there were even greater fears concerning militia units, causing the cancellation of training camps in 1866 and 1867 just at the time the Curragh Commission met to decide the future of the camp. Devoy and others responsible for Fenian organization in the British army in Ireland had sympathizers amongst civilian staff in military establishments who identified likely allies within the ranks; these men, once they had been approached, were ‘recruited’ in the backrooms of public houses and the like into the ‘circles’ (cells) of the Fenian organization.
While the Fenians were busy, so too were the agents of British military intelligence – the spies and the informers. Fenian plans for attack were becoming clearer, and counter-plans were prepared. Court-martial became the first line of defence. Of the court-martials associated with Fenianism, six were in the Curragh. One Fenian plan that was uncovered involved seizing the Curragh in its entirety or, at the very least, burning it partially or completely. Plans to seize Victoria Barracks in Cork and the Royal Barracks in Dublin were foiled along with the prevention of the seizure of the Curragh Camp. The suppression of the Fenian Rising when it did eventually occur on 5 March 1867 was easily achieved. The British possessed an overwhelming force compared to the poorly armed Fenians, and the government concentrated additional troops in those areas where they considered it most likely that a rising would break out, notably in Dublin’s city centre in spite of a Fenian mobilization at Tallaght which was known to be a decoy intended to draw British forces from the city centre. The nation-wide rebellion that the Fenians had hoped for descended into a series of uncoordinated skirmishes which quickly petered out. British army units suspected of containing elements of ‘military Fenians’ had previously been dispatched to far corners of the empire, having been replaced by units from England. Whilst the immediate threat was removed, nevertheless, radical nationalist resentment against British rule remained.
An early photograph of the Curragh Camp (courtesy of the National Library of Ireland).
Countrywide, these ‘centres of sedition’ were countered by local garrisons reinforced by the establishment of ‘flying columns’ which could be dispatched at short notice to areas of unrest; two such ‘flying columns’ were based in the Curragh. Each ‘column’ contained four companies of infantry (200 men), a troop of cavalry (thirty ‘sabres’) and a division of artillery (two guns and crew), all augmented with detachments of engineers, medics and members of the army service corps. The ‘disturbed districts’ were reached by means of the railways, which proved to be an effective method of moving troops directly to where they were needed. In this regard, the Curragh was an ideal internal point of embarkation. From the Curragh railway siding, troops from regiments stationed there or from regiments which had arrived overnight from England could be speedily and secretly conveyed to wherever they were needed. Similarly, troops travelling from and to Dublin were conveniently conveyed via the nearby station at Newbridge. The Curragh thus acted as an effective hub for receiving, dispatching and relaying troops to neighbouring counties and beyond. Throughout this period of unrest the Curragh garrison was required to assist in ‘putting down’ any challenge to the British occupation of Ireland. For the loyal citizens of the surrounding countryside, the Curragh Camp itself came to symbolize continuity and security, its presence signalling the British intent to continue ruling Ireland. The camp quickly came to stand as a symbol of British imperialism.
The Cardwell Reforms
The army of the British Empire, which was such an integral part of Victorian culture, witnessed, in the wake of the Crimean War, a changed, more publicly prominent perspective and a greater appreciation of the role and involvement of the ordinary soldier in war. This was unprecedented. The new focus highlighted a more sensitive understanding of the soldier’s plight in the often pitiful circumstances in which he found himself, and it caught the popular mood in a manner never before seen. The courage and endurance of the ordinary British rank and file were championed in print, poetry and painting.
Among the dispatches from the front in Crimea, those of Irishman William Howard Russell (1820–1907) in The Times had a major impact on the public imagination, bearing witness as they did to the appalling conditions, including cold, hunger and disease (mostly cholera) faced by British soldiers in the field. These and other privations, particularly during the harsh winter of 1854–55, amidst the other chaotic conditions of war, made the authorities, politicians and the public aware of the need for change. And not only newspapers, but popular poetry such as Tennyson’s famous lines, conveyed the fixed determination and matter-of-fact stoicism of the soldiers’ previously unsung heroism. Paintings as well, notably those by Lady Butler (Elizabeth Thompson, 1846–1933) were hugely popular, particularly ‘The Roll Call’ (1874), a sombre picture of Grenadier Guards mustering in the cold grey light after an engagement, which depicted the condition of the surviving soldiers in the aftermath of battle and illustrated what it was like to be an infantryman bearing the physical and emotional marks of conflict. This theme is repeated in her later paintings, and she is quoted in Paul Usherwood and Jenny Spencer-Smith’s biography of her as saying, ‘Thank God, I never painted for the glory of war, but to portray its pathos and heroism.’ (She died at Gormanston Castle, Co Meath, on 2 October 1933 and is buried at Stamullen graveyard nearby.)
While the combined efforts of people such as William Russell in print, Lord Tennyson and Rudyard Kipling in poetry and Lady Butler in paint brought an awareness and understanding of war as witnessed from the viewpoint of the ordinary soldier into the public consciousness in an unprecedented manner, what was also revealed was that forty years of peace (since Waterloo in 1815) had done little to prepare the British army for the experiences of the Crimean War with its formal pitched battles, both minor and major, at Alma, Balaclava, Inkerman and Sevastopol. There had been neither progress nor modernization, senior officers having grown old, complacent and uncritical. Without wishing to present the conduct of the Crimean War as the totally calamitous disaster of popular repute, it is impossible to ignore the ample evidence of critical shortcomings. A run-down and scandalously neglected army had taken to the field. The British war machine that had won brilliant victories over Napoleon and his generals had long since disappeared. Certainly, the army had managed to win a series of campaigns – Ceylon, Burma, northern India, China, Afghanistan, South Africa, New Zealand (1845) and the First Sikh War (1849) – as well as the individual battles of the Crimean War, but the manner and cost of their waging were unacceptable. The old ways needed progressive metamorphosis and much modernization, and now there was public demand for such changes.
Most likely the maladministration and incompetence engendered by decades of neglect would have continued if not for Germany’s stunning victory over France in the Franco-Prussian War (1870–71), however. Prussia’s clinically professional soldiers, with modern weaponry, had swept aside the more ‘traditional’ army of France, and now Britain and Ireland faced, at least in theory, the possibility of a German invasion. The conservative philosophy of reliance on ‘drill and discipline’ in the ranks, led by officers who were regarded as ‘gentlemen soldiers’, was finally recognized as something that belonged to the past, ill-fitted for changing military circumstances.
The British army in the Crimea, at least 40 per cent of which was made up of Irishmen, consisted of one cavalry and five infantry divisions, all of which were under strength. It was led by men far too old for active service, who were inexperienced at command in war. The fossilization of military thought, the economies which were put in place and the remarkably inefficient system of decentralized higher command had all contributed to the muddle and the madness which characterized the campaign.
Divided command (which is no command), with centres of control separated from one another, saw a structural and organizational disconnect resulting in administrative chaos in medical provision, feeding, supply and transport. Crucial logistical supplies were left aboard ships, those in authority either unaware that they existed or not bothering to enquire about them. Two tried and trusted units critical to battle support, the wagon train, responsible for conveying supplies wherever they were needed, and the staff corps, made up of officers who analysed courses
