The three heavy guns thundered against the walls without intermission,
night and day, until at length a breach was made. The garrison in vain
attempted to repair it, and every hour it grew larger, until there was a
yawning gap, twelve yards wide. This William considered sufficient for
the purpose, and made his preparations for the assault. The English
regiment of grenadiers, six hundred strong, was ordered to take its place
in the advanced trenches, and to lead the assault. It was supported on
the right by the Dutch Guards, with some British and Brandenburg
regiments in reserve.
On the left, the grenadiers were supported by the Danish regiments, and a
large body of cavalry were held in readiness, to pour in behind the
infantry. The storming parties were under command of Lieutenant General
Douglas.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, the signal for the assault was given
by a discharge of three pieces of cannon. As the last gun was fired, the
grenadiers leaped from the trenches and dashed forward towards the
breach. As they approached the wall, they discharged their muskets at the
enemy upon the walls, and, before assaulting the breach, they hurled a
shower of hand grenades at its defenders.
The preparations for the assault had been observed by the Irish, and they
were in readiness to receive it. The news had spread through the town,
and the excitement among the whole population was intense. The guns on
the walls ceased firing, in order that all might be ready to pour in
their shower of balls, when the assault commenced. The fire from the
batteries of the besiegers had also died away, and a silence, which
seemed strange after the constant din of the preceding days, hung over
the camp and city.
No sooner had the grenadiers leaped from the trenches, than the guns on
the walls, and the musketry of the defenders, poured their fire upon
them; while all the batteries of the besiegers opened, at the same
moment, to cover the assault. Through the hail of fire the grenadiers
kept on without faltering, and, as they neared the breach, the Irish
rushed out through the opening to meet them. There was a desperate
struggle, half hidden from the eyes of those on the walls by the cloud of
smoke and dust, which arose from the combatants; but the grenadiers,
fighting with the greatest gallantry, won their way to the counter-scarp,
and half the regiment forced its way through the breach and entered the
town. But the Irish troops, clustered behind the wall, then closed in
again, and barred the breach to those following.
The Dutch and English regiments were marched up, to aid the rest of the
grenadiers to cut their way in after their comrades; but these troops
were unable to imitate the valour of the grenadiers. They got as far as
the counter-scarp; but the fire from the walls was so deadly, that they
could not be prevailed upon to advance. The rain of fire mowed them down.
Their officers urged them on, and, unwilling to retreat and incapable of
advancing, they were shot down in scores.
Presently there was a sudden movement among the Irish defenders on the
breach, and a few of the grenadiers who had entered the city burst their
way through them, and rejoined their comrades. No sooner had they entered
the city, than they found themselves assailed on all sides. The Irish
troops and the citizens attacked them with fury, and even the women,
animated by the deadly hate which the deeds of William's soldiers had
excited, hurled missiles upon them from the windows, and even joined in
the attacks upon them in the streets.
The grenadiers resisted obstinately, but they were gradually overpowered
by numbers, until at last a few survivors, gathering together, burst
through their assailants, and succeeded in making their retreat. For
nearly three hours this furious conflict had raged within the city.
Regiment after regiment had been marched up to the assault, but none had
proved brave enough to fight their way up the counter-scarp to the aid of
the hard-pressed grenadiers in the town.
When the little remnant of the grenadiers rejoined them, they continued,
for a time, to keep up a constant fire upon the defenders on the walls,
but at last slowly and sullenly fell back to their camp.
In the meantime, a regiment of Brandenburghers had attacked the wall of
the battery known as the Black Battery, whose fire was doing great
execution upon the assailants. They had brought scaling ladders with
them, and with these they succeeded, fighting with great bravery and
determination, in gaining the walls. The whole regiment poured in; but,
just as they did so, the Irish fired the powder magazine that supplied
the battery, and the whole battalion was destroyed.
William, from his position on a fort known as Cromwell's Fort, watched
the struggle. Had he acted as Cromwell did, at the siege of Drogheda,
when, after his troops had been twice repulsed at the breach, he placed
himself at their head and led them to the assault, the result might not
have been the same; for the regiments, which refused to follow their
officers up the counter-scarp, might have followed the king; but William,
although he had often proved the possession of no ordinary courage, and
coolness in danger, had not that species of courage which prompts a man
to throw himself forward to lead a forlorn hope. Moreover, both as a
general-in-chief and king, his place was not at the head of an assault.
The assailants lost more than two thousand men, and these the flower of
William's army. The surprise of the troops, at their defeat by an enemy
they had been taught to despise, was extreme, and so ashamed were they of
their failure, that the following day they were ready to renew the
assault. The king, however, would not risk another such defeat. The
bravest of his force had perished, his stores of ammunition were nearly
exhausted, and the rains had set in with great violence.
On the day following the assault, the king called a council of war, and
it was resolved to raise the siege. There was a great scarcity of waggons
and horses, in consequence of the loss sustained by Sarsfield's attack on
the train. The few waggons which remained were not enough to convey the
wounded men, many of whom were obliged to walk. The stores had,
therefore, to be abandoned for want of transport. Some were thrown into
the river, others blown up and destroyed, and, on Saturday the 30th of
August, the army commenced its retreat.
It was accompanied by a great host of fugitives, for with the army went
the whole of the Protestant inhabitants of the county of Limerick and the
surrounding country, with their wives, children, servants, and such
household goods as they could bring with them. In addition to these were
the Protestant fugitives from the neighbourhood of Athlone, who had come
down with the division of General Douglas, after he had raised the siege
of that city.
The Protestants round Limerick had not doubted the success of the
besiegers, never questioning the ability of an army, commanded by a king,
to capture a place like Limerick. The misery of this body of fugitives
was terrible. They had abandoned their homes to pillage and destruction,
and knew not whether they should ever be able to return to them again.
They had, on the arrival of William, torn up the letters of protection,
which the Irish generals had given to all who applied to them, and,
having thrown in their fortunes with him, dared not remain among the
country people, who had suffered so terribly from the exactions and
brutality of William's army. Not only had they to endure wet, hunger, and
fatigue in the retreat, but they were robbed and plundered, by the army
which should have protected them, as if they had been enemies instead of
friends.
William himself left his army, as soon as he broke up the siege, and
pushed straight on to Waterford, and the troops, relieved from the only
authority they feared, and rendered furious by the ill success which had
attended their operations, broke out into acts of plunder and
insubordination which surpassed anything that they had before
perpetrated.
The siege of Limerick brought the campaign to a close, and, so far, the
Irish had no reason to be disheartened. They had besieged and nearly
annihilated the army of Schomberg at Dundalk. They had fought a sturdy
battle on the Boyne, and had proved themselves a match for William's best
troops. They had decisively repulsed the attacks upon Athlone and
Limerick. Half the troops William had sent to conquer the country had
fallen, while their own losses had been comparatively small.
The sole fruit, of all the efforts of William, had been the occupation of
the capital--a great advantage, as it gave him a point at which he could
pour fresh troops into Ireland, and recommence the war in the spring with
new chances of success. When the British army reached Callan, some of the
arrears of pay were distributed among the troops, and the army was then
broken up, and the troops went into winter quarters.
William had returned at once to England, and sent over some new lords
justices to Dublin. These were received with delight by the townspeople,
who had suffered terribly from the exactions and depredations of the
foreign troops quartered there, and were, indeed, almost in a state of
starvation, for the country people were afraid to bring in provisions for
sale, as they were either plundered of the goods as they approached the
city, or robbed of their money as they returned after disposing of them.
As the only possible check to these disorders, the justices raised a body
of militia in the town, to cope with the soldiery, and the result was a
series of frays which kept the city in a state of alarm.
By the time that Limerick beat off the assault upon its breach, Walter
Davenant was quite convalescent. Rumours of the ill treatment of the
Protestants who accompanied the retreating army circulated in Limerick,
and Mrs. Conyers congratulated herself warmly that she and her daughter
were safe under the protection of the Irish troops, instead of being in
the sad column of fugitives.
As soon as the English army had left, Captain Davenant obtained for her
an order of protection from General Sarsfield, and she returned for a
while with her daughter to their house, to which the invalids were
carried, Captain Davenant's troop being again quartered around it.
"I hardly know what is best to do," she said to Captain Davenant, a few
days after her return. "I am, of course, anxious to rejoin my husband,
but at the same time, I feel that my staying here is of benefit to him.
With the order of protection I have received, I am perfectly safe here,
and I have no fear whatever of any trouble, either with the troops or
peasantry; but, on the other hand, if we abandon this place, I fear that
it will be pillaged, and perhaps burned, like the other houses belonging
to Protestants which have been deserted by their owners. What do you say,
Captain Davenant?"
"I should be sorry to give any advice, Mrs. Conyers. For the troops I can
answer. The protection you have received from General Sarsfield will be
sufficient to ensure you against any trouble whatever from them, but, as
to the peasantry, I cannot say. Every village within reach of William's
army, in its advance or retreat, has been destroyed, and the vilest
atrocities have been committed upon the people. The greater part of the
men have, in despair, taken up arms, and, when they get the chance, will
avenge their wrongs upon inoffensive Protestants who have ventured to
remain in their dwellings. Savagery has begot savagery, and even such a
protection order as you have received would go for little with these
half-maddened wretches. I should say, therefore, that so long as there
are a considerable body of troops at Limerick, so long you may safely
remain here, but no longer."
"At any rate, I will stay for a time," Mrs. Conyers said. "The winter may
bring peace; and I am very loath to abandon the house, to which my
husband is greatly attached, if it is possible to save it."
The party now fell back to the mode of life which had been interrupted by
the advance of William's army. Captain Davenant drilled his men, and
spent his evenings pleasantly in the house. Walter had so far recovered
that he was able to stroll through the grounds, or drive with Claire. The
troopers enjoyed their rest and abundance of rations. Captain Davenant's
mind had been set at ease by the receipt of a letter, which Mrs. Davenant
had sent him by one of the men of the village. It told him that she had
seen Mr. Conyers, who had obtained a stay of all proceedings against the
property, and that she was well, and in as good spirits as she could be
in his absence.
A month after they had moved across the river, their quiet life was
interrupted by a trooper riding up, just as the party was sitting down to
dinner, with an order from General Sarsfield for the troops to be in
readiness to march, at daybreak, to form part of a force which was about
to undertake an enterprise against the English stationed at Birr. There
was silence at the table, after Captain Davenant had read the order.
"Then you must leave us?" Mrs. Conyers said at last.
"I am afraid so, Mrs. Conyers. Yes, sorry as I am that our pleasant time
here must come to an end, there is no questioning the order. I have been,
in fact, expecting it for the last day or two."
"Then I shall move," Mrs. Conyers said, decidedly. "It will take us a day
or two to pack up such valuables as I should like to take away and leave
at Limerick, till the return of happier days. When that is accomplished,
I shall carry out my intention of making for Galway, and leave the house
to take care of itself."
"In the meantime, madam," Captain Davenant said, "I will leave my son and
four of the men, who are now convalescent, as a protection. I fancy they
are all fit to take the saddle, but I can strain a point a little, and
leave them still on the sick list."
"Thank you very much, indeed," Mrs. Conyers said, while a glance of
satisfaction passed between Walter and Claire. "That will be a
satisfaction. Indeed, I shall feel quite safe, so long as your son is
here. I wish now I had moved the things before; but I had hoped that you
would have been allowed to remain in quarters here all the winter. Had it
not been for that, I should never have decided as I did."
The next morning the troop started.
"The place seems strangely quiet," Walter said, as he strolled out into
the garden with Claire, after breakfast. "It seems terrible to think
that, in three or four days, it will be deserted altogether, and that you
will have gone."
"It is horrid," the girl said, with tears gathering in her eyes. "I hate
King William and King James both," she went on petulantly. "Why can't
they fight their quarrel out alone, instead of troubling everyone else? I
don't know which of them I hate the most."
"But there is a compensation," Walter said with a smile.
"I am sure I don't see any compensation," the girl said. "What do you
mean, Walter?"
"I mean," Walter said, "that if they had not quarrelled, we might never
have met."
"There is something in that," Claire said softly. "No; I don't know that
I ought quite to hate them, after all."
By which it will be seen that Walter Davenant and Claire Conyers had
already arrived at a thorough understanding, as to their feelings towards
each other. After this, as was natural between young persons so situated,
their talk wandered away into the future, and the present was already
forgotten.
In the house, everyone was at work. Mrs. Conyers' servants had all
returned, when she came back to the house, and these were now busy, with
the assistance of Larry and the four troopers left behind, in taking down
and packing pictures, taking up carpets, and getting furniture ready for
removal. In the afternoon, Walter assisted in the work of packing. As he
was dressing for dinner, Larry, as usual, came into his room.
"I suppose, your honour," he said, after putting out Walter's clothes,
"you will be setting a watch tonight?"
"Yes, Larry, I was intending to do so. You don't think there is any
special occasion for it, do you?"
"I don't know, your honour. We hear tales of the rapparees burning every
Protestant house in the district. As long as the troop was here, av
coorse the boys kept away; but there is a powerful lot of plunder in the
house, and the news that the troop have gone will go through the country
quick enough. The boys have had enough to turn them into devils, with
what they have gone through, and small blame to them if they take their
chances when they find them. We know, yer honour, that Mrs. Conyers and
Miss Claire are well-nigh angels, and there is small fear that the people
around will lift a finger agin them, in spite of having had their own
homes burnt over their heads; but folks from a distance don't know that,
and the news that there is a rich Protestant house, all ready for
sacking, will travel quick. I hope your honour will get the ladies to
move out of the place tomorrow, whether the ould pictures and things are
all ready or not."
"Do you think it is as serious as that, Larry?"
"Faith and I do, yer honour. You don't know how bitter the folks are!"
"But there cannot be any danger, Larry, as long as we are here. The
rapparees would never attack a house which has the general's protection,
and with an officer and some troopers of the king to guard it."
"It's meself would not answer for them," Larry said, shaking his head.
"The boys are just disperate, and would care nothing for the protection,
unless there were force to back it. They think that, as all the Catholics
have been robbed by the Protestants, it's only fair that they should get
their turn now; and, if I were your honour, I would lay all my plans out
tonight, how to get away and the rest of it, just as if you were assured
they would come before the morning."
"Why, you have heard nothing certain, Larry?"
"I have not, or I would tell your honour at once; but I know what the
people think and feel, and I know that the rapparees have been plundering
and destroying every Protestant house around, and they will guess that
the ladies will be moving, now that the troop is gone. Besides, won't
they have heard that the news has gone round, for waggons to come to take
away the things?"
The earnestness with which Larry spoke convinced Walter that the danger
was serious. Larry was not given to magnify danger, and usually treated
all risks with carelessness and indifference. Walter knew that he would
gather, from the stablemen and the people who brought in provisions, much
more as to the state of popular feeling in the country than he was likely
to know, and he accordingly went down to dinner grave and preoccupied.
Mrs. Conyers soon noticed the change in his manner, and, as soon as the
servants had retired, asked him if he had received any bad news.
"No," he said, trying to speak lightly. "My boy Larry has been trying to
scare me about the rapparees, and, although I do not think that there is
any danger to be apprehended from them, I do think that it would be just
as well to hurry on your preparations, as much as possible, and for you
and Claire to go in to Limerick tomorrow afternoon. We can finish the
packing up of the goods you wish to take, and any we cannot get off
tomorrow can be sent in the next day."
Mrs. Conyers looked grave.
"But we have heard of no rapparees in this neighbourhood, Walter," she
said. "We have heard of sad excesses in some parts of the country, but
nothing in this neighbourhood."
"There has been small temptation for them about here," Walter said, "for
every house within miles was stripped by the Williamites. Catholic or
Protestant was all the same to them. Besides, they knew well that
Sarsfield's horse would soon have put a stop to that sort of thing. Now,
I do not wish to alarm you in the slightest, and I do not think that
there is any real cause for anxiety. Even if they are in the
neighbourhood, the rapparees will hardly venture an attack upon a house
occupied by even a few of our troops. Still, it is always wisest to be
prepared, and therefore, I should like for us to arrange exactly what had
best be done in the event of an attack. Of course, I shall see that all
the doors and the lower windows are securely fastened, and I shall have
the men from the stables into the house, so we shall be nine or ten men
in all; enough, I hope, for all circumstances. Still, merely as a matter
of discussion, let us suppose the worst. Let us imagine the house
surrounded, the doors burst in, and the resistance on the point of being
overpowered. What would be our best plan for making our escape?
"Do not be frightened, Claire," he went on, seeing how pale the girl had
become. "Every general, when he is going to fight a battle, however sure
he may be of success, decides upon the route by which his army shall
retreat, in case of a defeat, and I am only taking the same precaution."
"If there is to be a retreat made at all," Mrs. Conyers said, "I prefer
that it should be made now. Do you really think that there is any real
danger of attack?"
"I think that there is danger of attack, Mrs. Conyers; but I have no
reason for supposing that there is any particular danger this night."
"Then Claire and I will at once start for the town, under the escort of
two of your men. It would be folly, indeed, to run the risk of another
attack here. If the house is to be burned, it must be burned. For, if
they were beaten off once, they would come again when the house was
undefended. As for the things, should all be quiet tonight, they can be
sent in tomorrow as arranged. The things that are to go are all got
together."
"I do think that the best way," Walter said. "Of course, I shall ride in
with you, and hand you over to the friends you are going to, in the town,
and shall then come back here again with a light heart. But I own that I
am nervous at the thought of you and Claire being here, should the
rapparees attack the house."
"But mind, Walter, there is to be no fighting. If they come tonight, I
had rather that they took everything, than that you should risk your life
in its defence. The silver and valuables we took across before are all
safe in Limerick. As for the other things, they can go. Now, mind, we
shall not leave unless we have your promise that, if a band of these men
come tonight to sack the place, you and your men will offer no
resistance."
"If they come in numbers which render successful resistance out of the
question, I promise you that we will not draw a trigger, Mrs. Conyers."
"In that case I am satisfied, Walter. Against you and your men these
peasants have no quarrel."
Walter at once called Larry.
"Larry, get my horse saddled, and tell Browning to saddle his. Place two
pillions behind the saddles. Mrs. Conyers and her daughter are going to
ride into Limerick at once."
"The Lord be praised!" Larry said piously. "That's the best news I have
heard this many a day."
"And, Larry," Mrs. Conyers said, "tell the three boys in the stable to
saddle the three best horses, and ride with us. If we lose everything
else, we may as well retain them, for it would not be easy to buy others
now."
In ten minutes, all was ready for a start. Walter and the trooper took
their places in the saddles, chairs were brought out, and Mrs. Conyers
and Claire mounted behind them. Walter had asked Mrs. Conyers to take her
seat on the pillion on his horse, but she did not answer, and when Walter
turned to see that she was comfortably placed behind him, he found that
it was Claire who was seated there.
"Mamma told me to," the girl said. "I suppose she thought this was,
perhaps, the last ride we should take together."
"For the present, Claire--you should say, for the present. I hope it will
not be long before we are together again.
"And for good," he added, in a low voice.
Mrs. Conyers made no comment, when they dismounted and entered the house
of a friend at Limerick, upon Claire's swollen eyes and flushed cheeks,
but said "goodbye" lightly to Walter, thanked him for his escort, and
said that she hoped to see him, with her household goods, on the
following afternoon.
On leaving them, Walter went straight to the house where an officer of
his acquaintance was quartered.
"Hullo, Davenant! I didn't expect to see you here at this time of the
evening. I heard you were still laid up with your wound."
"That is an old affair now," Walter said. "I am not quite strong again,
but there is little the matter now. I have come in to ask you if you will
let me have five-and-twenty of your men. I have strong reason to believe
that it is likely one of the bands of rapparees will make an attack on
Mrs. Conyers' house tonight. The tenants have been asked to send in their
waggons, tomorrow, to remove some of the furniture in here, and I think
it probable they will try to take what they fancy, before it starts. I
have brought Mrs. Conyers and her daughter into the town, but, as I have
only four men, I cannot defend the house if it is attacked in any force.
I wish you would let me have five-and-twenty men, and a sergeant, just
for tonight. I will march them in with the baggage in the afternoon."
"Certainly I will," Captain Donovan said. "I need not disturb the
colonel, at this time of the evening, but will take it on myself. There
are just that number quartered in the storehouse, close to the gate. I
will go down with you, at once, and turn them out and give them orders.
It will be a good thing for the rapparees to have a lesson. They bring
disgrace upon our cause by their doings."
In a few minutes the men, who had not retired to bed, were turned out.
"You have got a four-mile march before you, boys," Walter said, when they
were drawn up; "but there will be a pint of good wine, and some supper
for you, when you get there. So step out as briskly as you can."
After a cordial goodnight to Captain Donovan, Walter placed himself at
the head of the infantry, and, in little over an hour, arrived at the
house. He knocked loudly at the door. A minute later, Larry put his head
out of the window above.
"Who is there? What do you want knocking at a peaceful house at this time
of night? You had best go away, boys, for the house is chock full of
soldiers. We are only waiting for orders to blow you to smithereens."
Walter burst into a laugh.
"Very well done, Larry. It is I, with some soldiers. So you needn't give
orders to the men to fire."
Larry gave a cry of satisfaction, and ran down to open the door.
"It's glad I am to see you, Master Walter, entirely. I have been
listening ever since you went, and, when I heard the tramp of feet, I
made sure it was the boys."
"But I gave orders that there was to be no resistance, Larry."
"And I wasn't going to resist, your honour; but I thought I might just
frighten them away."
"Now, Larry, get up a pint of wine for each of these good fellows, and
what victuals you can find in the house. We need have no fear of an
attack tonight."
When the soldiers had finished their supper, they lay down in the hall.
Walter placed a sentry at a window, at each side of the house, and he
then lay down on a sofa, for the ride to Limerick and back had greatly
fatigued him, much to his surprise, for he had no idea how far his
strength had been pulled down.
He was aroused, just as day was breaking, by a loud knocking at the door,
and at the same moment a shot was fired from a window above. The soldiers
had started to their feet, and seized their arms as he ran out and bade
them follow him upstairs. He threw up a window.
"Who are you? And what do you want?"
"Never mind who we are," a voice replied. "We want the door opened, and
you had best do it quick."
"Look here, my man," Walter said in a loud, steady voice, "there are
thirty soldiers in this house, and, if I give the word, you will get such
a volley among you, that half of you will never go home to tell about it,
so I warn you to depart quietly."
"It's a lie," the man said. "If you are the officer, you have got only
four men, and you know it. We want to do you no harm, and we don't want
to harm the ladies; but what's in the house is ours--that's the law of
William's troops, and we mean to act up to it."
A chorus of approbation rose from a throng of peasants gathered round the
door. A few of them carried muskets, but the greater part were armed with
rude pikes.
"Show yourselves at the windows, boys," Walter said to his men. "Level
your muskets, but don't fire until I give the word."
It was light enough for those without to make out the threatening
figures, which showed themselves at every window, and, with a cry of
alarm, they ran back among the shrubs for shelter.
"Now you see," Walter said, "that I have spoken the truth. I have thirty
soldiers here, and you know as well as I do what will come of it, if you
attempt to break into this house.
"For shame, men! Your deeds bring disgrace on the king's cause, and on
our religion. It is not because the scum who march with the Dutchman
behave like brutal savages, that we should do the same. There's plenty of
work for you, in fighting against the enemies of your country, instead of
frightening women and pillaging houses. Return to your homes, or, better
still, go and join the king's army, and fight like men for your homes and
your religion."
He listened, but there was no answer. The rapparees knew they had no
chance of breaking into the house, so defended, and, when Walter ceased,
each man slunk away in the darkness.
The next morning, a number of waggons arrived, and Walter, with the aid
of the soldiers, had the satisfaction of loading them with everything of
any value in the house, and of escorting them without interruption to
Limerick. Mrs. Conyers was filled with gratitude, when she heard the
events of the night, and how narrowly she and her daughter had escaped
another attack. One of the principal tenants had come in with his waggon,
and he agreed to move into the house, with his wife and family, until she
should return. Seeing that now everything worth taking had been removed,
he thought there was little chance of any attempt to destroy the house.