Читать книгу: «Ireland under the Tudors. Volume 3 (of 3)», страница 26

CHAPTER L.
GOVERNMENT OF MOUNTJOY, 1601

Mountjoy felt that his own hands were not quite clean, and he knew that Carew was more thoroughly trusted than he was. The President’s excellent temper prevented anything like a rupture, but the Deputy’s letter shows how sensitive he was. It was in answer to one of these despatches, in which he had likened himself to a scullion, that Elizabeth wrote with her own hand one of those letters which go far to reveal the secret of her power. ‘Mistress Kitchenmaid,’ she said, ‘I had not thought that precedency had been ever in question, but among the higher and greater sort; but now I find by good proof that some of more dignity and greater calling may by good desert and faithful care give the upper hand to one of your faculty, that with your frying-pan and other kitchen stuff have brought to their last home more rebels, and passed greater break-neck places, than those that promised more and did less. Comfort yourself, therefore, in this, that neither your careful endeavour, nor dangerous travails, nor heedful regards to our service, without your own by-respects, could ever have been bestowed upon a prince that more esteems them, considers, and regards them than she for whom chiefly, I know, all this hath been done, and who keeps this verdict ever in store for you; that no vainglory nor popular fawning can ever advance you forward, but true vow of duty and reverence of prince, which two afore your life I see you do prefer. And though you lodge near Papists, and doubt you not for their infection, yet I fear you may fail in an heresy, which I hereby do conjure you from; that you suppose you be backbited by some to make me think you faulty of many oversights and evil defaults in your government. I would have you know for certain that, as there is no man can rule so great a charge without some errors, yet you may assure yourself I have never heard of any had fewer; and such is your good luck that I have not known them, though you were warned of them. And learn this of me, that you must make difference betwixt admonitions and charges, and like of faithful advices as your most necessariest weapons to save you from blows of princes’ mislike. And so I absolve you a pœna et culpa, if this you observe. And so God bless and prosper you as if ourself was where you are. – Your Sovreign that dearly regards you.’ It is easy to understand what an effect such a letter must have had, and how Mountjoy must have been encouraged in his difficult work.³⁶⁹

Final reduction of the Wicklow Highlanders (January)

It was supposed at the time that the death of Feagh MacHugh would free Dublin from the depredations of the O’Byrnes; but his son, Phelim MacFeagh, continued to give trouble, and the suburbs of the capital were in almost nightly alarm. Shortly before Christmas Mountjoy set out for Monasterevan, whither he had sent Arras hangings and other baggage betokening a long stay there. But he himself suddenly turned off near Naas, crossed the snowclad mountains with a strong force, and entered Glenmalure quite unexpectedly. Ballinacor was surrounded, and Phelim’s wife and son captured, the chief himself escaping naked out of a back window into the woods, while Mountjoy and his followers consumed the Christmas stock of provisions. The cattle were swept out of the country, the corn and houses destroyed, and at the end of three weeks the Lord Deputy retired. Garrisons were placed at Tullow on one side and Wicklow on the other, and these highlanders gave no further trouble. Phelim MacFeagh, who was saved by the mountain floods, came to Dublin, and submitted with due humility.³⁷⁰

Mountjoy in the central districts (February)

The early months of 1601 were spent by Mountjoy in devastating the central districts. Starting from Monasterevan on January 29, he passed by Kildare, which was in ruins and quite deserted, to Trim, and from thence by Castletown Delvin to Mullingar, ‘the shiretown of Westmeath, compassed with bogs.’ Athlone was reached on February 17, and then, without resting more than a night, he doubled back to Macgeohegan’s castle of Donore. Between Lough Ennell and the place still called Tyrrell’s pass, he found the redoubtable Captain Tyrrell in his stronghold, ‘seated in a plain and in a little island compassed with bogs and deep ditches of running water.’ An attempt to cross with hurdles and faggots was frustrated by the current, and an officer was shot. Moryson, the historian, had a narrow escape. The English horse kept always on the move, which generally protected them against the fire of matchlocks, but the secretary, who was no soldier, and whose white horse gave a good mark, felt one bullet whistle past his head, while another struck his saddle. Proclamation was then made that no one, on pain of death, should succour the rebels in any way, that the country people should bring provisions to the camp, and that soldiers, also on pain of death, should pay the market price. Two thousand crowns were placed on Tyrrell’s head, who thought it prudent to steal away by night to another island in Queen’s County, which was for the time inaccessible, on account of the floods.³⁷¹

Mountjoy and Essex

While staying at Donore Mountjoy got a letter to say that Essex had been sent to the Tower. ‘It is not credible,’ says Moryson, ‘that the influence of the Earl’s malignant star should work upon so poor a snake as myself.’ Yet so it was. Mountjoy thought it prudent to range himself ostentatiously on Cecil’s side, and to depress Essex’s friends, with some of whom his secretary was connected. He took his most private papers into his own custody, and Moryson says he never quite recovered the blow. He tells us that, however his principal might clamour to be recalled nothing was further from his thoughts, and that he had made preparations to sail for France in case he was sent for to England. Ten days later came a gracious letter from Elizabeth, in which she announced the death of Essex, cautioned his successor to look well to the loyalty of his officers, and forbade him to leave his post until the intentions of Spain were better known.³⁷²

Death of Essex. His confessions

Lady Rich

Mountjoy had been implicated in the Essex intrigues quite enough to make him nervous; but when it became clear that the Queen would overlook all, he was probably sincerely anxious to return. He wrote to solicit Nottingham’s good offices, and the answer throws a curious light upon the manners and morals of the time. ‘I think,’ wrote the Lord Admiral, ‘her Majesty would be most glad to look upon your black eyes here, so she were sure you would not look with too much respect on other black eyes. But for that, if the admiral were but thirty years old, I think he would not differ in opinions from the Lord Mountjoy.’ And then he goes on to speak of Essex’s behaviour after his trial, and of those upon whom he had most unnecessarily drawn the suspicion of the Government. His friend Southampton, his stepfather Blount, his secretary Cuffe, were but a few of those to whom he ascribed a guilt greater than his own. ‘“And now,” said he,’ so Nottingham continues, ‘“I must accuse one who is most nearest to me, my sister, who did continually urge me on with telling me how all my friends and followers thought me a coward, and that I had lost all my valour;” and then thus, “that she must be looked to, for she had a proud spirit,” and spared not to say something of her affection to you. Would your lordship have thought this weakness and this unnaturalness in this man?’

Lady Rich was accordingly committed to the Lord Admiral’s house, but bore herself so becomingly that she was at once released. In writing to thank her late gaoler for his kindness, she says: ‘for my deserts towards him that is gone, it is known that I have been more like a slave than a sister, which proceeded out of my exceeding love, rather than his authority… so strangely have I been wronged, as may well be an argument to make one despise the world, finding the smoke of envy where affection should be clearest.’ This letter was sent to Mountjoy, who – to do him such justice as is possible – was true to this most unfortunate Penelope. Five years later, when Lord Rich had obtained a mere ecclesiastical divorce from his wife, no less a divine than William Laud was induced to perform the marriage ceremony between her and her lover, and before that date Bacon had addressed to Mountjoy (‘because you loved my lord of Essex’) his tardy and inadequate apology. It was not the fault of Essex that neither his sister nor his friend suffered with him.’³⁷³

Steady progress of Mountjoy

The Barony of Farney in Monaghan was next invaded, and the adherents of Ever MacCooly MacMahon had their houses burned, after which Mountjoy stayed for a month at Drogheda, and then returned to Dublin. Sick and tired of the work which he had to do, he told Carew that he could welcome the Spaniards, ‘but I fear me,’ he added, ‘they are too wise to come into this country, whom God amend or confound, and send us a quiet return and a happy meeting in the land of good meat and clean linen, lest by our long continuing here we turn knaves with this generation of vipers, and slovens with eating draff with these swine.’ The Lord President in the meantime was reducing Munster to a quiet state. More than 4,000 persons were pardoned during January and February, and at the end of March, when Desmond left Ireland, there was scarcely any more fighting to be done. Carew could despatch troops into Connaught, and prevent Tyrone from sending help by the road to the Sugane Earl, who lurked, for the most part, in Tipperary. Lord Barry very nearly caught him, and accused his enemy the White Knight of harbouring the traitor. Carew threatened to hold the latter responsible for his country, and his fears settled the fugitive’s fate. His object was to remain at large until the Spaniards came, but, as usual, they were too late. Ten years before, a papal archbishop had written that help was coming. ‘Notwithstanding,’ he said, ‘that the Catholic King his captains be slow in their affairs, I am certain that the men are purposed to be sent to comfort the same poor island, which is in distress a long time.’ Another archbishop now urged the last of the Desmonds to hold out, ‘knowing and firmly hoping that the help of my lord the Catholic King is now coming, which when it cometh all things shall be prosperous.’ The help did come at last, but by that time James Fitzthomas was in the Tower.³⁷⁴

The last of the Sugane Earl

The Knight’s followers, one and all, declared that they knew nothing of the hunted man’s whereabouts, though some of them were his daily companions. Probably they did not believe in their chief’s sincerity, but at last one of them asked him if he was really in earnest, and, finding that this was so, led him straight to a cave not far from Mitchelstown, many fathoms deep, and with a narrow entrance, perhaps the same which tourists still visit as a natural curiosity. The Knight came to the mouth of the cave with a few men, and summoned the occupants to surrender. Desmond’s only companion was his foster-brother, Thomas O’Feighy. Appeals to the spirit of clanship were lost both on the Knight and his men, and threats were also in vain. Bribes to be paid when the 6,000 Spaniards held Munster – he mentioned the very number – were not very alluring, and so Tyrone’s Earl was given up to Sir George Thornton, who conveyed him to Cork. His confinement was close, both there and in Dublin, and irons were considered necessary. There had been so many escapes from the Castle that he did all he could to avoid being sent to England by offering to do shadowy services against Tyrone. But things were not managed as they had been in Fitzwilliam’s time, and to the Tower he came some three months later. A year afterwards wages were paid to a watcher with him ‘in his lunacy,’ and he died in the State prison in 1608. His brother John remained in rebellion and reached Spain, where his son became a Spanish count, and died fighting bravely in the imperial service. John Fitzthomas never assumed the title of Desmond in Ireland, and it was to avoid pretenders that Carew advised the Government to spare the elder brother’s life.³⁷⁵

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