After the failure before Derry, the utmost confusion prevailed in the
military councils, arising chiefly from the jealousies and conflicting
authorities of the French and Irish commanders. James was entirely under
the control of the French ambassador, who, together with all his
countrymen in Ireland, affected to despise the Irish as a rude and
uncivilized people; while the Irish, in turn, hated the French for their
arrogance and insolence. Many of the Irish gentlemen, who had raised
regiments at their private expense, were superseded to make room for
Frenchmen, appointed by the influence of the French ambassador. These
gentlemen returned home in disgust, and were soon followed by their men,
who were equally discontented at being handed over to the command of
foreigners, instead of their native leaders.
Every day, the breach widened between the French and Irish, and the
discontent caused by the king's exactions was wide and general; and if
William, at this time, had offered favourable terms to the Catholics, it
is probable that an arrangement could have been arrived at.
But William was busily at work, preparing an army for the conquest of the
country. Had Ireland stood alone, it is probable that England would, at
any rate for a time, have suffered it to go its own way; but its close
alliance with France, and the fact that French influence was all powerful
with James, rendered it impossible for England to submit to the
establishment of what would be a foreign and hostile power, so close to
her shores. Besides, if Ireland remained under the dominion of James, the
power of William on the throne of England could never have been
consolidated.
Although he had met with no resistance on his assumption of the throne,
he had the hearty support of but a mere fraction of the English people,
and his accession was the work of a few great Whig families, only. His
rule was by no means popular, and his Dutch favourites were as much
disliked, in England, as were James' French adherents in Ireland.
In Scotland, the Jacobite party were numerous and powerful, and were in
open rebellion to his authority. Thus, then, if William's position on the
throne of England was to be consolidated, it was necessary that a blow
should be struck in Ireland.
Torn by dissension, without plan or leading, the Irish army remained, for
months, inactive; most of the regiments having, after the northern
campaign, returned to the districts in which they were raised; and thus,
no preparation was made to meet the army which was preparing to invade
the country.
This, ten thousand strong, under the command of General Schomberg, who,
although eighty years of age, was still an able, active, and spirited
commander, embarked on the 8th of August at Chester, and on the 13th
landed near Bangor, in Carrickfergus Bay. There was no force there of
sufficient strength to oppose him.
Schomberg found Antrim and Belfast deserted; but the garrison at
Carrickfergus, consisting of two regiments, prepared vigorously for a
siege. Schomberg at once prepared to invest it, and in a short time
attacked it by land and sea. The siege was pressed with vigour, but the
garrison, under M'Carty Moore, defended themselves with the greatest
skill and bravery. As fast as breaches were battered in their walls, they
repaired them, and repulsed every attempt of the besiegers to gain a
footing in the town. The garrison were badly supplied with ammunition,
but they stripped the lead from the roofs of the castle and church to
make bullets.
But all this time, no attempt whatever was made to relieve them. The
French and Irish generals were disputing as to what was the best plan of
campaign. The king was busy making money with his trade with France; and,
after holding out until they had burned their last grain of powder, the
gallant garrison were forced to capitulate. Schomberg was too glad to get
the place to insist on hard terms, and the garrison marched out with all
the honours of war--drums beating, and matches alight--and were conveyed,
with all their stores, arms, and public and private property, to the
nearest Irish post.
The effect of this determined resistance, on the part of the little
garrison at Carrickfergus, was to impress Schomberg with the fact that
the difficulty of the task he had undertaken was vastly greater than he
had supposed. The success with which Londonderry had defended itself
against the Irish army had impressed him with the idea that the levies of
King James were simply contemptible; but the fighting qualities of the
garrison of Carrickfergus had shown him that they were a foe by no means
to be despised, and convinced him that the force at his command was
altogether inadequate to his necessities.
He therefore moved south with extreme caution. He found the country
altogether wasted and deserted. The Protestants had long since fled, and
were gathered round Derry and Enniskillen. The Catholics had now deserted
their homes, at his approach; and the troops, in their retreat, had
burned and wasted everything, so that he had no means of subsistence for
his army, and was obliged to rely upon the fleet, which he ordered to
follow him down the coast.
Schomberg was soon joined by three regiments of Enniskillen horse. The
appearance of these troops astonished the English. They resembled rather
a horde of Italian banditti than a body of European cavalry. They
observed little order in their military movements, and no uniformity of
dress or accoutrement. Each man was armed and clad according to his own
fancy, and accompanied by a mounted servant, carrying his baggage. But,
like the Cossacks, whom they closely resembled, they were distinguished
by an extreme rapidity of movement, and a fierceness and contempt of all
difficulty and danger. They calculated neither chances nor numbers, but
rushed to the attack of any foe with a ferocity and fanaticism which
almost ensured success, and they regarded the slaughter of a Papist as an
acceptable service to the Lord. They plundered wherever they went, and
were a scourge to the Irish Protestants as well as Catholics.
The troops furnished by Derry were similar in character to those from
Enniskillen. They could not endure the restraints of discipline, and were
little use in acting with the regular army, and, like the Cossacks, were
formidable only when acting by themselves. Schomberg and his successor,
and, indeed, the whole of the English officers, soon came to abhor these
savage and undisciplined allies.
Still, the Irish army made no move. Report had magnified Schomberg's
strength to more than twice its real numbers, and the military leaders
could not believe that, after so many months of preparation, William had
despatched so small an army for the conquest of Ireland.
Confusion and dismay reigned in Dublin. The French Marshal, De Rosen,
advised that Dublin and Drogheda should be abandoned, and that the Irish
army should be concentrated at Athlone and Limerick; but Tyrconnell went
to Drogheda, where the council of war was sitting, and strenuously
opposed this, promising that by the next night twenty thousand men should
be assembled there. Expresses were sent out in all directions; and by
forced marches, the Irish troops stationed in Munster directed their
course to Drogheda, in high spirits and anxious to meet the enemy.
Schomberg, although he had been reinforced by six thousand men from
England, fell back at the news of the gathering, and formed an intrenched
camp in a strong position between Dundalk and the sea. His approaches
were covered by mountains, rivers, and morasses; his communication was
open to the sea, and here he resolved to wait for reinforcements.
Captain Davenant became more and more despondent as to the cause in which
he had embarked.
"Without the king, and without his French allies," he said bitterly to
his wife, "we might hope for success; but these are enough to ruin any
cause. Were the king's object to excite discontent and disgust among his
subjects, he could not act otherwise than he is now doing. His whole
thoughts are devoted to wringing money out of the people, and any time he
has to spare is spent upon superintending the building of the nunneries,
in which he is so interested. As to the French, they paralyse all
military operations. They regard us as an inferior race, and act as if,
with their own five or six thousand troops, they could defeat all the
power of England. It is heartbreaking seeing our chances so wasted.
"Had advantage been taken of the enthusiasm excited when King James
landed; had he himself been wise and prudent, disinterested for himself,
and desirous of obtaining the affections of all classes; and had he
brought with him none of these French adventurers, he would, long ere
this, have been undisputed King of Ireland from end to end, and we should
have stood as one people in arms, ready to oppose ourselves to any force
that England could send against us. Never were chances so frittered away,
never such a succession of blunders and folly. It is enough to break
one's heart."
"I do hope, father, that when the troop marches again you will take me as
cornet. I am six months older than I was, and have learned a lot in the
last campaign. You have not filled up the place of Cornet O'Driscoll. I
did think, when he was killed in that last fight you had before Derry,
you would have appointed me."
"In some respects I am less inclined than ever, Walter," Captain Davenant
said; "for I begin to regard success as hopeless."
"It will make no difference, father, in that way, for if we are beaten
they are sure to hand all our land over to the Protestants. Besides,
things may turn out better than you think; and whether or no, I should
certainly like to do my best for Ireland."
"Well, we will think about it," Captain Davenant said; and Walter was
satisfied, for he felt sure that his father would finally accede to his
wishes.
It was late at night, when the mounted messenger dashed up to the door of
the castle and handed in an order. Captain Davenant opened it.
"We are to march, in half an hour's time, to Drogheda. The whole army is
to assemble there."
"Hurray!" Walter shouted. "Something is going to be done, at last."
A man was sent down to the village at once, to order the twenty men
quartered there to saddle and mount instantly, and ride up to the castle;
while another, on horseback, started for Bray to get the main body under
arms. Mrs. Davenant busied herself in packing the wallets of her husband
and son. She was very pale, but she said little.
"God bless you both," she said, when all was finished, "and bring you
back again safely. I won't ask you to take care of yourselves, because,
of course, you must do your duty, and with all my love I should not wish
you to draw back from that. When home and religion and country are at
stake, even we women could not wish to keep those we love beside us."
There was a last embrace, and then Captain Davenant and his son sprang on
their horses, which were waiting at the door, took their place at the
head of the party which had come up from the village, and rode away into
the darkness, while the two Mrs. Davenants gave free vent to the tears
which they had hitherto so bravely restrained.
At Bray, Captain Davenant found the rest of his troop drawn up in
readiness, and after a brief inspection, to see that all were present
with their proper arms and accoutrements, he started with them for
Dublin, and after a few hours' rest there continued his way towards
Drogheda.
The army then proceeded north to Dundalk, and bitter was the
disappointment of the troops when, on arriving there, they found that
Schomberg, instead of advancing to give battle, had shut himself up in
the intrenchments he had formed, and could not be induced to sally out.
In vain King James, who accompanied his army, formed it up in order of
battle within sight of the invaders' lines. Schomberg was not to be
tempted out, and, as the position appeared to be too strong to be
attacked, the Irish were forced to endeavour to reduce it by the slow
process of starvation. The English army was soon reduced to pitiable
straits--not from hunger, for they were able to obtain food from the
ships, but from disease. The situation of the camp was low and unhealthy.
Fever broke out, and swept away vast numbers of the men.
The Dutch and Enniskilleners suffered comparatively little--both were
accustomed to a damp climate. But of the English troops, nearly eight
thousand died in the two months that the blockade lasted. Had James
maintained his position, the whole of the army of Schomberg must have
perished; but, most unfortunately for his cause, he insisted on
personally conducting operations, and when complete success was in his
grasp he marched his army away, in the middle of November, to winter
quarters; thereby allowing Schomberg to move, with the eight thousand men
who remained to him, from the pest-stricken camp to healthier quarters.
The disgust, of those of James's officers who understood anything of war,
at this termination of the campaign was extreme. The men, indeed, were
eager to return to their homes, but would gladly have attempted an
assault on the English camp before doing so; and, as the defenders were
reduced to half their original strength, while most of the survivors were
weakened by disease, the attack would probably have been successful.
James himself was several times on the point of ordering an attack, but
his own vacillation of character was heightened by the conflicting
counsels of his generals, who seemed more bent on thwarting each other
than on gaining the cause for which they fought.
The cavalry were not idle, while the blockade of Schomberg's camp
continued, frequently making excursions over the country to bring in
cattle for the army; for the villagers had, for the most part, deserted
their homes, and herds of cattle were grazing without masters. One day,
Captain Davenant's troop had ridden some thirty miles out of camp, and
had halted for the night in a village. In the morning, they broke up into
small parties and scattered round the country. Walter, with fifteen of
the troopers, had collected some cattle and stopped for an hour, to feed
and rest the horses, in a deserted village. He took the precaution to
place two or three men on sentry round it.
The men were sitting on the doorsteps, eating the food they had brought
with them, when one of the outposts dashed in at full gallop, shouting
that the enemy were upon them; but his warning came too late, for, close
behind him, came a body of wild-looking horsemen, shouting and yelling.
There was a cry of "The Enniskilleners!" and the men ran to their horses.
They had scarcely time to throw themselves in the saddle, when the
Enniskilleners charged down. For a minute or two there was a confused
medley, and then three or four of the troopers rode off at full speed,
hotly pursued by the Enniskilleners.
Walter had discharged his pistols and drawn his sword, but before he had
time to strike a blow, his horse was rolled over by the rush of the
enemy, and, as he was falling, he received a blow on the head from a
sabre which stretched him insensible on the ground. He was roused by two
men turning him over and searching his pockets. A slight groan burst from
his lips.
"The fellow is not dead," one of the men said.
"We will soon settle that," the other replied.
"Don't kill him," the first speaker said. "Wait till the captain has
spoken to him. We may be able to get some information from him. We can
finish him afterwards."
Walter lay with his eyes closed. He well knew that the Enniskilleners
took no prisoners, but killed all who fell into their hands, and he
determined to show no signs of returning consciousness. Presently, he
heard the sound of a party of horsemen returning, and by the exclamations
of disappointment which greeted the news they gave, he learned that some,
at least, of his men had made their escape.
Some time later, several men came up to him. One leaned over him, and put
his hand to his heart.
"He is alive."
"Very well," another voice said. "Then we will take him with us. He is an
officer, and will be able to tell us all about their strength.
"Watkins, you have a strong beast, and do not weigh much. Do you mount,
and then we will tie him to your back."
A minute later Walter was lifted up, and felt that he was placed on a
horse with his back to that of the rider. A rope was wound several times
round his body. He remained perfectly passive, with his head hanging down
on his breast. Then a word of command was given, and the troop set off.
For a time, there was no need for him to pretend insensibility, for the
pain of his wound and the loss of blood overpowered him, and for some
time he was unconscious. After two hours' riding, the troop was halted.
Walter felt the rope taken off him. Then he was lifted down, dragged a
short distance, and thrown down on some straw. Then a door shut, and he
heard a key turned. He felt sure that he was alone, but for some time lay
perfectly quiet, as it was possible that one of the men might have
remained to watch him.
After a quarter of an hour, hearing not the slightest sound, he opened
his eyes and looked round. He was, as he supposed, alone. The place in
which he was lying was a stable, lighted only by a small opening high up
in the wall. Certain, therefore, that he was not overlooked, he made an
effort to rise to his feet, but he was so weak and giddy that he was
obliged, for some time, to remain leaning against the wall. Seeing a
bucket in one corner, he made to it, and found, to his delight, that it
was half full of water, for he was parched with a devouring thirst.
After taking a deep draught he felt greatly revived, and then made a
thorough survey of his prison. It evidently formed part of the house of a
well-to-do man, for it was solidly built of stone, and the door was
strong and well fitted.
The opening in the wall was out of his reach. He could, at ordinary
times, by standing on the upturned bucket, have reached it with a spring,
and pulled himself up to it, but at present he was wholly incapable of
such exertion. He thought, however, that after a night's rest he would be
able to do it.
The door was so strong that he had no hope of escape in that direction.
As he might at any moment be disturbed, he returned to the straw on which
he had at first been thrown, laid himself down, and in a very short time
dropped off to sleep.
It was dark, before he was awoke by the turning of the key in the lock,
and two men entered, one of them bearing a horn lantern.
"Where am I?" Walter asked, in a feeble tone, as they approached him.
"Never mind where you are," one said roughly. "Get up."
Walter seemed to make an effort, and then fell back with a groan.
The man repeated his order, emphasizing it with a kick. Walter again made
an effort, and, as before, sank back.
"Here, catch hold of him," the man said, impatiently, "it's no use
fooling here with him."
The men took Walter under the arms and lifted him up, and half dragged,
half carried him out of the stable and into the house adjoining. He was
taken into a room where four or five men were sitting.
"Now, young fellow," one said sharply, "tell us what corps you belong
to."
Walter looked stupidly at his questioner, but made no answer.
"Answer my question," the man said, levelling a pistol at him, "or I will
blow out your brains at once."
Still Walter stared at him stupidly, and made no reply, except to mutter,
"Water."
"It's no use," one of the other men said. "He hasn't got his right senses
yet. It's no use shooting him now, after we have had the trouble of
bringing him here. In the morning, he will be able to answer you."
"He had better," the other said savagely, "or we will light a fire and
roast him over it. There, take him back to the stable, and give him a
drink of water. I don't want him to slip through our fingers, after the
trouble we have had with him."
Walter was taken back, as before, to the stable, and one of the men
brought him a mug of water, and held it to his lips. He drank eagerly,
and then the man placed the mug down beside him, the door was again
closed and locked, and Walter was alone. He rose at once to his feet, and
felt that his sleep had greatly refreshed and strengthened him.
"I will have another sleep, before I try," he said to himself. "It will
not be light till six, and it must be eight or nine o'clock now. I must
make up my mind, before I doze off, to wake in about three or four hours;
but first, I must see what I can find, here."
He felt round the walls, but failed to find anything like a rope.
"I must trust to luck," he said; "I don't suppose they will post many
sentries. These fellows are not real soldiers, and no doubt they will all
be sound asleep in a couple of hours."
So saying, he again lay down, and was speedily asleep. When he woke, he
felt sure that he had not exceeded the time he had given himself. He
listened intently. He could hear a low, confused sound, which he knew was
made by horses feeding, but he could hear no human voices. He drank the
rest of the water in the mug, then he turned up the bucket, placed it
under the opening, and mounted on it.
His first spring failed to reach the sill, and he stood for a few
minutes, before making another attempt. He knew that it was a matter of
life or death, for he had no doubt whatever that, even if he gave the
required information, which he was determined not to do, however much he
might suffer, he would be shot afterwards. He braced himself to the
utmost, took a long breath, and then sprang. His fingers caught on the
ledge of stonework, and, with a desperate effort, he drew himself up,
aided by his feet. He had, before making the attempt, removed his boots,
partly to avoid the scraping noise which these would make, partly to
enable him the better to avail himself of the inequalities in the
stonework.
It was a desperate struggle; and when he got his shoulders in the
opening, which was just wide enough to admit them, he lay for three or
four minutes, panting heavily, with the perspiration streaming down his
face. The aperture was too small to admit of his turning in any way, and
there was nothing for it, as he knew, but to drop head foremost.
Gradually, he drew himself through the opening, lowering himself as much
as he could by holding on to the upper edge by his feet. Then, stretching
out his arms to save himself, he let go. Fortunately, the ground was
soft, for a garden adjoined the stable; but the shock was a heavy one,
and he lay for a minute or two without moving, having some doubt whether
he had not broken his neck. Then he got up, and listened.
Everything was still and quiet, and, indeed, his fall had been almost
noiseless. He rose to his feet, felt along the wall until he encountered
a low paling, climbed over it, and was in the road.
He had, when he jumped for the window, tied his boots to his back, and
now carried them in his hand. The night was very dark; but his eyes,
accustomed to the greater darkness of the stable, had no difficulty in
following the road. He walked slowly, for the exertion he had undergone
and the shock of the fall had drawn greatly from his small stock of
strength.
After going a quarter of a mile, he put on his boots, and, climbing a
wall of sods which bordered the road, struck across country. There were
no stars to guide him, and a slight mist had begun to fall. There was but
little wind, but this was sufficient to give a direction to the rain.
Walter noticed this, and at once struck out in a direction which kept the
rain falling upon the right side of his face; and he knew that, by so
continuing, he was going in a tolerably straight line. As near as he
could tell he walked for two hours, and then, utterly exhausted, lay down
on the lee side of a turf wall.
There was, as yet, no gleam of light in the sky, and in a very few
minutes he was again sound asleep. He woke up with a feeling of bitter
cold, and, on rising, found that his limbs were completely stiffened by
the wet. It was morning now, the wind had got up, and a driving rain shut
out the view on all sides. Walter stamped his feet and swung his arms for
some time to restore the circulation.
He had no idea in which direction he had been travelling, for he did not
know whether the road from which he had started ran north, south, east,
or west. He noticed that the wind had changed; for, whereas he had lain
down under the lee of the wall, it was now the weather side. He walked in
the same direction as before for two hours, and could then go no farther.
He had seen no signs of human habitation, and had not crossed a road or
even a footpath. Since starting in the morning he had passed no more
walls or fences, and, as far as his eye could reach through the driving
rain, nothing was to be seen save a desolate expanse of moor and bog. He
was, at any rate, free from pursuit for the time, and he thought more of
obtaining food and shelter than of the Enniskilleners.
It was useless pushing further on, even had he been able to do so, while
the rain lasted; for he might have passed within a quarter of a mile of a
habitation without seeing it. He accordingly threw himself down beside
some low bushes, which afforded him some slight protection from the rain.