THE HURRY.
Mr. Pitt's scheme was doing well. Protestants and Catholics, the upper
and the lower class, having been successfully set at each other's
throats--the leading spirits of the popular party being snugly
caged--the executive thought the moment come to harvest their Dead-sea
apples. The capture of Terence was accomplished at a fortunate moment;
for things had gone too far now for the project of resistance to be
tamely abandoned. The proposed rising was perforce postponed that the
harried Directory might for a fourth time reorganise itself. Ill-luck
haunted that Directory. Tone, inaugurator of the society, was a
broken-spirited exile; Emmett, Neilson, Russell, Bond, zealous
disciples of their prophet, languished in Kilmainham; the Honourable
Terence Crosbie (most promising blossom on the stem) lay
wounded--delirious from fever--within the provost. None of the
projectors of rebellion were permitted to take part in it; yet it was
evident that the days of meek endurance were at an end. The places of
the absent were supplied by men, ambitious but incapable: small
country gentlemen of limited attainment, or farmers of little culture,
who were speedily swallowed by the flood, to be supplanted in turn by
furious fanatics, as ignorant but more unscrupulous than they.
Nothing was attempted on New Year's Eve. January and February passed;
March and April came, and were gone. Lord Clare wondered whether he
had been too precipitate, and digested Sully's saying: 'Pour la
populace ce n'est jamais par envie d'attaquer qu'elle se souleve, mais
par impatience de souffrir.' Had the people not suffered enough yet?
The yeomanry motto had been, 'Soyons freres, ou je t'assomme!' and
nobly they had acted on it. The people glared and showed their fangs,
ready and willing for the fray; but they were leaderless. Those who in
the emergency affected to command, racked by indecision, put off the
important moment. Rebel and royalist frowned silently one at the
other, lance in rest, both itching to go to work, both declining the
odium of the first move. It was the last brief lull of stillness
before the bursting of the storm--of the storm which had been so long
in bursting. Dublin was uncertain how to proceed. If the Croppies
would rise and gain one decisive victory, then Dublin, joining them
openly, would turn and tear its rulers. On the other hand, should the
Croppies encounter tribulation the capital would grovel at the
mumbling Viceroy's feet, presenting both cheeks to the smiter with
expressions of Christian meekness.
It was an anxious time for the lord-lieutenant and his Privy Council.
To the chancellor's disgust General Abercromby (who supplanted
Carhampton), on whom he had counted for friendly co-operation as
commander of the forces, chose this awkward period of uncertainty to
retire.
'Nothing,' he bluffly said, 'could justify the behaviour of
Government. If the two Houses of Parliament chose to turn their
motherland into a slaughter-house, dire retribution would be sure to
fall upon them some day. At all events he, a stranger, would have
nothing to do with political crimes.' And so he went away; and the
supreme command was accepted _pro tem_, by General Lake, till such
time as a fit substitute could be selected.
The attitude of pugnacious Pat, eager for the fight, but lance in
rest, could not be permitted to endure. That those who were wont to
tread on the tails of each other's coats at Donnybrook should in
incongruous fashion assume patience like that of St. Simon Stylites
was merely an insult to their masters. A little more humour must be
displayed by the friends of England--a few more jokes, quite broad
ones now. A dozen or so of judicious murders, a grand confiscation of
poor men's cattle, a few more virgins ravished--a real sharp touch of
the spur, in fact. The jokers acted with a will, and the desired
effect was gained. Kildare rose on the 23rd of May. Simultaneous
attacks of a timorous kind were made on various strongholds, of which
one only could be pronounced successful. The barrack of Prosperous was
surprised in the night, the commandant killed, and a few officers
sacrificed, the place committed to the flames. This was encouraging,
and Government could well afford the loss of a few lives. But the
rebels needed a deal of spurring; they were still too craven for an
important venture; their hands were unnerved; their blood was chilled
by fear of treachery. Oh! degenerate scions of turbulent Keltic kings!
The boys of Kildare, who were the first, casting distrust aside, to
take the field, had been ground too low to allow the lamp of
patriotism to burn steadily. After an abortive effort of a few days
they sued for mercy. Slaves of the soil, hewers of wood and drawers of
water, they were doomed to be; their leaders saw it now, and roundly
told them so, and they retorted on their leaders. Both indeed were
sadly below the mark. If those who endeavoured to command were unable
to manage their rabble, the latter were no better than the most
innocent of savages. In presence of the foe they forgot the little
drilling they had learned, danced forward like children, with hats on
pikes and wild gestures of defiance, and tumbled pellmell over each
other, hit or alarmed at the first blare of musketry. The business of
the disciplined cohorts was simply to stand quiet until the gibbering
simpletons advanced to an easy distance; then to cut them down as the
sickle mows the corn, in serried heaps upon the furrows. The boys of
Kildare sued for mercy, and were graciously informed that if they
would come to the Gibbet-Rath on the Curragh, within given hours on a
certain day, and there deliver up all weapons of offence, they might
be permitted to return to bondage and be happy. They came, having been
assured that General Dundas had received permission from the Castle to
show clemency. Thirteen cartloads of pikes were delivered on the
plain. General Duff, who, assisted by the colonel of the Foxhunters,
was acting for Dundas, bade the rebels make of these a heap, and
confessing on their knees their insolence and wickedness, beg the
King's pardon humbly. The craven wretches obeyed, for no vestige of
courage was left in them. Bereft even of the courage to die, they
kneeled, praying that the agony of death might be past. They kneeled,
with misery too intense for speech, on the great plain, with heads
bowed and hands clutched together--a spectacle of human abjectness
harrowing enough to have made the angels weep.
'Charge!' shouted General Duff, 'and spare no rebel!'
The obedient Foxhunters (so called from the brushes they wore in their
helmets) hacked down with their sabres the defenceless peasants to the
number of three hundred and more. There were eighty-five widows in one
single street of Kildare that afternoon. It is but fair to say that no
part of the infamy of this splendid joke attaches to General Dundas,
for the massacre was shown to have taken place without his knowledge
or consent. Duff and the colonel of the Foxhunters must bear the brunt
of it alone, along with other jests of equal brilliancy. A few of the
victims managed to scuttle off, hiding in furze-bushes or behind
walls, and reached Kildare at nightfall, to tell the tale of butchery.
A woman who lay ill ten miles off, woke (so it is said) from a vision
of her husband weltering in gore, and nothing would appease her but
that her daughter and aged father should go forth to seek him. They
were met by knots of country-folk flying along the road in wildest
excitement.
'Bad news, old man!' they wailed as they pursued their course
like a whirl of wraiths. 'Our friends lie kilt--God rest their
sowls--_all_--on the Curragh, this day!'
Old man and grandchild harnessed a horse and car, determined to
learn more. The gloaming rested on the plain when they reached the
Gibbet-Rath.
Two hundred bodies were turned over before they came upon the one they
sought. Its hands moved, in an effort to stanch a wound with a remnant
of an old cravat, and in the increasing darkness they chanced to
observe the flutter. But for that movement, where so many around were
still, they might have passed by their bread-winner. Filled with
thankfulness in that he yet lived, they stretched him on the car, for
prudence' sake in corpse-like attitude, shaded his eyes with a hat,
sprinkled some soiled hay over his prostrate form, and hurried home in
haste. But a rumour somehow got wind that 'the Croppies were getting
alive again,' and so the military were sent round to scour the
adjacent country to make certain that no such untoward circumstance
occurred.
Two men belonging to the Ancient Britons approached the hut at
midnight where this man lay, snatched by a marvel from the jaws of
Death.
'What!' one said, 'that Croppy living still?'
'Yes, your honour,' replied the sick wife, with meekness. 'The Lord
has been pleased to grant the boy a longer day.'
'Come, come!' was the jocose retort. 'He'll be best out of misery, for
he can't possibly recover. Leastways, his curing will be tedious to an
ailing wife like you.' And the wretch pistolled him in cold blood then
and there, while the frenzied widow shrieked for mercy, and the
daughter strove to shield him with her own body in the ecstasy of her
despair.
This carnival on the Gibbet-Rath finally snuffed out Kildare; but
Wexford, which was made of different materials, rose up to take her
place. The men of Wexford belonged to another caste, had different
hair and features, were of a fiercer nature than the Kelts. They rose
with one accord, their blood stirred to fever-frenzy by the
intelligence which drifted down to them. Kildare had disgraced the
emerald flag; it should be the privilege of Wexford to retrieve its
tarnished honour. They would set an example to pusillanimous counties
that still hesitated about rising. War to the knife! no quarter given!
Such should be their watchword. Proudly let the green banner wave.
Victory or Death!
These raw but doughty warriors meant business. They set about
establishing themselves, therefore, in true military array; and in the
first instance collected their strength into two detachments, the
first of which, mustering three thousand men, encamped on Killthomas
Hill, where three hundred of the yeomanry gave them battle and
obtained a bloodless victory. Not quite bloodless though, for one
Lieutenant Bookey lost his life, and his indignant comrades offered to
his manes (after a massacre on Killthomas Hill which was only
business) the sacrifice of several Popish chapels and at least a
hundred Catholic dwellings on their next day's march. This had the
auspicious effect of infuriating to delirium the second and greater
camp, whose leading spirits saw that, for them and theirs, their motto
was but too prophetic a one. Unless they were prepared to see their
faith stamped out, there was clearly nothing for the men of Wexford
but Death or Victory.
Like desperate men as they were, they set about accomplishing the
latter straightway. On the rising ground of Oulart, distant eight
miles from Wexford town, they rallied round the green at least four
thousand strong. With proud defiance and undaunted mien they beheld
the enemy's approach--red coats dimmed by dust and mist, and bayonets
glimmering. They awaited the onset with stern determination, and--fled
helter-skelter on the first attack. The yeomanry pursued with shouts
and jeers, following fast over rock and boulder, sweeping the rebels
before them as a broom sweeps chaff. But, arrived at the summit of the
hill, a hint came to the insurgents that cavalry lay in ambush on the
other side to intercept their flight. Cavalry! To their untutored
minds a charge of horsemen meant instant annihilation, whilst they
were quite resolved to live--for Victory. They rallied, turned on the
disordered and breathless pursuers, and charging downward with their
pikes, bore all before them. Taken by surprise, out of breath,
disorganised, none of the quondam pursuers survived to tell of their
defeat, save the lieutenant-colonel, a sergeant, and three privates.
Many of the rebels succumbed, but what mattered that? Those who
remained alive were masters of the situation. Theirs was the prestige
of having beaten the royalist soldiers in the open field. Numbers had
vanquished discipline; ignorance had made science of none effect; the
spirits of the enemy were lowered in proportion to their own triumph.
Hosts of peasants, lukewarm hitherto through fear, flocked to join the
victors. Mustering now quite four thousand strong, and burning to add
new leaves of laurel to their chaplet, they marched with childish
gesture, intoning as they marched the 'Marseillaise,' to storm the
town of Enniscorthy.
Those who led them saw that if the God of battles would continue to
favour them, their condition might be greatly improved, even to the
point of rendering their unwieldy host truly formidable. The capture
of Enniscorthy would aid the insurgents much, for that place (twelve
miles or so from Wexford) is bisected by the Slaney, whose ebb and
flow permits vessels of light tonnage to approach the bridge which
unites the two portions of the town. Hence it was certain to be well
stocked with useful things, lying there for transmission up the
country. It might contain ammunition too--a precious find indeed--for
the Wexford men were good shots with a gun, accustomed to earn a
modest wage by shooting waterfowl for the markets of Dublin and of
Cork, in consequence of which they had obtained exemption from the
more vexatious clauses of the Gunpowder Act. If Enniscorthy should
fall into their hands they would find themselves provided, too, with a
splendid camping-ground called Vinegar Hill, which rose adjacent to
the city. At their leisure they might take ship, and, sailing down the
Slaney, seize the town of Wexford--a seaport with a magnificent
harbour. What a pity the French had been so unfortunate! How gladly
they would have welcomed the tricolour as it glided through the narrow
entrance which admits into that glorious anchorage!
Certain intelligence arrived at Enniscorthy that it would be attacked
on the 28th at midday. The drums beat to arms; the garrison took their
posts. The North Cork Militia occupied the bridge; cavalry were posted
in the leading street; a detachment of yeomanry occupied an elevation
three or four hundred yards in front of the chief gate. On perceiving
the latter, the insurgent column halted and deployed, extending
largely to the right and left, to outflank the small band before them,
and cut it off from the town. Then they moved forward, driving cattle
in advance of them, opening at the same time a well-directed fire. The
yeomanry, perceiving their tactics, retired within the walls, covered
by a charge of cavalry which, whilst dispersing a band that was
pressing them too closely, came itself to tribulation by reason of the
cattle. A second body, with a second lot of kine, made for a gate to
westward, which was protected by a tributary stream. The ford had
previously been deepened, and was considered dangerous enough to act
as its own defence. A gigantic priest, who wore a broad crossbelt and
a dragoon's sabre swinging, was equal to the occasion:
'Drive in the cattle, boys, and swarm over their backs!'
No sooner said than done. Goaded by pikes the animals rushed headlong
into the gulf, and the rebels, crossing the palpitating bridge, crept
unperceived into the town, which was by this time a mass of flame. The
disaffected inhabitants picked off the soldiery from their windows;
fired their own houses to burn them out when the royalists sought
protection there; dragged away frieze-coated bodies, that the carnage
might not discourage the survivors; while women and young girls, in
the heroism born of excitement, ran hither and thither among the
bullets, administering new courage in the welcome shape of whisky. The
streets were so involved in smoke that the yeomen could not perceive
the rebels till they felt their pikes within their flesh. The whirling
flame flared in such a sheet as to unite in a seething arch over their
heads--singeing the bearskin of their caps, scorching their very hair
and eyelashes. After a conflict wherein for three hours each inch was
savagely disputed, the loyalists found themselves pushed backwards
into the central square. 'Victory!' hallooed the insurgents--just a
little bit too soon. A heavy discharge from the market-house made them
waver. Profiting by their recoil, cavalry and infantry rallied. Their
discipline stood them in good stead at the turning of the tide. They
dashed forward; drove the huge wave in a vast roll before them, which
ebbed across the bridge, down the straight street, away out of the
town--a turbulent maelstrom of discomfited fugitives. Though the
rebels were for the time repulsed, it was certain that they would
return again on the morrow and sweep the place clean by sheer weight
of numbers. The little garrison was weakened by half its strength. The
loyalists, unwitting of the insidious purpose of Lord Clare, loudly
blamed the executive for leaving so inadequate a force to battle with
so immense a mob. It was a pernicious want of forethought which would
cost many lives. A strong force of regulars, they complained, and this
Hurry would be over in two days at most. Guileless loyalists of
Enniscorthy! After all the labour of incubation, it was not fitting
that the trouble should be too brief. The chancellor's twitter of
conscience was past, and his hand was steady on the plough again, to
force it through roots and stones. The iron, being drawn, might not be
sheathed again before it had cut into the writhing soul of Erin
ineffaceably. She must remember the Hurry to the end of her existence,
as an awful sample of the terrors which would fall even yet more
heavily upon her if she should dare again to rouse the wrath of her
elder sister. Consistently, therefore, till the lesson was complete,
two hundred regulars or so were always expected to cope with two
thousand rebels; and, even with those odds against them, the former,
more frequently than not, obtained the upper hand. In the present
instance, however, it was not so; for it was clear that the loyalists
must desert the town or be killed to a man. In the mid-hour of night,
lighted by the afterglow of conflagration, they retreated without
warning to Wexford--a melancholy train; bearing their women and their
wounded on their horses; leaving infants by the wayside, while the
aged sank down from weariness and were abandoned to the tender mercies
of the mob.
On the 1st of June the great camping-ground hard-by Enniscorthy
presented a strange picture, occupied as it had then become by an
armed host of ten thousand men, independent of a grand array of
camp-followers, suttlers, women and children, who flocked in from all
quarters to applaud the defenders of their hearths. From a military
point of view, Vinegar Hill is strong. High grounds are crowned by a
cone of bold ascent, capped by a ruined mill, while the cultivated
fields beneath are divided into small enclosures, intersected by stone
walls and trenches. For defence by irregular troops who trusted rather
to numbers than to skill, such a position was particularly favourable;
for the enclosures afforded safe cover for skirmishers, who could
watch the approach of an enemy whilst they remained themselves unseen.
The appearance of the singular mushroom-bed which speedily sprouted up
was extremely picturesque, in keeping with the wildness of guerilla
warfare. Tents of the Donnybrook pattern rose on all sides. Vinegar
Hill was intended to become a temporary home; for the chiefs were
resolved that this should be the centre of their operations until such
time as they could be masters of the Castle. Long avenues of bent
wattles like straggling caterpillars of every hue crawled up the
slope, covered with the spoils of Enniscorthy--patchwork-quilts,
sheets, ripped sacks, rugs, blankets. At intervals a smaller edifice,
crowned by an old brush and swinging lantern, invited to a temporary
shebeen. If an old pot dangled too, it was a sign that food might also
be procured there; though, the weather being warm, the soup-caldrons
were usually placed without, that all the ragged host might lick their
lips over the good things which tumbled into them for a ragout. Nor
were the more aesthetic pleasures of the eye and ear neglected. The
organ of Enniscorthy church and its peal of bells were brought thither
in state for some one or other to jangle upon night and day; whilst as
for flags, the camp was alive with them, of every colour except
orange, bearing each a rude harp without a crown. One, conspicuous
above the rest, was black, with the cognisance M. W. S. in white; and
this the loyalists in their charity chose to unriddle as 'Murder
without sin,' whereas its real meaning was 'Marksmen of Wexford and of
Shelmalier.' Among the throng might be observed men in the King's
uniform--bright spots in the mass of brown. Such soldier prisoners as
the crew had taken were treated well and guarded with care, for they
were of the greatest value as drill-sergeants, and might be seen day
and night plodding up and down with awkward squads, into whom they
were striving to instil the first germs of military science. What an
unmanageable mob it was! swelling hourly through the constant influx
of recruits, not one of whom possessed the faintest idea of
discipline; each one of whom had a predilection for poteen and a
dim suspicion of the incompetence of his leaders. It was at this
juncture that the weak, well-intentioned country gentlemen, who had
striven to occupy the empty shoes of their imprisoned betters, were
swept into the shade by the unscrupulous influence of the lower
clergy--uncultured, ferocious creatures, whose worst passions were
aroused by the burning of their chapels, the desecration of their
altars; men who scrupled not to play upon the vulgar superstition of a
half-savage multitude for the gaining of a cherished end. They became
hideous tyrants--such men as the priests of Tallat and of Boulovogue;
merciless as their persecutors had been without mercy. Inflamed by
wrong and intoxicated by a little brief authority, they were guilty of
enormities which, at a quieter moment, they would themselves have
surveyed with horror. The higher Catholic clergy withstood the force
of the current, and, resisting temptation, publicly disapproved and
deplored their acts; yet who (looking on the picture calmly at this
distance of time) will throw the first stone at them? The multitude
had, with deliberate art, been stung to madness. The bad passions of
their teachers had been stirred in their most vital place. If the
people were as ignorant as their own cattle, who was accountable for
it? England, through the cruel enactments of centuries. If the members
of the inferior priesthood were debased and wicked, who made them so?
England, by persecuting them without ceasing, by forbidding their
minds to be illumined by education--England, by her accursed Penal
Code.
The original champions being caged, three Catholic priests. Fathers
Murphy, Kearnes, and Roche, overturning established authority, assumed
the conduct of affairs, and set about the organising of their army.
What had been hitherto a conflict of classes tinged with a religious
bias, became now a purely religious crusade, accompanied by all the
crimes which, through the history of the world, have been intimately
associated with religion. What an inscrutable vision it is--that of
the stately Spirit walking through earth's story, her fair features
distorted, her white robes edged with blood, her pure skirts soiled by
the vilest lees of the human heart--_always!_
The new leaders divided their host into three divisions, with each a
special mission. The first, under Father Kearnes, was to possess
itself of Newtown Barry. This expedition proved abortive. The second,
under Father Roche (which, owing to lack of space on Vinegar Hill, was
encamped at Carrickbyrne with an outpost at Scullabogue), was to
attack New Ross, then, proceeding northward, was to join the third
body in a grand attempt on Dublin. This plan was plausible enough, for
Gorey, Arklow, and Wicklow were weakly garrisoned, and, should those
citadels give way, the road to the capital lay open--undefended. Perry
of Inch and Father Murphy (who commanded the third division) were
mighty men of valour. The latter swore by the Holy Mother that he was
invulnerable, carrying bullets in his pockets to prove the miracle.
Chances seemed fairly in favour of success. The garrison of Gorey, for
instance, numbered but a hundred and thirty men. What could they hope
to do--disciplined though they were--against a rabble of six thousand?
They did what was wisest under the circumstances; called temerity to
their aid, and essayed to brazen out the difficulty of their position.
Instead of waiting to be attacked, they rushed out upon the road,
raising such clouds of summer dust that the advancing rebels,
supposing reinforcements to have arrived, turned and fled in terror.
The advanced guard of the insurgents slinking off, had taken the
courage from the rest. Each man vied with his neighbour in the race,
and the Irish peasant is wondrous fleet of foot.
Father Kearnes' detachment met with more grave misfortune than this
merely temporary rout. The simultaneous attempt upon New Ross
(nineteen miles from Wexford) was the hardest-fought day of the entire
Hurry--one, too, which will be darkened through all time by the memory
of a deplorable outrage. The object in gaining possession of New Ross
was the same as had induced the taking of Enniscorthy. For as the one
stood on the Slaney, with water-access to Wexford Harbour, so did the
other command water also, standing as it did upon the Nore and Barrow,
within similar distance of the important port of Waterford. New Ross,
too, was placed on the very border of Kilkenny. All the disaffected in
that county were expected to join the insurgents in a united gigantic
effort to win so fine a jewel; for, as soon as it was captured,
nothing would have been easier than to drop down to Waterford, which
loved not the Castle joss; which was weakly garrisoned, and tempting
to boot in the way of plunder. But this well-balanced scheme was
frustrated and made of no effect by the god of war's ill-temper. Sure
he's as fickle and as false as Fortune is--that arrant feckless jade!
And has not her excuse neither--being a man, who, by reason of his
sex, should be above lowering his dignity by feminine whimsies. On
this 5th of June he got out of bed on the wrong side (in consequence
of being called so early maybe), and the plan against New Ross
miscarried. At 3 a.m. Bagenal Harvey, who commanded in conjunction
with Father Roche, despatched a flag of truce, imploring the garrison
not to provoke rapine by useless resistance. He bade them look up at
the heights which commanded the town, and count the myriads whose
frieze turned the landscape dun. For the good of all 'twere better to
surrender at once, rather than uselessly to sacrifice precious life. A
letter worthy of the kindly soft-hearted gentleman who wrote it.
The flag of truce was slain. His name was Furlong, a popular man. The
insurgents, watching from above, beheld him lying prone--shot through
the heart by an outpost sentinel. With fury they upbraided Harvey as
an old dame for his ill-timed courtesy, vowing that they would obey no
one but the priest that day. Maddened by the sight of that single
corpse lying far below upon its face, they poured with the
overwhelming impulse of a destroying flood unexpectedly set free down
the steep declivity--an avenging awful host, numbering twenty
thousand--and battered in the Three-bullet Gate. If the huge force
could have been divided by scientific skill, an attack might have been
made on the three gates at once, and every loyalist would have
miserably perished. But even the priest was powerless to cope with the
boiling throng. Yelling and screaming, by mere weight they drove in
the pickets; cavalry went down like barley; nothing could withstand
the avalanche. In vain the principal thoroughfare of New Ross was
swept by the steady fire of artillery, which, falling on a dense mass
of men wedged tight together in a narrow street, shore down the
column's head as often as it rose. The legend of the dragon's teeth
was realised that day; as fast as row drooped over row, so did other
rows spring up, propelled by a giant force behind. One fanatic pushed
to the gun's very muzzle, and, plunging in his hat and wig, cried,
'Come on, boys! her mouth's stopped!' The next moment he was blown
into the air, but the gun was trodden down, dismounted--rendered
useless; and the yeomanry retired under shelter. If the Croppies had
obeyed their priest, all would have gone well. But much as they adored
their Church, much as they longed for beatific rest in Paradise, they
at this moment loved mundane whisky more. They plundered the houses of
meat and drink, broached barrels in the market-place, poured fiery
rivers of consolation down their parched gullets. In vain Mr. Harvey
begged them to desist; in vain Father Roche threatened them with
purgatorial ills. They snapped their fingers at their God and at His
minister. Had they not already suffered hell? Well, then, they were
used to it. Its terrors had ceased to fill their souls with dread.
The royalist commandant was amazed at what he saw. It was a
Pandemonium--but one whose horrors were evanescent. He only had to
wait under his shelter. One little hour of drunken madness such as
this, and the day would be his after all, in spite of apparently
adverse destiny. The insurgents thought no more of a foe who had only
retired out of sight down a by-street. They laughed and sang, and
danced, and whirled in idiot frenzy; then fell into the gutter--drunk!
By three in the afternoon such of the mob as could totter were hunted
out of the town--those who remained were handed over to the tormentor.
In the alleys and byways bodies choked the path three deep; two
thousand more were borne away on carts. New Ross remained to his
Majesty King George; but the terrors of the black 5th of June were not
yet over. The gates were closed on the expulsion of the rabblement so
quickly that many stragglers among the royalists were left without to
batter on the wood in vain. The wounded amongst them were mercilessly
piked, unless by a Romanist shibboleth they could 'bless themselves.'
If they could go through the formula they might be saved--if not, they
would, as a natural consequence, be butchered. A woman, vagrant in the
turmoil, beheld a wounded friend who was a Protestant, and knew that
he could not pass the ordeal. She knelt by him, whispered some words
which he repeated, and for that time was saved. But a more awful
vengeance than this in the lanes around New Ross had been already
wreaked away at Scullabogue. I have mentioned above that Kearnes'
detachment had come from Carrickbyrne, close to which lies
Scullabogue; but I did not mention that at that place there was a
goodly barn--strong, well-built--which was excellently useful as a
prison-house, and at this time contained some three hundred and twenty
prisoners--men, women, and children.
When the tide at New Ross began to turn against the insurgents, Father
Roche--whose reason had toppled, who was mad in that his influence had
shrivelled away from him--swore to be revenged somehow, not on his own
erring flock, but on those whom the ill-conditioned god of war was
permitting to win the day! It was one of those awful moments when
blinding ferocity dictates unchecked, which make one almost believe in
the existence of Lucifer; when the human tendency to evil seems to
pile itself up into a monument of what wickedness may be able to
accomplish. A messenger was despatched to Scullabogue with a command
to immolate the prisoners. Their gaoler, appalled at this cold-blooded
order, refused to obey it unless the directions were more explicit.
These arrived in due course, very clear indeed. 'The priest says the
prisoners must be put to death.' There was no disobeying this.
Croppies took off their long coats to carry out the priest's decree.
The handful of men were brought out and shot; the doors were firmly
barred; the barn was set ablaze there is no use in going into detail.
* * * * *
By-and-by the flames slackened; the fire smouldered with fetid smoke;
all was still within. The three hundred innocent women and children
had been consumed as a holocaust on the altar of his majesty King
George; who, large-minded man, was consistently without mercy for the
Isle which God had given to his keeping; who was pitiless for the
professors of a faith which did not agree with his own fancy; who, by
reason of his policy regarding Ireland, must be held accountable for
the tragedy which took place on that fifth of June within the barn at
Scullabogue.