Tag Archives: Robert Emmet

John Burke’s Recollections, Co. Dublin, 1803

John Burke’s Recollections:
Dublin Historical Record,
Vol IV, No. 4. pp. 150-153. 1944


Some extracts from this article:

John Burke, second son of Mr. William Burke of Chamber St. in the Earl of Meath’s Liberty, Dublin – Woollen Manufacturer.

John Burke was born 17 Nov. 1796; now in his eighty-second year of age, thank God, with memory unimpaired, health the same, writes at the particular request of a friend the following true recollections of his so far:

“I John Burke can well remember the Saturday night in the year 1803 when Lord Kilwarden was piked in Thomas St. by a band of wild enthusiastic fools who rushed out of Robert Emmet’s depot in Marshalsea Lane off Thomas St., and R. Emmet was said to have been with them. Lord Kilwarden was brought into the watchhouse, Vicar St., where he died. J.B. says it was a cruel act.

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I well remember to have seen Robert Emmet hanged and beheaded in Thomas St. – I believe on a Saturday in July 1803 in Thomas St. opposite St. Catherine’s Church and fully remember Martial Law proclaimed said year in Dublin. The Yeomen, the Liberty Rangers, had their Barracks on the Coombe, the Weavers’ Hall, where the Statue of George the II is still outside over the entrance. There were gates placed across from Hanover St. at one end and gates similarly placed across from Francis St. at the other end – so that the Rangers could not be surprised by any sudden “Coup”.

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I should tell that at the time Emmet was executed there was the Cornmarket Bridge, in Thomas St. which ran down from the corner of St. to the corner of New Row, and in the Emmet day part of this was a Barrack.

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I well remember the remains of the Old Custom House at Essex Bridge, ’twas then occupied as a Barracks. There was no passage then down the present Wellington Quay. Passengers had to pass down Essex St., go on to part of Temple Bar and come out, I believe, by the Bagnio Slip to get on the Quay.

I well remember the place called “Hell” at the top of Winetavern St., where a long dark arched passage led you into a very pretty open space where abundance of Toys were sold. In the archway was a large black oak Statue which the “Boys” used to call the “Devil”. There is at present some old citizen who, J.B. has been told, got a snuff box made of a part of said Black Oak in which he has these words:

“Prime your nose well;
I’d have you be civil.
This Box was in ‘Hell’,
And made of the ‘Devil’.”

I remember to have been in Astley’s Theatre, Peter St., where now stands the Molyneux Asylum. <snip>

The first Balloon which was said to have been sent up for 50 years previous, was sent up from Belvedere Lawn at Drumcondra, the 1st. of Oct., 1811; ’twas a clear beautiful day when the old Mr. Sadlier ascended from the Lawn. He veered his course over the Irish Channel with the view of landing at Holyhead or some other point. I recollect – so clear and beautiful was the sky – you could see the Balloon until it appeared only the size of a small round circular globe; the wind having changed the Balloon was driven back and Sadlier fell in the sea and was taken up by some fishermen who were on the look out for him – quite safe.

I saw Watty Cox pilloried at the Pillory at the Royal Exchange for having written in his Magazine a seditious libel called the Painter Cut. That was the year 1812 or 13.

I have a perfect recollection of Drumgoole’s Tavern in Lamb Alley in Cornmarket, where the famous Irish Piper Geoghegan used to play. I often went to hear him with my father. It was most respectably attended by the Mercantile Class of the time, as well as high-ups from other parts of the City. I would say I was there in 1807, and it was in existence long before that.

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The Liberty was the seat of manufacturers of Woollen, Silk, Cotton checks, Corduroys, Calicoes, and various other trades. Cork St. and Mill St. were mostly occupied, 1812, by Tanners and Spanish leather dressers, in fact it was crowded with foundries [sic] – Smiths, Carpenters, Masons, Artisans of all kinds, with many Block printing works where Ginghams, Muslins, and Calicoes were printed off with various designs for Houses where such was sold. The clothing for the Army and Yeomen and the old Watchmen were mostly furnished and their clothes made by the Army Clothiers of the Liberty. The extensive Army Clothier Charles Haskins of Summer St. (now Caffrey’s Brewery) – the Lamberts, the Beasleys, and numbers of others were all suppliers for the Army. The militia during the French war were then in existence and clothed. Such was the great employment of thousands of persons in Woollen, Silk, Cotton, and other branches of trade that the population was immense – wages well paid, and no person might want that was industrious. The climate of this period was very different from our present wet and uncertain weather. I remember that in November then, snow and frost set in and scarcely disappeared before April. Owing to this frosty weather the workmen, weavers and cloth dressers of the woollen trade were often thrown out of employment for weeks in consequence of not being able to get the weavers’ woollen warps dried, neither could the shearmen get their cloths dried on the tenters on account of the frosty weather. A great benevolent philanthropic gentleman named Pleasants, seeing the distress caused by a want of drying weather, took the plot of ground up in Brickfield Lane (now the late Fr. Spratt’s Refuge) and there, in the year of the great fall of snow and frost, 1814, built the famous Stovetenters House at his sole individual cost, which enabled the weavers to dry their warps and the shearmen to dry their cloths. From that grand act of Mr. Pleasants hundreds of persons were again set to work. I will here note that this same Mr. Pleasants was the person who founded the Pleasants School in Camden St. Singular as may appear, this same year, 1814, John Claudius Beresford of the Riding School notoriety was Lord Mayor of Dublin, and escorted by the City of Dublin Militia Band playing the music of the Liberty Boys with the people carrying a gilt lamb, he had it placed in the niche over the centre door of the Stovetenter [House] – so much for Beresford.

In the year 1815 the Big Sweep was flogged from New Gate to the Royal Exchange for having put fire in a grate under one of his climbing boys to force him up the chimney to sweep it. The pressure of the crowd on the Exchange against the Rails, forced it to give way, it fell out, some persons were killed and several wounded. The writer was on the outside of the rails when the Sweep was coming up Parliament St. He fortunately jumped down and went up on the steps which saved him from consequence; the Exchange rails at that time came a great way forward from its present position – this was in 1815. ‘Twas supposed Watty Cox’s pillory was the cause that shook the railing.

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Coming now to the time of a whispered wish of George IV to visit Ireland in the year 1820 – I can relate the correct circumstance of that whispered desire. My father who at that time lived in Chamber St. in the Liberty of Dublin – a woollen manufacturer – was a person highly respected and possessed of immense influence among the great population of that manufacturing locality. It can be said to be the part of Dublin at that time to command the popular expression. I can well remember a letter being brought on a Saturday night in December, 1820 to my father. That letter came from a high up gentleman who was much attached to my father on account of his general correctness and information on many important affairs. That letter was brought by a special servant from Mr. T. Nolan from the house of Harty’s in Westmoreland St. at that time. This letter to my father was worded to this effect:

“My dear Billy,
Go you and get an early Mass tomorow Sunday morning – I ‘will go also to Trinity college Church to get service – come down to Westmoreland St. soon after breakfast as you can for I want to see you particularly on most important business.
T.N.”

My father handed me that letter to read, saying to me, “If you are not too lazy to get up in the morning and go to Mass and come with me, you who so well know who Mr. Nolan is and with whom you were once on a visit for seven months when a boy in 1813-14.” I was delighted to have the opportunity to go with my father and was in Westmoreland St. before 10 o’clock. We were ushered into the Drawing room. Soon after, Mr. Nolan came in – after the usual kindly welcome he sat down and produced a letter which he had received from Sir Benjamin Broomfield, the private Sec. to George IV and the intimate friend of Mr. Nolan. The purport of that letter was to this effect – The Queen’s trial, brought by George IV and his then Government to accuse his Queen of immorality and get a divorce, having completely failed, and public opinion, particularly in England, having set in against the King – in order to allay it, the letter of Sir B. Broomfield was to stir up Irish feeling to invite the King to come pay his Irish people a visit. Mr. Nolan knew well my father’s popularity and influence in the Liberty and if they could be set in motion to agitate the question “’twas sure to be accomplished”. About 12 o’clock on that same Sunday a few more friends arrived, and the subject was discussed. The result was, a meeting of those few bringing with them a few other friends took place in the same week at Morrisson’s Hotel in Dawson St., from which a resolution was sent to  the then Evening Post stating a few friends had met there whose patriotic desire was to invite the King to visit Ireland. ”

Thousands of signatures were obtained and this was forwarded to His Majesty and he came in August 1821.

“The occasion of the visit needs no language to speak of it. It was one of the most magnificent displays ever seen. On his entry from the Vice Regal Lodge in the Phoenix Park along the North Circular Rd. into Dublin through Sackville St. to the Castle. The day was beautifully fine. Sir Abraham Bradley King the Lord Mayor under the Triumphal Arch at the top of Sackville St. presenting the Keys of the City to his Majesty was a gem.”

Speech From the Dock, Robert Emmet

I am asked what I have to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me, according to law. I have nothing to say that can alter your pre-determination, nor that it will become me to say, with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are to pronounce and I must abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more than life and which you have laboured to destroy. I have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been cast upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from prejudice as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I can anchor my character in the breast of a court constituted and trammeled as this is.


I only wish, and that is the utmost that I can expect, that your lordships may suffer it to float down your memories untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hospitable harbour to shelter it from the storms by which it is buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur; but the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner will, through the ministry of the law, labour in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy; for there must be guilt somewhere, whether in the sentence of the court or in the catastrophe – time must determine. A man in my situation has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the difficulties of established prejudice. The man dies, but his memory lives. That mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port, when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold and in the field in defence of their country and of virtue, this is my hope: I wish that my memory and my name may animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious government which upholds its domination by blasphemy of the Most High; which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest; which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand in the Name of God, against the throat of his fellow who believes or doubts a little more or a little less than the government standard, a government which is steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows it has made.

At this point Robert Emmet was interrupted by Lord Norbury.

I appeal to the immaculate God, I swear by the Throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear, by the blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before me, that my conduct has been, through all this peril, and through all my purposes, governed only by the conviction which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of the emancipation of my country from the super-inhuman oppression under which she has so long and too patiently travailed; and I confidently hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest of enterprises. Of this I speak with confidence, with intimate knowledge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. Think not, my lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitory uneasiness. A man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie will not hazard his character with posterity by asserting a falsehood on a subject so important to his country, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my lords, a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated, will not leave a weapon in the power of envy, or a pretense to impeach the probity which he means to preserve, even in the grave to which tyranny consigns him.

Lord Norbury passed comment.

Again I say that what I have spoken was not intended for your lordship, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy – my expressions were for my countrymen. If there is a true Irishman present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of his affliction.

Lord Norbury said he did not sit there to hear treason.
And Emmet replied:
I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law. I have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear with patience, and to speak with humanity; to exhort the victim of the laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, their opinions of the motives by which he was actuated in the crime of which he was adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt; but where is the boasted freedom of your institutions, where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency and mildness of your courts of justice if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy and not justice is about to deliver into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated? My Lord, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man’s mind by humiliation to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold; but worse to me than the purposed shame or the scaffold’s terrors would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid out against me in this court. You, my lord, are a judge; I am the supposed culprit. I am a man; you are a man also. By a revolution of power we might exchange places? Though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this court and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice! If I stand at this bar and dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts on my body, condemn my tongue to silence and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence; but while I exist I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersion; and as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honour and love and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, my lords, we must appear on the great day at one common tribunal; and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe, who was engaged in the most virtuous actions or swayed by the purest motives my country oppressor, or –

At this point Emmet was told to listen to the sentence of the court!
Though he continued………
My lords, will a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating himself in the eyes of the community from an undeserved reproach, thrown upon him during his trial, by charging him with ambition and attempting to cast away for paltry consideration the liberties of his country? Why did your lordships insult me? I know my lords, that form prescribes that you should ask the question, the form also presents the right of answering. This, no doubt, may be dispensed with, and so might the whole ceremony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the Castle before the jury was impaneled. Your lordships are but the priests of the oracle, and I insist on the whole of the forms.

I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France! And for what end? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my country. And for what end? Was this the object of my ambition? And is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradiction? No, I am no emissary; and my ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country, not in power nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country’s independence to France! And for what? Was it a change of masters? No, but for my ambition. O, my country, was it a personal ambition that could influence me? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not by my education and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself amongst the proudest of your oppressors. My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment, and for it I now offer up myself, O God! No, my lords; I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny and the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, which is its joint partner and perpetrator in the patricide, from the ignominy existing with an exterior of splendour and a conscious depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly riveted despotism; I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world. Connection with France was, indeed, intended, but only as far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Were the French to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest independence, it would be the signal for their destruction. We sought their aid and we sought it as we had assurance we should obtain it as auxiliaries in war and allies in peace. Were the French to come as invaders or enemies uninvited by the wishes of the people, I should oppose them to the utmost of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I should advise you to meet them upon the beach with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war. I would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil of my country. If they succeeded in landing, and if forced to retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of the ground, burn every blade of grass, and the last entrenchment of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do myself, if I should fall, I should leave as a last charge to my countrymen to accomplish; because I should feel conscious that life, any more than death, is unprofitable when a foreign nation holds my country in subjection. But it was not as an enemy that the soldiers of France were to land. I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France; but I wished to prove to France and to the world that Irish men deserved to be assisted; that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to assert the independence and liberty of their country. I wished to procure for my country the guarantee which Washington procured for America; to procure an aid which, by its example would be as important as its valour disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and experience, that of a people who would perceive the good and polish the rough points of our character. They would come to us as strangers and leave us as friends, after sharing in our perils and elevating our destiny. These were my objects; not to receive new task-masters, but to expel old tyrants. It was for these ends I sought aid from France; because France, even as an enemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy already in the bosom of my country.

I have been charged with that importance in the emancipation of my country as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen; or, as your lordships expressed it, ‘the life and blood of the conspiracy’. You do me honour over much; you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord; men before the splendour of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference and who would think themselves disgraced by shaking your blood-stained hand.

What! my lord, shall you tell me on the passage to the scaffold, which that tyranny (of which you are only the intermediary executioner) has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been shed and will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor; shall thou tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I do not fear to approach the Omnipotent Judge to answer for the conduct of my whole life; and am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here? By you, too, although if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed in your unhallowed ministry in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it.

Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonour; let no man taint my memory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country’s liberty and independence; or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression of my country. The Proclamation of the Provisional Government speaks for our views; no inference can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation or treachery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the foreign and domestic oppressor. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy would enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I who lived but for my country, and have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights and my country her independence, am I to be loaded with calumny and not suffered to resent it? No; God forbid!

If the spirit of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who were dear to them in this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son and see if I have even for a moment, deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism which it was your care to instill into my youthful mind, and for which I am now about to offer up my life! My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice. The blood which you seek is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim; it circulates warm and unruffled through the channels which God created for noble purpose, but which you are now bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that they cry to heaven. Be yet patient! I have but a few more words to say. I am going to go to my cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extinguished. My race is run. The grave opens to receive me and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world. It is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me rest in obscurity and peace; and my tomb remain uninscribed and my memory in oblivion until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then let my epitaph be written. I have done.