for Maguire—­ clearly proved, and afterwards accepted by the Crown, a free pardon being issued on the strength of it—­was rejected with dogged obstinacy; how premeditated was the result may be guessed from the fact that I saw—­with what shuddering horror may be estimated—­some official in the room behind the judges’ chairs, quietly preparing the black caps before the verdict had been given.  The verdict of “Guilty” was repeated in each of the five cases, and the prisoners were asked by the presiding judge if they had anything to say why sentence should not be passed on them.  Allen spoke briefly and bravely; he had not fired a shot, but he had helped to free Kelly and Deasy; he was willing to die for Ireland.  The others followed in turn, Maguire protesting his innocence, and Condon declaring also that he was not present (he also was reprieved).  Then the sentence of death was passed, and “God save Ireland”! rang out in five clear voices in answer from the dock.

We had a sad scene that night; the young girl to whom poor Allen was engaged was heartbroken at her lover’s doom, and bitter were her cries to “save my William!”.  No protests, no pleas, however, availed to mitigate the doom, and on November 23rd, Allen, Larkin, and O’Brien were hanged outside Salford gaol.  Had they striven for freedom in Italy, England would have honored them as heroes; here she buried them as common murderers in quicklime in the prison yard.

I have found, with a keen sense of pleasure, that Mr. Bradlaugh and myself were in 1867 to some extent co-workers, although we knew not of each other’s existence, and although he was doing much, and I only giving such poor sympathy as a young girl might, who was only just awakening to the duty of political work.  I read in the National Reformer for November 24, 1867, that in the preceding week, he was pleading on Clerkenwell Green for these men’s lives: 

“According to the evidence at the trial, Deasy and Kelly were illegally arrested.  They had been arrested for vagrancy of which no evidence was given, and apparently remanded for felony without a shadow of justification.  He had yet to learn that in England the same state of things existed as in Ireland; he had yet to learn that an illegal arrest was sufficient ground to detain any of the citizens of any country in the prisons of this one.  If he were illegally held, he was justified in using enough force to procure his release.  Wearing a policeman’s coat gave no authority when the officer exceeded his jurisdiction.  He had argued this before Lord Chief Justice Erle in the Court of Common Pleas, and that learned judge did not venture to contradict the argument which he submitted.  There was another reason why they should spare these men, although he hardly expected the Government to listen, because the Government sent down one of the judges who was predetermined to convict the prisoners; it was that the offence was purely a political one.