FOOTNOTES:

[163] Carew to Burghley, July 18 and Aug. 2, 1588; to Walsingham, July 18, Aug. 4 and Sept. 18; to Heneage, July 18 and Aug. 4, all in Carew.

[164] Examination of Emanuel Fremoso and Emanuel Francisco, Sept. 12, 1588; James Trant, sovereign of Dingle, to Sir Edward Denny, Sept. 11; Bingham to Burghley, Aug. 26; Ormonde to Mr. Comerford, Sept. 18. Recalde’s ship was burned by Drake at Corunna in April 1589; she had then sixty-eight pieces of brass cannon. See Duro’s Armada Invencible, ii. 446. ‘Cuando torne’ were Recalde’s words.

[165] Examination of Juan Antonio of Genoa, Sept. 15; Vice-President Norris to Walsingham, Sept. 8 and 9; William Herbert to Fitzwilliam, Feb. 1589; Peter Grant’s news under Feb. 28.

[166] Nicholas Kahane to the Mayor of Limerick, Sept. 12; George Woodloke to the Mayor of Waterford, Sept. 10; Boetius Clancy, sheriff of Clare, to Bingham, Sept. 6. Mr. James Frost, of Limerick, writes as follows:—‘One ship was driven upon the rocks at a place called Spanish Point (Rinn na Spainig) near Miltown Malbay.... The tradition is that the other ship was driven ashore at a place called Ballagh-a-line, not far from Lisdoonvarna. Boetius Clancy of Knockfime, a place one mile distant from the scene, was sheriff of Clare in that year. He ordered such of the crew as came alive on the shore to be hanged, and they were buried in one pit near the church of Killilagh. The place of execution has been long since called Knockacroghery (the hangman’s hill) and the tumulus of earth heaped over the dead Spaniards is called Tuaim na Spainig. In a few years afterwards, peace being restored between England and Spain, a request was made to the English Government for permission to exhume the body of the son of one of the first grandees of Spain, who had been on board the lost ship, in order to its removal home for burial. Consent was given, but the body having been placed with the rest in one grave, could not be found. Clancy was greatly blamed by all parties for his inhumanity.’

[167] Edwarde Whyte to Walsingham, Sept. 30; Ormonde to Comerford, Sept. 18.

[168] Edwarde Whyte to Walsingham, with discourse enclosed, Sept. 30; examination of Don Luis de Cordova, Oct. 1.

[169] Duro, i. 34, 44, 200, ii. 374, 440, ib. 66-70 for the names of the noble volunteers, among whom is ‘Manuel Paleologo,’ with two followers.—Froude, xii. 503.

[170] The most circumstantial account of De Leyva’s adventures, so far, is the deposition, taken on Dec. 29, of James Machary, a Tipperary man who was on board the ‘Santa Ana.’ Other particulars are in the ‘discourse’ sent by E. Whyte to Walsingham on Sept. 30. See also Fitzwilliam to Burghley, Oct. 27, with the enclosures; Duro, i. 171 Gerald Comerford to Bingham, Sept. 13.

[171] Bingham to the Queen, Dec. 3; Fitzwilliam, &c., to the Privy Council, Dec. 31; Duro, ii. 65; advertisement by Henry Duke, Oct. 26.

[172] Machary’s examination, Dec. 29, and that of George Venerey, a Cretan. Duro, ii. 66-70, 364. The gentleman-adventurers who sailed both on the ‘Rata’ and ‘Santa Ana’ were doubtless collected on board the ‘Gerona.’ Captain Merriman, writing to Fitzwilliam on Oct. 26, says 260 bodies were washed ashore, as well as certain wine, which was appropriated by Sorley Boy MacDonnell. A small cove close to the Giant’s Causeway is still called Port-na-Spania. There is a local tradition that the fallen pillars of basalt on the height were knocked down by the Spanish gunners, who mistook them for Dunluce Castle; but they were not thinking of bombarding castles just then.

[173] Cuellar’s narrative in Duro, ii. 342; Sir Geoffrey Fenton to Burghley, Oct. 28. The following is from Col. Wood Martin’s History of Sligo, 1882: ‘The largest of the galleons struck on a reef (from that circumstance called Carrig-na-Spania, or the Spaniard’s Rock) situated off the little island of Derninsh, parish of Ahamlish. On the map of the Sligo coast (A.D. 1609) is placed opposite to this island the following observation:—“Three Spanish ships here cast away in A.D. 1588.”’ The bodies lay on Streedagh strand, and cannon-balls and bones have been cast up there within the last few years.

[174] Duro, i. 123, ii. 343-347.

[175] Duro, ii. 347-350.

[176] Duro, ii. 350-358. The chief who sheltered Cuellar is called by him Manglana, and in the State Papers MacGlannagh or MacGlannahie. ‘The barony of Rossclogher in Leitrim,’ says O’Donovan, ‘was the territory of the family of Mag-Flannchadha, now anglicised MacClancy.’—Irish Topographical Poems, xxxvii. 268.

[177] Duro, ii. 358-360. Cuellar calls all the Irish—men and women, chiefs and kerne—by the same name, ‘salvajes.’

[178] The work quoted is La Armada Invencible, by Captain Cesareo Fernandez Duro of the Spanish navy, Madrid, 1885. For my first acquaintance with this book, which deserves translation, I am indebted to a charming article by Lord Ducie in the Nineteenth Century for September 1885. Neither Captain Duro nor Lord Ducie can explain the words ‘D. Reimundo Termi Obispo de Times,’ nor can I. The Irish word Termon may have something to do with it, but whatever ‘Termi’ and ‘Times’ may mean, ‘Reimundo’ is good enough Spanish for Redmond. A year later Bishop O’Gallagher is mentioned in a State paper as ‘Legate to the Pope and custos Armaghnen ... using all manner of spiritual jurisdiction throughout all Ulster ... these twenty-six years past and more.’ The Spanish captain’s prayer was heard till 1601, when the bishop was killed by the English not far from the place where Cuellar had kissed his hand. Brady’s Episcopal Succession, s.v. Four Masters, 1601. Note of Popish bishops, &c. by Miler Magrath, calendared at Dec. 17, 1590.

[179] From a careful comparison of accounts I venture to distribute the wrecks as follows:—

This makes twenty, and there were probably two or three more lost. The ‘Barca de Amburg’ (600 tons, 23 guns, 264 men) sank off the coast somewhere.

The numbers of men given in this note are from the Spanish official list (Duro, ii. 60), but we know that many were transferred from one vessel to another. See, besides the authorities already cited, Fenton’s note calendared at Sept. 19, 1588, and Bingham to the Queen, Dec. 3. Other ships mentioned in Spanish accounts as having been lost in Ireland are the galleon ‘San Juan Battista’ (750 tons, 24 guns, 243 men); the ‘Anunciada’ (703 tons, 24 guns, 275 men), and the transports, ‘Gran Grifon’ (650 tons, 38 guns, 286 men), and ‘Santiago’ (600 tons, 19 guns, 86 men).—Duro, ii. 328.

[180] Note by Fenton, Sept. 19; Bingham to Fitzwilliam, Sept. 21 and Oct. 10; to the Queen, Dec. 3; Norris to Walsingham, Sept. 8 and 9; advertisements from Henry Duke, Oct. 26; Fitzwilliam, Loftus, and Fenton to the Privy Council, Dec. 31.

[181] Lord Deputy and Council to the Privy Council, Oct. 12, with twenty enclosures; Fitzwilliam to Burghley, Oct. 27, with six enclosures; Solomon Farenan to Fitzwilliam, Feb. 18, 1589; Bingham to Fitzwilliam, Jan. 3, 1592; Fitzwilliam to Burghley, May 9, 1592.

[182] Duro, ii. 450 sqq.; examination of Don Alonso de Luzon, &c., Oct. 13, 1588; Fitzwilliam to Burghley, Dec. 31. Sir Horatio Pallavicino arranged with Walsingham for the ransoms; see his accounts, Dec. 1589, No. 85, and Oct. 31, 1591, also G. B. Guistiniano to Burghley, April 8, 1591. On March 14, 1594, Tyrone made it an article against Fitzwilliam that neither he nor the Hovendens had been rewarded for their service.

[183] Bingham to Fitzwilliam, Sept. 21, 1588; Sir W. Herbert to Walsingham, Dec. 27, 1588; Lord Deputy and Council to the Privy Council, Dec. 31 and Jan. 30, 1588-9; see also several letters in Carew from June 2 to Aug. 1, 1589. The most important relic that I know is a very handsome table preserved at Dromoland; it was washed ashore near Miltown Malbay, and tradition says that it was ‘in the admiral’s cabin;’ but Sidonia never went near the coast of Clare. Lord Inchiquin writes that a letter, supposed to be still extant, accompanied the table to Dromoland, but that he has been unable to find it. An iron chest washed ashore near the Giant’s Causeway is in Lord Antrim’s possession. The Macnamara family formerly possessed cups, a watch, crosses, &c., out of the Armada, brought from the Arran Islands, but these I have been unable to trace; guns have been recovered, but not many, and the rudder of a ship was cut into gateposts near Westport!

[184] For the poems see Duro, i. 237, and ii. 85; examination of Spaniards taken at Tralee, Sept. 9, 1588; Fitzwilliam to Burghley, Oct. 27, with enclosures; examination of James Machary, Dec. 29, &c.

[185] Fitzwilliam to Burghley, March 14, 1589, with enclosures; Drake and Norris to the Privy Council, May 7, printed in Barrow’s Life of Drake Smith’s Cork, i. 216.

[186] Notices in the Calendar of S. P. Scotland, especially Oct. 28, 1588.

[CHAPTER XLIII.]

ADMINISTRATION OF FITZWILLIAM, 1588-1594.

Ulster after the Armada.

Case of Sir John O’Gallagher.

When the danger was over, it was not unnatural that Fitzwilliam should wish to chastise those who had favoured the invaders, or at least to reduce them to submission. His enemies said he only wanted to convert some of the Spanish treasure to his own use; but it is clear that he got none of it, either for himself or for the Queen. On two miles of strand in Sligo ‘there lay,’ he says, ‘more wrecked timber in my opinion (having small skill or judgment therein) than would have built five of the greatest ships that ever I saw, besides mighty great boats, cables, and other cordage answerable thereunto, and some such masts, for bigness and length, as in mine own judgment I never saw any two could make the like.’ But there were no doubloons. The castles of Ballyshannon and Belleek were in possession of Tyrone’s father-in-law, Sir John MacToole O’Gallagher, who had formerly enjoyed a good service pension of 100l., of which he had been deprived by Perrott. He was now in close alliance with Ineen Duive, the mother of Hugh Roe O’Donnell, and it was dangerous to oppose her, for she murdered at this time another O’Gallagher whose independent bearing annoyed her. Neither O’Rourke nor any of the smaller chiefs who had befriended the Spaniards came to Fitzwilliam, and the cattle were driven off into the mountains. O’Donnell did come, and so did Sir John O’Gallagher and Sir John O’Dogherty. Fitzwilliam’s enemies said O’Gallagher came under safe conduct, but the annalists do not allege this. The Deputy himself says he persuaded him to come by courteous entreaty, and that O’Dogherty came of his own accord. He treated them as sureties for Perrott’s tribute, of which ‘not one beef had been paid,’ and carried them both prisoners to Dublin; but the 2,100 cows remained in Donegal. Whether word was broken with these chiefs or not, Fitzwilliam’s policy was certainly bad. How were O’Rourke and MacSwiney punished by imprisoning O’Gallagher or O’Dogherty? There could be no result except to make Irishmen very shy of the Viceroy. O’Dogherty remained in Dublin Castle for a year or more, and the deputy Remembrancer of the Exchequer said he was only released then because certain hogsheads of salmon were sent to the Lord Chancellor’s cellar. O’Gallagher remained six years in prison, Fitzwilliam saying he was too dangerous to liberate, and his critics maintaining that he only wanted to be bribed. The wretched chief, who was old and infirm, was released by Sir William Russell, but died soon after.[187]

O’Donnell politics.

Fitzwilliam, who went from Donegal to Strabane, made Donnell O’Donnell sheriff. He was O’Donnell’s eldest son by an Irish wife or mistress, and it was supposed that he would do good service against the Scotch party, who thirsted for his blood. It was hoped that Tyrone would help to get the promised rent from Tyrconnell, but he contented himself with entertaining the army sumptuously at Dungannon, and he afterwards made the treatment of Sir John O’Gallagher one of his principal grievances. The redoubtable Ineen soon afterwards burned down her husband’s house at Donegal, lest it should serve to shelter a garrison, and at the same time her son Hugh, who was a prisoner at Dublin Castle, was betrothed to the Earl’s daughter. The Lord Deputy’s journey to the North had no results of importance, but he could boast of not losing one man in seven weeks.[188]

The Desmond forfeitures.

Opposition to the undertakers.

In order to clear up some of the claims made upon the forfeited Desmond estates, it was thought wise to send over no less a person than Chief Justice Anderson. His law could not be gainsaid, and he was not likely to err on the side of leniency. The English lawyers joined in commission with him were Sir Robert Gardiner, Chief Justice of Ireland, Thomas Gent, Baron of the Exchequer in England, and Jesse Smythe, Chief Justice of Munster; and upon these four fell the principal part of the work. Of eighty-two claims only one was allowed, a conveyance from Desmond being produced in that case, of a date prior to his first treasonable act. In the absence of such proof, the Queen was held to be seised in fee of all the Earl’s estate. The materials exist for a detailed account of the Munster settlement, but they are more properly available for histories of Cork, Kerry, Limerick, and Waterford than for that of Ireland. One of the suitors aggrieved by the decision of the commissioners was Lord Roche, and his case is especially interesting because of its connection with Spenser. He made seven distinct claims, and on the first being dismissed, because he had ‘sinisterly seduced’ the witnesses, he refused to proceed with the others, and threatened to complain to the Queen, whereupon the commissioners sent him to gaol. The imprisonment was short, but he declared that one of the undertakers had shot an arrow at him, professed to be in fear of his life, and begged Ormonde to lend him some house on the Suir, where he might be safe for a time. In the meantime he managed to make the country very unsafe for some other people.

Spenser.

Spenser had Kilcolman and 4,000 acres allotted to him, but he complained that the area was really much less. Less or more, he was not allowed to dwell in peace, and his chief enemy was Lord Roche, who accused him of intruding on his lands, and using violence to his tenants, servants, and cattle. The poet retorted that the peer entertained traitors, imprisoned subjects, brought the law into contempt, and forbade all his people to have any dealings with Mr. Spenser and his tenants. An English settler named Keate asked Morris MacShane, one of Lord Roche’s men, why he had no fear of God; and it was sworn that he answered, ‘he feared not God, for he had no cause; but he feared his Lord, who had punished him before and would have his goods.’ Lord Roche was charged with many outrages, such as killing a bullock belonging to a smith who mended a settler’s plough, seizing the cows of another for renting land from the owner of this plough, and killing a fat beast belonging to a third, ‘because Mr. Spenser lay in his house one night as he came from the sessions at Limerick.’ Ultimately the poet’s estate was surveyed as 3,028 acres at a rent of 8l. 13s. 9d., which was doubled at Michaelmas 1594, making it about five farthings per acre. Spenser maintained himself at Kilcolman until 1598, when the undertakers were involved in general ruin. Troubles with Lord Roche continued to the end, and it may be doubted whether even the happy marriage which inspired his finest verses ever reconciled him to what he has himself described as—

My luckless lot
That banished had myself, like wight forlore,
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot.

Raleigh.

Fatal defects of the settlement.

Raleigh, whose society was one of Spenser’s few pleasures in Munster, settled a very large number of English families upon his great estate in Cork and Waterford. Passing afterwards into Boyle’s skilful hands, this settlement became of the greatest importance, but it was overrun like the rest in 1598. Ten years before the crash came, Raleigh could see that Thomas of Desmond and his son James were dangerous neighbours. Sir Richard Grenville and Fane Beecher had the whole barony of Kinalmeaky between them, and at the end of 1589 there were only six Englishmen there, upon land estimated at 24,000 acres. The hero of Flores had a very poor opinion of the prospect unless questions which proved insoluble could be speedily settled, and the English settlers found their position everywhere very disagreeable. Grenville and St. Leger planted a considerable number in the district immediately south of Cork, and Arthur Hyde did pretty well on the Blackwater; but, as a rule, the newcomers were greatly outnumbered by the natives. Nor can it be doubted that many returned to England when they found that Munster was not Eldorado. Irish tenants were easily got to replace them, and even to pay rents to the undertakers until it was possible to cut their throats. When the day of trial came, the remaining settlers were easily disposed of; they cried, and there was none to help them.[189]

The Clancarty heiress;

secretly married to Florence MacCarthy.

Among other devices for balancing the Desmond power in Munster, Elizabeth had made Donnell MacCarthy More Earl of Clancare, and Shane O’Neill had spoken very sarcastically of this attempt to turn a foolish chief into a ‘wise earl.’ His only legitimate son ran away to France, where he died, and all hereditary rights were then vested in his daughter Ellen, who became an important figure in the eyes of English and Irish fortune-hunters. It appears that Clancare sold his daughter to Sir Valentine Browne as a wife for his son Nicholas, Sir Thomas Norris having first given up the idea of wooing her. Sir Valentine was a mortgagee, for the earl had wasted his substance in riotous living, and in the hands of a family of undertakers and land-surveyors every claim of that sort would have its full value. In the eyes of the MacCarthies and of the heiress’s mother, who was a Desmond, the proposed match was a disparagement, and early in 1589 a private marriage was celebrated between Lady Ellen and Florence MacCarthy, who had probably come from London on purpose. Sir Nicholas Browne afterwards married a daughter of O’Sullivan Bere. The heiress does not seem to have been much consulted, and a marriage which began so romantically was not in the end even moderately happy. In 1599 she distrusted her husband, who called her ‘foolish and froward,’ and not long afterwards she was practically a spy upon his actions.

Mac Carthy politics.

Florence and Donnell MacCarthy.

Florence was Tanist of Carbery, which had passed to his uncle, and the result of his runaway match would be to unite the territories of MacCarthy Reagh and MacCarthy More in one hand. Now that the Desmonds were gone, a MacCarthy on this scale would be the strongest man in Munster. To break up these great estates was a fixed object with the English Government, and Florence was sent as prisoner to England, where he remained for several years. His wife escaped from Cork, hid for a long time among her people, and then joined her husband in London. The clans generally acknowledged him as MacCarthy More, but there was another claimant in the person of Clancare’s illegitimate son Donnell, who had many friends among the people, and who was probably his father’s favourite. A peaceable inhabitant was murdered by this spirited young man, whom he had ventured to reprove for his Irish extortions, and who supported himself and his band of followers by promiscuous robbery. ‘It is thought,’ said St. Leger, ‘that this detestable murder was committed by the Earl’s consent, for that the party murdered would not relieve him with money, to bear out his drunken charges at Dublin.’ Florence, on the contrary, was a scholar, and a man who, notwithstanding his gigantic stature, used his pen more readily than his sword. His accomplishments, and the very hard treatment he received, have made him interesting, but there was nothing heroic about him. He was an astute Irishman, and while English writers could rightly accuse him of treasonable practices, his rival Donnell, called him ‘a damned counterfeit Englishman, whose only study and practice was to deceive and betray all the Irish in Ireland.’[190]

Fitzwilliam and the MacMahons.

In June 1589 Sir Ross MacMahon, chief of Monaghan, died without heirs male. He held of the Queen by letters patent, and was regarded as MacMahon, and also as feudal grantee of the whole country, except the districts comprised in the modern barony of Farney, which had been granted to Walter, Earl of Essex. He was liable to a rent of 400 beeves and to certain services. His brother Hugh Roe at once claimed his inheritance. Fitzwilliam’s great object was to break up these principal chiefries into moderate estates, and he thought this a good opportunity. Brian MacHugh Oge also claimed to be MacMahon, but upon purely Celtic grounds, and very much upon the strength of 500 or 600 armed men whom he found means to pay. Fitzwilliam persuaded Hugh Roe that he had not much chance of success, and brought him to agree to a division, but his kinsmen refused, since each gentleman of the name claimed to be the MacMahon himself. Fitzwilliam then acknowledged Hugh Roe as chief, and sent him 400 foot and 40 horse. Brian MacHugh was in possession of Leck Hill and of the stone upon which MacMahons were inaugurated, and was supported by Tyrone and by Hugh Maguire, who had just become chief of Fermanagh upon the death of his father Cuconnaught. On the approach of the Queen’s troops he fled into O’Rourke’s country, and left Hugh Roe in possession. Returning a few days later with help from O’Rourke or Maguire, he drove his rival from Clones, and killed a few soldiers, but without coming into collision with the main body. Hugh Roe did, however, maintain himself, but soon showed that he had no intention of abandoning native customs. He rescued prisoners from the sheriff of Monaghan, drove cattle in Farney, burned houses, and behaved himself generally like a spirited Irish chieftain. These offences legally involved a forfeiture of his patent, and Fitzwilliam found means to arrest him. Tyrone looked upon the cattle-stealing merely as ‘distraining for his right according to custom,’ but Fitzwilliam saw another chance of effecting the much desired partition. The Queen was inclined to think that MacMahon had committed nothing more than ‘such march offences as are ever ordinarily committed in that realm,’ that great caution should be used in punishing a man who undoubtedly depended on the Crown, and that Brian MacHugh in particular was not to be preferred. In the end Hugh Roe was tried and executed at Monaghan. In 1591 the country, with the exception of Farney, was divided between six MacMahons and MacKenna, the chief of Trough. The rent reserved to the Queen was 7s. 6d. for every sixty acres. An ample demesne was assigned to each, and those holding land under them, at a rent of 12s. 6d. for every sixty acres, were called freeholders. A seneschal was appointed to represent the Crown. Brian MacHugh was established in Dartrey, and Ever MacCoolie in Cremorne. The church-lands, and only the church-lands, were leased to private speculators, but the settlement was not destined to remain unquestioned.

Charge of corruption.

Fitzwilliam has been accused of acting corruptly in this matter; but such charges were matters of course, and his own strong denial ought to prevail, since there is no evidence against him. ‘I did it,’ he said, ‘to the profit of her Majesty and good of this State, nothing regarding mine own private; I speak it in the presence of God, by whom I hope to be saved... if ever there were such a motion or meaning for me, or for any of mine, let God wipe us all out of his book.’[191]

Bingham in Connaught.

Jones Bishop of Meath.

Bingham had treated the Spaniards very severely, as well as those who harboured them. The consequence of allowing them to draw together on Irish soil would have been serious, and in Walsingham’s eyes at least he had done no more than his duty. But the chiefs who already hated him now hated him worse than ever, and when the danger was over plenty of Englishmen were ready to censure his proceedings. Among them was Thomas Jones, Bishop of Meath, and afterwards Archbishop of Dublin, a Lancashire man, who had been admitted to the Council at the same time as Bingham, in accordance with the Queen’s instructions to Sir John Perrott, and who had afterwards been sharply rebuked by her for proposing severe measures against recusants, and for openly and without notice blaming that Deputy’s remissness in the matter. He now gave out that Ustian MacDonnell, a noted leader of gallowglasses, had been unadvisedly executed by the Governor of Connaught. Bingham replied that the court-martial was quite regular, and the sentence just. He had, he said, ‘never a foot of land in the world as his own, nor yet anything else, and had always been the worst man in all these parts of his time.’ The chief charge against him was that of combining with the Devil’s Hook’s son and other Burkes to receive Alonso de Leyva when he was driven upon the Erris shore, and for preventing the country people from supplying the troops, while they readily gave their cattle to the Spaniards. The Bishop of Meath, with John Garvey, Bishop of Kilmore, a Kilkenny man, who was immediately afterwards translated to Armagh, the veteran Sir Nicholas White, Sir Robert Dillon, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and Sir Thomas Lestrange, were appointed commissioners for the pacification of Connaught. They may have let their hostility to Bingham be known, or—as was so often the case—their mere presence seemed to show that he was distrusted. The result was not satisfactory, for they found the Mayo Burkes in open rebellion, and they left them in no better case. White thought these people desired peace, and that it was prevented by a revengeful disposition in some of his colleagues to lay all the blame on Bingham.[192]

Murder of John Browne in Mayo.

John Browne, the founder of a great Connaught family, had been in the service of Sir Christopher Hatton, and was attached politically to Walsingham. He arrived in Ireland in 1583, and Sir Nicholas Maltby appears to have been his first patron there. His original project, in which he was associated with Robert Fowle and others, was to rebuild and people the deserted town of Athenry; but this proved impracticable, and at a hint from Walsingham, the adventurers took all Connaught for their province. Browne established himself at the Neale, near Ballinrobe, and prided himself on being the first Englishman who had settled in Mayo. When Bingham came into Maltby’s room, he recognised a congenial spirit, and in 1586 Browne was employed by him with much effect against the Burkes and Joyces. In 1589 he received a commission to harry the Burkes and all their maintainers with fire and sword, and a few days afterwards they killed him. Daniel Daly, sub-sheriff of Mayo, who was also employed by Bingham, was murdered at the same time.[193]

Bingham and the Mayo Burkes.

A rebellion.

The reason or pretext given for their rebellion by the chiefs of Western Connaught was that Bingham’s tyranny was intolerable. They declared that they had paid for protections which proved no protection, and for pardons which were not regarded, and that they never would be quiet until there was a radical change. It is always very hard to decide whether complaints such as these were really genuine and well-founded, or whether the mischief was mainly caused by the jealousy of chiefs who saw their authority disregarded, and their power of levying endless exactions curtailed. They spoke of liberty, but most Englishmen considered that they only wanted licence to oppress. Their power to give trouble was at least not doubtful. William Burke, called the Blind Abbot, was chief of the Lower Burkes, and aspired to be MacWilliam Iochtar. Another leader was Richard MacRickard, called the Devil’s Hook, or the Demon of the Reaping-hook. 400 of the Clandonnel gallowglasses joined the Burkes. Sir Morrogh ne Doe O’Flaherty dismantled his castles in Galway, ferried 600 men over Lough Corrib, and entered Mayo in company with his neighbours, the Joyces. The outbreak had been a long time hatching, and was violent in proportion. Sixteen villages were burned, and 3,000 cattle driven away. All who were not with the insurgents were held to be against them, and peaceable husbandmen had a bad time of it. One housewife was called upon to feed 100 men, and particularly observed that they gave her no thanks. In another poor dwelling six barrels of ale were drunk or spoiled, and the owner was threatened with personal violence. It was Lent, but a Spanish priest who was with O’Flaherty, gave them all absolution for eating flesh, and there was much feasting at other people’s expense. Sir Morrogh was fond of money, and a promise of 500l. was supposed to have reconciled him to the probable execution of his son, who was a hostage for his good behaviour. On the whole, the number of men in rebellion was thought not to fall short of 200, and they had some pieces of ordnance and stores taken from three ships of the Armada. There were about twenty Spaniards with them, who did not at all relish the conditions of Irish warfare.[194]

Royal Commission in Connaught.

Bishop Jones and his fellow-commissioners came to Athlone on April 11, about three months after the murder of Browne. The O’Flaherties had in the meantime been very thoroughly beaten by Lieutenant Francis Bingham and other officers, assisted by Gerald Comerford, the martial attorney-general for Connaught. They lost something like 200 men, while only one soldier fell. Bishop Garvey was sent first into Mayo, while Jones and his other colleagues went straight to Galway. Sir Murrogh refused to come into the town without a protection, and this the mayor refused to grant in opposition to Comerford, lest Bingham should take him nevertheless, and so destroy the credit of the corporation. Sir Richard was at little pains to hide his dislike of the whole inquiry. The Bishop of Meath laid down the principle—and with this at least it is impossible not to agree—that loyal men should keep their words, no matter how much rebels broke theirs. ‘What!’ said Bingham, ‘would you have us keep our words with those which have no conscience, but break their word daily? I am not of that opinion.’ Chief Justice Dillon’s reading of his commission was that he was to make peace; Sir Richard commanded the troops, and might fight if he pleased. Bingham said he would hold his hand until the commissioners had done their best, or worst, and he let them see that he had no belief in their doings. The Bishop of Kilmore succeeded in bringing the leaders of the Burkes to Galway; and the Blind Abbot, as soon as he came within sight, held out the commission which had been found on Browne’s person at the time of his murder, and declared he would send it to the Queen. The knowledge that this document existed, said another Burke, was the real cause of the crime.[195]

Bingham too strong for the commissioners,

who become ridiculous.

Bingham was at Galway during the visit of the commissioners, though he did not conceal his disgust, and he had a considerable force with him. He declared that soldiers were necessary for the safety of the commissioners, and perhaps they were; but their presence brought danger of another sort. In the town the governor had many enemies and the rebels many friends, and brawls took place between them and some of Bingham’s men, who were probably indignant at the treatment of a chief whom they trusted, and who habitually led them to victory. ‘Nay, sirs,’ said Sir Richard to two of the Burkes who were stating their grievances, ‘would you not be clean rid of a sheriff, or would you not have a MacWilliam established among you?’ The commissioners professed themselves unable to detect any such intention, but the event showed that Bingham was right. Sir Morrogh O’Flaherty and the Blind Abbot refused altogether to come into Bingham’s presence, and the commissioners agreed to meet them outside the town. The trysting-place was an abbey beyond the river, probably the dissolved friary of the Dominicans, and Bingham blamed the commissioners for trusting themselves in a place where violence was easy, while some of his followers illustrated this opinion in a very curious way. Two men, dressed like nuns, or at least like women with ‘mantles and caps,’ and a third in a black gown, which may have been intended to represent the garb of St. Dominic, passed through the church while the commissioners were in the choir. ‘Let us go and tarry no longer,’ said Jones, ‘for I see they do begin to mock us already,’ and accordingly they regained their boat and went back to the town. The masqueraders, who were joined by others, took their place in the choir and went through the farce of a parley. Afterwards they paraded the streets, ‘I am the Bishop of Meath,’ said one. Another said, ‘I am the Justice Dillon; reverence for the Queen’s Commissioners,’ and so on. In the end, after several abortive discussions, Jones and his colleagues left Galway without concluding peace. It is evident that Bingham’s discontented subjects distrusted each other quite as much as they did him. Sir Morrogh O’Flaherty was ready to make separate terms for himself, and the Burkes feared to promise anything, lest others should take advantage of them. Bingham’s hands were untied, and he proceeded to restore order in his own way.[196]

O’Connor Sligo’s case.

Bingham defeats his claim.

Sir Donnell O’Connor of Sligo had surrendered his possessions to the Queen and taken out a fresh grant with remainder to the heirs male of his father. The castle and Dominican friary were originally founded by the Kildare family, and the O’Connors were technically their constables; but attainders intervened, and the claim was too antiquated to weigh much with Elizabethan statesmen. Sir Donnell died about the beginning of 1588, and his nephew Donough claimed to succeed him. According to Bingham, both Donough and his father Cahil Oge were illegitimate, and he was anxious to have the castle of Sligo in safe hands, because it commanded the passage from Ulster into Connaught. Donough, who was attached to Leicester, declared that the governor’s real object was to get all for his brother George; but Bingham’s proposal was that the barony of Carbury, on account of its strategic importance, should be retained for the Queen, and that all O’Connor Sligo’s lands in the neighbouring districts should be regranted to Donough. A commission, consisting of the Bishop of Meath, Sir Robert Dillon, and others, was appointed by Perrott to inquire into the matter, and they decided in favour of Donough. Bingham declared that they were quite wrong, and that he gave up Sligo under compulsion, for fear of disobeying the Lord Deputy, and in plain defiance of the Queen’s real interest. After Perrott’s departure from Ireland a further inquiry into Donough’s title was made, the commissioners being Bingham himself, with Chief Justice Sir Robert Gardiner and Mr. Justice Walshe. The jurors were substantial men, but it was alleged that Bingham had taken one of them by the beard, and threatened to punish him as a traitor if he persisted in finding Donough legitimate. After five days a verdict was obtained for the Crown, and the Chief Justice particularly stated that the trial was impartial, that all O’Connor’s challenges were allowed, and that Bingham did not use a harsh word to any witness or juror. Sligo remained in safe hands during the time the Armada was on the coast. Walsingham wrote a stinging rebuke to Bishop Jones for his corrupt conduct in the matter, and for his malice to Bingham. ‘It was told me at what time you were in England that I should in the end find you a hypocrite. And what better reckoning can I make of you... this practice of yours, though not by Sir Richard Bingham, is sufficiently discovered already from Ireland, and the gentleman I doubt not will stand upright there, in despite of all your malice.’ Others accused Jones of acting entirely under Dillon’s guidance, and the latter of receiving bribes. William Nugent, the ex-rebel of the Pale, said that he received 100 cows for making a false record.[197]

Walsingham supports Bingham.

Bishop Jones was profuse in apologies both to Walsingham and Burghley; and, though Swift calls him a rascal, there is no proof that he acted corruptly in the matter, while it might not be safe to say as much of Sir Robert Dillon. On June 10, Fitzwilliam himself arrived at Galway, whence Bingham departed at his urgent request, and on the following day the Blind Abbot and Sir Murrogh ne Doe O’Flaherty made their submissions openly in the church of St. Nicholas, and remained on their knees for nearly three-quarters of an hour. The Lord Deputy received a statement of their grievances in writing, and lost no time in advising Burghley that he thought they would never trust their lives under Bingham’s government. A few days later, Sir Richard told Walsingham that Fitzwilliam only impoverished Connaught by the cost of his train, that he had done nothing in three weeks, and that the province was a prey to rebels whom he, the governor, was forbidden to chastise. Hostages had been given, Archbishop Garvey’s eldest son among them, for the chiefs lately received on submission—‘a couple of doating old fools,’ who were amply protected by the garrison. O’Rourke was the real head of the rebellion, and he was shielded by the spite of Jones and the corruption of Dillon. The Queen’s representatives, he added, had, in fact, sued for peace, and it was not worth having, for the other parties were beggars and wretches. The terms were that the chiefs should disperse their forces and go home, that they should surrender any foreigners among them, that they should make such reparation for their rebellion as the Lord Deputy should appoint, and that they should pay for all the harm they had done since the first appointment of the Commissioners.[198]

The attack on Bingham fails.

The O’Flaherties.

Fitzwilliam refused to let Bingham confront his accusers at Galway, lest the terror of his presence should silence them. The result was that their uncontradicted statements were sent over to England, and Walsingham’s wrath was hot within him. The unfairness of the procedure was evident, the reason for it much less so. ‘It may fall out, my Lord Deputy, to be your own case, for it is no new thing in that realm to have deputies accused.’ Considering Walsingham’s evident prejudice against him, Fitzwilliam suggested that the Queen should give him a successor. The trial of the case was removed to Dublin; and the Lord Deputy foretold that no Connaught chief would go there to accuse Bingham. If fear did not prevent such a journey, poverty would. And so it turned out. Much was proved against inferior officers, and there can be no doubt that the Governor of Connaught was apt to shield useful underlings under almost any circumstances. That he was guilty of extreme severity, and that he executed children who were retained as hostages, is probably true. But he managed the province well, and got a large revenue out of it. And it is certain that he had friends among the Irish as well as enemies. Among these was Roger O’Flaherty, grandfather of the author of Ogygia. This Roger owned the castle and lands of Moycullen, and had long complained of Sir Murrogh’s usurpations. It seems that he was satisfied, for he wrote strongly in the Governor’s favour, who also befriended him with the English Government. Sir Murrogh was an enterprising man, and never made the impossible attempt to prove his title to land. ‘Why, man,’ he told his own counsel, ‘I got it by the sword; what title should I say else?’ Bingham was an absolute ruler. Opposition he checked ruthlessly, and he cared little for constitutional forms. He took no pains to conciliate anyone, and was of course accused of provoking men to rebel. Nor did he care to disguise his opinion that many of the Irish ought to be rooted out. Perhaps the worst charge against him is that made by Fitzwilliam, who called him an atheist, ‘for that he careth not what he doeth, nor to say anything how untrue soever, so it may serve his turn.’[199]

Bingham and Bishop Jones.

Fitzwilliam and Jones acknowledged that William Burke, the Blind Abbot, was a fool, and on the whole the person who suffered most from the inquiry into Bingham’s conduct was the Bishop of Meath. Sir Richard said his lordship blamed intemperate language, while he himself exclaimed at cards, ‘God’s wounds! play the ten of hearts.’ He was so busy preparing a case against him that he found no time to preach once during the three weeks that he spent at Galway, though he would go to church in the morning to hear an exercise and again in the afternoon to hear a play. He was superseded in the Connaught commission, and Walsingham rebuked him for not attending to his own proper duties. The Bishop’s apology was almost abject, and he promised to give up temporal business. He had, he said, not neglected his own diocese, though thinking it unnecessary to preach in Dublin more than once a term. Fitzwilliam defended him, and he was employed again during Walsingham’s life, but not in business connected with Connaught. Loftus, whose wife’s sister he had married, considered him as one of his own family, and urged that the Papists had taken great advantage of the Bishop’s disgrace.[200]

Sir Brian O’Rourke.

The composition in Connaught had been favourable to the power of Sir Brian O’Rourke, the chief of Leitrim. Nominally, his jurisdiction over the people of his country was restrained; but so large a share of land was given to him absolutely that he found himself stronger than ever, and refused to acknowledge the Governor of Connaught, maintaining that he was under no man except the Lord Deputy himself. In the original scheme for shireing Leitrim made in 1583 a considerable part of Fermanagh was included, but the arrangement did not hold for the purposes of the composition agreed upon two years later. O’Rourke’s country, as then defined, is contained within the modern county of Leitrim. Its contents were roughly estimated at some 75,000 acres. Of this nominal area more than 8,000 acres were allowed to O’Rourke in demesne. Out of about 50,000 more he was permitted to receive a rent of 300l. a year, and the rest he was to hold by three knights’ fees. The smaller freeholders were required to pay ten shillings a year out of each quarter of 120 acres, and to supply eight horsemen and forty footmen on general hostings. Old MacMurry, one of these subordinate chiefs, wept with joy and blessed the good Queen. ‘We have,’ he said, ‘heretofore paid O’Rourke better than ten marks, or a quarter; and shall we indeed escape now for a trifle of twenty shillings!’ But O’Rourke refused to pay his rent to Bingham, and was friendly to the intruding Scots. After their overthrow at Ardnaree it was no longer possible to despise the Governor, but O’Rourke persuaded Perrott to remit part of what he owed, and it was not until after that Deputy’s departure that Bingham found himself really master. When the Spaniards came, Sir Brian did what he could to help them, and his rent was soon again in arrear. The King of Spain sent a friar with letters of thanks for his services to the Armada, and early in 1589 he was reported to be in open rebellion, and to be acting under the secret advice of Tyrone. His sons and brothers, with more than 400 men, swept the northern part of Sligo to the Moy, and drove off 3,000 cows and 1,000 mares. O’Rourke kept so many armed men among the bogs and hills of Leitrim that it was said he could not feed them without spoiling a neighbouring county.[201]

O’Rourke defies the Queen.

O’Rourke had struggled hard to prevent a sheriff from being established in his country, and it was natural that he should wish to retain his autonomy. But his unwillingness to obey any authority lay much deeper than any mere dislike to Sir Richard Bingham. About a month after the slaughter of the Scots at Ardnaree in 1586 the Serjeant-at-arms for Connaught saw a wooden figure of a woman set on wheels near MacClancy’s house on Lough Melvin. The bystanders told him it was meant for a hag who lived over the water, and who had denied a carpenter milk. This seems to have been the same effigy as that on which O’Rourke caused the words ‘Queen Elizabeth’ to be written, and upon which he showered abuse, while the gallowglasses hacked it with their axes. A halter was placed round the neck of the mutilated figure, and it was then dragged through the dirt by horses. This was an incident in the Christmas festivities which Sir Brian kept ‘according the Romish and Popish computation’—that is the Gregorian calendar—and he took the opportunity of announcing that her Majesty was ‘the mother and nurse of all heresies and heretics.’ Bingham did not hear of the matter until after his return from the Low Countries; but it was reported to Perrott, and his refusal to order O’Rourke’s arrest was brought against him at his trial.[202]

Fitzwilliam gives Bingham his way.

Sir Brian O’Rourke was lawfully married to Lady Mary Burke, and her only son Teig had a grant of the family estates in the next reign. But he had an elder son by the wife of John O’Crean, a merchant of Sligo, and it was to him that the chiefry was likely to fall. The work of chastising O’Rourke was entrusted by Bingham to Clanricarde, and it seems to have been a labour of love, either because the Earl resented wrongs done to his sister, or because he hated her former misdeeds, or because he felt that his nephew’s case had some resemblance to what his own had been. With thirty horsemen and some kerne of his own, and two regular companies, he set out from Elphin and marched to Ballinafad, where news came that O’Rourke was at his house near Lough Gill. Clanricarde asked Captain Mordaunt if his soldiers could go another fourteen miles the same night, and was told that they would do their best. The daylight overtook them at some distance from O’Rourke’s house, and they had to fight after their long night’s march. The O’Rourkes fell back into a bog, and Clanricarde insisted on following them with his horse. He was dismounted, and a spur torn from his heel. The bullets flew thickly about him, and Mordaunt’s men came up only just in time, his gallantry exciting the admiration of the English officers. O’Rourke was never able to make head again, but he probably fancied himself safe in his own country. When the Lord Deputy held sessions at Sligo a few months later, he refused to attend, on the ground that the Binghams had something to do with them. The result was that Fitzwilliam accepted Bingham’s policy as against O’Rourke, though he was always ready, and often with very good reason, to testify against the Governor’s harshness and against the tyranny of his brothers, cousins, and followers.[203]

Bingham subdues the Burkes.

While it was still uncertain whether Bingham or his enemies would get the upper hand, the Burkes continued in rebellion. They went about in bands of 500 or 600, openly celebrated the Mass, and robbed all who were not with them. The Blind Abbot was made MacWilliam, with all the ancient ceremonies, and in virtue of his office he proceeded to assault and capture a castle garrisoned by Attorney-General Comerford’s men. When Bingham had gained his cause in Dublin, it became evident that his policy must prevail; and a letter from the Queen herself, whom the creation of a MacWilliam touched in her tenderest point, probably decided Fitzwilliam’s course. He made arrangements to have a strong force at Galway, and went there himself, to make a last effort for peace. Sir Murrogh ne Doe came in, but failed to find acceptable pledges, and was lodged in gaol. The Burkes did not appear, and some thought their contumacy was caused by the wording of the proclamation, which gave safe conduct to come, but not to return. It may be remembered that no less a personage than Shane O’Neill had been detained in virtue of a quibble of this kind. At all events the time of grace was allowed to pass, and Bingham went to work in earnest. With about 1,000 men, of whom more than three-quarters were regular soldiers, he swept Tyrawley from end to end. Only once, in a defile of the Nephin range, did the rebels make a stand, and they burned their own villages without waiting to be attacked. The poor MacWilliam had cause to rue his blushing honours, for he had a foot cut off by one of Thomond’s soldiers, with a single blow of his sword. That Earl marched on foot through the mountains, and Clanricarde was also very active. The wounded chief lay for several days, without meat or drink, in an island in Lough Conn, and was afterwards drawn on a hurdle from place to place, to seek the alms of his clansmen. ‘It is not,’ said Bingham, ‘a halfpenny matter what becomes of him now.’ The Burkes all submitted, on Sir Richard’s own terms, and peace was concluded with them.[204]

O’Rourke is expelled,

surrendered by James VI.,

and hanged.

O’Rourke’s turn had now come. He may have supposed that his country was unassailable, but was quickly undeceived. Bingham had no doubt about being able to subdue him in ten days, but refused to move without written orders from the Lord Deputy, lest he might be disavowed afterwards. The order was given, and the Governor, who was suffering from dysentery, sent four divisions of soldiers into Leitrim under his brother George and Sir Henry Duke. Some malcontent O’Rourkes helped the English, and much damage was done. The mere presence of so large a force was enough to exhaust the district, and the subordinate chiefs were glad to make their peace, and perhaps glad to free themselves from O’Rourke, who fled to the MacSwineys in Donegal. Cuellar’s friend MacClancy was hunted down, and killed as he tried to swim to one of his islands. He had still fourteen Spaniards with him, and some of these were taken alive. O’Rourke remained during the rest of the year in Donegal, and then escaped to Scotland, but James gave him up to the English Government. In thanking her dear brother for this, Elizabeth wondered how his ‘subjects of Glasgow should doubt the stop of their traffic for so poor a caitiff, who was never of ability to make or give traffic.’ In London O’Rourke justified Sidney’s assertion as to his being the proudest man he had ever dealt with, for he demanded that the Queen herself should judge him. His refusal to surrender Spaniards after the proclamation was treason, and he was told the indictment was sufficient if he refused to plead. ‘If it must be so,’ he said, ‘let it be so,’ and he was accordingly condemned and hanged at Tyburn, with all the usual barbarities. He was attended on the scaffold by Miler Magrath, but refused his ministrations and upbraided the old Franciscan as an apostate. He had previously refused to bend the knee before the Council. ‘I have always thought,’ he said, ‘that a great distance separated you from God and the Saints, whose images alone I am accustomed to venerate.’[205]

Mutiny in Dublin.

Experience had shown the many evils of an ill-paid soldiery, but efforts at reform were not always wisely directed. New-comers and raw levies were sometimes better treated than the old garrison. Those whose services were yet to come got all the available money, while veterans, ‘who passed all the soldiers in Europe in the travel and hard diet they had endured,’ had to put up with scanty and irregular payments on account. Old soldiers saw their boys receive a shilling a day in punctual weekly payments while their own sevenpence was often in arrear. In May 1590, in the absence of their commander and without the knowledge of their officers, Sir Thomas Norris’s company of foot suddenly left Limerick, and appeared in Dublin with drums and fifes playing. At eight in the morning they assembled on the bridge at the Castle gate, and clamoured for their pay and allowances, many months in arrear. Fitzwilliam, whose passage was obstructed by them, at first thought of a whiff of grape-shot, but changed his mind, and sallied forth among the mutineers. Sir George Carew bore the sword before him. ‘Rather than let it go,’ said Archbishop Loftus, ‘your lordship may be sure he will do as the Mayor of London did.’ The services of a Walworth were not required, and, indeed, the poor soldiers seem to have had no evil intentions. They besought Fitzwilliam to be good to them, and only one man used some offensive expression. The Lord Deputy turned his horse upon him, calling him baggage and mutinous knave, and drew his blade when the man held up his piece in self-defence. Gentlemen and servants streamed out of the Castle and drew their swords, and Fitzwilliam cried out, ‘Disarm these villains!’ They made no resistance, but fell upon their knees, and sixty-one out of seventy-seven were imprisoned. Many of the arms were stolen in the confusion. Fitzwilliam soon pardoned the mutineers, and sent them back to Munster. ‘The choler,’ says Carew, ‘that his lordship was in was very exceeding abundant, yet so tempered that any man might discern that his valour did appear unspotted either with fear or cruelty, for he thrust himself into the midst of them all without respect of his person, and struck many with the flat of his rapier, yet hurt none saving one of them a little in the head, and holding the point of it at sundry of their breasts, forebore to thrust any of them into the body.’[206]

Tyrone and Tirlogh Luineach.

Tyrone hangs one of Shane O’Neill’s sons,

and aims at supremacy in Ulster.

The part of Tyrone lying north and west of the Mullaghcarne mountains had been retained by Tirlogh Luineach in 1585, when he agreed to take 1,000 marks a year for the rest. The lease was for seven years, but O’Neill had reserved and wished to exercise the power of taking back the territory in three, which expired at Michaelmas 1588. Fitzwilliam, who had a strong bias in the Earl’s favour, obtained the remaining four years for him, but on condition of paying 300 fat beeves a year in addition to the rent. The two chiefs continued nevertheless to quarrel, and it is curious to note how the English officials sided with Tyrone. The mere fact that he represented the settlement by patent was enough for many of them, and they did not see the danger of making him supreme in the North. Shane O’Neill’s sons were giving trouble, and the ghost seemed more terrible than the reality. Con MacShane had long been a prisoner with Tirlogh Luineach, but was now released and taken into his confidence. A brother, Hugh Gavelagh, who had been two years in Scotland, now returned to Ulster, and was supposed to have incurred Tyrone’s enmity by giving information to the Government. He had promised Perrott to bring over no Scots, and he kept his word; but it was known that he might have plenty if he wished, and his popularity in the North was very great. Hugh Gavelagh was seized by some of the Maguires, sold to Tyrone, and by him hanged on a thorn-tree, and it was reported all over Ireland that the Earl could find no executioner, and had to do the business himself. This he denied, giving the names of the actual operators, and defending his conduct strenuously. Hugh Gavelagh, he said, had murdered many men, women, and children, and there was no regular law in Ulster, ‘but certain customs ... and I hope her Majesty will consider that, as her Highness’s lieutenant under the Deputy (as I take myself within my own territory), I am bound to do justice upon thieves and murderers; otherwise, if I be restrained from such-like executions, and liberty left to O’Neill, O’Donnell, and others to use their ancient customs, then should I not be able to defend my country from their violence and wrongs.’ In this sentence we have the whole difficulty of Tudor rule in Ireland briefly expressed. The Government was not strong enough to enforce equal justice, and practically confessed its impotence by allowing authority to lapse into the hands of Tyrone and such as he. From Fitzwilliam downwards, nearly all the officials seemed to think that they could keep things quiet by strengthening a man who aimed at being O’Neill in the fullest sense of the word, but who was quite ready to play at being an earl when it suited him, and to remember his English education. Walsingham saw more clearly from a distance, and wished to make Tirlogh Luineach Earl of Omagh, with an estate of inheritance in his part of Tyrone, and with a superiority over O’Cahan for life. To his rival he was willing to give the rest, including a perpetual superiority over Maguire. But Tyrone was determined to have all, and the men immediately responsible for order found it convenient to support the younger, the abler, and, as it turned out, the more ambitious and dangerous man.[207]

Rival O’Neills.

The MacShanes.

In order to understand the history of Ulster during the last decade of Queen Elizabeth, it may be well to define the position of parties there just before Tyrone entered upon his last struggle. Besides the Earl himself, who was for a long time looked upon as the representative of English ideas, and who was probably not an O’Neill at all, there were three families who claimed to be at the head of the ruling race. Tirlogh Brasselagh, Shane O’Neill’s uncle, claimed to be the eldest of the house, and, according to ancient Celtic notions, he had perhaps the best right. His lands lay to the south of Lough Neagh, and he had many sons; but his party was, on the whole, the weakest. Tirlogh Luineach, the actual chief, represented the family of Art Oge, who had long been excluded from the supremacy, and he was thought to hold his position more by force and policy than by right. His eldest son, Sir Arthur, seems not to have been legitimate, but was fully acknowledged as his heir male both by Tyrone and by the Government: his influence was greatest in what are now the baronies of Strabane. The third set of pretenders were Shane O’Neill’s seven sons, known as the MacShanes. Their legitimacy is not worth discussing; but they were favourites with the Irish, and by them generally thought to have the best right. Hugh Gavelagh, Con, and Brian were at this time the most formidable. Tyrone says he made an agreement with Tirlogh Luineach that one of these three should always remain with him as hostage, that Hugh Gavelagh’s neck was specially pledged for its performance, and that the breach was the cause of his death. The other brothers were Henry, Arthur, Edmund, and Tirlogh. With a score or so of fighting O’Neills, all trying to be first, it is not surprising that Ulster was turbulent, or that its reduction by the strong hand was only a question of time.[208]

Rival O’Donnells.

The actual chief of Tyrconnell was Sir Hugh O’Donnell, the husband of Ineen Duive, whose own son, Hugh Roe, was in prison. Donnell, an elder and seemingly illegitimate son, by an Irish mother, was made sheriff by Fitzwilliam in 1588, and was a thorn in Ineen’s side. Calvagh’s son Con died in 1583, but he in turn left nine sons, of whom Nial Garv was the most formidable, and their claims under the patent could hardly be denied. A third set of pretenders were the descendants of Hugh Duff, who were of the eldest blood, and who appealed to Celtic law. But the favourite of the clansmen was young Hugh Roe. All the tribes of the North depended more or less upon O’Donnell and O’Neill, and the lesser chiefries were in dispute as much as the greater.[209]

Hugh Roe O’Donnell.

Kidnapped by Perrott, 1587.

There was a prophecy that Ireland should be delivered by the O’Donnells when Hugh succeeded lawfully to Hugh. Its fulfilment was expected in Henry VIII.’s time, and now again it was in men’s mouths. Perrott, who had small regard for such fancies, noticed the boy’s importance, and decided that he would be a good pledge. In the winter of 1587, he sent a ship laden with wine and manned by fifty armed men round to Lough Swilly, where the master, John Bermingham of Dublin, traded freely with the natives. Hugh Roe came to hunt in the neighbourhood, or to visit MacSwiney Fanad, near whose castle of Rathmullen the false merchantman lay. As soon as the strangers heard of his arrival they went on board and kept careful watch. In due course messengers came from MacSwiney, who wanted wine to entertain his distinguished guest. Bermingham answered that he had sold all he had to spare, but would be most happy to entertain MacSwiney and the gentlemen with him. They came on board accordingly, and when they had caroused for some time in the cabin, the seamen quietly got under way, shut down the hatches, and carried the whole party out to sea. Pursuit was impossible, for the natives had no boats; and Hugh Roe was lodged in Dublin Castle, where he found many companions in misfortune, and where prisoners ‘beguiled the time only by lamenting to each other their troubles, and listening to the cruel sentences passed on the high-born nobles of Ireland.’[210]

First escape of Hugh Roe O’Donnell, 1591.

Although not more than fifteen or sixteen years old, Hugh Roe was married to Tyrone’s daughter, and the whole North was thus interested in his safety. Perrott refused 2,000l. for his release, and he remained in prison until Fitzwilliam’s time. His brother Donnell, who married a daughter of Tirlogh Luineach, would have seized the chiefry, had he not been killed in resisting a force raised by Ineen Duive on behalf of her husband and son. Hugh’s fellow-prisoners were hostages from every part of Ireland: among them being Henry and Arthur, sons of Shane O’Neill, and Patrick Fitzmaurice, afterwards Lord of Kerry. The seneschal of Imokilly died in the Castle early in 1589. After more than three years’ confinement, Hugh Roe found means to escape with some of his friends. A wet ditch at that time surrounded the Castle, and the approach was over the wooden bridge, where the Lord Deputy had lately come into collision with the mutineers. The favour, almost amounting to subservience, which Fitzwilliam showed to Tyrone made people think that he was ready to connive at his son-in-law’s escape; but this is very hard to believe. ‘Upon my duty,’ he said when supporting one of the Earl’s numerous applications for Hugh’s release, ‘no reward maketh me write thus much.’ Friendly partisans were numerous in Dublin, and the soldiers who kept the gate always wanted money, and were often under female influences. A rope was conveyed into the Castle, and Hugh slipped on to the bridge in the dusk of evening. The sentry was for the moment inside the gatehouse, and the prisoners managed to chain the gate on the outside. Art Kavanagh, ‘a renowned warrior of Leinster,’ was near with swords hidden under his Irish mantle, and the whole party slipped out of the town, and across the mountains to a wood near Powerscourt. Hugh’s companions here left him, for his shoes had fallen to pieces with the wet, and his feet were lacerated by the furze. Felim O’Toole, the lord of the neighbouring castles, was appealed to; for he had lately visited Hugh in prison, and was supposed to be his friend, the rather that he had married the sister of Feagh MacHugh O’Byrne. Fearing to offend the Government, or believing that escape was hopeless, O’Toole decided to gain credit for loyalty, and he gave up the fugitive, who was taken back to Dublin and loaded with irons.[211]

Tyrone elopes with Mabel Bagenal,

which her brother resents.

A plot in private life may have great public consequences, as every generation can testify. The Helen of the Elizabethan wars was Mabel Bagenal, daughter of Sir Nicholas and sister of Sir Henry, whose charms were at least one principal cause of the Ulster revolt. Tyrone had been first married to a daughter of Sir Brian MacPhelim O’Neill, from whom, according to his own account, he was ‘divorced by the orders of the Church.’ As to the validity of this divorce there were certainly doubts at the time, but the repudiated wife married again and had children. Tyrone’s second venture was with an O’Donnell, and he talked of discarding her too, though possibly without intending to do it. She died, and he then fell in love with Miss Bagenal, whom he might see at Newry as often as he pleased. Bagenal would not consent to the match, and his objections had some weight: the possible opposition of the Queen, ‘the incivility of the Earl’s country not agreeing with his sister’s education, and the uncertainty of a jointure to be allotted for her maintenance after the Earl’s death,’ being those which seemed important to the Irish Government. Tyrone was a much more civilised being than Shane O’Neill, and Mabel Bagenal was more accustomed to Irish ways than Lady Frances Radclyffe; but Bagenal hated the proposed alliance as much as Sussex. ‘I can,’ he told Burghley, ‘but accurse myself and fortune that my blood, which in my father and myself hath often been spilled in repressing this rebellious race, should now be mingled with so traitorous a stock and kindred.’ To keep her out of harm’s way, he sent Mabel to her sister, who was married to Sir Patrick Barnewall, and who lived at Turvey near Swords; but Tyrone invited himself to the house for a night, obtained a secret promise of her hand, and presented her with a gold chain worth a hundred pounds. A few days after this he came to Turvey to dine with several friends, and after dinner the young lady slipped away on horseback behind one of them. ‘When I understood,’ he said, ‘that my prey (the language of cattle-lifting) was well forward in her way towards the place where we had agreed upon, I took my leave of Sir Patrick Barnewall and his lady, and followed after, and soon after I was gone, the gentlemen which were in company with me took their horses and came away privately.’[212]

Tyrone’s marriage, 1591.

Tyrone was fifty and Mabel twenty, which makes the romance rather less romantic, and Bagenal may have been right in saying that he did ‘by taking advantage of her years and ignorance of his barbarous estate and course of living, entice the unfortunate girl by nursing in her through the report of some corrupted persons an opinion of his haviour and greatness.’ At all events she probably liked the idea of being a countess. Tyrone’s intentions were so far honourable, in spite of Bagenal’s insinuations to the contrary, and the marriage was celebrated at William Warren’s house near Dublin, by no less a person than the Bishop of Meath, who declared that he was chiefly actuated by regard ‘for the gentlewoman’s credit.’ And, as Tyrone well knew, regard for Bishop Jones’s credit would prevent the marriage from being seriously questioned. But Bagenal’s hostility was unabated, and even in his sister’s presence Tyrone openly declared that he hated no man in the world so much as the Knight Marshal. There is no evidence that he ill-treated her, as Shane ill-treated his victim, but there is some that she was not altogether happy in the wild life which she had chosen, or with her crafty and unscrupulous mate. She died after less than five years of matrimony, and so did not live to see her brother killed in conflict with her husband.[213]