West Cork hero Michael Harrington was one of the Catalpa Six, a band of Irish convicts who made bid for freedom 150 years ago this month.

FOUND guilty of attempting to overthrow Queen Victoria’s authority in Ireland, Robert Cranston, Thomas Darragh, Michael Harrington, Thomas Hassett, Martin Hogan and James Wilson – all ‘military Fenians’, branded with the letter ‘D’ for deserter – were sentenced in 1867 to penal servitude for life, and transported like animals trapped in a vast cage, 11,000 miles to Western Australia.

After three months at sea, on January 9th 1868, Fremantle Prison towered menacingly above them.

Any disobedience from the newcomers meant death, warned Superintendent Doonan. 

Surrounded by deserts, bush, and shark-infested waters, there was no escape. Fremantle – nicknamed ‘The Establishment’ – was ‘the most remote, highest security penitentiary in all the colonies’.

Plan
In 1874, New York Herald journalist John Devoy received a letter from convict James Wilson, describing Fremantle as a ‘living tomb’, where ‘from young men we’ve become old ones’.

Devoy – who’d refused to sing ‘God Save the Queen’ as a schoolboy – had acted as Chief Organiser of Fenians in the British Army.

After the failed Dublin uprising of 1867, he’d served five years for treason, before settling in the USA.

John Devoy, c.1880, the Irishman who helped mastermind the rescue from his newspaper offices in New York (Wikipedia).

Determined to act, he approached the Clan-na-Gael, a group of Irish-American republicans, who pledged thousands of dollars – one delegate even mortgaging his home.

A whaling ship called the Catalpa was bought for $20,000: she would do just enough whaling to avoid speculation. 

Only Captain Graham S. Anthony would know the true plan: to lie off the Fremantle coast, so convicts could sail out to her and escape.

John Breslin, who’d already helped rescue Fenian leader James Stephens in Dublin, was sent ahead under the pseudonym ‘Mr James Collins’, a wealthy mining magnate seeking investment opportunities.

His dignified appearance put him beyond suspicion.

He’d be their man on the ground in Australia, making contact with the Fenians, noting weaknesses in prison security.

On the day planned, the six convicts must behave normally, leave all possessions behind, not say goodbye to anyone.

They must find a way to leave work and meet at the gum tree by the piggery at 8am.

Two traps would take them to an isolated beach, where they’d row out to the Catalpa. ‘Let no man’s heart fail him, for this chance can never occur again,’ declared Breslin.

Action

After eleven months, on March 28th 1876, the Catalpa eventually laid anchor off Bunbury, Western Australia.

Catalpa, the rescue ship (National Maritime Museum, Greenwich).

However, the imminent arrival of a British patrol boat meant postponing the escape until Easter. 

Good Friday was hopeless because prisoners would be in their cells; and on Holy Saturday, a storm prevented the Catalpa getting close to shore.

The operation would go ahead on Monday April 17th, when many officers would be away, attending Perth Regatta. 

That day, five of the six convicts got outdoor work planting potatoes, or painting –with Hogan daubing green paint on one of the Governor’s windowpanes!

The gatekeeper and a warder were tricked by a forged note, stating Wilson and Harrington were needed to move furniture.

Two other Irish prisoners severed telephone wires, cutting off Fremantle from the outside world.

At the appointed time, all the convicts were present by the gumtree.

Soon after 10am, they arrived at Rockingham beach.

Captain Anthony and his crew were waiting. Breslin scrawled a message to the British Governor, acknowledging their ‘atrocious and unpardonable crimes’ of ‘love of country’ and ‘hatred of tyranny’, stuffed it in a bottle and hurled it into the sea.

As the boat pulled away, two mounted troopers were sighted.

But by then, the convicts were beyond rifle range.
A sudden crash. Their mast had snapped and was being swept away.

The six bailed furiously as the boat took in water. They managed to retrieve the broken mast but another great wave would surely doom them.

A speck on the horizon: the Catalpa. Its sails quickly disappeared into the gloom.

Next morning, there she was again.

However, passenger steamer Georgette had also spotted her and was speeding out.

The convicts took down the sail, brought in the oars, and laid down ‘one on top of the other’.

The steamer passed within half a mile, perhaps mistaking them for a piece of timber.

At around 2pm they sighted the Catalpa again – so did the water police.

The six reached her first, and scrambled up the side.

Faced with scores of men brandishing rifles and harpoons, the police didn’t attempt to board. As they peeled away, Breslin blew them a farewell kiss.

That evening, the convicts feasted on chicken and lobster. But at first light, the Georgette reappeared, firing a warning shot across their bow.

However, Anthony had an ace up his sleeve: These were international waters. If the Georgette fired on the Catalpa, she would be ‘firing on the American flag’. She turned and left.

Home

Reaching New Bedford, Massachusetts, on August 24th 1876, the Catalpa was greeted with a 70-gun salute: one shot for every American state and Irish county.

Next evening, at Liberty Hall, American and Irish flags stood side by side.

On stage sat the six convicts, worn and tired, barely recognisable after their ordeal. Captain Anthony’s hair had turned grey, and he’d lost nearly three stone.

In Australia, an inquiry exonerated prison management and blamed the gatekeeper for the escape.

But by then, Superintendent Doonan had slit his throat. Security was tightened, and anyone caught singing a ditty to celebrate the escape faced flogging.

In Dublin, a torchlight procession was held in O’Connell Street. But none of the Catalpa Six – also known as the Wild Geese - ever returned to Ireland.

Goleen sculpture to the memory of Harrington

Michael Harrington, 1825-1886, Mountjoy Prison Photo Collection (Wikimedia Commons).

West Cork hero Michael Harrington 1825-86, was born at ‘The Orchard’, Goleen.

He served with distinction in the 61st Regiment of Foot, 1844 –.

He left for Calcutta in 1855, fought in the Punjab campaign, was decorated for bravery during Indian Mutiny, 1857.

He took the Fenian oath in January 1866 and began actively recruiting.

Harrington was arrested in Dublin on March 10th, 1866, for desertion and insurrection.

He was convicted on July 7th 1866 and condemned to penal servitude for life at Fremantle.

He was the oldest of the six who escaped on the Catalpa. He married and became a police officer in New York City.

A sculpture was unveiled in his memory in Goleen in 2015.