the same day Elizabeth was proclaimed queen. A new reign is always
accounted a new starting-point, and in this case the traditional method
of dividing history is certainly no misleader. The old queen had been
narrow, dull-witted, bigoted; an unhappy woman, a miserable wife,
plagued with sickness, plagued, above all, with a conscience whose
mission seems to have been to distort everything that came under its
cognizance. A woman even whose good qualities--and she had several--only
seemed to push her further and further down the path of disaster.
The new queen was twenty-six years old. Old enough, therefore, to have
realized what life meant, young enough to have almost illimitable
possibilities still unrevealed to her. No pampered royal heiress,
either, for whom the world of hard facts had no reality, and the silken
shams of a Court constituted the only standpoint, but one who had
already with steady eyes looked danger and disaster in the face and knew
them for what they were. With a realm under her hand strong already, and
destined before her death to grow stronger still; with a spirit too,
strong enough and large enough for her realm; stronger perhaps in spite
of her many littlenesses than that of any of the men she ruled over.
And Ireland? How was it affected by this change of rulers? At first
fairly well. The early months of the new reign were marked by a policy
of conciliation. Protestantism was of course, re-established, but there
was no eagerness to press the Act of Conformity with any severity, and
Mass was still said nearly everywhere except in the Pale.
As usual, troubles began in the North. Henry VIII., it will be
remembered, had granted the hereditary lands of Tyrone to Con O'Neill,
with remainder to Matthew, the new Baron of Dungannon, whereas lands in
Ulster, as elsewhere in Ireland, had always hitherto, by the law of
Tanistry, been vested in the tribe, who claimed the right to select
whichever of their late chiefs' sons they themselves thought fit. This
right they now proceeded to exercise. Matthew, if he was Con's son at
all, which was doubtful, was unquestionably illegitimate, and,
therefore, by English as well as Irish law, wrongfully put in the place.
On the other hand, a younger son Shane--called affectionately "Shane the
Proud" by his clansmen--was unquestionably legitimate, and what was of
much more importance, was already the idol of every fighting O'Neill
from Lough Foyle to the banks of the Blackwater.
Shane is one of those Irish heroes--rather perhaps Ulster heroes, for
his aspirations were hardly national--whom it is extremely difficult to
mete out justice to with a perfectly even hand. He was unquestionably
three-fourths of a savage--that fact we must begin in honesty by
admitting--at the same time, he was a very brilliant, and, even in many
respects attractive, savage. His letters, though suffering like those of
some other distinguished authors from being translated, are full of
touches of fiery eloquence, mixed with bombast and the wildest and most
monstrously inflated self-pretension. His habits certainly were not
commendable. He habitually drank, and it is also said ate a great deal
more than was good for him. He ill-used his unlucky prisoners. He
divorced one wife to marry another, and was eager to have a third in the
lifetime of the second, making proposals at the same time to the deputy
for the hand of his sister, and again and again petitioning the queen to
provide him with some "English gentlewoman of noble blood, meet for my
vocation, so that by her good civility and bringing up the country would
become civil." In spite however of these and a few other lapses from the
received modern code of morals and decorum, Shane the Proud is an
attractive figure in his way, and we follow his fortunes with an
interest which more estimable heroes fail sometimes to awaken.
The Baron of Dungannon was in the meantime dead, having been slain in a
scuffle with his half-brother's followers--some said by his
half-brother's own hand--previous to his father's death. His son,
however, who was still a boy, was safe in England, and now appealed
through his relations to the Government, and Sir Henry Sidney, who in
Lord Sussex's absence was in command, marched from Dublin to support the
English candidate. At a meeting which took place at Dundalk Shane seems
however to have convinced Sidney to some degree of the justice of his
claim, and hostilities were delayed until the matter could be reported
to the queen.
Upon Sussex's return from England they broke out again. Shane, however,
had by this time considerably strengthened his position. Not only had he
firmly established himself in the allegiance of his own tribe, but had
found allies and assistants outside it. There had of late been a steady
migration of Scotch islanders into the North of Ireland, "Redshanks" as
they were familiarly called, and a body of these, got together by Shane
and kept as a body-guard, enabled him to act with unusual rapidity and
decision. Upon Sussex attempting to detach two chieftains, O'Reilly of
Brefny and O'Donnell of Tyrconnel, who owed him allegiance, Shane flew
into Brefny and Tyrconnel, completely overawed the two waverers, and
carried off Calvagh O'Donnell with his wife, who was a sister-in-law of
the Earl of Argyle. The following summer he encountered Sussex himself
and defeated him, sending his army flying terror-stricken back upon
Armagh. This feat established him as the hero of the North. No army
which Sussex could again gather together could be induced to risk the
fate of its predecessor. The deputy was a poor soldier, feeble and
vacillating in the field. He was no match for his fiery assailant; and
after an attempt to get over the difficulty by suborning one Neil Grey
to make away with the too successful Shane, he was reduced to the
necessity of coming to terms. An agreement was entered into with the
assistance of the Earl of Kildare, by which Shane agreed to present
himself at the English Court, and there, if he could, to make good his
claims in person before the queen.
Few scenes are more picturesque, or stand out more vividly before our
imagination than this visit of the turbulent Ulster chieftain to the
capital of his unknown sovereign. As he came striding down the London
streets on his way to the Palace, the citizens ran to their doors to
stare at the redoubtable Irish rebel with his train of galloglasses at
his heels--huge bareheaded fellows clad in saffron shirts, their huge
naked axes swung over their shoulders, their long hair streaming behind
them, their great hairy mantles dangling nearly to their heels. So
attended, and in such order, Shane presented himself before the queen,
amid a buzz, as may be imagined, of courtly astonishment. Elizabeth
seems to have been equal to the situation. She motioned Shane, who had
prostrated himself, clansman fashion upon the floor, to rise, "check'd
with a glance the circle's smile," eyeing as she did so, not without
characteristic appreciation, the redoubtable thews and sinews of this
the most formidable of her vassals.
Her appreciation, equally characteristically, did not hinder her from
taking advantage of a flaw in his safe-conduct to keep Shane fuming at
her Court until he had agreed to her own terms. When at last he was
allowed to return home it was with a sort of compromise of his claim. He
was not to call himself Earl of Tyrone--a distinction to which, in
truth, he seems to have attached little importance--but he was allowed
to be still the O'Neill, with the additional title of "Captain of
Tyrone." To which the wits of the Court added--
"Shane O'Neill, Lord of the North of Ireland;
Cousin of St. Patrick. Friend of the Queen of England;
Enemy of all the world besides."
Shane and his galloglasses went home, and for some two years he and the
Irish Government left one another comparatively alone. He was supreme
now in the North, and ruled his own subjects at his own pleasure and
according to his own rude fashion. Sussex made another attempt not long
after to poison him in a gift of wine, which all but killed him and his
entire household, which still included the unhappy "Countess" and her
yet more unhappy husband Calvagh O'Donnell, whom Shane kept securely
ironed in a cell at the bottom of his castle. The incident did not add
to his confidence in the Queen's Government, or incline him to trust
himself again in their hands, which, all things considered, was hardly
surprising.
That in his own wild way Shane kept the North in order even his enemies
admitted. While the East and West of Ireland were distracted with feuds,
and in the South Ormond and Desmond were wasting one another's country
with unprecedented ferocity, Ulster was comparatively peaceable and
prosperous. Chiefs who made themselves objectionable to Shane felt the
weight of his arm, but that perhaps had not a little to say to this
tranquillity. Mr. Froude--no exaggerated admirer of Irish heroes--tells
us _apropos_ of this time, "In O'Neill's county alone in Ireland were
peasants prosperous, or life and property safe," though he certainly
adds that their prosperity flourished largely upon the spoils collected
by them from the rest of the country.
That Shane himself believed that he had so far kept his word with
Elizabeth is pretty evident, for in a letter to her written in his usual
inflated style about the notorious Sir Thomas Stukeley, he entreats that
she will pardon the latter "for his sake and in the name of the services
which he had himself rendered to England." Whether Elizabeth, or still
more Sidney, were equally convinced of those services is an
open question.
Shane's career however was rapidly running to a close. In 1565 he made a
sudden and unexpected descent upon the Scots in Antrim, where, after a
fierce combat, an immense number of the latter were slaughtered, a feat
for which he again had the audacity to write to Elizabeth and assure her
that it was all done in her service. Afterwards he made a descent on
Connaught, driving back with him into his own country over 4000 head of
cattle which he had captured. His game, however, was nearly at an end.
Sir Henry Sidney was now back to Ireland, this time with the express
purpose of crushing the rebel, and had marched into Ulster with a
considerable force for that purpose. Shane, nevertheless, still showed a
determined front. Struck up an alliance with Argyle, and wrote to France
for instant aid to hold Ulster against Elizabeth, nay, in spite of his
recent achievement, he seems to have even hoped to win the Scotch
settlers over to his side. Sidney however was this time in earnest, and
was a man of very different calibre from Sussex, in whom Shane had
previously found so easy an antagonist. He marched right across Ulster,
and entered Tyrconnel; reinstated the O'Donnells who had been driven
thence by Shane; continued his march to Sligo, and from there to
Connaught, leaving Colonel Randolph and the O'Donnells to hold the North
and finish the work which he had begun.
Randolph's camp was pitched at Dorry--not then the _protégée_ of London,
nor yet famed in story, but a mere insignificant hamlet, consisting of
an old castle and a disused graveyard. It was this latter site that the
unlucky English commander selected for his camp, with, as might be
expected, the most disastrous results. Fever broke out, the water proved
to be poisonous, and in a short time half the force were dead or dying,
Randolph himself being amongst the former. An explosion which occurred
in a magazine finished the disaster, and the scared survivors escaped in
dismay to Carrickfergus. Local superstition long told tales of the fiery
portents and miracles by which the heretic soldiery were driven from the
sacred precincts which their presence had polluted.
With that odd strain of greatness which ran through her, Elizabeth seems
to have accepted this disaster well, and wrote "comfortable words" to
Sidney upon the subject. For the time being, however, the attack upon
Shane devolved of necessity wholly upon his native foes.
Aided by good fortune they proved for once more than a match for him.
Encouraged by the disaster of the Derry garrison, Shane made a hasty
advance into Tyrconnel, and crossed with a considerable force over the
ford of Lough Swilly, near Letterkenny. He found the O'Donnells, though
fewer in number than his own forces, established in a strong position
upon the other side. From this position he tried to drive them by force,
but the O'Donnells were prepared, and Shane's troops coming on in
disorder were beaten back upon the river. The tide had in the meantime
risen, and there was therefore no escape. Penned between the flood and
the O'Donnells, over 3000 of his men perished, many by drowning, but the
greater number being hacked to death upon the strand. Shane himself
narrowly escaped with his life by another ford.
The Hero of the North was now a broken man. Such a disaster was not to
be retrieved. The English troops were again coming rapidly up. The
victorious O'Donnells held all the country behind him. A French descent,
even if it had come, would hardly have saved him now. In this extremity
a desperate plan occurred to him. Followed by a few horsemen, and
accompanied by the unhappy "Countess" who had so long shared his curious
fortunes, he rode off to the camp of the Scotch settlers in Antrim,
there to throw himself on their mercy and implore their support. It was
an insane move. He was received with seeming courtesy, and a banquet
spread in his honour. Lowering looks however were bent upon him from
every side of the table. Captain Pierce, an English officer, had been
busy the day before stirring up the smouldering embers of anger.
Suddenly a taunt was flung out by one of the guests at the discomfited
hero. Shane--forgetting perhaps where he was--sprang up to revenge it. A
dozen swords and skeans blazed out upon him, and he fell, pierced by
three or four of his entertainers at once. His body was then tossed into
an old ruined chapel hard by, where the next day his head was hacked off
by Captain Pierce, and carried to Sidney, who sent it to be spiked upon
Dublin Castle. It was but too characteristic an end of an eminently
characteristic career.
[Illustration: ST. PATRICK'S BELL.]
XXV.
BETWEEN TWO STORMS.
By 1566 Sir Henry Sidney became Lord-deputy, not now in the room of
another, but fully appointed. With the possible exception of Sir John
Perrot, he was certainly the ablest of all the viceroys to whom
Elizabeth committed power in Ireland. Unlike others he had the
advantage, too, of having served first in the country in subordinate
capacities, and so earning his experience. He even seems to have been
fairly popular, which, considering the nature of some of his
proceedings, throws a somewhat sinister light, it must be owned, upon
those of his successors and predecessors.
After the death and defeat of Shane the Proud a lull took place, and the
new deputy took the opportunity of making a progress through the south
and west of the island, which he reports to be all terribly wasted by
war. Many districts, he says, "had but one-twentieth part of their
former population." Galway, worn out by incessant attacks, could
scarcely defend her walls. Athenry had but four respectable householders
left, who "sadly presenting the rusty keys of their once famous town,
confessed themselves unable to defend it."
[Illustration: SIR HENRY SIDNEY, LORD-DEPUTY FROM 1565 TO 1587. (_From
an engraving by Harding_.)]
Sidney was one of the first to relinquish what had hitherto been the
favourite and traditional policy of all English governors, that, namely,
of playing one great lord or chieftain against another, and to attempt
the larger task of putting down and punishing all signs of
insubordination especially in the great. In this respect he was the
political parent of Strafford, who acted the same part sixty years
later. He had not--any more than his great successor--to reproach
himself either with feebleness in the execution of his policy. The
number of military executions that mark his progress seem to have
startled his own coadjutors, and even to have evoked some slight
remonstrance from Elizabeth herself. "Down they go at every corner!" the
Lord-deputy writes at this time triumphantly in an account of his own
proceedings, "and down, God willing, they shall go."
A plan for appointing presidents of provinces had been a favourite with
the late deputy, Sussex, and was now revived. Sir Edward Fitton, one of
the judges of the Queen's Bench, was appointed to the province of
Connaught--a miserably poor appointment as it turned out; Sir John
Perrot a little later to Munster; Leinster for the present the deputy
reserved for himself. This done he returned, first pausing to arrest the
Earl of Desmond and carrying him and his brother captive to Dublin and
eventually to London, where according to the queen's orders he was to be
brought in order that she might adjudicate herself in the quarrel
between him and Ormond.
The two earls--they were stepson and stepfather by the way--had for
years been at fierce feud, a feud which had desolated the greater part
of the South of Ireland. It was a question of titles and ownership, and
therefore exclusively one for the lawyers. The queen, however, was
resolved that it should be decided in Ormond's favour. Ormond was "sib
to the Boleyns;" Ormond had been the playmate of "that sainted young
Solomon, King Edward," and Ormond therefore, it was quite clear, must
know whether the lands were his own or not.
Against the present Desmond nothing worse was charged than that he had
enforced what he considered his palatinate rights in the old,
high-handed, time-immemorial fashion. His father, however, had been in
league with Spain, and he himself was held to be contumacious, and had
never been on good terms with any of the deputies.
On this occasion he had, however, surrendered himself voluntarily to
Sidney. Nevertheless, upon his arrival he was kept a close prisoner, and
upon attempting, sometime afterwards, to escape, was seized, and only
received his life on condition of surrendering the whole of his
ancestral estates to the Crown, a surrender which happened to fit in
very conveniently with a plan upon which the attention of the English
Council was at that time turned.
The expenses of Ireland were desperately heavy, and Elizabeth's frugal
soul was bent upon some plan for their reduction. A scheme for reducing
the cost of police duty by means of a system of military colonies had
long been a favourite one, and an opportunity now occurred for turning
it into practice. A number of men of family, chiefly from Devonshire and
Somersetshire, undertook to migrate in a body to Ireland, taking with
them their own farm servants, their farm implements, and everything
necessary for the work of colonization. The leader of these men was Sir
Peter Carew, who held a shadowy claim over a vast tract of territory,
dating from the reign of Henry II., a claim which, however, had been
effectually disposed of by the lawyers. The scheme as it was first
proposed was a truly gigantic one. A line was to be drawn from Limerick
to Cork, and everything south of that line was to be given over to the
adventurers. As for the natives, they said, they would undertake to
settle with them. All they required was the queen's permission.
Everything else they could do for themselves.
So heroic a measure was not to be put in force at once. As far as
Carew's claims went, he took the matter, however, into his own hands by
forcibly expelling the occupiers of the lands in question, and putting
his own retainers into them. As fortune would have it, amongst the first
lands thus laid hold of were some belonging to the Butlers, brothers of
Lord Ormond, and therefore probably the only Irish landowners whose cry
for justice was pretty certain just then to be heard in high quarters.
Horrible tales of the atrocities committed by Carew and his band was
reported by Sir Edward Butler, who upon his side was not slow to commit
retaliations of the same sort A spasm of anger, and a wild dread of
coming contingencies flew through the whole South of Ireland. Sir James
Fitzmaurice, cousin of the Earl of Desmond, broke into open rebellion;
so did also both the younger Butlers. Ormond himself, who was in
England, was as angry as the fiercest, and informed Cecil in plain terms
that "if the lands of good subjects were not to be safe, he for one
would be a good subject no longer."
It was no part of the policy of the Government to alienate the one man
in Ireland upon whose loyalty they could depend at a pinch. By the
personal efforts of the queen his wrath was at last pacified, and he
agreed to accept her earnest assurance that towards him at least no
injury was intended. This done, he induced his brothers to withdraw from
the alliance, while Sir Henry Sidney, sword in hand, went into Munster
and carried out the work of pacification in the usual fashion, burning
villages, destroying the harvest, driving off cattle, blowing up
castles, and hanging their garrisons in strings over the battlements.
After which he marched to Connaught, leaving Sir Humphrey Gilbert behind
him to keep order in the south.
For more than two years Sir James Fitzmaurice continued to hold out in
his rocky fastness amongst the Galtese mountains. A sort of grim humour
pervades the relations between him and Sir John Perrot, the new
President of Munster. Perrot had boasted upon his arrival that he would
soon "hunt that fox out of his hole." The fox, however, showed a
disposition to take the part of the lion, sallying out unexpectedly,
ravaging the entire district, burning Kilmallock, and returning again to
his mountains before he could be interfered with. The following year he
marched into Ulster, and on his way home burnt Athlone, the English
garrison there looking helplessly on; joined the two Mac-an-Earlas as
they were called, the sons of Lord Clanricarde, and assisted them to lay
waste Galway, and so returned triumphantly across the Shannon to
Tipperary. Once Perrot all but made an end of him, but his soldiers took
that convenient opportunity of mutinying, and so baulked their leader of
his prey. Another time, in despair of bringing the matter to any
conclusion, the president proposed that it should be decided by single
combat between them, a proposal which Fitzmaurice prudently resisted on
the ground that though Perrot's place could no doubt readily be
supplied, his own was less easily to fill, and that therefore for his
followers' sake he must decline.
At last the long game of hide-and-seek was brought to an end by Sir
James offering to submit, to which Perrot agreeing, he took the required
oaths in the church of Kilmallock, the scene of his former ravages, and
kissed the president's sword in token of his regret for "the said most
mischievous part." This farce gravely gone through, he sailed for
France, and Munster for a while was at peace. It was only a temporary
lull though. The Desmond power was still too towering to be left alone,
and both its defenders and the Government knew that they were merely
indulging in a little breathing time before the final struggle.
XXVI.
THE DESMOND REBELLION.
The tale of the great Desmond rebellion which ended only with the ruin
of that house, and with the slaughter or starvation of thousands of its
unhappy adherents, is one of those abortive tragedies of which the whole
history of Ireland is full. Our pity for the victims' doom, and our
indignation for the cold-blooded cruelty with which that doom was
carried out, is mingled with a reluctant realization of the fact that
the state of things which preceded it was practically impossible, that
it had become an anomaly, and that as such it was bound either to change
or to perish.
[Illustration: CAHIR CASTLE, TIPPERARY, TAKEN BY THE EARL OF ESSEX IN
1599. _(From the "Pacata Hibernia.")_]