CHAPTER X
King Philip Sends Envoys to O’Neill—The Earl of Mountjoy Lord Deputy
PHILIP II of Spain died in September, 1598, and was succeeded by his son Philip III, who, it would seem, took more interest in the Irish struggle against Elizabeth’s temporal and spiritual power than did his father. Philip, in all likelihood, cared very little about Ireland’s national aspirations, but, like all of his race, he was a zealous Catholic, and recognized the self-evident fact that the Irish were, then, fighting not alone their own battle but also that of the Church, with heroic vigor. O’Neill began negotiations with the young monarch immediately after his accession, and Philip responded by sending two envoys to the Irish general—Don Martin de la Cerda and the Most Rev. Matthias de Oriedo, who had been appointed by the Pope Archbishop of Dublin—a purely titular office, seeing that the English were in full possession of that capital. The bishop presented O’Neill with “a Phœnix plume,” blessed by his Holiness, and also with 22,000 pieces of gold—a generous contribution in that age, when money was much more valuable in proportion than it is now. (O’Sullivan, Moryson, and Mitchel.)
O’Neill, having sufficiently awed the English generals for a period, made a sort of “royal progress” through Munster and Leinster, visiting holy places, settling feuds, and inspecting military forces. He met with, practically, no opposition, but, near Cork, had the misfortune to lose his gallant cavalry commander, Hugh McGuire, chief of Fermanagh. The latter was leading a body of horse on a reconnoitring mission, when suddenly there appeared a force of English cavalry, bent on a similar errand, under Sir Warham St. Leger and Sir Henry Power, Queen’s Commissioners, acting in place of Sir Thomas Norreys. St. Leger rode up to McGuire and discharged a horse pistol at close range. The heroic Irish chief reeled in his saddle from a mortal wound, but, before falling, struck St. Leger a crushing blow on the head with his truncheon, and killed him on the spot. McGuire, having avenged himself on his enemy, died on the instant. These were the only two who fell. The English retreated to Cork and kept within its walls until O’Neill had left the neighborhood. The Ulster prince turned back through Ormond and Westmeath and arrived in his own country, “without meeting an enemy, although there was then in Ireland a royal army amounting, after all the havoc made in it during the past year, to 14,400 foot and 1,230 horse”—this, too, exclusive of irregular forces. (Moryson.) This force was well provided with artillery and all military stores. (Mitchel.)
But O’Neill’s days of almost unclouded triumph were drawing to a close. He was, at last, about to meet an English commander who, if not as able as himself, was infinitely more cunning and unscrupulous. This was Charles Blount, Earl of Mountjoy, a trained soldier, a veteran diplomat, a fierce Protestant theologian, and a ripe scholar. His motto, on assuming the duties of Lord Deputy in Ireland, would seem to have been “Divide and Conquer.” Mountjoy saw, at once, that steel alone could not now subdue Ireland, and he was determined to resort to other methods, more potent but less manly. About the same time, there also came to Ireland two other famous English generals, Sir George Carew and Sir Henry Dowcra. The new deputy brought with him large reinforcements, so that the English army in Ireland was more powerful than it had ever been before; and Mountjoy’s orders were, in effect, that Ulster, in particular, should be honeycombed with royal garrisons, especially along its coast-line. Although Mountjoy himself was checked, at the outset, by O’Neill’s army, Sir Henry Dowcra, with a powerful force, transported by sea from Carrickfergus, occupied and fortified the hill of Derry, on the Foyle—the ground on which now stands the storied city of Londonderry. Other border garrisons were strengthened by the Lord Deputy, and everything was made ready for a vigorous prosecution of the war. The penal laws against the Irish Catholics were softened, so as, if possible, to detach the Anglo-Irish Catholics from the Celtic Catholic Irish, and also to impress the weak-kneed among the latter with “the friendly intentions of her Majesty’s government”—very much like the court language in use to-day. The bait took, as might have been expected—for every good cause has its Iscariots—and we soon hear of jealous kinsmen of the patriot chiefs “coming over to” the queen’s “interest” and doing their utmost—the heartless scoundrels—to divide and distract the strength of their country, engaged in a deadly struggle for her rights and liberty. These despicable wretches are foul blotches on the pages of Ireland’s history. But for them, she could have finally shaken off the English yoke, which would have saved Ireland centuries of martyrdom and England centuries of shame. And so we find Sir Arthur O’Neill becoming “the queen’s O’Neill”—his branch of the family had long been in the English interest; Connor Roe McGuire becoming “the queen’s McGuire,” and so on ad nauseam. These creatures had no love for England or Elizabeth, but simply hoped to further their own selfish ends by disloyalty to their chiefs and treason to their country. We confess that this is a chapter of Irish history from which we would gladly turn in pure disgust did not our duty, as a writer of history, compel us to dwell upon it yet a while longer. Dermot O’Connor, who held a command under O’Neill’s Desmond in Munster, yielded to the seductions of Carew and turned upon his leader, in the interest of his brother-in-law, son of the “great earl,” who was held as a hostage in London Tower by Elizabeth, and was now used as a firebrand to stir up feud and faction among the Munster Irish. Mountjoy had not been many months in Ireland, when, to use the words of the historian Mitchel, “a network of English intrigue and perfidy covered the land, until the leaders of the (Irish) confederacy in Munster knew not whom to trust, or where they were safe from treason and assassination.” Dermot O’Connor was willing to surrender Desmond, whom he had kidnapped, to Mountjoy, for a thousand pounds, but, before he could receive his blood-money, the “Suggawn (hay-rope) Earl,” as he was called in derision by the English faction, was rescued by his kinsman, Pierce Lacy. But the White Knight—frightful misnomer—another relative of the earl—was more fortunate than O’Connor. He managed to receive the thousand pounds, delivered Desmond to Carew, and earned enduring infamy. The “Suggawn Earl” was sent to London and died a miserable prisoner in the Tower.
Thus, the policy of the Lord Deputy was doing its deadly work in Munster and also in Leinster, where the Irish were of mixed race, and where racial animosity could be more easily worked upon than in Ulster and Connaught, where most of the ancient clans still remained unbroken and uncontaminated by foreign influences. Yet Ulster and Connaught had their Benedict Arnolds, too, as we have shown in the cases of O’Neill and McGuire, and will show in other cases which yet remain to be mentioned. But in these provinces the war was national as well as religious, while in Munster it was almost entirely religious. Most of the Catholic Anglo-Irish would have fought with the English rather than the Celtic-Irish, if their religion had been tolerated from the first. Among the Celtic Irish chiefs who went over to the English in Munster, were O’Sullivan More and McCarthy More (the Great). The latter had the cowardly excuse that his strong-minded wife had coerced him into treason, and refused to live with him until he came to terms with the enemy. Was there ever anything more disgraceful in the history of manhood and womanhood? They were, indeed, a couple entirely worthy of each other. The Lord Deputy, in the meantime, had ravaged the “rebellious” portions of Leinster, burning houses and crops, and doing other evil things common to the savage warfare of that period. His greatest piece of luck, however, was the killing of the brave O’More of Leix in a skirmish. (Mitchel.)
CHAPTER XI
Ireland’s Fortunes Take a Bad Turn—Defeat of O’Neill and O’Donnell at Kinsale
THE English force in Ireland was now (1600-1601) overwhelming, and as the Irish had no fleet whatever, the English were enabled to plant garrisons, almost wherever they wished to, around the Ulster coast, and sometimes posts were also established in the interior of the country. Thus Derry, Dun-na-long, Lifford, and numerous other places held strong garrisons, and these sallied forth at will—the small Irish army being actively engaged elsewhere—and inflicted heavy damage on the harmless people of the surrounding districts. The process of crop-burning was in full blast again, and such Irish people as escaped the sword and the halter had the horrible vision of perishing by famine ever before their eyes. O’Neill and O’Donnell were aware of all this, and did the best they could, under such discouraging circumstances. They were almost at the end of their resources, and awaited anxiously for the aid, in men and money, solemnly promised them by the envoy of Philip of Spain. To add to their ever-growing embarrassment, Niall Garbh (“the Rough”) O’Donnell, cousin of Red Hugh, and the fiercest warrior of Clan-Conal, revolted, because of some fancied slight, and also, no doubt, inflamed by unworthy ambition, against the chief, and went over to the enemy. Unfortunately, some of the clansmen, who did not look beyond personal attachment, followed his dishonored fortunes, but this was about the only serious case of clan defection. The great body of the Irish galloglasses and kerns—heavy and light infantry—remained true to their country and their God, and died fighting for both to the last.