Mountjoy in Tyrone (June to August).
Mountjoy allowed himself little rest. Having issued the currency proclamation, and done what he could to prepare the troops for the expected Spanish invasion, he started again for Dundalk at the end of May. A strong work was thrown up in the Moyry pass, effectually blocking Tyrone’s approach on that side. No serious resistance was offered, but carriage was very difficult, and the Lord-Deputy had to pay dear for pack-horses. Before the end of June he placed a garrison of 750 foot and 100 horse at Armagh. He surveyed the scene of Bagenal’s defeat, and made preparations for rebuilding the dismantled fort at Blackwater. A post was established at Downpatrick, which brought the Magennis family to their knees, and by the middle of July he felt strong enough to cross the Blackwater in force. The fords had been elaborately fortified by Tyrone with trenches and abattis in the Irish manner, but he scarcely ventured to make any defence. Some of the colours taken from Bagenal were displayed on the Irish side, but the Queens troops easily passed over, under cover of two small field-guns. A new fort was made tenable, and properly entrusted to gallant Captain Williams, whose leg was broken by a shot in one of these skirmishes. Mountjoy advanced as far as Benburb, the scene of Owen Roe O’Neill’s great victory half a century later, and there was a great deal of firing; but Tyrone dared not come to close quarters. His men had also to spare their powder, while Mountjoy’s supply was practically unlimited. Doctor Latwar, the chaplain, like Walker at the Boyne, had learned to love fighting for its own sake, and ‘affecting some singularity of forwardness more than his place required,’ was mortally wounded in the head. The Lord-Deputy’s chief loss was in his Irish auxiliaries, and Moryson coolly notes that ‘the loss of such unpeaceable swordsmen was rather gain to the commonwealth.’ The latter part of July was spent in cutting down the corn, and clearing the woods on both sides of the Blackwater, and the fort being then able to take care of itself, Mountjoy marched back to Armagh, where he undertook similar operations. Piers Lacy, the noted Munster rebel, was killed in an abortive attack upon the camp. It was Mountjoy’s intention to seize Dungannon, and to make it a centre of operations in reducing the North, and nearly all August was spent in preparing provisions so as to make a decisive campaign possible during the following winter. He was at Newry or Dundalk on the 29th, when a letter came from Carew to say that the Spaniards had been sighted at sea. This forced him to draw towards Dublin, but he left Ulster firmly bridled by garrisons, and it is evident that Tyrone would soon have been reduced to extremities if it had not been for the diversion made by the invasion of Munster.[376]
Plot against Tyrone’s life.
An Irish stronghold.
An Englishman, named Thomas Walker, who had worn out the patience of his friends, and was in danger of prosecution for a seditious libel, visited Ireland, as he professed, for pleasure and to see the country. He reached Armagh in July, and informed Sir Henry Danvers, who was in command there, that he was going to kill Tyrone, that the idea was entirely his own, and that he required no help. Danvers was in command of the garrison, and anxious to do something which might wipe out the remembrance of his elder brother’s treason. He told Walker that the attempt was honourable but very dangerous, and advised him to think twice, but having consulted Mountjoy, who was in camp hard by, he allowed him to pass through the lines. After several narrow escapes from loose horsemen, Walker came into Tyrone’s presence, who turned pale when he heard of the force at Armagh. The rebel chief was dressed in a frieze jacket open in front, and 600 or 700 men were in the neighbourhood. Walker told him his father had been mixed up with Essex’s conspiracy, and that he had come for protection, since the Queen’s government was wont to visit the sins of the fathers on the children. Tyrone had tears in his eyes when he spoke of Essex’s death, and said that Walker was safe with him. He asked to see some of the new money, at which he gazed earnestly, some of his train saying, ‘These wars hath made the Queen of England poor, that she coins copper money.’ On hearing that the device was attributed to Cecil, the Earl said he wished he had him there to make him shorter by a head. The bystanders used many opprobrious terms, and a Spanish captain took occasion to say that his master still paid the royallest in the world. For a moment Walker was close to Tyrone with a sword in his hand, but his heart failed him, and he got no further opportunity. Tyrone attended mass, but Walker was not allowed to be present, as he had ‘no godfather.’ He was sent on to Dungannon, where he found Lady Tyrone and her mother ‘in a cott,’ and they took him to an island stronghold not far off, the fortifications of which were still unfinished. They crossed in a canoe and four huge hampers of provisions were brought in, each of which took three men to carry it. The ladies observed that the whole English army would attack them there in vain; but Mountjoy, not many weeks before, had found a soldier to swim over and burn the houses in a similar stronghold for no greater reward than one angel. Walker was informed that he was to go to Scotland, whither Tyrone was in the habit of sending all such visitors. He was strictly forbidden to return to the camp, and though he offered a round sum for a guide no one was found bold enough to disobey the chiefs orders. After this he went to Randal MacSorley, whose favour he gained by professing to be a good Catholic, and who allowed him to go to Chichester at Carrickfergus. In the end he was sent back to England. Mountjoy seems to have held that there would be no harm in murdering a proclaimed rebel upon whose head a price had been set. He thought Walker little ‘better than frantic, though such a one was not unfit for such an enterprise.’[377]
Brass money
Confusion caused by debasing the coinage.
‘Of all the plagues of that time,’ says Macaulay in his history of 1689, ‘none made a deeper or a more lasting impression on the minds of the Protestants of Dublin than the plague of the brass money.’ And the great Dutchman is still toasted for delivering them from that evil. The attempt of James II. to obtain a revenue in this way was the worst, but it was neither the first nor the last enterprise of this kind. Swift roused the people of Dublin to fury by his diatribes against Wood’s patent, which, though not all that he called it, was nevertheless a scandalous job. Elizabeth’s father, brother, and sister had issued base coin, and she had reaped honour by restoring the standard. And now she herself listened to the voice of the tempter, who in this case was Lord Treasurer Buckhurst. Had Burghley been alive, she would not have been asked to repeat an experiment which had always failed. The chosen instrument was Sir George Carey, who had succeeded Wallop as Vice-Treasurer. The expense of the army in Ireland was great, and Buckhurst imagined that it could be lessened by paying the soldiers in debased coin. In those days it was generally held that the presence of bullion in a country was an end in itself; and it was thought possible to tie the trade of Ireland to England, while preventing the exportation of sterling money to foreign lands. The money which went abroad was chiefly spent in arms or powder, and this traffic tended to maintain the war. The Queen saw clearly that the proposed change would do her no credit, and that the army would object to it; but she was hard pressed for money, and allowed herself to be persuaded. All coin current in Ireland was accordingly cried down by proclamation, and new twelvepenny, sixpenny, and threepenny pieces were issued, with a harp on one side, and containing only threepence worth of silver to each shilling. All payments were to be made in this rubbish, and no other coin was to be considered legal or current. Those who held English or foreign money, plate, or bullion ‘of the fineness of the standard of England or better,’ might demand a bill of exchange on London, Bristol, or Chester, payable in sterling money at a premium of sixpence in the pound. Those who held the new coin might bring it to Dublin, Cork, Galway, or Carrickfergus, and demand bills of exchange on the same places in England at the rate of nineteen shillings sterling to the pound Irish. Those who held English money in Ireland were entitled to receive twenty-one shillings Irish for every pound, and bills of exchange upon Ireland were given at the same rate in England. The old base coin circulating in Ireland was made exchangeable for its nominal value in the new currency, and the importation of English money into Ireland was prohibited. This system of exchange distinguishes Buckhurst’s plan from James II.’s, who simply declared that the impression of his own hard features turned kettles and old cannon into gold and silver; but it was bad enough. At first the full extent of the evil was not seen, and Carew who seems not to have been much more enlightened than the Lord Treasurer, thought no great harm would be done. But the towns soon began to grumble, and coiners were quickly at work, even within royal fortresses. English coin being no longer current in Ireland, the lawyers held that there was no law to punish those who counterfeited it. The genuine Irish coin was so bad that it was easy to imitate it and to leave out the silver altogether. Those who were interested in the trade gave out that the legal currency contained no silver, and so no one knew what anything was worth. The Queen lost by the bargain, prices became high and uncertain, and the only gainers were those who traded in money. Carey controlled the course of exchange, and it was believed that he profited very largely. Taught by sad experience, the Irish officials at last announced that the whole policy of degrading the coin was exceedingly distasteful to soldiers and merchants, rich and poor. ‘We humbly acknowledge,’ they tell the Privy Council, ‘that experience showeth that the prices of things do follow the rate of silver and gold which is in the money.... And when your lordships do think that the prices of things by this project shall fall... we are not of that opinion.’ An attempt to restrain the course of exchange only made matters worse, and the difficulty extended into the next reign, when the English Government at last came to see that honesty was the best policy.[378]
FOOTNOTES:
[369] The Queen to Mountjoy, Dec. 3, 1600, copy in Carew. There are other letters of the time from Elizabeth to the Lord Deputy beginning ‘Mistress kitchenmaid.’