose 
 wake and funeral I first saw you. Then I should have missed the pangs of earth, and 
 been less unworthy of the bliss of Heaven. Now the spirit and the flesh both suffer. The 
 light of Heaven seems no more to shine upon the darkness of my life. God Himself 
 seems to have deserted me. As the pillar of light to the Israelites in their dark 
 pilgrimage between them and their enemies, so stood between me and the 
 misery of my portion God's blessed love. It is gone from me— it has left me, 
 I cannot see a star of promise, nor feel anything but solid darkness in my 
 whole soul's horizon. I am barren of prayer as of earthly hope. " My soul 
 is sorrowful unto Death !" but unhappily it is not " for its sins " it is so sorrowful. It 
 is the sorrow of a soul so clouded and covered with sorrowing flesh that it cannot 
 find a chink in its solid armor of discontent through which to look up to its native 
 Heaven. Therefore, " air-tight" in the body, it is impregnated with the body's woes. 
 Truly, a piteous plight; and I would thank forever whosoever would help speedily 
 out of its contemptible and uncomfortable habitation my distressed spirit. If they 
 would but give me a minute's grace to pray, I would consider myself fortunate to fall 
 in with a band of desperadoes, covetous of my life — but pshaw ! what's the use of al- 
 lowing my pen to express so many words of nonsense. I will turn from the subject. 
 When I left Chatham for London, I did so in a state of great disquietude, on my fath- 
 er's account, and on arriving in London I lost no time in driving to Paddington sta- 
 tion. I reached it and actually had bought my ticket, and was importuning the porter 
 to leave some other work and bring in my baggage, when the bell rang, the engine 
 screamed, mere was a final banging of carriage doors, and I had the mortification of 
 hearing the train go " puff, puff, puffing" out of the station as the sulky porter got half 
 way to it. I made a great complaint to the Inspector, but 'twas in vain— no other train 
 was to be had in time to catch the Bristol boat. I telegraphed home to know if Papa 
 was so ill that I should go by that horrible way of Dublin. I got no answer. I tele- 
 graphed again and put up at the Great Western Hotel. Friday, Saturday, Sunday— no 
 
354: 0* Donovan Mossds Prison Life. 
 
 answer to my messages. I got vexed and telegraphed to Papa himself, to sister Isa^ 
 to Tim, and to the party he boarded with in Cork, and on Monday evening I had an 
 answer from them that would have made me exccessively angry, only it relieved my 
 fears for Papa. Papa was ill, certainly, hut it was not dangerous illness, and their 
 anxiety to see me at home was their principal reason for alarming me about Papa. 
 This I gathered from the dispatch, and next morning, in a letter from home, I was in- 
 formed that from the extreme gloom and unnatural despondency of my letters to Tim 
 and my father, they were afraid something awful would happen to me, and they 
 thought nothing would bring me under their prolection so quickly as a telegram of 
 Papa's serious illness. Though I pretended to Tim I was outrageous at being unnec- 
 essarily alarmed, still I treasure up this fact as a proof of my family's great affection 
 for me, so clearly as they read my mind from the mere tone of my letters ! so promptly 
 their love for me suggested the readiest way to bring me again under soothing home 
 influences ! Oh, may God bless my father. The poorer in heart, and soul, and purse, 
 I grow, the richer he grows in love for me, and in devices to heal, to comfort and to lead 
 me right. To his prayers that are always ascending to Heaven for me, I attribute 
 my safety in many a past danger — to his advice where I have taken it, I owe all that 
 is good and fruitful of good, and in every act that crossed my father's wishes, I have 
 sown bitter, barren, thorny seed. If I can pray for nothing else, I can pray " God bless 
 my father," and then I shall know one is blessed who will never forget to pray bless- 
 ings on me. Tim told me there was no immediate necessity for me to leave London, 
 and I therefore came back to my old boarding place, and wrote requesting Tim would 
 come over to make arrangements for my readings in England. Unfortunately he has 
 been really ill with congh and cold, and could not leave his room safely. Dr. Hadden 
 told him, so I must wait for him even some clays beyond to-day. Meantime, I have had 
 a letter from the Rossa and Kickham Committee. It seems they are heavily in debt, 
 and they naturally turn to me to get assistance in the shape of a few readings. I 
 could not easily refuse, so I have at once consented. I would not grudge three times 
 the labor I will have, to the men individually, but I feel some fears about associating 
 my work with theirs in England. 'Twould be all right in Ireland, but I don't think 
 it will serve me with Irishmen in England who have little sympathy with their peti- 
 tion failure. However, I am pledged to them now, and, " sink or swim," I will do my 
 utmost for them. 
 
 I think m-. friends begin to feel it might be dangerous for them to show their 
 faces here. I have only- seen the visage of my old friends, the detectives (two occa- 
 casions excepted, on which " Counsellor O'C." called to inquire about youandFitz,to 
 ask about m.\ self!) since I left Chatham, so I am utterly alone, friendless — left to my 
 own sad thoughts. I went the evening before last with my landlady's niece to walk 
 from Westminster to the end of the embankment. The boats had stopped running, 
 the river was very quiet, and the moon was spreading a cloak of silver on the water. 
 We leaned for a long time on the low granite parapet of the embankment. So softly 
 the waves lapped up against their boundary! so gently, as the light of a woman's 
 tender blue eye, the mild waters invited me to their breast, that I could not wonder 
 many a poor wretch, deceived b. a love of the world, should be tempted to throw her- 
 self into so soothing and placid a bosom as the Thames unveiled by moonlight. One 
 could not help thinking that a dreamless rest might be got by trusting the weary 
 limbs to such a soft and winning nurse. I wrote to McClure's family, and I wrote to Miss 
 Crowley, butgotno replyyet. I sent your poem as you" commanded /" to Mr.Pigott. 
 I must say you are growing q-iiie imperious of late, anticipating the royal honors 
 you will receive if ever you live to be " King of Ireland," and the obedience you will 
 demand. The Commission has not, to my knowledge, made any report of its labor 
 yet, and I am therefore not working on any notes I took in Chatham. I am trying, 
 by letting it drift rather indolently, to help my mind recover its balance, and with 
 God's grace it may be lifted out of the " slough of despondency" into which it so 
 deeply fell. "All is vanity but loving God and serving Him alone." Now, if I had 
 a brave Purtinn husband who would rather elevate my soul to the foot of Heaven by 
 sympathetic faith, than weaken it a3 you do by going no farther than earth, I would 
 be better blc to bear my sufferings. But there is no sympathy between your soul 
 and /nine. 1 consider the first aim of existence is to serve God, and unless done in 
 His service, I look on every noble act as wasted. But I am very weak. Oh! weak 
 beyond belief; and though I have for whiles detached myself from earthly love, and 
 fixed a fai hful and mwandering eye on the goal of life toward which I have tried to 
 trim my uncertain footsl eps, still outward influences coming from sources near enough 
 to be strong, can shake to fragments my card-house of piety and leave me shivering 
 and worthless in the blast of Fate. I have a cousin of your name, and if you were 
 but like him in belief, in soul, I, reposing on you, should be strong though leagues, 
 and laws, and death div.ded us. Withal my appetite for earthly things, there is in me 
 a.Dassionate. vearning to rise to higher tilings, a desire to be either free to seek my 
 
'Donovan Rosso? $ Prison Life. 355 
 
 way undeterred by earthly vassalage to the foot of God's throne, or (Combination of 
 earth and heaven) to seek it hand in hand, and more securely, with a stronger partner 
 soul. For "what is it to gain the whole world and lose your own soul." What is 
 fame? I could curse it. What is love but a rapid road to misery, if its links are not 
 riveted by common and voluntary service to the spirit ot Love, which is God! Flung 
 into the world, utterly alone and belonging to nobody, God will claim and hold me ; but 
 made half of another being, for good or ill, the soul of that other being must have an influ- 
 ence on my soul. If it will not help me to God, it will help me away from Him, and the 
 least it will do is to distract and fling into indecision the spirit that had just strength, 
 and no more, to keep itself " on its feet." I have no faith in human honor, in human 
 virtue, or in human truth. .If men who profess no religion do not rob their neighbors 
 of their wives and goods, do not swe:ir falsehoods and spill human blood, it is simply 
 because they are not tempted to do any of these thiiigs,or they cannot without hurt- 
 ing some nearer interest to them, or they are afraid of human penalties imposed by 
 human law. And in the matter of the wives— and maids too— men are honorable because 
 of all the forementioned reasons, and added to them, that after overcoming all these 
 reasons, the woman may not at all be inclined to be kind, and may leave him hope- 
 less of success in his designs. I begin to grow tired of writing, sleepy too, for 'tis 
 late. I think I shall leave anything else I have to say until to-morrow, yet I shall 
 finish the subject I was on, i. e., my disbelief in human virtue. You have said I am 
 proud, and to my pride, and my love for yourself, } t ou attribute the creditable figure 
 I have made in my strange ana most unhappy life. You are much mistaken. I am 
 not prouder than was Cleopatra, nor, to come nearer home, than was Queen Eliza- 
 beth; and, if the stories be true that people read of them, their pride was admirably 
 accommodated to their inclination. And as for my love for yourself— why, the Devil 
 has often whispered to me that you are the root of all my misfortunes, andthatl have 
 little reason to be thankful for the amount of affection you bestowed on me, as that 
 did not lend to any worldly or spiritual advantage of mine, but only to the gratifica- 
 tion of your own personal passion; and, again, I am convinced that had I married the 
 least remarkable for mind, position, money or person of God's creatures at that time, 
 1 would have been a fond and faithful wife, as I am convinced every innocent, honor- 
 able, religiously reared Irish girl is to her husband. It is easy for people to say that 
 love comes but once. I am sure I could love a hundred husbands (one at a time !) and 
 except that I should naturally have a preference and give a sigh to one that perhaps 
 had passed away, neither of them s ould iind fault wit i me for undeserved coldness. 
 I should scruple to say this to you, if I were your first wife, but you, who find no more 
 difficulty in fitting yourself to' a new marriage relation than to a new pair of gloves, 
 must be prepared to expect an equal liberality in the mind of the woman philosophi- 
 cal enough or courageous enough to take you. 
 
 So I do confess that though I might have a preference for you, that preference 
 would not at. all interfere with somebody else's prospects. Therefore, I do not look 
 upon " Love " as my shield from the sentimental ills of life. On the contrary, it is the 
 enemy's mine under my feet, which I must tread over with the greatest caution, and 
 hold in the holiest fear lest it at some time be my destruction. I told you once, and I 
 tell you again, I had and I have no reliance but on God — no reliance but in Him — no 
 happiness but where he allows it. My father is, and has been all his life, of a deeply 
 religious turn. Tim, as he advances in years, is of my father's mind, and when I am 
 at home and under their influence a blessed peace gradually takes possession of my 
 stormy heart. In America I was often visiting with Frank Donovan's family, and one 
 could not be unhappy or wicked in their vicinity. Frank's letters, like his conversa 
 tion, breathed an apostolic spirit. They led me to peace as often as it left me; and 
 peace is the only gift to be craved in this life — deep religious peace. Perhaps if C 
 could get off to you a couple of letters like this you would come to understand me. 
 You imagine you have always understood me, but I do not think so. I do not know 
 how you could do so, seeing that while 3 T ou were with me every natural impulse of 
 mine was in obedience to my desire to be a " perfect wife," and when my feelings or 
 my words would not have pleased you, I, so far from home, amongst perfect strangers, 
 and dependent on your pleasure for my peace, took care to be silent. If I had mar- 
 ried you, looking forward to spending my life with you, I think I should have acted 
 less complaisantly on several occasions. I say I think, for I'm not sure but my natural 
 softness would have bound me to your will anyway, but you knew, and I felt, that we 
 had made a mad leap to reach a temporary island in a stream, which island would be 
 washed from under our feet in one, two, three, or, atmost, twelve months. Did you not 
 tell me in those old letters that my father burnt, that, feeling that you had but a short 
 span of life to run, you wanted all the pleasure possible in the time (you were not a 
 law-abiding citizen !) , and what could I do but help you to the best of my ability to make 
 that poor " remnant of your life serene?" I argued to myself, as I dared the thing at all, 
 it would be like " straining at a gnat after swallowing a camel" to object to anything 
 
356 O ^ Donovan Rosso) s Prison Life, 
 
 else. There is one thing, Cariss, that you may be sure of— I will never take the same 
 amount of trouble for you or for any other man again. Human love is selfish, except 
 in the first enthusiasm of youth; after twenty (no one I believe passes that age with- 
 out experiencing the divine sentiment) love is no longer conceived in such purity and 
 nursed in such utter and sustained unselfishness. It becomes a selfish human passion, 
 living only so long as the object gives pleasure, and ceasing when the object thwarts 
 the will, offends the vanity, or fails to minister to the sell-love, pride, passion, or 
 power of the pretended lover. You often said you loved me, but I never put your 
 love to proof, and I never believed but if I did put it to proof I should find it wanting. 
 I remember I never showed the slightest indication to interfere with your move- 
 ments but a shadow, slight, yet perceptible to me, would come between us. I took 
 warning from slight indications, and I forebore experimenting where I felt it likely I 
 should, by testing, find myself unpleasantly convinced. How can you know anything of 
 me, therefore, but that which I believed would be most pleasing to you ? Love is easily 
 tested. It is often found in woman, seldom in man; but its step-brother, Passion, takes its 
 place and its name, and assumes to itself the honors, and the license, and the title of Love, 
 wlile doing most unloving things. By their fruits love and passion are distinguishable. 
 Love does not, as Passion does, take to itself its object for a slave and servant, but 
 Love makes itself the slave of its object. Love does not gather its I eloved from secur- 
 ity and peace to garnish and render odorous his own uncertain and hazardous hours. 
 Love does not that which, to bring comfort to himself, must bring detriment to the 
 beloved. Love looks with unselfish eyes to the life-long happiness of the beloved. 
 Love is pure and patient and all-trusting; love gathers to itself its beloved more 
 dearly and fondly, for the poveny, the unjust revilements, the disappointments of 
 life. Bat Passion, that covers himself with love's mantle ! oh, he is cruel and sel- 
 fish, and vain and ungenerous. He will snatch his object from a fortress, and plant 
 her upon a precipice. He will enslave her. He will seek recklessly the gratification 
 of the hour, if she should die of the effect in the next — and withal he is blind enough 
 to imagine himself the legitimate representative of Love ! Passion is unscrupulous, 
 and making floods of protestations makes yet no effort to smooth the path of life for 
 his object. He feeds himself with the notion that in gratifying himself he gratifies his 
 object; and no fine care for her, no single thought for her separate ease or pleasure, 
 gives the poor victim to understand that she is more to him than the dinner he eats, 
 enjoys and praises, the coat he wears and finds comfortable, or the horse he rides 
 and takes pride in. They are all ministers to his wants and wishes, and he has an 
 unthoughtof, unconscious belief, I suppose, that the horse is happy to have such a 
 master, and the coat done justice to by having such a wearer, but 1 doubt whether he 
 would, on reflection, say the dinner was blest in having such an appreciative eater? 
 Unless on the principle which seems to animate sham philanthropists, to whom all 
 men are beloved and inexpensive brothers, and who cannot understand why those 
 beloved brothers (albeit they are hungry and unclad) are not joyful in the Lord with 
 them for love and blessings which they have all in a lump, but which the poor souls 
 nave none of. I could pursue the subject without half exhausting it till to-morrow 
 night, but I am grown altogether too weary and sleepy now to write any more. I am 
 trying to think, in a stupid, sleepy way, did you ever give me one proof of self-for- 
 getting love? I can't remember, though I have often thought before on the subject. 
 Perhaps I'd dream it, so good night. 
 
 Give my most affectionate regards to each and all your friends in prison. 
 Don t forget to tell McClure I wrote to his family, and, in fact, have obeyed every 
 direction with which I was entrusted by either. When I get news for them, from 
 any quarter, it will not be my fault if they are not apprised of it. As the poor 
 fellows do not have a great many letters, I think the Governor would not consider 
 it incumbent on him to suppress a letter of mine to them. 
 
 If you wish me to take advantage of the Governor's permission to see you, tell 
 him so, and I am sure he will be good enough to order his secretary drop me a line 
 intimative of your wish. As it is, having nothing particular to say, I should not, for 
 my own pleasure, take the trip to Chatham. Tim will be here in a few days, and 
 when I have had a conversation with him I may be less barren of gossip for you; 
 but, in any case, if you wish me to run down to Chatham, say so, and I shall go, even 
 if you had no more desire than to find fault with this letter and myself. 
 
 Do not tear this letter in anger, for I shall be curious after awhile to know 
 what I could have written in forty pages, and what you thought of a great deal 
 I have for the first time expressed to you. The words are held together by so 
 glight a thread as a hair from the head of your affectionate wife, 
 
 MARY J. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
(y* Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 357 
 
 Chatham, August 13th, 1870. 
 Mrs. O'Donovan Rossa, 178 Stamford St., London: 
 
 By Jove ! Mollis, I don't know what to say to you now, after the terrible revela- 
 tions you made to me to-day. To think that you would marry another man if I 
 were dead! Oh, 'tis awful! and 111 not die as long as I can live. But I suppose 
 'tis worse to think of it alive than dead. I should like to talk to you, as the Ger- 
 mans say — unter fier augen — "under four eyes," on those distinctions you draw be- 
 tween love and passion. The characteristics of the latter may hit off myself, you 
 think, but I am not going to give myself to you at such a valuation. You are out in 
 your estimation of me here, as much as you are out in thinking that in the presence 
 of God I have little religion, because I might differ a little from you. What would you 
 say if it would be in a religious spirit I would incur so much of your displeasure 
 as to get you to threaten you would not live with me ? This you could not 
 see by my regard for the outward ceremonies, but if you could regard the eyes 
 of the soul you may see them fixed on their Creator, in the hope that He would 
 accept the sufferings that are to be encountered in this world by all who seek to 
 elevate God's work — accept my share of them in the risks I run as some atonement 
 for my sins. I told you thatlhad a particular mental prayer, "that if the Almighty 
 interfered in the petty ways of this world, He would in His mercy send me my 
 punishment here, and peace hereafter." This is a pretty hard prayer, when I 
 make it in view of the possibility of living years of absence from you, and under the 
 pains and penalties of this servitude. 
 
 Yet it calms my mind in view of the future world, for God knows my mind, 
 and if the reason He has given me does not enable me to view Him with other 
 men's reason, how can I help it? I cannot act the hypocrite to God, and trample 
 under foot what He has given me for my light. You would not like this prayer if 
 you thought it would be heard so as to keep me in this living grave for a number of 
 years. No, and no wonder. Nor would I desire the long-suffering, either; but 
 eternity is longer, and though you imagine I think but little of that, I do not 
 imagine so myself. There is another thing in the prayer you will object to, and that 
 is the " if;" but I will not, for I cannot, do away with it. I see too much injustice in 
 the world, and I cannot bring nrysell to say that it is God's work. I cannot, with the 
 historian D'Aubigne, assert that " the history of the government of this world is the 
 annals of the government of the Sovereign King." I may be wrong ; the ways of the 
 Lord are wonderful and inscrutable, but where I see many works that do not bear 
 the impress of Him, I cannot help keeping my " if." I would like to be all that you de- 
 sire, love — if I may take the license yet to call you love — but my first duty here is not 
 to you, and certainly you are not so narrow-minded as to think that all are utterly 
 lost who do not think as you and your father and Frank Donovan think on religious 
 matters. Look at this extract from a letter received to-day from a lady correspond- 
 ent : " If Catholics and Protestants will only unite, and not think it necessary to fight 
 over religious differences, Ireland would ere long be free and happy. Strange that 
 the children of one Father should hate one another (because they do not all see alike), 
 and anathematize one another. The one true religion consists in loving God and one 
 another, and in doing to othei'S what we would wish done to ourselves. This is the pat- 
 tern that our Master set us." Yes, that is the one true religion; but to be " reli- 
 gious" and act differently, is what I despise. Perhaps you take to heart my saying* 
 to you that, seeing the way priests in Ireland had treated me, I was satisfied to leave 
 myself in the hands of God. Perhaps you think there is no salvation for me without 
 begging from those who repudiate me for my love of country. It is not deemed irrev- 
 erent to give worldly illustrations in matters divine. The Government of England 
 sends a Lord Lieutenant to Ireland; that Lord Lieutenant imprisons me, yet when 
 you seek my release you apply not to him, but to those who sent him. The priests 
 excommunicate me. Granted, that they are the messengers of God : certainly all 
 God's power and mercy is not in their keeping, and though they, as the Lord's Lieu- 
 tenant, will not release me, the King can. Enough on this. 
 
 Saturday Morning. — I fell asleep last night at half-past ten, and did not wake till 
 half-past four this morning. 'Twas the best, the only sleep, I may say, I had since I 
 saw you. Can it be that such a letter as you think would trouble me, only calms me? 
 — selfish still you see ; not looking to your troubles, but to my own rest, and your giv 
 ing me your confidence contributes to this. 'Twas hard of you to leave me thinking 
 so long, that perhaps another blow was given to you in your father's death. If you 
 are dilatory any more, I will give you credit for attending to happier correspondents, 
 and I will banish you — from my dreams. But here it seems I am powerless, too, for 
 you took care to impress yourself too deeply in the mind. And I have strange dreams 
 about you sometimes. Only think that since I saw you I dreamt twice that you 
 we-e married and settled down in the North of Ireland : if I dream it a third time, I 
 don't know what will happen to ate. One thing in my dreams that I like is that I 
 
358 C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 find myself always faithful to you, and no seductions will woo me away from you 
 This must be the waking image appearing in sleep. I have my waking dreams about 
 you, too, and they are laden with more anguish. Twice lately— and the last occasion 
 was on Wednesday, when you were writing to me— I found myself exclaiming, " Oh, 
 Mollis," and I vowed a v 'WthatI would" banish 3-011, banish you," not think of you at 
 all this side of Christmas. But then you have imposed an obligation on me that 
 makes me think of you night and morning, and when I do kneel down a thought 
 comes into my head that brings you with it. I forgot once, but that was while you 
 were here. Ifoi-gotlast night, too, till it was ten o'clock. I can say the Lord's 
 prayer with as much fervor as you can, every word of it. Wouldn't that save me with 
 good works, if I could work them, and avoidance of injury or ill will to fellow mor- 
 tals? " Thy will he done " seems to me holier than to ask for anything which might 
 be against His will. I don't like that parable, where the widow is represented as be- 
 ing justified on account of the annoyance she gave the magistrate, and I will not 
 think of God's mercy m a parallel light. If suffering comes to me ftvm praying that 
 " Thy will be done," I can take it; and you, with more religion, ought too. Neither of 
 us like suffering. Christ, even, is represented as having prayed that His would pass 
 away from Him. Can it be expected that we can have a stronger manhood? God, St. 
 Austin says, " hat'i only one son without sin, none without a scourge. " Deus unicum 
 habet filium sine pecalo, nullum sine flagello." Socrates says if all humanity came 
 together to throw their ills in a heap, and then take share and share alike, none 
 would he satisfied ; and Addison has a paper showing the discontent of each after a sim- 
 ilar sharing— each anxious to tnrow away the new ill and pick up the one he w;is 
 used to. I don't know that you or I would have much reason to fear discomfort in 
 such a case. You say you could curse fame. Ah, that's all very fine. I could say it, 
 too ; but what we want is to be happy, and that is what no mortal ever got in this 
 world. If you and I had the fruition of our desires to-day, new ills would be engen- 
 dered. I would be no sooner outside the prison gate than other troubles would 
 assail me, and the realization of yours, without feelings of the eternal longing 
 of the soul for something— if nothing else, something imaginary— would be just 
 as impossible. I wish I had ten sheets to reply to your ten; I can't "expand" 
 here; the mind is imprisoned, too, and though it be shallow, no serene sun has 
 shone in our days to show you to the bottom of it. How I should like to take 
 you up in love and passion. What is love? rather where is it as you describe? 
 Yes, you may realize it in a father's or mother's love, but the love that sets 
 the world mad, where is it without passion ? 'Tis where the bee is without his 
 sting — in cold, icy death. And you told me once at Moore's you could love me with 
 this love. Where is it now, or were you only simulating, or is it now that you 
 find me worthy of opening your mind to me? That you married me to make " the 
 remnant of my life serene" for two, three or twelve months, also folds up a mystery. 
 What was in me ? What had I done for you that you should sacrifice yourself for me? 
 Well, I did love you — perhaps I had better add " passionately." I don't know do you 
 give me credit for that even, and I suppose nothing but pity — "for pity is akin to 
 love"— on your part, granted me your favors. Tho' you mightn't see it, I see much of 
 unity in our souls' depths. Here was I hunting my barren brain to get an illustration 
 for you to set your imaginary troubles at rest as to my thinking of dead loves, by ask- 
 ing you would your maternal love be divided by having another child, and all this 
 time you understood what I was hunting for in what you say as to your being able to 
 "marry one hundred husbands one at a time," and not wronging either by undeserved 
 coldness. Perhaps, after all, the feeling represented by this expression is only a com- 
 mon one to human nature — that widows and widowers dying un-remarried is only in 
 the order of old maids and bachelors dying unmarried for tne want of being satisfac- 
 torily mated. You believe that I would marry again if I trod the world and found you 
 dead or divorced? Well, now, don't be so sure of that. In the harvest of my years, 
 with the reaper perhaps sharpening his sickle for me, I would have no chance of im- 
 proving on you, and in the spirit of " Excelsior" I could not be happy in descending. 
 Then there being for me no " higher" — not even a parallel rung on the ladder, the prob- 
 ability is, nay the certainty is, that I would live the rest of my days a virgin. Unless, 
 indeed, that it was by divorce }^ou had been separated from me, and that fortune 
 offered me a chance by visiting you with the misfortune of making you a widow. 
 
 The lines below, beginning " My Love," were written a week ago. Then I got this 
 sheet to send you a copy of that stray letter — the Governor thought he could get the 
 original suppressed one for me, but up to yesterday it came not; and then I told him 
 I would use the paper to answer yours. As to our visit, I told him if it was to be a 
 private one I would have it, but if we could not talk without others being pres- 
 ent we could not talk on what we desired, and I would not ask you to come: he 
 said that any way he could not admit you without an order, that you should have to 
 apply to the "Directors. Do so and keep it — the ojder — by you. that you may be able at 
 
0^ Donovan Rosso) s Prison Life, 359 
 
 any time to take a run to see me, if the wish to see me should take possession of you at 
 anytime while giving your readings in England. I am to see Mr. Fagan, and will ask 
 him as to our being allowed to talk privately, as at the Commission, giving my parole 
 not to pass anything to you, and also as to writing that letter to Mr. Gladstone re- 
 ferred to below. But don't hope anything from it. I asked the Commissioners to 
 publish in their report that " Mrs. Moore letter," and the reply is that they will use 
 their own discretion. In that last letter, speaking of that railway occurrence— the 
 Waterford one— I told you what you tell me now, that I placed no trust in the honor 
 or virtue ot men, that my trust was in yourself, and that if my belief in Dr. Cullen's 
 politico-religious teaching was as strong as my belief in your ability and will to 
 maintain and defend your own honor and mine, he would not be thinking of hotter 
 hells for me. But the"Ennis affair, Mollis, was worse. Why will you blame me for be- 
 ing solicitous about you, your safeguards are all in yourself combined with the ele- 
 ments of the danger. It is a principal one to see that danger, and to recognize it as ever 
 present. "Virtue," Dr. Johnson says in his "Vanity of Human Wishes," grows dis- 
 tressed at scorn of danger, and scorn of her remonstrant calls," and 
 " Fired with contempt she quits the slippery rein, 
 
 And pride and prudence take her seat in vain, 
 
 In crowd at once where none the pass defend, 
 
 The harmless freedom an<l the private friend. 
 
 The guardians yield by force superior plied, 
 
 To interest prudence, and to flattery pride." 
 
 Get from some library Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy," and Henry Taylor's 
 "Notes on Life." Taylor says: " Great intellect, according to the ways of Provi- 
 dence, almost always brings with it great infirmities, and it is certainly exposed to 
 unusual temptations ; for, as power and pre-eminence lie before it, so ambition 
 attends, which, whilst it determines the will and strengthens the activities, inevitably 
 weakens the moral fabric." Even without the stimulant of self-love, some minds, 
 owing to a natural redundancy of activity and excess of facility, cannot be sufficiently 
 passive to be wise." If, however, a man of genius be fortunately free from ambition, 
 yet there is another enemy that will commonly lie in wait for his wisdom — to wit, 
 great capacity for enjoyment ; this generally accompanies geniuses, and is perhaps the 
 greatest of all trials to the moral and spiritual heart. It was a trial too severe even for 
 Solomon, " whose heart, though hrge, beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell to idols foul." 
 A great capacity of suffering belongs to genius also, and it has been observed that an 
 alternation of joyfulness and dejection is quite as characteristic of the person of 
 genius, as intensity in either kind." Sydney Smith says, "Wit is dangerous, elo- 
 quence is dangerous. Everything is dangerous that has efficacy and vigor for its 
 characteristics. Nothing is safe but mediocrity." I do not wonder at your finding 
 most relief when most distant from Chatham. The same thoughts culminate in me, 
 when I, in half joke and half earnest, speak the word "Divorce," granting that 
 Church, State, society, and yourself above all, would allow this. I do not think you 
 would be happy with another husband while I lived. Your ills might be only imagin- 
 ary, but they would be thorns, nevertheless. Suffering is what the world will 
 have from man and woman. Yours is intense ; and, if you would fly from it, 
 the world would not be charitable. I speak of this word because it would bring 
 more relief to me to see you so, honorably may I say, separated from me, than 
 to hear of your being forgetful of yourself or of me in the whirl of dangers that 
 surround you. As it is, I fear you do not escape the evil tongue. If they say you 
 are the cause of my giving evidence before this Commission, it is not true. Have 
 you not my letter "commanding" you to come? Your love for me is not what 
 I rely on for your safety ; nor your pride nor your religion either. I rely 
 on all together, and other elements, besides, embodied in yourself. Any one 
 alone would not assure me. Even in religion people fall. And even though forgive- 
 ness should follow in such a case, I could not feel easy with you if I had been unfaith- 
 ful. I should confess to you before I c >uld have full free happiness with you after. 
 Esteem for you, honor, self-respect, domesticity and "passionate" love, with other 
 things anart from religion, would go far with me to make me true to you, but I must 
 close. Read Bacon's essay on man being lightly dealt with, and woman being de- 
 nounced as infamous for love-slips, and his reasons why. I suppose in the matter of 
 esteem with you 1 have lost it, by showing myself to you so clearly lately. 
 
 Yours fondly, ROSSA. 
 
 My Love : The foregoing is an exact copy of that letter which went astray. The 
 Governor gave me the original suppressed one to re-write it. This day week you paid 
 me that running visit, and I am most anxious since, and most troubled fearing that 
 some other ills awaited you thro' your father's illness. I am dwelling on the worst ; 
 
360 O' 'Donovan JZossds Prison Life. 
 
 this is bad, but I cannot help it. You said you would write or telegraph, or be back 
 in a week — the week is past, and there is no news from you. If I could learn patience 
 regarding you, as I must and can learn it regarding much that concerns me, I would 
 be all right, but I am a bad scholar here, and I fear I can never improve. Do you 
 know what I did to-day? Well, I shut you up in a Nunnery ; I had a picture of you 
 fixed on my door, and I took it down and put it out of sight amongst my papers. I 
 don't know that that will improve matters, for the image impressed on the mind is 
 more life-like and cannot be so easily returned. Having my papers in hands I looked 
 for that letter of yours about the Commission — " Csesar aut nullus" when you spoke, 
 too, of being strong at last. Hike to read those things when I feel troubled about you, 
 but I found the letter was gone, so that you must have taken it amongst your papers 
 in mistake, as I meant to keep it. You will, however, send me something instead of it — 
 I don't know will you remember all you said you would send me, and all you said you 
 would write. I intended at our final interview to have given you my mind upon the 
 matter of }*our asking me to write what I wanted on paper so that you would submit 
 it to the Government after the Commission, but time did not permit. I have applied 
 for permission to write to Mr. Gladstone. If I am allowed to do so, I will ask him for 
 a copy of the report, and ask him for permission for you to visit me while you are 
 reading in England, say once every two months ; that you would take your English 
 rests at your Chatham lodgings and have liberty to visit me for a few days each time 
 sans ceremonie. A wife can visit a political prisoner in France upon showing her 
 marriage certificate, and if, as you think, there may be a desire to make a distinction 
 between us and other convicts, this may be granted ; but if not granted, why, we must 
 only make the most of it. I think very often of that fit of passion you got into about 
 my offer of divorce, or my manner of offering it, and I am asking myself could I have 
 possibly offered it in any way that would make it agreeable or acceptable to you? Tell 
 me, Love. You made me think of refractory cells, &c. If you could see into my 
 thoughts you would see very litle reason to think I meant to insult you, and if you 
 showed your mettle to all who would insult you, as you showed to me on this occasion, 
 you would be well able to protect yourself. If our future prison interviews are to be 
 in presence and hearing of officers, I do not see the use of your incurring expense by 
 . frequent visits. There is little use in my " looking at you " or you " looking at me," 
 when our mouths must be closed on the (non-political) personal matters that we de- 
 sire to talk most about. You can keep writing and be more communicative than for- 
 merly as to what happens. Never think that anyone is to see your letters but me, 
 or, if you must think differently, think that they are priests, who will not talk about 
 our exchange of confidences. The immense sum of money you must have spent since 
 you left America is saddening — spent to no purpose. You think of getting me out of 
 prison some time, and wouldn't you try to hoard up a trifle just to enable us to start 
 in the world, if fate would have it so. You say you will never live with me again as 
 we did live ; I do not blame you for that. Why I suggest this avaricious thought to 
 you is, that, having something in view, even making money tends to engage the mind, 
 and withold it from perhaps worse thoughts. You left in a very depressed state of 
 mind. All the " ambition," and " pride," and " individuality " of the first day wasgone 
 — gone entirely. Cannot you recover them now that we are separated. I was about 
 thinking when I heard you speak that you were a desperate case, and that even with 
 a fair field I'd have something to do to win the old place in your affections. But I 
 must close, and will do so by telling you to remember what you read to me one even- 
 ing out of your favorite author, viz: " That many women were disposed to excuse 
 improprieties, rudeness and impertinence, when the person puts his conduct to the 
 credit of his inability to resist the attractions of the lady." 
 
 Yours, ever fondly and faithfully, ROSSA. 
 
 Lest you would be jealous of my having a lady correspondent, I must tell you that 
 the lady I received the letter from is the Marchioness of Queensberry. It is a very 
 pretty letter. Let you acknowledge my receipt of it, and tell her that I am one with 
 her in the religious and political opinions expressed in it. I do not believe a word of 
 your saying you would never take the same amount of trouble for me or for any 
 other man again. Yours, Mollis, " CARISS." 
 
 P. S.— You might send me Shawn's letter and those other letters you promised 
 me, and keep writing to me once every two months, and avail of the chance of writing 
 a reply to this if it does not vex you terribly. I don't intend to vex you, tho' your 
 words being held together by a hair of your head, would, I suppose, convey that they 
 could be easily broken. I thought to ask you for that curl that hung in your fore- 
 head, but I forgot it. Send me that poem, if printed, that Imay see it; and if you give 
 readings, send scraps telling about them to the Governor. Do these things or get 
 them done. If I do not get them, let not the reason be that you did not give the 
 chance. Keep me " posted " as to yourself. 
 
 Yours, my poor woman, ever fondly and faithfully too, 
 
 I musn't call .you " Love " any more. ROSSA, 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE COMMISSION OF INQUIRY — LORD DEVON CHAIRMAN EXAMINATION 
 
 OF DIRECTORS, GOVERNORS, WARDERS AND PRISONERS OFFICIAL 
 
 FALSEHOODS MR. BRUCE, THE HON. SECRETARY OF STATE, A CON- 
 VICTED LIAR THE COMMISSIONERS AGREE IN THEIR REPORT, BUT 
 
 THE " DOCTORS DIFFER." 
 
 The Commissioners appointed to conduct the inquiry were Lord 
 Devon, George C. Broderick, Stephen E. De Vere, Doctor Robert 
 D. Lyons and Doctor E. Headlam Greenhow. They commenced 
 their sittings on the 24th of May and ended on the 20th of Septem- 
 ber. They held sixty-three meetings; eight of which were in 
 Chatham Prison. The fourth of July was their first day there, 
 and during the three previous days Halpin, McClure, Mulleda, 
 O'Connell and myself were kept from chapel, and kept in solitary 
 confinement lest we might avail of our ordinary intercourse to com- 
 bine in making up a case against the authorities. 
 
 I have their statements before me in a Blue Book, published by 
 the Queen's printers, Eyre & Spotteswood, London, 1870, and I will 
 leave a few words from each on record, to show that though they 
 were prisoners in the hands of a cold-blooded enemy, they were still 
 men, and fearless men at that, trying even in their bonds to uphold 
 the standard of the cause for which they suffered. General Halpin 
 writes : 
 
 " To the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the treatment of Treason Felons in 
 English Frisons : 
 
 " Chatham Prison, July 20, '72. 
 
 " Gentlemen: * * * From my knowledge of the capacity of some of the wit- 
 nesses that should, and very likely will, be examined b} r the Commissioners to make 
 false reports and lying statements in reference to the class of prisoners whose treat- 
 ment is to be inquired into, I have no hesitation in saying that such witnesses will not 
 tell the truth except under oath and through a strict cross-exam' nation. * * * * 
 
 " I did not irom the beginning believe that the Government would appoint a Com- 
 mission to prove its own public statements untrue, or that it could afford such an in- 
 vestigation as would unveil the facts and lay the official sores open to public view, 
 and 1 find the action of the State authorities, and the Commissioners since their ap- 
 pointment, justify this conclusion. First, the Commission is to be secret, and acting 
 in the dark, refusing not only the representatives of the press admission, but even 
 denying counsel to act on the part of the prisoner. Every artifice that cunning could 
 suggest has been resorted to to keep us in the dark, and keep us from even knowing 
 the cause of this inquiry. ******************* 
 
 " To comment on such acts would be a waste of time. The Commissioners give me 
 permission to wirte to my friends on the subject of the Commission. Mr. Bruce 
 takes that permission away. The Commissioners tell me I can have the assistance of 
 
362 0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 a friend in making up my statement. Mr. Bruce says I cannot. What a mockery ! w^at 
 a sham is this whitewashing Commission, appointed by the Home Secretary to cover 
 up his falsehoods and his frauds ! The orders of the Commission, as well as those 
 of the Home Secretary, are plainly meant for the public eye. They are intended to 
 deceive; they pretend to confer rights in public which are taken away in private. 
 Perfidy has lbng been the characteristic of England's rulers, and it appears they have 
 no intention of shaking it off. I am, gentlemen, respectfully, 
 
 WM. G. HALPIN." 
 
 John McClure, born in America, concludes in this manner : 
 
 " Gentlemen: * * * I feel compelled, injustice to myself, to decline to take a 
 part in the present proceedings, in consequence of experiencing a want of confidence 
 in the impartiality and completeness of the present investigation. I may, I think, 
 with propriety, add here, that a torturing and living death, with every circumstance 
 specially adapted to render life miserable, has been an alternative which the pubic 
 and my Government were led to believe was a singular act of clemency,when,inl867, 
 the Government of England awarded penal servitude for life in exchange for an un- 
 natural but sneedv death. 
 
 " I regret to be obliged to say that three years experience of this merciful alter- 
 native gives me every reason to view that apparent act of clemency in a totally differ- 
 ent light, and strongly inclines me to look upon a power that could thus torture me as 
 being 
 
 " Too ' merciful' in public gaze to take our lives away, 
 Too anxious here to plant in us the seed of life's decay." 
 
 " There has been a sad want of that magnanimity which is so much admired in, 
 and expected from, a generous and humane victor, towards a fallen adversary. To 
 treat me as if I had been guilty of some degrading or ignominious crime is hardly de- 
 SGrvGd. 
 
 " Such a proceedingbut degrades the power that can inflict on honorable men the 
 infamous punishments allotted to the thief and vile outcasts of society. 
 
 JOHN McCLUEE." 
 
 John Devoy says : 
 
 "Gentlemen: * * * Five years bitter experience, to say nothing of the record 
 of seven hundred more, have made me look with sucpicion on everything emanating 
 from the quarter in winch your Commission had its origin. * * * In conclusion, I 
 will say that I have never asked for an inquiry, because I believed that a complete and 
 impartial one would not be granted, and that if friends of mine, or of the other pris- 
 oners, did ask, it was for a public one." 
 
 Henry Shaw (Mulleda) says: 
 
 Gentlemen: * * * I — after calm, careful and deliberate consideration — came 
 to the conclusion that I could not, consistently with the duty which I owe to myself, 
 do otherwise than decline to make any statement. * * * I assure you that I am ac- 
 tuated solely by the conviction that, I should be but aiding and abetting a delusion in 
 acting otherwise, as I am convinced that nothing but a full, fair and public inquiry 
 will ever succeed in eliciting the whole truth.'' 
 
 When I look over the proceedings of the Commissioners at Port- 
 land Prison, I find the action taken by the prisoners there was some- 
 what similar to ours. All refused to have anything to do with 
 them. Governor Clifton is examined, and asked what each of the 
 prisoners said when he offered them paper to make statements. 
 
 Question Number 2209.— Lord Devon— What did; George Brown say ?— This prison- 
 er declined to take the paper I offered him, saying," " I do not want to say anything; 
 want nothing to do with it." 
 
 "2213. Did Luby make any statement? — He asked if the Earl of Devon was 
 
 the same nobleman who was on the Land Commission in Ireland. I said, ' I believe he 
 s the same nobleman,' when the prisoner replied that Dan O'Connell said at the time 
 r was like ajurv of butchers trying ;t sheep.' " 
 
 « 2216. D:d J -Uif O'Leary make an v statement? — He declined to receive any paper, 
 
 saving that they mi^ut have spared themselves all the trouble, as he did not intend to 
 make any statement." 
 
(J Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 363 
 
 " 2217.— Did Michael Sheehy mnke any statement? — The prisoner declined to re- 
 ceive any paper, and stated that while in British pens he would make no statement 
 ' I have been treated badly, and I have plenty of complaints to make. Dr. Blaker 
 knows the state of my health. If there are Irishmen coming over to sit on this Com- 
 mission, they are in the pay of the British Government.' " 
 
 " 2218. — Did Mortimer Shea aZias Mori arty make any statement? — This prisoner de- 
 clined to receive any paper, saying that he did not wish to have any connexion with 
 the Commission." 
 
 " 2219. — Did Edward St. Clair make any statement? — This prisoner declined to re- 
 ceive any paper, saying that he did not wish to have any connexion with the Commis- 
 sion."' 
 
 "2220. — Did John McCafferty say any thing? — McCafferty — this prisoner declined 
 to receive any paper, or to make any statement until he goes outside, when he will do 
 it upon oath. He further stated that he would not go before the Commission unless by 
 force." 
 
 "2223.— Did Patrick Walsh make any statement? — This prisoner declined to take any 
 paper, and when informed that he would not be sent out to work during the three days, 
 said, ' I wish they were going to stay away. If they are my countrymen, they are 
 humbugs '" 
 
 " 2227 At the same time that you asked the prisoners those questions to which 
 
 they gave the replies that you have now stated, were they singly brought before you? 
 They were, my lord." 
 
 The Commissioners do not seem at all satisfied with this state of 
 things, and sending for John O'Leary, the Chairman asks him : 
 
 " 2542. — Do you wish to make a statement to the Commission ? — Yes, I wish to say 
 I asked for no Commission, I wished for no Commission, and, when I heard some time 
 ago that some Commissioners were appointed I fully made up my mind to make no 
 statement of grievances to any body of men that would be sent down ; and as to 
 anything that I have to say about my treatment in prison, whataver I do say, I in- 
 tend f o take my own time and place for saying. ********* It would 
 seem that what you want to know is, whether we have been subject to any hard- 
 ships except those incident to persons sentenced to penal servitude. I may com- 
 plain that we have been treated no worse than murderers and thieves. It appears 
 to me that it is at least an exceedingly consistent proceeding on the part of the au- 
 thor of the celebrated letters to Lord Aberdeen to be sent down here." 
 
 " 2544. — Do you wish to make any statement on those points? — No, not to you ; not 
 that you should for a moment be under any delusion of my having more serious 
 reason. You must, in fact, take us to be an extraordinary humble-minded class of 
 men, to think we would make complaints." 
 
 " 2551. — It appears to me, to ask a person of my political principles whether 1 got 
 punished, would be like an Oliver Twist kind of business — asking for more porridge." 
 
 At the Invalid Convict Prison, in Woking, Denis Dowling Mulcahy has a long ar- 
 gument with the Commissioners. He requires all the conditions that are necessary 
 to a fair and impartial inquiry, and, failing to get them, he refuses to go into his case. 
 
 "6489. — Did I understand your lordship to say that the report of Messrs. Pollock 
 & Knox would not be allowed ? 
 
 " 6490. — It will not. — Well, my lord, I must say that I think that a very important 
 document, for if I gave certain evidence 1o them which they have suppressed; I 
 should think it very important and requisite to understand that." 
 
 " 6491. — That is no part of our inquiry. — But I have learned from my friends that 
 that report has been made use of repeatedly by the Home Secretary. I wish to show 
 that I have stated many important matters to those Commissioners that were not 
 stated in that report, and that report was used as evidence against us to prove that 
 we were untruthful." 
 
 " 6493. — We cannot go into that. — Very good, my lord." 
 
 "6494. — But you can go into anything that you think material in the absence of 
 that report. — Yes, but if f had the report of Messrs. Pollock & Knox, I could show that 
 I stated to them two or three very important facts with regard to the bread and 
 water, and the haemoptysis, and being sent to Dartmoor when it was Known, as I can 
 show from the very documents [ have here now, which have come from the prison 
 books, and which are the most meagre abstracts that they could make, that while I 
 suffered from haemoptysis I was sent to the quarries." 
 
 "8209. — Chairman— I think J must tell you, Mulcahy, that you have received all 
 the papers which, under the sanction of superior authority, it is decided are to be 
 given to you.— Very good, my lord; I consider that insufficient to prove the charges, 
 
364 O'* Donovan Rossa?§ Prison Life. 
 
 and that the powers of the Commission are too limited to enable me to substantiate 
 my case." 
 
 I myself had a long statement for the Commissioners. I will not reproduce the 
 whole or it here, as it would be only repeating many things 1 have previously stated. 
 In its preparation I took good care not to make any complaints regarding anything I 
 suffered. One of the objects of the Commission was to inquire if we were treated 
 " exceptionally," and I laid points and particulars of the treatment before them, leav- 
 ing them to judge whether or not my examination thereon was pertinent to their 
 business. If it was, I was their humble servant ; if it was not, I had nothing to say. 
 
 This is how I met them: 
 
 " To the Commissioners op Inquiry : 
 
 " Quod tibi fieri non vis alteri nefeceris." 
 
 Chatham Prison, June 30, '70. 
 
 Gentlemen: If you were prisoners in France, under Napoleon the Third, as you 
 might be if William the Conqueror and his successors had ruled England from France, 
 instead of becoming English, and if you had been treated as I have been, and had 
 been somewhat misrepresented and belied; and, after having had experience of one 
 Commission of Inquiry being asham, if you learned that another was coming on, you 
 would be able to understand why I commence with the above quotation. 
 
 Taking it for granted that you may be determined to elicit the whole truth, I have 
 reasons to fear you cannot succeed, and here is one x>f them: I was thirty -five con- 
 secutive days in this prison with my hands tied behind my back. I have reason to 
 believe that this putting of me in irons was by order of the Board of Directors. 
 Well, the story one way or another gets into the world; and though it is in accord- 
 ance with prison " discipline," the Government deem it proper to contradict it, and 
 the Board of Directors who ordered the punishment, do actually, through one of their 
 own body, hold an inquiry at this prison to prove that no such punishment took place. 
 * * * Mr. Gladstone is at the head of the English Government at present. He is a 
 writer as well as a statesman, and, if my memory serves me right, he has in some 
 book written that in any nation or institution where publicity is guarded against and 
 secrecy provided for, abuses must necessarily exist. 
 
 My letters are suppressed because I speak of my treatment, and the British Gov- 
 ernment defame my character by saying that it is because I have told lies in them. 
 I have asked you to call for those leters to question me on them, and I hope you will 
 do so. 
 
 " Crimine ab uno disce omnes." 
 
 Mr. Gladstone, in speaking of the treatment of prisoners at Naples, writes these 
 words : but where is the man coming to see an English prison.can speak to an English 
 prisoner and ask him for information as to the treatment? That man is not to be found. 
 The visitor will find everything in the nicest apple-pie order, and, as Mr. Gladstone saw 
 in Naples, he will see excellent rules and regulations hung up in every corner; he will 
 see a Bible in every cell, even in the one where the victim is chained and being 
 starved; and if he comes on a Sunday he will see 1,500 men parading for chapel, 
 each with a Bible and prayer-book exposed to view. What wonder if he says to him- 
 self, "Oh! this is the paradise of saints ;" but he little knows the curses that are 
 burning, the hell that is seething under this phylactery face which discipline makes 
 her votaries assume, at the peril of losing their daily bread. If it be a digression to 
 speak here of what does not tend to the reformation of these English children of mis- 
 fortune, I will, for an excuse, again borrow the words of another, and say, " Homo 
 sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto." 
 
 I do not see any rule which authorizes discipline to deprive a man of the use of 
 the Bible for six months, and yet this sentence was passed on me. 
 
 I do not see anything in the rules to warrant the authorities stripping me naked 
 once a day for three or four months, and yet discipline does it. 
 
 I also fail to see any rule that obliges me to bathe in water in which other men 
 had bathed and washed, and this I had to do often. 
 
 When I applied to the Director, Captain Gambier, for a sufficiency of coarse bread, 
 and remarked that that was what England would not refuse as a right to the State 
 prisoner of any other country, he refused it, with the observation that " England has 
 no State prisoners now-a-days." England may not like to have the odium that 
 attaches to any country having State prisoners, and she may try to get rid of it by 
 labelling us as thieves and murderers. She would have her vengeance and her 
 Christian character at the same time, and she hopes you will assist ber. I can only 
 hope you will be just. 
 
 As to exceptional treatment, might I not ask, how is it explained that I have been 
 separated from the rest of the Irish prisoners and sent to Chatham, under the oir- 
 
0' Donovan Mossa's Prison Life. 365 
 
 cumstances I state ? How is it explained that in Portland I have been separated from 
 the Irish prisoners and sent among a gang of English prisoners? How is it explained 
 that, while in Portland, the restof the treason-felony prisoners working in mid-winter 
 in a shed, I was placed outside the shed, and prevented from having that little shel- 
 ter from the poison-laden blast which the others had? How is it explained that, 
 when under " report" the same day with some of my fellow-prisoners, on a charge of 
 talking while at work, they got twenty-four hours on bread and water, and I got 
 seventy -two hours on bread, with fourteen days' solitary confinement on penal class- 
 diet? ******* I remain, gentlemen, yours respectfully, 
 
 JER. O'DONOVAN" EOSSA. 
 
 Mr. William Pitt Butts, Governor of Chatham Prison, recalled : 
 
 6589. — Chairman — Have you a communication to make, Mr. Butts? — Yes, my 
 lord. Rossa has just written that, and sends it to vou. 
 6590. — The Chairman read the following letter : 
 
 " To the Commissioners of Inquiry : 
 
 " Chatham Prison, July 19th, 1870. 
 
 "Gentlemen: The Secretary of State knows that since you were here I applied 
 for a copy of Messrs. Knox and" Pollock's report, and he leaves my application unat- 
 tended to as yet. I have been shown by my wife an official statement emanating from 
 that honorable gentleman, and I very reluctantly say there is something wrong in 
 every paragraph of it. He says my letters to my wife were suppressed because they 
 contained falsehoods. I present to you six of these letters ; I undertake to show you 
 they do not contain a single falsehood; and, with all due respect, I ask you to invite 
 the Secretary of State to be present. Isubmit to you four or five printed letters- 
 printed as from me. I write my name on each, to acknowledge the authorship, and I 
 undertake to show you that they contain no falsehood. 
 
 " I remain, gentlemen, vours verv obediently, 
 
 " JER. 0"DONO VAN^ ROSSA. 
 
 " P. S.— I desire that all witnesses at the inquiry be examined on oath." 
 
 7067. — Chairman— You stated, just now, that three letters written by the pris- 
 oner, Hdpin, to Mr. Motley, Mr. J. F. O'Donnell and Mr. Callan, were suppressed by 
 order of Secretary of State? — They were, my lord. 
 
 7068.— Are you in possession of the Secretary of State's letter announcing that 
 they were to be suppressed ? — I am. 
 
 Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa examined : 
 
 4901.— Chairman— We are a Commission, I should explain to you, appointed by 
 Government, but entirely independent of the Government, for the purpose of inquir- 
 ing into the treatment of yourself and the other prisoners under the treason-fel<>ny 
 act, at present confined in prisons in England. I had better name for you the Com- 
 missioners first: Thisis Dr. Greenhow; this is Mr. De Vere; this is Dr. Lyons; this 
 is Mr. Brodenck, and I am the Chairman, Lord Devon. Our object is to receive, in 
 the fullest and freest way, from any one of the prisoners into whose case we are going 
 to inquire, any statement, orally or in writing, or both, which you may wish to sub- 
 mit. The statement will be made to us in a private room, and out of the hearing of 
 any person connected with the prison, and, whatever the statement may be, it will 
 in no way prejudice the future position of the prisoner as regards the prison in 
 which he is. He will be none the worse for it in any way. 
 
 4907 Do you wish to defer your examination until you have an opportunity of 
 
 conferring with your wife, or other friends, to aid vou in preparing your statement, 
 written or oral, to be laid before this Commission?— Well, I have written something, 
 and I am prepared to give it up to you ; and I do not know whether it would be too 
 much delay, but if you would look over it I then would be prepared to answer any 
 questions you put to me, and be ready, when you come again, to be examined fur- 
 ther. 
 
 4913— But we think it would be better now not to enter on your examination. 
 If you, after seeing your wife, wish to make a suppl3mentary statement, it can be put 
 in an envelope and handed to the Governor, who will hand it to us.— I have no objec- 
 tion, my lord, he should get a copy to send to the Director, or Secretary of State, or 
 any others you wish. 
 
 4914 Your examination being deferred to the 19th, is there any matter that 
 
 vou wish to state to us now before you w thd~:iw ? -Well, my lord, you said that any- 
 thing I would say would not prejudice me in tuture. 
 
366 0^ Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 
 
 4915. — No.— Well, I have some experience of prison life, and I do not know how-^ 
 though you may be very much inclined to protect me — how you could, if the author, 
 ities desired to keep punishing me ; for they can get thousands of excuses to pu»- 
 ish me and say that it is a breach of discipline ; and I do not know how you would be 
 able to learn it, or become aware of it. 
 
 4929. — Dr. Lyons — Is it your impression that you were punished with bread and 
 water in consequence of having given evidence before Messrs. Knox and Pollock? — 1 
 could not say, Dr. Lyons. 
 
 4931. — Mr. Broderick — You were actually placed on bread and water in a dark 
 cell ? — Yes, in a darkened cell ; not entirely dark. On those gentlemen coming to 
 make inquiry, they said to me, "We have nothing whatever to do with prison disci- 
 pline." And when I was laying before them the matters that concerned me, they 
 said, "That comes under prison discipline, and we have nothing to do with it." 
 Coming to make an inquiry under such circumstances does not appear honest. 
 
 Captain Stopford was one of the Prison Directors, and when the chaining of me 
 for thirty-five days was questioned, he was sent down to Chatham to doctor up a re- 
 port for the Secretary of State. He got the very men who tied me day after day to 
 deny having done so. 
 
 He says : " The books are examined, and 1 find only one entry of the prisoner 
 being handcuffed behind, and that was on the 17th of June, 1868." 
 
 Lord Devon, examining me, asks : 
 
 Question No. 7155. — Having read that, and observed what was stated there, do you 
 still remain of opinion, and are you prepared to tell us that it was for thirty-five 
 days? — Yes, my lord. 
 
 7156. — Mr. De Vere — And that those days were following one another? — Yes, Mr. 
 De Vere. 
 
 7157. — Dr. Lyons — Why do you remember so distinctly that the number of days 
 was thirty -five? — I fixed them in my memory at the time, and the suffering that I en- 
 dured, and the cuts on my hands and everything made a very vivid impression on my 
 memory ; and, my lord, at the expiration of those thirty -five days, twenty-eight days 
 bread and water commenced. The date of the commencement of the bread and water 
 must be in the prison bonks, and from the time I committed the offence until I got the 
 bread and water, until the Directer's order was read for my punishment, I was in 
 irons all the time. 
 
 7158. — After the thirty-five days you were put on bread and water ? — Yes, Mr. 
 Lyon^. 
 
 7183. — Whom else do you refer to?— Another day I distinct!}' recollect Father 
 O'Sullivan coming in, and from the blood that had trickled from the marks on my 
 wrists, I had written on the door, " Might I not cry out ' blood for blood.' " 
 
 7197. — Did you suffer much from the cuts or scrapes? — No; they did not fester. 
 I did not care much for cuts ; only the animus that I thought was displayed in treat- 
 ing me so. 
 
 7220. — Mr. Broderick — I see that you say in the latter part of your statement that 
 shortly before this offence was committed, the Governor came to you in your cell, and 
 on your refusing to salute him, that he used the expression, " I treat you with con- 
 tempt ! " — That was not in the cell, sir. I was summoned; I was taken before him 
 for refusing to salute him. 
 
 7222. — What passed upon that occasion when you were taken before him on this 
 charge? — I said that I did not mean to be disrespectful towards him, or any officer of 
 the prison, but that I could not conscientiously be paying salaams to authorities that 
 were assassinating me. 
 
 7223. — Chairman — That you would not pay salaams to authorities that were 
 assassinating you? — Yes, to authorities that were assassinating me. I used the word 
 " assassinating." At the same time, I said it was not through disrespect to him, and 
 he said, " I treat you with contempt ! " 
 
 7224. — Mr. Broderick — You are quite sure that he used the expression, " I treat 
 you with contempt?" — I nm quite sure he did. 
 
 7226.— Mr. Broderick — What happened after that? — I thought he would treat me 
 with contempt, as he sa;d, but he came after that to my cell, and I just remained in 
 the same position. Whatever position I was in when be came I remained in it, and 
 for doing so I was again ciied before h m for highly insubordinate conduct and treat- 
 ing him with disrespect, and he gnve me two days' bread and water for that, after 
 saying he would treat me with contempt. That was not treating me with contempt. 
 So when the officers cnme agnin and chIW on me to salute the Governor, I committed 
 the offence that is stated. 
 
 7227.— Had the officers, before you committed that offence, used violence to bring 
 
0'*Do7iovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 367 
 
 your hands into the attitude of " attention?" Had they attempted to make you use 
 the salaam? — Yes, they had; three of them, before the Governor in his office. 
 
 7230.— Chairman— What did the officers do?— One of the officers, Allison, came 
 behind me and caught me ; another officer came to this hand, and another to this 
 hand, and kept them down. I went to the Governor and first stood this way (standing 
 upright) before him, and that was " highly eon'.umacious." 
 
 7247. — When Captain Du Cane came to the prison during that Hme, as you inform 
 us that he did, did you not appeal to him against that sentence? — I d:d not, sir; oh, 
 no, I did not; I knew I had committed the offence, and I took the punishment without 
 making any appeal against it. 
 
 7248. — Do you remember on what account it was that you did come before him 
 on that occasion? — I came before him. I was charged with this offence. He read out 
 the offence for me, and he asked me what I had to say. I said I had nothing to say; 
 that I committed it. " Well," says he, " It is getting worse, instead of better, you are. 
 It is very brutal conduct." " It is just a reflex," said I, " of the treatment I received." 
 I was sent back to my cell. 
 
 7250. — And you never expressed a wish to petition the Secretary of State on the 
 subject? — No, sir. 
 
 7268. — Between the day when you threwthe water in the Governor's face, and 
 the day that you saw Captain Du Cane — which I see was the first of July — d:d you 
 ever refuse to put on 3-our jacket? — Yes. 
 
 7269. — Did you on several occasions refuse to do so ? — Yes. 
 
 7270. — Did you tell the warder that he might do it himself ?— Yes : " You can put 
 it on, officer." I felt uneasy with the jacket on, and wanted to keep it off. I said, 
 "You can put it on if you wish ; 1 have more freedom without it." 
 
 7271. — That occurred four days. 1 the 24th of June .you refused to put on your 
 jacket, and you did the same on the 25th, 26th, 27th and 29th of June, according to 
 this record? — That wiil corroborate that I had the irons on those days. 
 
 7282. — Are you quite sure that j ou were in irons during thirty -five days ? — I am 
 quite sure. 
 
 7283. — How do you know that it was thirty-five daj T s ? — I counted every day of 
 them at the time, and they fixed themselves in my memory. 
 
 7284. — Are you quite sure that during the whole of that thirty-five days you were 
 on light-labor diet? — Yes, sir, I am. 
 
 7285 — You think your memory does not deceive you about it ? — Not in the least. 
 
 7286. — And during those twenty-eight days that you were on bread and water you 
 were not in irons at all ? — N«>, sir. 
 
 7295. — At the end of the thirty-five days during which you were handcuffed you 
 say that you were again handcuffed for two days additional ? — Yes, sir. 
 
 7296— With heavy irons ?— Yes. 
 
 7305. — When the handcuffs were put on you, were you perfectly quiet? — I was 
 perfectly quiet. 
 
 7306. — You never resisted? — I never resisted. 
 
 7307. — You allowed them to be put on and you were perfectly quiet? — I was per- 
 fectly quiet, and I allowed them to handle me in any way they pleased. 
 
 7308 — But you did refuse to put on your jacket on several occasions? — Yes, 
 that is so. 
 
 7311. — It was within your cell you usually refused to put on the jacket? 
 
 Within my cell. 
 
 7312. — On all occasions? — Yes; except I might meet the officer at the door, and I 
 would perhaps just saylielt better without it, that the weather was warm, and he 
 could put it on if he liked, and if he wished to put it on I would let him put it on. 
 
 7320. — When you were brought before Captain Du Cane did you tell him how long 
 you had been handcuffed? — I did not, sir. 
 
 (Mr. Butts and Principal Warder King here brought in handcuffs.) 
 
 7330. — Chairman — Rossa, look at those handcuffs, and see which of those kind of 
 handcuffs was put on you. Are those all the patterns of handcuffs used in the prison \ 
 Mr. Butts — Yes, my lord. Prisoner — These are the kind that were on me thiriy five 
 days. 
 
 (Principal Warder King puts the handcuffs indicated by the prisoner on Dr. 
 Lyons, with the hands in front.) 
 
 7331 — Chairman — Now, Rossa, show how it was that your wrist was wound- 
 ed? — Prisoner — If he pressed the spring this way it would catch, but if he pressed it. 
 this way it would not catch. If he made the pressure below it would not be fair. 
 
 7332. — Dr. Lyons— If, in closing the spring, he held up the hand? — Yes, it would 
 oaten then. 
 
368 0^ Donovan BosscCs Prison Life. 
 
 7333.- -Did I understand you to say that you were obliged to take off your jacket 
 while you had the handcuffs on ? — No, certainly not. 
 
 7334 — Dk. Lyons (with irons on his wrists, pours water into a glass and drinks 
 it.) Prisoner — Yes, you could eat and drink with the handcuffs in front comfortably 
 enough. 
 
 (The handcuffs were taken off and put on again with the hands behind.) 
 
 7336. — Dr. Lyons — For how many consecutive hours were you manacled with 
 your hands behind your back? — From between six and seven hours in the morning — 
 that is, from half-past five to twelve o'clock — and from about half-past twelve or a 
 quarter past one to about a quarter-past seven in the evening. That was something 
 about thirteen hours. 
 
 7337. — Did you find it excessively fatiguing, or painful, or very distressing? — Oh, 
 certainly, sir. 
 
 7344. — Chairman — Now, I ask you, O'Donovan Rossa, whether your punishment 
 during the period of thirty-fve days that you were under report was more severe or 
 less severe than the punishment that you had to undergo after your sentence? — 
 Well, it was as severe ; it was more physically severe, but I did not feel the hunger 
 that I felt in the twenty-eight days bread and water. 
 
 (The Commission deliberated for some time.) 
 
 7350. — Dr. Greenhow — Rossa, after being handcuffed and put uponpunishment diet 
 for twenty-eight days, you were placed for six months in penal class? — Yes, penal 
 class diet commenced — a punishment of six months — but I was released from that pun- 
 ishment about t he second of October, I think. 
 
 7352. — Dr. Lyons — Can you remember distinctly what your sensations were when 
 you were putonthebread-and-water punishment? — Onthefirstday that you were put 
 oathe bread-and-water diet what were your sensations as to hunger or otherwise? — 
 Oh, I felt so hungry that I began to think of books that I read in my youth about men 
 bfing pushed into places and eating rats and mice, and I recollect well the feeling I 
 had in youth about men eating those things. I thought men could not do it. But I 
 thought then that I could do it myself. 
 
 7353. — Was that the sensaiion you experienced the firstday? — Oh, not the first day, 
 but often while I was in prison. 
 
 7832 (Referring to the Mrs. Mnore letter.) — Are you positive that the Governor 
 used the word "intrigue," in speaking to you of this matter? — Yes, I am positive. 
 
 7841. — You did not show him the words " for Mrs. O'D.," on the first occasion ? — 
 No, he did not show me the letter on the first occasion — he did not show me the 
 letter at all ; but he used these words to me, " It was only yesterday that I saw for 
 Mrs. O'D., in small writing. That I believe was only a subterfuge. I told the Secre- 
 tary of State so. and 1 told the Board of Directors so. I said "you told them what was 
 false." 
 
 7842. — Mr. De Vere. — Is it your wish now to state to this Commission, in as sol- 
 emn a way as you can do it, without the sanction of an oath, that the letter now re 
 ferred to was written for and intended for your wife, and for no other person what- 
 ever? — Yes, sir. I state that solemnly, and I will swear it if you desire. 
 
 7848. — What do you wish to have done in regard to this matter, when you state 
 that you bring the matter before us with the view of our doing justice to you? — If 
 what the Governor told me is on record in any official place ; if he wrote to the Secre- 
 tary of State or the Board of Directors that he believed the letter was for Moore's 
 wife, I wish to have that destroyed, wherever that paper is, or any official record of it. 
 
 7849. — You wish to have it destroyed? — Yes. 
 
 7850. — Supposing that that cannot be done, what else do you wish? — I do not know 
 what else can be done. A man does not know what happens after he is dead and 
 gone ; but we all know this, that State paper offices are ransacked and matters looked 
 upon, and in twenty or fifty years' time this may come forward to defame my name, or 
 be brought against my children. 
 
 7853.— If it was intended to go to your wife, why was it not addressed to her at 
 once?— My wife was at the time, my lord, connected with the "Prisoner's" Fund Com- 
 mit tee f ir relieving families of prisoners, and I calculated that the letter to my wife 
 would be stopped in the Dublin post-office, her name being more remarkable; and 
 Moore gave me the address of his mother. I asked him the address of his mother, 
 because he told me previously that his mother used to go to my wife to get some of 
 this money weekly from her. 
 
 7885.— Chairman— You state that with the distinct intimation that we shall go into 
 this matter at Portland, so that any statement you make will be tested by examina- 
 tion ?— I desired to be brought before Mr. Clifton in the presence of Messrs. Knox and 
 
O ^ Donovan Bossa's Prison Life, 369 
 
 Pollock, but they told me that they could not do that, and they also told me that he 
 and his officers contradicted all that I said. 
 
 7868. — Did not Mr. Clifton on a subsequent occasion use this expression to you, 
 that he " could not be sending your love-letters to your wife ?" — He did, sir. 
 
 7869. — Was that in reference to this former affair or not? — No, sir ; it was in refer- 
 ence to aletter or words that I had written on a slate for him to copy. He told me 
 that he would do this in consequence of a letter he received from my wife, asking per- 
 mission for me to write to her, answering some questions. I wrote these words on a 
 slate, and sent the slate to Mr. Clifton, and in about a month after, I asked him about 
 the matter, and he said " I could not be writing your love-letters to your wife." 
 
 7871. — Chairman— Wiry did you write on a slate? — Paper was not allowed, my 
 lord. I was not due for a letter. 
 
 7875. — Dr. Lyons— Do you, after hearing what Cranston stated about your being 
 manacled on the 16th of June, adhere to your statement that it was on the 17th it 
 commenced ? — I do, sir. 
 
 7877. — Dr. Greenhow— Each day when you went out to exercise, your hands were 
 tied behind your back? — Yes, sir. I expected officer Goad would give fair evidence on 
 the matter, being a religious man. One day he was tying my hands behind, and he 
 must have noticed the cut, for he said, "I will not hurt you." "I do not mind," 
 said I, " so long as a man does not intend it." 
 
 7983. — Have you suffered from any deficiency of clothing from that time till 
 now? — I ha ?e in Portland ; I felt so cold at one time that it induced me to leave off 
 work and go into the cell one morning. 
 
 7984. — Were you then employed in the quarry work at Portland ? — I was, sir, and 
 my hands got sore — they got yellowish, the skin got whitish and then broke out. 
 
 7985. — Do you know what chilblains are? — Well, I never had anything like these be- 
 fore ; never had chilblains, but in three or four places the flesh just melted out. 
 
 7986. — Did the doctor treat you for it?— I showed them to him in Portland. I asked 
 him for inside work, and he said my hands were not bad enough yet. 
 
 7987. — Dr. Lyons— He said what? — He said my hands were not bad enough yet to 
 give me inside work. 
 
 7991. — Dr. Lyons — What kind of gloves did you get?— They had no fingers. They 
 fit on the hand like a bag. They call them " gloves." I was treated for the hands in 
 Millbank, after leaving Portland. They kept sore for a few months up to May. I got 
 ointment from the doctor in Millbank for them. 
 
 8030. — Dr. Lyons. — Do I understand that you wish to send for Mr. McCarthy Down- 
 ing? — My wife showed me a copy of some correspondence he had with the Secretary 
 of State. If both attend, I would wish it. 
 
 8031 — Dr. Greenhow — Both of whom ?— Both Mr. Downing and the Secretary of 
 State, on the treatment and the inaccuracy of the statement Mr. Bruce made in Parlia- 
 ment. Mr. Downing has written to him, saying he called to this prison and made a kind 
 of examination among the prison officials. 
 
 The Commission deliberated. 
 
 8032. — Chairman — We are come here, O'Donovan Rossa, to receive any evidence 
 which you or any person in your position may wish to render. If you wish to have Mr. 
 McCarthy Downing examined, you can tell him so, and he can offer himself if he likes to 
 do so, but the Commission do not see any reason for calling him? — Well, my lord, I 
 will abide by the decision of the Commission. ******** 
 
 8741. — Chairman — Then your point is this, that Mr. Fagan granted you a visit 
 
 from your wife on the 14th of June, and you wish to know why she did not come ? 
 
 She told me why she did not come. I will ask another question, my lord. Did I un- 
 derstand from your lordship or any gentleman of the Commission, the first day of your 
 coming here, that you told me or told any of the prisoners that any person they 
 would have to assist them during the Commission would be allowed to them every day 
 during the Commission ? 
 
 8742. — No. We told you that assistance might be given by a friend before the 
 Commission commenced the examination, but not afterwards. — I was speaking to other 
 prisoners about my wife not being allowed to come, and Halpin told me that he dis- 
 tinctly recollected Mr. Lyons telling him so. 
 
 8743. — Chairman — No, we did not do that. We came to the conclusion, which we 
 communicated to the prisoners, that as soon as the examination of a prisoner com- 
 menced, his intercourse with friends ceased. — Of course, my lord, I am in a very 
 helpless position. It is very hard I cannot have a person to speak to. 
 
 8744. — We have decided that.— I will not press it, my lord. On Thursday evening I 
 asked you about a witness named Douglas. 
 
 8747. — Do you know where the man Douglas is? — My wife knows where his wife 
 te. I understand he is in Scotland. 
 
370 CP Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 8748. — He is no longer in the service? — No, my lord. I was just thinking that 
 even though you have evidence enough to satisfy you that I was telling you the 
 
 truth, still, he has one passage in his letter 
 
 9748. — I may tell you at once that, as regards the length of time you were under 
 handcuffs, we have entries in the prison books to show that you were handcuffed. 
 They do not say whether you were handcuffed behind or before, but that you were 
 handcuffed for thirty-four days, one after another, with intermissions, therefore you 
 need bring no proof of that. — But the handcuffs behind, my lord? 
 
 8750 — If you wish to support tbat allegation you will bring witnesses. 
 8751. — DrI Lyons — Are you still positive about, that, that every day you were 
 handcuffed with your hands behind your back? — Positive. 
 
 8752. — Chairman — You must bring evidence if you wish to support that allega- 
 tion?— I do wish to support that allegation, my lord. 
 
 8780. — Dr. Lyons — I see entered here: " Monday, 1st of June, 1868, 9549, J. O'D. 
 Rossa, three days' punishment diet 1 ? — Yes, itcommenced that day, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 87S2. — Dr. Greenhow — Why were you put on punishment that day? — I refused to 
 work with the prisoners outside, after seeing the unpleasant life I led with them and 
 the position in which I was. 
 
 8783. — Dr. Lyons — You got three days' bread and water because you refused to 
 work outside ? — Yes. 
 
 8786. — Dr. Lyons — On the expiration of those three days, were you again put on 
 punishment diet ? — Yes, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 8787. — When? — The 5th of June. After the three days expired then one day in- 
 tervened, and I was on report for the next day. During the time that I was under bread 
 and water I refused to salute the Governor. I desired to be left quietly in my cell to 
 take my punishment. I was punished for highly insubordinate conduct; that is the 
 insubordinate conduct, refusing to salute the Governor. 
 
 8788. — Is that what you call the salaam? — That is what I call the salaam. 
 8789. — Commencing when? — The 5th. I have the date here, Mr. Lyons. 
 8790. — Dr. Greenhow — What words did you use that day, when you behaved in 
 this offensive manner, as alleged? — I cannot recollect, sir, what words I used; but I 
 recollect using the words before him in the adjudication room about assassination. 
 8791. — Dr. Lyons — On the 5th of June I find "J. O'D. Kossa placed in dark cell, 
 by order of the Governor, at 7 p. m. on the 4th inst.?" — On the 4th. 
 
 8794. — On the 5th there is, I And, a further entry: "J. O'D. Rossa, three days' 
 penal diet." Is that the case? — -That is the case ; yes. 
 8795.— That is the case ?— Yes. 
 
 8796. — When again were you put under punishment diet? — June the 9th is the 
 next. 
 
 8797. — That period, of course, would end on the 8th ? — Yes ; and then a day inter- 
 vening to have me under report. 
 
 8798. — I find that you were twice reported on the 8th ? — What is the second re- 
 port, Mr. Lyons? 
 
 8799. — the first report states, " Reported by Warder Brown, for highly insubordi- 
 nate and disrespectful conduct towards Captain Powell, on the morning of the 5th of 
 June." Also reported again for " highly insubordinate conduct towards Captain 
 Powell, at 7 p. m., in the renal cells, he being under punishment for a previous of- 
 tence?"— Well, my lord, I w uld wish that whenever you examine the officers as to 
 my violence, whenever they speak of it, that you would ask what are the particular 
 acts of violence that were committed. 
 8800 — Chairman — Tt'at we will do. 
 
 8801 — Dr. Lyons — I find on Tuesday, the 9th of June, " J. O'D. Rossa removed to 
 dark cell, by order of the Governor," apparently at twelve o'clock in the day ? — Yes; 
 I was for five or six days in the dark cell that time. 
 
 8802. — I find on the same day the entry, " J. O'D. Rossa, two days' pena. diet." Is 
 that correct? — That is correct, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 8803. — Wnen next were you put on penal diet? — Have you the 12th, sir; the 
 12th <f June? 
 
 8804. — I find that on the 11th you were " reported by Warder Brown for de 
 facing the cell by writing on it, about 9.30 p. m. on the 9th; also insubordinate 
 conduct to Captain Powell, the 10th, he being under punishment in the dark «-eli 
 for a previous offence." Is that correct? — It is correct that I did not salute him un 
 der those cruem^tances. That is all I evei did. 
 
 8805. — I find also, on the 11th of June, " J. O'D. Rossa, 12.15, released from the 
 dark cell tins day, by order of the Governor." Is that correct? — I cannot, Mr. L\ •! - 
 recollect the particular dales 
 
 8806.— Then I find on tie 12th, "J. O'D. Rossa reported by Assistant Warder 
 Cranston for refusing to leave his cell when under report, to go before the Governor, 
 
O' * Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 371 
 
 at 12 noon, the 9th inst.; also for highly disrespectful and insubordinate conduct to- 
 wards the Governor, on the 9th inst.?" — Yes, [ refused to go before the Governor. I 
 said he could order his punishment, and let them go on with their assassin work with- 
 out me, and that as he would not write down anything I would say there was no use 
 going betore him. 
 
 8807. — •' 12.40. J. O'D. Rossa, two days' punishment diet, and pay fordamage to 
 his cell door." How were you to pay for that? — Out (if the gratuities. Prisoners 
 get a gratuity. 
 
 8803 — That was to be debited against your credits ? — I have none at all, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 8812. — On Sunday, the 14th, I find entered," J. O'D. Rossa detained under further 
 report,"' and on Monday, ihe loth of June, "J. 0*D. Rossa, two days' punishment, 
 and pay for damage to gutta-percha pint?" — Two days on the 15th. 
 
 8813. — Chairman — Then this accounts tor the period from the 1st of June to the 
 16th?— Yes, my lord. 
 
 8814 —Dr. Lyons— Sunday, the 14th, I find, "J. O'D. Rossa reported by Assist- 
 ant Warder H bbert for refusing to clean his boots and willfully damaging his 
 cup, about twelve noon, this day" Whnt did you do to the cup? — I do not recol- 
 lect n;>w, Mi - . Lyons. Oh, yes I now recollect. I found the cup that. I got was a 
 bit nipped. 1 cught it with my teeth and nipped a bit out of it, and kept it in 
 my mouth with a feeling of hunger to be chewng it, and Mr. Alison saw it and 
 had me reported, and then I took and broke the cup entirely. 
 
 8819. — Dr. Greenhow — And you gave as your reason for refusing to work outside, 
 that you would not be working with a gang of thieves? — Yes, sir. 
 
 8320. — Do you recollect a day on which you were found imperfectly dressed ; 
 that is, having no jacket on, on which you were ordered by Thompson to put your 
 jacket on ? — Yes, I think I do, sir. 
 
 8825.— Did you use those words : " Then you are not satisfied yet, you miserable, 
 prejudiced wretch"? — Yes. 
 
 8830. — On the 9th of June, when you were brought before the Governor, did you 
 refuse to stand to " attention," and did you lounge back with your hands in front of 
 you? — Yes, I did, this way. (Exhibits the attitude.) 
 
 8831. — Then, on the 12th of June, you were ordered out of your cell for the pur- 
 pose of going before the Governor, being under report, when you refused, saying, 
 " You can go on with your assassin work without me." Do you think that is true ? — 
 Yes, sir; I acknowledge that. 
 
 8832. — On the 9th of June, did they find that you had written on your cell, and 
 damaged your cell by writing? — Will you please read the charge? 
 
 8833.— The charge is, that " on inspecting the prisoner's cell on the 9th instant, I 
 found he had willfully damaged it by writing on it." — Does it give what was written, 
 sir? 
 
 8834.— It does not say what was written. (No reply.) 
 
 8835. — Chairman — Was that tne occasion when you wrote those words in French, 
 " Le sang rouge d'lrelande coule en Angleterre t — No, my lord; that was in Millbank. 
 
 8836. — Dr. Greenhow — Have you written on the cell here? — Yes. I will tell you 
 under what circumstances. When I could not get the Governor to take down my 
 charge in writing, I would write on the cell those very things that I wanted him to 
 take down, with a view that if I was reported for this the writing should be put on 
 record. 
 
 8843. — Mr. De Vere — O'Donovan Rossa, with the exception of two or three days' 
 intermission, you appear to have been on bread and water and in dark cells from the 
 1st of June until the 16th, when you committed this assault on the Governor?— 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 8844. — The charges against you during that time appear to be for insubordination 
 and disobedience. Was there any charge made against you during that time of assault 
 or violence to any officer ? — No, sir; there cannot be. I was never violent or attempted 
 to assault any officer except on a few occasions that they laid hands on me. I was 
 just as peaceful and obedient to them on those occasions too. 
 
 8845. — Dr. Greenhow — Were those occasions when you were violent between the 
 1st and 16th of June ? — I was not violent, but I refused to leave the cell, and then they 
 would come and put hands on me, and I would go. 
 
 8846.— You went quietly and did not resist?— I did not resist, but went quietly. 
 
 8847.— Mr. De Vere— What effect on your health, spirits and character, do you 
 conceive that long period of dark cells and bread and water to have had?— Well, I 
 felt at the time, of course, that it would kill me ; that was the feeling I had. 
 
 8S49. — Will you state in what respect your health was affected?— Well, at the 
 tim% I did not feel it much affected ; but I felt not well since ; I got an affection of the 
 back since, that I had not at that time. 
 
 8850. — Is it true that you have, on any occasion since that, expressed your regret 
 
372 C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 for your conduct on the 16th?— No, I do not think it is, except so far as expressing it 
 in such a manner as you have seen in that statement I gave you ; that it was an act, — 
 that It is an act I thought once I could never do. There is one report that I wish to 
 refer to that I do not see here, that might elicit some evidence as to having my hands 
 behind my back at one particular date, and that is officer Thompson's. He came to 
 me one day after dinner and put me in irons. 
 
 8885.— Chairman— What day was that?— I cannot recollect the day, my lord, but 
 I will say that if you can find the report it will be one of the days I was in irons with my 
 hands behind my back. It is some date during the thirty -five days, Dr. Greenhow— 
 perhaps at the middle of the thirty-five days, or about that time, he came in. You see 
 the report about my tearing my clothes — that is when the irons were tied behind; I 
 had no braces; I had some annoyance in trying to keep my trowsers up, and I just 
 bit a hole in my waistcoat one day — two holes — and ripped the seam behind to keep 
 the trowsers up, and Thompson, after tying the irons behind, set about unloosening the 
 clothes and I could not tie them again. So I asked him was he ordered to do that. 
 "Oh," said he, " that is none of your business." Said I, "Have you notdoneyour 
 duty, y<>u mean wretch." So there was a report put on the books to that effect, and 
 he will be before you for examination, if you have not examined him already. 
 
 8886. — Dr Lyons — Did your trowsers fall down? — The trowsers used to fall down. 
 
 8887. — How did you keep them up after he unloosed them ? — I had to leave it so. 
 
 8888. — Why had you no braees? — The prison rules do not allow any braces while 
 you are in punishment cells, for fear a man would hang himself, I suppose. 
 
 8889. — Are you positive that the braces were taken away from you always in the 
 dark cell? — Always from me. 
 
 8891.— Yes; here I find Assistant Warden Francis Thompson, who, being duly 
 sworn, states, 19th June, that about 6 p. m. on the 19th instant I was on duty in the 
 penal class separate cells, when I went to Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa's cell for the 
 
 Eurpose of changing his handcuffs from front to rear — they having been removed for 
 im to get his supper, when I found him wearing his vest buttoned to his breeches, 
 which he had ripped. I told him not to do that, and unbuttoned them, and he said in 
 asnarly manner: "Have you not done your duty, yet, you wretch?" — I thought 
 it might be some other date. 
 
 8893. — Dr. Lyons.— I find that from the 1st to the 16th of June, you were every 
 day confined under report and punishment? — Oh, yes, every day. 
 
 8894. — Then on the 17th of June, by your own statement, you were put in hand- 
 cuffs and kept so during a period of thirty -five days? — Yes, on the morning of the 
 17th of June. 
 
 8895. — On the 23d of July, I find in this book an entry that you were then sen- 
 tenced to twenty-eight days' punishment diet in close confinement, and six months' 
 penal diet, from the 20th instant. That was so, was it? — Yes. 
 
 8896. — That twenty-eight days was carried out from the 20th? — Yes, from the 
 thirty-five days after the 17th of June. 
 
 8897. — That would bring us to the 19th of August. Now, on the 20th of August I 
 find you reported by Principal Warder Alison for gross insolence to Captain Harvey; 
 and on the 21st. I find that you were remanded for the Director? — If you will ask Ali- 
 son in his examination what this insolence was — 
 
 8801. — Do you not remember anything about it? — No; I only recollect that I 
 was reported the morning after they trampled me in the cell. The day after, I was re- 
 ported, and they sent the case to the Director, they reported me for assaulting 
 three officers after they working their will on me. 
 
 8920. — Dr. Greenhow — Since Captain Du Cane said he would give you a chance 
 of going on smoothly and let you go out to work, you have gone on well, and never 
 been reported since ? — Except once, that a letter was found on a prisoner, and I was 
 charged with writing the letter, and I was put ten days in solitary confinement, await- 
 ing report. The Director came after I was about five or six days in, and did not see me. 
 I was taken out as if to be taken before him while he was sitting, and I was brought 
 back to my cell again. 
 
 8923. — Dr. Greenhow — May I ask did you write the letter? — No, sir, I did not. I 
 would tell you, sir, if I did, because I have tried to send out letters. 
 
 8934. — Dr. Lyons — The offence was sending out a letter? — A letter was got in the 
 prison with some prisoner. I was immediately put in solitary confinement as being 
 the writer of this letter. I was not the writer of it. 
 
 9545 — Chairman — We will go to the next paragraph. You say discipline re- 
 quired that in a blackhole cell you should be left during two nights without bed, blan- 
 ket or even rug. When was that?— That was in this prison, my lord. 
 
 9550 — Were you, in point of fact, left without bed, blanket or rug?— Yes, two 
 nights in this blackhole. 
 

 0^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 373 
 
 9564. — Dr. Greenhow— Did it ever happen to you to be deprived of your body 
 clothes in ihe dark cell?— Yes, sir. 
 
 9567. — I am now asking if it ever happened to you to be in the dark cell and to 
 have your body clothes taken away from you? — Yes. 
 
 9568. — What had you on that occasion? — Two blankets and a rug. 
 
 9569. — Ai«d a mattress? — No mattress. 
 
 9570. — Do you mean to say that you were in a dark cell without a mattress and 
 without any body clothes? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9578. — Do yi>u remember being in a dark cell from the 6th to ihe 9th of August, 
 and on the 8th being removed from No. 3 to No. 2 dark cell, by order of the medical 
 man? — Yes, Mr. De Vere ; one day I was removed, for I reported to the doctor the 
 stench of my cell or something, and he removed me, and I was a day or two in the 
 second cell 
 
 9584. — Mr. De Yere — On any of those occasions when you were confined in 
 dark cells, were you ironed during your confinement in a dark cell ? — Well, Mr. De 
 Vere, I cannot say exactly. I recollect, any way, the state of my mind about these 
 cells. When they deprived me of books in ihe light cells, and I could not get anything 
 to pass aw-ty my time, I used to recite something, and try to pass the time as well 
 as I could, and made a noise which passed me to the dark cell. When I was thiriy- 
 five days with my hands behind my back, I was allowed books, and tried to read by 
 turning ihe le ives with my mouth, and I made no noise ; but when the twenty-eight 
 days n bread-and water punishment commenced I made a noise. So 1 would not 
 say I was in the dark cells during the thirty-five days I was in the irons, because 
 I had ■<>(-ks. 
 
 9585 — Were you on any occasion kept in irons at night? — Not in this prison; 
 in Milbank I was. 
 
 9586. — During your thirty five days in irons were you allowed books? — Yes, I 
 was allowed a library book. 
 
 9587. — You described the manner in which you turned over the leaves? — Yes, I 
 used 1 1 put the book on the block, and then turn upside down my cell-pot, and sit 
 on it, and turn over the leaves with my lips. 
 
 9588 — Are you prepared to say whether that mode of turning over the leaves 
 continued during the whole of the thirty -five days? — That was the way I recollect I 
 used to do it. 
 
 9589. — During the whole of the time ?— Yes. I recollect one of the books I had 
 that time, during a fortnight, was "D'Aubigne's History of the Reformation.'" 
 
 9590. — During the whole time of reading " D'Aubigne's History of the Reforma- 
 tion" do you recollect turning the leaves that way? — Oh, yes. 
 
 9591. — Dr. Lyons — You spoke of putting the book in a certain position — how did 
 you do it ? — I could use my hands so far as to put the book in the position. I sat 
 down with my legs on each side of the block. You saw those blocks in the cells. 
 
 9592. — Will you take this printed copy of your statement in your hand, and look 
 at the paragraph there commencing with the word " discipline." There are two 
 distinct allegations made in that paragraph. Do you observe— just read it? — "Dis- 
 cipline required that in a blackhole cell I be left two nights without bed, blanket or 
 even ru^, and I should like to see the prison rule which authorizes it." 
 
 9593. — That is one of the allegations. The other follows that? — "To give me a 
 rug and blanket, and deprive me of my body clothes in such a place, is also what I 
 experienced often." 
 
 9594. — Did both these events occur I — Both these events occurred. 
 
 9595. — Did they occur together, or were they separated by an interval? — Sepa- 
 rated by an interval. 
 
 9600 — Do you mean to say that on several occasions it happened to you that you 
 were deprived of your clothes, and left in a dark cell with only two blankets and a 
 rug, and no mattress? — Yes. 
 
 9603.— It occurred several times in Portland? — Yes. 
 
 9610.— Dr. Lyons — Was it because ? I beg pardon, Mr. Lyons, it did occur 
 
 in this prison, even more than once ; because I now recollect that there was a ques- 
 tion amongst the officers as to whether they would leave me my stockings, and an^ 
 other time whether they would leave me my drawers; so it did occur more than once. 
 
 9611. — Did it occur twice? — It did. I recollect one of the officers saying, "You 
 can leave him his stockings." I do not know was it the same time about the drawers. 
 This positively occurred, so that it must have occurred more than once. 
 
 9618. — Dr. Lyons — Was it not because you did not consider what was left to you 
 of your clothes and those bed clothes sufficient to keep you warm, that you refused 
 to take off your clothes? — Certainly, Mr. Lyons. Yes, I told them I would give my 
 clothes, if they gave me a bed, but that I wanted to keep my body clothes if there 
 was no bed. 
 
374: O' 'Donovan fiosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 96i9,_You told them that? — I told them that, and Mr. Alison gave orders to strip 
 me, and they rushed and threw me down. Might I ask if the doctor will be examined, 
 and I be allowed to question him? 
 
 9620. — Chairman — Yes. Are there any other officers ? — I have given the names, 
 my lord. Have they stated my hands were not tied behind? 
 
 9621. — I cannot tell you what they have stated, or what our opinion is on it. In 
 proper time we will make up our minds on that. If Cranston said (A. pause.) 
 
 9629. — Yes, my lord. Regarding your decision about my being not allowed to ask 
 those witnesses, whom you have examined, any questions, I will just observe that I 
 do not object to any decision you may make. I leave myself entirely in your hands 
 until the Commission is coming to a close, but if you then tell me you are not satis- 
 fled that I have told the truth, I hope you will give me some way for saying a few 
 words. 
 
 9629. — You may rely that if we think it just to you to confront you with any 
 witness we shall do so. — Yes, my lord, I recollect Dr. Greenhow's expression the first 
 day, that your object was to know everything, and that you will give me every facil- 
 ity. 
 
 9631. — Mr. Broderick — You recollect that we did confront you with some wit- 
 nesses whose recollection was different from yours? — Yes 
 
 9658. — Mr. Broderick — I think it is clear that on the first occasion you were two 
 nights without bed, blanket, or rug; that there was a second occasion on which you 
 were, at all events, without a mattress, namely, on the 19th of August, andthatthere 
 was a third occasion, the date of which you cannot fix? — The 25th. 
 
 9666. — Chairman — I will go now to the next paragraph of your letter. You say, 
 "To be confined for months in a darkened cell, specially furnished with a privy un- 
 furnished with a lid, and one month of this without ever stirring out of it, except to 
 the blackhole, and on 16 ounces of bread, and 40 ounces of water daily, may not be 
 necessary for the preservation of health, but is deemed necessary for discipline" — 
 when did that occur? — That occurred in '68, my lord. 
 
 9664. — " For months," you say. Were you in a darkened cell for months? — Yes, 
 my lord. 
 
 9668. — How long was the period? — From the first of June to the first of October, 
 my lord, in this prison. 
 
 9669. — Was the cell darkened all the time ? Yes, my lord. 
 
 9670. — By a screen within? — By an iron screen, my lord. 
 
 9671. — Was there a privy in the corner of the cell? — Yes, my lord, there was. 
 
 9672. — Without a lid? Yes, my lord, it can be seen to the present day. 
 
 9673. — Mr. Da Vere — How long were you there? — From the 1st of June to the 1st 
 of October, I was in this darkened cell in punishment, and since I came to the prison 
 in it without punishment. 
 
 9674. — You say, " One month without ever stirring out of it." You were taken 
 out for exercise, were you not? — For the twenty-eight days I was not, my lord. 
 
 9676. — Dr. Greenhow — That was the period on bread and water? — Yes ; I did not 
 leave the cell these twenty-eight days. 
 
 93S6. — Mb. De Verb — During the whole of that period that you were in the cell in 
 which was a privy, was there a lid to it any part of the time ? — No, sir ; no lid at all? 
 
 9837. — Chairman — W T as there any offensive smell from it? — Yes, my lord, there 
 was. 
 
 9738. — Do you believe the doctor has neglected you? — I am not a medical man; 
 I on:y state what passed between me and the doctor. 
 
 9739 —It does not appear to me that you distinctly state that he has neglected 
 you ? — I only state what has occurred and how I felt. 
 
 9756.— Is there anything that has occurred within the prison since you have been 
 confined that you would refer to as the cause of that pain? — Unless that leap on my 
 chest would cause it. 
 
 9757. — Were you very violently pressed on the chest on that occasion? — Yes; he 
 stood up and leaped down on me, that way, with his knees (imitating the act). 
 
 9758. — Why did he stand up ? — To turn me to take the trousers off. He leaped 
 that way, down on me with his knees. 
 
 9759 — During that act, were you lying on the floor? — Lying on the floor. 
 
 9760. — 0'i your back? — On my back. 
 
 9761 — The't, h;id thpy '° turn yon over? — To turn me over. He had his knee on 
 mv neck while they were taking off my clothes. It you ever saw a pig-trying for 
 measles in Ireland, "it was just the same as that. 
 
 9765.— You did not think you were hurt, on that occasion?— I did not; but I felt 
 my chest: when he leaped oh mv chest a burst of air shot up my throat. 
 
 9766. — You did feel that? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9771, — You say in your statement, " T do not see any rule which authorizes dis- 
 
CP Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 375 
 
 cipline to deprive a man of the use of the Bible for six months, and yet this sentence 
 was passed on me." Will you explain what you mean by that? — Yes. In Portland, 
 my lord, a sentence was passed on me that 1 be deprived of books for six months, 
 including the Bible. 
 
 9772. — VVbo passed that sentence? — It was, I tbink, sent by the directors, my 
 lord. It was under the date — if you look on the records — of January 25th, 1867. 
 
 9773. — You were ordered by the directors, when at Portland, to be deprived of 
 books for six months? — Yes, nry lord. 
 
 9777. — Dr. Greenhow — The sentence is, " Three days' confinement and punishment 
 diet; 1,440 marks, 540 for remission; 25 days' penal class diet; to be degraded to 
 penal class; to forfeit 640 marks remission; to be deprived of all books for six 
 months; to be only allowed sufficient waste paper daily for the wants of nature, for 
 having a book concealed in the work-shed containing improper writing, also letters." 
 Was there any writing in the book itself? — Yes, I had written on the pages of the 
 book. The book was concealed in the shed. I acknowledge to you that it was I who 
 wrote in the book, but they had no evidence of it. 
 
 9788. — Dr. Lyons — What was the writing that was improper ? — That is what I 
 would wish to call his lordship's and the Commissioners' attention to, the way reports 
 are drawn up. I tried to get the Governor to correct the report that the writing 
 was not improper, but that I had it improperly in my possession. 
 
 9779. — Chairman — What was the writing? — A letter to my wife. The one in 
 question about the book was, I think, a copy of a letter or memorial to the Secretary 
 of State, which I have submitted to your lordship and the Commission. 
 
 9780. — You wish, then, to state to us that the book was not of an improper char- 
 acter, nor the writing of an improper description, but that what was meant was that 
 the book and the writing were improperly in your possession? — Yes. 
 
 9781. — Dr. Lyons — What was the name of the book? — A prayer-book, — a " Think 
 Well On It," or something of that kind ; but not one of those supplied to me. 
 
 9782. — When you say that you were deprived of all books for six months, do you 
 include religious books? — Yes; I recollect trying to get a Bible ; I came to a punish- 
 ment cell and there was a Bible in it ; I suspected the officer would take the Bible 
 and I hid it under the cell-pot, and he went looking for it, and found it out. 
 
 9783. — Dr. Lyons— Did he take it away ?— He took it away. 
 
 9784. — Dr. Greenhow — Was it a Protestant or a Catholic Bible ? — It was Protest- 
 ant; it is Protestant Bibles are in all these cells. 
 
 9787. — Dr. Lyons — I see that you have applied for extra books. Are you much 
 given to study? — Yes; any time I have I like to read. I got great annoyance in the 
 way of not getting books ; [ could never get books that I wanted. 
 
 9789. — When you say that for months you were " deprived of that waste brown 
 paper which is supplied to every prisoner for purposes of nature," that was not the 
 case at the time that all books were taken away from you on this occasion? — No, my 
 iord. 
 
 9790. — Where was it ? — That occurred in Millbank. 
 
 9791. — How long was it in operation? — I was four months in the penal class; in 
 fact, I was about six months, I think. 
 
 9792. — Dr. Greenhow — You told us that you wrote in that book at the shed; did 
 you write in any other book? — No, I never wrote in any other book. 
 
 9793. — You never injured any library book? — I never injured any library book. 
 Perhaps you will be told I wrote in my library books; but in my report I allude to 
 that, where I say, you will do well not to believe it until you question me. 
 
 9794. — Dr. Lyons — What do you say about it? — " If you will inquire why, you will 
 perhaps be told that I injured some of the books given tome; but you will do well 
 not to believe it until you question me." 
 
 9795. — Mr. De Vere — You said that the Bibles placed in the penal cells are Pro- 
 testant Bibles? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9796. — Are they supplied to Roman Catholics in the penal cells? — I cannot say, 
 Mr. De Vere. I only speak for myself. 
 
 9798. — You are a Roman Catholic? — Well, I have never been at any other place of 
 worship. 
 
 9799. — You are registered as a Roman Catholic? — Yes, registered as a Roman 
 Catholic. 
 
 9800. — Have you ever complained to the visiting priest that you were supplied 
 with a Protestant Bible ? — Never, sir. I would not make such a complaint, because I 
 do not want to net into religious subjects. Not with disrepect to you, Mr. De Vere, 
 but I only express my opinion that I have no desire to get into religious matters of 
 discipline. 
 
 9801. — In fact, you never made a complaint on the subject? — I did not. 
 
 9802. — Dr. Greenhow — Did you ask for " D'Aubigne's History of the Reforma- 
 
 " vourself ? — Yes, I did. 
 
376 O ^ Donovan Bossa's Prison Life, 
 
 9813 I was just coming to that. It— the Bible— was given to you in Portland ?— 
 
 In Portland the Bible supplied was the Old and New Testament. In Milbank and this 
 prison it was a Testament. But I applied for a Bible, and the reason I will tell you. 
 In any studies 1 engaged in are languages; there are here German and Italian 
 Bibles, the Protestant version, got up by the Bible Society, and I desired to have 
 one of this kind, as I stated, having no other books of foreign languages to read. I 
 got permission from the Catholic Chaplain to get one of these books from the Pro- 
 testant Chaplain. I made application, and my request was attended to. 
 
 9814. — Dk. Greenhow — It was an English Bible then? — No, not in the English lan- 
 guage. I applied for some Irish books: I could not get them, but the Protestant 
 Chaplain was kind enough to lend me his own Protestant Bible, in the Irish lan- 
 guage. 
 
 9815.— Chairman— In the Irish language ?— Yes, my lord. 
 
 9819. — Dr. Greenhow — You state in page 4, that you were stripped naked once a 
 day for three or four months? — Yes. 
 
 9820 Where did that occur ?— In Millbank. 
 
 982 i. — At what period did it occur? — From February until May, certainly. 
 
 9822.— Do I understand you to say that you were stripped once a day ? — Once a 
 day, sir, assuredly. I had to go through positions to have them look at all parts of 
 me naked. 
 
 9823. — In what place were you stripped? — I was stripped naked in my cell when 
 the officers came, once a day. 
 
 9827. — Mr. De Vere — In page 4 you state that " On refusing one day to be the 
 agent of your own shame, Ave officers seized you, and, giving you a terrible choking, 
 left you naked on the floor ?"— Yes, sir. 
 
 9832. — On that occasion were the five officers present? — Yes ? there were five of 
 them charged on me. 
 
 9834.— Was that stripping you naked, once a day for three or four months, part 
 of the ordinary discipline to which you were subjected ; or was it something extra 
 in consequence of your being put into a punishment cell, or in any way punished?— 
 No ; but it was part of the ordinary discipline to which I was subjected without any 
 charge being brought against me for having writing materials, or secreting anything 
 in my cell. The order was given, for some reason I do not know, to search me once 
 a day. I think, from what I have learned from prisoners who were out in the world 
 at that time, that the order was given for precautionary purposes regarding my 
 escape, because there was some noise at the time, they tell me, in Ireland, about 
 Chester Castle. I think precautionary measures were taken, and, at this time, at 
 night. I used to be kept in one cell during the day, and then taken from that cell 
 and that ward and taken to another ward, and brought back in the morning again to 
 the cell in which I was during the day. 
 
 9835. — Are you aware whether the other treason-felony prisoners were, during 
 the same period, stripped naked and searched? — I did not hear that any of the others 
 were searched. 
 
 984L. — Chairman — Are you tired — would you like to sit down? — Thank you, my 
 lord. (Does not sit.) 
 
 9845. — Was there any particular reason why, on that day, you would not allow 
 yourself to be searched?— Yes, I was disgusted. I had made up my mind that I would 
 not do anything they wanted me to do, and that I would leave myself in their hands; 
 but that I would not use my will and do any thing they wanted me to do. This all oc- 
 curred after being punished for idleness when I worked. I made up my mind then 
 that there was no use in my trying to get on with any satisfaction. 
 
 9849. — Chairman— In page 5 of your statement, you say, "the ordinary prisoner 
 can pray, if so inclined, without an irreverent stare ; but if the treason-felony prisoner 
 prays, it is with three officers sitting on the bench : n front of him, looking him in the 
 face ; and if the treason felony prisoner goes to communion he has an officer parad- 
 ing him through the chapel, while the ordinary prisoner can approach the rails with- 
 out such distinguished notice." First of all, is it the fact that when you are in the 
 chapel three officers sit on the bench opposite you?— Yes, my lord. 
 
 9852.— They do not face you but they sit sideways?— Sideways. 
 
 9853.— But for a time they sat facing you?— Yes, my lord. 
 
 9854.— When you approach the altar rails, does an officer accompany you?— All 
 the other prisoners, we see them on Sundays, go up leaving the officer, but when any 
 of the treason-felony prisoners go to communion one of those three officers attends him 
 up to the rails through the chapel and down again. Last Sunday week was the last time 
 it was done. 
 
 9856.— What do you complain of in regard to the fact of prisoners being brought 
 up to the rails and back? — I do not put it a? a complaint; 1 only state it as exceptional 
 treatment. I do not make any complaid of it. 
 
0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 377 
 
 9865. — Chairman— Look at the second paragraph on page 5. You say there, "C 
 gtate that I was one morning in my cell ; the gas was turned off pretty early, and left 
 me unable to read a book I held in my hand. Tbere was an iron blind on my window 
 then, which has been since taken off." Explain what exceptional treatment you refer 
 to there? — When I came to this prison, my lord, I was put in this darkened cell, and 
 nine English prisoners were located in those cells, I believe, to prepare a place forme, 
 and assimilate their treatment to mine. One morning the gas was turned off earlier than 
 would allow me to read by the daylight, and I objected, that not being under punish- 
 ment now, if I was in an ordinary cell I would have light to read the book. I thought 
 I should be allowed gas light under circumstances where others had the daylight. 
 
 9899. — Dr. Lyons — I find that previously you applied for extra library books. Did 
 you get them? — No, I did not, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 9900. — I find subsequently that you applied for permission to write to the Secre- 
 tary of State to have more books allowed you. Was that permission allowed you? — 
 No, it was not, sir. 
 
 9908. — Mr. Broderick — The report is this, " Assistant Warder Thompson states that 
 'Donovan Rossa was very idle the whole afternoon. On my rebuking him for the 
 idle manner in which he was working, he replied, in a most insolent tone, ' The wages 
 I get are very poor.' His tone and manner were very insolent." — I spoke to him as 
 blandly as I could speak. " Oh," said I, " Officer, the wages are rather light, too." 
 
 9913.— Chairman — You wish to have Alison asked if he had been told by Pratt that 
 ycu had the newspaper, your allegation being that Pratt gave you the newspaper? — 
 Yes, my lord. 
 
 9yl4.— Dr. Lyons— What do you expect to get out by that?— That there was some 
 ccmplicity between the officers and the prisoners to get me into trouble. 
 
 9919. — Chairman — You think they had Pratt as a sort of spy on you? — As a sort 
 of spy on me? Yes, my lord. 
 
 9920. — Did you tell the officer that you were left-handed? — I did, my lord; and he 
 told me put the hammer in the right hand, and he kept telling me the stroke was light; 
 and after he repeated this to me two or three times I only said, "Oh, officer, the 
 wages are rather light, too;" just quietly, and without any acerbity in my tone. 
 
 9929. — Chairman- -We will go to the next point. You say that on one occasion in 
 shaving that you cut your throat, that the blood flowed pretty freely, and that with 
 the point of your slate pencil you wrote on the door of your cell, "Le sang rouge 
 d'Irlande coule en Angleterre," thinking of an expression of a duke of Burgundy 
 dying on a field of battle. What was the result of that? — I went to exercise immedi- 
 ately after that, my lord, and while I was at exercise an officer saw this inscription 
 on the door, and I was put under report for it, and charged next day with the offence 
 of having written on my cell door " The red blood of Ireland loitt rise in England." 
 I tried to explain that that was not what was written on the door; that it was "cow./e," 
 and that it should have been taken down properly if it was taken down at all. I do 
 not know how the Governor managed the report, but I brought the matter before 
 Captain Gambler again. I do not know how they managed it, but I had forty-eight 
 hours' bread and water for it. It was the Deputy-Governor that adjudicated. 
 
 9930. — Mr. Broderick — The entry as it stands here, Rossa, in the copy furnished 
 to us from the report book is, " Writing on his cell door with blood ' The red blood of 
 Ireland flows in England? " — It was corrected by Captain Gambier. Have you a copy 
 from the original books the day I was before them, for it was originally written " will 
 rise," and I made some efforts to get it corrected, you will find, if you see the book? 
 
 9931. — Chairman — I will take a note to examine the book at Millbank, and see if 
 there is something in the original report erased, and something written instead? — The 
 matter was corrected when I brought it before Captain Gambier or Mr. Fagan. I 
 think that any way they said there was a gentleman in the prison yesterday, a colonel, 
 that knew French, and said something about it. 
 
 9932.— Chairman— On another occasion you say, " I am on bread and water in a 
 darkened cell, and to keep myself company I am repeating some lines. The officer 
 addresses me and says, 'You must not be going on this way.' I reply, ' Oh, by Jove, 
 I will;' and next day, in the offence charged against me it is ' By Jesus, I will,' which 
 makes the affair look very wicked." When did that occur? — That occurred some 
 time after the report of my being punished for idleness, when I was doing the work, 
 because I never made any noise in a separate cell or other cell until after that; but I 
 cannot fix the date. 
 
 9934.— Dr. Greenhow— You used the words " By Jove ?"— " By Jove." I am not 
 aware that I ever used the words " By Jesus." It is a curse I am not addicted to. It 
 is an expression I never used, and I would not like to have it remain on the prison 
 books that I used it. 
 
 9935. — Dr. Lyons — You say that you never used the expression ?— No ; not as an 
 oath or otherwise. ■ I did not use the expression " By Jesus." Whatever badness I do, 
 I have not used that curse. 
 
3TS O ^ Donovan IloSids Prison Life. 
 
 9936. — Chairman — You say, " To have one officer set me doing one thing, and 
 another another thing, and to have the first charge me with idleness for not doing his 
 work, while doing the w >rk of the second, is another way of getting up reports." 
 When did that occur? — When I went to Millbank first, my lord. 
 
 9047. — Chairman — You go on to say, afterwards, that " while in Portland, the 
 rest of the treason-felony prisoners woi king in mid-winter in a shed, I was placed 
 outside of the shed, and prevented from having that little shelter from the poison- 
 laden blast that the others had?" — Yes, my lord. I recollect one morning coming out 
 from punishment, and at this time my h mds were in that state that the flesh was 
 rotting oft' my fingers. My block, where I used to work before in the shed, was in- 
 side, and all the prisoners worked inside; but this morning Officers Russell and Par- 
 sons m tde me bring my block into the open air, outside the shed, and set me to 
 work outside. 
 
 '.; 5j. — " On the 20th, talking on the public works ; the 22d, talking on the public 
 works; the 20th, talking on the public works, and insolent when spoken to. On the 
 22d ' you got "two days' punishment dietin penal class, and on the 29th you got three 
 days' punishment diet and fourteen days' penal class diet." There was appar- 
 ently an accumulation of offences in the prison books ugainst you? — Yes; but these 
 offences could be got against any of the other prisoners as well, for we all used to 
 talk. But I was made a set on, and made to stand whatever was to be said. The 
 Governor used to come to the works and tell the officer to report us for talking. 
 
 9956. — Chairman — Where was this? — In Portland. I recollect the Governor came 
 to the works one day, and 1 e said there was talking going on there. After he left, I 
 had a conversation with the superior officer, and he said he should report some of 
 the men; lie told it to me himself. I said, "Report me. I do not want to get you 
 into any trouble," said I; " I have been talking." He took down the names of six or 
 seven to report, and lie said he got orders next day not to report us. Just as the 
 wind used to blow from Ireland, in these troublous times, they had a bark at us, or 
 used to deprive us of a bit of our daily breid, or something. 
 
 9959. — Was the punishment that was awarded to you for that charge 72 hours on 
 Dread and water, and 14 days in solitary confinement on penal class diet? — Yes, that 
 w. s awarded, Mr. De Vere, for that offence. 
 
 9962. — "Talking on the works, and insolence when spoken to, 720 marks; 
 ordered 14 days' penal class diet, 84 marks reduced for remission?" — You must not 
 consider that the loss of these marks might not be punishment, for it is puni.-hment, 
 and a severe punishment, because I have not spent one year in prison yet according 
 to discipline, although I am five. 
 
 9965. — Then am I to understand that the punishment of the 29th of December, 
 72 hours' bread and water and 14 days' close confinement on penal class diet, had 
 reference to what took place on the works on that day ? — Yes, and certainly no inso- 
 lence from me to any officer. 
 
 9970. — Chairman — On the occasion of your wife's applying to the Governor for 
 leave for you to write to her on some matters connected with your pecuniary affairs, 
 what d d the Governor say to you? — He told me he had this communication from my 
 wife, and to write on a slate what I had to say, and he would get it copied and sent to 
 her. On something else in about a month I was before him, and I asked him if he sent 
 this matter to my wife. He said, " No, I could not ; I could not be sending your love 
 " letters to your wife, and, besides," said he, " it would lessen your punishment." 
 
 9971. — Are you quite sure he used those words ? — Yes, my lord, lam quite sure he 
 used those words. 
 
 9972. — Dr. Lyons — Can you explain that? — I wrote on my slate what at his re- 
 quest I was to write, and he said he would send it to my wife ; and in about a month 
 after, or less, I asked him if he had sent the copy, and he said " No, I could not be 
 sending your love letters to your wife ; if I did it would lesson your punishment." 
 
 9974. — Mr. Broderick — Did you understand him to mean that allowing you to com- 
 municate Avith your wife would be so so far a diminution of your punishment? — Yes, 
 I did. 
 
 C976. — As to your treatment in English prisons, did 3^ou say anything? — Yes, my 
 lord, I made some remark about being; treated so in English prisons, and he said, 
 •• Your treatment is too good for you ; twenty 5 r ears ago you would have been hanged." 
 
 9977. — You say that at Millbank some writing was found on the person of another 
 treason-felony prisoner? — Yes, my lord. 
 
 9978 — And that you were suspected to be the writer, though your name was not 
 to it? — Yes, my lord. 
 
 9983. — This ia the day which you speak of in your statement as being stripped 
 three times? — Yes, in twenty-four hours, my lord. 
 
 9984. — Was there anything found on you? — Nothing was found, my lord. I was 
 then put into a darkened cell, a retractory cell, not entirely dark, a cell with a hole 
 
0' Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 379 
 
 in the middle of it, and I was left in this cell for three days, from Friday till Monday. 
 Mr. Handy, one of the chief officers, then came and took me out of the cell, and said I 
 was to go back to my own cell — that is, to the ordinary cell, and that it was decreed 
 that I was not to he allowed to go to Chapel any more in the mornings. That was, 
 I think, on Monday, my lord. 
 
 9986. — Mk. De Vere— Was it with writing the paper that you were charged? — With 
 writing this paper that was found on a prisoner named James O'Brien — James Xavier 
 O'Brien. It is not necessary, I suppose, to tell the Commissioners, because it referred 
 to me ; whatever was written, was a note that spoke about the Director saying 
 something to the prisoner Bossa, to me. The Director said to me, " So you think that 
 of me." " Well," said I, " in anything I wrote about you, I wrote what I think." It 
 was nothing disrespectful, but it presumed to state some interview between him and 
 me, and he said he would, as punishment, stop a visit, the ticket of which had been 
 sent to Mr. Pigott, of the " Irishman'''' office, Dublin; it was previously sent. It was 
 on the day I asked to see the prisoner Duffy. Mr. Duffy was dying, and I said I would 
 take seeing Duffy as a visit that was due to me, and he said I could not see Duffy. 
 
 9987. — Were you manacled in the dark cell?— Yes, manacled two days and two 
 nights. 
 
 9989. — Chairman— The handcuffs were not unloosed during meals?— No, my lord. 
 
 9990. — Mr. Broderick. — Had you not destroyed the spoon? — Yes. 
 
 9991.— Dr. Lyons — W T ere the handcuffs that you had on, then, handcuffs with a small 
 link connecting them? — No, they were the close handcuff's. 
 
 9992.— Quite close?— Quite close. 
 
 9993.— So that you could not possibly help yourself to your food, as you could 
 have done if they were handcuffs such as we saw the other day with links?— Yes, 
 and as I could not use the hands, I had to go on my elbows and knees, not having a 
 spoon. 
 
 9994.— If you had a spoon could you have used it?— Well, I suppose I could; but 
 in a dark cell 
 
 999.5.— Chairman— It was not an absolutely dark cell?— An absolutely dark cell, 
 my lord, a story under ground, such as the cells you have seen that I have been in 
 over here, with double, triple doors. 
 
 9996.— We have been in that cell in Millbank.— It is down under ground. 
 
 9997.— We have been shut up in it.— Well, my lord, I would not wish you would. 
 
 9998.— You had to go on the floor to eat your food?— I had to go on the floor onmr 
 elbows and knees. 
 
 9993.— Dr Lyons.— You lapped it out of the dish?— I lapped it out of the dish. 
 
 10000.— What size was the dish?— A dish of eight inches, perhaps, in diameter. 
 
 10003.— There was no stool, or table, or resting p'ace on which you could put the 
 wooden bowl?— No resting place. There is a bed-board, but that is only a few 
 inches off the ground. 
 
 10004.— Was the cell absolutely dark at the time ?— Absolutely dark, Mr. Lyons, 
 You could not see anything. 
 
 (Principal -Warder Dalton is called in with handcuffs.) 
 
 10005.— Dr. Lyons— What are those technically called?— Figure of eight, sir. (H» 
 put them on Dr. Lyons.) 
 
 10006.— Are those similar to the handcuffs you had on? Prisoner— Yes, sir. 
 
 (Dalton removes the handcuffs and withdraws in order to bring a different kind.) 
 
 10007.— Were the handcuffs vou had on closer or looser than these ?— They werq 
 not so loose as these, for I sent to the doctor to represent to him that my hands were 
 pained by one of them. This was in the dark cell, in the morning. I recollect ihe 
 doctor came, and when the lamp was held up to my hand to see it, I saw that my 
 wrist was bloody; that during the night it had wounded me some way. The gruel is 
 thick, and will not run in the dish, and you cannot sip it. 
 
 10008.— Chairman— Was this for one or two days?— One day. I was two days in 
 the irons, but I had not the opportunity of getting the food the second day in the 
 dark cell. 
 
 10009 Did you get food the second day ?— I did ; bread and water. 
 
 10011 Were you able to eat it with the manacles?— Of course you can eat 
 
 bread. 
 
 10010.— Or take a dish of water?— Yes. 
 
 10012— But you could not have got at the gruel ?— I tried to get at it, as I tell you, 
 my lord. 
 
 10013.— Mr. Brodertck.— Are you clear upon this point, that you were manacled 
 during two days, day and night?— Not two consecutive days. There was some day 
 between them; once, 24 hours, and another 24 hours. 
 
380 CP Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 10014.— But you are quite clear that the handcuffs were on two nights?— I did not 
 get my bed the first night; the mattress was kept. I got only part of the bedding the 
 first night; I got the whole of the bedding the second night. 
 
 (Dalton here returns with handcuffs, puts a small pair on Dr. Lyons, and, after 
 taking them off, withdraws.) 
 
 10015. — Dr. Lyons — The cell that we examined was, I think, a very smallone. 
 Did you find that you had room to lie down on the bed-board of that cell?— No; I 
 noticed that it was very small. I think it was rather short, too. 
 
 10016.— What is your height?— My height is about 5 feet 10, 1 think. 
 
 10017.— The length of the bed was 5 feet 4 inches?— I recollect — it made a fixed im- 
 pression on my mind — the cold of the night, because when the clothes got off I could 
 not put them on again. 
 
 10018. — Your height is recorded 5 feet 9^ inches? — I am growing down, I 
 suppose. 
 
 10019.— The length of that bed is 5 feet 4 inches ; did you find that you had 
 great difficulty in lying down in that space ? — Yes ; there is something in my mind 
 that it was not long enough, or something uncomfortable. 
 
 10020.— Did it appear to you to have added to your suffering in that cell, that you 
 could not lie down at length on the board? — Yes, Mr. Lyons; but what particularly 
 impressed itself on me was the cold during the night, for the bed-clothes fell off, and 
 I could not pull them on as I could not use the hands. 
 
 10030.— Then, on the 20th, it is stated you further broke the trap-door, wrote on 
 the walls and the door, shouting "lama Fenian," and singing Fenian songs? — That 
 is an expression I never used. Of course, Mr. Broderick, I was what is called a " Fe- 
 nian," but I never said it or sang Fenian songs. 
 
 10031.— Chairman— You distinctly deny that?— I distinctly deny that I ever 
 made use of the expression " I am a Fenian," either in prison or out of prison. 
 
 10032. — Dr. Lyons — Did you sing Fenian songs? — I cannot sing. I do not know 
 what are called Fenian songs, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 10033. — You cannot sing ? — I cannot sing. Whenever any of my friends, who 
 know me, would hear of my singing, they would burst out laughing at the idea 
 of it. 
 
 10034.— Mr. Broderick— On the 23d, " Disfiguring a pint, writing on the cell 
 wall, filling the key-hole with pieces of a broken bowl?"— My lord, I think I tell 
 you in the report that, after being obliged to go on my face and hands to eat, I 
 broke the bowl. 
 
 10035. — Chairman — How did you succeed in breaking it? — With my feet. 
 
 10036. — And did you put pieces of it in the key-hole ?— I did, my lord. 
 
 10039.— In the paragraph at the bottom of page 8, you say, "One day I was 
 yoked to a cart with those men, drawing stones, and I had a noose of the rope over 
 my neck. The car heeled over, the shaft flew high in the air, and the rope slipped 
 off my neck without doing me any injury : the danger was in its hitching on my 
 neck. A second time that day the car'heeled over before its time, and at this occur- 
 rence I was in no danger, for it had arrived at its destination, and the rope was off my 
 neck or breast." Will you tell us what occurred at that time ?— I was, my lord, the 
 morning in question, yoked to this cart with a noose of rope around me. 
 
 10040. — With other men? — With other men, my lord. The cart was full of stones, 
 and we were drawing it ; two men were detailed to keep the cart from heeling, or " tip- 
 ping," as they call it in prison, I believe ; I do not know whether they intended it or 
 not, but the car tipped or heeled, the shafts flew up in the air, the rope round 
 my neck was quickly taken off, and, had it hitched on my neck, I would have 
 been hurt. 
 
 10046. — Mr. De Vere — You say that you were afraid to work with those men?— 
 After that, Mr. De Vere, I applied to the Governor to be allowed to work in my 
 cell, and not be put amongst those prisoners, and he would not give me permission. 
 
 10047. — That is, you wished not to be sent to work with those prisoners who put 
 you in such danger?— Yes, I did not like to be with them. 
 
 10048. — Was your application granted to you? — No, it was not, Mr. De Vere. 
 
 10049 — How often did you ask it? — I asked about three times. I asked the Di- 
 rector. The Director only made matters worse, for he issued orders that these men 
 were to be set a certain distance apart, and worked so that there should be no an- 
 noyance given to me ; and these men being set apart in that way, and prevented 
 from speaking, they got more unpleasant, and I felt the position more than before. 
 
 10050. — Did you get any punishment for refusing to labor with these men ? — On 
 twt> occasions I refused to labor before the 1st of June, and got punishment — three 
 days at one time and two daj r s at another. 
 
 10051 — Was your reason for refusing to work with them that you considered your- 
 self in danger with them? — Yes, in danger, and in a mosl unpleasant position; these 
 
O* Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 381 
 
 men, feeling that they were kept in a state of punishment, kept isolated from all the 
 other prisoners, even in the chapel, and kept in punishment besides, and they were 
 •made to see that I was the cause of that isolation, because, any days that I was kept 
 in on bread and water, they were taken outside the prison walls to work but never 
 taken out when I was amongst them. I complained of that to the Governor and 
 Director, that it was not fair to show them that I was the cause of their being sub- 
 mitted to such restriction. 
 
 10054.— Chairman — " Defacing his gratuity and library cards, writing on his cell 
 door, and drawing on his cell floor." 
 
 10055.— Dr. Lyons— That is on May the 6th ?— " Drawing on the cell floor "was 
 making some geometrical figures while I was on bread and water ; and " defacing his 
 gratuity and library cards"— that was, my lord, in consequence of my inabilitv to 
 get the Governor to take down my words in writing — the answers to the charges. This 
 morning, I happened to get a bit of lead ; I found it in the yard, and I brought it in 
 with me, and on those two cards that were in my cell, my lord, I wrote what I in- 
 tended to be my reply to the charge against me, in order that I would get him to 
 take it down in his book, the state I was in, and wiry I did certain things; and if he 
 did not do that, that I would be reported for writing on the gratuity card. 
 When I was taken before the Governor, and asked what I had to say, I took the cards 
 out of my pocket and said, " I put it on these cards " ; but he would not take down 
 the reply. I pressed him as much as I could to take down the reply from the cards, 
 but he would not do it. The report is here — " defacing his library and gratuity 
 cards " ; of course they were defaced, but I tell you under what circumstances. 
 
 10062. — Chairman — What happened on May the 25th? — The 24th was a Sunday, 
 my lord ; I was at the chapel, and at the chapel I put one leg across the other. 
 
 10063. — Dr. Lyons — Here is a report for disorderly conduct during divine service, 
 and a further report for shouting, at 6 p. m. ?— Perhaps, my lord, that will bear out 
 what I was going to tell you. 
 
 10065. — Chairman — What had you done at chapel ?— For putting my legs across — I 
 believe he charged me with looking at another prisoner. When I came from the 
 chapel I was reported for the offence, my lord. My cell was cleared out of all its 
 contents. It seems I was under report under such circumstances. I did not commit 
 a great offence at the chapel ; but as I saw myself under report, I made some noise 
 in my cell by reciting ; I put no restraint on myself when I saw that the men were 
 determined on persecuting me. This noise was added to the report next day, and 
 now it appears the whole report was for shouting and singing, and highly im- 
 proper language. I did not know what the highly improper language was. The 
 officers of the ward, when I was before the Governor, reported that I was singing 
 treason songs. I told the Governor distinctly, that what I was repeating that evening 
 was this quotation from Cowper : 
 
 " We have no slaves at home ; then why abroad? 
 
 And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave 
 
 That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 
 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free : 
 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall." 
 It is in Cowper's " Task." 
 
 10066. — Chairman — I know the passage : 
 
 " Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungg 
 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free : 
 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
 
 That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 
 And jealous of the blessing." 
 
 10067. — Dr. Lyons — On the 24th, you were removed to the dark cell. On the 25th 
 there was a report made in reference to the 24th : " J. O'D. Rossa, reported for de- 
 facing his cell by writing on the back of the door." And further: " J. O'D. Rossa, 
 two days' punishment diet and removed from dark cell, by order of the Governor, 
 12:20, noon "? — On one occasion, my lord, I distinctly recollect that I was put into this 
 dark cell without making any noise whatever ; that Mr. Alison accused me of repeat- 
 ing in the cell when I was only speaking in a whisper ; he said I should not be going 
 on so; he went outside the cell and listened; I thought what I was saying in a whis- 
 per could not be heard outside ; he listened outside, and he came in arid sent me to a 
 dark cell. 
 
 10068. — Chairman — When was that? — On one of these occasions when I was only 
 speaking in a whisper, my lord. 
 
 10069. — Did Allison send you to the dark cell without speaking to the Governor 
 at all?— Yes, my lord. 
 
382 O* Donovan Rossa?s Prison Li^e. 
 
 10070. — How was that? — He threatened that if I did not stop whispering to myself 
 he would put me in the dark cell. He went outside and listened. I kept whispering 
 to myself, not above a whisper, and he opened the cell door and put me in the dark 
 cell for three days. On other occasions I used to make a noise. 
 
 10071. — How do you know that he did not communicate with the Governor about 
 it? — Because he was listening at the door. 
 
 10072. — He put you at once into the dark cell? — Yes, my lord, he did. 
 
 10073. — He did not go away from the door ? — No, my lord, he did not go away from 
 the door. 
 
 10076. — Mr. Broderick — You have been often in the dark cells, I am afraid. Have 
 you ever been brought before the Governor and asked what you had to say before 
 being sent to the dark cell? — Never, sir. 
 
 10077. — Have you always been taken to the dark cell on the report of a warder? 
 — Yes, sir. 
 
 10078. — And without giving you an opportunity of saying anything y ourself about 
 it? — Yes, I have, sir, always. I got three days' dark cells in Portland — it is recorded 
 in the books — for refusing to salute the Governor, and using what is called insulting 
 language in getting the affair of the amour corrected, my lord. 
 
 10079. — Dr. Greenhow — In one of your own letters published in the papers you 
 say, " Let them flog us and starve us legally." As a matter of fact, were you flogged? 
 "—No, sir. 
 
 10080. — What do you mean by " Starve us legally?" — Well, I suppose I meant by 
 that that I was starved without sufficient cause — for instance, being starved on a 
 tharge of idleness when I had my work done. Would you show me the passage ? 
 
 10081. — It is a passage from your printed letter published in the Irish papers. I 
 Aave taken down the exact words. 
 
 10083. — Have you any complaint with regard to the quality of your food? — No ; I 
 make no complaint as to the quality of my food; / am here under the treatment of a 
 convict, an English convict, and when the authorities consider that I am a fit subject for 
 that treatment I am not going to speak or to complain of food or anything connected with 
 it ; but I always claim a right to speak of the treatment I receive. They may treat me 
 any way they please; my duty is to bear what they impose on me and not to complain. 
 
 10088. — Was that occasion when you found the hide in the soup the same as when 
 O'Connell found the piece of hide?— Oh, I think not. 
 
 10092. — You say in the same letter that when you were handcuffed in Millbank, 
 the officer seized you by the throat and used a club to strike you? — Yes, that is so. I 
 cried " Coward, to strike a man chained." He raised his club to strike me, and the 
 other officer said, " Don't hurt him." 
 
 10121.— You say, in page 3 ol your statement, " My letters are suppressed be- 
 cause I speak of my treatment, and the British Government defame my character by 
 saying that it is because I have told lies in them." What do you refer to there ?— I 
 refer to the statement that I gave you a few days ago, which, I understand, emanates 
 from the Secretary of State, in which he states that my letters to my wife were sup- 
 pressed because they contained falsehoods. That is in one of the paragraphs of a 
 paper I gave you, and I have very good reason to believe, from the internal evidence 
 in that paper, that it is an official paper, because it speaks of things that could not 
 be spoken of by any one except a person connected with the Government. I gave you 
 those letters to my wife, just to challenge any allegation as to their containing any 
 falsehoods. 
 
 10123. — Dr. Lyons — You made a statement in a paper I hold in my hand, in which 
 you applied for permission to write to your mother? — Yes. 
 
 10124. — Was that permission granted to you? — It was not, sir; I applied in Port- 
 land for permission; I applied in M.llbankfor permission, and it was not granted to me. 
 I did that as a matter of duty, because she is an old woman, perhaps seventy years of 
 age. 
 
 10125. — You did not get permission? — No, I did not get permission. 
 
 10145.— Was that suppressed letter not furnished to you amongst the others? — No, 
 it is not. 
 
 10146. — It is not amongst those supplied to you?— It is not; and it is no wonder 
 that I would feel a little annoyed. Of course, you cannot take into consideration or 
 calculate those things; the fact of my wife thinking I am not writing to her, and of 
 my thinking she is not writing to me. Here is a passage from her letter in America: 
 " If what the Governor said was true about your breaking the rules so often, you cer- 
 tainly did not, or do not, care to write to me. I do not mean to write a long letter 
 until I hear. Tell me, have you grown really so indifferent regarding what I think or 
 feel that you make no efforts to gain the good will of your jailers and officers?" 
 
 10147.— Is that from your wife from America?— That is from my wife, sir. It is 
 no wonder that I would feel annoyed at those things. 
 
O* Donovan Rossds Prison Life. 383 
 
 10158. — You have been in four convict prisons. In which of them do you consider 
 you have been most kindly treated, and in which must harshly? — Well, it is much the 
 same in all, Mr. Broderick. 
 
 10168. — Dr. Lyons — Is there anything in that (handing the prisoner a document) 
 that you wish to find out? — As you told me on the first day, my lord, that anything 
 tending to corroborate another prisoner would be received — 
 
 10169. — Chairman — That another prisoner could be called to corroborate any 
 statement you may make ? — Yes, my lord. You may go to prisons abroad. Prisoner 
 William Roantree may lay before you the treatment that he was subjected to. He 
 was afflicted with hoemorrhoids and piles in Portland, and could not get relief. I saw 
 him one day in Portland works, and he put his hand down his boot, down the side of 
 his trowsers, and pulled up his hand all dripping with blood; not spotted with blood, 
 but actually dripping with blood, and he said he was that way for months. 
 
 10183. — Mr. Db Vere — You were twelve months in Millbank with the gas lighted 
 in your cell at night? — Yes. 
 
 10189. — We have taken a note of anything that you have which may be a matter 
 for inquiry. We have down many things that you said about Portland, to which we 
 shall be obliged to refer. We will examine the Governor and the officers whose names 
 you have mentioned to us? — There is one matter that occurred to me, my lord, in 
 Portland. I point to it in one of those letters that I have given in, and I have not 
 been asked about it, my lord. 
 
 10190. — What is it? — About removing a large stone one day on a barrow going up 
 the quarry slope. I hurt my finger, and another prisoner seeing it came to take part 
 of the barrow. The officer was looking on, and said to me, without any provocation 
 whatever, " You are a man that would suck another man's blood." 
 
 10191. — Dr. Lyons — Who said that to you? — Gunning was his name, Mr. Lyons. I 
 went to the Governor the next day and a^ked him if thai was language that could be 
 used towards me. The Governor took the officer aside, and questioned him, and then 
 said to me, " You were not sent here to be too sensitive, and nothing can make you 
 more degraded than you are." 
 
 10192. — Are you quite sure that that occurred? — I am quite sure that Governor 
 Clifton said this to me; also, "I suppose you expect the officers to tip their caps to 
 you?" Mr. Clifton said these words to me. 
 
 10205. — Dr. Lyons — Can 3 t ou give any account with regard to Muloahy's having 
 spat blood while he was at the works at Portland? — I cannot, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 10207. — You did not see him on any occasion, in Portland, spitting blood? — No, I 
 did not. In that memorial to the Secretary of State, Mr. Lyons, if you have gone 
 over it, there might be some matters in it that would be relevant to the inquiry. 
 
 10217. — Dr. Greenhow — We are desirous of ascertaining the truth? — I made up 
 my mind to lay myself in your hands, and to ask the request of you, if I have 
 not satisfied you fully, of giving me an an opportunity of having those few things 
 asked. 
 
 10218. — Dr. Lyons — *s it is easier to make out the points by means of a printed 
 than a written paper, I leave ray printed copy of your statement in your hands 
 until to-morrow, for the purpose of facilitating you in your preparations for 
 your further examination. (Hands prisoner printed statement.) — Thank you, Mr. 
 Lyons. 
 
 10246. — Will you, from the facts that you have before you, put in a return of the 
 number of days that you have been actually on bread and water during the whole 
 period of your imprisonment, the number of days that you have been on penal diet, 
 the number of days that you have been in dark cells, and the number of days, ac- 
 cording to your own statement, that you have been in handcuffs? — Yes, I can do 
 that. Mr. Lyons. 
 
 10261. — Chairman— Under what circumstances were you dashed against the 
 wall? — When I was stripped of the clothes, when the officers took the clothes off and 
 threw them out; I was stretched on the floor of the cell when all was off. The 
 last man was at the door, and, as I was getting up, he turns back and dashes me 
 against the wall. 
 
 10262. — Were you not trying to prevent the door being closed? — No, I was not. 
 
 10263. — Chairman — Were you lying on the floor? — I was lying on the floor, and 
 got up. 
 
 10267. — Dr. Lyons — Did he push you with force or violence? — With great violence, 
 dashed me against the wall. My hand was cut the next day. In examining these 
 men here, my lord, have you learned from them any expressions that I used towards 
 them, anything regarding my being violent, or anything that way? 
 
 10268. — Chairman — Yes. By one man it has been stated that in the struggle you 
 seized Alison by the private parts. — Oh no, my lord, such a thing was never attrib- 
 utable to me. I never did such a thing. I caught him by the coat tails, that way, 
 
384 Cf Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 and he told Giddings to strike me, and Giddings struck me on the hand with his 
 staff, and I let go. 
 
 10271. — Chairman — It is fair to say that Alison did not say it himself. — I did not 
 attempt any such thing. 
 
 10272. — Allison himself made no complaint of it to us. 
 
 10272. — Mr. De Verk — I do not think Kossa need trouble himself about that. 
 
 102-4. — As to the gross insolence to Captain Hardy, that is one thing that I 
 wished to know what it was, and perhaps it was not right for me to speak o him 
 what I did, but he came in the usual way to pay the usual visit. I was in a very un- 
 comfortable position, and I said, " Governor, I suppose there is no chance for a man 
 getting eggs for breakfast here?" And they have it down " Extra breakfast." 
 
 10235 Dr. Lyons — What you said was eggs for breakfast? — Eggs for breakfast. 
 
 That was the ridiculousness of it — eggs in a dark cell. 
 
 10286. — Why did you say that? — With the position in which I was placed it was a 
 poor place to joke, but I do not like to be reported in those books for gross insolence. 
 
 1028V. — Was that all you said? — That was all I did say. 
 
 10238. — Are you quite sure? — Oh, quite sure. They themselves say I said no 
 more than " extra breakfast." 
 
 102S9. — Chairman — Is there any other point upon which you wish to speak? — 
 Well, my lord, as to threatening to strike, I do not recollect that I made any sucu 
 threat. Whatever I have done in prison I do not like to make myself ridiculous, to 
 threaten to assault men who came in with certain orders. 
 
 10290. — Mr. Broderick — It may be satisfactory to you to know that Alison stated 
 you did not strike or attempt to strike any one, but merely gave them a good push. 
 
 10291. — Dr. Lyons. — He said that you heaved them off, one in one direction, and 
 the other in another ? — That is perhaps, the fairest account to give of it, but I did 
 not draw my hand to strike a blow, nor did I strike them. 
 
 10292. — Chairman — We will take, as the version of what occurred, that which was 
 given by Alison? — Well, about the " assassin dogs," my lord, and throwing the pot 
 when the door was closed at the officer? 
 
 10293. — 'the Commission has considered what you are now saying, and instructed 
 me to say, that we think we know exactly the entire of this occurrence. We have 
 had Alison's evidence, which was given very fairly, and does not represent you as 
 using the violence that one or two others speak of; and we are satisfied that there is 
 n -thing in that transaction which calls on us, injustice to you, to go further? — Thank 
 you, my lord. 
 
 10294. — I may say, also, that in other points in which your evidence has been in any 
 way contradicted, or any different statements given, we have asked all the questions 
 which we think necessary to have put, in fairness to you, of the other witnesses, and of 
 rourself also. We do not think, therefore, that fairness calls upon us to go any fur- 
 ther in reference to these points. I mention that to you, so as to leave it to you tc 
 consider whether you think it necessary to put them further before us. We do nol 
 think it necessary to put further questions concering them? — No, my lord, I would 
 not be doing justice to my feelings in going further after what you have said. As to 
 the bathing in dirty water, my lord 
 
 10295. — That is a point we have inquired into in this and other prisons? — It oc- 
 curred to me in Millbank. 
 
 10296. — Chairman — We are going to Millbank and will inquire. 
 
 10307. — Mr. De Vere — That" matter, I may say to you, has been fully seen into — 
 Thank you, Mr. De Vere. Have you, my lord, asked a question as to what I submit- 
 ted in the statement as to the officers looking at me bathing? 
 
 10308 Chairman — We have examined and shall ask further questions. There i- 
 
 great discrepancy as to how they stood? — While I was in the bath, my lord, the offl 
 cer stood at the door, and kept his eyes on me, looking at me. 
 
 10311. — Dr. Lyons — What do you object to in it? — 1 only just state it,thatitwas a 
 matter which was painful to me. 
 
 10312. — It is the indelicacy of the act that you complain gof? — The indelicacy of 
 \he act. 
 
 10322. — Dr. Greenhow — The only notice here is, " wetting his coir before picking 
 "it," and the only punishment is "admonished?" — Well, my lord, but the officers told 
 me to wet the coir. 
 
 10323. — Dr. Lyons— They told you to wet it? — Yes, to wet it; that it would allay 
 the dust that was rising from it, and make it easier to be picked ; and Brown admitted 
 mat he told me to wet it. Two others denied they did — Cooper and another. The 
 very officer that told me to wet the coir, my lord, reported me for wetting it. 
 
 10359. — Dr. Lyons — During the time that you were thirty-five days in handcuffs, 
 were you taken to Mass on any of the Sundays? — No, sir. 
 
 10360.— During the subsequent time that you spent on bread and water diet, were 
 rou taken to Mass ?— No, sir. 
 
O'* Donovan Bosscfs Prison Life. 385 
 
 10361.— Were you taken to Mass during any part of the time that you were in 
 penal class ? — No, sir, I was not taken to the chapel. 
 
 10362.— Dr. GivEENhow— Did you consider that a hardship ?— Well, I did not, Dr. 
 Greenhow. I do not give you that answer with the view of being disrespectful on relig- 
 ious matters or things I do not want to get into. Has the doctor been asked if he ever 
 saw me violent, or insolent, or disrespectful ? 
 
 10364.— We are going to examine him presently, and if you have any questions to 
 put to him you can put them tbrough me? — Well, I will reserve that matter, my lord. I 
 recollect that on the report of Knell, I recollect asking what did he mean by making 
 noise in the cell, and his answer was that I was walking up and down mv cell. 
 
 10380.— Chairman— There are some questions which you wish to put to the 
 doctor, I bel eve ? — Yes, my lord. 
 
 10381. — Then you can remain here. 
 
 10836 — Dr. Lyons — Now, O'Donovan Eossa, can you state to me the number of 
 days that you were on bread and water in the several prisons in which you have been 
 confined? — One hundred and twenty-three days, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 10837. — Will you specify the prisons and the number of days in each? — Portland 
 Prison, twenty-nine days ; Mill bank Prison, thirty-two days ; Chatham Prison, sixty- 
 two days. 
 
 10839. — Dr. Lyons — Can you state how many days you were on penal class diet in 
 dark cell, what variety of diet you were on, and in what prisons you were so con- 
 fined? — In Portland Prison, penal class diet, thirty-three days; in Millbank Prison, 
 one hundred and fifty-eight days ; and in Chatham forty days. 
 
 10841. — Dr. Lyons — What total does that make on penal class diet? — Two hundred 
 and thirty-one days. 
 
 10845. — Can you now state how many days you were confined with your hands 
 tied behind your back? — Thirty-seven days, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 10848.— On what diet were you during those thirty-seven days?— On light labor diet 
 during thirty -five of them, that was awaiting report, and on bread and water during 
 two of them. 
 
 10849.— How many days and nights were you confined with your hands tied night 
 and day? — Two days and two nights, Mr. Lyons. 
 
 10852. — With what sort of manacles? — Tight manacles. There was no link be- 
 tween the cuffs. No. 8, is what the warder called them, I think you said. 
 
 10853. — How many days were you in absolutely dark cells in the various prisons 
 that you have been in? — I think twenty-eight days I allowed. 
 
 10855.— I cannot recollect the number here. I was put in dark cells so often, and 
 taken out so often, that I took no account of them. 
 
 10856.— How many nights of this period were you without a bed?— I was two 
 nights here without a bed, without rug or blanket or anything ; and I was fourteen 
 nights in the several prisons without a mattress and sheets. 
 
 10857. — Were you sent back to Millbank for a second period of probation of twelve 
 months? — Yes ; I was sent back from Portland. 
 
 10858.— Did you spend that twelve months in Millbank? — Yes, twelve months and 
 a few days. 
 
 EXAMINATION OF CAPTAIN DU CANE. 
 
 1. — Chairman — Your are Chairman of the Directors of Convict Prisons, I believe? 
 — I am. 
 
 56 — What was the total number of treason-felony convicts received into English 
 prisons ?— There are twenty-one in English prisons now; forty -five were sent to West- 
 ern Australia ; two have been discharged on license, and one is dead. One was trans- 
 ferred to Mountjoy Prison, and sixteen have received conditional pardons ; that makes 
 ninety-one as the total number who have passed through the English prisons. 
 
 93. — Is it possible that a very prolonged period of bread and water diet could 
 have been enforced, as was alleged by some of the friends of the political prisoners? 
 — They could not have been longer than twenty-eight days on punishment diet, cer- 
 tainly; but they might have been on penal class diet for six months. 
 
 115. — Dr. Lyons — It is alleged that the prisoners have been made to clean privies 
 other than their own ; has that been the case?— I think what that refers to is this: 
 When these prisoners were at work out on the works at Portland, there is a certain 
 privy which is set apart for the use of the prisoners on the works. I recollect some 
 question about that, but precisely what it was I cannot say. I can inquire if you 
 wish me to do so. 
 
 219 — By way of illustration, will you tell us, would O'Donovan Eossa have heard 
 of his election for Tipperary?— I happened to be down at Chatham just after he waa 
 elected, and he asked me whether he was returned or not. 
 
 220.— Then he was aware that he was a candidate ?— Yes, he was aware that he 
 
3S6 O i 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 was a candidate, because he had a visit from one of his friends. I told him I wa9 
 not authorized to give him any information of a political nature at all. Then he asked 
 me whether, if he was elected, he might be allowed to come to Millbank, in order 
 that he might be convenient for taking his seat. I told him I presumed every consid- 
 eration would be shown to him. 
 
 221. — As we have mentioned him, I do not know that there is any impropriety in 
 my asking whether there has been any change in his prison character of late?— It 
 has very much improved. He now conducts himself uncommonly well ; as well as 
 anybody. Up to the middle of the year 1868 he was a very difficult man to manage, 
 and was always doing something against the rules; but I was fortunate myself in 
 being able, in some way or other, to produce a little change in him. 
 
 222. — Can you attribute the change in O'Donovan Rossa's conduct to any greater 
 indulgence in his treatment? — No; I think that he commenced his good conduct first, 
 and then it was encouraged by any little things that one could do to preserve that 
 state of things. 
 
 223. — Mr. De Vebe — By little indulgences ? — Little considerations. He was allowed to 
 see his child, <>rfiis wife, when he would not ordinarily haze been permitted to do so 
 
 249. — Will you furnish us with the cost per annum to the State of each political 
 prisoner? — I cannot distinguish political prisoners from others. 
 
 10321. — Could a man be kept for a month in handcuffs? — No; the Governor sees 
 him day by day, or the Deputy-Governor. 
 
 10922. — Could he, on that original order, be handcuffed for a month if he was in 
 the separate ceils ? — No, he cannot be in the separate ceiis for a month under the 
 Governor's order. 
 
 10923. — If there was a fresh order from the Governor for the continuance of the 
 handcuffs should that order be entered as a fresh order? — Certainly it should. 
 
 10925. — Would you run your eye over the entries in that book before you, and see 
 is there any entry that the re-imposition of the manacles was done " by order of the 
 Governor?" — I do not see any. 
 
 1093,3. — Captain Da Cane, you tried O'Donovan Rossa on the 1st of July, 1868?- - 
 Yes. 
 
 10936. — Did you see him in person on that day? — Oh, certainly. 
 
 10937. — Was he in handcuffs when you saw him that day? — I cannot recollect at 
 this distance of time. 
 
 10941. — Have you no recollection one way or the other about it? — No, I have not 
 the slightest recollection whatever. I cannot say anything about it. 
 
 13272. — Has it been reported, or made known to you in any way, that their health 
 had suffered in consequence of punishment? — Well, it is very difficult to say, unless 1 
 were to look through the reports of men who have undergone punishment. I do not 
 at this moment recollect ai^thing of the kind, but it must do so; if a man is per- 
 petually put on low diet, and so on, he must, somehow or other, be affected. 
 
 13277. — They were located in those places because it was thought rather neces- 
 sary to keep them secure. One treason-felony convict escaped in Ireland; I believe 
 that was the reason, partly, that they were sent over to England. Therefore, we felt 
 it incumbent on us to take particular care that these men should not escape, and they 
 have not. 
 
 13279. — With whom would it rest to mike the necessary regulations and arrange- 
 ments tor the transmission of prisoners from Mountjoy Prison to the English prisons? 
 — It was concerted between our department and the Irish convict department. 
 
 132S0. — Which department would officially have charge of them? — We sent over 
 for them. 
 
 13281. — You sent for them?— Yes; we received them, I believe, at Kingstown; I 
 am not quite sure. There have been two or three batches. Some I know were sent 
 over in a gunboat to Portland. Those that came over to Pentonville first, I believe we 
 sent as far as Kingstown for them; but it might have been to Holyhead only. There 
 have been several batches brought over. The passage was all done in one day. 
 
 13330.— When a prisoner is put in handcuffs seventy-two hours, does it mean 
 seventy-two consecutive hours? — I believe the Governor would be justified in keeping 
 a man in, without breach of orders, for seventy-two consecutive hours. 
 
 13331. — If the continuity of the seventy-two hours is broken by removing the hand- 
 cuffs at night, would it be right to keep a prisoner in handcuffs longer than three days 
 without a fresh order? — I do not think it would; but I think that if the question was 
 referred to me to investigate a case of that kind, and if I found that the Governor had 
 kept them on more than three days I should say he had not gone beyond the letter of 
 his instructions: but I should say he had much better have reported at the end of 
 three days as if the ironing had been consecutive, but there is a rule preventing him. 
 
 13333. — Then at the end of three days, whether the man was in handcuffs night 
 and day, or only during the day-time, the G >vernor ought no longer keep a prisoner 
 
O' 'Donovan fossa's Prison Life. 387 
 
 in handcuffs without communicating with the Board of Directors?— He would not 
 break any rule so long as the man had not been seventy-two hours consecutively in 
 irons. 
 
 13334.— Mr. Broderick— But after that he would?— He would. 
 
 13335.— Dr. Greenhow— Then a Governor may keep a prisoner in handcuffs every 
 day for three months, provided they are taken off at night?— He might without break- 
 ing any written rule. 
 
 13336.— But would not that be breaking the spirit of the rules?— It would; I could 
 not say he had broken a written rule, for the rule is usually regarded that it might be 
 read the other way. 
 
 13348.— Then without breaking the letter of any existing rules, do you see any 
 limit to the length of restraint in irons that the Governor may impose?— Well, I should 
 say if a Governor did that kind of thing, it would come to the knowledge of the Direc- 
 tor, and that would be a practical limit. That is what the Director is for — to see that 
 those things are not exceeded. 
 
 13349.— I will only ask you do you think the possibility of its coming to the knowl- 
 edge of the Director would be a sufficient safeguard?— I should say that if a man was 
 restrained unduly in that kind of way, he would himself bring it to the notice of the 
 Director. 
 
 13350. — If it wero to appear that such a case as this might arise, of a man being 
 kept in irons for a continuous period of thirty-four or thirty-five days, with the excep- 
 tion of tbe irons being taken off at night, and that it had not been noticed by the Direc- 
 tor, would not that show that the safeguard that you allude to was not a sufficient one ? 
 —Well, it might, but the particular case that you allude was not under that circum- 
 stance ; it was known to the Director. 
 
 13351. — Was it made the subject of any aninadversion by the Director of the 
 prison to the Governor?— No, certainly not. I quite approve of that man having been 
 kept so ; I take it entirely on my responsibility as Chairman ; I take the responsibility 
 on myself of approving of what Captain Powell did when he kept the man in restraint 
 day by day. 
 
 13352.— Dr. Lyons— Did you, as a matter of fact, know in reference to this last 
 question when you tried O'Donovan Rossa on the 1st of July, that he had been in 
 handcuffs?— I was aware. I forget at this moment, but I think it is most likely that 
 I knew he had been restrained in handcuffs very frequently, perhaps every day, since 
 the time he had committed the assault. 
 
 13414. — Supposing a man was condemned to punishment in a refractory cell for a 
 certain number of hours, and that a Sunday intervened, would it not be possible to 
 allow him to attend religious service, and then put in a number of hours at the end of 
 the sentence that would compensate for the time he had been absent from the cell? 
 You might do that; but I think it would to a certain extent break the effect of the 
 punishment. It is the continuousness of the punishment that tells on a man. If it is 
 broken, he is to a certain extent deprived of its effect. 
 
 13420. — Are you aware of the size and position of the dark cells at Milbank?— Yes; 
 X have seen them not very long ago. 
 
 13421. —Are you aware that they are under the level of the ground ?— Yes ; they 
 we not all good places. 
 
 13422.— Are you aware that the beds are placed along the shorter walls, which 
 fje only five feet four inches in length? — No ; I am not aware of that. 
 
 13425. — Do you consider confining a prisoner in a dark cell as distinct from a light 
 eell, a necessary instrument of prison discipline ? — Yes ; I think it is. It is not one I 
 like or should use often, nor is it, I believe, used often ; but it has an effect. 
 
 13437. — Supposing, Captain Du Cane, that the letter contained a statement as to 
 his treatment in prison, and that such statement was not proved to the Governor to 
 be untrue, but, on the contrary, seemed to have been well founded, would it be al- 
 lowed to go out? — A letter to his friends? 
 
 13433.— Yes ; a letter to his friends must refer to nothing about his treatment in- 
 side prison. 
 
 13442.— Mr. Broderick — I have here before me a statement in the case of one of 
 the prisoners at Woking. The following note was made, I presume, in the books, from 
 which he has been furnished with extracts according to his application. The note 
 referring to his first application, respecting an answer to his letters is, " Was sup- 
 pressed by the Director ; the prisoner not to be informed?"— I do not know the spe- 
 cific case. 
 
 13445. — This relates to a letter which had been received for the prisoner?— Oh, I 
 %**nnot undertake to say that when letters are received they are always told. No ; I 
 would not undertake to say that ; because they are only allowed to receive a certain 
 number of letters. I suppose if more than the proper number were written they 
 W uld simply not be given to him. I will not say that they are always told it. 
 
388 0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 13446. — If news were contained in such a letter which it was important for the 
 prisoner to know, such as the death of his wife, he would be told? — He would be told. 
 
 13452. — Dr. Greenhow — If an ordinary prisoner had committed the assault Eossa 
 did, what would have been done? — He would have been flogged. If any other pris- 
 oners had done what Rossa did, he might have been flogged a dozen times. 
 
 13471. — Dr. Lyons. — Have you satisfied yourself as to the effects of certain pun- 
 ishments, such as dark cells and the use of bread and water, or do you merely acton 
 what you have found in practice? Have you given any special attention to the con- 
 sideration of the question of those two punishments? — I have by inquiry from those 
 who have seen people under the effect of ihem. 
 
 13474. — fs it your opinion that, on the whole, they are successful in the ob- 
 jects intended? — Certainly they are, in m>'St cases. Some prisoners are affected by 
 different punishments, some by others. 
 
 13474. — Are you aware that both these measures of discipline and punishment 
 are a good deal abandoned elsewhere ? — I did not know that they were abandoned. I 
 know that there are many persons that object to them. 
 
 13476 — Do you think, on profound consideration, and on theoretical grounds, that 
 they are really useful as means of correcting a refractory spirit? — I think they are. 
 L think they take the refractory spirit out of a man. 
 
 13477. — Have you not found ver}- notable instances in which they failed, and in 
 which another mode of action very wisely and very successfully put in operation — by 
 vourself. for instance — in one case, had more effect than continuous dark cells, bread 
 and water, and irons? — Certainly, they do fail; all modes of punishment fail, even 
 hanging s metimes. 
 
 13481. — In some notable instances where they were long continued, have they not 
 failed? — Yes. I may say that in educated prisoners, who do not care so much about 
 food as others, the question of depriving of food is not always very efficacious. 
 
 13482. — Have you looked at the deprivation of food yourself, as to its efficacy ; as 
 to the results in producing what is expected of it — a power of coercion on the human 
 will? — T know that a man who is put under that kind of punishment very often mends 
 his w ys. 
 
 I3id3. — Would you be surprised to hear that in abstinence from food, the sensation 
 of hunger very often ceases at an early period ? — Yes ; I am told that it does. 
 
 13484. — And that it is succeeded by languor and weakness? — I dare say that it 
 might do so. Yes, I should think most probably it would. 
 
 13487. — Do you think that with regard to the permission of letters inwards and 
 outwards, without any serious ill result to the prison system of discipline, a relaxation 
 of the rules now in force could be made ? — I think the privilege of letters is one of 
 those very few things which we are able to use as inducements to good behavior, 
 and I think any relaxation of it will deprive us of that advantage. 
 
 13489. — We have in evidence that a prisoner was for a very lengthened period 
 without knowing how his wife was? — Well, I suppose there was nothing the matter 
 with the wife of that prisoner. If the prisoner was ill-conducted he was not entitled 
 to a letter. 
 
 13519. — If a prisoner expeditiously completes the task-work prescribed to him, 
 and then reads a book, is there any moral or prison guilt involved in it? — I should 
 say that whilst working-hours existed he was bound to work. If the Governor had 
 set him a task which did not take him enough, he ought to have asked for more. 
 
 13522. — In this particular case it was three pounds of oakum he was to pick? — 
 During working hours I should expect a man to work, not to read. If he was 
 tempted to read I should take the books out of his cell. I would not have him read 
 when he ought to be working. He is not sent to prison to read. 
 
 13523. — But if he completes his work within the given time is there anything 
 contrary to discipline in his reading for the remainder of the time ? — I say that dur- 
 during working hours he ought to work. If he is so vigorous that he can do more 
 work than ordinary people he must still work, according to my idea of propriety, 
 during working hours. 
 
 13535.— Would it not be a great assistance to the Directors of prisons in carrying 
 out the sentence on a prisoner, if, as you suggested, the Judge were to take into 
 account the amount of moral degradation that was involved in the case, and that the 
 Directors of prisons should therefore be able to modify the discipline of the prison as 
 affecting the peculiar character of the man? — I think there might be disadvantages 
 in that; but in the same prison I should be very sorry to see different systems. I 
 should send him to a different prison. 
 
 That is as much as I need give of Captain Du Cane's evidence. 
 The reader can readily understand that he is a man suited for bi$ 
 
O' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 389 
 
 work. At Question 13351 he admits he knew I was thirty-five 
 days in irons, and, as Chairman of the Board of Directors, he 
 sends one of them down to Chatham Prison to get up a report 
 that I was only one day in them. He admits that though there 
 is a standing order not to keep a prisoner handcuffed more than 
 three days, there is a way of evading that and keeping a prisoner 
 handcuffed all the days of his life, if it be pleasing to the au- 
 thorities. Mr. Du Cane played an important part this year at the 
 International Prison Congress. How I wish I had him under ex 
 animation there, in the presence of the representatives from the 
 other nations, to whom he showed the excellence of his English 
 system, with all the buchu plastering he could lay on. 
 
 Count Sollahule of Russia proposed the following question 
 for this Congress, and I am sure my Director would not — at 
 least for the Irish political prisoners — consider imprisonment alone 
 sufficient punishment : 
 
 "No. 8. — Ought not the Congress to recognize from the start, as a binding prin- 
 ciple, the fundamental proposition of 'Rossi's Treatise on the Penal Code: "Im- 
 prisonment is punishment, par excellence, am.ong all civilized people." 
 
 Mr. Du Cane would have a punishment that drove sixty-two 
 men into the madness of self-mutilation in Chatham, during the 
 year 1872, and that created 19,633 casualties for the doctor, that is 
 an average of 53 each day. — (See English Government Report of 
 Convict Prisons, 1872.) 
 
 MR. WILLIAM FAGAN EXAMINED. 
 
 3040 — Chairman — Mr. Fagan, you are one of the Directors of convict prisons? — 
 Yes, mv lord. 
 
 3045. — You would have power to inflict punishment which the Governor cannot? — 
 I can inflict the punishment which a Board of Visiting Justices can. I can award 
 corporal punishment to a prisoner ; I can sentence him to close confinement on pun- 
 ishment diet for 28 days, varying only each fourth day by penal class diet. If he is a 
 man who has committed an assault on a warder, I can place him in cross-irons, not 
 exceeding six pounds in weight, and restrict him to a dress such that every officer 
 will know he is a person who has committed an assault on one of themselves. 
 
 3096. — As a matter of fact, have you detained many letters which came for, or 
 were sent by, treason-felony prisoners? — Formerly we have detained a great many. 
 
 3097. — Have you detained many letters sent for the prisoners?— Yes. 
 
 3098 Have you detained many letters sent by them ? — Yes ; we suppressed them 
 
 because they contained statements in abuse of myself, or of the Governor, or of the 
 Government. 
 
 3116. — Dr. Greenhow — You ordered the treason-felony convicts to be kept sepa- 
 rate from the other prisoners? — Yes. 
 
 3117. — Did you consider that an indulgence ? — No ; I thought it more a matter of 
 security. 
 
 3118 — Not as an indulgence? — Oh, certainly not, but as a point ot security. I 
 considered the prison a weak one, and I was responsible for the safe custody of those 
 men. 
 
 3122. — Did you gather that the impression on the minds of the treason-felony 
 prisoners was, that their crime was of a different character, and that they ought not 
 to be associated with ordinary prisoners? — Yes; they have always called themselves 
 "State prisoners." 
 
 3124. — Now, is it a fact that they have had fewer visits than other prisoners?— 
 Yes, I think, m point of fact, that they have had fewer visits. 
 
 3136,— fc esse of the death of a prisoner's mother, wife, sister, or brother, or any 
 other relative, and that a letter was received announcing it, would the prisoner be al- 
 
390 O ''Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 lowed to receive that letter, although it was out of time?— He would not be allowed 
 to see it until the time arrived that it was due, but the information in it about the 
 death would be communicated to him at once. 
 
 3250. — Me. De Vebe — In the case of confinement in the dark cell, is there any sys- 
 tem of periodical disturbance of the men at night? — Oh, yes; the same system exists 
 here as in all prisons. 
 
 3251. — How often at night? — He would not be more than half an hour at night 
 without being visited, but not necessarily disturbed. 
 
 3252. — And when disturbed, would he be awakened? — No, unless they cover 
 themselves in and put their heads under the blanket. The officer when he visits must 
 know whether the man is sick or dead, or there at all. If a man laid himself down 
 With his blanket off his cheeks he would not be disturbed at all. 
 
 3253. — Dr. Lyons — When a prisoner is hi a punishment cell, and Sunday falls 
 within the period of his punishment, is he allowed to go to religious worship? — No. 
 
 3257. — I wish to know is there any impossibility in the matter. Take the case of 
 a Catholic, with whom it is the highest obligation to attend Mass on Sunday — would 
 there be any impossibility of sending him to Mass on Sunday? — Except that it would 
 be a violation of the punishment, and it would be treating him exceptionally with re- 
 gard to his fellow prisoners." 
 
 This is Mr. Fagan, the Irishman and the Roman Catholic, who 
 ordered that no Irishman or Roman Catholic be allowed to have 
 any charge of us. 
 
 MR. GEORGE CLIFTON, GOVERNOR OP PORTLAND PRISON, EXAMINED., 
 
 2084. — Chairman — Mr. Clifton, you are the Governor of this prison, are you not? — 
 I am, my lord. 
 
 2128. — During the time you have been here you have had under your charge cer- 
 tain prisoners convicted under the Treason Felony Act? — I have, my lord. 
 
 2135. — How long did they remain in the wash-house ? — Only a day or two. I think 
 it was five days; but that I could refer to and ascertain immediately, my lord. 
 
 2136. — Then it was in consequence of instructions given to you that they were 
 placed in the ordinary public works? — I then received instructions to treat them as 
 ordinary prisoners ; that is to say, that they were to be sent on to other public works? 
 but they were to be located by themselves, and they were to be worked in a party 
 separate, by themselves, and they were so. 
 
 2138. — And has that continued to be the case to the present time? — It has con- 
 tinued with the exception of a day or two, my lord, when there was a great spirit of 
 insubordination shown by them, and at the same time I was hourly expecting a 
 mutiny amongst the prisoners here. At the very time that this exhibition of a turbu- 
 lent spirit was taking place, information indirectly came to me that the treason- 
 felony prisoners were going to assist in the mutiny; and I believe that it was on that 
 occasion that for a day or two, on my request to the Visiting Director, two of the 
 treason-felony prisoners were removed out of the party, as they, I thought, were 
 leading the other men astray. 
 
 2139. — Who were they? — O'Donovan Eossa was one of them, and, I think, O'Con' 
 nor the other. 
 
 2142. — They were separated from persons suffering under the same sentence as 
 themselves? — Exactly, my lord; but I found, from the information I got in the party, 
 they were doing more harm there than they were amongst themselves. I therefore 
 put them back into their own party again. 
 
 2143. — I believe you then, or subsequently, moved them from the ordinary cells 
 to tl e penal class cells? — I did, my lord. 
 
 2144. — Why was that done ? — I looked on it as a more secure position. 
 
 2159. — Would the Visiting Director receive the evidence of another prisoner in 
 charge, when it is borne out by collateral evidence? — I do not think he would ever 
 directly take the evidence of one prisoner to support another. 
 
 2267. — Are the prisoners expected to salute the officers here? — No, they are sup- 
 posed to salute the superior officers. For instance, when goicg around the cells of a 
 day, if a man is tying down he stands up to " attention " and salutes, but only when 
 he is visited by the Medical Officer, the Chaplain, the Priest, and the Governor, or 
 Deputy Governor. 
 
 2318.— I think you stated that the rule of silence on the public works was formerly 
 enforced against the treason-felony prisoners? — It whs endeavored to be enforced. It 
 was never strictly accomplished, but some of the treason-felony convicts were re- 
 ported during the first month they were here for breaking that rule, 
 
O^ Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 391 
 
 2319.— Do I understand you to say now that they were virtually permitted to talk 
 freely? — Well, I must say they are, virtually so. They are virtually permitted to do 
 so now, from the mere fact of the impossibility of preventing them ; the alternative 
 is, that they must either be confined under punishment, or be allowed to talk. 
 
 2471. — Dr. Lyons — The baths, I observe, are so arranged that, as I have been in- 
 formed, three persons in succession use the same bath ? — Yes. 
 
 2481. — What amount of clothing is given to a prisoner in Winter? — He has exactly 
 the same as in Summer. 
 
 11951. Chairman How long, Mr Clifton, was the treason-felony prisoner O'Dono- 
 van Rossa under your charge ?— -Speaking from my memory, my lord, I think nearly 
 twelve months. 
 
 11952. — Do you recollect during that twelve months the case of a letter which he 
 was charged with endeavoring to send out surreptitiously? — I do, my lord. 
 
 12025. — Did O'Donovan Rossa afterwards state to you that if you had told the 
 Board of Directors and the Secretary of State, that the letter was intended for another 
 man's wife, you told them what was false ? — I recollect of his telling me if I told the 
 Board of Directors; I dd not make use of the Secretary of State's name. 
 
 12026. — Was he ] >unished for making that remark ? — I do not know. It was highly 
 insubordinate conduct, accusing the Governor in the presence of a subordinate 
 officer, of having made it public in the prison that he had been carrying on an intrigue 
 with another's man's wife. He upbraided me very severely, and I had intended to 
 have him reported and punished, but I thought I might give him one more chance. I 
 am under the impression that I mentioned it to the Director afterwards, but I am 
 only speaking from m- mory. 
 
 12028.— To the best of your knowledge, is there any written account of the alleged 
 fact tnat O'Donovan Rossa tried to pass out a letter to another man's wife appearing 
 in the books of Portland Prison, or in any other book within your cognizance ?— I 
 think there is, sir. I think I might be able to put my hand on either the semi-official 
 letter or the official letter that I sent up to Parliament street with the documents. 
 
 12033. — Dr. Greenhow — There are two lines here that I will read for you: 
 " The fatherland, the hope of years — 
 The friend, the child and wife." 
 Here is another: 
 
 " It freely flies to wife and child, 
 To friend and fatherland." 
 
 Now, after reading these lines, could you doubt that that letter was addressed to his 
 wife? — (No answer.) 
 
 12038. — Mr. De Vere — Do you remember this matter having been investigated by 
 a former Commission? — It was. 
 
 12041. — Do you remember the conclusion that the Commission came to? — I will 
 read it to you : "We are far from saying that it was not so " (that is, that it was not 
 satisfactory). "Tie letter may have been for Mrs. Moore the elder, not for Mrs. 
 Moore the younger. ' Mrs. O'D.' might mean Mrs. O'Donovan Rossa, not Mrs. O'Dono- 
 van; but at least the matter requires explanation, and Rossa might have asked Moore's 
 permission before writing either to his mother or his wife." That is their conclusion. 
 Do you understand by that conclusion that the Commission leaves the matter in doubt 
 as to whether O'Donovan Rossa was or was not writing a letter to another man's wife?/ 
 — (No answer.) 
 
 12042. — Chairman — You must be cleverer than I am, Mr. Clifton, if you can put 
 any other interpretation on it. 
 
 12068. — When you mentioned to Moore that O'Donovan Rossa had written to 
 Moore's wife, did he evince any feeling of anger or resentment? — He was very indig- 
 nant. 
 
 12074. — Did you think there was no danger to be apprehended from two men 
 meeting one another under the impression that one of them had written to the wife 
 o^ the other? — No ; for the treason-felony prisoners send their love one to another and 
 there is the greatest possible sympathy and friendly feeling between them, and they 
 never forgot to mention each other. 
 
 12086. — Chairman — Rossa in his statement asks, " How is it explained that in Port- 
 land I have been separated from the Irish prisoners and sent amongst a gang of Eng- 
 lish prisoners?" — He was separated from the treason-felony prisoners on two occa- 
 sions, my lord, when the treason-felony prisoners were showing a very insubordinate 
 spirit and carrying it to such an extent that I recommended to the Director that the 
 party should be broken up and distributed amongst the other prisoners, or at all events 
 those who were the leaders. Looking on O'Donovan Rossa at that time as being their 
 leader I removed him, and, I think, it was O'Connor, into another party of prisoners, 
 Where he was employed and was very much under my own observation and the ob« 
 
392 0^ Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 serration of the officers. He created such a feeling of sympathy towards himself in 
 the party that I saw that it would be dangerous for him to remain there. I thought 
 it would be better, and for the safety of the prison at large, if he returned to the 
 party and Torked with them, and accordingly he was sent back. I was then in pos- 
 session of written information that a mutiny on a large scale was to take place at the 
 prison; on marching back to the prison from tho works the convicts were to rise en 
 masse. They were to be officered or commanded by the Fenian prisoners and were 
 to rush on the prison. It was just about this time. 
 
 12087.— He asks, " How is it explained that while at Portland, the rest of the trea- 
 son-felony prisoners working in mid- winter in a shed I was piaced outside of the shed 
 and prevented from having that little shelter from the poison-laden blast which the 
 others had?" Do you know anything about that? — He complained to me about that 
 and I interrogated the officer at the time, but it was simply that he was misconducting 
 himself and had been put outside the shed for a short time. 
 
 12089. — " How is it explained," he asks, " that Avhen under report the same day 
 with some of my fellow prisoners, on a charge of talking while at work they got 
 twenty-four hours on bread and water and I got seventy-two hours on bread and 
 water with fourteen days solitary confinement on penal class diet?" The date is 29th 
 December, 1806? — The others were charged with simply talking on the works, while 
 he was reported for talking accompanied with insolence ; in fact, setting the officer 
 at defiance at the time, and therefore he was awarded a heavier punishment than the 
 other prisoners. 
 
 12092. — Was O'Donovan Eossa ever deprived of all books as a punishment at Port- 
 land? — I think he was on one occasion by order of the Director. 
 
 12094. — Are you able to state positively whether O'Donovan Rossa was for six 
 months deprived of the use of the Bible? — I could not without reference to the Direc- 
 tor's order in the case. 
 
 12095. — When a prisoner is confined in a dark cell at Portland would he have his 
 body clothing at night, or would his body clothing be taken from him at night? — It 
 is the ordinary custom that when a man is in a dark cell his clothes are taken from 
 him. 
 
 MB. MORISH, GOVERNOR OF MILLBANK, EXAMINED. 
 
 12858. — Mr. Devere — Do I understand that if a man by diligence and exertion had 
 finished his work a little before the close of the working hours, he would not then be 
 allowed to read? — No, not in working hours. 
 
 12893. — Mr. Lyons — Would you show us the kind of bowl O'Donovan Rossa was fur- 
 nished with to take his food out of? — Yes. 
 
 12894. — Had he any spoon on each of these occasions? — He would be supplied 
 with a spoon, certainly, if he had not broken it. 
 
 12972. — Was O'Donovan Rossa searched very frequently? — He was searched very 
 frequently because he was found t<> have forbidden things about him. 
 
 12973. — Do you happen to remember if he was searched daily for a considerable 
 period? — Well, I could not state exactly whether he was, but I think it is very possi- 
 ble that he was. 
 
 12997. — Might they be naked searches? — Yes, if the man is a dangerous character. 
 
 13011. — How many baths have common water in them? — There are four separate 
 ones in the reception ward. 
 
 13013. — How many of these baths have the same water? — I am going to speak now 
 with regard to the time of the reception of O'Donovan Rossa. At that time two 
 prisoners on an average used one and the same water. 
 
 13025.— I find recorded here on the 20th of December, 1867, this order: "He is 
 to have io other spoon issued?" — Yes; but I think that does not refer to the cell he 
 was in " for destroying his spoon, and scraping away the cement on the bottom of the 
 cell window." On that occasion he had no other spoon issued. 
 
 13029. — How would he lift it, the hands being crossed? — Very well; I could do it 
 without difficulty. 
 
 13030. — Your hands are not manacled now? — At all events, I am satisfied that 
 perso'is have taken their meals with manacles on their hands. 
 
 13038. — I think your proposal to get the manacles on is a better way of testing it? 
 Yes, but I do not know if we can get any gruel at present. ( Wit?iess directs a warder 
 to have snme gruel brought in the bowl.) 
 
 13051. — Mr. Morhh— I consider that it can be brought up to his mouth this way 
 (witness lifts the bowl to his mouth.) I think 1 could empty that bowl without much 
 trouble 
 
 
(J Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 393 
 
 JOHN D. BURNS, M. D., EXAMINED. 
 
 5664. — Have you noticed a bad smell as the result of bad drainage? — I have, sir. 
 It is caused by not having sufficient fall. 
 
 5665. — The tide makes its appearance? — The tide makes its appearance. 
 5666.— Does the tide come into the prison?— The tide comes into the kitchen. 
 5667. — The tide has been known to come into the kitchen? — Outside the kitchen. 
 5668. — Have you made any report of the state of the sewers? — I have, and fre- 
 quently. 
 
 5671. — Have you made medical reports to the Director, or the Home Office, or the 
 Office of Works? — I have frequently. 
 
 5639. — Dr. Lyons — Do you think that the boards upon which the treason-felony 
 prisoners sleep furnish as comfortable a bed as the hammock of the other prisoners ? — 
 That is a matter of opinion, entirely. Some men would prefer to sleep in a ham- 
 mock, and think it more comfortable. I think the others more comfortable, because 
 in the hammocks you might fall out, and many do fall out, and the strapping gives 
 way. I think it is more comfortable on the floor, where they are. 
 
 5747. — Chairman — Is it your opinion, Dr. Burns, that there is sufficient ventilation 
 in the dark cells? — There is not, my lord; not quite so much as there ought to be. 
 
 6890. — Mr. Broderick — Did you on any occasion, Dr. Burns, say to Underwood 
 O'Connel! that medicine was not what he wanted, but food, better food, and that that 
 you were not allowed to give him ? Did you ever say that to him, or anything to that 
 effect? — No ; but he has suggested that idea to me. He has, for instance, put it to me 
 whether better food and other food would be better for him. Certainly, I think it 
 would. 
 
 6891. — And have you ever gone on to say that he required better food than you 
 were allowed to give him? — Well, I think it very likely that I have done so." 
 
 6919. — It was stated to us that on his complaining to you, you said, " when the 
 boot has worked a sore I will endeavor to mend it," that he then asked, " Is not pre- 
 vention better than cure?" and that you answered, " I am not allowed to prevent any- 
 thing of that sort in certain cases ?" — Well, my lord, it is very likely — the statement of 
 the prisoner about prevention. 
 
 6932. — Are hot the treason-felony convicts in penal cells? — They are in the penal 
 cells, but not in the dark cells. Rossa, I believe, is the only man who ever occupied 
 one of them. 
 
 9044. — You stated, I think, in answer to Lord Devon, that it is most unusual for a 
 man to have handcuffs on him in the dark cell? — It is. 
 
 9045. — And I think you also said that Rossa was handcuffed in the dark 
 cell? — I think he was. To the best of my recollection he was handcuffed in the 
 dark cell. 
 
 9058. — Did you at any time find that his health was suffering at any period be- 
 tween June and the end of August, 1868, in consequence of the discipline he was un- 
 dergoing? — His weight and appearance were reduced, in consequence of the low 
 diet that he was placed on ; but beyond that I do not think his health suffered. 
 He appeared reduced in face, and reduced in appearance, from the bread and water 
 that he was placed on. 
 
 9059. — Do you think it possible that a man could be on bread-and-water-diet 
 for twelve days out of fifteen, and in dark cells at the same period for eight days out of 
 fifteen, without suffering in health? — I think that he would be reduced in bulk, but I 
 do not know that his health would suffer. It would not be improved, certainly. His 
 reduced diet might certainly injure his health to a limited extent, possibly, although 
 not appreciably. I cannot say it would improve his health. 
 
 9072. — Chairman — On visiting O 'Donovan Rossa during that time, did you consider 
 it injurious to his health ? — I did not, my lord. 
 
 9019.— For a great many days between the first of June and the end of August, 
 he did undergo bread and water'? — He did, a great many times. 
 
 9120. — Did you observe any deterioration of his health during that period? — 
 1 did not. 
 
 9121. — It seemed to agree with him? — No, I cannot say that it agreed with him. 
 The man used to emaciate on it. 
 
 9134. — He made no complaint? — He made no complaint at the time. 
 9162. — Do you consider him constitutionally a strong man? — I think him a very 
 strong man indeed, very. 
 
 10382. — Chairman — What questions do you wish to put to Dr. Burns ? Prisoner — 
 I do not desire, my lord, to go into the question about the irons, if you have examined 
 about it. 
 
 10383.— I do not think it necessary that you should.— Very well, my lord. Well, 
 my lord, a question : Would you ask Dr. Burns if he ever saw me violently or inso- 
 lently disposed towards him or any other person? 
 
394 (/Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 10384. — Have you ever, Dr. Burns, had occasion to complain of the conduct of 
 O'Donovan Rossa towards you, as being insolent, or in any way unbecoming ? Dr. 
 Burns — No, my lord, never. 
 
 10441. — You stale that you observed, on the third day, that he was manacled with 
 his hands behind his back? Dr. Burns — I think he was; to the best of my know- 
 ledge, I think. 
 
 10445. — Then, it is possible that you may not recollect what position the hands 
 were in on the fourth, fifth, sixth and subsequent days? Dr. Burns — It is quite 
 possible. 
 
 10446. — O'Donovan Rossa, in what position were your hands manacled on the 
 fourth day? Prisoner — This way. (Puis his hands together behind his back.) 
 
 10447. — Repeat it in words, so that the short-hand writer may take it down? 
 Prisoner — Behind my back ; but if the doctor came at dinner time my hands would 
 be in front. 
 
 10448. — On the fifth day, in what position were you manacled? Prisoner — My 
 hands behind my back. 
 
 10449. — Do you positively assert that? Prisoner — Positively; every day for 35 
 days. 
 
 10618. — Chairman — Dr. Burns, are you in professional attendance on the Rev. Mr. 
 O'Sullivan, Roman Catholic priest of this prison? — I am, my lord. 
 
 10629. — Is he in a state in which he would be able to give evidence ? — He is in a 
 very weakly state indeed. He has hardly been able to crawl about. He is lying on 
 a water-bed or air-bed this morning. 
 
 10620. — Is his ailment mental or bodily? — Bodily; and he has had hsemoptysis — 
 vomiting of blood and spitting of blood. He can hardly bear any excitement. 
 
 10321.-— Then you would not consider it advisable to examine him? — I would not 
 consider it advisable to examine him. There is a note to tell me his state to-day. 
 
 10660. — I fancy that Rossa, when he first came here, was at harder labor than the 
 other Fenians. — I remember something of that kind. It is no doubt on record. 
 
 10873. — Chairman — What is O'Donovan Rossa's present weight, Dr. Burns? — 154 
 pounds — the lowest he has ever been. 
 
 10874. — You weighed him just now? — I did my lord. 
 
 This is the Dr. Burns who tortured Daniel Reddin by piercing his 
 feet with needles and plunging him into cold water. The unfortunate 
 prisoner is now paralyzed in Kingstown, Dublin. When he left prison 
 he went to law with Dr. Burns, but the English judges threw his 
 case out of court. Like the men who tied my hands behind rav back 
 for thirty-five days and afterwards forgot they ever did it, Doctor 
 Burns and his agents were able to satisfy the courts that Daniel 
 Keddin's story was false, as they were able to satisfy the Secretary 
 of State and the Secretary of State able to satisfy Parliament 
 that all I said was moonshine. Any one who reads this chapter 
 I am writing can form a pretty fair idea of the little reliance that 
 ought to be placed on the evidence of English officials when they 
 are examined bj Parliamentary or other Commissions on any ques- 
 tion affecting the management of English institutions. Such quib- 
 bling and contradictions and " forgetfulness " 1 have never read of, 
 as I witnessed myself. I wanted to have the Rev. Mr. O'Sullivan 
 produced to give evidence about his seeing my hands cut by the 
 irons, and his seeing the writing on the door in blood, but the priest 
 was pronounced "too ill to appear." 
 
 JAMES CRANSTON EXAMINED. 
 
 7499. — Chairman — Are you an assistant warden in the prison?— Yes, sir. 
 
 7530. — Dr. Greenhow — Are you quite sure that the handcuffs were put on O'Don- 
 novan Rossa on the 16th ? — I am, sir. 1 was present, sir. 
 
 7543. — Mr. De Vere — On what day was it you heard him complaining of being 
 hurt, and say " Don't pinch m.e.?" — L think, it was next 'morning,, either after exercise, 
 
'Donovan liossa?s Prison Life. 395 
 
 or when he was dressing himself for exercise. The officer was putting them on, and 
 he said " Don't pinch me." I do not think he said anything more about it. 
 
 7684. — Chairman — As your statement, O'Donovan Rossa, differs from Cranston's, 
 we think it right to call you together. Cranston has stated to the Commission that 
 he was frequently on duty in the penal wards at the time between the 17th of June 
 and the middle of August, and in answer to the question put to him 1 y us he has 
 expressed his belief that you were not for more than three or four days with your 
 hands handcuffed behind you. Now, that being his statement, differing from yours, 
 we think it right that you should have an opportunity of putting to him, through me, 
 any question that you might wish to ask him which you think might tend to show 
 that your version is correct and that he is under a mistake. It is stated that you 
 were not more than three or four days with your hands manacled behind you. 
 That is a correct statement of what you told us, is it not ? Cranston — Behind, sir. 
 
 7685. — Do you believe that he was not for more than three or four days with his 
 hands handcuffed behind ? Cranston — Yes. 
 
 7686. — Do you wish to put any question upon that statement through me ? O'Don- 
 novan Rossa — Ask him, my lord, if you please, how often did he take off or put on 
 the handcuffs ? 
 
 7687. — How often did you take off or put on the handcuffs during the period refer- 
 red to? Cranston — Frequently during this time, to take his food and exercise. 
 Rossa — Please, my lord, to ask him could he make a guess at the number of times? 
 
 7688 — When you say " frequently," can )^ou define the number of times ; eighteen, 
 twenty, or thirty, or how often ? Cranston — Not exactly the number of times, sir. 
 
 7690 — But you cannot tell the number of times the handcuffs were so changed? 
 Cranston — No, not exactly, sir. Rossa — Ask him, my lord, did he change them six 
 times during the whole time ? 
 
 7691. — Did you change them six times? Cranston — Yes, more than that. Rossa — 
 Ask him, did he change them ten times, my lord 
 
 7692. — Did you change them ten times? Cranston — Well, I might say I have. 
 
 7696. — Do you think that you changed them twelve times? Cranston — I cannot 
 say exactly. Rossa — Is he sure of ten times, my lord. 
 
 7697. — Are you sure of 10 times? Cranston — Yes, I say 10 times. 
 
 7698. — You have no doubt of 10? Cranston — No, my lord. Rossa — I ask these 
 questions for the purpose of having the same questions asked of them all, for the whole 
 number of times could be taken and then the sum divided by the number of times a 
 day. 
 
 7703. — Rossa — In the 10 times that he changed the handcuffs, my lord, how many 
 times did he change them at the dinner hour? 
 
 7704. — How many of those 10, when you changed the handcuffs from rear to front 
 took place at the dinner hour? Cranston I think I done it twice or three times after 
 dinner." 
 
 This man saw me with my hands bound behind, nearly every day 
 during the five weeks. 
 
 W. T. ALISON EXAMINED. 
 
 8414. Do you recollect, in June, receiving instructions from the then Deputy- 
 Governor to put the prisoner, O'Donovan Rossa, in irons?— Yes, my lord, I believe — 
 yes, yes. 
 
 8419. What did you do in consequence ? Was there any mode specified in which 
 you were to put on the irons or handcuffs? — To the best of my belief, my lord, it was 
 to " put him in handcuffs behind." 
 
 8437. Except that one day, is it your impression that 3*011 have seen O'Donovan 
 Rossa in handcuffs behind some other days? — I believe he was more than one day in 
 handcuffs behind, but I do not 1hink, to the best of my knowledge, my lord, that he 
 was more than three days in handcuffs behind. 
 
 8464. Chairman — What do you say ? — I never saw such punishment carried on, sir. 
 
 8467. Chairman — The reason you do not think it might have been continued for 
 thirty days is that you never saw such punishment imposed? — I did not, my lord. 
 
 8573. I now finally conclude that you have no means of saying, although the or- 
 der was given to you, on what day, or what period of the day, O'Donovan Rossa was 
 first put in irons? — I am unable to say, 
 
 8600. Was he put in irons in consequence of that offence of allowing the water to 
 run wa>te? — No, I think not, sir; I think not. I am not aware. Yes, sir, here it is. 
 The Governor gave orders for the prisqnerXRossa) to be removed to another cell, and 
 
396 (y Donovan Jlossctfs Prison Life. 
 
 to be placed in handcuffs during the time some alterations were being made to the 
 tap of the closet. 
 
 8614. Did it ever happen in your experience of prison life that a prisoner was 
 handcuffed in any way, either in front or behind, for such a period as 35 days? — 
 Never, sir. 
 
 8615. Never?— Never. 
 
 8617. I ask you what is the longest period in which, in your experience, you 
 have known a prisoner to be handcuffed iu any way? — 72 hours. 
 
 8627. If he states positively that he was handcuffed with his hands behind his 
 back for 35 days consecutively, do you, having seen those entries there of his being 
 /laily handcuffed for so many days consecutively, think it likely that he was hand- 
 cuffed with his hands behind h s back, in accordance with the first entry? — I should 
 cot think he was, sir. 
 
 8628. Why? — I do not think that ever there was such an order given. I do not 
 think t ere was ever a man that underwent that punishment for 35 days. 
 
 8650. Did he resist the application of the handcuffs on those occasions? — No, sir. 
 
 8651. He was perfectly quiet? — I believe so. 
 
 8652. He did not make any resistance which would cause you to hurt him in 
 putting on ihe handcuffs? — No, sir. 
 
 8654= D dhe show yu any marks on his hands? — "Well, it was just very slight, sir. 
 
 8657. Was there on:y one mark, or was there more than one? — That I am also 
 unable to say. There might h ve been two. He complained, and I made the remark 
 that the most caretullest man mLht n p a person in putting the handcuffs on. 
 
 8684. Doyou recollect any occasion of a second < ffence being comm tfed, say at 
 the time in which he v?l.S on penal cla-s d e r ? — Af'er he had been released from the 
 handcuffs, according to his own statement, they were put on again. Who put them 
 on again after letting the water run? — I labor under the impression that it was me, 
 my lord ; I think so, but I am not sure. 
 
 8685. Were the irons then put on in front or behind? — Behind, I believe, my lord. 
 
 8691 Mr. Brodekick — Do you recollect having to assist O'Donovan Rossa in but- 
 toning or unbuttoning his clothes during this period that he was in irons? — No, sir, 
 [do not; I might have done it, but I do not recollect. 
 
 86:>2. Do you recollect Ins having made holes in his clothes in order to keep up 
 his trousers? — He had no braces on, my lord. He might have done so. I cannot recol- 
 iect. 
 
 8693. Do j t ou recollect on any occasion telling him that there was a place near 
 the prison called " Jilligum." and that any prisoner who did not obey the rules very 
 poon found his way to it? — I do not recollect that sir, but I might have done so. I 
 have often given that caution to prisoners that w T ould persist in coming from the 
 cells. I have told t em that very same thing, and advised them to keep out of it. 
 
 8694. What is " Jilligum?"'— Gillingham Cemetery. 
 
 8714. Mr. Broderick — Referring once more, Mr. Alison, to the occasion in August, 
 1868, when O'Donovan Rossa was confined in the dark cell, do you remember refus- 
 ing to give him any clothing? — Yes, sir. 
 
 8722. Did you or either of the others, to the best of j-our knowledge, lift your- 
 self up and leap with the knee foremost on his chest? — I cannot say, sir. If there 
 was anything occurred it was a regular up and down thing. 
 
 8724. Dr. Lyons- Is 1 e so strong that be could resist three of you? — I had a 
 (Treat many men to remove to the dark cell, but I never got a wetter shirt from any 
 man than I did from O'Donovan Rossa. I never had a more difficult task in my life. 
 
 What a convenient memory this Mr. Alison has ! He can't re- 
 member anything lie did, but he can invent lies, for I never gave 
 him any trouble going to a dark cell. I always went, in obedience 
 to the order, " come on." 
 
 ALFRED BROWN EXAMINED. 
 
 12178. Do you recollect an occasion on which O'Donovan Rossa committed an as- 
 sault by throwing water on the Governor? — Yes, sir. 
 
 12198. How many tinr s, I am asking you, did you put the handcuffs on? Did 
 you put them on five timei, or ten t.mes, or twenty times? — Yes, sir, I dare say I 
 put them on five times. 
 
 12199. D.d you put them on more t an five times ? (No answer.) 
 
 12200. Can you not recollect whether you put them on more than five times ? — It 
 is so long ago now, sir, that I cannot remember the time. 
 
0' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 3 ( j7 
 
 12232. Supposing the first entry is "handcuffed behind his back," and then it 
 goes on for twenty days, say, with the word "handcuffed" without the words " be- 
 hind his back," wouid that imply punishment in the same way during the whole of 
 those twenty days?— No, sir. 
 
 12233. Would it imply that it did not go on more than the first time ? — That he 
 was handcuffed? 
 
 12234. What would it imply, supposing, on the second day, the entry simply is 
 handcuffed? (No answer.) 
 
 12235. You say that he was handcuffed with the hands behind the second days 
 and yet the entry does not show it. How do you account for that? The entry on 
 the second day is just the same as the entry on the tenih day. You say he was not 
 handcuffed behind on the tenth day, but was on the second day. Why was not 
 the entry put on the second day? Can you answer that question? (No answer.) 
 
 12257. Surely, you were about him every day, and you can remember about how 
 many days he was handcuffed after that assault? — No, sir ; I cannot. 
 
 12258. Do you think it was a week? — Handcuffed all together sir? 
 
 12259. Yes ? Either behind or before? 
 
 12260. Yes ; either behind or before ? — No ; I couldn't say, sir. 
 
 12261. You cannot say whether it was a week or a month ? — No, sir ; not at that 
 one time. 
 
 12262. And yet it was your duty to attend to those cells? — He may have had a 
 month on and off. 
 
 12263. Are you quite sure that, during that month when he had them on and off, 
 he was not handcuffed with the hands behind every day? — I am positive of it, sir. 
 
 122S6. You have already told Lord Devon that the handcuffs were put on behind 
 for three days, and that they were taken off and put in front whilst he ate his meals. 
 You now tell me that they were taken off altogether. Now, consider, were they 
 taken off for him to eat his meals or not ? (No answer.) 
 
 12287. Chairman It is a simple fact. Can you tell us whether, or not? — It is 
 so long ago, sir, that I cannot remember these things. 
 
 12288. Dr. Greenhow — In fact, you remember nothing about it, is that the 
 case? — Not any dates, or anything of that sort, I cannot. 
 
 12290. And is it a common thing for men to be handcuffed for about a month? 
 — No, sir. 
 
 12291. And would not such a circumstance attract your attention? — Not, in 
 the way O'Donovan liossa conducted himself, it would not, sir. 
 
 12292. Would not the very way he conducted himself lead you to pay attention 
 to the handcuffing ; it seems to me that the man's having conducted himself badly 
 would lead you to pay greater attention to the circumstances of his case? (No 
 answer.) 
 
 12308. Supposing a man is ordered to be handcuffed behind, would it usually last 
 three days ? — I don't remember he having them on any way, sir. 
 
 12360. You repeat over and over again a period ox three days; but I want to know 
 have you any re, ison for stating that he was only handcuffed behind three days? — 
 Well, I don't know that I can state any particular reason. 
 
 12363. Now, will you look at this book; whose handwriting is that (an entry in 
 the separate cells book) ? — Mine, sir. 
 
 12364. Is that your entry (another entry) ? — Yes, sir. 
 
 12365. "J. O'Donovan Ross i placed in handcuffs behind, by order of the Gover- 
 nor ;" is that your handwriting?— Yes, sir. 
 
 12366. Is that your handwriting (another entry) ? — Yes, sir. 
 
 12367. " J. O'Donovan Rossa, handcuffs removed from behind by order of the 
 Governor ;" is that your handwriting? — Yes, sir. 
 
 12368. On the 18th there is another entry, "J. O'Donovan Rossa replaced in 
 handcuffs by order of the Governor ;" is that your handwriting? — Yes, sir. 
 
 12414. Is that? — Yes, sir. (Witness identifies several other entries as his hand- 
 writing.) 
 
 12416. From the 17th of June down to the 21st of July, the majority of the en- 
 tries here which have reference to the handcuffing of O'Donovan Rossa are in your 
 handwriting? — Yes, s r. 
 
 12423. Dr. Greenhow — Do you recollect distinctly that you put them on yourself? 
 — Yes, sir 
 
 12424. Dr. Lyons — You see that is not consistent with what you said a little 
 while ago? (No reidy.) 
 
 l?42t>. You feel, no doubt, that after the prisoner throwing the water on the Gov- 
 ernor, you shut the door of the cell yourself? — Yes, sir. 
 
 1247,'". Du. Greenhow — You have just been cautioned on the subject. We have 
 seen the evidence you gave on the trial of the case before Captain Du Cane. I want 
 
393 O'Donovan Rossa's Prison Life, 
 
 to know how you reconcile your statements. You have told me that you shut the 
 door yourself; on that occasion you swore that O'Donovan Rossa shut the door vio- 
 lently. This is your evidence and is signed Alfred Brown : " Being duly sworn states, 
 on Tuesday the 16th of June, 1863, at about 12.10 p. m. I accompanied the Governor 
 on an inspection of the cells in the penal class. When in the usual way I opened 449, 
 prisoner Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa's, door and called him to " attention," he being 
 at the time sitting on stool c ose to the door, when he rose up off the stool and made 
 a movement I thought, of picking up a jacket to put on as he was sewing it, instead 
 oi whicn ne picked up his cell-pot and threw the contents over the Governor, which 
 covered him from head to foot and myself. He then slammed the door to, in the Gov- 
 ernor's face, n the most violent manner." 
 
 12487. How do you reconcile what you have three times told me distinctly, that 
 j-ou shut the door, and here I show you that you swore Rossa slammed it out himself; 
 how do you reconcile that? — I am wrong there, sir. 
 
 You are, and in several other places also. But you are only one 
 of the small fry. Let us take a look now at your superior officer, 
 Captain Wickham Talbot Harvey, " an officer and a gentleman," and 
 see the figure he cuts in truth-telling. 
 
 CAPTAIN WICKHAM TALBOT HARVEY EXAMINED. 
 
 12505. Chairman — You are, I believe, at present Governor of the convict prison 
 at Portsmouth? — Yes, my lord. 
 
 12598. H -w long, according to your recollection, was O'Donovan Rossa hand- 
 cuffed at all, whether in front or behind? — Well, I should not think more than five 
 days at the outside, as far as I can recollect. 
 
 12604. Have you ever known a prisoner handcuffed for as many as 34 days?— No, 
 never. 
 
 12620. Then if it should appear that these three books (the senior officer's hook, 
 Alison's book, and the Governor's book, which was probably kept by Harvey 
 himself), kept by different officers, all men of the highest character, concur in 
 showing that O'Donovan Rossa was handcuffed continuously day after day for a pe- 
 riod of 34 or 35 days, would it make you inclined to doubt the accuracy of your mem- 
 ory? I should prefer the entry of those tiree to my own memory, certainly. 
 
 12642. Was O'Donovan Rossa very violent on the occasion of that assault? He 
 was. He threw Principal Warder Alison, who was a troop sergeant-major of the 16th 
 Lancers, clean over his shoulders as if he was merely a child. 
 
 12643. When was that? I cannot remember. 
 
 I am willing to give him credit for telling the truth here when he 
 says he " cannot remember," for such a thing never happened be- 
 tween Alison and me; but he soon again relapses into lying by say- 
 ing I was violent during the handcuffing. 
 
 12713. You say Rossa was violent during the period of the handcuffing?— Yes. 
 
 12714. Are you quite sure of that from personal observation? — Yes. The fact is 
 that when I went round I used to speak to him in as friendly a manner as I could, and 
 I used to advise him to keep quiet and so on. I told him he was only making matters 
 worse for himself. Sometimes he used to laugh and sometimes break out, and my 
 impression is that a great deal of this outbreak on his part was that he was under the 
 impression th .t, sooner or later, it would bring his case before the public. It was 
 my impression all along that he would somehow or other manage to establish a case 
 of ill-tre tment, because on more than one occasion when he tried the temper of 
 Principal Warder Alison he looked as much as to say, " Well, it is curious you have 
 done nothing to me." 
 
 12745. Dr. Greenhow— You spoke some time since of the language that O'Dono- 
 van Ros-a had used towards the warders. Can you give any instance of it?— Well, I 
 cannot exactlv recollect the language. 
 
 12746. Dr. Lyons.— Was there anything in Rossa's language that you describe as 
 violent, more than what you mentioned to Dr. Greenhow, that he characterized them 
 as being minions of the British Government? I mean, did he use foul language?— No ; 
 I cannot say that he used foul language. Oh, no, he did not, but it was of an irrita. 
 
0' Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 399 
 
 tive character. " Servants of a tyrannical government," and " eating the bread of," 
 I don't know what; I can't recollect now. 
 
 12752. Mr. De Verb— You said that seeing those entries makes you feel some- 
 what distrustful of the accuracy of your memory ? — They do ; there is no doubt about it. 
 
 12753. Would it make you somewhat more distrustful if you were aware that the 
 chief medical officer, and the Governor, Captain Powell, have both given evidence 
 that O'Donovan Rossa was under restraint in one way or other from 30 to 35 consecu- 
 tive days at that time ? — Of course, anything further that can be adduced of an oppo- 
 site character would shake my confidence in my memory. 
 
 Hibbert was the man that leaped upon me, and Giddings was the 
 man that struck me softly with the club, and it is strange that they 
 were the only two that could speak anything like truth to the Com- 
 missioners. They ought to be promoted. I recommend them t<» 
 the consideration of my friends, Captain Du Cane and Captain 
 Gambier. 
 
 WILLIAM HIBBERT, EXAMINED. 
 
 9195. Chairman — Had you charge of treason-felony convict O'Donovan Rossa? — 
 I had, sir. 
 
 9210. Chairman — Did you see him with the hands m macled behind on more than 
 one occasion? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9213. How many times did you see him manacled behind? — A few, sir. Five 
 times? Yes, more. 
 
 9215. Ten times? It may be more. In my opinion — a month altogether to the best 
 of my opinion. 
 
 9233. Mr. Lyons — Are you positive that when you saw him at night for the 
 purpose of having the handcuffs removed, and having him released for the night, he 
 was in most instances handcuffed behind? — Yes, sir. 
 
 JOB GIDDINGS, EXAMINED. 
 
 9269. Chairman — What part of the prison we - e you in, in the months of June, 
 July and August, '68? — In the separate cells, sir, at different periods of the day; not 
 all day , sir. 
 
 9270. Did you during that time see the prisoner O'Donovan Rossa? — Yes sir. 
 9282. Did you ever see im w.th his hands handcuffed before h.m? — Yes, sir, 
 
 during the time he was at his meals. 
 
 2983. Excepting tuat time, do you think that the hands were always handcuffed 
 behind him? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9284. Always?— Yes, sir. 
 
 9235. For a month ? — For, I cannot say how long ; several days I should say. 
 
 9286. Several days?— Yes, sir. 
 
 9237. Was he in handcuffs, to your knowledge, for more than a month? Well, I 
 could not say, sir. 
 
 9300. Are you clear in your recollection that you saw him 10, or 15, or 20 d iys, 
 during the period he was in handcuffs altogether, and that of that time such a portion 
 as you name you saw him with the ■anis behind? — My d.ity w.^s to take his supper 
 things away from him and place his handcuffs behind him. 
 
 9301. How often did you do that? — Every night, or nearly every night, sir. 
 
 9302. For a week or two? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9303. Three weeks ?— Well, it might be that, sir 
 
 9304. Mr. Brodekick — When you took away his supper things, did you find his 
 hands before or behind ? — Before him, sir. 
 
 9305. Did you ever leave him after supper with the hands before him? — No, sir. 
 
 9306. You never failed to replace the hands behind? — No, sir. 
 
 9313. Do you say that you distinctly remember unloosing the manacles which 
 bound the hands in front, and replacing them behind the back? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9314. Do you remember doing that distinctly, on several occasions? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9315. Night after night, after you took away his suppe«r things? — Yes, sir. There 
 was another officer with me at the time. 
 
 9316. Who was that officer?— Mr. Hibbert. 
 
 9317. You actuall ■: took off the manacles from before and put them behind ? — Yes, 
 sir ; we used to do it ; took off one cuft. 
 
400 0* Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 
 
 9318. Describe how you did it? — We took off one of the cuffs from the wrist and 
 turned it round. 
 
 9319. You turned his hand round?— Rossa would put his hand this way (witness 
 put his hands together behind his back) and 1 would put the handcuffs on. 
 
 9320. Do you remember distinctly, unloosing one cuff, placing the hands behind, 
 and then putting on the handcuffs ? — Yes, sir. 
 
 9321. You cannot be deceived in your recollection of it? — No, sir. 
 
 9322. Mr. Broderick — Did he ever resist on any of those occasions? — No, sir; 
 never. 
 
 9323. Dr. Lyons — He always yielded quietly to have the manacles changed 
 from front to rear after meals? — Yes, sir. 
 
 I now proceed to convict the English Secretary of State of 
 deliberate., intentional lying. I lay before my readers the following 
 documentary evidence, and if they do not bring in a verdict of 
 " guilty," I will be very much disappointed. 
 
 [Fromthe Irishman of June the 12th, 1869.] 
 
 THE TREATMENT OF 'DONOVAN ROSS A. 
 
 REPLY of the government and prison officials TO SIR JOHN gray's question. 
 
 " On last Friday week Sir John Gray asked the Secretary of State the following 
 question, notice of which he had given two days previously : 
 
 Sir J.Gray asked the Secretary of State for the Home'Departmentif his attention 
 had been directed to the statement published in one of the Irish newspapers, appa- 
 rently on authority to the effect that the prison authorities so secured the hands of 
 one of the political prisoners by manacles behind his back, that he could neither dress 
 nor undress, or raise food to his mouth, and continued this cruelty for 35 days; and, 
 if the statement was true, was the circumstance reported to the Home office, and was 
 there any objection to place the report before the House, with a statement as to 
 whether the officer guilty of this cruelty was reprimanded or otherwise dealt with, 
 and how ? 
 
 Mr. Bruce replied — I am obliged to my Hon. friend for making this inquiry, for it is 
 clear that the statement he has just made, if true, ought to be explained; if not true, 
 it ought to be contradicted. Now, the facts with regard to this unfortunate man — 
 O'Donovan Rossa — are these : He was committed to Pentonville on the 23d of Decem- 
 ber, 1865. Under ordinary circumstances prisoners would be detained there nine 
 months before being sent to the convict prison. But it was thought more humane, 
 and more conducive to their health, to s<"nd these prisoners at once to Portland, which, 
 if I may use the expression, is the most cheerful, and certainly most healthful of all 
 our convict prisons. His conduct there was so violent and outrageous, and produced 
 so bad an effect upon the other Fenian prisoners, that it was found absolutely neces- 
 sary to send him to Millbank, to which place he was rem< >ved in February, 1867. What 
 his conduct was while at Portland is described in the reports of Messrs. Knox and 
 Pollock. The House will, perhaps, allow me to read an extract from this report, more 
 especially as it is stated in the report from which my Hon. friend quotes that O'Don- 
 ovan Rossa was of a gentle and tractable disposition. The report says : 
 
 " The convictRossa is a dangerous man, and must remain the object of unceasing 
 anxiety and vigilance to the authorities. The senior warder at Millbank, a man of 
 no mean experience in convict life, said that in the whole course of his career he had 
 never met with the equal of this most unfortunate man, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa. 
 He had no ill-usage to complain of-no severity but of his own seeking. He must 
 amend his ways, or abide his fate." 
 
 Again it was said: 
 
 " As long as the treason-felony convict Jeremiah O'Donavan Rossa was at Port- 
 land, so long were these prisoners in a state of chronic discontent, which found its 
 expression in daily acts of insobordination and words of insolent defiance. He has 
 most properly been removed to Millbank, ami an entirely different state of facts pre- 
 vails. Since Rossa's removal the prison authorities express themselves as fir more 
 satisfied with the conduct of the treason-felony convicts ; the convicts declare them- 
 selves far more content with the treatment they receive from the outhoritics. ' At 
 present I find the state of things here almost relatively perfect happiness,' said trea- 
 son-ielony convict O'Leary to us. ' The conduct of the convicts has been far better, 
 they are far more industrious, ad far less indolent,' was in effect the language of the 
 warders, many of whom in terms attributed the change to the removal of Rossa. 
 
(J Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 401 
 
 After spending a year at Millbank, he was removed to Chatham on the 24th of 
 February, 1868, and during the greater part of the time he continued at Chatham the 
 conduct which he had exhibited while at Portland. I will not weary the House by 
 reading a list of the offences for which he has received punishment, but will refer 
 only to those which occurred in Jane last. On the 5th of June he was reported for 
 highly insubordinate conduct, using abusive language, refusing to get out of bed, 
 and disturbing the quiet of the penal class, and he was sentenced to three days' close 
 confinement on punishment diet. On the 9th of June he was reported for insubordi- 
 nation and disrespectiul conduct to the Governor, wilfully damaging two vests, highly 
 insubordinate and disrespectful conduct towards t! e Governor, and defacing his cell 
 door, and he was sentenced to two days' close confinement. Onthel5th of June he was 
 reported for refusing to leave his cell and disrespectful conduct to the Governor, 
 for refusing to clean his basin and damaging his vest and a gutta-percha pint, and sen- 
 tenced to two days' confinement. On the 17th of June he was reported for throw- 
 ing the contents of his cell pot in the Governor's face, when under punishment in the 
 separate cells. The prisoner having committed these acts ol violence, and being 
 a very powerful man — so powerful that it required three or four warders to master 
 him— was for awhile manacled with his hands behind his hack. But, so far from 
 being kept in this condition thirty-five days, he was only so for a part of a day." 
 
 The "last Friday week " mentioned at the beginning of this 
 quotation, was the 4th of June; and, looking to page 59 of the 
 Keport of Lord Devon and his brother Commissioners, I find under 
 the head of that date the following reply from the Governor of the 
 Prison to a telegram from the Board of Directors, London : 
 
 " Chatham Prison, June 4th, 1S69. 
 
 " Sir: With reference to your telegram requesting to know how many days Reg. 
 No. 9,549, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa was placed in handcuffs after his assault upon 
 me, I have the honor to inform you that he was placed in them on the morning of the 
 17th of June and kept in them each successive day, as a measure of precaution to 
 prevent his repeating a similar act when visited by either myself or an officer of the 
 prison, till the 20th July ; the handcuffs being invariably removed each day at 7.45 
 P. M., and not replaced till the following morning, 
 
 " Wm. Pagan, Esq. " T. F. POWELL, Governor." 
 
 There is no doubt but that this information was required for 
 the Secretary of State, and that he had it in his possession the same 
 evening when he made his statement in the House of Commons. 
 But should any of my jury hesitate, I will not press for Mr. Bruce's 
 conviction yet awhile. I will give the Secretary three weeks addi- 
 tional time to get the information from the Board of Directors, 
 and I will direct the attention of the jury to another debate in the 
 House of Commons on the evening of June the 29th. 
 
 George Henry Moore has reason to doubt the truth of the reply 
 given to Sir John Gray, and he introduces the subject a second 
 time. I quote from the Irishman of July 3d : 
 
 " The following supplement gives that portion of Mr. Moore's speech in full where 
 he introduces the Warder's evidence : 
 
 4 Now, the incessant infliction of such frivolous severities is one of the principal 
 subjects of complaint which runs through the whole of the statements of these pris- 
 oners. But that is not all. Weighing these various statements one with the other, 
 and with regard to corroborative evidence of impartial witnesses, it is impossible to 
 doubt that the penal labors to which these men were sentenced was, with deliberate 
 purpose, made unnecessarily galling by the connecting it with insulting concomitants 
 and ignominious associations ; that the fact that they were felons, and to be treated as 
 other felons, was thrust constantly upon their notice ; and that their resentment of 
 tkese indignities was visited by punishment which was intended for obdurate ruffians 
 
402 0' Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 
 
 andnotfor the sensitive impatience of high-spirited men. We have heard of the dread, 
 i'ul outrage committed by O'Donovan Rossa on one of the authorities of the prison ; but 
 who can know of the long tale of cruel provocations winch goaded that rebellious na- 
 ture into the mad attempt to repel indi-gnity with indignity ? One part of his story was 
 published to the world, and was subsequently contradicted in the most peremptory and 
 circumstantial manner by the Secretary of State. But I have been furnished with a 
 formal deposition, professing to corroborate the original statements in all their essen- 
 tial particulars. It has been sent to me by Messrs. Mernman, solicitors, in this city, 
 who state in their letter to me that they have taken it down from the deponent's 
 lips, and here it is : 
 
 | " June 25, 1869. 
 
 " Joseph Kay, of 16 Cross-street, Palace-road, Hackney, late assistant warder of 
 Chatham Prison, was assistant warder from April 5, 1865, till November 5, 1868, states 
 that the prisoner Kossa, in the months of June and July, 1863, was handcuffed for 
 about six weeks during those months with his hands behind him, from ten minutes 
 past 5 a. m. till 7:30 p. m., his hands being removed in lront of him, though still hand- 
 cuffed while he took his meals. The first meal, the breakfast, occupied from 5:30 
 till 6 a', m. ; dinner from 12:15 till 1:15 p. m. ; supper 6:15 till 6:45 p. m., and at 7:30 the 
 handcuffs' were removed on his going to bed. During the whole of these six weeks he 
 was confined in a separate cell, the handcuffs on him behind his back, excepting 
 when partaking of his meals at the above stated intervals." 
 
 " This statement is quite inconsistent with the terms of the contradiction for- 
 warded by the prison authorities to the Home Secretary, and stated by him to the 
 House. 1 trust that the Right Hon. gentleman will cause such an inquiry to be made 
 into the matter as will elicit the truth. There is only one more observation which I 
 wish to make before I sit down. I have not justified, nor do I seek to justify, a single 
 act of the Fenian conspiracy, nor of the insurrection to which it gave rise ; but I an? 
 convinced that there is not one man who lost his life or his liberty in that enterprise 
 who would have saved his life or would now purchase his liberty by the admission, 
 that there was guilt or shame in the cause for which they suffered imprisonment or 
 death. Nor can 1, on their part, or on my own, make any such admission. They 
 entered into a conspiracy, the object of which was to make Ireland an independent 
 nation and the effect of which has been that the First Minister of the Crown has 
 hastened the hand of the Parliamentary clock to accomplish an act of which, in his 
 pre-Fenian mind, he had regarded as indefinitely remote. I have already quoted the 
 prophetic words of Mr. Charles Kickham on leaving the dock for penal servitude. 
 They are already fulfilled. Some have died, and many more have suffered in the same 
 cause as he. But in the gilded chamber over the way to-night " their souls are 
 marching on!" One act of justice is all but accomplished ; another is treading upon 
 its footsteps,'and a third may yet be seen " no bigger than a man's band " in the hori- 
 zon and which will yet all but accomplish what these humble martys died and suf- 
 fered to advance— vague and shadowy as may have been the views and the purposes — 
 the means, they were yet the shadows of real things — real misgovernment, real 
 misery, real reasonable, resolute, disaffection. Above all, they are the shadows of 
 all that'is left of national life in Ireland— an abiding purpose and an immortal hope, 
 which have never been conquered, and which never will die." 
 
 Bravo ! George Henry Moore ! Long will your memory live in 
 our souls. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce said the House would recollect the very remarkable statement made 
 a short time ago in that House relative to the treatment of O'Donovan Rossa — namely, 
 that he was handcuffed for 35 days with his hands behind his back, that his only food 
 was gruel. Two or three days ago the Hon. member gave him notice that he intended 
 to controvert the statements he had made on this subject. He applied to the Hon. 
 gentleman for the name of his informant, but he declined to give it. [Mr. Moore : " I had 
 no permission to give the name."] He gathered from the statement of the Hon. gen- 
 tleman that his informant was a warder who had been dismissed, but if he supplied his 
 name he could have made inquiries as to the reasons for his dismissal, and whether his 
 testimony could safely be received. At all evnnts, he had left the establishment. [Mr. 
 Moore : " I know nothing about it."] He presumed he must have left the establish- 
 ment in November, as the circumstances to which he spoke occurred between June 
 and November, 1868. It certainly would have been more satisfactory if the Hon. gen- 
 tleman had given him an opportunity of inquiring into the character of his witness 
 (hear). He, on the contrary, believed in preference, the testimony of the Governor 
 and Deputy-Governor, who stated that after the horrible assault, which he had on a 
 
C Donovan I2ossa 3 -s Prison Life. 403 
 
 former occasion described, the hands of O'Doaovan Ross i, were manacled behind his 
 back, for half a day." 
 
 It was only reasonable that Mr. Bruce should believe the testi- 
 mony of his officials in preference to any other. You have read the 
 evidence of the Governor admitting I was 35 days manacled, and 
 you can read the evidence of Captain Du Cane, the Chairman of the 
 Board of Directors, admitting he knew I was all the time in irons. 
 It was through these Directors the Secretary of State received all 
 his information, and now it will be worth your while to go back a 
 few pages and read the evidence of Captain Wickham Talbot Har- 
 vey, the Deputy-Governor, on whom Mr. Bruce relies. He cuts the 
 sorriest figure of all the witnesses I ever saw on a witness table. 
 The Commissioners do not believe a word he says, and I will end 
 my case by giving some extracts from their report, on the strength 
 of which I demand a verdict not alone against the Secretary of State, 
 but against Mr. Gladstone and the whole English Government for 
 their disgraceful treatment of the Irish political prisoners : 
 
 "Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the treatment of treason- 
 felony convicts in English prisons. London: printed by George Edward Eyre & Wi' - 
 liam Spottiswoode, printers to the Queen's most excellent Majesty for her Majesty' ? 
 stationary office. 1870:" 
 
 26. It appears that medical officers of convict prisons are not required to posses? 
 qualifications both in medicine and surgery, and that in some instances, and at cer 
 tain seasons, the sole medical charge of a large infirmary, and of 1,200 or 1,500 con 
 victs out of hospital, devolves upon a single officer having only one professional quali- 
 fication. 
 
 29. In the public works' prison and in parts of the invalid prison at Woking, the 
 cells, being designed mainly for sleeping, are much smaller, and, as we think, too 
 small for health, unless further provision be made for ventilation. All the dark cells, 
 but especially those at Millbank, appeared to us imperfectly ventilated, a defect 
 which the entire exclusion of light renders the more injurious to health. The dark 
 cells (Pentagon V, Millbank), lrom their restricted dimensions, their bad position, 
 and their exclusively defective ventilation, demand immediate attention. 
 
 33. The restrictions now imposed on the writing and receipt of letters, may, in 
 our judgment, be somewhat mitigated without prejudice to discipline. We think, 
 moreover, that when even a letter is surpressed, whether addressed to a prisoner or 
 written by him, the fact and the reasons should be forthwith communicated to him. 
 
 26. The somewhat arbitrary use of handcuffs as a measure of restraint calls for 
 notice in this place, though we refer to a later part of our report, the observations 
 wh.ch ar;se out of one particular case to which they were employed. 
 
 38. We have to report that there does not appear to us to be that uniformity in 
 practice, or that unanimity in the interpretation of the powers entrusted to Gover- 
 nors, which we should deem to be desirable on so important a subject. 
 
 39. We find a very great concurrence of opinion that manacles may be imposed 
 for a period of 72 hours and longer. Finally, the Chairman, while admitting that the 
 period of 72 hours cannot be exceeded without reference to a director, stated that in 
 his opinion, under a literal construction of this rule, provided the full period of the 
 •rder *snot exhausted by the continuous imposition of manacles for 72 consecutive 
 hoars, day and night, at any onetime, a prisoner may, if the Governor deem fit, be 
 kept in manacles an indefinite time. 
 
 41. We are moreover of opinion that, except for the immediate control of 
 personal violence, and for a short period to be defined by the Directors, manacles 
 should not be imposed without the written order of a Governor or Deputy Governor, 
 after a hearing of the case ; that the order should in all cases specify the manner in 
 which the manacles are to be applied, whether in front or behind, and the period for 
 which they are to be so continued. 
 
 42. At Pentonville and Dartmoor, the Governors informed us that refractory pris- 
 oners are not kept in dark cells for more than four hours, whereas at Chatham we 
 have found that a prisoner has been frequently so confined for a period varying from 
 
4:04 O' Donovan 12ossa?s Prison Life. 
 
 one to three days. We are of opinion that confinement in a dark cell is not to be justi- 
 fied as a simple measure of restraint, since the admission of light is consistent with 
 the adoption of every necessary precaution against violence. It is, in fact, a very 
 severe punishment. We think: also that a prisoner in a dark cell should be allowed 
 to re lain his bed, blanket and rug while confined therein. 
 
 43. Punis' ment for prison oilences by diminution of food or alteration in the kind 
 given, is common to all prisons we have visited. Bread and water diet, under which 
 one pound of bread is allowed daily, is frequently employed for a period of from one 
 to three days by a Governor's sentence. It may also be extended to twenty-eight 
 days, by t e sentence of a Director, with penal class diet every fourth day. Penal 
 class diet may likewise be imposed by a Director for six months, and may immedi- 
 ately succeed twenty-eight days' bread and water. We cannot but call attention to 
 the very serious consequences which may result from continuing such punishments 
 too long or repeating them too frequently. In our opinion twenty-eight days confine- 
 ment in a penal cell, on bread aud water, varied with penal class diet every fourth 
 diy, or penal class diet for six months, can hardly fail to be in some degree injurious 
 to ordinary constitutions. 
 
 47. With regard to those in the Infirmary, we think that arrangements should be 
 made to facilitate the attendance of all who are able to leave the sick ward; and, as 
 regards those under punishment, we entertain grave doubts whether the reason given 
 for prohibition, viz., that the attendance at Chapel would be a temporary mitigation 
 of the punishment enforced, should be allowed to outweigh the spiritual advantages 
 which may accrue to every person from attendance on religious service. 
 
 48. Proceeding to the second branch of our inquiry, viz. : " Whether the treason- 
 felony prisoners have been subjected to any exceptional treatment in any way, or 
 have suffered any hardships beyond those incidental to the condition of a prisoner 
 sentenced to penal servitude." We think it more convenient to state, first, the gene- 
 ral allegation applicable to some or all of the treason-felony prisoners, with such re- 
 marks upon each as may appear to us necessary. 
 
 49. We should premise, however, that certain allegations were made by two of 
 the prisoners in reference to circumstances attending their transmission from Ire- 
 land, into which we were not in a position to inquire fully, but which we think of 
 such a character that the attention of the proper authorities should be directed to 
 them. It is alleged that due consideration was not shown by those in charge of the 
 prisoners for the inconveniences incidental to a sea voyage and a long journey. 
 Should it be found that such circumstances occurred as were detailed to us, we think 
 it important that due provision should be made against their recurrence. 
 
 50. Searches, &c. — Of the general complaints made by the treason-felony convicts, 
 the first had reference to the practice and mode of searching, as well on their first re- 
 ception in prison as at certain periods during their confinement. The rules which 
 prescribe and enforce searching are, with slight variations as to the frequency of the 
 periodical searching, common to all convict prisons, and it did not appear to us that 
 the treason-felony prisoners were subjected, in this respect, to any exceptional treat- 
 ment, except at Pentonville, where some of them had to undergo weekly searches, as 
 a measure of precaution, for a short period after their first arrival. 
 
 51. It was stated strongly to us, by all the prison officers whom we questioned on 
 the subject, that the maintenance ef the practice of searching is necessary for the ex- 
 clusion of prohibited articles, and for the personal safety of those who are charged 
 with the custody of the prisoners. * * * We therefore do not feel justified in sug- 
 gesting any change other than that the naked search of a prisoner should not take 
 place fn the presence of other prisoners, and should be conducted by selected officers. 
 
 52. In the case of some of the treason-felony prisoners, complaint was made that, 
 when at Pentonville, they were obliged at bed-time to put out their day clothes and 
 cell furniture. It was explained to us by the Governor that this measure, though 
 somewhat exceptional, was enforced, not as an indignity, but as a precaution against 
 escape— a course uniformly adopted in similar cases. 
 
 53. Deprivation of Flannels — We find that on arrival at Pentonville the flannels 
 suppled to the treason-felony convicts at Mountjoy Prison were taken from them. 
 We are of opinion that, as they arrived in mid-winter, and as some of them appear to 
 have been men of delicate constitutions, and one was of deformed and weakly frame, 
 flannels should have been given to them without waiting for the intervention of the 
 medical officer, in lieu of those which they had worn up to that time, and which it 
 was necessary to send back to Mountjoy Prison. 
 
 54. Association. — Another general complaint of the treason-felony convicts was 
 that, whereas the offence of which they had been convicted was of a special charac- 
 ter, implying, in their view, no moral degradation, they had been associated with 
 other prisoners undergoing the sentence of penal servitude for gross and heinous 
 crimes. 
 
0' ' Donovan Rossds Prison Life, 405 
 
 55. Waiving, for the present, the question of principle involved in this complaint 
 (to which, however, we shall hereafter advert), we proceed to state the facts. 
 
 57. At Dartmoor, none of the prisoners have been confined except Mulcahy and 
 Lennon. Mulcahy was transferred to Dartmoor on the 8th of February, 1867, and 
 thence to Woking on the 8th of May, in the same year. During that period, he was 
 associated with the ordinary prisoners. Lennon was transferred to Dartmoor on the 
 30th of December, 1868, and is still there. He, also, is associated with other prisoners. 
 
 61. At Chatham, except in the infirmary, the treason-felony prisoners have, as a 
 rule, not been associated with other convicts, or employed on the public works. It 
 appears, however, that some of these prisoners themselves applied to be allowed to 
 labor on the public works for a short time. J. O'Donovan Rossa was, for some time, 
 the only treason-felony convict in this prison, and he was then worked in association. 
 On a subsequent occasion — 1st June, 1S68 — as a measure of punishment, he was com- 
 pelled to labor with ordinary prisoners on the public works. After some days, he re- 
 fused to continue at work, in consequence, as he alleges, of "the unpleasant life he 
 led with them." For this he was reported and awarded three days' bread-and-water 
 punishment. 
 
 63. Occupation. — Several complaints were made by these prisoners of their hav- 
 ing been obliged to perform certain tasks of work of a degrading character — e.g., to 
 wash the clothes of other prisoners, to clean out cells, and even privies. 
 
 64. It is perfectly true that those who were received at Portland were, on their 
 first arrival, and for a few days pending the receipt of instructions from the central 
 authority, placed in the wash-house, but they were subsequently, as stated above, 
 placed on the public works as a separate party. 
 
 65. * * * It is true, indeed, that in the Winter of 1S66, during a storm of un- 
 usual severity, the rain was driven in through the walls of Hall D., Portland Prison, 
 and the cells occupied by certain of the treason-felony convicts were partially flooded, 
 and their beds and clothes became a good deal wetted. 
 
 67. In one instance only, the Commission detected portions of meat unfit for 
 human use in the supply sent in for the infirmary. This occurred at Chatham on 
 July 4th, 1870, when three pieces of mutton of greenish color, in parts, and of very 
 bad smell, were pointed out by the Commission. 
 
 69. We have, therefore, to report that while it is possible that, as alleged by 
 seme of them, the treason-felony convicts have on some occasions been served with 
 rations more or less tainted, this did not occur — nor, indeed, is it alleged by them- 
 selves to have occurred — except at few and distant intervals. With reference to the 
 allegations that such foreign substances as a mouse, entrails of a fowl, or other refuse, 
 have found their way into the prisoners' diet, we have to observe that if such articles 
 got accidentally into the soup cauldrons, even a few hours before the soup was served, 
 they would be boiled down into a condition in which they could not be recognized. 
 * * * It must be admitted as barely possible that, in transition from the kitchen to 
 th& prisoners' cell, by accident or design, a foreign object of small size might find its 
 way into a convict's ration. 
 
 70. It is, no doubt, true that some of the treason-felony prisoners have been in 
 the habit, from time to time, of returning various articles of diet, and, in some in- 
 stances, their entire rations. 
 
 72. * * * At Portland, the prevailing whiteness of the stone and the glare of 
 the sun, in hot weather, appear to us to require the addition of a good peak to the 
 prisoners' cap, with a shade for those who have weak or tender eyes. In trenching 
 and excavating operations in the open air, greater facilities for shelter against severe 
 weather might perhaps be provided. 
 
 74. Various charges have been made which come under the head of medical 
 treatment. They have chiefly had reference to alleged want of proper attention to 
 the prisoners' complaints or calls for medical aid on the part of the medical officers. 
 
 75. We have already expressed our opinion on the general system of medical 
 attendance and for infirmary management in convict prisons, and we shall have occa- 
 sion to discuss the more important of the specific complaints at a future stage of our 
 report. 
 
 JEREMIAH O'DONOVAN BOSSA. 
 
 77. This prisoner, described as the publisher of the Irish People newspaper, was 
 convicted of treason-felony, at Dublin, December 13th, 1865, and sentenced to penal 
 servitude for life. He was received into Mountjoy Prison on the same day, and thence 
 transferred to Pentonville, 23d December, 1865. He was removed to Portland on the 
 14th of May, 1866; placed on second probation, at Mihbank, on the 20th of February, 
 1867, and removed to Chatham on the 24th of February, 1868. He handed in a written 
 statement, and was, on several occasions, examined by us upon it. 
 
 78. Two special allegations were brought under our notice by this prisoner. 
 The first and more important of them was that he was on one occasion, at Chatham, 
 
406 O^ Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 
 
 kept in handcuffs for thirty-five days, and that, with the exception of his meals, 
 when his hands were brought to the front, and, during the night, when the handcuffs 
 were taken off altogether, he was manacled for that whole period. 
 
 79. We examined many witnesses in reference to this allegation. It appeared 
 that, on June 16th, 1868, after numerous and repeated breaches of prison rules, for 
 which he had been almost continuously under punishment since the 1st of May, 
 O'Donovan Ros-a committed an assault on the Governor, Captain Powell, by throwing 
 at him, on the occasion of his visiting the punishment-cells, in discharge of his daily 
 duty, the contents of his chamber vessel. 
 
 80. For tnis he was ordered on the next morning to be "handcuffed behind" 
 and placed under report, to await the consideration of his offence by the visiting 
 director. The director did not visit the prison until the 1st of July. He then heard 
 the case and awarded, provisionally, a sentence which he submitted for the consider- 
 ation of the Chairman. Premising that, in the ordinary course, Rossa would be pun- 
 ished for his offence by flogging, he recommended that, in case that punishment 
 should not be inflicted, the prisoner should undergo twenty-eight days' punishment 
 diet, in close confinement, and be placed in the penal class for six months. He also 
 recommended that all movable articles should be removed from his cell, and that he 
 should be kept in handcuffs in the day-time. This sentence was confirmed on the 7th 
 of July, but without mention of handcuffs. The period of twenty-eight days' punish- 
 ment diet did not take effect until the 20th of July. 
 
 82. The allegation is that O'Donovan Rossa remained, with the exception of nights 
 and meal times, with his hands manacled behind him from June 17th to July 20th. 
 
 83. We carefulfy examined, with reference to this allegation, the entries made at 
 the time in the Governor's journal, the chief warder's report book, and the seperate 
 cell book. These entries substantially tally, and are perfectly conclusive on one point. 
 They place beyond all possible doubt the fact that O'Donovan Rossa had handcuffs on, 
 either before or behind, with the intervals already reffered to, for 34 days. 
 
 84. Dr. Burns, the medical officer, Principal Warder Alison, Warders Brown, 
 Hibbert, Giddings, and others testify to the fact that for the first three days the pris- 
 oner was handcuffed with his hands behind his back, except at meal times, when 
 they were placed in front, and at night, when they were altogether removed. The 
 sworn evidence of assistant warder W. Thompson, given on the 1st July 1868, and re- 
 corded in the prison books, leaves no doubt that the prisoner was handcuffed on the 
 19th June, with his hands behind his back. 
 
 85. As to whether the handcuffs were during the remaining portion of the 34 days 
 before or behind, the evidence is very conflicting. The first entry in the separate cell 
 book under date of the 17th of June is as follows: "J. O'Donovan Rossa to be placed 
 in handcuffs behind, by order of the Governor ;" but all subsequent entries simply 
 record the removal at night, and re-imposition in the morning of handcuffs, without 
 showing in any way whether they were placed behind or before. 
 
 86. Captain Harve) 1 -, then one of the deputy governors, speaking from memory 
 only, stated that he visited Rossa's cell frequently during the period refered to, and that 
 Rossa had then no handcuffs on. When shown the entries in the prison books, Captain 
 Harvey declared himself unable to reconcile them with his own recollection, on which 
 he was unwilling to rely in the face of such evidence. 
 
 87. Dr. Burns, though he cannot fix the exact time during which handcuffs were 
 worn, states, though not very confidently, that the prisoner was not handcuffed in 
 either way for so long a time as is alleged. Alison, too, as well as several other 
 warders then employed in various offices about the seperate cells, deny, more or less 
 positively, that the handcuffs were continued behind after the first three or four da} T s. 
 
 88. On the other hand, the inference to be drawn from the evidence of two of the 
 warders, Hibbert and Giddings, is that the manacles were put on behind for a period 
 of about three or four weeks. These officers were among those whose special duty 
 it was to take off and put on the handcuffs. 
 
 89. Other evidence of a less direct nature has been laid before us, both orally and 
 otherwise; and we have not failed to give due weight to whatever might in any degree 
 throw light upon a transaction which, in the course of the last two years, has been the 
 subject of so many contradictory statements. 
 
 90. There are two considerations which greatly weaken, in our judgment, the 
 force of the evidence against the allegation, repeatedly and consistently made by 
 O'Donovan Rossa, that he was manacled with his hands behind for at least 34 days. 
 In the first place the majority of those who denied that allegation appeared to la)' 
 greater stress on the strong improbability of such a measure having been enforced, 
 than upon a clear recollection that it was not enforced. Secondly, we cannot but 
 notice that most or them denied with equal confidence that O'Donovan Rossa could 
 have been manacled at all for so long a period as 34 days, whereas that fact, as we 
 hfive already stated, has been established by proof which we regard as irrefragable. 
 
(P Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 407 
 
 91. It is to be borne in mind, too, that tbere is no entry or other proof of any 
 alteration or modification of the original order, and that, in the absence of any such 
 counter order, the duty of the warders would be to act upon the original one. 
 
 92. On the whole, we are of opinion that the preponderance of testimony is in 
 favor of the supposition that, except at meal times when the handcuffs were placed 
 in front, and at night when they were taken off altogether, O'Donovan Rossa was 
 manacled behind for the peroid which intervened between June 17th and July 20th. 
 
 93. Whether this continuous use of handcuffs is to be regarded as a measure of 
 restraint or one of punishment has not been clearly shown to us. We are of opinion 
 that handcuffs should never be employed in any case as a measure of punishment, and 
 upon a review of all the circumstances we fail to discover any sufficient justification 
 for their employment for so long a period as a measure of restraint. 
 
 94. The second matter of complaint brought before us by O'Donovan Rossa was 
 as follows : 
 
 95. InNovember, 1866, a letter was found in the Roman Catholic Chapel atPortland 
 Prison, inserted between the leaves of a book of devotion, signed by him, and addressed 
 as follows : " Mrs Mary Moore." In the corner of the cover, at the back of the letter 
 itself, and also at the foot of the last page in the inside, were written the words : "For 
 Mrs. O'D." 
 
 96. O'Donovan Rossa was reported for an attempt to send out a letter surrepti- 
 tiously, and brought before Mr. Clifton, the Governor, on the morning after that on 
 which the letter was found. That charge he admitted, as well at that time before the 
 Governor as in his evidence taken by us. 
 
 101. The result of our consideration of the subject has been to satisfy us that the 
 Governor acted and spoke under misapprehension in reference to this letter; that the 
 letter was bona fide intended for O'Donovan Rossa's wife ; and that O'Donovan Rossa 
 is clear from the imputation of any endeavor to carry on a love intrigue. 
 
 102. It is fair to add that Mr. Clifton had not, previously to his examination by us, 
 compared the two letters ; but we cannot but express our regret that he did not take 
 that course, since such a comparison, coupled with the strong internal evidence 
 supplied by O'Donovan Rossa's letter, could not have failed to prevent him from har- 
 boring the suspicion, or communicating it to others. 
 
 103. We examined O'Donovan Rossa on several other topics of complaint included 
 in his written statement, and we think it right to express our sense of the candid and 
 straightforward manner in which his testimony was given. These topics related 
 almost exclusively to a series of punishments incurred by him during the first three 
 years of his imprisonment. We investigated such points arising out of them as ap- 
 peared to merit explanation, and the evidence respecting these will be found ap- 
 pended. We consider it, however, less necessary to deal with them here in detail, 
 inasmmch as many of them have been anticipated in our more general remarks; while 
 O'Donovan Rossa himself did not disavow most of the specific offences against prison 
 discipline for which he was punished. What he virtually alleged was that, finding 
 himself a marked man from the first, and branded as a bad character when he was 
 unconscious of deserving it, he was led to assume an independent, not to say defiant, 
 attitude, and thus became involved in a protracted struggle with the prison authorities. 
 
 CHARLES U. O'CONNELL. 
 
 105. He has been for a considerable time in the habit of returning portions of his 
 food unused. His diet has been occasionally chainged, but with only temporary 
 improvement of his appetite and general condition. 
 
 106. It is necessary to state that Dr. Burns is of opinion that this convict's loss of 
 weight is due to his wilful refusal of food, and that he has sometimes been malinger- 
 ing or shamming since the occasion of a visit paid to him in the early part of last year. 
 After having gone fully into the evidence given by the medical officer in support of 
 this view, we are compelled to state that he (Dr. Burns)himself admits that he did not 
 take any special means of testing whether the prisoner was or was not malingering ; nor 
 did he lay before us ground sufficient, in our judgment, to warrant this assumption. 
 
 107. In the preliminary evidence given before us by this prisoner, he states that 
 he has been frequently placed on bread and water punishment, sometimes for periods 
 of 70 hours. We find, on reference to the prison books, that he has in fact been 
 setenced on two occasions to close confinement on bread and water for three days, 
 and on four occasions to a like punishment for one day. Assuming that he was then 
 suffering fron aortic disease, he would, in our judgment, have been unfit to undergo 
 such discipline. 
 
 108. He further alleges that his father and other members of his family were 
 prevented from communicating with him or receiving news of him for a period of four 
 years, and that four out of five letters written by him to his family have been sup- 
 pressed. His father is in America. He has placed before us certain of his sup- 
 pressed letters which he read in full to the Commission. 
 
408 0' Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 110. While we in no way desire to recommend any interference with the prope* 
 censorship of prisoners' letters, we are of opinion that it would have been better ta 
 forward the letters addressed by the prisoner to his nearest relatives, erasing or 
 removing such parts as the prison authorities on due consideration deemed improper 
 to be communicated. 
 
 112. In conclusion we have to state in regard to this prisoner that his health and 
 condition are such as to make his ultimate location and treatment a question which 
 demands the special attention of the authorities. 
 
 PATRICK LENNON. 
 
 114. His main complaint is that his lungs were injured by prison fare atMillbank, 
 and that his disease was neglected by the assistant medical officers at Millbank and 
 Dartmoor. 
 
 116. During the early part of 1869, he more than once applied to the Governor 
 and expressed himself discontented with his medical treatment. In September his 
 appearance attracted the notice of the medical officer, and he was shortly afterwards 
 admitted to the infirmary for a boil. On the 16th of that month he was ordered to be 
 weighed, and found to have lost 19 lbs. since reception. * * * We cannot but ex- 
 press our opinion that a closer examination of his chest would have been desirable 
 when he fell off so remarkably in weight, and that it may be matter for consideration 
 whether he should not be removed from Dartmoor before the coming winter. 
 
 PATRICK RYAN. 
 
 119. He was examined before the Commissioners at Woking, July 1st, 1870, and 
 was then in a very weakly condition. It was necessary to provide him with a seat, 
 and to give him refreshments several times during his examination. He was suffering 
 from diarrhoea, to which he seems to have been for a considerable time constitution- 
 ally liable. 
 
 120. His complaints for the most part referred to the hardships of prison discipline, 
 diet, and clothing. 
 
 122. Ryan complains of the naked searches to which he was subjected atMill- 
 bank and Woking. His statements are not contradicted. We refer to the general 
 observations which we have elsewhere made on this mode of search. 
 
 125. Ryan states that on one occasion only he objected to work. It was on a 
 Sunday, when he was about to receive the Holy Communion. He alleges that he men- 
 tioned this to the officer, and requested that he should not be required to work at the 
 pump, but that the officer refused, telling him that to work at the pump "would do 
 him more service." Ryan could not state the name of the officer, and it was not, 
 therefore, in our power to investigate the complaint. We do not doubt, however, 
 judging from the respect for the religious opinions of the prisoners uniformly mani- 
 fested by the higher prison authorities, that, if such language had been proved to 
 have been used, the officer who used it would have been severely punished. 
 
 JOHN MURPHY. 
 
 133. This prisoner, now 61 years of age, was convicted at Mullingar, on the 17th 
 of July, 1865, and was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude. He had spent five 
 months in Mountjoy prison before his removal to Pentonville, on December 23d, 1S65. 
 * * * He made few complaints before us, and disclaimed any wish to complain. 
 
 134. His chief anxiety seemed to be that his term of seven years' penal servitude 
 might be considered as dating from his first trial (when no verdict was returned), in 
 March, 1365, instead of from his conviction, on the 17-h of July, 1^65. 
 
 135. Like other treason-felony convicts, he spoke of the frequent stripping for 
 searches at Pentonville, and of having to put his clothes outside his cell at night, as 
 harsh and unusual precautions; and he stated that he had suffered from the depriva- 
 tion of flannels. The observations which we have already made on this subject appty 
 with special force to a man of his age with a rheumatic tendency. The prison 
 records show that he was supplied with flannels on January 12th, 1866, so that he was 
 left without them nearly three weeks. He also found some fault with the prison food 
 at Woking — especially with the shin-of-beef soup, the cheese, and the suet pudding. 
 
 136. The only other annoyances which he mentioned were the rough langauge 
 of one warder and the vexatious conduct of another (no longer in the prison), who 
 used to wake him up at night, and whom he reported four times to the Governor. 
 This annoyance, he stated, was at last s opped on his threatening to report it to the 
 Dire; tor. On the other hand, there are but two reports against him on the prison 
 books, neither very serious. We learn f'-om his case-sheet that his health, in prison, 
 has been indifferent, and that he has been frequently under medical treatment for 
 rheumatic affections. 
 
O* Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 409 
 
 WILLIAM FRANCIS BOANTREE. 
 
 137. This prisoner, aged 39, was convicted, at Dublin, on the 24th of January, 
 1866, and was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude. He is described as a butcher 
 or mercantile clerk, but he informed us that he never followed the former occupa- 
 tion. He was received at Pentonville, from Mountjoy, on the 10th of February, 1866; 
 was transferred to Portland on the 4th ot May, 1866; was invalided to Woking on the 
 8ih of February, 1867, and still remains there. 
 
 139. His own representation is, that, "since his arrest, he got piles"; that he 
 was almost rid of them when he was removed from Moumjoy prison to Pentonville; 
 that, at Pentonville, they were aggravated by purgatives administered under the 
 doctor's orders; that, nevertheless, he was an able-bodied man when removed from 
 Pentonville to Portland; that he was there kept working at the quarries while bleed- 
 ing profusely from the effects of the disease, and that Dr. Blaker, the medical officer, 
 grievously mismanaged him; that he is now, and has been, since his removal to Wok- 
 ing — three years and a half ago — a confirmed invalid, "with a permanently injured 
 constitution;" and that a studied disregard of the conditions necessary for health has 
 been shown, in his case, by the prison authorities. 
 
 140. * * * It is not disputed — indeed, the medical records prove — that Roan- 
 tree has suffered piles at frequent intervals throughout his imprisonment. * * * 
 At Portland, he was three times under treatment for this affection— once for a period 
 of 168 days. * * * He was invalided to Woking, in consequence of piles, and has 
 since been repeatedly subject to bleeding, sometimes complicated with prolapsus. 
 Dr. Campbell does not take the same serious view of the case as the prisoner himself. 
 * * * We have no means of judging whether, on his arrival at Portland, he was in 
 a fit state for working in the quarries, or ought to have been admitted earlier into the 
 infirmary, though it is right to say that there is some evidence to show that bleeding 
 occurred on more than one occasion while he was at work. * * * During twenty- 
 four months of his imprisonment at Woking, he has been an inmate of the infirmary, 
 performing no work at all, but Dr. Campbell positively states that he is perfectly 
 capable of hard labor, and would be put to it if he were an ordinary prisoner. 
 
 141. It would be obviously impossible for us to review his medical treatment in 
 detail — still less can we undertake to pronounce an opinion upon the demeanor or 
 manner of the medical officers and others, whom he accuses of unfeeling conduct. 
 
 142. There are several minor grievances alleged by Roantree which fall within 
 the scope of our remarks on the general treatment of the treason-felony convicts. 
 Such are deprivation of flannels during the first four days at Pentonville, the constant 
 searching, and the nightly removal of body clothing at the same prison, and the rule 
 of silence, which he represents to have been introduced for the special annoyance 
 of the treason-felony convicts on the Portland works. * * * The penalty in 
 respect of diet, to which he was sentenced on one occasion, appears, it is true, some- 
 what disproportioned to the offence. * * * 
 
 DENIS DOWNING MULCAHY. 
 
 158. This prisoner was convicted at Dublin on the 20th of January, 1S66, and Was 
 sentenced to 10 years penal servitude. Having been received into Mountjoy Prison on 
 the 19th of January, 1866, he was transferred to Pentonville on the 10th of February, 1866. 
 He was removed to Portland on the 14th of May , 1866. On the 15th of November, 1866, 
 he was re-transferred to Mountjoy Prison, whence he was sent to Millbank, the 1st of 
 December, 1866. He was again sent to Mountjo} 7 Prison on the 16th of January, 1867, 
 brought back to Millbank on the 26th of January, 1867, transferred to Dartmoor on the 
 8th of February, 1867, and finally invalided to Woking on the 11th of May, 1867. 
 
 159. He is 30 years of age. Oft. 1J in. in height, and is stated on his prison record 
 to have been a student of medicine. He weighed, on his reception at Pentonville, 170 
 lbs., and at Woking, on May the 16th, 1870, 155. He has thus lost weight to the extent 
 of lb I lbs. 
 
 161. When removed to Portland he was returned as fit for " hard labor," and was 
 placed to work at stone-dressing. While so engaged he was attacked by blood- 
 spitting, and we find it officially recorded that on two occasions, the 21st and the 23rd of 
 July, 1866, he was laboring under haemoptysis. He further complained of cough, and 
 was seen and prescribed for at intervals up to September the 7th b3 T Dr. Basan, then 
 assistant surgeon to the prison. He was kept at work during this period, and having 
 regard to the nature of the work upon which he was so employed, and the occurrence 
 of blood-spitting on two occasions, we cannot consider that he was fit to be continued 
 at hard labor, or that due care and caution were exercised in his regard. 
 
 162. It is further alleged that in Portland prison this Prisoner was served with 
 tainted soup, and that on one occasion he found the entrails of a fowl, and on another 
 w mouse, and " othe" vermin," in the diet served to him. We have fully considered 
 this charge in connection with others of a similar character. 
 
410 O* Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 163. On his arrival at Dartmoor, he was reported by the medical officer as fit for, 
 and was put on, full labor. He was placed at work on the moor, his occupation being 
 that of trenching and clearing land. It is alleged that he was compelled to carry slabs 
 of stone on his back; and although this is stated by the Governor to be contrary to 
 the rule and practice of the prison, we find the allegation fully corroborated by the 
 evidence of principal warder Hodge. 
 
 165. After about three weeks at full labor, this prisoner's health gave way. The 
 medical notes of his case taken at this period by Mr. Ascham, then medical officer of 
 the prison, have been accidentally mislaid. It is alleged that the prisoner suffered 
 from hseinorrhage from the lungs. He appears to have spent about half his time in 
 this prison in hospital in consequence of the blood-spitting, and on the representation 
 of the medical officer, the then Governor, Captain Stopford, wrote a report to the Di- 
 rectors, and requested " that he should be removed, for the climate might not agree 
 with him." Captain Stopford further adds that Mulcahy, while at Dartmoor, was 
 never reported for misconduct, nor ever punished. He was invalided to Woking in 
 May, 1867, the ground of invaliding being haemoptysis. 
 
 166. It is alleged that during a period of 10 weeks he was unable to consume 
 more than 20 ozs. of solid food daily, and that during this time no sufficient inquiry 
 was instituted by the medical officer as to the cause of his rejecting or not using his 
 food. As the prisoner did not furnish the dates in reference to this charge, and as he 
 finally declined to submit any detailed statement to the Commission, we had no op- 
 portunity of going into the particulars of this allegation. 
 
 167. The same may be said in reference to the genaral allegations that he fre- 
 quently suffered from dyspepsia, diarrhoea, rheumatism, and neuralgia ; that he was 
 subject to punishment in consequence of his evidence given before Messrs. Pollock 
 and Knox, and that in the month of February of the current year he suffered much 
 from, keen blasts and insufficient clothing. 
 
 BRIAN DILLON. 
 
 168. Brian Dillon, described as a law clerk, is a very weak and deformed man, oi 
 middle age, and delicate appearance. 
 
 169. He was tried at Cork before a Special Commission on the 14th of December, 
 1865, and sentenced to 10 years' penal servitude. 
 
 173. Discipline. Dillon, in common with other treason-felony prisoners, com- 
 plains of the naked searches to which he was subjected at Pentonville, which he 
 describes as having been of a very minute and offensive character. He also states as 
 a grievance, that when at Pentonville, he was obliged to put out his clothes and cell 
 furniture at night. On both these subjects we have already expressed our opinion in 
 our general remarks. 
 
 174. Dillon in many parts of his statement complains of the nature and amount 
 of his work. He stys that at Pentonville, "the long working hours, from 6 in the 
 morning till a quarter to 8 at night, during which he sat at a table sewing," contrib- 
 uted to shatter his health. We must point out that in this statement no account is 
 taken of intermissions for meals and exercise. 
 
 175. He states that in the Winter of 1867, when at Woking, he was placed to clean 
 a heap of frozen bricks partly covered with snow, and that he suffered much from the 
 cold. 
 
 176. He states that when discharged from hospital, and still very weak, be was 
 employed to cut bricks in a narrow wooden shed, that the weather was verv cold, 
 and that it was necessary to keep the bricks soaking in water. In the Summer or 
 1868, he had to work, he states, when suffering from dysentery, under intense heat, 
 hoisting up bricks by a rope and wheel, and exposed to continual danger by the fall- 
 ing of bricks from the scaffolds. 
 
 177. We feel bound to say that some of the work on which Dillon appears to have 
 been from time to time employed, was of a nature hardly suitable to his delicate and 
 deformed frame. His weight is 7 stone 4i lbs., his height is 4 feet 10 inches, and the 
 delicacy of his constitution is clearly shoVn by his personal appearance, and by his 
 frequent admissions to hospital, especially during the last two years. Dillon's condi- 
 tion, at the time of our visits, in consequence of an accidental fall, appeared to be 
 such as to render him incapable of any manual labor. He is hardly able to walk 
 without assistance. 
 
 178. Dillon complains that on his passage from Ireland much suffering was unne- 
 cessarilv inflicted upon him by being handcuffed with another prisoner affected with 
 sea sickness and diarrhoea, from whom he was not allowed to be even temporarily 
 separated. We have referred to this subject in our general observations. 
 
 181. He further states that at Pentonville he was forced to bathe in water 
 rendered foul by having been used by other prisoners. Having inquired into the 
 
0* Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 411 
 
 facts, we found this to be substantially true. We bave already commented on 
 this practice. 
 
 187. We are bound to remark that a man who, at the commencement of nis 
 prison life was pronounced by the assistant medical officer to be capable of doing 
 a little light work, seems to have been long employed at work of a laborious 
 description, and under much exposure to heat and cold, and this at a period when 
 he was a frequent applicant for medical relief. This occurred in the Summer of 
 
 1868. On the 6th of August in that year, he was, after several applications, ad- 
 mitted to hospital. 
 
 190. Clothing. — Dillon states, that on his arrival at Pentonville in January, 
 1866, from Mountjoy, he was stripped of his Mount joy clothing and supplied with 
 a Pentonville suit, in which flannels, such as he had habitually worn, were not 
 included. A reference to the matter of complaint is to be found in our general 
 observations. 
 
 193. One of the most frequent complaints put forward by Dillon, as well as 
 by other treason-felony prisoners, is that he was associated with ordinary con- 
 victs. We make this most important subject a matter of observation in our gen- 
 eral remarks. 
 
 195. Letters. — Dillon complains that the G wernor has erased portions of lis 
 letters to his friends at Woking, without letting him know that he had do>;e so. We 
 believe this is not unfrequently done. A lette r written to Dillon, on the 3d of April, 
 
 1869, was suppressed, and bears the following indorsement, " suppressed by Director, 
 the prisoner not to be informed." In our general remarks we have commented 
 upon the practice of suppressing letters, or parts of letters, without informing the 
 writers of the fact and of the reason. 
 
 200. A considerable part of Dillon's complaint refers to the treatment of other 
 prisoners. He especially dwells on the case of treason-felony convict Lynch. 
 
 201. When Lynch died an inquest was held, at wnich his prison treatment was 
 considered. Dillon stated hefore the coroner that Lynch attributed his illness to 
 being deprived of flannels at Pentonville. * * * The coroner's jury returned a 
 verdict of " death from natural causes," and it would be manifestly improper for this 
 Commission, even if legally competent, to re-open the investigation of this case, afte 
 a long lapse of time and in the absence of the contemporaneous evidence adduced at 
 the inquest. 
 
 208. There are certain incidents of treatment which we have commented upon 
 with disapprobation in our remarks upon the cases of individual prisoners, but we 
 have no reason to helieve 'hit in any of these instances the conduct of the prison 
 authorities was influenced by the fact that the prisoners were treason-felony convicts. 
 
 209. A further question was forced on our attention in the course of our inquiries, 
 though it does not strictly fall within the letter of our instructions. It is the question 
 whether prisoners convicted of a crime so exceptionable in its nature that it has been 
 thought right to modify prison discipline in their case to a certain extent, might not 
 with advantage be more comnletely separated from the general body of convicts. We 
 cannot he insensible to the difficulty, not always unattended with danger, of allowing 
 any exceptional indulgences to a few individuals in the midst of a large-prison popula- 
 tion. Bearing this in mind, we are led to the conclusion that the difficulties attendant 
 upon the location and treatment of political offenders, may perhaps he most readily and 
 effectually overcome by setting apart, from time to time, a detached portion of some 
 convict prison for prisoners of this class, and we recommend this subject to the con= 
 sideration of Her Majesty's Gove nment. 
 
 We remain, Sir, 
 
 Your obedient humble servants, 
 DEVON, 
 
 GEORGE C. BRODRICK, 
 STEPHEN" E. DE VERE, 
 ROBERT D. LYONS, 
 E. HEADLAM GREENHOW. 
 3 Parliament Street, September 20, 1870. 
 
 REPORT ON THE CASE OF J. O'D. ROSS A, BY DR. LYONS. 
 
 London, Sppt. 10, 1870. 
 
 While I fully concur in, and have appended my signature to, the general Report 
 of the Commission, which includes the case of this prisoner, I think it necessary to 
 call attention in a more especial manner to certain parts of it, and to some considera- 
 tions of very grave importance which appear to me to arise thereon. 
 
 It is necessary to premise, that whereas the assault on the Governor of Chatham 
 
412 0' * Donovan Eossa's Prison Life. 
 
 Prison by O'Donovan Rossa took place about noon, on the 16th of June, 1868, he was 
 not manacled until 8:50 a.m. on the 17th, a lapse of nearly 19 hours. If handcuffs are 
 a means of "restraint" and not of punishment, I fail to recognize the propriety of 
 their use after such an interval, unless called for by a renewed act of violence, which 
 has not been established in this case. 
 
 In view of rule 15, hereafter cited, which limits the power of a Governor in the 
 imposition of manacles to a period of 72 hours wituout the written order of a Direc- 
 tor, I am of opinion that it was beyond the competence of tne Governor or Deputy- 
 Governor of Chatham Prison to keep tie prisoner in handcuffs day after day, from 
 17ta June to 1st July, 1868. No renewed aots of violence demanding the continuous 
 employment of manacles as a measure of restraint, forwhich purpose only does their 
 use appear to be onjoined and justified by the prison rules, are recorded against the 
 prisoner in that interval. No written or other instruction from a Director to author- 
 ize the continuous hai dcuffing of this prisoner within the days above named has been 
 produced to the Commission, and it was not until 1st July that the prisoner was tried 
 by a visiting Director. The prisoner asserts, and in this he is not contradicted, that 
 ihe handcuffs were removed when he was brought before the Director on that day. 
 It is not on record that he had attempted to commit any act of violence since the 16th 
 of June. It is even admitted by the warders that he submitted quietly to the daily 
 imposition of the manacles. He was, notwithstanding, ordered by the Director " to 
 ^e kept in handcuffs " apparently for an indefinite period, as no time is specified. 
 Having regard to the fact that the offence for which he was tried had been committed 
 fifteen days previously, and that no new act of violence is recorded against him in the 
 interval, as also to the consideration that handcuffs are enjoined to be used as a mea- 
 sure of restraint only, I am of opinion that the Director on this occasion acted ultra 
 vires in ordering the prisoner " to be kept in handcuffs," and that this was an arbi- 
 trary and unjustifiable exercise of authordy, and that the order itself was defective 
 inasmuch as it did not " specify the cause thereof, and the time during which the 
 prisoner is to be kept in irons." In the confirmation of the sentence by the Chair- 
 man of Directors on 7th July no allusion is made to the handcuffs. 
 
 The sentence at the trial on the 1st July, ordering amongst other things that he 
 "be kept in handcuffs," was not confirmed by the Chairman of Directors until 7th 
 July, and it was not communicated to the prisoner until the 20th July, on which last- 
 mentioned day only that part of the same sentence of the 1st July which ordered 
 28 days' punishment diet and six months' penal-class diet commenced to take effect. 
 
 I have, therefore, to report that in my opinion both the Govornor and the visiting 
 Director exceeded the power and authoriiy entrusted to them, by keeping this 
 prisoner in handcuffs, under the circumstances above referred to, from 17th June to 
 20th July, and I further desire to add that it is much to be regretted that more prompt 
 action was not taken by the Directors to secure a speedy trial in a case of such 
 gravity, as pending his trial and the carrying into effect of his sentence the prisoner 
 was kept under the most rigorous restraint, which in itself constitutes a very severe 
 form of punishment, although, as I am fully aware, it is not technically so regarded in 
 prison discipline. 
 
 15. " Governor's Poivers. — In a case of absolute necessity he" (the Governor) 
 " may put a prisoner in irons, not as a punishment but only as a restraint, such irons, 
 however, not to be continued on an offender for a longer period than 72 hours with- 
 out the written order of a director, specifying the cause thereof, and the time during 
 which the prisoner is to be kept in irons, which order shall be preserved by the Gov- 
 ernor as his warrant." (See rule No. 15, p. 10, of the Rules and Regulations for the 
 Government of the Convict Prisons. Approved by the Secretary of State for the 
 Home Department. 1858.) 
 
 11. "Director's Powers. — In cases of necessity a director may, by order in 
 writing, direct any prisoner to be kept in irons, such order to specify the cause 
 thereof, and the time during which the prisoner is to be kept in irons. The irons on 
 ordinary occasions to be common handcuffs." (See rule 11, p. 5. of the Rules and 
 Regulations for the Government of the Convict Prisons. Approved by the Secretary 
 of State for the Home Department. 1858.) 
 
 I may be here allowed to observe, that having carefully considered the Acts of 
 Parliament, as well as the Standing Orders and the Rules and Regulations for the 
 Government of Convict Prisons, supplied for the information of the Commission, by 
 the Directors, I have not been able to find, and the Prison Department has not suc- 
 ceeded in producing to me Statutory authority for the powers exercised by the 
 Directors, of ordering manacles to be imposed, for, apparently, indefinite periods, 
 and leg-irons, U- to 6 lbs. weight, for a period of six months. 
 
 I desire further to remark, that the powers deputed by the Directors to Gover- 
 nors, by Standing Order No. 325, of imposing manacles for a period of 72 hours, are 
 jargely in excess of those granted by Act of Parliament to " Gaolers" of county 
 
0^ Donovan Rossa? s Prison Life. 413 
 
 and other prisons. The Act 2 & 3 Vict. c. 56, in part repealed, limited the Gaoler's 
 power, as to irons, to 24 hours. "The Prison Act, 1865," expressly limits the 
 powers of " the Gaoler " in the imposition of irons to 24 hours without an order in 
 writing from a visiting Justice, see 28 & 29 Vict. c. 126, sch. 1. No. 59). 
 
 As a constitutional principle of great importance is here involved, I beg leave to 
 recommend that the whole question be referred to the Law Officers of the Crown, 
 with a view that if it should be found necessary, the powers to be entrusted to the 
 Directors of Convict Prisons may be more clearly defined by Act of Parliament. 
 
 I have very fully considered all the charges which this prisoner has brought for- 
 ward. He candidly admits himself that he has committed numerous prison offences. 
 Some of tnese have been of considerable gravity, and necessarily entailed, in accord- 
 ance with prison rules, severe punishments, and the emyloyment of measures of 
 restraint; others of the charges against him have been of a less important character, 
 and I am not satisfied that in certain instances, as, for example, that in connection 
 with coir picking at Millbank, in July, 1867, it was proper to punish him at all. 
 
 On various grounds, and in different prisons, O'Donovan Rossa was awarded a 
 very unusual amount of prison punishment during the first three years of his im- 
 prisonment. He asserts, and is substantially borne out by the prison records, 
 that he has undergone 123 days of bread-and-water punishment diet, 231 days of 
 penal class diet in a darkened cell, 28 days in the absolutely dark cell, and that 
 he has been, in all, 39 diys in handcuffs. He admits that he acquired a bad 
 prison character, but he attributes the attitude of resistance to prison discipline, 
 which he assumed, to the manner and conduct of the authorities towards him. 
 It is, I think, but just to him to add that during a long period when he was 
 almost constantly undergoing report and punishment, his applications to the Gov- 
 ernor and the Secretary of State show him to have been frequently asking for books 
 of instruction. It is also worthy of remark that the almost continuous employment 
 of bread-and-water punishment diet in the case of O'Donovan Rossa, in the months of 
 May and June, 1868, did not prevent him from committing the assault, already referred 
 to, on the Governor, on the 16th June ; that the handcuffing which followed from 17th 
 June to 20th July in punishment cells did not prevent him, when liberated, from com- 
 mitting a further offence, for which he was, after an interval of two hours and a 
 quarter, again put in handcuffs for two days, and that the infliction of 28 days bread- 
 and-water punishment diet, carried out from 20th July, did not prevent him from 
 comm tting additional offences, for which he was further reported, and tried by the 
 visiting Director in October, 1868. The marked and immediate effect of the few well 
 chosen words of Captain Du Cane, accompanied by a total remission of the punish- 
 ments undoubtedly incurred by the prisoner's conduct, show in well defined contrast 
 the influence of moral agency, as against the failure of long-continued measures of 
 coercion, accompanied with a total of more than 40 days' bread-and-water diet, spread 
 over the period from May 1st to October, 1868. 
 
 I am of opinion that a more discriminating treatment of this prisoner by some 
 of those under whose authority he has been placed would have been in all probability 
 attended with more satisfactory results as to his prison history. * * * The signal 
 failure of all repressive measures in this case, furnishes a most forcible illustration of 
 the necessity of separating prisoners of this class from ordinary criminals. Such a 
 conspicuous and successful defiance of discipline is in itself a scandal of prison life, 
 and a most dangerous example to the other convicts. As the consciousness of guilt 
 breaks the spirit of the ordinary convict committed for a crime which involves moral 
 turpitude, and all the more readily if he have been, as sometimes happens, a man of 
 education or position, he recognizes at once and submits to the dictates of prison dis- 
 cipline. But the political prisoner, purely such, is, on the contrary, led to a higher 
 and <jven exaggerated sense of his position by confinement in association with ordi- 
 nary criminals. He considers that his sufferings ennoble his acts, and he rebels 
 against prison rule. 
 
 The history of the case of J. O'Donovan Rossa in itself furnishes a cogent argu- 
 ment in proof of the necessity of dealing otherwise than as at present with the class 
 of prisoners to whom he belongs. This is a subject to which the Commission has 
 already specially alluded. 
 
 ROBERT D. LYONS. 
 
 MEMORANDUM. BY E. HEADLAM GREENHOW. 
 
 I have signed the Report on the treatment of treason-felony convicts in English 
 prisons, because I agree entirely in the main conclusions set forth in it. 
 
 The siytJi allegation states thi» I O'Donovan Rossa, at Chatham prison, had his hands 
 tied behind his back for ?5 d^ys 
 
 After the fullest possible iu instigation of Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa's case, >^ 
 
4:14 CP Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 came to the conclusion, as set forth in the Report, that the preponderance of testimony 
 was in favor of this statement being a correct one ; excepting that the manacles were 
 always taken off at night and removed from hack to front during meal times. It seems, 
 however, to me, only fair to the prison authorities to add, that what was undoubtedly 
 an exceptional and irregular proceeding did not appear, in my opinion, from the evi- 
 dence, to have been intentional on their part, but to have been a lapse consequent on 
 the misunderstanding of verbal instructions. The Governor of the prison, Captain Pow- 
 ell, on his return from a three days' absence, immediately following the gross assault 
 upon himself which caused 'Donovan Rossa to be putin handcuffs, abstainedfrom visit- 
 ing and taking control of the prisoner whilst he was awaiting his sentence of punishment 
 from the Directors for that offence. Captain Harvey , the Deputy-Governor, who gave 
 over charge of the prisoners on the return of his superior officer, did not consider 
 that he was any longer responsible for the treatment of O'Donovan Rossa; conse- 
 quently the warders, receiving no countermand of the original order, continued to 
 apply the handcuffs behind in accordance with it during the time stated. In truth, 
 O'Donovan Rossa's language and conduct throughout his prison course, previous to 
 his assault upon Governor Powell had been so exceptionally violent and insubor- 
 dinate, and had made him appear so intractable and mischievous a prisoner, that 
 he warders may perhaps, not unnaturally, have taken for granted as intentional 
 any measure which would keep him quiet without doing him harm. He had on 
 numerous occasions resisted the officers, and once, after breaking his cell-pot, 
 had put the pieces in a towel, so as to make it into a weapon of defence, with which 
 he threatened the first person who entered his cell. He had at different times broken 
 his utensils or furniture, and even the walls or door of his cell, and for several weeks 
 before the day on which he committed the assault upon Governor Powell, by throw- 
 ing over him the contents of his chamber-vessel, he had been almost constantly under 
 report or punishment for breaches of prison rules, or willful damage of prison prop- 
 erty. On the other hand, it is but justice to O'Donovan Rossa to state that, subse- 
 quent to the period in question, up to the time of the investigation of his case by the 
 Commission, his conduct had been good ; and, that his honesty in admittingto us most 
 of his prison offences, and his anxiety not to overstate what he considered his prison 
 grievances, made a very favorable impression. 
 
 John M'Clure, according to the statement of the medical officer at Chatham has 
 had only a single fainting fit, from which he recovered almost immediately ; it occur- 
 red on May 3d, 1869, fn very hot weather. He has been occasionally in the infirmary, but 
 has required very little medical treatment, though he has frequently refused ihefood. 
 tie has never been put to hard labor at Chatham. Mr. Gover, of Millbank Prison, 
 states that he took him off penal diet on the same grounds as Devoy. He is obviously 
 3y a man of weakly constitution, and has gradually lost weight during his three years' 
 imprisonment to the extent of 17 pounds. 
 
 In the matter of clothing it was alleged that the treason-felony convicts, on 
 their arrival at Pentonville, were deprived of the flannels they had brought with 
 them from Mountjoy Prison ; and that, although their arrival was in mid-winter, 
 they were not supplied with others, to the great detriment of their health. 
 
 The facts of the matter are these. For obvious reasons prison rules require 
 that the clothing belonging to one prison should not be ratained by prisoners trans- 
 ferred to another ; and, therefore, on the arrival of the treason-felony prisoners at 
 Pentonville Prison, their Mountjoy clothing, which included flannels, was necessarily 
 exchanged for Pentonville clothing. But at Pentonville Prison, which is constantly 
 warmed during the Winter, and the temperature^kept up to a fixed minimum, flannels 
 formed no part of the ordinary prison dress, and were only supplied on the recom- 
 mendation of the medical officer. 
 
 In conclusion, I feel compelled to state that I am unable to concur with my col- 
 leagues on the Commission in the suggestion made in the final paragraph of the Re- 
 port, for the setting apart, from time to time, of a detached portion of some convict 
 prison for the reception of prisoners of the treason-felony class. As is stated in the 
 paragraph itself, no such question was comprised in the subjects referred to us for in- 
 quiry and I cannot but regard it as beyond the province of the Commission to recom- 
 mend to the consideration of Her Majesty's Government a measure involving, as it ap- 
 pears to me, the virtual establishment of a special prison for prisoners of the clas? 
 of the treason-felony convicts. E. HEADLAM GREENHOW. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ONE OF THE COMMISSIONERS IN IRONS — LETTERS MR. GLADSTONE 
 
 AND MR. BRUCE MR. M'CARTHY DOWNING— " AMNESTY " BAN- 
 ISHMENT BY "VICTORIA, BY THE GRACE OF GOD " A PRIVATE 
 
 LETTER AND MY REPLY LEAVING CHATHAM AND LEAVING HALPIN 
 
 BEHIND THE CUBA FORBIDDEN TO TOUCH IRISH SOIL IN THE 
 
 COVE OF CORK ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK A GENERAL JUBILEE 
 
 OF WELCOME 1 MUST BE A TAMMANY MAN OR CEASE TO BE AN 
 
 IRISHMAN 1 REBEL AGAINST THIS, AND SACRIFICE MY POPULAR- 
 ITY TO MY INDEPENDENCE IRISH-AMERICAN POLITICIANS AND 
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS COLLECTOR MURPHY EMIGRATION TAM- 
 MANY WAR CRIES I " GRANT AND MURPHY," " MURPHY AND 
 GRANT" 1 COMMIT POLITICAL SUICIDE WITH THE IRISH PEO- 
 PLE BY RUNNING AGAINST TWEED, AND KILL MYSELF ENTIRELY 
 BY BECOMING A COMMUNE AND JOINING TENNIE CLAFLIN. 
 
 If you have read this book through and perused the last chapter 
 carefully, you will see I have been corroborated in everything I 
 stated regarding my prison life. It was somewhat vexatious to find 
 myself flatly contradicted by Doctor Burns, and Warders Goad and 
 Cranston, and all the others I met, in presence of the Commission, 
 but I had been a long time learning patience, and my schooling stood 
 to me on the occasion. The Commissioners themselves behaved like 
 gentlemen; but Doctor Greenhow did not at all seem to like the 
 developments I was making, and looked as if he wished me to break 
 down in my case. See how he differs with Doctor Lyons on the 
 question of treating political prisoners as thieves, and tries to explain 
 away how it was by a mistake I was kept so long in irons. Mr. 
 Broderick was very deferential all through the inquiry, and I con- 
 ceived a particular liking tor him. My four or five days' acquaintance 
 with Mr. De Vere was rendering him quite familiar to me, and I had 
 much sympathy once for Doctor Lyons, when I saw his hands chained 
 behind his back, and saw the agonized look he gave when he asked 
 me if my hands were actually tied in that manner for thirty-five 
 days. He was after taking lunch ; his flask lay on the table, and 
 when his hands were loosed he poured out some whiskey in a tum- 
 bler and offered it to me. My habitual modesty made me decline 
 at first, but he pressed me, and, as it was such a novelty to touch 
 anything so Irish in this quarter, I made the introduction of this 
 
416 (/Donovan 12ossas Prison Life. 
 
 friendly enemy of ours. Lord Devon offered me a chair, but I felt 
 too independent to sit in such company, and continued giving my 
 evidence standing. 
 
 The labors of the Commission having come to a close, I returned 
 to my companions and to my old trade of stocking-mending. We 
 speculated on the further developments that should necessarily arise 
 when the Report was published, for I knew I had floored the officials, 
 and the Secretary of State and Mr. Gladstone should stand con- 
 victed as false witnesses. True enough : it was on the very day 
 this Commission Report was published that the announcement was 
 made of our banishment from prison. They took from July to De- 
 cember to prepare the book, during which time I kept preparing to 
 carry on the war of reporting progress to the public, in case of foul 
 play. 
 
 All this year there were large amnesty meetings holding in Ire- 
 land and England, and what are called petitions were gotten up to 
 the Queen, or to the Queen's manager, Mr. Gladstone. The one 
 that came when events made it judicious for him to release some of 
 us was presented by Mr. M'Carthy Downing, the member for Cork. 
 The first to sign that petition was the Lord Mayor of Dublin, and 
 through him Mr. Gladstone conveyed the news that we were to be 
 released on condition of leaving the country. 
 
 Downing Street, 16th December, 1870. 
 
 " Gentlemen: I have to inform you that her Majesty's Government have carefully 
 considered the case of the convicts now undergoing their sentences for treason and 
 treason-felony, and that they have recommended to the Crown the exercise towards 
 them of the Royal clemency, so far as it is compatible with the assured maintenance 
 of tranquility and order in the country. 
 
 " They will, therefore, be discharged upon the condition of not remaining in, nor 
 returning to, the United Kingdom. W. E. GLADSTONE." 
 
 A few days after this announcement the Governor of the prison 
 informed me I had received a conditional pardon. My sentence 
 was changed from perpetual imprisonment to banishment for twenty 
 years, and unless I accepted the conditions the pardon could not be 
 granted. I would leave the country, but would give no promise 
 not to return. If I did come back before the twenty years, let the 
 Government take whatever course it deemed proper, but it should 
 not be said I had made a promise and broken it. I got paper to give 
 a reply, and here it is : 
 
 December 22d, 1870. 
 To the Governor of Chatham Prison : 
 
 Sir: I don't think I can give a fairer reply to the official document you read for 
 me to-day than to give you this paper which I withdrew from Mr. McCarthy Downing, 
 and to tell you that I will abide by its words. Here they are : 
 
 " Mr. Downing : Your having asked me if I would leave this country or Ireland 
 on conditions of my being let out of prison, I reply that I would, and with the under- 
 standing that if I am found in England or Ireland again, without the permission of the 
 British Government, I render myself liable to be re-committed to prison. 
 
 " Very respectfully, JER. O'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 "March 22, 1869."' 
 
 When I handed this paper to Mr. Downing, he said it was most satisfactory. I 
 thought Mr. Downing had some intimation from the Government to ask me the 
 
CP Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 417 
 
 question, and when I learned, in a few months after, that he had not, I deemed it 
 becoming to withdraw the paper from him. But now that the Government offer me 
 a conditional release, I repeat my words to them. 
 
 My children are in Ireland, and I would wish to see them. If the authorities im- 
 pose upon me the obligation of going straight from the prison to the ship, I will do so; 
 but if they can afford me a few weeks' citizenship in Ireland, by my giving an insur- 
 ance of carrying myself as privately and silently as possible, I will give them that 
 assurance. ' Yours respectfully, JER. 'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 Director Fagan visited the prison next day and said my answer 
 was quite satisfactory, but that some others of the prisoners were 
 giving a little trouble. In saying something about the Portland 
 prisoners John O'Leary's name came up. I thought I might write 
 to him, and he offered me paper to do so; but on consultation with 
 Hal. we decided it was more prudent not to write, lest it should be 
 considered I would do so to influence the Portlanders any way. 
 
 My wife had come to Chatham on the first announcement of our 
 release. She wanted to get me clothes, but she would not be al- 
 lowed to do anything for me till I was outside the gates. Though 
 it was Christmas week, she could not get me out before the holidays. 
 She telegraphed, but, getting no satisfactory reply, she went home 
 to Ireland. 
 
 She was after having written a letter thanking Mr. Gladstone for 
 the " amnesty," which brought her this answer : 
 
 Chester, December 24. 
 Madam: I thank you for your letter, and I take your writing it as an act of 
 much kindness. It would, I am sure, have been most agreeable to my colleagues, as 
 well as to myself, had it been possible to make all the needful arrangements and to 
 effect the actual release before the Christmas festival. It is much more agreeable to 
 me to address you now than it was on a former occasion, and you will not misunder- 
 stand me when I ask you to accept my wishes for yourself and for your husband. 
 
 I remain, madam, your faithful servant, 
 
 W. E. GLADSTONE. 
 
 Every prisoner was asked where he would go to, and I at first 
 said Australia. My wife was willing to face any part of the world 
 with me, and I was anxious to evade the factions of Fenianism in 
 the United States. I knew enough of things there, and knew enough 
 of my own nature to know I could do \ery little in the way of fol- 
 lowing up my past life there ; but I was no longer my own master. 
 I was now public property, and public opinion was to master me. 
 While my wife was in Chatham she went to London every eve- 
 ning and came to Chatham every morning. She met some of the 
 men who were prominently interested in the Irish national move- 
 ment, and they, one and all, declaimed against my going to the An- 
 tipodes. I would be going under the British flag ; I would be 
 looked upon as deserting the cause. No; I should go to America, 
 where we would be able to unite the factions and do everything we 
 liked for the men at home. 
 
 I trampled my first impulses under foot. I changed my mind — 
 no, that isn't correct, I only changed my course — and I made ready 
 for the sacrifice, and made known my intention of going to New 
 York. It is well known to my companions that we left prison hav- 
 
418 O^ Donovan Rosso' s Prison Life. 
 
 ing decided to take no action in Irish politics in America unless we 
 were able to unite all into one party ; and how we were dragged 
 and cajoled into a course that we decid d against is a story in 
 itself. 
 
 Mr. Fagan came to Chatham on the 5th of January, 1871, and 
 brought with him all the necessary papers. A saloon passage was 
 engaged for us, and we were each to be supplied with a suit of clothes 
 and five sovereigns for pocket money. I was the first he sent for, 
 and he presented the patent of pardon, asking me to sign an accept- 
 ance of it. I wrote : 
 
 " I accept this ' patent of pardon.' 
 
 " Jer. O'Donovan Rossa." 
 
 " Here, I suppose that will do, Mr. Fagan." 
 
 " Well, I don't know, I think there is something else wanted ; 
 say without mental reservation or something that way." 
 
 " Would you please write out what you think proper, and if I 
 don't see anything hard in it, I will make a copy and sign it." 
 
 The Director wrote as the prisoner directed, and I copied and 
 signed the document, putting quotation marks around " Ptaent of 
 pardon." 
 
 I, Jer. O'Donovan Kossa, having seen and heard read the conditions of my 
 release from prison as contained in the "' Patent of Pardon," accept them uncondi- 
 ditionally and without reserve. 
 
 JER. O'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 He then gave me possession of the parchment with a round 
 plaster of wax about two pounds weight tied to it, which is called 
 the seal. It is a curiosity in its way. 
 
 After presenting me with this 1 asked Mr. Fagan if he would 
 give me all my suppressed letters. He could not do so, but there 
 were some which were made up to be given me ; the rest I could 
 not have. He proposed to have them burned, and, as I could not 
 get possession of them, I consented. 
 
 Chatham Pbison, January 5, '71. 
 
 "Victoria, by the grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ire- 
 land, Queen Defender of the Faith and soforth, to all whom these presents shall come 
 greeting, Whereas at a Special Commission of Oyer and Terminer and General Jail 
 Delivery, holden at Dublin in and for the county of the city of Dublin, on the eight- 
 eenth day of December, in the year of our Lord, One Thousand Eight Hundred and 
 Sixty -five, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, late of Skibbereen, in the county of Cork, was 
 in a l.-iwful manner indicted, tried and found guilty of certain felonies, and was duly 
 sentenced to be kept in penal servitude for the term of his natural life : And whereas, 
 in consideration of some circumstances humbly represented unto us on behalf of the 
 said Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, we have thought fit on the conditions hereinafter 
 contained, and expressed, to extend our royal mercy unto the said Jeremiah O'Dono- 
 van Rossa. Know ye, therefore, that on the conditions hereinafter contained and ex- 
 pressed, we of our special grace, certain knowledge, and mere motion by and with 
 the advice and consent of our right trusty and well-beloved cousin and councillor, 
 John Poyntz, Earl Spencer, K.G., our Lieutenant-General and General-Governor 
 of that part of our said United Kingdom called Ireland, and according to the tenor 
 and effect of our letter under our royal signature, bearing date nt our court, at St. 
 James's, the thirty-firs! day of December, in the thirty-fourth year of our reign, and 
 now enrolled in the Record and Writ Office of our High Court of Chancery in Ireland 
 
O'Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 419 
 
 aforesaid, have pard ncd, remit'ed, and released; nnd by these presents we do par- 
 don, remit, and release the said Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, or by whatever other 
 names or additions of name, office, art, mystery, or place, the said Jeremiah O'Dono- 
 van Rossa is known, called or named, or was lately known, called, or named, the felo- 
 nies of which he stands convicted as aforesaid and all and singular convictions and 
 attainders thereupon, and save as hereinafter mentioned all pains, penalties, and for- 
 feitures thereby by him incurred as aforesaid, or incident or consequent upon the 
 said felonies or any of them, or the commission thereof, or the judgment had there- 
 upon as aforesaid; and our firm peace to him, the said Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, 
 for the same. We, on the conditions hereinafter contained and expressed, do 
 give &v.<\ grant by there preset ts, forbidd ng that the sa 4 d Jeremiah O'Donovan 
 R> sa, by the ju-tices, sheriffs, exchea'.ois, b: hffs, coroners, or other the 
 oiHcers or minister of us, our heirs and successors on the occasion 
 aforesaid, may be molested, disturbed, or in any manner aggrieved for the 
 same, so that on the conditions hereinafter contained and expressed, he, the said 
 Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa may stand right in open court, if any person against him 
 should be willing to speak on the occasion aforesaid. And our further will is, and by 
 these presents for us, our heirs and successors, we do grant that these, our letters 
 patent, or the enrolment thereof, shall be in all things firm, good, valid, sufficient, 
 and effectual in the law, and shall be as well to the said justices and sheriffs, eschea- 
 tors, bailiffs, and coroners, as to all others 1 he officers and successors, a sufficient 
 warrant and discharge in that behalf. Provided always, and it is hereby declared, 
 that these our letters patent, and the pardon, remission, and release hereby granted, 
 are expressly subject to the several conditions following — that is to say, that the-e, 
 ©ur letters patent, be enrolled in the Record and Writ office of our High Court of 
 Chancery in Ireland aforesaid, within the space of six calendar months next ensuing 
 the date of these presents. And, further, that the said Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa 
 shall forthwith depart oat of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and 
 shall remain out of the said United Kingdom for the space of twenty years from the date 
 of these presents. And, further, that the said Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa shall not 
 during the said space of twenty years, exercise, or attempt, or claim to exercise 
 within the said United Kingdom any capacity, right, access, or privilege of which 
 he was, or lias been, deprived, or which was or has been lost, forfeited, extinguished, 
 or suspended by the felonies aforesaid, or any of them, or by reason of his having 
 committed the same felonies, or any of them, or been convicted of, or adjudged guilty 
 of, or sentenced or attained for such felonies, or any of them. 
 
 " In witness whereof we have caused these our letters to be made patent. 
 Witness, John Poyntz, Earl Spencer, our Lietenant-General and (reneral Governor of 
 Ireland, at Dublin, the third day of January, in the thirty-fourth year of our reign. 
 
 " Enrolled in the Record and Writ Office of her Majesty's High Court of Chancery 
 in Ireland, on the third day of January, one thousand eight hundred and seventy- 
 one. " M. J. Brady, A. C. R. & W. 
 "Ralph Cusack, Clerk of the Crown and Hanaper." 
 
 " Now," said he, " I have a sealed letter for you which I have 
 never read, nor do I know what it contains. I am instructed to 
 give it to you after you receive your pardon, and here it is." 
 
 London, Dec. 20th, 1870. 
 
 Mr. O'Donovan Rossa: I have for sometime past looked forward to congratu- 
 lating you on your release, and exuressing my sincere good wishes for your future 
 career. I do not feel t^at I have the right, nor would it become me to offer you any 
 advice, and especially of a poliiical nature. Though you and I are nearly of the same 
 age, our experiences of life and views of life are very different ; nor would it be reason- 
 able to expect that you should regard Fenianism in the same light that I do. At the 
 same time I would venture to implore you, before connecting yourself with it again, 
 either in the United States or elsewhere, to take counsel with the wisest and most 
 disinterested friends that you possess, with your good wife, and, let me add — with 
 your own best feelings and highest aspirations. 
 
 I will say no more, except that I shall always hear of you with friendly interest. 
 
 Indeed I should not have said what I have said had I not formed a conviction 
 which I have freely avowed, that you are worthy of a happier destiny than has yet 
 been yours. 
 
 I rely upon your honor to regard this letter as confidential, and remain, though 
 little known to you, Your friend, . 
 
420 [Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 Chatham Prison, January 5, 1871. 
 
 Sir : It is a poor thing to thank you in words, and I have no other way to thank 
 you for your kind letter, and your very kind wishes for my welfare. Our experiences 
 in life are, as you say, different, yet if we could speak our minds to each other our 
 views regarding " Fenianism'' may not be so far apart as you think. I would expect 
 your enlightened mind to regard me as it would the inhabitant of any other conquered 
 country, and I would allow you the right of the conqueror to maintain his conquest. 
 But we cannot talk, and my time or opportunity does not permit me to write, even if 
 my acquaintance could warrant my speaking freely and candidly to you. I should wish 
 to see Irishmen and Englishmen friends as well as neighbors. Now-a-days, when mighty 
 armies and weapons of destruction are before our eyes, and the possibility of their 
 being used in the interest of tyranny so patent, I would much rather see, between the 
 poeple of these Islands, a strong bond of Union and Brotherhood, such as would repel 
 any thought of aggression, than to see the ever-recurring efforts of ^.he one to bind 
 down the other. Would English statesmen turn their talents to our union, and not 
 to our division, it would lighten my exile. 
 
 I do not know how winds will drift me, but this you may he sure of, that no 
 course of life will ever find mo fostering ill-will between Englishmen and Irishmen, 
 and if you, as a writer, make a similar endeavor to dissipate those prejudices which 
 exist and seem to be by some influence cultivated between the two people, 1 will ever 
 remember you with kindness. 
 
 You possibly have one time or another in your life experienced t^at pain of 
 thought resulting from being led by your opinions — by your consciousness of recti- 
 tude to express yourself and to act in a manner that would not be entirely agreeable 
 to some one you respected. It is such a feeling I experience now, in the desire to 
 respect you, and to be consistent with myself. 
 
 You do me overmuch honor in your opinion of me. Some fortune (perhaps a mis- 
 fortune) has followed me through life in making people see more in me than I feel or 
 see myself. You are the agent at present, and if I could speak imperatively to you, 
 I would say, you must correct yourself on this head. 
 
 I will, as you desire, consider y T our letter a private one. 
 
 There is one matter of concern to me, which I will communicate to you; it ifl this : 
 I am leaving prison, and — what I do not like— I am leaving behind me, among the sol- 
 diers and Manchester men, some whom I have influenced into the course which led to 
 their imprisonment, and this cannot tend towards my rest. If I had time in the 
 country, I intended to ask the Secretary of State if there were any conditions of 
 release for these men? I thought the Government might altogether close this open 
 sore of political prisoners in England. Could you do anything in the matter? If you 
 could, I would ask you and request you to send me a line to meet the Cunard steamer 
 in Queenstown on Sunday next. 
 
 I remain, sir, yours very respectfully, 
 To (Signed) JER. O'DONOVAN ROSSA. 
 
 P. S. — A message has reached me from one of those Manchester prisoners, and 
 here are the exact words : " They have me nearly dead. I am now doing twenty 
 days' bread and water, and have no bed at night. My name is Dan Reddin ; I am one 
 of the Manchester men." 
 
 This is enough. The man has been repeatedly under punishment. I am expected 
 to make his case known when I get out of prison — and I tell you honestly, I have no 
 desire to rush into print. I intend to speak to Mr. Fagan to-day, with a view to his 
 relaxing the discipline in this man's case. Perhaps the most becoming way for me 
 to do it is to lay this letter before him. J. O'D. 
 
 The Daniel Reddin referred to here is the young man who be- 
 came helplessly paralyzed in prison, and who tried to get an indict- 
 ment against Dr. Burns and other officials on account of the ill- 
 treatment he received from them. 
 
 The snow was thick on the ground at the time of my release, in 
 January, 1871, and he was then starving on bread and water, with- 
 out a bed at night. 
 
 My correspondent did not write to me to the Cove of Cork, but 
 when I arrived in America I received a letter from him saying he was 
 out of London when mine came. In this he spoke very kindly and 
 
O' 'Donovan Rosso? 8 Prison Life. 421 
 
 promisingly ; I would let you read it but that it might betray who 
 he was, and he " relied upon my honor to hold it as confidential." 
 
 When I came to New York I was forced into public politics, as 
 I will afterwards explain ; and as this was taking the course my 
 correspondent would dissuade me from, I felt delicate about reply- 
 ing. I could not feel it manly or gentlemanly to foilow up the fa- 
 vors I expected from him in the release of the soldier prisoners, and 
 as this was the piincipal subject of my last letter, I did not reply to 
 it. Could 1 have foreseen the little good I could do here for the 
 cause of Irish independence I would have taken a contrary course. 
 I would rather look back now to the release of Johnny O'Brien or 
 Sergeant M'Carthy three years ago, than to anything I have done, 
 or seen done, by Irishmen in America to forward the cause of Irish 
 revolution. This may give consolation to the enemies of Ireland, 
 but if it shame her so-called friends into more honest and energetic 
 action for her freedom, I don't begrudge the others their little 
 pleasure. 
 
 Halpin refused to sign any conditions. He intended prosecuting 
 the perjurers who swore against him as soon as ever he got out of 
 prison, and signing this paper would be signing away his right to 
 do so. 
 
 Everything having been made ready for our departure from Chat- 
 ham, we took a last fond look at our cells and descended to the court- 
 yard. We stood and made a request that Halpin be brought down 
 to us to bid him adieu. It was granted, and it was as painful a 
 parting as you could imagine to see us in our broadcloth bidding 
 adieu in his convict grey to him of whom we were all so fond. 
 
 We took our seats in two coaches, two warders seating them- 
 selves with us, the Deputy-Governor entered a gig, some one shouted 
 out "All right," the heavy prison-gates swung on their hinges, and 
 in a moment we were outside them ; but though outside and on 
 our way to freedom, yet were we prisoners still. In that land that 
 affords a refuge to all the political prisoners of the world there was 
 no resting-place for us — no freedom until we were placed beyond its 
 boundaries. 
 
 "The foot of slave thy heather never stained." 
 
 We had the accursed brand of English slavery upon us, and our 
 tread should not pollute the soil. 
 
 We were driven to the railway station in Chatham, and, having 
 been conducted into a carriage, the Deputy-Governor entered the 
 next compartment to us and the train started. Arriving in London, 
 we were placed in coaches, and driven to the station from whence the 
 train starts for Liverpool. The Deputy-Governor told us there was 
 time to have refreshments, and if we liked we could have some. 
 We consented and were conducted into a private room in the build- 
 ing ; here there was a table already prepared for us. We had sand- 
 wiches, wine and ale, and could have anvthinsr we liked. We ate 
 
422 0^ Donovan Rossds Prison Life, 
 
 and drank, and thanked the Deputy, who, now that he wasn't a 
 jailer, was a very amiable gentleman. He made himself as agree- 
 able as possible, and telegraphed to have everything ready before 
 him as he went along. Detectives were here and there and every- 
 where that we made a stop or changed cars or coaches. It was 
 deemed necessary to observe the greatest possible secrecy regarding 
 our removal, lest any troublesome demonstrations should spring up 
 on the way, and our escort did his best to hide us. 
 
 Having taken such a lunch as we did not enjoy for the past five 
 years and four months, we, with detectives behind and detectives 
 before, were stealthily conducted to the train, and after a ride of 
 four or five hours found ourselves in Liverpool. 
 
 There was a crowd at the station there, and Mulleda, who was 
 well known by the Irishmen of Liverpool, had lots of friends around 
 him. Coaches were drawn up to receive us, and as I stepped out 
 on the platform one friend kindly gave me his arm, and his kind- 
 ness was imitated by another who saw I had another arm to spare. 
 I <. nought they were some of our friends, and we had a great laugh 
 afterwards when we learned they were detectives who thus acted so 
 politely towards every one of us. Another hour's driving through 
 Liverpool brought us to the river-side, where there was a tug- 
 boat in waiting to convey us on board the steamship Cuba. She 
 lay in the middle of the river, ready to sail next morning. It was 
 about ten o'clock when we got on board, and the Deputy ordered 
 a supper. We had a grand time of it. Jailers and convicts 
 and snip's officers fraternized over the champagne. We tried to 
 make ourselves as genial as possible. We toasted the Deputy's 
 health and he toasted ours ; the doctor of the ship made a speech ; 
 some of the prisoners, being called upon, became humorous and 
 gave excuses for short orations by saying they were a good while 
 out of practice under the silent system. Altogether we had a good 
 night of it, though we were still prisoners. The doctor went so far 
 as to boast of being an Irishman, though he wasn't a Fenian or a 
 Catholic, and when he heard our opinions as to how little we thought 
 the name ''Fenian" or "Catholic" or "Protestant" should influ- 
 ence a man in the discharge of a duty towards his native land, and 
 other opinions of ours also, he appeared pleased that there seemed 
 so little difference between us. It was a regular straight-out liberty, 
 equality and fraternity party. There were the head jailer and his 
 deputy warders and their prisoners sitting at the same table with 
 the ship's officers, all toasting each other's health, in utter disregard 
 of those distinctions of caste so necessary to " discipline," and dis- 
 cipline herself outraged in treating us as gentlemen while holding 
 us as felons. 
 
 We retired to our berths about two o'clock in the morning, and 
 the two warders did prison duty over us by remaining up and keep- 
 ing guard outside our doors. 
 
 About nine o'clock, just before the ship sailed, the Deputy asked 
 
' } Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life, 423 
 
 us into his room, and laying before each of ns five sovereigns, said he 
 had instructions to give us so much for pocket money. As we had 
 decided to receive everything given us, under the circumstances 
 that our friends were not allowed to give us anything, we took the 
 English gold, and shaking hands with the officer as a form of bid- 
 ding him good-bye, he went on board the tug-boat, and the Cuba 
 steamed down the Mersey. But though the Deputy left us, his two 
 deputies did not. We were prisoners still, and they had charge of 
 us until we started from the Cove of Cork, where the ship was to 
 take up the mails. 
 
 An hour after starting from Liverpool, I made the discovery 
 that we had a stow-away on board. Strange as it may seem, he 
 knowing that I was on the ship, sought me out and gave me his 
 confidence. He represented himself as a correspondent of the New 
 York World, he had been " interviewing" me all the mornino; but 
 could not draw me out, and recognizing the vast importance of hav- 
 ing my opinion on the questions of the day for the American world, 
 he had hid himself on board, as he could not otherwise secure a pas- 
 sage from Liverpool to Cork. I thanked him for the compliment 
 paid me, but begged to be excused from giving my opinions, as I 
 had been shut in from the world and in utter darkness regarding all 
 the affairs passing in it. Yet he would not be put off, he should 
 have something from me for his pains, and he went to the trouble 
 of telling me of the Irish Tenant Right bill and the Irish Church Dis- 
 establishment bill, which Mr. Gladstone had lately passed, asking 
 my opinion on them. I told him I had not faith enough in Mr. 
 Gladstone to pass any bill that would give the Irish tenant any 
 right against the right of the landlord to eject him and rackrent 
 him whenever he thought proper, and in this I was not far astray, 
 for it is now seen that Gladstone's Tenant Right bill is only a second 
 edition of Deasy's bill, or any of the other sham bills that have been 
 passed to gull the people. 
 
 As to the Church Disestablishment bill, I reasoned thus when my 
 interviewer asked me if I thought it should not quell agitation ano 
 make the Irish contented. A robber seizes your house and proper, 
 expels you, and in addition to this he imposes upon you the duty < 
 maintaining one of his bastard children. His neighbors are wit 
 nesses of this injustice, and to look well in their eyes he tells you 
 he will not tax you with the support of his child any more ; that 
 that much of the injustice is taken off your shoulders. Are you 
 then to forgive him all the other injustice done you and to look upon 
 him as a benefactor ? It was in such wise that I spoke to this gen- 
 tleman. I was a little on my guard, as I did not know but he may be 
 an English spy sent to sound us, but probably I was mistaken here, 
 as I aftewards saw in the New York World something purporting 
 to be an account of what passed between us. I got sea-sick and 
 went to my berth, but this did not prevent him from trying to prose- 
 cute his mission. He came into my room, but I got such a vio- 
 
4:24 O' 'Donovan Rosso' s Prison Life. 
 
 lent attack of retching whenever he asked me a question as induced 
 him to have compassion on me and go away. On Sunday morning 
 as we were approaching the Cove of Cork, he made for me again 
 and I made the best of my way to evade him. 
 
 Ireland once more. There she lay before us, with her hopes and 
 the high hopes of our youth blasted. As we drew near to land the 
 jailers drew nearer to us, and we were reminded we were not allowed 
 to go on shore. 
 
 Twelve years before I lay in the County Jail of Cork, and this 
 same harbor received the Neapolitan exiles who had broken loose 
 from their jailers while at sea. Mr. Gladstone championed them: 
 he and all the English people were jubilant over their escape and 
 heartily welcomed their arrival in Ireland. Now Mr. Gladstone is 
 Prime Minister of England, and not alone has he countenanced in 
 his prisons the very treatment which he vehemently condemned in 
 the Neapolitan ones, but when we approach our native land on our 
 way to banishment he prohibits us from setting foot upon its soil. 
 
 As soon as we cast anchor, the necessary relay of police and 
 detectives came on board to keep us to our quarters during the five 
 or six hours we stayed in the harbor. The Cove pilot informed me 
 that my wife had arrived in town the evening before, and I enjoyed 
 the prospect of having her a fellow-passenger to America. Small 
 boats came from shore and in them I recognized two of my Portland 
 companions, Pat. Barry and Jerry O'Donovan, with several others 
 of my old-country friends. None of them would be allowed on 
 board, but as the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet 
 went to the mountain, and seeing Davey Riordan and a few others 
 begging for leave, and refused, to be allowed shake hands with me, 
 I jumped over the side of the ship into their little boat. You'd think 
 this was the signal for an outbreak, there arose such a commotion. 
 The detectives ran here, the jailers ran there, every one ran some- 
 where, but after having a few words and a shake hands with my 
 friends around I climbed up the side of ths ship and delivered 
 myself quietly into the hands of my keepers. 
 
 During the day, four or five steamers from " Cork's own town" 
 crowded with " God's own people" came down the river and kept 
 hovering around our ship. The cheering was immense, and the en- 
 thusiasm showed us the old cause was still uppermost in the hearts 
 of the masses of our people. 
 
 A committee presented us with clothes and money : they had an 
 address for us also, but one of the conditions of allowing them on 
 board was that this should not be presented. 
 
 My wife and youngest child met me here, and accompanied me 
 to America. 
 
 Approaching New York a pilot was taken, and the newspapers 
 he brought showed us we would be placed in a very delicate situ- 
 ation arriving in the New World. The Irish people were heartily 
 joyous at our release, and the politicians of the city were., as a 
 
O* Donovan Jtossa?s Prison Life. 425 
 
 matter of course, at the head of the people. As our ship neared 
 land, torches blazed and cannon boomed. " Ship ahoy." " Govern- 
 ment cutter." The ladder was let down : a portly brown-haired 
 gentleman stepped on board, and I was introduced to the Collector of 
 the Port of New York. On the part of the Government of the United 
 States he tendered me and my companions the welcome and the 
 hospitality of free America. The Government steamer was alongside 
 to receive us, and apartments for our accommodation had been en- 
 gaged at the Astor House. 
 
 I thanked him j but as I was only one of five, I desired the Col- 
 lector to see the others with me. During our interview some of the 
 City Fathers had come on board from another steamer, and having 
 met some of the other prisoners, were tendering us a welcome and 
 hospitality on behalf of the great City of New York. The city 
 steamer was alongside, and apartments had been engaged for us at 
 the Metropolitan. I saw immediately that the question of our re- 
 ception had grown into a party fight. It was impossible for me to 
 get a word with one of my companions without half a dozen sur- 
 rounding us, half of whom would be at one side and half at the other 
 side, bawling out, " Rossa, go this way." " Rossa, go that way." 
 
 The Collector asking if he could have a few private words with 
 me, I went with him to the Captain's room, and he spoke to me 
 somewhat in this manner: 
 
 "Mr. O'Donovan, I am an Irishman myself; I am not without 
 some sympathy for your cause, and I wish to see our people respected 
 in their new home. I am pained at what you have witnessed here 
 to-night. You have been years in prison, you are banished from 
 your native land, you turn your face here, 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 to-night, to our common disgrace. 
 Tammany Hall is not greater than the National Government, and, 
 if you take a broad, statesmanlike view of the case, you and your 
 friends will come on board the cutter with me." 
 
 I had not time to reply when the door was burst in, and I was 
 seized bodily and borne to the centre of the saloon. Room was 
 made for the five prisoners to come together to receive an invitation 
 of welcome from the Municipal Government. We were introduced 
 to John Mitchel and Richard O'Gorman, one of w T hom read the ad- 
 dress, and then a scene arose that baffles description. 
 
 A college professor from the West, who sat at our table during 
 the voyage, whispered me aside and said, " Rossa, if you would 
 excuse me for offering an advice it would be this — Receive the invi- 
 tation from the Nation first. Let the Government cutter receive you 
 from the English ship. Let the national flag carry you to American 
 
426 C Donovan Rossa?$ Prison Life. 
 
 soil, and when you are landed in the city, you can, with propriety, 
 accept the other invitation, if you wish." 
 
 This was sound advice, but the increasing din of voices, the up- 
 roar, the shouting and shoving, forbade a quiet thought to be given 
 to anything. We saw acquaintances now at both sides of the house 
 warmly contending one against the other. All of them were our 
 friends, but the fight had waxed so warm that we saw we could not 
 get out of making half of them our enemies if we accepted either of 
 the invitations. 
 
 In the midst of the melee, Dr. Carnochan, the Health Officer ol 
 the port, came and ordered the ship to be quarantined, as there was 
 a case of small-pox on board, and no passengers should be allowed 
 on shore till further orders. The Health Officer was on the Tam- 
 many side of the house, and this was a clever display of the tactics 
 of the party. If we accepted the national invitation the Health Of- 
 ficer could not allow us to infect the city with small-pox ; if we ac- 
 cepted the city invitation, there mightn't be much dangep of the 
 contagion. 
 
 We craved a short time for consultation, and were allowed it. 
 We retired, and decided we would go to a private hotel, and after 
 twenty minutes we returned to the saloon and read the following 
 reply to the invitations : 
 
 On Board the " Cuba," Jan. 19, 1871. 
 To the Gentlemen of the several Deputations for Receiving the Irish Exiles. 
 
 Gentlemen : We thank you for all your invitations, and we will try to accept all, 
 but we are only a few of many. Our fellow-prisoners are on the way hit! er, and we 
 will take no public step untl tliey arrive. Y <u may look upon us as representing 
 the cause of Ireland, for the interest of which cause we desire that all Irishmen 
 should be united. It is painful to us to-night to see so much disunion amongst your- 
 selves. For what your recepti* n concerns us as individuals we care little compared 
 to what we feel about it in conned ion 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. We will remain on board the ship to-night, and go to a hotel 
 to-mcrrow. 
 
 We remain, gentlemen, yours, very respectfully, 
 
 JER. O'DONOVAN ROSSA, 
 CHARLES U. O'CONNELL, 
 JOHN DEVOY, 
 JOHN McCLURE, 
 HENRY S. MULLEDA. 
 
 If this did not please any one, it calmed the elements a little, snd 
 the storm began to subside. By and by I found myself hitting in the 
 parlor listening to a very spicy debate between the Collector and Mr. 
 O'Gorman. They hit at each other pretty hard in a gentlemanly way 
 but some less gentlemanly person present joined in the debate, making 
 use of the rude and vulgar observation that he knew the Collector 
 many years ago when they boarded in the same house, and that he was 
 not then as big a man as lie was now. This turned my sympathy 
 to the side of Mr. Murphy — which I found to be the Collector's name. 
 I don't know that he is as Irish a i his name indicates, but he is the 
 most prominent and influential Irishman in the city to-day. He was 
 
0' 'Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 427 
 
 born in 1823 in Ballinacht, Garryowen County, and his father, John 
 Murphy, who was land agent to old William Wise, of Cork, brought 
 the whole family to America in or about 1832 — man-servants, maid- 
 servants, et cetera — in all seventeen souls. 
 
 The morning after our arrival we left the steamer and went to 
 Sweeny's Hotel, telling the proprietor we were ourselves to pay for 
 our board, and requesting him to receive money from no one on that 
 account. A sum of money had been subscribed previous to our 
 arrival, which lay in the hands of Mr. O'Gorman. He presented us 
 with fifteen thousand dollars of it for " the exiles," and when we 
 came to inquire about our hotel bill we found it was also paid. 
 
 Deputations, invitations, addresses and congratulations continued 
 to pour in, and morning, noon and night the hotel was besieged with 
 visitors. Our hands got swollen and sore from hand-shaking. It 
 was a hearty, generous welcome of the people, but we were heartily 
 wishing it would come to an end. 
 
 We made up our minds that we would have nothing to do with 
 either of the political parties, and, as we did not land in the Govern- 
 ment steamer, w« determined to have nothing to do with Tammany 
 Hall. But here a difficulty arose. It was thought we could not 
 well refuse a public reception, offered by the City, without laying 
 ourselves open to the charge of treating the authorities with con- 
 tempt, and this position we did not wish to be placed in. Knowing 
 that the eyes of England were upon us also, we accepted the invi- 
 tation, and the programme laid down by the City Fathers was to 
 have us taken to Tammany Hall and to have the procession start 
 from there. Once we placed ourselves in the hands of the author- 
 ities we, in all decency, felt bound to acquiesce in their manage- 
 ment of the proceedings. I felt bitter to think that, after all the 
 efforts we made to steer clear of party — to act straight between all 
 and give neither side a victory or defeat — we were now being taken 
 to a place that would give our existence a political complexion. 
 
 While laboring under the vexation of seeing the cause of Ireland 
 brought into this question of American party politics, I was called 
 upon to speak, and I spoke something that seemed not pleasing to 
 the leaders. 
 
 I said if I went to Ireland, and that the Orangemen there offered 
 me a welcome, I would joyfully accept it as a tribute to the cause 
 we represented, and coupling the name of Tammany in some infeli- 
 citous manner with this observation, " I put my foot in it." It was 
 in the original programme to take us into the City Hall when 
 passing it. As we approached the place there was a halt of about 
 an hour, but what I said threw cold water on everything that was 
 prepared there, we were not invited in, and the official part of the 
 ceremony ended ungraciously. 
 
 The Common Council of Brooklyn voted us a public reception 
 also, and we had to appear in state there another day. The Mayor 
 and Aldermen of Jersey City followed suit, but we decided on having 
 
428 O^ Donovan Bosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 no more public honors. Alderman Harrington, a Dunmanway 
 Irishman, was in New York tVery day pressing us to accept the Jer- 
 sey offering, but we reasoned him out of his anxiety to fete us. 
 
 The representatives of the nation, in Senate assembled in Wash- 
 ington, welcomed us in a resolution introduced by the Hon. Ben- 
 jamin Butler, and the State representatives in Albany sent us their 
 greeting through the Governor : 
 
 State op New York, Executive Chamber, ) 
 Albany, Feb. 18,1871. \ 
 Sir: I take pleasure in transmitting to you herewith a copy of a " resolution of 
 welcome " to this country, which had been unanimously adopted by the Senate and 
 Assembly of the State. 
 
 m T , ™ Ver ^ respectfully, JOHN T. HOFFMAN. 
 
 To Jer'h 'Donovan Ross a. 
 
 State of New York, Assembly Chamber, ) 
 Albany, Feb. 16, 1871. f 
 Besolved, if the Senate concur, That the Legislature, in the name and on behalf of 
 the people of the State of New York, extend to Th< *mas Clark Luby, Jeremiah 'Donovan 
 Rossa, Charles Underwood O'Connell, John O'Leary, Thomas F. Bourke, and their 
 associates, the Irish exiles and patriots recently landed upon our shores, a most hearty 
 welcome to our country, and that a copy of this resolution be transmitted to them by 
 the Governor of this State. 
 
 By order, C. W. ARMSTRONG, Clerk. 
 
 In Senate, Feb. 15, 1871.— Concurred in without amendment, 
 
 By order, HIRAM CALKINS, Clerk. 
 
 The whole affair is now past and gone ; the excitement is all 
 oyer ; there seems to be no Ireland — no Irish revolutionary cause 
 alive in New York ; the " exiles" have sunk to their natural level 
 of humble private individuals ; but whatever can be said of them — 
 whatever be their faults and failings — it can never be said they 
 availed of their position then to forward their own interests — to 
 feather their own nests. No ; Ireland's Cause was uppermost with 
 them; they sank their own individuality to raise that ; and if it is 
 now 
 
 " Down in the dust, and a shame to be seen," 
 they had no hand in dragging it down. 
 
 Place and position were within easy reach of them ; the ruling 
 powers keeping pace with the exuberant outburst of welcome were 
 generously disposed. I myself might have been a lord to-day — or 
 a Sing Sing convict — had I grasped the treasures laid before me. 
 The man who gave Mr. Green control of the City of New York 
 paid me a visit at Sweeny's Hotel one of these days. Mr. Sweeny 
 told me he was coming, and asked me not to be out. I remained 
 in, and when Mr. Richard B. Connolly was announced I admitted 
 him. Mr. Sweeny ordered up a bottle of champagne, and as we 
 were drinking it the Comptroller lamented the death of his deputy, 
 Mr. Watson, who was killed a few days before. He wanted a man 
 to fill his place, and he did not know where to get one. He looked 
 inquiringly at me. I felt contused, and only said he ought not to 
 have much difficulty there, with the number of smart men New YorK 
 
J Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 429 
 
 contained. I shoved this away from me as I would any other hon- 
 ors that could be offered me at the time by either Collector Murphy 
 or Comptroller Connolly. I would not be so scary of accepting them 
 now. " There is a tide in the affairs of men," but I went against the 
 current of mine when it was high water, and I am no way sorry 
 for it. 
 
 The newspapers differing in political opinion agreed in admit- 
 ting that we had behaved ourselves becomingly ; the Black Repub- 
 licans and the red-hot Democrats gave us their meed of praise. 
 Here is a specimen from each : 
 
 THE RESOLVE OF THE EXPATRIATED REBELS. 
 
 (From the JSFew York Irish Democrat.) 
 
 " On all sides we hear unqualified commendation of the reticence and retirement of 
 the Irish exiles since their arrival amongst us— of the good taste and considerate feeling 
 that declined an ovation until their fellow martyrs could participate in the honor, 
 and of the sound judgment that preserved them from being made the mere shuttle- 
 cocks of political parties. The temptations were great, and the resistance was pro- 
 portionately creditable. But from the antecedents of the men we could have expected 
 no other result ; they were not patriots for mere pageantry — no kid-glove nationalists, 
 to expend their zeal on platforms— they strove nob'y and nobly suffered ; and there 
 was no nobler characteristic marking their career than their conduct now." 
 
 HEAD LEVEL. 
 CFrom the New York Standard.) 
 
 " The highest compliment that can be made to a man on the Pacific slope is to 
 credit him with carrying his head level, and we can think of no more appropriate or 
 forcible expression by which to designate the public esteem for Mr. O'Donovau Rossa 
 since his arrival in this country. As the principal among the fi'-st arrivals of Fenian 
 ex les, he has been regarded as the expounder of their w 11, and. le has certainly 
 added much to the reputation of Irishmen by the delicacy and determination of his 
 method of management. 
 
 While the Metropolitan Hotel and Astor House were secured for the reception of 
 himself and brethren, where they could live in state on a par with the Japanese 
 princes, he preferred the retirement of a modest hotel, kept on economical princi- 
 ples. He cut the gordian knot which released Tammany a >d te Irish Republicans 
 from tearing his coat, by politely but fi mly resisting the overtures of either, a id 
 what promised a row will end i 1 an ovation. Never had man a fairer opportunity 
 of living on the fat of the land, for the next six months, at least; to be feasted at 
 Washington, paraded at Philadelphia, or whiskeyed at Louisville, to his heart's 
 content. 
 
 He is obliged, for the consistency of things, to accept the ovation of his thousands 
 of admirers on Thursday next." 
 
 We had two difficulties to encounter in our desire to steer clear 
 ol politics. There were two phases of the mania raging — the Irish 
 one and the American one — and of the two the former was the 
 worst. The different sections of what is called the Fenian element, 
 surrounded us, all calling aloud for "Union," "Union," "Union," 
 and when we turned our attention to their call, we found the union 
 that each party wanted was an adhesion to itself. Let us join them 
 and all the other factions should come in or die out. We were called 
 upon by all to start something that would embrace all. If we did 
 not do so we were most culpable and guilty of letting the opportu- 
 nity slip of doing good. We, on leaving prison, had resolved, as I 
 said before, not to mix ourselves up with the Fenian question here. 
 
430 C Donovan Rosstfs Prison Life. 
 
 but if we did not respond to this call made upon us it would be said 
 to-day and evermore, that we had shirked our duty. We started the 
 Irish Confederation, with a platform broad enough to give standing 
 room to every kind of Irish society existing in the country, but the 
 very men that called most loudly for action on our part, were the 
 first to set their faces against the success of our work. When they 
 saw they could not swallow us up, they raised the cry that the ex- 
 iles were tyrannical, " they wanted to control everything," and this- 
 cry has — in the interests of division and disorder — been kept up to 
 the present day. 
 
 When I saw I could do no more in America than help to build up 
 another faction or party where so many existed, I gave up the Con- 
 federation. 
 
 I was disgusted with the Irish politics of the country, disgusted 
 with hearing and seeing societies organizing to aid Irishmen in Ire- 
 Jand to fight England, and not sending one red cent to buy arms, or 
 anything else. No, but worse than that; the very men that were 
 most energetic in calling for money to help " the men at home," were 
 cutting the throats of " the men at home," by industriously circula- 
 ting the lie that they were not fit to be entrusted with the use of 
 money. 
 
 A plague upon your falsehoods — you do-nothing drive] lers. 
 Only for the men at home, only for their action and conduct there, 
 the name of Irish liberty in America would stink, on account of 
 your work in the sacred name of it here. 
 
 If you had the opportunity ; or, having the opportunity, if you 
 ever had the courage to work with " the men at home," you would 
 not work against them now in this manner. 
 
 One of these men at home is worth a thousand of you here, is 
 worth a thousand of us here, is worth a thousand of themselves here, 
 for Irish revolutionary purposes. One John Kenealy in Ireland is 
 worth a thousand John Kenealys in San Francisco. We degenerate 
 when we leave the old land. We have no enemy to rouse the blood 
 into a healthy circulation. 
 
 Seeing that the great hurra of our reception in New York and 
 ithe great popularity it brought me, brought me no power to do any 
 good for these men who expected something from us, and seeing 
 they were under the impression I could do anything I liked if I 
 exerted myself, I found myself getting out of humor. I did not 
 much mind how soon I was relieved of such popularity. I sometimes 
 got into company, and sometimes talked American politics, and I 
 was very often given to understand that I could be nothing — should 
 be nothing unless a Tammany man. If I wasn't Tammany I wasn't 
 Irish, and the very people who leaped for joy at my release from 
 prison would repudiate my being an Irishman. 
 
 This set me thinking. had stood up as a freeman in an enslaved 
 land. For this T had an ft r A ' imprisonment, and in prison 
 
 I tried to keep my soul 11 I was now in a free country, 
 
O^ Donovan RosscCs Prison Life. 431 
 
 and my mind revolted at being told I should hold myself as a kind 
 of slave. I found myself becoming a " rebel " again, and nursing a 
 determination to sacrifice my popularity to my independence when- 
 ever an opportunity offered. 
 
 In company, one day, the conversation turned on the " exiles' " 
 reception, and, while admitting the demonstration was genuine on 
 the part of the people, I asserted there was more of the American 
 politician in it in the end than of anything else. I also asserted that 
 we Irish of New York are American politicians before we are Irish, 
 or anything else. I am not saying this is wrong. The Irishman 
 has done as much as any other man to make America ; there is as 
 much of his sweat and blood in the soil as of any other man's; 
 and, having no country of his own, his existence is wound up more 
 closely than any other foreigner's with its institutions, and it is 
 only natural he should take a primary interest in all that concerns 
 the public where his lot is laid. But what I don't like to see, 
 and what I think I do see here, is Irishmen kicking up their heels 
 as if the whole country belonged to them, as if they had no taint 
 of slavery connected with them. The man in Ireland that would 
 ride with boots and spurs, and cut up a shine at fair or market, 
 while his mother was in the poor-house, would soon be made to 
 lower his head by some cutting remark from a passer-by, and I 
 never can listen to an Irishman here " bouncing" about his being a 
 free man, without thinking of his mother in the poor-house. When 
 a man gets married to a young woman, his obligations to his mother 
 do not cease ; he is considered bad if he throws her out of doors. 
 
 In this company I speak of, Captain Tom Costello disputed what 
 I said about our people being more American than Irish, and I 
 promised him I would try it in a small way at the next election. I 
 thought it well, also, to make a lesson for my countrymen in Ire- 
 land, who thought that the people who threw up their hats on my 
 landing would throw me into the presidency if they could. 
 
 An opportunity soon offered, and everything was propitious. 
 Mr. Wm. M. Tweed represented the most Irish district of the city ; 
 his term of office had expired and he was up for re-election. I went 
 to Collector Murphy and told him I would run against Mr. Tweed 
 if he gave me any support. He got me the nomination and one 
 thousand dollars, and I got seven thousand votes counted for me 
 against Mr. Tweed's thirteen thousand. He was then charged 
 with the robberies for which he is now undergoing a sentence of 
 ten years' penal servitude. It was the Irish people " elected " him. 
 I say it to show how much they were in the hands of those trickster 
 politicians that use them to the shame and disgrace of our national 
 reputation. 
 
 A cry was immediately raised against me. I had gone against 
 Tammany Hall ; I had gone against the Irish, I was a renegade. I 
 had done what no public Irishman did here before. A club of the 
 Irish Confederation in Memphis or some Southern city wrote saying 
 
432 O' Donovan Rosso? s Prison Life. 
 
 they could not have confidence in contributing any more money for 
 Ireland while I was on the Directory, and I received several evi- 
 dences that I committed political suicide. 
 
 An Irishman writing in the Globe of Nov. 6th, 1871, said: 
 
 " 'Donovan Rossa did more within a few years to bring a?,out the disreputable 
 state of Irish national sentiment, than all the fiasco mishaps and blunders often years' 
 mismanagement of Fenian organizations." " Is it not most lamentable and most piti- 
 able that all future efforts for Ireland's redemption by true men is marred and sullied 
 by this man's stupidity? Oh, Ireland's patriots and martyrs, how you and your great 
 cause is blurred by the mercenary conduct of Rossa." "Oh, shame, where is thy 
 blush." Mr. Rossa's course of conduct in this matter has done more damage to Irish 
 nationality, and more to destroy a future confidence in so-called Irish patriots than 
 the treachery of all the perjured informers for hundreds of years! "How absurd 
 and stupid, because of an inconsistent and coarse stubbornness on his part whilst in 
 prison, gained for him a notoriety, that when a free man to act and perform, had not 
 brains enough to guide his political conduct into a consistent and legitimate channel." 
 Rossa's political floundering in the interest of Tom Murphy, Grant's Ku-Klux whipper- 
 in, absolutely proves him to be purely a man of chance, who was pitchforked into 
 Irish national notoriety ! " Would not Mr. Rossa command much respect from Irish- 
 men and Americans, etc., if he became attached to the only legitimate Irish party in 
 the country, and not be a tool of Grant?" Alas, poor Yorick ! O'Donovan Rossa's work 
 for Ireland is over and done, his political career is passed ; his grave is open and will 
 be forever closed on Tuesday next. " What a name ! what vast renown ! what im- 
 perishable honors he and his country would gain if England's bloody government 
 never pardoned him." 
 
 God help you, you poor pitiful slave ! you have Rossa's prayers 
 for your restoration to light and freedom. 
 
 I opposed Tammany ! Tammany — the only party that ever 
 gave any representation to an Irishman ! I was lost.* My career 
 was ended. But I was satisfied, and the Irish people may be satis- 
 fied that while I live I will oppose Tammany while Tammany dis 
 graces the Irish character by the men she takes to represent us. 
 John Mitchell is a consistent advocate at that side of the house for 
 the last twenty years. Hostility to England's government of Ire- 
 land is the grand characteristic of the Irish character, and he is the 
 the grandest representative of that in America. Has Tammany 
 taken him to represent the Irish people ? No, he doesn't want it ; 
 he doesn't go the right slavish way to seek favors ; they are not 
 offered to him, but are given to men who are only fit to be the re- 
 presentatives of slaves, who, having Irish names and rowdy man- 
 ners, degrade and lower our character by presenting in their repre- 
 sentative persons to the beholders, a spurious standard of our man- 
 hood and intelligence. 
 
 ^ Even though I may oppose Tammany, I have enough of Irish 
 pride and feeling left to make me wish that when they do select 
 Irishmen for the purpose of securing the Irish vote these should be 
 respectable independent men, and not disreputable slavish ones. 
 
 Apart from anything else I have been saying, if I could become 
 an American politician and go into American politics with the same 
 soul that I could go into Irish politics, I would differ with this Tam- 
 many party on pure principle alone. Its strength is made up of 
 foreign-born men — of hard-toiling men, too, who leave their native 
 
C Donovan Bossa's Prison Life. 433 
 
 land and come here to earn higher wages. The blacksmith that 
 gets three or four shillings a day making graffavms in Ireland 
 comes here and gets three or four dollars a day. He joins a trade 
 society to protect him in retaining this wages and to help him in 
 getting an increase of it ; but at the very same time he commits the 
 inconsistency of joining Tammany, that is working to keep his 
 wages down — Tammany, that is laboring with all its might to get 
 graffawns that are manufactured in England brought to America 
 free of duty, where they can be sold cheaper than the mechanic can 
 make them, and the mechanic must necessarily lose his business or 
 lower his wages if Tammany principles prevail. 
 
 I am touching now on the question of Tariff or Free Trade. If 
 principles were respected, and if I had to take sides actively in 
 American politics, I would unquestionably be on the side of those 
 who advocate the imposition of a duty on foreign manufactures. 
 Even at the present day, seeing the number of men that are in want 
 of employment in New York and other places, I don't know that 
 it would not be for the interest of the country — it would at least 
 be for the interest of the unemployed — to impose a tariff on the 
 importation of further emigrants until those we have are provided 
 with labor. 
 
 The Common Council of New York, this week, passed a resolu- 
 tion that no outsider coming to New York should be employed 
 there while there was a six months' resident of the city out of em- 
 ployment. Let this be taken to heart by my friends in Ireland 
 who intend emigrating, and let them not be coming out here and 
 going back again disappointed, as many have done this very present 
 year. 
 
 I have had something to do with emigration since I came here, 
 but I am not so wound up in making a fortune at it as to let it pre- 
 sent me from giving a word of advice to the men at home. 
 
 I know many of them are forced to leave the old land, but I 
 know many more of them are cheated into coming here. For in- 
 stance : Conn Callaghan comes to America, induced by letters writ- 
 ten home by Morty Downing, who stated he was making a fortune. 
 It is Conn's turn to write home, and as he was as good and industri- 
 trious a man in the old land as Morty, he must stand still as good, 
 and he writes that he is making a fortune, too. Then their brother- 
 in-law Johnny Shea must try his luck, and he breaks up house and 
 brings a large family to New York, knowing he has friends there 
 well off, who will help him. He takes his family, bag and baggage, 
 to Conn's or to Morty's, and he finds them in a fourth story floor in 
 Cherry street, with hardly spare room enough to give a cat a night's 
 lodging. Johnny must write home and be as good as the others, 
 and so the deception goes on. I have witnessed several cases of this 
 kind within the past year, and I have seen the bitter tears of disap- 
 pointment shed when the friends met. 
 
 As my feelings have dragged me into these observations, I can- 
 
434 C 1 Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 not close without a few words more to emigrants. There is plenty 
 of room in this country for all the oppressed peoples of the world 
 if they go into the country and are able to settle down on land, 
 but if they are not able there is no living being here to assist them. 
 My countrymen may hear and read as mucli as they please about 
 Irish benevolent societies and Irish emigrant aid societies, but these 
 are all money-making concern^, and the new-comer arriving in New 
 \ ork poverty-stricken or stricken by sickness finds himself miserable 
 and pitiable, and finds no Irish benevolent or aid societies to lend 
 him a dollar or a helping hand. 
 
 This is not as it should be. The Germans do better for their 
 people. They have organizations to help them out West. The 
 Irish have only Tammany, and Tammany has governed these emi- 
 gration departments for past years to the enrichment of office-holders 
 and the neglect of the emigrants' interests, and the interests of the 
 nation. 
 
 I am not saying that things are any better now that there is a 
 change of rulers, nor do I say things are going to be better. With 
 many of the influential men of all parties here, dollars seem to be 
 more prized than principles, and the rush for emolumentary position 
 will allow nothing to stand in its way. 
 
 I know many good and honest Tammany men who think as I 
 do, whose principles incline them the other way, but who are this 
 way because principles of themselves are not respected, and there 
 is little show or consideration for Irishmen at the other side. They 
 say when an Irishman is put on the " Republican " ticket there is 
 such a prejudice against him, particularly if he be affected with the 
 taint of Catholicity, that he " runs far behind his ticket." The 
 party he has been working with will vote for a " Democrat " before 
 voting for him. If this is so — and I believe it is to some extent — 
 the " Republicans " may blame themselves for having Tammany 
 Hall so strong with the Irish, and Republican Hall so weak. If 
 they only treated the Irish fairly, my countrymen would act fairly 
 by them. When bigots are allowed a standing-place in countries 
 where there is less freedom than in this, I suppose it is only fair 
 they should be allowed a standing-ground here, but it is as unfair 
 for them to claim the sole right to possess the country as it is to 
 claim the sole right to heaven. 
 
 The most saintly of them cannot claim a longer priority of right 
 than two hundred years, and while we respect that right and all the 
 other rights established by the Constitution, there should be noplace 
 for hatred of race, creed or color in the breast of any man treading 
 that soil which the great founders of the Republic contemplated to 
 be a home for the oppressed, tyrant-stricken people of the Old World. 
 
 And as to this religious prejudice against the Irish, is it not old- 
 womanish and contemptible in this age? Ought not those saintly 
 bigots know that the way to Heaven is through long suffering, sore 
 trial and sorrow, and that consequently there is not a^people on tne 
 
O'Dcniovan IZossa?s Prison Life. 435 
 
 face of the earth have a fairer prospect of entering the Kingdom than 
 the Irish people. Yes, holy, sanctimonious bigots ! you may mar the 
 happy progress of the people's union in civil and religious liberty; 
 you may grudge us the privileges which the charter accords to all ; 
 but, have nothing to say to us about Heaven, we are before you 
 there — do not refuse us the graces you hold by being before us here, 
 and we will be only too happy to reciprocate. 
 
 You ought to know that the Irish are more likely to be found 
 loyal to the flag of the Republic in a time of danger, than any other 
 adopted citizens. Suppose we had a war with Prussia, it would 
 pain the German, and one of his arms would undoubtedly be paral- 
 ized. A war with France would unquestionably make another arm 
 of a Frenchman powerless, but give us a war with the ruling powers 
 of Ireland, and both the Irishman's hands would be raised to strike 
 down the English flag, and every Irishman would rush to arms. 
 
 It is said the bigots are again striving to revive that ugly spirit 
 of " Know-Nothingism" that marred the happy progress of the 
 nation's peace and prosperity, and left such bitter memories behind ; 
 and that its animus now is more directed against the Catholic . rish 
 than against any others. I hope they will desist from such an under- 
 taking, and consider well before they commence such a crusade against 
 a people that are surrounded by all the favorable circustances that 
 qualify them to " become more American than the Americans them- 
 selves." 
 
 Some of the " Republican " newspapers do much also to scare 
 Irishmen away from the ranks of that party. When my country- 
 men take a prominent part in electing a Tammany ticket, these 
 newspapers assail the whole Irish race in America with low, vulgar 
 abuse, as if there was not a decent man amongst them. It is 
 jokingly said that you must bore a hole in a Scotchman's head to get 
 a joke into it ; but if you want to get the decent, manly principle 
 that is in an Irishman, ( ut of him, you will never succeed if you at- 
 tempt it by cracking his skull. 
 
 Collector Murphy has some controlling influence in the " Repub- 
 lican " party ; he is certainly free from those prejudices I speak of. 
 Has he no power to dispel them from the minds of others? If he 
 had, he would remove the greatest barrier that stands in the way of 
 the manly portion of the Irish people, taking that side to which their 
 opinions incline them. 
 
 If my memory serves me right, Mr. Murphy often lamented to 
 me that the Irish citizens did not treat politics as the Americans 
 did, and range themselves on different sides, according to their judg- 
 ment, instead of running en masse to one side and making it appear 
 to our native born cidzens that they acted from impulse and not 
 from judgment. He trusted I would " instruct " them whenever I 
 got an opportunity, and this being the only opportunity I get to 
 hay a calm word on either side, I tell him if he does his best to 
 allay those prejudices I speak of, he will be doing more than a 
 hundred like me could do to strengthen his narty. 
 
436 C Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 
 
 The Collector told me he also regretted that our people, who 
 had struggled seven hundred years for liberty and won the respect 
 of Americans on account of that struggle, before they came here, 
 should be found, as soon as they arrived, rushing in a body into the 
 ranks of a party that supported slavery, that advocated free labor, 
 and that would hold the Irish in the same bonds as the nigger was 
 held if it so happened that the white Irishman had been born their 
 property. That in place of joining a party whose officials all under- 
 stood that the doctrine of that party was " Thou shalt not steal," 
 they joined a party who believed in the principle " Thou shalt not 
 steal," with word " not " left out — a party who did not think " the 
 laborer worthy of his hire." While he seemed to wish the Irish 
 citizen should vie with the American citizen in the performance of 
 every duty belonging to a good man, he repudiated the idea that he 
 should not retain that affection for his native land that a child 
 should for its parent. There was nothing to clash in the nature of 
 a man's affection for his wife and for his mother, or in the nature of 
 an Irishman's discharge of duty to America and to Ireland. If 
 Irishmen would take his advice in this direction, they would be 
 doing all that would be expected from any citizen, and adding to 
 the future greatness of a country that will eventually be their 
 children's home — the greatest country and the best government on 
 the face of the earth. 
 
 But to be just to both sides, I must admit that all the bigotry 
 and hatred of Irish Catholics is not entirely on the side of the 
 " Republicans." The " Democrats" have their share of it, and Mr. 
 Murphy gave me numerous instances of where Irish Catholics on 
 the " Democratic" ticket were black-balled by the " Democratic" 
 Americans, who voted for the opposing parties in preference to 
 them. 
 
 And yet the Irish amongst the " democrats " never resented such 
 conduct. They always voted blind "democrat" for whatever can- 
 didate was put before them by the party, no matter though that 
 candidate were a bitter Know-Nothing and hater of their name and 
 race. He instanced the case of Fernando Wood and James Brooks 
 and President Pierce, the latter of whom voted against the repeal 
 of a law in New Hampshire which forbade to any Catholic the 
 right to hold office. 
 
 These men, he said, knowing the impulsiveness of the Irish and 
 their love of country, could lead them any way that answered their 
 interests, with the cry of " Fag-a-Bealagh " or " Erin-go- Br agh." 
 Oakey Hall in a suit of green on a Patrick's Day, and standing on 
 the steps of the City Hall as the processionists passed, could elicit 
 cheers from them that would be a sure pledge of their forgetfulness 
 of his past Know-Nothingism, and of a continuance of their support 
 at some election in the future. 
 
 This brings to my mind a story about a Patrick's Day in Dublin, 
 which I will tell to illustrate my subject. 
 
% Donovan Eossa's Prison Life. 437 
 
 On the 17th of March, 1864, I was sitting in the editor's room 
 of the Irish People office in J 2 Parliament street, when Pagan 
 O'Leary rushed in, and, throwing up the windows, seized the little 
 pots of shamrocks that Jerry O'Farrell was nursing there, and 
 dashed them one by one into the yard. He then laid hold of my 
 ha , and snatching the shamrock out of it, trampled it under his 
 feet. I ran to save my hat lest that would be trampled too. The 
 Pagan's rage was aroused by seeing a dog wear a wreath of sham- 
 rocks. The Castle yard was near our office, and the Pagan walked in 
 to see the Patrick's Day pageant. The Lord Lieutenant was on the 
 balcony with the ladies of the Castle around him, and one of the 
 lap-d<>gs, with the political instincts of an Oakey Hall, clothed him- 
 self in a garland of shamrocks, and in the arms of his mistress ex- 
 hibited himself to the multitude with the National emblem around 
 his neck. To see it worn by a dog set the Pagan raging, and to 
 talk shamrocks to him since would be as much as your life was 
 worth. 
 
 There are many Irishmen in New York politics wearing "sham- 
 rocks " who care very little for the cause of the green sod — who 
 are ashamed to have their name associated with it when their sham- 
 rocks have blossomed into diamonds. There are enough of manly 
 Irishmen in America, no matter to what party they belong, to punish 
 any man of any party whom they would find making a dog-collar 
 of Ireland. Bui they are not organized; if they were, the examples 
 of Irish politicians deserting the Irish cause when they had attained 
 their political object would be less rare. In consequence of the con- 
 duct of these dog-collar men, the name of an Irish-American politician 
 stinks in the nostrils of good Irishmen ; and they do not interfere 
 much in the elections, in consequence of which the dog-collar dodgers 
 have full play in getting into positions. It is by their standard the 
 character of our people is measured. This is not as it should be, 
 and I trust the good men will correct it. 
 
 In writing the words "republican" and "democrat" I have 
 put them in quotation marks because I do not know what they 
 really mean, more than that they are party cries. My small share of 
 education tells me that republican comes from two Latin words mean- 
 ing public-affairs, and democrat from two Greek words meaning 
 people-government. Now there is no " democrat" in America who 
 is not interested in public affairs, and consequently must be a re- 
 publican ; and President Grant, being a governor chosen by the ma- 
 jority of the people in people-government form, must necessarily be 
 a democratic President. 
 
 But you would realize how beautifully all these things are mud- 
 dled if you were listening to some fuddled Tammany democrat 
 making an election speech. I heard a few of them at the late elec- 
 tion, and instead of Grant being elected by the people -you'd think 
 \he whole thing was done by some Connemara man, playing the 
 devil with something in a Custom House. It was " Grant and 
 
4:38 O'' Donovan Eossa/s Prison Life. 
 
 Murphy," "Murphy and Grant," at the beginning and ending of 
 every sentence, with the "Custom House" coming in somewhere in 
 the middle. With the unfortunate Boss Tweed booked for ten 
 years' imprisonment, and the fortunate Andy Green having charge 
 of the money books of the city, and all the old Tammany hacks still 
 " running the machine" and grabbing at office, and at everything else 
 within their reach, I was not at all possessed with the belief that 
 that public virtue which is the vitality of republics had at last found 
 its way into that machine which turned out such dirty work lately. 
 
 A people with any national self-respect would avoid the vulgar 
 practice of flinging low personal abuse at their nation's Chief Magis- 
 trate — whether he be "Democrat" or "Republican." But this 
 seems to be the stock-in-trade of every defeated party during a 
 presidential term. That of George Washington itself was not an 
 exception. 
 
 One observation more will finish me on politics. Tweed and 
 Oakey Hall were sterling " Democrats." They led the Irish in that 
 name, and used them to their shame and disgrace. But they enriched 
 themselves, and those about them. When Tweed the great " Demo- 
 crat" was resigning he gave his place to Yan Nort a "Republican." 
 When Oakey Hall the great " Democrat " was losing his power he 
 gave Richard O'Gorman's place to Delafield Smith, a " Republican." 
 Let my red-hot " Democrat " countrymen ponder on this, and let 
 them not be disposed to break my head because I refuse to be a 
 slave to the prejudices that blind 'them to see such chameleons as 
 these in their proper light. 
 
 I have said that in running against Tweed I committed political 
 suicide with the Irish people, but I now come to finish my career 
 with an act that 'killed me entirelr." I became a "Commune," 
 and as the story of all sudden deaths are somewhat tragic I will 
 tell mine. 
 
 While I was in prison in England I was treated pretty harshly, 
 and publicity of my treatment was the only protection I had for my 
 life. There was a French exile in London named Gustave Flourens. 
 He became interested in my case— more interested than many Irish- 
 men, and more interested than that very good Catholic Bishop who 
 sent this telegram from Rome when the Irish people were crying out 
 to have us amnestied : 
 
 " FROM MONSIGNORE M'CABE, ROME, TO REV. J. REYNOLDS, LONGFORD, IRELAND. 
 
 " Your letter received. Let all unite and prepare for contest. Let no one be in- 
 timidated. I am more convinced than ever of the necessity of opposing Fenian candi- 
 dates. No priests to sign the new amnesty petition." 
 
 Gustave Flourens did not do anything like this, but he translated 
 an account of my treatment into French and German and had it pub- 
 lished in the continental papers. This vexed England a little and 
 she conceded a Commission of Inquiry to the voice of public opinion, 
 which Commission established the truth of our ill treatment and led 
 to our release. 
 
0** Donovan Bosses Prison Life. 439 
 
 When the French war broke out, Gustave Flourens went to 
 France. After the " war of the Commune " he was charged with 
 having engaged in it and he was shot. Rossell and others were 
 shot twelve months or more after the cessation of hostilities. 
 
 Without entering into the discussion of any bad acts that might 
 have been committed in war times, when the blood was hot and 
 there was killing all around, I hold it was cruel to be knocking men 
 on the head so long after the war was over, and when I hold an 
 opinion I never withhold any act or expression that is necessary to 
 back it when required. 
 
 A funeral for these men was held in New York, and, like many 
 others, I went to look at it. As I was standing on the corner of 
 Fifth street and Bowery, General Ryan, who was lately murdered 
 in Cuba, seeing me, came out of his carriage, and invited me in. A 
 few weeks before this he had written me a letter offering his sword 
 and himself to Ireland whenever there was any fighting to be done 
 against England, and believing he ivould fight, and fight bravely- — 
 as bravely as he died — in our cause, I had some respect for him. I 
 declined his invitation to a seat in the carriage. " What ! " said he, 
 " don't you disapprove of the shooting of these men in cold blood 
 now that the war is over? " 
 
 " I do, certainly," said I. 
 
 " Then is it afraid to attend their funeral you are on account of 
 the cry of ' mad dog' that has been raised against them — you know 
 that cry was raised against yourself?" 
 
 This nettled me a little. I bade good-day to O'Feely Byron, 
 who was with me. It was a cowardly thing to be afraid, when my 
 conscience told me I was right, and with a " Come on, then, General, 
 I'm not afraid," I went to my grave. 
 
 As I am writing ray own obituary, there is one point on which, 
 for my domestic peace, I do not wish my character to stand de- 
 famed. The Irish religious — the ultra-Catholic press that often hit 
 at me for my connection with Irish revolution — hit at me now for 
 being a Communist and being a free lover, aud for my connection 
 with Tennie Claflin. She happened to be in the funeral, but let me 
 solemnly assure my readers I never laid an eye on her that day, 
 or any other day before or since, and I never spoke to the woman 
 in my life. This, I hope, will satisfy my friends of the Boston Pilot, 
 and all other friends. 
 
 I desire to take my leave in words of peace. My course in the 
 Old Land has brought me the esteem of the people there. It is 
 more than a reward to me for anything I have tried to do to uphold 
 the Irish name. Anything I have done since I came to this country 
 has been done in the effort to make my present and future life con- 
 sistent with the past. My personal interests alone in view, I have 
 made mistakes and will possibly make more. I have retained my 
 opinions and my independence when it was expected I would run in 
 ruts laid down by political tricksters of every kind, for Irishmen to 
 travel in. 
 
44:0 O' } Donovan Rosscfs Prison Life. 
 
 I will not be a slave if I can live otherwise. With all due res- 
 pect for others who hold opinions contrary to mine in the politics of 
 America, I will take my own course there. But as regards the poli- 
 tics that lead to the Independence of Ireland, to the helping of the 
 revolutionists there, I am not so independent as not to be prepared 
 to bend in any way their real friends deem necessary to bring them 
 practical aid. 
 
 I desire to retain the good opinion of the " men at home," and 
 indeed, of all men. If I am anything, it is Irishmen have made me 
 it, and without their aid I can do nothing or become nothing 
 further. 
 
 It is to do my part towards enabling my countrymen to judge 
 justly of my conduct that I introduce this matter of the " Commune." 
 Those who know me need no explanation. Those who do not, may 
 read the following extract from some of Gustave Flourens' letters 
 on my behalf : 
 
 THE FRENCH PRESS ON IRELAND. 
 
 GUSTAVE FLOURENS ON O'DONOVAN ROSSA IN THE " MARSEILLIASE." 
 
 " While the Olliver Ministry holds the prisoner in St. Pelagie, the deputy of the 
 first circumscription of Paris — Henry Rochefort; in England the Gladstone Cabinet, 
 a Cabinet of honest men, also gets tortured by its shirri, the Irish representative, 
 'Donovan Rossa. The Marseillaise has already published a moving letter from this 
 unfortunate victim of the English "Liberals." The Irishman has just published a 
 second. This letter has been reproduced by the English press, the Standard, too, 
 which has accused us of inventing the first letter of the citizen Rossa. 
 
 I send you the literal translation of the letter given by the Irishman. All com- 
 mentary is superfluous. At some steps from the splendid mansion from which the 
 House of Lords governs England are to be witnessed atrocities which had no parallel 
 even in the Neapolitan prisons of the Bourbons — those same prisons which so horri- 
 fied Mr. Gladstone. 
 
 I do not know Rossa, but I love him for his simphcity, the calmness and the firm- 
 ness with which he relates his frightful torture. 
 
 GUSTAVE FLOURENS." 
 
 The man who would " run me down " for going to that man's 
 funeral must be very hard to please indeed. 
 
(/Donovan Bosses Prison Life, 
 
 THE SOLDIER O' FORTUNE. 
 
 (Printed in the Dublin Irish People, 1883.) 
 
 Friends of the Irish people, you 
 Who'd right your country's wrong, 
 
 Will hear from me a word or two ; 
 My tale will not be long. 
 
 In old Iov Laoghaire by the hills 
 
 My youthful days passed by. 
 That " Famine " came which filled the keels ;* 
 
 1 saw my father die. 
 
 The bailiff with his notice came, 
 The bit of ground was gone ; 
 saw the roof-tree in a flame, 
 The crow-bar work was done. 
 
 With neither house, nor bed, nor bread 
 
 The work-house was my doom ; 
 And on my jacket soon 1 read, 
 
 "The Union of Macroom." 
 
 My mother died o' broken heart ; 
 
 My uncle from the town 
 Came for her with a horse and cart, 
 
 And buried her in Gleann 
 
 1 joined the red-coats then — mo Uif 
 
 What did my father say ? 
 And 1 was sent before a year 
 
 On service to Bombay. 
 
 I thought to be a pauper 
 
 Was the greatest human curse; 
 But fighting in a robber's cause 
 
 1 felt was something worse. 
 
 I helped to murder and to slay 
 
 Whole tribes of India's sons ; 
 And 1 spent many a sultry day 
 
 Blowing Sepoys from our guns 
 
 * Churchyards. 
 
i42 C Donovan Bossds Prixon Lift. 
 
 I told these things to Father Ned — 
 
 The murder and the booty. 
 " They are no sins to you," he said, 
 
 M You had to do your duty." 
 
 And when that duty here was done, 
 
 A journey home I made ; 
 And ail my friends being dead and gone, 
 
 I joined the Pope's Brigade. 
 
 I got some medals on my breast 
 
 For serving this campaign ; 
 A.nd next I'm found in the far West 
 
 A-soldiering again. 
 
 With fearless Captain Billy O* 
 
 I joined the Fenian band, 
 Andl swore one day to strike a blow 
 
 To free my native land. 
 
 Back in that sinking isle again, 
 Where landlords drain our blood, 
 
 Where friends are scattered, starved, and slain, 
 I'm told I'm cursed by God. 
 
 If I can swear my lifelong days 
 
 To fight from pole to pole, 
 For any power, however base 
 
 With safety to my soul, 
 
 It cannot be by God's decree 
 
 I'm cursed, denounced, and banned 
 
 Because 1 swear one day to free 
 
 My trampled native land. 
 
 0'Donovi.n Bossa 
 
BOSTON COLLEGE 
 
 3 9031 01211274 4