CHAPTER VIII
Irish Victory of the Yellow Ford, Called the Bannockburn of Ireland
WE dwell at greater length on the Elizabethan era in Ireland than, perhaps, on any other, because then began the really fatal turn in the fortunes of the Irish nation. Notwithstanding splendid triumphs in the field, cunning and treachery were fated to overcome patriotism and heroic courage. But, before this great cloud gloomed upon her, Ireland was still destined to witness many days of glory, and to win her most renowned victory.
The spring and early summer of 1598 saw Captain Williams still holding Portmore, on the Blackwater, stubbornly for England, but his rations were nearly exhausted and he managed to get word of his desperate condition to Marshal Bagnal, who, at the head of a splendidly appointed army of veteran troops, horse and foot, marched northward from Newry to his succor. His first operations were successful and he came very near to capturing O’Neill himself, at a place called Mullaghbane, not far from Armagh. Then Bagnal pushed on to raise the siege of Portmore, where Williams was living on his starved horses and suffering all the pangs of hunger.
O’Neill, having been fully informed of Marshal Bagnal’s progress, summoned O’Donnell and his other allies to join him immediately, which they did. He left Portmore to the famine-stricken garrison, and turned his face southward fully resolved to give battle to his redoubted brother-in-law before he could reach the Blackwater. Thoroughly acquainted with the character of the country through which the English were to pass, he had no difficulty in choosing his ground. He took post, therefore, in the hilly, wooded, and marshy angle formed by the Callan and Blackwater Rivers, at a point where a sluggish rivulet runs from a large bog toward the main river, and which is called, in the Gaelic tongue, Beal-an-atha-buidhe, in English, “the Mouth of the Yellow Ford,” destined to give title to the Irish Bannockburn. This field is about two and one-half miles N.W. from Armagh.
The superb English array, all glittering in steel armor and with their arms flashing back pencils of sunlight, Bagnal himself in the van, appeared at the opening of the wooded pass, which, all unknown to the marshal, was garrisoned by five hundred Irish kerns early on the sultry morning of August 10th—T. D. McGee says the 15th—1598. The head of the column was attacked immediately by the Celtic infantry, who, however, obedient to orders, soon fell back on the main body, which was drawn up behind a breastwork, in front of which was a long trench, dug pretty deep, and concealed by wattles (dry sticks) and fresh-cut sods—a stratagem borrowed by O’Neill from the tactics of Bruce, so successfully put in practice at Bannockburn, nearly three centuries before. Having finally cleared the pass, not without copious bloodshed, Bagnal debouched from it, and deployed his forces on the plain in face of the Irish army. His cavalry, under Generals Brooke, Montacute, and Fleming, shouting, “St. George for England!” charged fiercely up to the Irish trench, where the horses floundered in the covered trap set for them, and then the Irish foot, leaping over their breastwork, piked to death the unfortunate riders. Bagnal, in no wise daunted, pressed on with his chosen troops, animating them by shout and gesture. A part of the Irish works, battered by his cannon, was carried, and the English thought the battle won. They were preparing to follow up their success when, suddenly, O’Neill himself appeared, at the head of his main body, who had abandoned their slight defences, and came on to meet the English with flashing musketry and “push of pike.” Bagnal’s artillery, with which he was well provided, did much damage to O’Neill’s men, but nothing could withstand the Irish charge that day. O’Donnell’s dashing clan nobly seconded their kinsmen of Tyrone, and a most desperate conflict ensued. Bagnal and his soldiers deported themselves bravely, as became tried warriors, but, in the crisis of the fight, the marshal fell, a wagon-load of powder exploded in the English lines, their ranks became confused, and few of their regiments preserved their formation. The Irish cavalry destroyed utterly what remained of the English horse. “By this time,” says Mitchel, “the cannon were all taken; the cries of ‘St. George’ had failed or were turned to death-shrieks, and once more, England’s royal standard sank before the Red Hand of Tyrone.” The English rout was appalling, and the chronicler of O’Donnell says: “They were pursued in couples, in threes, in scores, in thirties, and in hundreds.” At a point where the carnage was greatest, the country people still show the traveler the Bloody Loaming (lane) which was choked with corpses on that day of slaughter. Two thousand five hundred English soldiers perished in the battle and flight; and among the fallen were the marshal, as already related, twenty-two other superior officers, and a large number of captains, lieutenants, and ensigns. The immediate spoils of the victory were 12,000 gold pieces, thirty-four standards, all the musical instruments and cannon, and an immense booty in wagons, loaded with clothing and provisions. The Irish army lost 200 in killed and three times that number wounded. By O’Neill’s orders, the dead of both sides were piously buried. (Irish annals cited by Curry and Mitchel.)
Sir Walter Scott, in his graphic poem of “Rokeby,” which should be read by all students, as it deals with a stirring period of English history, thus refers to the battle of the Yellow Ford:
“Who has not heard, while Erin yet
Strove ’gainst the Saxon’s iron bit,