Certain intelligence arrived at Enniscorthy that it would be attacked on the 28th at midday. The drums beat to arms; the garrison took their posts. The North Cork Militia occupied the bridge; cavalry were posted in the leading street; a detachment of yeomanry occupied an elevation three or four hundred yards in front of the chief gate. On perceiving the latter, the insurgent column halted and deployed, extending largely to the right and left, to outflank the small band before them, and cut it off from the town. Then they moved forward, driving cattle in advance of them, opening at the same time a well-directed fire. The yeomanry, perceiving their tactics, retired within the walls, covered by a charge of cavalry which, whilst dispersing a band that was pressing them too closely, came itself to tribulation by reason of the cattle. A second body, with a second lot of kine, made for a gate to westward, which was protected by a tributary stream. The ford had previously been deepened, and was considered dangerous enough to act as its own defence. A gigantic priest, who wore a broad crossbelt and a dragoon's sabre swinging, was equal to the occasion:
'Drive in the cattle, boys, and swarm over their backs!'
No sooner said than done. Goaded by pikes the animals rushed headlong into the gulf, and the rebels, crossing the palpitating bridge, crept unperceived into the town, which was by this time a mass of flame. The disaffected inhabitants picked off the soldiery from their windows; fired their own houses to burn them out when the royalists sought protection there; dragged away frieze-coated bodies, that the carnage might not discourage the survivors; while women and young girls, in the heroism born of excitement, ran hither and thither among the bullets, administering new courage in the welcome shape of whisky. The streets were so involved in smoke that the yeomen could not perceive the rebels till they felt their pikes within their flesh. The whirling flame flared in such a sheet as to unite in a seething arch over their heads--singeing the bearskin of their caps, scorching their very hair and eyelashes. After a conflict wherein for three hours each inch was savagely disputed, the loyalists found themselves pushed backwards into the central square. 'Victory!' hallooed the insurgents--just a little bit too soon. A heavy discharge from the market-house made them waver. Profiting by their recoil, cavalry and infantry rallied. Their discipline stood them in good stead at the turning of the tide. They dashed forward; drove the huge wave in a vast roll before them, which ebbed across the bridge, down the straight street, away out of the town--a turbulent maelstrom of discomfited fugitives. Though the rebels were for the time repulsed, it was certain that they would return again on the morrow and sweep the place clean by sheer weight of numbers. The little garrison was weakened by half its strength. The loyalists, unwitting of the insidious purpose of Lord Clare, loudly blamed the executive for leaving so inadequate a force to battle with so immense a mob. It was a pernicious want of forethought which would cost many lives. A strong force of regulars, they complained, and this Hurry would be over in two days at most. Guileless loyalists of Enniscorthy! After all the labour of incubation, it was not fitting that the trouble should be too brief. The chancellor's twitter of conscience was past, and his hand was steady on the plough again, to force it through roots and stones. The iron, being drawn, might not be sheathed again before it had cut into the writhing soul of Erin ineffaceably. She must remember the Hurry to the end of her existence, as an awful sample of the terrors which would fall even yet more heavily upon her if she should dare again to rouse the wrath of her elder sister. Consistently, therefore, till the lesson was complete, two hundred regulars or so were always expected to cope with two thousand rebels; and, even with those odds against them, the former, more frequently than not, obtained the upper hand. In the present instance, however, it was not so; for it was clear that the loyalists must desert the town or be killed to a man. In the mid-hour of night, lighted by the afterglow of conflagration, they retreated without warning to Wexford--a melancholy train; bearing their women and their wounded on their horses; leaving infants by the wayside, while the aged sank down from weariness and were abandoned to the tender mercies of the mob.
On the 1st of June the great camping-ground hard-by Enniscorthy presented a strange picture, occupied as it had then become by an armed host of ten thousand men, independent of a grand array of camp-followers, suttlers, women and children, who flocked in from all quarters to applaud the defenders of their hearths. From a military point of view, Vinegar Hill is strong. High grounds are crowned by a cone of bold ascent, capped by a ruined mill, while the cultivated fields beneath are divided into small enclosures, intersected by stone walls and trenches. For defence by irregular troops who trusted rather to numbers than to skill, such a position was particularly favourable; for the enclosures afforded safe cover for skirmishers, who could watch the approach of an enemy whilst they remained themselves unseen. The appearance of the singular mushroom-bed which speedily sprouted up was extremely picturesque, in keeping with the wildness of guerilla warfare. Tents of the Donnybrook pattern rose on all sides. Vinegar Hill was intended to become a temporary home; for the chiefs were resolved that this should be the centre of their operations until such time as they could be masters of the Castle. Long avenues of bent wattles like straggling caterpillars of every hue crawled up the slope, covered with the spoils of Enniscorthy--patchwork-quilts, sheets, ripped sacks, rugs, blankets. At intervals a smaller edifice, crowned by an old brush and swinging lantern, invited to a temporary shebeen. If an old pot dangled too, it was a sign that food might also be procured there; though, the weather being warm, the soup-caldrons were usually placed without, that all the ragged host might lick their lips over the good things which tumbled into them for a ragout. Nor were the more æsthetic pleasures of the eye and ear neglected. The organ of Enniscorthy church and its peal of bells were brought thither in state for some one or other to jangle upon night and day; whilst as for flags, the camp was alive with them, of every colour except orange, bearing each a rude harp without a crown. One, conspicuous above the rest, was black, with the cognisance M. W. S. in white; and this the loyalists in their charity chose to unriddle as 'Murder without sin,' whereas its real meaning was 'Marksmen of Wexford and of Shelmalier.' Among the throng might be observed men in the King's uniform--bright spots in the mass of brown. Such soldier prisoners as the crew had taken were treated well and guarded with care, for they were of the greatest value as drill-sergeants, and might be seen day and night plodding up and down with awkward squads, into whom they were striving to instil the first germs of military science. What an unmanageable mob it was! swelling hourly through the constant influx of recruits, not one of whom possessed the faintest idea of discipline; each one of whom had a predilection for poteen and a dim suspicion of the incompetence of his leaders. It was at this juncture that the weak, well-intentioned country gentlemen, who had striven to occupy the empty shoes of their imprisoned betters, were swept into the shade by the unscrupulous influence of the lower clergy--uncultured, ferocious creatures, whose worst passions were aroused by the burning of their chapels, the desecration of their altars; men who scrupled not to play upon the vulgar superstition of a half-savage multitude for the gaining of a cherished end. They became hideous tyrants--such men as the priests of Tallat and of Boulovogue; merciless as their persecutors had been without mercy. Inflamed by wrong and intoxicated by a little brief authority, they were guilty of enormities which, at a quieter moment, they would themselves have surveyed with horror. The higher Catholic clergy withstood the force of the current, and, resisting temptation, publicly disapproved and deplored their acts; yet who (looking on the picture calmly at this distance of time) will throw the first stone at them? The multitude had, with deliberate art, been stung to madness. The bad passions of their teachers had been stirred in their most vital place. If the people were as ignorant as their own cattle, who was accountable for it? England, through the cruel enactments of centuries. If the members of the inferior priesthood were debased and wicked, who made them so? England, by persecuting them without ceasing, by forbidding their minds to be illumined by education--England, by her accursed Penal Code.
The original champions being caged, three Catholic priests. Fathers Murphy, Kearnes, and Roche, overturning established authority, assumed the conduct of affairs, and set about the organising of their army. What had been hitherto a conflict of classes tinged with a religious bias, became now a purely religious crusade, accompanied by all the crimes which, through the history of the world, have been intimately associated with religion. What an inscrutable vision it is--that of the stately Spirit walking through earth's story, her fair features distorted, her white robes edged with blood, her pure skirts soiled by the vilest lees of the human heart--always!
The new leaders divided their host into three divisions, with each a special mission. The first, under Father Kearnes, was to possess itself of Newtown Barry. This expedition proved abortive. The second, under Father Roche (which, owing to lack of space on Vinegar Hill, was encamped at Carrickbyrne with an outpost at Scullabogue), was to attack New Ross, then, proceeding northward, was to join the third body in a grand attempt on Dublin. This plan was plausible enough, for Gorey, Arklow, and Wicklow were weakly garrisoned, and, should those citadels give way, the road to the capital lay open--undefended. Perry of Inch and Father Murphy (who commanded the third division) were mighty men of valour. The latter swore by the Holy Mother that he was invulnerable, carrying bullets in his pockets to prove the miracle. Chances seemed fairly in favour of success. The garrison of Gorey, for instance, numbered but a hundred and thirty men. What could they hope to do--disciplined though they were--against a rabble of six thousand? They did what was wisest under the circumstances; called temerity to their aid, and essayed to brazen out the difficulty of their position. Instead of waiting to be attacked, they rushed out upon the road, raising such clouds of summer dust that the advancing rebels, supposing reinforcements to have arrived, turned and fled in terror. The advanced guard of the insurgents slinking off, had taken the courage from the rest. Each man vied with his neighbour in the race, and the Irish peasant is wondrous fleet of foot.
Father Kearnes' detachment met with more grave misfortune than this merely temporary rout. The simultaneous attempt upon New Ross (nineteen miles from Wexford) was the hardest-fought day of the entire Hurry--one, too, which will be darkened through all time by the memory of a deplorable outrage. The object in gaining possession of New Ross was the same as had induced the taking of Enniscorthy. For as the one stood on the Slaney, with water-access to Wexford Harbour, so did the other command water also, standing as it did upon the Nore and Barrow, within similar distance of the important port of Waterford. New Ross, too, was placed on the very border of Kilkenny. All the disaffected in that county were expected to join the insurgents in a united gigantic effort to win so fine a jewel; for, as soon as it was captured, nothing would have been easier than to drop down to Waterford, which loved not the Castle joss; which was weakly garrisoned, and tempting to boot in the way of plunder. But this well-balanced scheme was frustrated and made of no effect by the god of war's ill-temper. Sure he's as fickle and as false as Fortune is--that arrant feckless jade! And has not her excuse neither--being a man, who, by reason of his sex, should be above lowering his dignity by feminine whimsies. On this 5th of June he got out of bed on the wrong side (in consequence of being called so early maybe), and the plan against New Ross miscarried. At 3 a.m. Bagenal Harvey, who commanded in conjunction with Father Roche, despatched a flag of truce, imploring the garrison not to provoke rapine by useless resistance. He bade them look up at the heights which commanded the town, and count the myriads whose frieze turned the landscape dun. For the good of all 'twere better to surrender at once, rather than uselessly to sacrifice precious life. A letter worthy of the kindly soft-hearted gentleman who wrote it.
The flag of truce was slain. His name was Furlong, a popular man. The insurgents, watching from above, beheld him lying prone--shot through the heart by an outpost sentinel. With fury they upbraided Harvey as an old dame for his ill-timed courtesy, vowing that they would obey no one but the priest that day. Maddened by the sight of that single corpse lying far below upon its face, they poured with the overwhelming impulse of a destroying flood unexpectedly set free down the steep declivity--an avenging awful host, numbering twenty thousand--and battered in the Three-bullet Gate. If the huge force could have been divided by scientific skill, an attack might have been made on the three gates at once, and every loyalist would have miserably perished. But even the priest was powerless to cope with the boiling throng. Yelling and screaming, by mere weight they drove in the pickets; cavalry went down like barley; nothing could withstand the avalanche. In vain the principal thoroughfare of New Ross was swept by the steady fire of artillery, which, falling on a dense mass of men wedged tight together in a narrow street, shore down the column's head as often as it rose. The legend of the dragon's teeth was realised that day; as fast as row drooped over row, so did other rows spring up, propelled by a giant force behind. One fanatic pushed to the gun's very muzzle, and, plunging in his hat and wig, cried, 'Come on, boys! her mouth's stopped!' The next moment he was blown into the air, but the gun was trodden down, dismounted--rendered useless; and the yeomanry retired under shelter. If the Croppies had obeyed their priest, all would have gone well. But much as they adored their Church, much as they longed for beatific rest in Paradise, they at this moment loved mundane whisky more. They plundered the houses of meat and drink, broached barrels in the market-place, poured fiery rivers of consolation down their parched gullets. In vain Mr. Harvey begged them to desist; in vain Father Roche threatened them with purgatorial ills. They snapped their fingers at their God and at His minister. Had they not already suffered hell? Well, then, they were used to it. Its terrors had ceased to fill their souls with dread.
The royalist commandant was amazed at what he saw. It was a Pandemonium--but one whose horrors were evanescent. He only had to wait under his shelter. One little hour of drunken madness such as this, and the day would be his after all, in spite of apparently adverse destiny. The insurgents thought no more of a foe who had only retired out of sight down a by-street. They laughed and sang, and danced, and whirled in idiot frenzy; then fell into the gutter--drunk! By three in the afternoon such of the mob as could totter were hunted out of the town--those who remained were handed over to the tormentor. In the alleys and byways bodies choked the path three deep; two thousand more were borne away on carts. New Ross remained to his Majesty King George; but the terrors of the black 5th of June were not yet over. The gates were closed on the expulsion of the rabblement so quickly that many stragglers among the royalists were left without to batter on the wood in vain. The wounded amongst them were mercilessly piked, unless by a Romanist shibboleth they could 'bless themselves.' If they could go through the formula they might be saved--if not, they would, as a natural consequence, be butchered. A woman, vagrant in the turmoil, beheld a wounded friend who was a Protestant, and knew that he could not pass the ordeal. She knelt by him, whispered some words which he repeated, and for that time was saved. But a more awful vengeance than this in the lanes around New Ross had been already wreaked away at Scullabogue. I have mentioned above that Kearnes' detachment had come from Carrickbyrne, close to which lies Scullabogue; but I did not mention that at that place there was a goodly barn--strong, well-built--which was excellently useful as a prison-house, and at this time contained some three hundred and twenty prisoners--men, women, and children.
When the tide at New Ross began to turn against the insurgents, Father Roche--whose reason had toppled, who was mad in that his influence had shrivelled away from him--swore to be revenged somehow, not on his own erring flock, but on those whom the ill-conditioned god of war was permitting to win the day! It was one of those awful moments when blinding ferocity dictates unchecked, which make one almost believe in the existence of Lucifer; when the human tendency to evil seems to pile itself up into a monument of what wickedness may be able to accomplish. A messenger was despatched to Scullabogue with a command to immolate the prisoners. Their gaoler, appalled at this cold-blooded order, refused to obey it unless the directions were more explicit. These arrived in due course, very clear indeed. 'The priest says the prisoners must be put to death.' There was no disobeying this. Croppies took off their long coats to carry out the priest's decree. The handful of men were brought out and shot; the doors were firmly barred; the barn was set ablaze there is no use in going into detail.