Battle of the Boyne, July 1.
Whatever William may have said or thought at the evening council, he did not entirely reject the idea of a flank movement. Very early in the morning of July 1 he despatched Meinhart Schomberg with a strong body of horse and foot and five guns to cross at the bridge of Slane. They marched by the straight road, leaving the bend of the river far to their left. Sir Neill O’Neill with his dragoons were sent to guard this pass, and the bridge itself had been broken down, but there had been several very hot days, and the river, not being affected by the tide above Oldbridge, was fordable in many places. Schomberg’s men crossed with ease, partly near Slane and partly at Rossnaree lower down, the dragoons were beaten back, and O’Neill himself mortally wounded. This was at about half-past nine. Warned by the trumpets and drums of Schomberg’s force, Lauzun had already begun to extend to his left, and when he saw what had happened developed this movement gradually in order to secure the means of retreat. Seeing that Schomberg’s party was in danger, William sent Lieut.-General Douglas with a much larger force of infantry to his aid. A bog prevented the hostile wings from coming to close quarters, but Lauzun gained Duleek, which commanded the Dublin road. In the meantime the passage at Oldbridge, where Richard Hamilton commanded with eight battalions, had been forced, and soon after noon most of the Irish infantry were in full flight, nor is this to be wondered at, for less than a week before, many of them had not learned how to fire their pieces. The baggage had been sent off at daybreak; the tents and knapsacks became the prey of the victors. Stevens saw the hills covered with fugitives running past like sheep before a wolf. ‘The shame of our regiment,’ he says, ‘only afflicted me before, but now all the horror of a routed army, just before so vigorous and desirous of battle, and broke without scarce a stroke of the enemy, so perplexed my soul that I envied the few dead.’[267]
Victory of William.
Schomberg was over the Boyne before the left and centre of William’s army began to move, but at a quarter past ten the Blue Dutch Guards, eight or ten deep, entered the water opposite the unfinished works at Oldbridge, their drums beating until they reached the bank. They were up to their waists, and crossed under a heavy but ineffectual fire, reserving their own until they reached dry land. The first to climb the bank was a lieutenant who formed up the leading files, and then crouched down for them to shoot over his head. The Irish foot abandoned the first ditch, but their cavalry, under Berwick’s command, charged the Dutch furiously before they were fully in order. They stood firm against this and several other attacks, gradually pressing the Irish infantry backwards, and in the meantime the French and Enniskillen foot passed the river a little farther down, several English and Danish regiments still lower. The tide was rising, so that some of the men were up to their arm-pits, and on the extreme left, horses had to swim. Some of the Danish infantry carried their guns over their heads, but others fired steadily as they waded over. William was looking on, and said he had never seen anything better done. They were at once attacked by the Irish cavalry, and there was hard fighting for half an hour. A regiment of French Huguenots was broken by a charge, and Colonel La Cailemotte was carried off the field mortally wounded, but still encouraging his men, ‘A la gloire, mes enfants, à la gloire!’ Seeing his friends in difficulties, Schomberg crossed himself, reminding them that their persecutors were before them. He fell, shot through the neck, and with sabre wounds on the head. Dr. Walker, the still unconsecrated Bishop of Derry, was killed soon afterwards, and his brother clergyman Story, offers as an excuse for his presence, that he was going to look at the wounded general. Walker, says the chaplain, was stripped at once, ‘for the Scots-Irish that followed our camp were got through already, and took off most of the plunder.’ When the news of Schomberg’s death was brought to William, he laid his finger on his lips, and lost no time in passing the river himself with the left wing of his cavalry, Dutch and Dane chiefly, with Wolseley’s Enniskilleners and Cutts’s English regiment. His right arm was stiff from yesterday’s wound, and he carried a stick only. He was unable to bear his cuirass, and when he drew his sword later, had to hold it in his left hand. He crossed where the little Drybridge stream enters the Boyne, but his horse stuck fast in the boggy ground beyond the river, and he had to dismount before it could be extricated. He was at once engaged in the thickest of the fight, and a bullet which struck the heel of his boot killed a horse close by. He put himself at the head of the Enniskillen cavalry, saying, ‘What will you do for me?’ Owing possibly to a mistake, the Enniskilleners were driven back for a short distance, and then William led on his steady Dutch. The Enniskilleners soon recovered themselves, and the Irish foot were pressed backwards, but the cavalry for the most part fought bravely, making repeated and often successful charges, but being gradually overborne by the disciplined troops opposed to them. Lord Dungan was killed early in the fight, and his dragoons would do nothing afterwards. Lord Clare’s yellow dragoons also ran away, and some of them never stopped until they got far beyond the Shannon. The broken troops rode right through the retreating foot as if they had been enemies. But Tyrconnel’s and Parker’s regiments of horse performed prodigies of valour. The latter was wounded, and Sheldon, who commanded the former corps, had two horses killed under him. Berwick’s was shot, and rolled over his rider. Hamilton, who headed the last charge, was wounded and taken prisoner near Plattin House, which stands two miles back from the river. William said he was very glad to see him, and asked if the cavalry would make any more fight. ‘Upon my honour,’ said the prisoner, ‘I believe they will.’ ‘Your honour!’ said the King; and that was his only revenge. Hamilton was sent to the Tower as a prisoner of war, and was exchanged for Lord Mountjoy in the spring of 1692. Neither of them saw Ireland again, and Mountjoy, whom William made Master of the Ordnance, was killed at Steenkirk soon after his release from the Bastille. He had had enough of passive obedience. There was no more fighting, but the Irish cavalry rallied to protect the retreat with the unbroken French contingent. The flying infantry threw away their arms, and even their boots, and not many were overtaken, though little quarter was given. The loss of the victors was about one-third as great. The pursuit continued as far as Naul, when the light began to fail. Drogheda surrendered the next day, the garrison marching out without arms, rather than undergo the horrors of an assault. The terms offered were pretty much the same as Cromwell’s, forty years before, and the memories attaching to his siege were not favourable to resistance.[268]
Flight of James.
On the fatal morning King James posted himself near the church at Donore, whence he could see both armies. He took no part in the battle, and as appears from his own account was chiefly concerned lest his retreat should be cut off. As soon as the danger seemed imminent he drew off to the left and joined Lauzun, who strongly advised him to take care of himself. He needed but little pressing, and with four troops of horse and four of dragoons he passed Duleek first and led the way back to Dublin. The French kept their ranks and prevented the victors from pressing too hard upon the routed army. Berwick reached Duleek about the same time as William himself, and had to gallop hard to avoid being intercepted. Lauzun and Tyrconnel kept together. The loss in James’s army was perhaps 1500, that in William’s about 500. To compare the conduct of the two Kings, it need only be said that one led the advance and the other the retreat.[269]
Importance of the battle.
From the military point of view, the battle of the Boyne is not interesting, and French writers dismiss it as a skirmish, in which Marshal Schomberg happened to be killed. With a much superior force, both in numbers and quality, William forced the passage of a small river which was fordable in many places. The importance of the action lies in its international character, and its political effect was enormous in checking the overweening ambition of France. There have been other occasions on which very small battles have decided very great causes. At Valmy the forces engaged were greater than at the Boyne, but the number of casualties was less than one-half, and yet the effect is felt to this day. At Calatafimi the killed and wounded altogether were only about 400, but that fight went far to change the map of Europe. The great French victory at Fleurus and the great English disaster off Beachy Head were both neutralised on the banks of the Boyne. Lauzun’s despatch is dated sixteen days after the battle, and it was a fortnight later that the full news reached Louis XIV. But King James had arrived at Brest, with the tidings of his own defeat, laying all the blame on the Irish, and giving faint praise even to the cavalry who had fought so well. Soon after this it was known that the Prince of Orange had been hit, and confidently reported that he was dead. Without any encouragement from the authorities, the Parisians abandoned themselves to rejoicing. How much the French feared William, said Bolingbroke, ‘appeared in the extravagant and indecent joy they expressed on a false report of his death.’ The citizens dined in the streets, casks of wine were broached, there were bonfires and fireworks everywhere. Effigies of William were cast on dunghills, thrown into the Seine, or broken on the wheel. First President Harlay and Advocate-General Talon had to drink the King’s health, and Bossuet, though he protested that he was on his way to say mass, was forced to do the same. Police officers sent to suppress the unauthorised rejoicings had to drink with the rest. Even in the inner court at Versailles the guards could hardly prevent the people from lighting a fire. The excitement spread to remote villages, and was not allayed for weeks. Even after the middle of August the Abbé de Choisy made a bet with La Fontaine that the Prince was dead, staking the price of the poet’s works against the books themselves. The report reached Modena, but with the puzzling addition that James was at St. Germain. Then the truth came in English and Dutch papers. At Rome, too, the event was long uncertain. Melfort at first heard that the Prince of Orange was killed, and he enlarged on King James’s opportunity. This was the time to take the power of the purse from Parliament, to repeal the Habeas Corpus Act, and to abolish trial by jury in cases of treason. If an amnesty was found necessary, the list of exceptions should be as long as possible, and not one of those excepted should ever be pardoned on any consideration. Alexander VIII., who thought more of enriching his family than of rescuing England, was horrified that Te Deums should be sung in Austrian cathedrals for William’s victory; but he had no money to spare, and could not venture to go against the general sense of European sovereigns. Even the French, though they would have welcomed the death of their great antagonist, had very little sympathy with his dethroned rival.[270]
State of Dublin.
In the morning of July 1 Dublin was full of rumours that a battle was imminent. The gates were closely guarded, and Protestants kept their houses. Every hour brought a fresh report. The French were in Dublin Bay. An express from Waterford had announced that the Isle of Wight was in French hands, and the victors going to Dover. The English right wing on the Boyne had been completely routed. But at five in the afternoon stragglers arrived on tired horses, who said the Irish had the worst, and an hour later others declared that the rout was complete. ‘Till one that night all the entries of the town were filled with dusty, wounded, and tired soldiers and carriages perpetually coming in.’ A little before ten King James arrived with 200 horse in disorder, and was received by Lady Tyrconnel at the Castle gate. He was followed two hours later by the bulk of the Irish cavalry in good order, ‘with kettledrums, hautboys, and trumpets.’ Next morning came the French with all their guns and many of the Irish foot. But the King was already gone. He saw some of his Council—Herbert, Fitton, the Duke of Powis, Price, Nagle, and Albeville being among them—and asked whether the news of the battle of Fleurus was not a reason for going to France. He seems to have thought that Louis would seize the opportunity of invading England while William was away. His advisers urged him to run no risk of capture, since the victorious enemy might appear in the morning. At midnight a message came from Berwick to say that he had rallied some of the fugitives and asking for cavalry. His father sent a few troops that had not been in the battle, but the gathering soon dispersed. Tyrconnel sent his chaplain to advise His Majesty to lose no time, and to send all the troops to meet him and Lauzun at Leixlip. La Hoguette and other superior officers appeared in Dublin without their men, which was explained by a mistaken order having been given to meet Lauzun at Dunboyne. At five in the morning, after a few hours’ rest, James sent for the Mayor and made a speech to him and others present. Everything, he said, was against him. In England he had an army that would have fought if they had not proved false; in Ireland his soldiers were loyal enough, but would not stand by him. He had now to seek safety for himself, and advised his hearers to do the same. They were not to wreak present vengeance on the Protestants, nor to injure a city in which he still had an interest. He then took horse for Bray, ordering Simon Luttrell to evacuate the town and to do no mischief. La Hoguette and the other French officers asked for horses, but he had none to give them, and they were left to follow as best they could. Brigadier Wauchop was posted near the north end of Dublin to turn the stream of fugitives towards Limerick. Luttrell was the last man to leave his post, and by sunset the Castle was in sole charge of Captain Farlow, who had been a close prisoner since the skirmish near Ravensdale.[271]