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1 Henry Joy McCracken - contributed by Vince Hearns
2. Henry Joy McCracken - contributed by Vince Hearns
Foreword
by Vince Hearns:
I got this song from my Belfast friend Davy when we lived in a hostel
in Co. Clare in the 1960's. Henry Joy McCracken was born a Presbyterian
in Belfast in 1767. By occupation he managed a cotton mill. He was a founder
member of The Belfast City Branch of The United Irishmen and he later
was to become a member of the Ulster Directory. He founded the first Sunday
school in his native city and was well known for preaching political and
religious liberty. In 1795, in the company of Wolfe Tone, Robert Simms,
Samuel Nelson and Thomas Russell at the site of MacArt's Fort on Cave
Hill, outside Belfast they swore the oath "Never to desist in our
efforts until we have subverted the authority of England over our country
and asserted our independence".
Following a year of imprisonment in Dublin's Kilmainham Jail, Henry Joy
planned and led the 1798 rebellion in Co. Antrim. Following the defeat
of his army at Antrim Town he retreated to the Slemish mountains and was
planning to escape to the USA when he was captured. He was court-martialled
and sentenced to death, the sentence was carried out at the Belfast Market
House on June 17th 1798. His sister Mary Ann accompanied him from the
prison cell to the gallows.
Henry Joy McCracken - Antrim
An
Ulster man I'm proud to be from Antrim's glens I come,
And though I've laboured by the sea I have followed fife and drum.
I have heard the martial tramp of men, I've seen them fight and die,
Ah lads I well remember when I followed Henry Joy.
I
dragged my boat unto the land and I hid my sails away,
I hung my nets upon a tree and I scanned the moonlit bay.
The boys were out, the Redcoats too, I kissed my wife goodbye,
And in the shade of a green wood glade I followed Henry Joy.
Oh
lads 'twas Ireland's cause we fought for side and home we bled.
Though our hearts were true, our numbers were few and five to one lay
dead.
There was many a lassie mourned her lad, and mother mourned her boy,
For youth was strong in that battle throng that followed Henry Joy.
In
Antrim Town the tyrant stood, he tore our ranks with ball,
But with a cheer and a pike to clear, we swept them o'er the wall
Our pikes and sabres flashed that day, we won, but lost. Oh why?
No matter lads, I fought beside and shielded Henry Joy.
In
Belfast town they have built a tree and the Redcoats muster there.
I saw him come as the beat of a drum, rang out on the barrack square.
He kissed his sister and went aloft he bid his last goodbye,
My God he died, and I turned and I cried. they have murdered Henry Joy.
Henry
Joy McCracken - foreword Vince Hearns
This is a second song about Henry Joy that I got from the singing of my
friend Tim Lyons when we lived in Co. Clare. Tim subsequently recorded
this song, which was written I believe by T.P. Cuming, although some ascribe
its composition to P.J.McCall also. The song is the expression of the
sentiments of Mary Bodle by whom McCracken fathered a child.
It
was on the Belfast mountains I heard a maid complain
And she vexed the sweet June evening with her heart-broken strain,
Saying "Woe is me, life's anguish is more than I can dree,
Since Henry Joy McCracken died on the gallows tree.
"At
Donegore he proudly rode and he wore a suit of green,
And brave though vain at Antrim his sword flashed lightening keen,
And when by spies surrounded his band to Slemish fled,
He came unto the Cavehill for to rest his weary head.
"I
watched for him each night long as in our cot he slept,
At daybreak to the heather to McArt's fort we crept,
When news came from Greencastle of a good ship anchored nigh,
And down by wee fountain we met to say good-bye.
'He says, "My Love be cheerful for tears and fears are vain,"
He says, "My love be hopeful our land shall rise again,"
He kissed me ever fondly; he kissed me three times o'er,
Saying, "Death shall never part us my love forever more."
'That
night I climbed the Cavehill and watched till morning blazed,
And when its fires had kindled across the loch I gazed,
I saw an English tender at anchor off Garmoyle,
But alas! No good ship bore him away to France's soil.
And
twice that night a tramping came from the old shore road,
'Twas Ellis and his yeomen, false Niblock with them strode,
My father home returning the doleful story told,
"Alas," he says, " young Harry Joy for fifty pound is sold."
"And
is it true," I asked her, "Yes it is true," she said,
"For to this heart that loved him I pressed his gory head,
And every night pale bleeding his ghost comes to my side,
My Harry, my dead Harry, comes to his promised bride."
Now
on the Belfast Mountains this fair maid's voice is still,
For in a grave they laid her on high Carnmoney Hill,
And the sad waves beneath her chant a requiem for the dead,
The rebel wind shrieks freedom above her weary head.
