After the capitulation of Galway, Ginckle moved towards Limerick. King
William, who was absent on the Continent, was most anxious for the aid of
the army warring in Ireland, and the queen and her advisers, considering
that the war was now virtually over, ordered transports to Ireland to
take 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 army
was still as numerous as the British, and they were not discouraged by
their defeat at Aughrim, where they considered, and rightly, that victory
had only been snatched from their grasp by an accident. Ginckle relied
rather upon concession than force. The Irish were divided into two
parties, one of which earnestly desired peace, if they could obtain fair
terms, while the other insisted that the British could not be trusted to
keep any terms they might make. Sarsfield was at the head of the war
party, and succeeded, for the present, in preventing any arrangement.
Ginckle advanced slowly, for he had to march through a waste and desolate
country. Sarsfield, with his cavalry, hovered round him, and intercepted
his communications, and he was so short of draught horses that it was
only 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 train
in front of Limerick, and prepared for the siege. For the moment, the
party in favour of peace among the Irish had been silenced by the news
that twenty large ships of war, with a great number of transport and
store ships, were being pushed forward at Brest and other French ports to
come to their assistance.
Ginckle occupied the same ground which William's army had taken up in the
first siege, but directed his attacks chiefly upon the English town. As
before, the Irish communication was open with the county of Clare, and
the seventeen regiments of Irish horse were encamped on the Clare side of
the river. Ginckle pushed on his works with great vigour, and the duty in
the trenches was so severe, that the cavalry were compelled to take their
turn with the infantry; but, notwithstanding that the siege artillery was
much more powerful than that which William had at his disposal, but
little progress was made. The town was set on fire several times; but the
flames were speedily extinguished, and, as the inhabitants had all left
the city and erected tents on the Clare side, under the protection of
their cavalry, little harm was done to them.
While the siege was going on, a number of desultory engagements took
place, in different parts of the country, between the Protestant militia
which had been lately raised, and the bands of rapparees, with varying
success.
The season was getting late. Ginckle was again becoming straitened for
provisions, for the proclamations which he issued failed to inspire the
peasantry with any confidence. He now erected a battery, of thirty-five
guns, against King's Island; and, after an incessant cannonade of some
days, a breach was effected in the wall between the abbey and
Ballsbridge. Preparations were made for crossing the arm of the Shannon
and assaulting the breach; but the works constructed for crossing the
river were repeatedly destroyed by the Irish, and the idea of assault
upon the breach was, at length, abandoned. So desperate did Ginckle now
think his position, that he issued orders for the repair of the
fortifications of Kilmallock, intending to raise the siege and establish
his winter quarters there; but he postponed taking this step for a few
days, for to do so would be to bring almost certain disaster upon his
army.
The French fleet was expected to arrive shortly, and the Irish,
reinforced with men, arms, and supplies of every kind, would probably
resume the offensive during the winter, and he would find himself cut off
from all supplies and assistance. He determined, therefore, to make one
more effort before retiring.
He had, throughout the siege, been in communication with several Irish
officers of high rank, and especially with General Clifford, who
commanded the cavalry posted on the river opposite to his camp. These
officers were as desirous as he was of bringing the war to an end, for
they foresaw that if, after the arrival of the French, they succeeded in
driving the English out of the country, Ireland would simply become a
dependency of France, and they preferred the English connection to this.
Ginckle determined to try, again, the same feint which had succeeded at
Athlone. The workmen were kept busy repairing the works at Kilmallock,
and preparing that place for the reception of the army. The greater
portion of the baggage, and a regiment of Danes, were sent forward to
that town. The batteries ceased firing, and the cannon were dismounted at
several points, and the Irish were persuaded that the siege was about to
be abandoned.
Meanwhile, Ginckle was busy collecting boats, and preparing a bridge
across to a small island, which lay not far from the Clare side of the
river. On a dark night, the boats were brought up and the bridge
constructed, and, led by six hundred grenadiers, a strong force of
infantry, cavalry, and artillery crossed to the island, and then waded
through the shallow water beyond to the mainland.
A few men, posted on the island, carried the news to Clifford, but he
gave no orders to the four regiments of cavalry and two of infantry under
his command, nor did he send any notice to the camp. Some of the infantry
and cavalry, however, ran without orders to the bank, and kept the
grenadiers in check until the British cavalry had crossed, and compelled
them to fall back. The British cavalry then dashed forward to the Irish
cavalry camp, which they took completely by surprise. Panic stricken at
this unexpected attack, the soldiers and the citizens in the town camp
fled 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 the
whole of the Irish officials and civilians on the Clare side of the
river; but, fearing an ambuscade, he halted his troops before advancing
to the Irish camp, and this gave time for most of them to escape. Being
afraid that the garrison would sally out from the town, and attack his
lines on the other side of the river, he recrossed the Shannon with his
troops, carrying with them a crowd of civilians, among them a number of
persons of rank, and officials with the records and public treasure.
The confusion and surprise in the town were so great that the Irish
generals took no steps whatever, either to hinder his passage back across
the river, or to attack either portion of his divided army. They knew
that treachery must have been at work, to have enabled the enemy to
surprise the camp, and, as they could not tell how far that treachery
extended, they abstained from all action.
Captain Davenant's troop had shared in the disaster inflicted by the
night attack upon the cavalry camp. All were asleep when the English
cavalry burst upon them. Taken utterly by surprise, and ignorant as to
the strength of the force by which they were attacked, there was no
thought of resistance. Officers and men leapt from the piles of rushes,
which served as beds, and rushed to their horses. The English troopers
were 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; but
his words were lost in the din which prevailed, and, seeing that nothing
was 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 it
was not for two or three days that they again assembled in regiments,
presenting a sorry sight, the greater part having lost saddles and
accoutrements of every kind. A few troops, composed of men who had been
fortunate enough to have left their horses saddled when night came on,
were sent back to Limerick. The rest drew off towards Ennis, and encamped
there until they could procure saddles and accoutrements to take the
field again.
In Captain Davenant's troop there were but six men who had saved their
saddles; and, as it would have been useless to send so small a detachment
to Limerick, these remained with the troop, and were, at Walter's
request, placed entirely at his disposal, in order that with them he
might make scouting expeditions in the enemy's rear. He had permission to
consider himself entirely on detached service, and to join any body of
rapparees he might choose; but this Walter did not care about doing, for
he had a horror of the savage acts which were perpetrated by the
irregular forces on both sides, and determined to confine himself to
watching the roads, bringing in news of any convoys which might be
traversing the country, and cutting off messengers going or returning
with despatches.
The service was one of no great danger, for parties of peasants were on
the watch, night and day; and, the instant any movement was observed,
they started off at full speed to warn all the inhabitants of the
surrounding villages to drive away their cattle, and carry off their
effects into the hills or into the heart of some neighbouring bog, where
the cavalry would not venture to penetrate.
One day when, with his little band, he was halting at a village, some ten
miles in rear of the camp, a peasant ran in.
"A party of their horse have just seized some carts laden with potatoes
at Kilcowan, and are driving them off. The boys are mustering to attack
them on their way back."
"It is too bad," Walter exclaimed. "Only three days ago, Ginckle issued
another 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 the
people intended to attack at a point where the road passed between two
hills, a mile and a half beyond the village, he galloped on at full
speed. He arrived, however, too late to take any part in the fight. The
peasants had rushed suddenly down the hillsides, armed with scythes and
pikes, upon the convoy as it passed below them. Several of the cavalry
had been killed, and the rest were riding off, when Walter with his
troopers dashed up. They continued the pursuit for a mile, cutting off a
few stragglers, less well mounted than the rest, and then returned to
Kilcowan, where the peasants had just arrived in triumph with the rescued
carts 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 may
expect 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 they
would be severely punished if they did? And didn't he guarantee that we
should be paid for everything? He could not blame us for what we have
done, and he ought to hang the rest of those thieving villains, when they
get back to him."
"I wouldn't be too sure about it," Walter said. "He issued a good many
proclamations before, but he has never kept the terms of one of them. If
I were you, I would leave the village--man, woman, and child--for a few
days, at any rate, and see how the Dutchman takes it."
But the villagers could not be persuaded that the Dutch general would
disapprove of what they had done, and Walter, finding his arguments of no
avail, rode off with his men to the village they had left, an hour
before; with the parting advice that, if they would not follow his
counsel, they should, at any rate, place watchers that night on the roads
towards Ginckle's camp, to bring them news of the approach of any body of
the enemy's cavalry.
But the villagers were too delighted with their day's work to pay much
heed to Walter's warning, and, after a general jollification in honour of
their victory, retired to rest, thoughtless of danger.
It was getting dark when Walter reached the village where he had
determined to stay for the night. He ordered the men to keep the saddles
on their horses, and to hitch them to the doors of the cabins where they
took up their quarters, in readiness for instant movement. He placed one
mounted sentry at the entrance to the village, and another a quarter of a
mile 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 as
possible."
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 are
after them."
Walter listened intently. He could hear a deep thundering noise, which
was certainly made by the hoofs of more than two horses.
"Face about, men, trot! Keep your horses well in hand, until the others
come 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 at
the approaching enemy.
There was a fierce shock. A horse and rider rolled over from the impetus
of his charge, then he cut right and left; pistol shots rang out, and his
horse fell beneath him, shot through the head, pinning his leg beneath
it.
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 ran
great risk of being trampled upon, in the confusion which followed. Then
some 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 the
darkness and confusion, the other four had fallen.
The English, as he afterwards learned, had, immediately they arrived at
Kilcowan, inquired where the Irish cavalry, who had taken part in the
afternoon's fight, were quartered, and on hearing that they were but two
miles away, the officer in command had forced one of the peasants to act
as guide, and to take a party round, by a detour, so as to enter at the
other end of the village, just as another party rode in by the direct
road.
Walter was taken first to Kilcowan. There he found a party of twelve or
fourteen peasants, surrounded by cavalry. The whole village was in
flames. Several of the inhabitants had been cut down, as the cavalry
entered. The rest, with the exception of those in the hands of the
troops, had fled in the darkness. As soon as the detachment with Walter
arrived, the whole body got into motion, and reached Ginckle's camp
shortly before midnight.
As the general had retired to sleep, they were placed in a tent, and four
sentries posted round it, with orders to shoot anyone who showed his head
outside. In the morning, they were ordered to come out, and found outside
the general, with several of his officers.
"So," Ginckle said, "you are the fellows who attacked my soldiers. I will
teach you a lesson which shall be remembered all over Ireland. You shall
be broken on the wheel."
This sentence was heard unmoved by the peasants, who had not the least
idea of what was meant by it; but Walter stepped forward:
"It is not these men who are to blame, but your soldiers, general," he
said. "Your own proclamation, issued three days ago, guaranteed that no
private property should be interfered with, and that everything the
troops required should be paid for. Your soldiers disobeyed your orders,
and plundered these poor people, and they were just as much justified in
defending themselves against them, as any householder is who resists a
burglar."
"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 of
your troops have brought disgrace upon them, rather than you; but, if
this brutal order is carried out, your name will be held infamous, and
you will stand next only to Cromwell in the curses which Irishmen will
heap 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 one
another in astonishment and disgust. Two of them hurried away, to fetch
some of the superior officers, and directly these heard of the orders
that had been given, they proceeded to Ginckle's tent.
"Can it be true," General Hamilton said, "that you have ordered some
prisoners to be broken on the wheel?"
"I have given those orders," Ginckle said angrily, "and I will not permit
them 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 English
law, and I and my English comrades protest against such a sentence being
carried 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 hour
from the present time, I will march out from your camp, at the head of my
division 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, and
will explain my conduct to the king and the British parliament. Enough
disgrace has already been brought upon all connected with the army, by
the doings of the foreign troops; but when it comes to the death by
torture of prisoners, by the order of their general, it is time that
every British officer should refuse to permit such foul disgrace to rest
upon his name."
There was a chorus of assent from the other English officers, while
Ginckle's foreign officers gathered round him, and it looked for a moment
as if swords would be drawn.
Ginckle saw that he had gone too far, and felt that, not only would this
quarrel, if pushed further, compel him to raise the siege and fall back
upon 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. "You
tell me that such a punishment is contrary to English law. That is
enough. 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 own
conscience," 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 such
a punishment, it is your sentence, not mine. I thought it was your policy
to heal the breach between the two parties. It seems I was mistaken.
Personally, I protest against the execution of the sentence, beyond that
I am not called upon to go. An act of injustice or cruelty, performed by
a general upon prisoners, would not justify a soldier in imperilling the
success of the campaign by resisting the orders of his superior;
therefore, my duty to the king renders me unable to act; but I solemnly
protest, in my own name and that of the English officers under your
command, against the sentence, which I consider unjust in the extreme."
So saying, General Hamilton, with the English officers, left the
general's tent. If they hoped that the protest would have the effect of
preventing the barbarous sentence from being carried into execution, they
were mistaken. The fact that, to carry out his first intention would have
been absolutely unlawful, had caused Ginckle to abandon it, but this made
him only the more obstinate in carrying the second into execution.
The English officers stood talking, not far from his tent, in tones of
indignation and disgust at the brutal sentence, and then walked towards
their divisional camp. As they went, they saw a number of men standing
round a tree. Some Hessian soldiers, with much brutal laughter, were
reeving ropes over the arm of the tree, and, just as the officers came
along, six struggling forms were drawn up high above the heads of the
crowd.
The party paused for a moment, and were about to pass on, their faces
showing how deep was their horror at the scene, when one of them
exclaimed:
"There is an Irish officer, in uniform, among the prisoners! This cannot
be suffered, Hamilton. The Irish have several of ours prisoners in the
town, and they would rightly retaliate by hanging them on the
battlements."
General Hamilton and the others pressed forward.
"Colonel Hanau," the general said to a Hessian officer, "you surely
cannot be going to hang this young officer? The general can never have
included him with the others?"
"The general's orders were precise," the Hessian said coldly. "Twelve
peasants and one officer were to be hung, and afterwards quartered."
"It is monstrous!" General Hamilton exclaimed. "I will go back to the
general, 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 be
swinging 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 I
have received my orders from the commander in chief, I decline altogether
to take orders from you."
Walter, who had resigned himself to his fate, stood watching the
altercation with a renewed feeling of hope. This died out when the
colonel spoke, and two of the troopers seized him, but at that moment his
eye fell upon one of the English officers.
"Colonel L'Estrange!" he exclaimed.
The officer started, at hearing his name called out by the prisoner, but
he 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. I
cannot and will not stand by and see him murdered."
The Hessian colonel signed to four of his men, who seized Walter and
dragged him towards the tree. Colonel L'Estrange drew his sword.
"My men," he shouted, to some English soldiers who were mingled with the
crowd 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 by
Colonel L'Estrange. He dashed forward, sword in hand, and in a moment
Walter was torn from the grasp of the soldiers, and placed in the centre
of his rescuers, who were now joined by General Hamilton and the other
officers.
Several men had run off at full speed, to the British camp, to bring up
aid. The Hessian colonel called upon his men to seize the prisoner, and
cut down all who interfered to prevent the general's orders being carried
out. These hesitated before the resolute aspect of the English, but the
crowd of foreign soldiers ranged themselves with them, and the attack was
about 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 waved
his men back, saying to General Hamilton:
"I have nothing to do now, sir, but to report to General Ginckle that I
have been prevented, by force, from carrying his orders into effect."
"That you will, of course, do," General Hamilton said coldly. "I shall be
perfectly prepared to answer for my conduct."
There was no goodwill between the English and foreign sections of
Ginckle's army, and General Hamilton had some trouble in preventing the
soldiers from attacking the Hessians, and in inducing them to retire to
their camp. As soon as he arrived there, he ordered the drums to be
beaten, and the whole division to get under arms. He then despatched an
officer to General Ginckle, narrating the circumstances, and saying that
the honour of the whole army was concerned in preventing an officer,
fairly taken prisoner in war, and not while acting as a spy, from being
injured; and that, indeed, policy as well as honour forbade such a course
being taken, as there were several officers of rank in the hands of the
Irish, who would naturally retaliate on them the execution of prisoners
of war. He made a formal complaint against Colonel Hanau, for refusing to
delay the execution until he could lay the matter before the general. As
for his own conduct in the matter, he said he was perfectly prepared to
defend it before any military court, but that court must be held in
England, where he purposed to return at once, with the division his
majesty had intrusted to his command.
The Dutch general had, long before he received the letter, been informed
of what had taken place, and had also learned that the English division
had struck their tents, and were drawn up under arms. To allow them to
depart would be to entail certain ruin upon the campaign, and he felt
that it was more than probable that the course Hamilton and his officers
had taken would be upheld by a military court in England, and that public
opinion would condemn the execution of an officer, taken in fair fight.
He therefore wrote a letter to General Hamilton, saying that he regretted
to find that he had been acting under a misapprehension, for he had
understood that the person claiming to be an Irish officer was in fact a
spy, and that he had severely reprimanded Colonel Hanau for his refusal
to delay the execution until the fact had been explained to him. Far from
feeling in any way aggrieved that General Hamilton had interfered to
prevent such a mistake from taking place, he felt much obliged to him for
what he had done, as the execution of an Irish officer taken in war
would, in every way, have been a most unfortunate circumstance.
General Hamilton showed the letter to the colonels of the various
regiments in the division, and these agreed that, as General Ginckle was
evidently desirous that the matter should go no further, it would be as
well to order the tents to be again pitched, and for the troops to resume
their ordinary duties.
"My dear Walter," Colonel L'Estrange said, "I am happy, indeed, that we
came up when we did. What should I have felt, if I had afterwards learned
that you, who had saved my life, had been murdered here, for your
execution would have been neither more nor less than murder, as was that
of the twelve poor fellows who were taken at Kilcowan--a brutal murder!
They were perfectly justified in defending their property, and the idea
of quartering them, as well as hanging them, just as if they were
traitors of the worst dye, is nothing short of monstrous.
"I only came out here with my regiment a month since, but I am heartily
sick with what I see going on. It was terrible to see the ruined villages
on the road from Dublin. I have seen fighting on the Continent, but
nothing to equal the wholesale brutality with which the war is conducted
here. How God can continue to give success, to an army which behaves as
this 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 of
it--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 not
been troubled; and I was fortunately able, myself, to bring some
influence to bear upon the council, who seem to be bent upon squeezing
the last drop of blood from the Irish veins.
"But the men are falling in, and I must put myself at the head of the
regiment. I will hand you over to the care of an officer, and, if we
march 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 not
venture to push matters further, for the loss of the one division he can
really rely upon would be fatal to all his hope of success to the
campaign. Ginckle is a passionate man, but he is not a fool, and he must
have seen that, if the matter had been laid before the king, his conduct
would not have been approved. I don't say that ours is right, in a
military sense, but I am sure that public opinion would have approved of
it. The tales that have been circulated, of the doings of the army over
here since the commencement of the war, have already roused a very strong
feeling of irritation throughout the country."
Colonel L'Estrange now took Walter to General Hamilton's tent, and, after
formally introducing him, he told the story of the wreck, and of his
rescue 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 through
the lines this evening. I will provide him with a good horse, and see him
well away. After what has happened Ginckle will, I should say, feel
obliged for our thus rendering him a service by getting rid of his
prisoner. There are not likely to be any questions asked or remarks made
afterwards. I am not without influence at court, and there is a very
strong section, who are bitterly opposed to Dutchmen being placed in
every post in the king's gift, and there would be no difficulty in
getting up such a hostile feeling against Ginckle, in relation to this
affair, that it would cost him his command."
"Yes," the general agreed. "Marlborough would be only too glad to take
the matter up, and as Ginckle must be pretty well aware that his want of
success here must have already made his position precarious, I do not
think he will trouble himself to ask any questions about the prisoner;
and, certainly, William will not thank him for being the means, by his
unjust and arbitrary conduct, of causing a split between the English and
his 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 greater
set of rascals were never collected under the sun. I must say that the
contrast between our army and the Irish is very great, and that, although
many bloody deeds are performed by the rapparees, there has never been a
single complaint brought against the Irish troops.
"Anyhow, Mr. Davenant, I think you cannot do better than fall in with
Colonel 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 our
lines."
Walter spent the rest of the day with Colonel L'Estrange, and told him
all 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. The
most uneventful days pass the most unheeded. Now to me, it seems but
yesterday that I stood on the deck of the ship, and knew that she was
sure to go to pieces, and that the chance of anyone reaching that rocky
coast alive were small, indeed; when I saw what seemed little more than a
black speck approaching, and you and your fisher boy made your way over
the 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 my
father's hands, to buy him a boat when he was old enough to start as a
fisherman on his own account, would have made a man of him, but it is
hidden somewhere in the thatch of his father's cottage. When my father
first went to the war, he handed it over to Larry, as he could not say
what might happen before his return. Larry was at first delighted with
the 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 not
object, Larry had his way, and he has been with me ever since. He is
enrolled in the troop now, and, when he thinks there is any chance of
fighting, he takes his place in the ranks, but at other times he acts as
my servant."
"Tell him I have not forgotten him," Colonel L'Estrange said. "While you
have been doing so much, I have had a quiet time of it. I could have got
a regiment at once, had I cared for it, but I disliked the thought of
fighting over here. It was too much like civil war. Six months ago, when
things 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 fair
order, and was expecting to be ordered to embark for the Low Country at
any moment, when the news came of Ginckle's heavy losses at Athlone and
Aughrim, and the orders came for us to proceed to Bristol, and take ship
there for Ireland. I half thought of throwing up my commission, for the
news of the scandalous conduct of the foreign soldiers had stirred every
English heart with disgust and indignation, but I thought that the
struggle was nearly over. William was anxious for peace at any price, and
would grant almost any terms to secure it; and, on the other hand, we
knew that Louis was, at last, going to make a great effort. So that it
was certain that either the Irish would make peace on fair terms before
winter, or the French would land, and there would be an end of any
prospect of conquering Ireland, until matters were settled on the
Continent, 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, the
situation looks bad. There is, so far as I can see, no chance whatever of
our taking Limerick, and in a fortnight ten thousand French troops will
be landed.
"Of course it is probable that, at the last moment, the Irish may
conclude that they prefer to be under England rather than France, for
that is what it comes to. I hope they will have the sense to choose
England, and if what we hear be true, they can judge from the insolent
arrogance of the French officers, when they are but a fraction of your
force, what they would be when they regarded themselves as your masters.
"William is ready to grant religious equality, and the security of
persons and estates. I think the Irish will be very unwise to refuse. At
the same time, they have suffered such villainous treatment, at the hands
of William's soldiers, that I cannot blame them if they decide to throw
in their lot with France."
"I think," Walter said, "that, if they were but sure that all the
promises would be kept, the greater part would be in favour of making
peace at once. Nine out of ten of us are of English descent, and have
only been driven to take up arms by the cruel oppression which we have
suffered. Why, at present five-sixths of the soil of Ireland is in the
hands of Protestants, our religion is persecuted, and for years we have
been trampled on, and regarded as fair objects of robbery."
"All that you say is true, Walter, and no one can regret it more than I
do. Still, I do think that you would be worse off under France than under
England. Louis would drain the island of its men to fill his army. He
uses 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 any
time suit him to make peace on such terms; or to offer Ireland as an
exchange for some piece of territory he coveted, beyond his frontier."
"I know my father is very much of your opinion," Walter said, "and that
he has no confidence whatever in the King of France, and considers that
French interference is responsible for the want of success which has
attended us. At any rate, there is scarcely one of us who does not hate
the 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 Colonel
L'Estrange and Walter in their midst, rode out of camp. They went for
several miles, and then Colonel L'Estrange said:
"We are now well outside the limit where you will be likely to meet any
of our scouting parties. Two miles further along this road, you will come
to the village of Mulroon. It has, like all the others, suffered heavily,
but there are two or three houses still standing, and when I rode
through, it a few days since, I saw an old man standing at the door of
one of them, so you will be likely to get information as to the best road
to the town, and perhaps a guide."
"Thank you very heartily, Colonel L'Estrange. I know the village, for I
rode through it only the day before I was captured, and if I can get no
guide, 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 rascally
plunderers might arrive here, or Ginckle may, for aught I know, have sent
out parties of dragoons. At any rate, I would not stop here, but make
your way on among the hills, even if you can only get a mile away, and
have to sleep by the side of your horse. No one can say he is safe under
a 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 convincing
the inhabitants of a cottage, in which he saw a light, that he was an
Irish officer, found no difficulty in obtaining a guide, a boy of
fourteen volunteering at once to conduct him to the ford, ten miles above
Limerick. It was nearly twenty miles, by the byroads by which they
travelled, and the morning was just breaking as they arrived there.
Colonel L'Estrange had insisted on providing Walter with funds, and he
was therefore able to reward his guide, who went his way, rejoicing,
while Walter crossed the river and rode for the cavalry camp, where he
was received with delight by his father and friends, who had believed him
to have been killed in the skirmish, for such was the report of the
troopers who had managed to make their escape.
"I must not let you go on any more detached commands, Walter," his father
said. "I do not say that you have been imprudent, or to blame; but this
is the second time that you have been surprised by the enemy, and, as it
is out of the question to expect that you can always have the good luck
to get out of their hands when you are captured, as you have on the last
two 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 against
marauders acting in defiance of the general's order, was known in camp,
the most intense indignation prevailed, and this was heightened by the
fact that a cavalry officer, taken in open fight, should have been
sentenced to a similar fate. So great, indeed, was the fury of both
officers and men, that had they been in any condition to take the field,
nothing could have restrained them from mounting and riding, at once, to
strike a blow in revenge for the murder and mutilation of the peasants.