William embarked at Highlake on the 11th of June; three days later he landed at Carrick-Fergus. The same evening he reached Belfast. Schomberg had arrived before him. At the same time James left Dublin for his camp on the northern frontier of Leicester. He was accompanied by Lauzun, who had recently come from France with four Irish regiments, equipped and drilled at the expense of Louis XIV. "For the love of God," Louvois had said to Lauzun, of whom he had a rather poor opinion, "Don't let yourself be carried away by your desire to come to blows; endeavor to tire the English, and above all maintain discipline." Careless and venturous as he was, Lauzun was astonished at the disorder which he found everywhere in Ireland. "It is a chaos like that described in Genesis," he wrote to Louvois; "I would not spend another month here for the whole world."
William III. urged on his preparations and hurried his advance, eagerly desiring to attack the enemy. Schomberg wanted to hold him back. "I have not come here to let the grass grow under my feet," said the King of England. "This country is worth making one's own," he added, as he gazed upon the beautiful, though semi-civilized places he was passing through. The valley of the Boyne, on the confines of the counties of Lowth and Meath, reminded him of the rich meadows of England. The tents of the enemy were pitched beneath Drogheda; the standards of the houses of Stuart and Bourbon floated over the walls of the town. "I am very glad to see you at last, gentlemen," said William of Orange, viewing the motions of the Jacobite army from afar; "if you escape me now, it will be my fault." One part of the army of King James was concealed by the undulations of the ground. "Strong or weak," said William, "I shall soon know which they are."
The two armies were almost equal in numbers: twenty-five or thirty thousand were mustered on either side. "Although it is true that the soldiers seem determined to do their best and are exasperated against the rebels," wrote d'Avaux, who had just returned to France with Rosen, who was superceded by Lauzun, "yet that is not the only requisite for fighting a battle. The subaltern officers are bad; and, excepting a very few, there are none to take care of the soldiers, the arms and the discipline. More confidence is placed in the cavalry, the greater part of which is good enough." William had brought with him his veteran Dutch and German regiments; representatives of all the Protestant churches of Europe were there in arms against the enemies of their liberties. None were more impetuous than the Irish Protestants, burning to avenge their recent injuries, and the French Huguenots, who flocked from all quarters against the monarch whom Louis XIV. sustained. "I am sure," the Baron d'Avejon, lieutenant colonel in King William's service, had written to Geneva, "that you will not fail to have published in all the French churches of Switzerland the obligation which rests on all refugees to come and help us in this campaign, in which the glory of God, and, consequently, the reestablishment of his Church in our country are at stake." Vain hopes! which explain the zeal of the French Protestants against the Irish and King James. Two refugees—Marshal Schomberg, and M. de Caillemotte, younger brother of Ruvigny—led them at the battle of the Boyne, exclaiming: "Forward, my children, to glory! Forward! behold our persecutors!"
On the morning of the first of July, King William, who was wounded on the shoulder the evening before while making a reconnaissance, was on horseback from daybreak. The armies joined battle in the river. At first Schomberg had remained on the bank, directing the movement of his troops. He rallied around him the Huguenot regiments, shaken by the death of their leader Caillemotte. The moment the marshal stepped aground, after crossing the Boyne, a detachment of Irish cavalry surrounded him; he was dead when his friends succeeded in rejoining him. The native infantry had promptly taken to flight; nevertheless the regiments from France and the Irish gentlemen fought furiously. King William had entered the river at the head of the left wing, with difficulty guiding his horse with his wounded arm. He drew his sword with his left hand, and, charging at the head of the Enniskillen Protestants, he dashed upon the enemy. "You will be my guards today," he had said to the brave settlers; "I have often heard of you, let us see what you can do." The heat of battle expanded the heart of the grave and silent prince, whose unconquerable reserve his best friends frequently deplored: he moved about in every direction, receiving bullets on his pistol-butt and the top of his boot, following up the victory which at every point declared itself for him. King James had taken no part in the action; he had remained afar, viewing the combat from the heights of Dunmore. When he was certain that fortune was against him, he turned bridle, accompanied by some horsemen. In the evening he reached Dublin, bearing the news of his own defeat. Irritated and humiliated, he bitterly reproached his partisans with the cowardice of their countrymen. "I shall never in my life command an Irish army," said he. "I must now think of my safety alone; let each man do the same." Next day at sunrise he left Dublin, and on the 3d of July he took ship at Waterford. He soon landed at Brest, and related the history of the battle in detail. "From the account of the battle that I have heard the king and several of his suite give," wrote one of his first hearers, "it does not seem to me that he was very well informed of what took place in the action, and that he only knows the rout of his troops." "Those who love the King of England ought to be glad to know of his safety," said the Marshal de Luxembourg, in Germany; "but those who love his glory have to deplore the part he has played."
King James at the Battle of Boyne.
Queen Mary was more pre-occupied about her father's safety than her own glory. She wrote to her husband on the 5th of July: "I was uneasy to know what had become of the king, my father; I only dared to ask Lord Nottingham, and I have had the satisfaction of learning that he was safe and sound. I know I have no need of asking you to spare him; but add this to your clemency—let the world know that for love of me you wish no harm to befall his person."
The joy in England was complete when it was known that King William had entered Dublin on the 6th. The rumor of his death had been spread for a short time in Paris, where it had given rise to popular rejoicings. The governor of the Bastile had even had cannon fired. King James set about undeceiving the court and city. His royal illusions were not yet dispelled. "My subjects love me still," he used to say; "they await me impatiently in England." When he arrived at Versailles, his first care was to press Louis XIV. to send an army of invasion at once. "All the forces of England are in Ireland," said he; "my people will rise in my behalf." Tourville had just attempted a descent on the coasts of Devonshire, but the peasants had taken arms and the Cornish miners had emerged from the bowels of the earth to repel the invasion. The French sailors contented themselves with burning Teignmouth, and took to sea again more proud of the triumph they had lately gained (July 10) over the united English and Dutch fleets at Beachy Head, than humiliated at their check on the English coast. One cry re-echoed in all the southern countries: "God bless King William and Queen Mary!"