The battle-fields of Ireland, from 1688 to 1691

by active 1867 John Boyle

The regiments of Earle, Creighton, Brewer, and Herbert, moved forward, crossed the marsh without opposition, formed on the other side, and advanced up the sloping meadows of Kilcommodon without firing a single shot. As they approached the first row of hedges, the Irish infantry received them with a destructive fire, and retired on their second line with a steadiness and precision that might have awakened suspicion of preconcert. But the feint was taken for an actual retreat; the ardor of the assailants was excited, and eager to avenge the fall of so many of their comrades, they rushed forward on the second line, which was temporarily defended, and yielded in the same manner. Exasperated beyond endurance, they now lost all caution, and pressed hotly up the hill until they reached the last line of hedges, where the effect of their rashness at once became apparent. The infantry that had lured them on by this feint retreat, now suddenly appeared on either flank, pouring volley after volley into their devoted ranks, while above them, on the hill-side, stood the Irish cavalry, reined back and ready for the onset. The ground over which they had passed was difficult and dangerous, and files of infantry lined the way down to the marsh to intercept their retreat; no cavalry support appeared on their right, for as yet the Pass of Aughrim had not been attempted; and on their left, towards Urrachree, the sounds of battle seemed to recede, as if their arms had met with a reverse in that quarter. Colonel Earle, who took in the situation at a glance, advanced to the front, exhorting his men that "there was no way to come off but to be brave," ordered them to re-form, and endeavor to reach the line which they had so imprudently abandoned. The troops, obedient to the command, halted, closed ranks, and commenced a retrograde movement; but it was now too late; for at the same moment the Irish cavalry charged fiercely down the hill; and, unable to withstand the shock, they were helplessly broken, hurled by repeated charges into the marsh, across which they retreated in utter confusion, hotly pressed by the infantry, and borne back to the level of their batteries.[⁸⁰] Their loss was very severe. They had advanced to the assault over 3,000 strong. One-third of that number in killed and wounded strewed their way back. Colonel Earle, after being captured and rescued three times, escaped severely wounded; many officers of note were slain; and 400 soldiers, with Colonel Herbert, remained prisoners in the hands of the victors.

While the battle stood as described on the right and centre of the Irish line, the regiments of St. John, Tiffin, Lord George Hamilton, some French "and other regiments," were directed against its left. This division was led by the Prince of Hesse, and he had orders from General Mackey, who commanded in that quarter, not to pass the first line of hedges, but after establishing a position there to hold it until supported by the cavalry, which, under the command of Talmash, and supported by some regiments of infantry, were moving round towards the extreme left of the Irish, and forming on the plateau in front of Aughrim, with the intention of assaulting the pass leading up to it. The strength of this position, the narrow way which led to it, and the guns bearing across it from the hill, were such as to render the movement slow and hazardous; and the attack of the Prince of Hesse which depended on its result should necessarily be so regulated as to keep time with it. Talmash drew up his command on the common, and after directing his batteries, of which there were two, against the opposing force of the Irish, opened a fierce cannonade, while he formed his troops, both horse and foot, for the assault. In the mean time the Prince of Hesse had crossed the marsh, and approached the enemy's left on Kilcommodon. Meeting with no opposition, and scarcely apprehending any, so closely did the Irish there lie in their trenches, he advanced rapidly to possess the seemingly abandoned trenches, until within a few yards of them, when their sudden appearance, and a succession of well-directed volleys, warned him of his error. This unexpected salute checked the onward movement of his troops, and for a time they wavered as if about to retreat. But the ardor of the impetuous Prince being excited, he rallied them again, and under his order to charge, they rushed forward with increased fury and entered the lines of the enemy. This afforded the latter the opportunity sought, and no sooner had the assailants advanced to a proper distance, than they were taken front and flank, turned, as at the centre, and driven back on their supports, now being pushed eagerly forward by General Mackey, who, after several attempts to check their retreat, dispatched orders to Talmash to suspend his assault on the Pass of Aughrim, and lead back the infantry to the support of his broken division. Under this order fresh succors were deployed from the English right, but Talmash himself, unwilling to abandon his design, remained with his cavalry and a portion of the infantry, to carry out his projected attack.

The assault against the inner left of the Irish line was now renewed, that against the extreme left was begun, and the contest raged along the whole left with the utmost obstinacy, assailants and assailed being so completely "enveloped in dust and smoke as to be invisible to the bystanders." At length, after nearly an hour of the most intense excitement, during which the intermingled mass rolled with varied success across the fallow-fields between the hedges and the marsh, the English broke and fled across it to the protection of their guns, one regiment alone, of all that crossed to the attack, holding a position in the hedges, near the extreme left, whence the Irish troops had been withdrawn, and even this was in imminent danger of total destruction.

It was now near sunset, and the shadows began to deepen over the scene of conflict, when St. Ruth, from the ridge of Kilcommodon, surveyed the situation beneath him. On his right, where the battle commenced, the successive assaults of the enemy had been broken and repelled; from being assailants they had become the assailed; and driven far back from his outer line, had thrown up temporary intrenchments, behind which they continued to return the fire of his infantry, while they endeavored to withstand the repeated charges of his cavalry, careering on their flanks. On his centre he was completely victorious. The terrible repulse of the enemy's infantry there, and their consequent loss, had filled them with consternation and dismay, and though heavily reinforced, and urged forward with every threat and suasion of command, they could not be brought to attempt a second assault, but stood, a discomfited and disheartened host, under the shelter of their cannon, which alone disturbed his line in that direction. On his inner left the sight was no less inspiriting. There, the columns under the Prince of Hesse, after being, for the third time, bloodily repulsed, were floundering back through the morass in utter disorder, though Mackey stood on its outer edge, urging forward still fresh arrivals from the right, and doing all that a brave and intrepid soldier could do to retrieve an apparently lost battle. From the first, Ginckle's chances of success depended on his ability to turn the Irish right, or to bring on a general engagement along the whole line, when the immense numerical superiority of his army, with its proud array of field officers, could scarcely fail of success. To this end, all the energies of his mind, and all the resources at his disposal had been constantly directed; but, up to this hour, all had signally failed. Favored by the happy disposition which he had made of his ground, St. Ruth had so handled his army as to disconcert every attack, and defeat his enemy in detail. Everywhere he had cause to fear that the least inadvertence would be fatal, yet every thing moved with precision, every plan answered his expectations, and now, at every point, he stood secure and successful. His cavalry had sustained its wonted reputation, had borne down every opposition throughout the day, and its reserve stood fresh and eager, within immediate support of the only point undecided. His infantry, which had sustained the brunt of the battle, since its renewal after the early cavalry rencounters, stood now, on all hands, firm, defiant, and victorious. Two thousand three hundred of the enemy strewed the valley from Aughrim to Urrachree, while, up to this moment, his loss was quite insignificant. Victory seemed completely within his grasp; a grand future opened before him, and, perhaps, wrapt in one of those bright visions that sweep the mind on the wing of thought:—a people freed; a kingdom restored to its legitimate sway, and his own sovereign rendering him the meed of glorious service; he doffed his hat to those around him, and exclaimed in the ardor of enthusiasm:—"Now, my children, we will beat them back to the gates of Dublin."[⁸¹]—words which, though not realized, are worthy of grateful commemoration, indicative at once of a patriarchal spirit, and an exalted heroism.

Through all, the activity of the opposing generals was incessant. Ginckle was everywhere, aiding and animating his men, and sharing the danger and fatigue of the private soldier. On the other hand, St. Ruth had followed every movement of the battle, and was found at every point where aid or encouragement demanded his presence. Two horses had broken down under him during the fatigues of this eventful day; and now, mounting a third, a powerful gray, which stood ready to his call, he rode down to the left, to congratulate his infantry on their victory in that quarter. Here he beheld the last regiment of the enemy's infantry, abandoned to their fate, afraid to attempt a retreat across the marsh, and defending their temporary lodgement with the last efforts of despair. Dismounting from his horse, he approached the gunners, and with his own hand giving direction to one of the three guns bearing on the enemy's lines, returned to his staff, and remounted. His attention was then directed to the movements of Talmash, who, at the head of the English cavalry, and supported by a compact body of infantry, was approaching along the defile that opened up to the village and castle of Aughrim. Inquiring casually what the enemy meant by moving in that direction, he was answered that they intended to force the Pass and succor their infantry beneath him. "Then," said he, "we have won the battle." Considering the difficulties to be encountered, and the force stationed there, he deemed their destruction certain; and, after watching their steady advance for some time, he exclaimed with mingled feelings of admiration and pity:—"They are brave, 'tis a pity they should be so exposed!" Then forming his guards to charge down the hill, and dispatching orders to call up his reserve of cavalry to confront the force of Talmash, he addressed his staff, now ranged around him, saying:—"They are beaten, let us beat them to the purpose!" They were his last words,—for scarcely were they uttered, when his head was shattered by a cannonball, and he lay a corpse on the hill of Kilcommodon, while his horse ran wild and riderless across the plain! Amazement seized on all around him. The cavalry arrived and halted on the hill-side. His attendants approached, threw a cloak over the body, and bore it to the rear, whither it was followed by his guards and the members of his staff. The charge that was to decide the battle was suspended. The Irish infantry, unaware of the death of their general, still held their ground. The cavalry stood waiting the order to charge, and nothing was wanting to complete the victory but that expected word; but it never came. Meanwhile, Talmash beheld the confusion and the hesitancy of the Irish troops on the hill, and auguring that something was going wrong there, pushed on with greater rapidity. The fire from the Irish lines and the castle opened on him, and twice he was repulsed, but still renewed his efforts. It was now the crisis of the day, and so was it felt by assailants and assailed. Colonel Burke, who had command in that quarter, pressed the enemy closely and successfully. The cavalry were held in check, and unable to advance; but the English infantry, moving along the northern margin of the marsh, began to break through in battalions and companies. They too were checked, and for some time held immovable. At this trying moment Burke found that his supply of musket-balls was exhausted, and a fresh supply was urgently demanded. It arrived; it was opened; but by some fatal blunder, or treacherous design, it was found that cannonball had been sent instead of those demanded.[⁸²] The effect is easily foreseen. The soldiers still fought as men seldom fight. They exhausted their last shot, and all means being gone, they cut the round buttons from their coats, fired them, and discharged even their ramrods at the enemy, and then in rage and despair stood to offer their bodies as a last resistance, and died fighting where they stood. The Pass was carried; the castle grounds were gained and barriers thrown up there to impede the Irish cavalry, while Talmash, after passing the defile, moved round by his left, and succored his devoted soldiers. The English infantry at the centre now crossed the marsh in force and formed to carry the left and centre. At this sight a wild and piercing cry of "treason" rang along the Irish lines. The infantry was left to struggle alone, and the cavalry, without a commander, retired to the crest of the hill and formed for a last effort to redeem the day. It was useless. The infantry did all that men could do, and disputed every inch of the ground up to their camp, where, they made a last desperate stand, until surrounded by horse and foot of the enemy, when they broke, and, under the protection of their cavalry, retreated off the field. The left and centre of the Irish army being carried, the enemy turned their attention to the right, which, ignorant of what had passed, still pressed the foe beyond their lines, and were still victorious. But being now surrounded on all sides, and attacked front and rear, they were overwhelmed and literally cut to pieces; nearly all the infantry on that side being slaughtered where they stood.

The castle of Aughrim, which withstood the assailants long after the Pass was carried, was at length taken, and all within it put to the sword. Night closed over the scene of carnage. The Irish cavalry baffled in their design to support the infantry, which became intermingled with the horse and foot of the enemy, after aiding some time in the retreat, withdrew to the south-west and pursued their route to Loughrea, while the infantry crossed the bog to the west, and moved in the direction of Galway. The retreat of these portions of the army was regular and unbroken; but the fugitives were cut down without mercy; their cry for quarter was totally disregarded: and the slaughter of the straggling bands continued far into the night. In this butchery the Danish troops were conspicuous. Remarkable through the day only for pusillanimity, they became the "best pursuers," through the night, until a fortuitous circumstance put an end to the pursuit. While despairing and resistless they fled from the field which they maintained to the last, an Irish drum-major, who was lying wounded by the wayside, was ordered by the almoner of a regiment, named O'Reilly, to beat the charge. It was done, and on hearing it the pursuers halted, and believing the Irish about to rally, retired to the main body, and the vanquished pursued their retreat unmolested. Thus ended the disastrous day of Aughrim. Up to the death of St. Ruth, no pending battle was ever more prophetic of victory. After it none was ever so unaccountably lost in the presence of numerous officers of experience and ability. It would seem as if fortune held the balance of the day, to elicit deeds of unexampled heroism, and inverted it in the hour of victory to maintain her proverbial fickleness.

The loss of the British in private soldiers was 2,300; in addition to this, 200 officers of all grades were wounded, and seventy-three killed, including among them one major-general and five colonels—making in all nearly 3,000. The loss of the Irish as estimated by the victors was 7,000, including their commander-in-chief, and seventeen generals and officers of the highest distinction. The number of officers of subaltern rank was great, and far exceeded those of the enemy.[⁸³] The spoil of the victors included all the guns and camp equipage of the vanquished; and their trophies, eleven standards and thirty-two pair of colors, were immediately borne to London by "my Lord O'Bryan, as a present to her majesty," the Prince of Orange being then on the Continent.

The next day Ginckle encamped on the heights of Kilcommodon and buried his dead. The Irish slain, who strewed the hill and lay scattered over the country for miles, were stripped and left unburied, to be "devoured by the wild dogs and birds of prey." The country people fled the vicinity of the British army, and retired to the woods and mountains as their only refuge. The body of St. Ruth, according to the English annalist, was stripped and thrown into a bog. A more recent and better authority says, that "by tradition well attested, his ashes lie in the roofless church of Athunree, beside those of Lord Galway, who fell upon the same field of battle." There is, however, reason to doubt both, and the writer is aware that the people of the locality where the battle was fought, directed by tradition, point to a few stunted white thorns, to the west of the hill, towards Loughrea, beneath which, they say, rest the ashes of this great but unfortunate general.

It is painful to speculate on the cause that left the Irish army without direction after the death of St. Ruth. Many have endeavored to explain it, but all—as well those who doubt Sarsfield's presence on the field, as those who maintain the contrary,—are lost in conjecture, and none who participated in the battle and survived it, has placed the matter beyond speculation. So leaving that point as time has left it, what appears most strange in the connection, is the absence of all command at such a conjuncture. The disposition of the Irish troops, though dexterous, was simple. The day was all but won. The foiling of Talmash would have been the completion of victory. A force sufficient was on his front; a reserve more than ample to overwhelm him was on its way to the ground—nay, drawn up and even ready for the word. The few British troops that held a lodgement in the hedges at the base of the hill, were completely at the mercy of those above them. It required no omniscient eye to see this, nor a voice from the clouds to impel them forward, and surely no military etiquette weighed a feather in opposition to the fate of a nation. Any officer of note could have directed the movement, and many of experience and approved courage witnessed the crisis. Yet in this emergency, all the hard-won laurels of the day were tarnished, and land and liberty were lost by default! Nor can the rashness of St. Ruth, his reticence as to his plans, his misunderstanding with Sarsfield, nor the absence of the latter, justify the want of intrepid action among those present. This stands unexplained and inexplicable, nor will the flippant appeal to Providence, whose ways are too frequently offered as an excuse for human misconduct, answer here. The want of ammunition at such a moment, was, no doubt, of some import, but the concurrence of events too plainly indicates that Aughrim was won by the skill of St. Ruth and the gallantry of his troops, and that it was lost through want of decision in his general officers, at a moment the most critical in the nation's history.

But time passed on. Galway surrendered on honorable terms after an exchange of hostages. The passes of the Shannon were abandoned one by one down to Limerick, where the final stand was made, during which Tyrconnel, after years of faithful service, "died apparently of a broken heart." The city, though twice betrayed by General Clifford, made a most gallant defence, and its surrender wrested a treaty from the enemy, as glorious to its defenders, as its violation was infamous to the victors.—O retributive justice, how slow is thy finger on the dial!