The Eve of All-Hallows; Or, Adelaide of Tyrconnel, v. 2 of 3

by Matthew Weld Hartstonge

Behold where he flies on his desolate path.

Campbell.

Throughout the entire night previous to the battle of the Boyne, fearful forebodings and dismal auguries preyed upon the superstitious mind of King James. An owl had perched upon the apex of the royal pretorium, or pavilion, which incessantly hooted mournfully throughout the live-long night; and at break of day, when the army commenced its march, a flight of ravens, the ill-omened birds of augury, accompanied and every where pursued the royal standard, cawing, and wheeling around it in continuous circles; and whenever it became stationary, they winged their hovering flight above it in mid-air, while it waved in the breeze. The same night the royal standard which streamed at Dublin Castle, from Birmingham Tower, and which had been neglected in not having been taken down at the royal departure, was rent in shivers from the force of the storm which that night raged impetuously; and the gilt crown, which had blazed on the top of the standard-staff, was hurled off into an adjoining cemetery. Strange and unearthly noises were heard; and the mournful wail of the banshee was distinctly heard, even amid the howling of the storm; for such were the superstitions of those days, and in which even many of the wise believed!

The troops of King James returned back to the Irish capital, but not, as they had gone forth to battle, elate with hope, and flushed with the expectance of victory. No, they returned with the hurried haste of a rapid rout; while the crimsoned blush of indignant shame and defeat in each visage as it passed, was too fully apparent to the scrutinizing spectator. Fatigue and lassitude seemed somewhat, however, to retard, if not paralize, the return of the troops; while vexation and disappointment were deeply impressed in every look and motion, from the general to the private soldier, which too manifestly told that they had returned covered with defeat, not crowned with victory!

With all the rancour of fanatic rage, and all the ferocity of atrocious civil war, the troops of King William pursued the royal fugitive. And history is wholly silent as to whether any royal mandate was issued to spare the life of King James, the father of Mary, who was the wife of William!

For upwards of four hours, like a pack of ravening hounds tracking the scent of blood, the soldiery continued to pursue at the heels of the fugitives; and not satiated with the carnage of the victory which they had achieved, having strewed the field of battle with three thousand slain, and with which slaughter they might have been fully satiated. However, when the army ceased to pursue the fugitives, it was not from a desire to desist, but from a physical inability to proceed, having become wholly exhausted from the toil of battle, and fatigue of pursuit. And under this conviction, King William gave the troops an entire day to recover from the hardships which they had undergone.

King James, as he retired from the defeat, broke down all the bridges in his rere; which act arose from the suggestions of the French officers,[2] who, impatient to revisit their own country, hurried him from Ireland, and added wings to his fears. As soon as King James had returned to the Castle of Dublin, a letter awaited him from Louis the Fourteenth's own hand, in which the French monarch informed James of the victory of Fleurus, which had put it in his power to draw his garrisons from Flanders to the coast; and also told of the station which his fleet had taken, and prevented his enemies from succouring each other. In this letter Louis urged him instantly to sail for France, and to leave the conduct of the war to his generals, with direct orders to protract it; and promised to land him in England with thirty thousand men. A letter which, while it filled James with hopes, covered him at the same time with mortification, when he reflected upon the contrast between his own situation and that of his ally.

It is a curious, but undoubted circumstance, that all the dispositions made at the battle of the Boyne by King James, were counting upon defeat, not on victory; for with a presaging mind he reflected that all the precautions which he had taken were contrived to make retreat less dangerous, but not to improve on victory. It was with the same melancholy and ominous foreboding, that previous to the battle he thought proper to despatch Sir Patrick Trant, a commissioner of the Irish revenue, to prepare for him a ship at Waterford, that in case of defeat he might secure his retreat to France![3]

The Duke of Tyrconnel, who had fully resolved not to abandon the fallen fortunes of his generous, but unfortunate king, made immediate and prompt preparation for accompanying his sovereign into exile; and he proceeded with this intent accordingly to take a tender farewell of his duchess, his beloved daughter, and his sisters. He determined that the duchess, Adelaide, and his sisters, should immediately depart from Ireland, and proceed to the continent; and he recommended that Brussels should be the city where, ultimately, they were to sojourn until more propitious and peaceful times should arrive. To Sir Patricius Placebo, upon whose known fidelity and prudence he felt every reliance, he intrusted these dear pledges to his guidance and protection, and strongly advised and urged their immediate departure for Parkgate, in one of the royal yachts; they were to travel in as private a manner as might be; and having staid a few days with their friends the Bishop of Chester and Mrs. Cartwright, in the ancient city of Deva,[4] (as Chester was called when in possession of the Romans,) in order to recover from the fatigue of their voyage; and then they were to proceed to the most convenient and safe port in England, from whence they were to embark for the Netherlands.

The time of departure now approached, King James's saddle-horses, travelling carriages, his suite and servants, &c. were now all in readiness in the upper castle-yard. The duke, who had been some time sitting with his family, now arose to attend a council, and then to depart with his royal master. He looked mournful and desponding, while cordially and affectionately he bade farewell to his beloved family.