GAZING OUT ACROSS THE FLOWING RIVER ILEN, MARY SULLIVAN WAS overwhelmed by the sight of tens of thousands of people gathered together on Curragh Hill. The sea of O’Connell’s supporters shimmered in a haze before her.
‘Keep a hold of my hand,’ urged John as he propelled her forward.
A regiment of soldiers stood to the side at the ready, observant and unflinching, as the couple manoeuvred their way through the waves of bodies towards the large wooden podium positioned at one end of the field.
A massive roar of welcome broke from the near seventy-thousand-strong crowd as three marching bands, followed by four stagecoaches bearing Daniel O’Connell and his entourage, arrived in the grounds. As the bands played a loud triumphant march, a procession of priests, parishioners and local tradesmen led the coaches up the field to cheers and applause. There was such a din that Mary worried how the drivers would control the horses.
The coaches finally came to a stop and the tall, heavy-set figure of Daniel O’Connell in his black cape stepped out and up on to the podium. He was an imposing figure, with a broad face and a head of dark curls. His eyes roved appreciatively over the huge crowd.
A hush fell as a man with pride in his voice welcomed the Liberator to Skibbereen, citing O’Connell’s achievement in securing Catholic emancipation and his fight now to repeal the despised Act of Union.
The crowd began to cheer wildly as O’Connell threw off his cape with a confident swagger. In grand style he stepped forward and flung open his arms, greeting his supporters warmly in a clear, booming voice. There came a roar of approval as he began to speak in Gaelic, and laughter at the bewilderment of the large force of British military and constabulary that had surrounded the field. The redcoats were left scratching their heads, wondering what he was saying.
‘I am honoured to be your representative in Parliament,’ O’Connell continued, his eyes shining, ‘even though it is a Parliament packed against me.’
The cheers echoed through the still summer’s day as he spoke of the achievement of Catholic emancipation, which had finally given Catholics the right to hold important offices and serve as members of the British parliament.
O’Connell’s voice filled with emotion as he looked down at the crowd.
‘I may have been at the head of the battle, but victory could not have been won without you, the people, behind me.’
A profound silence fell as he outlined his new Repeal campaign to regain Irish freedom and self-government with the return of an Irish parliament to Dublin.
‘It is the right of every Irish man over twenty years of age to have a house and to vote.’
O’Connell’s voice carried loud and clear across the field, filling the spectators’ parched hearts with the hope of change. They latched on to his words, all tiredness and soreness in their feet and legs forgotten. The prospect of freedom hung in the air, blowing tantalizingly among them, along with the cherished hope of regaining the right to own the roof over their head and the land on which they raised their crops. Many were ready to rally to his call and take up arms to fight if need be!
However, O’Connell soon made his opposition to violence clear.
‘This battle will be fought in Parliament peacefully and legally, with justice and equality as our swords. Good people, I call on you to support the Repeal movement, for we intend to grow it. Lastly, I ask you all to give three cheers for the Queen, Victoria who rules the empire. The Queen!’
John and Pat remained stubbornly silent, their eyes cast down as the cheers echoed across the fields and hills.
‘Hurrah! Queen Victoria! Hurrah!’
As O’Connell brought his speech to a close, he thanked the crowd for travelling so far – from all over Cork, Kerry and Tipperary – before bidding them farewell. The band struck up again loudly and, in only a few short minutes, the coaches and horses departed the field to more cheers as the Liberator’s carriage passed.
As the crowds began to disperse slowly, Mary felt strangely bereft.
‘He has the men, so why doesn’t he organize us instead of sending us home with only words?’ Pat remarked angrily as the coaches disappeared from view. ‘Words won’t win back our cottages and our land.’
‘Hush, or you’ll get us all into trouble,’ cautioned Flor, noticing a soldier standing nearby.
‘Will we all go into town for a pint of porter to mark the day?’ suggested Pat. ‘Hopefully one or two public houses will be open.’
Mary had no interest in joining the men in one of the town’s noisy hostelries. Instead, she decided to call on her sister, who lived in the crowded, rundown lanes of Bridgetown on the far edge of Skibbereen.
‘I’ll meet you in Kathleen’s later,’ promised John, ‘and we’ll walk home together.’