Such work was all that Monk could do with the forces at his command, and he did it well. To hold his ground till the great expedition, which was in contemplation for the conquest of Ireland, could start was all he could hope; and till one party or the other got the upper hand in the English Parliament that would never be. So while politicians at home were scheming as to who should set the King on his throne again and the sterner voices were beginning to mutter darkly that it was not there he must find his rest, honest George in his matter-of-fact business-like way was quietly busy with the duty of his place. For him the growing dissensions amongst his paymasters were nothing, except in so far as they found them too absorbing to make time to send him money and supplies.
Till the questions of the King and the command of the army were settled things were at a deadlock, and Monk was thrown on his own resources. It was now that he began to show how great these resources were, and how to the reckless courage and strategic sagacity of the soldier he added all the qualities that go to make the successful proconsul. In his province he was an autocrat. He had a commission to execute martial law, an extraordinary mark of confidence in those days, and governed despotically in a state of siege. Yet no administration had ever been more generally popular. So just or judicious were his decisions on every point that came before him that long after he was gone they were quoted as unassailable precedents. The Protestants began to feel the colony had got a new start in life.
Nor in the duties of judge and governor did he relax the unsleeping vigilance of the general. Time after time O'Neill attempted a raid, but it was only to fall into the midst of a force that scattered his troops like chaff; and when he succeeded in regaining the desolate fastnesses from which he had issued, it was but to hear how Monk's soldiers had swept down in his absence on some distant spot and carried off a precious booty of cattle and provender. For honest practical George was far too much of a soldier not to know the value of spies, and he used them unscrupulously. O'Neill could not move hand or foot before an iron grip was on him. Splendid soldier as he was he had met his match, and never could he get within striking distance of his enemy's magazines.
Nor was this all. For while the Irish were kept at a distance in a state of starvation the English soldiers were digging pay and provision out of the desolation, where once the wretched partisans of O'Neill had had their homes. And so by a happy combination of the patient industry of the ploughman and the daring activity of the mosstrooper Monk made the war support itself, a thing as strange as it was palatable to the authorities at home; and while he thus delighted his masters he no less attached his troops to him by his judicious distribution of loot, as well as by keeping an open house to which every officer had at all times a hearty welcome. His maxim was to "mingle love with the severity of his discipline," believing that "they that cannot be induced to serve for love will never be forced to serve for fear."
But troubles were at hand. The province was no bed of roses, or if it were, the thorns grew faster than the flowers as the breath of party strife began to reach it in fitful gusts. Ever since Ormonde had left Dublin he had been busily engaged with the King's friends, who were taking advantage of the growing royalism of the Presbyterians to form a new combination against the Parliament. In Scotland and Munster lay their chief hopes of backing a rising in England, and so well did Ormonde play his part that in April, 1648, the Independent officers under Inchiquin found it necessary to make a desperate attempt to save the province by seizing Cork and Youghal. The plot failed, Inchiquin at once showed his hand for the King, and Munster was lost to the Parliament. This was followed at the end of the month by a declaration from Scotland in favour of Charles, and the mobilisation of the forces of the Northern Kingdom.
The second Civil War had begun, and Inchiquin sought to improve his position by concluding a cessation and alliance with Clanrickarde and his Irish party, and by secretly negotiating with the Scots in Ulster. Already Monk had had sufficient trouble with them. At the outbreak of the Rebellion in 1641 Munroe had sailed from Scotland to the assistance of the old Scotch settlers. Since then he and his New Scotch, as they were called, had succeeded by their overbearing conduct in making themselves extremely unpopular with the Old Scotch, and Monk had plenty to do to hold the balance between them. Now there was a new complication. The Old Scotch party was as yet decidedly anti-Royalist. They had never forgiven Charles for his attempted alliance with O'Neill and the execrated authors of the Ulster massacres. It was then with Munroe and the New Scotch that Inchiquin sought to deal, and not in vain. Munroe adhered to the coalition, but his adhesion was kept a profound secret till the time came for action. The idea seems to have been that so soon as Ormonde arrived from France to take command in Ireland Monk should be seized. No attempt appears to have been made to tamper with him. Though Ormonde tempted Coote and Jones, he knew Monk too well to be ignorant that his sting could only be drawn by violence.
The danger was extreme, and the fate of the cause hung in a balance. Besides the three English officers, O'Neill and his Nationalists were all in Ireland that were not in arms for the King. Across St. George's Channel the Scots were already over the border with a force so formidable that none could foresee the issue when they and Cromwell met. Munroe held Carrickfergus and Belfast. Ormonde was on his way from France, and if ever Charles had a chance it was now. The fate of Ireland hung for the moment on Monk. With Ulster in Ormonde's hands O'Neill's last chance was gone, and Coote and Jones single-handed could never hold out.
But from Monk's vigilance the danger could not be concealed, and for him to know was to act. He saw his duty, he saw his chance, and sharp and sudden he struck his blow. One day in the middle of September Munroe was in his quarters ready for the moment of action, when suddenly there was a confused alarm, and before the Scotchman well knew what it meant he found himself a prisoner in the hands of Monk, and the towns of Belfast and Carrickfergus in possession of the English and the Old Scotch.
The bells were ringing for Cromwell's overwhelming victory at Preston when the news came that Ulster was safe as yet and Ireland reprieved. In an outburst of gratitude the Houses ordered a public thanksgiving, voted the hero of the hour a letter of thanks, appointed him Governor of Belfast, gave him the disposal of Carrickfergus and a gratuity of £500, and resolved to try and pay all his men's arrears. From that moment his fortune was made. The Independents were now supreme. For them his blow had been struck, and people began to forget he had ever drawn sword for the King.
Still in spite of his success his position in Ireland was anything but enviable. The Parliament was triumphant in England, but the account was still open between the Independents and the Presbyterians, and until it was closed little could be done for the relief of Ireland. Even when Cromwell had settled it with a squad of musketeers, and the execution of Charles had removed the great obstacle to a permanent settlement, much remained to be done before the great Irish Expedition could start. For the moment history turned on the race for Ireland, and a close race it was. The execution of Charles was followed by the Scots of Ulster declaring unanimously against the Republic. Coote was shut up in Derry, and Monk with the greatest difficulty escaped a surprise, and took refuge in Dundalk.[4] The situation was growing desperate indeed. The Royalists held the whole country with the exception of the ground which was covered by the guns of the garrisons, or occupied by O'Neill's Nationalists. The English Expedition was far from ready, and Ormonde was leaving no stone unturned to make the whole island his own before it could sail. Again he was tempting Jones and Coote, though again he did not waste time on Monk. He was offering baits to O'Neill. He was urging the new King to come over and complete the work with his presence. So well was he working that in February the Papal Nuncio fled, leaving him in possession of the field. O'Neill's supporters began to desert. Every day the country which the Ulster chief could call his own grew less and less. The fall of Dublin and the other English garrisons began to stare the English Council in the face. Something must be done to stave off the end yet a little while, and the strangest and most obscure of all that time is the story of the means the Council employed for the work.