THIS BRIEF SKETCH tells the basic story of an incident that ended in the deaths of at least thirty-two Negroes and the hang­ing of one white man believed to be a priest, Rev. John Ury. They were executed in New York by hateful, anti-Negro, and anti-Catholic English who had become, by 1741 (the date of this tragedy), more numerous and more powerful than the earlier Dutch settlers of that region.

What led to the trouble was a vicious rumor, spread among the city’s 20,000 inhabitants, that a number of fires that had sprung up in various parts of the town, were the result of a Negro plot to burn down the settlement and massacre all the inhabitants. On this groundless suspicion, panic and alarm set in. The lieutenant-governor, George Clarke, who had discovered and recorded previously that the cause of one of the fires was an accident, suddenly a few weeks later “unveiled” a hor­rid conspiracy to destroy New York. As a result of this “discovery” he offered a good sum of money and a free pardon to any white person who would reveal the authors of the plot. An indented servant, Mary Burton (no doubt an ac­quaintance of Clarke), obligingly came forward with the proscribed names. False accusations and the bloodthirsty determination of English bigots led to the hanging of three black suspects, though for three months not one bit of evidence could prove any plot ex­isted at all. The lieutenant-governor then, in a frenzy of hate, deceitfully offered pardon to all Negroes who would confess before a certain date. The terrified Blacks came forward, and think­ing only of how to free themselves, each strove to tell a more exaggerated story of the plot than the other. As a result of these outlandish interrogations the cry of Popery arose — the Popish Jesuits had put the Blacks up to it! (Of course in 1741, when the colony of New York was still under a murderous anti-Catholic regime across the ocean, if there were any Catholics in the settlement — and there were — they would be secretly so.)

Now Mary Burton again comes forth with more “evidence.” The false evidence was directed against a man named John Ury, who was suspected of being a priest. John Ury was quickly arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. Yet there remains a cer­tain mystery about Mr. Ury. Who was he? And was he a priest at all? — or even a Catholic for that matter? The convicted man carried no papers on him, nor had he any in his house, that proved that he was Catholic. All this led to the “sacrifice,” as Peleg Chandler ex­pressed it in an article on American Criminal Trials “of an amiable and in­teresting clergyman, of whose innocence there can scarcely remain a doubt, so absurd was the charge against him, and so feebly was it supported.”

In the interrogation the ac­cused denied having anything to do with a plot to burn down New York, but when he was “charged” with being a Papist priest, he said nothing to deny it nor affirm it. He just kept silence. That silence was enough to condemn him; and whether he was a priest or not, the sacerdotal dignity was the issue for which he was killed. As the historian Father Shea puts it: “The crime of intention, if not of fact, rests with full force on the fanatical population of New York in 1741.”

The evidence, however, that Ury was indeed a Catholic and in all probability a priest is quite conclusive. First of all, the Pro­testants would never have sacrificed a fellow member of the Reformed Church to satiate their fanatical hatred; secondly, even if he was an atheist, he certainly would have said something to that effect at his trial; and third­ly, he was accused of being a Catholic and a priest and he did not deny it.

If John Ury were not really a priest, why would he have kept silent and not said so at the trial? His silence (or his expected admission) is what convicted him. If he were not a priest, he could have freed himself by so declaring. If he were not a Catholic, he could have freed himself in the same way. However, there is a very sen­sible argument as to why he would choose to keep silent and not admit his true identity. If he had admitted being a priest, then he would have put in grave danger the lives of those other Catholics who were suspected of being his secret parishioners. To protect them, he was willing to sacrifice a profession of faith that would have clearly entitled him to the crown of a martyr, and exit this life apparently as an unfor­tunate unjustly accused insurrectionist conspirator.

Nor should we dismiss the sum­mation of Judge Horsemanden, who passed the outrageous sentence on Ury. Although a bigot and a liar, perhaps his documentation about his Papist prey was true. According to this journal,[1] he says John Ury had been teaching children catechism in a secret school in New York, performing baptisms, and gather­ing people in his private room for the celebration of Mass. (Some have theorized that perhaps Ury was a non-oath taking Anglican. The answer to that is that if he was, he would have said so and escaped a hanging.) The only possible conclusion is that John Ury was a Catholic priest who died in silence to protect his flock. The lot of the poor Negroes was equally appalling. Eleven were burnt at the stake and twenty received an easier sentence and were hanged. Most of the Blacks executed were raised in English or Dutch colonies, and so they died with no religion, and with howling cries of despair. Some of the Negroes, however, had been freed by the Spanish, and had been reared Catholics. These made very able defense of their in­nocence and died in joy — clasping crucifixes, in the hope of a life of eternal happiness to come. The register of the day contained this telling account of one of the vic­tims’ executions:

Juan de Sylva, the Spanish Negro condemned for the conspiracy, was this day ex­ecuted according to sentence: he was neatly dressed … behaved decently, prayed in Spanish, kissed a crucifix, insisting on his in­nocence to the last.

Another bit of evidence sup­porting the priestly identity of John Ury is that Judge Horse­manden admitted in his journal that the “conspirator’s” friends published his dying words in Philadelphia soon after his execu­tion. Only one priest was active in Philadelphia at that time, Fr. Josiah Greaton; and, most likely Fr. John Ury was in cor­respondence with him. The martyred priest’s friends in New York who witnessed his death were the only ones who could have relayed his words to the Catholics of Philadelphia.

Although Catholics and Negroes have had to suffer a great deal to be free to worship and live at peace in the United States of America, we cannot do anything about the past except to learn from it. We must be thankful for our heroes and honor them, but remain always Catholic Chris­tians who seek only the conversion and salvation of those who oppose the one true religion.