Secret Service Under Pitt

Barrington says nothing of Lord Shannon, who was related to the Sheareses, and it is certain that the message for him miscarried. This peer, with the object of offering condolence, called upon their mother695 the day of the execution, and was greatly distressed when she threw herself upon her knees to beg the favour of his intervention for John; she did not know that Henry had been implicated, and, of course, was ignorant that either had already suffered death. Lord Shannon, in an agony of mind, and unable to explain, rushed from the room.

There was a butchery displayed in the immolation of the brothers which, if employed at the present day on a beast in the shambles, would evoke angry protest. The 'New Cork Evening Post' of July 23, 1798, while supplying some painful details, bears out Barrington's recollection: —

They requested that they might not continue long exposed to the gaze of the multitude, and, having each an halter fixed round his neck, and a cap drawn over his face, holding by each other's hand, they tottered out upon the platform in front of the prison. In making the rope fast within, John Sheares was hauled up to the block of the tackle, and continued nearly a minute suspended alone before the platform fell. It did fall, and instantly both were suspended. After hanging about twenty minutes, they were, at a quarter after three o'clock, let down, when the hangman separated their heads.696

Much feeling was roused by this sanguinary act. Classic students who lived in the past started in horror, comparing the Sheareses to 'the hapless victims' described by Gibbon: 'the two brothers of the Quintilian family whose fraternal love endeared them to posterity – whose bodies seemed animated by one soul – and whose union in death is due to the cruelty of Commodus.' Grattan loudly condemned the men 'whose misrule had brought Ireland to so black a crisis. The question men should have asked was, not why was Mr. Sheares upon the gallows? – but why was not Lord Clare along with him?' And two years later, in a speech of resistance to the Union, he declared that the treason of the minister against the liberties of the people was far worse than the rebellion of the people against the minister. But even in the latter sense, Henry Sheares must be held guiltless. John, pouring out to his sister, in an agonised letter, his most secret thoughts, writes: 'Heaven is my witness how assiduously I sought to keep aloof, in any of my political concerns, from him;' and there is not a line in the evidence of Armstrong to prove that Henry took any active part in the treason. Addis Emmet, Arthur O'Connor, McNevin – all the men who had been at the head of it, and its very soul, were at that hour in gaol. O'Connor declared that he and his colleagues knew nothing of the Sheareses; and it is certain that neither of them had ever intrigued with France, as O'Connor and the others had done. The names of the Sheareses find no place in the list of marked men that Turner gave Downshire (p. 7, ante). This omission can be easily accounted for. Arthur O'Connor, in a letter to Dr. Madden, which pointed out some inaccuracies, writes: —

You seem to think the Sheares were leading men in the Union,697 whereas, I may say, they never entered it, so as to be known to us. The fact is, they were just entering it when they were cut off. It was the younger Sheares's Proclamation, which was an act purely personal, without the knowledge or concurrence of the Union, that has misled some to think he and his brother were deeply engaged in the Union.'

The following is one of the letters, already promised, and now published for the first time. It is written by Henry previous to his trial: —

Dear Sir, – Accept my best thanks for the friendly readiness with which you consented to present my letter, which I hope has been received. I am now to trouble you on a subject more immediately relating to my unfortunate situation. I have apply'd as is usual in those cases to my different Friends to come forward on my tryal, and to give me a character such as they think I deserve, and to put it in a manner most likely to produce a beneficial effect. From my knowledge of the goodness of your heart, from a sympathy which I am sure you feel for a fond husband and an affectionate father, from the regard which I am sure you have for Mrs. Sheares, I feel a hope that in this instance you will gladly embrace this opportunity of saving us both. You know that on these occasions a general character is not admissable so that it must apply to the political character. And so far to the domestic as will go to establish the political.

Taking it this way may I hope that you can say that you know me to be a man of domestic habits, fondly attached to my wife and children, so as to make it highly improbable that I would suffer my political conduct to endanger their happiness; that you consider me a man of liberal but not violent principles; that I go no farther in them than the first characters of opposition in the English and Irish Parliament have done, namely being an advocate for a reform in Parliament and a renovation of the ancient purity of our constitution; that I am not a friend to violent systems, and that I am not an advocate for Revolution.

This is what, from your knowledge of me, I trust you can say without going farther than will justify you to yourself. And for this friendly service I shall seize with pleasure every opportunity of showing how much I shall feel myself obliged to you for it.

As it is usual and necessary for the use of counsel to have the witnesses' names which they are to prove arranged in the brief, I have given directions to my agent to wait on you for that purpose whenever it may be convenient to you, as also to go through the form of giving you a summons.

Your very much obliged and grateful Friend,Henry Sheares.

Kilmainham Gaol: July 10, 1798.

The superscription of this letter has been removed – probably by the recipient – and it seems very likely that he left his friend in the lurch, and did not come forward for his defence. The prosecuting counsel of those days loved to taunt such witnesses with a participation in the views held by the accused; they were browbeaten and bullied, and often left the court wincing under some dark innuendo, dropped with jibing leer.

John, the younger brother, wrote two letters to his sister, from which it is clear that – constituted as the jury panel was at that day – he had no hope of acquittal. The matter omitted deals with sundry small debts which he desired should be paid: —

Kilmainham Prison: July 10, 1798.

The troublesome scene of life, my dear Julia, is nearly closed, and the hand that now traces these lines will in a day or two be no longer capable of communicating to a beloved and affectionate family the sentiments of his heart. A painful task yet awaits me. I do not allude to my trial, or my execution. These – were it not for the consciousness I feel of the misery you all will suffer on my account – would be trivial in comparison with the pain I endure in addressing you for the last time. You, Julia, who have been kind to me beyond example; your solicitudes for my welfare have been unremitting, nor did they leave you a moment's happiness. As a wayward fate seems from the earliest moment of my life to have presided over my days, I will not now recapitulate the instances of a perverse destiny that seems to mark me out as the instrument of destruction to all I love. Robert – Richard – and Christopher, dear, valued brothers! If it be true that the mind survives the body, I shall shortly join you, and learn for what wise purpose Heaven thought fit to select me as your destroyer! My mother too – Oh! God! my tender revered mother, I see her torn looks – her broken heart – her corpse! What have I done to deserve this misery? I must forbear these thoughts as much as possible, or I must forbear to write.

My trial comes on the day after to-morrow, and the event is unequivocal. You must summon up all the resolution of your soul, my dear Julia; if there be a chance of snatching my afflicted mother from the grave, that chance must arise from your exertions; my darling Sally, too, will aid you; she will, for a while, suspend her joy at the restoration of her husband to her arms – for of his escape I have no more doubt than I have of my own conviction and its consequences. All, all of you must forget your individual griefs and joys, and unite to save that best of parents from the grave; stand between her and despair; if she will speak of me, sooth her with every assurance calculated to carry consolation to her heart; tell her that my death – though nominally ignominious – should not light up a blush in her face; that she knew me incapable of a dishonourable action or thought; that I died in full possession of the esteem of all those who knew me intimately; that justice will yet be paid to my memory, and my fate be mentioned rather with pride than shame by my friends and relations. Yes, my dear sister, if I did not expect the arrival of this justice to my memory, I should indeed be afflicted at the nominal ignominy of my death, lest it should injure your welfare, and wound the feelings of my family. But, above all things, tell her that at my own request I have been attended in my latest moments by that excellent and pious man, Doctor Dobbin, and that my last prayer was offered up for her. While I feared for Harry's life, hell itself could have no tortures for the guilty beyond what I suffered. I pictured you all, a helpless, unprotected group of females, left to the miseries of your own feelings, and to the insults of a callous, insensible world. Sally, too, stripped of a husband on whom she tenderly doats, and the children of their father – and all by my cursed interloping, and by my residence with them! Yet, Heaven is my witness, how assiduously I sought to keep aloof in any of my political concerns from him. My efforts, however, have kept him clear of any of those matters that have involved me in destruction. When Sally has got him back to her arms, and that I, who caused his danger, and her unhappiness, am no more, she will cease to think of me, perhaps, with reproach. This I trust she will do; she ought, for she herself could never have done more for his salvation than I endeavoured to do. But the scene is changed, I am no longer the frantic thing I was while his danger appeared imminent. A calm sorrow for the sufferings that await you on my account, and a heart-felt regret at being obliged to quit your beloved society for ever, has succeeded; yet all this will soon have an end, and with comfort I already anticipate the moment when your subsiding grief gives you back to the enjoyment of each other. Still, my dearest Julia, even when I shall be no more, your plagues on my account are not likely to cease…

Good night, Julia. I am going to rest, thank God! free from the consciousness of intentional offence, and from any wish tainted with personal resentment.

John when in France had been an ardent admirer of Rousseau, whose style he now unconsciously catches: —

Wednesday night: July 11.

It is now eleven o'clock, and I have only time to address my beloved Julia in a short eternal farewell. Thou sacred power! whatever be thy name and nature, who has created us the frail and imperfect creatures we are, hear the ardent prayer of a creature now on the eve of an awful change. If thy Divine Providence can be affected by mortal supplication, hear and grant, I beseech Thee, the last wishes of a heart that has ever adored Thy goodness. Let peace and happiness once more visit the bosom of my beloved family. Let a mild grief succeed the miseries they have endured, and when an affectionate tear is generously shed over the dust of him who caused their misfortunes – let all their ensuing days glide on in union and domestic harmony. Enlighten my beloved brother; to him and his invaluable wife grant the undisturbed enjoyment of their mutual love, and as they advance let their means of providing for the sweet pledges of their attachment increase. Let my Julia, my feeling – my too feeling – Julia, feel the consolation she has so often sought for others, let her soul repose at length in the consummation of all her wishes – let her taste that happiness her virtues have so well merited. For my other sisters provide those comforts their situation requires. To my mother, oh, Eternal Power! what gift shall I wish for my matchless parent? Restore to her that peace which I have torn from her – let her forget me in the ceaseless affections of my remaining sisters, and in their growing prosperity – let her taste that happiness which is best suited to her affectionate heart, and when at length she is called home, let her find in everlasting bliss the due reward of a life of suffering virtue. Adieu, my Julia, my light is just out, the approach of darkness is like that of death, since both alike require I shall say farewell for ever. Oh, my dear family, farewell – farewell for ever!

In dealing with Armstrong's conduct in this case,698 I regret being obliged to take a tone different from that of Mr. Lecky, who has placed his character in a somewhat favourable point of view.

The sealed chest in Dublin Castle, which was opened some years ago, contained McNally's secret reports, signed 'J. W.' Among them is the following, dated by McNally, July 14, 1798: —

Lord Cork's First Letter

Lord Cork writes: 'Mr. John Warneford Armstrong was certainly in my regiment and quitted it in a most disgraceful manner. From his conduct while there I would not pay much attention to what he did say, nor give much credit even to his oath.

'I would send a person on purpose did I not think it would be too late.'

[Dated by Lord Cork, July 9.]

Lord Cork's Second Letter, dated 11th

'Mr. Sheares's letter did not reach me till to-day. I lose no time to inform the Lord Lieutenant circumstances concerning Mr. Armstrong that I hope may be of service to the unfortunate brothers.'699 …

It has transpired [adds McNally], perhaps without foundation, that amnesty is to be held out to-morrow – chearfulness is the consequence.

The letters above alluded to are in the hands of my friend [i. e. himself]. He has kept them private.

Sheares and McNally had been old friends. Sheares stood by him in the hour of danger.700 These ties were strengthened by the fact that McNally was counsel for him on the trial.701 Assuming that McNally had the letters in his possession of which he sends copies, it seems quite indefensible to have kept back Lord Cork's, dated July 9, until the very day on which the brothers were hanged. The execution took place in Dublin at 11·45 A.M. on July 14, 1798. Sir Jonah Barrington mentions that a reprieve was granted but did not arrive in time. It cannot be assumed that McNally humanely used these letters in any other quarter, for, as he assures Cooke, he 'has kept them private.'

Sir Jonah Barrington, who was constantly consulted by the Irish Government, says, when noticing Armstrong's evidence against the Sheares, that, unlike Reynolds – a man of spotted fame and impoverished finances – 'Armstrong had a stake and a status to lose; but he took the bold course of sacrificing openly the honour of an officer and a gentleman.' These words he would not use had Lord Cork's letter seen the light.

Armstrong, forty-five years after the execution of his victims, held, in a conversation with Dr. Madden, that Curran's statement as to taking 'baby Sheares' on his knee could not be true because he was never fond of children. An unscrupulous man, however, playing a desperate game, and in the excitement of hot pursuit, may have done things contrary to his usual habits. Armstrong's sole effort was to extort the confidence of the Sheares; and he could not forget that he who takes the child by the hand takes the parent by the heart. It is to be feared that Armstrong's oral 'pooh pooh' is untenable. The following anecdote, now told for the first time, rests on the high authority of Lawrence Parsons, Earl of Ross. Armstrong, shortly after the death of the Sheareses, when landing from Holyhead at the Pigeon House, and anxious to avoid hostile greetings from the mob who always awaited the coach which brought to Dublin the usually seasick passengers, crossed the Strand to Sandymount, and when midway observed approaching a lady in black accompanied by two children. The latter on recognising Armstrong ran gleefully to meet him.702 Needless to say they were the widow and orphans of Henry Sheares. Another authentic anecdote ought to be told. The grand-aunt of Mr. Gray, F.T.C.D., gave him the following curious reminiscence. Her family resided near Armstrong in the King's County, and he was intimate at their house. One evening in 1797 the lady heard angry voices in the parlour, where she had left the gentlemen after dinner, and on turning the handle to re-enter a loud smash followed. Armstrong had talked so much treason that it excited her brother to disgust; and this feeling gave place to rage when Armstrong, having left the room for some minutes, had returned dressed in rebel green. The former seized a decanter and hurled it at Armstrong, who ducked, and the panel suffered instead of his head.

The Rev. Dr. Dobbin, who attended the brothers at their execution, now claims to be heard in a letter published for the first time. It is addressed to Captain William Flemyng, a cousin of the Sheareses: —

Finglas: July 16, 1798.

My dear Sir, – Agreeably to your desire I send the letter which Mr. John Sheares addressed to me, and which I received from his own hands on Saturday morning after his participating in the most solemn rite of our religion. However criminal I may consider his conduct to have been in other respects, of the charges from which he is so anxious his memory may be vindicated I acquit him from my soul; under this conviction I shall chearfully comply with his request, and embrace every opportunity of explaining his real intentions in writing the paper which has so much irritated the public mind. You, I trust, will exert yourself in a similar manner; when you have taken a copy of the letter you will be so good as to return it. The two unfortunate brothers, who forfeited their lives last Saturday to the violated laws of their country, were the sons of an eminent banker in Cork with whom I had lived, many years since, in intimacy and friendship. The elder brother I was but slightly acquainted with, but Mr. John Sheares I knew more intimately. I admired his uncommon talents, and still more the distinguished humanity and philanthropy which marked the whole of his conversation and demeanour. It was, therefore, with equal surprise and concern I heard of his being under confinement on a charge of high treason. With still greater astonishment, if possible, I heard a paper had been found in his handwriting, the tendency of which was to excite the people to violent and sanguinary proceedings: this was so entirely irreconcileable with the humane and liberal principles which I was persuaded had ever directed the conduct of J. S. that I ardently wished for an explanation. An opportunity soon occurred. On Friday morning I received your letter informing me of the conviction of the two brothers, and conveying an earnest request from J. S. that I should visit him as soon as possible. I undertook the melancholy office with mingled pain and satisfaction. I continued with them some hours that day. What past during the solemn interview was, I trust, suited to the awful circumstances in which they were placed, and becoming the character and situation in which I stood. I shall only trouble you, however, with what relates immediately to the subject of the letter, or is connected with it. The charge of sanguinary intentions he disclaimed as most abhorrent to his nature and repugnant to his principles, asserted his object to prevent the effusion of blood, and assigned more fully and more at large the motives and reasons contained in his letter. The whole was delivered with a serious, solemn, and unembarrassed air, such as usually accompanies truth, and must have imprest on my mind the fullest conviction of his sincerity. There is one fact he mentioned on this occasion, which I shall relate to you as nearly as I can in his own words: 'To the taking away of the life of a fellow creature where it can be prevented my nature is so abhorrent that I was called by some of my democratic friends "the Informer": assassination was mentioned, and I reprobated the idea with horror and positively declared that, unless it was instantly given up, I would myself inform against them: in consequence of my peremptory declaration it was given up, and the lives of some persons were preserved.'

On my strongly representing to him the fatal and unjustifiable part he had taken, and the miserable condition of his country, he made the following reply: 'Dr. Dobbin, many wished for reform who did not think of rebellion, but you know the progress of the human mind; where demands, just in the opinion of those who make them, instead of concession produce further coercion, discontents are encreased, and a man is gradually led on step by step to lengths he would in the beginning shudder at.'

His behaviour with respect to his near relatives was tender and affecting; resigned to his own fate, he expressed the strongest desire to save, if possible, the life of his brother. When I was parting from him at my last visit, he conjured me in visible emotion with tears in his eyes to visit his poor mother and endeavour to console her.

Adieu, my dear Sir,703 most truly yours,William Dobbin.

Finglas: July 16, 1798.

The enclosure does not seem to have been sent back by Flemyng as requested. The original of John Sheares's letter is now before me, preserved within the decaying folds of Dr. Dobbin's manuscript: —

To the Rev. Dr. Dobbin

My dear Sir, – As to-morrow is appointed for the execution of my brother and me, I shall trouble you with a few words on the subject of the writing produced on my trial, importing to be a proclamation. The first observation I have to make is that a considerable part of that scrolled production was suppressed on my trial; from what motive, or whether by accident, I will not say – certain it is that the part which has not appeared must have in a great measure shewn what the true motives were that caused that writing, if it had been produced. To avoid a posthumous calumny in addition to the many and gross misrepresentations of my principles, moral and political, I shall state, with the most sacred regard to Truth, what my chief objects were in writing, or rather in attempting to write, it, for it is but a wretched, patched and garbled attempt. It was contained in a sheet of paper and in one or two pieces more, which are not forthcoming – the sheet alone is produced. It is written in very violent revolutionary language, because, as it in the outset imports, after a revolution had taken place could it alone be published – and the704 occurrence of such an event I thought every day more probable. The first sentence that has produced much misrepresentation is that which mentions that some of the most obnoxious members of the Government have already payed the forfeit of their lives – I cannot state the words exactly. From this it is concluded I countenanced assassination – Gracious God! – but I shall simply answer that this sentence was merely supposititious, and founded on that common remark, oftenest made by those who least wished it verified, that if the people had ever recourse to force and succeeded, there were certain persons whom they would most probably destroy. The next most obnoxious sentence – more obnoxious to my feelings, because calculated to misrepresent the real sentiments of my soul – is that which recommends to give no quarter to those who fought against their native country [unless they should speedily join the Standard of Freedom]. With this latter part of the sentence I found two faults, and therefore drew my pen over it as above. The first fault was that the word 'speedily' was too vague and might encourage the sanguinary immediately to deny quarter, which was the very thing the whole sentence was intended to discountenance and prevent – the next fault was that it required more than ever should be required of any human being, namely, to fight against his opinions from fear. The sentence was intended to prevent the horrid measure of refusing quarter from being adopted: by appearing to acquiesce in it at some future period, when the inhuman thirst for it should no longer exist. But as the sentence now stands in two parts of the sheet it would appear as if I sought to enforce the measure I most abhor. To prevent it was, in fact, one of my leading motives for writing the address: but I had also three others that are expressed on the piece or pieces of paper, which made part of the writing, but which, tho' laid all together in the same desk, have disappeared.