The “Settlement” Bill was a purely Cromwellian composture, for, although it embodied the King’s recognition of the loyalty of his Irish soldiers, this was offset by an envenomed tirade against the mass of the people. The keynote was struck in a preamble which recited “the unnatural insurrection, murther, and destructions of the 23rd October, 1641,” while the massacres and dispossessions which had provoked the outbreak were left unnoticed.
When the Bill became law a Court of Claims was appointed to hear applications for restoration from ancient owners, and applot the territory to be awarded in exchange. This tribunal was presided over by Sir Audley Mervyn, Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, one of the trio who promoted the “famous paper.” He was a venal parasite who ruled against every contention on behalf of the Irish. To make sure that the Cromwellians should suffer no deprivation, his “Court” announced, at an early sitting, that there were no lands available out of which the Undertakers could be “reprized”—i.e., receive equivalent estate. This was in flat contradiction of the assurance to the King in the “famous paper”; but it was true, for the Adventurers so managed that all such property had meanwhile been given away among themselves. This was done by way of what was blandly called “cautionary reprize,” which meant that—taking time by the forelock—they had annexed everything for their faction.
Colonel O’Neill, Protestant though he was, could not get back a rood of his land. Even Charles II. proved powerless to help him. The King created him Postmaster-General of the United Kingdom, but nothing in the way of restitution could be wrung from Lord Massereene. When O’Neill died his Majesty interested himself on behalf of one of his cousins, Sir Henry O’Neill, whose lands were also in Massereene’s hold. Pressed to make restitution in a debate in the Irish House of Lords, the new peer rose and, taking the Royal Declaration in one hand, he drew his sword with the other, exclaiming: “I will have the benefit of it with this.”
When any Royalist soldier or “innocent Papist” asked for reinstatement, the Planter in possession demanded what equivalent land he was to get before being ousted? None was to be had, and the intruders, after a fine parade of legality, retained their domains, while the natives were left out in the cold. The promises made them in the King’s Declaration, in the “famous paper,” and in the Act of Settlement remained a dead letter.
Certain Catholic officers were mentioned by name in the Act and guaranteed restoration by its clauses. This created a difficulty, so they were left to die in London of hunger and plague. Charles II. would not as much as pay their way to Dublin to enable them to seek redress.
CHAPTER XXIII.
LORD DONEGALL’S ROMANCES.
At the height of Clotworthy’s intrigue for the confirmation of his lease Lord Donegall reached London, being wafted across the Channel in a royal frigate. He soon realised at Whitehall that those whom he regarded as the “King’s enemies” had grown to influence and had supplanted many of the “King’s friends.” Still he believed that olden services would not go unrewarded, and he knew that the Duke of Ormonde would stand by him. He and his father had hidden away Strafford’s Patent for twenty years, unenrolled. To obtain a new grant which should include Lough Neagh and the Bann was the wish of his heart. He came to Court, not merely to pay homage to Charles II., but to seek redress for the surrender forced on his family by the Minister of Charles I. Lord Donegall knew the favour shown to Clotworthy by Cromwell, and it roused his ire to think that the son of an old subordinate should carry off the fisheries which he looked on as a perquisite of the Chichesters. Were there gratitude in kings, he thought, Cromwell’s gift must be recalled and bestowed on himself.
Yet his lordship found his rival as highly esteemed by Charles II. as he had been by the Lord Protector. Nor did the support of the Duke of Ormonde countervail his influence. All that their joint exertions effected was to delay Clotworthy’s triumph. When the “famous paper” begot the new lease Lord Donegall was almost in despair, but he did not give up the struggle. The obstacles in his path which the lease created, not to speak of the royal engagement to the London Corporation to restore the Bann, seemed insurmountable. A tussle with Sir John at Whitehall taught him that it was hopeless to think of winning anything from that stout fighter. Still harder was it to prevail against the Londoners. He found the influence of his opponents overpowering, and their claims blocked his hopes. Lord Donegall, therefore, cast about for some indirect means of gaining his ends.
Wily councillors before long suggested a way out. He was advised to abandon his original purpose and send in a petition for a “reversionary” Patent for the fisheries. This was only to take effect at the end of Clotworthy’s lease, but for immediate consolation he also prayed for a grant of the rent payable under it to the Crown. The plan was a catching one to recover lost ground, but what reasons could be found to support it? None existed, so Lord Donegall proceeded to invent them. He had to get over the difficulty that Strafford compelled the surrender of 1640 as an act of restitution, and had compensated his father and himself by the grant of an indefeasible Patent for the rest of their ill-gotten estates with an allowance of £60 a year in the Crown-rent. Acceptance of the advantages conferred in 1640 could hardly be reconciled with a demand for further compensation in 1660. To blame Strafford for enforcing the surrender would be natural and tempting, but was unthinkable, as any slight on the memory of the martyr-Viceroy who had given his life to uphold Charles I. would be fatal in a suppliant to Charles II. Lord Donegall, therefore, had to present matters in a way which should make it appear that his father and himself in relinquishing the fisheries were the victims of arbitrary power, and at the same time find a scapegoat to accuse—an attack upon whom would not offend the King.
The position was delicate, and needed the best-considered falsehoods. Lord Donegall, however, was no witling, and the tradition of the “great Deputy” stirred his brain until at length the necessary culprit was hit upon in Deputy Wandesforde. He, in Strafford’s absence, signed the Patent of 1640, and on him all the blame for compelling the surrender was cast in 1660. The innocent Wandesforde was charged with having deprived Lord Donegall of a pension of £40 a year, and “forcing on him fresh Patents under colour of his having defective title.” This was as gross a myth as the fables of the Clotworthy pension or the promises of the “famous paper.” Wandesforde merely carried out arrangements previously made by the Lord Lieutenant; and had nothing to do with the surrender, or the question of an allowance. Yet this blameless subordinate, who had been dead twenty years, was saddled with the doings of his master and with the hagglings of the Commissioners for Remedying Defective Titles.