The battle-fields of Ireland, from 1688 to 1691

by active 1867 John Boyle

But, notwithstanding all the precautions of secrecy observed in the English camp, St. Ruth received timely information of the design, and had taken active measures to counteract it. When morning broke over the Irish town, Ginckle was both surprised and mortified to see that all his movements were anticipated. The drawbridge had been secured by a heavy breastwork, a new battery had been constructed opposite the ford, and another in a meadow outside of the town, commanding the point selected for laying his pontoons, and reinforcements from the Irish camp had been stationed at convenient positions to dispute the town, in case he succeeded in forcing the passage of the river. He was further disconcerted at finding that General Mackey's arrangements were not all up to time. The men stood to their arms at the appointed hour: the musketeers lined the walls along the river; the gallery was ready to be pushed over the bridge; but the pontoons, which should have been laid overnight, were found insufficient to span the river, and it became necessary to repair some old ones to supply the deficiency. As this had now to be done in the face of the enemy's fire, it became necessary to construct a battery to dislodge them, while the work of repairing and laying the boats was carried forward, and it was doubtful whether he should have any timely co-operation from that quarter. Still, as all the other movements were dependent on the result at the bridge, Ginckle determined to persevere, and at the appointed time the grenadiers and soldiers moved forward under the protection of their covered gallery. After great danger and difficulty it was forced over the English breastwork, where the grenadiers stood face to face to dispute the possession of the bridge, and the strife of the 28th was repeated over again, with greater desperation on both sides. While this was going on at the bridge, the fire of the English batteries swept the whole Irish line, and under the diversion Mackey made desperate efforts to complete the line of pontoons; but, despite of all, he was driven from the work, and forced to abide the result at the bridge. All now depended upon this: and the soldiers on both sides looked on with feelings wrought to the highest pitch of excitement. The Irish grenadiers suffered dreadfully, for the enemy's breastwork completely overlooked that on the other side, and their grenades wrought terrible destruction in their trenches. Four hours passed on, and still this encounter raged without cessation. The gallery was forced forward, as it were, inch by inch; the arch was spanned, and the work, as before, had nearly reached completion, when the fascines on the English side caught fire. The soldiers made great efforts to extinguish it, but in vain; the whole was soon a sheet of flame; and being no longer tenable, they abandoned their position and retreated across the bridge: the Irish grenadiers advanced and completed the destruction of the gallery and defences; and the bridge was again impassable. The failure of this assault at the bridge caused the abandonment of those at the other two points, and the English soldiers were withdrawn to their camp, none remaining but the usual guards, and the cannoneers behind their intrenchments. The firing of the cannon ceased for the first time since the siege had opened, and silence brooded over the scene of desolation.

St. Ruth was now elated with success, and enthusiastic in praise of the soldiers, who had displayed such stubborn valor in the defence of their old town. It was now, throughout its whole extent, a mass of smouldering ruins, over which the soldiers made their way with difficulty and danger, and the intrenchments along the river had been levelled and reconstructed so often that the earth around them had been rendered as dry as powder. He therefore issued orders to have a road opened from end to end behind the batteries next the river, in order to facilitate the deploying of troops from one point to another; to have the western wall completely razed, the houses within them levelled, so that the enemy should have no shelter if they should succeed in passing the river; and the area behind the castle cleared, so that his raw levies should be drilled there and trained to perform garrison duty. He next withdrew most of the trained soldiers from the works, and supplied their place with three regiments of recruits; and, expressing his belief that the enemy would retire without risking another engagement, marched his army back to camp, and gave a banquet, 'tis said, to which he invited all the ladies and gentlemen of the surrounding district.

Ginckle was greatly mortified at the failure of this last grand movement. It was made in force; each of the divisions had fulfilled its part of the programme. All the resources at his command had been brought to support it, and yet a signal failure at all points, and a serious loss of men, had been the consequence; and, as he had determined beforehand that on its result his advance or retreat should depend, he immediately called a council of war, to signify his intention to retire, and try some other point of the river, or open a defensive campaign on the ground already traversed. All the propositions submitted at the previous council were taken up and discussed: the continual failure of his plans; the spirit and endurance of the enemy; the impossibility of remaining any longer in a district stripped of forage and provender for several miles around. The expenditure of ammunition, too, had already outrun his most extravagant calculations. Bomb and ball had accomplished all that could be effected, for both town and citadel were now reduced, and still the enemy, so far from abandoning the place, had recently renewed their defences, and should the river be crossed, were ready to offer battle amid the ruins. Should he again attempt the passage, and succeed in crossing, success was to be purchased, but at a great sacrifice. Should he cross and not succeed, the total destruction of his army was more than probable. Should he attempt to cross above or below this place, he uncovered the capital, and the enemy would not fail to profit by the advantage. The disadvantages of taking the defensive at the beginning of the campaign, and the disgrace of retiring in the face of the foe whom the soldiers had hitherto been taught to despise, would have a ruinous effect on the spirit of his troops, raise that of the enemy, and exert a powerful influence on the action of the French monarch. Having canvassed the subject in all its bearings, he was himself in favor of trying another ford above or below their present position, where less difficulties were to be encountered, and submitted the whole subject to the deliberation of the council. The debate was long and earnest, and the majority supported the decision of the General-in-Chief. The minority were against retiring, and they were the ablest and most prominent of the generals:—Mackey and Wurtemberg, Ruvigney and Tettau, urged another assault, and offered themselves to head the soldiers in person, and be the first to cross the river. The deliberation was long, and the matter remained undecided, when the opinion of the majority was changed by one of those fortuitous events which seem throughout this war to arise continually in favor of the invader. Two officers who had deserted from the Irish army were at this juncture brought before the council, and proffered most important information. They represented the feeling of security that prevailed in the Irish camp; the prevalent belief that the enemy would retire and abandon the siege; the substitution of untrained soldiers in the trenches; and the withdrawal of the veterans. They told of the bad feeling existing between St. Ruth, the deputy, and general officers; the scarcity of ammunition; and of all things that could give weight to the views of the minority. The opposing opinions were at once reconciled, and a plan of action was forthwith adopted.

It was now determined to take the town by surprise; and the better to conceal the design, it was concerted to make a feint of retiring and raising the siege. Guns were to be dismounted; tents struck; the baggage placed on wagons in sight of the enemy; and the general appearance to be that of an army about to retire from its encampment. The soldiers selected for the last assault were to be withdrawn from view, and held in readiness outside the wall until the appointed hour. At the usual time of changing guard, which was six o'clock in the morning, the men who were to cross at the ford were to move down as if to relieve their comrades, when at an appointed signal, which was the ringing of the church bell, they were to cross and storm the opposite intrenchments. These being carried, they were to move to the right and left, to assist the other divisions which were to follow in quick succession, and pass over the bridge and pontoons simultaneously. Every thing seemed opportune for the attempt; every part of the plan was observed to the letter; and to create the proper ardor among the soldiers, still larger rewards were distributed than on the former occasion.

All through the evening the cannonade along the English lines seemed to relax its wonted spirit; farther on it ceased altogether, and it was observed that some of the guns were being limbered and removed from the river towards the camp. The ruse immediately had the desired effect. The Irish soldiers, believing that the enemy had actually commenced to retire, came gradually out of their trenches, and ventured down towards the river. The English soldiers, too, seemed to relax in discipline, and came down to meet them. Jest and repartee were bandied across the stream; the soldiers of Ginckle twitting those of St. Ruth on their miserable "penny a day," and the latter reminding the former that they had given "bad penny-worths" for the money which their general had lately distributed among them. So they beguiled the time; with the closest secrecy and circumspection on the one side, and a feeling of security and a total unconsciousness of approaching danger on the other. As the night wore on both parties retired from the river, and sought repose in the trenches, and a deep silence settled over the scene, only broken at intervals by the occasional challenge of the sentries as they met each other in their measured round. Nor was it in the unconsciousness of the Irish soldiers alone that fortune seemed to favor the besiegers. The orders which St. Ruth had lately given, on withdrawing his army from the town, had not been carried out. The houses were still the same shapeless ruins he had left them; the western wall was still entire; but a roadway had been cleared behind the intrenchments on the river, and all the defensive works to the rear of it had been defaced and levelled. This neglect was the consequence of a disagreement between St. Ruth and General d'Usson—the former wishing to have all obstructions removed, so as to give battle on the ruins of the town if the batteries on the river were carried; and the latter wishing to preserve the walls as a line of defence, in the event of such a conjuncture. It therefore happened that the work "went by default," or that the bad parts of it were executed and the more necessary totally neglected. However this be, a want of concord was manifest among the leaders; and when to these untoward events it is added, that d'Usson was absent from the camp, that three untrained regiments manned the defences, and that a scarcity of ammunition prevailed along the lines, the whole train of circumstances pointed to a manifest destiny, and—the reader may anticipate an evil one.

It was yet the gray dawn of morning; the same supineness prevailed along the Irish lines, and the same cautious preparations went on in the camp of the enemy, when Colonel Cormac O'Neil entered the quarters of General Maxwell. He came to demand a supply of bullets for his men; for, being on duty overnight, he observed certain signs on the opposite side that led him to believe that another assault might be soon expected, and wished to take the necessary precautions. Maxwell was at first incredulous, and answering the demand by one of those Scotch apothegms, so prevalent at the time,—"If he wanted to shoot lavrocks," O'Neil retired moody and discontented. As the morning advanced, however, that general himself saw reasons to convince him that the colonel's suspicions were well founded;—he observed that the bridge of pontoons had not been removed, that the batteries there and at the ford showed signs of having been recently repaired and strengthened, and that the guards along the whole line had been doubled through the night. He immediately communicated this intelligence to St. Ruth, and requested that a division of veteran troops should be immediately sent into the town; but the herald soon returned with the insulting reply that "if he was afraid, another general officer would be sent to take his place." So the morning passed on; the plans of the enemy were matured, and they awaited but the appointed hour to put them in execution.

At six o'clock the tattoo in the English camp announced the hour of changing guard, and the soldiers marched down leisurely, as if to their accustomed duty. In six minutes after the church-bell rang out its signal, the artillery opened along the whole line, and under its shelter the assailants dashed forward and entered the river. A body of sixty grenadiers, cased in armor, and moving twenty abreast, led the advance. They were headed by Captain Sandys, a soldier of great daring and intrepidity, and were closely followed by a strong supporting column of cavalry commanded by General Talmash and Colonel Gustavus Hamilton, and by 2,000 chosen infantry troops under the direction of Mackey, Tettau, La Mellioneire, and the Prince of Hesse. Simultaneous with this assault, which took place at the ford, other movements were directed towards the pontoons and the town-bridge, and the whole scene was again alive with military ardor and intrepidity. There never was a more complete surprise. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that the assailants had nearly gained the opposite bank before the alarm was sounded in the Irish quarters, or the soldiers who were lying asleep in the trenches could be aroused to a consciousness of their danger. As the grenadiers began to ascend they were met by a few hasty and ill-directed volleys from those on guard, which checked their progress for a moment, but they were pressed on by the thousands in their rear, and literally borne over the intrenchments, where they soon silenced all opposition. Some of the Irish soldiers fled to the shelter of the ruined houses, where they rallied and kept up an irregular fire on the enemy thronging into the town; but most of them were taken, and, being unarmed, were slaughtered where they stood. Having thus carried the works on their front, the assailants immediately filed to the right and left; some to aid in laying the pontoons, some in securing the drawbridge, and still others to mask the castle and cut off the retreat of its garrison. The road which had been opened by St. Ruth's orders, was now of the greatest advantage to his enemy, who moved quickly behind the intrenchments, cutting off the Irish soldiers; who, having no batteries in the rear to check the pursuit, were surrounded, overwhelmed, and cut down with little resistance. The bridge and pontoons being soon made passable, thousands rushed into the town, swearing as they stumbled over the ruins, and dealing death to their disarmed prisoners. One battalion of veterans, led by Maxwell and some Irish officers, made a stubborn resistance, and for a while checked the pursuit; but, being surrounded and assailed on all sides, they were slain, with the exception of the general and a few of the superior officers, who were secured as prisoners.

On the first alarm, information was sent to St. Ruth that the enemy was crossing the river; but he scouted the idea, and boasted that Ginckle would not dare it after his late repulse, while he lay so near with an army to succor it. Sarsfield, who was present at the time, replied that the undertaking was not too great for English valor to attempt, but still St. Ruth, either through real or affected disbelief, scorned all remonstrance, and remained immovable. In a short time, however, the fugitives from the town began to reach the camp; he was at last convinced, and, with a seeming indifference, ordered Major-General John Hamilton to take two brigades and drive the enemy again beyond the river. The attempt was made, and the fight was renewed with such determination that General Maxwell expressed his belief, to his captors, that the town would be retaken. But after a desperate conflict of an hour and a half amid the ruins, the enemy gained the western wall; to dislodge them became impossible to an over-matched force; the Irish soldiers retreated to their camp; and Athlone was lost.

The loss of life by which Ginckle gained possession of this town is variously estimated. Twelve hundred would perhaps cover all the casualties of the siege, but in addition to this he expended fifty tons of gunpowder, 12,000 cannonball, 600 bombs, and innumerable tons of stone, hurled from the mortars whenever the shell became exhausted. The Irish army, during the same period, accepting the highest estimate, suffered a diminution of 2,300 men, of whom 500 were slain, and 566 captured in the last surprise and assault. Its loss in officers was very great—too great for specification. Among them were the French adjutant-general, the two Colonels McGuinness, Colonels McMahon and O'Gara, and the veteran Colonel Richard Grace, whose body was found amid the slain under the western end of the bridge, where it had lain since the assault of the previous morning,—and there could be no place more appropriate for the fall of that patriot warrior. The booty taken within the town is thus summed up by the English chaplain, Story: "A good store of plunder among the ruins, and a great many dead men in the castle, with about twenty barrels of powder, twelve hogsheads of meal, some wheat, and a great many other things."

But Athlone was lost to the Irish army, and its last line of defence was penetrated, not through lack of valor or capacity to maintain it, but through a want of vigilance, totally inexcusable among the superior officers, and a singular combination of pride and folly on the part of the general, strangely comporting with the importance of the cause. Up to this day, no city had ever been defended with more determined valor, and never was eventual success more apparent than on the very hour that it was captured "by the most complete surprise that ever was." The last sun looked down on the Jacobite army exultant in spirit and confident of success; the next saw it overreached by the enemy, outraged by its general, robbed of victory, and humiliated by defeat. The world had seldom witnessed such heroic sacrifice, such patient endurance, and enthusiastic devotion as those displayed by the Irish soldiers of that period; but the loss of this old town, through manifest neglect—a tampering with fate, as it were, so culpable in a general—roused a spirit of indignation in every breast, and denunciations loud and bitter were uttered against St. Ruth, now as deeply penitent and as lowly obsequious as he had lately been haughty and intolerant. But little time was left for vain regrets or useless recrimination. The presence of an enemy flushed with success, within two miles of their camp, banished every other consideration for the moment, and, yielding to the appeals of their generals, they prepared for the final contest. All that day, and far into the night, they remained drawn up on the site of their encampment, in momentary expectation of the enemy, and determined to risk a battle. But as the night wore on and Ginckle made no forward movement, they decamped and marched in good order to Milton Pass, a small village about six miles to the north-west, on a river which empties into the southern section of Lough Ree. There they remained until ten o'clock next day, when the infantry took up their march towards the south-west, and the cavalry, after remaining some hours longer to protect their rear, took the same direction, and disappeared from the sight of the enemy.