Patrick O'Brien.

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Price Bound in Cloth: One Dollar

Paper: Fifty Cents
Postpaid to Any Part of the World


Patrick ** Rocky Mountain" O'Brien

20 Walker Street, New York

OCT 1 t904
I fJooyrfght Entrv

CLASS ^ XXe. No.


T5 3^^1

Copyright, 1904,


Patrick "Rocky Mountain" O'Brien.

• • •

• • •

England Applying the Torch in America.

Hiring Indians to Scalp Innocent Babes
And Mothers During the Absence of
Their Fathers and Husbands, Who
Were Fighting with Washington in the
Revolutionary War.

Burning the National Capitol.

Opening Smallpox Hospitals in Boston and
Trying to Cause an Epidemic Among
the Soldiers When She Could Not Sub-
due Washington by Any Other Means.

Blowing the Sepoys from the Mouth of
Cannon During the Indian Mutiny.

Dynamiting Zulus in South Africa When
They Sought Refuge in Their Caves.

Burning of Farm Houses and Ravishing of
Women During the Boer War in South

Vigorous Denunciation of "Dooley/' the
Scavenger Cad, and Other Lampooners
of the Irish Race.

Roosevelt's Gallant Charge at the Battle
OF San Juan.

Dewey, the Hero; Also the "Maine."


Irish and Irish-American Poems,


20 Walker Street, New York.

Cloth Bound, $i.oo; Paper, 50 Cents,


In presenting this book of poems to the pubHc I do not
pretend to be a Goldsmith, a Davis or a Moore. I have
done the best I could, and, under the circumstances, I
hope the kind reader will appreciate my work all the more.

I have written some of these poems in the dead hours
of the night, often when my thoughts wandered far across
the sea to the little church and the schoolhouse and vines,
meadowland and wood, where I first saw the light of day.
More of them were written on the broad Atlantic, nearing
the land of my birth ; and some were written when return-
ing to the land of my adoption. The language used in
this book may not sound parliamentary, but to me it
sounds very expressive, and therefore I offer no apology.

When a boy of seventeen I was forced to leave Ireland
(not through any row with the family coachman, but
owing to the despotic and tyrannical English laws), and
I came to America to seek freedom under the "glorious
and starry banner of the greatest nation on the globe."

For thirty years or more I have been a citizen of this
nation. Eight children were born to me here, and the
saddest blow I ever received was when their mother, one
of the best and noblest women that ever lived, passed
away from them and me on the eighth day of January,
1899. She is now sleeping her last sleep in Calvary
Cemetery, New York. May peace be hers. She was my
joy and pride, and life without her has been a sad one
to me.

My father died in 1869 while I was on my way
to him on board the steamship *'City of Washing-


ton," which plied the waters from New York to the Cove
of Cork. Owing to some mishap to the machinery the
steamer was detained at HaHfax, Nova Scotia, so when I
reached my father's house he was in his cold and silent
grave. Had we met with no obstacle on the high seas
I would have seen the face of the father whom I left
broken-hearted a few years before; but fate decreed that
it should not be.

The family were scattered far and wide. Two of my
sisters were in America — Mrs. O'Connell, of Oregon, now
dead, and Mrs. Duffy, now living in Rochester, N. Y.

Two young children and my mother survived my father
in Ireland; my mother died twelve years ago, and was
buried beside my father in Ardfield Graveyard, adjacent
to Gallyhead, on the south coast of Ireland, facing the
Atlantic Ocean. Last Summer I erected over their grave
a monument with an Irish inscription on one side and
an English inscription on the other.

England has murdered and plundered the Irish people
for the past seven centuries. She has robbed them of
their industries and their language ; she has leveled once
happy homes to the ground by her merciless crowbar
brigades; she has thrown aged fathers and gray-haired,
weeping mothers out on the wayside with nothing but
the blue sky of heaven to shelter them. Such acts as
these have enkindled a bitter hatred in my heart against
England and her accursed laws^ and if ever an oppor-
tunity presents itself I will be ready to strike that longed-
for blow against that ''tyrant of tyrants." I believe the
Irish people are justified in resorting to every means to
overthrow English misrule.


England has applied the torch on more occasions than
one. She blew the Sepoys from the mouths of cannon
in India. She destroyed the homes of the gallant Boers
who fought for the same God-given rights that George
Washington and his countrymen fought for almost two
centuries ago. As late as 1812, 1813 and 1814 England
burned the National Capitol and several towns along the
coast of Long Island.

England has not paid one cent for any territory she
ever acquired, and has always left a trail of blood in
her tracks, especially whenever she robbed half-civilized
peoples of their homes and lands. She dynamited the
poor Zulus in South Africa when they sought refuge in
their caves.

England has broken every treaty she ever made with
Ireland. She bayoneted unborn babes in the streets of
Clonakilty, tearing them from their mothers' wombs.

Since the day Strongbow set foot on Irish soil the
Irish people have been the victims of the foulest crimes
on record. Men and women have been murdered in
cold blood for defending their homes. Irish patriots
were put to death in the '98 revolution after
they had laid down their arms. Ellen McDonough was
foully murdered at Belmullet a few years ago. Tim
Cadogan was murdered a year or so ago by a judge and
packed jury. Much to their disgrace there were six
so-called Roman Catholics on this jury. At the first
trial there was a disagreement of the jury, which was
composed of Protestants and one Roman Catholic. At
the second trial the jury, composed of six Protestants and
six Roman Catholics, found Cadogan guilty on evidence


furnished by perjurers, not sufficient to convict a
fly. The foreman of the jury that found Allen, Larkin
and O'Brien guilty was a Catholic. The foreman of the
jury that convicted Cadogan is a Roman Catholic. He
is a would-be commercial traveler — a mongrel misfit —
who tries to sell one-way flour to Bantry and Skibbereen

The Irishman born in Ireland, be he Protestant,
Catholic, Orangeman or Peeler, who shows his loyalty
to the English Government is far worse than Judas
Iscariot, who betrayed our Divine Redeemer. His price,
I believe, was thirty pieces of silver, but in my opinion
a man who dons the uniform of the enemy of his country
would sell his country for one piece of silver, and a very
small piece at that.

I look upon the Irish Constabulary as the greatest curse
and the worst enemy to the Irish race. Strange to say,
this body is made up to a large extent of the sons of
small farmers; the balance of the spurious spawn
of absentee landlords. The Peelers are the first
to help to level the homes of their unfortunate country-
men, and leave their kith and kin with nothing
to shelter them from the inclemency of the weather
except the blue sky of heaven and the air which
is polluted by the presence of the infamous crow-
bar brigade. One favorite pastime of the Peelers is to
meet little children about 10 years old and inquire from
them the movements of their fathers and brothers. One
of these Peelers offered a little 9-year-old girl in my
native town a box of sweets if she would watch my move-
ments and report to him those persons with whom she


saw me conversing and the purport of the conversation,
but the villain was unaware that I was told to be on my
guard by the wife of one of his fellow "bloodhounds."
She was an 18-karat Irishwoman.

One of the most infamous of these Peelers is Sergeant
Sheridan. Judas Iscariot was decent compared to him.
No government under the canopy of heaven except the
English would tolerate such diabolical deeds as his. I
am sorry to say that the banner founded by the illustrious
Washington shelters this wolf in sheep's clothing. That
samie banner refused shelter to James Fitzharris ("Skin
the Goat"), who refused to betray his comrades, notwith-
standing the fact that he was offered twenty thousand
pounds ($100,000) by the Gladstone government. That
was the only crime Fitzharris could be accused of, and
shame on the Administration that was instrumental in
sentencing him to deportation.

A greater shame still rests with the Irish organizations
of America that did not enter a stronger protest against
Fitzharris's and Mullet's deportation when they were on
Ellis Island, under the shadow of the Bartholdi Statue
of Liberty. I will do the A. O. H. justice by letting the
public know that they were the only Irish organization
that called meetings and protested against the

I have just stated that the majority of Irish Peelers
are sons of small farmers, and the balance favorites of
the landlords who spend their ill-gotten gains in the
brothels of Paris, the gambling hells of Monte Carlo,
Spitalfields, Fordham Flats and the Sodomite dens of
Cleveland street, a la Oscar Wilde, Russell & Co. And


these are the people employed by the English Govern-
ment to keep the peace in Ireland !

Is it any wonder then that the Irish people should be
slaves when hirelings of this character are allowed all
over poor down-trodden Ireland? Still you will often
see these cowardly ruffians occupying the front pews in
the churches on Sunday, where no decent man or woman
should associate with them; but, such is life. It takes
all kinds of people to make a world, and we have them
both here and in Ireland.

I can shake the hand any time of the poor unfortunate
soldier who takes the shilling, for he lacks brains ; if he
did not, he would have no occasion to work for 15 pence
a day; very often he enlists through drunkenness, but
with all this and his misfortune he will do as little as
possible of England's dirty work, knowing her to be the
bitter enemy of his countr}^ I look at the sailor in the
same light as I do the soldier ; the Peeler, however, is al-
ways on the alert for information, and will procure it
by fair means or foul.

This is a correct version of the Irish Constabulary as I
have found them during the past thirty years, and I can
vouch for it that they have not changed any for the
better since. The pay of these vile wretches is only 25
shillings a week ($6.25 in American money), a sum
which a 12-year-old boy can earn here. I remember
when I was a child in Ireland a farmer would consider
it a family disgrace to have a daughter of his marry a
Peeler, but I am sorry to say such is not the case now
in some parts of Ireland. In other parts of Ireland a
tinker is preferable to a Peeler, and there is no reason


why he should not be, because while the former is not a
traitor to the land that bore him, the latter is. The black-
smith, the shoemaker, the tailor, the coal heaver, the
chimney sweep or the baker can earn far more than these
despoilers of happy homes, and should be far preferable
to Irish girls; but the latter prefer the companionship of
the Peelers to that of the honest, industrious craftsmen
herein mentioned.

This preface is founded on facts which came under
my own observation during the past thirty years. One
class of people I must pay a well-deserved tribute to — the
National School Teachers of Ireland. I found them of
both sexes, with very few exceptions, all thoroughly
patriotic, and although they are government employees,
they reflect great credit on the Emerald Isle. I am sure,
from what came under my personal observation, they
would be foremost in the ranks of an Irish
brigade striking a blow for the freedom of
their native land; and I am sure the lady teachers
would not be found lacking in love of country
if the crisis came, for I have found some of the best
and bravest of our race among them during my travels
through Ireland in the past three years, as well as
thirty years ago. Takiag everything into consideration,
the hirelings and minions of the Crown are in the
minority in Ireland, and the toady, the lickspittle, the
sycophant, the shoneen, the gombeen, the bailiff and the
squireen are looked upon as copperheads or rattlesnakes
would be in America. They are creatures of the earth — ■
reptiles who are ashamed of the land that bore them, and
who are adding link after link to the chains that bind


her by perjury and jury-packing. They have, however,
thank God! no standing among the Irish race either at
home or abroad, especially in this great and glorious

I abhor the Irishman or Irishwoman, no matter where
their children are born, who does not bring them up to
hate the persecutor of their race, but unfortunately there
are too many who fail to do so in this great and glorious
republic. Too many children of Irish parents are too
fond of patronizing the Harrigan & Hart drama acted
by sixth-class actors, who caricature the ancestors of
these children and receive from them an unlimited
amount of applause. The children do this simply be-
cause their parents do not instruct them in their duty.
Why, I have known not long ago our people to be carica-
tured at so-called church fairs at Georgetown College,
D. C. Our people were made fun of also by certain

I have no use for the stage Irishman, nor for the
people that give him any encouragement. I have
every reason to hate the English Government; in fact,
my hatred for England is as great as my love for Ireland.
Through England's cursed and tyrannical laws I was
forced to leave home and become a wanderer, and
though I have lived here principally ever since,
under the greatest banner that ever floated over
any nation in the world, I still look upon Ireland as
my home, and although I am an American citizen, a title
I certainly feel proud of, and have complied with all the
necessary qualifications to make me such, I can never feel
that this is my country; and though I married a woman


born on American soil and who bore me eight children,
all of whom saw the dawn of light 'neath the starry
banner and are now living here, still I never can feel as
if this were my country.

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
'This is my own, my native land' ?"

Some fifteen years ago, about ten miles from the city
of Los Angeles, Cal., I was driving through the country,
and stopped at a farmhouse to inquire the way to an
adjoining town. As I alighted from the wagon a dog
in the yard began to bark, when suddenly the lady of the
house called Gladstone to *'lie down," but the more she
appealed to him the louder he barked. She dealt him,
however, a blow which brought him to his senses. I
thought she was an English woman, who, out of respect
for the ex-Premier, had named her dog after him.

"Madam," said I, "what an historical name you have
given that dog."

"Yes," said she, "I named him after the lowest cur dog
in all England."

"How is that?" asked I.

"Come into the house," said she, "and I will explain,
especially if you are an Irishman." I answered in the
affirmative. Then she ushered me into a very spacious
parlor, beautifully furnished.

My attention was at once attracted by a large picture
of Allen, Larkin and O'Brien; also one of O'Donovan
Rossa, with his hands manacled behind his back, lapping
his food like a beast.


"Look at those pictures there," said she. "Gladstone
murdered three of them and the other poor man might
just as well be dead, for not satisfied with their treat-
ment of him while in their clutches, the Gladstone gov-
ernment sent a hired assassin in the shape of a she-devil
to kill him." With these words the noble Irishwoman
commenced to cry, and I admit I had hard work to
suppress the tears.

I shook her very warmly by the hand, and left with a
good impression of Mrs. Lynch, for that was her name.
She was born in the County Kerry. If there were
more Lynches in America there would be fewer stage
Irishmen throughout this broad land.

Mrs. Lynch believes in physical force as the only
means by which the Irish people can ever obtain their
liberty. So does Luke Lynch, of Brooklyn ; his brother.
Father Lynch, of San Francisco; Miss Mary Lynch and
Miss Nellie Lynch, of Boston; Captain Peter M. Kelly,
of Chicago; Miss Margaret Barron and Miss Nora
Barron, of Ardmore; Miss Eleanor Burke, and last, but
not least, my life-long friend, that indomitable war-horse,
O'Donovan Rossa, and likewise Charley Doran, of the
Cove of Cork.

I am sorry, exceedingly so, to have to speak as I have
spoken about people born in Ireland, but I speak the
truth, knowing what I state to be facts, and to you who
have never seen the shores of poor old Ireland, I do not
want to fill your mind with a tissue of falsehood
from beginning to end, as others have time and again
done. Should any of you ever visit the land of my birth
you will, alas, find my words too true.


The syphilitic Sodomites and Hcentious, scorbutic de-
generates of the House of Lords have not one-half ounce
of pure blood in their mangy cesspools, and a decent
American would not give them access to his hogpen.
These are the pusillanimous creatures to whom such
sycophants as Astor cater — Astor, who renounced his
allegiance to the noblest flag under the canopy of heaven
for the most blood-stained one that ever floated in the
air and polluted everything within its reach, since the
day the Almighty God opened the Red Sea and drowned
the Egyptians, and did not leave one of them to tell the

One disgusting element I found in Ireland during my
three recent visits there, which I am proud to state is
confined to the shopkeeper and the sycophantic govern-
ment employee is : If either have a son, and a person
addressing him fails to use the word "master," both will
feel highly indignant.

Another element in Ireland is the wealthy farmer, or,
as he is called there, the gentleman farmer, who, I am
sorry to state, the more he prospers the more loyal he
becomes to the British Constitution. But thank God
there is an element in Ireland that supersedes all this
lickspittle element. It is the element made up of the
honest, hard-working laborer, the artisan, the mechanic,
the salesman, the farmer, the engine driver, the
baker, the tailor, the shoemaker and the craftsmen in
general. These are the men upon whom I would depend
to make Ireland a nation, and if ever an opportunity
presents itself my words will turn out to be true. At the
same time I do not include all the shopkeepers and so-


called gentlemen farmers in the disgusting element
already spoken of; indeed, there is nothing further from
my mind, for I have met some of both in my travels
through Ireland whom I found ready and willing to fol-
low in the footsteps of the illustrious Robert Emmet and
the fearless and undaunted Theobald Wolfe Tone.

How can Ireland expect any justice from the disciples
of the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah except at
the point of the sword?

The minions of the Crown in Ireland and the American
anglomaniac, whom I have mentioned in this preface, are
as obnoxious to the human race as the bubonic plague
would be to a mugwump meeting in Chicago, presided
over by a Goo-Goo divekeeper to keep Captain Peter
Kelly, of Newry, from being Chicago's next chief of
police, and the Honorable Seyport from going to Con-
gress by the popular vote.

Just imagine the Mad Mullah of India chasing the little
picayune Prince of Siam from post to pillar until he
reached the Sultan of Sulu's harem in the Philippine
Islands safe from the Mullah. If this Mullah could only
administer a few doses of the water cure to Joe Chamber-
lain and the English Secretary of War, he would be after
the Crown Prince's territory when he administers a
sound thrashing to Kitchener, the renegade Irishman.
The Mad Mullah must be something of a cross between
a Yap and a Cherokee Sooner, judging by the strategy
he uses in corraling the fourpenny soldiers in the service
of his Majesty, King Edward the Seventh.

Ireland need never expect anything from the
sycophantic element of the Irish race, not only in


America, but throughout the whole world. It is, alas, too
true that we have not only the sycophantic element
among the Irish race in America, but also in Ireland. I
have met J. P.'s in Ireland within the past two years who
were afraid to attend a lecture delivered by me in aid of
the St. Vincent de Paul Society, fearing they would lose
the tail end of their names — the poor, cringing, crawling
slaves upon whom England conferred titles.

Foremost among this class is a man with two tails to
his name, M.D. arid J. P. He is, I am told, a fortune
seeker, being a bachelor of sixty winters. He was afraid
of his own shadow during my sojourn in his neighbor-
hood a year or two ago, and whenever he spoke to me
he looked around to see if there were any of the toady
crowd in sight to report him to the Castle for being seen
in the company of a dynamiter. I cared very little for
his company, as I arrived at the conclusion long ago that
I can do without the society of such slaves, made so by
an additional tail to their names. "An American Citi-
zen" is all the title I want and ever look for, and I feel
prouder of it than all the J. P.'s or M.P.'s or any other
title that is conferred on my people by the shattered, de-
pleted and rotten British Constitution.

I am also sorry to have to state anent the reign of pros-
perity that prevails in Ireland, that riches make more
loyal subjects than poverty; at least I found it to be the
case during my last three visits to the land of my birth.

Before I close this preface I cannot conscientiously
do so without paying a well-deserved tribute to my coun-
trywomen in America as well as the world over. They,
in my opinion, are the chosen children of God. I have


met them in every sphere of hfe, from the drawing-room
to the kitchen, and have found them on all occasions
equal to the emergency. I have met Irish girls who
worked in the kitchen to earn an honest living, but,
thanks to God, they were pure as angels and spotless as
roses. I have seen some of the handsomest girls that
ever left Ireland engaged in the hardest kind of work.
A girl's poverty is the surest sign of her purity. Sin-
cerity and modesty are the finest traits a woman can
possess, and I found both these traits in the Irish girls
whom I have met during my thirty years of life in
America. I have found them the same in Mexico, South
America, British possessions, England, Scotland, Ireland
and Wales.

Every Irish mother, wherever she may be, should be
proud of her daughter, for she is noted for her virtue and
propriety; and her services are sought for in preference
to those of other nationalities.

The devotion of the Irish and Irish- American mothers
to their children is too well known the world over for
me to comment upon. Suffice it to say that I feel proud
of them, from the 'longshoreman's wife to the wife of the
judge on the bench, the former being just as high in my
estimation as the latter. I hold the Irish girl who scrubs
for an honest living in just as high esteem as the mil-
lionaire's daughter who lives in luxury and has a retinue
of servants, male and female, to wait upon her, and while
the former may not enjoy much life in a drawing-room,
a crown of glory awaits her in heaven. The Irish girl
working in America never need be ashamed of her
position in life; she may be poor, but she is honest and


pure, and may God reward her for her good quaHties,
if not in this world, in that bright celestial one beyond the
clouds, where sorrow is no more and where there are no
drawing-rooms to distinguish between the rich and the

I have seen my people in every walk of life all over the
world — in the pulpit, on the bench, on the stage, at the

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Online LibraryPatrick O'BrienBirth and adaption; → online text (page 1 of 13)