Nineteenth-Century Ireland (New Gill History of Ireland) Page 3

  The increasing instability of certain parts of Ireland, and of Irish society, altered both the membership and tactics of the United Irishmen, who had derived their concern for radical political reform from the political excitement and opportunity created by the American and French revolutions. The United Irishmen were originally typical of radical political societies, drawing their support mainly from the Protestant mercantile and professional classes of Belfast and Dublin, and impatient of the corruption and lack of democratic politics found in Ireland, Britain and, for that matter, around the world. Like the doyen of radicalism, Thomas Paine, the United Irishmen had only vague and general ideas of what the Ireland they sought to create would look like; they knew, however, that it would be clean, pure, parsimonious of public money, and based upon the ‘people’—which, in the Irish context, meant, of course, including Catholics in the government of the nation. Some United Irishmen (for example, William Drennan) harboured doubts about the latter reform, considering the Irish Catholic a somewhat alarming figure, but one whose ‘dark’ mind must nonetheless be explored or, better still, freed from its medieval chains. The United Irish leadership did not initially wish to break the connection with Britain; they had no clear intention of resorting to arms.11 But by the mid-1790s they were a movement under pressure as the British government, alarmed by the spread of radicalism throughout the British Isles, sought to infiltrate their organisation by spies and to use (often brutal) force to break the movement before it should be able to organise for any kind of armed uprising.

  These measures were welcomed by Protestants in areas where Defender activity was most intense, in Down, Cavan, Meath, Monaghan, Kildare and Dublin. Protestant fears were heightened by the rumours sweeping the country, reviving memories of past confiscations and revenge for the great defeat of Catholic Ireland in 1690. Some United Irishmen were moved to write pamphlets assuring Protestants that no such reversal of the verdict of the past was contemplated by them, and that Protestant land titles, in particular, were safe. But their growing desperation caused the United Irish leadership to seek an alliance with the Defenders, whose numbers and discontent could hardly be ignored by any would-be radical or revolutionary body. And the hopes of Catholics (enfranchised on the same terms as Protestants in 1793) for a peaceful attainment of their outstanding political goal, the right to sit in parliament, were dashed when the ambitious but over-eager viceroy, Lord Fitzwilliam, was dismissed and recalled in February 1795 because he had exceeded his instructions and made too close an alliance with supporters of Henry Grattan.

  By 1796 the United Irish movement had been transformed: it was now committed to the Defenders, and it was also disintegrating as a coherent political force. The Defenders were difficult to control, and co-ordination of effort, already doubtful, was rendered even less likely by the government’s repressive measures, which made the planning of a centrally directed uprising most uncertain. Moreover, the obviously sectarian nature of the Defender organisation frightened away many of the early United Irish leaders. But the government’s determination to suppress the subversive elements only made it more imperative for the United Irishmen and Defenders to hazard all on some rebellious gamble, however risky an enterprise that might prove to be. And, with the possibility of French help, it might have a chance of success. In September 1796 John Goddard of Newry wrote to the Marquis of Downshire about ‘four young men’ who were overheard singing ‘Let us unite with France, / And our right advance’—and to the tune of ‘God Save the King’.12

  The United Irishmen had long spoken the classical republican rhetoric of martial and civic virtue. Patriotic militarism, called to the defence of the constitution, stood to frustrate the attempts of the Executive to ‘subvert our liberties’; liberty must annihilate corruption or corruption must annihilate it. For religious dissent, it was a duty to resist ungodly government. Thomas Russell held that no earthly power could call upon men to commit immoral acts, thus human laws ‘are to be obeyed so far as they consist with the Divine will and no further’. No human law could justify breaking God’s law, and whenever human laws existed in contradiction to this higher law, they should be resisted. Russell insisted that respect for and obedience to human laws ‘has been one of the greatest causes of the calamities and wickedness which fill the annals of mankind’.13 Calvinism and natural rights were indeed a heady mixture, and as the United Irishmen’s time of trial drew near, it could inspire God-fearing men, especially Presbyterians, to the ultimate recourse when confronted by tyranny: rebellion.

  It was felt by some, particularly in the north, that a ‘great deal of hanging’ would ‘keep the stiff Presbyterians in that quarter in order’.14 General Lake’s severe repression in the north weakened the United Irishmen’s chances of a successful rising; similar methods were employed in Munster and Leinster; and in Dublin some leading conspirators were arrested. The rebels must now act, or give up the game; and in May 1798 the rising began. It made most progress in County Wexford, which, however, became the scene of a ferocious sectarian conflict. Both sides threw compassion aside, as soldiers, rebels, Catholic militia and Protestant yeomanry vied with each other in atrocity. The reason is not hard to find. Habits of servility on the one hand, and mastery on the other, afforded little room for mercy and restraint. There were growing fears and rumours of extermination, with Protestant and Catholic casting each other in the role of exterminators. Atrocities were encouraged by the whirlwind effect of rebellion itself, when reprisal and cruelty suddenly became possible, and command from above broke down in the murderous atmosphere of civil war. ‘You may rely on this war being considered a religious one,’ wrote Richard Annesley to Downshire in June 1798. ‘The priests exhort them, lead them and make them desperate.’15 As for the Presbyterian rebels of County Antrim, they were described by a contemporary as ‘cloven-footed’.16 Even after the rebellion appeared to be crushed, by the middle of June, Lord Cornwallis, the British commander-in-chief, wrote in exasperation of the indiscipline of the militia and their ferocity against the people, and of the Irish parliament’s overwhelming feeling against any kind of clemency: ‘By their unaccountable policy, they would drive four-fifths of the community into irreconcilable rebellion.’17

  It was the firm belief of the overwhelming mass of Protestants that the ‘four-fifths’ of the Catholics were already in irreconcilable rebellion; and this was given fresh credence when in September 1798 the French did at last land at Killala Bay, in the west of Ireland. Such an expedition had been the subject of rumour in April 1798;18 but when the landing took place, it once again threw the country into a panic, and the suppression of this bold enterprise was accompanied by ferocity, revenge and reprisal. As far as the Protestants of Ireland were concerned, the whole incendiary business had been a narrow escape; and despite their proclaimed belief that the ‘loyal gentry’ had saved their country by their example, no one could doubt that the British government had through its exertions done its bit to save the loyal gentry. And the terrible events of ’98, the casual slaughter of combatant and non-combatant alike, checked the growing confidence of Irish patriots like Henry Grattan that Ireland could look to a future when the sects would cease to rail against each other. More significantly, it marked the culmination of that process by which the British government was coming to acknowledge that Ireland could not, with safety, be left to her own devices and trusted, by and large, to manage her own political affairs. The ‘Constitution of 1782’ which gave the Irish Parliament—an institution wholly dominated by Irish Protestants—a measure of legislative initiative (but not ‘independence’) was workable in ordinary times; but even as early as 1784–5, when the British government failed to make a commercial arrangement with Ireland, there were doubts about its capacity to create a stable relationship between the two kingdoms. By intervening in Irish politics in the 1790s the British government had in a real sense contributed to the growing instability of Ireland, since each group looked with hope or fear, depending on its own perception of wher
e its best interests lay, on the intentions and policy of the British. Had the government carried out its determination to remove the remaining penal statutes affecting Catholics, it might have achieved some major victory in its desire to detach Catholics from revolution. But the Defenders were in any event locked in battle with their Orange enemies; and the Presbyterian radicals of the north sought a thorough reform of the whole parliamentary system, which no British government was prepared to countenance. The policy, therefore, of mediating Irish politics through the device of the Irish parliament had failed, and failed disastrously. And its failure had plunged not only Ireland but the whole British Isles into a major political and strategic crisis.

  Ireland could not remain in a state of smothered rebellion; nor could she continue to pose a threat to Britain’s western flank in time of international crisis and war. The only alternative that seemed to meet British needs was some form of union between the two countries, for union would give strength and direction to British policy, unite the resources of the two countries, end the kind of confusion and policy divergences typical of the 1790s, and bring Ireland peace and prosperity under a single government—for Ireland was regarded as a rich country rendered poor through political instability. All this a union could achieve, providing that an essentially Protestant constitution could be reconciled with the pragmatic and enlightened need to accommodate Catholics within its framework.19 Lord Cornwallis had what might be called optimistic reservations about how successful this might be. In October 1798 he reported that Catholics might not become good subjects, but if the ‘most popular’ of their grievances were removed (especially if accompanied by legislation on tithes [the law which required Catholics to give one tenth on their income to the Established Church]), then ‘we should get time to breathe, and at least check the rapid progress of discontent and disaffection’.20

  These were persuasive arguments; and given the fact that in a United Kingdom the Protestants would form part of a great majority of their co-religionists, with British citizenship offering them a kind of permanent majority status, it would seem certain that the Protestants of Ireland would immediately perceive where their true interest lay and at once accept the new constitution. This might appear even more likely when the terms upon which the British government sought union were drawn up. Ireland was to have a generous representation in the new parliament of the United Kingdom, with 32 peers and 100 M.P.s. The churches of England and Ireland were to be united as an established church. Ireland was to contribute to the expenses of the United Kingdom in the proportion of two to fifteen, that is to say she would pay two-seventeenths of the whole. This would be reconsidered at the end of a twenty-year period. Ireland and Great Britain were to retain their own responsibility for their national debts, and when the two national debts stood in proportion to each other of two to fifteen, then the two fiscal systems could be fused. There was to be free trade between the two countries, with two exceptions: as long as there were two fiscal systems in existence excisable articles were to be subject to countervailing duties; and for twenty years a number of Irish-manufactured products were to be protected by a 10 per cent duty.21

  When the details of the proposed union are examined, they reveal a remarkably fair treatment of the Irish: remarkable in that the terms were not only quite generous, but also in that they were drawn up solely by the British government and were not the subject of negotiation as the Anglo-Scottish Union had been. The only major complaint—that Ireland’s share of responsibility for United Kingdom expenditure was too large—became a reality only because of the long-drawn-out and unforeseen war with France, which imposed a financial burden on both countries, but one especially felt by the poorer classes in both. Yet in January 1799 the Marquis of Downshire was told that ‘The idea of a Union engrosses the public mind, and the warmth with which argument is carried on becomes very disagreeable. The generality of the people wish to combat the principle—consequently not to have the merits brought forward. The most violent of the corporations say they will sue for Catholic Emancipation in preference.’22 This seems astonishing in the light of the recent narrow escape of Protestant Ireland. But the Protestants had a sense of tradition and a keen perception of what they regarded as the grandeur of their nation’s political heritage. Protestant Ireland was won in the general war for religious and civil liberty in 1689–90. Nature never intended Ireland to be a province; she had ‘the outlines of a kingdom’. Under the benign influence of her parliament, Ireland had witnessed the flourishing of her arts, her commerce, her genius. Her parliament had given inspiration to the Irish gentry to defend themselves in the late rebellion. If all this were thrown away, Ireland would suffer.23 She would pay an economic price for the loss of her parliament. If the trade of both islands were to be thrown open to each ‘unclogged with duty’, then ‘the enlargement must instantaneously ruin, if not extinguish utterly, some of our best manufactures’.24 There were other, more immediate, reasons for anti-Unionism. Cavan, Monaghan, Armagh, Tyrone and Fermanagh were centres of Orange anti-Unionist sentiment, counties where sectarian feeling ran highest, and where the exclusively Protestant yeomanry force had gained many recruits, fired by a distrust of the British government’s tendency to be ‘soft’ on Catholics. Anti-Unionist sentiment was also strong in Wexford, Kildare, Carlow and Wicklow, where Protestants had suffered in the ’98 rising.25 But whatever the range of motives, there were still to be found Protestants in Dublin who were talking of petitioning for repeal of the Union as much as a decade after its passing.

  Catholics, for their part, were uncertain of how to approach the great question of the day. Some, such as Daniel O’Connell, sympathised with the Protestant anti-Unionists’ notions of Ireland’s rights as a nation; but most were prepared to believe that their grievances might well be redressed by a British government anxious to win as much support for union as possible; and if such were to be the case, then, one observer wrote, it would be sufficient to ‘gain them over to the Union’.26 Patrick Geoghegan assesses the Catholic attitude as one of indifference, with some giving ‘grudging support’ in the expectation that emancipation would accompany it.27 But while Catholics debated, anti-Unionist Protestants acted, and the opposition in parliament at the beginning of 1799 was lively enough to delete a paragraph in the address to the throne approving of union, by 109 votes to 104. The government then set to its task of winning a majority for its policy, by any means within the political tolerance of the time—means which later generations branded as ‘corruption’. But in any event it was clear that the anti-Unionists in the Irish parliament could never hope to achieve the success that the patriots led by Henry Grattan had enjoyed in 1782, for the simple reason that there was clearly not going to be a repetition of the conditions of 1782, when a sympathetic opposition party in the Westminster parliament took office with a whole series of measures already promised to the patriots at College Green. Pitt was secure; and perpetual opposition to the Union would mean exclusion for an ambitious Irish politician from any hope of future political advancement. When the session of 1800 began, the government knew that it had a majority for the Union; resolutions embodying its scheme were adopted by the Irish Commons and Lords by 28 March, and by the British parliament by the second week of May. On 6 June the Irish House of Commons received and approved its committee report of the Union bill by 153 votes to 88. The bill was then laid before the British parliament; and after each parliament had made final minor amendments which the other accepted, the terms were embodied in identical bills and given the royal assent on 2 July, in the British parliament, and 1 August, in the Irish. By now, the great public excitement of 1799 had evaporated, and the Union was carried against a background of apathy.

  The 100 Irish M.P.s who took themselves across to the Union parliament sat for a mixture of county seats (64), borough seats (35), and Dublin University (1). They fitted easily enough into the society and working of the Westminster institution and proved themselves loyal supporters of the administration
in a true eighteenth-century fashion. In 1806–7 no fewer than fifty of them seem to have given their support to Pitt, to the ‘Ministry of All the Talents’, and to the Duke of Portland. The great landed families—the Beresfords, Ponsonbys and Fosters—maintained their political interest, dominated their localities, and dispensed patronage to all and sundry; in short, they behaved as most political families did in the pre-reform era (much to the frustration of historians who regard non-ideological politics as highly unsatisfactory). Those who had been strenuous opponents of the Union, like the Marquis of Downshire and John Foster, Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, were not victimised for their behaviour, but compensated for their pecuniary loss. Even messengers and doorkeepers of the now defunct Irish parliament buildings were given compensation for loss of earnings. Henry Grattan was elected to the British parliament in 1805, where he soon established himself as an orator whose performances earned him as much admiration in London as they had in Dublin.28

  Eighteenth-century Ireland had been part of the wider cultural world of the British Isles; and almost all her writers addressed themselves to themes that were of a more general interest, with little or no specifically Irish content. Now, however, the early years of the Union saw the beginnings of a literary development that was to have important effects on both English and Irish cultural and political perceptions. Maria Edgeworth’s Castle Rackrent (1800) was the first Irish novel to address itself to an Irish theme but also to an English audience, for she was careful to assure her readers that the events she unfolded bore no resemblance to the Ireland of her own time. She looked forward to an era when, under the Union, Ireland would lose her identity and thereby free herself from the dislocations of eighteenth-century society. But there was another Ireland that was being forged in the new century, and under—and directly as a result of—the new political system created by the Union. Thomas Moore’s Melodies (1808) looked back with fond regret to an ancient Irish civilisation which, perhaps, found echoes in the recent period of ‘Grattan’s Parliament’, when there was a brief moment of love of country, fond patriotism and gentle ruination. But Moore was not merely a drawing-room, calling-card Irishman. He was capable of writing a powerful indictment of British policy in Ireland at the close of the eighteenth century. In Corruption, and Intolerance: Two Poems: Addressed to an Englishman by an Irishman, published anonymously in 1808, he attacked both Whigs and Tories. Whigs were ridiculed because