THE LANDING AT CORK
Then Paridell, in whom a kindly pride
Of gracious speech, and skill his words to frame
Abounded, being glad of so fit tide
Him to commend to them, thus spake, of all well eyed.
SPENSER.
Cork was an asylum for civilization in the centre of a savage district.
The cautious burghers, made wealthy by trade, and ever in fear of
incursions from the surrounding septs, kept the strictest guard upon
their city, as if they had a continual siege laid to it. They forbade
all intercourse or intermarriage between those within and without the
walls, till every citizen became linked together by some sort of
kindred. It is true, that the country around was peopled to a great
degree by English lords; but they were the degenerate English, as they
were styled, who imitated the state and independence of the native
chiefs. Such was the earl of Desmond, of the family of the Geraldines,
who ruled as a king over Munster, and with whom the Barrys, the De
Courcys, the Barrets, and the Mac Carthys, Mac Swineys, and other native
chiefs, were connected by marriage, or struggling with him for
"chieferie" in the mutable chance of war.
There was no appearance of timidity in the frank and assured aspect of
the unfriended adventurer, as, without entering the city, but merely
passing through its suburbs, he proceeded to the cathedral church. It
was twelve o'clock on the 24th of June, the feast of Saint John the
Baptist; and high mass was celebrating. The duke of York entered the
church--his soul was filled with pious gratitude for his escape from
the dangers of the sea, and the craft of his enemies; and, as he knelt,
he made a vow to his sainted patroness, the Virgin, to erect a church on
the height which first met his eyes as he approached shore, and to endow
a foundation of Franciscans--partly, because of all monkish orders they
chiefly venerate her name, partly to atone for his involuntary crime in
the death of Meiler Trangmar, who wore that habit. The appearance of
this young, silken-suited, and handsome cavalier, drew the eyes of
Erin's blue-eyed daughters:--the men whispered together that he must be
some Spanish grandee or English noble; but wherefore, unannounced and
unattended, he came and knelt in their church before the shrine of Saint
Finbar, was matter of vague conjecture. The congregation passed out;
then, impelled by curiosity, formed a wide semicircle round the gates of
the cathedral, watching the motions of the graceful stranger. Master
John Lavallan, the mayor, John O'Water, the wealthiest citizen, and
former mayor of the town, and other rich burghers, stood close to the
Round Tower within the walls of the Garth, in expectation of being
addressed by their distinguished visitor. The duke of York cast a quick
glance around; and then, as the mayor advanced, the youth stepped
forward to meet him. The citizen, as one habituated to exercise
hospitality, bade the knight welcome, beseeching him to honour his abode
with his presence, and to command his services. The duke frankly
accepted the invitation, and descended with the mayor into the main
street, where that officer resided; and here again Richard was made
welcome to the city of Cork.
It was a gala day at the mayor's; and now, at the dinner hour, twelve
o'clock, the long tables groaned under the weight of viands, and round
the hospitable board were seated the principal families of the town. No
questions were asked the visitor--his golden spurs bespoke his
honourable rank; he was placed at the right hand of Lavallan; and, while
the clatter of knives and trenchers went on, he was only remarked by the
younger guests, who gazed, even to the injury of their appetites, on his
burnished ringlets, his fair open brow, his bright blue eyes, and smile
of courteous affability: but time went on; the dishes were carried away,
the goblets placed; when the mayor, rising, drank welcome to the
stranger, and asked, if no reason forbade him to reply, his name and
mission. Already Richard had become acquainted with most of the
countenances of his entertainers--that is, of those nearest him; for,
far through the long hall, almost out of sight, the table extended,
crowded by city retainers, and a few of the mere "Irishry," whose long
hair and loose saffron-coloured mantles contrasted with the doublet,
hose, and trimmed locks of the townsmen. Those near him bore the latter
character, though their vivacious glances and quick gestures were more
akin to the inhabitants of the south, among whom he had been accustomed
to live, than to the steady, dull demeanour of English traders.
When Lavallan drank to the stranger, every eye turned to the object of
the toast, Richard arose--his plumed cap was doffed; his shining hair,
parted on his brow, clustered round his throat; his sunny countenance
was full of confidence and courage--"Sir Mayor," he said, "my most kind
entertainer, and you, my friends, men of Cork, may the grateful thanks
of the homeless adventurer be as kindly received by you, as they are
gladly paid by him. Who am I? you ask. Wherefore do I come? My name is
the best in the land; my coming is to claim your aid, to elevate it to
its rightful place of pride and honour. Were I craven-hearted, or you
less generous, I might dread to declare myself; but fear never entered
the heart of a Plantagenet; and, when, unreservedly, I place my life in
your hands, will you betray the trust?"
A murmur quickly hushed, the sound of suppressed emotion, as the winds
of thought passed over the minds of those around, for an instant
interrupted the speaker--
"Neither is my name nor lineage unknown to you," he continued: "you
honour both and have obeyed them; will you refuse to submit to me, their
descendant and representative? Did you not vow fealty to Richard duke of
York, who, driven from his own England by false Lancaster, found refuge
and succour here? Was not Clarence your ruler, and Edward of England
monarch of your isle? In the name of these, in the name of the White
Rose and Mortimer and Plantagenet--I, the son of Edward the Fourth, the
victim of my uncle Gloster's treachery, and low-born Tudor's usurpation;
I, named in my childhood duke of York and lord of Ireland, now, if
rightly styled, Richard the Fourth of England, demand my lieges of Cork
to acknowledge my rights, to rise in my cause. I, a prince and an
outcast, place myself in their hands, through them to be a fugitive for
ever, or a king."
Had Richard planted this scene, with deep insight into the dispositions
of those with whom he had to deal, he could not have projected a better
arrangement. They had learned of his existence from Lord Barry, and were
prepossessed in his favour. Their fiery hearts were lighted at the
word--his name, with a thousand blessings attached to it, rang through
the hall: by means of the servants and followers at the lower end of the
table, it reached the outer apartments and avenues of the mansion-house;
while, with a kind of exalted rapture, the mayor and his guests hung
over their new-found prince. The citizens began to gather without, and
to call aloud for the White Rose of England; the day was finished in
festal tumult; the mayor led forth his princely visitor--he was hailed
lord of Ireland with one acclaim. Some elders, who had known his
grandfather, or had been followers of the duke of Clarence, and others
who, visiting England, had seen Edward the Fourth were struck by the
likeness he bore to his progenitors, and enthusiastically touched for
his truth. To see and hear the mad exultation of the moment, an
uninterested spectator must have thought that a messenger from heaven
had arrived, to bestow liberty on the groaning slaves of some
blood-nurtured tyrant. The duke was installed in the castle with
princely state, a town-guard appointed him, and the night was far
advanced, before he was permitted to repose, and wondering to collect
his thoughts, and feel himself an acknowledged sovereign in the first
town of his alienated dominions in which he had set foot.
The morrow brought no diminution to the zeal of his partizans. The first
measure of the day was his attending high mass, surrounded by the mayor
and citizens; when the holy ceremony was finished, he took oath on the
Gospels, that he was the man he had declared himself. The eager people
clamoured for him to assume the name of king; but that he said he would
win with his good sword, nor, till he possessed its appanage, assume a
barren title: he was the duke of York, until at Westminster he received
his paternal crown.
From the church the mayor and citizens attended his council at the
Castle, and here Richard more fully explained to them the projects of
Lord Barry, his hopes from the earl of Desmond, and his wish to attach
to his cause the earl of Kildare, Lord Deputy of Ireland. He learned the
changes that had taken place but a month or two before: some suspicion
having entered Henry's mind, the earl of Kildare had been dismissed from
his high office, and Walter, archbishop of Dublin, substituted in his
room. The baron of Portlester, who had been treasurer for forty years,
was obliged to resign in favour of a Butler, hereditary and bitter
enemies of the Geraldines, while the exaltation of Plunket, from the
office of chief justice to that of chancellor, only proved that he was
entirely gained over to the Lancastrians. The acts of this new
government tended to mortify the late deputy, who bore ill his own
degradation and the triumph of his enemies. On various occasions brawls
had ensued; and when Sir James of Ormond wished to place a creature of
his own in a castle over which Kildare claimed seignory, the latter
defended it by arms. This turbulent state of things promised fair for
the adventurer: and his first deed was to despatch letters to the earls
of Kildare and Desmond, soliciting their assistance, setting forth the
ready zeal of the city of Cork, and the promises and attachment of Lord
Barry, whom he daily expected to see arrive.
In all that the English prince did, nothing spoke louder for him to his
Irish friends than his fearless confidence, and artless, yet not
undignified reliance on their counsels. He had gained a warm friend in
the former mayor, O'Water, a man reverenced throughout Munster. In his
youth he had served in the army, and his spirit was hardly yet tamed to
the pacific habits of a burgher. He was sixty years of age; but he bore
his years lightly, and remembered but as the occurrence of yesterday the
time when the duke of York, grandfather of young Richard, was lord of
Ireland. He had attached himself particularly to his person, and
followed him to England, returning to his own country after his patron's
death. He saw in the descendant of his chief, his rightful lord, to
refuse obedience to whom was a sin against the laws of God and man. He
fervently swore never to desert him, and despatched emissaries on all
sides to spread the tidings of his arrival, and excite the partizans of
the White Rose to his active assistance.
When the letters were written, council held, and a course of conduct
determined on, still the caravel of De Faro did not appear, and Richard
grew weary of his state of indolence. A week passed; and during the
second, at the conclusion of which, the answers from the noble
chieftains were expected, the duke of York announced to O'Water his
intention of visiting Buttevant, the seat of Lord Barry, where, in the
Abbey of Ballybeg, he hoped to find the abbot of Kilmainham; a man who,
in exile and poverty, exercised great influence over the Irish Yorkists.
He had been insolent and cruel towards his enemies when in power, but he
was endowed with popular qualities for his followers; while among his
friends, he was valued for his boldness, sagacity, and undaunted
courage. His career had been turbulent; he had supported himself against
his sovereign by acts of lawless violence, till, obliged at last to
yield, he found himself, in his old age, a poor brother in a distant
monastery, obliged, for safety's sake, to veil his lofty pretensions in
the obscurest guise. Lord Barry had offered him an asylum in the Abbey
of Ballybeg; venerating, with the blind admiration of a soldier, the
learning and craft of the priest, conjoined, as it here was, to
dauntless courage. O'Water, on the contrary, disliked the subtle prior,
and endeavoured to dissuade the prince from the journey; but he spurned
the city laziness, and in spite of his friends' entreaties, and their
fears for his safety among the followers of Desmond, Barry, and
Macarthy, departed on his intended visit, attended only by Hubert Burgh,
the foster-brother of Lord Barry.
The way from Cork to Buttevant was not far, but more desolate than
Granada during the Moorish war. Summer and the sun adorned that smiling
land, casting a verdurous mantle over her deep wounds, painting the rude
visage of war with brilliant hues. The forests, dark hills, and
uncultivated wilds of Munster, showed nakedly the deep traces of the
sovereign ill. But lately this neighbourhood had been the seat of war
between the earl of Desmond and the chief of the Macarthys; the latter
had fallen in battle, but his brother and Tanist had succeeded to him,
and was already gathering together his sept for a more desperate
struggle. Never in Spain had Richard seen such wild, strange figures, as
crossed his path during this short journey; whether it were the native
kern, wrapt in his mantle, disguised by his _glibb_, or long shaggy hair,
or the adherents of Desmond, who affected the state of an Irish
chieftain, whose leather-quilted jackets, long saffron-coloured shirts,
cloaks and shaggy moustachios, riding without stirrups, bearing spears,
formed objects not less uncouth and savage; the very women bore a
similar appearance of incivilization. And as a comment on such text,
Burgh told, as they rode, the history of the late wars of Desmond with
O'Carrol, prince of Ely, and with Macarthy; and, a still more dread
tale, the incursion of Murrogh-en-Ranagh, an O'Brien; who, rising first
in Clare, spread through the country, overrunning Munster, and bold from
success, advanced into eastern Leinster. All these accounts of battle
were interwoven with tales of feuds, handed down from father to son, of
the natural hatred of the native chiefs to the lords of English origin;
interspersed with such strange wild tales, where the avowedly
supernatural was intermingled with deeds of superhuman prowess and
barbarity, that the English born prince, nursling of romantic Spain,
felt as if he were transplanted into a new planet, and stopped the
speaker at each moment, to obtain some clearer explanation, or to have
interpreted words he had never before heard, the names of customs and
things found only in this land.
Thus entertained, the way to Buttevant, or as the Irish called it,
Kilnemullagh, which was about twenty miles, seemed short. One thing was
evident in all these details, that it was easy to rouse the English
lords in Ireland to any act of turbulence and revolt; but that it would
be difficult nevertheless for their ill-armed followers, and
undisciplined bands, to compete with the soldiery of England.