THE FENIAN RAID IN CANADA.

Evening Star, Volume VIII, Issue 2260, 4 August 1870, Page 2

THE FENIAN RAID IN CANADA.

The Argus lias a capital article devoted to the doings of those heroes who were to capture Canada or die—neither of which feats they were able to accomplish : Starr’s raid appears to have been the first in point of time, and the most disastrous in result. The Fenians in this instance had more pluck than their leader. When he turned tail, they maintained their ground for a while ; but the rifle brigade, with Prince Arthur among them, peppered the rapscallions, so vigorously, that they broke in disorder, and fled with precipitation. One officer, whose green plume was as conspicuous in flight as Murat’s white one used to be when the great sabreur was leading a charge, is described as emulating an antelope in speed and a kangaroo in agility ; so that he made himself “almighty scarce” with the rapidity of “greased lightning.” The field of battle a two-acre paddock—was bestrewn with the impedimenta of the fugitives. Even their whiskey flasks were abandoned ; and, for the first time perhaps in the history of warfare, the vanquishing force was checked in pursuit of the flying enemy by an irresistible impulse to indulge in roars of laughter at the ludicrous figures cub by the men who were decamping with such a deplorable lack of dignity, followed by the derisive cheers of the brave and loyal Canadians. The second engagement seems to have occurred three or four days later. The Fenians were commanded by General O’Neill, a sort of General Napoleon, mounted on a red horse,' and addicted to mock heroics Imitating Bonaparte’s well-known speech about the forty centuries looking down upon his troops from the Pyramids, ho exclaimed : “ Soldiers, this is the advance guard of the Irish-American army for the liberation of Ireland from the yoke of the opprcsser. For your own country you now enter that of the enemy. The eyes of your countrymen are upon you. Forward, march !” And they marched. They went, and saw, and “ skedaddled.” The eyes of their countrymen had not the slightest effect upon them. They thought a great deal more of the musketry blazing away in front of them, than of the glances of Kathleen Muvo irneen or Eily O’Connor on the other side of the Atlantic. The “yoke of the oppressor” was a figure of speech, but a rifle bullet was a solid and penetrating fa ;t. And, therefore, notwithstanling the assurance given by Captain William Cronan, who hailed from the green hills of Vermont, that Ireland might depend upon himself and |his followers to do their duty, they were no sooner exposed to fire than they were panic-stricken, and scattered like wildfire. As for General O’Neill, in the words of Bon Gaultier—- “ He smiled—with frenzy wild -his very beard waxed blue, His shirt it could not hold him - so wratliy riled he grew.” In order to encourage his men by an exhibition of his valor, he had been “ concealed behind a house ” while the firing was going on, and rushed forth the moment they were in full retreat. “ Men of Ireland,” said he, “I am ashamed of you. You have acted disgracefully. ” To be sure they had. They had gone out to be shot at, while he sheltered himself from danger, behind a substantial screen. “But,” he went on to say, “you have another chauce of showing whether you are cravens or not. Comrades, I will led you again, and if you will not follow me I will go with my officers, and die in your front. I leave you now under command of Boyle and O’Reilly.’! _ - ' General O’Neill, however, did not die, in their front or anywhere else. He is probably reserved for a different fate. After skirmishing for an hour, he drew off his forces,' and returned to the bouse which had afforded him such opportune shelter. Here there occurred a scene which, whether as regards dramatic situation or dialogue, would he invaluable to a playwright. General Foster, district marshal of the United States, was waiting for the “bould soldier boy,” and arrested him: — “I shall resist,” exclaimed General O’Neill. “ It wfll be useless, sir,” replied General Foster. “ Bat, sir, I am armed.” “So am I,” said the general. “John, open that carriage door. Now, Mr O’Neill, get in, or I will throw you iu. I am going

to take you to St. Albans, right through the midst of your men, and if you make the slightest outcry I will shoot you dead. There is a touch of genteel comedy in that, “John, open the carriage door,” worthy of Mf Charles Matthews himself; while the injunction, “Get in, or I will throw you in,” recalls to mind Sir Charles Coldstream’s unceremonious dealings with Ironhrace, the blacksmith. Nor is the account of General O’Neill s ludicrous collapse exaggerated or distorted by reaching us through a Canadian channel. We derive our report of the matter from the weekly edition of the New York Herald, a paper which has been coquetting with the Fenians in America for some years _ past, and which omits no opportunity of girding at Great Britain, or of declaring that Canada is longing for annexation to the United States.