The one notable absentee from all these meetings was Eugene Brennan. None of the MPs had seen him and, although Liam went to Eugene’s house on three occasions, there was no answer to his repeated knocking.
When Eugene Brennan did not arrive for the opening session of Parliament, Liam became really worried. It was not like the MP to be absent at such a critical time, but when the session began Liam had other problems to think about. The clamour from the Irish benches could not be ignored, even by a prime minister who was as little moved by the plight of the Irish as Lord John Russell.
The leader of the Whig Party refused to be stampeded into what he termed ‘precipitous action’.
‘This government is well aware of the problems facing Ireland,’ he declared arrogantly. ‘All such steps as I consider to be necessary are being taken. Soup kitchens are to be established—’
This declaration brought cheers from the Irish MPs, but they were quickly checked when Lord John Russell refused to answer questions about payment for setting up the kitchens and could not give details of how food was to be obtained from which to make soup.
Then the Prime Minister caused an uproar when he disclosed that the government-sponsored public works scheme was to end. This programme, inefficient and frustrating though it had proved to be, gave a tiny income to many Irishmen, providing the difference between a man having a hungry family and one that starved to death.
There was not an Irish Member of Parliament that day who did not have to face up to the stark fact that under Lord John Russell’s administration 1847 would be an even more terrible year than the previous one had been. At least Sir Robert Peel had tried to do something, albeit half-heartedly. Lord John Russell was bringing an air of unreality to the desperate situation. He promised relief measures that had not yet reached the planning stage whilst at the same time withdrawing one of the few measures to offer any real benefit to the cottiers.
While angry accusations and counter-accusations were being hurled back and forth across the floor of the House of Commons, one of the Irish MPs came to where Liam was sitting and leaned down to speak in his ear. It was a few minutes before Liam was able to hear above the din. When he could, he sprang to his feet and hurried from the chamber. He had been told that Eugene Brennan was outside.
The antechamber was a large room with high windows and great areas of shadow. At first, Liam could not see the old MP and thought he must have left. He was about to hurry to the door when he saw Eugene Brennan sitting on the edge of a seat in the deepest shadow of a corner of the room.
But this was not the dynamic politician who had become a legend in his own time. The man seated with his hands clasped between his knees was no more than a shell of the man he had once been. Even his voice when he replied to Liam’s greeting had changed. It was totally lacking in strength, and Liam was shocked beyond words.
‘Eugene, where have you been? I have been looking all over London for you.’
‘I was at home once when you called. I didn’t want company. I … I….’ The old man’s voice faded and his eyes looked at things far beyond the walls of the Parliament building.
‘Are you all right, Eugene? Would you like me to take you home?’
‘Home, Liam? Where is home? It was Ireland once, but I dare not return there – again.’
Liam had to put his head close to Eugene Brennan’s lips to hear his words.
‘I’ve been to Ireland, Liam. I went there to see things with my own eyes and was so ashamed that I had no wish to see anyone I knew. The situation has become an open-ended tragedy, Liam. For fifty years I have served Ireland, and believed I was gaining a more hopeful future for her people. This time I saw exactly what I had given them. Starvation and fever – that is what my policy has given to them, Liam. Death and suffering. Can you believe that a man who wanted to avoid bloodshed could lead them to this?’
‘Eugene! None of what is happening there is your fault. Without you things would have been much worse—’
‘Worse, Liam? Is that possible?’
The suffering in the old man’s eyes went too deep for words to ease.
‘I came back to England determined to make Russell and his Ministers do something. They wouldn’t see me. Worse, Russell had me physically removed from his office. Thrown out. After fifty years of serving my country I was thrown out into the street and there was nothing I could do. Failure comes harder to an old man, Liam. To realise that I had achieved nothing in all those years came hardest of all. All I have done is to bring Ireland to her knees. May God and her people forgive me.’
‘Stay here, Eugene. I’ll call a cab and take you home, to your house.’
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Eugene Brennan raised his head to look at Liam. ‘I came here to speak to the House and I won’t leave until it’s done. Here, help me up.’
‘Are you sure …?’ But the old MP was already struggling to his feet, and Liam assisted him.
Eugene Brennan leaned heavily on Liam as they crossed the floor of the anteroom, but when they reached the door of the debating-chamber and an usher held it open before them Eugene Brennan shook off Liam’s hand and walked in ahead of his apprehensive colleague.
One of the Irish MPs was on his feet, trying to make his voice heard above the shouts and catcalls of Lord Russell’s Whigs, when suddenly all noise died away. The surprised MP looked around for the reason and when he saw Eugene Brennan he promptly sat down.
The veteran MP was unsteady on his feet but he made his way slowly to his usual seat as his fellow-Members of Parliament made way for him. But Eugene Brennan did not sit down. Instead, he addressed himself to the Speaker of the House and in an uncharacteristically querulous voice said, ‘Mr Speaker, do I have your permission to address the House?’
The Speaker hesitated. Many MPs had put down questions on the Irish famine issue and time was already overtaking his planned programme.
‘As this will almost certainly be the last occasion on which I address this House I crave your indulgence, Mr Speaker.’
The Speaker was a senior Member of Parliament who had known Eugene Brennan for a great many years. He had observed the old Irishman’s unsteady progress through the chamber and, like Liam, he was shocked by the change he saw in the veteran Irish MP’s appearance. Without further hesitation, he said, ‘The honourable member for Wexford has the floor.’
‘Thank you.’
Eugene Brennan reached out to grasp the back of the bench-seat in front of him, and there was not a man in the chamber who did not see how much his hands shook.
In a voice that was tantalisingly low, yet full of emotion, Eugene Brennan began to speak.
‘As representative of my constituents and the people of Ireland I have spoken in this House on very many occasions, and on many subjects. But it has never been my misfortune to have to tell you what must be said today. These old eyes of mine have gone beyond weeping. Now it is my heart that is bleeding for my country. Gentlemen, Ireland is dying! At this very moment, as I stand here before you pleading for your goodwill and understanding, my country, on its knees for so long, is lying down to die. I am not here to put the blame on anyone. If it helps, I will take the responsibility upon my own shoulders. I have failed my country as surely as any man ever did. In her darkest hour I am unable to persuade the men who govern her to send Ireland a single bag of corn.’
There was an uncomfortable fidgeting among government ministers on the benches across the chamber.
‘I have tried…. God knows, but I have tried….’
Eugene Brennan’s voice faltered, and Liam feared he would slide away into a dream, as he had in the antechamber, but after a few moments Eugene Brennan spoke again. His voice had lost its forcefulness, but his words might have been made more memorable by the loss.
‘I am used to watching people die. I was a young man when my country rose in bloody rebellion against England. I spoke against that rebellion. I have never ceased to speak against rebellion. Now I am left wonde
ring whether I have done my country a disservice.’
There were a few angry murmurs from the government benches, but Eugene Brennan had not finished yet.
‘Had Ireland risen against England she would have lost many of her young men. She would have lost the fight as surely as she did once before. But the English are generous in victory and your generosity would at least have saved the women and children. Now, I fear they are beyond salvation.’
Eugene Brennan squared his shoulders and looked from one end of the large chamber to the other so slowly that there was not an MP in the House who who did not believe that he was personally included in the look.
‘I will not be bothering this House again with the troubles of my constituents, or questioning the competency of Ministers of the Crown. I have devoted a lifetime to politics and the time has come for me to place my sword into younger, more able hands.’
The shoulders sagged again and Eugene Brennan looked and sounded very tired.
‘There was a time when I would have looked upon my small achievements with pride … but no longer. Set against this one great failure, they crumble to insignificance. I leave this House shamed and ashamed. But I cannot go without one final plea. Gentlemen, in God’s name, save my people.’
The old politician turned to go, and Liam saw the tears streaming down his face. Liam stood and took Eugene Brennan’s elbow and, as they reached the gangway, another Irish MP took his other arm.
Then, as they slowly walked from the chamber, the House of Commons, led by Eugene Brennan’s long-time opponent, Sir Robert Peel, paid the veteran MP a last mark of respect. One by one they rose to their feet until only Lord John Russell and his Ministers remained seated.
Outside the chamber, Liam sat Eugene Brennan down and sent an usher to call a cab. Eugene Brennan blew his nose loudly before saying to Liam, ‘After all my years in the House of Commons, I have to cry and make a fool of myself on my last day.’
‘You were magnificent! And there is no reason why this should be your last day. You are still the MP for Wexford – and I can see no man ever voting you out.’
‘They must, Liam. I am not up to this work any more. I am too old – and far too tired. There is nothing more tiring than failure.’
‘We’ll have no more such talk,’ declared Liam firmly. ‘You’ll come back to my house and we will have a drink together. You’ll feel better with a glass or two of good Irish whiskey inside you. I bought a bottle in Dublin, especially for you.’
There was a surprise for both men waiting at the house in Hertford Street. Caroline was there. She was full of concern when Liam told her the old politician had not been well. She fussed around him and, in spite of his protests, Eugene Brennan was delighted by her concern.
Later that evening, after they had eaten and were seated before a crackling fire, each nursing a large glass of whiskey, Eugene Brennan felt relaxed enough to tell them more of the events that had caused him to make his decision to retire from politics.
The politician admitted that his biggest mistake had been to support the Whigs against Peel’s Tories.
‘I was wrong to expect the Whigs to show their gratitude. The word has no place in Lord John Russell’s vocabulary. I served my purpose and now he is in power. His philosophy is that the winner takes all – and owes thanks to no man. I am too old to pick up the stones of the house that has tumbled about my ears and build it again. There must be a way of persuading our Prime Minister to do something for Ireland, but a younger man must take on the task.’
‘Have you ever discussed the famine with Lord John Russell?’ asked Caroline.
‘Oh yes. He gave me a few minutes of his time before I last went to Ireland,’ affirmed the old man. ‘I took with me some of the letters I had received. Desperate letters. Pathetic letters….’
The old man’s voice trailed away as it had on a number of earlier occasions, and Liam and Caroline exchanged anxious glances.
‘What did he say?’ Caroline prompted gently.
‘Uh? I beg your pardon?’
‘What did Lord John Russell say when you showed him the letters?’
‘Oh, he said an Order in Council had been issued. It directed the churches throughout the land to use the Dearth and Famine prayer in their services. A prayer – ha! “Behold, we beseech thee, the afflictions of thy people and grant that the scarcity and death which we do now most justly suffer for our iniquity, may through Thy goodness be mercifully turned into cheapness and plenty.”’
Eugene Brennan quoted the prayer as Liam and Caroline looked at each other again in consternation. Was the old man’s reason going?
But Eugene Brennan was unaware of their thoughts.
‘Cheapness and plenty,’ he repeated. ‘By the merest stroke of a pen Lord John Russell could have become as God himself to the Irish people. He could have imported corn and sold it at a price that every man and woman could afford. Instead, he passes the whole problem to the Almighty. “Here you are, God. Here is a problem. I could solve it myself, but I would rather you did it for me. After all, God, they are your people, too.”’
Eugene Brennan looked up suddenly and caught the worried expressions on the faces of his two companions. He smiled. ‘I can see I have been talking for far too long. I thank you both for this most pleasant evening. I have enjoyed it more than any other I can remember for a very long time.’
He struggled up from the chair before Liam could offer him any help.
‘Now I will return home. Will you call a cab for me, Liam?’
‘Of course – and I will come with you. Then tomorrow you must come here again. I will call for you at your house.’
‘No, Liam. I am going away from London. I have a nephew in the French court. He has long wanted me to pay him a visit. I leave tomorrow. I understand he will be taking me to the south of France before returning to Paris. I shall be away for some months. I will be thinking of you and Ireland, Liam. Work through the Association and place no reliance upon the Government. That is the only advice I have to offer you.’
Liam left the house to find a cab plying for hire. It took him some minutes; then the two Irishmen shook hands warmly and Eugene Brennan left.
Liam and Caroline went into the house together and the moment the door closed behind them they embraced with the fervour of lovers who had been parted for too long.
As they walked hand in hand to the lounge, Liam said, ‘I am surprised that Eugene made no comment about your presence here.’
‘He did, while you were out looking for a cab.’ Caroline smiled. ‘He said what a pity it is that we are not free to marry. He thinks we make a lovely couple.’
Liam remained in London for three weeks. It was a busy time. Caroline arranged a number of famine-relief meetings at which Liam and a number of other Irish MPs spoke.
The support for their cause at this informal level was overwhelming, but two weeks after her arrival Caroline had to return to Ireland to organise similar soup kitchens to those she had set up the previous year. Liam missed her greatly, but Europe was in the grip of the harshest winter experienced for many years and there were those who needed her more.
Meanwhile, in London, the Irish MPs held many meetings at which they compared the letters received from their various constituencies. The most desperate came from the remote areas of western Ireland where rumours of cannibalism were rife.
Liam thought the time had come for him to tackle officialdom, in the form of Charles Trevelyan, once more. He went to the Treasury and, after making some enquiries, a clerk in an outer office informed Liam that Mr Trevelyan was unable to see him. Liam promptly sat down and announced his intention of remaining where he was until the Treasury official did see him.
The flustered clerk scuttled back and forth between Trevelyan’s office and his own until he finally informed Liam that Mr Trevelyan was now available.
Liam’s reception was icy. Charles Trevelyan did not rise from his desk, neither did he proffer his hand. Nevertheless, Li
am did his best to put the latest situation in Ireland to him.
Trevelyan listened impatiently for some minutes before interrupting Liam in mid-sentence.
‘I would prefer you to be brief, Mr McCabe. I am a very busy man.’
‘Busy with what? There is more to famine relief than paperwork, Mr Trevelyan.’
‘And there is more to my work than you see here,’ Trevelyan snapped.
‘Tell that to the people of Ireland. They have seen no results of your work – unless you count death, disease and misery.’
‘Famine is a visitation of the Lord, Mr McCabe. I suggest you and your people pray to Him.’
It appeared that Lord John Russell was not alone in passing on his responsibilities to a higher authority. Further angry exchanges did nothing to help anyone, and after Trevelyan said he had nothing to add to his earlier statements Liam left. He had achieved nothing.
He reported his failure to the London meeting of Irish MPs and it was the final blow that split the rock of the All-Ireland Association wide open. There had always been a faction within the Association dissatisfied with the progress being made toward Irish self-determination. They favoured direct action. Violent action. They had always grumbled at the lack of progress, but until now Eugene Brennan’s wide experience and natural guile had held them in check, making use of their restlessness and energy for the Association’s purposes.
But Eugene Brennan was no longer with them and at the final meeting in London they walked out, never to return. Within days they had formed their own militant society which they knew would attract many of the younger members of the All-Ireland Association. They planned action to achieve their ends. For them, the time for talking was over.
Although Liam spoke as strongly as he was able in favour of patience, he could not disagree with them and he returned to Hertford Street with his heart as heavy as the snow-laden skies above London. He wished that Caroline was there to help him make sense of the confusion in his mind.
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