Celtic Scribes: John Boyle O’Reilly

By Ray Cavanaugh

John Boyle O’Reilly was born in County Louth in 1844, entering life amidst the Great Famine. As the son of a schoolmaster, he was put on to book-learning at an early age. At age thirteen, he took an apprenticeship with a local newspaper.

At age seventeen, O’Reilly entered military life, joining such outfits as the 11th Lancashire Rifle Volunteers and Dublin’s 10th Hussars. Eventually desiring even more action, he joined the Irish Republican Brotherhood, where he became very active in recruiting potential comrades.

With Ireland’s widespread woes at the time, many were eager to enlist, and the once-secret Brotherhood grew too large to avoid the radar of British authorities. Raids, seizures, and informants became a commonplace. Many rebels were arrested, O’Reilly among them.

For his militant subversion, O’Reilly received the formidable sentence of twenty years in penal servitude. Having sweated two summers in British prisons, he then had the privilege of boarding the “last convict ship transported to Western Australia.”

Arriving Down Under, O’Reilly was given the bleak accommodations of Freemantle Prison and, worse yet, assigned to the task of carving highways beneath the merciless Aussie sun. Still somehow pleasant company, he serenaded his warden enough to be switched from shackled-laborer to prison accountant.

The sly inmate then worked his charm to the point where he became the warden’s personal messenger, even delivering messages to the warden’s family home. During one of these missions, he realized many-a-convict’s fantasy by seducing the warden’s daughter.

Though such conquest was undoubtedly precious, O’Reilly had really crossed a forbidden barrier; the ensuing stress plagued him so much that he attempted suicide. Subsequent to being saved by a fellow inmate, O’Reilly figured it was now time to try and scarper.

O’Reilly befriended local priest Father McCabe, and the two made certain plans. On February 18, 1869, messenger O’Reilly was running a bit late; he had, after all, met up with a group of Irish tinkers, rushed to a nearby river, boarded a well-concealed rowboat, and paddled into the Indian Ocean.

Having covered some twenty kilometers, the rowboat docked ashore the Leschenault Inlet, where O’Reilly and the tinkers hid in the sand dunes. Old friend Father McCabe had surreptitiously contracted the American whaler Vigilant to swing by and pick up O’Reilly & Co.

Catching sight of the Vigilant, the Irish natives jumped from their dunes and joyfully paddled towards the ship. However, the Vigilant captain apparently had a change of heart, for his ship completely ignored the incoming paddlers and sailed away beyond the horizon.

O’Reilly & Co. went back to hide in the dunes. Father McCabe, learning of the Vigilant’s double-cross, arranged for the American whaler Gazelle to consummate the original plan, which it did.

After stopovers at such exotic locations as Mauritius and St. Helena, O’Reilly switched to another American ship, which finally docked in Philadelphia. Soon relocating to Boston, he began working for the Pilot, a pro-Catholic newspaper which strongly resonated with Boston’s ever-growing Hibernian contingent.

The Pilot grew into one of the most widely-circulated U.S. papers, and O’Reilly became its preeminent voice, holding such positions as editor and part-owner. Along with these endeavors, he produced three volumes of verse, a novel, and some of the country’s earliest fitness literature.

O’Reilly’s poetry enjoyed immense popularity and was frequently recited at public occasions. Though future criticism would dismiss many of these poems as crowd-pleasing verse, O’Reilly’s later poetical efforts, such as his “Cry of the Dreamer,” have tended to remain in rather high critical esteem.

Reflecting on the drudgeries of penal servitude, O’Reilly spearheaded a campaign to procure a “whaling ship” for the purpose of rescuing his old compatriots, who were likely working on yet another Australian highway. The grand plan resulted in the storied Catalpa rescue.

Eventually, O’Reilly was battling a number of somatic problems, such as chronic insomnia. On one sleepless night in 1890, he indulged in his wife’s tranquilizing medicine, which contained the potent ingredient of chloral hydrate. He was dead by morning.

Many reported that O’Reilly’s cause of death was heart failure; there were whispers of suicide; the official conclusion entered the books as “accidental poisoning.”