WH THEN an Irishman speaks of "Ninety-Eight" there is no question in his own, or in his hearer's mind, as to what century owns that now memorable date. Perhaps an English reader can scarcely realise what bitter, what heroic, what tragic memories are awakened by those simple words "Ninety-Eight!" Green, indeed, are the memories of "the men of Ninety-Eight" among their countrymen and their descendants. We have all heard something of the leaders of that ill-fated little band. Gay, dashing, handsome Lord Edward Fitzgerald, so beloved by the people that they refuse to believe in his death, but hoped and prayed, and sang of how he would come back to them again, and lead their troops to victory. As Davis sang- "And still it is the peasants' hope upon the Curragh mere They live who'll see ten thousand men with good Lord Edward here." Wolfe Tone, ringleader and rebel too, neither hoping nor desiring mercy from his captors, but only petitioning that he might "die the death of a soldier," and be shot by a platoon of grenadiers, and, this last grace denied him, dying by his own hand in prison. The brothers Sheares, betrayed by a traitor friend, and listening to a verdict of "guilty," clasped in each other's arms, the one pleading only for the life of his brother, on whom wife and children depended, or, at least, for a respite to comfort those they left behind. Orr, convicted only by perjury, and executed amid such universal horror, that every man, woman, and child quitted the town on the day of his execution, "rather than be present at such murder." Byrne and Bond, young, gallant, "enthusiastic rebels" and friends, the former of whom, on hearing their sentence, "turned to his friend, and with a look of triumph, exclaimed, 'Bond, we shall be free men to-morrow!'" These, and such as these, have, for a century now, been the heroes of many a winter night's tale, of many a song and story told from mother's lips, or at grandsire's. knee, as generation after generation have learned "how England treated our fathers." It takes a long time to unlearn such lessons. There 1 Those words are inscribed on a silver badge of the Volunteers of '82 in the possession of the writer. The badge is oblong, measuring 23 by 23 inches. are other names, less known to fame, perhaps, which yet live in the hearts of the people, and which, in this "centenary year," will, doubtless, find place among the rest when "We drink the memory of the brave, The faithful and the few." One of these is the subject of the following pages. During the whirl and general upheaval which swept over Europe at the time of the French Revolution, when England was engaged in the great struggle with her rebellious daughter, America, and threatened with war by her rival sister, France, whose fleets swept the English Channel triumphantly, and who aided, and openly gloried in, the American revolt, the people of Belfast, dreading a descent of the French army upon their shores, such as had some years before actually taken place, petitioned the English Government for a military reinforcement to guard the Northern coast. The Government replied that it was unable to spare so much as a single regiment for that purpose; and Ireland thus found herself left utterly destitute of the ordinary means of defence. In this difficulty a novel and daring expedient suggested itself, and was carried out with marvellous completeness and perfection. The whole people, as a nation, flew to arms, and formed themselves into the body known as the Irish Volunteers. Within the space of about six months, some four thousand men were under arms, and, the movement spreading rapidly, they soon numbered from fifty to eighty thousand men, all well armed, well disciplined, officered by the leading gentry of the country, who were chosen by election by the soldiers themselves, and who, in most instances, were in every way worthy of their office. Their Commander-in-Chief was the Earl of Charlemont, a man whose fitness for the important position which he was called on to sustain seems somewhat doubtful, since his natural character was too timid and vacillating to make him the great leader which the times required. Among their generals were the Duke of Leinster, the Earls of Tyrone, Aldborough, and Clanrickard, while it is not too much to say that every man of note of that time was enrolled in their ranks. Robert Stewart (afterwards Lord Castlereagh); Colonel Sharman, Grattan and Flood, Beresford and Major Sandys (the future relentless persecutors of their unfortunate countrymen, among whom the memory of "Beresford's riding school and Sandy's Provost" were synonyms for a system of cruel and relentless torture), "Fighting Fitzgerald" and peaceable Joseph Pollock were all counted among the Volunteers. In this splendid organisation called forth by the country's need lay, strange as it may seem, the germ of the secret society of United Irishmen. The Irish Volunteers were, for some years, the virtual rulers of the country. They assembled a National Convention, consisting of delegates from each county and town, first at Dungannon, and afterwards in Dublin. Here they passed various resolutions, principally aimed at the restoration of the failing trade of the country, and at securing the independence of the National legislature. Of course the whole proceedings were strictly speaking illegal, the Irish Parliament (a mere cipher in the hands of the Governnient, was sitting at the time, literally within sight of the Convention. Many of the leaders of the Convention were members of both assemblies, and went from one to the other as their presence was required. But the movement in itself might well have been far more powerful and dangerous than it proved to be. As we learn from one of their historians :— "The National Convention which assembled in Dublin, November 10th, 1783, consisted of 300 delegates, who represented 150,000 Volunteers. The Volunteer Grenadiers attended as a guard on the Convention during its sittings. The delegates were escorted into town by troops of armed citizens. The firing of twenty-one cannon announced the commencement of their proceedings. The various battalions proceeded from the Exchange to the Rotunda, the seat of Convention, in grand military array, displaying amongst their banners the national standard of Ireland, and devices and mottoes on their flags which were not to be mistaken. Broad, green ribbons were worn across the shoulders of the delegates, and, according to Barrington, the lawyers even acknowledged the supreme power of the will of the people. The motto on their buttons was Vox populi suprema lex est.”2 With such an organised National body, backed by a trained army entirely devoted to their cause, what might not have been attempted? But the old curse of religions differences sapped the strength of the Volunteers and by a little skilful diplomacy on the part of the Government, the National Convention was peacefully dissolved, and the Volunteer movement died a natural death. Still, it had done its work, and left its impress upon the times, and upon the minds of English politicians. As Davis wrote in one of his impassioned bursts of patriotic song :— "Remember still, through good and ill, How vain were prayers and tears, How vain were words, till flashed the swords More than this, from the dying embers of the Volunteer Association rose the secret society of the United Irishmen. Among the delegates from town or county who at this critical period placed themselves at the service of their country, was one who held a somewhat singular political position. Luke Teeling, a man of family and fortune, stood out conspicious among his neighbours as almost the only Catholic gentleman of any standing in the ultra-Protestant province of Ulster. Although precluded by the Penal Laws, then 2 Madden's United Irishmen. in force, from taking any open share in Parliamentary elections, his personal influence among neighbours and dependents formed a distinct factor in country politics, even before the formation of the National Assembly. When elected as its representative in that Assembly by his own county, Antrim, the Protestant township of Belfast unanimously voted that he possessed their confidence also, and fully represented their opinions—a singular and valuable testimony to the esteem in which he was held by all, when we consider the violent antagonism usually existing between Catholics and Protestants at that time. Though loyal and devoted to Ireland's cause, and ready to serve his country to the uttermost, Luke Teeling was by no means one of those who sought to overturn the existing state of things, or to encourage active measures for the overthrow of England's power. On the contrary, his associates and personal friends were all of what was termed the "dominant party," supporters of the British Government; as was also the neighbouring Catholic family to which his wife belonged, and who had more than once intermarried with the Teelings; the Taaffes of Smarmore Castle, whose devotion to the House of Stuart had in former times been rewarded by the Earldom of Carlingford.3 Thus Luke Teeling's sons would naturally have been brought up in strictly peaceful and loyal principles, while the severe stoicism of his own character would not tend to encourage in them the development of strong individuality.. He seems to have wished them to enter the British army, all their studies and pursuits being guided in that direction. They were among the best horsemen, the most accomplished swordsmen of the province, and we may well fancy how they must have haunted the tents or quarters of their father's friends, filled with boyish enthusiasm for that ever fascina ting soldier's life for which they seemed desirous. But, like so many sons before and since, Luke Teeling's two elder boys, looking out with the eager enthusiasm of youth upon the land of their birth, the green, fair, suffering "Erin" which to generations of their forefathers had been more than a fostermother (for the Teelings, Norman by descent, had become in course of years more Irish than the Irish themselves"), caught the contagion of that subtle spirit of revolt which was smouldering in every heart at that time, and became "rebels. The elder of the two, the hope and pride as well as the heir of a father and mother whose affection surrounded with tenderest care their nine fair children, was a gentle, silent, thoughtful youth, a lover of old books and classics, ever poring over some musty pocket volume of history or philosophy, a few of which, from the miniature library he had gathered for himself of his favourite authors, are, or were until lately, still extant, bearing the half-erased signature of the young rebel. The miniatures of Bartholomew Teeling show him to have been a blue The late Prime Minister of Austria, Count Taaffe, was a member of this family. eyed, grave, almost sad-faced youth, with a certain air of distinction, and, one fancies, that peculiar look of predestined misfortune which has been so often remarked upon in the portraits of King Charles the First and others who have died a violent death. He would seem, indeed, to have been the last person in the world to lead revolt or share in a rebellion : yet it appears that as sometimes happens, it was the dreamer, the student, the embryo philosopher, who first awoke from his dreams to grasp the sword of a soldier, and that it was his example which led his bright, excitable young brother Charles to throw in his lot also with that of the malcontents around them. They joined, at first secretly, the then rapidly spreading Society of United Irishmen. Many a tale has since been told of how the two young men, when all was silent for the night in the paternal home, would let themselves down from their windows by ropes or ladders, speed across the country to some midnight meeting, and return ere morning dawned, unsuspected to their rooms. An influential friend of Luke Teeling's having, about this time, offered a commission in the British army to young Charles, the youth declined the proffered favour. This must have been a cause of regret to his parents, who had evidently destined him for that career, and who probably were slow to believe that the "patriotic" or "revolutionary" talk of the two brothers was likely to lead to serious results. The graver Bartholomew, indeed, would shake his head doubtfully over the wild diatribes of his lively brother, and call him "Jamie Dawson" in allusion to a ballad with that title which seems, now, only too terribly applicable to his own fate. The last lines run thus: "But curse on odious party strife That led the gallant bark astray; "Their colours and their sash he wore, Which gives the brave the deepest wound." Not long afterwards we find him not merely refusing to serve under "the oppressors of his country," but setting seriously to work to examine into the military resources of Ireland, with a view to active organisation, for the redressing of her wrongs. Before he had completed his twentieth year he had travelled over the whole of Ireland on foot, inspecting its rivers and harbours, studying the manners and habits of the people, ascertaining their physical and intellectual qualities, and their disposition in regard to the pending struggle. Had the stirring lines penned by one of the "Young Irelanders" of a later date, who wrote under the name of Sliabh Cuilinn, and who has but lately passed from our midst, been written at that time, one could well picture young Bartholomew Teeling gazing in half-sad, half |