The battle-fields of Ireland, from 1688 to 1691

by active 1867 John Boyle

History has few parallels for the bravery and devotion of the gallant men who performed this act of self-immolation. Two hundred of them strewed the way from the breach to the bridge; but not a prisoner was taken, nor a color, to grace the enemy's triumph. This happened on the 20th of June. On the 22d a French lieutenant-colonel was found wounded and dying under the bridge; and, three days after, a pair of colors was found in the same place, under a heap of the slain, for which Ginckle gave the finder a reward of five guineas. Nor was it a defence without a purpose,—for valor is generally estimated by the end attained:—it saved the Irish town from the immediate grasp of the enemy, and was a fitting inauguration to a siege which, for heroic daring and unbending fortitude, has few examples in the history of warfare. They had done their work at the sacrifice of their lives; the siege was now about to be renewed between more equally matched forces; for, just as they had retired across the drawbridge, on the western side, St. Ruth's army appeared beyond the town, and he took speedy measures to stop the progress of the enemy.—Wauchop was placed in the command of the castle; d'Usson and de Tessé were installed as joint commandants of the town, and Fitzgerald retired to his former position in the army, as colonel of his few remaining veterans.

Ginckle having thus gained the English town, removed all his artillery within the walls, and a train of eleven guns and three mortars having arrived in the mean time, he spent all the succeeding night in the erection of batteries. By the next morning he had five of them in full play against the Irish town and its defences:—two above the bridge, two below it—and one of five twenty-four pounders and six mortars at the foot of the bridge over against the eastern wall of the citadel. He next sent orders to hasten up his pontoons, which were on their way from Mullingar, and, warned by the desperate resistance he had just met, he took his precautions accordingly, and sent a requisition to Dublin for additional reinforcements.

Nor was St. Ruth now idle on his part. Encamping his army in a good position about two miles from the town, he garrisoned the castle with fresh troops, threw up lines of intrenchment along the river, and at once opened on the works of the enemy. His guns were few and of inferior calibre, but they were worked with a spirit and vigor that soon caused Ginckle to shift two of his batteries from the river, while the fire from the castle swept the bridge and rendered any approach along it impracticable.

Ginckle soon saw that to silence the guns of the castle was a work of the first necessity, and to this end all his heavy guns and mortars were at once directed. The labor of the gunners on both sides now became incessant. Night brought no respite to the toils and dangers of the day. The weather was extremely hot; an unusual drought had prevailed, rendering the fascines as dry as tinder; and their continual ignition made the work of the soldiers more harassing. The skies were clear, and the evening twilight almost ushered in the dawn, while the glare of the batteries lit up the intrenchments and rendered the assailants and assailed continually visible to each other, while the fire of Ginckle's mortars, being directed on the houses beyond the castle, added perpetual conflagration to the other horrors of the scene. After a short time, a mill which stood in the middle of the river, to the north of the bridge, and into which the Irish had thrown a detachment of sixty-four men to keep up a fire on the broken arch, attracted the fire of the enemy. The passage which connected it with the bridge was soon broken down, and the building itself taking fire, the whole detachment—with two exceptions—perished in the flames. The wall of the castle crumbled bit by bit, a rent became discernible in the eastern wall, and gradually widening, the greater part of the front gave way, strewing the passage to the bridge, choking up the sally-port, and exposing the interior to the great guns of the besiegers.

Such was the condition of the besieged on the morning of the 26th, and all that day the bombardment continued with increased fury. Towards evening the bastion opposite the ford was beaten down so as to be passable to horse and foot, and the battery which protected it was completely silenced; the castle was deemed no longer tenable, and Ginckle contemplated an assault in force on the following morning. Preparatory to this, he resolved to try once more the passage of the river, in order to create a diversion on the Irish rear while putting his design in execution; and, having lately received information that a ford had been discovered to the north of Lanesborough, which might be easily crossed in the face of the small garrison stationed there, had dispatched a strong force to that place, with orders to approach it in the night, and having captured the town, to make a demonstration on the enemy's left, while he himself, with the main body, would storm the bridge and fords on their front. But the design was communicated to General Wauchop, and he immediately sent a regiment of cavalry to the assistance of Colonel O'Reilly, who commanded there, with orders to defend the place to the last extremity. The troops of Ginckle had started on their expedition on the night of the 25th, under direction of a guide, and, after making a wide detour to the north-east, approached the ford with great caution on the night of the 26th; but, arriving there, they found the opposite side strongly intrenched and the Irish cavalry drawn up to oppose them. They, however, tried to force their way through, but being routed with severe loss, they returned, and reported that it would take the whole army to cross there, so the project was finally abandoned. Nor was this his only disappointment. The morning of the 27th broke over a scene as startling as unexpected, for in its light he beheld that the Irish battery above the bastion had been repaired and strengthened, and that the castle which he expected to find abandoned had been put in a better state of defence than before. An opening had been made in the western wall, through which rocks and beams had been conveyed to the top of the breach, and firmly imbedded there, while its one solitary tower, the Connaught Tower, still commanded the broken arch, and displayed its flag as proud and defiant as ever. He was therefore obliged to forego his intention for that day, and direct his whole force to the total destruction of the citadel before risking an assault on the bridge. To the five batteries already at work two more were now added, and an incessant storm of shot and shell was directed all day on the castle and the houses beyond it. Three times during the siege the town had been set on fire; the population had fled to the suburbs, and nothing having life remained within the walls but the gunners behind their crumbling earth-works, and the soldiers laboring to check the flames extending in all directions.

St. Ruth, believing that the tower could not long withstand the terrible fire brought to bear on it, set to work in the erection of earth-works to answer the same end, and for this purpose he conveyed some guns outside the town, and erected two batteries—one to the north and the other to the south—both bearing across the eastern angles of the bridge. Their fire soon drove the English gunners from their batteries, and during the cessation of their fire two intrenchments were thrown up on a high ground to the right and left of the castle. The fire from these dislodged the English musketeers from the walls near the river, and from this forward the contest became a duel of artillery. Ginckle's heavy missiles still bore down all obstructions; the ingenious traverse and change of position were unavailing; nothing could withstand the heavy guns of the besiegers but the Connaught Tower, and that, though crumbling bit by bit, still sent its shot with the same precision as before. In this manner the conflict raged during the whole of the 27th. The bombs of the enemy became exhausted, but this brought no respite to the besieged. Immense blocks of stone, even more destructive than shell, were hurled into the Irish intrenchments, crushing their fascines to atoms, and breaking down all barriers. Towards evening a body of the besiegers, moving behind an improvised breastwork, stormed the bridge, gained possession of the broken arch, and secured themselves behind a strong breastwork. The defence was stubborn, and cost both sides dearly; "for," says the English annalist, "what we gained here was inch by inch, as it were, the enemy sticking very close to it, though great numbers of them were slain by our guns, and the service cost us a great store of ammunition." But ammunition was of small account with Ginckle. One hundred wagon-loads of shot and shell reached the camp that evening; thirteen squadron of wagon-horses were sent to Dublin for more, and two batteries were added to the seven that had been at work since the morning of the 25th. One of these was on a hill outside the wall, which commanded the western end of the bridge, and the other in a meadow to the south of it, which raked the passage leading from the Irish town to the castle. Under cover of these nine batteries the English reached the last broken arch, and secured themselves by a breastwork overlooking that of the Irish on the other side. Here the grenadiers of both armies now stood firing their muskets and hurling their grenades across the narrow space that separated them. At length the fascines of the Irish breastwork took fire, the whole was soon a sheet of flame, its defenders were forced to retire, and on the night of the 27th the English remained masters of the last broken arch of the bridge.

The situation of the besieged was now most desperate. The town seemed all but in the possession of the enemy. The bastion opposite the southern ford, about fifty yards from the bridge, was levelled, and practicable to infantry and cavalry. The ford itself was easily passable, for the river was unusually low for the season. The town was a heap of smouldering ruins, and the castle,—with the single exception of the Connaught Tower—was beaten down to the level of the besiegers' guns. Beams had been extended across the last broken arch of the bridge, the planking was partially set, while the fire of their forty-seven guns was fierce and active as ever. Still the Irish relaxed neither in courage nor intrepidity. Though but one gun alone sent an occasional response to the incessant roar of nine batteries, sweeping every foot of their intrenchments, "they worked like horses, checking the fire within the town; carrying fascines to fill their trenches;" and exhibited a courage and endurance "such as was never excelled by man." Such was the situation on both sides through the night of the 27th:—the one in the face of inevitable death trying to reconstruct their shattered defences, and the other in exultation preparing to force the river at sunrise the next morning.

The night passed on, and the morning rose bright and clear above the river. The besieged seemed to have exhausted all the means of defence. Some lay close in the cover of their trenches, and others drawn up behind the western wall of the castle, waiting for the approaching conflict. The enemy alone were at work. The planking was nearly completed across the last broken arch of the bridge. The fire from their right and left traversed its western end between their workmen and the besieged, and their grenadiers were advanced along the bridge waiting for the expected signal. At this moment a sudden commotion was observable in the Irish quarters, and a simultaneous shout rent the air, as eleven men, cased in armor, were seen to clear their trenches, and bear directly for the bridge. A silence still as death fell over the besiegers and besieged, and for a moment all seemed spellbound. In another the noble fellows had reached the bridge, and "with a strength and courage beyond what men were thought capable of," commenced to tear away the planks and beams, and cast them into the river. The amazement of the English soldiers soon gave way to the stern necessity of war. A discharge of great and small guns swept the bridge, and the devoted men passed forever from the earth! Undeterred by their fate, eleven more sprang forward to complete the work! Another peal rang out as before, a cloud of smoke enveloped them for a moment, and, clearing away, it was found that their work was completely accomplished, that the bridge was rendered impassable, and that two of the eleven had escaped within their intrenchments.[⁶²]

Ginckle, greatly chagrined by his disappointment, withdrew his soldiers to their camp, called a council of war, and deliberated on the alternatives of continuing the siege, or seeking a passage at some other point of the river. The council continued far into the evening; the questions were discussed in all their bearings, and another assault was determined on for the morning of the 29th.

In the mean time it became necessary to gain possession of the broken arch which had been lost in the last assault, and to silence the battery on the Connaught Tower, or, which was the same, to destroy the tower itself. This tower stood at the north-western angle of the castle, and though it had cost more ball and ammunition than all the rest of the defences together, it had never ceased for a moment to annoy the enemy, even when all the earth-works had been silenced. Against this tower all Ginckle's heavy guns were now directed. Towards midnight its abutments gave way, and shortly after it fell forward in one solid mass, and lay stretched athwart the ruins. While this was going on, the utmost activity prevailed in the English camp. Pontoons were put in order, a close gallery was constructed of sufficient length to span the arch and protect the workmen inside it, while a company of Danish soldiers had examined the river, and established another ford practicable for twenty soldiers abreast, about thirty yards to the south of the other. Three hundred yards to the south of this had been selected for the bridge of pontoons, and the banks at both places levelled for a proper distance. The assault was to be made in three places:—at the bridge: across the newly-discovered ford: and over the pontoons, outside the town. It was furthermore resolved that every regiment should have the honor of participating in the movement, and the selection of the men for this purpose was confided to Major-General Mackey, who made the following disposition:—From every regiment he selected forty-three grenadiers, eighty-three private soldiers, three captains, five lieutenants, two ensigns, and seven sergeants—a force not less than 8,000 men in all. These he arranged in three divisions, and stationed them outside the eastern wall, "in great secrecy," until the proper time to show themselves. The way from the gate to the river was cleared of all obstructions, and ladders were placed against the walls, near the river, which were pierced for musketry, in order to annoy the enemy while the assailants were crossing it. The bridge was to be the first point of assault, and on its success those at the ford and over the pontoons were dependent. Three thousand men were to cross at the bridge, 3,000 more over the pontoons, and 2,000, composed of horse and foot, were to attempt the ford. The assault was to take place at sunrise, until which time all should be conducted with the utmost "secrecy and circumspection." The soldiers were to carry fifteen rounds to a man, to have each a green bough in his hat, as at the Boyne; they were rewarded in advance by the distribution of large sums of money, and the word of the night was—"Kilkenny."