 HISTORY OF INGLAND CHAPTER XII William had assumed, together with the title of King of England, the title of King of Ireland. For all our jurists then regarded Ireland as a mere colony, more important indeed than Massachusetts, Virginia, or Jamaica, but, like Massachusetts, Virginia, and Jamaica, dependent on the mother country, and bound to pay allegiance to the sovereign whom the mother country had called to the throne. In fact, however, the revolution found Ireland emancipated from the dominion of the English colony. As early as the year 1686, James had determined to make that island a place of arms, which might overall great Britain, and a place of refuge, where, if any disaster happened in Great Britain, the members of his church might find refuge. With this view he had exerted all his power for the purpose of inverting the relation between the conquerors and the aboriginal population. The execution of his design he had entrusted, in spite of the remonstrances of his English councillors, to the Lord Deputy Tierconnell. In the autumn of 1686 the process was complete. The highest offices in the state, in the army, and in the courts of justice were, with scarcely an exception, filled by papists. A petty-fogger named Alexander Fitten, who had been detected in forgery, who had been fined for misconduct by the House of Lords at Westminster, who had been many years in prison, and who was equally deficient in legal knowledge and in the natural good sense and acuteness, by which the want of legal knowledge has sometimes been supplied, was Lord Chancellor. His single merit was that he had apostatised from the Protestant religion, and this merit was thought sufficient to wash out even the stain of his Saxon entraction. He soon proved himself worthy of the confidence of his patrons. On the bench of justice he declared that there was not one heretic in forty thousand who was not a villain. He often, after hearing a cause in which the interests of his church were concerned, postponed his decision for the purpose, as he avowed, of consulting his spiritual director, a Spanish priest, who all read doubtless in Escobar. Thomas Nugent, a Roman Catholic who had never distinguished himself at the bar except by his brogue and his blunders, was Chief Justice of the King's Bench. Stephen Rice, a Roman Catholic whose abilities and learning were not disputed even by the enemies of his nation and religion, but whose known hostility to the act of settlement excited the most painful apprehensions in the minds of all who held property under that act, was Chief Baron of the Exchequer. Richard Nagel, an acute and well-read lawyer who had been educated in a Jesuit college and whose prejudices were such as might have been expected from his education, was Attorney General. Keating, a highly respectable Protestant, was still Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, but two Roman Catholic judges sat with him. It ought to be added that one of those judges, Bailey, was a man of sense, moderation, and integrity. The matters, however, which came before the Court of Common Pleas were not of great moment. Even the King's Bench was at this time almost deserted. The Court of Exchequer overflowed with business, for it was the only court at Dublin from which no writ of error lay to England, and consequently the only court in which the English could be oppressed and pillaged without hope of redress. Rice, it was said, had declared that they should have from him exactly what the law, construed with the utmost strictness, gave them, and nothing more. What, in his opinion, the law, strictly construed, gave them, they could easily infer from a saying which, before he became a judge, was often in his mouth. I will drive, he used to say, a coach and six through the act of settlement. He now carried his threat daily into execution. The cry of all Protestants was that it mattered not what evidence they produced before him, that, when their titles were to be set aside, the rankest forgeries, the most infamous witnesses, were sure to have his countenance. To his court his countrymen came in multitudes with rits of ejectment and rits of trespass. In his court the government attacked at once the charters of all the cities and boroughs in Ireland, and he easily found pretexts for pronouncing all those charters forfeited. The municipal corporations, about a hundred in number, had been instituted to be the strongholds of the reformed religion and of the English interest, and had consequently been regarded by the Irish Roman Catholics with an aversion which cannot be thought unnatural or unreasonable. Had those bodies been remodeled in a judicious and impartial manner, the irregularity of the proceedings by which so desirable a result had been attained might have been pardoned, but it soon appeared that one exclusive system had been swept away only to make room for another. The boroughs were subjected to the absolute authority of the crown. Towns in which almost every householder was an English Protestant were placed under the government of Irish Roman Catholics. Many of the new aldermen had never even seen the places over which they were appointed to bear rule. At the same time the sheriffs to whom belonged the execution of rits and the nomination of juries were selected in almost every instance from the caste which had till very recently been excluded from all public trust. It was affirmed that some of these important functionaries had been burned in the hand for theft. Others had been servants to Protestants, and the Protestants added, with bitter scorn, that it was fortunate for the country when this was the case, for that a menial who had cleaned the plate and rubbed down the horse of an English gentleman might pass for a civilized being when compared with many of the native aristocracy whose lives had been spent in cautioning or marauding. Two such sheriffs, no colonist, even if he had been so strangely fortunate as to obtain a judgment, dared to entrust an execution. Thus the civil power had, in the space of a few months, been transferred from the Saxon to the Celtic population. The transfer of the military power had been not less complete. The army, which under the command of Ormond had been the chief safeguard of the English ascendancy, had ceased to exist. Whole regiments had been dissolved and reconstructed. Six thousand Protestant veterans, deprived of their bread, were brooding in retirement over their wrongs, or had crossed the sea and joined the standard of William. Their place was supplied by men who had long suffered oppression, and who, finding themselves suddenly transformed from slaves into masters, were impatient to pay back, with accumulated usury, the heavy debt of injuries and insults. The new soldiers, it was said, never passed an Englishman without cursing him and calling him by some foul name. They were the terror of every Protestant innkeeper, for from the moment when they came under his roof they ate and drank everything, they paid for nothing, and by their rude swaggering they scared more respectable guests from his door. Such was the state of Ireland when the Prince of Orange landed at Torbé. From that time every packet which arrived at Dublin brought tidings, such as could not but increase the mutual fear and loathing of the hostile races. The colonist, who after long enjoying and abusing power, had now tasted for a moment the bitterness of servitude, the native, who, having drunk to the dregs all the bitterness of servitude had at length for a moment enjoyed and abused power, were alike sensible that a great crisis, a crisis like that of 1641, was at hand. The majority impatiently expected Felham O'Neill to revive in Tearconnell, the minority saw in William, a second over. CHAPTER XII. On which side the first blow was struck was a question which Williamites and Jacobites afterwards debated with much disparity. But no question could be more idle. History must due to both parties the justice which neither has ever done to the other, and must admit that both had fair pleas and cruel provocations. Both had been placed by a fate for which neither was answerable, in such a situation that, human nature being what it is, they could not but regard each other with enmity. During three years the government which might have reconciled them had systematically employed its whole power for the purpose of inflaming their enmity to madness. It was now impossible to establish in Ireland a just and beneficent government, a government which should know no distinction of race or of sect, a government which, while strictly respecting the rights and guaranteed by law to the new landowners, should alleviate by a judicious liberality the misfortunes of the ancient gentry. Such a government James might have established in the day of his power, but the opportunity had passed away, compromise had become impossible, the two infuriated case were alike convinced that it was necessary to oppress or to be oppressed, and that there could be no safety, but in victory, vengeance, and domination. They agreed only in spurning out of the way every mediator who sought to reconcile them. During some weeks there were outrageous insults, evil reports, violent panics, the natural preludes of the terrible conflict which was at hand. A rumor spread over the whole island that, on the ninth of December, there would be a general massacre of the Englishry. Tirkanal sent for the chief protestants of Dublin to the castle, and with his usual energy of diction invoked on himself all the vengeance of heaven, if the report was not a curse, a blasted, a confounded lie. It was said that, in his rage at finding his oaths ineffectual, he pulled off his hat and wig and flung them into the fire. But lying Dick Talbot was so well known that his implications and gesticulations only strengthened the apprehension which they were meant to allay. Ever since the recall of Clarendon there had been a large emigration of timid and quiet people from the Irish ports to England. That emigration now went on faster than ever. It was not easy to obtain a passage on board of a well-built or commodious vessel. But many persons, made bold by the excess of fear and choosing rather to trust the winds and waves than the exasperated Irishry, ventured to encounter all the dangers of St George's Channel and of the Welsh coast in open boats and in the depth of winter. The English who remained began, in almost every county, to draw close together. Every large country-house became a fortress. Every visitor who arrived after nightfall was challenged from a loophole or from a barricaded window, and if he attempted to enter without passwords and explanations a blunderbuss was presented to him. On the dreaded night of the ninth of December there was scarcely one Protestant mansion from the giant's causeway to Bantry Bay in which armed men were not watching and lights burning from the early sunset to the late sunrise. A minute account of what passed in one district at this time has come down to us and well illustrates the general state of the kingdom. The southwestern part of Cary is now well known as the most beautiful tract in the British Isles. The mountains, the glens, the capes stretching far into the Atlantic, the crags on which the eagles build, the rivulets brawling down rocky passes, the lakes overhung by groves in which the wild deer find covert, attract every summer crowds of wanderers sated with the business and the pleasure of great cities. The beauties of that country are indeed too often hidden in the mist and rain which the west wind brings up from a boundless ocean. But on the rare days when the sun shines out in all his glory the landscape has a freshness and a warmth of coloring seldom found in our latitude. The myrtle loves the soil. The Arbutus thrives better than even on the sunny shore of Calabria. The turf is of livelier hue than elsewhere, the hills glow with a richer purple, the varnish of the holly and ivies more glossy, and berries of a brighter red peep through foliage of a brighter green. But during the greater part of the seventeenth century this paradise was as little known to the civilized world as Spiceburgen or Greenland. If it was ever mentioned it was mentioned as a horrible desert, a chaos of bogs, thickets and precipices where the she-wolf still littered and where some half-naked savages who could not speak a word of English made themselves burrows in the mud and lived on roots and sour milk. At length in the year 1670 the benevolent and enlightened Sir William Petty determined to form an English settlement in this wild district. He possessed a large domain there which has descended to a posterity worthy of such an ancestor. On the improvement of that domain he expected it was said not less than ten thousand pounds. The little town which he formed, named from the bay of Kenmar, stood at the head of that bay under a mountain ridge on the summit of which travelers now stopped to gaze upon the loveliest of the three lakes of Killarney. Scarcely any village, built by any enterprising band of New Englanders, far from the dwellings of their countrymen, in the midst of the hunting grounds of the Red Indians, was more completely out of the pale of civilization than Kenmar. Between Petty's settlement and the nearest English habitation the journey by land was of two days through a wild and dangerous country. Yet the place prospered. Forty-two houses were erected. The population amounted to a hundred and eighty. The land round the town was well cultivated. The cattle were numerous. Two small barks were employed in fishing and trading along the coast. The supply of herrings, pilchards, mackerel, and salmon was plentiful, and would have been still more plentiful had not the beach been in the finest part of the year covered by a multitude of seals, which preyed upon the fish of the bay. Yet the seal was not an unwelcome visitor. His fur was valuable and his oil supplied light through the long nights of winter. An attempt was made with great success to set up ironworks. It was not yet the practice to employ coal for the purpose of smelting, and the manufacturers of Kent and Sussex had much difficulty in procuring timber at a reasonable price. The neighborhood of Kenmar was then richly wooded, and Petty founded a gainful speculation to send ore thither. The lovers of the picturesque still regret the woods of oak and Arbutus which were cut down to feed his furnaces. Another scheme had occurred to his active and intelligent mind. Some of the neighboring islands abounded with variegated marble, red and white, purple and green. Petty well knew at what cost the ancient Romans had decorated their baths and temples with many colored columns hewn from Laconian and African quarries, and he seems to have indulged the hope that the rocks of his wild domain in Cary might furnish embellishment to the mansions of St. James's Square and to the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral. From the first the settlers had found that they must be prepared to exercise the right of self-defense to an extent which would have been unnecessary and unjustifiable in a well-governed country. The law was altogether without force in the highlands which lie on the south of the Vale of Tralee. No officer of justice willingly ventured into those parts. One per suivante, two in sixteen eighty, attempted to execute a warrant there was murdered. The people of Kenmar seemed, however, to have been sufficiently secured by their union, their intelligence and their spirit, till the close of the year sixteen eighty-eight. Then at length the effects of the policy of Tirkanal began to be felt ever in that remote corner of Ireland. In the eyes of the peasantry of Munster the colonists were aliens and heretics. The buildings, the boats, the machines, the granaries, the diaries, the furnaces were doubtless contemplated by the native race with that mingled envy and contempt with which the ignorant naturally regard the triumphs of knowledge. Nor is it at all improbable that the immigrants had been guilty of those faults from which civilized men who settle among an uncivilized people are rarely free. The power derived from superior intelligence had, we may easily believe, been sometimes displayed with insolence and sometimes exerted with injustice. Now, therefore, when the news spread from altar to altar and from cabin to cabin that the strangers were to be driven out and that their houses and lands were to be given as a booty to the children of the soil, a predatory war commenced. Plunderers, thirty, forty, seventy in a troop, prowled round the town, some with firearms, some with pikes. The barns were robbed, the horses were stolen. In one foray a hundred and forty cattle were swept away and driven off through the ravines of Glengarief. In one night six dwellings were broken open and pillaged. At last the colonists, driven to extremity, resolved to die like men rather than be murdered in their beds. The house built by Petty for his agent was the largest in the place. It stood on a rocky peninsula round which the waves of the bay broke. Here the whole population assembled, seventy-five fighting men, with about a hundred women and children. They had among them sixty firelocks and as many pikes and swords. Round the agent's house they threw up with great speed a wall of turf fourteen feet in height and twelve in thickness. The space enclosed was about half an acre. Within this rampart all the arms, the ammunition and the provisions of the settlement were collected and several huts of thin plank were built. When these preparations were completed the men of Kenmar began to make vigorous reprisals on their Irish neighbors, seized robbers, recovered stolen property, and continued during some weeks to act in all things as an independent commonwealth. The government was carried on by elective officers to whom every member of the society swore fidelity on the holy gospels. While the people of the small town of Kenmar were thus bestowing themselves, similar preparations for defense were made by larger communities on a larger scale. Great numbers of gentlemen in Yeoman quitted the open country and repaired to these towns which had been founded and incorporated for the purpose of bridling the native population and which, though recently placed under the government of Roman Catholic magistrates, were still inhabited chiefly by Protestants. A considerable body of armed colonists mustered at Sligo, another at Charleville, another at Marlowe, a fourth still more formidable at Bandon. But the principal strongholds of the English reed during this evil time were Eniskillen and Lundendary. Eniskillen, though the capital of the country of Fermanagh, was then merely a village. It was built on an island surrounded by the river which joins the two beautiful sheets of water known by the common name of Laquern. The stream and both the lakes were overhung on every side by natural forests. Eniskillen consisted of about eighty dwellings clustering round an ancient castle. The inhabitants were, with scarcely an exception, Protestants, and boasted that their town had been true to the Protestant cause through the terrible rebellion which broke out in 1641. Early in December they received from Dublin an intimation that two companies of Popish infantry were to be immediately quartered on them. The alarm of the little community was great, and the greater because it was known that a preaching friar had been exerting himself to inflame the Irish population of the neighborhood against the heretics. A daring resolution was taken. Come what might, the troops should not be admitted. Yet the means of defence were slender. Not ten pounds of powder, not twenty fire-locks fit for use, could be collected within the walls. Messengers were sent with pressing letters to summon Protestant gentry of the Vincentage to the rescue, and the summons was gallantly obeyed. In a few hours two hundred foot and one hundred and fifty horse had assembled. Tier Connell's soldiers were already at hand. They brought with them a considerable supply of arms to be distributed among the peasantry. The peasantry greeted the royal standard with delight, and accompanied the march in great numbers. The townsmen and their allies, instead of waiting to be attacked, came boldly forth to encounter the intruders. The officers of James had expected no resistance. They were confounded when they saw confronting them a column of foot flanked by a large body of mounted gentlemen and yeoman. The crowd of camp followers ran away in terror. The soldiers made a retreat so precipitate that it might be called a flight, and scarcely halted till they were thirty miles off at Coven. The Protestants, elated by this easy victory, proceeded to make arrangements for the government and defence of Inesquilin and of the surrounding country. Gustavus Hamilton, a gentleman who had served in the army, but who had recently been deprived of his commission by Tier Connell, and had since been living on an estate in Fermanah, was appointed governor, and took up his residence in the castle. Trusty men were enlisted, and armed with great expedition. As there was a scarcity of swords and pikes, smiths were employed to make weapons by fastening siths on poles. All the country-houses round Laquern were turned into garrisons. No papest was suffered to be at large in the town, and the friar who was accused of exerting his eloquence against the Englishry was thrown into prison. The other great fastness of Protestantism was a place of more importance. Eighty years before, during the troubles caused by the last struggle of the Houses of O'Neill and O'Donnell against the authority of James I, the ancient city of Derry had been surprised by one of the native chiefs, the inhabitants had been slaughtered, and the houses reduced to ashes. The insurgents were speedily put down and punished, the government resolved to restore the ruined town, the Lord Mayor, Alderman, and Common Council of London were invited to assist in the work, and King James I made over to them in their corporate capacity the ground covered by the ruins of the old Derry, and about six thousand English acres in the neighbourhood. This country, then uncultivated and uninhabited, is now enriched by industry, embellished by taste, and pleasing even to eyes accustomed to the well-tilled fields and stately manor houses of England. A new city soon arose which, on account of its connection with the capital of the Empire, was called London Derry. The buildings covered the summit and slope of a hill which overlooked the broad stream of the foil, then whitened by vast flocks of wild swans, on the highest grounds to the Cathedral. A church which, though erected when the secret of Gothic architecture was lost, and though ill-qualified to sustain a comparison with the awful temples of the Middle Ages, is not without grace and dignity. Near the Cathedral rose the Palace of the Bishop, whose sea was one of the most valuable in Ireland. The city was in form nearly and ellipse, and the principal streets formed across, the arms of which met in a square called the Diamond. The original houses have either been rebuilt or so much repaired that their ancient character can no longer be traced, but many of them were standing within living memory. They were in general two stories in height, and some of them had stone staircases on the outside. The dwellings were encompassed by a wall of which the holster conference was a little less than a mile. On the bastions were planted culverines and sacres presented by the wealthy guilds of London to the colony. On some of these ancient guns, which have done memorable service to a great cause, the devices of the Fishmongers Company, of the Vintners Company, and of the Merchant-Taylor's Company are still discernible. The inhabitants were Protestants of Anglo-Saxon blood. They were indeed not all of one country or of one church, but Englishmen and Scotchmen, Episcopalians and Presbyterians, seemed to have generally lived together in friendship, a friendship which is still sufficiently explained by their common antipathy to the Irish race and to the Popish religion. During the rebellion of 1641, London Dairy had resolutely held out against the native chieftains and had been repeatedly besieged in vain. Since the restoration the city had prospered. The foil, when the tide was high, brought up ships of large burden to the quay. The fisheries throve greatly. The nets, it was said, were sometimes so full that it was necessary to fling back multitudes of fish into the waves. The quantity of salmon caught annually was estimated at 1100 thousand pounds weight. The people of London Dairy shared in the alarm which, towards the close of the year 1688, was general among the Protestants settled in Ireland. It was known that the aboriginal peasantry of the neighborhood were laying in pikes and knives. Priests had been haranguing in a style of which it must be owned, the Puritan part of the Anglo-Saxon colony had little right to complain about the slaughter of the Amalekites and the judgments which Saul had brought on himself by sparing one of the prescribed race. Rumors from various quarters and anonymous letters in various hands agreed in naming the 9th of December as the day fixed for the extirpation of the strangers. While the minds of the citizens were agitated by these reports, news came that a regiment of 1200 papists, commanded by a papist, Alexander MacDonald, Earl of Antrim, had received orders from the Lord Deputy to occupy London Dairy, and was already on the march from Coleraine. The consternation was extreme. Some were for closing the gates and resisting, some for submitting, some for temporizing. The corporation had, like the other corporations of Ireland, been remodeled. The magistrates were men of low station and character. Among them was only one person of Anglo-Saxon extraction and he had turned papist. In such rulers the inhabitants could place no confidence. The bishop, Ezekiel Hopkins, resolutely adhered to the doctrine of non-resistance, which he had preached during many years and exhorted his flock to go patiently to the slaughter rather than incur the guilt of disobeying the Lord's anointed. Antrim was meanwhile drawing nearer and nearer. At length the citizens saw from the walls his troops arrayed on the opposite shore of the foil. There was then no bridge, but there was a ferry which kept up a constant communication between the two banks of the river, and by this ferry a detachment from Antrim's regiment crossed. The officers presented themselves at the gate, produced a warrant directed to the mayor and sheriffs, and demanded admittance and quarters for his majesty's soldiers. Just at this moment, thirteen young apprentices, most of whom appear from their names to have been of Scottish birth or descent, flew into the room, armed themselves, seized the keys of the city, rushed to the ferry gate, closed it in the face of the king's officers, and let down the portcullis. James Morrison, a citizen more advanced in years, addressed the intruders from the top of the wall and advised them to be gone. They stood in consultation before the gate till they heard him cry, bring a great gun this way. They then thought it time to get beyond the range of shot. They retreated, re-embarked, and rejoined their comrades on the other side of the river. The flame had already spread. The whole city was up. The other gates were secured, sentinels paced the ramparts everywhere. The magazines were opened. Muskets and gunpowder were distributed. Messengers were sent, under cover of the following night, to the Protestant gentlemen of the neighboring counties. The bishop expostulated in vain. It is indeed probable that the vehement and daring young scotchmen who had taken the lead on this occasion had little respect for his office. One of them broke in on a discourse with which he interrupted the military preparations by exclaiming, a good sermon, my lord, a very good sermon, but we have not time to hear it just now. The Protestants of the neighborhood promptly obeyed the summons of London Dairy. Within forty-eight hours hundreds of horse and foot came by various roads to the city. Antrim, not thinking himself strong enough to risk an attack, or not disposed to take on himself the responsibility of commencing a civil war without further orders, retired with his troops to Coleraine. It might have been expected that the resistance of Inesquilin and London Dairy would have irritated Tierkanal into taking some desperate step. And in truth his savage and imperious temper was at first inflamed by the news almost to madness. But after wreaking his rage, as usual, on his wig, he became somewhat calmer. Tidings of a very sobering nature had just reached him. The Prince of Orange was marching unopposed to London. Almost every county and every great town in England had declared for him. James, deserted by his ablest captains and by his nearest relatives, had sent commissioners to treat with the invaders, and had issued rits convoking a parliament. While the result of the negotiations which were pending in England was uncertain, the viceroy could not venture to take a bloody revenge on the refractory Protestants of Ireland. He therefore thought it expedient to effect, for a time, a clemency and moderation which were by no means congenial to his disposition. The task of quieting the Englishry of Ulster was entrusted to William Stuart, Viscount Montjoy. Montjoy, a brave soldier, an accomplished scholar, a zealous Protestant, and yet a zealous Tory, was one of the very few members of the established church who still held office in Ireland. He was master of the ordinance in that kingdom, and was colonel of a regiment in which an uncommonly large proportion of the Englishry had been suffered to remain. At Dublin he was the centre of a small circle of learned and ingenious men who had, under his presidency, formed themselves into a royal society, the image on a small scale of the royal society of London. In Ulster, with which he was peculiarly connected, his name was held in high honour by the colonists. He hastened with his regiment to London Dairy and was well received there. For it was known that, though he was firmly attached to her redditary monarchy, he was not less firmly attached to the reformed religion. The citizens readily permitted him to leave within their walls a small garrison exclusively composed of Protestants, under the command of his Lieutenant Colonel, Robert Lundy, who took the title of Governor. The news of Montjoy's visit to Ulster was highly gratifying to the defenders of Annas Gillan. Some gentlemen disputed by that town waited on him to request his good offices, but were disappointed by the reception which they found. My advice to you is, he said, to submit to the King's authority. What, my lord, said one of the deputies, are we to sit still and let ourselves be butchered? The King said, Mount Joy will protect you. If all that we hear be true, said the deputies, his majesty will find it hard enough to protect himself. The conference ended in this unsatisfactory manner. Annas Gillan still kept its attitude of defiance, and Montjoy returned to Dublin. By this time it had indeed become evident that James could not protect himself. It was known in Ireland that he had fled, that he had been stopped, that he had fled again, that the Prince of Orange had arrived at Westminster in triumph, had taken on himself the administration of the realm, and had issued letters summoning a convention. Those lords and gentlemen at whose request the Prince had assumed the government had earnestly entreated him to take the State of Ireland into his immediate consideration, and he had in reply assured them that he would do his best to maintain the Protestant religion and the English interest in that kingdom. His enemies afterward accused him of utterly disregarding this promise. Nay, they alleged that he purposefully suffered Ireland to sink deeper and deeper in calamity. Halifax, they said, had, with cruel and perfidious ingenuity, devised this mode of placing the convention under a species of duress, and the trick had succeeded but too well. The vote which called William to the throne would not have passed so easily but for the extreme dangers which threatened the State, and it was in consequence of his own dishonest inactivity that those dangers had become extreme. As this accusation rests on no proof, those who repeated are at least bound to show that some course clearly better than the course which William took was open to him, and this they will find a difficult task. If indeed he could, within a few weeks after his arrival in London, have sent a great expedition to Ireland, that kingdom might, perhaps, after a short struggle or without a struggle, have submitted to his authority, and a long series of crimes and calamities might have been averted. But the factious orders and pamphleteers, who much at their ease reproached him for not sending such an expedition, would have been perplexed if they had been required to find the men, the ships, and the funds. The English army had lately been arrayed against him, part of it was still ill-disposed towards him, and the whole was utterly disorganized. Of the army which he had brought from Holland, not a regiment could be spared. He had found the treasury empty and the pay of the navy in a rear. He had no power to hypothecate any part of the public revenue. Those who lent him money lent it on no security but his bare word. It was only by the patriotic liberality of the merchants of London that he was enabled to defray the ordinary charges of government till the meeting of the convention. It is surely unjust to blame him for not instantly fitting out, in such circumstances, an armament sufficient to conquer a kingdom. End of PART II Believing that, till the government of England was settled, it would not be in his power to interfere effectually by arms in the affairs of Ireland, he determined to try what effect negotiation would produce. Those who judged after the event pronounced that he had not, on this occasion, shown his usual sagacity. He ought, they said, to have known that it was absurd to expect submission from Ter Connell. Such, however, was not at the time the opinion of men who had the best means of information, and whose interest was a sufficient pledge for their sincerity. A great meeting of noblemen and gentlemen who had property in Ireland was held, during the interregnum, at the house of the Duke of Ormond in St. James Square. They advised the Prince to try whether the Lord Deputy might not be induced to capitulate on honorable and advantageous terms. In truth there is strong reason to believe that Ter Connell really wavered, for fear says were his passions they never made him forgetful of his interest, and he might well doubt whether it were not for his interest, in declining years and health, to retire from business with full indemnity for all past offenses, with high rank and with an ample fortune, rather than to stake his life and property on the event of a war against the whole power of England. It is certain that he professed himself willing to yield. He opened a communication with the Prince of Orange, and affected to take counsel with Montjoy, and with others who, though they had not thrown off their allegiance to James, were yet firmly attached to the established church and to the English connection. In one quarter, a quarter from which William was justified in expecting the most judicious counsel, there was a strong conviction that the professions of Ter Connell were sincere. No British statesman had then so high a reputation throughout Europe as Sir William Temple. His diplomatic skill had, twenty years before, arrested the progress of the French power. He had been a steady and unuseful friend to the United Provinces and to the House of Nassau. He had long been on terms of friendly confidence with the Prince of Orange, and had negotiated that marriage to which England owed her recent deliverance. With the affairs of Ireland, Temple was supposed to be peculiarly well acquainted. His family had considerable property there. He had himself resided there during several years. He had represented the county of Carlow in Parliament, and a large part of his income was derived from a lucrative Irish office. There was no height of power of rank or of opulence to which he might not have risen if he would have consented to quit his retreat and to lend his assistance and the weight of his name to the new government. But power, rank, and opulence had less attraction for his Epicurean temper than ease and security. He rejected the most tempting invitations, and continued to amuse himself with his books, his tulips, and his pineapples in rural seclusion. With some hesitation, however, he consented to let his eldest son John enter into the service of William. During the vacancy of the throne, John Temple was employed in business of high importance and on subjects connected with Ireland. His opinion, which might reasonably be supposed to agree with his father's, had great weight. The young politician flattered himself that he had secured the services of an agent eminently qualified to bring the negotiation with Turkarno to a prosperous issue. This agent was one of a remarkable family which had sprung from a noble Scottish stock, but which had long been settled in Ireland, and which professed the Roman Catholic religion. In the gay crowd which thronged Whitehall during those scandalous years of Jubilee, which immediately followed the restoration, the Hamilton's were preeminently conspicuous. The long, fair ringlets, the radiant bloom, and the languishing blue eyes of the lovely Elizabeth still charm us on the canvas of Lily. She had the glory of achieving no vulgar conquest. It was reserved for her voluptuous beauty and for her flippant wit to overcome the aversion which the cold-hearted and scoffing grimoire felt for the indissoluble tie. One of her brothers, Anthony, became the chronicler of that brilliant and dissolute society of which he had been one of the most brilliant and most dissolute members. He deserves the high praise of having, though not of Frenchman, written the book which is, of all books, the most exquisitely French, both in spirit and in manner. Another brother, named Richard, had, in foreign service, gained some military experience. His wit and politeness had distinguished him even in the splendid circle of Versailles. It was whispered that he had dared to lift his eyes to an exalted lady, the natural daughter of the great king, the wife of a legitimate prince of the House of Bourbon, and that she had not seemed to be displeased by the attentions of her presumptuous admirer. The adventurer had subsequently returned to his native country, had been appointed brigadier general in the Irish army, and had been sworn of the Irish Privy Council. When the Dutch invasion was expected, he came across St. George's Channel with the troops which Turk Honel sent to reinforce the royal army. After the flight of James, those troops submitted to the Prince of Orange. Richard Hamilton not only made his own peace with what was now the ruling power, but declared himself confident that, if he were sent to Dublin, he could conduct the negotiation which had been opened there to a happy close. If he failed, he pledged his word to return to London in three weeks. His influence in Ireland was known to be great. His honour had never been questioned, and he was highly esteemed by the Temple family. John Temple declared that he would answer for Richard Hamilton as for himself. This guarantee was thought sufficient, and Hamilton set out for Ireland, assuring his English friends that he should soon bring Tirkanal to reason. The offers which he was authorized to make to the Roman Catholics and to the Lord Deputy personally were most liberal. It is not impossible that Hamilton may have really met to perform his promise, but when he arrived at Dublin he found that he had undertaken a task which was beyond his power. The hesitation of Tirkanal, whether genuine or feigned, was at an end. He had found that he had no longer a choice. He had, with little difficulty, stimulated the ignorant and susceptible Irish to fury. To calm them was beyond his skill. Rumours were abroad that the Viceroy was corresponding with the English, and these rumours had set the nation on fire. The cry of the common people was that, if he dared to sell them for wealth and honours, they would burn the castle and him in it, and would put themselves under the protection of France. It was necessary for him to protest, truly or falsely, that he had never harboured any thought of submission, and that he had pretended to negotiate only for the purpose of gaining time. Yet, before he openly declared against the English settlers and against England herself, what must be a war to the death, he wished to rid himself of Mossjoy, who had hitherto been true to the cause of James, but who, it was well known, would never consent to be a party to the spoliation and oppression of the colonists. Hippocritical professions of friendship and of pacific intentions were not spared. It was a sacred duty, Ter Connell said, to avert the calamities which seemed to be impending. King James himself, if he had understood the whole case, would not wish his Irish friends to engage at that moment in an enterprise which must be fatal to them and useless to him. He would permit them, he would command them, to submit to necessity and to reserve themselves for better times. If any man of weight, loyal, able, and well-informed would repair to Saint-Germain's and explain the state of things his Majesty would easily be convinced, would Mossjoy undertake this most honourable and important mission. Mossjoy hesitated, and suggested that some person more likely to be acceptable to the king should be the messenger. Ter Connell's swore, ranted, declared that, unless King James were well advised, Ireland would sink to the pit of hell, and insisted that Mossjoy should go as the representative of the loyal members of the established church that should be accompanied by Chief Baron Rice, a Roman Catholic high in the royal favour. Mossjoy yielded. The two ambassadors departed together, but with very different commissions. Rice was charged to tell James that Mossjoy was a traitor at heart, and had been sent to France only that the Protestants of Ireland might be deprived of a favourite leader. The king was to be assured that he was impatiently expected in Ireland and that if he would show himself there with a French force he might speedily retrieve his fallen fortunes. The Chief Baron carried with him other instructions which were probably kept secret even from the court of Saint-Germain, if James should be unwilling to put himself at the head of the native population of Ireland, Rice was directed to request a private audience of Lewis and to offer to make the island a province of France. As soon as the two envoys had departed, Ter Connell set himself to prepare for the conflict which had become inevitable, and he was strenuously assisted by the faithless Hamilton. The Irish nation was called to arms, and the call was obeyed with strange promptitude and enthusiasm. The flag on the castle of Dublin was embroidered with the words, now or never, now and for ever. And those words resounded through the whole island. Never in modern Europe has there been such a rising up of a whole people. The habits of the Celtic peasant were such that he made no sacrifice in quitting his potato-ground for the camp. He loved excitement and adventure. He feared work far more than danger. His national and religious feelings had, during three years, been exasperated by the constant application of stimulants. At every fair and market he had heard that a good time was at hand, that the tyrants who spoke Saxon and lived in slated houses were about to be swept away, and that the land would again belong to its own children. By the peat fires of a hundred thousand cabins had nightly been sung rude ballads which predicted the deliverance of the oppressed race. The priests, most of whom belonged to those old families which the act of settlement had ruined, but which were still revered by the native population, had, from a thousand altars, charged every Catholic to show his zeal for the true church by providing weapons against the day when it might be necessary to try the chances of battle in her cause. The army which, under Ormond, had consisted only of eight regiments, was now increased to forty-eight, and the ranks were soon full to overflowing. It was impossible to find at short notice one-tenth of the number of good officers which was required. Commissions were scattered profusely among idle cautioners who claimed to be descended from good Irish families, yet even thus the supply of captains and lieutenants fell short of the demand, and many companies were commanded by cobblers, tailors, and footmen. END OF PART 3 CHAPTER XII PART 4 The pay of the soldiers was very small. The private had only three pence a day. One half only of these pittance was ever given him in money, and that half was often in arrear. But a far more seductive pay than his miserable stipend was the prospect of boundless license. If the government allowed him less than suffice for his wants, it was not extreme to mark the means by which he supplied the deficiency. Though four-fifths of the population of Ireland were a Celtic and Roman Catholic, more than four-fifths of the property of Ireland belonged to the Protestant Englishry. The Garners, the Sellers, above all the flocks and herds of the minority were abandoned to the majority. Whatever the regular troops' spurt was divert by bands of marauders who overrun almost every barony in the island. For the arming was the universal. No man dared to present himself at mass without some weapon, a pike, a long knife called a skin, or at the very least a strong ashen stake pointed and hardened in the fire. The very women were exhorted by their spiritual directors to carry skins. Every smith, every carpenter, every cutler was at constant work on guns and blades. It was scarcely possible to get a horse shot. If any Protestant artisan refused to assist in manufacture of implements, which were to be used against his nation and his religion, he was flanked into prison. It seems probable that at the end of February at least a hundred thousand Irishmen were in arms. Near 50,000 of them were soldiers. The rest were Banditti, whose violence and licentiousness the government affected to disapprove, but did not really exert itself to suppress. The Protestants not only were not protected, but were not suffered to protect themselves. It was determined that they should be left unarmed in the midst of an armed and hostile population. A day was fixed on which they were to bring all their swords and fireworks to the parish churches. And it was notified that every Protestant house in which after that day a weapon should be found should be given up to be sacked by the soldiers. Better complaints were made that and enough might by hiding a spearhead or an old gun barrel in a corner of a mansion bring utter ruin on the owner. Chief Justice Kitting himself a Protestant and almost the only Protestant who still held a great place in Ireland struggled courageously in the cause of justice and order against the united strength of the government and the populace. At the weekly assizes of that spring he from the seat of judgment set forth with great strength of language the miserable state of the country. Whole counties, he said, were devastated by a rubble resembling the vultures and ravens which followed the march of an army. Most of these wretches were not soldiers. They acted under no authority known to the law. Yet it was, he owned, but too evident that they were encouraged and screened by some who were in high command. How else could it be that a market overt for plunder should be held within a short distance of the capital? The stories with travelers told of the savage hotendots near the Cape of Good Hope were realized in Leinster. Nothing was more common than for an honest man to lie down rich in flocks and hurts acquired by the industry of a long life and to wake a beggar. It was, however, to small purpose that Kitting attempted in the midst of that fearful anarchy to uphold the supremacy of the law. Priests and military chiefs appeared on the bench for the purpose of overwhelming the judge and contenancing the robbers. One Raphayan escaped because no prosecutor dared to appear. Another declared that he had armed himself in conformity to the orders of his spiritual guide and to the example of many persons of higher station than himself whom he saw at that moment in court. Two only of the merry boys, as they were called, were convicted. The worst criminals escaped and the chief justice indignantly told the juryman that the guilt of the public ruin lay at their door. When such disorders prevailed in Wicklow it is easy to imagine what must have been the state of districts more barbarous and more remote from the seat of government. Kitting appears to have been the only magistrate who strenuously exerted himself to put the law in force. Indeed, Nagent, the chief justice of the highest criminal court of the realm, declared on the bench at court that without violence and spoliation the intentions of the government could not be carried into effect and that robbery must at that conjecture be tolerated as a necessary evil. The distraction of property which took place within a few weeks would be incredible if it were not attested by witnesses unconnected with each other and attached to very different interests. There is a close and sometimes almost a verbal agreement between the descriptions given by Protestants who during that reign of terror escaped at the hazard of their lives to England and the descriptions given by the envoys, commissaries and captains of Lewis. All agreed in declaring that it would take many years to repair the waste which had been worth in a few weeks by the armed peasantry. Some of the Saxon aristocracy had mansions richly furnished and sideboards gorgeous with silver balls and chargers. All this wealth disappeared. One house in which there had been three thousand pounds worth of plate was left without a spoon. But the chief riches of Ireland consisted in cattle. Innumerable flocks and herds covered the vast expense of emerald meadow saturated with the maestro of the Atlantic. More than one gentleman possessed 20,000 sheep and 4,000 oxen. The three butters who now overspread the country belonged to a class which was accustomed to live on potatoes and survey and which had always regarded me as a luxury reserved for the rich. This man at first revolved in beef and mutton as the savage invaders who evolved put down from the forests of the north on Italy revolved in massacres and fallonian wines. The protestants described with contemptuous disgust the strange gluttony of their newly liberated slaves. The carcasses half raw and half burnt to cinders sometimes still bleeding sometimes in a state of loss on this day were turned to pieces and swallowed without salt, bread or herbs. Those marauders who preferred boiled meat being often in want of cattle contrived to boil the still in his own skin. An absurd tragic comedy is still extant which was acted in this and the following year at some no theater for the amusement of the English populace. A crowd of half naked savages appeared on the stage honing a Celtic song and dancing round an ox. They then proceeded to cut sticks out of the animal while still alive and to fling the bleeding flesh on the coals. In truth the barbarity and filthiness of the banquets of the Rapparise was such as the dramatis of Grapp Street could scarcely caricature. When land began the plunderers generally ceased to devour but continued to destroy. A peasant would kill a cow merrily in order to get a pair of brooks. Often a whole flock of sheep often a herd of 50 or 60 kind was slaughtered the beasts were flayed the fleeces and hides were carried away and the bodies were left to poison the air. The French ambassador reported to his master that in six weeks 50 000 home cattle had been slain in this manner and were rotting on the ground all over the country. The number of sheep that were battered during the same time was popularly said to have been three or four hundred thousand. Any estimate which can now be framed of the value of the property destroyed during this fearful conflict of races must necessarily be very inexact. We are not, however, absolutely without materials for such an estimate. The Quakers were neither a very numerous nor a very opulent class. We can hardly suppose that they were more than a fiftieth part of the Protestant population of Ireland or that they possessed more than a fiftieth part of the Protestant 12th of Ireland. They were undoubtedly better treated than any other Protestant sect. James had always been partial to them. They owned that Turkano did his best to protect them and they seem to have found favor even in the site of the Rapparise. Yet the Quakers computed their pecuniary losses at a hundred thousand pounds. In Leinster, Munster and Conard it was utterly impossible for the English settlers, few as they were undisperse, to offer any effectual resistance to the terrible outbreak of the Aboriginal population. Chaville, Mellow, Sligo, fell into the hands of the natives. Bandon, where the Protestants had mastered inconsiderable force, was reduced by Lieutenant-General McCarthy, an Irish officer who was descended from one of the most illustrious Celtic houses and who had long served under a faint name in the French army. The people of Canmar held out in their little fastness till they were attacked by three thousand regular soldiers and till it was known that several pieces of ordnance were coming to butter down the turf wall which surrounded the agent's house. Then at last a capitulation was concluded. The colonists were suffered to embark in a small vessel scantily supplied with food and water. They had no experienced navigator on board but after a voyage of a fortnight during which they were crowded together like slaves in Gwinnah's ship and suffered the extremity of thirst and hunger, they reached Bristol in safety. When such was the fate of the towns it was evident that the country seats which the Protestant landowners had recently fortified in the three southern provinces could no longer be defended. Many families submitted, delivered up their arms and fought themselves happy in escaping with life. But many resolute and high spirited gentlemen and young men were determined to perish rather than yelled. They packed up such valuable property as could easily be carried away, burned whatever they could not remove and well armed and mounted, set out for those spots in Alster which were the strongholds of the race and of their faith. The flower of the Protestant population of Manster and Connard found shelter at Aninsklen. Whatever was bravest and most true-hearted in Leinster took the road to Londonderry. The spirit of Aninsklen and Londonderry rose higher and higher to meet the danger. At both places the tidings of what had been done by the convention at West Minister were received with transports of joy. William and Mary were proclaimed at Aninsklen with unanimous enthusiasm and with such pomp as the little town could furnish. Landy, who commanded at Londonderry, could not venture to oppose himself to the general sentiment of the citizens and of his own soldiers. He therefore gave in his adhesion to the new government and signed a declaration by which he bound himself to stand by that government on pain of being considered a coward and a traitor. A vessel from England soon brought a commission from William and Mary which confirmed him in his office. To reduce the protestants of Alster to submission before Edcourt arrived from England was now the chief object of Terconnell. A great force was ordered to move northward under the command of Richard Hamilton. This man had violated all the obligations which are held most sacred by gentlemen and soldiers, had broken faith with his friends the temples, had forfeited his military power and was now not ashamed to take the field as a general against the government to which he was bound to render himself up as a prisoner. His march left on the face of the country traces which the most careless eye could not during many years failed to discern. His army was accompanied by a rubble such as skitting had well compared to the unclean birds of prey which swarm wherever the scent of carry on is strong. The general professed himself anxious to save from ruin and outrage all protestants who remained quietly at their homes and he most readily gave them protections under his hand. But these protections proved of no avail and he was forced to own that whatever power he might be able to exercise over his soldiers he could not keep order among the mob of camped followers. The country behind him was a wilderness and soon the country before him became equally desolate. For at the fame of his approach the colonists burned their furniture pulled down their houses and retreated northward. Some of them attempted to make a center drama but were broken and scattered. Then the flight became wild and tumultuous. The fugitives broke down the bridges and burned the ferry boats. Whole towns the seats of the protestant population were left in ruins without one inhabitant. The people of Omak destroyed their own dwelling so utterly that no roof was left to shelter the enemy from the rain and wind. The people of Kevin migrated in one body to Ananskilin. The day was wet and stormy. The road was deep in mire. It was a picturesque side to sea mingled with the armed men the women and children whipping famished and toiling for the mud up to their knees. All Lisbon fled to Antrim and as the foes drew nearer all Lisbon and Antrim together came pouring into Landendary. 30 000 protestants of both sexes and of every age were crowded behind the bulwarks of the city of refuge. There at length on the verge of the ocean haunted to the last asylum and baited into a mood in which men may be destroyed but will not easily be subjugated the imperial race turned the spirit to bay. Meanwhile Moundjoy and Rice had arrived in France. Moundjoy was instantly put under arrest and thrown into the Bastille. James determined to comply with the invitation which Rice had brought and applied to Louis for the help of the French army. But Louis, though he showed us to all things which concerned the personal dignity and comfort of his royal guests, a delicacy even romantic and a liberality approaching to profession, was unwilling to set a large body of troops to Ireland. He saw that France would have to maintain a long war on the continent against a formidable coalition. Her expenditure must be immense and great as were her resources. He felt it to be important that nothing should be wasted. He doubtless regarded with sincere commissuration and good will the unfortunate exiles to whom he had given so princely a welcome. Yet neither commissuration nor good will could prevent him from speedily discovering that his brother of England was the dullest and most perverse of human beings. The folly of James, his incapacity to read the characters of men and the signs of the times. His obstinacy always most offensively displayed when wisdom enjoyed concession. His vacillation always exhibited most pitchably in emergencies which required firmness. Had made him an outcast from England and might, if his councils were blindly followed, bring great calamities on France. As a legitimate sovereign expelled by rebels, as a confessor of the true faith persecuted by heretics, as a new kinsman of the House of Bourbon who had seated himself on the hearth of that house, he was entitled to hospitality, to tenderness, to respect. It was fit that he should have a stately palace and a spacious forest, that the household troops should salute him with the highest military honours, that he should have at his command all the hands of the Grand Hansmen and all the hoax of the Grand Falconer. But when a prince who at the head of a great fleet and army had lost an empire without striking a blow, undertook to furnish plans for novel and military expeditions. When a prince who had been undone by his profound ignorance of the temper of his own countrymen, of his own soldiers, of his own domestics, of his own children, undertook to answer for the zeal and fidelity of the Irish people, whose language he could not speak and on whose land he had never said his food. It was necessary to receive his suggestions with caution. Such were the sentiments of Louis and in these sentiments he was confirmed by his minister of war Levois, who on private as well as on public grounds was unwitting that James should be accompanied by a large military force. Levois hated Lausanne. Lausanne was favourite at Saint-Germain. He wore a garter, a badge of honour which has very seldom been conferred on aliens which were not sovereign princes. It was believed indeed at the French court that in order to distinguish him from the other knights of the most illustrious of European orders, he had been decorated with that very torch which Charles the First had on the scaffold put into the hands of Jackson. Lausanne had been encouraged to hope that if French forces were sent to Ireland, he should command them. And this ambitious hope Levois was bent on disappointing. An army was therefore for the present refused, but everything else was granted. The breastfleet was ordered to be in readiness to sail. Arms for 10 000 men and great quantities of ammunition were put on board. About 400 captains, lieutenants, cadets and gunners were selected for the important service of organizing and supplying the Irish levis. The chief command was held by a veteran warrior, the Count of Rosen. Under him were Momo, who held the rank of lieutenant general and a brigadier named Pousignan. 500 000 crowns in gold, equivalent to about 112 000 pounds sterling, were sent to breast. For James personal comforts provision was made with anxiety resembling that of a tender mother equipping her son for a first campaign. The cabin furniture, the camp furniture, the tents, the bedding, the plate, were like serious and superb. Nothing which could be agreeable or useful to the exile was too costly for the magnificence or too trifling for the attention of his gracious and splendid host. On the 15th of February, James spent a farewell visit to Vercels. He was conducted around the buildings and plantations with every mark of respect and kindness. The fountains played in his honor. It was the season of the carnival, and never had the vast palace and the sumptuous gardens presented a gayer aspect. In the evening the two kings, after a long and earnest conference in private, made their appearance before a splendid circle of lords and ladies. I hope, said Louis, in his noblest and most winning manner, that we are about to part, never to meet again in this world. That is the best wish that I can form for you. But if any evil chance should force you to return, be assured that you will find me to the last such as you have found me Hederto. On the 17th, Louis spent in return a farewell visit to Saint-Germain. At the moment of the parting embrace, he said with his most amiable smile, we have forgotten one thing, a queerness for yourself. You shall have mine. The queerness was brought and suggested to the wits of the court ingenious allusions to the volcanic panoply which Achilles lends to his feebler friend. James set out for breast, and his wife, overcome with sickness and sorrow, shut herself up with her child to weep and pray. James was accompanied or spittily followed by several of his own subjects, among whom the most distinguished were his son Berwick, Cartwright, Bishop of Chester, Poes, Dover and Melford. Of all the retinue, none was so odious to the people of Great Britain as Melford. He was an apostate. He was believed by many to be an insincere apostate, and the insolent, arbitrary and menacing language of his state papers disgusted even the Jacobits. He was therefore a favorite with his master. For to James' unpopularity, obstinacy and implacability were the greatest recommendations that a statesman could have. What Frenchman should attend the King of England in the character of Ambassador had been the subject of grave deliberation at Vercels. Barry Long could not be passed over without a marked slide. But his self-indulgent habits, his wand of energy and, above all, the credulity with which he had listened to the professions of Sanderland had made an unfavorable impression on the mind of Lewis. What was to be done in Ireland was not work for a trifle or a dupe. The agent of France in that kingdom must be equal to much more than the ordinary functions of an envoy. It would be his right and his duty to offer advice touching every part of the political and military administration of the country in which he would represent the most powerful and the most beneficent of alleys. Barry Long was therefore passed over. He affected to bear his disgrace with composure. His political career, though it had brought great calamities both on the House of Stuart and on the House of Bourbon, had been by no means unprofitable to himself. He was old, he said, he was fat. He did not invite younger men the honor of living on potatoes and whisky among the Irish box. He would try to console himself with cartridges, with champagne, and with the society of the wittest man and prettiest women of Paris. It was rumored, however, that he was tortured by painful emotions which he was studious to conceal. His health and spirits failed and he tried to find consolation in religious duties. Some people were much edified by the piety of the old voluntary, but others attributed his death which took place not long after his retreat from public life to shame and vexation. End of part four. To find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. History of England from the Assession of James II by Thomas Babington Macaulay Chapter 12, Part 5. The count of a Vox whose sagacity had detected all the plans of William and who had vainly recommended a policy which would probably have frustrated them was the man on whom the choice of Lewis fell. Inabilities of Vox had no superior among the numerous able diplomats whom his country then possessed. His demeanor was singularly pleasing, his person handsome, his temper bland. His manners and conversation were those of a gentleman who had been bred in the most polite and magnificent of all courts. Who had represented that court both in Roman Catholic and Protestant countries and who had acquired in his wanderings the art of catching the tone of any society into which chance might throw him. He was eminently vigilant and adroit, fertile in resources and skillful in discovering the weak parts of a character. His own character, however, was not without its weak parts. The consciousness that he was of plebeian origin was the torment of his life. He pineed for nobility with a pining at once pitiable and ludicrous. Abel experienced and accomplished as he was he sometimes under the influence of this mental disease descended to the level of Maliere's Jordan and entertained malicious observers with scenes almost as laughable as that in which the honest draper was made a mamushi. It would have been well if this had been the worst, but it is not too much to say that of the difference between right and wrong of aux had no more notion than a brute. One sentiment was to him in the place of religion and morality, a superstitious and intolerant devotion to the crown which he served. This sentiment pervades all his dispatches and gives a color to all his thoughts and words. Nothing that tended to promote the interest of the French monarchy seemed to him a crime. Indeed he appears to have taken it for granted that not only Frenchmen but all human beings owed a natural allegiance to the house of bourbon and that whoever hesitated to sacrifice the happiness and freedom of his own native country to the glory of that house was a traitor. While he resided at the Hague he always designated those Dutchmen who had sold themselves to France as the well-intentioned party. In the letters which he wrote from Ireland the same feeling appears still more strongly. He would have been a more sagacious politician if he had sympathized more with those feelings of moral approbation and disapprobation which prevail among the vulgar. For his own indifference to all considerations of justice and mercy was such that in his schemes he made no allowance for the conscience and sensibilities of his neighbors. More than once he deliberately recommended wickedness so horrible that wicked men recoiled from it with indignation. But they could not succeed even in making their scruples intelligible to him. To every remonstrance he listened with a cynical sneer wondering within himself whether those who lectured him were such fools as they professed to be or were only shamming. Such was the man whom Lewis selected to be the companion and monitor of James. A vaux was charged to open if possible a communication with the malcontents in the English parliament and he was authorized to expend, if necessary, a hundred thousand crowns among them. James arrived at Brest on the 5th of March, embarked there on board of a man of war called the Saint Michael, and sailed within 48 hours. He had ample time, however, before his departure to exhibit some of the faults by which he had lost England and Scotland, and by which he was about to lose Ireland. A vaux wrote from the harbour of Brest that it would not be easy to conduct any important business in concert with the King of England. His Majesty could not keep any secret from anybody. The very foremost men of the Saint Michael had already heard him say things which ought to have been reserved for the ears of his confidential advisers. The voyage was safely and quietly performed, and on the afternoon of the 12th of March James landed in the harbour of Kinsale. By the Roman Catholic population he was received with shouts of unfamed transport. The few Protestants who remained in that part of the country joined in greeting him and perhaps not insincerely. For though an enemy of their religion he was not an enemy of their nation, and they might reasonably hope that the worst king would show somewhat more respect for law and property than had been shown by the merry boys and wraparise. The vicar of Kinsale was among those who went to pay their duty. He was presented by the Bishop of Chester and was not ungraciously received. James learned that his case was prospering. In the three southern provinces of Ireland the Protestants were disarmed and were so effectively bowed down by terror that he had nothing to apprehend from them. In the north there was some show of resistance, but Hamilton was marching against the malcontents, and there was little doubt that they would easily be crushed. A day was spent at Kinsale in putting the arms and ammunition out of reach of danger. Horses sufficient to carry a few travelers were, with some difficulty, procured. And on the 14th of March James proceeded to Cork. We should greatly air if we imagined that the road by which he entered the city bore any resemblance to the stately approach which strikes the traveler of the nineteenth century with admiration. At present Cork, though deformed by many miserable relics of a former age, holds no mean place among the ports of the empire. The shipping is more than half what the shipping of London was at the time of the revolution. The customs exceed the whole revenue which the whole kingdom of Ireland in the most peaceful and prosperous times yielded to the stewards. The town is adorned by broad and well-built streets, by fair gardens, by a Corinthian portico which would do honour to Palladio, and by a Gothic college worthy to stand in the high street of Oxford. In 1689 the city extended over about one-tenth part of the space which it now covers, and was intersected by muddy streams which have long been concealed by arches and buildings. A desolate marsh in which the sportsmen who pursued the waterfowl sank deep in water and mire at every step covered the area now occupied by stately buildings. The palaces of the great commercial societies. There was only a single street in which two-wheeled carriages could pass each other. From this street diverged two right and left alleys, squalid and noisome beyond the belief of those who have formed their notions of misery from the most miserable part of St. Giles and Whitechapel. One of these alleys, called and by comparison justly called Broad Lane, is about ten feet wide. From such places now seats of hunger and pestilence abandoned to the most wretched of mankind this citizen's poured forth to welcome James. He was received with military honors by McCarthy who held the chief command in Munster. It was impossible for the king to proceed immediately to Dublin, for the Southern counties had been so completely laid waste by the Bandidae, whom the priests had called to arms, that the means of locomotion were not easily to be procured. Horses had become rarities. In a large district there were only two carts, and those of auks pronounced good for nothing. Some days elapsed before the money which had been brought from France, though no very formidable mass could be dragged over the few miles which separated cork from Kinsale. While the king and his council were employed in trying to procure carriages and beasts, Tyr Connell arrived from Dublin. He held encouraging language. The opposition of Ennis Killen he seemed to have thought deserving of little consideration. Londonderry, he said, was the only important post held by the Protestants, and even Londonderry would not in his judgment hold out many days. At length James was able to leave cork for the capital. On the road the shrewd and observant of auks made many remarks. The first part of the journey was through wild highlands, where it was not strange that there should be few traces of art and industry. But from Kilkenny to the gates of Dublin the path of the travelers lay over gently undulating ground with natural verter. That fertile district should have been covered with flocks and herds, orchards, and cornfields. But it was an unfilled and unpeopled desert. Even in the towns the artisans were very few. Manufactured articles were hardly to be found, and if found could only be procured only at immense prices. The truth was that most of the English inhabitants had fled, and that art, industry, and capital had fled with them. James received on his progress numerous marks of the goodwill of the peasantry. But marks such as two men bred in the courts of France and England had an uncouth and ominous appearance. Though very few laborers were seen at work and in the fields, the road was lined by wraparise, armed with skeens, stakes, and halfpikes, who crowded to look upon the deliverer of their race. The highway, along which he travelled, presented the aspect of a street in which a fare is held. Pipers came forth to play before him in a style which was not exactly that of the French opera, and the villagers danced wildly to the music, long freeze mantles resembling those which Spencer had a century before described as meat beds for rebels and apt cloaks for thieves were spread along the path which the cavalcade was to tread, and garlands in which cabbage stalks supplied the place of laurels were offered to the royal hand. The women insisted on kissing his majesty, but it should seem that they bore little resemblance to their posterity. For this compliment was so distasteful to him that he ordered his retinue to keep them at a distance. On the 24th of March he entered Dublin, the city was then in extent and population the second in the British Isles. It contained between six and seven thousand houses and probably above thirty thousand inhabitants. In wealth and beauty, however, Dublin was inferior to many English towns. Of the graceful and stately public buildings which now adorn both sides of the Liffey scarcely one had even been projected. The college, a very different edifice from that which now stands on the same site lay quite out of the city. The ground which at present is occupied by Leinster House and Charlemont House, by Sackville Street and Marion Square was open meadow. Most of the dwellings were built of timber and have long given place to more substantial edifices. The castle had in 1686 been almost uninhabitable. Clarendon had complained that he knew of no gentleman in Paul Mall, who was not more conveniently and handsomely lodged than the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. No public ceremony could be performed in a becoming manner under the vice regal roof. Nay, in spite of the constant glazing and tiling, the rain perpetually drenched the apartments. Tyr Connell, since he became Lord Deputy, had erected a new building somewhat more commodious. To this building the king was conducted in a state through the southern part of the city. Every exertion had been made to give an air of festivity and splendor to the district which he was to traverse. The streets which were generally deep in mud were strewn with gravel, boughs, and flowers were scattered over the path. Tapestry and eras hung from the windows of those who could afford to exhibit such finery. The poor supplied the place of rich stuffs with blankets and cover lids. In one place was stationed a troop of friars with a cross. In another a company of forty girls dressed in white and carrying nosegays. Pipers and harpers played, quote, the king shall enjoy his own again, end quote. The Lord Deputy carried the sword of state before his master. The judges, the heralds, the Lord Mayor, and aldermen appeared in all the pomp of office. Soldiers were drawn up on the right and left to keep the passages clear. A procession of twenty coaches belonging to public functionaries was mustered. Before the castle gate the king was met with the host under a canopy born by four bishops of his church. At the site he fell on his knees and passed some time in devotion. He then rose and was conducted to the chapel of his palace. Once such are the vicissitudes of human things, the riding-house of Henry Cromwell. A tedium was performed in honor of his majesty's arrival. The next morning he held a privy council, discharged Chief Justice Keating from any further attendance at the board, ordered a vox and bishop Cartwright to be sworn in, and issued a proclamation convoking a parliament to meet at Dublin on the 7th of May. When the news that James had arrived in Ireland reached London, the sorrow and alarm were general, and were mingled with serious discontent. The multitude not making sufficient allowance for the difficulties by which William was encompassed on every side loudly blamed his neglect. To all the invectives of the ignorant and malicious he opposed, as was his want, nothing but immutable gravity and the silence of profound disdain. But few minds had received from nature a temper so firm as his, and still fewer had undergone so long and so rigorous a discipline. The reproaches which had no power to shake his fortitude, tried from childhood upwards by both extremes of fortune, inflicted a deadly wound on a less resolute heart. While all the coffee-houses were unanimously resolving that a fleet and army ought to have been long before sent to Dublin, and wondering how so renowned a politician as his Majesty could have been duped by Hamilton and Tyr Connell, a gentleman went down to the temple stairs, called a boat, and desired to be pulled to Greenwich. He took the cover of a letter from his pocket, scratched a few lines with a pencil, and laid the paper on the seat with some silver for his fare. As the boat passed under the dark central arc of London Bridge, he sprang into the water and disappeared. It was found that he had written these words, quote, my folly in undertaking what I could not execute hath done the king great prejudice which cannot be stopped. No easier way for me than this. May his undertakings prosper. May he have a blessing, end quote. There was no signature, but the body was soon found, and proved to be that of John Temple. He was young and highly accomplished. He was heir to an honourable name. He was united to an amiable woman. He was possessed of an ample fortune, and he had in prospect the greatest honours of the state. It does not appear that the public had been at all aware to what extent he was answerable for the policy which had brought so much obliquy on the government. The king, stern as he was, had far too great a heart to treat an error as a crime. He had just appointed the unfortunate young man, secretary at war, and the commission was actually preparing. It is not improbable that the cold magnanimity of the master was the very thing which made the remorse of the servant insupportable. But greatest were the vexations which William had to undergo, those by which the temper of his father-in-law was at this time tried were greater still. No court in Europe was distracted by more quarrels and intrigues than were to be found within the walls of Dublin Castle. The numerous petty cabals which sprang from the cupidity, the jealousy, and the malevolence of individuals scarcely deserve mention. But there was one cause of discord which has been too little noticed, and which is the key to much that has been thought mysterious in the history of those times. Between English Jacobitism and Irish Jacobitism there was nothing in common. The English Jacobite was animated by a strong enthusiasm for the family of Stuart, and in his zeal for the interests of that family he too often forgot the interests of the state. Victory, peace, prosperity seemed evils to the stanch non-juror of our island if they tended to make usurpation popular and permanent. Defeat, bankruptcy, famine, invasion were in his view public blessings, if they increased the chance of a restoration. He would rather have seen his country the last of the nations under James II or James III than the mistress of the sea, the empire between contending potentates, the seed of arts, the hive of industry under a prince of the house of Nassau or of Brunswick. The sentiments of the Irish Jacobite were very different and it must in candor be acknowledged were of nobler character. The fallen dynasty was nothing to him. He had not, like a Cheshire or Shropshire Cavalier, been taught from his cradle to consider loyalty to that dynasty as the first duty of a Christian and a gentleman. All his family traditions, all the lessons taught him by his foster mother and by his priests had been of a very different tendency. He had been brought up to regard the foreign sovereigns of his native land with the feeling with which the Jew regarded Caesar, with which the Scott regarded Edward I, with which the Castilian regarded Joseph Bonaparte, with which the pole regards the autocrat of the Russias. It was the boast of the high-born Malaysian that, from the 12th century to the 17th, every generation of his family had been in arms against the English crown. His remote ancestors had contended with Fitz Stephen and de Berg. His great-grandfather had cloven down the soldiers of Elizabeth in the battle of the Blackwater. His grandfather had conspired with O'Donnell against James I. His father had fought under Sir Philharmonial against Charles I. The confiscation of the family estate had been ratified by an act of Charles II. No Puritan, who had been cited before the High Commission by Lorde, who had charged under Cromwell at Nasby, who had been prosecuted under the Conventical Act, and who had been in hiding on account of the Rye House plot, bore less affection to the House of Stuart than the O'Harris and Mech-Mons on whose support the fortunes of that House now seemed to depend. The fixed purpose of these men was to break the foreign yoke, to exterminate the Saxon colony, to sweep away the Protestant church, and to restore the soil to its ancient proprietors. To obtain these ends they would, without the smallest scruple, have risen up against James, and to obtain these ends they rose up for him. The Irish Jacobites, therefore, were not at all desirous that he should again reign at Whitehall. For they could not but be aware that a sovereign of Ireland, who was also sovereign of England, would not, and even if he would, could not, long administer the government of the smaller and poorer kingdom in direct opposition to the feeling of the larger and richer. Their real wish was that the crowns might be completely separated, and that their island might, whether under James or without James, they cared little, form a distinct state under the powerful protection of France. While one party in council at Dublin regarded James merely as a tool to be employed for achieving the deliverance of Ireland, another party regarded Ireland merely as a tool to be employed for affecting the restoration of James. To the English and Scotch lords, and gentlemen who had accompanied him from breast, the island in which they sojourned was merely a steppingstone by which they were to reach Great Britain. They were still as much exiles as when they were at St. Germain's, and indeed they thought St. Germain's a far more pleasant place of exile than Dublin Castle. They had no sympathy with the native population of the remote and half barbarous region to which a strange chance had led them. Nay, they were bound by common extraction and by common language to that colony which it was the chief object of the native population to root out. They had indeed, like the great body of their countrymen, always regarded the aboriginal Irish with very unjust contempt, as inferior to other European nations not only in acquired knowledge but in natural intelligence and courage, as born gibbonites who had been liberally treated in being permitted to hue wood and to draw water for a wiser and mightier people. These politicians also thought, and here they were undoubtedly in the right, if their master's object was to recover the throne of England it would be madness in him to give himself up to the guidance of the O's and the Max who regarded England with mortal enmity. A law declaring the crown of Ireland independent, a law transferring mitres, glabs and tithes from the Protestant to the Roman Catholic Church, a law transferring ten millions of acres from Saxons to Celts. Would doubtless be loudly applauded in Claire and Tipperary. But what would be the effect of such laws at Westminster, what at Oxford, it would be poor policy to alienate such men as Clarendon and Buford, Ken and Sherlock, in order to obtain the applause of the wraparise of the Bog of Allen. Thus the English and Irish factions in the Council at Dublin were engaged in a dispute which admitted of no compromise. A Vaux, meanwhile, looked on that dispute from a point of view entirely his own. His object was neither the emancipation of Ireland nor the restoration of James, but the greatness of the French monarchy. In what way that object might be best attained was a very complicated problem. Undoubtedly a French statement could, not but wish, for a counter-revolution in England. The effect of such a counter-revolution would be that the power which was the most formidable enemy of France would become her firmest ally, that William would sink into insignificance and that the European coalition of which he was the chief would be dissolved. But what chance was there of such a counter-revolution? The English exiles indeed after the fashion of exiles confidently anticipated a speedy return to their country. James himself loudly boasted that his subjects on the other side of the water, though they had been misled for a moment by the specious names of religion, liberty, and property, were warmly attached to him and would rally round him as soon as he appeared among them. But the wary envoy tried in vain to discover any foundation for these hopes. He was certain that they were not warranted by any intelligence which had arrived from any part of Great Britain, and he considered them as mere daydreams of a feeble mind. He thought it unlikely that the usurper, whose ability and resolution he had during an unintermitted conflict of ten years, learned to appreciate, would easily part with the great prize which had been won by such strenuous exertions and profound combinations. It was therefore necessary to consider what arrangements would be most beneficial to France, on the supposition that it proved impossible to dislodge William from England. And it was evident that if William could not be dislodged from England, the arrangement most beneficial to France would be that which had been contemplated eighteen months before when James had no prospect of a male heir. Ireland must be severed from the English crown, purged of the English colonists, reunited to the Church of Rome, placed under the protection of the House of Bourbon, and made, in everything but name, a French province. In war her resources would be absolutely at the command of her Lord Paramount. She would furnish his army with recruits. She would furnish his navy with fine harbors, commanding all the great western outlets of the English trade. The strong national and religious antipathy with which her Aboriginal population regarded the inhabitants of the neighboring island would be a sufficient guarantee for their fidelity to that government which could alone protect her against the Saxon. On the whole, therefore, it appeared to a vox that of the two parties into which the council at Dublin was divided, the Irish party was that which it was for the interest of France to support. He accordingly connected himself closely with the chiefs of that party, obtained for them the fullest avowals of all that they designed, and was soon able to report to his government that neither the gentry nor the common people were at all unwilling to become French. End of part five, recording by Robert Scott, August the fifth, 2007