When they arrived at Court the suppliants encountered the ex-spy, Sir James Fullerton, brimful of craft and watchful of chances. He was the old comrade of Hamilton, and contrived a turn for him out of Sir Con’s distress. His influence was such that the King only granted the “pardon” on condition that the chief’s bargain with Montgomery should be recast and a third of his estate given to Hamilton. O’Neill was kept dangling about the Court for over a year before this composition was arrived at. Thus the chief was shorn of two-thirds of his lands instead of half, as the price of “mercy.” To temper the loss to Montgomery the King promised to throw in as many abbeys and monasteries as would make it good, but Sir Con had to submit to the condition that the new Patent should be made out in Hamilton’s name and accept his promise to assign a third to himself and Montgomery. Such was Fullerton’s fealty to his brother-spy. At his death Fullerton was honoured with a grave in Westminster Abbey.
By such help James Hamilton won a lodgment in Ulster. He at once hastened to Dublin, and presented two King’s Letters to the Deputy. One of them, dated the 16th April, 1605, entitled him to the entire of Sir Con’s property, while another of the 6th December, 1604, gave him land (unspecified) to the value of £100 a year. These warrants startled Chichester, who had expected to make his own of the whole of O’Neill’s possessions. In his eyes they revealed a woeful situation, for they conferred on an outsider “of his Majesty’s gift the countries and territories of Upper Clandeboye and the Great Ardes.” This manner of looting O’Neill fell out with his plans—a stranger had struck sickle in the corn he had sown.
Hamilton’s second grant of £100 a year was framed on the elastic “Wakeman” model, and surpassed it in the romance of its origin. In his impoverished Elizabethan days the spy used when he came to London put up at the “Half-Moon” Tavern in Bow Lane. It was a house of call for Scotchmen; and the landlord, Thomas Irelande, hailed from “the North Countrie.” At that date the Scotch were by Statute the “ancient enemies” of the English; but Hamilton, while acting as a scout for the Scots, was also in the pay of England. When James I. reached the throne he cannot have suspected this, and his Letter of the 6th December, 1604, with other gifts, attests his gratitude.
Suitors for King’s Letters who wished to baffle inquiry or avert jealousy often put forward some “John Doe” or “Richard Roe” as a feigned beneficiary (as the Earl of Devonshire did) to mask grants intended for themselves. Hamilton preferred that the name of his innkeeper should appear in the royal Letter instead of his own. He had, on the 6th November, 1603, and 18th May, 1604, been given a valuable monopoly for the export of linen yarn from Ireland, and may have thought it would be easier or more speedy to obtain further grants if he remained in disguise rather than appear as the original beneficiary. Whatever his motive, he showed himself as skilful as higher personages in employing the machinery for juggling with Patents. The name of the Innkeeper, Thomas Irelande, chosen for insertion as the nominal Patentee, corresponded with that of another “Thomas Ireland,” an escheator of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, who might be looked on as the grantee by those who did not burrow too deeply below the surface.
Figments were recited about Thomas Irelande in the King’s Letter which rival those palmed off on James I. by the Lord Lieutenant in the case of John Wakeman. Its text made his Majesty certify that the tapster of the “Half-Moon” had paid into the Exchequer £1,678 6s. 8d., but whether before or after he came to the throne of England was not stated; and that, as a recompense, Thomas Irelande was to receive an estate worth £100 a year “out of such castles, manors, etc., as came to the Crown by forfeiture, attainder, etc.” The Privy Council had just ordered the Irish Executive not to part with any such “castles.”
In the year 1604 the sum of £1,678 6s. 8d. would represent nearly £20,000 in to-day’s values. This a humble innkeeper is supposed to have presented to the Exchequer without security or interest—an unexplained and un-Scottish caprice. To have had such command of money, Thomas Irelande must have amassed a fortune out of the tavern “where Scotsmen lie”; although in Elizabeth’s reign no large muster of Scots from whom it could derive custom repaired to London. A Census of Foreigners in 1567 shows that there were only 40 resident Scotchmen in the metropolis, as compared with 472 Frenchmen and 2,030 Dutch. So the Bow Lane philanthropist must have been as lucky under the Tudors as he was lavish under the Stuarts.
His Majesty was in the habit of borrowing money wherever he could lay hands on it. He took loans from Hugh O’Neill and never repaid them. He also laid himself under obligation to wealthy London citizens; but these were personal debts; and the landlord of the “Half-Moon” is not alleged to have made the King a private loan, but to have lodged cash in the public Exchequer. His place of abode is not mentioned in the King’s Letter, where his innkeepership is disguised by misdescribing him as a “merchant.”
The oddest part of the transaction has now to be recorded. Having poured his largesse into the royal coffers, the tapster’s openhandedness sought a fresh outlet. With boundless disregard for bawbees, Thomas Irelande made over to Hamilton the grant of £100 a year which had cost him £1,678 6s. 8d. This was expressed to be done “for divers good considerations”—that being the common form for a voluntary conveyance. In other words, he gave a valuable property away for nothing. Few London hotel-keepers now endow their guests in that way. These goodly giants of the prime are alas extinct.
Hamilton, armed with his landlord’s conveyance and the grant of Sir Con O’Neill’s estate (in trust as to two-thirds), pressed the Deputy for Patents to validate them. Legally his demand was irresistible; but Chichester’s righthand men, led by Sir William Parsons (the Surveyor-General), shared his reluctance to “passing” a grant so extensive. They, like their master, felt wounded that an intruder should try to carry off booty larger than any seized by the Lord Lieutenant or the other Elizabethan warriors.
What was to be done? A blank refusal to honour the King’s warrant was impossible, so they temporised and parleyed with Hamilton. Meanwhile, the Deputy, smarting at the loss of the hoped-for escheat from Sir Con (whom he would gladly have hanged), poured out his soul in protest to Cecil. He wrote on the 19th June, 1605:—