firmly believed all Dublin—nay, all Ireland—
would rise when once they emerged from the
depôt, and their young Hannibal had shouted
in the streets the first "Erin go bragh!"
There was too much of Hamlet about Emmet
for such an enterprise as this; he had not the
experience of men, or the power of command, requisite to conduct such a revolt. He was too
sanguine, too credulous, too mild and tender-hearted,
too trustful, too easily deceived by promises
and pretences. He did not know how
the nation had suffered in '98, and how
humbled it was since the defeats of that year. He
was not one of those Cæsar-like beings who
over-rule other men's wills, and magnetise all with
whom they come into contact. Some of his
associates, fearing discovery, proposed at once
flying to arms; others thought action still premature.
Seven days were spent in these debates; at
last it was agreed to surprise the arsenals near
the city, and take the Castle by a coup de main.
As in '98, the mail-coaches were also to be
stopped on the same day, as a signal for the
country to rise.

Imagine the feelings of this man, to-day a
fugitive skulking from Major Sirr and his armed
agents, to-morrow, as he thought to be, the
patriot chief who was to restore liberty to Ireland!
To-morrow the lover of Sarah Curran would
clasp his beloved to his breast, and be greeted
by her father as a conqueror and a victor.
To-morrow England, France, Europe, the world,
would know his name—the good and free to
bless, the weak and wicked to curse and
execrate it. In such a fever of conflicting
passions, Emmet drew up an impetuous manifesto
from "The Provisional Government to the People
of Ireland." It concluded thus:

"Countrymen of all descriptions! let us act
with union and concert; all sects—Catholic,
Protestant, Presbyterian—are equally and
indiscriminately embraced in the benevolence of
our object; repress, prevent, and discourage
excesses, pillage, and intoxication; let each
man do his duty, and remember that, during
public agitation, inaction becomes a crime: be
no other competition known than that of doing
good; remember against whom you fight— your
oppressors for six hundred years; remember
their massacres, their tortures; remember your
murdered friends, your burned houses, your
violated females; keep in mind your country,
to whom we are now giving her high rank
among nations; and in the honest terror of
feeling, let us all exclaim, that as, in the hour
of her trial, we serve this country, so may God
serve us in that which will be last of all !"

Towards dusk on the 23rd of July Emmet
prepared for action. He put on a general's
uniform, green, laced with gold on the sleeves
and skirts, and with gold epaulettes, white
waistcoat and pantaloons, new boots, a
cocked-hat with a white feather, a sash, a
sword, and a case of pistols. About fifty
men had assembled outside the depôt;
to these men Emmet distributed pikes and
ammunition. In a moment, as if by enchantment,
all the streets and alleys leading to
Mass-lane and Thomas-street swarm with
ruffians clamouring for arms, filling cartouche-boxes,
pouches, bags, and pockets, loading
muskets, shaking links and torches, and waving
swords and green flags. Already the narrow
street near the rebel depôt is one close-wedged
bristling mass of pikes, and into the dusky
summer night air spring every now and then
signal-rockets, that burst into showers of starry fire.
The men are flushed with whisky, and make the
dingy houses ring with their shouts and shrieks
of delight as Emmet, dark and determined-looking
like the young Napoleon at the Bridge of
Lodi, slashes the air with his sword and waves
his white-plumed hat. In Dirty-lane the insurgents,
already numbering five hundred or more,
fire off their blunderbusses and pistols, heedless
of alarming the garrison they were intent
on surprising.

One of Emmet's own coadjutors describes,
this moment very vividly:

"About six o'clock, Emmet, Malachy, one or
two others, and myself, put on our green
uniform, trimmed with gold lace, and selected
our arms. The insurgents, who had all day
been well plied with whisky, began to prepare
for commencing an attack upon the Castle; and
when all was ready, Emmet made an animated
address to the conspirators. At eight o'clock
precisely we sallied out of the depôt, and when
we arrived in Thomas-street the insurgents
gave three deafening cheers.

"The consternation excited by our presence
defies description. Every avenue emptied its
curious hundreds, and almost every window
exhibited half a dozen inquisitive heads, while
peaceable shopkeepers ran to their doors, and
beheld with amazement a lawless band of armed
insurgents, in the midst of a peaceable city, an
hour at least before dark. The scene at first
might have appeared amusing to a careless
spectator, from the singular and dubious
character which the riot wore; but when the
rocket ascended and burst over the heads of the
people, the aspect of things underwent an
immediate and wonderful change. The impulse
of the moment was self-preservation; and those
who, a few minutes before, seemed to look on
with vacant wonder, now assumed a face of
horror, and fled with precipitation. The wish
to escape was simultaneous; and the eagerness
with which the people retreated from before us
impeded their flight, as they crowded upon one
another in the entrance of alleys, court-ways,
and lanes, while the screams of women and
children were frightful and heart-rending.

"' To the Castle!' cried our enthusiastic
leader, drawing his sword, and his followers
appeared to obey; but when we reached the
market-house, our adherents had wonderfully
diminished, there not being more than twenty
insurgents with us.

"'Fire the rocket!' cried Malachy.

"'Hold awhile,' said Emmet, snatching the
match from the man's hand who was about
applying it. ' Let no lives be unnecessarily lost.
Run back and see what detains the men.'

"Malachy obeyed; and we remained near