Chapter 15: A Fortunate Recognition.
After the capitulation of Galway, Ginckle moved towards Limerick. KingWilliam, who was absent on the Continent, was most anxious for the aid ofthe army warring in Ireland, and the queen and her advisers, consideringthat the war was now virtually over, ordered transports to Ireland totake on board ten thousand men; but Ginckle was allowed a month's delay.
He himself was by no means sanguine as to his position. The Irish armywas still as numerous as the British, and they were not discouraged bytheir defeat at Aughrim, where they considered, and rightly, that victoryhad only been snatched from their grasp by an accident. Ginckle reliedrather upon concession than force. The Irish were divided into twoparties, one of which earnestly desired peace, if they could obtain fairterms, while the other insisted that the British could not be trusted tokeep any terms they might make. Sarsfield was at the head of the warparty, and succeeded, for the present, in preventing any arrangement.
Ginckle advanced slowly, for he had to march through a waste and desolatecountry. Sarsfield, with his cavalry, hovered round him, and interceptedhis communications, and he was so short of draught horses that it wasonly by forcing the gentry of Dublin to give up their carriage horses,for the use of the army, that he was enabled to move forward.
It was not until the end of August that he sat down with his siege trainin front of Limerick, and prepared for the siege. For the moment, theparty in favour of peace among the Irish had been silenced by the newsthat twenty large ships of war, with a great number of transport andstore ships, were being pushed forward at Brest and other French ports tocome to their assistance.
Ginckle occupied the same ground which William's army had taken up in thefirst siege, but directed his attacks chiefly upon the English town. Asbefore, the Irish communication was open with the county of Clare, andthe seventeen regiments of Irish horse were encamped on the Clare side ofthe river. Ginckle pushed on his works with great vigour, and the duty inthe trenches was so severe, that the cavalry were compelled to take theirturn with the infantry; but, notwithstanding that the siege artillery wasmuch more powerful than that which William had at his disposal, butlittle progress was made. The town was set on fire several times; but theflames were speedily extinguished, and, as the inhabitants had all leftthe city and erected tents on the Clare side, under the protection oftheir cavalry, little harm was done to them.
While the siege was going on, a number of desultory engagements tookplace, in different parts of the country, between the Protestant militiawhich had been lately raised, and the bands of rapparees, with varyingsuccess.
The season was getting late. Ginckle was again becoming straitened forprovisions, for the proclamations which he issued failed to inspire thepeasantry with any confidence. He now erected a battery, of thirty-fiveguns, against King's Island; and, after an incessant cannonade of somedays, a breach was effected in the wall between the abbey andBallsbridge. Preparations were made for crossing the arm of the Shannonand assaulting the breach; but the works constructed for crossing theriver were repeatedly destroyed by the Irish, and the idea of assaultupon the breach was, at length, abandoned. So desperate did Ginckle nowthink his position, that he issued orders for the repair of thefortifications of Kilmallock, intending to raise the siege and establishhis winter quarters there; but he postponed taking this step for a fewdays, for to do so would be to bring almost certain disaster upon hisarmy.
The French fleet was expected to arrive shortly, and the Irish,reinforced with men, arms, and supplies of every kind, would probablyresume the offensive during the winter, and he would find himself cut offfrom all supplies and assistance. He determined, therefore, to make onemore effort before retiring.
He had, throughout the siege, been in communication with several Irishofficers of high rank, and especially with General Clifford, whocommanded the cavalry posted on the river opposite to his camp. Theseofficers were as desirous as he was of bringing the war to an end, forthey foresaw that if, after the arrival of the French, they succeeded indriving the English out of the country, Ireland would simply become adependency of France, and they preferred the English connection to this.Ginckle determined to try, again, the same feint which had succeeded atAthlone. The workmen were kept busy repairing the works at Kilmallock,and preparing that place for the reception of the army. The greaterportion of the baggage, and a regiment of Danes, were sent forward tothat town. The batteries ceased firing, and the cannon were dismounted atseveral points, and the Irish were persuaded that the siege was about tobe abandoned.
Meanwhile, Ginckle was busy collecting boats, and preparing a bridgeacross to a small island, which lay not far from the Clare side of theriver. On a dark night, the boats were brought up and the bridgeconstructed, and, led by six hundred grenadiers, a strong force ofinfantry, cavalry, and artillery crossed to the island, and then wadedthrough the shallow water beyond to the mainland.
A few men, posted on the island, carried the news to Clifford, but hegave no orders to the four regiments of cavalry and two of infantry underhis command, nor did he send any notice to the camp. Some of the infantryand cavalry, however, ran without orders to the bank, and kept thegrenadiers in check until the British cavalry had crossed, and compelledthem to fall back. The British cavalry then dashed forward to the Irishcavalry camp, which they took completely by surprise. Panic stricken atthis unexpected attack, the soldiers and the citizens in the town campfled in all directions, and, great numbers rushing to Thomond Bridge,entered the city by that narrow approach.
Had Ginckle at once pushed forward, he would have captured almost thewhole of the Irish officials and civilians on the Clare side of theriver; but, fearing an ambuscade, he halted his troops before advancingto the Irish camp, and this gave time for most of them to escape. Beingafraid that the garrison would sally out from the town, and attack hislines on the other side of the river, he recrossed the Shannon with histroops, carrying with them a crowd of civilians, among them a number ofpersons of rank, and officials with the records and public treasure.
The confusion and surprise in the town were so great that the Irishgenerals took no steps whatever, either to hinder his passage back acrossthe river, or to attack either portion of his divided army. They knewthat treachery must have been at work, to have enabled the enemy tosurprise the camp, and, as they could not tell how far that treacheryextended, they abstained from all action.
Captain Davenant's troop had shared in the disaster inflicted by thenight attack upon the cavalry camp. All were asleep when the Englishcavalry burst upon them. Taken utterly by surprise, and ignorant as tothe strength of the force by which they were attacked, there was nothought of resistance. Officers and men leapt from the piles of rushes,which served as beds, and rushed to their horses. The English trooperswere cutting and hewing in all directions, and, cutting the picket ropes,each man sprang on his horse and rode for his life.
Captain Davenant had, at first, shouted to his men to keep steady; buthis words were lost in the din which prevailed, and, seeing that nothingwas to be done, he said to Walter:
"It is all over, Walter. We must ride for it, like the rest."
By morning, the Irish cavalry was scattered all over the country, and itwas not for two or three days that they again assembled in regiments,presenting a sorry sight, the greater part having lost saddles andaccoutrements of every kind. A few troops, composed of men who had beenfortunate enough to have left their horses saddled when night came on,were sent back to Limerick. The rest drew off towards Ennis, and encampedthere until they could procure saddles and accoutrements to take thefield again.
In Captain Davenant's troop there were but six men who had saved theirsaddles; and, as it would have been useless to send so small a detachmentto Limerick, these remained with the troop, and were, at Walter'srequest, placed entirely at his disposal, in order that with them hemight make scouting expeditions in the enemy's rear. He had permission toconsider himself entirely on detached service, and to join any body of
rapparees he might choose; but this Walter did not care about doing, forhe had a horror of the savage acts which were perpetrated by theirregular forces on both sides, and determined to confine himself towatching the roads, bringing in news of any convoys which might betraversing the country, and cutting off messengers going or returningwith despatches.
The service was one of no great danger, for parties of peasants were onthe watch, night and day; and, the instant any movement was observed,they started off at full speed to warn all the inhabitants of thesurrounding villages to drive away their cattle, and carry off theireffects into the hills or into the heart of some neighbouring bog, wherethe cavalry would not venture to penetrate.
One day when, with his little band, he was halting at a village, some tenmiles in rear of the camp, a peasant ran in.
"A party of their horse have just seized some carts laden with potatoesat Kilcowan, and are driving them off. The boys are mustering to attackthem on their way back."
"It is too bad," Walter exclaimed. "Only three days ago, Ginckle issuedanother proclamation guaranteeing that no provisions, or other goods,should be taken by his soldiers without payment.
"To horse, lads! We will ride out and give the peasants a helping hand,if they really mean to attack the enemy."
Kilcowan was two miles away and, having learned from the peasant that thepeople intended to attack at a point where the road passed between twohills, a mile and a half beyond the village, he galloped on at fullspeed. He arrived, however, too late to take any part in the fight. Thepeasants had rushed suddenly down the hillsides, armed with scythes andpikes, upon the convoy as it passed below them. Several of the cavalryhad been killed, and the rest were riding off, when Walter with histroopers dashed up. They continued the pursuit for a mile, cutting off afew stragglers, less well mounted than the rest, and then returned toKilcowan, where the peasants had just arrived in triumph with the rescuedcarts of potatoes.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, when the excitement of the welcome,accorded by the women to the captors, had subsided a little. "You mayexpect a strong body to be sent out, tomorrow, to punish you for this."
"It's the general's own proclamation, your honour. Didn't he say,himself, that his soldiers were not to stale anything, and that theywould be severely punished if they did? And didn't he guarantee that weshould be paid for everything? He could not blame us for what we havedone, and he ought to hang the rest of those thieving villains, when theyget back to him."
"I wouldn't be too sure about it," Walter said. "He issued a good manyproclamations before, but he has never kept the terms of one of them. IfI were you, I would leave the village--man, woman, and child--for a fewdays, at any rate, and see how the Dutchman takes it."
But the villagers could not be persuaded that the Dutch general woulddisapprove of what they had done, and Walter, finding his arguments of noavail, rode off with his men to the village they had left, an hourbefore; with the parting advice that, if they would not follow hiscounsel, they should, at any rate, place watchers that night on the roadstowards Ginckle's camp, to bring them news of the approach of any body ofthe enemy's cavalry.
But the villagers were too delighted with their day's work to pay muchheed to Walter's warning, and, after a general jollification in honour oftheir victory, retired to rest, thoughtless of danger.
It was getting dark when Walter reached the village where he haddetermined to stay for the night. He ordered the men to keep the saddleson their horses, and to hitch them to the doors of the cabins where theytook up their quarters, in readiness for instant movement. He placed onemounted sentry at the entrance to the village, and another a quarter of amile on the road towards Kilcowan.
At nine o'clock, he heard the sound of a horse galloping up to the door,and ran out. It was the sentry at the end of the village.
"Kilcowan is on fire, sir!"
Walter looked in that direction, and saw a broad glare of light.
"Ride out, and bring in the advanced sentry," he said, "as quick aspossible."
He called the other men out, and bade them mount; that done, they sat,ready to ride off on the return of their comrades.
"Here they come, sir," one of the men said, "and I fancy the enemy areafter them."
Walter listened intently. He could hear a deep thundering noise, whichwas certainly made by the hoofs of more than two horses.
"Face about, men, trot! Keep your horses well in hand, until the otherscome up, and then ride for it.
"Ah, what is that!"
As he spoke, there was a shout from the other end of the village,followed instantly by the trampling of horses.
"They have surrounded us!" Walter exclaimed. "Shoulder to shoulder, lads,and cut your way through. It's our only chance. Charge!"
And, placing himself at the head, he set spurs to his horse and dashed atthe approaching enemy.
There was a fierce shock. A horse and rider rolled over from the impetusof his charge, then he cut right and left; pistol shots rang out, and hishorse fell beneath him, shot through the head, pinning his leg beneathit.
The fall saved his life, for four or five troopers had surrounded him,and in another moment he would have been cut down. For a time, he rangreat risk of being trampled upon, in the confusion which followed. Thensome of the troopers dismounted, he was dragged from beneath his horse,and found himself a prisoner. He was placed in the centre of the troop,the only captive taken, for two of the six men had got safe away in thedarkness and confusion, the other four had fallen.
The English, as he afterwards learned, had, immediately they arrived atKilcowan, inquired where the Irish cavalry, who had taken part in theafternoon's fight, were quartered, and on hearing that they were but twomiles away, the officer in command had forced one of the peasants to actas guide, and to take a party round, by a detour, so as to enter at theother end of the village, just as another party rode in by the directroad.
Walter was taken first to Kilcowan. There he found a party of twelve orfourteen peasants, surrounded by cavalry. The whole village was inflames. Several of the inhabitants had been cut down, as the cavalryentered. The rest, with the exception of those in the hands of thetroops, had fled in the darkness. As soon as the detachment with Walterarrived, the whole body got into motion, and reached Ginckle's campshortly before midnight.
As the general had retired to sleep, they were placed in a tent, and foursentries posted round it, with orders to shoot anyone who showed his headoutside. In the morning, they were ordered to come out, and found outsidethe general, with several of his officers.
"So," Ginckle said, "you are the fellows who attacked my soldiers. I willteach you a lesson which shall be remembered all over Ireland. You shallbe broken on the wheel."
This sentence was heard unmoved by the peasants, who had not the leastidea of what was meant by it; but Walter stepped forward:
"It is not these men who are to blame, but your soldiers, general," hesaid. "Your own proclamation, issued three days ago, guaranteed that noprivate property should be interfered with, and that everything thetroops required should be paid for. Your soldiers disobeyed your orders,and plundered these poor people, and they were just as much justified indefending themselves against them, as any householder is who resists aburglar."
"You dare speak to me!" exclaimed Ginckle. "You shall share their fate.Every man of you shall be broken on the wheel."
"General Ginckle," Walter said warmly, "hitherto, the foul excesses ofyour troops have brought disgrace upon them, rather than you; but, ifthis brutal order is carried out, your name will be held infamous, andyou will stand next only to Cromwell in the curses which Irishmen willheap upon your memory."
The Dutch general was almost convulsed with passion.
"Take the dogs away," he shouted, "and let the sentence be carried out."
Several English officers were standing near, and these looked at oneanother in astonishment and disgust. Two of them hurried away, to fetchsome of the superior officers, and direct
ly these heard of the ordersthat had been given, they proceeded to Ginckle's tent.
"Can it be true," General Hamilton said, "that you have ordered someprisoners to be broken on the wheel?"
"I have given those orders," Ginckle said angrily, "and I will not permitthem to be questioned."
"Pardon me," General Hamilton said firmly; "but they must be questioned.There is no such punishment as breaking on the wheel known to the Englishlaw, and I and my English comrades protest against such a sentence beingcarried out."
"But I will have it so!" Ginckle exclaimed, his face purple with passion.
"Then, sir," General Hamilton said, "I tell you that, in half an hourfrom the present time, I will march out from your camp, at the head of mydivision of British troops, and will return to Dublin; and, what is more,I will fight my way out of the camp if any opposition is offered, andwill explain my conduct to the king and the British parliament. Enoughdisgrace has already been brought upon all connected with the army, bythe doings of the foreign troops; but when it comes to the death bytorture of prisoners, by the order of their general, it is time thatevery British officer should refuse to permit such foul disgrace to restupon his name."
There was a chorus of assent from the other English officers, whileGinckle's foreign officers gathered round him, and it looked for a momentas if swords would be drawn.
Ginckle saw that he had gone too far, and felt that, not only would thisquarrel, if pushed further, compel him to raise the siege and fall backupon Dublin, but it would entail upon him the displeasure of the king,still more certainly that of the English parliament.
"There is no occasion for threats," he said, mastering his passion. "Youtell me that such a punishment is contrary to English law. That isenough. I abandon it at once. The prisoners shall be hung and quartered.I presume that you have no objection to offer to that."
"That, general, is a matter in your own competence, and for your ownconscience," Hamilton said. "The men have simply, as I understand,defended their property against marauders, and they are, as I conceive,worthy of no punishment whatever. If you choose to sentence them to sucha punishment, it is your sentence, not mine. I thought it was your policyto heal the breach between the two parties. It seems I was mistaken.Personally, I protest against the execution of the sentence, beyond thatI am not called upon to go. An act of injustice or cruelty, performed bya general upon prisoners, would not justify a soldier in imperilling thesuccess of the campaign by resisting the orders of his superior;therefore, my duty to the king renders me unable to act; but I solemnlyprotest, in my own name and that of the English officers under yourcommand, against the sentence, which I consider unjust in the extreme."
So saying, General Hamilton, with the English officers, left thegeneral's tent. If they hoped that the protest would have the effect ofpreventing the barbarous sentence from being carried into execution, theywere mistaken. The fact that, to carry out his first intention would havebeen absolutely unlawful, had caused Ginckle to abandon it, but this madehim only the more obstinate in carrying the second into execution.
The English officers stood talking, not far from his tent, in tones ofindignation and disgust at the brutal sentence, and then walked towardstheir divisional camp. As they went, they saw a number of men standinground a tree. Some Hessian soldiers, with much brutal laughter, werereeving ropes over the arm of the tree, and, just as the officers camealong, six struggling forms were drawn up high above the heads of thecrowd.
The party paused for a moment, and were about to pass on, their facesshowing how deep was their horror at the scene, when one of themexclaimed:
"There is an Irish officer, in uniform, among the prisoners! This cannotbe suffered, Hamilton. The Irish have several of ours prisoners in thetown, and they would rightly retaliate by hanging them on thebattlements."
General Hamilton and the others pressed forward.
"Colonel Hanau," the general said to a Hessian officer, "you surelycannot be going to hang this young officer? The general can never haveincluded him with the others?"
"The general's orders were precise," the Hessian said coldly. "Twelvepeasants and one officer were to be hung, and afterwards quartered."
"It is monstrous!" General Hamilton exclaimed. "I will go back to thegeneral, and obtain his order for the arrest of the execution."
"You will be too late, sir," the Hessian said coldly. "I have my orders,and before you are half way to the general's camp, that prisoner will beswinging from that bough."
"I order you to desist, sir, till I return," General Hamilton said.
"As I do not happen to be in your division, General Hamilton, and as Ihave received my orders from the commander in chief, I decline altogetherto take orders from you."
Walter, who had resigned himself to his fate, stood watching thealtercation with a renewed feeling of hope. This died out when thecolonel spoke, and two of the troopers seized him, but at that moment hiseye fell upon one of the English officers.
"Colonel L'Estrange!" he exclaimed.
The officer started, at hearing his name called out by the prisoner, buthe did not recognize him.
"I am Walter Davenant. You remember, sir, the wreck off Bray?"
"Good heavens!" Colonel L'Estrange exclaimed, pressing forward.
"It is the lad who saved my life, General Hamilton!
"Gentlemen, this young officer saved my life at the risk of his own. Icannot and will not stand by and see him murdered."
The Hessian colonel signed to four of his men, who seized Walter anddragged him towards the tree. Colonel L'Estrange drew his sword.
"My men," he shouted, to some English soldiers who were mingled with thecrowd of onlookers, which had rapidly increased during the dispute,"stand by me, and don't let this brave young officer be murdered."
A score of soldiers pushed through the crowd, and ranged themselves byColonel L'Estrange. He dashed forward, sword in hand, and in a momentWalter was torn from the grasp of the soldiers, and placed in the centreof his rescuers, who were now joined by General Hamilton and the otherofficers.
Several men had run off at full speed, to the British camp, to bring upaid. The Hessian colonel called upon his men to seize the prisoner, andcut down all who interfered to prevent the general's orders being carriedout. These hesitated before the resolute aspect of the English, but thecrowd of foreign soldiers ranged themselves with them, and the attack wasabout to commence, when a number of English soldiers were seen running,musket in hand, from their camp.
The Hessian colonel saw that to attempt to carry out his orders, now,would bring on something like a pitched battle, and he therefore wavedhis men back, saying to General Hamilton:
"I have nothing to do now, sir, but to report to General Ginckle that Ihave been prevented, by force, from carrying his orders into effect."
"That you will, of course, do," General Hamilton said coldly. "I shall beperfectly prepared to answer for my conduct."
There was no goodwill between the English and foreign sections ofGinckle's army, and General Hamilton had some trouble in preventing thesoldiers from attacking the Hessians, and in inducing them to retire totheir camp. As soon as he arrived there, he ordered the drums to bebeaten, and the whole division to get under arms. He then despatched anofficer to General Ginckle, narrating the circumstances, and saying thatthe honour of the whole army was concerned in preventing an officer,fairly taken prisoner in war, and not while acting as a spy, from beinginjured; and that, indeed, policy as well as honour forbade such a coursebeing taken, as there were several officers of rank in the hands of theIrish, who would naturally retaliate on them the execution of prisonersof war. He made a formal complaint against Colonel Hanau, for refusing todelay the execution until he could lay the matter before the general. Asfor his own conduct in the matter, he said he was perfectly prepared todefend it before any military court, but that court must be held inEngland, where he purposed to return at once, with the division hismajesty had intrusted to his command.
The Dutch general had, long before he received the letter, been informedof what had taken place, and had also learned that the English divisionhad struck their tents, and were drawn up under arms. To allow them todepart would be to entail certain ruin upon the campaign, and he feltthat it was more than probable that the course Hamilton and his officershad taken would be upheld by a military court in England, and that publicopinion would condemn the execution of an officer, taken in fair fight.He therefore wrote a letter to General Hamilton, saying that he regrettedto find that he had been acting under a misapprehension, for he hadunderstood that the person claiming to be an Irish officer was in fact aspy, and that he had severely reprimanded Colonel Hanau for his refusalto delay the execution until the fact had been explained to him. Far fromfeeling in any way aggrieved that General Hamilton had interfered toprevent such a mistake from taking place, he felt much obliged to him forwhat he had done, as the execution of an Irish officer taken in warwould, in every way, have been a most unfortunate circumstance.
General Hamilton showed the letter to the colonels of the variousregiments in the division, and these agreed that, as General Ginckle wasevidently desirous that the matter should go no further, it would be aswell to order the tents to be again pitched, and for the troops to resumetheir ordinary duties.
"My dear Walter," Colonel L'Estrange said, "I am happy, indeed, that wecame up when we did. What should I have felt, if I had afterwards learnedthat you, who had saved my life, had been murdered here, for yourexecution would have been neither more nor less than murder, as was thatof the twelve poor fellows who were taken at Kilcowan--a brutal murder!They were perfectly justified in defending their property, and the ideaof quartering them, as well as hanging them, just as if they weretraitors of the worst dye, is nothing short of monstrous.
"I only came out here with my regiment a month since, but I am heartilysick with what I see going on. It was terrible to see the ruined villageson the road from Dublin. I have seen fighting on the Continent, butnothing to equal the wholesale brutality with which the war is conductedhere. How God can continue to give success, to an army which behaves asthis one has done, is altogether beyond me. Of one thing I am resolved,whether we take Limerick or not--and I own I see but small chance ofit--I shall exchange, if possible, into a regiment serving in Flanders.If not, I shall resign my commission.
"And now, how is your father? I rode out from Dublin to see your mother,and was very glad to find her, and old Mrs. Davenant, well. I was glad,too, to find that, owing to the influence of Mr. Conyers, they had notbeen troubled; and I was fortunately able, myself, to bring someinfluence to bear upon the council, who seem to be bent upon squeezingthe last drop of blood from the Irish veins.
"But the men are falling in, and I must put myself at the head of theregiment. I will hand you over to the care of an officer, and, if wemarch out, you will, of course, go with us."
When the men were again dismissed, Colonel L'Estrange rejoined Walter.
"Ginckle has thought better of it," he said. "I fancied he would notventure to push matters further, for the loss of the one division he canreally rely upon would be fatal to all his hope of success to thecampaign. Ginckle is a passionate man, but he is not a fool, and he musthave seen that, if the matter had been laid before the king, his conductwould not have been approved. I don't say that ours is right, in amilitary sense, but I am sure that public opinion would have approved ofit. The tales that have been circulated, of the doings of the army overhere since the commencement of the war, have already roused a very strongfeeling of irritation throughout the country."
Colonel L'Estrange now took Walter to General Hamilton's tent, and, afterformally introducing him, he told the story of the wreck, and of hisrescue by Walter from certain death.
"What do you mean to do with him, L'Estrange?" General Hamilton asked.
"My intention is, unless you see any objection to it, to pass him throughthe lines this evening. I will provide him with a good horse, and see himwell away. After what has happened Ginckle will, I should say, feelobliged for our thus rendering him a service by getting rid of hisprisoner. There are not likely to be any questions asked or remarks madeafterwards. I am not without influence at court, and there is a verystrong section, who are bitterly opposed to Dutchmen being placed inevery post in the king's gift, and there would be no difficulty ingetting up such a hostile feeling against Ginckle, in relation to thisaffair, that it would cost him his command."
"Yes," the general agreed. "Marlborough would be only too glad to takethe matter up, and as Ginckle must be pretty well aware that his want ofsuccess here must have already made his position precarious, I do notthink he will trouble himself to ask any questions about the prisoner;and, certainly, William will not thank him for being the means, by hisunjust and arbitrary conduct, of causing a split between the English andhis foreign troops. I should like to put all their heads into one noose,and I should feel no compunction in setting them swinging, for a greaterset of rascals were never collected under the sun. I must say that thecontrast between our army and the Irish is very great, and that, althoughmany bloody deeds are performed by the rapparees, there has never been asingle complaint brought against the Irish troops.
"Anyhow, Mr. Davenant, I think you cannot do better than fall in withColonel L'Estrange's plan. There will be no difficulty in getting out,and, indeed, I will send a troop of cavalry to see you well beyond ourlines."
Walter spent the rest of the day with Colonel L'Estrange, and told himall that had taken place since they had last met.
"It is difficult to believe that it is but three years ago," he said,when he had finished.
"No, we judge the flight of time by the incidents we crowd into it. Themost uneventful days pass the most unheeded. Now to me, it seems butyesterday that I stood on the deck of the ship, and knew that she wassure to go to pieces, and that the chance of anyone reaching that rockycoast alive were small, indeed; when I saw what seemed little more than ablack speck approaching, and you and your fisher boy made your way overthe wave.
"By the way, how is he? Doing well, I hope?"
"He might have done well, if he liked. The present that you left in myfather's hands, to buy him a boat when he was old enough to start as afisherman on his own account, would have made a man of him, but it ishidden somewhere in the thatch of his father's cottage. When my fatherfirst went to the war, he handed it over to Larry, as he could not saywhat might happen before his return. Larry was at first delighted withthe thought that some day he should have a boat of his own, and a boat,too, larger than any on the shore; but when I accompanied my father,Larry insisted on going with me.
"'It will be time enough to buy a boat, when the war is over,' he said.
"And as I was very glad to have him with me, and my father did notobject, Larry had his way, and he has been with me ever since. He isenrolled in the troop now, and, when he thinks there is any chance offighting, he takes his place in the ranks, but at other times he acts asmy servant."
"Tell him I have not forgotten him," Colonel L'Estrange said. "While youhave been doing so much, I have had a quiet time of it. I could have gota regiment at once, had I cared for it, but I disliked the thought offighting over here. It was too much like civil war. Six months ago, whenthings were going badly with us on the Continent, I asked to be employed,and was given a regiment they were just raising. I had got them into fairorder, and was expecting to be ordered to embark for the Low Country atany moment, when the news came of Ginckle's heavy losses at Athlone andAughrim, and the orders came for us to proceed to Bristol, and take shipthere for Ireland. I half thought of throwing up my commission, for thenews of the scandalous conduct of the foreign soldiers had stirred everyEnglish heart with disgust and indignation, but I thought that thestruggle was nearly over. William was anxious for peace at any price, andwould grant almost any terms to secure it; and, on the other hand, weknew that Louis was, at last, going to make a great effort. So that itwas certain that either the Irish woul
d make peace on fair terms beforewinter, or the French would land, and there would be an end of anyprospect of conquering Ireland, until matters were settled on theContinent, and William could devote his whole strength to this business."
"And which alternative do you think the most likely?" Walter asked.
"The latter," Colonel L'Estrange said, gravely. "Frankly, Walter, thesituation looks bad. There is, so far as I can see, no chance whatever ofour taking Limerick, and in a fortnight ten thousand French troops willbe landed.
"Of course it is probable that, at the last moment, the Irish mayconclude that they prefer to be under England rather than France, forthat is what it comes to. I hope they will have the sense to chooseEngland, and if what we hear be true, they can judge from the insolentarrogance of the French officers, when they are but a fraction of yourforce, what they would be when they regarded themselves as your masters.
"William is ready to grant religious equality, and the security ofpersons and estates. I think the Irish will be very unwise to refuse. Atthe same time, they have suffered such villainous treatment, at the handsof William's soldiers, that I cannot blame them if they decide to throwin their lot with France."
"I think," Walter said, "that, if they were but sure that all thepromises would be kept, the greater part would be in favour of makingpeace at once. Nine out of ten of us are of English descent, and haveonly been driven to take up arms by the cruel oppression which we havesuffered. Why, at present five-sixths of the soil of Ireland is in thehands of Protestants, our religion is persecuted, and for years we havebeen trampled on, and regarded as fair objects of robbery."
"All that you say is true, Walter, and no one can regret it more than Ido. Still, I do think that you would be worse off under France than underEngland. Louis would drain the island of its men to fill his army. Heuses you only as a cat's paw in his struggle against England and Holland,and would not hesitate to turn you over to England again, did it at anytime suit him to make peace on such terms; or to offer Ireland as anexchange for some piece of territory he coveted, beyond his frontier."
"I know my father is very much of your opinion," Walter said, "and thathe has no confidence whatever in the King of France, and considers thatFrench interference is responsible for the want of success which hasattended us. At any rate, there is scarcely one of us who does not hatethe French, and certainly, if we had to choose between the two countries,we should choose England."
When it became dark, a troop of cavalry mounted, and with ColonelL'Estrange and Walter in their midst, rode out of camp. They went forseveral miles, and then Colonel L'Estrange said:
"We are now well outside the limit where you will be likely to meet anyof our scouting parties. Two miles further along this road, you will cometo the village of Mulroon. It has, like all the others, suffered heavily,but there are two or three houses still standing, and when I rodethrough, it a few days since, I saw an old man standing at the door ofone of them, so you will be likely to get information as to the best roadto the town, and perhaps a guide."
"Thank you very heartily, Colonel L'Estrange. I know the village, for Irode through it only the day before I was captured, and if I can get noguide, I can make my own way round as soon as it is daylight."
"You had better go on tonight, if you can, Walter. Some party of rascallyplunderers might arrive here, or Ginckle may, for aught I know, have sentout parties of dragoons. At any rate, I would not stop here, but makeyour way on among the hills, even if you can only get a mile away, andhave to sleep by the side of your horse. No one can say he is safe undera roof within twenty miles of Ginckle's army."
There was a hearty leave taking between Colonel L'Estrange and Walter,and the latter then rode straight forward, while the troop faced about,and made their way back to camp.
On arriving at the village, Walter, as soon as he succeeded in convincingthe inhabitants of a cottage, in which he saw a light, that he was anIrish officer, found no difficulty in obtaining a guide, a boy offourteen volunteering at once to conduct him to the ford, ten miles aboveLimerick. It was nearly twenty miles, by the byroads by which theytravelled, and the morning was just breaking as they arrived there.
Colonel L'Estrange had insisted on providing Walter with funds, and hewas therefore able to reward his guide, who went his way, rejoicing,while Walter crossed the river and rode for the cavalry camp, where hewas received with delight by his father and friends, who had believed himto have been killed in the skirmish, for such was the report of thetroopers who had managed to make their escape.
"I must not let you go on any more detached commands, Walter," his fathersaid. "I do not say that you have been imprudent, or to blame; but thisis the second time that you have been surprised by the enemy, and, as itis out of the question to expect that you can always have the good luckto get out of their hands when you are captured, as you have on the lasttwo occasions, I shall keep you by me in future; for seriously, my boy,your absence has caused me terrible anxiety."
When Walter's account of the barbarous sentence passed upon the peasants,whose only crime was that they had defended their property againstmarauders acting in defiance of the general's order, was known in camp,the most intense indignation prevailed, and this was heightened by thefact that a cavalry officer, taken in open fight, should have beensentenced to a similar fate. So great, indeed, was the fury of bothofficers and men, that had they been in any condition to take the field,nothing could have restrained them from mounting and riding, at once, tostrike a blow in revenge for the murder and mutilation of the peasants.
Chapter 16: Peace.
Ginckle's expedition across the Shannon, and his surprise of the Irishcavalry camp, successful as it had been, altered the position in no way.Several days passed, and then, after a council of war, it was determinedto recross the bridge of boats, which remained undisturbed, to the Clareside, and try to force a way across Thomond Bridge. On the 22nd ofSeptember, all the cavalry of the army, ten regiments of infantry, andfourteen pieces of cannon made the passage without molestation, andmarched towards the bridge, which was defended upon the Clare side by twostrong towers. As the British advanced guard of infantry approached thebridge, it was charged by a body of Irish horse, broken, and driven back.
A strong body of cavalry rode up to support the infantry; the Irish horsewere reinforced, and a hot fight continued until, at about four o'clockin the afternoon, the whole force of British infantry came up, and theIrish retired upon the infantry posted in the works which covered thebridge. Near the gate were high grounds cut up by gravel pits. The Irishinfantry were posted here, as well as in the forts; and the English, asthey advanced, were assailed with a very heavy fire from these positions,and also from the guns on the town walls.
In spite of the heavy loss they were suffering, the English pressed onwith the greatest gallantry. Success was now almost a necessity, for, ifdefeated, but few of them would ever have been able to recross the river.Foot by foot they fought their way, pressed on past the outworks, andpushed back the Irish infantry, till the latter were gathered round thehead of the bridge.
The Irish generals had thought that Ginckle's movement was but arepetition of the previous raid, and the force that had been sent over toguard the head of the bridge was altogether insufficient to withstand thedetermined attack by Ginckle's force. Reinforcements were now sent acrossthe bridge, but this only added to the confusion. Pressed back by theweight and power of the English attack, the Irish were beginning toretire across the bridge, when they met the reinforcements making theirway over.
The bridge was of great length, but extremely narrow, and a completeblock took place. The English had pierced their way through thestruggling mass at the head of the bridge, and pressed on the rear of themass of fugitives, literally hewing their way through them, and thepressure became so great that the regiments crossing were carried back.The head of the British column was pushed forward by those behind, andcould only advance by slaying those in front of them and throwing theirbodies over t
he bridge; for the mass were wedged so tightly that movementhad now become impossible, while the Irish, as they retreated, formedramparts of the slain and impeded the advance of the enemy.
While the struggle on the bridge was at its fiercest, the French officerwho commanded at the drawbridge across the arch nearest to the city,fearing that the British would press in at the rear of the Irish, andthat he might not then be able to raise the drawbridge, ordered this tobe done at once--thereby cutting off the retreat of the soldiers still onthe bridge. These jumped over the parapet into the river, and strove toreach the city wall by swimming. Some did so, but great numbers weredrowned. This incident greatly increased the standing feud between theIrish and French, the former declaring that the latter not only neverfought themselves, but were ready, at the first alarm, to sacrifice theirallies in order to secure their own safety.
The success of Ginckle's second raid had been complete, in so far that hehad inflicted great slaughter upon the Irish infantry, and had gained amoral victory; but he was no nearer capturing the town. An attack acrossthe long narrow bridge was not even to be thought of; and he againretired across the river.
The Irish were disheartened. Sarsfield, though a dashing cavalrycommander, appeared wholly incapable of handling large bodies of men.Ginckle had twice given him a great opportunity, but on neither occasionhad he made the slightest effort to utilize it.
On the first occasion, surprise and uncertainty might excuse inaction onthe part of the army in Limerick, but there was no such excuse the secondtime. Their force outside the town gate was but a small one; it wascertain that the English could not push across the bridge; and, asGinckle had taken the best part of his army across, Sarsfield could haveissued out with his whole force on the Limerick side, crushed the Britishforce remaining there, and captured the camp and all its stores--in whichcase Ginckle's position would have been desperate. But not a movement wasmade to seize an opportunity which would have been patent to any militarycommander possessing genius and energy; nor, until it was too late, wasany attempt made to reinforce the detachment which, on the other side ofthe bridge, was withstanding the attack of a vastly superior force.
Ginckle, relying upon the moral effect of the blow he had just struck,renewed his negotiations. Some of the Irish leaders had already receivedbribes. Others were genuinely anxious that the war should cease, now thatWilliam was ready to grant terms which would secure the ends for whichthey had been fighting. Others, again, were animated by hostility to theFrench, and the fear that, if the expected reinforcements arrived and theEnglish were driven out, Ireland would become a mere appanage of France.
Sarsfield himself was, no doubt, swayed by his dislike to being againsuperseded in the command by the arrival of another French general. Hewas, too, influenced by the fear that the peace party might prevail, andthat Clifford's act of treachery might be repeated, and the enemy beadmitted into the city without any terms being arranged.
The French officers, eager to return home, made no attempt to stem thecourse of events; and, on the evening of the day after the battle on theClare side, the drums of the besieged beat a parley, and GeneralsSarsfield and Waughup went out and had a conference with Ginckle. Acessation of arms was concluded for the night; and in the morning thetruce was extended for three days, to allow the cavalry, who were nowencamped near Ennis, to be communicated with.
On the 25th, the principal noblemen and officers from the cavalry camparrived, prisoners were exchanged, and hostages on both sides were given,until the terms of a treaty of peace could be adjusted. On the 27th, theIrish submitted their proposals to the English general, which were--that"all past offences should be pardoned; that the Catholics of the countiesof Cork, Limerick, Kerry, Clare, Sligo, and Mayo be restored to theestates which they held previous to the war; freedom of worship to beallowed; Catholics to be capable of holding all employments, civil andmilitary; the Irish army to be kept on foot, and those who were willingto serve to be received into the king's service; Catholics to be atliberty to reside in all cities and towns, and to have all rights ofcitizens; and that an act of parliament should be passed to confirm theseconditions."
These terms were agreed to, and were held to be applicable, not only tothe garrison of Limerick, but to the whole of Ireland. Ginckle at oncesent an express to Cork, to order the transports in that harbour to sailround to the Shannon, for the purpose of taking on board such part of theIrish army as might wish to be carried to France--this being one of thestipulations of the treaty.
Sarsfield and most of his officers, and the priests, used their utmostefforts to persuade the soldiers to enter the French service, inpreference to the English. Their exhortations were successful. Only abouttwo thousand Irish joined the British army, four thousand laid down theirarms and returned to their homes, and a considerable number deserted ontheir march down to Cork. The rest were shipped in transports to France,where they entered the service of that country. Two days after the treatywas signed, the French fleet, with ten thousand men and a great abundanceof stores, arrived at the mouth of the Shannon.
The Irish negotiators of the treaty have been greatly and deservedlyblamed, inasmuch as, while they stipulated that the proprietors of theneighbouring counties should retain their estates, they abandoned thosepossessing property throughout the rest of Ireland to ruin and beggary.There was no excuse for this. They knew that the French fleet had sailed,and must have arrived in a few days, and that the English cause wasbecoming so desperate that Ginckle would not have resisted any terms theyhad laid down. This cruel and wholly unnecessary desertion of theirfriends has thrown a slur upon the memory of Sarsfield and the otherleaders who conducted the negotiations.
The officers and men who entered the service of France had bitter reasonto repent their decision. Instead of being, as they expected, kepttogether in regiments, they were for the most part broken up anddistributed throughout the French army. Louis was deeply enraged at thesurrender, just as the expedition he had made such efforts to send forthe conquest of Ireland was within a few hours' sail of its shores, andhe treated the whole of the Irish and French who returned from Ireland asmen who had acted the part of traitors.
As soon as the terms of capitulation were arranged, Captain Davenantobtained papers of protection for all the men of his troop. He had formedthem up on parade, and had put the question, whether they wished toreturn home or to enter the service of France.
"I myself, and your officers, intend to return home," he said. "Ofcourse, each of you is free to do as he chooses; but it appears to me amost foolish thing to leave your country forever, and exile yourself inthe service of France, when you are free to return home. You know howlittle French promises have been kept during this war, and how littlefaith is to be placed on them in future."
The men were unanimous in their decision to return to their homes, and,as soon as the protection papers were obtained, the troop disbanded, andall returned to their homes and occupations in and around Bray.
It was a joyful meeting, when Captain Davenant and Walter returned to thecastle. Mrs. Davenant had always shared her husband's opinion, that thechances of ultimate success were small, and of late even his mother hadgiven up hope, and both were delighted that their anxieties were at lastover, and husband and son restored to them in safety. There was animmense deal to tell on both sides, for it was months since any letterhad passed between them.
"We have everything to be thankful for," Mrs. Davenant said, when thestories on both sides had been told, "and it seems to me that it is, tono slight extent, due to Walter that we have passed so well through thelast two troubled years. It was Jabez Whitefoot who first stood ourfriend, and who saved the castle from being burned, and his goodwill wasearned by Walter's friendship with his son. Then Mr. Conyers stoodbetween us and the council, who would certainly have confiscatedeverything, had it not been for him. And, although he always expressedhimself as greatly indebted to you also, he said that, so far as heunderstood from his wife, it was to Walter's foresight and
arrangementthat his wife and daughter owed their rescue.
"How was it that Walter was so forward in the matter, Fergus?"
"Walter was perhaps more particularly interested in the matter than Iwas," Captain Davenant said, with a smile. "His thoughts were running inthat direction."
Walter coloured up, and Mrs. Davenant, who was looking at him with somesurprise, at her husband's words, broke into a laugh.
"You don't mean to say, Walter, that you have been falling in love, atyour age?"
"You forget, dear," Captain Davenant said, coming to Walter's rescue,"that Walter is no longer a boy. Three years of campaigning have made aman of him, and, I venture to think, an earnest and thoughtful one. Heis, it is true, only nineteen, but he has seen as much, and gone throughas much, as men double his age. He has, upon several occasions, evincedan amount of coolness and judgment in danger which has earned him theapprobation even of General Sarsfield, a man not easily satisfied."
"I don't mean to hurt your feelings, Walter," Mrs. Davenant said; "but ofcourse, it is difficult for me, at first, to realize that while you havebeen away you have changed from a boy into a man."
"I don't mind, mother dear," Walter said, "and you can laugh at me asmuch as you like."
"And is there anything in what your father says?" Mrs. Davenant asked, asshe passed her hand fondly over Walter's head, as he sat on a low stoolbeside her.
"Yes, mother," he answered manfully. "I am engaged to Claire Conyers. Ihave her mother's consent, but what Mr. Conyers will think about it, Idon't know. He must know long before this, for Mrs. Conyers said that sheshould tell him, as soon as he joined them in England."
Mrs. Davenant leaned over, and kissed her son.
"The Conyers are of good family," old Mrs. Davenant said, "although theydid come over with Cromwell. I do not think that is any objection to ason of our house marrying into theirs."
Captain Davenant laughed.
"No objection at all, on our side, mother. Any objection is likely to beon the other side, not on the ground of family, but on that of property.Claire Conyers is one of the richest heiresses in Ireland, while Walter'sinheritance can scarcely be termed extensive."
Two months later, Captain Davenant received a letter from Mr. Conyers,saying that he had arrived with his wife and daughter at Dublin on theprevious day, and should be glad to make his acquaintance, and that ofhis son.
"My wife," he said, "has informed me of certain love passages, which havetaken place between Claire and your son, and I shall be glad to talk toyou concerning them."
Captain Davenant and Walter at once rode over to Dublin, the latter fullof delight, and yet with a considerable amount of trepidation as to theinterview between his father and Mr. Conyers. His mind was, however,speedily put at rest, for upon entering, Mr. Conyers at once took him bythe hand, and said:
"I am glad, indeed, of the opportunity of thanking you, in person, forthe inestimable service you rendered to my wife and daughter. I find,from my wife, that Claire has discovered a means of repaying you for yourservice, and as her happiness is, she tells me, dependent on my giving myconsent to the plan, I tell you at once that I do so, very heartily. Ithink you had better wait for a while, say two or three years, but weneed not settle that at present.
"Come here, Claire."
He placed the girl's hand in Walter's.
"Take her," he said, "and make her happy."
The next day, Mr. Conyers, with his wife and daughter, accompaniedCaptain Davenant and Walter back to Davenant Castle, where they stayedfor some days.
The Whitefoots did not long remain neighbours of the Davenants. OldZephaniah had passed away, ere the peace was signed, and, soon afterCaptain Davenant returned, Jabez called at the castle.
"We are going away," he said. "John has made up his mind to become atrader, in London, and Hannah and I would be lonely without him, and,moreover, we are both weary of our life here, and have far more thanenough money laid by for our needs, and for giving John the means ofentering some well-established firm, when the time shall come. As to thelands here, they are ours now; but the next turn of the wheel might givethem back to you. Besides, we do not wish to be troubled with their care.I therefore intend to revert to the offer which you made me, when theParliament restored the land to you. I have received a good offer for ourhouse and farm, and this I have accepted. The rest of the estates I handback to you, from whom they were taken by the sword. My wife wishes this,as well as myself. John is eager that it should be so. He will be gladthat his friend should be heir to the estates of his ancestors."
"But we could not accept such a generous offer," Captain Davenantexclaimed. "It is out of all reason."
"That I know not, friend Davenant; but I know that I, and my wife andJohn, have so made up our minds, and we are of a race not given tochange. The land would but be an incumbrance and a trouble to us. Johnwould far rather make his path in life, as he chooses it, than live uponthe rents of ill-gotten lands. You will receive your own again, and allparties will be satisfied."
Nothing could alter the resolution Jabez and his wife and son had taken,and so the Davenant estates came back to their former possessors.
Three years after the conclusion of peace, Walter became Claire Conyers'husband, and in time succeeded to the wide estates of Mr. Conyers, aswell as those of the Davenants. Godfrey Davenant, on attaining the age ofeighteen, obtained, through Colonel L'Estrange's interest, a commissionin the English army, fought under Marlborough in the fierce campaign inFlanders, and fell at the battle of Oudenarde. Happily, during thelifetime of Walter and Claire Davenant, there was never any renewal oftrouble in Ireland, and they lived to see their children andgrandchildren grow up around them, in peace and happiness.
John Whitefoot became, in time, one of the leading merchants of the cityof London, and spent the greater of the fortune he gained in trade inworks of charity and kindness. The friendship between him and WalterDavenant remained unchanged to the end of their lives. They occasionallypaid each other visits, and, when a son of John Whitefoot married adaughter of Walter Davenant, they felt that this was a fittingtermination of the old feud between the families.
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