If we except those bands of Rapparees that traversed the country at large, and levied on it in the name of the king, or for their own support, the Jacobite force, according to the highest estimate, was now but 30,000 men. And taking into consideration the long sweep of coast from Dublin round by the south and west to Galway, and the defences of the Shannon from Lanesborough to Limerick, there could not have been then in garrison less than 10,000. This would leave him an available force for active service of about 20,000, and of these 6,000 were French, the only well-appointed infantry in the service; and about 9,000 Irish infantry, indifferently armed with muskets and short pikes; but the cavalry were a superb body, long inured to service under Hamilton, Berwick, and Sarsfield, and numbered about 5,000 men. When with these is taken into consideration a train of twelve field-pieces, lately brought over from France by the Duke de Lausun, the reader will have a reliable estimate of the force which King James now assembled to dispute the possession of the country with the Prince of Orange.
On the 16th of June King James arrived at Castletown-Bellew, near Dundalk, where part of his army occupied an advanced position under the command of M. Girardin, a French officer; and thither also the rest of his forces soon repaired from their winter-quarters at Drogheda. Here, drawn up on the heights, behind a river, with their right resting towards Dundalk and the lowlands, where Schomberg had passed the preceding winter, stretching before them to the north, they awaited the appearance of the enemy.
From the 16th to the 22d William was at Newry and James at Dundalk, each awaiting the arrival of his artillery. While the main armies stood thus, almost in sight of each other, several skirmishes occurred between the pickets thrown forward on both sides, in one of which Colonel Dempsey, with two companies of his own regiment, encountered 200 foot and 60 horse of the enemy, only six of whom escaped; but the gallant colonel himself received a wound of which he died a few days after. This incident raised the spirit of the troops to a high pitch, and made them eager for a battle; and the king himself, much elated by the event, determined to abide the enemy in his present position. But the Irish leaders were not so favorably impressed, either with the condition of the troops, or the position which they occupied, and endeavored to dissuade the king from risking a battle under such disadvantages. They again urged him to abandon the capital, and to fall back on the defences of the Shannon, where, by instituting a desultory system of warfare, he could keep William in check until the winter set in, when, by the promised assistance from France, they could render his campaign as inglorious as that of Schomberg had been in the last. Every argument that could favor such a course was urged, and all the circumstances by which he was surrounded seemed to point it out as the best that could be adopted. A fleet was fitting out in France, of which his earnest friend, M. de Seignelay, would have command; a few days more would see it afloat, and on its way to destroy the fleet and transports of William around the coast of Ireland: it would also bring arms and ammunition in abundance, and by winter a powerful and well-disciplined army would be ready to take the field. These and many other arguments were urged, but all in vain. The king would not relinquish the capital without striking a blow for it; he became all at once as bold and intrepid as he had hitherto been weak and temporizing; rejected their remonstrance, and determined to risk all on a single battle.
This he tells in his memoirs, written several years later, and it is but just that his reasons for disagreeing, which are not wanting in plausibility, should be placed beside those of the generals. He held that the loss of the capital would end whatever prestige his name had with the French king; that it would entirely alienate the Protestants of Ireland; that it would throw the provinces of Leinster and Munster completely open to William, while he would be confined to one province, the smallest and poorest in the kingdom; and that his final defeat, though it might be protracted for a time, would be eventually certain. But, whatever were the merits of the different views, is now but speculation;—the king remained persistent.
On the 23d, William's artillery having arrived, he moved forward. The same day King James retired to Ardee, where he was met by his train, and drew up in a strong position in the direct route between William and the capital. William, still advancing, crossed the mountains between Newry and Dundalk, and, observing the situation of the Irish army, divided his own into two bodies for the purpose of flanking it, or forcing it into the plain, where his great numerical superiority would render victory certain. Seeing this, King James continued gradually to fall back; on the 29th, he crossed the Boyne, at Drogheda, and, drawing up his army on the heights of Donore, overlooking that river, he there awaited the enemy.
CHAPTER IX.
THE BATTLE OF THE BOYNE.
The Boyne, which finds its head-waters near Carbery, in the County of Kildare, takes a meandering course towards the west and north, until it enters Meath, through which it flows in a north-easterly direction through Trim, Navan, Slane, and Drogheda, four miles below which it falls into the Irish Sea. At tide-water it is navigable to Navan, a distance of nineteen miles, for barges of fifty tons burden; but at low-water, from Navan to Slane, it is a shallow stream, brawling over a rocky bottom of a few yards in width; and from that to Old Bridge it is fordable by horse and foot at almost every rood of its length. Below Slane, its course is due east for nearly a mile, when, dipping abruptly towards the south, it takes a semicircular sweep of nearly three miles to Old Bridge, and the curve so formed embraces its memorable battle-ground. The northern bank, for nearly half a mile back, is high and firm down to the water's edge, while the opposite one is low and sedgy, and the ground behind it broken, back to the base of Donore, which is over a mile from its mid-current:—the chord of the arc indicated is nearly two miles, and the distance from Old Bridge to Slane, in a direct line, is somewhat under three.
On the evening of the 29th, when James crossed the river, the distance between his rear-guard and William's advance, was about eight miles, and on the morning of the 30th the latter appeared, and halted his army facing the concave bend of the river, behind a line of hills which partially concealed it from observation, while awaiting his artillery, which was still some miles in his rear.
With that promptitude which characterized all his movements since his arrival in the country, he immediately ordered an examination of the river from Old Bridge to Slane, and proceeded himself with a detachment of cavalry to reconnoitre the position of the royal army. While so engaged he was struck by a cannon-shot that grazed his shoulder and drew a little blood. This caused a report of his death to be spread throughout the camp, and created the greatest alarm among his followers; but, calling for a napkin, he stopped the blood, and, putting on another coat, passed through the ranks to restore the confidence of his soldiers, and then completed his reconnoissance.[24] Towards noon he moved his army forward to the river, when, his cannon having arrived, he established his batteries along the heights, ordered a heavy cannonade to be kept up against the Irish centre, and, retiring within his lines, summoned his generals to receive his plan of action.
It was the intention of William at first to cross the river at Slane during the advanced hours of the night, and falling on James by surprise, to strike his left, and turn it from the road to Dublin. The Duke of Schomberg, with characteristic caution, would have opposed this proposition, on the ground that though James's army appeared small from the English line of sight, he might have large reserves behind Donore. But the duke was again rebuked by the prince, and notified to retire, which he did, deeply mortified, and received his orders afterwards in his tent, with the querulous remark, that "they were the first that had ever been sent him!" Bating this, the utmost harmony pervaded the council of William, and confidence reigned supreme throughout his camp.