During the Napoleonic wars scores of military spies were sent from England and France, and most of them performed their work so well that posterity has not even been given the benefit of their names. Perhaps the most industrious of these was a man who was simply known as “O.” He was constantly in communication with the English Government and he kept Pitt, the English Prime Minister, informed of the movements of certain Irishmen who had left their own country to enlist under the banner of Napoleon.

One of the most conspicuous of these was General Napper Tandy, who urged upon the Man of Destiny the advisability of attacking England by making a descent upon the coast of Ireland. For more than a half-century the greatest mystery hovered about the name and the identity of General Napper Tandy. But it was finally cleared up through the persistence and the painstaking efforts of William J. Fitzpatrick, the Irish historian, but only after he had secured the permission of the English Government to make an examination of the secret archives of Dublin Castle.

As a result of that, we now know that Tandy was an adventurous soul who was willing to fight at the drop of a hat. He is described in Government reports as an “arch rebel,” and it is certain that he took part in various Irish uprisings against the English Government. He went over to France about 1796 and identified himself with Napoleon. He was a brave man, with much knowledge of military strategy and undoubtedly made an impression upon one who was regarded as the greatest military strategist of his day.

That Napoleon thought well of the proposed invasion of Ireland is proven by his negotiations with Thomas Addis Emmet. The correspondence of the great Corsican makes that fact clear. But Emmet accused him of coldness and indecision on the Irish program, because, instead of going to Ireland in 1798, he changed his plans and went to Egypt.

However, there was never any doubt about the plans of General Tandy, and the manner in which he carried them out is part of the secret history of the times. A meeting to arrange the details was held in Paris, and was attended by Messrs. Blackwell, Morres, Tandy and Corbett. Unfortunately for them, there was another person present, and that was the English spy who became known later from the fact that he signed all of his communications to the English Government with the letter “O.”

Mr. Fitzpatrick, after the most exhaustive researches, is convinced that this spy was a man named Orr, who had been on Pitt’s payroll for a long time. He had been a thorn in the side of Napoleon for years, and even before the meeting which Tandy held in Paris had sent a note to his chief in which he said:

“The grand object of the French is, as they term it themselves, London. Delanda Carthago is their particular end; once in England, they think they would speedily indemnify themselves for all their expenses and recruit their ruined finances.”

It is certain that “O” was not only present at the meeting to arrange for the expedition into Ireland, but that he made suggestions regarding the details of that historic trip. It is interesting to know that before the ship set sail full particulars of it had been sent by “O” to his English employers. He even goes so far as to make sport of the finances of the French nation at that time.

“Three generals are to go out on the little expedition,” he writes, “and all the money they can muster between them is thirty louis d’or. One of them, to my certain knowledge, has but five guineas in all.”

Tandy sailed from Dunkirk in the French ship Anacreon, which was well stocked with a store of ordnance, ammunition, saddles and accouterments. He was accompanied by a large staff including Corbett and Blackwell. One of his aides-de-camp was Orr, the spy, who kept at his elbow constantly, and learned all of his most secret plans and hopes. Before the gallant ship raised anchor there was a conference in the cabin concerning the most desirable landing place. Maps of Ireland were consulted, and it was finally decided that the safest, if not the most secluded stretch of country, was along the coast of Donegal. General Napper Tandy was in fine fettle. He wore a most gorgeous uniform with gold lace and brass buttons, and altogether made an impressive appearance. Like many brave men, he was a dandy in dress and manner, and when not fighting, devoted much time to his toilet. The journey to Ireland was comparatively uneventful, but all of those aboard the Anacreon were glad to see the shores of the Green Isle.

Tandy was very much concerned regarding another expedition which had set sail for Ireland about a week before the departure of his own party. This was in charge of General Humbert, and was expected to clear the way for the Tandy invasion. As the ship approached the shore General Tandy hoisted a green flag at the masthead of the Anacreon. It had on it the words, “Erin go Bragh,” and was intended as a signal to the Irishmen who were to join in an attack on the British. He also had with him for distribution, printed copies of a proclamation addressed to the people of Ireland. It was headed “Liberty or Death,” and contained a drawing of the Irish harp and the cap of liberty, and began with the words: “Horrid crimes have been perpetrated in your country, your friends have fallen a sacrifice to their devotion to your cause, and their shadows are around you and call for vengeance.” Little did Tandy imagine that copies of these proclamations were already in the hands of the British, and that the spy who had forwarded them was then on the ship with him. If Orr felt any apprehension he did not show it in his manner, yet he must have known that if discovered he would have been hanged to the mast arm of the vessel.

Tandy landed in company with General Ray, a French soldier who had seen service with Napoleon. In a short time they were surrounded by a large number of people who looked upon the invaders with amazement and alarm. To them General Ray made a grandiloquent speech, in the course of which he said:

“The soldiers of the Great Nation have landed on your coast well supplied with arms and ammunition of all kinds, and with artillery worked by those who have spread terror amongst the ranks of the best troops in Europe, headed by French officers; they come to break your fetters and restore you to the blessings of liberty. General Napper Tandy is at their head; he has sworn to lead them on to victory or die. Brave Irishmen! The friends of liberty have left their native soil to assist you in reconquering your rights; they will brave the dangers, and glory at the sublime idea of cementing your happiness with their blood.”

General Tandy made his headquarters with Mr. Foster, who lived near the coast of Donegal, and after partaking of refreshments he said to that gentleman:

“What news have you got to give me regarding the expedition that landed last week?”

“Not very good—for you at least,” said Foster, who was an ardent Royalist. “Part of the French troops landed at Killala, and after winning the battle of Castlebar have been finally compelled to capitulate to Lord Cornwallis.”

“I cannot believe it,” exclaimed Tandy.

“It is true,” was the grim reply, “whether you believe it or not.”

In order to assure himself of the truthfulness of the intelligence, General Tandy took forcible possession of the Rutland postoffice, which was kept by Mr. Foster’s sister. He opened the newspapers, and to his dismay found that all he had been told was perfectly correct. He realized that the usefulness of his own expedition was destroyed. Indeed, he learned further that a large body of British troops was already on its way to Rutland to capture the latest invaders. Under the circumstances the only thing left for him to do was to retire with as little loss as possible.

The thoughtfulness of this soldier of fortune was illustrated by the fact that he wrote an official letter, signed and sealed, exonerating Foster from blame for not having dispatched his mail bags. He testified that, being in temporary want of accommodation, he was obliged to put Citizen Foster under requisition, and to place sentinels around the island.

It is also a curious fact that he and his officers paid for everything they took, including two pigs and a cow. General Ray, when leaving, removed a gold ring from his finger and presented it to Mrs. Foster as a token of fraternity. Finally, this arch rebel, after paying all of his obligations, discharged a cannon as a farewell note to the people of Donegal.

The Anacreon had scarcely started on her way when Foster dispatched two messengers to the proper authorities in the hope that part of the British fleet might intercept the invaders. This was not so easy as it looked, because Tandy had already told Foster that they had met several English cruisers on their way to Ireland and had outsailed them all. The Anacreon proved to be equally successful on its return voyage, capturing two English ships near the Orkneys after a stiff engagement, and finally landing Tandy and his associates in Norway. They landed at Bergen, and after suffering many trials and tribulations, sought to reach France by land. The cold became so intense that people were found frozen to death at the gate of Hamburg. Weary and footsore, Tandy arrived there at twilight on November 22, 1798.

There he was met by a man named Turner who was really a spy associated with Orr, but seeming to recognize in him a fellow Irishman, Tandy at once gave him his confidence and eagerly accepted an invitation from him to take supper. It has been said, but with how much truth cannot be vouched for, that Turner was one of those who was compelled to fly from his native land on account of the “Wearing of the Green.” At all events there was a verse in the popular ballad which ran thus:

Little did Tandy suspect that when he accepted this invitation to supper he was walking into a trap that had been set for him. Tandy and his fellow officers were lodged at an inn in Hamburg called the American Arms, and after finishing their meal they retired to their respective rooms. Tandy occupied himself in writing letters. He had many reports to make and explanations concerning the failure of his expedition. He stayed up nearly all night, and about five o’clock in the morning was startled by a loud tapping at his bedroom door. He opened it and an officer walked in followed by Sir James Crawford, British Minister at Hamburg. The officer turned to the Irishman and said:

“I would like to have a look at your passport.”

Tandy, although taken by surprise, was perfectly composed.

“If you will wait a moment,” he said, “I will get it for you.”

Turning around and going over to his trunk he lifted the lid very carefully and took out a pistol which he pointed at the soldier, exclaiming as he did so:

“This is my passport!”

The officer, who had the courage of his convictions, made a rush at him and succeeded in deflecting the aim of the pistol. The next moment the guards rushed in and secured Tandy. Before daylight he and his associates were handcuffed and confined in the local prison by order of Sir James Crawford.

A few hours after the arrest of the culprits Monsieur Maragan, the French resident, wrote to the Senate at Hamburg claiming Tandy and his colleagues as French citizens and threatening to leave the place unless they were released. The British minister opposed this demand very forcibly, and, needless to say, carried his point. The French chargé d’affaires noticed that Tandy was in very poor health and it is said that he offered a large sum to the officer of the guard to permit the Irishman’s escape. But the influence of the British minister was strong enough to overcome all obstacles from the French side of the house. The action of the Senate at Hamburg in giving Tandy and his colleagues over to the British created quite a sensation, and was the cause of a prolonged controversy.

That Tandy suffered dreadfully from his confinement is proven by many letters and papers that have since come to light. His sufferings in prison he said were so severe that life was a burden, and more than once he prayed to be led out on the ramparts and shot. John Philpot Curran, writing of his sufferings, says:

“He was confined in a dungeon little larger than a grave. He was loaded with irons; he was chained by an iron that communicated from his arm to his leg and that was so short as to grind into his flesh. Food was cut into shapeless lumps and flung to him by his keepers as he lay on the ground, as if he had been a beast; he had no bed to lie on, not even straw to coil himself up on, if he could have slept.”

Corbett, who was one of the prisoners, gives details of the detention which are hardly less painful.

“What happened to me,” he writes, “would have naturally discouraged and prevented me from making any new attempts; nevertheless, I managed to correspond with my two companions in misfortune; and we all three stood so well with our guards, the greater number of whom we had gained, that we resolved to arm ourselves and place ourselves at their head to deliver Tandy, who was in another prison, and afterwards to repair to the house of the French ambassador. Our measures were so well taken that we hoped this time at least to recover our liberty in spite of the impediments which fortune might place in our way. But the same traitor who had formerly deranged my plan discovered all to the English minister Crawford, who immediately gave orders that our guard should be changed and even that those of the different posts of Hamburg should be doubled, which continued even to our departure. Such was the result of the last struggle we made to obtain our liberty at Hamburg.”

Finally at midnight on September 29, 1799, after ten months’ detention, Tandy and his companions were taken from prison and put on an English frigate. As they were leaving, Tandy said to the officer in charge:

“What right did you have to arrest us? You are surely not ignorant of the fact that we were French officers.”

The man in charge shrugged his shoulders.

“I merely fulfilled the orders of the minister from England.”

By this time France was venting its wrath unreservedly. It denounced the conduct of Hamburg to all states, allied and neutral. It compelled all French consular officers to quit the offending territory and demanded that every agent of Hamburg residing in France should leave in twenty-four hours. The Senate of Hamburg now expressed regret at the occurrence and wrote in this vein to the French authorities.

“Your letter, gentlemen,” replied Napoleon, “does not justify you. You have violated the laws of hospitality, a thing which never happened among the most savage hordes of the desert.”

A deputation from the Senate of Hamburg arrived at the Tuileries to make a public apology to Napoleon. Once again he expressed his indignation, and when the envoys pleaded national weakness, he exclaimed:

“Well, and had you not the resources of weak states; was it not in your power to let them escape?”

As a result of the incident Napoleon laid a fine of 4,500,000 francs on Hamburg. The payment of this large sum appeased the wrath of the Man of Destiny and also, it is slyly hinted by his secretary, helped to pay Josephine’s debts.

In the meanwhile Tandy and his companions had arrived in England. A military escort accompanied them to Rochester and thence over Blackfriars Bridge up Ludgate Hill to Newgate. One of the English newspapers of that time thus describes the event:

“Had Bonaparte and his staff been sent here by Sir Sydney Smith, they could not have excited more curiosity than Tandy and his companions. A vast concourse of people gathered at the landing place and followed the prisoners and their escort to the garrison gates where a new guard was assembled; and so from stage to stage to the end of the journey everybody, old and young, male and female, was anxious to get a peep at this wonderful man now become, from the hope and perverseness of Ministers, a new bone of contention among the Powers of Europe.

“Napper Tandy is a large, big-boned, muscular man, much broken and emaciated. His hair is quite white from age, cut close behind into his neck, and he appears much enervated. This is indeed very natural if it be considered that he is nearly seventy years of age and has just suffered a long and rigorous confinement, his mind a constant prey of the most painful suspense. He wore a large friar’s hat, a long silk black greatcoat and military boots, which had a very ‘outre’ effect.

“Of Blackwell and Morres, the latter seemed to be five and thirty. They are two tall, handsome looking men. They wore military dress and had a very soldier like appearance. The first named is a man of very enterprising genius, about the middle size and apparently not more than four or five and twenty, and has the look of a foreigner.”

Eventually Tandy and his companions were removed to Ireland and were placed at the bar of the King’s Bench, when the Attorney General prayed that sentence of death should be passed upon them. The case was argued for several days and finally Lord Kilwarden ruled that Tandy should be discharged. But he was scarcely given his liberty when he was again arrested in the district where, two years before, he had made a hostile descent from France. He lay in the jail there for seven months, during which time great efforts were made to insure the conviction of what was regarded as a very dangerous character.

Tandy, finding the evidence against him overwhelming, admitted the truth of the indictment and was sentenced to die on the 4th of the following May. Meanwhile Napoleon, on his return from Egypt, claimed Tandy as a French general and held an English prisoner of equal rank a hostage for his safety. At this stage of the historic affair it was not quite so clear that the English had a legal claim to the life of a man who wore the uniform of a French general and who had been arrested under such peculiar circumstances. A pardon was eventually made out for him on condition of banishment to Botany Bay. He indignantly refused it, but was finally induced to accept it on the ground that all that was required was merely the name of transportation, and that if he pleased, it might appear to the world as if he had made his escape at sea.

Napper Tandy arrived at Bordeaux on the 14th of March, 1802, where he was received with military honors. Bordeaux was illuminated and the old rebel was promoted to the rank of a general of division. In the midst of his vindication, as he termed it, he read with real horror a speech of Pelham’s in Parliament saying that he owed his life to the useful information and discoveries he had given to the British Government. Instantly he addressed a letter to Pelham branding the statement as audacious and false. Mr. Elliott repeated in Parliament the taunt cast by Pelham, and spoke of Tandy’s ignorance and insignificant birth. Tandy immediately challenged him to a duel, saying: “A French officer must not be insulted with impunity, and you, as well as the country which gave me birth and that which has adopted me, shall find that I will preserve the honor of my station.”

When eight weeks had elapsed and Elliott had failed to reply, Tandy at once proclaimed him “A calumniator, liar and poltroon.”

The most curious part of the whole business is that General Tandy never knew that he had been betrayed by a spy who was serving under him as an aide-de-camp. His private character was as clean as a hound’s tooth, a fact that led one of his friends to say that “it furnished no ground to doubt the integrity of his public one.”

But his experiences in and out of prison undermined his health, and after a lingering illness, he died at Bordeaux in 1803. By one of the curious decrees of destiny George Orr, the spy, lived and prospered long after Tandy’s death, and, if rumor be correct, managed to accumulate not only English but French gold!