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HISTORY OF IRELAND

IN THE

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

CHAPTER IX.

THE loyalty displayed by the militia and the Catholic peasantry when the French lay in Bantry Bay, made a great impression on all classes of politicians. The United Irishmen, indeed, urged that the French had attempted to land in one of the parts of Ireland where the organisation was least extended; that they had sent no intimation to the leaders of the conspiracy which could render it possible to prepare for their reception, and that if a French fleet had appeared in the North or North-west the result would have been very different. In these statements there was no doubt much truth, but still the attitude of positive and even enthusiastic loyalty exhibited in so many parts of Ireland seemed to show that the seditious spirit was less formidable than might have been imagined, and that a large element of unreality mingled with it. It by no means followed from the fact that the bulk of the peasantry in any district had been sworn in as United Irishmen or as Defenders, that they were prepared to appear in arms for the French, or even seriously desired an invasion. The intimidation exercised by small

VOL. IV.

B

bands of conspirators induced multitudes to take an oath which they had very little intention of keeping, and even where intimidation did not come into operation, disloyalty was often a fashion, a sentiment, and almost an amusement, which abundantly coloured the popular imagination, but was much too feeble and unsubstantial a thing to induce men to make any genuine sacrifice in its cause. Everyone who has any real knowledge of Irish life, character, and history knows how widely a sentiment of this kind has been diffused, and knows also that districts and classes where it has been most prevalent have again and again remained perfectly passive in times when the prospects of rebellion seemed most favourable, and have furnished thousands of the best and most faithful soldiers to the British army. Genuine enthusiasts, like those who, at the close of the eighteenth century, were sending skilful memoirs to the French Government, representing all Ireland as panting for revolution, or like a few brave men who in later times have sacrificed to their political convictions all that makes life dear, have usually miscalculated its force, and have learnt at last, by bitter experience, that, except when it has been allied with religious or agrarian passions, it usually evaporates in words.

There is indeed, perhaps, only one condition in which its unassisted action can be a serious danger to the State. It is when legislation breaks down the influence of the educated and propertied classes of the community, and then by a democratic suffrage, under the shelter of the ballot, throws the preponderating voting power of the country into the hands of the most ignorant and the most disaffected. A majority of votes represents very imperfectly deliberate opinion. It represents still more imperfectly the course which men desire with real earnestness, and for which they will make real sacrifices; but a languid preference or an idle

sentiment may be quite sufficient to place desperate and unscrupulous men in power, and to give them the means of dislocating the whole fabric of the State. It has been reserved for the sagacity of modern English statesmanship to create this danger in Ireland.

But after all that can be said, it is impossible to read this narrative without being impressed with the extremely precarious tenure upon which British dominion in Ireland at this time rested. With a little better weather, and a little better seamanship on the part of the French, the chances were all against it. If an army of 14,000 good French soldiers, under such a commander as Hoche, had succeeded in landing without delay, and if a rebellion had then broken out in any part of the country, Ireland would most probably have been, for a time at least, separated from the British Empire. After the danger was over, Beresford described the situation to Auckland with great candour: We had, two days after they [the French] were at anchor in Bantry Bay, from Cork to Bantry less than 3,000 men, two pieces of artillery, and no magazine of any kind, no firing, no hospital, no provisions, &c. &c. No landing was made. Providence prevented it; if there had, where was a stand to be made? It is clear that Cork was gone; who would answer afterwards for the loyalty of the country, then in possession of the French? Would the northern parts of the country have remained quiet? Not an hour.'1

The danger, however, was past, and, in the opinion of some of the best judges, the near prospect of the horrors of a foreign invasion and occupation had exercised a sobering effect on popular feeling. A strong

1 Auckland Correspondence, iii. 376. Beresford erroneously estimated the French army at 25,000 men.

2 Beresford Correspondence, ii. 146; Hardy's Life of Charlemont, ii. 379.

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