After the seizure of the Fenian newspaper, the _Irish People_, in the summer of 1865, the British Government made great efforts to capture a number of the leading members of the “brotherhood,” which had caused them so much trouble in Ireland. Among those who were thus “wanted,” there was nobody whose presence in a court of justice was felt to be more desirable than Mr. James Stephens, _alias_ Power, the chief centre, and indeed, prime mover of Fenianism. The available detective force of the three kingdoms were in active pursuit, and spies and informers were being anxiously interrogated concerning the antecedents and personal habits of their enterprising enemy. Wonderful were the tales told to the authorities of this Mr. Stephens. He had for years, ever since 1848, it was said, been carefully educating the Irish peasantry in the art and mystery of treason, having travelled for the purpose in all sorts of disguises through every town and hamlet of the country. At one time he would be met with in the dress of a parish priest; then he would hobble past police barracks on crutches; again, he would assume the character of a rollicking farm servant on his way to a country fair, and so on, _ad infinitum_. Whether all or any of these tales were true or not, it is certain that, by some means or other, the organization which the Government was determined to put down was not only widely spread but continually increasing, and had members in every corner of the land; and although the police felt quite certain that James Stephens had not left the country or ceased from his labours, he somehow or other did for months manage to baffle his innumerable pursuers.
The Government knew the man’s history. He had been connected with the abortive attempts at insurrection with Smith O’Brien in 1848; was present at the “battle” in the cabbage garden, and had escaped to the Continent, where he had for a year or two made a precarious living as a teacher of English and drawing. In Paris he had, with two friends, John O’Mahoney and Michael Doheny, invented and drawn up the plans for the conspiracy of which the world has since heard so much. The organization was to be called the “Fenian Brotherhood,” after the Fenians, a semi-mystical body of militia, celebrated for its deeds of chivalry and prowess in ancient Irish history. Among other modest achievements set down to the credit of these old warriors, in ballads still sung in the wilds of Connemara and Mayo, it is recorded that each of them singly was in the habit of conquering any nine men who had the temerity to engage with him in mortal combat; in fact, it appears not to have been allowed by the rules of the order for a private in that distinguished corps to fight less than nine ordinary mortals, save under exceptionally provoking circumstances. In fixing upon the title, “Fenian,” therefore, the conspirators showed an intimate knowledge of the weakness of thousands of their poorer fellow-countrymen, who are to this day as proud of the doings of the old Fenian heroes, as English schoolboys are of the self-reliance and wonderful performances of Robinson Crusoe.