who surprise Dunluce,
to Perrott’s great disgust.
Norris was gone, and Stanley had returned to Munster, when the Scots again invaded Antrim in some force. 170 English soldiers encountered 1,200 Scots and Irish, near Carrickfergus, and Perrott again moved to Ulster. He approved and confirmed a deed by which Tirlogh Luineach handed over the southern half of Tyrone to the newly-acknowledged Earl, reserving the northern half to himself, with such tribute as he might be able to collect from Maguire and O’Cahan. Wallop and Loftus, who were left in charge of the Pale, saw it was quite impossible for the Lord Deputy to keep the Scots at bay without garrisons and fortresses more permanent than the Queen was inclined to pay for. Perrott was really of the same opinion, but he persevered in the hopeless task. There were, he said, more than 2,000 Scots in Ulster, combined to set up Shane O’Neill’s sons. Journeys to the North had always been allowed, and he could not see why he, of all Deputies, was to be kept in enforced idleness. He did, however, return to Dublin after a short absence, for the orders to save money were peremptory. The army was almost literally naked, and many soldiers for sheer want took service with the Irish. The natural result was not long delayed. Perrott had returned to Dublin early in September, and on the 1st of November, Dunluce—about the capture of which so much fuss had been made—was once more in the hands of the Scots. Peter Cary, the constable, a man of English blood and Ulster birth, had but fourteen soldiers, of which several were Irish; and, what was perhaps more important, he had a Scotch mistress. Ropes, which are said to have been made of withes, were let down at night by two of the Irish warders, and fifty Scots climbed over the battlements. Cary, whose orders not to keep Irishmen in the fort were strict, refused quarter, and he and his English soldiers were killed after a desperate resistance. ‘I do not,’ said Perrott, ‘weigh the loss, but can hardly endure the discredit. As things are purposed now any man is fitter for the place than I am.’ James VI. had promised Perrott to punish his subjects as rebels should they again invade Ireland; but he had not the power, nor perhaps the will, to keep his promise. Queen Elizabeth’s thoughts were now concentrated on foreign politics, and economy was her one object in Ireland. It was even proposed to disband companies lately raised, and necessarily composed of natives, since Englishmen could not be found to serve without pay or clothes. ‘Thus,’ said Wallop, ‘have we trained and furnished Irishmen to serve the enemy’s turn.’ Walsingham could only say that Perrott might have lived in better season under Henry VIII., when princes were resolute in honourable attempts. ‘Our age has been given to other manner of proceedings, whereto the Lord Deputy must be content to conform himself as other men do.’[142]
Composition in Connaught.
Unsuccessful with his parliament, with his council, and with the great men of the Pale, Perrott found the chieftains of Connaught still amenable to reason. Ten years before, Sidney had found them willing to hold their lands of the Queen and to pay rent, but the completion of the contract was Perrott’s work. The commissioners named were Bingham as governor, the Earls of Thomond and Clanricarde, the Baron of Athenry, Sir Tirlogh O’Brien, Sir Richard Burke of Mayo, O’Connor Sligo, O’Rourke, O’Flaherty, and others, and they proposed that the Queen should have a quit rent of 10s. a quarter out of all arable and pasture land in Connaught and Clare. There were to be no other exactions except certain days’ labour for fortifications or other public buildings. Contributions of horse and foot on warlike occasions were to be matter of special agreement. Anxious for peace among themselves and convinced that they could not make head against the State, the chiefs agreed to these terms, in the hopes of obtaining a firm and just government. To make things pleasant, some special privileges were granted to a few important people, and it was calculated that a revenue of rather less than 4,000l. a year would be secured to the Crown. Less than one-third of the whole soil was really included in this settlement; waste lands, water, and fraudulent concealments will account for the rest. The plan of the composition was good, but the result did not fulfil Perrott’s expectation. In so extensive an area many were dissatisfied with their lot, and the Government was neither strong enough nor steady enough to enforce order among a rude people.[143]
Perrott’s personal troubles.
His traducers.
Perrott claimed to be a careful husband of the Queen’s resources, and rather ostentatiously professed his contempt for the interested criticism of others. But Elizabeth’s parsimony increased with her years, and she was only too ready to listen to those who told her she was being robbed. She directed a stringent inquiry into the revenue, suggesting that arrears had been allowed to accumulate, that improper concessions had been granted, that crown leases had been given without due inquiry, that personal allowances had been made without exacting service in return, and in short that everyone’s interests had been regarded but her own. ‘It is not meant,’ she said, ‘that the possession of lands and chattels lately escheated by rebellion should be in the power and authority of the Lord Deputy, but to be stayed at her Majesty’s will and pleasure.’ This and other similar hints cut Perrott to the quick. No doubt his despotic temper sometimes induced him to overstep the bounds of strict law, and his enemies were always on the watch. He was accused of making money unfairly out of household and table allowances. It was said that his accounts showed annual liveries, whereas they were in reality biennial; he allowed no fires even in bitter February weather, and there was no good cheer in the Castle. ‘I had little thought,’ he indignantly exclaimed, ‘that any part of her Highness’s honour had depended on my supper. I am sorry that men’s eyes are so narrowly bent on my diet, and I doubt will watch my uprising and downlying too.’ He had always provided supper for those who could enjoy it; as for himself the doctors had forbidden him that insidious meal for nearly a quarter of a century. And yet, he said, he would rather die of indigestion than incur the imputation of niggardly conduct. ‘I pray you,’ he wrote to Burghley, ‘help to rid me hence, that I may avoid all these spiteful occasions of grief and unkindness.’[144]
Rumours of invasion.
Miserable state of the army.