Latest / The History of Ireland: Rebellion, Empire, and Independence — Fexingo History / The Wexford Rebellion of 1798: Priest, Prophet, and Pike
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked about the United Irishmen and Wolfe Tone's vision of a non-sectarian republic. But the actual rebellion in 1798 wasn't one single rising — it was a series of local explosions, and the biggest, bloodiest one happened in County Wexford. It's a story that's part heroism, part horror, and it left a scar that still feels raw. Luna: Wexford — that's where the priests led the rebels, right? Lucas: Exactly. The most famous figure is Father John Murphy, a Catholic priest from Boolavogue. When the rebellion broke out in May 1798, the government was rounding up suspected United Irishmen, and in Wexford the people were terrified. Murphy wasn't a radical — he was a quiet parish priest — but when soldiers started burning houses and flogging locals, he decided to fight. Lucas: On May 26, he led a small group of men to attack a party of yeoman cavalry at Oulart Hill. They had nothing but pikes — long poles with blades strapped on — but they caught the soldiers off guard and killed over a hundred. That victory sparked a massive uprising. Within a week, Murphy had an army of maybe 15,000 men, mostly farmers and labourers. Luna: Fifteen thousand? That's enormous. And they fought with pikes against muskets and cannon? Lucas: Right. And they won several battles through sheer numbers and fury. They captured the town of Wexford itself, and set up a short-lived republic. The leader they chose was Bagenal Harvey — a Protestant landlord and United Irishman, known as 'Beau' Harvey. He tried to impose discipline, but the rebellion was already slipping into something darker. Lucas: Because alongside the patriotic fervour, there was an explosion of sectarian violence. Catholic rebels murdered Protestant prisoners — the worst was the massacre at Scullabogue, where they burned over a hundred men, women, and children in a barn. Lucas pauses. It's a hard part of the story. The rebels had been told that the Orangemen were coming to slaughter them, and fear turned into atrocity. Luna: That's the Wexford Terror, isn't it? I've heard the term. Lucas: Yes. The rebels also killed prisoners at Carnew and other places. It was a brutal war on both sides — government forces executed thousands after the rebellion, hanging suspected rebels without trial. But the Scullabogue burning became a rallying cry for loyalists, and it stained the memory of the Wexford rising. Lucas: The turning point came at Vinegar Hill, outside Enniscorthy. On June 21, General Gerard Lake led about 13,000 British troops against the rebel camp on the hill. The rebels had cannon, but they were poorly trained. The battle was a disaster — thousands died, and the survivors scattered. Father Murphy escaped, but was captured a few days later, stripped, beaten, and executed. Luna: And his body was burned in a barrel of pitch, wasn't it? Lucas: That's the story. They wanted to make an example of him. His head was displayed on a spike. But his legend only grew. He became a folk hero — songs like 'Boolavogue' still remember him today. And there's another strange figure tied to the Wexford rebellion: James Coigly, a priest who claimed to be a prophet. He had visions and predicted the uprising would succeed if the rebels stayed pure. He was executed before the rebellion even began. Lucas: Coigly is fascinating — he was hanged in 1798 for treason, and before he died he prophesied that Ireland would be free in 100 years. Which is eerily close — the Irish Free State was established in 1922. Luna: That gives me chills. So the Wexford rebellion — was it a doomed noble cause, or a tragic mistake? Lucas: Both, I think. The United Irishmen leadership — Tone, Lord Edward Fitzgerald — they were educated, idealistic, and wanted a republic for all Irishmen. But the Wexford rising was a grassroots explosion of desperation. The people had been crushed by penal laws, rack-rents, and tithes. When they rose, they didn't have the discipline or the arms to win. And the sectarian violence alienated the very Protestants they needed to join them. Lucas: But the memory of 1798 became a template for later nationalism. The pike became a symbol of Irish defiance. The men of Wexford were celebrated in ballads and stories. And the British response — the executions, the burning of houses, the indiscriminate killing — it radicalised another generation. Luna: I remember reading that the Wexford rebels had a green flag with a harp, no crown. That's basically the flag of Ireland today. Lucas: Exactly. And that's the legacy. The rebellion failed, but it planted seeds. The stories of Father Murphy and the pike men were passed down in secret, and they inspired the Young Irelanders in 1848, the Fenians in 1867, and even the Easter Rising in 1916. So in a way, those farmers with their pikes at Oulart Hill started something that wouldn't stop until Ireland was free. Luna: You know, episodes like this — where we dig into a specific moment — remind me why listener support matters. It's what allows us to spend time on these details, to get the story right, and to keep the show ad-free. Lucas: Absolutely. If you've gotten something out of these conversations, a couple of dollars a month at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo genuinely makes a difference. It keeps us independent and lets us keep covering these stories — the ones that don't always make the headlines. Luna: Yeah, it's a small way to be part of it. And we're grateful for every bit of support. Lucas: So back to Wexford — one more detail I love: after the rebellion, the British built a massive military road through the Wicklow Mountains to control the area. It's still there, called the Military Road. And every year, there's a commemorative walk from Boolavogue to Oulart Hill, tracing Father Murphy's steps. History isn't just in books — it's in the landscape. Luna: I'd love to do that walk someday. Maybe we'll do an episode on pilgrimage routes. Lucas: That's an idea. For now, the Wexford rebellion reminds us that revolutions are made by ordinary people in extraordinary times — and that courage and cruelty can live side by side.