Ireland under the Stuarts and During the Interregnum, Vol. 1 (of 3), 1603-1642

by Richard Bagwell

FOOTNOTES:

[268] Alice Thornton’s Autobiography; Irish Lords Journals, February 22, 1640-1; Petition of the Irish Committee to the King, Cal. State Papers, Ireland, 1640, addendum; Radcliffe’s answer to the Committee, ib. January 9, 1641, and their rejoinder, ib. February 12.

[269] Irish Commons Journals, February 16, 1640-1. The queries, with the answers and declaration of the Commons, are in Nalson, ii. 572-589.

[270] Irish Commons Journals, 1641, p. 211; Irish Lords Journals, February 27, March 4.

[271] Irish Commons Journals, June 7, July 10. The story about the powder is from Borlase’s Rebellion, ed. 1680, p. 12; he is not a very good authority, but on this occasion is speaking of his father’s action.

[272] Examination of Henry Macartan, quartermaster to Owen Roe O’Neill, February 12, 1641-2, Contemp. Hist. i. 396; Vane to the Lords Justices, March 16, 1640-1, Cox’s Hibernia Anglicana, ii. 65; Cole to the Lords Justices, October 11, 1641, printed in Nalson and elsewhere; Lords Justices and Council to Vane, June 30, 1641, State Papers, Ireland; Deposition as to the Multifarnham meeting, May 3, 1642 (misprinted 1641), in Hickson’s Seventeenth Century, ii. 355. Temple produces evidence as to the rebellion being threatened long before it actually happened, O’More himself having admitted as much, p. 103. Patrick O’Bryan of Fermanagh swore on January 29, 1641-2 ‘that he heard Colonel Plunket say that he knew of this plot eight years ago, but within these three years hath been more fully acquainted with it’—Somers Tracts, v. 586. Lieutenant Craven, who had been a prisoner with the Ulster Irish, was prepared to swear that on March 3, 1641-2, he had heard Bishop Heber Macmahon tell his friends that he had planned the rebellion years before, and knew from personal knowledge that all Catholic nations would help; urging them to persevere and extirpate heresy. Macmahon repeated this at Monaghan in January 1643-4—Carte MSS. vol. lxiii. f. 132.

[273] Lord Maguire’s Relation, written by him in the Tower (after August 1642) printed from the Carte Papers in Contemp. Hist. i. 501. Parsons to Vane, August 3, State Papers, Ireland. Temple’s History is valuable here, for he was present in Dublin and signed the proclamation on October 23, Bellings, i. 7-11.

[274] O’Connolly’s Deposition, October 22, in Temple’s History, with the author’s remarks, and his further Relation printed from a manuscript in Trinity College in Contemp. Hist., i. 357.

[275] Chiefly from Temple’s History, where O’Connolly’s evidence, and the proclamation of October 23, are given in full. There is an independent account by Alice Thornton, Wandesford’s daughter, who was in Dublin at the time, aged fifteen. According to her O’Connolly swam the Liffey. ‘What shall I do for my wife?’ he asked the conspirators, and they answered ‘Hang her, for she was but an English dog; he might get better of his own country.’—Autobiography, Surtees Society, 1875.

[276] Sir F. Willoughby’s narrative among the Trinity College MSS., 809-841, vol. xxxii. f. 178.

[277] Temple, pp. 93-4. Macmahon’s Deposition, October 23, Contemp. Hist. i. Appx. xix. Lords Justices and Council to Leicester, October 25, printed in Temple’s History and elsewhere. Macmahon’s latter evidence, ‘taken at the rack’ on March 22, 1641-2, gives further details regarding the Ulster conspirators, but he knew nothing about the Pale, and does not even mention O’More’s name. Reports of Maguire’s trial have been often printed.

[278] Proclamation of October 29, 1641, in Temple and elsewhere. Dean Jones’s ‘Relation of the beginning and proceedings of the rebellion in Cavan, &c.,’ was printed in London by order of the House of Commons in the spring of 1642, and reproduced in vol. v. of the Somers Tracts as well as in Gilbert’s Contemporary History, where the Cavan Remonstrance, received November 6, and the Lords Justices’ answer dated November 10, are also printed. Rosetti at Cologne heard that many Protestants had joined the rebels, which was certainly not true, though some pretended to do so. Roman Transcripts, R.O., December 10, 1641. Another paper from Cologne speaks of the rebels ‘quali vanno decapitando et appiccando li Protestanti che non gli vogliono assistere,’ ib. December 22.

[279] Temple prints the commission to Gormanston as a specimen. Lords Justices and Council to Leicester, December 14, in Nalson, ii. 911.

[280] Sir Henry Tichborne’s letter to his wife, printed with Temple’s History, Cork, 1766. Carte’s Ormonde, i. 193, and the King’s letters in vol. iii. Nos. 31 and 82.

[281] Carte’s Ormonde, i. 192-5; Lords Justices to Ormonde, October 24, 1641, printed in Confederation and War, i. 227.

[282] Bellings gives the two documents referred to. He was a member of this Parliament, and one of the Joint Committee. Irish Commons Journals.

[283] Rushworth, iv. 398-406; Nicholas to the King, November 1, 1641, in Evelyn’s Correspondence; Macray’s edition of Clarendon’s History, i. 408; May’s Long Parliament, p. 127. May is a good authority for what happened in London, but for events in Ireland he depends chiefly on Temple. Lords Journals, November 1; Lang’s Hist. of Scotland, iii. 100; Vane to Nicholas, October 27, Nicholas Papers, i. 58.

[284] Nalson, ii. 898; Rushworth, iv. 413; Diurnal Occurrences, December 20-25, 1641.

[285] Despatch of December 14, in Nalson, ut sup. Monck’s letter from Chester, ib. 919, shows how little money Parliament had to spare. In clerical circles abroad it was rumoured a little later that Dublin would soon fall, and that five hundred Protestants who objected to the cross in baptism had been marked with it on the forehead and sent back to England—Roman Transcripts, R.O., February 2, 1642. Four letters from Sir Simon Harcourt, January 3, 1641-42 to March 21, in vol. i. of Harcourt Papers (private circulation). As late as September 16, 1642, Sir N. Loftus wrote from Dublin that the enfeebled garrison could not hold out for six weeks if seriously attacked. Food and ammunition were wanting, and the surviving soldiers sick or starving—Portland Papers, i. 700.

[286] Bellings, i. xxxii. 35; George Leyburn’s Memoirs, Preface; Borlase’s Irish Rebellion, p. 104, ed. 1743. Coote was killed May 7, 1642; when the name occurs later the reference is to his son, also Sir Charles.

[CHAPTER XX]
PROGRESS OF THE REBELLION

Outbreak in Ulster.

Savage character of the contest.

Contemporary accounts of the massacre.

Later estimates.

The number of victims cannot be ascertained.

‘There are,’ says Hume, ‘three events in our history which may be regarded as touchstones of party men: an English Whig who asserts the reality of the popish plot, an Irish Catholic who denies the massacre in 1641, and a Scotch Jacobite who maintains the innocence of Queen Mary, must be considered as men beyond the reach of argument or reason, and must be left to their prejudices.’ The fact of a massacre cannot be denied, but its extent is quite another matter. There is no evidence of any general conspiracy of the Irish to destroy all the Protestants, but so far as Ulster was concerned there was no doubt one to regain the land and in so doing to expel the settlers. Rinuccini admitted that the northern Irish, though good Catholics, were often great savages; and it is not surprising that there should have been many murders, sometimes of the most atrocious character, and that a much larger number of lives should have been lost through starvation and exposure. It is also true that many acts of kindness were done by the successful insurgents, and that the retaliation of the English was cruel and indiscriminating. As to the number killed during the early part of the rebellion and before it assumed the dignity of civil war, it is impossible to form anything like a satisfactory estimate. Temple, whose book was published in 1646, says that in the first two years after the outbreak ‘300,000 British and Protestants were cruelly murdered in cold blood, destroyed some other way, or expelled out of their habitations according to the strict conjecture and computation of those who seemed best to understand the numbers of English planted in Ireland, besides those few that perished in the heat of fight during the war.’ The great exaggeration of this has been dwelt on by writers who wish to disparage Temple’s authority, but these enormous figures were generally believed in at the time. May, who depended partly on Temple, says ‘the innocent Protestants were upon a sudden disseized of their estates, and the persons of above 200,000 men, women, and children, murdered, many of them with exquisite and unheard of tortures, within the space of one month.’ Dr. Maxwell learned from the Irish themselves that their priests counted 154,000 killed during the first five months. The Jesuit Cornelius O’Mahony, writing in 1645, says it was admitted on all sides that 150,000 heretics had been killed up to that time; he exults in the fact, and thinks the number was really greater. Clarendon says 40,000 or 50,000 English Protestants were murdered at the very beginning of the rebellion. Petty was the first writer of repute who attempted anything like a critical estimate. He had a genius for statistics and he knew a great deal, but owing to the want of trustworthy data, even he can do little more than guess that ‘37,000 were massacred in the first year of tumults.’ So much for those who lived at or near the time; modern writers can scarcely be better informed, but may perhaps be more impartial. Froude, who was not inclined to minimise, thinks even Petty’s estimate too high, and quotes the account of an eye-witness who says 20,000 were killed or starved to death in about the first two months. Warner, who wrote in 1767, was inclined to adopt Peter Walsh’s estimate of 8000. Reid rejected the higher figures, but without venturing on any decided opinion, Lecky very truly said that certainty was unattainable, but was inclined to agree with Warner. Miss Hickson, who examined the depositions more closely than any other writer, said the same, but thought the number killed in the first three or four years of the war could hardly fall short of 25,000. The conclusion of the whole matter is that several thousand Protestants were massacred, that the murders were not confined to one province or county, but occurred in almost every part of the island, that the retaliation was very savage, innocent persons often suffering for the guilty, and that great atrocities were committed on both sides. ‘The cause of the war,’ says Petty, ‘was a desire of the Romanists to recover the Church revenue, worth about 110,000l. per annum and of the common Irish to get all the Englishmen’s estates, and of the ten or twelve grandees of Ireland to get the empire of the whole.... But as for the bloodshed in the contest, God best knows who did occasion it.’ He thought the population of Ireland in 1641 was about 1,400,000, out of which only 210,000 were British.[287]

The massacre in Island Magee.

One of the worst cases of retaliation was the massacre by Scots of many Roman Catholic inhabitants of Island Magee in Antrim, but it is necessary to point out that this took place in January 1642, because it has been asserted that it was the first act of violence and the real cause of the whole rebellion. Some of those who took part in the outrage were alive in 1653, and were then prosecuted by the Cromwellian Government.[288]

The rising in Tyrone, Oct. 23, 1641.

English tenants plundered.

Murder of Protestants.

Dublin was saved, but the rebellion broke out in Ulster upon the appointed day. According to Captain John Creichton, his grandfather’s house near Caledon in Tyrone was the first attacked. The rebellion certainly began upon Sir Phelim O’Neill’s property at Caledon or Kinard during the night of October 22, when O’Connolly was telling the Lords Justices what he had heard. William Skelton, who lived as a servant in Sir Phelim’s house, was ploughing in the afternoon when an Irish fellow servant came to him with about twenty companions and said that they had risen about religion. Armed only with cudgels, they attacked several of Sir Phelim’s English tenants, who were well-to-do and apparently well-beloved by their Irish neighbours, ‘and differed not in anything, save only that the Irish went to mass, and the English to the Protestant church in Tinane, a mile from Kinard.’ Taken by surprise, the Protestants were easily disarmed, and robbed in the first instance only of such horses as would make troopers. All the English and Scots neighbours were thus plundered in detail, cattle, corn, furniture, and clothes being taken in succession. In about a fortnight the Irish began to murder the Protestants. Among those whom Skelton knew of his own knowledge to be killed in cold blood before the end of the year was ‘one Edward Boswell, who was come over but a year before from England, upon the invitation of the said Sir Phelim, his wife having nursed a child of the said Sir Phelim’s in London.’ Boswell’s wife and child were murdered at the same time, and seventeen others in Kinard itself, men, women, and children. Skelton and some others were saved by the intercession of Daniel Bawn, whose wife was an Englishman’s daughter.[289]

Sir Phelim O’Neill at Charlemont.

The Caulfield family.

Dungannon, Mountjoy, Tanderagee and Newry taken

Bishop Henry Leslie.

While his English servant was ploughing at Kinard, Sir Phelim O’Neill was on his way to Charlemont with an armed party. He had invited himself to dinner and was hospitably received by Lady Caulfield and her son, who had not long succeeded to the peerage. In after days there was a family tradition that the butler, an old and trusty servant, was alarmed by the attitude of Sir Phelim’s followers and imparted his fears to his mistress. His advice was neglected, and when the meal was over he left the house and made the best of his way to Dublin. The Caulfields and the unsuspecting men who ought to have defended the fort were surprised and captured, and O’Neill occupied Dungannon the same night. Next day the O’Quins took Mountjoy, the O’Hanlons Tanderagee, and the Magennises Newry. All were surprised, and there was practically no resistance. In the course of the day a fugitive trooper came to Lisburn, where Henry Leslie, Bishop of Down, was living, with news of the disasters at Charlemont and Dungannon, and four hours later another runaway announced that Newry was taken. Leslie at once sent the news on to Lord Montgomery, who was at or near Newtownards, and to Lord Chichester at Belfast; and they both wrote to the King.

Chichester said only one man had been slain, which has been adduced as a proof that there was no massacre, but he knew only what Leslie had told him, and there were no tidings from any point beyond Dungannon. Other districts could tell a very different tale.[290]

Fermanagh. Rory Maguire.

Murders at Lisgoole and elsewhere.

Lord Maguire was a prisoner, but his brother Rory raised Fermanagh before any account of the doings in Dublin had come so far. The robbing and murdering began on October 23, and very soon the whole county was at the mercy of the rebels. Enniskillen was never taken, and it will be seen that walled towns, if well defended, were generally maintained. Alice Champion, whose husband was killed in her presence on the first day, heard the murderers say that ‘they had special orders from Lord Maguire not to spare him or any of the Crosses that were his followers and tenants.’ About twenty-four others were murdered at the same time, and Mrs. Champion afterwards heard them boast that they had ‘killed so many Englishmen that the grease or fat that remained on their swords might have made an Irish candle,’ ninety being despatched at Lisgoole alone. The latter massacre is also sworn to by an eye-witness. Anne Ogden’s husband was murdered in the same way. She was allowed to fly to Dublin with her two children, but all were stripped on the way, and the children afterwards died ‘through the torments of hunger and cold they endured on that journey.’

Treatment of the English Bible.

Edward Flack, a clergyman, was plundered and wounded on the 23rd, and his house burned. The rebels in this case vented some of their fury on his Bible, which they stamped upon in a puddle, saying ‘A plague on this book, it has bred all this quarrel,’ and hoping that all Bibles would have this or worse treatment within three weeks. Much more of the same kind might be said, and the events sworn to in Fermanagh alone fully dispel the idea that there were no murders at the first outbreak.[291]

Cavan. The O’Reillys.

Pretended orders from the King.

Colonel Richard Plunkett.

In Cavan, where the O’Reillys were supreme, there were no murders at the very beginning. Here, as in other places, the first idea seems to have been to spare the Scots and not to kill the English unless they resisted their spoilers. On the night of October 23, the Rev. George Crichton, vicar of Lurgan, who lived at Virginia, was roused out of his first sleep by two neighbours, who told him of the rising further north. Many of the Protestant inhabitants fled into the fields, but Crichton thought it better to stand his ground, and very soon a messenger came from Captain Tirlogh McShane McPhilip O’Reilly, to say that the Irish would harm no Scot. Crichton perhaps profited also by the fact that ‘no man ever lost a penny by him in the Bishop’s Court, and none ever paid to him what he did owe,’ which may have been a result of Bedell’s influence. He went out and met this chief at Parta wood, about a mile to the east of the town. O’Reilly, who had some twenty-four men with him, announced that Dublin and all other strong places were taken, and that they ‘had directions from his Majesty to do all these things to curb the Parliament of England; for all the Catholics in England should have been compelled to go to Church, or else they should be all hanged before their own doors on Tuesday next.’ Crichton said he did not believe such a thing had been ever dreamed of, whereupon O’Reilly declared his intention of seizing all Protestant property and of killing anyone who resisted. Next morning Virginia was sacked accordingly, but no lives were taken, for no one made any defence. The canny Scots clergyman managed to keep the Irish in pretty good humour, lodged nine families in his own house, and provided food for the fugitives from Fermanagh who began to arrive in a few days. Many thousands from Ballyhaise, Belturbet and Cavan passed through Virginia on their way towards the Pale. Crichton obtained help from Colonel Richard Plunkett, who wept and blamed Rory Maguire for all. On being asked whether the Irish had made a covenant he said, ‘Yea, the Scots have taught us our A B C; in the meantime he so trembled that he could scarce carry a cup of drink to his head.’ Nevertheless he boasted that Dublin was the only place not taken, that Geneva had fallen, and that there was war in England. Many of the wretched Fermanagh Protestants were wounded, and the state of their children was pitiable. The wounded were tended and milk provided for the children, Crichton telling his wife and family that it was their plain duty to stay, and that ‘in this trouble God had called them to do him that service.’ All this happened within the first week of the outbreak, and when the long stream of refugees seemed to have passed, Crichton and his family prepared to go; but they were detained, lest what they had to tell might be inconvenient. Protestants from the north continued to drop in for some time, and Crichton was allowed to relieve them until after the overthrow at Julianstown at the end of November. The O’Reillys took part in the affair, and their followers became bolder and less lenient.[292]

Cavan and Belturbet.

Philip MacHugh O’Reilly.

Horrors of a winter flight.

Another clergyman, Henry Jones, Dean of Kilmore, was living at Bellananagh Castle, near Cavan, at the time of the outbreak. Philip MacHugh MacShane O’Reilly, member for the county, was the chosen leader of the Irish. The actual chief of the clan was Edmund O’Reilly, but the most active part was taken by his son, Miles O’Reilly, the high sheriff, a desperate ‘young man,’ who at once assumed his native name of Mulmore Mac Edmond. Under the pretence of raising the posse comitatus he sent bailiffs to the scattered houses of Protestants and collected their arms. He himself seized the arms at Farnham Castle, and took possession of Cloghoughter, with whose governor, Arthur Culme, he had been on terms of friendship. Next day, October 24, the sheriff proceeded to Belturbet, which was the principal English settlement and contained some 1500 Protestants. Sir Stephen Butler was dead, but his widow had married Mr. Edward Philpot and was living there with her five children. Sir Francis Hamilton, who was at Keilagh Castle, tried to organise some resistance, but Philip MacHugh O’Reilly took the settlers under his protection, and they gave up their arms. Yet Captain Ryves with some thirty horse had no difficulty in reaching the Pale by O’Daly’s Bridge on the Blackwater, and in occupying Ardbraccan for the Lords Justices. Cavan surrendered, and on the 29th Bellananagh, which was indefensible, surrendered to the sheriff’s uncle, Philip MacMulmore O’Reilly. It had been determined to clear all the English out of the county, and though Lady Butler with 1500 others were escorted as far as Cavan they were attacked just beyond the town, and stripped of everything. Those who did not die of exposure reached Dublin, to starve and shiver among the other fugitives there. Those who remained at Belturbet had a still worse fate.[293]

The O’Reillys were not unanimous.

Doctor Henry Jones.

Weakness of the Irish Government.

Divisions among the Irish.

The O’Reillys had always been more civilised than other natives of Ulster, and they almost seem to have felt that the Government must win in the end. Rose O’Neill, the wife of Philip MacHugh, wished to kill all the English and Scotch at Ballyhaise, but he would not allow it. ‘The day,’ he said, ‘may come when thou mayest be beholding to the poorest among them.’ With a view no doubt to that distant day, they resolved to petition the Lords Justices and to send an Englishman with the message. Bedell refused to go on account of his age and because his plundered flock could not spare him, but Jones, who in his time played many parts, thought it safer to do as he was asked. He left his wife and children as hostages and went to Dublin, with a memorial signed by seven O’Reillys which spoke of former misgovernment, and rumours that worse was to come. They protested their loyalty and desired the Lords Justices ‘to make remonstrance to his Majesty for us ... so that the liberties of our conscience may be secured unto us, and we eased of our other burdens in the civil government.’ The Lords Justices and eight Privy Councillors, of whom Ormonde was one, sent an answer, dealing in generalities ‘suitable to the weak condition of affairs in Dublin.’ The most they could promise was that if they would restore all the Cavan Protestants to their homes and properties and cease from further hostilities, that then their memorial should be forwarded to the King. On his return Jones found the O’Reillys preparing to invade the Pale. He managed to keep the Dublin Government well informed, at the same time dissuading the Irish from attacking the capital, whose means of defence he exaggerated. Drogheda, he said, was more assailable, and to Drogheda they determined to go. They mustered first at Virginia, where Mr. Crichton made friends with Philip MacHugh’s mother on the ground of common kinship with Argyle, ‘of which house it seemeth that she was well pleased that she was descended. This kindred stood me in great stead afterwards, for although it was far off and old, yet it bound the hands of the ruder sort from shedding my blood.’ Many lives, says Crichton, were also saved by the quarrels of the Irish among themselves. Philip MacHugh not only shielded his far away cousin, and others for his sake, but was evidently disinclined to the task in hand, regretted that he had not kept the Protestants safe at Belturbet, ‘blamed Rory Maguire for threatening to kill and burn them, and cursed those among the English that gave them counsel to leave their habitations.’ Crichton thought O’Reilly a deep dissembler, but he should have the credit for comparative humanity. He and others seem to have thought that the war was on the point of breaking out in England, and that it would be impossible to send any troops to Ireland for years to come.[294]

Rising in Monaghan.

Murder of Richard Blayney.

A sham royal commission.

In Monaghan there was a general rising on October 23, but a number of murders were committed during the first few days, and the Macmahons behaved worse than the O’Reillys. Richard Blayney, member for the county, and commissioner of subsidies, was hanged by Sir Phelim O’Neill’s direct orders, and his dead body barbarously treated. At Carrickmacross Essex’s bailiff, Patrick McLoughlin Macmahon, took the lead among the local rebels, and about 600l. of the great absentee’s rents came into their hands. In Monaghan, as elsewhere, the Irish professed to do everything by the King’s orders, but at Armagh Sir Phelim O’Neill professed to show the actual commission with a broad seal to it, adding that he would be a traitor if he acted of his own accord. ‘We are a sold people,’ said an Englishman who witnessed the scene. A number of Protestants took refuge in the cathedral, but they had to surrender, and being stripped and robbed were sent to keep the Caulfields company at Charlemont. A miscellaneous collection of Protestants, including many children and poor people, from whom no ransom could be expected, were driven to the bridge of Portadown and there murdered.[295]

The Portadown massacre, about Nov. 1, 1641.

The church at Blackwater.

Alleged apparitions.

Investigation by Owen Roe O’Neill.

The Portadown massacre has been more discussed perhaps than any episode in the Irish rebellion, and it has left behind it an ineffaceable impression of horror. The victims were only a part of those murdered in the county of Armagh, but more than 100—one account says 160—were killed at one time—and the affair was carefully planned beforehand. The chief actor was Captain Manus O’Cahan, but many of the sufferers had received passes from Sir Phelim himself. O’Cahan and his men, Mrs. Price deposed, forced and drove all those prisoners, and amongst them the deponent’s five children, by name Adam, John, Anne, Mary, and Jane Price, off the bridge into the water. Those that could swim were shot or forced back into the river. When Owen Roe O’Neill came to the country he asked in Mrs. Price’s hearing how many Protestants the rebels had drowned at Portadown, and they said 400. If this is correct the cruel work on the Bann must have continued for some time. They also said that those drowned in the Blackwater were too many to count, and that the number thrust into lakes and bog-holes could not even be guessed at. On November 17 they burned the church at Blackwaterstown with a crowd of Protestants in it, ‘whose cries being exceeding loud and fearful, the rebels used to delight much in a scornful manner to imitate them, and brag of their acts.’ Attempts have been made to discredit the evidence on the ground that Mrs. Price and others refer to apparitions at the scene of the Portadown massacre. Screams and cries are easily explained, for wolves and dogs fed undisturbed upon the unburied dead. But Mrs. Price says she actually saw a ghost when she visited the spot where her five children had been slaughtered, and that Owen Roe O’Neill, who came expressly to inform himself as to the alleged apparitions, was present with his men, who saw it also. It was twilight, and ‘upon a sudden, there appeared unto them a vision, or spirit assuming the shape of a woman, waist high, upright in the water, naked, her hair dishevelled, very white, and her eyes seeming to twinkle in her head, and her skin as white as snow; which spirit or vision, seeming to stand upright in the water, divulged, and often repeated the word “Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!”’ O’Neill sent a priest and a friar to question the figure both in English and Latin, but it answered nothing. He afterwards sent a trumpet to the nearest English force for a Protestant clergyman, by whom the same figure was seen and the cries of ‘Revenge!’ heard, but Mrs. Price does not say she was present on this occasion. The evidence of this lady shows no marks of a wandering mind, and yet it is evident that she believed in an apparition. It is quite possible that some crazed woman who had lost all that was dear to her may have haunted the spot and cried for vengeance, but in any case a belief in ghosts was still general in those days, and especially in Ireland. The evidence as to the massacre is overwhelming.[296]

Bedell at Kilmore.

He is allowed to relieve many Protestants.

He refuses to leave his post.

He is imprisoned at Lough Oughter.

He is released.

Fate of his library.

Bedell was at Kilmore when the rebellion broke out. The Protestants were surprised, but it was remembered afterwards that there had been an invasion or migration of rats, and that caterpillars had appeared in unusual numbers. It was more to the purpose that a crack-brained Irish scholar who wandered from house to house was heard frequently to exclaim, ‘Where is King Charles now?’ and that he wrote in an old almanac ‘We doubt not of France and Spain in this action’—words which he may have heard in some conventicle of the Irish. The fugitive Protestants crowded to Kilmore, where they were all sheltered and fed, the better sort in the palace and the rest in out-buildings. The bishop’s son, who was there, likens the stream of poor stripped people to ‘Job’s messengers bringing one sad report after another without intermission.’ After a few days, Edmund O’Reilly, the sheriff’s father, ordered Bedell to dismiss his guests, who were about 200, chiefly old people, women and children. On his refusal those in the detached buildings were attacked at night and driven out almost naked into the cold and darkness. The bishop’s cattle were seized, but he had stored some grain in the house, and was still able in an irregular way to relieve many stray Protestants. On one occasion he sallied forth to rescue some of them, and two muskets were placed against his breast. He bade them fire, but they went away, and still for some time the palace walls were allowed to shelter those within. One of these was John Parker, afterwards Bishop of Elphin, who had fled from his living at Belturbet. ‘For the space of three weeks,’ says Parker, ‘we enjoyed a heaven upon earth, much of our time spent in prayer, reading God’s word, and in good conference; inasmuch as I have since oft professed my willingness to undergo (if my heart did not deceive me) another Irish stripping to enjoy a conversation with so learned and holy a man.’ Church service was regularly continued, but the investment of the house became closer, Bedell resolutely refusing to quit his post, although the Irish urged him to leave the country and promised all his company safe convoy to Dublin. His own children wished him to accept this offer, and it is probable that the Bishop himself and possible that his guests might have reached the capital in safety, but the experience of others had not been encouraging. Some prisoners having been taken by the Scottish garrisons at Keilagh and Croghan, and Eugene Swiney, the rival Bishop of Kilmore, pressing for restoration to his palace, Bedell and his family were at last expelled. ‘I arrest you,’ said Edmund O’Reilly, laying his hand on the Bishop’s shoulder, ‘in the King’s name.’ Having first arranged that the Church plate provided by himself should be handed over to the other Bishop, Bedell was conveyed to a castle upon an island in Lough Oughter. He was allowed to take his money with him, and his two sons with their wives accompanied him. They were well treated on the whole, but the castle had neither glass nor shutters to the windows, and they spent a cold Christmas. Some of the prisoners were in irons, and Bedell earnestly desired to share their fate, but this was refused. The party were dependent on the Irish for news, and at first they heard much of the disaster at Julianstown and of the certain fall of Drogheda. But an English prisoner who knew Irish listened one night through a chink in the floor, and heard a soldier fresh from Drogheda tell the guard that the siege was raised. ‘The bullets,’ he said, ‘poured down as thick from the walls as if one should take a fire-pan full of coals and pour them down upon the hearth, which he acted before them, sitting altogether at the fire. And for his own part he said he would be hanged before he would go forth again upon such a piece of service.’ At last Bedell and his sons were exchanged for some of those in the hands of the Scots, and released from the castle. The Bishop’s remaining days were spent in the houses of Dennis Sheridan, a clergyman ordained and beneficed by him, whose vicarage was near at hand. Sheridan, though a Protestant, was a Celt, and respect for his clan secured him a certain toleration. He was instrumental in saving some of Bedell’s books, among them a Hebrew Bible, now at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and the Irish version of the Old Testament which had cost so much trouble, and which was not destined to be printed for yet another generation. Most of the books and manuscripts were taken away first by friars and afterwards by English soldiers, who sold them. ‘Certain of the Bishop’s sermons,’ says his son, ‘were preached in Dublin, and heard there by some of his near relations, that had formerly heard them from his own mouth: some even of the episcopal order were not innocent in this case.’

Bedell’s death, Feb. 9, 1641-2.

Respect shown him by the Irish.

Bedell remained for some weeks with Sheridan, preaching often and praying with those that were left to him. The house was crowded with fugitives, and typhus fever broke out among them. Old and enfeebled by his imprisonment, the Bishop insisted on ministering to the sick, and was at last struck down himself. Philip MacMulmore O’Reilly came to see him, offering money and necessaries, and cursing those who had contrived the rebellion. Bedell, though very weak, rose from his chair to thank him, ‘desiring God to requite him for the same and to restore peace to the nation; though hardly able to stand, he yet beyond expectation thus expressed himself without any faltering in his speech, which he had not done for a great while before.’ The effort exhausted him, and he spoke but little afterwards, answering, ‘Well’ to those who asked him how he did and saying ‘Amen’ to their prayers. His last words were, ‘Be of good cheer; whether we live or die we are the Lord’s.’ Bishop Swiney made some difficulty about burying his rival in Kilmore churchyard, but was overruled by the O’Reillys. Many Irish attended the funeral, and some of the Sheridans bore the coffin; Edmund O’Reilly and his son the sheriff, with other gentlemen brought a party of musketeers and a drum, which was beaten as at a soldier’s burial. ‘The sheriff told the Bishop’s sons they might use what prayers or what form of burial they pleased; none should interrupt them. And when all was done, he commanded the musketeers to give a volley of shot, and so the company departed.’ Another account says that some priests present ejaculated, ‘Requiescat in pace ultimus Anglorum,’ and that one of them, Edmund Ferrely, added a fervent prayer that his own soul might accompany the Protestant bishop’s—‘O sit anima mea cum Bedello.’ The general goodwill extended to those about him, and none of his family or immediate friends appear to have been personally molested.[297]

The English defeated at Julianstown, Nov. 29, 1641.

Importance of this affair.

Good officers were scarce, but six hundred raw recruits were sent under Major Roper, who was a young man, to reinforce Tichborne, and Sir Patrick Wemyss accompanied them with fifty horse of Ormonde’s troop. They might easily have reached Drogheda early on the morrow, but the new levies were mutinous, and refused to go further than Swords on the first day or than Balrothery on the second. At seven on the morning of November 29 they were at Lord Gormanston’s gate, and Roper went in to see him. He was informed that the Irish had crossed the Boyne to intercept him, and that he had better be careful. Roper did not even warn his officers, but marched on with little precaution. He crossed the Nanny river by Julianstown bridge in a thick fog, and was there attacked by a greatly superior force under Philip MacHugh O’Reilly, Hugh O’Byrne, and O’More. Roper’s men were better armed, but scarcely knew how to use their weapons. The fog made their assailants seem stronger than they really were, and the foot yielded to panic and broke almost without striking a blow. Wemyss easily reached Drogheda, and Roper with two captains and a hundred men followed him; but all, or nearly all, the rest were killed, and the Irish, who did not lose a man, were at once supplied with arms. ‘The men,’ says Ormonde, ‘were unexercised, but had as many arms, I think, within a few, as all the rebels in the kingdom, and were as well trained as they.’ But among the insurgents were plenty of Strafford’s disbanded soldiers, who knew how to use muskets, and Protestant prisoners in Ulster remarked how much the Julianstown affair added to the confidence of the Irish.[298]

Belfast and Carrickfergus saved.

The Irish defeated at Lisburn.

Lord Conway’s library burned.

Carrickfergus was the ancient seat of English power in Ulster, and thither the Protestants of Down and Antrim fled in great numbers. The rising settlement of Belfast was near being abandoned, but Captain Robert Lawson heard of the outbreak at Newry, gave up his journey to Dublin, and hurried back to the Lagan. Lord Chichester was actually on board ship, but Lawson bought a drum and perambulated the town, seized all the arms he could find, and soon got nearly 200 men together. Before Sir Phelim O’Neill could hope to attack Carrickfergus it was necessary to take both Belfast and Lisburn, and the latter place was attacked by Sir Con Magennis with several thousand men the day before the disaster at Julianstown. The Ulster Irish had by this time collected a good many arms, including two field pieces, and they had taken plenty of powder at Newry. The garrison consisted only of Lord Conway’s troop and of a few newly raised men, but they were skilfully commanded by Sir Arthur Tyringham, the late governor of Newry, and Sir George Rawdon, whom all trusted, arrived from Scotland on the evening before the town was attacked. Taking advantage of the ground, Tyringham held the streets all day, his cavalry slaughtering the assailants in great numbers. There had been snow the day before, followed by a thaw, and then by frost, so that the ground was covered with ice. ‘All the smiths,’ says one of the besieged, ‘had been employed that whole night to frost our horses, so that they stood firm when the brogues slipped and fell down under their feet.’ Communication with Belfast was kept up, and Chichester sent many horse-loads of powder in bags, so that the ammunition held out. At nightfall the Irish set fire to the town, which was entirely consumed, and a confused fight went on till near midnight. After the fire began Chichester’s troop of horse arrived with a company of foot, and the assailants were finally discomfited. ‘Every corner was filled with carcases, and the slain were found to be more than thrice the number of those that fought against them.’ The field pieces appear to have been thrown into the river. Next day the retreating Irish burned Rawdon’s house at Brookhill containing Lord Conway’s library, and property worth five or six thousand pounds, but they never gained military possession of the Belfast district, though many Protestants were driven out of the open country.[299]

The gentry of the Pale combine with the Irish.

Speech of O’More.

There have been many occasions in Irish history when the Government has lacked power either to put down its enemies or to protect its friends. The gentry of the Pale would hardly have joined the rebels on account of such an affair as Julianstown, but they had grievances, and the Irish managers pressed them both with arguments and threats. As governor of Meath, Lord Gormanston called upon the sheriff to summon a county meeting, which was held upon Crofty Hill, about three miles to the south of Drogheda. It had been previously arranged that a deputation from the Ulster Irish should appear there, and in due time O’More with Philip MacHugh O’Reilly, Hugh O’Byrne and others rode up ‘in the head of a guard of musketeers, whom the defeat at the bridge of Julianstown had furnished with arms of that kind.’ Gormanston, who was supported by the Earl of Fingall and five other peers, acted as spokesman and asked the newcomers why they came armed into the Pale. In a prepared speech O’More answered that they had been goaded into action by penal laws which excluded them from the public service, and from educational advantages. ‘There can,’ he said, ‘be no greater mark of servitude than that our children cannot come to speak Latin without renouncing their spiritual dependence on the Roman Church, nor ourselves be preferred to any advantageous employment, without forfeiting our souls.’ The Lords Justices, he added, had refused parliamentary redress, lest they should be prevented from extirpating Catholicism with the help of a Scotch army. To crown all, they had branded the Ulster chiefs as rebels, whereas one of their greatest motives had been to vindicate the royal prerogative from encroachment ‘by the malignant party of the Parliament of England.’ In conclusion, he called upon the gentry of the Pale to join the party whose interest and sufferings were the same as their own. When the applause subsided, Gormanston asked the Ulstermen whether their loyalty was genuine. The answer was of course affirmative, and he then invited those around him to make common cause with the Irish. ‘And thus,’ philosophises Bellings, ‘distrust, aversion, force, and fear united the two parties which since the conquest had at all times been most opposite, and it being first publicly declared that they would repute all such enemies as did not assist them in their ways, they appointed a second meeting of the country at the hill of Tara.’[300]

Meeting at Tara, Dec. 7, 1641.

The lords of the Pale refuse to go to Dublin.

Sir Phelim O’Neill’s manœuvres.

The die was now cast, and a summons from the Lords Justices calling the chief men of the Pale to a conference at Dublin came too late. The meeting at Tara took place on December 7, and an answer was then returned signed by seven peers to the effect that they were afraid to put themselves into the power of the Government, and thought it safer to stand on their guard. They had, they said, been informed that Sir Charles Coote had spoken words at the Council table, ‘tending to a purpose and resolution to execute upon those of our religion a general massacre.’ The Lords Justices answered that they had never heard Coote say anything of the kind, and that anyone who made any such suggestion should be severely punished; and they again summoned the lords of the Pale to be at Dublin on the 17th. Ormonde personally gave his word of honour that they should return safely, and urged them not to lose this last opportunity of showing their loyalty. But they had gone too far to draw back, their tenants and dependents had gone still further, and Sir Phelim O’Neill persuaded them, as they were ready to believe, that he had great resources. He arranged a sham powder factory, and so acted his part as to make them think he could turn out an unlimited supply. The story reads like fiction, but Bellings records it in sober earnest, and he must have known. O’Neill had no military experience or capacity, but his confidence imposed upon the hesitating men of the Pale, who not only gave him chief command in the attack on Drogheda, but also a sort of commission as governor of Meath.[301]

The despoiled Protestants flock into Drogheda.

Wretched state of the refugees.

Sir Faithful Fortescue leaves Drogheda in the lurch. Lord Moore.

Tichborne reaches Drogheda, Nov. 4.

Lord Moore heard of the Ulster rising on October 23, and of his sister Lady Blaney’s imprisonment. He was then at home at Mellifont, but came into Drogheda at midnight and roused the mayor and aldermen, who cursed the rebels ‘foully,’ but were very slow to make any preparations for resistance. Not forty men answered the call to arms, and they were armed with pitchforks and fowling pieces. On the 26th he brought in his wife and family and his own troop of horse. There were two half standing companies under Netterville and Rockley, but the former’s loyalty was suspected, and the men could scarcely be trusted. Moore posted to Dublin, but could only obtain a commission for Captain Seafowl Gibson to raise a company. Gibson brought down arms and ammunition and got a hundred Protestant recruits in two hours. Some of these watched for ten nights running. In the meantime the Irish had taken Dundalk and were plundering all Protestants not five miles from Drogheda. ‘Miserable spectacles of wealthy men and women,’ says Bernard, ‘utterly spoiled and undone, nay, stripped stark naked, with doleful cries, came flocking in to us by multitudes, upon whom our bowels could not but yearn.’ The majority of the townsmen only smiled, but took care to ring alarm bells when the Protestants were at church. Sir Faithful Fortescue, who was married to Lord Moore’s sister, had been lately appointed governor of the town, and he also went to Dublin for help. Finding none, he resigned his commission in disgust and went to England. ‘By his disheartening letters,’ says Bernard, ‘he gave us over, being willing to hazard his life for us, yet loth to lose his reputation also.’ Moore assumed the command, but he had only about 300 men including Gibson’s recruits, and the Roman Catholic population was all but openly hostile. Bernard summoned all the Protestants privately man by man to meet in the church, and the whole congregation solemnly vowed that if God would defend them they would endeavour to serve Him better in future. Three days later there was a solemn fast. Half of Moore’s troop patrolled the streets every night, while the other half scoured the country, to guard against surprise and to collect cows and other provisions for the garrison. Two hundred of the enemy were killed during these raids and eighty brought in alive. ‘Such was our mercy,’ says Bernard, ‘we only hanged six,’ the remaining prisoners being so well fed by the townsmen that they did not care to escape. A well-written copy of Sir Phelim O’Neill’s proclamation was picked up in the streets, and a general rising of the inhabitants was feared. Then came news that the Scots had retaken Newry. The report proved false, but it strengthened Moore’s hands, and Bernard was reminded of the trampling of horse heard by the Syrians before Samaria. Sir John Netterville fell foul of the acting governor, declaring that the Irish should not be called rebels, and he was suspected of having the guns stuffed so as to render them unserviceable. Many well-to-do Protestants escaped by sea, but Bernard refused to desert his poorer flock. He was also unwilling to part from Ussher’s library, which was in his charge, and which might easily have shared the fate of Lord Conway’s and the Bishop of Meath’s. On November 4 Sir Henry Tichborne appeared with his forces, and after that the townsmen could do nothing; but they showed their discontent by keeping him waiting from two o’clock in the afternoon until nine at night before they would provide him with quarters.[302]

Drogheda besieged, 1641-2.

A successful sally.

Provisions introduced by sea.

A night attack repulsed.

Sir Phelim gains the chief command.

Tichborne found that the Julianstown disaster had virtually decided the whole wavering population of the Pale. He saw that he would have to maintain himself for some time without much help, and that food would soon be scarce. He strengthened the fortifications of the Millmount on the southern bank of the Boyne, and mounted four guns there. The rebels had destroyed most of the provisions in the neighbourhood, but there was still a quantity of unthreshed wheat at Greenhills, near the eastern or St. Lawrence’s gate on the south side of the Boyne. On December 3 he sent a body of cavalry round by a gate further to the north, and leaving other men under arms in the town, he himself marched straight to his point. The advanced guard was driven in panic-stricken, and for a moment it seemed as if there would be another Julianstown. But Tichborne managed to rally his men, dismounting to show that he would share their fate, and shouting, ‘They run!’ while the first volleys hid the field. ‘It appeared somewhat otherwise,’ says Tichborne, ‘upon the clearing up of the smoke,’ but his courage inspired his followers and they gained a complete victory, pursuing the enemy for nearly a mile. Of the besiegers two hundred were killed, while Tichborne had only four men wounded. After this success the garrison were always ready to fight, while the besiegers were always beaten in the open field. An attempt to carry the town by assault during the long night of December 20 failed, and several successful sallies were made during the following three weeks. Tichborne sent a pinnace to Dublin for help. At first no one could be got to steer her, but he placed some of the aldermen on board in situations exposed to the fire of the besiegers. The result was that pilots were quickly found. In answer to this appeal six vessels were sent with provisions and ammunition for the garrison, and on January 11 they came from Skerries to the Boyne in one tide. Clumsy efforts had been made to block the channel with a chain and with a sunken ship, but the bar was nevertheless passed and the stores safely landed. The garrison, who had been half-starved, feasted that night, and the officers, though specially cautioned, could not keep as strict discipline as usual. Tichborne was writing despatches all night, and about four in the morning he heard a muttering noise which differed from the sounds caused by wind and rain. He ran out with his pistols and found that five hundred of the enemy had entered an orchard between St. James’s Gate and the right bank of the river. A weak spot in the wall had been opened with pickaxes, and the Irish had crept in two or three at a time. Tichborne turned out the nearest guard, bade them fire across the river, and ran towards the bridge, where he found his own company under arms. Leaving these trusty men to maintain the passage, he ran to the main guard, where he found a good deal of confusion, but many followed him, and he regained the bridge just in time to reinforce those who were holding it against great odds. Tichborne’s horse was led out by a groom, but broke away from him and galloped madly about the paved streets. Believing that cavalry would soon be upon them, the assailants broke. Nearly half escaped by the gate at which they had entered; the rest were killed or hidden by friendly townsmen. The whole attack had been planned by a friar, and shots were fired at Tichborne’s men out of a convent, but the assailants were so badly led that they never thought of seizing St. James’s Gate, though they might easily have done so from the inside. A strong body was drawn up outside, expecting to be let in. A bagpiper was among those who had been taken, and some officers made him play while they opened the gate. Those who entered were at once overpowered. The result of this failure was to show the lords of the Pale that divided counsels were dangerous, and they gave Sir Phelim O’Neill command over all the forces about Drogheda.[303]

Tichborne at Drogheda.

Mellifont destroyed.

‘After Tichborne’s arrival,’ says Bernard, ‘we took heart to call the enemy rebels instead of “discontented gentlemen.”’ The garrison consisted of 1500 foot and 160 horse, so that the malcontents within the walls were afraid. One Stanley, a town councillor, who had been an officer in the enemy’s army, came in on protection accompanied by the sheriff of Louth, who was a member of Parliament. These two advised Moore to go to Mellifont, reminding him that his father had lived there safely all through Tyrone’s rebellion, and suggesting that he might be general if he pleased. Moore knew better, and being now released from the cares of command, went in the middle of November to Dublin, where Parliament was about to meet. He offered to raise six hundred men, and to pay and clothe them himself until money came from England, provided he should be their colonel, with the addition of about four hundred men at Drogheda, who were not part of Tichborne’s own regiment. As soon as the Irish heard of this offer they destroyed Mellifont. The garrison of twenty-four musketeers with fifteen horsemen and some servants refused Macmahon’s first offer of quarter, and were overwhelmed by numbers after their powder was spent. The mounted men escaped to Drogheda, but all the others were killed. The women were stripped stark naked. The scum of the country were allowed to plunder at will, and they carried away the doors and windows and smashed all the glass and crockery. The chapel was selected as a proper place to consume the contents of the cellar, the bell was broken, and a large Bible thrown into the millpond. Finding some tulips and other bulbs, they ate them with butter, but this food disagreed with them, and they cursed the heretics as poisoners.[304]

Drogheda was not closely invested.

Narrow escape of Sir Phelim,

who retires from Drogheda.

Ormonde relieves the town, March 11.

During the first three weeks of February several successful sallies were made by the garrison. They were, however, at one time reduced to small rations of herrings, malt, and rye, and it seemed doubtful whether they could hold out. Many horses died for lack of provender. At four o’clock on the morning of Sunday, February 21, Sir Phelim attempted an escalade at a quiet spot near St. Lawrence’s Gate, but the sentries were on the alert, and the assailants fled, leaving thirteen ladders behind them. On the 27th there was another sally, and three hundred of the Irish were killed on the fatal field of Julianstown. On March 1 Tichborne sent out four companies of foot and a troop of horse to forage on the south side of the Boyne. There was some resistance, and in the afternoon the governor went out himself. The Irish advanced from the little village of Stameen, but fled at the approach of horse. The redoubtable Sir Phelim only escaped capture by crouching like a hare in a furze-bush, and the Meath side was thenceforth safe. ‘The noise of vast preparations for besieging the town,’ says Bellings, ‘which at first was frightful, grew contemptible.’ Food supplies were now secure, and Tichborne assumed the offensive more boldly than before. On March 5 Lord Moore led out five hundred men to Tullyallen, near Mellifont, Tichborne following him with a reserve force. Moore engaged the Irish and defeated them with a loss of four hundred men and many officers. Among the prisoners was Art Roe Macmahon, for whose head a reward of 400l. had been promised by Government. The soldiers were going to cut it off when he cried out that Lady Blaney and her children should be saved if his life was spared. Macmahon kept his word, though the result was long doubtful. After this disaster the rebels abandoned their headquarters at Bewley, and Sir Phelim was seen before Drogheda no more. On March 11 Ormonde arrived with 3000 foot and 500 horse, and the so-called siege came to an end. Plattin and Slane were soon in Tichborne’s hands. The Irish army had at one time numbered at least 16,000, but they had neither the skill nor the means for reducing a strong place.[305]

Fire and sword in the Pale.

Ormonde hampered by the Lords Justices.

Ormonde had orders from the Irish Government, who would have preferred to send Sir Simon Harcourt, to ‘prosecute with fire and sword all rebels and traitors, and their adherents and abettors in the counties of Dublin and Meath,’ and to destroy their houses. He was not to go beyond the Boyne, not to do any mischief within five miles of Dublin, and not to be absent more than eight days. He carried out these orders, and reached Drogheda without opposition, after devastating a great part of Meath. There, after consultation with Harcourt, Sir Thomas Lucas, Sir Robert Farrar, Tichborne, and Moore, he asked to be allowed more time and to have leave to advance as far as Newry. This was peremptorily refused, and Temple wrote privately to say that the proposal was ‘absolutely disliked’ by all the Council, and ‘more sharply resented by some.’ The question of proclaiming the lords of the Pale traitors had been referred to England, and Ormonde suggested that it might be well to wait for an answer before burning their houses. He was told that it was no business of his, and that he was to burn. He did so, merely remarking that he had never supposed there was ‘any difference between a rebel lord and a rebel commoner.’ Tichborne had certain information that an attack on Dundalk was feasible, and Ormonde was allowed to give him 500 men and one or two guns. A large force might have been provisioned from Drogheda, but as it turned out Tichborne was strong enough to do the work. Newry fell to the share of the Scots.[306]

Tichborne takes Ardee and Dundalk.

English prisoners released.

Harsh warfare.

On March 21 Tichborne marched with 1200 foot, four troops of horse, and provisions for two days to Ardee, where on the 23rd he found more than 2000 Irish pretty strongly posted on the right bank of the Dee. He drove them over the bridge into the town, with a loss of 600 men, turned their position by fording the river with his horse, and pursued them with further slaughter far into the open country. After consulting Lord Moore and the other officers Tichborne then decided to make a dash at Dundalk, before which he arrived about nine in the morning of April 26. Sir Phelim showed himself with his horse, but made no fight until the English came up to the first gate, which they forced open under a heavy fire. The suburbs were then occupied, but a castle annoyed them there, an officer and some men were killed, and many wished to retire. But the wind was in their favour, and Tichborne ordered some houses to be fired, and came up to the gate of the inner town under cover of the smoke. The Irish in the castle were driven out by heaping fuel against the door, and from the walls Tichborne’s musketeers could fire right into the market place. Sir Phelim and his men then began to pour out at the north gate over the bridge, and the whole town was soon in English hands. Dean Bernard, who was present, remarks on the amount of plunder which the Irish had collected in Dundalk. The victors found plentiful dinners ready dressed in many cases, and consumed 4000 turkeys and other fowls in a week. A hundred and twenty Protestants had been imprisoned by O’Neill under threat that they would be killed if the town were in danger. There had been no time to hurt them, if, indeed, that was intended, and they were released. Ardee and Dundalk were both plundered by their captors, the former in a tumultuary way, and the latter more systematically. ‘The number of the slain,’ says Tichborne, ‘I looked not after, but there was little mercy shown in those times.’[307]