CHAPTER VI
O’Neill Draws the Sword—Victories of Clontibret and Armagh
MARSHAL SIR HENRY BAGNAL—one of Elizabeth’s most potent military commanders—had never liked Hugh O’Neill, whom he had often met in London and Dublin, but this hatred of the Irish prince was not shared by the marshal’s fair sister, the Lady Mabel Bagnal, who presided over his mansion at Newry, where were established the headquarters of the English army in Ulster. Lady Mabel was one of the most beautiful of women, and O’Neill, who had become a widower, grew desperately enamored of her. He managed to elude the vigilance of the hostile brother, and, assisted by a friendly “Saxon,” succeeded in eloping with and making her his wife. The elopement filled Sir Henry with fury. He entered into a conspiracy against O’Neill with other Englishmen and Palesmen. A new Lord Deputy had come over from England in the person of Sir William Russell. Charges against O’Neill were laid before him. He communicated with the Court of London and commands soon came to arrest the Chief of Tyrone without delay. O’Neill, as usual, had means of secret information and soon knew all about the plot laid for his destruction. Instead of being dismayed, he hastened, at once, to Dublin and surprised his treacherous accusers in the midst of their deliberations. His old-time friend, the Earl of Ormond, stood by him and refused to be a party to the treachery planned by the new Lord Deputy. When a similar order had reached Ormond himself from Lord Burleigh—ancestor of the late Prime Minister of England—the earl replied scornfully in these words: “My lord, I will never use treachery to any man, for it would both touch her Highness’s honor and my own credit too much; and whosoever gave the queen advice thus to write is fitter for such base service than I am. Saving my duty to her Majesty, I would I might have revenge by my sword of any man that thus persuadeth the queen to write to me.” Noble words, gallant Ormond!
The earl, feeling convinced that Lord Russell, who was not much affected by honorable scruples, would obey the order from the queen and arrest O’Neill, advised the latter to fly from Dublin the very night of his arrival. The Ulster prince thought this very good advice and accepted Ormond’s friendly offices. He managed to make his way in safety to Dungannon and at once set about perfecting his preparations for open warfare with the generals of Elizabeth. The latter were not idle either, for Russell surmised O’Neill’s intention and sent Sir John Norreys (Norris), an experienced general, just returned from the wars in Flanders, to command against him. The remainder of the year 1594, as well as some of the succeeding year, was spent in useless negotiations, for both parties well knew that war was now inevitable. O’Donnell, McGuire, and some other chiefs kept up a fierce, but rather desultory, warfare, greatly annoying the English garrisons in the border strongholds. At last, in the early summer of 1595, O’Neill threw off the mask, unfurled the Red Hand of Ulster, and marched against the Castle of Monaghan, held by the enemy. In the midst of a siege but feebly carried on for lack of a battering train, he heard that Norreys, with a powerful force, was advancing northward to raise the siege. O’Neill at once decided to anticipate his movement and moved to Clontibret, about five miles off, and there took post. Norreys soon appeared, and, being a hot soldier, attacked at once. He was met with a veteran firmness that astonished him, and both he and his brother, Sir Thomas Norreys, were wounded in the main attack on the Irish battle-line. At the moment when all seemed lost for England, Colonel Segrave, an Anglo-Norman of Meath, charged the Irish home, with a body of horse, and, for a time, restored the battle. Segrave, himself, rushed madly on O’Neill and the two leaders fought hand to hand for some time, while both armies stood still to witness the result. Mr. Mitchel thus eloquently describes what followed: “Segrave again dashed his horse against the chief, flung his giant frame upon his enemy, and endeavored to unhorse him by the weight of his gauntleted hand. O’Neill grasped him in his arms, and the combatants rolled, in that fatal embrace, to the ground.
‘Now, gallant Saxon! hold thine own—
No maiden’s hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel
Through bars of brass and triple steel.’
“There was a moment’s deadly wrestle and a death groan. The shortened sword of O’Neill was buried in the Englishman’s groin beneath his mail. Then from the Irish ranks rose such a wild shout of triumph as those hills had never echoed before. The still thundercloud burst into a tempest; those equestrian statues became as winged demons, and with their battle-cry of Lamh-dearg-ahoo! (‘The Red Hand to Victory’), and their long lances poised in eastern fashion above their heads, down swept the chivalry of Tyrone upon the astonished ranks of the Saxon. The banner of St. George wavered and went down before that furious charge. The English turned their bridle-reins and fled headlong over the stream (which they had crossed to attack the Irish), leaving the field covered with their dead, and, worse than all, leaving with the Irish that proud red-cross banner, the first of their disgraces in those Ulster wars. Norreys hastily retreated southward, and the castle of Monaghan was yielded to O’Neill.”
About the same time, Red Hugh O’Donnell “prevailed mightily” in the west, “so that,” says Mitchel, “at the close of the year 1595, the Irish power predominated both in Ulster and Connaught.” O’Neill followed up his success by laying siege to Armagh, which he captured by an ingenious stratagem. Colonel Stafford had been appointed to the command of the English in the old city, and he proved himself equal to the occasion, so far as fighting bravely to hold it went. But provisions were running low, and it was known to Stafford that Norreys was sending to him, from Dundalk, a large convoy of provisions. O’Neill’s scouts had the same information, so a body of Irish was detached to attack the convoy and capture the rations. The movement proved successful. About three hundred English soldiers were made prisoners. O’Neill ordered them to be stripped of their red surtouts, and bade the same number of his clansmen to put the garments on their own backs. Then he commanded the convoy to march toward Armagh as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, he had caused his relative, Con O’Neill, to occupy an old ruined abbey near the main gate of the city. All this was accomplished under cover of the night. At sunrise, Stafford and his hungry soldiers, from the ramparts, gazed wistfully southward, and, to their great joy, beheld, as they imagined, the convoy marching rapidly to their relief. Almost on the instant, it was, seemingly, attacked by the Irish army. Volleys—blank cartridges being used—were exchanged, and many men appeared to fall on both sides. At last, the supposititious English seemed about to give way. Stafford and his famished men could stand the sight no longer. They rushed through the now open gate to the aid of their countrymen, as they thought. To their amazement, both red coats and saffron shirts fell upon them, and they perceived they had been tricked. A brave attempt was made by them to re-enter the town, but Con O’Neill and his party, rushing from the old ruin, seized the gate. All the English outside the walls were captured. Soon afterward, the city itself surrendered to the Irish leader. O’Neill made humane use of his victory. He disarmed and paroled the English prisoners and sent them, under safe escort, back to General Norreys. He was a man of strict honor, and, no doubt, the terms of the capitulation were properly observed. The Irish dismantled Armagh, as O’Neill had no need of fortresses, but, during his absence elsewhere, some English made their way to the place and refortified it; only, however, to have it retaken by the Irish army.