Basil knew, of course, that the entire river was pledged to the Londoners, as his predecessor had known it in 1609. But, just as Davies abetted its capture by Chichester, so the Commonwealth Attorney-General in 1656 made State policy subservient to sordid private interest. Indeed the excuse could be invented for Davies, when he betrayed his trust, that the bargain with the Corporation was not then finally settled by the King. Basil, in 1656, knew that it had been perfected by the Lord Protector, and that the Bann was actually in the Londoners’ possession, when he conveyed it to Clotworthy. Moreover, having drafted a fraudulent lease, he certified that it was framed “according to the tenor of his Highness’s Letters of the 13th May, 1656.”
Every man of the Dublin Cromwellian Executive—viz., Henry Cromwell, R. Pepys, Miles Corbett, Robert Goodwin, and M. Thomlinson, signed the lease. These were the saints who represented all that was godly in a land “darkened by the mists of Popish superstition.” Of the five, Pepys was Chief Justice, and Corbett Chief Baron. That they subscribed with consenting minds, and not mechanically, sufficiently appears. Oliver’s Letter, in granting Lough Neagh, asked them to decide on the rent which the State was to receive for it. To carry out the cheat as to the Bann they had to fix two separate rents, one for the Lough and the other for the river. The Bann they set down at £35 for the first seven years, and £44 thereafter, and this brought home to them the fact that the river was seven times a more valuable fishery than Lough Neagh. Yet their instructions never mentioned the Bann. To complete the trick the Clerk of the Council, Thomas Herbert, certified that he had “entered and examined” the documents on which the lease was issued. Guilt, therefore, sat on the consciences of all, for not only had they given away Lough Neagh for a song, but they sacrificed without authority what on their own showing was seven times more valuable. The Londoners deemed the Lough worth £100 a year in 1622.
When the lease was enrolled the gang grew alarmed. Clotworthy, therefore, got Henry Cromwell to apply to his father’s secretary in London, John Thurloe, to cloak the fraud. In December, 1656, Henry implored Thurloe to obtain from his father a fresh Signet Letter sanctioning a grant which would include the Bann. Thurloe ignored his supplications, and thus the hypocrites were left in the plight of men who, to rob the City of London, had betrayed their master.
The Commonwealth Charter, which restored the estate of the Corporation, including the Bann, was issued three months later, and thus two repugnant grants came into existence. The Dublin junta kept their secret to themselves. Thurloe also held his peace, and in the following year Cromwell died. Thurloe, however, carefully preserved the correspondence, and after the Restoration hid it behind the ceiling of a garret in his chambers at Lincoln’s Inn, with other Cromwellian literature. There it was found fifty years later—embalmed in the odour of sanctity.
Cromwell’s death soon led to a flood of intrigue among his Anglo-Irish retainers. Each was intent on asserting one great principle—how best to hold on to the spoil with which confiscation had endowed them. If Republicanism would secure this, they were Republicans. If possession must be tempered by monarchy—then “Long live Charles II.”
CHAPTER XXI.
REBELLION REWARDED.
The Irish Republicans quickly came to the conclusion that monarchical principles possessed a virtue which afforded the best guarantee for their interests. Their budding royalism was threatened with blight from one quarter only—the exiled Irish soldiers who had fought for Prince Charles at home and abroad. These unreasonables had to be reckoned with, for Gaelic swordsmen, gentle and simple, formed part of his bodyguard and influenced his decisions. He even sympathised with their religion while his exile lasted, for the Duke of Ormonde relates that he once found his Majesty secretly hearing Mass in Brussels in a fit of lonely piety.
The Cromwellians, awake to these difficulties, and ready to jettison any inconvenient doctrines which blocked their way, held a Convention in Dublin in 1659-60, to debate “the situation.” First they seized Dublin Castle from the weaklings who represented the tottering Commonwealth, and next they imprisoned all Catholic loyalists who could be laid hands on, to prevent their having any credit in bringing back the King or earning his gratitude. Then they sent an embassy to Brussels to propose conditions to his Majesty. Sir Arthur Forbes (son of the “discoverer” of 1628) was their messenger, and on his return Forbes reported hopefully to their spokesmen, Sir Charles Coote and Lord Broghill (Boyle). On the 16th March, 1660, the exiled King wrote engaging that “whatever Coote should promise and undertake on his behalf (which it was in his power to perform) he would make good.”
Clotworthy was a leading member of the cabal; and on the 30th March, 1660, he was nominated to proceed to Flanders to conclude the negotiations. When he reached London, his journey was stayed, as General Monck had won over Speaker Lenthal to his views, and the royal cause was thriving without the aid of cross-Channel converts. Sir John, therefore, remained in England to influence opinion against attempts to disturb the arrangements of the Irish confiscators. King Charles, on the eve of his return, issued from Breda a Declaration securing in their estates those of his enemies who had not taken part in his father’s execution. At the same moment he promised that the Irish who had served him should be restored to their lands. Unhappily, the pledge to the Irish was broken, while the bargain with Coote was kept.
Much huxtering and hugger-mugger went on at Whitehall when the King came back. A large subscription was raised among the wily “Undertakers” to bribe his courtiers, and using this lubricant, Clotworthy and his friends found easy access to the Throne. Their aim was to ensure that the confiscations should be legalised, no matter who might suffer. Charles summoned a Parliament for each of the Three Kingdoms, but the Irish Executive (staffed with men of Cromwell’s mind) found no difficulty in packing the Dublin House of Commons with prayerful freebooters. The Restoration, which brought a joyful change in England and Scotland, made none in Ireland, unless for the worse. The loyalty and sufferings in exile of the King’s friends were forgotten. The squalid attornment of his enemies was remembered and rewarded.