Mountjoy and Essex.
While staying at Donore Mountjoy got a letter to say that Essex had been sent to the Tower. ‘It is not credible,’ says Moryson, ‘that the influence of the Earl’s malignant star should work upon so poor a snake as myself.’ Yet so it was. Mountjoy thought it prudent to range himself ostentatiously on Cecil’s side, and to depress Essex’s friends, with some of whom his secretary was connected. He took his most private papers into his own custody, and Moryson says he never quite recovered the blow. He tells us that, however his principal might clamour to be recalled nothing was further from his thoughts, and that he had made preparations to sail for France in case he was sent for to England. Ten days later came a gracious letter from Elizabeth, in which she announced the death of Essex, cautioned his successor to look well to the loyalty of his officers, and forbade him to leave his post until the intentions of Spain were better known.[372]
Death of Essex. His confessions.
Lady Rich.
Mountjoy had been implicated in the Essex intrigues quite enough to make him nervous; but when it became clear that the Queen would overlook all, he was probably sincerely anxious to return. He wrote to solicit Nottingham’s good offices, and the answer throws a curious light upon the manners and morals of the time. ‘I think,’ wrote the Lord Admiral, ‘her Majesty would be most glad to look upon your black eyes here, so she were sure you would not look with too much respect on other black eyes. But for that, if the admiral were but thirty years old, I think he would not differ in opinions from the Lord Mountjoy.’ And then he goes on to speak of Essex’s behaviour after his trial, and of those upon whom he had most unnecessarily drawn the suspicion of the Government. His friend Southampton, his stepfather Blount, his secretary Cuffe, were but a few of those to whom he ascribed a guilt greater than his own. ‘“And now,” said he,’ so Nottingham continues, ‘“I must accuse one who is most nearest to me, my sister, who did continually urge me on with telling me how all my friends and followers thought me a coward, and that I had lost all my valour;” and then thus, “that she must be looked to, for she had a proud spirit,” and spared not to say something of her affection to you. Would your lordship have thought this weakness and this unnaturalness in this man?’
Lady Rich was accordingly committed to the Lord Admiral’s house, but bore herself so becomingly that she was at once released. In writing to thank her late gaoler for his kindness, she says: ‘for my deserts towards him that is gone, it is known that I have been more like a slave than a sister, which proceeded out of my exceeding love, rather than his authority... so strangely have I been wronged, as may well be an argument to make one despise the world, finding the smoke of envy where affection should be clearest.’ This letter was sent to Mountjoy, who—to do him such justice as is possible—was true to this most unfortunate Penelope. Five years later, when Lord Rich had obtained a mere ecclesiastical divorce from his wife, no less a divine than William Laud was induced to perform the marriage ceremony between her and her lover, and before that date Bacon had addressed to Mountjoy (‘because you loved my lord of Essex’) his tardy and inadequate apology. It was not the fault of Essex that neither his sister nor his friend suffered with him.’[373]
Steady progress of Mountjoy.
The Barony of Farney in Monaghan was next invaded, and the adherents of Ever MacCooly MacMahon had their houses burned, after which Mountjoy stayed for a month at Drogheda, and then returned to Dublin. Sick and tired of the work which he had to do, he told Carew that he could welcome the Spaniards, ‘but I fear me,’ he added, ‘they are too wise to come into this country, whom God amend or confound, and send us a quiet return and a happy meeting in the land of good meat and clean linen, lest by our long continuing here we turn knaves with this generation of vipers, and slovens with eating draff with these swine.’ The Lord President in the meantime was reducing Munster to a quiet state. More than 4,000 persons were pardoned during January and February, and at the end of March, when Desmond left Ireland, there was scarcely any more fighting to be done. Carew could despatch troops into Connaught, and prevent Tyrone from sending help by the road to the Sugane Earl, who lurked, for the most part, in Tipperary. Lord Barry very nearly caught him, and accused his enemy the White Knight of harbouring the traitor. Carew threatened to hold the latter responsible for his country, and his fears settled the fugitive’s fate. His object was to remain at large until the Spaniards came, but, as usual, they were too late. Ten years before, a papal archbishop had written that help was coming. ‘Notwithstanding,’ he said, ‘that the Catholic King his captains be slow in their affairs, I am certain that the men are purposed to be sent to comfort the same poor island, which is in distress a long time.’ Another archbishop now urged the last of the Desmonds to hold out, ‘knowing and firmly hoping that the help of my lord the Catholic King is now coming, which when it cometh all things shall be prosperous.’ The help did come at last, but by that time James Fitzthomas was in the Tower.[374]
The last of the Sugane Earl.
The Knight’s followers, one and all, declared that they knew nothing of the hunted man’s whereabouts, though some of them were his daily companions. Probably they did not believe in their chief’s sincerity, but at last one of them asked him if he was really in earnest, and, finding that this was so, led him straight to a cave not far from Mitchelstown, many fathoms deep, and with a narrow entrance, perhaps the same which tourists still visit as a natural curiosity. The Knight came to the mouth of the cave with a few men, and summoned the occupants to surrender. Desmond’s only companion was his foster-brother, Thomas O’Feighy. Appeals to the spirit of clanship were lost both on the Knight and his men, and threats were also in vain. Bribes to be paid when the 6,000 Spaniards held Munster—he mentioned the very number—were not very alluring, and so Tyrone’s Earl was given up to Sir George Thornton, who conveyed him to Cork. His confinement was close, both there and in Dublin, and irons were considered necessary. There had been so many escapes from the Castle that he did all he could to avoid being sent to England by offering to do shadowy services against Tyrone. But things were not managed as they had been in Fitzwilliam’s time, and to the Tower he came some three months later. A year afterwards wages were paid to a watcher with him ‘in his lunacy,’ and he died in the State prison in 1608. His brother John remained in rebellion and reached Spain, where his son became a Spanish count, and died fighting bravely in the imperial service. John Fitzthomas never assumed the title of Desmond in Ireland, and it was to avoid pretenders that Carew advised the Government to spare the elder brother’s life.[375]