"Vulneratus non victus."
In December a vacancy occurred in Kilkenny, and, on December 9th, my King started for Ireland, and stayed with Dr. Kenny for the night in Dublin. Of the great meeting in the Rotunda I give Miss Katharine Tynan's description, because of all the eye-witnesses' accounts of it that I have kept, none gives the true glimpse of Parnell as she does.
"It was nearly 8.30 when we heard the bands coming; then the windows were lit up by the lurid glare of thousands of torches in the street outside. There was a distant roaring like the sea. The great gathering within waited silently with expectation. Then the cheering began, and we craned our necks and looked on eagerly, and there was the tall, slender, distinguished figure of the Irish leader making its way across the platform. I don't think any words could do justice to his reception. The house rose at him; everywhere around there was a sea of passionate faces, loving, admiring, almost worshipping that silent, pale man. The cheering broke out again and again; there was no quelling it. Mr. Parnell bowed from side to side, sweeping the assemblage with his eagle glance. The people were fairly mad with excitement. I don't think anyone outside Ireland can understand what a charm Mr. Parnell has for the Irish heart; that wonderful personality of his, his proud {294} bearing, his handsome, strong face, the distinction of look which marks him more than anyone I have ever seen. All these are irresistible to the artistic Irish.
"I said to Dr. Kenny, who was standing by me, 'He is the only quiet man here.' 'Outwardly,' said the keen medical man, emphatically. Looking again, one saw the dilated nostrils, the flashing eye, the passionate face; the leader was simply drinking in thirstily this immense love, which must have been more heartening than one can say after that bitter time in the English capital. Mr. Parnell looked frail enough in body—perhaps the black frock-coat, buttoned so tightly across his chest, gave him that look of attenuation; but he also looked full of indomitable spirit and fire.
"For a time silence was not obtainable. Then Father Walter Hurley climbed on the table and stood with his arms extended. It was curious how the attitude silenced a crowd which could hear no words.
"When Mr. Parnell came to speak, the passion within him found vent. It was a wonderful speech; not one word of it for oratorical effect, but every word charged with a pregnant message to the people who were listening to him, and the millions who should read him. It was a long speech, lasting nearly an hour; but listened to with intense interest, punctuated by fierce cries against men whom this crisis has made odious, now and then marked in a pause by a deep-drawn moan of delight. It was a great speech, simple, direct, suave—with no device and no artificiality. Mr. Parnell said long ago, in a furious moment in the House of Commons, that he cared nothing for the opinion of the English people. One remembered it now, noting his passionate assurances to his own people, who loved him too well to ask him questions."
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During this meeting the anti-Parnellites took the opportunity to seize Parnell's paper, United Ireland, and the offices. A witness's account of the incident contained in Mr. Barry O'Brien's "Life of Charles Stewart Parnell" appealed to me immensely, because this little affair was of intense interest to me, and all, or nearly all, I could get out of Parnell himself on the subject was a soft laugh and, "It was splendid fun. I wish I could burgle my own premises every day!"
Something like this appears to have happened. The anti-Parnellite garrison was strongly entrenched in the offices of the newspaper—doors and windows all barred. The streets were filled with a crowd of Parnellites crying death and destruction on the enemy, and pouring in faster from the side streets. Men threading their way through the mass were distributing sticks and revolvers.
Parnell had been apprised of the event at the meeting, and a pony-trap was waiting for him outside the Rotunda. He got into it with Dr. Kenny, and they dashed off to the scene of action. At the sight of their Chief the crowd went wild; cheers for Parnell and curses for his enemies filled the air. At full gallop the pony-trap dashed through the mass of people (which gave way as if by magic), and was brought up before the offices with a jerk that sent the horse sprawling on the ground. Parnell jumped out of the trap, sprang up the steps, and knocked loudly at the door of the offices. There was a dramatic moment of silence—the crowd hushed and expectant. Then Parnell quietly gave some orders to those nearest him. In a brief space they were off and back again with pickaxe and crowbar. Parnell wished to vault the area railings and attack the area door, but he was held back. So several of his followers dropped into the area, while Parnell {296} himself attacked the front door with the crowbar. The door yielded, and he and many others rushed into the house. A second party came from the area, and the united force dashed upstairs. The rest was a Homeric struggle between garrison and besiegers, fought from staircase to staircase and story to story. At length the garrison was downed to the last man. A window of the second story was removed, and Parnell came out to his people. He had lost his hat, his hair was tumbled, his face was quite white, his eyes were filled with the wild joy of the battle. His face and clothes were powdered with dust and plaster. For a moment again the crowd was silent; then it burst into a roar.
Parnell made a short speech, came down, got into the trap, and drove to the railway station.
On the 11th, when he nominated Mr. Vincent Scully, he stayed at Kilkenny. That day he wrote to me that he was feeling ill, and his telegram of "good night" was weary in tone. But the next day he wrote that he was feeling far better, and his letter was very hopeful of success. He insisted on returning to me every Saturday, if it was in any way possible, during these months of fighting, and going back to Ireland on the next evening, Sunday. I begged him to spare himself the fatigue of this constant journeying, but he could not rest away; so, in despair, I gave up the fight against my own desire to have him at home for even these few hours. This election lasted ten days. Polling took place on December 22, and that morning he telegraphed to me not to expect victory, so I knew he was sure of defeat long before the poll was declared. He returned to Dublin that night, and addressed a meeting outside the National Club.
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It was during one of these last meetings that someone in the crowd threw lime in the Chief's face. It h............